Reckoning

Revelations

On my knees next to Robert, with my arm draped across his back, I send Gonzalez after the doc. Robert, after throwing up, remains on his hands and knees. All of sudden, I feel a pressure in my head. It’s not overpowering or anything like a headache. It’s just, well, something else. Almost like a breath blowing through if that makes any sense. Robert turns his head abruptly and shoots a look at me. As soon as his eyes lock on mine, the pressure changes, shifts, and I can sense Robert.

“Dad?” That was in my head.

“Yeah,” I reply back mentally.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Are you okay?” I ask, still stunned beyond compare.

“I…I think so. My head felt like it was coming apart a minute ago, but I feel fine now.”

What I feel is similar to the way I can sense the night runners and understand them. There are some deep, fundamental differences though. The first and possibly the most significant one is that I can not only sense his physical presence, meaning exactly where he is located, but I can feel how he is physically. It’s so precise that I know he is telling me the truth and I can even read his emotions to a certain extent. Another aspect is that we are communicating in a speech pattern rather than in images like the night runners do.

Still in shock, I try blocking him out in the same fashion as I do the night runners. He vanishes from my mind. It’s like the opening and closing with the night runners, but this feels like it’s in a different part of my mind; like it’s in a different compartment. I open up to the night runners and don’t sense Robert.

“What just happened?” Robert says out loud, still looking intently at me.

I open up to him and sense both him and the night runners, each in their different compartments, yet presenting a whole within my reality.

“I closed up and shut you off,” I say with my mind. “Can you sense the night runners?”

“Is that what those pictures are?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Being easier to show rather than say, I use night runner imagery to show Robert how to open and close his sense of them and me. Several tries and explanations later, I can feel him fade but not quite vanish. With work, he’ll get it.

Robert begins to rise from the floor as the doc arrives with Gonzalez following just behind. Looking at the mess on the floor, the doc takes Robert by the wrist and starts him toward the escalator.

“I’m fine,” Robert says, attempting to pull his arm free.

“Go with him,” I say.

“But really, I’m feeling fine. You know that, Dad,” Robert states.

“I know, son, but go with him anyway. Let him check you out,” I say, still shocked about what happened to Robert.

“We’ll take care of this, sir,” Henderson says, motioning his arm over the mess.

“Nonsense. I’ll get it. You go rest,” I respond.

“Sir, go see to him. This is nothing. We got it,” Gonzalez states.

Although my sense of Robert told me he was fine, this is so new that doubt creeps in. He has partially shut down and it’s hard to read anything from him at the moment. Better to let the doc see to him. The determination and peace I felt earlier is shaken a little as I watch Robert walk away, being led by the doc. I gather up his gear on the floor and follow.

A strange feeling descends over me as I climb the stairs. In my mind, I know I should be frantically worried about Robert. A part of me feels that anxiousness. It’s what I should be feeling, and I hold onto that because…well… it’s what I would normally feel. The odd thing is, I am truly not all that concerned. Well, that’s not exactly true. I am worried, but I also know deep down that he’s okay. That is, if what I sensed is true and I would stop second-guessing myself. What I’m more concerned about is how he might do in the future. I’ve been alright since I was scratched and the night runner blood mingled with my own, except for that minor incident of going into a coma for a couple of weeks.

I’m worried that this may not have run its course and Robert could do the same. It could be that his youthfulness was able to handle the infection better, or it could just be beginning. I’ll have to ask him how long he’s had headaches. I know that he’s had to have them but has perhaps kept silent about them. Or maybe he hasn’t. I just feel tired as I reach the top of the escalator and make my way to where the doc has taken Robert.

Looking tired from having been wakened, the doc gives him a complete physical, finding nothing wrong other than a slightly higher than normal heart and respiratory rates.

“That’s to be expected and they are within norms,” the doctor states, “but I’d like to keep him here and monitored for the rest of the night.”

With a heavy sigh of exasperation, Robert removes his outer clothing and climbs onto a bed set up for him. Pulling up a chair next to the bed, I pat him on the shoulder and sit down.

“I’m fine, Dad, really,” Robert says with a hint of dejection in his tone. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know. I’ll just camp here for a bit. So…how long have you had the headaches?”

Robert looks sharply at me out of the corner of his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Don’t forget I went through this as well, so I’m guessing you’ve had them for a while now.”

“Just a week or so. They never really got too bad, more of an annoyance. Well, until tonight that is,” he responds.

“Do you feel them now?”

He is still partially blocked so, even though I am opened up to him, I can’t sense anything.

“No. There was just this sudden onset and then, with a flash, it was gone and I could see you,” Robert answers. “Sorry about the mess on the floor.”

“It’s all good. You can owe it to the team later. Open up like I taught you,” I say.

I suddenly sense him fully in my mind and delve into his physical being, searching. His presence is fully open to me and I can feel, with absolute confidence that he is, in fact, doing well like he says.

“That kind of tingles,” he says, mentally.

“You do the same,” I say, showing him what I just did.

I feel a slight vibration inside, and like he said, there is a faint tingle. I close off that portion and feel his exploration vanish, at least as far as his ability to sense me in that fashion. There is a faint pressure as he continues his probe.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I closed that part off. Apparently we can do that and still communicate,” I answer.

As interesting as these possibilities are, we both need our rest. The next several days are going to be busy ones. Near the cubicle door, I hear stirring. Turning, I see Lynn and several others poking their heads through the doorway. I give a nod letting them know that Robert is okay. With satisfied nods, most leave while Lynn enters and pulls up a chair.

“What happened? Are you sick?” Lynn asks Robert.

He shoots me a look that says he’s not sure what to say.

“Same thing that happened to me,” I answer her.

“What, so now he can hear and talk to night runners as well?”

“Yeah, that and we can talk with each other,” I say.

“You’re kidding! You mean, like mentally? Like with these images you say you can see from the night runners?”

“Well, It’s actually regular speech, but we can use the imagery as well,” I reply.

She shakes her head. I don’t blame her. This is rather new and I’m still feeling a little numb from the shock of it. The implications and possible use could be far-reaching. Of course, it’s not like we’d just pump night runner blood into anyone. We’ve also seen the other side of being bitten by them. And there is still the possibility that the changes within Robert are not finished. Although I sense that he is fine, I’m still worried that something else could happen.

“What else can you two supposedly do?” Lynn asks, facetiously.

“Well, Robert can cast lightning bolts from his fingers,” I say.

The look that she shoots at me lets me know that was just about the exact wrong thing to say. Backpedaling furiously, I tell her what I know so far.

“What about the others that were bitten that we brought in? Can you sense them?” Lynn asks.

“I haven’t tried as of yet but I plan to see if it’s the same. It could be that they closed themselves off early on without knowing what they were doing. I remember the one guy saying it was driving them crazy. Of course, they would have had to shut themselves off or they would have been found. I really don’t know,” I answer.

In the dim lighting, Greg, in an adjacent bed, rolls over with a groan and opens one bleary eye. The swelling on Greg’s cheek has receded remarkably and the white bandage across his scalp stands out starkly against his dark hair and skin.

“What’s up?” he asks thickly.

“Robert is staying the night to be monitored. He’s fine. It’s just a precaution,” I say.

Greg’s one eye rolls over to Robert. “Good, then I’ll have company.”

With that, he promptly closes his eye and drifts back to sleep. Another stirring at the door draws my attention. Michelle is standing in the doorway, her hair disheveled from sleep and her eyes filled with worry at seeing Robert on the bed.

I take that as my cue and rise as she hurries to Robert’s bedside. Lynn and I exit to the sound of Robert attempting to reassure Michelle.

In the morning, I rise and hurry to the cubicle where Robert spent the rest of the night. Seeing him lying on the bed, I open up and reach out. He immediately opens one eye, and peers over to me.

“Quit it, Dad. I’m fine,” he says drowsily.

“Okay, okay.” I then mutter upon leaving, ”Damn, a little sensitive.”

I know he’s doing fine if not a little tired from the brief perception I had. He’s catching on about how to block that out as I lost sense of him moments after I delved into him. The days are going to be busy with training—both for the teams and for Robert and Craig, assuming the doc is satisfied with Robert’s status. I know he’ll find Robert in good shape, but I’ll need to keep an eye on him. And he’ll need to be honest with me regarding how he feels if he doesn’t want me digging into him every five minutes.

Out in the parking lot, Lynn has gathered the teams and is going over a training schedule. I sit on a curb and watch as she details their plan for the day. Soon, they are walking across the compound to the vehicle storage hangars, leaving me alone with the chill of the morning. It won’t be long until these cold, clear days give way to the rain and clouds that the Northwest is noted for.

I’m glad for the clear days as that will make our initial training flights easier. For a couple of days, it will be low-levels during the day and hitting the night runners during the evening. We’ll have to get our rest periodically as time allows. Sitting in the shadow of Cabela’s, feeling the chill seep through my fatigues, and the day getting lighter as the sun works its way over the Cascades, I feel the calm, yet determined, feeling from yesterday settle inside.

My peaceful time alone is soon interrupted as others emerge from the building. The quiet parking lot is filled with murmurs of conversation followed shortly thereafter by the sounds of vehicles starting. The semis are left idling to warm up, emitting plumes of exhaust that climb into the still air. We had our day off and now it’s time to get on with things. I can sense the determination in the crews that will soon be off gathering supplies or working on our housing.

Robert, Bri, and Craig soon emerge with others that are coming out of the doors in both large and small groups. On seeing Robert, I open up and do a quick sensing of him. He gives me a look and I shrug, sending him, “It’s going to happen. Deal with it.”

Before we head out for our training mission, I gather the others we found that were bitten and survived. I want to see whether there is the same sensory perception that Robert and I share. After some explanation, I open up but don’t seem to sense any of them. I talk them through how to mentally open, to find that compartment that seems to be part of the mind, yet separate. In the parking lot, we experiment and, at first, I can vaguely sense one of them. With practice on their part, I am finally able to sense them in the fashion that I can Robert.

With Bri and Craig looking on, we spend some time working on opening up and shutting down. The crazy old man is wary but goes along with it until he becomes a believer as well. He was always wont to think it was him going crazy, but he eventually comes around. I show them the difference between us and the night runners; that we can shut that, or any part, down.

I send Robert and the others over to the outer gate and we test it over distance. I can sense their presence, meaning their exact location, but the ability to sense their nature, emotionally and physically, appears to be limited by distance. They are about a mile away, and I can only vaguely pick out their feelings and physical state. I push farther outward to see if this makes a difference, but the vagueness remains. We can, however, communicate clearly.

I have them drive to the edge of the Nisqually Valley several miles distant. The hints that I felt of their physical and emotional nature vanishes altogether but we can still communicate clearly. With the others, it’s not as distinct as with Robert, but it’s clear nonetheless. Perhaps it has something to do with the genetics or the bond we share. Who the hell knows?

With no teams available to provide security, that’s as far as I feel comfortable with them traveling. Perhaps after our training flights, I can ask Lynn to spare a couple and continue testing. Robert and the others return, their eyes filled with wonder and amazement. I have one other test that I’m not particularly looking forward to.

I ask Robert to go see if his mother, Julie, would mind helping us out. She’s the only one I know that may have actually been a night runner and changed back. There is still some debate on that, but I know what I saw and heard. The experiences I’ve had since then only seem to validate it. Robert hesitates and then goes to see. I can pretty much picture that conversation now.

“Um, Mom, Dad wants your help to see if he can see into your mind.”

Yeah, that’s pretty much not going to happen. I feel Robert make his way through the building.

“Robert. Better yet, you show her how to open up and see if you can sense her. I’m pretty sure she isn’t going to be fond of me doing that,” I send.

I can hear his mental chuckle. “I think that’s a better plan.”

The others gathered near me, with the exception of Bri and Craig, chuckle.

Awesome, I’m in a group conversation. Good to know, I think facetiously, shutting them out.

As Robert tries to locate his mom, I experiment to see if I can shut the others out and communicate only with Robert. Within the overall compartment in my mind, I can sense smaller ones that are the others. I work on shutting individual ones out while keeping the one I sense as Robert open.

“Can you hear me?” I send to him.

“Yeah, Dad,” he replies.

This is going to take some getting used to, and I’ll have to be careful. We’ll all have to be. The implications of what we can do are large, but there is no way I want to broadcast my thoughts. No one would want to hear those. If they did, I’d be committed immediately, and more than likely shot.

Robert returns after a long while, to the point that I was about to go and fetch him. There is a lot to do and, with the days growing shorter, we don’t have as much time available to us. He brings the news that he wasn’t able to sense his mother at all. I figure the amount of time was spent with his mom asking him a multitude of questions and Robert hemming and hawing his way through them.

I ask him if he tried to open up in the way you’d sense night runners; was he open in that manner when he was telling her how to open up? He looks at me, shocked.

“No, I…uh, didn’t think of that. Really? As a night runner?” he asks.

I shrug as I sense how uncomfortable the question made him. I may have him try again with her, but not in that way. I’ll open up without him knowing and see if I can sense her in the manner of the night runners. It could be that she wasn’t one at all. Or, it could be that, with the transformation, the ability was lost. I’m pretty sure we’d know by now if she was able to sense the night runners. She would have exhibited, in some form, that she thought she was going crazy. As it is, we’ll just work on what we have and continue experimenting when time allows. For now, there’s a crash course in low-level flying to do.

Thanking the others for their time, and with the promise to continue at some point, I shut out everyone. Gathering Robert, Bri, and Craig, we adjourn inside to go over low-level route planning. I teach them how to pick update and turn points, ones that will be easily identifiable, the methods for correcting course and speed for wind, and other things that are mostly just academic. The important factor, considering we really won’t be doing time-on-target flights, is to study the terrain along the route of flight and to identify landmarks that will help keep the aircraft on track.

We spend some time developing a low-level route and going over the details. Close to noon, we pack up and head to the 130. While the original plan was to make it look like supply runs, we will now attempt to make the flight look like we’re scouting the area and then drop into our low-level. It may or may not fool anyone, but we’ll give it our best shot. In succeeding days, we’ll set patrols in different sectors with other low-level routes planned.

There isn’t much of the flight itself other than acquainting both Robert and Craig to the subtle differences of low-level flying. The first thing they quickly learn is that it’s a lot more difficult to keep track of their position with the line of sight distance being drastically reduced. I teach them to rely on their heading and speed, backing it up with the coordinates in the computer. We could set up the entire route in the computer and fly it with our nav instruments but it’s important to be able to fly it by hand. So that’s the way we do it. On our actual mission, we’ll be using the nav computer, but it’s vital to know how to manually fly a route in case the computer malfunctions. Another thing they find out about is the turbulence. Wind is affected by terrain and only with altitude does it smooth out. On hot days, thermals will affect the amount of chop but we won’t have to worry about that for some time, if ever again.

We return after a few hours, tired and in need of rest. There is a meeting to attend and then another night of trying to keep the night runners at bay. Robert seems to be fine, which he repeatedly tells me as he catches my questioning looks toward him. As we are shutting down, I try to sense him again. I feel nothing, not even the partial openness I felt previously. With the props winding down, he looks over at me and smiles, having felt my attempt.

Lynn and the teams are still training, so I’ll have to put off any further experimentation until the next day. Besides, the lack of sleep is beginning to catch up with me and I’d much rather find my pillow than play a long-distance game of cans and string.

Later, Lynn wakes me from a deep slumber telling me that the group is ready to meet. Initially, I just moan something and roll over.

“Oh no you don’t, Jack,” she says, shaking me again.

It takes her a few tries before I understand what she is trying to tell me, but it eventually penetrates my fog-filled mind. I stumble to the meeting, trying to erase the last vestiges of sleepiness.

Lynn begins the meeting by telling everyone that the team training went moderately well for the first day but more is needed. They spent the greater part of the morning setting up part of the hangar to mimic the other group’s equipment bay layout, only on a smaller scale. She then gives a brief summary on the Phase One and Phase Two training programs currently underway.

“When will the people in Phase Two be ready to be molded into teams?” I ask.

“Three days,” Lynn answers.

“And how long do you think until the current teams will be ready to go?”

“Five days, minimum,” Lynn replies.

“Okay, if that’s true, and if no one has any objections, then let’s set a departure date for Portland six days hence,” I say.

Frank talks more about his concerns but concedes that he can’t think of a better option. He admits that it’s not the plan that he’s worried about, it’s just that we seem to be throwing a lot on a long shot. He comments that he’s onboard, that he knows what the end result will be if we do nothing, but that he’s just anxious. We spend the next little while going over the plan again, talking about scenarios that we may encounter and how to deal with them. Specifics of the plan are talked about in greater detail with some fine-tuning. Bannerman reports that he has some of the supplies and will send crews out to find the others over the next couple of days.

“Lynn, I’d like to borrow a couple of teams for a few hours in the morning if you can spare them,” I request after we finish with the mission planning.

“What for?” Lynn asks.

I tell her that I’d like to conduct several tests with Robert, myself, and the others we found who had been bitten. Seeing the confusion on everyone’s face, I detail what happened to Robert. Silence engulfs the group as they all, with the exception of Lynn, Bri, and Robert, look on with shock registering on their faces. It takes a few moments for them to recover and I go over the experimentation with the others we brought back.

“What about Julie?” Frank asks.

“Robert tried with her and felt nothing,” I respond.

I leave it at that, wanting to test that farther if possible. The late afternoon is heading into evening and, frankly, I’m tired of sitting in the chair, but we still have the night runners up north to cover. Our latest foray there didn’t show us anything comforting. That’s a threat we’ll have to deal with as well.

“What about the bridges?” I direct my question to Frank.

“I looked over the footage earlier, and it does appear that the four you identified are the only ways across the river for twenty miles. The railroad and old highway bridges look like they can easily be taken out with the Spooky’s 105s. The interstate bridges may prove to be a bigger challenge with their superstructure. You’ll have to blast through that first before you can hit the spans themselves. And, with their size, it’s hard to tell if the river is deep enough that the spans will sink. We could just be creating a footpath for the night runners to cross,” Frank briefs.

“If that happens, we could just blast the debris,” I state.

“True, and we have enough ammo. There is no doubt in my mind that we should do this, but the real question is when. If we blow the bridges, we’ll lose access to anything in the north. That means the distribution centers and bases,” Frank says. “What do you think, Bannerman?”

“There are other distribution centers to the south of us. We can bring in more storage containers and pull everything from the northern DC and the bases. We’ll have to make doubly sure we bring everything we want before blowing our only access to them. The one worry I have is the fuel. We can still get to it if we cross the bridges twenty miles to the east, but that will add almost two hours for each fuel run. However, with that said, it’s doable,” Bannerman answers.

“Frank, in your estimation, how long do we have?” Lynn asks.

“That’s a tricky question. I can only hazard a wild guess as we’ve yet to see any pattern that the groups of night runners hold to,” Frank states.

“You predicted they would eventually leave the big cities, and that’s what is happening,” Lynn counters.

“Well… yes… but that’s a no-brainer. So, from what we’ve gathered so far, my best guess is that we may have a couple of weeks before they start wandering out of Tacoma and the urban areas north of there. Given that their migrations, concentrations, and honestly, most of their observed activities, seem to be focused around food, they’ll stay where they are as long as the area can support them. I’m guessing there should be plenty for a while. After that, they’ll more than likely begin heading south again.

“Another factor is them leaving an urban area. It could be that they’ll hesitate coming too far south without knowing whether they’ll have shelter during the day. I don’t pretend to know their thought processes regarding this, but the valley between us and the southern end of Tacoma may hold them up for a while. Eventually, though, I see them pushing south in search of food, with a few remaining depending on the renewal of food sources. If we blow the bridges, there’s a big chance that they’ll swing east and go around us,” Frank comments.

“Do you think they’ll fight for the resources north of us? Meaning, will their number deplete as they compete for a dwindling food supply?” I ask.

“That’s hard to say. I suppose if we were dealing with normal predators in the wild, then yes. However, we can see by the numbers coming out of Seattle, this may not be the case. With that in mind, I don’t think we’ll see much of a decrease in their population. If the pattern holds true, I think we’ll see them push outward rather than compete,” Frank says.

“What will happen if they reach us?” Robert asks.

“Again, that’s hard to say. As I said, anything I mention is a wild-ass guess. It could be that they push past us seeing we’ve cleared the area. If there’s not any food to be found, they should move on. That will take a considerable period of time in order for all of those we saw on the video from last night to move through, meaning, it could be harder for us here. They’ll smell the livestock if not us. I’m sure, at a minimum, we could see several packs make a concerted effort to get over the walls,” Frank expresses. “The chances of them getting inside will be low depending on how many make the attempt. I don’t see them getting over the walls, and we have the perimeter mined, so it could be that they circle the walls trying to find a way in and give up.”

“They got over the walls around the hospital,” I comment.

“Well, that was different. Unless they bring chairs and tables all of the way from Tacoma, or downtown Olympia, I don’t see that kind of thing happening. It’s possible, but not likely. At any rate, our best strategy is to detour them by blowing the bridges,” Frank states.

“Good point,” I say.

“What if we—” Bri starts to say and clears her throat. “What if we dropped food? I mean, if we were to push some out from the back of the 130, would that delay them?”

I look to Bannerman. He thinks over Bri’s suggestion for a few moments before replying.

“We could do that but, one, it will deplete our stores, at least until we are set up with the other distribution centers, and two, given their numbers, I seriously doubt that we could drop enough to keep them there for long. That’s a lot of night runners to feed. We’ll definitely run out of food for ourselves if we attempt that.”

“Okay, what about if we drop some in a line leading to the east. That is, after we drop the bridges. Would that help guide them around us?” Bri inquires.

“That could work, or it might not. If we understand the night runners at all, or if they thought like us, I’d say that would have a small chance of working. If you ask me, I’d say the odds are slim and we should keep the supplies for ourselves, especially as we are most likely losing the DCs to the north. However, what do I know? We could try something to see if it works after we blow the bridges and after we establish a supply line with the DCs to the south,” Bannerman says.

“Okay, let’s look at what we need to do in the immediate future. During the day, we’ll gather as much as we can from Lewis and the DC with the timeline set for completion being ten days. By that time, we’ll be back from hitting the compound and we’ll hit the bridges. Bannerman, if we can spare the crews, we’ll have more teams available in three days. They can escort crews down to locate and begin establishing what supplies the southern DCs have. Also, see if we can set up a safe fuel farm here with pumps to stir the fuel. I know there are at least large fuel bladders for remote refueling at McChord. If we can’t set up a fuel farm within the allocated time, then load up what we can with the bladders and we’ll just have to make the extended trip around for more fuel. For security, we’ll be relying on the ones coming out of Phase Two, of which I believe Tim and his group are a part. We can also ask Miguel if he and his group can help.

“Another option, if we have the people to spare, is to begin burning as much as we can between the night runners and us. At night, we’ll hit the southern fringes in the hopes that it will delay any further advances south. That and our ongoing preparation for hitting the bunker is going to keep us pretty busy with little rest. We have to make sure we get some, though, as we can’t hit the bunker tired. We’re going to need every faculty we can bring to bear. When we return, we’ll see where we sit and blow the bridges,” I say, attempting to bring all that we’ve said into a larger plan.

“You’re pretty confident about us taking out the bunker,” Lynn states.

“Is there any other way to be?”

The next morning, before the teams head off to their training, and before we head to conduct another low-level, Robert and the others who were bitten drive away with two teams providing security. Lynn and the remaining teams stand nearby on the edge of the parking lot, making it look like some stunt or circus show. I feel a little uneasy with so many around watching, but most of this will be done in silence which eases my self-consciousness some.

When the group stops about ten miles out, they radio that they are in position. We open up, and I can immediately sense their direction and distance. The physical and emotional intuition of their presence is gone, but I can pinpoint them and we are able to communicate mentally. At twenty miles, I have to push farther outward but eventually sense them.

They drive to thirty miles and I only have a vague impression of their direction. However, oddly enough, we can still communicate. Robert comes in more clearly than the others, but I can mentally send and receive messages. The mental effort is tiring after a period of time, especially trying to sense their physical presence, but it’s doable for short periods. I imagine it will become easier with time and experience. This sort of communication seems only marginally affected by distance, at least the distance we are working with at the moment. At some point, we’ll have to test what the limit is, but for now, we have a busy few days ahead of us and I call them back.

Once they return, Lynn takes the teams and they proceed to our equipment hangar for their day of training. I have one last thing to try before we leave. I ask Robert to try with Julie once again. This time, I open up both the night runner side and the one I share with Robert and the others. I stay open until Robert returns, shaking his head. I didn’t sense anything coming from his mom. A thought runs through my mind wondering if I would have been able to sense Alan before he let the night runner horde in. That falls too far into the ‘what if’ so I let go of that train of thought. With that, we plan the day’s flight and depart.

That evening, I study the new photographs that Frank provided of the exit tunnel building and surrounding fields. There is, in fact, only one camera over the door guarding the approaches. I spot numerous undulations, shown by the shadows, which I will be able to use on the fence approach. I prepare the camera systems that Bannerman has supplied and practice, both with the fiber leads and coaxial.

Over the next several days, Phase Two training ends and we assign them into teams. More supplies arrive, Lynn spends the day training with the teams, and I continue to orient Robert and Craig to flying low level at night, complete with them doing numerous night approaches and landings into our little field. Lynn also spends time with Tim as he’ll be in charge of base security with five additional teams. The nights are spent hitting the night runners on the southern fringes and commencing night low-level training. It is days of endless training filled with periods of rest only to start again the next day. At the end of the fifth day, we are ready.

We opt to take an extra day in order to rest and recuperate. We go through the same motions as the previous days so as to not interrupt our routine, which is most assuredly being watched. However, it’s only motions, and most of the day is spent relaxing. The afternoon is spent loading the gear that we’ll need into the trucks housed in the vehicle hangar, including a copious amount of ammo. Bannerman, in all of his genius and magic, has managed to acquire all of the supplies I asked for, which will make my task much easier.

We spend part of the evening going over the plan with the teams again; covering scenarios, signals, and other ‘when shit goes wrong’ eventualities. We forgo the meeting, and the others drop by at times to wish us well. At first light, we’ll be on our way to Portland where hopefully, the hangars will provide enough security that we can hole up for a couple of days before we embark. That will give us more time to train and run through the scenarios as a whole.

Morning arrives. As I lace my boots, I feel that familiar pre-mission anxiety take over. All of our gear is already loaded. The only thing we need to do is grab a quick bite to eat and be on our way. While addressing our small group of survivors the night prior, I pressed that we needed to keep the morning activities as they were the previous days so, there wasn’t to be any farewells or waving of hankies. We needed to keep it business as usual.

With my boots laced, I meet the other teams gathered in the cafeteria dining room. The smell of bacon, eggs, and toast waft from the large kitchen area. Oddly, as I fork eggs into my mouth, I find myself staring at the floor where I killed the female night runner when we took this facility. I remember vividly the look of her eyes as she gazed upward. Severely injured and wracked with pain, she stared at me with eyes filled with agony. I see clearly the look of welcome relief that flooded through them just before I fired.

Lynn nudges me in the ribs, shaking me from my remembrance. She merely looks at me before returning to her plate. Our early morning breakfast is conducted in almost complete silence as each team member is lost in their thoughts. There is only the sound of forks scraping across plates or a glass being set down. It’s not a solemn atmosphere, nor a depressed one. It’s more one of serious intent.

Finishing with our meal, we make our way downstairs. Despite my saying something to the contrary, most of the group has gathered downstairs to see us off. There isn’t any cheering or heroic speech. There are just a few pats on the back as teams members file past, with a few words of quiet encouragement thrown in. I walk past Robert and Michelle embracing near the front doors and out into the early morning light.

Cold air sweeps across the lot, and the light of the dawn touches the pavement. I was never one to look back and wonder if it was the last time I was going to see a certain place, but that thought momentarily enters my mind. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park and, when we return, we’ll still have thousands upon thousands of night runners north of us to deal with. Mostly, my mind is on the teams and feeling nervous for their safety. I know I have a couple of days before we set out in the 130 from Portland, so the cold nature of an impending mission doesn’t fully descend upon me as yet. I just hope we’ve done our homework and the assumptions we had to make prove to be true ones.

The light of the dawn grows as we walk across the field toward the vehicle hangar. The silence we experienced in the dining facility matches the quiet with which we march through the brown grass. The only sound is the stalks as they rub against the pants of almost a hundred legs and the sound of that many boots marching across the hard soil. We gather in the hangar and loiter for a while, trying to simulate the same thing the teams have done every day for the past six days. It will be difficult to conceal the trucks leaving but hopefully, if the other group is watching, they will see that it is only a supply run when the trucks return this afternoon. The hope is that they will miss that the seven teams marching into the hangar don’t return.

After an hour, we load into the covered supply trucks. Three of the trucks will be taking two teams apiece with a fourth taking myself, Red Team, Robert, Bri, and Craig. Red Team will be going in light on this with Robert and Bri having to fly the 130.

The truck lurches forward out of the hangar. Even though we have a couple of days before heading east, the jostle signals that the game is on. Up until I first put my boots on the ground, we aren’t necessarily committed and can pull back, but, once that happens, we’ll have no choice but to move forward—or at least I won’t. With the exception of a few shared words, we maintain our silence during the trip down, our bodies only occasionally jostled while our thoughts tumble incessantly.

In the back of the truck, as we make our way south, I can feel the nervous energy emanating from those riding with me. Of course, it could just be mine.

Will the hangar provide enough security for us to stay two days, or will we have to embark when dusk arrives?

If we have to leave this day, then it is what it is, but it will feel rushed. From the moment our wheels leave the ground, we’ll be continuously engaging from one phase to the next. It would be nice if we had a little break before we set out. That will enable us to have more training and gear the mind better toward what we are propelling ourselves into.

Part of me worries about my end of things; whether I’ll be able to circumvent the security measures that I run into. I have an idea of what I may encounter within the facility; I’m drawing from previous experiences, but it’s only a knowledge of usual security measures. This could easily end in one giant clusterfuck.

Being stuck in the enclosed back end, it’s difficult to gauge our location. We have the back panels closed so I can’t see any of the familiar landmarks. The drive seems to be taking forever. I’m surprised when we finally pull to a stop and I hear the crews riding in front hop out. Soon after, I hear the sound of what I assume are heavy hangar doors opening on their metal rollers. The truck doors shut and we start forward once again, driving into the hangar.

Once we’re given the all clear, we quickly scramble out, quick being relative as my knees don’t seem to want to straighten again, and unload our gear. Quickly looking around, the hangar seems like it will provide a secure location for us to hole up in. There are only the large doors and one other exit leading into the building. Thick paned-glass windows rest high across the main doors and along the upper sides of the hangar. They are out of reach of any night runners, unless they’ve developed the ability to fly, which I wouldn’t put past them at this point.

The crews that drove us turn the trucks around in the immense open area of the hangar and park them in open view just outside. They begin grabbing anything they can find and start loading it into the back of the vehicles. While they are doing this, we gather at the rear of the hangar in order that we won’t be seen at an angle from above.

In order to simulate a supply run, the crews take a couple of hours to load the trucks. It’s mostly for show, but they do their best to make it look like a supply run. Finishing with the hangar, they close the large doors and drive over to the only remaining 130 that was stationed at the guard base, open it up, and begin offloading anything they can find. With the afternoon setting in, they climb back into their trucks, leaving the rear ramp of the 130 open, and drive away. I hear them leave the ramp, fading until they are gone completely, leaving us alone in the hangar.

We gather our gear and secure the one door leading in. Lynn sets a watch schedule and we find places to settle into. There is only the light gray painted concrete floor which will make for some uncomfortable sleep times. Through the windows set in the doors, I see clouds gathering to the west in the afternoon sky. That’s a good sign, and I hope they bring rain with them. I also hope whatever system seems to be trying to make its way to us, that it stretches far to the east when it does. It would be nice to have cloud cover all of the way, as long as the ceiling isn’t too low.

We are now in the ‘wait’ portion of the ‘hurry up and wait’ mode that we all know and love. We have the night and two more days before our planned departure. In the afternoon glow seeping in through the windows, the soldiers break out several decks of cards and more than one backgammon board can be seen as we spread across the hangar floor.

Looking up at the tall, arched roof overhead, I know that we won’t have to worry about a significant buildup of heat within which could show on any thermal imaging systems that may be perched high overhead. I just hope that our ruse worked, although there’s really no way of telling until we land and set the first boot on the ground.

After a while, the sky overhead slowly changes to a deep blue. The sun has descended below the cloud cover slowly inching eastward. The soldiers pack up their games and Lynn positions them with overlapping fields of fire toward the hangar entrances. Night is coming and, with it, the night runners are sure to make an appearance.

Just before total darkness settles in, I lay a line of ammonia from several jugs in front of the doors to try and mask our scent. Finishing, I stand next to the door and find that I can’t detect any hint of our odor. I realize that I hadn’t thought to ask or test Robert to see if he is able to see in the dark, or has enhanced hearing and smell. I’ll have to do that after darkness falls. Right now, with nighttime closing in, we have to keep our attention focused to see if our location is a secure one.

Just before the interior goes completely black, there is a rustling among the teams and night vision goggles are lowered. We crouch or kneel on the hard surface, and wait.

Night falls. The tension emanating from each one of us can be felt. I can reach out and touch it. The hangar walls have thick insulation to keep the large enclosure warm in the winter months, but even so, we all hear faint shrieks drifting to us, riding on the cool, night air.

With his breath streaming behind him, Michael runs across an open field with part of his pack spread out to the side. He feels others as they race through the trees nearby, chasing down the various scents of prey hanging in the night air along game trails. Most nights, they hunt the surrounding countryside, finding enough to keep the pack fed.

As he races with his pack, hoping to catch food that may come into the field, attempting to elude the ones running through the trees, he only concentrates with part of his mind. The rest of it is tuned to the packs of his brethren far away. He’s felt them over the past nights as they’ve slowly made their way closer. Their large numbers have spread across the area where the ones he rescued once were. A while ago, he had felt their cries of suffering and went to help, rescuing those currently in his pack and eventually gathering them all together.

He senses the other strong presences in that direction and doesn’t know why they haven’t gathered in larger packs like his. If the stronger ones called, the small packs fending for themselves would surely gather.

Another of his mind is also searching for the death coming from the night sky. For the last few nights, and some of the nights before that, he’s sensed packs vanishing from his mind as they hunted the streets. Along with that, he’s seen the images of their panic from the light that pours down from the sky, felt their agony as those lights fell within their midst. Each night, he’s felt the anger rise within him, to the point that it almost consumes him. His kind is being decimated from that which he cannot see or fight.

He knows that the time for him to meet with the other strong presences is close at hand. In one regard, Sandra was right, they are going to need to take the fight to the two-leggeds if they are going to survive. With the losses he’s felt each and every night, he knows they won’t have a chance unless they kill them. They will lose many if they attack, but he now feels they will lose more if they don’t. The two-leggeds must go.

The next night, knowing it will be a long journey, Michael sets off with a few of his pack at first darkness. He keeps wide of the two-leggeds’ lair and constantly checks the sky for any sign of the death that floats in the darkness. Gazing into the cold night sky, seeing the thousands of twinkling lights blinking at him, he watches and listens for any signs that his pack has been seen. There isn’t any of the roaring from above that comes just before the rain of death. In the back of his mind, he has the feeling that he should know what it is in the sky but, every time he thinks about it, it frustratingly fades.

His run across fields and through streets holds off the cold that threatens to envelop him when he stops. The nights have been getting colder and it may get to the point that they won’t be able to go out in search of food. The pack will have to hold up in their lair, huddled together for warmth. That’s one of the reasons that he’s had some of his pack locate the food hidden in old two-legged lairs and store it. He knows of no way that they’ll be able to hunt if it gets too much colder, at least for long periods of time. In some capacity, hidden deep within the folds of his mind, he knows the cold won’t be permanent and the warm nights will return. They just have to make it until then.

A sliver of moonlight reflects off the water over which he runs with his pack behind. His exposed skin tingles from the radiated light, reminding him of the painful ball of light that keeps them to the night. Using one of the old two-legged paths used to cross the waterway, Michael quickly runs across and vanishes into the woods on the other side. Wary that he is approaching the area where he felt packs being decimated, he doesn’t want to stay in the open and be spotted.

Climbing out of the valley, he pauses on the edge of where some two-leggeds’ buildings begin. Standing in the tree line, he squats and listens. He doesn’t hear the roaring sound coming from the sky or feel any of the packs in the area permanently vanish from his mind. The other packs are spread for as far as he can sense, running through the night searching for food. Numerous images come to him: one pack running by a host of lairs, another relishing the taste of blood and fresh meat, and more filled with the eagerness of the chase. The night is filled with the shrieks of his kind.

He reaches out to the stronger presences he’s felt from afar, feeling each of them stop in their tracks as his thoughts reach them. Sensing each of them turn in his direction, he sends out a call for them to attend him. Several are hesitant, being nearly as strong in terms of presence as he; but in the end, they all turn toward him.