“No problem, no need to apologize.” The Commander said as he slowly approached both Jay and Trigger. He bent down and lowered himself to a single knee as he held his hands slightly out, palms down, to allow Trigger to smell them. Once Trigger was pleased, the Commander stood back upright, adjusting his M4 which hung from a single point sling on his chest. “I talked to Ariella, she’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Jay quickly shot back, “I can hold my own.”
“That’s what she said, but,” The Commander paused as he turned to look towards Ariella, making sure she can’t hear him. “Even though she won't admit it, she’s a bit of a softy. She’s always thinking that she’s our mother or at least older sister who is in charge of all of our safety. So don’t take offense by it. It’s just her way.” The Commander scratched the beard that had seemingly sprouted overnight. It was reaching that annoying stage, where it seemed to itch every two-seconds, causing the Commander to seriously debate if he should just pull out his knife he had in his pocket and just shave it all off right now.
Jay paused a moment as he rubbed his leg once again, then looked at the Commander, “I can do it. As soon as we get to tonights resting spot, I’ll take it easy, prop up my leg and give it a good few hours of rest.”
The Commander nodded, “Sounds good.” He took a step away then stopped and turned back. “Look, just so you know, you don’t have to prove anything to us, to me, Ariella, or the Conall. We know what you did getting to Zion and setting that all up. You’ve already earned your strips. So don’t push yourself just because you feel we expect it. We’ve all been there when we haven’t been 100% for a mission. Just the fact that you are out here speaks volumes.” He then turned and continued to take point and lead the four-person, and one dog, team towards their daily objective.
That last bit of information from the Commander did wonders for Jay’s leg. Just the phycological boost, knowing that he didn’t have to be Mr. Everything, that he was allowed to feel pain and fatigue, filled him with the energy needed to make through the rest of the day. The team continued their rigorous push towards their nightly objective, reaching it just after sundown.
Like they had all the previous nights, they made a minimal campfire, to provide the least amount of light posable. They were deep in unknown territory, where Highwaymen loved to roam. The night was always the most dangerous, as most of the Highwaymen would search out campfires for targets of opportunity. Though the team felt confident fending off any haphazard Highwaymen attack, still it was a risk better not taken.
One they had eaten, and relaxed for a second, Ariella, looked skyward. The cloud coverage was sporadic, allowing moments of light from the waning moon above. She bent over, dug into her ruck and pulled out a half used roll of toilet paper. Then standing back up she spoke up, nearly yelling, “Hey, I’m going to hit the head.”
The Commander spoke up, “Take your weapon with you.”
Ariella bent over once again, grabbed her M4 by the pistol grip and held it up some, to show that she had it. “Be back in a second.” She then turned and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
It wasn’t more than two minutes later that Trigger hitched up his noes. Then quickly hopped up on his three legs, as he let out a low, deep growl. His typical playful tail had stiffened and held its position. Jay looked at it his constant guardian, then turned to look at the other two, “Um, guys.”
The Commander and Conall were already queued in, as they both stood in a ready firing position, their weapons held firmly and their fingers ready for whatever might be out there. “Oi, Jay, what is it mate?” Conall asked.
Jay, who was doing his best to hobble up to his feet, while trying to man his weapon, simply replied, “Not sure? I know it’s not Ariella, he only acts like this if there is a threat, something or someone he doesn’t know.” Jay threw a quick glance downward towards Trigger, who had hushed his growling, but not his demeanor. All of Triggers teeth were exposed, and the faithful companion stood like a sprinter in the starter blocks, just waiting for the command to be loosed upon the incoming threat. Without looking back at the Commander or Conall, Jay asked, “Do I send him?”
“YOU HAVE FIVE-SECONDS BEFORE WE OPEN FIRE!” The Commander called out in a booming voice.
There was a second or two of silence, then out from the darkness a response came, “Stand down. I’m coming into the light. Do not, repeat, do not shoot me!” The voice slowly approached from the darkened corners of the night. The voice stood over six feet and a firm two hundred pounds. He was in full battle dress, from his boots all the way to his level III ballistic helmet, where some panoramic night vision goggles were attached. His hands, encased in tactical gloves, where held up high, as he continued to approach slowly. Though he still had his chest rig and thigh holster, he was missing his rifle and his sidearm. Finally, after getting close enough, he spoke up again, “My name is Lieutenant Preen, US Navy, SEAL Team 6. I was assigned to the USS Michigan when the lights when out. My self and a team of nine others were sent by Captain Hunley, to make contact with the Zion group.” He paused and nodded towards the Commander and Conall. “I assume you are the welcoming comity?”
“We are,” The Commander said hesitantly, weapon still drawing a beed on the man. “Why are you here though? We were to meet at Lake Tahoe.”
Lt. Preen shrugged his shoulders then spoke up, “Yeah, call me paranoid, old fashion or whatever. I didn’t like just sitting around and waiting. So my team and I figured we would keep going and find you.”
“So, ‘ow did you find us?” Conall asked, his weapon still raised. “It’s not like we on any highway.”
“Let's just say, we are good at what we do.” Lt. Preen said.
For the next moment or two, all involved just stood there, looking at each other, unsure who should say what. Finally, it was the Commander who spoke up first. “Alright,” He said slowly, as he started to lower his rifle. “Tell the rest of your team to come into the light, let's start with that, then we’ll go from there. Sound fair?”
Lt. Preen agreed, and turned slightly around, his hands still raised, “Everyone come in,” He then turned back around and kept his eyes on the Commander.
The Commander watched as one by one, more and more people stepped into the light, till finally, eight more men had joined Lt. Preen. “I thought you said you had nine more in your team?” he asked incredulously.
“I did,” Lt. Preen quickly replied, no concern in his voice.
“Well,” The Commander shot back, his hands once again tightening around his weapon. “Where’s your other man?”
Lt. Preen didn’t show much concern, just simply asked, “Where’s your other woman?”
It was at that moment that the Commander realized the Ariella had never returned. He shot a glance to Conall who just gave him a quizzical look. “Ariella, come into the light.”
There was a moment of silence, before Ariella spoke up, as she approached from behind Lt. Preen and the rest of his men, “You need to learn to tread a bit softer around here. I think you have spent to much time out on the water, forgot how to walk on land.”
Lt. Preen nodded in an agreement then spoke up, “Not bad. I honestly did not hear you get around behind us.”
“I showed you mine, the polite thing would be you to show me yours now,” The Commander quickly said.
“Fair enough,” Lt. Preen called out once again, “Digger, come into the light.” Finally, the tenth member of the team stepped into the light.
Digger approached directly behind Ariella, “She wasn’t that quite,” Digger said as he cradled his AI AX50 sniper rifle.
Ariella turned around to look at him, and without skipping a beat she replied, “Maybe I just like a big boy like you watching my six.” She gave the big man a wink before walking over next to the Commander and Conall.
She wasn’t exaggeration when she called Digger, a big boy. He was a wink under seven foot tall, two hundred and sixty pounds. Growing up in th
e inner part of Chicago, near the 6100 block of South Rockwell Avenue, it was almost an ironic notion that learning how to shoot saved his life. As a young black boy, being raised by his single mother and his grandmother, it was a mentor at the local Boys & Girls club, that first got him interested in joining the military, and escaping the meat grinder that was the streets of Chicago. Now as an SO1 and part of SEAL Team 6, all of that time he spent, after school at the Club, and especially the time spent with Mr. Larp proved to be the most critical in his life.
“Well now that we unzipped our pants and compared sizes, what do you say we get down to business?” Lt. Preen said. He reached into his right thigh pocket and pulled out a folded up sheet of paper, an ID card, and a patch. He extended his right hand, with all three within his grip.
“Jay, grab that and hand it to me,” The Commander said, keeping his eyes on the Lieutenant.
Jay, who was standing only a step away from Lt. Preen, inched his foot closer and reached out to grab ahold of the provided parchment and identifiers. Once they were safe in his hand he quickly made his way over to where the Commander and Conall were standing. The whole time, Trigger stayed closely adhered to his side. “Here ya go,” He said softly, as he tossed another glance over his shoulder towards the new group of visitors.
“Oy, I’ll take it mate,” Conall said as he reached out to grasp the paperwork from Jay’s hand. Once in possession, he unfolded the paper and verified that the codes. Before embarking on this meeting, both side agreed upon a set of code words, or in this case, question and answers. “Codes match,” Conall said before handing then paper over to the Commander. He then looked at the provided ID and patch. It as the military issued ID of Captain Hunley, the Skipper of the Michigan. Along with the ID, was the USS Michigan hat patch. After Conall looked over these, he handed them as well over to the Commander. At the same time, he noticeably relaxed.
The Commander looked at the provided goods, as he too relaxed his guard some before he returned his gaze towards Lt. Preen. “Welcome,” He said as he approached the Lieutenant and handed back the paper, ID, and patch. He rifles had been lowered and allowed to loosely hanging from its sling. Once the possession of the paper and ID’s were handed back, the Commander extended his right hand, “Welcome to the fight Lt.”
Lt. Preen gladly took the Commander's hand and quickly responded, “Glad to be in it finally.”
The Commander invited the ten new additions to come and sit down for a bit. Allowing them a chance to sit, take off their packs and get some much-needed food in their belly. He went around to each new man, shook their hand, asked them their names and tried to learn a little bit about each of them. This was one of the Commanders most vital talents and his biggest accessory to the team. Yes, he was a good trigger man, he was someone who stayed calm under immense pressure and always was able to find his way out of trouble. But it was his knowledge of people, making and remembering contacts was worth more than anything else he offered.
He could switch from a cold-blooded killer to everyone’s favorite drinking buddy in a matter of a second. His ability to appear as everyone’s best friend, allowed them to lower their guard and just talk. It was during the simple act of talking, that the biggest advantage could be gained. He knew that these new members of their team had been stuck on a nuclear sub, out in the Pacific Ocean since the beginning of the blackout and most likely had been out there for some time prior. He knew that each of them, was anxious just have someone new to talk to. To talk to someone who had been on land, and had been in the mix. He knew that they were tired of talking to one another, only able to speculate on what was happening. Now, finally, they were given a chance to find out, first hand, what was really going on. The Commander knew that it was during this process, when someone is so eager to learn information, that they are so willing to provide the most details in return. It would be these sort of intellectual nuggets, that he would store away, a piece here and a piece there, till finally he could complete the puzzle and get a truly accurate picture of everyone here.
After making his rounds, he made his way back over to Conall. “Call up the boss and let her know that we have made contact. We’ll be heading out at first light and hope to meet up with them in a few days.”
8 Miles to Go
Zion Camp Survivors, Location Unknown
The remaining survivors of Camp Zion, had been on the move for two days now, and it has been the same about of time since the Commander and his group made contact with those from the Michigan. During these past two days, there had been a nonstop flurry of communications. The Zion group had been in contact with the Commander and the ten-man unit from the Michigan, they had also been in contact with Captain Hunnely who was still aboard the Michigan, and then they had been contacted by a group coming out of the Hive. With all the different balls in the air and multiple lines of communication open, Ms. White felt it was critical to check in with Butch and come up with some sort of game plan.
Not wanting to slow things down, the Zion survivors, kept the pace swift and steady as they trekked along the meager path. Those who needed help were carried in one of the still functional vehicles, while others took turns riding. This allowed the those how had to walk, an opportunity to take a break from walking without having to stop the progression. Even still, they wouldn’t be able to keep this pace much longer. They were running low on fuel, and the dirt road they were on, had become more and more difficult to traverse. So to help extend the life of the fuel as much as they could, the kept the assortment of trucks and cars, creeping along, allowing them to only idle. This ensured two purposes, one it kept the group basically together, considering a good portion were still on foot, and two, by allowing the cars to only idle, instead of going at a higher rate of speed, allowed them to get the most economical usage out of the remaining fuel.
When they had left Camp Zion, during the mad rush amidst the battle, majority of those who left, did so inside vehicles. However, after pushing their worn down cars and trucks in a hasty scramble to get as far away from the Camp as posable, many used up the only bit of fuel they had stored within the tanks. Others suffered damage to the tires, axles or underbelly, due to the rugged terrain. Any vehicle that could no longer move, had any remaining fuel siphoned out, and any usable portion scavenged and reapplied to be used elsewhere. They were able to take nearly a hundred gallons of fuel, which were stored in Jerry Cans. Though they left nearly a thousand gallons back at the Camp. A costly mistake, as more and more people are having to walk next to the trucks and cars, instead of ride in them.
Ms. White patently walked next to one of the trucks, as she considered the teams next move. The sun was out, the clouds which had blanketed over the group, had seeming been pulled away late during the night. Now a pristine blue sky stretched out above, fresh white clouds marbled the heavily canopy above. Off in the distance, towards their destination, white-capped mountains reached heavenward, as their peaks attempted to stab the passing clouds. During all of her travels, she had spent very little time in Utah, in any of the states actually, considering the purview of the CIA operations, work within the US border was minimal at best. Even when she left the Company and started her own unit, she still found little work inside the Beehive State. Now as she walked along the backwoods red dirt trail, she couldn’t help but be amazed at what she saw. She looked about, at the majestic mountains, and the vast hills, that rolled up towards the mountains like waves crashing onto the beach. She was honestly taken back by the simplistic beauty of the landscape. Under different circumstances, she would consider this a wonderful day.
“What are you thinking?” Butch asked as he came up from behind to walk with Ms. White.
She looked over at Butch and gave a pleasant smile, “I’m thinking, if I survive all of this and if America survives all of this. I’m going to have to come back here for a little vacation. It really is beautiful.”
“It truly is Gods country, and if you do, there will always be a bed under my roof an
d food on my table for you,” Butch answered back with a smile.
“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Ms. White answered back. She leaned over and gave Butch a slight hug. She then righted her self and asked, “So, first off, how is everyone doing?”
The peaceful and pleasant smile that had resided upon Butch’s face, was quickly washed away as he contemplated the answer to that question. “Well, I just made my rounds. For the most part, everyone is holding together. Those who are wounded or sickly are being taken care of by your man AJ and the Doc. They are doing fine work. Those who are walking, are starting to feel the wear of pace of our trek. They are not complaining mind you,” Butch quickly added as he looked over towards Ms. White. “However, they are not trained for this. Many of them came to Camp Zion during the early days of the blackout or during the Fox Wars. They have spent their days living in the Camp in relative peace,” he paused as he casted a glance over his shoulder at those walking behind him. “So a forced hike like this, well.” His final word dragged out, stretched in an attempt to fill in for words left unspoken.
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