A New World: Return (12 page)

“Thanks,” I say jumping off of the night runner and turning quickly towards where the horde was moments before, expecting them to be right on my heels.

“No problem, sir,” she responds turning her weapon on the horde standing on the edge of the shadows where they shriek wildly in frustration.

Only the faint outlines of their heads are visible and appear to be thrusting forward, wanting desperately to get at us.
 
Then, as if a switch were thrown, the shrieks stop and the heads vanish instantly into the dark depths of the store leaving behind only the slapping sound of shoes and bare feet on the linoleum echoing in the BX, growing dimmer before silence descends upon us once again.

We all stand momentarily shocked by the suddenness of both the onslaught and retreat.
 
Only moments before the air was filled with the sound of gunfire, shrieks, and shouting, now only the lingering smell of gunpowder remains.

“Well, that was fun and interesting,” I say heading back to retrieve my M-4, still wary and alert for any attack.

Gathering my now almost useless rifle off of the floor, I return to the group, checking the stock and gun for any damage.
 
The wounded soldier is lying by the entrance; the once loud moans have subsided to an occasional whimper.
 
Kneeling by his side, I can feel heat radiating from him and notice beads of sweat form on his brow and run down his temple forming small pools on the floor by his head.
 
The gouges on his neck and shoulder area from the night runner have stopped bleeding and are now merely leaking plasma mixed with blood.

“How’s the other one?”
 
I ask looking up at Horace.

“He’s dead.
 
Bled out before we could get to him.” She replies.

“Let’s get everyone outside. Have your team put them in the van.
 
We’ll bandage him up when we get to the aircraft”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many supplies did we manage to get out?”
 
I ask looking at the carts, full of bottled water and various cans of food, sitting just outside of the doors.

“We managed to get most of the water and a few cans of food before they hit,” Horace answers.

“Ammo check,” I call out to everyone.
 
A quick check reveals we are down to thirty six rounds between all of us.
 
That’s cutting it rather close
, I think and make a mental note to increase the basic load out for all teams.

“Red Team, gather the supplies and load them into the van,” I call out as we step through the front doors and out into the morning.
 
The front of the BX is still shaded from the sun.
 
I get no reply but see them walk over to the carts to begin loading.

I turn back to see Horace’s team emerge through the broken glass door carrying the wounded solder by the arms and legs.
 
Watching the team with their load, I see the unconscious soldier begin to thrash wildly to the point that they have to set him back on the pavement where his thrashing continues.
 
Stepping closer, I see his exposed skin begin to turn the same bright red as had the other night runners when exposed to the sun.
 
The flailing continues to increase along with the moaning.
 
His eyes flash open and the pain within them is apparent to all who are watching.
 
He begins a shrieking scream and sits up quickly causing all of us standing around to jump back a step.
 
The shrieking builds quickly only to suddenly subside into silence as he slumps over to the side, his head hitting the concrete sidewalk with a crack.
 
He lays there still and utterly silent, his once pallid skin now looks like he stayed by the pool in the sun too long.

“Hmmmm, that’s different,” I say, mostly to myself but heard by those around.

“Anyone know if he had the vaccination?”
 
I ask the assembled group.

The only responses are shrugs and a shaking of heads.
 
Looking around at their faces, I see the implication has already set in for most.
 
The disease can be transmitted and has to be treated as a pathogen
, I think
.
 
And the onset is measured in minutes instead of hours and days for those that are not immune.
 
The virus carried in the night runners must be more potent than the original vaccine
.

“Okay, we leave them both here.
 
We can’t risk getting blood on us or anyone else,” I continue noticing the others have already dropped the second body and are backing away from it.

Everyone begins checking themselves over for any contamination.
 
I hear the sighs of relief from each one as they find themselves clean.
 
This changes my thinking and assumption that anyone left alive is/was immune.
 
Those that had the vaccination, yes.
 
Those that did not, well, that is a toss-up.
 
Me included.
 
Luckily, I know that my kids had the vaccine and are immune, so, it is more than likely that I am as well, using the process of elimination as to which parent carried the immunity.

I feel the adrenaline winding down leaving the past few moments inside the store feeling like a surreal event.
 
Standing here in the breeze with the sun continuing its climb into the clear, blue sky only adds to that feeling.
 
The seemingly normalness of the day, well, if anything can completely seem normal anymore, creates a gulf between the now and the intense firefight only moments ago.
 
The firefight, such as I have never seen before in its intensity and ferocity, seemed to last an eternity but the passage of time out here was only a few moments.
 
The two bodies on the ground are the only physical reminders of what occurred and a message that our tactics will have to change.
 
Our advantage of fire power is only as good as our tactics.
 
We certainly cannot afford to be in a battle of attrition or we are just not going to be around for that much longer.
 
I sense the others around are also coming down to a feeling of normalcy, the events still clear, but being put away in the back of their minds.

“Okay, let’s get these supplies loaded and head back,” I say clearing my thoughts and returning to the present.

“Are you doing okay?”
 
I ask Robert as I stand next to him gathering water bottles and see a tremor run through his hands.

“Yeah,” he replies.

“You did a good job in there,” I say.

“I was scared shitless,” he says in response.

“Yeah, well, we all were kiddo.
 
But you didn’t let it affect you and stood in there.”

“But you and the others didn’t seem like it,” he says looking up from his gathering.

“I was fucking terrified,” I say.
 
“As I am quite sure the others were.
 
But you stayed in there when most anyone else would’ve run.
 
And I have to tell you that was one of the most intense firefights I have ever seen.”

“But you and everyone seemed so calm.
 
You were giving orders and coordinating like you were organizing a dinner party or something.”

“Did you notice that your fear was more intense before anything happened and that once it started, you stopped feeling that way and just reacted?”

“Well, yeah, to an extent I guess.”

“That’s normal and something you’ll kind of get used to.
 
That transition from feeling anxious to reacting happens more quickly each time.
 
Did you notice that everything seemed to slow down?”
 
I ask.

“Yeah, I did notice that.
 
There were times when everything seemed like it was happening in slow motion,” Robert answers.

“That’s something to use when it happens but be aware it is happening.
 
Everything around you is still operating in real time.
 
Thoughts and reactions come through with lightning speed and that’s an advantage you have to use with a sense of calm.
 
You can think and react faster so use that to your advantage.
 
But be aware that the reaction of things around you will seem slow.
 
For instance, you move the throttle up.
 
It will actually move up quickly because of your action, however, other indications outside of that won’t make it seem to you that it is.
 
For example, the gauge you are staring will appear to move slowly and maybe give you the feeling that your action was not effective.
 
The outside things reacting to your action will not appear to register immediately or react.
 
You have to be aware of this and allow for it.
 
Does that make any sense?”
 
I ask.

“Yeah, it does,” he replies.

My memory tracks back to a time when temporal distortion, the slowing of time in an extreme situation, killed a good friend of mine.
 
He was doing a touch and go in a T-38 with a student who was on his first flight.
 
My friend let the student try to land – the T-38 is one tricky aircraft to land.
 
It has short wings built for speed and the second highest landing airspeed of any aircraft in the world.
 
At any rate, he let the student go too far and did not take corrective action until too late.
 
The aircraft hit the runway hard and bounced high back into the air.
 
My friend attempted save the situation by initiating a go around and rammed the throttles into what he thought was afterburner.
 
The resulting bounce had angled the aircraft off to the side a little so they were not flying parallel to the runway.
 
The wings wobbled a little – not a good sign in the T-38 – but it finally looked like he might make it.

There were two problems though.
 
One, they were headed straight for the tall control tower that directed transient and civilian aircraft, and two, they were not in afterburner.
 
Still, it looked like they were going to make it but the jet, in an attempt to avoid the tower, suddenly pitched up, rolled onto its back, plummeted to the ground, and slid across it in a fireball.
 
The crash investigation revealed that the throttles were only set at about 70% power and concluded that temporal distortion was the cause.
 
My friend was putting the throttles into afterburner but was not seeing the corresponding results on the instruments.
 
It was thought that he did not think he was getting the afterburner to light and was cycling the throttles in an attempt to get them lit when all he was really doing was moving the throttles very rapidly back and forth.
 
The temporal distortion made him think he was moving the throttles up smoothly but not getting the afterburner to light, when, in actuality, he was not giving the instruments time to respond.
 
Yes, temporal distortion can be a life saver most of the time, but it can also have disastrous consequences if you are not aware it is happening.

“Anyway, you did well.
 
Oh and thanks.”

“For what?”
 
He asks with a hint of confusion crossing his face.
 
The gears of his mind cycling through events trying to figure out what I am referring to.

“That night runner would’ve had me cold in the aisle if you hadn’t shot him,” I say with a small smile.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” he says with a trace of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Let’s get these loaded,” I finish our conversation with a nod.

It is a silent drive back to the airfield and ramp.
 
Everyone is lost in their thoughts.
 
Having been there in the post adrenaline combat moment a few times, I know that some are thinking about and reliving the events while other thoughts move towards the future and the odds of survival.
 
Seeing Horace’s van behind us in the rear view, I know the same silence must be riding along with them, especially with the loss of two of their team.
 
Any loss of that nature brings second guessing.
 
I know it is affecting me and wondering two things.
 
What could I, or we, have done differently?
 
What do we need to change in future endeavors to prevent or minimize any losses?
 
And, do I still have the confidence of the team?
 
Okay, that is three things.

“Sir,” I hear McCafferty say behind me.

I turn in my seat to see Red Team sitting on the bench seats with their weapons propped between their legs and looking from McCafferty to me.

“Yes,” I respond back.

“I know I speak for the rest of us when I say thank you for getting us out of there,” she says.

“It wasn’t me.
 
It was our teamwork and working together that got us out of there,” I say feeling relieved, realizing that my worry about their confidence in me has been answered.

She merely nods at my response along with the rest of the team and they fold back to their private thoughts.