John O'Brien - Sanctuary

The surge of night runners flowing over the far railings is steady. We have walked into a hornets nest with hundreds of them in here. The short minutes of our fight seem both elongated and compressed. Night runners pile high on the escalator stairs as Alpha renders that area a deadly place to venture. The bodies tumble over the others as new groups appear, attempting to get down to us, and come to rest at angles on the metal stairs. Some fall all of the way down to the very bottom. Others slump as if they are taking a seat and resting on the cool aluminum and steel.

A few bodies have tumbled part way down the near stairs, lying sideways on the wide, light-colored wooden steps. Some lay face down with their arms outstretched as if trying to fly. One lies with its leg bent forward and its toes almost in its mouth; its femur broken either from the fall or an impacting round. Even in the green of the goggles, I see rivulets of blood running over the edges of the steps, where the night runners lie, and pooling on the steps below.

A faint haze hovers over our line from the volume of fire; not seen in clarity through my goggles but observed more as a blurring of objects. The firefight being waged inside our desired sanctuary is an assault on the senses. The smell of gunpowder fills in the air along with the reek of bodies being torn asunder. Internals are being ripped apart and exposed along with bowels being emptied. The sight of night runners pouring toward our positions and soldiers firing to stem the tide. The fine lines of light dancing about the green-lit interior and the sharper flashes of strobes. The loud coughs from over fifty carbines firing and their echo off the concrete walls mixes with the shrieks and howls of the multitude of night runners. Shouts from the soldiers of “reloading,” “to the right” or “to the left” and other commands or warnings rise above the din.

A loud, human scream issues from the right side over the interior noise. This is followed immediately by another high-pitched scream but definitely human, or rather non-night runner. I walk to the right behind Red Team to get a better picture of events over that way, telling Robert to stay in position. I see a lot of the clothes racks have been thrown to the floor and night runners moving quickly through and over them as they hit the floor from above and launch themselves towards Delta and Charlie Teams.

From my new vantage point, I see some of Delta and it appears they have correctly oriented themselves towards the middle of the building and the night runners leaping from the overhead balcony. The night runners are almost among them with more pressing hard behind those in front. I see a surge among the mass and another scream of pain and fear rises above the noise.

“They’re in amongst Delta. They’re being overrun,” Mullins shouts over the radio.

Standing by the cash register stands, I see heads from a dense mob of night runners over the clothing racks that remain standing. They are in the area where Delta had been positioned and surging toward Charlie. Some of the heads disappear below the stands and I assume those are dropping to where the some of the members of Delta have fallen. I can’t see any of Delta remaining. Charlie now has night runners to the front and side.

“Charlie, Delta, pull back to the cashier stands,” I shout into the radio witnessing Charlie about to be overrun.

“Negative, we’re going for Delta,” Mullins calls back.

“No! You’ll be surrounded and overrun as well if you stay there. I said pull back.”

“Roger that,” Mullins responds and I see Charlie begin a fighting withdrawal in my direction.

“Red Team, on me. Lynn, Drescoll, pull back on the left,” I say amidst an interior filled with growls, snarls, shouts, and subdued gunfire.

“Pulling back,” Lynn replies.

I step out from under the second floor ledge above. The night runners have stopped coming over the balcony resulting in diminished fire from Bravo. Flashes still rebound off the ceiling on the left from Black and Green Teams as they fight their way back. An occasional volley of fire comes from Alpha as some night runners continue their attempt to make it down the escalator. The escalator itself is piled to the hand rails with bodies. Some of the night runners are only injured and move in the pile only to be stilled moments later by shots from Watkin’s group. It’s the same with Horace’s Blue Team covering the near stairs; only an occasional flash of gunfire.

Red Team arrives quickly and we set up behind the register stands. “Red Team, fire only into the flanks. Watch for Charlie and Delta,” I say as Robert pulls up to my side. Charlie makes their way back. They rush through the check-out aisle and form up alongside Red.

“The aisles will funnel them,” I say out loud to Robert and Mullins. I don’t see anyone from Delta in with Charlie and ask Mullins if he saw anyone make it. He hangs his head and shakes it; answering negatively.

“Bravo, orient to the right but keep the overhead balcony clear. Be ready to hit them from the side,” I say with an internal sigh. I’ve fucked up and others have paid.

Night runners pour out in mass from the clothing area to our front and are greeted by a torrent of gunfire from our line. Our bullets reach out and knock the first line backwards, to the sides, or drop them straight down as our steel meets their flesh.

“Bravo, open up and hit them in the side,” I say pausing momentarily from firing bursts into the solid wall of night runners.

And increase in the loud coughs is heard as Cressman and Bravo Team unleash their fire into the bunched up mass, catching them in a deadly crossfire.

“We’re clear here. Need help?” Lynn asks over the radio.

“Pull into the middle and act as reserve. Drescoll, stay in position,” I answer.

I hear something over the radio but the press of night runners calls my attention. The surge is drawing closer and they have entered the narrow aisles. The floor behind the ones in front is covered with bodies and the runners coming after us have to leap over them. Some vault upon the register stands trying to push by the ones stalled in the aisles but they are dropped quickly by the fire from both teams. I think about pulling everyone back outside as we are close to being overrun ourselves. The fighting is at a distance of thirty feet and is closing. Showers of blood and matter fill the air as rounds meet with bodies. Jets of blood spurt out from severed arteries, coating the cash registers and stands in patterns; dripping down in streams where it hits with thick splotches.

“Cressman, can you advance any?” I ask.

“We’ll try, sir,” she answers.

A storm of steel fills our small area within the store coming from two sides. I am about to call out to evacuate when a strange and startling sight suddenly materializes. There aren’t any night runners rushing us. I look to the sides and further into the large building but can’t see anything moving. Our fire tapers off as others realize the same thing.

“Cease fire. Bravo, move back into your original position. Everyone remain alert. They may just be changing tactics,” I say as a silence descends.

The quiet is surreal. It’s like a fierce windstorm that has hammered us for days suddenly relenting; one moment extremely violent and the next so calm as if it never happened. The evidence of our fight is all around us however. The haze that was only faintly prevalent before is now quite visible along with the tremendous stench. Bodies lie in heaps before us. I hear a moan and attempted growl come from our front. A shot sounds out from Robert’s carbine. The single round speeds from his barrel and strikes a night runner in the side of the head, entering just above the ear.