the window.
The choice is still before me, though, through them or another way. If I fuck it up and they shriek, this way will be lost. I’m not so far into the building or so far away from the exit that I worry about getting out. It’s just that this is the best way to the fourth floor.
I ease my M-4 down and draw my suppressed M-9. The quickness with which I’ll have to take down the three night runners in close quarters mandates the use of a sidearm. I quietly set my hip upon the swing arm of the fire door and put the length of my lower arm on the door itself. I peek through the corner of the glass once again — keeping my eyes averted — and watch the night runners out of my peripheral. There is one that is just on the other side of the door. I want it to move away before I swing the door open. It wouldn’t do to have the door crash into it and for me not able to slide through. I might as well press down on an air horn and light a flare.
The night runner eventually shuffles to another position. I see them glance quickly downward as one. Gonzalez must be making her ruckus — it’s obvious there is some sort of communication between the night runners. Taking a deep breath to center, I push on the arm. The door swings open. The night runners turn their heads abruptly toward me, but it’s too late for them. I’m already through and the first round has left my suppressor.
Spray coats the other two night runners as my first round collides with the nearest night runner’s forehead and smashes its way through its skull. The enclosed area flashes with more subdued strobes of light as I fire more projectiles into the two remaining, startled night runners. My last bullet slams into the nose bridge of the third night runner before the first hits the floor with a soft thud. I turn and catch the door before it clicks back into place, hearing the last of my cartridges clink on the landing. Holding the door slightly ajar, I focus on the bodies lying on the cold concrete. Two of the downed night runners’ extremities twitch for a moment before the three of them lie completely still.
Splash patterns cover the walls and puddles form around the still bodies from the dark liquid of their life blood leaking out. I cover the door leading from the landing to the rooms beyond and the stairs leading downward. Nothing emerges into view. Holding the maintenance door open with my foot, I quietly tear off a small strip of duct tape and tape the latch open. Easing the door closed, I test it to ensure my path back to the roof is unimpeded.
I holster my sidearm and ready my M-4. The door leading from the landing opens away from me which is good news. I plan to rope the doors below me in the same manner I did at the CDC to seal off my backside. That way, I’ll know that my route to the roof, once I reach the stairs, will not be infested with night runners.
The stairwell itself is like most others I’ve encountered. The stairs lead downward against one wall to an intermediate landing with the other set doubling back and heading down to the third floor. This one is a little wider than the others and doesn’t have a center wall — it’s completely open which allows an unimpeded view.
I edge to the railing and, using my signal mirror, I take a quick look downward. I’m immediately met by the sight of two night runner faces peering up — one from the floor immediately below me and another from the second floor. Their expressions appear more inquisitive than alerted.
I suppose the quick flashes of light could have tipped them off or it could have been the bodies slumping to the ground. I can’t believe they could have heard anything, though. Even the cartridges hitting the floor barely made a sound. It had to be the light. I move the mirror once again just barely over the edge. The one on the floor below me is still peering upward, but from a different vantage point.
I keep the night runner in view, holding the mirror to keep it from being seen, and ponder my options. I could wait it out until they settle down, take them out and then do the same for the second floor. That’s if I want to seal this stairwell off, which is the ideal solution. My second option is to proceed through the door and begin my search for Lynn on the fourth floor. I’m not overly fond of leaving night runners at my back and possibly blocking my best exit route. The third option is to abandon this entrance point and find another.
All have their pros and cons. When in doubt, go with the first. I take a last look at the night runner below, who is now periodically shifting its glance toward my landing and the one below it. I take out a coil of 550 cord and quietly loop it around the swing arm of the stairwell door leading to the interior. I then tie it off to the railing making sure not to be spotted from the curious night runner below. Even though I plan to enter through this door, I need to seal it for the moment to keep my backside clear as I progress down. If I’m caught in the stairs, I’ll have a clear passage to the rooftop.
With the time it took to tie off the door, the night runner below has apparently lost interest in me. I’m not sure what alerted the both of them, but they appear to have calmed down. Training my carbine to the extent I can toward the third floor, I begin stepping down the stairs with my back against the outside wall. I’ll have to take out the night runner on the third floor before I arrive at the intermediate landing. I’ll be completely exposed there if I don’t.
I creep downward, checking at my foot placement before I put my full weight on it. Any slip or shuffle will be heard. The fact that they don’t know I’m here attests that the smoke trick is working. Now to keep steady — no creak of boots or knees or sling jostling. I’m just a mist moving silently through the darkness.
I stop prior to reaching the halfway point. The one night runner has left the railing and is standing in front of the third floor door with its back to me. I don’t want to take it out from here because the flash would be too easy to see from the second floor. I could quickly take out the one I see on the second floor, but there could be more than one present. I don’t have a clear enough view to verify a definite number.
I keep the red dot of my SpectreDR centered on the night runner as I step onto the landing. If it turns, I’ll be directly in its line of sight. Stepping slowly, I edge near the outer wall. My dot stays glued to the back of its head. If it gives the faintest indication it is going to turn, I’m firing. A single shot directly into its head and then quickly rushing forward to focus my sight on the one downstairs.
My heart beats solidly, my system flooded with adrenaline. I take in short breaths to keep my system in check. I only use my peripheral and my parallax view to keep the dot centered. Looking directly at the night runner will cause it to turn because it senses something not quite right. Small step by small step, I make my way across the landing.
Glancing to the second floor, I only see the lower legs of a night runner. There could be others. I make it across to the next set of steps. The night runner, just a scant few feet away moves. I freeze. My middle finger tightens on the trigger, close to the point of the trigger break.
It growls and lifts its nose, sniffing the air. Great, I’m caught — it smells me. It then shuffles to the side, all the while facing toward the door. Clad in a tattered t-shirt and jeans that are mostly shorts at this point, I don’t see how it can smell anything beyond its own stink. The stairwell reeks of them. Then, of all things, the night runner reaches around and scratches its ass. It apparently really itches because it takes some time to complete the task.
It would be amusing if not for my current situation — inching down a stairwell filled with night runners, in the midst of a large lair. The night runner shuffles once again and resumes its stance. I ease the pressure off of the trigger and place my foot on the next step. I inch closer, careful not to brush up against the wall. If I can sneak near enough, my plan is to use my knife. This will be tricky, and I contemplate just taking the shot, but I don’t want Mr. Curious downstairs to see another flash. The first one may have been written off but a second will surely cause an alarm.
The night runner below is panting and I see its head drop forward before snapping back up. It dawns on me that this is their nighttime and the one near me is falling asleep. That bodes well. Slowly and carefully, I creep ever closer with each step, taking an eternity to place each foot.
Its head drops and doesn’t rise by the time I take two more steps. Only a couple more to go until I’m level with it. I begin moving to the side to keep out of its range of vision should it snap alert again. This will keep me more to its back.
I set my foot on the level floor. Quietly lowering my M-4, but ready to bring it back at a moment’s notice, I reach down and draw my knife. I’m committed now. If it does come awake and turn, I’ll have no option but to lunge and try to keep the ensuing struggle down to a low roar. And hopefully it won’t let out a shriek of alarm in the process.
I’m surprised it can’t hear my heart racing. It’s about all that I do hear — the thudding of blood under high pressure pounding in my ears. I come up directly behind the night runner and rise slowly from my crouch, being
