John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“There used to be more of us,” Chris says. “Over the past few months, we’ve lost a few when we ventured too far into darkened spaces and once, we lost eight when they didn’t make it back to the marina in time.”

Leonard remains quiet, running the images presented by Chris through his mind. He feels thankful he and the crew came into this the way they did and hates to think of having to survive an ordeal such as Chris and his group went through. Leonard glances over to Chief Krandle and thinks of what the chief and his team went through on his mission. A feeling of remorse courses through him when thinking of the way he treated the chief upon his return.

How could I know ?

He thinks back to the ordeal Walker told of and shudders again at what these people went through. The mere fact that they survived is miraculous, and to have achieved what they did, even more so. It lends faith that humankind can survive this. What form that survival may take is yet to be seen. The sheer number of night runners is overwhelming. However, here they are, still plugging away, and that gives an air of confidence. Finding the group barely holding on farther north dimmed that hope. Discovering Chris and his group in as good as shape as they are brings hope that they will find their families in San Diego safe and sound. The base will have resources beyond what this group has. Perhaps they loaded the survivors onto the docked naval vessels and put to sea.

But, if that’s the case, why hasn’t there been any communication?

The thought only makes Leonard more anxious to get home.

“So, Captain,” Chris says, breaking through Leonard’s moment of reverie, “where does that leave us? Are you able to take us with you?”

“Are there any injured in your party?” Leonard asks.

“No, sir. We are all fit to travel.”

“We don’t have the facilities to take any of your group on, but we can direct you to a location where a safe haven has been established,” Leonard answers.

With a nod from Leonard, Chief Krandle pulls out an atlas and pinpoints Walker’s location.

“It’s two full days of travel if you choose to drive, providing you don’t run into any problems and have to divert. If that’s the route you decide, I’d recommend finding a place far away from any populated areas to spend the night. I’ve traveled some of the route in northern California and Southern Oregon. Finding unpopulated areas shouldn’t be a problem. I think you’ll be safer if you can find vehicles and stay in them in the unpopulated areas rather than a fortified building in any area that used to be populated. There may be roving marauders as well.

“Now, the safer way that I’d recommend is to use the boats you have. Put ashore at the various inlets along the coast during the day to take on fuel and supplies. The most difficult portion will be along the northern California coast where the rocky shores will make it hard to go ashore and there aren’t any ports. I’d recommend taking along as much fuel as you can carry. The risk factors depend on how comfortable you are with the vessels at your disposal. The sea route will take you considerably longer, and that carries its own risk,” Krandle says.

“I’d feel more comfortable in the boats,” Chris states. “I’m not very fond of going too far inland, and they’ve provided a haven of safety for us so far.”

“Be careful of the currents at the mouth of those inlets. They can be tricky and I’d recommend staying away from them with the tide receding. Make sure to take a tide book along,” Leonard offers. “When you do arrive, make for the port of Olympia and work your way to the haven. Ask for Captain Walker and let them know I sent you. You’ll be welcomed there.”

“Thank you, Captain and…”

“Krandle… Vance Krandle,”

“Thank you. May I take this?” Chris asks, holding the atlas.

Krandle nods. “Feel free. We have others.”

With nothing more to be said, Leonard and the two men say their goodbyes, wishing each other luck. Before long, the two descend the rope ladder and push away, making their way in the choppy seas. The skiff vanishes behind the lead boat and several minutes later, the boats turn and proceed toward shore with a hail of friendly waves directed the sub’s way.

“What now, sir?” The XO asks after everything is secured.

“As much as I’d like to speed home, XO, I want to take a look at the port around Long Beach. We’ll continue sounding the foghorn as we make our way around. Afterwards, we’ll submerge and wait for night. The man said they heard gunshots, so I’d like to see if we find anything. Tomorrow morning, if we don’t discover anything, we’ll turn up the screw and set a course for home. We can check on the remaining coastline afterwards. It’s past time we were there. I’d like to arrive prior to evening, but we need to approach cautiously. If anyone is still around and still active, they won’t be expecting us. Let’s just be cautious,” Leonard answers.

“It’ll be good to be home, sir…regardless of what we find.”

“That it will, XO…that it will.”

Rounding the rocky point, the large port slowly comes into view with the long strand of Huntington Beach stretching out of sight to the south. Ships of all sizes and types anchor inside the immensely long breakwaters. The docks are partially filled with container ships in various stages of loading. It’s like a snapshot was taken and time stopped. Nothing moves except for the slow creep of the shadows from the tall cranes as the sun works its way toward the horizon.

Parking the sub in the middle of the bay, Leonard continues sending their signal hoping for a response. There’s nothing except a periodic glint off an occasional window from the declining sun. With the sun hitting the horizon, Leonard turns the boat around, wanting to start at the northern end of the basin as night falls, and work his way south. If they don’t find anything during the night, they’ll be that much closer for the sprint home come morning.

Maneuvering under a twilight sky, the first points of light begin to show against a darkening background above. Leonard sees the white outlines of Chris’ boats bobbing gently between him and the shore. The wind dies down with the fading daylight leaving gentle coasters rolling toward the shore.

Leonard opts to stay on the surface during their night observation. It may be that the gunshots Chris mentioned hearing a few nights ago could have been someone signaling; although that seems unlikely with the number of night runners that must be prevalent. Noise, light, and smell will attract them and would amount to ringing the dinner bell.

Like a switch was thrown, the soft slap of waves rolling down the length of the sub is replaced by a chorus of faint shrieks reaching out across the water. Going below deck, Leonard looks in the periscope and catches periodic glimpses of night runners as they lope along cross streets near the shore. Details become clearer as he zooms in.

Passing the entrance to the marina, he spies a large group of them standing opposite where Chris and his group are moored offshore. They appear agitated, running up and down the beach. Some take runs at the water, splashing into the small rollers. Several have waded in up to their waist and have their heads tilted upward with their mouths wide open — looking for the world like they are howling at the night sky. Some of the ones in the water punch at the incoming surf as if angry with the waves.

Leonard watches one wade farther in. It starts swimming madly, flailing its arms and legs in the water, but it makes progress. After several seconds, the contortions calm and it starts swimming in a much more deliberate movement. Fascinated, Leonard observes. Several others start after it in a similar fashion. Small waves roll over the night runners. Leonard watches as they surface behind the breakers and continue after thrashing about some. The lead night runner reaches an area where larger waves are breaking. He loses sight of it after one large wave rushes over it. Leonard looks past the wave expecting the night runner to surface and sputter before continuing its foray into the bay. He sees nothing. Looking everywhere, he finally catches sight of the night runner as it rises out of the water much closer to the beach. It stands with water pouring from it and tilts its head upward. Its arms are rigid by its side and it opens its mouth wide. The anger and frustration its form presents is readily apparent. Leonard notices the others that attempted to swim have been swept ashore as well.