by John O'Brien
I do not think I have ever been greeted by a more pleasant sight. Sunlight is pouring into the room from large glass window panes that make up the outside of the building, bathing the room in light. And blinding the shit out of me! I turn off and flip the NVG’s up, my eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.
Down the Rabbit Hole
My heart is pounding in my chest, both from the sprint down the hallway and from adrenaline coursing through my body. I turn towards the open office door, thinking I am safe but wanting my eyes to verify it. The large wooden door remains open spilling light into the reception area and across the blue carpeting in a fan-like pattern. The door jamb is splintered where I both shot and forced it open. Small pieces of wood on the carpet below look like a box of matches has been spilled. The edge of the light/dark demarcation glitters faintly from the glass on the floor, evidence of my grand entrance. Next time I’ll try the door, I think looking at the shattered glass and then further into the hall.
The hall remains filled with shrieking although not like the tremendous roar that filled it moments before. An occasional ghost-like shape or face materializes for moments in the reflected light before disappearing in the darkness. Not a single one tries to enter into the light cast by the open door or enter into my momentary sanctuary. I walk over and ease the door closed, trying to diminish both the volume of noise and shut out the last few moments of my life — which quite literally almost became the last few moments of my life.
“I’m here in the director’s office,” I say pressing down on the radio transmit button.
“Was that gunfire we heard?” I hear Lynn respond.
“Yeah, it was a little sporty getting here,” I answer.
“Can you get out okay?” She asks.
“I think so.”
“How?”
“Well, I’ll let you know in a little bit,” I say feeling the adrenaline begin to fade.
“Okay Jack. Glad you’re safe,” Lynn says with relief in her voice.
“You and me both. I’ll let you know what I find here,” I say beginning to take in the office surroundings.
The deep, rich blue carpeting of this large office gives it a feeling of luxury as it mixes with the dark, highly polished executive desk sitting close to the window. The same rich paneling found in the lobby covers the walls with luxurious bookshelves lining one wall adding to this ambience. Two brown leather chairs, the kind you never want to get out of once you sit in them, sit parked on the carpet facing the desk. A large polished table meant for gatherings sits across the room from the bookshelves. The view outside is not all that it could be, but it sure is a sight better than I have ever had the privilege of calling my own. It is also a sight for my sore eyes after what they witnessed moments before.
Papers and folders are spread across the large desk giving evidence to the haste and chaos of the pandemic. The otherwise tidy office gives an indication that it once was kept in a very neat and orderly fashion. It is to these papers and folders lying on the desk that I am drawn; figuring what else could be of such a priority than the Cape Town virus and the genetic-altering vaccine. Walking around to the other side of the desk, I quickly glance at the papers spread across it. Most of the single sheets seem to be printed emails and reports. Removing the coiled rope and shouldering my weapon with a wince, my shoulder reminding me of my attempts to be super human and walk through walls and doors, as if the continued shrieking on the other side of the door is not reminder enough, I lean over the desk and begin shifting through papers.
I quickly realize I am not going to be able to learn anything now as I scan through them. They are a bit disjointed reading through them in this haphazard fashion. I turn to the folders stacked on the corner of the desk. Each one of them has a title referencing the virus, vaccine or lab testing. This is what we came for, I think briefly looking through the reports within. I head over to a decorative filing cabinet set against the wall by the door, through which it still sounds like some rave party is happening on the other side. Opening several drawers, I discover an empty section where the files on the desk must have come from. Rifling through the other folders in the cabinet, I do not find any titles that refer even closely to our world-changing event.
I want to make sure I find and have everything I want to pull out of here as there is not the slightest chance I will or could ever get back here. Aha! I think as a light bulb goes off in my head. Pulling the computer out from its cubby hole built into the desk, I spin the screws from the back and remove the side cover. Taking my multi-tool out, yes, I do always carry one, I unscrew and remove two hard drives seated within. If we can get power, which we will, I can put these in another computer and hopefully get to the files that are stored within; wishing I could get to the server hard drives as I am sure most of the files are there, or were, stored on the network. But you never know what may be stored locally and I am here.
Tucking those in my left side thigh pocket, I gather the loose papers and stuff them in the folders. I then remove the tape from the rope and walk to the windows. The shadows have shortened tremendously as the day has moved on toward the noon hour which is only about two hours away. Looking down out of the glass window, I see one of the team members standing close to the street by the entrance doors directly below. I imagine the rest are by the doors themselves but they are blocked from my view by the downward angle. Why are they at the door? I wonder. I told them to stay put. Unless they moved up if they heard my gunfire. That actually makes sense, I think.
“Lynn, this is Jack,” I say into the radio.
“Go ahead Jack,” she answers.
“You might want to move your teams away from the building. And I mean a ways away,” I say.
“Why?” She asks and I see her emerge into my view from the doorway looking up.
“You’ll see,” I answer.
“Are you planning on rappelling down?” She asks still looking up close to my actual location.
“It’s either that or sprout wings as I still have company up here who are inviting me to their party but I’m not sure I want to attend,” I say in answer to her question.
“Good luck with that,” she says.
* * *
“Good luck with that,” Lynn says as she attempts to see Jack standing in one of the large window panes.
“Okay, you all heard. Let’s pull back and off to the side,” she says to the group.
They all cross the street and head off the side of the entrance doors, having a sense of what is coming and not wanting to miss the show. They all feel a little more relaxed knowing that one of theirs is okay and gather in a tight group once again. Completely forgetting their surroundings, they focus on the glass a few stories up from the entrance. From where they are standing, they have a perfect vantage point.
First, they see a small bit of glass shoot outward from one of the large panes, the sound of a gunshot follows a millisecond later. There is a pause, and then suddenly, the pane erupts in an explosion of glass; an explosion that continues unabated for several seconds. The shards begin falling to the earth in a shower of glass, looking like still photographs of a waterfall; a picture where each individual drop is captured; these pictures then rapidly running together creating the illusion of movement; and illusion of the water falling. The tinkling of glass as it hits the pavement is a constant noise as the showers lands. And then, with the last of the glass hitting the ground and bouncing, silence.
“That was pretty cool,” one of the soldiers says breaking the silence.
“Yeah, just wait until you see an old man try to rappel,” Lynn chuckles to herself causing the others to laugh along with her.
The sound of shrieks rises from the opening just created in the side of the building followed by continuous gunfire; followed by silence once more.
* * *
Chuckling at her ‘good luck with that’ comment and knowing it was her feeling a little more comfortable, I continue to look out of the window; watching them as the
y move out and away. They stop a short distance away and off to the side. I want them to move further and think about getting on the radio, my hand moving to the transmit button, but they are perhaps far enough away. With that, I step away from the window, withdrawing further into the office.
I remove the partially empty mag and replace it with a fresh one and contemplate the window. I fire a round at a slight angle to the plane of the pane — yeah, I know, ha ha, had to say it. The bullet goes through causing fractures that radiate out from the bullet hole. Again, this is when I wish this M-4 was an auto rather than being limited to burst fire. I can understand the reasoning behind making the gun a burst weapon but your finger should be your fire control rather than have a limiting factor on the gun.
Aiming at the window, I repeatedly pull the trigger as fast as I can, my bullets covering the entire window. The glass explodes and sprays outward, the mighty crash of the disintegrating window combine with the rapid barking of the M-4 firing, filling the office with a cacophony of noise overriding the still shrieking night runners in the hallway outside. I continue to shift my aim so that the entirety of the window to my front is blown out. The bolt clicks back in the open position indicating that the mag is empty. I hear the faint tinkling of glass falling, hitting the street and sidewalk below.
Reloading, I then start towards the door leading to the hallway to give the night runners a departing gift. Opening the door, I am met with a din of shrieks and roars from within the darkened recesses of the hall. I bring my M-4 up and begin delivering my farewell present of steel, firing into the middle of the hall and at the fleeting shapes I see either milling or running about. Screams of pain join in the general uproar letting me know that my gift is being received. The shapes in my field of view dissolve and the shrieking instantly goes silent. I fire until my mag runs dry. Only a few soft slaps of feet on tile remain and then nothing. An eerie silence settles.
“Are you okay?” I hear Lynn call on the radio.
“Yeah, just saying goodbye,” I respond.
With the office now silent, I gather the rope and begin looking for a place to tie off. There are not any good places that are immediately obvious. Yeah, the desk or conference table might hold but I would also just as likely be pulling them down on top of me. Hitting the ground from fifty or sixty feet up only to have a heavy desk fall on me is not on my top ten list. The only thing that I see that will work is the steel beam on the outside of the building that was previously holding the sheet of glass. Ideally, a tie off should be slightly inset from the drop off point to allow one to stabilize with the rope in front. Oh well, you do what you have to sometimes. I scrape the remaining glass attached to the steel beam with the butt end of my knife assuring that there is not anything left that will be able to cut through the rope, again with the intent of trying to avoid that sudden drop.
I tie the rope off and lean back in the office testing the strength of the beam. Assured that the beam will not follow me out of the building, I remove the tape and clamp a sturdy D-ring onto my vest. Feeding the rope through the D-ring in a double loop, I toss the rope out of the window opening, peering over to ensure that the end reaches the ground. The suck factor would be getting to the end of the rope while still in the air. The flight gloves I am wearing are a bit thin for this type of operation so I will have to take it a bit slow on the way down. Rope burns are a bitch!
I stuff the folders inside my vest, making sure that they are tightly bound and not likely to slip out. I then put my M-4 over my head with the strap under my opposite arm and tighten the strap; effectively securing it to my back. Over by the window again, I grab the long end of the rope in my right hand in a reverse grip putting that hand in the middle of my back. That will be my braking mechanism. My left hand will be my guiding hand. Turning backwards to the window, I edge out to the ledge adjacent to the tie off point. Setting the toes of my feet on the ledge, I lean backwards and feel the after effects in my shoulder from my wall and door crashing. I set my right foot out against the building so that I am centered on the tie off point; letting the rope slide between my hands and gripping with firmly with my right hand when I am leaning back at the correct angle.
I look down, searching for any obstruction that will impede my progress, and immediately rethink my decision; thinking that maybe a dash to the fire door would not be so bad after all. Not a fan of heights! I kick outward releasing some of the tension on my braking hand allowing me to fall, making sure I keep my angle. I sure would hate to do a face plant on the side of the building with an audience watching. Well, anytime for that matter. Squeezing slightly with my braking hand, my descent slows and I am brought in toward the building. I bend my knees and kick off again just as soon as the soles of my boots contact the glass panes that form the outer building. I soon reach the ground with the rope burning my hands through my gloves.
“Not bad for an old man,” Lynn says as she and the rest of the group walk up as I try to undo myself from the rope.
“Very funny,” I say freeing the rope from the D-ring.
“Get what you came for?” She asks.
“Yep,” I answer withdrawing the folders from inside my vest.
I suddenly feel so exhausted. Completely drained. The downside to and the other side of an intense adrenaline rush. Coupled with the heat and humidity of the day, I feel like laying down on the cool sidewalk here in the shade. I gaze up overhead, the time spent inside already becoming surreal, my mind close to not believing it actually occurred. The broken window mars the otherwise perfect mirrored side of the building as if the secrets it had been hiding behind the perfect illusion of its facade have been revealed to the world. I shake my head trying to clear the memory of it from my mind.
“So are you going to tell us what happened in there?” Lynn asks looking at me, knowing what I had been through having been through a similar ordeal less than twenty four hours before.
“Well, we should be getting back but here’s the skinny,” I say giving them a rundown of what happened inside.
“Let’s get out of here and head back,” I say wearily after finishing with my story and stuffing the folders once again inside my vest.
I hear a faint murmuring among the troops as we walk out from the shadow of the building and into the sunlight on our way back to the trucks parked a distance away. The heat commences an immediate assault on us as the sun beats down on us, draining my energy even further. I can’t believe we have to fly all of the way back, I think stepping across the pavement, feeling the heat radiate through my soles. Perhaps I’ll let Robert fly while I look through these notes and rest.
Some of the murmured words find their way to my ears much to my embarrassment, “That was some bad ass shit he did,” one voice I do not recognize says.
“Yeah, no kidding. That was Spiderman and Superman put together. On crack,” another says.
Oh come on, I think trying to hide my embarrassment. Lynn is walking beside me and looks up at me from the side. She knows how I feel about this kind of talk and how embarrassed I get when I hear anything remotely like it, especially when it is applied to me.
Looking over and gazing up and down my back, she says out loud, “I don’t know, your cape looks a little tattered to me.”
This brings a smile to my face. She really knows how to make things better. The soldiers behind chuckle at her comment but I notice the murmurs stop. Well, at least along those lines. We climb into the trucks and retrace our route back to the airfield, eventually driving through the gate and stopping off to the side of the aircraft. I notice with pride that the start cart is positioned and set up.
The day has not yet passed the half way mark as we all trudge into the aircraft once again; the heat inside the metal-skinned giant is almost unbearable. Robert, Nic, and Bri are all in the cockpit, apparently running through the pre-start checks, as I climb wearily into the cockpit. Their heads turn in my direction as I reach the top step and walk into the cockpit proper; their faces lighting up se
eing me arrive.
“How did it go?” Robert asks.
“Not too bad,” I say pulling the folders out once again and setting them on the nav table.
Nicole’s and Brianna’s eyes grow wide with disbelief. See, whereas Robert had an idea of what I did and what I could do, I did not share those parts of life much with the girls. I guess it is part of a father’s protection of having daughters. The thought that I could bring something back when a force could not is completely foreign to them. Not the concept, but that it I had those skills. They knew I was okay in the woods and knowledgeable about the outdoors but not in this way.
“What do you say we get this thing cranked up and get out of here?” I say.
“Sounds good to me,” Robert answers.
“I thought of a name,” Little Robert pipes up as he and his mother Kathy climb into the cockpit and take their seats on the bunk with our rather large canine friend in tow. Kenneth joins them on their perch.
“Oh yeah, what is it?” I ask looking back over my shoulder.
“Do you mind if we call him Mike? That was my dad’s name,” he answers with his eyes beginning to water up.
“I think that would be a great name,” I respond. Mike hops up into the cockpit and sits down on the steel cockpit floor next to Bri and behind me.