by John O'Brien
“It’s all clear, sir,” Gonzalez reports as they close the last door.
“Copy that,” I respond. We gather in the open area to ponder our next move. I feel bad for McCafferty that she still doesn’t have an answer but there is the positive that we didn’t find them dead or worse.
“Jack, Greg here,” I hear on the radio.
“Yeah, Greg, go ahead,” I answer.
“We have someone standing in the driveway across the street,” he says.
“Just one? Armed?” I ask.
“It’s just one person and they are armed but just holding their rifle loosely and looking in our direction,” Greg answers.
“Okay. We’re on our way out,” I say. “Keep an eye out for others.”
I step into the bright light and heat. The house was cold in comparison and the change in temperature makes me feel like I’m about to melt. It’s that kind of heat that immediately makes me feel tired and lethargic. The sweat forms instantly, saturating my fatigues under my arms and where my vest is covering. I want to remove the vest just to feel the cooling sensation of the sweat evaporating but that’s not the best of ideas in an unknown area. I remember the times in the desert or jungle when we established our place to hold up and the refreshing sensation of taking my vest off. It’s been a busy couple of days and a nap is sounding like the best thing in the world right now. The release of adrenaline adds to this feeling.
I walk with McCafferty over to where Greg’s and Horace’s vehicles are parked back to back on the dirt road by the entrance. The rest of Red Team takes up positions by the Humvee parked close to the house. Looking into the lot across the road to where Greg is pointing, I see a man standing next to a black pickup truck in the driveway. He is holding a rifle at his side looking in our direction shading his eyes from the sun. Horace is glassing the area with a set of binoculars.
“Anything?” I ask Horace.
“Nothing I can see, sir,” she answers.
“Do you know who that is?” I ask McCafferty.
“Well, that could be old man Edmonds. At least that’s his place. I never really talked with him much,” she replies.
“Well, let’s see what he has to say. McCafferty, you’re with me. The rest of you stay alert and cover us,” I say.
The M-240 on Horace’s Humvee is pointed in the man’s direction but not directly at him. Walking with McCafferty at my side, we cross the road and enter the opposite driveway. The man brings his hand down and grips his rifle but doesn’t bring it up in a threatening manner, just to a more ready position to use if he needs to. Closer, I see he is an older man, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties. His deeply tanned and wrinkled face makes it hard to tell just how old he is. I am sure the sight of armed vehicles and people in the area aren’t giving him comfortable feelings but I give him credit for his bravery in coming outside to check us out.
“We’re not looking to cause any trouble,” I say keeping my M-4 ready but lowered. It’s not like I don’t have tremendous firepower behind me if needed and I can literally feel the M-240 trained in our direction. This trip has brought a few surprises and I’m not really in the mood for more.
“That remains to be seen,” he answers. He thrusts his head forward as if trying to see better as if the extra few inches will bring everything into more clarity. “Is that you young Allie?”
“Yes, sir,” McCafferty answers.
“Well come forward, girl, let me get a look at ya,” the man says. “And tell that young ‘un on the big gun to quit pointing it at me.”
I have everyone relax but keep alert. Mr. Edmonds sets his rifle against the black pickup truck, reaches behind him and brings out a green John Deere hat covered with dirt and grease stains. He slaps it against his jeans as if that will clean it, although it does release a small cloud of dust, and places it on his head. We walk the remaining distance down the driveway.
“Well, you certainly have grown, girl. Look at you. And I’m glad to even be saying that,” Mr. Edmonds says. “And you would be?”
“Jack Walker,” I say slinging my M-4 and sticking my hand out.
“Jim Edmonds,” he says returning my shake.
“Mr. Edmonds, do you know what happened to my parents,” McCafferty asks.
“Well, young Allie, I don’t rightly know,” Jim says looking at the ground and then back at her. “I saw them last a few days ago. Let’s see, that would have been five days ago by my count. They mentioned they were heading out to look for supplies and I haven’t seen them since.”
Both hope and disappointment crosses McCafferty’s face. The news that they made it through this far is good news but the fact that they went out for supplies and haven’t returned in days doesn’t bode well. We have all been out for supplies and know what that means. I hope for her sake they didn’t come across a night runner lair in their search.
“Are there any night runners in the area?” I ask.
“Any what?” Jim asks in confusion, squinting his eyes and scratching his head. “Oh, you mean those night hunter things. Yeah, I hear them prowling around at night.”
I look at the small house that has no evidence of being fortified. The house actually looks like the big bad wolf could huff and puff his way in.
“So how is it you’ve managed to keep them at bay?” I ask curious as to how he’s kept them out.
“Well, young man, I’ve been staying in the storm shelter. Figured if it can protect against a tornado then it should be able to hold up against them night folk,” Jim answers.
“Shared it with your parents when the storms would come blowing in and recently,” he continues directing this at McCafferty.
Of course! We’re in tornado country. I should have known, I think.
“Any idea where they might have gone to search or what might have happened to them?” I ask.
We still have a few hours to search before we have to head back. We could hole up in the Humvees for the night and search for them tomorrow as well but that isn’t the most comfortable of solutions. The vehicles are tough but not impenetrable. Enough night runners could turn them over and that wouldn’t be in our best interest.
“Not exactly sure where they might have gone. They could have run afoul of the group holed up in the prison though. I’ve seen that group around from time to time and watched them snag some poor souls off the streets once when I was out for supplies myself. I’m not sure why they took them and didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”
I feel the tension radiating from McCafferty. I can understand her feelings though. If there’s a chance to get her parents, she wants to take it and I don’t blame her. But she also knows we are limited on personnel and resources. And time.
“Any idea how many are holed up there?”
“No. No idea at all. I’m not stupid enough to venture down that way. Well, again. I was out that way once for supplies. Got myself chased for my trouble. They came directly out of that prison and damn near caught me. Eventually lost ‘em on the back roads. Haven’t ventured close since,” Jim answers. “If I were to guess by the number chasing me, I would say twenty or thirty.” I have an immediate liking for Mr. Jim Edmonds. He’s a survivor and seems pretty crafty.
“I don’t suppose you know the layout of the place?” I ask.
“Well, there I might be able to help ya some. I worked there as a guard for some time when times were tough,” Jim replies.
We spend the next half hour putting together a diagram based on Jim’s recollection of the facility. It’s a large place and I’m not really sure how we can take it with only three teams. It’s a lot like Madigan in that we’d need a battalion, well, at least a company to be effective. And that’s if we can even get in. Prisons are designed to keep people both in and out.
“Jim, you’re more than welcome to come along with us. I mean back to the Northwest if you’d like. We have supplies and shelter,” I say after folding the map.
“I don’t rightly know about that. I’d feel bad if you
ng Allie’s parents came back and I wasn’t here. I ‘spose I could leave a note though but a lot of good that would do. But I guess if they haven’t been here in five days, odds are…” Jim pauses giving McCafferty an apologetic look. “Well, I ‘spose that would be okay. Not much here for me anyway since Sarah passed on. Let me grab some things and I’ll be right with ya.”
We head back to the road and gather the others up. I explain the situation. I feel completely indecisive about what to do. On one hand, if McCafferty’s parents are there, then we should do the right thing and get them out, or at least try. I mean, that goes if anyone is being held against their will but more so because it’s the family of one of our own. But we don’t know and should we risk the others of our teams not knowing if they are there. Should we risk our team members even if we knew they were there? Our months have been about staying alive but there is also the right thing to do. I mean, that is if there is a way in and we don’t create a worse risk or stupidly throw our lives away. The heat isn’t improving my ability to think this one through.
“Alright. I have to be honest and say I’m not sure on this one,” I say giving McCafferty the same apologetic look that Jim gave her.
“We took down the high school and there were about the same amount of bad guys there,” Horace mentions.
“True. But that was a high school and we’re talking about a prison here. The high school is infinitely easier to infiltrate. Prisons are meant to be hard to not only get out of but into,” I reply as Jim walks out with a filled duffle bag and his rifle. “But we could take a look and see what we’re facing before making any decisions.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Greg says.
“Okay. Let’s go take a look and see what we’re dealing with then. Just a look for now as we have to be back before dark. We’ll make our plans based on what we see,” I say.
“Jim, can you get us close discreetly?” I ask.
“I know a few back ways. I think I can get you close but it’s surrounded by fields so you may not be able to get as close as you’d like,” he answers.
“Okay, let’s mount up then.” The teams break up and climb in their vehicles. Jim climbs in with Greg as our Humvee is already a little crowded. Greg will lead with us following. We’ll have to keep it slow so we don’t kick up a lot of dust and give ourselves away. The day is already into the afternoon and it won’t be too much longer before we have to begin our journey back. There is still the town we have to circumvent and I want to allow time for any delays. McCafferty and I walk back to our Humvee.
“Thank you, sir,” McCafferty says as we stroll back stirring the dust with our boots.
“We’ll get them if they’re there and we can. No promises though. I know this is hard but can’t risk losing our teams,” I say.
“I understand and wouldn’t have it any other way, sir,” McCafferty responds.
“Then let’s go see what we’re dealing with shall we,” I say.
I see some tension leave her with the fact that we are going to try to do something but I know she must be feeling anxious not knowing. I mean, they may not even be there.
“I’m with you, sir,” McCafferty replies.
With Jim guiding, our little convoy proceeds slowly on back country roads. I’m at an interval behind Greg’s Humvee watching the little dust he is kicking up as we inch along. The surrounding fields are completely covered with dirt and the flat land makes us stand out like we’re waving banners and throwing confetti. I’m not sure just how close we’re going to be able to get. And even if we do get close, I don’t think we’ll be able to see much over the walls I am assuming are there. But anything we can do to help a teammate is worth doing. As long as we don’t all get killed over it. That result is definitely over in the “don’t want to do” column. My kids are with me so that is to be avoided at all costs. There is a hierarchy in my thinking; my kids, Lynn, the teams, everyone else. I don’t figure much into that equation but I’m not in an all-fired rush to leave this fucked up world either.
We begin heading down small service roads between the fields themselves and eventually find ourselves in a small gully. Shrubs dot the hillsides on both sides and the road ends at a shallow creek at the bottom of the gully. Small, stunted mesquite trees line the water’s edge. Greg pulls to a stop. We shut down and exit.
The gully is deep enough to hide the vehicles without betraying a silhouette. A rancid smell permeates the area. And by rancid, I mean enough to want to stop breathing entirely. Everyone wrinkles their nose and waves their hand under them upon exiting. It’s definitely something that died and, by the smell of it, it’s many of those somethings. There’s nothing else that smells like that and I’m all too familiar with that odor. I wonder if someone has been dumping bodies in the gully.
“There’s one of the largest cattle pens in the country on top of this gully,” Jim says chuckling at our reaction.
“Damn! Smells more like someone shit in my nose,” I hear Denton mutter.
“Follow this stream to the west and, where it makes a bend back to the east, you’ll be about a mile away from the prison. It’ll be to the southwest of you at that point. Not sure what you’ll be able to see from there. There should be some light cover ‘til you’re close to the freeway but then it’s flat, dirt fields from there on out. You’ll have to cross two freeways to get to the prison itself if you’re planning on going all of the way there,” Jim says pointing out places on my map.
“Okay, I think four of us should go. That will keep our presence low but still provide some firepower if we need. Robert, Greg, McCafferty, you’re with me. Horace, you’re in charge here. Keep a perimeter and stay out of sight but be ready to support us if needed,” I say. I’m taking McCafferty because, if something does happen and we have to evade, she knows the area better than we do. Plus it will keep her busy and may ease her tension knowing she is doing something. Again, I can’t imagine the stress that must be going on inside of her.
I notice the shocked look on Robert’s face. “Yes, you’re going. We’re only doing a recon and you’re sneaky as hell.”
The shocked look is replaced with a grin. I’m not sure how he can grin with the smell but he manages. There’s something else in his expression but I can’t quite tell what it is. Gratitude perhaps? Maybe enjoying the recognition? I’m not sure. I have mixed emotions regarding this but I’ve come to realize those won’t ever fade. We’re only going to have a look and, although I’ve worked with him and Bri, nothing replaces experience. I just hope he doesn’t have to experience much more. This new world is wearing me out.
The sun is still just past its overhead mark but it won’t be long before it wends its way further to the west. We have some time but we also have a hike ahead of us according to the map. The heat of the day and pervading smell makes the gully feel oppressive. The small amount of water drifting by slowly in the creek provides little cooling and makes it worse in some way. Perhaps it’s because it’s the brownish water prevalent in Texas and not the clear water of the Northwest I’m used to. Whatever it is, I don’t like it a whole lot.
“It’s a little after 13:00 now. We need to be out of here by 17:00. That will give us enough time to get back with some to spare. We won’t have to stop for fuel so that’s a plus. That gives us two hours in and two out. According to the map, it’s about a mile to the bend and we’ll see what we can from there. Any questions?” I ask. No one responds.
“Okay, get your gear,” I tell Greg, Robert, and McCafferty. “We’re traveling light. Radios, ammo, and bring plenty of water. I’m not drinking anything from that,” I add pointing to the almost stagnant water. “Especially with those cattle pens close by. No telling what has leaked in. We’ll meet in five.” I’ve drunk out of worse places but had plenty of iodine tablets. Well, maybe not worse. There weren’t thousands of dead cows possibly leaking their goodness into it.
We start out along the creek bottom. I’m leading with Greg behind followed by Robert and McCaffe
rty. There’s not much we can do for the smell and I’d like to say we get used to it but I’d be lying. I look for something to put under my nose to help ease the stench but come up empty. I make a mental note to keep Vick’s handy for smells. It seems like I already made that mental note but it apparently didn’t take too well. I used to carry it with me always so I’m surprised I didn’t automatically pack it along. I guess not all things have come back as readily.
The creek meanders some in the gully and there are some trees along its meager banks but not enough to keep us shaded from the sun and heat. The odor seems to get stronger the further down the gully we go but that may be my imagination. The banks are high enough to keep us from becoming outlined in any fashion from above but we take care to keep quiet and proceed alertly. I’m pretty sure no one in their right mind would be close with the obnoxious smell in the vicinity.
The warmth works on us as we work our way to the bend in the creek. I find myself stumbling over the occasional rock or two but we keep it slow so I manage to stay out of the creek. At the bend is the faint outline of a road and a ford. I wonder why we didn’t travel here to begin with. Maybe our approach would have been seen from the prison. Jim seems like a pretty good guy and knows the area well so that may have had something to do with it. Or he didn’t want to get any closer. For whatever reason, we’re here and it’s time to take a look.
There’s a faint path leading upward from the ford. It’s mostly overgrown with knee-high bushes but it’s still distinguishable. As we climb, the sound of birds reaches us. The higher we get, the louder it gets. I hold the others back and crouch low as we near the crest. Reaching a position where I can barely see over the edge, I scan the area. If anything, the atrocious odor hits even harder. Yes, I know I’m obsessing on the stench but the overwhelming smell cannot be adequately described. I’ve smelled mass graves before but those were rose gardens in comparison.
The fencing surrounding the pens is close to the rim of the gully. Black humps lie on the ground as far as I can see back to the east, the direction we came from, and to the south. The size, at least what I see from here, is immense. No wonder the air is so offensive. There must be thousands upon thousands of dead cattle. I can actually hear the drone of flies from my position. The earth within the separate cattle pens is actually a deep red from the literal tons of blood that has been spilled on the ground. Further east is something that just about empties my stomach.
