Millimetres at a time, I ease the door open, constantly listening at the widening gap for any noise, but there isn’t any. The gap widens until it is big enough for me to slip through. I listen one last time before my body goes through the gap. Behind me, my left hand eases the door closed, without a sound.
Darkness closes in around me as quickly as my fear rises. The feeble light coming through the glass panel in the door behind me does nothing to illuminate the area directly in front of me, never mind the stairs that fall away on my left. Silence seems to echo in my ears, and it is the only thing stopping me from panicking. No noise equals no movement, so nothing is coming to attack me, I assure myself.
Satisfied no Rabids are about to attack, I take another necessary risk and turn on the torch attached to my M4. As I stand in the corner, my rifle raised, I’m ready to push the door back open and retreat as the torch illuminates the top of the stairs. Again, nothing happens, no new noises rise up from below and I wonder if the Rabids were ever in this stairwell.
I take a step forward to the stairs proper, the light from the torch following my aim, which turns down to the first flight of steps. My finger hovers over the trigger ready to fire but the steps are clear. I move my aim over the top of the handrail on the left, shining the light down firstly to the next flight of steps, which are also clear. I move the beam of light around, looking down the whole stairwell. My view is restricted as the flights cover each other but no new noises sound and no Rabids jump out. I’m not sure how these creatures react to light so I’m not going to get complacent. I will descend methodically, pausing at each level’s door to revaluate and using the door if a quick exit is needed.
My aim comes back down and reverts to the steps in front of me. The light shines off the steps and I notice debris on them. Dirt and dust litter the stairs here and there, and it can mean only one thing. Every inch of the Orion building is kept spotless, including the stairwells. Rabids have been on these stairs, I am sure of it. I climb down slowly but surely, even more warily now, the M4 showing me the way. I arrive at the bottom of the first flight of steps and into no-man’s-land; there is no door here for a quick exit if I need it. I don’t rush, but I don’t delay leaving this area either. I scan the area below and start to descend to the next level which has the door to floor six.
Not wanting to see beyond the door to floor six in case any of the horrors that happened down here are visible, I have to force myself. It is too big of a risk to just ignore it and not to check for threats. Firstly, I make sure the area of stairs around the door is clear and then I slowly peer through the panel of glass in the door. My view is very restricted through the narrow panel but unfortunately, it is enough to give me an idea of the terror. Debris litters the area of the floor I can see and in amongst the debris are mangled unrecognisable human body parts. Sadness and nausea rise in me as I look. The far wall is singed from the searing heat and peppered with shrapnel from one of the grenade explosions we heard go off while we stood above, listening helplessly as the carnage was unfolding. At the very edge of the visible area, is what looks like a ball and I have to strain to see properly what it is. I am nearly sick when my brain works out and registers what I am looking at.
Jill’s severed head is lying on its side in amongst the debris, looking in this direction. Her eyes stare wide into oblivion, the skin of her face next to the floor burnt black. I have to quickly look away before I am physically sick, panting uncontrollably as if I’m having a panic attack. I’m at risk of losing it completely, my body trembles and I start to see stars in the darkness. Control your breathing, I tell myself, but it is easier said than done. I’ve seen it so many times in my past, in and around the battlefield, soldiers losing the plot. Good, solid, reliable soldiers who were joking around only the day before. Ones that you couldn’t imagine breaking are suddenly overwhelmed by the exhaustion and horrors of it all and instantly snap. I was never immune to it, but I always managed to square it away in my head; maybe that’s why it haunts my dreams so badly of late? I have never been this close to snapping in the field before, but I’m not the same man I used to be.
Using the techniques I’ve learnt over the years, gradually my breathing slows and my heart rate comes under control. Both my body and mind are fragile, that much is plain. I have to accept it and deal with it; I’ve no choice, as there is nowhere to hide and recover properly right now.
To push forward, one foot at a time, is my only option. Floor six is clear of targets, my rifle comes up and I recheck my path down before continuing.
The rest of the floors look as if I’ve come into work in a deserted building on a Sunday. If Rabids are on those floors, I didn’t see them through the
