by John O'Brien
Being so close to the night runner, Lynn feels a splash of warmth against her cheek. The injured night runner is spun completely around from the impacts and falls to the ground next to her. She feels the crash through the hard floor and hears a whoosh as the air leaves its lungs from the collision with the concrete. Her slide backwards comes to halt. The other night runner is almost upon her. She looks up. Through her goggles, she sees the bared teeth and glowing eyes above her just beyond her outstretched feet. The night runner leaps into the air flying toward her with outstretched arms.
Time slows. Lynn brings her M-4 up angling it across her body. Her vision is filled with the wild eyes and snarling face of the night runner. Arms reach out to her with fingers curled. The lips and chin of the enraged creature are streaked with fresh blood. Pulled back lips and open mouth frozen in a snarl reveals stained teeth. In the clarity of the moment, Lynn notices a gold cap covering one of the upper incisors. Saliva and blood drips from the side of its mouth. The night runner draws inch by inch.
Keeping her M-4 between her and the creature hurtling in slow motion towards her, she thrusts out with her weapon. Rolling at the moment of impact of her carbine against the night runner, she slams the body down next to her on the solid floor. The creature hits hard and emits a grunt. Its head lands with a sharp crack. Lynn uses her momentum and continues her roll rising to her knees. The night runner appears momentarily stunned and she gathers her feet under her pulling her M-4 up with her.
Turning her carbine, she pumps a single round into its head. Blood splashes upward from the impact and the night runner collapses and settles solidly onto the floor. A pool of blood forms quickly around its head. A firm tug on her pants nearly knocks her off balance. Stepping to the side to maintain her equilibrium, she looks down to see a hand of the first night runner reaching out and firmly gripping her pants near the hem. The pale face is off to the side of her and, looking again into its eyes, she sees a mixture of hunger and pain in them.
A muted cough from nearby sounds and a strobe of light illuminates the night runner and area around. The night runner twitches and a shower of blood erupts from underneath its chin. The glow of the eyes fades. It twitches twice more and is still.
Lynn quickly turns and looks around. She notes that only seconds have passed since discovering the body. Silence returns and she realizes that she didn’t hear the familiar shriek of discovery from either of the night runners. This confuses her but she is thankful that the cry of alarm wasn’t sounded. Looking at her team mate standing a few feet away, she nods her thanks for his taking care of the downed night runner.
Adrenaline courses through her body leaving her both tight and relaxed. She notices her panting breath and works to bring her breathing back to normal. The smell of body odor, blood, and feces wafts to her nose.
“Okay, let’s get back on line and move to the front of the vehicles. Stay alert,” she instructs the others over the radio.
Cautiously walking to the front of the truck next to her, she steps over the puddle of blood trickling slowly along the uneven surface. The mutilated and torn body of the sailor lies on its back. The upper part of the shirt is darkly stained. She observes that most of the facial tissue is missing revealing muscles, tendons, and bone. The throat has been ripped away and lifeless eyes stare blankly at the tall ceiling above that is lost in the darkness.
An open area stands between her position in front of the trucks and the beginning of the large, stacked crates and boxes. Flashlights continue to wave in the air at various points in the depths of the building. She hears the persistent murmurs of the group from the sub. In the background, she picks up soft thuds emanating from the same general area.
From her position and looking toward the top of the crates, she catches a flash of movement. Directly in front of her, something moved in the air across an aisle formed between the stacked crates. Due to the height of the stacks, Lynn can’t see much of the tops. Concentrating on the edges, she witnesses more quick and subtle movements causing a measure of dread and fear to surface once again. That has to be night runners, she thinks. The fact that there are night runners moving about without the familiar shrieks sends yet another cold shiver to race down her spine.
“Night runners on top of the crates,” she says into the radio. Thin points of light move upward with her call. They streak down aisles and on top of the stacks.
It’s time to do something. She is hesitant about taking the teams down the aisles. With night runners on the crates above, those aisles will become death traps. She knows her only choice is to shout to the group from the sub to make their way to her. The movements she saw indicate that the night runners are moving toward those inside, if they’re not already there.
“Santa Fe crew members, this is Sergeant Connell. You are in immediate danger. Make your way quickly to the front doors. We’ll cover you,” Lynn shouts.
A loud shriek penetrates and echoes in the vast interior. More follow filling the warehouse with their reverberations. Terror-filled screams begin from far back in the warehouse. Flashlight beams wave frantically in the air.
“Charlie and Black Teams, form a perimeter on me. Horace, get those doors open now,” Lynn says.
“Working on it, first sergeant,” Horace replies.
“We have friendlies out there so watch your target,” Lynn says, cautioning against itchy trigger fingers.
The once nearly silent interior is filled with shrieks and screams. The screams are a mix of fear and pain. Movement in her peripheral catches her attention and she swings her M-4 toward it. Light bounces on the floor off to her right. The wavering beam is an indication that someone is running with a flashlight in their hand. Others in her teams have seen the same thing as lasers converge on the aisle entrance.
“Keep an eye on your sectors. Possible friendlies approaching on the right,” Lynn says.
Several of the thin points of light leave the point of convergence and swing back to the other aisles and crates. Two figures emerge from the aisle racing toward the front of the building with flashlights in their hands. Just behind them, three night runners give chase.
“Open fire,” Lynn shouts. “You two, make for the open door.”
The muted coughs of several M-4s opening up are lost in the din. Tracers streak out and converge on the first two night runners quickly closing the distance on the sailors running for their lives. One night runner drops immediately forward onto its face from multiple bullets striking it. The second spins a one-eighty and slams onto the hard surface of the floor. The third attempts to close in but its forward momentum is halted as weapons are focused on it. It stops and stands upright as if it hit an invisible wall. Its shirt puffs in multiple locations as a second series of bullets hit forcefully and topple it backward. The two sailors alter their direction of flight toward the rectangle of light of the open door.
Light flashes from an aisle directly ahead of Lynn. Beams from flashlights are focused on the ground. Behind the lights, she can barely make out four sailors speeding her way. Movement on the crates above the four running figures captures her attention. Before she can bring her M-4 to bear, a shrieking night runner leaps down from above crashing onto a sailor bringing up the rear. They both go down, colliding hard with the floor. The surprised scream of the submariner rises momentarily above the cacophony of noise before being abruptly cut off. The three remaining sailors cut off her view of what happens next. The three exit the aisle and are brought up short as their lights shine on Lynn and the few team members close to her.
“Keep moving! Head toward the door,” Lynn shouts. The three continue to stand in place as if stunned.
“Move!” Lynn shouts again.
She watches as one shakes his head quickly as if coming out of a trance. They dart to the side and begin running once again. Lynn puts them out of her mind as they race past her position.
Looking back down the aisle, she sees the night runner that leapt down crouched over the still form of t
he sailor. Quickly centering her crosshair on its chest, she squeezes the trigger and feels the familiar light kick against her shoulder as she sends rounds streaking outward. She sees the torn and stained shirt of the night runner puff out as her bullets pass through it to strike flesh and bone. It falls heavily on the body it was feasting on. Behind the now downed night runner, Lynn sees more night runners streaking toward her. She catches the movement of more on the edges of the stacked crates above. She imagines the other aisles would give the same picture. The gathering horde of night runners will soon exit the aisles and leap from the tall stacks. She knows that they’ll soon be beset and in for a fight.
“Horace, those doors if you please,” Lynn says.
“Working on it,” Horace replies.
“Black and Charlie teams, be ready to pull back on my command. Horace, if we have to pull back, head for the open doorway,” Lynn says, watching the oncoming night runners quickly closing in.
They emerge from the aisles almost before she knows it. Multiple night runners pour into the open space ahead and jump from the stacked crates forming a waterfall of leaping figures. A horde of shrieks and screams grows exponentially overwhelming any other sound. The space in front of the two teams fills quickly. The area is lit by quick and continuous strobes of light as the soldiers open fire. The leading night runners fall to the ground adding screams of pain to the clamor. More bound over the fallen.
“Start pulling back in line now,” Lynn calls over the radio.
The level of noise echoing inside is deafening. Shell casings bounce on the concrete surface but go unheard. Magazines clatter as the soldiers reload. Mouths open to call “reloading” but the words are lost amidst the thunderous roar of the night runners. Step by step the teams fall back, splitting as they make their way between the vehicles. Even though night runners fall to the ground by the dozens, due to their numbers, they slowly close the gap.
Lynn clicks the mag release dropping yet another empty mag to the ground. Slamming in a fresh mag, she continues to add her fire into the advancing mass of night runners. Another step backward takes her to the rear of one of the trucks. A thin beam lights the area in front of her causing the night runners caught in its path to throw their arms in front of their faces. Those caught in the widening beam fall to the ground writhing in agony. Slowly but surely, the band of light grows. The ones behind and on the sides turn and flee.
The shrieks diminish in volume as the night runners race back into the darkness of the warehouse leaving their dead and dying behind. Daylight pours in lighting the front of the building. The injured night runners, crawling slowly along the floor, scream in pain and slump to the ground. Lynn raises her goggles and, with a look to ensure the attack is over, turns to see Blue Team push the sliding doors the rest of the way open.
Turning back, she shouts, “Anyone left alive, make your way to the doors.” Nothing but several shrieks returns her call.
“Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here,” she yells.
Walking outside, the day looks the same, taking on a surreal aspect. The gray clouds still hover just above the tall roof just as they did when she entered. She feels the intense adrenaline begin to ebb leaving her feeling weary. They’ve made it through yet another encounter. She sees Jack with the rest of Red Team and Greg with his team standing in front. Huddled together off to the side, she spies the five sailors she saw exit the aisles. Of the twelve who went in, they are the only ones who made it out. With a heavy sigh, she gathers everyone up and begins a slow walk to meet Jack who is standing ready with the rest of the teams to back her up if she needed.
* * * * * *
I watch as Lynn and the other teams fold against the outside wall by and open doorway ready to enter. A faint, solitary shriek drifts upward from the building. I think about calling Lynn and having her return but she’s the one there and it’s her call. Her core instinct to help others worries me at times as I know her propensity to put herself in danger in order to assist those in need. However, I also know she cares deeply about her soldiers and won’t put them in a position that will risk them unnecessarily.
The tension that was so prevalent just moments ago subsides as we all focus on the warehouse, watching the scene about to unfold. Glancing at Captain Leonard, I see his eyes narrowed in concentration. I wonder if he thinks that we are still trying to interfere or if he believes we are truly trying to help. Perhaps he realizes he made a mistake and is looking to see the outcome. I’m guessing he cares about his people so it may be he just doesn’t realize the danger he sent his people into.
I listen as Lynn briefs the teams and watch as she readies herself and steps inside. I feel anxiety in the pit of my stomach as she disappears knowing full well what possibly waits inside. I’m sure my call telling Lynn that there are night runners inside is going to raise a few eyebrows. I noticed Leonard’s quick glance when I made the call. I said that in the clear over an open channel so everyone is going to run that through their minds. But there’s no way I’m going to hold something like that back when it can help. That’s Lynn down there. It’s all I can do not to run over and be the one to go inside. If it comes up, I suppose I’m going to have to explain that radio call. Perhaps it’s time to tell the command group.
The other teams rush through the open door one by one, flowing like a black wave until they vanish into the dark opening. I feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach watching the last of them disappear knowing well the fear and dread of being in a possible night runner lair. I’m thankful for the distribution center in that we can very much limit any further excursions into darkened buildings.
Minutes pass with only the short radio calls from Lynn to the other teams and some calls requesting information on those inside. One comes that grabs my attention. It is one I was rather expecting to hear at some point given that night runners are holed up within the warehouse building.
“Black and Charlie team, hold up. I have something to my front. Standby,” I hear Lynn say.
Another minute and then, “I have two night runners and a dead body three meters to my twelve o’clock in front of the truck,” Lynn whispers on the radio. “Keep alert for others. Mullins, can you get a shot at them?”
I look to Captain Leonard and say, “If you’ll excuse me, I have my people to attend to.” He turns his head briefly to nod before gazing back to the warehouse.
I take a few steps and hear from behind me, “Captain Walker, we’d be happy to help if you need?”
Turning, I see one of the SEAL Team members standing slightly off to the side. Captain Leonard turns sharply to the Chief but doesn’t say anything.
“We can always use the help, Chief… Krandle is it?”
“Yes, sir,” Krandle responds.
“Like I said, we can always use the help but we don’t have any spare comm gear or NVGs,” I say.
“I understand, sir” Krandle says with a nod.
Leonard looks at the chief with a hard stare before returning his focus back to the large cream structure that his men are currently in… along with our teams. I tell Frank and Bannerman to wait with Leonard and make my way to where Greg is standing with Red and Echo Teams. They are more relaxed but still in their covered positions behind the vehicles and manning the weapons. Greg walks to meet me.
“You’ve heard the calls?” I ask to which he nods.
“I want us to be in a position to support Lynn if they run into trouble,” I say.
“Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea. Any worries about the boys in white?” Greg asks nodding toward the Captain and the sub.
“Not for the time being. I’m not sure their Captain is a big fan of me. I don’t think he believes what is going on but I don’t think they’ll cause any problems. I think he’s trying to digest it all just like we had to,” I answer.
“That can’t be easy.”
“No and I’m not sure I have yet.”
“That’s because you’re an old man,” Greg says.
“At least I didn’t fall out of the ugly tree and get hit by every branch on the way down,” I respond.
“Look who’s calling who ugly,” he replies, leaning over me trying to be intimidating.
“Hey, I’m not the one kids point at and mistake for a sea cow when swimming… just sayin’.” Humor is one way we disperse the tension of knowing our team mates have entered a night runner lair.
Lynn’s call of, “Night runners on top of the crates,” interrupts our little tete-a-tete prompting action on our part.
“Red Team, Blue Team, form up on me,” I shout.
We form up and begin trotting toward the distant warehouse. As we draw closer, my throat tightens and heart rate accelerates hearing a din of shrieks emanating from within. I head toward the open side door when I see the large doors begin to slide open. The sound of shrieks increases through the thin aperture that is growing wider by the second. It’s hard to make out who is pushing the doors apart but I see a full team shoving on the large, heavy doors. The screams within change in tone from rage to screams of pain.
With the doors mostly open, I see Lynn and several of the other team members that entered standing in a line deeper inside the building. Scores of night runners lie scattered on the gray painted concrete floor. Some caught in the light arch in pain before slumping back to the ground. A group of five men huddle together outside off to the side. I observe Lynn lower her weapon and shout something into the interior. She stares into the darkness waiting for something. Finally, she shouts, “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here,” and turning, she heads in my direction.
