by John O'Brien
“And by us, do you mean you plan on going?” Lynn asks sitting to my right.
“I was planning on it,” I say answering.
“I think you should stay here,” she adds with a sideways look.
“And why is that?” I ask.
“Because you’re the only one who can fly this beast,” she answers nodding toward the 130 behind us. “Something happens to you and we’re stuck.”
I must admit I have thought about this a little as we were passing over the CDC campus. I mean, I feel that Robert could get it started and airborne. He is able to configure the nav system to a degree as I spent some time with him on that while we were droning through the endless skies. It is the critical getting down part — meaning landing - that we still have to work on. A smooth take off and flawless flight are meaningless if you rip the wings and gear off on landing. Really turns a good flight into a bad one in a hurry. Impacting the ground and exploding tends to really ruin a good day.
“Okay, point taken. I’ll stay here,” I say after a moment’s pause and feeling reluctant to stay.
“Lynn, take Black, Green, and Blue Teams with you. My suggestion is to assign one team per building to quicken the search but you make that call on arriving. You may want to take the entire group in and do it one at a time. You have until 21:00 to be back. And I mean back here by then regardless of what you find or where you are,” I continue.
“Hooah, sir,” she says, her old ways returning.
“There are a few cars in the parking lot so we’ll have to use those for transportation. Anyone know how to hotwire?” I inquire.
“I think there’s a guy on my team who was in maintenance,” Horace says answering. “I’ll see.”
“Okay, if not we’ll have to figure something out. I don’t want to spend a lot of time here so are there any questions?” I ask. No one speaks up.
“I’m going to take Robert up to practice takeoffs and landings so you’ll hear us overhead. I’ll keep the secondary radio on our freq so let me know if you run into anything. I can also provide overhead directions if you get lost and guide you in. So, seeing there aren’t any questions, let’s get a move on,” I continue and finish the briefing.
The team leaders head to gather their teams and equipment for the trip out. Horace finds out that her maintenance guy should be able to start the vehicles in the event we can’t find keys readily available. They head toward the parking lot as I gather Robert and Bri and head into the aircraft; sealing it shut and settling into our ‘far too familiar’ seats.
We start the engines as the away teams head to the parking to see to their transportation. I give Robert some additional guidance and instruction and let him taxi out to the runway. If you have ever given your child driving lessons, you will know exactly how I am feeling right now; only imagine that in an aircraft. I was an instructor pilot for many years and I feel myself slipping into that mode. Any worry disappears as I concentrate and think about instructing. The aircraft veers on the taxi way as he gets accustomed to taxiing with the wheel, eventually straightening out and keeping the nose wheel on the center line. He has a few hours under his belt so he is used to it, just not in something this large. The sweat marks growing under his arms show his nervousness.
We check for traffic as I conduct a successful radio check with Lynn on the secondary radio. Pulling out onto the runway, he aligns the aircraft and pushes up the throttles with my hands on top of his guiding. The nose swings slightly from side to side as the aircraft accelerates down the runway, smoothing out as he transitions to the rudder pedals for direction. The take-off is a success but he immediately becomes overwhelmed with having to get the gear and flaps up in quick succession in addition to leveling off quickly at pattern altitude. But we manage, turning to a crosswind and then downwind pattern, the landing checks done quickly. His first landing is more of an arrival but that is to be expected.
“This isn’t anything like flying a 152,” he says after trying to plant the 130, and mostly succeeding, onto the runway for the first time. “I feel lost.”
“You’ll get it. It’s the ‘any landing you can walk away from is a good one’ concept,” I say.
We try two more touch-and-go’s with him catching slowly up to the aircraft with each one; improving with each attempt.
“Let’s do a fly by and see how the teams are progressing,” I say and have him maneuver out of the landing pattern and down the route the team is to take.
We see them travelling along a tree-lined, two-lane road as we pass over; three pickups heading toward the CDC. Seeing they are proceeding and apparently not lost, we head back to the airfield, spending a large part of the afternoon practicing his landings until he becomes quite proficient and capable of getting it down safely on his own.
* * *
Lynn gathers her team along with Drescoll’s and Horace’s and proceeds across the hot, black-tarred ramp toward the parking lot; her boots stick slightly to the pavement with each step. The heat has risen to the point that the tar in the pavement is seeping to the top. Her thoughts center on her route and a game plan on arriving at the CDC. Wanting to come up with a plan now but knowing it will have to wait until she actually sees the campus and structures.
Arriving at the parking lot, thankful for the open gate in the chain-link fence that separates the ramp area from the rest of the world, she sees several vehicles parked about. The ones they observed from the air. The vehicles vary in their size and type but the ones that catch her attention are the three pickups, standing out like beacons in the dark. These will be perfect, she thinks pointing them out to the others. She hears the first engine starting from the aircraft on the ramp behind her, the roar filling the still air.
“Let’s do a quick check for keys in those,” she says to Drescoll and Horace standing beside her, her finger pointing to the trucks.
They do not locate any keys hidden under the seat, in the glove box, on the visor, or any place else. At least the doors are unlocked, she thinks. Not that it would actually have been much of a hindrance. A short time later, with three steering columns pried apart and wires joined, the three pickups head out of the parking lot, the beds filled with soldiers, each team to a truck. The whirring of the rubber tires on the hot pavement accompanies the teams along the road with the sun streaming in the windshield turning the cabins into ovens. A check in her rearview shows the two other trucks following behind in intervals.
The buildings and trees lining the road pass by slowly as she makes her way to the first turn towards their destination. The heat inside the truck dulls some of the adrenaline starting to key up inside her as she draws closer to the campus. The turn takes her into a residential district, the trees lining the road on both sides, giving some shade from the swelter of the day and providing a scenic drive. With the windows down, a scent pervades the otherwise pristine area; a hint of rot and decay. Smelling like the side of a stream following a salmon run where fish lie on the banks rotting in the sun. But here, it is the smell of hundreds and thousands of bodies in the houses around that is drifting into the streets. This is just the beginning, Lynn thinks wrinkling her nose at the assault on her senses.
The sound of the aircraft that was droning faintly in the background from time to time grows louder. The deep-throated rumble soon overrides the sound of the truck engine as they progress through the decay-filled neighborhood. Looking out of from the open window as she rides in the passenger seat, she sees the olive drab 130 pass overhead, rocking its wings slightly before making a gentle turn back towards the airfield. The sight of it brings her mind from the stench permeating the area to the mission ahead.
The three soldier-filled trucks make their way through the neighborhood, the road transitioning from a neighborhood street to that of a five-lane road, the middle lane for turns in either direction. A large, blue, curved CDC sign to the right identifies the main entrance into the campus. Taking the turn, a large number of multi-storied buildings come into view giving e
vidence to the absolute enormity of their venture. The picture on the ground is completely different from that in the air. So much larger in scope than I imagined, Lynn thinks as the trucks proceed slowly down the entrance road.
A checkpoint appears shortly after making the turn; two lanes leading up to the now, empty check-in facility. An exit road circumvents the checkpoint to the left.
“Take that road around,” she says to the soldier driving.
They pass around the checkpoint and come to a T intersection. Turning left, a large glass building looms over them stretching high into the blue sky behind. This must be the main facility building, she thinks as the trucks come to a stop in front and park alongside the curb. Lynn opens the door and steps out into the heat, shielding her eyes with her hand from the glare of the afternoon sun bouncing off the glass front of the building. She checks her watch as the other teams disembark and gather around her.
Lynn looks at the size, immediately knowing it will take all of the teams to cover this one building alone. She hopes for an ounce of luck that what they seek is within this structure of steel and glass. The broken glass littering the pavement in front of the main entrance doors, glittering as the sun strikes the various angles of the shards, gives her warning that night runners may lurk within. Having faced them many times before and hearing the stories emerge from the encounter inside the BX the previous day, she makes up her mind that if they encounter any large force of night runners, they will retreat back outside. She is in agreement with Jack that they cannot engage in a battle of attrition. That battle will be easily lost and lost quickly.
“Okay everyone, here’s the skinny. We’re all going in together. That broken glass by the door indicates that there may be visitors inside; of the ugly kind. Our first task is to find a reception desk of some kind and locate a directory. If we find the director’s office location, we’ll then proceed there. The interior will dictate what formation we’ll use and what order we’ll go in so listen up on the radio,” Lynn says turning to the team members. “Everyone understand?”
“Hooah, First Sergeant,” they respond as one.
Walking in the lead, Lynn steps up to the shattered front doors and peers inside. A wide, tile-floor lobby opens up immediately inside the doors with lush, cherry wood walls stretching up the entire height of the two-story lobby. The tiled floor, once buffed to a high sheen, now shows a lack of tender care as a fine layer of dust fans out from the open door. Dried, bloody footprints show for a short distance both on the tiled floor inside and the concrete sidewalk beside them. The indications of which are very clear; there are definitely night runners within.
Nestled against the far wall sits a large, wooden reception desk and security station fashioned of the same wood and color as those lining the walls all around. Large, broken glass doors, situated in the middle of the far wall, open up into a hallway leading further into the building. The lobby is flooded with the light from outside thanks to the glass window front, darkening quickly in the hallway across from them. That should help us on the higher levels as well depending upon the floor layout, Lynn thinks hoping they won’t have to go too far into the structure.
“Everyone lock and load. Drescoll, take your team and cover the hallway,” Lynn says.
The metallic sound of multiple charging handles being drawn back and released reaches her ears. The scrunch of boots on glass echoes in the once silent building as Drescoll and the rest of Green Team enter inside, taking up position in a line facing down the hallway.
“Horace, take the doorway here and watch for anyone approaching the building. Keep an eye on the other buildings for movement in the windows,” Lynn says watching Green Team cross the lobby. “Black Team on me.”
Stepping inside and crossing the lobby, Lynn walks to and around the reception desk. Several monitors are embedded within a panel spanning the desk, their screens dark. Two reception phones lay on a surface void of clutter; their usually lit buttons forever out. No blinking lights with a multitude of calls on hold that must have once dominated this work space. No calls to forward to the various individuals that once inhabited this building, biding their time and doing their job until retirement. Retirement came early for all of them but without the gold watch or plaque. The only thing left is the forgetting phase that begins shortly after walking out of the retirement party; the retirement party coming in the form of the Cape Town virus and subsequent vaccine.
A thin, blue book lies beside each phone with the words “CDC Directory” embossed in gold on the front. That’s fortunate, the thought crosses through Lynn’s mind as she opens up the directory. Pages tucked inside clear plastic denote names and numbers by department, and, further back alphabetically. Looking under ‘Administration’ on the first page, she sees Director, CDC. Room 500, Crap, she thinks. There goes our luck. We’re going to have to climb to the fifth floor. Hopefully the office in question is in one of the lit areas of the building.
“Looks like we’re going to the fifth floor,” she says over the radio. “Drescoll, what do you have?”
“A bank of elevators to the left and right in the hallway as far as I can see. It gets dark in there pretty quick,” Drescoll answers.
“Alright then. Must be a stairwell nearby. We’ll use that. We only have 12 NVG’s so it’ll be Black and Green Team in the interior. Horace, you take and cover the lobby,” she says into the mic once more.
“I’m with you,” Drescoll’s voice sounds in her ear piece.
“Roger that, First Sergeant,” Horace responds.
Stepping out from behind the reception area, Lynn walks between the shattered glass doors, their remnants on the floor scrunching under her well-worn boots with the rest of Black Team following along behind her. Once again, as at the front door, a multitude of dried, bloody footprints leads in and out of the hallway, testimony to night runners cutting their feet on the glass spread on the linoleum tile as they transit in and out of the building. The hallway quickly fades into darkness with two banks of elevators to the left and right still bathed in a partial glow from the outside light. Their doors tightly shut and the elevator cabs stuck at unknown floors, sitting there until the cable holding them up rusts and sends them plummeting down.
Donning her night vision goggles in the dark and adjusting the strap, she lowers the goggles down; feeling and hearing them click into place, she turns the switch on. The darkened hallway immediately shows up with a sharp, greenish glow. The fuzzy image of the old styles replaced by a sharper image but still with the green glow everyone associates with what NVG’s normally look like. The later versions provide even more clarity and literally turn night into day.
Three more dual sets of elevators come into her vision in the glow of her goggles along with a door set between them on the right with a “stairs” sign above it. The emergency lighting that should have been there long ago extinguished. Turning to the rest of the group behind her, she asks if everyone is good. Meaning, all goggles are working and ready. Thumbs up and nods give answer to her that everyone is prepared.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she says on the radio, stationing team members to cover the entrance and interior. She opens the stairway door and swings it into the hallway.
A rush of cool air envelops her but that is all that emerges from the large stairwell. To the right, stairs lead upwards in the normal emergency stairwell fashion; the stairs leading to an intermediate landing before reversing to continue up to the next floor. Another door leads outward across from the one she is holding open.
“Horace, send over two to cover this bottom stair landing,” Lynn says in her radio after analyzing the situation.
“Roger, First Sergeant, they’re on their way,” Horace replies. Two soldiers quickly head her way, their boots clicking on the tile floor announces their approach.
“You two cover these doors and keep the stairwell clear,” she tells the arriving soldiers.
“Drescoll, detail two at each landing on the way up to cover the
doors if they end up being double doors,” Lynn continues. “I’ll detail two on the fifth floor.”
“Copy that,” Drescoll responds.
“Anyone hears or notices anything, no matter how slight, report it right away. We have to keep this route open at all costs. If we get into an engagement, we withdraw through this stairway, the covering force on each stairwell landing folding in behind and covering the withdrawal. Any questions?” Lynn asks expecting none.
“Hooah, First Sergeant,” they all say in hushed tones.
“Okay, let’s move out,” she says and steps into the cooler darkness of the stairwell.
The faint creak of her boot marks her first step upward; weapon trained aloft to what can be seen of the stairs leading in the reverse direction to the landing above. Quietly step by step. Advancing slowly but knowing they are in a little time crunch. Not a rapidly approaching deadline but one nonetheless.
“Horace, keep watch on the time and notify us when we reach 20:15. That’s our cut off point,” she says pressing the mic button at her collar.
“Copy that, First Sergeant,” Horace responds through the radio.
Looking at her watch glowing through her NVG’s, Lynn sees they have about three hours before it is time to go. Maybe enough if they find it right away, maybe not. But that is not going to make her rush any faster. There is a time and place for that and this is definitely not one of those. She arrives at the first landing and begins climbing the next series of steps. Black Team is following several steps back. Keeping a good interval, knowing that huddling up too close in a confined space such as this will increase the odds of friendly-fire casualties in case they have to engage.
The second floor landing is clear and identical to the first floor with the exception of the concrete flooring. Well, and the fact that there is a sign saying ‘2nd Floor.’ Big clue there. There is no need to call the landing clear on the radio as that is readily apparent. She hopes there is not a need to reverse and get out quickly while they are all confined in the stairs together. They will bunch up quickly trying to reverse and get out making the one in front, her, an easy target with nowhere to go.
