listening to the hiss of the boat riding the open water before focusing back on the upcoming landing.
Each time the town comes into view, Krandle looks for movement or winking lights that would indicate someone doesn’t want their company. They reach the first of the cresting waves. The rubber craft slews side to side as they enter the rougher water. Krandle feels a lurch as the propeller has a hard time gaining purchase in the turmoil of a wave, but they are soon through it and riding up the next one.
The motor is cut and raised just prior to hitting the sandy beach and the craft glides up on the sand. The team instantly slides to the sides. Speer and Ortiz rush to the front to provide cover. Blanchard and Miller grab the front handles and, with him and Franklin providing cover to the sides, they rush up the beach with the zodiac in tow.
They rush past sand volleyball courts set up in front of the large hotel and make for a concrete wall with steps on either side leading upward. Krandle hears only the sound of the team’s boots digging into the soft sand, the hiss of the zodiac as it is dragged across the expanse of beach, and his own heavy breathing. Reaching the tall wall, they drop the rubber craft and stack against the retaining wall.
There’s little sound as the team removes the wrappers from their weapons and mags. In an instant, they are ready. It’s all quiet except for the soft rush of small waves rolling up on the wet sand and an occasional cry of a gull as it soars lazily, riding the light breeze. Paper rustles at his feet as wind blows through debris piled against the retaining wall. Feeling the heat radiate from the wall with his shoulder pressed against it, he crouches in the silence, listening. There aren’t any shouts of discovery, footsteps pounding on the hard surface over their heads, and better yet, there aren’t any gunshots aimed in their general vicinity.
“You know, chief, we could just leave. Grab a vehicle and head inland to look for our families,” Speer suggests.
“That’ll be enough of that kind of talk, Speer,” Krandle replies.
“I’m just saying, the longer we wait to go look, the less chance we have of finding them.”
“We may get that chance later, but for now, we’re staying, so stow it,” Krandle says.
“Okay. I gotcha. Know that I’m with you regardless. We’re all thinking it and it had to be said,” Speer comments.
“Well, it’s said and now you can drop it,” Krandle responds.
The very same thought has passed through Krandle’s mind a time or two. Thoughts of his family have surfaced several times and he hopes they are okay. That’s one of the major reasons he is now crouched on this forlorn beach — the desire to see firsthand just how bad things are. Even though he and his dad haven’t seen eye-to-eye on occasion, and haven’t really talked in some time, he would like to know that the old man is okay. His mom passed away some time ago from cancer; so it’s just the old man and him. He knows he won’t set off to look for him, though, as he feels a responsibility toward his men and those of the sub. He’s never shirked his duty and won’t now.
“What now?” Franklin asks after they wait several minutes to see if there is any response to their landing.
It isn’t like anyone with a view of the beach doesn’t know that they are there. Anyone in town would know the sub is here after the captain blew the foghorn. This isn’t like their other missions where they would hole up in hiding to see if they had been discovered during their infiltration. In those times, they would fold into the densest growth they could find and wait twenty minutes to see if they had been discovered. When the normal sounds of the area began again, they would relax, release the aerial support, and continue.
“We need a map of the area. I’d like to check out the hotel, police station, and any hospital that might be in the area. Those are places people would most likely hole up,” Krandle answers.
“You know, chief, hotels normally have maps of the area in those little wire racks. You know, the ones that hold those tourist brochures and stuff,” Blanchard states.
“Good idea. Okay, the first stop is the hotel to see if we can find a map. Watch your corners and windows. Speer, lead us out.”
“I thought we weren’t going into buildings,” Speer says, rising.
“The racks are usually just inside the lobby,” Blanchard says.
“They better be, answer-man,” Speer replies, walking slowly along the wall toward the steps.
“Relax, Speer, we won’t be going inside that far,” Krandle says.
“That’s comforting.”
Hugging the wall while climbing up the stairs, they reach the top. A paved promenade extends along the beachfront. A wide road adjacent to the hotel leads from the walkway into the town. Speer takes a quick look and darts across to the corner of the hotel. With a thumbs-up from Speer, the rest of the team follows. Spaced apart, they then start up a sidewalk with weapons aimed outward at the neighboring buildings and up covering the windows of the hotel above; each covering an assigned sector based on their position in the line.
Approaching the front of the large hotel, Speer turns. “Do you smell that?”
Krandle noticed it as the offshore breeze swept down the street. He’s smelled it a few times in the past and it never boded well. It was the stink of death. The moisture of this coastal area would have made for a prolonged decaying process. If he understood the timeline Captain Walker described, any who died here would have died months ago.
“Keep moving,” he says.
They come to an alleyway-like passage between the resort and a multi-story parking structure. The temperature drops as they enter into shadows cast by the garage. All is quiet in the confined space except for their footfalls echoing faintly off the concrete walls to both sides. It’s eerie walking through the shaded avenue of a seemingly abandoned town. Krandle can almost hear the sounds of what it should have been like — the hum of people talking as they strolled down the sunlit sidewalks to the beach with souvenir bags swinging at their sides, the sound of cars passing on cross streets, the high-pitched laughter of kids rising momentarily, a dog barking on the beach as it waited with tail-wagging enthusiasm for a Frisbee to be thrown. The contrast between what it should have been like and what it is now gives the place a more eerie presence.
Stacking next to the entrance, they notice that a large pane of one of the entrance doors is broken, contrasting sharply with the other grime-covered glass doors. Very few of the glass shards are outside with most extending into the dim interior. The overhang above the entrance and the adjacent garage prevents much reflected light from entering inside. Residual light extends only a few feet in before it fading quickly into an inky darkness.
Krandle peeks inside and spots a wooden rack next to the reception desk. Light colored brochures sit upright in their slots, barely visible in the gloom.
“Speer, you and I are going in. The rest set up a perimeter around the door,” Krandle says.
Speer nods as the others face outward, quietly setting up in a semi-circle around the entrance. Krandle nods and Speer darts inside going immediately to the left. Krandle follows on his heels going right, feeling the increased chill as he flows into the dim interior. They move along the walls sweeping the area with the barrels of their M-4s. Speer whispers ‘clear’ before penetrating too far and being swallowed up by the darkness. Krandle ensures his area is clear and joins with Speer.
“I don’t mind telling you, this place creeps me out,” Speer whispers.
“For once I’m with you.”
The interior has the kind of stillness you seldom encounter. It’s like being inside of a vacuum — all sounds removed. No, not the clean your floors kind of vacuum…but the deep space kind. The darkness feels like it has substance. Their whispers seem to travel only inches before meeting resistance and dying away. Krandle has the feeling that if he started walking into the utter blackness beyond, he would find it increasingly difficult to move until the gloom became unyielding and he couldn’t take another step forward. The darkness would completely envelop him.
Afraid to utter a single sound, Krandle puts his fingers to his lips and points to the stand a few feet away at the edge of the shadows. Speer nods and slowly edges that way, checking his foot placement before taking the next. Krandle feels his heart racing as they inch across the linoleum, each step taking them deeper into the interior. Keeping his barrel aimed at the impenetrable shadows, he creeps alongside Speer, expecting something to suddenly emerge from the ink as if the darkness released its hold. That’s just the feel the place has. He’s been
