“Jack, we have an aircraft overhead on our seven tailing us,” I hear Lynn say.
I take a quick look behind us and see a small single engine aircraft a few thousand feet up paralleling our route. I haven’t heard any radio traffic on their channel in the past few minutes.
“Lynn, run another scan across the channels,” I say.
“Wilco,” she replies.
“We’ll let it be for now. Everyone push on but keep your eyes open. There’s bound to be another roadblock ahead,” I say.
I don’t want to have us stop to warn the aircraft away or take it down. I’m not a big fan of it above us but am willing to trade that for speed through the area for the time being. I’m sure it’s radioing our position to any others who happen to be around. We continue on the highway in the opposite lanes keeping our spacing. I’m rather thankful I haven’t seen any form of rockets as that would make a short end to our rendezvous with the sub.
“I’ve picked up radio chatter on four sixty-seven dot fifty-eight seventy-five,” Lynn calls.
“And?” I ask.
“The aircraft is relaying our position to someone else and telling them to vacate. I’m assuming it’s the aircraft calling as I can hear its engine in the background,” she answers.
“Okay, lock it in. Let’s continue forward and keep alert,” I say. Passing by toll booths on our side of the highway, I see the Stryker ahead of us round a curve.
“We have another roadblock two hundred yards ahead. No sign of anyone,” I hear it report.
“Hold up and blast a hole through. I don’t want to be surprised by any gifts they may have left behind. Watch to the sides,” I respond.
I see Lynn’s brake lights and bring our Humvee to a halt. McCafferty climbs back to man the M-240. Seconds later I hear the sharp chunk — chunk — chunk of the.50 cals opening up ahead. Minutes later I hear “It’s clear” and I have everyone advance. The Strykers carve a way through the vehicles as before with Lynn and me following on the left. This already seems like a long day and it just began. I’m hoping we don’t run into anything else along the way. Although our time table hasn’t been upset to any great degree, I’m eager to get north and meet with Captain Leonard.
It’s going to be a long day as I plan on taking the Spooky out tonight. There’s still so much to do. It seems like the list just keeps getting longer and I’m not overly thrilled about the changes I’ve noticed in the night runners. Casting out briefly, I feel a few faint presences scattered throughout the area. Even with this recent action and the upcoming meeting with Leonard, the night runners still weigh heavily on my mind. I think again about telling the group but I’m not sure of what their reaction will be. Lynn seems to think they’ll be stunned at first but okay with it. Me, well, I don’t want to chance that or create any division within our tight group. We need that right now but they also deserve to know. Yes, I seem to have a life filled with quandaries. Sighing, I maneuver through the gap created by the Stryker and notice the aircraft turn back.
We pass by a warehouse park with a mass of parked tractor trailers; reminders of a time that has passed. Another residential neighborhood slides by and we are soon through the Gig Harbor area without any further incident. Fir trees and cedars begin to line the road on both sides. They are completely oblivious to what just occurred and anything going on with the few of us who are left. They will continue on just as they always have. I think about calling Sam on the radio to see if he wants join us but may on the way back. Right now, my mind is on getting to our rendezvous and the meeting itself.
Beads of moisture begin to accumulate on the windshield from low-lying mist in the air. The trees along the sides have a silvery tint from droplets clinging to their long branches. The lowering clouds create a world of gray and green. Some of the few deciduous trees have started to turn, lending some color, but it’s almost washed out by the overcast day. Miles of trees pass by the windows with the windshield wiper getting an occasional swipe across to clear it.
Soon, the water of the bay leading into Bremerton appears. The highway swings around the tail end of the bay and the old aircraft carriers parked along carrier row come into view. They are now very much like the rest of world; relics of a time past and sitting in their final resting place rusting away to nothingness.
Low lying clouds hang close to the still waters with the waves barely making an appearance. White specks of gulls hover close to the shoreline and a couple of teals pass across the waterway with their wingtips barely clearing the surface. Where once the waters were rife with traffic and ferries plowed the sea lanes carrying tourists and commuters, nothing of that nature now stirs.
The road branches carrying us away from the inlet and farther to the north. We swing into a column file and I take the lead once again. Bremerton fades behind and, passing a large mall, we leave this vestige of a once flourishing civilization. Houses give way to more forested hills as we make our way closer to Bangor. I was expecting more roadblocks or other indications of survivors but no one greets us. The pockets of other survivors we have found seem to be at random without any consistent factor that I can see.
We arrive at the entrance to Bangor. Not knowing what to expect, I feel a little nervous about meeting with Captain Leonard. I know I would enjoy having them join up with us but don’t want to have a clash of personalities that could tear apart the close bond we have within our community. The sub could give us a potential for movement along the coastal areas and provide a power source should the ones we have fail for some reason. Besides having more people to help with survival and protection, it will give us more flexibility when the aircraft join the carriers and other vestiges of civilization sitting where they lie and slowly dissolve into rusting hulks. Mostly though, it’s about drawing the remnants of humanity and survivors together.
We drive slowly through the entrance gates. The clouds are hovering on the tree tops, their highest points shrouded and lost in the gray. Droplets condense on the windshield. Making our way through the empty tree-lined streets, we arrive on a hill overlooking the docks and waterway. Two triangular concreted docks jut out into the water. The pier on the left houses what appears to be two large missile boats. On the right, I see the low lying black shape of an LA class fast attack sub. Small white objects are in a row as sailors line the deck. We have arrived.
A Meeting of Minds
Captain Leonard wakes early. His rest was a restless one with so much running through his mind. It just seemed like his mind wouldn’t shut down long enough for any beneficial sleep. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened or is happening and his mind won’t quite wrap around what Captain Walker or Chief Krandle have said. He wants to believe what they are saying and watching the people onshore last night lends credibility to their stories but this seems too much like the zombie stories a lot of his crew seems to be into.
Rising and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he dons his shoes and leaves his cramped quarters. Listening to the reports from the night watch, which is nothing much except for seeing more people run through the night, he peers through the scope at the lightening day. The low gray clouds, hovering close to the waterline, makes visibility difficult as he turns through a three-sixty watching for signs of life. Nothing but an occasional flash of white as gulls dot the shoreline and pier. There is no evidence of those he saw last night. The shore seems still… hesitant… waiting.