“No, I’m not sure but I don’t see where we have a choice. There’s a good chance the aircraft will be disabled should we exchange fire,” I answer.
“Okay, Jack, best of luck to ya,” Greg says. I look to Gonzalez and Horace crouched nearby. They both nod their reply.
I hand my M-4 to Gonzalez and rise. Keeping my hands in the air, I walk onto the open ramp separating the two groups. I see some activity from the ones behind cover eventually observing an individual rise and walk in my direction. I take note that he isn’t carrying a weapon. The ACU-clad soldier and I meet close to the middle of our two groups with the wind whipping around us in gusts. The storms faintly rumble in the background. We drop our hands to our sides.
“I’m Jack Walker,” I say opening up the conversation.
“Sergeant Prescott,” the younger man replies. He appears to be in his early thirties with his sandy brown hair cut tight against his tanned head.
“We aren’t looking for trouble and if you’re thinking the same, what do you say we stand down?” I say.
“Are you part of a military unit?” He asks as his reply.
“Most of the folks with us were when this all went down. I’m prior Air Force,” I reply.
He nods. “Okay, I’m for standing down. We have some itchy trigger fingers behind me as I’m sure you have as well,” Prescott says finally answering me. We both speak into our radios telling our individual groups to stand down but standby.
“I take it you and your group are military?” I ask.
“Most of us,” he replies. “We have a few civilians we’ve met up with as well.”
“I don’t suppose you have any pilots with you?”
“No. I wish we did. We have a variety though; a couple of mechanics, medical orderlies, clerks, security personnel and such. Most are Air Force like you. I was with base security,” he answers.
“We have about the same except most are, or were, Army soldiers,” I say and give a rundown or our situation and setup.
We share stories. Prescott and his group have holed up in the tower for the past couple of months. They forage during the day and secure the tall concrete structure at night. The night runners tried desperately to get in at the beginning but have mostly left them alone in the past couple of weeks. Water has become scarcer as the summer progresses but they have been collecting rain water as the storms venture over their area.
“Well, it might be a little crowded in the 130 at the moment but you’re welcome to join us if you feel so inclined,” I say as our stories draw to a close.
“I’d have to talk it over with the others. We’re pretty secure here and the water situation will clarify itself,” Prescott answers.
“Okay. We’re staying here tonight and leaving early in the morning. We can drop by here on our way back if you’d like to talk to the others about it. We’d be happy to have you but I get staying in a place you are familiar with and that feels secure,” I respond.
“That sounds good to me. It’ll give us time to analyze our choices. Just a warning, the night runners, as you call them, prowl around the base at night,” Prescott says.
“We should be pretty secure in the 130. We’ve spent many a night with the pounding and shrieking outside. It’s not the best situation sleep-wise but I doubt they can get in unless they’ve figured out how to manipulate intricate doors. If we don’t talk to you before we leave, we’ll see you in a few days, weather permitting.”
“Sounds good, Jack. Good luck to you. By the way, what did you do in the military?” He asks. I give him a brief synopsis of my military career. I note concern creep into his eyes as I talk.
“I guess that should be a ‘sir’ then,” he says as I finish.
“Nah, Jack works. See ya in a few days.” With that, we turn and head back to our respective groups.
Prescott rejoins his group and they head into the tower. I let our teams know it’s all good and we break out of our cover. The wind whips a little stronger bringing a sharp chill. The first large drops of rain begin to fall as the storms expand and head our way. We gather in the aircraft and button it up. The flashes of lightning and subsequent rumbles grow closer and louder. The angry looking clouds swallow up the sun and the day grows dark. I have Robert start the 130 and taxi us closer to the hangar. I don’t think New Mexico has a lot of tornadoes but my experience in Texas with these storms makes me a little cautious. If we do spot one, we’ll dart into the hangar. If one does come at night, like I’ve seen them do on occasion, well, I just hope it doesn’t sweep over us. If that happens we’re pretty screwed. It will, however, keep the ramp clear of night runners.
The interior is lit up at close intervals as the storms draw overhead; the brilliant flashes of intense white light fill the inside. The cracks of thunder follow at close intervals with their sound fading off in rumbles. The sky opens up and heavy rain beats against the skin of the aircraft. The din inside makes it hard to hear anything else. We just settle in where we can and wait it out.
With the storms hammering outside and turning day into night, it’s hard to actually tell when night comes. The only way I know, besides it actually getting darker outside, is the stirring of pictures/voices in my head. I pack them down to where they are a remote and almost ignorable buzz. However, the increased signals denote the time of the night runners is about to begin. I’m not sure how the storms will affect their normal activity but I’m interested in finding out. I don’t feel them moving about a whole lot as I can only sense the ones close. The range of sensing becomes limited the more I keep the ability in the back of my head.
I notice that the fact that I can sense and understand the night runners is settling within me. It still seems weird but it is transforming to become “normal.” I now know that the picture voices in my head are real and I am also equally sure it must have been some change that came about from being scratched. Some of the night runner blood must have run across the opening in my skin. I also feel fear inside because I wonder if the changing is finished. I am not at all interested in transforming into one of them. That would totally suck. I don’t feel any more headaches or changes so I’m hoping that whatever happened has run its course.
The storms dissipate or move on as the night progresses. With the departure of the wind, light, and noise, the night runners emerge. It’s not long before the last of the thunder rumbles away and is replaced by several night runners slamming against the sides of the aircraft. Their all-too-familiar shrieks echo through the thin fuselage. It brings back reminders of our first few days. It’s not a complacent feeling as being encircled by the ferocious night runners is never comfortable. All it takes is one opening and they’ll be all over us.
I climb into the cockpit to get a look outside. It’s quite apparent we’re not going to get any sleep so I wearily climb the steps. The sky has cleared and the stars glow brightly in the night sky with no other light to interfere. I see the night runners clearly as they are gathered around taking runs at the aircraft. Some are trying to leap onto the trailing edge of the wings but fall way short. I open my mind a touch to them and see the picture images. There seems to be leaders among them giving directions; directing other night runners to different places and to try different approaches. This all comes in pictures rather than words but I find myself understanding their meaning.
With me opening up, I notice one off to the side by the outboard engine on the left. He is staring intently at me. I try to focus in on individual images and sense a confusion radiating from him. It’s as if he’s trying to understand something new. The images and “language” are very primitive but I do get the gist. In my tired state, with my mind seeming to float from one idea to another, the thought comes wondering if I can project like they can.
“Stop!” I project the appropriate image forth trying to cast it over a wide area.
Every night runner halts in their tracks and turn their heads abruptly to stare directly at me. At least the ones I see do. I sense the one I think
of as the leader startle. The images from the leader resume and the night runners continue their attempts at entry. Hmmmm…. Interesting, I think.
“I said stop! Or I’ll kill all of you,” I project. The images I send out to portray this thought cannot be adequately described.
Again they all stop and look upward. I sense a great deal of frustration from the leader. Perhaps it’s because someone is interfering with his instructions or it could just be the frustration of not being able to get inside. I’m not able to actually read their minds, just hear them “talking” and sense where they are if I open up. He sends them back at it with a renewed fury.
“Okay, that didn’t work out very well,” I say quietly to myself but put the fact that they can hear me in my bag of tricks.
I note that other night runners show up at intervals and the ones already there venture off after a while. The howls are relentless as are the sound of night runners pounding against the aircraft. It makes for a sleepless night. Frustration and anger builds inside me at not being able to rest. It escalates to the point where I’d almost open the door to just get it over with if it would make them stop. I’d totally forgotten how awful it is to be under this shrieking assault all night. I think it was the terror and newness of it that allowed us to tolerate it before. Now that we have a safe place, it allows us to know what a semblance of peace is like and the constant pounding and shrieking is nerve-racking. If it wouldn’t damage the aircraft, I’d throw a grenade out of the side cockpit window and see how they liked that.
With that thought, I head back down into the cargo compartment. I have the team members stick gauze from the med kits in their ears and I settle into my bag to try and rest as well as I can. It’s not easy but I manage to get some restless sleep. The sudden cessation of noise outside brings me instantly awake. I rise and enter the cockpit. The sky is lighter and I feel the night runners fade into the distance. I wonder if they can sense me. I’m guessing so by the way they looked right at me when I deliberately projected outward. I wonder if they can sense me when I shove them into the back of my mind or whether it is an all-of-the-time thing. I will have to find out before going into a building with a team. Although being able to sense the night runners if I open up is a good thing, having them able to pinpoint me is not. I should have experimented with that last night.
* * * * * *
Gonzalez sits listening to the night runners outside. Their shrieks and howls have replaced the familiar sound of the thunderstorms. The thunder and flashes of light from the storms brings back memories of years past, both good and bad. Her mind ventures the scant two hundred miles east to her hometown. She was always close to her family but growing up in the streets on the south side of town had been rough. It wasn’t a large town but the gangs that ran the streets made life difficult, especially being a girl. Well, that’s not entirely true, she thinks remembering the brother she lost to the gangs. She really didn’t know him but he came around from time to time and then vanished into the streets again. There came a time when he quit showing up. Gonzalez never knew if he lived or left this world the way most gang members leave – young.
Growing up on those hot streets was hard and forced her to become tough in order to endure. The poor neighborhood she grew up in made the warm days seem hotter. Her father was very protective of her and her sister and shielded them as best as he could. The trains rolling through the switching yards just to the south were constant sounds as were the occasional gunshots at night. She left to join the Army to escape and to prove herself. Her father’s protective nature, although probably called for given the environment, didn’t allow her to be herself.
She came back to visit during her leaves and enjoyed seeing her family but the neighborhood was oppressive and she was just as happy when she left. She envisioned a day when she could afford to bring her parents and sister out of there and live in a better place. Gonzalez holds onto that dream although for much different reasons than before. The slams against the aircraft continue.
The flight down brought both apprehension and exhilaration. She hopes to find them alive and bring them to the safety they have created. The dread she carries is what she might find; them dead, or worse, but with Jack finding out that the immunity trait might be familial, she hopes she will find them alive. Even if the night runners weren’t keeping her awake, she doubts she would be able to sleep. Tomorrow will bring an answer, one way or the other, to the fate of her family. She’s not sure she actually wants to know the answer. On the other hand, she knows she needs to.
* * * * * *
The cargo compartment stirs with those rising. We stow our gear and prepare for the quick hop to the east. Canon AFB is only about 200 miles away so we should be able to land and head off to find Gonzalez’ family. I hope we find them in good shape. I do a quick walk around to make sure the night runners didn’t jar anything loose that might interfere with our attempt at flight. The sky is mostly clear but there are a few clouds that materialize with the rising of the sun. They are building ever so slightly and hold the promise of more storms. If we’re going to get there, it’s time we were off. There is no sign of the group we met yesterday and the tower remains silent. Robert, Craig and Bri ready themselves. We taxi out and takeoff with the sun just above the horizon.
The flight is a short but bumpy one. Robert finds the airfield to the west of Clovis and sets us up for an approach after a low flyby. The town and base are surrounded by endless brown fields. The faint remnants of circular crops, created from sprinkler systems revolving around a central axis, remain but the lack of water has quickly dried these out; the fields all becoming the same color. The clouds, which were only small buildups when we took off, continue climbing to the point that they are white billowing clouds by the time we arrive. The airfield seems clear and without movement. That’s not surprising as our radio calls have so far gone unanswered.
Looking to the ramp on our flyby, I spot ten C-130’s parked in clumps along its length. Over half of them are AC-130’s which makes the little boy inside of me smile. Robert brings the aircraft around, sets up on final, and has a pretty good landing considering the turbulence. Not as much of it as yesterday but enough to be a handful. We taxi in and park adjacent to a trio of AC-130’s.
We quickly unload the Humvees and gear we’ll be bringing with the occasional swirl of wind gusting across the ramp. The base is quiet and our noise interrupts a silence that hasn’t heard the sound of mankind in some time. The relics of civilization lie mutely on the tarmac around us; their stories held within never to be heard again. I am caught up by the change in the smells of the clean air. It seems more clear and pure. It’s not like there aren’t odors riding on the gusts but mankind had injected its own aroma on the world which we adapted to and took for granted. It was prevalent even in the country and it’s more the absence of them I notice.
I send Blue Team with one Humvee and Echo with another a short distance down the ramp on each side of the aircraft. Red Team stays with the 130. I instruct the teams with the vehicles to keep them running and the guns manned. With the recent experience of finding people holed up at Kirtland, I want to see if our arrival stirs up any survivors. This will put us in a better position to meet a threat should one arise. I didn’t like the trapped feeling the day prior. Nothing but the continued blasts of warming air intrudes upon our area.
Standing next to Gonzalez, I notice a tightness around her eyes. I certainly understand her trepidation. The odds are against finding any of her family yet I understand her desire to know. It’s a double edged blade. The not knowing for sure weighed against the certainty if it turns out bad. All-in-all, I would want to know even if that knowledge hurt like hell. That has to be the same with all of the soldiers. I look over at McCafferty and see a similar tightness but it’s less pronounced. The search for her family comes tomorrow. The waiting must be driving her insane.
Robert, Craig, Bri, and the others we picked up yesterday are in the aircraft stowing gear after
the removal of the Humvees. McCafferty moves to the front of the aircraft with Henderson and Denton leaving Gonzalez and I standing together near the lowered ramp.
“You know you don’t have to go with us,” I say looking out across the ramp. “You could just give us directions and let us do the search.”
“Sir, I have to be there. I have to go,” Gonzalez says without turning.
“I completely get that. What if we don’t find them? Or worse?” I ask turning to look at her.
“Then at least I’ll know,” she answers turning as well.
I nod understanding. “If you need anything or if there’s anything I can do, regardless of how the day turns out, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here,” I say.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that a lot.”
“Life sure throws us some curve balls eh. I miss being in the field sometimes. It seemed easier there,” I say turning back keeping an eye out on the hangars.
“I do too, sir. Sometimes. It seems life has thrown us a mighty big curve with this one,” Gonzalez says chuckling.
“That it did, Gonzalez. That it did. Let’s just hope we don’t swing and miss. You ready for this?” I ask.
“No, sir. How can anyone be ready for something like this? But I’m as ready as I can be,” she replies.
I grab her shoulder and give it a quick squeeze of understanding and camaraderie before turning to call the Humvees and the teams back. It’s been about thirty minutes and if anyone was going to make an appearance, they would have done so already. Canon AFB is a very small base and not that far to the west of Clovis. Anyone in town that was going to answer has had plenty of time to do so.
Gathering the teams around, we talk about our plan. “Red and Blue Teams are going in. Greg, I want you to stay here with Echo. Keep a perimeter and call the moment something doesn’t look right,” I say starting the briefing.
“Does that mean if I see you running? I mean, that never looks right,” Greg responds.
A New World: Awakening Page 7
