Dissension

Leonard rises, receives a brief on the activities of the night, and surfaces the boat. He orders a heading toward Tacoma putting Seattle on his tail. The city has taken on the forlorn aura of a ghost town once again but, to him, the windows take on a menacing look knowing what lies in the darkened rooms behind them. The Santa Fe rounds the corner out of the bay and into the straits of the Tacoma Narrows. Seattle slides from view and Leonard glances back watching the Space Needle disappear behind a tree-clad hill.

They slide down the straits passing the forested islands of Bainbridge and Vashon. Looking through binoculars, all of the small towns lining the shore tell the same story — seemingly abandoned and left to the whims of Mother Nature. Putting in to the bay serving Tacoma, it looks much like Seattle, all of the mechanisms of civilization in place but no one around using them. The only evidence of a departed society Leonard spies through his magnified view is the tall grass growing in the yards of residences sitting on the hillsides and in the medians of several streets.

White specks dot the area as gulls circle the waters near shore. Large, black birds wheel over a spot in the distance. Several seals surface in the waters but that is the only movement. Leonard notes that the docks are only partially full of cargo ships allowing room for him to dock the sub if needed. He’ll head down to Olympia to see if he can put in there. Having to wait for the morning tide in order to transit the narrow passages, they will remain parked off the shores of Tacoma and observe.

The Widening Rift

Waking in the afternoon, I want to just remain lying on my cot. However, there is only so much time one can spend on a cot without permanently realigning the back into a not favorable position. Walking downstairs of the mostly empty interior, I gather Robert and Craig to plan our little jaunt across the western part of what used to be the United States. I still think of it in those terms even with the collapse of any governing body because, well, it’s just easier that way. The states are just drawn lines on pieces of paper, but in regards to planning, it’s still much simpler to refer to them in that manner. A place has to have a name when referring to it and the old ones are just as good as any.

We settle at one of the larger tables and spread out flight navigation maps. I have the information on where we need to go for each of the soldiers. Now it’s just a matter of planning the exact route to make the best of our time. It takes a few hours to plan out the route but the overall flight will take us in a clockwise circle around the entire western continent. Our first stop will be at Mountain Home AFB, Idaho and then off to Malmstrom AFB, Montana. Then it’s off to Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, McConnell AFB, Kansas, Petersen AFB, Colorado, Luke AFB, Arizona, Nellis AFB, Nevada, Vandenberg AFB, California, Travis AFB, California, and then McClellan AFB, California before returning home. I plan to drop by Canon AFB, New Mexico on the leg from Colorado to Arizona to pick up another AC-130 gunship and ammunition for it. Why couldn’t everyone who has family we are looking for have grown up as neighborhood friends? I think looking at the route drawn on our maps. It’s a long series of flights that we’ll be lucky to finish in a mere ten days.

Once again, I weigh the balance of continuing our nightly attacks to clear out the area versus searching for the families. I feel torn. We decided as a group to do this but the conflict remains. I owe it to the soldiers who risked their lives without question rescuing the kids and who continue to do so every day. But clearing out the local area is important to providing a higher measure of security for our group of survivors. Keeping the night runners at bay and reactive — on their heels — allows us not only protection but it’s my feeling that it makes it harder for them to adapt. That is what worries me more than anything else. But the group has spoken and we did promise we would do what we could to help. The coming of winter and the deterioration of weather it brings dictates that we are closing in on the ‘now or never’ time. And so, off we’ll go. Plus, having another Spooky in the arsenal, even if for just a short time, can’t hurt. With the addition of Roger, we’ll also be able to conduct local searches while we’re gone.

We meet in the evening and I outline our planned trek. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether to take Humvees or a Stryker. The Stryker will make for cramped quarters and limit the amount of people we can take back should we encounter any but it’s armament and unexposed firepower will be a benefit should we need it. Taking one will also decrease the distance we can travel, but with the route we currently have planned, that really won’t make much of a difference.

“What about taking two 130s? Like we did returning from Canon AFB? We could drop down to the Guard base in Portland and pick up another one,” Robert suggests.

“That will make it decidedly more difficult to bring a Spooky back up with us,” I answer.

“Oh, yeah, that it would,” he responds. “My only problem is deciding whether to take Humvees or a Stryker.”

“Will it make a difference with the flight?” Lynn asks.

“Only with regards to the range plus it will take longer to get to altitude. We may not be able to climb as high with a full load of fuel but can after we burn some off. Takeoffs from high altitude airports can be a little sporty,” I answer.

“You’re the best to answer that one really. If you think it’s safe enough, flyboy, then I’d say take the Stryker,” Lynn says.

“I’ll have to seriously think on that. We’ll be taking off in Colorado so I’ll take a closer look at the data figuring in some worst case scenarios. I agree that the Stryker is a better choice but turning the 130 into an all-terrain vehicle is not my ideal solution,” I state.

“It’s kinda hard to clear the mountains that way,” Robert says.

“Yeah, kind of, but it does make landing a whole lot easier,” I reply.

“Ugh. And with that, I’m going to bed. If I don’t stop you two here, you’ll go on all night,” Lynn says. Robert and I merely smile knowing the truth of her statement.

We turn in for the night with the intention of waking early to meet Captain Leonard and his crew. Whether that will be in Olympia or Tacoma remains to be seen. Bannerman has crews ready for either scenario.

Sandra runs down the empty streets with the moon casting its silver rays through a break in the clouds overhead. The rumbles and flashes of light of the night previous are not present and she feels a measure of relief with their absence. She still looks to the sky watching for the streaks of light that mean death and listens for the tell-tale droning that premeditates the deadly explosions of fire.

The large pack she has brought with her thunder behind her as they search for prey. Michael has turned her and her pack loose in the night after other packs reported good hunting grounds nearby. She returned to the lair last night loaded with the containers of food she and her pack raided from the many buildings they entered. The rays of the bright orb overhead causes her skin to tingle but that is ignored as she trots through the dark. Her breath comes out in puffs of white as her exhales condense in the chilled air.

She keeps looking north toward the large two-legged lair and feels herself drawn to it again. She passes the old lair which now lies in ruin with wisps of smoke rising in places through the rubble. A thought crosses her mind that Michael was right in moving the pack farther away. This must be what the white flashes and the blasts were about last night, she thinks as she keeps driving northward with her pack on her heels.

She pauses at the distinct dividing line between intact buildings and the debris of ruined structures. The wariness she felt several nights ago takes hold and she comes to a stop. The hundreds behind her halt with her and position themselves in the street and grassy strips along the side. She listens carefully for any signs of the droning in the sky but hears nothing except an occasional cricket chirping in the distance. Faint scurrying comes from the debris as the thousands of rodents inhabiting those places scamper about. Her pack will feed on them again tonight.

She sends her pack forward among the ruins to catch the quick, wily, small ones. Standing watch by the side, she will feed after the others have had their fill. She thinks of telling Michael about this abundant food supply but she has held the information for two reasons. One, he will know for sure that she has ventured close to the two- legged lair again. He may anyway but she doesn’t want to make it overt. And two, she doesn’t want this place swarming with other packs. Having them this close may alert the two-legged ones. Of course, Michael most likely