Krandle looks toward at the sun which lies almost directly overhead, casting a knifepoint shadow from the flagpole mounted near the station. The attached flag stirs occasionally as each breeze passes through. The fact that it is still up indicates that the madness started during the day and there was either no one around to take it down before sunset or they were too busy. There were obviously other priorities to attend to.
“We still have quite a bit of daylight left. It’s not that far, so let’s at least go take a look. You never know,” Krandle responds.
“Alright, let’s do it,” Franklin says.
The fact of the matter is, Krandle agrees with Franklin’s assessment, but he is having trouble wrapping his mind around the whole situation. He thinks seeing more of it will hopefully allow everything to settle in. He knows the parameters and new rules of the game but that is different than having his mind comprehend it. It’s eerie walking through an empty town. Well, that is empty of people. The event at the hotel showed that they aren’t exactly alone here. The Philippines, seeing the night runners running through the streets of Seattle, and now experiencing it close up truly brings home that they are living in a different world. The words of Captain Walker play in his mind and he sorts through each and every one of them trying to gain every ounce of knowledge he can as they walk through the hushed streets.
The trip through the rest of the town is much the same – broken windows and a few bodies of both night runners and the skeletal remains of people that Krandle suspects were eaten. The hospital itself presents an even more chaotic scene. The parking lots are filled with cars. In one lot, most of the cars are burned-out husks. The remains of a helicopter lie on its side in the midst of the pile with one of its rotors broken off and pointing skyward. A helipad sits nearby. To all appearances, it looks as if a life-flight helicopter crashed into the cars while either trying to land or take off.
Journeying warily around the building, he notices that several of the glass doors have been broken into like many of the other buildings they’ve visited. Remembering Walker’s words about night runner signs, he knows that the hospital has been overrun as well.
“Okay, ladies, we’ve seen enough now. Let’s go home,” Krandle says.
The team is silent as they make their way back through town. Although alert, they are all in their own thoughts. The reality of what the world is like now has been brought home and they each are dealing with it in their own way. The feeling is a melancholy one – almost depressing – as they trudge through this once summer vacation town. They pass the family in the car that almost made it – although for how long they would have, who knows.
At the beach, Krandle signals the sub that they are on their way. Leonard briefed them that he would remain at periscope depth with the radio antenna extended in case they ran into trouble and needed a quick extraction. The team grabs the Zodiac and reverses their process down to the water. The tide has come in a fair ways since they came ashore so the trek across the soft sand isn’t nearly as long.
They enter the water and Krandle takes a last look at the abandoned town. There isn’t much to see from his vantage point, mostly the retaining wall and beach. The volleyball nets hang limply, billowing with each breath of wind that blows through. The beach, which would normally be marred by thousands of footprints digging into the soft sand, is smooth with the exception of the two drag marks made by the Zodiac and the trails left by him and his men. Normally, they would have carried the Zodiac aloft and erased their tracks both in and out. However, they weren’t trying to hide their presence. Krandle knows that in a few more days, even those tracks will vanish with the wind and this town will be left solely to the night runners.
They push the rubber craft into deeper water and board. The motor is lowered and they are soon powering their way through the small surf for their rendezvous with the sub. The way out is a rougher ride as they have to go against the waves. The craft hits each rolling wave with a splash before riding up and over it. They are soon out of the surf and into the swells. As with the surf, going against the swells makes for a more turbulent ride, but the Zodiac manages it with ease. Ahead and slightly to the right, against the lowering sun, Krandle sees the conning tower of the sub rise out of the rolling waves. With water streaming from its surfaces, it rises higher until the lower deck is barely above the surface. They drive the Zodiac onto the deck, cutting off the motor and lifting it at the last moment.
Stowing their gear, they drop below deck and feel the sub immediately begin a slow descent into the depths once again. They change out of their wet gear and Krandle briefs Captain Leonard on what transpired onshore. Leonard listens and then asks a few questions, some of which Krandle can answer and some that he doesn’t know the answer to. There are many more of the latter than the former. In some instances, Krandle speculates but tells the captain that it’s only a guess based on what he observed.
After talking with the captain, he returns to the mess. The team debriefs, each member sharing their perspectives of the mission.
“So, here’s how we do it differently from here on out. We don’t leave without NVGs and we run each operation with the contingency that something may happen and we could have to remain overnight. That means we are to be constantly on the lookout for something we can fortify quickly and we pack as much ammo as we can. No matter what happens or what we find, we begin making our way to the sub planning to arrive no less than two hours prior to sunset. And here’s the biggie, we do not enter into darkened buildings unless absolutely necessary. And by absolutely necessary, I mean never,” Krandle says, finishing the debrief.
“I’m so with you on that. Not even if Blanchard here was on fire inside of one and needed me to piss on him,” Speer says.
“Get some rest. I have a feeling that we’ll be seeing a lot more of what we did today,” Krandle says, rising.
The sub heads farther out to sea before turning south toward its eventual destination of San Diego.
* * * * * *
Summer BBQ
Sitting in the dark, the minutes seem like hours and it’s hard to keep track of time. Lynn has become a little more used to being in the dark with panting night runners close by. At least as used to something so terrifying as one can get. It’s an emotional rollercoaster – going from worried about the others one moment to being terrified the next. Not knowing why she is even here in the midst of the night runners adds to her terror.
She feels tightness around her heart associated with being held against her will. It’s like someone has reached inside her chest and is squeezing. Nothing she does alleviates this anxiety. If she knew why she was being held, that might ease it some…but not much. Lynn knows a little about being held captive having been through a limited POW course. That, of course, didn’t portray the essence of actually of being imprisoned. During the course, everyone knew that it would end and the timeline, so there was no way it could adequately represent actually being confined. It did give a few tips on how to get through the rougher moments and she’s tried a few of them. She tries keeping her mind occupied on something other than her situation but she has a hard time focusing with the panting creatures just a few scant feet away.
Lynn works through math problems, runs scenarios through her head, relives fond memories of her childhood, but they all inevitably lead her back to where she is. At one point, she pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them, and buries her head. She breaks down and cries as a deep fear takes hold.
“Please come get me, Jack. I’m scared and alone,” she says quietly to herself.
She’s sick at heart and the clenching in her chest tightens. Raising her head, she wipes away the tears. She sniffles and rests her head against the hard wall, blinking back the remaining tears.
Taking a deep breath, she thinks, Stop it, Lynn. You’re stronger than this.
The only way she can identify the passage of time is by the occasional changing of night runners at the door. She tries counting
the seconds to keep track of the minutes between the changes. This is mostly to occupy her mind, but she finds it to be rather hypnotic and keeps dozing off in mid-count.
At intervals, she hears faint messages from a loudspeaker outside, “Lynn, hang tough. We will find you.”
This gives her hope and, the first time she hears it, relief envelopes her – almost to the point of more tears but this time from sheer happiness. They made it. The others survived the attack and are looking for her. If she can only find a way out and leave them a sign of where she is. One thing she knows for sure, she is still within the city. The only true note of time occurs when nightfall begins and she hears shrieks as night runners pour out of the building she’s in.
The sheer darkness of her room prevents her from seeing much. Her vision has adapted yet it’s still in varying shades of deep gray and black. The constant panting, sniffing, and occasional low growl among the night runners is scary within the gloom. She crawls across the room in an attempt to find something that may aid in her escape but quick footsteps on the hard floor and a menacing snarl cuts her investigation short. The only place she can move without threat is to the corner near her, opposite the door, to relieve herself. Thankfully, a janitor’s bucket is there and that makes it a little easier.
Finding the bucket gave her a little hope that she might locate something else useful but there was no mop with it. She thought it could have been used as a weapon if needed. The first time she scooted to the corner, not being able to hold it any longer and unwilling to just go where she was, there was a set of quick footsteps with an accompanying growl. She turned in the dark and growled back in the direction of the night runner. The dark shape retreated and she sat back feeling an ounce of satisfaction. Since that moment, she has been able to use the corner freely.
She has no idea of how long she has been in the room but her stomach knows it’s time to eat. It feels like she hasn’t eaten in days. With the next change of night runners, something heavy and meaty is thrown onto her lap. She knows it’s the night runners’ idea of trying to feed her.
If this doesn’t beat all, she thinks, lifting the slab of meat.
The meat feels raw in her fingers and she’s fearful of what it might be. Knowing the limitless possibilities, there is no way she is putting whatever is in her hands to her mouth.
“No fucking way,” she says silently.
With another growl, she tosses the slab of meat back at the night runners. She is met by a quick shuffling of feet and several of them growl fiercely in response. Lynn has had enough of this shit and growls again, her emotional edge being one of anger at the moment. She doesn’t care what happens to her, but she isn’t going to eat something the night runners killed and brought.
She feels something different tossed in her lap when the next ones enter. This is lighter and crinkles when it lands. Feeling in the dark, she touches something wrapped in plastic. She brings it closer to her eyes attempting to get a glimpse but isn’t able to make out what it is in the gloom. She opens the package and sniffs. Her stomach growls as she identifies the smell of beef jerky. She’s ravenous and shovels the pieces into her mouth, chewing frantically to get the pieces down.
Slow down, Lynn. You don’t want to be sick, she thinks, and begins eating one piece at a time.
Footsteps approach and, with a grunt, something heavy is dropped to the floor at her side. Liquid splashes onto her legs. She reaches a hand out once the night runner withdraws and encounters a warm liquid sloshing in a small bucket.
I don’t even want to know what this is, she thinks, for once glad it’s dark.
Parched from the lack of anything to drink and the beef jerky, she leans over the bucket smells it. Satisfied that it’s only water, she takes a small sip. The liquid is a little brackish but is sweet on her tongue. She takes a few cautious drinks and sits back to see if there is any effect. Finding none after a period of time – how long, she has no idea – she drinks her fill.
Emotions continue to swing from depression to, well, not being depressed as she tries to keep her mind occupied. She tries exploring the room again but the menace in the snarls when she does is clear. She might have gotten away with the corner and throwing the food back, but the ones they direct at her now leave her with no choice but to withdraw back to her place.
Her vision doesn’t brighten much and she has no idea what kind of room she’s in, let alone what kind of building. She could be on the ground floor or several stories up. She experiences several moments when she just wants to launch at the night runners in a do-or-die action but, each time, she talks herself out of it. When confined in the dark, the mind can play tricks, making stupid actions seem like good ones.
For an indeterminable amount of time, Lynn sits in the dark with nothing but her own mind to accompany her. To what end, she has no idea. She tries, with some amount of success, to think only of her family and Jack. When she feels herself slipping into a depression, she runs through scenarios, no matter how wild, in an attempt to find something that will get her out of here. Although the faint words from the loudspeaker penetrate her cell from time to time, she thinks the only way she’s going to get out is if she does it herself. If the others knew where she was, they would have been here by now.
Why in the fuck am I being held? she thinks, tilting her head back against the wall.
* * * * * *
The gray light of the overcast morning seeps into the cockpit as I sit heavily in the right seat. Robert will be flying from the pilot’s seat on this leg. He’s the one who verified the numbers in the flight computer, so if we get lost, he gets to figure out where we are and fly us to our destination. A stronger wind sprang up overnight and the ramp in front is a mass of sand particles blowing over the top of one another. It gives the appearance of the entire ground on the move. During the stronger gusts, the aircraft rocks and I can hear a hiss of blown grit against the fuselage. The walk-around was no picnic and, under the helmet, I feel dirt in my hair. Our tracks from the previous two days have been completely erased. I point this out to Robert and Bri in the midst of doing our checks stressing the importance of knowing the past day’s weather while tracking.
The engines start up, sending their familiar vibration and roar through the aircraft. We are soon taxiing to the south runway over the wind-swept ramp. The events of the previous day still weigh on my mind but fade as I focus on the day to come. It’s another short hop of a little over an hour to the southeast and McConnell AFB. Thinking of the name once again brings Lynn to the forefront of my mind. Damn I miss her. We haven’t even completed half of our journey and I’m so ready to see her again – like that didn’t start the moment we left. What we are doing is important but I’d like nothing more than to turn the aircraft west after takeoff and head home to her. I’m sure the overcast day and this forlorn place is not helping the melancholy feeling I have. I try the satellite radio while we taxi, but to no avail, which doesn’t help my mood at all. The radio station we heard yesterday is also silent.
Robert applies the power and we are soon speeding over the wind-blown runway. We bump along where the sand has been driven into small piles but our wheels soon leave the almost reclaimed airstrip. I raise the gear handle on Robert’s request and glance over at the B-1 bombers as they slide by my window. Raising the flaps, I see the bunkers at the north end of the air base wishing I knew how to load the armaments and fly those beasts. Those would make very short work of any night runner lairs we find.
Robert begins a turn to the southeast to pick up our route. At least the numbers are leading us in the right direction.
“Let’s head over to Lead one more time before heading off. I want to see if there is any indication they might have changed their minds,” I say.
“What are we looking for?” Robert asks.
“A painted sign? A big blinking arrow saying pick us up? Hell, I don’t know,” I answer.
The truth of the matter is that I feel bad about leaving a bunch of kid
s on their own regardless of their attitudes. Although I could have handled it differently, I firmly believe the outcome would have been the same. However, one more look won’t hurt.
Robert banks the aircraft, leveling out about a thousand feet below the overcast. We retrace our flight path of the day prior and arrive over the town. We circle it and the mesa to the west, but it appears the same as it did before. There is no painted sign or big, blinking arrow.
After a few minutes of orbiting, I tell Robert, “Okay, let’s head out and pick up our route.”
We depart, leaving the kids on their own. They’ve survived to this point and more than likely will continue to do so. I can’t imagine what kind of living that will be but I send thoughts of good will their way.
We pass over more fractured terrain bordering the southern edge of what used to be South Dakota and enter the northern part of Nebraska. Looking down at the terrain is a lot like looking through a slide of amoebic worms or something similar. It’s the only way I can think to describe it. Sand dunes stretch east to west but each dune is short with water and greenery in the valleys between them. Sometimes a strip of agricultural land is nestled between the dunes but other than that, it’s an empty place. It’s an odd look with dunes and greenery together like that.
The ceiling begins to rise but we maintain our altitude as we’ll begin a descent into Wichita shortly. Passing the Platte River, we fly over the Nebraska and Kansas that I remember. It’s a patch work of fields with green fingers of streams and rivers running throughout. The base is on the southeast corner of Wichita and abuts the city so I have a feeling that our nights of peace are behind us. With the abundant water and possible food sources, I’m guessing night runners will be prowling the streets in numbers. I just hope we find the soldier’s family. I’m not such a huge fan of our folks finding empty homes and their families lost. Yeah, I’m ready for a happy ending. We seem to have too few of those these days.
A New World: Takedown Page 14