We headed back toward the door, and I looked at the locks' He'd managed to smash two of them off the door, but the other two still held.
"That was a good idea." I told her, jerking a thumb at the emergency light where the radio that matched the one upstairs was hidden. She'd wrapped the rubber band around the transmit button so that it constantly broadcast, so we'd know if he tried to bash the locks off or opened the heavy door of the basement.
Looking at the door, I realized there was nothing to do about the locks but hope he didn't get through when we weren't looking, and headed into the stairwell.
"He wants us to suffer." Nagle stated while I bent down and grabbed the axe.
MOTORPOOL PLATOON 2/19 was burned into the handle. The metal was bright where someone had sharpened the bit, and when I ran my thumb over the edge it sliced into the callus. I showed her my thumb, and she nodded. I handed it to her and led the way up the stairs.
I was feeling no pain. My vision had sharpened up, even though things were a little blurry at a distance. The pain had just flowed right out of my body and while I was a little cold, I sure as Hell didn't feel the way I had when I had woken up.
Adrenaline, endorphins, dopamine, and other combat chemicals were doing their work.
We paused for a moment at the first floor stairwell and looked at one another.
Faint light was leaking in through the shattered windows of the stairwell, with snow blowing in. The liquid on the wall was still red in the daylight, and had frozen up by the top, with long trails down the wall, longer toward the edge of the landing. The top step had blood icicles hanging down from it, and matching small chunks of hardened blood underneath them.
Without a word we both headed up, rounding the landing only after looking at the steps next to us that led up in order to be sure nobody was standing there. Each step was only two inches thick or so, separated from each other by metal supports on each side and the middle. Snow and ice crunched under our boots as we got closer, blood covering the first step down, and completely coating the landing. Blood sprays were on the far wall, having run down before freezing. The wind from the broken window sliced through our clothing as we stood there, silent, looking at where someone had been murdered.
And then had their eyes cut out...
"Christ, Ant, who do you think it was?" Nagle asked me, bending down to reach forward and touching the frozen blood with her fingertips.
"Someone from CQ, maybe Hewitt." I answered. Blood smears were frozen in place, where whoever had been murdered had been dragged away. I turned to look at the steps heading up in the wan light.
Frozen blood streaks were on them.
Whoever had been killed had been dragged up the steps, to the third or fourth floor.
"Check it out or head back to the others?" Nagle asked me, keeping an eye on the small window in the door.
"Up." I grunted, wiping my chin and ignoring the blood I left on the sleeve of the coverall. Breathing hurt, the cold air making the whole front of my face throb.
Nagle nodded, and I led the way, keeping the knife in front of my chest, and checking the stairs that led up from the midway landing to make sure there wasn't another boot waiting to introduce itself to my face.
Only our boots crunching in the snow and ice made any noise beyond the wind screaming through the broken windows. Both of us were breathing quietly, and I knew that Nagle was straining to hear anything out of the ordinary like I was. The lizard was silent, his head cocked slightly, as we both strained to hear. I knew he'd hear things I wouldn't, or that I'd dismiss, and I trust him, coiled up back there in the back of my head.
The barracks, of course, showed its hatred of all living things as we rounded the landing.
Something slammed, and a scream echoed down the stairwell, followed by a rhythmic hammering that made the air vibrate and punished the eardrums. There was a loud groan, like some huge beast giving birth, and the stairs shuddered under our feet.
On the third floor we found the door opened, and a glance down the hallways showed that there was almost two inches of snow on the floor, the doors between the halves of the hallway were laying on the floor almost covered by snow, and I could see the wind whipping the snow around in front of each doorway.
Someone had opened every door on the floor.
"Up." Nagle said, her voice barely audible over the creaking and snapping of the building. I glanced at the steps, and saw that the blood trail continued up.
And a bloody handprint was frozen halfway up the stairs. The way it was blotchy and deformed as well as the lack of fingerprint whorls gave mute evidence that whoever had put their hand on the wall had worn gloves.
I knew I was smiling again, and I knew that my lips had cracked open from the cold and from my smile, but I didn't care.
We headed up, and paused at the door. It was almost completely dark, the last window in the stairwell about five feet below our boots and behind us. Still, we could make out the landing in the dim light. There was another bloody handprint beside the door, and the door handle was smeared with blood. There was a large smeared mark, and I knew that whoever was doing this had laid the dead man down long enough to open the door.
You're up here somewhere, aren't you, you son of bitch...
I pulled the door open, and saw a figure in the darkness in front of me.
They were wearing a BDU cap, and they were short and squat, arms outstretched and gleaming eyes in the darkness.
Another snowman with green human eyes.
Nagle pushed by me and kicked it at the base, the snow exploding outward. The whole thing fell down, and I waited till she got done swearing and kicking it before moving into the hallway after her.
The BDU softcap had E-2 rank on it when I picked it up off the tile floor.
The same rank as Hewitt.
"Nagle, hush." I said softly, and she stopped kicking at the snow.
It was cold in the hallway, but it was warmer than the rest of the barracks. The tiles were clean, and there was no ice on the walls or on the ceiling. There was a frozen blood streak that led to the right, down the hallway and through the double doors that separated the fourth floor hallway.
The building groaned again, and my ears popped as the pressure changed in the hallway. Wind was blowing in from behind us, into the hallway, and I pulled the door shut.
"He's up here." Nagle said softly. I nodded, looking around us. She pulled a flashlight out of her pocket and clicked it on, flashing it around, and stopping on the wall in front of us.
'I'M RIGHT BEHIND YOU' was smeared on the wall in blood.
I glanced at Nagle, who giggled, and I shook my head, knowing I was smiling. I pushed past the double doors, confident that Nagle would follow me and back me up, and together we walked down the hallway, looking at the doors as we passed them. Nagle flashed the light long enough for us to see the names.
SSG. SFC. SGT(P). SSG(P).
This was NCO country.
I knew who the door the thinning traces of blood would lead into before we found it.
SGT(P) JAKES
Nagle looked at it and nodded. She'd known it too.
We passed by the room, and I promised myself that we'd come back, heading toward the platoon leader and section leader offices at the end of the hallway.
The doors were locked.
"He's hiding out up here." Nagle said again, and I nodded, my fingertips on the doorknob and pressing on it rhythmically. No reason, just something to do with my free hand while I played with my broken teeth and thought.
"Let's go check on the others, this might be a trap." I answered, turning to the stairwell door.
"Worried about John, baby?" Nagle asked as I pushed the door open.
"Yeah." I admitted.
John was my friend. I didn't make friends easily. Acquaintances, yeah. Sorta friends. Sure. But real friends? No. That meant letting them in, letting them know about me, and having to trust them.
My mother and my twin brother
had taught me that nobody could be trusted.
That's why the thought of John Bomber ETSing and leaving me alone up on the mountain hurt so much.
"He'll be all right." Nagle promised as we started down the steps.
The light was dimmer in the stairwell, and I knew we were losing the light. During the winter we didn't get much. Not as bad as Alaska, or Bremerhaven, but bad enough.
The building groaned and shuddered again, hard enough that I could feel it in the steps. I glanced at Nagle, who looked back at me worriedly.
"This doesn't feel right." She said, stopping me before I opened the second floor door.
"What?" I asked, tightening my grip on the knife and then easing it up. My hands stung, and I wanted to make sure I could keep my grip.
"The building. I think something is wrong." She said, and I glanced through the glass window on the door, looking for shadows or light on the frost covered wire-reinforced glass."Nothing"
"Uh-huh." I told her. I kept probing the broken top tooth with my tongue. She was right. We'd never been back during a storm, but I hadn't heard noises like that since my dad was stationed at Texas and a tornado had touched down near the house. The barracks was made of cinderblocks and concrete, where the barracks it had replaced had mostly been wood, it shouldn't have been making those kinds of noises.
The second floor hallway was dark and cold, with wind screaming through and pushing the thick snow around. Footprints marred the snow, and the door to the platoon area was jammed open. Light from the windows made it bright enough to see, but I could tell we were losing the light fast.
Looking around, I noticed that the prints all went to first platoon's area.
"Back me up." Nagle told me, walking over to the closet and opening it. She shined the flashlight inside and pulled out a broom. She quickly swept the floor, pushing all the snow to the edge of the room before putting the broom back.
"Smart." I told her.
She knocked on the door, then knocked again.
"Who is it?" Hernandez asked through the door.
"Stillwater and Nagle. Open up, it's freezing out here." She yelled.
Hernandez opened the door, revealing where First Platoon hung out when they weren't off working. There were desks and tables, with large windows opposite of the door. The lizard took it in and approved of the lair that had been set up in First Platoon's duty area room.
Smart to use this room. It was off to the side, and instead of the window only being about 20 feet off the ground, it was around 80 feet if you backed up far enough to throw something. Starting about 5 feet from the edge of the building it was a sharp drop-off of almost fifty feet. We'd travelled along the small 5 foot path, and up the incline that matched the one that dropped into the woods.
He'd have a tough time throwing a hammer through the windows.
Just in case, Lewis and Jacobs were hanging blankets over the windows.
Bomber was on top of a mattress that had been put on a table: it looked like they'd carried him, mattress and all instead of just the sheet. Hernandez locked the door behind us, and Nagle and I quickly stripped off our makeshift cold weather gear. Nagle walked over to where Jacobs was sitting at the table they'd put the MRE box on, next to the radio and a big pile of blankets, while I went over and stood next to Bomber. He opened his eyes and looked at me when I reached down and felt his forehead. He was burning up.
"How ya doin', John?" I asked.
"You've got blood on "our chin." He answered me. "You eating raw meat again?"
"No, man. I cut my lip on a beer can. How ya feeling?" I lied. Behind me I could hear Nagle telling Jacobs to hold still, let her get a good look at the wound.
"My stomach hurts. Got any beer?" He said, and tried to sit up. He cried out and fell back, his eyes rolling back in his head. I checked his pulse. It was fast, his heart hammering. I went and got a chair, pulled it over next to him, then sat down and held his hand. Nagle told Jacobs that the wound had stopped bleeding and didn't need stitches while I stared at John's pale face.
"Eat." Nagle told me, dragging over another chair and handing me an MRE before she sat down. She handed me several applesauce packets. "The guys saved these for you."
"Thanks." I called out. When Lewis and Jacobs turned around from where they were stacking the tables against the blankets hanging from the window I waved the applesauce packets at them. They nodded and went back to work.
Nagle pulled the blanket back while I ate, looking at Bomber's stomach. The bruise was a deep dark red, about two inches wide at the middle and narrowing down to a sharp end on both sides. She pressed gently on his stomach, starting up by his ribs and working down.
He was covered in sweat, and the scars he'd picked up during his life were in stark contrast to his flushed skin. He was breathing fast, and stirred slightly when she pressed down his ribs.
"His ribs aren't broken." She sighed, and then moved lower. I looked at his "Don't Mess with Texas" tattoo on his left pectoral and remembered when he got it. We'd been drunk as Hell, and it was the weekend after he'd fucked a bigfoot, which explained the furry foot beneath it. I'd thought about getting a tattoo, but had passed, preferring to watch him get it and laugh at his expressions.
Nagle's fingers traced down Bomber's stomach on his left side, and he just stirred a little when she pressed her way down his left side all the way to his balls. She grabbed his penis, which was peeling the same as mine, moved it out of the way and pushed her fingers into his testicles, feeling around.
"He's not herniated." She told me, and I nodded, squeezing the applesauce into my mouth.
"Where did you learn to do all that?" Jacobs asked from behind me.
"Books and a combat lifesaver course when I was with the Big Red One. I think I know what's wrong with him." She said softly, then reached over and pressed her fingers hard below the bruise and held it.
Bomber just moaned slightly and shifted.
"Hold him down." Nagle ordered, her fingers still pressed deeply into his stomach. I nodded, and grabbed his arm, dragging it to his side from where he was trying to push at Nagle and leaned on it. Jacobs walked around and grabbed his other arm.
"Hernandez, Lewis, hold his feet." She said. Both of them came over and did as they were told.
She whipped her hand back, and John screamed, long and loud, his voice full of agony. He fought briefly to get loose, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he kicked and fought more.
Then he collapsed, going limp.
We all looked at Nagle, who was staring at John with an expression of sadness on her face.
"What?" I asked, my stomach clenching.
"The axe blow ruptured his appendix."
Friendship in the Dark
I have three friends in my entire life.
John and Nancy are my only human friends.
The lizard is my oldest.
God, I'm pathetic.
The light was dimming in the room, and we were all silent, gathered around the table Bomber was laying on. We had him wrapped up in blankets, lying on a mattress, on a table at the side of the room, against a wall. His skin was flushed and he was sweating, his fever strong enough that I could feel the heat rolling off of him. His eyes would flutter open and he'd mumble before lapsing unconscious again.
I'd heard him whimper for his mother, whisper his sister's name, and say both Nagle's and my own name. I ignored the way Lewis and Jacobs looked at me, ignored Daniel's snicker when Bomber kept repeating my name till I reached out, took his hand, and told him I was there. Nagle glared at them when I sat there crying, and when I raised up my head and glared at them they went away and left John and me alone.
When I went over to grab another MRE, Carter came over and stood next to me.
"You doin' OK, Stillwater?" He asked me in a low voice. With the wind howling outside, making the windows shake and vibrate in their frames, and the screaming and booming sounds inside the building, I knew nobody would hear us talking quietly.
"He's dying, man." I said. "He's gonna die right on that table, and there isn't shit I can do about it."
"He'll be all right, you'll see." Carter told me, squeezing my shoulder. "Someone will come soon."
"No, they won't." I told him. "Today's Friday. On Fridays V Corps takes over the security checks from the sites, so nobody's going to think anything bad has happened up here."
"Don't think like that." He told me.
"And you're forgetting the psycho outside." I told him. "Why the fuck were you sleeping in your room with the windows cracked open?" I asked him.
"What? No I wasn't. I keep my windows shut." He told me.
"When I found you, your windows were wide open; you damn near died of hypothermia." I told him. "I know, I'm the one who found you. Bomber and I carried you to Lewis' room."
"Thanks, I guess." He was quiet for a moment. "You think it's..."
"Don't say his name." I interrupted. "He's the last fucking thing we need right now, with a goddamn psycho on the loose."
"He's out there, you know." He said.
"I know." I answered. I thought about how he'd come down the stairs, the frozen mist, and the way the frost and ice had preceded him.
We were quiet for a second, while I tore open the MRE and dug out the jelly.
"You know what happened, don't you?" He asked me. I had the jelly in my mouth and was squeezing it out and into my mouth. I raised an eyebrow, and he went on. "His body disappeared from the morgue."
I swallowed the grape jelly and glared at Carter. "Stop talking about him."
A rumble that shook the whole building stopped him from saying more.
Squeezing a packet of peanut butter into my mouth I turned away and paid attention to my best friend, ignoring Carter until he got the point and moved away.
Nagle came over and sat next to me, reaching out and putting her hand on my thigh as I ate and stared at Bomber. He kept tossing his head back and forth, moaning with delirium, and all I could do was stare at him like a monkey doing math.
"I wish my brother was here, he'd know what to do." I said, shoving the wreckage of the MRE into the brown plastic bag.
Three Little Snowmen (Damned of the 2/19th) Page 25
