John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“Thank you for everything,” Greg says as the two exchange handshakes.

“It’s our pleasure. Good luck to you, captain,” James says.

“And to you, James.”

There’s nothing left to be said, so Greg climbs aboard the armored vehicle. He has the driver pull onto the road and, with a wave to James, they head north. Greg glances back to watch James diminish as they motor down the road. James climbs into his truck, backs up, and, entering the dirt track, disappears from view. Not far to the north, the road bends, turning east toward Pueblo.

If anything, the terrain is even more remote and barren upon leaving Lamar. They continue their slow travel and it’s a couple of hours before they come across their first town. Greg holds to his plan and circumvents the city. He’s ever-watchful for the bandits James cautioned them about. They aren’t impervious in the Stryker, and he is mindful that it wouldn’t take much in today’s world for a group to raid a military base and come up with hardware that could quickly take them apart. At their current rate of travel, Greg hopes to arrive at their destination by mid-afternoon. This assumes they can continue to circumvent the larger towns and make it safely through Pueblo and Colorado Springs.

The highway continues to parallel the river course. Greg finds a gas station in the small town of Manzanola which has above-ground fuel tanks. With the team set out in a small perimeter, they top off the Stryker’s tanks. Well into their day, they haven’t run across a single sign of survivors. It makes Greg think that the town of Lamar and finding others in the nearby communities was either a fluke, or anyone in the towns they’ve come across since has ran afoul of the bandits. Either way, each place has proven to be a ghost town. With little food sources nearby — cattle or fertile hunting grounds — he doubts any night runners have survived in this remoteness either.

Each road sign they pass shows the mileage to Pueblo counting down. At times, the opposite lane of the two-lane highway gives the impression of vehicle tracks — side by side sections of pavement can be clearly seen. The traces appear to be the width of autos rather than armored vehicles which brings some relief to Greg. He isn’t sure of the observations as it could be just a trick of the wind, but he isn’t taking any chances. He slows and they methodically survey the area ahead before proceeding on. This takes more time, but Greg doesn’t want to gamble.

Housing developments and small industrial parks appear ahead as they near the outskirts of Pueblo. At the very edge of the metropolis, a highway branches off which skirts the outer edges of the city. The Stryker turns onto this new highway and they are soon in barren lands once again. Before long, residential neighborhoods appear to the left toward the urban sprawl, with the large expanse of Colorado State University to the right. As they proceed, there are an increased number of bare spots in the pavement.

Just past the university, Greg has the vehicle turn onto a highway that parallels the interstate connecting Pueblo and Colorado Springs. The increase in the vehicle track sightings makes him nervous, especially with the report from James that the bandits came from this direction. With Fort Carson’s proximity and the large armored presence there, he wants to proceed with all the caution at their disposal. The thought of abandoning this leg of their mission doesn’t enter his mind, but he won’t rush pell-mell into it either. The protection and armament of the Stryker suddenly seems very limited compared with what they could come across.

They leave Pueblo behind in the mid-afternoon. A wide river bottom separates them from an interstate a klick to the west. The river and its surroundings will make it difficult for anyone on the other side to intercept them. The route they have chosen will join with the interstate just south of Colorado Springs.

Sporadic farm houses disappear entirely as they proceed north. Escarpments hide the interstate for miles at a time. The eastern hillsides, showing deep ravines from runoffs, are cast in shadow as the sun pushes its way west across the blue sky. They need to be on the other side of the river in order to get to Manitou Springs, so it’s imperative that they find a bridge or some other means to cross. Going through Colorado Springs isn’t an option; an urban environment can become a deadly place.

There isn’t a single bridge to be found along the way and Greg doesn’t want to risk foundering the Stryker while fording across sandy beaches he sees next to the river. They continue until sporadic farm houses give way to the beginnings of a residential neighborhood. He’s left with a decision. They can go through the urban area to find a bridge to cross, they can ford the river, or they can abandon the mission altogether. With the last not being an option and, as he doesn’t want to enter into the large community ahead, he has the vehicle strike west.

Traversing an empty field, they come to the river. It’s not wide at this point, and they cross a small strip of sand before plunging in. The river is initially deep, rising to the hull itself, but shallows as they progress across. On the far side, the Stryker powers up a low ridge of rock. The engine whines louder and the nose of the Stryker rises into the air before crashing back down with a jolt. To one side, hidden in a copse of trees, old washing machines, toilets, and other discarded sundries are piled.

Greg has them continue west and across the interstate where it becomes obvious that vehicles have passed recently. Their passage has cleared a path on both sides of the freeway. The Stryker climbs and descends the small embankments of the highway. In a field on the far side, with the outskirts of the city in the distance to their right, Greg has two teammates disembark to erase the marks of their passage as best as they can. He covers them with the .50 cal, but they are able to complete their task unhindered.

They continue striking west and enter the barren landscape of the southern end of Fort Carson. Greg has slowed the vehicle to a crawl in order to minimize any dust trail. It’s evident there are survivors of some sort around and he doesn’t want to announce their arrival.

The area is covered with small ravines, ridgelines, and countless dirt tracks branching off the dirt road they are following. The trails they leave behind are easy to spot and follow but, from all indications, no one has made it out this way in some time.

The hills in the near distance to the west rise sharply off the plain, their sides dotted with evergreens and patches of green shrubs. Any natural greenery remains green and those plants that required water to be brought by humankind have browned for lack of nourishment. The land is returning to its natural state.

Passing by an isolated firing range, they come to a two-laned highway — The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Highway. This road runs along the base of the hills for a short distance before heading into the center of Colorado Springs. Greg follows this thoroughfare until they are immediately adjacent to Fort Carson. At this juncture, the hills and the highway say farewell to each other and Greg turns into several residential developments on the very fringe of the city. The houses themselves run right up to hills rising off the upper plateau of Colorado. It’s the best they can do without traversing into the mountains.

Working their way through the twists and turns of the neighborhoods, and sticking to the ones nearest the hills, they eventually clear the urban areas. At an intersection where Gold Camp Road and High Road come together, Greg halts the team to figure out their best route.

“Sir, I know this area,” one of the soldiers says. “Growing up here, I ran and hiked most of the trails in the area.”