A New World: Reckoning (22 page)

After a while, the sky overhead slowly changes to a deep blue. The sun has descended below the cloud cover slowly inching eastward. The soldiers pack up their games and Lynn positions them with overlapping fields of fire toward the hangar entrances. Night is coming and, with it, the night runners are sure to make an appearance.

Just before total darkness settles in, I lay a line of ammonia from several jugs in front of the doors to try and mask our scent. Finishing, I stand next to the door and find that I can’t detect any hint of our odor. I realize that I hadn’t thought to ask or test Robert to see if he is able to see in the dark, or has enhanced hearing and smell. I’ll have to do that after darkness falls. Right now, with nighttime closing in, we have to keep our attention focused to see if our location is a secure one.

Just before the interior goes completely black, there is a rustling among the teams and night vision goggles are lowered. We crouch or kneel on the hard surface, and wait.

Night falls. The tension emanating from each one of us can be felt. I can reach out and touch it. The hangar walls have thick insulation to keep the large enclosure warm in the winter months, but even so, we all hear faint shrieks drifting to us, riding on the cool, night air.

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With his breath streaming behind him, Michael runs across an open field with part of his pack spread out to the side. He feels others as they race through the trees nearby, chasing down the various scents of prey hanging in the night air along game trails. Most nights, they hunt the surrounding countryside, finding enough to keep the pack fed.

As he races with his pack, hoping to catch food that may come into the field, attempting to elude the ones running through the trees, he only concentrates with part of his mind. The rest of it is tuned to the packs of his brethren far away. He’s felt them over the past nights as they’ve slowly made their way closer. Their large numbers have spread across the area where the ones he rescued once were. A while ago, he had felt their cries of suffering and went to help, rescuing those currently in his pack and eventually gathering them all together.

He senses the other strong presences in that direction and doesn’t know why they haven’t gathered in larger packs like his. If the stronger ones called, the small packs fending for themselves would surely gather.

Another of his mind is also searching for the death coming from the night sky. For the last few nights, and some of the nights before that, he’s sensed packs vanishing from his mind as they hunted the streets. Along with that, he’s seen the images of their panic from the light that pours down from the sky, felt their agony as those lights fell within their midst. Each night, he’s felt the anger rise within him, to the point that it almost consumes him. His kind is being decimated from that which he cannot see or fight.

He knows that the time for him to meet with the other strong presences is close at hand. In one regard, Sandra was right, they are going to need to take the fight to the two-leggeds if they are going to survive. With the losses he’s felt each and every night, he knows they won’t have a chance unless they kill them. They will lose many if they attack, but he now feels they will lose more if they don’t. The two-leggeds must go.

The next night, knowing it will be a long journey, Michael sets off with a few of his pack at first darkness. He keeps wide of the two-leggeds’ lair and constantly checks the sky for any sign of the death that floats in the darkness. Gazing into the cold night sky, seeing the thousands of twinkling lights blinking at him, he watches and listens for any signs that his pack has been seen. There isn’t any of the roaring from above that comes just before the rain of death. In the back of his mind, he has the feeling that he should know what it is in the sky but, every time he thinks about it, it frustratingly fades.

His run across fields and through streets holds off the cold that threatens to envelop him when he stops. The nights have been getting colder and it may get to the point that they won’t be able to go out in search of food. The pack will have to hold up in their lair, huddled together for warmth. That’s one of the reasons that he’s had some of his pack locate the food hidden in old two-legged lairs and store it. He knows of no way that they’ll be able to hunt if it gets too much colder, at least for long periods of time. In some capacity, hidden deep within the folds of his mind, he knows the cold won’t be permanent and the warm nights will return. They just have to make it until then.

A sliver of moonlight reflects off the water over which he runs with his pack behind. His exposed skin tingles from the radiated light, reminding him of the painful ball of light that keeps them to the night. Using one of the old two-legged paths used to cross the waterway, Michael quickly runs across and vanishes into the woods on the other side. Wary that he is approaching the area where he felt packs being decimated, he doesn’t want to stay in the open and be spotted.

Climbing out of the valley, he pauses on the edge of where some two-leggeds’ buildings begin. Standing in the tree line, he squats and listens. He doesn’t hear the roaring sound coming from the sky or feel any of the packs in the area permanently vanish from his mind. The other packs are spread for as far as he can sense, running through the night searching for food. Numerous images come to him: one pack running by a host of lairs, another relishing the taste of blood and fresh meat, and more filled with the eagerness of the chase. The night is filled with the shrieks of his kind.

He reaches out to the stronger presences he’s felt from afar, feeling each of them stop in their tracks as his thoughts reach them. Sensing each of them turn in his direction, he sends out a call for them to attend him. Several are hesitant, being nearly as strong in terms of presence as he; but in the end, they all turn toward him.

Throughout the night, although we hear faint shrieks continuously—some drawing closer—there aren’t any night runners that approach and test the hangar’s integrity. We stand down after a while, turning the safety of the teams over to the watches set by Lynn. Before finding my sleeping bag on the hard floor, I ask Robert if he has the ability to see in the dark. Removing his NVGs, he glances around and tells me that he can see just as well without them. As he’s not used to it, it’s a little disconcerting for him at first, but he quickly catches on. I don’t know why with having this ability, that we aren’t sensitive to the light; but I’m thankful that’s the way it is.

We further test his hearing and smell and find that it has been enhanced as well. Once we return home, I’ll have to check this out with the others. And, I’m sure there are others like us that we haven’t run across yet. It may be that we have to incorporate this aspect of opening up when we are out in order to find them. They may have shut down their senses by this time, but it’s worth checking out nonetheless.

The next two days are spent with training sessions and reviewing the plan, however, that really doesn’t encompass much time at all. For the most part, it’s spent in boredom with card games taking up a majority of the time. There’s only so much boredom that will cure though. Spread across the concrete floor, team members lie on their bags willing time to pass. We have imposed a radio blackout, so we haven’t had any contact with the compound.

By the late afternoon at the end of day two, we’d pretty much walk unarmed into a dragon’s lair to break the monotony; anything rather than to have to spend another day in the shelter. As the day winds down, the listlessness turns to activity as we gather our gear together, checking our packs and weapons. Other than our M-4s and various grenades, Lynn has brought several M-240s along, one for each of the teams that will be holding the security forces at bay within the hallways. We would have used them before, but they are a touch unwieldy in close quarters. We also have CS grenades with gas masks just in case.

The tedium prevalent during the two days has vanished, replaced by mounting tension, and, one might say, eagerness. Luckily for us, the 130 is parked near the hangar so it won’t be too much of a dash across open spaces. Outside, the cloud cover that began rolling in a couple of days ago is holding. It hasn’t brought but a few showers but it’s a thick cover which will help conceal us.

Hoisting their gear, the teams gather near the large hangar door, which we sealed shut. Removing the lock, they crowd together.

“Everyone ready?” Lynn calls across their heads.

“Hooah,” they respond en masse.

With a last look over everyone, Lynn and several others push the door open just enough for the teams to pour out. I join in the exodus, running across the grit-covered tarmac, hearing the sound of a hundred boots pounding on its hard surface. There is only that, the sound of hard breathing from those nearby, and the slight rattle of equipment. We flow across the gray pavement toward the 130 and, before we know it, we are racing up the rear ramp, the heavy footfalls changing to the ringing of boots on its steel surface.

Staying behind to shut the hangar doors, Lynn and her team are the last ones to enter. We were outside for nearly fifteen seconds and I hope that any attention on our encampment was directed elsewhere. Within the cargo compartment, there is a din of noise as gear is laid on the deck to be tied down and the soldiers find places to sit on the red nylon seats. Robert, Craig, Bri, and I make our way through the tangle of legs and packs on our way to the cockpit.

We don’t have much time as I want to be airborne while we still have the heat from the mid-afternoon. The clouds overhead have warmed the day and I want as much heat around us as we can get. The engines are going to push out a tremendous heat plume and my desire is to minimize that to any extent we can.

With the rear ramp closed, I do a quick start of the inboard engines. Thankfully, the engines come to life and we have a full tank of gas. I’ll taxi with those two and start the remaining two when we reach the end of the runway to minimize our heat signature. I flew past many of the checklist items after starting, so we are all knees and elbows in the cockpit getting the aircraft ready. Craig is crowded beside Robert busily inputting our route into the NAV computer.

I speed us along the taxiway to the end of the runway which is conveniently located next to the guard base. I would assume it was planned that way so the F-15s based there could make a quick takeoff.

Our dog and pony show continues right up to the runway threshold. I barely get the other two engines online as we pull onto the dirt-covered surface. Through the windshield, dark gray pavement stretches ahead, partially visible under swirls of dust. Without slowing, I push the throttles up and we start down the runway, the power of the engines vibrating through the fuselage. Pulling back on the controls, our front wheels release their grip on the runway, followed by our main gear shortly thereafter. We are airborne and, three hours from now, it will be go time.

Staying low over the city, I bank to the east. The clouds are still high above us but, across the landscape, I see the dark gray of showers connecting some of them with the earth. We really couldn’t have asked for better conditions, well, other than wishing for things to go back the way they were.

I bring us over the Columbia River, watching for the high-voltage power lines that I know stretch across it in places. I have those heavily circled on my map. It’s only a matter of minutes before we find ourselves in the Columbia Gorge; steep, forested slopes rise sharply from the edges of the wide waterway. This will keep us hidden until we break out onto the high desert plateau of Central Oregon and Western Washington.

Shooting at a hundred feet over the Columbia River and close to the southern line of hills, the turbulence bounces us like a paint shaker. Being the only real pass through the Cascades, the winds coming through the narrow defile are usually strong. In the past, they’ve had to close the highway to semis due to the winds.

Lynn had hooked into the intercom upon her entrance.

“How’s it going back there?” I ask, knowing it can’t be very comfortable for the soldiers.

“How much longer is this going to be like this? Too much longer and we’ll be worthless when we get there,” she replies.

I guess that’s my answer for how it’s going.

“Not much longer, but we’ll be hugging hills all of the way so I have no idea how long it’s going to be bumpy,” I state.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were doing this on purpose, Jack. Oh, and I’m not cleaning up the mess back here.”

I chuckle and tell her that she can send the worst cases up to the cockpit. Being able to see outside will help and, perhaps more importantly, they’ll be facing forward.

Although it may be a different story for those in back, it doesn’t take us too long to navigate through the gorge. Emerging out on the other side, I turn us south to keep close to the rough terrain of the Cascades.

Thirty minutes later, at a point midway between the cities of Redmond and Madras, still bouncing through the mountain waves as the westerly wind pours through passes and across the slopes, I turn us eastward. Here is the narrowest point between the Blue Mountains and the Cascades. From this point, I guide us through a long ravine that cuts through the Blue Mountains and drops us into the head of a valley just north of Boise.

Still hugging the slopes, I circle the valley. The turbulence is less severe as we make our way along the slopes of the Salmon River Mountains. North of Idaho Falls, we cut into the Rocky Mountains and
 
turn south to avoid the rolling plains of Wyoming. This is a very circuitous route, but we have the time and fuel.

Climbing ridgelines and plummeting into valleys, I hand the controls over to Robert. Initially, he’s a little hesitant crossing over the ridgelines and brings us too high over the deep ravines but his transitions soon become smoother. The overhead cover of clouds has stayed with us, which is a good thing and we’ve had clear visibility. Looking to the east, I see that trend seems to hold.

The day begins fading as we draw abeam to Salt Lake City and turn east. Only a little over three hundred miles remain, just over an hour of flight time. However, that time will be spent racing through ravines at night. I brief Lynn on our position and time remaining, warning her that we may be in for more bumps but that it should settle down come nightfall. She makes some form of answer which, if I heard correctly, involves something about my genitals and a vise. Surely I heard that wrong but I don’t ask for an elaboration.

As much as I’d like to follow the interstate directly to Denver, I have planned our route far away from the roadway. Although it’s almost night, I have no idea what they may have in place to observe that route and I don’t want to announce our arrival. It would really suck to have made it away clean only to be discovered on their doorstep.

With Robert at the controls, and my hand hovering close to the other set, we fly from ravine to ravine, heading ever eastward. The darkness closes in, making the night flight all that much more interesting. We bring our altitude up as the terrain rises steeply and without much warning. Luckily, the aircraft is equipped with FLIR (Forward Looking IR), making it a little easier.

We break out of the mountains near the town of Boulder. The change is abrupt. One minute we are wrestling the aircraft through steep-sided ravines and the next, we are shooting out over open plains. I have Robert turn north to hug the slopes rising off the plateau as I head into the back to prepare.

I feel the familiar coldness settle into place as I begin donning my gear. First, I pull on the dry suit and put my fatigues over it. I’ll have to vent the suit at times so that it doesn’t build up body heat which will make me visible to thermal imaging. Buttoning my shirt, the emotionless feeling I remember from the past envelopes me. Attaching my chute, I ensure that the sling holding my M-4 is snug. I then check that my leg holster holding my Beretta, with the suppressor in a pouch alongside, is securely strapped on. I haven’t done this in a long, long time and, truth be told, not that many times.

Feeling ready, I shuffle close to the ramp and give a nod to Lynn. She, in turn, relays the information to Robert. I feel the aircraft bank for several seconds before it levels again. Barely noticing the rank stench of vomit in the back, I focus on the upcoming drop. No longer are there thoughts of self-doubt or second-guessing. It’s one step at a time, making sure to keep my impatience in check.

The cloud cover that rolled across the western part of the country, allowed us to leave Portland early. That gives me almost eleven hours of darkness remaining.

Plenty of time to make it there. Just keep your shit in check
, I think, seeing the red light illuminate near the ramp.

The aircraft begins a shallow climb and slows as the top of the ramp raises up. The bottom part then lowers into a level position. I don my goggles and begin the shuffle step to the edge of the ramp. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Lynn standing next to me, looking up. The roar of the aircraft and the wind outside make it difficult to hear her.

“You be safe, Jack. Although this isn’t the life I had planned for us, it’s the only one we have. You’ll seriously piss me off if you get hurt,” she shouts.

“I love you, too,” I say, to which she smiles.

My eyes are focused on the red light, waiting for it to change to green. The interior is lit with red lighting meant to preserve night vision and outside, past the open ramp, it’s completely dark. The aircraft levels off from its shallow climb and I know we’ve reached five hundred feet above the ground. The light turns green.

Opening up quickly to see if there are any night runners in the area, I’m relieved when I don’t sense any. I shuffle the last couple of feet and throw myself off the back edge of the ramp, vaulting into the black void. With the chill air blowing against my cheeks, I feel the turbulence of the aircraft plowing through the air for a split second; and then comes the familiar feeling of free-falling. That only lasts for a second as the harness pulls tight against me, slowing my descent drastically. There are only a few moments before the ground and I will meet so I quickly look up while pulling down on the risers slightly to feel the tension. The dark chute against the night sky makes it hard to define, but it feels like it is fully deployed. I release my drop pack and look down.

With my vision, I am able to see the ground and it looks far too close, like it’s rushing up to meet me. I totally forgot how disorienting a night LALO jump can be and fight my initial instinct of starting a parachute landing fall. All of the ground below me looks flat, so I quickly steer toward what looks like the middle of a field. Raising my sight to a level attitude, I relax my knees slightly and wait for the first feel of contact with my boots.

Feeling the ground, seemingly at the exact moment that I lift my eyes, I roll into the PLF, ending up on my back. I pull the quick releases and hear the parachute fluff to the ground. Far off, I hear the drone of the 130 which quickly fades. I’m surrounded by silence.

I pull in my gear and release the harness. Donning my pack and ensuring that all of my equipment made it to the ground with me, I stand to get my bearings. If the drop was accurate—and there’s no reason to think it wasn’t—I should be about three miles west of the bunker.