“We’ll take the Spooky out and clear out the area. Scorched earth policy. Clear out every last place they can hide in. Strike fear in them. Make it so they won’t want to come within miles of this place,” I say.
What I don’t mention is the fear they’ve struck in me. I’ve dealt with a lot of bad guys in my time but nothing like the night runners. Sure it’s been a while since we’ve had to endure nightly attacks and the barrage of their shrieks but their ability to adapt so quickly and the level of intelligence they seem to have worries me. The sheer number of them that the CDC statistics compiled is mind-boggling, particularly compared to the lack of our numbers. I feel deep down that it’s only a matter of time before they come at us again. Especially if Frank is right about them running low on food. Maybe we could leave food drops for them far away so they wouldn’t think of coming here. I release that thought as it would sorely deplete our own resources. No, we have to clear them out of the area somehow.
Robert just looks at me. Team members begin to trickle out and toss their gear in Humvees. “Well, shall we go see what the sub captain has to say?” I say, patting him on the shoulder.
“Let’s go do it,” he replies. We head over to the Humvees for our journey north.
Sam the Unwise
The clouds remain over us on our journey to Fort Lewis. They don’t have the look of foreshadowing rain but they are more evidence of the fall and coming winter. Time continues to tick away. With the exception of the continued signs of night runner adaptability, we seem to be doing well with our own advances. I just hope we haven’t overlooked something drastic. It’s not like we are playing a video game and can pull up our last save if we make a mistake.
We follow the familiar terrain of I-5 north. The leaves of the few deciduous trees in the area are turning red and yellow, giving color to the otherwise dreary gray day the Northwest is known for. It won’t be long until the rains hit. And the shorter days. The grass in the median between the north and southbound lanes has grown tall, so much that the other lanes are hidden behind it. I look in the rear-view mirror and see five other Humvees climbing the hill behind. We take the first turn into Fort Lewis and make our way through the abandoned fort to the maintenance buildings.
I cast my mind out as we drive slowly through the myriad of buildings and adjacent fields. My second shock of the day follows. I don’t sense a single night runner. I cast farther out and only find one small pack nestled in a building on the north end. This is puzzling as I sensed a few of them gathered on our last journey through.
We park and I join up with Lynn. The other team members exit and fan out in a perimeter. The sound of the Humvee engines idling mixes with that of the soldiers’ boots running on the pavement. I feel the chill of the day seeping through my fatigues. It won’t be long until we will have to start donning warmer clothing underneath. Lynn rubs her hands trying to keep them warm. I think about telling her about the absence of night runners but decide to bring it up later. Right now we need to focus on meeting with the sub.
“Well, do we take Bradleys, Strykers, or just transports up?” I ask.
“The Bradleys will just tear up the roads and I’d feel more comfortable having some armament available. We haven’t been up in that area as yet and don’t know what to expect,” she answers.
“Maybe we should just fly up. I’m pretty sure they have a small airfield there,” I say.
“You said we could only carry two Humvees in the 130. That would take us forever to transport the five teams unless it’s right next to where the sub will be,” she responds.
“I don’t think it’s that far but it would still require a little hike. So Strykers it is then,” I say.
“We can carry three teams in two Strykers but let’s take three Strykers and two Humvees, one ahead and one behind,” Lynn says.
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
Lynn turns and has three brought out of the maintenance building. The heavy whine of their diesel engines fills the air, overriding the idling Humvee engines. Lynn talks with the team leaders and has the teams form up into vehicles. I’ll be in the lead Humvee with Robert, Gonzalez, and McCafferty. The rest of Red Team will ride in the first Stryker. Lynn will bring up the rear with Frank, Bannerman, and one other Black Team member. After test firing the.50 cal M2 machine guns mounted on top and checking the targeting systems, we start our convoy out of the maintenance area.
We backtrack to the main gate and turn north on the interstate. Cars begin to pile up in the right lanes similar to those in the Olympia area as we near one of the exits to one of the hospitals in the area. We track over to the far left lane and are able to squeeze by the stranded vehicles. Some, like those farther south, have their doors open as people must have tried to get to the hospital on foot. Our Humvee squirts through with little room to spare but the wrenching sound of metal being ripped apart comes from the Stryker behind. I look in the rear-view and see sparks fly as one car door is torn off its hinges by the mammoth vehicle.
The Tacoma Mall lot is as empty as before. I look over the concrete barriers now separating the two lanes of traffic, searching for the car that was destroyed when I tossed the wrench out of the 130 seemingly so long ago. There are a couple of cars in the lot but I can’t make out that particular one. My thought momentarily drifts to Andrew. My guess is he either found his parents and stayed or didn’t make it. I send him a quick thought of hope.
We take the highway 16 exit and proceed through Tacoma toward the Narrows Bridge. Green exit signs track our progress. The signs indicate various Burger Kings, McDonalds, and Dairy Queens that won’t ever dispense their fast food again. Seeing the signs reminds me of the movies I saw where archaic relics of the past would pass by, indications of a time past that will never be again. So much has changed, the signs seem almost alien to me now.
I look over at the rooftops of the residential houses that line part of the highway. I think about the lives that once lived under those sheltering roofs. Bookshelves filled with books that will never be picked up and read again; once best sellers with rave reviews splashed against the front covers. The hoopla about their release now a forgotten memory of a world that once was. Photographs capturing happy moments with families and loved ones together now gathering dust. I look along the empty highway which once had cars stacked bumper to bumper as everyone tried to get to their nine to five jobs. The hectic rush in the morning and evenings and days filled with the stress of having some project or another to complete. The honking and gestures from impatient drivers. Yes, that world definitely seems the alien one to me now.
We continue through the sections of Tacoma, residences giving way to businesses and back to residences. Rounding a corner of the highway, the Tacoma Narrows Bridge looms ahead. The light green twin suspension bridges running in a close parallel arch over the deep blue waters of the narrow strait between Tacoma and the Kitsap Peninsula. I radio the others in the convoy that we’ll be stopping just prior to the approaches. Before crossing, I want to scope out the other side. It’s hard to anticipate everything but if we are able to see trouble before it happens, well, when is that ever a bad thing.
I pull into a paved open area before the lanes split to the entrances of each bridge. Two of the Strykers stop behind in tandem and I see their.50 cals swivel to cover the sides. The other Stryker comes to a halt behind covering the rear with Lynn pulling her Humvee up and parking next to mine. The chill of the morning hits as I open the door and walk over to her window. There’s still not a breath of air stirring. The rumble of the Strykers is the only sound. Standing at her window rubbing my arms to ward off the chill, I look to the bridges. Their arch prevents me from seeing the other side nor can I look around them from the sides.
“What’s up?” Lynn asks rolling down her window.
“I want to take a look before we cross. I’ll drive up to the middle and take a peek at the other side. I know there’s a residential area just over the other side and a small airport close by to the left. I just want to make sure it’s clear before we cross,” I answer.
“Yeah, I knew there was an airport close by,” she says.
