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is.

Stepping carefully around the bodies, I start my trek. I have my M-4 pointed up covering the stairs, being able to see more and more of the next flight as I slowly move up. Taking each step one at a time, balancing my concentration between looking at each foot placement and the area up the stairs, I move slowly and quietly upward. Another night runner lies on the first intermediate landing. The tension inside builds with each step. The adrenaline begins to flow through me, heightening my senses.

I reach the second floor landing without incident. The fire doors have a metal bar running the width of the door; one of those you press on the bar to open. Looking down behind, I see a narrow gap between the metal of the fire door and the metal of the push bar. This is great, I think taking one of the long strands of 550 cord from my thigh pocket. I slide one end of the cord down into the narrow gap, watching it dangle from the other side below the push bar. Grabbing the end, I tie it around the cord going through the top making sure not to depress the bar or touch the door in any way. I uncoil the cord and do the same on the opposite door, cutting the cord off with my knife after tying the knot. The doors are now tied together effectively sealing the second floor landing from the interior, meaning that nothing can now gain access to the stairwell from the second floor. The one drawback to this plan though is that I will not be able to access the stairwell from the other side of the door. Should an unfortunate series of events occur and I need to gain entrance back to the stairwell from the interior, well, that is now no longer an option. This is a risk I am willing to take in order to have my backside clear.

I proceed upward to the third floor landing in the same fashion; alertly and quietly. Seeing the bodies on the stairs and first floor and recalling the very detailed briefing by Lynn, I expected the doors here to be blocked by the multitude of night runners they killed and that blocked the doors open. The bodies have apparently been moved as the doors here are shut. The previous day’s firefight and the intensity of it is apparent here as the concrete floor and stairs are littered with brass shell casings and empty magazines; littered to the point of not being able to walk without disturbing them. I cannot just toe them out of the way as I could the glass shards as the casings are round and will continue rolling if I move them in that manner. The last thing I want is to have one roll off of the landing and fall down the stairs. The jig would be up if that were to happen. I bend over and carefully make a path through, picking up the individual expended shells one at a time and moving them to the side; making sure each one stays in place before picking up the next.

Before long, well, long being relevant here, I have a path cleared on the landing. I tie off the doors in the same manner as the second floor being extra careful here as it is evident this floor is inhabited. Or at least was. With that finished, I pick my way through the shell casings on the stairs up to the fourth floor. My adrenals are in high gear as I carefully step upward. I pay attention to keep my breathing even in order not to facilitate the normal body reaction to stress and adrenaline; that one being the sweat glands trying to keep in tune with the adrenal glands. I do not want to render the smoke scent moot. I do feel a touch more comfortable knowing I have the rear secured as long as they don’t decide they want to take a late morning stroll through the first floor fire doors.

I am once again reminded of the instances of having to penetrate buildings in search of documents, equipment, or other items of interest. I hate going into buildings and much prefer the outdoors. I like my line of sight and it is much easier to hear something outside. Much easier to hide. Most inside work is to gather information such as I am doing now. Rare was the case when we were actually after someone. Buildings are actually tougher to nab someone in, especially if they own the building. They are usually well protected and really tend to make a lot of noise as you try to get them out. For some reason, they seem very reluctant to accompany you. Unless they are drugged of course but it’s rather hard to sneak around lugging a limp body. If you are after someone in a building, it is usually not to kidnap them but that does happens occasionally. The tension I felt inside then is multiplied exponentially now.

I manage to make my way to the fourth floor with my gut tight and senses on high alert. Again, signs of an intense firefight litter the ground forcing me to slowly clear a path. I begin to wonder if the bodies, which apparently blocked the doors previously according to Lynn’s brief, were moved on purpose and why. There are times when I wish I could just call a time out and ask the opposing side a question when something puzzling like this occurs. I am just curious like that — always wanting to learn. On the other hand, I also like to try and figure things out on my own but I cannot for the life of me figure this one out. Were they eating their own and this was just food to them? Were they cannibalistic? Did they have a sense of family about them that they didn’t want their fallen to just lie there? Was it as simple as they were blocking the pathway and were moved? These questions lie in my mind as I secure the doors here on the fourth floor. There is just so much we don’t know about them.

Climbing up to the fifth and final floor, the final one for me at any rate as the stairs continue upward to a fair number of floors above, I notice the door on the left is open. I stop and become just another part of the stairwell. What’s holding the door open? I think listening to and feeling the area around me. Was I heard or smelled? Did one of the night runners sense me and is waiting for me? I don’t hear or sense anything and am pretty sure from previous experiences that it, or they, would be immediately after me, giving one of their shrieks in the process verifying I had been found.

I continue to hold deathly still. What most of us, well, when there was a most of us, do not know is that we have a highly sensitive feeling for anyone or anything around and would notice it more if we did not have so many filters or other bombardments of information flowing in. Especially if that something or someone is directing energy at us. Ever have that feeling that you are being watched? When the hackles rise on the back of your neck signaling some type of danger? That is an energy being directed specifically at you and you are detecting it. It is your subconscious picking out clues that your conscious mind missed. Standing here, I don’t have the sense that I have been found.

Step by step, I gradually make my way upward until I can see over the last stair. Two night runner bodies lie on the floor blocking the door open. Huh? Just when I thought there might be a constant here, the universe throws me a curve. Just what in the fuck is going on here? Is it some floor competition for neatness and the ones here just don’t care? Well, it isn’t like I need to tie the doors off here anyway, I think taking another step toward the open door and hallway beyond.

I check the hall from inside the stairwell for movement or sound. Fully expecting a rush at any moment and am reminded of my similar experience back in the McChord hospital. I did not like that one bit and would rather not have a repeat. I see shells scattered on the tiled hallway floor close by the door, picturing the entire firefight and retreat in my mind by where the spent cartridges lie. How it must have felt being here on the fifth floor with firefights being waged on the floors below; feeling like you could be cut off in a moment. I use the term firefight loosely here as it was really only one side firing and the other using speed and numbers to overwhelm. Much like the cold war scenarios; technology versus masses. Quality versus quantity.

“I’m on the fifth floor,” I whisper ever so quietly into my mic.

“Copy that. Anything?” I hear Lynn ask.

“Not as yet. Out,” I answer.

A chill runs up my spine and I immediately sink to a kneeling position, bringing my M-4 up to a firing position. It’s not like it was far from being ready to begin with though. Did I miss something that my mind did not alert my conscious mind to? Why the chill? There wasn’t a temperature change? I kneel and wait for something to emerge into my line of fire. Nothing comes and the darkened hallway, lit only in the green of my goggles, remains void of sound or movement.

I rise and step over the bodies with my rifle still in a firing position as I move slowly into the hallway checking to my right and left as I do so. Bodies litter the floor down the hallway to my right, lying where they fell from steel coming into contact with vitals the day before. The one thing missing here is the smell of decay like I would have expected. True, there weren’t many cars parked around but there were some indicating that people had to have been here when this happened. There should have been some smell of them if they died here and surely not all of them could have been changed. Is it that the night runners ate them early on or cleaned up their lair knowing that the smell that must have emanated from the dead bodies, especially in this heat and humidity, was bad? Did they clean up to make their lair more habitable? Those are answers I will probably never know, I think checking again to make sure the hallway was clear. There is, however, a faint ammonia smell within.

To my left, there is the glass wall with ‘CDC Director’ emblazoned on it. Just as advertised. I step slowly and silently down the hallway in that direction checking over my shoulder