by John O'Brien
“Okay. I get that as well. But, isn’t there a converse angle. If you go in and…well…won’t that drive everyone deeper into their fear?” Robert asks.
“That’s why we don’t fail,” I answer.
“So, getting Lynn out is a kind of metaphor.” Robert states.
“In an overall sense, yes. But for me, as I mentioned, it’s all about getting Lynn out.”
“Dad, why did they take her in the first place?” Bri asks.
“You know, I’ve racked my brains and haven’t come up with a plausible answer. I’m puzzled as to why they didn’t press the attack when they were already in, but I can’t think of a single reason. The bottom line is that, if she’s there, I’m going to get her. That’s all I really know,” I answer.
We talk for a while longer, the conversation shifting from topic to topic as most of our chats generally do. We watch crews come and go in the parking lot below. I feel better about the coming night and day. By this time tomorrow, Lynn should be back with us. The very thought brings that butterfly feeling. Off to the side, we catch sight of Drescoll and McCafferty standing together. I feel like an interloper as we watch them in silence. They talk for a while and then wander off hand in hand.
“I don’t know why they are trying to keep that quiet…the whole place knows,” Bri says.
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s the way it always seems to be in a small community. They’ll be the last to know that we know. Alright, let’s go try to get some rest. It’s a busy night and day coming up.”
* * *
With the sun sinking below the horizon, we set up a high orbit offset from the hospital. The higher orbit is so the sound of our engines won’t spook the night runners. We need to ascertain clearly whether they are in the facility in large numbers or whether we’re merely chasing a ghost.
The land settles into darkness. We have both the low light cameras and thermal running. Soon after night falls on the land below, we pick out a white blob emerging from the front of the hospital. We’re too high to be able to pick out individual figures running under the stars, but from the size of the white spot, they are coming out in numbers. The spot fades as the night runners fan out into the darkness. We have our indication that the building does indeed house a large lair.
“Should we engage them and thin them out a little?” Robert asks.
“No. That may make them move tonight and we can’t be certain that Lynn isn’t among them,” I answer.
I have to admit that seeing the numerous night runners emerge makes me want to take them out. We’ll come back during the day after we get Lynn out and knock the place flat. Although I also hate taking out a hospital with all of its medical gear and pharmaceuticals, we can’t pass up an opportunity to take out a large lair.
“We have what we came for. Let’s land, catch some shuteye, and come back before dawn,” I add.
We see the same thing in reverse as we orbit before the first rays of light appear on the eastern horizon. The screen shows white several times as the night runners return in waves from their hunt. The stage is set for the coming day.
Landing as dawn touches the ground, we gather our gear. Robert and I will take the Kiowa while the rest of Red Team drives to the hospital where we will meet up with Taylor and Horace. The rotors spin up, becoming to a blur overhead. Robert lifts the helicopter shakily off the ground which, in my mind, significantly lowers the odds of my making it safely to the roof.
“Are you okay there?” I ask.
“Hey, I said no promises,” he replies.
We steady out as we gain altitude and head toward the Capital Medical Center. I take a few deep breaths to bring back the calm I had the afternoon prior. Drescoll radios that he is on the way to a laager site and will arrive shortly. He’s bringing one of the Strykers that we laagered at the compound in case we need the extra firepower. I check over my gear to ensure that I have everything I need and that it’s taped up to prevent any unwanted noise.
The parking lot comes into view and we find a clear spot to land. Robert eases the Kiowa lower, catching himself several times as we begin to drop quicker than he’d like — or that I’d like for that matter. ‘Settling’ onto the pavement would be a misnomer, but we ‘land’ without doing harm to ourselves or the helicopter. The blades above slow as Robert shuts down. We don’t have to wait too long before the Humvees carrying the three teams arrive. We assemble near the front entrance.
“Gonzalez, you’re in charge of Red Team and the overall ground team leader. Enter into position as we did yesterday and give the appearance that you’re about to go further into the building. Don’t go any farther than the edge of the light, though. Sell it, but don’t go overboard. Under no circumstances are you to enter anywhere there isn’t the cover of light,” I state.
“Hooah,” she replies with a smile. “I couldn’t possible send you off without one of those, sir.”
“You should really go down to one of those open mic places,” I reply. “Horace, take your team and find me some wood for a fire. I’ll need some green leafy branches as well.”
“Will do, sir,” she replies.
“Okay, let’s see what we have,” I say.
I open up and push out to the limits of the facility. I’m immediately overwhelmed by sheer numbers of night runners in all areas of the building. They are in both small and large groups and very much aware of me. I’m stunned by their vast numbers and the calm I had shatters momentarily.
I sense one stronger presence on the highest floor near the center of the structure and zero in for a brief moment, marking that area. I then close back down. I recognize the stronger one as the one who sent the mental image of Lynn. I’m guessing that wherever she is, Lynn won’t be too far away. And, as I thought, they are on the highest floor.
“Well?” Robert asks after I come out of my daze.
“I’m going to need more ammo. Hand me a few of your mags,” I answer.
Robert fumbles with his vest and passes me a few which I add to my pockets.
“How many are in there?” Bri asks.
“A lot,” I respond.
Seeing that many night runners on a screen in the air or on video is much different than sensing them close up like this. I don’t know how the teams in the compound held up seeing that many coming at them. I would have screamed like a little girl and run the other way. I almost rethink my idea about thinning them out some but Lynn is possibly in the midst of them and I’m already here. The plan is sound, although I can hear Lynn snorting at the thought that any of my plans are anywhere close to being sound. I remember her asking me once if I just wrote different parts of ideas down on scraps of paper, tossed them in the air, and then the first three I randomly picked up became a plan.
Horace and her team returns, each carrying a bundle of wood. I light a fire on the roadway in front, much like I did at the CDC. I strip off my vest and fatigues, down to my boxers. With a nice glow of coals finally forming, I toss in the first green branches with leaves. Plumes of white smoke drift upward. I step into the smoke and bathe myself in it. I then take out two unscented feminine napkins from one of my pockets to the disconcertment of everyone watching.
“What the fuck, sir?” Gonzalez asks in amazement.
I don’t answer but merely bathe each one in the smoke and place one under each of my armpits, taping them in place.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me… sir,” she adds.
“I like to stay spring fresh,” I state, generously bathing the rest of my clothing and vest in smoke before donning them.
The napkins are to soak up and retain any sweat that may develop without releasing the scent. I thought about using bandages but the smell would still leak out with those. I would say this is an old trick I used before but, to be perfectly honest, it’s something I came up with while sitting on the roof and pondering how to stay absolutely invisible to the night runners. I can’t afford to be found by sight, smell, or sound, meaning that I can’t affo
rd to be found at all.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I say. “Robert, go get the Kiowa warmed up. I’ll be there shortly.”
I walk to the broken entrance door with Black and Red Team in tow. Leaving them outside for the moment, I step inside as I hear the rotors begin turning. It’s time to focus. I don’t know exactly where Lynn is, but I’m guessing she’s on the fourth floor so the roof will be a good entrance. However, I don’t want night runners to be up there waiting so I plan on drawing them to the ground floors. I open up, feeling their overwhelming numbers once again.
“I’m heeeere…and coming to get each and every one of you, you backwards-ass motherfuckers.” I send the visual equivalent out.
I then direct a message to the strong night runner I felt on the top floor — it seems like a female to me for some reason. “I’m coming for you. I’ll be along shortly so save a place.”
With that, I shut down.
“You’re up,” I tell Gonzalez as I pass by her on my way to Robert and the waiting helicopter.
Settling in, Robert lifts us off and we climb for the rooftop. Nearing the maintenance entrance, Robert finds a flat portion of the roof.
Settling closer, he shouts, “Dad, I love you!”
I turn to him. His face is hidden behind the dark shield of his helmet.
“I love you too, son,” I respond and leap out, dropping the few feet to the roof.
The Kiowa revs up and Robert maneuvers up and away. He’ll rendezvous with Drescoll, making it seem like the helicopter took off and departed. That’s my hope anyway. For now, I’m left alone on the roof. I make my way across a couple of ducts to the steel maintenance door. I try it quickly but, as I expected, it’s locked.
Taking a slim jim out, I lever it behind the latch and soon have the door open. I don’t hear any shrieks as sunlight pours into the stairs leading down so I’m reasonably sure this part is clear of night runners. I ease the door closed behind me, letting it shut with an almost silent click. Darkness fills the narrow concrete stairwell leading down into the building, but, with my ability to see in the dark, the stairs show in a uniform light gray. I bring my M-4 up and begin creeping down the stairs. The game is on.
“I’m in,” I whisper.
Two clicks in my ear signal an acknowledgement.
The stairs end with a metal door that opens to what I assume is another stairwell. A small glass window is inset in the door so I’ll be able to see more when I get to the door. Right now, it’s taking one stair at a time downward, careful of any noise. Even a squeak from my shoes will alert any night runners nearby. I can hear well with the transformation that came over me when I was scratched, but I have a feeling they can hear that much better.
Making my way to the fire door, no light shines through the window. Whatever lies on the other side is just as dark. Wherever there are places in shadow, there are chances of night runners. I bring my signal mirror up to the far corner of the small window.
Movement just on the other side of the door sends a jolt through my body and causes my heart to jump. I lower the mirror and take a quick backward step up the stairs, bringing my carbine to bear. Expecting the door to crash open and shrieks to fill the confined space, I wait…ready.
Nothing. There is only the faint smell of body odor and the very faint hiss of feet shuffling across the floor on the other side of the door. I run the quick image I had of the other side through my head — concrete walls with a railing. Yeah, it’s a stairwell landing. I saw at least two night runners; but there might be more. I ease my M-4 down and creep to the window once again. Peering through at a lower corner, I see three night runners milling on the landing. They don’t seem to be up to anything in particular and may just be guarding the door.
Well, Jack, it’s go through them or find another way in, I think, watching them for another few seconds.
One turns directly toward me, although not with the sharp movement that indicates that I’ve been found. Its eyes glow in my vision.
Oh shit! I didn’t think about having eye shine, I think, quickly ducking away from the window. That could be a problem.
The choice is still before me, though, through them or another way. If I fuck it up and they shriek, this way will be lost. I’m not so far into the building or so far away from the exit that I worry about getting out. It’s just that this is the best way to the fourth floor.
I ease my M-4 down and draw my suppressed M-9. The quickness with which I’ll have to take down the three night runners in close quarters mandates the use of a sidearm. I quietly set my hip upon the swing arm of the fire door and put the length of my lower arm on the door itself. I peek through the corner of the glass once again — keeping my eyes averted — and watch the night runners out of my peripheral. There is one that is just on the other side of the door. I want it to move away before I swing the door open. It wouldn’t do to have the door crash into it and for me not able to slide through. I might as well press down on an air horn and light a flare.
The night runner eventually shuffles to another position. I see them glance quickly downward as one. Gonzalez must be making her ruckus — it’s obvious there is some sort of communication between the night runners. Taking a deep breath to center, I push on the arm. The door swings open. The night runners turn their heads abruptly toward me, but it’s too late for them. I’m already through and the first round has left my suppressor.
Spray coats the other two night runners as my first round collides with the nearest night runner’s forehead and smashes its way through its skull. The enclosed area flashes with more subdued strobes of light as I fire more projectiles into the two remaining, startled night runners. My last bullet slams into the nose bridge of the third night runner before the first hits the floor with a soft thud. I turn and catch the door before it clicks back into place, hearing the last of my cartridges clink on the landing. Holding the door slightly ajar, I focus on the bodies lying on the cold concrete. Two of the downed night runners’ extremities twitch for a moment before the three of them lie completely still.
Splash patterns cover the walls and puddles form around the still bodies from the dark liquid of their life blood leaking out. I cover the door leading from the landing to the rooms beyond and the stairs leading downward. Nothing emerges into view. Holding the maintenance door open with my foot, I quietly tear off a small strip of duct tape and tape the latch open. Easing the door closed, I test it to ensure my path back to the roof is unimpeded.
I holster my sidearm and ready my M-4. The door leading from the landing opens away from me which is good news. I plan to rope the doors below me in the same manner I did at the CDC to seal off my backside. That way, I’ll know that my route to the roof, once I reach the stairs, will not be infested with night runners.
The stairwell itself is like most others I’ve encountered. The stairs lead downward against one wall to an intermediate landing with the other set doubling back and heading down to the third floor. This one is a little wider than the others and doesn’t have a center wall — it’s completely open which allows an unimpeded view.
I edge to the railing and, using my signal mirror, I take a quick look downward. I’m immediately met by the sight of two night runner faces peering up — one from the floor immediately below me and another from the second floor. Their expressions appear more inquisitive than alerted.
Shit! How could they know something is going on? I think, withdrawing the mirror.
I suppose the quick flashes of light could have tipped them off or it could have been the bodies slumping to the ground. I can’t believe they could have heard anything, though. Even the cartridges hitting the floor barely made a sound. It had to be the light. I move the mirror once again just barely over the edge. The one on the floor below me is still peering upward, but from a different vantage point.
I keep the night runner in view, holding the mirror to keep it from being seen, and ponder my options. I could wait it out until they settle down, take them out
and then do the same for the second floor. That’s if I want to seal this stairwell off, which is the ideal solution. My second option is to proceed through the door and begin my search for Lynn on the fourth floor. I’m not overly fond of leaving night runners at my back and possibly blocking my best exit route. The third option is to abandon this entrance point and find another.
All have their pros and cons. When in doubt, go with the first. I take a last look at the night runner below, who is now periodically shifting its glance toward my landing and the one below it. I take out a coil of 550 cord and quietly loop it around the swing arm of the stairwell door leading to the interior. I then tie it off to the railing making sure not to be spotted from the curious night runner below. Even though I plan to enter through this door, I need to seal it for the moment to keep my backside clear as I progress down. If I’m caught in the stairs, I’ll have a clear passage to the rooftop.
With the time it took to tie off the door, the night runner below has apparently lost interest in me. I’m not sure what alerted the both of them, but they appear to have calmed down. Training my carbine to the extent I can toward the third floor, I begin stepping down the stairs with my back against the outside wall. I’ll have to take out the night runner on the third floor before I arrive at the intermediate landing. I’ll be completely exposed there if I don’t.
