“They don’t know where to move us,” Fennel said. “From what a Captain told me, this shit is spreading to other cities. Best they can tell is that people who get bitten by those things die after several hours. Sometimes, the victims have the time to drive to other cities before they turn. This morning there are reports of this shit starting in Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington, Buffalo, and New York just to name a few. I’m sure there are plenty of small towns out there too.”
“What about your family?” Eason said.
“My wife and grandchild are in section 213; I don’t know where my daughter is. My wife says she never made it home last night.”
“I hope she’s alright," Eason said. "We’re pretty close in age and I always wanted to ask her out.”
“I’d never let my baby date the likes of you,” Fennel said. “But under the circumstances, I hope you get the chance.” He reached out and offered his hand for Eason to shake.
“I don’t have any family," Eason said, "but I'll stand by yours no matter what happens.”
“I appreciate it,” Fennel said. “I need you to do something else.” He grabbed Eason’s shoulder and squeezed like a vice-grip. “If it comes to it, don’t let those things get my grandchild.”
I should have shot myself while I had the chance, Eason thought.
“If I was smart, I would have have told them to get into one of the taller buildings downtown,” Fennel said. Some of them have helicopter pads on their roofs. Too bad those things have the stadium surrounded.”
A staccato of rapid gunfire echoed through the concrete halls of the stadium.
River side! River side… the gate is buckling, all units fall back to secondary positions."
Eason dropped his cigarette and ran up the stadium ramp leading to the next level. From there he and Fennel rode an escalator to the club level and pushed through an unlocked gate leading out into the stands. A Blackhawk was sitting idle on the 50-yard line. Across the stadium he could see the river-side gate with the section in question swaying back and forth by at least a foot.
In another section of the gate, a huge mound of the undead had formed a pile of bodies large enough for one of the undead to grab the top of the gate and pull itself over. A soldier pointed his weapon at the creature and fired off a shot that left the ghoul unmoving.
By ones and twos the undead were spilling over the top while more soldiers rushed to take up a firing line near the gate. In the stands, thousands of spectators hustled to get as far away from the failing gate as possible.
Built into each corner of the stadium were spiral ramps that led to every level of the facility. Soldiers took up positions on the inward facing arc of both spirals on the riverside of the stadium. They opened fire into the growing mound.
On the field, the Black Hawk’s engine let out a high-pitched whine as its starting engine kicked in. The blades on top of the helicopter spun slowly to life. The whine picked up in tempo while the blades picked up exponential speed. Eason felt the first push of air from the chopper and it brought with it the taste of engine exhaust and gunpowder.
A sign on the wall beside him read, "Section 213." The seats were empty.
"Helen" Fennel shouted. "We have to find my family.” The private club boxes sat above the section and a number of people had managed to pull themselves up into them. People were pointing down at the helicopter on the field.
"Oh my God," Eason said, "Those idiots are going-" The sound of the helicopter drowned his words out.
At least a hundred people that had been sitting in the stands had jumped the railing onto the field. They ran to the perceived safety of the chopper from every direction while it was gaining the power to take off. The skids were just lifting off as several people dove inside. It continued to lift, but a few more people managed to get a hold of the skids near the front of the craft. Unbalanced, the Black Hawk drifted forward to the river as it climbed about ten feet off the ground. A couple of the people fell off the skids or let go to fall to the grass. The craft pitched to the right, and its tail swung 180 degrees to the left from the weight change.
A woman was slung out of the spinning craft. Eason watched her long hair flowing in the air. Her arms flailed in empty space while she sailed downward to her death. The Black Hawk spun down the field out of control in the direction of the river.
The riverside of the stadium had only a small section of seating a dozen or more rows deep. In normal times, local high school bands would be seated here during football games. Directly behind this section was the plaza where soldiers were desperately trying to hold the gate. Some of them heard the chopper coming and ran to get out of the way.
The skids of the helicopter hit the top few rows of the seats. It was enough to roll the top of the vehicle with its blades pitching forward to the ground. The blades hit concrete and sheared off into the plaza, they cut through running bodies like grass. The impact of the blades caused the chopper to jerk to the right sending the tail spinning around. The tail blades spun out into the plaza like a giant lawn mower mulching a couple of unlucky soldiers. With the main rotor blades gone from the top of the chopper, the craft flipped over and slid across the plaza. It smashed into a section of the gate which buckled outward. The crash bent open a small gap in the gate.
The chopper sat on its side smoking. A crewmember inside the wreck crawled out of the top. Nearby, several zombies squeezed through the gap in the damaged gate. The soldier dropped to the ground and limped away from the craft as fast as his injured leg could carry him. The zombies lumbered behind him feet away.
Eason could see a pool of liquid forming on the ground by the chopper. Oh shit, he thought. If I can see fuel from here-
The helicopter caught fire as another guy pulled himself out of the wreckage. The flames reached up to surround the broken craft and engulfed the survivor. The body fell back inside, never to be seen again. The flames reached out and lit the zombies chasing the soldier like matches. The fire missed the soldier, but he fell to the ground from the blast. He flailed helplessly on the ground from the blistering heat.
The flames rose up from the pyre and licked through the bars of the gate. Behind the stadium, on the river, a tug used to push barges sailed past. Its decks were lined with dozens of people fleeing the area on the ancient waterway. They watched the bodies’ burn from their ship.
"I am Dido and this is my funeral," Eason whispered to himself.
At the gate, zombies continued to spill over in multiple sections. The soldiers who were left on the plaza level pulled back to the ramps on either side of the end zone.
Eason watched one of the men momentarily pause his retreat long enough to pitch something over the gate at the horde.
Bang.
The explosion ripped through a clump of the undead trying to scale the growing mound of bodies over the gate. Dozens of ghouls around them were knocked over from the energy of the blast.
On the ramps above, other defenders took cue and readied their own grenades. They tossed them into the crowd in unison. The explosions tore a visible hole in the mass of the undead attacking the stadium, but the gap was quickly filled in.
"Shane," a woman shouted.
Eason turned to see Fennel's wife Helen, carrying a baby, as she hurried down the steps behind them from a higher section.
Fennel ran up the stairs and met his wife half way. He wrapped his arms around her and the child.
Eason's radio crackled on his hip, the speaker didn’t identify himself. "That’s it we’re fucked!" the man said.