by John O'Brien
I hear Robert running through the systems checks and I set the repeater scope up front to mimic the IR scope. The ground shows up with differing degrees of grays and blacks. Anything white will indicate something quite warm and most likely indicate the small, moving forms of night runners afoot under us. So far, I don’t see anything moving but the sun hasn’t yet set below the western rim. It’s just the heavy drone of the four engines and the white of the clouds outside streaming by the windows. We have darkened the cockpit so I can only observe the white wisps close by. I have to admit I am happy to be in the cockpit again; the day’s events lost for the moment. I set a course for the first of the buildings we chose earlier. We might as well get an early start on our evening’s work.
Robert sets our first target and I begin an orbit. He clears the 105mm howitzer to fire. I glance at the repeater scope and watch the targeted building disappear in a flash of light. Smoke and debris rocket up and outward from the impact. Craig X’s the target off the map as Robert sets up the next one. The sky outside turns a darker shade of gray and then goes black as night folds upon us. Our evening has begun in earnest.
We begin to circle over another strip mall a couple of miles to the southeast of Cabelas when our repeater screen shows white on the edges. It zooms out and is filled by small white objects filling the streets and scattering in all directions. There are hordes of them, to the point that I can’t even begin to guess how many. One moment there was nothing and then enough to turn the screen almost a solid white to the side. I’m taken aback by the vast numbers.
“Robert?” I say over the intercom.
“I see ‘em. Engaging,” he responds.
I bank and head toward the center of the mass spreading out in all directions. The count on the screen has way passed the hundreds mark and more into the many thousands. I knew the math of how many night runners must be in the area from the CDC statistics and the previous population, but seeing a horde like this fills me with a very deep dread. A hypothetical number in your head and seeing the actual visual representation are two very different things. Looking at the screen zoom in as we head toward the scattering night runners, I wonder how we managed to stay alive this long. We’ve never encountered packs in these numbers anywhere. I’m guessing they must have gathered together recently and am thankful we didn’t venture in a lair of this size. If we managed to get deep inside a building housing this many night runners, it would be over before it started.
Could our leveling the place have caused them to bunch together like this or is there some other reason? Is this one of the instances where we have triggered an adaptation on their part? These thoughts run through my head as the white mass becomes individual forms and smaller packs as they run farther into the night.
“Are we recording this?” I ask Robert.
“Yeah, Dad, I have the recorders on,” he answers.
“Good. Frank is going to want to see this,” I say.
Robert sets up on a large pack as we drift over their position. He marks them and I start to orbit. Tracers stream downward into their midst. Their running forms, white on the screen, elongate as they fall to the street. Streaks from ricochets peel off into the night and impact the surrounding buildings. Only a couple make it through the devastation and disappear into a side structure. Robert swiftly locates and marks another target. This is definitely what you would call a target rich environment.
The next pack selected is even larger than the last one and more spread out. Seeing that, Robert opts for the 40mm auto-cannon. I feel the solid thuds of the rounds departing. Flashes appear on the ground in the midst of the fleeing figures and walks through them leaving torn bodies in the wake. The once almost solid white screen clears seemingly in an instant as if a switch were thrown. I cast out for any signal but only receive fuzzy images. I’m guessing it must be the distance although I’ve been able to ‘see’ night runners from greater distances at times. I just don’t get this and wish I knew more about how to use it. I wonder if that is even possible. It seems to be a hit or miss type of thing. Is it me or do the night runners experience this as well? I think watching the white figures on the screen disperse and vanish.
“Did you mark the buildings they vanished into?” I ask Robert as I level the aircraft out.
“I marked a few but it seems they went into whatever buildings were the closest,” he answers.
“Okay, let’s target all of the buildings in the area making sure we keep away from any of the structures Frank marked,” I say.
“Way ahead of you,” Robert says as he call out and targets one of the building nearby.
We begin systematically taking on the surrounding structures with the 105mm. One by one, buildings are turned into rubble. In several instances, we observe night runners emerge from the structures once the first shells hit. We quickly set up the gatling gun and take them down when we can. In some instances, night runners exit the adjacent buildings we are shelling or even ones farther away. They don’t stay in the open long enough for us to engage them directly but we mark the buildings. I would like to hit their lair but it was impossible to see which one they emerged from.
Over time, I notice a certain trend, and that is that we are pushing them farther to the southeast and away from our compound; our sanctuary that I feel we are only holding onto by our fingernails. Seeing this many night runners, thousands upon thousands of them, strengthens this feeling that we are barely holding on. However, we continue pushing them out. The more area we can clear, the better I feel about our chances.
We continue to hammer away at the structures in the area where the night runners vanished. They aren’t the buildings we designated for the night but the emergence of the night runners changed any plans we had. A small thought creeps into my tired mind wondering what adaptations the night runners will possible make of this slaughter. We drone through the night, periodically venturing back to McChord to shoot approaches verifying that the weather isn’t closing in on us. It wouldn’t do to have a night like this only to pile it in on landing. Of course, there is never a good time to pile it in. That will be avoidance number one. Setting up orbit after orbit, we reduce building after building into rubble until we expend our 105mm ammo. We then patrol farther out looking for any night runner packs that are on the prowl. Finding none in the Olympia area, we head north to scout the areas around the bases. Nothing. It’s as if the night runners, which once dominated our screens, disappeared from the night. Overall, I feel good about our night’s work as I set up for our approach into McChord and land. After reporting into the compound, we seal up the Spooky and try to grab some shuteye.
* * * * * *
Michael rises with the coming of the night. The lair he found for the packs is serving them well. It is a little cramped with all that have responded to his call but it provides warmth from the chill of the days that seem to be coming with more regularity. The pack has grown so much that he’s had to find lairs for some of them in the outlying buildings. Tonight, he will scatter the packs in all directions but with the warning not to venture close to the two-legged lair. He needs to find prime hunting grounds to feed so many. More have joined and it’s important they find enough food. He’ll stay in communication with them throughout the night in order to ascertain the best places to find food. Some he will send into the surrounding buildings to find the alternate food source he found a while ago. That will hopefully provide during in lean times.
He exits on the tail of the others as they lope off into the night. They crowd the doors as they try to leave at once but eventually they all manage to depart. The sound of so many feet pounding on the hard surface rebounds off the surrounding buildings like a roar, eventually fading as they disperse. As the sound dwindles, he sees a flash of light off into the distance that illuminates the buildings, casting them into silhouettes. Immediately following is the sharp crack of an explosion, muted by the distance. He freezes in his tracks. He remembers the same sounds on another night when he felt the
loss of several packs and decided to call the remaining ones together.
With a large pack surrounding him on the grounds of the lair, he listens. Before long, he hears a droning in the sky drawing closer. Looking up, he sees the clouds hanging low. The moisture he felt falling from them several times before is lacking. Perhaps their closeness will allow him to see what it is in the sky that makes such sounds and has decimated their numbers. He’s not sure he wants to see it, but if he does, maybe he can find a way to avoid it, or at least understand it better.
The droning increases in volume but he can’t see anything as yet. Becoming nervous, he draws back closer to the lair ready to issue a warning to the packs. Suddenly, from out of the nearby clouds, Michael witnesses a stream of fire erupt and pour down toward the ground. His mind is suddenly filled with the agony from several pack members and they vanish from his thoughts. It’s back, he thinks and sends a warning for everyone to get out of the streets and into cover. The droning moves more to his right and more streaks of light appear. With them, more of his pack disappears. Off to the side, he sees Sandra running toward him with her large pack in tow. Giving him a glance that he doesn’t understand, she runs past him and into the lair. With a last look at the overcast sky still spitting fire toward the ground, he turns and follows her in with those around him entering on his heels.
Without being able to see the streaks from inside, he still feels more packs leave his thoughts. They are being wiped out. Several loud explosions begin which shake the floor he is standing on. He feels the panic of the packs remaining as they lie huddled in various structures. With each ground-shaking boom, more members vanish. He knows that thousands of his kind still live but they are disappearing pack by pack. He thinks of sending them out into the night to flee whatever is above them unleashing this devastation but knows that will be sending them to their death. There is no right answer.
He senses the terror overcome some of the packs and they leave the buildings. They are almost immediately overcome which essentially verifies that the right decision is to stay indoors. Surely they can’t destroy every building in the area. They just have to weather the night. They may have to move farther from the two-legged lair as he is certain they are the ones responsible for this. With the decimation of the packs, his fear turns to anger. He will figure out a way to end this. For now, it may mean venturing much farther away and finding a new lair. He hates to abandon this one but they were set upon almost immediately and he knows there is no way they can sustain this for many nights. It’s not only the loss of their numbers, but also the lost evening of finding food. Those that do make it through the night will go hungry. Yes, the answer lies in getting farther away until he figures out a way to take out the two-legged ones. They will pay for this.
He senses Sandra draw close and feels anger and disgust emanating from her. He knows this is, like his own anger, derived from fear. He knows of her protectiveness of her young one but there is something else lying just below the surface that he can’t figure out. No, his trust of her isn’t anywhere remotely complete. He needs her and her pack though. He wants them to be part of a larger essence and hopes that trust eventually comes.
“We need to do something about this,” Sandra says using the vocal speech.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he replies, answering in the same vocal communication. The others standing nearby back away, sensing their anger and giving them room. Soon, he and Sandra are standing alone near the exit doors.
“We are being destroyed. We need to attack the two-legged ones,” she says, ignoring his reply. They both feel the floor shake as another explosion in the near distance signals the loss of more of their kind.
“Like I said before, we can’t fight what we can’t see or get into. What we need to do is pull farther back before we lose the pack. We need to find suitable hunting grounds and a lair that is safe. Only then can we regroup and find a way to destroy the two-legged ones,” he responds.
“No. We are losing more of the packs and the longer we wait, the more we’ll lose. We must find a way in and kill them,” she says.
She says this knowing full well that she intends only to capture the female she saw with the one two-legged one. The yearning for him remains strong. She isn’t certain why she has this feeling, only that she does. It is enough to override all but her most basic instincts, including the need to protect the young one inside her. Sandra will use the female to lure him close and then capture him. She has no idea what she will do with him but thinks by capturing him, that he will become hers. This urge is so strong she is surprised but vanquishes any questions she has about her feelings or motivations.
“I said no. We must do everything to keep the pack united and preserved. And that will be achieved by getting farther away. We will find a new hunting ground. We are being wiped out here so we must leave soon. Tonight if we can,” he says.
Sandra emits a low growl of displeasure. “Yes, we are being killed here and that will continue. That is precisely the reason we need to attack.”
Michael rounds on her and emits a low, dangerous growl of his own. With child or not, she is threatening his leadership, and that, he will not tolerate.
“How?” He says calmly and quietly but with and underlying menace. “How do you plan to attack something you can’t see and is out of reach? How do you plan to attack something you can’t get into? You’ve seen the high walls. How are you going to get over them without annihilating what remains of us?” He asks.
His question is punctuated by another loud explosion. More pack members vanish from the ranks. He hopes that their lair won’t be the recipient of whatever is causing those explosions.
Sandra feels at a loss for an answer to his question. She knows there has to be a way in but can’t think of one at the moment. Her thought was to launch pack after pack at the wall and hope they could gain entrance by building a wall of bodies to climb over. This ‘plan’ has invaded her thoughts from time to time but she doesn’t have enough in her own pack to accomplish this. The loss of one of her pack members to that explosion near the walls makes her hesitate as well. Her head had ached all of the next day. Knowing she will eventually find a way in, she grunts in agreement with Michael. For now, she thinks. In the meantime, she will wait and watch.
The blasts tearing the night apart eventually cease. Michael is hesitant about going out wondering if it’s a trap and fearful lest the thing in the sky returns. He cautiously steps outside. The droning that was once prevalent in the night sky is gone leaving only the aftermath of the hours of explosions ringing in his ears. Many have survived the night, more than he had hoped. Many more. But many died this night as well. They must move while they have the chance. He waits for several moments before issuing the call for the survivors to gather.
As the packs lope through the night returning to the lair, the thought occurs to Michael that they could gather more food than they are able to eat on certain nights and store it for the times when they have to hole up. That way, they won’t go hungry if they are unable to hunt for some reason. He knows that the prey they chase down spoils easily so maybe he could send packs out to gather some of the alternate food to store at the lair. Yes, he will see to that on subsequent nights. Tonight, they will journey farther away and find another lair. They will be hungry, but tomorrow night, they will be out on the hunt again.
* * * * * *
Alan wakes and finds himself standing on the first floor of the compound that took him in a while ago. For a moment, he is confused and not sure how he arrived here. This isn’t the first time he’s suddenly found himself away from his small cubicle in the middle of the night. Many other nights have been ones full of nightmares in which he wakes drenched in sweat and wondering where the strange visions came from. His dreams have been filled with images of running endlessly through the night and ghastly moments of tearing into the bloody bowels of living people. His terror-filled nightmares end with him suddenly bolting upright and shivering uncon
trollably. His blankets are crumpled and lying on the floor, his pillow soaked from night sweats.
Other nights have ended just like this one, waking in some part of the building confused and disoriented. In a way, this is better. He isn’t stuck with the sickening images. On nights like this one, he has the distinct impression he was on his way out and doesn’t know why, only that there is that definite pull to do so. That is the one thing that fills him with dread. What if he didn’t wake? Well, the walls actually protect the immediate grounds so he would be safe but why the hell does he feel the desire to be out?
With the disoriented feeling fading, he makes his way back toward the escalator and his cot. The people here have treated him well since finding him outside of the gates. The memory of that day resurfaces and he relives those terror-filled moments when fleeing from those shrieking creatures in that dark building. The others here filled him in on the changes in the world. Those still seem like a fairy-tale story but waking in that dark room with the overpowering, musky odor of sweat and unwashed bodies lying next to him… his inability to see clearly but fleeing from those pounding footsteps and ungodly shrieks… launching into the daylight only to find himself alone. Night runners the ones here call them. And they tell him that they believe he might have been one of them. That’s the part that seems so far-fetched.
Waking the few times downstairs, like he did tonight, reminds him of waking in that room. For the first few seconds when he does, he thinks he’s back in that place. Fear fills him and he feels that he must flee. He hopes time eases his dreams and he finds a time when he doesn’t wake in a different place. Lying back on his cot, he hopes the dreams don’t return and that he can actually get some sleep. The one thing more frightening than the images of his dreams is that, on waking, he has the sensation that he actually enjoyed the experience within his dreams; he hates the thrill he remembers feeling.