by John O'Brien
A warning signals inside of me. The kind of sixth sense like when you have your back to the ocean and a large wave is about to break over you. You look back over your shoulder just in time to see it crash down. I shine my light upward to catch a night runner leaping in mid-air above me. The M-4 in my right hand barks and kicks slightly as I fire at the night runner descending swiftly toward me. It is coming downward like a receiver going airborne and diving to catch a pass; head down and arms spread outward. It is shrieking with its pale mouth wide open and its eyes are locked on mine. The slow motion scene allows my mind to register and record minute details; the bloody and torn blue short sleeve shirt with ribbons and name tag still attached but mostly hidden by the dark blood stains, the NCO stripes sewn on the sleeves, the wild look in its eyes, the silver watch and gold wedding band. They apparently didn’t get them all, I think as my first round strikes the left side of its chest, my second hitting it in the mouth and my third impacting immediately after on the right cheek just under the eyes. The force of the rounds hit like sledge hammers causing its trajectory to alter in midair. A pinkish mist fills my sight as the back of its head vanishes into the air behind it. The shriek stops immediately and it slams onto top of the shelf above me, knocking off the items sitting there, and it hits the floor beside me with a loud thump.
I shove the first night runner off of my legs and stand quickly shining my light into the rafters of the open ceiling above me. There is movement in them as more night runners move along the steel beams high above. I fire at one centered in my beam almost directly above me and see blood blossom on its torso as my bullets fly true. It releases its grip on the beam and begins its long fall to the floor with an agonized shriek.
“Watch out above! They’re in the rafters!” I yell running back down the aisle where Robert, Gonzalez, and McCafferty continue to battle the seemingly endless horde.
“Horace, keep the front covered with the others,” I say into the radio. “We’ll be withdrawing back to you down the last aisle.”
“Roger that, sir,” I hear her reply.
“Make sure you cover the shelves and rafters as we pull back. We also have a man down in the aisle,” I add into the radio reaching the end of the aisle.
“Will do, sir,” she responds.
“Gonzalez, McCafferty, we’re pulling back to the front down the end aisle. Gonzalez, when I say so, pull back through us. You’re point. Quickly but carefully!” I yell above the gunfire still erupting.
“Hooah, sir!” Gonzalez responds.
I reload and add my rounds to an atmosphere thick with steel and the smell of gunpowder. The rafters are full of night runners leaping their way towards us. Bodies fall from the heights as fire is shifted from Horace’s group and from Robert’s and mine. The top of the shelves are clear. They’ve shifted strategy, I think feeling my M-4 kick back slightly into my shoulder. Wow! They’re able to shift strategy as a group. That’s something to throw into the bag of knowledge.
The lane ahead is littered with bodies. Live ones scramble across the pile only to fall to the ferocious firing of Gonzalez and McCafferty, adding to the growing number lying on the floor, drawing ever closer. “Robert,” I say grabbing his shoulder to get his attention. “You’ll follow Gonzalez.”
“Okay,” he responds quickly with the wide eyes of intense adrenaline that is coursing through his body.
“McCafferty, fall back to me and we’ll cover the rear!” I yell. “Gonzalez, go now!”
They both stand and walk backward firing into the night runners as they go. I continue to put bursts of fire into the rafters, picking out night runners there and see them fall as the steel impacts their flesh. The light from our flashlights cannot reach far back so we are only able to take out the ones that leap into our range. Multiple lights probe the ceiling and rafters above. Sparks fly from the steel beams as near misses ricochet into the darkness. Red tracers streak upward from the store front and our position.
As she reaches my position, Gonzalez turns and catches my eye. Giving a head nod, she proceeds past to lead our retreat out of here. The night runners still rush our position on the floor. There must be hundreds here, I think. I shift my fire to the ones on the ground ahead taking one out just twenty feet away. Blood sprays from its chest and neck as multiple rounds from my carbine strike it. Its head, almost severed by the force of the rounds, falls sideways as blood gushes and squirts from the severed arteries. Its body kicks out to the side spinning to the ground. I feel part of the spray splash against my cheek and forehead.
“Robert, Go!” I yell and notice only the decrease of fire that signals his departure.
“McCafferty, you have the top rafters and shelves as we move. I have the ground,” I shout across to where she has taken up position.
“You got it sir,” she yells back.
“Horace, we’re on our way. Did you get the wounded?” I ask pressing the radio transmit button.
“We have him, sir, but we have another one down,” she responds.
“Get them outside and be ready to go,” I say quickly.
I hear her answer on the radio but cannot make out her reply.
There’s no time to ask for it to be repeated. I drop two more to the floor, the last one falling almost at my feet and reload. I pull a mag out of my vest taking notice that it is the last one. Uh oh, that’s not good, I think sliding it in and releasing the bolt. More night runners pound the floor behind the two still in their death throes at my feet. I flip to semi and light flashes from the end of my barrel taking the nearest one in the head. Its head snaps backwards and its feet leave the ground, the body hitting the linoleum on its back with a thud.
“I’m on my last mag. We’ll have to make this quick. Let’s go!” I shout to McCafferty.
“Me too! I’m right with you,” she responds.
We stand and begin walking quickly backwards, McCafferty taking down night runners that have come above us in the rafters, the sound of their bodies slamming into the shelves and floor evidence of her deadly aim. I keep the ones in front at bay. Head shots are easy at this distance but I am quickly running out of ammo. Pop! Pop! Pop! I am rapidly moving my aim from head to head as we retreat but more replace them. We pass the next aisle behind us, with the central mass still only twenty feet away, neither gaining nor losing distance between us. The speed at which they are running at us causes them to drop literally at my feet and they will quickly be upon us when I run out of ammo. I glance around to mark our progress and see the lights from Gonzalez and Robert round the corner of the end aisle.
“We’re going to have to make a run for it,” I yell to McCafferty across the lane. “Now go!”
I see her turn and begin running down the lane and turn the corner. Focusing back to my front, I pick up the pace of my backward steps. Not quite running but close. Tripping and falling would not be in my best interest right now and not because of some labor and industries injury claim. It would be a bit worse than that. I wonder if I can sue the store for harboring dangerous creatures. Pop! Pop! My rounds meet and intersect two more heads splashing blood and brain matter on those behind as I round the corner and enter the aisle.
Glancing over my shoulder, keeping my direction and most of my attention on those about to round the corner, I see Gonzalez and Robert running for the front door silhouetted by the light streaming in from outside. McCafferty is following close behind them concentrating on the ceiling above. Almost home, I think. I refocus on where the night runners are just rounding the corner. Our gunfire seems to have had little effect on their numbers although I do notice they are now only concentrated in certain areas as opposed to seemingly spread across the entire interior. Still backing toward the entrance, I hear the click of a bolt running dry behind me. That click registers immediately and seems louder than all of the other sounds filling the store.
“I’m out!” McCafferty yells in my direction.
“Make a run for the door, I’ll cover,” I shout still focused on
the horde closing in.
I feel the kick against my shoulder three more times sending three additional night runners skidding on the floor amidst sprays of blood and brain before the same, heart sickening click emits from my M-4. I have exhausted my ammo. Why can’t this be like the hero books or comics where the last round kills the last enemy inches from the hero? Well, this definitely isn’t the happy, ride off into the sunset ending I would have liked. The horde is still coming and closing the distance and I am now carrying a paper weight. I’m looking for the white-horsed hero to ride in and sweep away the battlefield, the enemy cowering in terror. Instead, it is my heart that is sinking and the uh oh factor has invaded my senses. The adrenaline increases and time slows even more.
Twenty feet away becomes ten as I continue back pedaling away. I can’t take the time to turn and run as I know they would be upon me immediately. They have the momentum of already running and will be upon me in the time it will take me to turn leaving me with my back to them and defenseless. I reverse my M-4 as the first one closes to within five feet, thrusting the butt forward into its face, connecting with the bridge of its nose, snapping its head backwards and bringing it to a standstill. The others behind plow into the now stopped night runner sending it crashing to the floor, slowing their rapid advance momentarily and giving me a touch of breathing space. As long as that breath is a short one that is.
They continue, running over and around the body on the floor. A sense of eagerness emits from the group as they close in on their prey. That prey being me. I can remember several times being chased by folks who were not too keen on my being in their back yard, but that feeling of uh-oh has never been this intense. Mostly because they weren’t five feet away from me and I had ammo to keep them at a friendly distance. The thought of lowering my shoulder and charging into them vanishes as quickly as it arrived. I would be overwhelmed in a moment. Were these “normal people,” that thought would have stuck around longer.
I step to my left and thrust the butt end of my carbine once again, the shoulder plate striking the temple of a creature with a crack snapping its head to the side and back. The night runner loses its balance and it sprawls to its left across the path of the others. My mind registers the absence of gunfire that was so prevalent inside moments ago. I have no time to figure out the why of it but can only assume that the others are safely outside or the night runners in the other directions have been eliminated. Or, everyone has run out of ammo. I log the ammo consumption away to be dealt with later and hopefully not as I am contemplating my mistakes while sitting on a cloud strumming a harp. Not that I would necessarily be a candidate for that anyway.
Night runners grab and push aside the one that had crashed into them blocking their path momentarily allowing me to gain a few precious feet towards the front door. The shelves to my right, containing a few sundry items, are illuminated by the splash of light from my flashlight but also begin to lighten from the light coming through the front door. Faint yet, but still lighter letting me know that the salvation of light is drawing closer. I’ve managed to keep them slightly off balance and away so far but they are so close and the action is quick. If time was not slowed, they would sweep over me like a tidal wave.
I repeatedly thrust into their heads with the butt of my rifle, feeling it connect with each thrust; each time rapidly withdrawing my M-4 only enough to switch to a different target and hit it with sufficient force. Not wanting to kill at this point but to keep them at bay as I continue inching backward toward the light amidst the shrieks emitting from horde of night runners to my front. Shrieks of frustration, pain, anger and excitement fill my ears. I hear someone shouting behind me but the words are drowned out by the din. Hands from the night runners try to fend off my repeated thrusts. They reach towards me, wanting to take hold and pull me to the ground. Wanting to rend my flesh.
I notice the linoleum below my feet is partially lit from the light streaming in from the front doors. One of the creatures knocks my gun away from its trajectory which throws my attack off target. A night runner gets inside of my M-4 that was keeping them that uncomfortable five feet away and launches itself at me. Seeing it get past and leave the ground, I brace myself mentally for the inevitable impact. Dropping my carbine, I bring my arms in close in order to keep some semblance of distance between us after the collision. Timing it right, I grab the front if its torn and ragged shirt, lean back slightly to absorb some of the impact, pivot on my left foot the moment it hits, and launch myself and it in the direction of the front door. The force and ferocity of the impact, even at such a close range, surprises me. The strength and agility of these things continues to amaze me. I am going to have to keep this in forefront of my mind at all times.
“Come on you little shit! You wanna play!” I yell as we launch through the air.
I continue the roll to my left as we sail through the air using its momentum to assist me, my hands locked on its shirt, its shrieking, gray face inches away from mine, my roar of effort and intense adrenaline combine with its shriek. I feel rage building within as we land on the floor with a grunt, with it beneath me, and we slide along the linoleum upon impact.
The night runner begins to thrash and shriek with an increased intensity. I release my grip with my right hand bringing it back to smash back down on its throat for a killing stroke, intent on punching through the throat to its spinal column, obliterating the cartilage airway. I pause when I notice the thrashing is not an attempt at defense or to get at me. Its face is turning a bright red before my eyes. It is then that I notice our flight through the air and subsequent slide has brought us into the direct light radiating from outside. A rifle butt enters into my range of vision and impacts the night runner square on the temple, rendering it unconscious and silencing the shrieks. I look up to see Horace standing by my side as she withdraws her carbine from the impact.
“Thanks,” I say jumping off of the night runner and turning quickly towards where the horde was moments before, expecting them to be right on my heels.
“No problem, sir,” she responds turning her weapon on the horde standing on the edge of the shadows where they shriek wildly in frustration.
Only the faint outlines of their heads are visible and appear to be thrusting forward, wanting desperately to get at us. Then, as if a switch were thrown, the shrieks stop and the heads vanish instantly into the dark depths of the store leaving behind only the slapping sound of shoes and bare feet on the linoleum echoing in the BX, growing dimmer before silence descends upon us once again.
We all stand momentarily shocked by the suddenness of both the onslaught and retreat. Only moments before the air was filled with the sound of gunfire, shrieks, and shouting, now only the lingering smell of gunpowder remains.
“Well, that was fun and interesting,” I say heading back to retrieve my M-4, still wary and alert for any attack.
Gathering my now almost useless rifle off of the floor, I return to the group, checking the stock and gun for any damage. The wounded soldier is lying by the entrance; the once loud moans have subsided to an occasional whimper. Kneeling by his side, I can feel heat radiating from him and notice beads of sweat form on his brow and run down his temple forming small pools on the floor by his head. The gouges on his neck and shoulder area from the night runner have stopped bleeding and are now merely leaking plasma mixed with blood.
“How’s the other one?” I ask looking up at Horace.
“He’s dead. Bled out before we could get to him.” She replies.
“Let’s get everyone outside. Have your team put them in the van. We’ll bandage him up when we get to the aircraft”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many supplies did we manage to get out?” I ask looking at the carts, full of bottled water and various cans of food, sitting just outside of the doors.
“We managed to get most of the water and a few cans of food before they hit,” Horace answers.
“Ammo check,” I call out to everyone. A quick
check reveals we are down to thirty six rounds between all of us. That’s cutting it rather close, I think and make a mental note to increase the basic load out for all teams.
“Red Team, gather the supplies and load them into the van,” I call out as we step through the front doors and out into the morning. The front of the BX is still shaded from the sun. I get no reply but see them walk over to the carts to begin loading.
I turn back to see Horace’s team emerge through the broken glass door carrying the wounded solder by the arms and legs. Watching the team with their load, I see the unconscious soldier begin to thrash wildly to the point that they have to set him back on the pavement where his thrashing continues. Stepping closer, I see his exposed skin begin to turn the same bright red as had the other night runners when exposed to the sun. The flailing continues to increase along with the moaning. His eyes flash open and the pain within them is apparent to all who are watching. He begins a shrieking scream and sits up quickly causing all of us standing around to jump back a step. The shrieking builds quickly only to suddenly subside into silence as he slumps over to the side, his head hitting the concrete sidewalk with a crack. He lays there still and utterly silent, his once pallid skin now looks like he stayed by the pool in the sun too long.
“Hmmmm, that’s different,” I say, mostly to myself but heard by those around.
“Anyone know if he had the vaccination?” I ask the assembled group.
