A New World: Conspiracy (31 page)

The plan is to skirt the city of Wichita to
the south and east, bypassing the majority of the metropolis and
urban sprawl. It will take them longer to hit the minor roads
heading west but, given his feelings of insignificance, it’s worth
lessening the chance of running into any other surviving groups.
It’s about finding survivors, but it’s also about surviving. The
mission to find surviving family members of the soldiers is
paramount.

If they run into other groups, he’ll assess
the situation at that time; however, caution will be his byword. He
won’t go out of his way to meet others and will go around them if
possible. They can mark their locations and come back later if they
decide. That doesn’t mean he won’t help others if they need it and
if he can, but he’ll do so warily. Avoidance will be his policy.
That may be difficult as there are many small towns that they’ll
encounter and not all can be circumvented.

His way around takes him through some
smaller neighborhoods. Blocks of communities with densely-packed
houses alternate with open fields. Everywhere he looks, there are
untended yards and meadows – grass grown high and untrimmed bushes.
It looks like the post-apocalyptic world that he’d become used to
in movies and pictures but without the smoldering fires and burnt
out buildings and vehicles. It’s more like the rapture where
everyone just left. Except it’s not the dead that walk the earth;
instead, it is fast-moving, agile, cunning, ferocious predators
that are an unrelenting force.

Thank goodness they can only operate in
the dark
, Greg thinks,
or this would have been over long
ago
.

They take their time negotiating the
southern portion of Wichita. The housing developments give way to
mostly open fields before Greg has the Stryker turned north to
intersect an interstate that runs around the peripheral of the
city. From there, he’ll strike out on one of the highways leading
west toward his first destination near Colorado Springs. On this
first leg, he’ll make the run to a soldier’s hometown of Manitou
Springs.

Given normal conditions, they’d be able to
make the run in a day. But the times are far from normal. Greg
estimates it will take two full days, and that’s if they are able
to keep moving the entire time. They won’t drive at night even
though they have night vision capabilities. Their sight range will
be limited, and they may run into something before they know it.
They’ll also have to take on fuel as Greg doesn’t want to travel
with less than a half full tank. If they need to make a run for it,
it wouldn’t do to come up on the short end because of fuel.

Hitting the interstate that circles around
the city, they continue their northbound advance. Fields and
several lakes line the highway and, with the long lines of sight
this gives, Greg orders an increase in speed. He notes that the
water levels have dropped significantly by the shorelines of the
lakes that they pass. They roll down the divided multi-lane
concrete road, the only thing moving on this lonely stretch. As
they pass the Wichita airport and terminal buildings to the left,
he hears a faint roar rise above the whine of the Stryker. Looking
to the right, he sees the small dot of the 130 as it climbs into
the air miles to the east. It turns to the northwest and continues
its ascent. He watches it until it fades from view. They are truly
on their own now.

Just to the north of the airport, they hit
another major highway heading west. They leave the pavement at this
point, traveling overland to a ramp that leads down to the freeway.
The Stryker jostles over the uneven ground until they roar up an
incline and enter the paved ramp. They enter a manufacturing and
warehouse district, the large buildings surrounded by equally
sizable parking lots which stand empty. The district abruptly
changes to housing developments set back from the road. Some
neighborhoods are blocked from view by concrete sound barriers
placed along the road, which only affords the sight of a few tree
tops showing over the top. The echo of the Stryker motoring down
the multi-lane road rebounds off these structures. Stirring the
dirt on the road, the armored vehicle’s large tires leave a fine
trail of dust behind.

Firmly entrenched on their route to the
west, Greg knows he needs to secure better maps. He has an atlas
which gives a good representation of the highway system, but he
wants more detailed ones. Knowing he can find these at just about
any gas station, he resolves to pull over when he finds one that
appears relatively safe.

The development areas end abruptly. There is
no easing out of them, they just end with fenced-in rectangular
fields taking their place. Some of the fields are only rutted brown
dirt while others are overgrown with grass or some agricultural
product. A couple of miles down the road, Greg spies the beginnings
of one of the many small towns that dot the highway. He halts the
Stryker a mile away and climbs out to stand on the top to get a
better view.

At this rate, it’ll take us more than two
days to cover the distance
.

The cloud cover overhead makes it more
difficult to see with any clarity but, looking through high-powered
binoculars, the outskirts of the town ahead jumps into view. The
fields give way suddenly to neighborhoods with the highway plowing
straight as an arrow through the settlement. He observes the
structures within view looking for any movement to indicate they
are being watched. Nothing. The place looks empty.

“Do you see anything?” he asks through the
open hatch.

A team member is looking through the
enhanced optics zoomed in on the town. “I don’t see a thing,
sir.”

“Have you checked the thermals?” Greg
asks.

“Yes, sir. There aren’t any heat signatures
that I can see. Not even from the structures,” the team member
replies.

Greg looks a moment longer and then climbs
back in. The Stryker lurches forward as he tells the driver to
proceed slowly. A weather-beaten sign on the side of the road tells
them they have entered the town of Goddard, ‘home of the fastest
growing city in Kansas, population 4,344’.

I bet neither of those is true
anymore
, Greg thinks as they pass a church and an associated
school on the right.

Several fast food restaurants line the road.
There isn’t any movement or sound from the town. Greg hears only
the high-pitched whine of the engine and from the turret as it
continually pans to the left and right. He doesn’t observe any
tracks in the light dust covering the highway and driveways
entering the various establishments.

Almost through the small township, the
elevated sign of a Kwik Stop appears. Some numbers showing the last
gas prices are missing, adding to the empty feeling of the place.
Greg has the Stryker pull in to halt just off the highway in front
of the mart.

A couple of cars are parked at angles to the
designated parking places which are barely visible through the dirt
covering the pavement. One is still parked at the pumps with the
driver’s side door open. Clothing is strewn across the ground
between the vehicle and the pump with the fuel nozzle lying on the
ground. All is covered with a fine layer of dust.

Looking closer, Greg sees the windows of the
store have been broken out near the entrance. A body lies across
the broken glass panes of the doors. Nothing stirs except a few
eddies of dust stirred by a breeze as it blows through. It appears
that all of the damage and death occurred some time ago so Greg
decides to check for road maps inside. And, even though the tanks
of the Stryker are nearly full, he’ll make the attempt to fill
them.

Telling the team his plan, they disembark
and set up a small perimeter. Three cover the highway to both sides
and one remains on the turret to lend heavy fire should it be
needed. With one other team member, Greg cautiously approaches the
front of the stop-and-rob.

Listening for any sound that might indicate
someone is inside, he and his teammate close in on the entrance
from opposite sides. The figure draping the doorway is face down
with sand covering its once dark brown hair and seems to be missing
one arm; that, or it is hidden under the body. A small drift of
dirt has piled up on one side of the head, almost covering it.

Greg pushes on it with the barrel of his
M-4. As the head turns slightly, the lower jaw remains in place,
sliding off the figure’s cheek. He sees that most of the skin has
been removed, leaving only strings of dried ligaments attached.
Looking farther, Greg notices that most of the lower body has been
dragged inside and lies near the cash register stand. He knows that
the condition of the body denotes that night runners were once
here…and maybe still are.

Greg overcomes a curious urge to check the
pants pockets lying just inside the door for the person’s ID. It
was someone once and he’s curious who. They had dreams, worries,
highs and lows, paid their monthly bills, made vacation plans,
planned what they were going to have for dinner. Now they lie here
at the entrance to a Kwik Stop in a small town in what used to be
Kansas. Their plans, fears, and joys ended in a moment of
terror…just another body decaying in some forgotten place. These
thoughts relieve him of his curiosity and he finds he doesn’t want
to know who it is at all.

A faint odor of rot and decay spills from
the broken doorway – spoiled food, milk, and death. A small amount
of ambient light spills through the damaged front of the building,
revealing wreckage inside. Shelves are tipped over on their sides
or lean against each other blocking the aisles. There isn’t much
food on the floor as the place appears ransacked but several bags
of chips, candy bars, and cans are scattered across the floor. One
of the neon light fixtures hangs from one edge. Trailing wires, the
other end hangs down on one of the leaning shelves. Several of the
plaster ceiling tiles has fallen in, revealing a network of conduit
and electrical wiring.

Greg and his teammate cover the store
interior with their carbines as they look over the mess. The back
of the mart is lost in shadow, but there is no scream from night
runners. Night runners or not, he has no intention of going past
the safety of the light. It is marauders and the like that worry
him but, from the signs around him, he’s sure that no one would
take up residence here.

A turnstile rack near the entrance is tipped
over, spilling postcards and maps across the floor. With his
teammate covering, Greg steps over the dismembered body and starts
sorting through the maps. Many have been soaked through in blood,
but he finds a couple covering their routes that are still
readable. Shaking the accumulated dirt off them, he shoves them in
his fatigue pockets.

The cash registers are bathed in the dim
glow of the radiant light. If he can get power to the building, he
knows he can get the pumps to operate and top off the Stryker’s
tanks. Provided that is, that power still carries to the registers
and pump islands. Looking at the wreckage, he’s not sure that’s the
case.

Backing out of the store, he walks with his
partner to the rear of the building. The usual Dumpsters, empty
boxes and stacked pallets, and a small loading dock encompass a
majority of the space. Near one corner sits a generator. Greg tests
it for fuel and, as he guessed, it’s empty, having run itself dry.
Using some of their fuel against only a possibility of getting the
fuel pumps to work is a chance, but he gathers one of the fuel
canisters from the Stryker regardless. Testing the generator
battery, he pours some of the precious liquid in the tank and
presses the start button. The generator cranks, sputters for a few
turns, and then fires to life, filling the rear of the parking lot
with its roar.

Greg looks over the surrounding developments
for any signs of life that the noise of the generator may have
raised. A flock of birds take wing from a neighboring house, but
nothing else stirs.

Moving back to the store entrance, Greg sees
the result of his handiwork. Sparks cascade from the broken light
fixture onto the fallen shelves. That, and the flickering of the
other lights, cast the gloomy part of the mart in a strobe effect.
Drink counter dispensers flash and a carousal warming machine for
hotdogs and pizza rotates in fits and starts. Stepping around the
partial body once again and circumventing the remains farther in,
Greg checks one of the cash registers to see it booted up with the
touch screen fully lit. Placing an order for diesel fuel, he has
the Stryker pull up; fuel flows through the hose into the tanks. He
refills the used canister and they load back up to push through to
the next town.

Endless fields fill both sides of the road
from horizon to horizon. The emptiness of the terrain allows for
faster travel, but Greg keeps their speed down in order to fully
scout the area before proceeding. Complacency and assuming that the
area is empty without checking could get them in trouble in no time
at all. Even with the Stryker, due to their small numbers, they can
ill afford a confrontation.

They eventually come to other small towns
along the way. It’s much the same sight as they pass slowly through
each town – fast food restaurants and gas stations with small
businesses thrown in between. Any places that had food have their
windows broken out. Remains of bodies are occasionally seen but
covered with layers of dust. The wide tracks that the Stryker
leaves are the only sign of recent passage.

They bypass larger towns to the north or
south depending upon the terrain. Leaving the highway at these
places, the armored vehicle rolls over fences that delineate the
boundaries of fields and plow through the occasional gully. Greg
slows their speed through the fields to keep the dust cloud they
kick up to a minimum. He is reminded of the chase they had outside
of a town on their way to Lubbock and he’s constantly on the
lookout for dust clouds trailing after them. None appear.