A New World 10 - Storm (25 page)

They all signal that they are good to go. I was worried that ricochets might make their way back to us, but the bodies of the men lying on the cold, hard surface absorbed the majority of them.

“Greg, put two men on the far cave entrance. Have someone check the guard’s pockets for keys to the shackles,” I state.

Greg points at two of his team members, who rise and race across the cavern, avoiding the piles of dead bodies. The sound of their footfalls resounds loudly and they take stations inside the exit on the far side. Greg, the remaining Echo Team member, and I approach the motionless figures. Ruddy light cast by the fire faintly reflects off growing pools of blood that seep out from underneath the piles and gather in the low spots. We check each of the bodies for signs of life and find none, the stench of torn bowels and feces emanating strongly. I get the feeling that this place will be haunted for some time.

Finding the man who was orating, I stand over him. His mouth is open as if frozen with his last shouted word, his eyes glazed and reflecting the firelight. A thick line of blood streams from one nostril, joining a trickle that runs from the edge of his mouth. He doesn’t look like a crazed man; passing him on the street, I wouldn’t have given him a second thought. However, behind the blood-spattered face lies a brain that manufactured the horror I witnessed at the crosses. I nudge him with my boot, as if that will bring the answer of ‘why.’ As I stare down at him, I wonder what thoughts went through his tormented mind that would allow him to think sacrificing people to the night runners in such a fashion was an okay thing to do.

What demons possessed this man to do such things?
I think, hearing the crackle of the nearby fire.
And why should such a man like this live through the downfall when so many good people didn’t?

Those are not answers I’ll ever know, nor do I think I really want to. It’s just life and we muddle through it the best we can.

“What would possess men to do horrible things like that?” Greg asks quietly, as if reading my mind.

I was so concentrated on the dead man at my feet that I didn’t notice Greg’s approach.

“These aren’t men,” I reply.

A moment of quiet ensues as we both stare downward.

“The captives are free but they aren’t responding much. There’s no way they can walk out of here,” Greg comments, breaking the silence. “On a brighter note, they’re fairly emaciated so it won’t be too difficult to carry them.”

“Well, we better get topside then,” I say, glancing at my watch.

Calling the men posted on the far side, three of the team members hoist the prisoners onto their shoulders. We exit the cavern, leaving the dead to slowly cool by the dying fire, soon to be left in a darkness matching their souls. I stop to pick up my mirror and stash it back in my pocket.

I call out to the soldier we left by the entrance, letting him know we’re on our way out. Upon reaching the intersection, I have everyone wait by the main entrance door. Heading down the tunnel we came through, I find the dead guards and rifle through their pockets, coming up with a few miscellaneous tokens and a set of keys. Returning, I unlock the door.

“We won’t be able to carry the ones we rescued down the wall and up the rope. We’ll head topside here and call the Stryker over. Those carrying the captives will remain in the rear and we’ll clear a path,” I state.

On the other side of the door, steps cut into stone head upward. Cautiously and quietly, I begin climbing, my M-4 held ready. With guards posted in the cave behind, I doubt they’d have anyone upstairs, but complacency kills. We can be erased from this world at any time from a moment of carelessness. I don’t care to become a statistic that will never be counted.

As I approach the top of the stairs, I glance at my watch again, assuring myself that there should still be some daylight outside. If there were night runners in the building itself, they would have been hammering at the doors. Again, though, I proceed as if there are. Opening up, I don’t sense any of them around, but I haven’t come to rely totally on that ability. I pause and listen, hearing nothing but the heavier breathing of those laden with the captives.

Opening the door at the top a notch, I see daylight radiating into the interior. Any fear of encountering night runners vanishes. Snaking my mirror through the door, I don’t see anything beyond besides a well-lit foyer.

“It appears clear,” I whisper, opening the door and sliding through.

It’s not far to the front doors and we travel through with haste, keeping eyes out in all directions. Outside, pickups of all flavors sit quietly in the parking lot, their shadows long in the late afternoon sun. With the day waning, anyone who might have been out scavenging will be returning. Of course, I’m hoping we caught the lot of them in the caves. I’d hate to have to come back. We may have taken them all, considering the time of day. According to what I remember of Greg’s story, they gathered together in the late afternoon to take their prisoners down to sacrifice them.

“Gonzalez, we’re at the parking lot entrance to the facility. Bring the Stryker over and pick us up,” I radio, giving instructions. “We don’t have any casualties, but there are three non-mobile people we rescued. Have IV bags ready to go.”

“We’re on our way, sir. We’ll be there in ten,” she replies.

“Copy that.”

I call to the one we left where entered, telling him to work his way to the front. Leaving the people we are carrying just inside the door, the rest of Greg’s team forms a perimeter. Glancing over to the adjacent ridge, I see a line of dust rising from the other side of the crest. Gonzalez is sparing nothing to get here quickly. The time for a stealthy approach is over; it’s time to get the fuck out of here.

True to her word, I hear the whine of the Stryker climbing the road to the cave facility only a few minutes later. The armored vehicle appears suddenly due to the steepness of the climb. It turns around and backs up to us, keeping a watch down the road. The rear ramp drops, hitting the pavement with a metallic clang. Gonzalez steps out as Echo Team picks up the rescued prisoners, carrying them inside to give them the little medical attention we can provide.

“You look like shit, sir,” Gonzalez says as she steps in front of me. “It looks like an interesting story.”

I look down and see grit covering the front of my vest, pants, and gloves from sand that has glued itself to me after crawling through the blood. Wiping to clear some of the mess, I feel the stiffness of the cloth.

“Better?” I ask.

“Yeah, um, sure,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “It seems that I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

I’ll take the rolling of the eyes. At least she seems to have given up on a daily barrage of “hooah.” Looking toward the mountains, the sun is just disappearing behind them. Night is still a little ways off, but dusk will hit us shortly.

“Let’s mount up and get the fuck out of here,” I say.

Stepping into the Stryker, I see the people we rescued lying on the bench seats, still not entirely conscious. Their eyes are open, but there doesn’t seem to be much life in them. From the looks of them, I’m not completely sure that they are even registering their environment. Soldiers kneel next to them, attempting to insert IVs. Gonzalez, with a little medic training, taught everyone how to do that in one of our nightly sessions.

“How are they?” I ask.

One of the team members looks up and shrugs before turning back to his patient.

“Let’s get back to the aircraft as directly as we can. We don’t have a lot of daylight left,” I say.

With the ramp closed, the Stryker lurches forward, driving down the road and turning onto the highway. As we approach the crosses, I turn to Greg.

“So, do you think we should destroy them or leave them as a memorial to those who were taken?”

“There’s no question in my mind. They’re evil, built by evil men. They should be destroyed,” Greg vehemently responds.

“Don’t hold back now. Just let your feelings out,” I say, stepping away from the commander’s position.

Greg moves in and centers the reticle. Soon, the .50 cal fires, staccato bursts filling the area. Heavy caliber rounds tear into the large timbers, sending splinters and dust flying. One cross after another is chopped apart, crashing to the gravel lining the side of the road. As the last one falls, the gun silences. The night runners have had their last meal here.

We pull up to the aircraft and load the Stryker as dusk takes a firm hold. The glow of the sunset vanished long ago and the sky is only a few shades lighter than the silhouettes of the mountains themselves. I radio Harold for a weather update and am told that, although there is another front approaching the Washington and Oregon coastlines, the skies are clear for our flight back home. It seems strange calling him, as it seems like I could step outside and hit the bunker with a rock. Being so close, it feels like I should head over for a visit – kind of like a relative coming to town and not dropping by.

I taxi out and lift off into the rapidly fading light. Looking to the side as we climb out, the caves where twenty or so dead men lie underground is hidden in shadow. I can’t imagine what archaeologists will think if they run across the caves thousands of years from now – assuming that happens. Leveling off at altitude, I call Cabela’s, getting Lynn on the line to let her know that we’re on our way back and that we’re bringing three people with us who are in need of medical attention.

“We’ll see you when you get here, Jack,” she acknowledges, “and I’ll have the doc ready.” I stare at the radio, having expected a much different reaction…questions…something.

With the moon not having risen, the land below is deeply shadowed. Where once the lights of cities glowed from within a sea of black, now there is only darkness. Overhead, stars glitter brightly. Even though I smell like I crawled out of a sewer, I’m again struck by a measure of peace. It’s easy to feel that way flying through a clear, nighttime sky. I look over at Robert. His face is dimly lit by the instrument lighting as he stares outside. Bri’s face is mostly hidden under her helmet, reading a book to pass the time.

“Where’d you get the book?” I ask.

Keeping place with her finger, she folds the book and looks over. “Bannerman has been collecting a few so I thought I’d keep one with me. It’s better than staring at nothing for hours at a time.”

She resumes reading. She’s absolutely right. Flying distances is mostly boring, with a few moments of sheer terror thrown in for fun. With the complete darkness below and a clear sky, there isn’t any way to discern that we’re actually moving. For all intents and purposes, we’re suspended in a vacuum. The only indication that we’re actually traveling is the countdown on the
nav
systems mileage readout. I try not to stare at it for too long, as it’s like watching the clock at work on a Friday afternoon.

I periodically check on the people we brought out of the cave. They have IVs hooked up and look marginally better. Their eyes aren’t as vacant and they’re able to track people moving through the cargo compartment. Gonzalez informs me that two of them have even spoken.

“They didn’t say much, but talking is a good sign. I let them know who we are and that we’re helping them. At the moment, I would say they’re stable, but traumatized.”

As we near home, the moon rises large in the sky behind us. The only way I know is because the snow on the eastern slopes of Mount Rainier suddenly begins to glow. At first, it takes on a dim orangish tinge, which transforms into a silver shimmer. We started our descent several miles back, but we can’t descend too low until we are nearly past the mountain chain. Then, I chop the power and we drop rapidly, swinging to the north in order to land into the wind. The southerly wind indicates that the front Harold noted is closing in. I hand the controls over to Robert, and with our gear and flaps down, we fly low over the main compound. Guard towers flash past, the inner wall zipping by underneath. He sets it down without trouble and we taxi in, catching a ride to Cabela’s.

Lynn greets us at the door. Her eyes travel over my vest and down the length of my body.

“That doesn’t look like a scouting mission to me,” she states.

“They didn’t appreciate us being there,” I reply.

“I guessed that you went in as soon as you said you were bringing others. As a matter of fact, I knew you’d go in the moment you signed off the radio two days ago.” She turns and stomps off.

“Sir, I was going to suggest you change before we landed,” Gonzalez says.

“And you didn’t?” I ask, incredulous.

Gonzalez shrugs. “I thought you’d figure it on out on your own.”

“You should know better than to assume something like that,” I respond.

“Well, I do know. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that.”

“If you like it so much, perhaps you can take my place next time,” I offer.

“Thank you for the offer, sir. But it just wouldn’t be the same.”

Shaking my head, I head off to take a shower and get away from these clothes. Not just take them off, but to actually get away from them. I swear they almost break when I peel them off. After scrubbing the grime off and having a bite to eat, I feel relaxed and I lie down with Lynn next to me.

“Jack, that’s the last time you get to go out alone. And I’m being serious. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I know what you’re going to say, but you aren’t superman, even if you think you are, and your luck will hold out only for so long. Please, I’m asking; no, I’m begging you. No more,” she says.

I reach over and put my arm around her, holding her tight.

“Okay, I promise. And I’m sorry. I guess that is a little selfish of me. I say it’s for the kids and you, but it really is about the whole camp. That’s not fair to you or the kids. So, although I can’t promise that I won’t go out, I can promise not to leave you here again. Wherever I go, you go. And I’ll do my best not to do stupid things. Of course, you know, that won’t be easy. I seem to have a knack for it,” I reply.

“You don’t do stupid things. I mean, yes, you do, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how they always seem to work. But, thank you.”

We lay in silence, holding each other close. Lynn nestled in my arm, pressed up against me. My other arm is behind my head as I stare at the ceiling, my heart pounding as thoughts come and go.

“Lynn, are you asleep?” I ask.

“No, I’m just thinking,” she answers.

“Will you marry me?”

She sharply pulls her head away. I turn to look at her. She’s staring at me with a shocked expression, mouth agape.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. We have a preacher in the compound,” I reply.

Tears well in her eyes and she snuggles closer, burrowing her head on my chest and hugging me tightly. “Yes, Jack, I will.”

“You’ve just made me a very happy man. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She nestles closer and I feel her body lightly shake, her tears wet on my chest. Hugging each other tightly, we fall asleep, my dreams untroubled for the first time in months.

In the morning, I speak with the preacher and find that he’s only too happy to perform a ceremony. Lynn and I aren’t looking for anything extravagant, so we set up something simple for the next morning. Heading into the control room, I radio Harold.

“Good morning, Jack. As requested, I had a satellite take a look at Pearl Harbor. We picked up the radio signal and pinpointed its location. The signal itself is definitely automated. Looking at the building, it seems to be coming from a military installation, but I can’t identify the purpose of the facility. If the previous owners here had a list of military installations, I can’t find them. But, to be honest, I haven’t looked all that hard. If you want me to, I can research that further,” Harold briefs.

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Anything I can pass along regarding the imagery? Did you find any sign of survivors?” I ask.

“I didn’t observe any heat signatures coming from within the building, but that in itself doesn’t mean much. They could be deeper within…or underground. The video we took of the surrounding area didn’t reveal any movement or sign of survivors during the day. At night, there are plenty of night runners in the area. I didn’t see any entering or leaving the specific building, but I’ve marked several buildings where they appear to be lairing. The packs I observed are similar in makeup to the ones north of you, although not in the same numbers. Having said that, however, the small amount of footage I have reveals thousands in the area. I’ll send the images and video to you,” Harold says.

“That’s not necessary. There’s not much I can really do with it. Is there a way to send it to Leonard?”

“Sure, just have him contact me and I’ll see that it’s done.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I also finished conducting an update on the marked camps. You’ve already been in contact with a lot of them, but I wanted to get the files current. I found signs, heat signatures, and camps of several others that weren’t annotated. They’re mostly individuals or very small groups comprising just a few people. More than likely, the previous residents found them, but decided they weren’t worth the effort to log. However, I’ve marked their last locations and will forward the information,” Harold states.

Heading upstairs, I check in on those we rescued. Upon entering the cubicle, three sets of eyes turn in my direction from where they are lying in beds. IV lines run from their arms and they’ve been cleaned up. The doc looks back over his shoulder from where he’s taking a set of vitals. Removing a stethoscope from his ears, he turns.

“How are they doing, doc?”

“They’ll recover in time. They just need rest and food to regain their strength. If they had remained in their condition for a couple more days, it would be a different story,” he answers.

“That’s good news,” I comment, turning to leave.

“Sir,” I hear a hoarse whisper.

Looking over my shoulder, I lock eyes with a woman covered in a sheet. She swallows hard before continuing. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am.”

With so much to do, we meet during the day rather than waiting until the evening. I begin by giving everyone the news about Lynn and me, which brings rounds of smiles and congratulations.

“It’s about time,” Greg grumbles, sticking out his hand.

“Okay, let’s get down to business,” I say, accepting the handshakes and well-wishes.

I begin by detailing our excursion into the caves, continuing with our trip up north and the meeting with Vince.

“Essentially, we’re trading fuel in exchange for supplies. The details need to be worked out, but that’s basically it. During the summer, we’ll all meet a train at some location that has yet to be determined. I figure we can initially hit the distribution centers in the non-radiated parts of the country, as we have the ability to fly. The other camps can gather grain and cattle to deliver for an allotment of fuel. As it’s past the growing season, the first year will be with supplies gathered from DCs. In the future, the other camps will have to set up their own distribution and show up at the rendezvous point with their own tanker trucks. Bannerman, can you set up a group to coordinate this?” I ask.

“I can do that. I would suggest, however, that we make subsequent supply runs in late fall. That will give the others a chance to reap harvests and deliver fresh supplies without having to store them for months at a time,” Bannerman answers.

“Good point. Have whomever you select work those details out with Vince and the camps. For this coming year, the earlier we can do it, the better, as our supply of fuel will fail by summer. This brings me to another point. The committee established up north won’t do anything until we deliver a load of supplies as an act of faith,” I state.

“We have been gathering supplies since you radioed and have enough to fill the 130,” Bannerman comments. “According to Harold and the radar, we should have clear weather the day after tomorrow. If we’re just delivering and dropping off supplies, we only need one day to get there and back.”

“Okay, radio them and let them know. I’ll ask Craig and Roger to take the flight, along with two teams to provide an escort, if that won’t leave us too shy,” I respond.

“We should be okay in that regard for a day,” Lynn states, looking over to Bannerman, who nods. “I’m curious why you aren’t taking the flight, though.”

“We’re heading somewhere else. It’s not exactly a honeymoon, though. Harold sent us some information about small bands of survivors. There’s one down in northern California that we can track down. I figure that we’d take that on,” I say. “We’ll take a Black and Red Teams, along with a Stryker. Greg, you’ll be in charge while we’re gone. It should only be a day trip.”

Lynn gives me a smile at the news.

“About the rendezvous for the supplies, it should be centralized for all of the camps, have good access to rail lines, and be close to both fuel and supply storage. That kind of limits us. Do you have any place in mind?” Bannerman asks.

“I haven’t really had much of a chance to think about that, but Fort Carson wouldn’t be a bad choice. They have access to a vast network of rail systems, and storage for both fuel and supplies. It’s the closest that comes to mind south of Fort McMurray,” I reply.

“I’ll take a look at it,” Bannerman nods.

A moment of silence ensues.

“Well, I guess it’s my turn, then,” Frank says, setting a laptop on the table. “Now, before I show you a little video, I want everyone to keep in mind that we’ve only had three days or so to monitor our neighbors up north. With that said, from what I’ve seen so far, the night runners aren’t moving. By that, I mean their overall direction. They seem content to stay where they are for the moment. When their food supply runs low, one of two things will happen: Their numbers will decrease to achieve some sort of stabilization, or they will move to other hunting grounds. Some may remain behind, but my guess is that the hunting will not support their current numbers.”