John O'Brien - Reckoning

The thing with Bri really shook me up. One—that I put her in that situation; and two—that she was able to do what she did. Hearing the night runners scream, Bri calling for help on the other side of the debris, my panic from not being able to help, the fear that I was going to lose her, and then arriving with the scene of dead night runners littering the hall. Bri rising after freeing her trapped leg and casually retrieving her knife, wiping it on the night runner lying dead next to her. If I had doubts about her being able to take care of herself, those are greatly diminished. I just can’t believe that was my daughter who did that. There is a feeling of disassociation between what happened and the fact that it was Bri.

The image surfaces of her surprise when she glanced down the hall and her response, ‘I did that?’ It became readily apparent that she goes into a ‘zone’ when confronted with her fears like that. I just worry that her zone may block out too much and that she may focus in on one aspect of her surroundings while missing others. I asked her about it but she doesn’t really seem to remember much. Truthfully, I don’t know what to think about what she did, but I’m glad that she’s okay and, deeper down, although feeling like shit about putting her in that situation, there is a part of me that feels better about her abilities.

“So, I know you didn’t hear a word I said, and even if you did, you won’t listen. We’re going to need you in the coming days. And by that, I mean that we need you clear-headed and with it. I don’t know about the night runners up north or if they’ll be a threat. They may just settle in there and move when the food has been cleared out. Or they may move past. There’s not much here for them as we’ve cleared the land around us. But this group, they’re a real threat and we’re going to need you. So, if you’re done with your pity party?” Lynn asks.

“I hear what you’re saying. It’s just hard for me to let go of things sometimes. I have a hard time letting someone else go in my place. Especially with seeing Greg lying there and with those graves we have to dig tomorrow. But, yeah, I’m all partied out,” I reply.

The next morning on my way out, I check in on Greg to find that he’s still unconscious. A woman I don’t recognize is sitting on a chair near his bed reading a book. Bannerman had mentioned that he had gathered a few books from a library nearby. I remember him saying we needed to provide something for people to do when they have some downtime, ‘otherwise they’ll find something to do. They need something to lose themselves in.’ I nod at the woman and head outside.

We’ve taken the day off to say farewell to our friends and comrades. The bodies have been recovered from the aircraft and a few are busy preparing their resting places in our cemetery that is becoming too crowded. After the arrangements are complete, we gather under clear skies with a cold wind whipping around us. The teams bring out the caskets carrying our fallen, and the others that were with them, setting them gently in place. Lynn leads the ceremony on this occasion. I don’t hear much of what she says; instead, I’m focusing on the caskets and the burial markers, lost in my thoughts.

Staring at the crosses, each one indicating someone we’ve lost, I wonder just how many more times we’ll have to do this. Our graveyard is getting bigger, and seemingly more so by the week. Under those markers is the team we lost taking Cabela’s, Allie and Allie’s dad, with Nic being buried in the hills. And then there’s Drescoll, somewhere. Now we are adding six more of our own plus the others that were with them. If we keep this up, there won’t be anyone left.

The report of gunshots startles me out of my thoughts. Then, the bugle blows Taps over our group, the wind carrying the forlorn notes across the compound. As the last note drifts over us, the remnants of our group begin slowly drifting apart with most heading back into the compound. Although this day is starting on a sorrowful note, we’ll take the rest of day off and set up a BBQ. At least most of us will. There is still work to be done.

I linger for a while longer as the coffins are lowered into the graves. When the first scoops of dirt are shoveled in, I realize that I’m the only one remaining. Turning, I head back to the building. BBQs are being wheeled out in preparation, with tables being set up as I arrive. Inside, Frank is setting himself up at a table to look over the video footage we gathered. With everyone seeming to have something to do, I feel out of place and, to be honest, kind of lost. Robert, Michelle, Bri, Gonzalez, Henderson, and Denton walk outside, lost in conversation.

I know I should probably rest some as we’ll be taking the Spooky out tonight to see what our neighbors are up to. I don’t feel tired and know that I’d just lay there with thoughts spinning in my mind, becoming frustrated that they won’t shut up.

Back outside, I walk over to one of the Humvees. There’s a quiet murmur of conversation drifting across the lot as people get ready for the barbecue. People seem to be recovering from the sadness of burying our comrades. It’s still there but, here and there, I see smiles arising from something said. Bri emits a burst of laughter that momentarily rises above the hum of other conversations.

Still feeling lost and outside of everything going on, I climb into the vehicle and drive out to our airfield. The 130 and Spooky are parked next to each other, their hulks sitting patiently waiting until they are called for again. The rear ramps of both are open. One crew is offloading crates of ammo that we picked up while another is stocking up the Spooky. I park and climb out, walking to the gunship. I get a few nods from those who are working.

“The barbecue is about to start. Why don’t you guys go enjoy it for a while,” I say, passing one of them.

“We’re about done here, sir. There are some burgers with our name on it. There better be anyway or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Let me help, then. What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“We have this, sir. We’re almost done anyway.”

I nod and return to the Humvee, sit on the hood and watch them work. In a way, it’s relaxing. True to their word, they finish up, close up the aircraft, and drive back, a few giving waves and nods. I hop off the hood and open the rear ramp of the Spooky. It’s quiet out except for the wind blowing in and around the aircraft, swishing softly through tall grass lining the edges of our small airfield.

Walking inside, my boots ring on the metal decking. The quiet inside holds echoes of the action yesterday. I can almost hear the shouts and commands, the rounds being fired and the clang of shells being reloaded, see the actions of rounds being taken from their storage compartments, manhandled to the waiting breeches and mag receptacles. In the prevailing silence of the interior, all they are now are just ghosts.

I remove the overhead hatch and climb up. Sitting on top, I let the breeze wash over me, doing nothing but enjoying the silence. The brute power of the aircraft seems to flow upward, at rest for the moment but ready to unleash its fury on command.

It really is too bad that the fuel will go bad. If we do ever reach a point where we’re actually safe and secure, it would be nice to be able to go fly just for the sheer fun of it , I think, resting my hand on the metal surface.

I look over and see the green roof of Cabela’s sticking up over the inner wall in the distance. It’s only been a short few months since things went to shit, but it seems like years. This is our new life, one that we have to carve out with dangers seemingly besieging us from all directions. Seeing the water tower standing in the distance, I’m reminded that we’ve come a long ways in that short period of time. The flip side is that the dangers have increased along with that progress.