Return anw-2

by John O'Brien

  Out on the tarmac, the day promises to be another warm, humid day even at this early morning hour. I begin to gather my tools of trade together with my new canine friend quietly following me around or at my side. The others leave me to myself, sensing my want and need to be alone to focus on my adventure to come. I want this time in order to settle into a frame of mind. Each mag I insert into my tac vest puts me deeper into my ‘business’ mindset, reminiscent of so many other pre-mission moments of gearing up, both physically and mentally. Setting my mind into the single focus of the mission yet opening at the same time. Expanding my senses of awareness but filtering and refining that awareness down to intercept signals of danger. Becoming more aware of my actions and the sounds, smells, and movement around me.

  As the last mag is inserted and checked for rounds, I begin the process of taping loose items down, hopping intermittently to test for any slight sound coming from me; finding items that make the slightest noise and taping them into quietness. The rope I coil and also tape down, looping it over my head and under one arm, ensuring it doesn’t interfere with the ability to freely move. Ensuring also that it doesn’t interfere with my ability to grab magazines or get to the radio transmit button. I also gather lengths of 550 cord. A very thin, lightweight cord that has incredible strength. The same kind as is used for parachute cords. Stepping away from the aircraft and making sure no one is in my line of fire, I test fire my M-4, both on semi and burst, emptying the chamber to ensure it will work properly in the event I need it, and refill the spent rounds. There is nothing worse than having something that should function automatically fail at a moment when you need it most. It tends to drastically reduce your options in that moment. Basically reducing them to run and run fast.

  Lastly, I insert the radio earpiece, feeling myself slip into total awareness and calm. Confidence solidifying inside. Emotion has taken a back seat. The only sound on the ramp is from a few others getting something to eat from our supplies. A small morning breeze springs up, gently blowing across the ramp, moving a few scraps of paper in fits and starts along with it. Instead of the fresh morning breeze and scent of summer it should be carrying, it brings a hint of something rotting in its midst, souring the otherwise peaceful morning with the scent of human decay. That smell jostles me momentarily out of my frame of mind, worrying me about what else may be carried on that slight movement of air. The diseases that will be rampant with the decaying of so many bodies. Wondering, with a little bit of hope, if disease will affect the night runners as well. Will they know it from an instinctual aspect and move out of the cities and the once dense population centers? Will it kill some of them off? I imagine they’ll eventually move as their food source dictates. These meanderings come and go in an instant, my thoughts once again centering. The detail returns with armloads of wood and limbs with leaves attached. I motion for them to put their gatherings in the bed of one of the trucks.

  “I want you to go along with Green, Blue and Black Teams. As a reaction force should I need,” I say to Lynn and feeling it is time to be off.

  I sense a little of the tension leave her body knowing that she will at least be close at hand. I have the sense that she thought I would be travelling alone. I do want the teams close by and to drive me there so I can remain in my current frame of mind without worrying about which turn to take or hitting parked cars. I also want the teams that were there the day before because they are most acquainted with the interior.

  “Do you mind if he stays with you?” I ask Little Robert referring to the dog. “Maybe you can come up with a name for him when while I’m gone.” Little Robert’s answer is to smile widely.

  We get the trucks started and head out with the teams loaded into the rear beds. The journey there is a quick one. Old hat to the teams riding along with but new to me. The smell in the neighborhoods is strong as we pass by the seemingly empty houses. The front yards that were once pristine, now with grass growing long. Flowers in assortments of yellows, oranges, reds, whites, and purples bloom in flower beds that were once the pride and joy of those who lived here, now only silent memorials. Their colors brighten the landscape in pretty assortments, creating an illusion of peace and contentment. Their beauty is a stark contrast to the smell emanating. With summer fully underway, the streets should have been alive with the sounds of children playing, balls rolling out into the streets from sloped driveways, lawnmowers buzzing in the morning sun bathing the neighborhoods with the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass. Perhaps even the sound of an ice cream truck meandering slowly through the streets to the sounds and movements of kids running after it waving dollar bills recently begged from their parents. Now, it is just surreal, as if those things are here but hidden from sight and sound. Darkened windows, or those with drapes pulled, stare at us with longing and contempt as we make our way through.

  We pull into the CDC facility following the same route as before. I have us pull over and stop a distance away from the building, not wanting any noise of our arrival to reach the interior and hence alert the night runners within. The soldiers exit quietly.

  “I want you to stay here and wait,” I say gathering everyone around. “Don’t go close to the building unless I say so as I don’t want any breeze that may be swirling around the building to carry any of your scent inside. No noise. That means no talking or opening and shutting truck doors. No getting into the pickup beds.”

  A small fire is built on the road away from the trucks. I add the dry wood and get a nice bed of coals glowing on the dark gray pavement of the street. Adding the greenery on top, smoke thickens and drifts upward, pushed slightly by the breeze. I step into the smoke on the downwind side, letting my clothing and body bathe in it; rubbing the smoke into my clothing and gear; letting it become saturated; covering my scent.

  I shield my eyes from the glare of the morning sun peeking around the side of the building as I look towards it. It looms before me; the image from the blue sky above is mirrored on its glass front as if it is made of water. A still pond stretched vertical. The building takes on a sinister aspect as if it is trying to shield something behind the beauty of its structure. I get a chill thinking about all of the viruses locked in the depths of this campus. All sitting there without power to keep them chilled if they needed to be kept dormant in that way. Without power to keep the clean rooms clean and without the pressure differential set so the various germs can’t leak out. All there waiting for some night runner to knock them over, freeing them and allowing them to grow and spread. Maybe it’ll wipe them out in this area, I think watching the skies reflection. The quick thought of being able to use them fades as the realization dawns that I have no idea of how to safely keep a virus.

  “Well, let’s do this,” I say quietly to myself chambering a round and flipping the selector switch to burst with my thumb.

  I walk into the building’s shadow, cross a street and step up on the curb to the sidewalk in front. My image, mirrored on the glass panels, does not reflect the tightness within as I walk in front of pane after large pane towards the entrance door; the panels conveying my image like a constant rerun. I can smell the faint aroma of the smoke rising to my nostrils as I near the entrance door still littered with shards of glass on the concrete outside.

  I step to the entrance avoiding the glass, the sidewalk shows faint outlines of the dried, bloody footprints Lynn mentioned leading outside before vanishing a short distance away. Peering inside, I see the tiled floor lobby; the boot prints from the teams in the dust gathered by the door, bare foot prints appear on top, smearing some. Scuff marks appear in places across the large foyer, made yesterday by the boots of the teams, in either their entrance or, more than likely, their exit. Close to the door, several fresher bare foot prints, some of them outlined in recently dried blood, lead toward the hallway across from me.

  I step into the lobby, toeing bits of glass out of my way quietly before stepping; making sure I don’t step on any of the pieces before setting the weight of my foot fir
mly on the linoleum. I have plenty of time so caution, stealth, and quiet is the name of the game. Edging past the fan of glass by the front door, I walk silently to the hallway, making sure not to silhouette myself against the light behind me, coming to rest against the wall to the side of the broken glass doors. Kneeling, I listen for any movement.

  The complete absence of noise within is just a little disarming. There is always, well, used to be always, some type of noise within a building whether that is even the tiny sound of wind being expelled or drawn in by the air conditioning system. It is completely silent. I mark this, knowing there will not be the slightest cover to conceal any noise I might be making whether that comes from the creak of a boot bending or the soft swish of cloth rubbing. I rise slowly and enter into the hallway, again silently moving the glass from under any place my boot will set down. Once inside the hallway, with its elevator banks lining the walls to either side, I lower the night vision goggles into place and turn them on, having already donned them on my walk over to the building.

  The hallway comes to life in the glow of the goggles, the description given by Lynn becoming a reality rather than pictures developed in my head. Walking to the stairwell entrance, I put my ear against the cool, steel door, listening for any hint that something awaits me on the other side. I am not a big fan of having to return here so quickly after the others, liking instead to wait until things and events have settled. I don’t know if the night runners have a memory per se but in times past, alertness among those residing in the places I have been to is substantially higher after an intrusion. It slowly returns back to the normal steady state only after time has passed.

  There is nothing I can hear nor feel. I should be feeling some small vibration with my ear against the door. Again, the usual small hum and vibration of a building alive is missing. What I would do for a fiber optic viewer right now? I think reaching for the door handle. Pulling only a touch, the door slides backwards from the jamb an inch letting me know the doors are not latched. If the door was latched, then I would know for sure that the night runners were capable of operating a door handle. The question of whether they can or not still remains unanswered. I pull a touch more hearing a soft metallic sound emitting from the hinges as they rub together. Well, it isn’t like I’m going to oil them, I think pulling upward on the door handle to lessen the weight riding on the hinges.

  The door slides silently open a crack. I peer in, looking from side to side and startle seeing two night runner bodies lying motionless on the stairs. I should have anticipated this, I think seeing nothing else within the line of sight that the slightly open door will allow. Slowly pulling the steel fire door open, I slip quietly inside once it is open enough to allow me to enter without rubbing any of my gear against it. Practice and keeping the fact that you have gear on in a small part of the conscious mind is important. The body knows its limits and where it ends so worming your way in somewhere without touching anything is easy if it is just you. But the body does not automatically take into account anything you might be wearing so it is easy to rub against or get caught on something if you don’t keep this awareness close.

  Catching the back side of the door, I ease it closed behind me, keeping a slight amount of pressure against it as it automatically shuts. Looking around and listening, I observe that the stairwell is your pretty standard building stairwell, just as Lynn described. Concrete steps and concrete brick walls with metal rails leading up both sides of the stairs. Sound here will carry a great distance with nothing soft to absorb it. A few shell casings from yesterday’s firefight lie on the floor at my feet. I will have to be careful not to disturb or kick them as the metallic sound may alert the night runners. If they are not in here, at least the fire doors will keep most of the sound from entering into the interior but I cannot assume anything, including how sensitive or insensitive night runner hearing is.

  Stepping carefully around the bodies, I start my trek. I have my M-4 pointed up covering the stairs, being able to see more and more of the next flight as I slowly move up. Taking each step one at a time, balancing my concentration between looking at each foot placement and the area up the stairs, I move slowly and quietly upward. Another night runner lies on the first intermediate landing. The tension inside builds with each step. The adrenaline begins to flow through me, heightening my senses.

  I reach the second floor landing without incident. The fire doors have a metal bar running the width of the door; one of those you press on the bar to open. Looking down behind, I see a narrow gap between the metal of the fire door and the metal of the push bar. This is great, I think taking one of the long strands of 550 cord from my thigh pocket. I slide one end of the cord down into the narrow gap, watching it dangle from the other side below the push bar. Grabbing the end, I tie it around the cord going through the top making sure not to depress the bar or touch the door in any way. I uncoil the cord and do the same on the opposite door, cutting the cord off with my knife after tying the knot. The doors are now tied together effectively sealing the second floor landing from the interior, meaning that nothing can now gain access to the stairwell from the second floor. The one drawback to this plan though is that I will not be able to access the stairwell from the other side of the door. Should an unfortunate series of events occur and I need to gain entrance back to the stairwell from the interior, well, that is now no longer an option. This is a risk I am willing to take in order to have my backside clear.

  I proceed upward to the third floor landing in the same fashion; alertly and quietly. Seeing the bodies on the stairs and first floor and recalling the very detailed briefing by Lynn, I expected the doors here to be blocked by the multitude of night runners they killed and that blocked the doors open. The bodies have apparently been moved as the doors here are shut. The previous day’s firefight and the intensity of it is apparent here as the concrete floor and stairs are littered with brass shell casings and empty magazines; littered to the point of not being able to walk without disturbing them. I cannot just toe them out of the way as I could the glass shards as the casings are round and will continue rolling if I move them in that manner. The last thing I want is to have one roll off of the landing and fall down the stairs. The jig would be up if that were to happen. I bend over and carefully make a path through, picking up the individual expended shells one at a time and moving them to the side; making sure each one stays in place before picking up the next.

  Before long, well, long being relevant here, I have a path cleared on the landing. I tie off the doors in the same manner as the second floor being extra careful here as it is evident this floor is inhabited. Or at least was. With that finished, I pick my way through the shell casings on the stairs up to the fourth floor. My adrenals are in high gear as I carefully step upward. I pay attention to keep my breathing even in order not to facilitate the normal body reaction to stress and adrenaline; that one being the sweat glands trying to keep in tune with the adrenal glands. I do not want to render the smoke scent moot. I do feel a touch more comfortable knowing I have the rear secured as long as they don’t decide they want to take a late morning stroll through the first floor fire doors.

  I am once again reminded of the instances of having to penetrate buildings in search of documents, equipment, or other items of interest. I hate going into buildings and much prefer the outdoors. I like my line of sight and it is much easier to hear something outside. Much easier to hide. Most inside work is to gather information such as I am doing now. Rare was the case when we were actually after someone. Buildings are actually tougher to nab someone in, especially if they own the building. They are usually well protected and really tend to make a lot of noise as you try to get them out. For some reason, they seem very reluctant to accompany you. Unless they are drugged of course but it’s rather hard to sneak around lugging a limp body. If you are after someone in a building, it is usually not to kidnap them but that does happens occasionally. The tension I felt inside then is multiplied exponentially now.
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  I manage to make my way to the fourth floor with my gut tight and senses on high alert. Again, signs of an intense firefight litter the ground forcing me to slowly clear a path. I begin to wonder if the bodies, which apparently blocked the doors previously according to Lynn’s brief, were moved on purpose and why. There are times when I wish I could just call a time out and ask the opposing side a question when something puzzling like this occurs. I am just curious like that — always wanting to learn. On the other hand, I also like to try and figure things out on my own but I cannot for the life of me figure this one out. Were they eating their own and this was just food to them? Were they cannibalistic? Did they have a sense of family about them that they didn’t want their fallen to just lie there? Was it as simple as they were blocking the pathway and were moved? These questions lie in my mind as I secure the doors here on the fourth floor. There is just so much we don’t know about them.

  Climbing up to the fifth and final floor, the final one for me at any rate as the stairs continue upward to a fair number of floors above, I notice the door on the left is open. I stop and become just another part of the stairwell. What’s holding the door open? I think listening to and feeling the area around me. Was I heard or smelled? Did one of the night runners sense me and is waiting for me? I don’t hear or sense anything and am pretty sure from previous experiences that it, or they, would be immediately after me, giving one of their shrieks in the process verifying I had been found.

  I continue to hold deathly still. What most of us, well, when there was a most of us, do not know is that we have a highly sensitive feeling for anyone or anything around and would notice it more if we did not have so many filters or other bombardments of information flowing in. Especially if that something or someone is directing energy at us. Ever have that feeling that you are being watched? When the hackles rise on the back of your neck signaling some type of danger? That is an energy being directed specifically at you and you are detecting it. It is your subconscious picking out clues that your conscious mind missed. Standing here, I don’t have the sense that I have been found.