John O'Brien - Takedown

“I think we can agree on that,” he comments.

“Great. You can pull your men in the trucks back and I’ll have the 130 taxi up.”

“You saw that, eh? Sorry. You can’t be too careful these days, Jack.”

“I’m with you on that. It’s been…an interesting experience to date,” I agree, calling Robert on the radio to bring the aircraft up and telling Greg all appears okay.

“Are you guys from a military unit?” Tim asks.

“Well, yes and no. We have a few soldiers from varying outfits but nothing official. Like that’s even a thing anymore. Most of the folks we have back home are civilian, though,” I answer, hearing the throaty roar of the 130 increase as Robert taxis along the runway.

“Same here. We have a few military and some civilians who either worked on base or wandered in. So, there’s nothing left, huh?”

“Not that I can tell. We’ve made several hops to different places and have met with differing results in every location, but nothing that remotely resembles a form of government control,” I reply.

“We’re just grilling up something to eat. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“Now, that sounds like the best plan I’ve heard in a while. We don’t have much of anything to bring to the party, though,” I state.

“No worries. Your company and news will be good enough,” Tim says.

Robert parks the 130 at the far northern end and Greg brings the Stryker up. Lengthy introductions are made and the pickups that left, return. I notice a line of port-a-potties lining one of the hangar walls. The grills have been tied down to the ramp with concrete anchors and chain.

“The night creatures kept knocking them over every night,” Tim says, noticing my looking over the setup.

“So where do you hole up at night?” I ask.

“In the aircraft. We have bedding set up in them and pull ladders in with us when we button down at night. So far, they haven’t been able to get inside or up on the wings. It’s insulated, so their nightly screaming doesn’t bother us very much. Plus, we’ve grown accustomed to it so it’s not all that bad. They also haven’t managed to break into the reefer trailers so far, thank goodness. We scavenged a lot of frozen goods at the outset and stocked them,” he replies.

I give him a rundown of our situation and end by asking him how many he has here.

“We currently have twenty-three. We had more but have lost a few going into buildings for supplies. The military folks are from the base here and come from different units. The civilians drifted in from all over. We haven’t had anyone new in a while, but we keep an eye out when we make supply runs.”

“Any trouble with bandits?” I ask.

He pauses, looking a little confused before answering. “No. None so far.”

“Well, they’re around in places. We’ve had some run-ins with several groups.”

“We keep watch but haven’t had any problems so far.”

“So, what did you do, Tim?” I ask, noticing all of the men, and a couple of women intermingled, are all armed with M-16s or M-4s.

“I was a maintenance chief here. The others, they are a scattering from different base units,” he answers.

“Wait…you’re a mechanic?”

“Yes, sir. Why, something wrong with your bird?” he asks.

“No, but having a jet mechanic would certainly be helpful. Not that we have a lot of time before the fuel expires but handy nonetheless,” I respond.

“As would a pilot here.”

“No pilots left, eh?”

“Not that we’ve found,” he answers. “I can get the aircraft started to charge the batteries but that’s about the extent of my expertise. I’m afraid that any attempt to try and fly one of these beasts will only end in tears.”

The teams join us and we intermingle, sharing stories, food, and some serious talk with moments of laughter thrown in. I tell Tim and his group what our purpose is here. He offers to send some of his people down with us. I thank him but let him know that the Stryker is pretty crowded as it is. With our bellies full of hamburgers along with the trimmings, I tell him that he and his group are more than welcome to join us when we head off.

“That’s awfully kind of you, Jack. We’ll have to talk it over tonight and let you know if that’s okay.”

“Perfectly okay. We’ll head south for our search shortly and return before dark if we’re able,” I comment.

I would hole up for the rest of the day with Tim and his group — we all need the rest and visiting with them has raised our spirits — but I also know that the soldier is eager to find out about his family. I know I would be and so it would be selfish for us not to take the time we have to go look at the earliest opportunity…which is now.

We gather our gear and the teams load up — as we have done now seemingly hundreds of times. The smell of a locker room is beginning to override the diesel, oil, and electrical smells inside the Stryker. With Tim’s group nearby and having no trouble with marauders to date, I’m not all that concerned about transiting the outlying areas on our journey south. That doesn’t mean we won’t proceed slowly and scout the area ahead, it’s just that I feel a little more comfortable. That could be because my stomach is full of barbecued burgers. It was nice being able to relax some and shoot the shit.

The journey through the base is quick and we soon find ourselves traveling down the interstate. We drive past several housing areas which are mostly hidden behind fences and soon find ourselves out in the countryside. The change is abrupt — one minute passing wooden and concrete fences and the next, traveling next to hedgerow-lined fields. The scattered clouds above begin to cover a greater portion of the sky. Sunshine pokes through the breaks sending rays down to brighten patches of ground.

The trip is like most of the others we’ve encountered — farm houses spaced far apart and machinery lying idle in fields or in sheds but no sign of anyone around. We don’t pass a single other settlement on our way south. The only place that comes vaguely close is a rest stop situated between the north and south lanes. A green highway sign indicates that ‘Wellington’ is at the next exit. The soldier informs us that the town is a mile or so off the road. We exit the freeway onto the ramp and take a right toward the town.

The first indication of civilization, so to speak, is a campground off to one side of the road. The yellow KOA Campground sign hangs as a reminder of time past. I’m not sure what would hold anyone’s interest around here to make this a stop for campers, but the soldier assures me that it was full during the summer. I see the anticipation and fear in his eyes as we are about to enter his hometown. He has seen our success to date so I’m guessing it’s mostly fear. I knew that fear of the unknown with regards to your loved ones when Robert and Bri were taken. And of course, the ultimate loss of Nic.

Passing the campground which was aging even when people were actually inhabiting it, I spy a Walmart ahead with an adjacent McDonald’s in front next to the road. I have the soldier in the open turret with me in order to help guide us, making it rather cramped. The shopping center parking lot is mostly empty, but a couple of pickup trucks are parked near one of the entrance doors.

“Wait, sir. I recognize one of those trucks. It belongs to one of my buddies,” the solider says.

I ask the driver to pull into the Walmart and notify the rest of the teams of our plan to investigate. We slow and turn into the lot. As we do, I see one of the truck doors open and someone exits to dart inside the store.

“We have a runner who just disappeared into the store,” I tell the others.