John O'Brien - Takedown

She feels her pack returning from their nightly hunt. She went out during the night to join in the chase, but returned before the others that went farther afield. Her fear that her pack would run into Michael’s have come to naught. One worry she has is that they would rejoin his pack and she needs every one of them. She knows she stirred up the two-legged ones but, so far, they have remained within their compound during the night. She has heard their voices from the vehicles from time to time but they haven’t attacked.

Another worry she has of Michael attacking hasn’t materialized either. She has cast out periodically to see if she can figure out his intentions but has come up blank so far. Sandra thought he would attack her lair as soon as he found out what she did. After all, that’s what she would have done. To this point, though, her pack and lair have been left untouched. She doesn’t know whether to be thankful or more worried.

Most nights she has gone forth, she has made her way north in an attempt to sense the other two-legged one. She hasn’t felt anything and worries that he isn’t still alive. Perhaps he fled when she attacked. Whatever the reason, it worries her. She may have to kill the female after all and call it good. If she has to do that, she will move her pack away from here as Michael will surely do something at some point. Perhaps she will move back to their previous location. For now, she will watch and wait.

During the flight, Robert, Bri, and I take turns resting on the bunk to catch up on our lost sleep. After seeing Lynn, I plan to collapse on my cot and turn the world off for about two days. I would turn it off for longer, but it has shown a distinct lack of doing what I want it to. The droning of the engines is lulling — well, for some. The roar isn’t as strong in the cockpit. Those in back usually have a different story to tell with the engines being just on the other side of the thin, aluminum skin. The action and being up for twenty-four hours plus is starting to take its toll.

The earth below drifts slowly past us. I swear if it were to go any slower, we’d be going in reverse. I look at the airspeed indicator a few times to make sure we do, in fact, have forward momentum. Eventually, as does all things, time moves on and I wake Robert to begin our preparation for landing.

Beginning our descent, I call the compound. We’ve been out of contact for days and it will be nice to reconnect. I didn’t think the satellites would hold up for much longer, but it was nice to have the sat phones for the limited time we did. One of the aspects about losing that communication medium is that we won’t be able stay in contact with Leonard and his crew. When we fly back out to meet with Greg, whenever that might be — I glance at Robert assuring myself for the thousandth time that he looks okay — I’ll fly up the Western Seaboard on the way home and try to get into communication with him.

“Base. This is Jack on UHF. How do you copy?” I call.

“Jack. You’re back earlier than expected, but it’s good to hear you. Standby, I’ll go get Drescoll,” Kathy replies.

I’m a little confused as to why she didn’t say she’d get Lynn. “Can you get Lynn as well?” I ask, eager to hear Lynn’s voice.

There isn’t a reply and I assume she has darted off to round up Drescoll. Moments pass as Mount Rainier slides past our window and we begin a turning descent north toward McChord AFB.

“Jack, glad to hear from you. Where are you?” Drescoll finally comes on the radio.

“We’re about twenty minutes out. Can you inform Bannerman that we’re bringing eighty-plus guests to dinner? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. And let the others know that Greg and his team are continuing the search on the ground. I’ll brief you in detail when I get there. Can you have buses brought up and we need some additional transportation as well?”

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. We just have an aircraft full of guests for delivery.”

There is a pause on the other end. “Okay, Jack, I’ll meet you at the field.”

“Is Lynn there?” I ask.

I’m puzzled why Lynn isn’t on the radio and going to meet us upon arrival. Worry creeps in. I feel that Drescoll is being evasive and isn’t telling me something. The more I think about it, the more worried I get. Perhaps she’s off with the others in training and not available. I have the tendency at times to let my mind come up with worst case scenarios. I’m sure there’s a perfectly plausible explanation. No doubt Drescoll’s next communication will tell me this is one of those times.

We float over Olympia as we line up on a long final for McChord AFB. The waters of South Puget Sound are rough with a strong breeze blowing from the north. The late afternoon sun glitters off the tops of the choppy waves like diamonds on a blue-aqua background. Cabela’s drifts past. On the other side of the freeway, equipment is busy cleaning up the rubble from the destroyed buildings. Trees around the compound lie on the ground as the area continues to be cleared away. The inner wall appears to be finished and workers surround upright shipping containers near the main entrance and wall corners. It looks like our inner defenses are almost complete. The scene passing below seems normal.

The pause in our conversation is a little too long and I have an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. A faint impression brushes against my mind, coming from below. It’s too quick to pinpoint but, for some weird reason, an image of Lynn flashes through my mind. It could just be caused from my worry, but it feels different than that. My anxiety builds and I open my mind for a moment. I swear the image came in the form I’ve become accustomed to sensing from night runners. It’s gone so quickly but the picture was of Lynn in a dark room. It doesn’t make any sense. I open up a little more, but nothing else returns.

“Drescoll, are you there?” I finally ask.

“Yeah… sorry, Jack. I was organizing transportation. I’ll talk to you when we pick you up. Drescoll, out.”

That throws me for another loop. There is definitely something going on, and I’m sure I’m not going to like it. Apparently, Drescoll doesn’t think I will either. If he was maintaining communication security, he would relay that in the form of coded phrases we developed. I glance at our sanctuary that is about to disappear under the wing looking for signs of something amiss. Again, to all appearances, everything seems normal. I feel like calling Drescoll back to get some information — I’m not overly fond of the waiting game — but I trust him and he is doing what he is for a reason. I focus on the upcoming landing but with a definite tightness around my heart.

The landing isn’t one of my more stellar feats of flying, but we’re on the ground. I taxi quickly to the ramp and park next to our collection of 130s. One of them won’t escape the surly bonds of earth anymore and soon, none of them will. A couple of Humvees pull onto the ramp as our propellers wind to a stop. They are followed by several school buses and a Humvee bringing up the rear.

I open the ramp. The cargo compartment needs airing out and cleaning as some of the stomachs riding in back didn’t overly appreciate the flight. Bannerman and Drescoll, along with Drescoll’s Green Team, meet us at the rear of the aircraft. I make a quick round of introductions and signal to Drescoll to meet me off to the side, leaving the care of our passengers in Bannerman’s capable hands.

Joining Drescoll, who is standing to the side, I turn to glance at Robert. He knows what the look is for and gives me a head nod letting me know he is okay. I signal for to him to refuel the aircraft. The plan I had was for us to wait for a few days to see if Robert is indeed okay, and then head back out to meet up with Greg. I have a feeling that those plans are about to change.