John O'Brien - Conspiracy

Greg and his teammate cover the store interior with their carbines as they look over the mess. The back of the mart is lost in shadow, but there is no scream from night runners. Night runners or not, he has no intention of going past the safety of the light. It is marauders and the like that worry him but, from the signs around him, he’s sure that no one would take up residence here.

A turnstile rack near the entrance is tipped over, spilling postcards and maps across the floor. With his teammate covering, Greg steps over the dismembered body and starts sorting through the maps. Many have been soaked through in blood, but he finds a couple covering their routes that are still readable. Shaking the accumulated dirt off them, he shoves them in his fatigue pockets.

The cash registers are bathed in the dim glow of the radiant light. If he can get power to the building, he knows he can get the pumps to operate and top off the Stryker’s tanks. Provided that is, that power still carries to the registers and pump islands. Looking at the wreckage, he’s not sure that’s the case.

Backing out of the store, he walks with his partner to the rear of the building. The usual Dumpsters, empty boxes and stacked pallets, and a small loading dock encompass a majority of the space. Near one corner sits a generator. Greg tests it for fuel and, as he guessed, it’s empty, having run itself dry. Using some of their fuel against only a possibility of getting the fuel pumps to work is a chance, but he gathers one of the fuel canisters from the Stryker regardless. Testing the generator battery, he pours some of the precious liquid in the tank and presses the start button. The generator cranks, sputters for a few turns, and then fires to life, filling the rear of the parking lot with its roar.

Greg looks over the surrounding developments for any signs of life that the noise of the generator may have raised. A flock of birds take wing from a neighboring house, but nothing else stirs.

Moving back to the store entrance, Greg sees the result of his handiwork. Sparks cascade from the broken light fixture onto the fallen shelves. That, and the flickering of the other lights, cast the gloomy part of the mart in a strobe effect. Drink counter dispensers flash and a carousal warming machine for hotdogs and pizza rotates in fits and starts. Stepping around the partial body once again and circumventing the remains farther in, Greg checks one of the cash registers to see it booted up with the touch screen fully lit. Placing an order for diesel fuel, he has the Stryker pull up; fuel flows through the hose into the tanks. He refills the used canister and they load back up to push through to the next town.

Endless fields fill both sides of the road from horizon to horizon. The emptiness of the terrain allows for faster travel, but Greg keeps their speed down in order to fully scout the area before proceeding. Complacency and assuming that the area is empty without checking could get them in trouble in no time at all. Even with the Stryker, due to their small numbers, they can ill afford a confrontation.

They eventually come to other small towns along the way. It’s much the same sight as they pass slowly through each town — fast food restaurants and gas stations with small businesses thrown in between. Any places that had food have their windows broken out. Remains of bodies are occasionally seen but covered with layers of dust. The wide tracks that the Stryker leaves are the only sign of recent passage.

They bypass larger towns to the north or south depending upon the terrain. Leaving the highway at these places, the armored vehicle rolls over fences that delineate the boundaries of fields and plow through the occasional gully. Greg slows their speed through the fields to keep the dust cloud they kick up to a minimum. He is reminded of the chase they had outside of a town on their way to Lubbock and he’s constantly on the lookout for dust clouds trailing after them. None appear.

With the sun heading into late afternoon and having only made it about halfway to their first destination of Manitou Springs, Greg checks the map and notes the area they are in is one of the more barren spots along the road. It’s all fairly open and not populated, but several small towns dot the landscape and he wants to be as far away from any formerly populated areas as possible to hole up for the night. Even though it’s early, he has the Stryker turn off the road and travel up a long dirt road with no apparent settlements or houses in sight. The road slowly ascends up an incline into some fairly rough topography — rough for this area at least. Greg picks an arroyo off the road and parks the Stryker hull down. The gully is the perfect height and they are able to see in all directions but their silhouette is minimized.

As opposed to the plains through which they traveled beside for most of the day, the place they pick to stay the night looks like the surface of the moon. It’s barren with just a few rocky outcroppings on the edge of shallow ravines.

As Greg pans the surrounding area with his binoculars, the moon analogy fits even more. The gray soil is pockmarked with thousands of light-colored mounds. Out of these piles, small heads continuously bob up and down. The team has parked in the middle of a large prairie dog population. With a couple of larger towns ten miles to either side, there is a small chance night runners could come out to hunt in this area. It’s about a three hour walk from the nearest town, but with the speed of the night runners, it would be much less. Greg has never seen them go at any other speed than a jog or full run. He isn’t sure how far they venture to hunt, but thinks it’s unlikely they would be this far out. Like Jack, he doesn’t want to assume anything with regards to what the night runners can or can’t do. They’ll sleep buttoned up and keep a watch through the Stryker optics.

With time to spare before night settles upon them, Greg sets a watch and allows the others to dig a Dakota Fire Pit at the bottom of the arroyo. This will keep the fire from being seen and the smoke to a minimum. Plus, they will cover it up when they’re finished, which will eliminate any trace of scent. Who knows when they’ll have a chance at a hot meal again, so he allows them this simple pleasure. It’s sometimes the very small things that make a difference in mental attitudes and the ability to hold up under stress.

With the sun low on the horizon, they sit in the shaded gully eating heated MREs and exchanging whispers and subdued laughs. The sky to the east is turning a dark blue as they shovel dirt over the fire pit and erase any vestige of their meal. Greg wishes Jack was with them so he could tell them if any aroma lingered, but he’ll do the best he can. They can hold out in the Stryker against a large number of night runners, but it’s a different story if a horde of them show up. The armored vehicle is hard to tip or get into, but it’s not impossible.

As the sun sets, turning the gray land black, Greg organizes the watch and settles over the maps he acquired. They don’t give altitude variations, but he guesses that they’ll travel over terrain similar to what they ventured through during the day. They’ll encounter the same open fields and small towns until they draw near to Pueblo. The only change on their route will be increasing size of the mountains as the team rolls west. With that in mind, he’ll keep to the same plan — travel slowly through the small towns after looking them over and circumvent the larger ones through the surrounding fields. Given the distance they covered today, they should reach Pueblo by mid-afternoon and Manitou Springs a couple of hours after that. Circumventing the large metropolis of Colorado Springs to get to their destination could be difficult and take more time. A few roads show promise but he’ll assess the situation when they arrive tomorrow.