A New World: Conspiracy (32 page)

With the sun heading into late afternoon and
having only made it about halfway to their first destination of
Manitou Springs, Greg checks the map and notes the area they are in
is one of the more barren spots along the road. It’s all fairly
open and not populated, but several small towns dot the landscape
and he wants to be as far away from any formerly populated areas as
possible to hole up for the night. Even though it’s early, he has
the Stryker turn off the road and travel up a long dirt road with
no apparent settlements or houses in sight. The road slowly ascends
up an incline into some fairly rough topography – rough for this
area at least. Greg picks an arroyo off the road and parks the
Stryker hull down. The gully is the perfect height and they are
able to see in all directions but their silhouette is
minimized.

As opposed to the plains through which they
traveled beside for most of the day, the place they pick to stay
the night looks like the surface of the moon. It’s barren with just
a few rocky outcroppings on the edge of shallow ravines.

As Greg pans the surrounding area with his
binoculars, the moon analogy fits even more. The gray soil is
pockmarked with thousands of light-colored mounds. Out of these
piles, small heads continuously bob up and down. The team has
parked in the middle of a large prairie dog population. With a
couple of larger towns ten miles to either side, there is a small
chance night runners could come out to hunt in this area. It’s
about a three hour walk from the nearest town, but with the speed
of the night runners, it would be much less. Greg has never seen
them go at any other speed than a jog or full run. He isn’t sure
how far they venture to hunt, but thinks it’s unlikely they would
be this far out. Like Jack, he doesn’t want to assume anything with
regards to what the night runners can or can’t do. They’ll sleep
buttoned up and keep a watch through the Stryker optics.

With time to spare before night settles upon
them, Greg sets a watch and allows the others to dig a Dakota Fire
Pit at the bottom of the arroyo. This will keep the fire from being
seen and the smoke to a minimum. Plus, they will cover it up when
they’re finished, which will eliminate any trace of scent. Who
knows when they’ll have a chance at a hot meal again, so he allows
them this simple pleasure. It’s sometimes the very small things
that make a difference in mental attitudes and the ability to hold
up under stress.

With the sun low on the horizon, they sit in
the shaded gully eating heated MREs and exchanging whispers and
subdued laughs. The sky to the east is turning a dark blue as they
shovel dirt over the fire pit and erase any vestige of their meal.
Greg wishes Jack was with them so he could tell them if any aroma
lingered, but he’ll do the best he can. They can hold out in the
Stryker against a large number of night runners, but it’s a
different story if a horde of them show up. The armored vehicle is
hard to tip or get into, but it’s not impossible.

As the sun sets, turning the gray land
black, Greg organizes the watch and settles over the maps he
acquired. They don’t give altitude variations, but he guesses that
they’ll travel over terrain similar to what they ventured through
during the day. They’ll encounter the same open fields and small
towns until they draw near to Pueblo. The only change on their
route will be increasing size of the mountains as the team rolls
west. With that in mind, he’ll keep to the same plan – travel
slowly through the small towns after looking them over and
circumvent the larger ones through the surrounding fields. Given
the distance they covered today, they should reach Pueblo by
mid-afternoon and Manitou Springs a couple of hours after that.
Circumventing the large metropolis of Colorado Springs to get to
their destination could be difficult and take more time. A few
roads show promise but he’ll assess the situation when they arrive
tomorrow.

The team settles as best they can inside the
cramped interior. It’s doubtful anyone will get a deep rest, but
there isn’t really any choice. It’s that or sleep outside – which
is out of the question. In the near distance, a lone coyote howls
into the night. The hull of the vehicle muffles the sound, but it’s
distinct nonetheless. It’s answered several seconds later by a
chorus of yelps coming from another direction.

As long as it’s the howl of coyotes and
not the shriek of the other pack hunters
, Greg thinks.

Looking through the vehicle optics, Greg
sees several coyotes as they pass across the plain. He switches
from the thermal imaging to night vision mode. The shapes change
from the white of their reflected heat to sharper images cast in a
grayish-green. The pack trots in his field of vision as they stalk
across the moonlit landscape. Even in the night vision mode, Greg
can see their backs glowing silver as they are bathed in the moon’s
beams. They stop and raise their noses to take in the scents of the
night. One of the coyotes in front lifts its snout higher and sends
a mournful cry aloft. An answering call is heard from the near
distance. The pack begins yipping and turning in circles.

The apparent leader sniffs the air again and
turns toward Greg. He barks once and the pack quiets. They all turn
toward where the Stryker sits in the gully. Sets of eyes glow a
fierce white as they stare directly at Greg, sending chills up his
spine. As one, the light from the pack’s eyes vanish.

Greg still watches and catches an occasional
glimpse of silver as the moonlight catches on the back of one of
the pack members. They have resumed their hunt across the
plain.

A high-pitched scream of terror and pain
erupts from the night. The pack has found a meal from among the
denizens occupying the numerous holes of the prairie. The coyotes
on the prowl and the scream from the prairie dog remind Greg of the
night runners and their own situation. The similarity between the
prairie dogs and the last vestiges of humankind is
unmistakable.

The night passes with only a few other calls
from the coyotes as they hunt through the prairie dog town. No
other signs of life show across the remote plain. Greg half
expected to see the lights of a group of survivors shine somewhere
but the surrounding area remained an inky black all evening. The
lack of light isn’t overly surprising as that would be a beacon for
any night runners, so it doesn’t mean there aren’t any surviving
bands.

The sun barely touches the top of the
Stryker sticking out of the gully when the team is geared up. Some
quick morning ablutions and they are ready to get on with the day.
Hopefully they will reach the first of the six legs of their trek.
Greg is sure they won’t have to travel the entire distance as he
reckons Jack will meet them at Luke AFB providing Robert is okay.
He sends a quick thought of well-being Robert’s way as the Stryker
warms up at idle. Rescuing the girl like Robert did was one of the
bravest things he’s ever witnessed; that heroic kind of act
deserves life.

After hitting the highway once again, Greg
opens the top hatch to give some ventilation. Close quarters and a
serious lack of clothing changes make for…well…a need for
ventilation in the small compartment.

A short time on the road and the armored
vehicle rolls past a sign welcoming them to Colorado. The
topography is exactly the same, it’s only a line drawn by someone a
long time ago. However, it’s a marker letting them know they aren’t
stuck on a treadmill and are actually putting miles under their
treads. Looking out at the landscape, one couldn’t be too sure. The
only change in scenery is the tops of the mountains in the distance
slowly getting loftier.

There are very few landmarks to keep track
of their position other than a turn in the road or crossing over
infrequent bridges. The fields to either side remain a mixture of
brown dirt or overgrown with whatever crop was last put in the
ground. The large crop circles that were created from centrally
rotating sprinklers remain in places, but the crops have withered
due to a lack of water.

That changes shortly after crossing a bridge
spanning a small stream. The fields to the north take on the nature
of being freshly plowed with some showing sprouts of greenery.
Except for trees and bushes adjacent to streams, and in mountainous
areas, it’s the first green Greg has seen since journeying out of
the Northwest. The fact that the ground has been plowed isn’t
necessarily an indication that someone has done it recently. It
could have been done previously and the ones responsible taken down
with the epidemic or some time thereafter. He orders the Stryker
halted.

Looking at his map, he finds they are about
three miles from the next town, Lamar. The highway heads to the
center of the town before turning north to cross a bridge across
the river they’ve been paralleling. Greg’s plan was to proceed
cross-country around the city and intersect the highway again to
the north just prior to the bridge. That’s still the plan but the
condition of the fields beside the road gives him pause.

Greg climbs out of the vehicle to get a
better view of the area. Through the magnified view of his
binoculars, he sees the outskirts of the city ahead. It looks like
any other town they’ve passed with the exception of a fence
enclosing sections of it. The town is still some distance ahead,
and the details aren’t clear, but he doesn’t spot any movement or
other sign of inhabitants. The light covering of dirt across the
highway doesn’t show tracks leading in or out of the municipality.
Panning around the fields to either side and behind, he observes
the same – no indication of anyone around.

Notifying the others, Greg jumps down and
walks to the nearest field. He catches the aroma of freshly turned
earth as he draws near. Reaching through a fence surrounding the
plowed land, he feels the dirt and crumples a clod between his
fingers. It still has remnants of moisture and not dried out as it
would be if it sat on the surface for very long. He surveys the
expanse once again, expecting farmers or their equipment to
materialize. He sees and hears nothing to indicate others are near.
However, the fencing around the town and the plowed fields are
clear signs that someone was around recently.

Greg returns and informs the others of what
he found. There’s some speculation about staying in the area to
find out if there are others but, in the end, they decide to push
on with their original plan. They don’t have great numbers to deal
with a hostile encounter, and it would be unfair to the soldiers
looking for their families if they didn’t continue with the
mission. That’s their primary goal and every day counts, especially
with them having to travel on the ground. Greg marks his map,
indicating possible survivors and orders the driver to proceed off
road.

Exiting the highway, they roll over the
fencing and angle through the adjacent fields to reach the northern
end of the city. The vehicle jostles as they bounce across the
furrows. Greg keeps the optics focused on the outlying areas of the
town. If there is anyone there, they aren’t going to take to the
team ruining their fieldwork. However, unless they have anti-armor
capabilities or heavy caliber weapons, there isn’t much they can do
about it.

Greg looks to the north end of the city as
they drive ever closer. It appears that they’ll have to cut close
to a section of an industrial park prior to reaching the road and
bridge. The fencing he saw from afar extends around this locale.
From this closer look, the tall fencing does in fact circle a large
part of the northern end. He’s about to order a turn to the north
to avoid the area as much as possible when a glint catches the
corner of his eye. He pans the optics and turret toward the eastern
end of the town and sees another flash of light. The winks become a
series and it’s apparent they are being focused directly at
them.

“What do you think, sir?” the driver
asks.

“The flashes are too bright to be
gunfire…unless they have an awful big gun…and we’d be feeling the
results of it already. Readout says just over two klicks, so I’m
guessing it’s a signal mirror. Halt the vehicle,” Greg replies.

The Stryker lurches forward as the brakes
are applied. They come to a stop in the middle of a dirt road
between fields. The dust trail behind them hangs in the air,
drifting slowly across the fields. The flashes of light stop.

“Shall we try and signal them back, sir,”
the driver asks.

“No. I think we’ll sit here with our popcorn
and see how this movie plays out,” Greg answers.

Soon, a trail of dust rises into air from
the direction of the signal.

“Single pickup heading down a dirt road
perpendicular to the one we’re on,” the driver reports.

“I see it. Keep watching around us. I don’t
want to be taken by surprise while focusing on one vehicle.”

“Are we going to disembark, sir?” another
soldier asks.

“Not yet. I want to be ready to leave in a
hurry if this turns out bad,” Greg responds.

If the people heading their way aren’t
friendly, he’ll just head out. They can’t outrun the approaching
vehicle, but unless they have a howitzer hidden in the back,
chasing them won’t do any good. And the .50 cal will turn the truck
into scrap metal.

The pickup truck pulls up to the
intersection of the road the team is sitting on and the one the
vehicle is traveling on. About a quarter of a mile separates the
two parties. A man exits the blue truck, stands next to the driver
door, and pulls out a pair of binoculars. Through his own magnified
view, Greg notes another figure in the passenger seat with two
others in the bed of the truck looking their way. They are armed
with rifles but aren’t actively aiming at them. It can’t be too
comfortable for them to see a large caliber weapon aimed directly
at them from an armored vehicle.