Fipps took a deep breath and visibly gathered himself as Elliott spoke again.
“We’re not going to make it to the airfield?” Elliott asked.
McNabb shrugged. “Nope.”
“Just nope? Just… no hope at all, that’s it?” Elliott could hear the hysteria creeping into his voice.
McNabb looked him straight in the eye. “Yup.”
Without looking at the general, Fipps said, “Dude, you realize you’re kind of being… um… you know.”
“Monosyllabic? Yeah, sorry.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Fipps said. The tall man made no eye contact with the general, his tone was unusually tense. Elliott furrowed his brow: the last thing they needed now was dissention in the ranks but he couldn’t very well say anything. He had no idea what was Fipps’ problem with the general. Fipps cranked the engine on the M1117 and hit the gas.
“I guess we’ll just have to make it as far as we can,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.
Elliott grabbed at the back of one of the seats to steady himself as the armored vehicle lurched forward. “And then what?” he asked.
General McNabb answered. “We’ll have to fight through whatever’s in our way.”
“To where?” Roger asked. Elliott turned to him, and his eyes were clouded, and for once, not by the haze of a beer buzz. Aubrey, always so quiet, was holding his hand. He tolerated the contact but wasn’t holding her hand tightly.
“Yeah, we can’t fight through every zombie in Oregon,” Elliott said.
McNabb looked around at everyone, letting his gaze linger on each person in the M1117 for just a moment. Elliott wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but eventually he replied, “We’ll still get as close to the airfield as we can. I think there should be some planes there.”
“Not without Shavian,” Elliott said automatically. Winging away in a plane to heaven alone knew where, leaving Shavian behind to heaven alone knew what fate was unfathomable. He would stay behind alone and, despite his earlier protestations, he would in fact fight every zombie in Oregon if he had to to find her.
“We’ll find her if we can, son,” McNabb assured him, but there was a twinge of doubt in his voice.
Elliott let that go. He wouldn’t leave without Shavian but everything right then was a hypothetical. Hypothetical helicopters, hypothetical zombie hordes to fight through, hypothetical safe haven in Washington. Nothing was for sure.
Most of the zombies had been cleared in this room and the M1117 rolled easily through the room, the debris crunching under the oversized tires. A single blast from the turret gun and there was a new hole in the wall large enough to nudge the armored vehicle through to the outside.
Night had fallen outside, but it was summer night, and the darkness did not quite hide the shambling masses in the distance, coming their way. There were other vehicles as well, some trundling towards the zombies, some away. He craned his head around to watch as one of them drew close and opened fire on something.
McNabb snarled. “We have civilians still on this base, why are they just firing indiscriminately?”
“Maybe they can see better than we can,” Roger offered, in an unusual attempt at consolation.
McNabb shook his head. “Still too dangerous.”
“Well, what do you expect them to do?” Fipps snapped. “Just lie down and let themselves get eaten?”
The general gave him an unreadable look but did not respond. Elliott thought it was a reasonable question, if unreasonably phrased. He didn’t want any part of the mysterious tension that seemed to be growing between Fipps and McNabb. Though to be fair, it all seemed to be on Fipps’ side, which seemed strange. He was normally so easy going.
Ahead of them, there was a clear expanse of tarmac and Fipps put his foot down. Elliott couldn’t begin to guess what the top speed of this thing would be but it seemed to be clipping along well.
Elliott glanced down at the instrument panel, unsure if there would be beeping or more warnings if the fuel was low. He was thankful the ride would be short one way or the other as the inside of the M1117 was uncomfortably close. It was a strong, confident jock on the outside and an awkward introvert on the inside.
Which made it all the more apparent when something, or more likely many somethings, slammed into their left side. Their only warning was a whine from Spot. Elliott had only a moment to jump a little feeling slightly guilty: he’d forgotten all about the dogs. But now a glance showed him that Spot was cramped down by Fipps’ feet and the other crowded into Aubrey’s lap, looking nervous and small. Then an enormous thud rocked the M1117 and actually shoved it sideways a bit. Elliott was cramped in so close to the others that his body barely moved but his head thumped against the vehicle door. Roger let out a little grunt and McNabb, who was standing behind Fipps, crouched over, grabbed the back of the seat to steady himself and Fipps glanced at him like he wanted to shove him off.
Spot’s whines deepened into growls and the metallic plinking of rounds hitting the armored truck echoed in the darkness. Roger sighed. Elliott sympathized.
Here we go again.