John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“This is where we gather for evening meals and meetings,” James says, joining Greg. “We use the kitchen here and discuss the day’s activities. Eating together helps to keep us feeling like a community. I’ve called ahead and asked the town to meet us.”

Other cars and trucks enter. Those who exit stare at the Stryker and Greg as they walk into the restaurant portion of the hotel. Greg doesn’t sense any malevolence in their actions or the darting eyes that may foretell misfortune. They carry the same wariness exhibited by James during their initial meeting. Greg is shocked to see them casually enter into a building.

“You just go into a building? What about night runners?” Greg asks, watching several people swing the entrance door open and go inside.

“Who?” James asks.

“You know, the night hunters…the infected ones who come out at night and hide out in darkened buildings?”

“What do you say we get out of the sun and talk about things,” James says, motioning with his arm for Greg to head into the restaurant.

Greg looks sharply at James. The answer James gave was an outright evasion of Greg’s question which makes Greg feel uneasy.

“Not until I have an answer. I don’t mean to seem inhospitable, but wherever there are survivors, there are also night runners,” Greg says.

“Well, the answer to your question is that we don’t have any of the sick ones here,” James says.

“How is that possible? Were you able to kill them all?”

James hesitates just a fraction of a second before replying, “Yes. We took care of all of the sick ones in town.”

It still seems like an evasion of sorts, but it satisfies Greg’s curiosity. He supposes in a small enough town that it’s possible to eliminate the night runner population and set up a community like this. Greg nods and he and James proceed into the café.

Inside, Greg smells the aroma of food cooking. Men, women, and children of all ages sit around scattered tables. It looks like any other family-style restaurant, and seeing people gathered as they are almost makes things feel normal. Others enter behind and push past to find places to sit.

“We’d usually be in the fields or working on other chores. We vacated the fields when we saw your approach,” James says.

He introduces Greg to the gathering and guides him to a table. Many people nod their greetings and there are a few dispersed vocal greetings. The silence is complete except for the occasional clang of a pot or pan from the kitchen in back. As Greg sits with James, the hubbub of general conversation slowly picks up.

Soon, plates of scrambled eggs and bacon begin to be distributed.

“It’s all we could come up with on short notice,” the man says, placing a plate in front of James and Greg.

“I’m sure it’s good and thanks for coming in,” James returns.

Turning to Greg, James says, “Your people are welcome to join us for a hot meal.”

Greg looks around. It seems normal enough and, while most of the people have weapons either on or near them, there isn’t an ounce of hostility that he can detect. He calls on the radio and has the team come in two at a time to eat. The .50 cal remains manned with a small three-person reaction team. He tells the others they can open up the rear and head outside, but they are to remain near the protective armor.

The conversation between James and Greg turn to their stories. As they talk, Greg begins to feel more comfortable and shares as well. There was still that fraction of a second hesitation James had in answering, but that could be from the discomfort of two groups coming together and trying to find where the trust line falls.

Greg learns the group, totaling eighty-three men, women, and children, built the fence early on after things fell apart. They pulled the materials from Pueblo and carted them back on semis. They also brought solar panels, inverters, and equipment to set up a solar farm which they are presently working on.

“We know the batteries won’t last forever, but we’ll have something else figured out by then,” James says.

For now, they have several greenhouses and animal pens set up within the fenced portion of the city. A ready water supply is provided by the river and they bring it in with the town’s two fire trucks and a water tanker. They started working the nearby fields in the hopes of getting a small crop in before the cold hits. They’ll use those fields extensively in the coming year. An irrigation project is underway to supply the fields from the river.

When asked about arms, James mentions that everyone carries and they mostly have hunting rifles with a scattering of semi-auto carbines. “Everyone around here knows how to shoot, but we still practice.”

James mentions that not everyone is from Lamar but from the surrounding towns all the way to Wichita, Kansas. The ones who survived in the town started gathering others up and down the highway while on scavenging runs.

“So you were able to take care of the… sick ones early on? There aren’t any who bother you here?” Greg asks.

Again that split second of hesitation, “Yes. We took care of the sick ones right off. There weren’t many of these night runners, as you call them. I’ll tell you, though, the ones that were here were damn hard to kill. We lost a few good people taking care of them.”

With a fork full of eggs halfway to his mouth, Greg looks at James. He gets the distinct impression that James’ definition of sick ones is different from his and feels that James had almost said ‘There weren’t many of these night runners afterwards’. He thinks back and remembers Jack mentioning that the Lajes AFB commander in the Azores had all of the ill ones shot when he figured out what was going on. They would have survived too, except they couldn’t be resupplied and crashed into the Atlantic trying to fly out of there. Frank is one of the only survivors from that place.

Greg gives an internal shrug and stuffs the scrambled eggs into his mouth. Who is he to judge the survivors? If they didn’t do what they did, they might not be here to talk about it. Or at least the night runner threat would have been more of an undertaking to rid themselves of.

Perhaps if everyone had taken this stance …

Greg gives his story and the tale of the others to the northwest. Without being overly detailed, he tells of their heading to Manitou Springs. Upon hearing that they intend to head in that direction, James informs them that they have blown the bridges across the river just north of town.

“We kept getting trouble from marauders in that direction. Perhaps they saw us gathering materials in Pueblo and followed us, I’m not sure. We just know that they showed up and we were barely able to keep them at bay. That was a while ago, but we’ve heard engine noises a few times in the past week. That’s why we were cautious with you. The fact is that you’re the first we’ve seen coming from the east. That and the fact that you tried to pass around us instead of trying to going through is the only reason we’re having this conversation,” James says. “We keep that road open because we use it to scavenge when we can. We blew the bridge to the south and created a large ditch across the road to the west. Overland, it’s more difficult to get to us, and we can see anyone coming from miles away. So, I’d be cautious heading in that direction, even with that monster you have outside.”

“Great. I guess we’ll have to cross the river bed itself seeing that’s really our only viable way west,” Greg says.

“I’d warn you about doing that. The sandy areas adjacent to the river are tricky and there are a few swamps that would make the crossing difficult. We do, however, have a ford nearby which I can guide you through,” James replies.