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Bri as the engineer. I’d be more comfortable with that arrangement, but I want Robert in command of the control center in the back of the Spooky. Not only do we need good footage of the bunker surroundings as we fly over, but the lack of communication with Greg has brought my anxiety meter up a notch. There’s an off chance we’ll need the firepower that the Spooky affords us.
    “What about just taking the Spooky and leaving this one here? We have plenty of Strykers and we can pick up another 130 from the Portland guard base,” Robert says.
    “I’ve thought about that. We still have the fake mission to accomplish afterward and will need the Stryker for that. It may be moot as I’m sure they’ll figure out we overflew them on purpose, but there’s the off chance they won’t,” I reply.
    “It’ll be daylight, so we won’t need all of the stations monitored. Gonzalez can run things in my place and I can fly this one with Craig and Bri,” Robert says.
    “If we do that, I’ll need her to be the flight engineer on the Spooky,” I state.
    “Then I guess she’ll have to multitask,” Robert says.
    Lynn, still standing over my shoulder, chuckles in my ear. Patting me on the shoulder, she says, “How does that feel, Jack? Being put in your place, I mean.”
    “Okay fine, we’ll do it that way. Have I told you lately just how much of a pain in my ass you all are?”
    “You love it, Jack. You know you do,” Lynn says.
    “Pain…in…my…ass,” I say, glaring at each of those in the formed circle.
    Muted shrieks penetrate the fuselage, causing every head to turn in the direction of the sound. The screams indicate that we may be in for another of those nights, the all-night shrieks and slamming against the fuselage. We each have ear plugs, but they do little to shut out a night runner assault; and the slams are felt in addition to being heard.
    With a plan formed, we settle into positions as comfortable as can be had. Some crawl into the Stryker to take advantage of the padded bench seats within. Once everyone has settled, I climb into the cockpit and turn off the power. The interior is at once plunged into darkness. Hooding a flashlight, I settle in on the lower bunk next to Lynn. In the chilled, darkened cockpit, as I finally manage to settle into my sleeping bag, the first thud is felt as a night runner slams into the side of the aircraft. In times past, I would have gone to the window to watch them, perhaps experimenting with the abilities I gained after being bitten. Tonight, I’m tired and other worries occupy my mind.
    The increasing brightness within the cockpit brings me out of a restless sleep. The night runners kept at us for some of the night, the sounds of their screams and attempts to gain entry fading after a few hours. Peeling back the top of my sleeping bag, cold air immediately replaces the warmth I had accumulated. Fighting the urge to throw the top back over me, I crawl out and sit on the edge of the bunk, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and kneading my forehead in an attempt to fully waken.
    Cold rises through my socks from the metal floor. Lynn stirs next to me as I pull on my boots and rise. Standing, I hit my head on the upper bunk railing.
    “Dammit! I do that every fucking time.”
    Lynn rolls over and sleepily asks me if I’m alright. I mutter some vague response and, rubbing the top of my head, go down the stairs to locate some water in the cargo compartment.
    With the sun just peaking above the horizon, the ramp door is opened, exposing everyone to the even colder air outside. Any prevailing tiredness is quickly vanquished as we step out of the aircraft. It will warm up as the sun works its way across the clear sky, but the night has brought the temperature down to nearly zero. That’s the desert environment, freezing at night and a furnace during the day. Winter will see one cold weather system after another as Arctic winds sweep across the central plains, unimpeded by any