Sanctuary

Running Through the Jungle

“Are you still alive? I need help.”

Those words, emblazoned on the small screen of my phone, knock me for a loop. The tiny words are in stark contrast to their meaning. I feel rocked, not only because of whom the text is from, but because of what it means. I had been prepared that we would start right away on creating a place of haven once we landed. The words on the screen means another trip, in addition to everything else that needs to be done, is necessary. Physically and mentally exhausted from this last trip, I slump into the pilot seat as I don’t think I can stand up for another minute.

Mike, our rescued canine friend, is sitting by my side looking at the glowing screen as if he can read the text or help. “What do ya think, boy?” I ask looking at his big head almost at the same level as mine. At the sound of my voice, he turns and licks my face once. I guess that’s his idea of helping.

I glance at the still glowing screen in disbelief hoping the words will disappear; becoming just a hallucination. Nope. They are still there. The words above the text speak as loudly, if not more than, the text itself - ‘From: Kelly.’ That would be my second ex. Oh boy! As if I didn’t have enough going on. The additional stress that has suddenly built up inside with the arrival of the message is because there is so much to do in the immediate future. I have to check on Mom and bring her to safety and we have to find an immediate semblance of protection as we cannot just sit inside the aircraft every night. We must also find and gather supplies as our water levels can only sustain us for a couple more days. So much to do yet the message on the screen beckons.

“Jack, Robert, is that someone out there?” Michelle asks as we all sit in the cockpit exhausted from our trip half way across the world and back.

“Huh,” I answer looking up and out of the front cockpit window.

Dark shapes move rapidly on the edge of the ramp through the moon-lit night. My heart rate accelerates slightly but the sight is not unexpected. We made enough noise coming in and visitors at night are not uncommon based on our previous experiences. I slowly rise to head back and let Lynn and the others know that company is arriving. Just as I turn, my tired mind stops. It’s one of those feelings that something is not or was not quite right with what I quickly glimpsed. I sit back down and slide the NVG’s on bringing the ramp, night, and movement into more clarity.

“Shit!” I say surveying the scene in front.

“What?” Robert asks, sitting alertly up and sliding his own NVG’s down. “Holy crap!” He says as he takes in the scene outside.

“What is it?” Bri, Nic, and Michelle ask simultaneously.

“There are night runners chasing someone,” Robert says as I scramble out of my seat.

“Bri, bring the electrical system up on battery,” I say moving quickly by her and into the cargo compartment.

“Lynn! Get yourself, Alpha and Bravo Teams armed and ready with NVG’s on. There’s someone in trouble outside,” I shout throwing on my own gear and checking for ammo.

“What’s going on?” Lynn asks after seeing to her own gear and making sure the teams are ready.

“Come up and I’ll show you,” I respond.

In the cockpit, Robert is still looking out of the window through his NVG’s. The instruments are dimly lit confirming that the aircraft still has electrical power. I reach down and turn on the landing and taxi lights. The brilliant lights stab into the night and over the ramp catching the unfolding scene. Scores of night runners are running on the ramp across our path but some distance away. The ones closest throw their arms up in front of their eyes in an attempt to block the blinding glare from our lights. Ahead of them, streaking across the ramp in desperation, a single person is running for their life. The night runners are a short distance behind and the distance is closing quickly.

The person running looks at us as our lights spill into the night and changes direction towards us. The turn is more out of hope and desperation as the night runners will close the distance and be upon them before they can make it to the source of lights.

“Oh My God!” Lynn exclaims seeing the event first hand and darts back out of the cockpit.

“Robert, get the radios on the ground frequency,” I tell him as I leave on Lynn’s heels. Alpha and Bravo Teams stand ready in the compartment as I enter.

“There’s someone being chased by night runners outside,” I say upon entering.

“I have the landing lights on and I’ll have Robert turn them off once we’re in position. We’ll set up in a firing line facing the front of the aircraft. Alpha closest to the doors, Bravo to their left. NVG’s on once the lights go out. Watch your fire as the person is heading towards us as well. Let’s move,” I brief and open the crew door.

“Shouldn’t we have all of the teams out?” Lynn asks in my ear as the door lowers.

“No, we may have to return quickly and too many people outside will create a bottle neck at the door. Plus, we don’t have enough goggles.”

The door hits the ground and the teams exit. Alpha Team forms a line directly outside by the open door, kneeling on the pavement. Bravo runs behind them, forming up alongside to their left. I exit with Lynn directly behind; my helmet is still on giving me night vision capability. The perspective from the ground is a touch different than the view from the cockpit. From the height of cockpit, I could get an overall picture of the scene. Here on the ground, I only see the front line of night runners stretching across the ramp and heading our way. The brightness of the landing lights makes everything appear as if in black and white with a few toned-down colors from the clothing. The gray skin of the night runners seems to glow in the light being reflected back. In front of the line, one man is running for all he’s worth. Terror, fear, and determination are etched on his face. The look is one of knowing he has cast his lot on whatever is creating the bright light; that it will be his saving grace or his demise for, with his turning towards it, he gave the night runners an angle to cut him off.

“Robert, kill the lights,” I say into the radio.

The lights wink out a moment later leaving the ramp covered in darkness. Even the moon shining down from above cannot compensate for the loss of night vision the lights caused. Only the howls from the night runners and the sound of their feet on the pavement remain.

“Goggles on. Open fire,” I yell to the teams as I stand behind their kneeling forms.

The sound of goggles clicking into place is followed a second later by the first rounds being fired into the mass of night runners closing in. The tarmac and side of the HC-130 blink rapidly from the strobe effect as the bullets leave the muzzles and streak outward.

Captain Greg Petersen sits in the darkened room reflecting on the sudden change in the world. The sound of the night runners prowling the streets of the base reach his ears from time to time reminding him of the reality of the current world. Everyone he knew is gone. He glances at the Ranger tab on the shoulder of his ACU’s thinking how meaningless it and the other patches on his uniform are now. The world changes and so does the importance of things that were once meaningful.

His days are filled with scrounging for supplies and his nights with avoiding being found by the night runners. He switched houses the other night choosing to be on McChord rather than Fort Lewis; the choice coming because he feels that any hope of finding anyone or help arriving will come from the air, thus his desire to be closer to the airfield. That choice was vindicated by the sound of an aircraft passing overhead just a short time ago. That was a C-130, he thinks knowing that sound well and he is filled with hope. The sound of night runners on the street outside brings his mind back to the present. The noise of the aircraft has stirred them up in this area.

The barricades he placed across the doors and windows should slow them down some but he knows they will not keep them out if they make a determined effort to get him. His best choice is to remain silent and try to find out what the aircraft was about once the sun comes up. The dark room and house around mimics the darkness within him; the darkness of losing everyone and living day to day without hope. The darkness of thinking he might be the only one left; at least until hearing the roar of the aircraft arriving. He thinks if he can just live through the night, then the hope of rescue and deliverance will come with the daylight.

That hope is balanced with fear caused by the increased activity of the night runners outside. They have proven to be wily in finding him and he knows he has been lucky so far; a few very close calls with the sun coming to his rescue on a number of them. The coldest part of the night comes just before sunrise and that is how he feels inside. Hope looms just over the horizon yet seems so far. First, he has to endure through the coldest part before hope has a chance. The fear that accompanies hope being so close and that the door may shut before becoming reality.

The sudden thump against the front door startles him from of his dark musings. Oh God No! He thinks as he lunges for the M-16 lying on the floor next to him. Greg brings it to his shoulder and swings the barrel around to the front door, the red dot centering on the boarded entrance. A loud shriek sounds as a solid thump jars the door and frame. More shrieks call out from the street and surrounding yards. I’ve got to do something quick or they’ll be all over this place. He is at a loss though as to what that something should be. There is death outside and it will soon spill over to death inside.

He thinks one choice is to try for the airfield and the aircraft that flew over recently. The illusion of security the walls of the house provides keeps him kneeling in the room with his rifle pointed at the front door. If I leave out of the back now, they may be too focused on gaining entrance to notice, he thinks looking over his shoulder at the faint outline of the back door. On the other hand, if it does come down to a fight, the house might be easier to defend.

The jarring sound of breaking glass upstairs makes the decision for him. He is up and across the room to the back door before the tinkling of the glass ends. Pausing momentarily to listen for sounds of night runners out back, he opens the door to the night air. The coolness of the night brushes by his cheeks as he dashes out of the house and into the back yard. The moon outside provides a measure of light as he navigates quickly around a swing set and toys scattered in the grass; grass grown long by neglect.

The dull thumps against the house reach the back yard. Shrieks fill the night air as he rushes for the fence separating the individual housing units. A glance over his shoulders lets him know his exit hasn’t yet been discovered. Just prior to reaching the fence, Greg tosses his M-16 over it into the next yard and hears it land with a soft clatter. He takes a running leap at the fence, his fingers finding purchase on the top, and his boots pounding against the side. The noise from his boots hitting the fence sounds like the continuing thuds coming from the front of the house. He vaults over and into the back yard of the neighboring house. A change in the intensity and tone of the howls from the night runners tells him his escape has been discovered.

Coming to rest on his feet, Greg scans the immediate area looking for his weapon. The shadows of the night play havoc with locating his black rifle hidden in the grass as there is very little color variance in the glow of the moonshine. All objects are all in varying shades of gray. Fear takes hold as he knows the night runners are on his trail. Time is not on his side. Fear becomes panic. He wants the security of his M-16 but knows he needs to be on his way if he is to have any chance of making the tarmac. He also knows this attempt to find sanctuary is a long shot as those who landed earlier may not be there anymore. They may have moved to a different location, if they stayed on the ground at all.

There, a slight difference in the way the grass lies. He dashes over, retrieves his rifle, and is off across the yard. Running down the side of the housing unit, he enters the street to the sound of night runners behind him coming over the fence he vaulted moments ago. Identical housing units line the street on both sides, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Vehicles of various types are parked in the shared driveways; a late model mustang in the driveway to his immediate left, mini-vans that transported families when the world was ‘normal’ in others, and a few later model pickups. He quickly recalls the vehicle buying frenzy that went on when members of his unit returned from Afghanistan with deployment cash to spend.

The sound of night runners vaulting the fence spurs him into action and he takes off down the street in the general direction of the aircraft ramp. He avoids running through the housing units themselves as he knows that the ones after him can scale the fences quicker than he can. His only hope is to reach the ramp ahead of the night runners; hoping also they remain behind him and don’t materialize ahead. If that happens, the chase is over.

The sound of his boots on the paved street is drowned out by the periodic shrieks of the night runners giving chase; drawing others into the area. That it will draw others, he knows from experience. That experience coming in the short time since the bottom dropped out from the world he knew. Keeping a quick but steady pace, he turns left at the first cross street knowing this is the way out of the housing area and into the base proper. He scouted the area during the day after his move knowing it is easy to get lost in the streets of housing areas; that there is usually only one street out. If he were to take random turns, he would eventually get lost and become trapped.

Rounding the corner, shrieks escalate letting him know that night runners have entered the street behind him. His feet respond to the increase in fear that fills his mind with those howls. He is close to a full block ahead of the pack but knows how fast this distance can be eaten up. His only hope to maintain this lead, and get to the ramp ahead of them, is to get a lead of more than a block and keep making turns at each street keeping a general direction towards the airfield. Weighing the need to increase the distance between them and the need to keep his wind with a steady pace, he knows that distance is the more immediate need. With this in mind, Greg streaks down the street and rounds the next corner.

He is thankful for the short street and makes the corner just ahead of the horde reaching the corner to his rear. His thought is that the night runners will slow momentarily without having witnessed which way he went. He knows they will be able to track him by scent and sound but doesn’t want to make it easier for them. He runs across the yards on this street knowing the grass will better hide the sound of his running. He imagines the mass behind him will hastily make for the intersection having lost a visual on him. The wish is that it will take some time to locate him again. For that reason, he darts around the vehicles in the driveways hoping that, with vehicles between him and the night runners, he will become less easy to spot.

The bright moon overhead momentarily casts his shadow on the hood of a sporty new Camaro as Greg continues his run along the yards towards the exit from the housing area. Shrieks escalate in the night air behind as the night runners pick up his scent. He has gained a little distance. Not enough to make it all the way to the tarmac, but any distance gained is beneficial. He still has his M-16 but if it comes to having to use it to defend himself, he knows his time will be measured; measured by the number of rounds he has left.

The three clips he has remaining will not sustain him long should it come to that; especially in the dark without any night vision capability. He will be shooting at shadows until they get closer, in which case, they will overwhelm him within seconds. No, his best bet is to keep making for the airfield.

Greg exits the housing area. The cool of the night air chills his face and body as beads of sweat run down his forehead. His fatigue top forms dark circles under his pits and along his back. A road cuts across his path and beyond the road looms the shadows of the base golf course. He is still a mile from the base proper and approximately a mile and a half from the ramp. Much closer than if he were still at Fort Lewis. A mile and a half. Only a little less than twelve minutes, he thinks sprinting across the street and entering the dark shadows of the trees lining the fairway.

He keeps to the trees alongside the fairways using the same thought pattern as with his run along the yards; the trees will hide him better and force the night runners to chase by scent. Hunting and tracking by scent alone is far slower than by sight. He is not sure how well the night runners can see in the dark, but it is the only measure he has. Running in the fairway will definitely allow them to chase by sight and close the distance. The moon and clear night provide enough illumination so he can steer clear of the trees. Running headlong into a tree that suddenly decides to jump out in front of him would not rank among the top of the ‘ideal situation’ list.

Flashes of memories surface of being in these trees before; trying to find his errant golf balls; memories of peaceful weekend outings with friends during the warmer months, of beer stacked in the cart and watching his ball arc off the tee and into the trees. A common occurrence whenever he was out with clubs in hand and the fault of said clubs.

Those memories quickly dissolve as he dashes through the trees. One advantage to the trees being part of the course is that the underbrush has been cleared. He reaches the end of the tree line, changes direction, crosses the tee area of the next hole, and enters another line of trees hoping the change in direction will throw off the howling night runners behind. He hears them crashing through the trees behind when the shrieks taper off for a moment.

The fear that they have drawn closer and that others will respond ahead of him drives him forward. Low-lying branches whip against his face but he is mindless to the stinging scratches. The faint reflected light allows him to see the branches at the last second and to avoid catching one in his eyes. Being momentarily blinded would spell disaster. The silver of the moonlight on the fairway next to him looks peaceful in its silence; in stark contrast to his fear-filled flight through the woods.

Emerging from the line of trees, he quickly crosses another fairway with the feeling that the night runners are closing the distance. His flight through the trees may not be allowing them to close in on him quickly, but they are nearing nonetheless. He enters the woods on the far side. He immediately senses that these are thicker than the previous tree lines. Going in far enough so he can’t be seen from the fairway, he quickly strips off his uniform jacket, tossing it as far as he can to his left. Greg then takes off at a 90 degree angle to his right. There is no breeze so using wind to help elude his pursuers is not an option. He hopes they will become confused about his scent coming from two directions and not know which way he actually went. At a minimum, he could perhaps lose a few of them.

The 90 degree turn will make the distance to the ramp a touch longer but keeping the distance from the night runners is the greater priority. Shrieks emit from the fairway behind and to the right. He sincerely hopes the night runners cannot see him running through the woods because, with the sharp turn, he just gave them an angle to cut him off. Greg glances over his shoulder and nothing can be seen of the fairway. Not even a glimpse of the moonlight shining down on it. The trees are spaced far enough apart that light filters in and their darker outlines immediately around him can still be seen. He feels winded but the fear of being caught and ripped apart pushes his feet ever closer to the airfield.

He makes another 90 degree turn to his left heading once more to the northwest and towards the ramp. Howls echo in the woods around him and he cannot be certain of their exact direction. They’re definitely behind him but he can’t tell if they are off to the side or directly behind. The trees open up onto another fairway and he is across and through an adjacent line in moments. The golf course ends with a street running across his path. A little over a half mile to go, he thinks eyeing another dark line of trees paralleling the road northward. He wants to stop and catch his breath but knows that to do so will be the end. The night runners are still crashing through the trees behind him.

A choice lies directly ahead of him. Take to the tree line along the road or cut through the open fields of the base. There are few buildings within the open fields but he will be sighted as soon as the night runners exit the trees. His lead is a short one and the feeling emerges that he will be caught in those fields prior to reaching the ramp. Tree line it is, he thinks running across the street and disappearing into the shadows.

Keeping well back from the road, Greg continues his evasion. His legs feel heavy with the exertion he has expended but the calls behind keep his adrenaline up. He knows he cannot keep this up for much longer but knowing there is only a half mile to go helps. He doesn’t know what he will do if he arrives and it turns out no one is there. Not that he had a choice in the matter. They were onto him inside the house where he had been hiding and there really wasn’t much he could do. If there’s no one there, I’ll just have to hold out as long as I can.

Greg also knows he has been extremely fortunate that night runners haven’t intercepted his course. Not that they would know where he was headed in order to do so. He feels that any who answer the yells will respond to the location of the shrieks behind him. He hears the mass behind him in the same line of trees. Their constant roars have diminished to an extent and he hopes they are becoming as winded, well, more winded than himself.

The trees end and he is immediately bathed in the radiance of the moonlight. The little amount of protection afforded by the trees vanishes. Only open fields with a scattering of buildings lie between him and the airfield proper. He sees the gray tips of aircraft tails poking above hangars in the near distance; showing silver from the light streaming down. Without hesitation, Greg dashes across the fields. He contemplates tossing his rifle to the side to pick up an extra little speed and endurance but there is a certain security it affords having it with him. Across the first field, he hears a rise in the shrieks behind. He has been spotted.

He sees the opening to the ramp ahead across another field. A glance behind shows a multitude of night runners pouring across the field; their faces glowing in the light. Each night runner gives an illusion of speed as they streak across the grassy field. Oh crap! I’m not going to make it, he thinks putting every last bit of energy into his legs. The shrieks behind sound excited. Turn and shoot or toss my rifle. Either way, I’m not going to make it to the ramp with it.

Tossing the M-16 to the side, he pumps his arms harder. His breathing is coming in gasps but his legs respond. He leaves the grassy field, crosses the street and comes out onto the ramp. Not really knowing which way to go, he continues across the ramp looking to both sides as he runs. Nothing but the dark shapes of resting aircraft catches his eye. No movement of people. Nothing that would indicate the recent landing of an aircraft. Well, I gave it my all, he thinks feeling his boots rhythmically strike the pavement. Sure wish I had kept the gun. I’ll just keep going as long as I can and go down fighting.

Bright lights stab out across the ramp from his left, blinding in their intensity and ruining any night vision he had acquired. He instinctively heads towards them knowing that the turn will give the night runners an angle to close the distance. There is a sound of movement coming from the direction of the lights; faintly heard above the roars of the horde on his heels. The light prevents him from seeing anything in that direction. As suddenly as they appeared, the lights go off leaving only bright spots in his vision. He continues running in the same direction.

“Goggles on. Open fire,” he hears someone shout.

Flashes of light appear in his vision. They’re firing. I hope not at me, he thinks and changes course to his right to get out of the line of fire.

The steel zipping through the air meets the first line of the night runners close on the heels of the soldier running towards us. The ones in front and to the side of the soldier are flung backward as if they ran full tilt into a wire stretched across the ramp. The rounds strike their chest, shoulders, head and limbs with tremendous force; some propelled backwards into the arms of the ones behind, others spinning around from the force of the bullets impacting their bodies off center.

The man running for his life angles off to the side with the first rounds fired. It is apparent he is having trouble seeing us but is angling away from the sound of the gunfire. The night runners are also having trouble identifying our exact location with the sudden extinguishment of the light. The bright light ruined their night vision, enhanced or not, and with it being turned off abruptly, they only see darkness. Some are running toward the opposite side of the aircraft while others are heading farther off onto the ramp. A few still head directly at us. There are far too many to take down before they descend upon us but we should be able to disengage in their current disorientated state.

The echo of gunfire across the ramp is a constant. Night runners continue to fall to the pavement cooled by the night air; some falling and not moving again. Others fall and try to crawl away from their pain. The lone soldier is attempting to circle around to our lines but cannot see our exact location and is venturing further aft of the aircraft.

“Lynn, go get him and guide him back. Bravo, prepare to disengage and fall back to the aircraft,” I shout firing into the mass of night runners to our front.

“Roger that, sir,” Cressman responds, her voice carrying above the din of the firing. Lynn lowers her weapon, locates the running man, and takes off towards him.

“Alpha, prepare to board the aircraft once Bravo clears,” I shout looking over and seeing Lynn guide the soldier in by the arm.

The night runners are recovering from their disorientated state and begin to home in on us. I see Lynn out of my peripheral start up the stairs with the soldier.

“Bravo, clear out,” I shout.

The sound of gunfire diminishes as Bravo Team stands, runs behind Alpha and begins to board the aircraft. The horde of night runners are scattered in all directions due to being blinded but are now converging on our positions. They are just scant yards ahead and we only have seven rifles engaging. It will be close as we begin to disengage Alpha. I pat the two soldiers to the left of the line on their shoulders and direct their fire into our left front flank. I direct the two in the middle to our immediate front and the soldier closest to the stairs to make sure night runners don’t get to us from under the aircraft. I direct my fire into those that are closest regardless of the angle. Magazines are ejected to the ground as the team members reload; the sound of the mags and empty cartridges hitting the ground are lost in the gunfire and screams.

I see the last of Bravo mount the stairs and shout for the two Alpha members on the far left to disengage taking up their sector for them. My carbine and those of the rest of Alpha constantly send out rounds against the closing horde. The bodies continue to pile up on the ramp; the moonlight catches an occasional spray of blood in its silver beams. I observe the two Alpha members mount the stairs and catch sight of Lynn firing her M-4 from the doorway; lifting her carbine as the members enter in front of her.

“Go, Go, Go!” I shout to the three remaining members of Alpha.

“Robert, turn on the lights,” I say into the radio.

Alpha rises and scrambles up the stairs. I stand at the bottom of the stairs firing into the night runners but my rounds do little to slow their rapid advance. I hear the popping of rounds above me from Lynn firing out of the door. The bright lights flash from the aircraft once again. Shrieks of rage, pain and frustration come from the mass; the light blindingly painful. The night runners are only ten feet from the nose of the aircraft.

“Get your ass up here,” Lynn yells from the top of the stairs.

I scramble up the stairs two at a time and run through the entrance, slamming into the bulkhead with my shoulder. Lynn and Watkins pull the door closed behind me. As the door closes, the cargo compartment darkens even more; the only light coming from the reflected glow outside through the cargo windows. In the dim light, I see our newest member bent with his hands on his knees catching his breath. Thumps and pounding begin against the aircraft fuselage startling the newly rescued soldier.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They can’t get in here. Or at least they haven’t been able to as yet.”

I ask Drescoll to put the blackout covers over the windows and Michelle to draw the blackout curtains in the cockpit. When those are in place, I have Robert kill the lights outside and turn on the interior cargo lights.

“What about the battery, Dad,” Bri calls down the cockpit stairs.

“Leave it on. It’s not like we’re going anywhere with this aircraft anyway,” I call back.

“Dad?” The new soldier says raising his head but with his hands still on his knees.

“Yeah. Looks like we have some stories to share,” I say as the lights of the cargo interior lighting come on.

The soldier rises and puts out his hand, “Greg Petersen.”

“Jack Walker,” I say taking his hand.

The introductions are made after the kids come down out of the cockpit. Noticing the Captain’s tabs on the field cap he is wearing, most address him as “sir.”

“It’s just Greg, folks,” he says in response. “The days of ‘sir’ are over. I want to thank all of you for saving my bacon. I seriously don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. Well, I do and it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

“Just glad we were here,” I say as the shrieks and slams against the fuselage continue; some solid enough to cause us to jump.

“What was that about not going anywhere?” Greg asks.

“We lost an engine coming in. This aircraft isn’t going anywhere,” I answer feeling sad at the thought that this aircraft, our mobile sanctuary that has accompanied us through so much and kept us safe, will end its days here on the ramp; becoming just another remnant of civilization as we knew it.

“What happened that you found yourself in the unfortunate circumstance to be chased?” Frank asks.

“I heard the aircraft come in. They found me and started breaking in so I figured I had no choice but to make a run for it,” he answers.

We settle in amidst the continued noise outside and share our stories. We bring Greg up to speed with our journey, structure, and knowledge. He in turn fills us in on his “adventures” over the past few days. We also fill him in on our plans but reserve assigning him to a team until Lynn and I have a chance to talk about it. That he is joining us is not in question as he seems to mesh nicely with our group. Plus, his experience will be extremely beneficial.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get whatever rest we can inside this noisy tin can. We have a very busy next few weeks coming up,” I say. “Lynn, would you mind coming up with me.”

We enter the cockpit and I pick up my phone from the seat where I left it as I scrambled out. Lynn looks at me quizzically as I open it and pull up the text. With the glow of the phone shining brightly in a darkened cockpit, lit only by the glow of the instrument panels, I hand the phone to her. She takes it and looks down at the screen. She stares at the screen with furrowed brows for a few moments.

Finally, looking up with a scowl, she says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Hey, it’s not like I planned this,” I say defensively.

“What are you going to do?” She asks.

“Contact her and go get her I guess,” I say thinking, How is there any right answer to this one?

“I suppose you’re right. There’s really no other right choice but I’m going with you.”

“I have no problem with that but I would like you here to keep control of things. There’s a ton that needs to be done during the day before night falls.”

“Yeah, I went along with your foolhardy plan and let you go into the CDC but there’s no way in hell you’re going down there alone,” Lynn says putting her hands on her hips.

“I was thinking about taking Robert and Bri actually.”

“Now why on earth would you do that?” She asks tilting her head to the side.

“The Guard Base down there has a couple of C-130’s and I was thinking about flying one back up. It’s would be nice to know we have one available just in case. I’ll need their help to fly it back up,” I answer.

“Well, I’m still going with you and that’s the way it’s going to be. You’ll just have to get used to that idea,” Lynn says adamantly.

“Okay, okay,” I say waving my hand in a warding off gesture. “We’ll take a Humvee with just the four of us.”

“Why not take a whole team or two?” She asks feeling slightly appeased but not completely happy.

“There’s a lot we need to get done before night hits and I think we’ll need everyone here helping to set up a secure location,” I respond. “It’ll be a quick down and back depending on what the road conditions are like. Let me try and get hold of Mom and then respond back to Kelly. We should then gather everyone together to quickly cover what we’re going to do come morning.”

Lynn continues looking at me and makes the ‘well, go ahead’ gesture indicating she is not going anywhere. I nervously dial Mom’s cell phone as I am worried about her but don’t get an answer increasing my worry even further. I leave a voice mail and try her home phone. There is no answer at that number and I don’t even get a voice mail. I send a thought of protection out to her as I have periodically throughout our journey.

Now the interesting part. I hit reply to Kelly’s text.

“I’m here. Are you okay?” I text and press the send button.

Several minutes pass and Lynn comes to look over my shoulder. The phone vibrates in my hand and the screen comes to life.

The words appear on the screen. “OMG!! You’re alive! I’m so scared. Where are you?”

“Fucking drama queen,” I hear Lynn whisper by my side as she reads the message. Yeah, Lynn’s not particularly fond of Kelly.

“I’m in Tacoma. Where are you?” I text asking. I would call but I don’t know her situation and the sound of her phone ringing could make it worse.

“At my place with Jessica and Brian. Can you come help us?”

“Be there tomorrow afternoon. Keep the lights off and stay quiet. Turn your phone off for now and then back on when it’s light. I’ll call you then.”

“Ok.”

I try Mom once again after the texting session but still don’t get a reply. I’m extremely worried about her. I really have a hard time with worrying and it eats at me until I find an answer one way or the other. I also notice an edginess with Lynn. I would normally attribute it to the text but I understand her well enough to know that it goes deeper than that. She keeps biting her lip and that’s one of her signs that she is nervous or anxious about something.

“Everything okay?” I ask noting her nervousness.

“I’m just thinking about Mom and Craig and worried about them,” she answers. I pull her in close and wrap my arms around her.

“Well, I told him five days and that isn’t until tomorrow. Craig probably doesn’t want to fly at night into a strange airfield,” I say whispering into her ear and continuing to hold her close.

We hold each other for a moment longer and then head down into the cargo compartment gathering everyone around as best as the confined space will allow. The thuds against the side of the fuselage continue sporadically as the night runners persist in their attempts to get to us. Their howls are muted by the thin steel walls between them and us. I cannot really say we are becoming accustomed to this, as the bangs still startle us each time, but we are able to focus to an extent.

“I just want to give a rundown on tomorrow. First of all, Bannerman, will you put together a list of our critical supply needs? The overall plan is to gather vehicles, raid the armories, and then caravan down to Cabela’s. For that, we’ll need a few cargo trucks and some bolt cutters. We also need a few Humvees so we can scout the area for any additional survivors. Make sure they are filled with fuel. Siphon if you have to. Once we get the vehicles, head out and cover the area in teams. When we finish here, we’ll head down and make further plans once we see what we are up against. Lynn, will you please see to the assignments?” I ask finishing the quick briefing.

“Will do. Drescoll, take your team along with Alpha and Bravo to secure the vehicles. Horace, take your team and search the open maintenance hangars for bolt cutters. The rest of us will unload the supplies in the meantime,” Lynn says. Everyone nods at their assignments.

“There’s two Humvees parked on the ramp. I’ll be taking one and Drescoll, you can take the other with your team to the front gate where there are two others parked. That should be enough for all of you,” I say adding to Lynn’s instructions.

“What are you doing with the other Humvee?” Robert asks.

“Going to check on Mom. I can’t get her on the phone. I’ll be back by the time the vehicles are secured,” I answer.

“Can I go?” He asks.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Bri, Nic and Michelle, I want you to stay here with the others.”

The sound of boots shuffling and walking on the cargo floor fills the aircraft as everyone finds a place to settle in for the rest of the evening. Our rest is broken by the echoing of the hollow, metallic thuds periodically through the night. The night runners eventually give up close to dawn and we are afforded a small period of rest.

Another dawn breaks over the Cascades to our east, filling the cockpit with its radiance. My head is aching from all of the time spent at altitude with its low humidity. I am dehydrated coupled with a lack of sleep. I feel a little overwhelmed thinking about the busy day and times ahead. There isn’t time or room to ‘take a break’ and deal with the issues another day. Lynn stirs beside me and heads into the back after a good morning kiss. I get up shortly thereafter thankful I don’t have to plop right down into the pilot seat. My rear end could use the rest.

The feeling of being a touch overwhelmed, with all that needs to happen today, almost brings me to a standstill and I’m not sure where to even start. One step at a time, I think heading out into the chill of the morning air. The sun rising above the hills is refreshing and fills my low energy to an extent. It feels a little colder than it should due to our spending the last few days in warmer climates but it is rejuvenating. There is not much talk among our group as most of us are lost in our own thoughts and feel spent from our efforts to get here. It feels like this should have been a destination rather than a beginning. There is a prevalent feeling of wondering if any of us have the energy to embark on this endeavor. However, we also know we don’t have the luxury of doing nothing.

Standing in the light morning breeze, I try calling my mom once again and still get no answer. Drescoll, the rest of Green Team, and Robert stand beside me waiting to head out. I then dial Kelly getting several rings before she picks up.

“Jack, are you coming down to get us?” Kelly asks answering.

“Yeah, we’ll be down but I can’t get there until later this afternoon. I’m not exactly sure when but we’ll be there,” I answer.

“Who is we?” She asks.

“Lynn, Robert, Bri and I.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You mentioned Brian and Jessica were with you. Where’s Carrie?” I ask with the sun fully rising and casting our shadows long across the dark gray tarmac.

There is a pause before she answers, “She was with her dad and I haven’t heard from her. Can you go see if she’s okay on your way down?”

I feel my stress level increase as I don’t think I will be able to get the things accomplished that need to be done here, check on Mom, see about Carrie, and get down to Kelly. Even though the daylight hours are longer, there is so much that needs to be done and I’m not sure what condition our possible future sanctuary is in. It may take some time to ensure it will provide the safe haven we need. There is someone who needs help and I want to be able to do both. The time constraint makes this impossible.

“We’re under a bit of a time crunch here and I may not be able to do both. If there’s time, I’ll head over there, otherwise I’ll head down and we’ll see about her on the way back,” I respond.

“What do you possibly have to do that you can’t go see if she’s okay?” Kelly asks a little irritated.

“I have a group of people here to see to and we just landed yesterday. We have a lot to do to make sure we’re safe for the evening. I’m sorry but I have to see to them as well. I’ll call you when we’re on our way and I’ll go look for Carrie if there’s time,” I answer.

“Okay, hurry.”

“I’ll go as fast as I can. Talk to you in a little while,” I say.

“Okay, bye,” she says and there is the click of the line disconnecting. I continue to be amazingly surprised the phones still work at all. This would have been a great advertisement for them in times past - ‘Coverage, smoverage, our lines last through an apocalypse.’

“Well, shall we get this party started,” I say to those gathered around me. Drescoll merely nods his reply.

My few interactions with Drescoll leads me to believe he has a strong, silent type of personality; confident yet quiet. Or maybe he just doesn’t know how to interact with me. Although taller, he is a bit younger than I am and, with his being in the military for a number of years, that may equate to me being an authority figure in his mind. With what I have witnessed and how he has conducted himself from the stories Lynn told, he is stable, reliable, and knows what he is doing. I let Lynn know we are off. We gear up and head over to the Humvees parked by the remnants of our earlier outdoor luncheon.

“I really haven’t heard much from you regarding our circumstance and plan. What do you think?” I ask Drescoll as we stroll over to the vehicles.

“I think it’s a good plan. As good as any we could have come up with and makes sense,” he answers.

“What do you think our chances are?” I ask further.

He pauses for a moment before answering as we walk with our shadows stretched out before us, “We have a good group here so we should be able to pull it off. I think any problems we might have will come if we find others out there and how well they fit in. A tight group like ours can weather through this but if there’s any dissension that comes about, then stupid things happen. That’s also providing we don’t discover any further surprises regarding the night runners. The only other things I foresee are the problems with having to go into the buildings on a regular basis for supplies, caring for anyone who gets injured, and, like you mentioned earlier, any diseases that crop up from all of the dead.” Those are the most words I have hear him say in the time since Kuwait.

“I agree. It’s going to be up to the team leaders to keep things tight and set examples. My feeling is that if we can last through the summer, we should be okay. The future problem I see is when we have to adapt to the fact that there isn’t any more manufacturing to take care of things that break,” I say enjoying this openness and conversation with him.

“Can I be perfectly honest, Jack?” Drescoll asks coming to halt by one of the Humvees.

“You certainly can. I welcome it and expect no less,” I answer wondering where this is going.

“In my opinion, that was a foolish thing you did going back into the CDC like that. I just don’t see that the information we came across was worth the risk. We would have figured it out eventually without it,” he says meeting my eyes.

“Well, I think the information we came across was worth it, especially knowing that we don’t have to worry about the immunity aspect and turning into one of them if we are bit. I honestly didn’t know what to do if that were true. That piece of mind alone was worth it to me,” I say looking back at him.

“This heading down with just a couple of you fits in the same category as far as I’m concerned,” he adds.

“I would take others but there is so much we have to do before the sun sets again. I think everyone will be needed up here and the safety of a secure environment is more important,” I say.

“Well, you seem to know what you’re doing and that’s good enough for me. I’m not saying saving others and getting the information isn’t and wasn’t important, it’s just that folks are beginning to look to you for leadership and if something were to happen to you, I’m worried there might be a breakdown,” Drescoll says in a lowered voice.

“You and Lynn can easily handle things if something were to happen to me,” I say addressing his concern.

“Probably, but not as well I think. Well, I hope you find your mom well,” he says sticking his hand out.

“Thanks. I appreciate that and you take care of yourself. There may be others around that may not take kindly to you borrowing their vehicles,” I say returning his shake. “Follow me to the gate. Honk or flash your lights if you see something or you need to stop.”

“Will do,” he says and climbs into the driver seat with Green Team already seated within.

Robert and I climb in the other Humvee. I check the battery and wait for the light signaling the glow plugs are warm before starting up. With a “thumbs up” from Drescoll beside us, we start off in the early morning light toward the front gate.

Nothing much has changed since our journey into the base just a week ago. It still has the ghost town feel; the structures intact but with no one home. This is where our journey began so there is a bit of a homecoming feel. The eeriness is not as prevalent as before but there is no way it can completely disappear as we travel through the empty streets. Only the lonely feeling of a world abandoned follows us as we make our way past the desolate buildings. I used to get this feeling in times past when we would travel through deserted villages where the people had long ago fled from various roving armed bands; the once busy dirt streets, filled with the noises of villagers going about their daily lives, just echoes of the past.

We keep a lookout among the buildings and streets as Greg couldn’t have been the only remaining soul here. Birds flit through the calm, warming air and over the brown grass fields, their life changing little in the aftermath. The only change in their life is perhaps the registration of a new predator. Andrew, the first person we met following the death of the world, enters my thoughts and I wonder if he made it to find his parents in Spokane. With the immunity seeming to be familial, it makes sense that one parent, if not both, would have survived the vaccine. Whether they survived the days following is another story altogether. I find myself hoping he at least survived and manages to find his way back here.

Passing by the hospital, I shudder recalling the close call within. The building carries a foreboding feeling similar to the CDC building; that the façade is hiding a darkness and terror within. I remember the words Drescoll spoke just a short time ago when he mentioned having to care for the injured. The foreboding comes stronger knowing we will possibly have to raid a hospital soon for medical supplies and equipment – knowing it will not be a pleasurable operation. With the traffic surrounding the exit ramps to the hospital and the larger amount of vehicles in the parking lots, I have the distinct feeling the medical facilities will have a greater amount of dead within complicating matters. Not just from the nauseating stench but from the onset of disease with so many dead, plus, the knowledge that there may be quite a few night runners within those facilities. If we are going to go in, we will have to do that soon as the disease from the decaying bodies will only get worse with each passing day.

Robert is quiet during our ride through the base. The smell of the decomposing bodies by the front gates reaches us before we catch sight of them. Again, we have to maneuver our way through them, missing the bodies as best as we can. The stench is overwhelming and my gut clenches with nausea. A few of the bodies have been picked at from the carrion. The sight and smell is disgustingly atrocious.

“That’s just plain nasty,” Robert says as we thread our way through and pull up to the front gate, parking by the two abandoned Humvees sitting cross-wise at the rear of the booths.

“You’re not shitting,” I say trying not to breathe. Drescoll pulls up and parks beside. Several Green Team members exit heading over to the empty Humvees.

‘Why don’t you take this one as well,” I say walking over to his window. “We’ll take the Jeep. Just wait and make sure we can get it started.”

“Okay, Jack. Good luck to you,” he replies.

“You too. See you in a couple of hours,” I say grabbing the tool kit I brought with us from our supplies.

Robert and I walk over to the Jeep I left parked in the visitor lot so many days ago, avoiding the booth with the boots still poking out from the doorway. Seeing the Jeep parked there brings a little comfort. It brings a small sense of normalcy and familiarity in a world distinctly lacking in the normal. Climbing into the familiar seats of the Jeep, we start it up and pull out of the parking lot; waving to Drescoll and the others as we exit.

Mom’s house is only about a forty minute drive. We should have no problems enroute as we have travelled this way before and didn’t notice any road blockage on the way. The lanes to the hospital in Olympia became congested but the left lane was clear as far as I could tell. We drive out of the gate and turn south onto Interstate 5.

“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask Robert as we pick up speed.

“Nothing really,” he answers. “Just hoping Grandma is okay and thinking about Mom. Wondering if any of my friends made it. That sort of thing.”

“Have you tried calling or texting any of your friends?” I ask avoiding talk about his mom for the moment. In truth, I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.

“Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything back.”

“I’m really sorry about your mom, kiddo. I know that must really hurt. Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“Not really,” he answers. I can tell he is holding back the tears that want to come out with the sadness he is feeling.

“You know, this genetic change may not be a permanent thing,” I tell him keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us.

I offer this as a hope, not really a false hope but in all honesty, I am at a loss for words. There isn’t really anything comforting to say when dealing with a loss that great. He looks over with a “you’ve got to be kidding” expression.

“Seriously Robert, we can’t ever give up hope on something we want or wish for. At any rate, know that I’m here if you ever want to talk about that, or anything. I’m here for you.”

“I know, Dad. I feel at a loss right now as to what to do or where I fit in. I mean, I was fine while we were flying as I knew what to do and had a place. Now, I feel like I don’t know where that place is,” he says turning his face to the window.

“There is always a place and there’s plenty to do Robert. You and the girls will always have a place with me,” I attempt to answer his feelings of being uncertain.

“I understand and know that, but that’s not what I really mean,” he says. “I guess I mean that I’m thinking you won’t let me help, that you’ll try to keep us safe and won’t let me participate. There are guys on the teams that are close to my age and I always get left behind.”

“I completely understand. It’s really hard for me to explain the protective nature of being a parent; the desire to keep your kids safe no matter what.”

“But I’m not a kid anymore,” he interjects.

“I know and you’re right in that I need to let go a little. I would like to wait until you can be trained better but, well, just know that it’s hard for me to let you be put in a dangerous situation. But you also need to learn,” I reply and pause for a moment to collect my thoughts.

In truth, I have thought about this a great deal and haven’t had any revelations regarding it. He needs to learn and gain self-assurance but I am also hesitant to put him in any situations where he can. I had been expecting a light bulb with the correct decision to go off but the bulb has remained dark to this point.

“You know, you’re right. I need to let you go out more but you still need training. Plus, I do need you in other situations. So, with that said, you can consider yourself officially part of Red Team but you’ll be partnered with me and, for now, only go out when I do,” I say knowing I will never reach a fully thought-out decision but also knowing I have to make one.

“Okay, Dad,” he says with a little more spark in his voice.

We pass Cabela’s off to our right as we continue traveling south. To me, it has taken on this aura similar to the Holy Grail of safety. It sits there, mysterious and inviting but with a hint of peril. The light brown walls hide whatever is within; our salvation or danger. I am wishing we were at its doors now as the unknown drives me crazy; like it doesn’t everyone else. For me, the unfamiliar always held an element of excitement but not an unknown like this. This is definitely one of those times I would like it to be known and known clearly; sharp and defined.

“Remember when we used to go in there and browse forever?” I ask as we both look at the structure passing by.

“Yeah. And the fudge we used to bring home,” he answers.

“That was the greatest. The greatest sugar high and then crash ever,” I say with a chuckle. “The stuff lasted forever. I wonder if there’s any left and if it’s good?”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Robert replies.

“And, we’ll be able to do a little more than browse now,” I say.

“I call dibs on the sniper rifle in the case,” he says grinning.

“It’s yours. Although I think we’ll find a little better if we can get into the armories on Fort Lewis. But if that one is there, it has your name on it.”

The gray pavement stretches before us as we continue south, the shadows of the fir trees lining both sides cast their shadows across the lonely Interstate. Robert and I maintain conversation about events in our past and some of the memories we shared together as we drive on. The Interstate turns off onto Highway 101 and the sun swings behind us as we head west, with the highway eventually heading north. The drive along the highway becomes even more surreal knowing we passed by this way just a week ago. The week has changed both of us from our experiences. We return with more knowledge and awareness but some of that awareness has also added to our stress. The intense experiences make it seem like more time has passed since driving through here in the opposite direction and adds to the surreal nature of our surroundings. Our conversation dies away slowly as we near the turn off to Mom’s house with worry increasing in both of us.

I feel a great sense of loss as we turn off the highway towards the house. The sense comes from the memories of all of the good times I had with Robert as we pulled onto this highway heading for one fun event or another and realizing those drives won’t happen again; those moments of excitement and anticipation of heading to share the day together.

The sun shines through the trees, forming ribbons of light across the gravel road as we approach the driveway. As the driveway draws near, anxiety and fear intensifies. I don’t want to drive the last few feet for fear of the answer I might find. The sound of the gravel crunches under the tires of the Jeep, rebounding off the thick trees at the side of the road, and is the only sound. A terrible loneliness follows along with the slow crunch of gravel.

I turn into the driveway and immediately begin laughing; both from the release of the nervous tension and from the sight in front of me. There is Mom out in the driveway putting grain out for the squirrels and other wildlife. Only Mom would persist in feeding the deer and squirrels in the midst of civilization collapsing. She drops her large bowl of seed and runs towards us throwing her arms around Robert and then me as we step out of the Jeep.

“I thought I had lost you,” she says with tears streaming down her cheeks. She looks around the Jeep and her hand comes to her mouth as if a shock is coming. “Oh no! Please don’t tell me….”

“The girls are fine, Mom,” I interject before she can complete her sentence and with tears in my own eyes. “We found a few other survivors and they’re waiting at McChord.”

“Thank goodness. Did you find Lynn?” She asks still taking in that we are standing in front of her.

“Yeah, we did along with a few of her friends,” I answer.

“I’m glad you made it. I’ve been so worried for all of you.”

“I’ve been worried about you too. How have things been?” I ask.

“Pretty quiet actually. Oh, I’ve heard some of those horrible yowls some nights but they seemed pretty far away. Nothing like that first night,” she answers.

“That’s good. We’ve come to pick you up. We’re planning on turning the Cabela’s into a fortified haven.”

“I can’t leave, Jack. This place will protect me,” she says.

“I know it will Mom but I want you to come with us. This is a lot worse than you can imagine and we won’t be far away,” I respond. She looks over to Robert who nods his head in affirmation.

“Okay, let me grab a few things,” she says picking up the bowl.

“Need any help?” I ask.

“No, I think I’ve got it,” she answers.

She heads inside the house and returns shortly with several bags in tow. Several times during the trip back to the airfield, I catch a glimpse of movement in the rear-view mirror, continuing to look each time but not seeing anything. I stop on the side of the road after the third time waiting to see if something catches up to us.

“What are we doing?” Robert asks as I slow down and start to pull over.

“I think I keep seeing something behind us,” I answer.

“What is it?” He asks turning to look out of the back window.

“Not sure. I just keep catching movement out of the corner of my eye from time to time,” I respond. “It may be nothing but I want to sit here and see if anything appears.”

We sit with the engine idling but nothing materializes. I turn off the engine and step outside listening for any sound that might give an indication that something is coming up behind us. Only the quiet of the morning with the tinking sound of the engine as it cools down disturbs this desolate stretch of road. I think about turning around and heading back but the anxiety over time and the things we need to get done are weighing on me. I resume the drive after a moment thinking it must be the play of shadows through the fir trees with the sun rising higher into the clear, blue sky or perhaps an occasional breeze shifting the branches.

Our journey back is spent primarily catching Mom up with our adventure and sharing the knowledge we have acquired. Silence fills the Jeep as we turn north onto the Interstate and retrace our previous route. Mom stares at the abandoned cars along the road. This is her first time seeing the emptiness of a world that should be filled with movement and noise. For her, like the trees and animals, not much really changed in her life except having to secure the house and not bring notice to herself. Well, that and not being able to go to the store every once in a while to shop for food.

We arrive back at the gate two hours after passing through on the way out. I radio Lynn letting her know we are back. The flight line has undergone a transformation of sorts as I pull onto the ramp. A mixture of olive drab and light brown transport trucks and Humvees are parked in a line to the rear of the aircraft. I glance about the ramp to see if Craig’s aircraft has arrived but it is empty of any corporate jet. I was really hoping to see its presence on arriving. I know Lynn is worried but she isn’t overtly showing it as I see her directing supplies being loaded onto one of the transports.

Parking by the other vehicles, I step out and walk over to where Bannerman is standing near the open aircraft ramp. Nic and Bri rush out of the back and over to Mom, wrapping their arms around her and giving her a big hug. I hear their excited voices behind me as they begin to tell their stories. The gray pavement at our feet is beginning to heat up as the sun wends its way higher into the early summer sky. No breeze moves through the grass on the far side of the runway or disturbs the air around us.

“What do we have?” I ask Bannerman after a moment of watching soldiers load the last of our supplies from the aircraft.

He looks at a clipboard he found somewhere, “Well, water is our most critical element. We have enough for a couple of days without having to get more or finding a source. We have enough food for at least a week although we may get tired of MRE’s. There’s plenty of ammo for the weapons although we don’t have much for the M-60’s on the Humvees. Weapons we have in plenty. One of the things we’ll have to think about is clothing depending on what you want to do with that. That should be no problem depending on what’s left in Cabela’s but if you want us to stay with uniforms, we should see about visiting the clothing store and the division supply.”

“Okay. I think our best bet for getting water in the short-term is to hit the local stop-and-robs. I don’t think we’ll find much infestation in those locations. We’ll set up hitting the larger stores when I get back. Good point about the clothing. I really didn’t think about that one. Thanks. We’ll add clothing supply when we hit the armories. I’d like you to go with the teams we put together for the main divisional armories and get everything that might be useful that we can fit in the transports. If you can and time allows, try to get the weapon racks themselves so we can store the weapons neatly when we get to Cabela’s,” I say.

“Will do, Jack,” he says.

Lynn walks over dusting her hands off on her fatigue pants. “We’re all loaded up and ready to go.”

“We should hand out whatever antibiotics I pulled out of the hospital. They should be in the cardboard boxes I had stored inside,” I say. “We should all be in a position to administer those quickly if someone gets scratched or bitten by a night runner.”

“Okay, I’ll see to it. The trucks are all gassed up. What do you want to do with this?” Lynn asks nodding at the 130 beside us.

“Not much we can do I guess. I’ll grab the helmets with the NVG’s and we’ll just close it up. You never know,” I answer.

She nods and then asks, “So, how do you want to do this?”

“Well, you know where the armories are right?” I ask and Lynn nods.

“Okay, then we’ll convoy over to the special forces armory. Leave me Alpha and Red Teams and you take the rest over to the other armories. Does that sound good to you?” I ask.

“Sure. What about the goggles?”

“We only have twelve so let’s split them between us. Did we find any bolt cutters?”

“Yeah, Horace found a couple in the hangars so we should be good to go,” Lynn responds. “What about the others?”

“I’ll take the kids and Mom with me. You take Kathy, Little Robert, and Kenneth. We’ll also leave a team with a vehicle here for when Craig shows up,” I answer. Little Robert appears at the top of the ramp with Mike beside him. Mike trots down and sits at my side.

“I guess I’ll take Mike as well,” I add, smiling.

Lynn doesn’t smile back but directs her gaze to the empty skies around us. “If he can, he’ll be here,” I say putting my arm around her.

“I know,” she says still staring into the blue sky wishing her brother and mom would materialize.

“We can fly over and see if we can find him after we get back,” I say.

“No, I don’t think that would do any good and would be too dangerous anyway,” she says sighing.

“Okay, I’m sure he’ll show up, hon. When we’re finished with the armories, Bannerman mentioned clothing so if you wouldn’t mind gathering those as well. Afterwards, drive the transports back here and head out in individual teams covering both McChord and Fort Lewis to check for any additional survivors. Concentrate on the housing areas but don’t enter any of them unless you absolutely have to. It’s 1000 now so let’s plan to meet back here by 1400 and stay in radio contact,” I say trying to divert her worry and having my own worry about time.

“Explain to me why we’re taking the civilians with us if we’re leaving a team here?” Lynn asks taking her eyes from the sky and looking back at me.

“Good point. I didn’t really think about it and guess I’m a little focused on getting to Cabela’s,” I answer.

The NVG’s, medical supplies, and bolt cutters are distributed. Lynn gathers everyone, introduces Mom, and disseminates the plan. I must admit it feels a little strange being in this role with Mom here. I had always separated that aspect of my life from my family. Not that they didn’t know or anything, but more like I didn’t share much about it. It just feels a little odd, that’s all. Grabbing the helmets from inside, I detail Bravo Team to remain with the now disabled aircraft and the civilians. I hop into the Jeep with Robert as the other teams pile into the waiting vehicles.

We head across the ramp in a convoy with Lynn’s Humvee in the lead. We have the radios set on an agreed frequency but keep the airwaves silent. Lynn will be making radio calls over the various frequencies as we proceed through McChord and onto Fort Lewis to raid the armories. We wind our way through the silent streets. At least with the other vehicles on the road with us, there isn’t that lonely feeling of passing through a desolate place and gives a certain sense of normalcy. Well, riding through a base in a convoy is not really normal for me. It is just nice to see others around even if they aren’t the crowds that used to inhabit these streets.

Brake lights shine ahead and the convoy of vehicles comes to a stop. In a brown grassy field to my left, a hillock sits surrounded by a chain link fence topped with razor wire. Behind the fence and nestled at the base of the mound, a heavy set of double-steel doors sit embedded slightly into the hill. I park the Jeep behind the transport vehicle in front and jump out. Red and Alpha Teams exit their vehicles further up and Lynn walks back down the column in my direction.

“This is the main armory for the special forces battalion. We’ll make sure you get in before proceeding to the divisional armories,” she says standing in the shade of the transport.

“Okay and we’ll keep in contact with the personal radios. Give me a radio check once you get there. I’ll have someone standing by the vehicle radios just in case. Good luck and I love you,” I say feeling the heat of the truck exhaust against my pant legs.

“I love you too. See you shortly,” she replies and begins her stroll back up to the lead Humvee. I see her at one of the other vehicles momentarily to talk about one thing or another.

I walk to the double-wide gate in the chain link fence gathering Red and Alpha Teams along the way. The fence has a tempered padlock holding the two gates closed. Watkins brings the heavy duty bolt cutters and, with Calloway, attempts to cut the post on the lock. The two of them grunt and strain on the cutters and the lock eventually gives way with a resounding snap. The bolt cutters and the strength of the two men have won that battle. Watkins removes the lock and swings the gates open. The other members of the teams keep a lookout for anything in the surrounding area.

I’m not too concerned with night runners inside the armory as the gate was locked and, from my vantage point, the razor wire at the top is untouched. Remembering Lynn’s story of the night runners gaining entrance to the tower in Kuwait, there would be ample evidence that they had been this way. The razor wire would have been strewn with body parts lying on the ground. There is also the fact that there is an identical lock securing the armory doors. From experience, and I can’t assume this to be the case in every instance, the night runners leave clues that they have gained entrance to a building. I worry about their presence, especially seeing we haven’t secured a more permanent safe place yet, but will be doubly worried if they gain the ability to enter into locked places.

A paved drive leads from the gate to the armory doors. The sun is peeking above the tops of the nearby evergreens casting ribbons of light across our path. The idling of the vehicle engines behind interrupts the serenity that might otherwise be found on this calm summer morning. I find it a little odd that I am becoming used to that silence. The eeriness of the events is fading into the recesses of my mind. It still feels dream-like but not as much as it once did. Maybe because I am worrying so much about everything that my consciousness is not recognizing it to the extent it did. Not that I didn’t worry or wasn’t fearful before, it’s just that now I am really feeling the time crunch.

The scene at the gate repeats itself as the lock snaps under the effort of Watkins and Calloway. Alpha Team keeps their weapons trained on the heavy steel doors for precautionary means as Watkins swings one of them open. The squeal of the hinges rises above the idling engines as the door pivots fully open. A cool breeze rushes out from the dark interior, cooling us as it passes by. Seeing the dark interior, I expect to hear the shriek of a night runner even though the doors were tightly locked. Nothing. Calloway reaches in and swings the second door open to the sound of the metal hinges rubbing together.

“Mount up!” I hear Lynn yell by the vehicles.

The sound of doors slamming precedes the noise of engines revving up. A few gears grind as the convoy begins moving out. I turn and watch the precession move off. The convoy quickly disappears from view and the sound diminishes into the distance, until we are once again left with the silence I have come to expect. The only vehicles left are the Jeep, two Humvees and a large transport truck sitting in the road by the open gate.

She scrambles in the broken window, like she has done every night, before the bright light that brings the burning pain rises into the pre-dawn sky. Her hunt was successful and she will sleep without being hungry today. The four-legged one she chased down and cornered fed her for another night and she is satisfied. Food is becoming harder to locate each night and she finds herself having to wander farther afield to obtain it. Small packs roam the night and she has not joined any of them for the moment. She feels like she can fend for herself better although the picture messages sent from the others are becoming more insistent. She knows she will not be able to avoid joining one for much longer and it might be against her will. So far, her lair has not been found by the wandering male packs and she has been left to herself.

She empties her bladder and makes her way up to the darkened room where she sleeps. Her shoulder still hurts where she had to fight the four-legged one but her agility and strength won out in the end. Curling up on the floor, she falls asleep and shuts her mind off from the other packs that are finding their way to their own lairs.

She wakes suddenly in the midst of a picture-filled sleep, confused for a moment as to how or why she is lying on the floor. She sits up quickly, the thoughts and memories of the previous evening gone; unable to recall the last few days at all other than to know that there had been a last few days. Oh My God! Where are my kids? She thinks scrambling out of the ink black room, knocking her shoulder against the wall and wondering where and how she hurt it. Checking the upstairs bedroom and finding their beds empty, she flies down the stairs in a panic calling out their names, her voice echoing throughout the house.

Barely noticing the carpet beneath her bare feet, she runs down the central hallway continuing to call out their names, hoping for an answering shout. The house remains silent except for her calls reverberating off of the pale, yellow walls and the soft pad of her feet on the floor, filling the space between shouts. She runs to the basement and, throwing open the door, she shouts into the dark area beneath the house; the light from outside sending a single streamer of light across the room and onto the concrete floor. No answer returns.

Closing the basement door, she turns toward the front door and notices the broken front window. What happened there? She thinks with an increased panic feeling. Did someone break in and take her kids? She reaches out for the front door handle, feeling hesitant about opening it and confused as to why. The feeling of panic overrides the why and her fingers close around the knob.

A veil closes over her mind like a mist seeping inland from the sea. The panic feeling is instantly erased and the picture images return. Those images convey confusion as to why she is away from her sleeping place. Her skin begins to tingle from the radiated light leaking in from the window. The panic feeling from before, although forgotten, is replaced by another seeing the light and feeling her skin itch and prickle. She has the feeling she was about to go outside into the pain of the daylight and cannot figure out why. She dashes across the partially lit room and up the stairs. Finding her dark room once again, she curls up on the floor and falls asleep.

I turn back to the open doors of the armory with the silence settling around us. The doors open into a black hole. The light from outside spills a few yards inside but illuminates only a concrete floor leading into the interior of the mounded-over armory. I must admit there is a hunger of sorts inside me thinking about all of the neat toys that lie within; items that will hopefully give us an edge over the physical advantages the night runners possess. There is no question that we will have to penetrate the domain of the night runners for our short-term supplies so we will have to go in with anything and everything that will give us the best chance at surviving any and all encounters.

“Well, we can do this with goggles or flashlights. What do you think?” I ask Watkins.

“Really, I don’t think it makes a difference here but think maybe we should sweep the place with the goggles first just to be sure,” he answers.

“I agree,” I say. “We only have six plus the helmets. I’ll go in with Red Team. Have Alpha ready with flashlights by the door but keep an eye on the surrounding area. If it’s all clear, we’ll go in together with the flashlights and see what we have here. Have one member back at the truck on the radio.”

“Grab your helmet. You’re going in with us,” I tell Robert.

I will use one of the goggles as I can’t fit the ear piece from the radios inside it and I want to be able to communicate just in case. I’ll have Robert right by my side so I’ll be able to yell at him if I need to. The sound of his boots hitting the paved lane interrupts the silence as he runs back to the Jeep to gather his helmet. Returning, he joins the rest of teams gathered.

“The interior appears to be long and narrow judging from the shape of the hill. Robert and I will be in the front and middle as much as space allows. Henderson and Denton, you cover the right flank, Gonzalez and McCafferty, you have the left. Flankers keep ten feet behind so we all have clear lines of fire in any direction. Keep a watch to the rear so we don’t get blindsided if anything is in here. Watkins, keep your lights on the ground just behind us to help keep an eye on our six. Questions?” I say donning the goggles.

Everyone shakes their head answering. “Okay, let’s lock and load.”

I am eager now that we are at this point. That is coupled with an anxious feeling about entering into any dark place. The experience of past entries doesn’t exactly leave me with warm and fuzzy feelings. Reaching just inside the armory doors to the right, I flick a bank of switches to the upward position. No corresponding lights flicker on with my action. Well, it was worth a try, I think stepping onto the concrete floor of the armory with Robert by my side, his helmet on and goggles up. I settle my goggles into place as I approach the light/dark demarcation line, the light fading quickly from light to gray to a smoky black. The building gives off an oily, metallic smell that only a room full of metal parts has. The room comes alive as my goggles click into place. The once invisible parts of the room shine forth in a green glow. I look over to Robert and see he has lowered his NVG’s as well.

Racks of weapons line the walls to the left stretching back into the room. To the right, cases are stacked on shelving units with crates lining parts of the wall. In the center of the armory, empty tables stand with small basins set within each - obviously cleaning stations. My vision doesn’t stretch to include the entire length of the room but I don’t immediately see anywhere something could be hiding in wait. I motion Henderson and Denton around to the right side of the tables and start down the center adjacent the tables in the middle. Gonzalez and McCafferty take up station to my left and behind.

We proceed further into the armory, slowly checking every inch until I at last see the rear of the building. Nothing shrieks or jumps out at us. I didn’t expect anything from the locked condition of the building but assuming something can get you or those around you killed. I turn us around and head back to Watkins. Exiting, I look at the vehicles and do one of those face-palm slaps.

“Watkins, can you bring the transport to the entrance and shine the lights inside? That’ll help us see to inventory and gather what we want. I should have thought of that right off the bat,” I say shaking my head with my own stupidity - or at least my own lack of thinking.

“No problem,” he answers and directs Calloway to go get the truck.

I notice the distinct lack of salutations with the exception of towards each other, well, among the enlisted. Can I still call them that? Well, now that I think about it, it is really only gone when addressing me. I certainly don’t mind, just noticed, that’s all.

Calloway drives the truck to the entrance, lighting up the interior with the headlight beams. I have Watkins keep two of Alpha outside to maintain security around us and we head in. Now that I’m not searching for night runners playing hide-and-seek or seeking to serve me up on a plate, I see the treasure trove we have. Lines of M-4s are in racks on the left.

I walk over to one, grabbing it from the rack. Looking at the selector lever, I feel the delight of a kid getting the exact present he wanted at Christmas. It’s an M-4A1 – fully auto with an integrated rail system. Dozens of them line the wall. Looking closer in the light cast by the idling truck, I see they are all equipped with SpectreDR sights. My thrill level increases substantially. These are optics that provide for close range and ranged capabilities. This means this armory has the latest and greatest special ops modules. I turn toward the large cases stored in several of the shelf units. They must contain the remainder of the modules and I hope they are fully equipped. If so, the modules will have suppressors, night vision sights, and infrared aiming devices which are meant to be used with night vision goggles. I set the carbine back in the stand. I want to take it right there and then but choose to keep the one I have for the moment as all of these weapons will have to be sighted in.

“Wow!” Robert says beside me holding one of the carbines.

“Yeah, we kinda struck the mother lode,” I say with a grin.

“Let’s load up all of these,” I say turning to Watkins pointing out the M-4s.

I walk further toward the back along the weapons racks as the soldiers begin carting the M-4s out. Next to the racks of M-4s, I come across two dozen M110s – semi-automatic sniper rifles firing 7.62mm rounds and fitted with 3.5 x 10 scopes. Most of our engagements have been close quarters but I’m not about to turn these beauts down. You never know when something like this will come in handy and it’s not like we are severely limited on space or limited to one overhead bag. I imagine we’ll pretty much clean this place out.

The rest of the tour has goodies in every location. The large cases do indeed have the module packages for the M-4s and dozens of cases have Gen3 dual eye/dual tube (binocular) night vision goggles along with attachments and batteries. Other cases have M-9s with suppressors. One of the biggest finds, at least in my opinion, were the individual radios with throat mics plus unit radios helpful for transmitting across distances. There are large boxes with ACU, Multi-Cam, and black clothing in a variety of sizes. We also find a multitude of Ranger Green, ACU, Multi-Cam, and black tactical vests complete with a variety of modular attachments. Crates upon crates of ammo for all weapon types are brought out and loaded, including C4 and grenades of all sorts; flash bangs, smoke, tear gas, and your regular, every day blow stuff up types. All in all, there’s everything I imagined and more. We haul everything out, even taking the racks after removing the bolts holding them to the floor, filling the transport truck almost to capacity.

The sun is at its zenith as the last case is loaded. The clang of the truck tail gate closing echoes across the silent enclosure. I call Lynn letting her know we are finished here giving a quick rundown of what we found. She replies that they are about finished with two of the armories and about to head over to gather clothing. We agree to meet back at the aircraft prior to searching for survivors so we can coordinate efforts – making sure to cover everywhere without duplicating efforts.

I feel oddly invigorated rather than the tired feeling I thought I would have. Perhaps due to the stress I feel but that usually makes me feel more tired and have less energy. It could be that there is so much to do and having things to do gives me energy – depending on what it is. It may also be that we have found these great tools that will even things up slightly. It’s not that the things we have found will make the difference or really increase our capabilities much, but there are items that will make it a little easier for us. For one, with our night vision gear, the infrared aiming devices will add to our capability in darkened buildings.

We secure the armory doors and gate, sliding the locks back into place without being able to actually lock them, and climb into our respective vehicles. The area comes to life with sound as the engines are started. Our small convoy begins our drive back to the ramp trying to retrace our route. We only have to turn around once after missing the correct turn to McChord. We finally pull onto the tarmac and park off to the side of the aircraft. The 130 sits on the ramp looking sad and forlorn as if it knows it has completed its last journey but knowing that its final trip was perhaps the most important one in its long life; able to retire with pride.

As I step out of the Jeep, Mike runs out of the back of the aircraft and across the ramp. I squat and put my arms around him as he licks my face, his hind end swaying from side to side. We are bonding well and he acts like I haven’t seen him in months rather than a couple of hours. I stand staring off at the hills of the Cascades waiting for Lynn and the other teams to arrive. The hills are a subdued blue and partially hidden behind a haze. The other nice thing, if one can think of nice things associated with such a loss of human life, is that the air will clear up. I remember looking at those same hills many, many years ago and I could see them with such clarity; able to see the actual trees residing on their slopes. Now, they are just a blur of color.

I begin to feel a touch of impatience just standing here. With all there is to do, standing idly makes me feel like I’m wasting time. I want to be doing something but, honestly, there isn’t anything to be done at this time. I know Lynn is moving as fast as she can and what she is doing is important, but I am eager for her to get here and for us to be off. We still have the search to do. It feels like I am running in molasses – time is passing but I’m getting nowhere. Looking around, my vision settles on the transport truck filled with items looking like Santa’s sleigh. All I need is reindeer to attach to the front.

Time passes slowly and Lynn finally calls that they are finished and on their way. My impatience has increased to the point that I want to start pacing just to do something when I hear the sound of the convoy approaching. The sun overhead passes its highest point and begins its downward trek, beginning the second half of the day, by the time the first of the vehicles enter the ramp. They are all in a line as they transit the ramp and pull up next to the already parked vehicles, shutting down individually as they park in a row. The sound of doors closing resonates in the still of the early afternoon and brings finality to their arrival.

Lynn’s face falls slightly as she looks around the ramp obviously hoping to see Craig’s jet. I feel her heartache and wish I could just make the jet appear. She gathers herself and walks over, giving a rundown of what they found and brought. Her face is streaked with dirt where the sweat has evaporated.

“How do you want to do this?” Lynn asks referring to the search for survivors.

“I think we should head off in teams and assign areas to each one. Have them cruise through their areas slowly, calling out and making noise as best as they can,” I answer.

“I’ll stay here with the others who aren’t assigned to teams in case someone shows up, alerted by our noise,” I continue purposely not adding that I am also staying to wait for her brother and mom.

“Okay, I don’t have a map to go by so I’ll just give general area assignments if that’s okay with you,” she says.

“Sounds good to me. How long do you think it’ll take to cover the entire area with what we have?” I ask.

“I would guess two hours to do it right,” she replies.

“Two hours!? Fuck! Well, it can’t be helped and if we’re going to do it, then we should do it right,” I say with my impatience coming to the front. Lynn shrugs and smiles, not taking it personally, knowing that I am just frustrated. It’s a tight smile but a smile nonetheless.

“Okay, would you mind making the assignments and I’ll just find a rock to go hide under. It’s almost 1300 now so have everyone make sure to be back at 1500. The day is moving on and we need to get to Cabela’s, let alone to get Kelly. I would like to distribute the gear and go to the firing range to sight in the weapons but now I’m not sure we’ll have the time to do that,” I add.

“No prob. I’ll see to it. There’s plenty of light left so we should be okay,” she says.

“I know. I’m just impatient. Sorry. If we have to, we’ll stay one more night in the aircraft but I’d rather not. I would suggest I head down with a couple of teams to clear the building and meeting you there later but the place is huge and we would be too vulnerable searching it with so few of us,” I say just as a light bulb goes off in my head like an explosion of light. I withdraw inside thinking of possibilities, completely oblivious to my surroundings.

“Whatcha thinking?” Lynn asks noticing my withdrawal and bringing me back to the present.

“I was thinking I could take Bannerman, Wilson, and Red Team and just scout the area. We could also take the measurements on the entrance doors and go find some security doors that we’ll be able to mount. I’m thinking of the ones you pull down and lock. We could head over to the armory first and see if those doors might work as well,” I say.

“Sounds like a good plan if you want to do that,” she replies.

“Yeah, I think we’ll do that. I want to head back to the armory to take measurements and see how hard it will be to remove the doors. We’ll then head off to the range to sight in our weapons and meet you at Cabela’s. We’ll be out of radio range so we won’t be able to communicate but call and when you get close.”

“Okay. Don’t you go in without the rest of us there, Jack,” Lynn says looking directly into my eyes.

“I won’t,” I respond.

“I mean it, Jack. I know you so promise me you won’t,” she says keeping the direct eye contact.

“Okay, I promise. We’ll just scout around. We’ll leave you our transport so you can hand out the equipment prior to your heading to the range. I think we should use the weapons and gear we pulled out of the Special Forces armory. There’s enough to go around ten-fold. Leave a team here on the ramp,” I say.

“Just remember you promised,” she says.

I know. I’ll be good. Just leave us three Humvees.”

“Okay, Jack,” she says and turns, beginning to issue instructions.

“Hey,” I say interrupting her yells.

“What?” Lynn asks turning around.

“I love you,” I say so that only she hears.

“I love you too,” she says. Smiling, she turns and picks up where she left off.

I gather Red Team, Bannerman, Frank, and all of the others who are coming with me – meaning my family, Kathy, Little Robert, Kenneth, and, of course, Mike. I give them a rundown on our plans. I have them follow me to the transport truck and begin issuing gear ensuring everyone has one of the M-4’s and night vision goggles. I also distribute the infra-red aiming units. We sort through the black fatigues and tac vests and head into the aircraft in shifts to change. I issue the gear to Red Team, Bannerman, Wilson, and Robert taking one of each for myself. I gather a few spares, set them in the Jeep, and send Red Team into the open hangars to gather any sets of tools they can find.

I have Nic, Bri, and Michelle also find dark fatigues that fit and head in to change after everyone else finishes. They haven’t changed in some time and I’m sure they would like to regardless of what that clothing may be. While they are in the aircraft, I wave Robert over to join me and we walk over to the base operations building, slinging my new M-4 across my back. I also keep my current one because I know it is sighted in and want it handy just in case something comes up.

The black uniform and vest are soaking up the heat as the sun’s rays stream down. In the shadow of the building and with Robert at my side, I peer in the glass panel set in the door, checking out the hallway beyond. The hallway, as before, is partially lit from the radiated light through the glass panels. Nothing is moving and I open the door. Stepping inside, I look into the weather shop to my immediate left through a sizable pane set in a wooden door. The interior is well-lit from light filtering in through the large windows on the building’s front. The room looks the same as before. A small amount of dust is gathered on the floor. I don’t see any tracks in the dust so know that this room has not been entered since my last visit.

I proceed in. Dust stirs faintly from the breeze created by the opening of the door. Robert is behind me as I walk into the room proper. A rank smell of decomposition rises to my nose; not overpowering but it is unmistakable.

“Whew,” Robert says quietly.

“I know. That’s something you never get used to. I’m guessing it must be the ones I shot in the back room last week,” I say waving my hand in front of my face, trying to fan the smell away.

We walk over to the desk amid the dust and odor of death. Peering over the counter, I see a variety of phone books off to the side. I can barely reach them over the counter but paw through, pushing some to the side until I come up with on for the Olympia area. Grabbing that one, I bring it up and look through until I verify there is a place in the area down south that has the type of security doors I am thinking about using as our main line of defense at Cabela’s.

I take the phone book and we exit onto the ramp. The girls have finished changing by the time we arrive back. The noise of voices and doors shutting permeate the area as the other teams get ready to head out on their search. Vehicles start up and proceed off the ramp individually, heading off to the areas Lynn assigned them. My thoughts go with them and I hope we can find those still holding out; hoping also there are a few of them. It’s a funny thing, sometimes I think we have quite a few people with us, and, other times I think we are woefully inadequate. Billions of people have been reduced to, well, as far as I know, us. That is mightily mind-boggling.

The last of the vehicles depart, their sound fading into the early afternoon. Mullin’s second group is left behind to guard the transport trucks. I leave instructions with them to make sure the aircraft is closed up before departing. I look around at Red Team, currently setting large cases of tools in the back of a Humvee along with some of the ammo cases, and those going with me. I have to tell you, it is very strange seeing Nic and Bri dressed in black fatigues. The dire situation we are in comes into a greater light seeing them clad like that. It really makes me realize how far we have come and also how far we have to go. Without the services we have become accustomed to, we will slide further into another potential dark age. That could be either a good or bad thing. All I know is that it will be different.

Piling into the Humvees and the Jeep, we begin our own trip. I have Mike jump in the back of the Jeep and Robert climbs in the passenger side. The 130 is sitting on the ramp with the rear ramp still open and the sun’s rays reflecting off of the surface of the wings and fuselage. With a last look around and giving the old bird a silent thanks, I close the door and drive off the ramp heading to the armory; the three Humvees carrying the others in my wake.

We stop briefly at the armory and take measurements of the doors. Looking at the hinges, it will be work getting them out but not impossible. They are basically bolted into the thick concrete walls. We’ll just have to make sure we have the right tools. Those we gathered from the hanger should suffice. And of course lots of people to lift them and something to transport them.

Gonzalez and Henderson were based here prior so know the way to one of the firing ranges. We drive that way with the sun slowly making its way across the western sky and me trying to will it to stop. It doesn’t listen. We manage to make our way to one of the ranges and park close to the firing line. I step out and dust eddies around my boots as they hit the ground. The range itself is surrounded by trees with the all-too-familiar dirt berm set up on the far end. Several covered sheds dot the firing line with individual positions marked with small, white, box-like indicators. The range itself is quite wide but the downrange targets are shorter, which is okay as our engagements have been short range ones and its best to sight in at the engagement distances we’ll be facing.

I have everyone attach the aiming devices and make sure the suppressors are attached. The M-4, as do others weapons, has a different ballistic trajectory with a suppressor attached so it’s important we sight in with them on. We spread out on the firing line and I give a lesson on the operation of the aiming devices and SpectreDR sights. I gather the spare carbines I threw in the Jeep and hand them to Nic, Bri, Michelle, and Mom.

“Dad, what?” Nic says holding the carbine.

“You need to learn and I’ll be more comfortable knowing you have them and can use them. I’ll show you how they work and the nuances,” I say assigning them places on the line next to the rest. They had a small lesson with the M-16 back in Kuwait but I want them to become more proficient. I hand the remaining spares to Kathy and Kenneth. Little Robert is a little young to be handling a weapon of this size so I leave him out.

I give the okay to commence firing. The soft sound of suppressed rounds being fired on semi-automatic fills the air. I make sure the girls’ and Mom’s carbines are set on semi and show them how to sight in using the SpectreDR – how to change the magnification and to make adjustments until the reticle is matched to the bullet impact point. After getting the sights correct, I have them switch to the aiming device, setting it to the visual laser. The infra-red laser will track the same point as the visual one. I let them shoot through a couple of mags until they become comfortable firing the M-4. I show them how to change magazines and to reload individual mags.

Robert lies on the ground next to us, popping a round and then making an adjustment on the sight. I see him fire a few rounds without stopping to adjust and then nod with satisfaction. He goes through the same process with the aiming device attached to the top, front of the rail; nodding once again as he becomes satisfied with his settings. With the girls now feeling somewhat comfortable, I kneel with Mike at my side and begin sighting in my own M-4. We switch to the M-9’s and begin the sighting-in process again. The sounds of firing eventually diminish and come to stop.

“Everybody good?” I ask in the ensuing silence. A smattering of “good here” and nods answer.

We disassemble and clean our guns, teaching how to break the weapons down and clean them to those that don’t know how, at covered tables set to along the rear of the long firing line. Reassembling them, we pile back into the vehicles and chase the sun, beginning our journey out of the base and toward the Interstate south. We retrace our route back to McChord wanting to go out of the gate there. I would take the more direct route to the gates of Fort Lewis but I remember those gates being blocked. I’m not sure how blocked they are and what it will take to clear a route so I take the route I know is open. Time still weighs heavily on me and I don’t want to come across anything else that will impede our progress. We come to the guard booths, once again having to traverse over and around the now highly decomposing corpses, just as the phone in my pocket vibrates.

“Are you coming?” The text appears. Yes, it’s from Kelly.

I radio Lynn letting her know we are exiting the base and heading south.

“Okay, Jack. Be careful. See you soon,” she replies over the airwaves.

“Roger that. You too,” I reply.

The afternoon is passing quickly as I begin typing my response to Kelly.

“We’ll be leaving in a few hours. Thinking around eight tonight. Might have to stay the night. Have water and scent-free candles handy.”

The phone vibrates again a short time later as we are coming up on the outer gates.

“That late?” Ugh, I swear, I think starting to reply.

“I’m moving as fast as I can. You can drive up if you want,” I text back.

“No. We’ll wait for you here,” Kelly texts.

“Okay. Call you when we’re on the way,” I type and press the send button.

Hitting the Interstate, we turn southward once again. This is beginning to feel like I’m driving a mail route. The sun is far too low in the sky for my taste given all that needs to happen between now and when it dips below the western horizon. I can almost literally see it shoot across the sky. Continuing south, we drive past the lower marshlands of the Nisqually Basin. The tide is out and the mud flats are revealed. Cranes line the water edge, standing elegantly on their long legs and occasionally dipping their beaks when they find something that interests them. I look out over the waters of the South Puget Sound, glistening and sparkling with reflections of the sun on its surface, and see a bald eagle sitting on a tall post jutting out of the water. The eagle leaps from the post and soars across the water, climbing higher into the afternoon sky. My heart goes out and I wish I could soar along with it.

Climbing the hill on the far side of the basin, with the exit we want lying just ahead, I look anxiously ahead. The tops of the fir trees lining the tall embankments sway slightly in an afternoon breeze. I see the Humvee directly behind me trudge up the slope in my rear view. Cresting the hill, I take the exit and turn onto a recently paved road. Passing by two round-a-bouts and taking a side road, I turn into the drive leading to the outdoor store.

The store is hidden by a slope in the long driveway, slowly showing more of itself the closer I get; first the green, metal roof, then the large yellow sign before the reddish-brown, wooden building comes fully into view as we top the small hill. Large paved parking lots encircle the area around the store with light poles set in a scattered pattern throughout. The building exhibits both the feeling of hiding danger behind its walls and one of safety. The danger comes from my experience within buildings and the safety from my thought that this will provide a sanctuary for us.

I pull up to the front of the store, staying back from the covered drive-thru area by the front doors. Four sets of double glass doors, two sets on the left and two on the right, with two large panes of glass between them, make up the front entrance. A small foyer exists inside with a second set of entrance doors identical to the first ones across a small tiled vestibule. My heart leaps into my throat looking at the entrance. Shards of glass litter the wide concrete sidewalk; one of the large panes of glass is broken and very little glass remains in its frame.

“That’s not good,” I say as we all gather on the pavement by the drive-thru.

The familiar pattern of faint footprints, marked by dried blood, lie on the light gray sidewalk, disappearing as they hit the darker gray pavement of the drive. My heart sinks at the sight. I have brought everyone to this place and now it seems like it is occupied. The size of the building makes me believe that multitudes lie within. We have yet to find signs like these into a building where hordes of night runners haven’t lain within. I feel at a loss as to what to do. Thoughts enter of retiring back to the aircraft for the night and the sanctuary it affords. Yes we will have all of the teams available but the risk is great. Looking at the store, I still think this gives us the best option given its size and limited entrance.

“I was really hoping we wouldn’t see something like that,” Gonzalez says, “but, sir, we’ll clean ‘em out right quick.”

I am really thankful for her support and mark of confidence. A quick gust ruffles my clothing and then is gone. The scent feels clean, carrying only the odors of the surrounding grass fields and the evergreens farther away. I am thankful the breeze wasn’t coming from the direction of town as it would probably carry an entirely different scent. We’re here so we may have to fight for our place of refuge. If it gets too bad, we can retreat and find another.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” I say turning from the building and the implications the broken glass and footprints indicate. “Henderson, Denton, stay here with the others. Robert, Gonzalez, McCafferty, with me. Bannerman, would you get a measurement on the front doors? We’ll want to put the pull-down security doors on both the inside and outside of both sets of entrance doors. Keep in mind the possibility of using the armory doors in the future.”

Attaching the throat mic and with my “new” M-4 cradled in my arm, I head off to tour the exterior to get an idea of what we are looking at. The building is basically a large rectangular structure with reddish - brown, wooden sides giving it the look of an enormous log cabin. A river-rock wall about three feet high is built up along the sides. Looking by the entrance doors, I notice that the wood and rock wall is built against a sturdier concrete structure.

Robert is at my side, with Gonzalez and McCafferty tailing behind, as we round the first corner. Walking along the long side of the structure, we come across the double glass doors of the side entrance set approximately at the mid-point. The doors are intact and unlocked. This is handy as it will give us the option of having an immediate second exit or entry point for when we go inside.

“Bannerman, there’s another set of doors along the side that I’d like you to measure when you finish,” I say into the radio.

“Will do, Jack,” he responds shortly after.

We continue along the side and round the corner to the shaded rear of the structure. A large, enclosed overhang is set against the building. I nod in appreciation. I was hoping to find this. Walking to the enclosure, I see the open part is secured by a chain link fence across its entirety with a double gate set in the middle. The gate is padlocked. Behind the fence, bolted onto a concrete pad, sit two very large generators. Both have large tanks with a green diesel placard plastered on the exterior.

“Would you two mind heading back and drive one of the Humvees over? Grab the bolt cutters and you’ll find a couple of green hoses in the back of the Jeep. If you could grab those, I’d be most appreciative. Oh, please grab the gas cans there as well,” I say to the two women dressed in black fatigues and tac vests.

“Sure, no prob, sir,” McCafferty says and they trot along the back and disappear around the corner.

“What do you think?” Robert asks referring to the generators.

“I think they ran out of fuel. It could be that the lights might have been left on inside judging from the unlocked doors. If not, then we can check and see if they at least work. Wherever we go, we’ll need power,” I answer.

“Hey, Dad,” Robert says.

“Yeah,” I respond continuing to stare at the mammoth diesel engines.

“Thanks for including me and letting me be a part.”

“You may not thank me later, but you bet,” I say turning to put my arm around his shoulder.

“Do you think this place will work out?” He asks giving a small nod toward the store.

“I really hope so. We may have quite a fight on our hands clearing it out. I’m not a fan of its open interior and with it having the second story open to the bottom. We have plenty of teams and so, if we play it right and do it smart, we should be okay,” I answer.

I hear the sound of birds chirping in our vicinity before the noise of an approaching vehicle overrides their calls. The Humvee appears at the corner and is driven up over the curb. Gonzalez brings the vehicle to rest a few feet from the fenced-in generators and both women jump out. Opening the rear, McCafferty extracts bolt cutters and the hose while Gonzalez hoists the two metal gas cans. The silver-colored padlock is cut off and the gates swung open.

I step into the enclosure and tap down the sides of the tanks. The hollow sound follows my tapping down to the bottom of both tanks. Empty, as I thought. I reach up and unscrew the cap on the top of one tank, inserting a metal pole sitting by the side. It comes out with a miniscule amount of fuel on the bottom. The second tank indicates the same. We siphon a few gallons from the Humvee, filling the gas cans a few times and emptying their contents into the dry tanks. Resealing the caps, I hit the green “run” button on the first generator. The generator cranks for a moment, coughs and sputters, and then comes to life with a roar. I test the second generator and it follows the same process.

I head over to the side with the noise from the generators fading as I round the corner. Bannerman is by the side doors, measuring them, with the others standing a short distance away. I walk in front of the glass doors and peer in.

“Crap,” I say with my head still pressed against the glass and my hands cupped around my eyes.

“What?” Roberts asks.

Darkness still reigns inside although I’m able to see the green exit lights glowing above the entrance doors far to my right.

“The lights are still off,” I answer pulling back from the door.

“Do you have the measurements?” I ask Bannerman.

“As best I can,” he replies.

“Okay, let’s head out front. I’ll turn the generators off and meet you there,” I say.

With our original group, I return to the generators and hit the red “off” button on both of them. They sputter and die. Closing the fence and putting the padlock through the gate, we reload the gear and I send Gonzalez and McCafferty to the front with the Humvee. Robert and I continue around the rest of the exterior, finding only three large service bay doors that are closed and locked. I do note that the roof is flat but cannot see any easy way up from the outside. Gathered at the front with the others, I notice windows set into the second story.

I point to the windows and tell Bannerman, “We’ll need something to cover those.”

He looks up. The windows appear to be a regular size and are set into the wall on either side of the entrance.

“I think bars might be best for something like that,” he says. “Maybe a set on both sides.”

“Good idea,” I tell him. “Hopefully they’ll have something like that at the same place where we find the doors.”

I get the phone book we secured from the weather shop and open it to the yellow pages where I found the security door manufacturer. I take note of the address. The rays from the sun cast a shadow from my finger across a map of the city as I find the location and trace a route. I look up towards the western sky and judge the travel of the sun across the light blue sky. We have quite a few hours of daylight left but it doesn’t feel like it. I look at my watch and see it’s a little after three in the afternoon. I figure we should have enough time to get the doors and be back before Lynn shows up. Providing everything goes well that is. I would like to leave those without training here but don’t want to leave the scant few I have with me behind to guard them. You never know what the circumstances are at the location or what we may run into and I’d like to have every able body with me just in case.

“Alright everyone, let’s mount up,” I say.

Slumping into the Jeep seat, the invigoration I felt earlier is beginning to fade, being replaced by an oncoming tiredness. The warmth of the day, although much cooler and less humid than the previous days, is adding to a feeling of lethargy. Oh for a peaceful night of sleep, I think starting the vehicle up. I hear the other vehicles crank up and we backtrack to the Interstate.

We drive down the black-topped road, take an exit south of town and on subsequent country lanes that eventually lead to a medium-sized metal pre-fabricated building set behind a chain link fence. I come to a stop by the short, dirt and gravel driveway leading in. A wide open dirt-filled yard, with scrap pieces of metal scattered and strewn about, encircles the structure. A couple of rusting trailers sit in one of the corners of the yard and three large panel vans are parked towards the front.

The gate to the facility is open making it easy to drive up to the entrance. The blue metal building is plain but large. Two windows and a white door adorn the right side of the building with a large roll-type, garage door in the middle. All are shut and the place looks vacated. It has a quiet, desolate feel to it. With our engines shut down, that feeling only intensifies.

A warm breeze blows through causing the dust to eddy about the abandoned yard, giving it its only life. The dust twirls upwards forming a small funnel and moves across the abandoned yard. The others exit the vehicles after the swirl of dust passes out of the gate like a customer leaving. The air is calm following the short dust storm, settling into the warm summer day once again. The rays beat down from a sun hovering above the top of the trees across the road. For once, time seems to stand still in this little lot. Not a breath of air stirs or sound is made. It’s like we stepped out of the world we were placed in and into a separate piece of reality. Even the degree of tension about the time seems to have ebbed.

The feeling of separation from the rest of the world suddenly vanishes and we are left just standing in a dusty, litter-strewn lot with an aging, prefabricated metal building in the middle of it. Clumps of brown grass grow among and around where the larger metal parts have been scattered. The others in our group are standing adjacent to their vehicles in much the same manner; perhaps feeling the same way, perhaps lost in other thoughts. I think there are times of great stress when the mind just has to rest itself. Or maybe when it’s about to embark on something of great stress. I certainly remember folding into another world prior to a mission but that was more on a conscious level of focusing the mind; eliminating distractions that may interfere with being centered.

“Henderson and Denton with me. Robert, you as well. Gonzalez and McCafferty stay with the vehicles,” I say breaking the silence that seems to have stretched for an eternity.

The others are startled from their trances by the sound of my voice bouncing off the metallic building. As at Cabela’s, Robert and I take the lead with Henderson and Denton behind. I want to do a circuit around the building prior to going in. The aging building is streaked with rust where the sides join the overhanging roof. It’s just another sign of neglect that the lot has already shown. I just hope they did a better job with the security doors they built. Weeds, long dead, are growing against the sides of the structure.

Gravel fills some of the larger potholes, crunching under our boots as we make our way along the longer-than-it-seemed side of the building. My toe catches one of the stones and sends it skipping across the dirt lot, kicking up small puffs of dust where it hits. I feel the heat radiating off the sheet metal as we continue toward the rear. Rounding the corner, the back end of the structure looks similar to the front but without the windows or door. A large, roll-type door, identical to the one in front, is open revealing a concrete floor with dust swirled across it. With this side of the building in the shade, the light isn’t penetrating far inside. I wave Robert and the others behind me, sidling against the outside wall until I come to the opening without revealing myself.

I stand for a moment listening. The fact that the door is open alerts me to the possibility that night runners could be lurking inside. The additional fact that we are out of the city a little ways may mean there aren’t many night runners around, although I’m sure they will expand out into the country as the food within the cities begins to disappear. I don’t hear any sounds coming from inside except for the occasional pop of metal heating up and expanding. None of the panting I heard in the hospital is present. I look to the ground in front of the door looking for tracks but the breeze and dust has rendered the ground smooth, effectively removing any tracks if there were any there to begin with. I don’t see any tracks in the dust on the floor either.

I kneel and poke my head around the corner looking into the building proper. I don’t like being backlit by the daylight but there isn’t really an option if I want a glimpse inside. The light at the door fades into a deeper gray and then darkness further into the interior. The sides are covered with that same inky black. The only exception is a thin line of light showing on the other side at ground level from the opposite door. Nothing stirs.

I’d go in now with those with me but I’m not comfortable with how the rest of our small group is still sitting at the front. If something were to happen, they would be in the line of fire ahead of us and our rounds would easily go through the sheet metal sides. Pulling back from the open door, we retrace our steps to the front and describe what we saw upon arriving.

“I’ll be taking Red Team and Robert in with me. Frank, will you take everyone and the vehicles back up the road a little ways. Leave one the Humvees here. If something does happen inside, I don’t want anyone to be in the line of fire or in a position to catch a ricochet. Those walls won’t stop a bullet,” I say.

“Sure, no problem, Jack,” he answers.

Mom catches my eye and I know she has something she wants to say by her look. I nod my head and we step aside from the rest.

“Are you sure about taking Robert in?” She asks in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, Mom. He went in with me at the BX in the Azores and did a great job in a hellish environment. He has to learn and he’ll be okay,” I reply.

“Okay, you know what’s best. I don’t know about Bri and Nic carrying weapons though,” she says.

“I know. Me neither really but they have to learn too, Mom. The luxury of having that kind of choice has gone,” I respond.

“Okay, but know that their minds are still developing and things can be taken to an extreme at their age.”

“I know. I wish it were different,” I say and we return to the others.

Why do kids always say “I know” to their parents no matter what age they are? I think watching the others load into the Humvees and Jeep. They drive through the open gate and onto the country road, disappearing quickly behind large blackberry vines that edge the road. I hear the squeal of brakes shortly after and then the muted sound of engines idling a short distance away. The remaining Humvee looks lonely sitting in the dusty yard after being surrounded by other vehicles only moments ago.

“Alright, McCafferty, take the Humvee around and park so that the interior is lit up by the headlights as best as you can. We’ll meet you there and formulate a plan based upon what we see,” I say.

The rest of us start walking to the rear entrance, reaching the side as McCafferty climbs in and shuts the door. The loud shutting door is followed by the sound of something metallic hitting the floor and bouncing a couple of times inside the building. What was that? Did something just fall off a shelf or is something in there? Or is it occupied? And if so, why didn’t it happen before? I think knowing we made a lot of noise on our arrival and since. Everyone freezes from the sound that was emitted dully from the other side of the wall.

“Well, we have to assume there’s company in there,” I say.

“McCafferty, we may have company inside. Wait for us before pulling into position,” I say over the radio. She drives the Humvee alongside and keeps pace with us.

I round the corner and stand by the opening again. McCafferty parks just off to the side and behind us. I call out to see if anyone is inside. It’s pretty obvious that if anything is there, they or it already know we are here so I feel comfortable calling out. It’s not like we were being sneaky. There’s no reply.

“We’ll form a line in front of the door fifteen feet back and have the Humvee come between us. Henderson, Denton, and Gonzalez on the right. Robert on the left with me,” I say and relay our plan over the radio.

The Humvee pulls between us shining its lights into the interior. A shriek answers the glare of the headlights on the concrete floor, which is otherwise bare and empty in the middle. I catch a fleeting glimpse of a shadow moving off into the darker recesses of the interior. We stand with weapons at the ready scanning the inside fully ready for anything that might sweep out towards us. Nothing comes and I don’t see any additional movement. The one shriek is that’s heard. The inside falls back into its silent state.

McCafferty exits the Humvee, the sound of the door shutting echoes across the dusty lot, and she stands next to Robert. I walk over and lean against the front of the vehicle, both feeling and hearing the idling engine behind me. God, I hate this urban stuff, I think scanning the interior. Tall shelves, reaching almost to the ceiling are filled with miscellaneous materials. They extend away into darkness on the left and right; their edges lit from the glow of the headlights but fading quickly into the obscurity of the dark.

I would just leave as the building is obviously occupied but we need these doors. Just how occupied still remains in question. My phone vibrates. I take it out and see it’s a text from Kelly. I turn it off and snap the cover shut without responding and return it to my pocket, focusing back on the building. I don’t want any interruptions and can’t afford to make any mistakes. My thought process has to be on the here and now.

Standing from my leaning position, I turn on my flashlight and turn the beam on the rafters above. My light immediately catches a night runner poised on one of the steel girders spanning the width of the building. It’s squatting there with one hand on a support beam, glaring at us. It gives a piercing yell as my light centers on it.

“Oh hell no you don’t! I know that trick,” I say bringing my M-4 to my shoulder and fire a short burst.

The noise of my sudden firing jars the still air. My rounds impact into its chest and shoulder propelling it backward and off the girder. The night runner shrieks as it falls through the lit part of the interior and hits the concrete floor with a loud thump; silencing its scream. The once bare concrete turns red around the still body as blood begins to slowly pool around it. Another shriek and scuffling is heard from the left further back in the shop. My light pans to the source of the noise but the shelves and the items on them prevent me from seeing what lies in the lanes between.

“Well, we know there’s at least one more in there,” I say to the others around.

“Yeah, and I thought I heard something off to the right but I’m not sure,” Henderson states.

“Well, we can’t assume anything. Why is it that every building I want to go in seems to be occupied with night runners?” I ask rhetorically. “I’m beginning to think it’s some sort of conspiracy.”

“Not sure but it certainly seems that way. Maybe you’re just unlucky,” Gonzalez answers with a grin on her face.

“Yeah. Maybe we should ask for a transfer,” McCafferty says grinning as well.

“I guess I know who the first two in are,” I respond to their good-natured ribbing.

Talking and joking like this brings back the memories of prepping for missions and the bantering just before jumping off. It seemed to bring back a certain amount of humanity into what we were about to embark on and to cover some of the nerves. That is exactly what this little bit of joking does. It calms all of us and seems to reassure us that all will be fine.

I continue to stand at the entrance debating on whether to use the night vision goggles or not. If we do use them, we’ll have to turn the headlights off and the glow of the day’s light through the entrance may interfere with their functionality. I decide to go in with flashlights rather than risk a chance of being blinded if we have to face towards the open door.

“McCafferty, did we bring any of those flash bangs with us?” I ask.

“Yes, sir. I believe we have a few in the back,” she answers.

“Okay, the interior is not that large so this is going to go by fast. Henderson and Denton, you’ll have the right. Henderson, take the lanes as we come to them and Denton watch overhead. Gonzalez and McCafferty, the left. Gonzalez the lanes and McCafferty up top,” I say.

“Hooah, sir,” they respond.

“Robert and I will be out front in the middle. Make sure you all stay a little behind us to give us clear lanes of fire. Robert, take the right front and I’ll take the left front. Watch the shelves above and keep an eye out on the rafters. We’ll toss a couple of flash bangs inside just prior to going in and move at a quick walking pace. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” Henderson, Denton, and McCafferty answer.

“Good to go, sir,” Gonzalez replies.

“Okay, Dad,” Robert says.

McCafferty gathers two flash bangs from the rear of the Humvee as I make sure the rafters are clear of any night runners. I still don’t detect any further movement from inside. There are six of the large shelves to each side. Each shelf is piled with gear and boxes blocking any view of the lanes themselves. Work benches line the far wall adjacent to the closed roller door on the other end of the shop and run the width as far as I can tell.

McCafferty returns. I take one of the flash bangs and hand the other to Robert, showing him the pin to pull. Henderson and Denton walk over and hug the wall on the right just outside of the entrance. The rest of us crouch against the outside wall on the left with Robert and I in front.

“Toss yours about mid-way by the shelves to the right. I’ll put mine in the same place on the left,” I say to Robert over my shoulder.

“Okay,” he replies.

“Ready ladies and gents?” We’re in on the flash,” I ask getting nods for answers. Robert edges to my right so he can get into a good position.

“Let’s do this,” I say. We pull the pins and toss the canisters inside and quickly pull back alongside the outside wall.

The metallic clinking of the cans bouncing across the concrete seems to slow time; a prelude to the explosion and activity to follow. Clink…….clink…….clink….. The canisters roll on the hard floor before two simultaneous flashes of light exit the opening accompanied by thunderous bangs. The building walls shake from the explosion of light and noise. Robert and I roll immediately around the corner and into the building taking our places in the middle. Henderson and Denton roll in immediately after us with Gonzalez and McCafferty on our heels. Our lights pan over the rafters, top of the shelves and along the sides of the interior.

Seeing nothing, Robert and I proceed up the middle at a quick walk checking our front and sides. The noise of something sliding along a shelf to my immediate right is followed by a scream. A burst of gunfire comes from my right rear. I turn to see Denton with his carbine pointed upward to the shelf immediately to the right. Looking upward, I see the last vestiges of blood spraying the air as a night runner tumbles off the top of the shelf, hitting the shelf across the lane before continuing its fall and slamming into the aisle floor.

“Keep moving,” I say with the night runner remaining motionless on the concrete.

The interior is hot, stifling, and stuffy from the sun hitting the metal walls all day turning the inside into a sauna. This is barely noticed as the moment fully occupies my mind. Reaching the dead night runner that had fallen from the rafters, a flash of movement appears in my peripheral to the right front. A night runner darts from a darkened corner and runs into the semi-glow emitting from the headlights. Our long shadows on the floor from the light blends with the shadow of the night runner.

Robert’s light catches it full on and his M-4 barks on full automatic. His rounds stitch across the metal wall to our front, going through the thin sheet metal. Pin points of light show where his bullets encounter the metal and punch through. The points of light catch up and merge with the fleeing night runner, hitting it on the arm, shoulder and then head. The night runner is thrown sideways into the far end door with a loud, clanging thump. It hangs there a moment before collapsing to the ground against the door. Another quick burst issues from his M-4 and the rounds streak for the slumped night runner. The steel impacts the flesh with solid thuds spraying blood in patterns on the door, both above and to the sides of the now very dead night runner. There are small tinks of metal on metal as some of his rounds pass through the body and hit the door itself.

Thin rays of light, picking up small motes of dust, shine into the building from the bullet holes where Robert chased the night runner with his rounds. I’m thankful I didn’t decide to use the NVG’s as all of the light differentials in here would most likely have rendered them ineffective and actually could have been a hindrance. I step over the dead night runner at my feet and continue further into the shop. I want to clear the building before any disoriented night runners that may be remaining can gain their composure and assault us. Any advantage the flash bang gave us will be wearing off quickly if it hasn’t already.

Passing the third lane between the shelves, I quickly shine the beam of my light down the aisle picking up a night runner heading my way. My M-4 is already pointed in that direction by my keeping the barrel in line with my eyes. I fire a short burst into the creature launching toward me. My first round impacts on the left side of its chest, the bullet catching a rib and shattering it, spreading the pieces of bone along with the now fragmented round into the chest cavity. The bone and metal tear through the vessels and lung. The light blue, denim overalls absorb the blood flowing from the entry wound creating a splotch of blood. The second round hits just below the left clavicle, destroying the bone before exiting out of the back. A third round hits the night runner square in the throat and sprays blood in all directions. I feel the splash of it hit on my cheeks and forehead.

The momentum carries it on towards me. I side step to the right bringing the stock of my carbine around hitting the back of its head with a hard whack as it passes by me. It tumbles to the floor beside me. I stomp my boot down solidly against its neck as it hits the floor feeling the neck break and shatter beneath my heel. It spasms twice before falling limp. I wheel around quickly checking the lane again only to find it empty.

We reach the far door without encountering any more night runners and I have Red Team form a semi-circle around the closed door. Their lights pan around the room like mini spotlights shining from an event as I undo the latches on the side of the door. I move the night runner’s body to the side and raise the door, blinking with the increase of light from the afternoon sun that pours into the shop. The interior is now fully lit with the lanes only shades of gray. We head back down the interior in the same formation ensuring the shop is indeed clear.

Robert stands behind his dad with the olive drab canister in his hand, waiting for the word to toss the flash bang. He hopes for a good toss as he doesn’t want to screw up as he has been given the chance to become part of the team. He feels tense with nervousness and moves the canister up and down, testing its weight to coordinate his mind with the physical aspect in order to make a good toss inside. The past few days have been a roller-coaster of feelings, emotions, and dealing with the feeling as if this is all a dream – both good and bad. The bad is obvious but there is a part of him that has wanted to be able to test himself in a stressful situation. To prove himself as it were. Doesn’t get any more stressful than this, he thinks looking at the entrance and waiting.

“Ready ladies and gents?” We’re in on the flash,” He hears his dad say by his side and Robert nods his answer. He then edges to the right, directly beside his dad, so he can get into a good position.

“Let’s do this,” his dad says. He pulls pin and tosses the canister inside, quickly pulling back alongside the outside wall.

He hears the cans bounce across the concrete floor and tenses, anticipating the explosion of light and sound. He has never seen a real flash bang go off, other than the movie renditions, so doesn’t know what to expect. So far, a lot of things that have happened have been so different than he imagined. The detail necessary to survive along with the fear, nervousness, and sheer adrenaline rush of actually being in combat. Some things just taking over naturally. That is the greatest surprise of all, the automatic responses coming regardless of the fear. Standing ready, anticipating the coming explosion and subsequent entry, he feels a deep thankfulness for all of the time he spent with his dad.

Light flashes out of the open entrance accompanied with a thunderous roar. Now, that’s like the movies, he thinks as he sees his dad rise and rush in. Robert follows directly beside him with his M-4 up and ready. His light pans around the front and to the side catching only shelves and equipment. Walking further into the building, gunfire erupts directly off to his right and behind him. The sudden noise startles him and he turns quickly to his immediate right and catches a night runner falling to the floor with a heavy thump. Denton stands in his peripheral with his carbine raised.

“Keep moving,” his dad says and Robert focuses on his area once again.

He walks beside his dad and it feels like the old times when they were out in the woods playing airsoft, stalking behind the opposing team lines together. He feels a quiet confidence come over him. The times with his dad, whether adventuring into the woods together hiking and biking, camping, or airsofting, has given him a solid and deep confidence in his abilities. He carries a certain calm inside that comes from this. The only break in this solid feeling is his wanting to prove himself. He doesn’t want to let anyone down.

A sudden movement to his front; a shape detaches itself from the shadowy depths and catches his attention. The shape transforms itself into a night runner as it runs into the light cast by the Humvee headlights. He quickly raises his M-4 and begins firing at the quickly moving creature. The carbine kicks against his shoulder and he sees pinpoints of light materialize just behind the fleet night runner. He instantly knows these are his round drilling through the wall and he hasn’t put enough lead on the darting shape. With his finger still pressed down on the trigger, he moves his barrel to his left, walking his rounds quickly towards the night runner. He sees the small points of light catch up and the sound of his impacting rounds changes from a metallic pinking to the more solid thuds of steel hitting flesh. The night runner is thrown to the side against the metal door and slides downward. He thinks he sees it still move and puts another burst into the slumped body.

Robert looks from the still body to his dad who nods at him with the affirmation of a good job. He feels the self-confidence in himself solidify even more from that nod and the realization that he acted in a quick and decisive manner; keeping in mind that he needs to lead his target a little more and throws that knowledge into his bag of tricks. His dad steps forward again and he walks to keep in line. Another shriek penetrates the still and hot interior followed by a subsequent burst of gunfire from his dad.

He turns quickly to see his dad step to the side as a night runner stumbles into view. He watches his dad deliver a stroke with his M-4 to the back of the night runners head and watches it fall to the floor. His dad then raises his boot and brings it back down on the neck of the fallen body; the crunch and crack of its neck shattering sounds. He watches the night runner twitch before it becomes still and blood begins to surround it on the floor.

They reach the far end door and he mans a small perimeter with the rest of the Red Team as his dad opens the door, flooding the interior space with light. That light brings a sense of relief. One, because he senses that this particular action is over, and two, because the fear and nervousness he felt regarding whether he would let anyone down has been answered. A certain pride wells up within knowing he acted well and, for the first time, he feels very much a part of the team.

“McCafferty, will you pull the Humvee around to the front,” I say as we reach the end of the building where we started. “Call the others and have them come back.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds.

“Gotta lead ‘em huh?” I say chuckling to Robert as we walk back to the front along the outside with the sun in our eyes.

“Yeah, it startled me and I thought I had enough of a lead,” he answers with a chuckle of his own. “I saw I was hitting behind and just swept over to it.”

“Well, they’re pretty quick but that’s the way to do it. Just keep in mind not to let the kick lead you up and over it. You got it and that’s what counts. Plus, nice making sure it stayed dead.”

Gonzalez walks over to Robert and pats him on the back. “Nice job in there. Good shooting,” she says with a nod.

“Thanks,” Robert says with no small amount of pride surfacing. He is walking a little straighter and I can tell he is beaming.

The vests add to the heat of the day and, with the sun shining upon us and the after effects of the adrenaline, sweat is streaming down our cheeks and forehead. The others pull up in the vehicles parking in front. I pull the Jeep into the now lit shop, stopping just shy of the night runner bodies lying on the floor. Several already-made security pull-down doors line the wall to the left.

“Will you see if there are some that will fit what we need?” I ask Bannerman and point to the doors.

“You bet,” he answers and heads over to the doors with Frank.

I see Mom, Nic, Bri, and Michelle with Robert and assume they are seeing if he is okay. He is using his hands while talking and I watch him as he describes the action. Michelle moves closer to him and gives him a hug as he apparently finishes his story. The rest of Red Team squats by the entrance door, taking a rest and talking amongst themselves.

“We found some that will work,” Bannerman says coming up behind me. “We even found the mounting brackets and hardware.”

“That’s great. Let’s load them onto the Jeep rack,” I say and motion for Red Team to help.

“We even found some shutters that should work for the windows,” Bannerman adds.

“Even better. Will they fit in the Humvees?”

“They should,” he says.

“Okay, let’s get loaded up and head back.”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks walking over from Robert.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine thanks,” I say.

“I was worried when we pulled up and I saw blood on your face,” she says staring at my forehead.

“Oh,” I say wiping an arm across my face but only manage to smear it more because of the sweat already there.

We finish loading the doors on the Jeep and the shutters in the Humvee, tying the doors down with 550 cord. Piling back into the vehicles, we caravan back to Cabela’s, arriving just before 1630. The sun is wending its way across the sky quickly and I’m thankful for the summer days allowing us longer periods of daylight. This would have been impossible if all of this happened in the winter. I am still worried about getting finished here and being able to get down to Portland to help Kelly. So much to do and seemingly so little time. The night will come, whether I want it to or not, and with it, the night runners. If we don’t have a secure place by the time the sun goes down, we’ll be screwed. We can head back and stay another night in the 130 but I’d rather not.