A New World: Takedown Read online

“Take us out of town and find us a remote place to hole up for the night,” I say, watching several night runners start after our vehicle.

  “Do you want me to take them down, sir?” the gunner asks.

  “No. We can’t take the chance of an errant ricochet. Let’s just get out of here,” I reply.

  I have Greg radio Harkins telling them our situation and that we’ll see them in the morning. The speakers echo in the interior as Harkins asks about the people we set off to rescue. I don’t hear Greg’s answer but Harkins’ reply of, “That’s good,” says it all.

  I ask Greg to make sure Tim and his group are ready to go at first light.

  “Will do,” is all I hear of that conversation.

  We head off base and back down the highway to the south, parking on an overpass in the middle of nowhere. The ramp lowers and I arrange with Greg to alternate teams on perimeter. I know I need rest as we have to fly out in a few short hours, but I know I won’t be able to sleep. The teams scramble out and Greg works with Reynolds to get the kids as comfortable as possible. I remain inside with Robert. Bri continues to sit next to him but she isn’t leaning on him like she was. Robert probably told her to get off him.

  I peel back the taped bandage. It looks clean with just a little redness surrounding the teeth marks. Crushing up more pills, I apply them liberally before taping a clean bandage across the wound. He’s still breathing and the wound looks clean which brings a little of my dread down. Not much, but a little. I remember my wound and the time it took before the effects announced themselves. The itchiness began almost immediately and never left, but the headache took some time before manifesting itself.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “I feel fine, Dad.”

  “Any itchiness?”

  “No.”

  “Headache?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “I need you to tell me the truth. This is important and not a time to be manly,” I say.

  “I’m telling you the truth. I feel fine. A little tired, but fine,” he responds.

  “Okay. You tell me if you start feeling anything. I mean that.”

  “I will, Dad.”

  I hear footsteps on the ramp. Glancing to the side, I see Sergeant Reynolds walking our way.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks Robert.

  I can tell he’s getting tired of being asked that and just wants to roll his eyes. Instead, he answers with an “I’m feeling fine, thanks.”

  “Seeing how we aren’t going anywhere tonight, it seems like it’s a good time for a story. Let’s start with yours,” I say to Reynolds, patting the seat next to me. She sits and relates her story.

  “Well, sir. We came out of North Carolina when radiation levels began spiking. We were the only ones left of our unit. With the goal of reaching Colorado, we took back roads after we ran into a few unsavory types. We were looking for a place to hole up for the night when we were waved down by the teachers. That would have been, let’s see, the day before yesterday. There were more than...of the kids and us. We barricaded the place as the sun was setting, but those creatures broke through our initial fortifications during the night. That’s when we lost the teachers and a couple of the kids. I lost three soldiers defending them, but we managed to hold the creatures off until sunrise. It was…terrible. Listening to their screams, and I don’t mean just the creatures’. I wanted to gather everyone up and leave during the day, but one of the teachers and two of the kids were injured. We couldn’t move them and we couldn’t just abandon them. The last of them died close to sundown. We had vehicles gathered but, well, it was too late to head out, so the only thing we could do was fortify the place and try to hold out again. It was hard communicating with the kids, but we managed to get them into the classroom and we, well, then hoped for the best. We called last night as well. Did you hear our calls?” she asks, finishing her story.

  “No. We just arrived at McConnell AFB today,” I answer.

  “Well, I’m sure glad you did. Thank you again, sir. We would have perished there tonight, along with all of the kids, if you and the others hadn’t come. And thank you, what did I hear you called…Robert?”

  Robert nods wearily.

  “You said you came out of North Carolina?” I ask, glancing at Robert checking for the start of a fever.

  “Yes, sir,” she replies.

  “Fort Bragg?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So…Airborne?”

  “All the way, sir,” she responds.

  I tell Reynolds an abbreviated version of our story and current situation. “You and the others are welcome to join us if you’d like. I know we’d certainly appreciate the addition of your experience and expertise,” I say, concluding.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll talk it over with the others, but I seriously don’t think anyone will object to coming.”

  “Jack, can I talk to you?” Greg asks from the hatch.

  I rise slowly – my legs sore from crouching for so long. My knees give two loud cracks as I stand and I head outside with Greg.

  “I’m guessing this is a discussion on our plans?” I say.

  “Yeah. I’ve had a couple of the soldiers, whose families we still have to search for, come up and ask about our plans now…you know, with Robert being injured and all,” Greg answers. “I want to tell you that they all, to a person, understand if we have to head back, but they also want some assurance that we’ll continue the search at the earliest opportunity.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” I say, wearily.

  I gather the remaining soldiers to the side.

  “I want to, first of all, thank you for your understanding. And, I want to assure you that we’ll be heading out at the soonest possible moment to continue our search,” I state.

  “How long do you think that will be, sir?” one of the soldiers asks.

  “As soon as possible isn’t very clear, I understand that. We have a full load of people to take back, aside from the fact that Robert is injured, but we’ll come back out. At worst, Craig has some skills flying the aircraft and we can train the other pilot to be his co-pilot. Gonzalez and McCafferty know the systems fairly well and can act as flight engineers. That’s really the best answer I can give you right now,” I reply.

  “That’s good enough for me, sir,” the soldier says.

  “Could we just drive out from here, sir?” another soldier asks. “I mean, it will create some room in the aircraft for the others and we won’t lose any more time looking for our families.”

  “That would mean you’d only have one team out. I’m not comfortable having you out with so few numbers,” I answer.

  “We’d have the Stryker. That more than makes up for the loss of firepower,” he continues.

  “I’ll think on it and let you know before we leave. I understand your situation. Believe me, I do. Understand that we can’t afford to lose anyone, but, I understand what you’re going through so let me think on it for a little bit. Fair?” I ask.

  “Fair enough, sir.”

  I leave the group and chat with Greg about their desire to continue on with the Stryker.

  “And I suppose you want me to lead them?” he asks.

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all, Greg. That’s your decision to make and I won’t ask you to do it. I don’t like having only one team out on their own, whether you’re there or not. But, we do owe them a search and time is running out,” I say.

  “You know I’ll do it. But, Jack, I want a week at the beach with cocktails delivered by scantily dressed…well…the week off when I return will be fine.”

  “Done. I can give you your week. I want to you to come up with a timetable of your route before we leave. When I’m sure that Robert will be okay, I’ll be back with the aircraft to pick you up. We apparently don’t have satellite comms anymore so we’ll have to stick with a schedule.”

  “Okay. Let me get a map and plot it out. You know, if we have to travel the entire distance o
n the ground, it’s going to take us about week and a half,” he states.

  “I know. I don’t like it. I’m still not sure about the whole deal.”

  “Well, I have to admit that I’m not overly happy with it, but let’s just get it done. The soldiers are anxious to learn what they can. We owe them that.”

  “Okay. Let’s go over the route while it’s still night. We’ll be leaving at first light. And, Greg…thanks.”

  “Just remember…you owe me one.”

  The night passes ever so slowly – far too slow for my liking. The kids nestle inside as best as they can and sleep for the most part. The teams trade off watches and try to rest on the hard pavement near the Stryker with mixed results. Some people can sleep anywhere while others toss and turn all night. Greg and I plan his route. Eventually, the horizon lightens and we rouse ourselves. Sets of tired, red eyes trudge inside and we are soon heading down the road back to the base.

  Returning to the airbase just as the first rays of light streak across from the horizon, it is a much changed scene than the one we were presented with last night. The only evidence that the night runners were here are a couple of the grills knocked askew and some of our gear strewn about. The ramp of the 130 lies open, its end resting on the tarmac. Pulling up near the rear of the aircraft, we disembark.

  The interior is cast in radiant light relieving any fears that night runners might have decided the aircraft would make a nice lair. The kids look on the tall aircraft with wonder, many pointing and signing. One of the doors of the tanker aircraft pops open and a ladder drops down. Harkins, along with several of his group and some of ours, descend. Several other doors in other aircraft open and soon, the entire contingent is on the ground. They immediately begin offloading their gear.

  I send Red Team, minus Robert, out to locate a fuel truck and return. We weren’t able to refuel at our last stop and, although we have plenty to make it home, there’s nothing like a full load of gas. There are three things that are absolutely useless in flight; the sky above you, the runway behind you, and fuel on the ground.

  Standing with Robert near the Stryker watching the ramp swarm with activity, a few other aviation sayings that I’ve picked up along the way enter my tired thoughts…gravity never loses – the best you can hope for is a draw. And given that most things in aviation come in threes, there are the three most common expressions used in the cockpit – Why is it doing that? Where are we? and, Oh Shit!

  There are a ton of axioms and for some reason, my mind cycles through a few of them:

  1. Every takeoff is optional. Every landing is mandatory.

  2. The only time you have too much fuel is when you're on fire.

  3. Learn from the mistakes of others. You won't live long enough to make all of them yourself.

  4. Never let an aircraft take you somewhere your brain didn't get to five minutes earlier.

  5. Always try to keep the number of landings you make equal to the number of take offs you've made.

  6. There are three simple rules for making a smooth landing. Unfortunately no one knows what they are.

  7. If all you can see out of the window is ground that's going round and round and all you can hear is commotion coming from the passenger compartment, things are not at all as they should be.

  “Is there anyone home?” Robert asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.

  “Huh…oh yeah. How’s the leg feeling?” I ask.

  “It’s fine, Dad. Are you going to ask me that every five minutes?” he says.

  “Probably. But you know this isn’t shit to mess around with. You’ve seen what can happen so I’ll stop asking…maybe…if you promise to tell me the moment you don’t feel right.”

  “I will. I have a slight headache, but that’s only because of the long night and lack of sleep,” he says.

  “Okay. Let me take one more look at it and put another fresh bandage and antibiotics on it.”

  I kneel and take a look at his leg. Peeling back the bandage, I see it still has a little redness around the breaks in the skin, but it actually seems to be better than it was a few hours ago. I’m still carrying a tremendous amount of tension which most likely won’t fully go away until the wound heals and several weeks have passed. However, what I see relieves a little of the stress. The scratch I had never healed like Robert’s appears to be doing. I put on a fresh powdering of the crushed pills and have him take another.

  “If you’re feeling up to it, let’s go plan our flight back while the others load their gear. I want to fuel up and be out of here within the next couple of hours,” I say.

  While I still have the anxiety to get him home, it has dissipated to a small degree. The panic I felt initially is 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 f
unny 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.