by John O'Brien
Our morning run and training passes quickly. The people in training phase one enters the bright day to begin their training. A myriad of activity begins in the parking lot as groups head off to their tasks for the day. The throaty sound of semis starting pervades the atmosphere. Soldiers climb into Humvees to provide escort for the trucks or to safeguard the continued building of walls around the McChord housing and Fort Lewis vehicle maintenance areas. The plan is to build the walls first, clear the areas, and install skylights in the buildings so we can to deny night runners the ability to reside within.
I shower to clean the sweat and grime from the morning’s training and have a quick bite before speaking with Craig about training in the 130. He is quite amenable to the idea. He already has numerous hours flying so the transition shouldn’t take too long. The window of being able to fly is quickly closing which will definitely limit our range and abilities to reach out over a greater distance. This doesn’t concern me greatly but it will still be a limiting factor. The idea that we’ll have three pilots who can fly the 130 also brings my goal of using an AC-130 closer to a reality. I ask if he wouldn’t mind accompanying me on the morning helicopter run to search for survivors. That way, we’ll drop off at McChord afterwards and begin flight training.
Craig and I strap into the Kiowa, run through the checks, and begin spooling the rotors up. The trucks have already left the compound on their tasks so the sound of the helicopter starting overrides the other noises in the area; the shouts accompanying the groups training and the pounding in the distance as people continue working on the stables and buildings. The rotors work up into a blur launching dust and small pieces of debris outwards.
The skids go light and we take off into the blue-skied morning. Frank has us working the area to the northeast of the bases with a planned meeting point where Highway 512 joins with I-5. The task of eventually covering the entire area is a vast one but we’ll take it one area at a time and do the best we can. We’ll hit the places Frank opts for daily until Craig becomes proficient and we can head to the southwest. Upon returning, we’ll continue searching other areas on days we can until we have either covered the entire western area of Washington or we run out of flying time. The smooth air of the morning is a blessing as we point north, overfly the bases, and begin broadcasting. The thought arises that we’ll have to see about different living quarters soon as we continue to bring in survivors.
We fly over the region sending our message to ears that can hopefully hear it and respond.
Craig takes a few turns on the Kiowa which he handles well. Handles well, that is, if he was attempting to mimic a roller coaster ride. It’s not that I’m that much better though. We finish with our coverage, radio to let Frank know we’ve finished, and park next to the pair of 130’s sitting on the transient ramp.
We step in through the crew entrance of the C-130. I begin covering the systems to acquaint Craig with the triple redundancy of the aircraft and we strap into the seats. I’ll cover the flight engineer tasks which will slow us with most activities. We taxi out and begin our run down the runway. Lifting off into the clear day, we bank around to the south watching the glory that is Mount Rainier swing through our windshield. The sun gleams off its snow-topped peak. Continuing south, we claw for altitude. I chose south so we can combine training with a search for livestock.
Craig takes control of the aircraft as we drone through the sky; the glistening waters of the Puget Sound off to our right. We practice the basics which Craig quickly gets the hang of and start running through emergencies. Taking a break from training, we look around Olympia for any livestock. I know of some areas that had cattle before our situation changed so drastically. Descending to get a better look, I take us around fields in the outlying areas. Dark spots dot the first pastures we find. Circling, it becomes apparent that the dark spots are unmoving cows lying in the grassy fields.
Descending further, the mutilations become clear. Most of the meat has been removed leaving the cattle just a pile of bones wrapped in hides. It is quite apparent the night runners have visited here.
“Well, I’m guessing any fields close to cities aren’t going to yield us much,” I say over the intercom and we expand our search.
“Kinda looks that way,” Craig responds with his eyes still glued to the devastated cows below us.
I want to ask Craig what took him so long getting here but leave that to a time of his own choosing. I’m sure Lynn has already asked that question and about her other family members but she hasn’t shared the story as yet. That leads me to believe it doesn’t have a happy ending attached to it. We continue our search in ever expanding arcs away from the city only to find similar circumstances. The thought of the long time between everything happening and now also leads me to believe we won’t find many chickens still alive either. Even if the night runners haven’t found them, they will have starved in their coops unless they were allowed to roam.
“Let’s try further south along I-5,” I suggest after flying over the fifth field full of dead, mutilated cattle. “I know there were a lot of ranches along the road and it may be far enough away from populations that night runners may be scarce.”
“Sounds good,” Craig replies.
We fly over the low-lying, forested hills south of Olympia and pick up I-5 on the other side. Turning south, we sweep out of the hills and over flatter, grassy plains. The ranches I remember were alongside the highway so we parallel it. It isn’t long before I pick up the shape of cattle in grass fields surrounded by acres of fencing. There are indeed some motionless shapes in the tall grass but we also find an equal number of standing cattle in some pastures. The fields where there is still standing water has the greatest number of those still alive while those where the water was pumped into troughs, and are subsequently dry, are filled with the motionless, dark shapes. I radio back to base to update Frank and Bannerman on our find and give the locations.
“Copy that, Jack. I’ll talk to Bannerman about finding some cattle trailers and directing some trucks down that way,” Frank answers. I glance at the various fields with their associated buildings.
“Frank, I see some cattle trailers on some of these ranches. We could just drive the tractors down and hook up to the ones here,” I radio.
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to Bannerman and get back to you.”
“Okay. We’re going to continue here for a while and then head back your way,” I reply.
“We’ll be looking for ya,” Frank says.
Craig and I fly on getting acquainted with the controls and systems before heading back for touch-and-go’s. He is used to smaller jet aircraft so it takes a while to get the hang of flaring higher but he eventually becomes proficient getting us down without requiring a chiropractor or possible back surgery. I’m sure the aircraft is thankful as well. We finish up the day, hop over to refuel the helicopter, and head back to base. It definitely won’t take too long for Craig to become proficient and we’ll be able to head to the southwest.
I would like to have another pilot trained as we’ll have only three pilots and one flight engineer to spread between two aircraft normally needing four pilots and two engineers. My thought is to have Robert, Craig, and Bri in this 130 and I’ll fly the AC version back myself. We’ll fly in formation in case of trouble but flying a 130 alone is not something I really want to tackle. It’ll be a constant flurry of arms and elbows. It can be done if nothing goes wrong but the after take-off checks and pre-landing checks will get a little sporty. Maybe I’ll bring Gonzalez along on subsequent training flights and have her train with Bri. I would try and train Gonzalez myself but training two people at once might result in turning the 130 into a fast falling brick. That is definitely not a flight characteristic I’m interested in experiencing.
With the sun lowering into the western sky, we skirt low over I-5 heading south to Cabela’s. Below us is a small convoy of trucks and Humvees heading in the same direction; their tasks complete for the day. It’s
another day with our walls around the housing areas and vehicle sheds a little further along. From the number of trucks below us, I am guessing Frank and Bannerman decided to gather the livestock tomorrow. There is a comfort seeing the trail of vehicles, knowing we are still alive to see another day, and that our plans are approaching some sort of fruition. We survived the initial surprise and onslaught to find a relative peace and security in the evenings. We’re not there by a long shot but we are a day closer. That is if there is such a thing as a point of arrival and if the night runners behave.
The nightly meeting is a recap of the day’s events. Bannerman relates progress on the buildings which are nearly completed and plans to redirect the trucks and crews southbound to pick up the livestock Craig and I found.
“That shouldn’t set us back long on the walls around the housing and vehicle areas. The walls should be finished within the next few days if we have decent weather,” Bannerman relates. “After we finish with the stables, barns, and greenhouses, I would like to use the crews to attempt moving one of the water towers in the area to our location.”
“Will that take away from any of our other endeavors?” I ask.
Bannerman pauses before replying. “No, I think we should be able to keep on with the walls and gathering of supplies. I won’t really know until we take a look at what relocating one will entail,” he answers. “Once it’s in place though, we won’t have to rely on the pump near as much, except to fill the tower that is, and we’ll be able to provide a decent watering system for any livestock we bring in.”
“Okay. I think we’ll be ready to head south to look for some of the families and pick up the AC-130 within the next couple of days. Once we clear the area out, I think that will give us more breathing room to focus on our move to the bases. Oh, I’m thinking of taking Red, Blue, and Echo teams down if that won’t interfere with anything here,” I say addressing both Lynn and Bannerman.
“No, we should be good,” Lynn answers.
“Yeah, I don’t see a problem with manpower although that will slow building the wall some,” Bannerman replies.
“We shouldn’t be gone for more than five days,” I say. “The overall plan is to fly down to Canon AFB, spend the next day looking for Gonzalez’ family, head over to Lubbock and look for McCafferty’s the day after, refuel at Canon AFB and pick up the other aircraft, then beat cheeks home.”
Lynn then updates everyone on the training programs currently underway. “The current class in phase one should be finishing on time in a couple of weeks along with the second class going through phase two,” she says finishing her report.
“That’ll be nice to have others trained. Are there any that look like they’ll be good permanent additions to the teams?” I ask.
“There are a couple that show promise but I won’t really know until they finish. So far, no one has asked to be on a team but we’ve really only started. We’ll just have to wait and see,” Lynn answers.
“How many did we pick up today?” I ask directing my question toward Drescoll.
“No one showed up,” Drescoll replies.
This comes both as a surprise and not one. It’s surprising because we’ve always had people show up at the previous meets. It’s not a surprise because we were close to the bases and, with the activity we’ve shown around there, anyone close would have already responded. At least one would think.
“Well, we’ll just keep at it. I guess we’re not going to find people everywhere we try,” I say.
The meeting breaks up without much further to add and we retire to our various cubicles. The living cubicles Bannerman has arranged cover almost the entire second floor. There are over a hundred people occupying our little sanctuary and we’ll have to come up with additional space soon, especially if we find a greater number of survivors. Lynn and I adjourn to our little living space which isn’t much more than a couple of cots set within wooden walls and a blanket covering the entrance. We plop down on our beds almost in unison. I’m hesitant to ask my next question but curiosity gets the better of me.
“Hon, have you spoken with Craig about what took them so long to get here?” I ask with hesitancy.
Lynn looks at me and then down at her lap but not before I see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. She remains silent as she contemplates her lap.
“I’m sorry. We won’t talk about it if you don’t want to but when you do, I’m here,” I say feeling tightness grip my heart. I feel bad for her and for my insensitivity in asking. I should have waited for her to bring it up.
“No, that’s okay,” she finally says with a sigh. “Jack, what I haven’t told you before is that my sister is, or was, a drug addict. You know my sister and I don’t talk much and we haven’t in some time. I never told you this because I was ashamed of her and didn’t want any connection with her lifestyle.” Lynn pauses briefly before continuing, “Anyway, Craig and Mom landed, found a car and drove to my dad’s house. My dad wasn’t around but they found my sister in the house. She was going through pretty bad withdrawals so they stayed with her. By that time, they had a pretty good idea of what was going on so fortified the house as best they could and Craig foraged for water and food. It took my sister a little while to recover and, according to what Craig said, it wasn’t pretty. They had to keep quiet during the night as I guess you can expect but that was hard to do, especially with what my sister was going through. They managed with one of them staying with her every hour during the night to keep her quiet. Well, she eventually starting coming around and feeling better, to the point that Craig and Mom talked about leaving to meet up with us here. That’s when my sister disappeared. They were both exhausted and fell asleep close to dawn one day and when they woke, she was gone. Craig searched the area during the day and they stayed hoping she would return. He said the hardest was the nights when they heard the screeches of the night runners and envisioned her out there defenseless. They stayed for a week and a half afterwards before Craig decided they couldn’t stay there indefinitely and should be moving on but Mom wouldn’t have any part of it. She told Craig he should go on but that she would stay and wait for my sister. Well, of course Craig wasn’t going to leave Mom so they stayed. My sister never returned and finally Mom agreed she wasn’t going to. That’s when they made their way here.”
Still staring at her lap, Lynn finishes with a silence that is deafening. Several tears fall onto her fatigues. Reaching over, I pull her close. She buries her head against my shoulder and her body shakes as she weeps for the loss of her sister and dad. There isn’t anything I can do except offer her my shoulder and hug her for as long as she needs. Her body eventually stops shaking and she pulls away to look into my eyes.
“Thank you. I needed to get that off my chest,” she says and lies down. I wrap my arms around her and we fall asleep. Her story is a reminder that the world is not a safe place. I feel grateful for our place and the people around us that make it relatively safe. I still have the images in my head but they’ve been relegated to a place that I can control. I drift off to see what my dreams hold.
The sound of feet slapping on the pavement is a familiar one; one he has heard every night while on the hunt. The small pack he joined a while ago is running ahead down the darkened street. A faint scent of prey lingers but the swirling of the air around the buildings makes it hard to determine the actual direction. He is hungry and the odor indicates a meal that will feed the entire pack if they can get to it first.
Buildings pass as they turn down street after street searching. The screams of other packs drift on the night air in the distance. Images of prey found filter into his head but they are too far away to respond. His pack leader has found food on most of their nightly hunts so he is sure they will feed tonight. The scent grows strong down one street and the pack turns. Adrenaline surges as the thrill of the hunt takes over.
Several streets later, with the smell of food growing stronger, he stops. Grabbing his head from the overwhelming pain, he sinks to his
knees. A dizzy feeling accompanies the deep ache making him feel that he is going to fall completely to the ground. He vaguely hears the sound of his pack member’s feet stop. The sense of them, once strong and providing a sense of assurance, fades and then vanishes altogether.
Where the hell am I? He thinks looking down at pavement below his head and slumped over body. How the hell did I get here? Where is here? The last memory he has is of taking the flu shot and feeling like shit. He headed to bed and is now kneeling on some unknown street. The only thing that comes to his fuzzy and confused mind is that he must have sleep-walked in a feverish dream.
A loud shriek penetrates his thoughts and he looks up. The night is dark but he makes out ghostly figures running towards him a short distance away. What the fuck? He thinks watching them close in quickly. More screams issue from four figures racing his way. He knows a good thing when he sees it and this definitely doesn’t fit in that category. Adrenaline pours into his body and he starts to rise with the flee portion of the fight or flee response taking hold.
He is only able to bring his arm up in an attempt to ward off the bodies as the nearest ones leap into the air and slam into him. The impact knocks him backwards and slams him to the ground. He is only vaguely aware of the growling and snarling above him as his head contacts the hard, paved surface bringing stars to his eyes. His mind is reeling from the confusion but is quickly supplanted with sheer pain. He feels more than sees teeth biting into his face, neck, and arms. He recognizes a scream, which rises over the others, as his own.
Pale, snarling faces, reeking of body odor, are close to his. He fights and squirms to get away from those on top of him and the agony. Chunks of flesh are torn from his cheeks and throat. A part of his mind wonders where this odd, vivid dream came from. He has never felt pain in his dreams before. Another part of his mind knows this is not a dream but the confusion of suddenly being in a foreign place doesn’t allow that thought to filter into his consciousness. There is only the struggle and intense agony.
