by John O'Brien
I’ve occasionally engaged them, stopping at times to slow them down or when I needed to catch my breath, only to turn and run again. They pause in their chase each time, allowing me to put some distance between us. This is the game we’ve been playing, and until now, it’s worked. However, I ran out of ammo at my last stop. I’m down to my knives, which won’t do me much good.
Looking to the sky, the moon is settling toward the horizon and stars twinkle against a velvet background. Dawn can’t be that far away, but as it stands now, it might as well never show. It’s been a good run, but it has reached its conclusion. I gave it my best shot and almost made it. At least Lynn and the kids are safe. That’s all that matters.
The screams grow louder. With a sigh, I drop my trusty M-4 to the ground, taking out two of my knives. I won’t last long, but at least they’ll know they tangled with something. Tired and breathing hard, I turn from the cliff’s edge and step into the middle of the field. Ghostly faces appear at the edge of the trees, their mouths open, shrieking. They pause, possibly expecting more rounds to be sent in their direction. Unfortunately, I don’t have any to deliver.
I crouch, my grip loose but firm on my knives. From the edge of the trees, night runners emerge into the open field. The volume of their shrieks rises and becomes almost deafening. Then, they halt. The screams fade and they part, forming a path down which a single night runner advances cautiously.
My heart is pounding and my adrenaline is at an all-time high. The cold of the evening is forgotten as I stare at the solitary night runner. The ones behind him have gone silent, leaving only the rustle of the wind blowing gently through the grass. I’m confused at their odd behavior. I’ve never witnessed where a single one emerged like this, but I’ll take what I can get. Each moment that passes is one in which I can catch my breath.
I think about opening up to see what their images say, but I don’t want to lose focus. By all appearances, the night runner slowly advancing wants a challenge. That’s fine with me, but I harbor no doubts as to how this will eventually end. Even if I survive the encounter, there’s no way that I’ll live through the hundreds that will follow. Knowing that Lynn and the kids are safe, I feel relaxed. I don’t care that this might – make that will – be my last night on earth, just as long as they’re okay. I just hope that it’s quick and doesn’t involve a lot of pain. Because, well, pain sucks.
All of the tension I’ve been carrying is gone. There’s only me and the night runner. I track him as he begins circling. He’s stronger, more agile, and faster than I am, so it will take everything I have to survive even the next few minutes. I really don’t even know what I am bringing to the table. Brains? Training? Looks? Yeah, right.
I open up and send, “I will kill you.”
His eyes widen for a split second, then narrow. He doesn’t respond. The other night runners do, sending a chilling escalation of shrieks across the small field. The one I’m facing sends for silence and, again, a hush descends across the meadow.
With a howl, the night runner launches himself across the field. One moment he’s slowly circling, and the next he’s in an all-out sprint. I’m taken aback by how quickly he went from zero to a hundred. He charges and leaps into the air. Stepping to one side, I sweep an arm to guide him away, bringing my knife up to plunge into his side. He is able to twist his body in mid-air and my knife only finds empty space. He flies past, hits the ground on the back of his shoulder, and rolls. Continuing, he gains his feet and faces me before I can make another move.
Fuck, this isn’t going to be easy, I think, watching for his next move. No mistakes with this one.
Without a sound, he charges straight in, forgoing his opening acrobatic feat. He’s on me almost before I see him move. I’m going to have to take note of his speed. I duck under his outreached arms, rising as they pass over me. I thrust upward, seeking to place my knife just under his rib cage. He moves to the side, the edge of my blade pushing through his clothing, only to scrape his side. Before I know it, he’s behind me. He was in front of me one second, and then gone the next.
I feel an eruption of pain as he sinks his teeth deep into the meaty part where my neck meets my shoulder. His hand reaches around to claw at my face. I hear low growling in my ear and get a whiff of his rank aroma. I twist, thrusting toward his eye with my opposite hand while simultaneously stabbing to the rear with my other one. He releases and jumps backward to avoid the thrust of my blades. I feel satisfaction as my rearward stab connects. Spinning, I see blood running from a slice along his arm and a growing stain on his clothing where I caught his side. Streams of my own blood run down my chest and back.
With a glance at his arm, he growls and comes at me again, giving me no pause. I step to the side of his charge, dropping low again, seeking his torso. He catches my left arm just before the tip of my blade penetrates. Sinking his teeth into my arm, my knife drops as I stab toward his rib cage with my right, managing only another glancing blow as he moves aside.
A return swipe across his torso causes him to release my arm. Moving like lightning, the night runner is quickly upon me before I regain my feet. I barely have time to see his body closing. I rise swiftly upward as he grapples with me, launching of us both backward. Twisting in mid-air, we land with me on top. I can’t get my knife in anywhere. It’s like wrestling with a wet fish that moves like a snake. He slaps my arm away faster than I can bring it to bear. With my other hand, I fight to keep him from clawing me.
His strength and speed are too much. I eventually find myself on my back. I try to stab upward into his armpit, but he catches my arm and pins it to the ground. His face is inches away from mine, gnashing at my face and neck. Fetid breath pours into my nostrils. The only thing keeping his teeth away is my free arm against his neck. His other hand claws at my body, bringing fire each time it finds skin.
Relaxing my arm a touch, his face lowers. I bring my head up sharply, my forehead smashing into his nose. Blood pours out of his nostrils, dripping onto my face. It only causes him to pause for a second before he’s back at it. I smack him again, feeling blood splash. Growling, he rolls quickly to the side. With his nose broken, I had hoped that he would have remained in place so I could try and slam his nose into his brain. That was just wishful thinking. I get the feeling that he knew something like that was coming.
I roll much more slowly, gaining my knees, my whole body feeling like it’s on fire. My shoulder and hand throb painfully, in tune with each beat of my heart. Expecting to be hit again, I rise, bracing for an impact and looking for the night runner. Standing a short distance away, with blood running covering the lower part of his face and dripping off his chin, he is looking at something in his hand…my knife that had fallen.
Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t know how to use that.
His speed and strength have been too much for me; I’ve barely been able to hold my own. Even though I’ve fought night runners hand-to-hand before, none of them matched the power and agility of this one. I’ve managed to get a couple of licks in, but he’s too fast and I haven’t done any real harm. Luckily, he’s only had his teeth and hands, but they’ve done their damage. My wounds aren’t fatal, but I’m bleeding and I feel like fire ants are biting in a dozen different places. And now, he has a knife. If he uses that instead of clawing, things are going to get ugly in a hurry. I’ve been on the defensive so far, unable to counter his moves quickly enough. That’s going to have to change.
The night runner stands in the field, occasionally wiping the blood from his face and slowly swinging the knife in arcs. I can’t afford to let him become a master at it, but I’m winded and have to catch my breath. Seconds pass.
Well, I wasn’t going to live through this anyway, I think
Taking a deep breath, which brings additional pain, I advance toward the night runner, who instantly becomes alert.
We flail at each other, flattening the grass of the meadow. So far, my new strategy seems to be working. I’ve been able to keep hi
m off-balance by maintaining pressure. We’ve exchanged cuts and he’s been able to squirm out of the way each time I think I have the advantage. The blood flowing from his nose has stopped, but he, like me, is bleeding from a dozen different cuts.
Both of us have grown fatigued from the length of the fight and the loss of blood. I feel a little dizzy but shove that to the back of my mind as I use every ounce of my remaining energy to stay focused. We close again, both of us breathing hard. The night runner makes a quick twist to the side. I feel a deep, sharp pain in my abdomen, which drives my breath away. At the same time, I feel warm blood flow over my hand from my knife entering him. I stagger backward, both of our knives pulling free from deep wounds. With my hand pressed tightly over my injury, all else driven from my mind except for agonizing pain. I drop my knife and sink to my knees.
Shrieks erupt from the perimeter. I look up to see the night runner staggering. He has his hand over his stomach, and is looking from the sky, to the surrounding pack, to me, and back to the sky.
This is it, I think. They’ll swarm over me now. Please, let it be quick. I love you, kiddos. I love you, Lynn.
My breath is coming out in gasps. Pressing against my wound, I feel the warmth of blood leaking through my fingers. I close my eyes, waiting for the rush of feet through the meadow. It won’t be long now.
The screams continue, but nothing happens. Looking up through the pain, I see the night runner still looking from me to the sky. With a weak shriek, he stumbles away, the other night runners vanishing from the edge of the meadow as if they were never there. Their cries eventually fade into the distance. I roll onto my side, feeling the brush of a breeze across my cheek. The pain diminishes to a dull, aching throb as I watch the stars above, the moon having set long ago. I close my eyes as the horizon to the east lightens.
* * * * * *
With the first light of the day breaking over the mountains, they make their way to shore. They are all tired from a sleepless night, very few words having been spoken between them. The last of the shrieks vanished about an hour ago. Robert opens up, attempting to sense his dad’s presence. Turning to the others, he shakes his head. Lynn and Bri, their eyes red and swollen, hang their heads, fresh tears forming.
In silence, they make the long journey back to Cabela’s. They’ll need a ride out of there; plus, it’s where Jack will go. The interior is a wreck. Vehicles are overturned, the green roof torn asunder, and the livestock that remained slaughtered. The sight numbs them even further as they search the area, looking for any sign of Jack. Walking to the southern part of the compound, they find the 130 still intact.
“Will Dad meet us here?” Bri asks Robert.
“He’ll be here,” Robert answers.
“Can’t we drive out and look for him?”
“We don’t know where he went and we need to be here when he returns.”
“Do you feel him?” Bri hesitantly asks.
“No. I’m open, but I don’t sense him. He’s more than likely shut down. He’ll be here, Bri, he promised.”
“We’re going to wait for him, right?”
“I’m not leaving without him, regardless of what the others decide to do,” Robert replies.
* * * * * *
I wake to consciousness, feeling the sun on my face. I am sore and tired like I’ve never been before. My whole body feels like I was hit by a train. Opening my eyes, I blink several times in the brightness. Everything is a blur that slowly resolves into clarity. The first thing I see are flattened blades of grass. Confused for a moment about where I am, the memory of last night comes back in a rush. In a panic, I roll over, which brings a wave of pain coursing through my body, centered on my stomach.
Looking down, I see my clothes are coated in dried blood. My hand is still over my abdomen, covering my wound. Slowly removing it, I find it slick with blood. With care, wary of disturbing the wound and bringing on a fresh wave of pain, I undo both my vest and shirt. Peeling back the clothing, my skin is covered in blood, oozing from a deep wound in my torso.
I’m really fucked up, I think, folding my shirt and pressing it to the wound.
I lie for several minutes, wondering what to do next. It doesn’t hurt much except when I move.
I could lay here in peace, watching the sky above, until sleep claims me. Except for the initial moments of pain, it’s really not that bad.
However comforting those thoughts are, the yearning to see Lynn and the kids, to make sure that they’re all right, overrides my desire to lie still. Taking a few breaths to steel my mind, I roll to my knees, screaming as a wave of pain courses through me. Even with my shirt pressed against the wound, I feel the warmth of blood pour out. With my forehead lying on the ground, I pant until the pain subsides.
Okay, Jack, just get upright on your knees. This is nothing.
I breathe hard several times, my cheeks puffing out with each exhalation. Placing one hand on the ground to relieve some of the exertion of my stomach muscles, I push upward. The agony is intense – my gut feels like a red-hot poker is stuck in it. I rise to my hand and knees. With one more push, I settle back until I’m kneeling. I cry out again. Dizziness and nausea rise, threatening to topple me back to the ground. I reach out a hand to steady myself. After a few moments, the feeling wanes.
Okay, now what? Getting to my feet is going to be a bitch. Fuck it, I’m just going to lie back down. I’m done.
I’m about to do just that when other thoughts intrude. Jack, you fucking weakling. You’re just going to give up? Stand. The fuck. Up.
I always hated that voice. It’s the one that has taken me from comfortable couches to clean gutters; the one that forced me to take the next step when all I wanted to do was sit down; the one that has basically always been a pain in my ass.
I have one chance at this. Holding my stomach tightly, I bring one foot under me. The pain grows and I steady myself for a moment.
Okay, let’s do this, I think, focusing everything on my one leg.
Gritting my teeth against what is to come, I push upward. Using the muscles in my leg, I focus on rising to my feet while remaining bent over at the waist. The torture in my mid-section is excruciating. I stumble as tears of agony stream from my tightly closed eyes. My feet catch on strands of grass, which almost trip me. Sweat erupts from every pore and my head spins. Somehow, I stay upright. Well, my feet are under me anyway.
I pause to catch my breath and let the pain ease. Feeling warm blood flowing across my fingers, I stumble across the small meadow. Entering the forest, I lean up against a tree, pausing before proceeding to the next. I feel weak and my going is slow, but I continue on. I don’t how I’m going to make it all the way back to the compound, but I push that thought aside.
All in due time.
Each tree becomes my new goal. The sun is much higher in the sky by the time I eventually make it to a country road. Without trees to lean against, I have no idea how I’m going to make it. Pushing off the last tree, I stumble onto the road and start down it. Before making it very far, my strength fails. I fall to my knees, crying tears of frustration. I want to see my kids and Lynn one more time. Kneeling on the road, feeling its hard, bumpy surface through my pants, I send them my thoughts.
Robert, Bri, Lynn, I love you.
“Dad?! Where are you?” I hear Robert’s voice in my head.
I’m so tired that it doesn’t register.
“Dad? Tell me, where are you?”
Slowly, it filters into fog-filled brain.
Of course. Why didn’t I think of this to begin with?
Raising my head, I look around. There’s nothing but fields with a few stands of trees within them.
“Fuck if I know,” I send in reply.
“Stay open, we’re coming to get you,” Robert says.
* * * * * *
“It’s Dad,” Robert shouts.
“What?!” Bri and Lynn say simultaneously.
“I just talked with him. He isn’t doing very well.
We have to hurry,” Robert states, running for the nearest vehicle.
Moments later, they are driving out of the compound. They race along roads, guided by Robert and his sense. Miles later, they see a figure ahead, kneeling on the road, his head hanging.
* * * * * *
I hear the sound of a vehicle approaching but don’t have enough strength to lift my head. The sound of doors opening and boots running on the paved surface is followed by excited voices. I have very little comprehension of what they’re saying, but feel myself lifted, which brings on waves of more pain. I hear myself yell but it seems to be coming from far away. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure it’s me yelling. I black out.
Waking to a strange vibration, I open my eyes. I feel like I’ve been repeatedly slammed by a car compacter. Turning my head slightly, I see Lynn kneeling beside me. My head is pounding, but I slowly make out the cockpit of a 130, and that I’m lying on the lower bunk.
“Jack, don’t try to move. We have an IV in you and are close to the bunker. How do you feel?” Lynn asks, stroking my brow.
“Like I was literally run over by a bus, after falling from a speeding train,” I whisper. “Is everyone all right?”
I feel so weak and tired, that even speaking softly drains me.
“Everyone is fine, Jack. You just lie there and don’t worry about them.”
I smile. That’s all I wanted to hear, that everyone was okay. I needed to know that. Hearing some sort of commotion, I look past Lynn. Bri climbs out of her seat and peeks around Lynn’s shoulder. Bri’s face is outlined by her helmet, blonde strands poking out. Our eyes meet and she starts crying, tears rolling down her face.
