John O'Brien - Conspiracy

Greg pans the small gun turret around just in time to see a night runner get to its feet. It fills the screen and Greg depresses the trigger for a split second. A single round exits the barrel and catches the night runner in its midriff. The explosive force of the heavy caliber round rockets the night runner backward. Greg watches as it is hurtled from the top and drops from view.

That’s going to cause notice in the morning , Greg thinks, regarding the other group finding a dead night runner in the middle of the road.

Scanning the area, Greg doesn’t see any sign of the night runner getting up and running away. Nor is there any sight of the others. It seems all clear around them. The driver begins his turn.

“Driver, stop.” To the others, he says, “There’s a night runner out there that I shot off the top. We can’t have the others find it in the morning. Get out and pick up the body.”

The hatch drops once again. Moments later, two of the soldiers drag the carcass of a night runner aboard, dropping it in the middle of the floor. The round did a tremendous amount of damage, almost tearing the night runner in half. Blood covers its tattered clothing and exits its nostrils and mouth. Entrails leak from its torso. Diane eyes the pale figure once and vomits into the mess. A couple of the other soldiers turn pale as well. The stench of bowels and vomit permeates the Stryker.

Greg looks to Kyle and nods forward. Kyle gathers Diane and makes her look into his eyes. He then directs her forward where Greg settles her into a corner where at least the sight of the night runner is minimized. The smell, however, grows stronger until everyone is gagging.

“Move…now!” Greg commands the driver.

The motion causes blood to run down the narrow aisle. The stench becomes a physical presence making it hard to breathe. The Stryker reaches its exit point and they begin their slow climb into the hills once again. Greg halts them half way up the quarry road and has the night runner carcass tossed down into the ravine. Brandishing the few towels they have, the team cleans up the blood, feces, vomit, and a few pieces of the night runner left behind. After finishing, the smell is still there but much diminished.

It’s now that Greg looks at the poor soul the team rescued. Through the grunge covering him, Greg sees that it’s a young lad about twelve years old. He looks to Kyle asking if this is his brother. Kyle shakes his head. The other soldiers check his vitals and assure Greg that the boy is only unconscious but should recover. They slowly resume their ascent and reach their former position.

With very little sleep because of the reek, the team emerges at first light. For some, it feels like the first time they’ve been able to draw a full breath in months. Greg organizes the team — two will stay with the Stryker, the remaining five will accompany him. The boy they rescued moans but doesn’t waken. The two remaining will attend to him and Diane while the others are away.

“Clean up this mess while we’re gone. We don’t want to have to suffer through it another night. If you haven’t heard from us by morning, leave and make your way back to the compound.”

Gathering the others at the rim, Greg shows them the cave entrance and their approach. He still hasn’t reckoned whether this will be just to rescue the prisoners or whether he’ll bring the horrors committed here to an end. He’ll have to play that one by ear.

Dirt puffs out with each step as Kyle guides them along the sand which has been ground down to a fine powder from the heavy equipment traveling back and forth across its surface. The early morning sun casts long shadows from the hills and undulations inherent in the open mine. Each team member has a coil of rope draped around their neck extending under their arm. The arrangement allows them freedom of movement should it come down to a firefight. The tension emanating from each is palpable and they make their way in silence.

Greg’s heart is pounding, but his mind is too busy with thoughts to take notice. He is engaged in running the scenario endlessly through his head — searching for something he may have missed. They toil onward until they find themselves at the mouth of a steep ravine leading downward between steep bluffs. To Greg, the angle seems more like one of the speed slides you’d find at a water park than a path. Only this water slide is complete with rocks, scrub brush, and scree which would make the ride unenjoyably painful.

With careful slowness, they begin their descent in single file due to the narrowness of the ravine. At first they only have to skirt around brush and over stunted fallen pine trees. The angle steepens and they soon find themselves scrambling over boulders and through rocky shale. They struggle to keep quiet and not dislodge any rocks which would start a small landslide. From here, any noise they make will be carried along the valley floor, echoing off the steep bluffs…and to the buildings.

The caution and care required to make the descent takes the soldiers’ minds from their impending mission as all thought and action is directed toward staying on their feet. Anyone starting to fall is caught by the teammate behind them until they are stable enough to continue. More than once, lips press tight to refrain from uttering curses. They know that the mission is entirely dependent on a stealthy approach, and they strive to keep it that way.

Greg, making his way behind Kyle, slides across yet another boulder. The tall hills to either side make him think just how small the team really is. They are five people struggling down an incline and attempting to infiltrate a base, potentially outnumbered eight to one. They are far from any support and if they get caught in the open, they could become just five bodies rotting in this wilderness valley — quickly forgotten. They’d be no different than the billions lying in homes, parking lots, fields, and buildings. Nothing but bones bleaching under the sun year after year. He shakes these thoughts loose as they reach the bottom.

Some day that will be true, but today isn’t that day , he thinks, gathering in his surroundings.

The valley is in shadows with sunlight only illuminating the top of the bluffs on the western side. The cliffs rise sharply on either side of the narrow valley floor. The gorge they are in looks like it was created by a jagged knife splitting the hills in two. Stunted pine trees dot the sides with clumps of scrub brush growing between. The shrubs become denser on the valley floor but there is a small path that meanders through the shoulder-high bushes. It’s no wider than a game trail but, most importantly, it’s free of tracks.

In single file, they begin a slow march south along the floor. The path rises a short distance on one hill and then crosses the valley floor to proceed along the adjacent hill, eventually intersecting a larger path. Greg halts them in the bushes and observes the path with Kyle.

From here, the outline of the rooftop of the structure sitting atop the opposite cliff is visible. The dirt path is wide enough to comfortably accommodate two people walking side by side and proceeds up the bluff in a series of switchbacks.

“Sir, this path leads to the sink hole. We won’t be seen until we reach the very top. If there’s anyone inside the back of the building, they’ll have a direct view of the path and entrance,” Kyle says.

“Let’s hope no one’s home then,” Greg states.

With that, they leave the cover of the bushes in intervals and begin scaling the path. Greg takes the lead and feels tension build the closer he draws to the top. His mouth goes dry as adrenaline begins seeping into his system. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he subconsciously strokes the trigger guard of his M-4 pointed ahead of him. Slowly, more of the building is revealed as he climbs higher. After negotiating the switchbacks, he nears the top and goes prone, crawling the last few feet toward the crest.