_{A NEW WORLD:}

SANCTUARY

A Novel by John O’Brien

This book is dedicated to my uncle, William Nelson Park Jr. (Bill Park). Thanks for being there.

Author’s Notice

The New World series is a fictional work. While some of the locations in the series describe actual locations, this is intended only to lend an authentic theme. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Running Through the Jungle

“Are you still alive? I need help.”

Those words, emblazoned on the small screen of my phone, knock me for a loop. The tiny words are in stark contrast to their meaning. I feel rocked, not only because of whom the text is from, but because of what it means. I had been prepared that we would start right away on creating a place of haven once we landed. The words on the screen means another trip, in addition to everything else that needs to be done, is necessary. Physically and mentally exhausted from this last trip, I slump into the pilot seat as I don’t think I can stand up for another minute.

Mike, our rescued canine friend, is sitting by my side looking at the glowing screen as if he can read the text or help. “What do ya think, boy?” I ask looking at his big head almost at the same level as mine. At the sound of my voice, he turns and licks my face once. I guess that’s his idea of helping.

I glance at the still glowing screen in disbelief hoping the words will disappear; becoming just a hallucination. Nope. They are still there. The words above the text speak as loudly, if not more than, the text itself - ‘From: Kelly.’ That would be my second ex. Oh boy! As if I didn’t have enough going on. The additional stress that has suddenly built up inside with the arrival of the message is because there is so much to do in the immediate future. I have to check on Mom and bring her to safety and we have to find an immediate semblance of protection as we cannot just sit inside the aircraft every night. We must also find and gather supplies as our water levels can only sustain us for a couple more days. So much to do yet the message on the screen beckons.

“Jack, Robert, is that someone out there?” Michelle asks as we all sit in the cockpit exhausted from our trip half way across the world and back.

“Huh,” I answer looking up and out of the front cockpit window.

Dark shapes move rapidly on the edge of the ramp through the moon-lit night. My heart rate accelerates slightly but the sight is not unexpected. We made enough noise coming in and visitors at night are not uncommon based on our previous experiences. I slowly rise to head back and let Lynn and the others know that company is arriving. Just as I turn, my tired mind stops. It’s one of those feelings that something is not or was not quite right with what I quickly glimpsed. I sit back down and slide the NVG’s on bringing the ramp, night, and movement into more clarity.

“Shit!” I say surveying the scene in front.

“What?” Robert asks, sitting alertly up and sliding his own NVG’s down. “Holy crap!” He says as he takes in the scene outside.

“What is it?” Bri, Nic, and Michelle ask simultaneously.

“There are night runners chasing someone,” Robert says as I scramble out of my seat.

“Bri, bring the electrical system up on battery,” I say moving quickly by her and into the cargo compartment.

“Lynn! Get yourself, Alpha and Bravo Teams armed and ready with NVG’s on. There’s someone in trouble outside,” I shout throwing on my own gear and checking for ammo.

“What’s going on?” Lynn asks after seeing to her own gear and making sure the teams are ready.

“Come up and I’ll show you,” I respond.

In the cockpit, Robert is still looking out of the window through his NVG’s. The instruments are dimly lit confirming that the aircraft still has electrical power. I reach down and turn on the landing and taxi lights. The brilliant lights stab into the night and over the ramp catching the unfolding scene. Scores of night runners are running on the ramp across our path but some distance away. The ones closest throw their arms up in front of their eyes in an attempt to block the blinding glare from our lights. Ahead of them, streaking across the ramp in desperation, a single person is running for their life. The night runners are a short distance behind and the distance is closing quickly.

The person running looks at us as our lights spill into the night and changes direction towards us. The turn is more out of hope and desperation as the night runners will close the distance and be upon them before they can make it to the source of lights.

“Oh My God!” Lynn exclaims seeing the event first hand and darts back out of the cockpit.

“Robert, get the radios on the ground frequency,” I tell him as I leave on Lynn’s heels. Alpha and Bravo Teams stand ready in the compartment as I enter.

“There’s someone being chased by night runners outside,” I say upon entering.

“I have the landing lights on and I’ll have Robert turn them off once we’re in position. We’ll set up in a firing line facing the front of the aircraft. Alpha closest to the doors, Bravo to their left. NVG’s on once the lights go out. Watch your fire as the person is heading towards us as well. Let’s move,” I brief and open the crew door.

“Shouldn’t we have all of the teams out?” Lynn asks in my ear as the door lowers.

“No, we may have to return quickly and too many people outside will create a bottle neck at the door. Plus, we don’t have enough goggles.”

The door hits the ground and the teams exit. Alpha Team forms a line directly outside by the open door, kneeling on the pavement. Bravo runs behind them, forming up alongside to their left. I exit with Lynn directly behind; my helmet is still on giving me night vision capability. The perspective from the ground is a touch different than the view from the cockpit. From the height of cockpit, I could get an overall picture of the scene. Here on the ground, I only see the front line of night runners stretching across the ramp and heading our way. The brightness of the landing lights makes everything appear as if in black and white with a few toned-down colors from the clothing. The gray skin of the night runners seems to glow in the light being reflected back. In front of the line, one man is running for all he’s worth. Terror, fear, and determination are etched on his face. The look is one of knowing he has cast his lot on whatever is creating the bright light; that it will be his saving grace or his demise for, with his turning towards it, he gave the night runners an angle to cut him off.

“Robert, kill the lights,” I say into the radio.

The lights wink out a moment later leaving the ramp covered in darkness. Even the moon shining down from above cannot compensate for the loss of night vision the lights caused. Only the howls from the night runners and the sound of their feet on the pavement remain.

“Goggles on. Open fire,” I yell to the teams as I stand behind their kneeling forms.

The sound of goggles clicking into place is followed a second later by the first rounds being fired into the mass of night runners closing in. The tarmac and side of the HC-130 blink rapidly from the strobe effect as the bullets leave the muzzles and streak outward.

* * *

Captain Greg Petersen sits in the darkened room reflecting on the sudden change in the world. The sound of the night runners prowling the streets of the base reach his ears from time to time reminding him of the reality of the current world. Everyone he knew is gone. He glances at the Ranger tab on the shoulder of his ACU’s thinking how meaningless it and the other patches on his uniform are now. The world changes and so does the importance of things that were once meaningful.

His days are filled with scrounging for supplies and his nights with avoiding being found by the night runners. He switched houses the other night choosing to be on McChord rather than Fort Lewis; the choice coming because he feels that any hope of finding anyone or help arriving will come from the air, thus his desire to be closer to the airfield. That choice was vindicated by the sound of an aircraft passing overhead just a short time ago. That was a C-130, he thinks knowing that sound well and he is filled with hope. The sound of night runners on the street outside brings his mind back to the present. The noise of the aircraft has stirred them up in this area.

The barricades he placed across the doors and windows should slow them down some but he knows they will not keep them out if they make a determined effort to get him. His best choice is to remain silent and try to find out what the aircraft was about once the sun comes up. The dark room and house around mimics the darkness within him; the darkness of losing everyone and living day to day without hope. The darkness of thinking he might be the only one left; at least until hearing the roar of the aircraft arriving. He thinks if he can just live through the night, then the hope of rescue and deliverance will come with the daylight.

That hope is balanced with fear caused by the increased activity of the night runners outside. They have proven to be wily in finding him and he knows he has been lucky so far; a few very close calls with the sun coming to his rescue on a number of them. The coldest part of the night comes just before sunrise and that is how he feels inside. Hope looms just over the horizon yet seems so far. First, he has to endure through the coldest part before hope has a chance. The fear that accompanies hope being so close and that the door may shut before becoming reality.

The sudden thump against the front door startles him from of his dark musings. Oh God No! He thinks as he lunges for the M-16 lying on the floor next to him. Greg brings it to his shoulder and swings the barrel around to the front door, the red dot centering on the boarded entrance. A loud shriek sounds as a solid thump jars the door and frame. More shrieks call out from the street and surrounding yards. I’ve got to do something quick or they’ll be all over this place. He is at a loss though as to what that something should be. There is death outside and it will soon spill over to death inside.

He thinks one choice is to try for the airfield and the aircraft that flew over recently. The illusion of security the walls of the house provides keeps him kneeling in the room with his rifle pointed at the front door. If I leave out of the back now, they may be too focused on gaining entrance to notice, he thinks looking over his shoulder at the faint outline of the back door. On the other hand, if it does come down to a fight, the house might be easier to defend.

The jarring sound of breaking glass upstairs makes the decision for him. He is up and across the room to the back door before the tinkling of the glass ends. Pausing momentarily to listen for sounds of night runners out back, he opens the door to the night air. The coolness of the night brushes by his cheeks as he dashes out of the house and into the back yard. The moon outside provides a measure of light as he navigates quickly around a swing set and toys scattered in the grass; grass grown long by neglect.

The dull thumps against the house reach the back yard. Shrieks fill the night air as he rushes for the fence separating the individual housing units. A glance over his shoulders lets him know his exit hasn’t yet been discovered. Just prior to reaching the fence, Greg tosses his M-16 over it into the next yard and hears it land with a soft clatter. He takes a running leap at the fence, his fingers finding purchase on the top, and his boots pounding against the side. The noise from his boots hitting the fence sounds like the continuing thuds coming from the front of the house. He vaults over and into the back yard of the neighboring house. A change in the intensity and tone of the howls from the night runners tells him his escape has been discovered.

Coming to rest on his feet, Greg scans the immediate area looking for his weapon. The shadows of the night play havoc with locating his black rifle hidden in the grass as there is very little color variance in the glow of the moonshine. All objects are all in varying shades of gray. Fear takes hold as he knows the night runners are on his trail. Time is not on his side. Fear becomes panic. He wants the security of his M-16 but knows he needs to be on his way if he is to have any chance of making the tarmac. He also knows this attempt to find sanctuary is a long shot as those who landed earlier may not be there anymore. They may have moved to a different location, if they stayed on the ground at all.

There, a slight difference in the way the grass lies. He dashes over, retrieves his rifle, and is off across the yard. Running down the side of the housing unit, he enters the street to the sound of night runners behind him coming over the fence he vaulted moments ago. Identical housing units line the street on both sides, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Vehicles of various types are parked in the shared driveways; a late model mustang in the driveway to his immediate left, mini-vans that transported families when the world was ‘normal’ in others, and a few later model pickups. He quickly recalls the vehicle buying frenzy that went on when members of his unit returned from Afghanistan with deployment cash to spend.

The sound of night runners vaulting the fence spurs him into action and he takes off down the street in the general direction of the aircraft ramp. He avoids running through the housing units themselves as he knows that the ones after him can scale the fences quicker than he can. His only hope is to reach the ramp ahead of the night runners; hoping also they remain behind him and don’t materialize ahead. If that happens, the chase is over.

The sound of his boots on the paved street is drowned out by the periodic shrieks of the night runners giving chase; drawing others into the area. That it will draw others, he knows from experience. That experience coming in the short time since the bottom dropped out from the world he knew. Keeping a quick but steady pace, he turns left at the first cross street knowing this is the way out of the housing area and into the base proper. He scouted the area during the day after his move knowing it is easy to get lost in the streets of housing areas; that there is usually only one street out. If he were to take random turns, he would eventually get lost and become trapped.

Rounding the corner, shrieks escalate letting him know that night runners have entered the street behind him. His feet respond to the increase in fear that fills his mind with those howls. He is close to a full block ahead of the pack but knows how fast this distance can be eaten up. His only hope to maintain this lead, and get to the ramp ahead of them, is to get a lead of more than a block and keep making turns at each street keeping a general direction towards the airfield. Weighing the need to increase the distance between them and the need to keep his wind with a steady pace, he knows that distance is the more immediate need. With this in mind, Greg streaks down the street and rounds the next corner.

He is thankful for the short street and makes the corner just ahead of the horde reaching the corner to his rear. His thought is that the night runners will slow momentarily without having witnessed which way he went. He knows they will be able to track him by scent and sound but doesn’t want to make it easier for them. He runs across the yards on this street knowing the grass will better hide the sound of his running. He imagines the mass behind him will hastily make for the intersection having lost a visual on him. The wish is that it will take some time to locate him again. For that reason, he darts around the vehicles in the driveways hoping that, with vehicles between him and the night runners, he will become less easy to spot.

The bright moon overhead momentarily casts his shadow on the hood of a sporty new Camaro as Greg continues his run along the yards towards the exit from the housing area. Shrieks escalate in the night air behind as the night runners pick up his scent. He has gained a little distance. Not enough to make it all the way to the tarmac, but any distance gained is beneficial. He still has his M-16 but if it comes to having to use it to defend himself, he knows his time will be measured; measured by the number of rounds he has left.

The three clips he has remaining will not sustain him long should it come to that; especially in the dark without any night vision capability. He will be shooting at shadows until they get closer, in which case, they will overwhelm him within seconds. No, his best bet is to keep making for the airfield.

Greg exits the housing area. The cool of the night air chills his face and body as beads of sweat run down his forehead. His fatigue top forms dark circles under his pits and along his back. A road cuts across his path and beyond the road looms the shadows of the base golf course. He is still a mile from the base proper and approximately a mile and a half from the ramp. Much closer than if he were still at Fort Lewis. A mile and a half. Only a little less than twelve minutes, he thinks sprinting across the street and entering the dark shadows of the trees lining the fairway.

He keeps to the trees alongside the fairways using the same thought pattern as with his run along the yards; the trees will hide him better and force the night runners to chase by scent. Hunting and tracking by scent alone is far slower than by sight. He is not sure how well the night runners can see in the dark, but it is the only measure he has. Running in the fairway will definitely allow them to chase by sight and close the distance. The moon and clear night provide enough illumination so he can steer clear of the trees. Running headlong into a tree that suddenly decides to jump out in front of him would not rank among the top of the ‘ideal situation’ list.

Flashes of memories surface of being in these trees before; trying to find his errant golf balls; memories of peaceful weekend outings with friends during the warmer months, of beer stacked in the cart and watching his ball arc off the tee and into the trees. A common occurrence whenever he was out with clubs in hand and the fault of said clubs.

Those memories quickly dissolve as he dashes through the trees. One advantage to the trees being part of the course is that the underbrush has been cleared. He reaches the end of the tree line, changes direction, crosses the tee area of the next hole, and enters another line of trees hoping the change in direction will throw off the howling night runners behind. He hears them crashing through the trees behind when the shrieks taper off for a moment.

The fear that they have drawn closer and that others will respond ahead of him drives him forward. Low-lying branches whip against his face but he is mindless to the stinging scratches. The faint reflected light allows him to see the branches at the last second and to avoid catching one in his eyes. Being momentarily blinded would spell disaster. The silver of the moonlight on the fairway next to him looks peaceful in its silence; in stark contrast to his fear-filled flight through the woods.

Emerging from the line of trees, he quickly crosses another fairway with the feeling that the night runners are closing the distance. His flight through the trees may not be allowing them to close in on him quickly, but they are nearing nonetheless. He enters the woods on the far side. He immediately senses that these are thicker than the previous tree lines. Going in far enough so he can’t be seen from the fairway, he quickly strips off his uniform jacket, tossing it as far as he can to his left. Greg then takes off at a 90 degree angle to his right. There is no breeze so using wind to help elude his pursuers is not an option. He hopes they will become confused about his scent coming from two directions and not know which way he actually went. At a minimum, he could perhaps lose a few of them.

The 90 degree turn will make the distance to the ramp a touch longer but keeping the distance from the night runners is the greater priority. Shrieks emit from the fairway behind and to the right. He sincerely hopes the night runners cannot see him running through the woods because, with the sharp turn, he just gave them an angle to cut him off. Greg glances over his shoulder and nothing can be seen of the fairway. Not even a glimpse of the moonlight shining down on it. The trees are spaced far enough apart that light filters in and their darker outlines immediately around him can still be seen. He feels winded but the fear of being caught and ripped apart pushes his feet ever closer to the airfield.

He makes another 90 degree turn to his left heading once more to the northwest and towards the ramp. Howls echo in the woods around him and he cannot be certain of their exact direction. They’re definitely behind him but he can’t tell if they are off to the side or directly behind. The trees open up onto another fairway and he is across and through an adjacent line in moments. The golf course ends with a street running across his path. A little over a half mile to go, he thinks eyeing another dark line of trees paralleling the road northward. He wants to stop and catch his breath but knows that to do so will be the end. The night runners are still crashing through the trees behind him.

A choice lies directly ahead of him. Take to the tree line along the road or cut through the open fields of the base. There are few buildings within the open fields but he will be sighted as soon as the night runners exit the trees. His lead is a short one and the feeling emerges that he will be caught in those fields prior to reaching the ramp. Tree line it is, he thinks running across the street and disappearing into the shadows.

Keeping well back from the road, Greg continues his evasion. His legs feel heavy with the exertion he has expended but the calls behind keep his adrenaline up. He knows he cannot keep this up for much longer but knowing there is only a half mile to go helps. He doesn’t know what he will do if he arrives and it turns out no one is there. Not that he had a choice in the matter. They were onto him inside the house where he had been hiding and there really wasn’t much he could do. If there’s no one there, I’ll just have to hold out as long as I can.

Greg also knows he has been extremely fortunate that night runners haven’t intercepted his course. Not that they would know where he was headed in order to do so. He feels that any who answer the yells will respond to the location of the shrieks behind him. He hears the mass behind him in the same line of trees. Their constant roars have diminished to an extent and he hopes they are becoming as winded, well, more winded than himself.

The trees end and he is immediately bathed in the radiance of the moonlight. The little amount of protection afforded by the trees vanishes. Only open fields with a scattering of buildings lie between him and the airfield proper. He sees the gray tips of aircraft tails poking above hangars in the near distance; showing silver from the light streaming down. Without hesitation, Greg dashes across the fields. He contemplates tossing his rifle to the side to pick up an extra little speed and endurance but there is a certain security it affords having it with him. Across the first field, he hears a rise in the shrieks behind. He has been spotted.

He sees the opening to the ramp ahead across another field. A glance behind shows a multitude of night runners pouring across the field; their faces glowing in the light. Each night runner gives an illusion of speed as they streak across the grassy field. Oh crap! I’m not going to make it, he thinks putting every last bit of energy into his legs. The shrieks behind sound excited. Turn and shoot or toss my rifle. Either way, I’m not going to make it to the ramp with it.

Tossing the M-16 to the side, he pumps his arms harder. His breathing is coming in gasps but his legs respond. He leaves the grassy field, crosses the street and comes out onto the ramp. Not really knowing which way to go, he continues across the ramp looking to both sides as he runs. Nothing but the dark shapes of resting aircraft catches his eye. No movement of people. Nothing that would indicate the recent landing of an aircraft. Well, I gave it my all, he thinks feeling his boots rhythmically strike the pavement. Sure wish I had kept the gun. I’ll just keep going as long as I can and go down fighting.

Bright lights stab out across the ramp from his left, blinding in their intensity and ruining any night vision he had acquired. He instinctively heads towards them knowing that the turn will give the night runners an angle to close the distance. There is a sound of movement coming from the direction of the lights; faintly heard above the roars of the horde on his heels. The light prevents him from seeing anything in that direction. As suddenly as they appeared, the lights go off leaving only bright spots in his vision. He continues running in the same direction.

“Goggles on. Open fire,” he hears someone shout.

Flashes of light appear in his vision. They’re firing. I hope not at me, he thinks and changes course to his right to get out of the line of fire.

* * *

The steel zipping through the air meets the first line of the night runners close on the heels of the soldier running towards us. The ones in front and to the side of the soldier are flung backward as if they ran full tilt into a wire stretched across the ramp. The rounds strike their chest, shoulders, head and limbs with tremendous force; some propelled backwards into the arms of the ones behind, others spinning around from the force of the bullets impacting their bodies off center.

The man running for his life angles off to the side with the first rounds fired. It is apparent he is having trouble seeing us but is angling away from the sound of the gunfire. The night runners are also having trouble identifying our exact location with the sudden extinguishment of the light. The bright light ruined their night vision, enhanced or not, and with it being turned off abruptly, they only see darkness. Some are running toward the opposite side of the aircraft while others are heading farther off onto the ramp. A few still head directly at us. There are far too many to take down before they descend upon us but we should be able to disengage in their current disorientated state.

The echo of gunfire across the ramp is a constant. Night runners continue to fall to the pavement cooled by the night air; some falling and not moving again. Others fall and try to crawl away from their pain. The lone soldier is attempting to circle around to our lines but cannot see our exact location and is venturing further aft of the aircraft.

“Lynn, go get him and guide him back. Bravo, prepare to disengage and fall back to the aircraft,” I shout firing into the mass of night runners to our front.

“Roger that, sir,” Cressman responds, her voice carrying above the din of the firing. Lynn lowers her weapon, locates the running man, and takes off towards him.

“Alpha, prepare to board the aircraft once Bravo clears,” I shout looking over and seeing Lynn guide the soldier in by the arm.

The night runners are recovering from their disorientated state and begin to home in on us. I see Lynn out of my peripheral start up the stairs with the soldier.

“Bravo, clear out,” I shout.

The sound of gunfire diminishes as Bravo Team stands, runs behind Alpha and begins to board the aircraft. The horde of night runners are scattered in all directions due to being blinded but are now converging on our positions. They are just scant yards ahead and we only have seven rifles engaging. It will be close as we begin to disengage Alpha. I pat the two soldiers to the left of the line on their shoulders and direct their fire into our left front flank. I direct the two in the middle to our immediate front and the soldier closest to the stairs to make sure night runners don’t get to us from under the aircraft. I direct my fire into those that are closest regardless of the angle. Magazines are ejected to the ground as the team members reload; the sound of the mags and empty cartridges hitting the ground are lost in the gunfire and screams.

I see the last of Bravo mount the stairs and shout for the two Alpha members on the far left to disengage taking up their sector for them. My carbine and those of the rest of Alpha constantly send out rounds against the closing horde. The bodies continue to pile up on the ramp; the moonlight catches an occasional spray of blood in its silver beams. I observe the two Alpha members mount the stairs and catch sight of Lynn firing her M-4 from the doorway; lifting her carbine as the members enter in front of her.

“Go, Go, Go!” I shout to the three remaining members of Alpha.

“Robert, turn on the lights,” I say into the radio.

Alpha rises and scrambles up the stairs. I stand at the bottom of the stairs firing into the night runners but my rounds do little to slow their rapid advance. I hear the popping of rounds above me from Lynn firing out of the door. The bright lights flash from the aircraft once again. Shrieks of rage, pain and frustration come from the mass; the light blindingly painful. The night runners are only ten feet from the nose of the aircraft.

“Get your ass up here,” Lynn yells from the top of the stairs.

I scramble up the stairs two at a time and run through the entrance, slamming into the bulkhead with my shoulder. Lynn and Watkins pull the door closed behind me. As the door closes, the cargo compartment darkens even more; the only light coming from the reflected glow outside through the cargo windows. In the dim light, I see our newest member bent with his hands on his knees catching his breath. Thumps and pounding begin against the aircraft fuselage startling the newly rescued soldier.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They can’t get in here. Or at least they haven’t been able to as yet.”

I ask Drescoll to put the blackout covers over the windows and Michelle to draw the blackout curtains in the cockpit. When those are in place, I have Robert kill the lights outside and turn on the interior cargo lights.

“What about the battery, Dad,” Bri calls down the cockpit stairs.

“Leave it on. It’s not like we’re going anywhere with this aircraft anyway,” I call back.

“Dad?” The new soldier says raising his head but with his hands still on his knees.

“Yeah. Looks like we have some stories to share,” I say as the lights of the cargo interior lighting come on.

The soldier rises and puts out his hand, “Greg Petersen.”

“Jack Walker,” I say taking his hand.

The introductions are made after the kids come down out of the cockpit. Noticing the Captain’s tabs on the field cap he is wearing, most address him as “sir.”

“It’s just Greg, folks,” he says in response. “The days of ‘sir’ are over. I want to thank all of you for saving my bacon. I seriously don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. Well, I do and it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

“Just glad we were here,” I say as the shrieks and slams against the fuselage continue; some solid enough to cause us to jump.

“What was that about not going anywhere?” Greg asks.

“We lost an engine coming in. This aircraft isn’t going anywhere,” I answer feeling sad at the thought that this aircraft, our mobile sanctuary that has accompanied us through so much and kept us safe, will end its days here on the ramp; becoming just another remnant of civilization as we knew it.

“What happened that you found yourself in the unfortunate circumstance to be chased?” Frank asks.

“I heard the aircraft come in. They found me and started breaking in so I figured I had no choice but to make a run for it,” he answers.

We settle in amidst the continued noise outside and share our stories. We bring Greg up to speed with our journey, structure, and knowledge. He in turn fills us in on his “adventures” over the past few days. We also fill him in on our plans but reserve assigning him to a team until Lynn and I have a chance to talk about it. That he is joining us is not in question as he seems to mesh nicely with our group. Plus, his experience will be extremely beneficial.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get whatever rest we can inside this noisy tin can. We have a very busy next few weeks coming up,” I say. “Lynn, would you mind coming up with me.”

We enter the cockpit and I pick up my phone from the seat where I left it as I scrambled out. Lynn looks at me quizzically as I open it and pull up the text. With the glow of the phone shining brightly in a darkened cockpit, lit only by the glow of the instrument panels, I hand the phone to her. She takes it and looks down at the screen. She stares at the screen with furrowed brows for a few moments.

Finally, looking up with a scowl, she says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Hey, it’s not like I planned this,” I say defensively.

“What are you going to do?” She asks.

“Contact her and go get her I guess,” I say thinking, How is there any right answer to this one?

“I suppose you’re right. There’s really no other right choice but I’m going with you.”

“I have no problem with that but I would like you here to keep control of things. There’s a ton that needs to be done during the day before night falls.”

“Yeah, I went along with your foolhardy plan and let you go into the CDC but there’s no way in hell you’re going down there alone,” Lynn says putting her hands on her hips.

“I was thinking about taking Robert and Bri actually.”

“Now why on earth would you do that?” She asks tilting her head to the side.

“The Guard Base down there has a couple of C-130’s and I was thinking about flying one back up. It’s would be nice to know we have one available just in case. I’ll need their help to fly it back up,” I answer.

“Well, I’m still going with you and that’s the way it’s going to be. You’ll just have to get used to that idea,” Lynn says adamantly.

“Okay, okay,” I say waving my hand in a warding off gesture. “We’ll take a Humvee with just the four of us.”

“Why not take a whole team or two?” She asks feeling slightly appeased but not completely happy.

“There’s a lot we need to get done before night hits and I think we’ll need everyone here helping to set up a secure location,” I respond. “It’ll be a quick down and back depending on what the road conditions are like. Let me try and get hold of Mom and then respond back to Kelly. We should then gather everyone together to quickly cover what we’re going to do come morning.”

Lynn continues looking at me and makes the ‘well, go ahead’ gesture indicating she is not going anywhere. I nervously dial Mom’s cell phone as I am worried about her but don’t get an answer increasing my worry even further. I leave a voice mail and try her home phone. There is no answer at that number and I don’t even get a voice mail. I send a thought of protection out to her as I have periodically throughout our journey.

Now the interesting part. I hit reply to Kelly’s text.

“I’m here. Are you okay?” I text and press the send button.

Several minutes pass and Lynn comes to look over my shoulder. The phone vibrates in my hand and the screen comes to life.

The words appear on the screen. “OMG!! You’re alive! I’m so scared. Where are you?”

“Fucking drama queen,” I hear Lynn whisper by my side as she reads the message. Yeah, Lynn’s not particularly fond of Kelly.

“I’m in Tacoma. Where are you?” I text asking. I would call but I don’t know her situation and the sound of her phone ringing could make it worse.

“At my place with Jessica and Brian. Can you come help us?”

“Be there tomorrow afternoon. Keep the lights off and stay quiet. Turn your phone off for now and then back on when it’s light. I’ll call you then.”

“Ok.”

I try Mom once again after the texting session but still don’t get a reply. I’m extremely worried about her. I really have a hard time with worrying and it eats at me until I find an answer one way or the other. I also notice an edginess with Lynn. I would normally attribute it to the text but I understand her well enough to know that it goes deeper than that. She keeps biting her lip and that’s one of her signs that she is nervous or anxious about something.

“Everything okay?” I ask noting her nervousness.

“I’m just thinking about Mom and Craig and worried about them,” she answers. I pull her in close and wrap my arms around her.

“Well, I told him five days and that isn’t until tomorrow. Craig probably doesn’t want to fly at night into a strange airfield,” I say whispering into her ear and continuing to hold her close.

We hold each other for a moment longer and then head down into the cargo compartment gathering everyone around as best as the confined space will allow. The thuds against the side of the fuselage continue sporadically as the night runners persist in their attempts to get to us. Their howls are muted by the thin steel walls between them and us. I cannot really say we are becoming accustomed to this, as the bangs still startle us each time, but we are able to focus to an extent.

“I just want to give a rundown on tomorrow. First of all, Bannerman, will you put together a list of our critical supply needs? The overall plan is to gather vehicles, raid the armories, and then caravan down to Cabela’s. For that, we’ll need a few cargo trucks and some bolt cutters. We also need a few Humvees so we can scout the area for any additional survivors. Make sure they are filled with fuel. Siphon if you have to. Once we get the vehicles, head out and cover the area in teams. When we finish here, we’ll head down and make further plans once we see what we are up against. Lynn, will you please see to the assignments?” I ask finishing the quick briefing.

“Will do. Drescoll, take your team along with Alpha and Bravo to secure the vehicles. Horace, take your team and search the open maintenance hangars for bolt cutters. The rest of us will unload the supplies in the meantime,” Lynn says. Everyone nods at their assignments.

“There’s two Humvees parked on the ramp. I’ll be taking one and Drescoll, you can take the other with your team to the front gate where there are two others parked. That should be enough for all of you,” I say adding to Lynn’s instructions.

“What are you doing with the other Humvee?” Robert asks.

“Going to check on Mom. I can’t get her on the phone. I’ll be back by the time the vehicles are secured,” I answer.

“Can I go?” He asks.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Bri, Nic and Michelle, I want you to stay here with the others.”

The sound of boots shuffling and walking on the cargo floor fills the aircraft as everyone finds a place to settle in for the rest of the evening. Our rest is broken by the echoing of the hollow, metallic thuds periodically through the night. The night runners eventually give up close to dawn and we are afforded a small period of rest.

Another dawn breaks over the Cascades to our east, filling the cockpit with its radiance. My head is aching from all of the time spent at altitude with its low humidity. I am dehydrated coupled with a lack of sleep. I feel a little overwhelmed thinking about the busy day and times ahead. There isn’t time or room to ‘take a break’ and deal with the issues another day. Lynn stirs beside me and heads into the back after a good morning kiss. I get up shortly thereafter thankful I don’t have to plop right down into the pilot seat. My rear end could use the rest.

The feeling of being a touch overwhelmed, with all that needs to happen today, almost brings me to a standstill and I’m not sure where to even start. One step at a time, I think heading out into the chill of the morning air. The sun rising above the hills is refreshing and fills my low energy to an extent. It feels a little colder than it should due to our spending the last few days in warmer climates but it is rejuvenating. There is not much talk among our group as most of us are lost in our own thoughts and feel spent from our efforts to get here. It feels like this should have been a destination rather than a beginning. There is a prevalent feeling of wondering if any of us have the energy to embark on this endeavor. However, we also know we don’t have the luxury of doing nothing.

Standing in the light morning breeze, I try calling my mom once again and still get no answer. Drescoll, the rest of Green Team, and Robert stand beside me waiting to head out. I then dial Kelly getting several rings before she picks up.

“Jack, are you coming down to get us?” Kelly asks answering.

“Yeah, we’ll be down but I can’t get there until later this afternoon. I’m not exactly sure when but we’ll be there,” I answer.

“Who is we?” She asks.

“Lynn, Robert, Bri and I.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You mentioned Brian and Jessica were with you. Where’s Carrie?” I ask with the sun fully rising and casting our shadows long across the dark gray tarmac.

There is a pause before she answers, “She was with her dad and I haven’t heard from her. Can you go see if she’s okay on your way down?”

I feel my stress level increase as I don’t think I will be able to get the things accomplished that need to be done here, check on Mom, see about Carrie, and get down to Kelly. Even though the daylight hours are longer, there is so much that needs to be done and I’m not sure what condition our possible future sanctuary is in. It may take some time to ensure it will provide the safe haven we need. There is someone who needs help and I want to be able to do both. The time constraint makes this impossible.

“We’re under a bit of a time crunch here and I may not be able to do both. If there’s time, I’ll head over there, otherwise I’ll head down and we’ll see about her on the way back,” I respond.

“What do you possibly have to do that you can’t go see if she’s okay?” Kelly asks a little irritated.

“I have a group of people here to see to and we just landed yesterday. We have a lot to do to make sure we’re safe for the evening. I’m sorry but I have to see to them as well. I’ll call you when we’re on our way and I’ll go look for Carrie if there’s time,” I answer.

“Okay, hurry.”

“I’ll go as fast as I can. Talk to you in a little while,” I say.

“Okay, bye,” she says and there is the click of the line disconnecting. I continue to be amazingly surprised the phones still work at all. This would have been a great advertisement for them in times past - ‘Coverage, smoverage, our lines last through an apocalypse.’

“Well, shall we get this party started,” I say to those gathered around me. Drescoll merely nods his reply.

My few interactions with Drescoll leads me to believe he has a strong, silent type of personality; confident yet quiet. Or maybe he just doesn’t know how to interact with me. Although taller, he is a bit younger than I am and, with his being in the military for a number of years, that may equate to me being an authority figure in his mind. With what I have witnessed and how he has conducted himself from the stories Lynn told, he is stable, reliable, and knows what he is doing. I let Lynn know we are off. We gear up and head over to the Humvees parked by the remnants of our earlier outdoor luncheon.

“I really haven’t heard much from you regarding our circumstance and plan. What do you think?” I ask Drescoll as we stroll over to the vehicles.

“I think it’s a good plan. As good as any we could have come up with and makes sense,” he answers.

“What do you think our chances are?” I ask further.

He pauses for a moment before answering as we walk with our shadows stretched out before us, “We have a good group here so we should be able to pull it off. I think any problems we might have will come if we find others out there and how well they fit in. A tight group like ours can weather through this but if there’s any dissension that comes about, then stupid things happen. That’s also providing we don’t discover any further surprises regarding the night runners. The only other things I foresee are the problems with having to go into the buildings on a regular basis for supplies, caring for anyone who gets injured, and, like you mentioned earlier, any diseases that crop up from all of the dead.” Those are the most words I have hear him say in the time since Kuwait.

“I agree. It’s going to be up to the team leaders to keep things tight and set examples. My feeling is that if we can last through the summer, we should be okay. The future problem I see is when we have to adapt to the fact that there isn’t any more manufacturing to take care of things that break,” I say enjoying this openness and conversation with him.

“Can I be perfectly honest, Jack?” Drescoll asks coming to halt by one of the Humvees.

“You certainly can. I welcome it and expect no less,” I answer wondering where this is going.

“In my opinion, that was a foolish thing you did going back into the CDC like that. I just don’t see that the information we came across was worth the risk. We would have figured it out eventually without it,” he says meeting my eyes.

“Well, I think the information we came across was worth it, especially knowing that we don’t have to worry about the immunity aspect and turning into one of them if we are bit. I honestly didn’t know what to do if that were true. That piece of mind alone was worth it to me,” I say looking back at him.

“This heading down with just a couple of you fits in the same category as far as I’m concerned,” he adds.

“I would take others but there is so much we have to do before the sun sets again. I think everyone will be needed up here and the safety of a secure environment is more important,” I say.

“Well, you seem to know what you’re doing and that’s good enough for me. I’m not saying saving others and getting the information isn’t and wasn’t important, it’s just that folks are beginning to look to you for leadership and if something were to happen to you, I’m worried there might be a breakdown,” Drescoll says in a lowered voice.

“You and Lynn can easily handle things if something were to happen to me,” I say addressing his concern.

“Probably, but not as well I think. Well, I hope you find your mom well,” he says sticking his hand out.

“Thanks. I appreciate that and you take care of yourself. There may be others around that may not take kindly to you borrowing their vehicles,” I say returning his shake. “Follow me to the gate. Honk or flash your lights if you see something or you need to stop.”

“Will do,” he says and climbs into the driver seat with Green Team already seated within.

Robert and I climb in the other Humvee. I check the battery and wait for the light signaling the glow plugs are warm before starting up. With a “thumbs up” from Drescoll beside us, we start off in the early morning light toward the front gate.

Nothing much has changed since our journey into the base just a week ago. It still has the ghost town feel; the structures intact but with no one home. This is where our journey began so there is a bit of a homecoming feel. The eeriness is not as prevalent as before but there is no way it can completely disappear as we travel through the empty streets. Only the lonely feeling of a world abandoned follows us as we make our way past the desolate buildings. I used to get this feeling in times past when we would travel through deserted villages where the people had long ago fled from various roving armed bands; the once busy dirt streets, filled with the noises of villagers going about their daily lives, just echoes of the past.

We keep a lookout among the buildings and streets as Greg couldn’t have been the only remaining soul here. Birds flit through the calm, warming air and over the brown grass fields, their life changing little in the aftermath. The only change in their life is perhaps the registration of a new predator. Andrew, the first person we met following the death of the world, enters my thoughts and I wonder if he made it to find his parents in Spokane. With the immunity seeming to be familial, it makes sense that one parent, if not both, would have survived the vaccine. Whether they survived the days following is another story altogether. I find myself hoping he at least survived and manages to find his way back here.

Passing by the hospital, I shudder recalling the close call within. The building carries a foreboding feeling similar to the CDC building; that the façade is hiding a darkness and terror within. I remember the words Drescoll spoke just a short time ago when he mentioned having to care for the injured. The foreboding comes stronger knowing we will possibly have to raid a hospital soon for medical supplies and equipment – knowing it will not be a pleasurable operation. With the traffic surrounding the exit ramps to the hospital and the larger amount of vehicles in the parking lots, I have the distinct feeling the medical facilities will have a greater amount of dead within complicating matters. Not just from the nauseating stench but from the onset of disease with so many dead, plus, the knowledge that there may be quite a few night runners within those facilities. If we are going to go in, we will have to do that soon as the disease from the decaying bodies will only get worse with each passing day.

Robert is quiet during our ride through the base. The smell of the decomposing bodies by the front gates reaches us before we catch sight of them. Again, we have to maneuver our way through them, missing the bodies as best as we can. The stench is overwhelming and my gut clenches with nausea. A few of the bodies have been picked at from the carrion. The sight and smell is disgustingly atrocious.

“That’s just plain nasty,” Robert says as we thread our way through and pull up to the front gate, parking by the two abandoned Humvees sitting cross-wise at the rear of the booths.

“You’re not shitting,” I say trying not to breathe. Drescoll pulls up and parks beside. Several Green Team members exit heading over to the empty Humvees.

‘Why don’t you take this one as well,” I say walking over to his window. “We’ll take the Jeep. Just wait and make sure we can get it started.”

“Okay, Jack. Good luck to you,” he replies.

“You too. See you in a couple of hours,” I say grabbing the tool kit I brought with us from our supplies.

Robert and I walk over to the Jeep I left parked in the visitor lot so many days ago, avoiding the booth with the boots still poking out from the doorway. Seeing the Jeep parked there brings a little comfort. It brings a small sense of normalcy and familiarity in a world distinctly lacking in the normal. Climbing into the familiar seats of the Jeep, we start it up and pull out of the parking lot; waving to Drescoll and the others as we exit.

Mom’s house is only about a forty minute drive. We should have no problems enroute as we have travelled this way before and didn’t notice any road blockage on the way. The lanes to the hospital in Olympia became congested but the left lane was clear as far as I could tell. We drive out of the gate and turn south onto Interstate 5.

“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask Robert as we pick up speed.

“Nothing really,” he answers. “Just hoping Grandma is okay and thinking about Mom. Wondering if any of my friends made it. That sort of thing.”

“Have you tried calling or texting any of your friends?” I ask avoiding talk about his mom for the moment. In truth, I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.

“Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything back.”

“I’m really sorry about your mom, kiddo. I know that must really hurt. Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“Not really,” he answers. I can tell he is holding back the tears that want to come out with the sadness he is feeling.

“You know, this genetic change may not be a permanent thing,” I tell him keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us.

I offer this as a hope, not really a false hope but in all honesty, I am at a loss for words. There isn’t really anything comforting to say when dealing with a loss that great. He looks over with a “you’ve got to be kidding” expression.

“Seriously Robert, we can’t ever give up hope on something we want or wish for. At any rate, know that I’m here if you ever want to talk about that, or anything. I’m here for you.”

“I know, Dad. I feel at a loss right now as to what to do or where I fit in. I mean, I was fine while we were flying as I knew what to do and had a place. Now, I feel like I don’t know where that place is,” he says turning his face to the window.

“There is always a place and there’s plenty to do Robert. You and the girls will always have a place with me,” I attempt to answer his feelings of being uncertain.

“I understand and know that, but that’s not what I really mean,” he says. “I guess I mean that I’m thinking you won’t let me help, that you’ll try to keep us safe and won’t let me participate. There are guys on the teams that are close to my age and I always get left behind.”

“I completely understand. It’s really hard for me to explain the protective nature of being a parent; the desire to keep your kids safe no matter what.”

“But I’m not a kid anymore,” he interjects.

“I know and you’re right in that I need to let go a little. I would like to wait until you can be trained better but, well, just know that it’s hard for me to let you be put in a dangerous situation. But you also need to learn,” I reply and pause for a moment to collect my thoughts.

In truth, I have thought about this a great deal and haven’t had any revelations regarding it. He needs to learn and gain self-assurance but I am also hesitant to put him in any situations where he can. I had been expecting a light bulb with the correct decision to go off but the bulb has remained dark to this point.

“You know, you’re right. I need to let you go out more but you still need training. Plus, I do need you in other situations. So, with that said, you can consider yourself officially part of Red Team but you’ll be partnered with me and, for now, only go out when I do,” I say knowing I will never reach a fully thought-out decision but also knowing I have to make one.

“Okay, Dad,” he says with a little more spark in his voice.

We pass Cabela’s off to our right as we continue traveling south. To me, it has taken on this aura similar to the Holy Grail of safety. It sits there, mysterious and inviting but with a hint of peril. The light brown walls hide whatever is within; our salvation or danger. I am wishing we were at its doors now as the unknown drives me crazy; like it doesn’t everyone else. For me, the unfamiliar always held an element of excitement but not an unknown like this. This is definitely one of those times I would like it to be known and known clearly; sharp and defined.

“Remember when we used to go in there and browse forever?” I ask as we both look at the structure passing by.

“Yeah. And the fudge we used to bring home,” he answers.

“That was the greatest. The greatest sugar high and then crash ever,” I say with a chuckle. “The stuff lasted forever. I wonder if there’s any left and if it’s good?”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Robert replies.

“And, we’ll be able to do a little more than browse now,” I say.

“I call dibs on the sniper rifle in the case,” he says grinning.

“It’s yours. Although I think we’ll find a little better if we can get into the armories on Fort Lewis. But if that one is there, it has your name on it.”

The gray pavement stretches before us as we continue south, the shadows of the fir trees lining both sides cast their shadows across the lonely Interstate. Robert and I maintain conversation about events in our past and some of the memories we shared together as we drive on. The Interstate turns off onto Highway 101 and the sun swings behind us as we head west, with the highway eventually heading north. The drive along the highway becomes even more surreal knowing we passed by this way just a week ago. The week has changed both of us from our experiences. We return with more knowledge and awareness but some of that awareness has also added to our stress. The intense experiences make it seem like more time has passed since driving through here in the opposite direction and adds to the surreal nature of our surroundings. Our conversation dies away slowly as we near the turn off to Mom’s house with worry increasing in both of us.

I feel a great sense of loss as we turn off the highway towards the house. The sense comes from the memories of all of the good times I had with Robert as we pulled onto this highway heading for one fun event or another and realizing those drives won’t happen again; those moments of excitement and anticipation of heading to share the day together.

The sun shines through the trees, forming ribbons of light across the gravel road as we approach the driveway. As the driveway draws near, anxiety and fear intensifies. I don’t want to drive the last few feet for fear of the answer I might find. The sound of the gravel crunches under the tires of the Jeep, rebounding off the thick trees at the side of the road, and is the only sound. A terrible loneliness follows along with the slow crunch of gravel.

I turn into the driveway and immediately begin laughing; both from the release of the nervous tension and from the sight in front of me. There is Mom out in the driveway putting grain out for the squirrels and other wildlife. Only Mom would persist in feeding the deer and squirrels in the midst of civilization collapsing. She drops her large bowl of seed and runs towards us throwing her arms around Robert and then me as we step out of the Jeep.

“I thought I had lost you,” she says with tears streaming down her cheeks. She looks around the Jeep and her hand comes to her mouth as if a shock is coming. “Oh no! Please don’t tell me….”

“The girls are fine, Mom,” I interject before she can complete her sentence and with tears in my own eyes. “We found a few other survivors and they’re waiting at McChord.”

“Thank goodness. Did you find Lynn?” She asks still taking in that we are standing in front of her.

“Yeah, we did along with a few of her friends,” I answer.

“I’m glad you made it. I’ve been so worried for all of you.”

“I’ve been worried about you too. How have things been?” I ask.

“Pretty quiet actually. Oh, I’ve heard some of those horrible yowls some nights but they seemed pretty far away. Nothing like that first night,” she answers.

“That’s good. We’ve come to pick you up. We’re planning on turning the Cabela’s into a fortified haven.”

“I can’t leave, Jack. This place will protect me,” she says.

“I know it will Mom but I want you to come with us. This is a lot worse than you can imagine and we won’t be far away,” I respond. She looks over to Robert who nods his head in affirmation.

“Okay, let me grab a few things,” she says picking up the bowl.

“Need any help?” I ask.

“No, I think I’ve got it,” she answers.

She heads inside the house and returns shortly with several bags in tow. Several times during the trip back to the airfield, I catch a glimpse of movement in the rear-view mirror, continuing to look each time but not seeing anything. I stop on the side of the road after the third time waiting to see if something catches up to us.

“What are we doing?” Robert asks as I slow down and start to pull over.

“I think I keep seeing something behind us,” I answer.

“What is it?” He asks turning to look out of the back window.

“Not sure. I just keep catching movement out of the corner of my eye from time to time,” I respond. “It may be nothing but I want to sit here and see if anything appears.”

We sit with the engine idling but nothing materializes. I turn off the engine and step outside listening for any sound that might give an indication that something is coming up behind us. Only the quiet of the morning with the tinking sound of the engine as it cools down disturbs this desolate stretch of road. I think about turning around and heading back but the anxiety over time and the things we need to get done are weighing on me. I resume the drive after a moment thinking it must be the play of shadows through the fir trees with the sun rising higher into the clear, blue sky or perhaps an occasional breeze shifting the branches.

Our journey back is spent primarily catching Mom up with our adventure and sharing the knowledge we have acquired. Silence fills the Jeep as we turn north onto the Interstate and retrace our previous route. Mom stares at the abandoned cars along the road. This is her first time seeing the emptiness of a world that should be filled with movement and noise. For her, like the trees and animals, not much really changed in her life except having to secure the house and not bring notice to herself. Well, that and not being able to go to the store every once in a while to shop for food.

We arrive back at the gate two hours after passing through on the way out. I radio Lynn letting her know we are back. The flight line has undergone a transformation of sorts as I pull onto the ramp. A mixture of olive drab and light brown transport trucks and Humvees are parked in a line to the rear of the aircraft. I glance about the ramp to see if Craig’s aircraft has arrived but it is empty of any corporate jet. I was really hoping to see its presence on arriving. I know Lynn is worried but she isn’t overtly showing it as I see her directing supplies being loaded onto one of the transports.

Parking by the other vehicles, I step out and walk over to where Bannerman is standing near the open aircraft ramp. Nic and Bri rush out of the back and over to Mom, wrapping their arms around her and giving her a big hug. I hear their excited voices behind me as they begin to tell their stories. The gray pavement at our feet is beginning to heat up as the sun wends its way higher into the early summer sky. No breeze moves through the grass on the far side of the runway or disturbs the air around us.

“What do we have?” I ask Bannerman after a moment of watching soldiers load the last of our supplies from the aircraft.

He looks at a clipboard he found somewhere, “Well, water is our most critical element. We have enough for a couple of days without having to get more or finding a source. We have enough food for at least a week although we may get tired of MRE’s. There’s plenty of ammo for the weapons although we don’t have much for the M-60’s on the Humvees. Weapons we have in plenty. One of the things we’ll have to think about is clothing depending on what you want to do with that. That should be no problem depending on what’s left in Cabela’s but if you want us to stay with uniforms, we should see about visiting the clothing store and the division supply.”

“Okay. I think our best bet for getting water in the short-term is to hit the local stop-and-robs. I don’t think we’ll find much infestation in those locations. We’ll set up hitting the larger stores when I get back. Good point about the clothing. I really didn’t think about that one. Thanks. We’ll add clothing supply when we hit the armories. I’d like you to go with the teams we put together for the main divisional armories and get everything that might be useful that we can fit in the transports. If you can and time allows, try to get the weapon racks themselves so we can store the weapons neatly when we get to Cabela’s,” I say.

“Will do, Jack,” he says.

Lynn walks over dusting her hands off on her fatigue pants. “We’re all loaded up and ready to go.”

“We should hand out whatever antibiotics I pulled out of the hospital. They should be in the cardboard boxes I had stored inside,” I say. “We should all be in a position to administer those quickly if someone gets scratched or bitten by a night runner.”

“Okay, I’ll see to it. The trucks are all gassed up. What do you want to do with this?” Lynn asks nodding at the 130 beside us.

“Not much we can do I guess. I’ll grab the helmets with the NVG’s and we’ll just close it up. You never know,” I answer.

She nods and then asks, “So, how do you want to do this?”

“Well, you know where the armories are right?” I ask and Lynn nods.

“Okay, then we’ll convoy over to the special forces armory. Leave me Alpha and Red Teams and you take the rest over to the other armories. Does that sound good to you?” I ask.

“Sure. What about the goggles?”

“We only have twelve so let’s split them between us. Did we find any bolt cutters?”

“Yeah, Horace found a couple in the hangars so we should be good to go,” Lynn responds. “What about the others?”

“I’ll take the kids and Mom with me. You take Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth. We’ll also leave a team with a vehicle here for when Craig shows up,” I answer. Little Robert appears at the top of the ramp with Mike beside him. Mike trots down and sits at my side.

“I guess I’ll take Mike as well,” I add, smiling.

Lynn doesn’t smile back but directs her gaze to the empty skies around us. “If he can, he’ll be here,” I say putting my arm around her.

“I know,” she says still staring into the blue sky wishing her brother and mom would materialize.

“We can fly over and see if we can find him after we get back,” I say.

“No, I don’t think that would do any good and would be too dangerous anyway,” she says sighing.

“Okay, I’m sure he’ll show up, hon. When we’re finished with the armories, Bannerman mentioned clothing so if you wouldn’t mind gathering those as well. Afterwards, drive the transports back here and head out in individual teams covering both McChord and Fort Lewis to check for any additional survivors. Concentrate on the housing areas but don’t enter any of them unless you absolutely have to. It’s 1000 now so let’s plan to meet back here by 1400 and stay in radio contact,” I say trying to divert her worry and having my own worry about time.

“Explain to me why we’re taking the civilians with us if we’re leaving a team here?” Lynn asks taking her eyes from the sky and looking back at me.

“Good point. I didn’t really think about it and guess I’m a little focused on getting to Cabela’s,” I answer.

The NVG’s, medical supplies, and bolt cutters are distributed. Lynn gathers everyone, introduces Mom, and disseminates the plan. I must admit it feels a little strange being in this role with Mom here. I had always separated that aspect of my life from my family. Not that they didn’t know or anything, but more like I didn’t share much about it. It just feels a little odd, that’s all. Grabbing the helmets from inside, I detail Bravo Team to remain with the now disabled aircraft and the civilians. I hop into the Jeep with Robert as the other teams pile into the waiting vehicles.

We head across the ramp in a convoy with Lynn’s Humvee in the lead. We have the radios set on an agreed frequency but keep the airwaves silent. Lynn will be making radio calls over the various frequencies as we proceed through McChord and onto Fort Lewis to raid the armories. We wind our way through the silent streets. At least with the other vehicles on the road with us, there isn’t that lonely feeling of passing through a desolate place and gives a certain sense of normalcy. Well, riding through a base in a convoy is not really normal for me. It is just nice to see others around even if they aren’t the crowds that used to inhabit these streets.

Brake lights shine ahead and the convoy of vehicles comes to a stop. In a brown grassy field to my left, a hillock sits surrounded by a chain link fence topped with razor wire. Behind the fence and nestled at the base of the mound, a heavy set of double-steel doors sit embedded slightly into the hill. I park the Jeep behind the transport vehicle in front and jump out. Red and Alpha Teams exit their vehicles further up and Lynn walks back down the column in my direction.

“This is the main armory for the special forces battalion. We’ll make sure you get in before proceeding to the divisional armories,” she says standing in the shade of the transport.

“Okay and we’ll keep in contact with the personal radios. Give me a radio check once you get there. I’ll have someone standing by the vehicle radios just in case. Good luck and I love you,” I say feeling the heat of the truck exhaust against my pant legs.

“I love you too. See you shortly,” she replies and begins her stroll back up to the lead Humvee. I see her at one of the other vehicles momentarily to talk about one thing or another.

I walk to the double-wide gate in the chain link fence gathering Red and Alpha Teams along the way. The fence has a tempered padlock holding the two gates closed. Watkins brings the heavy duty bolt cutters and, with Calloway, attempts to cut the post on the lock. The two of them grunt and strain on the cutters and the lock eventually gives way with a resounding snap. The bolt cutters and the strength of the two men have won that battle. Watkins removes the lock and swings the gates open. The other members of the teams keep a lookout for anything in the surrounding area.

I’m not too concerned with night runners inside the armory as the gate was locked and, from my vantage point, the razor wire at the top is untouched. Remembering Lynn’s story of the night runners gaining entrance to the tower in Kuwait, there would be ample evidence that they had been this way. The razor wire would have been strewn with body parts lying on the ground. There is also the fact that there is an identical lock securing the armory doors. From experience, and I can’t assume this to be the case in every instance, the night runners leave clues that they have gained entrance to a building. I worry about their presence, especially seeing we haven’t secured a more permanent safe place yet, but will be doubly worried if they gain the ability to enter into locked places.

A paved drive leads from the gate to the armory doors. The sun is peeking above the tops of the nearby evergreens casting ribbons of light across our path. The idling of the vehicle engines behind interrupts the serenity that might otherwise be found on this calm summer morning. I find it a little odd that I am becoming used to that silence. The eeriness of the events is fading into the recesses of my mind. It still feels dream-like but not as much as it once did. Maybe because I am worrying so much about everything that my consciousness is not recognizing it to the extent it did. Not that I didn’t worry or wasn’t fearful before, it’s just that now I am really feeling the time crunch.

The scene at the gate repeats itself as the lock snaps under the effort of Watkins and Calloway. Alpha Team keeps their weapons trained on the heavy steel doors for precautionary means as Watkins swings one of them open. The squeal of the hinges rises above the idling engines as the door pivots fully open. A cool breeze rushes out from the dark interior, cooling us as it passes by. Seeing the dark interior, I expect to hear the shriek of a night runner even though the doors were tightly locked. Nothing. Calloway reaches in and swings the second door open to the sound of the metal hinges rubbing together.

“Mount up!” I hear Lynn yell by the vehicles.

The sound of doors slamming precedes the noise of engines revving up. A few gears grind as the convoy begins moving out. I turn and watch the precession move off. The convoy quickly disappears from view and the sound diminishes into the distance, until we are once again left with the silence I have come to expect. The only vehicles left are the Jeep, two Humvees and a large transport truck sitting in the road by the open gate.

* * *

She scrambles in the broken window, like she has done every night, before the bright light that brings the burning pain rises into the pre-dawn sky. Her hunt was successful and she will sleep without being hungry today. The four-legged one she chased down and cornered fed her for another night and she is satisfied. Food is becoming harder to locate each night and she finds herself having to wander farther afield to obtain it. Small packs roam the night and she has not joined any of them for the moment. She feels like she can fend for herself better although the picture messages sent from the others are becoming more insistent. She knows she will not be able to avoid joining one for much longer and it might be against her will. So far, her lair has not been found by the wandering male packs and she has been left to herself.

She empties her bladder and makes her way up to the darkened room where she sleeps. Her shoulder still hurts where she had to fight the four-legged one but her agility and strength won out in the end. Curling up on the floor, she falls asleep and shuts her mind off from the other packs that are finding their way to their own lairs.

She wakes suddenly in the midst of a picture-filled sleep, confused for a moment as to how or why she is lying on the floor. She sits up quickly, the thoughts and memories of the previous evening gone; unable to recall the last few days at all other than to know that there had been a last few days. Oh My God! Where are my kids? She thinks scrambling out of the ink black room, knocking her shoulder against the wall and wondering where and how she hurt it. Checking the upstairs bedroom and finding their beds empty, she flies down the stairs in a panic calling out their names, her voice echoing throughout the house.

Barely noticing the carpet beneath her bare feet, she runs down the central hallway continuing to call out their names, hoping for an answering shout. The house remains silent except for her calls reverberating off of the pale, yellow walls and the soft pad of her feet on the floor, filling the space between shouts. She runs to the basement and, throwing open the door, she shouts into the dark area beneath the house; the light from outside sending a single streamer of light across the room and onto the concrete floor. No answer returns.

Closing the basement door, she turns toward the front door and notices the broken front window. What happened there? She thinks with an increased panic feeling. Did someone break in and take her kids? She reaches out for the front door handle, feeling hesitant about opening it and confused as to why. The feeling of panic overrides the why and her fingers close around the knob.

A veil closes over her mind like a mist seeping inland from the sea. The panic feeling is instantly erased and the picture images return. Those images convey confusion as to why she is away from her sleeping place. Her skin begins to tingle from the radiated light leaking in from the window. The panic feeling from before, although forgotten, is replaced by another seeing the light and feeling her skin itch and prickle. She has the feeling she was about to go outside into the pain of the daylight and cannot figure out why. She dashes across the partially lit room and up the stairs. Finding her dark room once again, she curls up on the floor and falls asleep.

* * *

I turn back to the open doors of the armory with the silence settling around us. The doors open into a black hole. The light from outside spills a few yards inside but illuminates only a concrete floor leading into the interior of the mounded-over armory. I must admit there is a hunger of sorts inside me thinking about all of the neat toys that lie within; items that will hopefully give us an edge over the physical advantages the night runners possess. There is no question that we will have to penetrate the domain of the night runners for our short-term supplies so we will have to go in with anything and everything that will give us the best chance at surviving any and all encounters.

“Well, we can do this with goggles or flashlights. What do you think?” I ask Watkins.

“Really, I don’t think it makes a difference here but think maybe we should sweep the place with the goggles first just to be sure,” he answers.

“I agree,” I say. “We only have six plus the helmets. I’ll go in with Red Team. Have Alpha ready with flashlights by the door but keep an eye on the surrounding area. If it’s all clear, we’ll go in together with the flashlights and see what we have here. Have one member back at the truck on the radio.”

“Grab your helmet. You’re going in with us,” I tell Robert.

I will use one of the goggles as I can’t fit the ear piece from the radios inside it and I want to be able to communicate just in case. I’ll have Robert right by my side so I’ll be able to yell at him if I need to. The sound of his boots hitting the paved lane interrupts the silence as he runs back to the Jeep to gather his helmet. Returning, he joins the rest of teams gathered.

“The interior appears to be long and narrow judging from the shape of the hill. Robert and I will be in the front and middle as much as space allows. Henderson and Denton, you cover the right flank, Gonzalez and McCafferty, you have the left. Flankers keep ten feet behind so we all have clear lines of fire in any direction. Keep a watch to the rear so we don’t get blindsided if anything is in here. Watkins, keep your lights on the ground just behind us to help keep an eye on our six. Questions?” I say donning the goggles.

Everyone shakes their head answering. “Okay, let’s lock and load.”

I am eager now that we are at this point. That is coupled with an anxious feeling about entering into any dark place. The experience of past entries doesn’t exactly leave me with warm and fuzzy feelings. Reaching just inside the armory doors to the right, I flick a bank of switches to the upward position. No corresponding lights flicker on with my action. Well, it was worth a try, I think stepping onto the concrete floor of the armory with Robert by my side, his helmet on and goggles up. I settle my goggles into place as I approach the light/dark demarcation line, the light fading quickly from light to gray to a smoky black. The building gives off an oily, metallic smell that only a room full of metal parts has. The room comes alive as my goggles click into place. The once invisible parts of the room shine forth in a green glow. I look over to Robert and see he has lowered his NVG’s as well.

Racks of weapons line the walls to the left stretching back into the room. To the right, cases are stacked on shelving units with crates lining parts of the wall. In the center of the armory, empty tables stand with small basins set within each - obviously cleaning stations. My vision doesn’t stretch to include the entire length of the room but I don’t immediately see anywhere something could be hiding in wait. I motion Henderson and Denton around to the right side of the tables and start down the center adjacent the tables in the middle. Gonzalez and McCafferty take up station to my left and behind.

We proceed further into the armory, slowly checking every inch until I at last see the rear of the building. Nothing shrieks or jumps out at us. I didn’t expect anything from the locked condition of the building but assuming something can get you or those around you killed. I turn us around and head back to Watkins. Exiting, I look at the vehicles and do one of those face-palm slaps.

“Watkins, can you bring the transport to the entrance and shine the lights inside? That’ll help us see to inventory and gather what we want. I should have thought of that right off the bat,” I say shaking my head with my own stupidity - or at least my own lack of thinking.

“No problem,” he answers and directs Calloway to go get the truck.

I notice the distinct lack of salutations with the exception of towards each other, well, among the enlisted. Can I still call them that? Well, now that I think about it, it is really only gone when addressing me. I certainly don’t mind, just noticed, that’s all.

Calloway drives the truck to the entrance, lighting up the interior with the headlight beams. I have Watkins keep two of Alpha outside to maintain security around us and we head in. Now that I’m not searching for night runners playing hide-and-seek or seeking to serve me up on a plate, I see the treasure trove we have. Lines of M-4s are in racks on the left.

I walk over to one, grabbing it from the rack. Looking at the selector lever, I feel the delight of a kid getting the exact present he wanted at Christmas. It’s an M-4A1 – fully auto with an integrated rail system. Dozens of them line the wall. Looking closer in the light cast by the idling truck, I see they are all equipped with SpectreDR sights. My thrill level increases substantially. These are optics that provide for close range and ranged capabilities. This means this armory has the latest and greatest special ops modules. I turn toward the large cases stored in several of the shelf units. They must contain the remainder of the modules and I hope they are fully equipped. If so, the modules will have suppressors, night vision sights, and infrared aiming devices which are meant to be used with night vision goggles. I set the carbine back in the stand. I want to take it right there and then but choose to keep the one I have for the moment as all of these weapons will have to be sighted in.

“Wow!” Robert says beside me holding one of the carbines.

“Yeah, we kinda struck the mother lode,” I say with a grin.

“Let’s load up all of these,” I say turning to Watkins pointing out the M-4s.

I walk further toward the back along the weapons racks as the soldiers begin carting the M-4s out. Next to the racks of M-4s, I come across two dozen M110s – semi-automatic sniper rifles firing 7.62mm rounds and fitted with 3.5 x 10 scopes. Most of our engagements have been close quarters but I’m not about to turn these beauts down. You never know when something like this will come in handy and it’s not like we are severely limited on space or limited to one overhead bag. I imagine we’ll pretty much clean this place out.

The rest of the tour has goodies in every location. The large cases do indeed have the module packages for the M-4s and dozens of cases have Gen3 dual eye/dual tube (binocular) night vision goggles along with attachments and batteries. Other cases have M-9s with suppressors. One of the biggest finds, at least in my opinion, were the individual radios with throat mics plus unit radios helpful for transmitting across distances. There are large boxes with ACU, Multi-Cam, and black clothing in a variety of sizes. We also find a multitude of Ranger Green, ACU, Multi-Cam, and black tactical vests complete with a variety of modular attachments. Crates upon crates of ammo for all weapon types are brought out and loaded, including C4 and grenades of all sorts; flash bangs, smoke, tear gas, and your regular, every day blow stuff up types. All in all, there’s everything I imagined and more. We haul everything out, even taking the racks after removing the bolts holding them to the floor, filling the transport truck almost to capacity.

The sun is at its zenith as the last case is loaded. The clang of the truck tail gate closing echoes across the silent enclosure. I call Lynn letting her know we are finished here giving a quick rundown of what we found. She replies that they are about finished with two of the armories and about to head over to gather clothing. We agree to meet back at the aircraft prior to searching for survivors so we can coordinate efforts – making sure to cover everywhere without duplicating efforts.

I feel oddly invigorated rather than the tired feeling I thought I would have. Perhaps due to the stress I feel but that usually makes me feel more tired and have less energy. It could be that there is so much to do and having things to do gives me energy – depending on what it is. It may also be that we have found these great tools that will even things up slightly. It’s not that the things we have found will make the difference or really increase our capabilities much, but there are items that will make it a little easier for us. For one, with our night vision gear, the infrared aiming devices will add to our capability in darkened buildings.

We secure the armory doors and gate, sliding the locks back into place without being able to actually lock them, and climb into our respective vehicles. The area comes to life with sound as the engines are started. Our small convoy begins our drive back to the ramp trying to retrace our route. We only have to turn around once after missing the correct turn to McChord. We finally pull onto the tarmac and park off to the side of the aircraft. The 130 sits on the ramp looking sad and forlorn as if it knows it has completed its last journey but knowing that its final trip was perhaps the most important one in its long life; able to retire with pride.

As I step out of the Jeep, Mike runs out of the back of the aircraft and across the ramp. I squat and put my arms around him as he licks my face, his hind end swaying from side to side. We are bonding well and he acts like I haven’t seen him in months rather than a couple of hours. I stand staring off at the hills of the Cascades waiting for Lynn and the other teams to arrive. The hills are a subdued blue and partially hidden behind a haze. The other nice thing, if one can think of nice things associated with such a loss of human life, is that the air will clear up. I remember looking at those same hills many, many years ago and I could see them with such clarity; able to see the actual trees residing on their slopes. Now, they are just a blur of color.

I begin to feel a touch of impatience just standing here. With all there is to do, standing idly makes me feel like I’m wasting time. I want to be doing something but, honestly, there isn’t anything to be done at this time. I know Lynn is moving as fast as she can and what she is doing is important, but I am eager for her to get here and for us to be off. We still have the search to do. It feels like I am running in molasses – time is passing but I’m getting nowhere. Looking around, my vision settles on the transport truck filled with items looking like Santa’s sleigh. All I need is reindeer to attach to the front.

Time passes slowly and Lynn finally calls that they are finished and on their way. My impatience has increased to the point that I want to start pacing just to do something when I hear the sound of the convoy approaching. The sun overhead passes its highest point and begins its downward trek, beginning the second half of the day, by the time the first of the vehicles enter the ramp. They are all in a line as they transit the ramp and pull up next to the already parked vehicles, shutting down individually as they park in a row. The sound of doors closing resonates in the still of the early afternoon and brings finality to their arrival.

Lynn’s face falls slightly as she looks around the ramp obviously hoping to see Craig’s jet. I feel her heartache and wish I could just make the jet appear. She gathers herself and walks over, giving a rundown of what they found and brought. Her face is streaked with dirt where the sweat has evaporated.

“How do you want to do this?” Lynn asks referring to the search for survivors.

“I think we should head off in teams and assign areas to each one. Have them cruise through their areas slowly, calling out and making noise as best as they can,” I answer.

“I’ll stay here with the others who aren’t assigned to teams in case someone shows up, alerted by our noise,” I continue purposely not adding that I am also staying to wait for her brother and mom.

“Okay, I don’t have a map to go by so I’ll just give general area assignments if that’s okay with you,” she says.

“Sounds good to me. How long do you think it’ll take to cover the entire area with what we have?” I ask.

“I would guess two hours to do it right,” she replies.

“Two hours!? Fuck! Well, it can’t be helped and if we’re going to do it, then we should do it right,” I say with my impatience coming to the front. Lynn shrugs and smiles, not taking it personally, knowing that I am just frustrated. It’s a tight smile but a smile nonetheless.

“Okay, would you mind making the assignments and I’ll just find a rock to go hide under. It’s almost 1300 now so have everyone make sure to be back at 1500. The day is moving on and we need to get to Cabela’s, let alone to get Kelly. I would like to distribute the gear and go to the firing range to sight in the weapons but now I’m not sure we’ll have the time to do that,” I add.

“No prob. I’ll see to it. There’s plenty of light left so we should be okay,” she says.

“I know. I’m just impatient. Sorry. If we have to, we’ll stay one more night in the aircraft but I’d rather not. I would suggest I head down with a couple of teams to clear the building and meeting you there later but the place is huge and we would be too vulnerable searching it with so few of us,” I say just as a light bulb goes off in my head like an explosion of light. I withdraw inside thinking of possibilities, completely oblivious to my surroundings.

“Whatcha thinking?” Lynn asks noticing my withdrawal and bringing me back to the present.

“I was thinking I could take Bannerman, Wilson, and Red Team and just scout the area. We could also take the measurements on the entrance doors and go find some security doors that we’ll be able to mount. I’m thinking of the ones you pull down and lock. We could head over to the armory first and see if those doors might work as well,” I say.

“Sounds like a good plan if you want to do that,” she replies.

“Yeah, I think we’ll do that. I want to head back to the armory to take measurements and see how hard it will be to remove the doors. We’ll then head off to the range to sight in our weapons and meet you at Cabela’s. We’ll be out of radio range so we won’t be able to communicate but call and when you get close.”

“Okay. Don’t you go in without the rest of us there, Jack,” Lynn says looking directly into my eyes.

“I won’t,” I respond.

“I mean it, Jack. I know you so promise me you won’t,” she says keeping the direct eye contact.

“Okay, I promise. We’ll just scout around. We’ll leave you our transport so you can hand out the equipment prior to your heading to the range. I think we should use the weapons and gear we pulled out of the Special Forces armory. There’s enough to go around ten-fold. Leave a team here on the ramp,” I say.

“Just remember you promised,” she says.

I know. I’ll be good. Just leave us three Humvees.”

“Okay, Jack,” she says and turns, beginning to issue instructions.

“Hey,” I say interrupting her yells.

“What?” Lynn asks turning around.

“I love you,” I say so that only she hears.

“I love you too,” she says. Smiling, she turns and picks up where she left off.

I gather Red Team, Bannerman, Frank, and all of the others who are coming with me – meaning my family, Kathy, Little Robert, Kenneth, and, of course, Mike. I give them a rundown on our plans. I have them follow me to the transport truck and begin issuing gear ensuring everyone has one of the M-4’s and night vision goggles. I also distribute the infra-red aiming units. We sort through the black fatigues and tac vests and head into the aircraft in shifts to change. I issue the gear to Red Team, Bannerman, Wilson, and Robert taking one of each for myself. I gather a few spares, set them in the Jeep, and send Red Team into the open hangars to gather any sets of tools they can find.

I have Nic, Bri, and Michelle also find dark fatigues that fit and head in to change after everyone else finishes. They haven’t changed in some time and I’m sure they would like to regardless of what that clothing may be. While they are in the aircraft, I wave Robert over to join me and we walk over to the base operations building, slinging my new M-4 across my back. I also keep my current one because I know it is sighted in and want it handy just in case something comes up.

The black uniform and vest are soaking up the heat as the sun’s rays stream down. In the shadow of the building and with Robert at my side, I peer in the glass panel set in the door, checking out the hallway beyond. The hallway, as before, is partially lit from the radiated light through the glass panels. Nothing is moving and I open the door. Stepping inside, I look into the weather shop to my immediate left through a sizable pane set in a wooden door. The interior is well-lit from light filtering in through the large windows on the building’s front. The room looks the same as before. A small amount of dust is gathered on the floor. I don’t see any tracks in the dust so know that this room has not been entered since my last visit.

I proceed in. Dust stirs faintly from the breeze created by the opening of the door. Robert is behind me as I walk into the room proper. A rank smell of decomposition rises to my nose; not overpowering but it is unmistakable.

“Whew,” Robert says quietly.

“I know. That’s something you never get used to. I’m guessing it must be the ones I shot in the back room last week,” I say waving my hand in front of my face, trying to fan the smell away.

We walk over to the desk amid the dust and odor of death. Peering over the counter, I see a variety of phone books off to the side. I can barely reach them over the counter but paw through, pushing some to the side until I come up with on for the Olympia area. Grabbing that one, I bring it up and look through until I verify there is a place in the area down south that has the type of security doors I am thinking about using as our main line of defense at Cabela’s.

I take the phone book and we exit onto the ramp. The girls have finished changing by the time we arrive back. The noise of voices and doors shutting permeate the area as the other teams get ready to head out on their search. Vehicles start up and proceed off the ramp individually, heading off to the areas Lynn assigned them. My thoughts go with them and I hope we can find those still holding out; hoping also there are a few of them. It’s a funny thing, sometimes I think we have quite a few people with us, and, other times I think we are woefully inadequate. Billions of people have been reduced to, well, as far as I know, us. That is mightily mind-boggling.

The last of the vehicles depart, their sound fading into the early afternoon. Mullin’s second group is left behind to guard the transport trucks. I leave instructions with them to make sure the aircraft is closed up before departing. I look around at Red Team, currently setting large cases of tools in the back of a Humvee along with some of the ammo cases, and those going with me. I have to tell you, it is very strange seeing Nic and Bri dressed in black fatigues. The dire situation we are in comes into a greater light seeing them clad like that. It really makes me realize how far we have come and also how far we have to go. Without the services we have become accustomed to, we will slide further into another potential dark age. That could be either a good or bad thing. All I know is that it will be different.

Piling into the Humvees and the Jeep, we begin our own trip. I have Mike jump in the back of the Jeep and Robert climbs in the passenger side. The 130 is sitting on the ramp with the rear ramp still open and the sun’s rays reflecting off of the surface of the wings and fuselage. With a last look around and giving the old bird a silent thanks, I close the door and drive off the ramp heading to the armory; the three Humvees carrying the others in my wake.

We stop briefly at the armory and take measurements of the doors. Looking at the hinges, it will be work getting them out but not impossible. They are basically bolted into the thick concrete walls. We’ll just have to make sure we have the right tools. Those we gathered from the hanger should suffice. And of course lots of people to lift them and something to transport them.

Gonzalez and Henderson were based here prior so know the way to one of the firing ranges. We drive that way with the sun slowly making its way across the western sky and me trying to will it to stop. It doesn’t listen. We manage to make our way to one of the ranges and park close to the firing line. I step out and dust eddies around my boots as they hit the ground. The range itself is surrounded by trees with the all-too-familiar dirt berm set up on the far end. Several covered sheds dot the firing line with individual positions marked with small, white, box-like indicators. The range itself is quite wide but the downrange targets are shorter, which is okay as our engagements have been short range ones and its best to sight in at the engagement distances we’ll be facing.

I have everyone attach the aiming devices and make sure the suppressors are attached. The M-4, as do others weapons, has a different ballistic trajectory with a suppressor attached so it’s important we sight in with them on. We spread out on the firing line and I give a lesson on the operation of the aiming devices and SpectreDR sights. I gather the spare carbines I threw in the Jeep and hand them to Nic, Bri, Michelle, and Mom.

“Dad, what?” Nic says holding the carbine.

“You need to learn and I’ll be more comfortable knowing you have them and can use them. I’ll show you how they work and the nuances,” I say assigning them places on the line next to the rest. They had a small lesson with the M-16 back in Kuwait but I want them to become more proficient. I hand the remaining spares to Kathy and Kenneth. Little Robert is a little young to be handling a weapon of this size so I leave him out.

I give the okay to commence firing. The soft sound of suppressed rounds being fired on semi-automatic fills the air. I make sure the girls’ and Mom’s carbines are set on semi and show them how to sight in using the SpectreDR – how to change the magnification and to make adjustments until the reticle is matched to the bullet impact point. After getting the sights correct, I have them switch to the aiming device, setting it to the visual laser. The infra-red laser will track the same point as the visual one. I let them shoot through a couple of mags until they become comfortable firing the M-4. I show them how to change magazines and to reload individual mags.

Robert lies on the ground next to us, popping a round and then making an adjustment on the sight. I see him fire a few rounds without stopping to adjust and then nod with satisfaction. He goes through the same process with the aiming device attached to the top, front of the rail; nodding once again as he becomes satisfied with his settings. With the girls now feeling somewhat comfortable, I kneel with Mike at my side and begin sighting in my own M-4. We switch to the M-9’s and begin the sighting-in process again. The sounds of firing eventually diminish and come to stop.

“Everybody good?” I ask in the ensuing silence. A smattering of “good here” and nods answer.

We disassemble and clean our guns, teaching how to break the weapons down and clean them to those that don’t know how, at covered tables set to along the rear of the long firing line. Reassembling them, we pile back into the vehicles and chase the sun, beginning our journey out of the base and toward the Interstate south. We retrace our route back to McChord wanting to go out of the gate there. I would take the more direct route to the gates of Fort Lewis but I remember those gates being blocked. I’m not sure how blocked they are and what it will take to clear a route so I take the route I know is open. Time still weighs heavily on me and I don’t want to come across anything else that will impede our progress. We come to the guard booths, once again having to traverse over and around the now highly decomposing corpses, just as the phone in my pocket vibrates.

“Are you coming?” The text appears. Yes, it’s from Kelly.

I radio Lynn letting her know we are exiting the base and heading south.

“Okay, Jack. Be careful. See you soon,” she replies over the airwaves.

“Roger that. You too,” I reply.

The afternoon is passing quickly as I begin typing my response to Kelly.

“We’ll be leaving in a few hours. Thinking around eight tonight. Might have to stay the night. Have water and scent-free candles handy.”

The phone vibrates again a short time later as we are coming up on the outer gates.

“That late?” Ugh, I swear, I think starting to reply.

“I’m moving as fast as I can. You can drive up if you want,” I text back.

“No. We’ll wait for you here,” Kelly texts.

“Okay. Call you when we’re on the way,” I type and press the send button.

Hitting the Interstate, we turn southward once again. This is beginning to feel like I’m driving a mail route. The sun is far too low in the sky for my taste given all that needs to happen between now and when it dips below the western horizon. I can almost literally see it shoot across the sky. Continuing south, we drive past the lower marshlands of the Nisqually Basin. The tide is out and the mud flats are revealed. Cranes line the water edge, standing elegantly on their long legs and occasionally dipping their beaks when they find something that interests them. I look out over the waters of the South Puget Sound, glistening and sparkling with reflections of the sun on its surface, and see a bald eagle sitting on a tall post jutting out of the water. The eagle leaps from the post and soars across the water, climbing higher into the afternoon sky. My heart goes out and I wish I could soar along with it.

Climbing the hill on the far side of the basin, with the exit we want lying just ahead, I look anxiously ahead. The tops of the fir trees lining the tall embankments sway slightly in an afternoon breeze. I see the Humvee directly behind me trudge up the slope in my rear view. Cresting the hill, I take the exit and turn onto a recently paved road. Passing by two round-a-bouts and taking a side road, I turn into the drive leading to the outdoor store.

The store is hidden by a slope in the long driveway, slowly showing more of itself the closer I get; first the green, metal roof, then the large yellow sign before the reddish-brown, wooden building comes fully into view as we top the small hill. Large paved parking lots encircle the area around the store with light poles set in a scattered pattern throughout. The building exhibits both the feeling of hiding danger behind its walls and one of safety. The danger comes from my experience within buildings and the safety from my thought that this will provide a sanctuary for us.

I pull up to the front of the store, staying back from the covered drive-thru area by the front doors. Four sets of double glass doors, two sets on the left and two on the right, with two large panes of glass between them, make up the front entrance. A small foyer exists inside with a second set of entrance doors identical to the first ones across a small tiled vestibule. My heart leaps into my throat looking at the entrance. Shards of glass litter the wide concrete sidewalk; one of the large panes of glass is broken and very little glass remains in its frame.

“That’s not good,” I say as we all gather on the pavement by the drive-thru.

The familiar pattern of faint footprints, marked by dried blood, lie on the light gray sidewalk, disappearing as they hit the darker gray pavement of the drive. My heart sinks at the sight. I have brought everyone to this place and now it seems like it is occupied. The size of the building makes me believe that multitudes lie within. We have yet to find signs like these into a building where hordes of night runners haven’t lain within. I feel at a loss as to what to do. Thoughts enter of retiring back to the aircraft for the night and the sanctuary it affords. Yes we will have all of the teams available but the risk is great. Looking at the store, I still think this gives us the best option given its size and limited entrance.

“I was really hoping we wouldn’t see something like that,” Gonzalez says, “but, sir, we’ll clean ‘em out right quick.”

I am really thankful for her support and mark of confidence. A quick gust ruffles my clothing and then is gone. The scent feels clean, carrying only the odors of the surrounding grass fields and the evergreens farther away. I am thankful the breeze wasn’t coming from the direction of town as it would probably carry an entirely different scent. We’re here so we may have to fight for our place of refuge. If it gets too bad, we can retreat and find another.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” I say turning from the building and the implications the broken glass and footprints indicate. “Henderson, Denton, stay here with the others. Robert, Gonzalez, McCafferty, with me. Bannerman, would you get a measurement on the front doors? We’ll want to put the pull-down security doors on both the inside and outside of both sets of entrance doors. Keep in mind the possibility of using the armory doors in the future.”

Attaching the throat mic and with my “new” M-4 cradled in my arm, I head off to tour the exterior to get an idea of what we are looking at. The building is basically a large rectangular structure with reddish - brown, wooden sides giving it the look of an enormous log cabin. A river-rock wall about three feet high is built up along the sides. Looking by the entrance doors, I notice that the wood and rock wall is built against a sturdier concrete structure.

Robert is at my side, with Gonzalez and McCafferty tailing behind, as we round the first corner. Walking along the long side of the structure, we come across the double glass doors of the side entrance set approximately at the mid-point. The doors are intact and unlocked. This is handy as it will give us the option of having an immediate second exit or entry point for when we go inside.

“Bannerman, there’s another set of doors along the side that I’d like you to measure when you finish,” I say into the radio.

“Will do, Jack,” he responds shortly after.

We continue along the side and round the corner to the shaded rear of the structure. A large, enclosed overhang is set against the building. I nod in appreciation. I was hoping to find this. Walking to the enclosure, I see the open part is secured by a chain link fence across its entirety with a double gate set in the middle. The gate is padlocked. Behind the fence, bolted onto a concrete pad, sit two very large generators. Both have large tanks with a green diesel placard plastered on the exterior.

“Would you two mind heading back and drive one of the Humvees over? Grab the bolt cutters and you’ll find a couple of green hoses in the back of the Jeep. If you could grab those, I’d be most appreciative. Oh, please grab the gas cans there as well,” I say to the two women dressed in black fatigues and tac vests.

“Sure, no prob, sir,” McCafferty says and they trot along the back and disappear around the corner.

“What do you think?” Robert asks referring to the generators.

“I think they ran out of fuel. It could be that the lights might have been left on inside judging from the unlocked doors. If not, then we can check and see if they at least work. Wherever we go, we’ll need power,” I answer.

“Hey, Dad,” Robert says.

“Yeah,” I respond continuing to stare at the mammoth diesel engines.

“Thanks for including me and letting me be a part.”

“You may not thank me later, but you bet,” I say turning to put my arm around his shoulder.

“Do you think this place will work out?” He asks giving a small nod toward the store.

“I really hope so. We may have quite a fight on our hands clearing it out. I’m not a fan of its open interior and with it having the second story open to the bottom. We have plenty of teams and so, if we play it right and do it smart, we should be okay,” I answer.

I hear the sound of birds chirping in our vicinity before the noise of an approaching vehicle overrides their calls. The Humvee appears at the corner and is driven up over the curb. Gonzalez brings the vehicle to rest a few feet from the fenced-in generators and both women jump out. Opening the rear, McCafferty extracts bolt cutters and the hose while Gonzalez hoists the two metal gas cans. The silver-colored padlock is cut off and the gates swung open.

I step into the enclosure and tap down the sides of the tanks. The hollow sound follows my tapping down to the bottom of both tanks. Empty, as I thought. I reach up and unscrew the cap on the top of one tank, inserting a metal pole sitting by the side. It comes out with a miniscule amount of fuel on the bottom. The second tank indicates the same. We siphon a few gallons from the Humvee, filling the gas cans a few times and emptying their contents into the dry tanks. Resealing the caps, I hit the green “run” button on the first generator. The generator cranks for a moment, coughs and sputters, and then comes to life with a roar. I test the second generator and it follows the same process.

I head over to the side with the noise from the generators fading as I round the corner. Bannerman is by the side doors, measuring them, with the others standing a short distance away. I walk in front of the glass doors and peer in.

“Crap,” I say with my head still pressed against the glass and my hands cupped around my eyes.

“What?” Roberts asks.

Darkness still reigns inside although I’m able to see the green exit lights glowing above the entrance doors far to my right.

“The lights are still off,” I answer pulling back from the door.

“Do you have the measurements?” I ask Bannerman.

“As best I can,” he replies.

“Okay, let’s head out front. I’ll turn the generators off and meet you there,” I say.

With our original group, I return to the generators and hit the red “off” button on both of them. They sputter and die. Closing the fence and putting the padlock through the gate, we reload the gear and I send Gonzalez and McCafferty to the front with the Humvee. Robert and I continue around the rest of the exterior, finding only three large service bay doors that are closed and locked. I do note that the roof is flat but cannot see any easy way up from the outside. Gathered at the front with the others, I notice windows set into the second story.

I point to the windows and tell Bannerman, “We’ll need something to cover those.”

He looks up. The windows appear to be a regular size and are set into the wall on either side of the entrance.

“I think bars might be best for something like that,” he says. “Maybe a set on both sides.”

“Good idea,” I tell him. “Hopefully they’ll have something like that at the same place where we find the doors.”

I get the phone book we secured from the weather shop and open it to the yellow pages where I found the security door manufacturer. I take note of the address. The rays from the sun cast a shadow from my finger across a map of the city as I find the location and trace a route. I look up towards the western sky and judge the travel of the sun across the light blue sky. We have quite a few hours of daylight left but it doesn’t feel like it. I look at my watch and see it’s a little after three in the afternoon. I figure we should have enough time to get the doors and be back before Lynn shows up. Providing everything goes well that is. I would like to leave those without training here but don’t want to leave the scant few I have with me behind to guard them. You never know what the circumstances are at the location or what we may run into and I’d like to have every able body with me just in case.

“Alright everyone, let’s mount up,” I say.

Slumping into the Jeep seat, the invigoration I felt earlier is beginning to fade, being replaced by an oncoming tiredness. The warmth of the day, although much cooler and less humid than the previous days, is adding to a feeling of lethargy. Oh for a peaceful night of sleep, I think starting the vehicle up. I hear the other vehicles crank up and we backtrack to the Interstate.

We drive down the black-topped road, take an exit south of town and on subsequent country lanes that eventually lead to a medium-sized metal pre-fabricated building set behind a chain link fence. I come to a stop by the short, dirt and gravel driveway leading in. A wide open dirt-filled yard, with scrap pieces of metal scattered and strewn about, encircles the structure. A couple of rusting trailers sit in one of the corners of the yard and three large panel vans are parked towards the front.

The gate to the facility is open making it easy to drive up to the entrance. The blue metal building is plain but large. Two windows and a white door adorn the right side of the building with a large roll-type, garage door in the middle. All are shut and the place looks vacated. It has a quiet, desolate feel to it. With our engines shut down, that feeling only intensifies.

A warm breeze blows through causing the dust to eddy about the abandoned yard, giving it its only life. The dust twirls upwards forming a small funnel and moves across the abandoned yard. The others exit the vehicles after the swirl of dust passes out of the gate like a customer leaving. The air is calm following the short dust storm, settling into the warm summer day once again. The rays beat down from a sun hovering above the top of the trees across the road. For once, time seems to stand still in this little lot. Not a breath of air stirs or sound is made. It’s like we stepped out of the world we were placed in and into a separate piece of reality. Even the degree of tension about the time seems to have ebbed.

The feeling of separation from the rest of the world suddenly vanishes and we are left just standing in a dusty, litter-strewn lot with an aging, prefabricated metal building in the middle of it. Clumps of brown grass grow among and around where the larger metal parts have been scattered. The others in our group are standing adjacent to their vehicles in much the same manner; perhaps feeling the same way, perhaps lost in other thoughts. I think there are times of great stress when the mind just has to rest itself. Or maybe when it’s about to embark on something of great stress. I certainly remember folding into another world prior to a mission but that was more on a conscious level of focusing the mind; eliminating distractions that may interfere with being centered.

“Henderson and Denton with me. Robert, you as well. Gonzalez and McCafferty stay with the vehicles,” I say breaking the silence that seems to have stretched for an eternity.

The others are startled from their trances by the sound of my voice bouncing off the metallic building. As at Cabela’s, Robert and I take the lead with Henderson and Denton behind. I want to do a circuit around the building prior to going in. The aging building is streaked with rust where the sides join the overhanging roof. It’s just another sign of neglect that the lot has already shown. I just hope they did a better job with the security doors they built. Weeds, long dead, are growing against the sides of the structure.

Gravel fills some of the larger potholes, crunching under our boots as we make our way along the longer-than-it-seemed side of the building. My toe catches one of the stones and sends it skipping across the dirt lot, kicking up small puffs of dust where it hits. I feel the heat radiating off the sheet metal as we continue toward the rear. Rounding the corner, the back end of the structure looks similar to the front but without the windows or door. A large, roll-type door, identical to the one in front, is open revealing a concrete floor with dust swirled across it. With this side of the building in the shade, the light isn’t penetrating far inside. I wave Robert and the others behind me, sidling against the outside wall until I come to the opening without revealing myself.

I stand for a moment listening. The fact that the door is open alerts me to the possibility that night runners could be lurking inside. The additional fact that we are out of the city a little ways may mean there aren’t many night runners around, although I’m sure they will expand out into the country as the food within the cities begins to disappear. I don’t hear any sounds coming from inside except for the occasional pop of metal heating up and expanding. None of the panting I heard in the hospital is present. I look to the ground in front of the door looking for tracks but the breeze and dust has rendered the ground smooth, effectively removing any tracks if there were any there to begin with. I don’t see any tracks in the dust on the floor either.

I kneel and poke my head around the corner looking into the building proper. I don’t like being backlit by the daylight but there isn’t really an option if I want a glimpse inside. The light at the door fades into a deeper gray and then darkness further into the interior. The sides are covered with that same inky black. The only exception is a thin line of light showing on the other side at ground level from the opposite door. Nothing stirs.

I’d go in now with those with me but I’m not comfortable with how the rest of our small group is still sitting at the front. If something were to happen, they would be in the line of fire ahead of us and our rounds would easily go through the sheet metal sides. Pulling back from the open door, we retrace our steps to the front and describe what we saw upon arriving.

“I’ll be taking Red Team and Robert in with me. Frank, will you take everyone and the vehicles back up the road a little ways. Leave one the Humvees here. If something does happen inside, I don’t want anyone to be in the line of fire or in a position to catch a ricochet. Those walls won’t stop a bullet,” I say.

“Sure, no problem, Jack,” he answers.

Mom catches my eye and I know she has something she wants to say by her look. I nod my head and we step aside from the rest.

“Are you sure about taking Robert in?” She asks in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, Mom. He went in with me at the BX in the Azores and did a great job in a hellish environment. He has to learn and he’ll be okay,” I reply.

“Okay, you know what’s best. I don’t know about Bri and Nic carrying weapons though,” she says.

“I know. Me neither really but they have to learn too, Mom. The luxury of having that kind of choice has gone,” I respond.

“Okay, but know that their minds are still developing and things can be taken to an extreme at their age.”

“I know. I wish it were different,” I say and we return to the others.

Why do kids always say “I know” to their parents no matter what age they are? I think watching the others load into the Humvees and Jeep. They drive through the open gate and onto the country road, disappearing quickly behind large blackberry vines that edge the road. I hear the squeal of brakes shortly after and then the muted sound of engines idling a short distance away. The remaining Humvee looks lonely sitting in the dusty yard after being surrounded by other vehicles only moments ago.

“Alright, McCafferty, take the Humvee around and park so that the interior is lit up by the headlights as best as you can. We’ll meet you there and formulate a plan based upon what we see,” I say.

The rest of us start walking to the rear entrance, reaching the side as McCafferty climbs in and shuts the door. The loud shutting door is followed by the sound of something metallic hitting the floor and bouncing a couple of times inside the building. What was that? Did something just fall off a shelf or is something in there? Or is it occupied? And if so, why didn’t it happen before? I think knowing we made a lot of noise on our arrival and since. Everyone freezes from the sound that was emitted dully from the other side of the wall.

“Well, we have to assume there’s company in there,” I say.

“McCafferty, we may have company inside. Wait for us before pulling into position,” I say over the radio. She drives the Humvee alongside and keeps pace with us.

I round the corner and stand by the opening again. McCafferty parks just off to the side and behind us. I call out to see if anyone is inside. It’s pretty obvious that if anything is there, they or it already know we are here so I feel comfortable calling out. It’s not like we were being sneaky. There’s no reply.

“We’ll form a line in front of the door fifteen feet back and have the Humvee come between us. Henderson, Denton, and Gonzalez on the right. Robert on the left with me,” I say and relay our plan over the radio.

The Humvee pulls between us shining its lights into the interior. A shriek answers the glare of the headlights on the concrete floor, which is otherwise bare and empty in the middle. I catch a fleeting glimpse of a shadow moving off into the darker recesses of the interior. We stand with weapons at the ready scanning the inside fully ready for anything that might sweep out towards us. Nothing comes and I don’t see any additional movement. The one shriek is that’s heard. The inside falls back into its silent state.

McCafferty exits the Humvee, the sound of the door shutting echoes across the dusty lot, and she stands next to Robert. I walk over and lean against the front of the vehicle, both feeling and hearing the idling engine behind me. God, I hate this urban stuff, I think scanning the interior. Tall shelves, reaching almost to the ceiling are filled with miscellaneous materials. They extend away into darkness on the left and right; their edges lit from the glow of the headlights but fading quickly into the obscurity of the dark.

I would just leave as the building is obviously occupied but we need these doors. Just how occupied still remains in question. My phone vibrates. I take it out and see it’s a text from Kelly. I turn it off and snap the cover shut without responding and return it to my pocket, focusing back on the building. I don’t want any interruptions and can’t afford to make any mistakes. My thought process has to be on the here and now.

Standing from my leaning position, I turn on my flashlight and turn the beam on the rafters above. My light immediately catches a night runner poised on one of the steel girders spanning the width of the building. It’s squatting there with one hand on a support beam, glaring at us. It gives a piercing yell as my light centers on it.

“Oh hell no you don’t! I know that trick,” I say bringing my M-4 to my shoulder and fire a short burst.

The noise of my sudden firing jars the still air. My rounds impact into its chest and shoulder propelling it backward and off the girder. The night runner shrieks as it falls through the lit part of the interior and hits the concrete floor with a loud thump; silencing its scream. The once bare concrete turns red around the still body as blood begins to slowly pool around it. Another shriek and scuffling is heard from the left further back in the shop. My light pans to the source of the noise but the shelves and the items on them prevent me from seeing what lies in the lanes between.

“Well, we know there’s at least one more in there,” I say to the others around.

“Yeah, and I thought I heard something off to the right but I’m not sure,” Henderson states.

“Well, we can’t assume anything. Why is it that every building I want to go in seems to be occupied with night runners?” I ask rhetorically. “I’m beginning to think it’s some sort of conspiracy.”

“Not sure but it certainly seems that way. Maybe you’re just unlucky,” Gonzalez answers with a grin on her face.

“Yeah. Maybe we should ask for a transfer,” McCafferty says grinning as well.

“I guess I know who the first two in are,” I respond to their good-natured ribbing.

Talking and joking like this brings back the memories of prepping for missions and the bantering just before jumping off. It seemed to bring back a certain amount of humanity into what we were about to embark on and to cover some of the nerves. That is exactly what this little bit of joking does. It calms all of us and seems to reassure us that all will be fine.

I continue to stand at the entrance debating on whether to use the night vision goggles or not. If we do use them, we’ll have to turn the headlights off and the glow of the day’s light through the entrance may interfere with their functionality. I decide to go in with flashlights rather than risk a chance of being blinded if we have to face towards the open door.

“McCafferty, did we bring any of those flash bangs with us?” I ask.

“Yes, sir. I believe we have a few in the back,” she answers.

“Okay, the interior is not that large so this is going to go by fast. Henderson and Denton, you’ll have the right. Henderson, take the lanes as we come to them and Denton watch overhead. Gonzalez and McCafferty, the left. Gonzalez the lanes and McCafferty up top,” I say.

“Hooah, sir,” they respond.

“Robert and I will be out front in the middle. Make sure you all stay a little behind us to give us clear lanes of fire. Robert, take the right front and I’ll take the left front. Watch the shelves above and keep an eye out on the rafters. We’ll toss a couple of flash bangs inside just prior to going in and move at a quick walking pace. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” Henderson, Denton, and McCafferty answer.

“Good to go, sir,” Gonzalez replies.

“Okay, Dad,” Robert says.

McCafferty gathers two flash bangs from the rear of the Humvee as I make sure the rafters are clear of any night runners. I still don’t detect any further movement from inside. There are six of the large shelves to each side. Each shelf is piled with gear and boxes blocking any view of the lanes themselves. Work benches line the far wall adjacent to the closed roller door on the other end of the shop and run the width as far as I can tell.

McCafferty returns. I take one of the flash bangs and hand the other to Robert, showing him the pin to pull. Henderson and Denton walk over and hug the wall on the right just outside of the entrance. The rest of us crouch against the outside wall on the left with Robert and I in front.

“Toss yours about mid-way by the shelves to the right. I’ll put mine in the same place on the left,” I say to Robert over my shoulder.

“Okay,” he replies.

“Ready ladies and gents?” We’re in on the flash,” I ask getting nods for answers. Robert edges to my right so he can get into a good position.

“Let’s do this,” I say. We pull the pins and toss the canisters inside and quickly pull back alongside the outside wall.

The metallic clinking of the cans bouncing across the concrete seems to slow time; a prelude to the explosion and activity to follow. Clink…….clink…….clink….. The canisters roll on the hard floor before two simultaneous flashes of light exit the opening accompanied by thunderous bangs. The building walls shake from the explosion of light and noise. Robert and I roll immediately around the corner and into the building taking our places in the middle. Henderson and Denton roll in immediately after us with Gonzalez and McCafferty on our heels. Our lights pan over the rafters, top of the shelves and along the sides of the interior.

Seeing nothing, Robert and I proceed up the middle at a quick walk checking our front and sides. The noise of something sliding along a shelf to my immediate right is followed by a scream. A burst of gunfire comes from my right rear. I turn to see Denton with his carbine pointed upward to the shelf immediately to the right. Looking upward, I see the last vestiges of blood spraying the air as a night runner tumbles off the top of the shelf, hitting the shelf across the lane before continuing its fall and slamming into the aisle floor.

“Keep moving,” I say with the night runner remaining motionless on the concrete.

The interior is hot, stifling, and stuffy from the sun hitting the metal walls all day turning the inside into a sauna. This is barely noticed as the moment fully occupies my mind. Reaching the dead night runner that had fallen from the rafters, a flash of movement appears in my peripheral to the right front. A night runner darts from a darkened corner and runs into the semi-glow emitting from the headlights. Our long shadows on the floor from the light blends with the shadow of the night runner.

Robert’s light catches it full on and his M-4 barks on full automatic. His rounds stitch across the metal wall to our front, going through the thin sheet metal. Pin points of light show where his bullets encounter the metal and punch through. The points of light catch up and merge with the fleeing night runner, hitting it on the arm, shoulder and then head. The night runner is thrown sideways into the far end door with a loud, clanging thump. It hangs there a moment before collapsing to the ground against the door. Another quick burst issues from his M-4 and the rounds streak for the slumped night runner. The steel impacts the flesh with solid thuds spraying blood in patterns on the door, both above and to the sides of the now very dead night runner. There are small tinks of metal on metal as some of his rounds pass through the body and hit the door itself.

Thin rays of light, picking up small motes of dust, shine into the building from the bullet holes where Robert chased the night runner with his rounds. I’m thankful I didn’t decide to use the NVG’s as all of the light differentials in here would most likely have rendered them ineffective and actually could have been a hindrance. I step over the dead night runner at my feet and continue further into the shop. I want to clear the building before any disoriented night runners that may be remaining can gain their composure and assault us. Any advantage the flash bang gave us will be wearing off quickly if it hasn’t already.

Passing the third lane between the shelves, I quickly shine the beam of my light down the aisle picking up a night runner heading my way. My M-4 is already pointed in that direction by my keeping the barrel in line with my eyes. I fire a short burst into the creature launching toward me. My first round impacts on the left side of its chest, the bullet catching a rib and shattering it, spreading the pieces of bone along with the now fragmented round into the chest cavity. The bone and metal tear through the vessels and lung. The light blue, denim overalls absorb the blood flowing from the entry wound creating a splotch of blood. The second round hits just below the left clavicle, destroying the bone before exiting out of the back. A third round hits the night runner square in the throat and sprays blood in all directions. I feel the splash of it hit on my cheeks and forehead.

The momentum carries it on towards me. I side step to the right bringing the stock of my carbine around hitting the back of its head with a hard whack as it passes by me. It tumbles to the floor beside me. I stomp my boot down solidly against its neck as it hits the floor feeling the neck break and shatter beneath my heel. It spasms twice before falling limp. I wheel around quickly checking the lane again only to find it empty.

We reach the far door without encountering any more night runners and I have Red Team form a semi-circle around the closed door. Their lights pan around the room like mini spotlights shining from an event as I undo the latches on the side of the door. I move the night runner’s body to the side and raise the door, blinking with the increase of light from the afternoon sun that pours into the shop. The interior is now fully lit with the lanes only shades of gray. We head back down the interior in the same formation ensuring the shop is indeed clear.

* * *

Robert stands behind his dad with the olive drab canister in his hand, waiting for the word to toss the flash bang. He hopes for a good toss as he doesn’t want to screw up as he has been given the chance to become part of the team. He feels tense with nervousness and moves the canister up and down, testing its weight to coordinate his mind with the physical aspect in order to make a good toss inside. The past few days have been a roller-coaster of feelings, emotions, and dealing with the feeling as if this is all a dream – both good and bad. The bad is obvious but there is a part of him that has wanted to be able to test himself in a stressful situation. To prove himself as it were. Doesn’t get any more stressful than this, he thinks looking at the entrance and waiting.

“Ready ladies and gents?” We’re in on the flash,” He hears his dad say by his side and Robert nods his answer. He then edges to the right, directly beside his dad, so he can get into a good position.

“Let’s do this,” his dad says. He pulls pin and tosses the canister inside, quickly pulling back alongside the outside wall.

He hears the cans bounce across the concrete floor and tenses, anticipating the explosion of light and sound. He has never seen a real flash bang go off, other than the movie renditions, so doesn’t know what to expect. So far, a lot of things that have happened have been so different than he imagined. The detail necessary to survive along with the fear, nervousness, and sheer adrenaline rush of actually being in combat. Some things just taking over naturally. That is the greatest surprise of all, the automatic responses coming regardless of the fear. Standing ready, anticipating the coming explosion and subsequent entry, he feels a deep thankfulness for all of the time he spent with his dad.

Light flashes out of the open entrance accompanied with a thunderous roar. Now, that’s like the movies, he thinks as he sees his dad rise and rush in. Robert follows directly beside him with his M-4 up and ready. His light pans around the front and to the side catching only shelves and equipment. Walking further into the building, gunfire erupts directly off to his right and behind him. The sudden noise startles him and he turns quickly to his immediate right and catches a night runner falling to the floor with a heavy thump. Denton stands in his peripheral with his carbine raised.

“Keep moving,” his dad says and Robert focuses on his area once again.

He walks beside his dad and it feels like the old times when they were out in the woods playing airsoft, stalking behind the opposing team lines together. He feels a quiet confidence come over him. The times with his dad, whether adventuring into the woods together hiking and biking, camping, or airsofting, has given him a solid and deep confidence in his abilities. He carries a certain calm inside that comes from this. The only break in this solid feeling is his wanting to prove himself. He doesn’t want to let anyone down.

A sudden movement to his front; a shape detaches itself from the shadowy depths and catches his attention. The shape transforms itself into a night runner as it runs into the light cast by the Humvee headlights. He quickly raises his M-4 and begins firing at the quickly moving creature. The carbine kicks against his shoulder and he sees pinpoints of light materialize just behind the fleet night runner. He instantly knows these are his round drilling through the wall and he hasn’t put enough lead on the darting shape. With his finger still pressed down on the trigger, he moves his barrel to his left, walking his rounds quickly towards the night runner. He sees the small points of light catch up and the sound of his impacting rounds changes from a metallic pinking to the more solid thuds of steel hitting flesh. The night runner is thrown to the side against the metal door and slides downward. He thinks he sees it still move and puts another burst into the slumped body.

Robert looks from the still body to his dad who nods at him with the affirmation of a good job. He feels the self-confidence in himself solidify even more from that nod and the realization that he acted in a quick and decisive manner; keeping in mind that he needs to lead his target a little more and throws that knowledge into his bag of tricks. His dad steps forward again and he walks to keep in line. Another shriek penetrates the still and hot interior followed by a subsequent burst of gunfire from his dad.

He turns quickly to see his dad step to the side as a night runner stumbles into view. He watches his dad deliver a stroke with his M-4 to the back of the night runners head and watches it fall to the floor. His dad then raises his boot and brings it back down on the neck of the fallen body; the crunch and crack of its neck shattering sounds. He watches the night runner twitch before it becomes still and blood begins to surround it on the floor.

They reach the far end door and he mans a small perimeter with the rest of the Red Team as his dad opens the door, flooding the interior space with light. That light brings a sense of relief. One, because he senses that this particular action is over, and two, because the fear and nervousness he felt regarding whether he would let anyone down has been answered. A certain pride wells up within knowing he acted well and, for the first time, he feels very much a part of the team.

* * *

“McCafferty, will you pull the Humvee around to the front,” I say as we reach the end of the building where we started. “Call the others and have them come back.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds.

“Gotta lead ‘em huh?” I say chuckling to Robert as we walk back to the front along the outside with the sun in our eyes.

“Yeah, it startled me and I thought I had enough of a lead,” he answers with a chuckle of his own. “I saw I was hitting behind and just swept over to it.”

“Well, they’re pretty quick but that’s the way to do it. Just keep in mind not to let the kick lead you up and over it. You got it and that’s what counts. Plus, nice making sure it stayed dead.”

Gonzalez walks over to Robert and pats him on the back. “Nice job in there. Good shooting,” she says with a nod.

“Thanks,” Robert says with no small amount of pride surfacing. He is walking a little straighter and I can tell he is beaming.

The vests add to the heat of the day and, with the sun shining upon us and the after effects of the adrenaline, sweat is streaming down our cheeks and forehead. The others pull up in the vehicles parking in front. I pull the Jeep into the now lit shop, stopping just shy of the night runner bodies lying on the floor. Several already-made security pull-down doors line the wall to the left.

“Will you see if there are some that will fit what we need?” I ask Bannerman and point to the doors.

“You bet,” he answers and heads over to the doors with Frank.

I see Mom, Nic, Bri, and Michelle with Robert and assume they are seeing if he is okay. He is using his hands while talking and I watch him as he describes the action. Michelle moves closer to him and gives him a hug as he apparently finishes his story. The rest of Red Team squats by the entrance door, taking a rest and talking amongst themselves.

“We found some that will work,” Bannerman says coming up behind me. “We even found the mounting brackets and hardware.”

“That’s great. Let’s load them onto the Jeep rack,” I say and motion for Red Team to help.

“We even found some shutters that should work for the windows,” Bannerman adds.

“Even better. Will they fit in the Humvees?”

“They should,” he says.

“Okay, let’s get loaded up and head back.”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks walking over from Robert.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine thanks,” I say.

“I was worried when we pulled up and I saw blood on your face,” she says staring at my forehead.

“Oh,” I say wiping an arm across my face but only manage to smear it more because of the sweat already there.

We finish loading the doors on the Jeep and the shutters in the Humvee, tying the doors down with 550 cord. Piling back into the vehicles, we caravan back to Cabela’s, arriving just before 1630. The sun is wending its way across the sky quickly and I’m thankful for the summer days allowing us longer periods of daylight. This would have been impossible if all of this happened in the winter. I am still worried about getting finished here and being able to get down to Portland to help Kelly. So much to do and seemingly so little time. The night will come, whether I want it to or not, and with it, the night runners. If we don’t have a secure place by the time the sun goes down, we’ll be screwed. We can head back and stay another night in the 130 but I’d rather not.

The Rat’s Nest

I’m a little concerned that Lynn hasn’t shown up yet. We’ll have to clear this building or at least see if it can be cleared. We have enough people to do this but the inside doesn’t really support a section by section clearing. The open interior and the fact that a second floor overlooks the main floor won’t be an easy task if a multitude of night runners are housed within as the footprints seem to indicate.

I turn my phone back on and check on Kelly’s text. She wanted to know if I was on my way so I text back “soon.” While the others offload the equipment and lay them on the ground, I lean against the Jeep staring at the structure waiting for an answer or plan to spring forth. The only thing I know at this point is that it will be dark inside so the NVG’s and gear we picked up from the armory will be extremely useful. All of the nooks and crannies created by the rack of clothes and shelves of equipment scattered throughout the facility will make it very dicey to keep all angles covered. I wish I could tell better just how many are inside by the tracks near the door but that just isn’t possible. If they were made in the dirt or some other soft substance, then yes, but the fact that they’re all over each other and made with dried blood makes it a difficult task. I’m rather hoping they aren’t in the numbers they were in the CDC. If they are, then we are in trouble and might have to find another place. I was really hoping this would be easier.

A plan for the inside begins to form in my mind just as I hear the sound of approaching vehicles. Turning around, I see the nose of a Humvee cresting the hill on the long driveway. This is followed by a host of other vehicles behind. Lynn has arrived. I notice the transport trucks piled high with equipment as the convoy pulls up and parks in the large lot by the other vehicles. Doors opening and closing resound across the lot.

Lynn steps up and tilts her head to the side quizzically looking at me.

“You have blood on you. Did you go in anyway?” She asks referring to my promise not to go into Cabela’s without the rest of the teams.

“Nope,” I answer wiping my face with my arm once again. “Better?”

“Yeah,” she says and looks over at the doors by the Jeep. “I take it the building where you obtained those was occupied.”

“No, um, yeah,” I answer.

Lynn gives a soft sigh before saying, “Jack!? I can tell I’m going to have to be very specific in getting those promises.”

“Well, we needed the doors and really couldn’t wait,” I say. “Any word from Craig?”

She hangs her head and shakes it. “No, but I left a note by the aircraft before we left,” she says. I don’t say anything since there isn’t really much to say.

We stand in the afternoon sun briefing each other on the different events that occurred during the day. The search teams found five soldiers and six civilians holding out in various locations on the military installations. Lynn tells me they were all found individually in different places. That leads me to believe that some people are just holing up and trying to survive as best they can; not trying to go out and band together. I’m sure some are grouping together as was evidenced by the marauders at Brunswick but it also seems like others are not venturing out. We’ll have to search everywhere to find whatever survivors might be left. The night runners have strength in their numbers and I feel that will be a large part of our strength as well.

“What do you say we put the additional soldiers you found in a team with Greg leading them?” I ask Lynn after introductions with the newcomers are made.

“Yeah, I already thought about that but wanted to clear it with you first,” she answers.

“I guess we’ll keep with the phonetic designations as we seem to have run out of colors. I mean, I don’t really want to say magenta or lavender team over the radio. I’ll just flat out forget,” I say.

“Roger that. I think we’re up to Echo. What’s the plan?” Lynn asks.

“Well, there are obviously night runners that we’ll have to clear out of here,” I respond having told her of the tracks by the door. “Let’s get the team leaders together and talk over a plan.”

“Okay folks, this isn’t going to be a walk in the park especially if there are night runners in abundance inside,” I say to the group once the team leaders are gathered. “The inside is cluttered with small shelves and aisles scattered throughout along with clothes racks. This will make visibility limited in many areas and prevent clear lanes of fire for any distances. We’re going in with all of the teams and it’s important to listen up on the radios and keep the communication short. We need to keep the channel clear.”

Everyone nods their heads and I continue, “We’ll be going in with goggles on so that means all flashlights off. There are two floors with the second floor overlooking the first floor in the middle. There is also a large centerpiece on the first floor that prevents any vision to the rear of the store.”

I walk over and grab a notebook out of the Jeep. I notice Robert hadn’t joined us for the brief and isn’t with Red Team and wave him over to me. I am still not certain about taking him in but he has shown himself to be quite capable and I did promise him that he would be a part of Red Team. I want him to at least be at the briefing so he can learn. Centering on the group once again as we both arrive, I draw the basic layout of the store.

“Alright, the structure is rectangular with bathrooms to the immediate left and a small, enclosed snack shop against the right wall. Echo Team will enter first and cover the immediate front just inside the interior doors. Red and Charlie Teams will enter on your heels; Red covering the immediate left and Charlie covering right. I haven’t checked to see if the front doors are unlocked as yet. I know the side doors are. Cressman, would you go quickly check and see if they are unlocked?” I ask.

She stands and trots over to the front. I see the doors swing open as she pulls on each set. She then disappears quickly inside and emerges a few seconds later.

“Both the outside and inside sets are unlocked,” she reports on returning to our group.

“That’ll make it easier then. Echo, enter through the left doors and Charlie through the right. Red will enter on Echo’s heels. Alpha and Bravo Teams will then enter, Alpha through the left doors and Bravo through the right. Move past Echo and take positions in the middle to the left and right respectively. There is a large set of stairs leading upward to the second floor balcony to the left by the centerpiece. In addition, there is an escalator on the far left side that also leads to the second floor balcony. Don’t go past the second floor overhang on the entry side. Alpha, you cover the left side balcony and far side escalator. Bravo, you cover the right and far side balcony. Any questions so far?” I ask drawing the annotations and positions on the paper.

“No, sir,” everyone responds. I notice Watkins’ salutation. Perhaps him resorting back to habit in the tension of what we are about to embark upon.

“Okay. Blue Team, you’ll follow behind Alpha and take position at the foot of the first set of stairs and cover them. Delta, I want you to follow Bravo through the right, link up with Charlie and then you both move out to the right covering the right side under the overhang. Black and Green Teams, you’ll then move in and do the same for the left side. Once everyone is in position, Echo, move up to the centerpiece and cover the near-side balcony. Are we clear so far?” I ask pointing to the various positions and entry sequence on the drawn map.

The team leaders look up from the map and nod. I don’t bother talking about silence or the need to remain silent as I know it is next to impossible for fifty-four men and women to keep silent while deploying. That is one reason why recon teams are kept small. A small number of people can remain much more silent.

“After we’re in position, then Red Team will clear the bathrooms and Charlie will clear the small store to the right. Red Team will fold back to the middle and act as a reserve while Charlie meets back up with Delta. Following that, Black and Green Teams will head down clearing the left side of the first floor. Charlie and Delta will do the same on the right keeping in line with the others as best you can. Halt at the left and right corners respectively. If we don’t see anything at that point, then Black and Green Teams will sweep the back with Charlie and Delta pulling back out of the line of fire.  All other teams will keep watch on your assigned sectors for them. We’ll cover the second floor sweep after clearing the first floor. Are we still clear on what everyone’s assignment and positions are?” I ask.

“Yes, sir,” the responses echo from all.

“Lynn and Drescoll, keep in mind that the side doors are open if you have to escape out that way. If that happens, then Red will move to the left and cover your area. Okay, go brief your teams and then we’ll do a quick walk through,” I say. We haven’t all worked together before so it’s important we get this down and start learning how each team and its members function.

With the teams together and everyone briefed, we walk through the entry procedure in the parking lot. The others not assigned to teams and the birds flitting about the area look on. Only, the birds don’t seem overly interested in what we’re doing. They are off performing whatever errands they happen have on this warm summer day. The afternoon breeze blows across the tall brown grass surrounding the parking lots. A soft whishing comes with it as it blows through the tall firs by the driveway entrance. I look across to the hills of the Cascades for a moment as we regroup and see that the air has become clearer even in this short time since our carbon footprint on this earth decreased dramatically. It’s not that I see them clearly but the purplish smudge they used to be, when you could see them at all, has become a brighter blue. They even look closer and Mount Rainier looms over the city with the sunlight gleaming off its snow-covered slopes.

“Lynn, would you see to it that everyone has been issued the latest gear?” I ask coming back to the moment.

“Already done, Jack,” she answers.

The next few minutes are spent going over instructions on the gear and how it functions. We don our earpieces and throat mics and each team member tests their radios. Loading up on magazines we head over to the front doors in team formations and line up at the entrance in order of entry. I stop at the shattered door on the left and listen for a moment. An occasional gust of wind blows, rustling my pant legs but does nothing to soothe the pounding in my chest. Pre-action jitters are racing through my body. Robert is by my side with the rest of Red Team and I have a tense feeling in my stomach about taking him in. Not a precognizant feeling, just a feeling of worry. We’ll be in the background in reserve for the most part so I’m not overly worried.

I don’t hear anything other than the sound of the wind against our clothes. The portion of the building in front of the doors is covered so light doesn’t penetrate far inside. The small foyer between sets of entry doors receives light from outside but the interior beyond is pitch black; a dark abyss. Charlie, Bravo, and Delta Teams are lined up across the entrance doors from us. I take a step back with Red Team following and allow Echo Team to take its place first in line by the broken glass door.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I say into the radio. “Go!”

A soft explosion of sound and movement follows my command as Echo and Charlie Teams enter through their respective doors and rush inside. The boots of Echo Team crunches over the broken glass on the ground near the entry doors. The swish of clothing grows louder as they proceed in as teams. The clink of metal on metal of sling attachment points moving adds to the soft rush of noise. Pulling my NVG’s down and turning them on, I rush in as the last member of Echo enters. Red Team rolls in behind me.

I spy Bravo Team entering alongside us. I rush through the second set of doors into the darkness. The interior shows crisply through the goggles; cast in a green glow. Echo has taken kneeling positions in line twenty feet in front of the doors. Their infrared aiming lasers reach out into the darkened building, waving from side to side as they search for any movement of night runners. Red Team forms next to them facing left and covers the area. I stand behind them and glance over to see Charlie set up in a similar manner on the other side. No explosion of night runners or their shrieks greets us. It’s all good so far.

“Alpha, Bravo, Go!” I say pressing the mic button at my throat. Another soft explosion of sound is heard as both teams enter and rush by Echo to take position further into the building. The structure stands silent to the assault within it.

Delta rushes in on the heels of Bravo, heads to Charlie, and they both head further to the right by the cashier stands. Black and Green rush immediately behind and past me. Their boots pounding on the linoleum tiled floor cease as they take up positions on the left. Thin beams of light move around the inside like a laser light show. The building falls silent except for the whisper of cloth rubbing; the team members moving as they search the interior. I feel like we have entered a long vacated and empty tomb.

Scanning the interior with the rest, I see the large centerpiece looming large in the middle. Created to look like a rocky hillside, stuffed animals of all kinds stand on and along its surface. Short shelving units, filled with an assortment of boating and fishing goods, cover the left side of the store creating a multitude of aisles and lanes. To the left front and right, clothing racks are crowded together limiting the visibility. Cashier stands are to our immediate right.

“Charlie Team, start clearing the small store. Delta, be ready to back them up. Red Team will be searching the bathrooms,” I say.

“Roger that, Charlie moving,” I hear Mullins respond.

“Okay, Red Team, let’s move,” I say in a whisper to the team just in front of me. “Robert and I will cover the outside, the rest of you go into each bathroom and clear everything. Remember, these night runners can be tricky so check everywhere. We don’t want to be blindsided.”

Red Team rises and advances down the short hall to the first door. Gonzalez, McCafferty, Henderson, and Denton ease the men’s door open and proceed inside. Robert and I keep an eye on the other door. They emerge a couple of minutes later and report it’s clear before doing the same with the women’s. We move to the center behind Echo Team. Charlie Team reports the food store clear a few minutes later.

“Alright folks, we’re moving up. Echo, move up to cover the near side balcony. Alpha, Bravo, move up alongside them and cover the other balconies. Alpha, don’t forget the far escalator. Blue, you have the near stairs. Move!” I say into the radio.

The teams move up into position with a swish of movement and the sound of boots on the hard floor; the noise unnaturally loud in the stillness. They take their positions seconds later. Seeking targets, pin points of light flash in every portion of the large building. Nothing moves in the green glow of our goggles nor does the air erupt with a symphony of shrieks. The tomb-like atmosphere prevails.

Making sure everyone is in position, I say, “Alright everyone, here comes the fun part. Lynn, Drescoll, start up the left side. Mullins, guide Charlie and Delta up the right. Go slow and cover everything.”

“Moving out,” Lynn responds.

“On the way,” Mullins says.

I look to the flanks and see the teams begin to advance down the sides of the first floor, making sure they stay under the balcony overhang. Both Green and Charlie swing further to the sides of the building in their respective areas.

“Everyone else, keep your areas covered no matter what unless I tell you different. Listen up on the radios,” I say as the teams penetrate further.

I monitor their progress while checking the balcony sides and far end; watching as they swing into small aisles or check between clothing racks. Their progress is slow but thorough. There is a whisper of wind blowing in the broken doors behind me. Other than a hint of movement from the side teams or the occasional “check that area over there” or “cover me” on the radio, the black abyss we have entered remains still. There is a tension prevailing within the silence. It’s not a matter of if night runners are in here but a matter of when they will show themselves or when we will find them. The signs by the entrance doors are unmistakable; our previous experiences have taught us that much.

The teams are a quarter of the way up the side when Cressman whisper over the radio, “Night runner on the far balcony, second floor.”

I look over and see it against the metal bar railing that encircles the balcony ledge. With both hands gripping the upper surface, the night runner is leaning against the railing peering down in the direction of Delta. Although invisible to the night runner, six laser points of light instantly focus on its chest and head from Bravo centering their weapons on it. The night runner lifts its nose in the air and begins sniffing; testing the air for our scent. It sniffs, looks around the area, and then repeats the process. It knows we’re here.

“All teams hold position. Cressman, take it out,” I whisper into the radio.

From the night runner’s behavior, it is pretty obvious it doesn’t know our exact location. I want it gone before it finds us and issues its shriek of warning. We’ll have to deal with them at some point but I would rather come upon them rather than having to fold back into defensive positions, especially with the limited visibility through the clothing racks. I would also rather not have a body just lying around waiting to be discovered but it is, once again, a matter of a certainty versus a probability.

I know the night runner in view will eventually scream out and, by the looks of it, very soon. The suppressors we are using aren’t the Hollywood “ptew” type of suppressors as those don’t exist. The length of the suppressor required for that would be like carrying a tank cannon. Yeah, try wielding that around. However, it does reduce the volume from a bang to a subdued pop. The M-4 isn’t a loud weapon as far as weapons go to begin with. However, it’s also not like it goes unnoticed, especially not in a silent room.

There was always weighing the danger of noise and needing to take out a guard in order to advance in times past. That is one reason why I always liked carrying a silenced .22 but then there was the danger of the round not being effective at distances. It was definitely a very close quarter’s weapon.

All but one of the laser points of light leave the night runner except one centered on the head. A soft “pop” is accompanied by the metallic sound of a bolt being blown to the rear and cycling, the mag spring pushing another .223 sub-sonic round into the chamber. The spent shell ejected from Cressman’s M-4 clinks across the floor, bouncing several times before coming to rest. The steel core round leaves the barrel with a flash of light and reaches out for the night runner, the bullet’s path intersecting with it split seconds later. The steel hits the lower jaw. It tumbles upward by the force of hitting the solid bone, the angle of the shot, and the fact that 5.56mm rounds are designed to tumble on impact. The mandible shatters and the now partially splintered round is propelled through the soft tissue of the roof of the night runner’s mouth, entering the cranium and exploding out of the top with a shower of blood. The air above it is filled with meatier chunks of flesh, brain, and shards of bone. The night runner dies instantly and staggers backwards before dropping from view. A hush resumes in the area with a faint smell of spent gunpowder lingering.

“Nice shot, Cressman. All teams, continue your movement,” I say after a moment of surveying the area and realizing we haven’t raised the ire of any night runners.

“Thank you, sir,” Cressman replies.

“That was louder than I thought,” Robert, standing beside me, whispers in my ear.

“Yeah, it’s always louder inside. Natural outside noise and a more open area always makes it seem quieter,” I whisper back.

Green, Black, Charlie and Delta make it to the half-way point towards the rear of the store when Cressman whispers once again in the radio that she has spotted another night runner, this one on the balcony above and to the right. I quickly halt the teams in place and snap my head in the direction she indicated. Again, several thin beams converge and dance on the night runner standing by the second floor railing on the right side. The gray-skinned creature, seeming to glow in my goggles, lifts its nose in the air and snaps its head to the right. It leaves the railing quickly and trots over to where the first night runner was, disappearing from view. All of this happens too quickly to issue a command to fire.

A loud shriek reverberates within the interior; the night runner has discovered its fallen comrade. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later, I think waiting for events to unfold. Time comes to a halt. The last vestiges of the scream echoes throughout and a palpable tension grips the air. The release of adrenaline from the fifty-four soldiers standing and kneeling in various positions can almost be sensed. My own heart kick starts with a boom. It’s game time and the opening kickoff is away.

Choruses of screams suddenly erupt from the darker depths of the building; the first shriek, fading off, just a prelude to the rising symphony. The escalation of noise is like a ghostly crowd cheering a touchdown in an enclosed stadium; however, the sound is piercing rather than booming.

“Everyone hold positions and focus on your areas. Cleared to engage at will,” I say searching the upper and lower levels for movement; knowing it will not be long in coming.

“Night runners on the top floor,” Cressman calls over the radio.

I catch glimpses of numerous shapes darting from right to left along the second floor on the far side; possibly heading toward the escalator. A host of night runners suddenly appear at the upper balcony, both ahead and to the far right, pausing momentarily before vaulting the rail and leaping to the first floor. The sound of clothing racks falling to the floor or thrust aside rises out of the din of the yells. Flashes of light emit from Bravo Team as they begin firing into the night runners pouring like a waterfall over the balcony railing; the coughs from their suppressed M-4’s add to the many noises filling the interior.

Bravo’s rounds collide with the horde streaming over the railing, knocking many askew of their downward path but many more of the shrieking beasts reach the first floor unscathed. The loud coughs and metallic clinks of expelled rounds hitting the tile to their sides are continuous; the only pause of fire with each member is with the changing of empty mags for full ones.

“Delta, wheel left. They’re coming over the balcony edge. Charlie, cover to their rear,” I shout into the radio.

I see intermediate flashes of light coming from the right under the overhang as Delta begins to engage the host making it past the curtain of fire put up by Bravo. The flashes and an increase of sounds ring out from the right as Delta and Charlie find themselves under a sudden rush of night runners.

“Night runners on the first floor coming from the rear,” Mullins calls out over the radio.

The soldiers from Alpha start firing at night runners beginning to make their way down the escalator stairs to the left rear; with some vaulting down over the left side balcony.

“Lynn, orient to your right. Can you get an angle on the ones coming over the balcony?” I call pressing the mic button amidst this rapid and sudden onslaught.

“No. The stairs and a wall of some sort are blocking our line of vision,” she answers.

“We’re starting to get night runners on the first floor on the left,” Drescoll calls.

I see quick flashes of light bouncing off the ceiling in Lynn and Drescoll’s direction as they begin engaging night runners coming down the left flank; the sound of their shots add to the din of the battle. Night runners continue leaping over the railings on the right and the far side by the corner of the balcony. It’s a tide that Bravo Team cannot hope to stop and can only put a small dent into.

“Echo, peel off three to help Bravo,” I say.

I would divert more but the last thing we need right now is night runners dropping directly into our base of fire. Greg turns and taps three members of his team. They peel off and turn, joining Bravo Team and add their additional fire into the jumping masses. Thin lines of light extend out from Bravo into the avalanche of bodies. Some within the horde fall sideways with shrieks of pain and fall to the floor with hard thumps, injured or dead.

Alpha is pouring fire into the ones trying to get down via the escalator but their massed fire is holding the night runners at bay for the moment. The small amount of night runners that do make it over the side run directly into Black Team and are brought down. The muzzles of Blue Team covering the near stairs send their deadly projectiles upward as small groups of night runners appear at the top of the stairs. The wall of steel they lay down doesn’t allow a single creature to make it to the first step. The ones that appear at the top are propelled backwards, vanishing out of sight into the dark recesses of the second floor.

The laser aiming devices from Bravo and Alpha are steady as they fire into their appointed areas. The lights from Charlie and Delta wave around on the right as they seek out targets and defend themselves; the poor visibility from the numerous clothes on that side making it difficult to have clear lanes of fire. I see the same on the left with Black and Green Teams although to a lesser extent. The rapid development of the firefight and the limited visibility makes it difficult to determine exactly what we are facing on the first floor. The time from discovery to this point of determined defense has been short; only a matter of moments.

I would like to throw Red Team into the fray but am worried by what I don’t yet know or see. Becoming engaged will make us unavailable should something crop up that needs our immediate attention. If something were to happen and no one was available, our line could quickly fail and we could find ourselves trapped in small pockets of defense which could be easily overwhelmed. The carbines from the three Echo Team members remaining begin flashing at intervals as they keep our backside clear on the second floor. A body falls into view, dropping from the near-side balcony and lands in front of Red Team with a thud so hard it is both heard and felt. Red Team startles and all weapons immediately round to the body but it doesn’t move or rise from the cream-colored linoleum.

The surge of night runners flowing over the far railings is steady. We have walked into a hornets nest with hundreds of them in here. The short minutes of our fight seem both elongated and compressed. Night runners pile high on the escalator stairs as Alpha renders that area a deadly place to venture. The bodies tumble over the others as new groups appear, attempting to get down to us, and come to rest at angles on the metal stairs. Some fall all of the way down to the very bottom. Others slump as if they are taking a seat and resting on the cool aluminum and steel.

A few bodies have tumbled part way down the near stairs, lying sideways on the wide, light-colored wooden steps. Some lay face down with their arms outstretched as if trying to fly. One lies with its leg bent forward and its toes almost in its mouth; its femur broken either from the fall or an impacting round. Even in the green of the goggles, I see rivulets of blood running over the edges of the steps, where the night runners lie, and pooling on the steps below.

A faint haze hovers over our line from the volume of fire; not seen in clarity through my goggles but observed more as a blurring of objects. The firefight being waged inside our desired sanctuary is an assault on the senses. The smell of gunpowder fills in the air along with the reek of bodies being torn asunder. Internals are being ripped apart and exposed along with bowels being emptied. The sight of night runners pouring toward our positions and soldiers firing to stem the tide. The fine lines of light dancing about the green-lit interior and the sharper flashes of strobes. The loud coughs from over fifty carbines firing and their echo off the concrete walls mixes with the shrieks and howls of the multitude of night runners. Shouts from the soldiers of “reloading,” “to the right” or “to the left” and other commands or warnings rise above the din.

A loud, human scream issues from the right side over the interior noise. This is followed immediately by another high-pitched scream but definitely human, or rather non-night runner. I walk to the right behind Red Team to get a better picture of events over that way, telling Robert to stay in position. I see a lot of the clothes racks have been thrown to the floor and night runners moving quickly through and over them as they hit the floor from above and launch themselves towards Delta and Charlie Teams.

From my new vantage point, I see some of Delta and it appears they have correctly oriented themselves towards the middle of the building and the night runners leaping from the overhead balcony. The night runners are almost among them with more pressing hard behind those in front. I see a surge among the mass and another scream of pain and fear rises above the noise.

“They’re in amongst Delta. They’re being overrun,” Mullins shouts over the radio.

Standing by the cash register stands, I see heads from a dense mob of night runners over the clothing racks that remain standing. They are in the area where Delta had been positioned and surging toward Charlie. Some of the heads disappear below the stands and I assume those are dropping to where the some of the members of Delta have fallen. I can’t see any of Delta remaining. Charlie now has night runners to the front and side.

“Charlie, Delta, pull back to the cashier stands,” I shout into the radio witnessing Charlie about to be overrun.

“Negative, we’re going for Delta,” Mullins calls back.

“No! You’ll be surrounded and overrun as well if you stay there. I said pull back.”

“Roger that,” Mullins responds and I see Charlie begin a fighting withdrawal in my direction.

“Red Team, on me. Lynn, Drescoll, pull back on the left,” I say amidst an interior filled with growls, snarls, shouts, and subdued gunfire.

“Pulling back,” Lynn replies.

I step out from under the second floor ledge above. The night runners have stopped coming over the balcony resulting in diminished fire from Bravo. Flashes still rebound off the ceiling on the left from Black and Green Teams as they fight their way back. An occasional volley of fire comes from Alpha as some night runners continue their attempt to make it down the escalator. The escalator itself is piled to the hand rails with bodies. Some of the night runners are only injured and move in the pile only to be stilled moments later by shots from Watkin’s group. It’s the same with Horace’s Blue Team covering the near stairs; only an occasional flash of gunfire.

Red Team arrives quickly and we set up behind the register stands. “Red Team, fire only into the flanks. Watch for Charlie and Delta,” I say as Robert pulls up to my side. Charlie makes their way back. They rush through the check-out aisle and form up alongside Red.

“The aisles will funnel them,” I say out loud to Robert and Mullins. I don’t see anyone from Delta in with Charlie and ask Mullins if he saw anyone make it. He hangs his head and shakes it; answering negatively.

“Bravo, orient to the right but keep the overhead balcony clear. Be ready to hit them from the side,” I say with an internal sigh. I’ve fucked up and others have paid.

Night runners pour out in mass from the clothing area to our front and are greeted by a torrent of gunfire from our line. Our bullets reach out and knock the first line backwards, to the sides, or drop them straight down as our steel meets their flesh.

“Bravo, open up and hit them in the side,” I say pausing momentarily from firing bursts into the solid wall of night runners.

And increase in the loud coughs is heard as Cressman and Bravo Team unleash their fire into the bunched up mass, catching them in a deadly crossfire.

“We’re clear here. Need help?” Lynn asks over the radio.

“Pull into the middle and act as reserve. Drescoll, stay in position,” I answer.

I hear something over the radio but the press of night runners calls my attention. The surge is drawing closer and they have entered the narrow aisles. The floor behind the ones in front is covered with bodies and the runners coming after us have to leap over them. Some vault upon the register stands trying to push by the ones stalled in the aisles but they are dropped quickly by the fire from both teams. I think about pulling everyone back outside as we are close to being overrun ourselves. The fighting is at a distance of thirty feet and is closing. Showers of blood and matter fill the air as rounds meet with bodies. Jets of blood spurt out from severed arteries, coating the cash registers and stands in patterns; dripping down in streams where it hits with thick splotches.

“Cressman, can you advance any?” I ask.

“We’ll try, sir,” she answers.

A storm of steel fills our small area within the store coming from two sides. I am about to call out to evacuate when a strange and startling sight suddenly materializes. There aren’t any night runners rushing us. I look to the sides and further into the large building but can’t see anything moving. Our fire tapers off as others realize the same thing.

“Cease fire. Bravo, move back into your original position. Everyone remain alert. They may just be changing tactics,” I say as a silence descends.

The quiet is surreal. It’s like a fierce windstorm that has hammered us for days suddenly relenting; one moment extremely violent and the next so calm as if it never happened. The evidence of our fight is all around us however. The haze that was only faintly prevalent before is now quite visible along with the tremendous stench. Bodies lie in heaps before us. I hear a moan and attempted growl come from our front. A shot sounds out from Robert’s carbine. The single round speeds from his barrel and strikes a night runner in the side of the head, entering just above the ear.

Other moans and cries of pain now drift into our deafened ears, along with stirs of the injured crawling or moving; like the spirits of this darkened tomb have come alive. Anticipating a change of tactics and another rush of night runners, as we have seen in the past, we all stay in our positions. The only movements are the lasers moving about in the green glow.

“Anyone see or hear anything?” I ask after a moment of searching and listening.

“Nothing here,” Cressman reports.

“Same here,” I hear from Drescoll with all other team leaders reporting the same.

“Anyone from Delta still on?” I ask only to be met with silence.

I call for an ammo check. Blue, Charlie and Alpha report they are down to just a few mags. The rest report that they are okay. I have the others share some of their remaining mags with those that are low. The action inside was intense but didn’t encompass a lot of time.

“Okay. Charlie and Red Team are going to advance up to Delta on the right. Stay sharp and be aware that there are injured night runners out there,” I say.

I coordinate with Mullins and both Red and Charlie begin to move up on the right side of the first floor. We have to step over the many bodies lying in the check-out aisles and just beyond. The going is slow as we check over each body to make sure it is indeed visiting whatever afterlife it has in store. There are several night runners that are injured; some barely hanging on and others that are a little feistier. The slow advance is accompanied by the occasional shot as the injured are put to rest. The slow pace is also due to checking each body on the ground for Delta Team members and to make sure we are only shooting night runners.

Once past the registers, we spread further out on line and continue up to where Delta had been positioned. Night runner corpses litter the ground and are entangled in fallen clothes racks and the clothes that once hung in an orderly manner upon them. It is a very confused, scattered mess. Bodies are moved after first checking to make sure they are dead as we search the area for the members of Delta. Any hope we had of finding them alive is quickly erased as we wade through the entwined bodies. The reek of bowels and bodies that have been ripped open hangs in the air.

We find the first Delta team member and see it has been torn apart by the night runners in their frenzy. The flesh has been ripped off in many places with gouges where teeth ripped into it. Blood covers absolutely everything. It is apparent from the scores of bodies on the ground that Delta put up a valiant defense but the quickness of the assault, the numbers of night runners materializing, the limited visibility, and the fact that I put them too close to the overhang didn’t give them much of a chance. Searching through the rest of the piles, after putting a number of night runners down for good, we find the rest of Delta and lay them to the side. I notice Robert grimace a few times while searching, heck, we all are, but he continues with the process anyway. Only a few faint moans now drift through the structure coming from the escalator and top of the stairs near the entrance.

I have Mullins set a defensive line and call for Lynn on the radio, “Lynn, can you bring Black Team up and help us carry the bodies out?”

“Sure. Be right there,” she answers. Black Team makes their way through the bodies and reaches our position.

“Did you find any of them still alive?” Lynn asks as she reaches my side and referring to Delta.

“No. They were overwhelmed pretty quick,” I answer softly.

“You know you did the right thing pulling Charlie back when you did, right!?” She says. “Otherwise, we’d be pulling a few more bodies out of the piles and we might not have had enough to keep them in check on this side. We could have been completely cut off.”

“Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t make it better or easier,” I reply.

“Yeah, I know. It never does,” she says and moves over to help the others from Black Team carry the slain members of Delta out of the building.

* * *

Bri stands by a Humvee in the bright afternoon light. The rays of the sun beat down and strike her shoulders and back, warming her in her baggy, black fatigues. But as as she stares at the front entrance to Cabela’s, she doesn’t notice. Black-clad team members press against the outside walls of the structure; tense, ready and waiting to go in. She sees her dad and brother standing by the shattered glass door on the left peering into the building. Worry courses through her. She knows her dad can take care of himself and knows he will do everything he can to make sure Robert is safe. But she has also heard the stories of the attacks in other buildings. It’s much different hearing those stories than witnessing one, she thinks watching the scene before her. Perhaps it’s because the story is being told by the survivors and she knows the ending comes out well.

She looks to the side and sees Nic, Michelle, and her grandmother with the same tightness around their eyes. The M-4 in her hand feels heavy and unfamiliar yet reassuring in a way. She makes sure there isn’t a clip in the lower receiver and pulls the charging handle back, like she had been taught, to make sure there isn’t a round in the chamber. Taking a few steps away from the Humvee into the clear, she raises the carbine and looks through the sight. Reaching up, she turns it to the 1x setting and looks around the empty fields surrounding her; putting her red dot on one object after another. She fired this M-4 at the range with the others and found that the kick, although there, was negligible. That was one fear she had – that it would buck hard against her shoulder. The red dot wobbles slightly as she tries to hold it on a clump of dry grass near the edge of the parking lot. Bri notices the gun isn’t as unwieldy as the first time she fired it yet it is still hard to hold steady. Much better than the M-16 she fired briefly in Kuwait. She switches the zoom control and the red dot changes to a cross hair. She continues to play with sighting in before turning the sight off, steps back into her previous position, makes sure her radio is on, and focuses once again on the entrance.

Bri sees her dad and brother step away from the entrance and another group moves quickly up to take that position. “Okay, let’s do this,” she hears her dad say into the radio. “Go!”

The teams by the doors quickly rush in and disappear from sight. She watches as her dad and brother vanish into the building immediately after and sends a prayer in with them. “Please let them be okay,” she whispers. With not knowing where her mom is or what happened to her, seeing her dad and brother disappear into the building like that brings the quick fear and thought that if something were to happen to her dad, her and Nic would be orphaned and alone.

She hears a small gasp from Nic. She looks at the others and notices that they, like her, seem to be holding their breath. “Alpha, Bravo, Go!” She hears her dad call and the rest of the people outside of the building flow inside like a mist; everyone vanishing from sight. She has been inside numerous times before with her dad and follows their progress in her mind from the radio calls. Noticing that she has been rubbing the trigger guard of her M-4 with her finger, she pulls it away, takes in a deep breath, and tries to calm her nerves.

Her thoughts, while following the initial entry and progress inside, folds back to the events of the past. She finds it hard to believe they were in class just over a week ago and her biggest concerns were what she was going to wear and what friend’s house she was going to go to after school. The whirlwind adventure of this past week seem very unreal to her. Or really, the time before this is the one that seems surreal. It still seems like an adventure but with terrifying events mixed in. It was a lot of fun flying around and being the flight engineer, she thinks but then turns to thoughts of her mom and friends. A tear leaks out and runs down her face. The thought of her mom and what happened brings a stark reality of their situation.

Bri thinks back to that terrifying morning. Robert rushing into her room and waking her. Her being pissed at him for waking her up early as she had stayed up late texting with her friends.

“Bri, get up! Something’s wrong and we’ve got to get out of here,” Robert said with an urgent whisper.

“What!? Where are Mom and Nic?” She asked.

“Shhhh. Keep it down dammit,” he said with a tense whisper and finger to his lips. “Nic is in the hallway by the door.”

“Where’s Mom?” She asked more quietly. She remembers Robert just staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“Just get up. Now!” He answered.

She pushed the covers off and felt the cold floor beneath her feet. Her phone was on the sheets next to her where it had fallen when she had fallen asleep in the middle of texting. She grabbed it and followed Robert to the door. Nic was standing outside looking down the hall and stairs. Nic gave her a quick hug before turning back to her focus.

“What now?” Nic asked Robert.

“We need to make it downstairs and outside. We need to keep quiet. I’ll go first with you two right behind,” he answered.

“What’s going on?” Bri asked quietly.

“There’s someone or something downstairs,” Robert answered. They had all read and watched the news of the quickly escalating situation. They had somewhat put the pieces together and knew something wasn’t right. There was the increasing news of the flu pandemic and subsequent vaccine. People were dying in droves and the reports of people attacking each other were startling. The world seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

Robert started off and it was then that Bri noticed the knife in his hand. It was one of the boot knives their dad had given him. Seeing Robert stalking ahead with the knife had made her realize that their situation was dangerous as Robert wasn’t one to be dramatic for drama’s sake alone. They made their way to the stairs and began to creep down. Reaching the corner, she could see where the stairs emptied into the living room. Robert reached the bottom step and peered around, signaling them to follow after a moment.

They all stepped into the living room and crept toward the locked front door. The door was locked fast with multiple deadlocks and a contraption of boards against it. Robert had stepped into the hallway in front of the door and a loud shriek erupted from near the back door along with feet slapping rapidly against the floor.

“Quick, into the basement,” Robert said knowing he would never get the front door open in time. Throwing the basement door open, they all flew inside. Robert shut and locked the door just as something big slammed into it. They fled down the basement steps and hid by boxes of mementos on the floor.

“What was that?” Bri asked.

“I don’t know,” Robert answered.

Robert’s phone vibrated and he answered, talking briefly. It vibrated again shortly thereafter and, again, the conversation was short.

“That was Dad. He says to be quiet, that he loves you, and that he’s on his way,” Robert said closing his phone.

“Night runner on the far balcony, second floor,” Bri hears a female voice call out over the radio, jarring her back into the present.

The radio call brings an increase in tension within her. She thinks of her dad inside as he issues an order for Cressman to take out the night runner. She remembers the times when her days were filled with being with her friends; missing her dad but thinking she had time to connect and see him later. It was always later. An overwhelming feeling of sadness envelopes her thinking of those missed opportunities and how fun it had been when they would all go to the drive-in; how free and open those times were. She sends another prayer outward hoping they will see this through and she will see her dad again.

She follows the events inside with the radio calls. Suddenly, shrieks emit through the entrance door, faintly reaching her ears faintly. The radio calls begin to take on a frantic tone and gunshots, well, more like gunfire is heard both through the radio when calls are made and the open door. Her heart beats faster and she hopes that everyone is okay. After a short time, she hears her dad calling for teams to pull back. The noise being radiated from inside is constant. Looking to the sky with another tear forming, she whispers, “Please, please, anything but let them be okay.”

Nic steps over and puts her arm around her, knocking her earpiece out. She doesn’t bother to put it back in as the feel of her sister’s arm around her is comforting. The sounds being emitted suddenly, and without warning, cease. Her heart jumps up a notch. Several minutes pass and she sees soldiers appear at the door hauling limp forms between them. She gasps loudly and runs toward where they are laying the bodies by the side of the door. She peers anxiously at each of them but they are so ruined that she can’t make out the features well enough to identify. Her stomach turns but she continues to look, hoping to find something that will tell her that none of these are her dad or brother.

She stifles a sob and looks up to see Lynn arranging a sixth body beside her. Their eyes meets; Lynn’s blue eyes red from a lack of sleep and tension, Bri’s from the forming tears and anxiety.

“Is my dad okay?” Bri asks looking at Lynn hopefully.

Lynn stands and wraps her in a hug, “Yes, he’s okay, sweetheart.”

“And Robert?” Bri asks into Lynn’s shoulder.

“Yes, hon, they’re both okay,” Lynn answers.

Bri sobs once in relief and thanks any spirits listening for an answer to her prayers.

* * *

The bodies of Delta are carried outside and laid by the front door. The soft moaning carries throughout the building at intervals. No other attacks, shrieks, or screams are heard. The few minutes of violence that once filled this space will be forever remembered but it is now just a blip on the passing line of time. The area will forever hold the fierce battle, the shouts, the screams, the gunfire and bloodshed that were created in this space and time but the world moves on and so does the passage of time and events.

“Red Team will join with Charlie. Lynn, Drescoll, move up on the left as before. We’ll try to stay in line with you. We still need to clear the building. Watch out for night runners that may still be hiding and for the injured ones,” I say getting ready to finish what we started. “We’ll move to the corner and then you sweep the back. Notify us when you turn the corner.”

“Copy that. Moving out,” Lynn responds.

“Will do,” Drescoll replies.

“Echo, cover your area but you’ll be the reserve team,” I say.

“Roger,” Greg’s voice responds in the radio.

We complete the sweep of the first floor without any further large scale attacks; or any for that matter. A few suppressed shots echo within as more injured night runners are put to rest with the added result that fewer moans and cries of pain are heard. Meeting up with Lynn and Drescoll in the back right corner, I have them take positions on the first floor to cover the balconies while sending Horace and Watkins, with Blue and Alpha Teams, up the entrance stairs to begin clearing the second floor. I take Red and Charlie up the escalator stairs, stepping over the pile of night runner bodies in the process.

The climb to the second floor is difficult as the steps are crowded with corpses. We have to step on them in order to make our way to the top as no part of the stairs is visible; the bodies move and slide beneath our boots making us stumble at times. Only a couple night runners still move under their own volition or moan and they are quickly silenced. By the time we reach the second floor, silence once more settles within the facility.

Horace and Watkins meet up with us by the escalator and we continue across the second floor finding only dead bodies. The numerous shelves are filled with camping gear, archery supplies, gun cases, and other miscellaneous outdoor equipment. The far end wall behind a gun counter is lined with rifles of every sort and the glass counter itself houses handguns of all calibers and models. Passing by a display rack, I point out the M-4-based DMR setup that Robert envied the many times we visited. He nods. The nod would have been normally accompanied by a grin but we’ve just lost a lot of friends and that weighs heavily on us. We check carefully in every nook and cranny but don’t find any hidden night runners lurking within. Assured that this part of the second floor is clear, I send Echo and Bravo to clear out the loading dock area.

Rounding the last corner upstairs, I notice a trail of blood leading away towards the restaurant set into the corner of the building. It looks like one of the night runners crawled away injured. The trail shows up as a dark smear in my goggles. I point it out to the members of the sweeping teams. Still slowly checking the aisles and tents that are set up for display, we follow the trail as it disappears into the eating area of the restaurant. Setting Horace and Watkins in a perimeter around the restaurant, I step inside with Red and Charlie Team.

Light colored wooden tables sit within the medium-sized, rectangular restaurant; some stand askew, others are tipped over and lying on the floor. Plastic brown and orange chairs add to the mess in the area. The restaurant is open to the rest of the store and the wet trail continues. Stepping carefully between the tables and chairs, I hear a low growl coming from behind one of the tipped-over tables just to my front.

Stepping up to the table with my M-4 at the ready and fully expecting a night runner to launch at me, I look over the edge. A female night runner lies on the linoleum-tiled floor. It looks up at me and emits another low growl that turns into a whimper. The light colored blouse is dark with blood and the jeans are soaked. The trail we are following leads directly to her. She was obviously injured at the railing and crawled here. Her eyes are full of pain she looks up and meets my gaze. I lower my carbine a touch and we just stare at each other.

I direct Charlie to search the kitchen area without taking my gaze off the night runner almost at my feet with only a table between us. She must have been shot in the abdomen or someplace near judging from the soaked blouse and the amount of blood lost. I haven’t seen a live night runner this close before without being pumped full of adrenaline and fighting for my life. The eyes still have a humanistic look to them as much as I can tell with the night vision goggles on. They reflect in the greenish glow like a night animal. The light gray skin shines in my sight and I make out the pulsing, dark gray veins beneath the translucent skin. I hear her shallow, panting breath over the noises of Charlie Team clearing the kitchen area.

Mullins reports that all is clear as do Horace and Cressman reporting from the loading docks. I nod an okay to Mullins, “roger” the call from Bravo and Echo, and look back down at the night runner. Her pain-filled eyes continue to meet mine and she attempts another growl or moan but it comes out as a gurgling sound and blood runs out of the corner of her mouth. The fact that the night runner is a female gnaws at me somewhat, but I raise my M-4. I swear she looks through the pain and knows what is coming and is thankful. A muted cough echoes in the enclosed area. My round enters her left eye and explodes out the back of her head. A large amount of blood, tissue, and bone splatters across the floor and her head pitches back before slumping to the floor. With that final shot, the sanctuary is ours – for the time being.

By Candlelight

“Told ya we’d clear ‘em out, sir,” Gonzalez says as we stand in silence here in the dark.

“Although I certainly didn’t expect it to be like that,” she adds shaking her head.

“Yeah, me either. It sure came at a cost,” I say. Gonzalez and the rest of Red Team just nod as there really isn’t much else to say in that regard.

A search through the offices and customer service area yields the keys to the facility. I pull the teams out and send Horace and her team around to turn the generator on. Walking back inside with Lynn and our two teams, I insert the key into the lights and the building comes alive, awakening from its prior dormant state. The aftermath of our quick but intense battle unfolds with more clarity and the inside, especially on the right side, looks as if a hurricane swept through. Clothes racks and clothes are mingled with bodies with more dead night runners filling the area near the cash registers aisles. A haze hangs in the air drifting upward toward the tall ceiling. The reek of gunpowder and a slaughterhouse mixes together seeming to form a different odor with each breath.

Outside again, I look at the bodies lying on the concrete walkway; reminders of the world we live in now; reminders that we can’t afford mistakes. Mullins walks over and kneels by the bodies with his head hung. I wonder if he thinks he made a mistake coming with us. They were with him longer than they were with us but they were our friends as well. Other soldiers drift over to where they lie. I catch Lynn’s eye and nod toward the bodies. She nods in return. We don’t have the luxury of a proper service for them. They gave their lives fighting so that we can have a safe place to live and deserve better. Time is pressing so we all gather around the bodies to pay our respects, each in his or her way.

Finishing with our service and saying goodbye to our comrades, I gather Lynn, Bannerman, and Frank. “Our biggest priority is to get the doors and window coverings installed along with removing the bodies from inside. We also need to get some diesel fuel for the generators and lay our fallen to rest,” I say.

“Bannerman, will you see to the security doors? How many will you need?” I add.

“I think we can get them up pretty quick with two teams, assuming they have a maintenance department on site with the right tools,” he answers.

“Okay, how about you take Mullins and Greg? Oh, and if there’s time, we need to set up the base radio. Frank, can you take Alpha and find us some fuel? There should be gas cans and such inside if you need,” I ask.

“Sounds good,” Frank responds.

“I’d like to put Kathy and Kenneth with you Frank and the others with you Bannerman to help out with whatever you need. The rest of the teams can start removing the bodies. We need to make sure one team provides overwatch inside at all times. One team can find some shovels inside and start digging as well,” I say looking at the sun settling farther down towards the horizon. “The other thing I’d like to do is offer our cell phones to everyone to try and reach their families. Robert Bri, Nic, and I have working ones so anyone is welcome to use them.”

I am amazed that we have actually done so much in this day. I truly didn’t feel we would be this far along. Although there is still so much to do and still a trip down south, I feel relatively okay with where we are. If the doors and shutters were installed and working, I would feel even better. I still feel the time crunch however and may not be able to make the trip to Portland and get back before nightfall. There’s a good possibility that we may have to stay there overnight.

“I’ll see to the assignments and notify everyone that phones are available. Then we can be on our way,” Lynn says as Bannerman and Frank move off to start their tasks.

“Lynn, I really want you to come with but I feel like I need you here to make sure things get handled,” I say once we are alone.

“Yeah, that’s all fine and dandy but that’s not happening,” she says looking me in the eye. I see her mentally digging her heels in and completely understand how she feels.

“Seriously, I do trust whomever we would leave in charge, whether that’s Drescoll, Frank, or anyone else but I’m also leaving Nic here and will feel better knowing you are here seeing to the security. I know the others will do their best to get things done but I absolutely know you’ll make sure they do,” I say.

“I’m not entirely comfortable with not going with you for two reasons. One, well, that one is obvious, and two, without me, there’s only you with your kids and you don’t know how secure the place is down there is. I’d,” she adds with emphasis, “feel more comfortable if I was with you. We have over forty-eight armed soldiers here, Jack, and my being here or not isn’t going to make a lick of difference.”

“What you say is true. My only concern is making sure that this place is secure and prioritizing that,” I say.

“Look, Jack, Drescoll can see to that. He’ll make sure things get done and that they get done correctly. He’s a good sort and I absolutely trust him,” Lynn says.

“Hon, I totally hear you and, like I said, know what you say is true but I also would feel so much better if you were here overseeing everything,” I say looking into her eyes and seeing her stubbornness.

“Well, Jack, here’s the part where you don’t get your way. I’m going with and that’s just that,” she says planting her hands on her hips and taking a step towards me.

“Okay, okay, okay. You’re going with,” I say with a chuckle, taking a defensive step backwards.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll talk with Drescoll, give people a chance with the phones, and then we can go,” she says and turns to brief Drescoll.

I stare after her departing back and wonder just who really is in charge. Shaking my head with some degree of resignation, I gather up Robert and Bri for our journey south. We load up supplies of food, water, and ammo into one of the Humvees, checking to make sure it has plenty of fuel. Robert and I also replenish our empty mags and slide them into our vest pouches. I hear one of the other Humvees start up nearby. Frank and Alpha Team drive out of the parking lot and head off in search of fuel. Most of our small group come by and try to reach their family and loved ones. There is no response from any of the numbers dialed with most not even receiving a ring or voice mail. As we finish with the last of the loading, Lynn walks over with Michelle, Nic and Mom behind her.

“Ready to go?” Lynn asks on arriving.

“Ready,” I say shutting the rear hatch.

I turn to give Nic hug. “We’ll be back soon, hon. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad,” she says into my shoulder.

I give her a kiss on the head and turn to hug Mom. “Be safe and take care of the kids,” she says.

“I will, Mom. I love you,” I respond.

“I love you too.”

“Robert, you’re driving,” I say.

“Okay,” he says releasing a hug with Michelle.

We climb in and settle into the seats. The sun is continuing its march across the clear blue sky towards its inevitable meeting with the western horizon. I look at my watch and am surprised to find it’s just a touch after 1800. Part of me feels like it should be earlier but another part is amazed how the day has flown by. Robert starts the vehicle and pulls out of the lot.

I watch Cabela’s grow smaller in the rearview. We have our sanctuary, or at least a major start to one, but it came at a great cost. We lost a whole team in the process and I have a sick feeling in my stomach thinking about it. I still wonder if we did the right thing with staying in and taking it rather than just finding another place once we spotted the tracks. It all happened so fast that there wasn’t much time to analyze it other than to just react. But a whole team, I think watching the building recede. That’s just too costly and we can’t afford a loss rate like that. Or any for that matter. We lost over ten percent of our force in a matter of minutes. In normal military terms, that is referred to as being decimated. Valiant soldiers, all good men and women, gone in the blink of an eye. This really makes me realize just how tenuous our situation is; or can become. The thing to do is make sure we add this lesson to our future endeavors, I think as we leave the area and turn onto the Interstate southbound.

I pull out my cell phone as Robert drives us past Olympia and down the lonely road. We are the only vehicle on the highway – moving vehicle that is. We pass by the occasional car or pickup parked on the shoulder of the Interstate. We pass by a rest area off to the side and see only a few cars in the lot. A body lies stretched over one of the green picnic tables; too far to be seen clearly but obviously not moving. I dial Kelly’s number as the scene slides behind us.

“We’re on our way,” I say once she answers and the hello’s are out of the way.

“Did you go see about Carrie?” Kelly asks.

“I’m sorry but we didn’t have the time. We’ll check on her when we get back,” I answer.

“What have you been doing all day then?” She asks in an exasperated tone.

“We’ve been busy setting up a safe place. We’re about two hours out and may have to stay there for the night,” I reply.

“Okay but there’s still a lot of daylight left.”

“Yeah but there may not be enough to get back before dark,” I say. “Put some unscented candles in the bathroom so we’ll have light.”

“Why do we….” And that’s all as I hear the beep of a signal lost from my phone.

I look at the screen and see “searching for signal” dance across the screen. No bars show on the signal strength meter. I ask Bri to check her phone and it says the same thing. I guess the days of cell service have seen their last. I’m surprised it lasted this long. It’s just one more technology that has failed and certainly won’t be the last. I close the phone and look out at the passing fields. There are quite a few that have cows silently standing where they always have. A few have their heads down eating. I wonder if they have even noticed the change about them; the complete lack of automobiles passing by or the decrease of noise. I wonder if they notice that the ranchers are no longer coming out to check on them.

There are several bridges to cross on the way down and I am worried they may be obstructed. There’s no way to contact Kelly now if we find our route blocked. If even one of them is impassable, it could take hours to find a way around if at all. Although each one is crucial, the ones I am particularly concerned about are the ones spanning the wide Columbia River. Those are the ones mostly likely to be blocked as they are between two major cities. We won’t have much time to either find a way around or find a safe place to hole up in if we can’t get across.

We pass through one of the larger country towns and the Interstate becomes blocked by cars that were trying to get off one of the off-ramps. Robert slows and stops before driving across the grass meridian between the north and southbound lanes, pulling onto the northbound lanes to circumvent the block. The smell of decomposing bodies becomes strong as we pass; so strong my stomach turns and I almost gag.

“Oh my God that stinks,” Bri says with a disgusted tone.

“Hold your breath, hon. We’ll be by it in a bit,” I tell her in a whispery voice as I try to hold mine as well.

During the drive down, Lynn and I talk about some of the things we need to do when we get back and the organization needed to do them, with Robert and Bri participating in the conversations. The bridges so far don’t present any obstacles and we pull close to the I-5 Columbia River crossing with the sun just a few fingers above the horizon. The vehicles on the road have increased to a degree as we enter Vancouver but haven’t blocked the Interstate fully. Crows hop among several of the cars looking for morsels and I don’t even want to think about what they may be finding. I see the towers of the drawbridge rise above the buildings off to the side of the freeway and the congestion increases as we draw nearer.

Robert slows as we thread our way through the line of cars. A major Portland hospital exit lies down the road a ways and it may be that this jam is from people trying to get there. I just hope the bridge isn’t completely inundated with cars. We get to within a mile of the bridge when my fears materialize and the route becomes completely blocked. My anxiety increases thinking we are so close yet not able to complete the distance. At least not at this crossing.

“Let’s backtrack our route to the other freeway and try the bridge there,” I say to Robert.

“How do we get there?” He asks.

“Just back up until we can turn around and we’ll drive to the I-205 exit. That will take us to another bridge and if that one’s blocked, then I’m out of ideas,” I answer.

Robert backs up slowly, threading his way through the snarl until we reach a point where we can turn our beast around. We make our way to the convergence of the highways and turn off the exit. The roads are much clearer along this route and we find the bridge mostly unobstructed. We pass over the long, light gray, concrete bridge spanning the wide river. The sun reflects off its surface with a bright shimmer. Sailboats dot the marinas by the shore but none plow the waterway. The once busy river, with sail boats slowly meandering along with sails unfurled, skiers enjoying a day in the sun, and jet skis creating waves, is now as empty as the roads.

The sun is tipping to the horizon, beginning to fill the late afternoon/evening sky with oranges, as we pull into Kelly’s apartment complex. I have Robert pull into the main lot outside of her apartment and park with the Humvee pointed toward the entrance just in case we need to get away quickly. Of course, if it came to that, we would most likely have a lot of trouble getting to the vehicle, but one can never be too careful.

I step out of the vehicle, my butt sore from once again sitting for multiple hours, and look around at the complex. Three-story apartments encircle the lot we are in, silent yet giving the impression that they are holding a secret. The silence gives off a feeling of peace and serenity but the dark windows staring out present an underlying, menacing feel. The sound of the Humvee doors closing reverberates off the white, wooden walls. The shadow of the building next to us stretches across the lot as the day begins to close.

“Let’s grab our gear and head in,” I say eyeing the deepening blue sky.

Toting our weapons, ammo, goggles, and water, we walk up to Kelly’s apartment door. The apartments are built on a hill so her second floor apartment door is actually level with the parking lot. It’s on the other side, toward the back, that the second floor nature of it is revealed. I knock on the door and hear the deadbolt slide. The door opens and Kelly stands framed by the door looking disheveled. Her normally kempt black hair hangs limply with strands sticking out in places. Dark circles surround her almost black eyes and show clearly on her lightly tanned skin.

“Thank goodness you’re here. I was so scared,” Kelly says opening the door wider. I hear Lynn’s heavy sigh behind me.

“We’re here. Did you put the candles in the bathroom?” I ask walking inside with Robert, Bri, and Lynn following.

“Yeah but I don’t get why there,” she answers.

“Because that’s where we’re going to hole up in. It doesn’t have direct access to the outside and therefore our light and noise will be diminished. They are scentless right?” I ask.

“Most of them,” she replies.

“Well, let’s take the scented ones out,” I say walking from the small entry foyer and into the where the kitchen is separated from the living room.

“Robert, make sure the windows and doors are closed and locked,” I tell him over my shoulder.

“They’re already locked,” I hear from the kitchen.

I turn to see Brian standing in the kitchen. He looks as disheveled as Kelly with his short, brown hair sticking up in places. His paler skin looks akin to a night runner but more on the pink side rather than gray and without the translucent nature. His tan, Docker-style slacks and long-sleeved, button up blue shirt is wrinkled and with vestiges of dirt in places.

“You can never be too careful and the more eyes on something, the better,” I say and nod at Robert to continue.

“Whatever. Do what you want but I’m telling you everything is locked,” Brian says.

I shake my head and turn to Lynn. “Let’s check the bathroom out. Bri, go with Robert,” I say.

“Okay, Dad,” Bri replies.

I watch her walk toward Robert, who is checking the living room windows overlooking the back side of the apartments, and have a very strange feeling settle inside. I am watching her nonchalantly walk across the room in her loose, black tactical uniform, with her long, blond hair flowing down the back, and casually carrying an M-4 by her side. I tell you, it’s such a strange sight to see in your fifteen-year old daughter.

The apartment itself is set up like most any other apartment. The front door opens into a small foyer which makes a ninety degree angle, opening up with to a small kitchen on the left and a living room stretching ahead to a set of oriel windows looking out to the setting sun. A hallway extends to the immediate right of the kitchen, terminating at the master bedroom with a bedroom off to the kitchen side of the hallway. An interior bathroom opens to the left about halfway down the hall. To the far right of the living room, another bedroom opens. Lynn and I walk into the central bathroom with Kelly following behind. It’s a very small bathroom with a single sink, shower, and toilet.

“It’s going to be a little cozy in here tonight,” I say removing the top of the toilet and disconnecting the flush lever.

“Yeah, you’re not kidding,” Lynn replies.

“Why are you doing that?” Kelly asks referring to my disconnecting the toilet.

“We need to keep absolutely quiet tonight so no flushing. This is to make sure someone doesn’t forget,” I answer.

“Oh,” Kelly says.

Candles of various sizes sit on the counter. I make sure that only unscented ones remain and hand any scented ones to Kelly to put back wherever she keeps them. There should be enough left to keep us lit for the night. Kelly looks quizzically at the ones I handed to her.

“The night runners, the creatures, have a terrific sense of smell and may well be able to pick out the smell of scented candles burning. We can’t afford to take the chance that they can,” I answer her look.

Robert and Bri walk by down the hallway. We follow them out and meet in the living room.

“All closed and locked,” Robert says.

I hear the front door open and in walks a tall, lithe brunette carrying several bottles of water. She stops in her tracks shocked by the presentation of several armed people standing in her living room. Jessica, Kelly’s daughter and my once step-daughter, stares at Robert and Bri standing in their dark fatigues and sporting M-4’s as if the picture doesn’t match. She hasn’t seen them in a while and I’m certain never expected them to appear before her fully armed and with looks of determination.

The experiences we’ve had over the past week or so have changed them. They are confident and fully aware of the situation we find ourselves in. A little over a week ago, they were attending school and now have flown half way across the world, meeting with countless night runners. In that time, Robert has learned to fly a 130, has done so with a high degree of skill, and has been involved in several skirmishes and intense firefights. Bri has been an integral part of flying the 130, learning the systems and able to do the flight engineer job in her sleep. She has also seen several encounters. Those experiences have put an added confidence and wisdom in their eyes.

“Hi, Jack,” Jessica says turning her dark brown eyes towards me with a little uncertainty in her voice. It’s been a while since we have seen each other. We were once close but time and the separation saw a change to that. She must be about twenty now, I think seeing her stand by the kitchen entry.

“Hi, Jessica. Nice to see you again,” I say with a touch of self-consciousness as well.

“I only found a few bottles of water left at the gas station,” Jessica says turning to Kelly and Brian, depositing the bottles on the kitchen counter.

“Wait, what!?” Lynn exclaims. “Are you telling me you let her go out and into a building by herself?”

“We’ve been in there before so it’s okay,” Brian responds.

“You do understand what’s going on and what we’re dealing with right!?” Lynn counters.

“Yes,” Brian answers.

Lynn hangs her head and shakes it from side to side before looking up at me. “Tell me why we came down here again?” She asks. That’s my Lynn, blunt and to the point.

“Let’s just focus and get ready for tonight, although that wasn’t the greatest of ideas,” I add looking at Kelly. “We need to talk about tonight’s plan.”

“What do we need to do?” Kelly asks.

“First of all, we need to barricade the front door and put something up to block the kitchen window,” I say thinking that those are the two most prevalent entrances at ground level. I’m not too keen on blocking our only routes out but I don’t really see much of an alternative.

“What about using the couch for the door?” Bri asks.

I look over at the larger of the two couches in the living room thinking it may indeed fit in the entrance foyer against the door and opposing wall. “Good idea, Bri. Why don’t you, Robert, and Brian see if you can wedge it in place?”

As they begin moving the couch, I look around the rest of the place for something to block the kitchen window that overlooks the entrance to the front door. It’s not the easiest solution finding something to put over the sink that will hold but I eventually settle on a small bookcase in one of the bedrooms. Pulling the books and knickknacks off the shelves, Lynn and I lift the bookcase up against the window with the back to the outside. We also grab the smaller couch and wedge it between the shelves and the kitchen counter, pulling and pushing to make sure it is pressed firmly against the shelves, wedging it firmly in place. Robert, Bri, and Brian manage to fit the couch against the front door.

We all gather in the now couch-less living room. An orange glow peeks around the closed blinds announcing that the day is rapidly drawing to a close. I notice a not-so-faint aroma rising from my clothes. Yeah, the confined space we’ll be in tonight should be interesting in that regard and I wish I had brought a change.

“You know that bathroom isn’t very defensible,” Lynn says.

“I know. What do you think about using the back bedroom if something goes down tonight? ” I ask.

“I think that’s probably our best bet,” she answers.

“Let’s go take a look then.”

As a group, we move to the back bedroom down a narrow hallway filled with framed family pictures on the walls. The bedroom is mostly filled with a bed and dresser. To the left and backside of the apartment, long, white, slat-like blinds hang vertically over a sliding glass door leading to a small patio. The patio itself stands a good ten feet off another paved driveway and parking places. To the right, a good-sized walk-in closet opens off the room with a larger bathroom just past it. The frosted window in the bathroom leading outside is too small for anyone or anything to gain entrance.

The walk-in closet is filled with clothing in every available space with shoe boxes and shoes lining the floor underneath. “Kelly, can you clean off the closet floor?” I ask.

Kelly and Jessica remove the shoes and boxes, stuffing them under the bed and on the floor by the dresser. While they are doing that, Robert, Lynn, Bri, and I don our NVG’s and test our radios, making sure they are off to conserve the batteries. The nice thing about these units is the battery packs are rechargeable, however, there isn’t any electrical power here and I didn’t bring the chargers with us. Our actions throughout the day have drained them to an extent. The orange glow that was peeking around the living room blinds now changes to a deepening blue-gray around the bedroom blinds.

“What now?” Robert asks as we pile into the interior bathroom.

“Now we wait the night out,” I answer. “If something happens, we’ll move quickly into the bedroom with everyone in the closet. I’ll cover the hallway.”

“I’ll be with you,” Lynn says.

“I’d rather you be with everyone else and cover my back watching over the back patio door. It’s an enclosed space and I don’t want to have to second-guess what I’m shooting at.” I wish we had the IFF tabs we could attach to our uniforms. A thought for later.

“Okay, Jack,” she replies.

“What about me?” Robert asks.

“The same. Keep my backside clear and protect the others,” I answer.

The bathroom is indeed crowded with the seven of us in there. I take a seat on the counter by the sink with Robert next to me. Lynn squats by the hallway door and Bri sits herself on the bathtub rim. Brian sits on the floor under the towel rack with Kelly by the other door leading to the far bedroom and Jessica sitting on the toilet seat. We light the candles and place towels under the door.

“What’s with the towels?” Kelly asks.

“So the light doesn’t leak out,” I answer.

“Well, I for one don’t want to wait the night out in here,” Brian says.

“We don’t have much choice,” I respond.

“We’ve stayed out in the living room and bedrooms every night and have been just fine,” he retorts.

“Look, Brian, we have to become a deep, dark hole in the fabric of space and time. You have no idea what these night runners are capable of,” I state in a whisper. “And keep your voice down.”

“What!? Just because you come in wearing SWAT gear and trying to look badass doesn’t mean that you know everything and have all of the answers,” he says still keeping his normal tone. “Weren’t you just a pilot anyway?”

“There are very few people in this room who know exactly what I did and that’s irrelevant anyway. All of us here have had a bit of experience with the night runners so we do know a bit. I don’t think you fully grasp what we are dealing with,” I whisper. “There are what, like over 2 million people in the Portland area? Or were?”

“Something like that I’d guess,” he says keeping his voice at normal volumes.

“Shhhh. Keep your voice down dammit,” I whisper sharply. “Just so you understand, there is something like thirty percent of the population that turned into night runners. That means there are about seven hundred thousand of them around this area. Seven hundred thousand, Brian! That’s a fuck of a lot!”

As if to emphasize my point, a very faint, distant, yet distinct shriek of a night runner, or perhaps a few of them, penetrate the inner walls and reach our ears.

“I’ll be fucked if I’m going to be told what to do in my own place and will talk as loud as I want,” he says with his voice rising.

That’s a surprise to me as I didn’t know Kelly and him were living together but then again, there has been no contact with Kelly since we split up many years ago. There is an obvious Alpha male thing going on. I am getting that Brian is feeling a little insecure which could stem from a number of reasons. He may be jealous and feel the need to assert himself as Kelly and I were together at one point, or it may be from the fact that we were asked to help and he is therefore feeling he is inadequate; that his manhood is in question. I just don’t have the time or patience for his insecurities. Especially if they are endangering the rest of us. I can also tell, by the tightness of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes, that Lynn is getting fairly perturbed.

Brian starts to rise as another shriek rises in the night, closer this time. “Sit the fuck down and shut up. You’re endangering us fuck-wit,” Lynn says with a sharp whisper, finally having had enough.

Brian pauses in his movement. “What!? Are you going to shoot me?” He asks not lowering his voice one whit.

“If I have to and if that’s what it takes,” Lynn says raising her M-4 a notch.

I see, by the tightness around his eyes, that Robert is pretty upset as well. With Lynn, he raises his weapon a touch. Bri and Jessica are watching the exchange with wide eyes, although Bri has a more of a “this is interesting” expression on her face.

“Brian, please, sit down. They know what they’re doing and I trust them,” Kelly says.

Brian does indeed plant himself back on the floor but continues to glare. “How about lending one of your guns then?” He asks.

“Have you been trained?” I ask in return.

“I’ve shot a gun before,” he answers.

“But I mean trained, as in any military type of experience?” I ask.

“No.”

“Then, no. I don’t want the added risk of someone not knowing what they’re doing; maybe shooting in a moment of excitement and injuring one of us.”

“You have your kids toting around weapons and I know they weren’t in the military,” Brian states.

“They’ve had some training and I trust them,” I respond.

A scream cuts sharply into the night intruding upon our “conversation.” Footsteps thump across the ceiling from the apartment above. The sound and vibration of the footsteps are accompanied by voices, too dim to make out the actual words but it’s apparent they are from people and sound like female voices.

“Who’s that?” I ask quietly.

“I think they’re the daughters from the couple upstairs,” Kelly answers.

“Have you talked with them?” I ask further.

“No,” she replies. Another loud shriek penetrates, sounding like it’s coming from the parking lot in front. This is followed by an additional one from the same area. The voices upstairs continue.

“They better be quiet or they’re going to invite the night runners,” Lynn says.

As if her words were the catalyst, a pounding of footsteps on the concrete stairs outside, seemingly heading upstairs, vibrates the apartment. Screams dominate the night and the first slamming of bodies into the apartment door upstairs causes the people there to scream as well. This only serves to agitate the night runners more.

“Can we help them or do anything?” Jessica asks as we all look to the ceiling above. I glance to make sure the towels are securely barring any light emitting from our small bathroom enclave.

“If we’d have known someone was up there, we could have brought them down with us but there’s nothing we can do now without endangering us all,” I answer.

The assault on the upstairs door continues and then, with a crash and the sound of splintering wood, the door gives way. Loud shrieks and rapid footfalls race across the ceiling just a few feet over our heads.

“Nooooo!” We hear from above.

Cries resonate from above, filling our tiny space. A loud thump shakes the apartment and agonizing screams follow, rising above and mixing with the screeches from the night runners. I can almost make out the sound of flesh being bitten into and torn from the bodies but that is mostly coming from my imagination. The flame from the candles around us waver as if dancing in tune to the horrific scene being enacted above, making our shadows move across the walls in the same macabre beat.

The screams stop and only a muted growling and snarling reach our ears. My finger caresses the trigger guard both from nervousness, with having the night runners so close, and a sick feeling inside hearing the horrible end to the people upstairs. With this scene fresh in my mind, I think there can’t be too many other survivors. Our one percent has most likely decreased to a marginal level.

“What, in the fuck, was that?” Brian asks loudly.

You have got to be fucking kidding me! I think and look at him incredulously with a touch of fear and panic washing through me. I can’t believe he just spoke that loudly – again! Especially after what we just witnessed. He just doesn’t get it! Several loud screeches come from above and footsteps thump rapidly across the ceiling.

“You fucker!” Lynn sharply whispers and begins to stand.

“Everyone in the closet now!” I whisper on the heels of her statement.

We all rise with Lynn opening the bathroom door as I blow out the candles plunging the interior into darkness. Lynn steps out of the bathroom and stands in the hall ushering the others out of the door. I snap down my goggles and turn them on bringing on the familiar glow of night vision. The pattern of steps on the stairs outside mixes with the shuffle of our group in the hallway as we head to the back bedroom and the closet. Lynn heads back after the others pass by her. Robert, who has waited in the bathroom with me until everyone else has exited, pulls his goggles on as well and looks at me. I can’t read his expression due to the goggles.

“We’ve been through worse,” I tell him guessing at his thoughts.

“Yeah, but we don’t have an exit to retreat to this time,” he says.

“True,” I say with a sigh, “but we’ll be fine. Keep my backside clear.”

“I will, Dad,” he says and gives me a quick hug as best as he can while holding his M-4. I return the quick hug. He heads out the door and down the hall. Was that him thinking the worst is about to happen given what we heard above us just a few moments ago and wanting to get a last hug in? I think closing the bathroom door and heading down the hall. Or was it for reassurance?

The first hard slam against the front door sounds, startling me even though I expected it. I stop and kneel in the hall close to the bedroom door with a direct line of sight with the front door. Turning my sight to the 1x setting, I look through and set the dot on the center of the door. I’m hoping the couch holds the door long enough for the night runners to grow tired and move on. I’m also hoping they can’t get in through the kitchen window as I only have a small view there. If they do get through, they can run around and get through the bathroom which will give me a very limited amount of time to react. The same goes for being able to scale the building on the outside and get into the far bedroom. I’m taking nothing for granted as to what the night runners can and cannot do as they have surprised me more times than I care to recall. There is no way of telling how many of them are gathered but judging from the shrieks and pounding at the door, there are more than a few.

I look towards the closet but can only see the opening from this angle. I picture them all with their backs to the wall with dresses, shirts, and pants dangling about their heads.

“I’m in the hall by the bedroom door,” I say pressing the mic button at my throat, wanting to let them know exactly where I am positioned. “Everyone okay?”

“Copy that and we’re doing fine,” Lynn answers. “How does it look out there?”

“So far so good,” I reply.

I look back to the front keeping both eyes open and using a parallax view, - this allows a greater width and depth of view while seeing the aiming dot as well – I see the front door jar and shake with each successive thump against it. It is holding and I imagine the night runners are getting pretty sore shoulders but the couch is against the jamb rather than the door itself so there’s a little give with each thump.

I hear the glass of the kitchen window breaking and see the couch wedging the bookcase shake but it too holds firm for the time being. I feel my heart pounding in my chest and have a trapped feeling. I always liked having a way out if things went awry but don’t see an option here. We can’t escape through the patio door as the drop, although livable, will take us out into the night with no protection. It’s also on the other side from where we parked the Humvee so that option offers nothing. Kind of fucked up where I parked on that one, I think.

I suddenly hear loud, heavy breathing through my earpiece. It sounds like Bri. She must have just turned on her radio and may have set her radio to VOX (voice-activated) which makes her mic activate and transmit with any sound. Or she may be accidentally holding the mic button down. It will hold up the frequency if we need to communicate so I rise to tell her.

A particularly loud bang hammers the front door and I hear her take a deep, sharp breath in. “It’s okay, Bri. We’ll be fine,” I hear Robert say dimly coming through Bri’s mic. “That’s Dad out there and we’re here. It’ll all be okay.”

“Bri, your mic’s on,” I whisper into the closet standing by the entrance. I hear some moving around inside and, with a click, the breathing in my ear stops.

Another terrific thump sounds against the door as I settle back into position. The front door shakes even more. My breath quickens as I see it rock backwards with the next hit. There is a pattern of a shriek and then a slam. My hope that they would tire quickly is not coming to light. If they do manage to get the door down, at least they will have to funnel through one or two at a time. I pat the mags in my vest, comforting myself that they are there and available. Taking two out, I set them by my knee. I would have taped two together end-to-end for quicker reloads but that makes it difficult to carry in the pouches.

A slam comes against the door for about the hundredth time and the jamb by the latch splinters. Oh fuck! I think seeing the jamb itself beginning to give way. That is the last thing I wanted to see and my thought quickly goes towards my kids and Lynn. I should never have come down. I quickly turn my radio to VOX as I may not be able to take the time to reach up and click the mic as my hands may be too busy. I want to stay in communication regardless of what happens. My adrenaline rate increases but a calm settles in.

The jamb gives way but the door comes against the couch and it doesn’t open any further. It’s not even a door width open but the latch is no longer secure. The screeches outside intensify as if the night runners know they are almost inside. The interval between bangs against the door increases. The jamb where the hinges are screwed in begins to splinter as the latch did moments before. The trapped feeling intensifies. A part of my mind searches for an avenue of escape but realizes that none exist.

“Very well motherfuckers! Bring it,” I whisper to myself, getting myself in the frame of mind needed, steeling myself for the inevitable.

Another solid thud and the top hinge gives way. With the sound of wood cracking and a screech of metal being torn, the door caves inward, the top falling across the couch at an angle. The night runner shrieks, no longer muted by closed door, rises in volume as our little bit of sanctuary becomes open to the outside. I see movement through the small cracks the angled door leaves though not enough to get a shot through. The door is picked up, twisted, and pulled outside. Now we are fully exposed.

“They’re in,” I call seeing the first night runners enter into the now open doorway.

I rub my thumb over the selector switch to verify I am on auto and put my dot on the first to enter as it scrambles over the couch still sitting in front of the door. I opt for the auto selection in case any of my rounds miss or glance off, then there’s a chance they’ll hit and slow up any night runners that are behind. The entry way outside is congested with night runners waiting to get in. Pulling the trigger lightly, my carbine pushes against my shoulder as I send three rounds streaking outward.

The hallway flashes with pulses of light and the muted coughs resonate loudly in the enclosed hall. My three steel core bullets meet up with their target in a tight pattern with speed and power hitting the night runner full in the face. The force of the rounds striking destroys the bone structure and knocks the lower jaw loose before ricocheting inside its cranium and exiting, taking the entire back of its head off. A massive, chunky mist sprays out from behind as it collapses face forward onto the couch. The cream-colored couch absorbs the blood trickling from the night runner, turning red where the night runner’s head comes to rest making the couch look like a tissue after being dabbed on an open cut.

Two night runners jostle at the door before entering and climb over their fallen member. More shove from behind and the entire doorway is filled with pushing night runners. The multitude of screams outside tells me that many more are outside. The vast number is more than I anticipated, although I know I should quit anticipating anything with them. I switch my M-4 to semi as I worry about the ammo. Running low has happened too many times now – and once being too many.

I center my dot on one coming over the body and couch and put just enough pressure on the trigger to break it. A flash in the hallway signals another bullet exiting the suppressor. The round speeds toward the night runner and hits it in its left cheek, entering the cavity of the mouth as if unobstructed. The back molars and side teeth splinter into tiny shards leaving just the stumps and roots attached to the gums. The round then angles upward slightly before slamming into the lower part of the skull and breaks apart with the largest part of the bullet exiting out just above the ear. The skin flaps open and splatters a coating of blood on the foyer wall. The night runner’s head is slammed against the same wall with a solid thud and slumps backward, coming to rest on its back along the back of the couch.

Only registering the hit in the back of my mind, I switch to the second night runner scrambling over the couch and discharge another projectile. The shot hits the clavicle and angles upward into its throat. Blood splashes outward in all directions as major arteries and veins are hit and the night runner falls forward, its head hitting the tiled entryway with a solid smack. It lies still with it feet resting on the first night runner and blood quickly forms a large puddle on the floor.

Night runners pour in behind these first three. I’m not going to be able to hold them back with mere single shots. I switch to auto once again and hope that my rounds last longer than the night runners. The roar from the host is deafening as the sound waves concentrate down the narrow hallway. I begin placing bursts into the crowd that is pushing their way inside, no longer worrying about killing shots. Bodies are piling up on the couch and by the kitchen entry, but their entry is coming faster than I can put them down. Like an incoming tide, they are slowly gaining ground. I faintly register the sound of my spent cartridges hitting the wall next to me. Each time I reload, they gain even more ground. The empty mags are accumulating at my knee like the night runners piling up on the couch and floor beyond.

“How many of you fuckers are there?” I say under my breath.

“Jack, are you okay?” Lynn asks. Kind of forgot I had set my radio to VOX.

“Yeah. I think they’re fucking breeding out here,” I reply not interrupting my fire or diverting my attention.

The night runners gain ground to the hallway entry. Seriously, how many are there? I think jamming another mag into the lower receiver. The time distortion, which comes on when it seemingly feels like it, is sorely missing here. I would so love for things to slow down but they seem to be speeding up instead. I notice a couple of night runners race behind the front line and off into the living room to the right. Uh oh. If they get into the bathroom and come out the door just scant few feet in front of me, I’m done for.

The mass enters the hallway and are met by the steel propelled from my carbine. I reach for another mag and slam it home allowing them to gain a few additional feet. The stink of unwashed bodies and gunpowder rises to my nose. The glow of the night runner’s skin in my goggles and the shine from their night-vision-enhanced eyes is downright spooky. Even scarier is how many there are and how close they have gotten. A slam against the bathroom door just in front jars me. As if that were not a bad enough sign, shattering glass behind me catches my immediate and direct attention.

I stand and take a step back into the bedroom without altering my fire. I hear two bursts of fire come from the closet. I glance to my side and see a night runner, that somehow climbed onto the patio, pitch back through the hanging blinds. The blinds part as the night runner blows through them and they swing back together immediately as if wanting to keep the result secret; making the night runner appear as if it dove into a pool and disappeared beneath the surface. The only proof that anything happened at all is the blinds still swinging back and forth.

“Thanks,” I say focusing back on the hall.

“You’re welcome, Dad,” Roberts says.

“No worries, Jack,” Lynn responds. “How’s it going out there?”

“Getting a little sporty,” I reply.

The glance only took a moment and looking back, the bathroom door bows and then explodes outward. I’m standing at the bedroom door and see multiple heads crowding the hallway but can’t ascertain how many. Some is all my mind registers. Night runners emerge from the bathroom and into the hallway, ahead of the line already there.

“Oh hell no! You don’t get to do that,” I say out loud and squeeze a burst into the first one.

It takes the burst in the side of its chest. Blood erupts from its mouth and nostrils and the rounds devastate its lungs and interior of its chest region. It pitches forward into the opposite wall face first and falls to the floor leaving a smear of blood trailing down the wall. The night runner behind trips over the fallen one’s legs as more rounds leave my barrel and rush toward it. The strobing flashes light up the hallway and the creatures, showing the surprise and pain registering on the stumbling night runner’s face as the fast-moving rounds connect. The power of the impacting bullets launches it backward into the ones trying to get closer. My bolt locks to the rear. Oh fuck! Not good!

I don’t have time to reload. I drop the M-4 and step backwards reaching for the M-9 at my side. Bringing it up, I get one shot off before being body slammed by a running night runner. The impact knocks me off my feet and I’m driven backwards. The pistol is knocked from my grasp by the strength of the collision. The surprise is complete as my mind only records the fact that I am on the way to the floor with a night runner on me. My mind screams, Noooooo! as the additional thought registers that my kids are now exposed to the danger and I’m not up and able to help them.

The great fear turns to anger as I hit the ground on my back. The impact with the floor nearly knocks the wind out of me. My left arm is between me and the night runner on top. I slide my forearm up to its throat to keep the snarling and growling face from me. Putrid breath launches an assault of its own against my senses. I push upward with all my might but the night runner has a good position on me and I can’t get any leverage. The only thing I can do is attempt to keep its gnashing teeth from penetrating my skin.

My right leg is free. I bend my knee and reach down to grab my knife strapped to the outside of my ankle. The leverage is tough to hold while reaching down but I manage to pull the knife free of its sheath. I hear a small scream and several bursts from the other M-4’s. The thought that my kids are in trouble angers me even further. I plunge the knife in under the ribs and twist. The writhing night runner on top of me howls as I withdraw the knife and plunge it in again. A spurt of blood comes out of its mouth that is only inches away from my face. It pushes down against my arm, growls once more, and then goes limp.

“Get the fuck off me,” I say pushing the night runner off and to the side.

Sitting up, I am immediately slammed to the ground again. Fear, adrenaline, and anger course through me. Another night runner has slammed me onto my back and is on top with its head by my chest. My left arm is trapped between the night runner and myself. It claws at my neck and I feel the stinging pain of my skin being ripped on the left side. I feel the weight on top of me double as another night runner’s face appears over the shoulder of the one immediately above me.

I can’t move and can barely breathe. My jaw clenches and I feel a surge of anger. “Okay, you’re seriously starting to piss me off,” I yell and stab my knife into the closest one’s neck.

The top of my blade emerges from the other side of its neck cutting through tendons and cartilage. Blood leaks out of its mouth and nose, dripping onto me. Its growling turns into a gargle and I feel the warm blood gush over my hand and flow onto my chest. I remove the knife and jets of blood spurts twice before I feel the night runner become a dead weight on me.

The other night runner is trying to get down to me but isn’t able to with the dead one between us. I also don’t have a very good angle on it. It reaches over its dead comrade attempting to claw my face and neck. As it reaches its hand upward toward me, I stab upward under its armpit. The howling shriek turns into a scream of pain as my knife penetrates that very tender place. The armpit is a source of many nerves and the arteries of the arm run just under the surface of the skin. I twist the blade and feel jets of warm blood spray against my hand. I twist and push my knife blade again. The night runner arches up howling and struggles to get away from the point of my blade buried deep under its arm. Its yells of agony fade and it collapses across me to the side.

“Get..the..fuck..off..me,” I mumble straining to push the night runners off me.

“Dad, are you okay?” Robert asks.

“Yeah, just fucking peachy,” I answer giving a final push.

I finally manage to heave them to the side and scramble back to my feet. A few night runners lie on the floor in front of the closet entrance with one half in and half out of the entry itself. Two more night runners stand by the bedroom door. A glance behind them shows the hallway clear.

“Hold your fire,” I say as the two start for me, my roar meeting with theirs.

The two night runners rush, one behind the other. I take a step forward and meet them, going to a crouch just prior to contact. I rise forcefully and drive my shoulder into the front one’s chest, halting its forward momentum. I grab the night runner by the neck, drive it backward into the one behind, and thrust my knife under its sternum. I feel the warm sensation of blood run down the haft and onto my hand once again. I tighten my grip as the handle has become slippery. A turn of the blade and I move the night runner to the side. I duck under a swiping reach of the second one behind. Coming up as its arm sweeps over my head, I drive my knife into its neck. I lower my head just prior to my blade penetrating to prevent splashes of blood coating the lenses of my goggles.

I feel a slight resistance in my arm as my point meets the tender skin and drives inward. Blood splashes across my forehead. Putting my shoulder into the thrust, my knife plunges further into the night runner’s neck and comes to a stop against its spine. I withdraw the blade, step forward putting my right leg behind its right ankle, and push with my shoulder. My push trips it and sends it to the floor where it hits with a thump flat on its back. It lies gargling for a moment and then is silent.

I turn to the sound of the patio door blinds stirring. Another night runner darts into the room. I’m blocking the closet door so Robert and Lynn can’t fire at the new intruder. It stops a couple of feet inside, thrusts its head forward and shrieks. The scream fills the smallish room to the point that it seems the walls shake with its intensity. Rage and adrenaline still fills me like a heated glow but there is a numbness and calm accompanying it as well. I feel like I’m wrapped in a heated void. I hold my arms out to the side with my knife dripping blood, thrust forward in a similar manner, and roar back at it. A startled look crosses its features as I step towards it. It turns and darts back through the blinds. I hear a sickening thud and crack issue mutely from outside followed by a scream of pain.

I check the hall and front doorway to find them empty of any further attempts to invade the apartment. Walking to the patio, I step through the shattered glass door and look down at the driveway to the rear. The night is silent. Below, the night runner that fled is crawling slowly across the pavement having apparently leapt off the balcony and broke one or both of its legs on impact. I walk back in, grab my M-4 off the floor where I dropped it, and put a fresh mag in – my last one. Flicking the release, the bolt drives home, chambering a round.

Returning outside and clearing the area, I put the sight on 2x and center the crosshairs on the night runner. I continue to stare at the creature slowly and painfully crawling across the dark pavement for a moment. The thought of leaving it to deal with the dawn coming a few hours away runs briefly through my mind. The fear turned to anger is rapidly disappearing as the danger recedes and I feel a little sorry for the night runner below me. Regardless of the situation prior, no person, animal, or other deserves to be in pain or to suffer needlessly. With the crosshair centered, I send a fast-moving projectile into its head, bringing its crawling, and its agony, to a sudden halt.

* * *

Looking out at the narrow view of the bed and patio blinds, Robert kneels on one knee in the center of the group against the back wall of the walk-in closet. Clothing hangs down to either side of him. His heart thumps inside his chest as the thuds echo inside the apartment from night runners slamming into the front door. A particularly loud bang shakes the walls around him and he hears Bri gasp beside him.

“It’s okay, Bri. We’ll be fine. That’s Dad out there and we’re here. It’ll all be okay,” he says reassuring her.

His dad whispers at the door that Bri’s mic is on. In his peripheral, he sees Bri scramble trying to find the right switch and notices her look up at him. He reaches over and moves the switch on her mic cord. The breathing in his ears, that he assumed was his dad’s, falls silent. Several more slams resonate.

“Very well motherfuckers! Bring it,” he hears his dad whisper through his earpiece.

His heart rate quickens knowing his dad and his idioms. Those words mean something is about to happen and his dad is steeling himself for it. He looks at Lynn kneeling beside him in the same manner; on her knee with her M-4 pointed outward. She turns her head to him and nods. He feels confident yet scared at the same time. He knows he will react okay but will it be enough. He is glad he gave his dad that hug before leaving the bathroom. For some reason, it makes him feel better knowing that he did. It seemed the right thing to do. He almost wants the action to start so he can get rid of this feeling inside and just react like the previous times. This nervousness is close to unbearable. A tremendous crash blasts through the closet.

“They’re in,” his dad calls out.

Light flashes across the open doorway followed a split second later by muted gunshots. This is quickly followed by more. The first bursts of fire are trailed by single shots. Robert tightens his grip and slides his finger into the trigger guard. His thumb rubs along the selector switch to affirm that it’s set on auto. If they get in this far, semi just isn’t going to cut it, he thinks keeping his focus on the doorway and far blinds. The flashes of light and sounds are near continuous except for pauses where he assumes his dad is reloading. The mixture of shrieks and screams of pain make it difficult to hear anything else.

“How many of you fuckers are there?” Robert hears his dad say.

“Jack, are you okay?” Lynn asks.

“Yeah. I think they’re fucking breeding out here,” his dad replies. Robert chuckles knowing things are okay if his dad is keeping his humor.

While concentrating on the things within his view, he is reminded of those times where he and his dad laughed until their eyes bled tears. They have an identical sense of humor, perhaps stemming from the countless hours they spent together, and they see things in life the same way. Sadness folds over him as he remembers those times now with his dad out there fighting for his and their lives.

The sound of glass breaking rides over the howls and shrieks from inside the apartment bringing Robert’s entire focus back to the moment. The blinds part and a night runner enters the bedroom. He pulls the trigger with his dot centered on the chest. Multiple strobes flash off the walls of the tight closet as both his and Lynn’s carbines fire at the same time. The night runner is launched off its feet and back through the blinds from the multiple, forceful strikes on its body.

Robert sees his dad step back into his range of vision but is only able to see his back. “Thanks,” his dad says.

“You’re welcome, Dad,” Roberts says.

“No worries, Jack,” Lynn responds. “How’s it going out there?”

“Getting a little sporty,” he replies.

Robert knows what “getting a little sporty” means to his dad. It is a little more than the normal “getting a little sporty.” There was a time when he and his dad rode their mountain bikes up this long, steep ridge to the top of a mountain on the Fourth of July to watch the area fireworks. They sat on a mountain top, tired and exhausted from the ride, drinking Dr. Peppers and watched the light shows in the region below. The sun had set on everyone else but the glow of the sunset still shown on them. After a while, darkness set in firmly and the fireworks ended. It was pitch black out and they only had small flashlights – yeah, that one wasn’t thought all of the way through – which illuminated the ground in front for only five feet at best. The brakes only worked marginally on the exciting ride back down the steep slope. It was hard to keep the bikes under control as they careened off rocks and the edge of the cliff came close several times. When they finally reached the bottom, his dad said the same thing, “That was a little sporty.” Truth be told, Robert had thought it rather fun and exciting.

The one other time he remembered his dad using that phrase was the time they kayaked across a large, open body of water, the wind kicked up against an incoming tide and they paddled across with waves breaking over their head.

“Oh hell no! You don’t get to do that,” Robert hears his dad say over the radio.

His grip tightens on the handgrip of his M-4. The reality of the moment sinks in and he feels an intense fear but with an underlying calm. He feels a certain confidence with his dad and Lynn with him. Moments later, he sees his dad being catapulted in the air past the opening with a night runner on top of him; the two of them disappearing off to the right.

“No! Dad!” Bri screams rising to her feet.

“Stay here Bri,” Robert says holding his arm out in front of her.

“Holy shit,” Brian says in hushed voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” Robert says with adrenaline coursing through him. His response surprises him as much as the others around him. That came out of him from the fear he feels seeing his dad thrown like that, from the dire nature of their situation, and from his disgust for the guy next to him for getting them into this.

Other night runners follow in the path his dad and the night runner took. He and Lynn fire at the ones materializing in front of the door. Their rounds hit the night runners in the head, chest, and arms, knocking them to the side against and on the bed. They are attempting to keep the swarming creatures away from his dad. A night runner quickly appears in the doorway, completely blocking the view outside. Kelly screams as Robert raises his carbine and pulls the trigger, sending speeding projectiles toward the night runner threatening them. His rounds close the distance quickly and hit in rapid succession on its chest. The upward angle of the shots lifts the night runner off the ground with its legs shooting forward and its head backward. It falls to the ground half in and half out of the doorway.

“Nice job,” Lynn says as they resume shooting at the passing night runners.

“Get the fuck off me,” Robert hears his dad say over the radio.

The night runners coming by the door are thinning out to an extent, becoming ones and twos rather than the horde that was there moments before.

“Okay, you’re seriously starting to piss me off,” he hears his dad yell.

No further night runners come by the opening but he hears others rustling in the direction of the hallway. The decibel level has dropped substantially. The sounds from the hallway combine with the sounds of struggle coming from his dad’s direction.

“Get..the..fuck..off..me,” he hears his dad mumble on the radio.

“Dad, are you okay?” Robert asks.

“Yeah, just fucking peachy,” his dad answers. With that answer, he knows that his dad is indeed doing okay. A little pissed but okay.

“Hold your fire,” his dad says stepping into view of the open doorway looking a little disheveled.

Screeches once again fill the hallway. He sees his dad lean forward and yell back. He watches as his dad steps forward, crouches down and drives his shoulder upward into a charging night runner. He then grabs its neck, forces it into another night runner behind and brings his hand upward, plunging his knife into its belly.

“Eww,” Jessica says softly.

All eyes in the closet are mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them. Robert watches his dad toss the night runner to the side and duck under the swing of the second night runner only to come up quickly, thrust his knife into its neck - even through his goggles, he sees the blood squirt outward - and push the night runner to the ground. The creature disappears from view and he hears a gurgling sound for a moment and then all is silent.

“Fuuuuck me,” Brian says barely under his breath.

The soft swish and tic of the blinds stirring by the patio door reaches his ears at the same time that he catches a hint of movement on the other side of his dad. A shriek fills the room once more and is answered by his dad giving an equally loud scream. His dad takes a step and Robert sees movement as the night runner apparently runs back through the blinds, his dad seemingly chasing it off.

* * *

Exhaustion sweeps through me as I re-enter the apartment. I check the hallway again and drop to my knee to retrieve my handgun. Energy seeps from me and I remain on the floor a touch longer in front of the closet. I take a deep breath and continue deep breathing to clear my mind and catch my breath. The silence has returned to the dark apartment and makes my breathing seem inordinately loud. With my head hanging down, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I see Lynn looking down at me with a worried smile. Robert walks out of the closet and I give him a tired nod of thanks and job well done.

“Are you okay?” Lynn asks quietly.

“Yeah, I think so. I need all of the bottles of water we have,” I reply feeling a sting from the scratch on my neck; both from the recentness of the injury and from sweat running into it. “Robert, cover the front door. Bri, I need you to cover the patio door. Both of you call immediately if you see or hear anything.” I realize my radio is still on the voice-activate mode and switch it to the push-to-talk mode.

Robert looks down the hall at the numerous bodies heaped there and beyond. “Holy shit!” He exclaims quietly.

“Yeah, holy shit is right,” I reply.

Robert kneels in the hallway where I was previously while Lynn steps into the bathroom to retrieve the water. With Bri standing by the bed by my side, I reach into a pouch on my vest and retrieve a batch of antibiotics we divided up seemingly years ago. Lynn returns with the water and sees me taking the pills.

“Jack?” Lynn says in a questioning and worried voice.

“I think I got scratched,” I reply in answer to her questioning concern.

“Oh fuck, Jack! Where?” She asks whispering.

“On my neck. I think it was a clawing scratch and not a bite though,” I answer feeling my neck for the scratch to determine the depth and extent of damage.

“Come on, into the bathroom,” she says.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a second,” I say.

I walk past Robert and down the hall. The enclosed space of the hallway stinks of torn bodies, the iron smell of blood, and gunpowder mixing together. I have to step over the bodies lying on the ground filling the hallway floor. I nudge each body testing for any life remaining within them. Several night runners respond to the toe of my boot prodding them and I finish them off with one round to the head. The entryway by the kitchen is piled waist high in places where the night runners pushed into the apartment and were met by steel. I go through almost an entire clip by the time I put the last of the night runners to rest.

Climbing over the mounds of bodies is difficult as they shift and slide. My boots sometimes sink between them like stepping into soft spots in a muddy swamp. I exit the mounds by the kitchen and step into the living room, alert for any hiding night runners. A sweep through the open living room and far bedroom reveals that none remain within the confines of the apartment. We’re clear for now. I backtrack to the bathroom entrance letting Robert know I am reentering the hall. It would totally suck to forget something as simple as that and be shot after all the night has held to this point. Communication is one of the most important keys to survival with a group.

Meeting Lynn at the bathroom entrance, we step over the broken door and enter the bathroom. Lynn props the door against the entrance as best as possible to seal it against any light leaking out, and lights the candles. I remove my NVG’s, prop my gun, and lean against the counter with both arms. The candlelight reflects off the mirror revealing a different person staring back. I don’t recognize myself. My tired eyes looking back observe the blood on my forehead and neck. As I look at my reflection in the mirror, it seems like I’m watching myself through a third person. The area around my eyes is clear where my goggles were making me look like a reverse raccoon.

This seriously can’t possibly continue in this manner, I think as Lynn takes one of the towels from the floor and pours water over my face and neck. The water runs off my head and into the sink turning the basin into a pink, swirling mix of water and blood. I feel a sting from the scratch. She begins to dab my face and neck with the towel clearing the blood away. Watching her tenderly administering to me, my heart is flooded with warmth. This was not the homecoming I imagined or anticipated.

With the blood cleared, I see the scratch clearly. Not normally concerned with such a minor wound, the fact that it was from the night runners and that some of their saliva may have come into contact with it increases the worry factor. I need to be around for my kids and Lynn. The scratch itself runs from the middle of my neck down to my collar bone. In the yellow light of the candles, I see the skin around has already turned a bright red. Lynn rummages through drawers and a bathroom cabinet until she finds some gauze pads and tape.

“Here, crush one of these up and sprinkle it on,” I say pulling another antibiotic pill out before Lynn applies the dressing.

She takes out her knife and crushes the pill on the counter, sprinkles it on the scratch and covers it with the gauze and tape. Watching her with the tenderness and worry brings out another feeling within. The post adrenaline, close call, and watching her, well, brings about a certain desire. The problem is that we aren’t out of the danger zone yet and won’t be until the sun comes up, let alone the fact that there are others close by. Ugh!

She puts the last of the tape in place and looks up at me through the mirror. “Jack, I know that look,” she says quietly with a small smile.

“Mmmm hmmm,” I reply just as quietly with a tired yet mischievous smile.

“We can’t here,” she says looking to the broken doors propped up against the bathroom doorway.

“I think you’re looking the wrong way,” I say looking to the other door leading into the far bedroom.

She looks longingly at the opposite door then shakes her head. “Jack, you have no idea how much I want to but we can’t,” she says with a sigh.

I mimic her sigh, “I know but you’re in trouble when the sun rises.”

“Deal,” she says with a larger smile.

“Come on sunrise,” I say playfully and rinse my knife off in the sink.

“Yeah, no shit,” she says with another sigh.

Lynn looks at the white gauze and tape at my neck. “I think it’ll be okay. It only burns a little but not overly so,” I say answering her worried gaze.

I give Lynn a kiss which threatens to develop further before we head back to the room after extinguishing the candles and donning our NVG’s. Seeing us enter the hall, Robert lowers his muzzle. Passing by my kneeling son, I pat him on the shoulder.

“You doing okay, Dad?” He asks looking up through his goggles.

“Yeah, thanks. How are you doing?” I ask in return.

“Tired, but okay,” he answers.

“Good.”

Returning to the bedroom, Lynn and I sit next to where Bri is kneeling with her M-4 aimed across the bed. I ruffle her hair, “How are you doing, hon?”

“I’m okay, Dad,” she responds looking up.

I smile back at her. A flood of warmth and love for both of my kids flows through me. I am so proud of them but there is also an underlying fear for them given our situation. I wish I could just wake up and we could be back to the world we knew before; worrying about which fireworks show we were going to go see rather than which building is going to harbor night runners, when the next assault will occur, or how we are going to stay supplied.

“We can’t continue like this,” I tell Lynn. “We can’t keep facing massive assaults like this. We’ve just been lucky so far.”

“And sometimes less than lucky,” I add remembering the loss of the entire Delta Team.

“Jack, we won’t have to worry about that so much once we get the sanctuary built and secured,” Lynn responds.

“We’ll still have to go into buildings for supplies until we become self-sufficient. I mean, they have been in mass in almost every, single building lately,” I say.

“Is it safe to come out?” Kelly asks from the closet with a whisper.

“Yeah, we’re okay for the moment,” I answer.

Brian, Kelly, and Jessica emerge from the closet and stand by the entrance. Brian takes a step forward. “Hey, I just wanted to say sorry and thanks man,” he says in a whisper.

Oh sure, now he whispers, I think. “You know, I think it’s best that you not speak to me right now. You put my loved ones at risk and I’m not too keen with that,” I reply and he steps back to the closet entrance and plops down against the wall. Kelly squats next to him and they begin whispering in the dark.

“Then don’t go into buildings,” Lynn says picking up our conversation. “Maybe it’s you.”

“Very funny,” I say.

“Seriously though, Jack, what choice do we have?”

“Well, I know we can’t continue in this manner; with these kinds of encounters. We are being reactionary. It’s going to bite us in the ass harder one of these times,” I answer.

“What are you thinking?” Lynn asks.

“I am thinking we have two choices. Well, three but the third isn’t an option. The first is to build our haven, walls and all, then hunker down and let both us of live in our own environments. Let them have the night and we’ll have the day,” I answer.

“And the second?” She asks taking in what I said and nodding.

“Exterminate them all within our area,” I answer.

“That’s the riskier solution in the short-term but maybe worth it. I’m not sure we have the manpower to do that though. So, which one are you thinking about?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I reply.

“Just curious, what was the third option?” She asks tilting her head to the side.

“Give up,” I respond.

“You’re right, that’s not an option,” she says knowing I wasn’t being serious.

A muffled cough from Robert’s M-4 interrupts our conversation and startles all of us. Jessica lets out a small squeal. Lynn and I immediately jump off the bed, go to a kneeling position facing the front door, and shoulder our weapons. Nothing is moving at the door. It remains silent outside.

Robert is in the line of fire so Lynn and I keep our muzzles lowered but ready to move up and engage if something enters the open doorway to our front. Not wanting to risk the additional noise of talking halfway across the bedroom, I move up to his side, leaving Lynn in place to help Bri cover the back door. I am anticipating a round two of our previous bout but the lack of shrieks doesn’t indicate one.

Kneeling by Robert I ask, “What’s up?”

He doesn’t move his eyes or carbine from the front door as he answers, “One just poked its head around the side of the door.”

“Did you get him?” I ask watching and listening for additional movement.

“I think so,” he answers.

I think about going up to the door to check; not only to see that the one night runner is down but to see if others remain outside. However, I don’t want to stir up trouble if there are others out there. If they are content to stay outside and leave us in peace, I am perfectly content to stay in here and leave them in peace. I listen for any sounds or calls both near and far. The night is as quiet and as void as deep space.

I pat him on the shoulder again. “Nicely done,” I whisper into Robert’s ear.

“Thanks,” he whispers back.

“You doing okay here for a bit longer?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers.

I walk back into the bedroom past Brian, Kelly, and Jessica. Both Kelly and Jessica whisper their thanks for coming down to which I tell them no worries. I can tell Brian wants to say something along the same lines but wisely keeps quiet.

“Okay everyone, we need to stay quiet as we’re not through this yet and there are bound to be more around. I think we’ll be okay in here as long as we keep absolutely silent,” I say plopping back onto the bed where I begin to silently load my empty mags.

The apartment chills with the night air circulating through the open doors. I worry about our scent carrying outside however the rest of the night passes by without incident other than the scratch on my neck continuing to burn. We take turns resting and covering the entrances. I take several more antibiotics with Lynn undoing the tape and sprinkling more directly on the wound. The outside lightens with the coming dawn signaling a return to the safety of the day. We have survived another night; another encounter.

With the dawning of a new day, we all relax. We toss our goggles in the Humvee and I gather Robert, Lynn, and Brian and we begin removing the bodies from the hall, kitchen area, and front door. I wouldn’t worry about clearing the apartment but it’s impossible to get out without stepping over and on them. I want to at least clear a route out. We toss them over the front balcony railing into the front entryways of the apartments below. Brian heaves a few times as he and Lynn cart several night runners that have been ripped open by rounds hitting them and tumbling, creating a mess. Blood and fleshy bits of night runners, some of the flesh still having hair attached, covers the tiled floor as we make our way down to the last layer of bodies. We slip a few times on the slick floor carrying the bodies out. The entry way below fills with corpses as we toss body after body over the railing.

I look up at the shattered door of the apartment above us as Robert and I throw the last body over. I think about going up to investigate, as the sun peeks over the apartment building across from us, but decide not to as there is really nothing to be gained by going in there. With a sigh, I head back inside with Robert.

“Pack up anything you want to bring but try and keep it to the essentials,” I tell Brian, Kelly, and Jessica.

“Make sure you keep them on track if you don’t mind,” I ask Lynn. “I’m going outside for a breath of fresh air.”

“Will do,” she responds.

I head outside after we wash up and sit on a curb behind the Humvee away from the bodies and the smell. The sun is shedding its light on the parking lot over the buildings. I sit on the hard concrete feeling exhausted. With my M-4 resting between my legs and the sour scent of my own body odor assaulting my nose, I ponder the previous night. I feel like I unnecessarily put my loved ones at risk yet again. I feel like I make mistake after mistake and know I can’t afford to keep doing that. The mistakes I feel I made were bringing my kids down even though I thought I needed them to bring a 130 back. I don’t know if that was from an earnest need or just a desire to have a plane nearby. There was also a selfish part of me that wanted them close but if that were indeed true, I would have brought Nic too.

I relive the night going over where my mistakes were and where I could have done better or done things differently. The only thing I come up with is that I should have been more forceful quieting Brian. Not shooting him as that would have made noise and is perhaps too extreme. However, his being unconscious would have kept him quiet. I resolve not to let anyone else put my loved ones in harm’s way in that manner again; or in any manner for that matter. Robert walks out and joins me, sitting by my side.

“That guy is a real jerk,” he says.

“Yeah, I should have done something about it before it got to the point it did,” I reply.

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“I could have sent him to dreamland,” I state.

Robert chuckles, “Yeah, there’s always that option.”

“Do I smell as bad as you?” I ask smiling.

“Worse,” he replies with an answering smile.

“You did a great job in there. Thanks for watching my back,” I say.

“That was some scary shit,” he says. I notice a change in him. He is no longer shaking or referring to his being terrified but more relating to the event rather than himself. His confidence is increasing.

“You are not shitting with that. I thought we were done for a couple of times. Thanks again for watching my back.”

“I did too and no worries,” he says looking at the ground. Our silence continues for a few moments as we each relive portions of our experiences. Lynn walks out a short time later and joins us.

“It was all I could do to keep from laughing when you told that guy off,” she says to Robert.

“What? Oh, yeah that,” he says with a shy smile forming on his face once again.

“What’s that about?” I ask.

“He told that guy, Brian, to shut the fuck up in the middle of our firefight,” she answers.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Well, it was when you decided to take flying lessons with a night runner on top of you. You went sailing past the door and Brian said ‘holy shit’ or something like that. Robert looks at him and tells him to shut the fuck up. I almost lost it. If I wasn’t so worried about you and what was going on, I would have busted a gut.”

“Really? You did that?” I ask Robert.

“Yeah, kinda. I guess so,” he answers.

“Too funny,” I say as we all chuckle.

“Brian is terrified you are going to shoot him,” Lynn says after our chuckles subside.

“I’m still on the fence on that one,” I say.

“I’m going to check on Bri,” Robert says after a bit.

“Okay. We need to go pretty soon,” I say as he gets up and heads inside.

I look over at Lynn and smile. “Take a walk with me?” I ask once Robert gets out of earshot.

“Mmmm hmmm,” she answers returning my smile.

Carrying our weapons casually but still alert, we stroll down the lot. We find a place behind a parked van out of sight.

“As much as I hate to say this, Jack, we’ll have to make this quick,” Lynn says.

“I know,” I say. “Being quick will be no problem at all.”

“We’re going to have to find some privacy for a much longer time,” I say a short time later as pick up our M-4’s.

“Yes we are,” she replies. We walk back to the apartment complex hand in hand.

Brian, Kelly, and Jessica finish packing their bags. It looks like they packed the entire apartment. “This is packing the essentials?” I ask eyeing the vast amount of baggage. Not that I would have done much different I guess. Kelly merely shrugs a response as we throw the gear in the back of the Humvee. The interior is packed as we climb in. I have Robert drive once again and we pull out of the apartments with the sun climbing into another warm, clear day.

The drive to the airport is conducted mostly in silence with our only real conversation being which road and exit to take. We arrive at the open gates of the Air Force National Guard Base and drive to the flightline. F-15’s sit in rows in the center of the tarmac with others parked in large, open hangars. Off to the side on the edge of the ramp, two C-130’s sit side-by-side. We pull up behind them and exit.

Opening the crew door of one, I check that the inside is clear. The interior has a musty aroma mixed with the smell of oil, jet fuel, and the ground in odors of years of use. I walk into the cockpit and turn on the battery. The gyros begin spooling up and the total fuel gauge reads about three-quarters full. There aren’t any external fuel tanks installed on this one so their tanks read empty. The fighter squadrons have the 130’s to carry their gear for their deployments and exercises. Satisfied that all is in order and this one appears in good shape, I walk to the rear and drop the ramp.

“Do you want us to carry the gear inside?” Robert asks after I relate that this one seems to be in working order.

“No, we’ll just drive the Humvee in and tie it down,” I answer. We edge the vehicle in and secure it to the cargo floor.

“This one should be almost identical to the other one,” I say to Bri and Robert as we take our familiar seats.

“Okay, Dad,” Bri says adjusting her straps.

Lynn straps in at the nav seat while the others find seats on the bunk adjacent to the rear bulkhead. I find a checklist sitting on the throttle quadrant as we proceed through the checklists in a familiar fashion. Brian, Kelly, and Jessica look decidedly anxious as they watch Bri handle the fuel and electrical systems. They glance nervously from her to Robert sitting in the co-pilot seat as we run through the start-up procedures like old hands. The engines come to life as we start one after another; the throaty roar saturates the cockpit. We don’t have helmets so the sound fills our ears in full force. We’ll have to shout to one another as we don’t have mics or headsets either. We taxi out and take off into the noon sun and turn north staying down low and follow I-5 northbound. As we turn to the north, leaving the dead city behind us, my thoughts go out to those who remained at Cabela’s and wonder how they are doing.

An Angel Falls

Nicole stands in the parking lot and watches her dad, Robert, Lynn, and Bri leave the parking lot and disappear over the hill. She wanted to go with them but understands why her dad wanted her to stay. With a sigh, she turns to see soldiers begin to cart the bodies out of the outdoor store. They pile them in a back corner of the lot. There is activity at the front doors as Bannerman and other soldiers begin to install the security doors they fetched from the shop. The sun is warm on her shoulders and she fidgets in the dark fatigues, trying to become accustomed to the fit and style. Feeling a little useless at the moment, she walks over to the transport trucks with her grandmother and Michelle and helps unload supplies.

The remainder of the day passes quickly with the rest of night runner bodies being carted out and, with a liberal dose of diesel fuel, burned in the far corner of the lot. The large amount of corpses creates a vast funeral pyre. The doors get installed and tested along with steel shutters placed on the windows facing the entrance and the supplies are off-loaded into the store. With the sun dropping below the trees to the west, everyone gathers inside to eat, mostly in silence, and settles in for the evening.

“I think we’ll leave the generator going for the night so we can have our first night with lights,” Drescoll says addressing the tired group. “We’ll need to gather some of the blankets in the store and cover the doors and such so the light doesn’t show outside.”

The security doors, one on the inside and outside of each set of entryway doors, are rolled down and locked just as the last of the sun’s light vanishes and dusk sets in. The locking of the doors effectively shuts away the outside from the hopefully safe haven inside. Blankets are taped to the walls against the interior security doors to prevent any light leaking out. Nicole listens as Drescoll assigns watch schedules. Cots and sleeping bags, for everyone to sleep on, are pulled from shelves, out of boxes, and from storage areas.

Nic is setting up her cot and bag next to Michelle and her grandmother on the second floor when a clanging, crashing sound echoes throughout the interior. Nic startles and jerks her head toward the front entrance where the noise originated. Her heart pounds in her chest.

“Red Team, cover the side door. Alpha and Bravo, to the first floor and cover the entrance. All other teams, along the balcony. Green Team, on me, we’ll be in reserve,” Drescoll shouts.

A flurry of activity and noise follows Drescoll’s orders as soldiers gather their weapons and gear and make for their assigned positions; clicks of bolts being drawn back and released, vests being donned and zipped, radios tested, and shouts establishing orders from the team leaders. A semblance of order ensues and the teams take their positions as the slams against the outer security doors becomes increasingly numerous and much louder. Nicole observes the activities with interest from her position adjacent to a wall with a steel, gray door inset into it. Her head turns from the teams settling in and watches Drescoll take a position with Green Team nearby. Time passes differently and in a variety of ways for each of the survivors; some fearful, others restless, and even some annoyed at the intrusion on their evening.

Nicole feels of all of them. She is fearful that the night runners will find a way in yet confident that the soldiers around will take care of them and keep everyone safe in the event they do. She knows what they have been through in this past week or so and they have come through it okay every time. Her dad doing what he did and leading this group came as a big surprise to her. She had no idea her dad was capable of the things he did. She also feels restless not being able to do anything to help. She glances at the M-4 she grabbed that now lies across her lap, seeking assurance from it but none is given by the black plastic and metal.

Her restlessness and the fact that the night runners haven’t immediately broken in and assaulted them allows her mind to wander. She thinks over the days since the world changed, the exhilarations, fears, exhaustion, and closeness that the days have brought. How odd it is to be sitting in this particular place and time with all that has happened. It feels like a long, drawn out dream, she thinks looking around, her mind partially shutting out the noise of the night runners outside.

She has always been close to her brother, sister, and dad but the events they have been through have drawn them even closer. She feels bonded to them like no other time and feels an empty feeling inside without them around; watching Robert learn and become more self-confident and trying to impress Michelle; Bri watching everything and missing nothing even though she keeps that to herself; her dad trying to hold everything together and yet thinking he keeps making mistake after mistake. They have come through some pretty scary ordeals and have survived, she thinks observing the soldiers around her.

She feels a touch of sorrow for them with their being thrust into this situation without asking for it; that they have loved ones about which they know nothing and probably imagining the worst. Nicole wonders how they are able to get through each and every day with that kind of turmoil and stress. They must think about it but they don’t show it that she has seen. Maybe it’s the almost constant combat and busy surviving since that hasn’t allowed them to dwell on it. She turns her thoughts momentarily to her mom. A terrible loneliness and sadness fills her. She hopes that wasn’t her mom in the house and that she is alive and well somewhere, sending a prayer that they will meet up again once they become safe here. Her prayer also includes that her mom will become a part of their safe haven. The sadness and loneliness she feels is thinking of her mom out there alone and scared. A lone tear slowly trickles down her cheek and she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts.

* * *

The stars twinkle in the nighttime sky as a night runner stands in the parking lot watching other packs attack the doors of the building to his front. The smell of burning flesh rises to his nose from a glowing pile behind him. The pavement beneath his feet feels coarse and rough but not painful. It goes unnoticed as he continues to observe the shrieks and runs of the night runner packs trying to gain entry into the structure where food resides. The smell of the food faint yet distinct. The dashes of the individuals end with a dull, metallic clang that rises over the area.

He trots over to the side and sees the same activity with a door on the side of the structure. He has not joined any of the packs as yet but may have to soon. His stomach feels empty as he didn’t find any sustenance the night prior. It is becoming scarcer in this area and he knows, in his own way of thinking, that he will have to move to another area soon as this one appears to be hunted out. The sheer number of other night runners around him, trying to get to the food, is testament to that. In nights past, only a few of the closest packs would respond to the calls of food found. Now, an increasing number respond, many arriving after there is only bones left yet they gnaw on them trying to get every last scrap.

He jogs around the building away from the others looking for another way in. With him not being in a pack, he will be far down the pecking order for food if they do get in. He knows, in an animalistic way, that the only way he will eat from here tonight is if he is one of the first in. He rounds a corner and, with the continuous howls and clangs still filling the night air, he gazes upward. Once, several nights ago, he ate well by climbing on top of one of the two-legged lairs and coming through the top.

His gaze comes to a steel pipe that runs the height of the building to the roof above. Trotting over to the pipe, he gives it a good shake and is satisfied that it is strong enough to hold him. He glances around furtively hoping others haven’t noticed. If they do and realize it may be another way in, he will be quickly tossed aside and will have to search elsewhere to eat. Realizing the others are intent upon the doors, he latches onto the pipe and pulls himself up. Putting his bare feet against the cool wall, he begins to scale the wall. The pipe groans in one place but holds firm as he climbs steadily and swiftly upward.

Reaching the top of the pipe, he reaches his hand to the lip of the roof, quickly placing his other hand beside it. Scrabbling his feet against the wall, he pulls himself up over the edge to the top. He peers over the edge below him to see if any others observed his actions. Noticing he made it free and clear, he pulls his head back from the edge and looks over the flat roof. Everything shows in shades of gray. Square and rectangular items are set on the flat roof with pipes leading various places. A large, rectangular structure attracts his attention and he jogs over to it, leaping over pipes and other small projections rising from the roof.

Reaching it, he sniffs and detects the odor of food; very faint but there nonetheless. He walks around the small structure that stands only a little taller than him and locates an entry portal. He pulls on the handle knowing from previous, almost accidental experiences that the portals will sometimes open in that manner. The portal swings open in his grasp and he steps inside. The smell of food grows stronger and his belly responds, gurgling with anticipation.

The portal opens to a stairwell leading down. The door swings shut behind him, casting the enclosed space in which he finds himself in gloom. He sees well enough but it’s not as bright as being outside under the small points of light in the sky. He is eager as he will be the first to food and can get his share. That is if the others haven’t gained entry as yet. He doesn’t hear the sounds of feeding so he believes he will be the first in. It will take the others time to scale the structure if they even find it so he will be able to eat in peace.

He rushes down the stairs and comes to another portal opening. He pulls on this one but it doesn’t budge. He pushes and it opens into brightness. He shrinks back into the darkness expecting the excruciating pain that comes from his one-time experience with the bright light of the day but none comes. He is puzzled for a moment but then his eagerness and hunger drive him forward. The smell of food comes strongly and he knows that feeding is only moments away. He rushes through the door and into the light. Spying a food nearby, he shrieks and leaps into the air, diving for his first meal in two nights.

* * *

Drescoll kneels on the hard floor observing the teams in position and listening to the repeated bangs against the security doors. He is watching for any sign that the night runners are about to gain entry and analyzing whether he has put the teams in the most optimal positions to repel any invaders. The pounding outside has gone on for some time and it is a true test of the doors that they haven’t been able to get inside. He wonders just how many are out there but he imagines quite a few from the repeated and continual sounds against both entryways. He is sure they covered any light leaking out and they have been quiet so he wonders how they found them in the first place. He hears a shriek behind him and is slammed to the ground.

* * *

Nicole sits on her cot listening, along with everyone else, to the assault on the doors and their senses. She wonders how long the night runners outside will keep at it and if this will be a nightly occurrence. If that’s the case, we won’t be able to get any sleep, she thinks tiredly watching the soldiers and others around fidget restlessly.

A movement catches her eye in her peripheral and she turns to see the steel door next to her open. Her heart leaps in her chest as the floodgates of fear and adrenaline open. She feels a slight confusion as to why an inside door like this would be opening. It begins to swing closed confusing her even more. She is about to mention the door to Drescoll when her confusion ends immediately by a night runner emerging quickly from the opening and launches itself at Drescoll.

She watches as the night runner screams and hits Drescoll from behind. The impact slams him to the ground with the night runner on top.

“Noooo!” Nicole screams and rises to her feet without thinking.

Without knowing what she is doing, other than someone is in trouble, she throws herself across the intervening space between her and the night runner on Drescoll. She crashes into the side of the night runner, knocking it off Drescoll and finds herself on her back with the night runner on top of her. She swings her arms wildly and thrashes in an attempt to shake the weight off her and to prevent it from biting her. She feels a searing pain on her shoulder and lets out a scream. Her vision blurs and everything goes dark.

* * *

Drescoll hits the ground hard, instantly knowing what hit him as his mind registers the shriek just prior to impact. He hears another scream of “Noooo!” and feels the weight lifted from his back. He scrambles to his knees and sees a night runner on Nicole. She is flailing and writhing and then the creature bends over her. Nicole lets out a scream of pain and goes limp. He brings his M-4 to bear and hears a shot ring out behind him. A hole appears just above the night runner’s ear which sprays a small amount of blood outward. The night runner is thrown off to the side and comes to rest alongside Nicole.

Drescoll turns and see Jack’s mom standing over his shoulder holding a revolver with a small curl of smoke wafting out of the short barrel. He looks from the revolver up to her face which registers fear and determination combined. He turns back to Nicole and is quickly at her side. He checks to make sure the night runner is dead and then looks for pulse with Nicole. He finds one along with a chunk of flesh torn from where her shoulder meets her neck. The wound is leaking blood onto the carpeting below. He tears his vest, fatigue top, and T-shirt off as Jack’s mom kneels down by Nicole’s head. He folds his T-shirt up and presses it against the wound.

“Here, press this on here firmly,” he says to Jack’s mom whose eyes are wide with fear and worry.

“Greg, you’re in charge, we’ve got a situation up here,” Drescoll says in the radio before rummaging through his vest to pull out some antibiotics. He hears Nicole moan as he pulls them out.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Jack’s mom says in a soothing voice.

Drescoll looks up to see her holding the compress of his shirt firmly with one hand and stroking Nicole’s hair and face gently with the other. He pulls out his knife and crushes several of the tablets.

“Jordan, get a bottle of water,” Drescoll says over his shoulder.

He kneels over Nicole and eases the compress off her shoulder. Nicole’s moaning grows more frequent and stronger as he sprinkles the crushed antibiotics on her wounds. He replaces his shirt over the wound and Jack’s mom holds it firmly once again.

“She’s going to have to takes these,” he says holding several more antibiotic tablets in his hand.

“Nic, hon, wake up, dear,” Jack’s mom says soothingly in Nic’s ear.

Nicole’s eyes flutter open after the third attempt to wake her. Drescoll crushes the remaining tablets and takes the water bottle Jordan is patiently holding next to him.

“Nic, you need to take this. Do you think you can?” Jack’s mom asks.

“I think so,” Nic answers weakly. Drescoll pours the powder in her mouth and gently holds the water bottle up for her to drink.

“I’m so cold, Nic says.

“Okay, we’re going to move you over to a cot,” Drescoll says. He gently lifts Nicole and carries her to the closest cot. He lays her down and covers her with one of the sleeping bags.

“Jordan, go find some first aid supplies and gather the rest of Green’s antibiotics. And, seal that door,” he says on rising amidst the continued metallic clangs permeating the interior.

Jordan returns a short time later with the requested supplies. Drescoll tells Jack’s mom that Nicole will have to take the antibiotics every hour for the next few hours and then they’ll determine what quantity is needed.

“Don’t worry Nicole, we’ll take care of you and you’ll be okay,” he says putting his hand on Nic’s head to which she smiles.

“And, Nicole,” he adds, “thanks. You saved my life.”

* * *

We level off at 500 feet wanting to fly back at low level. It’s not a far flight back so there’s no sense in climbing high or conserving fuel. Plus, there’s an opportunity to teach some low level flying to Robert. Not that he’ll probably ever need it, but you never know and the opportunity exists to teach it so what the hell.

“It’s yours,” I say handing the aircraft off to Robert. “Just use I-5 as your reference and fly along it.”

I look back to see the incredulous looks from Kelly, Brian, and Jessica as they watch Bri handle the fuel and electrical systems and Robert fly without a hitch. Yes, we’ve come a long way in a short time. I know they’re watching two different people than they knew years ago. Robert takes the controls and makes a small turn to bring the Interstate up on his side. I am feeling a little lighter in one way having finished our little side venture but also have an underlying feeling of dread I can’t explain. Maybe it’s just nervousness with all that we have ahead of us.

The countryside slides beneath our wings as we drone northward. We pass over several small towns that dot the highway. A few columns of smoke drift upward from small fires either in the towns themselves or in the outlying areas. It doesn’t look any different than when I skirted small towns in times past with the exception that there isn’t anyone gazing skyward with our passage. The surreal ghost town feel accompanies each town we pass. The streets and parking lots, bathed in the late morning sunshine, stand empty of people. It’s so eerie looking down at a place where there should be cars moving along the streets or people going in and out of the stores but see only an emptiness. The sights make me feel a little empty inside as well. Perhaps it’s the energy of the people that used to inhabit these places that’s missing. We drone further north leaving one such small town in our wake.

We come up on Olympia with the waters of Puget Sound opening up to our left. I am eager to be back to see how the others are and begin setting up our new place; hoping that the evening went well for them and they are safe. The little boy in me however keeps glancing off to the waters sparkling under the sun; the small waves reflecting back the sunlight bouncing off their tops like glittering diamonds. The little boy in me wins out over the eagerness to be back with the group. After all, this may be the last time we get to or need to fly.

“I’ve got the aircraft,” I say.

“I can land it,” Robert shouts back obviously enjoying his flying and maybe feeling the same as me; that this could be our last time.

“I know but we’re going to take a small detour,” I shout back.

I bank the aircraft to the left and, once the waters of the harbor appear under our nose, drop the aircraft down until we’re just barely over the water. The Puget Sound shoots under our nose as I move the throttle up a little more. The memories come back of similar adventures under slightly different circumstances; mostly penetrating under radar. The thrill of flying so close to the ground, or water in this case, comes back. I always loved flying low level and I mean really low level. I remember taking jets up through the canyons of northwest Texas. Oh the fun!

We turn and follow the waterway up through the narrow passages. The tree-clad islands flash by our windows, their tops often above the horizon from us. I look over at Robert to see a big grin plastered on his face. Bri is grinning as well but I also notice she has her legs raised slightly as if to avoid scraping her feet on the water below us. Lynn has a smile on her face knowing the little kid within me is having fun. The others have wide open eyes as if they’re not enjoying this as much and instead see their imminent death.

“Okay, we’ve had our fun. We should head back. But there’s one other thing you should see and experience,” I say bringing the throttles back and slowing.

“Robert, lower the ramp,” I add once we’re below the safe operating speed for it.

“Okay,” he says with his grin getting even larger as if he’s guessed what I intend.

“Go take a look out back if you want but make sure you’re secured by the safety straps,” I shout over the roar from the engines. Robert, Bri, and Lynn unbuckle and begin heading to the back. Kelly, Brian, and Jessica all remain seated.

“You don’t want to go see?” I shout. All three shake their heads.

“Your loss,” I say in response to the negative answers.

* * *

Robert heads down the cockpit stairs eager with anticipation but with a touch of nervousness as well. The roar is louder in the cargo compartment with the ramp open. The view of the water rushing by the open ramp door causes a jolt of adrenaline. Lynn, Bri, and him find the crew chief safety straps and attach them before stepping out onto the open ramp. The water is rushing by and he feels as if he can reach a hand out and touch it; the tops of the small waves only feet below him. He looks up and the sight of the water scooting by only feet below him is dampened by the sight further behind the aircraft. The big-bladed propellers, themselves only a few feet over the water, are taking big bites out of the air and sending huge rooster tails of water into the air behind them. The sight of anything else behind them is lost by the immense amounts of water being launched skyward. He is mesmerized and feels like he could stand here forever; just watching the phenomenon unfolding. Knowing he can’t and that they need to get on with their day, he turns and walks back to the cockpit with Lynn and Bri in tow.

* * *

“That was intense,” Robert shouts settling into his seat once again.

“I know right!?” I shout in return. It’s a good feeling seeing the smiles inside the cockpit knowing we can still eke a measure of enjoyment out of our situation.

“Do you want to go in back?” Robert asks.

“No, I’m good. Seen it a few times,” I answer. Truth is, I would love to go witness it once again but any deviation from our course this low, even a slight one, would make a big splash and not in a good way. I’m just happy they could see such a sight.

The sound widens out and I push the throttles up, after closing the ramp, bringing the aircraft up in a climbing turn; the climb necessary to give us wingtip clearance for the turn to reverse our direction. We are about adjacent to McChord but I want to do a fly over Cabela’s to let everyone know we’re back. I bring the aircraft back down to our previous level and let Robert fly some of the way back with my hands hovering over the controls.

Reaching our entry point, Robert climbs out of the Puget Sound and picks up I-5 once again. The green roof of Cabela’s flashes by as we buzz the building letting the folks we left behind know we’re back. The now-empty transport vehicles and Humvees are parked in a line in the parking lot closest to the building. Several black-clad people look up as we pass overhead; shading their eyes from the glare of the sun as we zoom past. The only sign of life we’ve seen on our short journey back. The sight of them below us gives me a measure of relief knowing they’re okay. With the airfield just ahead of us, Robert goes through the checklist and sets us up for a landing. He has come a long ways with his flying and has become a competent pilot. I guess stress and extreme situations allows us to become proficient at a quickened rate.

The landing is neither his worst nor his best. It’s just a landing and we pull adjacent to our previous sanctuary, parking close by to give it some company in its retirement. Who knows if we’ll need to use this aircraft again but it is nice knowing it’s available if we do. I imagine several scenarios in the future where we could use a working 130 to find other survivors but for now, we need to see to ourselves.

The Humvee is carefully offloaded and we begin our drive back. The sun has passed its zenith as we maneuver through the dead base and out of the gate. The smiles that were prevalent a short time ago are replaced by looks of determination and seriousness as we re-enter our survival situation in earnest.

“Are we going to get Carrie now?” Kelly asks from the back.

“Yes, we’ll take a team and go look for her once we get back,” I reply.

“Why not now?” She asks with a touch of impatience. I certainly understand her eagerness and I know I would be feeling the same if it were my child.

“Because we’ll have more people to look for her and for safety,” I answer. “We’ll leave as soon as we can once we get back.” I know this isn’t the answer she wants but she remains silent for the rest of our drive.

I’m exhausted once again from a very sleepless night as we crest the hill to Cabela’s and park next to the line of vehicles. We have a number of hours before night hits once again but not enough to begin the process of building our wall of safety around us. There’s a lot of planning to do at any rate and we’ll use the remaining daylight hours to figure out the exact steps and assignments. That is after we go see about Carrie. Yet another rescue but I have the feeling that this will be a prevalent aspect for our future; finding other survivors.

Lynn steps out of the Humvee and walks over to Drescoll who is standing by the entrance as the rest of us begin to gather the supplies from the back. The lively feeling I had earlier is now replaced by an overwhelming tiredness. I’m not in an overly energetic mood so I take my time with the supplies and would much prefer to bask in the warmth radiance of the sun. I am about to head inside to gather up Red Team and go look for Carrie when I notice Lynn’s head snap in my direction. I watch them as she turns back to Drescoll saying something and walks hurriedly towards me with Drescoll right behind.

“Jack, I don’t know how to say this but….” Drescoll begins to say.

“Jack, you better hurry inside. Nic’s been bitten,” Lynn interrupts with tears forming in her eyes.

“What!!!? How the fuck…” I start saying and take off at a run for the entrance.

An overwhelming panic grips my insides. My stomach turns to knots and I feel a fist squeezing my heart. One of my kids, Nooooooo! Not my precious Nic. Please No! I scream inside as I bolt through the open doors. Robert and Bri were beside me and are right on my heels. I race through and stop suddenly not knowing where to go.

“Where?” I say in a panic turning to Drescoll who has paced us with Lynn beside him.

“Upstairs,” he replies.

I take off at a run again for the far escalator taking them two at a time. All other thoughts vanish. I desperately need to see my Nic. A wave of nausea grips my insides. I shouldn’t have left, I think reaching the top of the escalator feeling like a complete failure. I should have been here for all of my kids. I race across the linoleum with the sound of boots pounding behind me as Robert, Bri, Lynn, and Drescoll follow. The fear gripping me is mixed with a surreal sense like this can’t be happening.

Nic is lying on a cot with Mom bent over her, her hand on Nic’s head; softly stroking it. I dash to Nic’s side and go to my knees, dropping my carbine to the floor and take her hand. Her hand feels like it is on fire. Her face is flushed and her eyes have the glassy look of a fever as she turns her head towards me. Her beautiful hazel eyes gaze up into mine.

“Hi, Dad,” Nic whispers.

“Hi, hon. How are you feeling?” I say seeing her face blur through the tears forming in my eyes.

“I’m cold,” she responds whispering again as a tremor passes through her small, frail body. Her hand tightens on mine with the tremor.

I look at the bandage at her neck and shoulder. I peel back the white compress and see the bite with the bright redness of infection surrounding it. The skin past the redness has turned a gray color. My “I can and need to fix it” mode comes into play.

“Get me some antibiotics,” I say without turning.

“We’ve been giving her some every hour,” Drescoll responds behind me.

“I said get me some dammit!” I say harshly not wanting to hear anything else right now and wanting to fix my sweet, beautiful girl. The nausea and fear still grip not only my insides but my entire being as I look at the bite mark on my sweet Nic. Spirits, please, don’t take my Nic. Take me if you need someone but please don’t take her. I’ll do anything you ask if you spare her.

“How did this happen?” I ask.

“Night runner got in,” Drescoll responds.

“How did they get in?” I ask.

“Roof access door,” he answers.

“How many?”

“One.”

“One!? Only one! You’re kidding right!?”

I feel a tap at my shoulder and turn to see Lynn hand me some crushed pills. I sprinkle it liberally over her wound and replace the bandage. I take Nic’s hand back. Lynn settles in beside me with Robert at Nic’s head and Bri kneeling beside Mom taking Nic’s other hand. All have tears in their eyes with Bri’s streaming down her cheeks. Mom’s eyes are red from crying. I barely hear the soft murmurings of the others talking to Nic as I gaze into her sweet face once again. I want to do more and feel at a loss as to what. I have always been able to fix things in one capacity or another and feel a tremendous fear and sorrow build at not being able to fix this right away. Panic, fear, and a deep sadness.

“I love you, Nic,” I say with a blurred vision.

“I love you too, Dad. Don’t cry, Dad,” she whispers. “It’ll be okay. I’m glad you’re back.” That’s my Nic, always thinking of others.

“I am too, hon,” I say but am unable to say more as the sadness I feel deep inside keeps me silent. It threatens to rip my heart apart.

Another tremor takes hold of her body; stronger and lasting longer than the last. She arches upward slightly as her body tenses. Her eyes squeeze shut and then it passes. I stroke her cheek lightly feeling the heat radiate. She looks at Bri and then Robert, smiling at both of them with her sweet smile and telling them she loves them, before looking back at me.

“I’m going to miss going to the woods with you, Dad,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re my Dad.”

“Don’t’ talk like that, hon. We’ll have plenty more times together there.”

She just looks at me and smiles. “Dad?”

“Yes, hon,” I answer feeling the hot tears stream down my cheeks.

“Promise you’ll meet me there,” she says in a soft whisper and her body tenses with another tremor. Her hazel eyes look up into mine after her body relaxes and she smiles her soft smile. She gazes with clarity one last time into mine as her hand goes limp in mine and the life leaves her eyes.

Noooooo! I feel for a pulse and, feeling a light, thready one, begin resuscitation efforts. I feel my tears splash against her cheeks as I try to blow life back into her. Please no! Please, anything but this! Please don’t take my Nic from me. Please come back, sweetheart. Don’t leave me.

I hear Mom wailing in the background with Bri, Robert, and Lynn crying but this is lost on me as I try to blow my very life back into my sweet, beautiful girl. I feel a hand on my shoulder after a while but shrug it off violently and, with a deep panic, continue to breathe into Nic.

“Jack,” I hear behind me a while later.

I stop and look down at my girl. I check for a pulse and find none. I reach up and close her eyes. She looks so peaceful lying here. I stroke her cheeks not noticing that coolness has replaced the fire that was so prevalent before. Nic, please come back to me. I look at that sweet face that always had a laugh ready; already missing its sweet sound. The sweet, thoughtful and kind words for anyone that would come from those lips will speak no more. The look of love that would radiate from her beautiful eyes. I would never get to see that look again. The wonderful times we had together, full of peace and warmth and serenity. Thinking we would have an eternity to spend those moments together. I will now never again sit with Nic on our hill, basking in the peace and just enjoying being with each other. This vibrant and full-of-life girl of mine is gone. Gone. The realization of this comes to light and I feel my heart torn apart; ripping to pieces.

“Nooooo!” I scream and collapse to the floor on my knees.

“Jack, I’m so sorry,” Lynn says sobbing, wrapping her arms around me.

I feel her arms around me, or notice but from a distance as I feel completely numb to all that is around me. Numb except for extreme pain and grief. The one thought that echoes above the pain is that I have failed. All that I have done is a failure if it cost the life of one of my kids.

I cry myself out on the floor after a long while and feel a numbness seep into my being. I also feel that void being replaced by anger and frustration. Frustrated at feeling so helpless in being unable to save Nic; angry that my Nic has been taken from me; angry at myself for leaving her behind and not being here for her. The pain turns to anger; a pain and anger so deep it wants to explode. I rise, pick up my M-4, and rock the charging handle back chambering a round. Lynn, who had her arms around me the entire time, rises with me and looks at me with concern. I round on Drescoll, transferring the anger inside me to him for not keeping my daughter safe. I’m not thinking clearly except to think he should have kept my daughter safe. I entrusted that responsibility to him and he failed but know deep inside it’s my own failure. The pain has to be vented somewhere.

Drescoll sees the look in my eyes looking at him and takes a step backward. Lynn, seeing the burning in my eyes, steps between us.

“Jack, you don’t want to do this,” she says looking up at me. I merely look from her to him.

“Before you do anything, let me tell you what happened,” she says putting a hand to my chest and relates the actions of the night prior that Drescoll told her. “Jack, Nic saved his life. Don’t take what she died saving.”

Her words sink in but it doesn’t alleviate the pain. Only that it has to be released somehow. I realize she’s right and he didn’t do anything wrong but the pain and anger are still ripping apart my insides. I hand her my M-4 and trudge down the stairs and outside. I know Robert, Bri, and Mom could use some consoling as well but I am not capable of that right now and just need to be alone. The sun on my shoulders outside doesn’t convey the warmth it did upon my arrival. I feel only a crushing blackness within.

I begin walking across the parking lot with no destination in mind. My only thought is to get somewhere where I can be alone. I see Little Robert off to a side of the parking lot playing fetch with Mike. Other teams are in the lot but keep busy looking elsewhere. Word must have spread and they feel uncomfortable not knowing what to say or do; knowing anything they say or do couldn’t possibly help. The exception is Red Team; Gonzalez, McCafferty, Henderson, and Denton.

“Sir,” Gonzalez says putting a hand on my shoulder, “I know whatever I say can’t possibly help but, well, I’m sorry.” The others pat my shoulder, nod in agreement with Gonzalez’s statement, and then walk away.

She’s wrong, I think watching them walk away in the sunlit parking lot. There’s a spark of light at the concern and sympathy both they and Lynn showed. Even Drescoll. I could see it in his eyes but didn’t give him a chance to voice it. I continue across the lot, numbly picking a direction. The lot ends and the brown grass begins but my steps carry on. The dry grass crunches under my boots as I walk further away from the building as if distance can ease me.

The grief crushes me once again and I drop to my knees in the grass. The sorrow and deep loss inside flows outward in wails. It threatens to overwhelm me. With each wail, I feel a little less pressure inside until I feel empty; a burned out husk but without the feeling like I’m going to explode. Numb and empty, I return back. Robert, Bri, Mom, and I hug and cry for a time. I try to cover Nic but fumble, blinded by my tears at seeing her again. I feel another hand on my shoulder.

“We’ll take care of her, Jack,” Drescoll says.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry,” I say to his gesture of understanding and sympathy.

He shrugs, “I’m sorry too, Jack.”

I look past Drescoll to see Kelly standing in the background and am reminded that she has her own lost daughter to be taken care of.

“Drescoll, Kelly’s daughter is missing. Can you have Red Team help her?” I ask.

“Sure thing, Jack, consider it done,” he answers.

I collapse on a cot feeling overwhelmed; very tired. I plan to take Nic out in the morning to lay her to rest in our favorite place, remembering her last words as tears stream down my cheeks until I fall asleep. I sleep for the rest of the day and through the night, waking in panic at intervals, feeling a short relief thinking it has all been a horrible dream until the reality of it sets in, beginning the whole process once again.

* * *

Red Team gathers by one of the Humvees checking on their ammo and supplies after receiving word from Drescoll that they were to help one of the new arrivals find her daughter.

“That really sucks about Jack’s daughter,” Gonzalez says checking her ammo pouches and radio.

“Yeah, no kidding,” McCafferty replies verifying both of their radios are in working order.

“Think he’ll be okay?” Henderson asks.

“What do you mean?” Gonzalez asks in response.

“Well, I knew this Sergeant in Afghanistan who lost one of his kids while he was there and completely lost it. Walked his entire squad into an ambush and fell apart,” Henderson answers looking back at the large structure.

“Look guys, it’s up to us to watch out for him and make sure we support him the best way we can. He’s one of us,” Gonzalez says.

“I don’t get the feeling that Jack will fall apart like that,” Denton says on the heels of Gonzalez.

“Hey, here comes the lady we’re supposed to help. Game faces on,” Gonzalez says watching Kelly, Brian, and Jessica approach across the lot. “Hey, by the way, who’s leading us?”

“You are,” McCafferty replies.

“Nice try but no thanks,” Gonzalez says.

“Sorry, but you brought it up so you’re it by default. You two agree?” McCafferty asks Henderson and Denton who both nod their agreement. “You’re outvoted so you’re it.”

“Fuck you guys,” Gonzalez responds. Kelly and the others finally join them and introductions are made.

“Are you ready, ma’am?” Gonzalez asks.

“Yes,” Kelly answers.

“Okay, let’s load up. Henderson, you drive,” Gonzalez says.

“Uh, ma’am, I’m not really comfortable with your daughter coming along,” Gonzalez adds seeing Jessica begin to enter.

“Why not?” Kelly asks.

“Because we don’t know what we’re going to find out there,” Gonzalez answers.

“She’ll be fine, miss,” Brian says.

“You really don’t know that or what it’s like out there do you?” Gonzalez says. “I’m not comfortable with taking her and she’ll be safer here. She stays. And I’m not a “miss” as you so eloquently put it. You may call me Corporal or Gonzalez, your choice.”

“I don’t really care one way or the other. Can we just go?” Kelly states.

With everyone on board, Henderson starts the Humvee. Lynn walks across the lot and to the open window. “I want you all back here by 1900. That gives you three hours.”

“Yes, First Sergeant,” Gonzalez responds from the passenger seat.

“That’s back here, not starting back or taking off on some sight-seeing adventure.”

“Hooah, First Sergeant.”

“Okay, good luck,” Lynn says.

“How’s Jack?” McCafferty asks.

“Finally sleeping. Now off with you.”

They head off and make their way through town taking several turns with Kelly’s guidance. They motor through the quiet and empty streets but the pervasive smell of rot fills the air. The houses seem to shrink back from the streets as if knowing their usefulness to humanity has come to an end and they’re receding into the background. To the team, they seem to grow dimmer in the light of the sun as if the harboring of so much dead or night runners has changed their personality or charm; as if the dead are somehow changing the very essence of what were once called homes.

“Is this what it’s like everywhere?” Kelly asks at one point, looking at the quiet and still environment.

“Yes, ma’am. At least as far as we’ve seen,” Gonzalez answers.

“It doesn’t seem that bad,” Brian says from the back seat next to Kelly.

“Fuckin’ noob,” Henderson chuckles under his breath so only Gonzalez can hear.

Gonzalez chuckles at his comment before answering, “Wait until night or go waltz into one of those buildings and you’ll change your mind.”

“Yeah, we really didn’t know until last night,” Brian says and relates the story at the apartment as they make their way to where Kelly thinks Carrie might be.

The team members shake their heads after hearing the story, although told from Brian’s point of view, and sorry that Jack had to return to such a tragedy after going through a night like that. They pull into a neighborhood tract and up to a light blue house as directed by Kelly. They park and exit noticing the front door open on the two-story house built closely to its neighboring houses. The house is one of those tract houses that are thrown up quickly and pretty basic in its shape and nature. Curtains are drawn across the front windows facing a small porch and on the two upstairs windows as well. The open door isn’t evidence of anything in particular but the fact that it’s open leads Gonzalez to believe that it happened after the disaster or it would have been closed.

“Carrie?” Kelly’s scream beside Gonzalez startles her.

“Ma’am, please don’t do that,” she tells Kelly, not really wanting to give notice to anything that may be inside that they’re here.

There is no answer or appearance at the door of anyone responding to Kelly’s scream. The houses stare back in silence.

“Are you sure she’s here?” Gonzalez asks.

“It’s her dad’s house. I don’t know where else she’d be,” Kelly answers.

“What can you tell us about the place?”

Kelly gives a rundown of the interior with a living room opening up to the right leading to a dining room and kitchen in the rear. Stairs head up just inside the doorway leading to two bedrooms upstairs. A hallway branches off to the left past the stairs leading to two more bedrooms. A basement door exits off the kitchen to a half basement below.

“Okay folks, you’ve heard the layout. Let’s take a peek inside and we’ll formulate a plan based on what we see. Keep on your toes. Check your radios and lock and load,” Gonzalez says.

The metallic clicks of charging handles being released resonates off the walls of the houses close by. They walk up to the doorway in a staggered formation, ready for anything to emerge but cautious with the trigger fingers as Kelly’s daughter could show at the door. They know a night runner won’t come out of the front door but they also know not to assume anything. They remember the marauders back east and so exude caution.

Gonzalez peeks in the open door. The odor emanating from the interior isn’t any better or worse than the smell already emanating from the area. Stairs take off just inside the door as promised and the house opens up to the living room on the right.

“Denton, you cover those stairs. The rest of us to the right. We’ll clear the first floor first,” Gonzalez says eyeing the dark interior. “NVG’s on.”

“You got it,” Denton says. He steps inside and kneels on the first steps with his M-4 pointed to the landing above. The light from the open door stretches most of the way up the stairs so he doesn’t lower his goggles.

Small clicks sound in the still interior as the others lower their goggles. The dark house becomes a bright green as they are turned on. The stillness of the house remains even though the once dark corners are revealed. The team members feel the stillness as if it has weight to it. It settles on their shoulders and feels like it compresses inward as if trying to smother them.

“Okay everyone, remember there may be a little girl in here so don’t have itchy trigger fingers,” Gonzalez says stepping into the living room.

She sees the hall stretching away to her left with the dining room ahead and the kitchen opening past to the left. The house seems to breathe on its own as she stops to listen. She knows it’s only her own chest rising and falling with her heart pounding like a bass drum inside, but it’s the feeling the house and atmosphere gives off. Nothing comes to her ears that seem out of place. A glance down the hallway shows two open doors to the right and one open at the back of the hall.

“Henderson, cover the hall while we check out the kitchen,” Gonzalez says in whisper.

Henderson kneels, turns on his aiming light, and aims his weapon down the hall; the thin beam of light streaks down the hall and enters the room in the back. Gonzalez and McCafferty quickly enter the dining room and focus their beams in the kitchen. A closed door is against the wall to the left in the back but all else remains empty. Another door leads to the outside on the right. A few dishes are stacked in the sink but all seems to be in order. A small stream of light from outside sneaks past a slight opening in the curtains pulled across the windows over the sink.

“Henderson, move up and cover this door and kitchen,” Gonzalez says. A rustle of clothing and gear sounds as Henderson shifts position to the dining room.

“We’ll head down the hall and clear each room as we come to it. I’ll cover the hall while you check out the room,” Gonzalez whispers to McCafferty.

“Hooah,” McCafferty whispers back.

“We’re heading down the hall,” Gonzalez whispers into her throat mic. Double clicks in her ear piece signify the others heard and understand.

With Gonzalez in the lead and on the left, the two head cautiously and slowly down the hall coming to the first door to the right. McCafferty quickly peeks her head around the corner of the door. “Bathroom. All clear,” she says in whisper.

“Do you hear that?” Gonzalez asks just as quietly.

“What?” McCafferty says.

“Sounds like breathing. Ahead,” she answers nodding in the direction of the back room. “Or panting.”

“I don’t hear anything,” McCafferty replies.

“There’s something there. I can barely hear it but it’s definitely something.” McCafferty shakes her head indicating she still can’t hear anything.

“Alright, let’s move up,” Gonzalez says but keeps her thin beam of light aimed at the back room. Two more steps in the hall and the panting gets significantly louder.

“I can hear that,” McCafferty says as her beam joins the first.

For a moment, Gonzalez is unsure of what to do. Her instincts say get the hell out as they only have four of them in the house and an unknown number of night runners in front of them. Plus, Henderson and Denton are slightly spread out. They could quickly be overwhelmed in this small hall if there are a lot of them. That there are night runners is no longer in question but there is a small, nagging notion that there may be a little girl inside.

“Sounds like we have night runners in the back room,” she says quietly over the radio.

“What do you want to do?” McCafferty asks as they are both frozen in place in the narrow hall.

“I think we should get the fuck out,” Gonzalez whispers.

“I’m with you on that. What about the girl?”

“There are night runners in here. I’m not….”

That’s all Gonzalez gets out before a high-pitched shriek emits from the back room and fills the hallway. It deafens the two of them in the enclosed space and sends their heart rate and adrenals into high gear. The shriek is followed by the immediate appearance of a night runner at the bedroom door streaking for the two of them. The two women are shocked by the appearance of the creature so close, with its skin and eyes glowing in their goggles, but not to the point of inaction. The night runner runs directly into their twin beams of light. Their instincts take over. The hall is suddenly filled with the strobe-like flashing against the walls and the muted cough of rounds transiting through suppressors. The first rounds to strike in the center of its chest halt the night runner’s momentum, standing it up as if jerked upward by a puppet master. The subsequent rounds tear into a chest already spotted several times by bullets entering, launching the night runner up and backwards into the room from where it came. Gonzalez and McCafferty pause in the hall with the aftermath ringing in their ears waiting for others to arrive. Silence ensues.

“What do you think?” McCafferty says in the silence.

“I don’t know but I can’t hear shit now,” Gonzalez answers.

“Me either,” McCafferty whispers.

They pause a moment longer. Images of their past battles float through Gonzalez’ mind. Where there’s one, there’s always been more and a lot more, she thinks eyeing the back rooms waiting for more shrieks or night runners to emerge. She is torn. Her first priority is to her team but they also have a little girl to look for. She wouldn’t feel right if they were to leave and she were here. On the other hand, with night runners in the house, or at least the one, what is the chance that she’s still here?

“Gonzalez, McCafferty, you two okay?” Denton asks.

“Yeah, we’re fine. One came out of the back bedroom. We don’t see or hear any others. We’re heading into the bedrooms,” she answers shrugging at McCafferty as she has apparently made up her mind.

Gonzalez nods to McCafferty and they both proceed slowly once again down the hall. The open doors at the end are only a few feet away and they are both acutely aware of just how quickly the night runners can materialize. The tension filling the hall compresses to the point that it feels like they are walking under water. With Gonzalez covering the room the night runner emerged from, McCafferty carefully pokes her head around the doorway. Nothing stirs. She moves further into the room, weapon up and ready for any movement. Nothing. A quick sweep through the closet shows only a scattering of clothes and boxes. She returns to the hall to report all clear.

Entering the far back bedroom, they step over the bullet-ridden corpse lying on the floor inside the door. Although fully expecting to find another night runner hidden within, they don’t find anything else.

“We’re coming back to the living room,” Gonzalez announces over the radio, receives the familiar two clicks of acknowledgement, and they join Henderson in the dining room.

“We’ll check the basement. Henderson, cover the hall just in case,” Gonzalez says with Henderson nodding in reply. She relays the info to Denton.

The two cross the distance to the door quickly. With Gonzalez covering the door from the side, McCafferty reaches across the door and tests the handle. Locked. With a shrug, she glances at Gonzalez with a “what now” look. Gonzalez waves her to the side and lowers her carbine at the latch. She hesitates a moment, not wanting to shoot through the door and hit someone on the other side. She doesn’t know if the door was locked from this side or the other. The fact that the door is locked but the front door left open makes her think that someone could be on the other side. Without seeing a quick solution, she gives a mental shrug and, after warning Henderson and Denton, pulls the trigger for a short burst.

The striking of the bullets causes the door to explode with a shower of splinters by the door handle. She nods to McCafferty who reaches across and swings the door open. The beam of light from Gonzalez’ laser streaks downward. Where she was expecting a night runner – perhaps locked in – or a very scared girl, she is only met by a flight of stairs heading down. A stench, unlike the odor of rot outside and smelling like an open sewer, rushes up the stairs.

“I’ll go first. You cover over the top of me,” Gonzalez whispers to McCafferty who nods.

Stepping down the concrete stairs into the chill of the basement, she swings her M-4 from side to side as she searches areas as they come into view; the beam of light follows her searches and defines where her barrel is pointed. Cautiously, step by step, she draws closer to the basement floor with the stench being the only assault so far. Reaching the bottom, she looks to the far end of the small basement and sees a figure lying on a few blankets spread on the cold, hard floor.

“McCafferty, get down here. I think we may have found her,” she says pressing the mic button at her throat.

With McCafferty on the way down the steps, she walks over to the figure on the ground. She kneels down next to a teen girl on her back with her eyes closed. She gives the girl a slight shake to see if she awakens but the young girl remains still with her eyes closed, although she did move loosely and without any rigidity when Gonzalez shook her. She searches for a pulse and finds a weak but steady one. Feeling her chest, she feels it rise ever so slightly.

“I’ve got a girl down here with a weak pulse and shallow breathing but she’s alive,” she says over the radio.

They pick the girl up, noticing the worn, dirt-stained jeans and once white top, and carry her outside, picking up Henderson and Denton on their way. They place the girl on the thin strip of green grass serving as the front lawn.

“Carrie!” Kelly yells seeing them carry the thin figure outside and answers the question of whether they found the right girl.

“Denton, go see if there’s an IV and saline in the med kit,” Gonzalez says kneeling by the frail body.

To her, it’s obvious that Carrie has been without food and water for a while and looks like exposure victims she has seen in the past. Kelly kneels on the other side calling to Carrie, stroking her face. Denton returns and pulls out a bag of saline with an IV kit. Gonzalez was trained some time ago and knows she’s no expert at inserting an IV. She had a hard time finding a vein even back in training. She looks to the arm and notices the veins deflated through dehydration. She doesn’t feel comfortable trying to find a smaller one in the hand, and she’s definitely not going for the jugular, so she tries to insert the needle into the arm. Several attempts later, she’s rewarded with a spot of blood in the needle. Taping the needle in place and hooking up the bag, she turns the drip on high.

To the relief of everyone, Carrie emits a faint, stirring moan. She was worried they would have to transport Carrie in her weakened condition. Though there is still time before they are due back, she hadn’t wanted to risk moving her. Carrie’s eyes flutter open. Kelly sobs in relief and hugs her daughter tightly before turning to Gonzalez and giving her a big hug.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you,” she says.

“Our pleasure, ma’am,” Gonzalez says feeling a touch uncomfortable with the outpouring of emotion.

They keep Carrie on the grass for a while longer, feeding her small sips of water until Gonzalez feels comfortable enough with Carrie’s recovery. They load the girl into the rear making sure she’s comfortable and proceed back with the sound of Kelly comforting her daughter. Gonzalez rides back feeling good that they could help someone in this nightmare of danger and death in which so much has been lost.

* * *

The next morning arrives and I wake feeling just as tired as when I collapsed. The night passed with my waking many times; sometimes due to the pain and sometimes with the pounding at the doors from night runners. I am angered at their pounding interrupting my sleep and by their taking my precious gem from me. The ache is deep within my heart and I don’t want to get up. I feel like just staying on my cot with my misery for company. I know in my mind that the pain will pass but it certainly doesn’t feel like it ever will. I failed my sweet Nic and the agony of that hurts almost as much as does her loss. No parent should outlive their child. My worst nightmare has come to pass. I don’t want to rise but know that I need to lay my Nic to rest.

With an extreme effort, like lifting a truck from on top of me, I toss aside the blankets that someone put over me during the night. I sit on the side of the cot and look over to where Nic is lying to see that Drescoll or someone wrapped her in a sleeping bag. Robert and Bri are sitting on their cots with their heads hung. Mom is kneeling by Nic just staring at the bag in which she lies. I stand and walk over to Nic, lift her in my arms, and, without a word, carry her outside with Robert, Bri, and Mom following. As she is going about business in the parking lot, Lynn sees us and joins our silent march. The entire parking lot of soldiers is silent as we pass by. I gently set Nic in the back of one of the Humvees. Our doors closing sounds unnaturally loud in the stillness as we climb silently in and start down the road.

All of us have tears in our eyes, with Mom and Bri sobbing in the back, as we drive to the gate blocking the road to our special place. The walk is also conducted in silence with Robert, Bri, and myself carrying Nic’s body along the road and up through the woods. At a stump, we rid ourselves of our accoutrements and smudge ourselves before proceeding into the small valley and up the side of the hill where Nic and I spent so many hours together. The valley still holds the peaceful feeling but I am numb inside. I feel like someone else is walking through the shaded grove. I cannot believe I am about to lay my daughter, my Nic, a jewel in my life, to rest. It’s a different surreal than the world’s situation but surreal nonetheless.

We dig a deep hole on the side of the hill where we used to sit. I take my bear necklace off, and, unzipping the bag, I place it inside. Gently lowering Nic in her sleeping bag, I stand at the edge looking at her lying in the hole. I can’t bring myself to shovel dirt in. The thought of doing so makes me feel like I’d be giving up on her. I lean on the shovel with warm tears streaming down my face and feel Lynn’s arms around my shoulders. Bri hugs my waist and buries her face against me, sobbing. Mom comes over and throws her arms around the both of us with her eyes red from crying. Robert joins us and, in our shared sorrow and loss, we all hug tightly.

As if on a shared thought, we part and I scoop a small load of dirt in, lowering the shovel and gently laying the dirt on the bag, as if edging myself towards actually burying her. We all begin laying shovels in until the bag disappears from view. My vision is blurred as the last of the blue of the bag vanishes beneath the dirt and the hole is then quickly filled leaving a mound. We stand around it holding hands.

I kneel and place my hand on the freshly turned earth. “Spirits, you know Nic. She has visited you many times here. Please take care of her and guide her. Nic, you were a sweet jewel upon this earth and blessed it so much with your presence. Your laugh was like an angel singing. You were the world to me and I’ll truly miss you. I’ll miss your smile and the look in your eyes when you gazed at me. A smile that would chase all of the shadows away. I’ll miss the times we had playing, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. Goodbye my dear, sweet Nic. I love you so much! I’ll meet you here,” I say sobbing between words. My sweet Nic is truly gone, never to grace my presence by her beautiful laugh or sweet voice again.

I swear I hear her voice in my head, “I’ll be here waiting for you, Dad.”

A deep, agonizing sense of sadness and loss grips my insides. Robert, Bri, Mom, and Lynn take turns saying their goodbyes and we depart in silence. I know Robert is grieving within but it’s always been his way to not express his emotions much. Walking through the trees, with the sunlight filtering in through gaps, we gather our gear and walk slowly back to the vehicle. The drive back is conducted with a reverent quiet and we pull back into the place we have determined to be our sanctuary although I’m not sure I will ever see it that way.

I walk back into the building and plop back onto my cot feeling completely drained inside; an empty husk. I’m just a shell with no drive left. I know mentally I can’t sink into this, especially at a time like this with our survival still hanging by a thread, but I can’t seem to stop it. My thoughts are not in line with my ability or willpower. I sink down onto the cot in tune with the sinking I feel in my soul.

Lynn approaches and kneels next to me. “I know this isn’t the best time but what do we do now. What do we need to do?”

I know she is, one, concerned about the group and two, trying to shake me out of this funk I’m in; trying to redirect my thoughts into something productive. It doesn’t help.

“I don’t care, whatever you see fit,” I respond and roll over.

Days pass in a blur. I faintly recollect the hammering of night runners outside at night, people coming by, eating and drinking by rote, others within the building moving racks and such, storing gear, and Lynn talking to me at times but I don’t remember any of the conversations. I gradually come out of my funk but still can’t find the willpower to rise and become useful in any way.

Finally, I guess Lynn has had enough of my feeling sorry for myself and stands over me with her hands on her hips looking determined. “Look, Jack, I know you’re hurting and I feel horrible about what happened but you’ve got to shake out of this. We’ve got people here who are looking to you and counting on you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I say looking up at her.

“Well, these people need you to lead. We need supplies and to start building that fucking wall to protect us,” she states.

“Then do it,” I state back.

“Jack, I’ve seen to getting supplies for the interim and such but I can’t do what you do. I can do the tactical shit but not the strategic stuff like you have rattling around that empty cavern you call a mind,” she says trying her hardest to shake me of my lethargy or at least draw a smile. “Do you seriously think Nic would want you like this?”

That causes a start within. “I’m going to the roof,” I say rising.

“Fine, Jack, do what you need but come back to us. Come back to me,” she says, turns, and walks away.

I rise slowly and remove the barricade leading to the roof. Trudging up the darkened stairwell feels like I’m climbing to the top of the Empire State Building. I reach the top, bump the push bar opening the latch, and swing the door open. The bright sunlight blinds my eyes that have only seen the glare of florescent lights in the past few days. It’s like everything whited-out and then swims into focus. I trudge over and sit on one of the large pipes running across the space and gaze over to the west with the sun just beginning to lower behind the evergreens beyond the open fields.

The fresh air feels good and I feel a stirring inside trying to break through the numbness. I don’t know whether to force it back down and stay numb or to let it through and feel the excruciating pain. I miss Nic, I think and with that thought, the numbness shatters. The grief rises and explodes; the sun blurs as tears run down my cheeks. I sit alone for a while realizing that she isn’t coming back but wanting the memory of who she was alive.

The roof door swings open; Robert and Bri walk through. I watch as they both walk over with their M-4’s slung over their shoulders. I stand as they approach and we throw our arms around each other. Holding them close and tight, I look at them and realize I have been vacant when they needed me. I realize they are all I have left, them and Lynn, and I need to be here for them. I need to be here and see them safe; to make sure they are capable of existing in this new world. It’s at this moment that clarity returns and I feel a semblance of myself come back. There is still the deep, longing for Nic, but I feel I can focus and carry on again.

“I’m sorry I’ve been absent and not here for you,” I say as we hug each other closely.

“That’s alright, Dad, we all miss her,” Bri says.

“Yeah, Dad, we understand,” Robert chimes in on the heels of Bri; both with tears running down their faces.

“Dad?” Bri asks looking up and wiping her tears away.

“Yes, hon,” I answer.

“I, we, want to be able to handle ourselves better, to help take care…” Bri starts saying.

“What’s Bri’s trying to say is we want to be trained like you,” Robert interrupts and finishes what Bri was beating around the bush trying to say, not knowing what my response will be.

“I was thinking along the same lines. We’ll fit that in as we build this place up,” I say sitting back on the pipe.

We watch the sun set and talk about us; relive memories. We remember the good times with Nic, talk some about the future, and even laugh some. As the sun vanishes below the trees, oranges spread across the horizon ahead of us behind the dark backdrop of the mountains. The oranges change to reds and then purples as we watch in silence; each of us content with the mere presence of each other. The day closes.

“Let’s head back downstairs and get ready for the night,” I say with a sigh; not wanting this moment to end. The world, sun, and universe doesn’t seem to care about us mere specks and our situation as time, or the measure of motion, does not stop or change but merely continues along as it always has. Or maybe it is its way of showing it cares in that time does carry on and doesn’t keep us stuck in our moment.

We rise and head down into our sanctuary, making sure the door is locked behind us and barred on the bottom. I turn and see Lynn standing close by.

“I’m back,” I say as she steps close.

“I’m so glad, Jack,” she whispers in my ear as she gives me a hug like a welcome home after a long journey.

Intermission

She wakes with a start. Confusion reigns inside her head. Wasn’t she just at the door and feeling hesitant about going outside? What is she doing back in her room upstairs on the floor? Was she drugged? Her children! Yes, she was searching for them. Where are they?

She stands in the dark room feeling tired and sore. Her arm burns from a scratch and she looks down but can’t see anything in the inky blackness. She maneuvers to the bedroom door tripping over a few items in the dark but makes it across the room and opens the door. The interior is still dark but more like a deep gloom rather than the complete light void of her room. She feels the panic rise within her heart as she remembers running through the house searching for her kids. She doesn’t remember finding them or why she quit. Her last memory is of reaching for the front door hesitantly.

She rushes down the hall in her bare feet calling for her kids. Her voice only echoes along the still interior with no replying call. Her tension increases, as does the decibel level of her calls, as she searches the bedrooms. No reply, just the stillness of the house. She scrambles down the stairs with her heart pounding and feeling short of breath. She is barely able to take a breath to scream their names. Stopping in the living room, she glances at the burning on her arm from the scratch and notices her jeans and yellow top covered in grime and what appears to be dried blood.

She quickly checks herself for injuries and finds none other than soreness in her shoulder. She remembers taking these actions before and is confused as to what happened or why she suddenly found herself back in her bedroom. The serious possibility that she was drugged and her kids taken seeps into her mind. She recalls the flu pandemic that was storming across the world. Was the vaccine that she and her kids took responsible for this in some way or does the broken window indicate someone came in, drugged her, and took them? These questions tumble through her mind in her panicked state.

She quickly checks the basement noticing the boards blocking the front door have been removed and wonders if the kids left. If so, then why didn’t they say something? She’s at a loss as to what to do. Stumbling around confused and panicked, she sees her grimy shirt again and quickly changes it with another from the pile of clothes on the couch; not even noticing she put it on inside out as her mind is focused entirely on her kids. She thinks they may be at their friend’s and picks up her cell but it is dead. She picks up the landline phone and is greeted with silence. Shaking her head, she looks for her keys and can’t locate them anywhere panicking her even further.

She heads to the front door and the hesitancy she felt before stalls her hand for a moment before she turns the handle and swings it open. The brightness of the day blinds her as she steps out onto the porch and calls across the neighborhood for her kids. A black and gray striped cat down the road scampers off as her shrill voice rings out in the area. She notices there’s no one out. It’s not that her neighborhood was all that busy but there were always kids out on bikes or playing basketball on the street during nice days. Stillness hangs in the air. A slight stench similar to a garbage dump reaches her nose.

She steps in to put on a pair of shoes and walks to the end of the driveway to look along the streets; the silence of the area adds to her confusion. There’s not a thing moving anywhere other than a few blackbirds circling in the distance. Her kids remain paramount in her mind and she starts down the road in search of them.

Her plan is to go to the houses of their friends looking to see if they are there or if anyone has heard from them. It’s quite a walk but the day is early and she doesn’t know of any other way to find them. If she still can’t find them, then she’ll walk downtown to the police station. Maybe someone she knows will pass by and give her a ride or she’ll see a policeman and wave him or her down. With that in mind, she heads towards town only a short distance away.

Her walk is one of a deep fear and she wants to run all of the way but knows she won’t make it far that way. She feels frustrated about not finding her keys, making this so much easier. She wants to know what happened and rush the process of finding out. Taking note that the streets are clear of any moving cars, she continues walking along one of the main streets. While this enters her mind, total recognition is not there as her kids occupy all of her thoughts. Where are they? What could have happened to them? These questions rattle around as she can’t for the life of her figure out why they’d just leave. They’ve always told me where they were or where they were going.

She rounds the corner by the high school and notices a startling difference. There is now barbed wire running along the top of the chain link fence surrounding the school. There’s also what appears to be platforms or towers constructed at the corners and at intervals along the fence. When did this happen? She thinks coming to a stop. She notices people by the main school buildings and turn towards the school entrance thinking there’s someone there that can help or at least let her use a phone to call the kids.

She reaches the school entrance to the parking lots to find it is also fenced in. She passed by several of the platforms built just inside the fence but found them empty. The fact that the school is fenced in worries her even more as she feels she’s missed a lot of what is going on. Was there some kind of quarantine with the flu pandemic? Did they close down the school because of it?

There are others moving near a building in the distance and she is about to call out when she hears a vehicle turn down the street behind her. She registers that it’s the first sound she’s heard since waking up, well, the first sound of normal civilization. She turns to see a white van approach. She feels thankful seeing someone and that they may be able to help. The van pulls alongside and stops as she waves it down. She doesn’t know any of the three people who emerge from the vehicle and approach her.

“Hi, I’m looking for my kids. Do you think you could…..?” She gets no further.

The three men launch their assault as she draws close. She struggles against the immediate assault but her fear and surprise, and their overwhelming strength, allows her to be quickly subdued. She is dragged, thrown onto the floor of the van, and her hands are quickly tied behind her. She still struggles as she wants to find her kids and for fear of her life. A bag is thrown over her head and she feels pain, accompanied by an explosion of bright light. All goes dark and she sags limply on the floor of the van.

* * *

He stands on the edge of the parking lot with the rest of his pack milling around him. Their movements make them appear eager and the images in his mind verify that. The night is chilled but he doesn’t notice, nor does his pack as they’re out on the hunt. The calls of other packs have led them to this place. The night shows up bright in his vision with the stars shining brightly overhead. A multitude of packs surround a large structure a short distance away. Shrieks call across the lot and several packs take runs at the entrance only to come up short as they slam into the outer doors.

His pack has grown lately as he has come across other small packs or single ones in the nightly hunts. They stay with him for his ability to provide protection and find food. He found and added several females to prevent any competition amongst the other males. He still has first choice but he has plenty to go around now so there isn’t any angst or jealousy within the pack.

He stares at the vast gathering of his kind around the building. They have been drawn by the lingering smell of food within. He knows that there is a large number of food inside but also knows from experience that, even if they were to force an entrance, there would not be enough to go around. The competition for food, especially with his late arrival, will be fierce. Even with a pack as large as his, he knows he may be wasting his time. He also knows he has to spend the short time they have, with the increasing scarcity of food, on more prosperous ventures.

Still, the sheer number of food he smells residing here is tempting so he camps on the edge of the lot watching. He watches to see if there is any progress with the multiple attempts to get inside. He’ll know if they get close by the change in shrieks and by a change of images within his mind. It’s filled with images of the others right now but it’s no more than a series of multiple conversations occurring. His group is anxious to join in the attempt but he holds them back, sending images to wait and see. They stay, trusting him as he’s not led them astray so far.

He stands, rising from his squatting position, and trots around the building. It doesn’t appear from the noise and images that any progress is being made. The night is only half over and they have fed, but they’ll need more before the night is over. Again, the thought that they’ll have to move intrudes into his mind as he completes a circle around the structure. Every entrance is covered with packs trying to find a way in. He doesn’t see any other way. There have been several times in the past when he has had to leave a place without being able to get inside. He can’t afford to spend all night in one place and run the risk of not finding food. Too many nights without finding any and his pack will disperse or another leader will step in.

A sudden flash fills his mind and he is instantly alert. He recognizes the building and wonders how. He feels the minds of the others around him stronger but with a different clarity. He knows he is on the hunt with his pack but wonders why the ones by the building are repeatedly slamming into the front door when it’s obvious they won’t get in that way. He knows he can send an image telling them this and begins to form the picture talk in his mind. He also realizes he knows a different language and that he’s as comfortable with that one as much as the one he’s about to use. The word talk and picture talk are just two ways to say the same thing. The word talk can’t be sent mentally and he knows it wouldn’t be understood by the others even if it could. The clarity in his mind fogs and vanishes as quickly as it came. He has stopped and brought the pack back close to where he began.

He squats in his former position watching. The thought occurs that, with so many other packs here and apparently staying until they find a way in, they are not out in the streets and surrounding area. That means any food he finds will be for his pack and for them alone. With that in mind, he stands, gives a loud shriek that rises above the cacophony of noise already around the building, turns and heads off at a run across the dry grass fields.

The others around the building stop at a shriek rising above their own and look to the source. They see a large pack just cresting a hill in the field beyond and disappear behind it, heading away into the night.

A Rolling Stone

I walk to the second floor balcony and look over the changes that occurred during my mental absence, with Lynn, Bannerman, and Frank leaning against the railing next to me. The clothing racks, shelves and such have been removed from the interior on the first and second floors clearing out much of the space. The stuffed animals have also been removed from the large centerpiece in preparation of removing it as well. The weapons racks and weapons have been installed along a wall with several shelves shifted to accommodate other items. Cots have been laid out in rows along the top floor with spaces between them to give the appearance of privacy.

“You’ve done a marvelous job,” I say to Bannerman who mostly coordinated the efforts.

“Thanks, Jack. We have the kitchen working and running water. This place has a well and a pump and so, as long as we have power, we’ll have that benefit. Frank has a base radio up and running and is training some of the folks we picked up and has scheduled shifts,” Bannerman responds.

“Very nicely done. All of you,” I say nodding in appreciation.

“Sergeant Connell assigned teams for supply runs and we should be good for a while,” Bannerman adds. “At least we won’t have to worry about water in the interim. Oh, and we found an employee break room and small locker rooms complete with a couple of shower stalls.”

“Nice,” I say listening to his report.

“Jack, there is one thing you should know and something we may have to deal with somehow,” Lynn chimes in.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“We lost another soldier,” she says.

“How?”

“It wasn’t through any night runner action. He was from Mullins’ team. He was outside on lookout while the others went in for supplies. When they came back out, he was gone. His rifle was leaning against the building but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. They searched the area and called out but never found him. I think he just had enough and walked off,” Lynn says. Bannerman and Frank nod in support of her view.

“We’ll have to brief the team leaders to be on watch for changes in personality or a sudden quietness with folks. Sometimes it will seem easier to just give up rather than put up with the stresses of surviving another day,” I say with a sigh.

This is not the last time someone will want to give up, I think. The changes have come about so rapidly and our situation has a constant tension that weighs on the psyche. Everyone has their breaking point. And I mean everyone. It can come about with the seemingly smallest thing but it is the literal straw. The mind folds inward and a person in that moment can’t think clearly. Sometimes though, it seems clarity does come through and it’s through seemingly rational thought processes that these types of decisions to quit come about. The will to survive is eroded through stress and/or fear.

“We’ll keep on the lookout for him,” I add. “How have the doors held up?”

“Remarkably well. We have visitors every night but they’re not showing any signs of wear so far. We’ve been checking them daily,” Bannerman answers.

“Good. Okay, we should talk about our plans for the future and start prioritizing our needs. We can do this with just us or with the team leaders. What does each of you think?” I ask.

“I’m okay either way,” Bannerman answers.

“I think we should keep it to ourselves. I feel time is of the essence and we can prioritize more quickly if we keep the group small,” Frank adds his opinion.

“I’m in agreement with Frank,” Lynn says.

“I think that’s probably better as well. What about adding Drescoll to our group?” I ask.

“I’d be perfectly content with that,” Lynn responds with the others nodding.

“Okay, let’s make sure everything is shut down tight and let’s get together after we eat,” I say. Everyone nods and we separate; Lynn to see to the doors and security, Frank to continue his training with those on the radios, and Bannerman to see about getting food ready for everyone to eat.

We all gather in the restaurant dining area and eat some of the canned food that has been warmed up. There’s a feeling of wholeness and completeness with everyone in our group gathered. I still feel the loss of Nic deeply within and wish she were here to see a semblance of normalcy return; being able to eat with one of the first feelings of safety we’ve had. I say a silent prayer to Nic and the feeling of loss returns but without the same intensity. The time it took to get to this point of security and normalcy seems so long in the making; the losses, the close calls, the fears.

Little Robert passes by carrying a tray of food, with Mike hard on his heels and Kathy right behind him, “I’m sorry about your daughter, sir,” he says on passing.

“Thank you Little Robert,” I respond patting his head. Mike looks at me, then to Little Robert and, with a small whine, follows the food.

Gonzalez and the rest of Red Team move a table next to ours and plop themselves down. She then relates the story of getting Carrie and that she seems to be recovering completely. “We’re glad you’re back, sir,” she says finishing her story and bites down on the spoonful of food she had been holding.

“Well done and I’m glad to be back as well,” I say.

We eat with the murmur of conversation drifting around the room. The first metallic bangs against the front security doors announce the arrival of our night runner friends outside. The sound startles everyone with the suddenness of it but it’s also become an expected part of the night. The bangs bring silence to the room before the murmuring and conversations pick up again. I turn to see Horace’s Blue Team along the far balcony on watch.

“Cressman is down with Bravo on the first floor as well,” Lynn says seeing the direction of my look and knowing my thoughts.

I nod and turn back to my food, actually tasting it for the first time in days. Not that it’s a gourmet but it’s nice to have some senses return. I feel a touch ashamed of being absent; for not being here for the group after dragging them across the world with the lure of a sanctuary. It feels like a weakness of not being able to handle anything that comes about. Not that losing Nic or the feeling of the intense grief feels like a weakness, just that I should have been able to handle it better. Part of my mind tells me that those words are just BS but that’s how it feels nonetheless.

Plates are gathered and returned as individuals finish. Teams that are done replace Horace’s and Cressman’s teams on guard duty so they have a chance to eat as well. Bannerman, Frank, Drescoll, Lynn, and I gather to the side of the second floor away from everyone else to talk. I have Robert and Bri with me to listen in.

“This process of building a wall is going to be a mammoth undertaking and we’ll need other things done as well,” I say starting our discussion. “I feel though, that this should be our highest priority besides maintaining the level of security we already have.”

“It’ll only be a matter of time before they find another way in or hammer those bloody doors down,” I add with the sound of night runners pounding against the steel roll doors outside. It does sound a little diminished from the previous nights but my mind was in such a fog that I’m not certain.

“So what are you thinking?” Bannerman asks.

“Well, my overall thinking is there are miles of those concrete walls along the Interstate up by Tacoma. We should send two teams up there to get them; one for security and the other to disassemble them and load them up. The team supplying security will leave two members out for that and the others will be driving the transports. That means we’ll need a large supply of fuel for the vehicles. We’ll need other supplies as well so two teams will be assigned to Bannerman to see to what we need. One team will be needed to erect the wall here,” I say.

“That’ll be a lot of equipment we need,” Bannerman says.

“That’s true. I think we’ll need two cranes back here, one to offload the trucks and one to move the parts into place. I see using four large semi’s to cart the materials back given the manpower we have for this and one crane to move the wall partitions from their places and to load them,” I reply with Bannerman taking notes.

“We should be able to find those easily enough. Finding people who know how to operate them will be a different story,” Bannerman says finishing with his jottings.

“It’ll be a learning curve, that’s for sure. But what hasn’t been lately,” I say. “I was thinking Black and Green Teams could be up gathering the partitions and transporting.”

“You want my team and me up getting the wall?” Lynn asks.

“Well, I was thinking your team could be up doing that but I want you to put together a training program for the others we picked up and for any we find. I want everyone that is here or comes in trained,” I answer. “I was thinking of having one team here on standby in case any of the teams run into trouble. They can help with the training and your being a previous drill instructor puts you at the top of the list to develop it.”

“Okay, I can do that. Do you mean everyone? Like Little Robert? Like Bri?” She asks.

“Well, we have to have a cut off on age but I want Bri in on that along with Robert. Not Little Robert,” I reply.

“Hmmmm… Okay, Jack. I’m not in agreement with Bri but I’ll put a program together,” she says.

“Bri gets put in, Lynn,” I say hearing Bri give a little sigh just behind me.

“Are you sure, Jack?” Lynn asks referring to the loss of Nic. A quiet hush falls among the group at the reference. The noise inside of people shuffling around on the other side of the balcony, getting ready for bed or just moving, rises above the silence. The hammering of the night runners rises above all else at times.

“Yes, I’m quite sure,” I say quietly. I still have qualms about anything that puts my kids in danger but I definitely want them trained. I don’t know if it would have made a difference with Nic or not, but if it could make difference later to save the lives of Robert or Bri, I want them to have it. It doesn’t mean I’m about to launch them out into buildings, I just want them trained.

“Okay, Jack, I’ll put it together. We’ll train during the day while the others are gathering items, but if I’m to do this, then I’m in complete charge. No interference, Jack,” she says.

“What? Are you implying I would interfere with any training?” I ask.

“Of course not, Jack. I would never imply that. How could I possibly ever think you would interfere?” She answers with her total innocent look, which of course brings a smile to my face.

“Okay, point taken. You’ll have complete control and I won’t say a thing,” I say.

“Oh yeah, that’ll happen,” she says rolling her eyes. “Just remember this conversation, bucko.”

“I hate to bring this up, but what are we going to do about all of the dead bodies and the probability of diseases?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, there’s that. I think we can agree that we don’t have the manpower to carry them out or bury them in mass. The only thing I can think of is to burn the housing developments with carefully controlled burns. I just don’t see any other way,” I answer giving my opinion.

“What about any survivors though? They’ll get caught up in that,” Drescoll asks and says.

“That’s a good point. We’ll have to make sure any teams assigned to that detail roll through the neighborhoods with loudspeakers and try to find anyone around prior to setting the fires. We’ll have to make sure of wind direction and such as well,” I respond.

“And how will we keep the fires under control?” Frank asks.

“We’ll have to get some fire trucks with water tenders from the fire station. We’ll train on the trucks and use the streets as fire breaks,” I answer with Bannerman starting to write again.

“How many trucks?” Bannerman asks.

“I don’t rightly know. I think we’ll need two teams on the burns; maybe Alpha and Bravo. I guess every truck we can lay our hands on. Have the trucks run behind the main line of fire and put out anything that jumps the streets. Of course, that could quickly get out of hand with the embers in the air and if they settle somewhere downwind starting other fires. We’ll just have to keep the fires limited and not let them rage out of control. All I’m thinking is that we need to get rid of all the bodies within a fair piece of area around us,” I answer not knowing the right solution.

“If I could go back to the wall for a moment, how high are we looking to build it?” Bannerman asks looking at his notes.

“I think twenty feet high should do it provided we can put the partitions together without creating hand or foot holds,” I answer. “Anyone else think differently?”

“I think that should be high enough,” Lynn answers with her opinion. “I mean, the night runners have tremendous capabilities from what we’ve seen, but they’re not supermen nor can they fly. At least not that I’ve seen.”

“I agree, that should be high enough,” Drescoll adds. “Are we planning to look for others outside of the burn areas?”

“I think eventually we will be out doing just that when we have a few more people. Right now, at least the way I see it, we should be concentrating on getting our place up and running; building the security. We’ll need to bring in livestock and build greenhouses if we want to sustain ourselves in the long run. I have it my mind that we need to get the wall up and the long-term food in place by winter. We’ll be able to eat through the winter on supplies we can find on hand and our fuel situation may be critical by next year; that is, the fuel will be unusable by then. My opinion is that we should use that fuel to make sure we have a viable, long-term place for the people we do have,” I say in answer.

“I’m not disagreeing with you at all, just asking if we are going to look,” Drescoll says.

“Most definitely. I think we owe it to them to look for them when we can,” I say to which everyone nods.

“So, speaking of long-term, what about using solar power for our long-term energy needs? At least for this building,” Franks asks.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Bannerman says flipping a page on his notebook and writing more.

“As long as you’re writing, you might put down some of those towable generators found at those road construction sites. We could rig one up with a breaker so we can use the pumps at gas stations,” I say. Bannerman nods and his pen flies across his pages.

“What about integrating a nightly training session for the entire group? We get together before dinner and have a topic for the night or several nights running, finding someone who has an expertise at something, anything, and we all learn. Complete with both classroom and practical applications if necessary. Everyone knows something so we should share the knowledge. I could draft a schedule along with the other training,” Lynn says after Bannerman’s pen slows down a notch.

“I like it,” I say nodding.

“Yeah, sounds good to me,” Drescoll adds.

“What do you want me to do?” Frank asks.

“I’d like you to have someone by the radios at all times. Mark and coordinate team locations at all times just in case something happens. We’ll need detailed maps of the areas,” I answer hearing Bannerman’s pen start up again.

“You’re going to wear that thing out,” I say to Bannerman who chuckles in response.

“My magic wand went missing so this is the best I can do,” he says without looking up.

“So, I think that may cover it for the short-term unless anyone can think of something,” I say chuckling at Bannerman.

“Well, there are a few other things Frank and I discussed,” Bannerman adds. “We were thinking about cleaning and such while we were sorting through the clothing here. I think it would be a good idea if we found some commercial washers and dryers. We’ll need a way to keep what we have clean.”

“Agreed, add that to your list as well. Speaking of clothing, we’ll need to gather up some scent maskers or at least make sure any teams going into buildings for supplies have smoked themselves,” I say.

“And we were thinking we should go raid Madigan for hospital equipment and supplies,” Frank says. “We could set up a dispensary and small hospital here. I’m not talking x-ray machines and the like and it’s not like we have anyone to run some of the stuff but you never know. IV’s, monitors, beds if we can get them, needles, drugs, maybe even a breathing machine if we can. Those are nice to have items but I’m not sure if they’re worth the risk of going into a place like that.”

“It’s seems more items we’ll need rather than want items to me,” Drescoll replies.

“I agree with you that they should be up on the priority list if we’re to make a long go at this,” I say. “Let’s get started on the wall and supplies and revisit a hospital trip afterwards.”

“Anything else,” I add looking at the group.

“Well, you have mentioned everyone else. What are you going to be doing? I don’t imagine you just hanging around on standby,” Lynn asks.

“Well,” I say with a smile, “I thought I might get in some helicopter training. That might come in handy down the road when we’re searching for others.”

“What? Jack, you can’t be… Oh fuck it! You run off and play and we’ll keep the fire warm,” she says standing.

“So, you’ll have all of the teams tomorrow, Bannerman, to gather the equipment we’ll need. Tomorrow will be for gathering everything and we’ll start our runs the morning after. Oh, and we should plan for the teams to be back two hours prior to sunset. That will give us plenty of leeway in case something goes wrong,” I say smiling at Lynn’s remark.

“Jack, I’d like the teams to have some practice on the range and physical training in the mornings before everyone heads out on their assignments. We need to keep our training levels up too,” Lynn says.

“Okay, set a schedule and you’ll have them. Work out a schedule with Bannerman. We’ll also need to set a night watch. The standby team should be a good one to pick as they won’t be out and about,” I say. “Anything else we should talk about or thoughts?”

“I think we’re good,” Bannerman says.

“Okay, let’s try to get some sleep if we can with all that hammering. If we can think of something to shut the sound out so we can get some sleep, I’m all ears.”

They just shake their heads and walk to the other side of the balcony where most of the others are getting ready to turn in.

“Do I really get to start training?” Bri asks when we’re the only ones left.

“Yes, hon. But you have to take it serious and do everything Lynn says. No questions. And it’s not a game and you can’t treat it that way,” I answer.

“I will, Dad. Take it serious I mean,” she says but I notice a gleam in her eye.

The night passes and we are only occasionally awakened by the night runners still trying to get through the doors. Bannerman and whoever he had helping did a great job of installing them as they’ve held up well under the constant onslaught. It’s just an irritant to hear the metallic clangs throughout the night. The constant noise does taper off as the night goes on. I imagine some gave up and went in search of food elsewhere. Now if we can get the wall built and provide for an extra margin of security, I’ll feel even better. We’ve made it this far, through trials and hardships, through dangerous environments and perilous situations, and with some hard losses, but we’re here and, for the time being, safe from nightly attacks.

There is still a lot of danger with gathering our supplies, finding others, and in general trying to stay at least one step ahead of the game. I have no doubt that the night runners will eventually find a way in with their bloody persistence and we can’t afford to assume a place of complacency. My mind also goes back to the conversation prior about clearing them out but I just don’t see a way to do that right now. We’d have to shift our priorities completely and the end result would still be a toss-up.

I roll off my cot feeling drained; awake but still tired. I’m just not a morning person. I throw on my shirt wondering who is more offended by it, me or the shirt itself. I ask Bannerman where the other clothes are stored and if he’s gathering the dirty ones somewhere. He points me in the right direction and I feel a little better with a clean, black fatigue shirt on. I see Lynn rousing the other teams. It’s nice not to have the sound of night runners slamming into our doors rebounding throughout the area. The sense of relief is immense and you don’t notice how much tension that kind of constant noise creates until it’s gone.

Bannerman also points me in the direction of the showers they discovered. I see Robert staring at the place where Nic’s cot was obviously lost in thought. He pulls out of his reverie with a sigh and rises from his cot next to Michelle’s. Robert tags sleepily along as I head to the locker room. We pass by Lynn and the other teams as they gather to head outside for PT and training.

“Going to join us, flyboy?” Lynn asks to which I merely shake my head and point to the locker room.

I should join them but I just seriously don’t want to. I’ll pick that up with them in the coming days. I still just don’t feel totally back to being myself. My thoughts are leaning in the direction of finding a scout helicopter and seeing if I can keep from killing myself trying to learn its secrets. The warm water pouring over my head feels good and breathes some life into my tired body and mind. Warm water; a shower! Wow! I think letting the water run over me. It seems to wash away more than just dirt, sweat, and old blood.

We finish and dress with me showing Robert where I found the fresh shirt. The dirty laundry of the others is gathered in a pile and he tosses his along with the others. I plan on taking Red Team, to include Robert as he is a member, with me to Fort Lewis to see what we can find. It’s not that I just want to have fun but I feel that the helicopter will be a useful tool once we begin to search for others; to be able to cover a wider area. Learning to fly one after we have a need for it will put us behind the curve and I want to be prepared. I imagine a dozen scenarios where it will be useful. I just wish we had a rotor head along with us already. We’re lucky to have what we do with regards to people and abilities but that would have been cool too!

I hear the sound of gunfire outside as I emerge into the early morning light. The light blue of the morning is replaced by a yellowish-orange glow as the sun rises above the mountains to the east. The long shadow of the building stretches across the parking lot enveloping the parked vehicles. The cool morning air refreshes me even more than the shower and I inhale it deeply. I look over the doors, which are now rolled up, for damage where they are bolted into the concrete walls. They look like they have withstood another night without a mark or becoming weakened.

The firing is coming from teams lined up at the edge of the parking lot and firing across the fields. Drescoll walks along behind them. Other teams are going through immediate action drills on another part of the parking lot with Lynn guiding them. I stroll over to watch Lynn walk them through as Robert comes out and joins me. It’s Red Team’s turn and I have Robert join them in their exercise.

“Are you going to join in?” Lynn asks waiting for the team to get into place and for Robert to join them.

“I’m good thanks,” I reply.

“Jack, you’re part of this team so get your ass over here,” she says with me thinking I should have ventured off the other direction or found something very interesting on the exact opposite side of the parking lot.

I move in line with the team taking the slack position behind McCafferty and we go through the IAD’s with “contact front”, “contact side”, and “contact rear” drills focusing on each member’s responsibilities during each. We also cover areas of responsibilities and coverage during various formations; whether that is in a wedge formation or in a patrol line. We don’t really have rooms to practice clearing operations with as yet but will definitely have to incorporate inside building operations in the near future.

“I’d really like to formulate urban and building ops training as well,” I tell Lynn after we finish.

“I thought about that and will come up with something while I’m building the training program today. I’ll incorporate that into a daily training plan for the teams,” she says.

“Switch,” Lynn calls out and the teams that were firing changes places with those that were drilling. I fire several rounds making sure my sights and lasers are still centered.

We finish a short time later and adjourn. The teams take turns showering and then we all eat as a group. Afterwards, Lynn pulls a table and chair outside and begins writing furiously on several notepads. The teams circle around Bannerman for assignments and Red Team gathers with me outside.

I tell Red Team of our plan to go to Fort Lewis and find a scout chopper which they find mightily amusing for some reason. “Can we watch, sir? I haven’t seen an officer make a complete ass of himself in about a week,” Gonzalez says at one point with a grin. “Of course watching will be from a considerable distance but we’ll have fire extinguishers on hand and come a runnin’.”

“Yeah, highly fucking amusing,” I respond jokingly back.

We pile into a Humvee and start out with other vehicles beginning to pull out on their assigned errands. The sun has just crested fully over the mountains covering the land in its golden glow. It’s been nice to have so many nice days in a row without even the clouds coming to visit and no rain. That’s unusual for the summer here and I hope it’s because someone is looking out for us. I’m hoping this weather continues but I know we’ll have our share of the rain. I’m also hoping the night runners will still be affected by the sun being out, cloud cover or not. If that’s not true, then we’re in for a world of hurt, especially come winter time. I can’t assume anything so our first day under heavy cloud cover will be a down day just in case. Or at least starting later after assuring ourselves that we still own the day. That’s just something we’ll have to find out.

Pulling onto the base, we head directly to the small flight line associated with Fort Lewis. Several helicopters line the tarmac to one side of the runway with others parked in open hangars. I still can’t get over the eerie feeling of seeing so many man-made objects without the associated sounds or activity. The movement of crew chiefs on the ramp, the sound of engines cranking up or winding down, vehicles moving crews to and from aircraft, just the bustle of activity. It’s all gone leaving behind a surreal quiet; especially after coming from the activity around our sanctuary.

We step out onto the gray pavement where papers, leaves, and other debris are blowing across the surface in the light wind. It’s like stepping onto a surface of an archaeological site from a previous civilization; all of the objects and structures are here but the people who hovered around them are gone. It’s not far from the truth, but damn!

I stroll over to one of the Oh-58 Kiowa helicopters sitting on the ramp close by and, with Robert by my side, peek in. The rest of Red Team is looking around the area but they also seem to be getting ready for a show. It actually looks like they’re placing bets on which tree I’ll end up in by the way they are gesturing and pointing.

“Ever flown one of these?” Robert asks over my shoulder.

“Nope,” I answer.

“Ever flown a helicopter?”

“A couple of times but only in the air.”

“Hmmmm…” is all he says to that.

Looking inside, it’s not that different than a normal aircraft cockpit but I know different. Flying a helicopter is worlds apart from buzzing around in something with wings attached. I know the fundamentals and basic aspect of flying something with a propeller over my head, but I also know they’re tricky little buggers and take a lot of finesse. I’m beginning to wonder if this is actually a good idea. I rummage around the cockpit and come up with a checklist and start leafing through it. I’m not all that enthused about taking something up that I’m not familiar with; emergency procedures, systems, etc. However, this will be handy as long as I don’t wrap it around the nearest pole.

“Well, there’s nothing like the present,” I think getting in the pilot seat, yes, it’s also on the opposite side of where it should be, and sit looking at the instrumentation while going through the check list.

“Am I going with?” Robert asks.

“Oh hell no. This may be the shortest and warmest ride in history. I don’t think you should be within a mile of me,” I answer.

“Are you going to take it up now?” He asks.

“I was thinking about it,” I reply.

“You sure about this?” Robert asks looking over the cockpit with me.

“No, not really,” I say finding the various switches and trying to become familiar with them.

I run through the start-up checklist finding the switches as I progress through it, making dry runs to get acquainted. It’s not like I’m going to hop cross country right off the bat but I want to get familiar with their locations so I don’t have to do the hunt and peck thing while airborne. And, it’s not like I’m thinking I want to get more than six feet off the ground for a while either.

I spend a couple hours going through dry runs with the check list and visualizing flying with my hands on the controls. Robert hasn’t lost interest and has climbed in the other seat observing. The interior is heated as the sun pours through the Plexiglas windshield; the angle of the sun once bounces off at the right angle, blinding me at times. The smells of the interior are familiar; the smells of use. Sweat mixed with oil, fuel, and the cloth seats. Anyone who has sat in a cockpit knows those odors well.

I take a break and head over with Robert to where the rest of the team is milling about the vehicle. They’re alert for anything moving in the area but also have that “I’m bored” look of standing around. We break out some rations and water we brought for a quick lunch.

“Having a hard time getting it started, sir?” Henderson asks. “If you want, I could spin the blades around if that’ll help.”

“Or, we could go find a large rubber band to wind it up for ya,” McCafferty chimes in.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Be careful though or I may make you go up with me for the first time,” I reply to their quips.

“No, no I’m good thanks,” McCafferty says.

We eat in silence watching the stillness of the area around. Watching as scraps of paper are lifted from the tarmac to flutter momentarily in the light breeze before being deposited back down a short distance from their starting point. Birds sail over the area from time to time. At one point, two dogs trot across the runway in tandem. The stillness, that was once so surreal, begins to become common place and peacefulness settles in. All of us are enjoying a quiet lunch under the clear, blue skies with the sun warming our shoulders. The calm has an underlying quiet stillness to it as if it is just holding its breath. The peace is only a temporary one and there’s a storm and violence brewing just behind it. The day knows that night will come, bringing the night runners with it. There’s also a measure of hope with it that knows another day will come. It’s just that you have to make it through the tempest before you can enjoy the peace once again.

Lunch ends and I clamber back into the cockpit with a renewed focus. Part of me is worried about trying this little adventure. I’m not even remotely qualified to be doing this and worry about not knowing the systems. Like at all! I always thought it would be nice to drive a helicopter where, if you got into trouble, lost or otherwise, you could just set it down anywhere. Kind of like pulling over to the side of the freeway. That was youthful thinking and I certainly know better now. Anything that leaves the ground has an inherent danger associated with it and has the ability to come back to the ground in ways not desirable.

“Okay, time for you to leave and find your seat,” I tell Robert who is sitting next to me.

“You’re going to try it eh?” He asks.

“Yeah, with try being the key word,” I answer.

He climbs out and joins the others. I see them talking briefly and then all attention is focused on me. They even walk around to the other side of the Humvee. Yeah, that’s trust, I think flipping the battery on and letting the gyros warm up. Going through the check list, I press the starter and the blades slowly start to revolve above me. What the fuck am I doing? I think watching the instruments and the blades pick up speed. I have no idea what the limitations are on the engine instruments other than the meaning of the white, green, and red markings. Red is bad, I know that. Green is good. White is some performance limitation. Of what performance limitation, I haven’t a clue. Not the best way to venture into a flight. Or anything for that matter.

I check my surroundings with the blades rotating in a blur overhead and am thankful that there aren’t other objects close by. It’s one of the reasons I chose this one in the first place. I reach down to the collective and grab the throttle. Rolling it, the rpm gauge increases with an increase in the noise, vibration, and speed of the rotor overhead. I feel the vibration of the helicopter through the seat and pedals. Well, actually, I feel it everywhere but it is more predominant there. I know I have to keep a constant rpm and think of the collective as a throttle and the cyclic stick in front of me as any normal stick. A combination of both acts similar to an aircraft but the idea is so foreign to me.

I gradually pull very lightly on the collective and feel the Kiowa go light on the skids with each skid tapping on the paved tarmac below me in intervals. The helicopter starts sliding to the left and I correct with the stick to the right. An over correction and I start off to the right. I eventually bring the slide to a stop with the skids still light on the ground. I now know why they call them skids. I pull a little more on the collective and the helicopter rises from the pavement. I remember one pilot saying to just imagine or think yourself hovering – that you just have to think about moving and the helicopter will respond to the subtle inputs your mind sends to your hands - or sliding in one direction. Well, I must have been thinking I wanted to be waaaay over to the right because that’s where I go.

I try to bring the slide under control and once again over correct and am now looking at the ramp slide underneath me as I slide to the left in the same manner. I lower the collective as I try to correct that stellar move and the helicopter slams onto the tarmac like a bag of garbage being thrown in a trash bin. Okay, that was fun, I think collecting my thoughts once again. I look over at the others and see McCafferty with her hand over her mouth obviously stifling a laugh. Gonzalez on the other hand, is doubled over at the front of the Humvee. It’s also pretty obvious the others are laughing as well. I’m glad they find this amusing, I think steeling myself for try number two.

My second attempt to not change the sky to ground is a repeat of the first but without the absolute shock of the helicopter being deposited on the ramp. The next several attempts also give Red Team an ab workout but I’m eventually able to keep the helicopter within the county and hover reasonably well. I thought fighters were touchy with the controls but this thing is like having an Xbox controller on the most extreme sensitivity setting. Wow! When things have the feeling of getting out of control, I just deposit it back on the tarmac and start over. Eventually, I am able to keep it close to being in one place and try a couple of pedal turns. Now, that’s pretty cool. I slowly get the feel of the controls, even venturing forward a few times, stopping, and easing the chopper to the ground. That doesn’t mean I won’t have to remove the seat cushion. If I didn’t actually suck it up internally, then I know there will at least be a little white ring on it.

I eventually shut the helicopter down and step out after the blades come to a stop. The others meander over.

“Damn, sir, you should at least apologize to the poor thing after abusing it like that,” Gonzalez says stepping close.

“Or at least buy it dinner first next time,” Henderson says close on her heels.

“Well aren’t you two just the comedic duo,” I say. “Anyone else have anything to say? Come on, get it out.”

“No, sir. You won’t hear me saying anything like it was like watching a blind bird trying to land in a tree. Nope, wouldn’t say anything like that,” McCafferty says.

I can tell Robert wants to join in on the “make fun of me” session but keeps quiet. We head back with Robert asking how it was.

“It’s touchy as hell,” I answer.

“Um, yeah, I could tell,” he says.

We pull into the lot where a lot more equipment and vehicles are parked off to the other side of the Humvees and transport trucks. Semi’s and large, truck-mounted cranes dominate the parking lot. The appearance of them shows that the teams have been mostly successful, if not fully, at finding the equipment on Bannerman’s list. That’s good news as we can begin fortifying our place tomorrow. I’m pleased but there’s still a place inside that is really missing Nic and wishes she were here to enjoy this moment with me.

The sun is lowering in the late afternoon sky as I step out of the Humvee. I feel tired but there’s a touch of excitement as well. It looks like we have the tools to begin this next phase of building a place of refuge; a place where we can feel safe. It’s hard to think that just a few days ago we were travelling from place to place trying to get back. The events of that trip have faded to a degree making it seem like they took place a long time ago. For the first time in a long time, even in the presence of grief, I feel a sense of contentment; content that we seem to be making a lot of headway. Not as far as where we are, we still have a long ways to go and don’t truly know what the future looks like, but in as far as where we are going. It remains to be seen if that contentment will increase or decrease with the degree and speed that the wall is built.

Lynn is still camped by the chair where she was when we left. The only difference is the amount of sheets lying on the side of the table covered with writing. She looks up as we approach.

“So, how’d it go, flyboy?” She asks.

“Is everyone going to be a comedian today?” I ask in return.

“Oh, that well huh?”

“Well, I didn’t kill anyone or damage anything if that means anything,” I reply.

“Other than his pride and possibly one very undeserving helicopter,” Gonzalez quips in behind me.

“It went fine. I’ll be back at it tomorrow,” I say ignoring the peanut gallery behind me. “How are things here?”

“Just fine. Most of the others pulled in a little while ago. We have one team still out looking for the portable generators,” Lynn answers.

“And you?” I ask.

“Doing pretty well. I have it mostly finished and will be ready to start soon,” she replies.

“Good,” I say and am about to say more when the sound of a vehicle nearing interrupts.

We all look to the long drive to see a Humvee crest the hill. As it pulls past, I notice it’s towing a wheeled generator. Things are definitely looking up. The confidence I feel in our group increases. We’ll be okay, I think watching the vehicle park. As long as our security measures hold up and we don’t make any mistakes. Yes, there will be difficulties as we venture into buildings for supplies. The long-term supplies, growing our own food and such, will be a learning process, but for the short-term, we should be okay.

I lean over, give Lynn a kiss on the cheek, and head inside. There are several team members pulling the large centerpiece apart and carrying the pieces outside. I see others manhandling several large commercial washer and dryer machines against one of the outer walls. I feel a little guilty for spending the day trying to fly an aircraft, one with the propeller in entirely the wrong place, seeing all of the work that the others have accomplished today but I also know that, should we need it, that skill will be a valuable one to have.

The rest of the day passes with more sorting of equipment and finally removing the last parts of the centerpiece. The center is now clear for any purpose we desire. The smell of dinner being warmed up wafts through the building as our small group meets again. Robert is off talking with Michelle and I wave him and Bri over. I want them to be a part of our meetings as you never know when learning will take place. I plan to take some time with them for additional training when things settle into a semblance of equilibrium and after their initial training with Lynn.

“Did we get everything we need to start tomorrow?” I ask as we draw together.

“As near as I can tell,” Bannerman answers. “Of course, there will always be odds and ends that we’ll find we need along the way.”

“Nicely done,” I say with the others nodding.

“Lynn?” I ask wanting to hear her report.

“I’ve finished with what I think preliminary training should encompass. It’s a scaled down version of boot camp without the breaking down phase. I’m emphasizing weapons training, tactics, and conditioning along with a survival phase,” she says.

“Great. Need any help with it?” I ask.

“I did put together a secondary training course that I want everyone to go through at some point. You can help with that. It will be more of small unit tactics, stealth, and small unit leadership,” she answers. “I haven’t put together any of the nightly training as yet but will make an announcement for folks to be prepared to teach a class in something they know.”

“Excellent,” I say.

“And you? How did your day go?” Lynn asks.

“Yeah, well. It was, um, interesting. It’ll take some time before I’m comfortable and I’ll leave it at that. I plan to be back up there tomorrow and will take Red Team with me so if we need help anywhere, give us a call," I answer. "Frank, what do you have?' I ask.

“We tested the radios and were able to communicate with the teams out to a considerable distance today so we should be good. We located some maps of the area and have them tacked down on a table by the radios. We’ll be able to keep track of the teams and people,” Franks answers.

“Make sure we have the teams report in hourly and the drivers report leaving and arriving at each location,” I add.

“I’ll brief everyone,” Lynn says.

“Oh, we might want to pick up some chainsaws along with oil and gas. We’ll need to cut the trees down away from the wall so the night runners can’t climb them and vault over,” I say. Bannerman picks up his well-used pad and pen to make a note. “I think we should also rotate the teams out gathering supplies with the standby team.”

“Sounds good to me,” Drescoll says.

“Anything I missed or that we need to talk about?” I ask.

“I think we’re good,” Bannerman answers.

“I can’t think of anything,” Lynn replies. Drescoll and Frank shake their heads.

We adjourn and I walk up to the roof sitting on the same pipe as before. Robert and Bri join me. We sit in silence and watch the sun drop below the trees to the west. The mass of vehicles below us are mostly out of sight, hidden by the roof edge. The roof edge, I think gazing across the grass fields surrounding the parking lots and stretching to the trees in the distance. I make a mental note to talk with Bannerman about putting an overhang over the edges so the night runners can’t scale the sides. I still don’t know how they managed it but I put nothing past their abilities anymore. I’m sure there will be more surprises in store and I hope we’ll be able to meet them.

The shadows of the evergreens in the distance spread across the fields below us marking the slow transition of day towards night. I think about the lots below us filled with night runners as the night envelops us. I wonder how long they will continue coming to this building if they aren’t able to get in. Are they able to recognize and understand defeat and gradually drift away and stop trying? Do they know to stop trying? How intelligent are they? Or will their persistence remain and continue with their nightly attempts because they don’t know any other way? Do they feel compelled to continue? These thoughts drift through my mind as the sun sinks lower in the sky and behind the mountains. I enjoy being up here at this time of day with Robert and Bri and would like to make this a nightly ritual. A time for just us to be together.

The sun slides down behind the mountains sending a last ray across the orange-lit horizon. The ray signals that our time of the day has gone and the time of the night runners has begun. We stand as one and bid the day farewell, each in our own way. After sealing the doors closed, we head to the restaurant for dinner. I pass by Bannerman mentioning the roof edges. As with the nights before, our evening meal becomes momentarily interrupted by the first of the attempts by night runners. The resounding echo reminds us that we are far from being out of danger.

The night passes like the others. The noise from the night runners, as they slam into the doors, has almost a rhythm to it; rising and falling as if the rhythm itself were alive. Several louder ones startle me during the night but I’m able to get a semblance of rest.

The next day starts like the last one. I rise and see Lynn going about the teams, waking them for their morning training. I’m tired but don’t have the exhausted feeling I’ve had on prior mornings. Lacing my boots up, I wonder just how long I’ll be able to put up with these cots. After rubbing the sleep from their faces, everyone gathers their gear and heads down the stairs. With the morning training complete and a bite in us, I gather up Red Team. Lynn catches me just as we are leaving.

“Jack, would you mind heading to the aircraft to see if, well, just see if the note is still there?” She asks taking me aside.

“Of course, hon,” I say pulling her close and holding her tight. There’s so much more I’d like to say but we understand each other and there’s nothing more to be said.

We begin our journey north for a repeat of yesterday, well, hopefully not an exact repeat. The day is an almost complete replica of the day before with the exception that a few, high wisps of clouds sweep across the blue background. Those high, innocent wisps indicate a front trying to move in. It may mean our test to see how clouds affect night runners may be coming soon. Or maybe the high pressure over us will win out and we’ll be blessed with more warm, sunny days.

The helicopter sits on the ramp where I left it, or some might say deposited it, yesterday. It sits as if inviting me to another round. I gather my things and trudge over in order to make another attempt to master my skills. Going through the check list once again, the rotors overhead respond as if accepting a challenge. I feel a touch more comfortable but still feel hesitant remembering some of yesterday’s lovely experiences. I roll the throttles up and feel the vibration increase. Lifting up, I feel the skids go light like the many times before only this time I don’t go shooting across the ramp.

Working my way through pedal turns and some forward and back moves, I lift higher off the ground and work on other maneuvering. After a point, it’s better to have altitude for maneuvering to give a little more margin for error. Of course, if I was to make an error requiring said altitude then I’m pretty screwed anyway. I get the hang of it after a bit, using the term “getting the hang of it” liberally but I find I can maneuver. I practice turns, climbs and basic maneuvers.

I maneuver around the airfield incrementally testing turns and such before setting it back down with a thump. Yeah, I’ll have to work on my landings some. The others gather around and we eat a bite with the sun climbing toward its zenith casting warm rays of sunshine on our shoulders.

“Anything on the radio?” I ask Gonzalez as she and the rest of Red Team draw near.

“Nothing much, sir,” she answers. “Just teams reporting in and the drivers calling out their locations.”

“Good. Let’s finish up with lunch and enjoy a moment. I’ll refuel and then see if I can get this beast back to Cabela’s,” I say. “Before we leave though, I would like to pop into one of the squadron buildings and see if we can find some manuals.”

“Can I go with when you fly down?” Robert asks as we open our rations and lean against the Humvee together.

I’m glad to see he has the same adventurous spirit as I do but I also know that he wants to take every opportunity to learn. He is a lot like me in that way. He always wanted to try new things and never hesitated when I suggested something where he thought he would learn. I feel stuck here though. The feeling stems from the great sense of loss for Nic and knowing I could never go through that again. Even though it’s been a short time, our situation has forced some of those deep grief feelings down inside. On the other hand, I want him to have experiences and I have to balance my protective nature against his need to learn. This seems to come up too many times and I still don’t have the right answer.

“Okay, you can go,” I say.

We finish with our meager lunches. Robert and I head off for one of the fuel trucks parked adjacent to one of the open, brown hangars. The fact that we’re toting M-4s in our hands is really the only surreal thing I feel at this moment. The quiet of the fort and surrounding area doesn’t seem as unreal as we walk across the light gray pavement, feeling the warmth rising from it. I’m sure that feeling will rise again in some instances but with the progress we’ve made and our days spent in this new world, I seem to be getting used to the quiet. My mind is no longer telling me that there should be a tremendous amount of noise associated with what my eyes are seeing.

We drive the truck over talking about the day and other ordinary topics with Robert wanting to know what is was like flying the Kiowa. Describing the differences I noticed, we set up the fuel line and refuel. He asks questions trying to fit the answers within the frame of reference he has with the 130.

“In a way it’s very similar but is touchy as anything,” I say as we finish up.

“Kinda noticed,” he says with a small smile.

“You too!?” I ask.

“Well, it was pretty funny. That’s of course after we figured out you weren’t going to take out everything else around you,” he replies with a chuckle remembering. “You took off to the side like you had a rubber band attached.”

I chuckle imagining his perspective. There’s an apprehensive tone to our conversation because we subconsciously realize we are about to enter an unknown building. I know if we have to penetrate too far in, I’ll just call the whole thing off. The info within is not as important as the info we needed from the CDC. I’m hoping we can find something just inside the building. We’ll be able to use the helmets we took from the HC-130 so I don’t need an equipment room but who knows where I’ll be able to find a manual without going deeper inside.

I stand at the Humvee with the others after dropping the truck back at its location. Shading my eyes from the overhead sun, I glance around at the various buildings. I know the Air Force bases put the squadron buildings next to the ramp and I’m hoping the Army did the same. That way we won’t have to play “find the building” as well. The glare from the sun prevents me from reading any of the signs by the tan buildings.

“None of you would know which would be the squadron or wing building would you? Well, I mean the battalion or regiment building?” I ask the others while still facing the buildings as if the answer will shout forth from them. I’m actually studying the buildings to see if I can denote which one it could be.

“No, sir,” they all respond.

“Well, let’s go have a look,” I say picking one likely candidate.

We check our gear and make our way across the ramp towards the nearest building. The day is becoming quite warm, the kind where the stillness and warmth lends itself to a peaceful day spent lying on a bed of grass near water; napping and lazing the time away. I notice an aviation battalion sign outside of the first building we come to so I’m drawn to explore this one first. The first story building is the usual concrete block building found on most bases and forts and is painted in the familiar light brown. It features one large window on the left, with the blinds pulled down, and a set of darker brown, double doors near the center. The rest of the building is just the featureless concrete block.

Pulling up to the doors, I peek inside a small window inset into them.  There isn’t enough residual light inside so whatever is behind is hidden from sight. I test the door on the left and find it swings open a touch with a light pull. Henderson and Denton have taken up a position in front of the doors and slightly off to the side with their weapons, while not quite to their shoulders, ready to be brought up quickly. Gonzalez and McCafferty stand ready by the far doors and Robert stands behind me.

I swing the doors open not really expecting anything to come rushing out, at least in the form of a night runner, but our readiness stems from our need to be constantly alert for anything. It’s good to keep in that mode regardless of the situation and it helps to reinforce the training as well. We are becoming closer as a team and little exercises like this, even if necessary, are important in that regard.

Nothing comes rushing out but our ears are peeled for any sound. In times prior, there were instances of shrieks or movement with the opening of doors, giving us a clue that night runners were inside. We are attuned to listening for those first sounds of surprise as we intrude upon their domain. The building radiates the same quiet inside that it shows outside. The light penetrates through the open door showing the first few feet of a cream-colored linoleum floor.

Sunlight catches particles of dust disturbed by the opening of the door and they dance just above the surface of the floor. Radiant light casts a deep gloom past the doorway fading to a deep black further in. Air from the cooler interior brushes lightly against me as it seeks the outside. The air carries a musty odor but it is only the scent of disuse rather than the stronger body odor of any night runners. The tiled floor has a light covering of dust on the surface and I can’t discern any tracks or other marks.

Within the gloom, I barely make out wooden equipment racks with helmets resting on top of locker-style cabinets below. Stations to test the helmets reside just inside the door to the left and right. The room appears to be fairly open with the lockers occupying most of the space. A wall to the immediate left extends about twelve feet into the room with the room opening more to the left past its end. The room also opens up to the right directly from the door. It’s pretty apparent this is an aviation equipment room. I’m hoping there is an operations desk somewhere inside with manuals. I would check the lockers close by but I never kept the actual manuals in my equipment locker so wouldn’t expect others to either.

I am hesitant to even go inside as it is darkened and the possibility of night runners looms large. There aren’t signs that there are any but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. The items I would like would be a benefit but aren’t vital.

“Are we waiting for something, sir?” Gonzalez asks from across the doorway.

“Just listening and not sure we should even venture in. The manuals aren’t that vital,” I answer.

She peeks her head around the corner of the door and looks in. “We should be okay in there, sir.

“Okay, but we confine ourselves to this room. Any noise or sign of this building being inhabited and we’re out immediately,” I say.

“Hooah, sir,” she responds with a grin knowing how much I like “hooah.”

“Henderson and Denton, take the right side. Gonzalez and McCafferty, straight ahead. Robert and I will cover the left. We’ll be on NVG’s. Check your radios on and one in the chamber,” I say taking a breath.

The familiar tension of entering a darkened building again grips my insides. I’m hoping there will come a time when we can just leave the dark buildings alone and let the night runners have them. Of course that will happen when the buildings fall down with age but that is a long ways off. Perhaps we’ll knock them down when we gather everything we need from them or at least the ones around us. It is part of a “denying the night runners a sanctuary” strategy that runs through my mind from time to time; clearing the area around us. I have no hope of ever clearing them entirely or having some “take back the country” idea as that would be literally impossible with our current personnel and the immensity of that kind of undertaking. We just need our own little place to be safe in and in which to grow.

I nod after we don our goggles and make sure our radios are working. Henderson and Denton dart in the open door to the right; coming to a rest a few feet in and focusing on the right. Robert and I are hard on their heels drawing to a point where the wall makes a corner and continues to the left. I feel the grit from the dust under my boots and take note that it could be slippery in places. The sounds of Gonzalez and McCafferty entering penetrates my senses, both feeling and hearing them draw to a stop beside me. The door slowly closes and shuts with a subdued clink. The room is now only lit by the green glow of our goggles.

I peek around the corner and see a wide aisle between the start of the lockers on my right and the wall to my left. The aisle extends the length of the room, ending at a chest high counter that begins at the wall and runs across my line of sight. A large whiteboard fills the wall behind this station which I hope is the operations desk. If so, then my search for the manuals may be a short one. A small fraction of light emits from the blind-covered window at the desk illuminating part of the whiteboard and counter top. Two doors open up to the left with large-paned windows set in the wall beside them.

“Okay folks, we’re heading to the counter to my front. We’ll stagger with Robert and me in front clearing the aisles to the right and the offices to the left as we go. Gonzalez and McCafferty, you follow behind watching to the right. Henderson and Denton, follow and cover the rear,” I say quietly into the radio.

“Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez responds with a whisper.

“Gotcha covered, sir,” Henderson says.

I turn to Robert at my shoulder, “Stay right behind me and cover the aisles to the right. Make sure you cover on top of the lockers as well. I’ve got the offices to the left and the front.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ve got ya,” Robert replies.

I edge up to the first plate glass window to my left feeling the dust slide under my boots as I glide along. It has the same feeling as being in a tomb long ago forgotten. I guess I’m not as used to the feeling of everyone being gone as I thought. My mind is still associating all that I see with activity and the lack of it causes a small disconnect. The chill in the air, after the warmth outside, adds to the feeling of being in a place that doesn’t seem to want me in it. It’s like it is also traumatized by the same feeling of being left alone and abandoned and wants to merely be left by itself in its pain.

Peeking in the corner of the glass while keeping my senses in tune with the surrounding environment, I look for any movement or night runners within the small office. The only thing inside is a desk wedged in the small enclosure with various papers and a calendar littering the top of it. Besides a couple of chairs behind and in front of the desk, the office is empty.

A quick check down the aisles across from me shows them clear as well. Our best early warning system will be noise and I heighten my senses along these lines. If night runners were to emerge from the aisles without us being prepared, we will be quickly overwhelmed due to the close proximity with which they would become visible. The desk is only about forty feet away but it seems both closer and farther. The light from the window should give us some protection once we reach it.

I sidle to the next window listening to the soft sounds of movement behind me as the others move up. The building is deathly quiet. The sounds of our boots sliding along the grit on the floor and soft sound of cloth rubbing together sounds unnaturally loud within the room. I edge up to the next office and peek in to find the same; a small desk with accompanying chairs and a scattering of paperwork.

I edge quietly up the main aisle and past the aisles between the lockers; checking each as I come to them. The only sight is a place where pilots would gather their last thoughts prior to heading out for their flights; a place where they would think about the upcoming mission while gathering their gear. A chance for a short time alone, wrapped in a bubble with others gathering gear nearby, to finalize thoughts for the flight ahead.

So far, so good. Our scent hasn’t aroused any night runners, there’s no sound of anything scuffling about, and no shrieks of discovery. That doesn’t mean they aren’t lying in wait or further in the building, but we seem to be clear for now. The distinct locker room smell that I’ve associated with a group of night runners is absent. That also doesn’t mean I can relax my guard. We’re in their territory now and I’ve been surprised far too many times to relax inside a darkened building.

The tension is strong; my senses wrapped tight around me with a small part of my mind still questioning the decision to enter. The one good thing is that I don’t feel the sense of the room closing in and waiting with bated breath. There’s still the aspect of a weight within the darkened room but it doesn’t feel like an explosion waiting to happen; it doesn’t feel like we’re being watched.

I approach the counter and look behind it. A jumble of papers are littered across its surface with a microphone sticking up in their midst. This has all of the appearances of the operations desk with a base radio. The whiteboard is covered with markings and associated call signs. The wide aisle we were in heads off to the right in front of the counter to a set of swinging double doors that lead further into the structure. I have Robert cover in that direction as I head around the counter to get behind it. I am guessing there should be some manuals around the desk somewhere to assist pilots with any emergencies they encounter. The ops desk would assist with anything the pilot in distress needed.

I open the blinds and sunlight streams through the window, casting its light about the operations desk, brightening the entire desk and area. It’s light enough that I can remove my goggles and see clearly enough. I only turn them off and raise them wanting them ready just in case. Waving the others over behind the desk, we crowd behind it. I begin looking through drawers that line the desk, eventually finding a set of hard-covered manuals in a large file drawer.

I heft them out and lay them on the desk. I am about to pick them up and stow them as best I can while having my M-4 clear when a sudden noise interrupts my thoughts. It is a muted thump that comes from beyond the doors leading into the building. All eyes turn in that direction with the small metallic clicks of weapons being raised. I don’t see anything in the gloom of the room and any visibility through the small glass windows in the swinging doors is obscured by the darkness behind.

I strain my ears for further sounds but only silence fills the area. The thump was quick and may only have been a book or something falling at the wrong time. The quiet that follows almost makes me believe I didn’t hear it in the first place but I know I did and have to keep that uppermost in my mind. I am about to lower my M-4 and think, once again, of how to carry the binders out when a louder thumping comes from the other side of the doors. It’s muted by the closed doors but it sounds like feet running in our direction. At least it has the rhythm of feet running. In my mind, there’s nothing else it can be. The muted sound seems to be nearing quickly.

My heart gives that first pounding thud of adrenaline being released. The way back to the outside door now seems farther away and especially with the narrow aisles close to our escape route. If night runners make it inside with any numbers and we’re caught along that path, this day will come to a short close.

We’re in fairly close quarters and cramped with all six of us behind the desk. We can’t all cover the door. We’ll be trapped here if the light streaming in the window isn’t enough to keep the night runners at bay. While it seems like minutes with the multitude of thoughts flowing through my mind, it’s only seconds.

“Robert, get the window open,” I whisper getting his attention and nodding to the window behind us. “Henderson and Denton, cover the area we came through. McCafferty, you have the tops of the lockers. Gonzalez and I will cover the doors.”

There’s a shifting of positions as we arrange ourselves to the extent we can. Henderson and Denton lean across the counter aiming their M-4’s back down the aisle we traversed. McCafferty also aims across the counter but stands to have better visibility over the tall lockers. Gonzalez and I line up next to each other aiming at the swinging doors. We turn our laser aiming sights to the visible spectrum and the thin beams of light reach out and dance about the room.

The pounding heading our way seems to shake the walls and structure but it could also be just the pounding of my heart and the adrenaline beginning to flow throughout my system enhancing my senses. There is no doubt though that vibration is being sent through the concrete floor underneath the linoleum and through the soles of our boots. It doesn’t sound like a horde coming our way but there is definitely something. And coming fast.

“How’s that window coming, Robert?” I say over my shoulder realizing I’ve barely given him enough time to do anything. Everything seems both speeded up and slowed down.

“I’m getting it,” he answers.

The swinging doors burst wide open, startling me even though I was expecting it. Two night runners sweep in and give a loud shriek on discovering us behind the counter. They come to an abrupt stop, their pale faces barely outlined in the gloom, with two others entering behind. They seem hesitant to enter fully into the light but stand with their heads thrust forward and screaming.

One thin beam of light centers on the head of the night runner to the right as Gonzalez centers her aiming sight. The muted cough of her M-4 firing mixes with the shrieking of the night runners, the flash lighting up the room and signifying that rounds are on the way. The bullets streaking outward intersect with the fine point of her light. Where her light is focused, an explosion of blood fans outward. The first round hits just beside the nose, shattering the cheek bone and fragmenting the projectile. The splintered shell then tears through the sinus cavity, destroying the internal structure and bone behind. Splintering even more, the remains rip through the soft tissue of the brain devastating the synapses and nerve centers within. The process of passing through the layers of bone takes some of the momentum away from the fragments and they slam against the rear of the skull and come to rest.

The night runner’s head snaps back from the force of the impact. The subsequent rounds from the burst hits on the left brow, as its head is knocked backward, and ricochets off the heavy bone structure into the one of the swinging doors. The others pass overhead. The night runner drops straight to the floor as if its legs forgot how to stand.

My rounds leave the barrel in a similar flash of light and strike the night runner to the left, forcibly impacting it right under the nose. The splash of blood mingles in the air with the blood of its partner. The bullet shatters the front teeth and upper jaw before arcing downward through the softer tissue of the palate and back of the throat. It smacks into the vertebrae with a tremendous velocity, severing the spinal column and creating a large hole in the back of the neck. Tissue and blood spray behind the night runner as, with its head lolling to the side, it is catapulted into the arms of its compadre behind.

“I’ve got the window open,” Robert yells behind me.

“Okay, head outside. McCafferty, you’re next. Henderson, Denton, follow. We’ve got the rear,” I yell bringing my aiming point onto the next night runner as it tosses the one thrown backwards to the side.

Gonzalez’ carbine coughs its deadly load out once again, taking down the night runner remaining on the right. It staggers backward under the onslaught of the steel colliding with its body with the steel winning out over flesh and bone. It collapses against the backside of a locker before slumping to the ground. I give the trigger a slight pull with the sound of scrambling behind me. The last night runner looks up from moving its propelled pack member only to be met with an additional onslaught of rounds tearing into its face. It leaves its feet and hits the swinging doors with the back of its blown out head and its feet in the air. The thud of the night runner slamming into the door signals the end of the shrieks pouring through the room. The doors swing back towards their closed position but remain partially open, their edges coming to rest against the night runner corpse lying between them.

“I’m out,” McCafferty calls.

I hear additional scrambling from Henderson and Denton as they make their way to the window. I reach over and pat Gonzalez on the shoulder, pointing down the area to our right indicating to cover there. She wheels to the right and her laser light moves across the room settling on her new coverage area. The only sound in the room is the scrambling movement of our team climbing out the window. The rest of the room resumes the silent introspection it had before; not even acknowledging the quick engagement within its walls.

“Do you think there were only four?” Gonzalez asks.

“It would appear so but we can’t be sure. I would think that if there were any others in here, they would have come running with the shrieks,” I answer.

“We’re out,” Denton calls in the window.

“Okay, you’re next. I’ve got this,” I say to Gonzalez.

I shuffle back toward the window after she disappears from my peripheral. I now have to cover the entire area with my peripheral and that’s easier done from a corner of the room. The silence of the room is a surprising as many of our past experiences have shown that the night runners mass in large packs. My psyche thinks that there must be a lot more present but there’s a part of me that’s thankful they are still running in small groups. That of course is a two-edged sword. If they were in massed packs, it would make fewer places they were in. The smaller groups mean that there will be more buildings inhabited. I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Well, this was a pretty quick engagement and the massed packs are overwhelming so maybe the preference isn’t so hard after all.

“I’m out, sir,” Gonzalez calls.

I turn, hand Gonzalez my carbine and the binders, and scramble out of the window onto the ramp. The warmth of the ramp, even in this shaded part of the building, is almost desert-like after the coolness of the building.

“Next time I suggest something stupid like that, thump me over the head,” I say taking my M-4 back.

“I’m on it, sir,” Gonzalez says. “But that was a no-brainer and a breeze.”

“Everyone alright?” I ask. They all do the instinctive pat down before nodding.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” I say.

“See you back at base, sir,” Gonzalez says and they march off towards the Humvee.

“You ready?” I ask Robert as I watch the others cross the ramp, obviously telling war stories by the way their hands are moving as they talk.

“Yep,” he answers.

Okay, let’s get a move on then,” I say. We head for the helicopter sitting on the ramp as if it wonders what happened inside.

I notice the feeling of “what have we go ourselves into” has diminished to a degree as if what just happened inside was a natural occurrence. It didn’t feel like a natural occurrence while it was happening but in the aftermath, the return to “normal” is quick. Granted, it was a small skirmish but the adrenaline was up and a skirmish is a skirmish. It brings back some of the past where we’d run mission after mission and have the feeling that each was just another one. We’d be back having a beer, and while talking about it some, it would seem more like just another day than a mission.

We climb into the cockpit with the sun seeming to speed across the blue sky. We strap in and run through the check list. The rotors are soon turning in a blur overhead. I think again about having Robert with me but give a mental shrug and pull up on the collective, doing my best to keep the helicopter within the boundaries of the fort. The ground shrinks away as we gain altitude; the slight yet constant vibration much different than the vibration of the 130. The vibration of the 130 comes from seemingly all over where this one feels a touch side to side and up and down. I bank out towards the north and McChord.

“Where are we going?” Robert shouts across the small space between us. His air-sense letting him know immediately that we’re heading in the wrong direction.

“Running an errand for Lynn,” I shout back to which he merely nods.

I see the two 130’s, one sitting in its solitude of retirement and the other keeping it company, parked on the ramp where we left them. They begin to fill our screen as I descend in front of them. I want to give plenty of leeway as the helicopter is still prone to launch itself in a random direction. I ease down until a bump and the rocking of the skids signifies contact with the ground. I then ease the collective all of the way down and we settle securely on the hard surface below.

Debris and dust is blown outward from our rotor wash. The ramp used to be cleaned often but the lack of attention has allowed the dust to gather. This will be something to think about in the future as foreign objects can cause quite a bit of damage if ingested in the engines or can cause harm being blown around. I shut down with these thoughts flowing through my mind. Plus the reason I’m here. I feel bad for Lynn with her brother and mother not showing up, especially seeing she knows they were alive after the shit hit the fan. I feel like it’s my fault in a way after getting her spirits up telling her about them. That almost seems worse in a way. Well, someday we may have the opportunity to find out, I think eyeing the 130 off our nose as the rotors wind to a stop.

I see what looks like a sheet of paper over on the base ops door and walk over. Lynn has written a note for her family, but it also mentions anyone else as well, and taped it to the door putting it inside an upside down plastic sleeve. It still seems secure with the copious amounts of duct tape she used. I turn back to the ramp wishing that Craig and Lynn’s mom were here for her and hoping they’re okay.

We climb in the HC-130 – I just want to see inside it once again - and the aircraft seems to welcome us back as we enter. Being inside the aircraft, which saw us through our previous adventures and kept us safe throughout, gives me a sense of melancholy. The familiar smell brings back the memories of what we went through such a short time ago. The memories already fading to a degree but being inside is a reminder of how far we have come and, with that, also of how far we have yet to go. As we exit, I mentally give another thank you to the aircraft for seeing us safely through.

We jump back in the helicopter and start it up. Being inside the 130, the gorgeous day, and being next to Robert brings a feeling of peace, replacing the melancholy feeling I had moments ago. It’s close to the feeling I used to have as we were loading up the Jeep for a day on the mountain bikes or some other adventure; the feeling of peace, calm, with the excitement that comes with the beginning of the day and the pleasure of being in each other’s company. The speeding rotors signify the helicopter is ready for another attempt at flight.

We lift off into the blue of the sky which has a bleached look to it. The high, wispy, horse mane clouds have pushed further to the north and inland indicating that the front is slowly winning out. I tuck that away and just enjoy the moment. The vibrations course through the soles of my boots on the anti-torque pedals. The ground peels away as we gain altitude and bank over the base. The brown buildings below us, nestled between the brown fields and strips of gray roads, pass beneath. There becomes a disassociation with the ground as we fly overhead. The place no longer feels or looks like a ghost town as it does when driving through it. While the lack of movement does still seem odd to a point, it doesn’t seem as odd. Of course, it may be my concentration on keeping this beast airborne against its desire to find the closest tree and park in it.

We hook up with I-5 and start south. I would love to do a nap of the earth flight – flying the contours of the land at a very low level - and always envied the rotor heads that ability however my skills are far from attempting it. I always enjoyed those flights when we would sneak in on insertions but I was always in the back. I always thought it would be so cool to fly like that. We would fly quite low in jets and in the 130 but it’s not the same. Turning south, I pick up movement on the Interstate below. It’s one of the semi’s carting a load of concrete partitions and heading in the same direction we are. Actual movement on the highway does seem strange after seeing the empty lanes for so long. Not actually that long ago but it sure seems like it. The sight warms my heart that we’re starting to make progress but it is also another reminder that we’ve only just started. Four miles of wall to build. What an undertaking? I think as we pass over the truck.

I look ahead and see a large wall of dark smoke billowing into the sky just to the left of our nose. I’m guessing it’s coming from the burning of the neighborhood tracts. Ideally, I would like to have gone through each place and pulled supplies and such. Things like light bulbs, food, tools, etc. but we just don’t have that luxury. The bacteria and diseases that will spawn from so many bodies is a real threat to our survival as much, if not more, than the night runners. The roof of Cabela’s, along with its green awnings, comes into view quickly. The brown and olive drab of parked Humvees and other vehicles provides a stark contrast to the dark paved lot they are sitting on. Various large pieces of equipment are off to the east side of the lot. Three large cranes are the most prevalent among them and I already see that some of the partitions have been put in place. It has begun.

Landing on the parking lot, which again is more of an arrival than a landing, I see I was mistaken when I thought the equipment was all cranes because I now see that one of them is a pile driver. Now where did Bannerman find one of those? I think waiting for the rotors to wind down. Great idea though. The group working on the wall are hammering tall I-beams into the ground and sliding the partitions in between. I wonder where Bannerman found those as well as there is a tremendous pile of them off to one side. The slots in them look like they’re just wide enough for the concrete slabs, which are stacked in an area beside them, to slide into. The noise of the pile driver hammering the steel beams into place gives a sense of normalcy; the sight of man-made objects and the corresponding noise we were accustomed to. I’m once again reminded of what a good team we have.

I walk in and the noise of hammering continues. Only this time, it’s the supply teams working to build plywood partitions on the second floor. It’s only mid-afternoon but the amount of work and the number of changes makes it seem like I’ve been gone several days. I let Frank know we’re back and join up with the others to lend a hand with the interior building project. The plywood partitions are to create small rooms to give everyone a sense of privacy. This is a temporary solution but it’s better than all of us just lying on cots in the middle of the floor. It helps the psyche as well and gives a sense of permanence which helps us mentally cope with all that is going on; it gives a sense of future.

The rest of the day passes by fairly quickly with the partitions finished to a large degree and progress made on the perimeter wall. All teams fold back into our haven as the sun hits the top of the trees and we meet again just prior to dinner.

“How is the training program coming along?” I ask Lynn once we settle in together.

“I’m not quite ready. I’ll need a couple of days yet. I would like to get a bulldozer to build a berm for a firing range,” she responds.

“I’ll see what we can come up with,” Bannerman replies making a note.

“How are the supplies holding out?” I ask Bannerman.

“We’re doing okay. We could use some additional food though,” he answers.

“Okay, I think Red Team is slated for one of the supply teams. Are we slated to go with Alpha or Bravo?”

“Alpha,” Lynn answers.

“We’ll make a supply run tomorrow if that’s what you had in mind,” I say.

“That sounds good. We were also able to put an overhang on the roof,” Bannerman says.

“Good deal,” I reply.

“We managed to get about sixty feet of wall built today. That will increase in the coming days as we had to get everything set up first and that took a while,” Bannerman says addressing the group.

“Awesome. Where’d you get that pile driver by the way? And great idea with the I-beams,” I say.

“We found it in a construction yard along with the cranes. The beams were there as well and they got me thinking. I thought we were going to have a tough time engineering a way to put the wall up in the first place and it would take some time to figure a way to make it sturdy, and here these were. It was rather simple actually,” he says.

“Well, good job nonetheless,” I say in return.

I give a rundown of my day and there’s not really much to say after that. I ask Frank if he would keep track of the buildings we’ve been in for supplies so we can be more effective with our gathering. He said he’d mark them on the map. I also think about demolishing the buildings after we’ve finished with them but save that discussion for another time. We break and I head up to the roof with Robert and Bri; our now nightly ritual before dinner. That may change with the coming nightly training sessions but I would like for this to remain. We just may have to figure out a different time of the evening.

We talk for a while amongst ourselves; really mostly small talk with Robert focusing on the short helicopter flight back and how much he wants to learn to fly it. I tell him it may be a while because I don’t even know how yet. Bri says she’s interested in learning as well and I tell them they’re welcome to study with me after their training with Lynn. I look to the edge of the roof and notice the thin steel plates that Bannerman had bolted into the concrete ledge lining the roof. They look to extend about five or six feet out from the roof’s edge which should, and I say should here because you never know what the night buggers can accomplish, prevent anything from gaining access to the roof. Looking past the overhang, the wall stands tall, although only a short section of it is actually upright. It’s a silent reminder of the changed world in which we find ourselves. It also stands in testimony to our endeavors and signals the start of a possible new beginning. The sun droops behind the mountains bringing a refreshing coolness to the late evening. A breeze picks up against our faces and it feels invigorating and energizing in a way. The last of the sun hangs above the line of mountains as if trying to hang onto its dominance of the sky; trying not to lose its grip on the day before it is finally pulled down. The sun setting is our clue that our time outside has come to an end. The night doesn’t belong to us. It’s time for the night runners to emerge; to prowl and hunt the streets.

We rise with a sigh and climb down into the heart of the building. The entry doors have been secured and the aroma of warm food drifts throughout. The murmuring that usually comes when a group of people are gathered rises and falls as conversations take place. There’s movement as some move their stuff into one cubicle or another. This is so much better than traipsing around the world in a 130. As much as I’m not a fan of what happened to the world, I’m thankful we are here and safe for the moment. There is an underlying tension of knowing that could change in an instant; if the night runners find a way around the doors for instance, but for this particular moment in time, it feels good. Tomorrow is another day though and each day seems to bring a new challenge with it.

Lynn makes an announcement at dinner regarding the nightly training sessions. We’ll gather an hour prior to sunset and begin class before dinner. The classes will go anywhere from an hour to two depending on what is being taught. The subjects will vary and each night will have a different trainer. That may change depending on the depth of the training and there may be times when a single class might extend over several days. She then gives a synopsis of the day and summarizes our progress. She ends with the plans for tomorrow which are basically the same as today with the exception of the teams on supply duty and the one in reserve.

She finishes as the first of our nightly chorus section of poundings against our outside doors begins in earnest. Bannerman whips out his ever-present notepad and jots down some notes. The shrieks are muted by the distance and the doors but it is still very much noticed. Nonetheless, we down our meals, one team finishing and taking over for one of the two on guard.

The next day rolls around the same as before, mostly with me not wanting to get up. The morning PT and training, and yes, I do join in, is a nice way to break the day in. We manage to get outside just after the breaking of dawn and exercise in the cool air of the morning. We go through another rendition of training that Lynn has lined up for us, this one using one of the back rooms of the building for small room clearing techniques. We practice until all teams move into the room like a fast moving fog; quietly and quickly but with force.

We shower, doing the best we can with the limited facilities, and put some food in us before the teams separate on their various missions. Today, it’s Red and Alpha Teams to gather food supplies this morning. Frank found us a Safeway just up the road that we might start with. Walking outside with the teams, I notice a high cloud cover has come over us. The sun shines opaquely through the milky white clouds. The morning still has the feel of a warm day but there is a definite increase in the humidity. The rain won’t be more than a day or two behind if the front continues to weaken the high pressure over us.

We pile into two Humvees and a transport truck after checking over our gear and equipment one more time. The deep, throaty sound of the semi’s idling and warming up in the lot, light blue smoke rising from the chrome stacks just behind the cabs, echoes across the still morning. The breeze that sprang up the night before is absent. The sounds of vehicles starting add to the noisy activity beginning to take place. A billow of dark smoke from the exhaust of a crane near the partially constructed wall indicates activity beginning on the wall as well. This is the daytime; it is our time and we have to make the best use of it.

We pull out just ahead of the trucks and other vehicles on their way north to commence gathering pieces for our perimeter wall. We add to the radio traffic letting Frank know we are on our way. We’ll call at our destination which is only minutes away. The others will take twenty or more minutes to reach the area they are heading to. The convoy of vehicles parts at the Interstate as we continue ahead along a five lane thoroughfare. The traffic lights hang dark above as we pass through several intersections and arrive at the Safeway. The streets and parking lot are strewn with paper and other trash. It looks like the night runners partied at night and left their leavings behind.

There are a few columns of lighter smoke in the area drifting lazily into the air. Some of the fires from the day prior are still burning in places. The smell of smoke almost overcomes the ripe odor of rot that has become predominant. Hopefully we can stay ahead of the game there; taking care of the bodies before disease has a chance to become rampant. As if in answer to my thoughts, several fire trucks pass by as we pull into the parking lot in front of the store.

Exiting with the sound of the trucks diminishing into the distance, I call Frank with our arrival and examine the store front. I was hoping it would be a glass front store as a lot of these store types tend to be. The glass front would allow a lot more light inside and would most likely be free of night runners or at least help keep them somewhat at bay. No such luck here. There are two entrance doors, one to the left of the store and one to the right with several panes of glass beside them, but the rest of the store is concrete block. It will be very much like the BX back in the Azores with light extending a few feet inside by the doors but the rest of the interior an inky black.

We spray on the odor eliminator. I cradle my M-4, and stroll to the door on the left. I’m not sure which door will be closest to the canned food aisle and want to see which door to use by taking a look inside. I feel my mind tighten down with our upcoming entry into a possible night runner domain. Our past experiences with that haven’t been the most pleasant. My thoughts turn toward tactics and run through several eventualities. I contemplate our experience inside the BX. I can’t think of a better plan than to establish a perimeter inside and have a couple of team members cart the goods out behind the perimeter. The aisles will limit visibility and that will be dangerous.

I feel the tension building. It’s similar to a high tension wire strumming in a strong breeze. My senses are vibrating inside. There is the unknown and the knowledge that this will be repeated again and again until we become more self-sufficient. Approaching the doors on the left side, there is the unmistakable evidence of night runner activity. Shards of glass litter the concrete sidewalk in front of the doors. One of the side panes has been broken out. The pieces of glass are dispersed so there isn’t the telltale sign of footprints written in blood. Looking in the broken pane, shards are scattered across the white and black tiled linoleum floor. There is a very faint outline of footprints but they appear old.

That aside, the signs are unmistakable. This is like a neon sign saying night runners are here. There’s a faint whirring at the door as the cooler air inside mixes with the warmer air outside. It carries the combination of mustiness and a rotting smell on the very light breeze. The radiant light streaming through the remaining glass doors and other pane cast a rectangular path of light about twenty feet inside. A gloomy gray extends a shorter distance past before the interior is swallowed up in darkness like a vast black hole.

No sounds come from inside but I know that doesn’t mean anything. I can barely see the end caps at the head of the aisles but not down the aisles themselves. The others are gathered behind me as I look around the establishment. The interior dictates a similar entry and formation as we had at the BX in the Azores but we’ll have to have a moving perimeter anchoring against the outside wall. The store opens up some to the left and, unless we take the time to clear the entire side, and still not know if the night runners can come around from that side, that’s our best shot. We’ll have to anchor around the door as well to preserve our path out of here in case something happens.

I pull away. Dizziness takes hold and I feel a moment of disassociation. Shaking my head to clear it, I turn to Watkins and the other team members. The sight of them standing in the parking lot with the sun shining through the opaque clouds seems a touch surreal; as if they all seem a little brighter than they should. The soldiers in their black fatigues, with their tactical combat vests secured to the outside; each either cradling his or her M-4 or grabbing it next to the lower receiver and holding it downward, their eyes all focused on me and the entrance waiting for instructions and the word to go, stands very sharp in my mind. Next to me, Robert looks much in the same manner as the others; a little too bright. It seems like a moment just prior to stepping through a time machine and into an unknown world.

I give my head another brief shake and orient my mind back to the mission at hand; the steel band tightens down. I send Watkins over to the door to get oriented to the interior as well and he returns shortly. We haven’t really worked together but I’m not worried as I’ve seen him work. I squat down on the pavement off to the side of the door and have everyone gather around.

“Here’s the way I see it,” I say starting a brief and then say to Watkins, “Chime in if you see something different or have other ideas.” Watkins nods his response.

“First off, the gathering of food will not be a quiet venture but we still need to keep the noise down as much as possible. Gonzalez, McCafferty, you’ll anchor the entrance doors and be the left side of our perimeter. We’ll anchor everything to the outside wall closest to us as best we can. Henderson and Denton, you’ll be on the far right. Watkins, I want you to follow in behind Robert and me and leave a person at the end of each aisle. Save two to gather food. Robert and I will take the last two aisles directly behind Henderson and Denton. Henderson and Denton, you clear each aisle as you come to it, wait for one of Alpha or ourselves to get into position, and then move onto the next aisle. We’ll be able to cover six aisles that way. Not much, but it’s the best we can do. Any questions so far or does anyone have anything to add?” I ask.

“No, sir,” Watkins answers. I see he’s back to the “sir” thing. Seems to be mission-oriented with him. Not that I mind either way, just continuing to notice.

“Okay, once we have the aisles covered, the two you assign will head down the first aisle and gather what you can. The one guarding that aisle will precede them up the aisle and follow them back down. Gather the food there and deposit it outside and proceed to the next aisle. We’ll get what we can and hope the first six aisles have something usable. If not, then we’ll look to the other doors. If there’s an inkling of any night runners inside, we’re out. If we have to pull out, Henderson and Denton, come back to me. We’ll then pull back and gather the next in line. Always keep your sector clear until you’re pulled back to and keep alert to the radios. Questions?” I ask almost needing oxygen.

“I think we’re good to go,” Watkins says.

I rise and am struck again by the starkness of how everything looks. It’s like everything is etched in the finest of detail but a little too bright. Watkins talks to Alpha and the team members organize themselves into order of entry. We do a quick check of everyone’s radios. We’ll be using the broken pane for entry. The soft clicks of sights being turned on and carbines being charged are the only sounds in the area. We’re ready and, with the charging handles being released, the game faces come on and they focus earnestly. The curtain is about to rise.

Henderson and Denton line up just outside the entrance with Gonzalez and McCafferty right behind. Robert and I line up behind the women and, behind us, the rest of Alpha gets ready in whatever order Watkins has assigned them.

“Go,” I whisper ahead to Henderson and he darts through the opening.

He is followed immediately by Denton slipping through. Gonzalez and McCafferty disappear within the building and I follow in, snapping my goggles down on entering. The first thing that assails me is the nauseating stench within. It’s the smell of rotting meat, milk, and vegetables. It hits like an invisible wall. I just about gag right there and then. We may have to think about gas masks for future entries as this can have a debilitating effect.

Henderson and Denton are on their knees just inside the door to the right. Gonzalez and McCafferty are aligned in the same way on the left. I tap Denton on the shoulder and point ahead. He and Henderson rise and move to the first aisle. Robert and I take the positions they vacated. Scuffling comes from behind as the rest of Alpha enters. They push up to the first aisle and, with a touch, I direct Robert out to the right. I plan to follow along with Henderson and Denton until we come to our aisles of responsibility.

“You stay close to me until it’s time to cover an aisle,” I whisper to Robert beside me.

“Okay, Dad,” he whispers back.

The store is set up like any other. Cash registers line the front of the store with a wide lane between them and the outside wall. Another wide lane separates the goods aisles from the registers.

“Small change in plan,” I whisper on the radio. “Robert and I will proceed adjacent to Henderson and Denton along the front lane until we come to our aisles.”

Clicks on the radio let me know the others have heard and understood. I glance ahead and see a small band of light from the far end doors. My adrenaline is keyed up and the darkness, showing green in our goggles, has that waiting feeling. I have a sense of night runners inside. The wretched smell of rotting goods is overwhelming any other scent inside the structure so I can’t tell if there’s that tell-tale body odor scent or not. Another item to know and it’s not to our advantage. The weight of the interior presses around us. It’s not quite as oppressive as being inside with only flashlights and complete darkness around but it still weighs heavily. It’s a feeling I know well. It’s the feeling of a building occupied and you doing your best not to be found.

Henderson and Denton clear out the first aisle and move up to the next. Robert and I rise and inch along in line with them. So far there isn’t a hint of movement or sound. The building itself feels dark and abandoned. The abandoned feeling comes from the building itself rather than a lack of occupants. There’s a tension in the air and it’s not only coming from us, although there is a fair amount of that. A scuffle of boots indicates Henderson and Denton moving up to the third aisle. I keep my head on a swivel and see the various laser aiming points move about the building from time to time. A stray beam will come over a covered aisle and streak through the interior, hitting the ceiling beams momentarily before disappearing.

The third and fourth aisles are cleared and then we’re up. Robert and I cross through an open cashier lane and join Henderson and Denton. Robert takes his place at the end of the cleared aisle and we move up. I stand in the next aisle only a few feet away. Henderson and Denton line the lane to my right. This is as far inside as we’ll get. I ponder whether to take the reserve team off that duty and use them for supplies. We’re not going to be able to clear an entire building of this size with only two teams. And by clear, I mean empty it of supplies. We’ll need these places for more than food. Light bulbs will need to be replaced; toilet paper, all types of odds and ends. Being inside, I think we may need to wait to clear buildings of this size until after we’ve built the wall and we bring all of the entire teams. I table that in the back of my mind.

This is very different from sneaking around in buildings in times past. That was a very different philosophy altogether. Here we have to keep a perimeter and back then the perimeter merely moved with us. Wherever we happened to be, that was the perimeter. I glance at Robert standing nearby as he stares intently down his aisle and above him. Good, I think watching him, he remembers the lessons from the BX.

“Okay, Watkins, we’re in place. Start gathering items from the first aisle,” I say pressing the throat mic.

“Copy that, sir,” he responds.

The sound of a cart being wheeled slowly inside seems to screech across the interior like a fingernail on a blackboard. I cringe at the noise but it can’t be helped. If we hand gather the items, then we’d take forever and I’d rather be in and out quickly if at all possible. I make another mental note to check the carts and maybe even have some oil on hand. I see the two Alpha members disappear down the first aisle. The squeaks end, start, and end again as they venture down the aisle filling the basket. They eventually make their way back and to the entrance door, repeating the process with the second, third, and fourth aisles.

The two gathering goods come to Robert and he heads down the aisle, disappearing from my view. I feel apprehensive about him being in here. I know he’s a man but he’s also my kid. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to this. I trust him implicitly but this is almost too much to watch. The sound of the cart being wheeled down the aisle does its start and stop as items are gathered. My heart is pounding within the confines of my chest. I want to be done and out of here. I can’t believe we’re going to have to do this so many more times. Our equipment makes it easier but the stress of being inside a building that is possibly inhabited by night runners puts me on edge.

I glance down my aisle and see a flash of movement past the opening at the end. A soft padding of feet across the floor accompanies the quick darting of a shape across the opposite aisle opening. I immediately know what it is. A night runner!

“Night runners,” I call into the radio. “Pull back.”

As if the radio call was a signal, shrieks fill the interior. Or perhaps it’s that they realize they’ve been discovered and that the game is up; perhaps planning on trapping us within but now their presence is known. The screams seem to come from everywhere at once; to the front along the back lanes, to the right from the depths of the store, to the left from the bakery and deli counters. I swear it even seems to be coming from above. A glance verifies it’s just the incredible volume rebounding off the ceiling.

Night runners pour into the aisle in front of me and I hear a multitude of footsteps pounding across the floor to my right. The soft bark of M-4’s, firing to my immediate right from Henderson and Denton, verifies night runners in that direction. Their gunfire rises momentarily above the howling. The night runners streaking my way are packed shoulder to shoulder and I fire a couple of bursts into their midst. The first two drop immediately and are pushed to the floor from the ones behind.

Henderson and Denton are at my position keeping us from being overrun from the side. Increased fire is testament that night runners are appearing in other locations as well. I fold back with Henderson and Denton to Robert’s aisle. The two gathering the items are backtracking as rapidly as they can but are also blocking the exit. Robert is on the other side of them firing quick bursts into the night runners pouring into his aisle. How in the world did they get here so quick in the numbers they did? I think with a sense of urgency. Robert is closer to them and trapped.

“Move it!” I yell to the Alpha members that are moving much too slowly for my taste.

Constant bursts of fire from Robert is keeping the night runners at bay for the moment but there are more behind and he’ll have to reload soon. Light flashes off the assorted goods on the shelf beside him from his rounds reaching out to the creatures in front. They drop in the aisle, forming a small mound, but others replace them as they push onward. He backs along with the other two but the night runners are closing the distance.

“Stay here,” I say to Henderson and Denton who are kneeling at the corner of the aisle dealing their form of destruction to any who come streaming out into the lane from the far aisles.

The suddenness of the attack is startling and close to overwhelming. I direct Denton to cover the aisle I was in, so they don’t just round the corner on us, and move into the aisle. My son is up ahead and, although moving back slowly, he is clearly trapped. I take one step into the aisle and see his mag leave his receiver. He gropes for another at his vest pouch and then they’re on him. The foremost night runner slams into him and knocks him off balance. Another, just behind the first, runs into him and knocks him to the ground. They both go down on top of him and I hear him yell; startled, fearful, and perhaps pain. They’re on top of my son and bent over him. I lose it!

“Make sure everyone gets out,” I yell to Henderson and become oblivious to all else.

I race up the aisle replacing my own mag, passing the two backing quickly out. My focus is on the night runners bent over Robert. Time and motion slows. He is writhing under the two night runners on top of him as he tries to gain some leverage on them. They are too well situated and bent over him. I chamber the first round with a flick of the bolt release. I hear Robert scream in pain and feel the kick from my M-4 as it delivers the first rounds. They streak out for the night runners clawing and biting my son. The first bullets impact one of the night runners on top of the head with the others entering the back of its head and back. A small splash of blood sprays out from where the round hits on top with a larger shower erupting into the air above it as my second round takes off the back of its head. It slumps down on top of Robert and rolls to the side.

I quickly shift my aim to the next one; the thin beam of my aiming sight coming to rest on top of its head as well. Robert’s hands are on the side of its head trying to keep it away but I see his grip weaken. Light flashes and my next rounds are on the way. I’m oblivious to this as my entire focus is on getting to Robert. Nothing else matters. A similar pattern of blood gushes from the second night runner and it slumps on top of Robert.

“Get up!” I yell sending another burst into night runners trying to take their fallen pack members’ places.

He tilts his head backward looking in my direction but doesn’t move any more than that. His goggles have been knocked clear and I see his wide eyes looking back at me with fear and pain written in them. A night runner goes down at Robert’s feet but another fills the gap immediately. I switch to semi in order to conserve rounds. Reloading will force me back and I may lose him forever if that happens. And that’s not going to happen. A rage built on fear erupted upon seeing my son go down and now it builds even higher with the thought of being pushed back. I take steps forward spitting out single rounds. A steel net of determination tightens down in my mind. I will reach my boy! There is nothing that will interfere with that.

Night runners go down as rounds strike their bodies, either injuring or putting them down for good. A small mound begins to build. The line of creatures isn’t able to advance but neither is there any room gained either. I step next to Robert’s head and look quickly down.

“Can you get up?” I ask delivering another round into a night runner seeking to get closer.

There is no response but he continues to look up into my eyes. I see a large chunk of flesh has been ripped from his neck and blood is spilling to the floor his head. Fear, panic, and anger continue to rage through my system but it is at a level below a certain calmness. It is the fuel that is keeping my ability, determination, and actions going. The overriding calmness, well, more actually a lack of emotion, is the source that directs those actions. They combine to create a wall that no night runner will break; a wedge between me and my son on the ground that no one will overcome. The combination makes it so no other result is possible. I kneel beside him continuing to deliver rounds into the waiting night runners, their screams echoing in my ears. I plan to drag Robert while keeping the creatures at a distance. I look down at his eyes quickly, locking with his gaze, and see the life leave his eyes. His head lolls to the side and the pooling of the blood beside him slows. I reach quickly down, firing the single rounds one-handed into the mass just feet away. Feeling on the side of his ruined neck, I can’t discern a pulse.

“Noooooo!” I scream. My scream, enhanced by the terror and sudden grief, the emotion that was riding below the threshold erupts, and rises far above the shrieks and sounds of firing already filling the interior of the building.

I look up towards the entrance door and see the faint outline of light radiating in that direction. My vision centers on that small piece of light. The edge of my vision darkens, forming a tunnel with the faint light centered within. I feel myself being pulled and stretched towards the light. I swoop towards the entrance as if being pulled through a tunnel; the light growing brighter as I draw closer.

I’m suddenly standing outside feeling a slightly dizzy. Fear, panic, and grief consume me. I’m shaking my head as if to clear the dizziness. I look around and see the members from Alpha and Red Teams standing around me as if waiting for instructions. Most importantly, there is Robert standing beside me. I notice the clarity in the definition of the things around and the aspect of it seeming to be overly bright is gone. I feel confused but then realize everything that just happened was in my mind. It feels like waking from a nightmare and finding everything is as it should be.

“Are you okay, sir?” Watkins asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say shaking my head once again. “We’re going to find some other place to shop.”

I don’t know if this was a clairvoyant vision or a product of my own imagination but there’s no way in hell I’m going inside this store, especially with Robert. The grief still sits inside me but is overshadowed by an overwhelming relief that he’s still okay. It could be that our senses are no longer flooded with a barrage of messages or external sensations and our minds now allow for more subliminal aspects to filter in. We don’t have to filter out so much “noise” and that perhaps allows our minds to “see” better. Whatever it is, what I saw and felt was real to me and we are not going inside.

“Whatever you say, sir,” Watkins replies. “Where are we going?”

“We’ll call Frank and see what stop-and-robs haven’t been searched. We’ll hit a few of them,” I answer.

I would mark this place as off-limits but the vision, if you can call it that, may be limited to this space and time and only with the associated people involved. We turn and head back to the Humvees, radioing Frank and gathering additional places to go. No one says anything nor do I see weird looks. Anyone who has known combat or trained understands and appreciates those second-sight senses; respects them. We always listened to those perceptions and they merely became another sense while we were out on a mission.

We spend the day hopping from small market to small market and fill the transport vehicle in the process. The stores we venture into are free from any night runner signs and, staying cautious and alert, we don’t encounter any within. The clouds thicken as the day goes on until the sun is merely a brighter spot in the sky. It looks like the front has won out after all. It’s not cloudy or dim enough to worry much about the night runners yet but, regardless, we make a call out for the teams to be on their toes. I’m not too happy about the soldiers driving the trucks to be by themselves but our limited manpower gives us no other option.

Smoke billows in the distance throughout the day as the burn teams tackle another area. At times when stepping out of the Humvee close to the large, rising column of dark smoke, I hear the sound of someone calling over a loudspeaker. The individual words can’t be heard but the sound is unmistakable. It’s the teams calling out ahead of the burns to see if there are any survivors in the area. Only once do I hear the actual announcement.

“This area is scheduled for a burn. If there’s anyone alive, we can provide shelter and food. If you need assistance, let us know in some way. Again, this area is scheduled for a burn….” The voice then drifts off as whoever it is turns, gets farther away, or something comes between us blocking the rest.

We return to our sanctuary with the light beginning to fade from the day. The smoke from the fires is lending a yellowish-brown cast to the clouds and light. Two of the trucks, loaded with concrete partitions, pull in ahead of us and park by one of the cranes to offload. The teams with the wall have made tremendous progress and the wall now stretches several hundred feet from where they started this morning. If we can continue to make this kind of effort, we’ll be finished long before the summer and good weather leaves. More importantly, we’ll be finished when we still have longer days in which to get the rest of our place in order to prepare for the winter months.

The priority is still with the wall, but I see our next will be keeping enough fuel on hand for the generator and to prepare for the eventuality for when we won’t be able to use it. I still feel we’re under the gun somewhat but looking at the partially built wall, stretching across the now torn up and dusty field, gives me a sense of satisfaction. The feeling and experience I had earlier in the day still sits inside and I’m thankful for it. I’m reminded that there’s a fine line between the satisfied feeling I have now and the total, mind-shattering grief it could have been.

The next day is mostly a repeat of the last with the exception that the mission is centered on short-term fuel gathering and storage. Bannerman mentions the vast amount of diesel we are running through. The semi’s and cranes suck down a tremendous amount. We rig a fuse panel insert onto the towed generator that we can hook into a main building bus panel and travel around to a few gas stations; some we visited yesterday. There are many fire stations in the area and we pick up a couple of tenders (trucks designed to carry a large amount of water), empty them, and pump the diesel into them. We denote “diesel” on the side so, if we decide to opt for this solution for other fuels, we won’t mix them up. I decide on using the fire trucks as opposed to tanker trucks as they have the ability to both pump and siphon.

The wall stretches further by about the same amount as the day before when we arrive after the end of the day. Robert, Bri, and the other civilians we picked up start their training the next day. Bannerman found Lynn her bulldozer somewhere and a long row of dirt lines one end of the field forming a berm wall. She has her shooting range. The neighborhood burn teams have located and brought in four additional survivors. They were holed up in a barricaded house at the end of a cul-de-sac. They mentioned they were running low on both food and water and were hesitant to venture forth to find any with their low numbers. This gives hope that there are others and we’ll continue to look for them as best we can.

We open the doors the following morning to a cloudy and drizzly day. There is a hesitance on keeping the doors open as I don’t know how the cloud cover will affect the night runners. There aren’t any in sight but we delay the start to our day, sending patrols out to verify that the streets and areas are indeed still ours. They come back and report that there are no runners in sight so our day proceeds. Robert, Bri, and the others begin their training under Lynn with some help as needed by the standby team, which happens to be Red Team today.

We discussed, during last night’s meeting, that we should start thinking towards our long-term energy needs so the supply teams are off to find solar panels today. If they can locate them early enough in the day and have time, then they’ll also start cutting back the trees from the wall and its intended route. They’ll use the numerous blocks of C-4 we pulled from the armories to blast out the stumps. The teams gathering the concrete partitions actually found another pile driver at a construction site and are driving it back. That should make the wall progress even further as that is the most time consuming part of building it. I talk to Bannerman about putting video cameras up around the perimeter so we can see what’s going on outside prior to opening the doors, even at night if we need to. I mention we could use the security cameras from the bases as they have infrared capabilities. He said he’ll put that on his list of items for the teams to gather.

Bri asks about freeing the zoo animals at one point during our evening on the roof together. I think about that for a moment and bring it up at the nightly meeting which we now hold after dinner. My thought is that the animals would be dead after this long but the discussion goes that we should look into it, perhaps sending a supply team up the next day to look and see what they can do.

At one point during the nightly discussion, Frank talked about setting up the motion cameras, which are quite prevalent in the store, around to track night runner activity. They flash and take a picture if something moves in front of its sensor. They’re meant to indicate trail movement of animals for hunters but it will serve our purpose. He wants to see what their activity is at night and track it. The exposure records time and date. Frank said he may be able to put together a picture of their nightly movements and see if there is any pattern. Lynn brings up that, if we can discern a pattern or busier places, we can set up traps and the like; tripwires with claymores being the most likely. We agree to have supply teams set up the cameras when they are out at places designated by Frank. They will check them and replace the digital storage every couple of days and move the cameras at the discretion of Frank.

One additional detail mentioned is our water supply. With the generators, it’s a no brainer to power the pump and provide for our needs. However, when the fuel is no longer viable to run the generator, then we’ll have to figure out how to draw the water. Although we have hopefully a year of fuel before it breaks down, that is short time when compared with the magnitude of the problem. I mean, we can haul water up from a river or creek with a horse or horses pulling a wagon with a water tank on it, but it will be easier if we can engineer a solution with the well already in place. Windmills, such as the wind generators that are in abundance in the Columbia Gorge, seem to fit the bill. Engineering them to work with the pump and transport them up will be the challenge but it is a long-term, viable solution.

The days pass as we settle into a rhythm of sorts. The wall extends a great deal daily until it is almost beyond our line of sight. I notice the night runner’s nightly attacks drop off to a degree but they are persistent little buggers. I wonder if it is different packs each night or if they are the same ones hitting us periodically through the night. Another reason might be that they are either dying off or moving out of the area. Frank continues to look at the pictures brought in and recognizes several packs by their clothing. It seems they might have an area they cover but that doesn’t hold true all of the time as some pictures, from multiple cameras spread throughout, show the same packs roaming large areas. His guess is their food supply has dwindled. Some pictures show a new pack arriving or a pack showing up only once. Traps are set in places that Frank indicates as high movement areas. The teams are briefed extensively of the trap locations. We also set traps outside some of the larger building entrances, where there are indications of night runners inside, in order to clear the building out some prior to entering for supplies. Some have to be replaced when the teams are out and note that the traps have been triggered. Night runner bodies lie in the streets where they have been activated. Our doors hold up and we check on the structural integrity daily.

Solar panels are built on the roof, wired into a room we set aside as for batteries, and wired into the main electrical panel. This gives us a respite from the generators that run almost continually during the days and requires us to fill them with fuel on a regular basis. The generators are reset back into their original capacity, to supply power in the event the batteries get low. The backup system is now measured by battery charge rather than a supply through the old commercial lines. Robert, Bri, and I continue to meet on the roof in the late afternoons just before our nightly training sessions.

The training sessions themselves span a variety of subjects. I teach a two day course on indoor search and rescue techniques. Others teach what they know about horses, growing vegetables, fixing engines, building cabinets, anything and everything with more each night. The daily burns continue and we find other people who trickle into our group and find their place; after first being introduced to Lynn and her training. The first training class with Robert, Bri and the original group still progresses with Lynn becoming a little worried about Bri’s intensity in the training.

“She’s become, well, quite enthusiastic,” Lynn reports during one of our meetings.

“Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it?” I ask but I know Lynn wouldn’t mention it if she wasn’t a little worried.

“Enthusiasm is great and she has a lot but there’s an intensity and zeal to it. She’s becoming a little harder inside,” she says.

“Well, I think we all need all little of that but we’ll keep an eye on her,” I reply.

I have noticed the changes in Bri myself. She is still ready with a smile but there is an intensity and hardness in her eyes. I’ve noticed a slight change in Robert as well. The simple fact is I’ve grown a little harder as well. This new world has changed us all but losing Nic has put a small, tougher place in the three of us. I wish it wasn’t true as Nic wouldn’t have wanted it to be that way but it is there nonetheless.

I take some time during our days to visit Nic’s place of rest and have a quiet moment with her. Talking with her and letting her know what we’ve been doing. I get the same flash of movement behind me as before when I drive out of the area and have that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Stopping and backtracking, I still don’t find anything out of the ordinary or what caused the movement in my rear view. A search of the entire area doesn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary. It’s almost too bad the roads are blacktop as I can’t look for tracks.

I also spend a bit of time during the evenings with Robert and Bri going over the helicopter manuals; studying the systems. Time is spent during the days when Red Team is on standby learning to fly the helicopter and operate the systems onboard; the top-mounted camera and equipment. I become efficient at maneuvering and using the systems but not to the advanced degree I’d like. I feel comfortable down low now and nap of the earth flying.

We send the supply teams up one day when we’re are pretty well-stocked to see if there is something that can be done for the animals at a zoo not far away. Since Bri mentioned this, it has been weighing on my mind. I feel bad for not thinking about it myself but the stresses of our situation drove anything else from my mind. I brief the teams not to take any risks entering darkened buildings but to do the best they can. If there’s anything left alive that is. It’s been a long while for the poor, trapped animals without someone to feed them so my hopes aren’t great that many, if any, have made it. I also suggest they free the prey animals first if any are left to give them a chance. Freeing the predators first, or in combination, will not be very helpful for the prey animals. I mean, it isn’t really helping a gazelle if you free it only for it to be brought down seconds later by a lion or pack of wolves freed earlier. I feel this mission is an important one as we are caretakers of the world and have a responsibility towards all life. Yes, I would feel this way for the night runners if they weren’t constantly trying to eat us.

The teams return from the zoo mission to report that many of the animals were already dead in their cages or enclosures. In many instances, there was evidence of night runners gaining entry and killing them for food. There were a few left alive and the teams did the best they could for them. The birds were the largest in number left alive and they merely cut the netting over the enclosures. There was nothing they could do for any of the aquatic animals but most of them were already dead. The thought of these animals trapped and starving to death or confronted with night runners weighs heavily on me. The absolute unfairness of it. The one thing of note is there were several night runners lying in one of the bear enclosures and the team engineered a solution for it to escape and then they beat cheeks out of there.

The days turn into weeks and we are blessed with good weather and long days for the most part. Several days pass with rain showers which slows the progress of the wall to an extent. We take breaks on days of heavy rain, of which there are only thankfully very few, as we don’t want any sicknesses to break out. Being sick in this new world takes on a different connotation as opposed to merely calling into work and laying back taking meds. We have some meds from our excursions but try to limit exposing ourselves to risk. The longest day of the year is behind us but our days are marked by the progress of the wall which grows larger with each passing day. We make the mile adjacent to the Interstate and turn the wall to the west.

We bring in and erect fuel storage tanks in a section of the fields close to the edge of the far parking lot to allow vehicles to refuel. The tanks are located as far from the main building as possible in case of an accident. We make sure to ground them in the event that lightning, rare in this area, decides it would like to pay the tanks a visit.

The long, blessed summer continues. We find other survivors trickling in from both our forages for supplies and our drive through the areas for the burns. Our numbers swell to almost a hundred by the time the wall nears completion. The burns have taken out large tracts of land and have left an overhang of smoke in the area. We eventually clear out most of the city neighborhoods in our proximity. We are fortunate with the layout of the cities in that we don’t have our fires run away from us into the areas where we want to scavenge supplies. The teams allocated for burns are put on a search of outlying areas for survivors bringing in several more; some days finding a few and some none at all. The upper story of our sanctuary begins to get a touch crowded but it’s good to see there are others who have survived. Additional trips to the armories are conducted and supplies, arms and additional vehicles are brought in.

Robert and Bri’s training concludes and I begin taking them out when we have time to add to that training. I take all teams and those who finish Lynn’s initial training through advanced training, designed by Lynn and I, but take Robert and Bri through a little more. I want to give them every ounce of my knowledge and give them every chance at surviving. We still continue to have our little moment of time together, with Lynn joining us, on the roof but have to step a little more carefully with the top covered in solar panels.

Talks during our nightly meetings encompass longer range plans for when the wall is completed. Some of these include bringing livestock and long-term food supplies in, setting up the pastures, feed, buildings, and other aspects to include the construction of a large greenhouse. Bannerman mentions that it would be nice to erect a water tower to pump the well water into and utilize the gravity flow. That would conserve on the pump being constantly utilized and preserve not only our electricity, but the pump itself. He also wants to rig up and install one of the wind towers to make the pumping more of manual process with the windmill. For some reason, both of these seem much larger projects than building the wall.

The day arrives, in late summer, when we are ready for the last sections of wall to be placed. All of us gather outside to watch the wall teams pound the last beam into the ground. Our measurements haven’t been exact and we have to cut the last partitions with a concrete saw but as we all look on, the last partition slides into place.

A cheer rises from the group as the partition settles into place and the crane shuts down. Our wall is built. Four miles of concrete partitions twenty feet high. Our place is as secure as we can make if for the moment. We have a gate spanning the width of the entrance road; two great slabs of steel, which Bannerman managed to locate in a foundry, are bolted into the wall and secured with a steel bar. The gates took some engineering to fit them without handholds that would allow night runners to scale them. The wall itself is set several feet into the ground, thanks to the use of a ditch digger, in case the night runners try their hand at becoming moles. This also adds to the structural integrity of the wall.

Watching the partition slide into place and hearing the cheer, I feel a sense of warmth flow through. I can’t believe we’ve actually done it. I think back to the stresses I had on our journey back and how much of an overwhelming project this seemed. Especially coupled with our having to survive each and every night and gather supplies. We’ve added to our group and built a place to be secure during the night, well, hopefully as it has yet to be tested. We’ve come a long ways from our drifting from airfield to airfield, obtaining supplies and information, and surviving up close and personal encounters with the night runners on a much too often basis.

We celebrate our first night’s rest without the continual hammering at the front doors that night. The peace and quiet we experience is almost as loud in the absence of the constant noise as it was when it was here. We decide for everyone to have the next day off and allow some relaxation and recuperation before we set off on the next phase of our sanctuary. Ah, sanctuary. How sweet that sounds! Robert asks the next morning if he and Michelle can go down to the bay and hang out by the water for the day. Bri asks Robert if she can go along. I tell them I don’t have a problem with that but I want Gonzalez to go along.

“Dad, we can take care of ourselves,” Robert says in response to my request.

“I know you can but you’re taking Gonzalez with,” I reply. “Go ask her is she’s willing to accompany you.”

Robert returns a short time later with Gonzalez, Michelle, and Bri in tow. He asks if I’d like to go along but I know he wants some time with Michelle without his dear old dad around so I make up some excuse for staying. I take Gonzalez to the side and tell her to make sure she keeps them safe; for her to come back at the first indication of something that doesn’t seem or feel right. I tell everyone that Gonzalez is in charge and what she says goes. They depart within the hour with the sun shining down on this glorious beginning of a new day. The wall blots out the view of the immediate area but it’s nice to see it anyway. The mountains still peak above to the east and west.

Their Humvee departs and I watch them disappear over the hill. I look over at the helicopter sitting by itself in a corner of the parking lot and think about taking it up. When out on practice flights, I make sure to drop by Fort Lewis for fuel before heading back so I know it has almost a full tank. The thought of taking it out for a pleasure flight seems appealing with the morning sun casting its yellows rays down and warming the air. It seems like a different place now, almost has a feel of home.

I head back inside after basking for a while in the sun’s warmth and watch several flocks of birds flit about the fields surrounding us. The days are getting shorter now but it is still in the late summer and the shortened days aren’t noticed as yet. I walk over to the base radio area and the maps Frank has set up wanting to check in with Gonzalez. It’s only been a short while since they left and I’m feeling like the worrisome father but I want to assure myself nonetheless.

The radio crackles as I draw near, “Base, Gonzalez here.”

“Base here, go ahead,” Kathy, who is on radio watch at this time, says in return.

“We have a vehicle that has started following us. Large red pickup truck,” Gonzalez’ voice comes through the speaker.

“Tell her to turn around and come back,” I tell Kathy and motion for her to relay the message.

Before she can press the mic button, Gonzalez’ speaks again. “Oh shit, they’re trying to force us off the road,” she says with her voice higher pitched.

Her mic is still pressed but it is evident that she is talking to someone else by the subdued nature of her voice. “Turn the wheel to the…” And there is a click over the speaker as the transmission ends.

# # #

Epilogue

He rises as he has on many nights previous. The breathing of his pack within the darkened room fills to his ears, panting with their quickened breathing. He knows instinctually that it’s time to rise; time to hunt.

The past nights have been episodes of the previous ones, searching for the meager food still remaining in the area. The nights recently have taken on some differences. Several times in the night, while running through the night streets, flashes of light reach out from places as they trot by. The flashes startled him and he searched for their sources the first few times it happened but without finding it. Several loud explosions erupt in the distance occasionally. One night, while investigating the source of one of the loud bangs that rang out in the night, he found members of a small pack lying in the street and on the raised concrete sidewalk; their bodies mutilated beyond recognition.

He knew something new was afoot in the area but lacked the cognitive skill to know what it could be; just that it was. He didn’t know if he should be doing something different or if the new sounds or flashes of light were dangerous. Seeing the other pack lying on the ground, he knew that anything that could bring down an entire pack must be dangerous and avoided but he had no idea what it was that did it. Food remained high on his priority list but safety of the pack wasn’t far behind. He did notice the smell of smoke was now predominant in the air making it hard to locate food unless it was close. He once ran across a large area that had been burnt to the ground; the large swath of ash and blackened area stretching far across ahead of him and running out of sight in each direction. He did know, in a way, that the other two-legged ones, possibly the ones the other packs were trying to get at in the large structure a short distance away, were responsible for this.

On this night, as on the others, he makes sure his pack is awake. One male tries to couple with a female as she rises. He grunts, shoulders the male, and sends the image that now is not the time; they must start the night hunt. The other male grunts in frustration but follows him out of the door. They make their way from their lair in back and across the smooth floor. The smells of rot are strong in this large area but he ignores it and makes his way towards the broken door leading outside. Stepping through the broken glass beside the actual doors, the light smell of smoke replaces the stench inside. He stops just outside, hoping for a scent of food close by, and listens. Strangely missing are the shrieks indicating that other packs are still trying to get to the food in the large building a short distance away. His mind momentarily wonders as to the reason why but then is forgotten.

Not smelling any nearby food, he grunts and starts trotting ahead, deciding to start to his right and away from the large enclosure. Too many other packs will congregate there so his best chance of finding food is away from there. A few steps into the parking lot and his world is suddenly and violently intruded upon. A large flash with an accompanying explosion barely registers as he is catapulted forward. He feels himself slam into the ground and all goes dark.

He awakens with a panicked feeling that a lot of time has passed while he has lain in darkness. The fear arises from not knowing what happened; an instinctual feeling of survival. It also comes from not knowing how long he has lain in the darkness and fearing the painful light will be in the sky soon. His head is pounding and he isn’t able to think very well. He reaches out with his mind but can’t sense any others of his pack nearby. He opens his eyes and raises his head. Relief, well, what he feels as relief, enters as he finds it is still night and death from the light in the sky hasn’t found him.

Pushing himself to his knees, he glances around. The other members of his pack lie on the ground around him; lying still; not moving. There is a lingering smell not unlike when the other two-legged ones made those noises with their sticks that caused the death of some of his pack in nights previous. As he looks around, there is a noiseless click in his head. A warm flush rushes through his head. Images and sounds flood through. He grabs his head, not from any pain, but from the multitude of noise that seems to be dancing inside. Another noiseless click and he looks up in wonderment.

He suddenly senses other packs of night runners as they run through the streets and fields. The ability is no longer confined to short distances. He knows he can push and receive the images of their communication over a greater distance. He also has other memories, of before becoming transformed; that’s how he thinks of it, becoming transformed. He looks up at the large, red “S” on the building that he and his pack, or what was his pack, laired in and knows it is a Safeway store. How he knows that now, or rather, how he didn’t before confuses him to an extent. Not all things come back into memory; how to use items and the knowledge of certain things remain hidden. He doesn’t know what a gun is or how to lock or unlock a door but his mind is still flooded with some memories.

He knows they walked into a trap that killed a lot of his pack members. He realizes he has another language in his mind as he gazes up at the Safeway sign above him. The others running in packs won’t know it but he knows, without knowing how he knows it, that the other two-legged ones have this language. He knows he was once one of them. He also knows that part of him is gone. He is now one of the transformed. The name Michael Benson rings in his mind. He knows that name. He knows it is him. He remembers!

About the Author

John is a former Air Force fighter instructor pilot who transitioned to Special Operations for the latter part of his career gathering his campaign ribbon for Desert Storm. Immediately following his military service, he became a firefighter/EMT with a local fire department. Along with becoming a firefighter, he began a career in the Information Technology industry starting two large casinos in Washington as the Information Technology Manager and becoming the Network Manager for the Washington State Legislature, the Northwest Information Technology Manager for the Federal Aviation Administration, and the Network Systems Manager for Hollywood Video. Currently, John is self-employed with his own Information Technology consulting company, consulting and managing various businesses with their information technology needs. He also volunteers for a local youth center managing their computer lab.

As a former marathon runner, John lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and can now be found kayaking out in the waters of Puget Sound, mountain biking in the Capital Forest, hiking in the Olympic Peninsula, or pedaling his road bike along the many scenic roads.

Connect with me online

Facebook: http://facebook.com/JohnWBObrien

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Web site: http://anewworldseries.com

Also by John O’Brien

A New World Series

A NEW WORLD: CHAOS

A NEW WORLD: RETURN

A NEW WORLD: SANCTUARY

A NEW WORLD: TAKEN

Copyright

Copyright © 2012 John O’Brien

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without permission in writing from the author.

Cover art by: SM Reine

http://smreine.deviantart.com/