by John O'Brien
He removes his eye from the scope and glances at the communications gear. It has been silent for weeks. Even if it was a fleet-wide communication, it should have picked up something by now. His only assumption is that there has been some sort of act against the United States which must have happened quickly. The sub’s radiation detectors indicate normal levels and he is at a loss as to how so many people could have vanished in so short a period of time. The absence of any traffic on the normally busy routes into Seattle, the silent airwaves, and the lack of people dockside cause the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes to become more pronounced with worry.
A corner of his mind is busy with long-range plans. Raymond isn’t sure what he will do if he can’t contact anyone. Restock, that’s number one, he thinks placing his eye once again on the scope. He zooms in on the warehouse buildings close to the submarine pens. It’s from there that he will draw supplies. He stares at the structures as if he can see inside of them and they’ll give up answers as to what happened. They stand blankly gazing back. Leonard wants to surface the sub, dock, and send a party out to see if they can ascertain what is going on. But having spent his whole career in the submarine fleet and in fast attack boats, he is reluctant to surface just yet. His whole life has been focused on concealment and stealth and surfacing, even in friendly waters, goes against his very nature. No, he will wait for a while longer to see if he can gain radio contact.
“Captain?” A voice says from behind.
Captain Leonard backs away from the periscope and lowers it. It’s been up too long but it hasn’t drawn any attention. Turning, he sees the communications officer and nods.
“Sir, we’ve raised someone on the UHF guard frequency,” the communications officer says.
“Who is it?” Leonard asks.
“They haven’t identified themselves. We told them to standby as I thought you would want to be present.”
“Very well. Lead on and let’s see what they have to say. Clear out the comm room,” Leonard says.
“Yes, sir,” the comm officers says, and turns toward the cramped radio room.
* * * * * *
Holding the microphone in my hand, I wait seemingly forever. I’m not sure how this conversation is going to go or what they know. I guess I’ll just wait and see. I’m assuming the delay is to notify the Captain. I stare at the mic as if it will give me a glimpse of what they are thinking on the other end. The squelch breaks.
“This is the USS Santa Fe. Who am I speaking to?” A different voice calls over the speaker.
“This is Captain Jack Walker. And to whom am I speaking?” I ask, choosing to provide my previous rank thinking it will be easier to establish a rapport with another military person.
“Captain Walker, what unit are you with?” I hear. I notice the other person doesn’t answer my question as to who they are. I suppose I would be very hesitant as well were I in the commander’s shoes.
“I’m not with any particular unit. We have a few soldiers from various Army and Air Force units in addition to civilians,” I answer. “Again, I ask, to whom am I speaking with and what is your location?”
“Captain Walker, I’m not willing to divulge that information over the open airwaves,” the answer comes.
It’s quite apparent they don’t know what has happened or is going on. It’s possible they were submerged, providing they are indeed in a sub, when everything happened and don’t have a clue as to the new world they now live in. I think of how confusing that must be. As remote as I was when it happened, at least I had some news. For them, this must be like living a Twilight Zone episode.
“I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as national secrets anymore nor much of anyone who is going to hear what is said. I’m gathering you haven’t been briefed and don’t know what happened, right?” I say.
“Perhaps you’d like to fill me in then?”
“I’m not sure I could do that in a week but I’ll give you the cliff notes version. About five months ago, a flu pandemic swept over the world. Four months ago, a vaccine was developed that subsequently wiped out over seventy percent of the world’s population. A major portion, and I mean a major portion, were genetically altered. They are now a different species that are ferocious and attack on sight. We’ve dubbed them night runners because they can only be out at night. A miniscule one percent of humans proved to be immune although that has been whittled down substantially due to starvation, illnesses, and from the night runners,” I say. There is so much more to say but this will give them some information about the new world in which they surfaced. A silence ensues. I’m guessing whoever I am talking to is in a semi state of shock.
* * * * * *
Captain Leonard stares at the radio. He can’t believe what he just heard and imagines he is on the receiving end of some hoax. Perhaps some kid has tapped into the UHF emergency frequency and is playing a game with him. Although, the situation onshore and on the usually busy waterways lend credence to what he just heard.
“Captain Walker, stand by one,” he says, trying to keep any disbelief from his voice.
He wills himself to hold the microphone steady. Although there is only the communications officer in the radio room with him, it wouldn’t do to show any nervousness.
“Go fetch the Blue Team leader and bring him here,” Leonard directs the communications officer.
“Yes, sir,” the officer says and leaves quickly.
Captain Leonard mulls over what he has heard and compares it with what he has seen. The two seem to mesh into a consistent story but the story it presents is a far-fetched one. It’s as far-fetched as the one the Blue Team leader told him upon his return from the Philippines. It’s still too far from the reality Leonard left for his mind to wrap itself around. He has been trained to think outside of the box for many years but to return to this? There must be a different plausible explanation but he decides to keep his mind open to any possibility. He wouldn’t have made it through the cold war intact if he wasn’t able to do so.
“Chief Petty Officer Krandle reporting as ordered, sir,” Leonard hears the Blue Team leader report at the door to the radio room.
“Come in Chief. I want you to hear this,” Leonard says. CPO Krandle steps into the room making the tight compartment even more cramped with his bulk.
“Captain Walker, would you please repeat what you just said?” Leonard says into the radio. The words come back just as before.
“Would you please describe these night runners as you call them?” Leonard says.
“They can only operate at night or in darkness, as I mentioned, and they hide out in darkened buildings during the day. They have a paler skin than normal with darker blotches haphazardly spread. They have great night vision, can seemingly hear better than us, are faster, more agile, and stronger. And there’s one other thing you might want to be seated for, we are a source of their food.”
* * * * * *
Chief Petty Officer Vance Krandle listens to the words transmitted over the tinny speaker by his head. The words coming out send shivers down his back. He thinks back to his previous mission, the images of Gold Team being overrun and going down under a horde of pale skin people without weapons. The remembered images flash through his mind like a movie on fast forward. The recalled screeches and screams from the buildings and jungle cause goose bumps to sprout on his arms and the hair on his neck to rise. The memory of their chase through the jungle with the hordes on their tail. He remembers the look of disdain Captain Leonard had given him when he debriefed but he knows what he saw and he heard.
Every night he lay in his bunk searching for a different answer, for a more plausible one, but the images were too real. Hearing words that validate his memories is both comforting and shocking. There is a degree of comfort knowing he hasn’t lost it but the shock that what he saw is happening, or happened, on a world-wide basis is almost too much. They lost a good team and his leader to this. His jaw hangs open with the realization that there may be
less than one percent of the population left and these things he encountered are roaming across the world he once knew. The fact that they could no longer be at the top of the food chain leaves him shaken.
“Chief Krandle,” he hears, shaking himself out of the reverie the news created.
“Aye, sir,” he responds automatically.
“Do these… things… sound like what you encountered?” Captain Leonard asks him.
“Aye, sir, they could be the same. At least the description matches,” he answers.
“Did you see these things actually start eating Gold Team?” Leonard asks, looking him in the eye with deadly earnest.
“Sir, it happened so quick that I can’t be sure but it did appear that way,” Krandle replies.
“Very well, Chief, you’re dismissed,” Leonard says.
“Aye, sir,” Krandle responds and turns to go.
“Chief,” Leonard says as he is at the door. Krandle turns.
“This is not to be discussed with anyone,” Leonard says.
“Aye, sir,” he replies.
“Oh, and Chief, thank you,” Leonard says.
“For what, sir?”
“For bringing your team back safely,” Leonard says.
“Thank you, sir.”
Chief Krandle heads back to the crew mess where he was downing some of the worst coffee he has ever had with the rest of his team. Ducking through hatches which always seemed too small for his size, he thinks about the ramifications of what he just heard. Most of humankind gone? Less than one percent remaining? Most everyone he ever knew gone? What does this mean for him and his team? Of any of them? And who was Leonard talking to? He heard the name Captain Walker but was this another Navy Captain or someone else in a different branch? How much of the military is left? These questions swarm through his stunned mind. There is little consolation that he was correct in what he saw. He wishes that he was wrong. No answers come to him as he ponders the questions one after the other. Except one. He wants off this sub as soon as possible. He never liked being on them. They are too claustrophobic for him. If there is another operating military unit, he and his team will join them. His falling under Captain Leonard’s command ends the moment his boots touch the shore.
“What was that all about?” His assistant team leader asks as he steps through the hatch to the crew mess.
“Nothing. The Captain had a question,” Krandle answers.
“When are we getting out of this steel coffin?” His point man asks.
“I don’t know. This isn’t the week the Captain sees fit to brief me on his decisions,” Krandle replies. “But if I had my say on the matter, we’d have left fifteen minutes ago.”
* * * * * *
Captain Leonard stands in the cramped radio room, although it’s not as bad as it was when CPO Krandle practically filled the room on his own. The possibility of the radio communication being a practical joke left his mind the moment Krandle verified what was said by what he’d witnessed. To Leonard’s mind, that leaves very little else to explain what has happened. Either he accepts what he has heard from two different sources, trusted or not, or he has to give into a large conspiracy. And that seems even more far-fetched than anything else.
He stares at the mic in his hand and, for one of the first times in his life, feels at a loss for words. With his communications officer standing by his shoulder, indecision grips him. Should he brief his officers and come up with a solution or trust this Captain Walker. He feels like surfacing the boat and standing on the deck looking over the shoreline, waiting for an answer to float across the gentle waves. He can always turn around, take his boat back out, and lose himself under the sea. But if this is some elaborate ruse, he could lose command of his vessel and his career will swirl down the drain. He makes his decision.
“Captain Walker, this is Captain Raymond Leonard, commander of the Santa Fe. What exactly did you mean when you said we are their food source?”
* * * * * *
“Captain Walker, would you please repeat what you just said?” I hear and repeat what I told them. I’m assuming that whoever I was talking to had someone else listen in.
“Would you please describe these night runners as you call them?” The voice says after giving them the cliff notes version again.
“They can only operate at night or in darkness as I mentioned and hide out in darkened buildings. They have a paler skin than normal with darker blotches haphazardly spread. They have great night vision, can seemingly hear better, are faster, more agile, and stronger. And there’s one other thing you might want to be seated for, we are a source of their food,” I tell them.
There is a significant pause on the other end. I can only imagine how startled they must be feeling. Well, startled is an understatement. I’m not even sure I would believe what I was hearing if I were them. The squelch breaks again.
“Captain Walker, this is Captain Raymond Leonard, commander of the Santa Fe. What exactly did you mean when you said we are their food source?”
“Yeah, Captain Leonard, you’re really going to want to be sitting for this one. Like I mentioned, we are one of their food sources. They will attack on sight and eat anyone they can. They infest darkened buildings during the day and come out at night. I would avoid going into any building at any time,” I answer. “Where are you located Captain?”
“Captain Walker, I’ll determine to what extent I send my men and women into buildings,” I hear Leonard reply. Another pause ensues. “We are submerged in the strait just outside of Bangor. Where are you located, Captain?”
“We should meet then, Captain. We are based down in Olympia, approximately seventy miles south,” I answer. “We can drive up in the morning and meet you at the docks.”
“That’s a little over an hour. What about driving up and meeting us now?” Leonard asks.
“Captain, we aren’t about to leave and chance being caught out after dark. We’ll leave in the morning. I would advise keeping buttoned up during the night,” I answer.
“Very well, Captain Walker, we’ll meet you at 0900,” Leonard says.
“See you then, Walker, out,” I say.
The afternoon passes. The sound of semis and vehicles fill the lot as the sun settles toward the western horizon. The yellow light of the sunny day filtering in through the open front doors slowly becomes an orange hue and the crews filter in after completing their tasks for the day. I still feel exhausted from the night prior and, with the coming meeting with Captain Leonard in the morning, we won’t be heading out in the AC-130 tonight. I am still intent on clearing out the area to deny night runners any sanctuary in our vicinity but it seems like something always comes up to delay plans we make. We still have a lot of area to search for survivors and every day we delay means the possibility of there being fewer left. There is also still the search for the soldiers’ families. I feel on edge and stretched thin. It’s almost too much to handle and think about. Once again I long for the relaxing days in the country, when each day was bliss and relatively stress free.
As everyone heads to the dining facility in shifts, chatter and the sound of meals being eaten drift through the interior. Small peals of laughter rise above the din from time to time. It’s nice to hear and brings with it, a semblance of normalcy. I make my way to the evening group meeting feeling tense about our meeting tomorrow as I don’t know how it will go or even how I want it to go. To catch everyone up, I start the meeting by outlining the conversation with Captain Leonard.
“So, any thoughts on how to handle tomorrow?” I ask, looking at each one.
“Well, I for one think it’s great they showed up and it makes me wonder how many more are out there in similar circumstances,” Frank answers. “However, with that said, I will throw in that ship captains are used to ultimate rule over their domain. Rightly so, considering their position, but this is especially true with sub captains. He’ll be thinking the military is still viable and want to be in charge. And, he’ll be the ranking me
mber present depending on how our date of rank works out. We’ll have to contend with that.”
“Hey, that’s more than fine with me. He can be in charge and I’ll be responsible for making sure the vehicle tires are rotated on a regular basis,” I say, feeling very weary.
“Yeah, well, hmmmm…. You know we still need functional leadership. Maybe you can go kick tires to your delight later. Right now we need to maintain the leadership we have. At least in my opinion,” Greg replies.
“So, we’re back to the original question. How do we want to handle tomorrow?” I ask.
“I think we take several teams up and present ourselves as a military unit and just see how it goes from there. We welcome them in if they want to join us but they have to understand that they will have to fit within our current way of doing things,” Lynn responds.
“What are the chances of them joining us with those stipulations? I mean, they have a vessel that, depending on how much fuel they still have, can function for years. They may choose to stay onboard and use their sub as a sanctuary. I know I would consider it,” I say.
“I would give it about a fifty-fifty chance. They’re still new to the idea that the world is a much different place so they’ll come with the old world mentality,” Frank answers.
“Okay, so we go up presenting ourselves as a military unit and see where the conversation takes us. Lynn, how many teams do you think we should take?” I ask.
“I’m thinking five teams. I’d like to take more but that would put us pretty thin on escorts tomorrow. Assuming we are continuing on with our daily tasks,” she answers.
“I think we need to keep doing what we are doing. Every day we go out there is another day ahead we get,” I say.
“Okay, then I think five teams. That will provide a good front leaving us three full teams here,” Lynn says.
“We really need more teams,” I say.
