by John O'Brien
“Go,” he shouts, pointing down the hall toward the others and safety.
She must have seen him somehow and understood as she quickly gathers herself and rushes off. Robert feels a moment of satisfaction as he watches her sprint away. That feeling is short-lived, however, as he becomes aware of the weight on the back of his legs. The night runner on him is pawing at his lower legs. He kicks out at it in an attempt to clear himself and feels a red, searing pain shoot up his leg as teeth sink into him. He screams as white-hot agony fills his mind.
He frees a leg and kicks again, connecting with the night runner, but its grip is too strong and it doesn’t let go. Survival mode kicks up a notch. He reaches down and withdraws the Beretta at his side. Pushing through the burning sensation in his leg, he shakily points the sidearm at the night runner and pulls the trigger.
The creature goes limp and becomes dead weight as the 9mm round enters the top of its head. The bullet tears through the skull and enters the soft tissue beneath. Shards of bone follow in its path doing even more damage. The extra damage, however, is moot as the bullet does its destructive job. It drives through the brain and slams into the base of the skull, punching out of the lower back of the night runner’s head with a clotty spray of gore.
Worried about the other night runners, he pushes the pain aside and begins to extricate himself from under the body when he feels something grab his vest and begin pulling. He feels himself being dragged along the floor and registers light flashing off the walls around him.
* * *
Before I can react, Robert takes off down the hall.
“Gonzalez, get her to the Stryker,” I yell, pushing Bri in that direction.
Without waiting for a “hooah” or whatever response she might make, I turn and race after Robert. The girl, perhaps sensing which direction to go, begins walking toward him. She only makes it a few steps before collapsing to the floor. My heart almost leaps out of my chest when I see night runners emerge from the stairs behind the girl. I see Robert slow and start delivering rounds into the mass. He’s in the middle of the hall so I’m not able to get a clear lane of fire which increases my fear beyond measure. I shout after him to stop but my call falls short due to the screams of the night runners that pack the hall like a physical presence.
I watch helplessly as Robert fights his way to the crying girl and scoops her up in his arms. He then begins making his way back, firing behind him one-handed. With horror, I watch as a night runner crashes into his back, sending him to the ground. Time slows. I watch his fall in slow motion. The small girl falls from his arms to land on her rear and slides a short distance. Robert loses his grip on his M-4. It sails through the air, impacting the floor with a clatter and scoots across the linoleum, coming to rest against one of the walls. My mind goes blank as I see a night runner on the back of his legs. Reaction takes over with no thought or feeling other than intense fear.
The night runners pouring from the stairs are just feet away from Robert and it’s only a matter of seconds before he is engulfed by them. Flipping the selector switch to semi, I begin firing rounds into the night runners threatening my son. I can’t get a clean shot on the one on his legs, but that will change as I draw closer. Right now, I have to keep the other night runners from tearing him apart.
Continuing to run forward, I line up head shot after head shot. Night runners fall with each one. I see Robert point down the hall and see the girl take off, running quickly by me toward the entrance. Paying her little heed, I continue to deliver rounds and make my way toward Robert. I feel like I’m walking through water as the distance closes far too slowly. I then hear what I dreaded the most — Robert screaming in pain.
With my focus on both Robert and the horde just behind him, I watch as he takes out his handgun and fires into the top of the night runner’s head that is clamped securely to his leg. It drops in a heap. I continue firing into a group of night runners quickly approaching down the hall with more shrieking behind. He begins to clear the night runner off of his legs as I reach him. I quickly change mags, then grab his drag handle and begin pulling, firing one-handed into the mass of night runners filling the hall.
Clearing him from the dead night runner, I’m thankful for the smooth floor as it’s easier to pull him. I keep firing to keep the separation between us and the night runners. It’s slow going and I only have a limited amount of ammo remaining. Once that’s gone, there is little chance of me holding the crowd off. Robert fires his Beretta while being dragged. The slide soon falls back in the open position indicating he’s out of rounds. The night runners are gaining ground on us.
“I can walk,” he yells and begins to rise.
I sense others beside me and see night runners begin to fall en masse. Glancing to the side, I see Gonzalez and McCafferty firing down the hall. The cavalry has arrived.
“Go, sir! We’ve got this,” Gonzalez yells.
Robert rises to his feet. I throw my arm around him and help him limp to the entrance hall. As we depart, Henderson and Denton fill the gap we left and begin firing volleys into the night runners closing in. I notice Greg’s team heavily engaged with night runners on the other side. Rounding the corner, I see Greg hurry in our direction from the Stryker opening having apparently settled our guests.
“What happened?” he asks, noticing Robert limping with my arm around him.
“He was bitten,” I shout. Yelling is the only way to be heard in the cacophony of shrieks and screams. “Your team is on the right, Red is on the left. Pull them back and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I see an expression of worry cross his features at my comment about Robert but he nods and hurries off. I get to the Stryker filled with kids and Reynolds’ soldiers. It’s crammed full, but we’re going to have to pack even tighter with the teams behind conducting a fighting withdrawal. A series of titanic, rumbling explosions comes from inside the building. Turning, I see the teams in full retreat down the entrance hall.
“Make room! Pile on top of one another,” I yell, setting Robert down on one of the seats.
I lean over him, pressing against one of the walls to make room for those streaking down the corridor. They pile into the Stryker and, as they do, the ability to move becomes impossible. Sardines in a can have the luxury of roomy accommodations compared to us but we manage. The rear ramp closes with a clang muting the screams of night runners.
“Get us out of here,” I yell, barely able to inhale enough to do so.
The vehicle lurches forward. None of us inside move as there’s barely enough room to breathe. We rumble down the stairs and begin accelerating across the parking lot, leaving what’s left of the night runners on their own. Normally, I’d have a sense of relief, but my son, sitting pressed against me, has been bitten. I know what that means and my inability to do anything at the moment heightens my anxiety.
“Where to?” I hear Greg’s voice rise above the sobbing of the children.
This can’t be very comfortable for them as we are basically stacked like cordwood inside.
“We need to get to an open stretch of highway where there’s no danger of night runners and do so in a hurry,” I shout back.
My fear for Robert constricts me more than the press of bodies. I feel like I’m being crushed inside and find it hard to breathe. The vehicle can’t move fast enough. I need to look at his injuries - to get some antibiotics into him and on his wound. And I mean now!
“How are you doing?” I ask, not able to even move my head down to look at him.
“Okay, I think. It burns a little, but most of the pain has gone away,” Robert replies.
“Robert? Are you okay?” I hear Bri’s voice call out from somewhere in the tangle of bodies.
“I’m fine, Bri,” he answers.
“Are you okay, Bri?” I ask.
“I’m fine, Dad.”
I’m thankful to hear her voice and know she is safe. The terrible moments of seeing Robert go down continue to run through my mind
like a horror movie being played over and over.
“Bravest thing I ever saw,” Gonzalez says from somewhere close.
“Thanks,” Robert responds shyly.
“And maybe the dumbest,” I mutter.
“I know, Dad. I just saw her and reacted. Sorry,” Robert says.
The truth of the matter is, I would have done the same thing had I noticed the girl. Anyone here would have. Robert’s reaction shows that truly he is a soldier.
But, fuck, did he have to go and get bit, I think.
My anxiety doubles with that thought. I know what I went through and saw others who didn’t make it after they were bitten. If I lose another of my kids, I honestly don’t know how I’ll survive. My stomach is in knots and I can feel my sanity slowly slipping away.
You have to hold it together, Jack, I think, taking as deep a breath as I can, attempting to center myself. My losing it will not help.
“Can you drive this thing any faster?” I call out.
“We’re going as fast as we can, Jack,” Greg answers. “We’ll be on the highway in a few minutes.”
“Dammit,” I mutter.
Time is of the essence here. I can visualize whatever it is in the night runner’s blood or saliva coursing upward through Robert’s veins. Yeah, we did a greater good rescuing the soldiers and kids; but, for me, the cost may have been too high. There is nothing that is worth the loss of any of my kids. I feel hot tears of pain, frustration, and sorrow stream down my cheeks.
My tears must have dripped on Robert as he pipes up, “Dad, seriously, I’m okay.”
I don’t say a thing in reply. I just want this behemoth to hurry the fuck along. We should be in Canada by now with the time it’s taking. If we don’t reach the road soon, I’m going to explode and it’s not going to be pretty. I’m so pent up that I can literally feel my heart being squeezed.
The Stryker comes to halt after we have seemingly traveled for days. The crying of the kids has simmered to a few sobs. They are either feeling a little safer or have been smothered. My money at this point is on the latter. It’s definitely a touch on the warm side and feels like most of the oxygen has been sucked out of the air. I pay attention to these things only on the peripheral of my mind. My focus is on seeing to Robert.
“Jack, we’re parked on an overpass away from any structures. It looks clear and our elevated position gives us good visibility into the surrounding area,” Greg calls from in front.
I have to hand it to Greg. He knows I’m a little out of it and is seeing to things. I’ll have to thank him, but right now, I’m itching for some room.
“Okay. Open the hatch. Everyone out. Teams on the perimeter. Reynolds, you and your team stay with the kids. Make sure they don’t wander off,” I say.
The lights go off causing the kids to begin crying again. Fresh, chilled air rolls through the interior as the ramp is lowered. Teams at the rear un-pile from one another and exit, setting up a small circular perimeter. Telling Robert to stay put, I exit so that the others toward the front can get out.
The interior rapidly empties with just the driver, gunner, and Robert remaining within. I catch Reynolds as she passes by.
“Can those kids read? Or the oldest?” I ask her.
“I’m not sure, sir. I never thought along those lines to be honest,” she answers.
“See if the oldest or one of the others can. Write a note telling them they’re okay or something like that and have her sign to the rest,” I say. “And give them a flashlight so they can see.”
“Will do, sir.”
With that, I step inside. Robert has his pants leg rolled up and is looking at the wound. Walking to him, I immediately see a bite mark. Fuck…fuck…fuck. Kneeling, I look closer. There aren’t any chunks that have been ripped out but several of the teeth marks have penetrated through the skin. The one thing that just about sends me over the top is the vast amount of drying blood covering his pant legs and skin from the gore that was blasted out of the night runner’s head. That has soaked through and coats his skin around the wound. Fuck…fuck…fuck.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, knowing full well what I went through.
“Yeah, Dad, I feel fine. It just stings a little,” he answers.
“What in the hell were you thinking…running back like that without cover?” I ask, reaching for a bottle of water.
“I did say something. Besides, there wasn’t time. They were almost on her.”
I’m torn between telling him good job or what a foolish thing it was. I mean, I get it and, as I thought before, I would most likely have done the same thing. That doesn’t make me feel any better though. Taking my knife out, I slice his pant leg upward and then around, cutting the lower section away. I toss the scrap of clothing outside and begin pouring water over the wound to clear away any remaining blood. I remove my T-shirt and begin quickly cleaning the wound trying to keep the blood from the breaks in the skin.
“Next time, wait for cover…and, although I’m not really in much of a frame of mind to say so, that was the single most courageous thing I ever saw…or the most stupid. Just don’t ever, I mean ever, do that again,” I say, wiping the last vestiges of gore clear.
“Sir, is there anything I can do to help?”
I turn to see McCafferty standing at the opening. Bri is standing just behind her looking on with worry.
“Yeah. Crush these up,” I reply, handing her a few antibiotic pills that we all carry. “And get some bandages from the first aid kit.”
I hand Robert a couple of the tablets along with a fresh bottle of water. “Here, take these.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he replies, downing the pills.
I stare at the wound with dread as McCafferty finishes grinding up the tablets.
“Here, Dad,” Bri says, handing me bandage packets from the first aid kit.
“Thanks,” I reply, ripping several open.
McCafferty pours the powder on one of the bandages and I compress it over Robert’s wound, taping it in place.
“Does it feel any different?” I ask Robert.
“I really can’t feel it at all anymore.”
“Okay. You just sit here and don’t fuck with it.”
Turning to McCafferty, I ask her to tell Greg to get everyone loaded back up pronto. I’m in a rush to get back to the aircraft and hope that it hasn’t been overcome with night runners. If we can get onboard, I’d like to take off immediately, but I don’t know what to do about Harkins and the others. If the ramp is filled with our screaming comrades of the night, we won’t be able to load the others onboard. I suppose we could come back and get them.
I don’t really know what’s driving me to think that there’s anything that I can do for Robert at Cabela’s that I’m not already doing. Well, I do, it’s called fear. It’s that I will be doing something getting him home. I feel that the quicker I can get him home, the better his chances will be. However irrational that may be, it’s what I feel.
This places me in a quandary, though. I made promises to the others to take them back with us. I don’t really know what to do about that. I stow that aside knowing I really won’t be able to make a decision until I return and see the situation.
I step outside to let everyone crowd back onboard. Standing on the remote overpass in the middle of nowhere, with the empty highway passing underneath, I stare at the stars glittering though breaks in the clouds. The fields stretch into the night in shades of gray. A chilly breeze brushes against my pants legs. The sparkles high overhead make me feel so small and the barren fields mimic the emptiness I feel inside.
“Please don’t take another of my kids,” I whisper to the clouds passing slowly overhead.
They change shapes and, without responding, move on their way across the plains.
“We’re loaded, Jack,” Greg calls from inside the Stryker.
With a sigh, I step inside and close the hatch, never to visit this place again, but it will forever remain in my memory. The St
ryker is packed, but a little more organized, so it seems roomier. With her head on his shoulder, Bri huddles close to Robert. Robert has his arm shyly around her shoulders. His look says that he really doesn’t understand all of the attention he is getting. Several of the soldiers reach across and pat him on the shoulder.
We start forward, heading down the dirt slope and enter the highway. The Stryker revs up and we pick up speed. Everyone knows the reason for the rush, but no one voices it. I mentally will the vehicle to move faster but the adrenaline is diminishing to a certain degree allowing a bit of reason to surface. I know in my mind that there is nothing I can do here or anywhere to help my son any more than what we are already doing. That doesn’t make me feel much better as I really want nothing more at this very moment than to be pulling into our sanctuary.
I know that, for me, this part of our search is over, however fair that may be to the soldiers. I need to get my son home. I also know that we will more than likely have to wait for morning before we can leave, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to hurry to the 130.
Pulling onto the ramp a short time later, I see night runners filling it. Some are gathered around the grills with the smell of freshly cooked meat drawing them. They are attempting to overturn or break open the firmly chained down barbecues. Others stand under the aircraft howling upward in their frustration at not being able to get in. The 130, with its ramp down, is being swarmed inside and out. Some of our goods are scattered across the tarmac. Seeing this settles any argument about taking the others and getting immediately airborne with Robert. No, we’re not going anywhere in the aircraft tonight.
“Take us out of town and find us a remote place to hole up for the night,” I say, watching several night runners start after our vehicle.
“Do you want me to take them down, sir?” the gunner asks.
“No. We can’t take the chance of an errant ricochet. Let’s just get out of here,” I reply.
