A New World: Conspiracy (21 page)

Brushing the sand away from the raised
lettering, he wonders if there will be a similar plaque in the far
future dedicated to those who survived this new era.

Krandle leaves the fountain and mounts the
steps leading upward to the city hall building. Working his way
around the withered bodies, he comes to an entrance door that
stands open. Looking down, he sees the impression of a trail
leading out. It’s the first time he’s seen a definite sign since
arriving onshore.

Standing to one side of the opening, Krandle
calls inside. His voice resonates in a large entry chamber and
echoes down dark hallways. Moments later, a single shriek sounds
out. The scream sends chills down his back and causes goose bumps
to rise on his arms.

“Okay, we’re not going in there,” he
mutters.

Like I was even thinking about it
.
Buildings are to be avoided
, he thinks, remembering both the
hotel and what happened to the sailors in the supply depot.

Negotiating the steps, he joins the rest of
his team.

“You had to go and disturb them, huh?” Speer
says. “Can we get out of here now? There’s no one left alive in
this shit town.”

Krandle looks into the eyes of the others.
There isn’t an expectation of his answer one way or the other, they
only look back waiting for it.

“You know better than to ask that question,
Speer. We have a job to do and we’re not leaving until we check out
that hill,” Krandle answers.

“I know, Chief. This place just gives me the
creeps, that’s all.”

“It’s pretty fucked up for sure. Let’s get
this finished.”

Readjusting the small packs on their
shoulders, the team rises and makes their way across the plaza,
heading down one of the side streets toward the hill. The shops
give way to another small neighborhood. Before long, they come to a
waist-high chain link fence bordering one side of the street.
Beyond the fence lies a small school.

A playground occupies most of the grounds
where kids once enjoyed recesses. Swings oscillate slightly in the
breeze and a merry-go-round slowly circles with a low squeal of
metal grinding on metal.

The emptiness is more than just no one in
the playground. It’s much more than that. There should be shrieks
of gaiety from kids playing – running from one piece of equipment
to another or playing tag. Franklin’s eyes linger on the empty
playground. He has a daughter in San Diego that is the right age to
be cavorting with her friends in a playground such as this.

Everyone eyes the empty slides, swings, and
monkey bars. There is a prevalent loneliness, as if the equipment
misses the kids who once played here. The ground misses the stomp
of little feet and the air their cries of laughter. More than
likely though, it’s the missing presence of those that should be
here that fills the team member’s hearts and souls.

“Keep alert, everyone. Remember why we’re
here,” Krandle whispers into his mic.

The trance breaks and they resume their
cautious yet quick pace. Only Franklin’s eyes steal over to the
playground periodically as the team passes by.

They find a road that begins a shallow
ascent and before long, they are climbing into the hills beyond the
central part of town. Houses on the hill are built farther apart
with larger yards. As they scale upward, stunted trees grow more
numerous. To the east, the small trees give way to firs farther up
the hillside. Close to the top of the small hill, the wall Krandle
spotted from afar comes into view. The team is close to their
goal.

A wrought iron entrance gate built between
tall brick walls bars the roadway. Several abandoned vehicles block
the road in front of the gate and behind them, on the far side of
the gate, sits a shuttle bus. Drawing cautiously closer, it becomes
clear that a large fire once burned fiercely. The bus is a
gutted-out hulk and the vehicles in front are scorched from the
tremendous heat that once visited this spot. The iron fence has
been warped, and one of the gates itself lies against the roof of
the nearest car. Carried on the breeze, there remains a faint smell
of charred plastic and rubber.

Krandle attempts to peer through the
barricade but can only see glimpses of what is behind. It looks
like any other neighborhood. Sending the team to the sides against
the wall, he steps closer until he is next to one of the
vehicles.

A faint, scraping sound comes from the other
side of the gate. It’s followed by a quick shuffling noise. Krandle
instantly brings his carbine up, aiming toward the noise. The
disturbance was close, but he hears nothing now.

He has plenty of cover, but he can’t see
much beyond the barricade. Against his better judgment, he leaps
onto the hood of the car. Getting a better view beyond, he spots a
small figure moving away. Whoever it is appears to be trying to run
away, but a limp is slowing them down. The long brown hair and
small stature gives Krandle the impression of a young girl. The
girl’s emaciation is evident even from this distance, and the fact
that she’s out in the day is a clear indication she’s not a night
runner.

The girl looks back over her shoulder and,
upon seeing him, yelps and starts hobbling away faster. Her
increased speed isn’t much, but the fear she exhibits is. Krandle
calls out to her, but the girl only emits another cry as she rounds
a corner and vanishes from sight.

“What is it, Chief?” Franklin asks from his
position.

“A small girl. She ran away and vanished
down a street,” Krandle answers.

Managing to work their way through the
barricade, they regroup on the other side. The housing here appears
in better shape and, from first glance, seems to be one of those
self-contained developments. A shopping center complete with
restaurants is off to one side with a school on the other. The
central area is taken up with pristine houses anchored by parallel
streets.

“Which way did she go?” Blanchard asks.

“Toward the shopping center,” Krandle
answers.

“Well, I guess that answers the question if
someone is still alive here,” Franklin mentions.

“Okay, just because there is…or are
survivors here, they may not take kindly to our presence. If we’re
threatened, we throw a wall of steel out and disengage. Our exfil
is here through the gate. Our rendezvous point is the CRCC if
anything happens. If possible, we hold there until we all arrive or
it becomes one hour prior to sundown. It’s obvious that night
runners are here, but who knows how many there are. One hour prior
to sundown, gents, then whoever is there casts off for the
Santa
Fe
. Are there any questions?” Krandle asks.

Hearing none, Krandle continues, “Okay,
here’s the plan. I’ll proceed ahead. We don’t want to spook anyone
by coming across too aggressively. Franklin, you’ll take the team
along behind covering. I don’t want you too close but close enough
to engage if we come under fire. The hope is that whoever is here
will see our peaceful intentions and deal with us in the same
manner. That was a little girl at the main gate and not armed men
so I’m guessing this isn’t an armed establishment. That doesn’t
mean they won’t defend themselves, but I doubt they’ll come at us
aggressively.”

“It’s your dime, Chief,” Franklin states.
“We’ll have your back.”

Krandle nods and lets his M-4 hang at his
side by the sling. He heads in the direction where he saw the girl
vanish. Every so often, he calls out, naming himself and their
intentions. He’s staking his life that whoever is here is peaceful.
If there are survivors – and the girl is an indication that there
are – they are a rarity from what he’s seen and they need to be
found.

He reaches the corner and peers around. A
parking lot serving the little shopping center is just ahead to the
right with houses set next to each other stretching down his side
of the street. It’s pretty easy to pick up the girl’s tracks in the
dirt as they head down the road and then angle toward the mall
itself. They are the only ones visible as the wind seems to sweep
any others away on a regular basis.

With a sigh, he steels himself and steps
around the corner. He’s in the open for anyone to see and the
feeling isn’t the coziest. Of course, they’ve been more or less in
the open since they arrived, but it’s the mental part of presenting
a target on purpose that gives Krandle the nervous feeling in his
stomach. He intends to live through this crisis of the new world
and not become just another corpse lining some unknown street.

Walking out in the open like this doesn’t
improve those chances
, he thinks, following the tracks and
angling toward the shops.

Facing the stores, Krandle stops in the
middle of the parking lot. He holds his hands in front of him,
palms upward, and calls out. There isn’t any response or movement
that he can discern. With another sigh, he begins walking
closer.

The tracks lead through a glassless window
of a restaurant. Standing to one side, Krandle peers inside
quickly. The furniture has all been pushed to one side of the small
establishment. Tracks lead toward the back of the restaurant and
vanish between a double set of swinging doors, presumably leading
into the kitchen. The interior is shadowed, but it’s not completely
dark due to some reflected light. There is also light showing
through narrow windows inset in the wooden kitchen doors.

Krandle waves the others forward and calls
out into the gloom. There’s no reply from inside. He turns the
flashlight on once again and aims it into the interior. The beam
brings the murk into clearer focus. A counter with stools occupies
the rear and right side of the small café. Tipped over cups and
some silverware lies scattered across the top and the usual
restaurant accoutrements adorn the walls behind – coffee maker,
juice machine, dishes, etc. Everything is covered with a light film
of dirt except for the definite path leading to the double doors
behind the far counter.

“This is where the tracks from the girl
lead. Speer, you and I are going in. The rest of you set up a
perimeter facing out,” Krandle says as the others arrive.

Krandle and Speer step though, their boots
crunching on remnants of broken glass under the window just inside.
They walk past the counter to the doors leading to the kitchen,
taking positions on either side.

Easing forward to peek through one of the
windows, Krandle observes the source of the light beyond. The roof
inside has partially collapsed. The debris covers the cold grills,
small stove, and a prep table filling the center of the kitchen.
Several pots and pans poke through the wreckage.

Krandle withdraws from the window and gives
Speer a shake of his head indicating he didn’t see anyone. Speer
nods his understanding.

“Ready?” Krandle whispers; Speer gives
another nod.

It’s one thing to stroll across an open area
to show you don’t intend harm, but entirely different to do the
same thing going into a small room where you know others are and
they aren’t responding. Krandle is only willing to carry the open
intentions so far – small girl or not.

With a nod from Krandle, they both push into
the room, Krandle going left and Speer to the right. They bring
their M-4s up as they pour into the room. Their entrance is quiet
and swift, like a flowing rush of air. Barrels follow eyes in rapid
movements as they rapidly search the room, still moving toward
their respective corners.

“Clear,” Krandle hears Speer whisper.

“Clear,” he calls back.

Turning toward Speer, Krandle sees he
couldn’t advance very far due to the rubble from the fallen
ceiling. Getting Speer’s attention, he points to a steel meat
locker door where the dust has been disturbed. They both gather to
one side of the door.

“This is Chief Petty Officer Vance Krandle
of the United States Navy. We mean no harm and have come to help,”
he calls out.

A shuffling sound comes from the other side
of the door and faint whispers, then silence. A moment passes.

“Are you really from the Navy?” a voice
calls.

“Yes, sir, we are,” Krandle replies.

“Shut up. We don’t really have a choice, do
we? Look at us. We won’t make it much longer regardless of who’s on
the other side. Now open it,” the voice says, obviously talking to
someone else inside.

Krandle hears a rattling sound like a chain
being dragged against the door. The door opens and a stench rolls
out. It’s the pungent smell of body odor mixed with…well, more body
odor. Looking inside, he sees seven very emaciated people staring
back at him. Four of them are sitting against walls in the back of
the enclosed room, looking like it’s taking all of their energy
just to stay upright. Those four stare back at him as if they are
already dead. Only the fact that they slowly blink gives testament
that they are still holding onto life.

Two very thin men stand near the open door
with the girl he saw earlier clutching one of the men’s pant leg
and peeking out from behind. Krandle lowers his weapon as he stares
into eyes that have given up hope. It’s hard to tell anyone’s age
through the grime covering them, but they seem to be in their
twenties or thirties with the exception of the girl who appears to
be eleven or twelve.

“Holy shit,” Speer whispers, staring
dumbfounded.

Krandle nods for Speer to go join Franklin
out front but Speer just continues to stare at the scene.

“Speer!”

Speer startles and looks at Krandle who nods
once again, directing him to the front.

“Oh…right, Chief,” he says and starts back
through the kitchen with a couple of backward glances.

“Franklin, I’m sending Speer to you. Contact
the
Santa Fe
and let them know we have seven survivors…three
mobile and four immobile. Blanchard, get in here. You have patients
to attend to,” Krandle states over the radio.