by John O'Brien
The first missile flew down the river, passing over the bridge connecting Yorktown and Gloucester Point, before it made a wide sweeping turn over the dense woodlands. It passed over the numerous underground bunkers of the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station; its home not that long ago. Lining up on its programmed target run, it passed its brother flying down the river, following its path.
* * * * * *
Grieves exchanged his empty mag for a fresh one, slamming it home and hitting the bolt release. They had kept the entering reapers at bay so far, but he wasn’t sure how much longer they could sustain their current rate of fire. He’d burned through two magazines, leaving the one he had just loaded and one other in his pocket. That was it. Once they were gone, he wouldn’t have any way to stem the relentless tide. After that, it would be up to his and the rest of the team’s legs to get them away. He harbored no illusions that it would be but a short chase. Most likely, they’d be taken down before reaching the far exit.
Above the screams, he heard a muted high-pitched roaring sound that sailed past outside; one second there and the next fading. He’d been on dozens of operations and knew that sound intimately.
“Down!” he screamed. “But, keep firing!”
A series of explosions and metallic pings echoed within the large structure. The door to Grieves’s front disintegrated from large holes being punched through it. Several bodies sailed through the large ones and slid across the smooth concrete floor. Although it was still difficult to make out the individual reapers inside, they could be seen more clearly as dark bodies against the background of sunlight.
Screams still made their way inside, but they were greatly diminished. There were several inside, but gunfire took them down. Grieves fired bursts at the silhouetted figures, watching from his prone position as they fell to the ground. Another roar from outside grew louder, then faded.
“Keep your heads down. Another one is inbound,” he yelled.
Grieves was better able to see the explosions as they marched in front of the entrance; appearing on one side and continuing across the exterior ramp. The reapers that were visible disappeared amid flashes of orange fire and clouds of black smoke. The eruptions formed a continuous roar; then, just as suddenly as they arrived, the explosions stopped.
The five men continued firing from their prone positions, taking out the few reapers who had made their way inside. Grieves observed several crawling toward him at eye level. Rising to his knees, mindful that there could be another cruise missile on its way, he sent shots into the injured causing their bodies to slump and the misty clouds to evaporate above them. With adrenaline coursing through his body, he searched for additional targets, looking down the length of the warehouse and along the sides. The other four men had their heads on swivels, the barrels of their M-4s moving jerkily from side to side.
“Is that…Is that it?” one asked.
Although his ears were ringing from the explosions, continual screams, and proximity gunfire, Grieves listened for more shrieks. A few weak, muted ones came from outside, but not like it had been.
“I hope so. I’m down to my last mag,” Grieves commented.
“Me too,” others replied.
“Okay. We’re going to carefully head toward the entrance. If you see white near any of the bodies, shoot it. If any of them are moving, shoot them. Watch to the sides and rear. We finish off the wounded and any reapers who made it through. Once we’re outside, watch your step; there may be unexploded ordinance. It would suck to make it through this mess only to go up because we were too hasty,” Grieves stated.
As they walked, a few desultory shots rang out, diminishing the small number of shrieks. Pools of blood had gathered on the floor, streams of the thick red liquid oozing toward the drains set in the concrete. At the entrance, Grieves peered out through the ruined mess of the door. Bloody and blackened bodies were clumped everywhere, some torn apart. Blood mixed with charred skin and seeped out of deep gouges and cuts or from the ends of severed limbs.
The entire ramp and perimeter road was covered with bloodied scraps of clothing covering charred and ruined bodies. Wisps of smoke streamed upward from many of the bodies, making it difficult to tell if they had apparitions attached or not. In several places, reapers struggled to crawl across the torn-up ground. Single well-placed rounds ceased their struggle, the bodies slumping to the ground. Chunks of concrete had been ripped from the ramp; the RV and car across the road were both burning hulks of metal, black smoke billowing skyward. Bullets were also fired into bodies with smoke rising from burned clothing. A hushed quiet settled over the area, the only sound the crackle of the burning vehicles.
The five men stood in silence, mute at the destruction they’d lived through. Grieves looked up and down the perimeter road, searching for any sign of more reapers on their way. Nothing moved. Stepping carefully, he looked down the length of the warehouse on both sides to find the same. The smell of smoke, gunpowder, and torn bowels enveloped their tiny plot of land.
Grieves looked over the area, in particular searching for the team member who fled. The burning RV and number of dead reapers didn’t give him much hope that he made it. If he had survived, then it was only because he’d kept running and made it to the beach and then out into the river. If their raft was there, then that hope would fade.
“Sir, don’t you think we should be getting back to the boat before more show up?” one sailor inquired.
“I don’t know. That was kind of fun, don’t you think?” Grieves responded.
“No, sir, I do not think that was fun at all.”
As much as he’d like to have searched through the bodies for the missing member of his team, the man was right. They needed to get back to the Washington. They slowly walked their route back to the beach, giving as wide a berth to the churned ground as they could. Not only did they want to avoid stepping on the torn bodies, or come close to a reaper who may still be alive, but there was always the chance that not all of the cluster munitions had exploded.
The raft was still in place when they reached the beach, but the sub was nowhere to be seen
“What the hell? Where do you think they went, sir?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m sure they’re still close by…possibly submerged,” Grieves answered.
“They’d better be, or I’ll personally swim the world’s waterways and beat the shit out of…”
The man stopped his diatribe after seeing the glare from Grieves.
“I mean, I just hope they’re here,” the sailor finished.
“There, sir,” another said, pointing.
A white light flashed from the middle of the river. Pulling out a signal mirror, Grieves returned the signal. A dark conning tower rose into view as if by magic, then the hull; a sleek beast emerging from the depths.
* * * * * *
After reuniting with the shore team, a discussion led Lawrence to send teams ashore to verify that the annex was clear of reapers. If it weren’t for their need for food, and that sooner rather than later, he would just sail down the river and out to sea. However, he left orders for the shore team to hastily return at the first scream, no matter how far away it might be. There weren’t any, the cruise missiles and cluster munitions having done their job admirably well. A search for the missing crewman didn’t turn up anything, but several sets of bones were found in the RV after the intense fire died out.
Other dead bodies were found outside of those destroyed by the cruise missiles. They were thin, their faces gaunt, and nowhere did they find any sign of the catatonic ones. This led Lawrence to the conclusion that those had succumbed to dehydration, but their bodies had been torn into with human teeth marks surrounding the injuries. The wounds coupled with the lack of blood led him to believe that the mutilations occurred after they were already dead.
The warehouses proved a treasure trove of nonperishables, canned food, and MREs. The Washington was pulled up and parked along the pier, ready to cast off and get under way
at the first sign of trouble. Working in teams, with some on watch and others hoisting goods aboard, they filled every available empty space with food—enough for months.
With the sun low on the horizon, the Washington cast off and made its way downriver. Lawrence stood atop the bridge with Grieves, watching the dying rays as they cast their golden radiance across the trees on both sides of the river.
“Quite a day, huh?” Lawrence stated.
“Yeah, it’s been one for the books,” Grieves responded.
“We’ll need to take care bringing the sub close ashore. One reaper damn near finished us.”
“A whole bunch of them wasn’t very much fun, either.”
“What do you think about the theory that the mindless ones died from dehydration and that the reapers were eating them?”
“Until we see it, there’s no way we can be entirely sure. But, I think it’s a safe assumption, sir,” Grieves replied.
“Do you think there’s any way to keep the reapers from the annex in case we need to use it again?” Lawrence asked.
“No, sir. I don’t think it’s possible to block the reapers from anywhere.”
* * * * * *
Off the coast of Virginia, Lawrence stood atop the bridge. Moonlight glimmered on the soft, rolling swells and off the superstructures of the vessels anchored outside the bay’s entrance. He gazed toward shore with eyes gritty from lack of sleep. There wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere. After the day’s events and what he’d observed, he’d given up hope of finding anyone alive. The reapers seemed to have taken over. And with that, he knew his priorities must change. No longer did he feel compelled to wait for a coalescence of remaining forces or to think of themselves as a part of the Navy. The military aspect of the Washington wouldn’t change, but he now thought of themselves as survivors instead of as a naval weapon. He’d conduct the vessel accordingly. The problem was that he wasn’t sure exactly what that would mean in the long run.
There was also the problem that he had only enough crew to fully man a single shift, and every man and woman was just as tired as he was. The stress, combined with having to man the stations for long periods of time, had worn his crew down to the bone. Tired meant mistakes, and that wasn’t something they could afford. Patting one of the lookouts on the shoulder, he descended the ladder on weary legs.
“Take us past the continental shelf and down to one hundred feet,” Lawrence ordered once he reached the control room.
“Aye, aye, sir,” the chief responded, reading back the instructions.
Submerging would decrease the number of crew required to run the boat, though they would still have to run skeleton shifts and trust the computers to do their job. Leaving the control room to the chief, Lawrence made his way to where the other officers were waiting for him.
He sat, his knees and lower back feeling as if the joints had no lubrication, grating bone on bone. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at him, a sign that everyone was reaching their limits. The steaming mugs of coffee were the only things sustaining them, without which they’d all drop to the tabletop.
“Well, let’s start with the bad news. We lost several crew in the torpedo room and one ashore. However, we’re still alive and have enough supplies for several months along with fuel for approximately five years. However, other maintenance concerns will occur before that time arrives. The near-term concern stems around crew rest. Lieutenant Commander Grieves will work out a shift schedule that will allow us to man essential stations while providing adequate rest for the crew.
“So, let’s begin taking a look at our longer-term options. And, I’ll be honest, they don’t look the greatest. First, our priority will be centered on the survival of the crew. That must come first. While we need sustenance, and gathering supplies will most certainly be required, we have to minimize the risks. Now, we’re in a bit of a quandary. We obviously won’t be able to go ashore in populated areas, which means most of the eastern seaboard; or any other for that matter. And, we can’t remain on the Washington forever, either. So, we need to figure out someplace safe ashore where we can sustain ourselves,” Lawrence began.
“If I may, sir,” Grieves chimed in. “It appears that the reapers are able to sustain themselves. Whether that’s by eating others or the dead, we can’t tell at this point. The questions remain: Will they be able to sustain themselves once the dead are no longer a viable food source? And, will they be able to last through the harsh winters in the northern regions? It’s entirely possible that time will take care of our problem.”
“So, you’re suggesting that we stay aboard the Washington through the summer and fall, then see what the winter weather brings?” Lawrence inquired.
“Aye, sir. Or, we head to one of the small, sparsely populated Caribbean islands and remain there. If strong weather systems come, we climb back aboard the Washington, head out to sea, and submerge to wait it out. That will slow any maintenance concerns and allow us to get off the boat. We can utilize the supplies we have and come north to the annex to pick up more when we begin to get low…if that option is still available to us,” Grieves answered. “We can also make a few runs and stockpile. Then, when winter hits in full force, we can travel north and see if the hypothesis is working. With luck, that will open up a lot more options.”
Lawrence nodded and looked around the table. “Any other suggestions?”
“I like the idea, but would add that we should stock up as much as we can in the beginning. It will put wear and tear on the Washington, but we have access to nearly unlimited supplies and we should take advantage of that,” one officer mentioned.
Looking around the table, no one else offered anything more.
“Okay, I think all of that sounds reasonable. We find a sparsely populated island that will provide shelter where we can park the boat. We’ll use more of our T-LAMs if needed to help clear it out, but we need to keep in mind that those are in limited supply. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. We’ll sail south on the morrow. Once we arrive at a location to be determined, we’ll clear it out and set up shop. Then, make runs back to the annex and stockpile as much as we can, waiting for winter. We’re all tired, so just be extra careful. We can’t afford to make any critical mistakes. Now, services for Seaman Ritchie and the others will be held at sunrise, so get some rest until then,” Lawrence said.
* * * * * *
The weighted body bags slipped into the water and disappeared under the waves, sailors lining the deck saluting to give their final respects. While they weren’t able to find the actual body of the crewman ashore, he was delivered to the deep along with the others. The memorial over, sailors clambered back inside the large bathtub and the Washington turned south. It was a new life they were embarking upon. They were no longer searching for the past, but looking forward to the future. For many, the quiet moments were difficult as family members came to mind. Sailors lay in their bunks, staring at pictures with blurred vision, the grieving process beginning.
Lawrence felt better now that they had a plan. Maintenance worries still rattled around in the back of his mind and he hoped the boat would remain running for the duration. It was a new boat and had received the best of care and parts for its test, so that was a plus. On the other hand, it was a new boat. Running on the surface at thirty knots, the nine-hundred-mile trip would take a little over twenty-five hours one way. Even taking time to clear whatever location they decided upon, they would be able to turn around relatively quickly. Each subsequent run would take little time: a day to arrive off of Norfolk, head up the river under the cover of darkness, several hours to load up supplies at first light, then a day to return and offload. Driving the Washington hard as they transferred supplies would test both boat and crew. While they may have fuel for years, circumstances ashore may change and Lawrence wants to exact as many supplies as he can before that can happen.
As they poured over maps on their way south, they settled on San Salvador Island. It was relatively uncrowded with an abandon
ed development area on the southern point and a Club Med resort on the western shores. A few houses were scattered up and down both coasts, with a small research station situated on the northern coast, but the entire population couldn’t exceed a thousand people. With the catatonic and dead included in that number, that left the possibility of only about five hundred reapers. There was also a small port south of the resort that was deep and large enough for the Washington.
Lawrence planned to cruise the length of each shoreline, drawing any reapers into a central location and launching cluster munitions against them. Then, he’d keep motoring around the island, making as much sound as possible until he was sure the island was cleared.
The next day, the island pulled into view. The island was small, ten miles long and about five miles at its widest point. A large lake nearly cut through the middle, effectively separating the eastern and western halves.
The sun rising over the Atlantic cast its warm rays on the deep blue waters, transitioning to a placid aquamarine nearer the shore. Lawrence ordered the Washington close to the western shore and glassed the few houses, some painted in bright colors. Outside of several, he saw the unmistakable sign of reapers wandering among the buildings, along the road that followed the contour of the island, and along the white sand beach. Mindful of the shallows and reefs that lay under the surface, the sub slowly made its way down the shore.
They passed the resort, the large main lodge and its surrounding luxury style apartment-like buildings hidden among palm trees. Lawn chairs and white umbrellas were strewn up and down the beach. South of the resort, a long runway extended nearly into the water. The long beach ended, giving way to a short bluff of white stone. Two marinas were cut into the rock and surrounded by the main island community, throughout which reapers appeared. A long strip of white beach extended south along the rest of the island.