Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  They eventually arrive off the naval air station and take a position close in. Lifting his heavy binoculars, Leonard looks for any signs of life. The runways near the sandy shore come into clear focus. He spies several jet aircraft parked on the northwestern ramp, a couple of hangars, and other buildings, but doesn’t discern any movement. It appears exactly like Bangor, completely abandoned.

  “Let’s move farther out and submerge for the night. Have the crews listen for ship traffic and monitor what we can of the base,” Leonard tells the XO. “Wake me with any reports. I’ll be in my cabin.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the XO replies.

  The night passes in silence. There’s neither the sound of propellers in the waters nor sight of any movement onshore. The only thing they pick up on the acoustic gear are the calls from several Orca pods that inhabit the waters. Leonard surfaces his boat with the coming dawn. The broken clouds overhead provide better visibility but also bring more of a chill to the morning. They backtrack toward Seattle and eventually pick up the buildings that line the eastern shores of the sound.

  Cruising along slowly, Leonard and the others of the watch glass the shore. It’s much the same as the bases. The mechanisms and buildings of humankind are there, just itching for people to meander through and into. The streets which once held a multitude of people on errands or browsing the shops remain empty. Dark windows stare back as if sad that the people, that once looked in gazing at their wares, have vanished.

  Rounding a point, with Bainbridge Island to one side, the straits open to the actual port of Seattle. The skyline rises above the still waters. Ships ride at anchor waiting eternally for their turn at the busy docks. Their anchor lines stretch taut as all point toward the incoming tide. Off to the side, cruise ships sit berthed at their docks. Ferries which once carried commuters and visitors alike are nestled in their piers. The city and waterfront are like the other areas, looking like they should be teeming with people but what greets the onlookers seems more like a ghost town.

  The cranes lining the main docks lie still with ships berthed beneath their mammoth arms. The large ocean-going vessels sit quietly as if holding secrets within, as if they were witnesses to all that transpired but are unable to tell their story. The bridges spanning the waterways are empty of the cars that used to sit bumper to bumper during rush hours.

  Pulling close, Leonard blasts out greetings through a handheld loudspeaker. His voice echoes off the waters and tall buildings lining the narrow streets, bouncing and fading into the inner city. There isn’t any corresponding greeting or movement. Thinking of the warehouse, he wonders how many night runners lie within the dark, silent buildings. He thinks of putting Chief Krandle and his SEAL Team ashore but doesn’t really see anything that can be gained. He thinks they’ll just find more of what he is already seeing — an abandoned city. This is a new world he has found himself in and, as hard as it is to do, he needs to wrap his mind around it and begin to think differently.

  The major with Captain Walker said it would take three days to gather his requested supplies so Leonard decides to sit off the shores of Seattle and watch for the rest of the day. He’ll submerge at night and continue his observation.

  On the bridge, he watches as the lowering sun is reflected off the thousands of windows that rise up the skyscrapers. It looks as if a giant mirror was placed in the middle of downtown. Glints reflect off the dome of the space needle stretching high into the air. Countless thousands and millions once stood on the railing of the landmark looking over the city. Now it stands as one more relic of the past. The streets between the mammoth buildings darken with shadows cast by the tall towers rising high toward the broken layer of clouds.

  The sun sinks to the horizon creating an orange glow on the sides of the buildings. Leonard watches as the city seems to hold its breath as the glow changes to reflect the sunset behind him. As if pulled on a string, the colors vanish leaving behind the grays of a landscape moving from day into night. No lights twinkle from the condos along the waterfront. With a final hush, the grand city is cast into darkness. Leonard thinks about submerging but hesitates wanting to watch the city in transition for a moment longer.

  The stillness is complete. The waves lapping along the hull the only sound. Then, as if a bubble burst, the silence is broken by the faint sound of screams resonating over the waters. Leonard brings night vision binoculars to his eyes and scans the shoreline. There is movement along the narrow streets rising away from the waterfront. People emerge from buildings and race in all directions, some disappearing farther into the city and vanishing over the hills. Others head toward him and the buildings built on piers stretching into the bay.

  In his magnified view, he sees several of them press against railings lining the water, their noses lifted into the air and their mouths open wide. A myriad of shrieks bounce toward him, echoing off the tall buildings as his voice did earlier in the day. He catches a glimpse of what appears to be a glow emanating from the eyes of several of the figures along the railings. Pulling the binoculars from his eyes, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes before looking once again. He sees the same thing.

  “Chief Krandle to the bridge,” he calls on the intercom.

  Leonard wants the chief to get a look and see if these are the same things he saw on his mission to the Philippines. A few minutes later, Krandle appears on the already crowded bridge.

  “Take a look at that,” Leonard says, handing Krandle the binoculars and pointing toward the city.

  Chief Krandle takes the offered set and brings them to his eyes. Leonard watches as the chief stares long and hard. Krandle withdraws the binoculars and rubs his eyes in the same manner as Leonard did before looking once again.

  “Are their eyes glowing?” Krandle asks, incredulously.

  “That’s what I thought I saw as well, chief. Are those the same things you saw in the Philippines?”

  “I wouldn’t swear to it but they look very much alike. They have the same pale skin and those shrieks are definitely the same,” Krandle answers with a shiver of remembrance.

  Leonard thought much the same remembering the faint screams from the warehouse. He now knows he is looking at what Captain Walker called night runners. It still seems so alien but there is the proof right in front of him. The stories match what he sees. He doesn’t need to go ashore and see them attack to obtain a hundred percent verification. As strange as it seems, humankind has turned into some new species leaving little alive in their wake. Watching the hundreds of night runners run through the streets, some he only catches a glimpse of as they transit cross streets, he wonders how many survivors can be left in the world. Certainly there can’t be any here. Having seen enough, he clears the bridge.

  “Prepare to submerge,” he orders, dropping the last foot from the ladder to the deck. The control room crew responds and they are shortly diving under the chill waters in the bay that once served Seattle. Their black silhouette becomes smaller until the waves lap over the last vestige of the conning tower before it vanishes altogether below the surface.

  “Keep a watch out on the shore and listen for any vessels. Wake me if anything changes,” Leonard says and retires to his cabin.

  The views on the monitors changes little during the night watch. Night runners come and go in the small section of the city that can be seen. The fascinated crew watch as, just before the first faint lighting changes occur in the east, the creatures roaming the city vanish within minutes of each other. It’s almost as if a switch were thrown.

  Leonard rises, receives a brief on the activities of the night, and surfaces the boat. He orders a heading toward Tacoma putting Seattle on his tail. The city has taken on the forlorn aura of a ghost town once again but, to him, the windows take on a menacing look knowing what lies in the darkened rooms behind them. The Santa Fe rounds the corner out of the bay and into the straits of the Tacoma Narrows. Seattle slides from view and Leonard glances back watching the Space Needle disappear behind a tree-clad
hill.

  They slide down the straits passing the forested islands of Bainbridge and Vashon. Looking through binoculars, all of the small towns lining the shore tell the same story — seemingly abandoned and left to the whims of Mother Nature. Putting in to the bay serving Tacoma, it looks much like Seattle, all of the mechanisms of civilization in place but no one around using them. The only evidence of a departed society Leonard spies through his magnified view is the tall grass growing in the yards of residences sitting on the hillsides and in the medians of several streets.

  White specks dot the area as gulls circle the waters near shore. Large, black birds wheel over a spot in the distance. Several seals surface in the waters but that is the only movement. Leonard notes that the docks are only partially full of cargo ships allowing room for him to dock the sub if needed. He’ll head down to Olympia to see if he can put in there. Having to wait for the morning tide in order to transit the narrow passages, they will remain parked off the shores of Tacoma and observe.

  The Widening Rift

  Waking in the afternoon, I want to just remain lying on my cot. However, there is only so much time one can spend on a cot without permanently realigning the back into a not favorable position. Walking downstairs of the mostly empty interior, I gather Robert and Craig to plan our little jaunt across the western part of what used to be the United States. I still think of it in those terms even with the collapse of any governing body because, well, it’s just easier that way. The states are just drawn lines on pieces of paper, but in regards to planning, it’s still much simpler to refer to them in that manner. A place has to have a name when referring to it and the old ones are just as good as any.

  We settle at one of the larger tables and spread out flight navigation maps. I have the information on where we need to go for each of the soldiers. Now it’s just a matter of planning the exact route to make the best of our time. It takes a few hours to plan out the route but the overall flight will take us in a clockwise circle around the entire western continent. Our first stop will be at Mountain Home AFB, Idaho and then off to Malmstrom AFB, Montana. Then it’s off to Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, McConnell AFB, Kansas, Petersen AFB, Colorado, Luke AFB, Arizona, Nellis AFB, Nevada, Vandenberg AFB, California, Travis AFB, California, and then McClellan AFB, California before returning home. I plan to drop by Canon AFB, New Mexico on the leg from Colorado to Arizona to pick up another AC-130 gunship and ammunition for it. Why couldn’t everyone who has family we are looking for have grown up as neighborhood friends? I think looking at the route drawn on our maps. It’s a long series of flights that we’ll be lucky to finish in a mere ten days.

  Once again, I weigh the balance of continuing our nightly attacks to clear out the area versus searching for the families. I feel torn. We decided as a group to do this but the conflict remains. I owe it to the soldiers who risked their lives without question rescuing the kids and who continue to do so every day. But clearing out the local area is important to providing a higher measure of security for our group of survivors. Keeping the night runners at bay and reactive — on their heels — allows us not only protection but it’s my feeling that it makes it harder for them to adapt. That is what worries me more than anything else. But the group has spoken and we did promise we would do what we could to help. The coming of winter and the deterioration of weather it brings dictates that we are closing in on the ‘now or never’ time. And so, off we’ll go. Plus, having another Spooky in the arsenal, even if for just a short time, can’t hurt. With the addition of Roger, we’ll also be able to conduct local searches while we’re gone.

  We meet in the evening and I outline our planned trek. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether to take Humvees or a Stryker. The Stryker will make for cramped quarters and limit the amount of people we can take back should we encounter any but it’s armament and unexposed firepower will be a benefit should we need it. Taking one will also decrease the distance we can travel, but with the route we currently have planned, that really won’t make much of a difference.

  “What about taking two 130s? Like we did returning from Canon AFB? We could drop down to the Guard base in Portland and pick up another one,” Robert suggests.

  “That will make it decidedly more difficult to bring a Spooky back up with us,” I answer.

  “Oh, yeah, that it would,” he responds. “My only problem is deciding whether to take Humvees or a Stryker.”

  “Will it make a difference with the flight?” Lynn asks.

  “Only with regards to the range plus it will take longer to get to altitude. We may not be able to climb as high with a full load of fuel but can after we burn some off. Takeoffs from high altitude airports can be a little sporty,” I answer.

  “You’re the best to answer that one really. If you think it’s safe enough, flyboy, then I’d say take the Stryker,” Lynn says.

  “I’ll have to seriously think on that. We’ll be taking off in Colorado so I’ll take a closer look at the data figuring in some worst case scenarios. I agree that the Stryker is a better choice but turning the 130 into an all-terrain vehicle is not my ideal solution,” I state.

  “It’s kinda hard to clear the mountains that way,” Robert says.

  “Yeah, kind of, but it does make landing a whole lot easier,” I reply.

  “Ugh. And with that, I’m going to bed. If I don’t stop you two here, you’ll go on all night,” Lynn says. Robert and I merely smile knowing the truth of her statement.

  We turn in for the night with the intention of waking early to meet Captain Leonard and his crew. Whether that will be in Olympia or Tacoma remains to be seen. Bannerman has crews ready for either scenario.

  Sandra runs down the empty streets with the moon casting its silver rays through a break in the clouds overhead. The rumbles and flashes of light of the night previous are not present and she feels a measure of relief with their absence. She still looks to the sky watching for the streaks of light that mean death and listens for the tell-tale droning that premeditates the deadly explosions of fire.

  The large pack she has brought with her thunder behind her as they search for prey. Michael has turned her and her pack loose in the night after other packs reported good hunting grounds nearby. She returned to the lair last night loaded with the containers of food she and her pack raided from the many buildings they entered. The rays of the bright orb overhead causes her skin to tingle but that is ignored as she trots through the dark. Her breath comes out in puffs of white as her exhales condense in the chilled air.

  She keeps looking north toward the large two-legged lair and feels herself drawn to it again. She passes the old lair which now lies in ruin with wisps of smoke rising in places through the rubble. A thought crosses her mind that Michael was right in moving the pack farther away. This must be what the white flashes and the blasts were about last night, she thinks as she keeps driving northward with her pack on her heels.

  She pauses at the distinct dividing line between intact buildings and the debris of ruined structures. The wariness she felt several nights ago takes hold and she comes to a stop. The hundreds behind her halt with her and position themselves in the street and grassy strips along the side. She listens carefully for any signs of the droning in the sky but hears nothing except an occasional cricket chirping in the distance. Faint scurrying comes from the debris as the thousands of rodents inhabiting those places scamper about. Her pack will feed on them again tonight.

  She sends her pack forward among the ruins to catch the quick, wily, small ones. Standing watch by the side, she will feed after the others have had their fill. She thinks of telling Michael about this abundant food supply but she has held the information for two reasons. One, he will know for sure that she has ventured close to the two-legged lair again. He may anyway but she doesn’t want to make it overt. And two, she doesn’t want this place swarming with other packs. Having them this close may alert the two-legged ones. Of course, Michael most likely wouldn’t allow them to get this
close but she can’t take that risk. She doesn’t know how she will get into the lair, but she means to try. The pull of the two-legged one is strong and she is still intent on capturing the female she saw in his mind that one night.

  She continues to watch her pack dash among the piles of rubble as they chase down the small prey. Pained squeals permeate the night air indicating the capture of food. Other squeals pervade the night as the rodents sees one of her pack and run farther into the protection of the wreckage. Her head comes up sharply as she feels something else in her mind. Coming to her abruptly, it’s the thought images of another one and is coming from the two-legged lair. It’s not the feel of one of her kind but it’s close. Nor does it feel like the brush she had from the two-legged one. She can follow this new one’s thoughts and actions though and there is no doubt that he is within the lair.

  For a moment, she is tempted to take her pack to the tall walls once again but the memory of being tossed to the ground and losing one of her pack when the ground erupted under his feet causes her to hold back. Instead, she sends this new one an image. She waits patiently for a return message but receives nothing. Just as abruptly as this new one came to her mind, he vanishes. She looks into the distance hoping for him to come back and is disappointed when he remains silent. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she focuses on the area around her. With thoughts of how to get over the walls to capture the female and draw the two-legged one out, she lopes into the debris-scattered parking lots to feed.

  Alan finds himself downstairs once again. In his confused state, he has the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be outside. The feeling is so strong. It is a distinct need to be out in the dark which confuses him even further. His heart races thinking about the thrill of the hunt, his mouth waters thinking about the sweet taste of fresh blood. His teeth sinking into warm flesh and tearing it from bone. The eagerness as he chases down prey, closing in from behind and the excitement of him about to feed. A quickly fading image hangs in his mind of being called, the call being one to join the pack and hunt.