Return anw-2

by John O'Brien

I turn and walk back out towards the dog a few feet. It takes a couple of running steps away as I advance but then stops and looks back. I squat down and call out to it holding my hand out in front of me; showing it the ‘I don’t mean any harm’ signal that seemingly all animals, humans included, know and understand. Its ears perk up at my call.

  “Really!? You’re halting us because you want to pet a dog,” Lynn says close by my shoulder. She has a point but something is calling me to this dog.

  “Five minutes. If it hasn’t come by then, we’re on our way,” I say to her but keep facing the dog that is doing the low slink and wait as it edges closer. I can tell it wants to come but is quite hesitant. I do not blame it considering what it must have seen and been through with the night runners and perhaps not being able to distinguish between the two.

  The dog edges ever closer and I can make out that it is a Rottweiler. A young one but the features are distinct. I call softly as he creeps ever closer, until he is only a few feet away. I see a wound on his left shoulder that is in the early stages of healing. I am guessing from another dog or night runner. Judging from the size of this one, another dog would be very wary about attacking it, unless it was a pack of dogs. I continue holding my hand out, keeping it steady and not making any sudden movements, until his nose touches the end of my fingers, and sniffs. I move them up slowly and start rubbing the top of his nose. He, yes, it is evident that is what it is, gives my fingers a tentative lick and I move my fingers to his ears and start scratching. Then, as if released, he comes in to me and begins to lick my face; happy we are not going to hurt him and that he may have found a home. Or at least some attention.

  “Mom, can I keep it?” I ask teasingly turning back to Lynn who is standing there with a small smile on her face.

  “You have to clean up after it,” she replies.

  “I will, Mom. Promise.”

  The aircraft is ready to go as promised as we emerge onto the ramp with our now fourth additional passenger who is trotting along at my side. The start cart is ready with Michelle and Nic by its side. Drescoll’s team is the only team out providing cover and security. I direct Red Team to stay with Drescoll to provide additional security while we start up. I leave instructions to enter after we crank up the starboard engines and not to walk behind them. I am leaving the security out as I am not sure what those marauders will do once they get out of sight and feel safe. Those types often feel their “manhood” rise and try to do something to restore their lowered self-esteem. I do not want to deal with their insecurities right now, and, frankly, they could take the lot of us down if they were to do something while we are taking off or still low to the ground. I am feeling a touch nervous about that.

  I walk inside with the Rottie in tow. He seems quite content to follow me and stays right at my heels. I will be interested to see how well he is trained as he seems to have had some. I ask Kathy if Little Robert would like to come up into the cockpit. She asks him and his eyes light up. Up the stairs and into the cockpit we all go. Bri turns and nearly comes out of her seat, even though she’s strapped in, when she sees my new companion. The new companion being the Rottweiler and not the young lad.

  “Jesus, Dad!” She says in a loud, startled voice. “Where’d you get him?” Everyone else in the cockpit turns and has the same reaction.

  “Found him along the way,” I say getting myself settled.

  The Rottie, I’m going to have to think of name for him soon, sits down on the cockpit deck next to Bri. I introduce Little Robert around and set him on the bunk. I am not all that comfortable with him not being strapped in somewhere but there is going to be a bit of that going around now. I see Kathy standing at the bottom of the stairs and motion her in. Our little cockpit has become quite the hangout. She sits on the bunk alongside her son. This truly has the makings of either an airline disaster or some Mary Poppins type of movie — you know, the family all together on a trip. The family dog sitting by the throttle quadrant with the kids singing happily along. Okay, we need to get going before I truly lose the rest of my marbles.

  “Would you like to take care of the dog for me as well?” I ask Little Robert.

  His eyes shine brightly and soon he is busy petting the grateful canine; both becoming enthused with each other. I see the shock of the day disappearing from Little Robert’s eyes. Kids are amazingly resilient. Too bad we lose that capability somewhere along the way.

  The startup goes without a hitch. I am really watching the instruments closely. We have travelled quite a distance without any maintenance and I do not know when the last maintenance was accomplished on this aircraft. I could check the maintenance logs but that was always Greek to me and I would not have much of an idea what they were saying. At least we will be over land if something happens. Much easier to find a field and put it down as opposed to trying to land in an ocean. The swells are the kicker. Oh, and one interesting point to the ‘ol Hercules, there is an almost zero chance of living through a water landing. Thus one of the little aspects I was nervous about with the crossing.

  It is before noon when we take off, angling away from the base and airfield in case those “men” left on the ground try to do something to us in flight. We should still have enough time to get to the CDC, find what we need, and get back to the aircraft before dark. Climbing out and turning to the southwest, I see small cumulus clouds building in the distance ahead of us; a possible precursor to developing storms. At the very least, a different air mass and frontal system. Luckily we are in the summer months but scattered afternoon thunderstorms do develop in the south on occasion. I am hoping for a worry-free flight. Our flight should only take about four hours to get down there and, with summer upon us, should give us about five plus hours of daylight to get our stuff done. Whether we take off again tonight to head home will depend on whether we can find what we want and our state of mind. I have flown exhausted before and know the dangers inherent with it. It is all good if nothing goes wrong but the chance of catching something amiss diminishes considerable. And if something does happen, reaction times are slowed by a large degree.

  Staying near the eastern seaboard, the ride down is calm for the most part with just a little skirting of some weather. Our path takes us directly over New York City but I fly around it as the city is covered with a thick haze from the smoke of fires that rise out of the embattled city. Large plumes of dark, oily smoke rise from many parts of the city, filling the air with its toxic content. Many of those dark plumes billow out from the windows of the high-rise towers that dominate the skyline. That city is going to look even dirtier when all of this settles, I think staring out at the tall buildings rising from the thick haze. The ash from those fires will coat everything giving it a very gray, dingy look. This is more like what I pictured the end of the world would look like. The city looks exactly like what a post-apocalyptic city should look like according to the movies. It also gives rise to the thought that many areas of the used-to-be Eastern United States will become uninhabitable due to the numerous nuclear power plants that supplied power. There is not going to be anything to stop the meltdowns when the power supplying those facilities runs out. Are they in the process of that due to the power being out now? The very thought makes me subconsciously steer the lumbering 130 further to the west. We’ll need to acquire a Geiger counter as well, I think as the city eventually passes off to our left and behind us, leaving the taint of what we witnessed impressed in our minds.

  Washington D.C. speaks of the same story but not with the same intense statement. We steer around in the same manner, seeing the White House, Congressional buildings, and the Washington monument off in the distance; silent testimonies of a time past. The fires are not as prevalent here but it still has the same empty look of a city where the inhabitants have disappeared. I have flown into these places before and there was always movement. Cars and aircraft and people; all moving with an intended personal agenda, caught up in the errand at hand. Now, there is not a thing in sight moving.
It is completely giving forth a sad and melancholy feeling. There is a vast and deep loneliness present. I feel like an intruder encroaching into the serenity of the city. But there is a tension prevalent as well. Something horrible lurking underneath the serene picture. Waiting. Watching.

  The other cities we pass, Richmond, Greensboro, Charlotte, are the same and give the same feeling. Each passing city brings to mind the possibility of survivors. Are they still in the city or have they moved out into the countryside? I think on what they must be facing down there. What must be going through their minds as the sun begins its downward path to the western horizon. The fear that must grip them as they watch the unrelenting approach of the night and are unable to stop it. I do notice fewer fires within the cities as we pass further south. I search my mind for a plausible reason but can’t come up with anything. There shouldn’t be power so it can’t be started from anything electrical. Could it be survivors burning buildings to remove the night runners from within them? I just don’t know, I think as my mind wonders what Atlanta will be like.

  I do not have that long to find out as the city comes into view ahead through the windshield. There is a distinct lack of the smoke plumes compared to the other cities we saw on our way down. Sure, there are small columns of smoke rising in the afternoon air but the dark, oily plumes that existed in all of the other grand cities is absent. I don’t know the reason why but I’ll take it, I think setting the aircraft up for descent.

  We descend over the outlying suburbs surrounding the actual city of Atlanta. Tree-lined roads and neighborhoods fill the areas in between, shadows filling the paved streets. The sun, lighting the tops of the trees and rooftops below us, sits halfway through the western sky. Browns, grays, and reds show through the green foliage with ribbons of gray outlining these colors and encircling them. Below us are not the usual box patterns found in developments but swirls, curves, and meanderings that are pleasing to the eye. With exception of the lack of movement and the brownish smoke ascending in several places, you would not think anything is out of the ordinary. It certainly presents a different picture than those cities further north.

  Completing the descent checks, I descend down to 500 feet, calling the team leaders into the cockpit making it one very crowded place indeed. Standing room only. The airport we are shooting for is actually a little to the northeast of the city with the CDC to the south and east. It is only a little less than ten miles travel time on the ground from the airfield to the CDC. I hope we can find some vehicles to use close to the airfield for transportation.

  “I’ll do a flyby over the airport and then we’ll look for a route to CDC so we can get an idea of what we’re looking at. We’ll also do some flybys of the campus itself,” I say to those assembled, yelling to be heard.

  The airport parking lot shows a few cars and pickups sitting in the afternoon sun, the tops of their colored roofs and a sparkle from their windshields glare back. I have the coordinates of the CDC set as a waypoint in the navigation system and dial it up, flying directly to it. Being so close, it immediately comes into view just off our nose. Well, at least the area does. It appears to be set up in a campus-like fashion. I have never been here so this is all new to me, but I have had to determine locations and routes like this many times in the past.

  “Wow! This is going to be more difficult than I imagined,” I say looking at the multitude of buildings passing by below.

  The enormity of it with our limited manpower almost makes me want to just try somewhere else, but we are here so we will try what we can with what we have.

  “Yeah,” I hear Lynn shout over my shoulder.

  “Okay, let’s head back and find the best route to get there,” I shout back.

  We climb up, picking our way back to the airfield close by, analyzing the roads to find the best route. Finding one, we memorize the landmarks and turns. Looking at the same picture on the ground is so much different than what it looks like from the air. You can fly over a piece of ground a hundred times and think you have it down, but then easily get turned around when you get your boots on the ground. The mind lends itself to doubt when traversing something new. ‘Is this right?’ is a common question. But we are all trained for this type of situation so it should not be too difficult; especially with the short distance involved.

  “Get everyone buckled in if you would,” I yell to Lynn. “We’ll do a team leader brief immediately after landing.”

  The cockpit empties somewhat as I circle around to line up on a final approach, our before landing checklist is completed in record time. I push the nose down slightly keeping the runway threshold glued in the windshield. One of the keys to landing is to put the aim point right on the threshold, so that if you did not flare the aircraft, that is where you would hit. Another important key is to not hit the ground, well, without your tires touching first.

  “Gear down,” I call over the intercom.

  Robert reaches over to the gear handle and pushes it in the down position causing an immediate rumble through the aircraft from the gear and gear doors disrupting the airflow. The rumble stops and three green lights illuminate by the handle indicating success.

  “Flaps to 10,” I say liking the fact that we have three safe gear indications as the medium-sized, light gray runway grows larger in the screen.

  The number ‘2R’ appears on the runway near the threshold through our windshield. The nose of the aircraft tries to rise up as the flaps come down due to the change of the airflow over the wing. I anticipate that with a small, quick movement down on the control wheel and flick the trim button to correct the aircraft’s behavior to our aerodynamic change.

  “Flaps at 50,” I call out as we continue our descent into the airfield. Once again experiencing the rise and correcting.

  I finally call for full flaps and, in my peripheral, watch Robert move the flap lever all of the way down. The slowing and pitch change is noticed dramatically as the flaps, which are basically barn doors, extend down from the wing and out into the slipstream. The runway begins to fill our field of view, my attention divided between the approaching ground and airspeed indicator, adjusting the throttles in small increments accordingly. Just as it seems impact with the ground is imminent, I raise the nose as the threshold passes underneath, bringing the throttles back smoothly as we transition from a descent to level flight just above the runway. As the airspeed bleeds off, I raise the nose higher trying to keep the aircraft aloft for as long as possible yet allowing it to descend slowly to the runway.

  A very small bump is felt throughout the 130 as the wheels come into contact with the paved surface and begin rolling along. The aircraft settles as if sitting down in its favorite chair after a long day, both relieved and sorry to be out of its natural environment. Lowering the nose wheel to the runway, I bring the props into reverse thrust, causing the forward momentum to drop off rapidly, the g-force causing our bodies to thrust forward against our straps. Applying slight pressure on the brakes forces us to press even harder against the belts holding us in our seats. Settling down to taxi speed, I bring the props back into their normal rotation angle and we pull off of the runway, taxiing into what looks like main terminal area.

  Going through the normal shutdown procedure, the props slowly wind down to a stop and we open up the back. Alpha and Bravo teams emerge first establishing a quick perimeter around us. The heat and humidity that is so prevalent in the south during the summer months sweeps into the aircraft, making it feel like you need gills to survive and breathe. Once again, only that lonely silence accompanies our arrival. The dream-like ambience prevails. The total lack of movement and sounds that should be customary just does not seem right. So out of place. I wonder if I will ever get used to this? I ask myself as I gaze around the area.

  The afternoon sun bathes us, the humidity in the air adds to the brightness of the day, blinding in its intensity. Sweat immediately forms on my brow and runs down my spine, dark spots appear under my arms on my ‘needing to be chan
ged soon’ flight suit. I breathe a heavy sigh in the still, humid air thinking about the enormity of what we are about to undertake. The numerous buildings that need to be searched. The very real possibility of not being able to find what we are looking for. And, not knowing exactly what that may look like. I have in my mind that it would be a report of some kind stored in a large file. The risks of entering so many buildings that could be housing a large number of night runners. This is a very real possibility as I assume there were many of the infected that were quarantined for study as the search for a cure became a priority, especially considering the magnitude and speed at which this all came down.

  “Let’s get the team leaders together,” I tell Lynn as she steps out onto the ramp next to me. “We’ll have to make this quick as our time is short.”

  Once again her command voice can be heard echoing across the area, the stillness of our surroundings magnifies the loudness. It bounces off the buildings a short distance away; reverberating across the parking lot close by and down the adjacent streets.

  “Team leaders on me,” she calls out.

  They gather around, each one affected by the heat and moisture, rings of sweat showing on their fatigues; Lynn, Drescoll, and Horace and others, to a lesser extent, are accustomed to the heat of the desert but not the humidity. Kuwait can be humid with the shores of the gulf nearby, but not like this. I sit down on the hot surface of the ramp, feeling the heat sear immediately through my thin flight suit, wanting to stand up right away in order to not catch on fire. The feeling dissipates after a few short moments. The others follow suit and sit in a gaggle around me.

  “Well, we have a huge task ahead of us given the large amount of structures. I’m thinking the report or information we’re looking for should be in the director’s office but I have no clue where that is. My guess is we start in the main building close to the entrance. I’m sure the reception desk, or whatever they have in lieu of that, will have some sort of directory. That should be the first place we look,” I say opening the briefing.