John O'Brien - Reckoning

The crews that drove us turn the trucks around in the immense open area of the hangar and park them in open view just outside. They begin grabbing anything they can find and start loading it into the back of the vehicles. While they are doing this, we gather at the rear of the hangar in order that we won’t be seen at an angle from above.

In order to simulate a supply run, the crews take a couple of hours to load the trucks. It’s mostly for show, but they do their best to make it look like a supply run. Finishing with the hangar, they close the large doors and drive over to the only remaining 130 that was stationed at the guard base, open it up, and begin offloading anything they can find. With the afternoon setting in, they climb back into their trucks, leaving the rear ramp of the 130 open, and drive away. I hear them leave the ramp, fading until they are gone completely, leaving us alone in the hangar.

We gather our gear and secure the one door leading in. Lynn sets a watch schedule and we find places to settle into. There is only the light gray painted concrete floor which will make for some uncomfortable sleep times. Through the windows set in the doors, I see clouds gathering to the west in the afternoon sky. That’s a good sign, and I hope they bring rain with them. I also hope whatever system seems to be trying to make its way to us, that it stretches far to the east when it does. It would be nice to have cloud cover all of the way, as long as the ceiling isn’t too low.

We are now in the ‘wait’ portion of the ‘hurry up and wait’ mode that we all know and love. We have the night and two more days before our planned departure. In the afternoon glow seeping in through the windows, the soldiers break out several decks of cards and more than one backgammon board can be seen as we spread across the hangar floor.

Looking up at the tall, arched roof overhead, I know that we won’t have to worry about a significant buildup of heat within which could show on any thermal imaging systems that may be perched high overhead. I just hope that our ruse worked, although there’s really no way of telling until we land and set the first boot on the ground.

After a while, the sky overhead slowly changes to a deep blue. The sun has descended below the cloud cover slowly inching eastward. The soldiers pack up their games and Lynn positions them with overlapping fields of fire toward the hangar entrances. Night is coming and, with it, the night runners are sure to make an appearance.

Just before total darkness settles in, I lay a line of ammonia from several jugs in front of the doors to try and mask our scent. Finishing, I stand next to the door and find that I can’t detect any hint of our odor. I realize that I hadn’t thought to ask or test Robert to see if he is able to see in the dark, or has enhanced hearing and smell. I’ll have to do that after darkness falls. Right now, with nighttime closing in, we have to keep our attention focused to see if our location is a secure one.

Just before the interior goes completely black, there is a rustling among the teams and night vision goggles are lowered. We crouch or kneel on the hard surface, and wait.

Night falls. The tension emanating from each one of us can be felt. I can reach out and touch it. The hangar walls have thick insulation to keep the large enclosure warm in the winter months, but even so, we all hear faint shrieks drifting to us, riding on the cool, night air.

With his breath streaming behind him, Michael runs across an open field with part of his pack spread out to the side. He feels others as they race through the trees nearby, chasing down the various scents of prey hanging in the night air along game trails. Most nights, they hunt the surrounding countryside, finding enough to keep the pack fed.

As he races with his pack, hoping to catch food that may come into the field, attempting to elude the ones running through the trees, he only concentrates with part of his mind. The rest of it is tuned to the packs of his brethren far away. He’s felt them over the past nights as they’ve slowly made their way closer. Their large numbers have spread across the area where the ones he rescued once were. A while ago, he had felt their cries of suffering and went to help, rescuing those currently in his pack and eventually gathering them all together.

He senses the other strong presences in that direction and doesn’t know why they haven’t gathered in larger packs like his. If the stronger ones called, the small packs fending for themselves would surely gather.

Another of his mind is also searching for the death coming from the night sky. For the last few nights, and some of the nights before that, he’s sensed packs vanishing from his mind as they hunted the streets. Along with that, he’s seen the images of their panic from the light that pours down from the sky, felt their agony as those lights fell within their midst. Each night, he’s felt the anger rise within him, to the point that it almost consumes him. His kind is being decimated from that which he cannot see or fight.

He knows that the time for him to meet with the other strong presences is close at hand. In one regard, Sandra was right, they are going to need to take the fight to the two-leggeds if they are going to survive. With the losses he’s felt each and every night, he knows they won’t have a chance unless they kill them. They will lose many if they attack, but he now feels they will lose more if they don’t. The two-leggeds must go.

The next night, knowing it will be a long journey, Michael sets off with a few of his pack at first darkness. He keeps wide of the two-leggeds’ lair and constantly checks the sky for any sign of the death that floats in the darkness. Gazing into the cold night sky, seeing the thousands of twinkling lights blinking at him, he watches and listens for any signs that his pack has been seen. There isn’t any of the roaring from above that comes just before the rain of death. In the back of his mind, he has the feeling that he should know what it is in the sky but, every time he thinks about it, it frustratingly fades.

His run across fields and through streets holds off the cold that threatens to envelop him when he stops. The nights have been getting colder and it may get to the point that they won’t be able to go out in search of food. The pack will have to hold up in their lair, huddled together for warmth. That’s one of the reasons that he’s had some of his pack locate the food hidden in old two-legged lairs and store it. He knows of no way that they’ll be able to hunt if it gets too much colder, at least for long periods of time. In some capacity, hidden deep within the folds of his mind, he knows the cold won’t be permanent and the warm nights will return. They just have to make it until then.

A sliver of moonlight reflects off the water over which he runs with his pack behind. His exposed skin tingles from the radiated light, reminding him of the painful ball of light that keeps them to the night. Using one of the old two-legged paths used to cross the waterway, Michael quickly runs across and vanishes into the woods on the other side. Wary that he is approaching the area where he felt packs being decimated, he doesn’t want to stay in the open and be spotted.

Climbing out of the valley, he pauses on the edge of where some two-leggeds’ buildings begin. Standing in the tree line, he squats and listens. He doesn’t hear the roaring sound coming from the sky or feel any of the packs in the area permanently vanish from his mind. The other packs are spread for as far as he can sense, running through the night searching for food. Numerous images come to him: one pack running by a host of lairs, another relishing the taste of blood and fresh meat, and more filled with the eagerness of the chase. The night is filled with the shrieks of his kind.