by John O'Brien
Sam’s eyes well with tears. Jim sees this and pulls him into another hug. Sam sobs quietly for a moment on Jim’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you made it, man. Come on. Let’s go see them,” Jim says. “We were going to check for any remaining supplies here but, what the fuck, we can do that later.”
“And who is this, Sam?” one of the other men in the party asks, nodding in my direction.
“Oh, this is Captain Walker,” Sam answers.
“Jack will be fine,” I say as introductions are made. “Did I hear you say correctly that you were going into the store?”
“Yeah. We have a few supplies but always checking for more,” one of the men says.
“What about night runners? Don’t you have problems with them?”
“Night runners? Oh, you mean those freaks of nature. Yeah, there are a couple hundred of them around. Tricky fuckers, so we don’t go very far inside any place. We get most of our food from the fields and silos around. It’s mostly light bulbs, toilet paper, stuff like that we scavenge in buildings for,” he answers.
“How many of you are there?” I ask.
“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”
“Calm down, Kyle. He’s with Sam so that’s good enough for me,” Jim says. Turning to me, he says, “We have about forty left. We holed up in the county jail.”
Sam chuckles. “You know that place well enough.”
“Hey, it was only that one time. It’s not like I had a residency card. And, if I remember right, you were there that night, too.” Sam glances sheepishly toward me.
“You have no worries about that from me. We were all young once,” I say, addressing his worry.
“Come on, let’s go. Your parents have been worried sick about you,” Jim states, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulder.
“Sir, do you mind if I ride with them to catch up?” Sam asks.
I nod okay and head back to the waiting teams. We board and follow the trucks, making a turn to the north at a roundabout. I inform the teams of the good news while we travel. We finally have a better outcome and this causes smiles to shine on every face. The smiles are strained on those who have yet to receive news or have had bad news, but they are smiles nonetheless.
The shops and houses we pass remind me of just about every other town we’ve passed through — store windows broken and some doors hanging open. At the extreme northern end of the town, with scattered industrial buildings, we turn and enter a modern looking building with a brown sign indicating that it’s the ‘Sumner County Jail’. We drive to a sliding security gate at the side of the complex. One of the men jumps out and slides it open. The parking lot we enter has a few pickup trucks parked within it. I notice the fence around the sides and rear of the facility is down in places and the glass entry doors are broken but boarded up.
Several people are out in the parking lot and look our way as we drive in. I suppose it must be quite a surprise to see one of their own head out for supplies only to return with a large armored vehicle. Eyes widen, some in surprise but others have a fearful look in them.
The trucks we were following park. One of the passenger doors opens and Sam exits quickly.
“Mom, Dad,” he shouts, taking off at a run. One of the couples near the edge of the group turns toward the shout.
“Sam?” the woman calls out tentatively.
Sam rushes up and wraps his arms around the woman, hugging her tightly. If he hugged her any tighter, I think she would break. The man joins in, taking all of them in his embrace. They huddle with their heads together. We park the Stryker and exit.
Everyone in both groups is smiling at the reunion, giving hope to those that still have their loved ones to find. I walk over to Jim.
“Who’s in charge here?” I ask.
“That would be Sheriff Dixon,” he replies. “That’s him coming this way.”
I see a man about my size and age approaching. Once he closes, we introduce ourselves. We both trade quick stories, glancing occasionally at the three who are still wrapped together. He asks us to join him inside. I have the teams stay by the Stryker, but the crowd quickly surrounds them, asking questions. I hear some asking about the world outside and if we are part of the military — a common question among the survivors we meet. I guess our outfits and driving an armored military vehicle gives that allusion. I think part of it is people wanting to know if some form of control is coming back and if things will return to normal. I have noticed the disappointment, although covered for the most part, when we tell them our story.
Passing Sam and his parents, the tears have mostly ended. I hear the man say in a low voice, “I’m sorry about Carol, son. We don’t know what happened to her.”
I don’t know what his reaction is as we are soon hustled inside. I have Greg, Robert, and Bri with me.
“We don’t stay in this part anymore,” Dixon says as we cross a lit foyer. “Those creatures of the night break in almost every evening. We’re in the jail proper which they haven’t managed to penetrate.”
We converse for a while giving extended versions of our stories. Dixon knew something bad was happening by the number of calls he started receiving and immediately began rounding up the people who weren’t sick. He lost most of his deputies in the process and the town’s small police force was swallowed up almost immediately, as were the other emergency services. They’d respond to a call only to be taken down. As soon as he figured out what was happening, Dixon stopped responding to calls and began the process of finding those still alive.
“However, that cost us dearly and I lost a number of good people doing that,” he says, his eyes glazing over as he recalls the past.
He seems like a decent sort, especially as he was trying to save as many as he could even though he was putting himself and his staff in danger. I let him know more about the place we have set up and tell him he’s more than welcome to join us.
“That will be a change for a lot of us. We have supplies, water, and a safe haven of our own here. However, that said, and given your stories that there aren’t many of us left, the more we can gather together, the better off we’ll be. I want to talk it over with the others if you don’t mind. After all, it’s their life and decision as well,” he says after a moment of contemplation.
“That’s more than fine, Sheriff. There are a few others farther to the north at the air base that may be going. We can’t stick around for too long, though, as we need to be back before dark… for obvious reasons,” I reply.
“You and you’re group are welcome to stay here for the night if you need,” he says.
“I thank you for that, but we have a long trek ahead of us yet. The sooner we begin, the quicker we can be home. That is one thing to think about though, you’ll be stuck with us for a few days yet as we go searching for more families. It won’t be an easy time. But, we should be back in the Northwest in less than a week,” I state.
“I’ll make sure to mention that. Well, if you are leaving today, I guess I better start the conversation. It may take us a while as some like to hear themselves speak and are prone to lengthy dialogues.”
With that, we shake hands and venture outside. Dixon gathers his people and they head back in for their version of a town hall meeting. Sam accompanies his parents.
“Going to be a bit crowded again, sir,” Gonzalez says, referring to inside the 130.
“If they decide to go,” I say.
“You just watch, sir. They’ll go. They know they don’t have much left here,” she says, waving her arm across the empty fields. “As will the others at McConnell.”
“You have a talent for predicting the future do ya?”
“Nah. I just know people. The Stryker and 130 are great recruiting tools. They see those and armed soldiers, then look down at the hunting rifle by their side and they’re sold. Plus your rugged charm, sir,” she says with a grin.
“Charming and I haven’t ever really seen eye-to-eye.”
�
��You’ll notice I said ‘rugged’.” Robert chuckles at my side and Bri fails miserably at suppressing a grin.
“You people are impossible. I think I now understand why Lynn assigned me to you. It’s in retaliation for something I said…and more than likely something a year or more ago,” I state.
The sun has long since passed overhead, hidden mostly behind the gathered clouds. We spend the afternoon staring across brown fields or playing cards that McCafferty has broken out while we wait for the people to arrive at a decision. True to his word, the meeting drags on for most of the day. It is getting to the point where I am going to have to interrupt them to tell them we have to leave. The day is wearing on and, if we are going to make it back with some daylight to spare, we have to leave soon. The sheriff walks out just as I rise to go in.
“Well, everyone had to have their say, and some twice, but we’ve decided to come along if the offer still stands. There were a few who weren’t eager to ride for days so I promised them I’d ask this, is there any way you could pick us up on your way home?”
“Of course the offer still stands and we’d be happy to have you along. However, I’m sorry to say we won’t be returning here. Maintenance could become an issue with the aircraft so the sooner we can get home, the better,” I answer.
“That’s kind of what I thought. Okay, give us a chance to pack our stuff up. How much room do you have?” Dixon asks.
“Some, but not much I’m afraid. We can cram what we can in but realize that we have the vehicle there,” I say, pointing at the Stryker, “It takes up most of our available space.”
“Okay, I’ll tell them to keep it to a minimum. Some have mementos they want to hold onto,” he responds.
“Pictures and the sort aren’t going to change things one way or the other so those are fine. Favorite couches on the other hand…” I reply.
“We’ll be ready in about an hour if that suits you. How do you want to do this? Follow in vehicles?” he asks.
“That will be fine. Just realize that the vehicles will also have to be left,” I say.
He nods and vanishes inside once again. People come and go, tossing articles into vehicles and eventually everyone is ready to go. I tell the teams to mount up. The ride back is more of the same with the exception that we have a convoy of loaded pickups and vans following. We pull into the airfield and park our caravan by the 130. I take Dixon over and introduce him to Tim. Harkings glances over the crowd gathered by the aircraft and pulls me aside.
“We talked after you left. We want to come with you, but I have to ask now, will there be enough room?” he asks.
“I won’t lie. It’ll be a touch cramped, but we can all fit,” I answer.
“Okay, well, if it won’t be too much trouble.”
“None at all. We plan to hunker down here for the night and leave early tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good. We’ll be ready. If you want, we have plenty of space in the tankers if some people want to stay in there for the night,” Tim says.
“That would be great. It’ll give everyone one more night of being able to stretch out. After that, we’ll just have to endure. If it’s okay, I’ll have everyone but the teams stay with you.”
“That will be more than fine. We saved some food for you. Not enough for everyone, but we have enough daylight left to light up the grills again. We can have one more feast before we depart. It’s not like we’ll be able to take truckloads of food with us,” he says.
“That would be way cool. Thanks.”
With the afternoon sun settling over the city to the west, we cook more than enough hamburgers and chicken to fill an army of people. The odor of the grilling food wafts over the ramp, reminiscent of what summer is supposed to smell like. Contentment reigns over the gathering. I tuck it away in the back of my mind that we’ll have to score some grills and have days like this when we get back. I’ve been so consumed with getting things done that I’ve forgotten how times like this can rejuvenate people. Yeah, we need to do this. It may bring night runners to our walls, but the mental needs of our group are important as well. We can’t afford to do this every day, but we can set aside a day of rest once we set up the inner wall and towers. Unless something comes up, which it always seems to.
Some of the smaller children, which were with Dixon and his group, run across the ramp chasing after one another. Their laughter mixes with the murmur of conversations. One of the younger boys, not looking where he is going as he races from one of the girls chasing him, runs into me. He stops and looks up with a mixture of fear and awe. I hesitate and, with a smile, reach down to ruffle his hair. The sweet upturned face of the young boy smiles in return and he races off. Watching the boy run off, I wonder if that might have been what the boy in the trees was like once.
We finish our meal and stow the Stryker. With the last rays casting an orange glow in the cockpit, Robert and I verify our numbers for the next hop to Petersen AFB. The last time we were there, we barely escaped with our lives rescuing Mullins and his men. The memory of the chase through the night sends a shiver up my spine. I’m not all that keen on returning to that place but I remind myself that we’ll only be out during the day. The question of whether night runners are there in abundance is not in doubt, or at least they were. At any rate we’ve reached the eastern most location of our journey and our direction west will draw us closer to home. We are close to the line we drew some time ago with regards to the nuclear power plants and possible radiation zones.
As expected, when the sun gives its final farewell and disappears below the horizon, faint shrieks begin to filter through our metal walls. Before long the tarmac is filled with our nightly visitors. It isn’t until now that I fully appreciate the quiet evenings we had the prior couple of nights. Looking outside, I see packs of night runners filling the ramp and the beatings against the side of the aircraft begin. The people resting in the tankers look like they might be having an easier go of it as the night runners can’t scale the wings to the fuselage. I set the battery and radios on. I’ve taken to monitoring the radios at night in the hopes that we can finally break through to base. This hour’s watch takes their place fore and aft as I pull away from the window with a sigh.
It’s going to be another restless night, I think, settling into the lower cockpit bunk and listening to the periodic thud of the persistent night runners slamming into the side of the 130.
Act of Courage
“If anyone is out there and can hear this, we need help!”
The radio call is hushed as it exits from the cockpit speaker but startles me awake nonetheless.
“Sir?” the soldier on watch in the cockpit says.
“I heard it and I’m up,” I reply, climbing out of my sleeping bag into the chilled air.
“Shall I wake the others?” he asks.
“Let’s wait and see what’s up first,” I answer.
I step across the steel deck feeling the cold seep through my socks. The night is still filled with night runners prowling the ramp; some exiting while others emerge from between the hangars. I hope there isn’t a problem with anyone in the other aircraft parked along the ramp adjacent to us. If there is, with the number of night runners out, there really won’t be much that we can do to assist.
“Jack, this is Tim. Did you catch that?” I hear over the radio.
“Yeah. I caught that. I’m about to try and make contact. Any idea of who it might be?”
“Not a clue,” he answers.
“Okay. I’ll call you back if I find out anything,” I say and switch the radio to transmit over the emergency channel.
I’m guessing the call must have come over that frequency. It will transmit over all UHF or VHF channels depending on the type of radio. That’s really the only way we could have heard the call unless they happened to be on our frequency.
“Calling on UHF guard, this is Captain Walker. I hear you loud and clear. State the nature of your emergency,” I call.
“Sir, Se
rgeant Reynolds here. We’re holed up in a school and close to being overrun by these night demons,” Reynolds replies.
“Can you hold out until morning?” I ask.
“Doubtful, sir. We held them off last night, but they’ve broken through some of our defenses and we don’t have unlimited ammo,” she answers.
Sporadic gunfire echoes in the background of her transmission.
“Okay, Reynolds, how many do you have with you and what’s your location?” I ask, knowing we’ll be hard pressed to offer any help.
It’s night and the ramp is teeming with night runners. We’d be lucky to get ten feet if we managed to get out at all. We could get into the Stryker, but that would mean opening up the aircraft. I’m not keen on coming back and having to clear it of any night runners that decided to stay. Gunfire in aircraft tends to put holes in the side, along with taking out hydraulic, electric, and other equipment necessary for the 130 to leave the ground. That would effectively strand us here.
“I have six other troops and eleven kids of varying ages. We’re in a large school to the southwest of a town called El Dorado…in Kansas,” she answers.
“Kids! You have kids with you?”
“Yes, sir. There are eleven of them left. They are, um, were from a deaf school nearby,” she answers.
“A deaf school? They’re deaf?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have an exact location?” I ask.
“I think the GPS still has some juice left. Standby.”
“Go wake the others and have Greg come to the cockpit,” I say to the soldier leaning over my shoulder.
He nods and immediately disappears down the stairs. Reynolds radios back their coordinates. Each time she presses the mic, I continue to hear gunfire and shrieks in the background. It doesn’t sound like they are having a lot of fun.
“Okay. Standby. We’re in Wichita. Let me see what we can do. No promises, sergeant. We have night runners all over us as well,” I reply.
“Okay, sir. I understand, but any assistance you can give would be…well…helpful.”
