Seven Days To Brooklyn: A Sara Robinson Adventure (17 page)

“Move out. Johnson, Homan, secure us some transportation,” the team leader says, before grabbing Sara by the arm to drag her along with him.
 

“Hey, asshole, I can walk on my own. Pretty sure I don’t need your help.”
 

“Stay close, Sara. We have to get you to the landing zone.”
 

On the Roundhouse rooftop, the soldier has made it over to the rappel rope and is hooking up his harness. He glances over the edge of the roof and is shocked to see dozens of flesh-eaters walking around. With their heightened sense of smell, they are onto the scent of the team and starting to figure out what direction the team moved on to. With no other choice, the soldier moves back over to the ladder and looks down the hole into the building. There is nobody down there except the burned up bodies of the flesh-eaters that were killed by the blast and fiery shrapnel. Climbing down the ladder, he picks up Anderson’s MP5 and slings it on his back. Slowly walking down the hallway back to the staircase where they had the initial battle, he starts creeping down the stairs, one stair step at a time, stepping over the dead flesh-eaters, attempting to make as little noise as possible. Down another flight of stairs, and the front doors of the entrance come into view in front of him. Making it down the last three steps, he figures he is home free, when his left foot comes down on top of broken glass from a picture frame that was on the wall behind him. The crunching sound echoes throughout the building alerting a couple of flesh-eaters who are just around the corner in a room adjacent the staircase. Knowing he has let his position be known to anyone or anything around him, the soldier makes a run for the door but is tackled by the flesh-eaters before he can make it outside.
 

Outside the fence line, the rest of the soldiers, along with Mac and Sara, cautiously work their way through the city streets. Block after block is deserted, except for the rows of abandoned cars and trucks lining the sides of the street. Special operations officers Johnson and Homan check one car after another but are unsuccessful at finding one that does not have a dead battery. The group continues moving north toward their new objective, unaware that the horde of flesh-eaters is closing in on them, tracking the scent of their bodies that is left on the ground through tiny sweat molecules. Crawling through the break in the chain-link fence, the horde moves ever closer to the survivors.
 

In true military fashion, the combat-hardened team leaves one soldier behind a few blocks to cover their exit. Scanning the streets toward the Roundhouse, the soldier spots the horde rounding a street corner and moving quickly toward him. The soldier retreats back to the group and gives the team leader an update of the incoming horde. With miles left to get to the objective, the team leader gathers his team to formulate a new plan.
 

“Johnson, Homan, take up positions over there on top of that building.” He points to the left at a two-story apartment building that has a flat roof. “We’ll take up positions on the top of this parking garage to our right. Establish commo when you get to the rooftop.”
 

Mac and Sara follow the team leader and other soldiers through the parking garage, finding a staircase to climb the six flights up to the roof. Opening the door out onto the roof, the group moves over to the far side, and the soldiers set up positions overlooking the street below them. One of the soldiers pulls the satellite phone out of his pack and hands it to the team leader. With the phone in hand, the team leader dials up the command in Colorado. As the cell phone starts ringing, one of the soldiers at the far end of the roof spots the horde coming down the street below them, about three blocks away.
 

“Sir, contact. Two hundred meters.” The team leader is still waiting for a response, when the hail of gunfire shatters the silence of the night.
 

Ops center answers, “Watchman here.”
 

“Watchman, this is Timber Wolf; request immediate extraction from our current position. We cannot make it to the alternate LZ. We need extraction from our current position, north 35.687 by west 105.941. How copy, over?”
 

The team leader waits for a reply and is aware of tugging on his uniform, noticing it is Sara.
 

“Give me some ammo,” she says as she reaches inside his field pack that is slung low on his back. Unslinging his pack, he hands it to her thinking she is going to take it over to the other soldiers who are battling the flesh-eaters below. Sara takes the ammo and her own backpack over to the middle of the roof, where she sets up her .308 rifle. Pulling the receiver apart, Sara replaces a few pieces with an adapter to fit the 9mm shell casing to be able to fire the different caliber bullets. She quickly installs the barrel, mounts the scope, and loads up the rifle with the new cartridges. With rifle in hand, she steps back up to the edge of the building. Looking through the scope, it isn’t long before she touches off a round, knocking a flesh-eater to the ground, much to the surprise of the commando standing just to the left of her. Chambering another round, she takes down another flesh-eater, splitting his skull in two, sending him writhing on the ground.
 

“Timber Wolf, Watchman here. Extraction in four five minutes.”
 

“Good copy, sir. We understand forty-five minutes till extraction. Timber Wolf out.”
 

He pushes the off button on the phone and collapses the antenna. Looking over at the team, he finally notices Sara touching off round after round as she peers through the large scope, aiming the weapon at the street below. A bit more perplexed at her astonishing skillset, the team leader walks over to Sara and looks down the street below her. He watches her careful aim and expert technique as she takes down another flesh-eater. “Good shot.”
 

Looking at the sheer numbers of the horde continually coming around the corner up the street to their position, the team leader knows they will run out of ammunition before the extraction time. Running over to the other end of the roof, the team leader yells at one of the soldiers over the gunfire. “Find us a vehicle with a standard transmission. Something we can jumpstart by pushing it down the incline of the parking garage.”
 

The soldier runs down the ramp to the level below them. He checks car after car but is unable to find something with a standard transmission. Looking across the garage, he spots an older Chevy pickup truck that looks like it is from the late 1970s. Running over to the truck, pulling the door open, he is elated to see a floor shifter and third pedal on the floor below the steering column. Pulling the visors down in an attempt to find a key is fruitless, but he is sure he can hot-wire it by exposing the wires underneath the dash. The soldier pulls the wires down, finding the ignition wire, and strips the covering, exposing the bare wires. Touching the wires together produces no spark, and he is sure the battery is dead. He twists the wires together so it will start when they push it down the ramp.

“I got a vehicle, just beneath you,” he radios to the team leader.

“Good copy; we’re on our way.” The team leader replies before relaying to the other team. “Homan, Johnson, we have a vehicle; meet you on the street.”
 

“Roger that, sir, we will be there.”

 
With Sara and Mac in tow, the team moves off the roof, running down the incline of the parking garage, and sees the truck and soldier at the far end of the second level. Running up to the truck, they all climb in. A commando helps Sara inside the truck, pushing her to the center of the bench seat. The team leader, the driver, and a soldier start pushing the truck to get it rolling, then jump in as it starts to pick up speed. The clutch is stiff when the driver pushes it to the floor while simultaneously pulling the gearshift lever into second gear. Adjusting the choke to the full position, he also pumps the gas pedal twice before letting the clutch out. The truck lurches as the rear tires skip on the pavement and the engine chugs over twice, backfires, and then quits. Repeating the process, they jump back out and push the truck again to get it rolling. As the truck starts rolling, the driver again pops the clutch, and the engine sputters as it attempts to come alive. Adding more throttle, the driver revs up the engine and is able to keep it going.
 

“Nice,” the team leader says as he points ahead at the exit. The driver adds some gas, and they drive through the garage and out the main exit. The soldiers that were stationed on the other roof are already outside, waiting for their ride while shooting as many of the horde as they can. Sliding sideways as they turn to the right out of the garage, the truck lurches to a stop, and the soldiers jump in. The other soldiers start shooting out of the back of the truck, trying to hold off the flesh-eaters a few more seconds.
 

“Go, go, go,” they yell from the pickup bed. The horde has made continual progress on its advancement toward the group and is just about to grab the tailgate of the truck, when the driver guns the throttle, leaving the horde behind them. Pulling the satellite phone back out, the team leader dials up command once again in Colorado. The phone starts ringing and is answered.
 

“Watchman, go ahead.”
 

The control center operator takes a long drag on a cigarette, waiting for the reply from the commandos in the field.
 

“Timber Wolf here. We are a no go for extraction from the previous position and are moving north via a pickup truck.”
 

“That’s a good copy. Be advised Lancer is fifteen minutes out, and we have Dragon Seven-seven en route to pick you up, advise us when you have
 
new coordinates.”
 

Dragon77 is the code name for the Blackhawk helicopter. Overhead, the C-130 aircraft is back inbound to provide air support. Mounted on the aircraft are a canon and multiple machine guns capable of assaulting and eliminating any formidable force.
 

“Standby, sir; we are working on a new coordinate for extraction.”
 

The team leader looks at the map of the city and scans for a safe extraction point. The driver is still working his way around the city trying to find a road that will lead them north as directed.
 

“Watchman, I have a new position. Grid coordinates as follows: North 35.796 by west 105.801. Looks like it is a ski resort.”

 
“Timber Wolf, we copy your new extraction coordinates. Watchman out.” Pushing the power button to end the call on the satellite phone, the team leader looks over at Sara who is seated in between him and the driver. She has her headphones on and is humming away to another heavy metal song. Satisfied that she is in good shape, he opens the window and yells to the commandos in the back of the truck.
 

“Extraction will be on top of the ski resort.” One of the soldiers crawls up and around the corner of the truck.
 

“Roger that, sir.”
 

Driving further north through town, the truck full of commandos, with Mac and Sara, makes slow progress navigating through the streets. Turn after turn, moving through the city blocks, multiple streets are blocked by burned-out cars and trucks. It is not apparent to them yet, but it looks like the placement of the cars that barricades the streets is deliberate. Looking at the mission map that they planned with, the team leader tries to plot their course and position based on the city streets they are on, still looking for a way to get to the highway that leads out of town and up to the ski resort. As the truck makes another right turn, up ahead in the next block they spot a truck with a gang of men inside. Mounted in the back of the truck is a .50 caliber machine gun with a gunner ready to shoot. Slamming on the brakes, the driver brings the truck to a stop, throwing the commandos and Mac up to the front of the bed, in a heap.
 

“Damn,” the team leader says as he readies the MP5 machine gun for action. “Get ready, men.”
 

Standing up behind the cab, the commandos get ready to fight their way out of the city.
 

“Backup slowly,” the team-leader says to the driver. As they start to back around the corner, the gang opens up on the .50 caliber machine gun, sending a spray of lead toward the old pickup. Turning the wheel even tighter, the driver is able to bring the truck around the corner and out of range of the assault.
 

“Lancer, Lancer, this is Timber Wolf.”
 

The team leader calls on the radio to see if the C-130 is close enough to provide air support. The driver continues backing up and is able to get the truck turned around. Putting the truck back into first gear, he pushes the throttle to the floor and spins the tires as they speed off down the city street away from the gang. Seconds later, the gang rounds the corner and begins shooting again. Weaving left and right, the commandos dodge the onslaught of large-caliber bullets. Another left turn gives the commandos a few more seconds of relief from the hail of machine gun fire.
 

“Timber Wolf, this is Lancer. We are thirty seconds out.”

“Lancer, Timber Wolf requests immediate air support, over.”
 

“Good copy, Timber Wolf. What is your position?”

The C-130 maneuvers overhead and is in position in an orbit, preparing to fire the large canon and machine guns.
 

“Lancer, we are being pursued by a hostile force. The target is a pickup truck, two blocks behind us, with a mounted machine gun. Do you have contact?”
 

The weapons operator inside the C-130 stares at a video screen zoomed in on the city streets below him and locates the commandos and hostile pickup truck full of thugs. Marking the target through the computerized targeting system, the operator locks onto the hostile pickup. The next few seconds go by quickly as the computer calibrates the machine guns and the 105mm canon. Down below them, the hostile gang is clueless of their fate. Seconds later, the canon touches off a round, vaporizing the truck. The commandos in the back of the pickup start cheering as they watch the pickup disintegrate right in front of their eyes. A split second later, the shockwave rolls past the pickup, giving the occupants a good thump.