by John O'Brien
“We can always increase the numbers we put through any class but that will draw away from resources in other areas. That will mean there are fewer to work on crews at any given time and we’ll have to draw more from the existing teams for training,” Lynn says. “We have another group graduating shortly.”
“Will we be able to increase the number of teams with the graduates?” Drescoll asks.
“We have a few promising candidates and should be able to field another team,” Lynn answers.
“What about putting those in the next training class that already have some degree of training and/or experience?” I ask.
“I’ve thought of that and have arranged for those in Miguel’s group to begin. Do you have others in mind?” Lynn asks.
“What about putting Sergeant Prescott’s group straight into phase two after testing them out to ensure they have the skills needed to graduate from phase one?” I ask Lynn.
“We can do that but that will mean drawing from the other teams to assist in training,” she answers. “Bannerman mentioned that we won’t need as many security details so we may be able to swing it. My only concern with that is whether you are still planning to take two of the teams in search for the families. Has that been decided upon yet?”
“I think we should,” Drescoll chimes in. “It seems we are pushing the night runners out of the area as planned. It seems the time is right if we’re going to. Jack keeps mentioning our time is running out to get out there and search.”
“I’m in agreement as well,” Horace says.
“If I take two teams and we have the night watch to maintain, will that deplete us to a level where we won’t be able to accomplish anything or put us at a drastically increased safety risk?” I ask, addressing the group.
“We have enough supplies to get us through the winter if our population stays where it’s at. If our searches bring in greater numbers, well, we’ll have to evaluate that at the time. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we won’t need security details for supply runs,” Bannerman says.
“And we’ll have an extra team in about a week when the classes graduate. I plan to disperse them with the other teams and form the new team with our veterans,” Lynn says. “I think we’ll be okay if nothing out of the ordinary arises. And, if the soldiers with Sergeant Prescott go straight to phase two, we’ll have two additional teams in just a few weeks after that. How long do you think you’ll be gone, Jack?”
I notice Lynn’s hesitation with that question. I know she isn’t a fan of my heading out but this may be the last time we are able to. Thankful for that, I am eager to be off and get it over with. It seems we are able to tread water for the time being with regards to our safety but that doesn’t take into account any new adaptations the night runners may have made. The stress of not knowing is agonizing. I feel a measure of security but at the same time, the numbers of them out there and their ability to adapt worries me.
“I’m not really sure to be honest. With the limitations and the few in number who are going, I’m guessing we’ll be gone anywhere from ten days to two weeks. I’ll start planning the route after I wake this afternoon,” I answer.
“Shit, Jack! Two fucking weeks?! Really, that long?” Lynn asks.
“Well, we have ten left who have families within the parameters we set. We covered that for Gonzalez and McCafferty so that is two less than the original twelve. When we first talked about it, I mentioned two days per search and I don’t see any way that can be shortened to be honest,” I answer.
“Fuck it. Ten days it is but I don’t have to like it. You know the one reason but the second is that we’ll be two teams shy for an extended period of time,” Lynn says. “I know it’s important and I’m all for it but I’m not a fan of being out of communication for that long.”
“I know and neither am I. So, it seems we are in agreement to do it and in a week after the next trainee graduation, right?” I ask. Nods from around the table indicate that everyone is in agreement.
“Okay, I’ll start planning today. I’ll take Red Team as they are the on the list along with a single C-130. I may swing down to Canon AFB on the way back to pick up a second Spooky so we have a spare on hand,” I say.
“I’ll see to reorganizing a team with the other six on the list. Who do you want to lead the second team?” Lynn asks.
I look over to Greg who rolls his eyes and then says, “Sure, I’ll go. It was so much fun the last time. Besides, I can’t very well miss the chance to see what fucktardity you come up with next.”
“Come up with that all on your own, did you?” I ask.
“Yep. It’s the only word that fits what processes through that extremely warped mind of yours,” Greg counters.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Lynn says, smiling.
“You realize that the aircraft latrine needs to be cleaned daily and I’m currently in the market for volunteers, right?” I say.
“Oh, is that where you vomit out the ideas you come up with that don’t actually get made into plans?” Greg says to the amusement of the group.
“I give up. I’m taking my ball and going home… taking my ball… going home,” I reply. “Oh, and before I go, let me leave you with this… Fuck off!”
I retire to Lynn’s and my small partition trying to think of what a good comeback would have been but fail miserably. I’m a little disappointed at not hitting the large night runner lair while they were in it. However, my pillow is calling in soothing tones and it doesn’t like to be ignored.
* * * * * *
Observations In the Dark
Captain Leonard watches the shoreline as they make their way through the narrow strait. The shore, rising sharply from the blue-gray waters, is lost after a few feet by the low-lying clouds. The trees, along where the land and water meet, are indistinct. The black bow pushes slowly through the small waves making its way north. Leonard relishes the feel of the cool, moist air against his cheeks. It’s not often he is able to run on the surface and it fills him with elation. The tangy smell of the sea completes the feeling of harmony.
“Are you heading directly to Olympia?” His XO asks.
“Plot a course to Whidbey Naval Air Station first. I want to take a look there. Then let’s head over to the eastern side of the Sound and make our way down the seaboard,” Leonard answers.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Emerging from the narrow strait into a wider straight, Leonard looks to the east towards Seattle and the crowded eastern shoreline of the Puget Sound. Most of the view is lost by clouds drifting barely above the water. The Santa Fe turns to the northwest and parallels Whidbey Island. Although he now knows the chances of sighting any other vessels are small, he keeps a sharp lookout nonetheless. A few seals raise their heads above the surface as they make their way through the channel but nothing else appears.
They pass the town of Port Townsend off to the left and the waters open up into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Angling north, the Santa Fe continues along the shores of Whidbey Island. Once, Leonard catches a large black fin break the surface a short distance away. The waters around are the home to several Orca pods. They are usually farther north away from the main shipping lanes but the quiet of the waters must have brought them south, he thinks watching the dorsal fin sink back below the waters.
They eventually arrive off the naval air station and take a position close in. Lifting his heavy binoculars, Leonard looks for any signs of life. The runways near the sandy shore come into clear focus. He spies several jet aircraft parked on the northwestern ramp, a couple of hangars, and other buildings, but doesn’t discern any movement. It appears exactly like Bangor, completely abandoned.
“Let’s move farther out and submerge for the night. Have the crews listen for ship traffic and monitor what we can of the base,” Leonard tells the XO. “Wake me with any reports. I’ll be in my cabin.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the XO replies.
The night passes in silence. There’s neither
the sound of propellers in the waters nor sight of any movement onshore. The only thing they pick up on the acoustic gear are the calls from several Orca pods that inhabit the waters. Leonard surfaces his boat with the coming dawn. The broken clouds overhead provide better visibility but also bring more of a chill to the morning. They backtrack toward Seattle and eventually pick up the buildings that line the eastern shores of the sound.
Cruising along slowly, Leonard and the others of the watch glass the shore. It’s much the same as the bases. The mechanisms and buildings of humankind are there, just itching for people to meander through and into. The streets which once held a multitude of people on errands or browsing the shops remain empty. Dark windows stare back as if sad that the people, that once looked in gazing at their wares, have vanished.
Rounding a point, with Bainbridge Island to one side, the straits open to the actual port of Seattle. The skyline rises above the still waters. Ships ride at anchor waiting eternally for their turn at the busy docks. Their anchor lines stretch taut as all point toward the incoming tide. Off to the side, cruise ships sit berthed at their docks. Ferries which once carried commuters and visitors alike are nestled in their piers. The city and waterfront are like the other areas, looking like they should be teeming with people but what greets the onlookers seems more like a ghost town.
The cranes lining the main docks lie still with ships berthed beneath their mammoth arms. The large ocean-going vessels sit quietly as if holding secrets within, as if they were witnesses to all that transpired but are unable to tell their story. The bridges spanning the waterways are empty of the cars that used to sit bumper to bumper during rush hours.
Pulling close, Leonard blasts out greetings through a handheld loudspeaker. His voice echoes off the waters and tall buildings lining the narrow streets, bouncing and fading into the inner city. There isn’t any corresponding greeting or movement. Thinking of the warehouse, he wonders how many night runners lie within the dark, silent buildings. He thinks of putting Chief Krandle and his SEAL Team ashore but doesn’t really see anything that can be gained. He thinks they’ll just find more of what he is already seeing – an abandoned city. This is a new world he has found himself in and, as hard as it is to do, he needs to wrap his mind around it and begin to think differently.
The major with Captain Walker said it would take three days to gather his requested supplies so Leonard decides to sit off the shores of Seattle and watch for the rest of the day. He’ll submerge at night and continue his observation.
On the bridge, he watches as the lowering sun is reflected off the thousands of windows that rise up the skyscrapers. It looks as if a giant mirror was placed in the middle of downtown. Glints reflect off the dome of the space needle stretching high into the air. Countless thousands and millions once stood on the railing of the landmark looking over the city. Now it stands as one more relic of the past. The streets between the mammoth buildings darken with shadows cast by the tall towers rising high toward the broken layer of clouds.
The sun sinks to the horizon creating an orange glow on the sides of the buildings. Leonard watches as the city seems to hold its breath as the glow changes to reflect the sunset behind him. As if pulled on a string, the colors vanish leaving behind the grays of a landscape moving from day into night. No lights twinkle from the condos along the waterfront. With a final hush, the grand city is cast into darkness. Leonard thinks about submerging but hesitates wanting to watch the city in transition for a moment longer.
The stillness is complete. The waves lapping along the hull the only sound. Then, as if a bubble burst, the silence is broken by the faint sound of screams resonating over the waters. Leonard brings night vision binoculars to his eyes and scans the shoreline. There is movement along the narrow streets rising away from the waterfront. People emerge from buildings and race in all directions, some disappearing farther into the city and vanishing over the hills. Others head toward him and the buildings built on piers stretching into the bay.
In his magnified view, he sees several of them press against railings lining the water, their noses lifted into the air and their mouths open wide. A myriad of shrieks bounce toward him, echoing off the tall buildings as his voice did earlier in the day. He catches a glimpse of what appears to be a glow emanating from the eyes of several of the figures along the railings. Pulling the binoculars from his eyes, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes before looking once again. He sees the same thing.
“Chief Krandle to the bridge,” he calls on the intercom.
Leonard wants the chief to get a look and see if these are the same things he saw on his mission to the Philippines. A few minutes later, Krandle appears on the already crowded bridge.
“Take a look at that,” Leonard says, handing Krandle the binoculars and pointing toward the city.
Chief Krandle takes the offered set and brings them to his eyes. Leonard watches as the chief stares long and hard. Krandle withdraws the binoculars and rubs his eyes in the same manner as Leonard did before looking once again.
“Are their eyes glowing?” Krandle asks, incredulously.
“That’s what I thought I saw as well, chief. Are those the same things you saw in the Philippines?”
“I wouldn’t swear to it but they look very much alike. They have the same pale skin and those shrieks are definitely the same,” Krandle answers with a shiver of remembrance.
Leonard thought much the same remembering the faint screams from the warehouse. He now knows he is looking at what Captain Walker called night runners. It still seems so alien but there is the proof right in front of him. The stories match what he sees. He doesn’t need to go ashore and see them attack to obtain a hundred percent verification. As strange as it seems, humankind has turned into some new species leaving little alive in their wake. Watching the hundreds of night runners run through the streets, some he only catches a glimpse of as they transit cross streets, he wonders how many survivors can be left in the world. Certainly there can’t be any here. Having seen enough, he clears the bridge.
“Prepare to submerge,” he orders, dropping the last foot from the ladder to the deck. The control room crew responds and they are shortly diving under the chill waters in the bay that once served Seattle. Their black silhouette becomes smaller until the waves lap over the last vestige of the conning tower before it vanishes altogether below the surface.
“Keep a watch out on the shore and listen for any vessels. Wake me if anything changes,” Leonard says and retires to his cabin.
The views on the monitors changes little during the night watch. Night runners come and go in the small section of the city that can be seen. The fascinated crew watch as, just before the first faint lighting changes occur in the east, the creatures roaming the city vanish within minutes of each other. It’s almost as if a switch were thrown.
Leonard rises, receives a brief on the activities of the night, and surfaces the boat. He orders a heading toward Tacoma putting Seattle on his tail. The city has taken on the forlorn aura of a ghost town once again but, to him, the windows take on a menacing look knowing what lies in the darkened rooms behind them. The Santa Fe rounds the corner out of the bay and into the straits of the Tacoma Narrows. Seattle slides from view and Leonard glances back watching the Space Needle disappear behind a tree-clad hill.
They slide down the straits passing the forested islands of Bainbridge and Vashon. Looking through binoculars, all of the small towns lining the shore tell the same story – seemingly abandoned and left to the whims of Mother Nature. Putting in to the bay serving Tacoma, it looks much like Seattle, all of the mechanisms of civilization in place but no one around using them. The only evidence of a departed society Leonard spies through his magnified view is the tall grass growing in the yards of residences sitting on the hillsides and in the medians of several streets.
White specks dot the area as gulls circle the waters near shore. Large, black birds wheel over a spot in the distance. Several seals surface in the w
aters but that is the only movement. Leonard notes that the docks are only partially full of cargo ships allowing room for him to dock the sub if needed. He’ll head down to Olympia to see if he can put in there. Having to wait for the morning tide in order to transit the narrow passages, they will remain parked off the shores of Tacoma and observe.
* * * * * *
The Widening Rift
Waking in the afternoon, I want to just remain lying on my cot. However, there is only so much time one can spend on a cot without permanently realigning the back into a not favorable position. Walking downstairs of the mostly empty interior, I gather Robert and Craig to plan our little jaunt across the western part of what used to be the United States. I still think of it in those terms even with the collapse of any governing body because, well, it’s just easier that way. The states are just drawn lines on pieces of paper, but in regards to planning, it’s still much simpler to refer to them in that manner. A place has to have a name when referring to it and the old ones are just as good as any.
We settle at one of the larger tables and spread out flight navigation maps. I have the information on where we need to go for each of the soldiers. Now it’s just a matter of planning the exact route to make the best of our time. It takes a few hours to plan out the route but the overall flight will take us in a clockwise circle around the entire western continent. Our first stop will be at Mountain Home AFB, Idaho and then off to Malmstrom AFB, Montana. Then it’s off to Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, McConnell AFB, Kansas, Petersen AFB, Colorado, Luke AFB, Arizona, Nellis AFB, Nevada, Vandenberg AFB, California, Travis AFB, California, and then McClellan AFB, California before returning home. I plan to drop by Canon AFB, New Mexico on the leg from Colorado to Arizona to pick up another AC-130 gunship and ammunition for it. Why couldn’t everyone who has family we are looking for have grown up as neighborhood friends? I think looking at the route drawn on our maps. It’s a long series of flights that we’ll be lucky to finish in a mere ten days.
