Dissension

Sam the Unwise

The clouds remain over us on our journey to Fort Lewis. They don’t have the look of foreshadowing rain but they are more evidence of the fall and coming winter. Time continues to tick away. With the exception of the continued signs of night runner adaptability, we seem to be doing well with our own advances. I just hope we haven’t overlooked something drastic. It’s not like we are playing a video game and can pull up our last save if we make a mistake.

We follow the familiar terrain of I-5 north. The leaves of the few deciduous trees in the area are turning red and yellow, giving color to the otherwise dreary gray day the Northwest is known for. It won’t be long until the rains hit. And the shorter days. The grass in the median between the north and southbound lanes has grown tall, so much that the other lanes are hidden behind it. I look in the rear-view mirror and see five other Humvees climbing the hill behind. We take the first turn into Fort Lewis and make our way through the abandoned fort to the maintenance buildings.

I cast my mind out as we drive slowly through the myriad of buildings and adjacent fields. My second shock of the day follows. I don’t sense a single night runner. I cast farther out and only find one small pack nestled in a building on the north end. This is puzzling as I sensed a few of them gathered on our last journey through. Have they depleted their food here and moved on? Are they banding together somewhere else? These thoughts occupy my mind as we progress through the main base and by the commissary. A deer walks into the road ahead, sees us, turns and leaps back in the direction from which it appeared. An occasional bird flutters across the road. No, there’s still food in the area. As we pull into the maintenance area, I continue to puzzle over the absence of night runners.

We park and I join up with Lynn. The other team members exit and fan out in a perimeter. The sound of the Humvee engines idling mixes with that of the soldiers’ boots running on the pavement. I feel the chill of the day seeping through my fatigues. It won’t be long until we will have to start donning warmer clothing underneath. Lynn rubs her hands trying to keep them warm. I think about telling her about the absence of night runners but decide to bring it up later. Right now we need to focus on meeting with the sub.

“Well, do we take Bradleys, Strykers, or just transports up?” I ask.

“The Bradleys will just tear up the roads and I’d feel more comfortable having some armament available. We haven’t been up in that area as yet and don’t know what to expect,” she answers.

“Maybe we should just fly up. I’m pretty sure they have a small airfield there,” I say.

“You said we could only carry two Humvees in the 130. That would take us forever to transport the five teams unless it’s right next to where the sub will be,” she responds.

“I don’t think it’s that far but it would still require a little hike. So Strykers it is then,” I say.

“We can carry three teams in two Strykers but let’s take three Strykers and two Humvees, one ahead and one behind,” Lynn says.

“Sounds good to me,” I say.

Lynn turns and has three brought out of the maintenance building. The heavy whine of their diesel engines fills the air, overriding the idling Humvee engines. Lynn talks with the team leaders and has the teams form up into vehicles. I’ll be in the lead Humvee with Robert, Gonzalez, and McCafferty. The rest of Red Team will ride in the first Stryker. Lynn will bring up the rear with Frank, Bannerman, and one other Black Team member. After test firing the.50 cal M2 machine guns mounted on top and checking the targeting systems, we start our convoy out of the maintenance area.

We backtrack to the main gate and turn north on the interstate. Cars begin to pile up in the right lanes similar to those in the Olympia area as we near one of the exits to one of the hospitals in the area. We track over to the far left lane and are able to squeeze by the stranded vehicles. Some, like those farther south, have their doors open as people must have tried to get to the hospital on foot. Our Humvee squirts through with little room to spare but the wrenching sound of metal being ripped apart comes from the Stryker behind. I look in the rear-view and see sparks fly as one car door is torn off its hinges by the mammoth vehicle.

The Tacoma Mall lot is as empty as before. I look over the concrete barriers now separating the two lanes of traffic, searching for the car that was destroyed when I tossed the wrench out of the 130 seemingly so long ago. There are a couple of cars in the lot but I can’t make out that particular one. My thought momentarily drifts to Andrew. My guess is he either found his parents and stayed or didn’t make it. I send him a quick thought of hope.

We take the highway 16 exit and proceed through Tacoma toward the Narrows Bridge. Green exit signs track our progress. The signs indicate various Burger Kings, McDonalds, and Dairy Queens that won’t ever dispense their fast food again. Seeing the signs reminds me of the movies I saw where archaic relics of the past would pass by, indications of a time past that will never be again. So much has changed, the signs seem almost alien to me now.

I look over at the rooftops of the residential houses that line part of the highway. I think about the lives that once lived under those sheltering roofs. Bookshelves filled with books that will never be picked up and read again; once best sellers with rave reviews splashed against the front covers. The hoopla about their release now a forgotten memory of a world that once was. Photographs capturing happy moments with families and loved ones together now gathering dust. I look along the empty highway which once had cars stacked bumper to bumper as everyone tried to get to their nine to five jobs. The hectic rush in the morning and evenings and days filled with the stress of having some project or another to complete. The honking and gestures from impatient drivers. Yes, that world definitely seems the alien one to me now.

We continue through the sections of Tacoma, residences giving way to businesses and back to residences. Rounding a corner of the highway, the Tacoma Narrows Bridge looms ahead. The light green twin suspension bridges running in a close parallel arch over the deep blue waters of the narrow strait between Tacoma and the Kitsap Peninsula. I radio the others in the convoy that we’ll be stopping just prior to the approaches. Before crossing, I want to scope out the other side. It’s hard to anticipate everything but if we are able to see trouble before it happens, well, when is that ever a bad thing.

I pull into a paved open area before the lanes split to the entrances of each bridge. Two of the Strykers stop behind in tandem and I see their.50 cals swivel to cover the sides. The other Stryker comes to a halt behind covering the rear with Lynn pulling her Humvee up and parking next to mine. The chill of the morning hits as I open the door and walk over to her window. There’s still not a breath of air stirring. The rumble of the Strykers is the only sound. Standing at her window rubbing my arms to ward off the chill, I look to the bridges. Their arch prevents me from seeing the other side nor can I look around them from the sides.

“What’s up?” Lynn asks rolling down her window.

“I want to take a look before we cross. I’ll drive up to the middle and take a peek at the other side. I know there’s a residential area just over the other side and a small airport close by to the left. I just want to make sure it’s clear before we cross,” I answer.

“Yeah, I knew there was an airport close by,” she says.

“You did?” I ask. She merely points to the big green sign by the side of the road which says, ‘Tacoma Narrows Airport, 1? mile’.

“Yeah, I guess that would be a clue,” I say chuckling.

“Do you want me to come up with you on the second bridge?” She asks.

“Nah. Just hang back here and I’ll radio if it’s clear,” I reply.

She nods and rolls up her window. I walk back to my Humvee still rubbing my arms and looking at the gray clouds overhead. They aren’t moving and it seems as if the world is holding its breath. As I climb back in, I hear the radio crackle with Lynn radioing the others.

“We’re going to the top of the bridge and scope out the other side,” I tell the others with me as I pull into the lanes of the bridge on the right.

“Hooah, sir,” Gonzalez says beside me.

“Damn, do you just wait for the opportunity to say that?” I ask, looking over at her. She is staring straight ahead but I see the corners of her mouth crawl up in a smile.

“My day wouldn’t be complete without saying it to you at least once, sir,” she says. “I like to watch you roll your eyes.”

I hear Robert chuckle in the back seat. We pull onto the bridge and begin driving up the curved arch. The waters below are like the roads we’ve encountered — empty. This part of the waterway was always filled with white streaks of boats heading across the waves. Now, it’s almost glass smooth with the occasional ripple.

We climb higher and just crest the topmost part of the bridge. Crack! A spider web of fractured glass appears on the windshield just on my side of the middle post. In my peripheral, I see Gonzalez’s startled response as she ducks. My heart jumps and I crouch as well slamming on the brakes.

“Fuck! Is everyone around hostile?” I say, throwing the Humvee in reverse.

Adrenaline floods my system as I step on the accelerator and reverse quickly back down the slope of the bridge. My mind makes out that I saw a flash of light at the far end of the bridge just before the impact of the bullet on our windshield. I bring the Humvee to a stop when we are no longer visible over the top of the bridge.

“Everyone okay?” I ask quickly.

“Except for needing a new set of fatigues, I’m just fine, sir,” Gonzalez replies.

“I’m good here,” Robert says. “But I’ll second the needing new fatigues.”

“Good here, sir,” I hear McCafferty, manning the M-240, shout from the open hatch.

“Okay, good, wait here,” I say, grabbing a pair of binoculars, open the door, and step out onto the paved surface of the five-lane bridge.

There is a pedestrian walkway to the right side of the bridge and I run over to it making sure I am far below the line of sight from the far side of the bridge. I hop over the railing and slowly crouch up to a point just short of the top. Apparently seeing me back up hastily and run across the bridge, Lynn calls.

“Everything okay, Jack?” I hear her voice in my earpiece.

Hitting the push-to-talk, I answer, “Just peachy. Someone took a shot at us and I want to get eyes on the bastard.”

“Is there another way around?” She asks.

“Not unless you or anyone here knows how to drive a ferry,” I reply.

“African or European?” Lynn asks.

Great! I’m surrounded by comedians today. “Bravo, Mike,” I respond.

“Awww…. you do care. What about just rolling the Strykers up?”

“We may just do that. Standby,” I answer.

I lie down and crawl the rest of the way on the hard surface. The cold seeps through my sleeves and pant legs as I make my way to the crest. Ready to slide back down the crest in case someone sees me and wants to take a shot, I bring the binoculars up.

Down the curved arched roadway, on the far side of the bridge, I see a line of cars and trucks spanning across the lanes of both bridges. The magnified view brings everything into a sharp focus. Behind the cars blocking the lanes, I count twelve people lined up across the hoods, roofs, and trunks. All of them have rifles of some sort aimed toward where we appeared. Seven are aiming across the vehicles toward the bridge I am on and five have their weapons pointed up the span adjacent to me on the left.

I watch as several more cars enter the highway from a nearby ramp and park. Ten more people exit the vehicles, extract rifles and join the others behind the roadblock. I’m thinking they must have some form of communication and have a fortification somewhere near to be alive with the night runners about. How many more may be there is open to question. However, they’ve shown their intentions and I don’t mean to stick around and jabber with them.

“Lynn, run a scan on the UHF frequencies. Pay particular attention to the four-sixty megahertz range,” I say using my throat mic. “Let me know what you hear.”

“Wilco, standby,” I hear her response.

I’m thinking if they are communicating with radios, they’ll be using the FRS channels common to most two-way radios. I am about to put the binoculars down and inch back when I spot another pickup truck appear from farther up the highway. It comes to a stop behind the blockade. A man exits and walks to the front of the truck. One of the people at the cars sees him and trots over. There’s a lot of hand pointing toward our position and an obvious conversation is taking place. I zoom in closer on the two.

The one who trotted over, holding his rifle casually in one hand, appears to be doing the most talking with more hand gesturing. The driver of the truck shakes his head and, although I can’t tell clearly from this distance, appears to start yelling at the other one. His body language indicates he is not happy. I don’t think I would be either if one of my guys just plinked a round at a military vehicle from behind a flimsy roadblock. The driver pushes the other one toward the line of vehicles. Shaking his head again, he then stomps back to the truck. Swinging the door open, he reaches inside and brings something to his mouth.

“Jack, Lynn, over,” I hear.

“Yeah, I’m here, go ahead,” I respond.

“I just picked something up on four sixty-two dot seventy-one twenty-five,” she says.

Bingo. “What did you hear?” I ask.

“Well, someone named Sam talking to Roger and he didn’t sound too pleased. He told Roger to round up the troops and then get aloft to report what he sees because, and I quote, ‘Numbnuts here just fired on a military vehicle’,” Lynn answers.

“Okay, lock in that freq and monitor it,” I say.

“Will do,” Lynn responds.

Well, that’s enough for me. We don’t have time to play ‘let’s get to know one another’ as we have to get up to Bangor. I also don’t know what type of aircraft they have that they’re sending aloft. I’m guessing some single-engine civilian type but I really don’t want to find out they have an A-10 stashed away or some World War Two fighter that’s armed. I’ll give the communication with them one shot but I’m not dilly-dallying around. If they want to play games, we’ll roll through them and be on our merry way. I take another quick look around to see if they have mines or some IED’s on the ground. I don’t see any and inch backwards out of the line of sight, rise, and trot to the Humvee. Turning the vehicle around, I drive back to the end of the bridge and pull up next to Lynn. I gather the team leaders around detailing what waits for us over the rise of the bridge.

“So, what’s the plan?” Lynn asks, stomping one boot on the ground to shake out the chill.

“Well, let’s try this communication thing once and see if they won’t open the pearly gates for us. If we get ‘entrance denied’, then we’ll roll up and over them,” I answer. I reach in the Humvee and grab the mic.

“Sam, this is Captain Walker on channel seven,” I say. Silence.

“Sam, I know you can hear me and it’s in your best interest to respond,” I say, staring at the empty bridge ahead.

“This is Sam,” I finally hear his words crackle over the speaker in the cab.

“Would you like to explain why I have a broken windshield?” I ask.

“Sorry for firing on you, Captain. The boys are a little trigger happy,” Sam answers.

“Yeah, you might want to get a handle on that,” I say.

“Are you with the military?” He asks.

“Is that a serious question?” I ask in response. “And you shot without provocation.”

“I do apologize but we can’t just have anyone coming through,” he replies.

“Look, we just want to pass through. We’re not looking for anything other than that and we’re not just anybody,” I say, getting irritated. Time is elapsing and we need to be moving on.

“I’d like to do that, Captain, but we can’t let you just go through. If we did that, then others would see and think they could try as well. They’d come in and try to take our supplies,” Sam says.

“What others?” I ask.

“There are others in the area looking for any weakness and we can’t afford for that to happen,” he answers.

“Look, we have a safe place and you and your group can join under us,” I say as a way or reconciling this situation.

“Thanks, Captain, but we have our own safe place here,” he responds.

“Well, Sam, this is the only route and we’re coming through,” I say.

“Sorry, sir. We can’t let you do that military or not,” Sam replies.

I hear the sound of a prop engine revving up across the water. At least it’s a prop, I think getting more irritated by the minute. I don’t really want to unleash the.50 cals on them as they are only trying to protect their own as well but we need to push through. I look up at the unmoving gray clouds overhead seeking an answer. They have none to give. I’m getting tired of this little tete-a-tete. It’s getting us nowhere and I can’t for the life of me figure out why they would want to stop us. Surely they know they have little chance. If that aircraft gets aloft, they’ll know for sure. I ponder over whether to just let it describe what we have on this side but I’m not a fan of just letting an aircraft roam overhead.

“Last chance, Sam,” I say.

“I’m sorry, sir. You can go around to the south. There’s a route to the north from there,” he responds.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. You either let us through or we’re coming through,” I say.

“Again, sorry, sir,” Sam responds.

“It’s your funeral, Sam,” I reply, sighing and shaking my head in resignation.

Stubbornness is going to get him and lot of others killed. We could radio the sub to let them know that we’re running late but to go all of the way around would take us a couple of additional hours each way. Who knows how long our meeting is going to take and we just don’t have that kind of time before the sun hits the western horizon. I look again to the empty lanes of the bridge stretching across, sigh, and reach into the Humvee to replace the mic. I look over at Lynn who gives me a shrug of her shoulders as if to say ‘we tried’.

“That could have gone better,” I say in response to Lynn’s shrug.

“It’s not like we didn’t give them a chance,” Lynn says.

I still don’t get it. We are on the very brink and need to pull together rather than play games. I can understand Sam’s position though. I’m not certain I would let anyone roll through our area at will but neither would I jeopardize our group with stubbornness. But given the option of strengthening our group with numbers to give us a better chance at survival, I would take it provided our safety and cohesiveness remained. But here we are, facing yet another group of people that we’ll have to fight our way through.

This is different from out other situations though. This isn’t a group of marauders or bandits. This group across the span from us is just trying to protect their people and resources. Much like we are. If we roll through them, are we any better than marauders seeking their own gain regardless of others? I mean, we could radio Captain Leonard and head on the other route around the Puget Sound tomorrow. That will take us through a few small towns which could be blockaded as well. Either solution doesn’t sit well with me. Well, fuck. We did give them a chance and we are pressed for time. And they did fire upon us without provocation, accident or not. I’m not happy with it but we’re proceeding along our route as planned.

“Jack, are you with us?” Lynn asks. I shake out of my thoughts and look at the others gathered around in the chill under the gray skies.

“Yeah, I’m here. Okay, here’s what I’m thinking but I’m open to suggestions. We take two Strykers in parallel up the bridge on the right with the other Stryker and the two Humvees astride on the left. We’ll crest and fire into the road block creating a lane to pass through. Our field of fire will be limited due to the bridge superstructure. Make sure to keep our rounds away from the suspension wires. I’m not all that keen on bringing the bridge down with us parked on it. That belongs on the unfavorable situation list. You dump me in the water and I’m going to be a little upset. We open a lane through on each side and push through. Any questions?” I ask.

“What do you want to do about the aircraft?” Greg asks.

The Strykers idling nearby are blocking other sounds but I still faintly hear the props of the aircraft in the distance carrying over the waters. It won’t be long before it powers down the runway and gets aloft. I’m nervous about what they’re about to put aloft but, by the sound of the engine, it isn’t overly large. If it was an old World War Two bird, there would be a definite roar instead of the motor boat sound coming to us.

“I’m not a fan of letting it roam freely and give them free intel but this should be over quickly. Lynn, you keep an eye on it and if it comes at us, call out and we motor forward quickly and through. We can’t shoot at it without taking out guide wires so let’s push forward to the other side. If it continues to come at us in a threatening manner, we take it out. I’m guessing there’s another road block farther up the highway. If it follows at a distance, there’s not much we can do but keep an eye on it,” I answer. Heads nod in response.

“Anything else?” I ask, looking at each to see if there are any further questions or issues. No one says anything.

“Alright, if there’s nothing else, then let’s mount up,” I say.

McCafferty stands in the open turret of the Humvee gripping the M-240. She feels the cold through her gloves as they motor up the Interstate. Turning and looking behind her, she sees the nose of the Stryker behind as they make their way through the line of cars in the lanes beside them. The balaclava she has wrapped around her head and the goggles do little to stop the chill from seeping through. The Humvee rocks as they drive over an object in the road. Her splayed feet on the gunners stand helps to keep her balanced but her arm still knocks into the cold steel of the roof opening. Regaining her equilibrium, her thoughts wander.

She thinks of her parents and is filled with mixed emotions. There is joy at finding her dad alive and having him up here with her, but there is a tremendous sadness that settles in her heart thinking of her mom. The sorrow and grief threatens to overwhelm her and she feels warm tears fill her eyes. Keeping most of her attention focused on the area around her, images of her mom form in McCafferty’s mind.

She remembers her mom puttering around the kitchen with flour covering her hands and in her hair from some baking project. She always had fresh pies and bread ready to deliver to neighbors or to take to church, the smell of fresh bread permeating the house. Her mom standing over the kitchen counter humming while kneading the dough. Memories surface of her mom tirelessly roaming about doing laundry, sweeping, and changing bed linens. She remembers her mom putting on her favorite dress for church and helping McCafferty with hers when she was young. There were the times when her mom took her out with her new bicycle and taught her to ride, picking her up the many times when she fell in the their dusty yard. Always dusting her off and giving her words of encouragement. Clapping when she managed to make it down the entire driveway on her own. The twinkle that always shone in her mother’s eye. The memories of her mom waking early and herself waking to the aroma of breakfast wafting through the house. The peace and contentment McCafferty felt waking to the smell of bacon as it drifted in her room.

Although her dad felt he ruled the house and made the decisions, McCafferty always knew her mom actually did but with a softer touch. Her mom never had a bad thing to say about anyone and would admonish her dad gently when he would make critical comments. McCafferty remembers going to the grocery store and her mom chatting with anyone and everyone in line. Now she is gone like so many others, just another on the long list of those lying in the emptiness of the world. McCafferty reaches under her goggles and wipes away the tears that are running down her cheeks.

“I love you, mom, and miss you so much,” she whispers.

Although grieving for the loss of her mom and thankful for her dad making it, she is also thankful for those around her. Even though under constant tension and danger, she is relieved to have found herself in such good company in this strange new world. She is grateful for the camaraderie of Red Team and the bond they share; for Jack and Sergeant Connell. Grateful for Jack and his leadership even though she mentally shakes her head at his plans and actions at times. She’s glad for Sergeant Connell and respects her toughness in the same way she does Gonzalez. She has grown close to Gonzalez in the past few months and admires her quick wit and her ability to maintain her composure and humor in pressure situations. Yeah, she’ll follow any of them to the ends of the earth. Which, she thinks, is here and now.

She knows they’ll make it through this together but she wonders if the stress won’t get to them eventually. Her tours in Iraq and Afghanistan have shown her that, even with the best of them, the strain gets to everyone eventually. The hope arises in McCafferty that they reach a point of safety soon as she has seen an edginess grow among the other soldiers. She feels it within herself; jumping at any sudden noise.

The one thing she is most thankful for is that they don’t have to venture into any more darkened buildings. That creeped her out each and every time and filled her with more fear than she has ever known. The quiet was probably the worst part. A shiver runs down her spine as she remembers the buildings, the dark under the green glow with lasers tracking, the shuffle of footsteps on dusty floors, and the occasional whisper or quiet voice on the radio. The team or teams venturing farther into the building not knowing if there were any night runners within. She remembers the tension pulling her every nerve tight not knowing when or from where an attack would come. The attacks always came on suddenly and they were lucky if they had any advance warning by hearing something or catching a glimpse. Sometimes they were set upon by a mass of them which forced them out and other times by only four or five. Any thought of a night runner fills her instantly with an intense dread.

She pulls her focus back entirely to the area around her as a bridge looms ahead. It’s actually two bridges running in parallel. The light green of the towers and suspension lines rise toward the gray clouds hovering overhead. The lanes widen as they rise upward and are lost from view as they reach the top to begin their downward arch on the other side. Her Humvee pulls to an opening in the middle just before the bridges. She braces for the stop keeping her weapon aimed at the topmost part of the spans, alternating between the two bridges. McCafferty first hears and then sees Sergeant Connell’s Humvee pull up adjacent. Jack emerges from just in front and below her, walks over to the other Humvee, and talks with the First Sergeant. Upon his return, she hears him tell them that they are going to the crest and scout the other side. She hears Gonzalez give a “Hooah” and smiles as she visualizes Jack’s customary eye roll at the phrase. They all get a kick out of that and do it as often as they can without overdoing it. With him having spent some time with boots on the ground, Jack’s not like the usual Air Force zoomies with their swagger and country club demeanor but he shuns anything he sees as gung ho.

The Humvee lurches forward and they proceed slowly in the middle lane up the arch of the bridge. McCafferty glances at the blue waters below, turned more leaden by the clouds overhead. She tenses as they approach the crest not knowing what to expect. The far side of the bridge is slowly revealed the closer to the top they come. A loud crack and bang coming from the windshield just ahead and below startles her. Hearing the whine of a ricocheting bullet as it passes just off her left and into the air above, her heart races with the sudden release of adrenaline and she cringes to her right before bringing the M-240 to bear to her immediate front.

McCafferty hears Jack shout “Fuck!” below her but the rest of his words are lost as she is thrown forward from a sudden halt. She is pressed there as the Humvee is thrown in reverse and begins to traverse quickly backwards. Pushing rearwards, she rights herself just as the vehicles comes to a stop and quickly brings the gun to bear once again. Ahead, only the top of the lanes are in view. She remembers catching a glimpse of a line of vehicles strewn across the bottom of the bridges on the far side before Jack drove them back below the crest.

“Everyone okay?” She hears Jack call out.

She hears Gonzalez’ response and smiles although the near miss still has her heart racing. Inside, she couldn’t agree more with needing a new set of fatigues. Her hands shake from the adrenaline. Expecting something or someone to appear at a moments notice, she keeps her weapon trained on the empty lanes ahead of her.

“Good here, sir,” she replies after hearing Robert answer.

“Okay, good, wait here,” Jack says and exits the Humvee.

While keeping an eye to the front, she watches in her peripheral as Jack runs across the road and vaults a railing near the edge of the bridge. He almost disappears from sight as he first crouches and then crawls along the outer walkway. Her heart has slowed somewhat but nowhere near normal and she feels the chill creep back to her hands and face. Hearing the conversations between Jack and Sergeant Connell, she watches as Jack returns a few minutes later and they drive back to the group.

Rubbing her gloved hands together to shake off the chill, she observes the team leaders meet while keeping an eye on the gray lanes arching ahead. The adrenaline has subsided to an extent but some remains as she knows action is imminent. Jack reaches in to grab the mic and she listens in on the conversation between him and whoever is sitting on the far side of the bridge. Having served in the sandbox a few times, she is used to this kind of action and the having to wait, but to have to do this here, in her own country, just feels strange. Her body and mind are tired after days of constant danger and not knowing what to expect from minute to minute. It’s getting to her and she feels the weariness of it all. Her only hope is that they reach a point of stability where they can unwind soon. The only thing keeping them together right now is their camaraderie; their watching after each other.

She hears Jack’s sigh as he hangs up the mic. She knows he must be tired as well and feels his exasperation. As if the night runners aren’t enough, they have to deal with others. The chill settles deeper into her bones and the mental tiredness seems even more pronounced. The conversation made it clear that they are going into yet another battle. She shakes her head wondering what it is about human nature that creates these situations. Can’t they just see they have to be pulling together rather than isolating themselves. She can almost understand the marauder mentality more than this situation. They’re just bullies who take what they want and always have. Here, the two groups aren’t that much different from one another and have much of the same ideas and goals. Mentally, she hopes that Jack will decide to take the other route mentioned. She’s just doesn’t want to be involved in yet another firefight. They are bucking the odds as it is and every engagement lowers those odds even more.

McCafferty ducks her head inside as Jack climbs in and relays the plan. She feels her heart beat faster but it’s inside a tired body and the familiar adrenaline surge doesn’t appear. They’ll be through this quickly, she tells herself knowing the surge of adrenaline will come soon. Rising back through the opening, she checks to ensure her weapon is ready to go. They’ll be paralleling the Stryker on the left bridge and she’ll throw her rounds into the fray once they start. She feels exposed sitting up here but understands the need to gain fire superiority at the outset. That has been drilled into her head during countless other engagements. It still feels strange here but she trusts those around her and won’t hesitate. She keeps her eye out as Jack mentioned they would be bugging out if there were any signs that the other group had rockets or some form of anti-armor.

The throaty growl of the Stryker diesels increases as the engines rev up and the big vehicles move online. Two Strykers move to the lanes leading up to the bridge on the right. The third moves to the middle of the left hand bridge. McCafferty grips the M-240 as the Humvee lurches and moves alongside. There’s the adrenaline, she thinks as the chill of the day fades into the background. It’s go time.

They begin to move forward. Her grip tightens as her entire focus is on the terrain slowly appearing as they near the crest. Inch by inch the trees and hills on the far side make their appearance. The line of cars she glimpsed seemingly hours ago will appear as her line of sight passes the top and begins to track downward. Her vision takes in the barrel pointing ahead and aligns it with the top of the roadway and the slowly appearing terrain beyond. The rumble of the engine next to her drowns out any other sounds although she thinks the thumping of her heart gives it competition. The tops of the vehicles on the far side come into view. Her breath quickens.

With a squeal, the Stryker next to her lurches as it pulls to a stop. McCafferty braces herself as Jack brings her Humvee to a stop as well and she sits staring along the dark gray lanes stretching ahead, arching downward to the cars and trucks across the roadway ahead. Small figures crouch behind trunks, hoods, and roof tops with their guns pointed her way. Feeling exposed, she swivels the gun back and forth watching and waiting for the first blink of light from beyond that signals gunfire. Glancing to the side, she sees the two Strykers adjacent on the other bridge. The smell of diesel exhaust drifts on the moist air and she can almost taste its acridness. Stillness descends as the two sides stare across the open space between them… waiting.

Movement below draws her attention as she sees Jack grab for the radio mic. Amid the rumble of the vehicles next to her sending tremors across the bridge and up through her feet, she barely hears Jack say, “Last chance, Sam?”

Looking back to the front, she sees a miniscule flash of light from behind the cover of a car directly in front of her. Instinctively ducking, she catches sight of a spark flashing off the hull of the Stryker next to her. The whine of a bullet streaking off into the air behind causes her to flinch. Crouched, she hears Jack issue a “Stupid Motherfuckers” almost under his breath. Rising back to her weapon, her ear piece crackles.

“I guess we have our answer. Let them have it,” Jack says.

Loud, sharp, staccato bursts erupt next to her and from across the narrow expanse leading to the other bridge as the Strykers send their.50 caliber rounds streaking down the wide lanes. McCafferty swings her weapon and adds her 7.62mm rounds into the fray. Spurts of smoke leave the Stryker barrels as each round departs. Tracers stream above the dark gray asphalt and impact the glass and metal of the blockade vehicles attempting to halt their progress forward. Heavy thumps and the sight of glass shattering fill the far end of the ramp. Sparks fly where the heavy caliber rounds hit and punch through the thin metal. The dim light of the gray morning catches the shattered glass sending sparkles as the pieces launch outward and tumble through the air. The stuffing from seat cushions puffs into the air where they are torn apart.

The rounds crash through the vehicles like butter. Large holes appear in the sides of the cars and trucks. Shards of metal are thrown outward from the collision of the heavy rounds and thin steel. Doors fly off their hinges, some falling straight to the ground. Stryker turrets whine as the guns track across the line of vehicles. Bullets crash through, impacting with bodies in their firing positions and strike the pavement beyond in a flash of sparks. A faint pink mist fills the air where rounds meet soft flesh and bones. Bodies are flung backwards heavily crashing onto the pavement. Arms are severed or nearly severed from the heavy impacts. Heads explode spreading chunks of brain, flesh, and bone into the air.

The stillness of the morning is now broken by the staccato bursts of the heavy guns and the crash of impacting rounds. Feeling the vibration of the M-240 in her hands, McCafferty watches the devastation below. Faint sounds of metal screeching as if in agony reach her ears between bursts of fire. Those below scream as the violence is visited upon them and mix in with the vehicles being hammered. The back end of one car rears up from an explosion as rounds find the gas tank. It flips into the air and crashes down on top of a blue sedan next to it. Flames and smoke pour from the undercarriage. In mere seconds, the ground on the far side of the bridge is turned into a mass of torn metal, glass, and bodies. McCafferty watches as those still alive from the onslaught turn and flee to the sides. She lets up on the trigger as it’s obvious those that made it through the few seconds of carnage are giving up and fleeing for their lives.

I watch the carnage and destruction on the ramp below. The screech of torn metal drifts into the Humvee above the sharp firing of the.50 cals and the chattering of the M-240 under McCafferty’s care. The tracers of the larger caliber guns seem to hang in the air as they drift downward to impact with tremendous force. The tracers of the 7.62mm rounds mingle with the others. Metal is torn and thrown about to my front as the rounds tear their way through. I watch as a body leaning over one of the car roofs is picked up and thrown backward with force leaving just a pinkish mist floating where the body was. Those remaining behind the cars flee. The guns cease firing and, with the last of the shell casings tinkling on the metal floor of the Humvee, silence descends.

I barely hear the engines idling. My ears ring due to the din of the guns firing. I look down at the shredded vehicles ahead. A door falls from one of the cars to the ground, the sound lost. Except for the small flames licking the undercarriage of the flipped car and the smoke rising on the still air, nothing is moving. In just a matter of moments, the destruction is complete. I make out a couple of bodies lying on the pavement beyond the blockade. One person struggles to rise from the cold asphalt but gives up and slumps to the ground.

“Alright, let’s push forward. Strykers in the lead. Lynn, follow and I’ll bring up the rear. Watch to the sides for stragglers who might want to get a last shot in,” I say with a heavy heart. I hear variations of “moving out” over the radio.

I still don’t follow the logic of Sam not letting us through. Well, I do understand but looking at the carnage below, it just seems like such a waste. I hear the heavy whine of the Stryker’s engine rev up as it begins to pull ahead. I turn and pull on McCafferty’s pants to get her attention. She looks through the opening and I motion for her to get inside. It seems over for the moment but I don’t want a stray bullet from the side causing any casualties as we pass through.

Lynn waits and then pulls her Humvee in behind the advancing Stryker. I watch as the Stryker turret swings to the left as it approaches the far side. Glancing over at the other two Humvees moving forward, I start ahead making sure I have spacing on Lynn. I don’t see any of those that were at the blockade nor do I see any flashes of light or any other indication that they are firing on us. The Stryker ahead plows through the gap left by the flipped car. Hitting two adjacent vehicles in the front and back respectively with a loud clang and a protesting squeal of metal, it shoves them back creating a larger path. Smoke from the smoldering car envelopes the Stryker causing it to vanish momentarily as it passes through.

The Strykers on the other bridge shove vehicles aside in the same manner. Lynn’s Humvee follows the path through and vanishes from sight. Passing quickly through the lingering smoke, we emerge on the other side. Torn metal and shattered glass lie scattered on the pavement. Four bodies lie motionless amidst the devastation caused by the heavy bullets. Wet spots circle the bodies and run across the uneven lanes. I spot a severed arm near one of the mangled cars. As we continue on, I look to the sides watching for any indication they are waiting on our flanks. The only movement is the tail end of the truck Sam was driving heading down a side road toward the airport.

“Jack, we have an aircraft overhead on our seven tailing us,” I hear Lynn say.

I take a quick look behind us and see a small single engine aircraft a few thousand feet up paralleling our route. I haven’t heard any radio traffic on their channel in the past few minutes.

“Lynn, run another scan across the channels,” I say.

“Wilco,” she replies.

“We’ll let it be for now. Everyone push on but keep your eyes open. There’s bound to be another roadblock ahead,” I say.

I don’t want to have us stop to warn the aircraft away or take it down. I’m not a big fan of it above us but am willing to trade that for speed through the area for the time being. I’m sure it’s radioing our position to any others who happen to be around. We continue on the highway in the opposite lanes keeping our spacing. I’m rather thankful I haven’t seen any form of rockets as that would make a short end to our rendezvous with the sub.

“I’ve picked up radio chatter on four sixty-seven dot fifty-eight seventy-five,” Lynn calls.

“And?” I ask.

“The aircraft is relaying our position to someone else and telling them to vacate. I’m assuming it’s the aircraft calling as I can hear its engine in the background,” she answers.

“Okay, lock it in. Let’s continue forward and keep alert,” I say. Passing by toll booths on our side of the highway, I see the Stryker ahead of us round a curve.

“We have another roadblock two hundred yards ahead. No sign of anyone,” I hear it report.

“Hold up and blast a hole through. I don’t want to be surprised by any gifts they may have left behind. Watch to the sides,” I respond.

I see Lynn’s brake lights and bring our Humvee to a halt. McCafferty climbs back to man the M-240. Seconds later I hear the sharp chunk — chunk — chunk of the.50 cals opening up ahead. Minutes later I hear “It’s clear” and I have everyone advance. The Strykers carve a way through the vehicles as before with Lynn and me following on the left. This already seems like a long day and it just began. I’m hoping we don’t run into anything else along the way. Although our time table hasn’t been upset to any great degree, I’m eager to get north and meet with Captain Leonard.

It’s going to be a long day as I plan on taking the Spooky out tonight. There’s still so much to do. It seems like the list just keeps getting longer and I’m not overly thrilled about the changes I’ve noticed in the night runners. Casting out briefly, I feel a few faint presences scattered throughout the area. Even with this recent action and the upcoming meeting with Leonard, the night runners still weigh heavily on my mind. I think again about telling the group but I’m not sure of what their reaction will be. Lynn seems to think they’ll be stunned at first but okay with it. Me, well, I don’t want to chance that or create any division within our tight group. We need that right now but they also deserve to know. Yes, I seem to have a life filled with quandaries. Sighing, I maneuver through the gap created by the Stryker and notice the aircraft turn back.

We pass by a warehouse park with a mass of parked tractor trailers; reminders of a time that has passed. Another residential neighborhood slides by and we are soon through the Gig Harbor area without any further incident. Fir trees and cedars begin to line the road on both sides. They are completely oblivious to what just occurred and anything going on with the few of us who are left. They will continue on just as they always have. I think about calling Sam on the radio to see if he wants join us but may on the way back. Right now, my mind is on getting to our rendezvous and the meeting itself.

Beads of moisture begin to accumulate on the windshield from low-lying mist in the air. The trees along the sides have a silvery tint from droplets clinging to their long branches. The lowering clouds create a world of gray and green. Some of the few deciduous trees have started to turn, lending some color, but it’s almost washed out by the overcast day. Miles of trees pass by the windows with the windshield wiper getting an occasional swipe across to clear it.

Soon, the water of the bay leading into Bremerton appears. The highway swings around the tail end of the bay and the old aircraft carriers parked along carrier row come into view. They are now very much like the rest of world; relics of a time past and sitting in their final resting place rusting away to nothingness.

Low lying clouds hang close to the still waters with the waves barely making an appearance. White specks of gulls hover close to the shoreline and a couple of teals pass across the waterway with their wingtips barely clearing the surface. Where once the waters were rife with traffic and ferries plowed the sea lanes carrying tourists and commuters, nothing of that nature now stirs.

The road branches carrying us away from the inlet and farther to the north. We swing into a column file and I take the lead once again. Bremerton fades behind and, passing a large mall, we leave this vestige of a once flourishing civilization. Houses give way to more forested hills as we make our way closer to Bangor. I was expecting more roadblocks or other indications of survivors but no one greets us. The pockets of other survivors we have found seem to be at random without any consistent factor that I can see.

We arrive at the entrance to Bangor. Not knowing what to expect, I feel a little nervous about meeting with Captain Leonard. I know I would enjoy having them join up with us but don’t want to have a clash of personalities that could tear apart the close bond we have within our community. The sub could give us a potential for movement along the coastal areas and provide a power source should the ones we have fail for some reason. Besides having more people to help with survival and protection, it will give us more flexibility when the aircraft join the carriers and other vestiges of civilization sitting where they lie and slowly dissolve into rusting hulks. Mostly though, it’s about drawing the remnants of humanity and survivors together.

We drive slowly through the entrance gates. The clouds are hovering on the tree tops, their highest points shrouded and lost in the gray. Droplets condense on the windshield. Making our way through the empty tree-lined streets, we arrive on a hill overlooking the docks and waterway. Two triangular concreted docks jut out into the water. The pier on the left houses what appears to be two large missile boats. On the right, I see the low lying black shape of an LA class fast attack sub. Small white objects are in a row as sailors line the deck. We have arrived.