The reason for their sojourn to this town was a report from last night’s watch of a light coming from one of the low, surrounding hills. Every so often, the moon would peek through a break in the overcast and send its beams cascading upon the land and water. It could have been the moonlight reflecting off a window or something of the sort but Captain Leonard thought it worth a journey to the shore and Krandle concurred.
With the black rubber craft on the beach next to him and the hiss of the water rolling onto the wet sand, Krandle surveys the area to his front as the others cover their sectors. The beach is a narrow strip of sand rising to bluffs on either side. To his right, hills rise directly from the beach with cottages huddled on them, overlooking the sand and the jagged rocks rising from the ocean just offshore. Stunted trees, some bent with the strong winds that occasionally came sweeping onshore, share the steep hillsides with the cottages and dense growth of bushes.
To the left, a breakwater of large rocks juts out into the ocean, the waves splashing over its height farther out. Ahead, the sand leads to a small embankment where other modest houses and duplexes mark the beginning of this small town. Nothing moves in Krandle’s sight.
Looking over the top of the roofs, he sees a series of small hills that surround the town. He eyes one in particular where the night watch said they saw the light. Taking out his binoculars, Krandle focuses on the heights that are their goal. Houses blanket the sides with what appears to be a fenced community stretched across the top. He can only see the rooftops of the houses nearest the wall from this vantage point.
“If you’re done sightseeing, Chief, can we please get off this fucking beach?” Speer whispers with a sharp edge to his tone.
Putting away the binoculars, Krandle motions ahead with the barrel of his M-4. “Lead on.”
This spurs the others into action. The raft is grabbed and, with the others providing security, is dragged across the sandy beach. The hiss of the rubber on the sand mixes with the surf running up the shallow grade of the seashore. The sun is behind the clouds, but faint shadows from the houses in the early morning light stretch over the embankment as the team draws near.
Blank windows stare at them, the curtains still hanging in many of them. Some of the houses have screen doors pitched at angles, the upper hinges having been torn loose. A few have open doors, whether forced or otherwise, giving a view into the darkness beyond. Paths cut into the embankment lead from the beach to each of the houses and the few streets that dead end at the shore.
Krandle rises near one of the dead end roads. A wooden post painted orange and white lies horizontal across two other poles, signifying the end of the street. A gust of wind stirs his pant legs and sighs through more of the stunted trees nearby. Groaning creaks arise from a couple of the screen doors as their hinges protest movement. The breath of wind catches one of the doors and it slams against an outer wall, startling the entire team.
They all drop to their knees in a semi-circle, barrels rise, searching for targets. The awareness of what the noise was comes quickly, but they continue searching the surrounding area.
“Speer, move us out. Opposite sides of the street. Remember your intervals,” Krandle says moments later.
The team rises and negotiates short steps cut into the embankment leading to the street. They head around the dead end marker and begin to make their way into the coastal town. Tall grass surrounds each house, the stalks bending over and hiding any semblance of a sidewalk. Vehicles are parked at intervals on the roadway and in driveways, their windows and outer bodies covered in grime from months of being in the open. Sand has piled up around the tires of those in the street. Any curbs this street had have long ago been covered by drifts.
The road itself is covered in a thin layer of undisturbed grit, and it’s through this that the team cautiously makes its way farther into the town. The tracks they leave behind are the only evidence that anyone or anything has moved through this area in some time. Krandle isn’t worried about leaving tracks. After all, this isn’t a ‘zero footprint’ operation, and their mission is to actually find someone. If someone sees their tracks and finds them, well, that amounts to the same thing. Miller keeps a sharp eye behind them nonetheless.
Some of the houses they pass have had their doors and windows broken. Curtains in those broken windows stir in the breeze; there isn’t any movement beyond that. A hush has settled over this place. Even the soft shuffling sound of their boots on the gritty pavement doesn’t seem to travel far. It’s as if the area is absorbing any sound. The feeling isn’t a stifling one, more of a dead one. The land has forgotten that humankind once walked these streets.
The team comes to the end of this small neighborhood and small industrial shops occupy the few lots in front of them. Rusted husks of vehicles sit in some of the chain link enclosed yards. The buildings themselves have a rundown look and most haven’t seen a coating of paint in some time. Krandle halts the team at this residential boundary.
Sections of the fencing have been pushed down, the supporting poles leaning inward at angles. Some of the damage looks recent and forced while others are obviously down through age and neglect. Buckets, old signs, and other forgotten debris are scattered in the back of the businesses. The road ahead makes its way past these structures before turning to the right a few blocks away.
Krandle and the others look for any sign of life, threatening or otherwise. No bird takes wing, nor is there a stray cat slinking through scattered piles of junk looking for a meal. It’s completely silent and still.
A ray of sunshine pokes through a break in the clouds, casting its light across several of the neglected lots. The beam doesn’t brighten the landscape but only makes it appear more forlorn. It reflects off the shattered back window of one of the vehicles, causing the members to blink and look away from the glare. The sunshine is short-lived as clouds cover the sun once again.
“I bet that’s what the watch saw last night…only from the moonlight instead,” Speer whispers.
Blanchard and Ortiz nod in agreement, remembering their last trek ashore. Franklin tilts his head slightly to the side and lifts one side of his mouth as if skeptical of this answer.
“That’s one possibility,” Miller says.
Krandle doesn’t know if the surprise of the screen door slamming against the side of the house earlier or hearing Miller speak is more of a shock. The others turn to stare at Miller, to which he merely shrugs, his words for the week having been uttered.
“Did that hurt?” Speer asks Miller before turning back to screen his sector.
“Who knows what they saw? That’s what we’re here to find out. We’re heading down this street and around the corner. We don’t have a map, so we’ll have to find our own way to the hill,” Krandle says.
“And I vote we don’t go find a map. I wasn’t very fond of the last time we decided we wanted one,” Speer mutters to himself, rising.
“Stow it, Speer,” Krandle says.
The team heads down the road, paying special attention to those places where the fences appear to have been recently bent inward. Silence follows along with them. They reach the point where the road curves to the right and heads in front of the dilapidated buildings. The windows of the buildings have all been broken out with grime covering the shards of glass remaining in the panes. Washed out signs hang above the establishments — City Appliances, Jim’s Auto Repair, Unique Treasures, and others too faint to read.