Omega Days (Volume 1) - By John L. Campbell Page 0,83

scope on the big M24, hunting the street, engaging targets as far out as she could reach. Five rounds only, whether she hit or not, and then it was time to clean the rifle. One more inspection of the perimeter, another small meal, then more sleep. In the morning she would crunch and do pushups, get her gear ready, snipe with the M4 for half a dozen rounds, clean it and get moving.

Every day the same.

But not at first.

After her flight from the rooftop that night, she had only gone a short distance before hunkering down in an optical center with both front and back doors. She waited a full twenty-four hours before going back to the roof, making that long climb up the fire escape ladder and peeking over the top. They were all gone, including Taylor and Sgt. Postman. Skye collected the sniper rifle in its case, and as much ammunition as she could carry. From Taylor’s pack, still lying where he had set it down, she took a nasty-looking black machete in a nylon sheath. It was now strapped to her own pack. She would need it for quiet, close-in work.

Skye scavenged on the move; boots, soft dark pants with lots of cargo pockets, dark shirts, a black zip-up hoodie, a black knit cap. She gathered batteries, a flashlight, a spotting scope on a little tripod from a sporting goods store, matches and candles, feminine products, a good pair of sunglasses. Never too much of anything, always mindful of the weight.

Now, sitting at the kitchen table in the corner house, the night’s sniping behind her, she nibbled on leftover sardines and crackers, sipping the Snapple. She longed for some fresh fruit, but knew the fridge wasn’t the answer. She avoided refrigerators. After this much time without power, they were all rancid.

On the table beside her sat her cell phone, dark and quiet. Once the center of her world, it was now just a paperweight. At first she tried desperately to find a way to recharge it, just to get at the photos of her mom and dad and sister stored within. She gave up after a while, but still carried the phone. Happier times. Smiling, living people. If she could see their faces again, would she just sit and stare, crying over what was lost?

Skye abruptly got up and carried the phone into the living room. She kissed it, and then set it carefully on the mantle over the fireplace.

In fourteen days she had not spoken to another living person. Not that there had been many opportunities, but she saw that she wasn’t entirely alone out here. There had been a man with a backpack and a hunting rifle, walking alone at a distance. A week later, a band of seven people, including three women and two small children, had walked past her daytime shooting nest. Skye made no attempt to contact any of them.

Conversations led to caring. That was pain, and it was a distraction. Alone, there was no one to worry about or slow her down. Alone, she could focus.

Never stay in one place for more than a day.

Never pack more than you can carry over a fence.

Move fast.

Movement is life.

Relocate often.

Make every bullet count.

She was traveling steadily south, and suspected that she had already left Berkeley behind and was now somewhere in suburban Oakland, moving deeper into heavily populated areas, doing it on purpose. It would mean an environment rich with targets.

Several days ago Skye discovered someone else’s shooter’s nest, set up in the second floor street-side window of a used bookstore. It was military – she found their Humvee half a block away – and it had been overrun. One of the two bodies still in the nest, both men, had obviously turned before being put down with a point blank shot to the forehead. The other was slumped against a wall near the shooting position covered in bites, the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The muzzle of a silenced 9mm automatic was still stuck in the man’s mouth, his hand dangling from it by a finger stuck in the trigger guard.

Both soldiers were in black and gray camouflage, but instead of the big Kevlar helmets Taylor and Postman had worn, these two had dull black helmets similar to what a mountain climber would wear. Her movie knowledge said Special Forces, not that it had helped either one of them, and however many buddies might have been here with them were no