Sanctuary anw-3

by John O'Brien

  I would like to throw Red Team into the fray but am worried by what I don’t yet know or see. Becoming engaged will make us unavailable should something crop up that needs our immediate attention. If something were to happen and no one was available, our line could quickly fail and we could find ourselves trapped in small pockets of defense which could be easily overwhelmed. The carbines from the three Echo Team members remaining begin flashing at intervals as they keep our backside clear on the second floor. A body falls into view, dropping from the near-side balcony and lands in front of Red Team with a thud so hard it is both heard and felt. Red Team startles and all weapons immediately round to the body but it doesn’t move or rise from the cream-colored linoleum.

  The surge of night runners flowing over the far railings is steady. We have walked into a hornets nest with hundreds of them in here. The short minutes of our fight seem both elongated and compressed. Night runners pile high on the escalator stairs as Alpha renders that area a deadly place to venture. The bodies tumble over the others as new groups appear, attempting to get down to us, and come to rest at angles on the metal stairs. Some fall all of the way down to the very bottom. Others slump as if they are taking a seat and resting on the cool aluminum and steel.

  A few bodies have tumbled part way down the near stairs, lying sideways on the wide, light-colored wooden steps. Some lay face down with their arms outstretched as if trying to fly. One lies with its leg bent forward and its toes almost in its mouth; its femur broken either from the fall or an impacting round. Even in the green of the goggles, I see rivulets of blood running over the edges of the steps, where the night runners lie, and pooling on the steps below.

  A faint haze hovers over our line from the volume of fire; not seen in clarity through my goggles but observed more as a blurring of objects. The firefight being waged inside our desired sanctuary is an assault on the senses. The smell of gunpowder fills in the air along with the reek of bodies being torn asunder. Internals are being ripped apart and exposed along with bowels being emptied. The sight of night runners pouring toward our positions and soldiers firing to stem the tide. The fine lines of light dancing about the green-lit interior and the sharper flashes of strobes. The loud coughs from over fifty carbines firing and their echo off the concrete walls mixes with the shrieks and howls of the multitude of night runners. Shouts from the soldiers of “reloading,” “to the right” or “to the left” and other commands or warnings rise above the din.

  A loud, human scream issues from the right side over the interior noise. This is followed immediately by another high-pitched scream but definitely human, or rather non-night runner. I walk to the right behind Red Team to get a better picture of events over that way, telling Robert to stay in position. I see a lot of the clothes racks have been thrown to the floor and night runners moving quickly through and over them as they hit the floor from above and launch themselves towards Delta and Charlie Teams.

  From my new vantage point, I see some of Delta and it appears they have correctly oriented themselves towards the middle of the building and the night runners leaping from the overhead balcony. The night runners are almost among them with more pressing hard behind those in front. I see a surge among the mass and another scream of pain and fear rises above the noise.

  “They’re in amongst Delta. They’re being overrun,” Mullins shouts over the radio.

  Standing by the cash register stands, I see heads from a dense mob of night runners over the clothing racks that remain standing. They are in the area where Delta had been positioned and surging toward Charlie. Some of the heads disappear below the stands and I assume those are dropping to where the some of the members of Delta have fallen. I can’t see any of Delta remaining. Charlie now has night runners to the front and side.

  “Charlie, Delta, pull back to the cashier stands,” I shout into the radio witnessing Charlie about to be overrun.

  “Negative, we’re going for Delta,” Mullins calls back.

  “No! You’ll be surrounded and overrun as well if you stay there. I said pull back.”

  “Roger that,” Mullins responds and I see Charlie begin a fighting withdrawal in my direction.

  “Red Team, on me. Lynn, Drescoll, pull back on the left,” I say amidst an interior filled with growls, snarls, shouts, and subdued gunfire.

  “Pulling back,” Lynn replies.

  I step out from under the second floor ledge above. The night runners have stopped coming over the balcony resulting in diminished fire from Bravo. Flashes still rebound off the ceiling on the left from Black and Green Teams as they fight their way back. An occasional volley of fire comes from Alpha as some night runners continue their attempt to make it down the escalator. The escalator itself is piled to the hand rails with bodies. Some of the night runners are only injured and move in the pile only to be stilled moments later by shots from Watkin’s group. It’s the same with Horace’s Blue Team covering the near stairs; only an occasional flash of gunfire.

  Red Team arrives quickly and we set up behind the register stands. “Red Team, fire only into the flanks. Watch for Charlie and Delta,” I say as Robert pulls up to my side. Charlie makes their way back. They rush through the check-out aisle and form up alongside Red.

  “The aisles will funnel them,” I say out loud to Robert and Mullins. I don’t see anyone from Delta in with Charlie and ask Mullins if he saw anyone make it. He hangs his head and shakes it; answering negatively.

  “Bravo, orient to the right but keep the overhead balcony clear. Be ready to hit them from the side,” I say with an internal sigh. I’ve fucked up and others have paid.

  Night runners pour out in mass from the clothing area to our front and are greeted by a torrent of gunfire from our line. Our bullets reach out and knock the first line backwards, to the sides, or drop them straight down as our steel meets their flesh.

  “Bravo, open up and hit them in the side,” I say pausing momentarily from firing bursts into the solid wall of night runners.

  And increase in the loud coughs is heard as Cressman and Bravo Team unleash their fire into the bunched up mass, catching them in a deadly crossfire.

  “We’re clear here. Need help?” Lynn asks over the radio.

  “Pull into the middle and act as reserve. Drescoll, stay in position,” I answer.

  I hear something over the radio but the press of night runners calls my attention. The surge is drawing closer and they have entered the narrow aisles. The floor behind the ones in front is covered with bodies and the runners coming after us have to leap over them. Some vault upon the register stands trying to push by the ones stalled in the aisles but they are dropped quickly by the fire from both teams. I think about pulling everyone back outside as we are close to being overrun ourselves. The fighting is at a distance of thirty feet and is closing. Showers of blood and matter fill the air as rounds meet with bodies. Jets of blood spurt out from severed arteries, coating the cash registers and stands in patterns; dripping down in streams where it hits with thick splotches.

  “Cressman, can you advance any?” I ask.

  “We’ll try, sir,” she answers.

  A storm of steel fills our small area within the store coming from two sides. I am about to call out to evacuate when a strange and startling sight suddenly materializes. There aren’t any night runners rushing us. I look to the sides and further into the large building but can’t see anything moving. Our fire tapers off as others realize the same thing.

  “Cease fire. Bravo, move back into your original position. Everyone remain alert. They may just be changing tactics,” I say as a silence descends.

  The quiet is surreal. It’s like a fierce windstorm that has hammered us for days suddenly relenting; one moment extremely violent and the next so calm as if it never happened. The evidence of our fight is all around us however. The haze that was only faintly prevalent before is now quite visible along with the tremendous stench. Bodies lie in heaps before us. I hear a moan and attempted growl come from ou
r front. A shot sounds out from Robert’s carbine. The single round speeds from his barrel and strikes a night runner in the side of the head, entering just above the ear.

  Other moans and cries of pain now drift into our deafened ears, along with stirs of the injured crawling or moving; like the spirits of this darkened tomb have come alive. Anticipating a change of tactics and another rush of night runners, as we have seen in the past, we all stay in our positions. The only movements are the lasers moving about in the green glow.

  “Anyone see or hear anything?” I ask after a moment of searching and listening.

  “Nothing here,” Cressman reports.

  “Same here,” I hear from Drescoll with all other team leaders reporting the same.

  “Anyone from Delta still on?” I ask only to be met with silence.

  I call for an ammo check. Blue, Charlie and Alpha report they are down to just a few mags. The rest report that they are okay. I have the others share some of their remaining mags with those that are low. The action inside was intense but didn’t encompass a lot of time.

  “Okay. Charlie and Red Team are going to advance up to Delta on the right. Stay sharp and be aware that there are injured night runners out there,” I say.

  I coordinate with Mullins and both Red and Charlie begin to move up on the right side of the first floor. We have to step over the many bodies lying in the check-out aisles and just beyond. The going is slow as we check over each body to make sure it is indeed visiting whatever afterlife it has in store. There are several night runners that are injured; some barely hanging on and others that are a little feistier. The slow advance is accompanied by the occasional shot as the injured are put to rest. The slow pace is also due to checking each body on the ground for Delta Team members and to make sure we are only shooting night runners.

  Once past the registers, we spread further out on line and continue up to where Delta had been positioned. Night runner corpses litter the ground and are entangled in fallen clothes racks and the clothes that once hung in an orderly manner upon them. It is a very confused, scattered mess. Bodies are moved after first checking to make sure they are dead as we search the area for the members of Delta. Any hope we had of finding them alive is quickly erased as we wade through the entwined bodies. The reek of bowels and bodies that have been ripped open hangs in the air.

  We find the first Delta team member and see it has been torn apart by the night runners in their frenzy. The flesh has been ripped off in many places with gouges where teeth ripped into it. Blood covers absolutely everything. It is apparent from the scores of bodies on the ground that Delta put up a valiant defense but the quickness of the assault, the numbers of night runners materializing, the limited visibility, and the fact that I put them too close to the overhang didn’t give them much of a chance. Searching through the rest of the piles, after putting a number of night runners down for good, we find the rest of Delta and lay them to the side. I notice Robert grimace a few times while searching, heck, we all are, but he continues with the process anyway. Only a few faint moans now drift through the structure coming from the escalator and top of the stairs near the entrance.

  I have Mullins set a defensive line and call for Lynn on the radio, “Lynn, can you bring Black Team up and help us carry the bodies out?”

  “Sure. Be right there,” she answers. Black Team makes their way through the bodies and reaches our position.

  “Did you find any of them still alive?” Lynn asks as she reaches my side and referring to Delta.

  “No. They were overwhelmed pretty quick,” I answer softly.

  “You know you did the right thing pulling Charlie back when you did, right!?” She says. “Otherwise, we’d be pulling a few more bodies out of the piles and we might not have had enough to keep them in check on this side. We could have been completely cut off.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t make it better or easier,” I reply.

  “Yeah, I know. It never does,” she says and moves over to help the others from Black Team carry the slain members of Delta out of the building.

  * * *

  Bri stands by a Humvee in the bright afternoon light. The rays of the sun beat down and strike her shoulders and back, warming her in her baggy, black fatigues. But as as she stares at the front entrance to Cabela’s, she doesn’t notice. Black-clad team members press against the outside walls of the structure; tense, ready and waiting to go in. She sees her dad and brother standing by the shattered glass door on the left peering into the building. Worry courses through her. She knows her dad can take care of himself and knows he will do everything he can to make sure Robert is safe. But she has also heard the stories of the attacks in other buildings. It’s much different hearing those stories than witnessing one, she thinks watching the scene before her. Perhaps it’s because the story is being told by the survivors and she knows the ending comes out well.

  She looks to the side and sees Nic, Michelle, and her grandmother with the same tightness around their eyes. The M-4 in her hand feels heavy and unfamiliar yet reassuring in a way. She makes sure there isn’t a clip in the lower receiver and pulls the charging handle back, like she had been taught, to make sure there isn’t a round in the chamber. Taking a few steps away from the Humvee into the clear, she raises the carbine and looks through the sight. Reaching up, she turns it to the 1x setting and looks around the empty fields surrounding her; putting her red dot on one object after another. She fired this M-4 at the range with the others and found that the kick, although there, was negligible. That was one fear she had – that it would buck hard against her shoulder. The red dot wobbles slightly as she tries to hold it on a clump of dry grass near the edge of the parking lot. Bri notices the gun isn’t as unwieldy as the first time she fired it yet it is still hard to hold steady. Much better than the M-16 she fired briefly in Kuwait. She switches the zoom control and the red dot changes to a cross hair. She continues to play with sighting in before turning the sight off, steps back into her previous position, makes sure her radio is on, and focuses once again on the entrance.

  Bri sees her dad and brother step away from the entrance and another group moves quickly up to take that position. “Okay, let’s do this,” she hears her dad say into the radio. “Go!”

  The teams by the doors quickly rush in and disappear from sight. She watches as her dad and brother vanish into the building immediately after and sends a prayer in with them. “Please let them be okay,” she whispers. With not knowing where her mom is or what happened to her, seeing her dad and brother disappear into the building like that brings the quick fear and thought that if something were to happen to her dad, her and Nic would be orphaned and alone.

  She hears a small gasp from Nic. She looks at the others and notices that they, like her, seem to be holding their breath. “Alpha, Bravo, Go!” She hears her dad call and the rest of the people outside of the building flow inside like a mist; everyone vanishing from sight. She has been inside numerous times before with her dad and follows their progress in her mind from the radio calls. Noticing that she has been rubbing the trigger guard of her M-4 with her finger, she pulls it away, takes in a deep breath, and tries to calm her nerves.

  Her thoughts, while following the initial entry and progress inside, folds back to the events of the past. She finds it hard to believe they were in class just over a week ago and her biggest concerns were what she was going to wear and what friend’s house she was going to go to after school. The whirlwind adventure of this past week seem very unreal to her. Or really, the time before this is the one that seems surreal. It still seems like an adventure but with terrifying events mixed in. It was a lot of fun flying around and being the flight engineer, she thinks but then turns to thoughts of her mom and friends. A tear leaks out and runs down her face. The thought of her mom and what happened brings a stark reality of their situation.

  Bri thinks back to that terrifying morning. Robert rushing into her room and waking her. Her being pissed at him for wa
king her up early as she had stayed up late texting with her friends.

  “Bri, get up! Something’s wrong and we’ve got to get out of here,” Robert said with an urgent whisper.

  “What!? Where are Mom and Nic?” She asked.

  “Shhhh. Keep it down dammit,” he said with a tense whisper and finger to his lips. “Nic is in the hallway by the door.”

  “Where’s Mom?” She asked more quietly. She remembers Robert just staring at her with an unreadable expression.

  “Just get up. Now!” He answered.

  She pushed the covers off and felt the cold floor beneath her feet. Her phone was on the sheets next to her where it had fallen when she had fallen asleep in the middle of texting. She grabbed it and followed Robert to the door. Nic was standing outside looking down the hall and stairs. Nic gave her a quick hug before turning back to her focus.

  “What now?” Nic asked Robert.

  “We need to make it downstairs and outside. We need to keep quiet. I’ll go first with you two right behind,” he answered.

  “What’s going on?” Bri asked quietly.

  “There’s someone or something downstairs,” Robert answered. They had all read and watched the news of the quickly escalating situation. They had somewhat put the pieces together and knew something wasn’t right. There was the increasing news of the flu pandemic and subsequent vaccine. People were dying in droves and the reports of people attacking each other were startling. The world seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

  Robert started off and it was then that Bri noticed the knife in his hand. It was one of the boot knives their dad had given him. Seeing Robert stalking ahead with the knife had made her realize that their situation was dangerous as Robert wasn’t one to be dramatic for drama’s sake alone. They made their way to the stairs and began to creep down. Reaching the corner, she could see where the stairs emptied into the living room. Robert reached the bottom step and peered around, signaling them to follow after a moment.