John O'Brien - Takedown

Stowing their gear, they drop below deck and feel the sub immediately begin a slow descent into the depths once again. They change out of their wet gear and Krandle briefs Captain Leonard on what transpired onshore. Leonard listens and then asks a few questions, some of which Krandle can answer and some that he doesn’t know the answer to. There are many more of the latter than the former. In some instances, Krandle speculates but tells the captain that it’s only a guess based on what he observed.

After talking with the captain, he returns to the mess. The team debriefs, each member sharing their perspectives of the mission.

“So, here’s how we do it differently from here on out. We don’t leave without NVGs and we run each operation with the contingency that something may happen and we could have to remain overnight. That means we are to be constantly on the lookout for something we can fortify quickly and we pack as much ammo as we can. No matter what happens or what we find, we begin making our way to the sub planning to arrive no less than two hours prior to sunset. And here’s the biggie, we do not enter into darkened buildings unless absolutely necessary. And by absolutely necessary, I mean never,” Krandle says, finishing the debrief.

“I’m so with you on that. Not even if Blanchard here was on fire inside of one and needed me to piss on him,” Speer says.

“Get some rest. I have a feeling that we’ll be seeing a lot more of what we did today,” Krandle says, rising.

The sub heads farther out to sea before turning south toward its eventual destination of San Diego.

Sitting in the dark, the minutes seem like hours and it’s hard to keep track of time. Lynn has become a little more used to being in the dark with panting night runners close by. At least as used to something so terrifying as one can get. It’s an emotional rollercoaster — going from worried about the others one moment to being terrified the next. Not knowing why she is even here in the midst of the night runners adds to her terror.

She feels tightness around her heart associated with being held against her will. It’s like someone has reached inside her chest and is squeezing. Nothing she does alleviates this anxiety. If she knew why she was being held, that might ease it some…but not much. Lynn knows a little about being held captive having been through a limited POW course. That, of course, didn’t portray the essence of actually of being imprisoned. During the course, everyone knew that it would end and the timeline, so there was no way it could adequately represent actually being confined. It did give a few tips on how to get through the rougher moments and she’s tried a few of them. She tries keeping her mind occupied on something other than her situation but she has a hard time focusing with the panting creatures just a few scant feet away.

Lynn works through math problems, runs scenarios through her head, relives fond memories of her childhood, but they all inevitably lead her back to where she is. At one point, she pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them, and buries her head. She breaks down and cries as a deep fear takes hold.

“Please come get me, Jack. I’m scared and alone,” she says quietly to herself.

She’s sick at heart and the clenching in her chest tightens. Raising her head, she wipes away the tears. She sniffles and rests her head against the hard wall, blinking back the remaining tears.

Taking a deep breath, she thinks, Stop it, Lynn. You’re stronger than this.

The only way she can identify the passage of time is by the occasional changing of night runners at the door. She tries counting the seconds to keep track of the minutes between the changes. This is mostly to occupy her mind, but she finds it to be rather hypnotic and keeps dozing off in mid-count.

At intervals, she hears faint messages from a loudspeaker outside, “Lynn, hang tough. We will find you.”

This gives her hope and, the first time she hears it, relief envelopes her — almost to the point of more tears but this time from sheer happiness. They made it. The others survived the attack and are looking for her. If she can only find a way out and leave them a sign of where she is. One thing she knows for sure, she is still within the city. The only true note of time occurs when nightfall begins and she hears shrieks as night runners pour out of the building she’s in.

The sheer darkness of her room prevents her from seeing much. Her vision has adapted yet it’s still in varying shades of deep gray and black. The constant panting, sniffing, and occasional low growl among the night runners is scary within the gloom. She crawls across the room in an attempt to find something that may aid in her escape but quick footsteps on the hard floor and a menacing snarl cuts her investigation short. The only place she can move without threat is to the corner near her, opposite the door, to relieve herself. Thankfully, a janitor’s bucket is there and that makes it a little easier.

Finding the bucket gave her a little hope that she might locate something else useful but there was no mop with it. She thought it could have been used as a weapon if needed. The first time she scooted to the corner, not being able to hold it any longer and unwilling to just go where she was, there was a set of quick footsteps with an accompanying growl. She turned in the dark and growled back in the direction of the night runner. The dark shape retreated and she sat back feeling an ounce of satisfaction. Since that moment, she has been able to use the corner freely.

She has no idea of how long she has been in the room but her stomach knows it’s time to eat. It feels like she hasn’t eaten in days. With the next change of night runners, something heavy and meaty is thrown onto her lap. She knows it’s the night runners’ idea of trying to feed her.

If this doesn’t beat all , she thinks, lifting the slab of meat.

The meat feels raw in her fingers and she’s fearful of what it might be. Knowing the limitless possibilities, there is no way she is putting whatever is in her hands to her mouth.

“No fucking way,” she says silently.

With another growl, she tosses the slab of meat back at the night runners. She is met by a quick shuffling of feet and several of them growl fiercely in response. Lynn has had enough of this shit and growls again, her emotional edge being one of anger at the moment. She doesn’t care what happens to her, but she isn’t going to eat something the night runners killed and brought.

She feels something different tossed in her lap when the next ones enter. This is lighter and crinkles when it lands. Feeling in the dark, she touches something wrapped in plastic. She brings it closer to her eyes attempting to get a glimpse but isn’t able to make out what it is in the gloom. She opens the package and sniffs. Her stomach growls as she identifies the smell of beef jerky. She’s ravenous and shovels the pieces into her mouth, chewing frantically to get the pieces down.

Slow down, Lynn. You don’t want to be sick , she thinks, and begins eating one piece at a time.

Footsteps approach and, with a grunt, something heavy is dropped to the floor at her side. Liquid splashes onto her legs. She reaches a hand out once the night runner withdraws and encounters a warm liquid sloshing in a small bucket.

I don’t even want to know what this is , she thinks, for once glad it’s dark.

Parched from the lack of anything to drink and the beef jerky, she leans over the bucket smells it. Satisfied that it’s only water, she takes a small sip. The liquid is a little brackish but is sweet on her tongue. She takes a few cautious drinks and sits back to see if there is any effect. Finding none after a period of time — how long, she has no idea — she drinks her fill.