John O'Brien - Conspiracy

He is the one whose family they are currently searching for.

“Okay. What do you recommend?” Greg asks, moving away from the map to make room.

“This road…Gold Camp Road…continues across the intersection. It intersects a trail that the Stryker can negotiate. I think the trail’s name is Lion Trail, but I can’t be positive about that. There’s a ridge that several trails parallel and we can follow that to the highway between the two springs,” the soldier answers. Greg looks on in confusion.

“That’s Colorado Springs and Manitou Springs,” the soldier clarifies.

“And that’ll keep us hidden?”

“Yes, sir. They’re dirt so we’d have to keep our speed down, but there’s no one there, especially if we take the west side. The ridge will block us from view to the east, and there are several other smaller ridges that will block us from the west. It’s the best way I know.”

“Alright, you stay here with me and guide the turns. Show me where we need to go and the best way to get there,” Greg says.

The soldier points to a small neighborhood that extends partway into a valley on the southwestern side of Manitou Springs.

Of course it would be on the other side of the town , Greg thinks.

As if reading his mind, the soldier replies, “Not to worry, sir. I can get us there easily enough.”

“Not to seem crass, but how many are we looking for? Greg asks.

It’s been one of the things on his mind since they began. If they do find loved ones intact, how are they going to transport them? Especially if they find very many of them. His plan was to find other vehicles which they can use, and he supposes that will have to do. It may not be easy finding ones they can get started, since the batteries will have drained long ago, but he’ll deal with that when he comes to it.

“Well, sir, there’s my younger sister and brother and my mom. My dad moved to New York a while ago,” the soldier answers.

“I’m sorry,” Greg says, referring to the fact that the young man’s dad is out of reach.

“Not to worry, sir. We didn’t exactly get along.”

Guided by the soldier, they find the trail and proceed up a series of switchbacks as they climb the lone, north-south ridge. Greg opts to travel on the western side as the soldier indicated it will allow for them to be better hidden. That of course means they won’t be able to see trouble coming either.

They cross over the long ridgeline and descend along more switchbacks. Meeting up with another trail which leads through a deep ravine, they continue their northbound travel to the freeway ahead. Small trail signs along the way indicate they are proceeding along the Red Rock Canyon Trail. The path is at the base of a steep hill. In places, Greg can see the rocky top of the larger ridge which the soldier identifies as Hogback Ridge. The path is narrow and the vehicle’s wheels roll on either side, flattening scrub brush that grows alongside. Looking behind, Greg is satisfied with their speed as dust rises no higher than the top of the Stryker.

The trail ends at an empty dirt parking lot. Ahead, Greg can make out the east-west line of the highway they’ve been striving to reach. So far, they have been lucky and haven’t encountered anyone. The hogback ridge ends abruptly at the edge of the freeway. He stops and pulls out his binoculars.

Across the road, he makes out the side of a large department store. Trees adjacent the highway block any further view of the area, but he gets the impression that a residential neighborhood lies beyond the foliage. The two cities have almost grown together.

He focuses his view on something on the highway itself. He can’t make it out from his vantage point, but it doesn’t look right — it’s not part of the road system. It gives the appearance of a road block with stakes pointing outward. It almost looks like triangular anti-armor stakes.

That doesn’t bode well , he thinks, trying to ascertain exactly what they truly are. If there are anti-armor stakes, that means there’s armor in the area. And, obstacles like that are meaningless without supporting arms to take advantage of the blockage.

He takes a long sweep of the surrounding terrain looking for any sign of dug-in emplacements or anything to indicate that someone is lying in wait. He doesn’t see or hear anything other than the whine of the Stryker idling and a few birds circling. He orders the Stryker to advance slowly. As he draws nearer, he sees that he was totally wrong about the items in the road.

It’s a series of crosses placed in a semi-circle next to the multi-lane freeway. They are constructed of heavy timber and driven into the ground. The shadows from each cross stretch long to the east. It’s taken them almost all day to reach this point. Greg removes the field glasses and rubs his eyes, trying to erase the tired and gritty feeling in them. He’s strained to focus on objects for most of the day and he’s beginning to tire. Looking again, he turns the knob to sharpen the focus. The scene that jumps into view is horrifying.

In the magnified view, Greg sees that someone is tied or otherwise attached to one of the crosses. The figure hangs limply with its head down, chin almost touching the chest. Long black hair drapes lifelessly down and obscures any features. A light-colored shirt over jeans appears heavily stained. The person isn’t moving and, to all appearances, doesn’t appear to be alive.

Suspecting a trap, Greg methodically scans the terrain, but he still can’t see anything that might indicate someone else is around. All things human-made give tell-tale indications, no matter how slight. It’s just a matter of looking for those things that seem slightly out of place or the color seems wrong. He scans the area with thermal-imaging but sees nothing except the figure on the cross. The fact that they show up on thermals indicates that they are still alive.

Greg informs the team of what he sees and has the Stryker slow its advance. When they are about to emerge from the ravine and into the open, Greg has the team disembark. Although they will be slower and more exposed, the team afoot will create a lower profile. The Stryker will remain at the edge of the deep gully and provide support should they need it. He keeps two at the Stryker and takes five with him.

They advance across the open ground, their boots stirring up dust with each step across the rock and dirt. The lowering sun casts their dark outlines across the terrain, their shadows undulating as they cross rocks and small hillocks. Birds circle high overhead searching for food. Greg imagines the roar that rush hour traffic along the highway must have created at one time. Today, the quiet is pervasive. He can hear the crunch of their boots as they cross the sandy soil…hear the breathing of the nearest teammate behind him.

With caution, carrying his carbine at the ready, Greg walks ever closer to the figure on the cross. He hears the low whine of the Stryker behind as it shifts into a better position from which to cover them. At the sound, the figure on the cross ahead lifts its head a touch and tilts it in their direction. It then drops back to stare downward. The brief look doesn’t give an indication if it is male or female, but with the long hair, he’s guessing it’s a woman.

A rank scent begins to suffuse the area as he closes in on the figure — the smell of something rotten. Greg has run across this smell a number of times in the past. His wariness increases.

Greg crosses a low, barb-wire fence and startles a flock of crows that were settled near the crosses. They take flight with the sound of flapping wings and cries of disdain. Shaken loose from the sudden surge, several black feathers float gently to earth. Greg has one soldier follow him across the fence and tells the others to remain and provide cover.