This whole scene is not a promising one to say the least.
“Do you think these could be night runners?” Gonzalez asks, regarding the charred remains.
“I suppose they could be,” I answer, still trying to find some sanity with this day.
I would feel better about this find if it weren’t for the skulls circling the ash pile and the fact that some of those here were shot in the head from behind. I can’t think of many instances where night runners would be shot from behind — at least not in these numbers. Most of the times when I’ve encountered them, they were coming right at me. It’s kind of hard to get a shot to the back of the head in that situation. All in all, this has the feel of something ritualistic. It may just be a bias based on the day’s continued strangeness but I can visualize a roaring fire with bodies being fed into the flames.
“Dad, do you think they burned the bodies because they think it’s a virus or something?” Bri asks.
“That could be one answer,” I reply. “I’m hoping that’s the case anyway. It doesn’t explain the shots to the back of the head, though.”
“Maybe they thought someone was infected and killed them,” she says.
“To be honest, I don’t really know what the fuck is going on here. I’ve seen a lot of things in my time and can usually figure things out from the signs, but, this…I don’t know. There could be a hundred plausible explanations — some good and some bad — but I really don’t have a clue as to what’s actually going on here,” I state.
“I’m leaning toward the dark side on this one. It looks like they have some sort of ritual thing going on,” Robert says.
“It certainly doesn’t look pretty,” I reply. “Okay. We’re not accomplishing anything else here. Let’s mount up and head back.”
Starting up the Jeep, I radio back our findings to Greg. “That’s not good,” he responds.
“No. No it’s not.”
The climb back up is almost worse that the drive down but we eventually make it back to the Stryker and proceed back to the first road junction near the mesa. Taking the ascending road and hoping for better results, we edge around to the base of the gentle upward rising slope. The tree line begins abruptly at the base of the hill and I notice a single path leading through the trees. The tracks we’ve been following all veer off the road, aiming for the path.
We idle for a while watching the tree line for movement. There’s no sudden flurry of a birds leaving the trees. While that isn’t and indicator that no one is around, seeing a flock of them take flight certainly would be.
“Okay, I’m taking Gonzalez and McCafferty. We’ll trek to the path leading in and make a further decision based on what we see there. Same rules apply. If we’re engaged, we’re out of here. Greg, provide covering fire if you have clear line of sight. We’ll be coming back at a run so watch for us,” I say.
“What about me?” Robert asks.
“And me?” Bri chimes in.
This quandary about them participating goes back and forth. Perhaps it’s just the strangeness of this situation — like anything lately has been normal — that is causing me to launch into the protective mode. We have people, short ones at that, who want to remain hidden and potentially have ritualistic burnings. No, they’re not going with me this time. Why I feel better about them going into night runner-infested lairs but not up a dirt trail is beyond my comprehension. Of course, why I’m about to go is a good question as well and may not be one of my brighter ideas. This whole thing is just creepy.
“No. You two are staying here,” I answer.
Gonzalez, McCafferty, and I gather our gear. We spread out over the rocky terrain and make our way cautiously to the path’s entrance. I know Greg, Henderson, and Denton are keeping the tree line under observation and will call if they see anything. This kind of reminds me of the memory I had on waking this morning. Approaching the single path leading upward, I notice several quads and dirt bikes hidden just within the trees. An effort was made to camouflage them with branches but they are visible nonetheless — a sure sign that someone is here.
We gather beside the entrance to the trail. A multitude of footprints mar the surface, again the same size that we found at the radio station. I pause, listening. The area is dead silent. There’s not a sound of bird chirping or a squirrel irritated with our presence. I don’t know the area so this could be normal but, under usual circumstances, this would be a sign that something predatory is in the area.
“Just so you know, sir, I’m with you on not bringing Robert and Bri. This whole situation has the feel of being in Wonderland,” Gonzalez quietly says, crouching and looking up the trail and off through the trees. McCafferty nods in agreement.
“Yeah, no kidding. I keep expecting the Mad Hatter to come bouncing along any minute,” I reply.
“Just as long as we don’t find the Red Queen,” Gonzalez replies.
“I’m with you on that,” McCafferty whispers.
I radio my findings and tell Greg that we are proceeding up the path.
“We’re going in. Slow and steady and keep your intervals. You know the drill. If we take fire from the front, the point empties a mag and leap frogs back. Continue until we’re disengaged and beat cheeks back to the Stryker. If we’re fired on from the side, empty one mag and disengage. Let’s not get caught up in a firefight,” I say.
“Hooah, sir.”
“You’ve been saving that, haven’t you?”
Gonzalez and McCafferty grin. “I don’t possibly know what you mean, sir.”
“Let’s move before I decide to put you on point…smartass.”
Rising, we step onto the trail and slowly begin making our way up the hard-packed surface. The dense forest closes in on either side. I’m not a big fan of being on a trail but the underbrush in the woods to either side isn’t exactly penetrable — at least at this point. I keep to the side as much as possible, pausing every few feet to observe and listen. The silence seems even more complete with the trees closed around us. The path itself is lit by the overcast day but shadows under the trees make it hard to see anything in their depths. An occasional patch is lit as daylight manages to filter through.
I feel my heart rate increase as we edge farther up the path. The eeriness of the day adds to the level of tension. My senses become more alert. I take in steady, calming breaths. My thumb caresses the selector switch, comforting me even further. This is a habit pattern I developed, and I have no idea why it is so calming. Back in the day, everyone had their own thing and this was mine. My brain registers that I’m on ‘auto’ which may be part of the comfort. I can unleash a torrent of fire at a moment’s notice.
I crouch next to a tree where the trail curves. Gonzalez and McCafferty crouch to their knees behind me, watching to either side. The only sound is the occasional swish of the breeze blowing across the tops of the trees. If anyone was up on top of the hill, I would expect to hear something of their movements but there’s nothing. Of course, they may have gone to ground upon hearing or seeing us arrive. This thought doesn’t bring a warm, happy feeling.
I peek quickly around the tree. Beyond, the trail straightens and continues upward. Lining the sides of the trail, skulls sit on top of poles driven into the ground.
It really looks like some B-rated horror movie. I up that to an A-rated one as I am now smack dab in the middle of it. Looking into the woods, I notice some leafy branches on the ground. They are turning brown and look out of place. I’ve seen this kind of thing a few times in the past. I motion for Gonzalez and McCafferty to stay in place and edge into the trees.
Low crawling, I check each inch of ground in front of me and to the sides prior to moving. Reaching the border of the branches, I reach out and lift one. It’s just as I expected. The branches are screening a layer of thin sticks laid over a pit. That’s one thing some who build these things forget — you have to periodically change the overlay or they dry out. That makes it stand out more. I take out my light and shine it into the pit. Sure enough, there are sharpened stakes driven into the ground.
“Stay on the trail. Punji traps to the side,” I whisper into the radio.
“What next?” I hear Gonzalez whisper.
