Leonard opts to stay on the surface during their night observation. It may be that the gunshots Chris mentioned hearing a few nights ago could have been someone signaling; although that seems unlikely with the number of night runners that must be prevalent. Noise, light, and smell will attract them and would amount to ringing the dinner bell.
Like a switch was thrown, the soft slap of waves rolling down the length of the sub is replaced by a chorus of faint shrieks reaching out across the water. Going below deck, Leonard looks in the periscope and catches periodic glimpses of night runners as they lope along cross streets near the shore. Details become clearer as he zooms in.
Passing the entrance to the marina, he spies a large group of them standing opposite where Chris and his group are moored offshore. They appear agitated, running up and down the beach. Some take runs at the water, splashing into the small rollers. Several have waded in up to their waist and have their heads tilted upward with their mouths wide open — looking for the world like they are howling at the night sky. Some of the ones in the water punch at the incoming surf as if angry with the waves.
Leonard watches one wade farther in. It starts swimming madly, flailing its arms and legs in the water, but it makes progress. After several seconds, the contortions calm and it starts swimming in a much more deliberate movement. Fascinated, Leonard observes. Several others start after it in a similar fashion. Small waves roll over the night runners. Leonard watches as they surface behind the breakers and continue after thrashing about some. The lead night runner reaches an area where larger waves are breaking. He loses sight of it after one large wave rushes over it. Leonard looks past the wave expecting the night runner to surface and sputter before continuing its foray into the bay. He sees nothing. Looking everywhere, he finally catches sight of the night runner as it rises out of the water much closer to the beach. It stands with water pouring from it and tilts its head upward. Its arms are rigid by its side and it opens its mouth wide. The anger and frustration its form presents is readily apparent. Leonard notices the others that attempted to swim have been swept ashore as well.
Good to know. They can swim, but they’re defeated by moderate surf, he thinks, continuing to watch the gathering as the sub slowly transits the area.
He observes as others attempt to swim out to the group anchored off the marina, but they all meet with the same result.
As they patrol south, sandy beaches begin to give way to the steep cliffs of the Palos Verdes headland. Leonard doesn’t expect to find much as they can’t see over the tall bluffs. About to pull his eyes away, he catches a quick flash. Looking back, the area is dark.
“Ask the top deck if they observed a flash of light,” Leonard directs.
“Topside reports negative, sir,” a crew member reports moments later.
A faint flash from the same location is followed quickly by a second one. As Leonard is about to ask if the lookouts saw anything, they report the two flashes.
“Mark the location,” Leonard orders.
Staring intently toward the spot, his eyes feel dry and gritty. Blinking to bring moisture to his eyes, he looks again. He has a difficult time bringing the view into focus. It’s been a long day and he feels weariness descend. Realizing he won’t be doing any good, he tells the Officer of the Deck to call him if anything happens. With a mix of eagerness at possibly pulling into their homeport tomorrow and weariness that makes his every step feel like his shoes are made of lead, he retires to his cabin.
Morning finds the Santa Fe on the surface offshore from where they witnessed the three flashes of light. Patrolling the length of the LA basin area didn’t reveal anything further during the night. With two other lookouts, Leonard and Krandle stand topside looking over the escarpment, shielding their eyes from the glare of the freshly risen sun. A faint breeze carries the blare from the foghorn toward shore where it echoes off the cliffs.
“I don’t know about this one, sir. I’m not so big on urban environments to begin with and that’s a large sprawl of one. I wouldn’t mind so much if we didn’t have to travel far, but the only way I see to get on top is to put ashore to the north and hike in,” Krandle says, describing the only way he sees to get to the top to investigate the source of the lights.
“It’s your call, Chief,” Leonard replies.
Krandle stands, staring at the bluff rising sharply out of the water. White shows along the waterline where waves splash against the rocky shore. They are slowly navigating around the headland so that Krandle can have a better look at the environment. Bringing the binoculars up, he doesn’t see anywhere they could come ashore without having to go the long way around. There are a couple of steep paths leading upward, but the team would be vulnerable ascending those. If it were night, it would be different, but scaling those paths during the day if someone unfriendly was up there would lead to their quick annihilation. It’s the long way or none at all.
He feels torn. If there is actually someone who needs their help, then he feels he owes it to them to provide it; but it’s risky. So far, they’ve only ventured into small towns where they could extract easily enough. Going into a large complex such as this creates additional hazards, especially where the route out is a long one. He hasn’t run into any unsavory types as of yet, but he remembers some of the stories Captain Walker told. Even if he didn’t hear those, he knows human nature and is sure there are those who wouldn’t welcome their presence…or would be openly hostile.
“You know, sir, those flashes could have been from gunfire,” Krandle says, still not sure what the right answer is.
“I understand. There isn’t a right or wrong answer here. Do only what you feel comfortable with,” Leonard replies.
Leonard’s words help, but he still isn’t sure what to do. Their mission, as he sees it, is to help those that need it but not to the point that he overly exposes his team. Before, it was much easier. Those decisions were made for him. He received his mission, briefed his team, and away they went. There wasn’t the choice to go or not, they just did. He isn’t used to this situation.
“Okay, sir. We’ll go ashore. But no farther than where the flashes were. We’ll do a quick check and then we’re out of there. I figure we’ll put ashore on the beach at the northern end and make our way to the top. We’ll exfil at the same location,” Krandle says, reaching a decision.
“Go only as far as you deem safe. I know our duty to see to survivors, but keep in mind you are the only security force we have,” Leonard states.
“I will, sir.”
“We’ll be here when you return,” Leonard says, looking directly into Krandle’s eyes.
“Thank you, sir. Well, I suppose we should get ready,” Krandle says and departs.
A splash catches Krandle across the face as the rubber craft races down the front of the wave and hits the trough before climbing the back of the next one. He wipes the water from his goggles and eyes the beach ahead as they crest a wave. Looking to the side along the bluff on top of which sits their destination, Krandle makes out a trail angling along its side.
The ridgeline above the trail has an overhang which should give them some protection. Krandle follows the trail down to the waterline as best he can. The trailhead appears to intersect a small beach. The waves on this strand don’t seem severe and the approach seems doable. It will put them much closer to their destination without having to transit a large distance through unknown neighborhoods. The one drawback is that their approach will be more readily seen if there is someone above. As it is, they can still be seen, but their destination won’t be as easily discerned.