by John O'Brien
The vessels continue without altering their speed. Repeating the message, he notes the decrease in spray as the boats slow and then come to stop a short distance away, running their engines only to maintain their relative position. The Santa Fe continues its turn and halts with its long stern pointing to the line of boats.
“Sir, the men I can see are armed,” one of the lookouts says.
“What are they armed with?” Leonard asks, not taking his eyes from the boats.
“It looks to be a mix of rifles…hunting rifles mostly, but I see three shotguns.”
“Are they acting in a hostile manner?”
“No, sir. Not that I can see. They are carrying them, but at their sides. I can’t see any that are actively aiming at us,” the lookout reports.
“Very well. Keep an eye on them.”
“Aye, sir.”
“State your intentions.” Leonard calls out to the group facing them.
“We heard the foghorn and saw you sitting out here. We were foraging, so it took us some time to make our way here. Are you really Navy?” an amplified voice asks.
“I am Captain Leonard of the USS Santa Fe. Who am I addressing?”
Leonard raises the binoculars again and the figures on the lead boat zoom into greater clarity. The validation of being a member of the Navy, or armed forces in general causes a reaction as the five people he can see all look to one another and seem to be talking animatedly with each other.
“I am…Christopher…Christopher Malkin,” the voice responds.
“And how many are with you?” Leonard asks.
“We have thirty-seven men and women here with us, Captain.”
“Is that all in your group?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are there others in the city that you know of?” Leonard asks.
“We heard gunshots far to the south a few nights ago, but we haven’t met anyone else,” the man answers. “Captain, is there any way you can come aboard or us come there. It’s easier than shouting at each other across the water. Or we can meet ashore if you’d prefer.”
Leonard ponders the situation and knows that if they are to have any meaningful dialogue, the man is correct, they will have to conduct it personally.
“Do you have a means to come to us?” Leonard calls.
“We have an attached skiff. We can make it to you.”
“Two of you may approach and come aboard. Make sure you are unarmed.”
“Give us about fifteen minutes,” the man replies.
Leonard informs the control room and has a crew readied on the deck to receive the two. He quickly briefs Chief Krandle and his team that they are to provide security.
“If you see anything amiss, and I mean the smallest thing, you’re clear to engage as you see fit. The boat and crew are to be protected at all costs,” Leonard states, finishing his brief.
A small boat emerges from aft of the lead boat and approaches through the choppy waters. Leonard halts the boat a short distance away while the lookout crew carefully searches the open boat with their binoculars. Finding nothing awry or some haphazard box which may go boom, Leonard directs the boat to continue its approach.
Boat hooks grab the skiff and bring it close aboard. The crew ties the vessel off and two men climb up rope ladders thrown down the side. One of Krandle’s team thoroughly searches each of the men and gives the okay.
“Have them brought to the crew’s mess,” Leonard says and disappears below decks.
Leonard rises from his seat as the two men are brought in. They appear well-kempt and clean. After handshakes and introductions are made, the men seat themselves. Krandle and another of his team stand by the near wall with their weapons lowered but ready.
The men tell a story of the mayhem that took hold of the city seemingly overnight. The fires, screams, and gunshots that filled the night streets at first. It seemed like similar riots that have taken hold of the city from time to time so they initially thought this was just another one and stayed indoors to wait it out. They heard throngs of people screaming as they passed in the night and thought they were looters out to steal what they could in the resulting mayhem. They knew of the sickness that gripped the populace and thought the riot was caused by the lack of available law enforcement.
The next morning, it seemed to be over. There weren’t many people to be seen out and about. The few that were out walked aimlessly down debris-ridden streets, stopping to sift through some of the rubble from time to time. They appeared dazed. Smoke poured from many of the buildings and many of the vehicles lay smoldering in the thoroughfares. It was the next night that showed that it wasn’t over by a longshot.
As the darkness fell, screams again filled the avenues. Those that were out were attacked by gangs and mercilessly torn apart. Neighbor’s houses were invaded and their screams of terror and pain echoed throughout the community. The horror of that night passed and the man speaking, Chris, gathered the survivors in his neighborhood and made for the marina in the light of the day. They took to boats and made for the seeming safer waters. Over time, they came to realize what they were dealing with. Since then, they scrounge for supplies during the day, never venturing far into buildings, and bring the boats out into the bay where they tie together and anchor for the night.
“There used to be more of us,” Chris says. “Over the past few months, we’ve lost a few when we ventured too far into darkened spaces and once, we lost eight when they didn’t make it back to the marina in time.”
Leonard remains quiet, running the images presented by Chris through his mind. He feels thankful he and the crew came into this the way they did and hates to think of having to survive an ordeal such as Chris and his group went through. Leonard glances over to Chief Krandle and thinks of what the chief and his team went through on his mission. A feeling of remorse courses through him when thinking of the way he treated the chief upon his return.
How could I know?
He thinks back to the ordeal Walker told of and shudders again at what these people went through. The mere fact that they survived is miraculous, and to have achieved what they did, even more so. It lends faith that humankind can survive this. What form that survival may take is yet to be seen. The sheer number of night runners is overwhelming. However, here they are, still plugging away, and that gives an air of confidence. Finding the group barely holding on farther north dimmed that hope. Discovering Chris and his group in as good as shape as they are brings hope that they will find their families in San Diego safe and sound. The base will have resources beyond what this group has. Perhaps they loaded the survivors onto the docked naval vessels and put to sea.
But, if that’s the case, why hasn’t there been any communication?
The thought only makes Leonard more anxious to get home.
“So, Captain,” Chris says, breaking through Leonard’s moment of reverie, “where does that leave us? Are you able to take us with you?”
“Are there any injured in your party?” Leonard asks.
“No, sir. We are all fit to travel.”
“We don’t have the facilities to take any of your group on, but we can direct you to a location where a safe haven has been established,” Leonard answers.
With a nod from Leonard, Chief Krandle pulls out an atlas and pinpoints Walker’s location.
“It’s two full days of travel if you choose to drive, providing you don’t run into any problems and have to divert. If that’s the route you decide, I’d recommend finding a place far away from any populated areas to spend the night. I’ve traveled some of the route in northern California and Southern Oregon. Finding unpopulated areas shouldn’t be a problem. I think you’ll be safer if you can find vehicles and stay in them in the unpopulated areas rather than a fortified building in any area that used to be populated. There may be roving marauders as well.
“Now, the safer way that I’d recommend is to use the boats you have. Put ashore at the various inlets along the coast during the day t
o take on fuel and supplies. The most difficult portion will be along the northern California coast where the rocky shores will make it hard to go ashore and there aren’t any ports. I’d recommend taking along as much fuel as you can carry. The risk factors depend on how comfortable you are with the vessels at your disposal. The sea route will take you considerably longer, and that carries its own risk,” Krandle says.
“I’d feel more comfortable in the boats,” Chris states. “I’m not very fond of going too far inland, and they’ve provided a haven of safety for us so far.”
“Be careful of the currents at the mouth of those inlets. They can be tricky and I’d recommend staying away from them with the tide receding. Make sure to take a tide book along,” Leonard offers. “When you do arrive, make for the port of Olympia and work your way to the haven. Ask for Captain Walker and let them know I sent you. You’ll be welcomed there.”
“Thank you, Captain and…”
“Krandle…Vance Krandle,”
“Thank you. May I take this?” Chris asks, holding the atlas.
Krandle nods. “Feel free. We have others.”
With nothing more to be said, Leonard and the two men say their goodbyes, wishing each other luck. Before long, the two descend the rope ladder and push away, making their way in the choppy seas. The skiff vanishes behind the lead boat and several minutes later, the boats turn and proceed toward shore with a hail of friendly waves directed the sub’s way.
“What now, sir?” The XO asks after everything is secured.
“As much as I’d like to speed home, XO, I want to take a look at the port around Long Beach. We’ll continue sounding the foghorn as we make our way around. Afterwards, we’ll submerge and wait for night. The man said they heard gunshots, so I’d like to see if we find anything. Tomorrow morning, if we don’t discover anything, we’ll turn up the screw and set a course for home. We can check on the remaining coastline afterwards. It’s past time we were there. I’d like to arrive prior to evening, but we need to approach cautiously. If anyone is still around and still active, they won’t be expecting us. Let’s just be cautious,” Leonard answers.
“It’ll be good to be home, sir…regardless of what we find.”
“That it will, XO…that it will.”
Rounding the rocky point, the large port slowly comes into view with the long strand of Huntington Beach stretching out of sight to the south. Ships of all sizes and types anchor inside the immensely long breakwaters. The docks are partially filled with container ships in various stages of loading. It’s like a snapshot was taken and time stopped. Nothing moves except for the slow creep of the shadows from the tall cranes as the sun works its way toward the horizon.
Parking the sub in the middle of the bay, Leonard continues sending their signal hoping for a response. There’s nothing except a periodic glint off an occasional window from the declining sun. With the sun hitting the horizon, Leonard turns the boat around, wanting to start at the northern end of the basin as night falls, and work his way south. If they don’t find anything during the night, they’ll be that much closer for the sprint home come morning.
Maneuvering under a twilight sky, the first points of light begin to show against a darkening background above. Leonard sees the white outlines of Chris’ boats bobbing gently between him and the shore. The wind dies down with the fading daylight leaving gentle coasters rolling toward the shore.
Leonard opts to stay on the surface during their night observation. It may be that the gunshots Chris mentioned hearing a few nights ago could have been someone signaling; although that seems unlikely with the number of night runners that must be prevalent. Noise, light, and smell will attract them and would amount to ringing the dinner bell.
Like a switch was thrown, the soft slap of waves rolling down the length of the sub is replaced by a chorus of faint shrieks reaching out across the water. Going below deck, Leonard looks in the periscope and catches periodic glimpses of night runners as they lope along cross streets near the shore. Details become clearer as he zooms in.
Passing the entrance to the marina, he spies a large group of them standing opposite where Chris and his group are moored offshore. They appear agitated, running up and down the beach. Some take runs at the water, splashing into the small rollers. Several have waded in up to their waist and have their heads tilted upward with their mouths wide open – looking for the world like they are howling at the night sky. Some of the ones in the water punch at the incoming surf as if angry with the waves.
Leonard watches one wade farther in. It starts swimming madly, flailing its arms and legs in the water, but it makes progress. After several seconds, the contortions calm and it starts swimming in a much more deliberate movement. Fascinated, Leonard observes. Several others start after it in a similar fashion. Small waves roll over the night runners. Leonard watches as they surface behind the breakers and continue after thrashing about some. The lead night runner reaches an area where larger waves are breaking. He loses sight of it after one large wave rushes over it. Leonard looks past the wave expecting the night runner to surface and sputter before continuing its foray into the bay. He sees nothing. Looking everywhere, he finally catches sight of the night runner as it rises out of the water much closer to the beach. It stands with water pouring from it and tilts its head upward. Its arms are rigid by its side and it opens its mouth wide. The anger and frustration its form presents is readily apparent. Leonard notices the others that attempted to swim have been swept ashore as well.
Good to know. They can swim, but they’re defeated by moderate surf, he thinks, continuing to watch the gathering as the sub slowly transits the area.
He observes as others attempt to swim out to the group anchored off the marina, but they all meet with the same result.
As they patrol south, sandy beaches begin to give way to the steep cliffs of the Palos Verdes headland. Leonard doesn’t expect to find much as they can’t see over the tall bluffs. About to pull his eyes away, he catches a quick flash. Looking back, the area is dark.
“Ask the top deck if they observed a flash of light,” Leonard directs.
“Topside reports negative, sir,” a crew member reports moments later.
A faint flash from the same location is followed quickly by a second one. As Leonard is about to ask if the lookouts saw anything, they report the two flashes.
“Mark the location,” Leonard orders.
Staring intently toward the spot, his eyes feel dry and gritty. Blinking to bring moisture to his eyes, he looks again. He has a difficult time bringing the view into focus. It’s been a long day and he feels weariness descend. Realizing he won’t be doing any good, he tells the Officer of the Deck to call him if anything happens. With a mix of eagerness at possibly pulling into their homeport tomorrow and weariness that makes his every step feel like his shoes are made of lead, he retires to his cabin.
* * * * * *
Morning finds the Santa Fe on the surface offshore from where they witnessed the three flashes of light. Patrolling the length of the LA basin area didn’t reveal anything further during the night. With two other lookouts, Leonard and Krandle stand topside looking over the escarpment, shielding their eyes from the glare of the freshly risen sun. A faint breeze carries the blare from the foghorn toward shore where it echoes off the cliffs.
“I don’t know about this one, sir. I’m not so big on urban environments to begin with and that’s a large sprawl of one. I wouldn’t mind so much if we didn’t have to travel far, but the only way I see to get on top is to put ashore to the north and hike in,” Krandle says, describing the only way he sees to get to the top to investigate the source of the lights.
“It’s your call, Chief,” Leonard replies.
Krandle stands, staring at the bluff rising sharply out of the water. White shows along the waterline where waves splash against the rocky shore. They are slowly navigating around the headland so that Krandle can have a better look at the environment. Bringing the
binoculars up, he doesn’t see anywhere they could come ashore without having to go the long way around. There are a couple of steep paths leading upward, but the team would be vulnerable ascending those. If it were night, it would be different, but scaling those paths during the day if someone unfriendly was up there would lead to their quick annihilation. It’s the long way or none at all.
He feels torn. If there is actually someone who needs their help, then he feels he owes it to them to provide it; but it’s risky. So far, they’ve only ventured into small towns where they could extract easily enough. Going into a large complex such as this creates additional hazards, especially where the route out is a long one. He hasn’t run into any unsavory types as of yet, but he remembers some of the stories Captain Walker told. Even if he didn’t hear those, he knows human nature and is sure there are those who wouldn’t welcome their presence…or would be openly hostile.
“You know, sir, those flashes could have been from gunfire,” Krandle says, still not sure what the right answer is.
“I understand. There isn’t a right or wrong answer here. Do only what you feel comfortable with,” Leonard replies.
Leonard’s words help, but he still isn’t sure what to do. Their mission, as he sees it, is to help those that need it but not to the point that he overly exposes his team. Before, it was much easier. Those decisions were made for him. He received his mission, briefed his team, and away they went. There wasn’t the choice to go or not, they just did. He isn’t used to this situation.
“Okay, sir. We’ll go ashore. But no farther than where the flashes were. We’ll do a quick check and then we’re out of there. I figure we’ll put ashore on the beach at the northern end and make our way to the top. We’ll exfil at the same location,” Krandle says, reaching a decision.
“Go only as far as you deem safe. I know our duty to see to survivors, but keep in mind you are the only security force we have,” Leonard states.
“I will, sir.”
“We’ll be here when you return,” Leonard says, looking directly into Krandle’s eyes.