A dawning light rises inside of me. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, with a flick of the switch, we could get rid of two-thirds of the night runners?”
“That’s what I’m saying. It’s theoretically possible. However, we can’t communicate with the satellite. The technicians state that they’ve been working on it since they arrived. It has been their number one priority but, to date, they haven’t been able to transmit to it,” Harold responds.
“Work on it. There hasn’t ever been anything more important in all of your life.”
Epilogue
The three boats set a course for Bangor. Santa Fe is in the vanguard to provide for security to the front with the Maine behind and the Jefferson City trailing. This will give the greatest area of coverage to hear anything with the passive sonar and provide for security. If they are approached from any direction, one of the boats will be able to pick it up while the others maneuver silently for an optimal firing position. They have a ways to go to reach the port but are traveling slowly and quietly. Finding each other has made each of the captains well aware that there still might be others hiding in the depths.
Leonard stands in the control room contemplating the events of the past few weeks. He knows he isn’t the same person that surfaced outside the San Juan Strait seemingly so long ago. The world is a much different place within which he and the crew have to adapt if they are to survive.
The mood within is solemn as they make their way quietly under the surface. Some had families that may have been aboard the drifting ships of the fleet. Leonard knows that others are holding onto the slim hope that their loved ones escaped the horror and made their way inland. While not promoting that hope, Leonard isn’t discouraging it either. Their brief times ashore have shown that there are some who have managed to survive but the odds are very slim. And those odds decrease with each passing day. If they can refit and contact Walker, they may be able to find out if any are still alive.
“Sir, transient noise, bearing 255 degrees,” the sonarman calls.
“What it is?” Leonard asks, making his way to the small room.
The sailor listens intently on his headphones for a moment. “Sir, it sounds like an Alpha Class sub, two thousand yards. I’ve designated it as contact Hotel One. It’s running quiet, but not quiet enough.”
“Bearing and distance changes?” Leonard inquires.
“Bearing and distance is remaining constant. I’d say they’re shadowing us, sir.”
“All stop. Steer 060 degrees. Run silent. We’ll drift out of the Maine’s path so they won’t run into our tail. It’s obvious the Alpha has heard us, but they may not know about the others. Lock in a firing solution and ready all tubes. Standby with the counter measures,” Leonard orders.
With the threat, the crew comes out of their stupor. Quietly and efficiently, they ready the boat according to Leonard’s orders. Leonard hopes that the boat going silent will alert Maine and Jefferson City that something is amiss and that they will be able to locate the Alpha just a little more than a mile away.
“What are they doing?” Leonard quietly asks the sonarman.
“They’ve gone silent as well, sir.”
The Santa Fe continues to drift on its new heading. All sounds from the Maine vanish as well. Leonard trusts that they heard the Alpha and that the Jefferson City, taking the hint from them, is maneuvering for an advantageous position. Looking to the sonar compartment, Leonard notes the sailor shake his head indicating that he hasn’t heard anything further. More than likely, there are four boats in close proximity, all drifting or maneuvering silently. With that many in the same area, the chance of a collision is magnified exponentially. Giving the other subs time to get into position, knowing the Maine will be at a huge disadvantage should the shooting start, Leonard issues an order to break the stalemate.
“Give a single active ping on my mark. Be ready with the counter measures, a snap shot, and to dive deep. Only fire on my command. Ready, mark.”
Far from shore, the sonar blasts through the salt water.
Squatting inside of the tree line, Michael senses the other leaders cautiously approaching. They seem wary of his call but it could be that they are just being guarded because of the danger from the sky. Michael feels eagerness emanating from the pack members he brought with him as the scents of prey reaches them. The woods smell of food and Michael has to periodically send images to his pack lest they run off to hunt. The scents stir Michael’s own excitement and the urge to race after the prey but there are more important things to do. He may get the chance later but, for now, he waits for the others to close on him.
Watching the open fields between him and the abandoned two-legged lairs lying a short distance away, with one eye on the sky above, Michael sees several of the leaders emerge from the sides of the buildings and come to a stop. They eye each other as much as they do the night sky. Sending an image of welcome to them, Michael sees them turn in his direction and lope across the field with their packs following.
He feels their hesitation as they close, stopping a few paces away. After all, Michael didn’t give a reason for bringing them together, he just sent the call. Looking to the dark sky, he sends for them to get out of the open and into the trees. They can choose to keep their packs with them or send them on a hunt, but the open areas hold danger.
The leaders send images of agreement, having felt the loss of many of their own in the previous nights. They move farther into the trees to stay out of sight and find a place where they squat in a circle. Michael feels the strong presence of the others but he holds the advantage over them. If he wills it, they will follow him but he would have to keep a continual eye on them. The memory surfaces of the trouble he had with Sandra. He’d rather they follow because they have the same goal and not because he wills it. If he has to, he will but he’ll try convincing them first. One way or the other though, the two-leggeds must go.
Michael points to his chest and verbally says, “Michael,” introducing himself. His voice croaks from the lack of use with that form of communication.
Several of the gathered leaders look at him, startled. They can understand what he said, but it’s still foreign to them, with them having a different form of communication. Some even rise as if to flee but settle back almost immediately, recognizing that they too can do the same. Michael sees expressions of recognition from some of the leaders. Others look at him quizzically, not having understood the sound he made. Michael only stated his name verbally to see where the others stood with regards to their abilities and to assert a form of dominance. He can do something they can’t, or at least something they didn’t know they had the power to do.
Sending a mental image, Michael introduces himself and the others respond in kind, settling into the situation more, and becoming relaxed. Not really knowing what small talk is, Michael sends images of the two-legged danger facing their kind. Sending images of the lair which Michael and his pack vacated just prior to being hit, he shows the demolished structure to demonstrate just how dangerous the two-legged are and their capability of destruction. In addition, he shows them his images of when he followed the two-legged in Sandra’s lair, how they could sneak inside without being heard or smelled.