A New World: Sanctuary (38 page)

“I’m out,” McCafferty calls.

I hear additional scrambling from Henderson and Denton as they make their way to the window.
 
I reach over and pat Gonzalez on the shoulder, pointing down the area to our right indicating to cover there.
 
She wheels to the right and her laser light moves across the room settling on her new coverage area.
 
The only sound in the room is the scrambling movement of our team climbing out the window.
 
The rest of the room resumes the silent introspection it had before; not even acknowledging the quick engagement within its walls.

“Do you think there were only four?”
 
Gonzalez asks.

“It would appear so but we can’t be sure.
 
I would think that if there were any others in here, they would have come running with the shrieks,” I answer.

“We’re out,” Denton calls in the window.

“Okay, you’re next.
 
I’ve got this,” I say to Gonzalez.

I shuffle back toward the window after she disappears from my peripheral.
 
I now have to cover the entire area with my peripheral and that’s easier done from a corner of the room.
 
The silence of the room is a surprising as many of our past experiences have shown that the night runners mass in large packs.
 
My psyche thinks that there must be a lot more present but there’s a part of me that’s thankful they are still running in small groups.
 
That of course is a two-edged sword.
 
If they were in massed packs, it would make fewer places they were in.
 
The smaller groups mean that there will be more buildings inhabited.
 
I’m not sure which I’d prefer.
 
Well, this was a pretty quick engagement and the massed packs are overwhelming so maybe the preference isn’t so hard after all.

“I’m out, sir,” Gonzalez calls.

I turn, hand Gonzalez my carbine and the binders, and scramble out of the window onto the ramp.
 
The warmth of the ramp, even in this shaded part of the building, is almost desert-like after the coolness of the building.

“Next time I suggest something stupid like that, thump me over the head,” I say taking my M-4 back.

“I’m on it, sir,” Gonzalez says.
 
“But that was a no-brainer and a breeze.”

“Everyone alright?”
 
I ask.
 
They all do the instinctive pat down before nodding.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” I say.

“See you back at base, sir,” Gonzalez says and they march off towards the Humvee.

“You ready?”
 
I ask Robert as I watch the others cross the ramp, obviously telling war stories by the way their hands are moving as they talk.

“Yep,” he answers.

Okay, let’s get a move on then,” I say.
 
We head for the helicopter sitting on the ramp as if it wonders what happened inside.

I notice the feeling of “what have we go ourselves into” has diminished to a degree as if what just happened inside was a natural occurrence.
 
It didn’t feel like a natural occurrence while it was happening but in the aftermath, the return to “normal” is quick.
 
Granted, it was a small skirmish but the adrenaline was up and a skirmish is a skirmish.
 
It brings back some of the past where we’d run mission after mission and have the feeling that each was just another one.
 
We’d be back having a beer, and while talking about it some, it would seem more like just another day than a mission.

We climb into the cockpit with the sun seeming to speed across the blue sky.
 
We strap in and run through the check list.
 
The rotors are soon turning in a blur overhead.
 
I think again about having Robert with me but give a mental shrug and pull up on the collective, doing my best to keep the helicopter within the boundaries of the fort.
 
The ground shrinks away as we gain altitude; the slight yet constant vibration much different than the vibration of the 130.
 
The vibration of the 130 comes from seemingly all over where this one feels a touch side to side and up and down.
 
I bank out towards the north and McChord.

“Where are we going?”
 
Robert shouts across the small space between us.
 
His air-sense letting him know immediately that we’re heading in the wrong direction.

“Running an errand for Lynn,” I shout back to which he merely nods.

I see the two 130’s, one sitting in its solitude of retirement and the other keeping it company, parked on the ramp where we left them.
 
They begin to fill our screen as I descend in front of them.
 
I want to give plenty of leeway as the helicopter is still prone to launch itself in a random direction.
 
I ease down until a bump and the rocking of the skids signifies contact with the ground.
 
I then ease the collective all of the way down and we settle securely on the hard surface below.

Debris and dust is blown outward from our rotor wash.
 
The ramp used to be cleaned often but the lack of attention has allowed the dust to gather.
 
This will be something to think about in the future as foreign objects can cause quite a bit of damage if ingested in the engines or can cause harm being blown around.
 
I shut down with these thoughts flowing through my mind.
 
Plus the reason I’m here.
 
I feel bad for Lynn with her brother and mother not showing up, especially seeing she knows they were alive after the shit hit the fan.
 
I feel like it’s my fault in a way after getting her spirits up telling her about them.
 
That almost seems worse in a way.
 
Well, someday we may have the opportunity to find out
, I think eyeing the 130 off our nose as the rotors wind to a stop.

I see what looks like a sheet of paper over on the base ops door and walk over.
 
Lynn has written a note for her family, but it also mentions anyone else as well, and taped it to the door putting it inside an upside down plastic sleeve.
 
It still seems secure with the copious amounts of duct tape she used.
 
I turn back to the ramp wishing that Craig and Lynn’s mom were here for her and hoping they’re okay.

We climb in the HC-130 – I just want to see inside it once again - and the aircraft seems to welcome us back as we enter.
 
Being inside the aircraft, which saw us through our previous adventures and kept us safe throughout, gives me a sense of melancholy.
 
The familiar smell brings back the memories of what we went through such a short time ago.
 
The memories already fading to a degree but being inside is a reminder of how far we have come and, with that, also of how far we have yet to go.
 
As we exit, I mentally give another thank you to the aircraft for seeing us safely through.

We jump back in the helicopter and start it up.
 
Being inside the 130, the gorgeous day, and being next to Robert brings a feeling of peace, replacing the melancholy feeling I had moments ago.
 
It’s close to the feeling I used to have as we were loading up the Jeep for a day on the mountain bikes or some other adventure; the feeling of peace, calm, with the excitement that comes with the beginning of the day and the pleasure of being in each other’s company.
 
The speeding rotors signify the helicopter is ready for another attempt at flight.

We lift off into the blue of the sky which has a bleached look to it.
 
The high, wispy, horse mane clouds have pushed further to the north and inland indicating that the front is slowly winning out.
 
I tuck that away and just enjoy the moment.
 
The vibrations course through the soles of my boots on the anti-torque pedals.
 
The ground peels away as we gain altitude and bank over the base.
 
The brown buildings below us, nestled between the brown fields and strips of gray roads, pass beneath.
 
There becomes a disassociation with the ground as we fly overhead.
 
The place no longer feels or looks like a ghost town as it does when driving through it.
 
While the lack of movement does still seem odd to a point, it doesn’t seem as odd.
 
Of course, it may be my concentration on keeping this beast airborne against its desire to find the closest tree and park in it.

We hook up with I-5 and start south.
 
I would love to do a nap of the earth flight – flying the contours of the land at a very low level - and always envied the rotor heads that ability however my skills are far from attempting it.
 
I always enjoyed those flights when we would sneak in on insertions but I was always in the back.
 
I always thought it would be so cool to fly like that.
 
We would fly quite low in jets and in the 130 but it’s not the same.
 
Turning south, I pick up movement on the Interstate below.
 
It’s one of the semi’s carting a load of concrete partitions and heading in the same direction we are.
 
Actual movement on the highway does seem strange after seeing the empty lanes for so long.
 
Not actually that long ago but it sure seems like it.
 
The sight warms my heart that we’re starting to make progress but it is also another reminder that we’ve only just started.
 
Four miles of wall to build.
 
What an undertaking?
 
I think as we pass over the truck.

I look ahead and see a large wall of dark smoke billowing into the sky just to the left of our nose.
 
I’m guessing it’s coming from the burning of the neighborhood tracts.
 
Ideally, I would like to have gone through each place and pulled supplies and such.
 
Things like light bulbs, food, tools, etc. but we just don’t have that luxury.
 
The bacteria and diseases that will spawn from so many bodies is a real threat to our survival as much, if not more, than the night runners.
 
The roof of Cabela’s, along with its green awnings, comes into view quickly.
 
The brown and olive drab of parked Humvees and other vehicles provides a stark contrast to the dark paved lot they are sitting on.
 
Various large pieces of equipment are off to the east side of the lot.
 
Three large cranes are the most prevalent among them and I already see that some of the partitions have been put in place.
 
It has begun.

Landing on the parking lot, which again is more of an arrival than a landing, I see I was mistaken when I thought the equipment was all cranes because I now see that one of them is a pile driver
.
 
Now where did Bannerman find one of those?
 
I think waiting for the rotors to wind down.
 
Great idea though.
 
The group working on the wall are hammering tall I-beams into the ground and sliding the partitions in between.
 
I wonder where Bannerman found those as well as there is a tremendous pile of them off to one side.
 
The slots in them look like they’re just wide enough for the concrete slabs, which are stacked in an area beside them, to slide into.
 
The noise of the pile driver hammering the steel beams into place gives a sense of normalcy; the sight of man-made objects and the corresponding noise we were accustomed to.
 
I’m once again reminded of what a good team we have.

I walk in and the noise of hammering continues.
 
Only this time, it’s the supply teams working to build plywood partitions on the second floor.
 
It’s only mid-afternoon but the amount of work and the number of changes makes it seem like I’ve been gone several days.
 
I let Frank know we’re back and join up with the others to lend a hand with the interior building project.
 
The plywood partitions are to create small rooms to give everyone a sense of privacy.
 
This is a temporary solution but it’s better than all of us just lying on cots in the middle of the floor.
 
It helps the psyche as well and gives a sense of permanence which helps us mentally cope with all that is going on; it gives a sense of future.

The rest of the day passes by fairly quickly with the partitions finished to a large degree and progress made on the perimeter wall.
 
All teams fold back into our haven as the sun hits the top of the trees and we meet again just prior to dinner.

“How is the training program coming along?”
 
I ask Lynn once we settle in together.

“I’m not quite ready.
 
I’ll need a couple of days yet.
 
I would like to get a bulldozer to build a berm for a firing range,” she responds.

“I’ll see what we can come up with,” Bannerman replies making a note.

“How are the supplies holding out?”
 
I ask Bannerman.