A New World: Reckoning (13 page)

“It’s not about today, Jack. All of us went in, even after you said it wasn’t safe. The point is—” she starts.

“You’re really going to do this now, aren’t you?” I say.

“Yep.”

“The truth of the matter is, I’m tired. I’m tired and I don’t want to do this anymore. Let someone else take charge and do it. With what happened to Nic, to Robert, and almost happened to Bri, I just don’t feel like I’m able to lead effectively anymore. I know my decisions will be biased based on Robert’s and Bri’s safety. And yours,” I state.

“Who would you have take over?”

“You, Frank…fuck…anybody. Even Bannerman,” I answer, looking down at my boots.

“And you’d listen to them, and do as they say. I know you wouldn’t with me. You haven’t yet, so why would you start all of a sudden, so let’s not even go there.”

I look up and stare at her. She knows me all too well. “Don’t even begin to bring logic into this.”

“The point I was going to make wasn’t about Robert or Bri. It’s that we’re all tired. Yeah, mistakes will be made and people will get hurt. It’s the world we live in. But you are pushing too hard and worrying about shit that you can’t help. That’s a good and bad thing, Jack, but your mom’s right, you are getting stretched thin.”

“I know, and I feel my decisions are getting affected by it. I don’t know what to do, and maybe it’s time someone else had a chance.”

“Again, you’d follow someone else’s decisions if you didn’t like them?”

“Stop that.”

“Like it or not, you’re what we have. Most people see you and the others in the decision group as their best chance at survival.”

“I just don’t fucking want to do this anymore.”

“Be that as it may, you’re it. I know this will only be blowing hot air, but don’t push yourself so hard. There are others here that can help.”

I only sigh, feeling the stress of our situation still gripping me. In all honesty, I know what’s coming and don’t want to make the decision. I don’t want to make a wrong one that will bring down the fragile hope of survival that we are clinging to. I have a huge fear of failure and that potential is looming large. My not wanting to be the one in charge is because I don’t want to be the one who fails. But, on the other hand, passing that off will amount to the same thing. I’m basically feeling sorry for myself and not wanting to take responsibility right now.

The thing with
Bri
really shook me up. One—that I put her in that situation; and two—that she was able to do what she did. Hearing the night runners scream,
Bri
calling for help on the other side of the debris, my panic from not being able to help, the fear that I was going to lose her, and then arriving with the scene of dead night runners littering the hall.
Bri
rising after freeing her trapped leg and casually retrieving her knife, wiping it on the night runner lying dead next to her. If I had doubts about her being able to take care of herself, those are greatly diminished. I just can’t believe that was my daughter who did that. There is a feeling of disassociation between what happened and the fact that it was
Bri
.

The image surfaces of her surprise when she glanced down the hall and her response, ‘I did that?’ It became readily apparent that she goes into a ‘zone’ when confronted with her fears like that. I just worry that her zone may block out too much and that she may focus in on one aspect of her surroundings while missing others. I asked her about it but she doesn’t really seem to remember much. Truthfully, I don’t know what to think about what she did, but I’m glad that she’s okay and, deeper down, although feeling like shit about putting her in that situation, there is a part of me that feels better about her abilities.

“So, I know you didn’t hear a word I said, and even if you did, you won’t listen. We’re going to need you in the coming days. And by that, I mean that we need you clear-headed and with it. I don’t know about the night runners up north or if they’ll be a threat. They may just settle in there and move when the food has been cleared out. Or they may move past. There’s not much here for them as we’ve cleared the land around us. But this group, they’re a real threat and we’re going to need you. So, if you’re done with your pity party?” Lynn asks.

“I hear what you’re saying. It’s just hard for me to let go of things sometimes. I have a hard time letting someone else go in my place. Especially with seeing Greg lying there and with those graves we have to dig tomorrow. But, yeah, I’m all partied out,” I reply.

The next morning on my way out, I check in on Greg to find that he’s still unconscious. A woman I don’t recognize is sitting on a chair near his bed reading a book. Bannerman had mentioned that he had gathered a few books from a library nearby. I remember him saying we needed to provide something for people to do when they have some downtime, ‘otherwise they’ll find something to do. They need something to lose themselves in.’ I nod at the woman and head outside.

We’ve taken the day off to say farewell to our friends and comrades. The bodies have been recovered from the aircraft and a few are busy preparing their resting places in our cemetery that is becoming too crowded. After the arrangements are complete, we gather under clear skies with a cold wind whipping around us. The teams bring out the caskets carrying our fallen, and the others that were with them, setting them gently in place. Lynn leads the ceremony on this occasion. I don’t hear much of what she says; instead, I’m focusing on the caskets and the burial markers, lost in my thoughts.

Staring at the crosses, each one indicating someone we’ve lost, I wonder just how many more times we’ll have to do this. Our graveyard is getting bigger, and seemingly more so by the week. Under those markers is the team we lost taking Cabela’s, Allie and Allie’s dad, with Nic being buried in the hills. And then there’s Drescoll, somewhere. Now we are adding six more of our own plus the others that were with them. If we keep this up, there won’t be anyone left.

The report of gunshots startles me out of my thoughts. Then, the bugle blows Taps over our group, the wind carrying the forlorn notes across the compound. As the last note drifts over us, the remnants of our group begin slowly drifting apart with most heading back into the compound. Although this day is starting on a sorrowful note, we’ll take the rest of day off and set up a BBQ. At least most of us will. There is still work to be done.

I linger for a while longer as the coffins are lowered into the graves. When the first scoops of dirt are shoveled in, I realize that I’m the only one remaining. Turning, I head back to the building. BBQs are being wheeled out in preparation, with tables being set up as I arrive. Inside, Frank is setting himself up at a table to look over the video footage we gathered. With everyone seeming to have something to do, I feel out of place and, to be honest, kind of lost. Robert, Michelle, Bri, Gonzalez, Henderson, and Denton walk outside, lost in conversation.

I know I should probably rest some as we’ll be taking the Spooky out tonight to see what our neighbors are up to. I don’t feel tired and know that I’d just lay there with thoughts spinning in my mind, becoming frustrated that they won’t shut up.

Back outside, I walk over to one of the Humvees. There’s a quiet murmur of conversation drifting across the lot as people get ready for the barbecue. People seem to be recovering from the sadness of burying our comrades. It’s still there but, here and there, I see smiles arising from something said. Bri emits a burst of laughter that momentarily rises above the hum of other conversations.

Still feeling lost and outside of everything going on, I climb into the vehicle and drive out to our airfield. The 130 and Spooky are parked next to each other, their hulks sitting patiently waiting until they are called for again. The rear ramps of both are open. One crew is offloading crates of ammo that we picked up while another is stocking up the Spooky. I park and climb out, walking to the gunship. I get a few nods from those who are working.

“The barbecue is about to start. Why don’t you guys go enjoy it for a while,” I say, passing one of them.

“We’re about done here, sir. There are some burgers with our name on it. There better be anyway or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Let me help, then. What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“We have this, sir. We’re almost done anyway.”

I nod and return to the Humvee, sit on the hood and watch them work. In a way, it’s relaxing. True to their word, they finish up, close up the aircraft, and drive back, a few giving waves and nods. I hop off the hood and open the rear ramp of the Spooky. It’s quiet out except for the wind blowing in and around the aircraft, swishing softly through tall grass lining the edges of our small airfield.

Walking inside, my boots ring on the metal decking. The quiet inside holds echoes of the action yesterday. I can almost hear the shouts and commands, the rounds being fired and the clang of shells being reloaded, see the actions of rounds being taken from their storage compartments, manhandled to the waiting breeches and mag receptacles. In the prevailing silence of the interior, all they are now are just ghosts.

I remove the overhead hatch and climb up. Sitting on top, I let the breeze wash over me, doing nothing but enjoying the silence. The brute power of the aircraft seems to flow upward, at rest for the moment but ready to unleash its fury on command.

It really is too bad that the fuel will go bad. If we do ever reach a point where we’re actually safe and secure, it would be nice to be able to go fly just for the sheer fun of it
, I think, resting my hand on the metal surface.

I look over and see the green roof of Cabela’s sticking up over the inner wall in the distance. It’s only been a short few months since things went to shit, but it seems like years. This is our new life, one that we have to carve out with dangers seemingly besieging us from all directions. Seeing the water tower standing in the distance, I’m reminded that we’ve come a long ways in that short period of time. The flip side is that the dangers have increased along with that progress.

It’s like being in an eternal race that will never end and only gets harder as you go along. Any stumble or fall and the things chasing you will catch up. We’ve managed to overcome the challenges we’ve faced only to be presented with more difficult ones. And we’ve paid for it with our blood at times. Now we’re up against probably the hardest one we’ve had to face as a group and I don’t have the slightest notion of how to solve it. We have to do something about it soon though as I doubt the other group is sitting idly by waiting for us to make a move.

At a bare minimum, we have to hit them before spring, and during winter will make that even more difficult. If they are truly trying to take us out, for whatever reason, when we lose our ability to fly, we will be out-matched in every category and the gig will be up. We must do something before then, and really much sooner, before they strike again.

And then there’s the night runners flowing south out of Seattle. The best we can do there is to make sure our defenses are strong and hit them nightly when we can. Maybe we need to clear out a larger area around Tacoma, but that would be quite an undertaking. I remember Frank saying something about the numbers, but if I have it right, there were almost two and half million in the surrounding Seattle area before the shit went down. That would mean there were nearly two million night runners. If even half of those survived until now, that’s a fucking lot of them. Even if they spread out evenly heading north, east, and south, that leaves the potential of six hundred thousand night runners heading our way.

There’s no way we can deal with that amount. We may have to rethink our strategy; maybe burning large tracts to turn them away. However, for now, we have a more pressing matter with this hostile group outside of Denver. As I told Bri, with Greg lying unconscious, his team dead, and Allie taken from us, the time for talking is way past. We need to figure out a way to eliminate this immediate threat to our survival.

Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, I lay back on the top of the Spooky, staring up at the blue sky, watching the occasional cloud slowly float across, flowing from one shape to another, the breeze blowing across me. Even chilled as it is, it feels refreshing. My mind drifts and I let images swirl through. A relaxed feeling, like the one flying the evening prior, comes over me. My thoughts flash from memory to memory, some bringing a smile to my face while others bring sorrow.

After a time, I come out of my reverie, feeling more refreshed and confident. We’ve come through a lot and we’ll get through this somehow. Whatever the future may hold, we’re here and alive today. And each day we’ll strive to continue.

I climb down and drive back. I needed those moments alone and come back feeling like a different person than the one who left. The one who left felt already defeated. Now, although it won’t be a walk in the park, I feel ready to meet the challenge.

Walking back into the building, I see Frank going over several pictures with a magnifying glass, stopping at times to make an annotation. I walk past and check on Greg. The swelling of his cheek looks to have gone down and his respirations seem deeper. However, he is still unconscious.

There really isn’t much to do until we meet in the afternoon. I don’t feel much like resting so I join the others gathering outside. The smell of burgers and hot dogs cooking wafts across the lot. A line has formed next to the BBQs with some finding seats at tables with plates full of food. Other mill about in small groups, taking bites between snippets of conversation. The sorrow of laying our brethren to rest is slowly being replaced by an atmosphere of gaiety. The idea of setting a day aside to barbeque, which we took from Tim and the others we brought with us from McConnell AFB, seems to be having its desired effect. I make a plate and take it to Frank, who nods his thanks and turns back to his pictures.