Dissension

The Widening Rift

Waking in the afternoon, I want to just remain lying on my cot. However, there is only so much time one can spend on a cot without permanently realigning the back into a not favorable position. Walking downstairs of the mostly empty interior, I gather Robert and Craig to plan our little jaunt across the western part of what used to be the United States. I still think of it in those terms even with the collapse of any governing body because, well, it’s just easier that way. The states are just drawn lines on pieces of paper, but in regards to planning, it’s still much simpler to refer to them in that manner. A place has to have a name when referring to it and the old ones are just as good as any.

We settle at one of the larger tables and spread out flight navigation maps. I have the information on where we need to go for each of the soldiers. Now it’s just a matter of planning the exact route to make the best of our time. It takes a few hours to plan out the route but the overall flight will take us in a clockwise circle around the entire western continent. Our first stop will be at Mountain Home AFB, Idaho and then off to Malmstrom AFB, Montana. Then it’s off to Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, McConnell AFB, Kansas, Petersen AFB, Colorado, Luke AFB, Arizona, Nellis AFB, Nevada, Vandenberg AFB, California, Travis AFB, California, and then McClellan AFB, California before returning home. I plan to drop by Canon AFB, New Mexico on the leg from Colorado to Arizona to pick up another AC-130 gunship and ammunition for it. Why couldn’t everyone who has family we are looking for have grown up as neighborhood friends? I think looking at the route drawn on our maps. It’s a long series of flights that we’ll be lucky to finish in a mere ten days.

Once again, I weigh the balance of continuing our nightly attacks to clear out the area versus searching for the families. I feel torn. We decided as a group to do this but the conflict remains. I owe it to the soldiers who risked their lives without question rescuing the kids and who continue to do so every day. But clearing out the local area is important to providing a higher measure of security for our group of survivors. Keeping the night runners at bay and reactive — on their heels — allows us not only protection but it’s my feeling that it makes it harder for them to adapt. That is what worries me more than anything else. But the group has spoken and we did promise we would do what we could to help. The coming of winter and the deterioration of weather it brings dictates that we are closing in on the ‘now or never’ time. And so, off we’ll go. Plus, having another Spooky in the arsenal, even if for just a short time, can’t hurt. With the addition of Roger, we’ll also be able to conduct local searches while we’re gone.

We meet in the evening and I outline our planned trek. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether to take Humvees or a Stryker. The Stryker will make for cramped quarters and limit the amount of people we can take back should we encounter any but it’s armament and unexposed firepower will be a benefit should we need it. Taking one will also decrease the distance we can travel, but with the route we currently have planned, that really won’t make much of a difference.

“What about taking two 130s? Like we did returning from Canon AFB? We could drop down to the Guard base in Portland and pick up another one,” Robert suggests.

“That will make it decidedly more difficult to bring a Spooky back up with us,” I answer.

“Oh, yeah, that it would,” he responds. “My only problem is deciding whether to take Humvees or a Stryker.”

“Will it make a difference with the flight?” Lynn asks.

“Only with regards to the range plus it will take longer to get to altitude. We may not be able to climb as high with a full load of fuel but can after we burn some off. Takeoffs from high altitude airports can be a little sporty,” I answer.

“You’re the best to answer that one really. If you think it’s safe enough, flyboy, then I’d say take the Stryker,” Lynn says.

“I’ll have to seriously think on that. We’ll be taking off in Colorado so I’ll take a closer look at the data figuring in some worst case scenarios. I agree that the Stryker is a better choice but turning the 130 into an all-terrain vehicle is not my ideal solution,” I state.

“It’s kinda hard to clear the mountains that way,” Robert says.

“Yeah, kind of, but it does make landing a whole lot easier,” I reply.

“Ugh. And with that, I’m going to bed. If I don’t stop you two here, you’ll go on all night,” Lynn says. Robert and I merely smile knowing the truth of her statement.

We turn in for the night with the intention of waking early to meet Captain Leonard and his crew. Whether that will be in Olympia or Tacoma remains to be seen. Bannerman has crews ready for either scenario.

Sandra runs down the empty streets with the moon casting its silver rays through a break in the clouds overhead. The rumbles and flashes of light of the night previous are not present and she feels a measure of relief with their absence. She still looks to the sky watching for the streaks of light that mean death and listens for the tell-tale droning that premeditates the deadly explosions of fire.

The large pack she has brought with her thunder behind her as they search for prey. Michael has turned her and her pack loose in the night after other packs reported good hunting grounds nearby. She returned to the lair last night loaded with the containers of food she and her pack raided from the many buildings they entered. The rays of the bright orb overhead causes her skin to tingle but that is ignored as she trots through the dark. Her breath comes out in puffs of white as her exhales condense in the chilled air.

She keeps looking north toward the large two-legged lair and feels herself drawn to it again. She passes the old lair which now lies in ruin with wisps of smoke rising in places through the rubble. A thought crosses her mind that Michael was right in moving the pack farther away. This must be what the white flashes and the blasts were about last night, she thinks as she keeps driving northward with her pack on her heels.

She pauses at the distinct dividing line between intact buildings and the debris of ruined structures. The wariness she felt several nights ago takes hold and she comes to a stop. The hundreds behind her halt with her and position themselves in the street and grassy strips along the side. She listens carefully for any signs of the droning in the sky but hears nothing except an occasional cricket chirping in the distance. Faint scurrying comes from the debris as the thousands of rodents inhabiting those places scamper about. Her pack will feed on them again tonight.

She sends her pack forward among the ruins to catch the quick, wily, small ones. Standing watch by the side, she will feed after the others have had their fill. She thinks of telling Michael about this abundant food supply but she has held the information for two reasons. One, he will know for sure that she has ventured close to the two-legged lair again. He may anyway but she doesn’t want to make it overt. And two, she doesn’t want this place swarming with other packs. Having them this close may alert the two-legged ones. Of course, Michael most likely wouldn’t allow them to get this close but she can’t take that risk. She doesn’t know how she will get into the lair, but she means to try. The pull of the two-legged one is strong and she is still intent on capturing the female she saw in his mind that one night.

She continues to watch her pack dash among the piles of rubble as they chase down the small prey. Pained squeals permeate the night air indicating the capture of food. Other squeals pervade the night as the rodents sees one of her pack and run farther into the protection of the wreckage. Her head comes up sharply as she feels something else in her mind. Coming to her abruptly, it’s the thought images of another one and is coming from the two-legged lair. It’s not the feel of one of her kind but it’s close. Nor does it feel like the brush she had from the two-legged one. She can follow this new one’s thoughts and actions though and there is no doubt that he is within the lair.

For a moment, she is tempted to take her pack to the tall walls once again but the memory of being tossed to the ground and losing one of her pack when the ground erupted under his feet causes her to hold back. Instead, she sends this new one an image. She waits patiently for a return message but receives nothing. Just as abruptly as this new one came to her mind, he vanishes. She looks into the distance hoping for him to come back and is disappointed when he remains silent. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she focuses on the area around her. With thoughts of how to get over the walls to capture the female and draw the two-legged one out, she lopes into the debris-scattered parking lots to feed.

Alan finds himself downstairs once again. In his confused state, he has the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be outside. The feeling is so strong. It is a distinct need to be out in the dark which confuses him even further. His heart races thinking about the thrill of the hunt, his mouth waters thinking about the sweet taste of fresh blood. His teeth sinking into warm flesh and tearing it from bone. The eagerness as he chases down prey, closing in from behind and the excitement of him about to feed. A quickly fading image hangs in his mind of being called, the call being one to join the pack and hunt.

He shakes his head as the images fade from his mind and he becomes more conscious of his surroundings. His heart still pounds in his chest and there is a lingering feeling of excitement. With it is a fear that one has upon suddenly finding oneself in a different place.

What the fuck is that all about? What in the fuck is happening to me? He thinks as he turns from the door leading into the warehouse and makes his way back upstairs. Falling onto his cot, he wonders if he will experience the terror dreams or find himself waking downstairs again. With these thoughts, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

I rise early remembering that I woke at some point last night with a strange sensation. It felt as if something brushed my mind. It wasn’t like a thought or anything similar, it was as if something literally brushed up against it. It didn’t keep me up long but the memory of it still lingers. Lynn stirs beside me and rolls over. Usually she is the first up and it’s me rolling over to ignore the world and get more sleep. I grab my boots and exit as quietly as I can to let her sleep on. She’s been keeping this whole thing together and needs her rest.

A few others are emerging from their little caves and do the usual morning stretching before trudging slowly to wherever their tired brains lead them. Some to eat, others to the showers. I head down to the small control room and ask if anything showed up on the monitors last night. I have just the ghost of a memory that what brushed my mind felt similar to a night runner. The woman monitoring the video feeds from the cameras looks through the logs.

“I didn’t see anything and the logs don’t indicate that anything was observed,” she reports. I nod and thank her.

Walking out with the thought of taking a shower to clear the last of the cobwebs, I look up to see Lynn emerge from the cubicle. Upon seeing me, she gives a tired waved and makes her way down to me.

“Good morning, hon,” I say, giving her a hug.

“Good morning, Jack. You’re up early,” she says, returning a quick hug.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” I state and tell her of the sensation I experienced.

“What do you think it means?” She asks, drawing away.

“I have no idea. This ‘thing’ seems to be more of a liability than an asset. It confuses me more than it lends any clarification. I just wish I knew more about it and understood it better,” I answer.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out as time goes on, Jack. On another note, I was thinking and if you’re going to go on this search, you might as well start sooner rather than later. The ones in training will be finished in a number of days and are already trained enough to help should we need them. And the inner wall will be complete soon as well. We’ll be fine here and you delaying your trip a few days just to wait for them isn’t going to accomplish anything. The sooner you start, the quicker you’ll be back,” she says.

“You’re probably right about that. Leonard is due to arrive today and I want to be there to see what his plans are. I also have to run the numbers with the Stryker on board but can do that today. Regardless of which we decide to take, we could be ready to leave tomorrow,” I reply.

“I’m still not all that excited about you leaving but I know you have to. The only plus is that this will hopefully be your last trip,” she says.

“I know and, believe me, I’m not a big fan of leaving either. I don’t like being away from you. Nor am I all that thrilled at giving the night runners a chance to recover. But it is only for a few days and I’ll be back before you know it,” I respond.

“I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, too.”

Coming out of the shower, there is a little more bustle inside from people getting ready to get on with the day and whatever assigned tasks they may have. Frank informs me that Leonard radioed in that he is sailing down the straits and should arrive in Olympia shortly. Bannerman is with the supply crews making sure they are ready while the teams gather for their morning formation and training. Close to two hundred and fifty people gathered under the roof makes for quite a din. It is definitely over-crowded, especially with everyone trying to get in a shower or grab something to eat.

Gathering Black and Red Team together, along with Bannerman, Frank, and the crews transporting the supplies, we head out for our rendezvous with Leonard. I’m hoping he can dock in Olympia as I’d rather not take the time to drive to Tacoma. I have a lot to do to get ready if we’re going to leave in the morning on our little venture. If the numbers line up, I’d like to get the Stryker loaded today so we can be ready to leave first thing in the morning. The overcast and broken clouds of the previous days are absent and we are greeted with clear skies although a brisk breeze is blowing.

I am struck by how tall the grass in the median is. It and the tops of the fir trees bend with each gust that blows through. A red-tailed hawk swoops down from one of the trees and plummets into the tall reeds lining the Interstate. It appears moments later with something small grasped in its talons. One life ends so that another may continue.

Pieces of paper and a few leaves are pushed along the windswept streets of town as our convoy of vehicles makes its way through. Packed dirt, sand, and debris lie in the recessed doorways of the buildings. Windows, which once were the dreaded duty of employees to clean on a daily basis, are streaked with grime to the point that the displays sitting just inside are barely visible. The stenciled or decaled store signs on the doors and windows, along with a myriad of taped advertisements, are close to becoming unreadable. The city is quickly decaying.

Emerging from the city proper, we pass by the boarded up building that housed the once busy Saturday Market. I guess all produce will be organically grown from here on out, I think as we pass and drive down the crumbling street to the single dock that serves Olympia. Only one ship lies tied to the large pier jutting out into the waters of the south Puget Sound. The thick lines that keep the ship connected to the dock will eventually rot and the ship will then be at the mercy of the tides, either floating out into the large body of water or crashing into the boats docked in the marina. Those will also eventually become free and I have an image of boats piled up on the shores with the large cargo vessel leaning amongst them.

Driving onto the concrete dock itself, I see the sleek black outlines of the Santa Fe making its way toward us in the choppy waters. I exchange radio calls with Leonard and he informs us that there is enough room to dock and he will pull into shore here. We wait in on the pier with our pant legs and shirt sleeves flapping in the brisk wind.

The sub eventually nestles next to the pier and we toss heavy mooring lines to the waiting crew. Maneuvering a make-shift gangplank into position, Leonard and some of his crew meet us on the dock. Bannerman organizes our crew and soon supplies are being handed over and stowed below.

Leonard tells his story of the past three days and nights and I fill him in on ours. I begin to mention our plan to search for any surviving family members. He stops me and pulls me to the side.

“I’d rather not have my crew hear about your plans to look for families, Captain. That will only spur them to want to look for theirs and right now, I need a tight crew. I would be interested in hearing what you find out but, please, before you exchange that information, make sure I am the only one listening,” Leonard says once we are out of earshot of everyone else.

“I completely understand and have my own uneasiness about leaving. But we promised the soldiers we would try when we could and we don’t have that long before our window closes. We only have a few months before the fuel goes bad and the weather will be closing in soon. And, I’ll be sure to relay any information to you only,” I reply.

“That would be much appreciated, Captain. Speaking of communication, we should test the satellite comms,” he says.

We break out the satellite phones Bannerman gathered from the base and, much to my surprise, we are able to make contact with them. This will also open up the ability to communicate with Lynn and the others while we are off on our little jaunt. I’m surprised I didn’t think of that earlier as that was our main method of communication while out in the field. I guess I just assumed that, with the downfall of civilization, the satellites wouldn’t be functional for long. That alleviates one big worry. I was always worried that something would happen to us while flying across the country and we wouldn’t be able to let the others back here know. I had no doubt we could return as vehicles lie in abundance, but the time delay would cause worry at home.

“What are your plans?” I ask, watching another load of supplies make their way up the gangway.

“I think we’ll head down the western seaboard and check out some of the smaller coastal towns and ports along the way. I’d like to take a look at San Francisco and LA with the eventual goal of checking out San Diego. I’ll then evaluate whether to sail over to Hawaii at that point. If there are any naval assets still functioning, they’d be there but after observing Bangor, Whidbey, and Seattle, I have my doubts as to whether we’ll find anything,” he replies.

“Okay. Keep in mind that we have aviation assets that can come assist if you need although Hawaii would be a stretch,” I say.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Captain. And thanks for everything. I know we may not have hit it off well and we still have a certain discussion coming, but thanks. I appreciate you digging into your stock and allowing us to resupply,” Leonard responds.

“It’s the least we could do. Just so you know, we tossed in enough weapons and ammo to arm your crew,” I state.

“Thanks again,” he says, reaching out his hand.

It takes time but the supplies are eventually handed over and stored. We shake hands all around and Leonard and his crew head on board. The gangway is removed and lines pulled back. The Santa Fe backs out of the docks, turns, and begins making its way across the waters, parting the waves. The figures observing from the bridge grow smaller. We watch as the black sub, far into the sound, turns north. It disappears around the point by Boston Harbor as it slowly makes its long trek to the open seas.

We head back and I spend most of the morning going over take off and flying data to include the weight of the Stryker. The Stryker is below the payload limitations for the 130 and the numbers look good. The only constraint will be our range which will be shortened to around one thousand miles. None of our legs come close to that distance so we should be okay. The only thing that sticks in my mind is if we find other survivors. With the Stryker on board and with the additional fuel we’ll take along for it, we’ll be restricted to eighty passengers. That puts the 130 right at its max parameters and I’ve never been enthusiastic about operating an aircraft right at its maximum weight limitations. Those are made up from engineers using new aircraft. Yes, there are the usual twenty percent margins thrown in but still.

Gathering Red Team and some of the others that are going on the picnic with us, we head up to McChord to see if we can fit a Stryker in a 130 without knocking holes in the fuselage. After a few attempts and close calls, which involved yells, screams, and madly waving arms, we manage to get the behemoth parked snugly inside and tied down. Late in the afternoon, Roger returns from his search for local survivors. I’m notified that the pickup crews found eight additional survivors in the north Tacoma area. I’m surprised that we found any given the vast numbers of night runners we observed the other night. It’s heartening news and lends hope that we’ll be able to find even more. It’s great to have an additional pilot that can help out with the searches.

We meet that evening and I lay out my planned trip once again informing everyone of being able to take the Stryker along. Weather, and everything else permitting, the trip will take ten to eleven days. Picking up an additional gunship will be nice as we don’t have any maintenance personnel who can conduct inspections on a 130. That would be a wonderful pickup but it’s not that we can use aircraft for much longer anyway.

Bannerman notes that the inner wall should be finished with the coming day and then they’ll start on the towers and apartment building foundations. He also mentions having crews begin to clean up the rubble created from our nightly poundings and starting to take down the trees. Counting our supplies, he tells us we should have more than enough to make it through the winter. There are literally tons of supplies in the one distribution center and if needed, there is another one some distance to the south.

“Any word on our ability to create bio fuels?” I ask.

“We’ve been stockpiling the used oils from the kitchen. As far as actually making it, well, that’s a different story. I think I’ll have to see if the libraries we’ve spared have any information. That will mean we’ll have to go inside and search,” Bannerman answers. There is a moment of silence as we know what that possible means — another venture into a darkened building and possible night runner lair.

“Well, if we have to, then we have to,” Horace comments. “I’ll take my team in if we need to go.”

“Let’s visit that once we finish with the current training class. We’ll have another team online then,” Lynn responds.

“I have a potentially tricky topic to bring up. I was approached today by several individuals asking about religious services,” Frank says.

I thought the group went silent thinking about heading into a darkened night runner lair but Frank’s comment brings an absolute dead quiet. I should have actually anticipated this but my mind has been working in other directions lately. I am fully open to any religious preference and individual beliefs. It’s the organization of it that worries me. It has the potential to tear a line of separation within our survivor group if there is any degree of fanaticism that goes along with it. Believe me, I am completely open and have my own beliefs but they are my own and belong to me only. I want people to have their own set of beliefs but it’s the potential of developing the “I am right and you are wrong” division that worries me. Many wars have been started because of that mentality and I’d rather not have a defined separation amongst us.

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m certainly not against it,” I reply. The rest voice similar thoughts.

“Do we have anyone, I guess qualified, to lead services? I mean, anyone can worship however they see fit. I mean, up to a point. I’m not all that big on gutting small animals and the like,” I state.

“I’m not sure of that to be honest. I was just approached and asked whether we planned on having any,” Frank replies.

“I suppose if we have a priest or minister, or the ones who asked know of any, we can definitely incorporate that. As long as everyone knows we still have work to do and can’t really afford to be taking days off at this point,” I say.

“I’ll check around and see,” Frank says.

“One thing though, and this is my only worry about something like this, I don’t want this to create a fracture within our group. Worship and praise as one likes but I don’t want it to develop into one’s religious preferences being forced on others,” I say.

“If I can interject here and this may not sound right or come across in the right way, but, we also can’t afford to have religion dictate or interfere with our leadership. Whether that is in our style of leadership or with the decisions we make. We make our decisions based on our best chances of survival at this point and that sometimes leads to hard or unpopular decisions,” Drescoll states.

And, there’s an elephant that just entered the room. We have an entity established by our leadership and allowing another entity to exist creates the potential for conflict. Of course, who am I to say people can’t congregate together for religious preferences, just as long as that thought process is one of openness and tolerance for others. I may be getting way ahead of myself in my thinking though. After all, it’s only a few people that asked if there was a plan for having religious services. Ugh! I feel like just handing the reins over now and heading off for sunny beaches.

“While I agree with that, I also don’t see anything wrong with having services for those who want it. If they find someone who wants to and can lead them, then by all means, let them. They’ll just have to organize them around our already set schedules,” I say.

“I’ll let them know at one of our nightly training classes,” Frank replies.

“And on another lovely note, I’m off to bed,” Lynn says. “Coming, Jack.”

My cat-like reflexes serve me well as I’m out of the chair before my mind or body even registers it. Lynn and I spend the night talking and, well… then talk further before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

She is startled awake after having just dropped off into a deep sleep. The hunt was long and she is tired from running far into the night. It was a good hunt and her pack ate well but her legs ache a little and she feels exhausted. She glances around to find what woke her out of her slumber and sniffs the air. She catches a scent of prey nearby.

Although her hunger has already been sated, her mouth begins to salivate and her stomach rumbles ever so slightly. It’s both a sweet and musky scent at the same time. She knows this scent but hasn’t smelled it in some time. It’s the odor that emanates from the two-legged ones. Confused that it is coming from so close in the large lair, she turns her head sharply toward where the odor is coming. She sees a two-legged one, appearing much like her own kind dressed in torn and ragged clothing, standing off to one side looking around in a confused manner.

A low growl issues from her throat. The scent that comes to her nostrils evokes an overpowering rage and hunger. A thirst that can’t be satisfied. She rises and, not able to control herself, emits a loud shriek. The two-legged one flinches, and takes off at a run toward one of the walls of the lair. Others around her wake in a flash and begin sniffing at the air. They pick up the smell that woke her and soon the room is filled with shrieks that echo off the concrete brick walls. Catching sight of the fleeing one, they chase after it. They are behind her though as she began running after it as soon as the two-legged one began running.

The thrill of the chase fills her, heightened by the fact that it is a two-legged one she is after. Her elated shriek rises above the others. She can almost taste the sweet blood and fresh meat. The two-legged one ahead manages to find a door and stumbles through it. She has faced the two-legged ones before and managed to survive. His stumbling around in the dark confuses her as the ones she has encountered previously seemed able to see very well in the dark. This thought is lost in the rage, hunger, and anticipation she feels.

Racing through the closing door, she turns in a narrow hallway close on the heels of the two-legged one. She sees it crash into one of the side walls and falter. She is now right behind it. A few more steps and the feeding will commence. The chase and thrill fills her and she hungers for that first bite. Her mind registers the thuds of the others of her kind hitting the door as they enter the hall. She reaches out and catches hold of the shirt that is barely clinging to its body. Remembering another time when she brushed the shirt of another fleeing two-legged one, brushing but not catching hold, she clenches her hand on the shirt and doesn’t let go. That one a while ago managed to get away and escape. This one will not.

The two-legged one screams as she jerks back and it loses its balance, falling to the soft flooring below. She immediately falls upon it, biting and tearing at the tender skin. Blood flows from the wounds she creates, its sweet smell permeating the air. The two-legged one is screaming beneath her heightening the thrill of the feeding. She shrieks loudly with pleasure and leans over, sinking her teeth into the soft neck. Twisting her head violently, warm blood spurts out from the wound coating her with its stickiness. The one below her goes limp and the spraying blood slows to a trickle.

Shrieking once again, she lowers her head to feed as the rest of the body is covered with other pack members. They claw at the body seeking to get their fill. The clothing is shredded away exposing the delicious meat underneath. Mouths and hands attack and soon a sickly sweet smell pervades the air as the insides are laid bare. She goes for the tender parts of the face tearing strips of flesh from the cheeks. Her exhaustion is forgotten as she and the others feed until only a few strips of flesh, tendon, and hair remain on the bloody bones.

Lacing up my boots early in the morning, I feel exhaustion creep through me. Lynn and I stayed up late enjoying each other’s company, not wanting the evening to end as that meant being the beginning of days on end apart. However, as time does, the night passes without any input from either of us. I throw more items into my bag as Lynn tiredly ties her boots. She looks up with eyes reddened from lack of sleep and exhaustion. No words need to be spoken, dawn is upon us and it’s time for me to be on my way.

We grab a bite to eat together and watch as the others who are going with us emerge from their cubicles one at a time. Robert, dressed in a flight suit with an M-4 draped over his shoulder and packed duffle bag on the ground beside him, leans against the upper railing with his arm around Michelle. Bri exits with a huge yawn and stretch that belies her diminutive stature, nods at Robert and Michelle, reaches back inside for her carbine and pack before heading downstairs. The others of Red Team and the reorganized Echo Team gather around one of the tables on the first floor.

“Well, hon, I guess it’s about that time,” I say to Lynn.

“I know. I hate that you have to leave, Jack. I don’t like this one bit,” she replies.

“I don’t either. One of these days, it will come about that we don’t have to do this. This just, well, sucks,” I state.

“Yes it does and I’m so looking forward to that time. We might as well get this over with. You know, the band aid approach. I’ll walk you down and see you off, again.”

We walk downstairs hand in hand. Tired ‘good mornings’ make their way around and we gather our gear. The light of the early morning fills the parking lots without a cloud in the sky. The brisk breeze that was prevalent yesterday has passed by leaving a calm morning. The morning still has a chill to it that speaks of a new season approaching. I turn and wrap Lynn in my arms holding her tight. I notice Robert and Michelle enacting the same scene a short distance away.

“I love you, Lynn,” I whisper into her ear.

“I love you, too, Jack. So much,” she returns.

We stay that way a moment later exchanging a long kiss before she finally says, “Now get out of here. I have a busy morning.”

I know it’s her way of dealing with the pain of separation and, to be honest, without her saying something like that, I wouldn’t depart. We release from our hug and I grab my bag. Our hands are locked together and then slowly drift apart with our fingers trailing. Fuck! This really sucks, I think as our hands part. With a heavy heart, I turn toward the parked Humvees where the others have finished loading their gear. Robert catches up and, together, we walk to a Humvee and throw our things in.

The drive is like many of the others we’ve had. My head doesn’t clear much from its tiredness as we proceed through the base. I reach out with my mind and don’t feel the presence of any night runners in the area. Wondering if the ability has receded, I reach out farther but still come up empty. I’ll have to test it out if we receive visitors during the night on any of our stops. I was able to detect faint presences the other night when flying above the hordes of them emptying into the night. I just don’t know. As we pull onto the ramp and the 130s parked there come into view, the tired feeling leaves and I focus on what’s ahead of us.

We load our supplies and fuel on board. Robert has questions about the seating arrangements for the flight and I let him know I’ll be flying the first leg due to the increased weight on board. Later, I’ll let him get some stick time in to get a feel for the heaviness. He begins to load the flight data into the computer. There isn’t much room in the bag with the metal monster tied down but we manage. I double check the tie downs. It really wouldn’t do to have it shift on takeoff or in flight. On the list of bad things to happen, that would come close to topping the list. Twenty-six tons of metal shifting around in the cargo does some funny things to flight characteristics. Like turning it from having flight characteristics into that of having falling characteristics. A C-130 does not make a good parachute.

We are soon started up and, with an increase in power, the 130 reluctantly begins to move. It takes more runway than usual but we are airborne and slowly claw our way to altitude. I look across the Puget Sound thinking I may catch a glimpse of the Santa Fe but there is nothing to be seen plowing the waterways. Turning toward the morning sun, we set a course to the southeast and our first stop at Mountain Home AFB where one of the soldiers has a wife and two kids. They apparently chose to reside in their hometown while he deployed to the Middle East.

It’s only about an hour and a half flight to the base so we may be able to launch our search of the town of Mountain Home upon our arrival depending on what we see. I plan to fly over the town to scout it out before landing. The snow-capped peak of Mount Rainier is off to our left and we pass directly over the crater of Mount St. Helens. The warm crater has wisps of steam rising from the dome in the middle. The forested hills of the Cascade Mountains give way to the brown fields of eastern Washington and we are soon over the Blue Mountains of northeastern Oregon.

We pick up Interstate 84 on the other side of the mountains and I begin a slow descent. We will basically follow the highway to Mountain Home. Boise passes off to the left and looks much like the last time we passed by. Mountain Home soon appears on our nose as we edge down closer to the ground. Mountains rise on either side of the brown valley that the Interstate cuts through. Some areas are agricultural with the once green circle pattern of irrigation systems now overgrown and brown. Some others have cattle still roaming about in the fields. Only a few natural ponds exist in this dry, arid land and it’s only around these that the black dots of cattle still thrive.

Leveling off about two thousand feet above the terrain, with a few bumps from the winds blowing off the mountains and still warm land, I put the town of Mountain Home off to my side. The town itself is nestled between two major roads with the interstate branching off to the eastern side. Off in the distance, I see the runways of Mountain Home AFB — our destination.

Slowing, I circle over the city and see that the town is mostly residential. While the trees that line the residential streets are still green, the golf course, baseball and football fields, parks, and yards have turned the same brown as the outlying fields. Other than a few cars parked in some of the parking lots serving some stores, the streets and lots are clear. Cars sit in driveways and the town appears normal with the exception of the lack of movement. It’s like most other towns we’ve encountered and I have a feeling that every town we fly over will be the same. It doesn’t bode well for the soldier in back who I imagine is glued to the window looking out.

“I don’t see anything here. Anyone else see anything?” I ask on the intercom. Craig has risen from his seat at the nav station to look.

“I don’t see anything,” Craig answers.

“Nothing here,” Robert replies.

“Okay, take note of the streets and layout and let’s head over to the base. We’ll do a flyby there and practice a few touch and go’s so you can get the feel for the extra weight,” I say.

I swing us to the southwest toward the small base and line us up with the single, long runway serving the base. Putting runway 30 on our nose, I lower to just a couple hundred feet. I want to do a flyby to check wind direction. The turbulence picks up this close to the ground and we pass a few parked F-15s on the hot ramps. I see a few others parked on the main ramp farther down. The main section of the base is similar to the town, a few green trees with the rest overgrown and brown.

Our low approach shows a moderate wind out of the northeast so our first approach was a good one. I bring the aircraft up and around wanting to do the first touch and go with Robert following on the control stick to get the feel of the heavier response. We circle around and set up. The wheels settle to the runway with a slight jostle and, after resetting the flaps to their takeoff setting, apply power and are soon airborne again. I hand the aircraft over to Robert and monitor his approach. The heavy weight, only slightly diminished with our fuel burn, causes the nose to drop more than usual when he decreases the power. Making the adjustment, he sets it in with more of an arrival.

Setting the flaps for him, I catch a quick glimpse of movement off to the side out Robert’s window. Of course, with the aircraft itself moving down the runway, everything outside appears to be moving. I do a double-take and see a blue Air Force pickup truck speed on the tarmac to our right. Others pull onto the ramp behind it.

“I have the aircraft,” I call out, taking control. I lift off and turn, low to the ground, to the southwest and away from the ramp.

“What? What did I do wrong?” Robert asks, looking at the instruments and then over to me.

“Nothing. We have company on the ramp,” I say, climbing away from that base. I see Robert turn to look back out his window but we are headed directly away and I doubt there’s much he can see.

“Craig, would you go get Greg and have him come up here, please,” I say.

I climb to five thousand feet and circle a distance away. I tell Greg, Craig, and Robert that I spotted four vehicles on the ramp during out last landing.

“I’m not sure of who they are, or their intentions. We weren’t on the ground long enough to see what they may be up to,” I say.

“Could they be Air Force or military personnel?” Greg asks.

“I have no idea. If they do have a presence here still, they may not like us just showing up. Although, if that is the case, they won’t just shoot at us. They’ll most likely let us land and then take us in to interrogate us. If it isn’t military, then all bets are off as to what they’ll do,” I answer.

“Well, what do you want to do? Should we just bypass this and head to our next stop?” Greg says.

“I don’t know. If there are survivors here, and it’s apparent there are, I’m thinking we should at least drop in and say hi,” I reply.

“And if they shoot at us on approach or while landing?” Robert asks.

“That wouldn’t be a good thing,” Craig chimes in.

“We’ll do a flyover at this altitude and see how they respond. This will keep us out of small arms fire range and allow us to have a look,” I say.

“Alright, let’s check it out then,” Greg says.

I turn back ready to dive the aircraft and beat cheeks the best this ‘ol bird can do if I see tracers or smoke trails heading our way. The ‘Herc” can take a lot of damage but I’m not all that keen on testing just how much. I call on the emergency frequencies with no response.

Flying across the runway and base, I look to the ramp below. Five blue pickup trucks are parked in close to the middle of the ramp with tiny figures of people standing around. No tracers or smoke trails reach out toward us. Passing the base, I descend and come back, crossing from a different angle. Several people look upward shielding their eyes with their hands. A couple of them stand off to the side with weapons in their hands but they aren’t pointed in our direction.

“Well, we’re still flying,” I say, heading the aircraft back to the southwest. “What do you think?”

“They weren’t firing or pointing weapons at us. It did appear they were dressed in civilian clothing although those weapons were either AR-style carbines or actual M-4s,” Greg responds.

“Well, let’s see what happens then, shall we,” I say. Greg heads into the cargo compartment to brief the teams.

I do a combat overhead landing and drop it in, stopping on the runway after only a couple of thousand feet with the engines revved and ready to go. My feet get tired of standing on the brakes watching for a response. Robert looks through a pair of binoculars and reports that the people, who he counts at fourteen, gather together in a group with a six of them heading behind the cover of the vehicles. I do not like their actions of folding into cover but I’m sure our actions aren’t making them all that comfortable either. I ask about their clothing and Robert confirms they are dressed in a variety of civilian clothing. The others continue standing and looking in our direction.

“Okay, someone has to break this stalemate,” I say, releasing the brakes and bringing the power back. Greg pokes his head back up in the cockpit.

“I’m taxiing in but parking down the ramp away from them. I want Red Team to be ready to go outside with me. Greg, you and Echo Team get the Stryker ready to go but only take the tie downs off. If we’re attacked, drop the Stryker out and return fire. I’m not overly thrilled with inviting fire toward the aircraft but if others appear and we find ourselves in a precarious position, fold back in and we’re leaving. Robert, I’m leaving the engines running so hop in the left seat and get us ready to go in a hurry,” I brief.

“You mean in more of a precarious situation than the one we’re in?” Greg asks, only half joking.

“Yes, Greg, in one worse than we already are,” I answer.

“Touchy, touchy. Okay, you got it, Jack.”

I leave the seat and Robert takes over with Craig folding into the co-pilot seat. Heading down into the cargo area, I see Echo Team releasing and stowing the tie downs from the Stryker. I don my vest and check my gear, meeting Red Team assembled by the rear ramp. Gonzalez looks at me and nods toward Bri by her side.

“You keep her close beside you,” I say to which she nods again and smiles at Bri.

I hear Robert comment over the radio that two cars are driving our way. I drop the ramp and, with Red Team close behind, head down it and take station near the rear of the aircraft. The roar of the engines increases in the open air and wind whips to the rear behind the giant, rotation props. Through the blurring propellers, I see the two approaching vehicles. The whine of the Stryker’s diesel sounds just above the roar of the 130 engines.

“How many in each vehicle?” I say into the radio.

“I count five all told in the cabs with no one in the beds,” Robert responds.

“Okay. Thanks. Keep an eye out among the hangars and surrounding area for more that arrive or that we missed,” I say.

“Okay, Dad,” he replies.

I watch as the trucks pull up short of the nose of the aircraft and five people emerge to stand by the front of their vehicles. No fire has been exchanged which is heartening. I nod to Red Team to follow and head out with the gale force winds trying to blow me into the surrounding mountains. I walk with the others to the small group telling Greg to be ready to head out with the Stryker.

“I have to say it’s nice seeing you folks. We thought we were the only ones left. I’m Jason,” one of the men shouts above the engines as we draw close.

“Jack. Jack Walker,” I say, shaking his outstretched hand. I turn and give Robert the hand across the throat cutoff signal.

The roar winds down as Robert cuts the engines. I radio Greg letting him know the cavalry isn’t needed. His disappointed sigh and, “Dammit. And here I dressed in this silver armor for nothing,” in response says it all.

“Are you what remains of the military? Is there a larger force either incoming or based elsewhere? The military folks here say they haven’t been able to raise anyone anyone for months,” Jason says as the props slow to a stop.

I’m not really sure what to tell him and feel I’ve been a little free with our story to strangers to this point. Everything here seems well enough and Jason appears to be above board but my experiences of late have made me jaded. I don’t like it but there it is.

“Before answering, I’d like to hear your story here,” I answer.

Jason tilts his head as if re-evaluating us. “Eh, what the hell,” he eventually says and proceeds to tell us the story of those here.

He tells of the sickness and the attacks at night. With some help from the few remaining military people on base, he and some others gathered the rest of the people from town and moved here. They cleaned out the base and set up shop. All in all, it sounds like what we have set up back home. With the exception that we are facing a much larger population of night runners. The isolation of the base has protected them to some extent.

“So, how do you keep the night runners out?” I ask.

“Night runners? What are those?” He says and I describe them.

“Oh, we call them changelings. They don’t bother us much out here,” he says. “We cleared out the base and we’re rather isolated with the town being over ten miles away. We patrol and take down the occasional one who manages to meander out this way. We also take a cow up to the northwest part of town every couple of days, chain it up, and essentially feed them so they don’t take a mind to wander down here,” he states.

I think over that idea. It’s a good one but won’t really apply to our situation as there is no way we could feed thirty thousand night runners. Jason goes on to describe setting up cattle pens on base and using the hangars as greenhouses. They took most of the roofs off and lined them with clear, plastic sheeting.

“I’m just curious, doesn’t feeding the changelings, as you call them, run up your stock of cattle?” I ask.

“Nah, there are thousands of cattle in the valley. We knocked down most of the fencing and they congregate around the natural watering holes. They’re also far enough out that the changelings can’t get to them,” Jason replies. It really seems like they have a pretty good setup going.

“Any problems with marauders or bandits?”

“None so far. I imagine there might be some like that up in the Boise area but we’re truly pretty isolated out here,” he answers.

“No one is so isolated that satellites can’t find you,” a man behind Jason says. I notice Jason roll his eyes without the man seeing.

“You know, Captain Walker I take it, this wasn’t any accident. This whole thing was planned,” the man continues.

“Harold, knock it off. Jack, this is Harold, our resident conspiracy theory nut,” Jason says.

“Seriously, Jason. I hacked their systems before this went down and I’m telling you, this was planned and those bastards are still around,” Harold says.

“Yeah, and like I keep sayin’, why haven’t they shown up,” Jason responds.

“Because they aren’t interested in us… yet,” Harold says.

“Seriously?! You can’t plan something like this. It’s too easy to get out of control,” I state.

“And that’s why we haven’t seen them. They’re recovering but they’ll be here. I can assure you of that,” Harold says.

“And where are they then?” I ask, intrigued but really just primarily amused.

“I don’t know that. I was just getting there when I was discovered in the system and booted. Then I blew outta town. I was passing through when the shit hit the fan. But I do know that it was at a high level. The Pentagon, the CDC, USAMRIID, the World Health Organization, high levels of government, some who looked like corporate bigwigs. Everyone, man. I saw a list before being slammed outta there,” Harold answers.

“I’m pretty sure we’d have seen something by now, Harold,” Jason states.

“Captain, let me ask you this then. You must have flown around some. You wouldn’t just drop in here as a first look. Have you noticed the satellites still operating? Your GPS systems still functioning? I mean, you’d expect those satellites to decay pretty rapidly, wouldn’t you?” Harold asks.

I think to my surprise that we were able to use the satellite phones. Honestly, I haven’t tried the GPS systems thinking they wouldn’t be accurate for long. I also think about the cell phones operating as long as they did but chalked that up to good old Northwest environmental folks and the transition to solar power. Still, this conversation is more amusing than holding any degree of truth. There will be a conspiracy theorists in any group and I’m surprised one hasn’t cropped up in our survivor group.

“I guess that depends on the automated systems and the fuel they had onboard. If there was anyone left like that, we’d have seen something of them,” I respond.

“Wait and see, captain, wait and see.”

“Harold, that’s enough. I listen to you and let you amuse yourself with your ramblings but I won’t have you spouting that nonsense to our guests, so, knock it off,” Jason says.

“So, what does bring you out to our neck of the woods, Jack?” Jason continues.

I tell our story and end with, “So, to answer your question, we are out searching for any surviving family members.”

“I take it one of yours possibly has family located here? I know who we have. If you want to give me the name of who you’re looking for, I can let you know if they’re here or possibly what happened to them,” Jason states. I give him the name of the soldier noting Jason’s eyes widen a touch. He turns to one of the men with him and whispers. The man leaves with one of the trucks.

“If you want to bring him out, I think we may have a welcome surprise for him,” Jason says. I’m hoping this means good news and feel elated.

The soldier joins us and the truck returns a short time later. A young brunette woman steps out from the passenger side with a young boy.

“Jeeeeeeenny!” The soldier shouts and takes off at a run. They join in a tight hug with the boy joining in. We all look on at the joyful reunion. I’m glad to see a moment of pure joy in this harsh land.

“I’m sad to say, that his daughter, well, didn’t make it,” Jason whispers.

It’s another moment of ultimate joy tempered with that of extreme sorrow. I see the soldier sink to his knees and bury his face in his hands. His wife kneels next to him with her arm around his shoulders shaking with his sobs. I know exactly how he feels. It’s not something that time heals. You learn to deal with it but that hole will remain forever.

We talk for a few moments and I extend an invitation for his group to join us if they would like. It’s mostly to fill the uncomfortable moments as the sad scene continues a short distance away. I tell Jason it would take us a couple of trips to gather all of them as we are loaded down at the moment. I notice Harold listening with interest. Jason says he will have to talk with the group but gives an indication that not many will want to leave. They have a sense of security where they’re at and are well supplied. I can understand not wanting to leave a place of security for an unknown. He extends an invitation to spend the night with the promise of an answer in the morning.

The soldier asks if he can be given leave to go with his family. I nod and let him know that we are spending the night. I let Jason know that we are used to spending the night in the aircraft but he tells us there are plenty of homes that have been cleaned up and are available. I feel a little anxious about being in an unsecured place like that. He offers to give us a tour of the place and makes vehicles available as long as we don’t leave the base. I talk it over with our group with the census coming to, “It sure would be nice to sleep in a real bed.”

It seems they are secure here and, from what I can judge by meeting others in the little town they’ve created, it seems okay. I meet with those that were assigned to the base and provide security. They report they have had little problems with the changelings and seeing they are “feeding” them today, they don’t anticipate any difficulties. Still anxious but understanding the others wanting to sleep on a comfortable bed, I let them stay. I’ll remain with the aircraft along with Robert and Bri. I tell the team members that if anything happens, they are to make for the aircraft. I also arrange for us to maintain radio contact. And, with that, we dine with the others here and adjourn to our sleeping quarters.

I radio Lynn on the sat phone before turning in. Oranges, reds, and purples paint the sky behind the mountains rising in the west, bathing the cockpit with the last of the day’s rays. We secure the aircraft and make a last radio call to the teams.

“I hope you are enjoying that cot, Jack. Don’t think about me sinking into this pillow top mattress,” Greg says.

“I hope you sleep well. Don’t lose any sleep thinking I might just take off on you in the middle of the night,” I respond.

“You wouldn’t do that. You’d miss me too much,” Greg replies.

“Yeah, I would. And by that, I mean no, I wouldn’t. That popping sound you’d hear would be a bottle of bubbly opening and me celebrating.”

I set the radio by my side making sure the volume is up and turn off the aircraft battery. The kids and I lay in our bunks talking for a few hours before we drift off.

The moon hangs bright and crisp in the velvet black sky. The pinpoints of light that share the night sky are lost from view directly around it from its brilliant glow. The sharpness above goes with the brisk evening below. It and the stars suspend over the earth, witnesses to all that transpire below but not caring. They have their thing to do and those below have theirs. They wheel about the sky as they’ve done for time immemorial. Those below are relatively new to the universe and therefore merit little of their attention. Their trials and glories are short-lived by comparison.

All of that is lost on her as she deals with her own struggles. She is separated from her pack. Those that survived the quick but brutal fight with a large pack of four-legged ones fled. The others that were members of her pack lie on the darkened street where they fell, bathed in the silver glow of the tingly, bright light hovering in the night sky above. She is at least thankful that the four-legged ones fled as well or she wouldn’t be around to have these thoughts.

She and her pack were out hunting when they found themselves tracked and then beset upon. The night hunt had already been a long one, the fight short, and now the time of darkness is drawing to an end. She is badly injured and crawling across the hard pavement as she has been doing for some time. Realizing that time is not on her side, tired and in pain, she reaches out to struggle another couple of inches.

Pain flares inside at the movement but she must make it to shelter before the bright, burning light rises, signaling the end of her time outside. She has felt the agony of it for a fleeting second before and has no desire to experience that again. It’s like a hand on the burner that is quickly withdrawn but the memory of it lasts forever.

She slowly raises her head to see she is close to the side of the hard path. Ahead is high grass with an abandoned two-legged lair beyond. That is her goal, her salvation, shelter from an excruciating, painful end. With a grunt to mask the pain that shoots through her body, she pushes up and over the small rise at the edge of the street. She then collapses again waiting for the pain to subside. Behind her, a dark smear along the pavement marks her path. It doesn’t look far but, to her, it seems like she has been crawling for an eternity. She looks at the distance she’s traveled and eyes the shelter ahead. A measure of despair and fear, the feelings different to an extent to what we’d know as feelings, enters as the distance looks impossible.

With the pain reaching a tolerable level once again, she stretches her arms forward, lifts up slightly, and pulls herself forward a little more. That’s the way it’s been for hours — reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait… reach, rise… Her senses tell her she doesn’t have long which pushes her to greater endeavors — reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait. The pain she is feeling now is nothing to what she’ll feel if she doesn’t reach the lair.

Her mind reaches out but the only packs she senses are far away with many already heading back to the lair. She’ll get no help there. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait. The white hot pain encompasses her entire body, flooding her mind with the shooting agony. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait. She makes it to the edge of the grass and, with another effort, enters it. The safety of the lair draws closer.

It’s a race against time. Distance is her enemy and will-power her only tool. She wants to just lie down and give up. The desire to live won’t let her. She has no idea how she’ll enter the lair just a short distance away but will deal with that when she gets there. First things first, she has to make it there. One thing at a time. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait. She knows she is badly injured and not even sure her body will make it through the night. That worry will be dealt with later. She does feel her life force ebbing from her with each effort. Each exertion tires her even more and she feels her energy being sapped. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait.

Her surroundings are lost from view in the tall grass. The world has collapsed down to the foot she can see around her. The next few inches of progress require her entire focus. Off into the distance, she can barely hear the shrieks from the returning packs. A few howls of the four-legged ones drift on the night air. A hissing scream issues from nearby as two feral animals meet and fight for territory. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait.

Her senses tell her that the sky toward the high rises of land is lightening. She has made it far but her crawling isn’t the only thing that has been moving. Time has followed her every effort. She feels a trickle of blood escape from her lips, hanging down from her mouth in a long string. Pain grips her insides as the throws up a mixture of liquid and the remains of the little food in her, hitting the ground with a splash. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait.

She can’t see anything but the very top of the shelter ahead, appearing to loom over the top of the reeds. She’s close and a small amount of hope enters. Along with that measure, another tearing pain grips her and she slowly folds into a ball attempting to ward off the agony. With a small part of her mind that is still hers through the pain, she tries to will the hurt to go away. She needs to keep moving. Her panting breath is the only sound as the misery begins to ebb. On her side, she makes out the blackness of the night sky lighten, becoming the dark blue of the impending day. Her heart races with fear.

Uncoiling, she pulls herself another foot. She wishes her legs would work so she could push off and not have to rely totally on her arms, but she lost the feeling in those long ago. The stalks of grass surrounding her become more defined as the light increases. Panic enters her mind and she reaches out again, the dread of what is coming overpowering the pain to an extent. More of the shelter appears. She’s close and her mind begins to have thoughts of how to enter. Hope increases. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait… closer by another few inches.

A flare of golden light strikes the top of the lair and then the grass, slowly traversing down the stalks. She shrieks with fear and despair. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait. The light from the bright, burning ball inches slowly downward. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait… Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait.

The light is half way down the blades. She sees the entrance ahead through the grass. She is almost there. Just a few more efforts. Reach, rise, pull, collapse, wait. Her forward progress is matched by the march of the light downward. It’s just above her position in the grass. With a shriek she reaches forward. The light falls upon her.

The moon continues to sail across the sky in the dawning light of the day, uncaring to the troubles below.

Feeling drawn by both the two-legged one occupying her thoughts and the other strange one she felt, Sandra leads her pack north again. There are plenty of the small furry creatures to feed her large pack so she’s not worried about them eating. She’s intrigued and not sure which intrigues her more, the one who brushed her mind so long ago or the one who felt like her own kind but didn’t respond to her call. The intrigue with that one stems from his being inside the two-legged lair yet not feeding on them, or responding to her call. She also wonders why the two-legged ones allow him in their midst.

Watching over her pack once again as they scurry among the ruins to feast, she reaches out. She knows this will allow Michael to know where she is but she’ll deal with that later. She rubs her stomach subconsciously in a protective nature. The young one inside of her has started to show lately. Soon, she won’t be able to hunt with her pack and they will have to bring her food. That time will be short and then she’ll have to hunt for him or her.

Her protective nature, however, is overcome by her intrigue and infatuation with this two-legged one and that confuses her. It feels alien as she knows she should normally be concentrating on her young one. She feels torn but can’t help what she is doing. She senses the other strange one. He is still inside the lair and she wonders if he is being held captive by the two-legged ones. She can’t imagine being inside without wanting to feed… needing to feed… the rage would be too intense not to attack.

She sends the mental image for him to join but receives no response which puzzles her even more. She sends other images in order to establish some sort of contact but there aren’t any return messages indicating he heard. She calls once again to join her, to hunt with her and her pack. Nothing. She searches for the two-legged one but doesn’t sense him. With a shriek of frustration, she stops searching and joins her pack to feed.

Alan wakes in a cold sweat. He looks around feeling terror mixed with eagerness and a strange thrill. His heart is racing as he becomes aware of his surroundings. Fearing he is downstairs again, the few objects in his cubicle become clearer in the dim light of the interior. At least I’m not waking somewhere downstairs tonight, he thinks, rubbing his face.

The dream, more of a nightmare but a thrilling one, fades slowly and he tries the catch the quickly disappearing remains. He feels more than sees that there was a call. For some reason, that call seems familiar but he associates that with the other nightmares he’s had since arriving at this compound. He feels welcomed by the people here and has a sense of safety but there is a strange pull to be outside. It is a deep-seated feeling of needing to be out that he can’t place. He feels drawn.

Images swirl in his head that both terrify and exhilarate him, arousing him in an odd way. They are pictures of him running through the night. Instead of the terror he used to feel in dreams like this, he feels a sense of delight. Perhaps that’s because he wasn’t being chased but rather doing the chasing. The visions he has in his head are of hunting and rending flesh. This repulses him but he can’t shake the stimulating feeling they present. This frightens him more than anything else.

The images vanish completely as dreams are wont to do. Alan rubs his face again and stretches. A giant yawn escapes and he settles back into his sweat-soaked sheets. His eyes close and he is soon asleep again. He doesn’t realize it yet, but a seed has been planted.

Michael runs through a vacant field. He feels grass brushing against the remains of his pants as he races under the bright white light shining overhead. The chill of the evening he felt at the start of the hunt is gone. It is replaced by the heat of exertion and of the chase. He and his large pack are in pursuit of one of the larger four-legged ones. This one has large horns rising above its head and is fleet. These are hard to catch but the sweet meat is well worth the effort.

It’s been a while since he’s actually chased down prey and he relishes in the excitement. His nose picks up the musky scent, they are slowly but surely closing in. This spurs him to greater efforts. He sent part of his pack around to the sides in an attempt to corner the animal and he keeps them directed with images.

He caught this scent earlier and the chase has led them through parts of the burned out relics of old two-legged lairs and across open fields like the one he is in. Some fences appeared out of nowhere but he hurdled those with ease, the solid thumps behind telling him his pack was still behind him.

He still hasn’t sighted the prey but this doesn’t surprise him as there is a wall of trees a short distance ahead. Leaping over another fence, he plunges into the dense brush lining the entrance to the wooded area. Michael keeps one ear peeled for any sound from the intruder from the sky. It hasn’t shown up for a couple of nights but that doesn’t mean it isn’t out there somewhere… waiting. He still doesn’t know what it is other than it is deadly and to be avoided at all costs.

His breath is coming hard as he races amongst the trees, darting to the side to avoid crashing into them. Low hanging branches scratch his face at times but he doesn’t register it as he knows he is getting closer. He can almost taste the sweet meat and feel the blood run down his chin as he tears into the flesh. His eagerness and hunger increase with the thought.

He breaks into a small open area enclosed by a border of trees. There, on the other side of the clearing, the animal struggles. His massive antlers are caught in the branches. Michael watches for a moment as the animal labors to break free. Breathing hard, with his exhalations causing puffs of white mist to appear, Michael launches forward. The large animal is still dangerous but the pack soon swarms over it and it is brought to the ground in a spray of blood from its neck.

He dives in with the rest of the pack. The eagerness of the chase is replaced by a deep-seated hunger. The smell of blood is thick in the air, spurring his excitement even further. He tears into a tender part ripping the flesh and chews on it with enthusiasm. Swallowing the enjoyable morsel, he lowers his head for another piece. Before he is able to sink his blood-stained teeth into the cooling body, he senses something he was worried about all night. He brings his head up sharply sensing Sandra far off into the night. She has taken her pack north by the two-legged lair again. With a growl of anger, he leans down to rip another piece of flesh off, his enthusiasm cooled.

Michael returns to the lair as the sky threatens to lighten over the mountains. Many of the packs preceded him and are finding places to rest. All of them ate well tonight and their small stockpile of alternate food grew. The only damper was Sandra’s insistence on traveling by the two-legged one’s lair. That will bring harm to the pack as a whole and he can’t allow for that to happen. The last thing they need is to stir up trouble from them. He waits by the entrance for her to arrive with her pack. Even though he felt a few of the pack members vanish from his thoughts this evening, he somehow knows she will return. She has become quite effective at concealing herself and her pack and he is surprised he sensed her this evening.

She appears just before the sky begins to change color. He stops her and draws her off to the side as her pack continues inside. It takes a while for them all to enter the narrow doorway but they eventually all pass inside.

“You went up to the two-legged lair again when I specifically told you not to,” he verbally says.

“There’s food to be had up that way,” Sandra replies, sending an image of the rodents in abundance. She has chosen to share this information with him hoping it will suffice for a reason to be up there and now knowing he won’t venture that way, even for food.

“I don’t care about that. You know why I don’t want any of us up there. You are endangering the pack by being near the two-legged ones,” Michael states.

“You are endangering us all by scurrying away and leaving them to roam at will,” she counters.

“I can’t have you endangering the pack by going near their lair. You will stay here and only go out to gather the alternate food,” Michael says. “They are dangerous and will be dealt with but we need to hunt and survive until then. We can’t fight them in their own lair. I’ll think of a way but until we do, you are to stay away.”

“I’ll find a way in and deal with them,” Sandra says, thinking of the strange one in their lair.

She doesn’t want to tell Michael about him just yet, feeling he won’t use the information and find a way in employing him. Not knowing how to use what she knows just yet, she does have a semblance of a plan circulating in her mind. If Michael finds out about it, he’ll definitely make her stay and ruin her chances of getting in and taking the female.

“No, you won’t. If I have to, I’ll make you stay in the lair. You have your own young one to think of,” Michael says.

“That’s who I’m thinking of. We can’t run forever and they’ll eventually find us. If they do, they’ll destroy this lair like they did the last. We were lucky we weren’t all in it. That is not protecting the pack. That is providing a slaughterhouse and easy pickings for them. We have more than enough to overwhelm them,” she replies.

“How are you going to get over the walls? How are you going to get into their lair? You’ve seen it. We can’t do that right now but we’ll find a way when we’re more secure and stronger. We’ll draw more packs together,” Michael says, growling.

“Every night sees the two-legged ones stronger. Our chances won’t get any easier.”

“We’re staying away for the time being and that’s that.”

Sandra growls her disapproval but nods. She’ll wait for her chance and scout out another lair for her pack. She can’t very well bring the female back to this lair, the pack will tear her apart and Sandra needs her alive. Plus, Sandra knows she won’t survive if she does, Michael will kill her. She also has no intention of staying away from the two-legged lair. She’ll figure out how to get in and then find a lair of her own. For now though, she’ll watch and wait.

Michael heads to find a place to rest from an exhausting night of hunting. He settles in knowing Sandra is keeping something from him. She is planning something and he’ll have to keep a close watch on her. He closes his eyes with his thoughts drifting back to the chase. The thrill of the hunt returns and, with those images drifting through his mind, he falls into a deep slumber.

We wake the next morning, peel back the window blackout covers, and the gray of the pre-dawn light enters in the open windows. My back is sore from sleeping on the cots and I wish now that I had taken up the offer of a comfortable bed.

I radio Greg to check in, “Rise and shine, pretty boy.”

“Seriously?! Yours is the voice I hear first thing in the morning,” he answers.

“Sexy, isn’t it?” I reply.

“No, Jack, it’s the exact opposite,” he says.

“Ah, come on, you know you like it,” I state.

“If you knew what I was dreaming, then you’d know just how wrong that is,” he replies.

“And, now this conversation comes to an end. There is nothing I want to know less than what you were dreaming. As a matter of fact, the mere fact of you mentioning it makes me want to pour bleach on my brain,” I say.

“Okay, fine, I’m up but I’m bringing this mattress with me.”

“There is no way that mattress is making its way on this aircraft. Especially with you mentioning dreaming on it. I’m pretty sure it will need to be burned and I’m not sure even then that there is a fire hot enough to take care of it,” I say. “Now get your sorry ass up, round up everyone, and meet me on the ramp.”

“You are such a buzz kill, Jack. We’ll be there shortly. Greg, out.”

A short time later, with the sun sitting fully over the eastern mountains, Greg and the teams show up with Jason and a few others.

“I’ve talked it over with the others and, with the exception of a few, I think we’ll stay here. Thank you for your offer though. However, Harold here wants to go with you and, between you and me, you’re welcome to him. He’s been nothing but a pain with his conspiracy theories,” Jason says.

I see Harold by one of the trucks with a couple of stuffed bags at his feet. I do not really want him but I can’t think of a valid reason for turning him down. I call him over and let him know that I won’t have any dissension spread among the group and he is to keep the conspiracy crap to himself. He looks down and then, with some obvious reluctance, agrees.

“Why do you want to come with us anyway?” I ask.

He shrugs and says, “I’ll say just this one thing and then, as you say, keep the crap to myself. Make no mistake, I’m sure that those that started this are still around and they’ll be coming soon. It seems you and your group is better prepared to handle whatever comes. And now, like I promised, I’ll keep quiet.”

“Okay, fair enough. Stow your gear onboard and find a place,” I say. He grabs his bags and disappears inside with four others who decided to come along. The soldier, with one arm around his wife and another holding his son close, approaches.

“Sir, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay here with my family. Or what’s left of them,” he says with his eyes red and a tear welling up.

“Of course,” I say. “I’m glad you found them and am sorry for your loss. Truly. I know what you are going through. Stay with my blessings. We’ll miss you but I completely understand.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure serving with you,” he replies, saluting and then reaching out with his hand. I return his shake and he walks over to say goodbye to his comrades.

“Well, we’ll fuel up, if you don’t mind us stealing some of your gas, and be on our way,” I tell Jason. I leave him with one of the spare satellite phones I brought just in case we met with others and needed to stay in contact. “We’ll be able to communicate this way. Keep in touch and let us know if you need anything. Keep in mind that we may not be able to respond quickly by flying in a few months but we’ll do what we can.”

“That’s much appreciated. Thanks,” Jason says, accepting the phone and charging unit.

Robert and Craig grab one of the fuel trucks at the end of the ramp and we are soon refueled. With our next stop at Malmstrom AFB, Montana input into the computer, we say our farewells and, taxiing to the end of the runway, Robert takes off into the clear blue sky heading to the northeast.

The flight will be a short one of just under four hundred miles putting us there in about an hour. We slide over the Salmon River Mountains clawing for altitude. The brown patchwork of the valley quickly changes to forested hills and mountains with deep canyons between major off-shooting ridge lines. The blue sky is completely devoid of contrails that I was used to seeing on any point of the compass when flying during the day. We have the sky to ourselves. It’s too bad we have to share the earth with the night runners. As we traverse over the tall peaks and deep valleys of the Rocky Mountains, I’m not sure which is really worse — the night runners or the bands of marauders that we’ve come into contact with. The night runners are relentless and dangerous, yes, but the humans running around have knowledge of weapons and a modicum of tactics. Given one or the other, I’m not sure which I’d pick. With the bandits, at least I can factor in a semblance of understanding of their behavior and capabilities. I don’t seem to be able to do that with night runners as yet and I don’t like surprises.

The mountains give way to the plains of Montana and Robert begins a descent into the base which lies just east of the Great Falls. The Missouri River winds its way through the town before continuing on its way across the plains. I have him fly over the city as we look for any movement that would indicate survivors still existed in the large city. The sprawling urban area looks much the same as Mountain Home — much of the greenery has changed to match the surrounding brown fields. Some green still exists near the great waterway, but for the most part, without irrigation, the green fields and yards have been transformed.

Robert flies over the airfield at about five thousand feet above the ground. I want a good look at the base before we just merrily set it in like last time. Jason caught me by surprise by showing up like he did when we were doing touch and go’s. Like I said, I hate surprises. Complacency had set in and that can be a killer. Seeing so many towns abandoned, I just assumed that Mountain Home would be the same. I have to keep the A-game going all of the time. We’re just lucky they didn’t start shooting at us when we were the most vulnerable. We can’t figure everything but that was a no-brainer.

We fly over the airfield a few times and do a few low approaches. Nothing appears on the bare ramps. There are only a couple of helicopters sitting on the large pad. This used to be a base for missile crews and the helicopters were for flying the crews to their stations. If some form of military was still around and here, they will not take too kindly to our just setting down. Our radio calls go unanswered. To all appearances, the base is abandoned. We’ll park at one of the run-up areas just off the runway far away from any building and hangars. I tell Greg to get ready to exfil the Stryker in a hurry. Robert sets it down on the long runway with a slight thump as he still isn’t used to the extra weight. He’ll get it though.

We pull off at the end and park just off the runway but a distance from the ramp. Leaving the engines running, I glass the surrounding area with a pair of binoculars. I see nothing but tall brown grass growing in patches by the edges of the taxiways and ramp. The rest is dry, dusty fields. Nothing moves except an occasional dust devil rising in the air from a breeze moving through the area. Robert sends out additional unanswered radio calls and we eventually shutdown. The rear ramp is lowered and the Stryker untied and driven out. It too shuts down and quiet settles over the area. Even the birds and other wildlife that might be around are silent.

“Well, how do you want to handle this?” Greg asks as we gather around the Stryker.

“We can’t all go. I figure we’ll leave three of your team with Craig and the others. It might be a little cramped but we’ll take the rest of your team along with Red Team. The town is about fifteen miles to the southeast along that highway,” I say, pointing to a two-lane road just on the other side of the perimeter fence. “I don’t like leaving so few but I don’t see that we really have a choice.”

I would really like to take the full teams. The Stryker won’t carry all of us but we can always pull a vehicle from the depot next to the ramp. I don’t want to leave the ones we picked up in Mountain Home unguarded though. I don’t really know them and someone full of conspiracy shit may do anything if spooked. The 130 is our only way out of here. Well, quickly, that is. It’s a helluva drive to the next base with any aircraft and I’m not about to quick learn one of the Huey helicopters parked on the ramp. The last “first” helicopter lessons weren’t pretty. Plus, with the 130 being our only quick departure plan, I do not want to leave it completely unguarded. We’ll only be a short distance away and can respond quickly if called. I wish we had brought another team but I also didn’t want to leave the compound short-handed. We’ll make do with what we have, which always seems too few.

“Is all of Red Team going?” Robert asks, standing just behind me.

“Yes, you are going,” I reply.

“And, ahem, me?” Bri asks.

With a heavy sigh, I respond, “Yes, you can go, but you stay right with Gonzalez.”

“I will, Dad,” Bri says.

“Gonzalez?” I say, questioning with a raised eyebrow.

“No worries, sir. The princess warrior and I will be just fine.”

“I’m not shitting here, Bri. None of this ‘I think I’ll climb on top of the aircraft and shoot night runners’ shit,” I state.

I’m not very happy about taking them along but I’m even less happy with leaving them in this world unprepared and inexperienced. I would keep Bri by my side but I know I’d be far too protective and not allow her to gain any experience.

“Okay, Dad. I promise no climbing on the aircraft,” Bri replies.

“I mean it, Bri,” I state.

“Okay, Dad, sheesh… sense of humor much?” Bri responds with a smile.

Seeing her smile melts my heart but I’m also reminded of another smile that I miss so much. I just want to duct tape Bri in foam padding and set her in a room. Maybe even a padded room. It’s much the same thought I had when I thought about her dating. However, I know that has the same odds of happening as keeping her from dating has. And that is less than zero. However, I never thought of arming her if she dated. Seeing her now with her M-4 slung over her shoulder, perhaps I should have. That would have kept the hormone-induced fifteen year old boys at a distance. Hmmmm… food for thought.

“No, sense of humor nil. Now get your gear together and ready to saddle up,” I say.

Loaded up, we drive through a chain link fence surrounding the airfield, across a narrow ditch, and up onto the highway. Dry, barren fields line the road, with the occasional farm house and outlying buildings here and there, as we make our way to the southeast. Some fields have tall grass growing but for the most part, they are dry and barren. We pause at the entrance to each farm house looking for anyone around but come up empty, just like the road we are traveling. We are headed for the small town of Belt where one of the soldiers has parents.

Dust has blown across a lot of the road masking it completely in some places. The earth is slowly taking back its own and I wonder how long the roads will be distinguishable. I imagine the dusty places with little rain will be the first to disappear as the blown sands and dirt shift. The rainy part of the country will keep this at bay for a while but they will eventually crack with moss and plants retaking them. Over time, the outskirts of the cities will fall into ruin and vanish in a similar manner. Small towns, like the one we are heading to, will be the first to go.

Reaching Belt Creek Road, we make a left. The road parallels a narrow creek lined with small trees and dense bushes. A little farther, we pass under a railroad trestle and, although faded, it is spray painted with the usual graffiti. On the other side, the town begins abruptly with a few residential houses stretching off to both sides of the road. One larger white building has “Harvest Moon Brewing Co” on its side. I’ve had that in the past, I think watching the building slide by. How cool would that be to live next to the brewing company?

The road curves ahead and the soldier tells me that it turns into the tiny downtown area with a small number of shops lining the street. He goes on to say that his parents live on the east side, on the other side of a stream that runs through town. The only way to get there is by going through downtown and taking a bridge across. I halt the Stryker before the turn and lower the ramp to disembark. I want to find out if we can see or hear anything prior to jumping into the middle of the town.

Standing on the cracked pavement with high grass and trees surrounding the few houses along the street, I hear the swish of a breeze as it blows through the grass and tree limbs. The late morning sun shining down belies the chill in the air. The larger stream lies just a short distance to the side and burbles as it makes its way along its tree-lined path. Over the top of these close sounds, I hear what sounds like a shout. Yes, it’s definitely a shout.

“Did you hear that?” I ask those around me.

“I don’t hear shit. Are your spidey senses tingling, sir?” Gonzalez replies.

“No, listen. I swear I hear something,” I say. I understand I can hear better than the others but it seems so loud that I’m sure they must be able to hear it as well.

I hear a muttered, “….super powers….”

Turning to Greg, I tell him, “Shut the Stryker down. I think I hear something and want complete quiet.”

“What?” He says, incredulously.

“Shhh… just do it,” I say.

The hum of the Stryker vanishes and I strain to hear anything carried on the breeze. There, it’s faint but I definitely hear shouting from around the corner. I can’t distinguish what is said but it’s definitely a human shout. I tell the others.

“Red Team, on me. Greg, you stay here with the others. We’re going to creep to the corner and see what we can,” I say.

With red team following, I step into the tall reeds of grass in one of the yards. It isn’t quite as tall as me so I creep through at a crouch. The small field of grass stretches all of the way to the corner and seemingly beyond. I cross a narrow walkway leading to a foot bridge spanning the stream and continue. Looking to my rear, I see Robert spaced behind me with the shadows of the others in trail. I part the grass ahead slowly not wanting to make a trail or to let anyone ahead know we are coming by any obvious grass movement. Slow step by step, I make my way to where I can see down the street into the heart of the very small town. I halt and the others crouch facing to the sides.

Grabbing a few stalks of grass to stick in my boonie hat and top of my vest, I rise slowly to a point where I am able to see just above the top of the grass. I bring the binoculars up ensuring I shield the front lenses with my hands. Not too far away is what looks like a pub with the entrance to a parking lot adjacent to it. A couple of other store fronts line both sides of the road. In the open lot, a couple of pickup trucks are parked with several people behind the beds and hoods aiming hunting rifles and assault weapons toward a store across the street. I count eight, but from shadows that appear and the shouts, it appears there are more out of sight from us in the lot itself.

From all appearances, it seems the ones outside have a group trapped in the store. I see a couple of barrels sticking out from windows facing the street. There is shouting from both sides but I still can’t make out individual words. In most situations, there are the good guys and the bad guys. Sometimes though, it’s good guys versus good guys and sometimes bad against bad. It’s hard to tell which is which just rolling up in the middle of something. One thing I do know, there are survivors here. It does seem like the small towns may have a higher survival rate but that hasn’t really shown itself to be an exact trend as yet.

“Henderson, Denton, to the front,” I say over the radio. The two shortly snake by the side of the others to me.

“I want you two here with your M-110s covering. Keep low and out of sight but watch and keep me informed of what is happening. Although you can’t see in the store, be ready to engage either force,” I say.

“Hooah, sir,” Henderson replies.

“Seriously! You too?” I whisper.

“Can’t help it, sir. It’s just a reflex,” he says.

“Well, tame that reflex,” I counter.

“Hooah, sir,” he says with a smile.

“Red Team, we’re backtracking to the footpath. Follow it to the stream. We’ll move along the water’s edge behind the buildings and come up from behind to see what is going on. Slow and quiet is the word. McCafferty, you have the lead,” I whisper in my throat mic.

“Hooah, sir, heading out,” McCafferty responds.

“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself and hear Robert chuckle quietly.

I inform Greg of our plan, telling him to stay with the Stryker and be ready to respond. “Leave the Stryker shut down but be ready to move.”

“I’d give you a hooah, Jack, knowing you like it so much. But I’ll refrain… this time. Call if you need, I’ll just be lounging here with my beer,” he replies. I can sense the smiles emanating from Red Team ahead as we slowly backtrack to the narrow path.

McCafferty leads us down the concrete path a short distance to the stream where we gather. The stream is shallow for the most part and, while it doesn’t have an overly strong current, it’s not a slow one either. We’ll have to take the rocky bottom carefully in order not to make noise or sprain an ankle. The bank is rocky and steep which will mean we’ll have to traverse in the water itself. My choice would be along the bank but the embankment won’t allow that. I’m worried about being in the water and exposed to anyone on the other side but the trees droop over the edge in most areas so we’ll have a measure of concealment.

I lead us down the short but sheer embankment and into the stream. The steepness continues into the water putting me at knee depth right at the edge. The bottom flattens out quickly though so we’ll be able to stay close to the shoreline to our left. It’s the larger rocks that will have to be negotiated carefully. The stream runs over a few rocks sticking above the surface and the gurgle of the water rushing over and around them blocks any other sounds. We’ll have to rely on our eyes as we approach the two groups ahead.

Robert is behind me focusing on the immediate bank and to the left front. I wave for him to increase his spacing a touch. Behind him, Gonzalez looks for her footing before stepping and is focused on the far bank. I notice her check on Bri following at times. Gonzalez points to the near shoreline. Bri nods and focuses her attention and M-4 there. McCafferty is bringing up the rear keeping her attention behind and to the sides. I have the immediate front and keep an eye to the left and right in front of us as well.

We make our way slowly down the waterway. The current is going with us and helping with our steps and noise. Going upstream is always harder, slower, and noisier if care isn’t taken. The trees on the far shore shield any view of buildings across the way. However, it also shields anyone who happens to be lying within those trees. The odds are against anyone being there but if that’s where people are gathering water, well, any look in our direction will give us away. I’m especially wary of the footpath behind us as that’s where anyone would venture to do just that, get water. I radio McCafferty to keep a look out there.

A bridge crosses the stream a short distance ahead and that’s where I focus most of my attention. Obviously, anyone transiting the area will take that bridge and if I see anyone, I will signal quickly and we’ll silently edge into the trees hanging over the water. Just short of the bridge is my eventual goal as that is where the parking lot with one of the groups is. I haven’t heard anything from Henderson or Denton so I assume everything is the same as when I left. Trees also line the waterway to the back of the lot so we’ll have cover as we approach. As I near, I can hear some shouting above the babbling stream but I still can’t make out individual words.

We reach a point behind the parking lot and, with care, climb out of the water making sure to minimize any sound of water running off our pant legs. We are on line as we climb the short distance to the ground above. Near the top, we crouch and then crawl the last couple of feet. At the top, we lie on the embankment and peek just above the crest of the hill. There are low-lying branches just overhead so we have concealment and cover alike. Ahead, twelve men are lined behind pickup trucks at the front of the lot and farther into it, all facing the store front across the street.

The shouted words become immediately clear. The group outside in front of us is threatening the ones inside.

“Like I told you, you came into our territory and tried to take our things. For that, you’ll pay. Now, I said you can make that easy. Throw down your guns and step outside. We’ll make it quick and leave your women alone. But if you make it hard, we’ll make it hard on them. I think you get my drift with that, assholes,” shouts a burly man in the rear, dressed in a red, plaid shirt and jeans. A chuckle rises from some of the others at his comment about making it “hard” on them.

Yeah, heard that one before and it’s pretty easy to tell the good guys from the bad guys now. If there’s one thing that gets me riled, it’s shit like that. Of course, there’s no telling if the people inside are good guys as yet, but the ones to our immediate front aren’t the likable sort and I place them immediately in the bad guy column.

“Look, we didn’t know and we were just out looking for supplies. If we’d have known, we wouldn’t have come into town. Just let us go and we’ll be on our way. If not, we’ll pick you apart from in here,” a reply from the store shouts out.

The burly man laughs, “There’s not enough of you to do that. You should have seen the signs posted. Save your women. Last warning.”

I look at Robert lying a few feet away questioning about the signs the guy mentioned. I sure didn’t see any so I don’t know how anyone else would have. He shrugs a response back. Oh well, they should have made it clearer. I’m not about to stand for this bullying bullshit. I’ve seen it way too much and it’s getting rather tiring.

“Try us if you think you have the balls. You’ll have to come in and get us,” the man inside the store shouts in return.

I like the guy in the store. Good guy or bad, I like his attitude. Of course, they aren’t in a good position to be boastful or egg the other group on. They’re surrounded and I’m guessing there isn’t a back door or they would have used it.

“Henderson, Jack here,” I say.

“Go ahead, sir,” Henderson replies.

“Can you see the back of the building? Is there anyone posted outside?”

“Standby, sir.”

A few seconds pass. “I have a clear view of the rear for a ways back and I don’t see anyone there,” he says.

“Okay. We’re in position behind the group out front. I’m initiating verbal contact with them. Standby,” I state.

“Roger that, sir, we’re standing by,” Henderson responds.

“We’re here and ready when you need, Jack,” Greg says.

“Greg, start ‘er up and bring it to the corner,” I say.

“Be there in just a sec,” he replies.

“This is Captain Walker. You are covered on all sides. Everyone slowly lay your weapons on the ground. That goes for everyone inside and out,” I shout.

The men behind the trucks, especially the large man and those around him, turn quickly toward the sound of my voice. They look side to side searching for where we are. The bushes and tree limbs are hiding us well. I see panic and bewilderment form on many of the faces. Some, including their apparent leader, bring their guns up as if they’ll just fire randomly and fight their way out.

“Don’t even fucking think about it. You’ll be dead before the bullet leaves the barrel,” I state.

Heads swivel to the sound of my voice but I can tell they are still having a hard time locating my exact position. Some are still turning their heads and the big man’s is twisting from me to the store front. He knows he is surrounded now regardless of where we might be. Losing face is not his exact favorite thing to do and he knows his bullying is what keeps him the leader of this group. At least, that’s what he thinks. And it may well be the case.

“Lay your weapons on the fucking ground… Now!” I shout. “Those who do will make it through the next few minutes still breathing. Those who don’t will see what awaits them in the next world. I’m not fucking kidding around here! Now, anyone want to be a hero?”

I see several have located me hidden underneath the branches. Or at least they have located where my voice is coming from. I also notice that the barrels of the weapons that were protruding from the store windows have vanished. That’s either a good thing or bad but I’m taking it as a good sign. We are in a decent position regardless of what happens next.

The whine of the Stryker approaching barely penetrates the babbling of the stream directly behind me. Several begin to lay their weapons to the ground at my gentle request. They look toward the sound coming their way. The mammoth turning the corner hastens the actions of some and their weapons clatter to the ground. A few begin to stand back up at the sound of the approaching Stryker. I have no idea what they think they can do against it armed as they are. It’s most likely an instinctive reaction.

“I would highly recommend you don’t do what’s going through your mind,” I shout. “Fire on us and you lose your free pass.”

All of the men gathered look stricken with a few turning toward the beefy man asking what they should do. The men who were lowering their weapons freeze in their position. The leader is in a tough spot and he knows it. He doesn’t want to sacrifice himself and is looking for a way to save face — something that he can say ‘it’s not worth it’ or something to that effect. Well, I do not really want to give him that chance. If he’s allowed to do that, he’ll just return and make for more trouble. We still have the search for the soldier’s family and I don’t want to be lingering around with these assholes trying to think of a way to get back at us.

“Greg, a warning burst down the middle of the street if you please,” I say on the radio.

“I aim to please,” I hear his reply.

“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard… ever!” I state.

His reply is lost as the.50 cal opens up with a quick burst. The chunk… chunk… chunk… of the heavy caliber fills the air. The large rounds impact the street just in front of the trucks and create sparks where they hit. The thick whine of the bullets ricochets down the street. They impact a building farther down the road with substantial thumps. If my voice, the realization that they were surrounded, or the sight of the Stryker didn’t create a stir, the sound of the heavy gun firing and hitting so close sure spurs greater action. The weapons the men were holding now fall from loosened grips with a multitude of clatters.

Various forms of, “Fuck this! I’m outta here,” sound out as the group takes to their feet in a hurry. I’ve never seen such a big man run so fast in all my life. I’m pretty sure land-speed records are reached as they all take off down the street with him passing the lot of them in the process. They are soon lost from my view but I can hear their footsteps pounding on the pavement for a short while. I turn to look at the bridge expecting to see them cross but it remains empty. I’m guessing they ran farther to the north, a guess that is verified by Greg as well as Henderson. There still remain the people inside the store and the need to ascertain their inclination.

“Okay, those of you inside, it’s your turn,” I shout.

“Who are you?” A male voice asks.

“I’m Captain Jack Walker. I want you to lay down your weapons and come out single file showing your hands,” I respond.

“How do we know you aren’t like the others and just trying to lure us out?” The voice says.

“I guess my word is all I have. That and a 50 cal Stryker parked up the road,” I state.

“Works for me. We’re coming out.”

I watch as three men and two women emerge from inside with their hands raised. I don’t notice any weapons immediately visible. They spread in a line near the front.

“Is that everyone?” I ask.

“This is it,” one of the men answers.

“Okay. If we go in and find anyone, and we will go in, they’ll be treated as hostile. That means…” I say, leaving the statement hanging.

The small group in front of us looks at each other. I see the man doing the talking emit a sigh and his shoulders sag slightly. “Fred, Jim, come on out,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Two additional men exit the store.

“That’s it,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s everyone,” the man replies.

“You’re sure this time.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. This is all of us.”

“Greg, Henderson, and Denton, keep us covered. We’re moving to the group. Keep an eye out for the ones who fled,” I say over the radio. Greg and the others respond positively.

We leave our cover and approach the group cautiously. Gonzalez and McCafferty frisk each of the people as Robert, Bri, and I cover them. No additional weapons are found with the exception of a few knives and survival tools.

“Okay, and you are?” I ask.

“I’m Carl and this is…” he says, introducing the rest of his small group.

The group seems okay and we have them covered regardless. I have Greg move the Stryker past us to the main intersection of town just a block away. He’ll keep watch in that direction with Henderson and Denton providing cover behind us. I’m still not sure how fast the other antagonistic group will recover and respond, or if they even will, but the leader will want to save face somehow. I’m guessing they will return to whatever hideout they happen to have if they want to rearm themselves. Sitting out in the open like this isn’t giving me warm, fuzzy feelings so I want to make this quick.

“So, Carl, what’s your story?” I ask. I can tell he is hesitant about revealing anything but looking around at a dozen well-armed soldiers who happen to have a Stryker as a pet and the fact that we haven’t harmed him or his group seems to loosen him up.

“We have a place not too far away up in the hills. We are fairly self-sufficient and prepared to some extent for this. Occasionally though, we come down into these small towns to scavenge for supplies. Great Falls was overrun almost immediately so we avoid that place like the plague, pun intended,” Carl says. I give Carl and his group a quick rundown of our story, including the reason we are here.

“Sorry to give you bad news, captain, but no one has been around here in some time. I’m not sure where those other folks came from but they’re new here,” Carl says.

“Are there others in your place? You are welcome to come along with us if you’d like,” I say, explaining what that would entail.

“We have two others watching the place and we’d have to talk it over amongst ourselves,” Carl replies. “If you wouldn’t mind if we talked in private for a moment, we’ll let you know.”

“That’s fine but make it quick. There are still those others around and I’m not interested in finding out what they have for an encore,” I state.

Carl and his group gather together in a circle and I hear their murmurings. I can actually hear their conversation but I tune it out to give them a semblance of privacy.

“Hang tight everyone. We’re having a little pow wow here,” I radio.

Carl and his group finish their conversation and accept our invitation. “Supplies are running low in the area anyway,” he states. “We will need to gather our gear though. Is it okay if we retrieve our guns?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’ll have to be quick about gathering your gear. We’re going to search some more here to make sure there isn’t family still around. You can meet us at Malmstrom AFB. Do you know where that is?” I ask.

“Yeah, Captain, I know where that is,” Carl answers.

“Call me Jack. Okay, we have a C-130 parked there by the runway. Do you know what one looks like?” I say.

“I’ve ridden in one way too many times not to know one intimately,” he responds.

“Fun rides eh? Okay, it’s the only one there so make your way there, but be there before dark as we’ll be sealed up by then,” I state.

“You won’t find us out and about after dark. We’ll be there. The others seem to have left us a couple of vehicles here. Perhaps they won’t mind if we borrow them,” Carl replies.

“They don’t look like they’re being used to me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather get off these open streets. See you soon.”

With that, Carl and his group retrieve their weapons, load up into the vehicles they brought along with a couple of the pickup trucks, and drive down the road we entered on, disappearing around the corner. I have Red Team pick up the weapons dropped by the other group and pile them into the Stryker.

I get with the soldier whose family lives, or lived, here to get directions. Although Carl seemed familiar with the area and what happened to it, it wouldn’t do to come this far and not check for ourselves. I owe that much to the soldier and hope we find his parents alive and well.

Henderson and Denton join us and we load into the Stryker. We turn toward the short bridge and, not seeing any signs indicating weight limitations, proceed across following the soldier’s directions. The town is very small and there are only a couple of crossing streets. We take the first and only left. An alley appears half way down the street and the soldier directs us down it. I do not want to have the Stryker in such cramped quarters as the others are certainly about. Being such a small town, they can easily track our progress and position by the heavy whine of the diesel engine. We park and disembark. I send Greg with the soldier and his team up the alley and to the house in question. I have Henderson and Denton tag along with them in case Greg needs them for entry. I cast out and sense a few night runners in the area but none nearby. It’s almost a relief to feel them. It would be nice if I actually figured out how this stupid thing works.

I send Gonzalez and McCafferty to opposite ends of the street we are on to keep a watch down the streets. They trot off and each finds a position by the corner of a house. The sun has risen overhead and the houses and trees along the street cast very little shadow. Although there is still a chill in the air, it is warming up. One squirrel, perched high in a tree on the corner of the block, squawks madly at our intrusion into its domain. It’s apparently not happy with our being here and is letting the world know.

I take a moment to bask in the rays of the sun shining down on my shoulder. I try casting my thoughts out farther. I sense just a couple of others but find it easier to reach out now for some reason. I cast out farther and farther. I know there are only empty plains around and don’t expect much but am seeing what my limits and capabilities are. I keep going feeling a pressure in my head as I concentrate. I notice the harder I concentrate, the more limited it becomes. I try relaxing and just visualizing. By relaxing, it seems easier to expand and I sense a small group of night runners farther to our southeast. I don’t know if it’s just the area we’re in or whether it’s the night runners themselves that seem to limit this back home. For whatever reason, it’s just easier now. The distant night runners are harder to pinpoint and I can only sense them being in a general direction. The squirrel chirping in the branches above enters my consciousness and I pull back.

Greg informs me of their entry and subsequent search. The house is empty and I turn to watch the team members walk into the alleyway and make their way back. The soldier has his head down with others patting him on the shoulders consoling him. I was hopeful that we would be successful with the partial success we’ve had so far. I guess every ending can’t be the happy one and I feel for him. I’m sure he was feeling hopeful after seeing some of the other team members find some of their family alive. I stroll over and give him my condolences as well.

“What about those folks we ran into that fled, sir. They might know something,” he says, hopeful.

“I wouldn’t know where to look for them and am not sure I want to run into them again,” I reply.

Seeing his head and shoulders sag tugs at my heart. I’d like for all of the soldiers to find their families, especially after they risked all to help rescue my kids.

“They might be holed up at the school, sir. That’s where I’d go,” he says.

Once again, that torn feeling surfaces. I’m not all that eager to run into those folks again, especially close to wherever they call home. They have the advantage of knowing the area better and will definitely hear us coming. Surprise — gone… knowledge — gone… advantage — marauders. However, we are here and I feel we should make every effort to find out what happened. He didn’t question going into an armed compound at night with night runners all around to get my kids. I just don’t want to sacrifice the many for one. If smoke trails appear, we’re outta there. I pull the others aside and ask them their thoughts. After all, it’s their ass. To a person, they not only agree that we should go, but are quite adamant about it. So, we board the Stryker and set off to see the wizard.

We backtrack to the center of town. The school is only a block up and on the left so it’s not like the large man and his merry band of followers had to trek far. I’m sure they were gasping for air upon arriving though. And maybe a few wet spots located just below the belt. I know I almost wet mine when the.50 cal went off and struck the street in front of us. That’s about as close to being on the receiving end that I want to get. The soldier shows us a side path to an open lot by the school so we don’t become trapped on the narrow street in front of it.

We edge around one of the houses and flatten the tall grass growing in the yard. The single-story light-colored school building appears with the gym on our side. I immediately spot, through the mounted camera, two men perched on the roof with weapons aimed our way. We halt and I open the top hatch. With a mega phone in hand, I call out saying that we aren’t looking to harm anyone but looking for some people and give them the names. There isn’t any response to my call except the men on the roof shifting positions.

“I’m going to need a response,” I say, asking again.

A shot rings out and I hear the ping of a bullet striking the armor close to the hatch. The ricocheting round pings off into the distance, quickly fading. Really?! How stupid can you get? I think. Why is it that people think firing on an armored vehicle is a good thing?

“A simple yes or no would have sufficed. Now, let’s try this again, are they there or do you know their whereabouts?” I ask. Again there isn’t any response. At least they don’t try firing on us again.

“Do you really want this.50 cal to start chewing your place to ribbons?” I state.

Finally, a voice calls out. It sounds very much like the man shouting in front of the store. “No, we just arrived a few days ago and there was no one here. Now, get lost!”

I think about opening up anyway but merely close the hatch and have the Stryker reverse out of there. I look at the soldier sitting amongst the others with tears streaming down his face. The others around him console him again. I ask if there was any other place they would go and he just shakes his head. With a very melancholy feel within the interior, we trace our route back to the 130. Parking the Stryker off to the side, we set up a small perimeter with each team taking turns on watch. We settle in with the sun passing its zenith and into the afternoon.

I make contact with the base. The delay seems a little long and the connection sporadic but I’m able to convey our location and update them. MRE’s are opened and we eat our meals in small groups. The fact of not being able to locate the soldier’s family casts a pall over us and our day. Shoveling the food in our mouths without really tasting it, we sit and wait for Carl’s group to show up.

The shadows lengthen as the sun settles into the later afternoon. There’s not really much to do so Craig and Robert load our next flight data into the computer. Our next stop will be Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota — a flight of close to four hundred miles to the southeast. The base itself sits a few miles to the northeast of Rapid City with our eventual destination being Sturgis. I wonder if there will be an abundance of Harleys in the area. We’ll leave in the early morning and begin our search right after landing if all goes well. These one day per location trips will cut our total time away from home down considerably. My only concern is continuing to use the 130 without maintenance. Well, that’s not my only worry but it is a major one.

I hear vehicles approaching in the distance and rise. I get a few strange looks as I stare off into the distance down the highway. Eventually, I catch the glint of the sun reflecting off a windshield and then see trucks approaching. The pickups pass through the hole in the fence we made earlier and park by the Stryker. Carl and his group offload their equipment piled in the beds and, with some help, load it into the aircraft. We then begin loading the Stryker in. There are fewer arm waving’s and shouts of dismay spelling impending doom this time. We tie the behemoth down and, with the sun beginning to settle behind the Rocky Mountains, seal the aircraft. With the last of the rays coming in the windows, we put the blackout window seals in place and settle in for the night.

Shrieks enter faintly through the metal fuselage. It’s been a while since I’ve heard the sound of night runners out hunting. I heard them in the warehouse when the sailors entered but hearing them outside prowling in the night raises my heartbeat. Well, hearing them anytime does that. That happens every time I hear that awful scream and it’s not something I’ll ever become comfortable with. We’ve been through too much not to have that sound elevate every sense. Lying in my bag, feeling the chilled air against my cheeks, parked in the middle of nowhere far away from home, I know the night runners will always be a part of this world. I’m only looking to clear them out of our little patch of woods.

Some shrieks grow louder and soon the first slam is felt against the fuselage. Although they have never been able to come close to breaching the 130 before, I am a little anxious thinking about their tremendous ability to adapt although I don’t know how they can adapt enough to get into a rugged aircraft like the 130. Even if they could manage to manipulate the door or ramp entries, we’ve chained them shut. However, I don’t want to assume anything with regards to the night runners so we keep a watch posted.

I notice Carl and his group sitting up and shifting in their bags nervously. I tell them we have been out a number of times and haven’t been breached yet. I see by their eyes this doesn’t put them completely at ease. I can’t imagine it’s too easy feeling trapped like this and sitting in the dark for the first time. For me, the slams against the aircraft seem heavier and the accompanying shrieks louder. This is most likely because it’s been absent, for the most part, since we established our compound and it’s been a while since we were out in the 130.

Not being able to sleep with the awful racket outside, I decide to experiment more and reach out with my mind. I sense only a few night runners just outside of the aircraft. They show up in my mind clear as can be. Reaching farther out, I sense others in and around the base. I relax rather than force the sensing and cast out even farther. I pick up a tremendous number of echoes from the direction of Great Falls. The city is filled with a multitude. I shut down the images from them and just concentrate on sensing them.

At first, this is hard to do as I haven’t really thought about the two being different. The “noise” from all of the images I pick up is overpowering. Shunting that aspect to the side allows me to actually continue. The vast amount of images I had from reaching out threatened to overwhelm my mind and I was on the verge of having to shut them out altogether. I find I can limit the images by focusing on certain ones or shut the images out completely. Interesting, I think, playing with this.

The sense I have of them never leaves yet it doesn’t create “noise” in my head. The images and sensing of the night runners is, in fact, two different parts of the same thing. I notice that the sensing of them comes and goes to an extent. The whole of the host doesn’t leave, but more that some seem to vanish and reappear. This seems to be with those farther away.

This confuses me though. The city is miles away and I was only a mile above the horde we saw emerging from the buildings just a few nights ago. Here, I seem to be able to sense them clearly but wasn’t able to get but just a glimmer then. I wonder if it’s the area, the relaxation of the mind, or something completely different. Maybe it’s just an ability, if it can be called that, which comes and goes.

Although I can’t shut out the sensing completely, I can compartmentalize them in a way and concentrate on a select group or area. I push farther although that becomes more difficult. It’s farther than I was able to go earlier today and maybe it’s with practice that this develops. Perhaps there is a limitation to the distance. That would make the most sense. I mean, I can’t imagine pushing out to cover the globe. At the far edges, the senses are dulled to the point that I can sense something there but not define the exact location or see images from them. It’s more like I know something is out in a general direction.

At the limit, I feel a strange sensation. It’s similar but not like a night runner. That has a different sense than the one I barely feel. And it’s not like a host but seems like it is coming from an individual. It somehow feels familiar. I can’t even begin to describe the impression. It feels like a night runner in some ways but completely different in most others. I feel whatever it is brush against my mind. A series of images form, “Who the fuck are you? Get out of my head!”

The strange sensation vanishes from my mind.

The attacks against the aircraft continue, tailing off after a period of time as the group of night runners outside run off to find better hunting grounds. No others show up to replace them. Our distance away from the buildings must be keeping us from being smelled out or there is an abundance of food in the area. Although we keep a watch posted, the rest of our night is one of relative peace.

I pull Greg aside in the morning telling him of my feeling that there may be a few other survivors in the area and my desire to search for them. The sensation I felt last night is still with me and I want to investigate what it was. With the early morning light streaming in the now open windows, it feels to me that the strange one I felt last night wasn’t a night runner and that leaves only one other option — it was a survivor.

There is a part of me that wonders if I didn’t imagine the whole thing. However, we are ahead of the schedule we set and we can afford to take a day to investigate. It will also give us a day to rejuvenate to a degree. Greg is in agreement that, if there is a chance of finding someone else, even if it’s just one, then we should take a look. We brief the others, unload the Stryker, and head over to the vehicle lot by the ramp. There, the Stryker is refueled and we locate a fuel truck to refuel the 130. I attempt to radio base and Leonard with the sat phone but am unsuccessful raising either one. Worry sets in but the fact that I can’t raise either leads me to believe there is something wrong with the phone or satellite itself.

Downing a quick breakfast, we load up into the Stryker leaving three to guard the aircraft and watch over the others we have with us. I reach out in an attempt to find the other one I felt. I feel night runners holed up in groups in various areas. The sense of them is diminished to a large degree and I don’t feel them as clearly as I did during the night, nor do I feel them in the numbers I did. Perhaps their sleeping causes the ability to fade or it’s one of those times when the ability is weaker. I do, however, vaguely sense the other one.

It still feels different than the other sensations I have of the night runners. I can’t put my finger on exactly what that variation is, only that it is distinctly different. The other contrast is that the sense is much clearer. It’s far enough away that I only have a general direction but feel that, if I were to get close, I would be able to pinpoint the location like I can with the closer night runners.

The direction I sense is to the west northwest. I don’t know the area well but flying over the city on our arrival gave me a basic layout. The highway we traveled down yesterday heads through the heart of the city in the other direction. I’m all in favor of avoiding going through such a crowded area. Not crowded in terms of people but rather in terms of buildings. Running into a group of marauders or someone trying to defend their area is not how I want to start my day. Instead, we’ll try to circumnavigate the city and get closer in order to better ascertain where this sensation is coming from.

Heading out to the highway, we take the first large road to the north that runs between the base and the city. The sun is above the plains to the east but still low enough to cast long shadows. A few birds skirt low over the street as we travel along. To the west, a few residences lie near with flat brown fields lining the rest of the road. The windows glare briefly from the sun striking their surface as we pass. We could be on the start of an early morning family outing. The exception is that we are packing M-4s instead of picnic baskets and our ride is not the family sedan.

The road curves to the west and we are soon passing through abandoned industrial complexes. Many of the industrial yards are filled with piles of scrap metal, stacks of forged steel beams waiting for shipments that will now never occur, and tractor trailers parked in rows. A few places house storage tanks. We pass through this lonely area and soon come to the river. The road proceeds along its banks passing a dam spanning the river’s width. With no one to regulate the flow of water, it flows over the top of the dam. I look on with interest. Dams aren’t meant to hold that amount of water for any great length of time and I imagine it will only be a matter of time before the dam gives way.

There is a large dam, actually several large dams, across the Columbia River back home and I imagine it now looks the same with the similar span. The Hanford Nuclear Storage Facility lies just downstream from one of the smaller dams on the upper Columbia River. I wonder how it will be affected when the dam breaks. For that matter, I wonder just how long that facility will last before spilling its contents into the Columbia River and how that will affect us. That’s just one more worry to pile on the list. Frank is keeping measurements of the radiation in the area but a large spill of this nature could cause us a lot of problems. The south winds during the winter months in our area will bring any radiation in the Columbia in our direction.

These thoughts occupy my mind as we leave the dam behind. We are closer to the sense of the other one and I can now locate the source. It’s almost directly north from us across the river. I see several bridges ahead spanning the waterway and we cautiously cross reminded of the barricade Sam threw across the Tacoma Narrows. We haven’t sighted a soul and the only movement has been from birds wheeling through the clear morning sky and a couple of dog packs.

I keep trying to raise the others on the sat phone without success. It’s not like we haven’t been out of contact before but now that we have that capability, I expect it and am a little concerned that we can’t. I still have the sense of the other one but without a return statement like last night. We cross the river without incident and continue to navigate streets drawing closer with each turn. I’m hesitant about this as I don’t know exactly what I’m sensing other than it’s different and there is more clarity about it.

We are out of the town and passing through a golf course. The greens can no longer be named that and the once pristine fairways are now fields of brown grass. Turning around what once looked like it was an open field driving range, we enter a lot with a single pickup truck parked close to the pro shop. I have the Stryker halt at the edge of the lot and see a man walk around the corner of the shop carrying a golf club in his hand. Surely he can’t be thinking of attacking a Stryker with a golf club, I think, watching him come to a stop. It’s just as stupid as shooting at one with a handgun I guess.

The man looks startled at our appearance but continues to stand by the pro shop entrance watching us with a hand shielding his eyes. The.50 cal isn’t pointed directly at him but its aim point is certainly in his vicinity. I look around through the magnified optics searching for others. I can’t imagine one person being alone in this world and we’ve always come across a group of individuals regardless of how big the group is. I see no one in the area and the sense I have in my mind is coming directly from the man in front. I have the ramp lowered and walk out with the rest of the teams flowing out and taking up a perimeter.

I look to see that the middle-aged man hasn’t moved. His medium-length brown hair hangs limply and in disarray. The dirt-stained jeans have holes in the knees and tattered hems cover sullied white sneakers. His plain gray sweat shirt is a little cleaner but shows stains of various natures. He stares at us with interest. I walk up to him making sure to keep clear of the club he is holding in his hand.

“Are you the one who was in my head last night?” He asks, eyeing me up and down.

“I do believe I was. And you are?” I say, unbelieving that what I sensed is actually another person.

The sense of him still feels something like a night runner and then the light dawns bright in my mind. He is like me — this is what I must feel like to him. He is much the same as me with regards to being able to sense others.

“I’m Ken. And you would be?”

“Jack, Jack Walker,” I answer, shouldering my M-4 and holding out my hand. “Did you get bitten by the night creatures and survive?”

“Yes, I did,” he replies. I nod at the verification of my thought.

I tell him my belief about what happened and is happening with regards to our ability to sense each other. I send a simple thought image to him which he returns. That further verifies the concept of what surviving a bite brings. I never thought for a moment that there would be others similar to me. This has interesting implications. We finish conversing about our remarkable connection. His shoulders relax.

“I thought I was going crazy and thought sensing you last night was part of my insanity. With you standing right here, it’s obviously real. These others that I see nightly are driving me crazy though. I can’t get them to shut up and luckily, I’ve been able to keep them out. They are here every night,” Ken says.

“I thought I had lost it when I first came to and found these images running through my head,” I respond.

“I was pretty sure my mind had turned and, to be perfectly honest, I was about ready to pack it in,” he says. “I can’t take any more nights of this shit but having you arrive and knowing I’m not going insane helps. I’ve actually heard a couple of others like us some nights. I haven’t felt them in a few nights though.”

“Well, Ken, you are more than welcome to join up with us,” I offer, explaining out situation.

“I was going to hit a few more balls and maybe play a round or two but what the hell. Give me a second to get some of my things and I’ll be ready,” he replies, accepting the offer.

With Ken’s small pack loaded up, he tells of where he last sensed the others. Loading up once again, we head toward the nearest one picking up a woman hiding out in a storage facility. She seemed a little shell-shocked but mostly relieved to find someone else alive and joins with us willingly. I’m curious as to why I could sense Ken but not the woman named Linda.

“I had to shut all of them out before I went insane. The ability to do that came about accidentally,” Linda comments.

The third is strangely back in the abandoned industrial complex we passed earlier. We pull up to a small, cinderblock warehouse located toward the rear of all of the other foundries, manufacturing plants, and warehouses. As we disembark and spread out, a man about my age opens one of the heavily sealed doors and emerges.

“Get out of here. You aren’t real,” he shouts, waving a couple of long knives about.

“We’re plenty real,” I reply.

“No, you are in my head and I’m imagining you,” he says.

“Do you think the night runners are pretend?” I ask.

“Who? What the hell are you talking about?” I go on to describe who and what I mean.

“Oh, them. No, they’re real alright,” he states.

“How is it we are figments of your imagination then?” I ask.

“Because I’m the last one alive and my mind is fucking with me. This is what happens when you are the last one left,” he answers.

“So, why are you talking with me if we’re merely something you made up?”

“Because, it’s what the mind does when there’s nothing left,” he replies.

“So, if I shoot you, say, in the leg, you won’t feel it or bleed, right?” I say. He hesitates pondering that question.

“See, that hesitation means you believe that we’re real. At least a part of you does,” I state.

“Now you’re just trying to fuck with me.”

“That would mean you’re fucking with yourself,” I respond.

“Aaaaaaah… get the hell away from me and leave me alone,” he loudly says.

“Dude, just for a moment, wrap your mind around that we’re real. Have you ever seen a vehicle like this?” I ask, waving at the Stryker. “I mean anywhere… TV, books, movies?”

“No. I can’t say that I have,” he answers.

“Then how can you imagine something you’ve never seen or imagined before? You have to base imagination on experience.”

“No, that’s not true,” he says, but I see that he is perhaps contemplating the situation differently.

“Okay. If you’re imagining something you made up, wouldn’t it change each time you looked at it? In some small way?” I ask. He rubs his chin, coming close to shaving his eyebrows with one of the long knives.

“Perhaps,” he responds.

“Well, had it changed?

“No, but I wouldn’t know if it had if this is all imaginary,” the man states.

“You know, we could go back to shooting you in the leg,” I say.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, taking a step back.

“What do you say you come with us and see just how imaginary we are? I mean, what do you have to lose?”

“I could wake from this and find myself stuck out at night with those nasty creatures about to come out,” he replies.

“I tell you what. Why don’t you try coming with us. If you find that you are still imagining all of this shit before dark settles, we’ll bring you back,” I offer.

He hesitates another moment and then responds, “Okay. I’ll try that but you better bring me back long before the sun sets.”

“You know, I could still shorten this and just shoot you,” I state, chuckling.

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” he responds.

“I’m Jack,” I say, offering my hand.

“Randy. Just so you know, I still don’t think you’re real,” he states, returning my shake.

Randy gathers some gear and comes with us and, by nightfall, begins to believe we are real.

As the sun begins to set behind the hills in the west, I try calling base but don’t get a response from the satellite phone. I try Captain Leonard with silence my only answer. I keep trying until night falls before giving up. Maybe the satellite finally decayed enough to quit working. Who knows? For whatever reason, we are out of communication for the time being.

Unconscious to the world, Alan throws off the bedding. His only drive is the need to be outside… the need to hunt. He makes his way down the unmoving escalator. He sees, but not with the eyes of the waking world. The seed that was planted has taken hold and he knows only that he wants to feed. He wants the freedom of the open air and it fills him with the intensity of it. The vast room is mostly empty but he smells the others inside. He has an urge to turn back and rampage through them but the pull of the outside is stronger.

Remembering the call of the one the other night, it motivates him to join in the hunt. He misses the chase… the taste of the sweet blood pouring from prey… the succulent taste of flesh in his teeth. He is only vaguely aware of where he is but knows the way out. That is the driving factor, the need to lose himself in the night.

Making his way through downstairs and into the warehouse facility with the docking bays, he removes the clamps locking the doors down. Lifting the doors enough to crouch through, Alan hops down and drops to the ground. The feel of the night air is refreshing and almost fills the urge he has deep inside, but the freedom isn’t complete and he knows prey lies outside of the high walls surrounding the place where he finds himself.

He lifts his nose to the night air and smells prey in abundance. Some of that prey lies on the other side of the mostly high wall that surrounds the interior of this lair and he wants to be completely outside. The need to be completely out holds him and he begins trotting toward the big portal that will let him be free.

The cool night air flowing across his cheeks feels good as does the sweet smell of the tall grass brushing against his pant legs. The urge to find the pack leader he heard the night before is strong. The bright stars and silvery moon accompany him as he jogs through the open field. The walls in the distance slowly grow taller as he draws near. He senses others like him a short distance away and he only needs to get through the heavy portals to be with them.

He sends an image to them which isn’t returned. This perplexes him as he remembers them always answering his calls. He can feel them and hear them but they don’t seem to be talking with him. That doesn’t matter much as he approaches the large gate. He’ll be with them shortly.

It takes some doing but he eventually manages to lift the heavy bar holding the portals closed. The heavy metal bar falls to the ground with a loud clang. Alan pulls on the gigantic door and it slowly swings open a few inches. Eagerly wanting to be out of this lair, he pulls harder. With the hinges emitting a mighty, metallic grind, the steel door inches open. It’s enough to squeeze through and Alan finds himself standing on the very spot he squatted down on upon his arrival. This memory is lost as all he knows is he is free. He wants the thrill of the chase and relishes in his ability to do so.

Watkins, standing on the upper balcony, watches Alan walk downstairs and vanish beneath the overhang. He has observed him and others wander the facility on many of the nights he has kept watch so thinks nothing of it. It’s not uncommon for people inside to become restless and meander the interior trying to work off whatever is causing their sleeplessness. He’ll investigate if Alan doesn’t appear before long. Keeping the man in his mind, he turns back to watch the interior. His mind wanders to the times before the world changed.

Sandra heads to the same area close to the two-legged lair where she has been on many nights. She knows Michael won’t be pleased, especially when he finds out she and her pack didn’t gather the alternate food as he ordered. Going against his explicit order and endangering her very place within the pack, she feels close to a solution to getting inside. She wants to see if she can sense this other one and get him to answer her. Wanting information about the inside, she opens up just enough to see if she can sense the strange one that has somehow become enmeshed in the lair.

She still isn’t sure how he came to be inside or why the two-legged ones tolerate that one being in there with them. As confused as she is about the situation, she is not against using it and seeks to establish some form of communication with the one. She sensed him and sent messages but hasn’t received any indication that he even heard her. His thoughts and movements were easily seen and she understood all of them. She knows that Michael will know of her coming to the two-legged place and she will have to find another lair before the night is over. She knows of several possibilities and will have to reserve some of the evening to search for one that will accommodate them.

She has kept her ear to the skies listening for that unforgettable droning sound but the night remains quiet. On occasion, the shriek of one pack or another finding prey drifts through the evening air. With her keeping watch once again, her pack rushes forward into the rubbled ruins to forage.

Sandra immediately senses the strange one just a short distance away. She locates his exact position and follows as he makes his way through the inside of the lair. His thoughts don’t give her a picture of what the inside looks like but she does see his desire to be outside. The hesitation the one had about staying in and feeding on the two-legged ones gives her no small amount of worry. Not understanding how he is controlling himself with two-legged prey so close, she is relieved when she feels his thoughts change and he moves on.

She squats on the boundary line where the intact structures meet the ruined ones. The bright white light in the night sky casts rays through a small tree above her, creating dancing shadows as a very light breeze blows through the area. Her focus though is on what is transpiring only a short distance away and her curiosity is peaked as to what this strange one will do. Knowing he wants outside, she wonders if he’ll be able to scale the tall walls from inside.

Sandra sends a message asking the one to answer and tilts her head as if this will enable her to better receive his response. Although she can still see the images emanating from him, she doesn’t get a reply. She tries once again receiving the same silence. Frustrated, she shifts minutely and continues to watch.

Standing excitedly as she sees the one open a door that leads inside, she stops herself after taking a few steps in the direction of the two-legged lair. The door is open and their den is vulnerable. She looks to the sky to gauge how much time is left of the darkness. They haven’t been out long and most of the night remains. If we can just get over the walls, we can enter, she thinks, feeling an eagerness rise within. I’ll watch to see if he can get over the walls. Perhaps he’ll show us a weakness and a way in.

Sandra becomes even more interested as she observes in her mind the one’s departure from the building and into the night. He isn’t making directly for the walls as she thought he would. He is running under the starlit skies for the far side of the walled lair. She senses his objective is a large door leading through the walls. Literally quivering with excitement, she calls to her pack telling them to forget what they’re doing and come to her. They all rise from gathering the furred rodents and look in her direction in a questioning manner. Hesitating for only a moment, the large pack drops what they are doing and quickly surrounds her.

Sandra leads them in a fast run in a wide, looping circle around the walls toward the metal gates she remembers seeing on her one circle around the lair. This must be where the one inside is heading. The one inside is jogging slowly toward the gate and the pack settles in the woods a short distance from the large portals. Keeping the pack out of sight of the walls, she edges forward, stopping just as she senses the strange one struggling with something heavy that is keeping the doors shut.

Her heart is racing with anticipation as she witnesses one of the large doors move. It opens only an inch or two. She maintains a watch on the gate and soon it swings open farther. The one emerges from the opening. Sandra can barely contain her excitement. The way into the two-legged compound is open. Now’s her chance.

She sends a quick image of the female to her pack with the instructions that she is to be taken alive. Kill any who stand in their way but the capture of that is their goal. “Getting the female is a priority over feeding. Grab her and go. We’ll leave immediately when we get her. No stopping to feed,” Sandra sends.

With that, the pack launches forward out of the woods toward and then through the gate.

“Sergeant Watkins!” Watkins hears his name shouted from downstairs.

He leans over the railing and sees one of the people manning the night watch in the control room standing at the entrance. The person waves frantically upon seeing him. Bounding down the stairs, he enters the control room. Looking at the monitors lining one of the walls, he immediately understands the urgency of the shout. Hundreds if not thousands of night runners fill three of the screens. Most are still emerging from the woods on the far side of the road leading to the entrance but they are speeding toward the gate.

The sight causes his heart to leap in his chest and adrenaline floods his system. What makes him catch his breath is the camera showing the front gate slightly open with one person standing just outside. The way into the compound is open and a horde of night runners are on their way.

“Wake everyone!” Watkins says to one of the operators and turns in a flash. His last sight of the monitors before bolting from the room is of the first of the night runners beginning to pour through the gate.

With the alarm given, the teams emerge from their cubicles. Their sleepiness wears off quickly as they slip on their vests and gather their gear. Forming into their teams, they begin to take their prearranged positions established in case they ever experience a breach of the walls and sanctuary. The interior turns from the quiet of peaceful slumbering into a madhouse of shouts, tromping boots, magazines being loaded, and weapons locked and loaded.

Those not on any of the teams emerge with panic-stricken looks but shuffle off to the upstairs dining room and surrounding area giving the soldiers the freedom to move and shoot at will. They lie on the hard, chilled linoleum floor with hearts racing and eyes wide with fear. They’ve all practiced this numerous times but now it is for real. Practice may make it easier to move into position and know where to go but it doesn’t help with the sheer terror of actually having to do it.

Watkins stands next to Lynn and Drescoll telling what he witnessed on the monitors. “There are thousands of them on the way,” he reports.

Lynn knows they won’t be able to get updates from the control room as the outside cameras were moved to provide coverage along the length of the walls and haven’t been replaced. There just weren’t enough cameras on base to provide coverage for the walls and the building. They had planned to locate more from the naval bases farther north but higher priorities overrode those plans.

Lynn and Drescoll stand near the upstairs railing arranging the last of their gear on their vests and checking their weapons. The teams are all just coming into their positions along the upper railings as the first loud shriek sounds downstairs, filling the vast interior with its echo.

Sandra watches as her pack streams by her. She is running along with them but allows many of them to pass. She knows the two-legged ones are dangerous and she will lose many in her pack but they are numerous. Among the eagerness and excitement she feels, she relishes in the fact that she was right and Michael wrong. A part of her sees this as an opportunity to take them all down once and for all but she has a specific quarry in mind. It overrides any other thoughts.

They will vacate after they capture the female. Deep down, she knows the wrongness of this with regards to the overall pack. An opportunity like this won’t appear again. She thinks of keeping up the attack once she has the female and eliminate them all. The thought of feasting on all of the two-legged ones she smells brings about an overpowering, salivating hunger. The odor of them also induces rage. She’ll have to control her pack tightly if she is to accomplish what she wants tonight. If the two-legged one is inside, she will capture him as well. She doesn’t sense him but will direct the pack to him if she senses or spots him. If that opportunity arises, she will kill the female once the two-legged one is captured. She’ll have to play this night as it comes.

She rushes past the strange one by the gate. He stands as if embracing the pack. She senses some of her pack turn on this one. He feels the same as them but carries the scent of one of the two-legged. Sandra hears his cries of pain but doesn’t care and runs on. He’s fulfilled his purpose.

His heart is beating fast… he is free. The night air somehow seems cleaner, fresher. Alan is so eager for the hunt he is almost salivating. He wants that sweet taste and to feel flesh in his mouth once again — sweet, raw meat. And to be with a pack once again; to be safe and secure both in knowledge and numbers.

He senses a large pack waiting in the nearby trees across the hard path and watches as they emerge. He sends a call but doesn’t receive any response from them. The leading ones race past him as if he isn’t there and continue through the opening behind him. Alan smells them for the first time. They have a different scent than he remembers. It’s the odor of unwashed, musky bodies and not the familiar aroma. He stands confused as they flow by him, looking left and right for any sign of recognition. The strong female he sensed the other nights runs by him with only a cursory glance.

Fear begins to surface and he’s not sure why the others aren’t acting like he is one of their own. He senses their eagerness to be inside and feed but that shouldn’t cause them to completely ignore him. Among the picture images he is receiving is something about a particular female inside but that is quickly shunted away as his alarm grows.

The others of his kind continue to stream by. The night is filled with their screams of hunger and excitement. Turning to the front, Alan is shaken by a transformed one directly in front of him snarling and coming directly at him. The image fills his vision and he begins to raise an arm to fend the one off. He quickly realizes there is more than one coming at him. His heart kicks up another notch as he recognizes the hunger in their eyes. The one directly in front slams into him. Alan feels himself knocked backwards and begins to fall. His vision of the transformed ones flowing around him turns into one of small, bright lights above against a velvet sky. He impacts the ground on his back and his head rocks back hitting the hard pavement below. Stunned, he is only vaguely aware of growling bodies on him.

He is brought back to full consciousness by a loud scream of pain and realizes it is own. Coming out of his foggy state, he is aware that he was walking in his sleep again but this time, he is not merely downstairs but surrounded by snarling faces. He feels agony beyond compare. A fleeting memory surfaces of waking in the crowded room of what he has become to know as night runners. This feels the same only, instead of the night runners chasing him through the building, they are on him, tearing into his flesh. Another thought intrudes through the pain, that maybe this is just another one of his nightmares. However, he has never felt pain in them before and it was usually him doing the biting and rending of flesh.

He screams as he feels another set of teeth sink into him and tear a chunk of flesh off. The white-hot agony races through his body like electricity and his flailing to remove the night runners from him weaken. All thoughts he had flee and his mind is now only filled only with the redness of sheer agony. With his eyes squeezed close and teeth clenched hard, he arches his back as another strip of flesh is torn free. Suffering beyond belief envelopes his mind and body. His mouth is closed so tight that only a whimper escapes but the agony is too much. His back falls back to the ground limply. Darkness invades and his last breath escapes in a puff of white mist.

Inside the once impassable walls and rushing through the tall grass, Sandra sees her goal. It rises above her surrounded by the hard ground the two-legged ones seem to favor. Her desire builds with each step through the field. She is trying to sense the two-legged one inside but is coming up empty. With the grass stalks brushing against her as she races through the open air, she directs her pack to the back where she saw the strange one exit hoping the door will still be open.

It will take some time to get her entire pack through the smaller opening but she is relying on her numbers to overwhelm the two-legged ones inside. She’ll wait for a moment outside until they break in and through. It wouldn’t do for her to be taken down in the first moments. She knows she will lose a few tonight but it will be worth it. Her pack means a lot to her, as does her young one, but this urge she has is overpowering, she needs for it to happen.

The building looms large but not as large as the ones where Michael has the large pack. She sees the first of her pack race around the corner and disappears down its length. They are close to being inside and she feels her heart pounding with anticipation. Being open, she feels Michael intrude on her thoughts and she immediately shuts back down. The last thing she needs right now is his interfering with her plans. He may send others to her and, although that would be helpful, it would also mean that the female or the other two-legged one that has held her thoughts for so long would be killed and eaten. That, she can’t allow.

Sandra turns the first corner leading to the back trailing a large contingent of her pack. She senses the leading ones as they turn the far corner at the rear and sees the entrance inside still partially open. They throw a door that slides up and down farther open and enter. Feeling almost light-headed with the excitement of them entering, she knows she is so close.

She turns the last corner and sees her pack as they crowd the portal, pushing to get inside. Sensing their craving and rage that the smell of the two-legged ones brings, she sends a sharp reminder that they are not to feed and their goal is to find and capture the female. Sandra stops by the side of the door through which her pack is flowing, watching them struggle to get in. More of her pack arrives and crowds the entrance even more. They are streaming inside so she doesn’t feel the need to slow them. It’s the onslaught of numbers that will make her attack successful. Her mouth waters with the thought. The first shriek echoes from inside.

Startled by a shriek sounding out inside the building, Lynn feels the jolt of additional adrenaline pour into her system. She expected to hear the pounding of night runners against the solid steel security doors. The sound of one actually inside stuns her and dread fills her mind. One inside means more on its heels.

That thought is verified as the first shriek is quickly multiplied by others. The once silent interior is swiftly filled with the screams of night runners emerging into the interior downstairs. She knows they are coming from the warehouse. Watkins’ report of thousands of them fills her with a dread she hasn’t ever known. Lynn takes a deep breath knowing that if she lets fear take hold, they are all doomed.

“They’re downstairs coming from the warehouse. All teams reorient to cover the entrance. Cover the stairs and escalator. No one makes it up,” she shouts into the radio.

Lynn watches as some teams change their position and soon the shouts of the team members join the din of the night runner screams. The leading edge of the horde of night runners arrive and are brought down by a volley of gunfire. The muted sounds of the gunshots are lost in the vast noise filling the interior. The only evidence that rounds are streaking out to their targets are the night runners falling to the ground. Others push from behind and leap over the fallen bodies of their comrades.

Lynn sets herself up with Black Team by the large set of stairs leading upward. There are only two ways up and she has directed some of the teams to cover those chokepoints. The others she has set up to thin the mass of night runners pouring in downstairs. She knows their relentless nature so they must keep them from getting upstairs. Some screams from the others crouched by the dining room and kitchen areas add to the massive volume of noise filling the sanctuary.

Night runner dead and injured pile up under the balcony, brought down by the substantial amount of gunfire pouring into their midst. Still others behind them come and they slowly advance regardless of the amount of rounds streaking into their midst. Soft flesh and hard bones are torn apart by the forceful impact of rounds slamming into them. Some of the injured attempt to crawl away but are trampled by the ones pushing from behind.

Slowly, the mass of night runners forge ahead in the face of the volume of fire. Magazines clatter to the ground as the soldiers reload. Night runners appear in all quadrants under the balcony as they spread out in the lower interior. Hundreds lie on the ground but are lost in the racing horde. Still they come. A fleeting thought occurs to Lynn wondering if they have enough ammo. The screams emanating from the other survivors force that thought from her mind and spurs her on.

Sandra feels many of her pack vanish from her mind. The crowd around her stretches far around the corner of the building and she senses they have gained some ground. Still, she feels the loss of so many deeply. This must be done but she wishes it wasn’t at such a great loss. She’ll need a host left after this to capture the two-legged one and to deal with Michael if he tries anything. Not that there’s much she can do as his pack is so much greater than hers, but she won’t give up her prize willingly.

Looking to the stars twinkling in the sky, she knows they have enough time left in the evening but they will still have to be quick. She has to yet find a lair for her dwindling pack. Turning back to the door, she clears a space and enters.

Coming into the actual interior from the large room just inside the door, the full din of noise assaults her ears. It’s so loud she wants to cover her ears to diminish the almost painful volume of it. Her pack crowds the downstairs under the upper level. They are brought down as soon as they enter and she senses rather than sees a growing pile of bodies. Shrieks from her pack resound in the large, open space; shrieks of hunger, rage, and pain. She edges around the sides under the overhang, looking upstairs over the heads of her pack. Seeing some two-legged ones as they rain death upon her pack, she searches for one of them in particular.

She continues around the perimeter searching upward. The stink of the two-legged’s guns fills her nose as does the iron smell of blood as it pours from the wrecked bodies of her pack. She is anxious and dread surfaces that she won’t be able to find the female. If she doesn’t, she’ll take the secondary goal of killing all of the two-legged ones. A hint of their aroma ascends above the other odors and she feels rage begin to build. The anger is both an inherent one from the sight and smell of the two-legged ones and from the damage they are doing to her pack.

Keeping the rage under control but feeling it just below the surface, she edges farther around. Her eyes widen and her heart leaps. There! Above by the stairs on the far side. Sandra sees the female she saw through the two-legged one’s mind so many nights ago. A mixture of emotions filters in. She doesn’t have many, but those she does have mix — hunger, anticipation, rage, and a feeling that would be most associated with glee. She directs her pack to that single set of stairs and shows them an image of the female and her position. The pack responds with a louder chorus of shrieks.

Lynn sets her small crosshair on yet another target. The room is filled with the acrid stench of bodies torn asunder and gunpowder. The upper balcony has a haze from the smoke ejected with their rounds. They are keeping the night runners at bay for the moment. Hundreds have fallen yet there is still a multitude pushing from behind. They haven’t reached the escalator as yet but they are attempting to scale the elevator. She and Black Team have been holding the wide, wooden stairs clear and the bodies lying at the foot of the stairs attest to their ability to do so. The bottom four steps are lost from sight under the carnage they are continuing to inflict on the horde attempting to gain the upper levels.

Lynn flinches as the shrieks screaming from below actually grow louder. She didn’t think that was at all possible but it grows to the point where the very walls shake. The floor beneath her boots trembles from the pounding of night runners below. She watches as the night runners shift direction as a single mass. They are heading under the balcony and her way.

Some still try to get to the escalator and scale the elevator but the majority of them seem to be coming her way. The shift is so quick and sudden, it takes her by surprise. She directs her fire into the horde starting to scale the stairs. There’s no time to make a radio call redirecting the other team’s fire but she hopes they will realize the change in flow and respond. Her teams and others direct fire into those attempting to climb the stairs. Night runners are packed on them and race upward. As fierce as the fire is that is directed into them, it isn’t enough to keep them from rapidly advancing upward. Lynn has the sense that they’ve failed but continues to target night runners after night runner with her fire.

The sheer volume of rounds leaving her barrel heats it. Exchanging an empty mag for a full one, she pours more fire into the mass of night runners closing in. Lynn thinks about pulling back and establishing another line past the escalator and is about to issue the command when a surge pushes the night runners up and over the teams protecting the stairs.

The suddenness of the surge surprises Lynn. The leading night runners that make their way through their fire slam into her. She is hit and goes down with her head hitting the hard linoleum floor. Stunned, she watches as her gun clatters to the ground beside her and is kicked away by a swarm of feet that are suddenly there. Rolling to her side, she reaches for it but it remains just out of her grasp. She pushes upward knowing she must fight. If they don’t fight them off, all will be lost. She is hit hard in the head again and slumps to the floor.

She feels the coolness of the linoleum on her cheek. Feet race by her limited vision. Fear envelopes her. Another hit to the head stuns her. She must rise. She is scared, not really for her own life as she’s seen the face of death many times. She is afraid for the others and the sense of her own failure. Her vision hovers on the edge. This is the end. Please make this quick and painless, she thinks as her breath stirs dust on the hard floor. Jack, please forgive me for failing. I love you! Her peripheral vision of the small amount of floor and feet she can see draws inward. A tear leaks to the ground, dropping to mix with the dust under her head. She is at least thankful she doesn’t feel any pain. Her vision fades.