We rise and open the gate wide enough to pass through. The buzzing of the flies is annoying, much like mosquitos buzzing in a tent, but we are nearing the prison and the irritant is put to the side. We skirt piles of pallets, some stacked and some just strewn, and make our way to the rear of the building near the corner. Feeling the heat radiate from the aluminum-sided building, I crouch and peek around the corner.
The highway looms close with additional buildings across the way nestled between the north-south freeway just in front and another that branches off heading west. Between some of the buildings, I catch the first sight of the prison walls in the distance. Yep, they’re prison walls; tall and concrete. A wide field devoid of any obstructions surrounds it. I take a look through the binoculars, shielding the lens with my hands to prevent any glare reaching out as the sun is in front of me. Heat waves shimmer in the distance obscuring a clear look at the prison. I also glass the buildings across the freeway but I don’t see anything more out of the ordinary than usual. Nothing is normal these days. There is one thing across the road that does catch my attention and I wave Greg over.
“Hmmmm… Nice. A water tower. That is rather handy,” he says following my finger. “Now if we can just get there and climb it without being seen.”
“That would be the ideal result. I figure the heat waves should keep us partially hidden,” I respond.
There’s only one thing really keeping us from gaining an advantage of height to observe and that is the open road in front of us. If the ones in the prison are keeping an outpost, the buildings across from us would be ideal for that. There is also the fact that part of our route across the highway may be visible from the prison itself. I’m hoping the shimmers will help keep us hidden. The water tower is only about a half mile from the walls and, once we begin climbing the tower, we’ll be in the open once again. The ladder leading upward to the catwalk lining the top runs up one of the outside support posts and is in the open. Luckily, it is on the backside of the tower away from the prison.
“Okay. Same as before. We’ll cross one at a time in the same order. Greg, if I’m spotted or rounds start getting exchanged, get out of here. Start heading back with Robert and McCafferty and have Horace meet you. We’re not in a position to duke it out with twenty or thirty others,” I say. “I’ll meet you when I can.”
“You got it,” he replies.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” I say and edge to the very front of the building.
Two sets of railway tracks are directly in front with a wide dirt median separating them from the two lane highway. It’s not quite as far as the wide field we came through but it’s a sprint. I’m hesitant about crossing. It is daylight and I imagine the ones in the prison could be out scavenging. Being this close, there is an increased chance of having them coming or going while we’re in the open. That’s not a comfortable feeling. And that’s aside from them keeping an outpost. I don’t see any cars in front of the buildings but that doesn’t really mean anything.
I take one more look at the buildings looking for any sign that they are being inhabited in any way. Grime covers the glass windows in front. There aren’t any smear marks of someone trying to wipe them clean so that’s an added bonus. I look up and down the highway to the north and south. I don’t see anything but the shimmers could hide vehicles in the distance.
“It’s now or never,” I breathe to myself.
With a deep, stabilizing breath, I rise and begin another rush across open ground. I quickly gain the first set of railroad tracks and cross with the gravel crunching under my boots. I notice the tops of the tracks are still shiny from a lot of use but that will change when the rains come. Looking as I cross, they stretch in a straight line to both sides and merge in the distance; eventually vanishing in a haze.
The gravel gives way to packed earth as I make my way to the hardtop road. I keep expecting winks of light to materialize from the buildings ahead but they remain as before; seemingly empty and quiet. The heat radiating from the ground increases as I step onto the concrete of the highway. My boots clomp on the road that once carried a stream of cars and semis. Now, I’m the only one to intrude upon its surface.
I’m across quickly and duck inside a driveway entrance between two sides of a fence. I fall to my knees again panting from the exertion in the heat. The buzzing of the flies is only faint now and the intense smell dissipates to a degree. Either that or I’ve become used to it and that’s not something I want to become used to. The tower looms ahead. It looks like we’ll have to clear another yard behind the building in front of me and then we’re there. I call clear and the others cross one at a time without incident. It already seems like hours since we left. I check my watch.
“We have forty minutes until we have to head back so we’ll have to make this quick,” I say and report back to Horace on our progress.
I feel the strain of being close but not sure of the outcome. It surely can’t be the tension McCafferty must be feeling. I feel both loose and tight at the same time; tension with an underlying calmness. We’ll have to go slow especially being so close to a major intersection. On the other hand, we don’t have a lot of time to spare. The warmth is taking its toll as well. In black fatigues and vest, I feel my energy being sapped by the minute. I know this is the place where mistakes can be made and try to keep my mind sharp. Taking a drink of water, I rise and head across the dirt parking lot to the building’s corner.
The large lot is filled with mounds of scrap metal. Mobile cranes with large magnets attached dot the yard. Wrecked cars line one entire side. This place would be quite handy if we had a smelter. I don’t have time to ponder the possibilities as we need to get to the tower undiscovered, climb it, and see if we can see over the prison walls less than a half mile away. Hopefully all of that will keep me within the undiscovered realm as well.
We move from pile to pile advancing into the yard itself. The piles keep us hidden from view of the roads on either side. We eventually come to the end of the mounds of scrap. Ahead is another building with the water tower sitting close to its side. A larger freeway lies on the other side of the building. We advance slowly to the base of the water tower. I pick up the sound of a car motoring down the road approaching from our right. The whirring of the tires on the hot pavement mixes with the low hum of the engine.
“Car approaching, take cover,” I say in my throat mic. There’s a scramble as we dart behind the building nearest the highway.
The sound of the vehicle increases but I don’t see anything on the road as I peek around the corner of the building. I hope it isn’t bouncing off the large aluminum buildings and actually approaching from behind or side. I look around and see a couple of thick bushes against a fence to our rear. I point and we dash across burrowing into their midst. I lie on the ground at the very edge of the bushes and am able to see a section of highway. There’s still no sign of any car but I can still hear it grow louder. Greg gives me a little tilt of his head. I hold my fingers to my lips and he gets the message.
Lying on the ground increases the heat radiating to my body and I feel grit inside of my fatigue top. My belt line itches from the heat and dirt and the limbs of the bushes are prickling my skin where they touch. All in all, I’m not comfortable. The heat is even masking the adrenaline. I’m so ready to be done with this and go home.
The sound gets louder and I see Greg nod indicating he can hear it now as well. Robert or McCafferty are out of my sight as they are burrowed in an adjacent bush. The noise changes to the sounds of the car slowing down. I pick out sounds of other engines. There’s more than one and possibly three. The slowing down isn’t a good sign. Either we’ve been seen and a call went out or they are slowing to make a turn. The only right answer is for them to make a turn away from us towards the prison. Any turn toward us or if we’ve been spotted is bad news.