by John O'Brien
I creep downward, checking at my foot placement before I put my full weight on it. Any slip or shuffle will be heard. The fact that they don’t know I’m here attests that the smoke trick is working. Now to keep steady — no creak of boots or knees or sling jostling. I’m just a mist moving silently through the darkness.
I stop prior to reaching the halfway point. The one night runner has left the railing and is standing in front of the third floor door with its back to me. I don’t want to take it out from here because the flash would be too easy to see from the second floor. I could quickly take out the one I see on the second floor, but there could be more than one present. I don’t have a clear enough view to verify a definite number.
I keep the red dot of my SpectreDR centered on the night runner as I step onto the landing. If it turns, I’ll be directly in its line of sight. Stepping slowly, I edge near the outer wall. My dot stays glued to the back of its head. If it gives the faintest indication it is going to turn, I’m firing. A single shot directly into its head and then quickly rushing forward to focus my sight on the one downstairs.
My heart beats solidly, my system flooded with adrenaline. I take in short breaths to keep my system in check. I only use my peripheral and my parallax view to keep the dot centered. Looking directly at the night runner will cause it to turn because it senses something not quite right. Small step by small step, I make my way across the landing.
Glancing to the second floor, I only see the lower legs of a night runner. There could be others. I make it across to the next set of steps. The night runner, just a scant few feet away moves. I freeze. My middle finger tightens on the trigger, close to the point of the trigger break.
It growls and lifts its nose, sniffing the air. Great, I’m caught — it smells me. It then shuffles to the side, all the while facing toward the door. Clad in a tattered t-shirt and jeans that are mostly shorts at this point, I don’t see how it can smell anything beyond its own stink. The stairwell reeks of them. Then, of all things, the night runner reaches around and scratches its ass. It apparently really itches because it takes some time to complete the task.
It would be amusing if not for my current situation — inching down a stairwell filled with night runners, in the midst of a large lair. The night runner shuffles once again and resumes its stance. I ease the pressure off of the trigger and place my foot on the next step. I inch closer, careful not to brush up against the wall. If I can sneak near enough, my plan is to use my knife. This will be tricky, and I contemplate just taking the shot, but I don’t want Mr. Curious downstairs to see another flash. The first one may have been written off but a second will surely cause an alarm.
The night runner below is panting and I see its head drop forward before snapping back up. It dawns on me that this is their nighttime and the one near me is falling asleep. That bodes well. Slowly and carefully, I creep ever closer with each step, taking an eternity to place each foot.
Its head drops and doesn’t rise by the time I take two more steps. Only a couple more to go until I’m level with it. I begin moving to the side to keep out of its range of vision should it snap alert again. This will keep me more to its back.
I set my foot on the level floor. Quietly lowering my M-4, but ready to bring it back at a moment’s notice, I reach down and draw my knife. I’m committed now. If it does come awake and turn, I’ll have no option but to lunge and try to keep the ensuing struggle down to a low roar. And hopefully it won’t let out a shriek of alarm in the process.
I’m surprised it can’t hear my heart racing. It’s about all that I do hear — the thudding of blood under high pressure pounding in my ears. I come up directly behind the night runner and rise slowly from my crouch, being careful not to make any sounds. A sudden move on the night runner’s part will alter where my knife enters.
I reach quickly around to cup its mouth and pinch its nose as I thrust my knife under the rib cage, driving upward into its kidneys. I feel the warm gush of blood pour over my hand as the night runner stiffens in my grasp. It contorts its body away from my knife in an effort to escape the extreme pain. I keep pressure on the knife and twist repeatedly. It only takes a few moments and the night runner goes limp. I ease it to the ground, removing my knife.
A shriek erupts from the landing below me, echoing off the concrete walls of the stairwell.
Fuck! What?! I think, quickly replacing my knife and looking over the railing.
Two night runners are running up the stairs, both looking over their shoulders directly at me. I raise my M-4 and, placing the selector switch to auto, I send a burst into the first one. My rounds hit it in the shoulder and then head as the streaking projectiles stitch upward. A mist of blood fills the air and saturates the wall from the force of the bullets striking. The night runner stumbles forward and then slams face first into the stairs. Its body begins a slow slide back down the steps.
I focus on the second, sending a stream of bullets. They impact with solid thuds into its arm, shoulder, and head. The darkened stairs light up as each bullet leaves with a muted coughing sound. The night runner is slammed against the outer wall before it slumps slowly to the steps. The shrieks fade leaving only the light metallic plinks of spent cartridges bouncing on the concrete.
The silence lasts only a moment. I hear doors below thrown open and night runner screams once again permeate the enclosed stairs. I have no idea what alerted the night runners below. If anything, I was quieter than before. Whatever the reason might be, the gig is up. I can’t see how many are entering below me and I don’t plan on sticking around to find out. Even if there aren’t many now, there certainly will be soon. I race upward taking two steps at a time, heading for the stairs to the roof.
I hear the third floor door slam open behind me. I have half a floor head start and I hope that’s enough. I have to outrace however many just entered for a floor and a half. I’m thankful I took the time to tie off the upper door as I could easily become trapped, the end of which wouldn’t be pretty. As it is, I’m not out of the woods yet.
Rounding the corner, I glance at the stairs behind me. Several night runners have already gained ground on me. While I leap two steps upward, they are taking three.
These fuckers are fast, I think, redoubling my efforts. And with a fucking quick response time. They must have been just on the other side of the door.
I reach the top and throw the maintenance door open, wishing I had left the top one open. I would be safe at this point had I left it so. Well, like a lot of “shoulda, woulda, coulda,” things, that thought is totally worthless now.
I hear the night runners on the stairs close behind me. I hold my carbine and blind fire down the stairs. It slows me some, but I need space in order to make it to the top. I’m too old for this shit, I think, sending rounds down the stairs. The steps light up as each round exits the barrel. I hear screams of pain letting me know that at least some of my bullets are hitting. I bring my weapon back up and push everything I have into pumping my legs faster.
The narrow, concrete path is a cacophony of noise. I sense the night runners beginning to close the distance once again. The door ahead seems like an impossible distance away. I feel like I’m running endlessly through a narrow tunnel but the end remains the same distance away.
Just as I think I won’t get there in time, the door suddenly looms directly ahead. I lower my shoulder and slam into it, hitting the latch at the same moment. The door gives and opens to bright sunlight. The shrieks turn to screams as sunlight hits the night runners crowded in the stairs. I would like to say it is with a sense of satisfaction that I hold the door open and let the full light of the day fall upon them, sending them falling to the steps and writhing in agony, but in all actuality, it is a grisly scene to watch.
It is with a feeling of mercy that I start shooting into the large group thrashing on the stairs. It’s not that I mind killing the night runners, not in the least, it’s just the way they are dying. No animal should suffer needle
ssly, that’s just plain cruel. Before long, the screams cease. Bending over and placing my hands on my knees to catch my breath, I let the door swing slowly closed.
While I catch my breath, I go over the events trying to come up with how they knew I was there. I was quiet and it was apparent they weren’t able to smell me. I also made sure to stay completely closed to them. Ruling out these impossibilities leaves only one plausible explanation, it must be from the same manner that I can sense them and vice versa. The ones below must have sensed their brethren ‘vanishing’ from their minds. This may be something that happens all of the time now or they may just be at a heightened state of alertness and therefore looking for it. As strange as that may sound, it’s the only reason I can come up with. They became curious when they sensed the night runners on the fourth floor ‘disappearing’ and alarmed when it happened again. I know I’ve sensed, from time to time, that some vanish from my mind for a while only to reappear later. Perhaps, at first, they merely thought that was what happened with the first group but knew something was wrong when I took down the one on the third floor.
If that’s true, I may have to change my strategy. It could be useful in certain situations if used as a diversion, but otherwise, sneaking through buildings filled with alert night runners and taking them out along the way may be a thing of the past.
* * *
Sandra senses the two-legged one on the lower floors. She doesn’t understand the message she receives from him, but tension, mixed with a version of excitement, fills her. Placing her pack in rooms along corridors, putting a majority of them on the ground floor, she sends an image of the one to her pack reaffirming her earlier command to take him alive. Any others, they can kill. She also sends a message to bring the female to her.
* * *
The door to her room opens. Outside, a deep gray only a shade lighter than the total blackness of her room reveals a hallway. More night runners enter. They approach and grab her, lifting Lynn to her feet and she is hauled down a gloomy hall.
She is still nearly blind as the interior of the building is as dark as her room was. Sensing that she has entered another room, one much larger than the one she has been kept in for however long, she can see dim shapes of several night runners scattered about. In the center of the room stands one night runner apart from the others. She is taken to one side and feels the strong grip of a single night runner holding her arms. A voice rises out of the murk.
“You will wait there and not struggle or try to escape. If you do, you will die.”
Lynn is startled beyond comprehension to hear a night runner actually speak. The voice is obviously female and comes out harsh, coarse, and sounding raw, like she isn’t used to it, but it’s vocal and in English. The very thought that the night runners have advanced to this level sends a new measure of terror through her and rocks her to her very core.
Putting two and two together, she is guessing that the teams have arrived to free her and the night runners are very much aware that they are here. Comprehension dawns that the night runners may be using her as bait to trap the teams.
But why? she thinks, feeling the strong grip around her biceps. The teams were already trapped inside of Cabela’s.
Faint shrieks from somewhere inside the building grow in volume and break her train of thought. The thought that Jack and the teams are coming steadies her. The initial shock of hearing a night runner speak ebbs.
“You do understand that you are the one who is about to die,” Lynn says, directing her speech at the dim shape of the female night runner.
“I said be silent. He will be here soon. His place is here and he will come to realize that in time,” the night runner replies.
The night runner’s statement stuns Lynn. She realizes what this one is up to. She isn’t trying to trap the teams, she is trying to trap Jack. And thinks he will stay with them…with her. How a night runner can think along those lines and have that kind of attraction is something she truly can’t fathom.
This bitch is fucking psychotic, Lynn thinks, wondering just how something like this can come about.
“Crazy bitch…” Lynn begins to say.
“I said be silent,” the night runners screams, interrupting.
Lynn hears a menacing growl from the one just behind her and feels its grip tighten around her arms. She halts any further statement and, instead, glares at the female night runner standing in the murky shadows of the room.
* * *
“I’m back on the roof,” I radio.
“What happened, sir? Are you okay?” Gonzalez asks.
“I’m fine. I don’t really know how, but they found me,” I answer. “Robert, I’m going to need a hundred feet of nylon rope. Fly it up to the roof and kick it out.”
“I’ll be there shortly,” he replies.
“Gonzalez. I’m going to need Horace around on the back side of the building. On my command, I need her and her team to shoot out some windows as a distraction. Have her team remove their suppressors. We’re going to need all of the noise possible.”
“Copy that, sir. Break. Horace, did you copy that?” Gonzalez says.
“On our way. We’ll be waiting,” Horace responds.
I hear the Kiowa approaching, and before very long, it swoops in with Robert at the controls and Drescoll in the empty seat. As Robert brings the helicopter into a semblance of a hover, Drescoll opens his door and tosses a coil of rope out. He then gives me a quick nod and they accelerate away, the noise fading into the distance. A hushed quiet descends.
I take the rope to one side of the roof. Looking over, I see several sliding office windows on the tops floor. The front of the building has the larger paned windows which would make getting in through them much more difficult and noisy. That’s the exact opposite of what I want. I secure one end of the rope to one of the many pipes and test it to make sure it will hold. I then toss the rope over the side so that the length is adjacent one of the windows.
Looping the rope twice through my D-ring and holding a lower length at the small of my back, I reverse and step backward on the edge, letting the rope play out as I lean back. I then begin to rappel down the brick wall. I don’t have to go far to reach the window on the fourth floor. On the inside, horizontal, slatted blinds have been pulled down over the window preventing me from seeing inside. Anchoring my feet firmly on the wall, careful not to cast a shadow across the opening, I hold on to the rope above me. I then bring a measure of the lower length and tie it off just above the D-ring. This will allow me to use both hands and keep me in place.
I attempt to raise the window but find that it’s locked. I kind of figured it would be. The day has just been that way, and I hope that I’m using up all of my bad luck early on. I’ll need to have some of the good kind if I make it farther in. I’d rather have it more difficult now and easier later than the opposite…unless this IS the easy part. I really hope not.
I tape the glass in place. Taking my knife out, which is sticky with night runner blood, I begin to slice into the wooden slat holding the pane of glass in. It’s slow going initially due to my wanting to keep the noise down, the optimum being none. I manage to get a piece removed and it’s easier going from there. The glass pane is finally free.
Removing the tape, I wedge the pane out. I think about just dropping it to the ground as I’m not concerned about noise on the ground level — and it may actually help — but I have Horace on the other side who will provide that soon. Instead, I hold on to it and ease my hand in, slowly pulling the blinds open. Light streams inside, revealing a small room with two desks, cluttered with stacks of paper, near each side wall. A door in the middle of the inside wall leads out. Aside from the clutter, it’s empty. Being an outside room, I wasn’t expecting any night runners within. I inch over to the sill and ease the pane of glass inside.
Okay, let’s try this again, I think, releasing the knot and silently entering the room. This room will now be my escape and sanctuary.
“
I’m in on the south side, fourth floor. Horace, go ahead with your distraction,” I say, removing the rope from my D-ring.
Automatic gunfire drifts through the open window as Horace and her team opens fire on the hapless windows. I step over the carpeted floor to the door and take out the fiber optic snake camera, sliding it under the door. The low light image shows an empty hallway stretching in both directions with wooden doors placed at intervals. The hall dead ends to the left after a short distance but continues for some length to the right, with intersecting hallways branching leading deeper into the building. The floor is linoleum, typical of most hospitals — I’ll have to move slower in order not to make any noise on its harder surface. Most importantly, though, the hall is clear of night runners.
Replacing the camera, I ease the door open. Light flows from the room casting a rectangular beam on the floor and opposite wall but only for a moment. I quickly enter the hall, softly closing the door behind and crouch in the hall with my hand on the knob, waiting to see if the intrusion of light was noticed. The hall remains quiet in the chilly gloom.
I have an idea of where I need to go — where I sensed the one stronger presence. I’m not sure if that means Lynn will be there, but it’s a place to start. I don’t have the exact location locked in my mind like I did pinpointing the hospital. It’s more like a small, centralized area. I don’t know why this is but it’s all I have.
Dust covers the entirety of the hall and is clear of foot prints or trails. That’s a good sign as it shows this place isn’t being used. I don’t know how long the night runners have used this place as their lair, but I’ll take good signs where I can find them. It also lets me know that Lynn isn’t in this part of the building, if she’s here at all. That is still a possibility.
I mark my entrance room’s location, both in my mind and by drawing an ‘X’ on the door and the walls beside it with my knife. I inch away from the door in a crouch, heading silently for the first branch leading farther into the interior. I pass several closed office doors. I’m not concerned about having to check them as there aren’t any prints in the dust.
