by John O'Brien
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 c
louds, 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.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you just ask if you could kiss my ass?” I reply back.
“Nooooo, I’m pretty sure I mentioned your graceful attempts at running,” Greg says with a huge smile.
“I guess I know who has an outside seat on the flight back,” I say. “Your exit row seat is going to have a whole different meaning.”
The chuckles die down a moment later. It’s always the same; the friendly banter before a mission. It truly does make what we are potentially facing easier to bear. I guess laughter has that affect.
“Gonzalez will be in the lead Humvee and guide us in,” I say continuing. “We’ll proceed in a staggered formation as much as the roads will allow. Keep your spacing and the guns manned. We don’t know what’s out there but we do know additional survivors exist so let’s keep alert. If we’re fired upon, we’ll respond by laying down an immediate base of fire. Be ready to pull back if we meet any kind of organized resistance. The situation will dictate our response. There’s a base here so odds are that anyone we meet will have automatic weapons. Robert and Bri, you’ll be staying here with Echo and the rest.”
I see Robert’s and Bri’s faces fall with the last sentence. “It’s because you are the only other pilot and flight engineer. If something happens, you’ll be needed, along with Craig, to fly the others back.” Robert and Bri both nod their understanding but I can tell they are still not happy about it.
The small gusts continue across the ramp blowing lighter pieces of paper and debris along as Red and Blue Teams make their way to the Humvees. The building heat and humidity makes it feel like we are in a hot tub; each inhalation like breathing water. We check our gear and load additional equipment in the vehicles and, with a last look around the desolate ramp, drive the short distance off the tarmac and start through the small base.
The drive past the buildings is much the same as the other places we’ve been; deserted and empty with a touch of emanating malice. I’m tempted to reach out to verify the feeling but I’m still not all that comfortable with my seemingly being able to. I’m still not entirely convinced that it’s not just a product of my imagination but I think that’s just my not wanting to fully come to terms with it. Again, I think it may be a handy thing to have but I’m thinking they can “see” me as well when I do. Last night they definitely looked directly at me when I opened up so I have to assume for now that they can. What I don’t know is if they can always see me even if I tuck the images in the back of my mind.
We pull to a stop at a large intersection just before the main gate. Older and newer aircraft are mounted in a circle to the left; the usual array of aircraft on display that is associated with the base and found on all installations. Well, that is if they had smaller aircraft. It’s very difficult to mount a C-5 on a pedestal. The covered security guard shacks of the gate are blockaded by security vehicles. Uniform-clad, mummified bodies lie on the ground near each vehicle. The hot, dry summer has rendered it difficult to see if they were night runners or not but my guess is that they were. It’s a smaller version of the scene at the McChord gate.
I turn and proceed on a bypass loop around the visitor’s center. Looking over to the guard posts, I see a couple of bodies lying just behind the vehicles there. They are in the same uniforms as those out in front. It must have been a confusing scene in the last hours; your seeming comrades attacking and it being difficult to distinguish friend from foe in the dark.
The entrance road crosses over railroad tracks and we take the off toward highway 60, or 84 depending on the signs. We enter a freeway with two lanes in either direction separated by a brown grass median. I look out of the side view
and see Horace drive through the median and swing onto the other lanes on the opposite side; our vehicle vibrations making the soldier manning the gun of the other vehicle a blur. Horace stations herself and her team about thirty yards behind us on the left side of the highway.
The highway is mostly clear on the drive towards Clovis. There are a couple of cars parked to the side of the road; some with their doors open and others sealed. We occasionally pass groups of houses but it is mostly brown fields stretching to either side and into the distance. The edge of a town begins abruptly; one moment it’s the brown fields and the next houses abutting the highway. The green “Clovis City Limit” sign stands by the side of the road looking as forlorn as the houses that line the freeway.
Horace moves closer as the highway comes together and begins to thread its way through the town. I glance to Gonzalez to see her looking pensively out of the windows. Paper is carried across the street as the gusts from the building clouds picks up. Many of the doorways of the houses and small businesses lining the street are partially filled with sand and debris. Very few cars are parked along the street but the tires of the few that are catch the debris carried by the winds, forming little piles beside them.
We drive through most of the town without seeing a soul. If there is anyone about, I would think they would have ventured out to the base upon hearing our arrival or come out with the sound of our vehicles crawling through town. The sound of our vehicles echoes off the walls and darkened windows of the structures. There should be some people out foraging unless they’re hiding from us, I think watching the town slowly pass as we progress further east.
