John O'Brien - Conspiracy

Krandle secures his grip on the cliff face once again and looks over his team. They have all found holds of some sort, but they are all hanging precariously to the side of the cliff. Just a few feet below them, the angle they slid down comes to an abrupt halt and plummets straight down onto a rocky shoreline two hundred feet below. Krandle begins to feel a little more secure in their situation as long as those above don’t appear at the edge and begin firing down on them. His watch chimes as the countdown ends.

Krandle hears a sound rising above the roar of the surf below, similar to that of a low-flying jet. This is followed quickly by a storm of explosions. The cliff wall shakes from the multitude of blasts above, each detonation sounding like a mortar round going off. The thunderous explosions are indistinguishable from each other and form a continuous, rolling barrage. The shaking precipice on which they only have a tentative hold threatens to knock them loose. The ten feet between them and the straight, two hundred foot drop seems to shrink. Rocks shaken loose pelt the team members and continue past them over the edge.

Krandle hugs the wall, trying to push farther into its solid exterior. As quickly as it began, it’s over. Krandle feels his heart beating rapidly and hears his hoarse, panting breath as he exhales into the cliff, blowing dust away with each breath. He feels small rocks and grit fall out of his hair, and sand makes its way into his collar. Looking up, he sees dark smoke roiling above the ridgeline overhead.

The stunned team waits several seconds, expecting to see figures materialize, outlined on the ridge above. When the anticipated forms and subsequent volleys of fire don’t appear, they start climbing slowly up the cliff wall. Krandle helps Miller who grunts and grimaces with pain with each extension of his arm but they eventually crest the ridge.

The landscape ahead looks nothing like what they left minutes ago. The house they were in and the ones to either side, along with those across the street are smoldering ruins. Smoke drifts up from the rubble of timber, red slate, and stucco to join with the dark clouds hanging over the area, created from the explosions. A breeze catches the dark mass and carries it inland.

Between the houses stand shredded bushes and trees, many with snapped limbs, some hanging limply toward the ground. Small fires blaze in places in the dry grass and begin to spread. The team hoists themselves into this area of destruction, alert for any surviving members of those that engaged them. Blanchard takes Miller on his shoulder which he thankfully accepts this time. Nothing moves, and the only sound is the crackling of the spot fires and the groan of broken houses settling farther.

“That was…interesting,” Speer says, breaking through the team’s silent inspection of the area.

“Which way?” Franklin asks.

“I don’t really want to traverse the neighborhoods again. There might still be others and they won’t be happy with us. Let’s try the break in the cliff you spotted earlier,” Krandle answers.

The team starts along the cliff edge, alertly guarding against any remaining assailants. Krandle looks to Blanchard asking after Miller’s condition. Blanchard nods, indicating that he’ll be okay.

“We need to get back soon, though,” Blanchard says.

“Noted. That we do,” Krandle says, sweeping his hands through his hair to clear the remaining debris.

The others look like they’ve been hauled across the ground tied behind horses. Each and every one of them has a coating of dust and is covered with cuts and scratches. The grit has staunched the flow of blood from Krandle’s forehead and cheek forming small ridges of dirt over the wounds.

As they walk, avoiding the spreading fires, Krandle sees scraps of clothing and parts of bodies spread liberally on the churned up ground. He’s thankful they made it out when they did. He can’t fathom what it must have been like to be in the midst of that attack. Of course, it’s not like anyone would have felt anything as the darkness of the other side would have come immediately.

Krandle digs sand out of his ear and contacts the Santa Fe , giving them the situation and their wounded.

“Glad you made it, Chief,” Leonard responds. “We’ll have a medical team on standby when you return.”

“We’ll be there in a little over an hour barring any further interruptions,” Krandle replies.

They reach the break in the bluff. It’s a ravine which leads steeply down but a path through the middle makes it navigable. They stumble some of the way, Miller groaning with each fall. The team makes it to the rocky shoreline after slipping most of the way down. Glancing nervously at the tall ridge above, they make it to the raft and put out to sea. The sleek sub rises quietly from the depths as they near its location. The wounded are brought aboard and treated. Miller and Speer will be out of action for a time as they recuperate. With all safely aboard, the Santa Fe slides below the waves and turns south.

Greg stands in the turret opening watching the buildings of McConnell AFB grow smaller as they head away from Jack and the others. He understands Jack’s desire to get his son back home given that he had experienced the effects of an injury from a night runner. He also knows the need to continue with the search for the families. Time is running short for such operations. Knowing those things doesn’t make the thought of traveling across unknown territories for an extended period of time with only one team at his disposal any better. He feels self-conscious about the prospect, having experienced too many close encounters.

The Stryker will make up for their lack of numbers in a lot of circumstances, but if they have to go in some places on foot, that puts them with very limited options. And vehicles break down. If they lose the Stryker, they lose an immense base of firepower…and protection. If that happens, Greg will call the mission, gather alternate transportation, and head home. The operation seemed like a walk in the park while they were discussing it with everyone around. Heading down an empty road in the middle of nowhere with only six others, drawing farther away from the base, puts that in a completely different light. Looking at the countryside passing by, he feels rather small.

The plan is to skirt the city of Wichita to the south and east, bypassing the majority of the metropolis and urban sprawl. It will take them longer to hit the minor roads heading west but, given his feelings of insignificance, it’s worth lessening the chance of running into any other surviving groups. It’s about finding survivors, but it’s also about surviving. The mission to find surviving family members of the soldiers is paramount.

If they run into other groups, he’ll assess the situation at that time; however, caution will be his byword. He won’t go out of his way to meet others and will go around them if possible. They can mark their locations and come back later if they decide. That doesn’t mean he won’t help others if they need it and if he can, but he’ll do so warily. Avoidance will be his policy. That may be difficult as there are many small towns that they’ll encounter and not all can be circumvented.

His way around takes him through some smaller neighborhoods. Blocks of communities with densely-packed houses alternate with open fields. Everywhere he looks, there are untended yards and meadows — grass grown high and untrimmed bushes. It looks like the post-apocalyptic world that he’d become used to in movies and pictures but without the smoldering fires and burnt out buildings and vehicles. It’s more like the rapture where everyone just left. Except it’s not the dead that walk the earth; instead, it is fast-moving, agile, cunning, ferocious predators that are an unrelenting force.