Jacob looked at the luminous dial on his wristwatch. Just after 2 am—the darkest part of the night, he thought. He looked at the watch again; his wife had given it to him as a birthday gift years ago. At the time, he had discounted it; he was so used to using his smart phone for the time that he wasn’t sure if he could get back to wearing a watch again—until his wife turned the watch over and showed him the inscription on the back.
My Friend, My Love, My Hero, Laura
Reciting the words in his head didn’t comfort him; instead, he felt the returning sense of helplessness and panic. Jacob looked away from his watch and gripped the rifle. Knowing he needed to stay alert, he scanned the streets. “Gotta get it together for the girls,” he whispered to himself.
“What?” Stephens asked, as he approached from behind. “You see something?”
“Huh? No… you find what you were looking for?”
Stephens held up a compact set of bolt cutters and a crowbar as an answer then walked to the chained door. He moved close to the chain and waited for Murphy to move in behind him to provide cover while he worked. Jacob followed Murphy’s lead and stepped to the opposite side then looked outward into the dark street.
A clank and a snap later, Jacob could hear Stephens fishing the chain through the heavy handle of the door. The door rattle and Stephens worked the handle. “Locked; just be another minute,” the soldier whispered.
Jacob looked behind him and saw Stephens wedge the bar under the plywood covering the door, just enough so that he could smack the glass with the bar. The sound shattered the otherwise silent area.
“Damn, you’re being noisy. Let’s step it up,” Murphy whispered.
“Think you can do better, Sarge?” Stephens said as he slipped his arm inside the break. A click and a clunk later, and the door was unlocked. He pulled back and stood, peeking into the open door, checking for threats. He looked back and announced, “It’s open.”
“What are you waiting for?” Murphy turned to cover the street. Jacob felt him pressed against him as Murphy moved backwards, pushing him inside. They closed the door behind them and relocked it. In the pitch dark of the lobby, sealed shut by the plywood, Jacob was blind again. He felt a hand grab his wrist. “Keep hold of my vest,” Murphy whispered as he guided Jacob’s hand to his back.
Jacob gripped the heavy fabric of the man’s vest and stumbled forward, kicking objects on the floor as he was guided down a long hallway.
“Watch your step. The floor is covered with luggage, bags, and boxes of shit people left behind,” Murphy whispered.
The trio continued on shuffling; the plods of their boots echoed in the silent hallway. A latch popped, and Jacob recognized the sound of a door squeaking open and items on the floor sliding as the door was pulled outward, into the hallway.
“Stairs are clear,” Stephens whispered back.
Jacob was led ahead and around a corner; the echo of their footsteps changed, and the space now smelled of cleaning solvent. He heard the door latch behind him and a white light clicked on. Murphy had powered up a weapon-mounted flashlight and was surveying the stairwell. It was clean—the floors polished and the walls still vibrant with fresh paint.
“Place must’a had power when they were pulled out… probably used the elevators,” Stephens said. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a long length of chain he’d salvaged from the front doors. He looped it through a pull handle and secured the other end to a handrail. He reached over and snatched sets of zip cuffs from Jacob’s tactical vest then locked the ends of the chain in place. He tested the stability of the hasty lock and nodded his approval to Murphy.
Murphy turned and, holding his light up the stairwell, slowly patrolled forward. The heavy fire door at the second floor was locked, and one look told them it would be difficult to open with the crowbar. They stood near it, listening but found only silence. They continued up to the next floor, which was also locked. Murphy began to round the corner to enter the landing that brought them to the fourth floor but stopped and stepped back. He pointed ahead to the next floor’s fire door—it was slightly ajar.
The sound of a glass bottle being knocked over rattled across a tile floor from above. Jacob crouched and held his breath as the sound of footsteps echoed into the stairwell. Murphy reached his hand forward and clicked off the light. A dim, soft glow emanated from the open door. Murphy knelt down and took a long lunging step around the corner, squaring up on the exit above. Stephens quickly moved forward, grabbing an angle and covering the other soldier from the corner.
“Who’s there?” Murphy called out, causing Jacob to flinch with surprise; he hadn’t expected the soldier to announce their position like that.
Sounds of scrambling above and muffled voices reached Jacob’s ears and the light went out. Jacob clutched the handrail and strained his ears to pick up the sound of Murphy’s boot treads slowly ascending the staircase.
“Don’t ya’ll come up here—I’ll blow ya’ll back to hell where ya come from!” a woman’s voice shouted.
“Now hold up!” Murphy said. “We’re not here to hurt anyone!”
“Ya’ll ain’t dragging me off; you’ll have to kill me first!”
Stephens moved up the steps, holding a palm up to Murphy as he passed. Murphy nodded his approval. “What
