Ryan's line about "accepting the care package" was still echoing through the ruined terminal, and before anyone had fully processed the arrogance and the quiet confidence behind it, a grating, duck-like voice cut through the short silence.
"What are you all waiting for?! If you've got skills like that, escort me out of this hellhole right now!"
Federal Senator Ron Davis, sporting that ridiculous Mediterranean haircut, came scrambling out from behind Claire. His expensive tailored suit had been shredded into ribbons, but decades of being perched at the top had left him incapable of shaking the habit of issuing orders. "I'm a US Senator! If so much as a single hair on my head is missing, not one of you can afford the consequences..."
Before he could finish.
Clang.
Half a length of aluminum guardrail, streaked with dark blood, landed carelessly at the tip of Davis's polished leather shoe.
The force spider-webbed the marble tile into cracks, and stone chips bounced up against his trouser legs.
Through his cracked lenses, he met Becky's utterly unmoved eyes, and it struck him with sudden clarity that in those eyes he wasn't a powerful politician. He was a piece of in-the-way debris that could be flicked aside without a second thought. That complete objectification sent a tremor into the breath rasping out of his throat.
A few paces away, Becky pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped the grime from her hands with a blank expression. She hadn't even bothered to threaten him. She just glanced at the great man with eyes as still as dead water.
That one glance was enough. Davis's legs gave out, and he dropped onto the glass-littered floor on his rear, cold sweat instantly soaking through his shirt. The shrieking cut off like a duck being gripped by the throat.
"In this world, people like you are the most replaceable consumable there is." Ryan didn't even bother looking at Davis. His voice was cold enough to shed ice. "Shut your mouth, Davis. One more word and I won't mind leaving you out there with the rest of those things."
Claire, holding the little girl named Rani by the hand, felt a surprising satisfaction rise in her chest. She looked over at Sherry, who was sheathing her blade nearby, and couldn't suppress the complicated feelings in her eyes.
Sherry seemed to sense her gaze. She turned her head, flashed Claire a brilliant smile, and winked playfully. "It's all right, Claire. We can protect ourselves now. Leave the rest to us."
The aircraft's metal frame let out a tooth-grinding shriek of warping steel, and the overstressed cabin door finally snapped free entirely.
Dozens of staggering silhouettes tumbled out of the breach through the smoke. Some had broken legs, some had necks twisted at grotesque angles, but the pain-deadened bodies kept crawling along the floor with a frenzy, low hungry growls bubbling in their throats. More t-Virus-infected zombies were pouring from the corridors inside the terminal, rapidly sealing off both retreat paths.
"Let's go." The instant Ryan spoke, Sherry and Becky charged into the horde without hesitation, carving a path for the group.
Leon stuck close behind, shielding Ashley and Claire and the others, his combat knife periodically finishing off stragglers that slipped through on either flank. He watched the two girls ahead of him cutting a bloody road straight through a horde using nothing but bladed weapons, and even a man who'd seen his share of chaos couldn't quite stop his eye from twitching.
The efficiency of the slaughter had already surpassed anything that could be called martial arts. It was closer to a precise dissection of biological structures. Every lunge from the zombies fell inside the girls' anticipation, and the sound of blades sinking into bone carried an eerie rhythm through the dead hall.
Ryan and Jill walked at the rear. He hadn't even taken his hands out of his trench coat pockets. Now and then he lifted a foot and casually booted an approaching zombie clean across the room. The force of each kick caved in a ribcage on the spot, dropping the creature to the floor never to rise again.
In three short minutes, the corpses of dozens of zombies had been laid out into a road of blood leading to the main entrance of the hall.
The group shoved open the debris-piled front doors and finally drew breath that didn't reek of jet fuel. Not far ahead lay the quarantine plaza on the outer ring of the airport.
That was when the piercing wail of sirens finally closed in from the square.
Alternating red and blue lights tore through the overcast sky. Several armored riot vehicles skidded to a stop ten meters from the group, and doors slammed open.
"SRT! Nobody move! Hands behind your heads, get on the ground!"
A helicopter circled overhead, and Angela Miller of Harvardville's Special Response Team charged forward at the front with an assault rifle leveled, her voice thundering. A dozen chambered automatic rifles snapped to aim at the people standing in the terminal doorway.
Leon straightened up out of the wreckage, flipped open his credential wallet one-handed, and flashed the badge. "Agent Leon S. Kennedy, direct under the President. We are conducting a special security detail here."
Angela hesitated. The SRT captain behind her stepped up quickly, read the badge on the ID, and lowered his muzzle with uncertainty. "Sir... what's the situation inside the terminal?"
Jill took half a step forward out of habit, her hand already resting on the tablet containing the jurisdictional takeover authorization. One flash of that document and Star Fire could legitimately take command of the entire airport.
But Ryan, without drawing attention, lifted a hand to stop her.
Jill asked the question with her eyes. Ryan shook his head slightly and dropped his voice. "If we take over now, we just become their free cleanup crew."
Ryan turned to face the sweat-drenched SRT captain, his tone shifting to full cooperation. "Officer, the threat inside the terminal has been neutralized. We're just the detail accompanying the agent on a protection assignment. We'll follow your arrangements and head to the outer quarantine camp."
Relieved that he wouldn't have to send his men into a meat grinder, the captain exhaled and keyed his radio. "Outer medical teams, prepare to receive survivors! Move! Especially the senator!"
Escorted by SRT, the group crossed the debris-strewn ground and headed toward the temporary isolation zone outside the terminal.
Jill deliberately slowed her pace, drifting to Ryan's side, and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear. "Ryan, you said earlier that we'd handle WilPharma along the way. Why are you suddenly going along with these officers and sitting in a quarantine tent?"
"Because this isn't an accidental leak. It's a carefully staged product launch. Someone deliberately brought the t-Virus onto that passenger jet and detonated it at the airport. The goal is simple. Create panic, let WilPharma's vaccine convoy roll in as the savior, and snag a massive government contract while they're at it. For profit, capital will sell you the very rope you'll be hanged with." Ryan adjusted the collar of his trench coat, his eyes going colder.
"So where to now?" Leon had caught up by this point.
"Outside to the quarantine camp. Find a good seat. Wait till nightfall and watch the fireworks."