Dissension

Surfacing In Wonderland

I am being shaken but it’s a while before I realize someone is trying to wake me. I am barely able to open one eye but make out Lynn standing over me.

“Jack, wake up,” she says.

“I had better be on fire,” I say hearing my voice as if at a distance.

“Come on, Jack, wake up,” she says again.

“I don’t really want to do that just now,” I answer.

“Okay, Jack, you’re on fire,” Lynn says.

“Fine, just roll me over then,” I say but my mind has now caught up to my barely open eye. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get up. You’re going to want to hear this,” she says.

“No, I’m actually not,” I say but rise to a sitting position anyway. “Okay, what is it?”

“There’s someone calling on the radio. Seriously, shake yourself out of it and come downstairs,” Lynn says planting her hands on her hips.

I know this is her ‘I’m being serious move’ and does more to wake me than anything else. I ignored that posture once. That will never happen again.

I make my way wearily down to the radio. Squelch breaks from the speaker and I hear a voice calling, “This is the USS Santa Fe on UHF guard. Anyone read?”

I stare at the speaker as if I have discovered an alien being but the call does shake the last of the sleep from my head. All eyes go from the radio to me and back again. I don’t know why the call sends a jolt of electricity through me or causes stress to permeate my body. I am thinking that an actual military unit showing up could throw our leadership into disarray. Not that I don’t welcome them, it just could mean changes. And the fact that it is a naval vessel could upset things even more. Navy ships operate in a closed environment and are usually run very tightly by their Captains. They don’t like sharing authority.

“I’m no sailor but aren’t only the older fast attack subs named after cities?” I ask the group standing around.

I am met with blank stares and a few shoulder shrugs. I didn’t even really think of subs escaping this disaster. I wonder how many actually did. I know we didn’t have a lot out at any one time because we weren’t facing the threat of the Soviet navy anymore. I think most of them we deployed in recent times were to provide a vanguard for the fleets. However, the brass didn’t see fit to brief me on sub deployments so I haven’t the foggiest idea. The fact is that at least one did and is broadcasting from nearby. At least I assume so unless the UHF is skipping.

“This is the USS Santa Fe on UHF guard. Anyone read?” The radio squawks again.

I reach for the microphone that is being held out to me by Kathy. I don’t even really know how to answer the call. Should I answer with my name or throw my previous rank in to establish dialogue. There’s no doubt that a sub will be handy to have and I would welcome its members and the expertise but how to handle the situation. I haven’t really thought about coming across a regular, intact group of the military. Sure, there was Kuwait but that seems a little different here and now.

“USS Santa Fe, read you loud and clear, go ahead,” I answer, deciding not to give my name or previous rank.

“This is the USS Santa Fe, stand by,” I hear.

Captain Raymond Leonard glances through the periscope seemingly for the hundredth time. Nothing has changed onshore. He doesn’t witness any movement of personnel or vehicles that would normally be associated with an active base. Turning the scope slowly, the waters remain clear of any surface craft. Not that any craft normally transition through the water so close to the sub pens but there are usually some that patrol the waters. Everything remains still as if the world is holding its breath. Gulls wheel about but that’s the only movement he sees. Turning back to shore, he increases the magnification. Captain Leonard sees only an occasional bit of paper swirl, pushed along by the afternoon breeze.

He is uncomfortable with his fast attack sub lying in the shallow waters barely submerged. The observation satellites overhead can easily pick out his position with their MAD (Magnetic Anomaly Detection) detectors. What makes him even more nervous is the absolute lack of communication. He should have heard something by now given that he was scheduled for this arrival. The fact that no one was at the rendezvous, along with the absolute silence of the world around only increases his anxiety.

He removes his eye from the scope and glances at the communications gear. It has been silent for weeks. Even if it was a fleet-wide communication, it should have picked up something by now. His only assumption is that there has been some sort of act against the United States which must have happened quickly. The sub’s radiation detectors indicate normal levels and he is at a loss as to how so many people could have vanished in so short a period of time. The absence of any traffic on the normally busy routes into Seattle, the silent airwaves, and the lack of people dockside cause the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes to become more pronounced with worry.

A corner of his mind is busy with long-range plans. Raymond isn’t sure what he will do if he can’t contact anyone. Restock, that’s number one, he thinks placing his eye once again on the scope. He zooms in on the warehouse buildings close to the submarine pens. It’s from there that he will draw supplies. He stares at the structures as if he can see inside of them and they’ll give up answers as to what happened. They stand blankly gazing back. Leonard wants to surface the sub, dock, and send a party out to see if they can ascertain what is going on. But having spent his whole career in the submarine fleet and in fast attack boats, he is reluctant to surface just yet. His whole life has been focused on concealment and stealth and surfacing, even in friendly waters, goes against his very nature. No, he will wait for a while longer to see if he can gain radio contact.

“Captain?” A voice says from behind.

Captain Leonard backs away from the periscope and lowers it. It’s been up too long but it hasn’t drawn any attention. Turning, he sees the communications officer and nods.

“Sir, we’ve raised someone on the UHF guard frequency,” the communications officer says.

“Who is it?” Leonard asks.

“They haven’t identified themselves. We told them to standby as I thought you would want to be present.”

“Very well. Lead on and let’s see what they have to say. Clear out the comm room,” Leonard says.

“Yes, sir,” the comm officers says, and turns toward the cramped radio room.

Holding the microphone in my hand, I wait seemingly forever. I’m not sure how this conversation is going to go or what they know. I guess I’ll just wait and see. I’m assuming the delay is to notify the Captain. I stare at the mic as if it will give me a glimpse of what they are thinking on the other end. The squelch breaks.

“This is the USS Santa Fe. Who am I speaking to?” A different voice calls over the speaker.

“This is Captain Jack Walker. And to whom am I speaking?” I ask, choosing to provide my previous rank thinking it will be easier to establish a rapport with another military person.

“Captain Walker, what unit are you with?” I hear. I notice the other person doesn’t answer my question as to who they are. I suppose I would be very hesitant as well were I in the commander’s shoes.

“I’m not with any particular unit. We have a few soldiers from various Army and Air Force units in addition to civilians,” I answer. “Again, I ask, to whom am I speaking with and what is your location?”

“Captain Walker, I’m not willing to divulge that information over the open airwaves,” the answer comes.

It’s quite apparent they don’t know what has happened or is going on. It’s possible they were submerged, providing they are indeed in a sub, when everything happened and don’t have a clue as to the new world they now live in. I think of how confusing that must be. As remote as I was when it happened, at least I had some news. For them, this must be like living a Twilight Zone episode.

“I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as national secrets anymore nor much of anyone who is going to hear what is said. I’m gathering you haven’t been briefed and don’t know what happened, right?” I say.

“Perhaps you’d like to fill me in then?”

“I’m not sure I could do that in a week but I’ll give you the cliff notes version. About five months ago, a flu pandemic swept over the world. Four months ago, a vaccine was developed that subsequently wiped out over seventy percent of the world’s population. A major portion, and I mean a major portion, were genetically altered. They are now a different species that are ferocious and attack on sight. We’ve dubbed them night runners because they can only be out at night. A miniscule one percent of humans proved to be immune although that has been whittled down substantially due to starvation, illnesses, and from the night runners,” I say. There is so much more to say but this will give them some information about the new world in which they surfaced. A silence ensues. I’m guessing whoever I am talking to is in a semi state of shock.

Captain Leonard stares at the radio. He can’t believe what he just heard and imagines he is on the receiving end of some hoax. Perhaps some kid has tapped into the UHF emergency frequency and is playing a game with him. Although, the situation onshore and on the usually busy waterways lend credence to what he just heard.

“Captain Walker, stand by one,” he says, trying to keep any disbelief from his voice.

He wills himself to hold the microphone steady. Although there is only the communications officer in the radio room with him, it wouldn’t do to show any nervousness.

“Go fetch the Blue Team leader and bring him here,” Leonard directs the communications officer.

“Yes, sir,” the officer says and leaves quickly.

Captain Leonard mulls over what he has heard and compares it with what he has seen. The two seem to mesh into a consistent story but the story it presents is a far-fetched one. It’s as far-fetched as the one the Blue Team leader told him upon his return from the Philippines. It’s still too far from the reality Leonard left for his mind to wrap itself around. He has been trained to think outside of the box for many years but to return to this? There must be a different plausible explanation but he decides to keep his mind open to any possibility. He wouldn’t have made it through the cold war intact if he wasn’t able to do so.

“Chief Petty Officer Krandle reporting as ordered, sir,” Leonard hears the Blue Team leader report at the door to the radio room.

“Come in Chief. I want you to hear this,” Leonard says. CPO Krandle steps into the room making the tight compartment even more cramped with his bulk.

“Captain Walker, would you please repeat what you just said?” Leonard says into the radio. The words come back just as before.

“Would you please describe these night runners as you call them?” Leonard says.

“They can only operate at night or in darkness, as I mentioned, and they hide out in darkened buildings during the day. They have a paler skin than normal with darker blotches haphazardly spread. They have great night vision, can seemingly hear better than us, are faster, more agile, and stronger. And there’s one other thing you might want to be seated for, we are a source of their food.”

Chief Petty Officer Vance Krandle listens to the words transmitted over the tinny speaker by his head. The words coming out send shivers down his back. He thinks back to his previous mission, the images of Gold Team being overrun and going down under a horde of pale skin people without weapons. The remembered images flash through his mind like a movie on fast forward. The recalled screeches and screams from the buildings and jungle cause goose bumps to sprout on his arms and the hair on his neck to rise. The memory of their chase through the jungle with the hordes on their tail. He remembers the look of disdain Captain Leonard had given him when he debriefed but he knows what he saw and he heard.

Every night he lay in his bunk searching for a different answer, for a more plausible one, but the images were too real. Hearing words that validate his memories is both comforting and shocking. There is a degree of comfort knowing he hasn’t lost it but the shock that what he saw is happening, or happened, on a world-wide basis is almost too much. They lost a good team and his leader to this. His jaw hangs open with the realization that there may be less than one percent of the population left and these things he encountered are roaming across the world he once knew. The fact that they could no longer be at the top of the food chain leaves him shaken.

“Chief Krandle,” he hears, shaking himself out of the reverie the news created.

“Aye, sir,” he responds automatically.

“Do these… things… sound like what you encountered?” Captain Leonard asks him.

“Aye, sir, they could be the same. At least the description matches,” he answers.

“Did you see these things actually start eating Gold Team?” Leonard asks, looking him in the eye with deadly earnest.

“Sir, it happened so quick that I can’t be sure but it did appear that way,” Krandle replies.

“Very well, Chief, you’re dismissed,” Leonard says.

“Aye, sir,” Krandle responds and turns to go.

“Chief,” Leonard says as he is at the door. Krandle turns.

“This is not to be discussed with anyone,” Leonard says.

“Aye, sir,” he replies.

“Oh, and Chief, thank you,” Leonard says.

“For what, sir?”

“For bringing your team back safely,” Leonard says.

“Thank you, sir.”

Chief Krandle heads back to the crew mess where he was downing some of the worst coffee he has ever had with the rest of his team. Ducking through hatches which always seemed too small for his size, he thinks about the ramifications of what he just heard. Most of humankind gone? Less than one percent remaining? Most everyone he ever knew gone? What does this mean for him and his team? Of any of them? And who was Leonard talking to? He heard the name Captain Walker but was this another Navy Captain or someone else in a different branch?How much of the military is left? These questions swarm through his stunned mind. There is little consolation that he was correct in what he saw. He wishes that he was wrong. No answers come to him as he ponders the questions one after the other. Except one. He wants off this sub as soon as possible. He never liked being on them. They are too claustrophobic for him. If there is another operating military unit, he and his team will join them. His falling under Captain Leonard’s command ends the moment his boots touch the shore.

“What was that all about?” His assistant team leader asks as he steps through the hatch to the crew mess.

“Nothing. The Captain had a question,” Krandle answers.

“When are we getting out of this steel coffin?” His point man asks.

“I don’t know. This isn’t the week the Captain sees fit to brief me on his decisions,” Krandle replies. “But if I had my say on the matter, we’d have left fifteen minutes ago.”

Captain Leonard stands in the cramped radio room, although it’s not as bad as it was when CPO Krandle practically filled the room on his own. The possibility of the radio communication being a practical joke left his mind the moment Krandle verified what was said by what he’d witnessed. To Leonard’s mind, that leaves very little else to explain what has happened. Either he accepts what he has heard from two different sources, trusted or not, or he has to give into a large conspiracy. And that seems even more far-fetched than anything else.

He stares at the mic in his hand and, for one of the first times in his life, feels at a loss for words. With his communications officer standing by his shoulder, indecision grips him. Should he brief his officers and come up with a solution or trust this Captain Walker. He feels like surfacing the boat and standing on the deck looking over the shoreline, waiting for an answer to float across the gentle waves. He can always turn around, take his boat back out, and lose himself under the sea. But if this is some elaborate ruse, he could lose command of his vessel and his career will swirl down the drain. He makes his decision.

“Captain Walker, this is Captain Raymond Leonard, commander of the Santa Fe. What exactly did you mean when you said we are their food source?”

“Captain Walker, would you please repeat what you just said?” I hear and repeat what I told them. I’m assuming that whoever I was talking to had someone else listen in.

“Would you please describe these night runners as you call them?” The voice says after giving them the cliff notes version again.

“They can only operate at night or in darkness as I mentioned and hide out in darkened buildings. They have a paler skin than normal with darker blotches haphazardly spread. They have great night vision, can seemingly hear better, are faster, more agile, and stronger. And there’s one other thing you might want to be seated for, we are a source of their food,” I tell them.

There is a significant pause on the other end. I can only imagine how startled they must be feeling. Well, startled is an understatement. I’m not even sure I would believe what I was hearing if I were them. The squelch breaks again.

“Captain Walker, this is Captain Raymond Leonard, commander of the Santa Fe. What exactly did you mean when you said we are their food source?”

“Yeah, Captain Leonard, you’re really going to want to be sitting for this one. Like I mentioned, we are one of their food sources. They will attack on sight and eat anyone they can. They infest darkened buildings during the day and come out at night. I would avoid going into any building at any time,” I answer. “Where are you located Captain?”

“Captain Walker, I’ll determine to what extent I send my men and women into buildings,” I hear Leonard reply. Another pause ensues. “We are submerged in the strait just outside of Bangor. Where are you located, Captain?”

“We should meet then, Captain. We are based down in Olympia, approximately seventy miles south,” I answer. “We can drive up in the morning and meet you at the docks.”

“That’s a little over an hour. What about driving up and meeting us now?” Leonard asks.

“Captain, we aren’t about to leave and chance being caught out after dark. We’ll leave in the morning. I would advise keeping buttoned up during the night,” I answer.

“Very well, Captain Walker, we’ll meet you at 0900,” Leonard says.

“See you then, Walker, out,” I say.

The afternoon passes. The sound of semis and vehicles fill the lot as the sun settles toward the western horizon. The yellow light of the sunny day filtering in through the open front doors slowly becomes an orange hue and the crews filter in after completing their tasks for the day. I still feel exhausted from the night prior and, with the coming meeting with Captain Leonard in the morning, we won’t be heading out in the AC-130 tonight. I am still intent on clearing out the area to deny night runners any sanctuary in our vicinity but it seems like something always comes up to delay plans we make. We still have a lot of area to search for survivors and every day we delay means the possibility of there being fewer left. There is also still the search for the soldiers’ families. I feel on edge and stretched thin. It’s almost too much to handle and think about. Once again I long for the relaxing days in the country, when each day was bliss and relatively stress free.

As everyone heads to the dining facility in shifts, chatter and the sound of meals being eaten drift through the interior. Small peals of laughter rise above the din from time to time. It’s nice to hear and brings with it, a semblance of normalcy. I make my way to the evening group meeting feeling tense about our meeting tomorrow as I don’t know how it will go or even how I want it to go. To catch everyone up, I start the meeting by outlining the conversation with Captain Leonard.

“So, any thoughts on how to handle tomorrow?” I ask, looking at each one.

“Well, I for one think it’s great they showed up and it makes me wonder how many more are out there in similar circumstances,” Frank answers. “However, with that said, I will throw in that ship captains are used to ultimate rule over their domain. Rightly so, considering their position, but this is especially true with sub captains. He’ll be thinking the military is still viable and want to be in charge. And, he’ll be the ranking member present depending on how our date of rank works out. We’ll have to contend with that.”

“Hey, that’s more than fine with me. He can be in charge and I’ll be responsible for making sure the vehicle tires are rotated on a regular basis,” I say, feeling very weary.

“Yeah, well, hmmmm…. You know we still need functional leadership. Maybe you can go kick tires to your delight later. Right now we need to maintain the leadership we have. At least in my opinion,” Greg replies.

“So, we’re back to the original question. How do we want to handle tomorrow?” I ask.

“I think we take several teams up and present ourselves as a military unit and just see how it goes from there. We welcome them in if they want to join us but they have to understand that they will have to fit within our current way of doing things,” Lynn responds.

“What are the chances of them joining us with those stipulations? I mean, they have a vessel that, depending on how much fuel they still have, can function for years. They may choose to stay onboard and use their sub as a sanctuary. I know I would consider it,” I say.

“I would give it about a fifty-fifty chance. They’re still new to the idea that the world is a much different place so they’ll come with the old world mentality,” Frank answers.

“Okay, so we go up presenting ourselves as a military unit and see where the conversation takes us. Lynn, how many teams do you think we should take?” I ask.

“I’m thinking five teams. I’d like to take more but that would put us pretty thin on escorts tomorrow. Assuming we are continuing on with our daily tasks,” she answers.

“I think we need to keep doing what we are doing. Every day we go out there is another day ahead we get,” I say.

“Okay, then I think five teams. That will provide a good front leaving us three full teams here,” Lynn says.

“We really need more teams,” I say.

“We’re almost finished with this current training group. We can look at expanding when they finish,” Lynn says.

“How many more will we have available?” Greg asks.

“We have a good group and we may be able to field another team out of the mix from those in the secondary training. Perhaps another one when those going through the primary training finish their secondary training,” she answers. I would have expected Bannerman to chime in by this point and look over. Instead, he is looking up at the ceiling with his head tilted to the side in contemplation.

“Any thoughts? What are you thinking?” I ask, directing the question to Bannerman. He startles and gives his head a diminutive shake as he comes out of whatever reverie he was in.

“Sorry, the idea of the sub and having fuel for years took me down a side track. You know, if we could bring a sub down into the Olympia port and hook it up, or any sub for that matter, into a power supply station, that could generate power for several years. There’s a lot of logistics that would need to be worked out but we could save wear and tear on the generators. Yes, we will have the solar and wind power but I was just thinking,” Bannerman answers.

We sit in silence contemplating Bannerman’s idea and the ramifications. Yes, it would save on the wear and tear for the wind turbine and generators but there is also the danger it poses if something goes wrong. If we didn’t have the sailors around to help monitor and maintain it, I know none of us would know anything about it. And if something did go wrong, we’d have to evacuate in a hurry. Plus, the rods will wear out after a time and, other than drive the sub out and sink it far offshore, we wouldn’t know what to do at that point in time. As good as the idea sounds, the idea of something going wrong doesn’t sit well with me. The silence continues as the gears churn in each of our heads.

“What about if something goes wrong or when the fuel rods need replaced?” I ask, interrupting the silence.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Bannerman says. “Never mind, I was just thinking. So, where were we?”

“Taking five teams up,” Greg says.

“Alright, which teams?” I say.

“Black, Blue, Red, Charlie, and Echo,” Lynn answers. “We can head up in the buses and pick up troop transports on base on the way up.”

“Okay. It will take us over an hour to get up there so we should leave around 0700,” I say.

“We’ll form up in that order when we arrive. Do we know exactly where we are going?” Lynn asks.

“I’m guessing it won’t be too hard to find. I know where the base is and we’ll just drive toward the inlet once we arrive,” I answer. “What else do we have?”

“The mines have been laid around the perimeter out to a distance of twenty meters and claymores positioned outside of the entrances,” Drescoll says. “We’ve marked the mines and everyone knows not to step within that distance of the walls. The entrance into the compound has been left free.”

“In addition to the skylights, the walls around the maintenance areas were finished around noon and the vehicles were moved in to the buildings. We also moved vehicles into the hangars at both McChord and Lewis. The hangars have windows around the upper levels and are fairly bright during the day so we should be good there. We have progress on the inner compound wall. If we use the wall crews from up north, we can complete that in a couple of days. We also won’t need the escorts as we’re working inside so we’ll only need an escort team for the trucks driving supplies back from the distribution center. We’re slowly getting the water tower up. That will take the most time but I think we have a way to link the wind turbine to the water pump. We’ll be testing that soon,” Bannerman says.

“What about the guard towers?” Greg asks.

“I think we have a design that will work with an overhang and using fire escape ladders. The night runners made it up the ones in Kuwait so we’ll have to increase the height off the ground and lengthen the ladders. I still don’t have a design for the base but am thinking something along the lines of a control tower. That means we’ll have to pour concrete,” Bannerman answers.

“What about tilting storage containers up on end and filling them with concrete for the base? I know we built temporary control towers that way,” I say.

“Hmmmm…. Yeah, that will work. We’ll need to get more storage containers which will mean another escort team,” Bannerman says.

“That will only leave us one on standby and that means we’ll have no one for the night shift,” Lynn says.

“Then we either do a distribution center run or a storage container run. How are we on supplies?” I ask.

“We’re okay for now,” Bannerman says.

“Then let’s go for the storage containers. I’d feel better shoring up our defenses here,” I say.

“I second that,” Drescoll says.

“We’re also shoring up the animal shelters and locking the storage containers at night,” Bannerman says.

“I’d like to add that we need to look at quarters for everyone soon. Bannerman mentioned this and I think it’s important before winter sets in with the shorter days. That will mean more time spent indoors. We’ve already seen some tempers flare. There was one argument this afternoon. Apparently one guy was caught with someone else’s supposed girlfriend. This will only get more frequent if we don’t do something soon,” Frank says. “People are getting more comfortable and feeling safe so they’ll start focusing on other things once their basic needs are being met.”

“Ugh! Okay, let’s get our inner compound complete and work on the design when we get a chance. I’m thinking it should be along the lines of apartments built off the ground with retractable stairs. Maybe built on top of storage containers high enough so that night runners can’t scale or leap to them. And all interconnected with retractable ramps to each other and this building. We should also think about building each with hoists so we can haul equipment, food, furniture, and the like up,” I say.

“When things simmer down here, Bannerman and I will look into getting with others with the right expertise and come up with a design,” Franks says.

“What about our continued search for survivors in the area?” Drescoll asks.

“As much as I hate to say this, we’re going to have to do that on an ‘as we find time’ basis. We also have the search for the families of the soldiers that we’ll have to take care of in short order,” I answer.

“If you taught others how to fly the helicopter, we could do both and not have to wait for you to be available. Or when we have teams available, we could conduct the search on the ground, or a combination of the two,” Drescoll says.

I feel a weight descend on me. There’s just too much to do. I thought the burden would vanish or at least dissipate when finished our little sanctuary but that’s just not the case. If anything, it seems to have grown. There is always more to do and not enough people or time to do it. And then there are the night runners prowling the streets at night just on the other side of the wall. The smallest mistake or the moment we are not one step ahead of them could quickly bring about our downfall. It’s this heaviness that is settling in. I wonder if the others feel it as well. I don’t know if we can keep up with this frantic pace. We’ll have to keep it up but on the other hand, we won’t be able to much longer. If we wear ourselves out, we’re going to start making mistakes or miss something.

“When we have the teams available, let’s send them out for searches without stretching ourselves thin. Coordinate with Frank for the locations and I’ll take others to teach them when I get back from the search for families. I’d like to take the AC-130 up tomorrow to clear more of the area. We’ll have to coordinate for clearing the rubble from the buildings we’ve taken down and cutting the trees back from around the compound,” I say.

“We have some available for that now if we don’t have to provide an escort. We can use the standby team as both parties will be relatively close,” Bannerman says.

“I think that’s secondary right now. The meeting tomorrow and setting up our inner defenses come first. We’ll start ground searches for additional survivors when time and resources permit. Tomorrow, I’ll start planning for the trip for the soldier’s families and head up in the Spooky at night. When we finish the inner defenses and have a plan for the quarters, we’ll start on those. We keep the other projects moving along as planned but I want us to start thinking about a Bio-fuel option,” I say.

“We’re saving the oil we use in the kitchen and I’ll start my research on that soon,” Bannerman replies.

“Okay, is there anything else?” I ask.

“You know, I was thinking of when we talked about the sub supplying power and the problems with that. Do all of the subs run on nuclear power?” Robert asks.

“I think so,” Frank answers.

“Well, are there other subs and do they replace those rods up at the sub base?” Robert asks. “What I mean is, won’t there be the same problems if those subs lose their fuel rods or if they refuel there. Won’t those go bad?”

Stunned silence takes the group. I had thought about the Hanford storage facility in Eastern Washington but I totally didn’t take the sub base into account. The rods, if they are there, will evaporate their cooling water source and contaminate the area. They could possibly taint the waters of the Puget Sound if the tides and currents are right. If the radiation leaks into the air, we are near enough for it to affect us and contaminate our own water supplies. That is something I’ll definitely have to ask Captain Leonard when we meet in the morning.

“Fuck… piss… shit… we’re going to have to ask Captain Leonard about that and a possible solution if it is a problem,” I say. The weight grows heavier.

We break up for the evening and head down to the nightly training session. Lynn briefs everyone on the day’s events. After the training, I trudge slowly up to the cramped space I share with Lynn. Plopping down on the cot, I hold my head in my hands trying to absorb everything we have to do. All the while knowing the night runners have emerged outside, as they will every night. It’s imperative that we clean them out of the area. Thoughts continue racing non-stop in my head as Lynn walks in and sits across from me.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” She asks.

“I don’t know. I sometimes feel that I can’t do this. It just feels like too much and it’s never-ending. We’re going to get tired at this pace, overlook something and then it’s all over. It’s going to catch up to us and trying to second-guess the night runners and their stupid ability to adapt is like trying to hold water in your hand. Seal something up and another place leaks,” I say, wearily.

“Jack, you don’t have to do it all yourself. You’re trying to do it all and taking too much of the load,” Lynn says.

“Good Lord, Lynn. I’m not doing anything. Everyone else is doing it. If we keep this pace and constant stress level, and we have to if we’re going to survive, the mental breakdown will come soon. We’re all going to have PTSD on top of everything else,” I say.

“Believe it or not, these people look up to you and us in the leadership group to make the right choices. We’ve come this far and we’ll make it. We just have to take it one day at a time. You’re loading it all on yourself. You don’t have to run around and be there all of the time. You’re going to wear yourself out,” Lynn says.

“I can’t ask others to go into danger I’m not willing to put myself into as well. I’ve always felt more comfortable being in front and leading from there. That’s just how I’m geared,” I reply.

“I know, Jack. You just need to pace yourself. And when your flying toys get taken away, you’ll be standing around wondering what the hell to do. That’s the moment I’m both looking forward to and not. I know you and what happens when you have too much time on your hands,” she says, smiling.

“Haha… very funny. Maybe I’ll learn to drive a sub,” I answer, looking back and smiling. She always knows how to pull me out of a funk, which is exactly where I was. I can feel a renewal of energy. She’s right, we’ll just make it one day at a time and do the best we can.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what needs to happen,” Lynn says rolling her eyes. “Please give us plenty of warning before that happens. I can see it now. ‘Lynn, would you please come give me a push. I seem to have beached a nuclear missile sub’.”

I chuckle and lie back on my cot. Lynn curls up next to me with her arms wrapped around me. Peace and contentment flood through my body. The weight I felt before feels a lot lighter now. Thoughts still course through my head but they’re eventually pushed to the side as I lie next to her.

Sandra wakes. The hard, wooden floor beneath her is cold and unyielding. Her pack surrounds her providing warmth. The sense of others waking enters her mind. The vast room is filled with other packs but there is still plenty of room for many more. She stirs and sits, readying herself for the nightly hunt. Although she doesn’t notice it on a conscious level, the air is filled with the musky scent of unwashed bodies, the smell of her kind.

She rises and stretches, the kinks of sleeping on the hard floor working themselves out. Thinking of the young one inside, she ponders how the nightly hunt will go with so many. She knows she wants to take her pack up to the area around the two-legged one’s lair. The tug on her mind is strong and she wants to look it over. She doesn’t agree with Michael that they need to pull back. They should attack and eliminate any threat to the packs. However, she doesn’t want to let him know she disagrees as yet. The intrigue with the other one in the two-legged lair is another reason she wants to go there. She doesn’t know exactly what her feeling is, or why she has it, just that it exists. Feeling eyes on her, she turns to see Michael standing in the middle of the open area looking in her direction. The look he is giving her is one of perplexity yet with a searching aspect. She has the feeling he is analyzing her. She returns his gaze. Michael releases his stare after a moment turning to the other pack leaders gathering around him.

Michael rises from resting in the middle of the wooden floor. The jostle of other waking in the lair garners only a little of his attention. Part of his mind is busy with how to conduct the nightly hunt with so many to feed. He knows there isn’t enough food in the local area for a pack of this size. They will have to spread out in order to not only feed for this night, but others. However, the greater part of his mind is on the female night runner, Sandra, who came in with her pack last night. He caught her tight-lipped expression indicating a disagreement with his notion that they need to pull back in order to save the pack from the two-legged ones. There’s also something else about her that he can’t quite figure out. He doesn’t trust her implicitly. She seems to have something in mind but he doesn’t know exactly what it is from her thoughts. She, like him, seems to have the ability to shield herself when she wants.

He continues to look in her direction as she rises from her position and stretches. The good of the pack rests on his shoulders. He wasn’t ready for the gathering as yet but here they are. The other pack leaders gather around him and he senses anxiety within each of them. After all, they came together in a moment of distress. His thoughts return to the night before; the streaks of light streaming down from the night sky. The images and sense of packs vanishing as those lights poured from seemingly nothing.

Every one of them felt the other packs’ demise and they are nervous about the coming night. They all heard the thunderous explosions and saw the large flashes of light throughout the night. Michael wonders if the same thing will occur tonight. Without knowing what it was, he plans to keep the pack away from that area. He will disperse them to the other areas for the hunt. He knows he needs to break them into smaller groups for the hunt and send them into the outlying areas.

Sandra arrives in the circle of other pack leaders. He senses the young one she is carrying within her. There are others who carry young ones as well. These will be the future pack members and leaders so they must be fed and protected. He had given a lot of thought during the time he isolated himself as to how to hunt and capture food, especially with larger packs. He sends images to the pack leaders of how to corner food, come at the food from different angles, and how to drive food into waiting pack members. He outlines areas for each and then sends them on their way with one last image; beware of the thing from above. If they hear it in the sky near them, they are to take cover in the nearest building. For himself, he will go with a different pack each night.

Sandra runs through the street. The sound of her pack close behind her echoes off the abandoned two-legged abodes on both sides of her. Most of the places they traveled this night have been burnt to the ground. In some, only the skeletal remains are seen while others have been razed to the ground. Trees, lining the street and cast in the shadows in the grayness of her sight, pass by as she and her pack search for prey. Michael assigned her pack an area to cover for food. Feeling a persistent tug to the north and the two-legged lair, she has gradually turned her pack in that direction.

She rounds a corner and leads her pack even closer. The houses and trees suddenly give way to rubble and destroyed buildings. She stops and gazes out over this sudden change in their surroundings. Glass and debris are scattered in the open areas in front of each building. Large chunks of the structures lie in the streets before her. She sees wisps of smoke rising from some places where the buildings once stood and an acrid odor permeates the area. She recognizes the scent as similar to that emitted after the two-legged ones fire their guns. Caution grips her as she continues to survey the scene. She feels the restlessness of her pack standing still both behind her and to the side. They all remember the image sent by Michael of the danger above and they all felt the loss of packs last night.

She turns her gaze upward half expecting to see the lights she was sent in the images. The night is silent. The droning she heard last night absent. A shriek from afar carries over the night air. One of the packs has found food. She hears a call from even farther away. A call from one of the larger four-legged ones that also hunt in the night. The stillness returns.

Feeling like she is stepping over a boundary from one world to the next, she takes a cautious step out from the tree-lined street. She feels an increase in tension within those around her. Nothing happens. She steps again and then folds into her customary trot. The others follow. She keeps a constant eye and ear on the night sky. There is only the bright twinkling of the night lights high above.

Farther into the demolished area, she hears faint squeaks and scurries of smaller creatures. She picks up their scents and notices how prevalent they are. There is more than enough here to feed her pack. She turns into one of the open areas in front of the smoking remains of a building avoiding the small and large chunks of scattered debris. She still wants to look at the lair, which she knows is not far away but her pack comes first. And they must feed.

She sets them into the smoldering rubble to pick out the small, furry creatures. As they appear, many run into the small crevices but there are many in the open areas that they run down. Shrieks from her pack fill the night. Quieter squeaks from their prey fill in the gaps of silence. Several members sit amidst the rubble and snack on their catch. Sandra grasps one of the furry rodents in her hands. She feels it squirm and wriggle to get away. A brush from the two-legged one that has haunted her all this time enters her mind.

She feels him nearby. The food she had in her hands drops to the ground forgotten. It squeals and runs away but is unnoticed by her. She detects the other and it fills her. The tug and intrigue increases until it’s all she can think of. She stares into the distance, through the intervening ruins, directly toward the lair where she senses the two-legged one. Noticing her change, the others of her pack halt what they are doing and look at her questioningly. She shakes her head and sends them back to catching their food.

She glances down at her hands, surprised to see the food she had in them is gone. Looking around, she sees other prey across the street and, with startling speed, starts to run to catch it but is brought up short after only three steps. She feels the one again only this time, there is a difference. She sees an image of another female — a two-legged one. She senses the feelings for this other female the one has for her. Anger and a feeling similar to what we would term jealousy fill her. These raw emotions surprise her.

She heads immediately toward the two-legged lair calling to a few of her pack to join her. She has the others wait to gather food, instructing them to feed themselves and kill enough prey for the others when they return. Without waiting for the others join her, she sets off knowing they will catch up. She wants a look at the lair now. She wants to find a way in and kill this other that she now sees as a competitor. Startled by how she now perceives this other one that has periodically brushed her mind, deep down, she knows this is how she always felt. The surge of these new emotions adds to her surprise. Other thoughts and emotions, unknown before this moment, surge into her mind.

She hears the feet slapping on the pavement to her rear as the others catch up. Her long, brown hair, dirty and tangled, flops behind her as she picks up her pace. She winds through more scattered debris with the smell of smoke and the other acrid scent following her. The sense of the other one leaves but she still can pinpoint where it came from. Before long, she comes to the end of the burnt and destroyed buildings. Before her lies a large road. Across it, high walls tower upward. She knows this is the place of the two-legged one and the lair of others of his kind.

The smells of the two-legged ones rise about the smoke and ash smell of the buildings around her. Other scents of large prey filter over the high walls as well. Her stomach rumbles reminding her that she hasn’t eaten and thoughts of feeding her young one rise to the surface. She will scout the lair and return to feed. Killing the other female and having the two-legged one for her own are not far below the surface and have become the foundation for her thoughts and emotions. How she will get the other one is beyond her. She only knows that she wants him.

She leads her pack across the dark strip of road and up the far embankment, stopping just short of the top. The light-colored walls stretch high above her. Looking to her left, she sees the wall stretch off into the distance out of her line of sight. To her right, the wall continues a short distance before stopping. She heads along it and sees that the wall makes a corner and continues past her sight in this direction as well. Looking at the wall, she doesn’t see anywhere that she can scale it. It appears to be too high to leap to the top but she sends an image to one of her pack to make the attempt. The one she sent the image to starts a run at the wall.

A flash of light and explosion fills the night. The blast knocks her off her feet and she finds herself on the ground without knowing how she arrived there. Her mind is stunned from the concussion and her only thought is to flee; flee and safeguard her young one. Her mind is still too shocked to even know how to move let alone rise. Her senses gradually return with the exception that her ears are ringing loud enough to be painful. Sandra pushes herself up onto her elbows and spits dirt and pieces of grass out of her mouth. She feels the grit in her hair, on her face, and covering her body. Looking around, she sees the rest of her pack slowly rising from where they were blown to the ground.

She rises and shakes the debris off her. Looking to the source of the concussive blast, she sees wisps of smoke rising from a large hole in the ground. The night air is infused with the acrid scent she encountered earlier around the demolished buildings. She searches the immediate area for the one she sent to the wall and locates his body covered in clods of dirt. Not sensing his presence, she does see shreds of clothing lying about. Looking down at the ground close by where she is standing, she spots a foot. Sandra takes a step toward the crater and the body of her pack member but she stops, not wanting to go closer in case there are other things that caused the explosion. The protective instinct toward her young one takes hold and she shivers in fear. She turns and flees with the rest of her pack close on her heels.

Captain Leonard lies on his bunk cradling the back of his head with his hands. He flexes his sock-clad feet trying to ease some of the tension he feels while staring at the myriad of pipes affixed to the ceiling overhead. These mostly go unseen as his thoughts race. The information he gathered from the radio conversation today still seems so unreal. He can’t push away the images of what he saw on his journey through the straits and sitting here just offshore from the base. The buildings still stand but the complete lack of movement or people still baffles him. There must be a more plausible explanation than what he received even if it was indirectly verified by the SEAL Team leader.

He asked his communications officer and Chief Krandle to keep silent about the conversation. He knows he has to communicate something to the crew and his officers as they most assuredly know something is amiss but exactly what should he tell them. That is what is currently occupying his thoughts. Humankind gone in the blink of an eye and replaced by some new cannibalistic species. The infrastructure they once knew vanished. If he just springs that on them, they will think he has gone insane. He knows that is what he would think if his captain suddenly told him a story like it. And, if the casualties are as extensive as Captain Walker said, that would mean a lot of the crew’s families would be gone. That news alone might break up their tight-knit group and they need to be tightly knit right now. However, they need some sort of explanation.

He’ll brief his officers after the evening shift change and then make a general announcement. He’ll tell the officers about the conversation but hold their silence as to the exact content and generalize the announcement to the crew about what happened. He’ll tell them that something happened but that it isn’t clear exactly what has happened. He’ll notify them that he will pass along details as he gets them. Until then, it’s business as usual aboard.

The two things he does know is that they will be meeting with this Captain Walker in the morning and that his first order of business will be to restock supplies from the warehouses. They’ll have to surface, send a zodiac in the morning to remove the security nets surrounding the mooring area, and dock the boat. Leonard did notice two missile boats tied up so he’ll take the other triangular berthing area.

Leonard glances over at the 24-hour clock hanging on the wall in his cramped quarters. Evening has just begun and the crew change will take place soon. The computer on his small desk adjacent to his bunk glows with a bluish tint. He pushes back the multitude of thoughts all vying for attention. He will just stay focused on the tasks at hand and tomorrow will hopefully bring more information. These thoughts are interrupted by static from the speaker mounted by the doorway hatch.

“Captain to the control room,” the words echo in the small, mostly steel room.

Leonard swings his legs to the side of the bunk and sits. Lacing his shoes, he runs his hands down his khaki uniform attempting to smooth out the wrinkles. Turning on the water from the tiny sink in his private bathroom, he splashes his face to ease some of the weariness he feels. Drying with the small white towel hanging close by, he makes his way through the hatch to the control room.

Leonard waves away the ritual command of letting everyone know he has entered and makes his way to where his exec is peering through the periscope.

“What do you have?” Leonard asks.

“Movement onshore, sir,” his exec answers, turning from the lens. “It started after sundown. There appears to be people running near the docks. I’ve only counted eight so far.”

All attention in the control room is focused on their conversation. The crew appears to be manning their stations with their eyes on the controls but Leonard knows their attention is attuned to him. The exec steps away from the periscope housing and Leonard takes his place.

The scope is turned to the night vision mode casting the shoreline in a green glow. The objects onshore appear crisp and, with the exception of the night vision, seem the same as they appeared in the daytime. Movement catches his eye and he increases the magnification. The image zooms in and he catches five people jogging together just before they turn between two buildings and vanish out of sight. So, there are people around, he thinks. But why are they out at night instead of during the day. His thoughts turn to the conversation today and the report by Krandle. Neither that nor his quick glimpse bode well although he is still having a hard time rationalizing it in his mind.

He zooms back out and pans hoping to catch a glimpse of others. He sees more movement and zooms in on them. Four others emerge into the open area in front of the docks. They come to a stop. Leonard zooms in closer. He watches as they turn their faces upward and appear to sniff the air. What the hell? He thinks watching them. The one person in front of the other three opens his mouth wide and they all turn to the side with astonishing speed and run up one of the streets leading away from the dockside. What the fuck is going on? Leonard thinks closing the handles and lowering the periscope.

“Have the officers meet me in the mess,” Leonard tells his exec.

“Aye, aye, sir,” his exec replies.

“Oh, and bring Chief Krandle,” Leonard says.

“Will do, sir.”

“Chief, you have the boat,” Leonard says, stepping from the control room.

“Aye, aye, sir,” his chief responds.

Leonard makes his way to the mess and sits waiting for his officers to appear. They drift in singly and take seats after acknowledging him with a “sir”. He returns each with a head nod. Chief Krandle steps in with the exec close on his heels.

“Everyone is here, sir,” his exec says, turning to close the hatch.

“Gentlemen, you all know something has been amiss since we missed our rendezvous escort. Our route up the straits to here has only hammered in that point. I don’t know what is going on but here’s what we know,” Leonard says, starting off the meeting.

He continues to brief his observations and fully discloses the content of the radio communication along with the sightings just a few moments ago. While he has chosen to disclose everything, he hasn’t reached a decision about what to tell the rest of the crew as yet. Leonard asks Krandle to tell his story without mentioning the specifics of the mission itself. The officers sit in silence after hearing the information but are focused on Leonard with rapt attention.

“So, gentlemen, in conclusion, we know that something drastic has occurred during our transit but we don’t know what that is exactly. For now, we will dock the boat in the morning and prepare for our meeting with this Captain Walker. With the exception of the crew on watch, I want the rest stationed topside with arms after docking. We’ll also send a small crew into the warehouses to begin restocking our supplies. I want us stocked and ready to go to sea as soon as possible if we need to,” Leonard says.

“What about the rest of the crew, sir? What will we tell them? They know something is up and the rumor mill has already started making its rounds,” one of the officers pipes up.

“I haven’t decided yet. On one hand, they need to be kept in the loop to prevent the rumors but we also need to keep ourselves together. If they know their families are in danger or possibly victims, we’ll start losing people or they’ll want us to go after them. We can’t afford that kind of fracture,” Leonard answers.

“We could keep the boat offshore so they can’t go AWOL, sir,” his exec chimes in.

“Duly noted but that won’t stop a fracture from happening internally,” Leonard says. “Right now, I think we keep it general. Don’t discuss this meeting or the contents of it with your people. I’ll make an announcement shortly. Let’s get ourselves prepared for the morning. Any questions?” Leonard looks around the cramped mess at each of his officers noting that each has a hundred questions in their eyes but none voice any.

“Okay, if there aren’t any, except for those of you on duty, get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning. Tomorrow will be an all-hands-on-deck once we dock,” Leonard says.

They break up and Leonard heads back to the control room. Grabbing the microphone from overhead, he makes a boat-wide announcement.

“Attention all hands. This is your Captain speaking. As many of you are aware, we missed our rendezvous with our escort and are now lying off Bangor. Something transpired during our transit across the pond. We don’t know exactly what yet but we will dock in the morning, resupply, and meet with another military group to gather more intelligence. I’ll pass information along when we know more. Until then, we are business as usual. That is all,” Leonard says and hangs up the mic.

He then makes his way back to his quarters, slips off his shoes, and lies back staring at the ceiling once again with a hundred thoughts still running through his head.