by John O'Brien
Awakening
( A New world - 2 )
John O'brien
John O'Brien
Awakening
Prologue
Michael Benson. He rolls it around on his tongue and in his mind; tasting the familiarity of it yet it feels foreign at the same time. Sitting in the darkened room that was once the lair to his pack, with the painful ball of fire in the sky burning outside, certain memories begin to integrate with his other thoughts. He feels certain abilities and knowledge come into being; more a knowing of what things are without actually understanding how to use them. New picture images roll around in his head like a fast moving slide show, none settling for any length of time before moving onto the next.
Michael, as he thinks of himself now — more of a complex picture image rather than actual words — feels other packs nestled in their lairs both near and far, resting the day away before heading out for their nightly hunt. It is more of an awareness rather than actual thoughts or images; much like a compass points to a magnetic source. He knows he can send out a call to gather them into a pack but waits wanting to get used to his new awareness. As the slide show of new thoughts flicker through his mind, they integrate with previous memories.
The flashes of light he noticed on previous nightly hunts triggers a feeling that these are not good for him or the packs and should be avoided at all costs. He doesn’t know what they are but feels they don’t bode well. Michael also remembers the loud bangs heard at times throughout the night and the strewn, mutilated bodies of his kind lying on the paved streets when he investigated the noises. Without knowing the how, he knows the bangs were directly associated with the loss of pack members including his own.
He searches ways to avoid these but without knowing how they work, the answer lies hidden yet just on the edge of awareness. Sitting with his back to the cold wall with his knees drawn to his chest, he feels a frustration much like when prey escapes or when he is unable to gain entrance to a two-legged lair. He feels that somehow all of this is associated with the two-legged ones holed up behind the tall walls of their lair just down the road. Yes, he knows the word “road” rather than hard path now just as he knows the flashes of light and associated bangs that accompany his run-ins with the two-legged ones, resulting in the loss of many of his and neighboring pack members, are guns. The danger of the two-legged for him and others of his kind increases his fear. Fear mixes with anger aimed at them for the losses.
He slowly rocks back and forth. His self-awareness continues to grow and he feels pleased. Somehow knowing that his new found knowledge will give him an extra edge in gathering food and combating the two-legged ones, he plans to call to the others when the time is right. For the moment though, he will keep to himself. The gathering will take place only when he is ready but for now, he will scout and become more comfortable with his new self.
One uncomfortable thought arises with his new cognizance. He knows he and the others are limited in their ability to travel distances in search of food; the distance dictated by the hours of the night and the ability to find shelter from the painful, deadly burning light of the day. He also becomes acutely aware of his ability to communicate in more detailed and complex images than others of his kind. They won’t be able to understand so he will have to learn how to convey these advanced thoughts into images the others will be able to comprehend. Michael knows this will require him to micromanage the actions of his pack more while on the hunt but he understands better how to trap prey. New thoughts surface about how to gain entrance to previously inaccessible lairs. These ideas are overwhelming to his senses and for that reason alone, he will hold off the call to the packs. He stretches out his legs and slides along the wall to the floor to rest until the call of the hunt brings him out of his slumber.
His eyes open to the darkness of the small room. He senses other packs also coming out of their rest and readying for the nightly hunt. Rising, he becomes sharply aware of his missing pack members. The hunt will be more difficult without them but he needs to let the overwhelming aspect of his awareness settle before gathering others. He steps from the room, alone for the first time in a long while, and enters the vast main area of the store. Safeway, he thinks, remembering the sign on the building when he first came to following the loud explosion of light and noise. Trotting to the broken glass entry, he carefully steps into the night, painfully aware of what happened the last time.
Members of his pack lie scattered around the entrance; their bodies torn asunder and in pieces. Michael casts his eyes about looking for anything outside of what he knows as normal. Seeing nothing, he steps further onto the paved surface of the parking lot. He lifts his nose into the air gathering what scent the still air of the night holds and glances towards the large lair of the two-legged ones situated a short distance to his left. Standing amidst the mutilated bodies of his former pack members, anger boils to the surface. Another time, he thinks catching a faint odor of prey riding on the night air. Turning to his right, he heads down the darkened streets to track down the smell of food.
Running through the streets, he senses other packs searching the streets and adjacent fields for food. He knows that his new abilities will place him ahead of other pack leaders and he will be like a magnet to them. They will recognize him as an advanced pack leader and be drawn to him. He doesn’t want that to happen as yet, not until he tests his new awareness. Practice makes perfect, the phrase arises out of nowhere yet he knows this is just another past memory surfacing. He shuts out the ability of the others to sense him. He is surprised by his ability to do this and is taken aback momentarily as his sense of the other packs vanishes. His head clears of any thought of and from them. He stops, startled, and then continues his hunt down the darkened streets; his pounding feet echoing off the buildings to either side. When I’m ready, he thinks cornering a small night animal in the back yard of a burned neighborhood. The kill is quick and he settles down to feast.
Story Time: A Tale is Told
“Jack, what the hell is going on?” Lynn finally intrudes on my wish for quiet.
“They’ve cornered a small pack of dogs,” I answer.
“What the hell does that mean?” Lynn asks looking at me with a strange expression on her face.
Her question shakes me out of a reverie-like state. Images continue to flash through my head without actually interfering with other thoughts. Well, as much as is possible. Right now, a squirrel passing by will interfere with my thoughts. The pictures that float through are in a separate part of my mind; cohesive but separate. They are similar to a picture story but as a form of communication. The images themselves actually depict whole thoughts, ideas, and action.
“Jack?” Lynn asks trying to get my attention.
I shake my head and look down at her. “What?” I say leaving my reverie once again.
“What the hell does that mean? Who has cornered a pack of dogs? And what dogs? What the fuck are you talking about?” She asks.
“I honestly don’t know. I have these images in my head and it’s like they’re talking to me. I know and understand what is happening through them,” I answer as another series of images flash through.
These new images are not serene as they flash uninvited into my mind. As I try to figure out what is going on, I realize the images aren’t exactly like pictures or anything coming directly from sight. It’s not like looking through someone else’s eyes. The forming images definitely represent ideas, actions, or thoughts.
“What the hell, Jack? What is it exactly you understand?”
“Night runners,” I answer still stunned by the revelation.
“You can see and understand night runners, Jack? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Lynn asks wondering if I’ve fi
nally flipped or am on some trip but definitely concerned.
“I feel fine and I’m not sure what is going on. This is just as crazy to me as well,” I answer.
“So you’re saying you can read the minds of night runners? Can you read my mind, Jack?”
“You’re thinking I’m crazy and wondering what mushrooms were included with dinner.” I reply.
“Okay, so you can read minds. My bad. Seriously though, Jack, what is going on?”
“I really wish I knew. All I know is I am getting these images in my mind and I can understand them. I don’t want them and they are coming without my asking for them,” I answer feeling stunned and wondering if I’m not in fact going crazy.
I can normally figure things out pretty quickly but this one eludes me. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have a big idea about what is going on but not ready to face or voice it yet. Something strange is happening and happened, that’s for sure. Exactly what and what it means is anyone’s guess. A flicker of fear surfaces. I mean real fear. Not the anxiety of the unknown or the rush of adrenaline a firefight brings, but fear such as I’ve not felt in a long, long time.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go finish dinner,” I say turning back toward the stairs. “Oh, and Lynn, I think we should keep this to ourselves for the time being. At least until I can figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Yeah, I agree. I wouldn’t even know how to bring something like this up. Most would think you’ve gone off the deep end and others would be fearful,” Lynn responds.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask as we start up the wooden steps.
“No, Jack. I don’t know what is going on inside that head of yours, like I ever did, but I don’t think you’re crazy. Well, any more than you already are,” she answers.
“I’d like to take Craig out and train him on the 130 in between our search for survivors so we have a few pilots who can fly it just in case,” I say as we continue our climb up the wide steps.
“I thought you were heading out to look for the soldiers’ families?” Lynn says.
“Yeah, I was going to head out right away but I want to make sure things are good here first. I think there are some lessons to be learned from our last little encounter with the marauders. The night runners were held at bay to some degree by lighting the perimeter and clearing out the immediate area. I’d like to do the same here before I leave,” I answer.
“I’m sure Craig wouldn’t mind learning but you’ll have to ask him. What are you thinking in regards to clearing the area?” Lynn asks.
“Let’s talk about that in tonight’s meeting,” I answer.
Heads turn in our direction as we approach and settle at the table. Questions arise, with regards to my rising to go stare out of the door, in the eyes that are focused on me but there are no actual inquiries. I pick up the fork, still with its last uneaten bite attached, and begin where I left off before leaving the table. I continue dinner like nothing happened but with the images still flying through my mind. They do seem to have settled into a more orderly fashion and aren’t quite as pervasive as they were when they first came. They are, however, still weirding me out. I’m still not sure they’re even real. I mean, it’s not like I can verify what I’m “hearing.” I can’t just walk up to a night runner and ask. I’m not sure they’d respond kindly to a friendly tap on the shoulder.
A particular image flashes in my mind. I try sending a thought out, an image of thought if you will. It’s a mental scream of, “Shut the fuck up.” The image I get in return is a sense of startlement and that particular sequence of images goes ‘silent.’ Hmmmmm… Interesting, I think forking another bite into my mouth.
The group meeting that evening covers a variety of subjects. Bannerman begins by mentioning that we’re ready to begin bringing in livestock and horses if they can be found.
“The barns and stables are about finished. With the weather holding for the most part, they should be okay outside until the buildings are complete. I mean, I’m no rancher by any stretch but I’ve talked with others who are more familiar with that and they said it should be okay,” he says. “We just need some cattle transport and horse trailers in addition to actually finding any livestock which are still alive. I’d like to send a team or two out to locate some.”
“I can do flyovers in the area to see if I can spot any,” I respond. “I have an idea where some were located before all of this went down.”
“Sounds good,” Bannerman responds. “I think this should be included among the many priorities we have going right now.”
“I agree,” Drescoll says. “Is the plan still to head out right away to look for the families of the soldiers?”
“I was thinking of doing just that but I think we may have to delay that now. I think the folks at the high school had the right idea of keeping the night runners at bay. We do have the walls but that doesn’t mean they are insurmountable. If we’ve learned one thing, it’s that the night runners are extremely adaptable. I’m thinking we should clear the immediate area out soon.”
“Any thoughts on how to go about that?” Frank asks.
“Well, I guess there are a variety of ways we could do it,” I answer. “We could demolish the buildings in the area and deny them a place to stay. If we need to use any of the larger, single-story buildings for some reason, we could drop the roof and install some sort of structure that allowed the light in so they can’t stay in them.”
“How are you planning to take down the buildings? Artillery? Tanks? C-4?” Drescoll asks.
“Is anyone here familiar with using artillery or tanks?” I ask in reply.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Lynn answers.
“I know I’m not and I’m pretty sure if I tried either, the results wouldn’t be pretty.” I say. “I’m sure if I tried operating a tank, or any form of artillery for that matter, there would be people running for their lives.”
“So, C-4 it is,” Drescoll says.
“Yeah, that or I was thinking of using an AC-130,” I say.
“Oh, have one of those in your back pocket do ya?” Greg asks.
“No, but I know where some are located. Plus, it’ll be very helpful for cleaning up the area at night,” I answer. “On the plus side, we’ll also be able to look for any families in the New Mexico area. I’d like to train Craig on the 130 and we’ll be able to fly both 130’s back.”
“So, what do we want to do with the buildings? Skylights or demolish them?” Greg asks.
“We’ve taken most of the supplies we can use out of them. If we were to take the idea of skylights to the maintenance and storage buildings at Fort Lewis, store our vehicles there, and put in some security measures against marauders, that should be sufficient for our needs,” Bannerman responds.
“So it’s demolish them then?” I say questioning the group.
“It makes sense. Plus, if we also clear out the trees and everything around us, we’ll have a pretty long line of sight which can only be a benefit,” Lynn is the first to answer.
“What about the Distribution Centers? Are we still planning to hit those after the family recoveries?” Greg asks.
“How are we on supplies?” I ask Bannerman deferring Greg’s question.
“We’re doing pretty well for the time being. The influx of people will drain us more quickly but we’re good for now,” Bannerman answers.
“So, I’m thinking we reserve going to the distribution centers until we return unless anyone has different thoughts,” I say. No one replies.
“So, we continue searching for any survivors nearby, building the greenhouses, walls, and animal enclosures, and with the training for everyone. I’ll start taking Craig up in the afternoons if he is agreeable and we’ll search for any livestock still in the area. After Craig has a handle on the 130, we’ll head down to New Mexico to pick up an AC-130, do a quick search for families around the Clovis and Lubbock areas, and then start on the DC’s. After that, we start clearing the area out aro
und here and then off to find other families,” I say almost out of breath.
“Sounds like a plan,” Drescoll says with everyone agreeing.
“We’re still under a time crunch with regards to heading out to search for soldiers’ families but I think we can wait until we clear the area first. That’s after we return from New Mexico,” I say.
“I’ll inform the teams at the morning formation,” Lynn says.
She looks at me with a questioning look determining if I’m going to say anything about earlier this evening. I give a slight shake of my head wanting to keep this between us for the time being. At least until I have an idea about what is happening and what it might mean. All I know is that I can understand, to an extent, what the night runner images are saying and can pinpoint where they are coming from like a magnetized needle pointing to north. I’m still not sure it’s real but it feels that way. I suppose those who go crazy or hear voices might feel the same way though. Having lived with being a little crazy for most of my life, I feel like I’d know if the scales tipped dramatically. However, there are images in my mind that are some sort of communication so maybe it has. If they, however, tell me to start mutilating animals, I’ll call it good and leave on my own.
The next morning dawns bright with a chill in the air. It promises a warm day by noon but there is a distinct difference in the temperature. There is also a noticeable change in the daylight hours. We are definitely on our way to the short fall season and winter lies not far behind. Lynn gives a quick brief to the soldiers with regards to the delayed departure to find their families but promises it is only a short one. There are a few sighs of exasperation but they take it in stride for the most part. I think they are mostly happy that we are still going to make the effort. I can, however, sense a restlessness among those selected to go as if each day decreases the odds of locating their families. Which, of course, it does but we need to absolutely ensure we are safe and viable through the winter.