A New World: Awakening (16 page)

“So you’re planning to leave the aircraft and our supplies unguarded?”
 
Greg asks.

“I really don’t see any other way.
 
We could fly down to Lubbock but this weather creates an unknown,” I answer.

“Do you trust this Miguel guy?”
 
Horace asks looking at Gonzalez.

“I haven’t seen him in a long time.
 
He is a little rough around the edges but I think he means well, so, yes, I trust him,” Gonzalez answers.

“Good enough for me,” Horace says to which we all nod.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to take the aircraft and we can always resupply,” I add.

“What about refueling the aircraft?”
 
Robert asks.

I look up to the darkening sky.
 
“Let’s do that on our return or the next day.
 
These storms look like they could start giving us a light show any time.
 
I’d rather we weren’t in the midst of refueling with JP-4 with lightning flashing around us.
 
That’s a recipe for creating an entirely new crater in New Mexico.”

“Gotcha,” Robert responds.

“So, refuel the Humvees in the morning, head to Lubbock, return to refuel the 130’s then or the next morning, leave for Albuquerque the day after, and head home.
 
We’ll be flying the 130 and an AC-130 back.
 
We’ll need to visit the armory here and load the AC-130 up with ammo at some point.
 
Any questions?”
 
I ask.
 
Everyone shakes their heads and we break up.

“Robert, take Bri and Echo Team and see if you can locate an AC-130 that’s fueled.
 
See if you can find the maintenance books as well and bring them back.
 
I’d hate to try and leave in an aircraft that’s been grounded for maintenance.
 
That kind of thing makes for a very short flight and a structural integrity check at the end,” I say.

“Structural integrity check?”
 
He asks.

“Yeah.
 
It’s a check to see if the aircraft remains intact when it collides with the ground at a high rate of speed,” I answer.

“Yeah, let’s avoid that,” Robert says and they depart across the ramp.

Blue Team is stationed at intervals on the ramp with the Humvees.
 
I look over to see Gonzalez sitting alone on the ramp; the wind, as it blows by, whips her short, dark hair.
 
She is staring into the distance with her arms wrapped around her knees.
 
I would have expected Isabella to be glued to her but I don’t see her little sister anywhere.

“Do you mind?”
 
I ask referring to whether she wouldn’t mind some company or would just like to be left alone.

“No, sir,” she answers and I plop down next to her.

Plop is the correct term as my old bones don’t go to the ground gracefully anymore.
 
We sit in silence for a few minutes with the storms building overhead and the gritty wind blowing in our faces.
 
The smell of ozone faintly reaches my nose along with a myriad of other smells.
 
This whole moment just feels odd.
 
We are on the backside of an apocalypse yet here we are, two people sitting on the middle of a stark ramp in New Mexico surrounded by a sea of emptiness.
 
It feels like I’m in a dream watching myself sitting here; that I’m really somewhere else observing this moment from afar.
 
It just feels strange.
 
It feels quiet.

“You okay?”
 
I ask staring across the runway to our front and hating to break the silence.

“Yeah, sir.
 
I’ll be okay.
 
I’m just happy to see my sister and hear my mother made it at least,” Gonzalez answers.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I say not knowing much else to say.

“Yeah, me too.
 
At least I have the answer though.
 
That’s something and now the gnawing inside of not knowing can end,” she replies.
 
Silence ensues and we sit staring across the landscape.

“Sir, may I ask something?”
 
Gonzalez asks.

“Of course.
 
Anytime,” I answer.

“We’re just two soldiers sitting here, right?”

“Just two soldiers sitting here shooting the shit,” I reply.

“Do you think we’re going to make it?”
 
She asks looking over at me.

“Yeah, I do.
 
I have to think that.
 
For my kids and everyone else.
 
If I didn’t have the hope of us making it, then all of this we’re doing would be for naught and we’d just be spinning our wheels.
 
And you and I are not one for just spinning our wheels,” I answer.

“I mean, do you think we’re personally going to make it?”
 
She asks.
 
“Not as a group but each of us individually?”

“I don’t know that one.
 
Some days I look around and see just how much talent we have and how tough we are.
 
Those days I think there’s no way we can go down no matter what happens; that we’ll be able to get out of any situation.
 
I lived that philosophy in the field, well, used to anyway.
 
Other days…..
 
How many tours in Iraq did you do?”
 
I ask.

“Two.”

“So you know that anything can happen on any given day then,” I say.

“Yes, sir.
 
And on other days, you think what?”

“I think the odds stack against us each time we go out.
 
That it’s only a matter of time.
 
We’ve both seen friends killed so we both know it can happen but it was always someone else.
 
That was something that couldn’t happen to us because, well, we were the ones watching.
 
I was pretty sure there wasn’t a thing that could touch me, however there was a part of me that knew it was a matter of odds; that the odds shrank a little more each time I went out,” I answer.

“I know the feeling.
 
The one thinking there isn’t a thing that can touch me.
 
Today changed that to a degree.
 
Did something happen that changed your mind?”

I undo my vest and lay it on the sandy tarmac beside me.
 
I unbutton my shirt and lay it on the vest.
 
Lifting my T-shirt, I show Gonzalez the scars on my chest, side, and back.

“Courtesy of three AK-47 rounds marked ‘Anonymous,” I say putting my shirt and gear back on.

“Damn, sir,” Gonzalez says quietly.
 
“And that changed your mind about being invulnerable.”

“Yes and no.
 
It did for a little while but then it reverted back to ‘I survived that and am still alive’,” I answer.

I continue, “We’re still the baddest ones around and it’ll take a lot to bring us down.
 
And if it does happen, there’ll be a mountain of bodies around testifying to that.”

“Hooah, sir,” Gonzalez says with a smile.

“Seriously?”
 
I say shaking my head but returning her smile.

“I have another question, sir,” Gonzalez says.

“Still two soldiers sitting?”
 
I ask.

“Yes, sir,” she answers.
 
A moment of quiet passes.
 
I’m guessing she’s either thinking of how to word the question or is hesitant to ask.
 
The question finally emerges, “Can you sense the night runners?”

Now it’s my turn for a moment of silence.
 
I’m not quite sure how to answer that or if I even want to.
 
She doesn’t do the ‘Only answer if you want to’ thing.
 
It’s just a straight up question.

“I see you stare off toward the door at dinner sometimes and you knew there was a night runner in my dad’s house just like you knew night runners were coming in the hospital when none of us heard a thing,” she states.

 
“I guess I don’t hide things very well, do I?”
 
I say with a chuckle.

“No, sir, not very well at all,” she replies with another smile.

“Just between us?”
 
I ask.

“Just two soldiers sitting here, sir,” she answers.

“Yes, I can.
 
Or at least I think I can.
 
I can even hear them talking although ‘hear them talking’ is a matter of perspective.
 
I get these picture images which I can understand.
 
The downside?
 
I think they can sense me when I reach out so I’ve learned to park it in the back of my mind,” I respond.

“That’s kind of handy,” she says.

“Not as handy as you might think.
 
If I know they’re there, they know I am as well so it’s kind of a catch-22,” I say.

“You can see in the dark as well, right?”
 
I look at her a little astonished that she’s gleaned as much as she has.
 
I wonder if others have as well.

“I noticed you didn’t have your NVG’s down in the house.
 
You might want to lower those if you want to keep it a secret,” she answers my look.

“I’ll keep that in mind Gonzalez.
 
I’d call you Rosa but that just seems weird as I know you as Gonzalez,” I say.

“Gonzalez works, sir.
 
I actually like that better.
 
I never did like the name Rosa,” she replies.

“Do you think you got those abilities from the scratch?”
 
Gonzalez asks.

“I think so.
 
I can’t imagine where else.
 
I never did get the flu shot,” I answer.

“Do you think you’ll turn into one of them?”
 
Ah, the crutch of the questioning.
 
However, looking at her and knowing her just a little, I revise my thought as it doesn’t seem this is what she really wants to know.
 
I think she is just verifying some guesses she’s been making.

“Nah, I don’t think so.
 
I think whatever it is, or was, has run its course.
 
The headaches have disappeared and I haven’t noticed any changes.
 
You have my permission to shoot me in the head at the first sign I’m becoming one of them,” I answer.

“The first sign, sir?”
 
She asks chuckling.

“Better make that the fourth or fifth,” I reply.
 
“Our little secret?”

“We’re just two soldiers sitting on a ramp shooting the shit, sir,” Gonzalez answers.

Sizable droplets of rain begin to fall sporadically creating large circles in the sand.
 
I pat Gonzalez on the shoulder and rise; the pat really hiding my using her as leverage.
 
Sealing up the Humvees, we make our way into the 130 and close it up as the first rumble of the storms reverberates across the tarmac.
 
Before long, the pouring rain deafens us inside the aircraft.
 
It sounds like being inside a tin shack with marbles falling from the sky.
 
Well, I guess in a way we are stuck in a tin shack.

We pass the rest of the day with the sound of downpours, flashes of lightning flickering through the windows, and the rumble of thunder that sometimes shakes the aircraft.
 
I’m not all that keen on being inside one of the tallest objects in the middle of the open ramp and a metallic one at that.
 
The aircraft does have the ability to dispense static but that doesn’t give me a multitude of warm fuzzies sitting in our tin can.
 
We find what little comfort the aircraft holds with so many inside and strip away packages of MRE’s.
 
I turn the battery on so we can heat our dinners in the little kitchen situated just below the cockpit entrance stairs.

The dark of the storms outside gives little warning of the approaching night.
 
One moment it’s a shadowy gray light filtering in that quickly transitions to the inky blackness of night.
 
The flashes of light that occasionally reach inside from the thunderstorms are in direct contrast to the darkness and startle us each time.
 
Our confined area and having to be inside during the day brings attention to the fact that we are all in need of a shower.
 
Or maybe it’s just me.
 
I can’t tell beyond my own area of aroma.
 
The locker room smell is getting to the point where I’m sure others are contemplating whether being outside with the night runners isn’t a preferred solution.
 
I head to the cockpit to change and at least do my part in not forcing others out into the arms of the nocturnal hunters.

In the cockpit, I quickly change tossing the old clothing on the bunk where they immediately threaten to run into a corner to find darkness and perhaps a lair.
 
I look out of the side window and see shapes heading our way.
 
The lightning is playing havoc with my night vision, enhanced or not and it takes time between flashes to adjust.
 
The small number of night runners trotting across the ramp show up in the intermittent strobes of light; their gray skin seeming to glow with each flare.