John O'Brien - Conspiracy

They follow the outline of the hills coming back almost to the highway before intersecting another road that travels up a ravine one canyon over from the caves. Kyle points out a dirt road leaving the pavement that travels along a large ridge. To one side of the path is a steep drop to the bottom of the ravine. The other ascends sharply, but the road was built to accommodate heavy machinery, so the Stryker manages — barely.

The large quarry they enter has almost taken off the entire top of the ridgeline. However, as fortune would have it, there is a still part of the ridge between them and the caves. Greg parks the Stryker in the lee of this remaining ridgeline.

With Kyle, he scales the bluff to the side and looks over the valley separating them from the caves. A quarter of a mile is all that separates the two ridge tops. The sun is still above the tops of the mountains to the west, but it is sinking fast.

“There,” Kyle points to an opening near the top of the ridgeline near the buildings.

Greg has a difficult time finding the opening as the far hill lies in shadow due to the westering sun. With help, he finally makes out the entrance. He was looking for a cave in the cliff face instead of a sink hole. The cliffs below and on the other side are almost vertical, but he trusts Kyle’s knowledge that they can navigate their way. He hasn’t led them astray so far.

“So we have to descend into that hole? Is there a path leading down?” Greg asks.

“We’ll need some rope since we’ll have to rappel in, sir. It’s about fifty feet down and then we have to scale a wall about thirty feet up,” Kyle explains.

“I wish you would have told me this before we arrived,” Greg says.

“Would you have come, sir?” Kyle asks.

Greg just stares back. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“And how do we get back out? How do we get the hostages out? We can’t very well expect them to climb a rope fifty feet up. Hell, I don’t know if I can,” Greg states.

“I was thinking we could go out the front. If it’s during the day, perhaps most of them will be gone,” Kyle responds.

“That’s not going to work. There are far too many variables that could leave us vulnerable. I guess we can knot the rope, climb out, and use a Swiss seat to haul the others up. The hostages have to be conscious. Understand if we go in, that’s a hard and fast rule. No exceptions. If they can’t hold onto the rope, we’ll have to leave them,” Greg states.

“Understood, sir.”

Greg doesn’t like having to lay it down like that, but he feels like his ass is hanging out in the breeze on this one. He looks over the area and ponders the situation. He runs variables through his mind to see if he will be able to counter them. The advantage is the narrowness of most of the cave system. The only problem he can foresee is if they encounter a large group and have to fight their way out. The fifty foot climb is the weak link in it all. Running scenarios in his head, he reaches a decision.

“Tomorrow morning, we leave at first light,” Greg says, backing out of his position.

As the two make their way to the vehicle, one thought keeps surfacing. It worries Greg and eats at his conscience. If these people truly chain someone up to the crosses daily, that means that someone is tied up at this very moment. Sometime during their crossing the road and traveling across the back country, vehicles left the establishment and made their way down, tied someone up, and left. Some poor soul is right now tied up and terrified of the coming night.

The crosses are three miles away and they could do the trip on foot in two hours under normal conditions. These are far from normal conditions. Greg can either leave the person out there, or risk their presence being known and try to rescue them. ‘Sacrifice the one for many’ keeps popping up in his mind but, if he were honest, that doesn’t always hold true. Yes, if there were a wounded soldier in front of the lines being used as bait, he would be more inclined to believe that, but even then, he knows he would try to save that soldier.

Inside the Stryker, he asks Kyle, “If we take the most direct route to the highway, will we be seen by those on the adjacent hill?”

“No, sir. The freeway curves at the base of this ridgeline and the hill will protect us from sight,” Kyle answers. “Why?”

Greg shares his thoughts. As he reaches the conclusion, many shocked eyes stare back at him.

“Shit, I should have thought of that,” Kyle says.

“Okay, gents, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to sneak the vehicle back down and hide near the highway. When it’s about to fold into nighttime, when we’re sure that the others must have returned to their lair, we’re going to make a dash to the crosses. We can’t waste any time. I want to be back on this road by the time true night hits. We can survive a couple of night runner packs, but we don’t want to bring an entire horde upon us. The highway is mostly clear due to their constant coming and going, so hopefully they won’t see any tracks we might leave behind,” Greg briefs.

Turning to the driver, Greg says, “Once we hit that highway, you keep us on the clear sections.”

“Hooah, sir.”

They inch their way back down the dirt road. The sun’s progress toward the mountains is faster than their slow creep. They reach a hidden place next to the freeway with just a touch of sun showing above the tall peaks. The bluish-gray of twilight seeps over the area, washing color out of the environment. With a last bright gleaming flare, the sun vanishes behind the mountains.

“Go…go now!” Greg says.

With an increase in the low whine of its engine, the Stryker lurches forward and dives toward the road. They swing left and accelerate. It’s not an Indy car, but the armored vehicle picks up speed quickly. The lowering of the sun causes darkness to come quicker than Greg could have imagined. It’s a klick to the crosses and the team covers it in a minute and a half, but even then, it’s almost dark by the time they get there.

The Stryker lurches to a halt. The ramp is thrown down before the vehicle fully stops. It hits the ground with a clang and sparks fly off the road as the door is dragged a few feet. Feet pound down the ramp into the darkness, three of the team setting up a quick perimeter around the vehicle as two run over to the crosses. Nearby, the first shrieks fill the night air.

Greg looks through the thermals and sees the hot outline of figures racing their way. The night runners in the area know where to get a free meal every evening. The images on the screen grow larger with each passing second as they race down the roadway.

“Hurry it up out there,” Greg shouts. “Trouble’s on the way.”

Greg lines up the crosshair on the incoming figures. He doesn’t want to fire as the noise from the .50 cal will carry long distances through the thin air. Steps running up the rear ramp send tremors through the steel. The clang of the hatch closing and rasp of the handles as they are set are music to his ears.

“We’re clear, sir,” one of the soldier yells.

“Get us the fuck out of here,” Greg says to the driver as the first of the night runners pound on the steel hull.

“Copy that, sir.”

The vehicle heaves backwards. Once in motion, the driver floors it and they retreat with the whitish-yellow figures of night runners giving chase. The forms eventually grow smaller and seem to give up. The driver hits the brakes in order to turn them around as he can’t see to the rear of the vehicle. Keeping them on the road was a matter of looking at the road in front and hoping there weren’t any corners. A thump overhead tells of a night runner on top that has fallen from the sudden stop.