John O'Brien - Sanctuary

“How many of you fuckers are there?” I say under my breath.

“Jack, are you okay?” Lynn asks. Kind of forgot I had set my radio to VOX.

“Yeah. I think they’re fucking breeding out here,” I reply not interrupting my fire or diverting my attention.

The night runners gain ground to the hallway entry. Seriously, how many are there? I think jamming another mag into the lower receiver. The time distortion, which comes on when it seemingly feels like it, is sorely missing here. I would so love for things to slow down but they seem to be speeding up instead. I notice a couple of night runners race behind the front line and off into the living room to the right. Uh oh. If they get into the bathroom and come out the door just scant few feet in front of me, I’m done for.

The mass enters the hallway and are met by the steel propelled from my carbine. I reach for another mag and slam it home allowing them to gain a few additional feet. The stink of unwashed bodies and gunpowder rises to my nose. The glow of the night runner’s skin in my goggles and the shine from their night-vision-enhanced eyes is downright spooky. Even scarier is how many there are and how close they have gotten. A slam against the bathroom door just in front jars me. As if that were not a bad enough sign, shattering glass behind me catches my immediate and direct attention.

I stand and take a step back into the bedroom without altering my fire. I hear two bursts of fire come from the closet. I glance to my side and see a night runner, that somehow climbed onto the patio, pitch back through the hanging blinds. The blinds part as the night runner blows through them and they swing back together immediately as if wanting to keep the result secret; making the night runner appear as if it dove into a pool and disappeared beneath the surface. The only proof that anything happened at all is the blinds still swinging back and forth.

“Thanks,” I say focusing back on the hall.

“You’re welcome, Dad,” Roberts says.

“No worries, Jack,” Lynn responds. “How’s it going out there?”

“Getting a little sporty,” I reply.

The glance only took a moment and looking back, the bathroom door bows and then explodes outward. I’m standing at the bedroom door and see multiple heads crowding the hallway but can’t ascertain how many. Some is all my mind registers. Night runners emerge from the bathroom and into the hallway, ahead of the line already there.

“Oh hell no! You don’t get to do that,” I say out loud and squeeze a burst into the first one.

It takes the burst in the side of its chest. Blood erupts from its mouth and nostrils and the rounds devastate its lungs and interior of its chest region. It pitches forward into the opposite wall face first and falls to the floor leaving a smear of blood trailing down the wall. The night runner behind trips over the fallen one’s legs as more rounds leave my barrel and rush toward it. The strobing flashes light up the hallway and the creatures, showing the surprise and pain registering on the stumbling night runner’s face as the fast-moving rounds connect. The power of the impacting bullets launches it backward into the ones trying to get closer. My bolt locks to the rear. Oh fuck! Not good!

I don’t have time to reload. I drop the M-4 and step backwards reaching for the M-9 at my side. Bringing it up, I get one shot off before being body slammed by a running night runner. The impact knocks me off my feet and I’m driven backwards. The pistol is knocked from my grasp by the strength of the collision. The surprise is complete as my mind only records the fact that I am on the way to the floor with a night runner on me. My mind screams, Noooooo! as the additional thought registers that my kids are now exposed to the danger and I’m not up and able to help them.

The great fear turns to anger as I hit the ground on my back. The impact with the floor nearly knocks the wind out of me. My left arm is between me and the night runner on top. I slide my forearm up to its throat to keep the snarling and growling face from me. Putrid breath launches an assault of its own against my senses. I push upward with all my might but the night runner has a good position on me and I can’t get any leverage. The only thing I can do is attempt to keep its gnashing teeth from penetrating my skin.

My right leg is free. I bend my knee and reach down to grab my knife strapped to the outside of my ankle. The leverage is tough to hold while reaching down but I manage to pull the knife free of its sheath. I hear a small scream and several bursts from the other M-4’s. The thought that my kids are in trouble angers me even further. I plunge the knife in under the ribs and twist. The writhing night runner on top of me howls as I withdraw the knife and plunge it in again. A spurt of blood comes out of its mouth that is only inches away from my face. It pushes down against my arm, growls once more, and then goes limp.

“Get the fuck off me,” I say pushing the night runner off and to the side.

Sitting up, I am immediately slammed to the ground again. Fear, adrenaline, and anger course through me. Another night runner has slammed me onto my back and is on top with its head by my chest. My left arm is trapped between the night runner and myself. It claws at my neck and I feel the stinging pain of my skin being ripped on the left side. I feel the weight on top of me double as another night runner’s face appears over the shoulder of the one immediately above me.

I can’t move and can barely breathe. My jaw clenches and I feel a surge of anger. “Okay, you’re seriously starting to piss me off,” I yell and stab my knife into the closest one’s neck.

The top of my blade emerges from the other side of its neck cutting through tendons and cartilage. Blood leaks out of its mouth and nose, dripping onto me. Its growling turns into a gargle and I feel the warm blood gush over my hand and flow onto my chest. I remove the knife and jets of blood spurts twice before I feel the night runner become a dead weight on me.

The other night runner is trying to get down to me but isn’t able to with the dead one between us. I also don’t have a very good angle on it. It reaches over its dead comrade attempting to claw my face and neck. As it reaches its hand upward toward me, I stab upward under its armpit. The howling shriek turns into a scream of pain as my knife penetrates that very tender place. The armpit is a source of many nerves and the arteries of the arm run just under the surface of the skin. I twist the blade and feel jets of warm blood spray against my hand. I twist and push my knife blade again. The night runner arches up howling and struggles to get away from the point of my blade buried deep under its arm. Its yells of agony fade and it collapses across me to the side.

“Get..the..fuck..off..me,” I mumble straining to push the night runners off me.

“Dad, are you okay?” Robert asks.

“Yeah, just fucking peachy,” I answer giving a final push.

I finally manage to heave them to the side and scramble back to my feet. A few night runners lie on the floor in front of the closet entrance with one half in and half out of the entry itself. Two more night runners stand by the bedroom door. A glance behind them shows the hallway clear.

“Hold your fire,” I say as the two start for me, my roar meeting with theirs.

The two night runners rush, one behind the other. I take a step forward and meet them, going to a crouch just prior to contact. I rise forcefully and drive my shoulder into the front one’s chest, halting its forward momentum. I grab the night runner by the neck, drive it backward into the one behind, and thrust my knife under its sternum. I feel the warm sensation of blood run down the haft and onto my hand once again. I tighten my grip as the handle has become slippery. A turn of the blade and I move the night runner to the side. I duck under a swiping reach of the second one behind. Coming up as its arm sweeps over my head, I drive my knife into its neck. I lower my head just prior to my blade penetrating to prevent splashes of blood coating the lenses of my goggles.