Free A New World 10 - Storm by John O'Brien

with Harold before heading home. I still have the group in northern Canada in the back of my mind, but that will have to wait until later. Frank would have informed us if events have changed back home, but there’s nothing like seeing it for myself. And, we have some big decisions to make.
    Red and Blue Teams set to hauling enough weapons and gear out of the armory for the group of soldiers we’ll be taking, stowing them in vehicles that we’ll use to transport to the 130. Lynn tasks the remaining teams, excluding the one that kept watch during the night, to watch over the control room and to guard the prisoners when they head out to clear the grounds around the perimeter. She ensures that the security room is manned and begins setting up a secondary security station in the control room. Before long, the bunker is a hive of activity, filled with echoing shouts, doors being closed, boots running across the concrete surface, and a myriad of other noises that come from people on the move.
    In the midst of this rising clamor, Robert, Craig, and I settle into a relatively quiet corner of the control room to plan the flight. I’m opting to bring Craig just in case. There’s nothing for him to do here and it’s always nice to have another pilot along. Harold brings up a display from one of the weather satellites. Fall is a time of unpredictable weather patterns, so it’s nice to have that resource back, even if it will only be for a short period of time. With the time showing the sun has made its appearance, those of us making the short hop over to Mountain Home gather in vehicles and head out. Edging around the SUV Jan left parked at the gate, we drive across fields to where we left the 130.
    The shadow from the aircraft stretches across the dirt field, rippling where it crosses undulations in the land. With Red Team watching over the soldiers, Blue Team loads the crates of gear while Robert, Bri, and I start our checks. Finishing, the soldiers all tromp up the ramp and take seats on the red nylon webbing stretched along both sides of the fuselage.
    With all four props turning in a blur and a deep roar rumbling through the aircraft, I push the throttles forward. The 130 starts rolling across the dirt field, bouncing as we pick up speed. Robert places his hand on top of mine so it doesn't shake off the throttles and inadvertently pull them back. Having walked the surface, I know we aren’t in danger of slamming into a trench or gully, but that doesn’t make the ride any smoother. Throwing a stream of dust behind us, we eventually become airborne, clawing for altitude into the early morning sky.
    Turning west, the eastern slopes of the Rockies are bathed in morning light. The angle of the sunlight shrouds the ravines in darkness, making them appear even deeper and the terrain even more rugged. We’ve passed over these mountains numerous times in our search for survivors, but looking down on the brilliantly lit peaks, I’m not sure we’ll get the chance to see them many more times.
    There are very few roads showing on the expanse of wilderness below. If we do go down, we might never be found. We’d just be another notch on the belt of humankind’s downfall, only existing in the memories of those we left behind. If we did survive, there would be no way we could walk out of such a place. Our world would become significantly smaller, amounting to only the hills and valleys that we could see.
    A little over an hour into our flight, nestled against steep, ragged peaks, Salt Lake City appears ahead of us to the left. Pulling the throttles back, the drone of the engines decreases as I begin a shallow descent into Mountain Home. To the south, the Great Salt Lake glimmers in the sun as we fly past, while the white of the Bonneville Salt Flats to the west are almost blinding from the sunlight striking them. It’s not long before a large U-shaped valley appears with Idaho Falls on one end and Boise on the other. Angling toward