by John O'Brien
“Do you mind?” I ask referring to whether she wouldn’t mind some company or would just like to be left alone.
“No, sir,” she answers and I plop down next to her.
Plop is the correct term as my old bones don’t go to the ground gracefully anymore. We sit in silence for a few minutes with the storms building overhead and the gritty wind blowing in our faces. The smell of ozone faintly reaches my nose along with a myriad of other smells. This whole moment just feels odd. We are on the backside of an apocalypse yet here we are, two people sitting on the middle of a stark ramp in New Mexico surrounded by a sea of emptiness. It feels like I’m in a dream watching myself sitting here; that I’m really somewhere else observing this moment from afar. It just feels strange. It feels quiet.
“You okay?” I ask staring across the runway to our front and hating to break the silence.
“Yeah, sir. I’ll be okay. I’m just happy to see my sister and hear my mother made it at least,” Gonzalez answers.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I say not knowing much else to say.
“Yeah, me too. At least I have the answer though. That’s something and now the gnawing inside of not knowing can end,” she replies. Silence ensues and we sit staring across the landscape.
“Sir, may I ask something?” Gonzalez asks.
“Of course. Anytime,” I answer.
“We’re just two soldiers sitting here, right?”
“Just two soldiers sitting here shooting the shit,” I reply.
“Do you think we’re going to make it?” She asks looking over at me.
“Yeah, I do. I have to think that. For my kids and everyone else. If I didn’t have the hope of us making it, then all of this we’re doing would be for naught and we’d just be spinning our wheels. And you and I are not one for just spinning our wheels,” I answer.
“I mean, do you think we’re personally going to make it?” She asks. “Not as a group but each of us individually?”
“I don’t know that one. Some days I look around and see just how much talent we have and how tough we are. Those days I think there’s no way we can go down no matter what happens; that we’ll be able to get out of any situation. I lived that philosophy in the field, well, used to anyway. Other days…. How many tours in Iraq did you do?” I ask.
“Two.”
“So you know that anything can happen on any given day then,” I say.
“Yes, sir. And on other days, you think what?”
“I think the odds stack against us each time we go out. That it’s only a matter of time. We’ve both seen friends killed so we both know it can happen but it was always someone else. That was something that couldn’t happen to us because, well, we were the ones watching. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a thing that could touch me, however there was a part of me that knew it was a matter of odds; that the odds shrank a little more each time I went out,” I answer.
“I know the feeling. The one thinking there isn’t a thing that can touch me. Today changed that to a degree. Did something happen that changed your mind?”
I undo my vest and lay it on the sandy tarmac beside me. I unbutton my shirt and lay it on the vest. Lifting my T-shirt, I show Gonzalez the scars on my chest, side, and back.
“Courtesy of three AK-47 rounds marked ‘Anonymous,” I say putting my shirt and gear back on.
“Damn, sir,” Gonzalez says quietly. “And that changed your mind about being invulnerable.”
“Yes and no. It did for a little while but then it reverted back to ‘I survived that and am still alive’,” I answer.
I continue, “We’re still the baddest ones around and it’ll take a lot to bring us down. And if it does happen, there’ll be a mountain of bodies around testifying to that.”
“Hooah, sir,” Gonzalez says with a smile.
“Seriously?” I say shaking my head but returning her smile.
“I have another question, sir,” Gonzalez says.
“Still two soldiers sitting?” I ask.
“Yes, sir,” she answers. A moment of quiet passes. I’m guessing she’s either thinking of how to word the question or is hesitant to ask. The question finally emerges, “Can you sense the night runners?”
Now it’s my turn for a moment of silence. I’m not quite sure how to answer that or if I even want to. She doesn’t do the ‘Only answer if you want to’ thing. It’s just a straight up question.
“I see you stare off toward the door at dinner sometimes and you knew there was a night runner in my dad’s house just like you knew night runners were coming in the hospital when none of us heard a thing,” she states.
“I guess I don’t hide things very well, do I?” I say with a chuckle.
“No, sir, not very well at all,” she replies with another smile.
“Just between us?” I ask.
“Just two soldiers sitting here, sir,” she answers.
“Yes, I can. Or at least I think I can. I can even hear them talking although ‘hear them talking’ is a matter of perspective. I get these picture images which I can understand. The downside? I think they can sense me when I reach out so I’ve learned to park it in the back of my mind,” I respond.
“That’s kind of handy,” she says.
“Not as handy as you might think. If I know they’re there, they know I am as well so it’s kind of a catch-22,” I say.
“You can see in the dark as well, right?” I look at her a little astonished that she’s gleaned as much as she has. I wonder if others have as well.
“I noticed you didn’t have your NVG’s down in the house. You might want to lower those if you want to keep it a secret,” she answers my look.
“I’ll keep that in mind Gonzalez. I’d call you Rosa but that just seems weird as I know you as Gonzalez,” I say.
“Gonzalez works, sir. I actually like that better. I never did like the name Rosa,” she replies.
“Do you think you got those abilities from the scratch?” Gonzalez asks.
“I think so. I can’t imagine where else. I never did get the flu shot,” I answer.
“Do you think you’ll turn into one of them?” Ah, the crutch of the questioning. However, looking at her and knowing her just a little, I revise my thought as it doesn’t seem this is what she really wants to know. I think she is just verifying some guesses she’s been making.
“Nah, I don’t think so. I think whatever it is, or was, has run its course. The headaches have disappeared and I haven’t noticed any changes. You have my permission to shoot me in the head at the first sign I’m becoming one of them,” I answer.
“The first sign, sir?” She asks chuckling.
“Better make that the fourth or fifth,” I reply. “Our little secret?”
“We’re just two soldiers sitting on a ramp shooting the shit, sir,” Gonzalez answers.
Stupidity Does Kill
Sizable droplets of rain begin to fall sporadically creating large circles in the sand. I pat Gonzalez on the shoulder and rise; the pat really hiding my using her as leverage. Sealing up the Humvees, we make our way into the 130 and close it up as the first rumble of the storms reverberates across the tarmac. Before long, the pouring rain deafens us inside the aircraft. It sounds like being inside a tin shack with marbles falling from the sky. Well, I guess in a way we are stuck in a tin shack.
We pass the rest of the day with the sound of downpours, flashes of lightning flickering through the windows, and the rumble of thunder that sometimes shakes the aircraft. I’m not all that keen on being inside one of the tallest objects in the middle of the open ramp and a metallic one at that. The aircraft does have the ability to dispense static but that doesn’t give me a multitude of warm fuzzies sitting in our tin can. We find what little comfort the aircraft holds with so many inside and strip away packages of MRE’s. I turn the battery on so we can heat our dinners in the little kitchen situated just below the cockpit entrance stairs.
The dark of the storms outside gives litt
le warning of the approaching night. One moment it’s a shadowy gray light filtering in that quickly transitions to the inky blackness of night. The flashes of light that occasionally reach inside from the thunderstorms are in direct contrast to the darkness and startle us each time. Our confined area and having to be inside during the day brings attention to the fact that we are all in need of a shower. Or maybe it’s just me. I can’t tell beyond my own area of aroma. The locker room smell is getting to the point where I’m sure others are contemplating whether being outside with the night runners isn’t a preferred solution. I head to the cockpit to change and at least do my part in not forcing others out into the arms of the nocturnal hunters.
In the cockpit, I quickly change tossing the old clothing on the bunk where they immediately threaten to run into a corner to find darkness and perhaps a lair. I look out of the side window and see shapes heading our way. The lightning is playing havoc with my night vision, enhanced or not and it takes time between flashes to adjust. The small number of night runners trotting across the ramp show up in the intermittent strobes of light; their gray skin seeming to glow with each flare.
I watch as they approach, shielding the language images in a tightly locked compartment in my mind. Hollow, metallic thuds echo inside as bodies slam into the thin aircraft fuselage. It looks to be another sleepless night inside an aircraft with night runners trying to work their way in. So far they haven’t been able to but we’ll post guards to keep watch. It isn’t like any of us will be getting any rest. I look out at a similar scenario as last night; a night runner hanging behind the others while they work their way around the aircraft trying to find a way in. I watch as two try to climb a propeller on the outboard engine. They manage to get part of the way up before slipping back to the ground. The thought of starting that engine while they are climbing floats through my mind. I mean, how funny would that be watching them get launched over one of the hangars. Not realistic as the propellers don’t rev up that fast but the idea is humorous.
The rain coming down is definitely impeding their ability to hang onto the blade. I keep an eye out because they could potentially damage the aircraft, stepping on control surfaces and other vital areas, should they get on top. I watch as the pack outside leaves only to be replaced by another of about the same size. The storms have tapered off to intermittent flashes of light in the distance. I decide to experiment and open up slightly. I want to see if they can sense me when I do. I immediately sense the night runners and the images of the apparent leader. The leader turns in my direction abruptly as all activity ceases for a moment. I guess that answers that question, I think as the moment passes and they resume their efforts.
I send a quick message of me associated with the sun. I notice the leader is immediately startled. There is a hesitation but only a very slight one. The others also pause and look to the pack leader as if looking for guidance but then immediately return to what they were doing. Well, at least it causes a little distraction, I think wondering if I can send them instructions and have them obey. I send a series of images to one of the night runners just under the window telling it to go into the hangar directly across the ramp. That does absolutely nothing. So much for being able to take control, I think. Perhaps it’s because they realize I’m not one of them.
“So, I can’t control them. Oh well, it was worth a try,” I say quietly to myself as I gather up my ripe clothes and head back to the cargo compartment.
The pack assaulting the exterior leaves a short time later and is not replaced. The rumbles of thunder vanish into the night as well leaving us in comparative peace. The quiet is almost as startling as the noise but I’m not complaining. We set up a schedule for watches and fold where we can on the steel deck and bunks to rest.
The night passes and the morning comes with little disturbance from either Mother Nature or mother fuckers. I rise and stretch the kinks out — there are more than a few of them. The air inside is warm and stuffy from so many bodies in one place for an extended period of time. The ramp is lowered and cool air sweeps in refreshing the stagnant interior. The light of the dawn filters in and we all groggily, in ones and twos, step outside hoping for the new day to invigorate us. Soldiers, grabbing meals and water, park themselves in small groups near the rear of the aircraft. The Humvees are opened up and placed in flanking positions. Provisions for the coming trip to Lubbock are set in neat piles next to the open ramp. The earlier we are off on our adventure, the more time we’ll have to look for McCafferty’s family and deal with anything unforeseen that may arise.
I hear the sound of vehicles approaching in the distance. I radio Greg and Echo team standing guard telling them to be alert. I let the soldiers around the ramp know what I hear and get some funny looks, but there is a scramble to dispose of wrappers and water bottles. In short order, Blue Team has taken cover behind the concrete barriers near the edge of the ramp. I wait with Red Team near the aircraft ready for any eventuality.
Cars enter the ramp between two hangars, hesitate a moment, and then begin driving in our direction. The guns on the Humvees track their progress. Eight cars packed with people approach and stop a short distance away. Miguel steps out of the car in front and I tell everyone to relax. The group from our little encounter yesterday has arrived.
More people step onto the ramp as Blue Team leaves their cover and meanders back to us. I hear Gonzalez gasp beside me. She gives me a quick look asking if it’s okay if she goes. I nod and she takes off in a run. She races past a small knot of people that have gathered around Miguel and embraces an older woman. Okay, older being relative as she appears to be only a little older than me. I notice Gonzalez’ younger sister, Isabella, join in the embrace. Gonzalez has apparently found her mother.
Miguel and several others gather around. He quickly tells his story about how he and a couple of his friends gathered everyone in the neighborhood when they figured out what was happening. They cleared the area as best as they could and fortified the high school gym. They had run-ins with some roving gangs but they managed to hold their own. He mentioned collecting weapons and ammo that were lying around on the base and that is what has given them the edge so far. He also added that they were beginning to run low on supplies. I inform him that we are heading down to Lubbock for the day to search for one of our soldier’s family.
“You’re taking your entire group?” He asks.
“Yeah, running into you yesterday made me want to have everyone available just in case. I was thinking of leaving the three we met in Albuquerque but haven’t decided on that yet,” I answer.
“And you trust us?” He asks tilting his head to the side confused.
“It’s not like you’re going to steal our plane,” I reply with a chuckle.
“What about your supplies?”
“Look, we have more back home. If you decide you don’t want to come with us, take what you need, just leave us some food, water, and ammo,” I answer.
Miguel pauses and then says, “No, I think we’ll be staying with you guys. Like I said, there’s nothing here for us anymore. I’ll leave some people here to keep your shit safe until you get back.”
“Sounds good. And thanks. We’ll be back before dark.”
“I hope so or your shit’s going to be open for anyone to steal. We’re not hanging around once the sun hits the horizon,” he says.
“See you this afternoon,” I say.
Gonzalez gives her mom and sister another hug before heading back. Miguel and his group pile back into their vehicles and, with a great flourish, drive away with the sounds of their vehicles fading into the distance. He leaves one car and several people behind. Silence spreads across the ramp and we are left alone with the beginning of the day. The morning is chilly but I can feel the heat already beginning to rise from the concrete ramp. The sky overhead is clear of clouds and promises a sunny day free from storms. The moist, humid air mass that gave rise to the majesty of the thunderstorms has moved on.
Packing our
gear together, the sound of the starting Humvees resonates off the metal sides of the hangars a short distance away and breaks across the still morning air. I leave with Red Team and search the base for another Humvee. It takes a while but eventually we come across a couple parked in a maintenance area. The second one we try starts and we drive it back to the ramp. Greg and Echo Team pile into the third Humvee and we are shortly ready to head out into the day. Leaving Thomas, Laurel, and Jeremy behind with Miguel’s people, we exit the base and proceed along the same road as yesterday driving in the same formation with the exception that Greg is in my lane offset from Horace. McCafferty is driving as we pass the familiar brown fields. There are patches of green from the rains of the days prior; already springing up as only it can in the desert.
We pass through the ghost-like town of Clovis. The downpours have cleaned the streets of sand to a degree but the runoff has left still wet sand piled against the curbs and by the tires of the few parked cars. The bottoms of the doorway entrances are still filled with dirt and debris where they are inset from the street. It gives that lonely and abandoned feel of most towns that we’ve seen, either from the air or ground. I keep an eye out for any of the roving gangs Miguel mentioned but we pass through without incident.
A few miles out of town, the highway turns to the southeast. The scenery doesn’t change much as we begin our journey to Lubbock. McCafferty, in the driver’s seat, is displaying much of the same tightness around her eyes that Gonzalez did the day before. I’m guessing she is worried about what Gonzalez found with regards to her dad and thinking the same thing could be awaiting her. The scale of sorrow was tipped, however, when Gonzalez found out her sister and mother were still alive. To be honest, it was fortunate that she found her sister, or vice-versa really, when she did as things were about to get ugly. Timing is such a wonderful thing. Luck doesn’t hurt either. I just hope I have enough of both in my shrinking bag of tricks.
