Dissension

The Rain Cometh

We’ve all had the nightmares that follow extensive time in combat or nerve-wracking environments. The realness of them seems to sometimes match the reality of the waking world. The intensity of them leaves one feeling more tired than when you went to sleep. With my racing heart calmed to almost normal and the adrenaline fading, I rise, slip on my boots, lean over to give Lynn a kiss, and make my way down to the first floor.

Robert and Craig meet me at one of the wooden tables to go over our plan for the evening’s flight. Our main goal is to knock down more of the structures in the area. We’ll keep a sharp lookout for any night runners on the prowl. If we find any, we’ll break off from clearing the buildings to pursue them. Frank has circled the service stations and libraries. We’ll need those resources intact. The one fear I have of leaving those structures standing is that any night runners in the area will certainly use them as lairs so that we can be pretty assured of encountering them when we decide to enter. The service stations are small for the most part and easily cleared. The two major libraries in the area are a different story altogether.

With our maps marked, Robert briefs Red Team and the others assisting with reloading on the operations for the evening. He will be directing the fire control again tonight. We gather our gear and head out to begin the drive north. The breaks in the clouds I noticed earlier have disappeared but the overcast has lifted. We’ll have to keep an eye out for that. Although we can operate in any weather and see through the clouds, I do not want to land in bad weather without runway lighting. We can navigate just fine and set our own approaches but it’s the lights that allow us to find the runway with low ceilings. I don’t mind shooting an approach to get to a lower altitude but I don’t want to have to fly it down to minimums. It could make for a short evening.

A very light breeze has sprung up which will make the formation of fog more difficult. If we had the calm winds we experienced earlier in the day, I would most likely call off tonight’s flight. As autumn sets in, we’ll have more of this type of weather which will limit our ability to fly. The gray is a darker shade as the day begins its wind down toward dusk. We could just take out the buildings during the day and make it easier but I want to catch as many night runners as we can and that means flying at night. It may also give us more information as to where they are located, where they hunt, and possibly the numbers we are facing.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask Robert as we pile our gear in one of the Humvees.

“You’re kidding, right?! Of course I am. Not to make light of what we are doing, but I get to direct fire for a howitzer, a 40mm auto-cannon, and a gatling gun. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. You know, it’s funny, I expected something much different but it’s not so different than the games we used to play. More complicated, yes, but really not that much different,” he answers.

“As long as you keep in mind what we’re doing and why,” I say.

“Of course. How could I ever forget? Every day reminds me,” he states.

“How are you doing, Bri?” I ask as she walks up toting her gear.

“I could use more of a nap but I’m ready,” she replies.

I seriously don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing my young daughter, who once tumbled on the mats in her cheerleading outfit, in fatigues and toting an M-4 like it belonged. I once again reach out for a sliver of hope that this won’t always be the case. I hope they won’t have to face this for their entire lives. And, along with that, I hope that their lives are long-lived ones. My hope being that at least they outlive me. No parent should outlive their child. I feel the hole in my heart thinking once more of Nic. Her death seems both so long ago and just yesterday. A sad feeling washes over me. I just want to sit on the pavement and lose myself for a moment. My sweet, sweet girl… gone… forever.

“Dad, are you okay?” Bri asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s load up and head north,” I respond, shaking loose from memories.

The drive north is like every other one we’ve taken, driven mostly in silence as we become lost in our own thoughts and contemplate the night ahead. I keep an eye on the overcast watching for any signs of it lowering. The fog can roll in quickly this close to so much water but with the breeze, we should be okay. Driving through the base that once looked and felt like a ghost town, the melancholic feeling that accompanied such trips is absent. It is replaced by an almost feeling of normalcy. I don’t know if this is a good sign or bad. It is, however, a suggestion that we are adapting mentally to our situation. Now if we can keep PTSD at bay.

Rolling up to the aircraft, we quickly stow our gear and take our stations. Not too many words are exchanged as we all know what we have to do. Going through the pre-flight checks, I hope the aircraft will remain intact and not develop any mechanical issues. We’ve put a few hours on it and lack for any maintenance and it’s a long way to go to get another one. Although we don’t have a long time left for our ability to fly anyway, I don’t want to take the time to fetch another one. The Spooky is the ideal weapon for this environment.

We start up without any problems and all systems check out. We taxi to the runway and lift off into the darkening sky. Although the ceiling is high enough for us to shoot an approach and pop out at a reasonable height to find the runway, we will have to venture into the clouds for our runs. This won’t hamper our operations in any way though. I’ll just head north on occasion and shoot an approach to verify we still have an adequate ceiling height.

I hear Robert running through the systems checks and I set the repeater scope up front to mimic the IR scope. The ground shows up with differing degrees of grays and blacks. Anything white will indicate something quite warm and most likely indicate the small, moving forms of night runners afoot under us. So far, I don’t see anything moving but the sun hasn’t yet set below the western rim. It’s just the heavy drone of the four engines and the white of the clouds outside streaming by the windows. We have darkened the cockpit so I can only observe the white wisps close by. I have to admit I am happy to be in the cockpit again; the day’s events lost for the moment. I set a course for the first of the buildings we chose earlier. We might as well get an early start on our evening’s work.

Robert sets our first target and I begin an orbit. He clears the 105mm howitzer to fire. I glance at the repeater scope and watch the targeted building disappear in a flash of light. Smoke and debris rocket up and outward from the impact. Craig X’s the target off the map as Robert sets up the next one. The sky outside turns a darker shade of gray and then goes black as night folds upon us. Our evening has begun in earnest.

We begin to circle over another strip mall a couple of miles to the southeast of Cabelas when our repeater screen shows white on the edges. It zooms out and is filled by small white objects filling the streets and scattering in all directions. There are hordes of them, to the point that I can’t even begin to guess how many. One moment there was nothing and then enough to turn the screen almost a solid white to the side. I’m taken aback by the vast numbers.

“Robert?” I say over the intercom.

“I see ‘em. Engaging,” he responds.

I bank and head toward the center of the mass spreading out in all directions. The count on the screen has way passed the hundreds mark and more into the many thousands. I knew the math of how many night runners must be in the area from the CDC statistics and the previous population, but seeing a horde like this fills me with a very deep dread. A hypothetical number in your head and seeing the actual visual representation are two very different things. Looking at the screen zoom in as we head toward the scattering night runners, I wonder how we managed to stay alive this long. We’ve never encountered packs in these numbers anywhere. I’m guessing they must have gathered together recently and am thankful we didn’t venture in a lair of this size. If we managed to get deep inside a building housing this many night runners, it would be over before it started.

Could our leveling the place have caused them to bunch together like this or is there some other reason? Is this one of the instances where we have triggered an adaptation on their part? These thoughts run through my head as the white mass becomes individual forms and smaller packs as they run farther into the night.

“Are we recording this?” I ask Robert.

“Yeah, Dad, I have the recorders on,” he answers.

“Good. Frank is going to want to see this,” I say.

Robert sets up on a large pack as we drift over their position. He marks them and I start to orbit. Tracers stream downward into their midst. Their running forms, white on the screen, elongate as they fall to the street. Streaks from ricochets peel off into the night and impact the surrounding buildings. Only a couple make it through the devastation and disappear into a side structure. Robert swiftly locates and marks another target. This is definitely what you would call a target rich environment.

The next pack selected is even larger than the last one and more spread out. Seeing that, Robert opts for the 40mm auto-cannon. I feel the solid thuds of the rounds departing. Flashes appear on the ground in the midst of the fleeing figures and walks through them leaving torn bodies in the wake. The once almost solid white screen clears seemingly in an instant as if a switch were thrown. I cast out for any signal but only receive fuzzy images. I’m guessing it must be the distance although I’ve been able to ‘see’ night runners from greater distances at times. I just don’t get this and wish I knew more about how to use it. I wonder if that is even possible. It seems to be a hit or miss type of thing. Is it me or do the night runners experience this as well? I think watching the white figures on the screen disperse and vanish.

“Did you mark the buildings they vanished into?” I ask Robert as I level the aircraft out.

“I marked a few but it seems they went into whatever buildings were the closest,” he answers.

“Okay, let’s target all of the buildings in the area making sure we keep away from any of the structures Frank marked,” I say.

“Way ahead of you,” Robert says as he call out and targets one of the building nearby.

We begin systematically taking on the surrounding structures with the 105mm. One by one, buildings are turned into rubble. In several instances, we observe night runners emerge from the structures once the first shells hit. We quickly set up the gatling gun and take them down when we can. In some instances, night runners exit the adjacent buildings we are shelling or even ones farther away. They don’t stay in the open long enough for us to engage them directly but we mark the buildings. I would like to hit their lair but it was impossible to see which one they emerged from.

Over time, I notice a certain trend, and that is that we are pushing them farther to the southeast and away from our compound; our sanctuary that I feel we are only holding onto by our fingernails. Seeing this many night runners, thousands upon thousands of them, strengthens this feeling that we are barely holding on. However, we continue pushing them out. The more area we can clear, the better I feel about our chances.

We continue to hammer away at the structures in the area where the night runners vanished. They aren’t the buildings we designated for the night but the emergence of the night runners changed any plans we had. A small thought creeps into my tired mind wondering what adaptations the night runners will possible make of this slaughter. We drone through the night, periodically venturing back to McChord to shoot approaches verifying that the weather isn’t closing in on us. It wouldn’t do to have a night like this only to pile it in on landing. Of course, there is never a good time to pile it in. That will be avoidance number one. Setting up orbit after orbit, we reduce building after building into rubble until we expend our 105mm ammo. We then patrol farther out looking for any night runner packs that are on the prowl. Finding none in the Olympia area, we head north to scout the areas around the bases. Nothing. It’s as if the night runners, which once dominated our screens, disappeared from the night. Overall, I feel good about our night’s work as I set up for our approach into McChord and land. After reporting into the compound, we seal up the Spooky and try to grab some shuteye.

Michael rises with the coming of the night. The lair he found for the packs is serving them well. It is a little cramped with all that have responded to his call but it provides warmth from the chill of the days that seem to be coming with more regularity. The pack has grown so much that he’s had to find lairs for some of them in the outlying buildings. Tonight, he will scatter the packs in all directions but with the warning not to venture close to the two-legged lair. He needs to find prime hunting grounds to feed so many. More have joined and it’s important they find enough food. He’ll stay in communication with them throughout the night in order to ascertain the best places to find food. Some he will send into the surrounding buildings to find the alternate food source he found a while ago. That will hopefully provide during in lean times.

He exits on the tail of the others as they lope off into the night. They crowd the doors as they try to leave at once but eventually they all manage to depart. The sound of so many feet pounding on the hard surface rebounds off the surrounding buildings like a roar, eventually fading as they disperse. As the sound dwindles, he sees a flash of light off into the distance that illuminates the buildings, casting them into silhouettes. Immediately following is the sharp crack of an explosion, muted by the distance. He freezes in his tracks. He remembers the same sounds on another night when he felt the loss of several packs and decided to call the remaining ones together.

With a large pack surrounding him on the grounds of the lair, he listens. Before long, he hears a droning in the sky drawing closer. Looking up, he sees the clouds hanging low. The moisture he felt falling from them several times before is lacking. Perhaps their closeness will allow him to see what it is in the sky that makes such sounds and has decimated their numbers. He’s not sure he wants to see it, but if he does, maybe he can find a way to avoid it, or at least understand it better.

The droning increases in volume but he can’t see anything as yet. Becoming nervous, he draws back closer to the lair ready to issue a warning to the packs. Suddenly, from out of the nearby clouds, Michael witnesses a stream of fire erupt and pour down toward the ground. His mind is suddenly filled with the agony from several pack members and they vanish from his thoughts. It’s back, he thinks and sends a warning for everyone to get out of the streets and into cover. The droning moves more to his right and more streaks of light appear. With them, more of his pack disappears. Off to the side, he sees Sandra running toward him with her large pack in tow. Giving him a glance that he doesn’t understand, she runs past him and into the lair. With a last look at the overcast sky still spitting fire toward the ground, he turns and follows her in with those around him entering on his heels.

Without being able to see the streaks from inside, he still feels more packs leave his thoughts. They are being wiped out. Several loud explosions begin which shake the floor he is standing on. He feels the panic of the packs remaining as they lie huddled in various structures. With each ground-shaking boom, more members vanish. He knows that thousands of his kind still live but they are disappearing pack by pack. He thinks of sending them out into the night to flee whatever is above them unleashing this devastation but knows that will be sending them to their death. There is no right answer.

He senses the terror overcome some of the packs and they leave the buildings. They are almost immediately overcome which essentially verifies that the right decision is to stay indoors. Surely they can’t destroy every building in the area. They just have to weather the night. They may have to move farther from the two-legged lair as he is certain they are the ones responsible for this. With the decimation of the packs, his fear turns to anger. He will figure out a way to end this. For now, it may mean venturing much farther away and finding a new lair. He hates to abandon this one but they were set upon almost immediately and he knows there is no way they can sustain this for many nights. It’s not only the loss of their numbers, but also the lost evening of finding food. Those that do make it through the night will go hungry. Yes, the answer lies in getting farther away until he figures out a way to take out the two-legged ones. They will pay for this.

He senses Sandra draw close and feels anger and disgust emanating from her. He knows this is, like his own anger, derived from fear. He knows of her protectiveness of her young one but there is something else lying just below the surface that he can’t figure out. No, his trust of her isn’t anywhere remotely complete. He needs her and her pack though. He wants them to be part of a larger essence and hopes that trust eventually comes.

“We need to do something about this,” Sandra says using the vocal speech.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he replies, answering in the same vocal communication. The others standing nearby back away, sensing their anger and giving them room. Soon, he and Sandra are standing alone near the exit doors.

“We are being destroyed. We need to attack the two-legged ones,” she says, ignoring his reply. They both feel the floor shake as another explosion in the near distance signals the loss of more of their kind.

“Like I said before, we can’t fight what we can’t see or get into. What we need to do is pull farther back before we lose the pack. We need to find suitable hunting grounds and a lair that is safe. Only then can we regroup and find a way to destroy the two-legged ones,” he responds.

“No. We are losing more of the packs and the longer we wait, the more we’ll lose. We must find a way in and kill them,” she says.

She says this knowing full well that she intends only to capture the female she saw with the one two-legged one. The yearning for him remains strong. She isn’t certain why she has this feeling, only that she does. It is enough to override all but her most basic instincts, including the need to protect the young one inside her. Sandra will use the female to lure him close and then capture him. She has no idea what she will do with him but thinks by capturing him, that he will become hers. This urge is so strong she is surprised but vanquishes any questions she has about her feelings or motivations.

“I said no. We must do everything to keep the pack united and preserved. And that will be achieved by getting farther away. We will find a new hunting ground. We are being wiped out here so we must leave soon. Tonight if we can,” he says.

Sandra emits a low growl of displeasure. “Yes, we are being killed here and that will continue. That is precisely the reason we need to attack.”

Michael rounds on her and emits a low, dangerous growl of his own. With child or not, she is threatening his leadership, and that, he will not tolerate.

“How?” He says calmly and quietly but with and underlying menace. “How do you plan to attack something you can’t see and is out of reach? How do you plan to attack something you can’t get into? You’ve seen the high walls. How are you going to get over them without annihilating what remains of us?” He asks.

His question is punctuated by another loud explosion. More pack members vanish from the ranks. He hopes that their lair won’t be the recipient of whatever is causing those explosions.

Sandra feels at a loss for an answer to his question. She knows there has to be a way in but can’t think of one at the moment. Her thought was to launch pack after pack at the wall and hope they could gain entrance by building a wall of bodies to climb over. This ‘plan’ has invaded her thoughts from time to time but she doesn’t have enough in her own pack to accomplish this. The loss of one of her pack members to that explosion near the walls makes her hesitate as well. Her head had ached all of the next day. Knowing she will eventually find a way in, she grunts in agreement with Michael. For now, she thinks. In the meantime, she will wait and watch.

The blasts tearing the night apart eventually cease. Michael is hesitant about going out wondering if it’s a trap and fearful lest the thing in the sky returns. He cautiously steps outside. The droning that was once prevalent in the night sky is gone leaving only the aftermath of the hours of explosions ringing in his ears. Many have survived the night, more than he had hoped. Many more. But many died this night as well. They must move while they have the chance. He waits for several moments before issuing the call for the survivors to gather.

As the packs lope through the night returning to the lair, the thought occurs to Michael that they could gather more food than they are able to eat on certain nights and store it for the times when they have to hole up. That way, they won’t go hungry if they are unable to hunt for some reason. He knows that the prey they chase down spoils easily so maybe he could send packs out to gather some of the alternate food to store at the lair. Yes, he will see to that on subsequent nights. Tonight, they will journey farther away and find another lair. They will be hungry, but tomorrow night, they will be out on the hunt again.

Alan wakes and finds himself standing on the first floor of the compound that took him in a while ago. For a moment, he is confused and not sure how he arrived here. This isn’t the first time he’s suddenly found himself away from his small cubicle in the middle of the night. Many other nights have been ones full of nightmares in which he wakes drenched in sweat and wondering where the strange visions came from. His dreams have been filled with images of running endlessly through the night and ghastly moments of tearing into the bloody bowels of living people. His terror-filled nightmares end with him suddenly bolting upright and shivering uncontrollably. His blankets are crumpled and lying on the floor, his pillow soaked from night sweats.

Other nights have ended just like this one, waking in some part of the building confused and disoriented. In a way, this is better. He isn’t stuck with the sickening images. On nights like this one, he has the distinct impression he was on his way out and doesn’t know why, only that there is that definite pull to do so. That is the one thing that fills him with dread. What if he didn’t wake? Well, the walls actually protect the immediate grounds so he would be safe but why the hell does he feel the desire to be out?

With the disoriented feeling fading, he makes his way back toward the escalator and his cot. The people here have treated him well since finding him outside of the gates. The memory of that day resurfaces and he relives those terror-filled moments when fleeing from those shrieking creatures in that dark building. The others here filled him in on the changes in the world. Those still seem like a fairy-tale story but waking in that dark room with the overpowering, musky odor of sweat and unwashed bodies lying next to him… his inability to see clearly but fleeing from those pounding footsteps and ungodly shrieks… launching into the daylight only to find himself alone. Night runners the ones here call them. And they tell him that they believe he might have been one of them. That’s the part that seems so far-fetched.

Waking the few times downstairs, like he did tonight, reminds him of waking in that room. For the first few seconds when he does, he thinks he’s back in that place. Fear fills him and he feels that he must flee. He hopes time eases his dreams and he finds a time when he doesn’t wake in a different place. Lying back on his cot, he hopes the dreams don’t return and that he can actually get some sleep. The one thing more frightening than the images of his dreams is that, on waking, he has the sensation that he actually enjoyed the experience within his dreams; he hates the thrill he remembers feeling.

Cressman watches as Alan returns upstairs. It’s not uncommon for some people to become restless and stroll through the building during the night. She’s noticed Alan walking around quite a few of the nights she’s been on watch. Thinking nothing of it, she returns to watching the entrances.

The dark outside gradually lightens with the coming day. We only managed a few hours of sleep, but for one of the first times out at night and sheltering in a 130, we aren’t bombarded by shrieks and slams against the fuselage from night runners. It was almost scary with its silence. Seeing the thousands of night runners show up on our screens and the suddenness of it makes me believe they are gathering in greater numbers. I guess that’s a natural evolution. I mean, we are doing it, I think watching from the cockpit as the overcast morning gradually lightens.

I’m still awed by the sheer number of night runners in the area. If they weren’t the only packs out, how many of the fuckers are there? I’m just thankful we were able to get the walls up in short order and our defenses in place. That many night runners could have gone through us like butter if we hadn’t prepared quickly. I’m also thankful they didn’t gather in a horde like they are now. It would have been over in a short period of time if they had. Even if we had been holed up in the 130, their relentless attacks would have eventually torn through. I’m also fucking thankful they can only come out at night. Again, humankind would have fallen within the first day if they were able to be out any time like us.

The coming of the day reminds me that we’ve made it through another one. We’ve managed to keep one step ahead for yet another turn of the world. And last night, we managed to hit them and hit them hard. At least in our immediate area. Their numbers here make me wonder what it is like in the bigger cities. I can’t imagine the size of gatherings, say, in the Seattle area. Seeing the gathering like the one last night makes me feel that the odds of finding any other surviving souls are drastically low. Yet, we continue to find them in the oddest of places.

A fearful thought occurs, what if there comes a vast gathering of all of the night runners across the entire area. What if the night runners in the Seattle, Tacoma, and Olympia area gather together in one huge pack? The thought causes a deep shiver of fear. There’s no way we could combat such a horde as that. While we might have the ammo stocked at Fort Lewis, we wouldn’t get a chance to expend anything close to enough before being overrun. I’ll bring that idea up when we meet next. We may need to develop other ideas to combat it.

With the day light enough to venture outside safely, we make our way to the vehicles. We’ll resupply the Spooky and ready it for another night of work before we travel back south. Driving over and maneuvering the heavy shells from the armory into the back of a supply truck, we manage to restock the AC-130. I pull the tapes and close up the aircraft feeling the tiredness of the long day yesterday and the flight last night. What we saw raises many questions but it was also encouraging to see that we were able to push the night runners farther away. It also felt good to be able to take the fight to them. Perhaps if we can keep that up, we can keep them off balance gaining us more time to fortify. I even think about just taking the Spooky aloft and observing their behavior over a few nights. Any intelligence we can gather will only aid us.

The exuberance we had on the first night out is replaced by one of weariness as we drive south back to Cabelas. I see that same tired look in Robert’s eyes as he rides along beside me but there is also a presence of a certain light. Pride… the sense of accomplishment… confidence, all shine through. I also noticed the ease with which Bri carried herself. It’s as if she was born to be in that seat. And her confidence with her training and experiences has shown itself as well. Glancing into the back, I see she is leaning her head against the door with her eyes closed — fast asleep. I hate this world that I have to bring them up in but I couldn’t be more proud of them. This is a very dangerous environment we find ourselves in but they have adapted well. Again, I hope we find a measure of peace before the constant stress begins to show itself outwardly. We can’t afford to make big mistakes. I can’t afford to make mistakes.

Nearing the off ramp that will take us to Cabelas, I wave at several semis with their accompanying escorts heading in the opposite direction. I’m guessing they are on their way to the distribution center to pick up supplies for Captain Leonard and his crew. The feeling of a nap grows stronger as we draw closer. There is still the debriefing for our flight and then meeting with the group to talk over the night’s events, but then it’s oblivion for me.

I pull in and park seeing people in the training phases on the firing ranges. It won’t be long until we have another group graduating. Then, depending on what Lynn sees, we may be able to increase our team numbers. With the view of the massed night runners last night, we could definitely use as many as we can get. I climb out of the driver’s seat with my bones feeling like they are made mostly of jello. My flight suit smells as bad as I feel. I think that is the only thing keeping me awake right now. Kind of like carrying my own smelling salts. Lynn walks over from one of the training groups and greets me with a hug.

“I love you, Jack, but you’re making my eyes water,” she says into my ear.

“Awww… that happy to see me, eh?” I reply.

“Well, I am but I guarantee that flight suit of yours is going to run away screaming when you take it off. I take that back, it’s already screaming and it will only run away.”

“It’s my new anti-personnel device,” I say, chuckling.

“Congratulations. It’s working. Now go shower and I’ll meet you inside shortly. I’m guessing you want to get the group together to meet,” she says, pulling away with a kiss.

“Yeah. It was an interesting night and I want to get everyone’s take on it before I slip into a coma. See ya in a few,” I reply.

Lynn nods and trots back to the training group. With Robert on one side of me and Bri on the other, we head inside. I’ve seen it a hundred times and thought about it as many, but seeing them walk along with M-4s over their shoulders like it was nothing out of the ordinary still seems surreal to me. In a world filled with the bizarre, it just strikes me as odd and is just a sign of the times we now live in.

Craig and the others of the flight follow in with their gear and we meet up by the table we briefed at the evening prior. Frank joins us as we lay our marked maps out on the table. He has been taking notes from our markings to add to the master map he has in the back of the operations room.

“First of all, I want to say nicely done to everyone. Robert, good job picking up and changing targets on the fly. It can be overwhelming when targets come up suddenly like that and in such numbers. Nice job sorting it out and picking out one group at a time. And noting the buildings they ran into. I can’t say enough about the job everyone did tonight,” I say.

I watch as the confidence I saw in Robert solidifies. There’s a definite light shining through and he has picked up the mantle of leadership well. Yes, there is more to learn but I notice that a definite foundation has been built. I’m happy to see it as who knows just how long I have here. I want to make sure both Robert and Bri have the skills it takes to survive in this world we find ourselves trapped in. I feel more secure seeing those roots take hold and grow.

“So, with that said, what can we do better?” I ask. Silence among the group ensues. It’s the usual response to question like that.

“How were our reload times?” I ask, trying to prompt a discussion.

“I thought they were fine. We didn’t lose any targets because of it,” Robert replies.

“Okay, true. Any difficulties designating targets and getting the guns to bear? How was the lead on the moving targets?” I ask further.

“I thought we coordinated well and it seemed our first rounds hit where we wanted,” McCafferty chimes in.

“Dad, what about hitting multiple targets? I’ve been looking over the systems and we can designate and fire on two separate targets at once. At least if they are in close proximity. We could’ve hit more of the packs when they were in the open if we did that,” Robert says.

“Do you think we’re ready for that?” I ask in return.

“I think we can do it. And we could have accounted for more night runners if we had that going tonight,” he answers.

“You know that if we fuck it up, then we stand the chance of missing the lot of them as we back,” I say.

“I know but I think we can do it,” he replies.

“Okay, you take the fire control crew and run through the systems. Take them through dry runs after we get some sleep. If we decide to head out again tonight, we’ll leave early and practice on the range,” I say.

“Okay, Dad.”

“Anything else?” I ask.

No one replies and we separate, some heading to the showers and others drifting upstairs for a bite to eat. Before leaving the table, I wrap my arm around Bri’s shoulder.

“I just want to say very nice job tonight. You handle those systems like you were born for it. I’m very proud of you,” I say. She looks up and gives me a smile of appreciation.

“Thanks, Dad. It’s not that hard and I love flying with you,” she says.

Her smile warms my heart. I head off to the showers to try and remove some of the stink I’m carrying around with me. It suddenly dawns on me that the reason everyone didn’t talk during the debriefing is because they wanted to get away from my proximity as soon as they could. I can’t say as I blame them much as I’m trying to get away from me just as quick as possible.

The hot water flowing over me not only cleans the grime off but I also feel some of the stress that formed over the past couple of days flow down the drain. I still feel tired but lighter and more refreshed. Finishing, I dress and head upstairs to catch a bite before meeting with the group. I’m then finding my cot and fading off for a year-long sleep.

Sitting with Robert, Bri, and the rest of Red Team, I listen as they tell various war stories; both recent and past. Although the kitchen crew manages to make quite tasty meals, I barely notice as thoughts race through my head. The thoughts are very scattered with none sticking around for very long before being replaced by another. I glance toward the front door and the daylight pouring in through the entrance windows.

I notice, in an abstract manner, the periphery close in. The gray light filtering in seems to zoom into focus and I feel myself rush forward into the light as if speeding through a tunnel. The light vanishes.

“Jack… Jack…Come back, Jack,” I hear Lynn say as if from a distance.

I feel the reverse of what drew me into my reverie; rushing backward through a tunnel. My surroundings slowly resolve and clarity returns. I shake my head clearing the reverie.

“Welcome back,” Lynn says.

“Wow! That was bizarre,” I say, looking down to the half-eaten sandwich sitting in my hand.

“What?” Lynn asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I reply. “Are we ready?”

“Yeah, everyone is gathered,” she answers.

(For the story and world where Jack ventured to during this dream-like state, look for the collaboration novella with Mark Tufo, “A Shrouded World”,where Jack meets Michael Talbot.)

Plodding over to our meeting area, I have Frank bring up a monitor and tape player. I put in the tapes we recorded last night and show them the sudden appearance of the night runners.

“Holy shit!” Drescoll exclaims as the screen turns white in almost the blink of an eye. “There must be thousands of them.”

I look at the rest of our group with their jaws hanging open at the sight. Frank asks for a rewind and plays it in slow motion watching their emergence. He begins taking notes. Several smiles paint the faces of the group as the tape plays forward to our engagements. The flashes and prone bodies are portrayed on the screen in stark detail. I feel a moment of sorrow as these were once humans and, at least on the screen, they don’t look any different. An image of Nic flashes through my head and the sorrow is short-lived. As I said to Bri seemingly so long ago, we can never feel sorrow for these creatures. They are as dangerous a foe as humankind has ever faced. The tape finishes.

“So, it appears the night runners have gathered into much larger packs,” Frank says. “If I were to hazard a guess, those we saw on the screen would pretty much represent the entire number of night runners in the area.”

“Do you really think so?” I ask.

“Well, I want to take a closer look today to get an exact count, but with the percentages we have from the CDC and knowing the previous population, I would say it’s close to the amount we’d expect. I mean, there have been losses but from what I saw, I would say they have all gathered together. I can give a better answer after I look it over,” he answers.

“Okay, let’s look at it another way. How many survivors do you think there really are? Forgive the pun, but what’s your frank assessment?” I ask.

“Like I’ve never heard that one before. Well, again taking the percentages into account against the presumed losses, I would venture there is less than one-half of one percent left. I have been trying to come up with a trend regarding locations for the survivors, but if there is one, I haven’t found it. My best guess, based on the factors of night runner gatherings, is most are in rural areas but we’ve found survivors in the urban districts as well. It may be that we have primarily conducted our searches there. We may want to extend our searches into the rural areas but my feeling is that, seeing the ones in the rural regions will most likely survive longer, we should still concentrate our searches to the urban areas,” he replies.

“What about with the large gathering?” I further ask.

“Well, if they are gathering in hordes like that, I would put the chances of other survivors where they are at close to nil. Those left alive will be found and, with those numbers, will be quickly overrun,” Frank replies.

“And the chances of similar gatherings like those we saw last night?”

“If it’s happening here, then I would say we’d have to expect it elsewhere. It seems to be in their nature to gather. With what we’ve witnessed in our outings, it seems that the night runners gather around a leader. We don’t know how that is chosen. It could be strength, intelligence, or some other factor. If they have gathered together in that large of a pack, then I would guess it would have to be around a very strong leader,” Frank responds.

I think back to the strong ones I felt across a distance a while ago. What he says makes sense. The stronger the leader in the area, the larger the gathering. A thought occurs that if we could locate and take out the leader, then perhaps the pack will scatter. That may not be a good thing though. It may be easier if they gather in one place. Locate that place and we could either attack it in strength from afar or know that the other areas were clear. Of course, if we did take out the pack leader, it may be that another would just step in. We know so little.

“Let’s take it a step farther. What if the night runners we saw last night gathered with the greater numbers in Tacoma and Seattle?” I ask.

I seem to be full of questions but I want everyone’s thoughts. The thought of encountering such a vast number of night runners worries me to no end. And worry is putting it mildly. It scares me to death. What I saw last night is scary enough. I can’t imagine a horde numbering in the hundreds of thousands. My questions cause silence among us as we ponder the ramifications. We all saw the video and imagine a gathering of ten times that number.

Frank rubs his chin lost in thought. “I don’t see that happening to be honest, Jack,” he eventually says. “From what we’ve seen of the packs before our cameras were destroyed, the night runners seem to be driven by their need to hunt and by the prey nearby. A much larger gathering wouldn’t be able to feed itself. And given area and hunting grounds will only support a certain number of predators depending on the food source available. If they gather in greater numbers, the vicinity will become devoid of prey in a short time. They couldn’t sustain themselves. Now, while they may be able to migrate, they are limited in that ability by their only being able to be out at night. I really don’t see them gathering beyond what we see on the tape and I’m not sure if a pack that size can sustain itself for very long here. It may be that they can, but if that’s so, it certainly won’t be able to support many more.”

What he says is true and makes me feel a little better. “So, the number of night runners we may encounter in a certain area will be determined by the number of prey and by the previous population?” Lynn says.

“That’s my feeling,” Frank states.

“It’s my feeling that we are pushing them back by searching them out at night and by demolishing any buildings that would house them. We definitely saw them being pushed farther to the southeast last night. I feel the need to keep this up but our time is limited. It’s only a matter of time before the jet fuel becomes too contaminated to use and we have to prioritize what we want to do with that time. We are achieving results here but we also made a promise to the soldiers to look for their families. Which priority do we take?” I ask.

“I think we focus on our attacks in the local area,” Horace says. “I think the morale factor will be improved by knowing we are taking action and securing the local neighborhood.”

“I disagree. While I’m in complete agreement with the fact that we are achieving results here, we owe it to the others to do what we said and search for their families. You mentioned morale and I feel that we will be better served by showing we care. And, as you mentioned, Jack, we made a promise,” Drescoll states.

The debate continues with valid points on both sides. I feel we are pushing the night runners out of the area but feel conflicted regarding continuing our attacks versus searching for the families. Yes, we did promise and holding the faith of others is important but where does that promise lie when the safety of others may be in jeopardy. Seeing the vast numbers of night runners last night eroded some of the security I felt we were building.

I mention that we have enough ammo for the 105mm stored at Fort Lewis for leveling the local area but not enough for places like Seattle and the surrounding areas. We don’t have to rely solely on the Spooky as we can use C-4 and maybe learn to use the heavy calibers of the tanks but the AC-130 certainly makes shorter work of it.

We eventually arrive at agreement to continue to use the AC-130 for during the night until Captain Leonard arrives. We’ll then evaluate our progress and priorities at that point. The consensus seems to be to attack for the next couple of nights and then determine our route in the search for families. We all know that time is of the essence and that every day we delay lessens their chance of survival, but our survival here ranks highest on our priority list. Once we have a certain measure of security, we can then head out in our search. Weather will be a contributing factor for heading out across the distances.

I also mention not finding any night runners in the areas we have already demolished and the absence of them around the Fort Lewis and McChord areas.

“That means the hospital will be clear, right?” Drescoll asks. “We could use some of the equipment inside, especially as we have a doctor on board now.”

“I suppose so but just because we didn’t pick any up on the screen doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” I reply.

“Can you sense them if we get close?” He further asks.

“I can try, but as I mentioned earlier, it doesn’t really seem to work that way. It’s more of a hit or miss type of thing. I couldn’t sense much of anything below us tonight and there were a shit ton of them. Of course, the distance may have been a factor but I’m not going to rely on it being an accurate indication,” I respond.

We talk over a few other items and then break for the day. I head off to find my pillow as my eyes are closing on their own. Nodding to Robert and Bri as they trudge toward to their wooden cubicles, I draw the curtains back and barely make it to my cot before collapsing.

Waking early in the afternoon from a deep, restful sleep, I grab a bite and trudge downstairs to the table. Frank meets me and we go over the map marking buildings. I notice he has selected several in the area we visited last night.

“I looked at the tape a few times and marked some of the larger buildings that remain where the night runners ran into last night. The big one here,” he says, pointing to a coliseum of Saint Martin’s College, “is where a majority of them emerged from. I would target it first and before dark. If they are still in there, we could get a number of them while they are still inside.”

“Okay, we’ll concentrate in that area. Good job,” I reply, running my finger along the buildings he’s marked. With his hand covering a wide yawn, Robert joins us.

“Careful,” I say, “you’ll unhinge your jaw.”

“It feels like it,” Robert responds, breaking into another yawn which, of course, becomes contagious.

“Other large groups emerged from these buildings,” Frank says, pointing out other campus buildings, to which Robert and I nod.

“Now here’s the part that you may not like,” Frank continues. “I couldn’t get an accurate count but by my estimate, the numbers we saw last night were over ten thousand and could be as many as fifteen thousand.”

I know we saw a lot on the screen, so many that the screen literally turned white, but I had no idea there were that many. I am literally stunned into silence. Again, the theoretical number that must be out there that we can summon up in our head isn’t like physically seeing that many. It’s like when I’d see something in the news that mentioned a billion dollars. It’s easy to conceptualize because it’s something imaginary, but trying to actually visualize a billion of something is mighty hard to do.

Frank looks at Robert and me staring at the maps with our jaws scraping the ground. “If we take the estimates we found from CDC reports and combine that with the area population, that puts the total number of night runners in the area somewhere around sixty thousand. If we take an attrition percentage from starvation, combat, and other factors, and I don’t even know what number to use, but let’s use a fifty percent attrition factor, then that leaves thirty thousand remaining in the local area. That means those we saw last night only represent half, or less, of those left,” Frank states.

“I can’t imagine what the larger areas like Seattle would be like,” Robert comments.

“What will be interesting is to see whether a pack of this size can stay together considering the food they’ll need. My guess is that they’ll have to migrate to some extent or cover a wide area,” Frank says.

“What about the other fifteen or so thousand in the area? Where do you think they’ll be located and do you think they’ll eventually join up with those we saw last night? As far as that goes, do you think they’ve established other large groups?” I ask.

“I’m not sure to be honest. I’m guessing there were a few that migrated outward into the countryside. I imagine those will be in smaller groups just because there aren’t that many places to house larger packs. And, I have no idea whether they’ll join up or if there are other large groups. For the most part up until now, we’ve only observed small packs of five to seven and larger groups of up to twenty or so. We don’t have any information on how they group or why, but it does seem they have the tendency to collect together,” Frank answers. “Like I mentioned, they may group together based on prey or leadership. We’ll just have to watch and see.”

The others on the flight crew begin to arrive singly or in small groups. I brief the overall flight for our practice runs up at Fort Lewis and for the night. Robert briefs the systems and changes for selecting and firing on two targets simultaneously. That will be utilizing both the 40mm auto-cannon and gatling gun in unison. The 105mm howitzer will be used for single targets, those being the buildings. With everyone hovering around the large map with the buildings for the night marked, I point out the targets mentioning Frank’s briefing about where the night runners emerged from and his estimate of numbers.

“We’re going to conduct practice runs this afternoon over the ranges, land to refuel and rearm, and then we’re taking off again during daylight to destroy the campus buildings in the hopes of catching those night runners we witnessed last night inside,” I say. Smiles light up around the table thinking of being able to catch that many night runners indoors.

“We’ll then patrol the rest of the evening looking for night runners on the prowl and taking out the remainder of the marked buildings. The weather looks better than last night but we’ll be keeping an eye on it. Be ready as night falls to engage any night runners emerging. Any questions?” I ask. There aren’t any so we gather our gear and fold into the vehicles the same as last night.

Taking off, we circle one of the large Fort Lewis ranges. It takes a while to get the coordination for multiple target selection and firing. After quite a few runs, the crews are able to put their rounds on the selected targets. It’s not as good as when we run the single targets but our rounds eventually impact close to the ones selected. I’m not too sure about using this as our first option, but if the night runners emerge like they did last night, then close is good enough. Our 40mm and 20mm rounds will decimate their ranks. I’m eager to see the devastation we’ll bring upon the night runners. This time, we’ll be ready for their emergence. They kind of took us by surprise last night and, although Robert reacted quickly, we could have taken out a far greater number. Their numbers worry me, okay, scare the shit out of me, and I’m all for reducing those. Zero would be good number.

We land to rearm and refuel. The cloud cover has broken letting the sun shine through in intervals. If it clears and the winds calm down, there is a chance of fog forming so we’ll have to watch for that. It will be easier given that we’ll be able to fly under the weather and have a clear visual of the region. Feeling the sun warm my shoulders as it casts its rays through a break in the clouds, I hook up the fuel lines from the truck Robert drove over. We stand next to each other as the volatile fuel runs through the thick, rubber hoses and into the selected tanks. The high-revving truck is loud but we manage to shout about the noise.

“Are you sure about running multiple targets tonight?” I ask, shouting above the truck noise.

“Yeah, I think we have it down,” he answers.

“You know we can’t afford to lose any time or be off target if they emerge suddenly like last night,” I say.

“Dad, we’ve got it. It took us a while to work the coordination but we can do it,” he replies.

“Okay. Just don’t forget the leads.”

“No worries, Dad, we’ll handle it and bring the rain down on their heads,” Robert says with a smile.

I shake my head remembering my own youth and enthusiasm and it’s hard to hide a smile hearing it from my own son. There was a time when I used to use those same words. The others return with a fresh load of ammo just as we are reeling up the last of the hose. Bri walks out from the rear of the aircraft readjusting the M-4 on her shoulder, a weapon she has used several times.

“The gauges all show fuel although the right wing outer fuel gauge stuck for a moment. I tapped it and it ran up to full,” she says as Robert drives the fuel truck over by the base operations building.

“Keep an eye on it. It may stick on the way down as well,” I say, thinking we may have to switch the gauge out with one from the HC-130 parked next to us.

The specific fuel tank and gauge are the same between the aircraft so it should be an easy change out. It is, however, a reminder that everything will eventually fail and that the fuel becoming unusable may not be the only limiting factor on our ability to fly.

“I will, Dad,” she replies.

Loaded up again, we climb into our positions and take off into the afternoon sky. It’s going to be another long night but at least we’ll have some action to keep us occupied rather than just boring holes through the sky. I feel a heightened degree of anticipation knowing we are about to hammer a large night runner lair. I’m also looking forward to the start of the night when we may have the chance to ‘bring the rain’ with the emergence of the night runners. With the hope of a seeing a large number of them again, I turn the Spooky south listening to Robert and the crew run through their checks and bring the systems online.

We set up and orbit around the Saint Martin’s campus. It’s daylight with the clouds breaking farther apart. The late afternoon sky drifts through the windshield as we circle. I glance down at the large arena that Frank indicated housed a majority of the night runner horde we saw. The light of day will allow me to watch the awe-inspiring sight of the 105mm rounds impacting.

Robert sets up the target and clears the gunner to fire. Making sure to keep a stable platform for the crews in back, I look down just in time to witness the impact. With a yellow and orange flash, the first round collides against one side of the structure. The point of impact disappears in a cloud of smoke and dust that rockets upward quickly. Brick and large chunks of the building are hurtled outward into the surrounding parking lot. As we circle, gaining a different vantage point, I see a portion of the building has collapsed into a pile of debris. Robert waits for the call that the weapon is reloaded and clear before issuing the command to fire once again.

The picture is repeated until nothing is left of the facility except a smoking pile of debris. Small and large chunks of the building are scattered over a vast area of the parking lots. We move onto the other campus buildings leaving the area around the library intact.

“Any sign of bodies?” I ask, watching the devastation below.

The repeater scope I have dialed in zooms for a closer look at the rubble. I can only glance down at it in intervals but I don’t see anything that resembles a body or parts of bodies amongst the wreckage.

“I don’t see any from here,” Robert reports after a moment.

“Alright. Keep an eye out but let’s move on,” I say.

The sun moves on toward the western horizon turning from a yellow to an orange ball sitting just above the silhouette of the Olympic Mountains. The waves of the South Sound sparkle as the rays bounce off their crests. The campus below lies in smoldering ruins. I radio the base notifying Frank of our progress and for him to have a team prepared to recon the campus below us tomorrow to search for bodies. Although we don’t see any through our cameras, we need the intelligence to see how successful we are. Frank will need that info to update his intel on the remaining night runners in the area. I cast my thoughts outward and ‘see’ nothing. It’s blank without even a hint of a night runner about. I wish I understood this ‘ability’ better.

We drone on, taking out some of the marked buildings as the sun sinks lower behind the mountains. My eagerness to catch the emerging night runners increases with each inch the sun lowers. It vanishes with a bright orange band of light spreading behind the hills, highlighting the underside of the remaining clouds. I tell Robert and the crew to be ready. The guns are loaded and wait for the order to rain death below. The cameras zoom out ready to catch the appearance of the packs. Seeing we may have taken down a central lair, the remaining packs could materialize from anywhere. The orange sunset changes to purple and then darkness dominates the landscape.

I can almost feel everyone holding their breath expecting the screens to light up like last night. The silence within the aircraft matches the quiet that seems to emanate from the ground. It’s as if the world is having a final silent moment waiting for two forces to collide. The sunset fades into darkness yet the screens remain empty. There is no sign of any night runners escaping their lairs to run into the night. I cast outward once again and feel the same emptiness. We’ve either annihilated the night runners in their vast lair or they’ve moved somewhere else. Or it may be something altogether different.

“Okay folks, let’s press on to the other buildings. Stay alert for any night runners on the prowl. Be ready but it’s apparent we aren’t getting the show we had last night,” I say over the radio. I listen as Robert sets up the next target and I contact Frank with the news.

The remainder of the evening is clearing building after building. We don’t see a single night runner all night and I don’t know whether I should feel worried or relieved. Depleting our 105mm rounds, I head over the base area searching for any night runners out hunting but we come up empty. To all intents and purposes, the area seems to be clear. I know that can’t be true given the numbers that Frank said must still be around. I open myself and push outward in the hopes of feeling something, even lowering our altitude in case the distance is a factor. I don’t sense anything all night. We land and shut down a little after midnight, sealing the aircraft up and stretch out where we can in order to catch some sleep.

Michael rises feeling the others of the pack begin to stir with the coming of the night. They lost a lot of the pack the night prior but a greater majority of them survived the exploding buildings and that which hunted them from above. He ran the packs far away from the devastation and found a series of buildings which would suffice for their lair. He had to split the pack into different buildings but they were roomy and will provide warmth and shelter. He feels their current location will place them far enough away from the two-legged ones to provide an increased margin of safety.

Running far through the night in their escape, he felt their fear and hunger. Tonight, they will set out on the hunt and search for food. Some he will send to find new hunting grounds. Others he will have search for the alternate foods prevalent in many of the abandoned two-legged places. He will have those supplies brought back to stock the lair if they encounter lean times. They will also have food if they are unable to hunt because of the thing in the sky that brings death. If they know that is out and about, he will keep them indoors and they will feed from the supplies.

Michael senses the hesitation of the pack members as darkness falls and they step cautiously out into the unknown. They are far from their normal hunting grounds but he smells fresh scents on the night air as he stands by the entrance watching the packs emerge. He sees them glance upward toward the sky before trotting off with their individual groups. Faint blasts echo in the night from distant explosions, lighting up the sky in intervals. The skyline flashes before the muted booms reach them. He warns each group to take cover if the explosions draw closer or they hear the droning from above.

The building empties with Sandra leaving with one of the last groups. He catches a look from her before she trots off with her large pack. Hers is one of the packs he designated to search the buildings for food they can stock. Michael isn’t exactly sure of what her look means but he knows it isn’t one challenging him. He would have taken action if it was. He can’t allow any challenge to his leadership now that he has gathered so many together. The result would break the gathering apart and they may find themselves in competition with each other rather than cooperating. With the danger surrounding them on a nightly basis, he won’t let that happen. He has allowed Sandra’s arguments only because of the size of her pack and the fact that she has a young one, but there is a line that he won’t allow to be crossed. Giving a low growl of frustration, mixed with eagerness to be on the hunt, he lopes off into the night with others chasing down the scent of a large prey in the area.

The night runner lopes down the tree-lined street with the other five of his pack running behind seeking out the elusive scent of prey in the chill of the night. He was told to take his pack out to search for good hunting grounds; feed his pack and then locate areas where prey is in abundance so the packs can feed on subsequent nights.

They are hungry from not being able to feed the night before. Images quickly surface of last night and having to stay hidden in the building, along with several other packs, while booming explosions rocked the area around him. He had felt fear as some of the other packs vanished from his thoughts with each tremendous blast and had wondered if the next would be on the structure he was hiding in. The sheer terror of hunkering down in a corner with the others of his small pack squatting next to him; all of them jumping with each impact. The ground-shaking blasts drew closer and closer until he was sure the next would bring the walls down around him and the others. There were several moments when he wanted to just rise and flee into the night. The one who leads them all sent a message to keep hidden and that’s the only thing that kept him shivering in the corner, thinking his time was limited. He felt relieved when the loud explosions stopped and he took his first tentative steps outside. There was a great fear that he would be cut down like the others he felt earlier. Then there was the long run through the rest of the night, tired and hungry, to find their current lair.

The distant rumbles and quick flashes of light make him nervous and have him constantly looking up toward the star-lit night. He expects the streams of light he saw before quickly entering the building to streak down on him and his pack. However, his pack has to feed and as long as the booms remain muted in the distance, he’ll stay out and continue the hunt. They need to eat and the pack as a whole need to find adequate hunting grounds. If the crashes begin to draw closer, he’ll take them inside one of the structures. For now though, he’ll test the area for scents and track down any prey.

A few streets farther down with the slap of their feet on the hard path, he stops where two paths come together and lifts his nose into the air. A musky scent drifts on the night air and reaches his finely-tuned sense of smell. It’s from another predator and sometimes prey. It’s one of the four-legged ones that they’ve also found running in packs. They’re a dangerous foe but they are food. The odor mixes with others of its kind and he can tell it’s coming from one of the larger packs. The scent grows stronger.

He looks around at the five others he has in his pack. They need to eat but he knows he doesn’t have the numbers if the four-legged furry ones are in a large enough pack. Deciding to find other prey, he notes the location and presses farther into the night.

A few streets beyond, he stops. The scents swirling through the numerous streets and abandoned two-legged lairs makes it difficult to determine a particular direction but the smell he picked up earlier of the furry four-legged ones is definitely stronger. He turns to see if he can see them but the streets remain as empty as they have been all night. The others in his pack have their noses in the air as they also detect the increase. Although they are showing some nervousness, there is also a degree of eagerness. That aroma means food even if it does also mean a fight. He detects even more of the mixed, musty smells. It’s a larger pack but he can’t determine just how large. Still wanting to find other food sources, he turns away from where he thinks the scent is coming from and begins trotting again.

Hungry and tired, he stops once again a short time later as the musky scents become even stronger. He has the sudden feeling they are being followed. A light breeze causes the branches to the side of the street to sway ever so slightly. The odor of the four-legged ones out on the prowl becomes stronger and then lighter depending on the flow of the wind. The street is filled with a soft rustle as another light gust blows through the leaf-clad trees. Faintly, caught upon the swirls of air, he hears the soft padding of many feet. They aren’t the heavy footfalls of another pack but those of smaller animals. That, coupled with the increasing scent tells him that something is nearing.

He is wary of the small number he has with him. He has fought the ferocious four-legged ones in the past but those were small in number and he was the one chasing them. The fact that they are following his small pack leaves him with a wary feeling. The sounds of the padded footfalls increases and then go silent. He stands in the middle of the street looking up and down the hard path and into the strips of land between the surrounding structures but sees nothing. His pack draws nearer and they huddle closer together. He feels them begin to get anxious, their eyes darting in all directions and raising their noses high into the air. The gusts die for a moment and he picks up the faint sound of panting. Whatever it happens to be is near.

He is at a loss as to which direction to go. He wants to continue his hunt but isn’t sure which way he should venture. There is also the hunger gnawing at his stomach. They are a match for most anything and the caution he feels is balanced by eagerness. There is food close by but prey doesn’t normally track its predator. Dark shadows of the things the two-legged ones once used for transport line the sides of the path he is on. He passes several as he cautiously steps toward where two other hard paths meet.

The sound of the soft footfalls begins once more as he nears the corner of the street. This time he can clearly define their direction and, coming to a halt, looks down one of the side roads. The largest pack of four-legged ones he has ever seen comes into view trotting down the center of the street. A low growl issues from his throat as he senses the threat. They outnumber his small pack three-to-one and they aren’t some of the smaller of their kind he has chased down in the past. These are some of the biggest he’s ever seen.

A low growl still vibrates in his throat and he hears the others of his pack emitting the same. Edging out into the middle of the intersection to face the four-legged ones covered that are covered in fur, the large pack of animals halt with every head locked onto him and the ones with him. The large animal in front of the others hunches down and he hears a low growl similar to his emanate from it. Several other four-legged ones join in and he notices the hair on their haunches raised with their ears drawn back. A fight is coming and he feels the excitement of it surface, underwritten by a measure of worry. It’s not quite like the overwhelming thrill of the chase but it’s similar. A pack this large will not be easy to take down but the adrenaline that courses through his body fills him.

The four-legged one in front and several behind it edge forward. Several farther behind separate and race off to the side and are soon lost from sight in the tall grass covering the areas in front of the deserted lairs. He marks their progress to either side of the hard path by the tops of the grass swaying to the side and being trampled down. Those soon emerge and form smaller groups on both sides of his small pack. He knows this tactic, having been taught to do this very thing from their overall pack leader. These four-legged ones will hit them from multiple sides at once. He sends a picture to his pack members letting them know this and for them to position themselves toward these smaller groups.

As the four-legged ones slink closer, his growl increases in intensity warning them. He hunches forward, readying himself for the inevitable attack. The three groups surrounding them continue to edge forward mixing their own low growls in with those of his pack. The hair along the backs of the four-legged ones stand on end with their tails posted low to the ground. Every one of them has their lips pulled back revealing their dangerous, long canines meant to rip, shred, and tear. Only a few feet away from him, the other leader hunches down and runs forward a few steps, then launches high into the air.

The other four-legged ones charge in on the heels of their leader. Their growls combine with those from his own pack and the once still of the night erupts into a din of howls and snarls. He steps quickly to the side and pushes the leaping four-legged leader aside into the path of a couple others rushing in. Quickly turning back, he grabs another leaping form that is nearly upon him and slams it to the ground adding a pained yelp to the mixed clamor of noise. Not able to take the split second necessary to rend the four-legged one, he turns to take a third springing figure square in the chest.

Grabbing the one as it attempts to tear at his throat, he feels the hot breath and sees the gnashing teeth inches away. The four-legged one is rocking its head back and forth violently trying to break from his grasp and sink its long teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. The impact of the animal causes him to lose his balance and he feels himself toppling backward. If he falls, he knows, that for him, this fight will end almost before it started.

Holding the side of the four-legged one’s neck with a firm grip, and with the last of his balance, he jumps into the air twisting as he goes down putting the snarling one below him. Timing it just right, he pushes outward with all of his might. The head of the creature hits the hard ground with a crack. It emits a quick, pained yelp and goes limp. He quickly rises and notes that the other four-legged ones have drawn back. They still encircle his small pack but their initial onslaught is over.

His head rapidly turns from side to side looking for other leaping figures but all have retreated a few feet away. He notes one of his pack members is on the ground unmoving. Four of the four-legged ones lie still around them including the one he just finished off. The sweet smell of blood rises on the night air filling him with a deep lust for more. He sees injured four-legged ones limping behind the packs still surrounding him. Others prowl back and forth but the leader locks eyes on him and snarls; his teeth bared. This fight is long from over.

He wanted this open area so he could see an attack from any direction but now he realizes he would have been better served by having something at his back. He isn’t used to being the one attacked so this didn’t register until now. He looks to the surrounding buildings and thinks of climbing one of the fences and getting on one of the roofs. The height will keep the four-legged ones at bay until he can think of something else. The problem is that he’d have to go through the line surrounding him and his four remaining pack members. The safety of the structures might as well be a long night’s run away. Rumbles continue to echo off in the distance with quick bursts of light illuminating the night sky. His plight makes the activity in the distance seem even farther away.

Without warning, the four-legged attack in unison once again. One moment they are growling and milling about, the next launching themselves into the air at him and the others. The area is once again filled with snarling, twisting bodies. It’s all he can do to keep the leaping figures off him. He is dancing to the sides, throwing jumping and bounding figures from him. Screams of pain from both the four-legged ones and his pack rise up over the din. It seems like the four-legged ones keep materializing out of nowhere. As he was avoiding one, another latches onto his arm. The hurt is immediate and intense, sending white hot pain rocketing into his head.

The four-legged one, with its teeth buried deep in his forearm, is rocking its head from side to side, ripping into and tearing the soft tissue and muscle. His arm feels close to snapping from the intense pressure. He reaches down to pry the snarling mouth from his arm but he can’t pull it free. Punching with all of his strength downward, his fist lands heavily on the long snout. He feels more than hears the crunch as the bone of the four-legged one gives way sending a spray of blood out its nostrils. The creature lets go with a strangled yelp and streaks off into the night with its tail between its legs. His arm burns with pain as he turns to face his next attacker.

Momentarily clear of furry bodies leaping toward him, he turns in time to see another of his pack members go down and realizes there are now only two of them left. One struggles nearby with the jaws of one of the large four-legged ones clamped about his throat. The pack leader kicks out hard connecting directly with the rib cage of the four-legged one feeling the ribs give way. It gives up its hold and staggers to the side. He looks down and realizes it is too late for his pack member. Blood runs freely from his torn throat forming a deep pool beside him. Twitching a few times, he goes limp and the blood flow slows to a trickle.

The four-legged ones continue to press their attack despite losing close to half of their own. The iron smell of blood fills the air creating a feeding frenzy of sorts. Mixed in is a myriad of odors; blood, feces, bodies torn apart. The pavement is slick with body fluids as they run to the lower ground and slowly make their way to the gutters. The last remaining member goes down surrounded by furry bodies and shrieking in pain.

He realizes his time is now measured in moments and takes off down the street. Feeling the warm blood trickling down his arm, he hears the sound of running paws behind him. He vaults up and over one of the abandoned, dark transport things sitting by the side of the hard path feeling the cold metallic surface under his hands and feet. Landing in the tall grass on the other side in a crouch, he hears the howls behind him, closing the distance. He is used to being on the other side of the chase. The tables have been turned.

With his heart racing in his chest, he looks at a wooden fence just a short distance away. If I can just make it, he thinks in a series of picture images representing safety. Springing quickly forward, he makes for the fence and the measure of protection it represents. The snarls are right on his heels as he races through the tall grass. He feels an impact on his lower leg and teeth penetrate his skin and muscle tissue. The sudden weight of the animal, bite, and sharp tug on his calf cause him to trip and he goes down feeling a bolt of pain shoot up his leg.

Rolling as he goes down hard, he kicks out at the four-legged one latched firmly onto his leg. The one who has hold of him is growling heavily and tugging sharply causing his leg to tear even more. He kicks out with his other leg, making contact with its head. With a loud “yelp”, the animal releases his grip and backs off a short distance.

The night runner rises quickly and begins to race for the fence once again. With each step on his injured leg, he feels a small amount of pain but it is mostly ignored. What he can’t ignore is the fact that his leg won’t support him as it should. The fence draws near when another impact hits him in the back. He immediately feels teeth sink into his rump. Another hard bump hits him on his already injured leg. Teeth sink deeply into both areas and he is knocked forward. He goes down again and rolls to face his attackers.

His ears are saturated with the sounds of growling and snarling which combine with his own deep, loud growls. Teeth-filled mouths fill his vision, snapping at him as he tries to fend them off. The one lets go of his rump but he feels the sharp tugging of the one clamped onto his leg. Another latches onto his arm and he feels the flesh tear. Still growling and fighting with everything he has, he sees one face loom close and feels teeth sink into the soft skin under his chin. Warm blood pours down the sides of his neck. The creature shakes its head sharply. He shrieks in pain but it’s cut off abruptly as he feels the soft skin and cartilage tear free. Feeling white hot pain for only a split second, the night grows dim and fades into nothing. A different pack will feed well tonight.

With the coming of dawn, we take care of refueling and rearming the Spooky and head back to the compound. The command group is waiting and we meet once I get cleaned up. Franks informs us that Leonard radioed before my arrival this morning indicating that he will be arriving the next morning. He said that he will try Olympia first but will have to wait for the tide in order to transit the narrow straits. Bannerman briefs that the supplies for the sub will be ready by the end of the day.

Wanting to be there when Leonard arrives and talk about his plans, I decide to take a night off from our evening flights. This will give the flight crews a night of rest as well. On one hand, I’m not eager to take a night off seeing as we seem to have the night runners on the run but it’s important to coordinate with Leonard. It’s also important to rest the crews.

Lynn informs us that she sent Mullins with Charlie team out to recon the campus buildings we destroyed last night. I’m very interested to see if we managed to take out a large number of night runners in their lair with the hope being that we eliminated a large portion of those we caught the night prior. While we wait for word, Bannerman brings us up to speed on the progress of our other projects.

“The inner wall will be complete either today or sometime tomorrow,” he states. “We can then start on the towers and pouring the concrete in the containers that will serve as the foundations for the quarters.”

“Starting today, we are going to use Roger, the pilot that arrived with Sam’s group, to once again begin our search for others in the local area. We’ve just about completed the Tacoma area and will start up in the residential areas leading toward Seattle once we are finished there. Arranging for the pickup crews that far north will require one or two teams to be out for the entire day so we’ll need to coordinate when we can do that,” Frank states.

“We should be okay with regards to the teams once the supply runs are complete. Most of the projects we have are local and won’t require any security,” Lynn replies.

Mullins reports in that they arrived at what once used to be Saint Martin’s College. The buildings are still smoldering piles of rubble and, from the two buildings they’ve searched so far, they haven’t found a trace of night runner bodies within the piles or amongst the scattered debris. All indications so far point to the fact that we missed the large horde we witnessed emerging the previous night. We must have pushed the night runners out of the area and that means there is still just as many of them out there somewhere. That does not give me warm, fuzzy feelings at all. I was so hoping we had made a big step in clearing the area out.

“Is there any way we can step up the training?” I ask Lynn, thinking about the numbers of night runners compared to our meager numbers.

Our numbers don’t indicate our true fire power. We may have a few survivors gathered with us but we only have a very limited number of trained personnel. Any increase in our teams will add to our ability to defend ourselves.

“Jack, you know we can’t skimp on the training. We have to keep the concept of quality over quantity,” Lynn states.

“Yeah, I understand that and wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just that the number of night runners out there makes what we have here a very scary proposition,” I reply.

“We can always increase the numbers we put through any class but that will draw away from resources in other areas. That will mean there are fewer to work on crews at any given time and we’ll have to draw more from the existing teams for training,” Lynn says. “We have another group graduating shortly.”

“Will we be able to increase the number of teams with the graduates?” Drescoll asks.

“We have a few promising candidates and should be able to field another team,” Lynn answers.

“What about putting those in the next training class that already have some degree of training and/or experience?” I ask.

“I’ve thought of that and have arranged for those in Miguel’s group to begin. Do you have others in mind?” Lynn asks.

“What about putting Sergeant Prescott’s group straight into phase two after testing them out to ensure they have the skills needed to graduate from phase one?” I ask Lynn.

“We can do that but that will mean drawing from the other teams to assist in training,” she answers. “Bannerman mentioned that we won’t need as many security details so we may be able to swing it. My only concern with that is whether you are still planning to take two of the teams in search for the families. Has that been decided upon yet?”

“I think we should,” Drescoll chimes in. “It seems we are pushing the night runners out of the area as planned. It seems the time is right if we’re going to. Jack keeps mentioning our time is running out to get out there and search.”

“I’m in agreement as well,” Horace says.

“If I take two teams and we have the night watch to maintain, will that deplete us to a level where we won’t be able to accomplish anything or put us at a drastically increased safety risk?” I ask, addressing the group.

“We have enough supplies to get us through the winter if our population stays where it’s at. If our searches bring in greater numbers, well, we’ll have to evaluate that at the time. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we won’t need security details for supply runs,” Bannerman says.

“And we’ll have an extra team in about a week when the classes graduate. I plan to disperse them with the other teams and form the new team with our veterans,” Lynn says. “I think we’ll be okay if nothing out of the ordinary arises. And, if the soldiers with Sergeant Prescott go straight to phase two, we’ll have two additional teams in just a few weeks after that. How long do you think you’ll be gone, Jack?”

I notice Lynn’s hesitation with that question. I know she isn’t a fan of my heading out but this may be the last time we are able to. Thankful for that, I am eager to be off and get it over with. It seems we are able to tread water for the time being with regards to our safety but that doesn’t take into account any new adaptations the night runners may have made. The stress of not knowing is agonizing. I feel a measure of security but at the same time, the numbers of them out there and their ability to adapt worries me.

“I’m not really sure to be honest. With the limitations and the few in number who are going, I’m guessing we’ll be gone anywhere from ten days to two weeks. I’ll start planning the route after I wake this afternoon,” I answer.

“Shit, Jack! Two fucking weeks?! Really, that long?” Lynn asks.

“Well, we have ten left who have families within the parameters we set. We covered that for Gonzalez and McCafferty so that is two less than the original twelve. When we first talked about it, I mentioned two days per search and I don’t see any way that can be shortened to be honest,” I answer.

“Fuck it. Ten days it is but I don’t have to like it. You know the one reason but the second is that we’ll be two teams shy for an extended period of time,” Lynn says. “I know it’s important and I’m all for it but I’m not a fan of being out of communication for that long.”

“I know and neither am I. So, it seems we are in agreement to do it and in a week after the next trainee graduation, right?” I ask. Nods from around the table indicate that everyone is in agreement.

“Okay, I’ll start planning today. I’ll take Red Team as they are the on the list along with a single C-130. I may swing down to Canon AFB on the way back to pick up a second Spooky so we have a spare on hand,” I say.

“I’ll see to reorganizing a team with the other six on the list. Who do you want to lead the second team?” Lynn asks.

I look over to Greg who rolls his eyes and then says, “Sure, I’ll go. It was so much fun the last time. Besides, I can’t very well miss the chance to see what fucktardity you come up with next.”

“Come up with that all on your own, did you?” I ask.

“Yep. It’s the only word that fits what processes through that extremely warped mind of yours,” Greg counters.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Lynn says, smiling.

“You realize that the aircraft latrine needs to be cleaned daily and I’m currently in the market for volunteers, right?” I say.

“Oh, is that where you vomit out the ideas you come up with that don’t actually get made into plans?” Greg says to the amusement of the group.

“I give up. I’m taking my ball and going home… taking my ball… going home,” I reply. “Oh, and before I go, let me leave you with this… Fuck off!”

I retire to Lynn’s and my small partition trying to think of what a good comeback would have been but fail miserably. I’m a little disappointed at not hitting the large night runner lair while they were in it. However, my pillow is calling in soothing tones and it doesn’t like to be ignored.