“I was a maintenance chief here. The others, they are a scattering from different base units,” he answers.
“Wait…you’re a mechanic?”
“Yes, sir. Why, something wrong with your bird?” he asks.
“No, but having a jet mechanic would certainly be helpful. Not that we have a lot of time before the fuel expires but handy nonetheless,” I respond.
“As would a pilot here.”
“No pilots left, eh?”
“Not that we’ve found,” he answers. “I can get the aircraft started to charge the batteries but that’s about the extent of my expertise. I’m afraid that any attempt to try and fly one of these beasts will only end in tears.”
The teams join us and we intermingle, sharing stories, food, and some serious talk with moments of laughter thrown in. I tell Tim and his group what our purpose is here. He offers to send some of his people down with us. I thank him but let him know that the Stryker is pretty crowded as it is. With our bellies full of hamburgers along with the trimmings, I tell him that he and his group are more than welcome to join us when we head off.
“That’s awfully kind of you, Jack. We’ll have to talk it over tonight and let you know if that’s okay.”
“Perfectly okay. We’ll head south for our search shortly and return before dark if we’re able,” I comment.
I would hole up for the rest of the day with Tim and his group — we all need the rest and visiting with them has raised our spirits — but I also know that the soldier is eager to find out about his family. I know I would be and so it would be selfish for us not to take the time we have to go look at the earliest opportunity…which is now.
We gather our gear and the teams load up — as we have done now seemingly hundreds of times. The smell of a locker room is beginning to override the diesel, oil, and electrical smells inside the Stryker. With Tim’s group nearby and having no trouble with marauders to date, I’m not all that concerned about transiting the outlying areas on our journey south. That doesn’t mean we won’t proceed slowly and scout the area ahead, it’s just that I feel a little more comfortable. That could be because my stomach is full of barbecued burgers. It was nice being able to relax some and shoot the shit.
The journey through the base is quick and we soon find ourselves traveling down the interstate. We drive past several housing areas which are mostly hidden behind fences and soon find ourselves out in the countryside. The change is abrupt — one minute passing wooden and concrete fences and the next, traveling next to hedgerow-lined fields. The scattered clouds above begin to cover a greater portion of the sky. Sunshine pokes through the breaks sending rays down to brighten patches of ground.
The trip is like most of the others we’ve encountered — farm houses spaced far apart and machinery lying idle in fields or in sheds but no sign of anyone around. We don’t pass a single other settlement on our way south. The only place that comes vaguely close is a rest stop situated between the north and south lanes. A green highway sign indicates that ‘Wellington’ is at the next exit. The soldier informs us that the town is a mile or so off the road. We exit the freeway onto the ramp and take a right toward the town.
The first indication of civilization, so to speak, is a campground off to one side of the road. The yellow KOA Campground sign hangs as a reminder of time past. I’m not sure what would hold anyone’s interest around here to make this a stop for campers, but the soldier assures me that it was full during the summer. I see the anticipation and fear in his eyes as we are about to enter his hometown. He has seen our success to date so I’m guessing it’s mostly fear. I knew that fear of the unknown with regards to your loved ones when Robert and Bri were taken. And of course, the ultimate loss of Nic.
Passing the campground which was aging even when people were actually inhabiting it, I spy a Walmart ahead with an adjacent McDonald’s in front next to the road. I have the soldier in the open turret with me in order to help guide us, making it rather cramped. The shopping center parking lot is mostly empty, but a couple of pickup trucks are parked near one of the entrance doors.
“Wait, sir. I recognize one of those trucks. It belongs to one of my buddies,” the solider says.
I ask the driver to pull into the Walmart and notify the rest of the teams of our plan to investigate. We slow and turn into the lot. As we do, I see one of the truck doors open and someone exits to dart inside the store.
“We have a runner who just disappeared into the store,” I tell the others.
The Stryker pulls in and parks in a position to give it a clear lane of fire to the vehicles and the store entrance. The ramp lowers with the soldier and me exiting using the armored vehicle as cover. As before, if we’re fired upon, we’ll return fire with the Stryker and leave. I have Gonzalez sitting at the rear of the vehicle and keeping a watch on our six. It may be the soldier’s friend or it could be someone who stole the truck. I’m not taking any chances.
“Do you know most of the people in town?” I ask, standing on the ramp at one corner of the Stryker with the soldier beside me.
“Not everyone but, yes, most of them, sir,” he answers.
“Give them a shout then.”
“Whoever is in there, this is Sam…Sam Kennewich,” the soldier yells.
“Sam…Sam, is that really you, man? It’s Jim,” a voice calls from inside the dark depths of the store.
“Get the fuck out here, you shit,” Sam calls good-naturedly, murmuring a “sorry, sir” to me.
“No worries. I’ve heard that word a time or two,” I reply.
A figure emerges tentatively from the Supercenter into the daylight. Five others exit behind him.
“Sir?” Sam asks whether it is okay if he goes to his friend.
“Go ahead.”
I have the teams exit and form a quick perimeter around the Stryker before I follow in Sam’s footsteps. I see him and whoever he was talking to shake hands and then hug. As I approach, the others behind Jim watch me with wariness. Sam, they know, but not me. However, I’m with someone they know so that puts us on a neutral ground.
As I draw near, I hear Sam ask, “So…what’s the story, you know—”
“Dude, it’s all good. Your parents are alive and with us,” Jim interrupts, knowing what Sam wants to know but is afraid to actually ask.
Sam’s eyes well with tears. Jim sees this and pulls him into another hug. Sam sobs quietly for a moment on Jim’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you made it, man. Come on. Let’s go see them,” Jim says. “We were going to check for any remaining supplies here but, what the fuck, we can do that later.”
“And who is this, Sam?” one of the other men in the party asks, nodding in my direction.
“Oh, this is Captain Walker,” Sam answers.
“Jack will be fine,” I say as introductions are made. “Did I hear you say correctly that you were going into the store?”
“Yeah. We have a few supplies but always checking for more,” one of the men says.
“What about night runners? Don’t you have problems with them?”
“Night runners? Oh, you mean those freaks of nature. Yeah, there are a couple hundred of them around. Tricky fuckers, so we don’t go very far inside any place. We get most of our food from the fields and silos around. It’s mostly light bulbs, toilet paper, stuff like that we scavenge in buildings for,” he answers.
“How many of you are there?” I ask.
“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”
“Calm down, Kyle. He’s with Sam so that’s good enough for me,” Jim says. Turning to me, he says, “We have about forty left. We holed up in the county jail.”
Sam chuckles. “You know that place well enough.”
“Hey, it was only that one time. It’s not like I had a residency card. And, if I remember right, you were there that night, too.” Sam glances sheepishly toward me.
“You have no worries about that from me. We were all young once,” I say, addressing his worry.
“Come on, let’s go. Your parents have been worried sick about you,” Jim states, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulder.
“Sir, do you mind if I ride with them to catch up?” Sam asks.
