As they walk, the sun rises higher, but the swirling winds keep the heat at bay. The screams fade, become background noise.
Reaching the city limits, cars are haphazardly parked in the lots of a gas station to one side and a café to the other. Ahead, the access road leads through a stand of trees and ends at a stop sign bathed in the sun’s rays.
Well, the world is fine. It’s humanity that was flushed.
There’s no sign of the smoke above the tall firs, the winds won’t allow it, but Krandle knows the source is somewhere ahead and to their left. The smoke has grown fainter — the fire was dying down.
“It looks like whatever is burning is coming from on or near the road,” says Speer.
Krandle nods. “I agree. Take us into the trees. We’ll approach from there and get eyes on whatever it is.”
Six successive metallic clicks sound as each checks for a round in the chamber. A strong gust of wind marks their departure from the city limits. Leaving the fading screams of night runners behind, they angle across the avenue toward the trees.
Moving slowly to minimize sound, Speer leads the team through an outer layer of undergrowth, pausing to move branches out of the way before slithering past. With only an occasional brush of leaves against clothing and packs, they silently vanish, becoming one with the natural landscape.
The terrain under the firs opens up with only a scattering of underbrush. A few rays of sunlight find their way through openings in the boughs, angling amid the tree trunks. Insects dart in and out of the light in a never-ending stage show.
Once inside the woods, the going becomes easier. Taking care where to place his feet, Speer leads them along the edge of the outer-growth. They take their spacing between each other, more out of habit than from any threat. Six pairs of eyes search through the gloom, trying to pierce the shadows as they look for movement or the outline of a body.
Although it’s too light for night runners to be out, the danger lies with their own kind. Without the constraints of civilization, there are those who believe the changed reality means they can do as they please. The virus didn’t distinguish between bully and saint, making the world a much more dangerous place. Trust regarding strangers has been laid aside in the name of survival and the ones left are just as likely to open fire without question as to invite one into their hearth.
Nearing the highway edge of the woods, they halt. “Speer, Ortiz with me. The rest of you watch our six.”
Dropping their packs, Speer finds an opening under the bushes. Side by side, they crawl toward the road. At the edge, Krandle parts the leaves of the last screen of bushes, searching for a sign of anyone in the forest across the highway. Nothing. Inching forward, he looks toward where the smoke should be.
Up the road, a large fir lies across the road, the needle-covered branches obscuring a clear sight beyond. Past the fallen tree, faint plumes of smoke rise, climbing to a level just above the forest tops before being blown away. Near the barrier, the ground is churned up on both sides of the pavement.
“Looks like someone set up an ambush,” Speer whispers.
“Sure looks that way,” says Ortiz.
Krandle remains silent, turning his gaze down the highway in the opposite direction to where the steel girders of a bridge rise in the distance. Tapping Speer and Ortiz, he nods back toward the others. Easing the branches back into place, they inch back from the highway, covering their tracks as a matter of habit.
“Someone set up an ambush and triggered it. End of story. So, I’m all for calling it a day and heading back to the boat,” Speer says.
Krandle glances upward. “We still have a few hours and there may be survivors who need help.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Speer says despondently.
“If there is anyone left, they’re going to have itchy trigger fingers,” says Franklin.
“We’ll just have to be careful, then,” Krandle says.
“Those were tire tracks we saw leaving the road… a few of them. They might still be there,” says Speer.
“Possibly,” Krandle says. “We’ll work our way to where they came in and circle around.”
“So, we’re going, then?” Speer says.
Krandle looks at each team member. Franklin and Blanchard both nod, Miller shrugs.
“Fuck. You’re all going to be the death of me,” Speer says.
“We all gotta go sometime,” says Ortiz.
Krandle knows that’s just the way Speer deals with stuff; he’s not truly against going. He’d give you the shirt off his back, but bitch about it the entire time.
They continue near the inner screen of shrubs. Their pace slowed, knowing there is a good chance there’s trouble ahead. Speer advances ten paces, and then holds to watch and listen, measuring his next steps. They watch for a sudden flight of birds, listen for the wildlife to go quiet. The onshore flow continues to sweep through, the gusts beginning to calm. Six men silently creep through the woods, so quiet not even the animals are aware of their presence.
Speer arrives at the vehicle’s point of entrance and crouches. Each man lowers in place and scans their sectors, weapons ready to unleash a torrent of fire in a heartbeat.
Speer motions Krandle forward. “Looks like seven or eight quads, but it’s hard to tell,” says Speer. “They’re only a few hours old. It looks like the same thing across the road. Most are obscured, but look at the ones on top. The tread pattern shows them exiting the tree line.”
“So, they entered, triggered the ambush, and left?” asks Krandle.
“It would appear so. However, whether all of them left…” Speer ends his comment with a shrug.
“There’s no smell of exhaust,” Krandle says.
“No. Whatever went through here did so hours ago. And there aren’t any quads idling ahead. Even with the wind, we’d hear them from this distance.”
“Take us back into the woods and circle us around so that we come in from the side,” Krandle says.
“What’s our timetable?”
Krandle checks his watch. “We have four hours. So, that or until we finish verifying if anyone needs help.”
“Or we’re fired on.”
“Or that.”
Heading deeper into the woods, they resume their slow advance. Fingers stroke trigger guards or selector switches. With each step, small branches have to be moved out of the way, the weight gradually transitioned to avoid the crunch of needles. All their gear had been taped to prevent any metallic ping.
Speer finally calls a halt. “We’re past the tree. Do you want to head in from here, or circle around farther behind?”
Krandle looks in the direction of the highway, squinting to see into the shadows.
“There’s no one in the trees, and no sign of quads,” Speer states, watching Krandle. “But, there are people on the road.”
Krandle tries to see what Speer sees.
“No, chief, listen.”
Krandle strains to hear, but gives up and shakes his head.
“There are voices coming from the highway. They’re faint, but they’re there,” Speer says.
“How in the fuck can you hear that?”
“Pretty sure my grandpa fucked a dog, or something like that.”
“That’s messed up, Speer. You’re saying your grandma was a dog?”
Speer shrugs. “She was kind of a bitch.”
“You’re too much.”
Krandle thumbs the throat mic. “We’re going in from here. Move out on line.”
With weapons ready and eyes searching, they work their way toward the highway. After a short distance, Krandle begins hearing the voices Speer mentioned. He looks over at his point man, who gives him another shrug. As they advance, the forest floor gives evidence of recent travel. Halting away from the edge of the tree line, Krandle halts the team and motions for Speer to move up with him.