Reckoning

Tempered Steel

The airport lies to the northeast just outside of the city limits. As we approach, the plains give way to brown crop circles, their shapes still barely visible. Calling Gonzalez to the front to assist, I fly over the city and then the airfield itself.

The town looks like any other we’ve flown over or passed through; mostly residential neighborhoods with brown fields spread throughout. After a couple of passes over the metropolis without seeing any signs of survivors, I turn toward the airport.

I see the outlines of two runways, one north-south, and, just off the southern approach, an east-west one. Two small ramps serve the small fixed-base operations on the field. Surrounding the ramps are the burnt-out remains of hangars. Blackened sheets of steel lie twisted in amongst the wreckage of several aircraft, with everything having been burned to the ground.

On the airfield grounds next to the destroyed hangars, a small fenced-in compound sits to the southwest. Several warehouse-type buildings have most of their roofs caved in, as does a large administration building. A number of flatbed tractor-trailers are parked around the outer edges of the complex. There’s obviously a story here that we’ll most likely never learn.

“What do you think?” I ask Gonzalez.

“It looks like all of the buildings have been burned, sir,” she answers.

“Thank you for that deep and insightful answer, Corporal Obvious,” I reply.

I glance to see her grinning underneath her helmet, taking what I said as the joke it was intended to be. We circle the airfield, looking for indications that anyone is around, or anything that might cause us trouble upon landing.

Gonzalez comments, “It could be that someone was clearing the area out, or a fire started on its own. With no one to put it out, it could have just burned everything.”

“I suppose. That’s a lot of distance between some of those buildings,” I state.

“There’s also a lot of fuel down there. It could have ignited and ran. There could have been strong winds,” she replies, shrugging.

“I guess.” Over the intercom, I call to the control center, “Do you have anything on thermal?”

“No, sir. We’re not picking up anything out of the ordinary.”

I bring the Spooky into an orbit over the airfield. After several minutes of watching to ensure that it seems safe, I bring the aircraft in and park, leaving the engines idling for a few minutes before shutting down.

As the propellers wind down to a halt, I open the rear ramp and exit. My pant legs whip from a strong breeze that brings a chill from the mountains miles to the west. This is a far cry from the hammock swinging, umbrella drink sipping, white sand beach watching that I should be doing.

“So, what’s the plan?” Lynn asks, standing next to me.

“Find a vehicle and finish with our business here, fly home, and look at the video. We’ll plan our next action based on what we see. For whatever reason, we’ve been targeted…so they obviously don’t mean to ease up on us. We need to come up with a plan to deal with them, but frankly, I haven’t the foggiest idea what that will entail.”

There’s a farmhouse with a few outlying buildings in the distance, nestled in the “V” created by the intersecting runways. Lynn will take the rest of Red Team out with the exception of Bri. We’ll be staying behind to set the return flight home in the nav computer. Even though one of lessons learned was not sending single teams out, the place where they’ll conduct the fake rescue mission is close and they won’t be out of sight. Locating a pickup and managing to get it started, Lynn and the others set off across the runways, bouncing across fields on their way to the farm house.

After finishing with inputting the coordinates, to kill time waiting for Lynn and the others to return, Bri and I walk to the nearest line of hangars. Charred sheet metal lies in twisted heaps where the buildings collapsed in on themselves. There is a lingering smell of burnt rubber and plastic. Several of the sheets rustle as a flurry of wind gusts blow through. Underneath the debris, there are recognizable aircraft parts that survived the fire: a wheel strut, a tire rim with the rubber melted and burned away, part of a wing lying under a section of sheet metal.

Bri and I silently look over the wreckage, each of us lost in our thoughts. Bri bends down, moves a section of steel to the side, and picks up a charred altimeter. The outer casing is brittle and covered with soot. The hands are bent from the heat they encountered.

Turning it in her hand, she asks, “Dad, why are they doing this? The other group, I mean.”

“I don’t know, Bri. They must think that we’re a threat to them somehow. Given what they planned to do, that’s the only thing I can come up with,” I answer.

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, talk with them somehow?” she asks, still looking at the instrument in her hand.

“I wish it were that easy. If they had come and talked with us in the beginning, perhaps something might have been worked out. However, with what they’ve done, in the beginning… and to us recently… I doubt they would have been interested in any form of compromise. Of course, there is also the question of whether we would, considering what they did… or tried to do. They take what they want without caring much with how they go about it.”

“Do you think we’re going to make it? I mean, survive?”

I look over the burnt remains of the hangars and across the flat landscape with the wind rippling my clothing. In the distance, purplish peaks of the mountain range rise above the horizon. Being far away from home, with all that has occurred, this place seems remote and the view has a very forlorn feeling attached to it. For all intents and purposes, Bri and I are the only ones around. It seems like we are the last two people on earth poking through rubble from the past. I want nothing more than to encircle her with my arms and hold her tight…keep her safe.

“I’d like to think so, if I have anything to say about it anyway.”

“But we’ve lost so many people lately. Nic, Allie, Drescoll, the team today, and maybe Greg… and we aren’t gaining anyone.”

And therein lies the crux of the whole thing. We can’t afford to lose anyone as we can’t replace them. We just don’t have the numbers to lose people and be able to survive. It takes time to replace any we do lose, whether through natural causes or otherwise. If we allow ourselves to be whittled down, we’ll soon run out of people. The last vestiges of humankind will fade away, vanishing from the face of the earth forever.

“We’ll make it somehow, Bri. I don’t know how other than to keep the faith that we will.” I put my arm around her shoulders and hold her close.

Lynn calls in that they are returning. Bri looks over the altimeter once more and then tosses it back onto the pile of rubble. Looking to the southwest toward the fenced-in complex, I pull out my binoculars and zoom in on the buildings. Focusing on the three-story central office building, I note the roof and part of the brick walls have toppled inward. Windows are set into the structure at even intervals on all floors, but very little of the glass remains. Through the openings, I see a mix of light pouring in from the collapsed sections of roof and shadowed darkness. Panning across the side of the building, I glimpse a flash of movement from behind one of the windows.

Startled, I look again, squinting to penetrate the depths. Nothing. Something was there and flashed away in an instant, but not before I caught what looked like someone standing at the window looking in our direction.

“Did you see that?” I ask Bri, moving to where a portion of a hangar corner still stands to gain a measure of cover.

“No…what?” she answers.

“I swear there was someone at the window. The lower one on the left corner facing us.”

“I don’t see anything.” I hand her the binoculars. “I still don’t see anything, at any of the windows. Are you sure you saw something?” she asks, turning from the raised binoculars to look at me.

“I wouldn’t stake my life on it. I might yours, but not mine. But, yeah, I’m pretty sure I saw someone there, and I’m doubly sure I saw movement.”

I turn to see the pickup crossing the east-west runway and call Lynn, asking her to join us by the hangar and filling her in on what I saw. Even though it’s already been an eventful day, I decide to investigate further. I would think that any survivor would show themselves, although perhaps not with the way that the world is now. I don’t want to stick around much longer, but I’m curious now and want to help if someone needs it; we start forward.

With Lynn driving and the others in the bed, the truck creeps forward. Bri and I walk alongside, staying behind the cover it affords. A portion of the fence has been pushed inward, toppling a large section of it to the ground. Lynn drives the truck over the top. Bri and I step over the chain links trying to do our very best to keep from getting snagged by the barbed wire that once lined the top.

Walking between a couple of outlying buildings near the fence, each gutted by fire, we cross a drive that circles the main structure. The pickup halts and Red Team exits. With the team providing cover and my M-4 at the ready, I cautiously approach the window, walking toward it from the side to provide the best cover.

As I approach, I note the trails of smoke rising up the sides of the building from each of the windows, partially faded from rains that must have swept through the area. The breeze carries a hint of smoke, like a faint lingering odor of burning brakes. As I noticed earlier, there is very little glass remaining in the windows. What is left has turned opaque and is melted along the edges, the sharp corners rounded.

Stacked next to the window, I call out. My voice echoes inside and is quickly carried away on the strong wind. Receiving no response, I take my signal mirror and edge it around the corner, turning it back and forth to view the entire inside. There are only piles of debris. Feeling the thud of my heartbeat, I round on the window with my carbine pointing inward. Checking the sides, up and down, I only see a mix of shadows and light. Nothing moves.

Looking to the floor just inside the window to see if I can spot any tracks, I’m startled by the sight of a skeletal body. Strips of desiccated sinew cling to parts of the skull with remnants of long brown hair still attached. Tattered clothing hangs to the body in places with more strewn throughout the room. The rest of the body has been stripped clean.

It’s lying under the window on a pile of bricks, concrete slabs, and pieces of lumber that escaped the flames. The fact that it’s on the debris and the bones aren’t burnt means that this person died here after the fire. The condition of the body makes it obvious that night runners were here…or still are.

I open up my senses and feel the presence of several night runners nearby. They appear to be almost directly below and are definitely within the confines of the building. There must be a basement that they are using as a lair. I motion the others forward and relate my perceptions.

The wind blows through the open windows, creating a low, moan-like howl through the building, much like the sound of blowing across an empty Coke bottle. The movement—and I want to say person—I saw definitely came from this window. However, there aren’t any tracks or sounds. If there was, I should be able to hear and smell them even through the lingering odor of the smoke. There isn’t a sign that anyone is here, other than a pack of night runners below.

The sound of the wind moaning through the building, the destruction within, and the body below where I saw the ‘person’ contributes to an eerie feeling that sends chills racing up my spine.

“Are you seeing ghosts again, Jack?” Lynn asks.

“Apparently,” I answer, peering into the building.

I call inside once again. No answer. We walk around the building, keeping a sharp eye and our weapons on the open windows as we pass.

The front of the building has double, full-paned entry doors that have been twisted out of shape. Like the windows, the glass is missing from the entrance. Peering inside, debris covers a lobby that served as an entryway, with still more strewn in the hallways beyond. Light shows brightly through the collapsed roof. Several slabs of concrete hang from above, attached only by strings of rebar. The upper floors have been entirely burned away leaving an unobstructed view of the sky and what remains of the roof. Many of the concrete structural support walls have fallen, creating large debris fields spanning across hallways and rooms. Once more, I call inside without hearing a response.

“Are you sure you saw someone?” Lynn asks.

“I don’t know. I suppose it could have been a trick of the light, but I swear someone, or something, was there,” I answer.

“Are we going in, Dad?” Bri asks.

“I don’t know. Surely if there was someone in there, they would have responded. The smoke masks some of the scent, but I’m pretty sure I would smell something, or at least hear if someone was inside. Also, the floor may have been damaged. The debris can be covering weaknesses or holes,” I reply. “Plus, I really don’t want to dawdle here for long.”

Bri shrugs and turns to descend the steps leading to the entrance. The rest of us turn to follow. Deep within the building, from one of the upper levels, I hear the sound of a large rock rolling and bouncing down the debris. My heart beats with a solid thump as adrenaline shoots through my body. We all turn to the noise, going to our knees and bringing our M-4s to bear. There’s a muffled scurrying sound from somewhere in the back and above before everything goes quiet once again.

It takes a few seconds for us to recover from the initial shock of the sound. Our fingers shy away from the triggers but keep them close.

“Well?” Lynn whispers.

“Could have been from anything?” I respond, still hesitant to enter the building.

“That was a big ass rock that moved. And something heavy was moving afterwards,” Lynn states.

“Be that as it may, if anyone is in there and they were interested in talking to us, they would have done so already. Anything could have dislodged the rock. I think we find trouble enough without having to actively go looking for it,” I state.

“Alright, Jack. For once we happen to agree. We’ll just leave your mystery as is.”

We rise and turn to go. As I put my boot down on the first step, I hear what sounds like a muffled cough. It’s so faint that I doubt anyone else heard it. Spinning around, I see startled faces reacting to my abrupt turn. I stare past them to the inside of the building.

“What is it, Jack?” Lynn asks.

“Shhhh…”

I strain, listening to see if I can hear something else. There, the same sound. It definitely seems like something is trying to conceal the noise.

“Do you hear that?” I ask, whispering.

“No, Jack, I don’t hear a thing except the wind blowing. What do you hear?” Lynn answers.

“Anyone else?” I ask, putting off Lynn’s question for the moment.

Each of the others shakes their head.

“I swear there’s someone in there. I heard them try to cover up a cough, twice.”

“What do you think?” Lynn asks.

“Fuck it, let’s take a look, but we’re not going far,” I say. “Spread out once we get inside. Keep in sight of each other and watch your footing.”

Entering through one of the glassless entry doors, I step over a small pile of bricks. Most of the interior has fallen in on itself, creating large open areas surrounded by the partial remains of concrete support walls and the outer brick ones. Several large beams, scorched by the fire yet not completely burned through, lean at angles against the remaining walls or stick out from deep piles of wreckage. To me, it resembles a bombed out building. The feel of the place is like walking into an abandoned factory …one of those places that seem to carry the ghosts of activity, hidden from sight but still present within the emptiness, as if there is a thin line separating this time from then, that any moment you might see the outline of workers crossing the floor.

One of my initial steps disturbs a brick, shifting it against another one. A flock of pigeons takes wing from high above, startling the shit out of me. I flinch and crouch down, close to feeling a warm trickle flow down my leg.

“Fuck me,” I breathe, feeling my heart thud against the walls of my chest.

The flock flies through the open roof, disappearing from view.

“Remember, there’s no going downstairs or into any dark areas. I don’t sense any night runners up here, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t. There is, however, definitely a pack under our feet. Although I don’t like this, we need to be quick. We can’t forget that we’re only an hour’s drive away from the other encampment,” I whisper, my heart beginning to recover from the fright.

Once inside, we spread out. Lynn and Gonzalez are on my left with Henderson and Denton to my right. Bri walks just behind my right shoulder. We slowly traverse what once was a lobby but is now covered with piles of brick and slabs of concrete with fingers of rebar poking out. Inside, the wind blowing through the open windows moans with an increased intensity.

Our carbines move in unison with our eyes as we search the upper levels and dark corners for anyone in the building. The footing is tricky. With each step, bricks shift under our boots. We slowly work our way across the lobby.

Entering a hallway, two charred and twisted fire doors lie slanted across an opening to the left. Peering past the doors, I see a flight of steps leading down. They are covered in debris but there’s an obvious pathway leading through the center. At the bottom, another warped fire door stands open. A hall stretches past the entry, leading farther into the basement. The hallway quickly fades into a dark gloom as very little light, from the collapsed roof and floors above, penetrates it. And upward flight of stairs has fallen, leaving only five steps, and part of a sixth one, intact.

Near to the stairwell entrance, a large debris pile angles down from the third story, filling a large part of the interior and crossing the hallway. Lynn and Gonzalez head through an opening to circumvent the pile while Bri and I go around it to the other side.

As I step on a large, concrete slab near the edge of the rubble, it tilts and I feel myself go weightless. It’s not that gravity failed, but there is suddenly nothing under my feet. In fact, gravity works only too well as I fall through a hole in the floor that was hidden under the slab. My mind registers a thin beam of light from the opening shining into darkness below. The contrast of looking from light into darkness hampers my ability to see.

Time slows. The debris field begins sliding down toward me and into the hole as the section caves in. Letting go of my M-4, I turn toward Bri to push her out of the way. I’m too late and see her falling with me, surprise registering on her face. I reach out and feel her hand for a brief second before the falling debris forces us apart.

Riding on top of the slide as it falls, I hit the ground hard. The crashing of falling debris roars into the space I’ve fallen into. A few moments later, there is only the sound of an occasional brick or rock sliding down the surface of the rubble. The immense field groans once as it shifts and then it is silent. Tons of rock, brick, and concrete have fallen within seconds, sealing off the basement from above. No light penetrates. The underground tunnel or hallway where I am has been completely shut off.

It’s complete darkness but, with my vision, I’m able to see. I rise, my arms and legs sore from being hit many times on the way down. I shake loose fragments from my hair and feel particles fall under my collar and down my back. My fear for Bri is immediate and I turn to the pile, looking for any sign of her. I call for her as I start digging through, tossing loose debris behind me.

“Dad? Dad?” I hear Bri call faintly.

She’s either trapped in a pocket or has been tossed clear on the other side, just as I have been.

“Are you okay?” I shout, continuing to throw objects behind me.

“I think so but my leg is stuck,” she calls back.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the edge of a pile. I can’t see the hole or past the rocks. There’s a hallway that I can see from here,” she answers.

I try to raise Lynn or any of the others on the radio but hear no response. It must have been damaged in the fall.

I am relieved to hear Bri’s voice and to know that she’s okay but frustrated as each piece of rubble I remove is replaced by another from the pile above. I need to get to my daughter. This was a fucking foolish thing to do and I should have known better. Now, my daughter is paying for my stupidity. I haven’t forgotten what else lies down here.

Shrieks reverberate, as if in answer to my fear-filled thought. They’re faint and coming from the other side of the pile, where Bri lies trapped. My hands become a blur of motion. I know that there must be scrapes and tears on my fingers, but those go unnoticed as I move rubble, trying to scrape a way through. I race to clear a path but only succeed in bringing more debris down.

“Dad… Dad, help me!” Bri shouts.

Panic fills me.

The fall comes as a complete surprise. She feels what she thinks is her dad’s outstretched fingers for a brief moment before the tumbling debris carries her away. Objects slam into her arms, legs, and sides as she falls. She is pushed to the side as she tumbles. The roar of crashing debris is all she hears as objects pummel her and she is tossed about in a storm of falling rubble.

Bri finally comes to rest, fear filling her. She tastes grit inside of her mouth, making her feel like she ate a handful of dirt. Coughing, she tries to force the dust from her lungs. Dirt covers her, falling from her hair onto her face and down the back of her fatigue top. Her body aches from being tossed about. Cautiously, she sits up. Darkness surrounds her and, except for the sound of a small piece of rubble rolling down, all is quiet.

Reaching up, she finds that her NVGs are still attached and she lowers them, turning them on. Darkness recedes and becomes images presented in a greenish glow. To one side, a huge pile of rubble rises upward, blocking the hole she fell through. To the other side, a hallway extends for a distance with open doorways on both sides.

Sitting mostly on the hard floor, with her heartbeat pounding quickly, she looks herself over, checking for injuries. Brushing off dust and small pieces of concrete, she moves her fingers. Her arms are sore but nothing appears to be broken. Feeling a weight on one of her legs, she continues her check and finds that a large slab of concrete is lying on it. She tries to pull her leg free it but it’s firmly pinned under the block. She wiggles her toes and is relieved to feel them move.

She remembers her dad falling with her. Fear, momentarily forgotten while checking herself over, rises again.

“Dad? Dad?” she calls.

“Are you okay?” Bri hears her dad reply.

Her dad’s voice is faint but she can hear him clearly.

“I think so but my leg is stuck,” she answers.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the edge of a pile. I can’t see the hole or past the rocks. There’s a hallway that I can see from here,” she answers.

A sudden chorus of shrieks reverberates down the hall, filling it. Bri whips her head toward the sound, her mouth going even drier as adrenaline is dumped into her system. Her heart jump starts with a thud. She pulls frantically at her leg, trying to free it. It doesn’t budge.

“Dad…Dad, help me!” Bri shouts.

More screams fill the hall and Bri sees a night runner enter from one of the side doors. It stops in the hall, looking first away and then, directly at her. Without hesitation, it begins racing down the hallway as more enter from the doorway.

Without taking her eyes from the night runners streaking toward her, Bri desperately reaches to her side, feeling for her M-4. It was attached to a woven paracord lanyard so, unless the clip broke or the lanyard snapped, it should be at her side. She feels the hard metal through her gloves and fumbles to bring it around. It only gives a little and she isn’t able to raise it.

She only has a few moments until the night runners are upon her. Fighting back tears and the fear choking her, she risks a glance to her side. The end of the barrel is under several bricks and a chunk of concrete. She pulls the carbine backward, slipping the end out from under the pile, and rolls onto her side, bringing the M-4 to bear.

The night runners are scant yards away and closing quickly. She thumbs the selector to ‘fire’, hoping the barrel isn’t clogged with debris. Lining her red dot up on the nearest night runner, the racing figure filling her field of view, she pulls the trigger, squeezing off a burst.

All other sound is lost beneath the screams emanating from the night runners. Bri sees their pale faces seeming to glow brightly in her goggles, their eyes shining eerily with a silver light. Flashes of light bounce off the walls, illuminating tattered clothing that is barely hanging onto the night runner.

The ragged shirt, unidentifiable as to what it once was, puffs from bullets striking the chest. They pass through the cloth and impact with flesh and bone, glancing off ribs and tearing into meat, penetrating to smash through the lungs and heart muscle beneath.

As the rounds pound into the night runner, it emits a forced, explosive exhalation. It falls forward, hitting its knees and face, tripping one night runner behind and exposing the others to view.

Bri, although fearful, doesn’t notice that she has pushed the fear down. It has become part of her subconscious. Lying on her side, holding her carbine in an awkward position, she lines her red dot up with the next closest night runner. Fear suppressed, with senses highly tuned and time slowed, everything is blotted from her mind. She is only shooting at targets.

More flashes illuminate the corridor as Bri sends another burst of projectiles outward. Another night runner falls, but those behind are closing in quickly. With each night runner she brings down, the ones behind close a couple more feet, crowding closer. The next creature she riddles with rounds falls to the hard basement floor not more than a few feet away.

If I go down, I’m going to go down fighting, she thinks, switching to ‘semi’ to conserve the ammo in her mag. She won’t have time to change it. She’ll be essentially out of rounds when the bolt on her carbine locks back, the mag empty.

One other thought works its way into her focused mind…I love you, Dad.

Taking a deep breath, I know that staying within the grip of panic will not help me, or Bri. It’s hard to suppress it with the shrieks emanating on the other side of the pile and it remains just below the surface. I quickly verify that my M-4 is still at my side, attached via the lanyard.

Climbing off the pile filling the hall, barely noticing the scrapes and bruises, I look down the section of hall behind. Immediately ahead, another hall opens to the right. Across from it is a closed door. Hoping the door will lead to a room that will allow me to circumvent the blocked hall, I run toward it. Muffled shrieks from Bri’s side increases, driving me to move quicker. The panic lingering just below is threatening to break free.

Not wanting to even take the time to see if it’s locked, I send a burst of fire into the latch. I slam into it with my shoulder. The door crashes open and hits the interior wall with a bang. Splinters from the shattered jamb fly inside. Stumbling into the room, I look to the far side thinking this is a way that will connect with the hall past the blockade…and Bri. I come up short seeing I am wrong.

From all appearances, I’ve stumbled into a storage room. Boxes are stacked along the walls and on shelves which fill the entirety of one side. As with the walls of the corridor, the ones enclosing the room are made of concrete.

My heart sinks. I don’t know how to get to Bri and there are night runners. My throat fills with a huge lump and my heart threatens to rip apart. I want to just fall to my knees on the floor and sink into oblivion.

The only thing I can think to do is open up. I send to the night runners. Through a complicated series of images, I send that death awaits them if they run any farther. The image I send is that of the sun shining brightly, along with the intense, burning pain of dying. Anything to slow them down and give me more time.

With tightness gripping my insides, I glance frantically around the room. Looking for something…anything…some way to get to Bri before it’s too late. The back wall catches my attention as I fight the rising panic. It’s painted a similar gray to the concrete walls, but its texture shows that it’s made of drywall.

Without hesitating, I remove three grenades hooked into my vest. There were four, but I guess one is now buried in the rubble. Back at the door, I quickly pull the pins and toss the grenades against the back wall, one after the other.

Overriding the muffled shrieks coming from the other side of the barrier, I hear the sound of footfalls. I hurriedly turn around, going to one knee, and bring my carbine up. Lynn is running down a short hall across from the door with the others behind. I assume they made their way down from the stairs. I lower my M-4 thinking it’s a good thing that I am able to see in the dark. If I only saw shapes moving quickly for me, considering there is a night runner presence in the basement, I might have added to the mistake I’ve already made.

Seeing me through her NVGs, Lynn comes to a halt. “Don’t you answer your radio anymore?”

“It doesn’t work,” I say, pushing her back from the door.

“Wher” Lynn starts.

A rolling explosion rocks the basement, deafening with its intensity. My ears begin ringing and a roil of smoke thrusts out of the open doorway. Leaving Lynn and the others startled in the hallway, recovering from the unexpected explosion, I turn and bolt into the room without giving them an explanation.

Smoke fills the room. Most of the boxes along the walls are shredded from shrapnel that was flung at high speed. Two of the shelves have fallen over, throwing their contents across the floor. Particles of cardboard and paper slowly drift down.

I race to the back end of the room to see a large hole has been torn in the wall. I tear several electrical wires to the side and step through shattered beams. It’s a larger room, yet similar to the one I was just in. Pieces of the drywall and boards are strewn across the floor; the remains of a wooden desk, ripped apart from the explosion, lies at an angle in the middle.

I notice, with a deep-set fear—my mind numbed with it—that the shrieks have stopped. My ears are ringing from the explosion, but I’d hear them if they were present. I race to the door on the far side of the room, ready to take down anything that might be between me and my girl. Fearing the worst, I send a burst into the door and throw it open.

The door slams against the inside wall and I look out. The smell of gunpowder is the first thing I notice, mixed with the odor of age-old sweat, bowels, and blood. The second thing I notice is the end of a barrel whipping in my direction. I throw myself backward as rounds stitch up the jamb holding the door’s hinges, destroying the upper one. The door, unable to support its weight, topples, shearing the bottom hinge loose. Continuing its fall, it hits me on the head.

Shoving the door away from me, my heart soars from the fact that bullets tore into the wood. My sweet Bri is alive. In my panicked haste, I didn’t call out and damn near paid the price for it.

“Bri, it’s me, hold your fire,” I call.

“Okay, Dad,” she returns.

Peering back into the corridor, with the mixture of smells wafting past my nose, each making itself known, feces, sweat, blood, then gunpowder, I notice night runner bodies covering almost the entire hallway floor. They begin a few yards past the door opposite the blockage, with the last lying almost on top of Bri. Some lie singly while others are stacked on top of each other. It looks like someone hastily stacked them like dominos, not paying attention to alignment, and tipped them over.

Stepping over the bodies, I hurriedly walk over to Bri and kneel. She’s covered with dust and splotches of night runner blood.

“Are you okay, Bri? Did they get you anywhere?” I ask, concerned that the blood might be hers.

“I’m fine, Dad. I just can’t get up,” she states.

“I love you so much.” I pull her tight against me, hugging her, not ever wanting to let go.

My relief so thoroughly takes hold of me that tears run down my cheek, unbidden. Hearing that first shriek, I thought I had lost my little girl.

“I love you too, Dad.”

Releasing her and looking down the hall at the numerous dead, I realize that ‘little girl’ may not fit her very well. However, she will always be that to me. I open up to see if there are any more night runners about and don’t sense any.

“Jack, are we clear?” Lynn calls from within the room.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I answer.

Lynn and the others enter the hall, staring at the bodies. I hear Henderson give a low whistle as he looks at the scene. I see Gonzalez look from Bri, to the bodies, and then back again, slowly shaking her head.

Recovering from disbelief and shock, the others emerge into the present. Henderson and Denton kneel in the hall, covering its length. Gonzalez, with a final look at Bri, turns and covers the room we entered from. Lynn weaves her way through the bodies toward Bri and me.

I move to the concrete slab pinning Bri’s leg as Lynn kneels beside her, asking if she’s okay. I grab the block and pull. It doesn’t move. Getting a firmer grip, I lift will all of my strength. The slab lifts mere inches.

“Can you pull your leg out?” I ask, straining.

Bri pulls and her leg slides out. Once she’s clear, I let go of the block and it falls back into place, grinding several bricks beneath it. I quickly check her leg to find that nothing feels broken.

Bri rolls from her sideways position and rises. Brushing herself off, she stoops to pick up an empty mag and places it in one of her vest pouches. She then bends to the night runner that was almost on top of her. Rolling it over, she retrieves a knife, its hilt protruding from just under the sternum. With a casual motion, she wipes it on the night runner’s clothing and slips into a sheath at her side. I watch this whole thing, along with Lynn, stunned.

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

Finished, Bri rises and we begin making our way through the bodies to the door leading to the room. At the door, Bri looks over the bodies and down the hall, seeming to come out of some state of mind. Her face prior to this seemed devoid of any expression. Looking around, that changes to one of surprise.

“Holy shit! I did this?” she asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes you did, my little warrior princess,” Gonzalez says, turning toward Bri.

We make our way through the short hall and up the stairs. Entering into the daylight filling the building on the first level, we leave this nightmare behind. However, the lesson stays with me. Anything can happen at any time and I almost lost my daughter through carelessness. There was no need to go into a building only to satisfy a curiosity. I feel sick to my stomach thinking what might have been. And I’m still in a state of shock and awe over Bri’s handling of it. It’s just not real and feels as though I read the story in a book.

Careful with our footfalls, we arrive back at the front entrance. Glancing over my shoulder inside the building, I see the difference in the large field of debris. It has shifted, becoming lower and covers the hole we fell through as if it didn’t exist. I look toward the upper levels, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever, or whatever, is or was in there. I neither see nor hear anything.

Entering the sunshine, the breeze blowing strong, still moaning as it gusts through the building, the tension and extreme emotions I carried through our ordeal, diminish. The lesson stays with me though. I put my arm around Bri once again and pull her close. She looks up and, through the grit still covering her face, and entangled in her hair, she smiles.

“So, what happened in there?” Gonzalez asks, brushing some of the grit from Bri’s hair after I reluctantly release her.

Bri tells about her becoming disoriented during the fall and not really knowing what was going on.

“I don’t really remember much. It just sort of happened. I remember being scared and then, I just sort of reacted without thinking about it, like I was watching someone else doing it,” Bri says.

“And the knife?” Lynn asks.

“Well, I remember running out of ammo. I couldn’t get to my handgun so I pulled out my knife. This one night runner tripped and fell down next to me. It smelled really bad. Anyway, it was struggling to get up. I remember feeling it paw at me so I stabbed it. It screamed in my ear and went limp. I tried to push it away thinking there were other night runners coming, but there was only silence.”

Hearing her story horrifies me and makes me sick to my stomach. I’m so happy that she’s okay, but I can’t shake the terror inside that I was the reason she had to go through that. And my daughter doing that, well, once again, it just seems like someone else is telling the story.

Retracing our steps across the airfield, we arrive back at the ramp. Walking toward the aircraft, passing by the wreckage that was once the mechanic hangar attached to the FBO, I notice something out of place underneath several twisted girders that have fallen. Detouring only slightly, I reach down and pluck a journal-sized notebook that is near a small pile of ash and place it in one of my cargo pockets.

We load up. We’ve been here considerably longer than I wanted, so I’m eager to be off. The sun is starting to cast long shadows, and I’d like to be back at Cabela’s before dark. It’s a lot different landing on a short, narrow dirt strip than having a wide, two mile length of pavement. And doing that at night adds an additional pucker factor. Plus, I’m worried about Robert and Greg. I know he’s capable of making it back but, as I well know, anything can happen at any time.

As I taxi out, while making sure to keep us on the pavement, I also keep an eye on the flat plains surrounding the airfield. While we were on the ground, it would have been easy for a motorized group to race to our position. I’m sure the other group knows what we did to their column, assuming it was theirs, and where we are.

With the gear tucked into the wheel wells and the flaps up, I turn us west. It’s about a three hour flight home and we climb to clear the peaks rising above forested ridgelines. Robert should be close to landing back at the compound or has already done so. It’s comforting to note that there isn’t an emergency locator beacon going off over the radio. That’s an automatic signal generated in the event of an aircraft accident, and the fact that I don’t hear one is a good indication that he made it.

Leveling off, I set the auto pilot. With the amount of adrenaline that coursed through her, Bri is looking a little tired. She has that faraway stare that isn’t focusing on anything in this reality.

“Bri, go lie down. I have this,” I say.

Her eyes refocus on the here and now. “What, Dad?”

“I said go lie down. I can take care of things here.”

Without saying anything, she unplugs from the console and removes her helmet. Small particles of grit fall out of her hair, some landing in her lap while others float gently in the air. She leaves to find a bunk.

Turning back to the flight controls, in my pocket I feel the hard shape of the journal that I picked up. With us chasing the sun west, I pull it out and look at it. The edges are scorched and the cover blackened. There isn’t any name or title that I can identify but that could easily have been burned away. Opening the cover with care, I see that several pages in the front have been charred, some of them completely gone. Leafing through the journal, most of the remaining pages have differing degrees of scorch marks. However, some writing is still visible.

Checking the gauges and our flight path, I settle into my seat and turn to the first legible writing.

That’s the last thing written. Whoever it was apparently dropped it in their haste to get out of there. At least the story of why the airfield was burned is known. Not that it will do any good but it’s always nice to find out what happened when confronted with a mystery. Closing the journal and sticking it back in my pocket, I wonder where the person who wrote it went.

The flight back is an uneventful one. The sun seems to be winning the race west, drawing ever closer to the horizon as we drone along in the clear, afternoon sky. It will be a close one to see whether we make it to the compound before the sun vanishes below the horizon.

A fair distance out, with the bottom edge of the sun resting on the horizon, I call the compound, getting a reply on the first attempt.

“Did Robert arrive?” I ask.

“Yes. He landed several hours ago.”

“How is Greg?” I ask, worried to hear the answer that he didn’t make it. From what Lynn had said, he had been in pretty bad shape.

“The doc is with him but he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. I don’t have word if he’s stabilized or not.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“Not that I know of, Jack. Frank’s here. Would you like for me to get him?”

“No, that’s okay. We’ll be there in about an hour,” I say.

“See you then.”

The western sky transitions from yellows to deep oranges. Droning along with the forming sunset ahead, with the blue overhead deepening toward twilight, lends itself to a very peaceful scene. It’ll get busy in a short bit as I set up for the descent and landing, but that is still a few minutes away. Even with all that has transpired and all that is pressing, I lean back in the seat and relax, taking in the moment, worries diminished for the time being.

With the sun just sinking below the mountains to the west, casting the land in twilight, I bank the aircraft and line up on final. The runway carved out within the compound walls is a lighter shade than the surrounding field but barely visible in the fading light. With the gear and flaps lowered, I descend toward the narrow strip.

Off to the side of the runway, I make out the dark outline of Robert’s 130 parked on a makeshift ramp. The outer walls of the compound flash under my nose, briefly illuminated from the intensity of the landing lights. The guard towers, standing at the corners and at intervals along the walls, are no more than dark shapes that pass by quickly. The inner wall, meant to enclose the compound and provide for a secondary defense, flashes underneath. Easing the power back, I flare and feel the aircraft settle onto the narrow, dirt strip. We’re home.

Shutting down, I just sit in the seat, utterly exhausted. It’s been a hell of a day, and past few days. Although we can’t totally relax within the compound walls, we can at least feel a measure of safety. Now, with us being targeted by a group that has access to far greater technologies, even being within the walls carries a certain tension. While we may have a basic understanding of their capabilities, we don’t know for sure. The fact that they attacked Greg’s team with only an armored column gives credence to the info Harold found, with regards to what they have available for use anyways.

Looking out of the window into the gathering darkness, there are headlights from several Humvees that have come to pick us up. With effort, I unbuckle and make my way outside. Robert, Bannerman, and several others are waiting for us.

“Made it okay, eh?” I ask Robert.

“Yeah, it was a pretty uneventful flight really,” he answers.

“How is Greg?”

“He was still unconscious when we landed. I think the doc is with him, but I haven’t seen him since we arrived,” Robert says.

“Why didn’t you wake me for landing, Dad?” Bri asks, walking up and stifling a yawn.

“You needed your rest, Bri. It’s all good.”

“What in the hell happened to you?” Robert asks, seeing remnants of grime on Bri’s face and in her hair.

Bri starts to tell her story, her voice fading as her and Robert walk away, heading toward one of the Humvees. Gathering our gear together, we trudge wearily to the waiting rides. I don’t say much. Returning to Cabela’s brings back the full extent of what we’re facing.

Inside the building, with night fully upon us, Robert heads up the stairs. Bri and the others of Red Team grab a bite to eat before heading to wash away the grime accumulated from two days in the field. Lynn and I head upstairs to see the doc and check on Greg.

Walking into a partition set up for the doc, I see Greg lying on a bed. There’s a lot of swelling on one cheek and his closed eyes look sunken. His breathing appears shallow but with normal repetitions. A mask connected to a green oxygen tank covers his mouth and nose. Turning to the doc, who is standing next to the bed, I ask how Greg is doing.

“He’s stable for now and is doing well from what I see. His vitals are close to normal. I thought at first there might be some swelling on the brain but there aren’t any indications of that. This is really the best I can do for him considering,” the doc says, sweeping his arm to indicate the oxygen and IV setup. “We just don’t have the equipment and, to be honest, even if we did, I only have the vaguest notion of how to operate them. We’ll keep him monitored and the IVs going for hydration. The concern will be if he remains unconscious for a period of time. He’ll need sustenance beyond what the IVs will provide. But, we’ll let him rest and see if he recovers on his own. I won’t be concerned unless several days have passed without a change in his condition. After that, we’ll have to come up with something different.”

“Thanks, Doc. Let me know if I can help or if there’s anything you need. And I know this goes without saying, but let me know if there’s any change,” I say.

The horrible feeling returns as I see Greg lying on the bed. I really should have known better than to send a single team out—Stryker or no. I was trying to alleviate any guilt that I would have felt by cutting short the search for families because I wanted to get my son back. Perhaps there was some justification for that, I mean, for me, it was what I was going to do, and would again, but I should have delayed the mission and not spread us so thin. Now those soldiers who were seeking to find out about their families will be buried with the coming day. It may have been their choice to continue looking, but it was my responsibility to say no and to come back out in strength at a later date.

I’ve made my share of mistakes in my life, but they seem to be coming in droves as of late: Robert getting bitten, Greg’s team, all dead but one, and today, coming close to losing Bri. Besides that, there are the night runners increasing in numbers north of us and this other group targeting us. It’s just becoming too much. While I may have asked for this, I’m ready for someone else to take the reins. The peaceful feeling I had during those scant few minutes of flight, watching the sky paint its glorious sunset on a canvas of blue, is gone and forgotten.

Even though I want to sit at Greg’s side, I nevertheless turn and leave with Lynn. We won’t be having a meeting as it’s late and I’m tired. Lynn and I make our way to our cubicle. Inside, it feels tiny and cramped. I’m looking forward to having the quarters built so we can have more room. I’m sure everyone else is feeling the same way.

Mom comes by and we talk for a while. With worry, she mentions that I’m looking ‘stretched thin’. I, of course, tell her not to worry, “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

I ask how she is doing, attempting to turn the conversation.

“I’m fine. I’m worried about you taking Robert and Bri out with you all of the time. I know you can take care of yourself, but I heard what happened today.”

I notice Lynn nod her head and stare harder at me. This is so not the time to be mentioning that. I feel bad enough already. Even though I fucked up, I still feel the same way about them gaining experience. I’m not going to be around forever. This world we now live in is going to be this way for a lot longer than I’m going to be around, and my kids need to gain the knowledge and skills to survive in it. Yeah, I don’t need to make foolish decisions like I did today, going into that building when there was no need, but they need tools to survive. I just don’t know how to both give them that and keep them safe at the same time. I am still at constant odds within myself, trying to come to terms with those two opposing concepts. I relate that to mom as best I can.

“Well, Jack, you know best. You always do,” she says, patting my knee and rising to leave.

“That is such a mom thing to say,” I reply, giving her a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She smiles and, parting the curtain at the entryway, leaves.

“She’s right, you know,” Lynn says after the curtain closes.

“Not now. I’m too tired. I know I fucked up today and I already feel bad enough.”

“It’s not about today, Jack. All of us went in, even after you said it wasn’t safe. The point is—” she starts.

“You’re really going to do this now, aren’t you?” I say.

“Yep.”

“The truth of the matter is, I’m tired. I’m tired and I don’t want to do this anymore. Let someone else take charge and do it. With what happened to Nic, to Robert, and almost happened to Bri, I just don’t feel like I’m able to lead effectively anymore. I know my decisions will be biased based on Robert’s and Bri’s safety. And yours,” I state.

“Who would you have take over?”

“You, Frank…fuck…anybody. Even Bannerman,” I answer, looking down at my boots.

“And you’d listen to them, and do as they say. I know you wouldn’t with me. You haven’t yet, so why would you start all of a sudden, so let’s not even go there.”

I look up and stare at her. She knows me all too well. “Don’t even begin to bring logic into this.”

“The point I was going to make wasn’t about Robert or Bri. It’s that we’re all tired. Yeah, mistakes will be made and people will get hurt. It’s the world we live in. But you are pushing too hard and worrying about shit that you can’t help. That’s a good and bad thing, Jack, but your mom’s right, you are getting stretched thin.”

“I know, and I feel my decisions are getting affected by it. I don’t know what to do, and maybe it’s time someone else had a chance.”

“Again, you’d follow someone else’s decisions if you didn’t like them?”

“Stop that.”

“Like it or not, you’re what we have. Most people see you and the others in the decision group as their best chance at survival.”

“I just don’t fucking want to do this anymore.”

“Be that as it may, you’re it. I know this will only be blowing hot air, but don’t push yourself so hard. There are others here that can help.”

I only sigh, feeling the stress of our situation still gripping me. In all honesty, I know what’s coming and don’t want to make the decision. I don’t want to make a wrong one that will bring down the fragile hope of survival that we are clinging to. I have a huge fear of failure and that potential is looming large. My not wanting to be the one in charge is because I don’t want to be the one who fails. But, on the other hand, passing that off will amount to the same thing. I’m basically feeling sorry for myself and not wanting to take responsibility right now.

The thing with Bri really shook me up. One—that I put her in that situation; and two—that she was able to do what she did. Hearing the night runners scream, Bri calling for help on the other side of the debris, my panic from not being able to help, the fear that I was going to lose her, and then arriving with the scene of dead night runners littering the hall. Bri rising after freeing her trapped leg and casually retrieving her knife, wiping it on the night runner lying dead next to her. If I had doubts about her being able to take care of herself, those are greatly diminished. I just can’t believe that was my daughter who did that. There is a feeling of disassociation between what happened and the fact that it was Bri.

The image surfaces of her surprise when she glanced down the hall and her response, ‘I did that?’ It became readily apparent that she goes into a ‘zone’ when confronted with her fears like that. I just worry that her zone may block out too much and that she may focus in on one aspect of her surroundings while missing others. I asked her about it but she doesn’t really seem to remember much. Truthfully, I don’t know what to think about what she did, but I’m glad that she’s okay and, deeper down, although feeling like shit about putting her in that situation, there is a part of me that feels better about her abilities.

“So, I know you didn’t hear a word I said, and even if you did, you won’t listen. We’re going to need you in the coming days. And by that, I mean that we need you clear-headed and with it. I don’t know about the night runners up north or if they’ll be a threat. They may just settle in there and move when the food has been cleared out. Or they may move past. There’s not much here for them as we’ve cleared the land around us. But this group, they’re a real threat and we’re going to need you. So, if you’re done with your pity party?” Lynn asks.

“I hear what you’re saying. It’s just hard for me to let go of things sometimes. I have a hard time letting someone else go in my place. Especially with seeing Greg lying there and with those graves we have to dig tomorrow. But, yeah, I’m all partied out,” I reply.

The next morning on my way out, I check in on Greg to find that he’s still unconscious. A woman I don’t recognize is sitting on a chair near his bed reading a book. Bannerman had mentioned that he had gathered a few books from a library nearby. I remember him saying we needed to provide something for people to do when they have some downtime, ‘otherwise they’ll find something to do. They need something to lose themselves in.’ I nod at the woman and head outside.

We’ve taken the day off to say farewell to our friends and comrades. The bodies have been recovered from the aircraft and a few are busy preparing their resting places in our cemetery that is becoming too crowded. After the arrangements are complete, we gather under clear skies with a cold wind whipping around us. The teams bring out the caskets carrying our fallen, and the others that were with them, setting them gently in place. Lynn leads the ceremony on this occasion. I don’t hear much of what she says; instead, I’m focusing on the caskets and the burial markers, lost in my thoughts.

Staring at the crosses, each one indicating someone we’ve lost, I wonder just how many more times we’ll have to do this. Our graveyard is getting bigger, and seemingly more so by the week. Under those markers is the team we lost taking Cabela’s, Allie and Allie’s dad, with Nic being buried in the hills. And then there’s Drescoll, somewhere. Now we are adding six more of our own plus the others that were with them. If we keep this up, there won’t be anyone left.

The report of gunshots startles me out of my thoughts. Then, the bugle blows Taps over our group, the wind carrying the forlorn notes across the compound. As the last note drifts over us, the remnants of our group begin slowly drifting apart with most heading back into the compound. Although this day is starting on a sorrowful note, we’ll take the rest of day off and set up a BBQ. At least most of us will. There is still work to be done.

I linger for a while longer as the coffins are lowered into the graves. When the first scoops of dirt are shoveled in, I realize that I’m the only one remaining. Turning, I head back to the building. BBQs are being wheeled out in preparation, with tables being set up as I arrive. Inside, Frank is setting himself up at a table to look over the video footage we gathered. With everyone seeming to have something to do, I feel out of place and, to be honest, kind of lost. Robert, Michelle, Bri, Gonzalez, Henderson, and Denton walk outside, lost in conversation.

I know I should probably rest some as we’ll be taking the Spooky out tonight to see what our neighbors are up to. I don’t feel tired and know that I’d just lay there with thoughts spinning in my mind, becoming frustrated that they won’t shut up.

Back outside, I walk over to one of the Humvees. There’s a quiet murmur of conversation drifting across the lot as people get ready for the barbecue. People seem to be recovering from the sadness of burying our comrades. It’s still there but, here and there, I see smiles arising from something said. Bri emits a burst of laughter that momentarily rises above the hum of other conversations.

Still feeling lost and outside of everything going on, I climb into the vehicle and drive out to our airfield. The 130 and Spooky are parked next to each other, their hulks sitting patiently waiting until they are called for again. The rear ramps of both are open. One crew is offloading crates of ammo that we picked up while another is stocking up the Spooky. I park and climb out, walking to the gunship. I get a few nods from those who are working.

“The barbecue is about to start. Why don’t you guys go enjoy it for a while,” I say, passing one of them.

“We’re about done here, sir. There are some burgers with our name on it. There better be anyway or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Let me help, then. What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“We have this, sir. We’re almost done anyway.”

I nod and return to the Humvee, sit on the hood and watch them work. In a way, it’s relaxing. True to their word, they finish up, close up the aircraft, and drive back, a few giving waves and nods. I hop off the hood and open the rear ramp of the Spooky. It’s quiet out except for the wind blowing in and around the aircraft, swishing softly through tall grass lining the edges of our small airfield.

Walking inside, my boots ring on the metal decking. The quiet inside holds echoes of the action yesterday. I can almost hear the shouts and commands, the rounds being fired and the clang of shells being reloaded, see the actions of rounds being taken from their storage compartments, manhandled to the waiting breeches and mag receptacles. In the prevailing silence of the interior, all they are now are just ghosts.

I remove the overhead hatch and climb up. Sitting on top, I let the breeze wash over me, doing nothing but enjoying the silence. The brute power of the aircraft seems to flow upward, at rest for the moment but ready to unleash its fury on command.

It really is too bad that the fuel will go bad. If we do ever reach a point where we’re actually safe and secure, it would be nice to be able to go fly just for the sheer fun of it, I think, resting my hand on the metal surface.

I look over and see the green roof of Cabela’s sticking up over the inner wall in the distance. It’s only been a short few months since things went to shit, but it seems like years. This is our new life, one that we have to carve out with dangers seemingly besieging us from all directions. Seeing the water tower standing in the distance, I’m reminded that we’ve come a long ways in that short period of time. The flip side is that the dangers have increased along with that progress.

It’s like being in an eternal race that will never end and only gets harder as you go along. Any stumble or fall and the things chasing you will catch up. We’ve managed to overcome the challenges we’ve faced only to be presented with more difficult ones. And we’ve paid for it with our blood at times. Now we’re up against probably the hardest one we’ve had to face as a group and I don’t have the slightest notion of how to solve it. We have to do something about it soon though as I doubt the other group is sitting idly by waiting for us to make a move.

At a bare minimum, we have to hit them before spring, and during winter will make that even more difficult. If they are truly trying to take us out, for whatever reason, when we lose our ability to fly, we will be out-matched in every category and the gig will be up. We must do something before then, and really much sooner, before they strike again.

And then there’s the night runners flowing south out of Seattle. The best we can do there is to make sure our defenses are strong and hit them nightly when we can. Maybe we need to clear out a larger area around Tacoma, but that would be quite an undertaking. I remember Frank saying something about the numbers, but if I have it right, there were almost two and half million in the surrounding Seattle area before the shit went down. That would mean there were nearly two million night runners. If even half of those survived until now, that’s a fucking lot of them. Even if they spread out evenly heading north, east, and south, that leaves the potential of six hundred thousand night runners heading our way.

There’s no way we can deal with that amount. We may have to rethink our strategy; maybe burning large tracts to turn them away. However, for now, we have a more pressing matter with this hostile group outside of Denver. As I told Bri, with Greg lying unconscious, his team dead, and Allie taken from us, the time for talking is way past. We need to figure out a way to eliminate this immediate threat to our survival.

Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, I lay back on the top of the Spooky, staring up at the blue sky, watching the occasional cloud slowly float across, flowing from one shape to another, the breeze blowing across me. Even chilled as it is, it feels refreshing. My mind drifts and I let images swirl through. A relaxed feeling, like the one flying the evening prior, comes over me. My thoughts flash from memory to memory, some bringing a smile to my face while others bring sorrow.

After a time, I come out of my reverie, feeling more refreshed and confident. We’ve come through a lot and we’ll get through this somehow. Whatever the future may hold, we’re here and alive today. And each day we’ll strive to continue.

I climb down and drive back. I needed those moments alone and come back feeling like a different person than the one who left. The one who left felt already defeated. Now, although it won’t be a walk in the park, I feel ready to meet the challenge.

Walking back into the building, I see Frank going over several pictures with a magnifying glass, stopping at times to make an annotation. I walk past and check on Greg. The swelling of his cheek looks to have gone down and his respirations seem deeper. However, he is still unconscious.

There really isn’t much to do until we meet in the afternoon. I don’t feel much like resting so I join the others gathering outside. The smell of burgers and hot dogs cooking wafts across the lot. A line has formed next to the BBQs with some finding seats at tables with plates full of food. Other mill about in small groups, taking bites between snippets of conversation. The sorrow of laying our brethren to rest is slowly being replaced by an atmosphere of gaiety. The idea of setting a day aside to barbeque, which we took from Tim and the others we brought with us from McConnell AFB, seems to be having its desired effect. I make a plate and take it to Frank, who nods his thanks and turns back to his pictures.

I spend most of the day and early afternoon mingling before heading upstairs to grab a nap before the meeting in the afternoon and the flight afterwards.

Waking after a short while, I make sure the kitchen will save some food for the Spooky crew. Thankfully, we won’t have to make the drive north, into night runner-infested territory, to get to the aircraft so I can linger a little longer. I want to be in the air and on station before dark. If Frank is ready with his analysis of the facility, the meeting will be a long one so we’ll need to start it earlier than normal. We may not get a lot of planning time and it may be that we spend our time ‘eliminating water’. That really means that we will identify the things that won’t work and remove them from our planning process. That way, we’ll know what we have to work with and come up with something.

We meet in the mid-afternoon, some bringing plates of food from the barbeque. I bring everyone up to speed on the events we encountered on our flight out and then turn it over to Frank. We all know why we’re here so he doesn’t waste any time with preliminaries and he hands out packets. They contain the information on the bunker as supplied by Harold and high-resolution photographs pulled from the video on our fly-by.

“What you have with regards to photographs are still images I’ve taken from the video. You’ll notice on the pictures that the entire complex is surrounded by a chain-link fence with what I’ve determined to be razor wire along the top. Judging from the shadows and time of day that the video was taken, I estimate the fence height to be ten feet.

“You’ll note that there are two sets of buildings spread apart from each other, which I’ve circled and designated as #1 and #2. The structures are one-story buildings and made to appear as if they are old, dilapidated tin constructions. However, looking closer, I noticed that the structural roof beams poking out from the sides seem newer than the siding and the steel sheets covering the roof. This may or may not mean anything…but just something I spotted. It could be the structures were rebuilt with the old siding.

“Each set of structures has a dirt road leading to them. There are close up pictures of each set of buildings and the roads. Note the tracks on that road leading to building set designated #1. It appears to have been traveled on recently, whereas the dirt road leading to buildings #2 is trackless.

“I’ve super-imposed a diagram of the facility, trying to match the scale to the photographs. I oriented it with the cardinal points as that seemed to be the logical method of construction. It took some time but, once completed, you’ll see how the buildings and facility diagram match up. The buildings denoted as #1 approximately correspond with what looks like the equipment storage on the facility diagram. The offset could be because some form of ramp system has been built to allow the vehicles to drive out. I’m concluding that the exit is hidden by the large shed in group #1 and could be where the armored column originated from. The tracks certainly correspond to an armored column passing over it.

“You’ll notice on the picture showing a wider overhead view, to the northeast, another fenced-in area within the overall compound. Those black rectangular objects are a vast array of solar panels.”

“So we can hit them there?” Robert questions.

“Let’s let Frank finish before we start speculating on any plans,” I state.

Frank continues, “There are other smaller buildings scattered throughout the compound. They could be storage or perhaps hiding air intakes. I really can’t tell. We have to assume there is some sort of high-weight lift capabilities. Somewhere in this is also a main entrance with both elevator and stair access. If I had to guess, I’d put them with the buildings denoted as #2. One last thing, all of the other buildings, including #2, have roads leading to them but without tracks that I can see. As a matter of fact, those roads are partially overgrown.”

“So, they may not be checking on those with any regularity,” I comment.

“At least not by land, and the diagrams don’t show any connecting tunnels,” Frank says.

“Any ideas about them foraging in the outlying areas?” I ask.

“I don’t have any idea on that. There are fresh tracks leading out from #1, so it’s possible. I would guess that they have a large cache of supplies with them underground, but I have no idea how much or how long that would last.”

“Okay, fair enough. How about radar? Is there anything to indicate they have that capability?” I ask.

“I don’t know, Jack. I don’t see any sign of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Some of those lone buildings are large, wooden structures capable of housing a Doppler radar system. However, I would doubt it based on their location. That would give them a limited field of view. If they had that capability, they would place it on a hill and the nearest one is miles away. I don’t want to say that they don’t have it, but based on what I’m seeing, I’m placing the odds toward them having it as fairly low.”

“What about water storage? Where is that?” Lynn asks.

“There isn’t any sign of above-ground storage so it would have be underground. The diagram shows the holding tanks but there’s no corresponding building associated with it so I have to assume that they are underground, along with their pumping apparatus. A site of this size would require several wells, but I don’t see any indication of those on the video,” Frank replies.

“And this lone building here?” I ask, pointing on one of the pictures in hand. “I assume that’s an escape exit judging by the long tunnel leading to it.”

“That’s what I’d guess as that building is one of the few built of some kind of concrete cinder block or brick,” Frank says.

I rummage through the packet Frank presented, looking for something specific that I can’t locate.

“Can we get closer view of the outer fencing?” I ask.

“Yes. Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?”

“Three things. Tracks around the perimeter and/or pathways on the inside or outside of the fencing. I want to see if they conduct regular patrols. Let’s see if they have mounted cameras along the tops of the fencing poles. And, see if there is any disturbance on the ground outside of the fence, something that looks different than the surrounding ground,” I state.

“Sure, Jack. I’ll get some additional close-up images. I do know they have cameras mounted at intervals along the fencing, but I’ll take a look and see what I can come up with for the others,” Frank says.

As he rises and leaves to make additional photographs, there’s a discreet cough from behind me.

Lynn turns to the sound. “Yeah, Doc, come on over.”

“Excuse the interruption but you asked to be notified if there were any changes,” the doc expresses.

“Of course,” Lynn says.

“Greg has regained consciousness. He’s still groggy and in some pain, but he’s awake,” the doc states.

“Can we see him?” I ask, quickly rising from my chair.

“If you make it quick and don’t put him under any stress. He needs rest if he’s going to fully recover.”

I can tell the others are eager to go see how Greg is doing but I have them wait for Frank’s return and promise to give Greg their good wishes. Too many people descending on him, although nice to see that he’s well thought of, might overwhelm him having just awakened.

Lynn and I hurry to him with the doc in tow. Greg is lying on the bed with the IVs still stuck in him but with the oxygen mask removed. He opens his eyes and tries to smile but it comes across as a grimace.

“How are you?” I ask, feeling foolish for asking such a stupid question.

“My head feels like someone beat it with a hammer,” Greg says, his voice croaking.

The doc walks to him and gently tilts a small cup of water for Greg to drink. Greg nods his thanks but blinks tightly as the motion causes pain to shoot through his head. I sit next to him so that he won’t have to talk loudly.

“Sorry, my friend,” I say.

Greg tries smiling again but with the same result. “We both knew the risks.”

“I shouldn’t have sent you out.”

“I could have said no,” he responds. “Did you find the rest of the team?”

I just nod my reply. He knows what that nod means. Turning his head to the side, he is silent for a moment.

“And the others?” he eventually asks.

I again give him a nod.

“I failed them,” he eventually says.

“No, that’s on me and my fault. I should never have sent you out with so few,” I say.

“I feel bad for those we had with us. It ended up that I didn’t save them from shit,” Greg comments.

“It’s not your fault,” I reply.

“Did you happen to find out why?” Greg asks.

Wanting to keep it brief, I outline what we found out and what we did to the armored column.

“Good, I’m glad those bastards got what they deserved,” Greg states. “Jack, there’s something I want to talk with you about. I met these people—” Greg begins.

The doc interrupts, coughing lightly into his hand, signaling that it’s enough.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I say, patting Greg lightly on the shoulder.

“You get some rest now. It’s good to have you back with us,” Lynn remarks.

“Yeah, if my head would quit trying to crack open,” Greg says, trying to grin.

With that, Lynn and I leave, making our way back to the meeting. Frank has the pictures by the time Lynn and I arrive. I look over the new ones.

“Jack, as you can see, there aren’t any paths through the grass stubble around the fencing. There isn’t any indication that anyone moves through there with any regularity,” Frank says.

“Meaning they don’t have any patrols,” I state.

“Not that can be seen in the pictures. You can see the cameras better in these though and I would hazard a guess that they have multi-spectrum capabilities. It’s hard to tell about the surrounding ground though given the time since everything went down. They could have put in a mine field at the outset and just left it. If that happened, it would be hard to spot,” Frank explains.

“Okay, now we have a better picture of what we’re up against. Thank you, Frank. It looks to be a high-security facility. That means the possibility of a mine field surrounding the perimeter with low-light and infrared cameras covering. There will more than likely be the same type of cameras at the entrances and a manned security center with professionals monitoring. This won’t be like the prison. The outer doors and those leading to secure rooms will be key-coded with strong magnetic locks. And we have no idea about interior patrols,” I state.

“If it’s so secure, how come they don’t have patrols on the outside?” Robert asks.

“Good question. And the answer is that I don’t know. The reason we invent that kind of technology is to conserve manpower. While it’s extremely useful, those who have it sometimes rely on it too much. Although difficult, it can be fooled. It’s only a machine and technology can be circumvented. Those who use them tend to forget that. People are unpredictable and you can’t bypass them the way you can equipment. That’s why you use both. I don’t know why they aren’t doing this and it may be our way in,” I answer.

“That’s all fine and dandy, and great in theory, but what are we going to do?” Lynn asks.

“Good question. The way I see it, we have two basic options. We can either draw them out and use the Spooky, or we go in and get them,” I state.

“Do we really need to go in? Or do anything for that matter? We have aerial patrols and will see them coming. Couldn’t we just ride it out?” Bannerman queries.

“They hold all of the cards with regards to surveillance and information. They’d find a way to take us out for sure. And, come spring, we’ll have lost any advantage we have with regards to the Spooky. We’ll be grounded and they could just walk right in,” I answer.

“That may be true, I just thought it had to be mentioned,” Bannerman comments.

“What about like Robert said, take out the solar panels? That will kill their power, won’t it, I mean, like eventually? Then, won’t they have to come out?” Bri asks.

“If I read the diagrams accurately, and Frank, correct me if I’m wrong, they have a couple of underground generators with what I’m assuming is enough fuel to run them for some time. Destroying the panels won’t have the desired effect,” I respond.

Frank nods his concurrence.

The discussion becomes an open-ended one with ideas tossed about and refuted. I listen to what is said while studying the diagrams.

Poisoning the water supplies is mentioned, but then rejected as being too difficult to access. Even if we could get to it, there has to be a water filtration system present that might prevent contamination. The conversation then goes to disrupting or poisoning the air.

“They’ll have MOPP gear and sensors. The filters would block the attempt and all they’d have to do is replace the filters,” Frank says. “And I don’t know if we could find all of the inlets in order to block them. Even if we did, they’ll have air scrubbers similar to those on a sub. Remember, this facility was originally designed to withstand a nuclear, biological, or chemical attack and survive.”

“What if we present a juicy target? Maybe that would draw them out and we could hit them then,” Roberts says.

“If they see the Spooky, and they do have the means to track it, they’ll see that a mile off,” Lynn replies.

The dialog continues. There’s talk of fast-acting poisons, launching cruise missiles from Leonard’s sub, options presented and discarded. I listen to the conversation, putting in my two cents on occasion, but most of my concentration is focused on the pictures and diagrams provided by Frank. I put together my own options, running through scenarios, discarding some and making alterations to others as I run into problems.

“Look,” I say, interrupting the ongoing discussion, which had died down some, “we’re going about this the wrong way. All of the suggestions so far have been about forcing them out and defeating them with the Spooky.”

“And what do you suggest?” Frank asks.

“We need to hit them from the inside. Anything else and they can just retire inside and wait us out,” I answer.

“And how can we do that?” Lynn questions.

“If all they are using is technology to safeguard the entrances, it can be defeated. The only thing I can’t figure out is how we can get the teams on the ground undetected.”

That statement throws the group into silence.

“At least you mentioned teams, Jack. I’m assuming you don’t mean your usual ‘go in by yourself’ tactic?” Lynn says.

“Well, initially it will be me and maybe one other person. I need to get to the security room here,” I say, pointing to one of the rooms just past the long escape tunnel. “After that is secured, then we’re going to need everyone on this one. Lynn, we have to bring those that are in training up to speed quickly. We have to replace the team members we lost and we’re going to need to add more. Those we bring up to speed will remain behind as security for the compound. I know that may sound callous with us having lost the team sent with Greg, but that’s just the way it is. Also, Lynn, I want you to take all of the teams and work on coordination, team movements, and communication. Do that in the equipment hangars so it’s not picked up on satellite.”

“You obviously have a plan, Jack. Would you care to let the rest of us in on it?” Lynn asks.

“Well, I don’t really have it all worked out, but let’s run through what I have in my head so far, starting on the ground. I haven’t figured how to get there yet. I see it coming in stages. The first will be getting through the fence and entering the tunnel building. That will require working through the outlying ground and, if one exists, marking a path through the minefield. Frank, I’ll need close-ups as clear as you can make them to study the terrain in detail to see if there are small gullies that will enable me to keep a lower profile. There are the cameras to deal with as well. I’m assuming they do a sweep on low-light and then infrared or some combination thereof. A dry suit will work best but that isn’t foolproof. The only foolproof method would be to use a large pane of glass as it blocks infrared for a period of time. But, that’s not really feasible so I’ll have to go slow and not heat myself up. Once through the fence, you’ll note that the building entrance is facing away from the fence line. The assumption is that they have a camera covering the entrance and approaches from the front. Frank, can we get a closer view of the building to make sure of this?”

“Sure thing, Jack. I’ll see how much I can zoom in and still keep the clarity,” Frank answers.

“The next phase will be gaining access to the exit tunnel. I’ll need to fool the camera, assuming there is only one. For that I’ll need several four-port coaxial switches with a main output port and a few short coax cables with quick connect ends. Bannerman, there are electronic outlets in town that will have those. I’ll show you where they are on the map when we’re finished. With the distances involved, the outer cameras can only be running coax or single-mode fiber. I’ll need several coax to fiber converters just in case. I’ll also need small video recorders with playback and continuous loop capability which can be hooked into the network. Most have USB connections so we’ll need USB to coax converters. You can find those just about anywhere. Harold, can you configure a middle-man program to spoof the system and feed our own looped video into the network?”

Harold pauses and thinks for a moment. “The problem is fooling the network into thinking the recording is coming from the camera. I should be able to reconfigure a network sniffer to do that. The basic idea will be to have the sniffer, with the programming, clone itself to mimic the camera settings. Then, I can have the program insert the looped video into the packet and it will look like it’s being sent from the camera. It’s called an ARP spoof, which will gather information about the network and mimic a certain device as programmed. That will give both the network the correct address but with the looped video. We’ll also have to configure the ports on the small switches.”

Harold pauses once again, lost in thought before continuing. “We’ll have to put the switch in a bypass mode which will act as a hub but will have the abilities of a switch. One port will be set to mirror port one which the camera will have to be hooked up to. Put the modified sniffer on the mirrored port and it will configure itself with the IP and MAC address along with the subnet mask. That port won’t send any traffic so there won’t be a problem with the network seeing multiple machines with the same address. Once that’s done, the recorder will have to be set to the mirrored port to capture the video. Then, move the camera to port two, a normal port, and plug in the sniffer to port three while simultaneously unhooking the camera cable. That can then be set to the mirrored port to make it look like it’s hooked up. The program will intercept the video feed and insert it into a protocol packet that will be accepted on the network. Yeah, I think that can be done.”

“How about the size? Won’t something that large be seen?” Robert asks.

“Most of the equipment is small and not bulky. It will look like part of the camera system to an untrained eye,” Harold answers.

“Okay, I want you in the aircraft with us in case we need your expertise. Now, once there, I’ll gain entrance and proceed to the security room. As shown, there is a stairwell down connecting with a longish hallway to another door, which is the actual entrance into the facility. The security room is past the door and down another long hallway, the exit tunnel. This door will be a secure one, most likely having some sort of keypad or keycard entryway with another camera. Getting there will be more difficult but, as you can see on the maintenance diagrams, there are large conduits along the hall which can hopefully be utilized. The camera, if there is one, I’ll bypass in the same manner as the first,” I say.

“If you’re talking about a secure entrance like that, how are you going to bypass the encryption? I mean, aren’t those kind of doors magnetically locked?” Frank asks.

“More than likely. However, high heat will break down magnets. I won’t go into the how but I’ve found that magnesium strips work quite well for this. We can find those in just about any school science lab. Just wedge a small strip in the door and light it. The only drawback is that it creates an intense light but, with an inward opening door, that won’t be seen on the other side,” I respond.

I continue, “Once past that, the worry will be any roving patrols that they might have. Luckily, it’s only a short distance. The security room looks small so I’m guessing there are only a couple, three at the most, in there. I’ll gain entrance, take them out, set the fence cameras on playback, and signal for the teams. Robert will be parked in an orbit away from the complex with Lynn and the teams. Once I give the signal, he’ll land nearby and the teams will disembark, heading through the fence and inside, eventually meeting me at the security room. Then we’re onto the next phase.”

“Jack, what about if they have a duplicate security room or a duplicate monitoring location?” Frank asks.

“This has to be the main security room, assuming the diagrams are accurate, and I’ll have control of the cameras. All of the entrances we’ll be using will be running a loop and therefore show nothing. And I’ll figure out the playback system once I’m there. It won’t be that difficult as I’m sure they made the system easy to use along those lines. After all, they’ll need some way to quickly play back something that catches their notice,” I reply. “If, at any point we run against a snag that we can’t circumvent, we’ll pull back. At this point, that won’t be too difficult. That will change though once we get the teams inside. Those will be led by Lynn.”

“Okay, although I’m a little leery of this, I’m with you so far. What do we do next, assuming we get the teams inside?” Lynn asks.

“Here’s the kind of ‘play it by ear’ part,” I say.

“I knew it. I knew there had to be some part of the plan that involved that. You aren’t capable of planning something without it,” Lynn states.

“Well, there has to be a quick response force located somewhere. I’m guessing it has to be either in one of the rooms close to the security room, or near the control center, perhaps even within it. If they’re by the security room, we need to take them out quietly if possible. One of the good things about secure bunkers is their thick walls which will keep any sound from traveling far. If they have interior cameras set up, once we take over the security shop, we’ll be able to identify where they are. So, the next step will be locating this force and eliminating them. We’ll then move en masse to the large vehicle storage bay. You can see, according to the diagram, that everything is centered around that bay. From there we’ll fan out. There are exits on all four sides. There are three halls leading to the south which looks like they are the quarters for the security forces. Lynn, you’ll lead four teams to cover those exits, setting a series of claymores inside the hallways if possible. We’ll be going in at night so most of them will likely be there. There is another hallway which leads to what appears to be maintenance areas, the generators and such. We’ll need this covered as well. Horace, you’ll take your Blue Team and take over the control room which is off the bay on the western side. Watkins, you’ll cover the entrance tunnel we emerge from and provide a reserve force. I’ll take Red Team and cover the wide northern corridor leading from the bay. We’ll neutralize the security forces, or at least hold them in place, take over the control room, and sweep the rest of the facility,” I brief.

“And you thought of this while we were sitting here?” Lynn asks.

“Well, it needs some fine tuning but, yes,” I reply.

“Seems kind of risky to me. I mean, the teams will all be trapped inside if something goes wrong,” Frank states. “This plan makes a few assumptions which may or may not be true. What if they run into any patrols?”

“Once we’re on the move, anyone we see goes down. We move quickly and flow into positions before they can react. The hallway providing the entrance to the security forces will provide for a narrow enfilade in which we can hold them. They won’t be able to come out due to our overwhelming fire into those exits,” I state. “Anyone in the bay itself we take down before they know we’re there.”

“What about the eastern exit?” Watkins asks.

“That looks to be a large one for the vehicles to exit so I doubt we’ll see anyone coming from there. I don’t see any other exits from the bay other than a lift and possibly the main entrance elevator and stairwell on the western side. Watkins will cover those as well seeing they are adjacent to the escape tunnel entrance.”

“I honestly don’t know, Jack. Like I said, it seems awful risky. If the teams get trapped in that bay, it will be the end of them,” Frank says.

“Look, it is risky. But if we don’t do something, it will be the end of us anyway. Like I mentioned, come spring, without the Spooky, we’ll be done for. And that’s not counting what else may happen between now and then. We may not last that long. We’ll effectively be trapped in this compound and reacting to whatever they may try,” I counter.

“You know, for once, I’m with Jack on this. Even though his ‘plans’ give me a gut ache, this one at least seems feasible. There are a lot of ‘ifs’ and we can pull out before committing the teams if something goes wrong.” Turning to me, Lynn asks, “Jack, is it possible that you can truly circumvent the security like you say?”

I look at Lynn and shrug. “It’s not impossible.”

“Okay, so how do we get the teams on the ground?” Lynn asks.

“Well, there’s the tricky part and one I don’t have an answer for as yet,” I reply. “Frank, how many have had the vaccine?”

“Counting Julie, there are twelve that have had it,” he answers.

“Are there any of them on the teams?”

“No, I’ve double-checked that.”

“Okay, good, then let’s see how we can get us on the ground unobserved,” I say.

After some discussion, we decide to use one of the 130s stationed at the Portland guard base. We know our compound is being monitored, and if we stage the 130 from Cabela’s, it will raise flags with the other group. We’ll use semis to transport the teams down and make it look like a supply run, loading the teams into the trailers in our vehicle hangar and disembark into one of the aircraft hangars at the guard base. Extra crews will go along in order to gather supplies and load them into the trailers, furthering the impression that it’s merely a scavenging run. Supplies will also be removed from one of the 130s stationed in Portland and the rear ramp left open. After they are finished, the crews, leaving the teams behind, will return to the compound. With any luck, the other group won’t know that anyone has been left behind and therefore, they won’t be monitoring the site and know that we’re on the way. The plan is for the teams to remain in the Portland hangar for two days, providing it’s secure enough to hold the night runners out. If it isn’t, then the teams will leave that evening. If all goes well, the teams will then leave the hangar two days later at dusk and make their way to the 130.

The best situation would be if we have a cloud cover, with the ideal being if it’s raining. We talk about creeping slowly to the aircraft under opaque shower doors to defeat IR, but, seeing it will be hard to disguise the 130 starting or taking off anyway, we discard that idea. We will just hastily make our way to the aircraft and hope that any interest the other group may have taken in us will be lost after a day thinking it was just a run.

Our whole plan relies on us getting to the bunker facility undetected. With that in mind, we’ll stay low and use the mountainous terrain to conceal us. I’m hoping the guard 130 will have FLIR capability and I am reasonably sure that they do. Providing we get off undetected, the terrain will keep us hidden until we break out onto the Colorado Plains. At that point, we’ll drop down to a hundred feet and proceed in.

Much discussion is had regarding inserting the teams. Initially, we talk about doing a HALO drop like Greg and I did into the prison at Lubbock. However, given that the experience level of the teams with that, or any time under silk is zero, that idea is quickly thrown to the side of the road.

I’ll go in via a LALO (Low Altitude-Low Open) drop. That will require us popping up for a quick drop allowing radar, if they have it, a better chance at painting us; but it will only be for a moment and it may be taken for a ghost blip. Robert will then proceed north to Greeley and circle until called for. Once I have taken out the security room, he’ll bring the aircraft in and land in a nearby field. The teams will disembark and make their way to me.

“Jack, that will leave you exposed for a long time,” Lynn states.

“That can’t be helped. I can’t see any other way that this will work,” I reply.

“Will they discover our communications?” Robert asks.

“We’ll use distinct clicks to communicate,” I answer.

We then set the communication system up. Two clicks will signal a message to follow. A corresponding two clicks will signal that the one receiving has understood and is ready to receive. We cover the signals for when the teams arrive at various checkpoints. If something goes wrong and I have to exfil before the teams set foot on the ground, we cover different scenarios. Some involve landing and picking me up, others to fly and land at either Greeley or Denver International, and I’ll make my way to them. If it goes very wrong, Robert and the teams are to abort and fly back to Cabela’s.

“Under no circumstances are you to enact a rescue if I’m found and taken,” I state, finishing.

I’ll be flying the en route portion and hand it over to Robert when it’s time for me to get ready for the drop. There is a lot that Robert and Craig will require regarding flying low level, and the drop itself, so we’ll spend the next several days training. This training will be conducted during the day to start off with to get them accustomed to low-level flying and then transition to night. I’m sure the other group is monitoring us so we’ll make these flights look like normal ones so we don’t give them a clue that something is up.

In total, the flight will take three hours. With us leaving near sunset, once we arrive near the underground bunker, we’ll have nine hours of darkness remaining with which to work. Dropping me approximately three miles from the facility should give us enough time to get inside and enact our plan.

“Jack, even though I understand our need to do something, I still have reservations about this plan. However, throughout this discussion, I haven’t heard one mention of night runners. This whole thing is going to be conducted at night, with long periods being spent outside during darkness. How do we do this and take them into account?” Frank asks.

“Believe me, I’ve thought about them. My thinking is that they won’t be a factor seeing the bunker is so far away from any build-up. The facility is almost twenty miles out from the outskirts of Denver, and that’s the closest town. I know that’s a risk but it’s one we’ll have to take if we’re to do this. There’s no way we can do anything against them during the day. We’ll just have to take the risk that there is the odd one or two out there. I’ll open up just prior to the drop. If there’s any around, we’ll abort and come up with some other game plan. I just don’t see any way around it,” I answer.

“I will admit the odds of any out that far, at least in any numbers, are remote given that there isn’t much cover for them during the day. However, we are seeing these branching out from Seattle, so it could be the same there,” Frank says.

“True, but it’s different there than here. Here, they appear to be following a path of urban areas. If they are branching out from Denver, they would most likely be heading north and south where there are places for them to take refuge during the day,” I respond.

”I guess I’m just not liking the fact that we’re going to put our most experienced teams into basically a do-or-die situation. If we roll the dice and lose, we’ll lose the entire compound,” Frank states.

“I agree it’s risky, but if we don’t roll the dice at all, we’ll also lose. Honestly, this plan carries a lot of risk and needs fine-tuning, and I’ll entertain another if anyone has one,” I counter.

No one responds.

“Okay…so, for now, let’s run with this one and continue our discussions. Lynn, bring the teams in training up to speed and start training with the teams going in. I’ll work with Robert and Craig. Bannerman, we’ll need a dry suit, the switches, small video capture systems with playback and loop capabilities, several thin magnets, a small spray bottle, and a roll of magnesium strips.”

With the plates of food that were brought now long empty, and the day heading into late afternoon, the meeting breaks up. I show Bannerman where I know several large electronic warehouses are located and meet with Frank to begin planning for tonight’s flight. It’s been a few days since we’ve been north during the night and we are both anxious to see what our neighbors have been up to. If Frank’s estimation of what the night runners are doing is correct, we should see increased numbers emerging at night in the areas just north of us.

The mostly clear day should continue into the night so we’ll have a good chance to cover a lot of area. This is going to be mostly a recon of the urban areas up to Seattle but, if the weather holds, we’ll have time to deal some damage to those that we find. If the numbers coming out of Seattle are correct, there’s no way we’ll be able to take them all out, but any we can whittle down will be fewer that can come into our area.

The compound is covered in shadow from the lowering sun as we pull up the gear and fly over the outer wall. Even though our original Spooky checked out okay after we rode out the propane farm explosion, we take the one we recently obtained from Cannon AFB. Banking to the north, with the huge propellers taking large bites out of the air and the engines droning at full power, the Spooky claws for altitude.

We are soon traversing the Nisqually Valley through which flows the narrow but deep Nisqually River. There is still time before the sun fully sets behind the mountains and plunges the landscape below into darkness. The time of the night runners is drawing nigh but we have a few moments of twilight left.

“Robert, I’m going to make a run along the river. Have the low-light video running. I want to capture the bridges as we pass over,” I call.

“Copy. Give me a sec,” he replies.

Once he gives me the call that he’s ready, I descend and turn the aircraft south, offsetting the Nisqually River. Flying down the river, I note four bridges spanning its narrow width. Two are the side-by-side interstate bridges, each with three lanes of freeway crossing with a metallic superstructure arching over them. Another is a two-lane bridge of the Old Pacific Highway a little over a mile to the south. Approximately a half mile south of that one, a twin-track, wooden railway trestle bridge crosses. Other than those four bridges, there isn’t another one for about twenty miles.

Finishing with our run down the river, I call Frank and inform him.

“Funny, I was just thinking of something along those lines,” he states. “If we managed to take down those bridges, I was thinking it might force the night runners to circumvent us or halt them altogether.”

“That will also mean that we are cut off from the north. We’ll lose our supply runs to the distribution center and the bases,” I comment.

“That’s true. We’ll have to pull everything we think we’re going to need onto our side before we do anything. I’ll talk it over with Bannerman,” he says. “Do you think we can take them out with the Spooky, or will we have to bring them down with planted explosives?”

“I think we can drop them with the 105,” I answer.

“Are there any shallow places?” Frank asks.

“There wasn’t a lot of light to see by, but it looked like there were a couple south of the railroad bridge. In any case, we’ve taken video of the entire river which you can look over,” I say.

With our little detour complete, we climb back and proceed with our primary mission for the night; to see what the night runner population and area of spread is. Across the valley, beginning at the southern fringes of Fort Lewis, the urban sprawl spreads out from the edge of the Puget Sound to about fifteen miles inland. This continues all of the way up to the Seattle area and beyond, providing more than enough locations to shelter the number of night runners pouring out of Seattle.

The land below is bathed in darkness as we begin our run. As if on cue, against a gray background, our screens light up with white figures emerging from buildings. I can only imagine the noise below with thousands of night runners screaming as they pour out into the night. Looking at the multitude of small to mid-size packs on the screen, it immediately becomes obvious that Frank was right, the night runners are flowing south in great numbers. As before, the number of packs increases as we fly north, but they have definitely come farther south since the last time we flew over.

As we drone northward, watching the whitish figures running in packs, I begin wondering which is really the greater threat; the group targeting us or the infiltration of night runners toward our compound. The bridges begin to take on a greater significance.

“You’re getting this, right?” I call to Robert.

“Yeah, Dad. That’s a shitload of night runners and we’re not even to Federal Way yet.”

He’s right, and that’s the understatement of the year. It definitely looks like our neighbors have been busy since we’ve been gone, and we’ll be hard-pressed to keep up with the Joneses. We fly a crisscrossing pattern up to Seattle and press farther north, observing the same pattern of night runners. They are definitely fanning out from the city into the surrounding areas. The same thing is seen to the east, only marginally so as the urban area falls off quickly due to the foothills leading to the Cascade Mountains.

Hours after taking off, we finish our surveillance of the urban areas to our north. Large numbers of night runners are spreading out; mostly to the north and south of Seattle. The area around the big city is still dense with packs but they’re moving.

“Robert, you can stop the recordings. We’re moving south. I want to target packs and buildings to the west, north, and east of McChord,” I call.

The sheer numbers that we’ve observed is disconcerting. Although the vast majority is still far north of us, their movement south is cause for alarm. I admit their timing could have been better; but when have they ever taken our needs into consideration? And that’s not to mention the numbers on our side of the river that we haven’t been able to locate yet.

Heading back south, we fly over the area of devastation caused by hitting the propane storage facility. Everything for a half-mile around the central crater has been completely obliterated. It’s almost too bad we couldn’t drop those kinds of facilities in the middle of the large night runner build-ups.

Orbiting just to the west of the airfield at McChord, Robert begins the systematic targeting of night runner packs running down the residential streets. Bright flashes appear on our screens as 40mm rounds pepper the larger packs. White figures running together are thrown to the sides as the explosive rounds burst in their midst. Several vehicles parked along the curbs ignite as white-hot shrapnel penetrates the thin skins of the fuel tanks. In others, glass is blown inward and the car bodies peppered. Night runners are thrown with force into them, snapping bones with the impact.

We orbit street after street, leaving dead or dying night runners lying on the hard, cold pavement. Streamers of red light leave the Spooky and intersect the avenues, sparking as 25mm shells slam into the hard surfaces. Ricochets stream upward into the night as the rounds walk through the packs. Night runners are torn apart from the high-speed impacts; and soon, the streets in our orbit go dark.

Robert then goes to work on marked locations with the 105mm howitzer, destroying house after house. When one area is clear, we move on to the next. It’s like watching a looped playback video only with a slightly different background.

“Okay, let’s call it a night and go home,” I say after we begin running low on ammo.

We land and are met with rides to haul us across the compound to Cabela’s. I’m tired from the flight and ongoing stress. My gear bag feels like someone stuffed an elephant in it while I wasn’t looking and it’s the best I can do to drag it along with me. Entering the building, I turn to say goodnight to the crew and tell them that we’ll debrief in the morning.

Just inside the now closed inner door, Robert is staring at his boots and holding one hand to his head. He drops his bag and, with a look of agony, brings his other hand up. Holding his head tightly between his hands, he sinks to his knees with a groan. Dropping my own bag, I rush over to him. On his knees, he drops his forehead to the floor and begins moaning as he rolls it back and forth.

I drop to my knees beside him, putting my arm around him. I’m about to ask what’s wrong and send for the doc when he lifts his head and shouts something unintelligible. On his hands and knees, with his eyes clenched shut, he throws up.