Dissension

A Meeting of Minds

Captain Leonard wakes early. His rest was a restless one with so much running through his mind. It just seemed like his mind wouldn’t shut down long enough for any beneficial sleep. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened or is happening and his mind won’t quite wrap around what Captain Walker or Chief Krandle have said. He wants to believe what they are saying and watching the people onshore last night lends credibility to their stories but this seems too much like the zombie stories a lot of his crew seems to be into.

Rising and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he dons his shoes and leaves his cramped quarters. Listening to the reports from the night watch, which is nothing much except for seeing more people run through the night, he peers through the scope at the lightening day. The low gray clouds, hovering close to the waterline, makes visibility difficult as he turns through a three-sixty watching for signs of life. Nothing but an occasional flash of white as gulls dot the shoreline and pier. There is no evidence of those he saw last night. The shore seems still… hesitant… waiting.

Leonard tells the crew to prepare to surface the boat. His chief has readied crews to board the zodiacs to open the perimeter nets so they can slide inside and dock. He also had the chief ready other teams to go onshore to find supplies. That remains his priority — resupply his boat to be ready for any contingency. Depending on how the meeting today goes, and perhaps regardless of it, he needs to restock. He might head down the western seaboard and possibly to Hawaii hoping to gather some additional information along the way. His only worry is about their limited arms and lack of training. The fact that he has a SEAL Team alleviates this to some extent but it remains a concern nonetheless. The crews sit at their stations in their white uniforms ready for the all-hands-on-deck greeting. Checking in with his communications center and verifying that no additional traffic has come in, he tells the office of the watch to surface the boat.

The Santa Fe slowly rises above the frigid waters of the Sound. Water pours off in sheets from the black surface with its anechoic coating. Waterfalls stream off the bridge cockpit through drain vents. The once dreaded, silent hunter of the seas rises from its hidden lair, baring itself to the observed world. Small and sleek, it appears like a ninja stepping out from a dark shadow.

On surfacing, the bridge crew races up the ladder. Opening the watertight hatch, they step onto the bridge and begin their lookout duties. On the lower deck, hatches open and crews emerge dragging inflatable zodiacs onto the black surface. Readying the craft, they motor over to the floats bobbing on the calm waves to open the protective, submerged netting. After some time, they create a hole for the sub to motor through.

Leonard climbs and steps onto the bridge. The low clouds and early morning cast a dim light over the dark waters. Watching the crews work with the nets, he sees them create an opening. He orders the boat in. The sleek bow responds and, turning toward the docks, the Santa Fe, his pride and joy, rides slowly upon the dark waves of the inlet. Looking down, he sees some of his crew emerge from a hatch and line the deck with the few weapons onboard.

The Santa Fe glides slowly past the zodiacs and eases up to the concrete dock. He sees the dormant missile boats tied to the adjacent pier and wonders if there are any other surviving boats. The lack of communications seems to indicate that he may be the only one although the others may be keeping a radio blackout. If there are any others, they should have responded to his attempts at communication although they may still be proceeding underwater. He’ll keep the comm center manned and flash regular messages in an attempt to raise others.

The zodiacs motor in and pull up to the dock. It takes some time but they eventually tie in with the dock and the gangway is lowered. The occasional cry of a gull, the drip of water still running down the sides of the boat, and the soft lap of waves against the concrete dock are the only sounds. The base remains silent and there is no sign of the people who ran through the night.

Looking at his watch, there’s little time until their appointed rendezvous with Captain Walker. He calls down to have the chief ready the resupply teams. Several minutes later, the teams appear and begin making their way across the gangway. Leonard watches as they walk up the pier and disappear around a corner as they proceed toward one of the large warehouses in the distance. The remaining crew members climb the ladder and gather on the deck. Several rub the white sleeves of their uniforms as they attempt to ward off the chill.

Soft murmurs arise from the crowd above the faint slapping of waves and cry of birds flocking the area. Another faint sound arises on the moisture-laden air… vehicles approaching. The crews form up in a row, those with weapons are dispersed among them. Captain Leonard makes his way down and onto shore with CPO Krandle and his SEAL Team close behind. Standing on the dock, he looks up. On the rise above the docks, he sees a Humvee appear with more military vehicles behind. He watches with a sudden apprehension as they start down the road towards him.

We start down the steep decline toward the docks. Although I’m not usually nervous about meeting anyone and really never have been in the past — after all, we all put our pants on the same way — I feel apprehensive about this one. I’m not really sure why. It’s not like we’re going to trade gunfire and I know I won’t allow anything to disrupt the harmony of our group. Working together is the most important thing right now. Well, anytime. I just know it’s going to be a hard sell with a submarine captain. I can almost feel the personality conflict. I try to keep my mind open as this may not be the case but anticipate it anyway. I’m not out to rule over anyone nor do I have an ego so big that I think my way is the only way. Or our way for that matter. My main goal is for the safety of the group, with my kids coming first.

I eye the boomers sitting silently parked at the docks. My thoughts quickly go to the possibility of learning the systems and holing up there. Parking off shore and coming in for supplies. Those boats are pretty self-sufficient. Yeah, let’s see the night runners swim the strong currents and try to penetrate those. That seems like an impossibility though. The systems will break down regardless of the long-term viability of the propulsion system. No, we have carved out our place and, although the night runners seem to be adapting amazingly fast, we’ll have to make do with what we have. Still, I park the idea in the back of my mind.

I pull alongside the piers and park. The Strykers and Lynn’s Humvee park in line behind. Opening the door, I hear a clang as the back doors of the Strykers drop. Lynn’s shout of “Form up” echoes across the silent base and adjacent waters. Boots pound across the pavement, muted to an extent by the moisture in the air, accompanied by the rattle of gear. The intrusions of noise are sudden but over quickly as the soldiers find their places. Robert and the rest of Red Team riding with me trot over and take their place in the formation. I’m left alone for a moment.

Shutting the door, which adds its metallic slam to the noise taking place, I glance down the dock seeing one man standing by the sub with a team behind him. The others gathered with him are dressed in camo uniforms marking them distinctly different than the sailors lining the low deck of the sub. I walk to the start of the dock and am joined by Frank and Bannerman. Lynn announces that all are present and accounted for before directing the teams to parade rest.

Silence descends, all sound seemingly absorbed by the gray cotton of clouds just overhead. I feel the moisture in the air condense on my face and in my hair. The fog is just a few scant feet over my head and the chill I felt before intensifies. I know it won’t be long before my fatigues are completely damp. I feel the nervous energy build inside as I look down the dock where the other men stand. Again, I don’t know where this feeling is coming from. I should be elated to find the crew and another group of survivors. I take a deep breath and feel the calm return. With a nod to Bannerman and Frank, I start walking down the wide concrete path.

Dressed in a dark pea coat with a braided officer’s hat, the man whom I assume to be Captain Leonard starts towards us with his small group of six in tow. I look Leonard over as he approaches. Tall and thin with short-cropped dark hair lined with silver, he has the pale skin common with submariners. His angular face with deep lines in the corner of his blue-gray eyes, his long, thin nose, and his confident stride mark him as a man to be reckoned with. We meet a short distance down the pier.

I stop with Bannerman and Frank behind and to each side. He comes to a halt in front of us, his stance rigid. I know he expects a salute but I stick out my hand not wanting to set a senior officer/subordinate tone.

“Jack Walker,” I say, holding my hand out. He has a look of uncertainty which disappears quickly.

“Captain Raymond Leonard,” he says returning my shake.

I don’t miss the fact that he threw his rank in. I also note his quick glance at Bannerman and Frank noting their ranks. Another quick look of puzzlement crosses his face as, I assume, he is wondering why there is a major and colonel behind a captain. In the world past, due to his rank, Frank would have been the one in front talking. I observe the relaxed stance of the men behind Leonard taking everything in without being overly obvious. More interesting are the SEAL badges sewn into their fatigue tops.

“What unit are you with, captain?” Leonard asks, emphasizing the ‘captain’.

“We’re not with any particular unit. What you see is what’s left of various units. Most here are from Army units but we have a scattering of others. What exactly do you know about what happened?” I ask.

“Only what I’ve heard from you and the chief here,” he replies with a brief nod toward one of the men behind him.

I am about to ask what he’s been told by the chief and the story there when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I look over to the side and see a group of men heading across an open area toward one of the large buildings nearby.

“Are those your men?” I ask, pointing to the men and fearing they are actually about to head into the structure.

“Yes, captain, they are. We’re resupplying,” Leonard answers, narrowing his eyes.

“Are they going into that building?” I ask, hoping for a negative reply.

“Yes. That one and several others in order to restock our supplies,” he replies.

I turn back toward Leonard momentarily. “Seriously? You did hear what I said about going into buildings, right? About what happened and what is going on?”

Without waiting for a reply, I turn my head quickly back toward Lynn. She is standing in the center front of the teams watching our little group. Even from this distance, I see her eyebrows rise wondering about my quick movement. She knows me well and realizes that something is up.

“Lynn!” I shout and point toward the men about to enter a door into the warehouse. Lynn looks to where I am pointing. Seeing the men poised at the door in the near distance and knowing their intentions, she turns toward the teams standing at parade rest.

“Black, Blue, Charlie Teams on me,” she shouts, knowing exactly what is about to unfold.

Amid a clatter of noise from weapons being readied, Lynn begins trotting toward the warehouse. With their boots pounding on the hard surface, the three teams follow. The eighteen men and women head toward the large building in an attempt to stop the inevitable yet knowing they won’t be in time to stop the other group from entering.

I watch them race after and hear Lynn shout at the group from the sub to get their attention. I see no reaction from the people at the door and know Lynn won’t be able to get there in time. I cast out quickly and sense night runners within the warehouse and in several buildings in the area. My only hope is that Lynn and the teams arrive in time in order to get those starting to enter out safely. The thought of putting the teams at risk entering a darkened building arises. I have a momentary thought of not putting them in harm’s way but there are people in danger. We are here and if we can help, well, then we have to.

“Lynn, there are night runners inside. Watch your asses in there. Assess the risk and get out if you need to,” I say.

“Copy that, Jack,” she replies over the radio.

This happens in mere moments. I hear a clatter of weapons directly behind me. Turning, I see the SEAL team has brought their weapons up. Not aiming at us but definitely ready to do so. Looking over at the sub, I see several sailors lining the sub deck aiming weapons in our direction.

“Captain, those are my men and under my orders. We have every right to enter any facility on this base. As a matter of fact, being the ranking member here and with what you have told me, you are technically under my command. As far as I can see, I am the ranking officer on this base and therefore the acting base commander. You will tell your men to stand down,” Leonard says. His head is thrust forward with his lips drawn tight with determination. His eyes narrow.

I hear movement from the remaining teams. Glancing behind, I see Greg has spread out the teams in reaction to the sailor’s reaction. They have taken cover behind the vehicles. Soldiers climb in the Humvees to man the M-240s. Within seconds, the whine of the Stryker turrets reaches across the dock area as the guns are brought to bear. Tension fills the moisture-heavy air.

“Captain, they’re not going to stop your people, they’re going to try and rescue them,” I say, holding up my hand to Greg telling him not to take any action. I turn back to Leonard.

“Rescue them? What do you mean rescue them?” Leonard asks, his voice rising.

“You heard when I told you about the night runners, right? That building you just sent your men into is the perfect lair for them. They hide in darkened buildings. Your men will get torn apart inside. Did you send them in armed?” I ask.

Leonard stares at me for a moment. I can almost see the gears within turning. Whether he is thinking about his answer or absorbing the information is beyond me. The silence is virtually complete. Waves lap gently against the concrete dock. The cry of a lone gull drifts across the open waters. The faint sound of boots running on the ground as the teams race to the warehouse. The cotton gray of the clouds lie just overhead as if held up by the tension of the moment, muffling all sounds. Turning his head, Leonard gives a signal for the sailors to lower their weapons.

“No, Captain Walker, they are only armed with flashlights,” he finally replies.

Lynn watches as Jack and the other group comes together. The teams behind her are in formation at parade rest. Although she doesn’t think any violence will come from this meeting, she stands ready for anything. Everything she has gone through since waking and seeing her feverish roommate back in the sandbox has taught her to be ready for anything. The rules and the assumptions that governed society before everything went to hell have been thrown out of the window. Not only have they been thrown out, but they have been wiped out. The world is now filled with the unknown.

Night runners, bandits, small pockets of survivors, dwindling resources, and their own very survival fill this new world. Every day seems to bring something new and to let down your guard for a moment is an invitation to potential disaster. They have made it far in a short period of time but how long can they keep this up. There was a reason for soldiers to be rotated after a year. What will happen to them if they are still in this after a year… after two? Will they constantly have to react to how the night runners adapt? How far will they be able to adapt? What is up with some seemingly turning back? Will that happen more? Could it be they only have to hold out for a certain time and all of the night runners will eventually become human again? These thoughts hold her mind as she watches Jack, with Bannerman and Frank behind him, converse with this Captain Leonard.

Jack points off to the side and, after a second, turns quickly toward her. By his movement, she knows that he is worried about something. She has seen it enough times to instantly know something is wrong. The previous thoughts leave her mind. She tenses, ready to react to what is amiss.

“Lynn!” Jack shouts and points off to the side.

She looks and sees a group of people gathered near a door to a warehouse a short distance away. They appear to be about to enter. Immediately knowing they don’t know the danger they are about to enter into and sensing that Jack’s call was for her to gather teams to prevent or help them, she turns to the formation.

“Black, Blue, Charlie Teams on me,” she shouts.

She makes sure the teams are ready and then begins trotting toward the large warehouse hearing the footfalls of the teams behind her. She knows immediately they won’t be able to reach the people in time to prevent them from going in. Gathering her breath, she shouts out to them attempting to get their attention. No response. Fuck, she thinks and picks up her pace. She hopes she can reach them before they venture too far inside. If she can reach the door quickly, she can shout inside for them to get back out. She feels the heightened rush of adrenaline knowing she may have to enter into yet another darkened building. This is fucking shit, she thinks as she watches the last of the group disappear into the open door of the structure.

“Lynn, there are night runners inside. Watch your asses in there. Assess the risk and get out if you need to,” she hears Jack on the radio.

“Copy that, Jack,” she replies. This shit just gets better and better.

She knows what Jack is saying between the lines. If the risk to the teams is too great, he wants her to pull the teams out regardless of the situation. They had this discussion a while ago in the gym rescuing his kids and the others held captive. Some of those they had rescued wanted to go to the bathroom and she was to provide escort. Jack has told her to pull back if they were attacked and let the others fend for themselves. She argued that she wouldn’t leave them defenseless and that’s not what they were there for; they were there to protect. Jack had agreed with that but losing the teams would leave everyone else without the protection they needed.

While the events of the past months have changed her way of thinking to a certain degree, she still feels that sense of protecting those that need it. It’s a core part of her; help those that need help regardless of the risk. She understands Jack’s concern. If they lose teams here, that would leave the compound with less to defend it, especially with the night runners showing their tremendous ability to adapt. This is the quandary she finds herself in — what is the acceptable level of risk? For her, there is no limit to the risk in order to help someone but who is it they are there to help — those in the compound or the ones directly in front of her. They both need levels of help. Well, fuck it, I’ll try to help the ones here to the level I can without losing the teams, she thinks as they close on the building.

Lynn folds against the outside wall next to the open door. The clouds hang close to the tall roof of the cream-colored warehouse. Looking at the building closely for the first time, she realizes just what they are up against. The door she is next to is near the far left side with large sliding doors in the center of the building. This is evidently a large storage facility meant for trucks to enter and fill with supplies. Looking along the front of the structure, she notes the complete absence of windows. Quickly walking to the corner and peering along the wall there, she sees a similar sight; cream-colored sheet metal walls stretching high without a door or window to mar the surface. The inside will be pitch dark. She reaches up and feels for the NVGs fastened securely to her helmet.

Turning back, she sees Horace, with her Blue Team against the wall on the other side of the door. Behind Horace, Mullins waits with Charlie Team. Her own Black Team is pressed against the wall on her side. All have their weapons ready to bring to bear. She knows each and every one of them dread heading into yet another darkened building. And Jack telling her there are night runners inside, well, she can take that one to the bank. A trickle of thought enters that he broadcast that in the open and it will be noted. Looking at the teams tense and ready, she feels her own tension drawn tight like a drawn bowstring.

Pressing the mic button on her throat mic, she says, “Horace, you have the right, Mullins the left. I’ll take the center. Twenty feet in and be ready.” Lynn watches Horace nod and Mullins give a thumbs up.

“Jack, do we have comms with the group inside? Are they armed and do they know we are coming in?” Lynn asks.

A moment passes before the answer comes, “No, they don’t have any radios and aren’t armed. Watch your ass.”

“Isn’t that your job?” she replies.

“It is and a wonderful job it is. The view is incredible,” Jack answers.

“Good answer. See you in a sec, Lynn out.”

Lynn settles herself by the doorway. Peering in, she notes that the darkness is nearly complete. The light from the opening extends only a few feet in before disappearing into an inky abyss. The sub tied to the pier a short distance away is forgotten as she looks into nothingness. Her heart races as she knows what lies within. She feels the tension quivering inside her yet, at the same time, she feels a certain calm settle in knowing it’s go time. The chill of the morning is lost as her entire attention is focused on the task at hand.

The shriek that emits from within startles her and causes her heart to jump. Night runners are indeed laired within and have either noticed her and her team or the others that entered only minutes ago. She swallows and takes a deep breath.

“Okay, ladies, that’s our cue,” she says. Flipping down her goggles and, bringing her M-4 to bear, she steps in the doorway.

She is immediately lost in the blackness but her goggles bring everything into focus with a green glow. The interior is largely open. Several trucks are parked near the front and farther back with a few propane-driven forklifts scattered throughout. Large crates and boxes are stacked along the side and beyond the vehicles forming small mountains with aisles running farther back into the building between them. The back of the warehouse is lost behind the first large stacks.

Her head turns to the left and right; up and down. Searching. Anticipating night runners to immediately launch themselves at her. Her laser casts a thin beam of light everywhere her eyes look. Nothing. The quick rush of noise from clothing and boots follows her in as the others enter on her heels. She stops twenty feet in feeling the rest of Black Team fall in beside her. Her goggles pick up seventeen other laser beams as they dart about the interior. Toward the rear of building, several flashlights shine upward from amongst the boxes. Lynn catches a couple of flashes closer by. She wants to call out for those inside to leave but they are too far to the rear of the warehouse. Any call will alert the night runners and bring them upon the hapless sailors inside.

“Okay everyone, take is slow and easy. We’re heading to the right along the front doors. Keep our current perimeter. Horace, when we reach the front doors, I want you to see if you can get them open,” Lynn says over the radio.

“Copy that, first sergeant,” Horace replies.

“Right behind you,” Mullins responds.

“These people don’t know we’re in here so watch your targets. Keep your eyes open. Move out,” Lynn says.

Lynn can feel her heart thudding in her chest as they begin making their way along the front wall. Boots scuff on the gritty concrete floor along with the soft swish of clothing rubbing together. Thin beams of light streak out across the interior as they cover their individual sectors. An occasional murmur rises from the others inside as they apparently search out the area for supplies. She doesn’t know why the group from the sub didn’t just open the front doors. Perhaps they don’t know what they’re dealing with, she think mentally willing them to keep their voices down. The last thing they need right now is to alert the night runners she knows reside within.

There was that first shriek that sounded out just before they entered but the mass that would usually follow didn’t occur. She thinks again to call out to alert the other group that they are in but that would definitely alert any night runners. She feels put in a difficult position. If they can get the doors open, she’ll call out to them that they are in danger and for them make their way swiftly to her. The light shining in will give them an area of protection.

Twenty feet in and keeping their outer perimeter, a canvas covered supply truck blocks her immediate path. She turns the rear corner quickly and aims inside. Her barrel tracks left and right as she searches the interior. Fully expecting a shriek and a night runner to launch at her, she is relieved when the truck turns up empty. Fuck I hate this, she thinks skirting the rear of the vehicle. I just fucking hate being in these fucking buildings. Stupid motherfuckers! Why did they have to come inside?

More murmurs of conversation arise from amongst the stacked crates as the teams make their way cautiously to the front sliding doors. Lynn wishes once again that those inside would just keep quiet. They’ve been lucky so far with the night runners and she is actually amazed they haven’t been set upon yet. Before, it didn’t take long until the night runners were aware of them and assaulted. The fact that there are night runners inside yet they haven’t attacked makes the quiet all that much more eerie. Surely they must smell them by now.

“We’re at the doors, first sergeant. They look motor driven,” Horace reports. Looking toward the short distance separating her from Blue Team, she eyes the large doors. From what she can see, they seem to roll on sizeable tracks.

“There must be a manual override. We’ll hold here for a moment. See what you can do. Break. Jack, Lynn here,” Lynn whispers into the radio.

“Go ahead,” Jack replies.

“We’re inside by the large doors trying to see if we can get them open. I can hear the other group deeper inside. Any idea exactly how many sailors are in here?” She asks.

“Standby,” Jack replies.

“Lynn, there are twelve crew members inside,” the answer comes shortly.

“Copy that. Thanks, Jack.” Several thumps interrupt the tense silence farther to the rear of the vast, dark interior.

“Okay, we’re advancing up to the front of the vehicles. Mullins, you’ll take the left and keep in line with us. Horace, keep trying the doors. You’ll be in reserve. If something happens, pull Blue Team to the open door and hold a perimeter around it. We’ll fold back to you. Remember, we have night runners in here but there are also twelve sailors. Verify your targets,” Lynn says.

With a positive response from both of the other teams, she spreads Black Team out and begins to advance slowly online. She observes Charlie Team advance and keep pace. Green laser beams dart in amongst the vehicles and over the crates beyond. Lynn keeps her head moving searching for the targets she knows are within. Step by step she moves forward, her heart beating harder and faster with each movement. Without the large door opened, her goal is to get to the sailors quietly and escort them out.

The air within is chilled and heavy with tension. Or perhaps that is her tension radiating outward to the surrounding environment. It becomes harder to pick up her feet the farther in she goes. The air feels thick and increases the more she moves inside. It’s as if the very darkness itself has substance. She knows the intense adrenaline rush and dread of being inside a night runner lair. She also knows that it’s easy for the fear to take control. If that happens, she’ll be useless or dangerous to the others. With a deep, calming breath, she takes another step.

The randomly spaced supply trucks make it impossible for them all to remain within sight of each other. She steps between two trucks parked in line with each other. One other Black Team member follows her but now she can’t see the others to either side. Scanning ahead, Lynn sees a dark spot on the ground just in front of the vehicle to her left. Looking closer, she notices it looks like a dark puddle with rivulets spreading out in several directions. She pauses and hears a wet sound coming from just in front of her.

“Black and Charlie team, hold up. I have something to my front. Standby,” she says.

Going to one knee silently while keeping her M-4 at the ready, Lynn looks under the truck toward the front. Her heartbeat picks up even more and jumps into her throat at the sight. Lying on the ground just under the front bumper is a person dressed in the jeans and work shirt of a navy crew member. A flashlight lies beside the unmoving form illuminating the side of the body. Dark stains cover the shirt and ground beside. While the sight of the body startles her, it’s the movement around the body that causes her to tense up.

Lynn sees a pair of legs kneeling on her side by the still body with more movement on the other side. The bottom of the truck cuts off any further view. The wet sounds continue and she knows immediately what it is — chewing. This must have been the shriek they heard just before entering and she hopes these are the only two night runners within. The sailor must have been put on a watch or just wandered off by his or herself in their search. She watches as a head comes into view and lowers to the dead sailor.

Keeping her eyes glued to the scene in front of her, Lynn slowly moves her hand to her throat mic. “I have two night runners and a dead body three meters to my twelve o’clock in front of the truck,” she whispers. “Keep alert for others. Mullins, can you get a shot at them?”

“I can’t see anything from my position but I’ll work my way forward,” Mullin’s whispers his reply.

“Copy that. No sound.”

The night runner with its head lowered sinks its teeth into flesh and, with a wet, tearing sound, rips off a chunk. It begins to raise its head back and halts suddenly… pauses… the chunk of flesh drops from its bloodied mouth. Lynn freezes. She feels that the pounding of her heart can be heard for miles. The night runner sniffs the air and looks directly at her. It lowers its head farther. Their eyes lock. Lynn’s mouth turns dry as another burst of adrenaline floods her system.

The night runner’s eyes glow through her goggles sending a deep chill to run along her spine. Time pauses. An eternity passes as they stare at each other. The absolute silence of the moment encompasses her; folds around her like a cloak. Not a muscle twitches or breath is taken. They kneel staring at each other like statues frozen in an instant of time. Then, like a speeding locomotive emerging from a tunnel, normal time resumes. She hears a low, deep growl emit from the creature in front of her. The other night runner freezes in its motion then, suddenly, a second head appears to stare under the truck. The second night runner stares hard and then snarls, baring its blood-stained teeth. With astonishing speed, both rise and come around the front of the truck.

Taken aback by their startling speed and emergence, Lynn begins raising the barrel of her weapon. Both night runners round the truck just scant feet in front of her and charge in her direction. Knowing she won’t be able to bring her weapon to bear in time, she launches herself backwards from her kneeling position in order to gain her more separation and time. The move brings her M-4 up quicker and she squeezes the trigger.

Rounds exit the moving barrel with muted coughs as they pass through her suppressor. The light from her firing flashes on the sides and undercarriage of the truck beside her. Still in the air falling backward, she watches as her bullets impact the nearest night runner in the thigh and stitch upward. Hitting the hard floor on her rear end, she is jarred and slides backwards on the seat of her pants.

The first round hits just above the left knee of the night runner. Entering the soft flesh, the bullet begins to tumble upward. Missing the femur, it rips upward through the thigh and exits the top of the hip taking massive amounts of tissue with it. The second round hits square in the middle of the thigh and slams into the femur. The tremendous force of the impact shatters the thick bone. The next bullet collides powerfully with the pelvis. Hitting the top of the pelvic bone, the bullet splits with both pieces angling farther up. Ripping through sections of the intestines, both shards exit just under the lower rib cage in the back. Blood sprays into the air from the entrance and exit wounds

Being so close to the night runner, Lynn feels a splash of warmth against her cheek. The injured night runner is spun completely around from the impacts and falls to the ground next to her. She feels the crash through the hard floor and hears a whoosh as the air leaves its lungs from the collision with the concrete. Her slide backwards comes to halt. The other night runner is almost upon her. She looks up. Through her goggles, she sees the bared teeth and glowing eyes above her just beyond her outstretched feet. The night runner leaps into the air flying toward her with outstretched arms.

Time slows. Lynn brings her M-4 up angling it across her body. Her vision is filled with the wild eyes and snarling face of the night runner. Arms reach out to her with fingers curled. The lips and chin of the enraged creature are streaked with fresh blood. Pulled back lips and open mouth frozen in a snarl reveals stained teeth. In the clarity of the moment, Lynn notices a gold cap covering one of the upper incisors. Saliva and blood drips from the side of its mouth. The night runner draws inch by inch.

Keeping her M-4 between her and the creature hurtling in slow motion towards her, she thrusts out with her weapon. Rolling at the moment of impact of her carbine against the night runner, she slams the body down next to her on the solid floor. The creature hits hard and emits a grunt. Its head lands with a sharp crack. Lynn uses her momentum and continues her roll rising to her knees. The night runner appears momentarily stunned and she gathers her feet under her pulling her M-4 up with her.

Turning her carbine, she pumps a single round into its head. Blood splashes upward from the impact and the night runner collapses and settles solidly onto the floor. A pool of blood forms quickly around its head. A firm tug on her pants nearly knocks her off balance. Stepping to the side to maintain her equilibrium, she looks down to see a hand of the first night runner reaching out and firmly gripping her pants near the hem. The pale face is off to the side of her and, looking again into its eyes, she sees a mixture of hunger and pain in them.

A muted cough from nearby sounds and a strobe of light illuminates the night runner and area around. The night runner twitches and a shower of blood erupts from underneath its chin. The glow of the eyes fades. It twitches twice more and is still.

Lynn quickly turns and looks around. She notes that only seconds have passed since discovering the body. Silence returns and she realizes that she didn’t hear the familiar shriek of discovery from either of the night runners. This confuses her but she is thankful that the cry of alarm wasn’t sounded. Looking at her team mate standing a few feet away, she nods her thanks for his taking care of the downed night runner.

Adrenaline courses through her body leaving her both tight and relaxed. She notices her panting breath and works to bring her breathing back to normal. The smell of body odor, blood, and feces wafts to her nose.

“Okay, let’s get back on line and move to the front of the vehicles. Stay alert,” she instructs the others over the radio.

Cautiously walking to the front of the truck next to her, she steps over the puddle of blood trickling slowly along the uneven surface. The mutilated and torn body of the sailor lies on its back. The upper part of the shirt is darkly stained. She observes that most of the facial tissue is missing revealing muscles, tendons, and bone. The throat has been ripped away and lifeless eyes stare blankly at the tall ceiling above that is lost in the darkness.

An open area stands between her position in front of the trucks and the beginning of the large, stacked crates and boxes. Flashlights continue to wave in the air at various points in the depths of the building. She hears the persistent murmurs of the group from the sub. In the background, she picks up soft thuds emanating from the same general area.

From her position and looking toward the top of the crates, she catches a flash of movement. Directly in front of her, something moved in the air across an aisle formed between the stacked crates. Due to the height of the stacks, Lynn can’t see much of the tops. Concentrating on the edges, she witnesses more quick and subtle movements causing a measure of dread and fear to surface once again. That has to be night runners, she thinks. The fact that there are night runners moving about without the familiar shrieks sends yet another cold shiver to race down her spine.

“Night runners on top of the crates,” she says into the radio. Thin points of light move upward with her call. They streak down aisles and on top of the stacks.

It’s time to do something. She is hesitant about taking the teams down the aisles. With night runners on the crates above, those aisles will become death traps. She knows her only choice is to shout to the group from the sub to make their way to her. The movements she saw indicate that the night runners are moving toward those inside, if they’re not already there.

“Santa Fe crew members, this is Sergeant Connell. You are in immediate danger. Make your way quickly to the front doors. We’ll cover you,” Lynn shouts.

A loud shriek penetrates and echoes in the vast interior. More follow filling the warehouse with their reverberations. Terror-filled screams begin from far back in the warehouse. Flashlight beams wave frantically in the air.

“Charlie and Black Teams, form a perimeter on me. Horace, get those doors open now,” Lynn says.

“Working on it, first sergeant,” Horace replies.

“We have friendlies out there so watch your target,” Lynn says, cautioning against itchy trigger fingers.

The once nearly silent interior is filled with shrieks and screams. The screams are a mix of fear and pain. Movement in her peripheral catches her attention and she swings her M-4 toward it. Light bounces on the floor off to her right. The wavering beam is an indication that someone is running with a flashlight in their hand. Others in her teams have seen the same thing as lasers converge on the aisle entrance.

“Keep an eye on your sectors. Possible friendlies approaching on the right,” Lynn says.

Several of the thin points of light leave the point of convergence and swing back to the other aisles and crates. Two figures emerge from the aisle racing toward the front of the building with flashlights in their hands. Just behind them, three night runners give chase.

“Open fire,” Lynn shouts. “You two, make for the open door.”

The muted coughs of several M-4s opening up are lost in the din. Tracers streak out and converge on the first two night runners quickly closing the distance on the sailors running for their lives. One night runner drops immediately forward onto its face from multiple bullets striking it. The second spins a one-eighty and slams onto the hard surface of the floor. The third attempts to close in but its forward momentum is halted as weapons are focused on it. It stops and stands upright as if it hit an invisible wall. Its shirt puffs in multiple locations as a second series of bullets hit forcefully and topple it backward. The two sailors alter their direction of flight toward the rectangle of light of the open door.

Light flashes from an aisle directly ahead of Lynn. Beams from flashlights are focused on the ground. Behind the lights, she can barely make out four sailors speeding her way. Movement on the crates above the four running figures captures her attention. Before she can bring her M-4 to bear, a shrieking night runner leaps down from above crashing onto a sailor bringing up the rear. They both go down, colliding hard with the floor. The surprised scream of the submariner rises momentarily above the cacophony of noise before being abruptly cut off. The three remaining sailors cut off her view of what happens next. The three exit the aisle and are brought up short as their lights shine on Lynn and the few team members close to her.

“Keep moving! Head toward the door,” Lynn shouts. The three continue to stand in place as if stunned.

“Move!” Lynn shouts again.

She watches as one shakes his head quickly as if coming out of a trance. They dart to the side and begin running once again. Lynn puts them out of her mind as they race past her position.

Looking back down the aisle, she sees the night runner that leapt down crouched over the still form of the sailor. Quickly centering her crosshair on its chest, she squeezes the trigger and feels the familiar light kick against her shoulder as she sends rounds streaking outward. She sees the torn and stained shirt of the night runner puff out as her bullets pass through it to strike flesh and bone. It falls heavily on the body it was feasting on. Behind the now downed night runner, Lynn sees more night runners streaking toward her. She catches the movement of more on the edges of the stacked crates above. She imagines the other aisles would give the same picture. The gathering horde of night runners will soon exit the aisles and leap from the tall stacks. She knows that they’ll soon be beset and in for a fight.

“Horace, those doors if you please,” Lynn says.

“Working on it,” Horace replies.

“Black and Charlie teams, be ready to pull back on my command. Horace, if we have to pull back, head for the open doorway,” Lynn says, watching the oncoming night runners quickly closing in.

They emerge from the aisles almost before she knows it. Multiple night runners pour into the open space ahead and jump from the stacked crates forming a waterfall of leaping figures. A horde of shrieks and screams grows exponentially overwhelming any other sound. The space in front of the two teams fills quickly. The area is lit by quick and continuous strobes of light as the soldiers open fire. The leading night runners fall to the ground adding screams of pain to the clamor. More bound over the fallen.

“Start pulling back in line now,” Lynn calls over the radio.

The level of noise echoing inside is deafening. Shell casings bounce on the concrete surface but go unheard. Magazines clatter as the soldiers reload. Mouths open to call “reloading” but the words are lost amidst the thunderous roar of the night runners. Step by step the teams fall back, splitting as they make their way between the vehicles. Even though night runners fall to the ground by the dozens, due to their numbers, they slowly close the gap.

Lynn clicks the mag release dropping yet another empty mag to the ground. Slamming in a fresh mag, she continues to add her fire into the advancing mass of night runners. Another step backward takes her to the rear of one of the trucks. A thin beam lights the area in front of her causing the night runners caught in its path to throw their arms in front of their faces. Those caught in the widening beam fall to the ground writhing in agony. Slowly but surely, the band of light grows. The ones behind and on the sides turn and flee.

The shrieks diminish in volume as the night runners race back into the darkness of the warehouse leaving their dead and dying behind. Daylight pours in lighting the front of the building. The injured night runners, crawling slowly along the floor, scream in pain and slump to the ground. Lynn raises her goggles and, with a look to ensure the attack is over, turns to see Blue Team push the sliding doors the rest of the way open.

Turning back, she shouts, “Anyone left alive, make your way to the doors.” Nothing but several shrieks returns her call.

“Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here,” she yells.

Walking outside, the day looks the same, taking on a surreal aspect. The gray clouds still hover just above the tall roof just as they did when she entered. She feels the intense adrenaline begin to ebb leaving her feeling weary. They’ve made it through yet another encounter. She sees Jack with the rest of Red Team and Greg with his team standing in front. Huddled together off to the side, she spies the five sailors she saw exit the aisles. Of the twelve who went in, they are the only ones who made it out. With a heavy sigh, she gathers everyone up and begins a slow walk to meet Jack who is standing ready with the rest of the teams to back her up if she needed.

I watch as Lynn and the other teams fold against the outside wall by and open doorway ready to enter. A faint, solitary shriek drifts upward from the building. I think about calling Lynn and having her return but she’s the one there and it’s her call. Her core instinct to help others worries me at times as I know her propensity to put herself in danger in order to assist those in need. However, I also know she cares deeply about her soldiers and won’t put them in a position that will risk them unnecessarily.

The tension that was so prevalent just moments ago subsides as we all focus on the warehouse, watching the scene about to unfold. Glancing at Captain Leonard, I see his eyes narrowed in concentration. I wonder if he thinks that we are still trying to interfere or if he believes we are truly trying to help. Perhaps he realizes he made a mistake and is looking to see the outcome. I’m guessing he cares about his people so it may be he just doesn’t realize the danger he sent his people into.

I listen as Lynn briefs the teams and watch as she readies herself and steps inside. I feel anxiety in the pit of my stomach as she disappears knowing full well what possibly waits inside. I’m sure my call telling Lynn that there are night runners inside is going to raise a few eyebrows. I noticed Leonard’s quick glance when I made the call. I said that in the clear over an open channel so everyone is going to run that through their minds. But there’s no way I’m going to hold something like that back when it can help. That’s Lynn down there. It’s all I can do not to run over and be the one to go inside. If it comes up, I suppose I’m going to have to explain that radio call. Perhaps it’s time to tell the command group.

The other teams rush through the open door one by one, flowing like a black wave until they vanish into the dark opening. I feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach watching the last of them disappear knowing well the fear and dread of being in a possible night runner lair. I’m thankful for the distribution center in that we can very much limit any further excursions into darkened buildings.

Minutes pass with only the short radio calls from Lynn to the other teams and some calls requesting information on those inside. One comes that grabs my attention. It is one I was rather expecting to hear at some point given that night runners are holed up within the warehouse building.

“Black and Charlie team, hold up. I have something to my front. Standby,” I hear Lynn say.

Another minute and then, “I have two night runners and a dead body three meters to my twelve o’clock in front of the truck,” Lynn whispers on the radio. “Keep alert for others. Mullins, can you get a shot at them?”

I look to Captain Leonard and say, “If you’ll excuse me, I have my people to attend to.” He turns his head briefly to nod before gazing back to the warehouse.

I take a few steps and hear from behind me, “Captain Walker, we’d be happy to help if you need?”

Turning, I see one of the SEAL Team members standing slightly off to the side. Captain Leonard turns sharply to the Chief but doesn’t say anything.

“We can always use the help, Chief… Krandle is it?”

“Yes, sir,” Krandle responds.

“Like I said, we can always use the help but we don’t have any spare comm gear or NVGs,” I say.

“I understand, sir” Krandle says with a nod.

Leonard looks at the chief with a hard stare before returning his focus back to the large cream structure that his men are currently in… along with our teams. I tell Frank and Bannerman to wait with Leonard and make my way to where Greg is standing with Red and Echo Teams. They are more relaxed but still in their covered positions behind the vehicles and manning the weapons. Greg walks to meet me.

“You’ve heard the calls?” I ask to which he nods.

“I want us to be in a position to support Lynn if they run into trouble,” I say.

“Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea. Any worries about the boys in white?” Greg asks nodding toward the Captain and the sub.

“Not for the time being. I’m not sure their Captain is a big fan of me. I don’t think he believes what is going on but I don’t think they’ll cause any problems. I think he’s trying to digest it all just like we had to,” I answer.

“That can’t be easy.”

“No and I’m not sure I have yet.”

“That’s because you’re an old man,” Greg says.

“At least I didn’t fall out of the ugly tree and get hit by every branch on the way down,” I respond.

“Look who’s calling who ugly,” he replies, leaning over me trying to be intimidating.

“Hey, I’m not the one kids point at and mistake for a sea cow when swimming… just sayin’.” Humor is one way we disperse the tension of knowing our team mates have entered a night runner lair.

Lynn’s call of, “Night runners on top of the crates,” interrupts our little tete-a-tete prompting action on our part.

“Red Team, Blue Team, form up on me,” I shout.

We form up and begin trotting toward the distant warehouse. As we draw closer, my throat tightens and heart rate accelerates hearing a din of shrieks emanating from within. I head toward the open side door when I see the large doors begin to slide open. The sound of shrieks increases through the thin aperture that is growing wider by the second. It’s hard to make out who is pushing the doors apart but I see a full team shoving on the large, heavy doors. The screams within change in tone from rage to screams of pain.

With the doors mostly open, I see Lynn and several of the other team members that entered standing in a line deeper inside the building. Scores of night runners lie scattered on the gray painted concrete floor. Some caught in the light arch in pain before slumping back to the ground. A group of five men huddle together outside off to the side. I observe Lynn lower her weapon and shout something into the interior. She stares into the darkness waiting for something. Finally, she shouts, “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here,” and turning, she heads in my direction.

As she draws near, I see the weariness of the post-adrenaline phase of combat etched in her eyes. There is of course the bone-deep weariness we all carry from the struggle to survive on a constant basis. It brings a bleached out quality to the eyes that tells of having to endure stress over a long period. It’s the look of frontline veterans returning from a combat tour overseas and something I’ve observed in all of us. I also notice a splash of blood on her cheek which sparks additional concern.

“Yours or someone else’s?” I ask, nodding to her cheek as she stops in front of me.

“What?” Lynn asks, tilting her head.

“The extra bit of rouge on your cheek you managed to pick up,” I reply.

“Oh, someone else’s,” she says as she reaches to her cheek. She then wipes the spots of blood with her sleeve leaving a light red smear.

“Better?” She asks, finishing.

I look at the streaks and shake my head. “Yeah, um, much better,” I answer.

“Jack, you’re such a horrible liar,” Lynn says making another attempt which only makes it worse. I decide it’s in my best interest to not say anything else.

“So, what happened in there?” I ask, nodding toward the bodies covering the warehouse floor. Lynn proceeds to give me the cliff notes version of what happened.

“How was your little chat?” She asks, finishing.

“It was interesting and is bound to get even more so after this,” I answer.

I look over at the remaining sailors gathered together and nod for them to start heading back to their captain. They look plenty shaken but they start walking slowly, periodically looking over their shoulders at the building. Lynn directs several team members to head back inside to gather empty mags lying on the floor in the lit area. We then begin walking across the wide, empty lot and up the drive to the piers. Two firefights and it’s still morning. Yeah, it’s already been a long day and we still have a long night ahead of us. I’m quite ready to wake up from this nightmare.

“I can’t believe he sent his people in after what we told him,” Lynn says as we slowly make our way back.

“I’m not sure he understands the situation but I bet he’s ready to listen now,” I reply.

“He’d better. That’s all I have to say. That was not fun.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” I say, putting my arm around her and giving her a quick hug.

I leave Lynn and the other teams by the vehicles and walk down the dock toward where Captain Leonard and the others are still standing. The surviving members of his crew have just left his side and are making their way to the docked sub. I close up to where Bannerman, Frank, Leonard, and Krandle and his team are standing.

“I owe you my thanks, Captain Walker,” Leonard says. “My men briefed me on what happened inside. Their story seems a bit far-fetched and if I hadn’t been standing here myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. It still seems a little too unreal.”

“Believe me, captain, it was a lot for us to swallow in the beginning as well,” I reply. “I’m sorry for the people you lost.”

Leonard merely nods and turns to Krandle, “I owe you my apologies for doubting you as well, chief.”

“I’m not sure I still believe it myself, sir,” Krandle responds.

“I’m guessing you’re ready to listen now,” I say.

“I am, Captain Walker,” Leonard replies with a nod.

“Yeah, about that,” I say and proceed to tell our story.

Captain Leonard listens as I tell him about the happenings as far as we know leaving nothing out. He has a nod here and there along with several episodes where he tightens his eyes. I feel like I’m telling a children’s horror story as I listen to myself tell of the events of the past few months. It seems unreal to me as I tell it… and I lived it. I notice his lips tighten as I mention I was prior service and wasn’t in when it all went down but, to his credit, he doesn’t say anything. I mention our compound and our efforts to gather survivors and clear the area of night runners. After seeming to run my mouth for days on end, I finally bring him up to speed on where we stand now. I’m not usually much of a talker and I totally feel that I’ve used up my words for the next several months if not a year. I finish by inviting him and his crew to join us.

“I think that’s a great idea for us to join up. As far as I can tell, I’m now the base commander here. We can fortify this location and you can bring your people up. We can begin rebuilding here and can certainly use your expertise,” Leonard says.

“Oh boy, here we go,” I hear Bannerman mutter. I don’t think anyone else heard it but it was fairly clear to me.

“Captain, I know where you’re coming from but there isn’t any government anymore. That part of the world is gone,” I say.

“Captain Walker, I know you may be a civilian now but the others with you are still part of the government. We’re the government until we meet up with any still operating in an official capacity,” Leonard replies.

“Leonard,” I say purposely using his name rather than rank, “there aren’t any but small, scattered groups to ‘govern’.”

“Then we govern them. I’m the ranking officer at the moment and we’ll just have to keep the government alive in that manner,” he says.

“There… isn’t… any… government… to keep alive. We have opted to go with a functional command. You know, to have the best chance of survival. What you saw here,” I say sweeping my arm toward the warehouse, “doesn’t even come close to what is going on. These night runners are rampant and are as wily a foe as you can ever imagine. There are also bands of marauders about. Now, you are welcome to join us and of course we’d have you on the leadership team, but we have a harmony within our group that I won’t have messed with. Every day here is a fight for survival and we need the cohesiveness that we have in order to survive. I get where you’re coming from, truly I do, but right now we need to establish a safe haven and we can move onto other things once we have that.”

I notice Krandle give a slight nod at my little speech. I see Leonard’s jaws clench and the veins in his head begin to stand out. I’m quite sure he isn’t used to being talked to in this manner but to be honest, that’s not my concern. Frankly, I’m tired and this morning hasn’t improved my mood much. I understand his position and might act exactly as he is if our positions were reversed. It must be fucking confusing as hell to just walk into this situation. However, my main concern is for the people with us and I won’t sacrifice what we have for anything. It’s not that I even remotely think I’m the best for the job and will willingly follow anyone who has more experience. As a matter of fact, I’d welcome it with open arms but until that happens, this is where we are.

“Walker,” yeah, I notice his dropping the rank, “I plan to restock and head down the western seaboard and possibly to Hawaii to see the situation there. Know that this conversation isn’t over.”

“You can’t be planning to go back into the warehouse or any others, are you? You just lost seven out of the twelve men you sent in,” I say. I feel bad for even mentioning that but it’s necessary for him to actually understand the inherent danger that buildings present.

“We need to resupply,” he responds.

“Walk with me if you will,” I say.

“Where are we going?”

“You need to see firsthand what we are facing,” I say to which he gives a small nod.

We begin to walk down to the warehouse. I signal Lynn to bring Black and Red Teams with us. Krandle walks behind with his SEAL Team. Standing back from but close enough to see into the interior through the now wide open sliding doors, we see dozens of dead night runners lying across the gray floor.

“That, captain, is only some of what your men walked into. Lynn, how many would you say were inside?” I ask.

“That’s about a quarter of ‘em,” she answers. I hear Krandle give a low whistle.

Leonard looks on, turning his head left and right. I can almost hear the gears turning as he sees firsthand what I was talking about.

“And this is in every building?” He finally asks.

“No, not in every one. There is sometimes less, sometimes more, sometimes none at all. It all depends on how they group together and where they lair up. We haven’t found a trend as yet. But, yes, this is what we are facing,” I answer.

“Now, you can gather what you can as long as it’s in the light. And I mean daylight,” I continue.

“That doesn’t give us much,” he says, eyeballing perhaps four stacks of goods that are in the daylight pouring in the open doorway. “Perhaps you could provide cover for us if we had to go in farther.”

“No fucking way! We’re not going back in there. Especially with what just happened. Those aisles are fucking death traps,” Lynn speaks up.

Leonard turns sharply to Lynn. “Sergeant, now see…”

“Captain Leonard, we have some supplies. If you’ll make out a list of what you need, we’ll see what we can send. We’ll make a convoy run up here with them,” I say, interrupting him and forestalling and argument. “Just give the list to Bannerman here before we leave and we can have it back up here within a couple of days.” I look to Bannerman for approval of the timeline and he nods.

“Okay, Walker, that will be fine,” Leonard says.

“Call me Jack,” I say.

The morning heads towards noon as Leonard consults with his crew and then meets us on the dock giving Bannerman his requested supply list. “We may be able to supply this but will have to make some substitutions,” he says after looking it over.

“That will be fine, Major,” Leonard replies.

“We can have this to you in three days providing the route is clear,” Bannerman says.

“What about if you tied up in Tacoma or Olympia?” That would make it easier and we wouldn’t have to worry about blocked roads or someone ambushing us to take the supplies,” Frank says.

“I think we can accommodate that. That is if the docks are clear. And thank you again,” Leonard responds.

“I have a question if you don’t mind. Well, actually several. Are their fuel rods being stored here?” I ask.

“That’s classified information, Jack,” Leonard answers.

“Seriously?! I’m pretty sure classified went out with the first waves of the dead. I’d like to know if we are in danger of them melting down,” I say.

Leonard mulls it over for a few seconds before replying, “No, there aren’t any stored here. There used to be but they were moved.”

“What about the rods in those subs?” I ask, pointing to the two missile boats docked nearby.

“I’m sure they are shut down but, yes, those might be a problem over time,” he answers.

“What about scuttling them offshore? We’d use them for a power supply but we just don’t have the expertise if you are planning on your trip down the coast. And if something happened…” I say leaving the question floating.

“That would have to be done far offshore with the prevailing currents and winds but it could be done,” Leonard replies, pondering.

“Do you think you and your crew could do that?” I ask.

“Perhaps, but I’d like to get away as soon as we can. We can discuss that when we return. Amongst other things,” Leonard pointedly says.

“I’m so looking forward to that,” I say sarcastically to which Leonard actually smiles. “You know, a thought just occurred. If you are thinking about setting ashore, what are you planning to do if you find survivors?”

“There’s not much we can do really. Our space is limited. We can direct them to your location if you’d like,” Leonard answers.

“That may do more harm than good with them having to find shelter for the night and with bandits around. They also may not want to depending on the distance, but the more we can gather, the better off we’ll be,” I say.

“Well, if we find any and make contact, we’ll let them know,” he replies.

That causes an uneasy feeling as you never know what type of groups he may encounter. We just may find ourselves beset upon by marauders looking to take over our compound. However, increasing our numbers will also increase our knowledge base. We are in dire need of medical personnel and a scientist or two wouldn’t hurt. Actually, we are in need of a wide range of experts.

Chief Krandle steps forward and says, “Captain Walker, sir, we’d like to join up with you but if Captain Leonard is planning to set ashore anywhere, he’s going to need us.”

“Chief, we’d be more than happy to have you anytime but I think you’re right, Captain Leonard is going to need you,” I reply.

“Chief, you are under my command so you’re not at liberty to discuss where you will or will not go,” Leonard says, rounding on Krandle.

“Technically, sir, and with all due respect, being under your command ended the moment we stepped onshore. We were under your operational command while onboard but we are now effectively back under SWC Group One. With that said, sir, we’d like to accompany you and assist under the caveat that we can accept or decline any mission you have for us based on the risk factor,” Krandle replies, standing at attention.

Leonard stares hard at the chief for several moments. “That is acceptable. Glad to have you aboard,” he finally says.

“One last thing. How do you want to stay in communication if you are in fact heading down the seaboard?” I ask.

“We could use satellite comms or phones,” Leonard suggests.

“I’m not sure about the viability of satellite communications but we can try the phones. If not, then we can just use the UHF when you draw closer,” I say. I look to Bannerman who merely nods. The unspoken dialogue is to whether he can acquire satellite phones.

“Alright. And we’ll make our way around the sound and try the ports. We’ll let you know where we decide to park,” Leonard states.

“Sounds good. We’ll see you in a couple of days,” I say. Handshakes are made all around.

And with that, we part ways. The teams gather back into the vehicles and, climbing the hill toward the base entrance, the docks and docked sub disappear from sight.