Sanctuary anw-3

by John O'Brien

  The black uniform and vest are soaking up the heat as the sun’s rays stream down. In the shadow of the building and with Robert at my side, I peer in the glass panel set in the door, checking out the hallway beyond. The hallway, as before, is partially lit from the radiated light through the glass panels. Nothing is moving and I open the door. Stepping inside, I look into the weather shop to my immediate left through a sizable pane set in a wooden door. The interior is well-lit from light filtering in through the large windows on the building’s front. The room looks the same as before. A small amount of dust is gathered on the floor. I don’t see any tracks in the dust so know that this room has not been entered since my last visit.

  I proceed in. Dust stirs faintly from the breeze created by the opening of the door. Robert is behind me as I walk into the room proper. A rank smell of decomposition rises to my nose; not overpowering but it is unmistakable.

  “Whew,” Robert says quietly.

  “I know. That’s something you never get used to. I’m guessing it must be the ones I shot in the back room last week,” I say waving my hand in front of my face, trying to fan the smell away.

  We walk over to the desk amid the dust and odor of death. Peering over the counter, I see a variety of phone books off to the side. I can barely reach them over the counter but paw through, pushing some to the side until I come up with on for the Olympia area. Grabbing that one, I bring it up and look through until I verify there is a place in the area down south that has the type of security doors I am thinking about using as our main line of defense at Cabela’s.

  I take the phone book and we exit onto the ramp. The girls have finished changing by the time we arrive back. The noise of voices and doors shutting permeate the area as the other teams get ready to head out on their search. Vehicles start up and proceed off the ramp individually, heading off to the areas Lynn assigned them. My thoughts go with them and I hope we can find those still holding out; hoping also there are a few of them. It’s a funny thing, sometimes I think we have quite a few people with us, and, other times I think we are woefully inadequate. Billions of people have been reduced to, well, as far as I know, us. That is mightily mind-boggling.

  The last of the vehicles depart, their sound fading into the early afternoon. Mullin’s second group is left behind to guard the transport trucks. I leave instructions with them to make sure the aircraft is closed up before departing. I look around at Red Team, currently setting large cases of tools in the back of a Humvee along with some of the ammo cases, and those going with me. I have to tell you, it is very strange seeing Nic and Bri dressed in black fatigues. The dire situation we are in comes into a greater light seeing them clad like that. It really makes me realize how far we have come and also how far we have to go. Without the services we have become accustomed to, we will slide further into another potential dark age. That could be either a good or bad thing. All I know is that it will be different.

  Piling into the Humvees and the Jeep, we begin our own trip. I have Mike jump in the back of the Jeep and Robert climbs in the passenger side. The 130 is sitting on the ramp with the rear ramp still open and the sun’s rays reflecting off of the surface of the wings and fuselage. With a last look around and giving the old bird a silent thanks, I close the door and drive off the ramp heading to the armory; the three Humvees carrying the others in my wake.

  We stop briefly at the armory and take measurements of the doors. Looking at the hinges, it will be work getting them out but not impossible. They are basically bolted into the thick concrete walls. We’ll just have to make sure we have the right tools. Those we gathered from the hanger should suffice. And of course lots of people to lift them and something to transport them.

  Gonzalez and Henderson were based here prior so know the way to one of the firing ranges. We drive that way with the sun slowly making its way across the western sky and me trying to will it to stop. It doesn’t listen. We manage to make our way to one of the ranges and park close to the firing line. I step out and dust eddies around my boots as they hit the ground. The range itself is surrounded by trees with the all-too-familiar dirt berm set up on the far end. Several covered sheds dot the firing line with individual positions marked with small, white, box-like indicators. The range itself is quite wide but the downrange targets are shorter, which is okay as our engagements have been short range ones and its best to sight in at the engagement distances we’ll be facing.

  I have everyone attach the aiming devices and make sure the suppressors are attached. The M-4, as do others weapons, has a different ballistic trajectory with a suppressor attached so it’s important we sight in with them on. We spread out on the firing line and I give a lesson on the operation of the aiming devices and SpectreDR sights. I gather the spare carbines I threw in the Jeep and hand them to Nic, Bri, Michelle, and Mom.

  “Dad, what?” Nic says holding the carbine.

  “You need to learn and I’ll be more comfortable knowing you have them and can use them. I’ll show you how they work and the nuances,” I say assigning them places on the line next to the rest. They had a small lesson with the M-16 back in Kuwait but I want them to become more proficient. I hand the remaining spares to Kathy and Kenneth. Little Robert is a little young to be handling a weapon of this size so I leave him out.

  I give the okay to commence firing. The soft sound of suppressed rounds being fired on semi-automatic fills the air. I make sure the girls’ and Mom’s carbines are set on semi and show them how to sight in using the SpectreDR – how to change the magnification and to make adjustments until the reticle is matched to the bullet impact point. After getting the sights correct, I have them switch to the aiming device, setting it to the visual laser. The infra-red laser will track the same point as the visual one. I let them shoot through a couple of mags until they become comfortable firing the M-4. I show them how to change magazines and to reload individual mags.

  Robert lies on the ground next to us, popping a round and then making an adjustment on the sight. I see him fire a few rounds without stopping to adjust and then nod with satisfaction. He goes through the same process with the aiming device attached to the top, front of the rail; nodding once again as he becomes satisfied with his settings. With the girls now feeling somewhat comfortable, I kneel with Mike at my side and begin sighting in my own M-4. We switch to the M-9’s and begin the sighting-in process again. The sounds of firing eventually diminish and come to stop.

  “Everybody good?” I ask in the ensuing silence. A smattering of “good here” and nods answer.

  We disassemble and clean our guns, teaching how to break the weapons down and clean them to those that don’t know how, at covered tables set to along the rear of the long firing line. Reassembling them, we pile back into the vehicles and chase the sun, beginning our journey out of the base and toward the Interstate south. We retrace our route back to McChord wanting to go out of the gate there. I would take the more direct route to the gates of Fort Lewis but I remember those gates being blocked. I’m not sure how blocked they are and what it will take to clear a route so I take the route I know is open. Time still weighs heavily on me and I don’t want to come across anything else that will impede our progress. We come to the guard booths, once again having to traverse over and around the now highly decomposing corpses, just as the phone in my pocket vibrates.

  “Are you coming?” The text appears. Yes, it’s from Kelly.

  I radio Lynn letting her know we are exiting the base and heading south.

  “Okay, Jack. Be careful. See you soon,” she replies over the airwaves.

  “Roger that. You too,” I reply.

  The afternoon is passing quickly as I begin typing my response to Kelly.

  “We’ll be leaving in a few hours. Thinking around eight tonight. Might have to stay the night. Have water and scent-free candles handy.”

  The phone vibrates again a short time later as we are coming up on the outer gates.

  “That late?” Ugh, I swear, I t
hink starting to reply.

  “I’m moving as fast as I can. You can drive up if you want,” I text back.

  “No. We’ll wait for you here,” Kelly texts.

  “Okay. Call you when we’re on the way,” I type and press the send button.

  Hitting the Interstate, we turn southward once again. This is beginning to feel like I’m driving a mail route. The sun is far too low in the sky for my taste given all that needs to happen between now and when it dips below the western horizon. I can almost literally see it shoot across the sky. Continuing south, we drive past the lower marshlands of the Nisqually Basin. The tide is out and the mud flats are revealed. Cranes line the water edge, standing elegantly on their long legs and occasionally dipping their beaks when they find something that interests them. I look out over the waters of the South Puget Sound, glistening and sparkling with reflections of the sun on its surface, and see a bald eagle sitting on a tall post jutting out of the water. The eagle leaps from the post and soars across the water, climbing higher into the afternoon sky. My heart goes out and I wish I could soar along with it.

  Climbing the hill on the far side of the basin, with the exit we want lying just ahead, I look anxiously ahead. The tops of the fir trees lining the tall embankments sway slightly in an afternoon breeze. I see the Humvee directly behind me trudge up the slope in my rear view. Cresting the hill, I take the exit and turn onto a recently paved road. Passing by two round-a-bouts and taking a side road, I turn into the drive leading to the outdoor store.

  The store is hidden by a slope in the long driveway, slowly showing more of itself the closer I get; first the green, metal roof, then the large yellow sign before the reddish-brown, wooden building comes fully into view as we top the small hill. Large paved parking lots encircle the area around the store with light poles set in a scattered pattern throughout. The building exhibits both the feeling of hiding danger behind its walls and one of safety. The danger comes from my experience within buildings and the safety from my thought that this will provide a sanctuary for us.

  I pull up to the front of the store, staying back from the covered drive-thru area by the front doors. Four sets of double glass doors, two sets on the left and two on the right, with two large panes of glass between them, make up the front entrance. A small foyer exists inside with a second set of entrance doors identical to the first ones across a small tiled vestibule. My heart leaps into my throat looking at the entrance. Shards of glass litter the wide concrete sidewalk; one of the large panes of glass is broken and very little glass remains in its frame.

  “That’s not good,” I say as we all gather on the pavement by the drive-thru.

  The familiar pattern of faint footprints, marked by dried blood, lie on the light gray sidewalk, disappearing as they hit the darker gray pavement of the drive. My heart sinks at the sight. I have brought everyone to this place and now it seems like it is occupied. The size of the building makes me believe that multitudes lie within. We have yet to find signs like these into a building where hordes of night runners haven’t lain within. I feel at a loss as to what to do. Thoughts enter of retiring back to the aircraft for the night and the sanctuary it affords. Yes we will have all of the teams available but the risk is great. Looking at the store, I still think this gives us the best option given its size and limited entrance.

  “I was really hoping we wouldn’t see something like that,” Gonzalez says, “but, sir, we’ll clean ‘em out right quick.”

  I am really thankful for her support and mark of confidence. A quick gust ruffles my clothing and then is gone. The scent feels clean, carrying only the odors of the surrounding grass fields and the evergreens farther away. I am thankful the breeze wasn’t coming from the direction of town as it would probably carry an entirely different scent. We’re here so we may have to fight for our place of refuge. If it gets too bad, we can retreat and find another.

  “Thanks. I needed to hear that,” I say turning from the building and the implications the broken glass and footprints indicate. “Henderson, Denton, stay here with the others. Robert, Gonzalez, McCafferty, with me. Bannerman, would you get a measurement on the front doors? We’ll want to put the pull-down security doors on both the inside and outside of both sets of entrance doors. Keep in mind the possibility of using the armory doors in the future.”

  Attaching the throat mic and with my “new” M-4 cradled in my arm, I head off to tour the exterior to get an idea of what we are looking at. The building is basically a large rectangular structure with reddish - brown, wooden sides giving it the look of an enormous log cabin. A river-rock wall about three feet high is built up along the sides. Looking by the entrance doors, I notice that the wood and rock wall is built against a sturdier concrete structure.

  Robert is at my side, with Gonzalez and McCafferty tailing behind, as we round the first corner. Walking along the long side of the structure, we come across the double glass doors of the side entrance set approximately at the mid-point. The doors are intact and unlocked. This is handy as it will give us the option of having an immediate second exit or entry point for when we go inside.

  “Bannerman, there’s another set of doors along the side that I’d like you to measure when you finish,” I say into the radio.

  “Will do, Jack,” he responds shortly after.

  We continue along the side and round the corner to the shaded rear of the structure. A large, enclosed overhang is set against the building. I nod in appreciation. I was hoping to find this. Walking to the enclosure, I see the open part is secured by a chain link fence across its entirety with a double gate set in the middle. The gate is padlocked. Behind the fence, bolted onto a concrete pad, sit two very large generators. Both have large tanks with a green diesel placard plastered on the exterior.

  “Would you two mind heading back and drive one of the Humvees over? Grab the bolt cutters and you’ll find a couple of green hoses in the back of the Jeep. If you could grab those, I’d be most appreciative. Oh, please grab the gas cans there as well,” I say to the two women dressed in black fatigues and tac vests.

  “Sure, no prob, sir,” McCafferty says and they trot along the back and disappear around the corner.

  “What do you think?” Robert asks referring to the generators.

  “I think they ran out of fuel. It could be that the lights might have been left on inside judging from the unlocked doors. If not, then we can check and see if they at least work. Wherever we go, we’ll need power,” I answer.

  “Hey, Dad,” Robert says.

  “Yeah,” I respond continuing to stare at the mammoth diesel engines.

  “Thanks for including me and letting me be a part.”

  “You may not thank me later, but you bet,” I say turning to put my arm around his shoulder.

  “Do you think this place will work out?” He asks giving a small nod toward the store.

  “I really hope so. We may have quite a fight on our hands clearing it out. I’m not a fan of its open interior and with it having the second story open to the bottom. We have plenty of teams and so, if we play it right and do it smart, we should be okay,” I answer.

  I hear the sound of birds chirping in our vicinity before the noise of an approaching vehicle overrides their calls. The Humvee appears at the corner and is driven up over the curb. Gonzalez brings the vehicle to rest a few feet from the fenced-in generators and both women jump out. Opening the rear, McCafferty extracts bolt cutters and the hose while Gonzalez hoists the two metal gas cans. The silver-colored padlock is cut off and the gates swung open.

  I step into the enclosure and tap down the sides of the tanks. The hollow sound follows my tapping down to the bottom of both tanks. Empty, as I thought. I reach up and unscrew the cap on the top of one tank, inserting a metal pole sitting by the side. It comes out with a miniscule amount of fuel on the bottom. The second tank indicates the same. We siphon a few gallons from the Humvee, filling the gas cans a few times and emptying their contents into the dry tanks. R
esealing the caps, I hit the green “run” button on the first generator. The generator cranks for a moment, coughs and sputters, and then comes to life with a roar. I test the second generator and it follows the same process.

  I head over to the side with the noise from the generators fading as I round the corner. Bannerman is by the side doors, measuring them, with the others standing a short distance away. I walk in front of the glass doors and peer in.

  “Crap,” I say with my head still pressed against the glass and my hands cupped around my eyes.

  “What?” Roberts asks.

  Darkness still reigns inside although I’m able to see the green exit lights glowing above the entrance doors far to my right.

  “The lights are still off,” I answer pulling back from the door.

  “Do you have the measurements?” I ask Bannerman.

  “As best I can,” he replies.

  “Okay, let’s head out front. I’ll turn the generators off and meet you there,” I say.

  With our original group, I return to the generators and hit the red “off” button on both of them. They sputter and die. Closing the fence and putting the padlock through the gate, we reload the gear and I send Gonzalez and McCafferty to the front with the Humvee. Robert and I continue around the rest of the exterior, finding only three large service bay doors that are closed and locked. I do note that the roof is flat but cannot see any easy way up from the outside. Gathered at the front with the others, I notice windows set into the second story.

  I point to the windows and tell Bannerman, “We’ll need something to cover those.”

  He looks up. The windows appear to be a regular size and are set into the wall on either side of the entrance.