by John O'Brien
Setting the flaps for him, I catch a quick glimpse of movement off to the side out Robert’s window. Of course, with the aircraft itself moving down the runway, everything outside appears to be moving. I do a double-take and see a blue Air Force pickup truck speed on the tarmac to our right. Others pull onto the ramp behind it.
“I have the aircraft,” I call out, taking control. I lift off and turn, low to the ground, to the southwest and away from the ramp.
“What? What did I do wrong?” Robert asks, looking at the instruments and then over to me.
“Nothing. We have company on the ramp,” I say, climbing away from that base. I see Robert turn to look back out his window but we are headed directly away and I doubt there’s much he can see.
“Craig, would you go get Greg and have him come up here, please,” I say.
I climb to five thousand feet and circle a distance away. I tell Greg, Craig, and Robert that I spotted four vehicles on the ramp during out last landing.
“I’m not sure of who they are, or their intentions. We weren’t on the ground long enough to see what they may be up to,” I say.
“Could they be Air Force or military personnel?” Greg asks.
“I have no idea. If they do have a presence here still, they may not like us just showing up. Although, if that is the case, they won’t just shoot at us. They’ll most likely let us land and then take us in to interrogate us. If it isn’t military, then all bets are off as to what they’ll do,” I answer.
“Well, what do you want to do? Should we just bypass this and head to our next stop?” Greg says.
“I don’t know. If there are survivors here, and it’s apparent there are, I’m thinking we should at least drop in and say hi,” I reply.
“And if they shoot at us on approach or while landing?” Robert asks.
“That wouldn’t be a good thing,” Craig chimes in.
“We’ll do a flyover at this altitude and see how they respond. This will keep us out of small arms fire range and allow us to have a look,” I say.
“Alright, let’s check it out then,” Greg says.
I turn back ready to dive the aircraft and beat cheeks the best this ‘ol bird can do if I see tracers or smoke trails heading our way. The ‘Herc” can take a lot of damage but I’m not all that keen on testing just how much. I call on the emergency frequencies with no response.
Flying across the runway and base, I look to the ramp below. Five blue pickup trucks are parked in close to the middle of the ramp with tiny figures of people standing around. No tracers or smoke trails reach out toward us. Passing the base, I descend and come back, crossing from a different angle. Several people look upward shielding their eyes with their hands. A couple of them stand off to the side with weapons in their hands but they aren’t pointed in our direction.
“Well, we’re still flying,” I say, heading the aircraft back to the southwest. “What do you think?”
“They weren’t firing or pointing weapons at us. It did appear they were dressed in civilian clothing although those weapons were either AR-style carbines or actual M-4s,” Greg responds.
“Well, let’s see what happens then, shall we,” I say. Greg heads into the cargo compartment to brief the teams.
I do a combat overhead landing and drop it in, stopping on the runway after only a couple of thousand feet with the engines revved and ready to go. My feet get tired of standing on the brakes watching for a response. Robert looks through a pair of binoculars and reports that the people, who he counts at fourteen, gather together in a group with a six of them heading behind the cover of the vehicles. I do not like their actions of folding into cover but I’m sure our actions aren’t making them all that comfortable either. I ask about their clothing and Robert confirms they are dressed in a variety of civilian clothing. The others continue standing and looking in our direction.
“Okay, someone has to break this stalemate,” I say, releasing the brakes and bringing the power back. Greg pokes his head back up in the cockpit.
“I’m taxiing in but parking down the ramp away from them. I want Red Team to be ready to go outside with me. Greg, you and Echo Team get the Stryker ready to go but only take the tie downs off. If we’re attacked, drop the Stryker out and return fire. I’m not overly thrilled with inviting fire toward the aircraft but if others appear and we find ourselves in a precarious position, fold back in and we’re leaving. Robert, I’m leaving the engines running so hop in the left seat and get us ready to go in a hurry,” I brief.
“You mean in more of a precarious situation than the one we’re in?” Greg asks, only half joking.
“Yes, Greg, in one worse than we already are,” I answer.
“Touchy, touchy. Okay, you got it, Jack.”
I leave the seat and Robert takes over with Craig folding into the co-pilot seat. Heading down into the cargo area, I see Echo Team releasing and stowing the tie downs from the Stryker. I don my vest and check my gear, meeting Red Team assembled by the rear ramp. Gonzalez looks at me and nods toward Bri by her side.
“You keep her close beside you,” I say to which she nods again and smiles at Bri.
I hear Robert comment over the radio that two cars are driving our way. I drop the ramp and, with Red Team close behind, head down it and take station near the rear of the aircraft. The roar of the engines increases in the open air and wind whips to the rear behind the giant, rotation props. Through the blurring propellers, I see the two approaching vehicles. The whine of the Stryker’s diesel sounds just above the roar of the 130 engines.
“How many in each vehicle?” I say into the radio.
“I count five all told in the cabs with no one in the beds,” Robert responds.
“Okay. Thanks. Keep an eye out among the hangars and surrounding area for more that arrive or that we missed,” I say.
“Okay, Dad,” he replies.
I watch as the trucks pull up short of the nose of the aircraft and five people emerge to stand by the front of their vehicles. No fire has been exchanged which is heartening. I nod to Red Team to follow and head out with the gale force winds trying to blow me into the surrounding mountains. I walk with the others to the small group telling Greg to be ready to head out with the Stryker.
“I have to say it’s nice seeing you folks. We thought we were the only ones left. I’m Jason,” one of the men shouts above the engines as we draw close.
“Jack. Jack Walker,” I say, shaking his outstretched hand. I turn and give Robert the hand across the throat cutoff signal.
The roar winds down as Robert cuts the engines. I radio Greg letting him know the cavalry isn’t needed. His disappointed sigh and, “Dammit. And here I dressed in this silver armor for nothing,” in response says it all.
“Are you what remains of the military? Is there a larger force either incoming or based elsewhere? The military folks here say they haven’t been able to raise anyone anyone for months,” Jason says as the props slow to a stop.
I’m not really sure what to tell him and feel I’ve been a little free with our story to strangers to this point. Everything here seems well enough and Jason appears to be above board but my experiences of late have made me jaded. I don’t like it but there it is.
“Before answering, I’d like to hear your story here,” I answer.
Jason tilts his head as if re-evaluating us. “Eh, what the hell,” he eventually says and proceeds to tell us the story of those here.
He tells of the sickness and the attacks at night. With some help from the few remaining military people on base, he and some others gathered the rest of the people from town and moved here. They cleaned out the base and set up shop. All in all, it sounds like what we have set up back home. With the exception that we are facing a much larger population of night runners. The isolation of the base has protected them to some extent.
“So, how do you keep the night runners out?” I ask.
“Night runners? What are those?” He says and I describe them.
>
“Oh, we call them changelings. They don’t bother us much out here,” he says. “We cleared out the base and we’re rather isolated with the town being over ten miles away. We patrol and take down the occasional one who manages to meander out this way. We also take a cow up to the northwest part of town every couple of days, chain it up, and essentially feed them so they don’t take a mind to wander down here,” he states.
I think over that idea. It’s a good one but won’t really apply to our situation as there is no way we could feed thirty thousand night runners. Jason goes on to describe setting up cattle pens on base and using the hangars as greenhouses. They took most of the roofs off and lined them with clear, plastic sheeting.
“I’m just curious, doesn’t feeding the changelings, as you call them, run up your stock of cattle?” I ask.
“Nah, there are thousands of cattle in the valley. We knocked down most of the fencing and they congregate around the natural watering holes. They’re also far enough out that the changelings can’t get to them,” Jason replies. It really seems like they have a pretty good setup going.
“Any problems with marauders or bandits?”
“None so far. I imagine there might be some like that up in the Boise area but we’re truly pretty isolated out here,” he answers.
“No one is so isolated that satellites can’t find you,” a man behind Jason says. I notice Jason roll his eyes without the man seeing.
“You know, Captain Walker I take it, this wasn’t any accident. This whole thing was planned,” the man continues.
“Harold, knock it off. Jack, this is Harold, our resident conspiracy theory nut,” Jason says.
“Seriously, Jason. I hacked their systems before this went down and I’m telling you, this was planned and those bastards are still around,” Harold says.
“Yeah, and like I keep sayin’, why haven’t they shown up,” Jason responds.
“Because they aren’t interested in us… yet,” Harold says.
“Seriously?! You can’t plan something like this. It’s too easy to get out of control,” I state.
“And that’s why we haven’t seen them. They’re recovering but they’ll be here. I can assure you of that,” Harold says.
“And where are they then?” I ask, intrigued but really just primarily amused.
“I don’t know that. I was just getting there when I was discovered in the system and booted. Then I blew outta town. I was passing through when the shit hit the fan. But I do know that it was at a high level. The Pentagon, the CDC, USAMRIID, the World Health Organization, high levels of government, some who looked like corporate bigwigs. Everyone, man. I saw a list before being slammed outta there,” Harold answers.
“I’m pretty sure we’d have seen something by now, Harold,” Jason states.
“Captain, let me ask you this then. You must have flown around some. You wouldn’t just drop in here as a first look. Have you noticed the satellites still operating? Your GPS systems still functioning? I mean, you’d expect those satellites to decay pretty rapidly, wouldn’t you?” Harold asks.
I think to my surprise that we were able to use the satellite phones. Honestly, I haven’t tried the GPS systems thinking they wouldn’t be accurate for long. I also think about the cell phones operating as long as they did but chalked that up to good old Northwest environmental folks and the transition to solar power. Still, this conversation is more amusing than holding any degree of truth. There will be a conspiracy theorists in any group and I’m surprised one hasn’t cropped up in our survivor group.
“I guess that depends on the automated systems and the fuel they had onboard. If there was anyone left like that, we’d have seen something of them,” I respond.
“Wait and see, captain, wait and see.”
“Harold, that’s enough. I listen to you and let you amuse yourself with your ramblings but I won’t have you spouting that nonsense to our guests, so, knock it off,” Jason says.
“So, what does bring you out to our neck of the woods, Jack?” Jason continues.
I tell our story and end with, “So, to answer your question, we are out searching for any surviving family members.”
“I take it one of yours possibly has family located here? I know who we have. If you want to give me the name of who you’re looking for, I can let you know if they’re here or possibly what happened to them,” Jason states. I give him the name of the soldier noting Jason’s eyes widen a touch. He turns to one of the men with him and whispers. The man leaves with one of the trucks.
“If you want to bring him out, I think we may have a welcome surprise for him,” Jason says. I’m hoping this means good news and feel elated.
The soldier joins us and the truck returns a short time later. A young brunette woman steps out from the passenger side with a young boy.
“Jeeeeeeenny!” The soldier shouts and takes off at a run. They join in a tight hug with the boy joining in. We all look on at the joyful reunion. I’m glad to see a moment of pure joy in this harsh land.
“I’m sad to say, that his daughter, well, didn’t make it,” Jason whispers.
It’s another moment of ultimate joy tempered with that of extreme sorrow. I see the soldier sink to his knees and bury his face in his hands. His wife kneels next to him with her arm around his shoulders shaking with his sobs. I know exactly how he feels. It’s not something that time heals. You learn to deal with it but that hole will remain forever.
We talk for a few moments and I extend an invitation for his group to join us if they would like. It’s mostly to fill the uncomfortable moments as the sad scene continues a short distance away. I tell Jason it would take us a couple of trips to gather all of them as we are loaded down at the moment. I notice Harold listening with interest. Jason says he will have to talk with the group but gives an indication that not many will want to leave. They have a sense of security where they’re at and are well supplied. I can understand not wanting to leave a place of security for an unknown. He extends an invitation to spend the night with the promise of an answer in the morning.
The soldier asks if he can be given leave to go with his family. I nod and let him know that we are spending the night. I let Jason know that we are used to spending the night in the aircraft but he tells us there are plenty of homes that have been cleaned up and are available. I feel a little anxious about being in an unsecured place like that. He offers to give us a tour of the place and makes vehicles available as long as we don’t leave the base. I talk it over with our group with the census coming to, “It sure would be nice to sleep in a real bed.”
It seems they are secure here and, from what I can judge by meeting others in the little town they’ve created, it seems okay. I meet with those that were assigned to the base and provide security. They report they have had little problems with the changelings and seeing they are “feeding” them today, they don’t anticipate any difficulties. Still anxious but understanding the others wanting to sleep on a comfortable bed, I let them stay. I’ll remain with the aircraft along with Robert and Bri. I tell the team members that if anything happens, they are to make for the aircraft. I also arrange for us to maintain radio contact. And, with that, we dine with the others here and adjourn to our sleeping quarters.
I radio Lynn on the sat phone before turning in. Oranges, reds, and purples paint the sky behind the mountains rising in the west, bathing the cockpit with the last of the day’s rays. We secure the aircraft and make a last radio call to the teams.
“I hope you are enjoying that cot, Jack. Don’t think about me sinking into this pillow top mattress,” Greg says.
“I hope you sleep well. Don’t lose any sleep thinking I might just take off on you in the middle of the night,” I respond.
“You wouldn’t do that. You’d miss me too much,” Greg replies.
“Yeah, I would. And by that, I mean no, I wouldn’t. That popping sound you’d hear would be a bottle of bubbly opening and me celebrating.”
I
set the radio by my side making sure the volume is up and turn off the aircraft battery. The kids and I lay in our bunks talking for a few hours before we drift off.
* * * * * *
The moon hangs bright and crisp in the velvet black sky. The pinpoints of light that share the night sky are lost from view directly around it from its brilliant glow. The sharpness above goes with the brisk evening below. It and the stars suspend over the earth, witnesses to all that transpire below but not caring. They have their thing to do and those below have theirs. They wheel about the sky as they’ve done for time immemorial. Those below are relatively new to the universe and therefore merit little of their attention. Their trials and glories are short-lived by comparison.
All of that is lost on her as she deals with her own struggles. She is separated from her pack. Those that survived the quick but brutal fight with a large pack of four-legged ones fled. The others that were members of her pack lie on the darkened street where they fell, bathed in the silver glow of the tingly, bright light hovering in the night sky above. She is at least thankful that the four-legged ones fled as well or she wouldn’t be around to have these thoughts.
She and her pack were out hunting when they found themselves tracked and then beset upon. The night hunt had already been a long one, the fight short, and now the time of darkness is drawing to an end. She is badly injured and crawling across the hard pavement as she has been doing for some time. Realizing that time is not on her side, tired and in pain, she reaches out to struggle another couple of inches.
Pain flares inside at the movement but she must make it to shelter before the bright, burning light rises, signaling the end of her time outside. She has felt the agony of it for a fleeting second before and has no desire to experience that again. It’s like a hand on the burner that is quickly withdrawn but the memory of it lasts forever.
She slowly raises her head to see she is close to the side of the hard path. Ahead is high grass with an abandoned two-legged lair beyond. That is her goal, her salvation, shelter from an excruciating, painful end. With a grunt to mask the pain that shoots through her body, she pushes up and over the small rise at the edge of the street. She then collapses again waiting for the pain to subside. Behind her, a dark smear along the pavement marks her path. It doesn’t look far but, to her, it seems like she has been crawling for an eternity. She looks at the distance she’s traveled and eyes the shelter ahead. A measure of despair and fear, the feelings different to an extent to what we’d know as feelings, enters as the distance looks impossible.
