Life After (Book 2): The Void

by Bryan Way

  “Got one.” Rich says.

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Third floor… fourth window from the right… armed…”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Just him…”

  Rich works the bolt on Anderson’s rifle three times, carefully removing a bullet from the chamber each time as he speaks.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We have to get inside… stick to the parts we know…” I reply.

  “Big building…”

  “I’m open to suggestions…”

  “We have to take out the sniper…” Mursak offers. “Then the sentry. They have radios?”

  “Didn’t see…”

  Mursak yanks the binoculars from around my neck, dragging me with the strap as Rich pulls three bullets out of the bottom of the bandolier and loads them in Anderson’s rifle.

  “The sentry does…” Mursak continues. “So we assume the sniper does too.”

  “This’ll go a lot faster if we know where they are…” Rich offers.

  “You’re suggesting we ask him?” I ask, taking the binoculars back.

  “Yeah… and I reckon we don’t be too polite about it.”

  “…why’d you just unload and reload your gun?”

  Rich pulls the suppressor out of his pocket and starts screwing it in.

  “Subsonic rounds… report won’t carry…”

  “Alright, so Rich takes the sniper, we get the sentry.” I say.

  “How?” Mursak asks.

  “Diversion… you distract him, and when you’ve got his attention I’ll take him out. Rich monitors… he tries to shoot or call for help, Rich takes him down… sound good?”

  “I’ll just take out his knee.” Rich replies.

  “I’m okay with that.” Mursak nods.

  Rich drops the bipod, lies prone, and then begins adjusting the knobs on the scope as he speaks.

  “Would you call that a hunner’ yards?”

  “I… have no idea…” I reply.

  “Shade under.” Mursak confirms.

  As Rich gets himself ready, I monitor with the binoculars. After thirty seconds of waiting, the sniper lifts a radio from his belt and speaks into it. His conversation seems almost jovial. “You realize we have to kill all of them.” Rich says, and the moment he finishes speaking I realize we don’t have a choice.

  Rich’s assertion implies that there is no specific benefit, but we’d be at a tactical disadvantage by not killing them; given the events of the evening, the only logical outcome of us retrieving the girls and leaving our assailants behind is that they’ll come back again. If the generally agreed upon narrative from the checkpoints is taken at face value, they’ve killed soldiers for their clothing and weapons, so there’s nothing to stop them from doing the same to us. Add the fact that they’ve kidnapped two of our people and we have no reason to believe we can bargain with them.

  “I guess… we don’t have a choice.” I utter, unceremoniously. “You ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie…” Rich grumbles, working the bolt. Mursak nods in agreement, a reply I wouldn’t take as compliance from anyone other than him or Anderson. It takes me a moment, but I lift the binoculars again and fix my gaze on the sniper. Once his conversation appears to end, he clips the radio on his belt. “Whenever you’re ready.” I say, propping myself up. I listen to Rich’s shallow breathing and feel a sense of serenity, as though the snow stops falling for just an instant when he pulls the trigger. A soft click echoes in the crisp air, followed by a puff of vapor spraying out in a halo around the sniper’s head before he goes limp. The sentry doesn’t seem to notice despite the fact that he’s looking toward the building. “Go.” Rich whispers.

  Mursak darts off to the left silently while I slowly creep toward the right. If the sentry turns, he’s got me, but I can stay loose knowing Rich has my back. The sentry takes a few steps toward the building while I continue creeping up behind him. Knowing he’s gonna hear me the moment my foot hits the bricks, I duck behind a massive stone pot and look for Mursak, but he’s nowhere to be found. I can’t shoot the bastard, or draw his attention by throwing something, so I’m stuck.

  Suddenly, Mursak walks out of the shadows as casual as a man walking his dog, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he steps into the brick courtyard. The sentry turns sharply to his left and starts to speak as I pull my katana and start running; he turns toward me and yelps in pain as blood sprays out of his knee, and in an instant I’m standing above him with my blade perched on his neck. “Please don’t, Jesus, don’t hurt me…!” He wails, pawing at his evaporated kneecap. I press the tip of the pointed steel into his jugular.

  “Shut up.” I whisper. He obeys. “Where are the girls?”

  “Oh, no-no…”

  “…where?”

  “Lis-lis-listen! They’re safe… we-w-we-we… just wanted to get, eh.. y-your attention…”

  Someone’s coming up behind me. “Move…” Rich spits, entering from the clearing. When I take the blade off his neck, Rich lifts him to his feet, eliciting staccato squeals of exquisite agony. “Shut up.” Rich continues, hauling the sentry through the snow until he’s behind the flower pot I just used for cover. Rich props him up, grabs his radio, steps away, and nods at me. The sentry, a terrified man in his early thirties with pleading brown eyes, an unshaven face and dark, poorly cropped hair, puffs out a few painful pants before I put the blade back on his throat.

  “You were saying?” I continue.

  “P-please don’t…” He grimaces in pain. “Don’t hurt me…”

  “…the girls.”

  “It was a mistake… we didn’t…”

  “The. Girls.”

  “W-we thought if you c-came here we c-c-could… calm down… we-we could t-t-talk this out…”

  He starts sobbing. I don’t buy it. I push the edge of the blade just under his Adam’s apple.

  “Last chance.”

  “Third floor… uhjsss… r-r-room three… 308… listen, listen… they w-… they want to be here… they want to…”

  “…what?” I ask.

  “Sh-sh-she said she w-wanted to come with us…”

  “You’re full of shit!”

  “D-don’t… please… I j-… please!”

  “Do it, Jeff…” Rich mutters.

  “No… n-no, wait!”

  I picture what they’re doing to Melody and Helen as I pull the blade back. His hands come up to his throat, but nothing happens. After a moment, the clean wound peels open and fluid seeps out around the incision. He gags, then tries to draw in a breath and sprays out a bloody cough. His fingers uselessly claw at his throat as he keeps trying to breathe, only coughing harder and drawing in more blood each time, gurgling as he begins to drown. In twenty seconds, his eyes go dead.

  “Jeff…” I don’t know how long it’s been since I saw him die. I shake my head. “Yeah.” For some reason, I see myself meeting this guy in a coffee shop for a job interview; he tells me about my responsibilities, then talks about his wife and kids before failing to assure me that he’s completely satisfied with his life. In front of me, Rich is smoothing over the blood splatters in the snow.

  “Jeff!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Let’s go…” Mursak insists.

  I rush after them toward the building, trying to suppress what just happened. Rich leads the charge through the front doors, attempting to cover in much the same way I assume Anderson would. Mursak follows behind him, and I come through last. Since we haven’t been shot at, I assume we’ve successfully completed a surreptitious entry. We all take a moment to wipe our feet before I break off toward the stairwell, but I freeze before I open the door.

  “What?” Rich asks. I didn’t recognize the sniper or the sentry. When Dave was pretending to run this place, his base of operations was on the ground floor, just down the hall. Was whomever I just killed outside lying to us? Is room 308 a trap? “What?!” Rich insists. “Stay here.” I instruct Mursak, tip-toeing toward the ro
om where we left Dave and his friends. A foul, overpowering stench crawls up my nostrils as I close in on the door, and I silently thank Karen for her olfactory education. I grip the handle firmly, pulling it open as Rich stands back and points his rifle inside.

  The scent hisses out of the black room as I grab a small flashlight from my belt and shine it inside, unable to select which corpse I want to examine. Rich steps in and hits a light switch while holding his breath; Dave and every person I saw our first night here in October are lying dead on the floor, most of them having been shot in the head. The layout doesn’t suggest suicide, but it also doesn’t have the look of homicide. Whoever kidnapped the girls must have known these guys were here, and they haven’t been dead long. I pull the door shut, spit out my ragged toothpick, tear off my trench coat, and start taking off my belt.

  “What are you doing?” Rich asks.

  “I need to be lighter if we’re sneaking around.”

  “Okay, what do we do?”

  “Get my pistol…”

  I sit down to take my boots off and end up contemplating the murder I just committed. Am I unsure if I’d done something wrong because there was no rush of panic accompanying the realization that I just killed someone? Is it because I know I’m not going to be arrested, tried, and imprisoned? Are there no consequences for what I did? “Jeff?” Rich asks, kneeling down in front of me.

  “I just killed someone.”

  “We both did…”

  “Not like that…” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “Jeff… I don’t wanna rush… whatever you’ve gotta deal with… but we can’t stop until this is over…”

  Melody. Helen. “Right…” I shake my head again, furiously taking my boots off and tearing my katana free of the sheath while Rich removes the binoculars and leaves them with my coat. I jog a few feet to ensure I have enough traction not to slip in my socks, and then return to my waiting compatriots.

  “All right… I’m on point… Rich covers, Sak watches our backs. Sak, if you see anyone and have enough time, get Rich to take the shot. They’re gonna be around here somewhere on the third level.”

  “What makes you say that?” Rich asks.

  “The bodies are in room 106… go up two levels, we’re right near 308… we stop at room-”

  “Mike, are you still in the courtyard? ”

  Rich looks down at the confiscated radio on his belt. Mike must be the guy I killed, and they don’t know he’s dead. I flex my fingers at Rich until he hands it over, and I give it to Mursak. He stares at me. “You’re taking a piss.” I say, nodding hard. He lifts the radio to his lips, but I grab his wrist and push it down to his waist, then give him a thumb up. He depresses the talk switch.

  “Takin’ a piss…” Mursak starts, imitating Mike’s voice well.

  “What? ”

  “Takin’ a piss…” He says a bit louder.

  “Where? ”

  “In the trees…”

  “Come on, man… tell me or Ev next time… you want him to shoot you on the way back? ”

  “…didn’t want him lookin’ at my junk.”

  “…just hurry back.”

  I give Mursak a hearty thumb up. He holds up a finger, looking around as though he has an idea. I shake my head and swipe my hand in front of my neck rapidly as he hits the talk button again. “Where’s everyone else?” Mursak asks. Absolute genius. “Uh… Bern’s on the first… I’m on the second… Jimmy’s with the girls… don’t know where Reg or Max are at.” Mursak takes a breath, holds it, and shakes his head, turning off the radio. I tiptoe down the hallway, keeping my back to the wall as I approach the corner. I peek around the edge and see another man in camouflage carrying an M-16 through the hallway.

  This must be ‘Bern’. He’s probably in his late twenties, and I can‘t make out any of his features other than a pudgy face and a potbelly. I sense Rich behind me, so I hold out my free hand to stop him. ‘Bern’ stops after he passes the doors and stares into the courtyard through the broken window. He turns to the right with two awkward little stomps, and despite his age and height, when he stands still he looks very much like a little boy. He takes the carrying handle of the M-16 with his left hand and holds his right hand over his brow as he leans forward to look out.

  I close my eyes. He has to die, or my friends will. I motion for Rich to move into the hallway as I step out of cover and trot toward him on the balls of my feet. He turns around, his mouth gaping as I slice down from my right side and cut a massive gash in the left side of his neck. His eyes squint in accusation and his tongue flicks out as he drops the gun, bringing both hands up to stop his blood from blurting out.

  He swipes at my face with his right hand, letting out a grunt as he staggers toward me. “Huhhhh-uhhhh!” He manages, falling to his knees. When he leans forward, blood slides off his chin and slaps against the tile, pouring out in a cascading streak. Imagining myself in his position, I absently paw at my neck. “Grey…” Without thinking, I pull my arms back and take a clean stroke through his neck, sending four fingers to the ground along with his head. A numbing shockwave shoots up my spine; his body goes limp so completely, I feel as though I decapitated a rubber doll full of blood.

  “Grey…” Mursak repeats.

  “That…”

  “Jeff, come on…” Rich urges.

  “That was a lot worse…”

  Rich grabs my shoulder, spins me, and slaps my cheek just hard enough to break my concentration. “Deal with it later!” I shake my head again, gritting my teeth as I beat the bottom of my fist into the side of my skull. I have to focus. “Okay… okay… let’s go…” Rich rushes toward the stairwell while Mursak, still in shock, staggers off in his wake. Rich stops at the bottom of the steps and lets me take point. I listen for a moment; the stairwell is empty, unless we’ve been made. When I get up to the second landing, I wave for them to back off as I peek through the narrow window in the door. I don’t see anything. As much as I want to bound up to the third floor and get the girls, I have a much stronger aversion to getting shot.

  “Anyone see anything out there? ” It’s the same voice we heard on the radio, and I think I catch it echoing down the hallway. I wave for Mursak and Rich to back off; Mursak hunkers on the steps leading down and Rich stands with his back to the wall, keeping the rifle snug to his shoulder and pointed at the ground. “Mike, Ev, Bern? ” He’s met by silence. “Max, Reg, where you at? Talk to me, someone…” Acknowledging that we have only a few seconds until he gets seriously suspicious, I start hyperventilating.

  “I think there’s a car comin’…” Mursak mumbles into the walkie.

  “What? Where? ” The voice on the radio replies.

  “Come to the window.”

  Mursak flaps his arm at Rich, signaling him to move up. Rich passes me, steps into the landing leading up to the third floor, takes a knee, and sights the doorway. I grab the handle and cross over, glancing through the skinny window as I pass; when I see a shadow move from the right I duck completely and look back. Keeping the rifle firm against his shoulder, Rich holds up his trigger finger. I have no idea what’s going on in the hall, but I have to imagine he’s waiting for a clear shot.

  Rich remains fixed like a statue, his finger still pointed skyward. It’s dead silent. I have to stifle the urge to look through the door when I hear footsteps approach. With his pointer still extended, Rich opens his palm and closes the hand toward his body, wrapping his index finger in the trigger guard. I tug the handle gently and pull the door open.

  “I don’t see shit…” I hear his voice clearly to my right and muffled by the radio as Mursak furiously buries it between his legs. Rich pulls the trigger, and a clatter follows a moment later. I look through the doorway to see a greasy puddle of blood rushing out of the dead man’s head. No one moves. The reality of our situation washes over me like a fire hose filled with freezing water, but I stifle it by shaking my head and slapping myself to focus. This is like trying to hold on to a rational th
ought while stone drunk.

  “We need a plan for the third floor.” I say quietly.

  “There’s at least three more, right?” Mursak whispers.

  “Right.”

  “Do we assume their radios are off, or they’re not answering because they know something’s up?”

  “We don’t assume anything.”

  “I’d keep more than one with the girls…” Mursak replies. “Maybe we use a distraction?”

  “…what?”

  “I dunno… decoy… turn on a flashlight and throw it down the hall…”

  “If they know we’re here it’ll just give us away.” I reply.

  Without a word, Rich walks past me into the hall and kneels down by the body, removing the assault rifle carefully. Mursak duck walks through the door to look down the intersecting hallway.

  “If they know we’re here, they might’ve killed them already.” He continues after a moment.

  “They had to take them for a reason… there’s no way they just killed them…”

  “Well what do you suggest?” Mursak spits.

  “Colin…” Rich whispers, arresting our attention. “How tall are you?”

  “I dunno… five-ten?”

  Rich looks down at the body.

  “Oh no… no no no…” Mursak stutters.