by John O'Brien
“What about them?” Greg asks, nodding toward the three chained to the wall.
“I don’t think they’re going anywhere,” I comment.
Seeing his incredulous look, I continue. “I’m only partially kidding. The alcove will shield them. At worst, they’ll get a case of tinnitus. You know as well as I do that, if they do react, it’s hard to tell what they’ll do in a disoriented state. They might mistake us for them,” I say, nodding toward the crowd over the rise. “Even in their weakened state, they could cause trouble.”
“I know. I’m just thinking of the others,” Greg states.
I really don’t have much else to say, so just squeeze his shoulder. “So, about that flash bang?”
Greg reaches to one of pouches attached to his vest, and produces a black cylinder.
“See, despite what everyone else says, you are handy to have around,” I state, taking the grenade. “Okay, back to the tunnel.”
Who knows how long the man will continue to orate, so back at the entrance, I brief quickly. “When we enter, fan out at the crest. Keep flat, as there are bound to be ricochets. The two on the far ends will watch for runners. Greg, you watch for anyone emerging from the opposite cave. Let’s make this fast and easy.”
Pulling the pins, I lean around the corner and toss the cylindrical grenade over the rise, quickly ducking back. The sound of the man orating rises above the plink of the flash bang landing. Seconds later, the cavern is rocked by an explosion of noise and light. The walls light up in a stark white flash. Almost before the flash fades, I round the corner, racing the short distance to the crest. I throw myself flat on the rocky floor, my vest taking much of the impact. I hear the others dropping into place on either side.
Ahead, men are reeling in confusion from the explosion, staggering against each other as they try to orient themselves. I sight in on the middle of the group and begin placing bursts into their midst. More fire joins, dropping those in the rear of the group. I shift my aim from one standing person to the next, pulling the trigger and watching the rounds hit. Men fall on top of each other as if a scythe were sweeping through them. Several try to stagger away to the sides but are cut down. Blood splashes out from the forceful impacts of bullets colliding with flesh, the color hard to see in the flickering yellow light. Screams of pain echo off the walls of the cavern.
Five carbines firing bursts into a massed group of twenty quickly does the job. In seconds, it’s over. The last man is driven to the ground, rounds peppering his chest on the way down. A few desultory shots follow before stopping altogether. In the aftermath, moans from the wounded rise from the mounds, several of whom are attempting to crawl away from the carnage. Some cry out in their pain.
“Let’s finish this,” I say, hating this next part.
I take aim at one man crawling across the cavern floor on his elbows. Firing once, I see the bullet strike the side of his head. He collapses to the ground. Single shots ring out, and when it’s finally over, an eerie silence follows. Only the wavering light and crackling from a large fire remains.
“Everyone all right?” I call out.
They all signal that they are good to go. I was worried that ricochets might make their way back to us, but the bodies of the men lying on the cold, hard surface absorbed the majority of them.
“Greg, put two men on the far cave entrance. Have someone check the guard’s pockets for keys to the shackles,” I state.
Greg points at two of his team members, who rise and race across the cavern, avoiding the piles of dead bodies. The sound of their footfalls resounds loudly and they take stations inside the exit on the far side. Greg, the remaining Echo Team member, and I approach the motionless figures. Ruddy light cast by the fire faintly reflects off growing pools of blood that seep out from underneath the piles and gather in the low spots. We check each of the bodies for signs of life and find none, the stench of torn bowels and feces emanating strongly. I get the feeling that this place will be haunted for some time.
Finding the man who was orating, I stand over him. His mouth is open as if frozen with his last shouted word, his eyes glazed and reflecting the firelight. A thick line of blood streams from one nostril, joining a trickle that runs from the edge of his mouth. He doesn’t look like a crazed man; passing him on the street, I wouldn’t have given him a second thought. However, behind the blood-spattered face lies a brain that manufactured the horror I witnessed at the crosses. I nudge him with my boot, as if that will bring the answer of ‘why.’ As I stare down at him, I wonder what thoughts went through his tormented mind that would allow him to think sacrificing people to the night runners in such a fashion was an okay thing to do.
What demons possessed this man to do such things? I think, hearing the crackle of the nearby fire. And why should such a man like this live through the downfall when so many good people didn’t?
Those are not answers I’ll ever know, nor do I think I really want to. It’s just life and we muddle through it the best we can.
“What would possess men to do horrible things like that?” Greg asks quietly, as if reading my mind.
I was so concentrated on the dead man at my feet that I didn’t notice Greg’s approach.
“These aren’t men,” I reply.
A moment of quiet ensues as we both stare downward.
“The captives are free but they aren’t responding much. There’s no way they can walk out of here,” Greg comments, breaking the silence. “On a brighter note, they’re fairly emaciated so it won’t be too difficult to carry them.”
“Well, we better get topside then,” I say, glancing at my watch.
Calling the men posted on the far side, three of the team members hoist the prisoners onto their shoulders. We exit the cavern, leaving the dead to slowly cool by the dying fire, soon to be left in a darkness matching their souls. I stop to pick up my mirror and stash it back in my pocket.
I call out to the soldier we left by the entrance, letting him know we’re on our way out. Upon reaching the intersection, I have everyone wait by the main entrance door. Heading down the tunnel we came through, I find the dead guards and rifle through their pockets, coming up with a few miscellaneous tokens and a set of keys. Returning, I unlock the door.
“We won’t be able to carry the ones we rescued down the wall and up the rope. We’ll head topside here and call the Stryker over. Those carrying the captives will remain in the rear and we’ll clear a path,” I state.
On the other side of the door, steps cut into stone head upward. Cautiously and quietly, I begin climbing, my M-4 held ready. With guards posted in the cave behind, I doubt they’d have anyone upstairs, but complacency kills. We can be erased from this world at any time from a moment of carelessness. I don’t care to become a statistic that will never be counted.
As I approach the top of the stairs, I glance at my watch again, assuring myself that there should still be some daylight outside. If there were night runners in the building itself, they would have been hammering at the doors. Again, though, I proceed as if there are. Opening up, I don’t sense any of them around, but I haven’t come to rely totally on that ability. I pause and listen, hearing nothing but the heavier breathing of those laden with the captives.
Opening the door at the top a notch, I see daylight radiating into the interior. Any fear of encountering night runners vanishes. Snaking my mirror through the door, I don’t see anything beyond besides a well-lit foyer.
“It appears clear,” I whisper, opening the door and sliding through.
It’s not far to the front doors and we travel through with haste, keeping eyes out in all directions. Outside, pickups of all flavors sit quietly in the parking lot, their shadows long in the late afternoon sun. With the day waning, anyone who might have been out scavenging will be returning. Of course, I’m hoping we caught the lot of them in the caves. I’d hate to have to come back. We may have taken them all, considering the time of day. According to what I remember of Greg’s story, the
y gathered together in the late afternoon to take their prisoners down to sacrifice them.
“Gonzalez, we’re at the parking lot entrance to the facility. Bring the Stryker over and pick us up,” I radio, giving instructions. “We don’t have any casualties, but there are three non-mobile people we rescued. Have IV bags ready to go.”
“We’re on our way, sir. We’ll be there in ten,” she replies.
“Copy that.”
I call to the one we left where entered, telling him to work his way to the front. Leaving the people we are carrying just inside the door, the rest of Greg’s team forms a perimeter. Glancing over to the adjacent ridge, I see a line of dust rising from the other side of the crest. Gonzalez is sparing nothing to get here quickly. The time for a stealthy approach is over; it’s time to get the fuck out of here.
True to her word, I hear the whine of the Stryker climbing the road to the cave facility only a few minutes later. The armored vehicle appears suddenly due to the steepness of the climb. It turns around and backs up to us, keeping a watch down the road. The rear ramp drops, hitting the pavement with a metallic clang. Gonzalez steps out as Echo Team picks up the rescued prisoners, carrying them inside to give them the little medical attention we can provide.
“You look like shit, sir,” Gonzalez says as she steps in front of me. “It looks like an interesting story.”
I look down and see grit covering the front of my vest, pants, and gloves from sand that has glued itself to me after crawling through the blood. Wiping to clear some of the mess, I feel the stiffness of the cloth.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yeah, um, sure,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “It seems that I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
I’ll take the rolling of the eyes. At least she seems to have given up on a daily barrage of “hooah.” Looking toward the mountains, the sun is just disappearing behind them. Night is still a little ways off, but dusk will hit us shortly.
“Let’s mount up and get the fuck out of here,” I say.
Stepping into the Stryker, I see the people we rescued lying on the bench seats, still not entirely conscious. Their eyes are open, but there doesn’t seem to be much life in them. From the looks of them, I’m not completely sure that they are even registering their environment. Soldiers kneel next to them, attempting to insert IVs. Gonzalez, with a little medic training, taught everyone how to do that in one of our nightly sessions.
“How are they?” I ask.
One of the team members looks up and shrugs before turning back to his patient.
“Let’s get back to the aircraft as directly as we can. We don’t have a lot of daylight left,” I say.
With the ramp closed, the Stryker lurches forward, driving down the road and turning onto the highway. As we approach the crosses, I turn to Greg.
“So, do you think we should destroy them or leave them as a memorial to those who were taken?”
“There’s no question in my mind. They’re evil, built by evil men. They should be destroyed,” Greg vehemently responds.
“Don’t hold back now. Just let your feelings out,” I say, stepping away from the commander’s position.
Greg moves in and centers the reticle. Soon, the .50 cal fires, staccato bursts filling the area. Heavy caliber rounds tear into the large timbers, sending splinters and dust flying. One cross after another is chopped apart, crashing to the gravel lining the side of the road. As the last one falls, the gun silences. The night runners have had their last meal here.
Eviction Notice
We pull up to the aircraft and load the Stryker as dusk takes a firm hold. The glow of the sunset vanished long ago and the sky is only a few shades lighter than the silhouettes of the mountains themselves. I radio Harold for a weather update and am told that, although there is another front approaching the Washington and Oregon coastlines, the skies are clear for our flight back home. It seems strange calling him, as it seems like I could step outside and hit the bunker with a rock. Being so close, it feels like I should head over for a visit – kind of like a relative coming to town and not dropping by.
I taxi out and lift off into the rapidly fading light. Looking to the side as we climb out, the caves where twenty or so dead men lie underground is hidden in shadow. I can’t imagine what archaeologists will think if they run across the caves thousands of years from now – assuming that happens. Leveling off at altitude, I call Cabela’s, getting Lynn on the line to let her know that we’re on our way back and that we’re bringing three people with us who are in need of medical attention.
“We’ll see you when you get here, Jack,” she acknowledges, “and I’ll have the doc ready.” I stare at the radio, having expected a much different reaction…questions…something.
With the moon not having risen, the land below is deeply shadowed. Where once the lights of cities glowed from within a sea of black, now there is only darkness. Overhead, stars glitter brightly. Even though I smell like I crawled out of a sewer, I’m again struck by a measure of peace. It’s easy to feel that way flying through a clear, nighttime sky. I look over at Robert. His face is dimly lit by the instrument lighting as he stares outside. Bri’s face is mostly hidden under her helmet, reading a book to pass the time.
“Where’d you get the book?” I ask.
Keeping place with her finger, she folds the book and looks over. “Bannerman has been collecting a few so I thought I’d keep one with me. It’s better than staring at nothing for hours at a time.”
She resumes reading. She’s absolutely right. Flying distances is mostly boring, with a few moments of sheer terror thrown in for fun. With the complete darkness below and a clear sky, there isn’t any way to discern that we’re actually moving. For all intents and purposes, we’re suspended in a vacuum. The only indication that we’re actually traveling is the countdown on the nav systems mileage readout. I try not to stare at it for too long, as it’s like watching the clock at work on a Friday afternoon.
I periodically check on the people we brought out of the cave. They have IVs hooked up and look marginally better. Their eyes aren’t as vacant and they’re able to track people moving through the cargo compartment. Gonzalez informs me that two of them have even spoken.
“They didn’t say much, but talking is a good sign. I let them know who we are and that we’re helping them. At the moment, I would say they’re stable, but traumatized.”
As we near home, the moon rises large in the sky behind us. The only way I know is because the snow on the eastern slopes of Mount Rainier suddenly begins to glow. At first, it takes on a dim orangish tinge, which transforms into a silver shimmer. We started our descent several miles back, but we can’t descend too low until we are nearly past the mountain chain. Then, I chop the power and we drop rapidly, swinging to the north in order to land into the wind. The southerly wind indicates that the front Harold noted is closing in. I hand the controls over to Robert, and with our gear and flaps down, we fly low over the main compound. Guard towers flash past, the inner wall zipping by underneath. He sets it down without trouble and we taxi in, catching a ride to Cabela’s.
Lynn greets us at the door. Her eyes travel over my vest and down the length of my body.
“That doesn’t look like a scouting mission to me,” she states.
“They didn’t appreciate us being there,” I reply.
“I guessed that you went in as soon as you said you were bringing others. As a matter of fact, I knew you’d go in the moment you signed off the radio two days ago.” She turns and stomps off.
“Sir, I was going to suggest you change before we landed,” Gonzalez says.
“And you didn’t?” I ask, incredulous.
Gonzalez shrugs. “I thought you’d figure it on out on your own.”
“You should know better than to assume something like that,” I respond.
“Well, I do know. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that.”
“If you like it so much, perhaps y
ou can take my place next time,” I offer.
“Thank you for the offer, sir. But it just wouldn’t be the same.”
Shaking my head, I head off to take a shower and get away from these clothes. Not just take them off, but to actually get away from them. I swear they almost break when I peel them off. After scrubbing the grime off and having a bite to eat, I feel relaxed and I lie down with Lynn next to me.
“Jack, that’s the last time you get to go out alone. And I’m being serious. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I know what you’re going to say, but you aren’t superman, even if you think you are, and your luck will hold out only for so long. Please, I’m asking; no, I’m begging you. No more,” she says.
I reach over and put my arm around her, holding her tight.
“Okay, I promise. And I’m sorry. I guess that is a little selfish of me. I say it’s for the kids and you, but it really is about the whole camp. That’s not fair to you or the kids. So, although I can’t promise that I won’t go out, I can promise not to leave you here again. Wherever I go, you go. And I’ll do my best not to do stupid things. Of course, you know, that won’t be easy. I seem to have a knack for it,” I reply.
“You don’t do stupid things. I mean, yes, you do, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how they always seem to work. But, thank you.”
We lay in silence, holding each other close. Lynn nestled in my arm, pressed up against me. My other arm is behind my head as I stare at the ceiling, my heart pounding as thoughts come and go.
“Lynn, are you asleep?” I ask.
“No, I’m just thinking,” she answers.
“Will you marry me?”
She sharply pulls her head away. I turn to look at her. She’s staring at me with a shocked expression, mouth agape.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am. We have a preacher in the compound,” I reply.
Tears well in her eyes and she snuggles closer, burrowing her head on my chest and hugging me tightly. “Yes, Jack, I will.”