down but standby.
“I take it you and your group are military?” I ask.
“Most of us,” he replies. “We have a few civilians we’ve met up with as well.”
“I don’t suppose you have any pilots with you?”
“No. I wish we did. We have a variety though; a couple of mechanics, medical orderlies, clerks, security personnel and such. Most are Air Force like you. I was with base security,” he answers.
“We have about the same except most are, or were, Army soldiers,” I say and give a rundown or our situation and setup.
We share stories. Prescott and his group have holed up in the tower for the past couple of months. They forage during the day and secure the tall concrete structure at night. The night runners tried desperately to get in at the beginning but have mostly left them alone in the past couple of weeks. Water has become scarcer as the summer progresses but they have been collecting rain water as the storms venture over their area.
“Well, it might be a little crowded in the 130 at the moment but you’re welcome to join us if you feel so inclined,” I say as our stories draw to a close.
“I’d have to talk it over with the others. We’re pretty secure here and the water situation will clarify itself,” Prescott answers.
“Okay. We’re staying here tonight and leaving early in the morning. We can drop by here on our way back if you’d like to talk to the others about it. We’d be happy to have you but I get staying in a place you are familiar with and that feels secure,” I respond.
“That sounds good to me. It’ll give us time to analyze our choices. Just a warning, the night runners, as you call them, prowl around the base at night,” Prescott says.
“We should be pretty secure in the 130. We’ve spent many a night with the pounding and shrieking outside. It’s not the best situation sleep-wise but I doubt they can get in unless they’ve figured out how to manipulate intricate doors. If we don’t talk to you before we leave, we’ll see you in a few days, weather permitting.”
“Sounds good, Jack. Good luck to you. By the way, what did you do in the military?” He asks. I give him a brief synopsis of my military career. I note concern creep into his eyes as I talk.
“I guess that should be a ‘sir’ then,” he says as I finish.
“Nah, Jack works. See ya in a few days.” With that, we turn and head back to our respective groups.
Prescott rejoins his group and they head into the tower. I let our teams know it’s all good and we break out of our cover. The wind whips a little stronger bringing a sharp chill. The first large drops of rain begin to fall as the storms expand and head our way. We gather in the aircraft and button it up. The flashes of lightning and subsequent rumbles grow closer and louder. The angry looking clouds swallow up the sun and the day grows dark. I have Robert start the 130 and taxi us closer to the hangar. I don’t think New Mexico has a lot of tornadoes but my experience in Texas with these storms makes me a little cautious. If we do spot one, we’ll dart into the hangar. If one does come at night, like I’ve seen them do on occasion, well, I just hope it doesn’t sweep over us. If that happens we’re pretty screwed. It will, however, keep the ramp clear of night runners.
The interior is lit up at close intervals as the storms draw overhead; the brilliant flashes of intense white light fill the inside. The cracks of thunder follow at close intervals with their sound fading off in rumbles. The sky opens up and heavy rain beats against the skin of the aircraft. The din inside makes it hard to hear anything else. We just settle in where we can and wait it out.
With the storms hammering outside and turning day into night, it’s hard to actually tell when night comes. The only way I know, besides it actually getting darker outside, is the stirring of pictures/voices in my head. I pack them down to where they are a remote and almost ignorable buzz. However, the increased signals denote the time of the night runners is about to begin. I’m not sure how the storms will affect their normal activity but I’m interested in finding out. I don’t feel them moving about a whole lot as I can only sense the ones close. The range of sensing becomes limited the more I keep the ability in the back of my head.
I notice that the fact that I can sense and understand the night runners is settling within me. It still seems weird but it is transforming to become “normal.” I now know that the picture voices in my head are real and I am also equally sure it must have been some change that came about from being scratched. Some of the night runner blood must have run across the opening in my skin. I also feel fear inside because I wonder if the changing is finished. I am not at all interested in transforming into one of them. That would totally suck. I don’t feel any more headaches or changes so I’m hoping that whatever happened has run its course.
The storms dissipate or move on as the night progresses. With the departure of the wind, light, and noise, the night runners emerge. It’s not long before the last of the thunder rumbles away and is replaced by several night runners slamming against the sides of the aircraft. Their all-too-familiar shrieks echo through the thin fuselage. It brings back reminders of our first few days. It’s not a complacent feeling as being encircled by the ferocious night runners is never comfortable. All it takes is one opening and they’ll be all over us.
I climb into the cockpit to get a look outside. It’s quite apparent we’re not going to get any sleep so I wearily climb the steps. The sky has cleared and the stars glow brightly in the night sky with no other light to interfere. I see the night runners clearly as they are gathered around taking runs at the aircraft. Some are trying to leap onto the trailing edge of the wings but fall way short. I open my mind a touch to them and see the picture images. There seems to be leaders among them giving directions; directing other night runners to different places and to try different approaches. This all comes in pictures rather than words but I find myself understanding their meaning.
With me opening up, I notice one off to the side by the outboard engine on the left. He is staring intently at me. I try to focus in on individual images and sense a confusion radiating from him. It’s as if he’s trying to understand something new. The images and “language” are very primitive but I do get the gist. In my tired state, with my mind seeming to float from one idea to another, the thought comes wondering if I can project like they can.
“Stop!” I project the appropriate image forth trying to cast it over a wide area.
Every night runner halts in their tracks and turn their heads abruptly to stare directly at me. At least the ones I see do. I sense the one I think of as the leader startle. The images from the leader resume and the night runners continue their attempts at entry. Hmmmm… Interesting, I think.
“I said stop! Or I’ll kill all of you,” I project. The images I send out to portray this thought cannot be adequately described.
Again they all stop and look upward. I sense a great deal of frustration from the leader. Perhaps it’s because someone is interfering with his instructions or it could just be the frustration of not being able to get inside. I’m not able to actually read their minds, just hear them “talking” and sense where they are if I open up. He sends them back at it with a renewed fury.
“Okay, that didn’t work out very well,” I say quietly to myself but put the fact that they can hear me in my bag of tricks.
I note that other night runners show up at intervals and the ones already there venture off after a while. The howls are relentless as are the sound of night runners pounding against the aircraft. It makes for a sleepless night. Frustration and anger builds inside me at not being able to rest. It escalates to the point where I’d almost open the door to just get it over with if it would make them stop. I’d totally forgotten how awful it is to be under this shrieking assault all night. I think it was the terror and newness of it that allowed us to tolerate it before. Now that we have a safe place, it allows us to know what a semblance of peace is like and the constant pounding and shrieking is nerve-racking. If it wouldn’t damage the aircraft, I’d throw a grenade out of the side cockpit window and see how they liked that.
With that thought, I head back down into the cargo compartment. I have the team members stick gauze from the med kits in their ears and I settle into my bag to try and rest as well as I can. It’s not easy but I manage to get some restless sleep. The sudden cessation of noise outside brings me instantly awake. I rise and enter the cockpit. The sky is lighter and I feel the night runners fade into the distance. I wonder if they can sense me. I’m guessing so by the way they looked right at me when I deliberately projected outward. I wonder if they can sense me when I shove them into the back of my mind or whether it is an all-of-the-time thing. I will have to find out before going into a building with a team. Although being able to sense the night runners if I open up is a good thing, having them able to pinpoint me is not. I should have experimented with that last night.
Gonzalez sits listening to the night runners outside. Their shrieks and howls have replaced the familiar sound
