Awakening

An Answer is Found

We continue our climb with the high clouds drawing closer the higher we go. I notice the images and sense of the night runners, which I’ve placed in their own mental compartment, dissipate and vanish altogether as we gain altitude and distance. Mount Rainier slides by our wing and we fly above the brown fields of central and eastern Washington. The Columbia River comes into view soon after. We draw even closer to the clouds and it is apparent we won’t be able to reach our planned altitude of flight level 200 — 20,000 feet.

“Robert, level off here,” I say as we approach 17,000 feet. “I want to keep a visual reference with the ground.”

“Okay, Dad,” he says into the intercom.

I plugged into the navigator station with the longer crew chief cord so I can walk around and be close to Robert just in case. He has handled himself well but if something happens, I want to be close. He levels off and powers back to a normal cruise flight setting. I get Bri’s attention and nod to McCafferty. She gets my meaning and slides out of her seat allowing McCafferty to take over the flight engineer duties. We begin broadcasting on both the UHF and VHF emergency frequencies and plan to do so every half hour.

The clouds vanish as we head across the northeastern part of Oregon and Robert climbs to our originally planned altitude. The forested hills of the Blue Mountains slide quickly past and before long we see Boise off our nose. I check the inertial nav with ground references. It’s right on which alleviates that stress to a certain extent. The sky is clear as the city slides just off the left side. There isn’t a smoke line drifting skyward from the city. Although we are at altitude, there doesn’t appear there is any movement either. The crisscross pattern of streets lies empty.

There is one exception. A mess of rubble lies close to the center of town blocking the streets. We pass over the empty city knowing that when night comes, the streets will be full of activity. It’s as if the city is holding its breath during the day and is itself fearful of the night setting. All cities seem to have this aspect. The age of mankind as we knew it is just a memory; held in the walls and streets of mankind’s structure.

Mountain Home tells pretty much the same story. A few spirals of smoke from still-smoldering fires drift lazily above the base located there. There is more rubble in a parking lot where it looks like the BX or some other larger building is. Military aircraft of all types sit on the silent ramps. Each town we fly over gives off a feeling of loneliness but perhaps that is ourselves missing the world we once knew. Not much is said as we pass over the brown plains of Idaho.

I notice a movement from McCafferty next to me as she reaches up to switch tanks. My heart almost stops in my chest as I realize what she is doing and, in the moments as my hand races towards hers, I’m hoping I will be in time. Both of her hands are reaching for the fuel switch panel, one on each side. She is attempting to switch the tanks on both sides at once. That’s not the issue though. She is about to do it in the wrong sequence. I’m not sure why I looked but I’m grateful I did. I manage to grab her hand before she turns the switch closest to me and hope it will stop her from switching the other. As my hand grabs hers, she stops all movement. Or perhaps it was me yelling “No” in the intercom. All eyes turn quickly to me startled as if expecting the plane to come apart at any moment.

“You have to switch the pumps on, open the valves on the tank you’re switching to first, and then close the valve to the tank you’re feeding from,” I say after my heart starts beating again with a mighty pound in my chest. “If you do it the other way, there will be no fuel flowing to the engines and that’s a less than optimal situation. Plus, do one side at a time.”

“Okay, sir. Sorry,” McCafferty says and proceeds to do it in the correct sequence.

Bri looks from me, to the panel, and back with a look of chagrin on her face. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should have been watching,” Bri says.

“No worries. No harm, no foul,” I respond. “But keep a watch next time. I’m not all that interested in exploring the glide characteristics of this beast.”

“I will, Dad,” Bri says. I nod, both as acknowledgement and assurance that all is good.

We weren’t far from getting a closer look at the streets of Twin Falls. We would have been able to restart the engines without too much difficulty but having all of your engines quit has to rank up there with having your head sewn to a carpet. It’s just the idea of flying along without the propellers turning for that length of time that raises the pucker factor by a degree or two. However, we didn’t so it’s easily forgotten. Well, maybe not as I know that my eyes will now track to the panel each time we switch tanks.

I cover various emergencies with Robert and Craig. The mountains of the Continental Divide enter our field of view along with Salt Lake City a short time later. Small plumes of smoke are still rising from the city but they are brownish in nature indicting yet more smoldering fires. There aren’t many and they aren’t large. We pass the large city and enter the tan of the desert proper after crossing over a small range of mountains. We are over half way through the flight and I begin to see the tops of building cumulus clouds to the southeast directly in our line of flight. That doesn’t bode well, I think wrapping up another emergency procedure. McCafferty makes way for Gonzalez at the flight engineer station.

I point out the rising clouds in the distance; their tops and sides reflecting white from the sun. Lower down, they turn into an ugly boiling mess of dark blue-gray and black as more of the line of building thunderstorms becomes visible. Although I can’t see his knuckles, I do notice Robert’s grip on the steering column grow tighter.

“Are we going through those?” He asks. “Or around?”

“I’d rather not and I don’t think we’ll be able to go around,” I answer watching the squall line build quickly to the northeast directly across our flight path. “They look like they are sitting right over Clovis.”

“What should we do then?” He asks.

“I don’t know. You’re the pilot in command. You tell me,” I answer.

“We should divert then,” he says. It comes out as both a statement and a question.

“Whatever you say,” I reply.

“That would be my choice,” Craig chimes in. I can tell he is holding off saying anything letting Robert arrive at his own conclusion and recognizes my wanting Robert to learn to take command.

Robert holds up the map he has sitting on the console. He looks up and compares the map with what he sees outside. After a moment he says, “It looks like Kirtland AFB is still in the clear. We’ll land there.” There was no question with that statement.

I hold back a nod or statement of correctness. I want him to analyze and choose an action without having my acknowledgement — own the decision and proceed with it — so that he can get used to making decisions and acting on them. He has gained a tremendous amount of confidence, as has Bri, and they will gain more.

The turbulence begins to increase as we draw closer to the towering line of clouds. They are still in the distance but their height is more than impressive. The thunderstorms in this area can reach 70,000 feet and beyond. If you haven’t seen these kinds of storms, you should add that to your bucket list. The power inherent within the boiling mass of clouds is impressive. The air and land below is cloaked in dark shadows with a light show streaking from the clouds to the ground.

Craig gathers the maps and approach charts to Kirtland AFB as the all arms and elbows show that a divert causes begins. Robert sets up and begins a descent to the city of Albuquerque. There is a continuing flurry of activity within the cockpit along with an increase in the bouncing of the aircraft. Robert looks at the map between checks to find the airport. I hold onto the back of his seat as the aircraft attempts to knock me off my feet at times. I can tell he is trying to locate the field with the way he is holding the map up in front of his face and looking outside.

“Ah, there it is,” I hear him say over the intercom. With that, he sets the map down.

“Craig, what runways are there?” Robert asks.

“We have 08/26, 17/35, 03/21, and 12/30,” Craig answers looking at the field diagram in the approach charts. I’m interested in finding out which one he chooses.

The long line of storms lies a few miles away. I’m surprised to see them so big this early on in the day but it does happen. Usually, squall lines like the one in front of us forms in the afternoons and evenings as the air from the heated ground rises and cools. The turbulence we are experiencing so far out shows an unstable air mass so that must have contributed to the early rising storms. I’m hoping we’ll be able to get down to Canon AFB in the morning. I glance over and notice tension around Gonzalez’ eyes. I’m not sure if it’s the flying, being nervous operating the panel, or if it’s because we are close to her home and family.

Robert hesitates a moment deciding which runway to use. We continue our descent. “Which one is that longest one?” He asks pointing outside.

“The longest one is 08/26,” Craig answers.

“Okay, we’ll use that one. We’ll use runway 08 as it is closer. I would use whichever one the wind dictates but we don’t have that information,” Robert says turning the aircraft to get into alignment with the runway.

“That’s a good choice,” I say deciding to interject my thoughts. “One, it is the longest and the ground level around here is over 5,000 feet high. You know what that means, right?”

“Longer ground roll and takeoff distances,” he answers.

“Yep, exactly. Plus, with the storms nearby, there is the chance one of those storms can have a downburst. That means strong winds can head this way in a hurry from them. I’d rather be heading into something like that rather than away when landing,” I add. I see the wheels turn quickly in his mind as he absorbs this information.

“Makes sense. We could stall out if it came behind us,” he says after a moment of contemplation.

I’m glad to see him able to work through these thoughts while setting up for a landing as well. It gives me more confidence about our return flight. I give him a pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got this handled,” I say glancing at the overhead panel to make sure Gonzalez, under Bri’s supervision, has them set up correctly. I still remember our near glider experience.

The gusty winds and turbulence make the final approach a tricky one with the threshold of the runway bouncing around in front of the nose, like a drunk trying to fit a key in the lock, but Robert manages to get us down. The turbulence continues into the flare, we rise and then set down a little abruptly but we are able walk away from it so it’s a good landing. We taxi in to where a couple of HC-130’s are parked and shut down. The wind continues to buffet the aircraft as strong gusts blow through the area. I’m not sure if the storms will venture this way during the day or evening but their presence is certainly felt.

We unbuckle and head into the back. There is the unmistakable odor of someone that didn’t enjoy the turbulence much. The 130 is notorious for shaking so I’m not surprised. I open the ramp and, after setting a schedule for the teams to guard the area, tell everyone they are free to loiter outside as long as they don’t venture far or alone. We find a shop vac in one of the open hangars and clean up the mess inside. We even find some of the aromatic “kitty litter” used for such messes. I’m not sure which is worse though, the original smell or the “aromatic” nature of the kitty litter.

The gusts continue to sweep through the area but other than the occasional deep rumble of the storms in the distance, no other sound is heard. Surely there must be other survivors, I think surveying the ramp. After all, we’ve found others in our area. Perhaps they’ll respond to the sound of our arrival.

Although it was relatively short flight, we are all thankful to be outside regardless of the blustery conditions. It’s warm and humid but it’s nice to be out of the aircraft. If the storms alter their direction and decide to pay us a visit, we’ll be confined back in the 130 and all of its “comforts.” Read facetious. MRE’s are opened and we take as much protection from the gusts as the leeward side of the aircraft will allow. The thin air of the high desert is keenly felt. After being at sea level for so long, I feel like I can’t catch my breath. The team on guard splits into teams of two and stations themselves, with binoculars, around the ramp. They should be able to give us some warning of anything untoward.

Sitting on the ramp, I notice just how gritty and covered with sand it is. The desert is slowly beginning to take back what was once its domain. I look across the ramp and notice a wide trail cut through the grit where we taxied in. It’s not something that will affect us greatly at this point but definitely something to keep in mind. We’ll have to conduct low passes at each field to verify its condition. I should have thought about that here but my attention was focused on both Robert and the near thunderstorms. Even sheltered against the wind, the gusts continue to blow bringing more sand with it. I even feel the grit of it in my mouth as I chew.

“Are we going to fuel up here?” Robert asks finishing his meal.

“I think we should be okay. The storms look like they may be building in this direction and I don’t want to be in the midst of fueling if they do. They can move rather quickly when they want,” I answer.

“Makes sense,” he says.

“Sir, we have company,” I hear Horace say over the radio. Blue Team is currently on guard. The call gets everyone’s attention and we stand quickly with weapons in hand; lunches half eaten fall to the ground.

“What do you have Horace?” I ask looking around the area.

“Three people near the end of the runway to the west. Two men and a woman. Armed but not bringing them to bear in any overt fashion. They are just standing and looking our way,” she reports.

I look in the direction reported and contemplate getting the Humvees out for additional fire support and mobility. There are only three reported but there could be others around. I don’t see anything but it is some distance away. I head into the aircraft to grab a pair of binoculars.

“Keep an eye out for others,” I radio the team as I grab the binoculars and head back outside.

I direct the other team members to cover around the other HC-130’s parked on the ramp. This is the only C-130 I see and we’ll need it to carry our Humvees. The move to different cover is to keep any rounds away from our transport in case gunfire is exchanged.

“Any change?” I ask Horace as we settle into our new positions.

“No, sir. They are just standing there watching us through a set of binoculars as well,” she replies.

“They can see you then?”

“I’m pretty sure they can, sir. At least they appear to be looking directly at us.”

“Okay, wave them in. Everyone stay alert and keep an eye on the entire perimeter,” I say.

A moment passes and I glass the area indicated by Horace. Adjusting the focus, three people come into view. It appears one of the men and the woman have hunting rifles with the other man carrying a shotgun. All have a sidearm strapped to their side. I see them talk to one another and begin heading in our direction. They cautiously approach with their weapons ready but not threatening.

As they draw closer, I head over to Horace’s position. Reaching where she and Bartel are hunkered behind a concrete barrier along the edge of the ramp, I see the three have stopped about 100 yards away. I rise and begin walking toward them telling everyone else to stay in position. With my approach, they continue nearing once again until we are standing about twenty yards away from each other. The men appear to be in their late twenties and have the appearance, with their stance and short haircuts, of being either in the military when everything happened or at least have prior service. The woman appears to be middle-aged with dark, curly hair cut to her shoulders. They are all a little disheveled with streaks of dirt covering their faces and stains ground into their jeans and shirts.

“We mean no ill will and as long as you have the same intentions, you’re welcome to join us for lunch and conversation if you’d like,” I call out. They look to each other. One of the men shrugs and they all shoulder their rifles and close in. I shoulder mine as well and have the teams stay on the alert but stand down.

“I’m Jack,” I say reaching my hand out as we come together.

“Thomas,” one of the men says accepting my shake.

“Jeremy,” the other says.

“Laurel,” the woman says with a hint of a Texan accent.

We walk back to the group which has reconvened in our sheltered spot on the lee side of the C-130. Our three newcomers are handed MRE’s which they dig into. They share the story of their meeting during a day scrounging for food and water. Thomas, Jeremy, and Laurel have been holing up in one of the gyms of a high school nearby and ventured our way after hearing our aircraft arrive. They mention seeing a small number of others from time to time but haven’t made contact with them. They heard our 130 fly over and thought perhaps it was a remnant of a military group left over from the calamity. The supplies in the area were getting more difficult to gather with their small group and it was only a matter of time before their place was finally overrun. So far, they had kept the beasts at bay during the night but were worn out from having to do so.

“We’re based up in the Northwest. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like,” I mention. I give a synopsis of our story and a rundown on our situation.

They look at each other and all shrug as if saying ‘why not.’ “If you don’t mind, I think we’ll take you up on that,” Thomas says. We share our stories. Sure enough, both Thomas and Jeremy were prior Army while Laurel was prior Navy and was on her way to purchase a horse when everything went down.

The early afternoon passes with the storms staying a short distance away. Their bases have become darker if that were even possible; looking like bruises. The gusts of wind carry the distinct smell of ozone giving me the indication that they could drift our way. Echo Team replaces Blue Team on watch. Soon after, the radio crackles to life once again.

“Jack, Greg, we have additional company. They just emerged from behind a hangar over by the tower. I count fifteen but that could be one or two off. They spotted us at the same time and went to cover,” Greg reports. “They’re currently by the tower with what appears to be automatic weapons pointed in our direction.”

That again gets our attention and we fan out finding whatever cover we can find. I immediately glass the area by the control tower and see people with muzzles pointing in our direction. The ones I see are in uniforms and, judging from the barrels sticking out from their cover, they do appear to be armed as Greg reported. There is about two hundred yards separating us.

No one makes a move in either direction. I am still cautious of our marauder experiences. I’m not sure where their caution is coming from but I certainly can understand it. We have three teams here with eighteen soldiers and they have fifteen or so. Depending on various factors, it can come out either way if steel starts being exchanged. We are definitely more in the open but the parked 130’s provided ample coverage. We don’t have many flanking options as we have to traverse the open part of the ramp. We could if we laid down covering fire and gained the upper hand. However, we could easily find ourselves stuck here if their rounds found vital parts of the aircraft around us. At least stuck as far as flying options go.

The standoff continues. I try yelling to the other group but my voice is carried away with the wind. At least I assume so as I get no response back; either vocally or from any movement on their side. I decide that we are not going to get anything resolved in this manner.

“I’m going out,” I say over the radio. “If I go down, Red and Blue Team, lay down a base of cover fire. Greg, you’ll be in charge. I suggest you take Echo across the ramp under the cover fire and flank them from the hangars.”

“Are you sure that’s the best of ideas to go out there? We could just do as you suggest,” Greg replies back.

“No, I’m not sure but I don’t see where we have a choice. There’s a good chance the aircraft will be disabled should we exchange fire,” I answer.

“Okay, Jack, best of luck to ya,” Greg says. I look to Gonzalez and Horace crouched nearby. They both nod their reply.

I hand my M-4 to Gonzalez and rise. Keeping my hands in the air, I walk onto the open ramp separating the two groups. I see some activity from the ones behind cover eventually observing an individual rise and walk in my direction. I take note that he isn’t carrying a weapon. The ACU-clad soldier and I meet close to the middle of our two groups with the wind whipping around us in gusts. The storms faintly rumble in the background. We drop our hands to our sides.

“I’m Jack Walker,” I say opening up the conversation.

“Sergeant Prescott,” the younger man replies. He appears to be in his early thirties with his sandy brown hair cut tight against his tanned head.

“We aren’t looking for trouble and if you’re thinking the same, what do you say we stand down?” I say.

“Are you part of a military unit?” He asks as his reply.

“Most of the folks with us were when this all went down. I’m prior Air Force,” I reply.

He nods. “Okay, I’m for standing down. We have some itchy trigger fingers behind me as I’m sure you have as well,” Prescott says finally answering me. We both speak into our radios telling our individual groups to stand down but standby.

“I take it you and your group are military?” I ask.

“Most of us,” he replies. “We have a few civilians we’ve met up with as well.”

“I don’t suppose you have any pilots with you?”

“No. I wish we did. We have a variety though; a couple of mechanics, medical orderlies, clerks, security personnel and such. Most are Air Force like you. I was with base security,” he answers.

“We have about the same except most are, or were, Army soldiers,” I say and give a rundown or our situation and setup.

We share stories. Prescott and his group have holed up in the tower for the past couple of months. They forage during the day and secure the tall concrete structure at night. The night runners tried desperately to get in at the beginning but have mostly left them alone in the past couple of weeks. Water has become scarcer as the summer progresses but they have been collecting rain water as the storms venture over their area.

“Well, it might be a little crowded in the 130 at the moment but you’re welcome to join us if you feel so inclined,” I say as our stories draw to a close.

“I’d have to talk it over with the others. We’re pretty secure here and the water situation will clarify itself,” Prescott answers.

“Okay. We’re staying here tonight and leaving early in the morning. We can drop by here on our way back if you’d like to talk to the others about it. We’d be happy to have you but I get staying in a place you are familiar with and that feels secure,” I respond.

“That sounds good to me. It’ll give us time to analyze our choices. Just a warning, the night runners, as you call them, prowl around the base at night,” Prescott says.

“We should be pretty secure in the 130. We’ve spent many a night with the pounding and shrieking outside. It’s not the best situation sleep-wise but I doubt they can get in unless they’ve figured out how to manipulate intricate doors. If we don’t talk to you before we leave, we’ll see you in a few days, weather permitting.”

“Sounds good, Jack. Good luck to you. By the way, what did you do in the military?” He asks. I give him a brief synopsis of my military career. I note concern creep into his eyes as I talk.

“I guess that should be a ‘sir’ then,” he says as I finish.

“Nah, Jack works. See ya in a few days.” With that, we turn and head back to our respective groups.

Prescott rejoins his group and they head into the tower. I let our teams know it’s all good and we break out of our cover. The wind whips a little stronger bringing a sharp chill. The first large drops of rain begin to fall as the storms expand and head our way. We gather in the aircraft and button it up. The flashes of lightning and subsequent rumbles grow closer and louder. The angry looking clouds swallow up the sun and the day grows dark. I have Robert start the 130 and taxi us closer to the hangar. I don’t think New Mexico has a lot of tornadoes but my experience in Texas with these storms makes me a little cautious. If we do spot one, we’ll dart into the hangar. If one does come at night, like I’ve seen them do on occasion, well, I just hope it doesn’t sweep over us. If that happens we’re pretty screwed. It will, however, keep the ramp clear of night runners.

The interior is lit up at close intervals as the storms draw overhead; the brilliant flashes of intense white light fill the inside. The cracks of thunder follow at close intervals with their sound fading off in rumbles. The sky opens up and heavy rain beats against the skin of the aircraft. The din inside makes it hard to hear anything else. We just settle in where we can and wait it out.

With the storms hammering outside and turning day into night, it’s hard to actually tell when night comes. The only way I know, besides it actually getting darker outside, is the stirring of pictures/voices in my head. I pack them down to where they are a remote and almost ignorable buzz. However, the increased signals denote the time of the night runners is about to begin. I’m not sure how the storms will affect their normal activity but I’m interested in finding out. I don’t feel them moving about a whole lot as I can only sense the ones close. The range of sensing becomes limited the more I keep the ability in the back of my head.

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 clouds, 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.

Gonzalez’ head is on a swivel looking around her home town. Tension is very apparent around her eyes. She points to the left off the main street and we enter a residential district. Another turn and we find ourselves on a narrow street partially covered with sand blown in from the outlying fields. The houses lining the street are in need of fresh coats of paint. The yards are bare of any vegetation with the occasional house having a chain link fence encircling it. Cars line the streets, are parked in driveways, and in open air garages. Toys and bits of junk are scattered in the bare front yards. Several screen doors swing open and closed as the blasts of air blow through. One screen door hangs only by its bottom hinge. It won’t be long before a flurry of wind tears it off and carries it to join the other debris in the yard.

“Bring it up a little and stay alert,” I say to Horace.

Our engines and the banging screens are the only sounds in the neighborhood. We drive slowly up the crowded street. Looking closer at the houses, I see that some have their doors fully open or slightly ajar. That’s not a good sign, I think associating any open door with night runners.

“That’s it right there,” Gonzalez says pointing to a rundown house with peeling white paint. My heart tightens noticing it’s one of the houses with its door ajar.

I pull up front and park the Humvee at an angle blocking the street but still able to drive away quickly if we need. I see Horace park in the same manner behind us. We stay in the running vehicles a moment longer to see if we’ve drawn any attention. Nothing but screens slamming against walls or door frames. The brown fields in the far distance, beyond where the street ends, blur and sharpen as heat thermals rise from the ground and are blown away.

I shut the Humvee down and step outside. The heat and humidity become more intense as the day warms. Looking skyward, the billowing clouds continue their slow build. It looks like there will definitely be thunderstorms in the area by mid-afternoon. The wind feels good as it occasionally sweeps through, wicking the quickly accumulating beads of sweat away, but begins to die down meaning the heat will increase and lend its energy to the overhead cumulus clouds. The slamming of vehicle doors behind me brings my attention back to the teams emerging into the sandy street. With the guns manned, the remaining team members gather around me.

“Horace, I want Blue Team outside in a perimeter. Make sure both guns are manned. Red Team will go inside and search,” I say.

“You got it, sir,” she replies. She orders her team into covered positions directing two onto the top guns.

“Gonzalez, this is your show. You know the house,” I say.

“Okay, sir,” she responds and describes the interior of the house.

“Everyone stay alert but watch itchy trigger fingers. Remember, there might be Gonzalez’ parents and sister inside. Make sure of your targets before you fire. We’ll call out once inside. One last thing, the door is ajar and I don’t have to tell you what that possibly means. I’m sorry to have to mention that,” I say patting Gonzalez on the shoulder, “but we have to keep ourselves safe and alive.”

“I understand, sir,” Gonzalez says with a sigh and an increased tightness in her eyes.

We arrange our gear and grab NVG’s from the Humvee before heading up the concrete steps leading to the front porch. The overhanging eave shelters us to a degree from the sun. The clouds, although building, haven’t blocked the sunlight that is creating a furnace. Standing before the slightly open door, I feel a tickle in my mind.

I open a touch and the tickle becomes a series of confused images. Not that the images are confusing but that the source appears confused. With Henderson and Denton on each side of the door and McCafferty behind her, Gonzalez reaches for the door handle. Forcing the tickle into the depths of my mind once again, I reach out to Gonzalez’ shoulders. She turns.

“There’s at least one night runner inside,” I say feeling bad for what that may mean. What I don’t tell her is that I think I’ve woken it, or them.

Settling into the passenger seat of the Humvee, Gonzalez feels the apprehension of what they are about to do. She is very anxious about what she will find but holds a sliver of hope that her parents and sister are still alive. The nervousness makes her want to turn around and head back. It might be better if she doesn’t know and she can keep the image that they are okay a reality. The smells bring back memories of her time growing up in the area along with the feel of the heat and humidity. It brings the comfort of being home.

They journey along the remembered fields and vast openness of the area. The green circles of the watered crops are no longer a part of the landscape but replaced by an endless brown. The highway she travelled many times in the past rolls by. Her stomach clinches as the welcome sign and the first houses of Clovis come into view. She feels like time and the surroundings are passing in an out-of-control fashion. On one hand, she wants it to slow down so she can assimilate it. On the other, she wants this to be done one way or the other. The unknown and what she may find is eating her up. Their coming into the city and nearing her parents’ house feels like an onrushing freight train and she isn’t able to get out of the way.

She directs Jack off the main street and onto a connecting road, turning onto her street shortly thereafter. Looking at the long, sand strewn street that ends near one of the fields surrounding Clovis brings back memories of her childhood days; some good and others bad. These streets hold a lot of stories, she thinks as they progress slowly along them. The houses and yards in front of them haven’t changed much. It still represents an area without much money; rife with gangs and drugs where some try to live out their existence as peacefully as the streets will allow.

She looks to one the neighbor houses noticing tape across a front window. She remembers the time when gunfire interrupted the night, as it did at times, and a stray round found its way through that window. The police and ambulances arrived a short time later, although it always seemed like they took longer responding to her neighborhood. She gets why now as they wouldn’t want to barrel into her neighborhood without plenty of backup, especially after an exchange of gunfire.

Exiting the Humvee, her old neighborhood presses in on her yet there is a feeling of elation as well. If it wasn’t for the life and death reason they are here, she might feel like the returning conqueror. Gonzalez turns to her parents’ house. The rundown condition is counter to her father’s determined effort to make the best home possible for her and her sister. She knows how much her brother running off with the gangs weighed on him and her mother.

“I understand, sir,” Gonzalez says with a sigh, feeling tension gather in her gut at the implication of Jack’s words.

She checks her gear with the others but her eyes never leave the house for long. Each moment outside without someone emerging lessens the odds of her parents and sister being here. She knows her dad would have come out when the Humvees arrived. With the rest of Red Team behind her, she climbs the all-too-familiar steps to the porch. The weather-beaten boards creak beneath her boots. The sound of the rotting wood, moaning with the weight, reminds her of her dad and his intention to replace the porch. Each time he would finally get around to it, other bills or something else would erode the money he saved. The memory adds to her sadness as she now feels this search may be for naught. They have some time to look around the city and she holds onto the small hope that they are safe somewhere nearby. First though, she knows she has to enter the home of her childhood.

Standing by the door, she puts the NVG’s on her head and checks her M-4. Checking for a round in the chamber, she moves the selector switch to ‘Auto’ and reaches for the door handle. She pulls up short as she feels Jack’s hand on her shoulder and turns to see what he wants.

“There’s at least one night runner inside,” he says.

Gonzalez is confused about how he would know that but sees sorrow in Jack’s eyes as he relays the news. She knows open doors may indeed signal night runners but his statement is one of assuredness. A memory flashes in her head of the time they were in Madigan. Jack commented that the night runners knew they were in there and were coming. She hadn’t heard them herself but he said it with the same assuredness.

“How do you know that, sir?” Gonzalez asks.

“You’re just going to have to take my word on it. I know we have to go inside but keep on your toes,” Jack answers.

“Okay, sir,” she says.

A light dawns in her head. Not the bright light of an “aha” moment but a click of understanding. Something happened to Jack when he was in that coma. She should have seen it before. Other memories surface of seeing him look oddly to the front door during their meals or at a building as if he perceived something the others couldn’t. Maybe he did. He can sense them, she thinks looking at him a moment longer. It’s almost too much to deal with right now. With an answer about her family, or potentially one, right in front of her and now to have this realization. The freight train continues speeding down the track and she is standing right in its path.

She turns back to the door. Jack has stepped back and McCafferty stands at her shoulder with her M-4 at the ready. Henderson and Denton are ready to the side. Through the turmoil of emotions, a sense of pride shines through. She is part of a great team. The anxiety, frustration and disbelief she felt at Jack’s words changes. Gonzalez realizes he said those things, not because he was being cold-hearted but just the opposite, he cares about them and only wants to see them safe. She knew this even as he spoke but her anxiety only allowed so much in.

She reaches again for the door handle and, with a nod to the others, pushes the door open and rushes in with her carbine up and ready covering the immediate front. She senses more than hears McCafferty right on her heels as she covers the right. Gonzalez pushes further into the room with her eye tracking the small red crosshair as it traverses the room in her parallax view. Milliseconds later, a swish of clothing announces the arrival of Henderson and Denton. The open living room is clear of any movement and the lack of anything inside gives rise to a small doubt of Jack’s “knowledge.” Doubt gives rise to hope although a limited one as no one came outside to meet them when they pulled up.

She stops and goes to one knee and looks around the familiar room. McCafferty parks herself just off her right shoulder. Henderson and Denton are covering the right with Jack just inside the front door covering the entire room. The curtains covering the front window are pulled down on one side angling across the window. The open door and partially open window provides a dim light to the interior. Against the far wall sits the couch that was part of her life for so long; the cushions indented in the middle from the many times they sat as a family in front of the old console TV. Her dad’s green chair sits in the corner; the fabric on the arms thinned to the point where they’ve lost all color and has stuffing showing through.

The dining room opening is in front of her with the kitchen opening to left of the rickety table and chairs. Several plates lie on the table and the dim light catches a sparkle of silverware on the floor. Ahead and to her left is the hallway leading to the bathroom and back bedrooms. The house feels empty with the exception of memories. Gonzalez motions to Henderson and Denton pointing to the dining room. They both slide their NVG’s down and creep forward covering each other and the opening.

Gonzalez covers the hallway entrance with McCafferty. The chill Gonzalez feels is more than from the cool interior of the house. This is what she wanted but now, being here, she is not so sure she really wants an answer. She pulls her own NVG’s down over her eyes and turns to see Jack take station on his knees in the middle of the living room covering all approaches. She notices he doesn’t have his NVG’s down but is covering the rooms as if he can see everything in detail. Another click of understanding settles in her already overwhelmed mind. She takes a deep breath and settles into the moment. This is only another mission, she thinks looking to McCafferty. With a nod, they both rise and approach the hallway.

Settling down on the near corner, with McCafferty across the opening, Gonzalez looks down the darkened hall. All of the doors leading to the bedrooms and bathroom are open. The green glow of her goggles picks out a little light showing in the bedrooms from sunlight filtering in through the windows. The bathroom, two doors down the hall to the right, remains dark. If there is a night runner or two in here as Jack said, they would be in the bathroom, she thinks taking her first step into the hall with McCafferty right behind her. The silence is complete within the house. The shuffling of Henderson and Denton stationing themselves by the back door has stopped. She can’t even hear her own breathing or the pounding of her heart in her chest. The house itself seems to be holding its breath. I hate this, Gonzalez thinks taking another step.

The narrow hall is only wide enough for one person at a time. A very slight rustle coming from the bathroom brings her up short. It was subtle but it sounded like something shifting inside. Her heart rate quickens further threatening to pound right out of her chest. Gonzalez pauses waiting for another noise. Nothing else emits from the bathroom. It could be the house making noise as it warms up, she thinks. She lifts her foot to take another step.

The eruption of noise and movement startles her. Her heart bounds as adrenals kick into their highest gear flooding her system. It’s an explosion of noise from the bathroom. A shriek fills the narrow hall. Where, only a moment ago, the house seemed to be holding its breath, there is now an unearthly howl that shakes the walls and her very soul. The scream is accompanied by a burst of movement. Fast as lightning, a shape emerges from the bathroom entrance. Gonzalez shifts her red dot to the doorway. A night runner runs into her field of vision. Entering the hallway just a few feet away, it becomes wholly visible and turns with astonishing speed toward her. The face of her dad glows bright in her goggles. The shock is truly too much. She freezes.

The sound next to her ear threatens to stop her heart; the muted coughing like someone slapped her softly open-handed in the ear. Strobe-like flashes bounce off the walls and light the hall. Time slows. She watches in horror as the first round strikes her dad just below the left eye causing a splash of blood to erupt and spatter the wall. The round tears into the flesh, hits the cheek bone and continues into the sinus cavity. Slowed by the thick bone but its force not depleted, the bullet rips past the bone structure and into the soft tissue of the brain. Taking large amounts of gray matter and severing hundreds of blood vessels, it slams into the interior skull and imbeds itself.

The second round hits fractions of a second later above the left eye. The hard bone flattens the steel core bullet immediately with the forceful impact and it angles to the right. The force of the impact creates a small initial hole but, now flattened, the remains of the bullet crashes into the skull just above the left ear. It opens a large hole spraying blood and the gory remains of the brain against the wall with a loud slapping sound. The third round misses impacting the wall next to the back bedroom door.

The night runner’s head, her dad’s head, is flung backward. The upper shoulders follow, then the upper body. Its feet fly high into the air barely missing Gonzalez’ chin. The body then slams onto the hall floor with a thud. The house returns to silence once again. Gonzalez pans her carbine to the bathroom and other doors expecting another night runner to emerge and fearing who that might be. Her actions are by rote as her mind is still frozen by what she just witnessed. Her heart is sick with pain and her stomach threatens to spill the contents of her meager breakfast.

Nothing emerges. Gonzalez looks down at the body lying on the thread-bare carpet. Tears well in her eyes; her vision becoming a blurry green. The dreams her dad had for her and her sister lies unmoving on the floor, slowly seeping into the carpet. Her dream of better things for her parents fades with the last echoes of the muted gunshots in the narrow hallway in the middle of a rundown neighborhood. With her vision blurred by tears, she walks over and kneels by her dad. Cradling her M-4 in one hand, she reaches out to touch her dad’s cooling shoulder.

“Oh, dear papa,” she says in a shaky voice. The tightness in her heart threatens to spill into uncontrolled sobbing. A tear leaves her eye and make its way down her cheek under the NVG’s. She feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up to see McCafferty standing over her.

“I’m so sorry,” McCafferty says. What was held back now spills out into deep, wracking sobs.

I kneel in the middle of the living room. It would be dimly lit given normal conditions but things are far from “normal.” With the goggles perched on my head but not lowered, I can see well. The furniture and framed pictures on the wall show up in fine detail. It’s not the green glow that I’m used to in darkened areas but more in shadings of gray with a hint of color attached to them. There is no difference between what I can see “normally” and what shows up when I slide the goggles down except for the overall shading.

I watch as Henderson and Denton head off to the back of the house under Gonzalez’ direction. Gonzalez and McCafferty rise and edge to the hall entrance. I want to open up and reach out to ascertain where the night runner is and what it is thinking but I don’t dare. If I do, it will know exactly where I am or at least I assume it will. With Gonzalez and McCafferty in the enclosed hallway, it could be on them in moments flat. I’m pretty sure I pinpointed it to inside the house with the momentary glimpse but now I’m as blind as the rest of us. What use is having this? I think watching the two women enter the hallway and disappear from sight. I’d rather I didn’t because I feel like any choice I make in this situation might be the wrong one.

A shriek shatters the silence which rebounds around the small house to the point that it feels like it’s actually inside of me. The hallway is lit with flashes of light and I hear a suppressed burst of gunfire followed by a loud thump. I’m on my feet in an instant rushing toward the hall.

“Henderson, Denton, maintain position,” I say looking down the corridor.

I see Gonzalez kneeling by a body on the floor with her hand on its shoulder. I barely make out her whisper, “Oh, dear, papa.” McCafferty has her hand on Gonzalez’ shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” I hear her say.

I hear the sound of approaching vehicles outside just before Horace comes on the radio, “Sir, we have company and lots of it coming this way.”

“Make sure everyone is in covering positions. Keep the guns manned. I’ll be right out. Henderson, Denton, you’re with me outside,” I radio seeing that the situation inside has stabilized to a certain degree.

“On the way, sir,” Henderson replies. I hear their boots on the kitchen floor as they make their way back to the living room.

“Will do, sir,” Horace answers.

I reach over and tell McCafferty, “Stay with her. Make sure she’s okay.” McCafferty turns and nods.

I head out to the porch with Henderson and Denton. Standing on the edge, I look west and see two convertible cars parked door to door blocking the street entirely and surrounded by a multitude of people. Three men are standing in front of the cars holding weapons in one hand with the barrels resting on their shoulders; their other hands shielding their eyes. A glint flashes from the windshields of the cars from the sunlight. At least we have the advantage of the sun, I think. It’s hard to tell from this distance but the men all appear to be darker skinned. I’m not sure if it’s because they are deeply tanned or Hispanic. The others in the large group have taken cover and are aiming weapons in our general vicinity.

I walk to the rear of the angled Humvee where Horace has taken cover. The heat of the day has increased to a marked degree despite our only having been inside a short time. It takes my eyes time to adjust from the dark interior to the brightness outside. An intersection sits between our two groups and I can see a little ways down the cross streets that have intersecting alleyways. Several people take positions at the corners of houses near the alleys in flanking positions.

“Henderson, Denton, grab the 110’s and take cover. I want the flankers taken out on my call,” I say.

“Hooah, sir,” they respond. The hatch of the Humvee swings open and they retrieve their snipers before heading to opposite sides of the street to take positions.

I tap Horace on the shoulder, “If they have flankers, they’ll have others circling around behind us. Make sure the other Humvee gun covers our rear.” Horace quickly trots over to the other angled Humvee, talks a moment with the soldier on top, and returns. Sure enough, I hear the sound of vehicles moving along side streets to our right heading past us.

“McCafferty, Jack here,” I say.

“Go ahead, sir,” I hear her reply.

“I hate to do this but we have a situation here and I need you two to cover the back. Stay inside but make sure no one gets the drop on us from the side,” I say.

“Roger that, sir.”

Two cars pull onto the road and park behind us a block and a half away obstructing the road in that direction. A small number of people get out and take cover around the vehicles. Although concerned because our covering positions are more exposed to this new threat, I’m not overly worried. They have chosen positions close to the vehicles and they’ve obviously never seen what an M-240 can do — I make a mental note to bring a. 50 cal Humvee as well next time. If this does come down to an exchange, they’ll be running for their lives in short order. It’s the ones I don’t see that concern me. They obviously know how to flank. They also have the advantage of numbers and better knowledge of the area. I think about pulling Gonzalez out with me so I can use her knowledge but she just lost her father, at least I’m assuming from what I saw that it was her father on the ground.

The Humvees parked at angles across the street create a small alcove of protection in front of Gonzalez’ house. I walk into our circle of cover to the Humvee, open the door, and turn the radio on.

“Greg, this is Jack, over,” I say pressing the mic. Yeah, I would use call signs but seriously, who else is on this freq named Greg and Jack.

A moment passes. “Jack, this is Greg, go ahead,” he responds.

“We have a bit of a situation here. We’re surrounded by a large group of about thirty. Their intentions are unknown at this time. Find a vehicle and being your team in,” I say giving directions.

“Do you want everyone? Robert? Bri?” Greg asks.

I think about it for a moment. Bringing Echo Team in would leave Robert and Bri alone with three armed people we just met. As uncomfortable as I am with bringing them in, I’m even more uncomfortable leaving them with folks I’ve known for less than a day.

“Yeah, bring everyone,” I answer. “Come up from the west side. That way we’ll have the larger group encircled.”

“We’ll be on the way shortly, Jack. Call you when we’re close on the tac freq,” Greg says.

“Copy that. I wouldn’t be overly upset if you hurried,” I say.

“We’ll do that. Greg, out,” he says ending the call with a burst of static.

I walk back to Horace who is peering around the corner of the Humvee. Looking down the street, I see nothing much has changed. The three men are obviously having a discussion. We’ve had this standoff for a little bit and I am surprised words haven’t been exchanged as yet. At least it hasn’t been an exchange of steel greetings.

“Greg will be on his way with Echo Team shortly. We’ll need to stall this until he gets here,” I say.

I wait a several moments sizing up the situation more. “So, let’s see what we have here,” I finally say stepping from the cover of the vehicle.

With my M-4 cradled in my arms, I walk a few feet from the Humvee and stand in the middle of the road. I feel the heat rising from the sand-covered pavement. The clouds continue to billow above covering more of the sky. Sand has been piled up along the curbs on one side of the street. One of the men brings his gun off his shoulder, cradles it, and steps out in front of his group. His white, sleeveless T-shirt contrasts with his dark brown skin.

“You’re not welcome here, Gringo,” the man calls out. That pretty much settles the heritage question.

“We’re just looking for a family member. We look and then we’ll be out of here,” I respond.

“Ain’t nothin’ but one of those things in there,” he shouts.

“Not anymore,” I reply.

“Then you can leave but we’ll be taking your vehicles,” he yells back.

“Yeah, ya know, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I respond.

I hear him and the other two men laugh. “Then you won’t be leaving but we’ll still be taking the vehicles and everything else,” he replies still laughing.

I look to the sky and then back at him. “I suppose it’s as good a day to die as any other. I hope you feel the same way,” I say bringing an instant end to his laughter. “I strongly suggest you pull back.”

“You don’t scare me,” he growls loudly. “This is my turf.”

“It wasn’t my intention to scare you, just merely making a suggestion,” I say replying and hoping the fuck Greg is close. This has the potential of getting ugly really quick. Of course I’m not helping the situation but any sign of weakness might cause them to strike. By acting the tough guy like he is and doing it calmly is making him think twice about attacking us. It’s like we know something he doesn’t. I’m sure the M-240, multiple M-4’s and two sniper rifles pointed his direction helps.

“McCafferty, anything your way?” I ask.

“Nothing here, sir,” she answers.

“It’s about to escalate out here and we need the both of you out front,” I say.

“On our way,” she says.

“Jack, Greg here. We’re closing in on your position,” I hear over the radio.

I feel my tension ease a touch with his call which really couldn’t have come at a better time.

“Greg, park a distance away so you’re not heard and make your way on foot from the west. You’ll see the group once you get on the road. Advance and set up covering positions to their rear. Leave the civilians with the vehicles,” I say.

“What about Robert and Bri?” Greg asks. Again, that leaving them with strangers thing but this is different. There is a real chance of bullets filling the air around us.

“Leave them with the vehicles as well,” I answer.

“Copy that, Jack.” I glimpse Echo Team in the distance past the group. They advance up the opposite sides of the street and deploy. I feel a little better about our chances to walk away from this. Still, I’d rather not get into an exchange. There are just too many variables when steel starts filling the air; ricochets, the lucky shot, the rounds marked “To Whom It May Concern.” With my being out in the open and exposed, I’m sure there are quite a few weapons trained on me. Even though it’s warm and humid out, I’m still not all that interested in becoming ventilated.

“Rosa?” I hear a young female voice call from the group behind the men in front. “Roooooosa!”

All eyes turn toward the voice and the crowd steps to the side as a girl in her mid-teens steps out in front.

“Isabella?” I hear Gonzalez call out questioning.

Gonzalez streaks by me heading down the street holding her M-4 by her side. The young girl takes off running in our direction. This new situation has captured the attention of everyone on both sides. Time stand still as the two meet at the intersection. Gonzalez goes to her knees and the two meet in an embrace. I see Gonzalez look up at the opposing group.

“Miguel? Is that you?” Gonzalez calls out.

“Rosa?” The man calls out questioning.

“Shit, Miguel, what the fuck are you doing? Put your damned gun away,” Gonzalez says.

The man turns to the group and calls out something in what I assume to be Spanish. Guns are lowered. “Stand down but keep alert,” I say into the radio.

I walk to where Gonzalez has risen with her arm around the young girl. “Rosa, huh?” I ask.

“Yes, sir, and this is Isabella, my sister,” Gonzalez answers with a single tear marking her face.

Isabella looks to be about Bri’s age. The other man reaches our position still eyeing me with suspicion which I gladly return. After all, we came very close to having a firefight and the adrenaline has not entirely dissipated.

“Sir, this is Miguel, one of my brother’s friends,” Gonzalez says. My immediate thought is that Miguel is a gang member with Gonzalez having shared a very brief history of her family. She must have observed that written on my face. “Miguel is not part of the gangs that used to roam here. He actually tried to keep the streets safe. At least he used to,” she adds looking poignantly at Miguel.

We both tentatively reach our hands out to shake. “Jack,” I say as our hands maintain a firm grip. Yeah, there’s still a little bit of a pissing contest going on. “What do you say we at least stand our people down before something stupid happens?”

“I still don’t trust you but because Rosa is here with you, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Miguel says.

“Well, I’m not about to hand you the other half of a BFF necklace either,” I respond.

Miguel chuckles and turns to shout something to his group. I call and tell the others to truly stand down and for Greg to bring the vehicles up. Miguel sees Echo Team emerge into the streets behind his group and turns to look at me sharply. I merely shrug.

“Where’s Mama?” I hear Gonzalez ask Isabella.

“She’s back where we’re staying,” Isabella answers. I see Gonzalez sweep Isabella up in another hug.

Red Team gathers around Gonzalez and her sister offering condolences. I walk over to McCafferty and lead her away from the group.

“Take Red Team and see to Gonzalez’ father in whatever manner she wants,” I say.

“Will do, sir,” McCafferty replies.

“Let the rest of us know when you’re ready so we can all give him a decent send off,” I say looking up at the clouds billowing higher. Their bottoms have become dark and are about to vanquish the sun. We don’t have much longer before they turn ugly.

“And make it as quick as you can. I want to be back at the base before the storms hit,” I continue pointing at the storms gathering overhead. McCafferty nods and heads back to the team. Gonzalez tells Isabella to remain and they head into the house. I turn back to Miguel.

“Look, why don’t we throw all of this macho bullshit aside and chat some?” I say.

“I was just trying to protect my people, man. It hasn’t been easy for us here. There have been gangs, marauders, and those things around. Supplies are running low as well,” he replies.

“As was I. I totally get it. How many in your group?”

“We have forty-three in all,” Miguel answers.

“Look, it’ll be cramped but you and your group are welcome to join us,” I say and describe our layout, our plan to head down to Lubbock in the morning, head to Albuquerque to possibly pick up another group, and head home.

“I’ll talk it over with the others,” he responds when I finish and he heads back to the parked cars.

The wind picks up again whipping against our clothing as we lay Gonzalez’ father to rest in the back yard. The grit picked up by the winds peppers our bare skin. Gonzalez and Isabella say their last goodbyes before the ceremony breaks up and we meander back to the vehicles. Miguel informs me that they would like to come along with us as there is nothing here for them. He lets me know it’s a temporary thing based on how his people are treated. I tell him everyone is treated equally and that he’s free to go at any time. I also let him know that we won’t be able to fly them back here as our times of being able to fly anywhere is drawing quickly to a close. Deteriorating fuel conditions will see to that. With that, we proceed back to the base with Miguel agreeing to meet us the following morning.

Back at the base, Robert pulls me aside. “Dad, why did you have Bri and I stay behind with the vehicles?” He asks.

“Because you were the only two who could fly the aircraft out if something happened,” I answer knowing that’s not totally the real reason but it’s the one I decide to give.

“I’m raising the bullshit flag on that one,” he says.

“Okay, look, I’m torn. It’s something you’ll understand when you’re a dad. There’s the balance of keeping you safe, letting you learn, and allowing you to be grown up. I don’t always make the right decisions and am torn each time I am confronted with it. You, Bri, and Lynn are the only reasons I keep pushing on. If something were to happen to you, I’d be lost,” I say.

“I get that, Dad, but I’m as old as some of the soldiers you let go,” Robert replies.

“Yeah, but they are not my son, or daughter for that matter. Look, you’re going to have to trust me on this one. If you’re with me, and I mean right next to me, then I feel better for some reason,” I respond.

“Dad, I have to learn and you have to learn to let go some. I get it with Bri, she’s only fifteen but I’m not,” Robert says.

“Okay, I get that. It’s just not easy. So here’s the deal, whenever I head out with Red Team, you can go with me. There will be times when that’s not true but I’ll try to make that happen. I know I said that earlier but losing Nic was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through and I don’t want to ever experience that again. It hasn’t left me for a moment and it won’t,” I say.

“I know, Dad. I think about her every day,” Robert says.

“Okay, I promise to try and keep the protective nature in check. We good?” I ask.

“Yeah, Dad, we’re good,” he answers.

We gather to discuss our next steps. “We’ll fuel up the Humvees and drive down to Lubbock in the morning to search for McCafferty’s family,” I say. “It’s only about 100 miles away so it should only take us two to three hours each way depending on how clear the roads are and what we run into. That will give us about three hours to search giving us a little leeway on time should anything happen. We need to be back before dark for obvious reasons. I think we’ll take all three teams considering what we ran into today.”

“So you’re planning to leave the aircraft and our supplies unguarded?” Greg asks.

“I really don’t see any other way. We could fly down to Lubbock but this weather creates an unknown,” I answer.

“Do you trust this Miguel guy?” Horace asks looking at Gonzalez.

“I haven’t seen him in a long time. He is a little rough around the edges but I think he means well, so, yes, I trust him,” Gonzalez answers.

“Good enough for me,” Horace says to which we all nod.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to take the aircraft and we can always resupply,” I add.

“What about refueling the aircraft?” Robert asks.

I look up to the darkening sky. “Let’s do that on our return or the next day. These storms look like they could start giving us a light show any time. I’d rather we weren’t in the midst of refueling with JP-4 with lightning flashing around us. That’s a recipe for creating an entirely new crater in New Mexico.”

“Gotcha,” Robert responds.

“So, refuel the Humvees in the morning, head to Lubbock, return to refuel the 130’s then or the next morning, leave for Albuquerque the day after, and head home. We’ll be flying the 130 and an AC-130 back. We’ll need to visit the armory here and load the AC-130 up with ammo at some point. Any questions?” I ask. Everyone shakes their heads and we break up.

“Robert, take Bri and Echo Team and see if you can locate an AC-130 that’s fueled. See if you can find the maintenance books as well and bring them back. I’d hate to try and leave in an aircraft that’s been grounded for maintenance. That kind of thing makes for a very short flight and a structural integrity check at the end,” I say.

“Structural integrity check?” He asks.

“Yeah. It’s a check to see if the aircraft remains intact when it collides with the ground at a high rate of speed,” I answer.

“Yeah, let’s avoid that,” Robert says and they depart across the ramp.

Blue Team is stationed at intervals on the ramp with the Humvees. I look over to see Gonzalez sitting alone on the ramp; the wind, as it blows by, whips her short, dark hair. She is staring into the distance with her arms wrapped around her knees. I would have expected Isabella to be glued to her but I don’t see her little sister anywhere.

“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.