Notifying the others, Greg jumps down and walks to the nearest field. He catches the aroma of freshly turned earth as he draws near. Reaching through a fence surrounding the plowed land, he feels the dirt and crumples a clod between his fingers. It still has remnants of moisture and not dried out as it would be if it sat on the surface for very long. He surveys the expanse once again, expecting farmers or their equipment to materialize. He sees and hears nothing to indicate others are near. However, the fencing around the town and the plowed fields are clear signs that someone was around recently.
Greg returns and informs the others of what he found. There’s some speculation about staying in the area to find out if there are others but, in the end, they decide to push on with their original plan. They don’t have great numbers to deal with a hostile encounter, and it would be unfair to the soldiers looking for their families if they didn’t continue with the mission. That’s their primary goal and every day counts, especially with them having to travel on the ground. Greg marks his map, indicating possible survivors and orders the driver to proceed off road.
Exiting the highway, they roll over the fencing and angle through the adjacent fields to reach the northern end of the city. The vehicle jostles as they bounce across the furrows. Greg keeps the optics focused on the outlying areas of the town. If there is anyone there, they aren’t going to take to the team ruining their fieldwork. However, unless they have anti-armor capabilities or heavy caliber weapons, there isn’t much they can do about it.
Greg looks to the north end of the city as they drive ever closer. It appears that they’ll have to cut close to a section of an industrial park prior to reaching the road and bridge. The fencing he saw from afar extends around this locale. From this closer look, the tall fencing does in fact circle a large part of the northern end. He’s about to order a turn to the north to avoid the area as much as possible when a glint catches the corner of his eye. He pans the optics and turret toward the eastern end of the town and sees another flash of light. The winks become a series and it’s apparent they are being focused directly at them.
“What do you think, sir?” the driver asks.
“The flashes are too bright to be gunfire…unless they have an awful big gun…and we’d be feeling the results of it already. Readout says just over two klicks, so I’m guessing it’s a signal mirror. Halt the vehicle,” Greg replies.
The Stryker lurches forward as the brakes are applied. They come to a stop in the middle of a dirt road between fields. The dust trail behind them hangs in the air, drifting slowly across the fields. The flashes of light stop.
“Shall we try and signal them back, sir,” the driver asks.
“No. I think we’ll sit here with our popcorn and see how this movie plays out,” Greg answers.
Soon, a trail of dust rises into air from the direction of the signal.
“Single pickup heading down a dirt road perpendicular to the one we’re on,” the driver reports.
“I see it. Keep watching around us. I don’t want to be taken by surprise while focusing on one vehicle.”
“Are we going to disembark, sir?” another soldier asks.
“Not yet. I want to be ready to leave in a hurry if this turns out bad,” Greg responds.
If the people heading their way aren’t friendly, he’ll just head out. They can’t outrun the approaching vehicle, but unless they have a howitzer hidden in the back, chasing them won’t do any good. And the .50 cal will turn the truck into scrap metal.
The pickup truck pulls up to the intersection of the road the team is sitting on and the one the vehicle is traveling on. About a quarter of a mile separates the two parties. A man exits the blue truck, stands next to the driver door, and pulls out a pair of binoculars. Through his own magnified view, Greg notes another figure in the passenger seat with two others in the bed of the truck looking their way. They are armed with rifles but aren’t actively aiming at them. It can’t be too comfortable for them to see a large caliber weapon aimed directly at them from an armored vehicle.
The two groups continue to stare at each other, neither making a move toward the other. In this world, wariness and caution is the rule. Lives can end in an instant and with each encounter. Everyone dies in the end but there’s no need racing toward it.
“I’m going out. Keep an eye on them and also around us. If anything unsavory happens, turn ‘em into hamburger and get the hell out of here,” Greg says after a few more moments of the staring contest.
He scrambles on top and hops down in front of the Stryker. Another soldier takes his place at the .50 cal. Feeling the warm metal of the vehicle as he leans back against it, he glasses the other group again. He sees the distant driver put his binoculars away and climb into the pickup. The vehicle turns onto their road and slowly approaches. Greg holds out his hand for the truck to halt and it does so with a squeal of brakes.
The driver and passenger look out at him through a dirty windshield with the two men in the back looking over the top of the cab. He doesn’t note any weapons aimed his way, but Greg holds his M-4 at his side, ready to bring up in an instant. The driver climbs out and halts behind the open door.
“I’m Captain Greg Petersen. Not to seem like an ass, but I’d feel a tad more comfortable if you all climbed out where I can see you.”
“Captain, perhaps you could have the people I’m sure are inside that thing to come out as well,” the man states.
“Point taken. What do you say we agree not to shoot each other and chat amiably?” Greg says.
“I’m agreeable to that if you wouldn’t mind aiming that big gun of yours somewhere else. The hole in the end looks awfully large from this vantage point,” the man replies.
Greg looks behind at the barrel mounted on its small turret and calls inside for the gunner to aim it elsewhere. The gun spins away and Greg looks back to the man, who nods his appreciation.
Coming out from behind the door, the man approaches and reaches out his hand, “James…James Talkison. We’ve had a few run-ins with some unsavory types, so we’re a little wary around here.”
“We’ve had several ourselves, so it’s the same for us,” Greg replies.
“We saw you circumventing the town. That gave us reason to believe you weren’t interested in attacking us so we decided to risk a signal. I will say that the sight of that thing approaching,” James says, nodding toward the Stryker, “gave us cause for alarm.”
Looking back at their tracks through the field, Greg sees the deep ruts their heavy vehicle created in the plowed fields and the torn fences.
“Assuming these fields are your work, I apologize for tearing them up like that.”
“That’s not a problem. We can fix that up quickly,” James states.
“Allow us to help,” Greg says.
“Are you really with the Army?” James asks, bypassing Greg’s offer.
“I was,” Greg answers. “There really isn’t such a thing anymore.”
“So, I guess we can’t expect any help from that sector. Everything really is gone, huh?”
“I’m afraid so,” Greg responds, hesitant to tell their story until they know this group better.
James hangs his head and sighs. “What are you doing around these parts?”
“We’re searching for families of those with us,” Greg states.