Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  We land to rearm and refuel. The cloud cover has broken letting the sun shine through in intervals. If it clears and the winds calm down, there is a chance of fog forming so we’ll have to watch for that. It will be easier given that we’ll be able to fly under the weather and have a clear visual of the region. Feeling the sun warm my shoulders as it casts its rays through a break in the clouds, I hook up the fuel lines from the truck Robert drove over. We stand next to each other as the volatile fuel runs through the thick, rubber hoses and into the selected tanks. The high-revving truck is loud but we manage to shout about the noise.

  “Are you sure about running multiple targets tonight?” I ask, shouting above the truck noise.

  “Yeah, I think we have it down,” he answers.

  “You know we can’t afford to lose any time or be off target if they emerge suddenly like last night,” I say.

  “Dad, we’ve got it. It took us a while to work the coordination but we can do it,” he replies.

  “Okay. Just don’t forget the leads.”

  “No worries, Dad, we’ll handle it and bring the rain down on their heads,” Robert says with a smile.

  I shake my head remembering my own youth and enthusiasm and it’s hard to hide a smile hearing it from my own son. There was a time when I used to use those same words. The others return with a fresh load of ammo just as we are reeling up the last of the hose. Bri walks out from the rear of the aircraft readjusting the M-4 on her shoulder, a weapon she has used several times.

  “The gauges all show fuel although the right wing outer fuel gauge stuck for a moment. I tapped it and it ran up to full,” she says as Robert drives the fuel truck over by the base operations building.

  “Keep an eye on it. It may stick on the way down as well,” I say, thinking we may have to switch the gauge out with one from the HC-130 parked next to us.

  The specific fuel tank and gauge are the same between the aircraft so it should be an easy change out. It is, however, a reminder that everything will eventually fail and that the fuel becoming unusable may not be the only limiting factor on our ability to fly.

  “I will, Dad,” she replies.

  Loaded up again, we climb into our positions and take off into the afternoon sky. It’s going to be another long night but at least we’ll have some action to keep us occupied rather than just boring holes through the sky. I feel a heightened degree of anticipation knowing we are about to hammer a large night runner lair. I’m also looking forward to the start of the night when we may have the chance to ‘bring the rain’ with the emergence of the night runners. With the hope of a seeing a large number of them again, I turn the Spooky south listening to Robert and the crew run through their checks and bring the systems online.

  We set up and orbit around the Saint Martin’s campus. It’s daylight with the clouds breaking farther apart. The late afternoon sky drifts through the windshield as we circle. I glance down at the large arena that Frank indicated housed a majority of the night runner horde we saw. The light of day will allow me to watch the awe-inspiring sight of the 105mm rounds impacting.

  Robert sets up the target and clears the gunner to fire. Making sure to keep a stable platform for the crews in back, I look down just in time to witness the impact. With a yellow and orange flash, the first round collides against one side of the structure. The point of impact disappears in a cloud of smoke and dust that rockets upward quickly. Brick and large chunks of the building are hurtled outward into the surrounding parking lot. As we circle, gaining a different vantage point, I see a portion of the building has collapsed into a pile of debris. Robert waits for the call that the weapon is reloaded and clear before issuing the command to fire once again.

  The picture is repeated until nothing is left of the facility except a smoking pile of debris. Small and large chunks of the building are scattered over a vast area of the parking lots. We move onto the other campus buildings leaving the area around the library intact.

  “Any sign of bodies?” I ask, watching the devastation below.

  The repeater scope I have dialed in zooms for a closer look at the rubble. I can only glance down at it in intervals but I don’t see anything that resembles a body or parts of bodies amongst the wreckage.

  “I don’t see any from here,” Robert reports after a moment.

  “Alright. Keep an eye out but let’s move on,” I say.

  The sun moves on toward the western horizon turning from a yellow to an orange ball sitting just above the silhouette of the Olympic Mountains. The waves of the South Sound sparkle as the rays bounce off their crests. The campus below lies in smoldering ruins. I radio the base notifying Frank of our progress and for him to have a team prepared to recon the campus below us tomorrow to search for bodies. Although we don’t see any through our cameras, we need the intelligence to see how successful we are. Frank will need that info to update his intel on the remaining night runners in the area. I cast my thoughts outward and ‘see’ nothing. It’s blank without even a hint of a night runner about. I wish I understood this ‘ability’ better.

  We drone on, taking out some of the marked buildings as the sun sinks lower behind the mountains. My eagerness to catch the emerging night runners increases with each inch the sun lowers. It vanishes with a bright orange band of light spreading behind the hills, highlighting the underside of the remaining clouds. I tell Robert and the crew to be ready. The guns are loaded and wait for the order to rain death below. The cameras zoom out ready to catch the appearance of the packs. Seeing we may have taken down a central lair, the remaining packs could materialize from anywhere. The orange sunset changes to purple and then darkness dominates the landscape.

  I can almost feel everyone holding their breath expecting the screens to light up like last night. The silence within the aircraft matches the quiet that seems to emanate from the ground. It’s as if the world is having a final silent moment waiting for two forces to collide. The sunset fades into darkness yet the screens remain empty. There is no sign of any night runners escaping their lairs to run into the night. I cast outward once again and feel the same emptiness. We’ve either annihilated the night runners in their vast lair or they’ve moved somewhere else. Or it may be something altogether different.

  “Okay folks, let’s press on to the other buildings. Stay alert for any night runners on the prowl. Be ready but it’s apparent we aren’t getting the show we had last night,” I say over the radio. I listen as Robert sets up the next target and I contact Frank with the news.

  The remainder of the evening is clearing building after building. We don’t see a single night runner all night and I don’t know whether I should feel worried or relieved. Depleting our 105mm rounds, I head over the base area searching for any night runners out hunting but we come up empty. To all intents and purposes, the area seems to be clear. I know that can’t be true given the numbers that Frank said must still be around. I open myself and push outward in the hopes of feeling something, even lowering our altitude in case the distance is a factor. I don’t sense anything all night. We land and shut down a little after midnight, sealing the aircraft up and stretch out where we can in order to catch some sleep.

  Michael rises feeling the others of the pack begin to stir with the coming of the night. They lost a lot of the pack the night prior but a greater majority of them survived the exploding buildings and that which hunted them from above. He ran the packs far away from the devastation and found a series of buildings which would suffice for their lair. He had to split the pack into different buildings but they were roomy and will provide warmth and shelter. He feels their current location will place them far enough away from the two-legged ones to provide an increased margin of safety.

  Running far through the night in their escape, he felt their fear and hunger. Tonight, they will set out on the hunt and search for food. Some he will send to find new hunting grounds. Others he will have search for the alternate foods prevalent in many of the abandoned two-legged places. He w
ill have those supplies brought back to stock the lair if they encounter lean times. They will also have food if they are unable to hunt because of the thing in the sky that brings death. If they know that is out and about, he will keep them indoors and they will feed from the supplies.

  Michael senses the hesitation of the pack members as darkness falls and they step cautiously out into the unknown. They are far from their normal hunting grounds but he smells fresh scents on the night air as he stands by the entrance watching the packs emerge. He sees them glance upward toward the sky before trotting off with their individual groups. Faint blasts echo in the night from distant explosions, lighting up the sky in intervals. The skyline flashes before the muted booms reach them. He warns each group to take cover if the explosions draw closer or they hear the droning from above.

  The building empties with Sandra leaving with one of the last groups. He catches a look from her before she trots off with her large pack. Hers is one of the packs he designated to search the buildings for food they can stock. Michael isn’t exactly sure of what her look means but he knows it isn’t one challenging him. He would have taken action if it was. He can’t allow any challenge to his leadership now that he has gathered so many together. The result would break the gathering apart and they may find themselves in competition with each other rather than cooperating. With the danger surrounding them on a nightly basis, he won’t let that happen. He has allowed Sandra’s arguments only because of the size of her pack and the fact that she has a young one, but there is a line that he won’t allow to be crossed. Giving a low growl of frustration, mixed with eagerness to be on the hunt, he lopes off into the night with others chasing down the scent of a large prey in the area.

  The night runner lopes down the tree-lined street with the other five of his pack running behind seeking out the elusive scent of prey in the chill of the night. He was told to take his pack out to search for good hunting grounds; feed his pack and then locate areas where prey is in abundance so the packs can feed on subsequent nights.

  They are hungry from not being able to feed the night before. Images quickly surface of last night and having to stay hidden in the building, along with several other packs, while booming explosions rocked the area around him. He had felt fear as some of the other packs vanished from his thoughts with each tremendous blast and had wondered if the next would be on the structure he was hiding in. The sheer terror of hunkering down in a corner with the others of his small pack squatting next to him; all of them jumping with each impact. The ground-shaking blasts drew closer and closer until he was sure the next would bring the walls down around him and the others. There were several moments when he wanted to just rise and flee into the night. The one who leads them all sent a message to keep hidden and that’s the only thing that kept him shivering in the corner, thinking his time was limited. He felt relieved when the loud explosions stopped and he took his first tentative steps outside. There was a great fear that he would be cut down like the others he felt earlier. Then there was the long run through the rest of the night, tired and hungry, to find their current lair.

  The distant rumbles and quick flashes of light make him nervous and have him constantly looking up toward the star-lit night. He expects the streams of light he saw before quickly entering the building to streak down on him and his pack. However, his pack has to feed and as long as the booms remain muted in the distance, he’ll stay out and continue the hunt. They need to eat and the pack as a whole need to find adequate hunting grounds. If the crashes begin to draw closer, he’ll take them inside one of the structures. For now though, he’ll test the area for scents and track down any prey.

  A few streets farther down with the slap of their feet on the hard path, he stops where two paths come together and lifts his nose into the air. A musky scent drifts on the night air and reaches his finely-tuned sense of smell. It’s from another predator and sometimes prey. It’s one of the four-legged ones that they’ve also found running in packs. They’re a dangerous foe but they are food. The odor mixes with others of its kind and he can tell it’s coming from one of the larger packs. The scent grows stronger.

  He looks around at the five others he has in his pack. They need to eat but he knows he doesn’t have the numbers if the four-legged furry ones are in a large enough pack. Deciding to find other prey, he notes the location and presses farther into the night.

  A few streets beyond, he stops. The scents swirling through the numerous streets and abandoned two-legged lairs makes it difficult to determine a particular direction but the smell he picked up earlier of the furry four-legged ones is definitely stronger. He turns to see if he can see them but the streets remain as empty as they have been all night. The others in his pack have their noses in the air as they also detect the increase. Although they are showing some nervousness, there is also a degree of eagerness. That aroma means food even if it does also mean a fight. He detects even more of the mixed, musty smells. It’s a larger pack but he can’t determine just how large. Still wanting to find other food sources, he turns away from where he thinks the scent is coming from and begins trotting again.

  Hungry and tired, he stops once again a short time later as the musky scents become even stronger. He has the sudden feeling they are being followed. A light breeze causes the branches to the side of the street to sway ever so slightly. The odor of the four-legged ones out on the prowl becomes stronger and then lighter depending on the flow of the wind. The street is filled with a soft rustle as another light gust blows through the leaf-clad trees. Faintly, caught upon the swirls of air, he hears the soft padding of many feet. They aren’t the heavy footfalls of another pack but those of smaller animals. That, coupled with the increasing scent tells him that something is nearing.

  He is wary of the small number he has with him. He has fought the ferocious four-legged ones in the past but those were small in number and he was the one chasing them. The fact that they are following his small pack leaves him with a wary feeling. The sounds of the padded footfalls increases and then go silent. He stands in the middle of the street looking up and down the hard path and into the strips of land between the surrounding structures but sees nothing. His pack draws nearer and they huddle closer together. He feels them begin to get anxious, their eyes darting in all directions and raising their noses high into the air. The gusts die for a moment and he picks up the faint sound of panting. Whatever it happens to be is near.

  He is at a loss as to which direction to go. He wants to continue his hunt but isn’t sure which way he should venture. There is also the hunger gnawing at his stomach. They are a match for most anything and the caution he feels is balanced by eagerness. There is food close by but prey doesn’t normally track its predator. Dark shadows of the things the two-legged ones once used for transport line the sides of the path he is on. He passes several as he cautiously steps toward where two other hard paths meet.

  The sound of the soft footfalls begins once more as he nears the corner of the street. This time he can clearly define their direction and, coming to a halt, looks down one of the side roads. The largest pack of four-legged ones he has ever seen comes into view trotting down the center of the street. A low growl issues from his throat as he senses the threat. They outnumber his small pack three-to-one and they aren’t some of the smaller of their kind he has chased down in the past. These are some of the biggest he’s ever seen.

  A low growl still vibrates in his throat and he hears the others of his pack emitting the same. Edging out into the middle of the intersection to face the four-legged ones covered that are covered in fur, the large pack of animals halt with every head locked onto him and the ones with him. The large animal in front of the others hunches down and he hears a low growl similar to his emanate from it. Several other four-legged ones join in and he notices the hair on their haunches raised with their ears drawn back. A fight is coming and he feels the excitement of it surface, underwritten by a measure of worry. It’s not quite like the overwhelm
ing thrill of the chase but it’s similar. A pack this large will not be easy to take down but the adrenaline that courses through his body fills him.

  The four-legged one in front and several behind it edge forward. Several farther behind separate and race off to the side and are soon lost from sight in the tall grass covering the areas in front of the deserted lairs. He marks their progress to either side of the hard path by the tops of the grass swaying to the side and being trampled down. Those soon emerge and form smaller groups on both sides of his small pack. He knows this tactic, having been taught to do this very thing from their overall pack leader. These four-legged ones will hit them from multiple sides at once. He sends a picture to his pack members letting them know this and for them to position themselves toward these smaller groups.

  As the four-legged ones slink closer, his growl increases in intensity warning them. He hunches forward, readying himself for the inevitable attack. The three groups surrounding them continue to edge forward mixing their own low growls in with those of his pack. The hair along the backs of the four-legged ones stand on end with their tails posted low to the ground. Every one of them has their lips pulled back revealing their dangerous, long canines meant to rip, shred, and tear. Only a few feet away from him, the other leader hunches down and runs forward a few steps, then launches high into the air.