Taken anw-4

by John O'Brien

  My thoughts reach out to the next few moments. We’ll have to hold the doors leading from the hall to the gym. We lose those and we’ll lose the gym. We can retreat to the upper gym if we have to but the night runners will also be able to climb the bleachers with ease. We’ll take down a few more but the end will be the same. If it reaches that point, we’ll only be prolonging the inevitable if we aren’t doing that very thing right now. Right now we have to buy time for Greg.

  A light goes off in my head brighter than the strobes flashing against the walls. I almost do a face-palm maneuver. We have the upper hand here and only one door. Why defend two doors when we can defend one. This is the only way in. I feel so stupid for not thinking of it before. My mind must be tired.

  “Greg, belay that last. Get everyone into the upper gym and beat cheeks to the pool. Red Team, keep watch the outside entrance doors,” I say into the radio.

  “Copy that,” Greg says but I can tell there is a little confusion in his tone.

  Lynn pauses and looks at me in askance. I point to the pool entrance, “One door.” I point to the gym, “Two doors.” She shakes her head slowly. I can tell she is having the same reaction as I did only a moment before of, ‘why didn’t I think of that.’

  “Hold this door,” she yells to her team.

  Volley after volley center on the small entrance. Night runners are thrown back into the arms of those behind and begin to pile up at the door. I had a quick thought of using Echo Team to pull the bodies out from the doorway and Black to hold it shut but that thought evaporates as the numbers pile up. Minutes pass.

  “Where do you want us?” I hear Greg shout above the din of firing and shrieks.

  “Across the pool. Keep the door clear,” I shout pointing across the red-tinted pool.

  The mound at the door piles up to the point where night runners have to climb over their own dead and wounded. The screams are deafening inside but our ears have become almost oblivious to them. One loud shriek seems to rise above the others. As if on cue, the night runners vanish from the doorway. The sound of our gunfire dies along with it until only the last clink of a shell hitting the floor is heard. It stops and silence descends. Now it’s my turn to be confused.

  My trust factor with the night runners is not high. I don’t think they’d actually leave although they might go in search of something easier. It could be a change in tactics or they could just be going to feed on the marauders we left them. Whatever it is, we have a little reprieve.

  “McCafferty, be on the lookout, they’ve left the pool area. Watch the ceilings, floors, walls, and everywhere else. Check your pockets just to be on the safe side,” I say.

  “Okay, sir,” she replies.

  We wait a few minutes but nothing is heard or seen. There are no distant howls or shuffling sounds by the door. Nothing whatsoever. It’s like they vanished into thin air. An occasional moan, whimper, or cry from the wounded is heard. I gather Greg over.

  “I don’t like this. Thoughts?” I ask Lynn and Greg. They both shake their heads in puzzlement.

  “Okay, let’s be cautious but let’s clear the bodies from the door and tie it shut. Greg, have Echo remove the bodies. Lynn cover them,” I continue.

  We check our ammo supply and edge to the door with carbines at the ready. I am fully expecting some sort of trap or for them to anticipate us coming to the door and rush us from the sides. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to say the least. I’m almost ready to just sit in our positions and cover the door but I don’t know what they’re up to and want the teams to be ready and available for the unexpected. If we’re stuck having to cover the open door and they find another way in, we’re screwed.

  “McCafferty, is there anything at the doors?” I ask.

  A pause. “Nothing, sir. There’s not a thing in sight,” she answers.

  The smell of the dead washes over me. The strong scent comes on quickly. It’s as if I have my nose stuck in amongst the bodies. It leaves as quickly as it came leaving just the smell of gunpowder in the air. I shake my head trying to ward off the atrocious smell. Stepping forward, I ease up to the doorway. The green glow remains clear of movement and only the still of the night greets me. One shriek lifts above the night. It sounds as if it is coming from the far classrooms but my ears are still ringing from the constant noise. My back feels like it’s going to seize at any moment.

  Closer to the bodies, the smell of them once again comes over me but being this close, that’s expected. The smell of bodies long removed from their last introduction to soap; bowels releasing in death; bodies torn asunder. A few move slowly in the pile. I pull out my suppressed 9mm as I am hesitant to make any more noise than I have to. The night runner interest in us has vanished for the moment and I do not want that attention restored. Claps echo in the pool as I finish off the last of the wounded. Now only silence prevails.

  The bodies are removed without any further assault. There are a few screams that rise in the night from closer by but nothing around our building. We close the door and tie it off with 550 cord on concrete bolts set into the pool walls. I feel a little more secure but the uneasiness remains. It’s not like the night runners to stop and give up. They behave like a wild pack without cognitive thoughts. Well, that’s not entirely true as we’ve seen them change tactics, but to give up and as one, that’s just not normal. My thoughts are still centered on them changing tactics and I’m trying to think on what those could be. Roof? Another entrance I don’t know about? Tunneling? Perhaps they’ve discovered artillery. I can’t think of a one that makes sense.

  “Let’s head back to the gym,” I say feeling my headache worsen. The smell of the smoke and noise certainly hasn’t helped that any.

  * * *

  She sits in amongst the trees and waits. She senses other night runners around as she gnaws quietly on a piece of meat she smelled and located in the woods. She smells other pieces nearby but her small pack is busy with those. The lights from the two-legged camp can be seen as a distant glow through the trees. She and the other night runners have become cautious of being in those lights. She has seen the images from other pack members as some have wandered into those lights. The sharp sound and loss of another.

  She is confident they could easily storm the camp and overrun it but is leery of running with the other packs. They are led by males and she is wary of them trying to take over. Some have learned the hard way to leave her and her pack alone though. The small one in her stomach warrants her care and caution. She will protect it above all other things but she, her small one, and the other pack members need to eat. And for that she has stretched her usual territory. The smell of the fresh meat was too enticing. Still, she sits warily.

  There is a restlessness in the packs she can sense around her. She feels it herself but isn’t sure where it’s coming from. Perhaps it’s the faint scent of the two-legged ones she can smell around her. There aren’t any closer than the lair in the distance but some definitely passed this way earlier. The faint odor of them remains in the dry air.

  Chewing on the meat, she reflects. Yes, she reflects. Not as you or I would but she has some of that capacity. She has a sense that she was someone or something else. Perhaps even one of the other two-legged ones at one point. If so, there are only a few vague memories of that time. More of a sense than a memory. Still, she is caught with a flash of an image from time to time; looking down and seeing small hands brush over a clean, white dress and knowing there is joy in the newness of it, a waterfall and glimpse of two-legged ones standing around smiling as her feet enter a cool, clear pool, a male hand reaching out to tussle her hair and she knows she is smiling.

  She grabs the remains of her slab of meat and, sending a picture image of her small pack to follow, she edges cautiously closer to the lair ahead. She doesn’t know why, she just does. She settles back from the edge of the trees, just outside the light, and begins chewing once again. She sees the metallic objects that the two-legged ones sometimes get in and use
to move about; that they use on the hard trails. She remembers and knows about some things. She remembers their purpose but not how to use them. That is far beyond her ability. Well, maybe not that far as there is a tickling inside her head, as if the ability to use them is just beyond reach. It’s both near and far away.

  A thunderous noise reaches her sensitive ears and she shrinks back behind a tree; peering around its large base. Smoke rolls above one of the buildings far to her right. The sound is similar to the noise the sticks the others carry around that taught them the caution of the lights; similar but much louder. The sounds rolls through the woods; echoing off the massed tree trunks. Images of fear fill her mind from both her pack and the others lying close by. She blocks the images so they won’t overwhelm her, much as we block out the sounds around us, seemingly at will.

  She looks into the large lair and around the edge to see if she can gain any clue as to what the noise was or meant. She knows that kind of noise is destructive but not what it occurring now means. Flashes of light emanate from a large, round building and she ducks further behind the tree; the meat falls to the ground forgotten. Some of the moving lights in the tall buildings that dot the edge of the lair tumble to the ground; waving their beams of light in random directions as they fall. Others tilt upward and the beam rests on the top of the structures. With her hearing, she can hear the firing sticks but they sound diminished in some way. The noise they usually make doesn’t fit in with the distance in which she sees the flashes of light.

  Gunshots! That’s what they are called, gunshots. And those sticks they carry are guns, she thinks as another memory surfaces. And those are dangerous indeed. She senses uneasiness mixed with fear in those around her. Yet underlying those basic emotions is eagerness. Food has been scarce and if there is a chance to get into the lair where so much food resides, well, that’s where the eagerness comes from. It’s more anticipation than anything. And hunger. She herself is hungry and the one she carries inside must be fed. Still, caution and wariness carry strongly. Protecting her young one is at the foremost of her mind.

  A hint of blood in the air reaches her nostrils making her edge further around her protective tree. The sight and smell of the two-legged ones causes something inside to rise; something primal. The two-legged ones heighten her already ferocious nature; multiplying it to a great extent. Their scent triggers this primal aspect and the sight of them drives the basic urge to attack and feed. Yet, they’ve learned. Oh yes they have. The primitive urge lies within her but fear and experience has tempered it to a more controllable nature.

  The lights continue to fall around the edge. The smell of blood thickens. It’s apparently too much for some of the packs as they shriek and head out into the light streaking for the fence. Yes, she knows what a fence is. Their shrieks combine with their footsteps across the hard path in front of her. She looks into the compound and sees two of the two-legged making their way across the middle. Eager images reach her mind from her own pack. Wait, she sends back.

  The other packs have seen the two and the primal urge within them takes hold. The first ones across scale the fence with ease but some become entangled in the wire on top. More packs emerge from the trees as the characteristic gunshots don’t materialize. Their hunger overrides fear as they see their fellow packs reach the fence and climb over. She hears howls from the other side of the large lair as others emerge from the trees there. The many packs scale the fence and it topples under their weight. She watches as the two she saw earlier run for the round building. The eagerness from her pack increases. Wait.

  She isn’t certain of the two she saw. There was something about them that caused an uneasiness in her mind. It’s almost as if she could hear what one was saying. A picture image from the two-legged one almost forms in her mind, as if it just brushed or tickled against it. It gives her a troubled feeling. Her protective nature also holds her. She sits and waits.

  Packs stream across the lair and pound into the circular building door where the two ran. Images form of a struggle to open the doors. She rises but still waits. The others with her want to be off to feed but they also have a respect for her; if respect is something they can even feel. She has led them well so they wait with her. She does sense the eagerness and hunger fill them as she rises. They want to be off and they feel her rising is a sign that they can join the multitude already at the doors.

  She senses the struggle at the doors is about over. The images are basic ones but the overall tone is that they are about to break in. She trots across the hard trail, enters the lights still shining around the edge, and crosses the downed fence. She is eager herself but knows there is enough inside to feed all of the packs beyond their fill. They’ll get theirs but she is yet cautious. Too many close calls with the two-legged kind have made her this way. She has an inkling of their capabilities. Another quick image brushes against her mind. The image is of someone looking at her own kind. It’s gone as quickly as it arrived; almost as if it weren’t there to begin with. It isn’t an image from any of the packs. It’s different. She slows.

  The howls from the horde around the building fill the night air. Eager, hungry. Suddenly, the shrieks change from anticipation to vexation. The ones in front of the building portals, doors, begin pounding on the glass in their frustration. The doors have been shut. She stops. Several break away from the rear to each side of the building. She knows they will search for another way in. Lowering herself to the ground, she sits and waits.

  The ones in front continue to hammer the doors while the ones behind press inward. She pats her stomach and watches. She has known a few futile attempts to gain entry into lairs before. Mostly she has been successful at it but there were a few times when she has had to give up and look for food elsewhere. But in those nights of frustration they always found food. That’s why the ones in her pack have remained. Others would have joined but she is not a male.

  Shrieks of discovery rise from the far side of the building. She rises. The picture images in her mind tell her another way in has been found. She can’t figure out why the images sent by the others are so, well, primitive. She can send out much more complex “thoughts” that convey so much more but she restricts herself to sending those to only the ones with her. She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself and be swept up and forced into another pack. She rises. They have left her alone and that is good enough for her.

  Shrieks on the far side rise and packs peel away from the main doors racing around the side. Those diminished gunshot sounds rise above the tremendous volume of screams periodically. She trots to the side but far away from the main body of packs. A door is opened and pack members stream inside the door. Gunshots meet the screams and images of pain flash through her mind. More enter and more of the same images reach out. She watches and waits.

  That primal urge has taken hold of the other packs. Once it lets go it’s hard to turn off. Still, she doesn’t understand how the others can’t see the futility of what they are doing. While they had a chance earlier, it is obvious by the bodies piling up at the door and no apparent gain that any opportunity to get in through this particular place is gone. But the urge is driving the pack. The night air is filled with screams, gunfire, shouts, the smell of blood; the blood of her own kind. Through all of this, the faint scent of the prior explosion drifts into her nostrils from time to time.

  Wait, there, just below the surface is another odor. Fresh blood of the two-legged ones. She turns her head from the carnage and rises. Lifting her nose high into the air to catch that elusive scent, she sniffs turning her head to the left and right. Her pack rises with her and sniffs the surrounding night air having caught that faint smell as well. A small eddy of wind, so tiny as to not really be noticed, more a small pocket of air replacing another, brings the scent on it.

  With a last look at the bodies piling up and another thought about how the others cannot see the futility of what they are doing, she heads into one of the nearby structures. She opens the door
and that scent, once elusive, fills her senses. She knows fresh meat lies within. She raises her head and shrieks loudly. She would like to be the first there and get her fill before letting the others know what lies within but this is also a primal urge, the shriek notifying others of food nearby, and she can’t help herself. This is more deeply ingrained than the urge to attack the two-legged ones. Her scream echoes against the brick walls of the building rising above all of the others.

  Silence settles for a moment across the large lair. The others have heard and have seen the images she sent forth. Complex images of available food and futility. She turns to see what remains of the other packs running across the hard trail close by to join her. Turning once again, she enters the building and runs down the long, dark hall lit in shades of gray. She enters the first room. She and her pack are the first ones in. The settle in and begin feeding. The remnants from the packs follow closely and begin feeding in other rooms. The images that are sent to her are reassuring. She has brought them out of danger and to food. They will follow her. She has her fill and leaves the room. Entering the hall and listening to the sounds of feeding mixed with the occasional shriek of satisfaction, she heads toward the entrance doors. Outside, she squats on the hard path leading to the building and looks to the round structure where the two-legged ones are laired. She ponders, in a much different manner than we are accustomed to, the brushes against her mind she felt earlier from one inside. She sits, she watches, she waits.

  Are We There Yet?