A New World: Conspiracy Read online

  I rise and turn before I even know I’m doing it. Adrenaline, which I was coming down from after safely exiting the night runner lair with Lynn, resurges. A small amount of relief enters as, upon turning, I see Robert and Bri – Robert just beginning to rise from his bending to help with the dropped mag and Bri staring open-mouthed. Both have droplets of bright red blood sprinkled across their faces. Time slows and seems to stop for an instant before zooming back to normal speed like a train running through a tunnel at high speed.

  More relief floods in as I see Lynn crouching in answer to the shot ringing out. Grabbing the backs of Robert’s and Bri’s vests, I shove them in the direction of the hospital wall and head after them.

  “Against the wall, NOW!” I shout.

  The outside wall of the hospital offers our only chance of cover and I hope we can make it to its safety before another bullet is launched, seeking a target. A quick glance behind tells me that the others heard and are racing on my heels through the overgrown front lawn. I know someone is hit, but right now it’s about getting everyone to safety – at least what I hope is safety. From the path I felt of the bullet and it hitting someone behind, I feel fairly confident that the wall will enable us to stay out of the line of sight, providing that whoever fired at us doesn’t move.

  There isn’t another shot; there is the only loud swish of the tall grass against our pant legs, the sound of our boots hitting the ground on the run, and our panting breath. I pass by and move to the side of Bri as she streaks through the grass, putting myself on the sniper side of her and Robert. We sail through untrimmed, waist-high bushes lining the outer hospital wall, sliding to our knees on the bark-covered ground. Carried by my momentum, my shoulder slams into the brick wall.

  Hearing others break through the bushes, I glance back relieved to see Robert, Bri, and Lynn, all looking my way; Robert’s and Bri’s are eyes wide. Feeling covered for the time being, I rise over the bushes to look back where we were standing just moments ago. Lanes of bent grass attest to the routes we hastily carved through it. Just over the tops of the grass, I see a dark-clad body lying face down on the concrete path leading to the hospital entry. I immediately recognize the diminutive figure with dark hair fanned across the warm stone. Looking down the line we are forming against the wall, I verify my assumption – McCafferty isn’t with us, but instead, lies unmoving on the sidewalk.

  “McCafferty,” I hear Lynn and Gonzalez call out at the same time.

  There is no movement in response. I feel my heart sink with sorrow. I want nothing more than to run to her side…to find that she is okay and help her to her feet, or patch her wound and carry her to cover. I know in my heart that she is most likely gone. In a flash of an instant…gone. A sweet, young woman, always with a ready smile. Her laugh always the first to burst forth, or her giggle, which earned her endless good-natured ribbing…silenced. A woman with the sweetest disposition…with dreams and fears…one of us. One moment standing with the rest of us, happy that Lynn was back, and the next…unceremoniously falling to the hard ground…her life ended in a flash of a moment.

  “Allie,” Gonzalez calls, eliciting the same response…nothing.

  I notice both Lynn and Gonzalez take a step away from the wall toward McCafferty, their expressions making it evident that they are on their way to aid a fallen comrade.

  “No!” I whisper harshly.

  I’m torn. My heart goes out to Allie, and I am filled with grief…a grief that I can’t express until we are safe – providing that moment comes and whoever fired on us doesn’t shift positions. A sorrow that, once started, will flow unrelentingly. Time is critical. I glance to the corner of our wall of protection and back to McCafferty. Looking down the line pressed against the brick, all eyes are on me. I notice a couple glances toward McCafferty.

  I know the sniper is either changing positions to get a better shot on us or waiting for us to break cover toward our fallen teammate. That’s if they know what they are doing. From the time of the bullet passage to the sound of the shot, I know the shooter is some distance away. It will be difficult to get a shot on us in this position from any distance. The trees in the parking lot to our front give us additional cover.

  Two things I do know…by the accuracy of the shot from a distance, the shooter knows what he or she is doing and, that I was the target. It could have been just a random target selection and not a defined target. However it came to be, I was the one being shot at, and my bending down to pick up my mag caused the round to sail overhead. Instead of hitting me, it hit McCafferty standing behind. This makes me feel worse.

  With everyone’s eyes still on me, I give a big sigh. I know what needs to be done. It’s something that’s just ingrained. I unhook my M-4 and hand it to Robert who is kneeling by me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  Without answering him directly, I sharply whisper down the line, “Stay here.”

  I launch through the bushes and take off at a run, hitting a lane of bent grass one of us created moments ago. I left my carbine because it’s not going to do me any good against a sniper firing at long range and will only slow me down.

  Feeling the sun on my shoulders as I streak through the overgrown lawn, adrenaline coursing through my body and expecting to feel the solid impact of a round hitting me, the situation feels surreal. My sight picture narrows to single focus…getting to McCafferty.

  I feel like I’m making no progress at all as I stare at the body lying prone. No matter how fast I run, it seems to stay the same distance away. I don’t alter my path, but instead change the speed of my dash across the lawn. Zig-zagging with someone shooting at right angles won’t hinder their shot, that’s for when you are running toward or away from them. But changing your speed will make it harder for them to hit. And it’s important not to make predictable alterations, but do it almost constantly. As will varying your height from semi-crouch to upright to leaning forward.

  I slow to a trot and, two steps later, break into a sprint. I feel something tug on my fatigues at the shoulder, pulling my vest to the side slightly and almost knocking me off balance. The sting comes at the same time as the sound of the gunshot. I recover and keep running.

  McCafferty’s body hangs in the distance for a moment and then I seem to arrive in a rush. She is face down with a pool of drying blood under her head and around one of her shoulders. Her dark hair is spread across the light gray concrete, part of it clumped in the red pool.

  “Allie!” I call, sliding on my knees beside her.

  It’s important to keep moving or the shooter will be able to get a firm bead on me. I can feel the crosshairs on my back like a physical presence. Any moment, I expect to feel the solid impact and pitch forward. My mouth is dry from fear, and I can feel my heartbeat in my temples. The quick glance at her as I slide to my knees causes a sickening feeling inside.

  “Allie!” I call again, grabbing for her drag handle at the back of her vest.

  I rise and begin pulling her across the sidewalk by the handle. Her hair smears the puddle of blood as I drag her though it. Still no shot, but I anticipate it coming any moment. I’ll be slowed substantially pulling McCafferty to the wall. I concentrate almost solely on the next step and pulling her along; although, in the back of my mind, I spare a few thoughts for the sniper. Keep moving and don’t think about it. If I give over to thinking only about the shooter, fear will set in and it could make me freeze. There is only the next step.

  McCafferty’s body rolls over as I pull her onto the grass. Her head lolls to the side, revealing her ruined throat – there just isn’t much left of it. I feel an anger building inside alongside deep sorrow. McCafferty’s body lightens and becomes easier to drag.

  “Leave her, Jack. She’s dead,” I hear Lynn call as if from a distance.

  Looking up, I see her by my side pulling McCafferty along with me. It’s a startling sight as I didn’t even notice her arrival. The intense adrenaline over the past few hours has caused a fo
g to come over my brain. I hear what she said, but it doesn’t make sense, and I keep pulling McCafferty.

  “Jack! Leave her,” I hear Lynn yell again.

  The fog lifts. Clarity returns. I look from Lynn to McCafferty. Hating to do it, but knowing we’ll just leave another body out here if I don’t, I release my grip on the drag handle. McCafferty’s body falls to the grass and I run alongside Lynn. We alternate pace and I feel another wave of pressure pass barely in front at shoulder level. The report of the gunshot echoes as we both turn on a burst of speed, reaching the bushes and the wall.

  Panting hard, I sink to my knees and retrieve my M-4 from Robert. The stinging in my shoulder returns, having been forgotten seconds after feeling it.

  “Dad,” Robert says, “you’re hit.”

  “It’s nothing,” I reply and tell everybody to stay close to the wall.

  Leaving McCafferty out in the open after making the rescue attempt tells it all. I see anger etched in the faces of the others, their lips drawn tight. A single tear makes a dirt-lined streak down Gonzalez’ cheek. She wipes it away, smearing dirt across her face, and glances at McCafferty. All of our hearts are filled with a deep sorrow and anger at someone who took this sweet young woman away from us.

  I inch forward toward the corner of our little slice of safety. The wall is at an angle to where the shooter was last, so I should be able to get close to the corner without exposing myself. It’s important to try and get a picture of where the sniper is before we come up with a plan…yeah, there’s that word. As it is, we’re rather stuck in this position. Forward or to the side is out of the question, and into the hospital is an even worse option. I can still hear the shrieks drifting across to us from the hornet’s nest we kicked over.

  “Drescoll, Jack here,” I call into the radio.

  He answers a moment later, “Drescoll here, go ahead.”

  “Go button plus five,” I say.

  “Copy,” he replies.

  Button plus five is a code for switching to a different frequency without broadcasting which channel we’ll be going to. Button is a channel briefed before an op or a daily setting and denotes what is essentially the zero channel to base settings from. So, saying button plus five means five channels above the base channel. If the base channel is seven, then button plus five is a command to go to channel twelve. If someone is scanning frequencies, they’ll find us, but there’s no use making it easier for them.

  “Drescoll’s up,” he calls over the new channel.

  “We have someone taking shots at us and have taken cover by the front wall of the hospital. I don’t have a clear picture of their position, but I estimate about four to five hundred yards to the south-southeast of the main entrance,” I state.

  There are a few seconds of hesitation before he says, “Copy. Is anyone hit?”

  I hesitate, especially knowing that he and McCafferty were, well, in lack of other terms, together. I don’t want to give out any information, but the real reason is that I don’t want to tell him at the moment. I need him clear. It’s not really that fair, but there it is. I turn to Lynn and she gives me a shrug as if to say, ‘your call.’

  “We have one down. Trying to get a position on the shooter now,” I say.

  “Who is it?” he asks.

  “No names over the radio. You and Horace stand by to head to the sniper’s location.”

  Another hesitation. “Do you want us to come up there and provide a shield with the vehicles for you to evacuate?”

  I would like nothing more than to just get out of this situation. However, I want to find and hopefully capture this shooter. Just having them evacuate out of the area will leave the threat still there for some future time. I’m assuming this was an intentional act and not some deranged person who happened to come across us. That is still a possibility but, for some reason, I don’t think it is.

  “Negative. Standby.”

  Kneeling just before the end of the wall, I extract my signal mirror and extend it around the corner. There aren’t any bushes on that side of the building, so I can get a clear view in that direction. The small face of the mirror makes it difficult to see much, but I see a line of offices in the distance, away from and across a street from the hospital. Of course, seeing anything remotely like a person at that distance with the mirror is basically futile. I’m mostly looking for movement. I don’t see anything.

  The mirror flies out of my hand, breaking into several shards. One moment it’s there and the next it’s tugged forcefully from between my fingers. The round that shattered the glass rips through a bush next to me and buries itself into the ground with a thud. The clap of a gunshot follows. Yeah, this shooter knows what they are doing and apparently has quite the zoom on their scope. The benefit is that, just before the mirror was blown from my hand, I saw a flash of light coming from on top of the two-story office buildings.

  I’m actually surprised that they are still there, and that is one of the mistakes they are making – staying in one place for so long. Shoot and move should be their method of operation. I get missing and wanting your target down, but they should have been on the move.

  “Drescoll. The shooter is on top of the blue two-story office buildings approximately four hundred meters to the south,” I call. “Take them alive if possible.”

  * * * * * *

  Drescoll lurches forward with the Stryker, coming to a stop. Jack’s radio calls sent an icy jolt of fear down his back. He feels his heart tighten and is sick to his stomach. There is someone down and he knows Jack isn’t telling him who it is because he doesn’t want to tell him it’s Allie. Deep down, Drescoll knows it’s her, and the thought makes him want to fold up. She is the only bright light in this hell they are living in…the only thing that has given him hope. To think of her gone makes him want to sink to his knees and lose himself in grief. However, he tells himself that he doesn’t know this for sure. Actually, there is a part of him that’s upset at Jack for trying to protect him and thinking he needs to be. He would do what was needed regardless as the whole team is relying on him.

  He exits and joins Horace. The two of them pour over a map, quickly finding the building mentioned by Jack. It isn’t hard to find as there aren’t that many buildings in the area. There is an urgency to come up with a plan and get into the area. Jack wanting to capture the sniper puts an added wrinkle to any plan. It would be easier to spook the shooter out of the area by driving the vehicle nearby. Anyone worth their mettle would vacate the area quickly. Drescoll, like Jack, is surprised they’ve actually stuck around this long.

  “I’ll take my team and sweep around the side, positioning in an arc around the shooter’s latest position. I’ll need to sweep wide enough so the vehicles can’t be heard, disembark a ways out, and head to our positions on foot,” Drescoll says to Horace, outlining his intended route on the map. “Then, when we’re in position, you head forward with the Stryker and flush them out.”

  “You’ll need more than just your team. I only need two here. You can take the other four with you. That will give you a better coverage area,” Horace states.

  With a quick plan set up, Drescoll boards the two Humvees with his and part of Horace’s team. They need to do this quickly yet with caution. He doesn’t know if the shooter has a team for security or not, so they’ll need to proceed cautiously once they are on foot.

  The idling vehicles are barely heard as Drescoll folds the map and prepares to move out. The sun’s rays shining down provide no warmth, its brightness in direct contrast to how he feels. Tension mounts with the upcoming operation and his stomach is churning, again wondering if Allie is okay. Drescoll isn’t really sure if not knowing is a good or bad thing. On one hand, not knowing gives him hope that she is okay, but on the other, it leads his mind down a very dark path. He has never been very good with not knowing things; they weigh heavier on his mind. His thoughts always tend to wander down the darkest path available. Climbing into one of the Humvee passenger seats, he loo
ks at the clouds gathering on the horizon. That is more of how he feels – that there are dark clouds gathering.

  Taking a long route around the area, Drescoll is antsy and has a difficult time not telling the driver to accelerate. Every fiber is pulled tight and he almost orders the group to the hospital so he can find out about Allie…to protect her. Of course, if she is with Jack and alive, she will be pissed beyond belief. He tried to be protective of her once and regretted that for the next several days. A memory enters of her smiling up at him, fueling his anxiety.

  The two Humvees travel along a road adjacent to Capital Lake. The once pristine park surrounding it is now overgrown. The water is barely visible through the tall weeds as they make their way along its side and turn. Climbing a steep hill, they make another turn and begin heading toward the area where Red Team, Lynn, and the sniper are located.

  Entering the edge of town and a shopping area, Drescoll has the driver slow to minimize the sound of their presence. Strip malls line both sides of the street which eventually lead to the large grounds that encompass the Capital Mall. Each shop emits a presence of being uninhabited for a long period of time. Where the glass isn’t outright broken, grime-covered windows stare mutely at the passage of the small convoy.

  Drescoll directs them into a Taco Time parking lot where they disembark. The teams quietly gather their gear and check each other over. From here, they’ll proceed on foot, circumventing the building to the south, and begin setting up a perimeter on the far side. He would normally call, informing the others of his progress, but decides to maintain radio silence in case they are being monitored.

  They set their intervals and, with a nod from Drescoll, they begin. The large team proceeds cautiously up one of the streets leading around the building circled on the map. With each step, a feeling of dread comes over Drescoll. He has to keep himself in check mentally lest he drive the team at a hasty pace. He gives his head a minute shake to clear it from the negative thoughts crowding it.

  Not a sound accompanies their trek through the wide streets as they pass several apartment complexes. Debris is piled up against the curbs with a fine grit of dirt covering the roadways and sidewalks. Warmth streams from the sunlit sky and several birds leave nearby branches at their approach, crossing the street to perch on other limbs. The very air itself feels oppressive, but that is only the tension emanating from the team as they zero in on their prey.