by John O'Brien
“How many are there?” I ask.
“That’s hard to say, as some don’t appear to have been updated in a while. Most of the ones indicated in this notebook are situated in the western part of the country,” Harold replies.
“So there are some overseas, then?” Lynn asks.
“Well, not many it seems.”
“Do these give an indication of what is going on elsewhere?” I ask.
“Yeah. Keep in mind, though, that I’ve only brushed the surface of all of this. But, from what I’ve read so far, it’s not a pretty picture. Europe is mostly gone. According to the notebook, there are a few camps still in existence near the Mediterranean, but they don’t have many people in them. And what they do have seems to be dwindling. The notes indicate that large parts of Europe and Asia are covered in a radiation cloud. Basically, most of Europe and Asia are wastelands, or soon will be,” Harold says.
“Is that going to reach the West Coast?” I question.
“I looked into what they have regarding that and, from all appearances, we’ll see an increase in radiation levels along the seaboard…but nothing lethal. They were monitoring that. Apparently, they intended to bring the reactors online as one of their first steps but, as you well know, they didn’t get that chance. The numerous reactors worldwide have either gone critical, or will shortly.”
“You mentioned survivors in the western part of the country. What about the eastern half?”
“I’m afraid it’s the same as most of the rest of the world. There are a few groups, but they are in the same shape. Their population numbers are shrinking. And,” Harold says, forestalling a question I was forming, “it doesn’t appear that we can do anything about them. The radiation levels are too high. Even if we could go in and get them, there’s nothing we could do except watch them die. Many of those indicated in the notebook have vanished altogether.”
“Okay, so what about the rest of the world?” I ask.
“I mentioned a few groups around the Med but that’s a no-go for the same radiation reasons. There are apparently some nomadic tribes in northeastern Africa, but they were only identified and not updated. Perhaps they didn’t think them a threat. There are some indications of encampments along the western coast of Africa and a few in the interior. The areas surrounding the Indian Ocean are gone, along with Japan. Most of the cities, irradiated or not, have very few, if any survivors. There is apparently some still living in parts of the South Pacific Islands, but those appear to be mostly native tribes. There are, though, some small settlements scattered throughout them. Australia, with only a few places that people could escape to in the interior, is mostly gone. According to the notes, there are some living in the countryside along parts of the eastern Australian seaboard and for a short distance inland,” Harold briefs, referring frequently to files and notebooks stacked on the desk.
Punching a few keys, Harold directs my attention to the large screen at the front. The image slowly resolves itself into a map of Northern America with an overlay of thermal images. Most of the map shows in blue, indicating little to no heat. However, across the eastern half of the US, dozens of orange, yellow, and white glowing locations appear.
“These are the hot spots from nuclear reactors in various stages of meltdown. From the looks of things, most of them have had their fuel rods evaporate the cooling ponds and are generating a tremendous amount of heat, throwing off radiation plumes. The winds are generally carrying those eastward. I pulled up several visual images which show that many of the plants have had explosions, more than likely from a buildup of gasses,” Harold briefs.
The image dissolves and is replaced by a world map. Besides the eastern seaboard of the US, Europe is one big, glowing location with whites, yellows, and oranges mixing together in a swirl. That continues, although slightly abated, through the western half of Asia. The eastern part of India shows a few spots as does the eastern regions of China. Japan has disappeared and can only be identified by glowing ovals.
Staring at the screen, shocked by what I’m seeing, it becomes readily apparent that vast tracts of the world are uninhabitable. I feel for those survivors caught in the swirling radiation plumes.
The screen changes. Harold briefs that I am now looking at an overlay of radiation levels. Red covers the areas where the nuclear reactors are, or were, and stretches in a generally eastward flow. The entire continent of Europe is red and only changes to a yellow near the central part of Asia; plumes from the reactors coating the continents. Red streams out of Japan and drifts east, fading as it crosses the Pacific.
“How long will it be like this?” I ask.
“I don’t really know. Possibly for hundreds of years,” Harold answers.
“What are the chances that it will reach here in dangerous levels?”
“They were monitoring that and the reports indicate that it won’t reach here in harmful levels. It would be a good idea to keep checking with the Geiger counters, though, for as long as they’ll last. We’ll lose this satellite coverage in a few months,” Harold replies.
“Can we designate new passes with the satellites to update the information?” I ask, still stunned by the images.
“That’s possible but, according to the technicians, there’s not a lot of fuel remaining to keep the satellites in orbit. We have, at best, a couple of months if we don’t task them too heavily. While the electronics onboard are solar-powered, the fuel that keeps them in orbit is running out. After that depletes, their orbits will decay and they’ll burn up in the atmosphere, the remaining pieces falling to earth. There is one keyhole satellite parked above our compound that they were using to keep tabs on us.”
“Can we use that one to locate the night runner lairs and keep track of their movements?” I ask, sitting up straighter.
“Yes. We should be able to. We may not get much aside from the information we gathered from the AC-130 video, but we can use it to monitor them,” Harold answers.
“Can you set up a relay from this site to ours?”
“I can, but it will take some work. However, there’s no way I will have the capabilities that I would here,” Harold replies with a questioning look.
“We’ll talk about that later,” I say, the idea running through my mind. “Speaking of night runners, did they do any tracking of them?”
“It looks like there was some attempt to catalogue them, but it’s incomplete. It looks like they gave up after only a few cities. There are indications that the night runners are suffering the same fate as some of the identified camps in the radiated zones. They are dying along with the survivors.”
“Okay, I know you haven’t had a lot of time to study it, but now for the million dollar question. Why didn’t they use the system to activate the nanobots? Is it that they didn’t need to because everyone was already dead or changed into night runners?” I inquire.
“Well, here’s the thing. Aside from the fact that their plans went awry with the appearance of the night runners, from the logs I’ve read and from questioning the technicians, it appears that they’ve lost communication with the satellite that was to trigger them. I mean, they lost the ability to transmit the instructions. They are still receiving telemetry data, but here’s the kicker, Jack. According to all that I’ve managed to read so far, the night runners may still have those things floating around in their heads.”
“Wait, do you mean that the night runners may have the nanobots still active inside of them?” Lynn asks, incredulous.
“According to this, yes. Although, the percentages of those having them would be the same. The bots were administered in two-thirds of the vaccines. Remember, the vaccine was the cause of the night runners, not the bots,” Harold states.
A dawning light rises inside of me. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, with a flick of the switch, we could get rid of two-thirds of the night runners?”
“That’s what I’m saying. It’s theoretically possible. However, we can’t communicate with the satellite.
The technicians state that they’ve been working on it since they arrived. It has been their number one priority but, to date, they haven’t been able to transmit to it,” Harold responds.
“Work on it. There hasn’t ever been anything more important in all of your life.”
Epilogue
The three boats set a course for Bangor. Santa Fe is in the vanguard to provide for security to the front with the Maine behind and the Jefferson City trailing. This will give the greatest area of coverage to hear anything with the passive sonar and provide for security. If they are approached from any direction, one of the boats will be able to pick it up while the others maneuver silently for an optimal firing position. They have a ways to go to reach the port but are traveling slowly and quietly. Finding each other has made each of the captains well aware that there still might be others hiding in the depths.
Leonard stands in the control room contemplating the events of the past few weeks. He knows he isn’t the same person that surfaced outside the San Juan Strait seemingly so long ago. The world is a much different place within which he and the crew have to adapt if they are to survive.
The mood within is solemn as they make their way quietly under the surface. Some had families that may have been aboard the drifting ships of the fleet. Leonard knows that others are holding onto the slim hope that their loved ones escaped the horror and made their way inland. While not promoting that hope, Leonard isn’t discouraging it either. Their brief times ashore have shown that there are some who have managed to survive but the odds are very slim. And those odds decrease with each passing day. If they can refit and contact Walker, they may be able to find out if any are still alive.
“Sir, transient noise, bearing 255 degrees,” the sonarman calls.
“What it is?” Leonard asks, making his way to the small room.
The sailor listens intently on his headphones for a moment. “Sir, it sounds like an Alpha Class sub, two thousand yards. I’ve designated it as contact Hotel One. It’s running quiet, but not quiet enough.”
“Bearing and distance changes?” Leonard inquires.
“Bearing and distance is remaining constant. I’d say they’re shadowing us, sir.”
“All stop. Steer 060 degrees. Run silent. We’ll drift out of the Maine’s path so they won’t run into our tail. It’s obvious the Alpha has heard us, but they may not know about the others. Lock in a firing solution and ready all tubes. Standby with the counter measures,” Leonard orders.
With the threat, the crew comes out of their stupor. Quietly and efficiently, they ready the boat according to Leonard’s orders. Leonard hopes that the boat going silent will alert Maine and Jefferson City that something is amiss and that they will be able to locate the Alpha just a little more than a mile away.
“What are they doing?” Leonard quietly asks the sonarman.
“They’ve gone silent as well, sir.”
The Santa Fe continues to drift on its new heading. All sounds from the Maine vanish as well. Leonard trusts that they heard the Alpha and that the Jefferson City, taking the hint from them, is maneuvering for an advantageous position. Looking to the sonar compartment, Leonard notes the sailor shake his head indicating that he hasn’t heard anything further. More than likely, there are four boats in close proximity, all drifting or maneuvering silently. With that many in the same area, the chance of a collision is magnified exponentially. Giving the other subs time to get into position, knowing the Maine will be at a huge disadvantage should the shooting start, Leonard issues an order to break the stalemate.
“Give a single active ping on my mark. Be ready with the counter measures, a snap shot, and to dive deep. Only fire on my command. Ready, mark.”
Far from shore, the sonar blasts through the salt water.
* * * * * *
Squatting inside of the tree line, Michael senses the other leaders cautiously approaching. They seem wary of his call but it could be that they are just being guarded because of the danger from the sky. Michael feels eagerness emanating from the pack members he brought with him as the scents of prey reaches them. The woods smell of food and Michael has to periodically send images to his pack lest they run off to hunt. The scents stir Michael’s own excitement and the urge to race after the prey but there are more important things to do. He may get the chance later but, for now, he waits for the others to close on him.
Watching the open fields between him and the abandoned two-legged lairs lying a short distance away, with one eye on the sky above, Michael sees several of the leaders emerge from the sides of the buildings and come to a stop. They eye each other as much as they do the night sky. Sending an image of welcome to them, Michael sees them turn in his direction and lope across the field with their packs following.
He feels their hesitation as they close, stopping a few paces away. After all, Michael didn’t give a reason for bringing them together, he just sent the call. Looking to the dark sky, he sends for them to get out of the open and into the trees. They can choose to keep their packs with them or send them on a hunt, but the open areas hold danger.
The leaders send images of agreement, having felt the loss of many of their own in the previous nights. They move farther into the trees to stay out of sight and find a place where they squat in a circle. Michael feels the strong presence of the others but he holds the advantage over them. If he wills it, they will follow him but he would have to keep a continual eye on them. The memory surfaces of the trouble he had with Sandra. He’d rather they follow because they have the same goal and not because he wills it. If he has to, he will but he’ll try convincing them first. One way or the other though, the two-leggeds must go.
Michael points to his chest and verbally says, “Michael,” introducing himself. His voice croaks from the lack of use with that form of communication.
Several of the gathered leaders look at him, startled. They can understand what he said, but it’s still foreign to them, with them having a different form of communication. Some even rise as if to flee but settle back almost immediately, recognizing that they too can do the same. Michael sees expressions of recognition from some of the leaders. Others look at him quizzically, not having understood the sound he made. Michael only stated his name verbally to see where the others stood with regards to their abilities and to assert a form of dominance. He can do something they can’t, or at least something they didn’t know they had the power to do.
Sending a mental image, Michael introduces himself and the others respond in kind, settling into the situation more, and becoming relaxed. Not really knowing what small talk is, Michael sends images of the two-legged danger facing their kind. Sending images of the lair which Michael and his pack vacated just prior to being hit, he shows the demolished structure to demonstrate just how dangerous the two-legged are and their capability of destruction. In addition, he shows them his images of when he followed the two-legged in Sandra’s lair, how they could sneak inside without being heard or smelled.
“I understand what you say, but these two-legged haven’t been seen in a long time. Their blood and flesh was tasty and yes, they were dangerous, but they’re gone,” one of the leaders sends.
“They aren’t gone. There is a large lair of them still which endangers all of us,” Michael retorts.
“What does that have to do with anything? If they are in their lair, they cannot hurt us. We will hunt them like any of the others,” another says.
Michael sends an image of the two-leggeds’ lair. “You won’t be able to hunt them in their lair. You won’t be able to get to them.”
“Then what danger are they if they stay in their lair?”
Michael, playing his card, sends an image of the fire that rains from the night sky and kills many of their packs when they are out on the hunt. The others shy away from the image as if it were actually above them, with many looking up through the branches arching overhead.
“The rain of death is from the two-leggeds.”
Silenc
e folds around their circle as the leaders take in this information, slowly recovering from their fear. Michael has purposely shut himself down to a large degree so that their ‘conversation’ can’t be heard by the other pack members squatting in the woods.
“How can you be sure this is from the two-leggeds?”
“I just am,” Michael replies.
“We cannot fight this thing in the sky. Why have you called us?”
“We can attack their lair,” Michael states.
“You said we cannot do such a thing. You said we won’t be able to get to them. So what are you saying?” another leader asks.
Michael sends them images of when he helped some of his current pack members over the high wall when they couldn’t get out. “We can do the same to their walls.”
“If it is that easy, why haven’t you and your pack done it? We have felt your numbers. Surely you aren’t afraid with so many?”
“There are many of the two-leggeds, and you know how tough they are to bring down. These are even stronger,” Michael says, showing more images of his encounters.
“We will lose many if we try that.”
“We will lose more if we don’t. If we are to survive, the two-leggeds must go,” Michael says, sending another image of the rain of death and packs vanishing under its onslaught. “The night death will kill us all.”
“Perhaps we will just move then.”
“Where will you go? You are already moving because of food. You have felt the packs and know that they are everywhere. How much time until food runs out?” Michael gives them an image of the countryside around. “Where will you hide from the killing ball of light? There is nothing past here that will shelter you.”
The pictures Michael presents cause a stir and then long moments of silence. They sense the truth in the images. Michael senses their amazement that there is anything other than what they’ve seen; that there is such a thing as large open areas without shelter. Coming on the heels of their amazement is fear. If they are to hunt in this new area, and with nowhere else to go, they will have to face the night rain and the decimation of the packs.