by John O'Brien
There’s not a single night runner remaining in front of the building. The shrieks that were so prevalent, heard even through the metal skin of the Stryker, diminishes. A few wounded night runners crawl on the sidewalk leading to the building, in the tall grass surrounding it, and over pavement slick with blood.
“Silence them,” I say to the gunner, pointing to injured night runners trying to crawl away from the devastation.
The gun erupts with a few short bursts. Rounds tear into the remaining night runners trying to inch toward safety, pushing them across the ground as the bullets find their mark. Some night runners dash across the side lots heading for the rear of the building.
“How’s your ammo holding out?” I ask Reynolds.
“We’re down to just a couple of mags apiece,” she answers.
“Okay, we’ve cleared most of the front, and I’d like to circle around the back. That may or may not take some pressure off you as I don’t know how many are inside. It would certainly help our entrance, but if you’re going to run out of ammo, then it’s kind of a moot point,” I say.
“We’ll make it last as long as we can. We’re firing on semi right now. It’s a little busy in here, but you’re outside so do what you think is best,” she replies.
“Okay, we’re going to circle quickly. If you can, make sure the kids are ready to go when we arrive. We won’t have a lot of time to dick around…sorry…mess around,” I say.
“We’ll do what we can, but whatever you decide to do, doing it quickly would be nice.”
“Take us around back,” I tell the driver. To the gunner, I say, “Take out any that you see but take care with the angle. We don’t want to accidently penetrate to the third floor.”
The gunner nods. I know the driver heard by the sudden revving of the engine and a lurch forward. We start across a parking lot filled with night runner corpses. A couple of Humvees are parked off to the side. The side of the building is much like the front with night runners attempting to gain entrance at several points. They look like a line of ants climbing a wall. The .50 cal starts its familiar chatter, sweeping the structure clear. Night runners fall to the ground or are swept into the darkness.
As we drive to the rear of the building, a few packs round the far corner heading away from us. I open up and ‘hear’ many of those nearby sending messages of death associated with our vehicle. Some are heeding the message and fleeing off into the night, but many more still try to gain access to the prey trapped inside.
As at the front, the Stryker makes short work of those remaining. Several packs break off their attack on the building in an attempt to get to us but are cut down in mid-stride. Piles of night runner bodies begin to stack up around the entire building as we progress. Clearing the next side, I see that several packs are again trying to scale from this side.
They are relentless, I’ll give them that, I think as the gunner engages them.
With the front of the building clear once again, we turn around and back toward the door.
“Be ready,” I tell the teams waiting anxiously. “We’re backing in and don’t know what to expect. Greg, your team will be first out. Establish a small perimeter.”
Greg’s team members, who will be providing security for our return, changes places with those in back, ready to disembark in a hurry. The Stryker tilts as we back up the wide, concrete stairs leading to the front door, the revving engines powering the heavy vehicle up the incline. The gun’s tell-tale staccato burst tears the entrance doors from their hinges and creates a hole wide enough to drop the ramp inside. The Stryker sways as we come into contact with the entrance and completely blocks it with its size. No night runners will be able to get to us from the outside. The interior lights are extinguished and NVGs lowered.
“Let’s do this. First team ready?” I call out.
The soldiers who are ready to rush out and clear our initial path don’t turn from their focus on the rear ramp but raise four thumbs into the air.
“Go!”
The ramp opens, falling across the sundered door jambs. The twisted metal and shattered glass of the doors are strewn along a hallway that extends from the entrance and ends in a “T” intersection. Pictures depicting scenic vistas line the walls on both sides. Some are knocked askew from the penetrating rounds while others lie in wrecked heaps on the linoleum-tiled floor. Muted shrieks resound throughout from night runners inside. Faint gunshots mix with the screams. The four exit into the debris-filled corridor and fast walk to the nearest corners of the intersection; their lasers creating thin beams of light as they track the area ahead.
Greg walks behind them in the center of the hall, halting just behind the members stacked at the corner. Reaching the corner, the team peeks around each corner and gives Greg an all clear signal.
“We’re clear here, Jack,” Greg radios.
“Can you tell which way the stairs are?” I ask.
Greg steals a look around the corner. “It looks identical in both directions with doors on both sides of a single, long hallway. Most of the doors are closed. There’s an opening about three-quarters of the way down each hall that looks like it leads to stairways.”
“Copy that. Okay, Red Team, we’re up. Bri, you’re Gonzalez’ shadow. Let’s head left at the corner and find us some stairs.” I changed my mind at the last instant and decided to keep Bri with Gonzalez instead of in the middle with me.
I radio Reynolds to let her know that we are on the way. Gonzalez and McCafferty step into the hall and the rest of us follow with the whine of the turret tracking behind us. The crunch of glass under our boots follows us to the intersection where the remaining members of Greg’s team kneel at the junction. Gonzalez, with Bri tracking close behind her, and McCafferty turn the corner and we begin our way into the interior in earnest.
Dust along the wide hallway has been stirred by the passage of so many night runners, creating a path down the middle. Framed photos of faculty or other important people line the right wall. The faces are hard to see through the dirt covering the glass. Florescent lights fixtures hang impotently overhead. We pass several closed, wooden doors with room numbers embedded on brass tabs above each. The chill of the night fills the passage, feeling colder due to the fact that we are traversing through a dark building with night runners afoot.
“Open door on the left,” Gonzalez whispers into the radio, passing the opening after a perfunctory glance inside.
“Copy,” I reply.
Reaching the open door, I do a quick sweep in the classroom. Desks and chairs lie tumbled across the large room. Moonlight filters in through shattered windows and the room itself is colder with the night entering unimpeded. Two night runners lie unmoving on the floor. One, having been blown across the room, lies twisted in a jumble of furniture. The second lies on the floor adjacent to a low bookcase against the windows. One of its legs is at an awkward angle with its foot resting on the top of the bookcase. The night runner is missing part of its other leg below the knee and its arm just above the elbow. Pools of dark liquid spread out from both bodies. Nothing moves inside of the room. Glancing at the scene of destruction quickly, I close the door, glad to feel the click of it latching.
The noise and tumult from the floors above faintly reach the corridor and increases in volume as we stealthily approach the opening on the right where stairs hopefully lie. My heart pounds in my chest as we edge down the hall. The flow of adrenaline has sharpened my senses — smell, sight, and hearing — with increased clarity. I would open up to pinpoint where the nearest night runners are but I don’t want to alert them to our presence just yet. They’ll know we are here soon enough.
Gonzalez signals Bri to the middle and slightly behind her and McCafferty. This is to give Bri room to fire if needed and Gonzalez can back up if needed. Robert steps in beside me. His lips are compressed but his eyes unreadable beneath the NVGs. His M-4 is aimed at the ground in front of him, ready to provide assistance to those in front if needed. There’s re
ally not a line of fire ahead, but we’ll be able to rush forward and form a solid line if we need to.
A burst from the .50 cal guarding the front door startles me. With the sound, I wonder if we are about to come under an assault of night runners from outside. If the large caliber gun isn’t able to keep them away, then this operation is over almost before it started. However, it’s a quick burst of gunfire which doesn’t repeat.
“Caught a couple of night runners coming around the corner. It’s clear now,” the gunner reports.
The report settles my thoughts and I wave Gonzalez and McCafferty, who had halted with the noise, to continue forward. We creep down the hall. Arriving at the corner just before the opening, we stack against the wall. Gonzalez peers around the edge.
“Stairs upward,” she whispers.
“Copy,” I reply quietly.
Once she’s assured it’s clear, Gonzalez sends McCafferty across the opening to the far side so she’ll be able to get a clearer picture up the stairs. The sounds of night runners shrieking above filters down the stairs and I hear feet running on a hard surface. From the sound of it, we’ll have to fight our way up a floor to reach Reynolds. Although time is of the essence in order to reach her before her ammo runs out, we also have to do this right in order to assure that we can even get there. A rescue’s chances increase significantly if the rescuers actually reach their destination.
“We’re climbing to the second floor,” I radio Reynolds and Greg. “Reynolds, we’re on the stairs to the south of you.”
“We’ll be watching for you. The stairs in both directions appear full of night runners and they are only entering our hall occasionally now,” Reynolds replies.
That statement is verified by the decrease in gunfire I hear two floors up. There are still shots ringing out, but it’s not at the intensity we heard upon entering the hall. I really hope that means the night runners have dramatically decreased in number. What I hope it doesn’t mean is that they are on their way down to meet us.
“Let’s do this,” I say softly.
Gonzalez moves to the stairs, covering the area to the extent that she can see upward. The stairway ascends to an intermediate landing before doubling back in the other direction and is wide enough to accommodate a heavy flow of traffic. McCafferty folds around the corner to join on her heels with Bri following. Gonzalez slinks up one step at a time, pressed against the outer wall. Her laser beam tracks her line of sight as she eases upward. In the glow of our goggles, dust motes float through the air, stirred up by the horde above.
I join behind Bri with Robert. Each step we take brings us closer to the waiting mass of night runners. In the chill, my breath leaves a small plume as I exhale. My heart thuds with solid beats and I take a deep breath to steel myself. Our lasers are moving points of light against the opposite wall. Gonzalez freezes. The rest of us halt with her, our weapons at the ready, expecting a torrent of night runners to pour down upon us. She points to her eyes and then upward. She then indicates ‘many’ with her hand.
“Stay here,” I whisper to Robert behind me. He nods.
I fucking hate this building shit, I think, creeping up the stairs and going around McCafferty to reach Gonzalez.
Crouching by Gonzalez near the first half-landing, I see what brought her up short — night runners in abundance. Above, they pack the first set of steps leading from the second to the third floor. Several mill about in the stairwell opening behind them. I watch as some peel off and run down the second floor hall, vanishing behind the corner. Others come from around the turn to join the ones crammed on the stairs or the ones milling about. Their screams and snarls fill the enclosed area.
None of them have turned in our direction. I can’t believe they haven’t noticed us as of yet, but perhaps they can’t smell us through their own reek or hear us over their shrieks. The stench reaching us is foul. Looking at the scene just a few feet away, I wish we had more teams. We seem so inadequate compared to the number of night runners. There’s only one way up at this point and that’s through them. I crouch silently planning how we can get through them and then keep our backsides clear if we do manage to.
My very skin feels like an electrical current is running across it and every hair is raised. I’m not sure that we brought enough ammo, even loaded down as we are.
“On my nod, Gonzalez, take McCafferty and Bri to the far wall across the landing as quietly as you can. You three will be firing into the crowd on the stair above. Henderson, Denton, and Robert, we’ll be on the landing and keep the stairs clear, firing into the stragglers or anyone else who decides they want to join the show. Watch your lanes of fire and remember, controlled bursts but keep the fire up. When we open fire, they aren’t going to like us much, so if anyone senses that we can’t hold our position, speak up immediately and we’ll conduct a fighting retreat back to the Stryker. I’ll toss a flash bang up to start the performance so prepare yourselves. Heads turned toward the wall and cover your ears. Wait for the bang and then commence shooting. Clear?” I quietly radio.
I look around at each Red Team member and receive an okay. We each check our selector switches and, turning to Gonzalez, I give a quick head nod. She, McCafferty, and Bri rise silently and head to the opposite wall keeping to the outside of the stairwell. You can cut through the tension each of us exudes as we soundlessly take our positions.
I pull a flash bang and wiggle the pin out. I would like to toss a few hand grenades up but our close proximity precludes that. I toss the canister up, aiming for a clear spot within the group of milling night runners. The last thing I want is to actually hit one of them and have it roll back down the stairs into our position.
The can arcs up over the stairs and hits the floor. It bounces a couple of times with metallic clinks and comes to rest against the far hallway wall. We bury our faces against the wall in order not to white out our NVGs, rendering them useless, and cover our ears. The explosion shakes the walls. Looking around quickly, night runners stagger about disoriented.
Our suppressed bursts are lost in the overwhelming shrieks, but the effects are not. Night runners crumple immediately on the stairs, with some rolling or sliding down their length, as Gonzalez’, McCafferty’s, and Bri’s bullets slam into them. The first row nearest us falls as if a taken down by a huge machete. Blood splashes outward as tissue is torn apart by the speeding projectiles. Henderson’s, Denton’s, Robert’s, and my rounds join nanoseconds later, sweeping the milling night runners off their feet. The walls light up in an endless barrage of strobe lights.
The night runners surviving the first horrific volley look around in confusion before slowly regaining their senses and pinpointing where the destruction is coming from. With shrieks that seem to erupt from a single source, they change directions, seeking to get to their newfound prey — us. In their effort, they trample over bodies lying in contorted positions on the stairs. Most of the efforts are short-lived as our continuous fire pours into their midst. More tumble down the steps or fall where they are. Screams of agony and pain mix with the shrieks of the eager hunters. Rivulets of blood make their way down the side of the stairs, a few become thicker and begin to stream, running or dripping, to the steps below.
The milling night runners are quickly taken down. The four of us on the landing take care of the ones who rush in from the side hall. The ranks on the stairs thin. The ones above are impeded and having problems negotiating the ranks of dead and wounded lying on the steps. However hindered they might be, there is still a mass of them between us and the soldiers and kids above, but, for now, we have a small opening.
“Now! Push upward. Gonzalez, you three have the hall. Make sure you watch out for any injured. Cover us and keep our backsides clear. We’ll take the stairs and push up. Denton, deal with the wounded,” I shout.
Gonzalez, McCafferty, and Bri slam fresh mags into their carbines and charge upward with the rest of us chasing after. Stepping over bodies, they round the corner into the hall, quickly s
preading out, and begin to fire. I and the others swing around to the stairs and begin to pour fire into the night runners remaining on the first flight. I drop a near empty mag and begin to ram a fresh one in when one of the night runners launches off the steps and leaps into the air, heading directly for me. With its mouth open in an ear-piercing shriek, it stretches its arms out toward me. There’s no way I can complete the reload and bring my gun up in time.
The snarling face vanishes in a mist of dark spray. Its trajectory is altered and it sails between Henderson and me, landing on the floor with a heavy thud. Robert’s smoking barrel in my periphery tells me he just saved my bacon. However, this has allowed another night runner to dive into the air, descending at a rapid pace directly at Robert. I still haven’t reloaded and he isn’t able to turn quickly enough.
I open up and scream a picture message of “NO!” The night runner’s expression, with its lips peeled back in a snarl revealing a set of broken teeth, changes to one of confusion. This does nothing to arrest its swift dive however. Timing it, I bring the butt of my M-4 up and slam it into the side of the creature’s face, feeling the jolt roll up my arms and into my shoulder. It spins in mid-air, its body slamming into both of us crosswise high on our chests. The forceful impact knocks both us off our feet and we land heavily across several other bodies on the floor.
The core of the night runner body is across my chest, effectively pinning my arms and me beneath it. Its chest lies across Robert. The night runner begins thrashing and squirming, growling in an attempt to get at Robert. Its face lies close to Robert, but it can’t immediately get to him without shifting positions. That doesn’t prevent it from trying, though. I feel the vibrations of a deep growl coming from the night runner. I try to get leverage with my arms, but I can only wriggle like the foul-smelling creature above. Beside me, I feel Robert struggling to do the same.
