by John O'Brien
I make contact with the base. The delay seems a little long and the connection sporadic but I’m able to convey our location and update them. MRE’s are opened and we eat our meals in small groups. The fact of not being able to locate the soldier’s family casts a pall over us and our day. Shoveling the food in our mouths without really tasting it, we sit and wait for Carl’s group to show up.
The shadows lengthen as the sun settles into the later afternoon. There’s not really much to do so Craig and Robert load our next flight data into the computer. Our next stop will be Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota - a flight of close to four hundred miles to the southeast. The base itself sits a few miles to the northeast of Rapid City with our eventual destination being Sturgis. I wonder if there will be an abundance of Harleys in the area. We’ll leave in the early morning and begin our search right after landing if all goes well. These one day per location trips will cut our total time away from home down considerably. My only concern is continuing to use the 130 without maintenance. Well, that’s not my only worry but it is a major one.
I hear vehicles approaching in the distance and rise. I get a few strange looks as I stare off into the distance down the highway. Eventually, I catch the glint of the sun reflecting off a windshield and then see trucks approaching. The pickups pass through the hole in the fence we made earlier and park by the Stryker. Carl and his group offload their equipment piled in the beds and, with some help, load it into the aircraft. We then begin loading the Stryker in. There are fewer arm waving’s and shouts of dismay spelling impending doom this time. We tie the behemoth down and, with the sun beginning to settle behind the Rocky Mountains, seal the aircraft. With the last of the rays coming in the windows, we put the blackout window seals in place and settle in for the night.
Shrieks enter faintly through the metal fuselage. It’s been a while since I’ve heard the sound of night runners out hunting. I heard them in the warehouse when the sailors entered but hearing them outside prowling in the night raises my heartbeat. Well, hearing them anytime does that. That happens every time I hear that awful scream and it’s not something I’ll ever become comfortable with. We’ve been through too much not to have that sound elevate every sense. Lying in my bag, feeling the chilled air against my cheeks, parked in the middle of nowhere far away from home, I know the night runners will always be a part of this world. I’m only looking to clear them out of our little patch of woods.
Some shrieks grow louder and soon the first slam is felt against the fuselage. Although they have never been able to come close to breaching the 130 before, I am a little anxious thinking about their tremendous ability to adapt although I don’t know how they can adapt enough to get into a rugged aircraft like the 130. Even if they could manage to manipulate the door or ramp entries, we’ve chained them shut. However, I don’t want to assume anything with regards to the night runners so we keep a watch posted.
I notice Carl and his group sitting up and shifting in their bags nervously. I tell them we have been out a number of times and haven’t been breached yet. I see by their eyes this doesn’t put them completely at ease. I can’t imagine it’s too easy feeling trapped like this and sitting in the dark for the first time. For me, the slams against the aircraft seem heavier and the accompanying shrieks louder. This is most likely because it’s been absent, for the most part, since we established our compound and it’s been a while since we were out in the 130.
Not being able to sleep with the awful racket outside, I decide to experiment more and reach out with my mind. I sense only a few night runners just outside of the aircraft. They show up in my mind clear as can be. Reaching farther out, I sense others in and around the base. I relax rather than force the sensing and cast out even farther. I pick up a tremendous number of echoes from the direction of Great Falls. The city is filled with a multitude. I shut down the images from them and just concentrate on sensing them.
At first, this is hard to do as I haven’t really thought about the two being different. The “noise” from all of the images I pick up is overpowering. Shunting that aspect to the side allows me to actually continue. The vast amount of images I had from reaching out threatened to overwhelm my mind and I was on the verge of having to shut them out altogether. I find I can limit the images by focusing on certain ones or shut the images out completely. Interesting, I think, playing with this.
The sense I have of them never leaves yet it doesn’t create “noise” in my head. The images and sensing of the night runners is, in fact, two different parts of the same thing. I notice that the sensing of them comes and goes to an extent. The whole of the host doesn’t leave, but more that some seem to vanish and reappear. This seems to be with those farther away.
This confuses me though. The city is miles away and I was only a mile above the horde we saw emerging from the buildings just a few nights ago. Here, I seem to be able to sense them clearly but wasn’t able to get but just a glimmer then. I wonder if it’s the area, the relaxation of the mind, or something completely different. Maybe it’s just an ability, if it can be called that, which comes and goes.
Although I can’t shut out the sensing completely, I can compartmentalize them in a way and concentrate on a select group or area. I push farther although that becomes more difficult. It’s farther than I was able to go earlier today and maybe it’s with practice that this develops. Perhaps there is a limitation to the distance. That would make the most sense. I mean, I can’t imagine pushing out to cover the globe. At the far edges, the senses are dulled to the point that I can sense something there but not define the exact location or see images from them. It’s more like I know something is out in a general direction.
At the limit, I feel a strange sensation. It’s similar but not like a night runner. That has a different sense than the one I barely feel. And it’s not like a host but seems like it is coming from an individual. It somehow feels familiar. I can’t even begin to describe the impression. It feels like a night runner in some ways but completely different in most others. I feel whatever it is brush against my mind. A series of images form, “Who the fuck are you? Get out of my head!”
The strange sensation vanishes from my mind.
* * * * * *
The attacks against the aircraft continue, tailing off after a period of time as the group of night runners outside run off to find better hunting grounds. No others show up to replace them. Our distance away from the buildings must be keeping us from being smelled out or there is an abundance of food in the area. Although we keep a watch posted, the rest of our night is one of relative peace.
I pull Greg aside in the morning telling him of my feeling that there may be a few other survivors in the area and my desire to search for them. The sensation I felt last night is still with me and I want to investigate what it was. With the early morning light streaming in the now open windows, it feels to me that the strange one I felt last night wasn’t a night runner and that leaves only one other option – it was a survivor.
There is a part of me that wonders if I didn’t imagine the whole thing. However, we are ahead of the schedule we set and we can afford to take a day to investigate. It will also give us a day to rejuvenate to a degree. Greg is in agreement that, if there is a chance of finding someone else, even if it’s just one, then we should take a look. We brief the others, unload the Stryker, and head over to the vehicle lot by the ramp. There, the Stryker is refueled and we locate a fuel truck to refuel the 130. I attempt to radio base and Leonard with the sat phone but am unsuccessful raising either one. Worry sets in but the fact that I can’t raise either leads me to believe there is something wrong with the phone or satellite itself.
Downing a quick breakfast, we load up into the Stryker leaving three to guard the aircraft and watch over the others we have with us. I reach out in an attempt to find the other one I felt. I feel night runners holed up in groups in various areas. The sense of them is diminished to a large degree and I don’t feel them as clearly as I did during
the night, nor do I feel them in the numbers I did. Perhaps their sleeping causes the ability to fade or it’s one of those times when the ability is weaker. I do, however, vaguely sense the other one.
It still feels different than the other sensations I have of the night runners. I can’t put my finger on exactly what that variation is, only that it is distinctly different. The other contrast is that the sense is much clearer. It’s far enough away that I only have a general direction but feel that, if I were to get close, I would be able to pinpoint the location like I can with the closer night runners.
The direction I sense is to the west northwest. I don’t know the area well but flying over the city on our arrival gave me a basic layout. The highway we traveled down yesterday heads through the heart of the city in the other direction. I’m all in favor of avoiding going through such a crowded area. Not crowded in terms of people but rather in terms of buildings. Running into a group of marauders or someone trying to defend their area is not how I want to start my day. Instead, we’ll try to circumnavigate the city and get closer in order to better ascertain where this sensation is coming from.
Heading out to the highway, we take the first large road to the north that runs between the base and the city. The sun is above the plains to the east but still low enough to cast long shadows. A few birds skirt low over the street as we travel along. To the west, a few residences lie near with flat brown fields lining the rest of the road. The windows glare briefly from the sun striking their surface as we pass. We could be on the start of an early morning family outing. The exception is that we are packing M-4s instead of picnic baskets and our ride is not the family sedan.
The road curves to the west and we are soon passing through abandoned industrial complexes. Many of the industrial yards are filled with piles of scrap metal, stacks of forged steel beams waiting for shipments that will now never occur, and tractor trailers parked in rows. A few places house storage tanks. We pass through this lonely area and soon come to the river. The road proceeds along its banks passing a dam spanning the river’s width. With no one to regulate the flow of water, it flows over the top of the dam. I look on with interest. Dams aren’t meant to hold that amount of water for any great length of time and I imagine it will only be a matter of time before the dam gives way.
There is a large dam, actually several large dams, across the Columbia River back home and I imagine it now looks the same with the similar span. The Hanford Nuclear Storage Facility lies just downstream from one of the smaller dams on the upper Columbia River. I wonder how it will be affected when the dam breaks. For that matter, I wonder just how long that facility will last before spilling its contents into the Columbia River and how that will affect us. That’s just one more worry to pile on the list. Frank is keeping measurements of the radiation in the area but a large spill of this nature could cause us a lot of problems. The south winds during the winter months in our area will bring any radiation in the Columbia in our direction.
These thoughts occupy my mind as we leave the dam behind. We are closer to the sense of the other one and I can now locate the source. It’s almost directly north from us across the river. I see several bridges ahead spanning the waterway and we cautiously cross reminded of the barricade Sam threw across the Tacoma Narrows. We haven’t sighted a soul and the only movement has been from birds wheeling through the clear morning sky and a couple of dog packs.
I keep trying to raise the others on the sat phone without success. It’s not like we haven’t been out of contact before but now that we have that capability, I expect it and am a little concerned that we can’t. I still have the sense of the other one but without a return statement like last night. We cross the river without incident and continue to navigate streets drawing closer with each turn. I’m hesitant about this as I don’t know exactly what I’m sensing other than it’s different and there is more clarity about it.
We are out of the town and passing through a golf course. The greens can no longer be named that and the once pristine fairways are now fields of brown grass. Turning around what once looked like it was an open field driving range, we enter a lot with a single pickup truck parked close to the pro shop. I have the Stryker halt at the edge of the lot and see a man walk around the corner of the shop carrying a golf club in his hand. Surely he can’t be thinking of attacking a Stryker with a golf club, I think, watching him come to a stop. It’s just as stupid as shooting at one with a handgun I guess.
The man looks startled at our appearance but continues to stand by the pro shop entrance watching us with a hand shielding his eyes. The .50 cal isn’t pointed directly at him but its aim point is certainly in his vicinity. I look around through the magnified optics searching for others. I can’t imagine one person being alone in this world and we’ve always come across a group of individuals regardless of how big the group is. I see no one in the area and the sense I have in my mind is coming directly from the man in front. I have the ramp lowered and walk out with the rest of the teams flowing out and taking up a perimeter.
I look to see that the middle-aged man hasn’t moved. His medium-length brown hair hangs limply and in disarray. The dirt-stained jeans have holes in the knees and tattered hems cover sullied white sneakers. His plain gray sweat shirt is a little cleaner but shows stains of various natures. He stares at us with interest. I walk up to him making sure to keep clear of the club he is holding in his hand.
“Are you the one who was in my head last night?” He asks, eyeing me up and down.
“I do believe I was. And you are?” I say, unbelieving that what I sensed is actually another person.
The sense of him still feels something like a night runner and then the light dawns bright in my mind. He is like me – this is what I must feel like to him. He is much the same as me with regards to being able to sense others.
“I’m Ken. And you would be?”
“Jack, Jack Walker,” I answer, shouldering my M-4 and holding out my hand. “Did you get bitten by the night creatures and survive?”
“Yes, I did,” he replies. I nod at the verification of my thought.
I tell him my belief about what happened and is happening with regards to our ability to sense each other. I send a simple thought image to him which he returns. That further verifies the concept of what surviving a bite brings. I never thought for a moment that there would be others similar to me. This has interesting implications. We finish conversing about our remarkable connection. His shoulders relax.
“I thought I was going crazy and thought sensing you last night was part of my insanity. With you standing right here, it’s obviously real. These others that I see nightly are driving me crazy though. I can’t get them to shut up and luckily, I’ve been able to keep them out. They are here every night,” Ken says.
“I thought I had lost it when I first came to and found these images running through my head,” I respond.
“I was pretty sure my mind had turned and, to be perfectly honest, I was about ready to pack it in,” he says. “I can’t take any more nights of this shit but having you arrive and knowing I’m not going insane helps. I’ve actually heard a couple of others like us some nights. I haven’t felt them in a few nights though.”
“Well, Ken, you are more than welcome to join up with us,” I offer, explaining out situation.
“I was going to hit a few more balls and maybe play a round or two but what the hell. Give me a second to get some of my things and I’ll be ready,” he replies, accepting the offer.
With Ken’s small pack loaded up, he tells of where he last sensed the others. Loading up once again, we head toward the nearest one picking up a woman hiding out in a storage facility. She seemed a little shell-shocked but mostly relieved to find someone else alive and joins with us willingly. I’m curious as to why I could sense Ken but not the woman named Linda.
“I had to shut all of them out before I went insane. The ability to do that came about accidentally,” Linda comments.
The third is strangely back in the abandoned industrial complex we passed earlier. We pull up to a small, cinderblock warehouse located toward the rear of all of the other foundries, manufacturing plants, and warehouses. As we disembark and spread out, a man about my age opens one of the heavily sealed doors and emerges.
“Get out of here. You aren’t real,” he shouts, waving a couple of long knives about.
“We’re plenty real,” I reply.
“No, you are in my head and I’m imagining you,” he says.
“Do you think the night runners are pretend?” I ask.
“Who? What the hell are you talking about?” I go on to describe who and what I mean.
“Oh, them. No, they’re real alright,” he states.
“How is it we are figments of your imagination then?” I ask.
“Because I’m the last one alive and my mind is fucking with me. This is what happens when you are the last one left,” he answers.
“So, why are you talking with me if we’re merely something you made up?”
“Because, it’s what the mind does when there’s nothing left,” he replies.
“So, if I shoot you, say, in the leg, you won’t feel it or bleed, right?” I say. He hesitates pondering that question.
“See, that hesitation means you believe that we’re real. At least a part of you does,” I state.
“Now you’re just trying to fuck with me.”
“That would mean you’re fucking with yourself,” I respond.
“Aaaaaaah… get the hell away from me and leave me alone,” he loudly says.
