Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga by David Forsyth

And, as the saying goes, if you’re not part of the solution you are part of the problem, especially when shit hits the fan.”
     
                “Well,” said Mick, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, Scotty.  Here comes your special passenger.”  Mick gestured towards George Hammer who had just climbed the ladder onto the helipad.  He was followed closely by Scott’s friends Clint and Mark.  The latter two were carrying rifles strapped over their shoulders and had military style web gear with ammo and cargo pouches hanging across their chests.  Scott had asked them to wait for Mr. Hammer and keep an eye on him throughout the flight.  So far, so good.
     
                “George!  Right on time,” Scott called out.  “And I’m glad you decided to leave your wife aboard the ship.  If all goes well, she can join you and the rest of the family on the Expiscator , or stay here until you clear quarantine.  But at least she’ll be safe when you go ashore.”
     
                “Can’t argue with your logic, Mr. Allen.  You’re clearly the brains of this outfit,” said George Hammer in a jovial tone.  “I’ll be the first to admit that I look at every problem like a nail begging for a hammer.  No pun intended of course.”  The obviously practiced joke was corny, but seemed to convey honest sentiment.  Scott smiled and nodded.  He had a lot of experience with construction workers in his past life – pre-lottery that is – and was used to their straight forward approach to obstacles in their path, as well as their ability to set aside differences once their path was clear.   Now that Scott had offered George a ride to Cabo and possible salvation afterwards, instead of being the obstacle keeping him from his daughter and grandchildren, Hammer was all smiles.
     
                “I’m just anxious to get to Cabo,” George continued.  “When can we get this show on the road, uh, I mean bird in the air?  And where is that gun you offered?”  Scott had expected both questions.
     
                “We’ll be leaving in about five minutes, George.  You can climb aboard and get comfortable in the middle seat of the first row behind the flight crew.  That’s the VIP seat, by the way.  As for the gun,” Scott said as he pulled a deadly looking automatic pistol from behind his back, “this is a three-fifty-seven magnum Desert Eagle.  It’s one of my favorites, part of a matching set,” Scott patted his shoulder holster.  “So I hope you bring it back.  You can hang on to it and practice working the slide and trigger during the flight.  I’ll give you three full magazines and an extra box of hollow point rounds before we drop you off.”
     
                “What?” George replied sharply.  “You don’t trust me with a loaded gun?”
     
                “It’s not quite like that, George.  But I want you to practice with it empty while we’re in the helicopter and,” here Scott tried to sound sarcastic, “we all know that you have your own agenda.  So I think Micky and I will be able to make better and safer piloting decisions without the idea of a loaded pistol behind our heads, even if you have no intention of pointing it at us right now.”  Scott shrugged and said, “But who knows what you will want to do when you see what’s happening on the ground?” 
     
                The glare George gave Scott for a second could have doubled for landing lights, but the expression passed quickly into unwilling acceptance.  He nodded sharply, but politely took the proffered empty gun.  Hammer turned towards the helicopter and Scott exchanged glances with Mick.  Then Scott turned towards the two riflemen he had chosen to accompany them.
     
    Clint was a former M60 machine gunner in the 82 nd Airborne Division.  He had been part of the invasion, or liberation as he would be quick to correct, of