by John O'Brien
It seems like a long time before we turn and slowly creep toward the highway and building. Time seems to pass more slowly when vision is closed down to just a few feet. It’s a race between the man on the radio’s impatience and our stealth. So far, the radio checks with Craig have revealed that no one is moving within the facility and, as far as he can tell, no one is keeping watch.
At the edge of the field, I look toward the building. The worn sign near the front indicates that our initial assessment was correct.
"Rimrock Jr. Sr. High School"
"Preparing to learn…Striving to achieve…Daring to succeed"
The building is a mostly brick, multi-story building with very few windows. The only ones visible are tinted, where I assume the admin offices are located, and at the sets of double doors that provide the main entrance. None of them are even barricaded, which suggests that the marauders aren’t worried about night runners. My heart is thumping as I look over the facility first-hand. I’m looking to the north, just across the highway from the main entrance. The numerous vehicles we identified on our overflight are parked in a lot to my right, near where Horace and her group should be hiding in the fields.
“Move up,” I radio Horace, and direct the ones with me out of the grass and into a ditch lining the roadway.
The ditch is deep enough that it can keep us hidden, even if someone were to appear on the roof. Horace reports that she’s in position. It’s rather surprising that we’ve moved into position without being spotted. We have fifty-two soldiers along two sides of their building and, as far as I know, they don’t have a clue we’re here. It just boggles the mind sometimes how over-confidence can lead to sloppiness. It’s not that I’m perfect, or even remotely close to it, but shit, do something. Well, in this case, I’m glad they didn’t, but am appalled at the lack of preparedness.
“I’m about to make contact on the radio. Horace, if they emerge in a rush, you are cleared to fire. Craig, make your way into orbit around the building and be ready to open fire on my command. Do you have us located?” I radio.
“Copy that. Robert says he has both teams, to the south and east, located and marked,” Craig replies.
“Copy, we’re ready,” Horace responds.
I don’t conveniently have a megaphone to get the attention of those inside, so I use the handheld CB radio.
“Inside the school building. You are surrounded. Come out peacefully, unarmed and in groups of five, and lay face down on the pavement.”
It takes a few seconds before I hear a reply. “Who the fuck is this? Get off my radio!”
I can’t really think of an answer and glance down the ditch at the line of soldiers dressed in their multicam fatigues. Seeing them, I answer, “US Army.”
“Yeah, right. And why should we do that?”
“Well, have you heard from your scouts in a while, or the ones you sent out?” I ask.
“Nice try, fucker. I just spoke with them minutes ago,” the voice responds.
“That wasn’t them answering, dumbass.”
The front entrance doors open and a multitude of people pour out, some firing blindly as they exit and make for the sparse cover out front. The return fire from the soldiers on either side of me is instantaneous and deafening. Red tracers streak into the emerging mass. The ones in front of the group drop like a scythe went through them, some thrown back into the ones behind while others fall straight to the ground. Several of the tinted windows of the office become starred, and then shatter under the torrent of rounds.
It’s only seconds before the emerging group turns and attempts to retreat inside, running over those already down. They push against those still trying to get out as they try to avoid the onslaught of bullets slamming into flesh and bone. The air is filled with small mists of pink as blood splashes outward from the forceful impacts. Bodies continue to fall on the concrete walkway serving the entrance, but many manage to make it back inside. Just as quickly as it started, it’s over, leaving the dead and wounded strewn across the entranceway.
Some crawl slowly across the ground, trying to make it to the doors. With the mob disappearing inside, the soldiers halt their fire. Only the moans and screams of the injured and the smell of gunpowder are left in the aftermath. The ditch is littered with the gleam of spent cartridges and there is a quick series of metallic clicks as the soldiers insert fresh mags.
The CB comes to life. “Okay, Army, you have my attention. What is it you want?”
“I’d settle for a core modification of your personality, but I seriously doubt that’s going to happen,” I answer.
“Is this about them fuckers up the road?” the deep voice asks.
“Let’s just say that it’s about the choices you’ve been making. If you’ll look out a window and peek up, you’ll see that I mean business,” I respond.
“Okay, I’m coming out. We can talk in person,” the man says.
“Craig, keep an eye out. Make sure they don’t try to sneak anyone out the back and try to flank us. If they do, you are cleared to fire,” I radio. To the man, I call, “Come on out, but know that if you try anything, it will be dealt with immediately and severely.”
Before long, a large man appears in the doorway of the shattered entrance. I can’t read his expression as he looks over the bodies lying on the ground. Stepping over and around them, carrying a bat with what appears to be a white T-shirt tied to it, he makes his way to a position near the highway on the opposite side.
“Craig, do you see anyone on the roof?” I radio.
“We don’t see anyone from here…standby, Robert reports five armed individuals are making their way out and setting up on the ledges. Do you want us to take them?”
“Not at this time, but target them and standby,” I reply.
“Copy that. They’re tagged.”
Making sure the soldiers stay out of the line of sight, I rise from the ditch and walk toward the man, keeping him between me and the guns on the roof. Drawing close, I’m not sure who smells worse, him or me. The man has long, wavy brown hair with a thick beard to match. He is wearing a faded T-shirt and a jean jacket with the sleeves removed. His arms are covered in overlapping tattoos. Looking at his expression, I can tell almost immediately that this conversation is going to be pointless.
“All right. I see your hardware, but what gives you the authority to kick us out or slaughter us indiscriminately?” he asks.
“It’s not about authority; it’s about your place in the world. And by that, I mean there isn’t one for the likes of what you and your group has been doing,” I respond. “As if the world isn’t fucked up enough, you have to add to it by threatening and harming others.”
“You mean, just like you’re doing now?”
“There’s a difference. We didn’t start it, just finishing it,” I say, looking up and locking eyes with him.
His expression darkens. I can tell that he intimidates others by his stature and isn’t used to anyone standing up to him.
“I could take you out where you stand. Just one gesture from me and you’ll cease to exist,” he states, returning my stare. “You come with an ultimatum; let me make one of my own. You and your people have until the count of three to start leaving. One…”
“Two,” I quickly return, stepping forward and daring him to continue.
That takes him aback. His eyes widen for just a second before narrowing again.
“I can see that you’re not all that familiar with physics. So, allow me to educate you in that regard. You currently have five people on the roof behind you with what I assume are scoped weapons. The key word being behind you. Notice where I’m standing,” I say.
“What in the fuck has that got to do with anything?” he asks.
I can’t believe my clues haven’t spawned the light in his head. It’s like a bull charging forward that doesn’t see the brick wall to its front.
“Okay, here comes the first lesson. If you were to make your gesture and they were to s
hoot, where do you think the bullets would strike first?”
Now, the light dawns and his expression alters. I see that the first lesson has sunk in. “I don’t really appreciate being threatened either. So, free of charge, here’s your second lesson.”
Pressing the mic button, I radio, “Craig, take out the ones on the roof.”
The drone of the Spooky, which hovered just in the background before, increases as it draws closer. Streams of red light pour down, accompanied by the buzzing sound of a Gatling gun spooling. Several of the tracers race back into the air after intersecting with the roof. Chucks of concrete spray outward from the heavy caliber shells tearing into the top of the structure. The burst lasts only a second or two.
“All targets eliminated,” Craig radios.
“A gunship wins against men on a roof every time. While that may not exactly be a physics lesson, it’s an important one for you to remember nonetheless,” I state.
“You’d attack us under the truce of a white flag?” the man comments, incredulous.
“You broke that when you threatened me with imminent death. I would caution against doing that again. So, back to your leaving…” I begin.
“Fuck you, Army!” he states, turning to leave.
“Have it your way,” I call to his retreating back. “I’m giving you the option to leave peacefully. The only way you’ll be allowed to stay in this area is if it becomes your graveyard.”
Without turning, he lifts his hand in the air and flips me off. I have to hand it to him, that’s a ballsy move. A worthless gesture, but I chuckle at the set of balls necessary to do it.
Not wanting to present a target by standing in the open, I turn and trot back to the ditch.
“Horace, pull back and return to base,” I radio, motioning for the soldiers with me to do the same.
The tall grass envelopes us as I make a call to the Spooky overhead. “Craig, give us three minutes to clear the area and then you’re cleared to fire. Level the place.”
We hastily make our way through the field, unable to see the school we left behind. The need for stealth is gone and I want to get back to the base. I tried, albeit not especially hard, to give them a chance. I still can’t fathom why those few surviving can’t band together. To me, it’s shortsighted to take from others instead of banding together to help each other. Shit, even if they didn’t want to do that, there are plenty of places to set up if you wanted to go it alone. We create a little distance between us and the facility when the first 105mm explosion thunders across the field.
Interlude
Nearing the base on our return, the truck vibrates as a deep rumble passes overhead. Glancing out the window, I see the Spooky continue down final, touching down with a swirl of dust. It seems that it was a waste of time meeting as we did, and in hindsight it would have suited us just as well to hit the building and be done with it. I guess some people just never change.
There are those who strive to do what’s best, and there are people who take advantage of others. Then there are those that merely struggle to stay alive. I rather think of myself in the latter group. There are things I’ve done that I’m not so proud of, and things I’ve done to help others. Mostly though, it’s been seeing one day through to the next. I’ve seen what people can do to each other – bad things you’d never think possible. In my book, there are two types of evil: The chaotic one in which villagers are slaughtered just to appease someone’s bloodlust, and the kind like the men in the bunker unleashed upon the world. But, there is also good to be found.
The post-adrenaline fatigue has taken hold, but there is still a lot we have to do with the day, mostly finishing up here and getting ourselves back to the bunker. I’m eager to get back to the compound but we still have to finish up sorting out the arrangements at the bunker.
One thing at a time, I tell myself, feeling the pressure of time weighing on me.
The Spooky is already parked and shut down by the time our convoy of vehicles pulls up to the hangar. Meeting with Jason in the small conference room, I brief him on what transpired. I see his immediate relief. His eyes still have the tiredness that long periods of stress create, but hopefully now he’ll be able to get some strength back and make a go of it. I make sure that radios are set up so they can communicate with us, installing a ham radio for when the satellites fail.
“Although your fuel situation may be alleviated for now, know that’s only a short-term solution for your power needs. The fuel, even if stored correctly, will only be good for a little longer. I suggest that you start locating solar panels and wind turbines for use. That will keep you going for a few more years,” I comment.
“Thanks for all of your help, Jack. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it,” Jason comments.
“No worries. And you can get ahold of us anytime. You are welcome to join with us if things don’t work out here,” I say.
Thinking along these lines, I don’t know if it would be better for humanity in the long run to gather together, in one facility or area, or to keep them scattered. Both options have their strengths and weaknesses and I’m not sure which will give us the best chance at survival. On one side, if we have more people in one place, it will give us additional resources and hence, a better chance of making a go of it. On the other side, if something were to happen, such as disease, a viral outbreak, or anything along those lines, what happens to one would happen to everyone. I wish I had my "right answer" book handy. Life used to be so much easier.
“There’s one other thing to keep in mind. The night runners will spread out from the city once the food there runs out. It’s not a matter of ‘if,’ it’s a matter of ‘when.’ With the landscape surrounding the city, there aren’t many places for them to go, but the base here will be a logical choice. Be on the lookout for that. We’re seeing that kind of exodus where we’re at and I’m sure it’s happening, or will happen, wherever there were large populations. If things get difficult in that regard, let us know, and if we still can, we’ll ferry you to the bunker. If not, make your way there on our own,” I brief.
Jason nods his understanding.
Horace has returned by the time Jason and I finish. Gathered in the hangar, I look over the tired faces. The experience with the soldiers has alleviated a lot of the concerns I had regarding their loyalties and I feel more able to trust them.
“First of all, I want to thank you all for your help this morning. We’ll be departing soon and leaving you here to report to Jason. He’ll need your help getting yourselves established. You mentioned family and loved ones before we left and I would like to cover that with you before I leave. You’ll have to abide by the same restrictions we established,” I begin, and brief about the state of the world and our inability to proceed farther west than the line I established with the teams. “If you have family within the inclusion zone we established, write down your name, the names of your family, and their last known locations. We’ll task a satellite to look at the specific locations. If there are indications that there are people still surviving, we’ll dispatch teams to look the place over. I give no promises of when, as we’re dealing with a whole lot of things at the moment, but I do promise that we will take a look. We’ll also pass the list of names off to the other survivor groups we contact. People could have made their way to one of the camps and perhaps we’ll be able to find some that way. At the very least, we’ll give it our best effort and keep you informed. That’s the best I can offer at this time.”
With that, I have the aircraft refueled, gather the teams together, and make ready for our departure. Once airborne, with Robert and Craig piloting the 130, I call Lynn and let her know that we’re on the way, filling her in on the details of our morning and asking her to pass the information along to Frank. Robert’s 130 is off the nose and slightly to the side as we settle in for the hour-and-a-half flight to the bunker. As we near the bunker for landing, I notice the fields surrounding the perimeter are blackened with small, rising plumes of li
ght-colored smoke. Lynn must have found out that there wasn’t a minefield in place and kept the soldiers busy clearing the tall grass from the fence line.
With the sun reaching its zenith, we are greeted upon landing and driven back to the bunker, entering through the vehicle passageway. After a quick meeting with Lynn, giving her a more detailed story of what happened, including how the soldiers acted, I pull Montore aside, briefing him as well. I mention that we spoke about searching for families and getting a list from the soldiers we left at Mountain Home. I tell him the rules and ask him for a similar list from the soldiers in the bunker.
Heading into the control room, I see Harold seated at a console with files and pieces of paper scattered around him. It looks as if he’s trying to construct a fort out of them and it’s nearly completed. The other technicians in the room are busy pecking away at keyboards, Harold occasionally shouting commands to them. Other than a periodic call across the room, it’s quiet except for the clacking of keys. I manage to find a chair that isn't stacked high with files, wheel it over and take a seat, bringing him up to speed regarding the soldiers' families.
“Is there a way we can task one of the older satellites to aid in the search?” I query.
“We can do that. Keep in mind that we don’t have an unlimited supply of them. I have one that is providing for updates to the camps like you asked, and will swing that one up to the camp in northern Canada afterward. There’s another that I have stationed solely to keep an eye on the compound and night runners up north. The one we’ll have to use won’t have high-def capabilities, but we’ll be able to tell if someone is there,” Harold answers.
It seems his replies always have instructions attached. I don’t mind, as my tired brain can’t keep everything in order and I tend to forget shit.