Alpha Teams 1 - Airport Attrition: Alpha Teams, #1

By Gabriel Simon

The debut novel for Gabriel Simon, its the story of a reporter who is more than he seems, a smart, resilliant little girl, and a gun loving lady who have to face the onset ofthe zombie apocalypse at an airport.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriel Simon
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215510469

Book preview

Alpha Teams 1 - Airport Attrition

By Gabriel Simon

Talon Armand, Intrepid Internet Journalist, stood in the main lobby at the JFK airport scowling up at the split-flap arrivals/departures display. He read it again, aloud this time. Flight 4444, JFK–YQM, delayed. He shrugged and trudged back to his assigned waiting area, muttering to himself, "Three and a half hours? They’re going to have to find a more accurate word than delayed soon.... It’s getting to be delinquent—downright belated."

Talon weaved through the crowd as people milled this way and that, rushing for different gates, and after a few metres, he fell in step with a small, well muscled latino security guard who was heading in the same direction.

Hi, he ventured.

The guard smiled. Hi there. Where are you headed?

I’m just going over there, past the bar, Talon answered, pointing, with a smirk.

The guard shook his head and grinned. I mean, where are you flying to?

I know, but wasn’t that a more entertaining answer? Talon flashed a smile, then decided not to push his luck... the guard was already looking at him like he was a nutcase. I’m actually flying home to Canada as soon as 4444 gets here.

Oh, sorry about that, the guard apologised, smirking. Nothing I can do. He waved and was about to walk away but something about Talon seemed to catch his eye. Say...don't I know you from somewhere?

Talon let him mull it over a moment.

I know. Aren't you that guy who covered the Georgia riots?

Talon nodded. With a few friends. Putting on his best Sean Connery voice, and offering his hand, he added, Armand. Talon Armand. Internet Journalist.

The guard shook it warmly, if a little too enthusiastically. I’m Fabrizio. Call me Fab, it’s easier. Where are you coming from, Mister Talon?

Siglerfest,

The guard pursed his lips and shook his head, Whatfest? he asked.

Talon explained. Out near L.A.? It’s basically this big party for fans of this author, Scott Sigler. He wrote a bunch of sci-fi and horror books I like. People who go there are a bit messed up, but in the most fun way. They call themselves ‘Junkies’.  Like ‘Trekkies’? Anyway, this one Junkie had a full-sized triangle hatchling tattoo on his arm. When Scott noticed it he was so happy he bought a round for the house. Sighing, he ended with, Good times. Good times.

If he’s such a big shot, You should maybe see if he will let you interview him at the next one, dude. Fab suggested.

Hey, good idea. Talon smiled. It really was a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that when I was there? Well, this is me. I’ll see you around, Fab.

Fab nodded and joined a cadre of security guards heading to the terminal checkpoint.

As Talon rounded the corner, he heard a gruff voice ask Fab, Who was that Injun- looking guy?

Talon slowed his pace, curious to hear the reply.

Fab answered in a frustrated tone, You're such an asshole!  The word you’re looking for is ‘Indigenous’, Franklin. And that was Talon Armand.

Talon smiled to himself.

The guard named Frank sounded a lot quieter, all the bravado suddenly gone from his voice. Sorry Fab—old habit. That is amazing, though. Talon Armand?  Did you hear the rumours about what he did in Georgia?  I didn’t think he’d be so tall. What was he like? Was he nice?

Talon was getting too far away to hear Fab’s reply, but he chuckled to himself. Looks like I have a fan—or two.

He continued walking at a leisurely pace, deciding to make the most of the situation.  He was considering getting a snack, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

Talon

Talon seemed to blur as he spun and smiled. Doc! How have you been?

Before him stood a heavily scarred man with short blond hair, wearing a lab coat over business casual clothes.  The man stepped back a pace. I still don't  understand how you can do that kinda stuff.

I told you, Doctor Connorly, it's kind of a long story. Talon replied, Anyway, it’s been two months since Georgia, how have you been?

I think I'm feeling a lot better.  Benefits of working for the CDC, primo healthcare.  Free too!  The doc smiled, half his smile turned to a sneer by the scars, if you hadn't pulled me out of that fire, I don't think I'd have gotten out of there alive.

Talon smiled.

Doctor Connorly continued. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but what you did was scientifically impossible, or at least improbable.  I mean geez, I've never seen anyone throw a bus before, not to mention the spooky stuff you did.  I just want to be able to run some tests, if I could. I'd love to learn what makes you tick.

Talon sighed inwardly, but kept it off his face.If you want I could demonstrate sometime, but the last person who wanted to know how I tick kinda wanted to vivisect me,

Doc Connorly blanched No no no no, nothing like that. This isn't  unit 731!

Talon smiled, Funny you should put it that way.

The Doc cleared his throat and tried a different tact, Anyway, I'd love to sit and talk about what your file means.  General Liu showed me.  I'm wondering if any of it is metaphorical...

Talon shook his head. Nope, it's all true.

I just wanted to ask you to keep in touch, The Doctor said, with everything you’ve seen, I think I could use your advice on something important.

Talon asked By the way, Doc, why are you wearing a lab coat, out here in the real world?

Doctor Connorly looked surprised for a moment and then answered, I'm just so used to lab coats, I feel naked without one. 

Talon smiled and passed him his business card wordlessly.

Doctor Connorly’s eyes lit up like a child on their birthday,Wow.  Th- Thank you sir. I've gotta run, since my flight’s in ten minutes.  But thank you.

The Doctor scurried off, getting lost in the crowd.

A few minutes later, Talon entered the solarium-style waiting room to an assault on his senses from the thick crowd. It took a few minutes, but he was finally  able to find a seat out in front, near the massive window that made up the entire outer wall. Settling into the semi-comfortable seat, that was half deflated as it surrendered to his weight. He could feel the rivets under the cushion.  He rolled his eyes and opened the metal case on his hip, took out his phone, and checked it for the hundredth time. He put it away, and wrinkled his nose at the scent of freshly messed diapers from somewhere very close.

"I really hope that’s a baby I'm smelling.... I guess it all Depends on the circumstances..." he thought to himself, chuckling.

Talon tried to ignore the woman berating her daughter a few rows back. He stretched out lazily and gazed out at the tarmac and the mackerel sky. His eyes felt heavy as he scanned the grey and white rippling clouds.

He had just about dozed-off when he jumped slightly with an all too familiar feeling on the back of his neck, like when your hair stands on end but with its own wild urgency. Sleep Is Suicidal. Leaping to his feet, he frantically scanned all around him for anything out of the ordinary. A few passengers glared in his direction.  He smiled apologetically but stayed alert. 

He’d long ago learned to trust his instincts. Right then they were screaming at him to get out. Eyes darting this way and that, his ears picking up everything they could, he quested out with his entire being, looking for signs of danger. Instinctively, he crouched, bending a little at the waist and hunching his shoulders as he slowly spun in place. For all the effort, he spotted nothing—absolutely no difference between when he’d nearly been napping and right now. And then his gaze fell out onto the tarmac.

What the-

Off in the distance, and growing steadily closer... and lower... was a very large aeroplane. Talon squinted at it. Something was off. As it came closer, he read ‘4444’ on its side, and then, almost too late, he saw the problem. The plane was coming in much too fast, and at a strange angle. The landing gear would have no hope of finding the runway before the left wingtip if it maintained that course....

Of course this is my flight, he thought, miserably. This is just typical. A high-pitched cackle he knew only he could hear taunted him on the edge of his awareness.

At the very top of his lungs, he yelled, Everybody run—now and turned towards the door. Some people were already on their feet having seen what he had in the approaching plane. Panicked people began to stampede past him, bowling him over. On his way down, adrenalin kicked in and time for him slowed to a snail’s sprint. He could see a clock on the mirrored wall.

Tick.

That mirror is not helping at all. Looking in a car’s rear view mirror flashed through his mind. Objects in the mirror are closer than they seem. The plane slowly filled the mirror as the crowd surged for the exit like a flock of terrified birds.

Tick. 

People were shoving each other or grabbing at the person in front of them and trying to pull them back, in the process trampling him. Who could blame them? From his prone position, a little girl of no more than nine came into his sights just as she tripped on an abandoned umbrella and fell hard. Hearing her cry out, he knew she had to have twisted her ankle. His own pain sharpened his senses to a razor's edge, and beyond the manic, deafening screams of the herd, he noticed she did not get up.

Tick.

With a feral growl, Talon hoisted himself to his feet, and raced over to scoop her up. His left knee almost buckled as he adjusted his grip but he managed to carry her like a sack of potatoes toward safety. The little girl didn’t seem to know he was trying to help—she kicked at him three times before she realised his intention.

Tick.

Through the insanity, Talon’s gaze fell on a stocky, muscular security guard, and their eyes locked. In that instant, words didn't seem necessary. The guard froze like a deer in headlights and in four fast, limping strides, Talon could see his own grey, piercing eyes reflected in the guard’s sapphire blue. The guard nodded once, extended his arms like a wide receiver anticipating the ball, and Talon shoved the little girl into his grasp. With a roaring bellow he hefted the girl into a fireman’s carry, spun on his heel, and ran for the door breaking through the broiling crowd like a linebacker. In a split second he disappeared from view.

Tick.

Talon turned just in time to see the massive wingtip collide with the runway and fold like so much tinfoil origami. As if in slow motion, one of the fuel pods ejected and exploded off in the distance and the plane skidded down the runway toward the building, sparks flying wildly. He tried to backpedal as the doomed aircraft hit the glass wall. In that moment it became surreal: the now insanely terror-stricken crowd screaming in primal fear just as the other fuel pod met its end in a ball of red and yellow. The mingled stench of burnt metal, jet fuel, and urine evoked the bile rising in his own throat and he gulped it back.

When the entire plane exploded, the shockwave encircled him, rippled through him,