John O'Brien - Reckoning

A flurry of motion erupts off to the side. Turning, he sees a night runner vault from the top of a shelving unit. Stepping to the side, he catches the leaping figure in mid-air with his carbine. Turning the night runner to the side, he slams it into the floor and fires a burst directly into the creature’s chest. The body jars as it absorbs the projectiles. Thick bubbles of blood slowly leak out from the open chest wounds, popping as the blood thins. Each gasping intake of breath is strained until the night runner collapses fully, exhaling its last.

Expressionless, Drescoll stares at the dead figure for moments before continuing on. With three night runners fallen, the din of shrieks has diminished, but he hears others scurrying in his direction. Rounding the corner of one aisle, he sees four racing toward him.

Any remaining fear leaves; he flat out doesn’t care what happens. The thought of retreating has no room in his frame of mind. His thoughts narrow down to getting the gear. The part of his world where fear of night runners existed has been pushed away. Raising the barrel of his M-4, he sends bursts down the narrow aisle. The four night runners are tossed into the shelves from rounds impacting into their torsos, chests, and heads.

The falling bodies knock sundries off the shelves and shake items from their hooks. The clatter of tumbling gear and night runners creates a small thunder of noise. Sliding down one of the shelves, taking the entire structure along with it, the fourth night runner slumps to the ground.

The last of the packaged gear rattles across the hard floor and comes to a halt, bringing silence with it. Drescoll looks at the ruin in the aisle, blood gathering in pools among the bodies and spilled items, and running in streams across the uneven floor. He calmly ejects the almost spent mag from his carbine and replaces it and places it in a pouch on his vest.

He stands for a few moments, listening to the quiet for any sound that may signify a night runner approaching. Although he is lost in his current state of mind, that doesn’t mean that he isn’t aware of what the creatures can do. He knows they are wily and can switch tactics in a heartbeat. Glancing at the rafters overhead, he assures himself that they aren’t moving in for an aerial assault. Satisfied that the store is truly clear, Drescoll begins gathering items from the shelves and stows them in the rear seats of the Humvee.

Loaded with supplies, he stands next to the vehicle and gazes at the afternoon sky. The adrenaline from the fight and the effort of carting supplies leaves a sheen of sweat across his face, which is chilled by the afternoon breeze. As clouds drift lazily across the sky, Drescoll experiences a feeling of disassociation, like he is just an observer to his actions. The deep-seated anger he felt a short time ago has turned into a feeling of numbness. Only if he consciously thinks about things, pulls inside of himself, does he feel the emotions return.

Looking north toward where the compound lies, he sighs. Opening the Humvee, he climbs in. The closing door echoes forlornly off the façades of the nearby buildings, mimicking the fading echoes of emotion within his mind.

Farther south, Drescoll takes an exit to a highway that leads to one of the mountains passes. The road meanders past man-made lakes and over bridges with tall fir and cedar trees lining the road, growing right up to the edge. They present a calmness that eventually pushes through some of the mental blocks that Drescoll created.

The route begins a gentle climb as he enters the foothills, and then ascends in earnest a short time later. Steep cliffs rise above a river that tumbles over boulders and around fallen trees, the turbulent stream making its way out of the mountains on its journey to the sea. Atop the cliffs, trees are bathed in sunlight.

Near the top of the pass, a low rumble penetrates the cab of the Humvee, overriding the sound of the diesel engine. Recognizing the sound, he pulls over at the next exit; a dirt road used for logging. Making sure he doesn’t leave a dust rail, he drives in amongst the trees, exits the vehicle, and begins looking for the 130, its sound drawing closer.

Surely they can’t be looking for him already .

He knows Jack and the crew of the aircraft went out on a scouting mission, but that doesn’t preclude that someone could have already found the body and radioed. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who did it.

Beams of sunlight penetrate through breaks in the forest, lighting patches of ground, shining upon insects as they pass through the rays. There isn’t much sky to be seen as he gazes through the tops of the trees, but he observes the shape of a 130 in the distance as it passes through the gaps. Drescoll hopes they aren’t using thermal imaging or he’ll readily show up on their screens and they’ll fly over to investigate.

The aircraft drones by, the rumble of its engines slowly fading until there is only the sound of his idling Humvee. Allowing some time to pass to ensure that the 130 doesn’t return, he climbs back in.

From the vantage point of where Drescoll was parked, the Humvee enters the road. The sound of shifting gears accentuates the acceleration as the vehicle gains speed. It grows smaller by the second, taking the driver with it.

Rounding a curve in the road, both vehicle and driver vanish from view, leaving an empty road lined with trees, their tall tops reaching for the sunlight, swaying as strong breezes blow through.

Greg watches the streamers of smoke rising in the air. As he continues to observe from his elevated platform, another dark, oily plume appears, its dark smoke climbing rapidly. Then another… and another. He knows this sight, having seen it numerous times during his deployments overseas. It is vehicles being set alight by heavy caliber fire. Another dark cloud of smoke rises in the afternoon sky. The latest plumes are larger… whoever is causing them is heading his way and drawing closer.

“Driver…. go! Everyone hang on,” Greg yells into the interior. To the two standing by the side of the road, he shouts, “Follow us if you want, but I wouldn’t advise being here in about ten minutes.”

The Stryker lurches as it surges forward, throwing Greg backward. Glancing to the rear, he notes the two men they just encountered scurry to the doors of their vehicle. With a screech of tires and flinging gravel in its wake, the truck turns a one-eighty and follows. Satisfied that they are trailing, Greg shoves the two men from his mind and concentrates on the scene behind.

He doesn’t see any vehicles or airborne equipment, but the indication that they are around is unmistakable. It could be that they are friendly, but with only one armored vehicle and a single team, Greg isn’t sticking around to find out. Whoever is out there has more firepower than he can bring to bear…and they are using it.

“Where are we heading?” the driver shouts.

“Away from that,” Greg replies, pointing in the direction of the rising plumes.

“South it is.”

Greg is hoping that they can get clear of the area before they are discovered. Sensing that he is witnessing a battle between two opposing groups, one of which apparently raided Fort Carson and ‘liberated’ some of the vehicles, Greg has no desire to get caught up in it. He and his team could very easily be viewed as an enemy by either side and fired upon. Therefore, he wants to get some distance away from the forces that are carrying their battle in his direction.

As the Stryker gains speed, another dark, oily smoke plume blossoms skyward in the near distance. Whoever is out there is heavily armed. Greg stands in the cupola, focusing on the column of smoke with his binoculars. The jostling of the Stryker prevents a clear picture from forming; he can’t see any vehicles, though a dust cloud drifting upward indicates that someone is heading their way and coming at high speed.