The men within earshot of the Captain looked at each other as if they were already considering an infiltration. They were inclined to flee, to throw down their guns and run, but the greater injustice taking place held them fast.
"Stay in groups of four. We do know this much: when a person gets changed, they have a tendency to hunt in packs. So groups will provide us extra protection. Plus it’ll give us the opportunity to cover each other's backs. You men go and pass along the order."
Murphy knew this was being redundant; Lieutenant McCullough had covered all this in the assembly before the concert. He just wanted to be assured if it came to putting down a fellow officer the men wouldn't hesitate.
The sprinkles turned into bigger and more frequent raindrops and howls of agony could be heard from the Apocs.
Even with the reiteration by Captain Murphy the men were still hesitant to shoot at someone unless they were a bona-fide Apoc, resulting in dozens of casualties to the force.
Captain Murphy and the three men with him were one of the few groups that proceeded with an unnerving gusto. The three men were propelled into action following Captain Murphy's lead. The three men had no idea the captain was desperately searching for any sign of his son.
The people who showed up merely to attend the concert were suffering the greatest losses. They were the only group that hadn't been aware of the danger. The Apocs showed no mercy and were having a field day killing and changing them over at will. The changed over congregation members could only remember their intense abhorrence, and descended on the Band’s fans in droves. The same reaction was happening with the concertgoers with their built-in loathing of the police and authority figures.
Each group of four officers consisted of two men with shields and batons, while the other two guns. All four members of Captain Murphy's group toted weapons. A semi-circle of police formed along the east end of the parking-lot and was moving in on what appeared to be concert-goers turned Apoc.
One by one, head-shot after head-shot, was delivered by the police officers turning vicious Apocs into quivering masses of pus-oozing soup.
Murphy saw Abaddon, Nattie and two other Apocs slowly moving away from the entrance area and toward the Apoc trucks. The two Apocs were dragging a body with them. Murphy knew it had to be Lieutenant Bill McCullough.
Murphy ordered his group of three men to follow him.
"But, captain, sir, we have this group cut-off," one of his men said.
"It's Lieutenant McCullough, and that Abaddon guy. Come on, keep up, don't break up the group."
They didn't notice a group of the concertgoers turned Apocs, break off from the pack and begin to follow them.
The group of four officers passed between two of the large diesels and saw Abaddon and Nattie step into the bus. The two Apocs dragging Bill were waiting to enter.
Captain Murphy shouldered his rifle, aimed, and fired.
The head of one Apocs exploded and splattered the side of the bus. His lifeless body sagged to the pavement with one hand still holding Bill's arm. He re-aimed and fired disposing of the second Apoc like he had the first. He saw Lieutenant McCullough slump to the ground.
He turned to urge his men toward the bus just as the group of concert-Apocs attacked from behind.
Two of his men were taken to the cement by four Apocs dressed in 'Devil's Reich' T
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shirts, a fifth Apoc held his other officer in a full-nelson.
"SHOOT HIM, CAPTAIN! PLEASE!" the officer begged.
He saw the Captain drop his weapon and stand motionless.
"PLEASE SIR, DO SOMETHING—AHH!"
Rain fell hard on the face of Captain George Murphy of the Hampton Police as he watched his son sink his teeth into the neck of his fellow officer.
"Put him in here," Abaddon said as he unlocked the partition in the rear of the bus.
"I think that rain has revived him a little," Nattie said as she lowered Bill's body onto the bag containing the explosives.
Nattie and Abaddon had pried the hands of the two Apocs from Bill's arms after the group of other Apocs had attacked the police officers.
"Why do you think he's having such a hard time with the changeover?” Nattie asked, as she stepped out of the small room.
Neither she, nor Abaddon had noticed the busted window.
"I'm not sure," Abaddon said as he climbed in the driver's seat, "I've only seen one other person change over like that." He started the bus and put it into gear.
"Who was that?” Nattie asked knowing the answer, but wanting to hear him say it.
"Your husband."
He pushed on the gas petal and moved the bus from the circle. Police cars had blocked off the exit to the expressway. The fighting mob blocked off the other exit.
They could see steam rising from the bodies of the Apocs engaged in the fighting. The rain was killing the old ones and cleansing the new. He moved the bus toward them and increased the speed.
"Aren't you going to stop for them?” Nattie asked.
"Stop for them? Are you on crack or what? Those people have had it. There's nothing we can do for them now—that is, except keep their dream alive. And the way to keep their dream alive is for me to stay alive."
"You're going to hit them! I can't watch!"
She didn't and he did. Half-dead and dying bodies thudded off the bus like falling bowling pins. It sounded more like thumping a watermelon; dozens of thumps on dozens of watermelons.
Everyone was running everywhere to escape the carnage, that is, except one Army National Guard Corporal who spoke into a small, but powerful, hand-held walkie-talkie.
"Are you going to live, partner?” Henry asked as he held Bill's head in his lap.
Bill opened his eyes not as a man waking up from a dream, but instead, a dream waking up in a man. He truly felt philosophical, "‘The true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap’. And I, my friend am ready not ready for the scrap heap—George Bernard Shaw."
"Henry Pigott, and it's nice to meet ya. I thought your name was McCullough?"
"Bill," Bill said as he tried to get his bearings.
"Now I'm confused all to hell."
"Me too. Where are we?"
"Right back where we started from—the bus,” Henry said.
Bill tried to sit up but fell back into Henry's lap. "What are we doing here?"
"We ain't having no book club meeting that's for sure. Don't know what you're doing here, but I came back to set the timer on the bomb."
"I thought you already did that?"
"Didn’t get a chance the first go around.” He looked into Bill's eyes.
"Wait a minute, how did I get here?"
"I kind of lost track after you was up on stage talking about how the government caused the Apoc virus."
"I said what? Then what happened?"
"I don't know, like I said that's where I lost track of you. Somebody started shooting and I figured it was my chance to get back in here." Henry put his finger through a small hole in the shoulder area of Bill's sweatshirt. He examined it—no blood. "You think you can try sitting up now?" Henry asked.
“I’ll give it a try.”
As Henry moved Bill he perused the back of Bill's shirt. There was a hole the size of a grapefruit made by the exit of the bullet that hit him. He could see scar tissue almost healing and disappearing before his eyes. "How do you feel cowboy?” Henry asked leaning over Bill.
"Fine. A little groggy, weak as hell, thirsty as shit, but all right I guess. Why you looking at me like that?"
"How's that ringing in your ears?"
"Hey, it's gone," he said with eyes opening wide, his eyebrows nearly arching up to his hairline."
"That's what I thought. No buzzing in my ears either."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I think you're one of 'em, partner," Henry said. "At least as much of one as I am."
Bill closed his eyes and was silent. He stayed this way for so long Henry had thought he passed out again. The bus lurched forward and Henry fell on top of Bill.
"Hey! We're moving!"
They heard heavy, hollow thuds and yelling from the outside of the bus. Sounds like we're going on a little joyride," Henry said.
"Yeah," Bill said, "on the highway to hell."
"Do you know where they are?” Admiral Prescott yelled over the din of the Sikorsky Blackhawk Army helicopter.
He gave Ethan a solemn look and a shake of his head. Admiral Prescott and Angus Puck sat in the rear-facing seats of the helicopter. Ava and Ethan sat in the two seats facing forward, behind them.
"It could be the electrical storm, Admiral,'' the aid said looking out the window.
A few drops of rain splattered on the two windows on either side of the aircraft.
"It could be . . .. “ Ava said as the men all turned to listen, "I mean, we know that the Apocs emit a sort of electrical field."
She watched the three men sitting and not speaking. She was unsure what they were thinking. It seemed to Ava she was the only person on the helicopter. The men were either planning ahead or remembering. So, in essence, she rode alone.
"I suppose anything's possible. That's as good as any explanation I've heard so far," Admiral Prescott said.
Again, the three men sat silently staring out the windows. Ethan seemed the most distant.
Being inside the Blackhawk gave Ethan a reassuring feeling of familiarity. This was the copter that flew him into his first "op" in Iraq. The Blackhawk had replaced the Bell UH-1 gunship heavily used in the Vietnam War; this particular Blackhawk was loaded with 16 Hellfire laser-guided anti-tank missiles on its external store support system. The Blackhawk was capable of cruising at 184 mph and they were using every bit of that speed now. They passed over downtown Norfolk—about halfway to the Coliseum.
Admiral Prescott filled Ethan and Ava in on the disaster at the concert.
"From what I understand the rain started about the same time the shooting did. Of course, I only know this from what we were able to monitored from the media coverage. Some hi-tech military intel, huh,” he said.
“What about your mission?” Ethan asked.
"Little to no resistance it’s almost finished.”
“Did this concert thing catch you by surprise?”
“Sort of. Things looked pretty much muddled up from what I could tell. Cops shooting as many church folks as they were shooting Apocs. They were in there going at it toe to toe. The damn people that were just going to the concert were the only ones that went in not looking for a fight."
They were flying directly over Interstate-64 and were coming up on the long approach to the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel.
Everyone in the helicopter heard the strange voice filled with static boom across the intercom: "Alpha-two-charlie-victor, come-in."
A microphone was passed from the front, one of the pilots and stretched the cord to Admiral Prescott.
"This is Alpha-one, please identify yourself." Admiral Prescott said.
There was a long pause. Possibly the man was surprised to be speaking to the Secretary of Defense. Finally, he answered, "This is charlie-victor-charlie, over."
"What's the sit-op, over?"
"There is a lot of gunfire and hand-to-hand, here at the moment, sir. Heavy loses to all the players, over."
"What's the status of Honey-pot, over?"
"He's gone, sir. None of the other vehicles have left, just the big Prevost tour bus, over."
"With how many occupants, over?"
"I believe just four or five, sir, and one hostage, over."
"Hostage, over?"
"Lieutenant McCullough, sir, over."
The Admiral closed his eyes for a second; a look of consternation passing over his face. He continued, "Do they have a tail, over?"
"Yes sir, charlie-two-romeo is in pursuit in a black and white. I haven't been able to reach him on the radio, though. You might try the police-band, over."
"Stay with it there this is Alpha-one, over and out."
"Passing over the Bridge Tunnel now sir," the pilot said.
"Keep an eye out for a bus being followed by a police car," Admiral Prescott said to the pilot.
Ethan said, "Admiral, they could have headed out any number of a dozen different ways. And that's of course assuming they're going back through the tunnel."
"Any word yet from bravo-victor?" Admiral Prescott interrupted.
"Not yet sir. We're still trying to raise them," the co-pilot said.
"DAMN!” Admiral Prescott said. "Their orders are to flood the tunnel as soon as the bus passes into it." He looked out the rain-soaked widow then at Ethan. "You're right. There are plenty of ways they could have taken to get out of there. This whole thing hinges on taking Honey-pot—excuse me—Abaddon out of action. We've got to try to stop that bus before they get to that tunnel."
"That's what I was going to say, Admiral. Let me out here, and I'll get to that seal team. That way you're not under the gun to get to that bus. Sort of like an insurance policy."
Admiral Prescott knew Ethan was right and he didn't have time to argue. "Set it down," he turned and said to the pilot.
"Where sir?"
"Get as close as you can get to the Chamberlain Hotel on Fort Monroe." Admiral Prescott turned to Ethan, "The mission abort signal is 'chowder burn'. I'm not sure where exactly they're set up. Somewhere near the small officer's marina on the fort. They'll probably be in the water, somewhere with a clear view of the bridge tunnel. Be careful approaching them, they're a wild bunch."
The helicopter landed near the Chamberlain Hotel; it was an area called the Seawall, where they held outdoor concerts.
Ethan exited from the side door and turned to say goodbye to Ava. She got off beside him. Neither he nor the Admiral had time to argue as the helicopter took off to find a tour bus.
"Come on," she said, "you're not going to find them standing there with your mouth hanging open."