John O'Brien - Takedown

I pause, tensing for flight in case it rounds the corner. If it does, this then becomes a fight and flee scenario. Time passes, measured by thoughts and plans rather than seconds. I could go back and began traversing the interior via the first corridor. That will make it riskier as I will have to leave the protection afforded by the outside offices. There is still a ways to go to reach the area I have set in my mind. I’ll have to start inward soon but the longer I can be near an outside escape, the better.

The panting gets neither louder nor fades. The night runner is stationary and shows no sign of leaving. I inch forward, thankful that the hall is clear of any obstacles. The closer I creep, the louder the breathing. With each step, I think about the hall behind me. I may have no choice but to turn back. Nearing the corner, I stand and look in one of the pictures lining the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass shows a single night runner in the next hall close to the opening and facing away from me. The way forward appears blocked. I slowly steal backward until I’ve put some distance between me and the lurking night runner. It looks like I’ll have to go deeper into the building sooner than planned and into the teeth of the night runners.

I make it to the first branch and look down its length with the mirror. The night runners that passed by earlier are at the juncture once again. Apparently their ‘patrol’ doesn’t carry them far. That’s good and bad. Of course, the bad part is that they now stand in my way. I check my watch. It’s still early morning. Not too much time has passed since first entering but it seems like it should be afternoon already. I have plenty of time before the day says good bye. That doesn’t mean I have forever but it means I’m not rushed.

I’ll wait and monitor both directions to see how long the patrol takes to reappear, if they actually leave that is. They are milling about at the juncture of halls and don’t appear in a hurry to move on. I crouch at the corner for a full ten minutes, occasionally glancing over my shoulder to make sure the other night runner is behaving. The ones in the hall don’t move on. It’s either take out the one night runner and hope the others don’t ‘feel’ it die or create a distraction. Although a distraction causing noise will possibly create an avenue through which I can slip, it will bring too many others into the general area.

With a sigh, I ease back down the hall. I plan on taking out the night runner and then listen to see if the others begin making their way in my direction. If that happens, it’s into one of the offices and out of the window. A new thought forms. If I were to render the night runner unconscious, would it fade from the others? I don’t think sleep causes this as I’ve felt night runners in buildings during the day before. I’m running out of options, so it’s something to keep in mind.

I ease quietly up to my previous position, looking in the reflection. The night runner hasn’t moved. As far as I can tell, the hall beyond it is clear. As with the others, the stink emanating from the night runner is almost enough to cause my own blackout.

Taking another deep, calming breath, I slip around the corner. I come up behind the night runner. Reaching around, I cover its mouth and pinch its nose closed while driving my knee into its back. I pull backward to remove any leverage. I pinch its neck, placing my thumb on its carotid and press the larynx on the opposite side with my other fingers. This effectively cuts off the blood supply to the brain.

The night runner struggles momentarily but doesn’t have any leverage as it is bent backwards. After about five seconds, its struggles subside and it goes limp in ten. I catch the sagging body in my arms and listen. There’s no eruption of noise or sound of running feet. It doesn’t appear that the night runner was able to get a message out.

I have about a minute before the night runner starts coming out of it. I drag the body into a nearby office and lay it on the floor. I then take out my knife and, with the hard haft of the instrument, strike the night runner in the head just below the temple and again in the neck just below the ear. This strikes several large nerve bundles which then send an electrical storm of signals to the brain, rendering it ineffective for about twenty minutes.

When it does come to, it will be disoriented and sporting a monstrous headache. It will be able to communicate, though, and bring its friends running, but I don’t plan to be anywhere close to here in twenty minutes. Besides, it not like I had a choice. I listen attentively once again but all seems just as before, tensely quiet.

I radio the teams, “I’m just checking in to let you know that I haven’t become a mid-morning snack. Proceeding farther in.”

“Good to know, sir. Good luck,” Gonzalez replies.

I ease out of the room and close the door. The closed door is to prevent an early discovery from any other prowling night runners who might happen by the area. If that happens, I might not be far enough away. When the unconscious night runner does awaken though, I’m sure it will start pounding on the door. This may work on the positive side and create a diversion. The hallways are empty in both directions, but I notice the one leading off into the interior has trails through the dust indicating that it is used. I continue down the outside one knowing that I’ll have to start into the inner part of the facility soon though.

I snake along the corridor, sneaking to the next junction. I listen carefully but don’t hear or smell anything other than a lingering scent that pervades the entire building. Reaching the corner, I inch my mirror out. This hall has silver roll carts parked at intervals against the walls. At the next corner up, the walls give way to what appears to be a nursing station. I’m obviously coming out of the office portion of the building and into one more associated with patient care. The thing that catches more of my attention is another pack of six night runners farther down the hall and heading in my direction. They are on the far side of the junction but heading toward it. I pause waiting to see what they’ll do. I no longer have all day. When that twenty minutes passes, I want to be well away from here.

The night runners reach the intersection and turn to the right. I slip into the hall and begin sneaking down its length. It dawns on me that this is the first time I’ve seen night runners actually walking. Each and every time in the past, they’ve either been loping or flat out running.

Crouched, I silently step down the hall. I have to keep more to the middle to avoid the carts. Some of them have clear flasks and assorted utensils while others have covered food platters. All have thick coatings of dust upon them. I’m about three quarters of the way down when I pick up the soft sounds of feet approaching, coming from the left. I quickly duck behind one of the carts. I’m no sooner hidden when the first night runners enter into my limited view. With only twenty feet separating us, one stops and sniffs the air. Others join it until five of them are standing almost on my toes.

Of course the others would pick this time to move , I think, hearing the blood rush in my ears.

I don’t have the time for them to have a tea party here with the unconscious night runner going to waken in a few minutes. They’re so close I swear I can hear each particle of air being sucked into their nostrils. My thumb rubs against the selector switch while my finger caresses the trigger guard. Each nerves tingles and stands on end. My face pulses with the increase in blood pressure. My whole body vibrates with tension. Every muscle is taut. The risk of discovery is great at this close range. Any whisper will be heard, any molecule of sweat escaping, smelt. I keep my eyes averted and watch them in my peripheral. One of them looks almost at me, its eyes glow in the gray sending an involuntary shiver up my back.