A New World: Conspiracy (19 page)

Robert continues to look at his dad.

“You can talk now.”

“Yeah, I guess it does, but I still feel
like I let everyone down. I almost blew us up.”

“No one thinks that. You can march down
there and ask them. They’ll look at you funny and tell you
bullshit. And I’m not just saying that to blow sunshine up your
skirt,” his dad says.

“How about we not use that expression
again,” Robert says, the first smile coming to his face in a
while.

“Deal,” his dad replies.

“So, are you going to relieve me?” Robert
asks.

“You’re kidding, right? I need you. You do a
tremendous job leading the team in back, and I couldn’t think of
anyone else I’d want there. We’re going to need your expertise in
the coming days and weeks.”

“Okay, Dad…thanks,” Robert says.

“Just tellin’ it like it is. Is something
wrong with your head?”

“What do you mean?” Robert says.

“You’ve been rubbing it the whole time we’ve
been talking,” his dad says.

“I just bumped it in the aircraft. It’s
nothing. I had my helmet on and it rubbed it funny.”

He’s worried his dad will see through his
story and find out about his headache. Then he’ll ground him and
hover like a mother hen. His dad stares hard at him for a
moment.

“Okay. Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the
morning.”

With that, Robert turns and walks with
Michelle into their cubicle. Later that night, with his arm around
Michelle as she sleeps, he stares at the ceiling. He goes over what
his dad said and sees the truth in it. He also thinks about the
numerous night runners they saw and thinks that they might be
heading their way. That is if they continue to push south. His dad
didn’t say anything about how they are going to counter them, but
he assumes they’ll hit them nightly and whittle them down. They
have the walls to keep them out and have enhanced their defenses,
so he’s not overly worried about another attack like the one the
others experienced in which Lynn was taken.

With these thoughts, he falls into a
dreamless sleep.

* * * * * *

Bri stays at the planning table following
the debrief. She watches as Gonzalez walks away, shaking her head
almost imperceptibly. Robert follows slowly in her tracks with his
head hung low. Bri knows he feels bad and blames himself for what
happened tonight. She wants to go to him but doesn’t really know
what to say. She’s sure that anything she does say won’t be the
right thing.

It’s been a week full of downers. Sure they
rescued Lynn, but that seems to have been forgotten amidst losing
McCafferty, finding out that there may be a group targeting them,
and Drescoll disappearing. The events have brought back an unreal
feeling – that this is all somehow still a dream. None of this can
be real.

She would never admit it to anyone, but the
events tonight in the aircraft were actually kind of exciting. She
never felt like they were in trouble. Well, she would be lying to
really say that. There was a moment during the initial slam when
she thought they’d had it, but the fear of death never entered her
mind. She knew her dad would handle it. The thing that worries her,
and excites her, is being included as a full member of Red Team.
She absolutely hates the way it came about. Bri really liked Allie.
She reminded her of one of her friends. Bri had started to bond
with McCafferty seeing as she and Gonzalez always seemed to be
together. Bri will miss that…and Allie.

She hears her dad sigh loudly and start up
the stairs to where Robert and Gonzalez went. This whole thing has
shown her such a different aspect of her dad. Having watched movies
and gone on trips with him, she would never have guessed this about
him. She knew that he knew stuff, but she had no idea about this
part of him.

To be honest, she feels kind of lost in this
new world. Her dad pays attention to her, too much at times, and
Gonzalez always seems to be there, but she doesn’t really have any
friends. There’s no one to hang out with and talk to. Sure there’s
Red Team, and they’re fun to be with, but she always feels a little
left out…like she’s on the outside. She supposes that could be an
age thing, but she really wants to belong, and not just because of
her dad. She wants to belong because of her.

She misses her friends. It’s the camaraderie
that she misses the most; although there are a couple of her
friends she really does miss. And Nic. Bri wishes so much, every
day, that her sister was still here. She’d know what to do and
always made Bri feel special. In some ways, it seems like Nic’s
death happened so long ago, yet in her heart, it still seems like
yesterday. With Nic around, everything seemed like it was going to
be okay. She was just that way.

If she were to have a word to describe how
she feels, it would be thin…she feels thin. Like there’s no
substance to her. There’s no meaning. Sure, there’s the whole
surviving thing, but they do that every day and that’s different.
Perhaps now that she’s a part of Red Team, that empty feeling will
leave and she’ll be a part of something.

The one part of the day she looks forward to
is the training. She’s not a fan of waking up early, but eagerly
takes it in once she’s out and engaged in it. She can’t get enough
of it and wants to learn everything there is – to experience it.
Nic enters her mind once again and Bri wishes her sister were here
to see her now…see how far she has come. And to share in
conversations they used to have, both deep ones and those just for
fun.

Bri quickly wipes away the tears in her
eyes. She doesn’t want anyone to see her crying. She remembers
Gonzalez’ talk with her seemingly so long ago.

Tempered steel
, she thinks and turns
back to the flight plan they have for the trip out. She has fuel
numbers to crunch.

* * * * * *

Krandle slips off the rubber craft and
studies the narrow strip of sand before him. The soft roar of waves
rolling onto the beach is the only accompanying sound. Off to the
west, the
Santa Fe
has already submerged but will rise again
quickly upon the team’s return.

They had traveled slowly down the coastline,
checking out the small towns and establishments nestled in the
forested hills. This wasn’t a very populated area of the coast –
mostly small resort towns and fishing villages. Captain Leonard
would sound the horn, wait for any sign of activity, and then
submerge and move on after finding none. The clouds drew a blanket
over them without rain. Pockets of fog would form just after
sundown against the shore, lifting with the sunrise and pushing out
to sea.

They ran through the gentle swells of the
Pacific, working their way south with the eventual goal of reaching
San Diego where the sub was based. The eager anticipation from the
crew is an almost physical presence. The usual breakage of items
that would normally send them to port early hadn’t occurred. There
was an underlying tension as well. The scenes from shore weren’t
encouraging that any would find their families safe, but still,
hope remained. After all, there were survivors from up north, so
the crew held onto this hope that they would find their loved ones
waiting for them.

The reason for their sojourn to this town
was a report from last night’s watch of a light coming from one of
the low, surrounding hills. Every so often, the moon would peek
through a break in the overcast and send its beams cascading upon
the land and water. It could have been the moonlight reflecting off
a window or something of the sort but Captain Leonard thought it
worth a journey to the shore and Krandle concurred.

With the black rubber craft on the beach
next to him and the hiss of the water rolling onto the wet sand,
Krandle surveys the area to his front as the others cover their
sectors. The beach is a narrow strip of sand rising to bluffs on
either side. To his right, hills rise directly from the beach with
cottages huddled on them, overlooking the sand and the jagged rocks
rising from the ocean just offshore. Stunted trees, some bent with
the strong winds that occasionally came sweeping onshore, share the
steep hillsides with the cottages and dense growth of bushes.

To the left, a breakwater of large rocks
juts out into the ocean, the waves splashing over its height
farther out. Ahead, the sand leads to a small embankment where
other modest houses and duplexes mark the beginning of this small
town. Nothing moves in Krandle’s sight.

Looking over the top of the roofs, he sees a
series of small hills that surround the town. He eyes one in
particular where the night watch said they saw the light. Taking
out his binoculars, Krandle focuses on the heights that are their
goal. Houses blanket the sides with what appears to be a fenced
community stretched across the top. He can only see the rooftops of
the houses nearest the wall from this vantage point.

“If you’re done sightseeing, Chief, can we
please get off this fucking beach?” Speer whispers with a sharp
edge to his tone.

Putting away the binoculars, Krandle motions
ahead with the barrel of his M-4. “Lead on.”

This spurs the others into action. The raft
is grabbed and, with the others providing security, is dragged
across the sandy beach. The hiss of the rubber on the sand mixes
with the surf running up the shallow grade of the seashore. The sun
is behind the clouds, but faint shadows from the houses in the
early morning light stretch over the embankment as the team draws
near.

Blank windows stare at them, the curtains
still hanging in many of them. Some of the houses have screen doors
pitched at angles, the upper hinges having been torn loose. A few
have open doors, whether forced or otherwise, giving a view into
the darkness beyond. Paths cut into the embankment lead from the
beach to each of the houses and the few streets that dead end at
the shore.

Krandle rises near one of the dead end
roads. A wooden post painted orange and white lies horizontal
across two other poles, signifying the end of the street. A gust of
wind stirs his pant legs and sighs through more of the stunted
trees nearby. Groaning creaks arise from a couple of the screen
doors as their hinges protest movement. The breath of wind catches
one of the doors and it slams against an outer wall, startling the
entire team.

They all drop to their knees in a
semi-circle, barrels rise, searching for targets. The awareness of
what the noise was comes quickly, but they continue searching the
surrounding area.

“Speer, move us out. Opposite sides of the
street. Remember your intervals,” Krandle says moments later.

The team rises and negotiates short steps
cut into the embankment leading to the street. They head around the
dead end marker and begin to make their way into the coastal town.
Tall grass surrounds each house, the stalks bending over and hiding
any semblance of a sidewalk. Vehicles are parked at intervals on
the roadway and in driveways, their windows and outer bodies
covered in grime from months of being in the open. Sand has piled
up around the tires of those in the street. Any curbs this street
had have long ago been covered by drifts.

The road itself is covered in a thin layer
of undisturbed grit, and it’s through this that the team cautiously
makes its way farther into the town. The tracks they leave behind
are the only evidence that anyone or anything has moved through
this area in some time. Krandle isn’t worried about leaving tracks.
After all, this isn’t a ‘zero footprint’ operation, and their
mission is to actually find someone. If someone sees their tracks
and finds them, well, that amounts to the same thing. Miller keeps
a sharp eye behind them nonetheless.

Some of the houses they pass have had their
doors and windows broken. Curtains in those broken windows stir in
the breeze; there isn’t any movement beyond that. A hush has
settled over this place. Even the soft shuffling sound of their
boots on the gritty pavement doesn’t seem to travel far. It’s as if
the area is absorbing any sound. The feeling isn’t a stifling one,
more of a dead one. The land has forgotten that humankind once
walked these streets.

The team comes to the end of this small
neighborhood and small industrial shops occupy the few lots in
front of them. Rusted husks of vehicles sit in some of the chain
link enclosed yards. The buildings themselves have a rundown look
and most haven’t seen a coating of paint in some time. Krandle
halts the team at this residential boundary.

Sections of the fencing have been pushed
down, the supporting poles leaning inward at angles. Some of the
damage looks recent and forced while others are obviously down
through age and neglect. Buckets, old signs, and other forgotten
debris are scattered in the back of the businesses. The road ahead
makes its way past these structures before turning to the right a
few blocks away.

Krandle and the others look for any sign of
life, threatening or otherwise. No bird takes wing, nor is there a
stray cat slinking through scattered piles of junk looking for a
meal. It’s completely silent and still.

A ray of sunshine pokes through a break in
the clouds, casting its light across several of the neglected lots.
The beam doesn’t brighten the landscape but only makes it appear
more forlorn. It reflects off the shattered back window of one of
the vehicles, causing the members to blink and look away from the
glare. The sunshine is short-lived as clouds cover the sun once
again.

“I bet that’s what the watch saw last
night…only from the moonlight instead,” Speer whispers.

Blanchard and Ortiz nod in agreement,
remembering their last trek ashore. Franklin tilts his head
slightly to the side and lifts one side of his mouth as if
skeptical of this answer.