Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  “Jack, do we have comms with the group inside? Are they armed and do they know we are coming in?” Lynn asks.

  A moment passes before the answer comes, “No, they don’t have any radios and aren’t armed. Watch your ass.”

  “Isn’t that your job?” she replies.

  “It is and a wonderful job it is. The view is incredible,” Jack answers.

  “Good answer. See you in a sec, Lynn out.”

  Lynn settles herself by the doorway. Peering in, she notes that the darkness is nearly complete. The light from the opening extends only a few feet in before disappearing into an inky abyss. The sub tied to the pier a short distance away is forgotten as she looks into nothingness. Her heart races as she knows what lies within. She feels the tension quivering inside her yet, at the same time, she feels a certain calm settle in knowing it’s go time. The chill of the morning is lost as her entire attention is focused on the task at hand.

  The shriek that emits from within startles her and causes her heart to jump. Night runners are indeed laired within and have either noticed her and her team or the others that entered only minutes ago. She swallows and takes a deep breath.

  “Okay, ladies, that’s our cue,” she says. Flipping down her goggles and, bringing her M-4 to bear, she steps in the doorway.

  She is immediately lost in the blackness but her goggles bring everything into focus with a green glow. The interior is largely open. Several trucks are parked near the front and farther back with a few propane-driven forklifts scattered throughout. Large crates and boxes are stacked along the side and beyond the vehicles forming small mountains with aisles running farther back into the building between them. The back of the warehouse is lost behind the first large stacks.

  Her head turns to the left and right; up and down. Searching. Anticipating night runners to immediately launch themselves at her. Her laser casts a thin beam of light everywhere her eyes look. Nothing. The quick rush of noise from clothing and boots follows her in as the others enter on her heels. She stops twenty feet in feeling the rest of Black Team fall in beside her. Her goggles pick up seventeen other laser beams as they dart about the interior. Toward the rear of building, several flashlights shine upward from amongst the boxes. Lynn catches a couple of flashes closer by. She wants to call out for those inside to leave but they are too far to the rear of the warehouse. Any call will alert the night runners and bring them upon the hapless sailors inside.

  “Okay everyone, take is slow and easy. We’re heading to the right along the front doors. Keep our current perimeter. Horace, when we reach the front doors, I want you to see if you can get them open,” Lynn says over the radio.

  “Copy that, first sergeant,” Horace replies.

  “Right behind you,” Mullins responds.

  “These people don’t know we’re in here so watch your targets. Keep your eyes open. Move out,” Lynn says.

  Lynn can feel her heart thudding in her chest as they begin making their way along the front wall. Boots scuff on the gritty concrete floor along with the soft swish of clothing rubbing together. Thin beams of light streak out across the interior as they cover their individual sectors. An occasional murmur rises from the others inside as they apparently search out the area for supplies. She doesn’t know why the group from the sub didn’t just open the front doors. Perhaps they don’t know what they’re dealing with, she think mentally willing them to keep their voices down. The last thing they need right now is to alert the night runners she knows reside within.

  There was that first shriek that sounded out just before they entered but the mass that would usually follow didn’t occur. She thinks again to call out to alert the other group that they are in but that would definitely alert any night runners. She feels put in a difficult position. If they can get the doors open, she’ll call out to them that they are in danger and for them make their way swiftly to her. The light shining in will give them an area of protection.

  Twenty feet in and keeping their outer perimeter, a canvas covered supply truck blocks her immediate path. She turns the rear corner quickly and aims inside. Her barrel tracks left and right as she searches the interior. Fully expecting a shriek and a night runner to launch at her, she is relieved when the truck turns up empty. Fuck I hate this, she thinks skirting the rear of the vehicle. I just fucking hate being in these fucking buildings. Stupid motherfuckers! Why did they have to come inside?

  More murmurs of conversation arise from amongst the stacked crates as the teams make their way cautiously to the front sliding doors. Lynn wishes once again that those inside would just keep quiet. They’ve been lucky so far with the night runners and she is actually amazed they haven’t been set upon yet. Before, it didn’t take long until the night runners were aware of them and assaulted. The fact that there are night runners inside yet they haven’t attacked makes the quiet all that much more eerie. Surely they must smell them by now.

  “We’re at the doors, first sergeant. They look motor driven,” Horace reports. Looking toward the short distance separating her from Blue Team, she eyes the large doors. From what she can see, they seem to roll on sizeable tracks.

  “There must be a manual override. We’ll hold here for a moment. See what you can do. Break. Jack, Lynn here,” Lynn whispers into the radio.

  “Go ahead,” Jack replies.

  “We’re inside by the large doors trying to see if we can get them open. I can hear the other group deeper inside. Any idea exactly how many sailors are in here?” She asks.

  “Standby,” Jack replies.

  “Lynn, there are twelve crew members inside,” the answer comes shortly.

  “Copy that. Thanks, Jack.” Several thumps interrupt the tense silence farther to the rear of the vast, dark interior.

  “Okay, we’re advancing up to the front of the vehicles. Mullins, you’ll take the left and keep in line with us. Horace, keep trying the doors. You’ll be in reserve. If something happens, pull Blue Team to the open door and hold a perimeter around it. We’ll fold back to you. Remember, we have night runners in here but there are also twelve sailors. Verify your targets,” Lynn says.

  With a positive response from both of the other teams, she spreads Black Team out and begins to advance slowly online. She observes Charlie Team advance and keep pace. Green laser beams dart in amongst the vehicles and over the crates beyond. Lynn keeps her head moving searching for the targets she knows are within. Step by step she moves forward, her heart beating harder and faster with each movement. Without the large door opened, her goal is to get to the sailors quietly and escort them out.

  The air within is chilled and heavy with tension. Or perhaps that is her tension radiating outward to the surrounding environment. It becomes harder to pick up her feet the farther in she goes. The air feels thick and increases the more she moves inside. It’s as if the very darkness itself has substance. She knows the intense adrenaline rush and dread of being inside a night runner lair. She also knows that it’s easy for the fear to take control. If that happens, she’ll be useless or dangerous to the others. With a deep, calming breath, she takes another step.

  The randomly spaced supply trucks make it impossible for them all to remain within sight of each other. She steps between two trucks parked in line with each other. One other Black Team member follows her but now she can’t see the others to either side. Scanning ahead, Lynn sees a dark spot on the ground just in front of the vehicle to her left. Looking closer, she notices it looks like a dark puddle with rivulets spreading out in several directions. She pauses and hears a wet sound coming from just in front of her.

  “Black and Charlie team, hold up. I have something to my front. Standby,” she says.

  Going to one knee silently while keeping her M-4 at the ready, Lynn looks under the truck toward the front. Her heartbeat picks up even more and jumps into her throat at the sight. Lying on the ground just under the front bumper is a person dressed in the jeans and work shirt of a navy crew member. A flashlight lies b
eside the unmoving form illuminating the side of the body. Dark stains cover the shirt and ground beside. While the sight of the body startles her, it’s the movement around the body that causes her to tense up.

  Lynn sees a pair of legs kneeling on her side by the still body with more movement on the other side. The bottom of the truck cuts off any further view. The wet sounds continue and she knows immediately what it is — chewing. This must have been the shriek they heard just before entering and she hopes these are the only two night runners within. The sailor must have been put on a watch or just wandered off by his or herself in their search. She watches as a head comes into view and lowers to the dead sailor.

  Keeping her eyes glued to the scene in front of her, Lynn slowly moves her hand to her throat mic. “I have two night runners and a dead body three meters to my twelve o’clock in front of the truck,” she whispers. “Keep alert for others. Mullins, can you get a shot at them?”

  “I can’t see anything from my position but I’ll work my way forward,” Mullin’s whispers his reply.

  “Copy that. No sound.”

  The night runner with its head lowered sinks its teeth into flesh and, with a wet, tearing sound, rips off a chunk. It begins to raise its head back and halts suddenly… pauses… the chunk of flesh drops from its bloodied mouth. Lynn freezes. She feels that the pounding of her heart can be heard for miles. The night runner sniffs the air and looks directly at her. It lowers its head farther. Their eyes lock. Lynn’s mouth turns dry as another burst of adrenaline floods her system.

  The night runner’s eyes glow through her goggles sending a deep chill to run along her spine. Time pauses. An eternity passes as they stare at each other. The absolute silence of the moment encompasses her; folds around her like a cloak. Not a muscle twitches or breath is taken. They kneel staring at each other like statues frozen in an instant of time. Then, like a speeding locomotive emerging from a tunnel, normal time resumes. She hears a low, deep growl emit from the creature in front of her. The other night runner freezes in its motion then, suddenly, a second head appears to stare under the truck. The second night runner stares hard and then snarls, baring its blood-stained teeth. With astonishing speed, both rise and come around the front of the truck.

  Taken aback by their startling speed and emergence, Lynn begins raising the barrel of her weapon. Both night runners round the truck just scant feet in front of her and charge in her direction. Knowing she won’t be able to bring her weapon to bear in time, she launches herself backwards from her kneeling position in order to gain her more separation and time. The move brings her M-4 up quicker and she squeezes the trigger.

  Rounds exit the moving barrel with muted coughs as they pass through her suppressor. The light from her firing flashes on the sides and undercarriage of the truck beside her. Still in the air falling backward, she watches as her bullets impact the nearest night runner in the thigh and stitch upward. Hitting the hard floor on her rear end, she is jarred and slides backwards on the seat of her pants.

  The first round hits just above the left knee of the night runner. Entering the soft flesh, the bullet begins to tumble upward. Missing the femur, it rips upward through the thigh and exits the top of the hip taking massive amounts of tissue with it. The second round hits square in the middle of the thigh and slams into the femur. The tremendous force of the impact shatters the thick bone. The next bullet collides powerfully with the pelvis. Hitting the top of the pelvic bone, the bullet splits with both pieces angling farther up. Ripping through sections of the intestines, both shards exit just under the lower rib cage in the back. Blood sprays into the air from the entrance and exit wounds

  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 ca
ll. 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.