Sanctuary

A Rolling Stone

I walk to the second floor balcony and look over the changes that occurred during my mental absence, with Lynn, Bannerman, and Frank leaning against the railing next to me. The clothing racks, shelves and such have been removed from the interior on the first and second floors clearing out much of the space. The stuffed animals have also been removed from the large centerpiece in preparation of removing it as well. The weapons racks and weapons have been installed along a wall with several shelves shifted to accommodate other items. Cots have been laid out in rows along the top floor with spaces between them to give the appearance of privacy.

“You’ve done a marvelous job,” I say to Bannerman who mostly coordinated the efforts.

“Thanks, Jack. We have the kitchen working and running water. This place has a well and a pump and so, as long as we have power, we’ll have that benefit. Frank has a base radio up and running and is training some of the folks we picked up and has scheduled shifts,” Bannerman responds.

“Very nicely done. All of you,” I say nodding in appreciation.

“Sergeant Connell assigned teams for supply runs and we should be good for a while,” Bannerman adds. “At least we won’t have to worry about water in the interim. Oh, and we found an employee break room and small locker rooms complete with a couple of shower stalls.”

“Nice,” I say listening to his report.

“Jack, there is one thing you should know and something we may have to deal with somehow,” Lynn chimes in.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“We lost another soldier,” she says.

“How?”

“It wasn’t through any night runner action. He was from Mullins’ team. He was outside on lookout while the others went in for supplies. When they came back out, he was gone. His rifle was leaning against the building but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. They searched the area and called out but never found him. I think he just had enough and walked off,” Lynn says. Bannerman and Frank nod in support of her view.

“We’ll have to brief the team leaders to be on watch for changes in personality or a sudden quietness with folks. Sometimes it will seem easier to just give up rather than put up with the stresses of surviving another day,” I say with a sigh.

This is not the last time someone will want to give up, I think. The changes have come about so rapidly and our situation has a constant tension that weighs on the psyche. Everyone has their breaking point. And I mean everyone. It can come about with the seemingly smallest thing but it is the literal straw. The mind folds inward and a person in that moment can’t think clearly. Sometimes though, it seems clarity does come through and it’s through seemingly rational thought processes that these types of decisions to quit come about. The will to survive is eroded through stress and/or fear.

“We’ll keep on the lookout for him,” I add. “How have the doors held up?”

“Remarkably well. We have visitors every night but they’re not showing any signs of wear so far. We’ve been checking them daily,” Bannerman answers.

“Good. Okay, we should talk about our plans for the future and start prioritizing our needs. We can do this with just us or with the team leaders. What does each of you think?” I ask.

“I’m okay either way,” Bannerman answers.

“I think we should keep it to ourselves. I feel time is of the essence and we can prioritize more quickly if we keep the group small,” Frank adds his opinion.

“I’m in agreement with Frank,” Lynn says.

“I think that’s probably better as well. What about adding Drescoll to our group?” I ask.

“I’d be perfectly content with that,” Lynn responds with the others nodding.

“Okay, let’s make sure everything is shut down tight and let’s get together after we eat,” I say. Everyone nods and we separate; Lynn to see to the doors and security, Frank to continue his training with those on the radios, and Bannerman to see about getting food ready for everyone to eat.

We all gather in the restaurant dining area and eat some of the canned food that has been warmed up. There’s a feeling of wholeness and completeness with everyone in our group gathered. I still feel the loss of Nic deeply within and wish she were here to see a semblance of normalcy return; being able to eat with one of the first feelings of safety we’ve had. I say a silent prayer to Nic and the feeling of loss returns but without the same intensity. The time it took to get to this point of security and normalcy seems so long in the making; the losses, the close calls, the fears.

Little Robert passes by carrying a tray of food, with Mike hard on his heels and Kathy right behind him, “I’m sorry about your daughter, sir,” he says on passing.

“Thank you Little Robert,” I respond patting his head. Mike looks at me, then to Little Robert and, with a small whine, follows the food.

Gonzalez and the rest of Red Team move a table next to ours and plop themselves down. She then relates the story of getting Carrie and that she seems to be recovering completely. “We’re glad you’re back, sir,” she says finishing her story and bites down on the spoonful of food she had been holding.

“Well done and I’m glad to be back as well,” I say.

We eat with the murmur of conversation drifting around the room. The first metallic bangs against the front security doors announce the arrival of our night runner friends outside. The sound startles everyone with the suddenness of it but it’s also become an expected part of the night. The bangs bring silence to the room before the murmuring and conversations pick up again. I turn to see Horace’s Blue Team along the far balcony on watch.

“Cressman is down with Bravo on the first floor as well,” Lynn says seeing the direction of my look and knowing my thoughts.

I nod and turn back to my food, actually tasting it for the first time in days. Not that it’s a gourmet but it’s nice to have some senses return. I feel a touch ashamed of being absent; for not being here for the group after dragging them across the world with the lure of a sanctuary. It feels like a weakness of not being able to handle anything that comes about. Not that losing Nic or the feeling of the intense grief feels like a weakness, just that I should have been able to handle it better. Part of my mind tells me that those words are just BS but that’s how it feels nonetheless.

Plates are gathered and returned as individuals finish. Teams that are done replace Horace’s and Cressman’s teams on guard duty so they have a chance to eat as well. Bannerman, Frank, Drescoll, Lynn, and I gather to the side of the second floor away from everyone else to talk. I have Robert and Bri with me to listen in.

“This process of building a wall is going to be a mammoth undertaking and we’ll need other things done as well,” I say starting our discussion. “I feel though, that this should be our highest priority besides maintaining the level of security we already have.”

“It’ll only be a matter of time before they find another way in or hammer those bloody doors down,” I add with the sound of night runners pounding against the steel roll doors outside. It does sound a little diminished from the previous nights but my mind was in such a fog that I’m not certain.

“So what are you thinking?” Bannerman asks.

“Well, my overall thinking is there are miles of those concrete walls along the Interstate up by Tacoma. We should send two teams up there to get them; one for security and the other to disassemble them and load them up. The team supplying security will leave two members out for that and the others will be driving the transports. That means we’ll need a large supply of fuel for the vehicles. We’ll need other supplies as well so two teams will be assigned to Bannerman to see to what we need. One team will be needed to erect the wall here,” I say.

“That’ll be a lot of equipment we need,” Bannerman says.

“That’s true. I think we’ll need two cranes back here, one to offload the trucks and one to move the parts into place. I see using four large semi’s to cart the materials back given the manpower we have for this and one crane to move the wall partitions from their places and to load them,” I reply with Bannerman taking notes.

“We should be able to find those easily enough. Finding people who know how to operate them will be a different story,” Bannerman says finishing with his jottings.

“It’ll be a learning curve, that’s for sure. But what hasn’t been lately,” I say. “I was thinking Black and Green Teams could be up gathering the partitions and transporting.”

“You want my team and me up getting the wall?” Lynn asks.

“Well, I was thinking your team could be up doing that but I want you to put together a training program for the others we picked up and for any we find. I want everyone that is here or comes in trained,” I answer. “I was thinking of having one team here on standby in case any of the teams run into trouble. They can help with the training and your being a previous drill instructor puts you at the top of the list to develop it.”

“Okay, I can do that. Do you mean everyone? Like Little Robert? Like Bri?” She asks.

“Well, we have to have a cut off on age but I want Bri in on that along with Robert. Not Little Robert,” I reply.

“Hmmmm… Okay, Jack. I’m not in agreement with Bri but I’ll put a program together,” she says.

“Bri gets put in, Lynn,” I say hearing Bri give a little sigh just behind me.

“Are you sure, Jack?” Lynn asks referring to the loss of Nic. A quiet hush falls among the group at the reference. The noise inside of people shuffling around on the other side of the balcony, getting ready for bed or just moving, rises above the silence. The hammering of the night runners rises above all else at times.

“Yes, I’m quite sure,” I say quietly. I still have qualms about anything that puts my kids in danger but I definitely want them trained. I don’t know if it would have made a difference with Nic or not, but if it could make difference later to save the lives of Robert or Bri, I want them to have it. It doesn’t mean I’m about to launch them out into buildings, I just want them trained.

“Okay, Jack, I’ll put it together. We’ll train during the day while the others are gathering items, but if I’m to do this, then I’m in complete charge. No interference, Jack,” she says.

“What? Are you implying I would interfere with any training?” I ask.

“Of course not, Jack. I would never imply that. How could I possibly ever think you would interfere?” She answers with her total innocent look, which of course brings a smile to my face.

“Okay, point taken. You’ll have complete control and I won’t say a thing,” I say.

“Oh yeah, that’ll happen,” she says rolling her eyes. “Just remember this conversation, bucko.”

“I hate to bring this up, but what are we going to do about all of the dead bodies and the probability of diseases?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, there’s that. I think we can agree that we don’t have the manpower to carry them out or bury them in mass. The only thing I can think of is to burn the housing developments with carefully controlled burns. I just don’t see any other way,” I answer giving my opinion.

“What about any survivors though? They’ll get caught up in that,” Drescoll asks and says.

“That’s a good point. We’ll have to make sure any teams assigned to that detail roll through the neighborhoods with loudspeakers and try to find anyone around prior to setting the fires. We’ll have to make sure of wind direction and such as well,” I respond.

“And how will we keep the fires under control?” Frank asks.

“We’ll have to get some fire trucks with water tenders from the fire station. We’ll train on the trucks and use the streets as fire breaks,” I answer with Bannerman starting to write again.

“How many trucks?” Bannerman asks.

“I don’t rightly know. I think we’ll need two teams on the burns; maybe Alpha and Bravo. I guess every truck we can lay our hands on. Have the trucks run behind the main line of fire and put out anything that jumps the streets. Of course, that could quickly get out of hand with the embers in the air and if they settle somewhere downwind starting other fires. We’ll just have to keep the fires limited and not let them rage out of control. All I’m thinking is that we need to get rid of all the bodies within a fair piece of area around us,” I answer not knowing the right solution.

“If I could go back to the wall for a moment, how high are we looking to build it?” Bannerman asks looking at his notes.

“I think twenty feet high should do it provided we can put the partitions together without creating hand or foot holds,” I answer. “Anyone else think differently?”

“I think that should be high enough,” Lynn answers with her opinion. “I mean, the night runners have tremendous capabilities from what we’ve seen, but they’re not supermen nor can they fly. At least not that I’ve seen.”

“I agree, that should be high enough,” Drescoll adds. “Are we planning to look for others outside of the burn areas?”

“I think eventually we will be out doing just that when we have a few more people. Right now, at least the way I see it, we should be concentrating on getting our place up and running; building the security. We’ll need to bring in livestock and build greenhouses if we want to sustain ourselves in the long run. I have it my mind that we need to get the wall up and the long-term food in place by winter. We’ll be able to eat through the winter on supplies we can find on hand and our fuel situation may be critical by next year; that is, the fuel will be unusable by then. My opinion is that we should use that fuel to make sure we have a viable, long-term place for the people we do have,” I say in answer.

“I’m not disagreeing with you at all, just asking if we are going to look,” Drescoll says.

“Most definitely. I think we owe it to them to look for them when we can,” I say to which everyone nods.

“So, speaking of long-term, what about using solar power for our long-term energy needs? At least for this building,” Franks asks.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Bannerman says flipping a page on his notebook and writing more.

“As long as you’re writing, you might put down some of those towable generators found at those road construction sites. We could rig one up with a breaker so we can use the pumps at gas stations,” I say. Bannerman nods and his pen flies across his pages.

“What about integrating a nightly training session for the entire group? We get together before dinner and have a topic for the night or several nights running, finding someone who has an expertise at something, anything, and we all learn. Complete with both classroom and practical applications if necessary. Everyone knows something so we should share the knowledge. I could draft a schedule along with the other training,” Lynn says after Bannerman’s pen slows down a notch.

“I like it,” I say nodding.

“Yeah, sounds good to me,” Drescoll adds.

“What do you want me to do?” Frank asks.

“I’d like you to have someone by the radios at all times. Mark and coordinate team locations at all times just in case something happens. We’ll need detailed maps of the areas,” I answer hearing Bannerman’s pen start up again.

“You’re going to wear that thing out,” I say to Bannerman who chuckles in response.

“My magic wand went missing so this is the best I can do,” he says without looking up.

“So, I think that may cover it for the short-term unless anyone can think of something,” I say chuckling at Bannerman.

“Well, there are a few other things Frank and I discussed,” Bannerman adds. “We were thinking about cleaning and such while we were sorting through the clothing here. I think it would be a good idea if we found some commercial washers and dryers. We’ll need a way to keep what we have clean.”

“Agreed, add that to your list as well. Speaking of clothing, we’ll need to gather up some scent maskers or at least make sure any teams going into buildings for supplies have smoked themselves,” I say.

“And we were thinking we should go raid Madigan for hospital equipment and supplies,” Frank says. “We could set up a dispensary and small hospital here. I’m not talking x-ray machines and the like and it’s not like we have anyone to run some of the stuff but you never know. IV’s, monitors, beds if we can get them, needles, drugs, maybe even a breathing machine if we can. Those are nice to have items but I’m not sure if they’re worth the risk of going into a place like that.”

“It’s seems more items we’ll need rather than want items to me,” Drescoll replies.

“I agree with you that they should be up on the priority list if we’re to make a long go at this,” I say. “Let’s get started on the wall and supplies and revisit a hospital trip afterwards.”

“Anything else,” I add looking at the group.

“Well, you have mentioned everyone else. What are you going to be doing? I don’t imagine you just hanging around on standby,” Lynn asks.

“Well,” I say with a smile, “I thought I might get in some helicopter training. That might come in handy down the road when we’re searching for others.”

“What? Jack, you can’t be… Oh fuck it! You run off and play and we’ll keep the fire warm,” she says standing.

“So, you’ll have all of the teams tomorrow, Bannerman, to gather the equipment we’ll need. Tomorrow will be for gathering everything and we’ll start our runs the morning after. Oh, and we should plan for the teams to be back two hours prior to sunset. That will give us plenty of leeway in case something goes wrong,” I say smiling at Lynn’s remark.

“Jack, I’d like the teams to have some practice on the range and physical training in the mornings before everyone heads out on their assignments. We need to keep our training levels up too,” Lynn says.

“Okay, set a schedule and you’ll have them. Work out a schedule with Bannerman. We’ll also need to set a night watch. The standby team should be a good one to pick as they won’t be out and about,” I say. “Anything else we should talk about or thoughts?”

“I think we’re good,” Bannerman says.

“Okay, let’s try to get some sleep if we can with all that hammering. If we can think of something to shut the sound out so we can get some sleep, I’m all ears.”

They just shake their heads and walk to the other side of the balcony where most of the others are getting ready to turn in.

“Do I really get to start training?” Bri asks when we’re the only ones left.

“Yes, hon. But you have to take it serious and do everything Lynn says. No questions. And it’s not a game and you can’t treat it that way,” I answer.

“I will, Dad. Take it serious I mean,” she says but I notice a gleam in her eye.

The night passes and we are only occasionally awakened by the night runners still trying to get through the doors. Bannerman and whoever he had helping did a great job of installing them as they’ve held up well under the constant onslaught. It’s just an irritant to hear the metallic clangs throughout the night. The constant noise does taper off as the night goes on. I imagine some gave up and went in search of food elsewhere. Now if we can get the wall built and provide for an extra margin of security, I’ll feel even better. We’ve made it this far, through trials and hardships, through dangerous environments and perilous situations, and with some hard losses, but we’re here and, for the time being, safe from nightly attacks.

There is still a lot of danger with gathering our supplies, finding others, and in general trying to stay at least one step ahead of the game. I have no doubt that the night runners will eventually find a way in with their bloody persistence and we can’t afford to assume a place of complacency. My mind also goes back to the conversation prior about clearing them out but I just don’t see a way to do that right now. We’d have to shift our priorities completely and the end result would still be a toss-up.

I roll off my cot feeling drained; awake but still tired. I’m just not a morning person. I throw on my shirt wondering who is more offended by it, me or the shirt itself. I ask Bannerman where the other clothes are stored and if he’s gathering the dirty ones somewhere. He points me in the right direction and I feel a little better with a clean, black fatigue shirt on. I see Lynn rousing the other teams. It’s nice not to have the sound of night runners slamming into our doors rebounding throughout the area. The sense of relief is immense and you don’t notice how much tension that kind of constant noise creates until it’s gone.

Bannerman also points me in the direction of the showers they discovered. I see Robert staring at the place where Nic’s cot was obviously lost in thought. He pulls out of his reverie with a sigh and rises from his cot next to Michelle’s. Robert tags sleepily along as I head to the locker room. We pass by Lynn and the other teams as they gather to head outside for PT and training.

“Going to join us, flyboy?” Lynn asks to which I merely shake my head and point to the locker room.

I should join them but I just seriously don’t want to. I’ll pick that up with them in the coming days. I still just don’t feel totally back to being myself. My thoughts are leaning in the direction of finding a scout helicopter and seeing if I can keep from killing myself trying to learn its secrets. The warm water pouring over my head feels good and breathes some life into my tired body and mind. Warm water; a shower! Wow! I think letting the water run over me. It seems to wash away more than just dirt, sweat, and old blood.

We finish and dress with me showing Robert where I found the fresh shirt. The dirty laundry of the others is gathered in a pile and he tosses his along with the others. I plan on taking Red Team, to include Robert as he is a member, with me to Fort Lewis to see what we can find. It’s not that I just want to have fun but I feel that the helicopter will be a useful tool once we begin to search for others; to be able to cover a wider area. Learning to fly one after we have a need for it will put us behind the curve and I want to be prepared. I imagine a dozen scenarios where it will be useful. I just wish we had a rotor head along with us already. We’re lucky to have what we do with regards to people and abilities but that would have been cool too!

I hear the sound of gunfire outside as I emerge into the early morning light. The light blue of the morning is replaced by a yellowish-orange glow as the sun rises above the mountains to the east. The long shadow of the building stretches across the parking lot enveloping the parked vehicles. The cool morning air refreshes me even more than the shower and I inhale it deeply. I look over the doors, which are now rolled up, for damage where they are bolted into the concrete walls. They look like they have withstood another night without a mark or becoming weakened.

The firing is coming from teams lined up at the edge of the parking lot and firing across the fields. Drescoll walks along behind them. Other teams are going through immediate action drills on another part of the parking lot with Lynn guiding them. I stroll over to watch Lynn walk them through as Robert comes out and joins me. It’s Red Team’s turn and I have Robert join them in their exercise.

“Are you going to join in?” Lynn asks waiting for the team to get into place and for Robert to join them.

“I’m good thanks,” I reply.

“Jack, you’re part of this team so get your ass over here,” she says with me thinking I should have ventured off the other direction or found something very interesting on the exact opposite side of the parking lot.

I move in line with the team taking the slack position behind McCafferty and we go through the IAD’s with “contact front”, “contact side”, and “contact rear” drills focusing on each member’s responsibilities during each. We also cover areas of responsibilities and coverage during various formations; whether that is in a wedge formation or in a patrol line. We don’t really have rooms to practice clearing operations with as yet but will definitely have to incorporate inside building operations in the near future.

“I’d really like to formulate urban and building ops training as well,” I tell Lynn after we finish.

“I thought about that and will come up with something while I’m building the training program today. I’ll incorporate that into a daily training plan for the teams,” she says.

“Switch,” Lynn calls out and the teams that were firing changes places with those that were drilling. I fire several rounds making sure my sights and lasers are still centered.

We finish a short time later and adjourn. The teams take turns showering and then we all eat as a group. Afterwards, Lynn pulls a table and chair outside and begins writing furiously on several notepads. The teams circle around Bannerman for assignments and Red Team gathers with me outside.

I tell Red Team of our plan to go to Fort Lewis and find a scout chopper which they find mightily amusing for some reason. “Can we watch, sir? I haven’t seen an officer make a complete ass of himself in about a week,” Gonzalez says at one point with a grin. “Of course watching will be from a considerable distance but we’ll have fire extinguishers on hand and come a runnin’.”

“Yeah, highly fucking amusing,” I respond jokingly back.

We pile into a Humvee and start out with other vehicles beginning to pull out on their assigned errands. The sun has just crested fully over the mountains covering the land in its golden glow. It’s been nice to have so many nice days in a row without even the clouds coming to visit and no rain. That’s unusual for the summer here and I hope it’s because someone is looking out for us. I’m hoping this weather continues but I know we’ll have our share of the rain. I’m also hoping the night runners will still be affected by the sun being out, cloud cover or not. If that’s not true, then we’re in for a world of hurt, especially come winter time. I can’t assume anything so our first day under heavy cloud cover will be a down day just in case. Or at least starting later after assuring ourselves that we still own the day. That’s just something we’ll have to find out.

Pulling onto the base, we head directly to the small flight line associated with Fort Lewis. Several helicopters line the tarmac to one side of the runway with others parked in open hangars. I still can’t get over the eerie feeling of seeing so many man-made objects without the associated sounds or activity. The movement of crew chiefs on the ramp, the sound of engines cranking up or winding down, vehicles moving crews to and from aircraft, just the bustle of activity. It’s all gone leaving behind a surreal quiet; especially after coming from the activity around our sanctuary.

We step out onto the gray pavement where papers, leaves, and other debris are blowing across the surface in the light wind. It’s like stepping onto a surface of an archaeological site from a previous civilization; all of the objects and structures are here but the people who hovered around them are gone. It’s not far from the truth, but damn!

I stroll over to one of the Oh-58 Kiowa helicopters sitting on the ramp close by and, with Robert by my side, peek in. The rest of Red Team is looking around the area but they also seem to be getting ready for a show. It actually looks like they’re placing bets on which tree I’ll end up in by the way they are gesturing and pointing.

“Ever flown one of these?” Robert asks over my shoulder.

“Nope,” I answer.

“Ever flown a helicopter?”

“A couple of times but only in the air.”

“Hmmmm…” is all he says to that.

Looking inside, it’s not that different than a normal aircraft cockpit but I know different. Flying a helicopter is worlds apart from buzzing around in something with wings attached. I know the fundamentals and basic aspect of flying something with a propeller over my head, but I also know they’re tricky little buggers and take a lot of finesse. I’m beginning to wonder if this is actually a good idea. I rummage around the cockpit and come up with a checklist and start leafing through it. I’m not all that enthused about taking something up that I’m not familiar with; emergency procedures, systems, etc. However, this will be handy as long as I don’t wrap it around the nearest pole.

“Well, there’s nothing like the present,” I think getting in the pilot seat, yes, it’s also on the opposite side of where it should be, and sit looking at the instrumentation while going through the check list.

“Am I going with?” Robert asks.

“Oh hell no. This may be the shortest and warmest ride in history. I don’t think you should be within a mile of me,” I answer.

“Are you going to take it up now?” He asks.

“I was thinking about it,” I reply.

“You sure about this?” Robert asks looking over the cockpit with me.

“No, not really,” I say finding the various switches and trying to become familiar with them.

I run through the start-up checklist finding the switches as I progress through it, making dry runs to get acquainted. It’s not like I’m going to hop cross country right off the bat but I want to get familiar with their locations so I don’t have to do the hunt and peck thing while airborne. And, it’s not like I’m thinking I want to get more than six feet off the ground for a while either.

I spend a couple hours going through dry runs with the check list and visualizing flying with my hands on the controls. Robert hasn’t lost interest and has climbed in the other seat observing. The interior is heated as the sun pours through the Plexiglas windshield; the angle of the sun once bounces off at the right angle, blinding me at times. The smells of the interior are familiar; the smells of use. Sweat mixed with oil, fuel, and the cloth seats. Anyone who has sat in a cockpit knows those odors well.

I take a break and head over with Robert to where the rest of the team is milling about the vehicle. They’re alert for anything moving in the area but also have that “I’m bored” look of standing around. We break out some rations and water we brought for a quick lunch.

“Having a hard time getting it started, sir?” Henderson asks. “If you want, I could spin the blades around if that’ll help.”

“Or, we could go find a large rubber band to wind it up for ya,” McCafferty chimes in.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Be careful though or I may make you go up with me for the first time,” I reply to their quips.

“No, no I’m good thanks,” McCafferty says.

We eat in silence watching the stillness of the area around. Watching as scraps of paper are lifted from the tarmac to flutter momentarily in the light breeze before being deposited back down a short distance from their starting point. Birds sail over the area from time to time. At one point, two dogs trot across the runway in tandem. The stillness, that was once so surreal, begins to become common place and peacefulness settles in. All of us are enjoying a quiet lunch under the clear, blue skies with the sun warming our shoulders. The calm has an underlying quiet stillness to it as if it is just holding its breath. The peace is only a temporary one and there’s a storm and violence brewing just behind it. The day knows that night will come, bringing the night runners with it. There’s also a measure of hope with it that knows another day will come. It’s just that you have to make it through the tempest before you can enjoy the peace once again.

Lunch ends and I clamber back into the cockpit with a renewed focus. Part of me is worried about trying this little adventure. I’m not even remotely qualified to be doing this and worry about not knowing the systems. Like at all! I always thought it would be nice to drive a helicopter where, if you got into trouble, lost or otherwise, you could just set it down anywhere. Kind of like pulling over to the side of the freeway. That was youthful thinking and I certainly know better now. Anything that leaves the ground has an inherent danger associated with it and has the ability to come back to the ground in ways not desirable.

“Okay, time for you to leave and find your seat,” I tell Robert who is sitting next to me.

“You’re going to try it eh?” He asks.

“Yeah, with try being the key word,” I answer.

He climbs out and joins the others. I see them talking briefly and then all attention is focused on me. They even walk around to the other side of the Humvee. Yeah, that’s trust, I think flipping the battery on and letting the gyros warm up. Going through the check list, I press the starter and the blades slowly start to revolve above me. What the fuck am I doing? I think watching the instruments and the blades pick up speed. I have no idea what the limitations are on the engine instruments other than the meaning of the white, green, and red markings. Red is bad, I know that. Green is good. White is some performance limitation. Of what performance limitation, I haven’t a clue. Not the best way to venture into a flight. Or anything for that matter.

I check my surroundings with the blades rotating in a blur overhead and am thankful that there aren’t other objects close by. It’s one of the reasons I chose this one in the first place. I reach down to the collective and grab the throttle. Rolling it, the rpm gauge increases with an increase in the noise, vibration, and speed of the rotor overhead. I feel the vibration of the helicopter through the seat and pedals. Well, actually, I feel it everywhere but it is more predominant there. I know I have to keep a constant rpm and think of the collective as a throttle and the cyclic stick in front of me as any normal stick. A combination of both acts similar to an aircraft but the idea is so foreign to me.

I gradually pull very lightly on the collective and feel the Kiowa go light on the skids with each skid tapping on the paved tarmac below me in intervals. The helicopter starts sliding to the left and I correct with the stick to the right. An over correction and I start off to the right. I eventually bring the slide to a stop with the skids still light on the ground. I now know why they call them skids. I pull a little more on the collective and the helicopter rises from the pavement. I remember one pilot saying to just imagine or think yourself hovering – that you just have to think about moving and the helicopter will respond to the subtle inputs your mind sends to your hands - or sliding in one direction. Well, I must have been thinking I wanted to be waaaay over to the right because that’s where I go.

I try to bring the slide under control and once again over correct and am now looking at the ramp slide underneath me as I slide to the left in the same manner. I lower the collective as I try to correct that stellar move and the helicopter slams onto the tarmac like a bag of garbage being thrown in a trash bin. Okay, that was fun, I think collecting my thoughts once again. I look over at the others and see McCafferty with her hand over her mouth obviously stifling a laugh. Gonzalez on the other hand, is doubled over at the front of the Humvee. It’s also pretty obvious the others are laughing as well. I’m glad they find this amusing, I think steeling myself for try number two.

My second attempt to not change the sky to ground is a repeat of the first but without the absolute shock of the helicopter being deposited on the ramp. The next several attempts also give Red Team an ab workout but I’m eventually able to keep the helicopter within the county and hover reasonably well. I thought fighters were touchy with the controls but this thing is like having an Xbox controller on the most extreme sensitivity setting. Wow! When things have the feeling of getting out of control, I just deposit it back on the tarmac and start over. Eventually, I am able to keep it close to being in one place and try a couple of pedal turns. Now, that’s pretty cool. I slowly get the feel of the controls, even venturing forward a few times, stopping, and easing the chopper to the ground. That doesn’t mean I won’t have to remove the seat cushion. If I didn’t actually suck it up internally, then I know there will at least be a little white ring on it.

I eventually shut the helicopter down and step out after the blades come to a stop. The others meander over.

“Damn, sir, you should at least apologize to the poor thing after abusing it like that,” Gonzalez says stepping close.

“Or at least buy it dinner first next time,” Henderson says close on her heels.

“Well aren’t you two just the comedic duo,” I say. “Anyone else have anything to say? Come on, get it out.”

“No, sir. You won’t hear me saying anything like it was like watching a blind bird trying to land in a tree. Nope, wouldn’t say anything like that,” McCafferty says.

I can tell Robert wants to join in on the “make fun of me” session but keeps quiet. We head back with Robert asking how it was.

“It’s touchy as hell,” I answer.

“Um, yeah, I could tell,” he says.

We pull into the lot where a lot more equipment and vehicles are parked off to the other side of the Humvees and transport trucks. Semi’s and large, truck-mounted cranes dominate the parking lot. The appearance of them shows that the teams have been mostly successful, if not fully, at finding the equipment on Bannerman’s list. That’s good news as we can begin fortifying our place tomorrow. I’m pleased but there’s still a place inside that is really missing Nic and wishes she were here to enjoy this moment with me.

The sun is lowering in the late afternoon sky as I step out of the Humvee. I feel tired but there’s a touch of excitement as well. It looks like we have the tools to begin this next phase of building a place of refuge; a place where we can feel safe. It’s hard to think that just a few days ago we were travelling from place to place trying to get back. The events of that trip have faded to a degree making it seem like they took place a long time ago. For the first time in a long time, even in the presence of grief, I feel a sense of contentment; content that we seem to be making a lot of headway. Not as far as where we are, we still have a long ways to go and don’t truly know what the future looks like, but in as far as where we are going. It remains to be seen if that contentment will increase or decrease with the degree and speed that the wall is built.

Lynn is still camped by the chair where she was when we left. The only difference is the amount of sheets lying on the side of the table covered with writing. She looks up as we approach.

“So, how’d it go, flyboy?” She asks.

“Is everyone going to be a comedian today?” I ask in return.

“Oh, that well huh?”

“Well, I didn’t kill anyone or damage anything if that means anything,” I reply.

“Other than his pride and possibly one very undeserving helicopter,” Gonzalez quips in behind me.

“It went fine. I’ll be back at it tomorrow,” I say ignoring the peanut gallery behind me. “How are things here?”

“Just fine. Most of the others pulled in a little while ago. We have one team still out looking for the portable generators,” Lynn answers.

“And you?” I ask.

“Doing pretty well. I have it mostly finished and will be ready to start soon,” she replies.

“Good,” I say and am about to say more when the sound of a vehicle nearing interrupts.

We all look to the long drive to see a Humvee crest the hill. As it pulls past, I notice it’s towing a wheeled generator. Things are definitely looking up. The confidence I feel in our group increases. We’ll be okay, I think watching the vehicle park. As long as our security measures hold up and we don’t make any mistakes. Yes, there will be difficulties as we venture into buildings for supplies. The long-term supplies, growing our own food and such, will be a learning process, but for the short-term, we should be okay.

I lean over, give Lynn a kiss on the cheek, and head inside. There are several team members pulling the large centerpiece apart and carrying the pieces outside. I see others manhandling several large commercial washer and dryer machines against one of the outer walls. I feel a little guilty for spending the day trying to fly an aircraft, one with the propeller in entirely the wrong place, seeing all of the work that the others have accomplished today but I also know that, should we need it, that skill will be a valuable one to have.

The rest of the day passes with more sorting of equipment and finally removing the last parts of the centerpiece. The center is now clear for any purpose we desire. The smell of dinner being warmed up wafts through the building as our small group meets again. Robert is off talking with Michelle and I wave him and Bri over. I want them to be a part of our meetings as you never know when learning will take place. I plan to take some time with them for additional training when things settle into a semblance of equilibrium and after their initial training with Lynn.

“Did we get everything we need to start tomorrow?” I ask as we draw together.

“As near as I can tell,” Bannerman answers. “Of course, there will always be odds and ends that we’ll find we need along the way.”

“Nicely done,” I say with the others nodding.

“Lynn?” I ask wanting to hear her report.

“I’ve finished with what I think preliminary training should encompass. It’s a scaled down version of boot camp without the breaking down phase. I’m emphasizing weapons training, tactics, and conditioning along with a survival phase,” she says.

“Great. Need any help with it?” I ask.

“I did put together a secondary training course that I want everyone to go through at some point. You can help with that. It will be more of small unit tactics, stealth, and small unit leadership,” she answers. “I haven’t put together any of the nightly training as yet but will make an announcement for folks to be prepared to teach a class in something they know.”

“Excellent,” I say.

“And you? How did your day go?” Lynn asks.

“Yeah, well. It was, um, interesting. It’ll take some time before I’m comfortable and I’ll leave it at that. I plan to be back up there tomorrow and will take Red Team with me so if we need help anywhere, give us a call," I answer. "Frank, what do you have?' I ask.

“We tested the radios and were able to communicate with the teams out to a considerable distance today so we should be good. We located some maps of the area and have them tacked down on a table by the radios. We’ll be able to keep track of the teams and people,” Franks answers.

“Make sure we have the teams report in hourly and the drivers report leaving and arriving at each location,” I add.

“I’ll brief everyone,” Lynn says.

“Oh, we might want to pick up some chainsaws along with oil and gas. We’ll need to cut the trees down away from the wall so the night runners can’t climb them and vault over,” I say. Bannerman picks up his well-used pad and pen to make a note. “I think we should also rotate the teams out gathering supplies with the standby team.”

“Sounds good to me,” Drescoll says.

“Anything I missed or that we need to talk about?” I ask.

“I think we’re good,” Bannerman answers.

“I can’t think of anything,” Lynn replies. Drescoll and Frank shake their heads.

We adjourn and I walk up to the roof sitting on the same pipe as before. Robert and Bri join me. We sit in silence and watch the sun drop below the trees to the west. The mass of vehicles below us are mostly out of sight, hidden by the roof edge. The roof edge, I think gazing across the grass fields surrounding the parking lots and stretching to the trees in the distance. I make a mental note to talk with Bannerman about putting an overhang over the edges so the night runners can’t scale the sides. I still don’t know how they managed it but I put nothing past their abilities anymore. I’m sure there will be more surprises in store and I hope we’ll be able to meet them.

The shadows of the evergreens in the distance spread across the fields below us marking the slow transition of day towards night. I think about the lots below us filled with night runners as the night envelops us. I wonder how long they will continue coming to this building if they aren’t able to get in. Are they able to recognize and understand defeat and gradually drift away and stop trying? Do they know to stop trying? How intelligent are they? Or will their persistence remain and continue with their nightly attempts because they don’t know any other way? Do they feel compelled to continue? These thoughts drift through my mind as the sun sinks lower in the sky and behind the mountains. I enjoy being up here at this time of day with Robert and Bri and would like to make this a nightly ritual. A time for just us to be together.

The sun slides down behind the mountains sending a last ray across the orange-lit horizon. The ray signals that our time of the day has gone and the time of the night runners has begun. We stand as one and bid the day farewell, each in our own way. After sealing the doors closed, we head to the restaurant for dinner. I pass by Bannerman mentioning the roof edges. As with the nights before, our evening meal becomes momentarily interrupted by the first of the attempts by night runners. The resounding echo reminds us that we are far from being out of danger.

The night passes like the others. The noise from the night runners, as they slam into the doors, has almost a rhythm to it; rising and falling as if the rhythm itself were alive. Several louder ones startle me during the night but I’m able to get a semblance of rest.

The next day starts like the last one. I rise and see Lynn going about the teams, waking them for their morning training. I’m tired but don’t have the exhausted feeling I’ve had on prior mornings. Lacing my boots up, I wonder just how long I’ll be able to put up with these cots. After rubbing the sleep from their faces, everyone gathers their gear and heads down the stairs. With the morning training complete and a bite in us, I gather up Red Team. Lynn catches me just as we are leaving.

“Jack, would you mind heading to the aircraft to see if, well, just see if the note is still there?” She asks taking me aside.

“Of course, hon,” I say pulling her close and holding her tight. There’s so much more I’d like to say but we understand each other and there’s nothing more to be said.

We begin our journey north for a repeat of yesterday, well, hopefully not an exact repeat. The day is an almost complete replica of the day before with the exception that a few, high wisps of clouds sweep across the blue background. Those high, innocent wisps indicate a front trying to move in. It may mean our test to see how clouds affect night runners may be coming soon. Or maybe the high pressure over us will win out and we’ll be blessed with more warm, sunny days.

The helicopter sits on the ramp where I left it, or some might say deposited it, yesterday. It sits as if inviting me to another round. I gather my things and trudge over in order to make another attempt to master my skills. Going through the check list once again, the rotors overhead respond as if accepting a challenge. I feel a touch more comfortable but still feel hesitant remembering some of yesterday’s lovely experiences. I roll the throttles up and feel the vibration increase. Lifting up, I feel the skids go light like the many times before only this time I don’t go shooting across the ramp.

Working my way through pedal turns and some forward and back moves, I lift higher off the ground and work on other maneuvering. After a point, it’s better to have altitude for maneuvering to give a little more margin for error. Of course, if I was to make an error requiring said altitude then I’m pretty screwed anyway. I get the hang of it after a bit, using the term “getting the hang of it” liberally but I find I can maneuver. I practice turns, climbs and basic maneuvers.

I maneuver around the airfield incrementally testing turns and such before setting it back down with a thump. Yeah, I’ll have to work on my landings some. The others gather around and we eat a bite with the sun climbing toward its zenith casting warm rays of sunshine on our shoulders.

“Anything on the radio?” I ask Gonzalez as she and the rest of Red Team draw near.

“Nothing much, sir,” she answers. “Just teams reporting in and the drivers calling out their locations.”

“Good. Let’s finish up with lunch and enjoy a moment. I’ll refuel and then see if I can get this beast back to Cabela’s,” I say. “Before we leave though, I would like to pop into one of the squadron buildings and see if we can find some manuals.”

“Can I go with when you fly down?” Robert asks as we open our rations and lean against the Humvee together.

I’m glad to see he has the same adventurous spirit as I do but I also know that he wants to take every opportunity to learn. He is a lot like me in that way. He always wanted to try new things and never hesitated when I suggested something where he thought he would learn. I feel stuck here though. The feeling stems from the great sense of loss for Nic and knowing I could never go through that again. Even though it’s been a short time, our situation has forced some of those deep grief feelings down inside. On the other hand, I want him to have experiences and I have to balance my protective nature against his need to learn. This seems to come up too many times and I still don’t have the right answer.

“Okay, you can go,” I say.

We finish with our meager lunches. Robert and I head off for one of the fuel trucks parked adjacent to one of the open, brown hangars. The fact that we’re toting M-4s in our hands is really the only surreal thing I feel at this moment. The quiet of the fort and surrounding area doesn’t seem as unreal as we walk across the light gray pavement, feeling the warmth rising from it. I’m sure that feeling will rise again in some instances but with the progress we’ve made and our days spent in this new world, I seem to be getting used to the quiet. My mind is no longer telling me that there should be a tremendous amount of noise associated with what my eyes are seeing.

We drive the truck over talking about the day and other ordinary topics with Robert wanting to know what is was like flying the Kiowa. Describing the differences I noticed, we set up the fuel line and refuel. He asks questions trying to fit the answers within the frame of reference he has with the 130.

“In a way it’s very similar but is touchy as anything,” I say as we finish up.

“Kinda noticed,” he says with a small smile.

“You too!?” I ask.

“Well, it was pretty funny. That’s of course after we figured out you weren’t going to take out everything else around you,” he replies with a chuckle remembering. “You took off to the side like you had a rubber band attached.”

I chuckle imagining his perspective. There’s an apprehensive tone to our conversation because we subconsciously realize we are about to enter an unknown building. I know if we have to penetrate too far in, I’ll just call the whole thing off. The info within is not as important as the info we needed from the CDC. I’m hoping we can find something just inside the building. We’ll be able to use the helmets we took from the HC-130 so I don’t need an equipment room but who knows where I’ll be able to find a manual without going deeper inside.

I stand at the Humvee with the others after dropping the truck back at its location. Shading my eyes from the overhead sun, I glance around at the various buildings. I know the Air Force bases put the squadron buildings next to the ramp and I’m hoping the Army did the same. That way we won’t have to play “find the building” as well. The glare from the sun prevents me from reading any of the signs by the tan buildings.

“None of you would know which would be the squadron or wing building would you? Well, I mean the battalion or regiment building?” I ask the others while still facing the buildings as if the answer will shout forth from them. I’m actually studying the buildings to see if I can denote which one it could be.

“No, sir,” they all respond.

“Well, let’s go have a look,” I say picking one likely candidate.

We check our gear and make our way across the ramp towards the nearest building. The day is becoming quite warm, the kind where the stillness and warmth lends itself to a peaceful day spent lying on a bed of grass near water; napping and lazing the time away. I notice an aviation battalion sign outside of the first building we come to so I’m drawn to explore this one first. The first story building is the usual concrete block building found on most bases and forts and is painted in the familiar light brown. It features one large window on the left, with the blinds pulled down, and a set of darker brown, double doors near the center. The rest of the building is just the featureless concrete block.

Pulling up to the doors, I peek inside a small window inset into them. There isn’t enough residual light inside so whatever is behind is hidden from sight. I test the door on the left and find it swings open a touch with a light pull. Henderson and Denton have taken up a position in front of the doors and slightly off to the side with their weapons, while not quite to their shoulders, ready to be brought up quickly. Gonzalez and McCafferty stand ready by the far doors and Robert stands behind me.

I swing the doors open not really expecting anything to come rushing out, at least in the form of a night runner, but our readiness stems from our need to be constantly alert for anything. It’s good to keep in that mode regardless of the situation and it helps to reinforce the training as well. We are becoming closer as a team and little exercises like this, even if necessary, are important in that regard.

Nothing comes rushing out but our ears are peeled for any sound. In times prior, there were instances of shrieks or movement with the opening of doors, giving us a clue that night runners were inside. We are attuned to listening for those first sounds of surprise as we intrude upon their domain. The building radiates the same quiet inside that it shows outside. The light penetrates through the open door showing the first few feet of a cream-colored linoleum floor.

Sunlight catches particles of dust disturbed by the opening of the door and they dance just above the surface of the floor. Radiant light casts a deep gloom past the doorway fading to a deep black further in. Air from the cooler interior brushes lightly against me as it seeks the outside. The air carries a musty odor but it is only the scent of disuse rather than the stronger body odor of any night runners. The tiled floor has a light covering of dust on the surface and I can’t discern any tracks or other marks.

Within the gloom, I barely make out wooden equipment racks with helmets resting on top of locker-style cabinets below. Stations to test the helmets reside just inside the door to the left and right. The room appears to be fairly open with the lockers occupying most of the space. A wall to the immediate left extends about twelve feet into the room with the room opening more to the left past its end. The room also opens up to the right directly from the door. It’s pretty apparent this is an aviation equipment room. I’m hoping there is an operations desk somewhere inside with manuals. I would check the lockers close by but I never kept the actual manuals in my equipment locker so wouldn’t expect others to either.

I am hesitant to even go inside as it is darkened and the possibility of night runners looms large. There aren’t signs that there are any but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. The items I would like would be a benefit but aren’t vital.

“Are we waiting for something, sir?” Gonzalez asks from across the doorway.

“Just listening and not sure we should even venture in. The manuals aren’t that vital,” I answer.

She peeks her head around the corner of the door and looks in. “We should be okay in there, sir.

“Okay, but we confine ourselves to this room. Any noise or sign of this building being inhabited and we’re out immediately,” I say.

“Hooah, sir,” she responds with a grin knowing how much I like “hooah.”

“Henderson and Denton, take the right side. Gonzalez and McCafferty, straight ahead. Robert and I will cover the left. We’ll be on NVG’s. Check your radios on and one in the chamber,” I say taking a breath.

The familiar tension of entering a darkened building again grips my insides. I’m hoping there will come a time when we can just leave the dark buildings alone and let the night runners have them. Of course that will happen when the buildings fall down with age but that is a long ways off. Perhaps we’ll knock them down when we gather everything we need from them or at least the ones around us. It is part of a “denying the night runners a sanctuary” strategy that runs through my mind from time to time; clearing the area around us. I have no hope of ever clearing them entirely or having some “take back the country” idea as that would be literally impossible with our current personnel and the immensity of that kind of undertaking. We just need our own little place to be safe in and in which to grow.

I nod after we don our goggles and make sure our radios are working. Henderson and Denton dart in the open door to the right; coming to a rest a few feet in and focusing on the right. Robert and I are hard on their heels drawing to a point where the wall makes a corner and continues to the left. I feel the grit from the dust under my boots and take note that it could be slippery in places. The sounds of Gonzalez and McCafferty entering penetrates my senses, both feeling and hearing them draw to a stop beside me. The door slowly closes and shuts with a subdued clink. The room is now only lit by the green glow of our goggles.

I peek around the corner and see a wide aisle between the start of the lockers on my right and the wall to my left. The aisle extends the length of the room, ending at a chest high counter that begins at the wall and runs across my line of sight. A large whiteboard fills the wall behind this station which I hope is the operations desk. If so, then my search for the manuals may be a short one. A small fraction of light emits from the blind-covered window at the desk illuminating part of the whiteboard and counter top. Two doors open up to the left with large-paned windows set in the wall beside them.

“Okay folks, we’re heading to the counter to my front. We’ll stagger with Robert and me in front clearing the aisles to the right and the offices to the left as we go. Gonzalez and McCafferty, you follow behind watching to the right. Henderson and Denton, follow and cover the rear,” I say quietly into the radio.

“Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez responds with a whisper.

“Gotcha covered, sir,” Henderson says.

I turn to Robert at my shoulder, “Stay right behind me and cover the aisles to the right. Make sure you cover on top of the lockers as well. I’ve got the offices to the left and the front.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ve got ya,” Robert replies.

I edge up to the first plate glass window to my left feeling the dust slide under my boots as I glide along. It has the same feeling as being in a tomb long ago forgotten. I guess I’m not as used to the feeling of everyone being gone as I thought. My mind is still associating all that I see with activity and the lack of it causes a small disconnect. The chill in the air, after the warmth outside, adds to the feeling of being in a place that doesn’t seem to want me in it. It’s like it is also traumatized by the same feeling of being left alone and abandoned and wants to merely be left by itself in its pain.

Peeking in the corner of the glass while keeping my senses in tune with the surrounding environment, I look for any movement or night runners within the small office. The only thing inside is a desk wedged in the small enclosure with various papers and a calendar littering the top of it. Besides a couple of chairs behind and in front of the desk, the office is empty.

A quick check down the aisles across from me shows them clear as well. Our best early warning system will be noise and I heighten my senses along these lines. If night runners were to emerge from the aisles without us being prepared, we will be quickly overwhelmed due to the close proximity with which they would become visible. The desk is only about forty feet away but it seems both closer and farther. The light from the window should give us some protection once we reach it.

I sidle to the next window listening to the soft sounds of movement behind me as the others move up. The building is deathly quiet. The sounds of our boots sliding along the grit on the floor and soft sound of cloth rubbing together sounds unnaturally loud within the room. I edge up to the next office and peek in to find the same; a small desk with accompanying chairs and a scattering of paperwork.

I edge quietly up the main aisle and past the aisles between the lockers; checking each as I come to them. The only sight is a place where pilots would gather their last thoughts prior to heading out for their flights; a place where they would think about the upcoming mission while gathering their gear. A chance for a short time alone, wrapped in a bubble with others gathering gear nearby, to finalize thoughts for the flight ahead.

So far, so good. Our scent hasn’t aroused any night runners, there’s no sound of anything scuffling about, and no shrieks of discovery. That doesn’t mean they aren’t lying in wait or further in the building, but we seem to be clear for now. The distinct locker room smell that I’ve associated with a group of night runners is absent. That also doesn’t mean I can relax my guard. We’re in their territory now and I’ve been surprised far too many times to relax inside a darkened building.

The tension is strong; my senses wrapped tight around me with a small part of my mind still questioning the decision to enter. The one good thing is that I don’t feel the sense of the room closing in and waiting with bated breath. There’s still the aspect of a weight within the darkened room but it doesn’t feel like an explosion waiting to happen; it doesn’t feel like we’re being watched.

I approach the counter and look behind it. A jumble of papers are littered across its surface with a microphone sticking up in their midst. This has all of the appearances of the operations desk with a base radio. The whiteboard is covered with markings and associated call signs. The wide aisle we were in heads off to the right in front of the counter to a set of swinging double doors that lead further into the structure. I have Robert cover in that direction as I head around the counter to get behind it. I am guessing there should be some manuals around the desk somewhere to assist pilots with any emergencies they encounter. The ops desk would assist with anything the pilot in distress needed.

I open the blinds and sunlight streams through the window, casting its light about the operations desk, brightening the entire desk and area. It’s light enough that I can remove my goggles and see clearly enough. I only turn them off and raise them wanting them ready just in case. Waving the others over behind the desk, we crowd behind it. I begin looking through drawers that line the desk, eventually finding a set of hard-covered manuals in a large file drawer.

I heft them out and lay them on the desk. I am about to pick them up and stow them as best I can while having my M-4 clear when a sudden noise interrupts my thoughts. It is a muted thump that comes from beyond the doors leading into the building. All eyes turn in that direction with the small metallic clicks of weapons being raised. I don’t see anything in the gloom of the room and any visibility through the small glass windows in the swinging doors is obscured by the darkness behind.

I strain my ears for further sounds but only silence fills the area. The thump was quick and may only have been a book or something falling at the wrong time. The quiet that follows almost makes me believe I didn’t hear it in the first place but I know I did and have to keep that uppermost in my mind. I am about to lower my M-4 and think, once again, of how to carry the binders out when a louder thumping comes from the other side of the doors. It’s muted by the closed doors but it sounds like feet running in our direction. At least it has the rhythm of feet running. In my mind, there’s nothing else it can be. The muted sound seems to be nearing quickly.

My heart gives that first pounding thud of adrenaline being released. The way back to the outside door now seems farther away and especially with the narrow aisles close to our escape route. If night runners make it inside with any numbers and we’re caught along that path, this day will come to a short close.

We’re in fairly close quarters and cramped with all six of us behind the desk. We can’t all cover the door. We’ll be trapped here if the light streaming in the window isn’t enough to keep the night runners at bay. While it seems like minutes with the multitude of thoughts flowing through my mind, it’s only seconds.

“Robert, get the window open,” I whisper getting his attention and nodding to the window behind us. “Henderson and Denton, cover the area we came through. McCafferty, you have the tops of the lockers. Gonzalez and I will cover the doors.”

There’s a shifting of positions as we arrange ourselves to the extent we can. Henderson and Denton lean across the counter aiming their M-4’s back down the aisle we traversed. McCafferty also aims across the counter but stands to have better visibility over the tall lockers. Gonzalez and I line up next to each other aiming at the swinging doors. We turn our laser aiming sights to the visible spectrum and the thin beams of light reach out and dance about the room.

The pounding heading our way seems to shake the walls and structure but it could also be just the pounding of my heart and the adrenaline beginning to flow throughout my system enhancing my senses. There is no doubt though that vibration is being sent through the concrete floor underneath the linoleum and through the soles of our boots. It doesn’t sound like a horde coming our way but there is definitely something. And coming fast.

“How’s that window coming, Robert?” I say over my shoulder realizing I’ve barely given him enough time to do anything. Everything seems both speeded up and slowed down.

“I’m getting it,” he answers.

The swinging doors burst wide open, startling me even though I was expecting it. Two night runners sweep in and give a loud shriek on discovering us behind the counter. They come to an abrupt stop, their pale faces barely outlined in the gloom, with two others entering behind. They seem hesitant to enter fully into the light but stand with their heads thrust forward and screaming.

One thin beam of light centers on the head of the night runner to the right as Gonzalez centers her aiming sight. The muted cough of her M-4 firing mixes with the shrieking of the night runners, the flash lighting up the room and signifying that rounds are on the way. The bullets streaking outward intersect with the fine point of her light. Where her light is focused, an explosion of blood fans outward. The first round hits just beside the nose, shattering the cheek bone and fragmenting the projectile. The splintered shell then tears through the sinus cavity, destroying the internal structure and bone behind. Splintering even more, the remains rip through the soft tissue of the brain devastating the synapses and nerve centers within. The process of passing through the layers of bone takes some of the momentum away from the fragments and they slam against the rear of the skull and come to rest.

The night runner’s head snaps back from the force of the impact. The subsequent rounds from the burst hits on the left brow, as its head is knocked backward, and ricochets off the heavy bone structure into the one of the swinging doors. The others pass overhead. The night runner drops straight to the floor as if its legs forgot how to stand.

My rounds leave the barrel in a similar flash of light and strike the night runner to the left, forcibly impacting it right under the nose. The splash of blood mingles in the air with the blood of its partner. The bullet shatters the front teeth and upper jaw before arcing downward through the softer tissue of the palate and back of the throat. It smacks into the vertebrae with a tremendous velocity, severing the spinal column and creating a large hole in the back of the neck. Tissue and blood spray behind the night runner as, with its head lolling to the side, it is catapulted into the arms of its compadre behind.

“I’ve got the window open,” Robert yells behind me.

“Okay, head outside. McCafferty, you’re next. Henderson, Denton, follow. We’ve got the rear,” I yell bringing my aiming point onto the next night runner as it tosses the one thrown backwards to the side.

Gonzalez’ carbine coughs its deadly load out once again, taking down the night runner remaining on the right. It staggers backward under the onslaught of the steel colliding with its body with the steel winning out over flesh and bone. It collapses against the backside of a locker before slumping to the ground. I give the trigger a slight pull with the sound of scrambling behind me. The last night runner looks up from moving its propelled pack member only to be met with an additional onslaught of rounds tearing into its face. It leaves its feet and hits the swinging doors with the back of its blown out head and its feet in the air. The thud of the night runner slamming into the door signals the end of the shrieks pouring through the room. The doors swing back towards their closed position but remain partially open, their edges coming to rest against the night runner corpse lying between them.

“I’m out,” McCafferty calls.

I hear additional scrambling from Henderson and Denton as they make their way to the window. I reach over and pat Gonzalez on the shoulder, pointing down the area to our right indicating to cover there. She wheels to the right and her laser light moves across the room settling on her new coverage area. The only sound in the room is the scrambling movement of our team climbing out the window. The rest of the room resumes the silent introspection it had before; not even acknowledging the quick engagement within its walls.

“Do you think there were only four?” Gonzalez asks.

“It would appear so but we can’t be sure. I would think that if there were any others in here, they would have come running with the shrieks,” I answer.

“We’re out,” Denton calls in the window.

“Okay, you’re next. I’ve got this,” I say to Gonzalez.

I shuffle back toward the window after she disappears from my peripheral. I now have to cover the entire area with my peripheral and that’s easier done from a corner of the room. The silence of the room is a surprising as many of our past experiences have shown that the night runners mass in large packs. My psyche thinks that there must be a lot more present but there’s a part of me that’s thankful they are still running in small groups. That of course is a two-edged sword. If they were in massed packs, it would make fewer places they were in. The smaller groups mean that there will be more buildings inhabited. I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Well, this was a pretty quick engagement and the massed packs are overwhelming so maybe the preference isn’t so hard after all.

“I’m out, sir,” Gonzalez calls.

I turn, hand Gonzalez my carbine and the binders, and scramble out of the window onto the ramp. The warmth of the ramp, even in this shaded part of the building, is almost desert-like after the coolness of the building.

“Next time I suggest something stupid like that, thump me over the head,” I say taking my M-4 back.

“I’m on it, sir,” Gonzalez says. “But that was a no-brainer and a breeze.”

“Everyone alright?” I ask. They all do the instinctive pat down before nodding.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” I say.

“See you back at base, sir,” Gonzalez says and they march off towards the Humvee.

“You ready?” I ask Robert as I watch the others cross the ramp, obviously telling war stories by the way their hands are moving as they talk.

“Yep,” he answers.

Okay, let’s get a move on then,” I say. We head for the helicopter sitting on the ramp as if it wonders what happened inside.

I notice the feeling of “what have we go ourselves into” has diminished to a degree as if what just happened inside was a natural occurrence. It didn’t feel like a natural occurrence while it was happening but in the aftermath, the return to “normal” is quick. Granted, it was a small skirmish but the adrenaline was up and a skirmish is a skirmish. It brings back some of the past where we’d run mission after mission and have the feeling that each was just another one. We’d be back having a beer, and while talking about it some, it would seem more like just another day than a mission.

We climb into the cockpit with the sun seeming to speed across the blue sky. We strap in and run through the check list. The rotors are soon turning in a blur overhead. I think again about having Robert with me but give a mental shrug and pull up on the collective, doing my best to keep the helicopter within the boundaries of the fort. The ground shrinks away as we gain altitude; the slight yet constant vibration much different than the vibration of the 130. The vibration of the 130 comes from seemingly all over where this one feels a touch side to side and up and down. I bank out towards the north and McChord.

“Where are we going?” Robert shouts across the small space between us. His air-sense letting him know immediately that we’re heading in the wrong direction.

“Running an errand for Lynn,” I shout back to which he merely nods.

I see the two 130’s, one sitting in its solitude of retirement and the other keeping it company, parked on the ramp where we left them. They begin to fill our screen as I descend in front of them. I want to give plenty of leeway as the helicopter is still prone to launch itself in a random direction. I ease down until a bump and the rocking of the skids signifies contact with the ground. I then ease the collective all of the way down and we settle securely on the hard surface below.

Debris and dust is blown outward from our rotor wash. The ramp used to be cleaned often but the lack of attention has allowed the dust to gather. This will be something to think about in the future as foreign objects can cause quite a bit of damage if ingested in the engines or can cause harm being blown around. I shut down with these thoughts flowing through my mind. Plus the reason I’m here. I feel bad for Lynn with her brother and mother not showing up, especially seeing she knows they were alive after the shit hit the fan. I feel like it’s my fault in a way after getting her spirits up telling her about them. That almost seems worse in a way. Well, someday we may have the opportunity to find out, I think eyeing the 130 off our nose as the rotors wind to a stop.

I see what looks like a sheet of paper over on the base ops door and walk over. Lynn has written a note for her family, but it also mentions anyone else as well, and taped it to the door putting it inside an upside down plastic sleeve. It still seems secure with the copious amounts of duct tape she used. I turn back to the ramp wishing that Craig and Lynn’s mom were here for her and hoping they’re okay.

We climb in the HC-130 – I just want to see inside it once again - and the aircraft seems to welcome us back as we enter. Being inside the aircraft, which saw us through our previous adventures and kept us safe throughout, gives me a sense of melancholy. The familiar smell brings back the memories of what we went through such a short time ago. The memories already fading to a degree but being inside is a reminder of how far we have come and, with that, also of how far we have yet to go. As we exit, I mentally give another thank you to the aircraft for seeing us safely through.

We jump back in the helicopter and start it up. Being inside the 130, the gorgeous day, and being next to Robert brings a feeling of peace, replacing the melancholy feeling I had moments ago. It’s close to the feeling I used to have as we were loading up the Jeep for a day on the mountain bikes or some other adventure; the feeling of peace, calm, with the excitement that comes with the beginning of the day and the pleasure of being in each other’s company. The speeding rotors signify the helicopter is ready for another attempt at flight.

We lift off into the blue of the sky which has a bleached look to it. The high, wispy, horse mane clouds have pushed further to the north and inland indicating that the front is slowly winning out. I tuck that away and just enjoy the moment. The vibrations course through the soles of my boots on the anti-torque pedals. The ground peels away as we gain altitude and bank over the base. The brown buildings below us, nestled between the brown fields and strips of gray roads, pass beneath. There becomes a disassociation with the ground as we fly overhead. The place no longer feels or looks like a ghost town as it does when driving through it. While the lack of movement does still seem odd to a point, it doesn’t seem as odd. Of course, it may be my concentration on keeping this beast airborne against its desire to find the closest tree and park in it.

We hook up with I-5 and start south. I would love to do a nap of the earth flight – flying the contours of the land at a very low level - and always envied the rotor heads that ability however my skills are far from attempting it. I always enjoyed those flights when we would sneak in on insertions but I was always in the back. I always thought it would be so cool to fly like that. We would fly quite low in jets and in the 130 but it’s not the same. Turning south, I pick up movement on the Interstate below. It’s one of the semi’s carting a load of concrete partitions and heading in the same direction we are. Actual movement on the highway does seem strange after seeing the empty lanes for so long. Not actually that long ago but it sure seems like it. The sight warms my heart that we’re starting to make progress but it is also another reminder that we’ve only just started. Four miles of wall to build. What an undertaking? I think as we pass over the truck.

I look ahead and see a large wall of dark smoke billowing into the sky just to the left of our nose. I’m guessing it’s coming from the burning of the neighborhood tracts. Ideally, I would like to have gone through each place and pulled supplies and such. Things like light bulbs, food, tools, etc. but we just don’t have that luxury. The bacteria and diseases that will spawn from so many bodies is a real threat to our survival as much, if not more, than the night runners. The roof of Cabela’s, along with its green awnings, comes into view quickly. The brown and olive drab of parked Humvees and other vehicles provides a stark contrast to the dark paved lot they are sitting on. Various large pieces of equipment are off to the east side of the lot. Three large cranes are the most prevalent among them and I already see that some of the partitions have been put in place. It has begun.

Landing on the parking lot, which again is more of an arrival than a landing, I see I was mistaken when I thought the equipment was all cranes because I now see that one of them is a pile driver. Now where did Bannerman find one of those? I think waiting for the rotors to wind down. Great idea though. The group working on the wall are hammering tall I-beams into the ground and sliding the partitions in between. I wonder where Bannerman found those as well as there is a tremendous pile of them off to one side. The slots in them look like they’re just wide enough for the concrete slabs, which are stacked in an area beside them, to slide into. The noise of the pile driver hammering the steel beams into place gives a sense of normalcy; the sight of man-made objects and the corresponding noise we were accustomed to. I’m once again reminded of what a good team we have.

I walk in and the noise of hammering continues. Only this time, it’s the supply teams working to build plywood partitions on the second floor. It’s only mid-afternoon but the amount of work and the number of changes makes it seem like I’ve been gone several days. I let Frank know we’re back and join up with the others to lend a hand with the interior building project. The plywood partitions are to create small rooms to give everyone a sense of privacy. This is a temporary solution but it’s better than all of us just lying on cots in the middle of the floor. It helps the psyche as well and gives a sense of permanence which helps us mentally cope with all that is going on; it gives a sense of future.

The rest of the day passes by fairly quickly with the partitions finished to a large degree and progress made on the perimeter wall. All teams fold back into our haven as the sun hits the top of the trees and we meet again just prior to dinner.

“How is the training program coming along?” I ask Lynn once we settle in together.

“I’m not quite ready. I’ll need a couple of days yet. I would like to get a bulldozer to build a berm for a firing range,” she responds.

“I’ll see what we can come up with,” Bannerman replies making a note.

“How are the supplies holding out?” I ask Bannerman.

“We’re doing okay. We could use some additional food though,” he answers.

“Okay, I think Red Team is slated for one of the supply teams. Are we slated to go with Alpha or Bravo?”

“Alpha,” Lynn answers.

“We’ll make a supply run tomorrow if that’s what you had in mind,” I say.

“That sounds good. We were also able to put an overhang on the roof,” Bannerman says.

“Good deal,” I reply.

“We managed to get about sixty feet of wall built today. That will increase in the coming days as we had to get everything set up first and that took a while,” Bannerman says addressing the group.

“Awesome. Where’d you get that pile driver by the way? And great idea with the I-beams,” I say.

“We found it in a construction yard along with the cranes. The beams were there as well and they got me thinking. I thought we were going to have a tough time engineering a way to put the wall up in the first place and it would take some time to figure a way to make it sturdy, and here these were. It was rather simple actually,” he says.

“Well, good job nonetheless,” I say in return.

I give a rundown of my day and there’s not really much to say after that. I ask Frank if he would keep track of the buildings we’ve been in for supplies so we can be more effective with our gathering. He said he’d mark them on the map. I also think about demolishing the buildings after we’ve finished with them but save that discussion for another time. We break and I head up to the roof with Robert and Bri; our now nightly ritual before dinner. That may change with the coming nightly training sessions but I would like for this to remain. We just may have to figure out a different time of the evening.

We talk for a while amongst ourselves; really mostly small talk with Robert focusing on the short helicopter flight back and how much he wants to learn to fly it. I tell him it may be a while because I don’t even know how yet. Bri says she’s interested in learning as well and I tell them they’re welcome to study with me after their training with Lynn. I look to the edge of the roof and notice the thin steel plates that Bannerman had bolted into the concrete ledge lining the roof. They look to extend about five or six feet out from the roof’s edge which should, and I say should here because you never know what the night buggers can accomplish, prevent anything from gaining access to the roof. Looking past the overhang, the wall stands tall, although only a short section of it is actually upright. It’s a silent reminder of the changed world in which we find ourselves. It also stands in testimony to our endeavors and signals the start of a possible new beginning. The sun droops behind the mountains bringing a refreshing coolness to the late evening. A breeze picks up against our faces and it feels invigorating and energizing in a way. The last of the sun hangs above the line of mountains as if trying to hang onto its dominance of the sky; trying not to lose its grip on the day before it is finally pulled down. The sun setting is our clue that our time outside has come to an end. The night doesn’t belong to us. It’s time for the night runners to emerge; to prowl and hunt the streets.

We rise with a sigh and climb down into the heart of the building. The entry doors have been secured and the aroma of warm food drifts throughout. The murmuring that usually comes when a group of people are gathered rises and falls as conversations take place. There’s movement as some move their stuff into one cubicle or another. This is so much better than traipsing around the world in a 130. As much as I’m not a fan of what happened to the world, I’m thankful we are here and safe for the moment. There is an underlying tension of knowing that could change in an instant; if the night runners find a way around the doors for instance, but for this particular moment in time, it feels good. Tomorrow is another day though and each day seems to bring a new challenge with it.

Lynn makes an announcement at dinner regarding the nightly training sessions. We’ll gather an hour prior to sunset and begin class before dinner. The classes will go anywhere from an hour to two depending on what is being taught. The subjects will vary and each night will have a different trainer. That may change depending on the depth of the training and there may be times when a single class might extend over several days. She then gives a synopsis of the day and summarizes our progress. She ends with the plans for tomorrow which are basically the same as today with the exception of the teams on supply duty and the one in reserve.

She finishes as the first of our nightly chorus section of poundings against our outside doors begins in earnest. Bannerman whips out his ever-present notepad and jots down some notes. The shrieks are muted by the distance and the doors but it is still very much noticed. Nonetheless, we down our meals, one team finishing and taking over for one of the two on guard.

The next day rolls around the same as before, mostly with me not wanting to get up. The morning PT and training, and yes, I do join in, is a nice way to break the day in. We manage to get outside just after the breaking of dawn and exercise in the cool air of the morning. We go through another rendition of training that Lynn has lined up for us, this one using one of the back rooms of the building for small room clearing techniques. We practice until all teams move into the room like a fast moving fog; quietly and quickly but with force.

We shower, doing the best we can with the limited facilities, and put some food in us before the teams separate on their various missions. Today, it’s Red and Alpha Teams to gather food supplies this morning. Frank found us a Safeway just up the road that we might start with. Walking outside with the teams, I notice a high cloud cover has come over us. The sun shines opaquely through the milky white clouds. The morning still has the feel of a warm day but there is a definite increase in the humidity. The rain won’t be more than a day or two behind if the front continues to weaken the high pressure over us.

We pile into two Humvees and a transport truck after checking over our gear and equipment one more time. The deep, throaty sound of the semi’s idling and warming up in the lot, light blue smoke rising from the chrome stacks just behind the cabs, echoes across the still morning. The breeze that sprang up the night before is absent. The sounds of vehicles starting add to the noisy activity beginning to take place. A billow of dark smoke from the exhaust of a crane near the partially constructed wall indicates activity beginning on the wall as well. This is the daytime; it is our time and we have to make the best use of it.

We pull out just ahead of the trucks and other vehicles on their way north to commence gathering pieces for our perimeter wall. We add to the radio traffic letting Frank know we are on our way. We’ll call at our destination which is only minutes away. The others will take twenty or more minutes to reach the area they are heading to. The convoy of vehicles parts at the Interstate as we continue ahead along a five lane thoroughfare. The traffic lights hang dark above as we pass through several intersections and arrive at the Safeway. The streets and parking lot are strewn with paper and other trash. It looks like the night runners partied at night and left their leavings behind.

There are a few columns of lighter smoke in the area drifting lazily into the air. Some of the fires from the day prior are still burning in places. The smell of smoke almost overcomes the ripe odor of rot that has become predominant. Hopefully we can stay ahead of the game there; taking care of the bodies before disease has a chance to become rampant. As if in answer to my thoughts, several fire trucks pass by as we pull into the parking lot in front of the store.

Exiting with the sound of the trucks diminishing into the distance, I call Frank with our arrival and examine the store front. I was hoping it would be a glass front store as a lot of these store types tend to be. The glass front would allow a lot more light inside and would most likely be free of night runners or at least help keep them somewhat at bay. No such luck here. There are two entrance doors, one to the left of the store and one to the right with several panes of glass beside them, but the rest of the store is concrete block. It will be very much like the BX back in the Azores with light extending a few feet inside by the doors but the rest of the interior an inky black.

We spray on the odor eliminator. I cradle my M-4, and stroll to the door on the left. I’m not sure which door will be closest to the canned food aisle and want to see which door to use by taking a look inside. I feel my mind tighten down with our upcoming entry into a possible night runner domain. Our past experiences with that haven’t been the most pleasant. My thoughts turn toward tactics and run through several eventualities. I contemplate our experience inside the BX. I can’t think of a better plan than to establish a perimeter inside and have a couple of team members cart the goods out behind the perimeter. The aisles will limit visibility and that will be dangerous.

I feel the tension building. It’s similar to a high tension wire strumming in a strong breeze. My senses are vibrating inside. There is the unknown and the knowledge that this will be repeated again and again until we become more self-sufficient. Approaching the doors on the left side, there is the unmistakable evidence of night runner activity. Shards of glass litter the concrete sidewalk in front of the doors. One of the side panes has been broken out. The pieces of glass are dispersed so there isn’t the telltale sign of footprints written in blood. Looking in the broken pane, shards are scattered across the white and black tiled linoleum floor. There is a very faint outline of footprints but they appear old.

That aside, the signs are unmistakable. This is like a neon sign saying night runners are here. There’s a faint whirring at the door as the cooler air inside mixes with the warmer air outside. It carries the combination of mustiness and a rotting smell on the very light breeze. The radiant light streaming through the remaining glass doors and other pane cast a rectangular path of light about twenty feet inside. A gloomy gray extends a shorter distance past before the interior is swallowed up in darkness like a vast black hole.

No sounds come from inside but I know that doesn’t mean anything. I can barely see the end caps at the head of the aisles but not down the aisles themselves. The others are gathered behind me as I look around the establishment. The interior dictates a similar entry and formation as we had at the BX in the Azores but we’ll have to have a moving perimeter anchoring against the outside wall. The store opens up some to the left and, unless we take the time to clear the entire side, and still not know if the night runners can come around from that side, that’s our best shot. We’ll have to anchor around the door as well to preserve our path out of here in case something happens.

I pull away. Dizziness takes hold and I feel a moment of disassociation. Shaking my head to clear it, I turn to Watkins and the other team members. The sight of them standing in the parking lot with the sun shining through the opaque clouds seems a touch surreal; as if they all seem a little brighter than they should. The soldiers in their black fatigues, with their tactical combat vests secured to the outside; each either cradling his or her M-4 or grabbing it next to the lower receiver and holding it downward, their eyes all focused on me and the entrance waiting for instructions and the word to go, stands very sharp in my mind. Next to me, Robert looks much in the same manner as the others; a little too bright. It seems like a moment just prior to stepping through a time machine and into an unknown world.

I give my head another brief shake and orient my mind back to the mission at hand; the steel band tightens down. I send Watkins over to the door to get oriented to the interior as well and he returns shortly. We haven’t really worked together but I’m not worried as I’ve seen him work. I squat down on the pavement off to the side of the door and have everyone gather around.

“Here’s the way I see it,” I say starting a brief and then say to Watkins, “Chime in if you see something different or have other ideas.” Watkins nods his response.

“First off, the gathering of food will not be a quiet venture but we still need to keep the noise down as much as possible. Gonzalez, McCafferty, you’ll anchor the entrance doors and be the left side of our perimeter. We’ll anchor everything to the outside wall closest to us as best we can. Henderson and Denton, you’ll be on the far right. Watkins, I want you to follow in behind Robert and me and leave a person at the end of each aisle. Save two to gather food. Robert and I will take the last two aisles directly behind Henderson and Denton. Henderson and Denton, you clear each aisle as you come to it, wait for one of Alpha or ourselves to get into position, and then move onto the next aisle. We’ll be able to cover six aisles that way. Not much, but it’s the best we can do. Any questions so far or does anyone have anything to add?” I ask.

“No, sir,” Watkins answers. I see he’s back to the “sir” thing. Seems to be mission-oriented with him. Not that I mind either way, just continuing to notice.

“Okay, once we have the aisles covered, the two you assign will head down the first aisle and gather what you can. The one guarding that aisle will precede them up the aisle and follow them back down. Gather the food there and deposit it outside and proceed to the next aisle. We’ll get what we can and hope the first six aisles have something usable. If not, then we’ll look to the other doors. If there’s an inkling of any night runners inside, we’re out. If we have to pull out, Henderson and Denton, come back to me. We’ll then pull back and gather the next in line. Always keep your sector clear until you’re pulled back to and keep alert to the radios. Questions?” I ask almost needing oxygen.

“I think we’re good to go,” Watkins says.

I rise and am struck again by the starkness of how everything looks. It’s like everything is etched in the finest of detail but a little too bright. Watkins talks to Alpha and the team members organize themselves into order of entry. We do a quick check of everyone’s radios. We’ll be using the broken pane for entry. The soft clicks of sights being turned on and carbines being charged are the only sounds in the area. We’re ready and, with the charging handles being released, the game faces come on and they focus earnestly. The curtain is about to rise.

Henderson and Denton line up just outside the entrance with Gonzalez and McCafferty right behind. Robert and I line up behind the women and, behind us, the rest of Alpha gets ready in whatever order Watkins has assigned them.

“Go,” I whisper ahead to Henderson and he darts through the opening.

He is followed immediately by Denton slipping through. Gonzalez and McCafferty disappear within the building and I follow in, snapping my goggles down on entering. The first thing that assails me is the nauseating stench within. It’s the smell of rotting meat, milk, and vegetables. It hits like an invisible wall. I just about gag right there and then. We may have to think about gas masks for future entries as this can have a debilitating effect.

Henderson and Denton are on their knees just inside the door to the right. Gonzalez and McCafferty are aligned in the same way on the left. I tap Denton on the shoulder and point ahead. He and Henderson rise and move to the first aisle. Robert and I take the positions they vacated. Scuffling comes from behind as the rest of Alpha enters. They push up to the first aisle and, with a touch, I direct Robert out to the right. I plan to follow along with Henderson and Denton until we come to our aisles of responsibility.

“You stay close to me until it’s time to cover an aisle,” I whisper to Robert beside me.

“Okay, Dad,” he whispers back.

The store is set up like any other. Cash registers line the front of the store with a wide lane between them and the outside wall. Another wide lane separates the goods aisles from the registers.

“Small change in plan,” I whisper on the radio. “Robert and I will proceed adjacent to Henderson and Denton along the front lane until we come to our aisles.”

Clicks on the radio let me know the others have heard and understood. I glance ahead and see a small band of light from the far end doors. My adrenaline is keyed up and the darkness, showing green in our goggles, has that waiting feeling. I have a sense of night runners inside. The wretched smell of rotting goods is overwhelming any other scent inside the structure so I can’t tell if there’s that tell-tale body odor scent or not. Another item to know and it’s not to our advantage. The weight of the interior presses around us. It’s not quite as oppressive as being inside with only flashlights and complete darkness around but it still weighs heavily. It’s a feeling I know well. It’s the feeling of a building occupied and you doing your best not to be found.

Henderson and Denton clear out the first aisle and move up to the next. Robert and I rise and inch along in line with them. So far there isn’t a hint of movement or sound. The building itself feels dark and abandoned. The abandoned feeling comes from the building itself rather than a lack of occupants. There’s a tension in the air and it’s not only coming from us, although there is a fair amount of that. A scuffle of boots indicates Henderson and Denton moving up to the third aisle. I keep my head on a swivel and see the various laser aiming points move about the building from time to time. A stray beam will come over a covered aisle and streak through the interior, hitting the ceiling beams momentarily before disappearing.

The third and fourth aisles are cleared and then we’re up. Robert and I cross through an open cashier lane and join Henderson and Denton. Robert takes his place at the end of the cleared aisle and we move up. I stand in the next aisle only a few feet away. Henderson and Denton line the lane to my right. This is as far inside as we’ll get. I ponder whether to take the reserve team off that duty and use them for supplies. We’re not going to be able to clear an entire building of this size with only two teams. And by clear, I mean empty it of supplies. We’ll need these places for more than food. Light bulbs will need to be replaced; toilet paper, all types of odds and ends. Being inside, I think we may need to wait to clear buildings of this size until after we’ve built the wall and we bring all of the entire teams. I table that in the back of my mind.

This is very different from sneaking around in buildings in times past. That was a very different philosophy altogether. Here we have to keep a perimeter and back then the perimeter merely moved with us. Wherever we happened to be, that was the perimeter. I glance at Robert standing nearby as he stares intently down his aisle and above him. Good, I think watching him, he remembers the lessons from the BX.

“Okay, Watkins, we’re in place. Start gathering items from the first aisle,” I say pressing the throat mic.

“Copy that, sir,” he responds.

The sound of a cart being wheeled slowly inside seems to screech across the interior like a fingernail on a blackboard. I cringe at the noise but it can’t be helped. If we hand gather the items, then we’d take forever and I’d rather be in and out quickly if at all possible. I make another mental note to check the carts and maybe even have some oil on hand. I see the two Alpha members disappear down the first aisle. The squeaks end, start, and end again as they venture down the aisle filling the basket. They eventually make their way back and to the entrance door, repeating the process with the second, third, and fourth aisles.

The two gathering goods come to Robert and he heads down the aisle, disappearing from my view. I feel apprehensive about him being in here. I know he’s a man but he’s also my kid. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to this. I trust him implicitly but this is almost too much to watch. The sound of the cart being wheeled down the aisle does its start and stop as items are gathered. My heart is pounding within the confines of my chest. I want to be done and out of here. I can’t believe we’re going to have to do this so many more times. Our equipment makes it easier but the stress of being inside a building that is possibly inhabited by night runners puts me on edge.

I glance down my aisle and see a flash of movement past the opening at the end. A soft padding of feet across the floor accompanies the quick darting of a shape across the opposite aisle opening. I immediately know what it is. A night runner!

“Night runners,” I call into the radio. “Pull back.”

As if the radio call was a signal, shrieks fill the interior. Or perhaps it’s that they realize they’ve been discovered and that the game is up; perhaps planning on trapping us within but now their presence is known. The screams seem to come from everywhere at once; to the front along the back lanes, to the right from the depths of the store, to the left from the bakery and deli counters. I swear it even seems to be coming from above. A glance verifies it’s just the incredible volume rebounding off the ceiling.

Night runners pour into the aisle in front of me and I hear a multitude of footsteps pounding across the floor to my right. The soft bark of M-4’s, firing to my immediate right from Henderson and Denton, verifies night runners in that direction. Their gunfire rises momentarily above the howling. The night runners streaking my way are packed shoulder to shoulder and I fire a couple of bursts into their midst. The first two drop immediately and are pushed to the floor from the ones behind.

Henderson and Denton are at my position keeping us from being overrun from the side. Increased fire is testament that night runners are appearing in other locations as well. I fold back with Henderson and Denton to Robert’s aisle. The two gathering the items are backtracking as rapidly as they can but are also blocking the exit. Robert is on the other side of them firing quick bursts into the night runners pouring into his aisle. How in the world did they get here so quick in the numbers they did? I think with a sense of urgency. Robert is closer to them and trapped.

“Move it!” I yell to the Alpha members that are moving much too slowly for my taste.

Constant bursts of fire from Robert is keeping the night runners at bay for the moment but there are more behind and he’ll have to reload soon. Light flashes off the assorted goods on the shelf beside him from his rounds reaching out to the creatures in front. They drop in the aisle, forming a small mound, but others replace them as they push onward. He backs along with the other two but the night runners are closing the distance.

“Stay here,” I say to Henderson and Denton who are kneeling at the corner of the aisle dealing their form of destruction to any who come streaming out into the lane from the far aisles.

The suddenness of the attack is startling and close to overwhelming. I direct Denton to cover the aisle I was in, so they don’t just round the corner on us, and move into the aisle. My son is up ahead and, although moving back slowly, he is clearly trapped. I take one step into the aisle and see his mag leave his receiver. He gropes for another at his vest pouch and then they’re on him. The foremost night runner slams into him and knocks him off balance. Another, just behind the first, runs into him and knocks him to the ground. They both go down on top of him and I hear him yell; startled, fearful, and perhaps pain. They’re on top of my son and bent over him. I lose it!

“Make sure everyone gets out,” I yell to Henderson and become oblivious to all else.

I race up the aisle replacing my own mag, passing the two backing quickly out. My focus is on the night runners bent over Robert. Time and motion slows. He is writhing under the two night runners on top of him as he tries to gain some leverage on them. They are too well situated and bent over him. I chamber the first round with a flick of the bolt release. I hear Robert scream in pain and feel the kick from my M-4 as it delivers the first rounds. They streak out for the night runners clawing and biting my son. The first bullets impact one of the night runners on top of the head with the others entering the back of its head and back. A small splash of blood sprays out from where the round hits on top with a larger shower erupting into the air above it as my second round takes off the back of its head. It slumps down on top of Robert and rolls to the side.

I quickly shift my aim to the next one; the thin beam of my aiming sight coming to rest on top of its head as well. Robert’s hands are on the side of its head trying to keep it away but I see his grip weaken. Light flashes and my next rounds are on the way. I’m oblivious to this as my entire focus is on getting to Robert. Nothing else matters. A similar pattern of blood gushes from the second night runner and it slumps on top of Robert.

“Get up!” I yell sending another burst into night runners trying to take their fallen pack members’ places.

He tilts his head backward looking in my direction but doesn’t move any more than that. His goggles have been knocked clear and I see his wide eyes looking back at me with fear and pain written in them. A night runner goes down at Robert’s feet but another fills the gap immediately. I switch to semi in order to conserve rounds. Reloading will force me back and I may lose him forever if that happens. And that’s not going to happen. A rage built on fear erupted upon seeing my son go down and now it builds even higher with the thought of being pushed back. I take steps forward spitting out single rounds. A steel net of determination tightens down in my mind. I will reach my boy! There is nothing that will interfere with that.

Night runners go down as rounds strike their bodies, either injuring or putting them down for good. A small mound begins to build. The line of creatures isn’t able to advance but neither is there any room gained either. I step next to Robert’s head and look quickly down.

“Can you get up?” I ask delivering another round into a night runner seeking to get closer.

There is no response but he continues to look up into my eyes. I see a large chunk of flesh has been ripped from his neck and blood is spilling to the floor his head. Fear, panic, and anger continue to rage through my system but it is at a level below a certain calmness. It is the fuel that is keeping my ability, determination, and actions going. The overriding calmness, well, more actually a lack of emotion, is the source that directs those actions. They combine to create a wall that no night runner will break; a wedge between me and my son on the ground that no one will overcome. The combination makes it so no other result is possible. I kneel beside him continuing to deliver rounds into the waiting night runners, their screams echoing in my ears. I plan to drag Robert while keeping the creatures at a distance. I look down at his eyes quickly, locking with his gaze, and see the life leave his eyes. His head lolls to the side and the pooling of the blood beside him slows. I reach quickly down, firing the single rounds one-handed into the mass just feet away. Feeling on the side of his ruined neck, I can’t discern a pulse.

“Noooooo!” I scream. My scream, enhanced by the terror and sudden grief, the emotion that was riding below the threshold erupts, and rises far above the shrieks and sounds of firing already filling the interior of the building.

I look up towards the entrance door and see the faint outline of light radiating in that direction. My vision centers on that small piece of light. The edge of my vision darkens, forming a tunnel with the faint light centered within. I feel myself being pulled and stretched towards the light. I swoop towards the entrance as if being pulled through a tunnel; the light growing brighter as I draw closer.

I’m suddenly standing outside feeling a slightly dizzy. Fear, panic, and grief consume me. I’m shaking my head as if to clear the dizziness. I look around and see the members from Alpha and Red Teams standing around me as if waiting for instructions. Most importantly, there is Robert standing beside me. I notice the clarity in the definition of the things around and the aspect of it seeming to be overly bright is gone. I feel confused but then realize everything that just happened was in my mind. It feels like waking from a nightmare and finding everything is as it should be.

“Are you okay, sir?” Watkins asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say shaking my head once again. “We’re going to find some other place to shop.”

I don’t know if this was a clairvoyant vision or a product of my own imagination but there’s no way in hell I’m going inside this store, especially with Robert. The grief still sits inside me but is overshadowed by an overwhelming relief that he’s still okay. It could be that our senses are no longer flooded with a barrage of messages or external sensations and our minds now allow for more subliminal aspects to filter in. We don’t have to filter out so much “noise” and that perhaps allows our minds to “see” better. Whatever it is, what I saw and felt was real to me and we are not going inside.

“Whatever you say, sir,” Watkins replies. “Where are we going?”

“We’ll call Frank and see what stop-and-robs haven’t been searched. We’ll hit a few of them,” I answer.

I would mark this place as off-limits but the vision, if you can call it that, may be limited to this space and time and only with the associated people involved. We turn and head back to the Humvees, radioing Frank and gathering additional places to go. No one says anything nor do I see weird looks. Anyone who has known combat or trained understands and appreciates those second-sight senses; respects them. We always listened to those perceptions and they merely became another sense while we were out on a mission.

We spend the day hopping from small market to small market and fill the transport vehicle in the process. The stores we venture into are free from any night runner signs and, staying cautious and alert, we don’t encounter any within. The clouds thicken as the day goes on until the sun is merely a brighter spot in the sky. It looks like the front has won out after all. It’s not cloudy or dim enough to worry much about the night runners yet but, regardless, we make a call out for the teams to be on their toes. I’m not too happy about the soldiers driving the trucks to be by themselves but our limited manpower gives us no other option.

Smoke billows in the distance throughout the day as the burn teams tackle another area. At times when stepping out of the Humvee close to the large, rising column of dark smoke, I hear the sound of someone calling over a loudspeaker. The individual words can’t be heard but the sound is unmistakable. It’s the teams calling out ahead of the burns to see if there are any survivors in the area. Only once do I hear the actual announcement.

“This area is scheduled for a burn. If there’s anyone alive, we can provide shelter and food. If you need assistance, let us know in some way. Again, this area is scheduled for a burn….” The voice then drifts off as whoever it is turns, gets farther away, or something comes between us blocking the rest.

We return to our sanctuary with the light beginning to fade from the day. The smoke from the fires is lending a yellowish-brown cast to the clouds and light. Two of the trucks, loaded with concrete partitions, pull in ahead of us and park by one of the cranes to offload. The teams with the wall have made tremendous progress and the wall now stretches several hundred feet from where they started this morning. If we can continue to make this kind of effort, we’ll be finished long before the summer and good weather leaves. More importantly, we’ll be finished when we still have longer days in which to get the rest of our place in order to prepare for the winter months.

The priority is still with the wall, but I see our next will be keeping enough fuel on hand for the generator and to prepare for the eventuality for when we won’t be able to use it. I still feel we’re under the gun somewhat but looking at the partially built wall, stretching across the now torn up and dusty field, gives me a sense of satisfaction. The feeling and experience I had earlier in the day still sits inside and I’m thankful for it. I’m reminded that there’s a fine line between the satisfied feeling I have now and the total, mind-shattering grief it could have been.

The next day is mostly a repeat of the last with the exception that the mission is centered on short-term fuel gathering and storage. Bannerman mentions the vast amount of diesel we are running through. The semi’s and cranes suck down a tremendous amount. We rig a fuse panel insert onto the towed generator that we can hook into a main building bus panel and travel around to a few gas stations; some we visited yesterday. There are many fire stations in the area and we pick up a couple of tenders (trucks designed to carry a large amount of water), empty them, and pump the diesel into them. We denote “diesel” on the side so, if we decide to opt for this solution for other fuels, we won’t mix them up. I decide on using the fire trucks as opposed to tanker trucks as they have the ability to both pump and siphon.

The wall stretches further by about the same amount as the day before when we arrive after the end of the day. Robert, Bri, and the other civilians we picked up start their training the next day. Bannerman found Lynn her bulldozer somewhere and a long row of dirt lines one end of the field forming a berm wall. She has her shooting range. The neighborhood burn teams have located and brought in four additional survivors. They were holed up in a barricaded house at the end of a cul-de-sac. They mentioned they were running low on both food and water and were hesitant to venture forth to find any with their low numbers. This gives hope that there are others and we’ll continue to look for them as best we can.

We open the doors the following morning to a cloudy and drizzly day. There is a hesitance on keeping the doors open as I don’t know how the cloud cover will affect the night runners. There aren’t any in sight but we delay the start to our day, sending patrols out to verify that the streets and areas are indeed still ours. They come back and report that there are no runners in sight so our day proceeds. Robert, Bri, and the others begin their training under Lynn with some help as needed by the standby team, which happens to be Red Team today.

We discussed, during last night’s meeting, that we should start thinking towards our long-term energy needs so the supply teams are off to find solar panels today. If they can locate them early enough in the day and have time, then they’ll also start cutting back the trees from the wall and its intended route. They’ll use the numerous blocks of C-4 we pulled from the armories to blast out the stumps. The teams gathering the concrete partitions actually found another pile driver at a construction site and are driving it back. That should make the wall progress even further as that is the most time consuming part of building it. I talk to Bannerman about putting video cameras up around the perimeter so we can see what’s going on outside prior to opening the doors, even at night if we need to. I mention we could use the security cameras from the bases as they have infrared capabilities. He said he’ll put that on his list of items for the teams to gather.

Bri asks about freeing the zoo animals at one point during our evening on the roof together. I think about that for a moment and bring it up at the nightly meeting which we now hold after dinner. My thought is that the animals would be dead after this long but the discussion goes that we should look into it, perhaps sending a supply team up the next day to look and see what they can do.

At one point during the nightly discussion, Frank talked about setting up the motion cameras, which are quite prevalent in the store, around to track night runner activity. They flash and take a picture if something moves in front of its sensor. They’re meant to indicate trail movement of animals for hunters but it will serve our purpose. He wants to see what their activity is at night and track it. The exposure records time and date. Frank said he may be able to put together a picture of their nightly movements and see if there is any pattern. Lynn brings up that, if we can discern a pattern or busier places, we can set up traps and the like; tripwires with claymores being the most likely. We agree to have supply teams set up the cameras when they are out at places designated by Frank. They will check them and replace the digital storage every couple of days and move the cameras at the discretion of Frank.

One additional detail mentioned is our water supply. With the generators, it’s a no brainer to power the pump and provide for our needs. However, when the fuel is no longer viable to run the generator, then we’ll have to figure out how to draw the water. Although we have hopefully a year of fuel before it breaks down, that is short time when compared with the magnitude of the problem. I mean, we can haul water up from a river or creek with a horse or horses pulling a wagon with a water tank on it, but it will be easier if we can engineer a solution with the well already in place. Windmills, such as the wind generators that are in abundance in the Columbia Gorge, seem to fit the bill. Engineering them to work with the pump and transport them up will be the challenge but it is a long-term, viable solution.

The days pass as we settle into a rhythm of sorts. The wall extends a great deal daily until it is almost beyond our line of sight. I notice the night runner’s nightly attacks drop off to a degree but they are persistent little buggers. I wonder if it is different packs each night or if they are the same ones hitting us periodically through the night. Another reason might be that they are either dying off or moving out of the area. Frank continues to look at the pictures brought in and recognizes several packs by their clothing. It seems they might have an area they cover but that doesn’t hold true all of the time as some pictures, from multiple cameras spread throughout, show the same packs roaming large areas. His guess is their food supply has dwindled. Some pictures show a new pack arriving or a pack showing up only once. Traps are set in places that Frank indicates as high movement areas. The teams are briefed extensively of the trap locations. We also set traps outside some of the larger building entrances, where there are indications of night runners inside, in order to clear the building out some prior to entering for supplies. Some have to be replaced when the teams are out and note that the traps have been triggered. Night runner bodies lie in the streets where they have been activated. Our doors hold up and we check on the structural integrity daily.

Solar panels are built on the roof, wired into a room we set aside as for batteries, and wired into the main electrical panel. This gives us a respite from the generators that run almost continually during the days and requires us to fill them with fuel on a regular basis. The generators are reset back into their original capacity, to supply power in the event the batteries get low. The backup system is now measured by battery charge rather than a supply through the old commercial lines. Robert, Bri, and I continue to meet on the roof in the late afternoons just before our nightly training sessions.

The training sessions themselves span a variety of subjects. I teach a two day course on indoor search and rescue techniques. Others teach what they know about horses, growing vegetables, fixing engines, building cabinets, anything and everything with more each night. The daily burns continue and we find other people who trickle into our group and find their place; after first being introduced to Lynn and her training. The first training class with Robert, Bri and the original group still progresses with Lynn becoming a little worried about Bri’s intensity in the training.

“She’s become, well, quite enthusiastic,” Lynn reports during one of our meetings.

“Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it?” I ask but I know Lynn wouldn’t mention it if she wasn’t a little worried.

“Enthusiasm is great and she has a lot but there’s an intensity and zeal to it. She’s becoming a little harder inside,” she says.

“Well, I think we all need all little of that but we’ll keep an eye on her,” I reply.

I have noticed the changes in Bri myself. She is still ready with a smile but there is an intensity and hardness in her eyes. I’ve noticed a slight change in Robert as well. The simple fact is I’ve grown a little harder as well. This new world has changed us all but losing Nic has put a small, tougher place in the three of us. I wish it wasn’t true as Nic wouldn’t have wanted it to be that way but it is there nonetheless.

I take some time during our days to visit Nic’s place of rest and have a quiet moment with her. Talking with her and letting her know what we’ve been doing. I get the same flash of movement behind me as before when I drive out of the area and have that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Stopping and backtracking, I still don’t find anything out of the ordinary or what caused the movement in my rear view. A search of the entire area doesn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary. It’s almost too bad the roads are blacktop as I can’t look for tracks.

I also spend a bit of time during the evenings with Robert and Bri going over the helicopter manuals; studying the systems. Time is spent during the days when Red Team is on standby learning to fly the helicopter and operate the systems onboard; the top-mounted camera and equipment. I become efficient at maneuvering and using the systems but not to the advanced degree I’d like. I feel comfortable down low now and nap of the earth flying.

We send the supply teams up one day when we’re are pretty well-stocked to see if there is something that can be done for the animals at a zoo not far away. Since Bri mentioned this, it has been weighing on my mind. I feel bad for not thinking about it myself but the stresses of our situation drove anything else from my mind. I brief the teams not to take any risks entering darkened buildings but to do the best they can. If there’s anything left alive that is. It’s been a long while for the poor, trapped animals without someone to feed them so my hopes aren’t great that many, if any, have made it. I also suggest they free the prey animals first if any are left to give them a chance. Freeing the predators first, or in combination, will not be very helpful for the prey animals. I mean, it isn’t really helping a gazelle if you free it only for it to be brought down seconds later by a lion or pack of wolves freed earlier. I feel this mission is an important one as we are caretakers of the world and have a responsibility towards all life. Yes, I would feel this way for the night runners if they weren’t constantly trying to eat us.

The teams return from the zoo mission to report that many of the animals were already dead in their cages or enclosures. In many instances, there was evidence of night runners gaining entry and killing them for food. There were a few left alive and the teams did the best they could for them. The birds were the largest in number left alive and they merely cut the netting over the enclosures. There was nothing they could do for any of the aquatic animals but most of them were already dead. The thought of these animals trapped and starving to death or confronted with night runners weighs heavily on me. The absolute unfairness of it. The one thing of note is there were several night runners lying in one of the bear enclosures and the team engineered a solution for it to escape and then they beat cheeks out of there.

The days turn into weeks and we are blessed with good weather and long days for the most part. Several days pass with rain showers which slows the progress of the wall to an extent. We take breaks on days of heavy rain, of which there are only thankfully very few, as we don’t want any sicknesses to break out. Being sick in this new world takes on a different connotation as opposed to merely calling into work and laying back taking meds. We have some meds from our excursions but try to limit exposing ourselves to risk. The longest day of the year is behind us but our days are marked by the progress of the wall which grows larger with each passing day. We make the mile adjacent to the Interstate and turn the wall to the west.

We bring in and erect fuel storage tanks in a section of the fields close to the edge of the far parking lot to allow vehicles to refuel. The tanks are located as far from the main building as possible in case of an accident. We make sure to ground them in the event that lightning, rare in this area, decides it would like to pay the tanks a visit.

The long, blessed summer continues. We find other survivors trickling in from both our forages for supplies and our drive through the areas for the burns. Our numbers swell to almost a hundred by the time the wall nears completion. The burns have taken out large tracts of land and have left an overhang of smoke in the area. We eventually clear out most of the city neighborhoods in our proximity. We are fortunate with the layout of the cities in that we don’t have our fires run away from us into the areas where we want to scavenge supplies. The teams allocated for burns are put on a search of outlying areas for survivors bringing in several more; some days finding a few and some none at all. The upper story of our sanctuary begins to get a touch crowded but it’s good to see there are others who have survived. Additional trips to the armories are conducted and supplies, arms and additional vehicles are brought in.

Robert and Bri’s training concludes and I begin taking them out when we have time to add to that training. I take all teams and those who finish Lynn’s initial training through advanced training, designed by Lynn and I, but take Robert and Bri through a little more. I want to give them every ounce of my knowledge and give them every chance at surviving. We still continue to have our little moment of time together, with Lynn joining us, on the roof but have to step a little more carefully with the top covered in solar panels.

Talks during our nightly meetings encompass longer range plans for when the wall is completed. Some of these include bringing livestock and long-term food supplies in, setting up the pastures, feed, buildings, and other aspects to include the construction of a large greenhouse. Bannerman mentions that it would be nice to erect a water tower to pump the well water into and utilize the gravity flow. That would conserve on the pump being constantly utilized and preserve not only our electricity, but the pump itself. He also wants to rig up and install one of the wind towers to make the pumping more of manual process with the windmill. For some reason, both of these seem much larger projects than building the wall.

The day arrives, in late summer, when we are ready for the last sections of wall to be placed. All of us gather outside to watch the wall teams pound the last beam into the ground. Our measurements haven’t been exact and we have to cut the last partitions with a concrete saw but as we all look on, the last partition slides into place.

A cheer rises from the group as the partition settles into place and the crane shuts down. Our wall is built. Four miles of concrete partitions twenty feet high. Our place is as secure as we can make if for the moment. We have a gate spanning the width of the entrance road; two great slabs of steel, which Bannerman managed to locate in a foundry, are bolted into the wall and secured with a steel bar. The gates took some engineering to fit them without handholds that would allow night runners to scale them. The wall itself is set several feet into the ground, thanks to the use of a ditch digger, in case the night runners try their hand at becoming moles. This also adds to the structural integrity of the wall.

Watching the partition slide into place and hearing the cheer, I feel a sense of warmth flow through. I can’t believe we’ve actually done it. I think back to the stresses I had on our journey back and how much of an overwhelming project this seemed. Especially coupled with our having to survive each and every night and gather supplies. We’ve added to our group and built a place to be secure during the night, well, hopefully as it has yet to be tested. We’ve come a long ways from our drifting from airfield to airfield, obtaining supplies and information, and surviving up close and personal encounters with the night runners on a much too often basis.

We celebrate our first night’s rest without the continual hammering at the front doors that night. The peace and quiet we experience is almost as loud in the absence of the constant noise as it was when it was here. We decide for everyone to have the next day off and allow some relaxation and recuperation before we set off on the next phase of our sanctuary. Ah, sanctuary. How sweet that sounds! Robert asks the next morning if he and Michelle can go down to the bay and hang out by the water for the day. Bri asks Robert if she can go along. I tell them I don’t have a problem with that but I want Gonzalez to go along.

“Dad, we can take care of ourselves,” Robert says in response to my request.

“I know you can but you’re taking Gonzalez with,” I reply. “Go ask her is she’s willing to accompany you.”

Robert returns a short time later with Gonzalez, Michelle, and Bri in tow. He asks if I’d like to go along but I know he wants some time with Michelle without his dear old dad around so I make up some excuse for staying. I take Gonzalez to the side and tell her to make sure she keeps them safe; for her to come back at the first indication of something that doesn’t seem or feel right. I tell everyone that Gonzalez is in charge and what she says goes. They depart within the hour with the sun shining down on this glorious beginning of a new day. The wall blots out the view of the immediate area but it’s nice to see it anyway. The mountains still peak above to the east and west.

Their Humvee departs and I watch them disappear over the hill. I look over at the helicopter sitting by itself in a corner of the parking lot and think about taking it up. When out on practice flights, I make sure to drop by Fort Lewis for fuel before heading back so I know it has almost a full tank. The thought of taking it out for a pleasure flight seems appealing with the morning sun casting its yellows rays down and warming the air. It seems like a different place now, almost has a feel of home.

I head back inside after basking for a while in the sun’s warmth and watch several flocks of birds flit about the fields surrounding us. The days are getting shorter now but it is still in the late summer and the shortened days aren’t noticed as yet. I walk over to the base radio area and the maps Frank has set up wanting to check in with Gonzalez. It’s only been a short while since they left and I’m feeling like the worrisome father but I want to assure myself nonetheless.

The radio crackles as I draw near, “Base, Gonzalez here.”

“Base here, go ahead,” Kathy, who is on radio watch at this time, says in return.

“We have a vehicle that has started following us. Large red pickup truck,” Gonzalez’ voice comes through the speaker.

“Tell her to turn around and come back,” I tell Kathy and motion for her to relay the message.

Before she can press the mic button, Gonzalez’ speaks again. “Oh shit, they’re trying to force us off the road,” she says with her voice higher pitched.

Her mic is still pressed but it is evident that she is talking to someone else by the subdued nature of her voice. “Turn the wheel to the…” And there is a click over the speaker as the transmission ends.