John O'Brien - Takedown

The Stryker pulls in and parks in a position to give it a clear lane of fire to the vehicles and the store entrance. The ramp lowers with the soldier and me exiting using the armored vehicle as cover. As before, if we’re fired upon, we’ll return fire with the Stryker and leave. I have Gonzalez sitting at the rear of the vehicle and keeping a watch on our six. It may be the soldier’s friend or it could be someone who stole the truck. I’m not taking any chances.

“Do you know most of the people in town?” I ask, standing on the ramp at one corner of the Stryker with the soldier beside me.

“Not everyone but, yes, most of them, sir,” he answers.

“Give them a shout then.”

“Whoever is in there, this is Sam…Sam Kennewich,” the soldier yells.

“Sam…Sam, is that really you, man? It’s Jim,” a voice calls from inside the dark depths of the store.

“Get the fuck out here, you shit,” Sam calls good-naturedly, murmuring a “sorry, sir” to me.

“No worries. I’ve heard that word a time or two,” I reply.

A figure emerges tentatively from the Supercenter into the daylight. Five others exit behind him.

“Sir?” Sam asks whether it is okay if he goes to his friend.

“Go ahead.”

I have the teams exit and form a quick perimeter around the Stryker before I follow in Sam’s footsteps. I see him and whoever he was talking to shake hands and then hug. As I approach, the others behind Jim watch me with wariness. Sam, they know, but not me. However, I’m with someone they know so that puts us on a neutral ground.

As I draw near, I hear Sam ask, “So…what’s the story, you know—”

“Dude, it’s all good. Your parents are alive and with us,” Jim interrupts, knowing what Sam wants to know but is afraid to actually ask.

Sam’s eyes well with tears. Jim sees this and pulls him into another hug. Sam sobs quietly for a moment on Jim’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you made it, man. Come on. Let’s go see them,” Jim says. “We were going to check for any remaining supplies here but, what the fuck, we can do that later.”

“And who is this, Sam?” one of the other men in the party asks, nodding in my direction.

“Oh, this is Captain Walker,” Sam answers.

“Jack will be fine,” I say as introductions are made. “Did I hear you say correctly that you were going into the store?”

“Yeah. We have a few supplies but always checking for more,” one of the men says.

“What about night runners? Don’t you have problems with them?”

“Night runners? Oh, you mean those freaks of nature. Yeah, there are a couple hundred of them around. Tricky fuckers, so we don’t go very far inside any place. We get most of our food from the fields and silos around. It’s mostly light bulbs, toilet paper, stuff like that we scavenge in buildings for,” he answers.

“How many of you are there?” I ask.

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”

“Calm down, Kyle. He’s with Sam so that’s good enough for me,” Jim says. Turning to me, he says, “We have about forty left. We holed up in the county jail.”

Sam chuckles. “You know that place well enough.”

“Hey, it was only that one time. It’s not like I had a residency card. And, if I remember right, you were there that night, too.” Sam glances sheepishly toward me.

“You have no worries about that from me. We were all young once,” I say, addressing his worry.

“Come on, let’s go. Your parents have been worried sick about you,” Jim states, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulder.

“Sir, do you mind if I ride with them to catch up?” Sam asks.

I nod okay and head back to the waiting teams. We board and follow the trucks, making a turn to the north at a roundabout. I inform the teams of the good news while we travel. We finally have a better outcome and this causes smiles to shine on every face. The smiles are strained on those who have yet to receive news or have had bad news, but they are smiles nonetheless.

The shops and houses we pass remind me of just about every other town we’ve passed through — store windows broken and some doors hanging open. At the extreme northern end of the town, with scattered industrial buildings, we turn and enter a modern looking building with a brown sign indicating that it’s the ‘Sumner County Jail’. We drive to a sliding security gate at the side of the complex. One of the men jumps out and slides it open. The parking lot we enter has a few pickup trucks parked within it. I notice the fence around the sides and rear of the facility is down in places and the glass entry doors are broken but boarded up.

Several people are out in the parking lot and look our way as we drive in. I suppose it must be quite a surprise to see one of their own head out for supplies only to return with a large armored vehicle. Eyes widen, some in surprise but others have a fearful look in them.

The trucks we were following park. One of the passenger doors opens and Sam exits quickly.

“Mom, Dad,” he shouts, taking off at a run. One of the couples near the edge of the group turns toward the shout.

“Sam?” the woman calls out tentatively.

Sam rushes up and wraps his arms around the woman, hugging her tightly. If he hugged her any tighter, I think she would break. The man joins in, taking all of them in his embrace. They huddle with their heads together. We park the Stryker and exit.

Everyone in both groups is smiling at the reunion, giving hope to those that still have their loved ones to find. I walk over to Jim.

“Who’s in charge here?” I ask.

“That would be Sheriff Dixon,” he replies. “That’s him coming this way.”

I see a man about my size and age approaching. Once he closes, we introduce ourselves. We both trade quick stories, glancing occasionally at the three who are still wrapped together. He asks us to join him inside. I have the teams stay by the Stryker, but the crowd quickly surrounds them, asking questions. I hear some asking about the world outside and if we are part of the military — a common question among the survivors we meet. I guess our outfits and driving an armored military vehicle gives that allusion. I think part of it is people wanting to know if some form of control is coming back and if things will return to normal. I have noticed the disappointment, although covered for the most part, when we tell them our story.

Passing Sam and his parents, the tears have mostly ended. I hear the man say in a low voice, “I’m sorry about Carol, son. We don’t know what happened to her.”

I don’t know what his reaction is as we are soon hustled inside. I have Greg, Robert, and Bri with me.

“We don’t stay in this part anymore,” Dixon says as we cross a lit foyer. “Those creatures of the night break in almost every evening. We’re in the jail proper which they haven’t managed to penetrate.”

We converse for a while giving extended versions of our stories. Dixon knew something bad was happening by the number of calls he started receiving and immediately began rounding up the people who weren’t sick. He lost most of his deputies in the process and the town’s small police force was swallowed up almost immediately, as were the other emergency services. They’d respond to a call only to be taken down. As soon as he figured out what was happening, Dixon stopped responding to calls and began the process of finding those still alive.

“However, that cost us dearly and I lost a number of good people doing that,” he says, his eyes glazing over as he recalls the past.

He seems like a decent sort, especially as he was trying to save as many as he could even though he was putting himself and his staff in danger. I let him know more about the place we have set up and tell him he’s more than welcome to join us.