by John O'Brien
“I’m over here dumbshits!” I yell.
This draws their attention and they start running after me once again. Their hesitation has granted me a few more feet of separation. I turn left through a parking lot feeling my wind catching up with me. I cannot afford to stop so I slow up. My adrenaline and fear are making me run faster than I want yet I still feel like I am slow. I focus my awareness and bring that back under control; feeling my speed and breathing in order to guide me back to that sustainable, ground eating pace.
Before, we would be able to distance ourselves from the opposing forces, losing ourselves in the brush or trees and rest up for a few minutes until taking off again as those forces closed in. The few minutes of breath allowing us to keep a fast pace for a sustained period of time before stopping to do it all over again. In this way, we could cover a lot of distance to an evacuation point and still keep our distance. However, the open areas of the base prevent me from being able to lose myself completely. I have to use changes of direction and the buildings to keep my separation. Plus, I do not want to lose them entirely yet.
I round the corner of the building that the parking lot served as the lead night runners enter into the lot behind me. They have closed the distance by a substantial margin. I am relying on the medical reports I read earlier and hoping that, although they may be faster, that they may tire quicker as well. That may not be the case with their enlarged hearts and lungs but I also cannot afford to wind myself. Once that happens, there is no return and the recovery is longer. There is a point of no return, or a point of a much longer return, with regards to becoming winded.
Ahead of me, two night runners emerge from the side of the building I just rounded. I raise my weapon and shoot twice at the first one; my first round missing but the second one taking it in the chest just below its left armpit. The bullet ricochets off of the rib, splitting the round into several pieces. A larger piece explodes out of its right shoulder after taking out most of the lung along the way with the other smaller pieces of the bullet lodging in the heart and slicing through the aorta. The night runner’s chest cavity quickly fills with blood spurting from the punctured heart and aorta, dropping it forward to the ground. My next two shots hit the side of the chest of the second one in much the same fashion. It falls to the ground close to the first. Hmmmm…Not bad for being on the run.
I continue on, passing the fallen night runners to the left, hearing a sporadic gurgling from the second one as it tries to force breath into its torn and blood-filled lungs. The shrieks behind me grow louder telling me the first of the night runners have rounded the building. I ready another grenade and dart across the street. My plan is to angle away from Lynn and the teams but ensure my route takes me ever closer to the ramp. I will need my last grenades to open up space behind me in order to get into the aircraft. That leaves me with this one to use. I want one for the last sprint to the aircraft and I would certainly like to have one spare just in case.
I turn left, cross another road, and head between two more buildings across the way. I know I am edging closer to the ramp and I want to create some space now in order to make a more direct approach. Plus, the ones behind me are getting a little too close for my comfort. I speed down the space between the buildings getting the grenade ready as before. My breath is coming a lot quicker now and I feel myself edging toward that heavy breathing stage where I will have no choice but to slow down.
The building sides end just a few feet before me. I toss the grenade casually behind me as I reach the corners, not wanting it to go too far but not wanting it to be on my heels either. The buildings shielded me before but this will not be the case this time. I turn to the right once again, keeping my pace up and angling across the street to buildings on the other side. I make it almost all of the way across the street before another explosion rips the night apart behind me. I do not stop to watch the aftereffects but keep going until I reach the side of the building. I then stop, turn, and lean my M-4 against it. There is only a few that made it ahead of the grenade before it went off. I take them down quickly with a few measured rounds. I turn and start running once again. I am really getting too old for this, I think heading down the side of the building in the direction of the ramp and feeling winded.
I do not bother stopping to get the attention of those behind me as I feel I have drawn them far enough away from the other group. It is now a matter of using my brains to gain some separation; even hopefully losing the crowd behind me. I know that is unlikely however as they can find me with their increased sense of sight, smell, and hearing. I run down a sidewalk leading by the side of the building.
“How are you doing Jack?” I hear Lynn call.
“Little busy right now,” I respond back after gaining a measure of breath with which to talk.
The cat and mouse game continues with me darting along buildings and across streets, sometimes doubling back in order to throw them off. They seem to have a hard time finding in which direction I go, perhaps due to the light breeze swirling around the buildings That gains me a little bit of separation each time, but the sound of my boots guides them in my direction every time. If it were not for their sense of smell, I would find a dark hole to climb in and wait the night out like I have done in the past; becoming a hole in the fabric of reality while guards search endlessly for me. I am also on the lookout for a ladder heading up the side of a building. It would have to be the right building without any other way of gaining admittance to the roof but I could hold them off from above if the right building presents itself. That is not the case so far and I cannot really slow down much to look. The sounds behind me let me know they are still on my trail.
I finally come up on the tarmac with the night runners closing in behind and break out onto it alongside a hangar. I pull up short. What the fuck!? I think seeing night runners surrounding the 130 in the near distance. This is majorly fucked up! I was planning on contacting Robert, dropping a grenade in my tracks, and racing to the aircraft. Easy, breezy right!? But that plan is now going to have to change with that major obstacle coming up just as I was about to hit the finish line.
I cannot take too long to decide what to do and I am spent. I could either find a building to break into and hold them off in some narrow hallway, or I can try and get the attention of the night runners around the aircraft, lead them away and circle back. I look quickly up at the starlit sky; Really!? After all of that, this is what I get? I think staring up at the brilliant, twinkling sky above me. Yes, really, they seem to answer back.
I need to think of something quickly or I will be doubly screwed. There are now night runners in front of me with more coming up behind.
“Hey you! I’m over here you stupid assholes!” I yell across the tarmac almost without thinking, making my choice without really analyzing it. Well, I had to make a decision without really having a right decision to choose from, I think taking a deep breath and steeling myself for the next few moments.
The night runners around the aircraft halt in place, stopping immediately in whatever action they were in the middle of and look in my direction. As one, they yell and begin running quickly towards me. I begin running directly at them, the distance between us closing quickly. Running in front to the hangar and reaching the other side, I dart to my left, running down the side to the street and sidewalk in front of it. The chase continues.
* * * * * *
Robert sits in the co-pilot seat staring out across the ramp feeling worried. The night runners continue to surround the aircraft but he is not paying any attention to them. He stares off into the distance across the ramp hoping for some sign or indication that his dad is okay. Nic is looking out over his shoulder having donned her dad’s helmet and sliding the night vision goggles over her eyes. Bri quietly stares out of the same window into the darkness. Lynn is in the back briefing the teams and getting them ready to exit. She wants to go now and find Jack but knows that this would be futile. They would be in running battle from the very get go
and put all of them in danger. Pacing up and down the cargo compartment is not easing her anxiety.
Time passes by but Robert is not aware of it as he continues staring into the night and hoping. Wanting to do something but not knowing what that something could possibly be. He is startled out of his thoughts, trying to come up with something, by the sudden, muffled but loud screams from the night runners around them. He looks down and sees them take off as one across the ramp, racing across the pavement away from them.
“Michelle, go get Lynn!” He turns and says quickly over his shoulder, turning his eyes immediately back to the ramp. He would have asked Bri or Nic to go but knows they are staring out and feeling the same worry and anxiety as him.
“What’s up?” Lynn says as she comes up behind Robert.
Robert answers by pointing outside of the aircraft, the dim light from the stars in the clear sky above illuminating the now empty ramp.
“They just left all at once,” Bri says after a brief pause.
Lynn looks out at the empty ramp and hope first swells and then falls. Hope that Jack now has a clear shot to the aircraft and fades because she thinks she knows what has caught the night runner’s attention and where they are headed.
“I’ll be in back with the teams ready to go. Notify me on our ground frequency if you see or hear anything else,” she says stepping out of the cockpit once again.
“Jack, are you out there? Answer me please,” Lynn says over her radio on re-entering the cargo area and notifying the teams to stand ready.
* * *
I hesitate before emerging completely from the side of the hangar. I see the street and sidewalk running perpendicular several feet in front of me, paralleling the ramp. My timing is going to be critical here if I can time this at all. I hear the sounds of the night runners coming up behind me on the ramp and know I have just a small amount of time before they close in. My concern is those that were initially following me. Emerging now will allow them to see me and put them far too close, allowing them to catch me before I can get remotely close to the aircraft and safety.
Peeking around the corner, I see the last of the night runners that were in trail behind me crossing the street to my left, following the path I took on the other side of the hangar. I want them all to cross before emerging and continuing on to my right. Plus, I want all of the night runners coming from the ramp side to enter into the route I just took alongside the hangar. If they venture down another path, I will run straight into them. That would not be a good thing and is the last thing I want right now.
The last of the night runners finally pass by and disappear down the far side of the hangar just as the night runners chasing me from the aircraft enter into the space behind me. I drop a prepared grenade by the corner and take off to my right. We are going to play a little loop-de-loop but I need a measure of distance. Plus, I need for those that were chasing me to follow along with the rules of the game; and those rules dictate that they are to stay behind and not try to circumvent me.
I run along the sidewalk lining the street, everything around me painted a yellow-green, well, more green than yellow. What I wouldn’t do for a set of generation 3 night vision goggles right now? I think as my radio comes alive.
“Jack, are you out there? Answer me please,” I hear Lynn say in my ear piece.
“I’m here. Get the side door ready to open,” I say breathlessly into the mic.
“Okay, Jack. Good to hear you,” she replies. “How long?”
The grenade goes off.
“Depends,” I say not wanting to spare breath for talking. I know when I used to run with a group, the others running next to me wanted to have a conversation. It was all I could do just breathe; talking was out of the question. Running and talking just do not mix well with me.
“On what?” She asks.
“On whether these bastards are going to do what I want them to and let me through. Call you when I’m close,” I respond. This last little bit just about expended all of my breath.
I glance behind and see the remnant of the night runners turn the corner and, with a cry of discovery, begin their chase in earnest. More follow behind but I direct my attention to my front and side, hoping that none of them come out in front of me. This merry little chase we have had this evening will come to a quick close if that happens; with me not coming out in first place. I race along the front of the building next to the hangar, planning to cut in toward the ramp when I reach the corner, provided of course that the path is not barred by, say, a horde of night runners pounding down it heading my way.
I ready my last grenade as I reach the corner with the night runners on the concrete close behind me. Turning the corner, I see the route to the tarmac empty of any reception committee and toss the grenade behind me, hoping it will land around the corner a little. I turn my speed up a notch but do not really gain much as all of my notches have been used up. The grenade goes off, sending its deadly shrapnel out into the midst of the night runners chasing after me. My toss must have been true as I am not blown forward nor do I feel the prickling of shrapnel entering my backside.
“Jack, we’re having trouble with the door. We don’t know how to open it,” Lynn says through the radio with a tone of worry and frustration.
“Fuck me! You’re kidding right!? You’d better figure it out and figure it out quickly. I’m coming out onto the ramp now,” I say frustrated at so simple a thing. I would give directions on how but I just don’t have any more wind for it. This last took the final vestige of my reaching down deep away. I am out of grenades, ideas, and options.
I race across the ramp toward the aircraft outlined in green. My boots pound across its concrete surface. Safety is close but seems so far. I glance over my shoulder to see the night runners just now rounding the corner of the building. I have some room and time and distance. They must have had some wariness about turning the corner after receiving so many of my gifts in doing so all night long. I run across the rear of the aircraft and up the left side. The crew door is lowering. I guess they figured it out, I think as the side of the 130 races by, my feet being forced to take the next steps, my legs aching and sore, the lactic acid that has been building all night is now making its presence known.
Just as I get close to the door, a night runner runs around the side from the nose. I am spent and my reaction time is slow as it rapidly closes the distance and slams into me, knocking me backward and to the ground. Where the fuck did that one come from? I think just before the impact.
I slam to the ground on my back, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of me. My M-4 is jarred from my grasp and clatters across the pavement. Using some of the momentum, I bring my knees up and roll over my left shoulder, reversing positions with the night runner. Ending up on its chest, I quickly jab sharply into its throat, feeling the cartilage break under my fist. I continue my stroke all of the way through, punching through its throat and mutilating all of the gristle and cartilage; destroying its capability of breathing.
I scramble to my feet, pick up my weapon lying on the tarmac nearby, and run up the stairs with a multitude of night runners close behind streaking toward me.
“Shut the door! Quick!” I say reaching the top and leaning over with my hands on my knees, panting heavily.
The door closes behind me, the shrieks and howls, once sharp in the night air, become muffled as the handle is turned, sealing the door and aircraft to the nighttime world outside. I try to catch my breath, bent over with my hands on my knees, marveling at the close calls of the night. I guess marveling is not the right word but amazed I made it through.
“Everyone make it back?” I ask once I gather a bit of breath.
“We did,” Lynn answers with her hand on my back.
“Good. What do you say we get ready and get this beast airborne?” I ask standing.
I turn off my NVG’s and take them off to find the cargo compartment darkened, lit only by the reflected glow of the stars illuminating the outside
ramp. Sergeant Mullins stands in the gray gloom behind Lynn.
“Thank you both so much,” he says with a weary but relieved tone.
“Glad to help and have you aboard,” I say shaking hands with him.
“What’s an Army unit doing here on an Air Force base? How did you get here?” I ask.
“We’re part of the security detachment for NORAD facility. We headed down here when everything hit the fan figuring any help would arrive at an airfield. We’ve been holding out in the BX since arriving. We found a radio in the control tower yesterday and have been broadcasting on the hour ever since,” Mullins replies.
“And the NORAD facility?” I ask.
“Gone. Completely overrun with those things,” he answers sweeping his hand indicating the night runners outside.
“Why don’t you and Lynn here sit down and you can brief her? Lynn, will you catch him up to speed and brief him on our organization? Introduce them and organize them into squads as you see fit,” I say.
“Will do,” Lynn responds.
“In the meantime, let’s get this bucket of bolts off the ground and head home.”
I climb into the cockpit only to be immediately swept up as Bri and Nic throw their arms around me. Robert looks over from the right seat and nods in both welcome and relief.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Bri says with her face pressed against the left side of my chest.
“Glad you’re back, Dad,” Nic says looking up into my eyes in the gloomy shadows of the cockpit. “I was so scared and worried.”
I stand there hugging them close for a few moments longer before releasing them. Mike is sitting on the deck with what’s left of his tail swishing lightly across the steel. It looks more like he is trying to polish the floor with his rear end.
“Let’s be on our way shall we?” I say heading toward my dreaded left seat but also thankful for the ability to sit down; thankful for even having the chance to sit in that tiresome seat. I am feeling completely, and utterly exhausted.
