the larger town of Lubbock many miles ahead, I think still surveying the area. This is much like some forays into other countries where, during our infil, we would catch the same odor. Those times it was because we were close to a mass grave or where a lot of people had been killed and just tossed to the side. I’m really hoping we aren’t about to come up on something like that. That wouldn’t bode well for our continued progress at all.
We come upon the source of aroma soon enough. Cattle yards off to the side of highway. We pass by a few of them with hundreds and thousands of dead cattle lying in the enclosed pens. They must have died a while ago and I’m grateful we didn’t pass by here earlier. I sincerely doubt we would have been able to get this close because of the overwhelming stench. The disease rampant in those yards must be great. I can almost see the clouds of flies that must inhabit the air above those lifeless black dots; some in piles. The smell is strong enough to bring a gag reflex and make my eyes water.
McCafferty speeds up unconsciously as I roll up the window preferring the heat to the odor. Henderson and the others on top must be green. We eventually pass by the multitude of pens and the freeway bends around a larger town. There is no evidence of others but we circumvent the city warily and on the alert. On the far end of town, I see a few semis parked in a lot close to an off ramp. We aren’t that far down on fuel and could stop on our way back but it looks clear for now and, well, we’re here. I know I would feel better having full tanks again.
I radio the others and we exit the highway. Going back under the freeway, we pass a McDonalds on the right and turn into a small truck yard. We pass between two warehouse buildings before entering the yard proper. Several trailers are backed up to the loading docks with five tractor trailers parked in a line in the dusty lot. Grime coats their windshields and hoods. The fields beyond shimmer in the increasing heat. We park with Greg’s Humvee covering the single entrance. Horace parks in the middle covering the rest of the surrounding area while we pull up to one of the semis. We’ll refuel in shifts making sure we are covered with our last little adventure strong in our minds.
Stepping out, the lot and surrounding buildings have that same desolate feeling that every other abandoned place holds. I really wonder if this feeling will ever go away whenever we embark into areas that were once inhabited by mankind. Perhaps it’s the memories of the places or the energy of people gathered in one place that was suddenly whisked away. I’m more thinking it’s my mind that is still sorting through seeing the relics of our civilization without the people that created them around. It’s seeing things and what I still expect to associate with them. The sound of Gonzalez tapping down the fuel tank of the truck we’ve parked next to brings me out of my reverie.
I’m a touch nervous about having to be in this place for so long. Cities, especially strange ones, have a negative connotation for me. There is no knowing what to expect and having to be constantly alert is draining. The heat also tends to lull the senses. I almost wish I had the capability of sensing other people rather than night runners. I’d rather not really be able to do even that but it is what it is. It takes some time out of our day but we are eventually on the road again without anything tragic befalling us. It feels good to be on the move once more. According to the map, Lubbock is not that far down the road and the freeway circumvents the towns along the way.
A few miles later, small housing development areas appear. They are still sparsely located but they become more frequent the further to the southeast we travel. Right after one of the developments, McCafferty turns off the highway and we start along a narrow country road.
“This skirts Lubbock to the north. My parent’s house is on the east side a little out of town,” she says as we journey through more farmland.
The country road eventually ends at a T-intersection with another freeway and we turn to the southwest and back towards Lubbock. The sun has risen overhead pouring its rays directly upon us and the surrounding land, turning it into an oven. The sky remains clear and for that I’m thankful. I’m anxious to search for McCafferty’s family, get back to the airfield and be on our way home.
The stress of still having so much to do is weighing on me. It’s not the intense feeling I had on our first arrival back to the northwest after our trip to Kuwait but it’s there anyway. That was more about our short-term survival and setting up a place of safety and this is more about developing our long-term needs. The stress is from the upcoming winter and our losing our long-range mobility option due to weather and then the lack of fuel. I’m hoping Bannerman can come up with a Bio-diesel solution so we don’t lose our power and ability to be somewhat mobile with vehicles. If we lose that, it will infinitely be more difficult to provide for our basic needs.
We quickly come upon an area of houses and mobile homes set loosely apart and seemingly at random. Each abode is in its own dusty lot with a few trees growing from the otherwise barren, dusty yards. Many of the places have old cars parked in the yards and several of the houses also have semis parked alongside. McCafferty pulls off the highway and negotiates several streets before pulling up to a house set back from the road.
“This is it, sir,” she says with the Humvee idling just before the driveway. I watch as she scans the yard, house, and several buildings further back in the lot. A few cars are parked near a large garage structure.
She looks back and apparently notices my checking the lot and cars. “My dad likes tinkering with cars,” she says putting our vehicle in gear and entering the lot.
The adjacent houses and area are devoid of any movement. This is a place where you would expect barking dogs to greet you, whether ones at the house or from the neighbors. Nothing. We are still a little ways from Lubbock and, from the look of the development, it is secluded so I half expect McCafferty’s parents to walk out of the house to greet us. I am wary that there are sights tracking us but I also think that her family would know a military vehicle and, with her in the military, would assume she was coming to check on them.
McCafferty pulls into the dusty yard a short distance from the front of the house. Greg and Horace park on the road in opposite directions covering the surrounding area. A puff of dust rises from my boot as I step out. The others follow suit and exit. The wind blowing in the window kept the heat at bay as we were driving but here, with us stopped and very little shade, it hits with full force. Yes it’s a dry heat but it’s like being baked instead of steamed. The day already seems long with the drive and our little adventure but the sun’s position overhead shows this to be an illusion.
With Echo and Blue teams covering, we approach the house. The windows and front door are closed so that’s a good sign. Dust is gathered on the covered porch with none of the tell-tale footprints that normally come with night runners being inside. Wind could have obscured them but the air is still and if there were some inside, there should be some indication of them coming out at night.
Sweat forms from the heat but is quickly evaporated leaving white rings and streaks on all of our fatigues. Checking our equipment and ensuring rounds are ready in our M-4’s, McCafferty climbs the concrete steps to the porch. We can’t see directly inside as curtains are pulled across the windows. I open up a touch to see if I can sense any night runners within and come up blank. For one of the first times I’ve opened up in this fashion, there aren’t any images or sense of others around. It’s just a blank space.
I look across the lot behind us and catch Gonzalez’ eye. She looks at me questioningly as to whether there are any night runners inside. I shake my head letting her know I can’t sense any. Gonzalez steps up next to McCafferty by the front door. McCafferty leans in to whisper in Gonzalez’ ear.
“Will you do the same for me?” I pick up McCafferty’s whispered question. I’m guessing she is referring to her putting Gonzalez’ night runner father to rest.
“Of course,” Gonzalez whispers in return and puts her hand on McCafferty’s shoulder. I have Horace direct one of her Blue Team members to man our gun and bring Henderson and Denton up with us.
“Well, here goes nothing,” McCafferty says.
I literally feel the tension radiate from her and completely understand. It’s a horrible feeling not knowing about your family and on the verge of finding out, especially with what we have seen in the few months since the world ended. We have found some family members alive and well but others that haven’t made it. And it’s not just from the night runners. The groups of people who feel like the world is now a place to do as they please and take advantage of others are just as dangerous as the night runners, if not more.
The others of Red Team ready themselves on the porch as McCafferty opens the screen door. Its squeaky hinges are loud in the surrounding silence. She knocks on the front door. We stand in alert silence waiting for the tell-tale approach of footsteps, the door opening, or even perhaps a call of “Who’s there.” No one answers. She reaches down to find the door is locked. She looks back at the rest of us and I see the disappointment in her eyes mixing with lines of tension.
“Do you have other family or friends around? They might have gone there,” I ask.
“We don’t have any other family close by and they aren’t ones to head to anyone else’s house. They would
