“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you just ask if you could kiss my ass?” I reply back.
“Nooooo, I’m pretty sure I mentioned your graceful attempts at running,” Greg says with a huge smile.
“I guess I know who has an outside seat on the flight back,” I say. “Your exit row seat is going to have a whole different meaning.”
The chuckles die down a moment later. It’s always the same; the friendly banter before a mission. It truly does make what we are potentially facing easier to bear. I guess laughter has that affect.
“Gonzalez will be in the lead Humvee and guide us in,” I say continuing. “We’ll proceed in a staggered formation as much as the roads will allow. Keep your spacing and the guns manned. We don’t know what’s out there but we do know additional survivors exist so let’s keep alert. If we’re fired upon, we’ll respond by laying down an immediate base of fire. Be ready to pull back if we meet any kind of organized resistance. The situation will dictate our response. There’s a base here so odds are that anyone we meet will have automatic weapons. Robert and Bri, you’ll be staying here with Echo and the rest.”
I see Robert’s and Bri’s faces fall with the last sentence. “It’s because you are the only other pilot and flight engineer. If something happens, you’ll be needed, along with Craig, to fly the others back.” Robert and Bri both nod their understanding but I can tell they are still not happy about it.
The small gusts continue across the ramp blowing lighter pieces of paper and debris along as Red and Blue Teams make their way to the Humvees. The building heat and humidity makes it feel like we are in a hot tub; each inhalation like breathing water. We check our gear and load additional equipment in the vehicles and, with a last look around the desolate ramp, drive the short distance off the tarmac and start through the small base.
The drive past the buildings is much the same as the other places we’ve been; deserted and empty with a touch of emanating malice. I’m tempted to reach out to verify the feeling but I’m still not all that comfortable with my seemingly being able to. I’m still not entirely convinced that it’s not just a product of my imagination but I think that’s just my not wanting to fully come to terms with it. Again, I think it may be a handy thing to have but I’m thinking they can “see” me as well when I do. Last night they definitely looked directly at me when I opened up so I have to assume for now that they can. What I don’t know is if they can always see me even if I tuck the images in the back of my mind.
We pull to a stop at a large intersection just before the main gate. Older and newer aircraft are mounted in a circle to the left; the usual array of aircraft on display that is associated with the base and found on all installations. Well, that is if they had smaller aircraft. It’s very difficult to mount a C-5 on a pedestal. The covered security guard shacks of the gate are blockaded by security vehicles. Uniform-clad, mummified bodies lie on the ground near each vehicle. The hot, dry summer has rendered it difficult to see if they were night runners or not but my guess is that they were. It’s a smaller version of the scene at the McChord gate.
I turn and proceed on a bypass loop around the visitor’s center. Looking over to the guard posts, I see a couple of bodies lying just behind the vehicles there. They are in the same uniforms as those out in front. It must have been a confusing scene in the last hours; your seeming comrades attacking and it being difficult to distinguish friend from foe in the dark.
The entrance road crosses over railroad tracks and we take the off toward highway 60, or 84 depending on the signs. We enter a freeway with two lanes in either direction separated by a brown grass median. I look out of the side view and see Horace drive through the median and swing onto the other lanes on the opposite side; our vehicle vibrations making the soldier manning the gun of the other vehicle a blur. Horace stations herself and her team about thirty yards behind us on the left side of the highway.
The highway is mostly clear on the drive towards Clovis. There are a couple of cars parked to the side of the road; some with their doors open and others sealed. We occasionally pass groups of houses but it is mostly brown fields stretching to either side and into the distance. The edge of a town begins abruptly; one moment it’s the brown fields and the next houses abutting the highway. The green “Clovis City Limit” sign stands by the side of the road looking as forlorn as the houses that line the freeway.
Horace moves closer as the highway comes together and begins to thread its way through the town. I glance to Gonzalez to see her looking pensively out of the windows. Paper is carried across the street as the gusts from the building clouds picks up. Many of the doorways of the houses and small businesses lining the street are partially filled with sand and debris. Very few cars are parked along the street but the tires of the few that are catch the debris carried by the winds, forming little piles beside them.
We drive through most of the town without seeing a soul. If there is anyone about, I would think they would have ventured out to the base upon hearing our arrival or come out with the sound of our vehicles crawling through town. The sound of our vehicles echoes off the walls and darkened windows of the structures. There should be some people out foraging unless they’re hiding from us, I think watching the town slowly pass as we progress further east.
Gonzalez’ head is on a swivel looking around her home town. Tension is very apparent around her eyes. She points to the left off the main street and we enter a residential district. Another turn and we find ourselves on a narrow street partially covered with sand blown in from the outlying fields. The houses lining the street are in need of fresh coats of paint. The yards are bare of any vegetation with the occasional house having a chain link fence encircling it. Cars line the streets, are parked in driveways, and in open air garages. Toys and bits of junk are scattered in the bare front yards. Several screen doors swing open and closed as the blasts of air blow through. One screen door hangs only by its bottom hinge. It won’t be long before a flurry of wind tears it off and carries it to join the other debris in the yard.
“Bring it up a little and stay alert,” I say to Horace.
Our engines and the banging screens are the only sounds in the neighborhood. We drive slowly up the crowded street. Looking closer at the houses, I see that some have their doors fully open or slightly ajar. That’s not a good sign, I think associating any open door with night runners.
“That’s it right there,” Gonzalez says pointing to a rundown house with peeling white paint. My heart tightens noticing it’s one of the houses with its door ajar.
I pull up front and park the Humvee at an angle blocking the street but still able to drive away quickly if we need. I see Horace park in the same manner behind us. We stay in the running vehicles a moment longer to see if we’ve drawn any attention. Nothing but screens slamming against walls or door frames. The brown fields in the far distance, beyond where the street ends, blur and sharpen as heat thermals rise from the ground and are blown away.
I shut the Humvee down and step outside. The heat and humidity become more intense as the day warms. Looking skyward, the billowing clouds continue their slow build. It looks like there will definitely be thunderstorms in the area by mid-afternoon. The wind feels good as it occasionally sweeps through, wicking the quickly accumulating beads of sweat away, but begins to die down meaning the heat will increase and lend its energy to the overhead cumulus clouds. The slamming of vehicle doors behind me brings my attention back to the teams emerging into the sandy street. With the guns manned, the remaining team members gather around me.
“Horace, I want Blue Team outside in a perimeter. Make sure both guns are manned. Red Team will go inside and search,” I say.
“You got it, sir,” she replies. She orders her team into covered positions directing two onto the top guns.
“Gonzalez, this is your show. You know the house,” I say.
“Okay, sir,” she responds and describes the interior of the house.
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p; “Everyone stay alert but watch itchy trigger fingers. Remember, there might be Gonzalez’ parents and sister inside. Make sure of your targets before you fire. We’ll call out once inside. One last thing, the door is ajar and I don’t have to tell you what that possibly means. I’m sorry to have to mention that,” I say patting Gonzalez on the shoulder, “but we have to keep ourselves safe and alive.”
“I understand, sir,” Gonzalez says with a sigh and an increased tightness in her eyes.
We arrange our gear and grab NVG’s from the Humvee before heading up the concrete steps leading to the front porch. The overhanging eave shelters us to a degree from the sun. The clouds, although building, haven’t blocked the sunlight that is creating a furnace. Standing before the slightly open door, I feel a tickle in my mind.
I open a touch and the tickle becomes a series of confused images. Not that the images are confusing but that the source appears confused. With Henderson and Denton on each side of the door and McCafferty behind her, Gonzalez reaches for the door handle. Forcing the tickle into the depths of my mind once again, I reach out to Gonzalez’ shoulders. She turns.
“There’s at least one night runner inside,” I say feeling bad for what that may mean. What I don’t tell her is that I think I’ve woken it, or them.
* * * * * *
Settling into the passenger seat of the Humvee, Gonzalez feels the apprehension of what they are about to do. She is very anxious about what she will find but holds a sliver of hope that her parents and sister are still alive. The nervousness makes her want to turn around and head back. It might be better if she doesn’t know and she can keep the image that they are okay a reality. The smells bring back memories of her time growing up in the area along with the feel of the heat and humidity. It brings the comfort of being home.
They journey along the remembered fields and vast openness of the area. The green circles of the watered crops are no longer a part of the landscape but replaced by an endless brown. The highway she travelled many times in the past rolls by. Her stomach clinches as the welcome sign and the first houses of Clovis come into view. She feels like time and the surroundings are passing in an out-of-control fashion. On one hand, she wants it to slow down so she can assimilate it. On the other, she wants this to be done one way or the other. The unknown and what she may find is eating her up. Their coming into the city and nearing her parents’ house feels like an onrushing freight train and she isn’t able to get out of the way.
She directs Jack off the main street and onto a connecting road, turning onto her street shortly thereafter. Looking at the long, sand strewn street that ends near one of the fields surrounding Clovis brings back memories of her childhood days; some good and others bad. These streets hold a lot of stories, she thinks as they progress slowly along them. The houses and yards in front of them haven’t changed much. It still represents an area without much money; rife with gangs and drugs where some try to live out their existence as peacefully as the streets will allow.
She looks to one the neighbor houses noticing tape across a front window. She remembers the time when gunfire interrupted the night, as it did at times, and a stray round found its way through that window. The police and ambulances arrived a short time later, although it always seemed like they took longer responding to her neighborhood. She gets why now as they wouldn’t want to barrel into her neighborhood without plenty of backup, especially after an exchange of gunfire.
Exiting the Humvee, her old neighborhood presses in on her yet there is a feeling of elation as well. If it wasn’t for the life and death reason they are here, she might feel like the returning conqueror. Gonzalez turns to her parents’ house. The rundown condition is counter to her father’s determined effort to make the best home possible for her and her sister. She knows how much her brother running off with the gangs weighed on him and her mother.
“I understand, sir,” Gonzalez says with a sigh, feeling tension gather in her gut at the implication of Jack’s words.
She checks her gear with the others but her eyes never leave the house for long. Each moment outside without someone emerging lessens the odds of her parents and sister being here. She knows her dad would have come out when the Humvees arrived. With the rest of Red Team behind her, she climbs the all-too-familiar steps to the porch. The weather-beaten boards creak beneath her boots. The sound of the rotting wood, moaning with the weight, reminds her of her dad and his intention to replace the porch. Each time he would finally get around to it, other bills or something else would erode the money he saved. The memory adds to her sadness as she now feels this search may be for naught. They have some time to look around the city and she holds onto the small hope that they are safe somewhere nearby. First though, she knows she has to enter the home of her childhood.
Standing by the door, she puts the NVG’s on her head and checks her M-4. Checking for a round in the chamber, she moves the selector switch to ‘Auto’ and reaches for the door handle. She pulls up short as she feels Jack’s hand on her shoulder and turns to see what he wants.
“There’s at least one night runner inside,” he says.
Gonzalez is confused about how he would know that but sees sorrow in Jack’s eyes as he relays the news. She knows open doors may indeed signal night runners but his statement is one of assuredness. A memory flashes in her head of the time they were in Madigan. Jack commented that the night runners knew they were in there and were coming. She hadn’t heard them herself but he said it with the same assuredness.
“How do you know that, sir?” Gonzalez asks.
“You’re just going to have to take my word on it. I know we have to go inside but keep on your toes,” Jack answers.
“Okay, sir,” she says.
A light dawns in her head. Not the bright light of an “aha” moment but a click of understanding. Something happened to Jack when he was in that coma. She should have seen it before. Other memories surface of seeing him look oddly to the front door during their meals or at a building as if he perceived something the others couldn’t. Maybe he did. He can sense them, she thinks looking at him a moment longer. It’s almost too much to deal with right now. With an answer about her family, or potentially one, right in front of her and now to have this realization. The freight train continues speeding down the track and she is standing right in its path.
She turns back to the door. Jack has stepped back and McCafferty stands at her shoulder with her M-4 at the ready. Henderson and Denton are ready to the side. Through the turmoil of emotions, a sense of pride shines through. She is part of a great team. The anxiety, frustration and disbelief she felt at Jack’s words changes. Gonzalez realizes he said those things, not because he was being cold-hearted but just the opposite, he cares about them and only wants to see them safe. She knew this even as he spoke but her anxiety only allowed so much in.
She reaches again for the door handle and, with a nod to the others, pushes the door open and rushes in with her carbine up and ready covering the immediate front. She senses more than hears McCafferty right on her heels as she covers the right. Gonzalez pushes further into the room with her eye tracking the small red crosshair as it traverses the room in her parallax view. Milliseconds later, a swish of clothing announces the arrival of Henderson and Denton. The open living room is clear of any movement and the lack of anything inside gives rise to a small doubt of Jack’s “knowledge.” Doubt gives rise to hope although a limited one as no one came outside to meet them when they pulled up.
She stops and goes to one knee and looks around the familiar room. McCafferty parks herself just off her right shoulder. Henderson and Denton are covering the right with Jack just inside the front door covering the entire room. The curtains covering the front window are pulled down on one side angling across the window. The open door and partially open window provides a dim light to the interior. Against the far wall sits the couch that was part of her life for so long; the cushions indented in the middle from the many times they sat as a fa
mily in front of the old console TV. Her dad’s green chair sits in the corner; the fabric on the arms thinned to the point where they’ve lost all color and has stuffing showing through.
The dining room opening is in front of her with the kitchen opening to left of the rickety table and chairs. Several plates lie on the table and the dim light catches a sparkle of silverware on the floor. Ahead and to her left is the hallway leading to the bathroom and back bedrooms. The house feels empty with the exception of memories. Gonzalez motions to Henderson and Denton pointing to the dining room. They both slide their NVG’s down and creep forward covering each other and the opening.
Gonzalez covers the hallway entrance with McCafferty. The chill Gonzalez feels is more than from the cool interior of the house. This is what she wanted but now, being here, she is not so sure she really wants an answer. She pulls her own NVG’s down over her eyes and turns to see Jack take station on his knees in the middle of the living room covering all approaches. She notices he doesn’t have his NVG’s down but is covering the rooms as if he can see everything in detail. Another click of understanding settles in her already overwhelmed mind. She takes a deep breath and settles into the moment. This is only another mission, she thinks looking to McCafferty. With a nod, they both rise and approach the hallway.
Settling down on the near corner, with McCafferty across the opening, Gonzalez looks down the darkened hall. All of the doors leading to the bedrooms and bathroom are open. The green glow of her goggles picks out a little light showing in the bedrooms from sunlight filtering in through the windows. The bathroom, two doors down the hall to the right, remains dark. If there is a night runner or two in here as Jack said, they would be in the bathroom, she thinks taking her first step into the hall with McCafferty right behind her. The silence is complete within the house. The shuffling of Henderson and Denton stationing themselves by the back door has stopped. She can’t even hear her own breathing or the pounding of her heart in her chest. The house itself seems to be holding its breath. I hate this, Gonzalez thinks taking another step.
A New World: Awakening Page 8