by John O'Brien
He keeps to the trees alongside the fairways using the same thought pattern as with his run along the yards; the trees will hide him better and force the night runners to chase by scent. Hunting and tracking by scent alone is far slower than by sight. He is not sure how well the night runners can see in the dark, but it is the only measure he has. Running in the fairway will definitely allow them to chase by sight and close the distance. The moon and clear night provide enough illumination so he can steer clear of the trees. Running headlong into a tree that suddenly decides to jump out in front of him would not rank among the top of the ‘ideal situation’ list.
Flashes of memories surface of being in these trees before; trying to find his errant golf balls; memories of peaceful weekend outings with friends during the warmer months, of beer stacked in the cart and watching his ball arc off the tee and into the trees. A common occurrence whenever he was out with clubs in hand and the fault of said clubs.
Those memories quickly dissolve as he dashes through the trees. One advantage to the trees being part of the course is that the underbrush has been cleared. He reaches the end of the tree line, changes direction, crosses the tee area of the next hole, and enters another line of trees hoping the change in direction will throw off the howling night runners behind. He hears them crashing through the trees behind when the shrieks taper off for a moment.
The fear that they have drawn closer and that others will respond ahead of him drives him forward. Low-lying branches whip against his face but he is mindless to the stinging scratches. The faint reflected light allows him to see the branches at the last second and to avoid catching one in his eyes. Being momentarily blinded would spell disaster. The silver of the moonlight on the fairway next to him looks peaceful in its silence; in stark contrast to his fear-filled flight through the woods.
Emerging from the line of trees, he quickly crosses another fairway with the feeling that the night runners are closing the distance. His flight through the trees may not be allowing them to close in on him quickly, but they are nearing nonetheless. He enters the woods on the far side. He immediately senses that these are thicker than the previous tree lines. Going in far enough so he can’t be seen from the fairway, he quickly strips off his uniform jacket, tossing it as far as he can to his left. Greg then takes off at a 90 degree angle to his right. There is no breeze so using wind to help elude his pursuers is not an option. He hopes they will become confused about his scent coming from two directions and not know which way he actually went. At a minimum, he could perhaps lose a few of them.
The 90 degree turn will make the distance to the ramp a touch longer but keeping the distance from the night runners is the greater priority. Shrieks emit from the fairway behind and to the right. He sincerely hopes the night runners cannot see him running through the woods because, with the sharp turn, he just gave them an angle to cut him off. Greg glances over his shoulder and nothing can be seen of the fairway. Not even a glimpse of the moonlight shining down on it. The trees are spaced far enough apart that light filters in and their darker outlines immediately around him can still be seen. He feels winded but the fear of being caught and ripped apart pushes his feet ever closer to the airfield.
He makes another 90 degree turn to his left heading once more to the northwest and towards the ramp. Howls echo in the woods around him and he cannot be certain of their exact direction. They’re definitely behind him but he can’t tell if they are off to the side or directly behind. The trees open up onto another fairway and he is across and through an adjacent line in moments. The golf course ends with a street running across his path. A little over a half mile to go, he thinks eyeing another dark line of trees paralleling the road northward. He wants to stop and catch his breath but knows that to do so will be the end. The night runners are still crashing through the trees behind him.
A choice lies directly ahead of him. Take to the tree line along the road or cut through the open fields of the base. There are few buildings within the open fields but he will be sighted as soon as the night runners exit the trees. His lead is a short one and the feeling emerges that he will be caught in those fields prior to reaching the ramp. Tree line it is, he thinks running across the street and disappearing into the shadows.
Keeping well back from the road, Greg continues his evasion. His legs feel heavy with the exertion he has expended but the calls behind keep his adrenaline up. He knows he cannot keep this up for much longer but knowing there is only a half mile to go helps. He doesn’t know what he will do if he arrives and it turns out no one is there. Not that he had a choice in the matter. They were onto him inside the house where he had been hiding and there really wasn’t much he could do. If there’s no one there, I’ll just have to hold out as long as I can.
Greg also knows he has been extremely fortunate that night runners haven’t intercepted his course. Not that they would know where he was headed in order to do so. He feels that any who answer the yells will respond to the location of the shrieks behind him. He hears the mass behind him in the same line of trees. Their constant roars have diminished to an extent and he hopes they are becoming as winded, well, more winded than himself.
The trees end and he is immediately bathed in the radiance of the moonlight. The little amount of protection afforded by the trees vanishes. Only open fields with a scattering of buildings lie between him and the airfield proper. He sees the gray tips of aircraft tails poking above hangars in the near distance; showing silver from the light streaming down. Without hesitation, Greg dashes across the fields. He contemplates tossing his rifle to the side to pick up an extra little speed and endurance but there is a certain security it affords having it with him. Across the first field, he hears a rise in the shrieks behind. He has been spotted.
He sees the opening to the ramp ahead across another field. A glance behind shows a multitude of night runners pouring across the field; their faces glowing in the light. Each night runner gives an illusion of speed as they streak across the grassy field. Oh crap! I’m not going to make it, he thinks putting every last bit of energy into his legs. The shrieks behind sound excited. Turn and shoot or toss my rifle. Either way, I’m not going to make it to the ramp with it.
Tossing the M-16 to the side, he pumps his arms harder. His breathing is coming in gasps but his legs respond. He leaves the grassy field, crosses the street and comes out onto the ramp. Not really knowing which way to go, he continues across the ramp looking to both sides as he runs. Nothing but the dark shapes of resting aircraft catches his eye. No movement of people. Nothing that would indicate the recent landing of an aircraft. Well, I gave it my all, he thinks feeling his boots rhythmically strike the pavement. Sure wish I had kept the gun. I’ll just keep going as long as I can and go down fighting.
Bright lights stab out across the ramp from his left, blinding in their intensity and ruining any night vision he had acquired. He instinctively heads towards them knowing that the turn will give the night runners an angle to close the distance. There is a sound of movement coming from the direction of the lights; faintly heard above the roars of the horde on his heels. The light prevents him from seeing anything in that direction. As suddenly as they appeared, the lights go off leaving only bright spots in his vision. He continues running in the same direction.
“Goggles on. Open fire,” he hears someone shout.
Flashes of light appear in his vision. They’re firing. I hope not at me, he thinks and changes course to his right to get out of the line of fire.
* * *
The steel zipping through the air meets the first line of the night runners close on the heels of the soldier running towards us. The ones in front and to the side of the soldier are flung backward as if they ran full tilt into a wire stretched across the ramp. The rounds strike their chest, shoulders, head and limbs with tremendous force; some propelled backwards into the arms of the ones behind, others spinning around from the force of the bullets impacting their bodies off center.
Th
e man running for his life angles off to the side with the first rounds fired. It is apparent he is having trouble seeing us but is angling away from the sound of the gunfire. The night runners are also having trouble identifying our exact location with the sudden extinguishment of the light. The bright light ruined their night vision, enhanced or not, and with it being turned off abruptly, they only see darkness. Some are running toward the opposite side of the aircraft while others are heading farther off onto the ramp. A few still head directly at us. There are far too many to take down before they descend upon us but we should be able to disengage in their current disorientated state.
The echo of gunfire across the ramp is a constant. Night runners continue to fall to the pavement cooled by the night air; some falling and not moving again. Others fall and try to crawl away from their pain. The lone soldier is attempting to circle around to our lines but cannot see our exact location and is venturing further aft of the aircraft.
“Lynn, go get him and guide him back. Bravo, prepare to disengage and fall back to the aircraft,” I shout firing into the mass of night runners to our front.
“Roger that, sir,” Cressman responds, her voice carrying above the din of the firing. Lynn lowers her weapon, locates the running man, and takes off towards him.
“Alpha, prepare to board the aircraft once Bravo clears,” I shout looking over and seeing Lynn guide the soldier in by the arm.
The night runners are recovering from their disorientated state and begin to home in on us. I see Lynn out of my peripheral start up the stairs with the soldier.
“Bravo, clear out,” I shout.
The sound of gunfire diminishes as Bravo Team stands, runs behind Alpha and begins to board the aircraft. The horde of night runners are scattered in all directions due to being blinded but are now converging on our positions. They are just scant yards ahead and we only have seven rifles engaging. It will be close as we begin to disengage Alpha. I pat the two soldiers to the left of the line on their shoulders and direct their fire into our left front flank. I direct the two in the middle to our immediate front and the soldier closest to the stairs to make sure night runners don’t get to us from under the aircraft. I direct my fire into those that are closest regardless of the angle. Magazines are ejected to the ground as the team members reload; the sound of the mags and empty cartridges hitting the ground are lost in the gunfire and screams.
I see the last of Bravo mount the stairs and shout for the two Alpha members on the far left to disengage taking up their sector for them. My carbine and those of the rest of Alpha constantly send out rounds against the closing horde. The bodies continue to pile up on the ramp; the moonlight catches an occasional spray of blood in its silver beams. I observe the two Alpha members mount the stairs and catch sight of Lynn firing her M-4 from the doorway; lifting her carbine as the members enter in front of her.
“Go, Go, Go!” I shout to the three remaining members of Alpha.
“Robert, turn on the lights,” I say into the radio.
Alpha rises and scrambles up the stairs. I stand at the bottom of the stairs firing into the night runners but my rounds do little to slow their rapid advance. I hear the popping of rounds above me from Lynn firing out of the door. The bright lights flash from the aircraft once again. Shrieks of rage, pain and frustration come from the mass; the light blindingly painful. The night runners are only ten feet from the nose of the aircraft.
“Get your ass up here,” Lynn yells from the top of the stairs.
I scramble up the stairs two at a time and run through the entrance, slamming into the bulkhead with my shoulder. Lynn and Watkins pull the door closed behind me. As the door closes, the cargo compartment darkens even more; the only light coming from the reflected glow outside through the cargo windows. In the dim light, I see our newest member bent with his hands on his knees catching his breath. Thumps and pounding begin against the aircraft fuselage startling the newly rescued soldier.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They can’t get in here. Or at least they haven’t been able to as yet.”
I ask Drescoll to put the blackout covers over the windows and Michelle to draw the blackout curtains in the cockpit. When those are in place, I have Robert kill the lights outside and turn on the interior cargo lights.
“What about the battery, Dad,” Bri calls down the cockpit stairs.
“Leave it on. It’s not like we’re going anywhere with this aircraft anyway,” I call back.
“Dad?” The new soldier says raising his head but with his hands still on his knees.
“Yeah. Looks like we have some stories to share,” I say as the lights of the cargo interior lighting come on.
The soldier rises and puts out his hand, “Greg Petersen.”
“Jack Walker,” I say taking his hand.
The introductions are made after the kids come down out of the cockpit. Noticing the Captain’s tabs on the field cap he is wearing, most address him as “sir.”
“It’s just Greg, folks,” he says in response. “The days of ‘sir’ are over. I want to thank all of you for saving my bacon. I seriously don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. Well, I do and it wouldn’t have been pretty.”
“Just glad we were here,” I say as the shrieks and slams against the fuselage continue; some solid enough to cause us to jump.
“What was that about not going anywhere?” Greg asks.
“We lost an engine coming in. This aircraft isn’t going anywhere,” I answer feeling sad at the thought that this aircraft, our mobile sanctuary that has accompanied us through so much and kept us safe, will end its days here on the ramp; becoming just another remnant of civilization as we knew it.
“What happened that you found yourself in the unfortunate circumstance to be chased?” Frank asks.
“I heard the aircraft come in. They found me and started breaking in so I figured I had no choice but to make a run for it,” he answers.
We settle in amidst the continued noise outside and share our stories. We bring Greg up to speed with our journey, structure, and knowledge. He in turn fills us in on his “adventures” over the past few days. We also fill him in on our plans but reserve assigning him to a team until Lynn and I have a chance to talk about it. That he is joining us is not in question as he seems to mesh nicely with our group. Plus, his experience will be extremely beneficial.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get whatever rest we can inside this noisy tin can. We have a very busy next few weeks coming up,” I say. “Lynn, would you mind coming up with me.”
We enter the cockpit and I pick up my phone from the seat where I left it as I scrambled out. Lynn looks at me quizzically as I open it and pull up the text. With the glow of the phone shining brightly in a darkened cockpit, lit only by the glow of the instrument panels, I hand the phone to her. She takes it and looks down at the screen. She stares at the screen with furrowed brows for a few moments.
Finally, looking up with a scowl, she says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Hey, it’s not like I planned this,” I say defensively.
“What are you going to do?” She asks.
“Contact her and go get her I guess,” I say thinking, How is there any right answer to this one?
“I suppose you’re right. There’s really no other right choice but I’m going with you.”
“I have no problem with that but I would like you here to keep control of things. There’s a ton that needs to be done during the day before night falls.”
“Yeah, I went along with your foolhardy plan and let you go into the CDC but there’s no way in hell you’re going down there alone,” Lynn says putting her hands on her hips.
“I was thinking about taking Robert and Bri actually.”
“Now why on earth would you do that?” She asks tilting her head to the side.
“The Guard Base down there has a couple of C-130’s and I was thinking about flying one back up. It’s would be nice to know
we have one available just in case. I’ll need their help to fly it back up,” I answer.
“Well, I’m still going with you and that’s the way it’s going to be. You’ll just have to get used to that idea,” Lynn says adamantly.
“Okay, okay,” I say waving my hand in a warding off gesture. “We’ll take a Humvee with just the four of us.”
“Why not take a whole team or two?” She asks feeling slightly appeased but not completely happy.
“There’s a lot we need to get done before night hits and I think we’ll need everyone here helping to set up a secure location,” I respond. “It’ll be a quick down and back depending on what the road conditions are like. Let me try and get hold of Mom and then respond back to Kelly. We should then gather everyone together to quickly cover what we’re going to do come morning.”
Lynn continues looking at me and makes the ‘well, go ahead’ gesture indicating she is not going anywhere. I nervously dial Mom’s cell phone as I am worried about her but don’t get an answer increasing my worry even further. I leave a voice mail and try her home phone. There is no answer at that number and I don’t even get a voice mail. I send a thought of protection out to her as I have periodically throughout our journey.
Now the interesting part. I hit reply to Kelly’s text.
“I’m here. Are you okay?” I text and press the send button.
Several minutes pass and Lynn comes to look over my shoulder. The phone vibrates in my hand and the screen comes to life.
The words appear on the screen. “OMG!! You’re alive! I’m so scared. Where are you?”
“Fucking drama queen,” I hear Lynn whisper by my side as she reads the message. Yeah, Lynn’s not particularly fond of Kelly.
“I’m in Tacoma. Where are you?” I text asking. I would call but I don’t know her situation and the sound of her phone ringing could make it worse.
“At my place with Jessica and Brian. Can you come help us?”