A New World: Taken (18 page)

The street ahead of us is the main road that runs by the high school.
 
The sun is almost directly overhead.
 
The afternoon has begun.
 
We’ll have to move slower as we get closer to the camp.
 
We have time but not enough to set up camp and tell war stories.
 
The red truck cruising around has never left my mind and, for this reason, the road in front of me has me nervous.
 
We’re far enough away and around a bend in the road from the towers so I’m not worried about being seen by anyone there.
 
It’s the truck and any other wandering patrols they might have.

“You watch, I’ll go,” I say into the radio.

“I’ve got you,” Lynn responds.

I rise and, with a look to the left and right, dash across.
 
Going slow or creeping across a road is a truly useless action.
 
I settle into bushes on the far side and wait.
 
Nothing.

“Go,” I say.

Lynn dashes across and joins me.
 
We enter a small band of trees and turn south, entering another neighborhood and make our way slowly through.
 
Nearing an area adjacent to the school, we scale another fence and enter a large wooded expanse filled with trails.
 
The area between the various trails is dense so we should be able to keep from being seen as long as someone from the compound doesn’t decide to take their afternoon power walk.
 
I always thought it was crazy to have a densely wooded area across from a high school but maybe that was me being jealous that I didn’t have one like it when I went to school.
 
On further thought, it’s probably a good idea there wasn’t.

We find a secluded spot and settle in.
 
“What are we doing? I thought we were going to leave these and head back,” Lynn asks taking out the steaks.

“We made better time than I thought and we have time.
 
If we put these out too early, I’m afraid any animals or wandering packs of dogs might get to them rendering the whole idea moot,” I answer.
 
“They still might but at least the smell may linger.”

“Good point,” she says settling in next to me.

We wait out the afternoon listening to the squirrels and other small animals scurry about.
 
I’m surprised to an extent that there doesn’t seem to be a population decrease with night runners about but I guess they would only be an additional predator to them.
 
Or the night runners haven’t ventured here as yet.
 
A thought occurs wondering how long the night runners can live if they can only hunt at night.
 
There aren’t really that many predators that hunt at night for the very reason that a lot of prey has gone to ground.
 
I mean, the large prey can’t so maybe they’ll survive.
 
I wonder how the behavior of animals will change with a dramatic increase in the amount of night predators.
 
Lynn always said I had too much time on my hands and these thoughts are the result of said time.

Afternoon rays of sun reach the forest floor in small strips of light and take on a more brown-orange tint as the day heads into late afternoon.
 
Rising from where I had laid down, I mention it’s time to go.
 
We take out the steaks which have turned from the delicious looking red to a less delicious brown-gray.
 
Tossing them into the surrounding brush, we retrace our route to a point close to the highway and turn south to rendezvous with the rest of the teams.

The sun is behind the hills turning the surrounding area into the blue-gray shade of dusk.
 
All of us are in the trees just out of sight of the camp in a box formation.
 
We’ll move up just before the pure dark of the night in order to situate ourselves.
 
My nerves are riding high.
 
Being out in the dark with this many bodies and night runners possibly lurking in the area makes me extremely nervous.
 
We sprayed the scent eliminator but who knows just how helpful that is with the tremendous capabilities of the night runners.
 
Greg and I have also donned our stalks of grass.
 
Waiting has always been the hardest part for me.
 
Let’s just get it done one way or the other as far as I’m concerned.

Darkness closes in and faint shrieks reach our position in the trees as if vocally signaling the official beginning of night.
 
Other shrieks sound from the east; across the compound.
 
It’s only a matter of time before the night runners venture this way.

“Henderson, Denton, do you have shots?”
 
I ask quietly.

“Yes, sir.
 
They’re all lined up as long as the spotlight is to the side,” Henderson answers for both.

“Okay, Greg, let’s move,” I say grabbing a ladder.

I move out the same as I did two nights prior.
 
Only this time I have the ladder underneath me as I move forward lifting me a little higher than I’d like.
 
The lights pan across a couple of times and I bury myself as far into the ground as I can get.
 
The beam focuses primarily in the trees but this time, on the third pass, it is sweeping directly across the grass.
 
Uh oh
, I think lowering my head.
 
The pounding in my heart increases to the point that I hope I’m not shaking the grass nearby.
 
The ground lightens as the spotlight inches closer.
 
Well, it pans but it feels like it moves in inches.
 
The ground grows lighter by the second until I am bathed in its radiance.
 
The light stops.

The individual stalks cast their own shadow in the beam’s intensity.
 
I can’t see much as the goggles haven’t adjusted to the intensity of the light change as yet.
 
I have my head burrowed so I haven’t achieved a white-out condition but the clarity is gone.
 
Thoughts wonder as to why the light has stopped but deep down, I know we’ve been spotted.
 
Rise now and take the shot?
 
Why hasn’t Henderson or Denton taken the shot?
 
I don’t dare move to press the mic button to tell them to do so before the guards get a radio call out.
 
Lynn is there and she’ll make the right call.
 
My job is to lie perfectly still.
 
The light stays.

Minutes pass – actually seconds.
 
My nerves are on the highest edge and my mind warns my body to be prepared for pain.
 
I just hope the team can get the kids out.
 
I don’t care so much what happens to me just as long as they’re safe.
 
The light beside me dims and darkness takes its place.
 
I raise my head and see the light moving off to my right.
 
I’m surprised my sigh doesn’t blow a six foot deep hole in the ground.
 
A quick wave of nausea passes through me and I start to move again.
 
I have just taken twenty years off my life but I’m still around.

I reach the fence and slide through at an opportune time and hold it open for Greg.
 
We close it without sealing it and stalk up to the base of the tower.
 
My whole body is still tingling from the close call but is settling down.
 
I set the ladder down and lie in the grass with Greg by the opposite post.
 
I give a thumbs up and see his in return through the green glow.

The spotlight is still off to the side panning around in the trees.
 
“Henderson, Denton, when you have a moment, we’re ready,” I whisper into the radio.

Two soft claps reach out along with a corresponding double flash from within the depth of the trees.
 
The claps are so close together they sound as if it’s almost one.
 
The two 7.62mm rounds streak toward their destination uncaring what that might be.
 
The first strikes one of the guards just to the right of the bridge of his nose and is deflected to the right ever so slightly.
 
It mushrooms only a bit and the now slightly warped bullet passes through the tear duct meeting little to no resistance as it destroys the eye before entering the brain and impacting the rear of the cranium at a high rate of speed.
 
There, it mushrooms fully and explodes out of the back taking a significant amount of the skull with it.
 
A chunky spray, consisting of brain matter, blood, flesh, bone fragments, and hair, blows backward.
 
The guard never knew what hit him.
 
The nerve signals from the nose began their travel to the brain at light speed, firing several synapses along the way before being unable to continue.
 
If the feel of the bullet striking the nose was even registered, it was so quick as to be non-existent.
 
The guard was checking for movement along the beam of the spotlight and then all went black.
 
Nothingness.

The second round hits the other guard in the middle of the forehead.
 
The upward trajectory of the streaking projectile causes the bullet to angle sharply upward.
 
The thick bone of the guard’s forehead mushrooms and splinters the shell as it penetrates the skull.
 
Taking a sharp upward angle, the steel-core round slams into the top of the cranium and exits taking a large part of the guard’s head with it, splattering the ceiling of the guard tower with gore.
 
The first guard’s head snaps backwards.
 
His body follows and he drops from sight.
 
The second guard’s body stands for a moment as if not believing it’s been injured and then falls heavily to the floor.

The spotlight flashes skyward and is lost from sight.
 
The beam comes to rest, shining upward onto the ceiling of the tower.
 
Greg and I rise as one and quickly pull the tactical ladder into its full upright position and attach the small hooks on the end to the tower overhang.
 
With me holding the ladder, Greg quickly scales quietly upward.
 
The ladder is made of hardened plastic which allows for a silent climb.
 
I hear faint static from the radio above.
 
The spotlight beam moves and is once again panning the area, carefully avoiding the team that has crept to the edge of the trees.

Another burst of static from the radio.
 
I hear Greg faintly, “Yeah, it’s all good.
 
I dropped the fucking thing.”

“Okay, Lynn, go,” I say lying once again in the grass at the base of the tower.

I sight in on the other side tower – tower four – and see nothing amiss.
 
The soft sound of grass swishing against pants legs penetrates the area around the tower but not loud enough to be heard from any distance.
 
I watch as Lynn slides through the fence and holds it open for the others.
 
She then heads by me, pausing only to give me a firm hand squeeze on my shoulder, and, with the other team members following, makes her way slowly to the trees.
 
McCafferty crouches beside me. Henderson and Denton arrive and quickly scale the tower as I hold the ladder steady.
 
Greg climbs down and the ladder is pulled up.
 
We are in and it was like a mist flowing rapidly onshore; swift and quiet.

A shriek echoes through the trees we just vacated.
 
That was cutting it a bit close and other shrieks respond from the woods across the compound, seemingly from the area Lynn and I were in earlier that afternoon.
 
That ought to keep the guards busy for a while
, I think watching the spotlights swing in the direction of the howls.
 
Greg, McCafferty and I creep slowly through the grass and arrive in the trees.
 
The only indications that the copse is occupied are the lumps on the ground behind trees.
 
I only know they are there because of the NVG’s and, well, because I know they are supposed to be there.
 
I guess if there were a tension meter present, that would indicate we were there as well.

“Okay, Lynn, keep ’em down.
 
We’re heading to the gym,” I say once we all settle into place.

“Copy that, Jack.
 
Good luck,” she whispers back in the radio.

I tap McCafferty at my side.
 
She nods and, rising, we head in a slow crouch to my favorite dumpster and fold into the corner.
 
I take a step toward the pool building corner when I hear the faint crunch of a footstep.
 
Fuck!
 
Really?!
 
I think as I turn and quickly motion McCafferty back to the dumpster.
 
The step sounds close.
 
I direct us quickly to the opposite side of the dumpster.
 
We don’t really fit as there are two of us but we really don’t have much of a choice.
 
We’re both hidden by the large green container but not as well as I’d like.
 
I hear the very faint shuffling of footsteps.