A New World: Return

by John O'Brien

  The only responses are shrugs and a shaking of heads. Looking around at their faces, I see the implication has already set in for most. The disease can be transmitted and has to be treated as a pathogen, I think. And the onset is measured in minutes instead of hours and days for those that are not immune. The virus carried in the night runners must be more potent than the original vaccine.

  “Okay, we leave them both here. We can’t risk getting blood on us or anyone else,” I continue noticing the others have already dropped the second body and are backing away from it.

  Everyone begins checking themselves over for any contamination. I hear the sighs of relief from each one as they find themselves clean. This changes my thinking and assumption that anyone left alive is/was immune. Those that had the vaccination, yes. Those that did not, well, that is a toss-up. Me included. Luckily, I know that my kids had the vaccine and are immune, so, it is more than likely that I am as well, using the process of elimination as to which parent carried the immunity.

  I feel the adrenaline winding down leaving the past few moments inside the store feeling like a surreal event. Standing here in the breeze with the sun continuing its climb into the clear, blue sky only adds to that feeling. The seemingly normalness of the day, well, if anything can completely seem normal anymore, creates a gulf between the now and the intense firefight only moments ago. The firefight, such as I have never seen before in its intensity and ferocity, seemed to last an eternity but the passage of time out here was only a few moments. The two bodies on the ground are the only physical reminders of what occurred and a message that our tactics will have to change. Our advantage of fire power is only as good as our tactics. We certainly cannot afford to be in a battle of attrition or we are just not going to be around for that much longer. I sense the others around are also coming down to a feeling of normalcy, the events still clear, but being put away in the back of their minds.

  “Okay, let’s get these supplies loaded and head back,” I say clearing my thoughts and returning to the present.

  “Are you doing okay?” I ask Robert as I stand next to him gathering water bottles and see a tremor run through his hands.

  “Yeah,” he replies.

  “You did a good job in there,” I say.

  “I was scared shitless,” he says in response.

  “Yeah, well, we all were kiddo. But you didn’t let it affect you and stood in there.”

  “But you and the others didn’t seem like it,” he says looking up from his gathering.

  “I was fucking terrified,” I say. “As I am quite sure the others were. But you stayed in there when most anyone else would’ve run. And I have to tell you that was one of the most intense firefights I have ever seen.”

  “But you and everyone seemed so calm. You were giving orders and coordinating like you were organizing a dinner party or something.”

  “Did you notice that your fear was more intense before anything happened and that once it started, you stopped feeling that way and just reacted?”

  “Well, yeah, to an extent I guess.”

  “That’s normal and something you’ll kind of get used to. That transition from feeling anxious to reacting happens more quickly each time. Did you notice that everything seemed to slow down?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I did notice that. There were times when everything seemed like it was happening in slow motion,” Robert answers.

  “That’s something to use when it happens but be aware it is happening. Everything around you is still operating in real time. Thoughts and reactions come through with lightning speed and that’s an advantage you have to use with a sense of calm. You can think and react faster so use that to your advantage. But be aware that the reaction of things around you will seem slow. For instance, you move the throttle up. It will actually move up quickly because of your action, however, other indications outside of that won’t make it seem to you that it is. For example, the gauge you are staring will appear to move slowly and maybe give you the feeling that your action was not effective. The outside things reacting to your action will not appear to register immediately or react. You have to be aware of this and allow for it. Does that make any sense?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it does,” he replies.

  My memory tracks back to a time when temporal distortion, the slowing of time in an extreme situation, killed a good friend of mine. He was doing a touch and go in a T-38 with a student who was on his first flight. My friend let the student try to land – the T-38 is one tricky aircraft to land. It has short wings built for speed and the second highest landing airspeed of any aircraft in the world. At any rate, he let the student go too far and did not take corrective action until too late. The aircraft hit the runway hard and bounced high back into the air. My friend attempted save the situation by initiating a go around and rammed the throttles into what he thought was afterburner. The resulting bounce had angled the aircraft off to the side a little so they were not flying parallel to the runway. The wings wobbled a little – not a good sign in the T-38 – but it finally looked like he might make it.

  There were two problems though. One, they were headed straight for the tall control tower that directed transient and civilian aircraft, and two, they were not in afterburner. Still, it looked like they were going to make it but the jet, in an attempt to avoid the tower, suddenly pitched up, rolled onto its back, plummeted to the ground, and slid across it in a fireball. The crash investigation revealed that the throttles were only set at about 70% power and concluded that temporal distortion was the cause. My friend was putting the throttles into afterburner but was not seeing the corresponding results on the instruments. It was thought that he did not think he was getting the afterburner to light and was cycling the throttles in an attempt to get them lit when all he was really doing was moving the throttles very rapidly back and forth. The temporal distortion made him think he was moving the throttles up smoothly but not getting the afterburner to light, when, in actuality, he was not giving the instruments time to respond. Yes, temporal distortion can be a life saver most of the time, but it can also have disastrous consequences if you are not aware it is happening.

  “Anyway, you did well. Oh and thanks.”

  “For what?” He asks with a hint of confusion crossing his face. The gears of his mind cycling through events trying to figure out what I am referring to.

  “That night runner would’ve had me cold in the aisle if you hadn’t shot him,” I say with a small smile.

  “Oh, I forgot about that,” he says with a trace of pride flashing through his eyes.

  “Let’s get these loaded,” I finish our conversation with a nod.

  It is a silent drive back to the airfield and ramp. Everyone is lost in their thoughts. Having been there in the post adrenaline combat moment a few times, I know that some are thinking about and reliving the events while other thoughts move towards the future and the odds of survival. Seeing Horace’s van behind us in the rear view, I know the same silence must be riding along with them, especially with the loss of two of their team. Any loss of that nature brings second guessing. I know it is affecting me and wondering two things. What could I, or we, have done differently? What do we need to change in future endeavors to prevent or minimize any losses? And, do I still have the confidence of the team? Okay, that is three things.

  “Sir,” I hear McCafferty say behind me.

  I turn in my seat to see Red Team sitting on the bench seats with their weapons propped between their legs and looking from McCafferty to me.

  “Yes,” I respond back.

  “I know I speak for the rest of us when I say thank you for getting us out of there,” she says.

  “It wasn’t me. It was our teamwork and working together that got us out of there,” I say feeling relieved, realizing that my worry about their confidence in me has been answered.

  She merely nods at my response along with the rest of the team and they fold back to their private thoughts.

  “We’ll debri
ef with everyone else after we get back and unload this stuff,” I say and turn around to stare outside at the passing buildings.

  As the buildings pass by, they take on an even more foreboding aspect. I wonder how many night runners lurk behind each darkened window. In my mind, I imagine a horde of night runners hiding behind each of the windows. Watching and waiting. Ready to pounce on any intruder into their domain. Ready to take advantage of any mistake we make. It is like riding through a ghost town where tragedy overtook and the ghosts of the past watch from their rooms as the living pass by. Jealous. Vengeful. Eagerly waiting and beckoning for the living to enter.

  The foreboding passes but leaves other thoughts in its wake. Were all of the night runners gathered at the BX because there sure were enough of them there? Or are there others gathered in the darkened recesses of the other buildings around? Are they going to gather in larger and larger groups like they were in the BX here or in smaller groups like at the McChord hospital? I can’t see a discernible pattern emerge. Will one emerge or take hold? After all, this is a new world to them as well? I start to think about our tactics but realize that will need to be a discussion with the group.

  We arrive back to the airfield proper. Small heat waves rise from the pavement as the day begins to warm up only to be blown sideways and disappear momentarily with the passing of each light breeze. Heads turn towards us from those milling about the aircraft, following our progress across the ramp. Pulling to a stop near the rear of the aircraft, I realize just how exhausted I feel. I don’t want to get out of the seat but just want to sit here and veg. The exhaustion comes from the post adrenaline, the lack of proper rest and sleep over the past few days, and from the stress thinking about the days to come. The stress comes from thinking about the days to come, getting back and the overwhelming aspect of setting up our long-term survival once we do get back. As I continue to sit and contemplate the future, the others in both our crew bus and Horace’s get out and begin to unload the supplies into the C-130.

  Thoughts of our long-term survival surface – food, water, shelter. We can live for a while on scavenged food and water but need to work on building a protective sanctuary soon. We need a place of safety where we can relax and plan. A place that is not under the threat of constant attack at night. We have the day but need a place at night that is secure so exhaustion does not overwhelm us. Thoughts of Cheyenne Mountain and NORAD surface. There’s really not a place that can be more secure, I think. Stocked supplies, away from civilization and therefore numerous night runners, and secure. The only reservation I have for this option is that I do not know about a constant water supply nor do I have knowledge of the area. Without electricity, the water supply for the facility will be unavailable and getting fuel supplies there to keep the generators going will be a challenge. Plus, I just don’t know the status of facility. Knowing an area like I do the Northwest will be an important element for any long-term survival. I know where food and water can be obtained and it will be easier to keep us supplied. I think finding a place in the Northwest is a better solution but keep Cheyenne Mountain in the back of my mind.

  With a partial plan formed, I step out from the van to see the last of the supplies being loaded onboard. Great timing as usual. Always ready to help when the job is done. The sound of vehicles nearing drifts across the ramp. I turn and see the two vans from Lynn’s escapade driving in our direction. Well, I hope it’s Lynn and her group and the night runners have not picked up the ability to drive. Let alone during the day. That would totally suck! The vehicles pull to a stop close by and the teams exit. Lynn walks over with Watkins in tow as the other soldiers begin offloading crates and weapons.

  “I take it all was successful?” I ask as she draws near.

  “Yep! Although not the mother lode, we did find a few things,” she answers. “And yours?”

  “It was, well, an interesting excursion although I don’t think I would qualify it as a success. We lost two,” I respond.

  “What!? What happened?” She asks startled.

  As I relate our morning experience, I notice Wilson, Bannerman, and the other team leaders have joined us making it easier to tell the story once without having to either wait or share it multiple times. It is not something I really want to talk about over and over.

  “So, it seems from our various engagements with the night runners that they have the ability to change their tactics on a rudimentary level, that they are more agile, faster, and stronger, and that they can communicate and coordinate with each other in some fashion. I don’t know if that communication is through their shrieks or some other means,” I say summarizing.

  “I also don’t know how their senses are affected, either better or worse, but we’ll have to assume that all of them are increased until we positively know different. We do know that they have the ability to see in the dark so we have to assume they can smell and hear better as well,” I continue.

  “What about the soldier who became infected?” Lynn asks.

  “Well, we can’t assume immunity from the virus or whatever except for those who have had the vaccination. And, judging from the sudden transition, minutes instead of hours or days, it appears that the fluids from the night runners are more potent. We’re obviously going to have to avoid close combat when possible until we know more and protect ourselves from contamination better. That means covering any open sores and removing any clothing that becomes contaminated as soon as possible. And, not handling anything that has become contaminated,” I answer.

  “Jesus! What hope can we possibly have?” Bannerman blurts out.

  “As long as we’re alive, we have hope,” I say irritated both from being tired and from the pessimism.

  “Anyway, we’re going to have to define better tactics because we’re going to have to occasionally enter into buildings for supplies. That means that no less than two squads will enter any building and the building cleared before initiating any retrieval. Or at least very strong defensive positions taken first. They seem to be able to come at us from any direction. I mean, the ceiling rafters was a big surprise. A quick retreat route must be defined and that initiated at the first sign of a large attack. No bottle of water or can of food is vital enough to risk losing anyone. One big clue to a place being habituated seems to be some sort of forced entry. Are there any question or ideas?” I ask after finishing my thoughts and look around at the group.

  They all shake their heads in response.

  “Alrighty then, let’s make sure the supplies are secured and then we need to get some rest before heading out tonight. Team leaders, brief your teams and see to them. Make sure your team’s weapons are cleaned. Bannerman, get a good inventory of our supplies and list anything that’s vital and we’re short of. One thing to start your list off with is night vision gear,” I say in conclusion.

  “I have a surprise that may be able to help with that,” Lynn chimes in with a smile. “Follow me.”

  “Right behind ya,” I say.

  The group disburses and I follow Lynn to the rear of the aircraft and up the ramp. There, crammed and secured in every available clear space is our food, a good supply of weapons, crates, and assorted cases. Lynn leads me to a cache of black cases similar to a hardened brief case. With dramatic flair, she flings the top up.

  “Voila,” she says.

  There, nestled in gray rubber foam, is a set of night vision goggles. They look like generation 2 NVG’s to me but capable of being donned on a helmet clip or with a head strap. And, as luck would hold, there is said strap in the case along with it.

  “You are truly a godsend,” I say marveling at our good fortune. I wasn’t planning to have these beauties until we raided the special ops armory back in Fort Lewis.

  “This will truly improve our odds and capabilities. How many do we have?” I ask.

  “Twelve,” Lynn answers with a smile on her face.

  “That’s perfect!” I say giving her a big hug. “Oh, and transfer Bartel and Rogers to
Horace to replace her losses.”

  “Is there anything wrong with them?” She asks looking up with concern.

  “No, not at all. Everyone performed extremely well. She’s just short on people and I have the most,” I reply. She nods and turns to help Bannerman start the inventory. The other items of interest that Lynn and her group picked up from the armory are radios and a collection of M-4’s for everyone with plenty left over as spares. These are distributed to the group.

  I give my weapon some attention after making sure everyone else has checked theirs. We settle in where we can to rest before beginning the next leg of our merry adventure. I lay down on the lower cockpit bunk with Lynn at my side. My last thought before succumbing to my coma is the hope that tomorrow will bring answers and enlightenment as to exactly what we are facing; that we can find some clue at the CDC that brings us a greater measure of hope for survival in the coming days. Information that we can use that will allow us to properly prepare ourselves for the long-term.

  Burial At Sea

  I awake with a start. With the feeling that I have overslept and am late for something, my muddled dreams fade quickly. The late afternoon, westering sun is casting its glow through the cockpit windows, bathing the side instruments and panels in orange. The panic subsides to an extent but not the sense of urgency. We need to be off the ground soon. There is also the dawning feeling that I left us unguarded. I feel like a fool for not setting an alarm or having set a watch. Exhaustion has driven the basics from my mind. We could easily have slept on into the night and been entirely at the mercy of the night runners emerging. Completely in the open.

  Lynn stirs beside me and snaps alert. She likely has the same sense; both the urgency and the fact that we were completely unguarded. I roll off the bunk and stretch my tired and sore muscles. This would be a lot easier if I were younger, I think bending backward to ease a kink from my back.

  “This must never happen again. We have to keep a watch at all times,” I say looking down into her beautiful blue eyes.