Sanctuary

“Have you been trained?” I ask in return.

“I’ve shot a gun before,” he answers.

“But I mean trained, as in any military type of experience?” I ask.

“No.”

“Then, no. I don’t want the added risk of someone not knowing what they’re doing; maybe shooting in a moment of excitement and injuring one of us.”

“You have your kids toting around weapons and I know they weren’t in the military,” Brian states.

“They’ve had some training and I trust them,” I respond.

A scream cuts sharply into the night intruding upon our “conversation.” Footsteps thump across the ceiling from the apartment above. The sound and vibration of the footsteps are accompanied by voices, too dim to make out the actual words but it’s apparent they are from people and sound like female voices.

“Who’s that?” I ask quietly.

“I think they’re the daughters from the couple upstairs,” Kelly answers.

“Have you talked with them?” I ask further.

“No,” she replies. Another loud shriek penetrates, sounding like it’s coming from the parking lot in front. This is followed by an additional one from the same area. The voices upstairs continue.

“They better be quiet or they’re going to invite the night runners,” Lynn says.

As if her words were the catalyst, a pounding of footsteps on the concrete stairs outside, seemingly heading upstairs, vibrates the apartment. Screams dominate the night and the first slamming of bodies into the apartment door upstairs causes the people there to scream as well. This only serves to agitate the night runners more.

“Can we help them or do anything?” Jessica asks as we all look to the ceiling above. I glance to make sure the towels are securely barring any light emitting from our small bathroom enclave.

“If we’d have known someone was up there, we could have brought them down with us but there’s nothing we can do now without endangering us all,” I answer.

The assault on the upstairs door continues and then, with a crash and the sound of splintering wood, the door gives way. Loud shrieks and rapid footfalls race across the ceiling just a few feet over our heads.

“Nooooo!” We hear from above.

Cries resonate from above, filling our tiny space. A loud thump shakes the apartment and agonizing screams follow, rising above and mixing with the screeches from the night runners. I can almost make out the sound of flesh being bitten into and torn from the bodies but that is mostly coming from my imagination. The flame from the candles around us waver as if dancing in tune to the horrific scene being enacted above, making our shadows move across the walls in the same macabre beat.

The screams stop and only a muted growling and snarling reach our ears. My finger caresses the trigger guard both from nervousness, with having the night runners so close, and a sick feeling inside hearing the horrible end to the people upstairs. With this scene fresh in my mind, I think there can’t be too many other survivors. Our one percent has most likely decreased to a marginal level.

“What, in the fuck, was that?” Brian asks loudly.

You have got to be fucking kidding me! I think and look at him incredulously with a touch of fear and panic washing through me. I can’t believe he just spoke that loudly – again! Especially after what we just witnessed. He just doesn’t get it! Several loud screeches come from above and footsteps thump rapidly across the ceiling.

“You fucker!” Lynn sharply whispers and begins to stand.

“Everyone in the closet now!” I whisper on the heels of her statement.

We all rise with Lynn opening the bathroom door as I blow out the candles plunging the interior into darkness. Lynn steps out of the bathroom and stands in the hall ushering the others out of the door. I snap down my goggles and turn them on bringing on the familiar glow of night vision. The pattern of steps on the stairs outside mixes with the shuffle of our group in the hallway as we head to the back bedroom and the closet. Lynn heads back after the others pass by her. Robert, who has waited in the bathroom with me until everyone else has exited, pulls his goggles on as well and looks at me. I can’t read his expression due to the goggles.

“We’ve been through worse,” I tell him guessing at his thoughts.

“Yeah, but we don’t have an exit to retreat to this time,” he says.

“True,” I say with a sigh, “but we’ll be fine. Keep my backside clear.”

“I will, Dad,” he says and gives me a quick hug as best as he can while holding his M-4. I return the quick hug. He heads out the door and down the hall. Was that him thinking the worst is about to happen given what we heard above us just a few moments ago and wanting to get a last hug in? I think closing the bathroom door and heading down the hall. Or was it for reassurance?

The first hard slam against the front door sounds, startling me even though I expected it. I stop and kneel in the hall close to the bedroom door with a direct line of sight with the front door. Turning my sight to the 1x setting, I look through and set the dot on the center of the door. I’m hoping the couch holds the door long enough for the night runners to grow tired and move on. I’m also hoping they can’t get in through the kitchen window as I only have a small view there. If they do get through, they can run around and get through the bathroom which will give me a very limited amount of time to react. The same goes for being able to scale the building on the outside and get into the far bedroom. I’m taking nothing for granted as to what the night runners can and cannot do as they have surprised me more times than I care to recall. There is no way of telling how many of them are gathered but judging from the shrieks and pounding at the door, there are more than a few.

I look towards the closet but can only see the opening from this angle. I picture them all with their backs to the wall with dresses, shirts, and pants dangling about their heads.

“I’m in the hall by the bedroom door,” I say pressing the mic button at my throat, wanting to let them know exactly where I am positioned. “Everyone okay?”

“Copy that and we’re doing fine,” Lynn answers. “How does it look out there?”

“So far so good,” I reply.

I look back to the front keeping both eyes open and using a parallax view, - this allows a greater width and depth of view while seeing the aiming dot as well – I see the front door jar and shake with each successive thump against it. It is holding and I imagine the night runners are getting pretty sore shoulders but the couch is against the jamb rather than the door itself so there’s a little give with each thump.

I hear the glass of the kitchen window breaking and see the couch wedging the bookcase shake but it too holds firm for the time being. I feel my heart pounding in my chest and have a trapped feeling. I always liked having a way out if things went awry but don’t see an option here. We can’t escape through the patio door as the drop, although livable, will take us out into the night with no protection. It’s also on the other side from where we parked the Humvee so that option offers nothing. Kind of fucked up where I parked on that one, I think.

I suddenly hear loud, heavy breathing through my earpiece. It sounds like Bri. She must have just turned on her radio and may have set her radio to VOX (voice-activated) which makes her mic activate and transmit with any sound. Or she may be accidentally holding the mic button down. It will hold up the frequency if we need to communicate so I rise to tell her.

A particularly loud bang hammers the front door and I hear her take a deep, sharp breath in. “It’s okay, Bri. We’ll be fine,” I hear Robert say dimly coming through Bri’s mic. “That’s Dad out there and we’re here. It’ll all be okay.”

“Bri, your mic’s on,” I whisper into the closet standing by the entrance. I hear some moving around inside and, with a click, the breathing in my ear stops.

Another terrific thump sounds against the door as I settle back into position. The front door shakes even more. My breath quickens as I see it rock backwards with the next hit. There is a pattern of a shriek and then a slam. My hope that they would tire quickly is not coming to light. If they do manage to get the door down, at least they will have to funnel through one or two at a time. I pat the mags in my vest, comforting myself that they are there and available. Taking two out, I set them by my knee. I would have taped two together end-to-end for quicker reloads but that makes it difficult to carry in the pouches.

A slam comes against the door for about the hundredth time and the jamb by the latch splinters. Oh fuck! I think seeing the jamb itself beginning to give way. That is the last thing I wanted to see and my thought quickly goes towards my kids and Lynn. I should never have come