John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“What do you think, sir?” the driver asks.

“The flashes are too bright to be gunfire…unless they have an awful big gun…and we’d be feeling the results of it already. Readout says just over two klicks, so I’m guessing it’s a signal mirror. Halt the vehicle,” Greg replies.

The Stryker lurches forward as the brakes are applied. They come to a stop in the middle of a dirt road between fields. The dust trail behind them hangs in the air, drifting slowly across the fields. The flashes of light stop.

“Shall we try and signal them back, sir,” the driver asks.

“No. I think we’ll sit here with our popcorn and see how this movie plays out,” Greg answers.

Soon, a trail of dust rises into air from the direction of the signal.

“Single pickup heading down a dirt road perpendicular to the one we’re on,” the driver reports.

“I see it. Keep watching around us. I don’t want to be taken by surprise while focusing on one vehicle.”

“Are we going to disembark, sir?” another soldier asks.

“Not yet. I want to be ready to leave in a hurry if this turns out bad,” Greg responds.

If the people heading their way aren’t friendly, he’ll just head out. They can’t outrun the approaching vehicle, but unless they have a howitzer hidden in the back, chasing them won’t do any good. And the .50 cal will turn the truck into scrap metal.

The pickup truck pulls up to the intersection of the road the team is sitting on and the one the vehicle is traveling on. About a quarter of a mile separates the two parties. A man exits the blue truck, stands next to the driver door, and pulls out a pair of binoculars. Through his own magnified view, Greg notes another figure in the passenger seat with two others in the bed of the truck looking their way. They are armed with rifles but aren’t actively aiming at them. It can’t be too comfortable for them to see a large caliber weapon aimed directly at them from an armored vehicle.

The two groups continue to stare at each other, neither making a move toward the other. In this world, wariness and caution is the rule. Lives can end in an instant and with each encounter. Everyone dies in the end but there’s no need racing toward it.

“I’m going out. Keep an eye on them and also around us. If anything unsavory happens, turn ‘em into hamburger and get the hell out of here,” Greg says after a few more moments of the staring contest.

He scrambles on top and hops down in front of the Stryker. Another soldier takes his place at the .50 cal. Feeling the warm metal of the vehicle as he leans back against it, he glasses the other group again. He sees the distant driver put his binoculars away and climb into the pickup. The vehicle turns onto their road and slowly approaches. Greg holds out his hand for the truck to halt and it does so with a squeal of brakes.

The driver and passenger look out at him through a dirty windshield with the two men in the back looking over the top of the cab. He doesn’t note any weapons aimed his way, but Greg holds his M-4 at his side, ready to bring up in an instant. The driver climbs out and halts behind the open door.

“I’m Captain Greg Petersen. Not to seem like an ass, but I’d feel a tad more comfortable if you all climbed out where I can see you.”

“Captain, perhaps you could have the people I’m sure are inside that thing to come out as well,” the man states.

“Point taken. What do you say we agree not to shoot each other and chat amiably?” Greg says.

“I’m agreeable to that if you wouldn’t mind aiming that big gun of yours somewhere else. The hole in the end looks awfully large from this vantage point,” the man replies.

Greg looks behind at the barrel mounted on its small turret and calls inside for the gunner to aim it elsewhere. The gun spins away and Greg looks back to the man, who nods his appreciation.

Coming out from behind the door, the man approaches and reaches out his hand, “James…James Talkison. We’ve had a few run-ins with some unsavory types, so we’re a little wary around here.”

“We’ve had several ourselves, so it’s the same for us,” Greg replies.

“We saw you circumventing the town. That gave us reason to believe you weren’t interested in attacking us so we decided to risk a signal. I will say that the sight of that thing approaching,” James says, nodding toward the Stryker, “gave us cause for alarm.”

Looking back at their tracks through the field, Greg sees the deep ruts their heavy vehicle created in the plowed fields and the torn fences.

“Assuming these fields are your work, I apologize for tearing them up like that.”

“That’s not a problem. We can fix that up quickly,” James states.

“Allow us to help,” Greg says.

“Are you really with the Army?” James asks, bypassing Greg’s offer.

“I was,” Greg answers. “There really isn’t such a thing anymore.”

“So, I guess we can’t expect any help from that sector. Everything really is gone, huh?”

“I’m afraid so,” Greg responds, hesitant to tell their story until they know this group better.

James hangs his head and sighs. “What are you doing around these parts?”

“We’re searching for families of those with us,” Greg states.

“Ah. I take it from the fact that you were bypassing us that no one is from here. We’ve wondered about ours that live elsewhere,” James says. “How many are with you?”

Greg just looks at James without answering.

James chuckles, “Okay, I get it. Look, we’re all curious how it is out there. From what we’ve encountered here, it doesn’t look good, but we need to know what we’re up against…and for how long. I reckon you folks are okay. We’re about to sit down for something to eat. You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you’d like…and I won’t lie, I wouldn’t mind having that behemoth of yours parked in sight to scare off any troublemakers. What do you say we head into town and trade stories? Tell only what you feel comfortable with, but it’d be nice hearing what it’s like. And it would pick up some spirits knowing there are others out there who aren’t just bandits.”

“We are on a timetable of sorts and don’t really want to stop, but I think we could spare a few hours,” Greg says. “Any information you have about the area would be helpful.”

Back in the Stryker, Greg relates the conversation as they follow the pickup toward the town of Lamar. He tells them that he wants them to stay close to the Stryker until he is able to get a handle on the situation. The gun is to be manned at all times. If they find that everything is legitimate, then they can mingle. However, he doesn’t plan to stay long. They still have a mission to see to.

As they approach, Greg gets a better look at the fence he observed earlier. It’s about ten feet tall and covered with coils of razor wire along the top. From his vantage point, he sees that it completely encloses the northern segment of town and has the appearance of encompassing the entire section. Placed at intervals on the inside are semi-trailers with armed men stationed on top. As they drive through an opening in the fence, a bus is driven across it, sealing it off. Greg isn’t overly worried about being cut off as the Stryker can run through the chain link at any time.

Once inside, they continue to follow the truck as they pass through the center of the town. They intersect a main road and turn north. Looking behind, Greg notices a section of fence several blocks away sealing off the southern part of town. A school bus blocks an entrance similar to the one they just passed.

They travel through the central part of the town. Fast food restaurants line both sides of the street along with the usual local businesses. Hotels line the road at the extreme northern end of town. The industrial area, which the team was attempting to bypass, takes up the northeastern section just beyond the inns. The pickup pulls into the last building on the left. A sign signifying the Rodeway Inn and Cow Palace decorates the front. Ahead, past another entrance, lies the bridge they were seeking to cross. Pulling into the lot next to the truck, he sees several other vehicles parked. Greg informs the others to stay put and exits.