John O'Brien - Conspiracy

Thank goodness they can only operate in the dark , Greg thinks, or this would have been over long ago .

They take their time negotiating the southern portion of Wichita. The housing developments give way to mostly open fields before Greg has the Stryker turned north to intersect an interstate that runs around the peripheral of the city. From there, he’ll strike out on one of the highways leading west toward his first destination near Colorado Springs. On this first leg, he’ll make the run to a soldier’s hometown of Manitou Springs.

Given normal conditions, they’d be able to make the run in a day. But the times are far from normal. Greg estimates it will take two full days, and that’s if they are able to keep moving the entire time. They won’t drive at night even though they have night vision capabilities. Their sight range will be limited, and they may run into something before they know it. They’ll also have to take on fuel as Greg doesn’t want to travel with less than a half full tank. If they need to make a run for it, it wouldn’t do to come up on the short end because of fuel.

Hitting the interstate that circles around the city, they continue their northbound advance. Fields and several lakes line the highway and, with the long lines of sight this gives, Greg orders an increase in speed. He notes that the water levels have dropped significantly by the shorelines of the lakes that they pass. They roll down the divided multi-lane concrete road, the only thing moving on this lonely stretch. As they pass the Wichita airport and terminal buildings to the left, he hears a faint roar rise above the whine of the Stryker. Looking to the right, he sees the small dot of the 130 as it climbs into the air miles to the east. It turns to the northwest and continues its ascent. He watches it until it fades from view. They are truly on their own now.

Just to the north of the airport, they hit another major highway heading west. They leave the pavement at this point, traveling overland to a ramp that leads down to the freeway. The Stryker jostles over the uneven ground until they roar up an incline and enter the paved ramp. They enter a manufacturing and warehouse district, the large buildings surrounded by equally sizable parking lots which stand empty. The district abruptly changes to housing developments set back from the road. Some neighborhoods are blocked from view by concrete sound barriers placed along the road, which only affords the sight of a few tree tops showing over the top. The echo of the Stryker motoring down the multi-lane road rebounds off these structures. Stirring the dirt on the road, the armored vehicle’s large tires leave a fine trail of dust behind.

Firmly entrenched on their route to the west, Greg knows he needs to secure better maps. He has an atlas which gives a good representation of the highway system, but he wants more detailed ones. Knowing he can find these at just about any gas station, he resolves to pull over when he finds one that appears relatively safe.

The development areas end abruptly. There is no easing out of them, they just end with fenced-in rectangular fields taking their place. Some of the fields are only rutted brown dirt while others are overgrown with grass or some agricultural product. A couple of miles down the road, Greg spies the beginnings of one of the many small towns that dot the highway. He halts the Stryker a mile away and climbs out to stand on the top to get a better view.

At this rate, it’ll take us more than two days to cover the distance .

The cloud cover overhead makes it more difficult to see with any clarity but, looking through high-powered binoculars, the outskirts of the town ahead jumps into view. The fields give way suddenly to neighborhoods with the highway plowing straight as an arrow through the settlement. He observes the structures within view looking for any movement to indicate they are being watched. Nothing. The place looks empty.

“Do you see anything?” he asks through the open hatch.

A team member is looking through the enhanced optics zoomed in on the town. “I don’t see a thing, sir.”

“Have you checked the thermals?” Greg asks.

“Yes, sir. There aren’t any heat signatures that I can see. Not even from the structures,” the team member replies.

Greg looks a moment longer and then climbs back in. The Stryker lurches forward as he tells the driver to proceed slowly. A weather-beaten sign on the side of the road tells them they have entered the town of Goddard, ‘home of the fastest growing city in Kansas, population 4,344’.

I bet neither of those is true anymore , Greg thinks as they pass a church and an associated school on the right.

Several fast food restaurants line the road. There isn’t any movement or sound from the town. Greg hears only the high-pitched whine of the engine and from the turret as it continually pans to the left and right. He doesn’t observe any tracks in the light dust covering the highway and driveways entering the various establishments.

Almost through the small township, the elevated sign of a Kwik Stop appears. Some numbers showing the last gas prices are missing, adding to the empty feeling of the place. Greg has the Stryker pull in to halt just off the highway in front of the mart.

A couple of cars are parked at angles to the designated parking places which are barely visible through the dirt covering the pavement. One is still parked at the pumps with the driver’s side door open. Clothing is strewn across the ground between the vehicle and the pump with the fuel nozzle lying on the ground. All is covered with a fine layer of dust.

Looking closer, Greg sees the windows of the store have been broken out near the entrance. A body lies across the broken glass panes of the doors. Nothing stirs except a few eddies of dust stirred by a breeze as it blows through. It appears that all of the damage and death occurred some time ago so Greg decides to check for road maps inside. And, even though the tanks of the Stryker are nearly full, he’ll make the attempt to fill them.

Telling the team his plan, they disembark and set up a small perimeter. Three cover the highway to both sides and one remains on the turret to lend heavy fire should it be needed. With one other team member, Greg cautiously approaches the front of the stop-and-rob.

Listening for any sound that might indicate someone is inside, he and his teammate close in on the entrance from opposite sides. The figure draping the doorway is face down with sand covering its once dark brown hair and seems to be missing one arm; that, or it is hidden under the body. A small drift of dirt has piled up on one side of the head, almost covering it.

Greg pushes on it with the barrel of his M-4. As the head turns slightly, the lower jaw remains in place, sliding off the figure’s cheek. He sees that most of the skin has been removed, leaving only strings of dried ligaments attached. Looking farther, Greg notices that most of the lower body has been dragged inside and lies near the cash register stand. He knows that the condition of the body denotes that night runners were once here… and maybe still are.

Greg overcomes a curious urge to check the pants pockets lying just inside the door for the person’s ID. It was someone once and he’s curious who. They had dreams, worries, highs and lows, paid their monthly bills, made vacation plans, planned what they were going to have for dinner. Now they lie here at the entrance to a Kwik Stop in a small town in what used to be Kansas. Their plans, fears, and joys ended in a moment of terror… just another body decaying in some forgotten place. These thoughts relieve him of his curiosity and he finds he doesn’t want to know who it is at all.

A faint odor of rot and decay spills from the broken doorway — spoiled food, milk, and death. A small amount of ambient light spills through the damaged front of the building, revealing wreckage inside. Shelves are tipped over on their sides or lean against each other blocking the aisles. There isn’t much food on the floor as the place appears ransacked but several bags of chips, candy bars, and cans are scattered across the floor. One of the neon light fixtures hangs from one edge. Trailing wires, the other end hangs down on one of the leaning shelves. Several of the plaster ceiling tiles has fallen in, revealing a network of conduit and electrical wiring.