by John O'Brien
With the warming breeze blowing across my face, I look out over the area once again. I cannot help but notice that some of the soldiers from our outfit, still enjoying their meager breakfast, glance curiously over at the other group locked in conversation. The sun has climbed higher into the morning sky warming the air rising from the ramp surface.
I look across the ramp towards the once lively base. It’s so quiet. I think. Just like being out in the country. The quiet that was so peaceful out in the country seems so alien here. The brain carries the association of man-made objects with the noise that went along with them. People scurrying on errands, the sounds of vehicles passing, construction, doors opening and closing, everything that made sound within that environment combine into one solid noise that defined any congregation of people. The silence is what makes the quiet here so alien. There is a disjointed feeling in the mind between what the eyes see, what the ears hear and what the brain is used to. It’s as if the brain is trying to reconcile the difference and leaves behind a sad, almost lonely feeling.
Nature reclaiming what was taken from it. We take and so we must give. The thought passes through my mind as I look over the tranquil setting. And we must have taken a lot as we surely gave a lot. The natural order of things seeking its balance. Not a balance in one particular moment in time but a balance spread over time. And here we thought it would be something like global warming. Mankind knew something was coming. There was just that feeling in the air yet we did nothing as if we were powerless to stop it. We weren’t though. We just decided to do nothing about it. The further along we went on our path of control and seeking to make it easier for us, the harder it became to stop and correct the path. We were always leaving it up to others to correct. How do we know when we have been deflected and are diverting from the right path? Is it a feeling inside that something feels wrong? Or is it when our industrial thought wends its way towards a purely service-oriented society feeding our selfish whims? Perhaps a bit of both. We became a society where a majority of our thought and industry was geared around being pampered rather than fostering goodwill and helping others; rather than helping us to become more harmonious with our little home in space or to improve as human beings. Our base needs were obviously taken care of just by the pure nature of becoming service-oriented. We’ll just have to do better this time around. If there is another time around.
The bubble of reverie in which I wrapped myself diminishes with the sound of footsteps approaching behind. I turn and see Lynn approaching. “Well?” She says stepping in front of me.
“I told him everything and I guess they’re discussing whether to come with us or not. Or maybe whether to shoot me. Apparently, they were ordered to stay here while the others headed to the states to find supplies and information.”
“How’d he take it?” Lynn asks meaning about my pretending to still be an officer and on a mission.
“Not all that well initially. He doesn’t really seem to enjoy being hoodwinked like that,” I reply chuckling. “But he came to understand the why given our circumstances.”
“Jack, you could talk a noodle into believing it was a tree.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask but Lynn merely gives me that look of innocence.
“How are our supplies?” I ask after realizing I am not going to get a response.
“We’re going to need water. Especially if we add more to our herd. Food is okay for a few days but we could always use more. We have plenty of ammo for the time being.”
“We’ll see if they still have running water and fill up here. If not, we’ll have to go to the BX and see if there’s more bottled water. We need to keep our empty water bottles and caps and fill them when we can.”
“You mean the PX, right flyboy?”
“We don’t speak ‘hooah’ here so it’s a BX,” I say smiling at our always present and friendly Army-Air Force rivalry only to get another of her looks. The look that says ‘you’re going to owe me for that one’ which, in times past, meant that I was going to have to go first when the lights were turned off. Not that I minded that at all!
“As for ammo, you can never have enough right? If they decide to head out with us, we’ll pay a visit to the armory here,” I continue.
Frank breaks away from their group and walks our way with Sergeant Watkins in tow. Lynn salutes as they come to stand with us. Introductions are made and Frank says, “Jack, we talked about it and we’ve agreed to come along with you if you’ll have us. Frankly, given the state of things, I can’t afford to take the risk and have my men and women stranded here.”
I must have been wearing a look of worry or consternation as he continued on, “And, Jack, we’ve also talked about you staying in charge and to fold in under your command.”
“Glad to have you aboard Frank, Sergeant Watkins,” I say shaking their hands. “Sergeant Connell here is the First Sergeant and will organize your men and women into fire teams. Are they all trained?”
“They are all part of the base security team, sir,” Sergeant Watkins responds.
“Are they already organized into squads?” Lynn asks.
“They are. Alpha and Bravo teams,” Watkins answers.
“Okay, we’ll keep them that way for now. I’ll want to talk with your team leaders afterwards,” Lynn says.
“I’m one of them,” Watkins says.
“Frank, are the generators still online?” I ask.
“The tower generator is still functioning but it looks like the base generators went out this morning,” he answers.
“So, no running water then?”
“Not as of this morning,” Frank responds.
“Looks like a trip to the BX then. We’re going to need whatever water we can scrounge up. Lynn, why don’t you have that talk with their team leaders now and let’s have a team leader meeting in thirty minutes. I’ll take two teams to the BX and you take two to the armory. We’ll need vehicles for both to haul the stuff back.”
“Yes, sir,” Lynn answers. I notice she has not dropped the sir. Well, we need to keep that kind of discipline if we’re to make it through, I think.
“I can have my men get crew vehicles if you want,” Sergeant Watkins says to Lynn as they walk away.
I catch Robert’s and Bannerman’s eyes and wave them over. “Robert, we need to fuel up. Take Red Team, find a fuel truck and top off our tanks. Make sure it says ‘JP4’ on it. I’m not interested in finding out how far a 130 will glide.”
“Okay, Dad,” he answers and heads off leaving just Frank, Bannerman and myself gathered.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to use you two in a planning and logistics role. Frank, if you don’t mind taking on planning and Intel and Bannerman, you handle the logistics end.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Frank says.
“Fine by me,” Bannerman responds.
“There’s not much to do in that regards now, but when we get back, you’ll be more than busy organizing and creating a safe haven for us. I plan to use a large outdoor store as the base when we get back. It’s set a little out of town so start thinking about what we’re going to need to secure it. Communications, maintenance, power, heat, fuel, stuff like that. I have some ideas but the more minds on it, the better. We also need to start thinking about how we’re going to handle the rampant disease that’s going to be prevalent very soon.” I say.
“We’ll start putting our minds on that now,” Frank says and the two of them head toward the aircraft. I see Robert, with Michelle by his side, start across the ramp with Red Team. I sure wish for different times and that they didn’t have to go through something like this, I think watching them walk across the ramp. Maybe it’s that I wish I didn’t have to go through this with them as it seems to be an adventure for them. I know I’d probably see it that way if I were in their shoes.
I really seem to be floating in this reverie state of mind today. Maybe because it is one of the first times in the past few days that I have actually had time to think
and feel a sense of security for everyone. The mind has its own defense mechanisms and ways of dealing with it. It filters out quite a bit and then feeds it in a little at a time to the extent that it can handle it. I would have thought that I would have pretty much handled a lot of that with the stressful times in special ops. But then again, those were not so broad and far reaching. I always came back to beer and pretty good food afterwards. There is no afterwards here.
There I go again, I think heading towards the back of the aircraft. Lynn and the other team leaders - Sergeant Drescoll, Corporal Horace, Sergeant Watkins, Sergeant Cressman and Lynn — join me there and introductions are made. The sound of four crew vehicles arriving reaches us and I see Robert pulling the fuel truck alongside the aircraft.
“Okay everyone,” I say opening the team briefing, “we’ll leave tonight so that we can have a daytime landing at Brunswick but we need to gather supplies while we’re here. Two teams, led by Sergeant Connell, will head over to the armory to gather all the weapons and ammunition we can get. I will lead my team and one other to the BX to gather water and any non-perishable food. Sergeant Connell, can you assign the other teams?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be taking Sergeant Drescoll and my team. Corporal Horace will be with you and your team.”
“Sounds like a plan. We need team call signs. My team is Red. Sergeant Drescoll, you’ll be Green. Corporal Horace is Blue. Sergeant Connell, Black. Sergeant Watkins will be Alpha and Sergeant Cressman will take Bravo.”
“How come I get black?” Lynn asks.
“Fits your personality,” I say in response. Uh oh, the look I get in return says that I’ll be going first for a long time to come.
“Sergeant Watkins, do you have keys to the armory?” I say quickly to avoid any response that look will bring.
“Yes, sir,” Watkins answers amid small chuckles from the group.
“Okay, Sergeant Watkins will escort you to the armory,” I say addressing Lynn. “Sergeant Cressman, you’ll take your team and the remainder of Alpha to provide security here. Any questions or comments to this point.”
“No, sir,” the group answers.
“Sergeant Watkins, we’ll need to distribute the radios your team has. Each team leader gets one and I also want Bannerman, Wilson, and Robert to get one. I don’t suppose there’s a Special Forces armory on base?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, the overall plan is to load up on supplies, fly out of here tonight arriving at Brunswick in the morning, do a quick refueling stop there and head down to the CDC. That should give us enough time to get in and out of there during the day. Rest up in the aircraft that night and head to McChord in the morning reaching there in the afternoon. Questions?”
“No, sir,” the group responds.
“Very well, brief your teams and let’s do this. We leave in twenty.”
A Shopping Spree
The team leaders stand, gather their teams and begin briefing them. The morning breeze picks up bringing the tang of the ocean reminding me of the days in the country when the onshore flow brought the smell of the sea with it. Seagulls are floating in the air around us, squawking when they find something interesting and warn others away from their find. I join with Red Team and give them a synopsis of the brief. Robert finishes fueling and stands next to me as we finish up the brief.
“We’re heading to the BX for supplies,” I tell him.
“Am I going with?” He asks.
“Well, thirteen isn’t the luckiest number so you can go. But you stay right with me and do exactly what I tell you. No hesitation,” I say noticing Lynn glance in our direction and shake her head in resignation.
“Let’s load up,” I yell across the ramp to the teams gathered in groups.
The teams check ammo and load into the crew buses. I check with Sergeant Watkins to get directions to the BX and step into the crew bus with Robert right behind me. Red Team is already seated on the padded benches with their M-16s resting on the floor between their legs.
“Everyone good to go?” I say and am met with thumbs up from everyone.
“Park yourself there,” I say to Robert.
He has stuffed his pockets with magazines and has to pull the ones in his back pockets out in order to sit. He reaches up to scratch his head. He’s nervous, I think watching him. I could have almost choreographed that move as it is one of his signs that he doesn’t feel comfortable. I know I did that exact same thing when I was his age. Funny how DNA can cause similar actions like that.
I climb into the driver seat and see Lynn’s two crew buses pull out heading across the ramp into the base. Starting up the crew bus, I follow across the ramp and, in my rear view, see Corporal Horace following. Once in the base proper, we drive down several streets reminiscent of the drive through McChord except without the bodies in the road. Where did everyone go? I wonder to myself. Did they evacuate or did they truly exterminate all of the sick? Well, if they did, then that means less of the night runners around.
The drive to the BX is almost peaceful. The setting close to one of tranquility. The sun is out and it’s a nice summer day. We pass parks where there should be children playing and picnics enjoyed. Dogs chasing Frisbees. All are empty. The buildings stare out at us as we pass by them slowly. The tranquility does have an underlying tension that doesn’t go unnoticed. I find myself wondering if those buildings are harboring night runners. The serenity depicted gives a false front to the very real danger lurking behind, just waiting for night to fall. The only sound of mankind existing is the engines of our vehicles and the whirring of the tires on the road.
Pulling into the BX parking lot, we stop a short distance from the front doors. The lot is empty with the exception of a couple of parked cars scattered haphazardly. The building itself is your standard concrete block, warehouse style store, painted in the brown color the Air Force has taken to. Both the BX and Commissary are combined and have quadruple glass entrance doors. We step out onto a pavement warmed by the sun and are met with silence. Small scraps of paper blow across the mostly empty lot propelled by the light sea breeze. A ghost town only the buildings are modern. Across the lot sits the base movie theatre still advertising the latest blockbusters as if expecting the usual evening crowd of movie goers.
“Corporal Horace,” I call out softly. For some reason, the atmosphere dictates silence as if the very air desires stillness. Perhaps nature itself is confused by the sudden change.
“Sir,” she says back. I guess it’s only me that feels the weight.
“Take Blue Team and set up a small perimeter here. I don’t want any surprises. Remember, keep in pairs and we don’t need to go far. Just keep an eye on the surroundings. Call me with any movement or if anything looks odd,” I say realizing at once just how ridiculous that sounds. Everything is odd now. “We’re going to check out the entrance.”
“Yes, sir,” Horace responds and sets about putting Blue Team in position in the parking lot.
“Robert, you stay close by me,” I say as we walk towards the BX entrance with Red Team on my heels. I look back and see them constantly checking the surroundings. With what all of us have been through the past few days, tension and alertness are constant factors.
“Right with you,” Robert says.
Drawing closer to the entrance, I notice one of the glass doors has been broken. I slow my pace bringing my M-4 up ready to use. The metallic sound of rifles being raised sound behind me. Inching toward the broken glass door, I motion for Henderson and Denton to cover the sides and I squat down in front with Robert. Several glass shards are just inside the door with a few lying about outside near the bottom. The entire glass portion of the door has been broken out with the exception of several jagged bits of glass still in the door frame. A large rock sits just inside the door resting on the tiled linoleum floor amid the broken glass.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I notice the blood streaks on the pavement leading to the broken door and the dried blood
covering the shards in its door frame. Squatting there looking at the mess, a closer look at the edges of the glass in the door reveals hanging bits of torn cloth along with what appears to be pieces of dried flesh. The faint, bloody drag marks continue on the linoleum inside.
“What do you think, sir?” Henderson asks.
“Looks like someone threw the rock to break in and cut themselves in the process,” Robert responds.
“Possible but I don’t think so,” I say. “Judging from the looks of things, I would say someone smashed the glass with the rock to get in. The fact that the rock is so close to the door tells me that whoever it was held it in their hand. If the rock were thrown, it would be further inside, closer to the outer edge of where the glass is on the floor inside. Unless it was kicked I guess.”
I also note very faint, bloody and partial foot imprints on the concrete outside leading into the building and on the linoleum inside.
“Given that the blood smears are faint and the remains on the glass shards are mostly flesh and clothing, I would also say that something was dragged in through the broken door and that they were already dead. The smears are most likely from the blood-soaked clothing. If they were still alive, there would be more blood prevalent and drips of it down the glass still in the door. The foot prints leading in and the fact that the torn clothing and flesh is on the outside of the shards indicates that whatever was dragged across here was dragged in.”
All of this has chilling ramifications to me. If the night runners have adapted to the point of being able to use tools to gain entrance, then our security of being dependent on just using closed doors is seriously threatened. We may not be safe even just staying locked up in the aircraft. Even if they couldn’t bash their way in, they could cause crippling damage stranding us wherever we happen to find ourselves. I sincerely hope they have not been able to adapt or progress their capabilities to this point. I’ll have to take this into consideration, I think. We can’t afford to ever underestimate them or their capabilities. I radio Lynn with our findings. She responds back with an affirmative and that they are arriving at the armory.
