A New World: Storm

by John O'Brien

  I nod at Lynn, open the door, and step silently into the room. I’m not sure what the room is used for, as curtains are pulled in places. No shrieks or sudden movements accompany my entry. I exit and slowly close the door. Lynn checks a door on her side with the same result; there’s no one inside. We creep down the corridor, checking the rooms but never leaving the doorways. Black Team follows quietly behind.

  Reaching the doors that Jan indicated as housing the lab, Lynn and I stack against the wall. It would really suck if night runners were inside and we had to start shooting. Knowing my day, I would put a round into every piece of equipment she needed. Of course, if there are truly night runners within, we’ll just turn and run for the light.

  We check the door and verify that it’s unlocked. On a nod from me, Lynn swings the door open and I dart in. The room is large, with long counters and stations along the walls and in the center. I check the dead corner as I make my way along the right hand wall. Lynn follows, sweeping left. We pause half way down. There’s nothing inside except beakers, vials, and equipment. We head back to the entrance and motion Black Team forward.

  “The room is clear. This has to be done quietly. Don’t disturb anything, and gather the equipment Jan indicates,” Lynn tells them.

  They enter. As Jan passes, I grab her arm. “Do this quickly?”

  She nods and enters with the rest of the team. Lynn and I station ourselves in the corridor. She holds the door open and we both cover farther down the hallway. Even though I’m on the opposite side of the hall, I still hear very faint whispering coming from inside the room. Other faint sounds emit as they gather equipment.

  Fucking keep it down, I think, hoping there aren’t any night runners nearby that can hear it as well.

  A little way down is another intersection of hallways. For some reason, the ambient light that reaches the intersection behind us doesn’t reach there. It could be that the hall doesn’t reach the outer corridor. Minutes pass that seem like hours. I hear the clang of something metallic come from within the room. It’s a soft sound and not very loud, but to my ears, it sounds like a train crashing into a semi. Lynn turns her head sharply to the interior. Shrieks erupt, coming from a side hallway; they sound close.

  Fuck, that doesn’t sound like a night runner shriek, that’s more like a kid screaming, I think, tightening and pulling my M-4 tight.

  “Lynn, get Jan and the equipment out, now!” I sharply whisper. “Head for Red Team and get to the outer corridor where there’s light. I have our six.”

  Lynn calls inside, softly yet sharply. Black Team exits, surrounding Jan, who is pushing a steel cart loaded with gear.

  What the fuck?!

  “Go, go, go.”

  As they quickly retreat down the corridor, I rise and being backpedaling. Lynn stays with me.

  “Go,” I say, rising. She shakes her head.

  “Dammit,” I mutter.

  Screams fill the interior, echoing down the hallways. Amongst the din, I hear feet slapping on the linoleum. As I step backward, I have my carbine aimed near the corner where the night runners should appear. My aimpoint is aimed where their heads should be. They round the bend in a hurry. As they come into sight, my reticle is above their heads. I lower my barrel a touch and begin squeezing the trigger. Their ghostly pale faces register.

  Fuck, they’re kids.

  There are six of them, all dressed in torn and deeply stained hospital gowns, looking to be about ten or twelve years old. I feel sick to my stomach as I watch, unable to pull the trigger as they streak down the hall. I am backing up as fast as I can, but they are rapidly closing. For a split second, I tightly shut my eyes.

  Fuck this…dammit!

  Placing my glowing crosshair on the nearest one, I fire, almost point blank. The child’s head snaps to the side as my bullets strike. Blood sprays from the multiple impacts. With feet flipping into the air, its head hits the hard floor with a whack. Strobes fill the scream-filled hallway. More kids fall to the ground under the torrent of rounds fired by Lynn and me. In seconds, six small figures lie bleeding in the hallway. Another shriek rises and a larger night runner female, dressed in scrubs, appears at the intersection. Upon spotting the young ones down, she pauses, then screams like I’ve never heard a night runner shriek. Other smaller figures appear behind her.

  Screw this, I think. Lynn and I turn and run.

  Racing down the darkened hall, with shrieks sounding behind, I’m reminded of a similar chase with Lynn. This time though, friends await at hallway intersections. Black Team is nowhere in sight. I yell to Red Team to pack up and go. Rounding the corner, hard on the heels of Gonzalez and company, we reach the full light. Behind, the night runners continue shrieking in the darkness.

  I feel incredibly sick. The sight of those small faces, pale or not, will haunt me to the end of my days. My legs feel weak and I sink to my knees.

  “That was messed up…I mean, really messed up,” I say, panting.

  Lynn places her hand on my shoulder. I look up to see the others looking between me and the labs. Rising, I replace my empty mag.

  “Did you get everything?” I ask Jan.

  “I believe so,” she answers.

  “This better have been worth it. Make it count,” I say.

  “What happened? I couldn’t really see anything,” Robert asks.

  “Dad, are you okay?” Bri asks before I can reply.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  We exit by reversing our route, staying within the well-lit outside corridor. I’m still a touch shocked, and perhaps mentally overwhelmed by what I witnessed. I mean, they were night runners, but in my mind, I saw kids. Not only that, they were children who were hospitalized with varying illnesses. I can’t imagine anything more unfair. Then, there was the nurse who rounded the corner and wailed at the sight of those on the ground. I focus on something else. It’s just too fucked up to keep thinking about.

  At the door to the offices, I listen before swinging the door open. With us being in the light, there is little chance of more night runners sweeping out. It’s the same as we left it a dark corridor with nothing inside. We quickly make our way down the stairs and outside.

  As we board the Strykers, I pull Lynn to the side.

  “Look, I’m sorry for my earlier words. I wasn’t angry with you, I was angry with the situation. It’s hard for me to decide what the right thing is regarding Robert and Bri. My choices seem to be based on which side is winning the internal fight at the moment,” I say.

  “I apologize as well. It’s not for me to force a decision like that on you. You have to make those yourself.” She chuckles. “Look at us. Somehow, we’ve managed to switch places.”

  “That’s fine with me. You can lead,” I respond.

  “Nope,” she replies, shaking her head. “Nice try though, flyboy.”

  On our way back through Tacoma, the coastal mountains are lost behind smoke that lingers over the area. The sun is nearly hidden behind the haze, casting the land in an orangish-brown shadow. Heavy columns of smoke rise into the air from new burns. That evening, we start pounding the night runners again.

  A Walk in the Park

  The burning and bombardment up north continues for the next two days and nights. The convoy returns, loads up, and leaves for their second trip. One more week and we’ll be able to leave. The nostalgia I felt about leaving Cabela’s is pushed to the background due to my exhaustion from having flown nearly non-stop since our return from the hospital. Each time the wheels leave the ground, I chant an internal mantra of the number of days remaining before I can rest. That brings enough strength and energy for another mission.

  With the convoy’s departure, I take the morning to visit Nic’s resting place. Taking only Robert, Bri, and Lynn, we set out – Mom would accompany us had she not already said her farewells and headed to the bunker. Traveling the roads, my eyes close of their own accord, my head snapping upright. As we drive toward the forest r
oad entrance, it seems like so long since I’ve been here. So many events have transpired that it feels like I’m returning home after years away.

  Arriving at the road, we disembark and walk the rest of the way to the hill where Nic lies. The air is chilly as we make our way upward through the trees. Rays of sunlight reach the forest floor through breaks in the canopy. The upper boughs sway in a breeze, causing shadows to dance. Branches crackle underfoot; ferns and bushes brush against our pant legs. I have to wipe unseen spider webs from my face several times.

  We reach the hillside where Nic was laid to rest. Small plant shoots sprout from the mound covering my sweet girl. I feel the sun’s rays hitting my shoulders as I stand silently, staring down at the spot where Nic and I once sat, quietly enjoying our time together. My vision blurs and I sink to my knees, oblivious to all else except the memories of Nic her smile as she looked at me, her eyes sparkling with life as we shared a joke. Memories of our shared times rush through my head in a collage of images.

  For some time, all of us stand, sit, or crouch in silence as we’re taken up with our own thoughts of Nic. Bri sniffles and wipes her eyes. Tears trickle down Robert and Lynn’s faces. I see little through my own blurred vision.

  Lynn is the first to leave, squeezing my shoulder for a moment before heading back down the hill. Individually, Robert and Bri leave, their words to Nic said internally. It’s just me and Nic on the hillside, bathed in rays of sunshine. I place a hand to the dirt mound, feeling its damp chill.

  “Nic, hon, I’m going to have to move away for a while, but know that you’ll always be with me. I’ll always be close, no matter the distance. I will see you again, I promise. I miss you so much, and love you dearly.”

  Rising, I pause, unable to tear myself away. I feel like I’m leaving her all alone; that I’m leaving her to the mercy of those wretched creatures. In a way, I feel that I’ve lost, having to leave her behind. Turning, I make my way down the hill. Overcome by a terrible sadness, I begin sobbing uncontrollably.

  On the return trip, I feel my grief turn to anger. Taking to the skies with a vengeance, our day and night campaign continues. Most of the eastern portions of the Tacoma area lie in smoldering ruins. We should have done this much earlier, but it always seemed like other priorities arose.

  * * * * * *

  Michael stands in an overgrown field, the tiny lights twinkling in the sky overhead. Around him, several pack members race through nearby trees, chasing down small prey. Only part of his mind is on the chase as he stares toward the north. For many nights, he’s stopped in his tracks as he feels packs in that direction disappear from his mind. It had been a while since the death from the night sky appeared. The fact that they had been left alone delayed his push to take out the two-legged lair.

  Now, even during the time when the bright light is in the sky, there are times when he wakes to feel pack members vanishing, images of their fear and uncertainty filling his mind. The lairs and his kind are under attack, not only during the night, but at all hours. He wanted to wait longer, perhaps even avoiding it altogether if the attacks stopped entirely, but he knows now that he can’t wait any longer. If he does, there may not be any of his kind left. Tomorrow, he will travel north to deliver the message to the packs. The time has come.

  Shrieks of discovery erupt from within the woods to the side. With a last glance northward, he resumes his hunt, running through the field and vanishing into the trees.

  Later, standing alone at the edge of the water, Michael stares at the slow moving river as it ripples around the wreckage of what used to be a passage across. Calling out to the other pack leaders, he gets their attention.

  “Begin gathering and storing food. Use that as you make your way to the two-legged lair so that you don’t have to hunt. Limit your time in the streets and move together over the next few nights, gathering in larger packs as you work your way closer. Don’t attack until I send a message, but be ready, and stay hidden from the death in the sky. The way across the water is gone. Bring items to throw into it to get across. I’ll be back soon,” Michael says, sending the appropriate imagery.

  “We’ll be ready,” the pack leaders respond.

  Michael turns and lopes the long distance back to his pack.

  * * * * * *

  “Frank, are you seeing this?” I ask, radioing the base.

  We had taken off after hearing the report that the second convoy had reached the bunker, unloaded, and was ready to begin its return in the morning. It was now an hour after nightfall. Looking at the monitor, the darkened streets below are almost empty. From time to time, we spot a couple of packs as they race from one building to another. For the most part, though, the hundreds of thousands of night runners we’ve become used to seeing are gone…vanished overnight.

  “Yes, I’m seeing mostly empty streets,” Frank replies.

  The thought that so many could disappear, the suddenness of the change, sends a deep shiver up my spine. When night runners change tactics, especially on the magnitude that we’re seeing, it has never boded well.

  “We’re returning. I don’t like this,” I state.

  We land and I leave the aircraft almost before the propellers finish winding down. Driving to the compound, the few of us remaining all gather.

  “Okay, what does this mean?” I ask, looking at Frank.

  “I have no idea. For their habits to change so dramatically, I doubt that I could even hazard a guess,” Frank answers.

  “Could it be that we’re actually having an effect on them and they’re afraid to show themselves?” Robert asks.

  “I suppose that could be. It’s possible that they are hiding out in the buildings,” Frank responds.

  “Did you ever find out what they were carrying?” Lynn asks.

  “No. I’ve tried but haven’t been able to ascertain what it was.” Frank answers.

  “I really never looked very closely. Are they still doing that?” I query.

  “As much as I can tell, yes. Until tonight, that is.”

  “Have we found anything else that was strange? Perhaps something that would indicate why they have suddenly changed like this?” Lynn questions.

  “I did see one thing that was a little strange. Last night, there was a single night runner that showed up on the imagery near the interstate bridge that we demolished. It was on our side of the river. According to the footage, it ran up to the bridge, paused, and then ran away.”

  “Where did it go?” Lynn asks.

  “It ran off screen to the southeast.”

  “A night runner on the wrong side of the river? Do you think it managed to make it across somehow and couldn’t get back?”

  “I don’t know, Jack. It’s possible that it was a loner that sensed the others to the north and tried to get to them. When it couldn’t, maybe it turned around and went back to where it came from,” Frank states.

  “Should we be worrying about a solitary night runner?” I ask.

  “With everything we have going, and with this drastic change, I wouldn’t think so,” Frank says.

  We look at the live satellite feed on the monitor. As before, most of the roads are empty of movement. Occasionally, a small pack of night runners will dart out of one building, run across the street, and disappear into another one.

  “It looks as if they are making themselves scarce. Perhaps Robert is right and our efforts are finally having a telling effect,” Lynn says.

  That seems right, but watching the empty streets still gives me the creeps. For some reason, it’s worse than seeing them out hunting. Three days until the convoy returns, four until we leave.

  We hit them several times throughout the day, with the burn crews setting more neighborhoods alight. As night settles, like the previous evening, there isn’t a mass exodus of night runners from within buildings. Cruising above empty, darkened streets, we catch periodic flashes of packs on our screens as they rapidly cross between structures. This time, we stay aloft and send 105mm shel
ls into the few buildings that we see them disappear into. The glimpses of any night runners are sporadic and we end up mostly boring holes through the sky. With nothing really to shoot at, we turn toward base and land. Three days until we leave.

  * * * * * *

  As the darkness folds over the land, Michael stands outside of his lair’s entrance. He tilts his head skyward, receiving messages from the pack leaders far away. The images tell of the packs that have gathered. It happened quicker than he thought. He wanted them to gather slower so they wouldn’t be caught moving, but they are ready. Even though they gathered and stored food, it is still a concern because they haven’t hunted. They won’t be able to hold off for much longer.

  Several packs from up north were lost during the day and evening, but staying off the streets at night kept them from getting hit as hard as they had been. He sends images telling how to form a crossing with the items they’ve gathered, and how to get over the walls once they arrive at the two-legged lair.

  “Tomorrow at first dark, leave your lairs and attack.”

  * * * * * *

  The next morning, day two of the convoy’s return, Leonard radios to inform us that he’s only a day out and should reach landfall in the early morning. That will fit nicely with our schedule, as we’ll be able to meet with him before leaving the compound for good. I’m interested to see what he’s planning. Although I’m exhausted and walking around like a zombie, things seem to be coming together. Again, that alone creates its own worry. It will be nice to put these anxieties behind and get some real rest for a change. We just have to last until then.

  I hold off on a morning flight, as I’m just too tired to be flying. As we circle the urban areas in the afternoon, the ground is nearly hidden beneath the haze of smoke drifting from the burns. Without our cameras, it would be difficult to see any of the buildings that Frank has us targeting. We add more to the mix as our 105mm shells slam into the few structures still standing in the western half of the Tacoma area. The smoke is too thick for us to descend to a low enough level to start additional fires by pumping fuel overboard. The sun descends toward the hills, only a fraction of its light able to penetrate through the smoky haze. As we return, the colors below are washed out, with the landscape taking on a brown cast.