Preston could hear several bullets ricocheting off the armor as the two ferret .30-caliber machine guns each chose a target and emptied 10 rounds per second into each vehicle. The blue car virtually disintegrated several seconds later and then blew up. The old truck became holy as the machine gunner raked its side. The Saracen then moved in to a clear path and all three vehicles concentrated their fire on the old truck, cutting it to pieces with parts thrown everywhere.
It had taken about a minute and the guns stopped, still smoking from the heavy fire. The ferrets moved forward and there were gun shots still coming from behind the blazing car. All three guns again blew holes into anybody who moved in the vicinity.
Then everything went quiet as the ferrets moved forward to the fires on each side of the road to inspect. Nobody got out, a turret was opened and the tractors were told to come through. They passed through the scene, and Preston’s face went white when he saw nearly a dozen dead and bloody bodies by the burning truck and several more lying around the car, which was now a mass of flames. They were all young boys and there were rifles everywhere. Preston asked Joe to stop so he could get out. So did the soldiers and bodyguards in the other vehicles. Martie, Joe, and his boys stayed away.
It was carnage, with broken bodies everywhere. “I suppose that was necessary?” Preston asked around.
“I believe so,” replied David walking up to him and standing with him. “I was hoping that they wouldn’t shoot, but we would have been pretty dead by the time we opened up with our weapons if we had been in a truck or a car. They aimed straight for where we were sitting, with no warning shots at all. Plus, I reckon several of them were hit before we got here. It looked like they had been going at it for some time. “Why did you get out?”
“These guys are well-armed,” replied Preston. The sergeant and his troops stood guard, making a perimeter. “If we don’t take these with us, then other groups will find them and pick them up and we will have the same shootout somewhere else tomorrow. I can understand Will Smart’s predicament when he had to shoot those kids in California. I assume the rules of engagement have changed and that only the strongest will survive. I think we should pick up all the weapons and ammunition and hand the stuff over to the cops we saw back in Apex. I’m sure they could put it to better use than these guys.”
“They do look like a mean bunch,” stated the sergeant.
“I agree,” added David. “It didn’t take these guys long to go bad. On the way back, and if the vehicles have stopped burning, we should pull what’s left of them across the road. It might deter others coming here, and if they have been moved, it could mean that somebody’s in the airport.”
“Good thinking, David,” replied Preston. “It could also serve as a visible warning if we have to fly in here. I’m hoping to fly back, so you guys do what you need to do and we can see from the air if our placement of these vehicles has been moved.”
The convoy continued and found the gate still locked and the airport, just as they had found it yesterday.
“Let’s look for any old vehicles in the long-term parking garages,” suggested Preston. “We could grab a lot of food from the terminal and take some supplies back to the cops to feed their people.” Everybody agreed, and after they broke the lock, the ferrets drove into the parking building and began to cruise around.
Martie got out and inspected the aircraft on the ground. They looked in flyable condition but were all locked. It was time to get into the private terminal. As they walked over to the separate private air terminal, they heard a car’s engine start up from the parking area and then a second one.
Preston threw a rock through the window of the door leading from the apron into the terminal, and carefully walked in with Manuela and Mannie as protection. He found the flight office where several keys were hanging, and kicked the door in. The two Cessna 172s belonged to a small flying school, and both sets of keys hung on the wall with several others.
The two followed Preston as he went through the whole terminal, Mannie found a kitchen and walk-in warm refrigerator full of food, and a small storage pantry to one side. Then they walked outside with the keys.
Joe already was over by the Delta hub hitching up the trailer, and his sons were getting a second trailer attached. David, one of the soldiers, and Dani drove through the gate with an old rusty Suburban, a Mazda truck, and a small Ford half-ton. They stopped in front of Preston.
“These are the biggest we could find,” reported David. “I think there are one or two more old ones up there among the hundreds of new ones. It’s like a car dealership up there.”
“Get everybody together,” ordered Preston. “Let’s clean the private terminal out first and put the stuff in the Ford. It should all fit. Then we can get into the Southwest terminal and see what’s in there. We can always come back tomorrow and empty out the newer terminal. We’ll need Joe and a large trailer for that one.”
With everybody working, it took an hour to fill all three vehicles.
Preston found several still-sealed cases of good single-malt whiskey in the bar cupboards under the liquor display and packed these into the Cessna 172 that Martie was going to fly home. He asked Manuela to go with Martie, and they immediately took off in one of the 172s, with little Beth sitting on Manuela’s lap in the right seat, and she waved to the group as they raced down the runway. It was necessary for Martie to get back and monitor the radio.
Preston got into the other 172 with Mannie, told the rest of the guys to deliver the three full trucks to the roadblock, and then get the fuel back to base. He started up the plane and taxied around to the newer RDU terminal he had never been to. It had only been built a couple of years earlier and he didn’t often fly commercial.
As usual there were over a dozen aircraft at the gates and it wasn’t difficult to get inside. The inside was like the other one, semi-cleaned and empty. Security had closed the doors as they had left, and here there were dozens of closed restaurants, shops, and several bars. Now he only had the small Cessna and could take maybe 300 pounds in the rear seat. There were bread and bagels, still semi-fresh, and they packed a couple of boxes into the plane. They weren’t heavy, but it could be the last fresh bread for a long, long while. There wasn’t much more room, but Preston couldn’t resist spending a few minutes to break the lock into the Duty Free shop. Here, he was amazed. In the back were well over a hundred cases of top quality bottles of everything he loved.
“Let’s take a dozen cases, Mannie. I’m sure we can squeeze them in, and this stuff could all be gone by tomorrow.” Mannie agreed and they found a trolley and took the cases back to the doorway where they had come in. He couldn’t help but add a bottle of Martie’s favorite perfume and a couple of odds and ends to the trolley.
It was difficult, but they removed the big boxes and put the bread and bagels, still in plastic bags, back in. The little Cessna was now full to the roof, and so were its tanks, Preston realized. The poor aircraft was probably at maximum weight. He was right. She took a lot of runway to get airborne for a little 172 and slowly gained height, giving them a low view of the blackened vehicles now pulled onto the road and guarding the airport. David had even draped a few bodies over the vehicles, Preston assumed, to deter any other visitors.
The grisly site would stop him going any further, but he would be flying in with a C-130 on the next trip to clear the complete terminal out. It would require a whole C-130’s cargo bay to empty that terminal.