Ahead and to the left I notice another line of dust clouds heading our way. I’m guessing it must be vehicles from another road block on the other side of town coming to help. The group that was chasing us has given up trying to keep up with us and are now trying to evade the heavy rounds streaming into their vicinity; rounds that are finding target after target. Any cohesiveness they might have had is lost. Most are trying to make it back to the roadblock but having a hard time getting by Greg who is firmly entrenched in their rear – yes, the analogy does hold true here.
“Horace, Greg, let’s finish this up here. We have more company coming in from the east. Give those fuckers a last shot so they think twice about coming back and rejoin on me,” I say and direct McCafferty to turn and park with our rear to the oncoming vehicles. They are still a distance away but closing quickly.
“Copy that, sir,” Horace says. “We’re on the way.”
“Be there in a sec,” Greg replies.
The rounds from both teams cease and what remains of our wannabe pursuers hightail it towards their roadblock location. A light dust hangs in the air over the fields; thicker where we engaged the vehicles. Plumes of smoke rise from stricken vehicles and bodies lie on the ground. Some crawl slowly seeking refuge. Many lie unmoving on the dry, brown field. I wish I could have just loaded up a Stryker. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t tear after a Stryker with a fucking pickup truck and a deer rifle.
Horace and Greg drive up and stop in line with spacing between. Our rears are to the oncoming vehicles in order to present the narrowest target and offer the best cover. We’re ready to break away and flank if we need to. The dust cloud draws closer and I begin to see individual vehicles ahead of the plumes. It appears to be the same mix as the other group; several pickups and quads. Looking to the side at Horace and Greg, I see their guns trained on the advancing vehicles. I glance to make sure the first group isn’t turning about but it looks like they’ve had enough.
Time seems to stand still for a moment. The dust cloud still billows but it seems as if the vehicles causing it don’t draw any closer. I feel the stifling heat inside the Humvee but it is stowed in the background given the flow of adrenaline coursing through my body. Rivulets of sweat pour down my forehead and temples. Gonzalez and Denton in the back gaze out of the small hatch window. McCafferty grips the steering wheel and is looking out of her rear view. I would love to add our own personal rounds to the upcoming fray but that only increases our exposure and minimizes our mobility options. Here on this lonely, dusty field in the middle of nowhere, a battle is about to begin. We are close to engaging yet another hostile force.
The feeling of slowed time vanishes. The trucks rush onward as if they were suddenly vaulted ahead and become clearly visible. They must have some radio communication and know about what happened to the other yet onward they come. I shake my head and press the transmit button in my hand.
“Open fire. Target the trucks on the outer edges and work your way in,” I say.
The M-240 overhead opening up drowns out any other sound. Brass casings fall inside and are barely heard hitting the metal floor over the bursts of the large caliber gun. Tracers once again reach outward from Horace’s and Greg’s Humvees; streaking for and merging with the trucks racing our way. We’re idle so this time the red tracers become streams of fire. Not a solid stream like the fire from an AC-130 but potent nonetheless.
Tracers intersect one of the pickups causing a flash of steam and the hood flies open. The truck slews to the side in a cloud of dust and comes to a stop. People pile out of the back. The ones exiting closest to us are cut down by the continued bursts into the truck and are violently thrown against the side. Blood sprays against the blue paint and the falling bodies leave bloody streaks as they slump to the ground. The windshield, at an angle to us, caves inward with a shower of glass as rounds hammer the driver and passenger. Blood splashes against the remaining shards, the side and rear window, and coats the interior.
The scene is rapidly played out in a similar fashion across the dusty field as truck after truck is brought to a halt. It’s over pretty quick as the remaining vehicles scatter and try to turn around.
“Horace, Greg, head out and take the northern flank. We’re heading on the southern flank. Watch your fields of fire,” I say.
“Heading out, sir,” Horace responds.
“They’re leaving. We should be able to skirt by them now,” Greg replies.
“I know but we’re going to have to come back this way and we need to teach these fuckers proper greetings,” I say.
“That could piss them off more,” Greg says.
“It could,” I reply.
“Okay, heading out,” he says with a chuckle.
I see Horace’s and Greg’s Humvees swing around to the north. McCafferty guns it and we turn to the left heading for the southern flank of the scattered vehicles. More spent cartridges fall inside as Henderson fires bursts at any vehicles that come within range. The field becomes a swirling mass of dust and smoke once again. Riders are thrown from their ATV’s. People left behind by the retreating mass rush to find cover behind the stopped or overturned vehicles. Some are flung backward as 7.62mm rounds impact their bodies forcefully.
Horace and Greg race around the northern side of the disorganized mass creating more disarray. Vehicles and people are driving and running in random directions trying to escape the fire. We sweep around the southern end. Those trying to escape the guns of the other two teams run into ours. The air between the teams is a maelstrom of dust, smoke, blood, steel, tumbling or damaged vehicles, and people either dying or trying not to. The group that started after us has been significantly reduced in numbers.
“Okay, let’s head east and then swing back north to the highway past the town,” I radio.
Horace and Greg copy and we exit the fray on the other side heading across the fields with the town sliding behind us on the left. Horace and Greg are in a staggered formation in line with us separated by about a hundred meters. McCafferty closes the distance and we head back towards the highway at a slower speed so we don’t launch Henderson or have him drop a kidney. Behind us, dust hangs in the air with darker columns of smoke drifting lazily in the air.
We pull to a stop outside of the town’s view. Setting a perimeter with the top guns manned, we walk around the vehicles inspecting each for damage. Besides the starred driver window, there are only a few pock marks where rounds found their way to us. The race across the fields sucked down our fuel to an extent so we’ll have to fuel up along the way somewhere. The sooner the better in my opinion as it keeps the options open.
The sun hangs in the mid-morning sky as we climb back in to resume our journey. The adrenaline is winding down and I am more aware of the stifling heat inside the Humvee. I notice the spent casings on the floor in the back and wonder what our return trip will be like. I definitely plan to circumvent the town. Taking side roads around would be the best option but this place is very much lacking in any kind of side road. Looking at the map, we’d have to travel far out of our way if we used roads. We’ll head into the fields much earlier and try to stay out of sight as best as we can. We’ll kick up dust for sure but I’d be surprised to see whoever was in that town come chasing after us. But then again, I’m sure they’re plenty pissed off. I just hope their fear outweighs their anger.
Heading out in a staggered formation again, we head down the road. The light gray lanes stretch out ahead straight as an arrow as is common with the freeways of western Texas. There’s not much to impede or cause the builders to make curves. The warm wind blows in my open window and brings a sour tang. The smell grows stronger the further down the road we go. I know this smell; it’s the smell of rotting flesh. It’s not as strong as I’ve noticed before heading down residential streets but it’s noticeable.
I look around for housing areas or something that could cause that stench. The flat plains and fields are the only thing I see. Surely this can’t be coming fro
m one of the small towns that dot the highway or be drifting from the larger town of Lubbock many miles ahead, I think still surveying the area. This is much like some forays into other countries where, during our infil, we would catch the same odor. Those times it was because we were close to a mass grave or where a lot of people had been killed and just tossed to the side. I’m really hoping we aren’t about to come up on something like that. That wouldn’t bode well for our continued progress at all.
We come upon the source of aroma soon enough. Cattle yards off to the side of highway. We pass by a few of them with hundreds and thousands of dead cattle lying in the enclosed pens. They must have died a while ago and I’m grateful we didn’t pass by here earlier. I sincerely doubt we would have been able to get this close because of the overwhelming stench. The disease rampant in those yards must be great. I can almost see the clouds of flies that must inhabit the air above those lifeless black dots; some in piles. The smell is strong enough to bring a gag reflex and make my eyes water.
McCafferty speeds up unconsciously as I roll up the window preferring the heat to the odor. Henderson and the others on top must be green. We eventually pass by the multitude of pens and the freeway bends around a larger town. There is no evidence of others but we circumvent the city warily and on the alert. On the far end of town, I see a few semis parked in a lot close to an off ramp. We aren’t that far down on fuel and could stop on our way back but it looks clear for now and, well, we’re here. I know I would feel better having full tanks again.
I radio the others and we exit the highway. Going back under the freeway, we pass a McDonalds on the right and turn into a small truck yard. We pass between two warehouse buildings before entering the yard proper. Several trailers are backed up to the loading docks with five tractor trailers parked in a line in the dusty lot. Grime coats their windshields and hoods. The fields beyond shimmer in the increasing heat. We park with Greg’s Humvee covering the single entrance. Horace parks in the middle covering the rest of the surrounding area while we pull up to one of the semis. We’ll refuel in shifts making sure we are covered with our last little adventure strong in our minds.
Stepping out, the lot and surrounding buildings have that same desolate feeling that every other abandoned place holds. I really wonder if this feeling will ever go away whenever we embark into areas that were once inhabited by mankind. Perhaps it’s the memories of the places or the energy of people gathered in one place that was suddenly whisked away. I’m more thinking it’s my mind that is still sorting through seeing the relics of our civilization without the people that created them around. It’s seeing things and what I still expect to associate with them. The sound of Gonzalez tapping down the fuel tank of the truck we’ve parked next to brings me out of my reverie.
I’m a touch nervous about having to be in this place for so long. Cities, especially strange ones, have a negative connotation for me. There is no knowing what to expect and having to be constantly alert is draining. The heat also tends to lull the senses. I almost wish I had the capability of sensing other people rather than night runners. I’d rather not really be able to do even that but it is what it is. It takes some time out of our day but we are eventually on the road again without anything tragic befalling us. It feels good to be on the move once more. According to the map, Lubbock is not that far down the road and the freeway circumvents the towns along the way.
A few miles later, small housing development areas appear. They are still sparsely located but they become more frequent the further to the southeast we travel. Right after one of the developments, McCafferty turns off the highway and we start along a narrow country road.
“This skirts Lubbock to the north. My parent’s house is on the east side a little out of town,” she says as we journey through more farmland.
The country road eventually ends at a T-intersection with another freeway and we turn to the southwest and back towards Lubbock. The sun has risen overhead pouring its rays directly upon us and the surrounding land, turning it into an oven. The sky remains clear and for that I’m thankful. I’m anxious to search for McCafferty’s family, get back to the airfield and be on our way home.
The stress of still having so much to do is weighing on me. It’s not the intense feeling I had on our first arrival back to the northwest after our trip to Kuwait but it’s there anyway. That was more about our short-term survival and setting up a place of safety and this is more about developing our long-term needs. The stress is from the upcoming winter and our losing our long-range mobility option due to weather and then the lack of fuel. I’m hoping Bannerman can come up with a Bio-diesel solution so we don’t lose our power and ability to be somewhat mobile with vehicles. If we lose that, it will infinitely be more difficult to provide for our basic needs.
We quickly come upon an area of houses and mobile homes set loosely apart and seemingly at random. Each abode is in its own dusty lot with a few trees growing from the otherwise barren, dusty yards. Many of the places have old cars parked in the yards and several of the houses also have semis parked alongside. McCafferty pulls off the highway and negotiates several streets before pulling up to a house set back from the road.
“This is it, sir,” she says with the Humvee idling just before the driveway. I watch as she scans the yard, house, and several buildings further back in the lot. A few cars are parked near a large garage structure.
She looks back and apparently notices my checking the lot and cars. “My dad likes tinkering with cars,” she says putting our vehicle in gear and entering the lot.
The adjacent houses and area are devoid of any movement. This is a place where you would expect barking dogs to greet you, whether ones at the house or from the neighbors. Nothing. We are still a little ways from Lubbock and, from the look of the development, it is secluded so I half expect McCafferty’s parents to walk out of the house to greet us. I am wary that there are sights tracking us but I also think that her family would know a military vehicle and, with her in the military, would assume she was coming to check on them.
McCafferty pulls into the dusty yard a short distance from the front of the house. Greg and Horace park on the road in opposite directions covering the surrounding area. A puff of dust rises from my boot as I step out. The others follow suit and exit. The wind blowing in the window kept the heat at bay as we were driving but here, with us stopped and very little shade, it hits with full force. Yes it’s a dry heat but it’s like being baked instead of steamed. The day already seems long with the drive and our little adventure but the sun’s position overhead shows this to be an illusion.
With Echo and Blue teams covering, we approach the house. The windows and front door are closed so that’s a good sign. Dust is gathered on the covered porch with none of the tell-tale footprints that normally come with night runners being inside. Wind could have obscured them but the air is still and if there were some inside, there should be some indication of them coming out at night.
Sweat forms from the heat but is quickly evaporated leaving white rings and streaks on all of our fatigues. Checking our equipment and ensuring rounds are ready in our M-4’s, McCafferty climbs the concrete steps to the porch. We can’t see directly inside as curtains are pulled across the windows. I open up a touch to see if I can sense any night runners within and come up blank. For one of the first times I’ve opened up in this fashion, there aren’t any images or sense of others around. It’s just a blank space.
I look across the lot behind us and catch Gonzalez’ eye. She looks at me questioningly as to whether there are any night runners inside. I shake my head letting her know I can’t sense any. Gonzalez steps up next to McCafferty by the front door. McCafferty leans in to whisper in Gonzalez’ ear.
“Will you do the same for me?” I pick up McCafferty’s whispered question. I’m guessing she is referring to her putting Gonzalez’ night runner father to rest.
“Of course,” Gonzalez whispers in return and puts her hand on McCafferty’s shou
lder. I have Horace direct one of her Blue Team members to man our gun and bring Henderson and Denton up with us.
“Well, here goes nothing,” McCafferty says.
I literally feel the tension radiate from her and completely understand. It’s a horrible feeling not knowing about your family and on the verge of finding out, especially with what we have seen in the few months since the world ended. We have found some family members alive and well but others that haven’t made it. And it’s not just from the night runners. The groups of people who feel like the world is now a place to do as they please and take advantage of others are just as dangerous as the night runners, if not more.
The others of Red Team ready themselves on the porch as McCafferty opens the screen door. Its squeaky hinges are loud in the surrounding silence. She knocks on the front door. We stand in alert silence waiting for the tell-tale approach of footsteps, the door opening, or even perhaps a call of “Who’s there.” No one answers. She reaches down to find the door is locked. She looks back at the rest of us and I see the disappointment in her eyes mixing with lines of tension.
“Do you have other family or friends around? They might have gone there,” I ask.
“We don’t have any other family close by and they aren’t ones to head to anyone else’s house. They would have stayed here regardless,” she answers.
“Let’s take a look around the house,” I say thinking maybe the back door might be unlocked. Even if they aren’t here, we can perhaps find some clue as to what happened to them or where they might have gone.
We walk around looking for open windows or some sign the house is inhabited or was recently. Dry, brown bushes lie against the outside walls along one side, evidence that McCafferty’s parents once tried to give the place some color. As it is, the white house with peeling paint in places sits on the quiet lot keeping its secrets if it has any. McCafferty describes the layout as we progress. It’s basically a large open room containing the living room, dining room, and kitchen on the right with a hall leading to three back bedrooms and a bathroom on the left. It is close to the same layout as other houses we’ve been in. The back door is locked. We complete our circuit around the house with only the small puffs of dust from our footfalls and the heat keeping us company.
A New World: Awakening Page 12