Henderson and Denton over. I grab a roll of duct tape, roll the cardboard strips around the muzzle of the 110’s they’re carrying, and tape them securely into place. Even Greg has taken an interest in the proceedings. The rifles end up with a cardboard tube extending approximately a foot and a half from the muzzle.
“What’s that for?” Lynn asks.
“It’s an old trick I learned. It helps to keep the muzzle flash from being seen from the side. When we take out tower five, the flash won’t be seen from the other towers to the side,” I say handing Henderson’s weapon to him and begin working on Denton’s.
“You’re such a dork, Jack,” Lynn comments smiling at my handiwork.
“Hmmm… Rather ingenious. Does it work?” Greg asks.
“Well, it did to an extent. Can’t completely cover any flash but it did minimize it to the side. Of course, the light is then focused to the front making it much more visible to those in front but I’m more worried about it being seen from the side towers,” I answer. “If the guards in tower five see it, it will be followed shortly by the cause of the flash thereby rendering the sighting moot.”
I check my equipment and prepare to head off with Lynn. “You do know I’m kidding when I make those comments, right?” Lynn asks making sure her words are for my ears only.
“Of course. I wouldn’t have you any other way,” I answer seeing a hint of worry in her eyes. The worry vanishes with my words and is replaced by those blue eyes I just melt in.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you too, Jack.” I still can’t figure out why but that’s not important.
“Shall we,” I say offering my elbow.
“Why of course my charming prince,” she says taking my arm.
“Oh, shit, forgot our beef,” I say turning back.
Gathering the steaks wrapped in large baggies, I look for where to stash them. I eventually decide to put some inside my vest and Lynn does the same. “I know where I’m going for dinner,” I say watching her stash two bags in the top of her vest.
“You wish you were so lucky,” she says and starts off.
We maneuver through the trees and shrubs, passing where I headed into the school grounds, until we get to a point further north. We then cut to the east and cross the highway without problems. Pushing slowly through more trees and ground covered in large bushes, we arrive at a wooden fence. The length of it, stretching away to the right and left, seems to be the boundary of a housing development or a series of backyards. Whichever it is, I don’t see an entry point along this length.
“It’s over we go I guess,” I say.
“We could try going around,” Lynn suggests.
“True. I think we’d find the same thing though. Time is not our friend,” I say. “Here, let me boost you up and take a peek.”
I lace my fingers together and form a cup for her to step in. She slowly edges up until she can barely see over the fence. “It looks clear,” she says after a moment and steps back to the ground.
“Okay, boost me then I’ll lift you up,” I say.
Shouldering my M-4, I step into her cupped hands and lift myself up. Straddling the fence, I lie across it to minimize my silhouette.
“Geez, Jack. Have you been eating everything that isn’t nailed down?”
I take Lynn’s 110 and loop it over one of the wooden fence posts as she shoulders her M-4. We lock hands to elbows and I lift as she pulls. She is over the fence in a short time. She grabs her M-110, shoulders it, and cradles her M-4 as I drop to the ground. We enter a backyard and scan the house we so rudely intruded upon. Nothing moves. The red swing set sits still, reminiscent of better times. The laughter of kids playing should be filling this yard but it is now only filled with memories. An inflatable pool is empty with one side deflated as if mimicking this new world. Scattered toys lie where they were last played with and forgotten.
A faint, rotten smell wafts through the back yard. We move to the side fence that opens to the street in front. It’s a shorter version of the wooden fence surrounding the rest of the yard. Pressed against the house, I look out from the corner. A street stretches straight ahead with similar houses lining it. A couple of streets branch off to the sides. The main street ends in a cul-de-sac in front of the house we are at and terminates at another main street in the distance; a red stop sign indicating its end.
“It looks clear. We’ll take opposite sides of the street and do a bounding cover advance up the street; two houses at a time,” I say. “I’ll go first on the right.”
Being on opposite sides of the street will give us better and wider views of the area and allow us to see things from different angles. I don’t think anyone is still around given the nature of the neighbors to the south but better safe than sorry.
“Okay, Jack, let’s do this,” Lynn replies.
I open the small gate and step out, keeping to the front of the houses as I make my way around the cul-de- sac. I come to rest by the corner of the second house and look over the area. I nod when I’m reasonably sure it’s clear. Lynn darts out from the yard, passing me on the opposite side of the street, and takes up a position at the corner one house down. She looks for a moment and nods. I rise and stop in a similar position two houses later. I check the side yards, windows, cars, and listen. I nod and Lynn proceeds. In this fashion, we reach the end of the street.
The street ahead of us is the main road that runs by the high school. The sun is almost directly overhead. The afternoon has begun. We’ll have to move slower as we get closer to the camp. We have time but not enough to set up camp and tell war stories. The red truck cruising around has never left my mind and, for this reason, the road in front of me has me nervous. We’re far enough away and around a bend in the road from the towers so I’m not worried about being seen by anyone there. It’s the truck and any other wandering patrols they might have.
“You watch, I’ll go,” I say into the radio.
“I’ve got you,” Lynn responds.
I rise and, with a look to the left and right, dash across. Going slow or creeping across a road is a truly useless action. I settle into bushes on the far side and wait. Nothing.
“Go,” I say.
Lynn dashes across and joins me. We enter a small band of trees and turn south, entering another neighborhood and make our way slowly through. Nearing an area adjacent to the school, we scale another fence and enter a large wooded expanse filled with trails. The area between the various trails is dense so we should be able to keep from being seen as long as someone from the compound doesn’t decide to take their afternoon power walk. I always thought it was crazy to have a densely wooded area across from a high school but maybe that was me being jealous that I didn’t have one like it when I went to school. On further thought, it’s probably a good idea there wasn’t.
We find a secluded spot and settle in. “What are we doing? I thought we were going to leave these and head back,” Lynn asks taking out the steaks.
“We made better time than I thought and we have time. If we put these out too early, I’m afraid any animals or wandering packs of dogs might get to them rendering the whole idea moot,” I answer. “They still might but at least the smell may linger.”
“Good point,” she says settling in next to me.
We wait out the afternoon listening to the squirrels and other small animals scurry about. I’m surprised to an extent that there doesn’t seem to be a population decrease with night runners about but I guess they would only be an additional predator to them. Or the night runners haven’t ventured here as yet. A thought occurs wondering how long the night runners can live if they can only hunt at night. There aren’t really that many predators that hunt at night for the very reason that a lot of prey has gone to ground. I mean, the large prey can’t so maybe they’ll survive. I wonder how the behavior of animals will change with a dramatic increase in the amount of night predators. Lynn always said I had too much time on my hands and these thoughts are the result of said time.
Afternoon rays of sun reach the forest floor in small strips of light and take on a more brown-orange tint as the day heads into late afternoon. Rising from where I had laid down, I mention it’s time to go. We take out the steaks which have turned from the delicious looking red to a less delicious brown-gray. Tossing them into the
