by John O'Brien
Krandle attempts to peer through the barricade but can only see glimpses of what is behind. It looks like any other neighborhood. Sending the team to the sides against the wall, he steps closer until he is next to one of the vehicles.
A faint, scraping sound comes from the other side of the gate. It’s followed by a quick shuffling noise. Krandle instantly brings his carbine up, aiming toward the noise. The disturbance was close, but he hears nothing now.
He has plenty of cover, but he can’t see much beyond the barricade. Against his better judgment, he leaps onto the hood of the car. Getting a better view beyond, he spots a small figure moving away. Whoever it is appears to be trying to run away, but a limp is slowing them down. The long brown hair and small stature gives Krandle the impression of a young girl. The girl’s emaciation is evident even from this distance, and the fact that she’s out in the day is a clear indication she’s not a night runner.
The girl looks back over her shoulder and, upon seeing him, yelps and starts hobbling away faster. Her increased speed isn’t much, but the fear she exhibits is. Krandle calls out to her, but the girl only emits another cry as she rounds a corner and vanishes from sight.
“What is it, Chief?” Franklin asks from his position.
“A small girl. She ran away and vanished down a street,” Krandle answers.
Managing to work their way through the barricade, they regroup on the other side. The housing here appears in better shape and, from first glance, seems to be one of those self-contained developments. A shopping center complete with restaurants is off to one side with a school on the other. The central area is taken up with pristine houses anchored by parallel streets.
“Which way did she go?” Blanchard asks.
“Toward the shopping center,” Krandle answers.
“Well, I guess that answers the question if someone is still alive here,” Franklin mentions.
“Okay, just because there is…or are survivors here, they may not take kindly to our presence. If we’re threatened, we throw a wall of steel out and disengage. Our exfil is here through the gate. Our rendezvous point is the CRCC if anything happens. If possible, we hold there until we all arrive or it becomes one hour prior to sundown. It’s obvious that night runners are here, but who knows how many there are. One hour prior to sundown, gents, then whoever is there casts off for the Santa Fe. Are there any questions?” Krandle asks.
Hearing none, Krandle continues, “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll proceed ahead. We don’t want to spook anyone by coming across too aggressively. Franklin, you’ll take the team along behind covering. I don’t want you too close but close enough to engage if we come under fire. The hope is that whoever is here will see our peaceful intentions and deal with us in the same manner. That was a little girl at the main gate and not armed men so I’m guessing this isn’t an armed establishment. That doesn’t mean they won’t defend themselves, but I doubt they’ll come at us aggressively.”
“It’s your dime, Chief,” Franklin states. “We’ll have your back.”
Krandle nods and lets his M-4 hang at his side by the sling. He heads in the direction where he saw the girl vanish. Every so often, he calls out, naming himself and their intentions. He’s staking his life that whoever is here is peaceful. If there are survivors – and the girl is an indication that there are – they are a rarity from what he’s seen and they need to be found.
He reaches the corner and peers around. A parking lot serving the little shopping center is just ahead to the right with houses set next to each other stretching down his side of the street. It’s pretty easy to pick up the girl’s tracks in the dirt as they head down the road and then angle toward the mall itself. They are the only ones visible as the wind seems to sweep any others away on a regular basis.
With a sigh, he steels himself and steps around the corner. He’s in the open for anyone to see and the feeling isn’t the coziest. Of course, they’ve been more or less in the open since they arrived, but it’s the mental part of presenting a target on purpose that gives Krandle the nervous feeling in his stomach. He intends to live through this crisis of the new world and not become just another corpse lining some unknown street.
Walking out in the open like this doesn’t improve those chances, he thinks, following the tracks and angling toward the shops.
Facing the stores, Krandle stops in the middle of the parking lot. He holds his hands in front of him, palms upward, and calls out. There isn’t any response or movement that he can discern. With another sigh, he begins walking closer.
The tracks lead through a glassless window of a restaurant. Standing to one side, Krandle peers inside quickly. The furniture has all been pushed to one side of the small establishment. Tracks lead toward the back of the restaurant and vanish between a double set of swinging doors, presumably leading into the kitchen. The interior is shadowed, but it’s not completely dark due to some reflected light. There is also light showing through narrow windows inset in the wooden kitchen doors.
Krandle waves the others forward and calls out into the gloom. There’s no reply from inside. He turns the flashlight on once again and aims it into the interior. The beam brings the murk into clearer focus. A counter with stools occupies the rear and right side of the small café. Tipped over cups and some silverware lies scattered across the top and the usual restaurant accoutrements adorn the walls behind – coffee maker, juice machine, dishes, etc. Everything is covered with a light film of dirt except for the definite path leading to the double doors behind the far counter.
“This is where the tracks from the girl lead. Speer, you and I are going in. The rest of you set up a perimeter facing out,” Krandle says as the others arrive.
Krandle and Speer step though, their boots crunching on remnants of broken glass under the window just inside. They walk past the counter to the doors leading to the kitchen, taking positions on either side.
Easing forward to peek through one of the windows, Krandle observes the source of the light beyond. The roof inside has partially collapsed. The debris covers the cold grills, small stove, and a prep table filling the center of the kitchen. Several pots and pans poke through the wreckage.
Krandle withdraws from the window and gives Speer a shake of his head indicating he didn’t see anyone. Speer nods his understanding.
“Ready?” Krandle whispers; Speer gives another nod.
It’s one thing to stroll across an open area to show you don’t intend harm, but entirely different to do the same thing going into a small room where you know others are and they aren’t responding. Krandle is only willing to carry the open intentions so far – small girl or not.
With a nod from Krandle, they both push into the room, Krandle going left and Speer to the right. They bring their M-4s up as they pour into the room. Their entrance is quiet and swift, like a flowing rush of air. Barrels follow eyes in rapid movements as they rapidly search the room, still moving toward their respective corners.
“Clear,” Krandle hears Speer whisper.
“Clear,” he calls back.
Turning toward Speer, Krandle sees he couldn’t advance very far due to the rubble from the fallen ceiling. Getting Speer’s attention, he points to a steel meat locker door where the dust has been disturbed. They both gather to one side of the door.
“This is Chief Petty Officer Vance Krandle of the United States Navy. We mean no harm and have come to help,” he calls out.
A shuffling sound comes from the other side of the door and faint whispers, then silence. A moment passes.
“Are you really from the Navy?” a voice calls.
“Yes, sir, we are,” Krandle replies.
“Shut up. We don’t really have a choice, do we? Look at us. We won’t make it much longer regardless of who’s on the other side. Now open it,” the voice says, obviously talking to someone else inside.
Krandle hears a rattling sound like a chain being dragged against the door. The door opens and a stench rolls out. It’
s the pungent smell of body odor mixed with…well, more body odor. Looking inside, he sees seven very emaciated people staring back at him. Four of them are sitting against walls in the back of the enclosed room, looking like it’s taking all of their energy just to stay upright. Those four stare back at him as if they are already dead. Only the fact that they slowly blink gives testament that they are still holding onto life.
Two very thin men stand near the open door with the girl he saw earlier clutching one of the men’s pant leg and peeking out from behind. Krandle lowers his weapon as he stares into eyes that have given up hope. It’s hard to tell anyone’s age through the grime covering them, but they seem to be in their twenties or thirties with the exception of the girl who appears to be eleven or twelve.
“Holy shit,” Speer whispers, staring dumbfounded.
Krandle nods for Speer to go join Franklin out front but Speer just continues to stare at the scene.
“Speer!”
Speer startles and looks at Krandle who nods once again, directing him to the front.
“Oh…right, Chief,” he says and starts back through the kitchen with a couple of backward glances.
“Franklin, I’m sending Speer to you. Contact the Santa Fe and let them know we have seven survivors…three mobile and four immobile. Blanchard, get in here. You have patients to attend to,” Krandle states over the radio.
Blanchard arrives and immediately sets to work with the ones at the back of the room – taking vitals and setting up IVs. He has a difficult time finding veins but eventually manages. Krandle offers water and small bits of food from his pack to the two men and girl. The men take what is offered. The girl is hesitant at first, but then digs in.
As Blanchard treats the men and women, one of the men shares some of their story. It’s one of searching for food by day and retreating to the meat locker at night. He tells of the food sources dwindling until they’ve had to subsist on crackers, potato chips, and whatever else they could find. The store shelves emptied early, and they’ve gone from house to house. They learned early that the dark held death, so they would only go in if they could make enough light by smashing windows. Lately, though, they haven’t found much of anything. It’s been merely fruitless searching by day and the pounding on the freezer doors by those creatures at night.
He goes on to tell that this was the only place they could find that they could barricade safely. The barricade at the gate that a few survivors erected only held for a short time. They set the bus on fire as a last resort, but that too only worked for a scant matter of minutes. There were more of them, but after the creatures broke through…
“It was a slaughter,” the man says, his eyes far away in the memory of that night. “And there were creatures inside as well. The roar of the fire…the gunshots down in the town…the screams. I can still hear them. We didn’t have a chance. The few of us remaining fled into the night and retreated here. The creatures followed, but we were able to hold the door against them. Then morning came and with it, silence. It soon became evident that the creatures didn’t come out during the day, so we hammered the roof in. That was the only way we could be assured it was safe to come out each morning. They still come and the shrieks every night are enough to drive one insane.”
“Why you didn’t just leave during the day?” Krandle asks, looking to see where Blanchard is with his ministrations.
“We wanted to but had…several others who were too injured to move. They eventually…passed on,” the man says with tears welling. “By that time, several more became sick, and by the time they passed, we couldn’t find a vehicle we could start. We thought about heading out on foot, but we were more worried about getting stranded somewhere after dark. Now, well, Jim, Maggie, and I could leave and take the risk, but we can’t very well leave the others behind.”
Krandle catches Blanchard’s eye and motions to him.
“Excuse us a moment,” Krandle says to the man.
“Well, Blanchard, can we move them?” he asks once they are out of earshot.
“Those four can only move on a stretcher and that’s iffy,” Blanchard states.
“Okay, see what you can do. I’m going to call the captain.”
Krandle contacts Captain Leonard and relays the situation. He then asks for permission to bring the survivors aboard.
“We don’t have room aboard, Chief. Give them coordinates to Captain Walker’s location,” Leonard replies.
“Sir, they won’t make it out of town let alone that distance. And there isn’t any transportation,” Krandle says.
“Chief, can you tell me with one hundred percent certainty that none of them are ill?” Leonard asks.
“No, sir,” Krandle answers.
“Sorry, but we can’t risk an illness aboard. Find them a map and see if you can get a vehicle for them to travel. Leave them whatever supplies you deem pertinent.”
“Aye, sir,” Krandle replies.
Krandle leans against a kitchen wall thinking over their situation. He understands the captain but doesn’t feel good about just leaving the survivors to themselves. In their current shape, merely giving them supplies and finding transportation would be the same as pronouncing their death sentence. After thinking it through, he pushes himself off the wall and walks back to the freezer.
Motioning Blanchard aside once again, he asks, “What’s the final word?”
“Chief, they’re in bad shape. I set up IVs, gave them some water and food. The ones standing are fine, a little weak, but they’ll make it. The others…well, time will tell. They should recover, but at this point, it will be up to them. We can give them antibiotics, hydrate them, and feed them, but they’ll have to be mentally strong if they are to fully recover. If we didn’t show up when we did, I’d say most would be dead sometime tomorrow,” Blanchard responds.
“Are they sick?” Krandle asks.
“You mean like a virus or something?”
“Yeah. Like do they have the flu or a cold?”
“Not that I can tell. They’re very malnourished and some have cuts and scratches that are infected, but I don’t think they’re sick,” Blanchard answers.
“Can you say with one hundred percent assurance?”
“Nothing is one hundred percent, but they don’t have symptoms of being ill other than a general weakness. Their heart rates, blood pressure, and breathing rates are all down, but that’s the malnutrition. They don’t have fevers, coughs, excess mucus, or any other indication that they are viral,” Blanchard reports. “Let me guess, the captain isn’t letting them onboard?”
“No.”
“I can’t say that I really blame him, Chief, but yeah, we need to give these people some help and soon,” Blanchard says.
“Will they survive a trip to Captain Walker’s?” Krandle asks.
“What?! No way. Not on their own anyway. The two men and girl standing…perhaps. It’s only a couple of days drive, but the immobile ones, no. They may not survive a trek to the sub.”
“What if we stayed to help? How long until they could survive the trip north?”
Blanchard pauses, glancing momentarily toward the people in the locker. “Two to three days minimum. That’s no guarantee, and I’d need a whole lot more than I have here with me.”
Krandle radios Leonard again and relays his medic’s appraisal.
“Chief, I’m standing firm. We can’t afford to take on survivors. We made it clear when we left that we would direct anyone we found to head north to Captain Walker,” Leonard states.
“I understand, sir. I’m asking that we stay until they are strong enough to make the journey,” Krandle says.
“You want me to park my sub here for three days?” Leonard replies with an edge to his voice.
“Aye, sir. It’s about finding survivors and preserving what’s left of humankind,” Krandle answers.
A long pause ensues before Leonard replies.
“Let me make this perfectly clear. It’s first about protecting
the crew, but you have your three days. Have your medic send a list of his needs and be back before sundown.”
“I’ll be staying with them, sir,” Krandle states.
Another long moment of silence.
“Chief, you and your team are the only security force we have. That being said, our agreement gives you some latitude in how you operate. This would normally be non-negotiable, but I’m giving you leave to operate as you see fit. You have three days…three days only, and then we’re done here regardless of the situation,” Leonard replies.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Krandle walks to the others of his team to confer when one of the men hails him.
“What’s going to happen to us? You’re taking us with you, aren’t you?” the man asks on the verge of panic. His eyes have the fear that newly arrived hope is about to be yanked away.
“We’re going to stay to get you back on your feet and then guide you to a safe place that’s been set up,” Krandle answers.
“Thank you, sir,” the man says.
Krandle nods and joins the others. “Okay, gents, here’s the plan…”
* * * * * *
Krandle stands at the edge of the mall parking lot, watching the day draw to a close. The clouds have given way allowing the sunset to bathe the sky in glorious reds and oranges. The horizon is painted as if a great fire burns there, which, technically, it does. A cool breeze blows at his back toward the ocean and where the rest of his team lies safely submerged with the Santa Fe. That is with the exception of Blanchard who is also remaining behind to minister to the weakened survivors.
During the day, the team relayed equipment from the sub to shore. Krandle remembers Franklin’s raised eyebrows as he read through the list Krandle gave him, but then he shrugged and tucked it in his pocket. To a person, everyone on the team volunteered to stay the night – even Speer, which surprised Krandle.