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A Shopping Spree

The team leaders stand, gather their teams and begin briefing them. The morning breeze picks up bringing the tang of the ocean reminding me of the days in the country when the onshore flow brought the smell of the sea with it. Seagulls are floating in the air around us, squawking when they find something interesting and warn others away from their find. I join with Red Team and give them a synopsis of the brief. Robert finishes fueling and stands next to me as we finish up the brief.

“We’re heading to the BX for supplies,” I tell him.

“Am I going with?” He asks.

“Well, thirteen isn’t the luckiest number so you can go. But you stay right with me and do exactly what I tell you. No hesitation,” I say noticing Lynn glance in our direction and shake her head in resignation.

“Let’s load up,” I yell across the ramp to the teams gathered in groups.

The teams check ammo and load into the crew buses. I check with Sergeant Watkins to get directions to the BX and step into the crew bus with Robert right behind me. Red Team is already seated on the padded benches with their M-16s resting on the floor between their legs.

“Everyone good to go?” I say and am met with thumbs up from everyone.

“Park yourself there,” I say to Robert.

He has stuffed his pockets with magazines and has to pull the ones in his back pockets out in order to sit. He reaches up to scratch his head. He’s nervous, I think watching him. I could have almost choreographed that move as it is one of his signs that he doesn’t feel comfortable. I know I did that exact same thing when I was his age. Funny how DNA can cause similar actions like that.

I climb into the driver seat and see Lynn’s two crew buses pull out heading across the ramp into the base. Starting up the crew bus, I follow across the ramp and, in my rear view, see Corporal Horace following. Once in the base proper, we drive down several streets reminiscent of the drive through McChord except without the bodies in the road. Where did everyone go? I wonder to myself. Did they evacuate or did they truly exterminate all of the sick? Well, if they did, then that means less of the night runners around.

The drive to the BX is almost peaceful. The setting close to one of tranquility. The sun is out and it’s a nice summer day. We pass parks where there should be children playing and picnics enjoyed. Dogs chasing Frisbees. All are empty. The buildings stare out at us as we pass by them slowly. The tranquility does have an underlying tension that doesn’t go unnoticed. I find myself wondering if those buildings are harboring night runners. The serenity depicted gives a false front to the very real danger lurking behind, just waiting for night to fall. The only sound of mankind existing is the engines of our vehicles and the whirring of the tires on the road.

Pulling into the BX parking lot, we stop a short distance from the front doors. The lot is empty with the exception of a couple of parked cars scattered haphazardly. The building itself is your standard concrete block, warehouse style store, painted in the brown color the Air Force has taken to. Both the BX and Commissary are combined and have quadruple glass entrance doors. We step out onto a pavement warmed by the sun and are met with silence. Small scraps of paper blow across the mostly empty lot propelled by the light sea breeze. A ghost town only the buildings are modern. Across the lot sits the base movie theatre still advertising the latest blockbusters as if expecting the usual evening crowd of movie goers.

“Corporal Horace,” I call out softly. For some reason, the atmosphere dictates silence as if the very air desires stillness. Perhaps nature itself is confused by the sudden change.

“Sir,” she says back. I guess it’s only me that feels the weight.

“Take Blue Team and set up a small perimeter here. I don’t want any surprises. Remember, keep in pairs and we don’t need to go far. Just keep an eye on the surroundings. Call me with any movement or if anything looks odd,” I say realizing at once just how ridiculous that sounds. Everything is odd now. “We’re going to check out the entrance.”

“Yes, sir,” Horace responds and sets about putting Blue Team in position in the parking lot.

“Robert, you stay close by me,” I say as we walk towards the BX entrance with Red Team on my heels. I look back and see them constantly checking the surroundings. With what all of us have been through the past few days, tension and alertness are constant factors.

“Right with you,” Robert says.

Drawing closer to the entrance, I notice one of the glass doors has been broken. I slow my pace bringing my M-4 up ready to use. The metallic sound of rifles being raised sound behind me. Inching toward the broken glass door, I motion for Henderson and Denton to cover the sides and I squat down in front with Robert. Several glass shards are just inside the door with a few lying about outside near the bottom. The entire glass portion of the door has been broken out with the exception of several jagged bits of glass still in the door frame. A large rock sits just inside the door resting on the tiled linoleum floor amid the broken glass.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I notice the blood streaks on the pavement leading to the broken door and the dried blood covering the shards in its door frame. Squatting there looking at the mess, a closer look at the edges of the glass in the door reveals hanging bits of torn cloth along with what appears to be pieces of dried flesh. The faint, bloody drag marks continue on the linoleum inside.

“What do you think, sir?” Henderson asks.

“Looks like someone threw the rock to break in and cut themselves in the process,” Robert responds.

“Possible but I don’t think so,” I say. “Judging from the looks of things, I would say someone smashed the glass with the rock to get in. The fact that the rock is so close to the door tells me that whoever it was held it in their hand. If the rock were thrown, it would be further inside, closer to the outer edge of where the glass is on the floor inside. Unless it was kicked I guess.”

I also note very faint, bloody and partial foot imprints on the concrete outside leading into the building and on the linoleum inside.

“Given that the blood smears are faint and the remains on the glass shards are mostly flesh and clothing, I would also say that something was dragged in through the broken door and that they were already dead. The smears are most likely from the blood-soaked clothing. If they were still alive, there would be more blood prevalent and drips of it down the glass still in the door. The foot prints leading in and the fact that the torn clothing and flesh is on the outside of the shards indicates that whatever was dragged across here was dragged in.”

All of this has chilling ramifications to me. If the night runners have adapted to the point of being able to use tools to gain entrance, then our security of being dependent on just using closed doors is seriously threatened. We may not be safe even just staying locked up in the aircraft. Even if they couldn’t bash their way in, they could cause crippling damage stranding us wherever we happen to find ourselves. I sincerely hope they have not been able to adapt or progress their capabilities to this point. I’ll have to take this into consideration, I think. We can’t afford to ever underestimate them or their capabilities. I radio Lynn with our findings. She responds back with an affirmative and that they are arriving at the armory.

“All of this indicates that something was or is inside and I’m guessing there are night runners in there. We can’t afford to ever think otherwise. The last thing I want us to do is saunter in like we’re on a beer run only to run into a hornets nest without at least being prepared for it. There’s nothing worse than expecting beer and being stung instead.”

I call Corporal Horace over and bring her up to speed on our findings. “I want you to post two outside here to cover the parking lot. When we go in, position the other four inside the door. When we get into a position to cover the store, I want you to then begin hauling goods out. Stack them outside the door without blocking it and stay in twos,” I say.

“Yes, sir,” she responds.

“I’ll tell you when to start gathering things. And have someone go into the crew vans and gather all of the flashlights. There’s also a roll of duct tape in front.” I noticed the flashlights mounted on the wall of the crew bus. These were for use by crews or other personnel if needed. The duct tape was a nice surprise.

“Will do, sir,” Horace says detailing two of her team to pick up the items.

Looking inside, the sunlight extends about twenty feet into the building before fading into darkness. I