'Chasing the Night', by Aron Woolnough

Chasing the Night 

By Aron Woolnough

With a gentle knock on the door, “Sir, we are approaching the Anchorage Base now”, Grace entered the room, a fair haired woman in a suit that hadn’t been washed in 4 days. She looked over at Milton Augustus, who calmly drank his last bottle of whiskey in the sitting room,

“Thank you, Miss Wilbur, which room are we meeting in?”

“Mister Oxford requested the dining area, the best plans should be chewed over, he said”,

“Can you ask the Chef to prepare some sandwiches? If it isn’t too much trouble”,

“Certainly, Mister President”, said Grace and she closed the door behind her. ‘Mister President’, Milton smirked, as the words circulated around his mind. He was still getting used to the absence of Vice from that title. Any sense of pride was diminished by the morbid circumstances in which he became President. Not worth thinking about, Milton finished his glass and looked at the bottle. Half empty. He placed it back into the cupboard and left the room.

                Down the corridor, Milton passed a hundred small round windows; all covered apart from one. He looked out onto the night sky and watched the wing of the plane soar over grey clouds. His fingers gripped a small beaded chain, he pulled it, and a cover dropped over the window. He looked down and continued to walk towards the dining area. An intercom buzzed, “This is Co-Captain Cornwall, we are expecting to undergo some turbulence as we approach the base. ETA 20 minutes, thank you, Cornwall out”. Outside the dining room was two suited men, with firearms in their belts, “Ford, Wells”, Milton nodded towards them both,

“Mister Vice President”, Wells saluted.

“Doug”, Ford elbowed him, “Sorry, Mister President”,

“Not a problem, at ease gentleman”, President Milton said.

Wells said nothing, his cheeks lit up red. From down the corridor, Bradley Oxford rushed over, “Sir”, he said to the President. Ford opened the door.

                Milton entered the dining area, with Bradley just behind. Everyone stood; Milton waved his hand down at them. They sat at the table, Oxford beside Father Stephenson, who nervously toyed with his cross, and the President next to Engineer Adams and General Orwell, who was holding court, “6 miles away from the base is an industrial town, we should send a group there to gather supplies and look for survivors”,

“Don’t hold your breath”, said Bradley, “We have seen this time and time again, any survivors are not human anymore, they’re savage, broken”,

“We are all broken, Son”, said Father Stephenson, and Bradley folded his arms. Then, Secretary of State, Annemarie Becket entered with Captain Aaron Raider; they took a seat at the table. General Orwell gave his attention to the Captain,

“Touch down in 15”, a judder shook the room, “turbulence is expected”, he looked over at Engineer Adams, who passed over a sheet of paper with his notes on it. “Primary objective at the airbase is obviously fuel and the following parts”, he passed the notes over to the General, “Cornwall will recognise those parts, so he will go with the President’s detail into the main facility, and Adams and I will focus on the refuelling”, with that, Engineer Adams and Captain Raider left the room.

                “How long will we have?” President Milton asked,

“No more than 4 hours to be safe”, answered Annemarie, “the splinter group, they will need to be back before then, or we go without them”,

“I will go”, said Bradley Oxford, “As fun as being Chief of Staff is, I will feel more useful on the ground, Sir”,

The President nodded. Two servers placed down platters of sausages, carrots and peppers, with an array of dips and creams for the meeting to graze from. Father Stephenson brushed back his greying hair with his hand, wiped it on his trouser leg and then dipped a carrot stick into a pot of sour cream.

“If I may, I would also like to accompany Mister Oxford”, said Father Stephenson as he munched into the carrot. The General and Oxford shared a glance. The President was fixated on the platter, no sight of sandwiches anywhere.

“Are you sure, Father? It might be dangerous”, said Oxford,

“Quite sure, breathing the recycled air in this plane for a week straight can’t be healthy for a man of my age, stretching my legs and helping is exactly what I need”,

“Very well then, Mister Oxford, Father Stephenson and Jason Ford to travel into the town and bring back food and other essential items”,

“Wells”, said the President, “Have Douglas Wells accompany the Splinter group, I would prefer it if Ford remains on my detail”,

“Very well, Mister President” said the General.

                President Milton left the room and walked towards his secretary Grace Wilbur, “I asked for sandwiches”,

“No bread, Sir”, she said, “I’ve added ingredients for it to our supplies request, but bread goes off very quickly in the moist pantry above the engine room. I didn’t list it as a priority, better to focus on long-lasting food”,

“I am happy to bake it as and when I desire it, add flour to the top of the list”, Milton said,

“Yes, Mister President”, said Grace, with no intention of amending the list, “Your wife asked to see you before landing”.

                Back in the dining room, General Orwell and Annemarie Becket consulted Bradley, “You have to understand, it is not that we wish ill will on him, or that we want to get rid of him, we just can’t take much more of this. Every day and every night, he is like scratching fingernails down a chalk board, please, speak to him and get him to mind his own business or something”,

Bradley agreed and went through to the crew quarters and entered the Ambassador’s lounge, “Oxford!” a cheery cheeked British man squeaked, “Fancy you dropping by my quarters, how may I assist?”

“Nothing for the time being, I just wanted to speak with you about the General and Secretary of State. I’ve read reports of you interfering with their work and getting in the way”,

“Hogwash! Those chums keep me chipper, sure, that is not to be confused with anything else. Tell the staff members who have made these reports that friendship cannot distract, only encourage, chap”,

“It was actually the Secretary and General themselves who asked me to speak with you, please, take a step back from their affairs and when situations arise, take a step back and let them do their job. That is all.” Oxford was firm, but fair, he was hard on everyone and you only had one chance with him, no second chances was something he had learnt from childhood and it had never failed him. Though he had respect for the ambassador, his cheery moral-driven ways could not distract from the objective leadership required in times of distress. The ambassador nodded faithfully and whistled, as he flicked through the two week old paper, “Stuck on the Sudoku?” asked Oxford,

“Blasted thing, I’ve nearly got it”,

Oxford smiled and wished him luck.

                Milton entered his bedroom, and his wife, Miriam, sat on the edge of the bed. She looked down at a photo frame in her hands. She was crying. Milton approached her slowly and extended a hand to her shoulder. She placed the frame on the bed, it was a picture taken four years ago at their son’s graduation, “We should have found them, made them board the plane and come with us”, she said tearfully,

“No one could have predicted these solar anomalies”, said Milton, unsure if it would comfort her,

“Bullshit and you know it, your office ignored reports for years about this; from depleting ozone reports, to the radiation spikes. We could’ve stopped this; we could’ve saved our children”.

“It isn’t our fault, we gathered the best intelligence we could. President Gently bet his life on it. We were convinced”, said Milton,

“We were doubtful enough to get on this plane, to fly away from the rising sun and chase the night around the globe”, Miriam took a breath and hugged him, “I’m sorry, just thinking about them,” she whimpers, “burning, the sun scarring them and pain radiating throughout their body… I only hope they died quickly, it is only a curse to survive that”,

“The last time we touched down, there were signs of survivors, living underground. We couldn’t locate them, but it might be possible, to live underground. Billy could’ve made it to the subway. Jessica to the lab’s basement”, he looked at his wife and smiled, “there is always hope”,

“Tell that to your bottle of whiskey”, she sniggered, and then apologised again.

                The plane wobbled and Captain Raider sat in the cockpit with Co-pilot Cornwall, “What do I call the president? Are you sure I should go in with them to the base? I might not recognise the parts under pressure, it would be better if I stayed and you went”,

“Cool it”, said Raider, “You’ll do great”. The plane’s front wheels extended out and clicked into place. Cornwall flicked the switches above his head and grabbed the intercom, “Prepare for landing, fasten seatbelts”, he said. Raider glided the wings down with precision, like threading a needle through the winds. Everything jolted forwards as they pressed onto the runway. Cornwall engaged the landing breaks and Raider eased the plane to a stop. “Landing successful”, Cornwall said as he disengaged the outer door lock.

                Oxford met with Wells and Father Stephenson, they prepared themselves in the arsenal. Wells offered Oxford a gun and he put it into his belt, then Wells offered Father Stephenson a gun, but he refused, “Father, it is vital for your protection that you hang onto this”,

“It won’t be necessary”,

“I can’t let you go, if you’re not carrying a firearm, it is too dangerous otherwise”, said Wells and he forced the gun into the priest’s hand. Father Stephenson took the clip out of the gun and slid it into his pocket, and then placed the gun in the front of his belt.

                President Milton kissed his wife and told her to get some rest. He left their room and was greeted by Ford. They joined Grace Wilbur and Johnathon Cornwall in the docking bay.  The splinter group came in afterwards and mounted a Jeep that they had recovered from their last operation, “Watch the clutch on that one, Wells” said Ford,

“Aye, aye”, yelled Wells as he hopped into the drivers’ seat. Oxford sat beside him and Father Stephenson sat behind the two of them. He held his bible in his hands and whispered a pray for safety and success on their missions. Engineer Adams walked over and opened the docking bay doors, “Four hours and these doors close and we take off, with or without any of you, set your watches now”, Adams said and then watched them all check their watches, apart from the President. The Jeep stalled and Wells forced the handbrake on. Ford turned to him and repeated, “Watch the clutch” and Oxford laughed. Wells carefully positioned his foot on the pedal and then drove out of the plane. Co-pilot Cornwall stood beside the President and quietly said, “It is an honour, Sir”,

“The honour is all mine” said Milton.

                The first group stepped off the plane into the Alaskian cold on the air base. A United States flag blew in the wind up-side-down on the flag pole. A clash from the gates as the Splinter group’s Jeep drove through the series of padlocks and the headlights headed east to the town. Ford looked at Grace and the President, “Stay close”, and they walked towards the hangar. Engineer Adams also got off the plane and attached a fuelling pump to the plane’s exterior fuel injector. He stayed in radio contact with Captain Raider, who had both his feet up on the console as he watched the tank’s capacity dial.

                The Jeep drove down the road and almost immediately, they picked up a distress beacon coming from near-by, “Mayday, Mayday. We have lost our lab to civilians. We were unable to protect the equipment.” It repeated on loop, once in English and then again in Russian. Oxford took the radio and broadcasted, “This is Bradley Oxford of Air Force One, our plane is in bound and can provide assistance, do you copy?” there was silence, “tell us your location and we can help you”. The moon shone brightly in the sky, Father Stephenson lent forwards and asked Wells, “Is the moon safe? After all, it is the Sun’s rays reflecting off of it”,

“All reports have indicated that the radiation reflected off the moon is too weak to reach Earth afterwards, we’ll be fine”, Wells smirked, “We’ll soon find out if I’m wrong”. Oxford still hadn’t received a reply. He left the radio on his lap.

                Jason Ford reached the main door to the facility, “It’s locked, stand back”, he kicked the door open. Ford shone his torch forward and quickly located the light switch, but it didn’t work. “Finding parts in the dark, how fun”, said Cornwall,

“Once we’ve found the storage area and Ford here has cleared the building, we can ask for more assistance from the plane to help search. Keep an eye out for flour too”, said Grace, and the President smiled. Usual protocol wouldn’t allow a public figure to participate in this sort of operation, but due to great losses and persistent requests to help, Ford made a judgement call which allowed non-secret service agents to participate in the operations. Ford shone his torch forwards and the others trailed behind him. With a fast swipe from his right, Ford thudded to the ground. Grace screamed and Cornwall ran in front of the President.

                A sudden explosion in the road ahead, instigated Wells to slam on the breaks. He was captivated by the mass of orange in front of him, feeling warmth on his skin that he had missed from the absense of the Sun. To their side, three men approached, all scarred and burned on their skin. “Freeze, all y’all” yelled Chalk to the Splinter Group. His two followers, Mac and Donny aimed guns at the Jeep. Wells rested his hand on the gun in his belt. Father Stephenson put his hands in the air and stood up. He faced them, “Violence won’t be necessary”, Father Stephenson began,

“A gun in his belt” bellowed Mac, Donny shot. Father Stephenson’s neck ripped open and his cross fell from the chain around his neck. Wells pulled out his weapon, as did Oxford. Wells shot towards the bandits, winging Mac, and revved the engine at the same time. He began to drive away and Oxford shot at them, his bullets flying everywhere but the target. Quickly he was out of rounds and struggled to reload. Chalk took the rifle from Mac and aimed it. He squeezed the trigger and shot Wells straight through the back of the head. The Jeep swerved off course and into a large rock. Oxford’s forehead slammed into the dashboard. In a panic, he shoved Wells’ body out of the car and restarted the engine. He heard shouting behind him and Donny ran over to the Jeep. Oxford stalled it. Donny pulled the trigger.

                Engineer Adams got the message from Raider, the tank was full. He pulled the pump from the plane and secured the fuel injector. He dusted himself off and turned around. Walking towards the plane was President Milton Augustus with his hands on his head. Three men stood behind him, one held a gun to the back of his head, “You can call me Moscow, this is Novogorod and Samara, you fail to listen to me and your President dies”,

Adams nodded. Grace was bloodied and being held behind Novogorod, he gripped his fist into the roots of her hair and spat at her. Cornwall and Ford were nowhere to be seen. Adams radioed up to the cockpit. Then he stepped forward,

“I have told them, we can negotiate, what do you want?” asked Adams,

“Your plane” spat Samara and he turned to Grace and shot her knee cap. She screamed.

“Get all y’all outta there and we board it. Simple” Samara spat again.

“You and the pilot stay on board, we’ll need you”, said Moscow to Engineer Adams,

“Please, we can accommodate you and us, we can live together”, pleeded Adams, just then the Jeep returned and Chalk was at the wheel.

“It isn’t just us three”, said Moscow. The Jeep pulled up to them and Donny jumped out. Mac sat in the back and held Father Stephenson’s cross in his hand. Suddenly Adams heard the docking bay doors close behind him. He gulped and the plane’s engines started. “No, we got the President, you can’t leave” yelled Novogorod in desperation.  President Milton looked at Grace and then at Adams, “It has been an honour to serve you, to serve my country… God, have mercy on my--”