Leonard wants the chief to get a look and see if these are the same things he saw on his mission to the Philippines. A few minutes later, Krandle appears on the already crowded bridge.
“Take a look at that,” Leonard says, handing Krandle the binoculars and pointing toward the city.
Chief Krandle takes the offered set and brings them to his eyes. Leonard watches as the chief stares long and hard. Krandle withdraws the binoculars and rubs his eyes in the same manner as Leonard did before looking once again.
“Are their eyes glowing?” Krandle asks, incredulously.
“That’s what I thought I saw as well, chief. Are those the same things you saw in the Philippines?”
“I wouldn’t swear to it but they look very much alike. They have the same pale skin and those shrieks are definitely the same,” Krandle answers with a shiver of remembrance.
Leonard thought much the same remembering the faint screams from the warehouse. He now knows he is looking at what Captain Walker called night runners. It still seems so alien but there is the proof right in front of him. The stories match what he sees. He doesn’t need to go ashore and see them attack to obtain a hundred percent verification. As strange as it seems, humankind has turned into some new species leaving little alive in their wake. Watching the hundreds of night runners run through the streets, some he only catches a glimpse of as they transit cross streets, he wonders how many survivors can be left in the world. Certainly there can’t be any here. Having seen enough, he clears the bridge.
“Prepare to submerge,” he orders, dropping the last foot from the ladder to the deck. The control room crew responds and they are shortly diving under the chill waters in the bay that once served Seattle. Their black silhouette becomes smaller until the waves lap over the last vestige of the conning tower before it vanishes altogether below the surface.
“Keep a watch out on the shore and listen for any vessels. Wake me if anything changes,” Leonard says and retires to his cabin.
The views on the monitors changes little during the night watch. Night runners come and go in the small section of the city that can be seen. The fascinated crew watch as, just before the first faint lighting changes occur in the east, the creatures roaming the city vanish within minutes of each other. It’s almost as if a switch were thrown.
Leonard rises, receives a brief on the activities of the night, and surfaces the boat. He orders a heading toward Tacoma putting Seattle on his tail. The city has taken on the forlorn aura of a ghost town once again but, to him, the windows take on a menacing look knowing what lies in the darkened rooms behind them. The Santa Fe rounds the corner out of the bay and into the straits of the Tacoma Narrows. Seattle slides from view and Leonard glances back watching the Space Needle disappear behind a tree-clad hill.
They slide down the straits passing the forested islands of Bainbridge and Vashon. Looking through binoculars, all of the small towns lining the shore tell the same story — seemingly abandoned and left to the whims of Mother Nature. Putting in to the bay serving Tacoma, it looks much like Seattle, all of the mechanisms of civilization in place but no one around using them. The only evidence of a departed society Leonard spies through his magnified view is the tall grass growing in the yards of residences sitting on the hillsides and in the medians of several streets.
White specks dot the area as gulls circle the waters near shore. Large, black birds wheel over a spot in the distance. Several seals surface in the waters but that is the only movement. Leonard notes that the docks are only partially full of cargo ships allowing room for him to dock the sub if needed. He’ll head down to Olympia to see if he can put in there. Having to wait for the morning tide in order to transit the narrow passages, they will remain parked off the shores of Tacoma and observe.
The Widening Rift
Waking in the afternoon, I want to just remain lying on my cot. However, there is only so much time one can spend on a cot without permanently realigning the back into a not favorable position. Walking downstairs of the mostly empty interior, I gather Robert and Craig to plan our little jaunt across the western part of what used to be the United States. I still think of it in those terms even with the collapse of any governing body because, well, it’s just easier that way. The states are just drawn lines on pieces of paper, but in regards to planning, it’s still much simpler to refer to them in that manner. A place has to have a name when referring to it and the old ones are just as good as any.
We settle at one of the larger tables and spread out flight navigation maps. I have the information on where we need to go for each of the soldiers. Now it’s just a matter of planning the exact route to make the best of our time. It takes a few hours to plan out the route but the overall flight will take us in a clockwise circle around the entire western continent. Our first stop will be at Mountain Home AFB, Idaho and then off to Malmstrom AFB, Montana. Then it’s off to Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, McConnell AFB, Kansas, Petersen AFB, Colorado, Luke AFB, Arizona, Nellis AFB, Nevada, Vandenberg AFB, California, Travis AFB, California, and then McClellan AFB, California before returning home. I plan to drop by Canon AFB, New Mexico on the leg from Colorado to Arizona to pick up another AC-130 gunship and ammunition for it. Why couldn’t everyone who has family we are looking for have grown up as neighborhood friends? I think looking at the route drawn on our maps. It’s a long series of flights that we’ll be lucky to finish in a mere ten days.
Once again, I weigh the balance of continuing our nightly attacks to clear out the area versus searching for the families. I feel torn. We decided as a group to do this but the conflict remains. I owe it to the soldiers who risked their lives without question rescuing the kids and who continue to do so every day. But clearing out the local area is important to providing a higher measure of security for our group of survivors. Keeping the night runners at bay and reactive — on their heels — allows us not only protection but it’s my feeling that it makes it harder for them to adapt. That is what worries me more than anything else. But the group has spoken and we did promise we would do what we could to help. The coming of winter and the deterioration of weather it brings dictates that we are closing in on the ‘now or never’ time. And so, off we’ll go. Plus, having another Spooky in the arsenal, even if for just a short time, can’t hurt. With the addition of Roger, we’ll also be able to conduct local searches while we’re gone.
We meet in the evening and I outline our planned trek. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether to take Humvees or a Stryker. The Stryker will make for cramped quarters and limit the amount of people we can take back should we encounter any but it’s armament and unexposed firepower will be a benefit should we need it. Taking one will also decrease the distance we can travel, but with the route we currently have planned, that really won’t make much of a difference.
“What about taking two 130s? Like we did returning from Canon AFB? We could drop down to the Guard base in Portland and pick up another one,” Robert suggests.
“That will make it decidedly more difficult to bring a Spooky back up with us,” I answer.
“Oh, yeah, that it would,” he responds. “My only problem is deciding whether to take Humvees or a Stryker.”
“Will it make a difference with the flight?” Lynn asks.
“Only with regards to the range plus it will take longer to get to altitude. We may not be able to climb as high with a full load of fuel but can after we burn some off. Takeoffs from high altitude airports can be a little sporty,” I answer.
“You’re the best to answer that one really. If you think it’s safe enough, flyboy, then I’d say take the Stryker,” Lynn says.
“I’ll have to seriously think on that. We’ll be taking off in Colorado so I’ll take a closer look at the data figuring in some worst case scenarios. I agree that the Stryker is a better choice but turning the 130 into an all-terrain vehicle is not my ideal solution,” I state.