Free The Common Cold (Book 2): A Zombie Chronicle-Cabin Fever by David K. Roberts

Something ain’t right.”
    “Roger,” Cliff replied. His voice gave nothing of his
thoughts away.
    “Come on Cliff, let’s get you strapped in,” Zoë ordered.
Together they set him up on the harness and clipped the passenger loop to his
straps.
    “Cliff can direct you and you can guide me in, Zoë.” BB
ordered.
    “Roger.” Zoë’s voice was clipped as she concentrated on
getting the winch ready. “Move a little forward, the yard just short of the
swimming pool.” Cliff was pointing to their property.
    “I see it,” BB replied, edging the huge helo forward, its
downdraft tugging fiercely at the trees underneath. Pieces of garden furniture
went flying, their travel abruptly arrested by the fencing. After a moment they
were hovering exactly on point and now he heard the buzz of the winch as it
lowered the sergeant down. Mike was keeping his eyes out for the infected. From
his vantage point it looked like a high risk option lowering his man into this
confined area. Zoë had a rifle up and ready while managing the winch. She
wished she had a second pair of hands right at this moment. A tap on her
shoulder startled her and she turned to see Mike at her side; he must have read
her mind. Having left the flying to BB, he took her rifle, allowing her to
focus on her own job of managing the winch and the load. He scanned the area
looking for threats. A couple of people were moving in the neighbouring yards,
clearly infected, their movement awkward as they edged towards Cliff’s landing
point.
    Mike fired a couple of shots into the ground to get their
attention, just in case they weren’t infected, but they took no notice. The
next couple of shots drilled down into their heads and they collapsed, no
longer a threat. Mike smiled at his shooting; sheer fluke, he thought, I’d have
never been able to do that on the range.
    Cliff touched down gently at the bottom of the yard and
immediately unclipped himself from the line. Drawing his gun he crouched and moved
cautiously towards the rear of the house. Suddenly he stopped, statue-like, his
gun slowly lowering.
    “Is he okay, Zoë?” BB asked, not liking what he was seeing.
    “Wait one,” was her only reply. Clearly she was waiting to
see what the problem was.
    Next moment Cliff stood up straight in shock, his gun
remaining pointing down. A woman with dishevelled hair and face covered in
blood and bearing her teeth came rushing out of the house and ran towards the
man, her hands clenching and unclenching in desire. It was clear even to those
in the helicopter that she was infected. Cliff remained rooted to the spot in
shock. A shot was heard, the sound whipped away by the hurricane winds of the
blades, and her head exploded in a splash of red after which she fell forwards
onto the thin, dry grass in front of the sergeant. Cliff looked up at the
chopper with a look of murderous intent on his face. After a moment it changed,
as if all emotion had drained from his body. Whether or not he realised his
life had just been saved, it was hard to tell; his features had become an
indecipherable mask. He ran into the house, his panic obvious in his awkward
movements.
    BB hovered and counted the seconds that passed by as Cliff
remained out of sight. Forty seconds so far. Looking further afield he could
see they were drawing a crowd of Infected; the rotor beat seemed to be a great
draw to the undead and in a moment they would have to leave, Cliff or no Cliff,
as his residence would soon be overrun.
    Fifty five seconds; now a minute. “What do you want to do, Mike?” BB asked. “He’s your man.”
    “Give him another thirty seconds.”
    “Roger. Thirty seconds it is.” BB continued to count down;
they would be safe up here, but in less than a minute this place would be
overrun. Five, four… Finally the sergeant ran out into the garden and BB
breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the man held a bloody child in the crook of
his arm, all the while firing behind him whilst