A New World [7] Takedown (30 page)

There are two real dangerous levels of being a pilot – those with one hundred hours and those with ten thousand. The hundred hour pilots – no offense to anyone – think they have a good handle on their skills as do the ten thousand hour pilots. Complacency has a tendency to settle in at both of those points. Those in between those two points have experienced situations and still remember the lessons learned.

Of course, that may not be entirely true
, I think as we maneuver through the mountains, remembering more than one instance of flying around with my head on fire.

There were a few times when I looked at something and said, “Hmmm…”

Like the time I flew over Fort Walton Beach at about a hundred feet during Spring Break at about five hundred knots with both jet engines screaming. By the way, just so you know, that’s not a good idea. Apparently, base commanders enjoy hanging out there on nice days. Yeah, I left a good part of my ass on the floor with that “great” idea.

We skirt our way through the mountains. The clouds on the other side rise, and before long, begin to break up. We climb to a more reasonable altitude. I look over at Robert from time to time during our flight, exhibiting a tremendous amount constraint in order not to ask how he is doing.

“I’m fine, Dad,” he says on perhaps my fortieth glance.

The rest of the flight is just the way I like my flights: boring.

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The time runs endlessly on, some moments filled by panic and terror, other ones with strength and determination. Sensory deprivation does strange things to the mind. Lynn has tried concentrating on events, plans, and other memories to occupy her, but, here in the inky blackness of the room, her thoughts slip away and she comes back to her emotions, to fear.

The one thing that has kept her on the sane side is her unfailing belief that Jack or the teams will find her. She has been kept alive for a reason – what that reason might be is still beyond her. She has no idea why she is being held – or is still alive for that matter. The broadcasts she hears sporadically keep her spirits from sinking into some very dark depths.

The struggle isn’t so much against the night runners near the door, but against her own mind. Each low, menacing growl sends shivers through her body in waves of dread. It gets to the point that she wishes they would just attack and get it over with. She wishes for that at times so at least something would happen. In the darkest of moments, she wonders if she is being kept for food…that the night runners have advanced to the point where they are starting to collect people for food – farming them as it were.

Lynn forces her mind back from these depths and concentrates on logical reasoning. She hasn’t witnessed any time when night runners haven’t attacked and eaten the very moment they find someone. Now they seem to have the ability to restrain themselves and take hostages. They certainly couldn’t have made this leap overnight.

If she knows anything, it’s that Jack will turn the city inside out to find her. After all, she would do the same for him – or for anyone in the compound for that matter. And the fact that she hears the broadcasts from time to time lets her know that the others believe she is alive. How they will find her is another matter. She doesn’t delude herself into thinking that they will go into every single darkened building in search for her.

Well
, she thinks, chuckling,
Jack would
.

She is torn over that thought. She knows what Jack will do – put any semblance of danger aside – and she doesn’t want him to do one of his…well, Jack things. On the other hand, she wants this, whatever this is, to be over one way or the other. There have been moments when she has thought about just rising and fighting. That is in her basic instinct when dealing with fear. Push the fear aside and charge forth – doing whatever is necessary. She has actually had to force herself to sit back down after rising to attack the night runners. The fear she has is increased by the fact that she was unaware that she had actually risen.

She searches her body for the hundredth time, hoping that she missed one of the knives she usually keeps close at hand. And, as with the other times, she finds that the night runners were too thorough in their search. She has nothing to help her in a fight with them, and without something to give her an edge, she knows she will be quickly overwhelmed. Sure, she may take down one or two by using surprise and ferocity, but not four or five. And certainly not an entire building.

She still has no idea where she is except somewhere in the city. The faint announcements have made that clear. Having heard their feet storming down what she assumes are hallways on the other side of the door, she knows that the building she is in houses a lot of night runners. The entire building reeks of them. Not knowing even where she is in the building makes the odds of making it out, even if she were to overpower the guards, close to impossible.

The constant panting, sniffing, and occasional growls keep her on edge. Even though she knows that the others won’t give up on her, she doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. If she had her vision, then it would be different – maybe. On the other hand, she’s not sure it would be better if she could actually see the night runners poised by the exit door. That may be too much. As it is, not being able to see them makes them the boogie man in the closet. Something she can either bring to life in her mind or shut out.

She wants to take action and she has to go against her very nature not to – she will wait. She doesn’t know how long she can hold out, but she will as long as possible. As much as she wants to control her own environment and make her own way out, she knows her best bet is to wait for help from the outside and keep up her strength. She’ll give it more time, but, if no help arrives soon, she knows it will be up to her to extricate herself. A firm determination settles within and she continues planning scenarios to escape.

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She feels her pack returning from their nightly hunt. She went out during the night to join in the chase, but returned before the others that went farther afield. Her fear that her pack would run into Michael’s have come to naught. One worry she has is that they would rejoin his pack and she needs every one of them. She knows she stirred up the two-legged ones but, so far, they have remained within their compound during the night. She has heard their voices from the vehicles from time to time but they haven’t attacked.

Another worry she has of Michael attacking hasn’t materialized either. She has cast out periodically to see if she can figure out his intentions but has come up blank so far. Sandra thought he would attack her lair as soon as he found out what she did. After all, that’s what she would have done. To this point, though, her pack and lair have been left untouched. She doesn’t know whether to be thankful or more worried.

Most nights she has gone forth, she has made her way north in an attempt to sense the other two-legged one. She hasn’t felt anything and worries that he isn’t still alive. Perhaps he fled when she attacked. Whatever the reason, it worries her. She may have to kill the female after all and call it good. If she has to do that, she will move her pack away from here as Michael will surely do something at some point. Perhaps she will move back to their previous location. For now, she will watch and wait.

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During the flight, Robert, Bri, and I take turns resting on the bunk to catch up on our lost sleep. After seeing Lynn, I plan to collapse on my cot and turn the world off for about two days. I would turn it off for longer, but it has shown a distinct lack of doing what I want it to. The droning of the engines is lulling – well, for some. The roar isn’t as strong in the cockpit. Those in back usually have a different story to tell with the engines being just on the other side of the thin, aluminum skin. The action and being up for twenty-four hours plus is starting to take its toll.

The earth below drifts slowly past us. I swear if it were to go any slower, we’d be going in reverse. I look at the airspeed indicator a few times to make sure we do, in fact, have forward momentum. Eventually, as does all things, time moves on and I wake Robert to begin our preparation for landing.

Beginning our descent, I call the compound. We’ve been out of contact for days and it will be nice to reconnect. I didn’t think the satellites would hold up for much longer, but it was nice to have the sat phones for the limited time we did. One of the aspects about losing that communication medium is that we won’t be able stay in contact with Leonard and his crew. When we fly back out to meet with Greg, whenever that might be – I glance at Robert assuring myself for the thousandth time that he looks okay – I’ll fly up the Western Seaboard on the way home and try to get into communication with him.

“Base. This is Jack on UHF. How do you copy?” I call.

“Jack. You’re back earlier than expected, but it’s good to hear you. Standby, I’ll go get Drescoll,” Kathy replies.

I’m a little confused as to why she didn’t say she’d get Lynn. “Can you get Lynn as well?” I ask, eager to hear Lynn’s voice.

There isn’t a reply and I assume she has darted off to round up Drescoll. Moments pass as Mount Rainier slides past our window and we begin a turning descent north toward McChord AFB.

“Jack, glad to hear from you. Where are you?” Drescoll finally comes on the radio.

“We’re about twenty minutes out. Can you inform Bannerman that we’re bringing eighty-plus guests to dinner? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. And let the others know that Greg and his team are continuing the search on the ground. I’ll brief you in detail when I get there. Can you have buses brought up and we need some additional transportation as well?”

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. We just have an aircraft full of guests for delivery.”

There is a pause on the other end. “Okay, Jack, I’ll meet you at the field.”

“Is Lynn there?” I ask.

I’m puzzled why Lynn isn’t on the radio and going to meet us upon arrival. Worry creeps in. I feel that Drescoll is being evasive and isn’t telling me something. The more I think about it, the more worried I get. Perhaps she’s off with the others in training and not available. I have the tendency at times to let my mind come up with worst case scenarios. I’m sure there’s a perfectly plausible explanation. No doubt Drescoll’s next communication will tell me this is one of those times.

We float over Olympia as we line up on a long final for McChord AFB. The waters of South Puget Sound are rough with a strong breeze blowing from the north. The late afternoon sun glitters off the tops of the choppy waves like diamonds on a blue-aqua background. Cabela’s drifts past. On the other side of the freeway, equipment is busy cleaning up the rubble from the destroyed buildings. Trees around the compound lie on the ground as the area continues to be cleared away. The inner wall appears to be finished and workers surround upright shipping containers near the main entrance and wall corners. It looks like our inner defenses are almost complete. The scene passing below seems normal.

The pause in our conversation is a little too long and I have an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. A faint impression brushes against my mind, coming from below. It’s too quick to pinpoint but, for some weird reason, an image of Lynn flashes through my mind. It could just be caused from my worry, but it feels different than that. My anxiety builds and I open my mind for a moment. I swear the image came in the form I’ve become accustomed to sensing from night runners. It’s gone so quickly but the picture was of Lynn in a dark room. It doesn’t make any sense. I open up a little more, but nothing else returns.

“Drescoll, are you there?” I finally ask.

“Yeah…sorry, Jack. I was organizing transportation. I’ll talk to you when we pick you up. Drescoll, out.”

That throws me for another loop. There is definitely something going on, and I’m sure I’m not going to like it. Apparently, Drescoll doesn’t think I will either. If he was maintaining communication security, he would relay that in the form of coded phrases we developed. I glance at our sanctuary that is about to disappear under the wing looking for signs of something amiss. Again, to all appearances, everything seems normal. I feel like calling Drescoll back to get some information – I’m not overly fond of the waiting game – but I trust him and he is doing what he is for a reason. I focus on the upcoming landing but with a definite tightness around my heart.

The landing isn’t one of my more stellar feats of flying, but we’re on the ground. I taxi quickly to the ramp and park next to our collection of 130s. One of them won’t escape the surly bonds of earth anymore and soon, none of them will. A couple of Humvees pull onto the ramp as our propellers wind to a stop. They are followed by several school buses and a Humvee bringing up the rear.

I open the ramp. The cargo compartment needs airing out and cleaning as some of the stomachs riding in back didn’t overly appreciate the flight. Bannerman and Drescoll, along with Drescoll’s Green Team, meet us at the rear of the aircraft. I make a quick round of introductions and signal to Drescoll to meet me off to the side, leaving the care of our passengers in Bannerman’s capable hands.