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A Potty Break

The remaining flight over the pond is conducted mostly in silence. Time is spent with more in-depth aircraft systems knowledge for anyone wanting to listen to me and letting folks try their hand at flying. The flying time is primarily spent with Robert until he feels comfortable maneuvering to an extent. We also go through various emergencies but with our limited time, I keep those to the most important ones. I would like to take the time to do some takeoffs and landings when we get to Brunswick to round off his flying skills and then we will have someone else on board who can get everyone home in the event of my untimely demise, but we just will not have the time. We need to get down to Atlanta with a lot of daylight left. We also take turns resting so we can feel somewhat refreshed with the long day ahead of us.

Nothing spectacular on the rest of the ride over; the weather behaves and gives us a clear flight; the aircraft also behaves itself and performs beautifully. The sky behind us begins to lighten with the approach of a new day. A dark line appears on the horizon, land ho! We have journeyed back to what used to be the United States. It seems so long ago since we watched those shores disappear behind us but the sun has only risen and set a couple of times since. We begin the arrival checklists and I let Lynn know to get everyone belted in as the dark smudge ahead begins to take on a more defined shape and details begin to emerge.

I start our descent into the airfield, eventually turning onto final with the gray runway stretching out ahead of us, doing a low flyby to check the runway for condition and obstructions. My goal is to not get stuck somewhere, especially if it can be prevented. The wind sock, hanging limply on the pole, passes by the left window, its long shadow stretching to the west. The runway looks clear as I bring the aircraft up and around for a landing. The landing is another marvel of perfection. Okay, not so much. I rather thump it in. I turn the intercom to the overhead speakers as we slow down on the runway.

“Please remain seated as our pilot taxis what’s left of our aircraft to the ramp. Then feel free to make your way through the wreckage and onto the tarmac,” I say. They are oldies but goodies.

As I taxi by midfield making my way to the end of the runway, I can still see some evidence of our previous visit. There are some articles and pieces of clothing spread on the ramp where wind has not carried them away. Some are strewn in the grass field to our right, caught by the blades of grass. Others yet seem to be attached to what is left of the bodies, the bones visible where birds and other wildlife feasted. I still wonder if this affects any other creatures; whether they can become infected by the blood or secretions of the night runners. I also notice paper and other material scattered across the ramp, some being picked up and blown slightly along in the light morning breeze. Evidence of mankind’s demise and the earth perhaps cleansing itself. Seeing this, I still feel like I am caught up in a dream. The sudden change in the world around us; our mind filtering the surreal aspect.

I taxi onto the ramp and park out from the buildings, letting the engines idle, pausing for a few minutes. Waiting for any indication of life or what to expect when we exit. I leave the engines running in case of trouble. We would at least have some head start on getting away. The buildings and area around remain still. The dream continues on.

Shutting the engines down and opening the ramp, we all exit and stretch our legs. Lynn and I stand together looking out over to the building ahead, the climbing sun warm on our shoulders, our fingers finding each other and clasping. She turns her head around toward the partial corpses lying on the ramp.

“Your work?” She asks nodding toward them.

“Yeah, a moment of frustration you might say,” I answer. “Probably not the wisest move but what’s a person to do?”

“Hmmm, looks like you took care of the situation though.”

“Well, we had ‘em running but we could’ve also found ourselves stuck.”

The conversation dies away and I see Robert and Michelle standing a short distance away, standing in much the same manner as Lynn and I. Holding hands and staring off into the distance.

“Robert,” I call out. His answer is to turn toward me.

“Go get the fuel truck and start fueling up,” I say. “Take Red Team with you.”

“Okay,” he says, absently adjusting the M-4 slung over his shoulder.

We have taken to carrying our weapons on us at all times; becoming second nature. Michelle ventures off to the back of the aircraft only to emerge a minute later with Nic; both of them wheeling the start-up cart into position and hooking it up. The routine we are developing into is a comfort of sorts. But I also know that our routine will change shortly. I plan to be back at McChord by tomorrow. I would love to explore around, well, explore outside, but we just don’t have time. We need to be off as soon as we fuel up. Daylight is our friend.

“Let’s gather everyone around and talk about what we’re going to do when we get back,” I say to Lynn, breaking our morning reverie and bringing our thoughts back to the moment.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this amongst the team leaders first?” She asks.

“With some things, yes, but I think in this case we should talk about it with all of us together. We’re all in this together and I think everyone should have a say or hear it right off. I don’t want anyone to feel like they are just a cog. We need to all work as equals with regards to our overall survival,” I answer.

“Okay, you’re the boss,” she says turning to gather everyone. Yep, there is that ‘I don’t agree with you’ statement. My payments are adding up by the minute, although I cannot wait to be able to pay up.

“Everyone on me,” she yells out. A circle forms with the sound of weapons shifting and boots on the pavement interrupting the still air.

The sound of a truck starting in the distance and coming our way adds to the noise. Everyone stands, kneels, or sits in a semi-circle around Lynn and me as we wait for the fuel truck to approach and hook up. Red Team approaches from the distance and joins in.

“Someone grab the others,” I say nodding toward Robert, Michelle, and Nic. “I think Brianna is in the cockpit if you would be so kind as to get her as well.”

Two soldiers rise and head off bringing back the rest of our merry band. The sun climbs higher into the bright blue sky shining its warmth down on us. The morning breeze has settled down bringing even more stillness to an already still area. The only movement is that of the occasional bird swooping over the grass field across the runway from us. The flags hang limply from their poles on the buildings we can see, imitating the way I feel. The calm before the storm. As if what we are about to venture forth on this day is still far away but coming toward us at a tremendous pace.

“Let’s talk about what we need to do when we get back. We know we need to find and build a sanctuary. Some place where we can be safe and plan. Some place where we have the supplies and the environment we need to survive. I’m thinking close to McChord and Lewis. As a matter of fact, I have a place in mind. The Cabela store. It has what we need for survival, it’s close to supplies, it has very few entrances, and is large enough to house us. It’s also far enough away from the city that we shouldn’t be overwhelmed from the very start,” I say starting off the conversation and ticking the points off on my fingers.

“What about just staying at Lewis and finding a place there?” A voice asks from the group.

“Well, my thinking is that there’s no security around the perimeter. At least nothing that can keep the night runners away from where we’d be housed. We need a solid barrier. And there’s nothing as large there as what Cabela’s would offer. We have to think of room and accommodations for us. There are also a lot of night runners on the bases based on my last experience through there. Lastly, we need to think about disease control. There are a lot of bodies around, and I mean a lot! Disease in the form of Cholera and a host of others will be rampant shortly. This will have to be close to the top of our priority and thinking,” I answer.

“Won’t the place you’re talking about be just as open as any place on base?” Another voice asks.

“Initially, yes, but I’m thinking about building a concrete wall around the entire area with the materials they place alongside highways to keep noise and people out. I want to enclose a complete area, preferably with grassy fields, to be able to bring livestock and such in. Horses, cows, chickens, and anything else we can find alive. This will be our long-term solution. Plus, the concrete block building with only a couple of entrances will make it easier to secure,” I answer.

I see several heads nodding at this but others seem lost in their own thoughts. Not sure if they accept this reasoning or whether they are merely taking it in and formulating their own ideas about where we should go.

“Look, there are most likely hundreds of places we could go and build a safe place. I just know the area around there very well. I know where the cattle are, where horses can be found, where water and other supplies are, the good hunting, and my way around a hundred other things I can think of. Plus, I know it has large generator for our use, a kitchen, food storage, and bathrooms,” I say.

“Well, that does sound like a good place but what about the NORAD facility? They have all of that and more. It’s also away from civilization,” Frank asks.

“I thought about that as well and I can’t think of a more secure place. However, for the doors or anything else to work, we need the generators, meaning fuel. I know they have a large supply to last for a long time in the event of catastrophe, but getting supplies there will be difficult at best and more than likely impossible in the winter months. Plus, we don’t know what condition it’s in. It could be completely overrun inside. But those are just my humble thoughts on the subject,” I respond.

I look around and am met by silence. Finally a hand goes up asking for recognition.

“Yes,” I say pointing.

“How would we get this wall built? Seems like you are thinking of a large enclosure and that it would take a long time to get built. Almost to the point of being impossible,” Horace says.

“Well, that’s why it will have to be a priority. We’d have to get it built by the end of summer. It shouldn’t take that long if we focus on it. The materials are close by and it’s just a matter of transporting them and getting them in place. We’ll need heavy machinery but I think we can get it done in time,” I answer her.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but..” I continue on by am interrupted by another voice.

“Where are we going to get the fuel and such for the generator and equipment? We won’t be able to scavenge a lot and it will eventually run out and soon.”

“True but there’s plenty of fuel to be found. We tote a portable generator to hook up to the electrical systems at gas stations and such. We pull the fuel from places like that and then store it. Most of what we’ll need will be diesel and that doesn’t evaporate quickly,” I answer.

“It actually sounds like a good plan to me,” yet another voice chimes in. I see who it is that is talking and asking questions but I don’t know their names as yet.

“Yeah, me too. Sounds as good as any other,” someone else says.

“Anyone else have any ideas on where to go or what to do?” I ask.

“I suppose any one place is good as another considering and this one sounds good enough considering what we’ll be facing,” Bannerman says much to my surprise. Everyone else remains silent although I do see more heads nod in agreement.

“Is everyone good with this?” I ask after giving it a few moments to soak in.

“Hooah, sir,” one voice shouts out followed by others.

I am about to make my usual sarcastic Army comment when the air is split by a shrill scream startling everyone; like an unexpected moment in a horror movie. The scream of terror and fear rises on the still air and echoes off the buildings. It is coming from within the base. The buildings and echoes make it difficult to determine just how far away it is or where it is coming from. Split seconds after the scream, there is the sound of guns being unslung and rounds being chambered from the team. Everyone rises to their feet and looks around for the danger.

“Radios on! Red Team on me!” I call switching my radio on. “Lynn, get Black Team. You and I are the maneuver teams. Everyone else, in teams, take defensive positions away from the aircraft,” I call out.

The scramble of feet on the pavement follows as soldiers establish a defensive line focusing on the buildings, waiting for something to emerge. I do not want a firefight to take place that endangers or has rounds hitting the aircraft.

“Michelle, Bri, Nic, in the aircraft now!” I shout looking over at them.

I move Red Team off to the right side of the defensive line and see Lynn take Black Team to the left. The echoes die away leaving us in the still of the bright morning once again. Robert is standing by my side; I look for any movement and see none.

“Do you want me with you?” He asks.

“No, I want you in the aircraft guarding Michelle, Nic, and Bri. You are their defense,” I respond. I see him trot off and run up the ramp, disappearing into the 130.

“Lynn, you see anything?” I ask.

“Nothing here Jack,” she responds.

A gunshot rings out from within the base and is followed by another scream. Both echo throughout the area with the scream carrying that same fear-filled nature.

“Lynn, Black Team with me,” I say into the radio. “We don’t really have time for this. But what else can we do. Everyone else maintain defensive lines.”

“Roger that,” Lynn’s voice sounds in my ear piece.

“Will do, sir,” the other team leaders say.

“Robert, make sure the aircraft is refueled and topped off,” I say into the mic.

“Okay, Dad.”

Both Red and Black Team move across the ramp, weapons out and ready, the teams alert and with good spacing between each other, eyes looking outward for any signs of trouble or movement. We join up close to the buildings between which are roads leading further into the base. Lynn and I come together with the rest of our teams facing outward in a semi-circle.

“It’s obviously coming from further in but I’m not sure if whatever is going on is moving or not. We have to be alert and ready. Urban rules here. I’ll take the right side of the street, you take the left. Eyes up and watching windows. Watch the corners and building entryways. Cover and maneuver, a half block at a time. No running as I don’t want sound to alert anyone. They must have heard the aircraft but I don’t want them to pinpoint our location,” I say whispering into her ear.

“You got it,” she whispers back. We quickly brief our teams on maneuver and coverage before stepping from the ramp and out into the first street.

Walking onto the first street that crosses in front of the building, I notice that the base here is a lot more open than I was expecting. The base seems composed more of open fields and parking lots than building-lined streets. This gives us a greater distance visibility, but of course that means we can be seen as well.

“Disregard the urban rules scenario,” I say into the mic to Lynn. “We’ll go in a staggered formation with Red Team in the lead covering ahead and left. Black covers ahead and to the right.”

“Roger that,” I hear Lynn say through the radio.

We start down a street leading further into the base. Large parking lots spread out from the road to small buildings with large, grassy fields between them, brown from a summer without much water. All is still except for us moving down the sides of the two-lane road stretching out ahead of us. The climbing sun shines down; heating the pavement beneath our feet and making us feel warm beneath the tactical vests we donned on exiting the aircraft. I pat the full magazines in their respective pouches, seeking some assurance from them and remembering the stress and fear of running out just a day before. Was it really only that long ago? It feels like a distant memory, I think scanning the road ahead and the buildings to the side.

Coming up on the first intersection, another two-lane road branches off to the right. Once again, the roads and areas are not reminiscent of apocalyptic scenes from the movies. Cars are not piled up on the road or in ditches. Bodies are not scattered about. Smoke is not billowing from every structure or vehicle. It is very much like an early Sunday morning. Very few cars or people to be seen. Well, in our case, no people. With the exception of the scream. Riding on the still air, I make out a murmur of a voice coming from ahead and to the left. Still seeming a distance away, but heard nonetheless.

“We have voices ahead and right,” I whisper in the radio. “Unknown number.”

“Copy that,” Lynn replies.

“Let’s cut down this road to the left. Red Team switching to the right side,” I add.

“Copy.”

We cross the road as Black Team takes up position on our left and slightly behind. A small building, the standard military prefab type, blocks my view of anything further in to the right. It is a small building so I will be able to see around it shortly. We continue our cautious advance. Passing the building, a parking lot opens up beside it; lined with trees on the two farther sides. The voices, now distinguished as a distant shouting, can be heard coming from either in the trees or on the other side of them.

“Lynn, on me,” I say.

Black Team crosses to our position where we are kneeling in a line along the road, concentrating on the area to our front but without neglecting our sides and rear.

“If I would hazard a guess, I would say that the voices are coming from the other side of those,” I whisper to Lynn and point to trees about 500 feet away. Oh for an ACOG scope, I think as I would love to be able to see a little better what lies in those trees.

“Skirmish line across the lot and halt just inside the trees if we don’t encounter anything,” I say. “If we take fire, provide cover and we’ll leap frog quickly back behind that building.”

“Got it,” she says with a nod.

We spread out in a skirmish line and start across the lot, weapons at the ready and safeties off, ready to pour steel downrange with a moment’s notice. The only sound is the increasing volume of yelling to our front. I cannot make out the words but it is definitely human and, from the sound of it, there is a little tension going on or else, why would anyone be yelling. And, it is getting pretty easy to tell it is part of a conversation. It will not be too long before we can figure out what is going on as we near the trees ahead. So far though, nothing has come out to greet us and I am thankful to this point that there are not angry bees buzzing about and striking us. Who knows what reaction someone would have seeing a line of armed personnel coming at them alert and ready? Most likely shoot first.

We reach the trees safely and take up defensive positions within them. Upon entering, it becomes pretty apparent that this grouping of trees is not that wide. They do stretch away to our right some but we are not going to have cover for long. Just visible through the trees is a parking lot and the voices are now becoming faintly distinguishable; however, the trees prevent us from hearing and understanding the actual words. A small paved walkway makes its way through the trees from our left to right marking what, at another time, would have been a pleasurable walk under the trees.

“Let’s move forward to get a better look but don’t leave the tree line. Set up just inside,” I say into the mic.

“Roger.”

We all stand and begin moving quietly and slowly forward in our skirmish line, still alert for anything around us. Crossing the walkway and reaching the other side, we settle into covered positions. Before us, a large parking lot leads to a brown, two-story building across from us. Only seven cars are parked in a row on the left side but we have a clear line of sight to the building. There, in the lot close to the building, eighteen men stand in a semi-circle before the main building door. It is from this group that the shouting is coming from. Standing by the door is what appears to be a woman with her arm wrapped around a child by her side, pressing him close to her in an obvious protective nature. She is holding her other arm out toward the men standing there, giving me the impression that she is holding a pistol although I cannot tell for sure from this distance.

“Lady, drop the gun and we won’t hurt the child,” I hear one voice call out from the group of men.

Well, that’s enough for me, I think noticing they didn’t include her in the offer of protection. Maybe I have watched too many movies but I have also witnessed this type of scene far too many times. Bosnia and the horrors there come to mind. I can remember the many times we would be up in the hills overlooking and observing towns being taken over and wiped out. Seeing genocide happen through a 20x scope. The ugliness that people can do to one another is amazing. Yes, evil does walk the world. And watching the poor women, well, I would rather not describe the atrocities there and shove those memories from my mind.

If we had a clear shot, we would ask for clearance and were given it most of the time. The offender centered in the scope and the feel of a light trigger pull. The kick letting me know that another evil creature will shortly get to tell his story about why he has suddenly been delivered to his own personal hell. The scope centered once again to see the woman scramble off. Hopefully to live and forget the horror of what she has momentarily lived through. I would always hope they escaped and were not found moments later only to go through it again. Yes, my mind is tainted with that evil and thus I have heard enough to know what is going on with this current situation. I feel anger and a sickness rising but keep it under control.

“Lynn, take Black Team back to the path and down to the right flank. Don’t expose yourself but get into position on the right. If we start trading steel, I don’t want the woman or kid to be in the line of fire,” I say without taking my eyes from the situation ahead of us.

“Will do,” I hear her say.

“Red Team will branch off to the left and get a flanking position there by the cars,” I add giving her our plans.

“Roger,” she responds.

Black Team passes behind us on their way to the path. We, Red Team, rise and begin to slowly move along the tree line to our left, keeping the situation in sight at all times but without exposing ourselves. I do not want some gumbah to turn around and see us. Our advantage lies in stealth at this point. They may be likely to shoot the woman and child first if they see a threat approaching. Something I would like to avoid. At the end of the parking lot, the tree line ends at another street running perpendicular to us. We turn right and start down the side of the parking lot towards the parked cars. Crouching and moving slowly so as to not attract any undue attention. The group seems pretty concentrated on the woman and child but it only takes one to turn and see a group of armed soldiers making their way towards them.

“Stay away from me. I’ll shoot,” the woman yells out.

“Lady, just put the gun away and the child can go free. You want your child safe don’t you?” A voice from the group calls out.

“You killed my husband,” I hear her shout back.

It is then that I notice the body lying face down on the short concrete path leading from the parking lot to the door. Its arms are stretched out over its head and blood is pooling below the head. The conversation between the woman and men continue in this fashion as we approach the row of parked cars. Reaching them unobserved, I motion for the team to take positions behind them but maintain clear lines of fire into the group of men. If a firefight develops, our fire should carry away from the woman, her child, and Black Team across from us.

“We’re in position,” I hear Lynn say over the radio.

I look across to the tree line across the lot. Not a soul to be seen. Damn, they’re good, I think trying to see any sign of a face, gun, or clothing.

“You’re good,” I say back.

“Of course we are. What do you think? That you’re the only one who can sneak,” she says back.

“Thought I was but apparently not,” I shoot back. “Stand by. I’m going to initiate verbal contact shortly. Do not engage unless I do.”

“Copy that Ranger Rob,” she replies. She’s enjoying this far too much.

“Well look who came across a sense of humor in the woods. Did you find it or steal it from someone?” I say.

“Must have taken yours because you’ve obviously lost it,” I hear her say through the radio.

“Um, copy that,” I reply knowing when to say when. “You’re out of our firing line right?”

“We’re good,” she answers.

Peering over the trunk of the last car in line, I observe closer that the woman is in great distress. The hand that is indeed wielding a revolver is shaking, observable even at this distance. Her dark, straight hair hangs down to her shoulders like the flags and wind sock. Tears stream down her pale, fear-filled face but she also carries a look of determination. She is going to protect her child at all costs. The young boy, who looks to be about six, is clutching both of his arms around her waist, his eyes wide with fright and not knowing what to do. His dad is lying in a pool of blood on the concrete a short distance away from him and armed men are threatening his mom. Overwhelming fear and shock must be gripping his insides at his situation, regardless of what they must have gone through the past few days.

The banter continues between the woman and the men. From their conversation, it becomes quite apparent that the men want the woman and that want is not for her own good. They are obviously a marauding band, taking what they want and feeling powerful doing so. Great! Now we’re going to throw marauding bands into the mix. Oh yay! Can it get any better? I think determining the best approach here. We can open fire and take them down before they know what happened or we can try and defuse the situation and gather more for our group. I really do not want them included considering how they are acting, but with there not being many of us left, more may be better. On the other hand, they may introduce more trouble than it is worth.

I look on to see if any of them feel uncomfortable bullying the woman and the situation. They all appear to be comfortable with what they are doing with the exception of one younger man standing off to the side. His eyes dart around everywhere else but the situation in front of him, shifting his stance from side to side in apparent discomfort.

“Drop your weapons and move on assholes,” I say aloud standing from behind the car and aiming my M-4 into the central mass.

Well, I guess that decision is made. Defuse and get them out of here. Bullets flying through the air introduce a random variable to the equation that I would rather not bring about. One of the variables is ricochets; their random changes in direction of flight after impact cannot be adequately accounted for. Bullets are no longer friendly once they leave the barrel.

The startle amongst them is an amazing thing to see. I have never grown tired of watching people react to someone close by when they had no idea that someone was there. The shock is close to paralyzing for them. The trick is to keep them that way and not to let them recover; keep them off balance.

“Drop them or die, your choice but make it quick or I’ll decide for you,” I say seeing the group turn their gaze to one man in the middle; seeking an answer as to what they should do.

The one in question is a tall, lanky man in jeans and a blue t-shirt with a rip in the front. He’s sporting a red hat with a New England Patriot’s logo on the front; his longish, brown hair curling out from under it in a tangled mess. He has bully and coward written all over him judging from his cornering this family and exerting his control over them with seventeen others behind him. I have seen his type before. Seems strong with his buddies and superior numbers behind him, but take that away and he’ll cower and whimper in the corner. The uncertainty of what to do is written all over his pinched face, a face dominated by a rather large nose. He feels the need to be strong or lose the respect of the men with him, but his cowardice is coming to the surface. The quick change from dominating the scene to being faced with someone strong causes a conflict inside. He cannot yield nor can he bully. He is at a loss. A short time passes with his indecision.

“Everyone hold your fire but be ready, I’m taking one out,” I say into the radio.

I line my red dot up on the head of the apparent leader and flip my selector switch to semi. A small pull on the trigger and the M-4 jars slightly against my shoulder. The crack of the round firing and going supersonic, sending its deadly payload outward, startles the group further. The steel round connects with his head with a solid thunk, rocking his head backward and tossing the cap into the air. Blood sprays outward and to the rear, a brilliant pink mist lit by the sun. Bits of bone and clumps of brain matter add mass to the mist. His body stiffens and both the lever-action rifle he was carrying and his body falls straight to the ground, the rifle clattering on the pavement and his body hitting it with a fleshy thump.

“Last chance shitheads. Who’s next?” I call out moving my red dot to the man standing next to their fallen leader.

Every man stands with shocked expressions. See, most people expect the banter to continue and the one with the wittiest line wins. They think the war of words is the actual battle. They watch way too much TV. Or did. This is the last thing they expect or want. The realization that I am not kidding around, or that banter and talk will even be a part of this, dawns brightly upon them. They expected something like they were engaged in with the family to ensue. Nope, not going to happen. You cannot fuck around with mentalities like these. Especially when they are confused as to which choice they should make. You make it very clear what the right choice is and do it right from the start.

“Lynn, bring your team out into the open but ready to open up,” I speak into the radio.

Black Team emerges from the tree line, lining up along the parking lot on the other side. Spaced apart but ready to deliver immense amounts of firepower should they need. The men notice the movement to one side of them and see Red Team positioned behind the cars with their weapons trained on them on the other. Most drop their weapons before being told to. They outnumber us by a fair margin but also know the odds of them living long enough to make that count, should it come down to a fight, are slim. They know when to say when. Hmmm, must be going around, I think. An assortment of guns falls to the ground in a continuous clatter lasting a few seconds.

“Move over there slowly,” I say pointing to a spot in the parking lot to my right with the barrel of my carbine. “In the middle and sit down with your hands on your head. Move in any way we don’t like and you’ll not appreciate the result.”

“Lynn, move up and cover them,” I say as the group of men shamble over and sit down on the warming pavement. I direct Red Team to set up a small perimeter, shoulder my weapon and move over to the woman with my hands open.

“It’s okay, ma’am, you won’t be hurt,” I call out towards her.

She is still holding the revolver out in front of her but she has lowered it down at an angle. I can sense she feels conflicted; feeling both saved, or at least hoping so, and unsure if she should relax. The young boy is still clutching her waist with his eyes now darting from her and to the man, his dad apparently, lying on the walkway.

“Lynn, can you come over here?” I ask into the radio holding my position.

“Can you talk with her? I think she may still be in a little shock and need a woman to assure her she is safe,” I say to her once she arrives.

Lynn shoulders her rifle and walks over to her, hands spread in a reassuring manner. The woman does not raise her gun up but she does not lower it either. A little sense of relief flows from her to see a woman and she lets Lynn approach, the boy sliding around behind his mom as Lynn draws near. Lynn comes to a stop in front of her and slowly puts her hand out to the pistol in the woman’s hand, pushing it gently down to the side. I cannot hear exactly what the conversation is but I can tell there is one by the woman’s mouth moving. She abruptly erupts into tears and, dropping the gun on the ground, throws her arms out and gives Lynn a hug, enfolding her and sobbing on her shoulder. Lynn puts her arms around the grief and shock-stricken woman.

After a few moments, the woman recovers and draws back. Unwrapping her son’s arms from around her, she bends down to say something to him. Standing after she has a word with her son, she walks over to where her husband lies on the ground, the pooled blood around him drying in the warming air. She crouches down and I observe her remove the wedding band from his hand and deliver a kiss with her fingers to his cheek. Standing once again, she gathers her son and walks with Lynn back towards me, the woman stopping a few feet away as if uncertain of her position or safety.

“She says they were trying to find food and water when they were waylaid by these guys,” Lynn says with a measure of disgust nodding towards the group of men sitting on the pavement, bunched together with Black Team forming a semi-circle around them. “They shot her husband when they became cornered here and he tried to defend them.”

“That’s kind of what I thought,” I reply. I wave the woman over and she approaches in a hesitant manner, automatically sweeping her son behind her in a protective manner as she nears.

Dark circles around her brown eyes tells of the horror and sleeplessness she must have faced over the past few days; as does the grime and dirt spotting her face. Her diminutive stature belies the look of determination in her eyes she had just a few moments before as she stood off the group of men looking to harm her and possibly her son.

“I’m very sorry for your loss ma’am. You’re safe with us and be assured no harm will come to you or your boy,” I say.

A look of relief passes through her eyes on hearing my words and eyeing the armed men around her; her body language showing a measure of the tension inside releasing.

“Do you know of or heard of anyone else alive?” I ask.

Looking back at me, she shakes her head “no” evidently not trusting to talk at this time.

“You and your son are welcome to come with us. But just so you know, we’re not staying here. We have an aircraft and are heading to the Northwest. It’s your choice but I would feel very remiss leaving you here,” I tell her.

She looks to Lynn as if looking for an answer. She appears to be somewhere in her twenties and at a loss as to what to do. Lynn looks back at her and nods her head; both in reassurance and that she should indeed come along with us.

“Okay, sir, thank you,” she says in a shy voice after a moment’s pause and glances over at her late husband lying in the sun.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him and give him decent honors,” I say but with a feeling that our time line is slipping away. More time spent here is less time we’ll have today down south. “What’s your name miss?”

“Kathy,” she responds.

“And what’s your name young man?” I ask directing my question at the boy anxiously clutching his mom but peering out around her waist.

“Robert,” he answers.

“Well, I have a son named Robert as well. He’s back at the airfield waiting for us,” I say with a smile. He smiles timidly back.

“What do you think we should do with them?” I say turning my attention back to Lynn and nodding at the captive men.

“Shoot ‘em,” she says with passion and anger in her voice. I would have expected that answer from Lynn. She experienced a similar horrific incident in her past. As a matter of fact, I would expect that answer from any woman having had to face such ugliness. That kind of anger just does not dissipate. I give her the sideways look of ‘really!?’

“Okay, just the left testicle,” she adds after seeing my look and knowing inside the both of us that we cannot outright shoot anyone we’ve captured.

Well, I would make an exception for the night runners but, although anyone may think differently, it is awfully hard to actually coldly shoot anyone unarmed that you have captured. I do feel a sickness inside that makes me want to, for a moment, take her up on her suggestion.

“We’ll see,” I say stepping over, with Lynn walking just behind my right shoulder, to the men whose future manhood is in serious question.

“Anything to say for yourselves?” I ask the group with disgust, gazing at each of them. Each of their eyes turns downward as my eyes focus on them. Yeah, you should feel ashamed.

“We didn’t mean anything,” one of them finally says although his eyes remain glued to the gray pavement in front of him. “We weren’t going to hurt them.”

“Explain why she was trembling in fear with a handgun then! Explain how her husband is laying on the ground over there! Go ahead, tell this young lad why his dad isn’t going to be there for him! Didn’t mean anything my ass!” I say quietly yet with emphasis and hear Kathy begin sobbing quietly behind me. Sometimes I just don’t think about what I’m saying, I think regretting those words were said within her hearing.

“Any of you have knives? Raise your hand higher if you do.” I ask the humbled group. Most raise their hands.

“Good. You four,” I say picking out four of the strongest looking, “go pick up that man and follow us. Lynn, detail two to cover them.”

“Yes, sir,” she says lapsing back into her professional form as the four pick themselves up and walk to the dead man with two members of Black Team to the rear and side covering them.

“Would it be a fitting place under those trees?” I ask Kathy. She blinks her tears away, looks over to the trees indicated, and nods. It does seem a peaceful place sheltered by the trees.

“The rest of you over to those trees and start digging,” I say eyeing them carefully, not expecting them to bolt due mainly to my outright shooting of their leader. I see the abject obedience and low esteem written across their faces and in their eyes. “One grave and make it snappy!”

“What about Joe?” One of them asks looking over to where their former leader lies by the evaporating pool of blood circling his head and running in lines along the uneven pavement.

“He stays where he lies,” I say. I don’t have the stomach or time.

“What about us? Are you going to shoot us?” The same man asks with fear in his voice.

“I haven’t decided yet. Compliance will certainly be in your favor,” I say trying to keep the balance of uncertainty and hope in each of them. Knowing their fate, whether for good or bad, will cause a reaction of some sort on their part. Knowing they will die for sure will cause them to find a way to flee or attack knowing they have nothing to lose. Letting them know they may live and giving them a semblance of hope will keep them docile and doing what you want. Off balance and indecisive, that is what I want them to feel.

“Red Team, keep a moving perimeter about us as we move over to the trees and notify the others at the airfield that all is in hand and well,” I say in the radio.

“Roger sir,” I hear McCafferty respond.

The group of men, and I use the term loosely, are sweating furiously by the time they finish digging a large enough hole in the ground. The temperature is climbing as the morning progresses and the sun makes its way higher into the clear, blue sky. The trees here provide some shelter but it becomes warm nonetheless, the lack of a breeze is stifling. The smell of freshly dug up earth fills the air as Robert’s dad is lowered into the five foot hole, seventeen men can dig a hole pretty quick, even in this hard packed earth. I am not really a good one for words for these times so I ask everyone to say a prayer in their own fashion with a moment of silence.

Red Team is still keeping a small perimeter and I ask them to recover the guns dropped by the marauders — a much better word for them than men. They return carrying a variety of weapons with them, mostly hunting rifles, shotguns, and handguns. I have the marauders stand and searched without finding any additional guns; they only have their now dulled knives with them.

“Are we going to get those back?” Asks the one man questioning earlier, referring to the guns and now fairly sure we are not going to annihilate them. At least he could think; I mean, who would search someone a while after being captured if we were just going to shoot them down. Why not just do it?

“Nope,” I answer.

“Are you going to shoot us?” He asks.

“Most likely not.”

“You’re just going to leave us here defenseless?”

“Should’ve thought about that before,” I say not having the least ounce of remorse for them. This new world, if we ourselves live long enough to keep mankind going, does not need these types around to foster or bring about their kind of thinking. The kind that thinks bullying women or forcing them is okay. And that goes for a large variety of actions. We really need to foster morality and, not only the ability to know right from wrong, but to act in that manner. Harmony with our environment and peace with those around us. Hopefully this new age, which will be a while in the making considering how few of us there are left, will have that facet to it. This time, we can hopefully do it right.

“You there,” I say pointing to the one I thought I saw some uneasiness in with prior our intervention.

He is a strong looking young man with a medium build either in his late teens or just out of them with short black, tightly curled hair. His dark eyes and face turn towards me with a look of fear and dread.

“How do you feel about what happened?” I ask sweeping my hand in the general direction of where they had Kathy and her son cornered.

“I didn’t like it at all, sir,” he answers lowering his head and then looking back into my eyes. I perceive no deception in them or with him.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” I ask further.

“Well, I really didn’t know what to do. I was worried they’d turn on me,” he answers. The other marauders direct quick, dark looks in his direction.

“What’s your name?”

“Kenneth. And I’m really sorry ma’am,” he says directing this last to Kathy.

“Can we go with you? Will you take us with you? We’re really sorry too lady,” the other man with all of the questions pipes up and asks.

“Not a chance in hell. Now all of you get the fuck out of here before I change my mind about everything. If I see you again, you die!” I give him my answer in no uncertain terms. “Kenneth, you can stay and go with us if you’d like.”

The remaining marauders, seeing their chance at living to see another sunrise, take to their heels, vanishing off through the trees. Kenneth looks after them in a moment of uncertainty and then remains.

“Let’s get out of these trees and back,” I say to the group. “Black Team in the lead, Red Team following. Keep an eye out to where they went.”

“Hooah, sir.”

“All other teams, this is Jack, we’re heading back with three civilians in tow,” I say into the radio letting the others at the aircraft know. “Robert, is the aircraft refueled?”

“Just finished, Dad,” he answers.

“Okay everyone, let’s be ready to go on our arrival. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,” I say pressing the mic button again.

“We’ll be ready, sir,” I hear Drescoll respond.

Following our path back through the silent base, we make our way through the warm, humid morning back towards the aircraft with our three new passengers tagging along with us. We keep the same staggered formation with Kathy, Kenneth, and Little Robert, that’s how I think of him now, in the middle of our formation. We are going to be way crowded in the aircraft now. I mean, a regular C-130 would start to feel crowded, but this one was not meant to handle a lot of people. It was meant to handle a lot of fuel. But we will manage. We may have to figure something else out though if we run across another large group.

This last little escapade did answer one question, or at least prove a nagging thought that was in my head — there are others. I hope that a majority, and there have to be others, are not like this last band and just out marauding or out for themselves; treating others with impunity. I mean, why would you do something like that when it’s obvious we are on the brink? Doing harm to others instead of helping? To me, that is truly evil and I just don’t get it.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, turn my head, and see a dog paralleling us. It has been out there since we started back. Trotting or walking along; keeping the same distance away but definitely intrigued by us. I keep alert for any sign of others remembering back to the pack we saw by the side of the road when we were heading up to McChord. Thinking they may develop into packs as dogs are wont to do. But from all indications, this one is alone. I cannot really tell just what kind of dog it is from the distance it is keeping away from us, but I can tell it is a larger breed and mostly black.

“Sir,” Henderson says nodding toward the dog.

“Yeah, I see it,” I respond back. “I just think it’s curious. And alone.”

We are about to take the short road back onto the ramp, to disappear between the building and leave the base proper. I turn back and see the dog has stopped as if seeing us off and not wanting to follow us. Probably because it would have to draw closer in proximity to us to do so. In order to follow us, it has to come closer to some extent, but it seems to want to keep its distance. I can sense a longing in the way it stands to follow but then sits right back down.

“Everyone hold up a minute,” I say out loud. The clatter of boots on the hard top ceases and everyone turns, setting up a small perimeter automatically.

I turn and walk back out towards the dog a few feet. It takes a couple of running steps away as I advance but then stops and looks back. I squat down and call out to it holding my hand out in front of me; showing it the ‘I don’t mean any harm’ signal that seemingly all animals, humans included, know and understand. Its ears perk up at my call.

“Really!? You’re halting us because you want to pet a dog,” Lynn says close by my shoulder. She has a point but something is calling me to this dog.

“Five minutes. If it hasn’t come by then, we’re on our way,” I say to her but keep facing the dog that is doing the low slink and wait as it edges closer. I can tell it wants to come but is quite hesitant. I do not blame it considering what it must have seen and been through with the night runners and perhaps not being able to distinguish between the two.

The dog edges ever closer and I can make out that it is a Rottweiler. A young one but the features are distinct. I call softly as he creeps ever closer, until he is only a few feet away. I see a wound on his left shoulder that is in the early stages of healing. I am guessing from another dog or night runner. Judging from the size of this one, another dog would be very wary about attacking it, unless it was a pack of dogs. I continue holding my hand out, keeping it steady and not making any sudden movements, until his nose touches the end of my fingers, and sniffs. I move them up slowly and start rubbing the top of his nose. He, yes, it is evident that is what it is, gives my fingers a tentative lick and I move my fingers to his ears and start scratching. Then, as if released, he comes in to me and begins to lick my face; happy we are not going to hurt him and that he may have found a home. Or at least some attention.

“Mom, can I keep it?” I ask teasingly turning back to Lynn who is standing there with a small smile on her face.

“You have to clean up after it,” she replies.

“I will, Mom. Promise.”

The aircraft is ready to go as promised as we emerge onto the ramp with our now fourth additional passenger who is trotting along at my side. The start cart is ready with Michelle and Nic by its side. Drescoll’s team is the only team out providing cover and security. I direct Red Team to stay with Drescoll to provide additional security while we start up. I leave instructions to enter after we crank up the starboard engines and not to walk behind them. I am leaving the security out as I am not sure what those marauders will do once they get out of sight and feel safe. Those types often feel their “manhood” rise and try to do something to restore their lowered self-esteem. I do not want to deal with their insecurities right now, and, frankly, they could take the lot of us down if they were to do something while we are taking off or still low to the ground. I am feeling a touch nervous about that.

I walk inside with the Rottie in tow. He seems quite content to follow me and stays right at my heels. I will be interested to see how well he is trained as he seems to have had some. I ask Kathy if Little Robert would like to come up into the cockpit. She asks him and his eyes light up. Up the stairs and into the cockpit we all go. Bri turns and nearly comes out of her seat, even though she’s strapped in, when she sees my new companion. The new companion being the Rottweiler and not the young lad.

“Jesus, Dad!” She says in a loud, startled voice. “Where’d you get him?” Everyone else in the cockpit turns and has the same reaction.

“Found him along the way,” I say getting myself settled.

The Rottie, I’m going to have to think of name for him soon, sits down on the cockpit deck next to Bri. I introduce Little Robert around and set him on the bunk. I am not all that comfortable with him not being strapped in somewhere but there is going to be a bit of that going around now. I see Kathy standing at the bottom of the stairs and motion her in. Our little cockpit has become quite the hangout. She sits on the bunk alongside her son. This truly has the makings of either an airline disaster or some Mary Poppins type of movie — you know, the family all together on a trip. The family dog sitting by the throttle quadrant with the kids singing happily along. Okay, we need to get going before I truly lose the rest of my marbles.

“Would you like to take care of the dog for me as well?” I ask Little Robert.

His eyes shine brightly and soon he is busy petting the grateful canine; both becoming enthused with each other. I see the shock of the day disappearing from Little Robert’s eyes. Kids are amazingly resilient. Too bad we lose that capability somewhere along the way.

The startup goes without a hitch. I am really watching the instruments closely. We have travelled quite a distance without any maintenance and I do not know when the last maintenance was accomplished on this aircraft. I could check the maintenance logs but that was always Greek to me and I would not have much of an idea what they were saying. At least we will be over land if something happens. Much easier to find a field and put it down as opposed to trying to land in an ocean. The swells are the kicker. Oh, and one interesting point to the ‘ol Hercules, there is an almost zero chance of living through a water landing. Thus one of the little aspects I was nervous about with the crossing.

It is before noon when we take off, angling away from the base and airfield in case those “men” left on the ground try to do something to us in flight. We should still have enough time to get to the CDC, find what we need, and get back to the aircraft before dark. Climbing out and turning to the southwest, I see small cumulus clouds building in the distance ahead of us; a possible precursor to developing storms. At the very least, a different air mass and frontal system. Luckily we are in the summer months but scattered afternoon thunderstorms do develop in the south on occasion. I am hoping for a worry-free flight. Our flight should only take about four hours to get down there and, with summer upon us, should give us about five plus hours of daylight to get our stuff done. Whether we take off again tonight to head home will depend on whether we can find what we want and our state of mind. I have flown exhausted before and know the dangers inherent with it. It is all good if nothing goes wrong but the chance of catching something amiss diminishes considerable. And if something does happen, reaction times are slowed by a large degree.

Staying near the eastern seaboard, the ride down is calm for the most part with just a little skirting of some weather. Our path takes us directly over New York City but I fly around it as the city is covered with a thick haze from the smoke of fires that rise out of the embattled city. Large plumes of dark, oily smoke rise from many parts of the city, filling the air with its toxic content. Many of those dark plumes billow out from the windows of the high-rise towers that dominate the skyline. That city is going to look even dirtier when all of this settles, I think staring out at the tall buildings rising from the thick haze. The ash from those fires will coat everything giving it a very gray, dingy look. This is more like what I pictured the end of the world would look like. The city looks exactly like what a post-apocalyptic city should look like according to the movies. It also gives rise to the thought that many areas of the used-to-be Eastern United States will become uninhabitable due to the numerous nuclear power plants that supplied power. There is not going to be anything to stop the meltdowns when the power supplying those facilities runs out. Are they in the process of that due to the power being out now? The very thought makes me subconsciously steer the lumbering 130 further to the west. We’ll need to acquire a Geiger counter as well, I think as the city eventually passes off to our left and behind us, leaving the taint of what we witnessed impressed in our minds.

Washington D.C. speaks of the same story but not with the same intense statement. We steer around in the same manner, seeing the White House, Congressional buildings, and the Washington monument off in the distance; silent testimonies of a time past. The fires are not as prevalent here but it still has the same empty look of a city where the inhabitants have disappeared. I have flown into these places before and there was always movement. Cars and aircraft and people; all moving with an intended personal agenda, caught up in the errand at hand. Now, there is not a thing in sight moving. It is completely giving forth a sad and melancholy feeling. There is a vast and deep loneliness present. I feel like an intruder encroaching into the serenity of the city. But there is a tension prevalent as well. Something horrible lurking underneath the serene picture. Waiting. Watching.

The other cities we pass, Richmond, Greensboro, Charlotte, are the same and give the same feeling. Each passing city brings to mind the possibility of survivors. Are they still in the city or have they moved out into the countryside? I think on what they must be facing down there. What must be going through their minds as the sun begins its downward path to the western horizon. The fear that must grip them as they watch the unrelenting approach of the night and are unable to stop it. I do notice fewer fires within the cities as we pass further south. I search my mind for a plausible reason but can’t come up with anything. There shouldn’t be power so it can’t be started from anything electrical. Could it be survivors burning buildings to remove the night runners from within them? I just don’t know, I think as my mind wonders what Atlanta will be like.

I do not have that long to find out as the city comes into view ahead through the windshield. There is a distinct lack of the smoke plumes compared to the other cities we saw on our way down. Sure, there are small columns of smoke rising in the afternoon air but the dark, oily plumes that existed in all of the other grand cities is absent. I don’t know the reason why but I’ll take it, I think setting the aircraft up for descent.

We descend over the outlying suburbs surrounding the actual city of Atlanta. Tree-lined roads and neighborhoods fill the areas in between, shadows filling the paved streets. The sun, lighting the tops of the trees and rooftops below us, sits halfway through the western sky. Browns, grays, and reds show through the green foliage with ribbons of gray outlining these colors and encircling them. Below us are not the usual box patterns found in developments but swirls, curves, and meanderings that are pleasing to the eye. With exception of the lack of movement and the brownish smoke ascending in several places, you would not think anything is out of the ordinary. It certainly presents a different picture than those cities further north.

Completing the descent checks, I descend down to 500 feet, calling the team leaders into the cockpit making it one very crowded place indeed. Standing room only. The airport we are shooting for is actually a little to the northeast of the city with the CDC to the south and east. It is only a little less than ten miles travel time on the ground from the airfield to the CDC. I hope we can find some vehicles to use close to the airfield for transportation.

“I’ll do a flyby over the airport and then we’ll look for a route to CDC so we can get an idea of what we’re looking at. We’ll also do some flybys of the campus itself,” I say to those assembled, yelling to be heard.

The airport parking lot shows a few cars and pickups sitting in the afternoon sun, the tops of their colored roofs and a sparkle from their windshields glare back. I have the coordinates of the CDC set as a waypoint in the navigation system and dial it up, flying directly to it. Being so close, it immediately comes into view just off our nose. Well, at least the area does. It appears to be set up in a campus-like fashion. I have never been here so this is all new to me, but I have had to determine locations and routes like this many times in the past.

“Wow! This is going to be more difficult than I imagined,” I say looking at the multitude of buildings passing by below.

The enormity of it with our limited manpower almost makes me want to just try somewhere else, but we are here so we will try what we can with what we have.

“Yeah,” I hear Lynn shout over my shoulder.

“Okay, let’s head back and find the best route to get there,” I shout back.

We climb up, picking our way back to the airfield close by, analyzing the roads to find the best route. Finding one, we memorize the landmarks and turns. Looking at the same picture on the ground is so much different than what it looks like from the air. You can fly over a piece of ground a hundred times and think you have it down, but then easily get turned around when you get your boots on the ground. The mind lends itself to doubt when traversing something new. ‘Is this right?’ is a common question. But we are all trained for this type of situation so it should not be too difficult; especially with the short distance involved.

“Get everyone buckled in if you would,” I yell to Lynn. “We’ll do a team leader brief immediately after landing.”

The cockpit empties somewhat as I circle around to line up on a final approach, our before landing checklist is completed in record time. I push the nose down slightly keeping the runway threshold glued in the windshield. One of the keys to landing is to put the aim point right on the threshold, so that if you did not flare the aircraft, that is where you would hit. Another important key is to not hit the ground, well, without your tires touching first.

“Gear down,” I call over the intercom.

Robert reaches over to the gear handle and pushes it in the down position causing an immediate rumble through the aircraft from the gear and gear doors disrupting the airflow. The rumble stops and three green lights illuminate by the handle indicating success.

“Flaps to 10,” I say liking the fact that we have three safe gear indications as the medium-sized, light gray runway grows larger in the screen.

The number ‘2R’ appears on the runway near the threshold through our windshield. The nose of the aircraft tries to rise up as the flaps come down due to the change of the airflow over the wing. I anticipate that with a small, quick movement down on the control wheel and flick the trim button to correct the aircraft’s behavior to our aerodynamic change.

“Flaps at 50,” I call out as we continue our descent into the airfield. Once again experiencing the rise and correcting.

I finally call for full flaps and, in my peripheral, watch Robert move the flap lever all of the way down. The slowing and pitch change is noticed dramatically as the flaps, which are basically barn doors, extend down from the wing and out into the slipstream. The runway begins to fill our field of view, my attention divided between the approaching ground and airspeed indicator, adjusting the throttles in small increments accordingly. Just as it seems impact with the ground is imminent, I raise the nose as the threshold passes underneath, bringing the throttles back smoothly as we transition from a descent to level flight just above the runway. As the airspeed bleeds off, I raise the nose higher trying to keep the aircraft aloft for as long as possible yet allowing it to descend slowly to the runway.

A very small bump is felt throughout the 130 as the wheels come into contact with the paved surface and begin rolling along. The aircraft settles as if sitting down in its favorite chair after a long day, both relieved and sorry to be out of its natural environment. Lowering the nose wheel to the runway, I bring the props into reverse thrust, causing the forward momentum to drop off rapidly, the g-force causing our bodies to thrust forward against our straps. Applying slight pressure on the brakes forces us to press even harder against the belts holding us in our seats. Settling down to taxi speed, I bring the props back into their normal rotation angle and we pull off of the runway, taxiing into what looks like main terminal area.

Going through the normal shutdown procedure, the props slowly wind down to a stop and we open up the back. Alpha and Bravo teams emerge first establishing a quick perimeter around us. The heat and humidity that is so prevalent in the south during the summer months sweeps into the aircraft, making it feel like you need gills to survive and breathe. Once again, only that lonely silence accompanies our arrival. The dream-like ambience prevails. The total lack of movement and sounds that should be customary just does not seem right. So out of place. I wonder if I will ever get used to this? I ask myself as I gaze around the area.

The afternoon sun bathes us, the humidity in the air adds to the brightness of the day, blinding in its intensity. Sweat immediately forms on my brow and runs down my spine, dark spots appear under my arms on my ‘needing to be changed soon’ flight suit. I breathe a heavy sigh in the still, humid air thinking about the enormity of what we are about to undertake. The numerous buildings that need to be searched. The very real possibility of not being able to find what we are looking for. And, not knowing exactly what that may look like. I have in my mind that it would be a report of some kind stored in a large file. The risks of entering so many buildings that could be housing a large number of night runners. This is a very real possibility as I assume there were many of the infected that were quarantined for study as the search for a cure became a priority, especially considering the magnitude and speed at which this all came down.

“Let’s get the team leaders together,” I tell Lynn as she steps out onto the ramp next to me. “We’ll have to make this quick as our time is short.”

Once again her command voice can be heard echoing across the area, the stillness of our surroundings magnifies the loudness. It bounces off the buildings a short distance away; reverberating across the parking lot close by and down the adjacent streets.

“Team leaders on me,” she calls out.

They gather around, each one affected by the heat and moisture, rings of sweat showing on their fatigues; Lynn, Drescoll, and Horace and others, to a lesser extent, are accustomed to the heat of the desert but not the humidity. Kuwait can be humid with the shores of the gulf nearby, but not like this. I sit down on the hot surface of the ramp, feeling the heat sear immediately through my thin flight suit, wanting to stand up right away in order to not catch on fire. The feeling dissipates after a few short moments. The others follow suit and sit in a gaggle around me.

“Well, we have a huge task ahead of us given the large amount of structures. I’m thinking the report or information we’re looking for should be in the director’s office but I have no clue where that is. My guess is we start in the main building close to the entrance. I’m sure the reception desk, or whatever they have in lieu of that, will have some sort of directory. That should be the first place we look,” I say opening the briefing.

“And by us, do you mean you plan on going?” Lynn asks sitting to my right.

“I was planning on it,” I say answering.

“I think you should stay here,” she adds with a sideways look.

“And why is that?” I ask.

“Because you’re the only one who can fly this beast,” she answers nodding toward the 130 behind us. “Something happens to you and we’re stuck.”

I must admit I have thought about this a little as we were passing over the CDC campus. I mean, I feel that Robert could get it started and airborne. He is able to configure the nav system to a degree as I spent some time with him on that while we were droning through the endless skies. It is the critical getting down part — meaning landing - that we still have to work on. A smooth take off and flawless flight are meaningless if you rip the wings and gear off on landing. Really turns a good flight into a bad one in a hurry. Impacting the ground and exploding tends to really ruin a good day.

“Okay, point taken. I’ll stay here,” I say after a moment’s pause and feeling reluctant to stay.

“Lynn, take Black, Green, and Blue Teams with you. My suggestion is to assign one team per building to quicken the search but you make that call on arriving. You may want to take the entire group in and do it one at a time. You have until 21:00 to be back. And I mean back here by then regardless of what you find or where you are,” I continue.

“Hooah, sir,” she says, her old ways returning.

“There are a few cars in the parking lot so we’ll have to use those for transportation. Anyone know how to hotwire?” I inquire.

“I think there’s a guy on my team who was in maintenance,” Horace says answering. “I’ll see.”

“Okay, if not we’ll have to figure something out. I don’t want to spend a lot of time here so are there any questions?” I ask. No one speaks up.

“I’m going to take Robert up to practice takeoffs and landings so you’ll hear us overhead. I’ll keep the secondary radio on our freq so let me know if you run into anything. I can also provide overhead directions if you get lost and guide you in. So, seeing there aren’t any questions, let’s get a move on,” I continue and finish the briefing.

The team leaders head to gather their teams and equipment for the trip out. Horace finds out that her maintenance guy should be able to start the vehicles in the event we can’t find keys readily available. They head toward the parking lot as I gather Robert and Bri and head into the aircraft; sealing it shut and settling into our ‘far too familiar’ seats.

We start the engines as the away teams head to the parking to see to their transportation. I give Robert some additional guidance and instruction and let him taxi out to the runway. If you have ever given your child driving lessons, you will know exactly how I am feeling right now; only imagine that in an aircraft. I was an instructor pilot for many years and I feel myself slipping into that mode. Any worry disappears as I concentrate and think about instructing. The aircraft veers on the taxi way as he gets accustomed to taxiing with the wheel, eventually straightening out and keeping the nose wheel on the center line. He has a few hours under his belt so he is used to it, just not in something this large. The sweat marks growing under his arms show his nervousness.

We check for traffic as I conduct a successful radio check with Lynn on the secondary radio. Pulling out onto the runway, he aligns the aircraft and pushes up the throttles with my hands on top of his guiding. The nose swings slightly from side to side as the aircraft accelerates down the runway, smoothing out as he transitions to the rudder pedals for direction. The take-off is a success but he immediately becomes overwhelmed with having to get the gear and flaps up in quick succession in addition to leveling off quickly at pattern altitude. But we manage, turning to a crosswind and then downwind pattern, the landing checks done quickly. His first landing is more of an arrival but that is to be expected.

“This isn’t anything like flying a 152,” he says after trying to plant the 130, and mostly succeeding, onto the runway for the first time. “I feel lost.”

“You’ll get it. It’s the ‘any landing you can walk away from is a good one’ concept,” I say.

We try two more touch-and-go’s with him catching slowly up to the aircraft with each one; improving with each attempt.

“Let’s do a fly by and see how the teams are progressing,” I say and have him maneuver out of the landing pattern and down the route the team is to take.

We see them travelling along a tree-lined, two-lane road as we pass over; three pickups heading toward the CDC. Seeing they are proceeding and apparently not lost, we head back to the airfield, spending a large part of the afternoon practicing his landings until he becomes quite proficient and capable of getting it down safely on his own.

Lynn gathers her team along with Drescoll’s and Horace’s and proceeds across the hot, black-tarred ramp toward the parking lot; her boots stick slightly to the pavement with each step. The heat has risen to the point that the tar in the pavement is seeping to the top. Her thoughts center on her route and a game plan on arriving at the CDC. Wanting to come up with a plan now but knowing it will have to wait until she actually sees the campus and structures.

Arriving at the parking lot, thankful for the open gate in the chain-link fence that separates the ramp area from the rest of the world, she sees several vehicles parked about. The ones they observed from the air. The vehicles vary in their size and type but the ones that catch her attention are the three pickups, standing out like beacons in the dark. These will be perfect, she thinks pointing them out to the others. She hears the first engine starting from the aircraft on the ramp behind her, the roar filling the still air.

“Let’s do a quick check for keys in those,” she says to Drescoll and Horace standing beside her, her finger pointing to the trucks.

They do not locate any keys hidden under the seat, in the glove box, on the visor, or any place else. At least the doors are unlocked, she thinks. Not that it would actually have been much of a hindrance. A short time later, with three steering columns pried apart and wires joined, the three pickups head out of the parking lot, the beds filled with soldiers, each team to a truck. The whirring of the rubber tires on the hot pavement accompanies the teams along the road with the sun streaming in the windshield turning the cabins into ovens. A check in her rearview shows the two other trucks following behind in intervals.

The buildings and trees lining the road pass by slowly as she makes her way to the first turn towards their destination. The heat inside the truck dulls some of the adrenaline starting to key up inside her as she draws closer to the campus. The turn takes her into a residential district, the trees lining the road on both sides, giving some shade from the swelter of the day and providing a scenic drive. With the windows down, a scent pervades the otherwise pristine area; a hint of rot and decay. Smelling like the side of a stream following a salmon run where fish lie on the banks rotting in the sun. But here, it is the smell of hundreds and thousands of bodies in the houses around that is drifting into the streets. This is just the beginning, Lynn thinks wrinkling her nose at the assault on her senses.

The sound of the aircraft that was droning faintly in the background from time to time grows louder. The deep-throated rumble soon overrides the sound of the truck engine as they progress through the decay-filled neighborhood. Looking out of from the open window as she rides in the passenger seat, she sees the olive drab 130 pass overhead, rocking its wings slightly before making a gentle turn back towards the airfield. The sight of it brings her mind from the stench permeating the area to the mission ahead.

The three soldier-filled trucks make their way through the neighborhood, the road transitioning from a neighborhood street to that of a five-lane road, the middle lane for turns in either direction. A large, blue, curved CDC sign to the right identifies the main entrance into the campus. Taking the turn, a large number of multi-storied buildings come into view giving evidence to the absolute enormity of their venture. The picture on the ground is completely different from that in the air. So much larger in scope than I imagined, Lynn thinks as the trucks proceed slowly down the entrance road.

A checkpoint appears shortly after making the turn; two lanes leading up to the now, empty check-in facility. An exit road circumvents the checkpoint to the left.

“Take that road around,” she says to the soldier driving.

They pass around the checkpoint and come to a T intersection. Turning left, a large glass building looms over them stretching high into the blue sky behind. This must be the main facility building, she thinks as the trucks come to a stop in front and park alongside the curb. Lynn opens the door and steps out into the heat, shielding her eyes with her hand from the glare of the afternoon sun bouncing off the glass front of the building. She checks her watch as the other teams disembark and gather around her.

Lynn looks at the size, immediately knowing it will take all of the teams to cover this one building alone. She hopes for an ounce of luck that what they seek is within this structure of steel and glass. The broken glass littering the pavement in front of the main entrance doors, glittering as the sun strikes the various angles of the shards, gives her warning that night runners may lurk within. Having faced them many times before and hearing the stories emerge from the encounter inside the BX the previous day, she makes up her mind that if they encounter any large force of night runners, they will retreat back outside. She is in agreement with Jack that they cannot engage in a battle of attrition. That battle will be easily lost and lost quickly.

“Okay everyone, here’s the skinny. We’re all going in together. That broken glass by the door indicates that there may be visitors inside; of the ugly kind. Our first task is to find a reception desk of some kind and locate a directory. If we find the director’s office location, we’ll then proceed there. The interior will dictate what formation we’ll use and what order we’ll go in so listen up on the radio,” Lynn says turning to the team members. “Everyone understand?”

“Hooah, First Sergeant,” they respond as one.

Walking in the lead, Lynn steps up to the shattered front doors and peers inside. A wide, tile-floor lobby opens up immediately inside the doors with lush, cherry wood walls stretching up the entire height of the two-story lobby. The tiled floor, once buffed to a high sheen, now shows a lack of tender care as a fine layer of dust fans out from the open door. Dried, bloody footprints show for a short distance both on the tiled floor inside and the concrete sidewalk beside them. The indications of which are very clear; there are definitely night runners within.

Nestled against the far wall sits a large, wooden reception desk and security station fashioned of the same wood and color as those lining the walls all around. Large, broken glass doors, situated in the middle of the far wall, open up into a hallway leading further into the building. The lobby is flooded with the light from outside thanks to the glass window front, darkening quickly in the hallway across from them. That should help us on the higher levels as well depending upon the floor layout, Lynn thinks hoping they won’t have to go too far into the structure.

“Everyone lock and load. Drescoll, take your team and cover the hallway,” Lynn says.

The metallic sound of multiple charging handles being drawn back and released reaches her ears. The scrunch of boots on glass echoes in the once silent building as Drescoll and the rest of Green Team enter inside, taking up position in a line facing down the hallway.

“Horace, take the doorway here and watch for anyone approaching the building. Keep an eye on the other buildings for movement in the windows,” Lynn says watching Green Team cross the lobby. “Black Team on me.”

Stepping inside and crossing the lobby, Lynn walks to and around the reception desk. Several monitors are embedded within a panel spanning the desk, their screens dark. Two reception phones lay on a surface void of clutter; their usually lit buttons forever out. No blinking lights with a multitude of calls on hold that must have once dominated this work space. No calls to forward to the various individuals that once inhabited this building, biding their time and doing their job until retirement. Retirement came early for all of them but without the gold watch or plaque. The only thing left is the forgetting phase that begins shortly after walking out of the retirement party; the retirement party coming in the form of the Cape Town virus and subsequent vaccine.

A thin, blue book lies beside each phone with the words “CDC Directory” embossed in gold on the front. That’s fortunate, the thought crosses through Lynn’s mind as she opens up the directory. Pages tucked inside clear plastic denote names and numbers by department, and, further back alphabetically. Looking under ‘Administration’ on the first page, she sees Director, CDC. Room 500, Crap, she thinks. There goes our luck. We’re going to have to climb to the fifth floor. Hopefully the office in question is in one of the lit areas of the building.

“Looks like we’re going to the fifth floor,” she says over the radio. “Drescoll, what do you have?”

“A bank of elevators to the left and right in the hallway as far as I can see. It gets dark in there pretty quick,” Drescoll answers.

“Alright then. Must be a stairwell nearby. We’ll use that. We only have 12 NVG’s so it’ll be Black and Green Team in the interior. Horace, you take and cover the lobby,” she says into the mic once more.

“I’m with you,” Drescoll’s voice sounds in her ear piece.

“Roger that, First Sergeant,” Horace responds.

Stepping out from behind the reception area, Lynn walks between the shattered glass doors, their remnants on the floor scrunching under her well-worn boots with the rest of Black Team following along behind her. Once again, as at the front door, a multitude of dried, bloody footprints leads in and out of the hallway, testimony to night runners cutting their feet on the glass spread on the linoleum tile as they transit in and out of the building. The hallway quickly fades into darkness with two banks of elevators to the left and right still bathed in a partial glow from the outside light. Their doors tightly shut and the elevator cabs stuck at unknown floors, sitting there until the cable holding them up rusts and sends them plummeting down.

Donning her night vision goggles in the dark and adjusting the strap, she lowers the goggles down; feeling and hearing them click into place, she turns the switch on. The darkened hallway immediately shows up with a sharp, greenish glow. The fuzzy image of the old styles replaced by a sharper image but still with the green glow everyone associates with what NVG’s normally look like. The later versions provide even more clarity and literally turn night into day.

Three more dual sets of elevators come into her vision in the glow of her goggles along with a door set between them on the right with a “stairs” sign above it. The emergency lighting that should have been there long ago extinguished. Turning to the rest of the group behind her, she asks if everyone is good. Meaning, all goggles are working and ready. Thumbs up and nods give answer to her that everyone is prepared.

“Okay, let’s do this,” she says on the radio, stationing team members to cover the entrance and interior. She opens the stairway door and swings it into the hallway.

A rush of cool air envelops her but that is all that emerges from the large stairwell. To the right, stairs lead upwards in the normal emergency stairwell fashion; the stairs leading to an intermediate landing before reversing to continue up to the next floor. Another door leads outward across from the one she is holding open.

“Horace, send over two to cover this bottom stair landing,” Lynn says in her radio after analyzing the situation.

“Roger, First Sergeant, they’re on their way,” Horace replies. Two soldiers quickly head her way, their boots clicking on the tile floor announces their approach.

“You two cover these doors and keep the stairwell clear,” she tells the arriving soldiers.

“Drescoll, detail two at each landing on the way up to cover the doors if they end up being double doors,” Lynn continues. “I’ll detail two on the fifth floor.”

“Copy that,” Drescoll responds.

“Anyone hears or notices anything, no matter how slight, report it right away. We have to keep this route open at all costs. If we get into an engagement, we withdraw through this stairway, the covering force on each stairwell landing folding in behind and covering the withdrawal. Any questions?” Lynn asks expecting none.

“Hooah, First Sergeant,” they all say in hushed tones.

“Okay, let’s move out,” she says and steps into the cooler darkness of the stairwell.

The faint creak of her boot marks her first step upward; weapon trained aloft to what can be seen of the stairs leading in the reverse direction to the landing above. Quietly step by step. Advancing slowly but knowing they are in a little time crunch. Not a rapidly approaching deadline but one nonetheless.

“Horace, keep watch on the time and notify us when we reach 20:15. That’s our cut off point,” she says pressing the mic button at her collar.

“Copy that, First Sergeant,” Horace responds through the radio.

Looking at her watch glowing through her NVG’s, Lynn sees they have about three hours before it is time to go. Maybe enough if they find it right away, maybe not. But that is not going to make her rush any faster. There is a time and place for that and this is definitely not one of those. She arrives at the first landing and begins climbing the next series of steps. Black Team is following several steps back. Keeping a good interval, knowing that huddling up too close in a confined space such as this will increase the odds of friendly-fire casualties in case they have to engage.

The second floor landing is clear and identical to the first floor with the exception of the concrete flooring. Well, and the fact that there is a sign saying ‘2^nd Floor.’ Big clue there. There is no need to call the landing clear on the radio as that is readily apparent. She hopes there is not a need to reverse and get out quickly while they are all confined in the stairs together. They will bunch up quickly trying to reverse and get out making the one in front, her, an easy target with nowhere to go.

The stairwell is deathly quiet. So quiet that she can hear the quickened breaths being taken both by her and the soldiers behind, fueled by adrenaline and the fear that accompanies the unknown. Her heart pounds in her chest from the adrenals kicking into high gear. The enclosed concrete block stairwell seems to close in and Lynn is thankful it is not the pitch black that it must be outside of her NVG’s. This is so much better than having just a flashlight, she thinks as she resumes her climb. The darkness outside of a flashlight’s illumination being even darker and the light ruins any night vision.

Reaching the third floor landing, she notices there is not any light coming from under the stairwell door giving a clue that light from the glass front of the building is not reaching the stairwell door on this floor. She noticed the same on the second landing but that was to be expected from the fact that the lobby is two stories tall. Not good, she thinks heading even further up into the building. As she places her foot on the first step toward her ascent to the fourth floor, Drescoll informs her that Green Team is starting its way upward meaning Black Team is stretched out behind her for two floors, each member occupying a half flight of stairs, intermediate landing or landing.

Anxiety begins to grip her as she makes her way upwards, each step taking her farther away from the safety of the daylight. Lynn tells herself not to get trapped by the false notion that if things go terribly wrong, the rooms or offices with windows outside will offer any sanctuary. Sure, for the moment they will but the setting of the sun will cause that safety to disappear. No, if something happens, this stairway and the entrance door leads to the only true sanctuary.

Alert and ready for anything, Lynn fingers the selector switch, reassuring herself that burst mode is selected. She thinks momentarily of her and Jack’s discussion on the M-4. Him telling her that the ones he used were fully automatic and her insisting that is not the case. Well, he was in a little while before her and that could be the case for the early models. He still insisted and insists that the ones he used in special ops were automatic. Those thoughts slip quickly from her mind as she reaches the fourth floor landing. Only one more to go, she thinks in the dark quiet with only the rustle of clothes, the creak of boots stepping quietly on the concrete steps, and the occasional light metal clinks sounding in the stairwell as soldiers climb behind her.

There is only the same as she ascends to the fifth floor and reaches the landing. She stops as Black Team slowly ascends and joins her there. Drescoll informs her that they are all secure on the landings beneath her, each guarded by two soldiers, one covering each door. As her team gathers near her, a hush descends on the landing. Only the muffled sound of shuffling boots is heard. The sound of soldiers climbing vanishing as each takes their positions and waits. Detailing two of her team to stay and guard the fifth floor here, she puts her ear to the door to her left leading out of the stairway and into the building.

Hearing nothing outside, she asks one of her teammates to check the other door, reporting back that there is nothing to be heard. Lynn pushes on the door bar and opens it just a crack. A slight, metallic squeak is all that is heard as she peeks through the crack into what seems like a darkened hallway. Silence greets her as she pushes the door wider and ducks her head in the opening, glancing to her left and right before quickly pulling it back in letting her brain analyze the quick view her eyes sent to it. Realizing she did not see anything amiss, Lynn pushes the door open slowly to the soft, metallic sound of a fire door opening and steps quickly into the hallway; the soldier behind catching and holding the door as she moves out.

Lynn quickly takes a kneeling position in the hallway facing down the hall to her right. The next team member takes a position behind her and faces the opposite direction. Two more quickly enter the hall, one joining her and the second joining the one behind. The door closes with a soft click, one of the soldiers left guarding the landing easing it shut. The tension threatens to engulf them as they there waiting for something to happen. The very air breathes of tension.

“We’re in,” she whispers into the radio mic.

Two clicks on the radio followed by two additional clicks announce that Drescoll and Horace heard her and are acknowledging. Lynn continues to survey the area to her front. The hallway stretches out ahead to the limit that the night vision goggles will allow. Many doors line both sides of the quiet hall, some shut with others open. Picture frames line the walls at intervals. Plaques on the wall next to each door show an individual name, conference room, or the standard bathroom sign. All have room numbers on top and, giving them a look from her position, she can tell that the numbers increase the further away from her the rooms are. The director’s office must be behind me, she thinks hoping it is not on the other side of the stairwell.

“What do you have on your side?” Lynn asks the teammates behind her.

“Hallway ends and opens into some kind of foyer or larger open area,” her teammate responds.

Lynn stands quietly and turns around, tapping one of her team behind her and signaling for them to switch positions. The exchange is completed in almost total silence. The swish of cloth rubbing together is the only indication of movement. Looking at the hallway in the other direction from her new vantage point, she sees that the hallway does end after short distance, opening up into what appears to be some kind of reception room. The tiled hallway gives way to carpeting and the room ahead opens up to the sides. Two desks sit on the carpeting looking out in her direction with a large, shut door in the far wall between them.

Something just does not seem right. There are the words ‘CDC Director’ but they seem to be placed oddly. At first they seem to be on the wooden walls directly above the desks but placed too high. Then they seem to be floating in the air. The light bulb hits. The reception room is fronted by a glass wall with double glass doors leading inside. The writing is on the glass in front. Lynn also sees a thin beam of light peeking out from under the large door set in the far wall. So, that office must have a view of the outside. That will be convenient for searching, she thinks wondering if those glass doors are locked.

“Sergeant Drescoll, this is Jordan on the third floor. I have sound and movement coming from the other side of my door,” a voice whispers in the radio, startling Lynn and sending her adrenaline into overdrive.

“Can you identify what it is?” Lynn hears Drescoll respond to the call.

“Do not open that door,” Lynn quickly whispers into her mic.

“Copy that, First Sergeant. Break. I don’t know what it is but it sounds like something shuffling on the other side,” Jordan answers.

Lynn rises and stares over her shoulder at the stair door. What they came looking for, well, at least the location it should be in, is tantalizingly close. They are not really discovered yet but it is only a matter of time if one or more of the night runners are prowling around. She stands wondering if she should continue and head to the director’s office or pull them back. Her competitive and ‘can do’ mindset compels her to continue; get the files and get out of there. The hackles on the back of her neck rise as she suddenly hears a low growl and a faint sniffing from down the hallway in the direction she is facing. The green glow of her night vision goggles picks out the faint outline of a nose poking out from one of the open doors close by.

Oh shit, she thinks looking at the nose apparently sniffing the air. She stays absolutely motionless. Don’t make a sound. A soft grunt emits from the direction of the night runner at the room’s entrance, followed by a very low, deep growl that fills the otherwise silent hall. Tension fills the air. The soldiers kneel in the darkened hallway like stone statues, poised and ready. Not knowing if they have been found out or not. Waiting for the shriek that will signify their presence is known and alert other night runners.

Lynn sees the soldiers kneeling before her looking from the room, to her, and then slowly back again, waiting for her call to action. She waits hoping the night runner will not smell or hear anything and retire. Regardless, we’re done here, she thinks waiting for the balance to shift one way or the other. Not knowing how many are in here but thinking along the worst case scenario of many. The knowledge they seek is not worth the life of a single soldier in her mind. Or is it? The question runs through her head. If we can gather knowledge that will save others down the road, well…. That line of thinking leaves as the night runner by the door emits a loud shriek, echoing loudly in the in the hall. The team’s scent has apparently reached its nose and it has determined something was indeed here.

“They’re onto us,” Lynn says into her mic. “Hold the doors! We’re on our way out.”

The suddenness of the shriek startles the other soldiers into a form of paralysis. They hold there as the night runner quickly emerges from the opening and out into the hallway, turning in their direction with its first step. Lynn, having slowly raised her M-4 to her shoulder, fires a burst at the night runner. Rounds follow the sharp popping and slight bucking of her rifle out of the barrel, streaking toward its intended target and impacting its skin and bone with solid thumps. The steel collides with its chest, neck and just below the nose, flipping it over backward with a flowering blood spot marking the entry into its chest and a spray of blood from its neck and head covers its face. Shrieks ring out from within the room as more night runners begin pouring out into the hallway.

The explosion of her weapon firing startles the soldiers out of their paralysis and they begin introducing steel into the air down the hallway, dropping the first two night runners that emerge into the hallway, their bodies hitting the linoleum floor hard, sending tremors through the floor and felt beneath the soldier’s boots.

“Move! Now!” Lynn calls out. “I’ll cover.”

The soldiers quickly rise and rush the very short distance to the door, throwing it open and yelling “friendlies” as they do. Lynn reaches down and taps the one kneeling beside her on the shoulder, signaling for him to exit as well. The night runners come out of the same door and her vision picks up more coming from doors further down the hallway. This is going to get ugly quick, she thinks squeezing the trigger lightly and feeling the confident buck against her shoulder. The familiar smell of gunpowder fills her nose but goes unnoticed in the quickly building, furious battle. One more night runner is flung backwards and to the side as her rounds hit the mark, the ones behind slow to side-step around it. She begins side-stepping toward the fire door being held open by one of the soldiers guarding it. Fire, step, fire. Each of her bursts sending a night runner to the floor. Blood splashes against the walls and tile, creating psychedelic spray patterns, quickly making the footing treacherous in the hallway beyond. A couple night runners slip in the forming pools, causing them to lose their balance, but barely noticed as they catch their footing and charge on.

The flash of rounds being fired and the tinkling of empty shells on the ground add to the general uproar and violence. Strobes begin to emit from the open stairwell door, evidence that someone is firing back from within into the growing horde. Shrieks, howls of pain, gunfire, a growing haze of smoke, and alternating flashes of strobe light fill the hallway to excess. That, combined with the now frantic radio calls coming through her ear piece, forces Lynn to concentrate on getting them out of here and getting them out now.

“I’ve got movement on the fourth floor,” Drescoll’s voice comes through.

“They’re trying to get through the door on the third,” Jordan calls out. “Don’t know if I can hold this shut much longer.”

“Sounds and movement by the second floor doors,” another voice calls out over the radio.

This whole place has come alive, Lynn thinks. We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest. She makes the door with a multitude of night runners lying dead on the hallway floor but more are coming. Many more. She did not think it could get any louder but the shrieks fill even more of the hallway as a horde of them charges her way. To the point where she thinks her head will come apart from the noise.

“Close the door!” She yells above the din to the soldier that was holding it open for her and firing one-handed down the hallway.

The door swings ever slowly closed, the pneumatic swing arm above slowing the process. Lynn fires two more bursts into the hallway, hearing the rounds strike without seeing where or what. How could I miss though? She thinks. They practically fill the hallway. She yells for the teammate to head down as she covers the now shut door. The soldier on the other side of the landing holds the other door closed with all of his might.

“Go, I’ve got it covered,” she yells to him.

He releases his grip and turns for the stairs behind her. The door immediately swings open and she sends rounds into the opening, her rifle barking and echoing loudly in the enclosed space. The door opposite swings back closed. Lynn realizes there is gunfire further down the stairs from the other landings.

“They’re trying to come in,” Jordan’s voice yells in the radio. “Better hurry if you’re going to make it.”

“Hold tight, we’re on the way down. Drescoll, you good?” Lynn asks in the radio and starts down the stairs covering the doors on the landing above.

“They’re trying to get through but we’re holding ‘em for now,” he responds.

The sound of footsteps coming from above Lynn rises momentarily above the sound of gunfire and the struggle within the confined space. She looks upward to the stairs and landings above, seeing movement rapidly descending her way. Looking down, lights flash off of the walls from the battles on the landings below. If we’re not careful and quick, we’ll be trapped in the stairwell between floors, she thinks side-stepping down the stairs, keeping the night runners momentarily at bay as they try to come in through the doors on the fifth floor.

Descending down for the seeming hundredth landing, with Robert flying us on a competent final, voices suddenly interrupt our thoughts and instruction, coming through on the our helmets from our secondary radio.

“Sergeant Drescoll, this is Jordan on the third floor. I have sound and movement coming from the other side of my door,” a whispering voice calls out.

The threshold of the runway begins to fill our screen as Robert adjusts the throttles to keep our airspeed up. He is doing a great job of monitoring his airspeed on short final now. The tendency is to begin to concentrate primarily on the runway as it begins to draw near. Especially if you are feeling a little behind the aircraft and intent on getting it down. My attention is focused primarily on his flying, guiding and giving instruction where need, but a part of my mind is directed to listening to the radios for any further information that might come over them. The radios of the teams are affected by distance and line of sight. Not that they have to be in a line of sight to work, but the line of sight affects the distance they can carry and receive.

He manages to set it in without my wondering if my spine will be permanently affected and I nod my approval.

“Nice job,” I say as he applies the throttles for a touch and go.

Airborne once again, he calls for the gear and shortly thereafter, the flaps. I move the appropriate handles and levers at his call, careful of the airspeeds so we don’t overspeed any of the structural limitations. The aircraft cleans up nicely and he levels off at pattern altitude, ready to turn his crosswind leg.

“They’re onto us,” I hear Lynn say over the radio. “Hold the doors! We’re on our way out.”

“I have the aircraft,” I say over the intercom taking control and switching the radio to the secondary.

“Red Team, this is Jack, over,” I say pressing the transmit button.

“This is Gonzalez,” I hear in return.

“Get yourself, along with Alpha and Bravo Teams, ready to board once we taxi in.”

“Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez says replying. “What about the civilians?”

“Bring ‘em,” I answer.

Bringing the aircraft around, I set up for a combat assault landing, basically the quickest way to get this lumbering beast to the ground. It is an overhead turning maneuver designed to roll out on a very short final, landing quickly. My plan is to load up the rest of our teams and find a field or road near the CDC campus to deploy and aid Lynn rapidly if needed. The chatter on the radio sounds like the proverbial shit has hit the fan.

I land without the sweet kiss of the tires rolling on the pavement but deposit the aircraft on the runway with authority sending a jolt through our seats. Slowing the aircraft down quickly with a firm application of brakes and reverse thrust, I take the center taxiway back to the ramp where I see the other teams lined up and waiting.

“Drop the ramp down to its level position,” I tell Robert as I set the aircraft up for takeoff configuration. The ramp has various settings for a variety of applications.

We taxi in and I then have Robert drop the ramp door down all of the way leaving the engines running. I can feel the aircraft shift as the teams clamber aboard. Gonzalez hops up the stairs to inform us that all are onboard and I brief her quickly on the radio chatter I had been hearing as Robert raises the ramp to its closed position. Quickly taxing to the closest runway, I move the throttles up and we are airborne in a rush, cleaning up the gear and flaps, and turning toward the CDC campus only a short distance away.

Now racing down the stairs to the fourth floor landing, Lynn sees Drescoll and another Green Team member firing through openings in both doors leading to the interior; the doors held partially open by bodies lying in the openings. Lynn exchanges magazines, her now mostly empty one clattering to the landing under her feet as she quickly replaces it with a fully loaded one from her tactical vest. The stench of dead bodies, their insides ripped open by steel-jacketed rounds and bowels emptied mingles with the sharp smell of gunpowder. The near continuous firing is deafening in this small space, amplified by the concrete walls echoing the noise.

“They’re coming down the stairs from above,” Lynn shouts in Drescoll’s ears. “We’ve got to move out now.”

Drescoll merely nods his acknowledgement as he continues to concentrate and focus his attention on keeping the night runners at bay and out of the stairwell, their only route out of here. The rest of Black Team has passed and are on their way down to the lower landings as Lynn passes behind Drescoll and continues her way down. Drescoll and the other Green Team member folding in behind her, delivering their rounds through the open doors as long as possible on their trek down to the third level close on Lynn’s heels.

The overall plan is to fold back in sequence as each landing is passed. The ones guarding those landings and entryways folding in behind those who have passed, becoming the next rear guard. In this fashion, the rear is still protected without the team members bunching up on the stairs slowing the entire retreat and making them more vulnerable. Reaching the third floor landing, Lynn sees the same scene being repeated here as at the fourth level, Jordan and another soldier holding fast as the night runners try to force their way in. The bodies of those slain blocking the doors open. Strobes from their weapons firing bounce off of the walls. Luckily, this version of the night vision goggles have a quick, automatic response to lighting changes or they would all have been blinded by the first rounds sent outward from their M-4’s.

“Follow Drescoll down,” Lynn shouts to Jordan on her passing behind him.

“Roger that, First Sergeant,” he replies without taking his eyes or rifle from the open door on his side. “Hurry though. We won’t be able to hold here much longer.”

“Lynn, this is Jack. I’m overhead with three teams. Need any help? I think I can set down on the main road,” Lynn hears over the din prevalent in the stairwell.

“I think we have it but standby,” she responds to Jack.

Lynn looks back up the stairs quickly to see Drescoll and the other soldier fast behind her, still covering the stairs to prevent the night runners from blind siding them. Looking back down the stairs, she notices an absence of gunfire. The area below is void of the strobe affect. A panic sets in. Have they already broken through there? I may have spoken too soon. She thinks stepping quickly but cautiously down the stairs.

Rounding the intermediate landing, she notices the two soldiers still guarding their posts. Relief immediately settles in her. We’re almost there. She holds up on the second floor landing with the two other soldiers and waits for the others. Drescoll and his teammate immediately appear on the stairs descending quickly.

“Keep going,” she yells as he draws near and slows.

They both pick up their pace once again and descend toward the first floor. The two soldiers guarding the third floor landing appear, traversing backwards and delivering rounds upwards before turning suddenly and running down the stairs toward her. They pass quickly by her following in Drescoll’s path.

“There’s movement and sound on the other side of the door but they haven’t tried to come in as yet,” one of the soldiers guarding the second levels says.

“Okay, you two, go!” She tells the two still with her. “I’ll cover.”

They immediately begin descending downward. The sound of gunfire has vanished and Lynn can now only hear the shrieks and roar of the approaching night runners, a multitude of feet on the stairs as they descend quickly toward her. Lynn starts down as the first of the night runners appears on the intermediate landing above her, shrieking even louder upon discovering her there.

Lynn fires a burst into the crowd, three bullets leaving the barrel of her gun and striking the lead night runner across the chest. Blood spots blossom on the front of its torn, dirty white t-shirt with a large bright yellow smiley face as it tumbles, first backwards, and then forwards due to the push of the night runners behind it. Night runners behind trip on the body tumbling down the stairs, sprawling face first and sliding down the remaining stairs. Lynn rushes down the stairs two at a time, a few feet of separation gained.

Yelling down the stairs for anyone remaining in the stairwell to get into the lobby, she rounds the corner of the intermediate landing. The horde tramples over the bodies in their desperation to get to her. One of them is down for good, its chest riddled, and the others that tripped are out for the count. The first floor landing is empty with the exception of two soldiers in the hallway waiting for her; one holding the doorway and the other on his knees, weapon pointed at an angle down in front of him but in a position ready to raise it should he need.

Tearing out of the door with the mass of night runners closing, Lynn darts to the left heading for the safety of the sunlit lobby. She sees a line of soldiers facing her and the hallway she is heading down. Running across the glass shards littered on the ground, scattering some across the tiles, she raises the goggles and turns to face the night runners she imagines are fast on her heels. Jack’s right, they’re fast, she thinks in mid turn.

She spins around dropping to her knees, ready to both fire and retreat further if necessary. The door to the stairwell is closing slowly, slowed by the pneumatic lever. Nothing enters the hallway. The door is about to shut when a massive shriek sounds out, muffled by the closing door but reverberates down the hallway. Click. The door closes. The last tinkling of glass kicked across the lobby from their quick exit comes to a halt. Silence ensues. The only noise is her heavy breathing and that of the soldiers lined up next to her. Breathing hard from the adrenaline and fast run down the stairs. Adrenaline though still courses through her but slows as her body and senses recognize the danger receding. She checks her watch — 18:27. They were in for a little over an hour. The time seeming both longer and shorter.

“Everyone alright?” Lynn asks glancing from one soldier to another. Each one does the quick pat down and nods that they are fine.

“Let’s head outside and head back to the airfield,” she says in a deflated tone and feeling bad that they did not find what they came for.

Walking out of the open entrance door, Lynn hears the drone of an aircraft overhead. Looking up, she sees the 130 in a shallow left turn a short distance to the west, passing over the sun sinking close to treetop level.

“We’re out, Jack,” she calls over the radio.

“You okay?” She hears him ask.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she answers knowing he is asking about her personally and the group. “We’ll meet you back at the airfield.”

“Okay, see you there,” he says.

She watches the aircraft reverse its bank and heads back north towards the airfield, its gear dropping shortly thereafter as it begins a slow descent. Walking slowly to the lead pickup, the sweat not drying from her fatigues due to the still humid air, she sighs with both frustration and exhaustion. The tension slowly leaves her body and she wants nothing more than to lay down in peace.

The CDC campus appears promptly off our nose, the buildings rising high into the air. I do a quick flyby looking for a spot to land if needed. I only need a little distance but the problem will be width. It is certainly not going to help anyone if I manage to clip the wings off. That would make it very difficult to get aloft again. Well, plus the massive explosion that would most likely ensue. Confident that I can set it down on the main road, I bring the aircraft around to circle the campus area in a shallow bank, not sure of which building they are in.

Several vehicles are parked here and there but I don’t see the pickups Lynn and her group were riding in earlier. Perhaps in that large parking structure near one of the buildings closest to the entrance. Circling around to the west, I finally make out the three pickups parked in front of a large, multi-storied glass building. I circle the building a distance out, keeping it in sight at all times and aware that the radios have been silent for some time.

“Lynn, this is Jack. I’m overhead with three teams. Need any help? I think I can set down on the main road,” I say keying the mic.

“I think we have it but standby,” I hear Lynn respond.

I continue my slow circle, anxious with not knowing what is going on inside but knowing something big is going down from the previous calls over the radio. Worried that my plan to gather information may result in casualties or, the spirits forbid, something happening to Lynn. I know how she cares for the troops under her and the risks she will take for their well-being. Knowing she will be in the thick of whatever is going on.

“Dad,” Bri calls over the intercom.

“Yeah,” I say looking back over my shoulder at her.

She is leaning upward tapping the fuel indicator, the tap asking if we have enough fuel to get back to McChord. She is a quick learner and knows how much fuel we burn over time. Our total fuel weight indicator is almost down to the half way mark. Our flight down from Brunswick and the subsequent flight training has taken its toll on our fuel. I knew we would burn a bit of fuel doing the touch and go’s but felt it important to have someone else able to get everyone home in case something happened to me. Sure would hate to go to that big sleep at the end knowing I left people stranded.

“Thanks Bri. We’ll do a flight plan check when we get back to the airfield,” I say acknowledging her tapping finger. She is doing her job well and flawlessly.

I want to ask for a situation report but know that I would only be interfering. The lack of radio calls increases my anxiety and I want to set it down to disembark and help. There is not much room width-wise on the road so the risk is great, really only something to do in an emergency and if requested. We are here if Lynn needs us but that does not ease my anxious feeling. She can handle it and will call for assistance if she needs, her not being one to do the ‘I can handle it on my own’ business if it truly gets messy and help is needed. Flying to the west once again, I start to see soldiers exiting the building to my left and below. I count them as they exit and the numbers equal the amount that went in.

“We’re out Jack,” I hear Lynn call over the radio, seeing her on the ground with her hand to her shoulder pressing the transmit button.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she answers. “We’ll meet you back at the airfield.”

“Okay, see you there,” I say turning the aircraft around and heading back.

The turn places us almost on a direct, long final with the runway. We are already to set up for a landing, my having gone through the pre-landing checks ready to plop it down on the road with a moment’s notice.

“You take this one in,” I say to Robert and pass control of the aircraft to him. Nothing like giving someone the aircraft on final and saying ‘go’ to see if they have a handle on landing.

He starts a little behind the aircraft but quickly catches up and we touch down just a little long but still one of his better ones. We taxi in and shut down, letting the others out while I sit and go through the charts with Bri and Robert, figuring our fuel requirements for the flight back. We will need some but herein lays my quandary. This is a civilian field with only civilian aviation fuel. The fuel differs slightly in content with military fuels in that the civilian ones have additives to prevent fires and explosions. We can use it but only for a one-flight scenario. The civilian fuels tend to burn hotter in military jet engines requiring maintenance at the end of the flight. Adding that into our fuel tanks will effectively ground our aircraft on arrival. Not a big deal given that this will be our last hop but it sure is handy having this aircraft available due to its range.

I sit thinking about our alternatives. We could fly to a nearby military base to fuel up, fly back to Brunswick, which I almost immediately discard as I do not want to run into the marauders we let loose, or fuel up here. Pulling out the charts, I find Dobbins Air Force Base a scant fifteen miles to the east.

“Okay, that’s our plan then,” I say absentmindedly.

“What is?” Both Robert and Bri ask in at the same time.

“Dobbins Air Force Base is about fifteen miles east of here. We’ll do a quick hop over there for fuel and come back. We should have enough daylight left for that,” I answer looking out the side cockpit window at the sun sitting lower in the sky, early evening setting in.

“What do you mean come back?” Bri asks. “Aren’t we supposed to leave tonight?”

“Let’s wait until Lynn and the others get back before making any decisions,” I say getting up and walking outside to wait for Lynn’s arrival.

The wait is not long. I just step outside in the cooling air of the coming evening when I hear vehicles along the road adjacent to the airport. The pickups come into view shortly thereafter and make their way through the gate and onto the ramp, stopping a short distance away from the aircraft. The day is cooling down with the lowering of the sun. It is still humid, but cooler. Eighteen weary souls emerge from the cabs and beds of the trucks, step onto the ramp, and walk slowly towards me, their slouch evidence of their exhaustion. Firefights and the intense adrenaline rush will do that to you.

Lynn walks over and gives me the rundown on what transpired inside the building; the discovery within and the fact that they were apparently “smelled out.” That little tidbit, along with the news that they can apparently open doors now, does not bode well.

“We were basically shot out of there,” she says finishing. I stand for a moment in silence taking in all she said.

“Do you remember if the doors were latched or not?” I ask.

“I don’t believe they were,” she answers.

“So they can open doors but perhaps not operate the handle.”

“Maybe,” she says looking on questioning as to why I am focused on that. For that matter, I am not sure either but I lock that away for future reference.

“Well, you did a great job getting everyone out and back,” I continue closing this particular conversation.

“We need fuel for the last leg. There’s an Air Force base about fifteen miles east of here. I’d like to get over there, fuel up, and get back before dark,” I say after a pause.

“What do you mean come back? Why don’t we just leave from there?” Lynn asks mimicking Bri with her questions.

I just look at her and her eyes widen with dawning realization of what I mean and intend to do.

“You mean to go back in there, don’t you?” She asks accusingly.

“I was thinking about it,” I respond and back up anticipating the onslaught.

“Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve been saying?” She asks loudly causing many on the ramp around us to look our way.

“We can’t go back! We were lucky to get out of there in one piece!” She continues on, her voice and anger rising.

The looks from the soldiers change from wonder to amazement on hearing her and wondering if they made the right choice in following me. That I would consider something like that after what they had been through is most likely making them think I have gone off of my rocker. The air could not have been more still and I am pretty sure time has stopped in this particular moment.

“I didn’t say we,” I say in a low voice.

“What!? You can’t possibly think you’re going in there alone! What are you thinking, a small team?” She asks with her eyes narrowing.

I know that narrowing of the eyes. That is a danger signal. When she does that, it is time to shovel the dirt back into whatever hole I have dug. I see her heels almost literally dig in.

“No, just me,” I say bringing more dirt out of the hole rather than shoveling it back in. “You know one person can get in sometimes where a host can’t.”

“That’s just plain nuts,” she says but her voice lowers in both volume and intensity. “And what happens if you get caught in there?”

“I’ll be fine and Robert can fly the plane if something does. He’s become quite proficient at it,” I say trying to alleviate some of her anxiety.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass. You’re not going in there alone!” She retorts. “If you’re going on with this fool scheme, I’m going with you.”

“Yes, I am. And no, you’re not. If it’s there, we need that info so we can better prepare for our survival,” I answer back.

“We don’t need a fucking report. We know what they’re capable of without it,” she says knowing me and that I am not likely to back down but trying every avenue nonetheless.

“What we need is to get over to the base to refuel. Will you see to it that everyone is loaded up please,” I say knowing we will be standing here long after dark with this conversation. She continues to stare, no, glare at me for a very long moment before stomping off toward the aircraft.

“Fool of a man,” I hear her say while she is still within earshot, fully intending for me to hear.

“Everyone, load up!” Lynn hollers across the ramp. “We’ve just been enrolled in Jack’s fantasy camp.” Several chuckles, some nervous and others genuine, come from the soldiers as they grab their gear and start up the ramp, disappearing inside.

We get started and taxi out with Robert at the controls. Close to the horizon, the sun has settled behind the tall trees across the ramp and road, shining through the gaps, the beams of light catching dust particles and insects in its rays, giving an announcement that we are about to close out another day. Another intense one and I do not think the intensity will be settling down anytime soon. I am sure Lynn is gearing up for round two and I am not looking forward to that. Robert conducts a stellar takeoff and I take the controls after cleanup for the quick hop over to Dobbins. The sun is directly ahead of us, glaring through the windshield, reminding us that our time needs to be short. We will be once again spending the night at an airport like a family vacation gone awry.

The runway for the base is aligned directly with our line of flight so we are already on a final when we level off. It is one of those gear up and then gear down immediately flights. The base is rather small with the airfield and ramps taking up just under half of the base itself. Ahead, I see several C-130’s on the ramps to either side of us. A quick glance to the ones on the left, with a large maintenance hangar behind them, tells me that fuel will not be found there. I am really hoping there is a fuel truck parked near the ones by the right. Most facilities have underground fuel lines leading directly to the aircraft parking allowing for refueling without the use of trucks.

The engines approach idle as the wheels gently bump onto the runway. Slowing and taxiing off close to midfield, I ease over to and pull up next to the other 130’s parked silently on the ramp. Shutting down, we join in their silent vigil.

“Robert, take Red Team and see if you can find a fuel truck,” I say as the large props come to a standstill.

“Okay, Dad,” he says, opening the ramp, getting out of his seat and walking to the rear.

“You know this isn’t over,” Lynn says behind me, poking her head into the cockpit and then disappearing just as quickly so as to not hear any argument or comeback I might have.

“What isn’t over, Dad?” Nic asks looking in the direction Lynn disappeared to as if seeing her through the bulkhead and really wanting her answer.

“Never mind,” I say climbing wearily out of my seat with a heavy sigh.

I know what I am proposing is the right thing to do. I know that Lynn is worried but I have done similar things in the past. Sneaking through guarded buildings in search of information, documents, or various other articles. I feel confident I can make it there or, at minimum, know when my route is being closed off behind me and get out before I am discovered. But I have not faced anything that can detect by scent or apparently see in the dark. At least I can match them for seeing in the dark, I think heading to the back of the aircraft.

Walking outside to the light, gray concrete that covers the large area on which we are parked, I look for Robert and group, seeing them as they near a large hangar next to what appears to be a squadron or base operations building. They disappear around the corner. I see Lynn occupying herself by looking through our supplies but know that it is just busy work and she is merely biding her time for the right moment to continue our “conversation.”

“I don’t see a fuel truck anywhere,” Robert’s voice calls in the radio I donned on exiting the aircraft.

Our habit is to don our vests and radios anytime we venture outside, charging the radios off the aircraft electrical system when enroute. The Hercules has many nifty aspects to it like that. I turn to see Lynn now refilling and checking her mags along with the rest of the team members who accompanied her just a short time ago.

“Okay, come on back. We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” I say to Robert before walking over to Lynn.

“I heard,” she says in a brisk manner.

“Want to talk,” I say looking down at her as she kneels at the back of the aircraft thumbing shells into an empty magazine.

“Don’t you have an airplane to fly?” She asks looking up to the soft click of a shell being deposited.

“We can stay here for the night,” I respond.

“Okay,” Lynn says standing and putting the now full mag in one of the mag pouches on her tac vest.

We inform the others that we are staying here for the night and for them to eat before darkness sets in. We then walk in silence a ways out onto the ramp so as to not be overheard. I glance quickly back over my shoulder to make sure everything is in order before devoting my attention to the conversation about to happen. Robert and the rest of Red Team are walking back across the ramp. The other soldiers grab items from our supplies before sitting in small groups on the ramp and enjoy a little conversation of their own with their meal.

“You start,” I say leading off the conversation.

“You know it’s not a good idea to go back in there. There are too many of them,” Lynn says looking into my eyes.

“Look, I wouldn’t risk it if I didn’t think we could get some vital information. And you know that right?” I say.

“That I do know but I don’t agree that the information is vital enough to warrant the risk,” she says countering.

Here is the cusp of the matter. We are in disagreement with the importance of what information we may glean. Having seen what is in there, she thinks that any information we might gather there is not worth the risk, regardless of whether the risk is to me or someone else. I think that the information we can gather will give us an edge on what we are facing so we can plan better and counter the seeming advantage the night runners have over us. The simple fact is that they are around in great numbers and we will have to face them and defend ourselves if we are to survive. We are going to have to go into darkened buildings for supplies, at least in the immediate future, and we are going to have to be able to defend ourselves at night when the night runners are around. I relay how we are seeing this differently and the aspects from my point of view.

“I understand what you’re saying but to go in there alone is ridiculous,” Lynn says with a stubbornness starting to edge into her voice.

“You realize I used to do this all of the time,” I say trying to ease her mind and remind her that I wasn’t some newbie at this game.

“Yes, dammit! And I know you were good at it too! But that was against people and not something that can smell you half a mile away. And, they responded on all floors at once. That you haven’t faced!” She responds adamantly.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure I’m extra sneaky,” I say half smiling.

“If you are truly going to do this, then I’m going with to watch your back,” Lynn says.

“No, you also know I work better alone,” I say not wanting to have the worry of someone else.

Not that she would need me to babysit her in the least, but I know part of my mind would be on her. For the most part, I did work with six-person teams and we did quite well. But I also know myself and will need to have my entire focus on getting through without worrying about maneuver, especially considering what Lynn and her group encountered. It would be nice to have someone to watch my backside but it has been my experience that I do better alone.

“Dammit Jack! I don’t want you to do this,” she says with a tear forming in her eye.

“I know, hon, but I feel I have to. I feel in my bones that there is something there of value to us. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t make the attempt and might as well seeing we’re here. We may not be able to ever get back here,” I say holding my arms open, inviting a hug.

“If something happens to you, I’m going to be very pissed off at you,” she says folding into my arms and we hug each other tightly.

“I’ll be careful,” I say kissing her as we release. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

The shadows stretch long to the east from the aircraft and the soldiers sitting on the ramp. The sun bathes the horizon in reds, oranges, and purples, giving this day a magnificent send off. Birds dart through the late evening sky catching a last meal before retiring and finding a place to hide from the oncoming horror and violence of the night. I notice Lynn giving the soldiers quick nods of assurance as we approach, a light tension leaving them and feeling as assured as they can considering our circumstances.

With the meals finished and the onset of night on our heels, we all head inside and seal the aircraft. Within our confined interior, the group attempts to find comfort among the large fuel tanks and other articles that fills a majority of the cargo compartment. Another uncomfortable night on the cargo floor for many of them.

I head to the cockpit to do a last check, making sure the battery and other switches are set into the off position, after securing the blackout curtains over the interior windows,. I am in the pilot seat as Robert comes up and sits next to me in his usual position. We watch in silence as the tip of the sun vanishes below the horizon, hanging there for a moment before disappearing abruptly. The land around is cast wholly in shadows.

Robert continues to stare after the now departed ball of fire, seeming lost in his thoughts. He is looking away from me and I detect a melancholy feeling emanating from him.

“Are you really going back there?” He asks keeping his head turned.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply.

“Why alone?” He asks.

“Because that’s the best way to do it. You know a single person can get into some places a team can’t,” I say referring once again to our airsofting days.

“Yeah, but what about two?” He asks, both in the same airsoft reference and wanting to go as well.

“Well, this is different. If we were outdoors, I would definitely agree, but indoors, not so much,” I say answering his question.

“How are you going to do it?” He asks still looking out of the window at the coming night.

“Quietly,” I respond with a chuckle. He chuckles back but without the usual enthusiasm we usually have with that type of exchange.

“Dad, you’ll be okay won’t you?” Bri asks. I hadn’t realized she had come up into the cockpit.

“Yeah, babe, I’ll be fine,” I answer.

Silence once again descends, falling into our own thoughts, partially from letting thoughts settle in our mind and partially from the necessity to be quiet with the darkness upon us. My own thoughts center on tomorrow, running through various scenarios and the actions to take with each one. Planning my route based on the information from Lynn, thinking about potential alternate routes in case I get trapped.

Rope, I think pondering one alternate route. I need about 60 feet of rope. In case they come up behind me while I am on an upper floor. I will head for the closest room adjacent to the outside glass, break said glass and rappel down the exterior. I put that into my bag of tricks. Silence is going to be the key although that will not be enough. I will have to build a wood fire and smoke myself and my clothes before going in. I wish I had some of the scent maskers to rub on myself but the cover of smoke should do the trick. That should hide my scent, especially with so many small fires in the area. They should be used to that scent and not be alarmed by it, I think feeling suddenly foolish for not suggesting that for the teams that went in today.

I will load up on as much ammo as I can carry silently. Too much and there is the chance that the mags will clink together at an inopportune moment. They will shift slightly if I bend over and there is the chance of them rubbing together if they are placed doubled up in their pouches. Tape my M-4 up so the sling attachments won’t rattle, in addition to the Velcro adjustment straps on my flight suit. Those have a tendency to make noise if they are stretched in any way — which I have been known to do at various times in my life. The rope will be tricky to manage but I can tape that up as well. If I do need that exit route, then I should have plenty of time to get it out and ready. Well, if the sun doesn’t sink down on me while still I’m in the building that is. I plan on venturing out early tomorrow morning so that should not be an issue.

A distant shriek faintly reaches the interior where we sit, intruding on our silent reveries and interrupting my thoughts. The call drifts faintly through the night air, the direction is vague and I am not able to pinpoint its exact location but it seems to be coming from back towards the interior of the base. The night runners are out and hunting.

“It’s that time,” I say quietly. “Let’s get ourselves set.”

Shuffling around quietly, everyone settles down and finds a place to rest. There is not a need to tell everyone to be quiet. Everyone knows what the shadows descending upon our patch of earth means. Everyone heard the far off shriek seeming to signal a cry of discovery. Lying on the lower cockpit bunk, with a thin blanket pulled over me, I wonder if that cry signaled a discovery of another person or of an animal. Or, if it was a cry of discovery at all. It could have been one of them stubbing its toe for all I know but my mind thinks of them only as hunters and killing machines. I hear faint footsteps on flight of stairs coming up followed shortly thereafter by Lynn lifting the cover and sliding in next to me.

“Watch schedules set?” I ask.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she answers.

“Goodnight, hon. I love you,” I say in a tired whisper.

“I love you too,” she says quietly.

My thoughts drift dreamily toward tomorrow, shifting randomly from thought to thought without any sticking around for any length of time. Outside, faint shrieks drift into the cockpit from time to time from night runners on the prowl. Some close and others farther away; echoing forlornly in the night. Moonlight is filtering into the cockpit bathing the pilot seats, instrument panel and center console with a silver glow and casting the rest of the interior in darker shadows. This scene is the last to filter into my semi-conscious mind before I fall into the oblivion of sleep.

I wake with a start in the morning from a deep, dream-filled sleep. Early morning sunlight replaces the moonlight from the night before. The dreams of the night, of being chased while seeking desperately for something intangible, fade quickly from my mind. The images clear on first awakening but become muddled and indistinct as I try to relive them, finally fading into the distant recesses of my mind. The shadow of a bird flying close to one of the cockpit windows flits rapidly across the interior giving me a start before the bird materializes in the windshield, darting from side to side as it flies away from us on its mission to catch its breakfast and no doubt glad to have survived the night. The glow from the sun, just rising above the horizon, catches its back and wings with each turn.

Lynn stirs beside, sensing either my waking or the sun rising as we adjust to the cycle of the sun. Perhaps this is the way it’s supposed to be, I think lying here wrapped in my thoughts. We are creatures of the day so our normal body rhythms should be in synch with the sun’s cycle.

“Morning, babe,” I say lazily not wanting to get up.

“Morning, hon,” Lynn says stretching and rolling over to give me a kiss. “You’ve got to do something about your new four-legged friend. He woke me up twice licking my face.”

“Lucky dog,” I respond.

Lynn gets up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bunk as she puts on her boots. She rises with a sigh to go wake everyone else. I feel like I could just lay here and sleep the day away. Feeling both exhausted and not wanting to really face another tension-filled day. Wishing I could just laze the day away reading or putting my kayak out on the waters as in the days before this virus hit. Well, the virus and vaccine that is. Wanting a day of rest from the constant tension, strain, and lack of sleep that the past days have brought. Knowing there will be no sanctuary from the constant peril until we get home and build one. Then, maybe, a little reprieve can be had. But that is a long ways away, I think rising in the same slow manner as Lynn. Robert appears in the cockpit shortly thereafter, followed by Bri, Michelle and Nic, all looking disheveled and tired.

“Good morning,” I say as they enter, looking up at them wearily and wondering if my eyes show the same tiredness they seem to feel and that they each present.

I am greeted by either a tired ‘good morning’ or a grunt from each. Rising from the bunk and doing my own stretching to align my sore muscles, I amble over to the pilot seat. My rear end is sore and rebelling against the idea of sitting down there once again. The one good thing is that my head has stopped feeling the slight ache inside and has adjusted to the lack of its morning caffeine fix. Sitting, well, rather more of a slumping, down into the seat, I see Nic and Michelle start to head towards the stairs.

“We’ll just start on battery with this one,” I say knowing they were heading to get the start cart out and ready. They turn and settle into their seats without a word.

Letting everyone know we are ready to go and giving them a chance to settle in as best they can, considering the crowded nature of the aircraft, we start up and take off into the morning sky, climbing into the morning and leveling off at a low altitude. The sun is glaring directly in front of us, having only just crested above the horizon. We make our way across the short distance to the other airfield in the east. Landing on the now familiar runway, and taxiing in to a stop adjacent to the pickup trucks we left parked there the evening prior, I shut down the aircraft.

Passing through the aircraft, I ask Lynn to send a detail out to find dry wood in varying thicknesses in order to be able to build a fire. I also ask them to bring back live wood with lots of green leaves and such still attached. They head out on foot, venturing through the open gate and into the neighborhood beyond.

I notice the ripe aroma emanating from my flight suit offending not only myself but I am sure those around. I reach into my bag to remove a fresh one, noticing my cell phone lying within. Hmmmm, I think retrieving it and wondering if it still works but knowing the likelihood and odds of that are slim to none. Nonetheless, I bring it with me, sticking it in one of my upper pockets after changing into a fresh flight suit and contemplate burning the one I just changed out of; completely amazed it doesn’t stand on its own, run away or start beating me for the way I treated it.

I see Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth standing off to one side looking a little lost. I feel a little lost as to what to do with them as well. Not in regards as what to do with them overall as they are a part of us now, but more of how to incorporate them. We are basically integrated into fire teams and our business lately has largely been fighting to survive. They are the first of hopefully many we will find alive. I am sure they will find it easier to integrate once we get back.

I find a similar circumstance and feeling with Frank and Bannerman. Although ‘former’ military men, they are not involved tremendously in any of the operations. Bannerman has the logistics end so is keeping moderately busy with our supplies and formulating plans for when we arrive back. Frank will be busy as well once we arrive back as he will be working alongside Bannerman in the Intel role. Plus, if we do find any information today, he will be busy pouring through them to help formulate our tactics. They are all basically passengers, as we all really are, until we arrive back at McChord. These feelings and thoughts occupy my mind for a moment as I pass through the cargo compartment.

Out on the tarmac, the day promises to be another warm, humid day even at this early morning hour. I begin to gather my tools of trade together with my new canine friend quietly following me around or at my side. The others leave me to myself, sensing my want and need to be alone to focus on my adventure to come. I want this time in order to settle into a frame of mind. Each mag I insert into my tac vest puts me deeper into my ‘business’ mindset, reminiscent of so many other pre-mission moments of gearing up, both physically and mentally. Setting my mind into the single focus of the mission yet opening at the same time. Expanding my senses of awareness but filtering and refining that awareness down to intercept signals of danger. Becoming more aware of my actions and the sounds, smells, and movement around me.

As the last mag is inserted and checked for rounds, I begin the process of taping loose items down, hopping intermittently to test for any slight sound coming from me; finding items that make the slightest noise and taping them into quietness. The rope I coil and also tape down, looping it over my head and under one arm, ensuring it doesn’t interfere with the ability to freely move. Ensuring also that it doesn’t interfere with my ability to grab magazines or get to the radio transmit button. I also gather lengths of 550 cord. A very thin, lightweight cord that has incredible strength. The same kind as is used for parachute cords. Stepping away from the aircraft and making sure no one is in my line of fire, I test fire my M-4, both on semi and burst, emptying the chamber to ensure it will work properly in the event I need it, and refill the spent rounds. There is nothing worse than having something that should function automatically fail at a moment when you need it most. It tends to drastically reduce your options in that moment. Basically reducing them to run and run fast.

Lastly, I insert the radio earpiece, feeling myself slip into total awareness and calm. Confidence solidifying inside. Emotion has taken a back seat. The only sound on the ramp is from a few others getting something to eat from our supplies. A small morning breeze springs up, gently blowing across the ramp, moving a few scraps of paper in fits and starts along with it. Instead of the fresh morning breeze and scent of summer it should be carrying, it brings a hint of something rotting in its midst, souring the otherwise peaceful morning with the scent of human decay. That smell jostles me momentarily out of my frame of mind, worrying me about what else may be carried on that slight movement of air. The diseases that will be rampant with the decaying of so many bodies. Wondering, with a little bit of hope, if disease will affect the night runners as well. Will they know it from an instinctual aspect and move out of the cities and the once dense population centers? Will it kill some of them off? I imagine they’ll eventually move as their food source dictates. These meanderings come and go in an instant, my thoughts once again centering. The detail returns with armloads of wood and limbs with leaves attached. I motion for them to put their gatherings in the bed of one of the trucks.

“I want you to go along with Green, Blue and Black Teams. As a reaction force should I need,” I say to Lynn and feeling it is time to be off.

I sense a little of the tension leave her body knowing that she will at least be close at hand. I have the sense that she thought I would be travelling alone. I do want the teams close by and to drive me there so I can remain in my current frame of mind without worrying about which turn to take or hitting parked cars. I also want the teams that were there the day before because they are most acquainted with the interior.

“Do you mind if he stays with you?” I ask Little Robert referring to the dog. “Maybe you can come up with a name for him when while I’m gone.” Little Robert’s answer is to smile widely.

We get the trucks started and head out with the teams loaded into the rear beds. The journey there is a quick one. Old hat to the teams riding along with but new to me. The smell in the neighborhoods is strong as we pass by the seemingly empty houses. The front yards that were once pristine, now with grass growing long. Flowers in assortments of yellows, oranges, reds, whites, and purples bloom in flower beds that were once the pride and joy of those who lived here, now only silent memorials. Their colors brighten the landscape in pretty assortments, creating an illusion of peace and contentment. Their beauty is a stark contrast to the smell emanating. With summer fully underway, the streets should have been alive with the sounds of children playing, balls rolling out into the streets from sloped driveways, lawnmowers buzzing in the morning sun bathing the neighborhoods with the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass. Perhaps even the sound of an ice cream truck meandering slowly through the streets to the sounds and movements of kids running after it waving dollar bills recently begged from their parents. Now, it is just surreal, as if those things are here but hidden from sight and sound. Darkened windows, or those with drapes pulled, stare at us with longing and contempt as we make our way through.

We pull into the CDC facility following the same route as before. I have us pull over and stop a distance away from the building, not wanting any noise of our arrival to reach the interior and hence alert the night runners within. The soldiers exit quietly.

“I want you to stay here and wait,” I say gathering everyone around. “Don’t go close to the building unless I say so as I don’t want any breeze that may be swirling around the building to carry any of your scent inside. No noise. That means no talking or opening and shutting truck doors. No getting into the pickup beds.”

A small fire is built on the road away from the trucks. I add the dry wood and get a nice bed of coals glowing on the dark gray pavement of the street. Adding the greenery on top, smoke thickens and drifts upward, pushed slightly by the breeze. I step into the smoke on the downwind side, letting my clothing and body bathe in it; rubbing the smoke into my clothing and gear; letting it become saturated; covering my scent.

I shield my eyes from the glare of the morning sun peeking around the side of the building as I look towards it. It looms before me; the image from the blue sky above is mirrored on its glass front as if it is made of water. A still pond stretched vertical. The building takes on a sinister aspect as if it is trying to shield something behind the beauty of its structure. I get a chill thinking about all of the viruses locked in the depths of this campus. All sitting there without power to keep them chilled if they needed to be kept dormant in that way. Without power to keep the clean rooms clean and without the pressure differential set so the various germs can’t leak out. All there waiting for some night runner to knock them over, freeing them and allowing them to grow and spread. Maybe it’ll wipe them out in this area, I think watching the skies reflection. The quick thought of being able to use them fades as the realization dawns that I have no idea of how to safely keep a virus.

“Well, let’s do this,” I say quietly to myself chambering a round and flipping the selector switch to burst with my thumb.

I walk into the building’s shadow, cross a street and step up on the curb to the sidewalk in front. My image, mirrored on the glass panels, does not reflect the tightness within as I walk in front of pane after large pane towards the entrance door; the panels conveying my image like a constant rerun. I can smell the faint aroma of the smoke rising to my nostrils as I near the entrance door still littered with shards of glass on the concrete outside.

I step to the entrance avoiding the glass, the sidewalk shows faint outlines of the dried, bloody footprints Lynn mentioned leading outside before vanishing a short distance away. Peering inside, I see the tiled floor lobby; the boot prints from the teams in the dust gathered by the door, bare foot prints appear on top, smearing some. Scuff marks appear in places across the large foyer, made yesterday by the boots of the teams, in either their entrance or, more than likely, their exit. Close to the door, several fresher bare foot prints, some of them outlined in recently dried blood, lead toward the hallway across from me.

I step into the lobby, toeing bits of glass out of my way quietly before stepping; making sure I don’t step on any of the pieces before setting the weight of my foot firmly on the linoleum. I have plenty of time so caution, stealth, and quiet is the name of the game. Edging past the fan of glass by the front door, I walk silently to the hallway, making sure not to silhouette myself against the light behind me, coming to rest against the wall to the side of the broken glass doors. Kneeling, I listen for any movement.

The complete absence of noise within is just a little disarming. There is always, well, used to be always, some type of noise within a building whether that is even the tiny sound of wind being expelled or drawn in by the air conditioning system. It is completely silent. I mark this, knowing there will not be the slightest cover to conceal any noise I might be making whether that comes from the creak of a boot bending or the soft swish of cloth rubbing. I rise slowly and enter into the hallway, again silently moving the glass from under any place my boot will set down. Once inside the hallway, with its elevator banks lining the walls to either side, I lower the night vision goggles into place and turn them on, having already donned them on my walk over to the building.

The hallway comes to life in the glow of the goggles, the description given by Lynn becoming a reality rather than pictures developed in my head. Walking to the stairwell entrance, I put my ear against the cool, steel door, listening for any hint that something awaits me on the other side. I am not a big fan of having to return here so quickly after the others, liking instead to wait until things and events have settled. I don’t know if the night runners have a memory per se but in times past, alertness among those residing in the places I have been to is substantially higher after an intrusion. It slowly returns back to the normal steady state only after time has passed.

There is nothing I can hear nor feel. I should be feeling some small vibration with my ear against the door. Again, the usual small hum and vibration of a building alive is missing. What I would do for a fiber optic viewer right now? I think reaching for the door handle. Pulling only a touch, the door slides backwards from the jamb an inch letting me know the doors are not latched. If the door was latched, then I would know for sure that the night runners were capable of operating a door handle. The question of whether they can or not still remains unanswered. I pull a touch more hearing a soft metallic sound emitting from the hinges as they rub together. Well, it isn’t like I’m going to oil them, I think pulling upward on the door handle to lessen the weight riding on the hinges.

The door slides silently open a crack. I peer in, looking from side to side and startle seeing two night runner bodies lying motionless on the stairs. I should have anticipated this, I think seeing nothing else within the line of sight that the slightly open door will allow. Slowly pulling the steel fire door open, I slip quietly inside once it is open enough to allow me to enter without rubbing any of my gear against it. Practice and keeping the fact that you have gear on in a small part of the conscious mind is important. The body knows its limits and where it ends so worming your way in somewhere without touching anything is easy if it is just you. But the body does not automatically take into account anything you might be wearing so it is easy to rub against or get caught on something if you don’t keep this awareness close.

Catching the back side of the door, I ease it closed behind me, keeping a slight amount of pressure against it as it automatically shuts. Looking around and listening, I observe that the stairwell is your pretty standard building stairwell, just as Lynn described. Concrete steps and concrete brick walls with metal rails leading up both sides of the stairs. Sound here will carry a great distance with nothing soft to absorb it. A few shell casings from yesterday’s firefight lie on the floor at my feet. I will have to be careful not to disturb or kick them as the metallic sound may alert the night runners. If they are not in here, at least the fire doors will keep most of the sound from entering into the interior but I cannot assume anything, including how sensitive or insensitive night runner hearing is.

Stepping carefully around the bodies, I start my trek. I have my M-4 pointed up covering the stairs, being able to see more and more of the next flight as I slowly move up. Taking each step one at a time, balancing my concentration between looking at each foot placement and the area up the stairs, I move slowly and quietly upward. Another night runner lies on the first intermediate landing. The tension inside builds with each step. The adrenaline begins to flow through me, heightening my senses.

I reach the second floor landing without incident. The fire doors have a metal bar running the width of the door; one of those you press on the bar to open. Looking down behind, I see a narrow gap between the metal of the fire door and the metal of the push bar. This is great, I think taking one of the long strands of 550 cord from my thigh pocket. I slide one end of the cord down into the narrow gap, watching it dangle from the other side below the push bar. Grabbing the end, I tie it around the cord going through the top making sure not to depress the bar or touch the door in any way. I uncoil the cord and do the same on the opposite door, cutting the cord off with my knife after tying the knot. The doors are now tied together effectively sealing the second floor landing from the interior, meaning that nothing can now gain access to the stairwell from the second floor. The one drawback to this plan though is that I will not be able to access the stairwell from the other side of the door. Should an unfortunate series of events occur and I need to gain entrance back to the stairwell from the interior, well, that is now no longer an option. This is a risk I am willing to take in order to have my backside clear.

I proceed upward to the third floor landing in the same fashion; alertly and quietly. Seeing the bodies on the stairs and first floor and recalling the very detailed briefing by Lynn, I expected the doors here to be blocked by the multitude of night runners they killed and that blocked the doors open. The bodies have apparently been moved as the doors here are shut. The previous day’s firefight and the intensity of it is apparent here as the concrete floor and stairs are littered with brass shell casings and empty magazines; littered to the point of not being able to walk without disturbing them. I cannot just toe them out of the way as I could the glass shards as the casings are round and will continue rolling if I move them in that manner. The last thing I want is to have one roll off of the landing and fall down the stairs. The jig would be up if that were to happen. I bend over and carefully make a path through, picking up the individual expended shells one at a time and moving them to the side; making sure each one stays in place before picking up the next.

Before long, well, long being relevant here, I have a path cleared on the landing. I tie off the doors in the same manner as the second floor being extra careful here as it is evident this floor is inhabited. Or at least was. With that finished, I pick my way through the shell casings on the stairs up to the fourth floor. My adrenals are in high gear as I carefully step upward. I pay attention to keep my breathing even in order not to facilitate the normal body reaction to stress and adrenaline; that one being the sweat glands trying to keep in tune with the adrenal glands. I do not want to render the smoke scent moot. I do feel a touch more comfortable knowing I have the rear secured as long as they don’t decide they want to take a late morning stroll through the first floor fire doors.

I am once again reminded of the instances of having to penetrate buildings in search of documents, equipment, or other items of interest. I hate going into buildings and much prefer the outdoors. I like my line of sight and it is much easier to hear something outside. Much easier to hide. Most inside work is to gather information such as I am doing now. Rare was the case when we were actually after someone. Buildings are actually tougher to nab someone in, especially if they own the building. They are usually well protected and really tend to make a lot of noise as you try to get them out. For some reason, they seem very reluctant to accompany you. Unless they are drugged of course but it’s rather hard to sneak around lugging a limp body. If you are after someone in a building, it is usually not to kidnap them but that does happens occasionally. The tension I felt inside then is multiplied exponentially now.

I manage to make my way to the fourth floor with my gut tight and senses on high alert. Again, signs of an intense firefight litter the ground forcing me to slowly clear a path. I begin to wonder if the bodies, which apparently blocked the doors previously according to Lynn’s brief, were moved on purpose and why. There are times when I wish I could just call a time out and ask the opposing side a question when something puzzling like this occurs. I am just curious like that — always wanting to learn. On the other hand, I also like to try and figure things out on my own but I cannot for the life of me figure this one out. Were they eating their own and this was just food to them? Were they cannibalistic? Did they have a sense of family about them that they didn’t want their fallen to just lie there? Was it as simple as they were blocking the pathway and were moved? These questions lie in my mind as I secure the doors here on the fourth floor. There is just so much we don’t know about them.

Climbing up to the fifth and final floor, the final one for me at any rate as the stairs continue upward to a fair number of floors above, I notice the door on the left is open. I stop and become just another part of the stairwell. What’s holding the door open? I think listening to and feeling the area around me. Was I heard or smelled? Did one of the night runners sense me and is waiting for me? I don’t hear or sense anything and am pretty sure from previous experiences that it, or they, would be immediately after me, giving one of their shrieks in the process verifying I had been found.

I continue to hold deathly still. What most of us, well, when there was a most of us, do not know is that we have a highly sensitive feeling for anyone or anything around and would notice it more if we did not have so many filters or other bombardments of information flowing in. Especially if that something or someone is directing energy at us. Ever have that feeling that you are being watched? When the hackles rise on the back of your neck signaling some type of danger? That is an energy being directed specifically at you and you are detecting it. It is your subconscious picking out clues that your conscious mind missed. Standing here, I don’t have the sense that I have been found.

Step by step, I gradually make my way upward until I can see over the last stair. Two night runner bodies lie on the floor blocking the door open. Huh? Just when I thought there might be a constant here, the universe throws me a curve. Just what in the fuck is going on here? Is it some floor competition for neatness and the ones here just don’t care? Well, it isn’t like I need to tie the doors off here anyway, I think taking another step toward the open door and hallway beyond.

I check the hall from inside the stairwell for movement or sound. Fully expecting a rush at any moment and am reminded of my similar experience back in the McChord hospital. I did not like that one bit and would rather not have a repeat. I see shells scattered on the tiled hallway floor close by the door, picturing the entire firefight and retreat in my mind by where the spent cartridges lie. How it must have felt being here on the fifth floor with firefights being waged on the floors below; feeling like you could be cut off in a moment. I use the term firefight loosely here as it was really only one side firing and the other using speed and numbers to overwhelm. Much like the cold war scenarios; technology versus masses. Quality versus quantity.

“I’m on the fifth floor,” I whisper ever so quietly into my mic.

“Copy that. Anything?” I hear Lynn ask.

“Not as yet. Out,” I answer.

A chill runs up my spine and I immediately sink to a kneeling position, bringing my M-4 up to a firing position. It’s not like it was far from being ready to begin with though. Did I miss something that my mind did not alert my conscious mind to? Why the chill? There wasn’t a temperature change? I kneel and wait for something to emerge into my line of fire. Nothing comes and the darkened hallway, lit only in the green of my goggles, remains void of sound or movement.

I rise and step over the bodies with my rifle still in a firing position as I move slowly into the hallway checking to my right and left as I do so. Bodies litter the floor down the hallway to my right, lying where they fell from steel coming into contact with vitals the day before. The one thing missing here is the smell of decay like I would have expected. True, there weren’t many cars parked around but there were some indicating that people had to have been here when this happened. There should have been some smell of them if they died here and surely not all of them could have been changed. Is it that the night runners ate them early on or cleaned up their lair knowing that the smell that must have emanated from the dead bodies, especially in this heat and humidity, was bad? Did they clean up to make their lair more habitable? Those are answers I will probably never know, I think checking again to make sure the hallway was clear. There is, however, a faint ammonia smell within.

To my left, there is the glass wall with ‘CDC Director’ emblazoned on it. Just as advertised. I step slowly and silently down the hallway in that direction checking over my shoulder occasionally to make sure nothing enters the hall behind me. There are about twelve doors lining each side of the hall between myself and the director’s office; some closed and others open. It is the open ones that I am cautious of; there being no reason for night runners to close a door behind them that I can possibly think of even if they do know how. But that doesn’t mean they don’t either.

I edge near the wall and start down, passing two closed doors. As I draw near the first open door on my left, a soft sound escapes from within getting my immediate and full attention. The sound of feet padding on a floor and, by the sound of it, coming closer to the door. I freeze. A head appears in the doorway a mere fifteen feet away from me. The night runner walks into the hallway ahead of me and pads across the hall without knowing that my red dot, centered on its head, is accompanying its progress. The long hair, hanging down past its shoulders, leads me to believe it is a female. I do not dare to breathe or make the slightest sound. The adrenaline within me kicks up a notch or two. Or three. This is not so dissimilar than having a guard pass by me while hidden, becoming a part of whatever I am near, and, I am here to tell you, it never gets easy or comfortable. A slight head turn or something catching the corner of the eye can spell disaster. And spell it with capital letters.

The night runner crosses the hall and I make sure to both follow it with my M-4 but do so out of the corner of my eye making sure to not look directly at it. A habit pattern. As it reaches the opposite wall, it pulls its pants down and squats. Well, that verifies the female portion for me, I think hoping it turns in the other direction to head back once it is finished with its business. If it turns my way, its eyes will sweep directly over me. The splashing sound of urine being emptied on the tile floor fills the hall. I hear a grunt at the opening of the door. I turn my head slowly but cannot see anything within. Whatever is there must be just inside the room. The night runner in the hall turns and looks over her left shoulder, thankfully away from me, and back towards the door, giving a hiss at whatever is there before focusing once again on the wall to its front.

Finishing with its business, she stands and pulls ups her pants, doing up the snap and zipper. Well, that’s interesting, I think watching this. They have the mechanical skills to undo and do up their clothing. I wonder momentarily if that is from a habit pattern that stayed with them or they are consciously aware of what they are doing. If they are conscious of it, that means they may be able to learn how to use other tools. All of this passes in the blink of an eye. My body is literally vibrating from the loose tension and adrenaline flowing within, waiting for the moment of knowing when to act.

The night runner turns in my direction. Of course, I think. Most creatures will habitually turn in their strong direction and that is to the right for most humans as we are mostly right handed. I suppose that applies to the night runners as well. It begins to head back toward the room from which it came but stops suddenly and turns its head in my direction. Not sharply but turns it nonetheless. As if something it saw a few seconds ago is only now registering in its mind and it is unsure of what it is. Just something that may have been a little out of the ordinary.

The female night runner is looking directly at me but in a quizzical way, tilting its head to the side to perhaps get a different perspective. Like it sees something but cannot define of what it is. I know it is now only a matter of time before I am discovered yet hesitate as there is the slightest chance that it will think that nothing is amiss and go back into where it was bedded down. Another grunt comes from whatever is inside the room and is answered by a similar grunt from the one standing in the hallway staring at me.

I see a sudden recognition flash across the night runner’s face; the widening of the eyes and a startled look. Really!? After all of that, I was found by a night runner going to the bathroom! That so figures! My M-4 barks out in the hallway before it can scream, lights flashing against the walls as three rounds streak outward, seeking a target and finding one a split second later. The night runner’s head rocks back as steel meets flesh and bone, winning the engagement. Its face is torn apart and suddenly unrecognizable. The night runner flips into the air, landing on its back and slides a short distance along the floor, finally coming to rest next to the puddle of urine it had just left.

I side step to the right anticipating the emergence of the night runner that was hidden within the room, aiming my weapon and to the room’s entrance. I am not disappointed as a night runner immediately charges out of the door. The faint smell of gunpowder mixes with the hint of ammonia as three more rounds exit catching the emerging night runner in the neck and head. Blood sprays outward from the neck wound, splashing the doorway and running down the jamb in small streams. The bullets lift it from its feet, propelling it into the darkness of the room and out of my sight.

Lynn stands amidst the other team members, staring at the glass building with her hand shading her eyes. The others stand in the same fashion and have been since watching Jack step slowly into the building. The only word was his brief radio call moments before letting them know he had reached the fifth floor. Lynn follows his anticipated path in her mind, following the path she took yesterday only with Jack in her and the other team’s place. Her anxiety grows with the fifth floor call. She tenses as a faint sound reaches her ears. Really just a hint of sound but coming from the building.

“Were those gunshots?” She asks quietly but allowing her voice to carry. Half to herself and half to the group around her.

“I’m not sure, First Sergeant,” Horace answers in the same whispering voice. “Sounded like it.”

The others edge toward the building having heard both the sounds and the conversation. Their instinct towards wanting to help and the reason they were there — to cover and provide help if needed — causes them to subconsciously step closer to the CDC building.

“No, stay here,” Lynn says putting her arm out as if to block the advance. “He’ll call if he needs us.” A second faint sound, exactly like the first, follows.

“Those are definitely gunshots,” Lynn says joining the group as they edge closer. “Okay, we’ll halve the distance. Everyone on me but step quietly and be ready to go.”

The sound of charging handles being pulled and released is heard as they walk toward the building in the rising heat of the day.

Shrieks cry out from seemingly every room at once. They fill the fifth floor with a volume that can only be matched in contrast to the absolute silence a moment before. And I am totally fucked, I think looking back at the night runners pouring into the hallway behind me. There is no way I can even think about making it back to the fire door even though it is only a scant three doors away. They have emerged that quick and that close. Only one way to go and that is forward, I think with my feet suddenly having a mind of their own and heading quickly towards the glass wall and door ahead of me.

Night runners begin to emerge in front of me and to the side as I set land speed records heading for the glass, hoping the door to the office is unlocked. As I speed past an open door on the right, a night runner emerges directly to my side. I bring my carbine around and ram the stock just under the tip of its nose in an upward stroke. A wet, solid smack, like a sack of hamburger being dropped on pavement from a height, issues from the collision and blood splatters downward, coating its upper lip and chin. The thrust breaks and then pushes the bone from its nose into its brain. Its head rocks backward and it drops straight to the ground.

More enter the hallway ahead of me, issuing from open doorways. I hear bare feet running on tile and the roars of a multitude of night runners behind me but I don’t dare take the time to look over my shoulder. I know they are faster and I cannot spare a bit of my momentum to verify what my ears already tell me. I’m in deep shit! I wish I had brought a grenade to dump on the floor behind me and park that thought for future use. Assuming of course that there will be a future time for me. I put a burst into the closest one in the hall to my front, stitching it from chest to neck with three rounds, the first hitting on the right side of its sternum and spinning it around in mid step. Its feet fly out in front as it falls, rotating to hit the floor face first. The thump of its body but a miniscule sound amidst the mighty roaring in the hall. My own roars mix in with the night runner’s as I charge forward.

I turn to the next closest one before the one I just shot has a chance to hit the floor, sending it crashing against the wall as strobe light bounces off of the walls signaling the departure of three more bullets on their mission. My adrenaline is at its high point and temporal distortion kicks in. Everything moves in slow motion and my eyes and brain register details I would have missed, allowing my reaction times to increase. There are several between me and the glass wall, nearer now but it might as well be a mile away as the dark shapes of night runners fill the once open gap in front. A night runner to my left front, dressed in the jumpsuit of a maintenance man, leads the charge against me, hurtling in slow motion down the hallway.

Another light kick from my M-4 and burst of fire rocks it backward, my last round entering its right eye. Motion is slowed to the point where I can almost see the rounds enter. The back and side of its head explode outward, bathing the night runners behind with blood, brains, bone and bits of scalp with the hair still attached. The maintenance night runner hits the floor on its back, its momentum causing it to slide towards me. I hear the ones behind me closing in quickly. I am going to have to blast a hole in the ones ahead and dart through. And, it is going to have to be done surgically as I have expended just over half of the rounds in my mag.

I cannot reload, okay, I may not have a choice, but the time it will take will enable them to completely engulf me. That would really suck! Flipping to semi, I pick the ones closest to the middle of the hall and hence, from what I can see, the thinnest, easiest and fastest way through. I would like to fire bursts into their chests in order to deliver the maximum impact and hurl them backwards into the night runners behind. The reload time and remaining ammo in my current mag will not allow that. Head shots it is, I think lining up the first one as I continue propelling myself towards them and the glass beyond.

I line up my first shot and send its head rocketing back, the bullet entering its head just below the eye. The side of its face disappears in a gory mess of flesh and blood as the round strikes the hard bone and veers off the side, tumbling and taking skin and bone with it on its journey. Only barely registering this hit, enough to ensure that this one is taken care of, I am onto the next target. Night runners are going down quickly in front of me. Pop, pop. pop. One after the other they fall to the floor as my red dot centers on head after head with only slight movements of my hand on the bottom rail holding the M-4 steady.

My onward charge and onslaught causes them to slow down in a confused manner. Sometimes, when things seem hopeless, it is better to charge quickly and violently causing fear to surface in the opposing forces. This can cause them to become momentarily paralyzed and not be able to react or to react with haste without a thought or focus on what they are doing. The night runners have never seen their prey act like this and charge toward them in such a violent manner. Some have actually stopped and are beginning to retreat backwards into the rooms from which they came. A few others however continue coming only to be brought down with their heads absorbing rounds and exploding in some manner or another. The floor below me is slippery with blood and gore.

Closer to the building now, the sound emanating can be heard only slightly better but with a definite clarity to them. They are definitely gunshots and are coming in a near continuous fashion. A firefight is being waged inside. Not the deafening roar of yesterday in the stairwell but one regardless.

“Okay everyone, to the entrance door but no further,” Lynn says realizing that, with the sounds of gunfire coming from within, their own quietness is now a moot factor.

She wants to be as close as they can get in case Jack calls for them. She also knows not to enter unless called for as it can get very messy if Jack does not know they are coming. That is how friendly fire accidents happen. He’ll call if he needs, she thinks crossing the street and hastens to the entrance with the others behind.

“If we’re called, Black Team will lead followed by Green. Horace, you bring up the rear and keep our six clear. Same as before, we’ll drop off two at each landing to cover our withdrawal. Questions?” Lynn adds as they draw near the broken entrance doors.

“Hooah, First Sergeant,” they all respond.

The hall in front of me clears momentarily. I see the glass wall close ahead. A gap has been created. A small one but big enough. I dart through, not having given up on my momentum. The night runners behind me are closing in like a rush toward a concert stage. My little area of the world is about to become a mosh pit. I see a flash of darkness off to the side as a night runner launches out of one of the rooms, coming close in behind me. I feel its fingers grab the upper shoulder strap of my tac vest, almost causing me to lose my footing on the slippery floor; slowing my momentum. I turn the M-4 behind me flipping to the selector switch to burst, sense where the night runner must be by how its fingers are grabbing my vest, and fire. The kick is a bit stronger from the one-handed over the shoulder shot and the barrel moves quite a bit. Blood splashes on my neck and cheek. Oh great! I think hearing a howl of pain and a tug on my shoulder as the night runner falls to the floor. I am thankful its fingers didn’t lock on and drag me down with it. That was the last of my rounds.

I swing the carbine back, thumbing the mag release with my right hand and grab a full mag with my left. The glass wall and door are now only a few feet in front of me. Just a few steps away. I jam the fresh mag in the receiver and flip the bolt release, chambering a round. Bringing the gun up, I fire a burst into the glass pane to the right of the double doors. My thought is that the larger pane of glass there will shatter easier than the smaller panes that make up the doors. My bullets hit the glass and go through, cracks spreading outward from each hole. I sure wish this was fully auto, I think sending another burst close to the first but letting it track upward slightly. The glass remains in place. A third burst a little more to the side and then a fourth away from that one. Twelve holes now fill the glass pane in a box-like pattern with cracks radiating out from each hole.

I duck my right shoulder, with my M-4 out in front, just before I impact the glass at a full run; tucking my head in and down at the last moment, my left hand coming up to my temple and left arm covering my throat and eyes. The impact is jarring and the sound of breaking glass fills my ears, drowning out the shrieks of the oncoming horde. Stumbling through the glass pane, which is now coming down and raining glass on the tile and carpeting, I continue into the room and toward the door between the two large desks. The strap holding my goggles is surprisingly still in place. Below the large wooden door, a thin strip of light shows from underneath. I fire three quick bursts into the jamb by the door handle. I just don’t have time to knock. Nor do I have time to check to see if it is locked. I realize this is using up ammo that I may need should the door not open, but honestly, at this point, I could have one of the endless mags from the movies and it still would not do that much good. I would only be prolonging the inevitable and the ending would still be the same. Building my speed back up, I hit the door, once again with my shoulder. The door latch and jamb gives way and the door flies open.

I do not think I have ever been greeted by a more pleasant sight. Sunlight is pouring into the room from large glass window panes that make up the outside of the building, bathing the room in light. And blinding the shit out of me! I turn off and flip the NVG’s up, my eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.