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occasionally to make sure nothing enters the hall behind me. There are about twelve doors lining each side of the hall between myself and the director’s office; some closed and others open. It is the open ones that I am cautious of; there being no reason for night runners to close a door behind them that I can possibly think of even if they do know how. But that doesn’t mean they don’t either.

I edge near the wall and start down, passing two closed doors. As I draw near the first open door on my left, a soft sound escapes from within getting my immediate and full attention. The sound of feet padding on a floor and, by the sound of it, coming closer to the door. I freeze. A head appears in the doorway a mere fifteen feet away from me. The night runner walks into the hallway ahead of me and pads across the hall without knowing that my red dot, centered on its head, is accompanying its progress. The long hair, hanging down past its shoulders, leads me to believe it is a female. I do not dare to breathe or make the slightest sound. The adrenaline within me kicks up a notch or two. Or three. This is not so dissimilar than having a guard pass by me while hidden, becoming a part of whatever I am near, and, I am here to tell you, it never gets easy or comfortable. A slight head turn or something catching the corner of the eye can spell disaster. And spell it with capital letters.

The night runner crosses the hall and I make sure to both follow it with my M-4 but do so out of the corner of my eye making sure to not look directly at it. A habit pattern. As it reaches the opposite wall, it pulls its pants down and squats. Well, that verifies the female portion for me, I think hoping it turns in the other direction to head back once it is finished with its business. If it turns my way, its eyes will sweep directly over me. The splashing sound of urine being emptied on the tile floor fills the hall. I hear a grunt at the opening of the door. I turn my head slowly but cannot see anything within. Whatever is there must be just inside the room. The night runner in the hall turns and looks over her left shoulder, thankfully away from me, and back towards the door, giving a hiss at whatever is there before focusing once again on the wall to its front.

Finishing with its business, she stands and pulls ups her pants, doing up the snap and zipper. Well, that’s interesting, I think watching this. They have the mechanical skills to undo and do up their clothing. I wonder momentarily if that is from a habit pattern that stayed with them or they are consciously aware of what they are doing. If they are conscious of it, that means they may be able to learn how to use other tools. All of this passes in the blink of an eye. My body is literally vibrating from the loose tension and adrenaline flowing within, waiting for the moment of knowing when to act.

The night runner turns in my direction. Of course, I think. Most creatures will habitually turn in their strong direction and that is to the right for most humans as we are mostly right handed. I suppose that applies to the night runners as well. It begins to head back toward the room from which it came but stops suddenly and turns its head in my direction. Not sharply but turns it nonetheless. As if something it saw a few seconds ago is only now registering in its mind and it is unsure of what it is. Just something that may have been a little out of the ordinary.

The female night runner is looking directly at me but in a quizzical way, tilting its head to the side to perhaps get a different perspective. Like it sees something but cannot define of what it is. I know it is now only a matter of time before I am discovered yet hesitate as there is the slightest chance that it will think that nothing is amiss and go back into where it was bedded down. Another grunt comes from whatever is inside the room and is answered by a similar grunt from the one standing in the hallway staring at me.

I see a sudden recognition flash across the night runner’s face; the widening of the eyes and a startled look. Really!? After all of that, I was found by a night runner going to the bathroom! That so figures! My M-4 barks out in the hallway before it can scream, lights flashing against the walls as three rounds streak outward, seeking a target and finding one a split second later. The night runner’s head rocks back as steel meets flesh and bone, winning the engagement. Its face is torn apart and suddenly unrecognizable. The night runner flips into the air, landing on its back and slides a short distance along the floor, finally coming to rest next to the puddle of urine it had just left.

I side step to the right anticipating the emergence of the night runner that was hidden within the room, aiming my weapon and to the room’s entrance. I am not disappointed as a night runner immediately charges out of the door. The faint smell of gunpowder mixes with the hint of ammonia as three more rounds exit catching the emerging night runner in the neck and head. Blood sprays outward from the neck wound, splashing the doorway and running down the jamb in small streams. The bullets lift it from its feet, propelling it into the darkness of the room and out of my sight.

* * *

Lynn stands amidst the other team members, staring at the glass building with her hand shading her eyes. The others stand in the same fashion and have been since watching Jack step slowly into the building. The only word was his brief radio call moments before letting them know he had reached the fifth floor. Lynn follows his anticipated path in her mind, following the path she took yesterday only with Jack in her and the other team’s place. Her anxiety grows with the fifth floor call. She tenses as a faint sound reaches her ears. Really just a hint of sound but coming from the building.

“Were those gunshots?” She asks quietly but allowing her voice to carry. Half to herself and half to the group around her.

“I’m not sure, First Sergeant,” Horace answers in the same whispering voice. “Sounded like it.”

The others edge toward the building having heard both the sounds and the conversation. Their instinct towards wanting to help and the reason they were there — to cover and provide help if needed — causes them to subconsciously step closer to the CDC building.

“No, stay here,” Lynn says putting her arm out as if to block the advance. “He’ll call if he needs us.” A second faint sound, exactly like the first, follows.

“Those are definitely gunshots,” Lynn says joining the group as they edge closer. “Okay, we’ll halve the distance. Everyone on me but step quietly and be ready to go.”

The sound of charging handles being pulled and released is heard as they walk toward the building in the rising heat of the day.

* * *

Shrieks cry out from seemingly every room at once. They fill the fifth floor with a volume that can only be matched in contrast to the absolute silence a moment before. And I am totally fucked, I think looking back at the night runners pouring into the hallway behind me. There is no way I can even think about making it back to the fire door even though it is only a scant three doors away. They have emerged that quick and that close. Only one way to go and that is forward, I think with my feet suddenly having a mind of their own and heading quickly towards the glass wall and door ahead of me.

Night runners begin to emerge in front of me and to the side as I set land speed records heading for the glass, hoping the door to the office is unlocked. As I speed past an open door on the right, a night runner emerges directly to my side. I bring my carbine around and ram the stock just under the tip of its nose in an upward stroke. A wet, solid smack, like a sack of hamburger being dropped on pavement from a height, issues from the collision and blood splatters downward, coating its upper lip and chin. The thrust breaks and then pushes the bone from its nose into its brain. Its head rocks backward and it drops straight to the ground.

More enter the hallway ahead of me, issuing from open doorways. I hear bare feet running on tile and the roars of a multitude of night runners behind me but I don’t dare take the time to look over my shoulder. I know they are faster and I cannot spare a bit of my momentum to verify what my ears already tell me. I’m in deep shit! I wish I had brought a grenade to dump on the floor behind me and park that thought for future use. Assuming of course that there will be a future time for me. I put a burst into the closest one in the hall to my front, stitching it from chest to neck with three rounds, the first hitting on the right side of its sternum and spinning it around in mid step. Its feet fly out in front as it falls, rotating to hit the floor face first. The thump of its body but a miniscule sound amidst the mighty roaring in the hall. My own roars mix in with the night runner’s as I charge forward.

I turn to the next closest one before the one I just shot has a chance to hit the floor, sending it crashing against the wall as strobe light bounces off of the walls signaling the departure of three more bullets on their mission. My adrenaline is at its high point and temporal distortion kicks in. Everything moves in slow motion and my eyes and brain register details I would have missed, allowing my reaction times to increase. There are several between me and the glass wall, nearer now but it might as well be a mile away as the dark shapes of night runners fill the once open gap in front. A night runner to my left front, dressed in the jumpsuit of a maintenance