Gray waited until the fat man with the moustache left the rounded building. He observed him waddle up a slight incline, then pass from view behind the first bunker. To be sure, Gray delayed a bit more, in case he reappeared at the farther end of the structure. The man had studied him a little too long and that made Gray nervous.
There was only a narrow line of red along the horizon, and the meager light shrouded everything in a heavy murk. Soon Gray could move about without needing to disguise himself. He had approached the airbase from the crop fields, where all the farmers had finished for the day and were settled into their houses. They weren’t like these ugly bunkers. They were nicer places, the houses. Like real homes.
On occasion, Gray would sneak up to the farmhouses at night and peer inside. The windows glowed with amber light provided by end table lamps and Gray could almost feel their warmth. He watched as the farmers sat on comfy-looking sofas and deep cloth chairs, the kind you could sink into. The people would read books or write with pen and paper. In the kitchens they would clang pots and pans, dishes and shiny things Gray thought were called utensils, yet they would never cook anything. It was as though they were going through a routine – pretending to cook and clean after themselves.
Instead, around the same time each evening the farmers walked from their farmhouses to one of the bunkers where Gray supposed they all met to dine. It was an eerie sight, like a procession of lost souls and to Gray they seemed broken somehow.
When they had gone, he would go inside the houses and look at all the wonders they held. Moving from room to room was difficult because he was so big now, but he managed it. Something about these settings stirred Gray’s memories and familiar imagery flashed before him, as though he wasn’t merely imagining them, but had been there, in rooms like these. In a house. With mother and father. As always however, the images vanished and defeated, Gray would slink back into the night.
To his left, Gray watched one of the guards pacing. When he turned away, Gray relaxed from his tree-like pose, reached through a hole in the fencing and snagged a bundle of protein bars that Eva had left him. A piece of paper was wedged between them and Gray unfolded and read it.
Tomorrow at dusk.
Gray squinted as something pelted his face. He looked up and witnessed the guard sprinting toward the bunker. Then another following him. A storm had set in, hurling seeds through the air. Gray withdrew from the perimeter and moved silently among the shadows.
****************************************************************************
The sudden onset of the storm caused Alex to take shelter at the county airport instead of making it back to the silo. He figured it to be the safest place to ride it out. It had only seemed moments ago that Annabelle had mentioned how the orange and raspberry clouds looked like sherbet. The pink light reflected from low clouds, painting the concrete below in a soft pink hue.
“I could sure go for sherbet!” Henry had exclaimed.
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“If I could only get us some big spoons,” said Alex, “Then each one of us would reach up and take a giant scoop of those clouds.”
“Mmm,” mumbled Annabelle.
Henry licked his lips. “Aw, man! Then we wouldn’t be so hungry.”
The sky was so beautiful that it didn’t seem real, especially from the view provided by the control tower. It was as though it could only have been dreamt up, conjured by a child’s imagination. The very air had felt heavy with wonderment and listening to Annabelle and Henry, Alex half expected fairies to materialize and the airport’s concrete and steel structure to magically be replaced by candy canes and cotton candy.
The only flaw was the tarmac couple, whose presence in the now rust-hued gloom, morphed the otherwise enchanted sunset into the ideal setting for a horror movie. Through the rifle’s scope, Alex Dash watched two figures wander from the terminal across the barren taxiway. One male, one female. The man was dressed in tattered military fatigues and was missing his left boot. Likely unaware, the woman was nearly topless, her tee shirt half gone, her bra hanging off her left shoulder.
Nomads.
“There are two,” whispered Alex. “Stay where you are. Keep down.”
“Okay,” whispered Annabelle.
“Me too,” added Henry. “Okay.”
Keeping his eye pressed into the scope, Alex snapped his fingers and held his hand out behind him, palm up. The twins knew that this meant to be quiet; no more talking. “Bags,” said Alex, and the twins readied themselves by sliding on their tiny backpacks, what had once been their kindergarten school gear, but since converted to toddler-scale “bug-out” bags.
Training the crosshairs on the space between the two, Alex was able to keep them both in the scope’s window. Had their appearance not given it away, their bumbling gait would have exposed them.
Alex had selected the remote control tower, preferring its distance from the terminal. He also figured the height advantage and unrestricted view would benefit them in a conflict. But to engage was to reveal one’s position and he’d prevent it if able.
Wondering if the man and woman were alone, Alex swiveled the scope toward the terminal, looking for others. The airport was a general aviation airstrip, primarily used by the public, although Alex noticed a few military aircraft in the distance. All the doors to the terminal remained closed and the windows were all dark. The couple seemed to be the only ones, but it stood to reason there were more somewhere inside.
When he returned the scope to the couple’s last position, Alex’s pulse spiked when he could no longer find them. He lowered the rifle and scanned the airfield with his own eyes and nearly fell backward when he spotted the man and woman charging toward the tower.
There were no lights, no electricity, therefore eliminating the risk of being backlit by any source. So, why the hell were they coming this way?
“Alex?” called Annabelle softly.
Alex’s concern was infectious, and the children shared his anxiety. They rose to their feet, their tiny frames concealed by the worktops and computer stations.
“Come here,” whispered Alex, leading them toward the rear of the room.
“It’s okay,” said Henry. “The door’s locked, right?”
Alex nodded. “Yes.”
From the first floor came the sound Alex had been waiting for. There was a loud thump as the couple had reached the tower’s access door. Alex raised the rifle and aimed for the dark stairway, which provided entry to the room they occupied. He moved toward it.
“Alex!” pleaded Annabelle. “Don’t!”
He gave her a stern look. “Stay down. Everything will be fine. Do not come for me, I will come get you.”
At the bottom of the stairs Alex aimed toward the exterior door. The barrage continued and Alex understood that it would never cease, at least not until he put an end to it. As far as he knew, the door featured no sophisticated locking mechanism. Perhaps at one time it had, but with no electricity, any computerized locks were useless. There was only a deadlock, which looked ready to give.
The tarmac couple released animalistic sounds as they continued their assault. The deadbolt creaked under the pressure. Alex took a deep breath and the door burst inward.