Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  We leave our cover and approach the group cautiously. Gonzalez and McCafferty frisk each of the people as Robert, Bri, and I cover them. No additional weapons are found with the exception of a few knives and survival tools.

  “Okay, and you are?” I ask.

  “I’m Carl and this is…” he says, introducing the rest of his small group.

  The group seems okay and we have them covered regardless. I have Greg move the Stryker past us to the main intersection of town just a block away. He’ll keep watch in that direction with Henderson and Denton providing cover behind us. I’m still not sure how fast the other antagonistic group will recover and respond, or if they even will, but the leader will want to save face somehow. I’m guessing they will return to whatever hideout they happen to have if they want to rearm themselves. Sitting out in the open like this isn’t giving me warm, fuzzy feelings so I want to make this quick.

  “So, Carl, what’s your story?” I ask. I can tell he is hesitant about revealing anything but looking around at a dozen well-armed soldiers who happen to have a Stryker as a pet and the fact that we haven’t harmed him or his group seems to loosen him up.

  “We have a place not too far away up in the hills. We are fairly self-sufficient and prepared to some extent for this. Occasionally though, we come down into these small towns to scavenge for supplies. Great Falls was overrun almost immediately so we avoid that place like the plague, pun intended,” Carl says. I give Carl and his group a quick rundown of our story, including the reason we are here.

  “Sorry to give you bad news, captain, but no one has been around here in some time. I’m not sure where those other folks came from but they’re new here,” Carl says.

  “Are there others in your place? You are welcome to come along with us if you’d like,” I say, explaining what that would entail.

  “We have two others watching the place and we’d have to talk it over amongst ourselves,” Carl replies. “If you wouldn’t mind if we talked in private for a moment, we’ll let you know.”

  “That’s fine but make it quick. There are still those others around and I’m not interested in finding out what they have for an encore,” I state.

  Carl and his group gather together in a circle and I hear their murmurings. I can actually hear their conversation but I tune it out to give them a semblance of privacy.

  “Hang tight everyone. We’re having a little pow wow here,” I radio.

  Carl and his group finish their conversation and accept our invitation. “Supplies are running low in the area anyway,” he states. “We will need to gather our gear though. Is it okay if we retrieve our guns?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. You’ll have to be quick about gathering your gear. We’re going to search some more here to make sure there isn’t family still around. You can meet us at Malmstrom AFB. Do you know where that is?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Captain, I know where that is,” Carl answers.

  “Call me Jack. Okay, we have a C-130 parked there by the runway. Do you know what one looks like?” I say.

  “I’ve ridden in one way too many times not to know one intimately,” he responds.

  “Fun rides eh? Okay, it’s the only one there so make your way there, but be there before dark as we’ll be sealed up by then,” I state.

  “You won’t find us out and about after dark. We’ll be there. The others seem to have left us a couple of vehicles here. Perhaps they won’t mind if we borrow them,” Carl replies.

  “They don’t look like they’re being used to me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather get off these open streets. See you soon.”

  With that, Carl and his group retrieve their weapons, load up into the vehicles they brought along with a couple of the pickup trucks, and drive down the road we entered on, disappearing around the corner. I have Red Team pick up the weapons dropped by the other group and pile them into the Stryker.

  I get with the soldier whose family lives, or lived, here to get directions. Although Carl seemed familiar with the area and what happened to it, it wouldn’t do to come this far and not check for ourselves. I owe that much to the soldier and hope we find his parents alive and well.

  Henderson and Denton join us and we load into the Stryker. We turn toward the short bridge and, not seeing any signs indicating weight limitations, proceed across following the soldier’s directions. The town is very small and there are only a couple of crossing streets. We take the first and only left. An alley appears half way down the street and the soldier directs us down it. I do not want to have the Stryker in such cramped quarters as the others are certainly about. Being such a small town, they can easily track our progress and position by the heavy whine of the diesel engine. We park and disembark. I send Greg with the soldier and his team up the alley and to the house in question. I have Henderson and Denton tag along with them in case Greg needs them for entry. I cast out and sense a few night runners in the area but none nearby. It’s almost a relief to feel them. It would be nice if I actually figured out how this stupid thing works.

  I send Gonzalez and McCafferty to opposite ends of the street we are on to keep a watch down the streets. They trot off and each finds a position by the corner of a house. The sun has risen overhead and the houses and trees along the street cast very little shadow. Although there is still a chill in the air, it is warming up. One squirrel, perched high in a tree on the corner of the block, squawks madly at our intrusion into its domain. It’s apparently not happy with our being here and is letting the world know.

  I take a moment to bask in the rays of the sun shining down on my shoulder. I try casting my thoughts out farther. I sense just a couple of others but find it easier to reach out now for some reason. I cast out farther and farther. I know there are only empty plains around and don’t expect much but am seeing what my limits and capabilities are. I keep going feeling a pressure in my head as I concentrate. I notice the harder I concentrate, the more limited it becomes. I try relaxing and just visualizing. By relaxing, it seems easier to expand and I sense a small group of night runners farther to our southeast. I don’t know if it’s just the area we’re in or whether it’s the night runners themselves that seem to limit this back home. For whatever reason, it’s just easier now. The distant night runners are harder to pinpoint and I can only sense them being in a general direction. The squirrel chirping in the branches above enters my consciousness and I pull back.

  Greg informs me of their entry and subsequent search. The house is empty and I turn to watch the team members walk into the alleyway and make their way back. The soldier has his head down with others patting him on the shoulders consoling him. I was hopeful that we would be successful with the partial success we’ve had so far. I guess every ending can’t be the happy one and I feel for him. I’m sure he was feeling hopeful after seeing some of the other team members find some of their family alive. I stroll over and give him my condolences as well.

  “What about those folks we ran into that fled, sir. They might know something,” he says, hopeful.

  “I wouldn’t know where to look for them and am not sure I want to run into them again,” I reply.

  Seeing his head and shoulders sag tugs at my heart. I’d like for all of the soldiers to find their families, especially after they risked all to help rescue my kids.

  “They might be holed up at the school, sir. That’s where I’d go,” he says.

  Once again, that torn feeling surfaces. I’m not all that eager to run into those folks again, especially close to wherever they call home. They have the advantage of knowing the area better and will definitely hear us coming. Surprise — gone… knowledge — gone… advantage — marauders. However, we are here and I feel we should make every effort to find out what happened. He didn’t question going into an armed compound at night with night runners all around to get my kids. I just don’t want to sacrifice the many for one. If smoke trails appear, we’re outta there. I pull the others aside and ask them their thoughts. After all, it’s the
ir ass. To a person, they not only agree that we should go, but are quite adamant about it. So, we board the Stryker and set off to see the wizard.

  We backtrack to the center of town. The school is only a block up and on the left so it’s not like the large man and his merry band of followers had to trek far. I’m sure they were gasping for air upon arriving though. And maybe a few wet spots located just below the belt. I know I almost wet mine when the.50 cal went off and struck the street in front of us. That’s about as close to being on the receiving end that I want to get. The soldier shows us a side path to an open lot by the school so we don’t become trapped on the narrow street in front of it.

  We edge around one of the houses and flatten the tall grass growing in the yard. The single-story light-colored school building appears with the gym on our side. I immediately spot, through the mounted camera, two men perched on the roof with weapons aimed our way. We halt and I open the top hatch. With a mega phone in hand, I call out saying that we aren’t looking to harm anyone but looking for some people and give them the names. There isn’t any response to my call except the men on the roof shifting positions.

  “I’m going to need a response,” I say, asking again.

  A shot rings out and I hear the ping of a bullet striking the armor close to the hatch. The ricocheting round pings off into the distance, quickly fading. Really?! How stupid can you get? I think. Why is it that people think firing on an armored vehicle is a good thing?

  “A simple yes or no would have sufficed. Now, let’s try this again, are they there or do you know their whereabouts?” I ask. Again there isn’t any response. At least they don’t try firing on us again.

  “Do you really want this.50 cal to start chewing your place to ribbons?” I state.

  Finally, a voice calls out. It sounds very much like the man shouting in front of the store. “No, we just arrived a few days ago and there was no one here. Now, get lost!”

  I think about opening up anyway but merely close the hatch and have the Stryker reverse out of there. I look at the soldier sitting amongst the others with tears streaming down his face. The others around him console him again. I ask if there was any other place they would go and he just shakes his head. With a very melancholy feel within the interior, we trace our route back to the 130. Parking the Stryker off to the side, we set up a small perimeter with each team taking turns on watch. We settle in with the sun passing its zenith and into the afternoon.

  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.