by John O'Brien
It takes a few seconds for us to recover from the initial shock of the sound. Our fingers shy away from the triggers but keep them close.
“Well?” Lynn whispers.
“Could have been from anything?” I respond, still hesitant to enter the building.
“That was a big ass rock that moved. And something heavy was moving afterwards,” Lynn states.
“Be that as it may, if anyone is in there and they were interested in talking to us, they would have done so already. Anything could have dislodged the rock. I think we find trouble enough without having to actively go looking for it,” I state.
“Alright, Jack. For once we happen to agree. We’ll just leave your mystery as is.”
We rise and turn to go. As I put my boot down on the first step, I hear what sounds like a muffled cough. It’s so faint that I doubt anyone else heard it. Spinning around, I see startled faces reacting to my abrupt turn. I stare past them to the inside of the building.
“What is it, Jack?” Lynn asks.
“Shhhh…”
I strain, listening to see if I can hear something else. There, the same sound. It definitely seems like something is trying to conceal the noise.
“Do you hear that?” I ask, whispering.
“No, Jack, I don’t hear a thing except the wind blowing. What do you hear?” Lynn answers.
“Anyone else?” I ask, putting off Lynn’s question for the moment.
Each of the others shakes their head.
“I swear there’s someone in there. I heard them try to cover up a cough, twice.”
“What do you think?” Lynn asks.
“Fuck it, let’s take a look, but we’re not going far,” I say. “Spread out once we get inside. Keep in sight of each other and watch your footing.”
Entering through one of the glassless entry doors, I step over a small pile of bricks. Most of the interior has fallen in on itself, creating large open areas surrounded by the partial remains of concrete support walls and the outer brick ones. Several large beams, scorched by the fire yet not completely burned through, lean at angles against the remaining walls or stick out from deep piles of wreckage. To me, it resembles a bombed out building. The feel of the place is like walking into an abandoned factory …one of those places that seem to carry the ghosts of activity, hidden from sight but still present within the emptiness, as if there is a thin line separating this time from then, that any moment you might see the outline of workers crossing the floor.
One of my initial steps disturbs a brick, shifting it against another one. A flock of pigeons takes wing from high above, startling the shit out of me. I flinch and crouch down, close to feeling a warm trickle flow down my leg.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, feeling my heart thud against the walls of my chest.
The flock flies through the open roof, disappearing from view.
“Remember, there’s no going downstairs or into any dark areas. I don’t sense any night runners up here, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t. There is, however, definitely a pack under our feet. Although I don’t like this, we need to be quick. We can’t forget that we’re only an hour’s drive away from the other encampment,” I whisper, my heart beginning to recover from the fright.
Once inside, we spread out. Lynn and Gonzalez are on my left with Henderson and Denton to my right. Bri walks just behind my right shoulder. We slowly traverse what once was a lobby but is now covered with piles of brick and slabs of concrete with fingers of rebar poking out. Inside, the wind blowing through the open windows moans with an increased intensity.
Our carbines move in unison with our eyes as we search the upper levels and dark corners for anyone in the building. The footing is tricky. With each step, bricks shift under our boots. We slowly work our way across the lobby.
Entering a hallway, two charred and twisted fire doors lie slanted across an opening to the left. Peering past the doors, I see a flight of steps leading down. They are covered in debris but there’s an obvious pathway leading through the center. At the bottom, another warped fire door stands open. A hall stretches past the entry, leading farther into the basement. The hallway quickly fades into a dark gloom as very little light, from the collapsed roof and floors above, penetrates it. And upward flight of stairs has fallen, leaving only five steps, and part of a sixth one, intact.
Near to the stairwell entrance, a large debris pile angles down from the third story, filling a large part of the interior and crossing the hallway. Lynn and Gonzalez head through an opening to circumvent the pile while Bri and I go around it to the other side.
As I step on a large, concrete slab near the edge of the rubble, it tilts and I feel myself go weightless. It’s not that gravity failed, but there is suddenly nothing under my feet. In fact, gravity works only too well as I fall through a hole in the floor that was hidden under the slab. My mind registers a thin beam of light from the opening shining into darkness below. The contrast of looking from light into darkness hampers my ability to see.
Time slows. The debris field begins sliding down toward me and into the hole as the section caves in. Letting go of my M-4, I turn toward Bri to push her out of the way. I’m too late and see her falling with me, surprise registering on her face. I reach out and feel her hand for a brief second before the falling debris forces us apart.
Riding on top of the slide as it falls, I hit the ground hard. The crashing of falling debris roars into the space I’ve fallen into. A few moments later, there is only the sound of an occasional brick or rock sliding down the surface of the rubble. The immense field groans once as it shifts and then it is silent. Tons of rock, brick, and concrete have fallen within seconds, sealing off the basement from above. No light penetrates. The underground tunnel or hallway where I am has been completely shut off.
It’s complete darkness but, with my vision, I’m able to see. I rise, my arms and legs sore from being hit many times on the way down. I shake loose fragments from my hair and feel particles fall under my collar and down my back. My fear for Bri is immediate and I turn to the pile, looking for any sign of her. I call for her as I start digging through, tossing loose debris behind me.
“Dad? Dad?” I hear Bri call faintly.
She’s either trapped in a pocket or has been tossed clear on the other side, just as I have been.
“Are you okay?” I shout, continuing to throw objects behind me.
“I think so but my leg is stuck,” she calls back.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the edge of a pile. I can’t see the hole or past the rocks. There’s a hallway that I can see from here,” she answers.
I try to raise Lynn or any of the others on the radio but hear no response. It must have been damaged in the fall.
I am relieved to hear Bri’s voice and to know that she’s okay but frustrated as each piece of rubble I remove is replaced by another from the pile above. I need to get to my daughter. This was a fucking foolish thing to do and I should have known better. Now, my daughter is paying for my stupidity. I haven’t forgotten what else lies down here.
Shrieks reverberate, as if in answer to my fear-filled thought. They’re faint and coming from the other side of the pile, where Bri lies trapped. My hands become a blur of motion. I know that there must be scrapes and tears on my fingers, but those go unnoticed as I move rubble, trying to scrape a way through. I race to clear a path but only succeed in bringing more debris down.
“Dad…Dad, help me!” Bri shouts.
Panic fills me.
* * * * * *
The fall comes as a complete surprise. She feels what she thinks is her dad’s outstretched fingers for a brief moment before the tumbling debris carries her away. Objects slam into her arms, legs, and sides as she falls. She is pushed to the side as she tumbles. The roar of crashing debris is all she hears as objects pummel her and she is tossed about in a storm of falling rubble.
Bri finally comes to rest, fear filling her. She tastes grit inside of her mou
th, making her feel like she ate a handful of dirt. Coughing, she tries to force the dust from her lungs. Dirt covers her, falling from her hair onto her face and down the back of her fatigue top. Her body aches from being tossed about. Cautiously, she sits up. Darkness surrounds her and, except for the sound of a small piece of rubble rolling down, all is quiet.
Reaching up, she finds that her NVGs are still attached and she lowers them, turning them on. Darkness recedes and becomes images presented in a greenish glow. To one side, a huge pile of rubble rises upward, blocking the hole she fell through. To the other side, a hallway extends for a distance with open doorways on both sides.
Sitting mostly on the hard floor, with her heartbeat pounding quickly, she looks herself over, checking for injuries. Brushing off dust and small pieces of concrete, she moves her fingers. Her arms are sore but nothing appears to be broken. Feeling a weight on one of her legs, she continues her check and finds that a large slab of concrete is lying on it. She tries to pull her leg free it but it’s firmly pinned under the block. She wiggles her toes and is relieved to feel them move.
She remembers her dad falling with her. Fear, momentarily forgotten while checking herself over, rises again.
“Dad? Dad?” she calls.
“Are you okay?” Bri hears her dad reply.
Her dad’s voice is faint but she can hear him clearly.
“I think so but my leg is stuck,” she answers.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the edge of a pile. I can’t see the hole or past the rocks. There’s a hallway that I can see from here,” she answers.
A sudden chorus of shrieks reverberates down the hall, filling it. Bri whips her head toward the sound, her mouth going even drier as adrenaline is dumped into her system. Her heart jump starts with a thud. She pulls frantically at her leg, trying to free it. It doesn’t budge.
“Dad…Dad, help me!” Bri shouts.
More screams fill the hall and Bri sees a night runner enter from one of the side doors. It stops in the hall, looking first away and then, directly at her. Without hesitation, it begins racing down the hallway as more enter from the doorway.
Without taking her eyes from the night runners streaking toward her, Bri desperately reaches to her side, feeling for her M-4. It was attached to a woven paracord lanyard so, unless the clip broke or the lanyard snapped, it should be at her side. She feels the hard metal through her gloves and fumbles to bring it around. It only gives a little and she isn’t able to raise it.
She only has a few moments until the night runners are upon her. Fighting back tears and the fear choking her, she risks a glance to her side. The end of the barrel is under several bricks and a chunk of concrete. She pulls the carbine backward, slipping the end out from under the pile, and rolls onto her side, bringing the M-4 to bear.
The night runners are scant yards away and closing quickly. She thumbs the selector to ‘fire’, hoping the barrel isn’t clogged with debris. Lining her red dot up on the nearest night runner, the racing figure filling her field of view, she pulls the trigger, squeezing off a burst.
All other sound is lost beneath the screams emanating from the night runners. Bri sees their pale faces seeming to glow brightly in her goggles, their eyes shining eerily with a silver light. Flashes of light bounce off the walls, illuminating tattered clothing that is barely hanging onto the night runner.
The ragged shirt, unidentifiable as to what it once was, puffs from bullets striking the chest. They pass through the cloth and impact with flesh and bone, glancing off ribs and tearing into meat, penetrating to smash through the lungs and heart muscle beneath.
As the rounds pound into the night runner, it emits a forced, explosive exhalation. It falls forward, hitting its knees and face, tripping one night runner behind and exposing the others to view.
Bri, although fearful, doesn’t notice that she has pushed the fear down. It has become part of her subconscious. Lying on her side, holding her carbine in an awkward position, she lines her red dot up with the next closest night runner. Fear suppressed, with senses highly tuned and time slowed, everything is blotted from her mind. She is only shooting at targets.
More flashes illuminate the corridor as Bri sends another burst of projectiles outward. Another night runner falls, but those behind are closing in quickly. With each night runner she brings down, the ones behind close a couple more feet, crowding closer. The next creature she riddles with rounds falls to the hard basement floor not more than a few feet away.
If I go down, I’m going to go down fighting, she thinks, switching to ‘semi’ to conserve the ammo in her mag. She won’t have time to change it. She’ll be essentially out of rounds when the bolt on her carbine locks back, the mag empty.
One other thought works its way into her focused mind…I love you, Dad.
* * * * * *
Taking a deep breath, I know that staying within the grip of panic will not help me, or Bri. It’s hard to suppress it with the shrieks emanating on the other side of the pile and it remains just below the surface. I quickly verify that my M-4 is still at my side, attached via the lanyard.
Climbing off the pile filling the hall, barely noticing the scrapes and bruises, I look down the section of hall behind. Immediately ahead, another hall opens to the right. Across from it is a closed door. Hoping the door will lead to a room that will allow me to circumvent the blocked hall, I run toward it. Muffled shrieks from Bri’s side increases, driving me to move quicker. The panic lingering just below is threatening to break free.
Not wanting to even take the time to see if it’s locked, I send a burst of fire into the latch. I slam into it with my shoulder. The door crashes open and hits the interior wall with a bang. Splinters from the shattered jamb fly inside. Stumbling into the room, I look to the far side thinking this is a way that will connect with the hall past the blockade…and Bri. I come up short seeing I am wrong.
From all appearances, I’ve stumbled into a storage room. Boxes are stacked along the walls and on shelves which fill the entirety of one side. As with the walls of the corridor, the ones enclosing the room are made of concrete.
My heart sinks. I don’t know how to get to Bri and there are night runners. My throat fills with a huge lump and my heart threatens to rip apart. I want to just fall to my knees on the floor and sink into oblivion.
The only thing I can think to do is open up. I send to the night runners. Through a complicated series of images, I send that death awaits them if they run any farther. The image I send is that of the sun shining brightly, along with the intense, burning pain of dying. Anything to slow them down and give me more time.
With tightness gripping my insides, I glance frantically around the room. Looking for something…anything…some way to get to Bri before it’s too late. The back wall catches my attention as I fight the rising panic. It’s painted a similar gray to the concrete walls, but its texture shows that it’s made of drywall.
Without hesitating, I remove three grenades hooked into my vest. There were four, but I guess one is now buried in the rubble. Back at the door, I quickly pull the pins and toss the grenades against the back wall, one after the other.
Overriding the muffled shrieks coming from the other side of the barrier, I hear the sound of footfalls. I hurriedly turn around, going to one knee, and bring my carbine up. Lynn is running down a short hall across from the door with the others behind. I assume they made their way down from the stairs. I lower my M-4 thinking it’s a good thing that I am able to see in the dark. If I only saw shapes moving quickly for me, considering there is a night runner presence in the basement, I might have added to the mistake I’ve already made.
Seeing me through her NVGs, Lynn comes to a halt. “Don’t you answer your radio anymore?”
“It doesn’t work,” I say, pushing her back from the door.
“Wher” Lynn starts.
A rolling explosion rocks the basement, deafening with its intensity. My ears begin ringing
and a roil of smoke thrusts out of the open doorway. Leaving Lynn and the others startled in the hallway, recovering from the unexpected explosion, I turn and bolt into the room without giving them an explanation.
Smoke fills the room. Most of the boxes along the walls are shredded from shrapnel that was flung at high speed. Two of the shelves have fallen over, throwing their contents across the floor. Particles of cardboard and paper slowly drift down.
I race to the back end of the room to see a large hole has been torn in the wall. I tear several electrical wires to the side and step through shattered beams. It’s a larger room, yet similar to the one I was just in. Pieces of the drywall and boards are strewn across the floor; the remains of a wooden desk, ripped apart from the explosion, lies at an angle in the middle.
I notice, with a deep-set fear—my mind numbed with it—that the shrieks have stopped. My ears are ringing from the explosion, but I’d hear them if they were present. I race to the door on the far side of the room, ready to take down anything that might be between me and my girl. Fearing the worst, I send a burst into the door and throw it open.
The door slams against the inside wall and I look out. The smell of gunpowder is the first thing I notice, mixed with the odor of age-old sweat, bowels, and blood. The second thing I notice is the end of a barrel whipping in my direction. I throw myself backward as rounds stitch up the jamb holding the door’s hinges, destroying the upper one. The door, unable to support its weight, topples, shearing the bottom hinge loose. Continuing its fall, it hits me on the head.
Shoving the door away from me, my heart soars from the fact that bullets tore into the wood. My sweet Bri is alive. In my panicked haste, I didn’t call out and damn near paid the price for it.
“Bri, it’s me, hold your fire,” I call.
“Okay, Dad,” she returns.
Peering back into the corridor, with the mixture of smells wafting past my nose, each making itself known, feces, sweat, blood, then gunpowder, I notice night runner bodies covering almost the entire hallway floor. They begin a few yards past the door opposite the blockage, with the last lying almost on top of Bri. Some lie singly while others are stacked on top of each other. It looks like someone hastily stacked them like dominos, not paying attention to alignment, and tipped them over.
