A New World: Sanctuary

by John O'Brien

  “No, sir,” they all respond.

  “Well, let’s go have a look,” I say picking one likely candidate.

  We check our gear and make our way across the ramp towards the nearest building. The day is becoming quite warm, the kind where the stillness and warmth lends itself to a peaceful day spent lying on a bed of grass near water; napping and lazing the time away. I notice an aviation battalion sign outside of the first building we come to so I’m drawn to explore this one first. The first story building is the usual concrete block building found on most bases and forts and is painted in the familiar light brown. It features one large window on the left, with the blinds pulled down, and a set of darker brown, double doors near the center. The rest of the building is just the featureless concrete block.

  Pulling up to the doors, I peek inside a small window inset into them. There isn’t enough residual light inside so whatever is behind is hidden from sight. I test the door on the left and find it swings open a touch with a light pull. Henderson and Denton have taken up a position in front of the doors and slightly off to the side with their weapons, while not quite to their shoulders, ready to be brought up quickly. Gonzalez and McCafferty stand ready by the far doors and Robert stands behind me.

  I swing the doors open not really expecting anything to come rushing out, at least in the form of a night runner, but our readiness stems from our need to be constantly alert for anything. It’s good to keep in that mode regardless of the situation and it helps to reinforce the training as well. We are becoming closer as a team and little exercises like this, even if necessary, are important in that regard.

  Nothing comes rushing out but our ears are peeled for any sound. In times prior, there were instances of shrieks or movement with the opening of doors, giving us a clue that night runners were inside. We are attuned to listening for those first sounds of surprise as we intrude upon their domain. The building radiates the same quiet inside that it shows outside. The light penetrates through the open door showing the first few feet of a cream-colored linoleum floor.

  Sunlight catches particles of dust disturbed by the opening of the door and they dance just above the surface of the floor. Radiant light casts a deep gloom past the doorway fading to a deep black further in. Air from the cooler interior brushes lightly against me as it seeks the outside. The air carries a musty odor but it is only the scent of disuse rather than the stronger body odor of any night runners. The tiled floor has a light covering of dust on the surface and I can’t discern any tracks or other marks.

  Within the gloom, I barely make out wooden equipment racks with helmets resting on top of locker-style cabinets below. Stations to test the helmets reside just inside the door to the left and right. The room appears to be fairly open with the lockers occupying most of the space. A wall to the immediate left extends about twelve feet into the room with the room opening more to the left past its end. The room also opens up to the right directly from the door. It’s pretty apparent this is an aviation equipment room. I’m hoping there is an operations desk somewhere inside with manuals. I would check the lockers close by but I never kept the actual manuals in my equipment locker so wouldn’t expect others to either.

  I am hesitant to even go inside as it is darkened and the possibility of night runners looms large. There aren’t signs that there are any but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. The items I would like would be a benefit but aren’t vital.

  “Are we waiting for something, sir?” Gonzalez asks from across the doorway.

  “Just listening and not sure we should even venture in. The manuals aren’t that vital,” I answer.

  She peeks her head around the corner of the door and looks in. “We should be okay in there, sir.

  “Okay, but we confine ourselves to this room. Any noise or sign of this building being inhabited and we’re out immediately,” I say.

  “Hooah, sir,” she responds with a grin knowing how much I like “hooah.”

  “Henderson and Denton, take the right side. Gonzalez and McCafferty, straight ahead. Robert and I will cover the left. We’ll be on NVG’s. Check your radios on and one in the chamber,” I say taking a breath.

  The familiar tension of entering a darkened building again grips my insides. I’m hoping there will come a time when we can just leave the dark buildings alone and let the night runners have them. Of course that will happen when the buildings fall down with age but that is a long ways off. Perhaps we’ll knock them down when we gather everything we need from them or at least the ones around us. It is part of a “denying the night runners a sanctuary” strategy that runs through my mind from time to time; clearing the area around us. I have no hope of ever clearing them entirely or having some “take back the country” idea as that would be literally impossible with our current personnel and the immensity of that kind of undertaking. We just need our own little place to be safe in and in which to grow.

  I nod after we don our goggles and make sure our radios are working. Henderson and Denton dart in the open door to the right; coming to a rest a few feet in and focusing on the right. Robert and I are hard on their heels drawing to a point where the wall makes a corner and continues to the left. I feel the grit from the dust under my boots and take note that it could be slippery in places. The sounds of Gonzalez and McCafferty entering penetrates my senses, both feeling and hearing them draw to a stop beside me. The door slowly closes and shuts with a subdued clink. The room is now only lit by the green glow of our goggles.

  I peek around the corner and see a wide aisle between the start of the lockers on my right and the wall to my left. The aisle extends the length of the room, ending at a chest high counter that begins at the wall and runs across my line of sight. A large whiteboard fills the wall behind this station which I hope is the operations desk. If so, then my search for the manuals may be a short one. A small fraction of light emits from the blind-covered window at the desk illuminating part of the whiteboard and counter top. Two doors open up to the left with large-paned windows set in the wall beside them.

  “Okay folks, we’re heading to the counter to my front. We’ll stagger with Robert and me in front clearing the aisles to the right and the offices to the left as we go. Gonzalez and McCafferty, you follow behind watching to the right. Henderson and Denton, follow and cover the rear,” I say quietly into the radio.

  “Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez responds with a whisper.

  “Gotcha covered, sir,” Henderson says.

  I turn to Robert at my shoulder, “Stay right behind me and cover the aisles to the right. Make sure you cover on top of the lockers as well. I’ve got the offices to the left and the front.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’ve got ya,” Robert replies.

  I edge up to the first plate glass window to my left feeling the dust slide under my boots as I glide along. It has the same feeling as being in a tomb long ago forgotten. I guess I’m not as used to the feeling of everyone being gone as I thought. My mind is still associating all that I see with activity and the lack of it causes a small disconnect. The chill in the air, after the warmth outside, adds to the feeling of being in a place that doesn’t seem to want me in it. It’s like it is also traumatized by the same feeling of being left alone and abandoned and wants to merely be left by itself in its pain.

  Peeking in the corner of the glass while keeping my senses in tune with the surrounding environment, I look for any movement or night runners within the small office. The only thing inside is a desk wedged in the small enclosure with various papers and a calendar littering the top of it. Besides a couple of chairs behind and in front of the desk, the office is empty.

  A quick check down the aisles across from me shows them clear as well. Our best early warning system will be noise and I heighten my senses along these lines. If night runners were to emerge from the aisles without us being prepared, we will be quickly overwhelmed due to the close proximity with which they would become visible. The desk is only about forty feet away but it seems both clos
er and farther. The light from the window should give us some protection once we reach it.

  I sidle to the next window listening to the soft sounds of movement behind me as the others move up. The building is deathly quiet. The sounds of our boots sliding along the grit on the floor and soft sound of cloth rubbing together sounds unnaturally loud within the room. I edge up to the next office and peek in to find the same; a small desk with accompanying chairs and a scattering of paperwork.

  I edge quietly up the main aisle and past the aisles between the lockers; checking each as I come to them. The only sight is a place where pilots would gather their last thoughts prior to heading out for their flights; a place where they would think about the upcoming mission while gathering their gear. A chance for a short time alone, wrapped in a bubble with others gathering gear nearby, to finalize thoughts for the flight ahead.

  So far, so good. Our scent hasn’t aroused any night runners, there’s no sound of anything scuffling about, and no shrieks of discovery. That doesn’t mean they aren’t lying in wait or further in the building, but we seem to be clear for now. The distinct locker room smell that I’ve associated with a group of night runners is absent. That also doesn’t mean I can relax my guard. We’re in their territory now and I’ve been surprised far too many times to relax inside a darkened building.

  The tension is strong; my senses wrapped tight around me with a small part of my mind still questioning the decision to enter. The one good thing is that I don’t feel the sense of the room closing in and waiting with bated breath. There’s still the aspect of a weight within the darkened room but it doesn’t feel like an explosion waiting to happen; it doesn’t feel like we’re being watched.

  I approach the counter and look behind it. A jumble of papers are littered across its surface with a microphone sticking up in their midst. This has all of the appearances of the operations desk with a base radio. The whiteboard is covered with markings and associated call signs. The wide aisle we were in heads off to the right in front of the counter to a set of swinging double doors that lead further into the structure. I have Robert cover in that direction as I head around the counter to get behind it. I am guessing there should be some manuals around the desk somewhere to assist pilots with any emergencies they encounter. The ops desk would assist with anything the pilot in distress needed.

  I open the blinds and sunlight streams through the window, casting its light about the operations desk, brightening the entire desk and area. It’s light enough that I can remove my goggles and see clearly enough. I only turn them off and raise them wanting them ready just in case. Waving the others over behind the desk, we crowd behind it. I begin looking through drawers that line the desk, eventually finding a set of hard-covered manuals in a large file drawer.

  I heft them out and lay them on the desk. I am about to pick them up and stow them as best I can while having my M-4 clear when a sudden noise interrupts my thoughts. It is a muted thump that comes from beyond the doors leading into the building. All eyes turn in that direction with the small metallic clicks of weapons being raised. I don’t see anything in the gloom of the room and any visibility through the small glass windows in the swinging doors is obscured by the darkness behind.

  I strain my ears for further sounds but only silence fills the area. The thump was quick and may only have been a book or something falling at the wrong time. The quiet that follows almost makes me believe I didn’t hear it in the first place but I know I did and have to keep that uppermost in my mind. I am about to lower my M-4 and think, once again, of how to carry the binders out when a louder thumping comes from the other side of the doors. It’s muted by the closed doors but it sounds like feet running in our direction. At least it has the rhythm of feet running. In my mind, there’s nothing else it can be. The muted sound seems to be nearing quickly.

  My heart gives that first pounding thud of adrenaline being released. The way back to the outside door now seems farther away and especially with the narrow aisles close to our escape route. If night runners make it inside with any numbers and we’re caught along that path, this day will come to a short close.

  We’re in fairly close quarters and cramped with all six of us behind the desk. We can’t all cover the door. We’ll be trapped here if the light streaming in the window isn’t enough to keep the night runners at bay. While it seems like minutes with the multitude of thoughts flowing through my mind, it’s only seconds.

  “Robert, get the window open,” I whisper getting his attention and nodding to the window behind us. “Henderson and Denton, cover the area we came through. McCafferty, you have the tops of the lockers. Gonzalez and I will cover the doors.”

  There’s a shifting of positions as we arrange ourselves to the extent we can. Henderson and Denton lean across the counter aiming their M-4’s back down the aisle we traversed. McCafferty also aims across the counter but stands to have better visibility over the tall lockers. Gonzalez and I line up next to each other aiming at the swinging doors. We turn our laser aiming sights to the visible spectrum and the thin beams of light reach out and dance about the room.

  The pounding heading our way seems to shake the walls and structure but it could also be just the pounding of my heart and the adrenaline beginning to flow throughout my system enhancing my senses. There is no doubt though that vibration is being sent through the concrete floor underneath the linoleum and through the soles of our boots. It doesn’t sound like a horde coming our way but there is definitely something. And coming fast.

  “How’s that window coming, Robert?” I say over my shoulder realizing I’ve barely given him enough time to do anything. Everything seems both speeded up and slowed down.

  “I’m getting it,” he answers.

  The swinging doors burst wide open, startling me even though I was expecting it. Two night runners sweep in and give a loud shriek on discovering us behind the counter. They come to an abrupt stop, their pale faces barely outlined in the gloom, with two others entering behind. They seem hesitant to enter fully into the light but stand with their heads thrust forward and screaming.

  One thin beam of light centers on the head of the night runner to the right as Gonzalez centers her aiming sight. The muted cough of her M-4 firing mixes with the shrieking of the night runners, the flash lighting up the room and signifying that rounds are on the way. The bullets streaking outward intersect with the fine point of her light. Where her light is focused, an explosion of blood fans outward. The first round hits just beside the nose, shattering the cheek bone and fragmenting the projectile. The splintered shell then tears through the sinus cavity, destroying the internal structure and bone behind. Splintering even more, the remains rip through the soft tissue of the brain devastating the synapses and nerve centers within. The process of passing through the layers of bone takes some of the momentum away from the fragments and they slam against the rear of the skull and come to rest.

  The night runner’s head snaps back from the force of the impact. The subsequent rounds from the burst hits on the left brow, as its head is knocked backward, and ricochets off the heavy bone structure into the one of the swinging doors. The others pass overhead. The night runner drops straight to the floor as if its legs forgot how to stand.

  My rounds leave the barrel in a similar flash of light and strike the night runner to the left, forcibly impacting it right under the nose. The splash of blood mingles in the air with the blood of its partner. The bullet shatters the front teeth and upper jaw before arcing downward through the softer tissue of the palate and back of the throat. It smacks into the vertebrae with a tremendous velocity, severing the spinal column and creating a large hole in the back of the neck. Tissue and blood spray behind the night runner as, with its head lolling to the side, it is catapulted into the arms of its compadre behind.

  “I’ve got the window open,” Robert yells behind me.

  “Okay, head outside. McCafferty, you’re next. Henderson, Denton, follow. We’ve got the rear,” I y
ell bringing my aiming point onto the next night runner as it tosses the one thrown backwards to the side.

  Gonzalez’ carbine coughs its deadly load out once again, taking down the night runner remaining on the right. It staggers backward under the onslaught of the steel colliding with its body with the steel winning out over flesh and bone. It collapses against the backside of a locker before slumping to the ground. I give the trigger a slight pull with the sound of scrambling behind me. The last night runner looks up from moving its propelled pack member only to be met with an additional onslaught of rounds tearing into its face. It leaves its feet and hits the swinging doors with the back of its blown out head and its feet in the air. The thud of the night runner slamming into the door signals the end of the shrieks pouring through the room. The doors swing back towards their closed position but remain partially open, their edges coming to rest against the night runner corpse lying between them.

  “I’m out,” McCafferty calls.

  I hear additional scrambling from Henderson and Denton as they make their way to the window. I reach over and pat Gonzalez on the shoulder, pointing down the area to our right indicating to cover there. She wheels to the right and her laser light moves across the room settling on her new coverage area. The only sound in the room is the scrambling movement of our team climbing out the window. The rest of the room resumes the silent introspection it had before; not even acknowledging the quick engagement within its walls.

  “Do you think there were only four?” Gonzalez asks.

  “It would appear so but we can’t be sure. I would think that if there were any others in here, they would have come running with the shrieks,” I answer.

  “We’re out,” Denton calls in the window.

  “Okay, you’re next. I’ve got this,” I say to Gonzalez.

  I shuffle back toward the window after she disappears from my peripheral. I now have to cover the entire area with my peripheral and that’s easier done from a corner of the room. The silence of the room is a surprising as many of our past experiences have shown that the night runners mass in large packs. My psyche thinks that there must be a lot more present but there’s a part of me that’s thankful they are still running in small groups. That of course is a two-edged sword. If they were in massed packs, it would make fewer places they were in. The smaller groups mean that there will be more buildings inhabited. I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Well, this was a pretty quick engagement and the massed packs are overwhelming so maybe the preference isn’t so hard after all.