Conspiracy

Hung Out To Dry

Greg stands in the turret opening watching the buildings of McConnell AFB grow smaller as they head away from Jack and the others. He understands Jack’s desire to get his son back home given that he had experienced the effects of an injury from a night runner. He also knows the need to continue with the search for the families. Time is running short for such operations. Knowing those things doesn’t make the thought of traveling across unknown territories for an extended period of time with only one team at his disposal any better. He feels self-conscious about the prospect, having experienced too many close encounters.

The Stryker will make up for their lack of numbers in a lot of circumstances, but if they have to go in some places on foot, that puts them with very limited options. And vehicles break down. If they lose the Stryker, they lose an immense base of firepower…and protection. If that happens, Greg will call the mission, gather alternate transportation, and head home. The operation seemed like a walk in the park while they were discussing it with everyone around. Heading down an empty road in the middle of nowhere with only six others, drawing farther away from the base, puts that in a completely different light. Looking at the countryside passing by, he feels rather small.

The plan is to skirt the city of Wichita to the south and east, bypassing the majority of the metropolis and urban sprawl. It will take them longer to hit the minor roads heading west but, given his feelings of insignificance, it’s worth lessening the chance of running into any other surviving groups. It’s about finding survivors, but it’s also about surviving. The mission to find surviving family members of the soldiers is paramount.

If they run into other groups, he’ll assess the situation at that time; however, caution will be his byword. He won’t go out of his way to meet others and will go around them if possible. They can mark their locations and come back later if they decide. That doesn’t mean he won’t help others if they need it and if he can, but he’ll do so warily. Avoidance will be his policy. That may be difficult as there are many small towns that they’ll encounter and not all can be circumvented.

His way around takes him through some smaller neighborhoods. Blocks of communities with densely-packed houses alternate with open fields. Everywhere he looks, there are untended yards and meadows — grass grown high and untrimmed bushes. It looks like the post-apocalyptic world that he’d become used to in movies and pictures but without the smoldering fires and burnt out buildings and vehicles. It’s more like the rapture where everyone just left. Except it’s not the dead that walk the earth; instead, it is fast-moving, agile, cunning, ferocious predators that are an unrelenting force.

Thank goodness they can only operate in the dark, Greg thinks, or this would have been over long ago.

They take their time negotiating the southern portion of Wichita. The housing developments give way to mostly open fields before Greg has the Stryker turned north to intersect an interstate that runs around the peripheral of the city. From there, he’ll strike out on one of the highways leading west toward his first destination near Colorado Springs. On this first leg, he’ll make the run to a soldier’s hometown of Manitou Springs.

Given normal conditions, they’d be able to make the run in a day. But the times are far from normal. Greg estimates it will take two full days, and that’s if they are able to keep moving the entire time. They won’t drive at night even though they have night vision capabilities. Their sight range will be limited, and they may run into something before they know it. They’ll also have to take on fuel as Greg doesn’t want to travel with less than a half full tank. If they need to make a run for it, it wouldn’t do to come up on the short end because of fuel.

Hitting the interstate that circles around the city, they continue their northbound advance. Fields and several lakes line the highway and, with the long lines of sight this gives, Greg orders an increase in speed. He notes that the water levels have dropped significantly by the shorelines of the lakes that they pass. They roll down the divided multi-lane concrete road, the only thing moving on this lonely stretch. As they pass the Wichita airport and terminal buildings to the left, he hears a faint roar rise above the whine of the Stryker. Looking to the right, he sees the small dot of the 130 as it climbs into the air miles to the east. It turns to the northwest and continues its ascent. He watches it until it fades from view. They are truly on their own now.

Just to the north of the airport, they hit another major highway heading west. They leave the pavement at this point, traveling overland to a ramp that leads down to the freeway. The Stryker jostles over the uneven ground until they roar up an incline and enter the paved ramp. They enter a manufacturing and warehouse district, the large buildings surrounded by equally sizable parking lots which stand empty. The district abruptly changes to housing developments set back from the road. Some neighborhoods are blocked from view by concrete sound barriers placed along the road, which only affords the sight of a few tree tops showing over the top. The echo of the Stryker motoring down the multi-lane road rebounds off these structures. Stirring the dirt on the road, the armored vehicle’s large tires leave a fine trail of dust behind.

Firmly entrenched on their route to the west, Greg knows he needs to secure better maps. He has an atlas which gives a good representation of the highway system, but he wants more detailed ones. Knowing he can find these at just about any gas station, he resolves to pull over when he finds one that appears relatively safe.

The development areas end abruptly. There is no easing out of them, they just end with fenced-in rectangular fields taking their place. Some of the fields are only rutted brown dirt while others are overgrown with grass or some agricultural product. A couple of miles down the road, Greg spies the beginnings of one of the many small towns that dot the highway. He halts the Stryker a mile away and climbs out to stand on the top to get a better view.

At this rate, it’ll take us more than two days to cover the distance.

The cloud cover overhead makes it more difficult to see with any clarity but, looking through high-powered binoculars, the outskirts of the town ahead jumps into view. The fields give way suddenly to neighborhoods with the highway plowing straight as an arrow through the settlement. He observes the structures within view looking for any movement to indicate they are being watched. Nothing. The place looks empty.

“Do you see anything?” he asks through the open hatch.

A team member is looking through the enhanced optics zoomed in on the town. “I don’t see a thing, sir.”

“Have you checked the thermals?” Greg asks.

“Yes, sir. There aren’t any heat signatures that I can see. Not even from the structures,” the team member replies.

Greg looks a moment longer and then climbs back in. The Stryker lurches forward as he tells the driver to proceed slowly. A weather-beaten sign on the side of the road tells them they have entered the town of Goddard, ‘home of the fastest growing city in Kansas, population 4,344’.

I bet neither of those is true anymore, Greg thinks as they pass a church and an associated school on the right.

Several fast food restaurants line the road. There isn’t any movement or sound from the town. Greg hears only the high-pitched whine of the engine and from the turret as it continually pans to the left and right. He doesn’t observe any tracks in the light dust covering the highway and driveways entering the various establishments.

Almost through the small township, the elevated sign of a Kwik Stop appears. Some numbers showing the last gas prices are missing, adding to the empty feeling of the place. Greg has the Stryker pull in to halt just off the highway in front of the mart.

A couple of cars are parked at angles to the designated parking places which are barely visible through the dirt covering the pavement. One is still parked at the pumps with the driver’s side door open. Clothing is strewn across the ground between the vehicle and the pump with the fuel nozzle lying on the ground. All is covered with a fine layer of dust.

Looking closer, Greg sees the windows of the store have been broken out near the entrance. A body lies across the broken glass panes of the doors. Nothing stirs except a few eddies of dust stirred by a breeze as it blows through. It appears that all of the damage and death occurred some time ago so Greg decides to check for road maps inside. And, even though the tanks of the Stryker are nearly full, he’ll make the attempt to fill them.

Telling the team his plan, they disembark and set up a small perimeter. Three cover the highway to both sides and one remains on the turret to lend heavy fire should it be needed. With one other team member, Greg cautiously approaches the front of the stop-and-rob.

Listening for any sound that might indicate someone is inside, he and his teammate close in on the entrance from opposite sides. The figure draping the doorway is face down with sand covering its once dark brown hair and seems to be missing one arm; that, or it is hidden under the body. A small drift of dirt has piled up on one side of the head, almost covering it.

Greg pushes on it with the barrel of his M-4. As the head turns slightly, the lower jaw remains in place, sliding off the figure’s cheek. He sees that most of the skin has been removed, leaving only strings of dried ligaments attached. Looking farther, Greg notices that most of the lower body has been dragged inside and lies near the cash register stand. He knows that the condition of the body denotes that night runners were once here… and maybe still are.

Greg overcomes a curious urge to check the pants pockets lying just inside the door for the person’s ID. It was someone once and he’s curious who. They had dreams, worries, highs and lows, paid their monthly bills, made vacation plans, planned what they were going to have for dinner. Now they lie here at the entrance to a Kwik Stop in a small town in what used to be Kansas. Their plans, fears, and joys ended in a moment of terror… just another body decaying in some forgotten place. These thoughts relieve him of his curiosity and he finds he doesn’t want to know who it is at all.

A faint odor of rot and decay spills from the broken doorway — spoiled food, milk, and death. A small amount of ambient light spills through the damaged front of the building, revealing wreckage inside. Shelves are tipped over on their sides or lean against each other blocking the aisles. There isn’t much food on the floor as the place appears ransacked but several bags of chips, candy bars, and cans are scattered across the floor. One of the neon light fixtures hangs from one edge. Trailing wires, the other end hangs down on one of the leaning shelves. Several of the plaster ceiling tiles has fallen in, revealing a network of conduit and electrical wiring.

Greg and his teammate cover the store interior with their carbines as they look over the mess. The back of the mart is lost in shadow, but there is no scream from night runners. Night runners or not, he has no intention of going past the safety of the light. It is marauders and the like that worry him but, from the signs around him, he’s sure that no one would take up residence here.

A turnstile rack near the entrance is tipped over, spilling postcards and maps across the floor. With his teammate covering, Greg steps over the dismembered body and starts sorting through the maps. Many have been soaked through in blood, but he finds a couple covering their routes that are still readable. Shaking the accumulated dirt off them, he shoves them in his fatigue pockets.

The cash registers are bathed in the dim glow of the radiant light. If he can get power to the building, he knows he can get the pumps to operate and top off the Stryker’s tanks. Provided that is, that power still carries to the registers and pump islands. Looking at the wreckage, he’s not sure that’s the case.

Backing out of the store, he walks with his partner to the rear of the building. The usual Dumpsters, empty boxes and stacked pallets, and a small loading dock encompass a majority of the space. Near one corner sits a generator. Greg tests it for fuel and, as he guessed, it’s empty, having run itself dry. Using some of their fuel against only a possibility of getting the fuel pumps to work is a chance, but he gathers one of the fuel canisters from the Stryker regardless. Testing the generator battery, he pours some of the precious liquid in the tank and presses the start button. The generator cranks, sputters for a few turns, and then fires to life, filling the rear of the parking lot with its roar.

Greg looks over the surrounding developments for any signs of life that the noise of the generator may have raised. A flock of birds take wing from a neighboring house, but nothing else stirs.

Moving back to the store entrance, Greg sees the result of his handiwork. Sparks cascade from the broken light fixture onto the fallen shelves. That, and the flickering of the other lights, cast the gloomy part of the mart in a strobe effect. Drink counter dispensers flash and a carousal warming machine for hotdogs and pizza rotates in fits and starts. Stepping around the partial body once again and circumventing the remains farther in, Greg checks one of the cash registers to see it booted up with the touch screen fully lit. Placing an order for diesel fuel, he has the Stryker pull up; fuel flows through the hose into the tanks. He refills the used canister and they load back up to push through to the next town.

Endless fields fill both sides of the road from horizon to horizon. The emptiness of the terrain allows for faster travel, but Greg keeps their speed down in order to fully scout the area before proceeding. Complacency and assuming that the area is empty without checking could get them in trouble in no time at all. Even with the Stryker, due to their small numbers, they can ill afford a confrontation.

They eventually come to other small towns along the way. It’s much the same sight as they pass slowly through each town — fast food restaurants and gas stations with small businesses thrown in between. Any places that had food have their windows broken out. Remains of bodies are occasionally seen but covered with layers of dust. The wide tracks that the Stryker leaves are the only sign of recent passage.

They bypass larger towns to the north or south depending upon the terrain. Leaving the highway at these places, the armored vehicle rolls over fences that delineate the boundaries of fields and plow through the occasional gully. Greg slows their speed through the fields to keep the dust cloud they kick up to a minimum. He is reminded of the chase they had outside of a town on their way to Lubbock and he’s constantly on the lookout for dust clouds trailing after them. None appear.

With the sun heading into late afternoon and having only made it about halfway to their first destination of Manitou Springs, Greg checks the map and notes the area they are in is one of the more barren spots along the road. It’s all fairly open and not populated, but several small towns dot the landscape and he wants to be as far away from any formerly populated areas as possible to hole up for the night. Even though it’s early, he has the Stryker turn off the road and travel up a long dirt road with no apparent settlements or houses in sight. The road slowly ascends up an incline into some fairly rough topography — rough for this area at least. Greg picks an arroyo off the road and parks the Stryker hull down. The gully is the perfect height and they are able to see in all directions but their silhouette is minimized.

As opposed to the plains through which they traveled beside for most of the day, the place they pick to stay the night looks like the surface of the moon. It’s barren with just a few rocky outcroppings on the edge of shallow ravines.

As Greg pans the surrounding area with his binoculars, the moon analogy fits even more. The gray soil is pockmarked with thousands of light-colored mounds. Out of these piles, small heads continuously bob up and down. The team has parked in the middle of a large prairie dog population. With a couple of larger towns ten miles to either side, there is a small chance night runners could come out to hunt in this area. It’s about a three hour walk from the nearest town, but with the speed of the night runners, it would be much less. Greg has never seen them go at any other speed than a jog or full run. He isn’t sure how far they venture to hunt, but thinks it’s unlikely they would be this far out. Like Jack, he doesn’t want to assume anything with regards to what the night runners can or can’t do. They’ll sleep buttoned up and keep a watch through the Stryker optics.

With time to spare before night settles upon them, Greg sets a watch and allows the others to dig a Dakota Fire Pit at the bottom of the arroyo. This will keep the fire from being seen and the smoke to a minimum. Plus, they will cover it up when they’re finished, which will eliminate any trace of scent. Who knows when they’ll have a chance at a hot meal again, so he allows them this simple pleasure. It’s sometimes the very small things that make a difference in mental attitudes and the ability to hold up under stress.

With the sun low on the horizon, they sit in the shaded gully eating heated MREs and exchanging whispers and subdued laughs. The sky to the east is turning a dark blue as they shovel dirt over the fire pit and erase any vestige of their meal. Greg wishes Jack was with them so he could tell them if any aroma lingered, but he’ll do the best he can. They can hold out in the Stryker against a large number of night runners, but it’s a different story if a horde of them show up. The armored vehicle is hard to tip or get into, but it’s not impossible.

As the sun sets, turning the gray land black, Greg organizes the watch and settles over the maps he acquired. They don’t give altitude variations, but he guesses that they’ll travel over terrain similar to what they ventured through during the day. They’ll encounter the same open fields and small towns until they draw near to Pueblo. The only change on their route will be increasing size of the mountains as the team rolls west. With that in mind, he’ll keep to the same plan — travel slowly through the small towns after looking them over and circumvent the larger ones through the surrounding fields. Given the distance they covered today, they should reach Pueblo by mid-afternoon and Manitou Springs a couple of hours after that. Circumventing the large metropolis of Colorado Springs to get to their destination could be difficult and take more time. A few roads show promise but he’ll assess the situation when they arrive tomorrow.

The team settles as best they can inside the cramped interior. It’s doubtful anyone will get a deep rest, but there isn’t really any choice. It’s that or sleep outside — which is out of the question. In the near distance, a lone coyote howls into the night. The hull of the vehicle muffles the sound, but it’s distinct nonetheless. It’s answered several seconds later by a chorus of yelps coming from another direction.

As long as it’s the howl of coyotes and not the shriek of the other pack hunters, Greg thinks.

Looking through the vehicle optics, Greg sees several coyotes as they pass across the plain. He switches from the thermal imaging to night vision mode. The shapes change from the white of their reflected heat to sharper images cast in a grayish-green. The pack trots in his field of vision as they stalk across the moonlit landscape. Even in the night vision mode, Greg can see their backs glowing silver as they are bathed in the moon’s beams. They stop and raise their noses to take in the scents of the night. One of the coyotes in front lifts its snout higher and sends a mournful cry aloft. An answering call is heard from the near distance. The pack begins yipping and turning in circles.

The apparent leader sniffs the air again and turns toward Greg. He barks once and the pack quiets. They all turn toward where the Stryker sits in the gully. Sets of eyes glow a fierce white as they stare directly at Greg, sending chills up his spine. As one, the light from the pack’s eyes vanish.

Greg still watches and catches an occasional glimpse of silver as the moonlight catches on the back of one of the pack members. They have resumed their hunt across the plain.

A high-pitched scream of terror and pain erupts from the night. The pack has found a meal from among the denizens occupying the numerous holes of the prairie. The coyotes on the prowl and the scream from the prairie dog remind Greg of the night runners and their own situation. The similarity between the prairie dogs and the last vestiges of humankind is unmistakable.

The night passes with only a few other calls from the coyotes as they hunt through the prairie dog town. No other signs of life show across the remote plain. Greg half expected to see the lights of a group of survivors shine somewhere but the surrounding area remained an inky black all evening. The lack of light isn’t overly surprising as that would be a beacon for any night runners, so it doesn’t mean there aren’t any surviving bands.

The sun barely touches the top of the Stryker sticking out of the gully when the team is geared up. Some quick morning ablutions and they are ready to get on with the day. Hopefully they will reach the first of the six legs of their trek. Greg is sure they won’t have to travel the entire distance as he reckons Jack will meet them at Luke AFB providing Robert is okay. He sends a quick thought of well-being Robert’s way as the Stryker warms up at idle. Rescuing the girl like Robert did was one of the bravest things he’s ever witnessed; that heroic kind of act deserves life.

After hitting the highway once again, Greg opens the top hatch to give some ventilation. Close quarters and a serious lack of clothing changes make for…well…a need for ventilation in the small compartment.

A short time on the road and the armored vehicle rolls past a sign welcoming them to Colorado. The topography is exactly the same, it’s only a line drawn by someone a long time ago. However, it’s a marker letting them know they aren’t stuck on a treadmill and are actually putting miles under their treads. Looking out at the landscape, one couldn’t be too sure. The only change in scenery is the tops of the mountains in the distance slowly getting loftier.

There are very few landmarks to keep track of their position other than a turn in the road or crossing over infrequent bridges. The fields to either side remain a mixture of brown dirt or overgrown with whatever crop was last put in the ground. The large crop circles that were created from centrally rotating sprinklers remain in places, but the crops have withered due to a lack of water.

That changes shortly after crossing a bridge spanning a small stream. The fields to the north take on the nature of being freshly plowed with some showing sprouts of greenery. Except for trees and bushes adjacent to streams, and in mountainous areas, it’s the first green Greg has seen since journeying out of the Northwest. The fact that the ground has been plowed isn’t necessarily an indication that someone has done it recently. It could have been done previously and the ones responsible taken down with the epidemic or some time thereafter. He orders the Stryker halted.

Looking at his map, he finds they are about three miles from the next town, Lamar. The highway heads to the center of the town before turning north to cross a bridge across the river they’ve been paralleling. Greg’s plan was to proceed cross-country around the city and intersect the highway again to the north just prior to the bridge. That’s still the plan but the condition of the fields beside the road gives him pause.

Greg climbs out of the vehicle to get a better view of the area. Through the magnified view of his binoculars, he sees the outskirts of the city ahead. It looks like any other town they’ve passed with the exception of a fence enclosing sections of it. The town is still some distance ahead, and the details aren’t clear, but he doesn’t spot any movement or other sign of inhabitants. The light covering of dirt across the highway doesn’t show tracks leading in or out of the municipality. Panning around the fields to either side and behind, he observes the same — no indication of anyone around.

Notifying the others, Greg jumps down and walks to the nearest field. He catches the aroma of freshly turned earth as he draws near. Reaching through a fence surrounding the plowed land, he feels the dirt and crumples a clod between his fingers. It still has remnants of moisture and not dried out as it would be if it sat on the surface for very long. He surveys the expanse once again, expecting farmers or their equipment to materialize. He sees and hears nothing to indicate others are near. However, the fencing around the town and the plowed fields are clear signs that someone was around recently.

Greg returns and informs the others of what he found. There’s some speculation about staying in the area to find out if there are others but, in the end, they decide to push on with their original plan. They don’t have great numbers to deal with a hostile encounter, and it would be unfair to the soldiers looking for their families if they didn’t continue with the mission. That’s their primary goal and every day counts, especially with them having to travel on the ground. Greg marks his map, indicating possible survivors and orders the driver to proceed off road.

Exiting the highway, they roll over the fencing and angle through the adjacent fields to reach the northern end of the city. The vehicle jostles as they bounce across the furrows. Greg keeps the optics focused on the outlying areas of the town. If there is anyone there, they aren’t going to take to the team ruining their fieldwork. However, unless they have anti-armor capabilities or heavy caliber weapons, there isn’t much they can do about it.

Greg looks to the north end of the city as they drive ever closer. It appears that they’ll have to cut close to a section of an industrial park prior to reaching the road and bridge. The fencing he saw from afar extends around this locale. From this closer look, the tall fencing does in fact circle a large part of the northern end. He’s about to order a turn to the north to avoid the area as much as possible when a glint catches the corner of his eye. He pans the optics and turret toward the eastern end of the town and sees another flash of light. The winks become a series and it’s apparent they are being focused directly at them.

“What do you think, sir?” the driver asks.

“The flashes are too bright to be gunfire…unless they have an awful big gun…and we’d be feeling the results of it already. Readout says just over two klicks, so I’m guessing it’s a signal mirror. Halt the vehicle,” Greg replies.

The Stryker lurches forward as the brakes are applied. They come to a stop in the middle of a dirt road between fields. The dust trail behind them hangs in the air, drifting slowly across the fields. The flashes of light stop.

“Shall we try and signal them back, sir,” the driver asks.

“No. I think we’ll sit here with our popcorn and see how this movie plays out,” Greg answers.

Soon, a trail of dust rises into air from the direction of the signal.

“Single pickup heading down a dirt road perpendicular to the one we’re on,” the driver reports.

“I see it. Keep watching around us. I don’t want to be taken by surprise while focusing on one vehicle.”

“Are we going to disembark, sir?” another soldier asks.

“Not yet. I want to be ready to leave in a hurry if this turns out bad,” Greg responds.

If the people heading their way aren’t friendly, he’ll just head out. They can’t outrun the approaching vehicle, but unless they have a howitzer hidden in the back, chasing them won’t do any good. And the .50 cal will turn the truck into scrap metal.

The pickup truck pulls up to the intersection of the road the team is sitting on and the one the vehicle is traveling on. About a quarter of a mile separates the two parties. A man exits the blue truck, stands next to the driver door, and pulls out a pair of binoculars. Through his own magnified view, Greg notes another figure in the passenger seat with two others in the bed of the truck looking their way. They are armed with rifles but aren’t actively aiming at them. It can’t be too comfortable for them to see a large caliber weapon aimed directly at them from an armored vehicle.

The two groups continue to stare at each other, neither making a move toward the other. In this world, wariness and caution is the rule. Lives can end in an instant and with each encounter. Everyone dies in the end but there’s no need racing toward it.

“I’m going out. Keep an eye on them and also around us. If anything unsavory happens, turn ‘em into hamburger and get the hell out of here,” Greg says after a few more moments of the staring contest.

He scrambles on top and hops down in front of the Stryker. Another soldier takes his place at the .50 cal. Feeling the warm metal of the vehicle as he leans back against it, he glasses the other group again. He sees the distant driver put his binoculars away and climb into the pickup. The vehicle turns onto their road and slowly approaches. Greg holds out his hand for the truck to halt and it does so with a squeal of brakes.

The driver and passenger look out at him through a dirty windshield with the two men in the back looking over the top of the cab. He doesn’t note any weapons aimed his way, but Greg holds his M-4 at his side, ready to bring up in an instant. The driver climbs out and halts behind the open door.

“I’m Captain Greg Petersen. Not to seem like an ass, but I’d feel a tad more comfortable if you all climbed out where I can see you.”

“Captain, perhaps you could have the people I’m sure are inside that thing to come out as well,” the man states.

“Point taken. What do you say we agree not to shoot each other and chat amiably?” Greg says.

“I’m agreeable to that if you wouldn’t mind aiming that big gun of yours somewhere else. The hole in the end looks awfully large from this vantage point,” the man replies.

Greg looks behind at the barrel mounted on its small turret and calls inside for the gunner to aim it elsewhere. The gun spins away and Greg looks back to the man, who nods his appreciation.

Coming out from behind the door, the man approaches and reaches out his hand, “James…James Talkison. We’ve had a few run-ins with some unsavory types, so we’re a little wary around here.”

“We’ve had several ourselves, so it’s the same for us,” Greg replies.

“We saw you circumventing the town. That gave us reason to believe you weren’t interested in attacking us so we decided to risk a signal. I will say that the sight of that thing approaching,” James says, nodding toward the Stryker, “gave us cause for alarm.”

Looking back at their tracks through the field, Greg sees the deep ruts their heavy vehicle created in the plowed fields and the torn fences.

“Assuming these fields are your work, I apologize for tearing them up like that.”

“That’s not a problem. We can fix that up quickly,” James states.

“Allow us to help,” Greg says.

“Are you really with the Army?” James asks, bypassing Greg’s offer.

“I was,” Greg answers. “There really isn’t such a thing anymore.”

“So, I guess we can’t expect any help from that sector. Everything really is gone, huh?”

“I’m afraid so,” Greg responds, hesitant to tell their story until they know this group better.

James hangs his head and sighs. “What are you doing around these parts?”

“We’re searching for families of those with us,” Greg states.

“Ah. I take it from the fact that you were bypassing us that no one is from here. We’ve wondered about ours that live elsewhere,” James says. “How many are with you?”

Greg just looks at James without answering.

James chuckles, “Okay, I get it. Look, we’re all curious how it is out there. From what we’ve encountered here, it doesn’t look good, but we need to know what we’re up against…and for how long. I reckon you folks are okay. We’re about to sit down for something to eat. You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you’d like…and I won’t lie, I wouldn’t mind having that behemoth of yours parked in sight to scare off any troublemakers. What do you say we head into town and trade stories? Tell only what you feel comfortable with, but it’d be nice hearing what it’s like. And it would pick up some spirits knowing there are others out there who aren’t just bandits.”

“We are on a timetable of sorts and don’t really want to stop, but I think we could spare a few hours,” Greg says. “Any information you have about the area would be helpful.”

Back in the Stryker, Greg relates the conversation as they follow the pickup toward the town of Lamar. He tells them that he wants them to stay close to the Stryker until he is able to get a handle on the situation. The gun is to be manned at all times. If they find that everything is legitimate, then they can mingle. However, he doesn’t plan to stay long. They still have a mission to see to.

As they approach, Greg gets a better look at the fence he observed earlier. It’s about ten feet tall and covered with coils of razor wire along the top. From his vantage point, he sees that it completely encloses the northern segment of town and has the appearance of encompassing the entire section. Placed at intervals on the inside are semi-trailers with armed men stationed on top. As they drive through an opening in the fence, a bus is driven across it, sealing it off. Greg isn’t overly worried about being cut off as the Stryker can run through the chain link at any time.

Once inside, they continue to follow the truck as they pass through the center of the town. They intersect a main road and turn north. Looking behind, Greg notices a section of fence several blocks away sealing off the southern part of town. A school bus blocks an entrance similar to the one they just passed.

They travel through the central part of the town. Fast food restaurants line both sides of the street along with the usual local businesses. Hotels line the road at the extreme northern end of town. The industrial area, which the team was attempting to bypass, takes up the northeastern section just beyond the inns. The pickup pulls into the last building on the left. A sign signifying the Rodeway Inn and Cow Palace decorates the front. Ahead, past another entrance, lies the bridge they were seeking to cross. Pulling into the lot next to the truck, he sees several other vehicles parked. Greg informs the others to stay put and exits.

“This is where we gather for evening meals and meetings,” James says, joining Greg. “We use the kitchen here and discuss the day’s activities. Eating together helps to keep us feeling like a community. I’ve called ahead and asked the town to meet us.”

Other cars and trucks enter. Those who exit stare at the Stryker and Greg as they walk into the restaurant portion of the hotel. Greg doesn’t sense any malevolence in their actions or the darting eyes that may foretell misfortune. They carry the same wariness exhibited by James during their initial meeting. Greg is shocked to see them casually enter into a building.

“You just go into a building? What about night runners?” Greg asks, watching several people swing the entrance door open and go inside.

“Who?” James asks.

“You know, the night hunters…the infected ones who come out at night and hide out in darkened buildings?”

“What do you say we get out of the sun and talk about things,” James says, motioning with his arm for Greg to head into the restaurant.

Greg looks sharply at James. The answer James gave was an outright evasion of Greg’s question which makes Greg feel uneasy.

“Not until I have an answer. I don’t mean to seem inhospitable, but wherever there are survivors, there are also night runners,” Greg says.

“Well, the answer to your question is that we don’t have any of the sick ones here,” James says.

“How is that possible? Were you able to kill them all?”

James hesitates just a fraction of a second before replying, “Yes. We took care of all of the sick ones in town.”

It still seems like an evasion of sorts, but it satisfies Greg’s curiosity. He supposes in a small enough town that it’s possible to eliminate the night runner population and set up a community like this. Greg nods and he and James proceed into the café.

Inside, Greg smells the aroma of food cooking. Men, women, and children of all ages sit around scattered tables. It looks like any other family-style restaurant, and seeing people gathered as they are almost makes things feel normal. Others enter behind and push past to find places to sit.

“We’d usually be in the fields or working on other chores. We vacated the fields when we saw your approach,” James says.

He introduces Greg to the gathering and guides him to a table. Many people nod their greetings and there are a few dispersed vocal greetings. The silence is complete except for the occasional clang of a pot or pan from the kitchen in back. As Greg sits with James, the hubbub of general conversation slowly picks up.

Soon, plates of scrambled eggs and bacon begin to be distributed.

“It’s all we could come up with on short notice,” the man says, placing a plate in front of James and Greg.

“I’m sure it’s good and thanks for coming in,” James returns.

Turning to Greg, James says, “Your people are welcome to join us for a hot meal.”

Greg looks around. It seems normal enough and, while most of the people have weapons either on or near them, there isn’t an ounce of hostility that he can detect. He calls on the radio and has the team come in two at a time to eat. The .50 cal remains manned with a small three-person reaction team. He tells the others they can open up the rear and head outside, but they are to remain near the protective armor.

The conversation between James and Greg turn to their stories. As they talk, Greg begins to feel more comfortable and shares as well. There was still that fraction of a second hesitation James had in answering, but that could be from the discomfort of two groups coming together and trying to find where the trust line falls.

Greg learns the group, totaling eighty-three men, women, and children, built the fence early on after things fell apart. They pulled the materials from Pueblo and carted them back on semis. They also brought solar panels, inverters, and equipment to set up a solar farm which they are presently working on.

“We know the batteries won’t last forever, but we’ll have something else figured out by then,” James says.

For now, they have several greenhouses and animal pens set up within the fenced portion of the city. A ready water supply is provided by the river and they bring it in with the town’s two fire trucks and a water tanker. They started working the nearby fields in the hopes of getting a small crop in before the cold hits. They’ll use those fields extensively in the coming year. An irrigation project is underway to supply the fields from the river.

When asked about arms, James mentions that everyone carries and they mostly have hunting rifles with a scattering of semi-auto carbines. “Everyone around here knows how to shoot, but we still practice.”

James mentions that not everyone is from Lamar but from the surrounding towns all the way to Wichita, Kansas. The ones who survived in the town started gathering others up and down the highway while on scavenging runs.

“So you were able to take care of the… sick ones early on? There aren’t any who bother you here?” Greg asks.

Again that split second of hesitation, “Yes. We took care of the sick ones right off. There weren’t many of these night runners, as you call them. I’ll tell you, though, the ones that were here were damn hard to kill. We lost a few good people taking care of them.”

With a fork full of eggs halfway to his mouth, Greg looks at James. He gets the distinct impression that James’ definition of sick ones is different from his and feels that James had almost said ‘There weren’t many of these night runners afterwards’. He thinks back and remembers Jack mentioning that the Lajes AFB commander in the Azores had all of the ill ones shot when he figured out what was going on. They would have survived too, except they couldn’t be resupplied and crashed into the Atlantic trying to fly out of there. Frank is one of the only survivors from that place.

Greg gives an internal shrug and stuffs the scrambled eggs into his mouth. Who is he to judge the survivors? If they didn’t do what they did, they might not be here to talk about it. Or at least the night runner threat would have been more of an undertaking to rid themselves of.

Perhaps if everyone had taken this stance…

Greg gives his story and the tale of the others to the northwest. Without being overly detailed, he tells of their heading to Manitou Springs. Upon hearing that they intend to head in that direction, James informs them that they have blown the bridges across the river just north of town.

“We kept getting trouble from marauders in that direction. Perhaps they saw us gathering materials in Pueblo and followed us, I’m not sure. We just know that they showed up and we were barely able to keep them at bay. That was a while ago, but we’ve heard engine noises a few times in the past week. That’s why we were cautious with you. The fact is that you’re the first we’ve seen coming from the east. That and the fact that you tried to pass around us instead of trying to going through is the only reason we’re having this conversation,” James says. “We keep that road open because we use it to scavenge when we can. We blew the bridge to the south and created a large ditch across the road to the west. Overland, it’s more difficult to get to us, and we can see anyone coming from miles away. So, I’d be cautious heading in that direction, even with that monster you have outside.”

“Great. I guess we’ll have to cross the river bed itself seeing that’s really our only viable way west,” Greg says.

“I’d warn you about doing that. The sandy areas adjacent to the river are tricky and there are a few swamps that would make the crossing difficult. We do, however, have a ford nearby which I can guide you through,” James replies.

Greg thanks him and offers for the survivors here to join theirs in the northwest. They’d have to make their own way or wait until the C-130 is available to transport them.

“I appreciate the offer, but we have it pretty well here. We’ve managed to adapt and I’m not sure some of the others could tolerate a move of that magnitude mentally. It’s comfortable here and we can make a go of it. It’s as safe as we can make it and…well, it’s home.”

Greg gets that reasoning. Comfort and a feeling of safety are vital to long-term survival. They’ve passed the most pressing survival issues of shelter, sustenance, and safety. There is still the stress of the potential marauders but that would be true anywhere. They have that up north but the stresses there are greater and seemingly every day. Perhaps they should find a place like this and move.

Thoughts for that later, Greg thinks, finishing his meal.

“Seeing the day is getting on, I doubt you’ll make it to your destination before dark. You are welcome to stay here with us,” James says. “You’ll have to stay the night somewhere and we’d welcome the company.”

Greg heads outside to talk over the offer with the team and they agree it would be nice to sleep on real beds and have another hot meal. He knew they wouldn’t turn that offer down.

What soldier says no to a hot, home-cooked meal? Greg thinks, returning and thanking James for his offer.

The team spends the afternoon helping mend the fences they obliterated on their run through the fields. In the evening, they sit in the restaurant with the townspeople engaging in whatever conversation arises. The late afternoon glow spreads across the parking lot outside. Greg feels nervous tension come over him as he looks through the glass to the ending day outside. The people make no move to finish their evening and relocate to a more secure location. It feels odd to be sitting in such an indefensible place with the time of the night runners quickly descending. The anxiety building inside is almost suffocating. He notices the other team members apprehensively glancing outside. The later the day gets, the more their glances are directed to the windows and farther back in the building. Yet, the din of conversation and laughter inside never changes.

It’s at this point that Greg fully realizes the stress of what they’ve all been through and continue to carry on a day-to-day basis. Night and darkness will always be a source of fear for as long as he walks this earth — at least when outside of the compound. He recognizes the comfortable feeling the residents here have. They have the same back at Cabela’s, but an underlying current of tension doesn’t allow them the same comfort these people seem to have. He wonders if they will ever be able to achieve something like this and envies these people their ability to relax.

Night closes in. The shrieks Greg has become accustomed to when the darkness falls near population centers don’t materialize. That doesn’t ease his anxiety though. Eventually, the people of the town begin departing for home. The normalcy of what used to be everyday life has now become the unreal nature…something that doesn’t seem right anymore.

After the restaurant has almost emptied, Greg and his team bid their farewells. James has set them up in several rooms in the hotel. Although still anxious about the nighttime and night runners, Greg asks for rooms on the lower floor. That is so they can make a quick exit to the Stryker. The atmosphere with the survivors is relaxed, but he sets a watch nonetheless. Those on watch will stay in the Stryker. He trusts the folks they’ve come into contact with but, with the world the way it is, that trust only extends so far. He noted that James set them up in the hotel rather than inviting them into their homes. James is only extending his trust so far as well, and Greg is sure that James has set someone to watch them. It’s possible that James feels like the Stryker is a two-sided coin. On one side, having it parked on the northern end, where they have been harassed previously by bandits, is a security to the town but, on the other side, it also represents a threat to the community.

Greg takes the first watch with another team member. Looking over the dark countryside, he reflects on the world. It’s not really that much different than what he’s been accustomed. His parents were killed when he was young, and he was sent to his grandmother to be raised. Life was as normal as any other child. They weren’t rich but his grandmother worked to provide for him. Not having the money to go to college, he was able to get an Army scholarship and rode that through his four years at the university. He graduated with his degree and an Army commission. After that, he opted for the Ranger path and has been deployed for the most part since his training. He’s used to being away from home and surrounded by enemies so this new world he finds himself in isn’t entirely different. The only change is that the enemy is on his home soil. And those that he protects have been significantly reduced in numbers.

Looking over the darkened town, he’s glad to know that some have a greater chance of seeing this through. It gives hope that they’ll find the soldiers’ families and, on a larger scale, for the continued existence of humankind. The people in this town are thinking in the long-term and seem to have it handled providing marauders don’t get to them. As far as bandits go, they won’t last too long in this world because of their mentality. Their take-what-you-can-when-you-want attitude is a very short-term way of thinking and that’s how long they usually last: short-term.

There’s a peace here that Greg can’t quite get secure with. He’s become used to that underlying tension. That’s not a bad thing, but it can’t be sustained. He’ll have to talk with Jack when he sees him next. At the very least, these people have given him something to strive for and the knowledge that it can be done.

Dawn arrives without a single scream to wake him. He folded into the comfort of the sheets and fell instantly asleep following his watch. Feeling like he could sleep the entire day away, he rises and performs his ablutions. Walking into the parking lot with the sun having just crested the eastern horizon, the metal hull of the Stryker is bathed in the early morning rays. After the comfort of the bed, he’s loathe to climb back into the cramped quarters which will more than likely be their only home for some time to come.

James pulls in with his pickup shortly thereafter and greets Greg and his team. Off in the distance, Greg hears other vehicles driving through the streets of the city. The town had a day off with their arrival but is now back at whatever tasks they have. Greg is eager to be off but will miss this place. He won’t forget the peaceful feeling but doubts he will ever see these people again. It’s like those at Mountain Home. To the people he meets, he and the team are just a quick interruption in their quest for survival — something that will be told in stories around the table for a couple of weeks and then forgotten.

He and James exchange some small talk and they are soon on their way. They follow the truck through the northern gate and turn left onto a dirt road. They turn again and come to a narrow dirt causeway between two sloughs. The sloughs give way to swampy areas that would be next to impossible to cross with a motorized vehicle. James negotiates an almost invisible pathway through. They wind this way and that until arriving at the river. Sand and stunted trees line the banks. James guides them to a narrow part of the river and they ford. Staying near a hill, they come across another dirt road. Following it, they soon intersect the highway north of the fallen bridges. James pulls to halt on the side of the road. Greg has the Stryker pull behind and the two meet on the grit-covered shoulder.

“Thank you for everything,” Greg says as the two exchange handshakes.

“It’s our pleasure. Good luck to you, captain,” James says.

“And to you, James.”

There’s nothing left to be said, so Greg climbs aboard the armored vehicle. He has the driver pull onto the road and, with a wave to James, they head north. Greg glances back to watch James diminish as they motor down the road. James climbs into his truck, backs up, and, entering the dirt track, disappears from view. Not far to the north, the road bends, turning east toward Pueblo.

If anything, the terrain is even more remote and barren upon leaving Lamar. They continue their slow travel and it’s a couple of hours before they come across their first town. Greg holds to his plan and circumvents the city. He’s ever-watchful for the bandits James cautioned them about. They aren’t impervious in the Stryker, and he is mindful that it wouldn’t take much in today’s world for a group to raid a military base and come up with hardware that could quickly take them apart. At their current rate of travel, Greg hopes to arrive at their destination by mid-afternoon. This assumes they can continue to circumvent the larger towns and make it safely through Pueblo and Colorado Springs.

The highway continues to parallel the river course. Greg finds a gas station in the small town of Manzanola which has above-ground fuel tanks. With the team set out in a small perimeter, they top off the Stryker’s tanks. Well into their day, they haven’t run across a single sign of survivors. It makes Greg think that the town of Lamar and finding others in the nearby communities was either a fluke, or anyone in the towns they’ve come across since has ran afoul of the bandits. Either way, each place has proven to be a ghost town. With little food sources nearby — cattle or fertile hunting grounds — he doubts any night runners have survived in this remoteness either.

Each road sign they pass shows the mileage to Pueblo counting down. At times, the opposite lane of the two-lane highway gives the impression of vehicle tracks — side by side sections of pavement can be clearly seen. The traces appear to be the width of autos rather than armored vehicles which brings some relief to Greg. He isn’t sure of the observations as it could be just a trick of the wind, but he isn’t taking any chances. He slows and they methodically survey the area ahead before proceeding on. This takes more time, but Greg doesn’t want to gamble.

Housing developments and small industrial parks appear ahead as they near the outskirts of Pueblo. At the very edge of the metropolis, a highway branches off which skirts the outer edges of the city. The Stryker turns onto this new highway and they are soon in barren lands once again. Before long, residential neighborhoods appear to the left toward the urban sprawl, with the large expanse of Colorado State University to the right. As they proceed, there are an increased number of bare spots in the pavement.

Just past the university, Greg has the vehicle turn onto a highway that parallels the interstate connecting Pueblo and Colorado Springs. The increase in the vehicle track sightings makes him nervous, especially with the report from James that the bandits came from this direction. With Fort Carson’s proximity and the large armored presence there, he wants to proceed with all the caution at their disposal. The thought of abandoning this leg of their mission doesn’t enter his mind, but he won’t rush pell-mell into it either. The protection and armament of the Stryker suddenly seems very limited compared with what they could come across.

They leave Pueblo behind in the mid-afternoon. A wide river bottom separates them from an interstate a klick to the west. The river and its surroundings will make it difficult for anyone on the other side to intercept them. The route they have chosen will join with the interstate just south of Colorado Springs.

Sporadic farm houses disappear entirely as they proceed north. Escarpments hide the interstate for miles at a time. The eastern hillsides, showing deep ravines from runoffs, are cast in shadow as the sun pushes its way west across the blue sky. They need to be on the other side of the river in order to get to Manitou Springs, so it’s imperative that they find a bridge or some other means to cross. Going through Colorado Springs isn’t an option; an urban environment can become a deadly place.

There isn’t a single bridge to be found along the way and Greg doesn’t want to risk foundering the Stryker while fording across sandy beaches he sees next to the river. They continue until sporadic farm houses give way to the beginnings of a residential neighborhood. He’s left with a decision. They can go through the urban area to find a bridge to cross, they can ford the river, or they can abandon the mission altogether. With the last not being an option and, as he doesn’t want to enter into the large community ahead, he has the vehicle strike west.

Traversing an empty field, they come to the river. It’s not wide at this point, and they cross a small strip of sand before plunging in. The river is initially deep, rising to the hull itself, but shallows as they progress across. On the far side, the Stryker powers up a low ridge of rock. The engine whines louder and the nose of the Stryker rises into the air before crashing back down with a jolt. To one side, hidden in a copse of trees, old washing machines, toilets, and other discarded sundries are piled.

Greg has them continue west and across the interstate where it becomes obvious that vehicles have passed recently. Their passage has cleared a path on both sides of the freeway. The Stryker climbs and descends the small embankments of the highway. In a field on the far side, with the outskirts of the city in the distance to their right, Greg has two teammates disembark to erase the marks of their passage as best as they can. He covers them with the .50 cal, but they are able to complete their task unhindered.

They continue striking west and enter the barren landscape of the southern end of Fort Carson. Greg has slowed the vehicle to a crawl in order to minimize any dust trail. It’s evident there are survivors of some sort around and he doesn’t want to announce their arrival.

The area is covered with small ravines, ridgelines, and countless dirt tracks branching off the dirt road they are following. The trails they leave behind are easy to spot and follow but, from all indications, no one has made it out this way in some time.

The hills in the near distance to the west rise sharply off the plain, their sides dotted with evergreens and patches of green shrubs. Any natural greenery remains green and those plants that required water to be brought by humankind have browned for lack of nourishment. The land is returning to its natural state.

Passing by an isolated firing range, they come to a two-laned highway — The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Highway. This road runs along the base of the hills for a short distance before heading into the center of Colorado Springs. Greg follows this thoroughfare until they are immediately adjacent to Fort Carson. At this juncture, the hills and the highway say farewell to each other and Greg turns into several residential developments on the very fringe of the city. The houses themselves run right up to hills rising off the upper plateau of Colorado. It’s the best they can do without traversing into the mountains.

Working their way through the twists and turns of the neighborhoods, and sticking to the ones nearest the hills, they eventually clear the urban areas. At an intersection where Gold Camp Road and High Road come together, Greg halts the team to figure out their best route.

“Sir, I know this area,” one of the soldiers says. “Growing up here, I ran and hiked most of the trails in the area.”

He is the one whose family they are currently searching for.

“Okay. What do you recommend?” Greg asks, moving away from the map to make room.

“This road…Gold Camp Road…continues across the intersection. It intersects a trail that the Stryker can negotiate. I think the trail’s name is Lion Trail, but I can’t be positive about that. There’s a ridge that several trails parallel and we can follow that to the highway between the two springs,” the soldier answers. Greg looks on in confusion.

“That’s Colorado Springs and Manitou Springs,” the soldier clarifies.

“And that’ll keep us hidden?”

“Yes, sir. They’re dirt so we’d have to keep our speed down, but there’s no one there, especially if we take the west side. The ridge will block us from view to the east, and there are several other smaller ridges that will block us from the west. It’s the best way I know.”

“Alright, you stay here with me and guide the turns. Show me where we need to go and the best way to get there,” Greg says.

The soldier points to a small neighborhood that extends partway into a valley on the southwestern side of Manitou Springs.

Of course it would be on the other side of the town, Greg thinks.

As if reading his mind, the soldier replies, “Not to worry, sir. I can get us there easily enough.”

“Not to seem crass, but how many are we looking for? Greg asks.

It’s been one of the things on his mind since they began. If they do find loved ones intact, how are they going to transport them? Especially if they find very many of them. His plan was to find other vehicles which they can use, and he supposes that will have to do. It may not be easy finding ones they can get started, since the batteries will have drained long ago, but he’ll deal with that when he comes to it.

“Well, sir, there’s my younger sister and brother and my mom. My dad moved to New York a while ago,” the soldier answers.

“I’m sorry,” Greg says, referring to the fact that the young man’s dad is out of reach.

“Not to worry, sir. We didn’t exactly get along.”

Guided by the soldier, they find the trail and proceed up a series of switchbacks as they climb the lone, north-south ridge. Greg opts to travel on the western side as the soldier indicated it will allow for them to be better hidden. That of course means they won’t be able to see trouble coming either.

They cross over the long ridgeline and descend along more switchbacks. Meeting up with another trail which leads through a deep ravine, they continue their northbound travel to the freeway ahead. Small trail signs along the way indicate they are proceeding along the Red Rock Canyon Trail. The path is at the base of a steep hill. In places, Greg can see the rocky top of the larger ridge which the soldier identifies as Hogback Ridge. The path is narrow and the vehicle’s wheels roll on either side, flattening scrub brush that grows alongside. Looking behind, Greg is satisfied with their speed as dust rises no higher than the top of the Stryker.

The trail ends at an empty dirt parking lot. Ahead, Greg can make out the east-west line of the highway they’ve been striving to reach. So far, they have been lucky and haven’t encountered anyone. The hogback ridge ends abruptly at the edge of the freeway. He stops and pulls out his binoculars.

Across the road, he makes out the side of a large department store. Trees adjacent the highway block any further view of the area, but he gets the impression that a residential neighborhood lies beyond the foliage. The two cities have almost grown together.

He focuses his view on something on the highway itself. He can’t make it out from his vantage point, but it doesn’t look right — it’s not part of the road system. It gives the appearance of a road block with stakes pointing outward. It almost looks like triangular anti-armor stakes.

That doesn’t bode well, he thinks, trying to ascertain exactly what they truly are. If there are anti-armor stakes, that means there’s armor in the area. And, obstacles like that are meaningless without supporting arms to take advantage of the blockage.

He takes a long sweep of the surrounding terrain looking for any sign of dug-in emplacements or anything to indicate that someone is lying in wait. He doesn’t see or hear anything other than the whine of the Stryker idling and a few birds circling. He orders the Stryker to advance slowly. As he draws nearer, he sees that he was totally wrong about the items in the road.

It’s a series of crosses placed in a semi-circle next to the multi-lane freeway. They are constructed of heavy timber and driven into the ground. The shadows from each cross stretch long to the east. It’s taken them almost all day to reach this point. Greg removes the field glasses and rubs his eyes, trying to erase the tired and gritty feeling in them. He’s strained to focus on objects for most of the day and he’s beginning to tire. Looking again, he turns the knob to sharpen the focus. The scene that jumps into view is horrifying.

In the magnified view, Greg sees that someone is tied or otherwise attached to one of the crosses. The figure hangs limply with its head down, chin almost touching the chest. Long black hair drapes lifelessly down and obscures any features. A light-colored shirt over jeans appears heavily stained. The person isn’t moving and, to all appearances, doesn’t appear to be alive.

Suspecting a trap, Greg methodically scans the terrain, but he still can’t see anything that might indicate someone else is around. All things human-made give tell-tale indications, no matter how slight. It’s just a matter of looking for those things that seem slightly out of place or the color seems wrong. He scans the area with thermal-imaging but sees nothing except the figure on the cross. The fact that they show up on thermals indicates that they are still alive.

Greg informs the team of what he sees and has the Stryker slow its advance. When they are about to emerge from the ravine and into the open, Greg has the team disembark. Although they will be slower and more exposed, the team afoot will create a lower profile. The Stryker will remain at the edge of the deep gully and provide support should they need it. He keeps two at the Stryker and takes five with him.

They advance across the open ground, their boots stirring up dust with each step across the rock and dirt. The lowering sun casts their dark outlines across the terrain, their shadows undulating as they cross rocks and small hillocks. Birds circle high overhead searching for food. Greg imagines the roar that rush hour traffic along the highway must have created at one time. Today, the quiet is pervasive. He can hear the crunch of their boots as they cross the sandy soil…hear the breathing of the nearest teammate behind him.

With caution, carrying his carbine at the ready, Greg walks ever closer to the figure on the cross. He hears the low whine of the Stryker behind as it shifts into a better position from which to cover them. At the sound, the figure on the cross ahead lifts its head a touch and tilts it in their direction. It then drops back to stare downward. The brief look doesn’t give an indication if it is male or female, but with the long hair, he’s guessing it’s a woman.

A rank scent begins to suffuse the area as he closes in on the figure — the smell of something rotten. Greg has run across this smell a number of times in the past. His wariness increases.

Greg crosses a low, barb-wire fence and startles a flock of crows that were settled near the crosses. They take flight with the sound of flapping wings and cries of disdain. Shaken loose from the sudden surge, several black feathers float gently to earth. Greg has one soldier follow him across the fence and tells the others to remain and provide cover.

Pausing to study the area before proceeding, Greg notes a significant amount of litter strewn around the crosses. Looking closer, he realizes that it isn’t litter at all, but rather pieces of darkly stained clothing. With the rank odor and the clothing, he knows that something very wrong has happened here. The smell of rotten meat, crows feasting, and articles of clothing scattered about. And that’s aside from some woman tied to a cross. From several meters away, he sees that what he took to be crosses constructed of dark wood is actually lighter colored wood that’s been deeply stained, the stain darkening closer to the ground.

“Oh. My. God…Diane?” the soldier beside him calls loudly.

The figure slowly looks up at the sound of the voice. With the lifting of the head, Greg makes out the features of a battered young woman. She squints as if trying to peer through a fog.

“Ky…” the woman begins and tries to swallow to gain some moisture for words. “Kyle,” she says through lips that have split from their swelling. “Is that really you?” She gives a dry cough from the effort of speech and her head droops again as if the energy required to hold it up is too much.

“Sir…sir, that’s my sister,” he says, starting forward.

Greg swings his arm to the side, catching the soldier across the chest to halt him.

“We don’t know what’s going on here. It could a trap,” Greg says, eyeing the surrounding environment.

“Sir, she needs help,” the soldier implores.

“I’m aware of that, but she’ll live a moment longer,” Greg counters.

The soldier subsides, but his body language carries his anxiety. Greg once again scans the landscape. They are all in the open, which isn’t the most enviable position. They are far away from any help and would be outnumbered in almost any situation. The horror of the scene in front of him shocks Greg to his very core. He stands for more than a few moments, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.

“Okay, cut her down and give her some water,” Greg says “But then we’re moving her back to the vehicle, whether she can walk or not, and getting out of here.”

Greg wants nothing more than to leave this horrific scene. The smell is a physical presence that seems to blur anything observed through it. He calls up another teammate to help. As the two soldiers cut the woman’s ties, Greg holds his hand over his mouth and nose.

Not wanting to, but driven by a perverse desire, he looks over the immediate area closer. Shredded clothing, all covered by differing depths of dirt, lie scattered throughout. A large number of bones are entwined with the clothing, some with dried sinew attached and others looking fresh. Mutilated bodies lie everywhere he looks, and the odor almost becomes too much to bear.

The ground between the crosses has been unable to soak in all of the blood spilled and is darkly stained. Greg feels like he is stepping into a sandy tar pit. With each step, he feels the mush under his boots and globules of blood-saturated sand sticks to his soles. Gagging at the sight, he fights down an urge to flee — just get away from this place of sick horror. The drone from hundreds of flies fills the putrid air. From the site, a trail of blood, clothing, and remnants of bodies stretch to the east.

This is obviously the work of night runners, Greg thinks, looking over the dismembered forms that used to be living people, and some very sick people.

The soldiers struggle with the stench and the sight of mutilated bodies. One bends over to throw up, adding to the mess. But they persevere and work at the bonds holding the woman. As her bonds are cut, the woman sags into the arms of her brother. He knows he doesn’t need to hear the woman’s story. The bodies tell their own story of what is going on and the deliberate nature of which these people were tied for the night runners to feed on. It doesn’t sit at all well with him.

He can imagine the terror the victims must have felt being tied in the open with the sun sinking below the mountains to the west. The intense fear at hearing the first of the shrieks call out into the night. Panic filling their souls at the pad of running footsteps as the night runners made their way closer. The sheer agony of being ripped apart.

What kind of person can subject people to this kind of agony?

The soldier holds his sister upright and feeds her a touch of water from his canteen. He then moistens a towel and begins cleaning off her face.

“There’s enough time for that later, soldier. We need to get the fuck out of here. Carry her,” Greg orders, his voice rough with emotion.

Without replying, the soldier hands his M-4 to his teammate and lifts his sister in his arms. Her face is turned up to the blue sky and her grungy raven hair hangs in matted strings. Part of the gruffness directed at the soldier is his anger and shock at what has been happening. They leave the place of horror and begin heading back to the Stryker.

As they depart, the stench dissipates and Greg feels his mind clear. He directs the three other soldiers to form around Kyle as he carries his sister. Glancing over, Greg sees Kyle look upon his sister with a mixed expression of warmth and fear. Diane looks up from time to time and tries to give a smile, but her swollen lips make it look like a grimace. Exhausted from her ordeal, her body hangs limply in the arms of her brother.

Upon reaching the vehicle, Kyle makes Diane as comfortable as he can. Sitting on the bench seat, she slumps against the back rest. Kyle gives her sips of water and she seems to draw strength with each sip. Wetting a towel again, he commences with cleaning her face and hands. Chipped fingernails, bruises on her face, and her split lips attest to her ordeal.

The lowering sun casts the ravine in shadow. The mountains to the west silhouette themselves across the landscape. Shadows and darkness come early near the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains. The night runners enjoy longer periods of their nocturnal activity here. With abundant food sources, aside from those tied to the crosses, and the long nights of hunting, it’s amazing that anyone is left alive.

Greg has the Stryker retrace its steps back up the valley as far as they can go. The terrain rises into the hills and he follows the ravine upwards, wanting to get as far away from the city as they can. They make their way into the hills until the steep slopes and trees bar their way. He wishes he could build a fire to bathe them all in smoke so their odor won’t carry. The cool air of the evening will carry their scent down the narrow ravine and give them away to any night runner pack that happens to come across it. Within the deep shadows filling the high valley, he takes one of the fuel drums and pours some of their precious diesel across the gully in front of them. He hopes that the smell of the fuel will hide their odor.

In the failing light, the soldiers open packets of food and wolf them down. It’s their last chance to be out before nightfall and then it will be all elbows and arms as they try to find some comfort within the cramped Stryker. Kyle sits inside with his sister, feeding her portions of a meal. Those outside feel the cool air rushing down from the mountains above. Birds call from the surrounding trees, singing their farewell to the sun. Many swoop in the twilight to catch a last meal before retiring. It’s a contrasting scene of peacefulness compared to what they just witnessed.

An image from the ghastly scene on the highway below surfaces, but Greg pushes it down. He has a good idea about what is going on, but not the reasoning — as if that really matters. There’s no valid reason for someone to be doing that — purposely staking others out for night runners to feast on. It doesn’t really matter what that person did. The number of bodies alludes to the fact that it’s not done for punishment. Those are definitely sacrifices. Not wanting to relive the memory and have sick images flood his mind, he shuts down his train of thought along those lines.

Greg hears a cricket begin chirping somewhere higher up in the ravine. He remembers an old trick his grandmother taught him. To pass the time, he looks at his watch, marks the second hand, and begins counting the chirps. The second hand passes the fourteen second mark as he counts his fifteenth chirp. He adds forty to the count.

Fifty five degrees out. For all the good that does, he thinks, wondering who came up with that formula. Someone had a lot of time on their hands.

Entering the Stryker and sealing it up for the night, Greg sees that Diane looks stronger. Her eyes still betray weariness, but she doesn’t need the back rest for support. Kyle puts away his meal and tenderly wipes a spot of food away from Diane’s mouth. Nourishment has helped her recover a more of her strength. Between long pauses and sips of water, Diane tells some of her story. She has difficulties speaking at times, and she has a hard time enunciating some of her words, but she struggles through it.

She, her mom, and her younger brother held up in their home as long as they could. Her mom was a strong believer in keeping a pantry full of her canning endeavors, so they were able to eat for some time. Their well supplied water. Living in the hills outside of the city limited any run-ins with the creatures who roamed the night. They could hear the shrieks at night and huddled the evening away in their basement. During this time, they met only one other person who they invited to stay with them. The man told them of the terrors that roamed the night and supplied them with information about what happened.

Eventually, they were forced to forage for supplies. At first they raided nearby houses, but then had to venture into town. It was during one of these outings that they ran into trouble. A group of men found them and took them captive. They remained in captivity for some time with other prisoners. Most days, one of the guards would select someone and they would disappear. Others were brought in periodically to replace those taken. On occasion, their captors would take and beat one of them in front of the main group. A man would orate for a while and then the beatings would start.

“Did they… did they…?” Kyle asks, hesitantly.

“No, they never violated me in that way,” Diane answers.

“Where did they take you?” Kyle asks.

“To the cave… Kyle, they still have Chris there,” Diane answers.

“And mom?” Kyle asks, fearful of the answer.

Diane shakes her head and begins sobbing.

Tears fill Kyle’s eyes. He wipes them away and holds his sister carefully to his chest, caressing her head. “Shhh…Shhh, sis…it’ll be alright. You’re safe and we’ll get Chris.”

Kyle looks to Greg for affirmation of his statement. Greg nods, “If there’s any way we can get him, we’ll do so.”

Diane’s sobbing comes to an end and she pulls out of Kyle’s embrace, wincing from her injuries.

“Diane, my name is Greg. I know it’s difficult, but I need to ask you some questions if we’re to get your brother.”

She takes a deep breath to steady herself and looks into Greg’s eyes. “If I can. Were you…are you Kyle’s commander?”

“That’s not really an easy question to answer so, for the sake of simplicity, let’s just say yes.”

She nods, “Are you really going to get Chris?”

“If it’s within our means to do so, we will. I make no promises, though. The most I can say at the moment is that we’ll try if it’s possible. To be perfectly honest, that will depend on your answers.”

“I’ll answer as best as I can,” Diane replies, still struggling to speak.

“First of all, where is this cave?”

“It’s the Cave of Winds. On the other side of the city,” Diane answers.

“I know it well,” Kyle chimes in.

“Okay, we’ll talk about those details later. How many men are in this group?”

“I don’t know…a lot,” Diane responds.

“By a lot, do you mean ten? Or forty?”

“I don’t really know how many. When I was taken in front of the group and beaten, there were a lot in the cavern. I’d say…thirty…forty…I really don’t know.”

“How many were guarding you at any given time?”

“I think there were four. We were held near the Canopy Hall…I think. I’ve only been in the caves a few times, but I think that’s right,” Diane says.

Greg looks to Kyle to see if he knows of this place; Kyle nods his affirmative.

“The man that was with you, what happened to him?” Greg asks.

“He was taken away shortly after we were captured. I don’t know what happened to him. Well…before today that is,” Diane answers.

“And they take someone every day?”

“As near as I can tell. It’s hard to know night from day down there. I don’t know how much time passes between.”

“How many other prisoners are there?”

“That varies from day to day, but I think there are only about six right now. At least that was how many were there when they took me and tied me up,” Diane replies.

“How were you held?”

“There are chains mounted on the walls. They keep us there.”

“I know this is difficult, and I’m sorry to grill you like this, but do you know where the men stay at night,”

“No. I’m sorry. I heard voices from farther into the caverns, but I really don’t know,” Diane states.

“Sorry to bring up a horrible memory, but you mentioned a man orated when you were taken and…treated badly. What did he say?” Greg asks.

“I don’t know. I was so frightened that I really didn’t hear him. I only remember something about sacrifice and appeasing demons…or something like that.”

“I see. How many men brought you to be tied up?”

“Six I think…it could have been four or five. I’m sorry, I was terrified and didn’t count. I’m sorry I’m not much help.”

“You’ve been great help. You get some rest and we’ll see what we see in the morning,” Greg says.

Kyle comforts his sister and, as night sets fully in, all noise in the Stryker ceases.

Greg works his way through a sea of legs to the front. He sits on the hard floor looking at a map of the area with a red-lensed flashlight. The map is unseen though as he wrestles with his thoughts. It’s the usual dilemma of team safety versus putting them in danger to rescue others. If it were easy, then the answer would be as well. But there are forty armed men situated across the valley. They have but seven; and only five if he keeps two with the Stryker. They have rescued one family member which is more than he thought they would find. Should they count this a victory and move on? In his mind, the right thing to do would be to attempt to rescue those being held, but the right thing is also to protect the team.

Delving further, he ponders whether they should put an end to this abomination or just rescue the hostages. Taking out forty men would be difficult unless they could get them in the open and unleash the firepower of the Stryker upon them. If they just rescued the prisoners, the group would merely branch out and capture others. The atrocity would continue. Wracking his mind for the “right” answer doesn’t bring any clarity. He knows what he’d like to do but doesn’t know if their capabilities can meet that desire.

In his years of service, he’s encountered these situations before, but not to this degree. They had orders and they saw them through. Sure he protected the team as best he could, but the mission had priority. If a situation became untenable, he radioed his command and they made the decision to pull out or continue. He now has an inkling of what Jack goes through. Delaying an answer, he makes a deal with himself to see the situation firsthand before making a final decision.

Greg thinks of their amazing timing. One day on either side and they wouldn’t have been able to help Kyle’s sister. If they didn’t leave the base when they did, they would have completely missed finding her. If they did arrive a day earlier, there’s a chance they would never have known about the captives. They might have checked out Kyle’s house and, finding no one, departed without knowing the fates of Kyle’s brother and sister. If they arrived a day later, stayed on another day with the people of Lamar, well…that would have be one day too late.

Morning arises without interference from the predators of the night. The soldiers stir from the uncomfortable positions and, after a quick check around, disembark from the locker room atmosphere within. The fresh air after a night in the Stryker is invigorating. The morning promises another day of blue skies. A flock of birds crosses the small canyon as their day has begun as well. Diane looks moderately refreshed and the bruises on her face are beginning to fade, turning yellow on the edges. There is an underlying tension with the soldiers knowing that they may see action before the day is out.

Greg calls Kyle over. “Where can we get the best view of this place?”

They pour over the map and Kyle outlines several trails that will take them through the hills south of town and put them directly on a ridge overlooking the city and the vast network of caves on the far side.

After a quick meal, they start forward. Kyle’s selections of trails are narrow, but they accommodate the bulk of the Stryker. The ridgelines keep the team from view and, after a very roundabout foray, they find themselves on a dirt road that climbs the spine of one of the larger ridges. Parking the Stryker below the crest, Greg and Kyle walk the remaining distance to the top, careful not to silhouette themselves.

A lone house sits at the very top to their right. Keeping out of view of the house, the two go prone next to the road. They have a vista-like view of the city below and the hills across from them. Kyle points out the cave location almost directly north of them. Looking through his field glasses, Greg sees a paved road winding its way up the ridge and terminating at a collection of buildings a half mile from the highway. The parking lot serving the facility is filled with a collection of new pickup trucks and Hummers. He continues looking over the area for a long period of time with ideas racing through his head — discarding all of them for one reason or another.

“Well, they’ve picked their place well. Assuming they are in those buildings, there’s no way we can approach without being seen long before we get there,” Greg says.

“Sir. Diane said they’re in the cave. At least the captives and some of the men. I know an entrance to the cave system that we can get to from that valley to the right. It enters the caves near the main entrance, but not many know of it,” Kyle comments.

“Those buildings have a view of that entire ravine. How can we get to it without being seen? I’m not all that interested in heading in at night for obvious reasons,” Greg states.

“From the other side, sir. See that light patch across the ravine on the next ridge over?” Kyle asks. “That’s a quarry and, although it’s a steep route down, it’s doable. We could park the Stryker and head in from there. They won’t be able to see us that way,” Kyle responds.

“Okay. So how do we get from here to the quarry without announcing our arrival?’

“We can cross the highway near the crosses and I know paths that will take us there. It’s a long ways around, but I can get us there without having to go through any housing areas. Plus, the ridgelines will keep us out of view. Again, we’d have to go slow to keep the dust down, but it can be done. We would be coming up on the other side of the adjacent ridge, which will block our noise. They won’t hear us.”

“How long will that take?” Greg asks.

He feels his decision is being guided. As long as there is a possibility of them being able to keep the danger levels to a minimum and get in undetected, he’ll take the chance.

“Unfortunately, with the speed we’ll have to go…most of the day, sir.”

“Point out these paths,” Greg commands.

As Kyle points and communicates the twists and turns, Greg follows with his binoculars. To all appearances, it looks to be almost a twenty klick drive only to position themselves less than a mile across from the caves, but it’s needed to get there unobserved.

“What can we expect inside?” Greg asks, making several mental calculations.

“For one, it’s cold…freezing as a matter of fact…and, of course, dark. A lot of the caves are narrow where they transition into larger caverns. Only one or two can pass abreast. The halls and caverns widen tremendously. Sound carries far. With NVGs, you can see fairly well except where the caves turn or ascend or descend. Once we get inside, we’ll reach the main entrance very shortly. Then the path will turn to the right and proceed to the Canopy Hall. Diane said they were being kept off to the side near that. I have an idea where that may be…though I don’t know for sure,” Kyle answers.”

“Any obstacles in the pathways?”

“Not really. There are a few ice-covered stalactites, but they don’t come down very far.”

Looking across the way at the numerous vehicles in the parking lot, Greg is worried about being caught away from the protection of their armor. Figures emerge from the nearest building and walk to several trucks. From this distance, he can’t make out their facial features, but they seem relaxed and jovial. The pickups depart and slowly wind their way down the road. Hitting the freeway, they turn east. Greg loses sight of them as they pass by the crosses and vanish behind Hogback Ridge.

Soon others materialize and they too drive away to the east. No one slows or stops at the crosses for which he’s thankful. Should they take a closer look, they’d notice that the ropes from their latest victim were cut.

That’s one of those little mistakes from begin tired that can cost the mission, he thinks. We’ll have to rectify that before we cross. If they find those cut ropes, they’ll know someone is around.

With a heavy sigh, Greg makes up his mind. They’ll go. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, we’d better get started.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kyle says.

The day passes from morning, to noon, to early afternoon by the time they make it to the crosses next to highway. Strands of cut rope lie on the ground next to the cross Diane was tied to. Kyle disembarks quickly and retrieves the line. He stays behind while the Stryker traverses the freeway to clean up their tracks. With a glance left and right, he fades into the shrubs and rejoins his team.

Being more than a mile above sea level, the land is arid. This slows their travel over the dirt-covered roads, but they have a few hours before nightfall. Scattered housing follows them for a few blocks and then they transition back into the barren, rough terrain. Their route meanders through the hilly environment. After an hour of travel, they double back down another road, each turn of the large wheels carrying them closer to their destination.

The soldiers are quiet as tension builds within. Each is lost in their thoughts as they contemplate what is ahead. They are going into a place where possibly forty armed men are encamped in order to rescue hostages. They don’t know the layout or have a plan. Details are severely lacking. That’s not because the information isn’t being shared, it’s because no one knows. It’s one of those ‘play it by ear’ missions. Not a one doubts the operation, but their thoughts are turned towards their being able to survive it.

They follow the outline of the hills coming back almost to the highway before intersecting another road that travels up a ravine one canyon over from the caves. Kyle points out a dirt road leaving the pavement that travels along a large ridge. To one side of the path is a steep drop to the bottom of the ravine. The other ascends sharply, but the road was built to accommodate heavy machinery, so the Stryker manages — barely.

The large quarry they enter has almost taken off the entire top of the ridgeline. However, as fortune would have it, there is a still part of the ridge between them and the caves. Greg parks the Stryker in the lee of this remaining ridgeline.

With Kyle, he scales the bluff to the side and looks over the valley separating them from the caves. A quarter of a mile is all that separates the two ridge tops. The sun is still above the tops of the mountains to the west, but it is sinking fast.

“There,” Kyle points to an opening near the top of the ridgeline near the buildings.

Greg has a difficult time finding the opening as the far hill lies in shadow due to the westering sun. With help, he finally makes out the entrance. He was looking for a cave in the cliff face instead of a sink hole. The cliffs below and on the other side are almost vertical, but he trusts Kyle’s knowledge that they can navigate their way. He hasn’t led them astray so far.

“So we have to descend into that hole? Is there a path leading down?” Greg asks.

“We’ll need some rope since we’ll have to rappel in, sir. It’s about fifty feet down and then we have to scale a wall about thirty feet up,” Kyle explains.

“I wish you would have told me this before we arrived,” Greg says.

“Would you have come, sir?” Kyle asks.

Greg just stares back. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“And how do we get back out? How do we get the hostages out? We can’t very well expect them to climb a rope fifty feet up. Hell, I don’t know if I can,” Greg states.

“I was thinking we could go out the front. If it’s during the day, perhaps most of them will be gone,” Kyle responds.

“That’s not going to work. There are far too many variables that could leave us vulnerable. I guess we can knot the rope, climb out, and use a Swiss seat to haul the others up. The hostages have to be conscious. Understand if we go in, that’s a hard and fast rule. No exceptions. If they can’t hold onto the rope, we’ll have to leave them,” Greg states.

“Understood, sir.”

Greg doesn’t like having to lay it down like that, but he feels like his ass is hanging out in the breeze on this one. He looks over the area and ponders the situation. He runs variables through his mind to see if he will be able to counter them. The advantage is the narrowness of most of the cave system. The only problem he can foresee is if they encounter a large group and have to fight their way out. The fifty foot climb is the weak link in it all. Running scenarios in his head, he reaches a decision.

“Tomorrow morning, we leave at first light,” Greg says, backing out of his position.

As the two make their way to the vehicle, one thought keeps surfacing. It worries Greg and eats at his conscience. If these people truly chain someone up to the crosses daily, that means that someone is tied up at this very moment. Sometime during their crossing the road and traveling across the back country, vehicles left the establishment and made their way down, tied someone up, and left. Some poor soul is right now tied up and terrified of the coming night.

The crosses are three miles away and they could do the trip on foot in two hours under normal conditions. These are far from normal conditions. Greg can either leave the person out there, or risk their presence being known and try to rescue them. ‘Sacrifice the one for many’ keeps popping up in his mind but, if he were honest, that doesn’t always hold true. Yes, if there were a wounded soldier in front of the lines being used as bait, he would be more inclined to believe that, but even then, he knows he would try to save that soldier.

Inside the Stryker, he asks Kyle, “If we take the most direct route to the highway, will we be seen by those on the adjacent hill?”

“No, sir. The freeway curves at the base of this ridgeline and the hill will protect us from sight,” Kyle answers. “Why?”

Greg shares his thoughts. As he reaches the conclusion, many shocked eyes stare back at him.

“Shit, I should have thought of that,” Kyle says.

“Okay, gents, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to sneak the vehicle back down and hide near the highway. When it’s about to fold into nighttime, when we’re sure that the others must have returned to their lair, we’re going to make a dash to the crosses. We can’t waste any time. I want to be back on this road by the time true night hits. We can survive a couple of night runner packs, but we don’t want to bring an entire horde upon us. The highway is mostly clear due to their constant coming and going, so hopefully they won’t see any tracks we might leave behind,” Greg briefs.

Turning to the driver, Greg says, “Once we hit that highway, you keep us on the clear sections.”

“Hooah, sir.”

They inch their way back down the dirt road. The sun’s progress toward the mountains is faster than their slow creep. They reach a hidden place next to the freeway with just a touch of sun showing above the tall peaks. The bluish-gray of twilight seeps over the area, washing color out of the environment. With a last bright gleaming flare, the sun vanishes behind the mountains.

“Go…go now!” Greg says.

With an increase in the low whine of its engine, the Stryker lurches forward and dives toward the road. They swing left and accelerate. It’s not an Indy car, but the armored vehicle picks up speed quickly. The lowering of the sun causes darkness to come quicker than Greg could have imagined. It’s a klick to the crosses and the team covers it in a minute and a half, but even then, it’s almost dark by the time they get there.

The Stryker lurches to a halt. The ramp is thrown down before the vehicle fully stops. It hits the ground with a clang and sparks fly off the road as the door is dragged a few feet. Feet pound down the ramp into the darkness, three of the team setting up a quick perimeter around the vehicle as two run over to the crosses. Nearby, the first shrieks fill the night air.

Greg looks through the thermals and sees the hot outline of figures racing their way. The night runners in the area know where to get a free meal every evening. The images on the screen grow larger with each passing second as they race down the roadway.

“Hurry it up out there,” Greg shouts. “Trouble’s on the way.”

Greg lines up the crosshair on the incoming figures. He doesn’t want to fire as the noise from the .50 cal will carry long distances through the thin air. Steps running up the rear ramp send tremors through the steel. The clang of the hatch closing and rasp of the handles as they are set are music to his ears.

“We’re clear, sir,” one of the soldier yells.

“Get us the fuck out of here,” Greg says to the driver as the first of the night runners pound on the steel hull.

“Copy that, sir.”

The vehicle heaves backwards. Once in motion, the driver floors it and they retreat with the whitish-yellow figures of night runners giving chase. The forms eventually grow smaller and seem to give up. The driver hits the brakes in order to turn them around as he can’t see to the rear of the vehicle. Keeping them on the road was a matter of looking at the road in front and hoping there weren’t any corners. A thump overhead tells of a night runner on top that has fallen from the sudden stop.

Greg pans the small gun turret around just in time to see a night runner get to its feet. It fills the screen and Greg depresses the trigger for a split second. A single round exits the barrel and catches the night runner in its midriff. The explosive force of the heavy caliber round rockets the night runner backward. Greg watches as it is hurtled from the top and drops from view.

That’s going to cause notice in the morning, Greg thinks, regarding the other group finding a dead night runner in the middle of the road.

Scanning the area, Greg doesn’t see any sign of the night runner getting up and running away. Nor is there any sight of the others. It seems all clear around them. The driver begins his turn.

“Driver, stop.” To the others, he says, “There’s a night runner out there that I shot off the top. We can’t have the others find it in the morning. Get out and pick up the body.”

The hatch drops once again. Moments later, two of the soldiers drag the carcass of a night runner aboard, dropping it in the middle of the floor. The round did a tremendous amount of damage, almost tearing the night runner in half. Blood covers its tattered clothing and exits its nostrils and mouth. Entrails leak from its torso. Diane eyes the pale figure once and vomits into the mess. A couple of the other soldiers turn pale as well. The stench of bowels and vomit permeates the Stryker.

Greg looks to Kyle and nods forward. Kyle gathers Diane and makes her look into his eyes. He then directs her forward where Greg settles her into a corner where at least the sight of the night runner is minimized. The smell, however, grows stronger until everyone is gagging.

“Move…now!” Greg commands the driver.

The motion causes blood to run down the narrow aisle. The stench becomes a physical presence making it hard to breathe. The Stryker reaches its exit point and they begin their slow climb into the hills once again. Greg halts them half way up the quarry road and has the night runner carcass tossed down into the ravine. Brandishing the few towels they have, the team cleans up the blood, feces, vomit, and a few pieces of the night runner left behind. After finishing, the smell is still there but much diminished.

It’s now that Greg looks at the poor soul the team rescued. Through the grunge covering him, Greg sees that it’s a young lad about twelve years old. He looks to Kyle asking if this is his brother. Kyle shakes his head. The other soldiers check his vitals and assure Greg that the boy is only unconscious but should recover. They slowly resume their ascent and reach their former position.

With very little sleep because of the reek, the team emerges at first light. For some, it feels like the first time they’ve been able to draw a full breath in months. Greg organizes the team — two will stay with the Stryker, the remaining five will accompany him. The boy they rescued moans but doesn’t waken. The two remaining will attend to him and Diane while the others are away.

“Clean up this mess while we’re gone. We don’t want to have to suffer through it another night. If you haven’t heard from us by morning, leave and make your way back to the compound.”

Gathering the others at the rim, Greg shows them the cave entrance and their approach. He still hasn’t reckoned whether this will be just to rescue the prisoners or whether he’ll bring the horrors committed here to an end. He’ll have to play that one by ear.

Dirt puffs out with each step as Kyle guides them along the sand which has been ground down to a fine powder from the heavy equipment traveling back and forth across its surface. The early morning sun casts long shadows from the hills and undulations inherent in the open mine. Each team member has a coil of rope draped around their neck extending under their arm. The arrangement allows them freedom of movement should it come down to a firefight. The tension emanating from each is palpable and they make their way in silence.

Greg’s heart is pounding, but his mind is too busy with thoughts to take notice. He is engaged in running the scenario endlessly through his head — searching for something he may have missed. They toil onward until they find themselves at the mouth of a steep ravine leading downward between steep bluffs. To Greg, the angle seems more like one of the speed slides you’d find at a water park than a path. Only this water slide is complete with rocks, scrub brush, and scree which would make the ride unenjoyably painful.

With careful slowness, they begin their descent in single file due to the narrowness of the ravine. At first they only have to skirt around brush and over stunted fallen pine trees. The angle steepens and they soon find themselves scrambling over boulders and through rocky shale. They struggle to keep quiet and not dislodge any rocks which would start a small landslide. From here, any noise they make will be carried along the valley floor, echoing off the steep bluffs…and to the buildings.

The caution and care required to make the descent takes the soldiers’ minds from their impending mission as all thought and action is directed toward staying on their feet. Anyone starting to fall is caught by the teammate behind them until they are stable enough to continue. More than once, lips press tight to refrain from uttering curses. They know that the mission is entirely dependent on a stealthy approach, and they strive to keep it that way.

Greg, making his way behind Kyle, slides across yet another boulder. The tall hills to either side make him think just how small the team really is. They are five people struggling down an incline and attempting to infiltrate a base, potentially outnumbered eight to one. They are far from any support and if they get caught in the open, they could become just five bodies rotting in this wilderness valley — quickly forgotten. They’d be no different than the billions lying in homes, parking lots, fields, and buildings. Nothing but bones bleaching under the sun year after year. He shakes these thoughts loose as they reach the bottom.

Some day that will be true, but today isn’t that day, he thinks, gathering in his surroundings.

The valley is in shadows with sunlight only illuminating the top of the bluffs on the western side. The cliffs rise sharply on either side of the narrow valley floor. The gorge they are in looks like it was created by a jagged knife splitting the hills in two. Stunted pine trees dot the sides with clumps of scrub brush growing between. The shrubs become denser on the valley floor but there is a small path that meanders through the shoulder-high bushes. It’s no wider than a game trail but, most importantly, it’s free of tracks.

In single file, they begin a slow march south along the floor. The path rises a short distance on one hill and then crosses the valley floor to proceed along the adjacent hill, eventually intersecting a larger path. Greg halts them in the bushes and observes the path with Kyle.

From here, the outline of the rooftop of the structure sitting atop the opposite cliff is visible. The dirt path is wide enough to comfortably accommodate two people walking side by side and proceeds up the bluff in a series of switchbacks.

“Sir, this path leads to the sink hole. We won’t be seen until we reach the very top. If there’s anyone inside the back of the building, they’ll have a direct view of the path and entrance,” Kyle says.

“Let’s hope no one’s home then,” Greg states.

With that, they leave the cover of the bushes in intervals and begin scaling the path. Greg takes the lead and feels tension build the closer he draws to the top. His mouth goes dry as adrenaline begins seeping into his system. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he subconsciously strokes the trigger guard of his M-4 pointed ahead of him. Slowly, more of the building is revealed as he climbs higher. After negotiating the switchbacks, he nears the top and goes prone, crawling the last few feet toward the crest.

Listening, he only hears the swish from a strong breeze that blows through the trees and bushes. Below, the wind travels down the narrow canyon with a soft roar. Peeking over the edge, he sees the rear of the structure. What he initially took to be a series of buildings is actually a single one — the differing angles of the structure joined together. Windows show at the rear, the ones on the eastern side reflect the strong sunlight filtering down. Near the building is the sinkhole. Around it, a single rope runs through rings attached to the top of metal poles sunk into the ground. He watches for any sign of movement.

Assured that no one is observing this part of the facility, he crawls backward to the rest of the team.

“Okay, it doesn’t appear that anyone is watching. We need to work fast. There are metal poles surrounding the sinkhole. We’ll use one of them to secure the line. Kyle, do you have the knotted rope?”’

Kyle nods. The previous night, they put knots every three feet in a length of rope that would hopefully reach the bottom. This will aid guide their descent and their later ascent.

“We’ll move quickly and set up against the wall of the building. Kyle, you secure the rope and descend, when he vanishes, the next will proceed. NVGs on when it gets dark enough. Any questions?” Greg briefs.

A nod from every member indicates that they understand and are ready to go. Greg sequences their order of descent with him going down last. They crawl upwards on their stomachs and spread across the crest. Greg watches for any changes and sees none.

“Go,” he says softly.

As one, they rise and scramble across the short distance, going into ready positions against walls near the picture windows. Kyle races to the hole. Taking the rope off his shoulders, he quickly ties it around one of the steel poles set in concrete. Giving a sharp tug to test its weight-bearing capability, he looks to Greg and gives a nod. Greg returns the nod. Kyle swings his legs into the hole and begins lowering himself. His head vanishes and Greg nods to the next soldier.

Greg feels the coolness of the building through his clothing and vest. The sun is warming the walls, but the chill is still there. The climb was a steep one which caused more than one trickle of sweat to seep down his back. Blinds are drawn across the large panes of glass looking across the back of the building which gives them a measure of concealment. He notes each soldier making sure that their shadows don’t reach across windows as their turn comes to race to the hole and descend. He hears Kyle on the radio saying that he has reached the cavern floor and that the rope is more than long enough. As each soldier mounts to rappel down, the rope gives a creak of strain, but both it and the metal pole hold. The last soldier vanishes and, with a last look at the windows, Greg races to the hole and begins his descent.

The knots are both a help and hindrance as he descends. They don’t allow for a quick rappel and he has to go down hand –over-hand. However, it will make it much easier to climb. The rope swings slightly as he makes his way down, but with the bottom being held tight by those below, the sway is minimal. After a short distance, the darkness closes over him. IN the dark, the light streaming in through the hole above is dazzling. Dust motes dance in and out of the beam of light shining into the cavern depths. Greg pauses to lower his NVGs. The cavern springs to life with a green glow. He finishes his descent and joins the others.

Kyle was right about the temperature, it’s near freezing and plumes of breath are visible with each exhalation. Greg shivers as the cold envelopes him, but then he pushes it out of his mind. Nearby, a wall climbs out of the cavern with a cave exiting at the top. Kyle indicates that’s their path. Carabiners are attached to the rock surface with ropes leading upward. Dropping their ropes near their descent point, they make their way to the wall over the uneven, rocky ground.

The climb is an easy one with plenty of outcroppings to use as footholds. Before long, they are all kneeling in the upper cave. From here, it will all be hand signals and low whispers as the cave will carry the sound of their voices far into its depths.

They slowly make their way across the sandy and rocky ground, making sure not to scuff their boots. Any equipment that would make noise when moved was taped down prior to leaving the Stryker. Their M-4s are poised in front of them, ready to pour suppressed fire down the narrow cave. With Greg leading and Kyle behind, they continue in single file. Ahead, a metal door bars their path. The rectangular frame is set into the rock wall at the top and bottom, but the curvature of the cave causes gaps on the sides. It isn’t possible to slide bodily through, but they are wide enough to pass an arm through. Greg halts the team and looks to Kyle.

“Well, that’s new. At least since the last time I was there,” Kyle whispers.

An unknown noise comes from the other side. The team freezes and becomes even more still –which means that they become part of the stone. To Greg, the sound is like a scraping or shuffling sound. It’s not loud, but it’s there near the other side of the door.

Greg motions for the others to hold their positions and, with Kyle in tow, he inches toward the door. Peeking through one of the apertures to the side of the doorway, Greg sees two men leaning against a roughhewn wall approximately forty feet ahead. They are listless and appear bored, occasionally breaking the silence with an exchanged word or two which only reaches Greg’s ears as mutterings. At the two men’s feet lie several gas-powered camping lanterns that cast pools of white light.

Greg looks on the other side of the three inch solid steel door to see that it’s padlocked on the other side. Their entrance is guarded and locked.

This is beginning to look like a no-go, Greg thinks, studying the lock, door, and guards.

He watches for a few additional moments. No one else comes into view and the two kick at the ground. The indications are that they’ve been there for a while with no one coming or going. The armed nature of the guards gives a clear indication that they are the bad guys. Greg looks at the lock on the other side of the door once more.

“Do you have a good angle on the one to the right?” Greg asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Greg decides to take a chance. Putting the muzzle of his suppressor into the opening, he places his red dot on the head of the figure to the left. It’s easy to hold his aim as neither person is moving.

“On my count,” Greg says as Kyle positions his carbine. “Three…two…one…”

The cave flashes with split-second strobes as high-speed projectiles are launched down the darkened space with muffled coughs. The bullets connect with force, impacting the sides of each guard’s head. Both rock to the side as the steel core rounds penetrate their skulls near the ear and explode inside of the brain. One guard falls violently to the side, knocking over a lantern. Some of the liquid spills out and is ignited by the lantern. The other guard slumps down the wall to a sitting position and then slowly falls over to the side.

Acting quickly, Greg motions Kyle behind the door and pulls out his 9mm handgun. Reaching through the door, he places the barrel close to the padlock and, shielding himself behind the steel portal, he fires. The round hits the lock and whizzes down the hall. Looking at the lock, it has held. He repeats the action and, looking again, is rewarded by a shredded and unattached lock.

He removes the hasp and opens the door. Greg and Kyle move quickly at a crouch to where the two figures lie on the cold cave floor. Greg rights the lantern and quickly smothers the small fire with his boot. The two of them check for any signs of life and, finding none, grab the pair by the ankles and drag them back. He sends two soldiers to erase the drag marks as he and Kyle drop the bodies over the edge of the wall.

Returning quickly, the team moves to where the lanterns are illuminating the small area. Greg closes the door and attaches the broken lock before joining them. Another steel door blocks an upward tunnel that branches off and Kyle identifies it as the main entrance.

“The tunnel heads up into the main building above.”

Greg tests the door and finds it unlocked. A key extends from the inset lock. Greg turns the key and locks the door.

“You two stay here and keep out of sight,” he says, detailing two soldiers to stay behind.

The three remaining continue into the cave system. Kyle leads as Greg doesn’t want to lead them astray by taking a random exit or missing the one they need. Coming to an intersection, a cave branches to the left, another heads to the right, and the one they are on continues straight ahead. Kyle turns and heads down the branch to the right. The cave width fluctuates as they proceed, sometimes wide enough for two abreast and at others, there’s only enough room for one to squeeze through. Although the path is straight, it varies in elevation and, contrary to what Kyle said earlier, they are seldom able see very far in advance.

With their night vision goggles lowered, they move rapidly yet quietly in a crouch, their carbines out in front ready to engage anyone they should they encounter. Anyone they meet is considered a hostile in this environment and they’ll get the first shot in and either move up or withdraw quickly in the dark.

After a time, Greg makes out a yellow glow of light ahead illuminating the width of the cave. It literally looks like the light at the end of the tunnel. Kyle halts with Greg close behind. The other soldier with them goes to his knee and covers their rear. Even though there are two guarding their backside, there is no telling where someone might materialize with all of the cave’s offshoots.

“That’s the Canopy Hall ahead. I don’t know where the captives will be since the cavern is so large,” Kyle whispers.

Greg takes the lead, knowing now where they need to go. He inches forward in the freezing cold of the cave. Small stalactites hang from the ceiling, dirty yet with gleams of ice showing. His boots shuffle across the gritty surface as he crouches with his M-4 pointing steadily in front of him. Plumes of frosted breath fill the lower part of his vision as he exhales, vanishing over his shoulders as he pushes on. The flare of light ahead grows in size with each step.

As he approaches, he sees that the cave opens up. Faint voices are heard from ahead, rising and falling in volume. Greg can’t make out individual words, but it’s apparent one person is speaking loudly. Sweat trickles down the side of his face despite the freezing temperatures. His hands grip his M-4 loosely but with tension at the same time. His breath comes quicker and he feels his heart rate kick up a notch. The chill air on his ears makes them ache and he feels both hot and cold simultaneously.

He eases against the wall to minimize his outline in the center of the hall. If someone comes their way, he’ll drop them where they stand. With the team still in the dark, any return fire from others will be directed down the center of the cave. He inches closer.

At the edge of the light, Greg notes that the pathway descends and extends through the middle of the cavern which stretches out to either side. The voice becomes louder and other voices join in as if cheering, echoing off the hard walls of the cavern. Greg peeks into the wide cavity.

Lanterns are scattered throughout the cavern causing alternating places of brightness and gloom. Shadows dance across the floor and wall like wraiths. To his immediate left, he sees two guards sitting against the rock walls, their knees drawn up and attention focused around a corner from where the voices are coming. They are in a small notch extending into the bedrock away from the central cavern. Around the corner from their sitting place, more light glares. And between the two guards, in the center of the notch, four people are chained to a wall.

The four sit despondently with their arms and foreheads resting on drawn up knees. Their tops and pants are tattered and grimy. Any length of hair they have looks like a cross between morning hair and being dragged behind a horse. Of particular note is the four instead of five that should have been there as indicated by Kyle’s sister.

Greg shrugs and motions his findings to the two behind him. He pulls them close and whispers his plan. He’ll take out the guards quietly and then move up to observe around the corner. The two are to search the guards for keys and begin unshackling the prisoners. He feels his pulse pounding as he’s about to step into that fine line between being hidden and opening himself to the potential of getting caught. Action which can draw attention to them is near and approaching like a speeding freight train.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he eases around the corner. The guards are still preoccupied with the person that is out of sight and talking. He centers his aiming reticle on the nearest one and waits. Soon, the shouting voices that he’s heard from time to time erupt in the cavern and he squeezes the trigger. The carbine kicks against his shoulder — one delivery is outbound. He quickly shifts his aim to the other guard and fires while the sound of cheering still echoes off the walls. His suppressed, subsonic rounds both connect a second apart. Blood splashes against the light brown walls and both men slump to the side leaving dark smears on the walls.

Greg is up before the second body hits and places a round in each head as he hastens past them in a crouch. The single voice picks up again as Greg drops prone and peers around the corner.

Across the hall, a gaggle of men stand with their backs to him. Unable to see beyond the last row of people, he still gets the impression that there are approximately thirty gathered. On the wall on the far side, over their heads, shadows flickers from the light of a fire. Greg still can only catches snippets as they bounce off the granite.

“Work of the gods… you fools… sacrifice will… demons sent forth… appeased… the… demand it…”

This reminds Greg of the prison where he and Jack entered to conduct a similar rescue. Only this has a more maniacal aspect to it. He can’t really explain the difference except to say that this has more of a heated fervor to it — bordering or passing into true insanity. The other was one man, although crazy himself, that had some control. But this seems like it has a fever attached to it — almost demonic.

He doesn’t know if the people standing in front of him actually believe what the man is spouting or if they just like hurting people. That really doesn’t matter at the moment as he is now in a race against time. At some point, the talking will end and the people will leave to go about their business. And that will carry them his way. Everyone he sees is armed, and most appear to have some flavor of an AR-15 or M-4. If his team is engaged, they won’t be able to outgun the group.

Greg turns back to where his two teammates are trying key after key in the padlocks that hold the captives in their manacles. Between the prisoners, empty manacles hang from U-bolts that have been driven into the rock. Where they came up with so many shackles is beyond him.

“Come on…hurry up,” Greg whispers.

“We’re trying, sir. There must be a hundred keys here,” Kyle replies.

Greg turns his attention back to the gathering. Another cheer rises from them. The anxiety of staying here for so long grows within until Greg doesn’t know if he can stand it any longer. He gets the feeling that this little soirée is drawing to a close. He’s about to say fuck it and leave with what they have when he feels a tap on his leg. He startles and turns to see Kyle mouth, ‘We’re ready.’

Greg nods, expecting Kyle to turn and go with the captives. The other soldier with them begins leading the prisoners out. They stagger with weakness but, holding onto each other, they walk slowly into the darkness. Kyle remains.

“What?” Greg asks, whispering.

“Sir, Diane mentioned six. With the one we rescued last night, there should be five and there’s only four,” Kyle says, nodding in the direction of the departing ex-captives.

Greg gets what he is saying. His sister mentioned that they periodically take a prisoner and haul them in front of the group to beat them. Greg has a sinking feeling and feels like throwing up. There’s nothing they can do, though. If they engage, they will get chewed up. Tossing a grenade in this enclosure to even things up will hit the team as hard as the others.

“Was your brother in those we have?” Greg asks.

Kyle nods his affirmative.

“As much as I hate to say this, we’re just going to have to call this a win and get out of here,” Greg says.

Accepting what Greg says, Kyle turns and heads toward the cavern exit. Greg stops to pick up an open padlock lying on the ground and then follows on Kyle’s heels.

Greg trudges down the narrow cave with a heavy heart. With his decision, he has possibly condemned someone to be beaten and tied to the crosses. This is where the tough decisions come and he has to draw a line between team safety and saving others. He wracks his mind as to how he can save that person — if there even is someone. Taking the group one-on-one is absolutely out of the question. He could wait until the one was tied and rescue them, but it won’t be long until this group finds their dead and missing members. They’ll be alerted.

Even with the Stryker, their chances would be risky. It’s apparent that these people have raided armories at Fort Carson and they may have anti-armor weapons at their disposal. He can’t hazard that. If he had C-4, he could attach it and bring the ceiling crashing down on them, trapping them inside. His decision is not only condemning that one person to die, he’s allowing this hatred and evil to continue. The weight is enough to drown him, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s saved five people and, providing they get out without trouble, his team will live to fight another day.

He knows this decision will stay with him forever, but he will mark this place and talk with Jack when he sees him. On this leg of their trip, Greg has encountered some of the highest examples of humankind in this new world — the people of Lamar and the peace they have there. From the evil he is now walking away from, he’s also come across the lowest forms of humanity.

He and Kyle catch up to the prisoners and they make their way quickly to the guards they posted at the entrance. Through gaps in the door, Greg sees two bodies lying in the tunnel just beyond the other side of the steel door.

“What happened here?” Greg asks, gesturing.

“They wanted us to unlock the door… and we didn’t want to. There was a disagreement… they lost… sir.”

Greg nods, his mood lightened a little, and they make their way through the other steel door. Greg reaches through once they close it behind them and padlocks it. He then slips the large key ring into his pocket.

At the edge of the drop, each team member takes one of the newly freed hostages. Hugging them against the wall, their bodies shielding them from falling, and helping them place their feet, they manage to get the weakened people down.

Greg climbs the rope with two other teammates. The climb is arduous but, with the help of the knots, they make it. Kyle remains below with another teammate. Using the other ropes they brought, they fashion Swiss seats on the four ex-captives. They tie a carabiner at the end of the rope dangling from the hole high above and attach it to the first person. With the job finished, Kyle sends the other soldier up the rope and stays behind.

“Hold onto the rope to steady yourself and don’t let go,” Kyle tells the people. “You probably won’t fall if you do, but being upside down sucks big time. If you do let go, spread your legs and try to orient yourself back upright.”

With two keeping watch, Greg and another soldier begin hauling the first of the former captives up. The knots help but their backs and arms strain with the effort. Eventually a head pokes through the sinkhole. With the soldier holding the rope steady, Greg grabs their shoulders and hoists them up. He sends them a short way down the path and tells them to wait there. The four on top alternate in teams of two with each person and, although it takes some time, they get everyone up.

As they drag the last person out of the hole, Greg hears a commotion from the other side of the building — shouting coming from the parking lot. He hustles the person down the path and drops the rope to Kyle. Time has run out. They’ve been discovered. Greg can only hope that the locked main entrance door and the bodies on the other side will suggest that they escaped in that direction, just as long as they don’t come around the back. Car doors slam and engines start. Soon, the sound of vehicles fades as they drive down the road leading to the establishment.

Kyle emerges and they haul up the rope. Greg wants to keep the route a secret in case they decide to visit again. He has to walk away now, but people like this don’t deserve to live. There’s no place on this earth for the likes of them. The nine of them descend the switchbacks and enter the deep valley. The sun has passed through its zenith and lowered into afternoon.

They travel slowly, due to the weakened state of the ones rescued. They also don’t want their movement to draw any undue attention. Water has provided the four with a little refreshment and their staggering walk steadies some but they aren’t up for wind sprints as yet. Greg knows they need to make cautious haste out of the area. He hasn’t heard any fat lady singing, and she won’t until they see this city far in their rearview.

It’s a trial getting everyone up the steep ravine that leads to the Stryker. The team has to help the others over every boulder and push them up the steep inclines. It’s apparent the ex-prisoners are near the end of their strength. The knowledge that they’ve been freed gives them the power to push on even though they feel like lying down and resting under the peaceful sun.

Panting and sweating, they crest the top. The team pauses with their hands on their knees and the others collapse in the dirt, not caring if they die where they fall. At least they will die free.

Greg gets the team in motion again and cajoles the others with the promise that safety lays just a few more steps away. The powder kicked up from their boots seems drier and dustier than before. They are all exhausted — the post-adrenaline let down. The Stryker is parked in the shadow of a sheltering bluff, almost hidden. They scramble aboard and cram into every available space. The boy they rescued the night before is awake and smiles at the soldiers entering. Diane gives a croaking cry and throws her arms around one of the four they brought. The ex-prisoners are given water and fall asleep almost immediately.

Greg turns to Kyle. “Do your magic. Get us out of here. There are numerous vehicles out and about looking for us. Make sure we stay out of sight and keep us heading south.”

Kyle takes over the commander’s position and guides the driver through a myriad of paths. The going is maddeningly slow due to the need to keep their dust trail down. Greg turns to the ones they rescued. Diane is holding a young man in her lap as he sleeps. This is obviously her and Kyle’s brother judging from the tears rolling down her cheeks. Even as they sleep, the others are being ministered to by the soldiers. The freed prisoners are all gaunt with malnourishment and look battered and bruised. However, it seems likely that they’ll survive their ordeal.

Greg is thinking about transportation for them all when he hears Kyle call, “Vehicle ahead, sir. We’ve been spotted.”

Greg quickly exchanges places and is informed that they are proceeding south down the Interstate. Kyle has brought them south of Colorado Springs using his knowledge of the back trails. Greg orders a halt. Not wanting to silhouette himself on top of the Stryker and present a target, he looks through the vehicle’s optics and zooms in.

Ahead, in the other lanes, a dark-colored pickup is parked off to the side of the road. It could be that the other group has scouts parking along major routes to report their position if found. Two people stand on the other side of the truck looking on with binoculars. Whoever they are, it’s evident that the team has been spotted and their position more than likely reported.

“We need to move through this and quick. Driver, floor it,” Greg says. “If they make a move, blink, or otherwise breathe wrongly, I’m lighting ‘em up.”

The only thing keeping him from sending the truck and its riders to the afterlife is the radio call from Jack. At some point, they were to meet a group coming up from the south. The call was terse and he didn’t get a lot of information as Jack was a little busy at the time.

The Stryker launches forward, jostling those within. Some of the ex-captive’s wake and their eyes startle open. They begin flailing in a panic before remembering where they are. The men next to the truck parked ahead don’t move. The Stryker closes the distance. The two don’t respond in a hostile manner — of course, who would with an armored Stryker bearing down on them — but they don’t leave the cover of their enclosed truck either. As they draw closer, Greg sees that it’s an enclosed four-by-four — a Suburban or Tahoe. Both men have long beards and one holds a shotgun at his side.

Greg orders the driver to slow and change lanes. As they pass adjacent, Greg pokes his head out of the hatch.

“Are you the unit Captain Walker told us about?” the larger of the two men shouts.

Greg shouts for a halt and pitches forward as the heavy vehicle slows and stops.

“I’m Jax and this ugly brute is Steven.”

To Greg, the both of them look like they should be riding Harley’s rather than an SUV.

“I was under the impression you were going to radio when you were close. I was pretty close to unleashing some heavy steel your way,” Greg says.

The post-adrenaline drain and knowing he had to leave one person in the hands of those fanatics has left Greg with little patience. Plus, he is just coming down from his fear of having been discovered.

“We didn’t think we’d run into you this far out. And I’m glad you held your trigger finger light. I don’t think we’d have enjoyed that much,” Jax says with a grin.

The large man with shaggy brown hair and a bushy beard then looks north and points. “Is that your handiwork?’

Greg whirls around in the cupola. To the north, several thin streamers of dark smoke rise into the air with the tops bending to the east as they catch the wind.

“No… no it’s not,” Greg replies, shading his face to get a clearer picture.