An Airman's worst nightmare

  • Published
  • By Airman 1st Class Aaron J. Jenne
  • 4th Fighter Wing Public Affairs
SEYMOUR JOHNSON AIR FORCE BASE, N.C. --  EDITOR'S NOTE: The following is a fictitious story written to celebrate Halloween.

Today was going to be a good day for U.S. Air Force Airman 1st Class Austin "Wizzo" Wisshack-Kurz, a 4th Aircraft Maintenance Squadron crew chief at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base, N.C. Not only was this the week before Halloween, his favorite holiday, he was scheduled for an incentive flight in an F-15E Strike Eagle, the same airframe he maintained.

"I think I'm going to be a zombie for Halloween," Wizzo mused, contemplating costume ideas as he worked. He pumped the jack lever lifting the nose of the jet he was working on, and glanced at his watch. To his surprise, an hour had passed in what seemed to be minutes. It was time to meet his pilot and take to the sky.

An hour later, Wizzo waved to his fellow crew chiefs through the canopy of the Strike Eagle as the pilot taxied into position. Upon clearance, the throttle was eased forward and the crew chief was pinned to the back of his seat as they raced down the runway. The rush of speed and thrill of adventure filled the young Airman, as did the nausea brought on by such profound acceleration.

He felt the nose rise and was expecting to take off when all of a sudden he began to move forward in his seat. The nose dropped back down and he realized the jet was slowing down. For a second, Wizzo felt fear and assumed something was wrong. He remembered joking with the pilot as they entered the jet a few minutes earlier and thought this must be a prank.

Wizzo's certainty of the pilot's motive was tested when the jet came to a complete stop at the end of the runway as the engines powered down. All of the monitors went blank. The pilot reached into his flight suit, cursed and removed a crumpled picture of his wife. He kissed the photo and quietly slid it back into his suit. He then opened the canopy and slipped his legs over the side.

Wizzo's confusion soared as the pilot jumped over the edge. He fruitlessly tried to reach someone on the radio. Realizing the jet had no power, he decided to follow the pilot. On the ground he looked around, but didn't see anyone.

"I guess I'm going to get my exercise today," he thought as he started jogging down the runway toward the hangars.

"What's going on?" panted Wizzo, having just arrived at the hangar. "How come no one responded to a jet power outage?"

Everyone in the hangar hurried to where he was standing. He explained the jet's power failure and how the pilot left him. None of them had seen the pilot return, and they were just about to report the stranded Strike Eagle at the end of the runway and its missing pilot when someone coughed to get their attention. They all craned their necks in the direction of the noise and saw an old master sergeant no one recognized sitting in the back corner of the hangar.

"You won't be seein' that pilot again," the master sergeant said. He began to tell them a story about his service a few years prior.

"Two years ago, to the day, I was out at the end of that runway," he said. "You know what's over there? Well, I'll tell you; a cemetery. I was out there two years ago cleaning up some toilet paper and fake cobwebs some kids left there when I saw something I've never been able to explain. What I saw that day cost me everything."

"What did you see?" someone asked, but he got no response because the master sergeant had vanished.

At that moment, Wizzo remembered today was one week before Halloween, but his attention was drawn elsewhere as he heard a commotion outside. Running to the door, he noticed the pilot, still wearing his helmet, sitting against the hangar. As Wizzo approached to ask what happened to him, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

He swore the pilot just flickered like a fluorescent bulb with a bad ballast. He must have been seeing things because people don't just vanish, and they don't flicker either. When he opened his eyes his heart sank. The pilot, like the old master sergeant, had disappeared.

Wizzo turned to reenter the hangar, but he was shocked to see it was empty. None of the people he spoke with just moments before were there. His eyes panned, hoping to find them. The room was empty. Surely, they left through the back door. They would have passed him to reach the flight line where the pilot disappeared.

He walked through the door toward the offices and saw a mass of Airmen all looking away from him. They were milling aimlessly in a tightly packed group. ... Something was off. Their heads were hung and he couldn't see any reason for people to stand that close together, unless they were trying to flee from some unknown pursuer.

Wizzo ran up to the nearest Airman and grabbed her shoulder, turning her toward him. He gasped and nearly collapsed at the sight before him. The Airman looked terrible. Her eyes were hollow; mouth hung open, while drool dripped down her chin. He had no idea what could have happened in just a couple moments that would change all of these healthy Airmen into what he saw, but from past theatrical experiences he knew what stood before him was a mob of zombies.

Her eyes began to focus on him as he stumbled backward toward the door he just came through. As he began to move, the Airman-turned-zombie, whose shoulder he just touched, began to follow him. Before he could reach the door, the rest of the zombie-Airmen noticed him and started toward him.

He opened the door, his shaking hands causing some difficulty, and ran. He glanced over his shoulder to see the zombies matching his speed.

In a panic, he tripped over himself. His vision was blurry, but nothing could describe the pain in his knees. He rolled on his back to relieve the pain, as the pursuers closed around him.

In his pain he had forgotten about them. Now they were all reaching for him, trying to grasp him and deliver the bite which would forever seal his fate. He fought back as hard as he could, kicking, despite the pain, and swatting at them with his arms. Finally, one zombie bent down directly over his face. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer sending blood piping through his arteries.

Then, to his surprise, his vision began to clear and he recognized the face above his. He thought the zombie said something. He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Everyone knew zombies couldn't talk, but then it said something again.

When he opened his eyes, it was Airmen, not zombies, which huddled around him. They weren't drooling, their faces showed concern and they all gasped as he tried to move.

"Just hold still," someone said.

"Are you ok?" another chimed.

"What happened?" Wizzo asked.

"You were jacking up your jet and it slipped," the first person replied. "It threw you on the ground. You hit your head hard and you've been out for about five minutes. You started mumbling, saying something about pilots disappearing and zombies. Don't try to move, the ambulance will be here soon."

Wizzo thought about all of the events which seemed so real to him. He knew one thing for certain; he no longer wanted to be a zombie for Halloween.