“You reckon they saw the chopper land here?”
She shrugged. “There’s no telling. I’m sure every Zulu in the county saw it. All they’ll have to do is look for the mob of them beating on the gates. They’ll know somebody is inside.”
“Got it.” Henry marched off to spread the word and Candy turned back to Skeeter.
“You did good by telling me, sweetie. But don’t you worry none about Hatcher. He’s with them military guys and they’ll protect him. They need him.”
Skeeter nodded as Candy walked off toward the armory. “Only until they got what they came for…”
Chapter 8
“Up and at ’em, Ranger.” Hatcher spun in his cot and stared up at Hollis. “We move out in thirty. There’s some clean BDUs, for you if you’d like something a bit more rugged for the road.” Hollis stood and eyed the man. “Chow hall’s open if you want to grab a bite before we take off. You might want to grab something for the road, too. We got a long trip.”
Hatcher swung his legs off the cot and reached for the clean clothes. They were desert tan BDUs, and even a fresh pair of boots. He lifted his from the deck and hadn’t realized the sad shape they wear in until he held the new pair. He nodded to himself as he dressed, then followed the smells to the chow hall. He made a quick plate, making sure to wrap a few of the cinnamon buns into a bag and grabbing a couple of bottles of water.
He wolfed down the meal of powdered eggs and grits, swiped a banana from the stack of fruit, and washed it all down with something he suspected was their version of orange juice. He fought the feeling of nausea that struck when he trotted out to the flight deck.
“Perfect timing, Ranger.” Hollis finished packing his gear then pulled the door open.
“Please don’t call me that. I’m not a park ranger anymore.”
Hollis stood and stared down at the shorter man. “What would you like to be called?”
“Just Hatcher is fine.” He stepped up and into the cabin.
Hollis smiled to himself. “Just Hatcher it is then.” He turned and made a motion with his hand and his men boarded the craft.
As each donned their headphones, Hollis keyed the coms. “I know it’s a long trip, but let’s keep our heads on a swivel. There could be uninfected nutjobs out there who want to take a pot shot at us as we fly over God’s country.”
The bird spun up and Hatcher leaned back into the seat as best he could. He propped his head against the bulkhead and glanced out the window as the HH-60W lifted from the deck. He could feel the pull as the craft lifted up, then shifted as it launched forward.
“You look a little green, Hatcher.”
He glanced to Hollis and gave him a shrug. “I don’t think those powdered eggs agreed with me.”
Hollis reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of antacids. “You’ll learn to love these things if you stay with us for any length of time.” He passed the roll to Hatcher, then asked, “You were there, weren’t you?”
Hatcher popped a couple of the mint-flavored tablets, then turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“When it all went down. You were at the park, weren’t you?”
Hatcher nodded, his mind going back to the night Shelly disappeared and when Mitch was bit. He felt his stomach sour again at the thought of putting his friend down.
“So, you’ve faced these things before. We don’t need to go over precautions with you.”
Hatcher shook his head. “I’ve seen enough of them up close and personal that I think I can handle myself just fine.”
“I’ll go over insertion details with you when we touch down for fuel.”
Hatcher nodded absently and turned to stare out the window again, hoping there would be something of interest out there that could pull his thoughts from friends lost.
Squirrel felt the sun warm his face and he opened his eyes. They had barricaded themselves in the top floors of the local Hyatt Regency. He had pulled the bed over by the sliding glass doors so that the early morning sun might wake him. He rolled over and stretched. As he sat up he noted the red dirt in the sheets from his clothes and wished they actually had water pressure. A shower would be heaven sent.
He slid off the mattress and pulled his jacket on. He stood in the bathroom and stared at his features in the darkened room. He could just make out the bed head he suffered from. He reached for the toilet and lifted the top from the tank. Using both hands, he scooped up the cool water and scrubbed his face with it. He then ran his hands through the shoulder-length mop and did his best to comb it back with his fingers. Another scoop of water and his hair was properly slicked back.
The hand towel wiped the excess from his face and he dropped it on the floor as he made his way out of the room and down the stairs to the main lobby.
He rifled through the kitchen and found a gallon-size tin can of stewed tomatoes and another gallon can of cling peaches. He wished for some form of instant coffee, but there was nothing. The little packets of coffee in his room had already been pilfered along with the sugar and the creamers.
He found a hand-operated can opener and popped the top on the peaches. He carried it back out to the lobby and used his dagger to stab the fruit from the can. He sat atop the check-in desk and ate while he waited for the rest of his men to rouse.
He felt they had been lucky to find the place. Whoever had broken in before was smart enough not to knock out
