Return

“Well, I’ll let you know in a little bit,” I say feeling the adrenaline begin to fade.

“Okay Jack. Glad you’re safe,” Lynn says with relief in her voice.

“You and me both. I’ll let you know what I find here,” I say beginning to take in the office surroundings.

The deep, rich blue carpeting of this large office gives it a feeling of luxury as it mixes with the dark, highly polished executive desk sitting close to the window. The same rich paneling found in the lobby covers the walls with luxurious bookshelves lining one wall adding to this ambience. Two brown leather chairs, the kind you never want to get out of once you sit in them, sit parked on the carpet facing the desk. A large polished table meant for gatherings sits across the room from the bookshelves. The view outside is not all that it could be, but it sure is a sight better than I have ever had the privilege of calling my own. It is also a sight for my sore eyes after what they witnessed moments before.

Papers and folders are spread across the large desk giving evidence to the haste and chaos of the pandemic. The otherwise tidy office gives an indication that it once was kept in a very neat and orderly fashion. It is to these papers and folders lying on the desk that I am drawn; figuring what else could be of such a priority than the Cape Town virus and the genetic-altering vaccine. Walking around to the other side of the desk, I quickly glance at the papers spread across it. Most of the single sheets seem to be printed emails and reports. Removing the coiled rope and shouldering my weapon with a wince, my shoulder reminding me of my attempts to be super human and walk through walls and doors, as if the continued shrieking on the other side of the door is not reminder enough, I lean over the desk and begin shifting through papers.

I quickly realize I am not going to be able to learn anything now as I scan through them. They are a bit disjointed reading through them in this haphazard fashion. I turn to the folders stacked on the corner of the desk. Each one of them has a title referencing the virus, vaccine or lab testing. This is what we came for, I think briefly looking through the reports within. I head over to a decorative filing cabinet set against the wall by the door, through which it still sounds like some rave party is happening on the other side. Opening several drawers, I discover an empty section where the files on the desk must have come from. Rifling through the other folders in the cabinet, I do not find any titles that refer even closely to our world-changing event.

I want to make sure I find and have everything I want to pull out of here as there is not the slightest chance I will or could ever get back here. Aha! I think as a light bulb goes off in my head. Pulling the computer out from its cubby hole built into the desk, I spin the screws from the back and remove the side cover. Taking my multi-tool out, yes, I do always carry one, I unscrew and remove two hard drives seated within. If we can get power, which we will, I can put these in another computer and hopefully get to the files that are stored within; wishing I could get to the server hard drives as I am sure most of the files are there, or were, stored on the network. But you never know what may be stored locally and I am here.

Tucking those in my left side thigh pocket, I gather the loose papers and stuff them in the folders. I then remove the tape from the rope and walk to the windows. The shadows have shortened tremendously as the day has moved on toward the noon hour which is only about two hours away. Looking down out of the glass window, I see one of the team members standing close to the street by the entrance doors directly below. I imagine the rest are by the doors themselves but they are blocked from my view by the downward angle. Why are they at the door? I wonder. I told them to stay put. Unless they moved up if they heard my gunfire. That actually makes sense, I think.

“Lynn, this is Jack,” I say into the radio.

“Go ahead Jack,” she answers.

“You might want to move your teams away from the building. And I mean a ways away,” I say.

“Why?” She asks and I see her emerge into my view from the doorway looking up.

“You’ll see,” I answer.

“Are you planning on rappelling down?” She asks still looking up close to my actual location.

“It’s either that or sprout wings as I still have company up here who are inviting me to their party but I’m not sure I want to attend,” I say in answer to her question.

“Good luck with that,” she says.

* * *

“Good luck with that,” Lynn says as she attempts to see Jack standing in one of the large window panes.

“Okay, you all heard. Let’s pull back and off to the side,” she says to the group.

They all cross the street and head off the side of the entrance doors, having a sense of what is coming and not wanting to miss the show. They all feel a little more relaxed knowing that one of theirs is okay and gather in a tight group once again. Completely forgetting their surroundings, they focus on the glass a few stories up from the entrance. From where they are standing, they have a perfect vantage point.

First, they see a small bit of glass shoot outward from one of the large panes, the sound of a gunshot follows a millisecond later. There is a pause, and then suddenly, the pane erupts in an explosion of glass; an explosion that continues unabated for several seconds. The shards begin falling to the earth in a shower of glass, looking like still photographs of a waterfall; a picture where each individual drop is captured; these pictures then rapidly running together creating the illusion of movement; and illusion of the water falling. The tinkling of glass as it hits the pavement is a constant noise as the showers lands. And then, with the last of the glass hitting the ground and bouncing, silence.

“That was pretty cool,” one of the soldiers says breaking the silence.

“Yeah, just wait until you see an old man try to rappel,” Lynn chuckles to herself causing the others to laugh along with her.

The sound of shrieks rises from the opening just created in the side of the building followed by continuous gunfire; followed by silence once more.

* * *

Chuckling at her ‘good luck with that’ comment and knowing it was her feeling a little more comfortable, I continue to look out of the window; watching them as they move out and away. They stop a short distance away and off to the side. I want them to move further and think about getting on the radio, my hand moving to the transmit button, but they are perhaps far enough away. With that, I step away from the window, withdrawing further into the office.

I remove the partially empty mag and replace it with a fresh one and contemplate the window. I fire a round at a slight angle to the plane of the pane — yeah, I know, ha ha, had to say it. The bullet goes through causing fractures that radiate out from the bullet hole. Again, this is when I wish this M-4 was an auto rather than being limited to burst fire. I can understand the reasoning behind making the gun a burst weapon but your finger should be your fire control rather than have a limiting factor on the gun.

Aiming at the window, I repeatedly pull the trigger as fast as I can, my bullets covering the entire window. The glass explodes and sprays outward, the mighty crash of the disintegrating window combine with the rapid barking of the M-4 firing, filling the office with a cacophony of noise overriding the still shrieking night runners in the hallway outside. I continue to shift my aim so that the entirety of the window to my front is blown out. The bolt clicks back in the open position indicating that the mag is empty. I hear the faint tinkling of glass falling, hitting the street and sidewalk below.

Reloading, I then start towards the door leading to the hallway to give the night runners a departing gift. Opening the door, I am met with a din of shrieks and roars from within the darkened recesses of the hall. I bring my M-4 up and begin delivering my farewell present of steel, firing into the middle of the hall and at the fleeting shapes I see either milling or running about. Screams of pain join in the general uproar letting me know that my gift is being received. The shapes in my field of view dissolve and the shrieking instantly goes silent. I fire until my mag runs dry. Only a few soft slaps of feet on tile remain and then nothing. An eerie silence settles.

“Are you okay?” I hear Lynn call on the radio.

“Yeah, just saying goodbye,” I respond.

With the office now silent, I gather the rope and begin looking for a place to tie off. There are not any good places that are immediately obvious. Yeah, the desk or conference table might hold but I would also just as likely be pulling them down on top of me. Hitting the ground from fifty or sixty feet up only to have a heavy desk fall on me is not on my top ten list. The only thing that I see that will work is the steel beam on the outside of the building that was previously holding the sheet of glass. Ideally, a tie off should be slightly inset from the drop off point to