“This thing with Alan has me worried,” Frank speaks up, changing the conversation.
“Me too,” Drescoll agrees. “We still have another like him in our midst. I want a twenty-four hour watch on Julie. She is not to go anywhere without someone with her. For now, she is to be kept in her room and escorted when she eats or needs to use the facilities. This is for her protection and ours.” With some hesitation, the others agree.
“Now, I recommend we put a curfew into effect. Anyone needing to use the facilities after hours will need an escort. I understand people not being able to sleep and wandering around at night. I don’t have a problem with that, but they need to be escorted as well. The warehouse is off limits and no one is to be allowed near the doors at night,” Drescoll states.
There is no dissension. Knowing the fear factor is still high, they discuss guarding against making rash decisions, but they all agree to these rules for the interim.
“Tomorrow, we need to clean up the interior and dispose of the bodies. It’s a mess down there so we’ll keep everyone upstairs until we’ve managed that. We also need to send out search teams for Lynn at first light. I don’t know what in the hell happened here tonight, but we need to see where they took her,” Drescoll says.
The shock of the evening’s events prevents much conversation – everyone is still digesting what happened.
Taylor reports that the injured soldier is unconscious but stable. “He’s gone through two bags so far, but the doc says his signs are stable. Although his wounds were deep, they were clean and he should recover.”
After briefing the rest of the survivors, Drescoll stands with Green Team overlooking the first floor. With the fear strong, there’s little sleep for anyone. There’s a lot to do come morning, but they still have to make it through the night. Worry about Lynn occupies his mind, and he is anxious for morning so they can mount a search. The smell of hundreds of bodies lying unmoving on the floor below barely penetrates his consciousness. He blames himself for the loss of Lynn. It’s not that anyone could ever have seen this one coming…but that doesn’t alleviate his sense of being responsible.
With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he lowers his head and waits for the first rays of light to pierce the darkness outside.
“I’m sorry, my friend. Fear not. We will find you and come get you.”
* * * * * *
Sandra sees the images from her pack as they rush upward and envelop the female. She watches as they knock her down and begin to carry her down the stairs. The two-legged ones are still firing into the pack and she senses the continued loss of her numbers. Looking upward, she notices her pack has gained the floor where the two-legged ones are holding out. She knows she and her pack can gain the upper hand and destroy the lair. The thought of killing all of the two-legged ones while she has them on the run passes through her mind; however, she also knows that continuing the assault will cost her more of her pack. She has her prize and knows that she must save what is left of her numbers. She will need all she can if Michael decides to confront her. No, she must pull back and use the rest of the night to find a lair. She sends the message to pull back.
Exiting the lair, she leads her pack across the grassy plain and through the open portals. The night air feels good as she lopes along with her pack following. The interior of the two-legged ones reeked of their scent. She hadn’t been sure of how much longer she could control the anger and hunger of her pack that the scent of the two-legged ones brought. She had barely been able to control her own.
Passing through the gates, she feels eager and what could almost be construed as gleeful. She doesn’t know if the female is still alive or dead. At this point, Sandra doesn’t really care and almost hopes she is among the dead. It’s only important that the one who is so transfixed in her mind believes that she is alive. However, if the female is still alive, she will keep her that way. Whatever the case, she will ensure that the one she wants believes that the female still lives and comes to get her. With those thoughts in mind, she runs on into the darkness with her prize in tow.
It takes some time searching, but Sandra eventually finds a place to house her pack. Throughout the search, she feels several in her pack leave for Michael’s lair. Others follow as they feel more secure with him than with her. Sandra senses several images from those leaving. They are angry that she pulled them back when they could have fed on the two-legged ones. Rather than confront her about it, they decide to depart. She knows it won’t be long before Michael finds out what she has done. There is no doubt he will be angry, not just because she ventured forth and challenged his authority, but because she didn’t finish off the two-legged ones when she had the chance. He will be upset that she has potentially stirred up the ones who reside behind the giant wall.
It’s not as if they weren’t already stirred up, she thinks as she feels yet more of her pack head toward Michael. What Michael will do about it remains to be seen.
With those leaving, her pack dwindles from the thousands it once held to hundreds. It’s not near enough to hold out if Michael decides to finish them off. She knows those staying with her are loyal and will stay with her to the very end. If Michael does show up, she’ll move and try to stay out of his path. That might make it tough as she’ll have to hunt a wider area for food. She’ll be cautious where her pack hunts as she doesn’t want to tangle with Michael.
Sandra and her pack enter the large, sprawling building. The interior smells of those that died months ago – more of a musty odor than the reek of decay. She’ll direct some of her pack to begin cleaning out the dead two-legged ones with the coming of the next night. The others she’ll send out to hunt; some to gather fresh meat, and others to search nearby buildings for the alternate food sources. She will do as Michael did and begin to store against leaner days.
With regards to the female, if she’s alive, she’ll post guards with her day and night. With the two-legged ones awake during the time of the great burning light, she’ll send an image out of the female then in the hopes that the one she sensed long ago will see it and come. Sandra feels that he’ll come during the day, so she’ll keep some of her pack awake then to watch for any intrusion. However, she has the feeling that she’ll know when he draws near in time to be ready.
With those images occupying her mind, she settles in a large room with her pack around her and rubs her slightly bulging stomach, comforting the young one inside.
* * * * * *
With the night passing and the sky above the mountains about to lighten, Michael stands by the entrance door to their lair waiting for the return of the last of those out hunting. Sandra and her pack haven’t arrived yet and he worries about what she is up to. He sensed some of her pack throughout the night and knows she went toward the two-legged lair again. There was a moment in the night when he sensed images of the pack inside and was pleased – perhaps he should have listened to her a little more. That was it, though, just a brief glimpse. However, with the night drawing to an end and no sight of her, he is worried – not so much for Sandra but about what she may have stirred up if the two-legged ones survive. Her not arriving may indicate that she and her pack didn’t make it.
Before the night begins to turn to the blue-gray of the impending dawn, several of Sandra’s pack begins to arrive – small groups arriving sporadically, and then a stream of them come into view and enter the lair. The flow trickles until the area is clear with no sign of Sandra. The sky shows the first hint of the night ending and Michael proceeds inside.
Calling one of Sandra’s leaders to his side, he “hears” the story of what happened. At first he is incredulous, but that is quickly followed by a deep, burning anger associated with hatred. He knew Sandra was a problem and should have killed her right away. The two-legged ones will search them out relentlessly and strike back. He’s still not sure what that thing is in the sky that rains down death, but he knows it’s associated with the two-legged ones – knows it for sure. The pack can�
�t fight that thing and he wonders if he has placed his pack far enough away.
He sends the leader off to rest and thinks about going after Sandra. He doesn’t know what that will accomplish, but it will keep her from creating new problems. For now…he’ll wait. Michael isn’t sure where she is and doesn’t want to waste time searching for her, especially if she’s close to the two-legged lair. He doesn’t want to expose the pack in that manner. They are safe for the moment and have food. He wishes he had been with her to make sure all of the two-legged ones were killed. That would make survival for the pack so much easier. If he could curse her, he would. Enough have filtered back that she isn’t a direct threat to his pack, but her actions could threaten them all.
He can’t figure out why she would capture one of their females. It just doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t be to set a trap to lure them out of their lair; she was already in it. And why didn’t she kill them all when she had the chance? Michael emits a low, menacing growl at the lost opportunity, Sandra going against his orders, and the increased danger that the pack now faces. If he sees her again, even though she is with a young one, he will kill her.
* * * * * *
Just Another Day
The night is a replay of the night before…and many others prior when we’ve been out. Rising none-too-rested from the continual shrieks haunting the night at intervals – some close and others in the distance – I watch as the sun crests the horizon, its orange glow bathing the cockpit with a warm radiance. It does, however, bring a lonely feeling as we are in the middle of nowhere with no one around. It’s another day on the road and I want nothing more than to find the soldiers’ families and go home. The satellite phone remains silent as I try repeatedly to call back to base and reach Leonard.
We step outside for a breath of fresh air before starting on another leg of our journey. Ellsworth AFB lies a little over four hundred miles to the southeast so we’ll only have a little more than an hour in the air. Then it’s on to Sturgis where we hope to find a family safe and secure. Robert and I verify the data in the flight computer while we down a bite to eat. After checking that our cargo is secure, we run through the start-up procedures. The engines fill the aircraft with its familiar droning and vibration.
We lift off into the early morning sun and turn to the southeast, leaving the city of Great Falls to the night runners. We climb above the hills in the east and across a plain that stretches to the foothills of Yellowstone to the south. Billings, a town I’ve passed through a few times when on road trips out this way, comes into view to our right. The rugged mountains and hills of Yellowstone pass off our right wing in the distance. The park itself is surrounded by a ring of steep ridge lines and deep valleys that look like fractures radiating out from a central core – which they are.
Robert has the controls as we leave the last of the great mountains behind and cross into the rolling hills of Wyoming. Looking down at the roadways across some of the most sparsely populated areas of the country, I reminisce about some of the good times I had crossing that lonely state in the Challenger. I made short work of that state as I traversed the long stretches of highway in the back country. With a sigh, I pull my thoughts back into the cockpit and help Robert with the checklists for landing.
The rolling hills make way for the Black Hills which then open to high plains. As we descend, the ground below is the same brown color as Idaho. I can see that it was once agricultural land, but the only green now resides close to the few streams which run through the area. Ellsworth is a small base lying to the northeast of Rapid City.
If I remember correctly, this was a strategic base housing part of the bomber fleet; so if there is anyone still there, they are not going to like us arriving out of the blue. I did that once at a SAC base with an emergency landing and…well, let’s just say I didn’t enjoy the feel of biting the searing hot pavement. Needless to say, SAC bases didn’t – and don’t – enjoy unscheduled landings, even military ones.
Robert levels us off a couple of thousand feet above the ground and maneuvers so we can cut across the base. This will bring about a prompt response from any base security still in existence, but I do not want to be surprised like at Mountain Home. The other fact is that, if anyone is around, we’d have been on radar for some time now and we’d have heard that wonderful high-pitched tone of a radar lock.
Coming across the single, long runway, I see a few B-1 bombers parked on a side ramp near what must be the wing and base operations buildings. If I only knew the systems and how to fly one of those, we’d make short work of the night runners in our area, I think as we pass over the hangars and other ramp buildings. We soon pass over the small base and set up to circle around. There are only a few structures but nothing moves amongst them. Passing north of the base and over the bunkers situated there, Robert begins a shallow descent to make another pass at a lower altitude.
With a closer view, I see that deep sand drifts are piled against many of the buildings and the streets are partially covered as nature begins to take over. Looking at the roads, I don’t see any sign of tracks which matches with the lack of movement. I open up to see if I can sense any night runners but come up empty. I mean, there isn’t anything I can ‘see’ at all. If there are any around, they are well hidden.
“Take us over the city,” I say to Robert, pointing in the direction of Rapid City.
He brings us around and we head toward the town paralleling I-90. The city is mostly urban and appears much like Grand Rapids – residential neighborhoods sitting among brown fields and empty streets. I sense several packs of night runners in scattered pockets below as we pass back and forth across the city. Although not as much as with the base buildings, there is sand piled against several of the outlying structures. Looking for survivors, I don’t spot anything that would indicate that any are still alive. From every indication, it appears to be a dead city.
Sturgis, our eventual destination, lies about thirty miles to the north-northwest. We have time and I’d like to get a look at the layout of the city, so I direct Robert in that direction. The interstate that we follow lies at the foot of the rugged terrain that is The Black Hills. Much of the ridge lines on the eastern edges are still green with evergreen trees but the interior has turned brown. The only exceptions are thin lines of green still within the deep draws and along the small waterways snaking their way through the steep topography.
It’s a short flight and we are soon upon the town that is the home of the annual summer motorcycle rally. The city itself sits astride the interstate with a mostly residential neighborhood at the southern end and downtown area to the north. The actual city proper is made up of larger buildings sitting astride a main street and is about five blocks long.
The soldier, whose parents and sister hopefully lie safe and secure below, is in the cockpit and points out his family’s house in a residential block just a short distance away from downtown. There are a couple of entrances to the town from the highway and, from my vantage point, it really doesn’t look like any one of them offers any advantages for entering the city. The other team members take turns looking out of the windows to get a layout of the town. Making a low pass over our intended ‘target’, there isn’t an indication of anyone below nor do I sense any night runners. The scene passing under us doesn’t give any promising signs of life, but the lack of night runners, or at least my lack of sensing any, lends a positive note.
Back at Ellsworth AFB, we make a low approach along the runway. I note that it’s not just the streets that are covered with sand blown in from the adjacent fields. The runway itself is covered in grit to the point that the runway numbers and markings are only partially visible. The black tire marks from thousands of landings are obscured.
I look at Robert as we gain altitude to come around for our final approach, “Did that flyby tell you anything?”
“There’s dirt on the runway,” he answers.
“And?”
“It didn’t look deep, so w
e shouldn’t have any problems with it but maybe we should make a soft field landing anyway,” he says.
“Okay. Good idea. Another thing to keep in mind is that those small drifts are uneven making for a pretty rough landing and rollout,” I state.
“So I’ll keep the nose up as long as I can.”
“Yeah. What about the reverse thrust?”
He looks at me as we make a descending turn to a base leg, the runway to our right. He ponders a moment longer – his thoughts divided between my question and setting the aircraft up for landing.
“I don’t know,” he finally says.
“The blades are reversed. Which way is the thrust going?” I ask, reaching to set the gear lever in the down position upon his command.
I almost see the flash of light go off in his head. “It will blow the dirt out in front of us. That means the engines will suck in the dust.”
“So, what do you think you should do?”
“Not use reverse thrust which will make our landing roll longer,” he responds.
“Nothing that drastic, but you need to watch for how far ahead the dust is blowing. Use your thrust reversers to minimize that. The engines will be fine. The thrust will keep the dirt out but there’s a chance that if there’s enough dust, it could be swept out ahead and obstruct our visibility.”
“Okay, Dad.” His tone tells me that this little addition has increased his stress level. The movements on the stick become jerkier but we maintain our alignment with the runway – more or less.
“Do you want me to take this one?” I ask.
“No. I have it,” Robert replies.
“Okay then, easy on the controls. Nothing has changed. It’s only another landing but just watch how much reverse thrust you use.”
Our wheels touch the runway – touch being a relative term. As much as slamming your toe into a bed post can be called caressing against it. Okay, it isn’t that bad. In fact, it is a relatively soft landing considering that our runway isn’t exactly an even surface. Robert holds the nose of the 130 off the ground as long as he can as our main wheels bounce across the uneven drifts. The nose lowers and we transition to four-wheel drive plowing across a dry creek bed. I feel our wheels catch on the piles of sand causing us to lurch in one direction and then the other. Robert corrects and holds us steady across the once smooth, concrete runway. He applies reverse thrust and billows of sand are thrown out in front, accompanying the increased roar of the engines. Adjusting the reversers, he slows us to a taxi speed without completely blinding us.
A New World: Takedown Page 2