by John O'Brien
“You know, chief, hotels normally have maps of the area in those little wire racks. You know, the ones that hold those tourist brochures and stuff,” Blanchard states.
“Good idea. Okay, the first stop is the hotel to see if we can find a map. Watch your corners and windows. Speer, lead us out.”
“I thought we weren’t going into buildings,” Speer says, rising.
“The racks are usually just inside the lobby,” Blanchard says.
“They better be, answer-man,” Speer replies, walking slowly along the wall toward the steps.
“Relax, Speer, we won’t be going inside that far,” Krandle says.
“That’s comforting.”
Hugging the wall while climbing up the stairs, they reach the top. A paved promenade extends along the beachfront. A wide road adjacent to the hotel leads from the walkway into the town. Speer takes a quick look and darts across to the corner of the hotel. With a thumbs-up from Speer, the rest of the team follows. Spaced apart, they then start up a sidewalk with weapons aimed outward at the neighboring buildings and up covering the windows of the hotel above; each covering an assigned sector based on their position in the line.
Approaching the front of the large hotel, Speer turns. “Do you smell that?”
Krandle noticed it as the offshore breeze swept down the street. He’s smelled it a few times in the past and it never boded well. It was the stink of death. The moisture of this coastal area would have made for a prolonged decaying process. If he understood the timeline Captain Walker described, any who died here would have died months ago.
If it’s like this now, I can’t imagine what it would have smelled like before, he thinks as they round the hotel to the front.
“Keep moving,” he says.
They come to an alleyway-like passage between the resort and a multi-story parking structure. The temperature drops as they enter into shadows cast by the garage. All is quiet in the confined space except for their footfalls echoing faintly off the concrete walls to both sides. It’s eerie walking through the shaded avenue of a seemingly abandoned town. Krandle can almost hear the sounds of what it should have been like — the hum of people talking as they strolled down the sunlit sidewalks to the beach with souvenir bags swinging at their sides, the sound of cars passing on cross streets, the high-pitched laughter of kids rising momentarily, a dog barking on the beach as it waited with tail-wagging enthusiasm for a Frisbee to be thrown. The contrast between what it should have been like and what it is now gives the place a more eerie presence.
Stacking next to the entrance, they notice that a large pane of one of the entrance doors is broken, contrasting sharply with the other grime-covered glass doors. Very few of the glass shards are outside with most extending into the dim interior. The overhang above the entrance and the adjacent garage prevents much reflected light from entering inside. Residual light extends only a few feet in before it fading quickly into an inky darkness.
Krandle peeks inside and spots a wooden rack next to the reception desk. Light colored brochures sit upright in their slots, barely visible in the gloom.
“Speer, you and I are going in. The rest set up a perimeter around the door,” Krandle says.
Speer nods as the others face outward, quietly setting up in a semi-circle around the entrance. Krandle nods and Speer darts inside going immediately to the left. Krandle follows on his heels going right, feeling the increased chill as he flows into the dim interior. They move along the walls sweeping the area with the barrels of their M-4s. Speer whispers ‘clear’ before penetrating too far and being swallowed up by the darkness. Krandle ensures his area is clear and joins with Speer.
“I don’t mind telling you, this place creeps me out,” Speer whispers.
“For once I’m with you.”
The interior has the kind of stillness you seldom encounter. It’s like being inside of a vacuum — all sounds removed. No, not the clean your floors kind of vacuum…but the deep space kind. The darkness feels like it has substance. Their whispers seem to travel only inches before meeting resistance and dying away. Krandle has the feeling that if he started walking into the utter blackness beyond, he would find it increasingly difficult to move until the gloom became unyielding and he couldn’t take another step forward. The darkness would completely envelop him.
Afraid to utter a single sound, Krandle puts his fingers to his lips and points to the stand a few feet away at the edge of the shadows. Speer nods and slowly edges that way, checking his foot placement before taking the next. Krandle feels his heart racing as they inch across the linoleum, each step taking them deeper into the interior. Keeping his barrel aimed at the impenetrable shadows, he creeps alongside Speer, expecting something to suddenly emerge from the ink as if the darkness released its hold. That’s just the feel the place has. He’s been in hundreds of abandoned buildings before and he’s never encountered something that’s even come close to this feeling. Of course, humanity hadn’t died off and been replaced by cannibalistic creatures either.
Time seems stretched — the seconds becoming minutes and the minutes, hours. They’ve only been inside for a couple of minutes but he feels like hours have passed. Each step should be bringing them closer to the stand hosting the local attraction brochures but it still seems the same distance away.
Get a hold of yourself, Vance, he thinks with a small shake of his head. You’re letting your imagination run away. This is just an unlit building.
A faint, slithering sound comes from the murk ahead; so faint it is barely audible and so quick that Krandle isn’t sure he even heard it. However, he’s been in enough situations to know that ‘something’ makes all sounds and to never discount one just because it stops. Something made this one and therefore something is here.
“What the fuck was that?” Speer whispers, being just as quiet as the sound. Krandle shakes his head slightly and points once again to the stand.
“I’m telling you, man, something is in here with us. I can feel it,” Speer breathes, taking another step.
The tension matches the thickness of the darkness as they sidle up to the rack. Krandle understands the warning the captain gave them about going into buildings. The sound of bare feet slapping on the linoleum from within the gloom is sudden, startling both him and Speer. Krandle tracks the sound heading quickly from left to right. A loud, high-pitched shriek erupts, breaking the stillness and filling the interior with its intensity. More shrill screams join in from other parts of the hotel but, as yet, nothing has become visible.
“That sounds exactly like those motherfuckers in the Philippines,” Speer says.
“They are. Grab as many as you can and let’s get the fuck out of here,” Krandle shouts, hearing more footfalls heading their way. His barrel waves in the air toward sounds that are still swallowed up in shadows.
That will change very soon, he thinks, listening to the sounds drawing quickly closer.
His finger is on the trigger waiting for something to appear. The steps are becoming increasingly louder and coming from all parts of the interior. Shrieks continue to beat against his ears, seeming to shake the very walls.
Krandle’s radio crackles. “Are you guys okay?” Franklin asks.
“We’re coming out on the run,” he replies.
Krandle looks at Speer who is grabbing handfuls of brochures one-handed, stuffing them into his pockets while keeping his eyes and weapon on the unseen sounds. Many of the pieces of paper fall through his grasp to land on the floor, some gliding away riding on a cushion of air.
“That’s enough. Go, go, go!” he shouts.
Speer takes off like he was launched from a slingshot. Krandle backs away quickly keeping his M-4 trained on the interior. A ghostly face flashes at the edge of the darkness and vanishes. As the seconds tick by, the room increasingly fills with screams.
“You’re at the door,” he hears Franklin say behind him.
The crunch of glass underfoot is barely audible above the screams
filling the hotel. He feels more than hears it and is relieved when his feet contact the concrete walkway outside. The shrieks still ring loudly in his ears but become more subdued as he steps completely outside.
“To the street,” he says to the waiting team.
He and the rest of the team streak down the alley, their boots ringing off the walls. Krandle knows Walker mentioned that the night runners couldn’t come out in the daylight, but he didn’t exactly describe what he meant by “daylight”. Krandle isn’t going to take the chance that shade is fair game for the night runners to venture into. He wasn’t going to stop until he reaches actual sunlight. Their journey out of the alley is significantly shorter than their one into it.
Reaching the road at the other end of the shaded avenue, they halt and turn, half expecting night runners to be on their tail or at the entrance, Krandle doesn’t see a soul. The only thing in the alley is a piece of paper tumbling end over end by a breeze along with several brochures that fell from Speer’s pockets. Even the shrieks have ceased. A blanket of silence descends once more.
“How the fuck did they know we were in there? We were like ghosts, man,” Speer says once they ascertain they aren’t about to be assaulted.
“Captain Walker mentioned something about their ability to smell things out,” Krandle answers, remembering the ghostly image of the face, a picture that will haunt him forever.
“That’s just not right,” Speer comments, fumbling in his pockets and withdrawing a handful of brochures.
“So, one of you two want to tell us what happened?” Franklin asks. Krandle relates what happened from his perspective.
“I guess that means no more going into buildings,” Franklin states as the others shake their heads in disbelief.
“I know you won’t find me going into any more. That was freaky as fuck,” Speer says.
“We’ll evaluate each situation as we come to it, but yes, I’m inclined to adopt that strategy,” Krandle replies.
With the rest of them maintaining a watch and with eyes stealing to the hotel entrance periodically, Speer begins looking through the papers he retrieved.
“Okay, boys and girls, there’s a lot to see and do, but we have to choose carefully as we won’t have enough time to see them all. We can walk the historic promenade and see a statue of Lewis and Clark, go to the arcade or aquarium, or take in the many shopping venues. Oh wait, there’s also the historical museum or we can have a romantic getaway. They all sound so appealing that I’m having a hard time deciding. Hmmm…there’s a Hood-to-Coast thing hosted here, whatever that is. I don’t know. What do you think we should do first, Dad?” Speer says, rifling through the cards as if on vacation. Quiet chuckles emit from the team.
“Go fly a kite, Speer,” Krandle says, knowing exactly what is coming next.
“Oh, it says we can do that here,” Speer replies, handing a brochure over.
“Just find one with a decent map on it,” Krandle says, looking warily down the alley.
His heart is only now slowing to the point that it feels like it’s actually a beat rather than an electric Gatling gun spitting out thousands of rounds per minute. Speer unfolds one that has all of the town’s attractions on a map that encompasses the entire inside of the tri-fold pamphlet.
“I think we can rule the hotels out,” Krandle says, looking at the map. “That leaves the police station and hospital to check.”
They creep through the silent, downtown streets. There are some cars parked along the side of the roads, all of which have sand piles built up against the tires. That and the dirty windows indicate they’ve been there for a while. Several of the shops, mostly of the touristy variety, have their windows broken out. The rest look like they haven’t been acquainted with Windex in some time rendering them opaque.
Speer is on point with the rest of the team spread at intervals. They alertly and warily proceed down the wind swept streets. Speer gets Krandle’s attention, pointing to a vehicle in the middle of the road ahead. It appears to have slammed into the side of a motor home. A body lies spread in the road adjacent to a car with the windows broken out.
Signaling the rest of the team to hold, Krandle walks ahead and crosses the street. Drawing nearer to the body, he sees that it has been there for a while by the small drifts of sand piled up against it. Something doesn’t look exactly right and, as he approaches, he sees what is wrong. Almost the entire body is skeletal with most of the skin and tissue missing. Hair clings to parts of the skull and the bones are only held together by strips of dried ligaments. The legs of the jeans have been shredded, leaving them looking like a deeply stained pair of shorts which are loosely wrapped around the waist. Shoes and socks barely adhere to the stripped clean body. Pieces of decayed internals lie in the rib cage mixed with sand and other small pieces of debris.
Looking to the vehicle, he notices the shredded remains of a red t-shirt wrapped around the rear wheel and partially covered with sand. Disgusted, Krandle steps up to the car and peers inside. Glass litters the floorboards and the front seat and rear seats. Another body in the same condition as the first lies stretched across the center console from the passenger to the rear seat. The longer, brown hair lies in a tangled mess across the rear seat. Lying along the rear seat, partially hidden under the dirty mop of hair, is a smaller body — obviously that of a child. The stained, torn, and shredded remains of a summer dress lies in a heap on the rear floorboard.
Krandle envisions what the final, terror-filled moments of this family must have been like. It must have been at night if they were indeed attacked by night runners as it appears they were. They may have been fleeing from the chaos around — a night filled with the horror of night runners attacking. Running down the hallway of the hotel, hearing the shrieks of night runners and the high-pitched, terror and pain-filled screams of others. No one understanding what is truly going but chaos reigning everywhere. The parents racing down the stairs to escape, fearful for their daughter. Making it outside into the darkness of the night where only hours before they were enjoying a vacation at the beach. The run to their car with the images and sounds of others as they flee through the streets. Jumping inside the car and perhaps feeling a margin of safety thinking they might actually escape the madness, only to be brought up short here in the road. The sudden appearance of the motor home and hitting it. Quickly surrounded — screams filling the car from both outside and inside, fists pounding on the windows, the absolute terror for your family and not able to move the car. The horrifying sound of the glass cracking and giving way. The knowledge that there isn’t a damn thing you can do but still fighting to the end. Being pulled from the car with your family inside shrieking in terror. The pain of the night runners tearing into flesh. The mom’s last lunge to the rear seat to protect her daughter.
Fucking heartbreaking, Krandle thinks, shaking his head and walking away from the horrible scene of death. This exact thing must have been played out millions of times across the country…across the world.
They leave the downtown area and enter a residential district as they slowly head toward the police station marked on the map. It’s more of the same — broken windows and busted doors. They see a few more bodies lying in the taller grass of overgrown yards, in driveways, and porches.
In order to reach the station, they have to cross the river that bisects the town before it empties into the sea. Barricades have been set up across the road and multiple bodies lie before them. Upon closer inspection, Krandle sees these are fully clad with decayed skin still intact. Through the decay, several injuries are obvious. A few other bodies lie on the other side of the barriers but these are naked and have been stripped like the family at the car. Several handguns and shotguns lie near the desiccated and stripped bodies. The handguns have the bolts in the locked back position indicating empty mags. It definitely carries the look of a stand being taken and lost.
Crossing through the barrier, the team picks up the weapons and searches for ammo amongst the tat
tered clothing strewn about but without luck. The police station comes into view a few blocks later. The parking lot has a few cars and pickups parked haphazardly within it as if they pulled in quickly and the occupants rapidly disembarked. Looking to the department entrance, Krandle sees that the glass doors have been broken in. Like at the barriers, several clad, decayed bodies line the area in front.
Setting the team in a perimeter around the lot, Krandle steps around the bodies to the doorway. Just inside, lit by radiant light flowing in through the doors and windows lining the room, sits a small lobby with a glass-shielded reception area. Splashes of dried blood coat the walls and the glass covering the reception window. Two skeletal remains lie on a floor covered with glass shards. A hallway leads from the room extending farther into the building. A short distance down it, the light dims and fades into blackness. Dark smears streak the tiled floor leading down the corridor.
Krandle pauses for a few moments listening for anything within the structure. Hearing nothing, he calls out, “Anyone here?”
Stepping in quickly, he retrieves another handgun lying against one of the far walls. It too is empty but he pockets it along with one other he picked up at the barricade. This building too holds the scene of terror-filled moments leading to a last stand. It feels like the very walls breathe the memory of the night and wishes to tell the tale. It’s a story that will be carried by this place for a long while to come. Not wishing to relive the last moments of those within in his mind, he steps across the floor with glass crunching under his feet, and exits.
He relates his findings to the rest of the team. “You know, I’m with you whatever you decide, but do you think we really need to go to the hospital? It seems to me that we already have the evidence we searching for. This is a dead town,” Franklin says.
Krandle looks toward at the sun which lies almost directly overhead, casting a knifepoint shadow from the flagpole mounted near the station. The attached flag stirs occasionally as each breeze passes through. The fact that it is still up indicates that the madness started during the day and there was either no one around to take it down before sunset or they were too busy. There were obviously other priorities to attend to.
