Conspiracy

Show and Tell

Walking back into the building, with the gray day fading to a darker shade signaling the coming of night, I notice more than a few women are beginning to show signs of being pregnant. Times of stress will bring people together. Seeing them, I’m reminded of the night runner female we encountered earlier in the day. The fact that she was pregnant brings a fear to the forefront — the night runners can breed. If the women in our group are any indication and the night runners are breeding in a similar manner, with their greater numbers, they will exponentially grow in relationship to us.

It’s been an emotionally-charged day and it’s hard to believe, with all that happened, that it’s still the same day. The day is ending on a sad note and, even though none of us are wanting to, we still need to meet. There is so much to discuss, and putting it off isn’t going to help.

Although there is a pall over the group, I can’t describe how good it is to see Lynn sitting amongst us once again. She is thinner, and there are definite circles of tiredness around her eyes, but she retains some energy. It’s likely due to her relief at being freed from the night runners. I can’t imagine the ordeal she must have gone through. I haven’t asked her about her experiences, but I’m sure she’ll share them later. It’s her story to tell when she feels ready to tell it and not for me to pull it out of her.

Although everyone gave Lynn warm welcomes on our return, they mention again how nice it is to have her back.

“It’s been a long day, so let’s keep this brief,” I say. I detail the events within the hospital and the capture of the shooter.

“Lynn, I hate to bring up your ordeal, but do you have any idea why you were singled out and taken?” Frank asks.

“I haven’t a clue,” she answers.

“You didn’t receive any indication?” he continues.

“I really don’t know anything. I was kept in a closed room with night runners for guards, if you can fathom that, but I couldn’t gather any reason why.”

“I have to say I find it rather disconcerting that night runners can speak, let alone have the cognizance to station guards, but what about those last words you mentioned the female night runner saying?” Bannerman asks, directing the question at me.

“I wish I knew. This is as baffling to me as anyone else. The directed attack into our compound only to grab Lynn and depart doesn’t make any sense. If the night runners exhibited normal human behaviors, I would say that the female night runner was psychotic. I would venture that there was some sort of obsession going on…you know, the crazy, psycho, rabbit in the pot kind of crazy. It could be that she was psychotic in her previous life and that stayed with her when she turned. Perhaps the night runners carry over some degree of whatever mental characteristics they had and it manifests in odd ways. Either way, I’m not sure this is an answer we’ll ever know. I’m not even sure there is a lesson to be learned from it regarding the night runners,” I reply.

“The scary thing, aside from them being able plan something like that, is the pregnancy. Are you sure she was pregnant?” Frank asks.

“As sure as I can be. It could be something else, and it was a little sporty in there, but she certainly looked pregnant to me,” I respond.

“She was,” Lynn adds.

“So, we have to believe that the night runners can breed. That doesn’t bode well. If their rate of pregnancy is the same as ours, I don’t have to mention what that means,” Frank states.

“I’m afraid that may be the case. Of course, with any animal, they’ll only be able to maintain their population based on their available food source,” I say.

“That may be true, but at what point will that become a problem for them?” Bannerman asks, rhetorically.

The unstated question left sitting on the table is whether we’ll be around to find out. We are already vastly outnumbered, and the night runner population growth will only increase the threat to our survival. They can afford great losses and still sustain themselves; whereas we can scarce afford to lose anyone. If the math from the CDC reports is accurate, there could be more than thirty thousand night runners in the area compared to our meager near three hundred. The silence in the group says that everyone is doing the math and coming up with frightening answers. The mood drops even lower.

“Okay…well…we’ll just have to keep on with what we’re doing. We’ve made it this far and we’ll continue to do so. Where are we with our local projects?” I ask.

“Well, we’re ready to start with the housing. We’ll gather materials tomorrow and begin construction. Oh, and one of the people you brought back is a diesel mechanic, so we may be in luck with our ability to switch over to bio-fuels,” Bannerman replies.

“Good deal. And speaking of the people we brought back, one of the groups initiated a day where they had a BBQ. Although I think we can scarcely afford to take any time off, we need to implement something like that,” I state.

“I think that’s a good idea. It will give everyone an opportunity to relax. Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t had more meltdowns considering the pace we’ve been maintaining. I don’t think we can keep up this way and not suffer…you know, drive us into the ground,” Frank states.

“Can we afford to?” I ask.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Frank replies.

“What about the prisoner?” Drescoll asks, breaking his silence.

“I’m going to go see him after we finish here. I know I said that we’ll wait for a while, but we need info soon. He is definitely a pro, and the military vehicles we encountered earlier today shows that we may be up against something that we aren’t prepared to handle. We need information…and sooner rather than later,” I answer.

“Why do you think they attacked?” Robert asks.

“I have no idea, but that’s something I hope to remedy soon,” I respond.

“What about Greg?” Lynn asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t like the fact that he’s out there on his own with only one team, especially considering what happened today. Look, it’s been a long, emotional day, so let’s call it a night and meet again tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll have some answers by then and can plan accordingly.”

With more questions than answers, we all rise and make our way to our individual cubicles. I tell Lynn I’ll be back soon and head to where our prisoner is being held. Walking through the interior, I feel that a heavy oppression that has settled. These are trying times at best and the upsurge in optimism that I hoped for by bringing Lynn back into our fold was overridden by the loss of McCafferty. One step forward and another back. As it’s a human tendency to dwell on the negative more than the positive, the step back was larger than the one forward.

Images flash through her mind as she strides down the corridor. Gav watched events unfold in the control room and pictures from the satellite video feed are firmly imprinted in her head. Her jaw alternately clenches and relaxes as her mind plays the video over and over like an unending reel. Her hand grips the video disk tightly, almost to the point of snapping it. The tightening of her muscles is due to her stress and frustration.

Her shooter was given live satellite information — which was more than she ever received in the field — but it proved worthless in the end as it only resulted in a miss. In slow motion, the shot plays over and over in her head. Their target, Jack Walker, bending down at the exact wrong moment, the shot passing over his head. They had one chance at this and they blew it. Part of her frustration is that she knows that if she were there, the results would have been different — she never misses. Gav clenches her jaw, knowing she should have been the one to go, but her position here denied her that option. The team she sent was a good one, and she can’t fathom why the shooter decided to go it alone. There should have been two shooters with two spotters to make sure the target was down. Her frustration is echoed by the sharp clicks of her heels on the hard floor.

In her room, she slides the disk into the player to look at the video again; although it won’t alter the outcome no matter how many times she watches it. The video plays through to the end, showing the capture of her shooter, the destruction of the hospital, and the shelling of the rest of the team. The camp’s quick reaction shows what she is up against. She played her card and now her group’s anonymity may be in jeopardy. The capture of the shooter makes that a real possibility. He’s a tough one, but everyone has their breaking point. She knows this from her years of intelligence experience. She also knows they won’t get another opportunity like the one they had. It’s imperative that she do something to eliminate what may now be a larger threat.

Thoughts slide through her mind as she stares blankly at the monitor. They could make contact and attempt to join forces, denounce the shooter and his team and ones who went rogue, but the timing of it would be circumspect. No, that isn’t an option anymore. That one shot made the two encampments enemies. Minutes slide by as she works through options. A glimmer of an idea surfaces and she reaches for the phone to dial the control room.

“Yes, Nahmer. What can I do for you?” the supervisor asks, picking up on the first ring.

“Do we have the naval communication codes?” Gav asks.

“We do. They are older codes as the download of the latest naval databases never completed but they could still be validated.”

“Have the codes ready. Find that sub and inform me the moment they surface,” Gav states, hanging up before receiving a response. She is already focused on other parts of a plan forming in her mind.

Lynn doesn’t know exactly how she feels as she watches Jack head down the stairs. It’s been an unreal day. The adrenaline rush and relief of being freed from captivity…followed by the death of McCafferty. She was already exhausted, but the extreme ups and downs have drained her even more so. She feels like she can sleep for a week. As she stares blankly at Jack’s retreating back, she feels her mind shutting down.

Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, she trudges toward her room with no other thought than to fold into a coma-like sleep. Sinking wearily onto her cot, Lynn begins to untie her boots when she hears a rap at the entrance.

“Come in,” she says, sliding off one of her boots.

Drescoll enters and Lynn takes in his puffy red eyes and tightly drawn face. He seems ill at ease and absent-mindedly rubs his ear in a nervous fashion.

“What’s up?” she asks, knowing her long-time friend needs someone to talk with.

She had expected this visit and wanted to talk with him earlier but knew he would come to her when the time was right for him. Having lost loved ones as well, she knows the confusion, anger, and the feeling of being lost that he must be going through.

Drescoll hesitates in a nervous fashion. “Look, I know you’ve been through some shit and don’t need to hear me whining.”

“Sit your ass down,” Lynn says, pulling off her remaining boot.

“I just…just don’t know what to do. I feel so lost. I just don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he says, his eyes taking on a far off stare — his mind both present and away at the same time.

“I know it’s hard, and I wish there was something I could say that would take the pain away. All I can really say is that I have an inkling of what you are going through, and the best we can do is take it minute by minute. The pain may not pass entirely, but it becomes endurable. You have to push on… believing that things will get better. Time may not heal completely, but it does make the loss more bearable.”

“I get that, but that is only if you have something to live for… something that you care about. What’s to live for, Lynn? Everything I cared about has been taken away.”

“I know it seems that way right now, but not everything has been taken away. You still have people who care about you and who rely on you. And, this may sound cliché, but both you and I know that Allie would want you to carry on. Keep your memories precious by not giving up.”

“I know all of that, but it really doesn’t matter to me right now. This is a shitty-ass world. Allie made it worth living in. I just don’t have it in me to do it anymore,” Drescoll says, staring at his feet.

“You had something to live for before you two started, so I know there’s something there. There’s your team and our continued survival. The one thing that worked for me was to immerse myself in the training and keep myself busy. Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going. I would like to say it was Jack or something else like that, but in all honesty, that kind of healing can only come from inside. You find something else that you care about or that you have to do, whether you truly believe in it or not, and you keep at it. For me, I realized that there are others who need me on a day-to-day basis and that sustained me. Your team and the others in this camp need you, whether you realize it or not, they do. Let that sustain you. If you give up, then the other side won, whether that is the night runners or those who attacked us,” Lynn states.

Drescoll remains silent, staring at the ground.

“I know you’re in a tremendous amount of pain and feeling lost. No words that I say are going to make that go away. Your actions and time will. It seems like a dark tunnel now with no light in sight, but if you continue to march along, that light will appear and life will regain meaning. You’ll just have to trust me on that. And know that people look up to you and care about you…a lot.”

“I appreciate that and know in my mind that what you say is true. But that has so little meaning for me, and just seems so…well…superficial,” Drescoll mumbles.

“I know it does. You’re going to feel sorrow and anger, sometimes within minutes of each other. Each day will get better, though. We’ve been through a lot of shit, and will probably go through more of it, but we’ve also come a long ways.”

“At what cost? I just don’t feel that it’s worth it anymore.”

“The personal cost has been high for a lot of us. But what choice do we really have but to carry on for those we’ve lost? There is really only one real option, and that is to survive at any cost. When that anger comes, and it will, turn that against those who want to hurt us and toward making this a better place. If we win, they lose and vice versa. For the moment, let the doc give you something to sleep or you’re going to lie in agony and the thoughts that come aren’t going to help…only make it worse. Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

“No, that’s okay. You’ve been through a lot already and I’m sorry to burden you more.” Drescoll turns to leave.

“Bull-fucking–shit. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. I’m always here for you and always will be…as are the others. You’re a part of us and we’re a part of you. What happens to you happens to us. Now, come on, let’s go see the doc,” Lynn says, slipping her boots back on.

“Thanks.”

Leaving the group, I make my way down into the storage room where we have the prisoner locked up. The container has been set just inside the loading docks with two guards posted next to the metal doors. Several buckets, most still full of water, sit close by. They have instructions to keep the shooter awake by dousing him with water every hour. Sleep deprivation is one of the most useful tools when trying to extract information. Many can withstand torture to an extent, but sleep deprivation makes everything seem worse.

The guards open the doors at my request. Inside, an arc light has been set up to make our prisoner’s stay all the more enjoyable. He is on his knees with his arms chained above him and seems little worse for wear. His uniform is still soaked from water that was thrown on him earlier. He looks up at my entrance through tired red eyes. His muscles tense with resolve at my arrival. Yeah, this guy is no amateur.

“I hope you are enjoying our hospitality. We’re striving to make your stay a pleasant one. We may not have all of the amenities, but we do go all out for our guests,” I say, squatting in front of him.

The silence he maintains is expected.

“Like I said earlier, we both know how this game is played and how it ends. Knowing that, the only consideration is how much do you want to endure before that happens? The answer to that is entirely up to you. You have the option to save yourself a lot by telling me what I want to know,” I state.

Silence. I shrug nonchalantly.

“Alright, have it your way. It matters little to me. I’m not the one chained up and have nothing to lose whichever way you choose. Oh, but in other news, we have captured some of your team. Some of them… well… didn’t make it. My sincere apologies, mate. I know how it is to lose people, so I truly do mean that. They just didn’t want to play nice and come along quietly.” I watch him closely.

This triggers a reaction with a tightening of his eyes and lips. He glares, searching for the truth in my words.

“Well, what can I say? We’re just better.” I shrug.

“Whatevs,” he says, finally speaking.

“I have nothing to gain by lying to you. You understand this and therefore know that what I’m saying is the truth.”

“I don’t believe you. If that’s true, produce one of them,” he says.

Getting him to speak is the first step. It really doesn’t matter what it is as long as he says something. It opens a blockage, and once words are spoken, more are likely to follow. It’s getting him to become comfortable with speaking. And he did slip. ‘Whatevs’ is an Australian slang term for whatever. So, I’m guessing he may have been Australian SAS. I won’t let on that I suspect this as he’ll realize that he slipped and clamp down again. It’s a game, and I’m a little rusty. I again revealed some of his buttons though — anger and a competitive streak…pride. Of course, who in this game isn’t competitive?

“Mate, you know I can’t do that. That’s not part of the game and we have to play by the rules, right? You want to play by different rules, then you come up with something to tell me. I like it, and then you get something in return. I get something, and then you get something. You know how this is played,” I reply.

He looks on with a hint of confusion. It’s obvious he’s rummy from lack of sleep and not really able to keep up.

“Here, I tell you what, I’ll go outside the boundaries of the fun time we’re having and show you something first. Let’s relax and watch a movie together. I’m afraid I’m fresh out of popcorn, but we can enjoy it nonetheless.” I open the laptop I brought and power it up.

The screen goes through the boot up process and I start up the recorded video from the Spooky. The house and nearby barn are on the screen. A momentary tic on his face makes it obvious that he knows the location.

“I thought you might recognize this place. We found it during one of our afternoon jaunts.”

With his arms hanging above him, he looks from the screen to me.

“No, keep watching or you’ll miss the fun part.”

Suddenly, the doors of the barn burst open and a Humvee emerges, racing for a nearby tree line. Another vehicle follows shortly after. The internal radio calls asking for permission to engage and the okay comes from the small laptop speakers. The target reticule centers over and then ahead of the speeding vehicle in front. Clouds of dust erupt around the Humvee. I stop the video here and turn the screen away to fast forward to the second vehicle as it comes under fire. I fast forward to a place where the barn is centered in the screen. I don’t want to show him where we gunned down his team running from the vehicles.

A flash appears on the screen where the barn was. Smoke, with flames embedded deep within its dark mass, boils upward from the hit. One minute we’re watching the barn, then you hear the words ‘round out’ and the building vanishes under an immense, mushrooming cloud. Debris scatters outward. As the smoke surges toward the camera, pieces of the barn begin falling to the ground. The screen shifts to the house in time to see the second round hit it. I press stop with pieces of the house still hitting the ground.

“That’s really something, huh? So, I know you know the house and barn. You know your team was there. You saw them making a run for it and you know I’m not fucking around. Now, take heart. We had a team go in shortly afterward and some of your team survived. We are caring for them as we speak. They’re not really up for a cup of tea with you at the moment. However, they are a little chatty. So, you see, your use to me is fading. Unless you actually have something to offer, and soon, you’ll just be taking up space, time, and resources that I don’t want to spare. I’ll leave you to ponder that for a while,” I say, turning to leave. “We’ll chat later, mate. Until then, enjoy our comforts.”

He says nothing more as I leave but hangs his head in an attempt to get some rest. I know his mind will run through what he watched and wonder about his fate. I imagine he will begin bargaining with himself to tell me something if he believes his teammates are talking. Pride and training will argue one side, but his exhaustion will argue the other side. We can’t afford to wait long since we are at a distinct disadvantage. Whoever is behind this obviously knows us, whereas we know nothing about them other than they appear to be well organized and equipped.

“Make sure he doesn’t get any rest,” I tell the guards as I depart.

Walking from the warehouse, I see Harold standing near one of the tables set up in the middle of the first floor. He catches my eye and begins making his way toward me. I am tired and not close to being in the mood to listen to his ravings, but I figured he would approach me at some point. To be honest, he hasn’t spoken of his conspiracy theories since we picked him up from Mountain Home, for which I’m thankful. We have enough going on without becoming paranoid about everything. Of course, with what happened today, I must admit I’m a little more willing to hear what he has to say. The moment he starts sounding too far out there, I’ll be done and go to bed. After all, Lynn is back and I really haven’t had any time with her.

“I know you have a lot going on, and it didn’t seem like the right time earlier, but can we talk?” he asks.

“Sure, what’s up?” I say, wanting to keep this as short as possible.

We meander over to one of the tables and sit.

“I don’t rightly know how to start this and you may think I’m crazy, but hear me out. Remember back at Mountain Home when I said, ‘wait and they’ll find you’?” Harold begins.

“Yeah, I remember that. What exactly do you mean?”

“Okay, I don’t have the details, but the story is that someone took a shot at you. So, I’m going to take a guess and say that you were the target and the one you captured is a pro,” he answers.

“Correct so far, but that in itself doesn’t mean anything along the lines of a conspiracy,” I state.

“I don’t mean to sound crass, but I did say they would reveal themselves to you at some point,” Harold says.

“And you think this is from some group you were hinting at?”

“I’m sure of it,” Harold replies, nodding. “You have become a threat, or rather this place has.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” I ask.

“It’s probably best if I start at the beginning so you can see the foundation I’m operating from,” he responds.

“Okay, you have my attention.”

“I used to work for a certain three-letter organization and was stationed at a remote listening post. By remote, I don’t mean in a remote part of the world, I mean it was a small post that was merely a network transitional point. We, well, keyed into various confidential locations and either listened or provided secure tunnels for secure transmissions. One day, I noticed a hit from an unknown IP address. Looking into it, I saw that whoever it was created a virtual private network into our system and appeared to be pulling information from some of our secure channels. Intrigued as to who could do this, seeing as we weren’t really a known entity, I created a back channel using the one they created. I created a packet that looked like another piece of info they were pulling so it wouldn’t be discarded. It allowed me to peek into their system. I know, probably too much detail, but I wanted to know who could hack into our system before shutting them down.

“What I found was interesting, to say the least. I wasn’t in for long before being found out and booted, but from what I gathered, it seemed like I stumbled onto, or into, a covert group that was pieced together from all parts of both our government and others. In addition, there were several larger corporations involved. I didn’t get all of the details, but what I did find scared the hell out of me. I found files that mentioned global annihilation and for a takeover of resources. At first I just thought I had stumbled onto some contingency planning group, but the deeper I went, the more this seemed like an actual plan being set in motion.”

“How can you be sure it wasn’t some think tank group coming up with contingencies? They have those everywhere and come up with the wildest of scenarios,” I ask.

“I thought so at first, but then I found some emails between heads of corporations and government agencies. They spoke of plans already in place, of only waiting for the right moment to begin initiating phases. Now, some that I managed to find were encrypted and I didn’t have the time to decrypt, nor, to be honest, did I really want to. Most of the unencrypted ones came from the CDC itself and provided the most information. Those mentioned vaccines, death rates, and population control. Attached were services to be restored and in what order, along with timelines,” he responds.

“That still sounds like contingency planning to me,” I say.

“I still thought that might be the case as well. That is until I found a list of facilities that were being constructed and statements detailing expenses. This wasn’t just a contingency, it was actually being funded. I pulled that one from one of the emails that included the CDC director. Now, I’m as skeptical as the next person, but then when this shit happened, I realized I had been looking at an actual plan that was being initiated.”

“And you found all of this in the supposed short time you were in? Seems like something like that would take more time,” I say.

“Well, I might have, um, downloaded some of the files. When they found me, I was quickly booted. The tunnel dropped and I never saw it again. I tried to hit the IP address several times, but it was non-existent,” Harold replies.

“I’m not saying I believe you, but I’m not saying I don’t either. It’s just that it’s a little hard thinking about a single group bringing on an event like this. So, you mentioned the CDC several times. What if I told you I have a hard drive I picked up from the CDC?” I ask.

Harold chuckles for a moment. “That’s not something they are going to have on a hard drive, nor really anywhere on their system. From what I saw, the actual director was involved and I sincerely doubt he stored anything like that on the network.”

“And if I say that I have the director’s hard drive? What—” I begin.

“Wait, what? You seriously have that? I mean, here…with you?” Harold blurts out, interrupting.

“Yeah, Frank has it,” I answer.

“How did you come by that? Never mind that. Can I take a look at it?”

“I’ll talk with Frank in the morning and see that you get it. You’ll make a copy before digging in, right?” I say.

“Of course,” he replies, the excitement in his eyes apparent.

I take my leave and trudge wearily upstairs. It’s been a day that seems like a week. The huge emotional swings have definitely taken their toll. As much as that is true, I can’t wait to see Lynn. It still seems so unreal that she’s actually back but, then again, it seems strange that she was taken in the first place. Then there is the theory spouted by Harold. I’m beat and wouldn’t be too upset if I were allowed to sleep for a month.

Lynn is lying on her cot. Her exhaustion is written all over her. Looking through one open eye, she begins to rise onto her elbow.

“No need to get up for me. Just lie back,” I say, removing my boots before collapsing on my own cot. “You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“I know, Jack, but I’m okay. Just glad to be back. Let’s just leave it there. And thanks,” she replies.

“Thanks for what?”

“For coming to get me,” she responds.

“Of course, hon. As if there were any other possibility.”

“You know, Drescoll is having a hard time.”

“I bet he is. I can’t imagine what he must be going through. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Just be there for him. There’s really nothing anyone can say or do. It’s something he’ll work through on his own,” Lynn answers.

“Well, if he needs to take some time…”

“No. That may be the worst thing for him. He needs to be kept busy.”

“It’s been a hell of a day. I’m just glad you’re back. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We both then fall into a coma-like slumber.

Morning comes far too quickly. I come out of a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling almost as tired as when I went to bed. The events of yesterday slowly creep into my consciousness, and the vast amount of things to do today propels me into wakefulness — although wakefulness is a matter of perspective. Let’s just say the cobwebs become less dense. Lynn stirs beside me and starts to rise.

“I’ve got the training this morning, you just rest,” I say.

“Thanks, Jack,” she mumbles before rolling over and falling back asleep.

Now I know she is exhausted if she will allow that. She knows my idea of training is walking to the fridge to grab a frozen Snickers bar. I trudge downstairs to meet with the other teams and we go through the morning training. Most of the others also seem tired and not really putting much effort into it with the exception of Bri who can’t seem to get enough. I shake my head at her enthusiasm and go through the motions. I must admit, it feels good to be moving, but so much is weighing on my mind that I can’t fully enjoy it.

After showering, I see that Lynn and the others have gathered in our usual meeting location. She looks stronger today but still carries the gauntness from her ordeal.

“We have a lot to cover.” I settle in. First, I give them a synopsis of my conversation with Harold.

“Frank, will you see that Harold is set up with the hard drive?” I say.

“Will do, Jack. Do you think there’s anything to what he said?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. And even if there is something to it, that doesn’t mean it’s that group that targeted us. There are some things that we know, but there’s so much more that we don’t. Let’s talk about what we do know and go from there. We know that we were targeted and…” I begin.

“You mean that you were targeted. In my opinion, it’s not us that was targeted but specifically you,” Frank interrupts. “I think it’s important that we make that distinction.”

“Okay, that doesn’t change my thinking much, but you’re right, we need to keep that in mind. Targeting a single individual is usually because that person or the group they head represents a direct threat or it’s to send a message. What we are threatening or what message they want to send is unknown as of yet. What concerns me is that they knew where to hit us. And not due to some daily activity that puts us in a certain place at a certain time. This was something out of the ordinary we planned. That means one of several things. One, they knew Lynn was there and that we would eventually show up and staked it out. Two, someone here knew our plans and notified them, or three, they had the capability to track us and had a team in the field to act on that intelligence. Either one doesn’t leave me with warm, fuzzy feelings,” I say.

“I have problems with your second idea. There were surely better opportunities to get to you if someone inside were providing information. And if they were staking out a place, why wouldn’t they stake out the ramp at McChord. It’s a far more likely that you’d show up there as opposed to a hospital where night runners are holding Lynn,” Frank comments.

“That leaves us with option three which means they have the means to track us at any time. That also means that they have a tremendous amount of intel on us and we have nothing on them. Like, are they local, or did the team they send have to travel? That implies a high level of coordination and organization,” I state.

“What that means is that they have satellite control,” Frank says. “And that could also be the reason our satellite communications have failed. They could have shut those comms down.”

“That means an awful lot of satellites,” Lynn mentions.

“That it does,” Frank replies. “I think we have to go with that assumption until we know anything different — work from the worst case scenario. You know that the comms and leadership are priority targets when initiating hostilities. And seeing how they targeted you, that means they have a pretty clear picture of our leadership.”

“I agree. We are at a distinct disadvantage. The implications are clear; we are dealing with a professional organization which brings us back to Harold’s theories. As much as I hate conspiracy theories, they are out there and with what happened, the little pieces, while individually not seeming like much, when put together, they present a much more worrisome and frightening picture. Have we had any word from Captain Leonard?” I ask.

“Not since we lost communication with you,” Frank answers.

“You’ve talked with our prisoner. Did you learn anything?” Lynn asks.

“Not really much other than he is a pro. I know he’s an Aussie and I’m guessing Australian SAS. I think I’ve discovered some of his buttons but haven’t gleaned anything of value so far. Unfortunately, these things take time, and that’s something I don’t think we have a lot of.”

“Do you think this a prelude to an assault, then?” Lynn asks.

“I don’t know but, if they’re after our leadership, that seems the next logical step,” I respond.

“We need to arrange longer patrols then. We can’t really afford to spare many of the teams being out, and that would put them at risk. We need aerial patrols and can have Craig and Roger conduct those in light aircraft. That way we can have some warning of anyone approaching,” Lynn says.

“Good idea. Let’s make that happen. I would venture that, because the shooter’s support team was located where they were, their main encampment is some distance away. That doesn’t mean anything and is only speculation,” I say.

“It makes sense,” Frank states.

I notice Drescoll is not his usual self, which is to be expected. He is quiet and fidgety. I let him know that it’s okay if he wants to take some time for himself — he doesn’t have to be here if he doesn’t want to be.

“No, this is where I want to be. I want to be a part of this,” he replies.

“So, what else can we be doing?” Bannerman asks.

“Well, as Frank mentioned, we have to take it that they know our leadership and may be targeting it. Greg is still out there, and we need to get him back. We also need to notify Leonard. Without our satellite comms, that means a flight down the seaboard to find him and attempt to communicate via UHF. If we are being targeted, our greatest defensive asset is the Spooky and it’s vulnerable on the ramp at McChord. We need to clear a runway nearby where it can be better protected. Bannerman, can we create a runway inside the compound?” I ask.

“There’s still some land that we aren’t using for pasture. We can grade a runway there if you’ll give me the specs you need,” he replies.

“That also means we’ll have to transport our ammo down and store it,” Frank comments.

“We can dig some bunkers but that will take time. In the meantime, we can store it in some of the storage containers. Fuel will be trickier, and we may have to transport the fuel down and store it in tanker trucks,” Bannerman says. “As soon as you get me the specs, we’ll start clearing a landing strip, though.”

“If we are looking at an attack, I think we need to start storing more of our ammo and vehicles here rather than at Fort Lewis,” Lynn states.

“Most of the crews are working to get material for the living quarters, but we can re-prioritize some crews. What and how much were you thinking? We have some space in the vehicle sheds, but it’s not unlimited,” Bannerman says.

“I’ll get with you after to see what we can bring down,” Lynn responds.

“So, let’s get Harold set up with the hard drive and see if he can dig anything out. We still don’t know this is what we’re dealing with, but I think we go along with that assumption for now. Frank, will you talk with Craig and Roger to arrange patrol schedules and, Lynn, get with Bannerman for the storage requirements. I’ll talk with our prisoner later today to see if he has any desire to share with us. If we can get a rudimentary runway carved out today, I’ll bring the Spooky and 130 down in the morning. We’ll meet tonight to discuss getting Greg and contacting Leonard,” I say.

“I think there is something else we need to discuss,” Franks chimes in.

All eyes turn on Frank.

“Go on,” I say.

“In all of this, we can’t forget about the threat of the night runners. We’ve picked up an increased presence of night runners around the bases. We don’t have a lot of cameras in place, but the pictures we’ve gathered from those few show an increase. I don’t know what that means. It could be that they are being pushed south out of the Seattle area due to a food shortage,” Franks says.

“Any idea of how many or pack sizes?” Lynn asks.

“It’s hard to tell from the occasional snapshot, but it seems like moderate pack sizes. I have no idea how many total may be in the area. Perhaps we could take the Spooky up some night and get a better picture,” Frank answers.

“We can do that. I believe our priority is to consolidate our resources, get Greg back, and contact Leonard soon,” I say.

“When you get back will be fine. I haven’t seen much of an increase, but it’s there. Let’s just not forget about it. And I’m wondering if there are any ramifications that might come from taking out the night runners at the hospital,” Frank adds.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, in the past, we’ve seen something from the night runners when we’ve struck. We began attacking them at night and hit one of their larger lairs, although they had moved, and then they attacked the compound here. It just seems that when we do something, they counter by changing tactics and seem to gain in their abilities. I’m just wondering if there is something that might spawn from this one.”

“I couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess. I’m hoping nothing happens as we took out the entire lot of them. But it does bear some thought. How many night runners do you think are in the area?”

“Well, from the number we saw from the Spooky that one night, and from the percentages in the CDC report, I would say we were initially dealing with a total of plus or minus sixty thousand in the area. That number may have become whittled down, but I don’t think we put much of a dent in that pack of ten to twenty thousand we saw in the AC-130 video. They’re still around somewhere,” Frank muses.

“Do you think they are the ones you’re starting to see up north?” Robert asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve compared photographs with the ones we’ve seen here and haven’t seen a match yet. It could be, but I think I would see at least one pack that was the same. And they aren’t in the same groupings we saw around here. So, my guess is that these are different,” Franks answers.

“Keep an eye on it. We’ll try and get the Spooky aloft tonight or tomorrow night to take a look. Today I’d like to take it out and conduct a perimeter patrol as Lynn recommended. At least we can clear the immediate area,” I say.

Upon leaving, I feel that there’s a certain renewal of energy within our encampment. There is still a depressed aura, but there is a focus underlying it — like there’s a lot to do and we’d better get to it. The air has almost a frantic electricity to it. We need to inform everyone about what is happening and what we’re doing about it. Rumors left unchecked can create a crazy all its own. Without straight information, the mind will create its own and wander to the craziest of places — coming up with boogeymen of the worst kind. The pervading depression is not so much the loss, but the way it happened… by an unknown entity. That creates its own fear. Giving a name to the boogeyman, making them real, and therefore something that can be dealt with, will alleviate a greater part of that.

Pulling onto the ramp, I hate the paranoia that has crept in. I move faster from the vehicle to the aircraft and check the panels closer during the walk-around which itself is conducted at a quickened pace. I search the surrounding building rooftops for flashes of light or silhouettes. We manage to get the beast into the air without any fatalities or the aircraft blowing up; although I must admit, being exposed on the ramp like that wasn’t my favorite place to be.

We are a crew member short with Lynn taking care of things at Cabela’s with Bannerman. It’s daylight, so we don’t really need the low light monitor. We stream north, looking for signs of the night runners Frank mentioned. There are a few fresh trails through some of the tall grass, but I don’t see anything that would indicate a vast number of them. Opening up, I discern a few packs in the area and have Robert mark the buildings. We have a lot of miles to travel but taking out night runner lairs have a priority just as high.

Circling the first marked building, Robert places a single round into it. The eruption of fire and smoke scatters debris far into an adjacent parking lot. There’s a breeze blowing, and the smoke clears quickly showing that the building has fallen in on itself — a jumble of concrete, plaster, and rebar. Small plumes of smoke drift upward from the rubble and are whisked away in the wind. Scanning the building, the sense of the night runners that used it as shelter is gone.

We hit several other buildings in the same fashion, but soon find our time whittling away. There always seems to be another small group in another structure. Frank was right, there has been an influx of night runners around the bases. We have a choice to continue demolishing buildings or continue our scouting. We have verified Frank’s sightings, but I won’t be able to sleep comfortably tonight until I also verify that we are clear from any imminent attack. With that thought, I radio base to let them know of our findings and proceed to search for any signs of vehicles or encampments.

The rest of the flight is much the same — finding scattered groups of night runners in urban areas — although I note the farther north we travel, the denser the packs become. As we travel east and south, they dissipate dramatically. All of the monitors are running and we should be able to pick out heat signatures, but there’s no sign of a buildup or human group. It takes a few hours, but we cover north, east, and south out to a range of three hundred miles. I would like to go out farther as a fast-moving military convoy can travel almost four hundred miles in a night. However, we just don’t have the time to cover that much area and be back before dark.

Upon returning, I notice a convoy of Strykers , Humvees, loaded flatbed trucks, and tanker trucks heading south down Interstate 5. Contacting base, I find that the runway hasn’t been finished; we’ll have to set down at McChord. Hopefully we’ll be able to move the aircraft in the morning.