replaced by cautious concern. I just hope he isn’t concealing anything. I can usually tell when he isn’t telling the truth or is hiding something and I don’t have the feeling he is. That could be wishful thinking though. Red Team returns with a fuel truck and we are soon filling our tanks.
In the cockpit, Robert and I are verifying the flight data input into the computer when Harkins climbs in to inform us that their gear has been loaded and that they’re ready to go. Stepping to the rear, I see that the gear that we salvaged from the tarmac has been strapped down. A crowd of people are milling near the rear of the aircraft waiting for the word to go. Some are wearing anxious faces. I can’t say I blame them. They are about to depart from places they knew well into an unknown.
Gathering up the teams, I let the ones who are still searching for families know that they can take the Stryker and continue on the ground. I will be taking Red Team with me. Greg gives me his best guess at a route and schedule so I can rendezvous with them later. He takes a few radios and has piled cases of ammo, food, and water in the Stryker.
Although I don’t really need to say it, I nevertheless tell him that arriving back safely is the most important thing and, that if they run into trouble, they are to make for home. I’ll be calling on the UHF radio on the return in case they needed to take a different route and we’ll link up. The UHF has a decent range but not enough that he’ll be able to communicate with the sanctuary. With a handshake and well-wishes, he loads his team into the Stryker and they are off. I watch as the armored vehicle rolls across the ramp and disappears around one of the large hangers. I’m still uneasy with them heading off like this, but I really don’t see any other way to get Robert home and also be able to search for families in a timely fashion.
Turning, I see our eighty-plus passengers and new members of our group of survivors trudge up the ramp under Harkins’ and Reynolds’ supervision. And much as cutting our trip short is to get Robert home, it will also be good to see Lynn. It seems like we’ve been gone longer than we have. One more trip to rendezvous with Greg, once I’m assured Robert is okay, and these little jaunts will be over. It will then be time to concentrate on eliminating the night runners around us and focusing on our long-term supplies.
“Ready?” I ask Red Team who are standing in a loose circle around me.
“Ready as we’ll ever be, sir,” Gonzalez replies. “How’s the leg?”
“It feels like someone is holding a blowtorch to it and it’s about to fall off,” Robert answers.
I sharply turn to Robert only to find him and Gonzalez grinning.
“I see you haven’t been asked that much,” Gonzalez says to Robert.
“I’m surprised about the few times I do get asked,” Robert replies facetiously.
“Fuckers,” I mutter, turning back toward the aircraft.
However anxious I am inside, it is good to see Robert mix it up with Red Team like that. It’s a sign of acceptance and means that he’s now one of them. I seem to be the only who remains a holdout in that regard — accepting him as a member of a team. Before, it was telling him not to be in any car while someone has been drinking. Now it’s telling him not to go into any building inhabited by ferocious packs of night runners. I kinda wish for the good ol’ days.
“I feel funny walking around like a hobo,” Robert says, referring to his torn pant leg. “I’m going into the cockpit to change.”
“Okay, we’ll be along shortly. Say…how’s the leg?” I ask.
“You’re funny,” Robert replies, walking away.
The red nylon seats have been pulled down and secured by the time I make it inside. A low hum of conversations is taking place as I step around our lashed down supplies. The talk ceases momentarily and all look at me as I raise the ramp. The light of the early morning grows dimmer and soon, only a thin beam of light stretches through the cargo compartment. It too vanishes as the doors come together and seal. The whine of the hydraulics stops, bringing silence to the interior. I give a quick briefing to those inside about the aircraft such as where the bathroom is and a few other miscellaneous details. With that, after verifying that Robert has finished dressing, I step into the cockpit.
The engines roar to life and we are soon airborne. I thought about having Robert rest on the bunk the entire way back but he does seem to be doing well and it’s easier to fly with two. I’ll keep an eye on him, though, and he’ll just have to get used to that idea. The rays of sunlight that peaked over the horizon with the sunrise are now hidden behind an overcast layer of clouds. It will take us about five plus hours to get home depending on the headwinds. It’s always slower heading west than east due to the jet stream.
The one thing I’m not looking forward to on arrival is my imminent death at the hands of Michelle and Lynn for Robert getting injured. Maybe I’ll just tell them that he pissed me off and I bit him. They may go for that if Robert plays along. Yeah, that might work.
The objects on the ground grow smaller as we climb and my thoughts go to Greg and his team. I hope letting them go off on their own doesn’t become a learning experience. I look down hoping to see a sign of the Stryker but only see the empty countryside sliding by below.
I have to level off before reaching our normal cruising altitude in order to remain below the cloud deck. It will burn more fuel but we’ll also be dealing with fewer headwinds so I’m more than okay with the trade-off. It’s not that we have to pay for the fuel and anyway, it won’t be around for very much longer. If we had refinery workers, we could possibly do something. There’s oil in Texas and it wouldn’t be difficult working out a supply system, but cracking the crude oil isn’t just throwing a switch and watching magic happen. Maybe that’s for the best, but it will make things a little more difficult as our range of operations will be drastically reduced. I’m hoping Bannerman has come up with something about the use of bio-fuels.
“Anyone monitoring this frequency, we are calling from Oklahoma City and need assistance,” the radio crackles to life.
“Calling on UHF emergency, this is Captain Walker. State your needs,” I reply after a moment of hesitation.
The airwaves certainly seem to be busier lately. I would have expected them to be busy when this first went down but it seems to be the opposite. Maybe it’s people finding this resource or they are coming out of their shock — who knows.
“We are in need of evacuation…if possible,” the voice states.
“Are you able to move to a different location for pickup?” I ask.
“We may be able to.”
“Okay. Standby, caller,” I reply.
“My name is Jax,” the caller states.
“Okay, Jax, standby for a few.”
“Are we going to pick them up?” Bri asks.
“No, we’re going home. I’m turning to see if we can contact Greg,” I answer.
I fly a few miles to the south and attempt to raise Greg on the radio. My first attempts are met with silence, but eventually, we make contact.
“What’s up, Jack?” Greg answers.
I tell him about the caller and their desire to be picked up.
“Do you want us to continue south then?”
“I’d rather keep to our timetable and have them come to meet you. They are on freq, but I doubt they can hear you,” I answer.
“Either way. It would be easier if we didn’t have to detour though.”
“Okay, I’ll radio them to meet you if they can.”
“Copy that.”
“Jax, this is Captain Walker. If possible, you can rendezvous with our other unit at Petersen AFB,” I call. “If you decide to, radio a few miles out to coordinate the link up.”
“Will do…and thanks.”
Having dealt with that, we turn back on course. I’m aware this could be a trap, but I know I don’t have to tell Greg to be cautious. He’s seen enough to be careful. The engines drone continuously — the most favorable of conditions — as we make our way ever so slowly to the northwest. We have to gradually decrease our altitude due to a lowering cloud layer and the land starts rising upward to eventually become the Continental Divide — not favorable conditions.
