by John O'Brien
The other four-legged ones charge in on the heels of their leader. Their growls combine with those from his own pack and the once still of the night erupts into a din of howls and snarls. He steps quickly to the side and pushes the leaping four-legged leader aside into the path of a couple others rushing in. Quickly turning back, he grabs another leaping form that is nearly upon him and slams it to the ground adding a pained yelp to the mixed clamor of noise. Not able to take the split second necessary to rend the four-legged one, he turns to take a third springing figure square in the chest.
Grabbing the one as it attempts to tear at his throat, he feels the hot breath and sees the gnashing teeth inches away. The four-legged one is rocking its head back and forth violently trying to break from his grasp and sink its long teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. The impact of the animal causes him to lose his balance and he feels himself toppling backward. If he falls, he knows, that for him, this fight will end almost before it started.
Holding the side of the four-legged one’s neck with a firm grip, and with the last of his balance, he jumps into the air twisting as he goes down putting the snarling one below him. Timing it just right, he pushes outward with all of his might. The head of the creature hits the hard ground with a crack. It emits a quick, pained yelp and goes limp. He quickly rises and notes that the other four-legged ones have drawn back. They still encircle his small pack but their initial onslaught is over.
His head rapidly turns from side to side looking for other leaping figures but all have retreated a few feet away. He notes one of his pack members is on the ground unmoving. Four of the four-legged ones lie still around them including the one he just finished off. The sweet smell of blood rises on the night air filling him with a deep lust for more. He sees injured four-legged ones limping behind the packs still surrounding him. Others prowl back and forth but the leader locks eyes on him and snarls; his teeth bared. This fight is long from over.
He wanted this open area so he could see an attack from any direction but now he realizes he would have been better served by having something at his back. He isn’t used to being the one attacked so this didn’t register until now. He looks to the surrounding buildings and thinks of climbing one of the fences and getting on one of the roofs. The height will keep the four-legged ones at bay until he can think of something else. The problem is that he’d have to go through the line surrounding him and his four remaining pack members. The safety of the structures might as well be a long night’s run away. Rumbles continue to echo off in the distance with quick bursts of light illuminating the night sky. His plight makes the activity in the distance seem even farther away.
Without warning, the four-legged attack in unison once again. One moment they are growling and milling about, the next launching themselves into the air at him and the others. The area is once again filled with snarling, twisting bodies. It’s all he can do to keep the leaping figures off him. He is dancing to the sides, throwing jumping and bounding figures from him. Screams of pain from both the four-legged ones and his pack rise up over the din. It seems like the four-legged ones keep materializing out of nowhere. As he was avoiding one, another latches onto his arm. The hurt is immediate and intense, sending white hot pain rocketing into his head.
The four-legged one, with its teeth buried deep in his forearm, is rocking its head from side to side, ripping into and tearing the soft tissue and muscle. His arm feels close to snapping from the intense pressure. He reaches down to pry the snarling mouth from his arm but he can’t pull it free. Punching with all of his strength downward, his fist lands heavily on the long snout. He feels more than hears the crunch as the bone of the four-legged one gives way sending a spray of blood out its nostrils. The creature lets go with a strangled yelp and streaks off into the night with its tail between its legs. His arm burns with pain as he turns to face his next attacker.
Momentarily clear of furry bodies leaping toward him, he turns in time to see another of his pack members go down and realizes there are now only two of them left. One struggles nearby with the jaws of one of the large four-legged ones clamped about his throat. The pack leader kicks out hard connecting directly with the rib cage of the four-legged one feeling the ribs give way. It gives up its hold and staggers to the side. He looks down and realizes it is too late for his pack member. Blood runs freely from his torn throat forming a deep pool beside him. Twitching a few times, he goes limp and the blood flow slows to a trickle.
The four-legged ones continue to press their attack despite losing close to half of their own. The iron smell of blood fills the air creating a feeding frenzy of sorts. Mixed in is a myriad of odors; blood, feces, bodies torn apart. The pavement is slick with body fluids as they run to the lower ground and slowly make their way to the gutters. The last remaining member goes down surrounded by furry bodies and shrieking in pain.
He realizes his time is now measured in moments and takes off down the street. Feeling the warm blood trickling down his arm, he hears the sound of running paws behind him. He vaults up and over one of the abandoned, dark transport things sitting by the side of the hard path feeling the cold metallic surface under his hands and feet. Landing in the tall grass on the other side in a crouch, he hears the howls behind him, closing the distance. He is used to being on the other side of the chase. The tables have been turned.
With his heart racing in his chest, he looks at a wooden fence just a short distance away. If I can just make it, he thinks in a series of picture images representing safety. Springing quickly forward, he makes for the fence and the measure of protection it represents. The snarls are right on his heels as he races through the tall grass. He feels an impact on his lower leg and teeth penetrate his skin and muscle tissue. The sudden weight of the animal, bite, and sharp tug on his calf cause him to trip and he goes down feeling a bolt of pain shoot up his leg.
Rolling as he goes down hard, he kicks out at the four-legged one latched firmly onto his leg. The one who has hold of him is growling heavily and tugging sharply causing his leg to tear even more. He kicks out with his other leg, making contact with its head. With a loud “yelp”, the animal releases his grip and backs off a short distance.
The night runner rises quickly and begins to race for the fence once again. With each step on his injured leg, he feels a small amount of pain but it is mostly ignored. What he can’t ignore is the fact that his leg won’t support him as it should. The fence draws near when another impact hits him in the back. He immediately feels teeth sink into his rump. Another hard bump hits him on his already injured leg. Teeth sink deeply into both areas and he is knocked forward. He goes down again and rolls to face his attackers.
His ears are saturated with the sounds of growling and snarling which combine with his own deep, loud growls. Teeth-filled mouths fill his vision, snapping at him as he tries to fend them off. The one lets go of his rump but he feels the sharp tugging of the one clamped onto his leg. Another latches onto his arm and he feels the flesh tear. Still growling and fighting with everything he has, he sees one face loom close and feels teeth sink into the soft skin under his chin. Warm blood pours down the sides of his neck. The creature shakes its head sharply. He shrieks in pain but it’s cut off abruptly as he feels the soft skin and cartilage tear free. Feeling white hot pain for only a split second, the night grows dim and fades into nothing. A different pack will feed well tonight.
With the coming of dawn, we take care of refueling and rearming the Spooky and head back to the compound. The command group is waiting and we meet once I get cleaned up. Franks informs us that Leonard radioed before my arrival this morning indicating that he will be arriving the next morning. He said that he will try Olympia first but will have to wait for the tide in order to transit the narrow straits. Bannerman briefs that the supplies for the sub will be ready by the end of the day.
Wanting to be there when Leonard arrives and talk about his plans, I decide to take a night off from our evening flights. This will give the flight crews a night of
rest as well. On one hand, I’m not eager to take a night off seeing as we seem to have the night runners on the run but it’s important to coordinate with Leonard. It’s also important to rest the crews.
Lynn informs us that she sent Mullins with Charlie team out to recon the campus buildings we destroyed last night. I’m very interested to see if we managed to take out a large number of night runners in their lair with the hope being that we eliminated a large portion of those we caught the night prior. While we wait for word, Bannerman brings us up to speed on the progress of our other projects.
“The inner wall will be complete either today or sometime tomorrow,” he states. “We can then start on the towers and pouring the concrete in the containers that will serve as the foundations for the quarters.”
“Starting today, we are going to use Roger, the pilot that arrived with Sam’s group, to once again begin our search for others in the local area. We’ve just about completed the Tacoma area and will start up in the residential areas leading toward Seattle once we are finished there. Arranging for the pickup crews that far north will require one or two teams to be out for the entire day so we’ll need to coordinate when we can do that,” Frank states.
“We should be okay with regards to the teams once the supply runs are complete. Most of the projects we have are local and won’t require any security,” Lynn replies.
Mullins reports in that they arrived at what once used to be Saint Martin’s College. The buildings are still smoldering piles of rubble and, from the two buildings they’ve searched so far, they haven’t found a trace of night runner bodies within the piles or amongst the scattered debris. All indications so far point to the fact that we missed the large horde we witnessed emerging the previous night. We must have pushed the night runners out of the area and that means there is still just as many of them out there somewhere. That does not give me warm, fuzzy feelings at all. I was so hoping we had made a big step in clearing the area out.
“Is there any way we can step up the training?” I ask Lynn, thinking about the numbers of night runners compared to our meager numbers.
Our numbers don’t indicate our true fire power. We may have a few survivors gathered with us but we only have a very limited number of trained personnel. Any increase in our teams will add to our ability to defend ourselves.
“Jack, you know we can’t skimp on the training. We have to keep the concept of quality over quantity,” Lynn states.
“Yeah, I understand that and wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just that the number of night runners out there makes what we have here a very scary proposition,” I reply.
“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.
