looking for the white-horsed hero to ride in and sweep away the battlefield, the enemy cowering in terror. Instead, it is my heart that is sinking and the uh oh factor has invaded my senses. The adrenaline increases and time slows even more.
Twenty feet away becomes ten as I continue back pedaling away. I can’t take the time to turn and run as I know they would be upon me immediately. They have the momentum of already running and will be upon me in the time it will take me to turn leaving me with my back to them and defenseless. I reverse my M-4 as the first one closes to within five feet, thrusting the butt forward into its face, connecting with the bridge of its nose, snapping its head backwards and bringing it to a standstill. The others behind plow into the now stopped night runner sending it crashing to the floor, slowing their rapid advance momentarily and giving me a touch of breathing space. As long as that breath is a short one that is.
They continue, running over and around the body on the floor. A sense of eagerness emits from the group as they close in on their prey. That prey being me. I can remember several times being chased by folks who were not too keen on my being in their back yard, but that feeling of uh-oh has never been this intense. Mostly because they weren’t five feet away from me and I had ammo to keep them at a friendly distance. The thought of lowering my shoulder and charging into them vanishes as quickly as it arrived. I would be overwhelmed in a moment. Were these “normal people,” that thought would have stuck around longer.
I step to my left and thrust the butt end of my carbine once again, the shoulder plate striking the temple of a creature with a crack snapping its head to the side and back. The night runner loses its balance and it sprawls to its left across the path of the others. My mind registers the absence of gunfire that was so prevalent inside moments ago. I have no time to figure out the why of it but can only assume that the others are safely outside or the night runners in the other directions have been eliminated. Or, everyone has run out of ammo. I log the ammo consumption away to be dealt with later and hopefully not as I am contemplating my mistakes while sitting on a cloud strumming a harp. Not that I would necessarily be a candidate for that anyway.
Night runners grab and push aside the one that had crashed into them blocking their path momentarily allowing me to gain a few precious feet towards the front door. The shelves to my right, containing a few sundry items, are illuminated by the splash of light from my flashlight but also begin to lighten from the light coming through the front door. Faint yet, but still lighter letting me know that the salvation of light is drawing closer. I’ve managed to keep them slightly off balance and away so far but they are so close and the action is quick. If time was not slowed, they would sweep over me like a tidal wave.
I repeatedly thrust into their heads with the butt of my rifle, feeling it connect with each thrust; each time rapidly withdrawing my M-4 only enough to switch to a different target and hit it with sufficient force. Not wanting to kill at this point but to keep them at bay as I continue inching backward toward the light amidst the shrieks emitting from horde of night runners to my front. Shrieks of frustration, pain, anger and excitement fill my ears. I hear someone shouting behind me but the words are drowned out by the din. Hands from the night runners try to fend off my repeated thrusts. They reach towards me, wanting to take hold and pull me to the ground. Wanting to rend my flesh.
I notice the linoleum below my feet is partially lit from the light streaming in from the front doors. One of the creatures knocks my gun away from its trajectory which throws my attack off target. A night runner gets inside of my M-4 that was keeping them that uncomfortable five feet away and launches itself at me. Seeing it get past and leave the ground, I brace myself mentally for the inevitable impact. Dropping my carbine, I bring my arms in close in order to keep some semblance of distance between us after the collision. Timing it right, I grab the front if its torn and ragged shirt, lean back slightly to absorb some of the impact, pivot on my left foot the moment it hits, and launch myself and it in the direction of the front door. The force and ferocity of the impact, even at such a close range, surprises me. The strength and agility of these things continues to amaze me. I am going to have to keep this in forefront of my mind at all times.
“Come on you little shit! You wanna play!” I yell as we launch through the air.
I continue the roll to my left as we sail through the air using its momentum to assist me, my hands locked on its shirt, its shrieking, gray face inches away from mine, my roar of effort and intense adrenaline combine with its shriek. I feel rage building within as we land on the floor with a grunt, with it beneath me, and we slide along the linoleum upon impact.
The night runner begins to thrash and shriek with an increased intensity. I release my grip with my right hand bringing it back to smash back down on its throat for a killing stroke, intent on punching through the throat to its spinal column, obliterating the cartilage airway. I pause when I notice the thrashing is not an attempt at defense or to get at me. Its face is turning a bright red before my eyes. It is then that I notice our flight through the air and subsequent slide has brought us into the direct light radiating from outside. A rifle butt enters into my range of vision and impacts the night runner square on the temple, rendering it unconscious and silencing the shrieks. I look up to see Horace standing by my side as she withdraws her carbine from the impact.
“Thanks,” I say jumping off of the night runner and turning quickly towards where the horde was moments before, expecting them to be right on my heels.
“No problem, sir,” she responds turning her weapon on the horde standing on the edge of the shadows where they shriek wildly in frustration.
Only the faint outlines of their heads are visible and appear to be thrusting forward, wanting desperately to get at us. Then, as if a switch were thrown, the shrieks stop and the heads vanish instantly into the dark depths of the store leaving behind only the slapping sound of shoes and bare feet on the linoleum echoing in the BX, growing dimmer before silence descends upon us once again.
We all stand momentarily shocked by the suddenness of both the onslaught and retreat. Only moments before the air was filled with the sound of gunfire, shrieks, and shouting, now only the lingering smell of gunpowder remains.
“Well, that was fun and interesting,” I say heading back to retrieve my M-4, still wary and alert for any attack.
Gathering my now almost useless rifle off of the floor, I return to the group, checking the stock and gun for any damage. The wounded soldier is lying by the entrance; the once loud moans have subsided to an occasional whimper. Kneeling by his side, I can feel heat radiating from him and notice beads of sweat form on his brow and run down his temple forming small pools on the floor by his head. The gouges on his neck and shoulder area from the night runner have stopped bleeding and are now merely leaking plasma mixed with blood.
“How’s the other one?” I ask looking up at Horace.
“He’s dead. Bled out before we could get to him.” She replies.
“Let’s get everyone outside. Have your team put them in the van. We’ll bandage him up when we get to the aircraft”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many supplies did we manage to get out?” I ask looking at the carts, full of bottled water and various cans of food, sitting just outside of the doors.
“We managed to get most of the water and a few cans of food before they hit,” Horace answers.
“Ammo check,” I call out to everyone. A quick check reveals we are down to thirty six rounds between all of us.
“Red Team, gather the supplies and load them into the van,” I call out as we step through the front doors and out into the morning. The front of the BX is still shaded from the sun. I get no reply but see them walk over to the carts to begin loading.
I turn back to see Horace’s team emerge through the broken glass door carrying the wounded solder by the arms and legs. Watching the team with their load, I see the unconscious soldier begin to thrash wildly to the point that they have to set him back on the pavement where his thrashing continues. Stepping closer, I see his exposed skin begin to turn the same bright red as had the other night runners when exposed to the sun. The flailing continues to increase along with the moaning. His eyes flash open and the pain within them is apparent to all who are watching. He begins a shrieking scream and sits up quickly causing all of us standing around to jump back a step. The shrieking builds quickly only to suddenly subside into silence as he slumps over to the side, his head hitting the concrete sidewalk with a crack. He lays there still and utterly silent, his once pallid skin now looks like he stayed by the pool in the sun too long.
“Hmmmm, that’s different,” I say, mostly to myself but heard by those around.
