A New World: Conspiracy (28 page)

“Okay, sir. We’ll go ashore. But no farther
than where the flashes were. We’ll do a quick check and then we’re
out of there. I figure we’ll put ashore on the beach at the
northern end and make our way to the top. We’ll exfil at the same
location,” Krandle says, reaching a decision.

“Go only as far as you deem safe. I know our
duty to see to survivors, but keep in mind you are the only
security force we have,” Leonard states.

“I will, sir.”

“We’ll be here when you return,” Leonard
says, looking directly into Krandle’s eyes.

“Thank you, sir. Well, I suppose we should
get ready,” Krandle says and departs.

A splash catches Krandle across the face as
the rubber craft races down the front of the wave and hits the
trough before climbing the back of the next one. He wipes the water
from his goggles and eyes the beach ahead as they crest a wave.
Looking to the side along the bluff on top of which sits their
destination, Krandle makes out a trail angling along its side.

The ridgeline above the trail has an
overhang which should give them some protection. Krandle follows
the trail down to the waterline as best he can. The trailhead
appears to intersect a small beach. The waves on this strand don’t
seem severe and the approach seems doable. It will put them much
closer to their destination without having to transit a large
distance through unknown neighborhoods. The one drawback is that
their approach will be more readily seen if there is someone above.
As it is, they can still be seen, but their destination won’t be as
easily discerned.

Krandle gets Ortiz’ attention and points
toward the strand to the right. With a quick movement, Ortiz alters
their path and angles toward the location indicated.

A wave lifts them up and the raft grates
upon gravelly shore. They exit and scan the area, concentrating on
the lip of the bluff rising high above. A sandy trail leads up to
the left and they quickly cross the small strand, hiding their
craft part way up the trail against the wall.

The breeze ripples against their legs as the
team begins angling up the path in single file, hugging the cliff
wall. They carefully check corners before continuing up the next
section. The path looks undisturbed, but Krandle knows the wind can
quickly erase any tracks in the loose sand. The shore slowly
recedes below them as they ascend.

The pathway eventually spills out on top,
coming to an end on a small plateau adjacent to a road which
proceeds next to the edge of the heights. Resplendent
stucco-covered and red tile-roofed manses occupy large lots across
the street, each complete with a requisite swimming pool. The water
in each has mostly evaporated into stagnant puddles. The once
pristinely landscaped yards with pruned bushes look like they have
a bad case of morning hair.

The team crouches on the plateau and takes
stock of their situation. They are almost two miles from the point
where the watch saw the lights. According to the map, the road near
them runs along the edge of the escarpment with the cliff on one
side and houses on the other. The size of the lots on which the
mighty houses sit gives them a fairly open sightline. The houses
themselves don’t give Krandle too much worry as he can’t fathom
anyone who has survived to this point venturing into them. It’s the
yards themselves that give him pause. Their overgrown nature can
conceal just about anything.

“Well, gentlemen, we’re a little over three
klicks from our destination. What we see here is what we’ll see
along the way. What do you think?” Krandle says as a gust stirs up
and eddies in the sand near them.

“We’re here so we might as well enjoy the
scenery,” Franklin says.

The others in turn shrug and Speer is
surprisingly silent.

“Okay. Intervals, gentlemen. We’ll stay on
the cliff side of the street. If we’re engaged in force, we’ll
return fire and retreat down the bluff if possible. If not, we
conduct a fighting retreat. The rally point will be the raft. If we
become split, we wait at the raft provided we’re not under fire
until two hours prior to sunset and then cast off with who we have.
Secondary rally will be the start of the beach just north of this
headland. Whoever casts off with the CRCC will rendezvous with the
rest of the team there. One hour prior to sunset is the hard time
to head to the
Santa Fe
. Questions?” Krandle briefs.

There aren’t any. “Okay, let’s get this over
with.”

The road winds as it follows the contours of
the headland. The early morning sun stretches the team’s shadows
long to the west, disappearing over the edge. A very faint roar
from the surf rises up the steep surface of the bluff. Birds
flitter through the trees next to the houses and an occasional
squirrel chitters warnings from tall branches. The team catches a
brief sight of a cat as it slinks around the corner of one of the
houses. In all, if it weren’t for the circumstances, it would be a
peaceful stroll under a clear fall sky.

The team passes block after block. Many of
the picture windows that once afforded scenic views of the Pacific
reflect the blue sky. Some of the houses have their windows broken
out and doors ajar. Tension mounts as they draw nearer to the area
where the flashes occurred. They pause more often to take in their
surroundings, taste the environment, and test their inner feelings
for something amiss.

During one of their pauses, a flurry of
noise erupts from their left, coming from bushes set between two
houses. The team immediately drops into a posture to deliver
concentrated fire. Krandle quickly verifies that the team is
covering all avenues and aims at the sound – his red dot centered
on the small opening between the bushes.

Uneasy about their situation in the open, he
is about to open up to recon by fire when he sees the head of a
large dog poke out. The animal stalks slowly out, tense and in an
attack posture. Three others emerge behind it. The canine in front
is a German Shepherd. Krandle isn’t able to identify what breed the
others might be. Noticeable are their ribs showing through the skin
and thin flanks. It’s obvious to Krandle that these dogs are
underfed and live the entirety of their days searching for food.
How they have kept away from the night runners during the dark
hours is anyone’s guess. Krandle supposes they must sleep some
during the day, perhaps chewing on the remains the night runners
leave behind, and spend the evening avoiding the nocturnal
predators.

Normally four wild dogs would avoid six
grown men, so these must be desperate…and therefore dangerous. The
Shepherd thrusts its head forward, baring its teeth and a low growl
emanates from deep within it chest. Krandle stands to present his
full height, knowing that it will either scare the dogs away or
offer a challenge. One trick is to not look the dog in its eyes as
that is definitely a challenge, but there’s no way Krandle dares
look away.

The four dogs turn and back up a step before
rounding on the team once again. The other three join in the
growling which grows louder. Krandle feels sorry for them. They
epitomize this new world – one in which it’s eat or be eaten. The
leader settles back on its haunches and tenses.

Don’t
, Krandle thinks, his barrel
held unwavering toward the pack.

He lowers his barrel and fires a single
round. The muted cough is barely heard over the growls. The round
impacts the ground just in front and to the side of the leader with
a ‘thwack’. The Shepherd reacts and jumps in the air with a yip. It
lands and bares its teeth again, growling once before turning and
vanishing quickly into the bushes, its companions follow
behind.

With a nod from Krandle, the team continues
their slow, cautious trek along the road. Krandle is anxious about
being in the open and feels cornered. The Cliffside is both a
benefit and possible liability. For one, it cuts the possible
avenues of attack in half, but on the other side, it prevents an
avenue of retreat.

The more Krandle thinks of the flashes, the
more he becomes convinced they were from gunfire. Seeing it was at
night means that whoever was here was more than likely firing at
night runners. That means two things; one is that whoever it was is
armed and that there are night runners in the area. The armed
people worry him more. As long as they don’t go into buildings and
are out of here by dark, the night runners shouldn’t offer trouble.
The others…well, there are two possibilities there. They are either
friendly…or not.

The team reaches a place where the road
leaves the edge of the cliff and subtly curves inland to make room
for houses built next to the escarpment. Krandle halts the team to
carefully look over the region. They are in the vicinity of where
the lights were observed. Nothing moves except the occasional
swaying of branches in the breeze. Swirling patterns show in the
fine covering of grit on the roadway, giving no indication that
anyone passed recently. The tall grass in the yards stands
straight, swaying in waves as drafts blow through. There aren’t any
discernible paths.

“We’ll continue to the next intersection and
call it good,” Krandle states over the radio. “Let’s move.”

The houses they encounter next to the cliff
are some of the largest they’ve seen yet. Through gaps in trees and
bushes, Krandle notes tennis courts in addition to the prerequisite
swimming pools. Looped driveways lead in and out of each place.
Small clumps of grass that would normally have been removed before
they even showed themselves spring out of the cracks between the
concrete partitions. The locale is completely quiet except for the
swish of the passing wind.

Krandle feels the grit under his boots as he
steps warily along the road with houses on both sides. All of the
team members search the spaces between the structures, looking
intently as if trying to peer through the bushes. Their suppressed
muzzles tracking as their eyes search out different areas.

Feeling the inner tension build, Krandle
calls a halt. He feels that something is wrong but can’t pinpoint
exactly what – only that it’s a strong feeling. He has come to
trust that feeling as it hasn’t led him astray yet. It’s telling
him that his subconscious is picking out something that is not
readily apparent to his other senses. Operators with time in the
field know this sensation and rely on it as if it’s another sensory
input. Someone or something is directing attention their way.

“I thought we were going to the next cross
street,” Speer replies.

“Well, I—” Krandle begins.

He hears a shuffling of boots on the sandy
surface behind him.

“Chief?” Krandle hears Miller sharply
whisper.

Turning to look behind, he sees three
figures dart across the road where the housing next to the cliff
began. They cross toward the bluff side and vanish into one of the
yards. Miller and Franklin are on their knees aiming their carbines
back in the direction the team came from – Miller tracking where
the three disappeared and Franklin covering where they emerged
from.

“Movement ahead,” Speer calls.

Krandle looks quickly to see some bushes
next to a house down the street ahead shake out of synch with the
breeze. Looking across the street, he spots furtive movement in the
dark shadows of the landscaped trees. His heart jumps as he
recognizes the arranging of an ambush. From his initial
observation, there appears to be quite a few taking positions
around them. He quickly glances to the house set deep into the
bluff-side lot immediately next to them. The front is more open
than most of the other houses around and he doesn’t discern
movement there.

“Everyone, into the house. Move!” he calls
over the radio.

The team rises and begins to back quickly
into the yard, covering their sectors. Once they hit the waist-high
grass, they turn and sprint. Franklin catches Krandle and runs
alongside of him.

“Are we going inside?” Franklin says.

“That’s the plan,” Krandle answers.

“What about night runners?” Franklin
asks.

“That’s a possibility versus a certainty. We
need cover,” Krandle states, the grass parting as he rushes
through.

The team plows through bushes lining the
edge of the circular drive without slowing. Pounding across the
concrete, they near the elegant front door. Gunfire erupts from
across the street. Solid ‘thwacks’ hit the side of the house from
rounds being directed at them. A window nearby crashes inward with
a tinkling of glass. The team continues their mad dash amid rounds
filling the air around them, intent on reaching the door.

Krandle hears the zip from rounds passing
too close for comfort before they impact the wall just ahead. He
and Franklin both lower their barrels as they mount concrete steps
leading to the entrance. They fire into the door latch and jamb,
splintering the heavy wood. Together they crash into the door
shoulder first.

The door gives and the two of them stumble
into the interior with the others hard on their heels. Clerestory
windows set high on the walls coupled with picture windows sheds a
lot of radiant light into the foyer they crashed into. A wide set
of stairs, filling much of the entrance hall, leads upward, the top
of them lost in darkness. Hallways along each side of the stairs
lead farther into the house, the light transitioning to gloom until
they also fade into an inky black. Arched entryways lead into rooms
to the left and right. Rounds continue to impact the side of the
house with compact thunks.

“Is anyone hit?” Krandle calls out,
recovering.

The team does a quick pat over their bodies
and signals that they are okay. Somehow, none of the bullets
connected.

“Speer, Ortiz, take the left and cover our
flanks. Franklin and Miller, take the right. Blanchard and I will
take the immediate front,” Krandle says.