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Down the Rabbit Hole

My heart is pounding in my chest, both from the sprint down the hallway and from adrenaline coursing through my body. I turn towards the open office door, thinking I am safe but wanting my eyes to verify it. The large wooden door remains open spilling light into the reception area and across the blue carpeting in a fan-like pattern. The door jamb is splintered where I both shot and forced it open. Small pieces of wood on the carpet below look like a box of matches has been spilled. The edge of the light/dark demarcation glitters faintly from the glass on the floor, evidence of my grand entrance. Next time I’ll try the door, I think looking at the shattered glass and then further into the hall.

The hall remains filled with shrieking although not like the tremendous roar that filled it moments before. An occasional ghost-like shape or face materializes for moments in the reflected light before disappearing in the darkness. Not a single one tries to enter into the light cast by the open door or enter into my momentary sanctuary. I walk over and ease the door closed, trying to diminish both the volume of noise and shut out the last few moments of my life — which quite literally almost became the last few moments of my life.

“I’m here in the director’s office,” I say pressing down on the radio transmit button.

“Was that gunfire we heard?” I hear Lynn respond.

“Yeah, it was a little sporty getting here,” I answer.

“Can you get out okay?” She asks.

“I think so.”

“How?”

“Well, I’ll let you know in a little bit,” I say feeling the adrenaline begin to fade.

“Okay Jack. Glad you’re safe,” Lynn says with relief in her voice.

“You and me both. I’ll let you know what I find here,” I say beginning to take in the office surroundings.

The deep, rich blue carpeting of this large office gives it a feeling of luxury as it mixes with the dark, highly polished executive desk sitting close to the window. The same rich paneling found in the lobby covers the walls with luxurious bookshelves lining one wall adding to this ambience. Two brown leather chairs, the kind you never want to get out of once you sit in them, sit parked on the carpet facing the desk. A large polished table meant for gatherings sits across the room from the bookshelves. The view outside is not all that it could be, but it sure is a sight better than I have ever had the privilege of calling my own. It is also a sight for my sore eyes after what they witnessed moments before.

Papers and folders are spread across the large desk giving evidence to the haste and chaos of the pandemic. The otherwise tidy office gives an indication that it once was kept in a very neat and orderly fashion. It is to these papers and folders lying on the desk that I am drawn; figuring what else could be of such a priority than the Cape Town virus and the genetic-altering vaccine. Walking around to the other side of the desk, I quickly glance at the papers spread across it. Most of the single sheets seem to be printed emails and reports. Removing the coiled rope and shouldering my weapon with a wince, my shoulder reminding me of my attempts to be super human and walk through walls and doors, as if the continued shrieking on the other side of the door is not reminder enough, I lean over the desk and begin shifting through papers.

I quickly realize I am not going to be able to learn anything now as I scan through them. They are a bit disjointed reading through them in this haphazard fashion. I turn to the folders stacked on the corner of the desk. Each one of them has a title referencing the virus, vaccine or lab testing. This is what we came for, I think briefly looking through the reports within. I head over to a decorative filing cabinet set against the wall by the door, through which it still sounds like some rave party is happening on the other side. Opening several drawers, I discover an empty section where the files on the desk must have come from. Rifling through the other folders in the cabinet, I do not find any titles that refer even closely to our world-changing event.

I want to make sure I find and have everything I want to pull out of here as there is not the slightest chance I will or could ever get back here. Aha! I think as a light bulb goes off in my head. Pulling the computer out from its cubby hole built into the desk, I spin the screws from the back and remove the side cover. Taking my multi-tool out, yes, I do always carry one, I unscrew and remove two hard drives seated within. If we can get power, which we will, I can put these in another computer and hopefully get to the files that are stored within; wishing I could get to the server hard drives as I am sure most of the files are there, or were, stored on the network. But you never know what may be stored locally and I am here.

Tucking those in my left side thigh pocket, I gather the loose papers and stuff them in the folders. I then remove the tape from the rope and walk to the windows. The shadows have shortened tremendously as the day has moved on toward the noon hour which is only about two hours away. Looking down out of the glass window, I see one of the team members standing close to the street by the entrance doors directly below. I imagine the rest are by the doors themselves but they are blocked from my view by the downward angle. Why are they at the door? I wonder. I told them to stay put. Unless they moved up if they heard my gunfire. That actually makes sense, I think.

“Lynn, this is Jack,” I say into the radio.

“Go ahead Jack,” she answers.

“You might want to move your teams away from the building. And I mean a ways away,” I say.

“Why?” She asks and I see her emerge into my view from the doorway looking up.

“You’ll see,” I answer.

“Are you planning on rappelling down?” She asks still looking up close to my actual location.

“It’s either that or sprout wings as I still have company up here who are inviting me to their party but I’m not sure I want to attend,” I say in answer to her question.

“Good luck with that,” she says.

“Good luck with that,” Lynn says as she attempts to see Jack standing in one of the large window panes.

“Okay, you all heard. Let’s pull back and off to the side,” she says to the group.

They all cross the street and head off the side of the entrance doors, having a sense of what is coming and not wanting to miss the show. They all feel a little more relaxed knowing that one of theirs is okay and gather in a tight group once again. Completely forgetting their surroundings, they focus on the glass a few stories up from the entrance. From where they are standing, they have a perfect vantage point.

First, they see a small bit of glass shoot outward from one of the large panes, the sound of a gunshot follows a millisecond later. There is a pause, and then suddenly, the pane erupts in an explosion of glass; an explosion that continues unabated for several seconds. The shards begin falling to the earth in a shower of glass, looking like still photographs of a waterfall; a picture where each individual drop is captured; these pictures then rapidly running together creating the illusion of movement; and illusion of the water falling. The tinkling of glass as it hits the pavement is a constant noise as the showers lands. And then, with the last of the glass hitting the ground and bouncing, silence.

“That was pretty cool,” one of the soldiers says breaking the silence.

“Yeah, just wait until you see an old man try to rappel,” Lynn chuckles to herself causing the others to laugh along with her.

The sound of shrieks rises from the opening just created in the side of the building followed by continuous gunfire; followed by silence once more.

Chuckling at her ‘good luck with that’ comment and knowing it was her feeling a little more comfortable, I continue to look out of the window; watching them as they move out and away. They stop a short distance away and off to the side. I want them to move further and think about getting on the radio, my hand moving to the transmit button, but they are perhaps far enough away. With that, I step away from the window, withdrawing further into the office.

I remove the partially empty mag and replace it with a fresh one and contemplate the window. I fire a round at a slight angle to the plane of the pane — yeah, I know, ha ha, had to say it. The bullet goes through causing fractures that radiate out from the bullet hole. Again, this is when I wish this M-4 was an auto rather than being limited to burst fire. I can understand the reasoning behind making the gun a burst weapon but your finger should be your fire control rather than have a limiting factor on the gun.

Aiming at the window, I repeatedly pull the trigger as fast as I can, my bullets covering the entire window. The glass explodes and sprays outward, the mighty crash of the disintegrating window combine with the rapid barking of the M-4 firing, filling the office with a cacophony of noise overriding the still shrieking night runners in the hallway outside. I continue to shift my aim so that the entirety of the window to my front is blown out. The bolt clicks back in the open position indicating that the mag is empty. I hear the faint tinkling of glass falling, hitting the street and sidewalk below.

Reloading, I then start towards the door leading to the hallway to give the night runners a departing gift. Opening the door, I am met with a din of shrieks and roars from within the darkened recesses of the hall. I bring my M-4 up and begin delivering my farewell present of steel, firing into the middle of the hall and at the fleeting shapes I see either milling or running about. Screams of pain join in the general uproar letting me know that my gift is being received. The shapes in my field of view dissolve and the shrieking instantly goes silent. I fire until my mag runs dry. Only a few soft slaps of feet on tile remain and then nothing. An eerie silence settles.

“Are you okay?” I hear Lynn call on the radio.

“Yeah, just saying goodbye,” I respond.

With the office now silent, I gather the rope and begin looking for a place to tie off. There are not any good places that are immediately obvious. Yeah, the desk or conference table might hold but I would also just as likely be pulling them down on top of me. Hitting the ground from fifty or sixty feet up only to have a heavy desk fall on me is not on my top ten list. The only thing that I see that will work is the steel beam on the outside of the building that was previously holding the sheet of glass. Ideally, a tie off should be slightly inset from the drop off point to allow one to stabilize with the rope in front. Oh well, you do what you have to sometimes. I scrape the remaining glass attached to the steel beam with the butt end of my knife assuring that there is not anything left that will be able to cut through the rope, again with the intent of trying to avoid that sudden drop.

I tie the rope off and lean back in the office testing the strength of the beam. Assured that the beam will not follow me out of the building, I remove the tape and clamp a sturdy D-ring onto my vest. Feeding the rope through the D-ring in a double loop, I toss the rope out of the window opening, peering over to ensure that the end reaches the ground. The suck factor would be getting to the end of the rope while still in the air. The flight gloves I am wearing are a bit thin for this type of operation so I will have to take it a bit slow on the way down. Rope burns are a bitch!

I stuff the folders inside my vest, making sure that they are tightly bound and not likely to slip out. I then put my M-4 over my head with the strap under my opposite arm and tighten the strap; effectively securing it to my back. Over by the window again, I grab the long end of the rope in my right hand in a reverse grip putting that hand in the middle of my back. That will be my braking mechanism. My left hand will be my guiding hand. Turning backwards to the window, I edge out to the ledge adjacent to the tie off point. Setting the toes of my feet on the ledge, I lean backwards and feel the after effects in my shoulder from my wall and door crashing. I set my right foot out against the building so that I am centered on the tie off point; letting the rope slide between my hands and gripping with firmly with my right hand when I am leaning back at the correct angle.

I look down, searching for any obstruction that will impede my progress, and immediately rethink my decision; thinking that maybe a dash to the fire door would not be so bad after all. Not a fan of heights! I kick outward releasing some of the tension on my braking hand allowing me to fall, making sure I keep my angle. I sure would hate to do a face plant on the side of the building with an audience watching. Well, anytime for that matter. Squeezing slightly with my braking hand, my descent slows and I am brought in toward the building. I bend my knees and kick off again just as soon as the soles of my boots contact the glass panes that form the outer building. I soon reach the ground with the rope burning my hands through my gloves.

“Not bad for an old man,” Lynn says as she and the rest of the group walk up as I try to undo myself from the rope.

“Very funny,” I say freeing the rope from the D-ring.

“Get what you came for?” She asks.

“Yep,” I answer withdrawing the folders from inside my vest.

I suddenly feel so exhausted. Completely drained. The downside to and the other side of an intense adrenaline rush. Coupled with the heat and humidity of the day, I feel like laying down on the cool sidewalk here in the shade. I gaze up overhead, the time spent inside already becoming surreal, my mind close to not believing it actually occurred. The broken window mars the otherwise perfect mirrored side of the building as if the secrets it had been hiding behind the perfect illusion of its facade have been revealed to the world. I shake my head trying to clear the memory of it from my mind.

“So are you going to tell us what happened in there?” Lynn asks looking at me, knowing what I had been through having been through a similar ordeal less than twenty four hours before.

“Well, we should be getting back but here’s the skinny,” I say giving them a rundown of what happened inside.

“Let’s get out of here and head back,” I say wearily after finishing with my story and stuffing the folders once again inside my vest.

I hear a faint murmuring among the troops as we walk out from the shadow of the building and into the sunlight on our way back to the trucks parked a distance away. The heat commences an immediate assault on us as the sun beats down on us, draining my energy even further. I can’t believe we have to fly all of the way back, I think stepping across the pavement, feeling the heat radiate through my soles. Perhaps I’ll let Robert fly while I look through these notes and rest.

Some of the murmured words find their way to my ears much to my embarrassment, “That was some bad ass shit he did,” one voice I do not recognize says.

“Yeah, no kidding. That was Spiderman and Superman put together. On crack,” another says.

Oh come on, I think trying to hide my embarrassment. Lynn is walking beside me and looks up at me from the side. She knows how I feel about this kind of talk and how embarrassed I get when I hear anything remotely like it, especially when it is applied to me.

Looking over and gazing up and down my back, she says out loud, “I don’t know, your cape looks a little tattered to me.”

This brings a smile to my face. She really knows how to make things better. The soldiers behind chuckle at her comment but I notice the murmurs stop. Well, at least along those lines. We climb into the trucks and retrace our route back to the airfield, eventually driving through the gate and stopping off to the side of the aircraft. I notice with pride that the start cart is positioned and set up.

The day has not yet passed the half way mark as we all trudge into the aircraft once again; the heat inside the metal-skinned giant is almost unbearable. Robert, Nic, and Bri are all in the cockpit, apparently running through the pre-start checks, as I climb wearily into the cockpit. Their heads turn in my direction as I reach the top step and walk into the cockpit proper; their faces lighting up seeing me arrive.

“How did it go?” Robert asks.

“Not too bad,” I say pulling the folders out once again and setting them on the nav table.

Nicole’s and Brianna’s eyes grow wide with disbelief. See, whereas Robert had an idea of what I did and what I could do, I did not share those parts of life much with the girls. I guess it is part of a father’s protection of having daughters. The thought that I could bring something back when a force could not is completely foreign to them. Not the concept, but that it I had those skills. They knew I was okay in the woods and knowledgeable about the outdoors but not in this way.

“What do you say we get this thing cranked up and get out of here?” I say.

“Sounds good to me,” Robert answers.

“I thought of a name,” Little Robert pipes up as he and his mother Kathy climb into the cockpit and take their seats on the bunk with our rather large canine friend in tow. Kenneth joins them on their perch.

“Oh yeah, what is it?” I ask looking back over my shoulder.

“Do you mind if we call him Mike? That was my dad’s name,” he answers with his eyes beginning to water up.

“I think that would be a great name,” I respond. Mike hops up into the cockpit and sits down on the steel cockpit floor next to Bri and behind me.

“Sir,” Kenneth says timidly getting my attention.

“Call me Jack,” I say turning to look at him over my shoulder.

“I feel out of place and want to help,” he says, alternating his looks between the floor and me.

“Don’t worry about it Kenneth, there will be plenty to do when we get back,” I say trying to alleviate some of his concern.

Bri reaches up and turns the various switches as we proceed through the startup checklist and sequence. Robert calls out that the inboard prop is turning on his side — the number three engine — as we begin our startup, the first signal of our impending departure from here and the beginning of our last leg home. It seems like months since we were there yet it has been less than a week. One more surge and then we’ll be home. Not to the comforts of home as we would have thought about a scant week ago but I am ready to be out of the aircraft and stop this constant moving about.

The outboard engine starts up successfully and I tell Nic and Michelle to wrap things up with the start cart, noting their entry back in the aircraft before starting the engines on my side. Everything looks good as the four engines roar and vibrate in synchronization. I think this will be our last visit to the south and east in a good long while as I am sure the nuclear power plants are in full scale melt down right now. Most of the plants are located in the eastern half of what used to be the United States beginning just about in the middle of the continent. A vast majority of them line the entire eastern seaboard. It is a lucky thing that the prevailing weather is west to east although I do wonder if it could spread across the entire world in sufficient quantities to be a danger to us on the west coast. Not much we really could do if it did except to try and find a safer location.

“You have the aircraft,” I say to Robert after completing the checks.

“What!?” He asks looking over from his seat.

“I said you have the aircraft. Take us to Dobbins. You are the pilot-in-command for this hop. I’m just your co-pilot so tell me what you want done,” I say answering his incredulous question.

We start rolling forward and out to the taxiway. I can tell he is nervous by the way he corrects with sharp, jerky motions.

“Easy and relax. Small corrections and anticipate,” I say in response to his control inputs.

He nods and I notice the corrections become much more fluid. Pulling up to the runway, he stops the aircraft and looks out checking for anything coming in. Pushing the throttles up, we start rolling and turn to align with the centerline. The engines roar louder as the throttles are advanced and we pick up speed. Robert’s corrections are right on as we rotate; first the nose wheel lifts off followed a short moment later by the mains. He goes through the clean-up and levels off quickly. I see his head moving side to side as he tries to pick up Dobbins and the runway. I have it in sight already but wait to say anything wanting him to be in complete control.

“Oh,” I hear him say to himself. Evidently he has found the runway.

“Hard to find sometimes aren’t they?” I ask knowing exactly what he is going through and feeling.

“Yeah,” he responds. His mind is on a thousand things and having a conversation is not on the top of his list.

He begins going through the checks and I can tell he is a little behind the aircraft, trying to maneuver for final, get the checks done, and get the aircraft configured for landing. This is evidenced by the fact that the runway is growing larger in our screen yet we are not close to being configured to land. I can tell he wants to begin descending but we are not ready for it. He does edge down a little lower though; more a subconscious action than from any conscious decision, knowing we need to descend in order to land. He gets further behind and frustrated as he tries to speed things up to get configured but only manages to actually slow down the process by his anxiousness.

The runway disappears under our nose and he looks to the side at me. I do not say a thing as I want him to figure this out and come up with a solution on his own. It’s not like I will let us get into an unsafe situation. I let that happen before and I will not do that again. The memory surfaces of one time I let a student go too far. We were doing a high angle, slow speed maneuver and I allowed the student to get too slow before reacting. The jet flipped over on its back and began spinning toward the ground. My shoulder harness did not latch and keep me in my seat as it should. I found myself pinned against the top of the canopy with the world spinning below me through the canopy’s top. The blue sky that was supposed to be seen through the top of the canopy was now on the wrong side of the aircraft. The student panicked and let go of the stick. That was the absolute worst thing he could have done. I looked down at the floorboard, which was now up, and noticed the control stick free-floating. Looking back outside, the world began to spin faster. We were now in an accelerated, inverted spin; a completely unrecoverable situation in that aircraft.

We started the maneuver at 25,000 feet and moments later, looking at the altimeter, I saw it rapidly wind through 10,000 feet. We were going down like a brick. 10,000 feet was the minimum safe altitude for bailout for that type of ejection seat in an uncontrolled maneuver and I began to issue the command to bailout. As the first word escaped my mouth, I realized there was no way I would make it out being pinned against the canopy. I would be obliterated with the canopy blowing off and then the seat smacking up against me at close to 35G’s. I thought about issuing the command anyway to let the student escape, but I also instantly realized that, with the way we were going down, the canopy wouldn’t clear the aircraft correctly. He would just end up smacking into it at a high rate of speed and at an awkward angle. I continued to look at the world below me spinning and coming up fast. I remember there was not a hint of fear inside but just trying to reason through the situation. Not a thought went through my mind of hitting the ground; and we would hit hard.

I reached down and hooked my ankle around the mid part of the control stick and pulled it sharply back with my leg. The aircraft immediately righted itself, slamming me hard down into my seat. Not only that, but we also had flying airspeed. And, we were in level flight. At 2,000 feet. Yeah, WTF right!? I rammed the throttles into afterburner and stood the aircraft on its tail pointing skyward. It was then that I noticed the radios squawking loudly in my ear from the control center monitoring our practice area, telling me that I was off altitude. Really!? No kidding, I thought. I merely ‘rogered’ the call and told them I was on my way back up to altitude. The investigation teams did not believe me when they arrived. They kept asking me how I recovered and I kept telling them.

“Seriously, Captain,” they would say. “What maneuvering and inputs did you use to recover? In what order and steps?”

See, like I said, this was supposed to be a completely unrecoverable situation.

“I told you, I hooked my heel around the stick and pulled it back,” I kept replying. Yeah, something was looking out for me that day and, yeah, I will never allow myself to go too far again.

The runway continues to pass by below us. Robert carries on through the checklist but more hesitantly.

“What do I do?” He finally asks.

“I don’t know. I’m just along for the ride,” I respond.

There is a slight hesitation, partly from frustration and partly from trying to come up with a plan. The aircraft begins a shallow right, climbing turn.

“I think I’ll just enter a downwind and re-enter the final from there,” he says in a questioning voice.

“Whatever you think,” I say but inside feeling very proud as that is the right solution.

Or, the most right. There were several actions that would have been correct. As I always told my students, make a decision and take an action. It does not matter what the action is because at least you are taking one instead of plowing along doing nothing. That is the only real, wrong thing to do - nothing. We configure for landing and he brings us around, setting it down firmly but not one of the worst I have ever experienced. Some of those worst being my own.

“Never feel trapped into having to make it in on the first try, or the second for that matter, or forcing it. It’s not a one shot and over deal. If you don’t like the setup, take it around and set up for another. At least you’ll be alive to try again,” I say as he takes the props out of reverse thrust and we roll out on the runway.

I see him nod his response out of the corner of my eye, not answering verbally and concentrating on keeping the aircraft on the runway. I tell him to park over where we were yesterday. We taxi over to the same location and shut down.

“What about getting fuel? I didn’t find any fuel trucks yesterday.” Robert asks.

“We’ll have to manually pump it out of the other aircraft here,” I say looking over at the other C-130’s parked next to us.

“Bri, will you go over and see how much fuel is in the 130 next to us? Take Red Team and have the aircraft cleared before you go in. The panel should be the same as this one,” I ask rising from my seat.

“Sure, Dad,” she says.

“Nic, will you stay here and teach Michelle the nav panel?” I ask.

“You betcha,” she answers.

We all stroll out onto the tarmac, the outside better than staying in the oven that is the cargo compartment. Mike follows at my heels and sits when I stop. I notify Lynn of our intentions and have her detail soldiers to get the manual pump and hoses from its storage place. The 130 is designed to be self-sufficient in any environment and operational in every contingent imaginable. There are missions that take it to places where there are not electric pumps or fuel depots so it has to be able to pump fuel from any source.

“Won’t that take a while?” Lynn asks as I finish explaining.

“Yeah, but it will take longer getting home if we run out of fuel part way,” I say, still tired from the morning’s events.

I have Robert climb on top of the aircraft through the overhead hatch and out onto the wing. There are over the wing fuel caps and we will be refueling through those; stretching the hose between the aircraft and operating the hand pump to transfer. It is a lengthy process but I do not see any alternative. It will also throw our time schedule off, like what has not done that as yet, but I would rather not use civilian fuel if I can avoid it.

Bri comes back and reports that the aircraft parked next to us is almost full. I send her inside our aircraft to operate the fuel panel. McCafferty is on the wing of the other aircraft to open the over-wing caps there and operate the hose on that end. When all is in place, we start the lengthy process of transferring fuel with soldiers taking turns at the manual pump. The heat builds throughout the day, baking us all as we sit under the shade of the wings. This is the kind of heat that makes you feel like you are made of rubber and puts you into that drowsy state.

Soldiers rotate positions with Robert and McCafferty so they are not stuck in the heat rising from the metallic wings. Heat waves dance across the concrete ramp, making distant objects look like they are under water. We are all soon bathed in sweat in the humidity and lack of wind does not allow the water oozing from our pores to evaporate. Lynn makes sure everyone remembers to drink, cutting into our water supply. Bannerman reports that we still have enough for a few days even with this increased consumption rate for which I am thankful. I have been in enough darkened buildings for a while.

A couple of hours later, we finish refueling, stow the equipment, and seal the tanks back up. I climb up onto the wing to verify that the caps are put back correctly. Not that I don’t trust anyone, it is just that, as the pilot-in-command, I am the one responsible. It certainly would not do to have the caps open in mid-flight and start having fuel pour out, being sucked out by the flow of air over the wings. The only indication would be the rapidly dwindling dials on the fuel gauges. That would not be cool. If we defuel, I want it to be because we choose to.

The same dreary restart process begins after we all gather inside our metallic coffin; hoping it does not actually become one. I feel so drained from the heat and excitement of the day. The feeling also stems from the knowledge that we will soon be back in the Northwest where the real work will begin. I may be tired now but wait until then, I think as the engines come to life. I can feel a stupor filling all of us. How tired we all are with what we have all been through lately. My butt is so tired of sitting in this seat but I imagine the passengers in back have it worse. The 130 is not the most comfortable of airplanes to ride in. Nine more hours and home. And of course with a landing at night. These night runners are putting a huge crimp in my planning process.

The sun is half the way across the afternoon sky as we lift off, forever departing this part of the world. A place it may not be safe to return to even in the air. A Geiger counter is going to not only be handy but necessary if we ever have to venture forth. Those nuclear power plants will continue to leak radiation making this area and others uninhabitable for hundreds or thousands of years. We really tubed this one in the name of progress. We had to play with our new toys without thinking about the long-term ramifications. I guess the good thing is that the night runners will be affected as well. I think they will at least. However, that really does not mean much for us; or humanity if we end up on the extinct list. Right now, we are definitely an endangered species.

Climbing out, a line of weather appears on the distant horizon. The dry line usually sits along the northern Texas panhandle stretching north this time of the year and can spawn thunderstorms and squall lines. We will have to watch out for those as we will be transiting that area close to nightfall. The weather has been good to us so far and I am hoping that will remain. The nav is set for a direct shot to McChord and I set the autopilot after leveling off at flight level 200 — 20,000 feet. I let Robert take the controls and switch places with Nic at the nav table. I want to read through some of these reports before trying to grab some shut eye.

I open the first folder and begin leafing through some of the reports noting some of what they have to say. Some valuable, some not making any sense to me, and others filled with the formese that government or government-like institutions love. I mean why write a single word when a paragraph of big-worded jargon exists that means the same. It can be very tiring trying to make sense of what they are actually trying to say. I do note some things from the initial reports:

A yellow sticky note is appended to the top of this report. Hand written on the note is “Humanity went out, not with a whimper, but a bang. God help us all!”

What the hell! I think reading this. What happened to the soldier at the BX that was bitten? My guess is that it must have been an anomaly of some kind. Perhaps his ‘immunity’ was only a partial one or that the process took a longer time in him and that the bite or trauma kicked it into high gear. Maybe he could have been just a carrier like some can be with Hepatitis. I guess there can be lots of explanations that I cannot even think of. Reading this does give me a sense of relief in that those of us left alive will not turn into a night runner merely by being bitten. I really did not know how to handle that one if it was the case. This one sentence alone was worth the risk.

We will definitely have to put a priority on removing the bodies. I have thought about this a lot but our highest priority will have to remain building and fortifying our sanctuary and supplies. The fact about having resources to move such a quantity of bodies is so true. But we will have to get rid of them in our local area and soon. We are lucky we still have the summer months which will allow us longer periods of daylight. We will have to watch our travels into any populated area and stay out of buildings that have a large number of dead within. That means hospitals for sure from what I have seen so far. We may have to set up a detail to burn down the neighborhood tracts in our area rather than try removing bodies one at a time. We just will not ever finish in that fashion.

I flip through other reports and find that they have ‘obtained’ fourteen test subjects. Wow! I think. They had fourteen of these things down there. I do not think I will find too much given the little time they had before the world came crashing down but am still hopeful of finding, or at least verifying, some facts about the night runners.

I turn to an autopsy report. The top of the report is mainly blank. It says that they are looking at test subject number seven who is a female and approximately 26 years of age. The race type merely says “unknown.”

I cannot really understand most of this report with some exceptions and that fall in line with my current understanding of the night runners. I underline and highlight those areas that I can understand and find important. I feel like when I was back in college and would only highlight those items that looked like they could be made into test questions. The opinion section I can completely understand and is helpful but only verifies what I have already guessed from observation and experience. It is quite apparent that their main sense, apart from vision, is with their sense of smell. It is good to know just how much it has increased and we will have to take precautions.

I stand and stretch eyeing the instruments from this distance, really just checking that all of the engine instrument needles are in the same position. The drone of the engines can really get to you after a while and I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Reading these things I can barely comprehend, along with the constant noise and vibration, is taking its toll along with the lack of sleep. Plus, my flight suit doesn’t smell all that great either.

Reassured that everything seems to be running smoothly but still eyeing the scattered cumulonimbus clouds ahead, their tops just peeking over the horizon, I sit back down and begin looking through the Greek that is the reports lying on the nav table. I am not overly happy finding out that the genetic changes make them stronger, faster, better able to hear, and with a tremendous sense of smell. That is going to make it difficult so, with a sigh, I continue to search for weaknesses or something we can use. So far, all I have found is that we are outmatched on a physical level. We have survived through several encounters but that is mainly due to firepower, training, and a seemingly higher intelligence. And, we have the day.

This surely cannot be what the world and nature wanted; creating the night runners. I have a hard time believing they are the next step. Or, maybe that is just ego talking and they are the next dominant species. Sitting here cruising along three and a half miles above the surface of the earth, I wonder if this is what the Neanderthal thought with the emergence of Homo Sapiens. Only, in reverse as I am pretty sure our cognitive function is higher than the night runner’s. Sighing once again, I turn back to the reports finding one detailing the findings of a physical exam with one of the live test subjects; test subject 5.

Hmmmm, interesting, I think. Everything is elevated. That would mean they have to have a higher metabolism to sustain those rates. Meaning, more sustenance and maybe they tire quicker. The rest of this portion tails off into numbers and so forth that become meaningless to me. The fact regarding the bite from the night runners is important and I imagine anyone bitten will require immediate doses of antibiotics. We will have to be sure to carry some with us when we plan on entering buildings or there is a chance of encountering night runners.

Okay, now this is something we can use, I think scrolling through and finding that the rest of this report only details other testing that has no effect. We may be able to hold them at bay with ultra-violet lights set up in a building interior. At least as long as we can find UV lights that is. I tuck this one in my bag of tricks, take a drink of water, and move on.

Okay, that answers the question of intelligence but I do not like the thing about the allusion to a link between them. If that is true, and I cannot afford to assume anything one way or the other, then they can communicate quicker although I am not sure on what level. So far, we have intelligence, fire power, daylight, and UV lighting — for as long as that lasts. Seems like it is coming down to brains versus brawn although they have a lot of it and, if the statistics are right, at least a thirty to one numerical superiority. And more than likely greater than that with people being eaten and such. I am quite sure there were probably a lot of suicides as well.

Great, they can breed! I think with my headache growing by the second. This just gets better and better. I am almost wishing that we didn’t find these files. Be careful of what you ask or wish for.

Well, there it is in a nutshell, I think closing this folder. They basically behave in a wolf-pack manner with increased physical abilities but nature has offset that by downgrading their cognitive and intelligence abilities. Perhaps intelligence is not the right word.

I look out ahead and see the scattered storms off our nose have drawn closer but are still scattered as opposed to forming a squall line. We should be able to squeak our way through without too much difficulty. They are still some distance away. The sun is beginning its downward journey to its inevitable meeting with the horizon, casting its light on the individual storms. Hints of rainbows flare out from them and the edges show translucent oranges and yellows. The land below us is flat and towns are sparse. My thought goes out to those still left alive below and the fear they must be feeling with the coming of the night.

“Are you making radio calls out on guard?” I ask Robert through the intercom.

“Yeah, I made a couple,” he answers.

I have been so wrapped up in my own thoughts and reading that I was completely oblivious to hearing his radio calls. Another indication that I am thoroughly exhausted.

“You doing okay? Want me to take over?” I ask.

“No, I’m fine,” he responds.

I know he is probably having the time of his life. In control of the aircraft and feeling comfortable with it. Not wanting to give it up for a moment. He is going to need some rest as well but I want to lie down for a moment before we hit the weather up ahead.

“I’m going to lie down for a moment. Wake me for anything,” I say moving from my chair to the bunk to my side.

“Okay, Dad,” he says. I pull off my helmet and lie down on the thin mattress on the upper bunk.

I wake a short time later, the power nap leaving me feeling a touch refreshed. The day outside is winding to a close. The heating of the ground below during the day begins to cool and takes some of the energy away from the thunderstorms that we drawing close to. There are a few gaps in between the towering clouds. Large anvils spread across and fill those gaps on top. I turn on and warm up the weather radar taking my seat at the navigator’s station once again. I would like to get a little more reading finished before nightfall. We are going to be busy enough when we return so I would like to finish going through the files as I may not have time later.

“Guide us between the cells. They are far enough apart that they shouldn’t be a worry,” I tell Robert. “The radar is warmed up and ready in case we need it.”

I see him give me a thumbs up over his seat. I stroll back into the cargo compartment with Mike in tow and let Lynn know to have everyone buckle up if they can or be near something they can hold onto. I inform her that we will be passing through a line of thunderstorms and that it should not be too bad. I let her know it just might get a little bumpy. Back at the nav table, I rub my temples and open the folders once again.

The aircraft jostles around a little as we hit the outskirts of the turbulence making the reading a little more difficult. A lot of the reports talk about the rise of the virus and the attempts to find patient zero — the first one to manifest the virus. Many others speak of vaccine reports and notices terminating the vaccinations. A sudden jolt makes me light in my seat only to slam immediately back down into it, spilling some of the reports on the steel decking. Well, I’m not going to accomplish much like this, I think picking them up and climbing out of my seat.

Walking across the shifting deck, which is threatening to knock me on my can with each step, I tap Nic on the shoulder and point to the nav station. We exchange seats and I buckle in. I do not want to take over for Robert but need to be there just in case. He is doing a pretty good job but flying in moderate turbulence can make the ride quite exciting and nerve-racking. I know I don’t really like it much. And, we are not yet within the line so it is bound to get a little worse. Luckily, we have the last dredges of the sun to guide us visually through. The sun is hitting the western edges of the thunderstorms which are giving us a little bit of a light show. Lightning flashes periodically to our sides in the gloomy and shadowed undersides of the storms with the purples and oranges showing on the sides of the towering cumulus clouds. If they were not trying to throw us out of the sky, it would be quite a gorgeous sight.

Robert continues to navigate us around the line of thunderstorms. Looking up at one of the anvils spread across us miles above, I hope we are not going to be pelted with large hail stones. Flying under anvils is not the best of ideas as it is basically formed as the top of the thunderstorm hits the higher winds aloft; those winds rip the top of the thunderstorm and cast its contents miles outward at high rates of speed. Better than being in it, I think as we are continually bounced from one altitude to another. Not nearly as bad as the line we passed coming over, but it is enough to make you want to check your dental work afterwards.

I look back at Michelle seeing her eyes a little wide but she is coping well. Bri is busy with her panels and so engaged that she is not really thinking about our bouncing around much. Nic is at her nav seat looking absently through the medical files I left there while, at the same time, trying to keep them from spreading throughout the cockpit. Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth are on the lower bunk gripping the side rails tightly, trying not to get launched out of their seat. Mike is still behind me but lying on the deck, or trying to. He is being tossed a little into the air on the big bounces only to come back into contact on the reverse side of the bump.

We transit the far side just as the last rays of the day disappear over the western horizon; a faint glow of what was still silhouettes the horizon and the peaks of the mountains ahead. The Continental Divide. The turbulence subsides and we enter relatively smooth air as the vast towers of clouds vanish behind our wingtips. Lightning flashes out from their underbellies in a symphony of light. I hear a click on the intercom as Lynn plugs into one of the stations in the cargo compartment.

“Where in the world did you learn to fly?” She asks both amused and not.

“Oh, are you under the mistaken impression that I ever did?” I ask back.

“Very funny,” she says.

“Everyone alright back there?” I ask.

“Yeah, a few bumps and bruises but you didn’t manage to actually toss anyone out,” she adds.

“And here I tried so hard,” I say unbuckling. “I’ll be back there in a sec.”

Carrying the CDC folders, I head to the cargo compartment leaving the aircraft in the hands of my kids once again. I don’t think the oddity of that will ever leave, I think stepping down the stairs. The next few minutes are spent bringing Lynn up to speed on what I have gathered so far from the reports we brought out of the CDC; having to shout over the continuous thrumming of the engines. In a way, I have come to appreciate the mobility and security of the aircraft even more but am also ready to be out of it. I hand the folders to Frank and ask Lynn to share the information with everyone as I head back up into the cockpit; also letting her know that we’ll be at McChord in a few short hours and will brief on the next day’s activities when we land.