by John O'Brien
“Rescue them? What do you mean rescue them?” Leonard asks, his voice rising.
“You heard when I told you about the night runners, right? That building you just sent your men into is the perfect lair for them. They hide in darkened buildings. Your men will get torn apart inside. Did you send them in armed?” I ask.
Leonard stares at me for a moment. I can almost see the gears within turning. Whether he is thinking about his answer or absorbing the information is beyond me. The silence is virtually complete. Waves lap gently against the concrete dock. The cry of a lone gull drifts across the open waters. The faint sound of boots running on the ground as the teams race to the warehouse. The cotton gray of the clouds lie just overhead as if held up by the tension of the moment, muffling all sounds. Turning his head, Leonard gives a signal for the sailors to lower their weapons.
“No, Captain Walker, they are only armed with flashlights,” he finally replies.
* * * * * *
Lynn watches as Jack and the other group comes together. The teams behind her are in formation at parade rest. Although she doesn’t think any violence will come from this meeting, she stands ready for anything. Everything she has gone through since waking and seeing her feverish roommate back in the sandbox has taught her to be ready for anything. The rules and the assumptions that governed society before everything went to hell have been thrown out of the window. Not only have they been thrown out, but they have been wiped out. The world is now filled with the unknown.
Night runners, bandits, small pockets of survivors, dwindling resources, and their own very survival fill this new world. Every day seems to bring something new and to let down your guard for a moment is an invitation to potential disaster. They have made it far in a short period of time but how long can they keep this up. There was a reason for soldiers to be rotated after a year. What will happen to them if they are still in this after a year… after two? Will they constantly have to react to how the night runners adapt? How far will they be able to adapt? What is up with some seemingly turning back? Will that happen more? Could it be they only have to hold out for a certain time and all of the night runners will eventually become human again? These thoughts hold her mind as she watches Jack, with Bannerman and Frank behind him, converse with this Captain Leonard.
Jack points off to the side and, after a second, turns quickly toward her. By his movement, she knows that he is worried about something. She has seen it enough times to instantly know something is wrong. The previous thoughts leave her mind. She tenses, ready to react to what is amiss.
“Lynn!” Jack shouts and points off to the side.
She looks and sees a group of people gathered near a door to a warehouse a short distance away. They appear to be about to enter. Immediately knowing they don’t know the danger they are about to enter into and sensing that Jack’s call was for her to gather teams to prevent or help them, she turns to the formation.
“Black, Blue, Charlie Teams on me,” she shouts.
She makes sure the teams are ready and then begins trotting toward the large warehouse hearing the footfalls of the teams behind her. She knows immediately they won’t be able to reach the people in time to prevent them from going in. Gathering her breath, she shouts out to them attempting to get their attention. No response. Fuck, she thinks and picks up her pace. She hopes she can reach them before they venture too far inside. If she can reach the door quickly, she can shout inside for them to get back out. She feels the heightened rush of adrenaline knowing she may have to enter into yet another darkened building. This is fucking shit, she thinks as she watches the last of the group disappear into the open door of the structure.
“Lynn, there are night runners inside. Watch your asses in there. Assess the risk and get out if you need to,” she hears Jack on the radio.
“Copy that, Jack,” she replies. This shit just gets better and better.
She knows what Jack is saying between the lines. If the risk to the teams is too great, he wants her to pull the teams out regardless of the situation. They had this discussion a while ago in the gym rescuing his kids and the others held captive. Some of those they had rescued wanted to go to the bathroom and she was to provide escort. Jack has told her to pull back if they were attacked and let the others fend for themselves. She argued that she wouldn’t leave them defenseless and that’s not what they were there for; they were there to protect. Jack had agreed with that but losing the teams would leave everyone else without the protection they needed.
While the events of the past months have changed her way of thinking to a certain degree, she still feels that sense of protecting those that need it. It’s a core part of her; help those that need help regardless of the risk. She understands Jack’s concern. If they lose teams here, that would leave the compound with less to defend it, especially with the night runners showing their tremendous ability to adapt. This is the quandary she finds herself in – what is the acceptable level of risk? For her, there is no limit to the risk in order to help someone but who is it they are there to help – those in the compound or the ones directly in front of her. They both need levels of help. Well, fuck it, I’ll try to help the ones here to the level I can without losing the teams, she thinks as they close on the building.
Lynn folds against the outside wall next to the open door. The clouds hang close to the tall roof of the cream-colored warehouse. Looking at the building closely for the first time, she realizes just what they are up against. The door she is next to is near the far left side with large sliding doors in the center of the building. This is evidently a large storage facility meant for trucks to enter and fill with supplies. Looking along the front of the structure, she notes the complete absence of windows. Quickly walking to the corner and peering along the wall there, she sees a similar sight; cream-colored sheet metal walls stretching high without a door or window to mar the surface. The inside will be pitch dark. She reaches up and feels for the NVGs fastened securely to her helmet.
Turning back, she sees Horace, with her Blue Team against the wall on the other side of the door. Behind Horace, Mullins waits with Charlie Team. Her own Black Team is pressed against the wall on her side. All have their weapons ready to bring to bear. She knows each and every one of them dread heading into yet another darkened building. And Jack telling her there are night runners inside, well, she can take that one to the bank. A trickle of thought enters that he broadcast that in the open and it will be noted. Looking at the teams tense and ready, she feels her own tension drawn tight like a drawn bowstring.
Pressing the mic button on her throat mic, she says, “Horace, you have the right, Mullins the left. I’ll take the center. Twenty feet in and be ready.” Lynn watches Horace nod and Mullins give a thumbs up.
“Jack, do we have comms with the group inside? Are they armed and do they know we are coming in?” Lynn asks.
A moment passes before the answer comes, “No, they don’t have any radios and aren’t armed. Watch your ass.”
“Isn’t that your job?” she replies.
“It is and a wonderful job it is. The view is incredible,” Jack answers.
“Good answer. See you in a sec, Lynn out.”
Lynn settles herself by the doorway. Peering in, she notes that the darkness is nearly complete. The light from the opening extends only a few feet in before disappearing into an inky abyss. The sub tied to the pier a short distance away is forgotten as she looks into nothingness. Her heart races as she knows what lies within. She feels the tension quivering inside her yet, at the same time, she feels a certain calm settle in knowing it’s go time. The chill of the morning is lost as her entire attention is focused on the task at hand.
The shriek that emits from within startles her and causes her heart to jump. Night runners are indeed laired within and have either noticed her and her team or the others that entered only minutes ago. She swallows and takes a deep breath.
“Okay, ladies, that’s our cue,” she says. Flipping down
her goggles and, bringing her M-4 to bear, she steps in the doorway.
She is immediately lost in the blackness but her goggles bring everything into focus with a green glow. The interior is largely open. Several trucks are parked near the front and farther back with a few propane-driven forklifts scattered throughout. Large crates and boxes are stacked along the side and beyond the vehicles forming small mountains with aisles running farther back into the building between them. The back of the warehouse is lost behind the first large stacks.
Her head turns to the left and right; up and down. Searching. Anticipating night runners to immediately launch themselves at her. Her laser casts a thin beam of light everywhere her eyes look. Nothing. The quick rush of noise from clothing and boots follows her in as the others enter on her heels. She stops twenty feet in feeling the rest of Black Team fall in beside her. Her goggles pick up seventeen other laser beams as they dart about the interior. Toward the rear of building, several flashlights shine upward from amongst the boxes. Lynn catches a couple of flashes closer by. She wants to call out for those inside to leave but they are too far to the rear of the warehouse. Any call will alert the night runners and bring them upon the hapless sailors inside.
“Okay everyone, take is slow and easy. We’re heading to the right along the front doors. Keep our current perimeter. Horace, when we reach the front doors, I want you to see if you can get them open,” Lynn says over the radio.
“Copy that, first sergeant,” Horace replies.
“Right behind you,” Mullins responds.
“These people don’t know we’re in here so watch your targets. Keep your eyes open. Move out,” Lynn says.
Lynn can feel her heart thudding in her chest as they begin making their way along the front wall. Boots scuff on the gritty concrete floor along with the soft swish of clothing rubbing together. Thin beams of light streak out across the interior as they cover their individual sectors. An occasional murmur rises from the others inside as they apparently search out the area for supplies. She doesn’t know why the group from the sub didn’t just open the front doors. Perhaps they don’t know what they’re dealing with, she think mentally willing them to keep their voices down. The last thing they need right now is to alert the night runners she knows reside within.
There was that first shriek that sounded out just before they entered but the mass that would usually follow didn’t occur. She thinks again to call out to alert the other group that they are in but that would definitely alert any night runners. She feels put in a difficult position. If they can get the doors open, she’ll call out to them that they are in danger and for them make their way swiftly to her. The light shining in will give them an area of protection.
Twenty feet in and keeping their outer perimeter, a canvas covered supply truck blocks her immediate path. She turns the rear corner quickly and aims inside. Her barrel tracks left and right as she searches the interior. Fully expecting a shriek and a night runner to launch at her, she is relieved when the truck turns up empty. Fuck I hate this, she thinks skirting the rear of the vehicle. I just fucking hate being in these fucking buildings. Stupid motherfuckers! Why did they have to come inside?
More murmurs of conversation arise from amongst the stacked crates as the teams make their way cautiously to the front sliding doors. Lynn wishes once again that those inside would just keep quiet. They’ve been lucky so far with the night runners and she is actually amazed they haven’t been set upon yet. Before, it didn’t take long until the night runners were aware of them and assaulted. The fact that there are night runners inside yet they haven’t attacked makes the quiet all that much more eerie. Surely they must smell them by now.
“We’re at the doors, first sergeant. They look motor driven,” Horace reports. Looking toward the short distance separating her from Blue Team, she eyes the large doors. From what she can see, they seem to roll on sizeable tracks.
“There must be a manual override. We’ll hold here for a moment. See what you can do. Break. Jack, Lynn here,” Lynn whispers into the radio.
“Go ahead,” Jack replies.
“We’re inside by the large doors trying to see if we can get them open. I can hear the other group deeper inside. Any idea exactly how many sailors are in here?” She asks.
“Standby,” Jack replies.
“Lynn, there are twelve crew members inside,” the answer comes shortly.
“Copy that. Thanks, Jack.” Several thumps interrupt the tense silence farther to the rear of the vast, dark interior.
“Okay, we’re advancing up to the front of the vehicles. Mullins, you’ll take the left and keep in line with us. Horace, keep trying the doors. You’ll be in reserve. If something happens, pull Blue Team to the open door and hold a perimeter around it. We’ll fold back to you. Remember, we have night runners in here but there are also twelve sailors. Verify your targets,” Lynn says.
With a positive response from both of the other teams, she spreads Black Team out and begins to advance slowly online. She observes Charlie Team advance and keep pace. Green laser beams dart in amongst the vehicles and over the crates beyond. Lynn keeps her head moving searching for the targets she knows are within. Step by step she moves forward, her heart beating harder and faster with each movement. Without the large door opened, her goal is to get to the sailors quietly and escort them out.
The air within is chilled and heavy with tension. Or perhaps that is her tension radiating outward to the surrounding environment. It becomes harder to pick up her feet the farther in she goes. The air feels thick and increases the more she moves inside. It’s as if the very darkness itself has substance. She knows the intense adrenaline rush and dread of being inside a night runner lair. She also knows that it’s easy for the fear to take control. If that happens, she’ll be useless or dangerous to the others. With a deep, calming breath, she takes another step.
The randomly spaced supply trucks make it impossible for them all to remain within sight of each other. She steps between two trucks parked in line with each other. One other Black Team member follows her but now she can’t see the others to either side. Scanning ahead, Lynn sees a dark spot on the ground just in front of the vehicle to her left. Looking closer, she notices it looks like a dark puddle with rivulets spreading out in several directions. She pauses and hears a wet sound coming from just in front of her.
“Black and Charlie team, hold up. I have something to my front. Standby,” she says.
Going to one knee silently while keeping her M-4 at the ready, Lynn looks under the truck toward the front. Her heartbeat picks up even more and jumps into her throat at the sight. Lying on the ground just under the front bumper is a person dressed in the jeans and work shirt of a navy crew member. A flashlight lies beside the unmoving form illuminating the side of the body. Dark stains cover the shirt and ground beside. While the sight of the body startles her, it’s the movement around the body that causes her to tense up.
Lynn sees a pair of legs kneeling on her side by the still body with more movement on the other side. The bottom of the truck cuts off any further view. The wet sounds continue and she knows immediately what it is – chewing. This must have been the shriek they heard just before entering and she hopes these are the only two night runners within. The sailor must have been put on a watch or just wandered off by his or herself in their search. She watches as a head comes into view and lowers to the dead sailor.
Keeping her eyes glued to the scene in front of her, Lynn slowly moves her hand to her throat mic. “I have two night runners and a dead body three meters to my twelve o’clock in front of the truck,” she whispers. “Keep alert for others. Mullins, can you get a shot at them?”
“I can’t see anything from my position but I’ll work my way forward,” Mullin’s whispers his reply.
“Copy that. No sound.”
The night runner with its head lowered sinks its teeth into flesh and, with a wet, tearing sound, rips off a chunk. It begins to raise its head back
and halts suddenly… pauses… the chunk of flesh drops from its bloodied mouth. Lynn freezes. She feels that the pounding of her heart can be heard for miles. The night runner sniffs the air and looks directly at her. It lowers its head farther. Their eyes lock. Lynn’s mouth turns dry as another burst of adrenaline floods her system.
The night runner’s eyes glow through her goggles sending a deep chill to run along her spine. Time pauses. An eternity passes as they stare at each other. The absolute silence of the moment encompasses her; folds around her like a cloak. Not a muscle twitches or breath is taken. They kneel staring at each other like statues frozen in an instant of time. Then, like a speeding locomotive emerging from a tunnel, normal time resumes. She hears a low, deep growl emit from the creature in front of her. The other night runner freezes in its motion then, suddenly, a second head appears to stare under the truck. The second night runner stares hard and then snarls, baring its blood-stained teeth. With astonishing speed, both rise and come around the front of the truck.
Taken aback by their startling speed and emergence, Lynn begins raising the barrel of her weapon. Both night runners round the truck just scant feet in front of her and charge in her direction. Knowing she won’t be able to bring her weapon to bear in time, she launches herself backwards from her kneeling position in order to gain her more separation and time. The move brings her M-4 up quicker and she squeezes the trigger.
Rounds exit the moving barrel with muted coughs as they pass through her suppressor. The light from her firing flashes on the sides and undercarriage of the truck beside her. Still in the air falling backward, she watches as her bullets impact the nearest night runner in the thigh and stitch upward. Hitting the hard floor on her rear end, she is jarred and slides backwards on the seat of her pants.
The first round hits just above the left knee of the night runner. Entering the soft flesh, the bullet begins to tumble upward. Missing the femur, it rips upward through the thigh and exits the top of the hip taking massive amounts of tissue with it. The second round hits square in the middle of the thigh and slams into the femur. The tremendous force of the impact shatters the thick bone. The next bullet collides powerfully with the pelvis. Hitting the top of the pelvic bone, the bullet splits with both pieces angling farther up. Ripping through sections of the intestines, both shards exit just under the lower rib cage in the back. Blood sprays into the air from the entrance and exit wounds