Return

A Shopping Spree

The team leaders stand, gather their teams and begin briefing them. The morning breeze picks up bringing the tang of the ocean reminding me of the days in the country when the onshore flow brought the smell of the sea with it. Seagulls are floating in the air around us, squawking when they find something interesting and warn others away from their find. I join with Red Team and give them a synopsis of the brief. Robert finishes fueling and stands next to me as we finish up the brief.

“We’re heading to the BX for supplies,” I tell him.

“Am I going with?” He asks.

“Well, thirteen isn’t the luckiest number so you can go. But you stay right with me and do exactly what I tell you. No hesitation,” I say noticing Lynn glance in our direction and shake her head in resignation.

“Let’s load up,” I yell across the ramp to the teams gathered in groups.

The teams check ammo and load into the crew buses. I check with Sergeant Watkins to get directions to the BX and step into the crew bus with Robert right behind me. Red Team is already seated on the padded benches with their M-16s resting on the floor between their legs.

“Everyone good to go?” I say and am met with thumbs up from everyone.

“Park yourself there,” I say to Robert.

He has stuffed his pockets with magazines and has to pull the ones in his back pockets out in order to sit. He reaches up to scratch his head. He’s nervous, I think watching him. I could have almost choreographed that move as it is one of his signs that he doesn’t feel comfortable. I know I did that exact same thing when I was his age. Funny how DNA can cause similar actions like that.

I climb into the driver seat and see Lynn’s two crew buses pull out heading across the ramp into the base. Starting up the crew bus, I follow across the ramp and, in my rear view, see Corporal Horace following. Once in the base proper, we drive down several streets reminiscent of the drive through McChord except without the bodies in the road. Where did everyone go? I wonder to myself. Did they evacuate or did they truly exterminate all of the sick? Well, if they did, then that means less of the night runners around.

The drive to the BX is almost peaceful. The setting close to one of tranquility. The sun is out and it’s a nice summer day. We pass parks where there should be children playing and picnics enjoyed. Dogs chasing Frisbees. All are empty. The buildings stare out at us as we pass by them slowly. The tranquility does have an underlying tension that doesn’t go unnoticed. I find myself wondering if those buildings are harboring night runners. The serenity depicted gives a false front to the very real danger lurking behind, just waiting for night to fall. The only sound of mankind existing is the engines of our vehicles and the whirring of the tires on the road.

Pulling into the BX parking lot, we stop a short distance from the front doors. The lot is empty with the exception of a couple of parked cars scattered haphazardly. The building itself is your standard concrete block, warehouse style store, painted in the brown color the Air Force has taken to. Both the BX and Commissary are combined and have quadruple glass entrance doors. We step out onto a pavement warmed by the sun and are met with silence. Small scraps of paper blow across the mostly empty lot propelled by the light sea breeze. A ghost town only the buildings are modern. Across the lot sits the base movie theatre still advertising the latest blockbusters as if expecting the usual evening crowd of movie goers.

“Corporal Horace,” I call out softly. For some reason, the atmosphere dictates silence as if the very air desires stillness. Perhaps nature itself is confused by the sudden change.

“Sir,” she says back. I guess it’s only me that feels the weight.

“Take Blue Team and set up a small perimeter here. I don’t want any surprises. Remember, keep in pairs and we don’t need to go far. Just keep an eye on the surroundings. Call me with any movement or if anything looks odd,” I say realizing at once just how ridiculous that sounds. Everything is odd now. “We’re going to check out the entrance.”

“Yes, sir,” Horace responds and sets about putting Blue Team in position in the parking lot.

“Robert, you stay close by me,” I say as we walk towards the BX entrance with Red Team on my heels. I look back and see them constantly checking the surroundings. With what all of us have been through the past few days, tension and alertness are constant factors.

“Right with you,” Robert says.

Drawing closer to the entrance, I notice one of the glass doors has been broken. I slow my pace bringing my M-4 up ready to use. The metallic sound of rifles being raised sound behind me. Inching toward the broken glass door, I motion for Henderson and Denton to cover the sides and I squat down in front with Robert. Several glass shards are just inside the door with a few lying about outside near the bottom. The entire glass portion of the door has been broken out with the exception of several jagged bits of glass still in the door frame. A large rock sits just inside the door resting on the tiled linoleum floor amid the broken glass.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I notice the blood streaks on the pavement leading to the broken door and the dried blood covering the shards in its door frame. Squatting there looking at the mess, a closer look at the edges of the glass in the door reveals hanging bits of torn cloth along with what appears to be pieces of dried flesh. The faint, bloody drag marks continue on the linoleum inside.

“What do you think, sir?” Henderson asks.

“Looks like someone threw the rock to break in and cut themselves in the process,” Robert responds.

“Possible but I don’t think so,” I say. “Judging from the looks of things, I would say someone smashed the glass with the rock to get in. The fact that the rock is so close to the door tells me that whoever it was held it in their hand. If the rock were thrown, it would be further inside, closer to the outer edge of where the glass is on the floor inside. Unless it was kicked I guess.”

I also note very faint, bloody and partial foot imprints on the concrete outside leading into the building and on the linoleum inside.

“Given that the blood smears are faint and the remains on the glass shards are mostly flesh and clothing, I would also say that something was dragged in through the broken door and that they were already dead. The smears are most likely from the blood-soaked clothing. If they were still alive, there would be more blood prevalent and drips of it down the glass still in the door. The foot prints leading in and the fact that the torn clothing and flesh is on the outside of the shards indicates that whatever was dragged across here was dragged in.”

All of this has chilling ramifications to me. If the night runners have adapted to the point of being able to use tools to gain entrance, then our security of being dependent on just using closed doors is seriously threatened. We may not be safe even just staying locked up in the aircraft. Even if they couldn’t bash their way in, they could cause crippling damage stranding us wherever we happen to find ourselves. I sincerely hope they have not been able to adapt or progress their capabilities to this point. I’ll have to take this into consideration, I think. We can’t afford to ever underestimate them or their capabilities. I radio Lynn with our findings. She responds back with an affirmative and that they are arriving at the armory.

“All of this indicates that something was or is inside and I’m guessing there are night runners in there. We can’t afford to ever think otherwise. The last thing I want us to do is saunter in like we’re on a beer run only to run into a hornets nest without at least being prepared for it. There’s nothing worse than expecting beer and being stung instead.”

I call Corporal Horace over and bring her up to speed on our findings. “I want you to post two outside here to cover the parking lot. When we go in, position the other four inside the door. When we get into a position to cover the store, I want you to then begin hauling goods out. Stack them outside the door without blocking it and stay in twos,” I say.

“Yes, sir,” she responds.

“I’ll tell you when to start gathering things. And have someone go into the crew vans and gather all of the flashlights. There’s also a roll of duct tape in front.” I noticed the flashlights mounted on the wall of the crew bus. These were for use by crews or other personnel if needed. The duct tape was a nice surprise.

“Will do, sir,” Horace says detailing two of her team to pick up the items.

Looking inside, the sunlight extends about twenty feet into the building before fading into darkness. I continue to squat there listening intently for anything inside or out of the ordinary. Complete silence. I continue to have the sense that the silence and darkness is holding back and biding its time; waiting. It has the feel that something is lurking inside. It’s a feeling I have had on many other occasions and one that I have come to trust. It has never led me astray and has saved me and my team several times. It is the feeling of something watching.

One of the things I learned from the field is that eye contact or the focus of watching something keys in a response and a feeling. We all put forth energy and that energy we put forth is felt by others. The more intense the focus and concentration, the more it is felt. It’s the feeling we have when we feel something is watching. So, we never looked directly at targets when observing them but just off to the side. We definitely avoided looking into their eyes for the reason that this would trigger an even more intense feeling of being watched. Early on, I found that looking at targets caused them to turn and look directly at you as if they knew exactly where that energy was coming from. I can’t pinpoint any certain direction now but it is emanating from the darkness inside.

“Red Team, we’re heading inside. Don’t go any further than where the light fades into shadow and we’ll analyze it more from there,” I say as the flashlights arrive and are passed out. I can’t see very far inside but we should be able to make out more once we are in. The flashlights will definitely help. I can tell that the interior stretches both ahead and to the right as the entrance doors are on the left hand side of the building. Using the tape, we secure the flashlights to the front rails.

“Henderson, Denton, cover the right. Gonzalez and McCafferty, directly ahead. Rogers and Bartel, you’ll cover the right forward flank. I’ll be with Robert just behind,” I instruct the team.

“Hooah, sir,” they respond quietly.

“Lights on. Lock and load ladies and gents. The curtain is rising and the show is about to begin,” I say to the sound of selector switches being flicked from safe to burst.

“Go,” I whisper.

Henderson, followed quickly by Denton, slips in the door and moves quickly the right, both of them panning their lights around the interior. Gonzalez and McCafferty enter on their heels followed by Rogers and Bartel. They all come to stop kneeling right at the light/dark demarcation line shining their lights into the interior. Robert and I follow in with our guns up and ready to throw down a curtain of steel. The hush of the dark greets us. The only sound is the faint shuffling of boots and knees on the ground as everyone shifts positions. As everyone settles into their station, the silence is such that we can hear each other breathing.

The lights reveal a layout similar to any warehouse style store; a large open area similar in size to a medium Wal-Mart or Fred Meyer. The food is fortunately situated on our side of the store with the merchandise on the other side. Our lights can’t penetrate the full length of the interior so half of the store remains shrouded in darkness. I would call out to see if anyone is there but I do not want to overtly alert any night runners. I am sure they must sleep during the day, if they sleep at all, and I definitely do not want to disturb their slumber. Besides, any person staying here would already have found the others or would be outside during the day. Our lights in the store will alert anyone we were there. Unfortunately, that also means night runners. I find myself really wishing we all had night vision goggles. Radios for everyone, with throat mics, wouldn’t hurt either.

The aisles line up from front to back so our lights don’t really give us a clear view of everything. The lights from Henderson and Denton flash over a large aisle in the front of the store and the bank of cashier stands. The ones from Gonzalez and McCafferty show the first aisle clear but only penetrate a little way down the next aisle. The aisles seem to continue to the other end without a break which makes it easier for us and the goods on the shelves appear relatively undisturbed and fairly well stocked. Some items have definitely been taken but from the look of things, it was probably by the remainder of the personnel stationed here to sustain themselves. The strong odor of decaying food I remember from previous stores is absent. Most likely because the generators worked until this morning keeping the food items fresh. There is a hint of mustiness in the air that triggers unpleasant memories. The spots of light from our flashlights constantly move about the area around checking for movement. I wave Horace and the other three inside. Our hemisphere of sunlight becomes very crowded.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Teams of two will cover the end of each aisle and we’ll move forward one by one until we reach the aisle with the water. At that point, Horace, you four will proceed to the aisle and start carting the water out. Silence is key. If we aren’t disturbed by then, we’ll go after other non-perishables. It’s essential that the cover teams stay abreast. Maintain your situational awareness so we don’t have friendly fire in case things turn ugly. A round is no longer friendly once it leaves the barrel,” I say in a whisper only loud enough for all to hear.

“Gonzalez, McCafferty, you have the far end of the aisle. Henderson and Denton, the near end. Robert and I will cover the rear and the flank for Gonzalez and McCafferty. Rogers and Bartel, do the same for Henderson and Denton on this end,” I continue.

I would normally place myself in front but I find myself making slightly different decisions as Robert is with me. Having him with me is more than dipping a toe in the water but it isn’t quite jumping in yet.

“Folks, there are night runners in here. Let’s do our best not to disturb them and let them get their beauty rest.”

“How do you know they’re in here, sir?” Denton asks.

“Smell that faint musty odor?” I ask in return.

“Yes, sir,” he responds.

“Remind you of anything?”

“A little like a locker room,” Denton says.

“Exactly. That is the smell of unwashed bodies and sweaty clothes. They’re in here so everyone keep on their toes. Gonzalez, McCafferty, move out,” I say quietly.

The two rise and begin moving down the closest aisle. Their lights pan out ahead and around as they step into the darkness. Henderson and Denton move behind them and take position at the near end focusing to our right. As Gonzalez and McCafferty reach a point half way down the aisle, I reach out and grab Robert’s shoulder.

“Okay, stay close by me and do what I tell you. Understand?”

“Yeah, Dad,” he answers.

We step across the linoleum floor and the darkness surrounds us. It feels like a cloak suddenly drapes around us. The farther in we get, the more the cloak envelops, a weight pressing in. The only vision we have are the lights from Gonzalez and McCafferty ahead and where ours shine. There is a feeling in the air. That calm, quiet feeling with an underlying tension that says something is about to happen. I am very acquainted with that tension and adrenaline and know this feeling well. It’s like a coiled spring just before it releases. I have the feeling our presence is known. I glance back at Robert about to send him back to the door but something inside makes me hesitates.

“What?” He asks.

“Uh, nothing,” I respond.

Gonzalez and McCafferty reach the end of the aisle and focus their lights down the far end to our right. Robert and I continue quietly up behind them. I tap Gonzalez on the shoulder and she moves up to the next aisle with McCafferty. Looking back towards the entrance, I see the lights from Henderson and Denton disappear as they move forward as well. I have a good team here, I think watching Rogers and Bartel take their place.

The combined lights on our end reveal a cooler section against the wall to our immediate left and what seems to be a small deli counter just past that. The lane in front of us is broken only by the aisles branching off to our right and what appears to be a hallway or entrance to our left just past the deli counter ahead. I move up with Robert behind and shoulder tap Gonzalez again. They move up another aisle. This process repeated as I check down each aisle until we are four aisles down. At that point my light reveals beverages located on the shelves. The pickings are slim on these shelves as there had been down some of the other aisles.

“Horace, this is Jack, how do you copy?” I ask quietly on the radio.

“Loud and clear, sir,” she responds.

“The water is in the fourth aisle. Start gathering quietly.”

“Yes, sir.”

I see other lights pan about the store as Blue Team begins heading our direction. I focus back towards the far side of the store hoping nothing is back there or at least does not get stirred up. I think about the sheer number of times we are going to have to do this in order to get supplies before we are able to be self-sufficient. We are going to have to plant crops, hunt, fish, develop adequate water supplies and such, but until then, non-perishables and bottled water are our friend. Of course we’ll have natural water and it should be easy to find back home in the Northwest but we’ll have to be careful of anything close to cities. Maybe we can cut holes in the roofs and install skylights, I think pondering an easier way to do this. My mind goes through various scenarios including just blowing the roofs off. I immediately eliminate that one as we may need access into the store again and the simple fact that the roof caving in will destroy the very thing we want to get. The skylights or a portable generator with lights seem the best options in my mind right now.

Lights illuminates us as Blue Team turns down our aisle. The thoughts in my head vanish as if the lights banished them. Horace and her group begin removing the cases and gallon jugs of water from the shelves. From the looks of things and the scarcity of them, it should only take them about two trips. It should be enough to keep us for a few days. As they start back up the aisle for their second trip, the startling sound of something metallic hitting the ground sounds out from the inky dark in the back in the store. It sounds like a pan hitting the floor and skittering across it. The sudden noise causes an adrenaline release. With the adrenaline hitting, the pounding of my heart feels like a bass drum being hit.

Lights converge in the direction of the sound and all movement stops as our alertness meter climbs to the top. The shelves block most of our vision toward the back. More sounds of items falling from shelves echoes throughout. It is hard to tell in here if it is getting closer but the noise is becoming constant. Gonzalez edges to the far right of the lane with McCafferty on the left. All of our weapons are pointed down the open lane. Gonzalez looks back at me over her shoulder asking for direction.

“Keep alert and focused. We’re the rear guard. We’re going to cover and pull back once Blue is clear. As you know, they come suddenly,” I whisper to her turning to Horace and her crew.

“Horace, get out of here. We’re covering. Tell Henderson to remain in place until we get to the entrance. Go,” I say down the aisle where they have become as still as statues. Alert, tense, and focused toward the continued noise of items falling.

The sound is coming rapidly closer. Amongst the clatter, I make out the faint slap of feet on the floor, although muted in some way. Our lights are focused in the middle of the store where the majority of the noise is rapidly drawing near, but without picking up a sight of anything. Horace and her team begin withdrawing backward down the aisle toward the entrance, still facing in the direction of whatever is coming toward them. I can tell that they aren’t going to make it to the end of the aisle before whatever is making the sound is upon them. I see by their faces that they know it too.

I stand to get a better angle over the shelves. My light immediately catches sight of a night runner leaping across the top of the shelves; the gray-skinned creature gathers itself before leaping to the next shelf, with other night runners adjacent to it and more following. I immediately open fire on the closest one. The solid thuds of high speed steel impacting flesh and bone are subdued beneath the echoing crack of the rounds being fired. I catch the one in mid-leap across the chest causing it to somersault in mid-air, crashing heavily into the shelf in front of it from its forward momentum. Strobes flash behind me as Robert opens up on others. I flinch as his barrel fires close to my ears causing them to ring loudly.

“They’re on the shelves!” I yell out.

The night runners are converging on Horace’s group in the aisle who are quickly making their way to the entrance end but the night runners are going to be on them before they make it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement down the lane towards the back of the store coming into the cones of light from Gonzalez and McCafferty. More emerge from the hallway entrance on the left side, crossing the lane and light quickly before heading down the aisle across. More shots ring out as both women engage an increasing number of emerging night runners. Temporal distortion sets in.

Gonzalez and McCafferty kneel on the floor on opposite sides of the lane. Night runners fall as they run into the light painted towards them but more replace those fallen. Rounds strike some of those coming out of the hallway entrance and they pitch forward headlong, disappearing down the aisle behind the shelves. Some fall there with only their feet extending into the lane. I notice some continue to move slowly, crawling down the aisle, signifying they are only injured. The sound of gunfire is continuous as we fight back the sudden rush of the horde. Robert and I are concentrating on the ones leaping across the shelves, Gonzalez and McCafferty focus on the ones on the ground.

Steel fills the air as we attempt to hold them back. Gray bodies seem a solid mass as our light picks them up. Blood sprays from many and they fall or are driven backwards but they are quickly over-trodden by many more behind them. As we reload, magazines clatter across the linoleum where once only shopping carts rolled. The rapid and constant sound of spent cartridge rounds clink as the floor quickly fills with brass. Strobes fill the air, momentarily outshining the light from our flashlights. My hearing is now completely gone on the left side but I don’t notice the ringing. Adrenaline and focus have taken over.

The night runners quickly close the gap on Horace’s team and on us because of their numbers and how close they were to us when they started. Blue Team is running with their rifles pointed left, unable to see anything over the shelf beside them. Anxious and knowing they are about to be beset upon yet unable to do anything about it. I know that feeling. It is a feeling that makes you sick at heart; a very desperate, lonely and out of control feeling. The first night runner leaps on the shelf next to them and slams into the trailing member.

With the strong smell of gunpowder hanging in the air, I see a night runner leap from the shelf and hit a Blue Team member from behind, both of them falling to the ground. He lets out a surprised shout as he falls face forward with the night runner on his back. The light from his flashlight spins as his rifle hits the ground with a clatter, coming to rest ahead of him against the shelf. My light illuminates the night runner’s back as it bends forward and its hands flail wildly as it begins clawing at the fallen soldier. I would take the shot but I don’t want to risk hitting the team member, and other members of Corporal Horace’s team are in my line of fire should a bullet go all of the way through. The Blue member screams again as fingernails and teeth begin to find their mark. He twists and turns in an attempt to throw the night runner off his back but the creature is too well situated for him to gain any leverage.

“Cover me and keep them off my back!” I yell over my shoulder to Robert and take off down the aisle without waiting for a response.

My ear is ringing so bad that I don’t think I would hear one even if it is given. Continued flashes from Robert’s M-16, and seeing night runners vanish from on top of the shelves as his rounds find their mark, tells me he either heard or is just continuing on with what he was doing before. Either way, my back is clear for the moment. My vision is blocked by a shelf as I enter the aisle bringing my visual perspective down substantially.

I tear off down the aisle feeling helpless by my being unable to shoot the night runner off our member who is down and hearing his continued screams. Just as I arrive behind the night runner, the remaining upright soldiers from Horace’s group round the corner of the aisle, apparently not realizing that one of them is down. The night runner raises its head just as I arrive in an apparent attempt to find another place to bite. I bring the butt of my M-4 against the base of its skull, hitting it with a resounding crack and sending it sprawling forward. Reversing my carbine, I fire a short burst into it before it has a chance to hit the floor. Blood sprays from between its shoulder blades, neck and the back of its head in rapid succession as my rounds find their mark. The top of its head explodes outward in a thick mist, sending blood, bone, and brain onto the floor in front of it. It spasms twice and then falls limply to the linoleum, its head coming to lie in an ever widening pool of blood and tissue.

Additional flashes of light strobe ahead like a disco dance floor. Corporal Horace and the others have joined in the fight and are helping Henderson, Denton, Rogers, and Bartel in their battle to keep the area to the front clear. The noise coming to what is left of my hearing indicates a full-fledged firefight in progress all around. The continuous pop, pop, pop of steel leaving the chambers of a multitude of rifles makes up a majority of the noise with shouts of communication sometime rising above the cacophony. Fleshy thuds of steel-jacketed bullets finding their marks, solid thumps from those that miss; hitting cans, shelves, floor and walls, ferocious howls of pain, shrieks born from desire and excitement, the crash of bodies hitting the ground and shelves, knocking assorted good from where they sit all add to the din echoing in the building. Within it, I hear moaning coming from the Blue member at my feet.

I begin to turn to my left when I’m hit solidly from above knocking me backwards. Maintaining that turn forcefully so as to end up on my back, I sweep my left hand out and bring my M-4 around with my right as I continue to fall, hitting the floor on my back adjacent to the member already down. Something heavy lies across my body. I expect the growling and tearing to begin but the night runner on top of me doesn’t move. I push the inert body off and sit up. The blaring light from Robert’s flashlight stares into my eyes from the end of the aisle, blinding me and not allowing me to make out anything behind it. The light pauses momentarily before flashing back to the area on top of the shelves. That was a close one. Thanks bud.

A warning signals inside of me. The kind of sixth sense like when you have your back to the ocean and a large wave is about to break over you. You look back over your shoulder just in time to see it crash down. I shine my light upward to catch a night runner leaping in mid-air above me. The M-4 in my right hand barks and kicks slightly as I fire at the night runner descending swiftly toward me. It is coming downward like a receiver going airborne and diving to catch a pass; head down and arms spread outward. It is shrieking with its pale mouth wide open and its eyes are locked on mine. The slow motion scene allows my mind to register and record minute details; the bloody and torn blue short sleeve shirt with ribbons and name tag still attached but mostly hidden by the dark blood stains, the NCO stripes sewn on the sleeves, the wild look in its eyes, the silver watch and gold wedding band. They apparently didn’t get them all, I think as my first round strikes the left side of its chest, my second hitting it in the mouth and my third impacting immediately after on the right cheek just under the eyes. The force of the rounds hit like sledge hammers causing its trajectory to alter in midair. A pinkish mist fills my sight as the back of its head vanishes into the air behind it. The shriek stops immediately and it slams onto top of the shelf above me, knocking off the items sitting there, and it hits the floor beside me with a loud thump.

I shove the first night runner off of my legs and stand quickly shining my light into the rafters of the open ceiling above me. There is movement in them as more night runners move along the steel beams high above. I fire at one centered in my beam almost directly above me and see blood blossom on its torso as my bullets fly true. It releases its grip on the beam and begins its long fall to the floor with an agonized shriek.

“Watch out above! They’re in the rafters!” I yell running back down the aisle where Robert, Gonzalez, and McCafferty continue to battle the seemingly endless horde.

“Horace, keep the front covered with the others,” I say into the radio. “We’ll be withdrawing back to you down the last aisle.”

“Roger that, sir,” I hear her reply.

“Make sure you cover the shelves and rafters as we pull back. We also have a man down in the aisle,” I add into the radio reaching the end of the aisle.

“Will do, sir,” she responds.

“Gonzalez, McCafferty, we’re pulling back to the front down the end aisle. Gonzalez, when I say so, pull back through us. You’re point. Quickly but carefully!” I yell above the gunfire still erupting.

“Hooah, sir!” Gonzalez responds.

I reload and add my rounds to an atmosphere thick with steel and the smell of gunpowder. The rafters are full of night runners leaping their way towards us. Bodies fall from the heights as fire is shifted from Horace’s group and from Robert’s and mine. The top of the shelves are clear. They’ve shifted strategy, I think feeling my M-4 kick back slightly into my shoulder. Wow! They’re able to shift strategy as a group. That’s something to throw into the bag of knowledge.

The lane ahead is littered with bodies. Live ones scramble across the pile only to fall to the ferocious firing of Gonzalez and McCafferty, adding to the growing number lying on the floor, drawing ever closer. “Robert,” I say grabbing his shoulder to get his attention. “You’ll follow Gonzalez.”

“Okay,” he responds quickly with the wide eyes of intense adrenaline that is coursing through his body.

“McCafferty, fall back to me and we’ll cover the rear!” I yell. “Gonzalez, go now!”

They both stand and walk backward firing into the night runners as they go. I continue to put bursts of fire into the rafters, picking out night runners there and see them fall as the steel impacts their flesh. The light from our flashlights cannot reach far back so we are only able to take out the ones that leap into our range. Multiple lights probe the ceiling and rafters above. Sparks fly from the steel beams as near misses ricochet into the darkness. Red tracers streak upward from the store front and our position.

As she reaches my position, Gonzalez turns and catches my eye. Giving a head nod, she proceeds past to lead our retreat out of here. The night runners still rush our position on the floor. There must be hundreds here, I think. I shift my fire to the ones on the ground ahead taking one out just twenty feet away. Blood sprays from its chest and neck as multiple rounds from my carbine strike it. Its head, almost severed by the force of the rounds, falls sideways as blood gushes and squirts from the severed arteries. Its body kicks out to the side spinning to the ground. I feel part of the spray splash against my cheek and forehead.

“Robert, Go!” I yell and notice only the decrease of fire that signals his departure.

“McCafferty, you have the top rafters and shelves as we move. I have the ground,” I shout across to where she has taken up position.

“You got it sir,” she yells back.

“Horace, we’re on our way. Did you get the wounded?” I ask pressing the radio transmit button.

“We have him, sir, but we have another one down,” she responds.

“Get them outside and be ready to go,” I say quickly.

I hear her answer on the radio but cannot make out her reply.

There’s no time to ask for it to be repeated. I drop two more to the floor, the last one falling almost at my feet and reload. I pull a mag out of my vest taking notice that it is the last one. Uh oh, that’s not good, I think sliding it in and releasing the bolt. More night runners pound the floor behind the two still in their death throes at my feet. I flip to semi and light flashes from the end of my barrel taking the nearest one in the head. Its head snaps backwards and its feet leave the ground, the body hitting the linoleum on its back with a thud.

“I’m on my last mag. We’ll have to make this quick. Let’s go!” I shout to McCafferty.

“Me too! I’m right with you,” she responds.

We stand and begin walking quickly backwards, McCafferty taking down night runners that have come above us in the rafters, the sound of their bodies slamming into the shelves and floor evidence of her deadly aim. I keep the ones in front at bay. Head shots are easy at this distance but I am quickly running out of ammo. Pop! Pop! Pop! I am rapidly moving my aim from head to head as we retreat but more replace them. We pass the next aisle behind us, with the central mass still only twenty feet away, neither gaining nor losing distance between us. The speed at which they are running at us causes them to drop literally at my feet and they will quickly be upon us when I run out of ammo. I glance around to mark our progress and see the lights from Gonzalez and Robert round the corner of the end aisle.

“We’re going to have to make a run for it,” I yell to McCafferty across the lane. “Now go!”

I see her turn and begin running down the lane and turn the corner. Focusing back to my front, I pick up the pace of my backward steps. Not quite running but close. Tripping and falling would not be in my best interest right now and not because of some labor and industries injury claim. It would be a bit worse than that. I wonder if I can sue the store for harboring dangerous creatures. Pop! Pop! My rounds meet and intersect two more heads splashing blood and brain matter on those behind as I round the corner and enter the aisle.

Glancing over my shoulder, keeping my direction and most of my attention on those about to round the corner, I see Gonzalez and Robert running for the front door silhouetted by the light streaming in from outside. McCafferty is following close behind them concentrating on the ceiling above. Almost home, I think. I refocus on where the night runners are just rounding the corner. Our gunfire seems to have had little effect on their numbers although I do notice they are now only concentrated in certain areas as opposed to seemingly spread across the entire interior. Still backing toward the entrance, I hear the click of a bolt running dry behind me. That click registers immediately and seems louder than all of the other sounds filling the store.

“I’m out!” McCafferty yells in my direction.

“Make a run for the door, I’ll cover,” I shout still focused on the horde closing in.

I feel the kick against my shoulder three more times sending three additional night runners skidding on the floor amidst sprays of blood and brain before the same, heart sickening click emits from my M-4. I have exhausted my ammo. Why can’t this be like the hero books or comics where the last round kills the last enemy inches from the hero? Well, this definitely isn’t the happy, ride off into the sunset ending I would have liked. The horde is still coming and closing the distance and I am now carrying a paper weight. I’m looking for the white-horsed hero to ride in and sweep away the battlefield, the enemy cowering in terror. Instead, it is my heart that is sinking and the uh oh factor has invaded my senses. The adrenaline increases and time slows even more.

Twenty feet away becomes ten as I continue back pedaling away. I can’t take the time to turn and run as I know they would be upon me immediately. They have the momentum of already running and will be upon me in the time it will take me to turn leaving me with my back to them and defenseless. I reverse my M-4 as the first one closes to within five feet, thrusting the butt forward into its face, connecting with the bridge of its nose, snapping its head backwards and bringing it to a standstill. The others behind plow into the now stopped night runner sending it crashing to the floor, slowing their rapid advance momentarily and giving me a touch of breathing space. As long as that breath is a short one that is.

They continue, running over and around the body on the floor. A sense of eagerness emits from the group as they close in on their prey. That prey being me. I can remember several times being chased by folks who were not too keen on my being in their back yard, but that feeling of uh-oh has never been this intense. Mostly because they weren’t five feet away from me and I had ammo to keep them at a friendly distance. The thought of lowering my shoulder and charging into them vanishes as quickly as it arrived. I would be overwhelmed in a moment. Were these “normal people,” that thought would have stuck around longer.

I step to my left and thrust the butt end of my carbine once again, the shoulder plate striking the temple of a creature with a crack snapping its head to the side and back. The night runner loses its balance and it sprawls to its left across the path of the others. My mind registers the absence of gunfire that was so prevalent inside moments ago. I have no time to figure out the why of it but can only assume that the others are safely outside or the night runners in the other directions have been eliminated. Or, everyone has run out of ammo. I log the ammo consumption away to be dealt with later and hopefully not as I am contemplating my mistakes while sitting on a cloud strumming a harp. Not that I would necessarily be a candidate for that anyway.

Night runners grab and push aside the one that had crashed into them blocking their path momentarily allowing me to gain a few precious feet towards the front door. The shelves to my right, containing a few sundry items, are illuminated by the splash of light from my flashlight but also begin to lighten from the light coming through the front door. Faint yet, but still lighter letting me know that the salvation of light is drawing closer. I’ve managed to keep them slightly off balance and away so far but they are so close and the action is quick. If time was not slowed, they would sweep over me like a tidal wave.

I repeatedly thrust into their heads with the butt of my rifle, feeling it connect with each thrust; each time rapidly withdrawing my M-4 only enough to switch to a different target and hit it with sufficient force. Not wanting to kill at this point but to keep them at bay as I continue inching backward toward the light amidst the shrieks emitting from horde of night runners to my front. Shrieks of frustration, pain, anger and excitement fill my ears. I hear someone shouting behind me but the words are drowned out by the din. Hands from the night runners try to fend off my repeated thrusts. They reach towards me, wanting to take hold and pull me to the ground. Wanting to rend my flesh.

I notice the linoleum below my feet is partially lit from the light streaming in from the front doors. One of the creatures knocks my gun away from its trajectory which throws my attack off target. A night runner gets inside of my M-4 that was keeping them that uncomfortable five feet away and launches itself at me. Seeing it get past and leave the ground, I brace myself mentally for the inevitable impact. Dropping my carbine, I bring my arms in close in order to keep some semblance of distance between us after the collision. Timing it right, I grab the front if its torn and ragged shirt, lean back slightly to absorb some of the impact, pivot on my left foot the moment it hits, and launch myself and it in the direction of the front door. The force and ferocity of the impact, even at such a close range, surprises me. The strength and agility of these things continues to amaze me. I am going to have to keep this in forefront of my mind at all times.

“Come on you little shit! You wanna play!” I yell as we launch through the air.

I continue the roll to my left as we sail through the air using its momentum to assist me, my hands locked on its shirt, its shrieking, gray face inches away from mine, my roar of effort and intense adrenaline combine with its shriek. I feel rage building within as we land on the floor with a grunt, with it beneath me, and we slide along the linoleum upon impact.

The night runner begins to thrash and shriek with an increased intensity. I release my grip with my right hand bringing it back to smash back down on its throat for a killing stroke, intent on punching through the throat to its spinal column, obliterating the cartilage airway. I pause when I notice the thrashing is not an attempt at defense or to get at me. Its face is turning a bright red before my eyes. It is then that I notice our flight through the air and subsequent slide has brought us into the direct light radiating from outside. A rifle butt enters into my range of vision and impacts the night runner square on the temple, rendering it unconscious and silencing the shrieks. I look up to see Horace standing by my side as she withdraws her carbine from the impact.

“Thanks,” I say jumping off of the night runner and turning quickly towards where the horde was moments before, expecting them to be right on my heels.

“No problem, sir,” she responds turning her weapon on the horde standing on the edge of the shadows where they shriek wildly in frustration.

Only the faint outlines of their heads are visible and appear to be thrusting forward, wanting desperately to get at us. Then, as if a switch were thrown, the shrieks stop and the heads vanish instantly into the dark depths of the store leaving behind only the slapping sound of shoes and bare feet on the linoleum echoing in the BX, growing dimmer before silence descends upon us once again.

We all stand momentarily shocked by the suddenness of both the onslaught and retreat. Only moments before the air was filled with the sound of gunfire, shrieks, and shouting, now only the lingering smell of gunpowder remains.

“Well, that was fun and interesting,” I say heading back to retrieve my M-4, still wary and alert for any attack.

Gathering my now almost useless rifle off of the floor, I return to the group, checking the stock and gun for any damage. The wounded soldier is lying by the entrance; the once loud moans have subsided to an occasional whimper. Kneeling by his side, I can feel heat radiating from him and notice beads of sweat form on his brow and run down his temple forming small pools on the floor by his head. The gouges on his neck and shoulder area from the night runner have stopped bleeding and are now merely leaking plasma mixed with blood.

“How’s the other one?” I ask looking up at Horace.

“He’s dead. Bled out before we could get to him.” She replies.

“Let’s get everyone outside. Have your team put them in the van. We’ll bandage him up when we get to the aircraft”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many supplies did we manage to get out?” I ask looking at the carts, full of bottled water and various cans of food, sitting just outside of the doors.

“We managed to get most of the water and a few cans of food before they hit,” Horace answers.

“Ammo check,” I call out to everyone. A quick check reveals we are down to thirty six rounds between all of us. That’s cutting it rather close, I think and make a mental note to increase the basic load out for all teams.

“Red Team, gather the supplies and load them into the van,” I call out as we step through the front doors and out into the morning. The front of the BX is still shaded from the sun. I get no reply but see them walk over to the carts to begin loading.

I turn back to see Horace’s team emerge through the broken glass door carrying the wounded solder by the arms and legs. Watching the team with their load, I see the unconscious soldier begin to thrash wildly to the point that they have to set him back on the pavement where his thrashing continues. Stepping closer, I see his exposed skin begin to turn the same bright red as had the other night runners when exposed to the sun. The flailing continues to increase along with the moaning. His eyes flash open and the pain within them is apparent to all who are watching. He begins a shrieking scream and sits up quickly causing all of us standing around to jump back a step. The shrieking builds quickly only to suddenly subside into silence as he slumps over to the side, his head hitting the concrete sidewalk with a crack. He lays there still and utterly silent, his once pallid skin now looks like he stayed by the pool in the sun too long.

“Hmmmm, that’s different,” I say, mostly to myself but heard by those around.

“Anyone know if he had the vaccination?” I ask the assembled group.

The only responses are shrugs and a shaking of heads. Looking around at their faces, I see the implication has already set in for most. The disease can be transmitted and has to be treated as a pathogen, I think. And the onset is measured in minutes instead of hours and days for those that are not immune. The virus carried in the night runners must be more potent than the original vaccine.

“Okay, we leave them both here. We can’t risk getting blood on us or anyone else,” I continue noticing the others have already dropped the second body and are backing away from it.

Everyone begins checking themselves over for any contamination. I hear the sighs of relief from each one as they find themselves clean. This changes my thinking and assumption that anyone left alive is/was immune. Those that had the vaccination, yes. Those that did not, well, that is a toss-up. Me included. Luckily, I know that my kids had the vaccine and are immune, so, it is more than likely that I am as well, using the process of elimination as to which parent carried the immunity.

I feel the adrenaline winding down leaving the past few moments inside the store feeling like a surreal event. Standing here in the breeze with the sun continuing its climb into the clear, blue sky only adds to that feeling. The seemingly normalness of the day, well, if anything can completely seem normal anymore, creates a gulf between the now and the intense firefight only moments ago. The firefight, such as I have never seen before in its intensity and ferocity, seemed to last an eternity but the passage of time out here was only a few moments. The two bodies on the ground are the only physical reminders of what occurred and a message that our tactics will have to change. Our advantage of fire power is only as good as our tactics. We certainly cannot afford to be in a battle of attrition or we are just not going to be around for that much longer. I sense the others around are also coming down to a feeling of normalcy, the events still clear, but being put away in the back of their minds.

“Okay, let’s get these supplies loaded and head back,” I say clearing my thoughts and returning to the present.

“Are you doing okay?” I ask Robert as I stand next to him gathering water bottles and see a tremor run through his hands.

“Yeah,” he replies.

“You did a good job in there,” I say.

“I was scared shitless,” he says in response.

“Yeah, well, we all were kiddo. But you didn’t let it affect you and stood in there.”

“But you and the others didn’t seem like it,” he says looking up from his gathering.

“I was fucking terrified,” I say. “As I am quite sure the others were. But you stayed in there when most anyone else would’ve run. And I have to tell you that was one of the most intense firefights I have ever seen.”

“But you and everyone seemed so calm. You were giving orders and coordinating like you were organizing a dinner party or something.”

“Did you notice that your fear was more intense before anything happened and that once it started, you stopped feeling that way and just reacted?”

“Well, yeah, to an extent I guess.”

“That’s normal and something you’ll kind of get used to. That transition from feeling anxious to reacting happens more quickly each time. Did you notice that everything seemed to slow down?” I ask.

“Yeah, I did notice that. There were times when everything seemed like it was happening in slow motion,” Robert answers.

“That’s something to use when it happens but be aware it is happening. Everything around you is still operating in real time. Thoughts and reactions come through with lightning speed and that’s an advantage you have to use with a sense of calm. You can think and react faster so use that to your advantage. But be aware that the reaction of things around you will seem slow. For instance, you move the throttle up. It will actually move up quickly because of your action, however, other indications outside of that won’t make it seem to you that it is. For example, the gauge you are staring will appear to move slowly and maybe give you the feeling that your action was not effective. The outside things reacting to your action will not appear to register immediately or react. You have to be aware of this and allow for it. Does that make any sense?” I ask.

“Yeah, it does,” he replies.

My memory tracks back to a time when temporal distortion, the slowing of time in an extreme situation, killed a good friend of mine. He was doing a touch and go in a T-38 with a student who was on his first flight. My friend let the student try to land — the T-38 is one tricky aircraft to land. It has short wings built for speed and the second highest landing airspeed of any aircraft in the world. At any rate, he let the student go too far and did not take corrective action until too late. The aircraft hit the runway hard and bounced high back into the air. My friend attempted save the situation by initiating a go around and rammed the throttles into what he thought was afterburner. The resulting bounce had angled the aircraft off to the side a little so they were not flying parallel to the runway. The wings wobbled a little — not a good sign in the T-38 — but it finally looked like he might make it.

There were two problems though. One, they were headed straight for the tall control tower that directed transient and civilian aircraft, and two, they were not in afterburner. Still, it looked like they were going to make it but the jet, in an attempt to avoid the tower, suddenly pitched up, rolled onto its back, plummeted to the ground, and slid across it in a fireball. The crash investigation revealed that the throttles were only set at about 70% power and concluded that temporal distortion was the cause. My friend was putting the throttles into afterburner but was not seeing the corresponding results on the instruments. It was thought that he did not think he was getting the afterburner to light and was cycling the throttles in an attempt to get them lit when all he was really doing was moving the throttles very rapidly back and forth. The temporal distortion made him think he was moving the throttles up smoothly but not getting the afterburner to light, when, in actuality, he was not giving the instruments time to respond. Yes, temporal distortion can be a life saver most of the time, but it can also have disastrous consequences if you are not aware it is happening.

“Anyway, you did well. Oh and thanks.”

“For what?” He asks with a hint of confusion crossing his face. The gears of his mind cycling through events trying to figure out what I am referring to.

“That night runner would’ve had me cold in the aisle if you hadn’t shot him,” I say with a small smile.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” he says with a trace of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Let’s get these loaded,” I finish our conversation with a nod.

It is a silent drive back to the airfield and ramp. Everyone is lost in their thoughts. Having been there in the post adrenaline combat moment a few times, I know that some are thinking about and reliving the events while other thoughts move towards the future and the odds of survival. Seeing Horace’s van behind us in the rear view, I know the same silence must be riding along with them, especially with the loss of two of their team. Any loss of that nature brings second guessing. I know it is affecting me and wondering two things. What could I, or we, have done differently? What do we need to change in future endeavors to prevent or minimize any losses? And, do I still have the confidence of the team? Okay, that is three things.

“Sir,” I hear McCafferty say behind me.

I turn in my seat to see Red Team sitting on the bench seats with their weapons propped between their legs and looking from McCafferty to me.

“Yes,” I respond back.

“I know I speak for the rest of us when I say thank you for getting us out of there,” she says.

“It wasn’t me. It was our teamwork and working together that got us out of there,” I say feeling relieved, realizing that my worry about their confidence in me has been answered.

She merely nods at my response along with the rest of the team and they fold back to their private thoughts.

“We’ll debrief with everyone else after we get back and unload this stuff,” I say and turn around to stare outside at the passing buildings.

As the buildings pass by, they take on an even more foreboding aspect. I wonder how many night runners lurk behind each darkened window. In my mind, I imagine a horde of night runners hiding behind each of the windows. Watching and waiting. Ready to pounce on any intruder into their domain. Ready to take advantage of any mistake we make. It is like riding through a ghost town where tragedy overtook and the ghosts of the past watch from their rooms as the living pass by. Jealous. Vengeful. Eagerly waiting and beckoning for the living to enter.

The foreboding passes but leaves other thoughts in its wake. Were all of the night runners gathered at the BX because there sure were enough of them there? Or are there others gathered in the darkened recesses of the other buildings around? Are they going to gather in larger and larger groups like they were in the BX here or in smaller groups like at the McChord hospital? I can’t see a discernible pattern emerge. Will one emerge or take hold? After all, this is a new world to them as well? I start to think about our tactics but realize that will need to be a discussion with the group.

We arrive back to the airfield proper. Small heat waves rise from the pavement as the day begins to warm up only to be blown sideways and disappear momentarily with the passing of each light breeze. Heads turn towards us from those milling about the aircraft, following our progress across the ramp. Pulling to a stop near the rear of the aircraft, I realize just how exhausted I feel. I don’t want to get out of the seat but just want to sit here and veg. The exhaustion comes from the post adrenaline, the lack of proper rest and sleep over the past few days, and from the stress thinking about the days to come. The stress comes from thinking about the days to come, getting back and the overwhelming aspect of setting up our long-term survival once we do get back. As I continue to sit and contemplate the future, the others in both our crew bus and Horace’s get out and begin to unload the supplies into the C-130.

Thoughts of our long-term survival surface — food, water, shelter. We can live for a while on scavenged food and water but need to work on building a protective sanctuary soon. We need a place of safety where we can relax and plan. A place that is not under the threat of constant attack at night. We have the day but need a place at night that is secure so exhaustion does not overwhelm us. Thoughts of Cheyenne Mountain and NORAD surface. There’s really not a place that can be more secure, I think. Stocked supplies, away from civilization and therefore numerous night runners, and secure. The only reservation I have for this option is that I do not know about a constant water supply nor do I have knowledge of the area. Without electricity, the water supply for the facility will be unavailable and getting fuel supplies there to keep the generators going will be a challenge. Plus, I just don’t know the status of facility. Knowing an area like I do the Northwest will be an important element for any long-term survival. I know where food and water can be obtained and it will be easier to keep us supplied. I think finding a place in the Northwest is a better solution but keep Cheyenne Mountain in the back of my mind.

With a partial plan formed, I step out from the van to see the last of the supplies being loaded onboard. Great timing as usual. Always ready to help when the job is done. The sound of vehicles nearing drifts across the ramp. I turn and see the two vans from Lynn’s escapade driving in our direction. Well, I hope it’s Lynn and her group and the night runners have not picked up the ability to drive. Let alone during the day. That would totally suck! The vehicles pull to a stop close by and the teams exit. Lynn walks over with Watkins in tow as the other soldiers begin offloading crates and weapons.

“I take it all was successful?” I ask as she draws near.

“Yep! Although not the mother lode, we did find a few things,” she answers. “And yours?”

“It was, well, an interesting excursion although I don’t think I would qualify it as a success. We lost two,” I respond.

“What!? What happened?” She asks startled.

As I relate our morning experience, I notice Wilson, Bannerman, and the other team leaders have joined us making it easier to tell the story once without having to either wait or share it multiple times. It is not something I really want to talk about over and over.

“So, it seems from our various engagements with the night runners that they have the ability to change their tactics on a rudimentary level, that they are more agile, faster, and stronger, and that they can communicate and coordinate with each other in some fashion. I don’t know if that communication is through their shrieks or some other means,” I say summarizing.

“I also don’t know how their senses are affected, either better or worse, but we’ll have to assume that all of them are increased until we positively know different. We do know that they have the ability to see in the dark so we have to assume they can smell and hear better as well,” I continue.

“What about the soldier who became infected?” Lynn asks.

“Well, we can’t assume immunity from the virus or whatever except for those who have had the vaccination. And, judging from the sudden transition, minutes instead of hours or days, it appears that the fluids from the night runners are more potent. We’re obviously going to have to avoid close combat when possible until we know more and protect ourselves from contamination better. That means covering any open sores and removing any clothing that becomes contaminated as soon as possible. And, not handling anything that has become contaminated,” I answer.

“Jesus! What hope can we possibly have?” Bannerman blurts out.

“As long as we’re alive, we have hope,” I say irritated both from being tired and from the pessimism.

“Anyway, we’re going to have to define better tactics because we’re going to have to occasionally enter into buildings for supplies. That means that no less than two squads will enter any building and the building cleared before initiating any retrieval. Or at least very strong defensive positions taken first. They seem to be able to come at us from any direction. I mean, the ceiling rafters was a big surprise. A quick retreat route must be defined and that initiated at the first sign of a large attack. No bottle of water or can of food is vital enough to risk losing anyone. One big clue to a place being habituated seems to be some sort of forced entry. Are there any question or ideas?” I ask after finishing my thoughts and look around at the group.

They all shake their heads in response.

“Alrighty then, let’s make sure the supplies are secured and then we need to get some rest before heading out tonight. Team leaders, brief your teams and see to them. Make sure your team’s weapons are cleaned. Bannerman, get a good inventory of our supplies and list anything that’s vital and we’re short of. One thing to start your list off with is night vision gear,” I say in conclusion.

“I have a surprise that may be able to help with that,” Lynn chimes in with a smile. “Follow me.”

“Right behind ya,” I say.

The group disburses and I follow Lynn to the rear of the aircraft and up the ramp. There, crammed and secured in every available clear space is our food, a good supply of weapons, crates, and assorted cases. Lynn leads me to a cache of black cases similar to a hardened brief case. With dramatic flair, she flings the top up.

“Voila,” she says.

There, nestled in gray rubber foam, is a set of night vision goggles. They look like generation 2 NVG’s to me but capable of being donned on a helmet clip or with a head strap. And, as luck would hold, there is said strap in the case along with it.

“You are truly a godsend,” I say marveling at our good fortune. I wasn’t planning to have these beauties until we raided the special ops armory back in Fort Lewis.

“This will truly improve our odds and capabilities. How many do we have?” I ask.

“Twelve,” Lynn answers with a smile on her face.

“That’s perfect!” I say giving her a big hug. “Oh, and transfer Bartel and Rogers to Horace to replace her losses.”

“Is there anything wrong with them?” She asks looking up with concern.

“No, not at all. Everyone performed extremely well. She’s just short on people and I have the most,” I reply. She nods and turns to help Bannerman start the inventory. The other items of interest that Lynn and her group picked up from the armory are radios and a collection of M-4’s for everyone with plenty left over as spares. These are distributed to the group.

I give my weapon some attention after making sure everyone else has checked theirs. We settle in where we can to rest before beginning the next leg of our merry adventure. I lay down on the lower cockpit bunk with Lynn at my side. My last thought before succumbing to my coma is the hope that tomorrow will bring answers and enlightenment as to exactly what we are facing; that we can find some clue at the CDC that brings us a greater measure of hope for survival in the coming days. Information that we can use that will allow us to properly prepare ourselves for the long-term.