Run and Gun
Saunders and the others broke into a light jog as they left the lobby after having heard from Anara. They knew they had to get to the others quickly, but the thought of a large group of the cultists was an unnerving one. Until now, they had only seen one or two, with the exception of the one sacrifice incident, and the hope that there were only a few scattered batches of the bastards was shot to hell by a medium sized gathering outside their encampment. They took up a delta formation again, Grayson leading, Saunders on the right, and Johansson on the left. They took a different route back hoping to flank the cultists from the back side, going by the back of the hospital first. As they rounded a small outcrop of the building, a garish sight met their eyes. The man that Grayson had seen from the hospital lay spread eagle on the ground, his hands and feet nailed into the concrete with a few nails each, and his intestines lay strewn about his corpse, his neck was sliced all the way through to the bone, a line etched in the concrete where the blade had struck it. His face held such an awful mask of pain and agony that it left little doubt as to when the things had killed him. Saunders paused briefly and bent down to check his pockets, and came up with an empty clip for a fifty caliber Desert Eagle; the gun itself however was nowhere to be found, nor was the fire axe the man had been using.
They picked up the pace, cutting through a park, the metal frames of a playground bent over and singed, chains hanging loosely down to where the wood seats had been on an old swing set. They were soon coming down a side street that got them to the street that cut in just above the building they had made camp in. Coming to a crouch behind a burned out delivery truck that was lying on its side in an intersection, Saunders slowly stuck his head around the side of the truck to assess this situation. The numbers of cultists outside had swelled since they last heard from Anara and Saunders picked out almost forty figures slowly picking their way through the street towards the doorway to the building. Anara had dropped her rate of fire, only firing when she could get a clean kill, two shots a burst, no more. He ducked back behind the truck and turned to Grayson and Johansson. “Ok, it looks like there’s some nice cover to our right, another burned out car; Grayson, you’re going to go that way and open fire from there, no silencer, it’d be best if our first shots got their attention; I’m going to take up a spot a little off the side of this truck to our left and try and pick off those that take cover from your shots; Johansson, since all you’ve got is that SPAS and a pistol, we’ll cover you and try and draw their attention while you sneak up towards the doorway. I want you to get up to Anara ASAP and give her some covering fire with your M60, Hernandez is in no shape to use that thing, and she’s doing pretty well with her P90. Alright, Grayson, get over there and start up the fight, we’ll wait for your shot before we go.”
They broke, and Grayson began making his way to the burnt out car. It sat on its axils and he quietly pried a door open and crawled into the back seat, he flicked on the IR beam and aimed his UMP45 at a cultist standing atop a burned out cab. The bullet took it in the head and it flipped backwards off the cab, thudding to the ground as the cultists around it spun to assess the new threat. Two more were dropped, and several of the others began to charge towards Grayson, but were quickly brought down by Saunders first salvo. The cultists started to take cover behind cars and in the building across from the encampment, the arrival of more enemies making them fall back and reassess their attacks. Johansson used the opportunity to sprint almost twenty yards to a spot by a hole in the building; he looked backwards briefly, and then went in to go upstairs to join Anara and Hernandez.
The things were responding quickly to the new threat, quicker then Saunders’ would have liked or thought possible, they were actively taking cover from his line of fire and slowly working their way closer to Grayson and himself. He counted a good thirty cultists now in the area immediately outside their second floor hideout, and he guessed that it was only a matter of time until even more showed up, if there were anymore within earshot. He ducked behind the back edge of the truck as he stopped to reload his M4, and as he looked up he saw four or five sets of eyes, turned glowing with reflected light seen through his night vision, duck behind a series of cars across the intersection from them. They had been flanked. He slowly toggled his throat mic. “Grayson, we’ve got a few behind us, we need to get out of here quick.” Grayson’s voice whispered back “Alright, got any plans?” “Yeah, I got one, but it’s risky.” “Not as risky as letting ourselves get surrounded by an unknown quantity.” “Agreed, Johansson, are you and Anara doing ok?” Anara’s voice cut in “Sir, Johansson just got here, he’s loading up the M60, give him just a second then we can give you covering fire.” “Alright,” Saunders said “Grayson, soon as they give us the word, get a flashbang on the hood of that car, so it’s high enough they can’t hide easily from it, and I’ll throw a frag across the intersection, then we make a dash for some better cover closer to that hole. Good?” “Yes sir.”Saunders was counting on the blinding white light and thunderous boom to scare and disorient the cultists, and he wasn’t let down. As the rumble faded and the ringing lessened, he shouted for Grayson to charge with him and, as the grenade he’d thrown across the intersection exploded, they launched from cover to see a street filled with reeling figures. As they moved quickly towards more cover, Saunders towards a downed mailbox near the hole in the wall, and Grayson to a rolled over sedan on the opposite side, they mowed down as many cultists as they could with controlled three-shot bursts, dropping a half dozen each, as they ran out of ammo in their clips the started dead sprinting for the cover and the opportunity to reload to thunderous applause from light machinegun fire from the second story. They stopped briefly in their new cover to reload, and, after a few more rounds were fired off, Grayson went through the hole as Saunders brought up the rear, as he ducked through backwards Johansson stepped up the fire, spraying at the cultists hiding places while Anara snapped off single shots at the hunkered down forms.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
eleventh instalment
Siege
The first hour passed easily, no noise from anywhere. The blast had killed off most of the animals in the city, leaving just a few rats and lesser varmints in the area to make scratching noises. The silence was a double edged knife to Anara, the dead night offered up even the smallest sound to her ears, but left just enough space for her to imagine any number of sounds, spanning from voices all the way to screams and howls. She ignored these, allowing her mind to drift just enough so she wasn’t exhausted from the long watch and listened for footsteps outside the room on the stairways. She had taken the liberty of straying briefly after the others had left, giving Hernandez a gun and telling him to shoot anything that moved until she came back, she found a glass desk, broke it down into small fragments and carefully covered the stairs in the pieces. It hadn’t been long after she’d come back that Hernandez passed out, from exhaustion or his wounds Anara couldn’t tell, she checked his vitals as best she could after he passed out, his heart rate was slow, but his breathing was a steady eighteen breaths a minute, she’d even taken to using it to gauge how much time had passed. It was almost 2400 when she checked her watch, she got a bit worried, granted she assumed it would take more than four hours to search an entire hospital but she had been able to hear them over their radios until a half hour or so ago, and then it just cut to static after they blew the door to the basement open. Half her mind was wondering to what was going to happen when all this shit got sorted out when she heard the ominous noise of glass crunching on the stairs. Just one step, and then what or whoever it was stopped, obviously noticing the noise. Anara got up from her seated position against the wall and cautiously stepped towards the window, checking to see if there was any sign of someone leaving the building. She peered over the wall, keeping the doorway in her peripheral vision, and instantly crouched below the jagged window sill.
The street was filled with a few dozen of the creatures. She hadn’t seen them before now, but they were definitely the same creatures that had attacked Saunders and Hernandez. Their darkened skin appearing morbid through the night-vision goggles, they moved in a crouched over fashion, but from the way they moved, she could tell it wasn’t from any crippling damage, but more from an animalistic instinct. They used their hands almost as secondary legs as they moved, bounding like dogs or wolves to move quickly and quietly through the broken city. Their clothing was minimal and ragged, mostly loincloths, and the vast majority of them had several straps about one or both of their thighs, holding cruel knives in thin sheaths. They were never still, their heads always moving from side to side, scanning the night for signs of inhabitants. The only organization that she could pick out was that, in the direction they seemed to be headed, they had a sort of advance scout, moving about fifteen or twenty yards in front of all the rest; and every time they’d come to a hole in a building, one of them would break off briefly to check it out, frequently going inside. She whispered quietly into her throat mic to see if she could get a response, but all she got was a brief increase in static. Sgt. Tobin let out a brief curse as Hernandez woke momentarily to let out a low moan that the silence and tense situation magnified into a painful howl. Anara froze momentarily, still looking out at the things in the street, watching intently to see if they noticed anything. One head turned to look her way, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It felt as if the thing was staring straight at her, as if it could see through the veil of dark night and know that she was there. A few seconds passed, with Anara frozen, not so much from fear as from caution, and the things head turned away. If it saw her, it gave no reaction, and a few more seconds later, she slipped her head back below the jagged line of the broken window sill and turned quietly back to the doorway just in time to hear a metallic click and see a shadow thrown against the far wall by a quick and deadly explosive blast. A horrid screeching broke from the hallway and Anara knew the jig was up. She got to her feet, shouted to Hernandez to try and wake him up, and opened fire on the things in the road, hoping they were still too dazed by the loud noise to react quickly. She fired in short three round bursts with her P90, the silencer reducing the noise to just above a loud spit, from what she could tell she took down two or three with the first few bursts, one a gut shot, another she clipped in the leg, and a third she took clean in the side of the head. The wounded creatures fell in awkward positions and writhed, screeching, as the others scattered into dark corners or the protective areas of the ruined buildings.
The sudden attack had granted her a few seconds to prepare more, she woke Hernandez from his light slumber, and told him what was going on, then propped him up by the door with a pistol and some flashbangs, and she went to the makeshift armory and got some more P90 ammo and a few flashbangs herself, and then took up position again by the outside edge of the building, waiting to see if the cultists would make an attempt to probe their defenses, or a full out charge. Her eyes caught a movement on the second floor of the building across the way just in time, and she instinctively ducked to the side as a series of nails hit her right arm, which had taken the place of her head at the edge of the building. She let out another low curse, and as she brought the sub-machinegun up to her shoulder to fire another burst, Saunders’ voice broke in over the radio “Anara, we’ve got the goods and we’re busting it back to you. We heard a blast, give us a sit rep.” She was sure he could hear the relief in her voice as she said “The situation is we’re in deep shit sir,” she paused to squeeze off a few more rounds, more to scare the things back into the shadows then an aimed shot, “I count about two dozen or so of the bastards outside, one tripped the claymore so I opened fire, but I took some shrapnel to the arm and Hernandez is a bit woozy, we could use a little support.” “Alright Sergeant, hold tight, we’re on the way.” She turned slightly to Hernandez and shouted “Hold on buddy, they’re on the way back, just keep watching that door.” Anara thought she saw him nod slightly and she turned back to keep the outsiders at bay.
The first hour passed easily, no noise from anywhere. The blast had killed off most of the animals in the city, leaving just a few rats and lesser varmints in the area to make scratching noises. The silence was a double edged knife to Anara, the dead night offered up even the smallest sound to her ears, but left just enough space for her to imagine any number of sounds, spanning from voices all the way to screams and howls. She ignored these, allowing her mind to drift just enough so she wasn’t exhausted from the long watch and listened for footsteps outside the room on the stairways. She had taken the liberty of straying briefly after the others had left, giving Hernandez a gun and telling him to shoot anything that moved until she came back, she found a glass desk, broke it down into small fragments and carefully covered the stairs in the pieces. It hadn’t been long after she’d come back that Hernandez passed out, from exhaustion or his wounds Anara couldn’t tell, she checked his vitals as best she could after he passed out, his heart rate was slow, but his breathing was a steady eighteen breaths a minute, she’d even taken to using it to gauge how much time had passed. It was almost 2400 when she checked her watch, she got a bit worried, granted she assumed it would take more than four hours to search an entire hospital but she had been able to hear them over their radios until a half hour or so ago, and then it just cut to static after they blew the door to the basement open. Half her mind was wondering to what was going to happen when all this shit got sorted out when she heard the ominous noise of glass crunching on the stairs. Just one step, and then what or whoever it was stopped, obviously noticing the noise. Anara got up from her seated position against the wall and cautiously stepped towards the window, checking to see if there was any sign of someone leaving the building. She peered over the wall, keeping the doorway in her peripheral vision, and instantly crouched below the jagged window sill.
The street was filled with a few dozen of the creatures. She hadn’t seen them before now, but they were definitely the same creatures that had attacked Saunders and Hernandez. Their darkened skin appearing morbid through the night-vision goggles, they moved in a crouched over fashion, but from the way they moved, she could tell it wasn’t from any crippling damage, but more from an animalistic instinct. They used their hands almost as secondary legs as they moved, bounding like dogs or wolves to move quickly and quietly through the broken city. Their clothing was minimal and ragged, mostly loincloths, and the vast majority of them had several straps about one or both of their thighs, holding cruel knives in thin sheaths. They were never still, their heads always moving from side to side, scanning the night for signs of inhabitants. The only organization that she could pick out was that, in the direction they seemed to be headed, they had a sort of advance scout, moving about fifteen or twenty yards in front of all the rest; and every time they’d come to a hole in a building, one of them would break off briefly to check it out, frequently going inside. She whispered quietly into her throat mic to see if she could get a response, but all she got was a brief increase in static. Sgt. Tobin let out a brief curse as Hernandez woke momentarily to let out a low moan that the silence and tense situation magnified into a painful howl. Anara froze momentarily, still looking out at the things in the street, watching intently to see if they noticed anything. One head turned to look her way, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It felt as if the thing was staring straight at her, as if it could see through the veil of dark night and know that she was there. A few seconds passed, with Anara frozen, not so much from fear as from caution, and the things head turned away. If it saw her, it gave no reaction, and a few more seconds later, she slipped her head back below the jagged line of the broken window sill and turned quietly back to the doorway just in time to hear a metallic click and see a shadow thrown against the far wall by a quick and deadly explosive blast. A horrid screeching broke from the hallway and Anara knew the jig was up. She got to her feet, shouted to Hernandez to try and wake him up, and opened fire on the things in the road, hoping they were still too dazed by the loud noise to react quickly. She fired in short three round bursts with her P90, the silencer reducing the noise to just above a loud spit, from what she could tell she took down two or three with the first few bursts, one a gut shot, another she clipped in the leg, and a third she took clean in the side of the head. The wounded creatures fell in awkward positions and writhed, screeching, as the others scattered into dark corners or the protective areas of the ruined buildings.
The sudden attack had granted her a few seconds to prepare more, she woke Hernandez from his light slumber, and told him what was going on, then propped him up by the door with a pistol and some flashbangs, and she went to the makeshift armory and got some more P90 ammo and a few flashbangs herself, and then took up position again by the outside edge of the building, waiting to see if the cultists would make an attempt to probe their defenses, or a full out charge. Her eyes caught a movement on the second floor of the building across the way just in time, and she instinctively ducked to the side as a series of nails hit her right arm, which had taken the place of her head at the edge of the building. She let out another low curse, and as she brought the sub-machinegun up to her shoulder to fire another burst, Saunders’ voice broke in over the radio “Anara, we’ve got the goods and we’re busting it back to you. We heard a blast, give us a sit rep.” She was sure he could hear the relief in her voice as she said “The situation is we’re in deep shit sir,” she paused to squeeze off a few more rounds, more to scare the things back into the shadows then an aimed shot, “I count about two dozen or so of the bastards outside, one tripped the claymore so I opened fire, but I took some shrapnel to the arm and Hernandez is a bit woozy, we could use a little support.” “Alright Sergeant, hold tight, we’re on the way.” She turned slightly to Hernandez and shouted “Hold on buddy, they’re on the way back, just keep watching that door.” Anara thought she saw him nod slightly and she turned back to keep the outsiders at bay.
tenth instalment
Night Terrors
A loud blast rent the distilled air as the lock mechanism for the door was blown into the far wall, and as a shaft of light streamed through the dusty haze the door was kicked in. Johansson swept the room with his SPAS as he crouched and Grayson counter-swept it with his UMP45 and Johansson rapidly entered the room and gave the all clear. The three of them assembled in the center of the room and assessed the situation. The room they stood in was the first room at the bottom of the basement stairs; it was empty except for a few desks, a haphazard office for a few unlucky paper pushers. Two doors split from the room; one solid steel with reinforced hinges, the other a smaller door with a safety glass window. Saunders nodded to the safety glass door and Grayson and Johansson moved towards the door as Saunders knelt behind one of the desks, covering both the door they came through and the vault-like doors on the far wall with his M4.
The room on the other side of the lesser doorway was silent and dark. Dead generators stood frozen in place, their shadowy forms blocking most of the room. Johansson scanned the room and went left, Grayson did the same and went left, and keeping in eyesight they moved towards the corners on the wall with the door to look down. Their two vantage points let them see down the room behind all the generators. Johansson looked at Grayson and shook his head slightly; Grayson toggled his throat mic and whispered hoarsely “I’ve got a light source at the end of this run.” Johansson nodded and loped back to the center aisle and shadowed Grayson as he crept along the wall towards the halo of light. Grayson crept to a few feet past the edge of illumination; Johansson crouched and brought his shotgun up as Grayson reacted to a quick-moving shadow on the far wall. He had taken off his night vision to give him a better view of the area in the light instead of the green wash he was getting from the area.
The quick shadow was a hand moving across a bright camping lantern. A squat man, no taller than five foot six had pulled himself into the far corner of the generator room. He was balding, but a few short hairs along the side of his head showed he kept it shaved instead of going with a comb over, a gray beard of stubble gave his face a ragged look that wasn’t helped much by the wrinkled face and bloodshot eyes that screamed the fact he had been awake for far too long. Grayson’s hand shot up in the hold sign, hoping Johansson would see it and wait; he dropped to a crouch and quietly watched the man. He appeared to be muttering to himself, to soft for Grayson to hear. Grayson took the barrel of his gun and tapped it lightly once on the side of the generator, making a metallic clinking noise. The man by the light reacted quickly with his eyes, but his body was sluggish, he pressed himself up more against the wall but in doing so tilted to the left, sliding his back along the wall and revealing a deep red stain along the wall. As he looked closer, Grayson noticed a deep wound in the man’s side, about at his kidney. “Who’s there? Who the hell is that?” the man shouted, his voice was loud and betrayed a fear kept barely in check. Grayson said softly “Friends. Don’t shoot.” The man tensed at knowing there was actually someone out there, but lowered his gun a touch. Grayson took a step into the light, his UMP45 hanging from its sling but his right hand tickling the grip of his MK23 just in case. “Name’s Grayson, I’m with the local SWAT team. Are you ok?” The man looked up at him, hollow eyes betraying the edge of madness. “They took them… in the dark they came… in the dark… the screaming… echoes from the vault… won’t let them take me too…” “Sir? It’s ok, just tell us what happened.” “Us? Us?!” the man looked around frantically as Johansson stepped into the light. The man seemed to shrink back into the wall more, if it was even possible. “No! No! You can’t take me!” he half screamed and half begged. “We don’t mean you any harm, I’ve got some medical stuff in my pack if you just calm down, I can patch you up and we’ll get you out of here.” “No! No! I won’t let them take me! It’s a trick! You aren’t real! They’re just hungry again!” Before Grayson or Johansson could stop him, the man brought his gun up and fired off a shot, instinctively they both dove sideways. Barely had the sound of the impact come from behind where Johansson had been then the barrel of the pistol was in the man’s mouth, the echo of the bullet imbedding itself in the concrete wall rang in their ears, but was soon replaced by the sickening sound of brains seeping down a concrete wall.
Saunders ran to the door to the generator room and shouted to them, his back to the side of the wall next to the door, his body still facing the vault-like door. An all clear echoed through the dark room as the sound of their footsteps padded lightly towards the door. “What was that gunshot, Johansson?” “Sir, there’s a civilian casualty; poor bastard was off his rocker.” “So he’s dead?” “Yes sir, self-inflicted FUBAR of the brain. What’s the situation here, sir?” “Once you guys left, I heard some footsteps upstairs, and then there was a tapping from the other door. The footsteps stopped at the sound of the gunshot and I haven’t heard them since, but I think the taping might still be there.” Johansson nodded “Ok, so what’s the plan then?” “Grayson and I open the safe, you keep the stairway covered, and don’t worry about silence, if anybody was going to hear us, that last gunshot would have done it; and besides, it’s about to get noisy anyway.”
Grayson tailed Saunders to the steel door where they attached a few breaching charges to the bolts so they would blow the pins out and drop the door to the ground. They took cover as they blew the hinges, the four six inch long steel bolts were forced from the hinges and the door slowly fell outward. The room behind had dim green lights illuminating the area, glow strips imbedded in the ceiling, walls, and floor, backlighting the rows of pill containers since the power died. The taping had been coming from a halogen light fixture that was broken and hanging from the ceiling in such a way that it had been taping the door while it swayed. Grayson stepped cautiously into the controlled substance room and searched for useful medicines, ultimately filling a small messenger bag with various bottles of pills. As he left the room, the radio crackled white noise with the hint of a female voice behind it, nothing intelligible though. Saunders and Johansson both looked up, all three of their faces reacting. “Upstairs. Now. The concrete’s blocking the signal.” They all broke into a run at Saunders words and sprinted up the stairs and made their way to the lobby.
A loud blast rent the distilled air as the lock mechanism for the door was blown into the far wall, and as a shaft of light streamed through the dusty haze the door was kicked in. Johansson swept the room with his SPAS as he crouched and Grayson counter-swept it with his UMP45 and Johansson rapidly entered the room and gave the all clear. The three of them assembled in the center of the room and assessed the situation. The room they stood in was the first room at the bottom of the basement stairs; it was empty except for a few desks, a haphazard office for a few unlucky paper pushers. Two doors split from the room; one solid steel with reinforced hinges, the other a smaller door with a safety glass window. Saunders nodded to the safety glass door and Grayson and Johansson moved towards the door as Saunders knelt behind one of the desks, covering both the door they came through and the vault-like doors on the far wall with his M4.
The room on the other side of the lesser doorway was silent and dark. Dead generators stood frozen in place, their shadowy forms blocking most of the room. Johansson scanned the room and went left, Grayson did the same and went left, and keeping in eyesight they moved towards the corners on the wall with the door to look down. Their two vantage points let them see down the room behind all the generators. Johansson looked at Grayson and shook his head slightly; Grayson toggled his throat mic and whispered hoarsely “I’ve got a light source at the end of this run.” Johansson nodded and loped back to the center aisle and shadowed Grayson as he crept along the wall towards the halo of light. Grayson crept to a few feet past the edge of illumination; Johansson crouched and brought his shotgun up as Grayson reacted to a quick-moving shadow on the far wall. He had taken off his night vision to give him a better view of the area in the light instead of the green wash he was getting from the area.
The quick shadow was a hand moving across a bright camping lantern. A squat man, no taller than five foot six had pulled himself into the far corner of the generator room. He was balding, but a few short hairs along the side of his head showed he kept it shaved instead of going with a comb over, a gray beard of stubble gave his face a ragged look that wasn’t helped much by the wrinkled face and bloodshot eyes that screamed the fact he had been awake for far too long. Grayson’s hand shot up in the hold sign, hoping Johansson would see it and wait; he dropped to a crouch and quietly watched the man. He appeared to be muttering to himself, to soft for Grayson to hear. Grayson took the barrel of his gun and tapped it lightly once on the side of the generator, making a metallic clinking noise. The man by the light reacted quickly with his eyes, but his body was sluggish, he pressed himself up more against the wall but in doing so tilted to the left, sliding his back along the wall and revealing a deep red stain along the wall. As he looked closer, Grayson noticed a deep wound in the man’s side, about at his kidney. “Who’s there? Who the hell is that?” the man shouted, his voice was loud and betrayed a fear kept barely in check. Grayson said softly “Friends. Don’t shoot.” The man tensed at knowing there was actually someone out there, but lowered his gun a touch. Grayson took a step into the light, his UMP45 hanging from its sling but his right hand tickling the grip of his MK23 just in case. “Name’s Grayson, I’m with the local SWAT team. Are you ok?” The man looked up at him, hollow eyes betraying the edge of madness. “They took them… in the dark they came… in the dark… the screaming… echoes from the vault… won’t let them take me too…” “Sir? It’s ok, just tell us what happened.” “Us? Us?!” the man looked around frantically as Johansson stepped into the light. The man seemed to shrink back into the wall more, if it was even possible. “No! No! You can’t take me!” he half screamed and half begged. “We don’t mean you any harm, I’ve got some medical stuff in my pack if you just calm down, I can patch you up and we’ll get you out of here.” “No! No! I won’t let them take me! It’s a trick! You aren’t real! They’re just hungry again!” Before Grayson or Johansson could stop him, the man brought his gun up and fired off a shot, instinctively they both dove sideways. Barely had the sound of the impact come from behind where Johansson had been then the barrel of the pistol was in the man’s mouth, the echo of the bullet imbedding itself in the concrete wall rang in their ears, but was soon replaced by the sickening sound of brains seeping down a concrete wall.
Saunders ran to the door to the generator room and shouted to them, his back to the side of the wall next to the door, his body still facing the vault-like door. An all clear echoed through the dark room as the sound of their footsteps padded lightly towards the door. “What was that gunshot, Johansson?” “Sir, there’s a civilian casualty; poor bastard was off his rocker.” “So he’s dead?” “Yes sir, self-inflicted FUBAR of the brain. What’s the situation here, sir?” “Once you guys left, I heard some footsteps upstairs, and then there was a tapping from the other door. The footsteps stopped at the sound of the gunshot and I haven’t heard them since, but I think the taping might still be there.” Johansson nodded “Ok, so what’s the plan then?” “Grayson and I open the safe, you keep the stairway covered, and don’t worry about silence, if anybody was going to hear us, that last gunshot would have done it; and besides, it’s about to get noisy anyway.”
Grayson tailed Saunders to the steel door where they attached a few breaching charges to the bolts so they would blow the pins out and drop the door to the ground. They took cover as they blew the hinges, the four six inch long steel bolts were forced from the hinges and the door slowly fell outward. The room behind had dim green lights illuminating the area, glow strips imbedded in the ceiling, walls, and floor, backlighting the rows of pill containers since the power died. The taping had been coming from a halogen light fixture that was broken and hanging from the ceiling in such a way that it had been taping the door while it swayed. Grayson stepped cautiously into the controlled substance room and searched for useful medicines, ultimately filling a small messenger bag with various bottles of pills. As he left the room, the radio crackled white noise with the hint of a female voice behind it, nothing intelligible though. Saunders and Johansson both looked up, all three of their faces reacting. “Upstairs. Now. The concrete’s blocking the signal.” They all broke into a run at Saunders words and sprinted up the stairs and made their way to the lobby.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Ninth Instalment
Sterilized Shadows
Grayson had led the way to the hospital with almost no trouble at all. Again, he’d taken point, Saunders and Johansson coming behind him in a delta formation while they were going down streets, and crossing one at a time when they came to intersections, taking turns on who went first and last. They made it in just under a half hour. The hospital stood like a ghost in the dying moonlight, a few scattered clouds drifted over the stars, and as the ambient light dropped their vision through the NV goggles dimmed just enough to send a shiver down their spines. A melancholic breeze crawled through the city and blew squat clouds of dust about the ground; making eddies in the nooks and crannies of the hospital building. Its façade had been facing away from the blast, and a series of squat concrete buildings had blocked most of the major damage to the building, so it had suffered only shattered windows and a few holes blown in the back of the building. The air conditioning units and generators had been thrown from the roof and landed in the parking lot near the front entrance crushing cars and spreading fire through the area, covering the parking lot in the burned out hulks of cars thrown haphazardly around by gas tank explosions.
Grayson held his hand up in a fist and dropped to a crouch as they approached the outskirts of the parking lot, the rest followed suit. They made a miniature huddle in the husks of cars that had been thrown together into a semi-circle of cover as Saunders laid out the plan. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. There’s three of us to five floors of run down hospital. Now, we’ve got throat mic’s, so I think we can safely split up, just keep your eyes and ears open and don’t rush into any situations you don’t need to. If you see anything at all that isn’t one of us three, shoot first and ask questions later. If whatever it is can be dropped quietly, do so, if there’s more than one and they don’t see you, radio quietly for some back up. No hero’s today. All a hero is is someone who lasts just long enough to do something stupid and get everyone dead. Keep in touch, report in every five minutes or so, anyone doesn’t report in in ten minutes, priority one for the other two is to link up and then find the third. We’ve got six breaching charges, don’t use ‘em unless the door is locked and you can’t kick it in, and especially not if you can’t read the sign. If we can’t find the stuff by 0400, we bust back to the encampment and lug Hernandez back to the base. Ready?” “Yes sir.” “Hoorah” “Alright, let’s get a move on then.” They rose as a group and moved towards the hospital, splitting up as they reached the entrance area. Saunders covered the first two floors, Grayson made his way to the stairway escorting Johansson, then got the fourth and fifth floors, Johansson covered the third floor. The theory was that Saunders and Grayson would do two floors each, and would have Johansson on support after he finished his one floor.
The hallways smelled dank, the stench of rotting flesh stinging the nostrils. The patients had been abandoned by most of the scared doctors and nurses, a few brave souls staying behind in a vain attempt to save the lives of those they could. There were gurneys spilled over in the hallways with rotting corpses still wrapped in formerly pristine sheets. Saunders was taking it slow, sweeping every nook and cranny as he worked his way in a circular path around the first floor. He didn’t think he was going to have much luck though, it was looking like this was mostly small doctor offices, reception rooms, a few scattered meeting rooms, and a multi-section cafeteria. He continued sweeping till he got to a stairwell disconnected from the main stairs. The plaque by the door was barely legible under an all too ominous smeared bloody handprint, bold face letters proclaimed it to be the basement. Saunders backed up till he came to a doctor’s office and after rummaging through the doors placed a piece of tape across the stairway down to the basement then proceeded on in his sweep of the first floor, radioing in as he re-entered the receptionists room where he’d started the sweep.
Grayson pointed Johansson to the third floor, then made his way up to the fifth, starting his search in a far corner and working his way through the corridors and patients rooms methodically. The top floor looked to be set up for private practices, a few scattered offices, an ample amount of pediatricians’ waiting rooms, and various other physicians’ rooms populated the area. Grayson took off the NV goggles, the moon and stars were shining through the mostly devastated roof and top edge of the walls on the side of the hospital he was on, and the green visual from the goggles had gotten to bright for his eyes, giving him a headache. He cautiously walked through the glassless frame of a doorway, a few remaining pieces of glass crunching softly under his feet. The room he entered had obviously been a waiting room geared towards children, singed wallpaper decorated with inappropriately happy cartoon characters was still visible in a few of the remote corners. The ceiling was collapsed for a few feet past the juncture with the outside wall, insulation and wiring hanging limply from the gapping hole and broken ceiling tiles lay against the far wall. The outside wall was jagged and broken, with pieces of broken masonry laying scattered across the floor nearby and signs of a brief fire played around a destroyed play house in the far corner of the room. Grayson walked to the window sill and looked out over the ruined city. The moon gave him enough light to see fairly well, and its position in the top of the sky eliminated most of the shadows from the extinct buildings. He scanned the area of the city around him. Most of it had been flattened or devastated enough to make it virtually impassable, but a few buildings still stood behind the hospital, the same buildings had taken much of the force from the blast. The rooftops were lower, the overall buildings being about three stories tall; they were swept clean by the blast, leaving flat spaces. As Grayson watched, his eyes started to pick out a form that looked like it was sprinting across the rooftops. The figure ran with startling quickness, slowing for a moment, it looked as if it was looking behind itself, then sped up again and took a flying leap from the edge of the roof it was on. A large cloud blocked the moon and Grayson lost sight of everything. He scrambled to get his goggles back on, and turned them on in time to see the same figure running across the next roof over, having apparently made the landing. With the aid of the NV goggles, he could make out not only the figure running out in front, but three or four crouched figures moving almost as fast if not fast behind it. Grayson flinched slightly as he realized that the lead figure was running for its life. As they passed a outcropping on the roof, he saw the figure rip something off the wall and glance back again at the pursuing figures. The runner reached a ladder for a fire escape and took another jump off the building, catching the edge of the ladder with an outstretched hand and viciously swinging itself down and kicking off the wall to drop onto the fire escape stairway. Grayson radioed in to Saunders, relating the story as he watched a first figure start closing the gap between it and the runner who lept cleanly over the railing at one end of the stairway, landing with a roll on the top of a dumpster, dropping from that and out of sight of Grayson. The close figure followed him off the stairway, the rest holding back watching. As the chaser landed on the dumpster, it was enveloped in flames. The top of the dumpster had burst into flames. Grayson watched on as the figure that had been being chased rose from the edge of the flames at the base of the dumpster, turned, and fired three shots from a pistol. Two of the figures on the stairway dropped instantly from what looked like headshots, and the third was blown backwards, the fire light revealing a dark spray of blood. A savage howl split the air and the hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stood up. He radioed Saunders “Sir, something’s going down outside, doesn’t look like anything good either. We’ve got an unknown person killing what looks likes more of those cultists, looks like he stirred up a hell of a hornets’ nest somewhere and he’s heading our direction.” The figure that had been the runner started to pick his way through scattered debris to the back area of the hospital. Grayson could tell he was taking it slow, possibly injured, and completely unaware that the wounded cultist was trailing him about thirty feet back and sticking to the shadows.
Johansson finished his search of the third floor, checked in via radio, and started taking over Grayson’s search of the fourth floor. He hadn’t seen much, the area had been easily evacuated. The third floor had been the ER and the x-ray and other imaging equipment, so the amount of people was minimal. He did grab three unopened sterile surgery kits with scalpels, needles, and all the other works. He radioed to Saunders his findings and they agreed to meet back in the first floor lobby with Grayson. He packed up the surgical kits and lopped back to the stairway, meeting Grayson on his way down.
Saunders was waiting on them in the lobby, the grim look on his face made eerie through the night vision. Johansson and Grayson stopped short and Saunders made the rest of the distance to them. “Ok, we’ve got the scalpel and some more syringes thanks to Johansson. I found a doctor’s note in his office that makes me think the medicine and the like are held in a basement office, only problem is I think there are more of those cultists down there, or at least nearby.” Grayson looked up “Sir?” “Well, the few instances I’ve seen of these bastards camping out somewhere have had bloody hand prints somewhere near the edge of the doors. I don’t know why they do it, but two out of two times it’s held true so I’m thinking the third time won’t change anything. Now, we all heard Grayson’s report on the attack he saw outside. Didn’t end to well for the cultists, if that’s what the things chasing that guy were, so I’m thinking now’s a good time to bust them in the chops downstairs, while they’re still reeling from the run and gun outside.” “Don’t forget sir, last I saw of that guy he was running this way. Could be he knows something we don’t, or worse yet, could be he’s leading them here for whatever reason.” “Right, so we’re going to do this pretty damn quick and get the hell out of dodge. Sound good?” “Sounds like a plan, sir.” “I’m up for it.” “Good, good. Johansson, take your SPAS and run point, Grayson behind him with the UMP45, and I’ll take up the rear with my M4. Make sure you can get to your knives and side arms in case it gets dirty. Let’s move out, no need to play it quiet, so we’re going noisy.”
Grayson had led the way to the hospital with almost no trouble at all. Again, he’d taken point, Saunders and Johansson coming behind him in a delta formation while they were going down streets, and crossing one at a time when they came to intersections, taking turns on who went first and last. They made it in just under a half hour. The hospital stood like a ghost in the dying moonlight, a few scattered clouds drifted over the stars, and as the ambient light dropped their vision through the NV goggles dimmed just enough to send a shiver down their spines. A melancholic breeze crawled through the city and blew squat clouds of dust about the ground; making eddies in the nooks and crannies of the hospital building. Its façade had been facing away from the blast, and a series of squat concrete buildings had blocked most of the major damage to the building, so it had suffered only shattered windows and a few holes blown in the back of the building. The air conditioning units and generators had been thrown from the roof and landed in the parking lot near the front entrance crushing cars and spreading fire through the area, covering the parking lot in the burned out hulks of cars thrown haphazardly around by gas tank explosions.
Grayson held his hand up in a fist and dropped to a crouch as they approached the outskirts of the parking lot, the rest followed suit. They made a miniature huddle in the husks of cars that had been thrown together into a semi-circle of cover as Saunders laid out the plan. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. There’s three of us to five floors of run down hospital. Now, we’ve got throat mic’s, so I think we can safely split up, just keep your eyes and ears open and don’t rush into any situations you don’t need to. If you see anything at all that isn’t one of us three, shoot first and ask questions later. If whatever it is can be dropped quietly, do so, if there’s more than one and they don’t see you, radio quietly for some back up. No hero’s today. All a hero is is someone who lasts just long enough to do something stupid and get everyone dead. Keep in touch, report in every five minutes or so, anyone doesn’t report in in ten minutes, priority one for the other two is to link up and then find the third. We’ve got six breaching charges, don’t use ‘em unless the door is locked and you can’t kick it in, and especially not if you can’t read the sign. If we can’t find the stuff by 0400, we bust back to the encampment and lug Hernandez back to the base. Ready?” “Yes sir.” “Hoorah” “Alright, let’s get a move on then.” They rose as a group and moved towards the hospital, splitting up as they reached the entrance area. Saunders covered the first two floors, Grayson made his way to the stairway escorting Johansson, then got the fourth and fifth floors, Johansson covered the third floor. The theory was that Saunders and Grayson would do two floors each, and would have Johansson on support after he finished his one floor.
The hallways smelled dank, the stench of rotting flesh stinging the nostrils. The patients had been abandoned by most of the scared doctors and nurses, a few brave souls staying behind in a vain attempt to save the lives of those they could. There were gurneys spilled over in the hallways with rotting corpses still wrapped in formerly pristine sheets. Saunders was taking it slow, sweeping every nook and cranny as he worked his way in a circular path around the first floor. He didn’t think he was going to have much luck though, it was looking like this was mostly small doctor offices, reception rooms, a few scattered meeting rooms, and a multi-section cafeteria. He continued sweeping till he got to a stairwell disconnected from the main stairs. The plaque by the door was barely legible under an all too ominous smeared bloody handprint, bold face letters proclaimed it to be the basement. Saunders backed up till he came to a doctor’s office and after rummaging through the doors placed a piece of tape across the stairway down to the basement then proceeded on in his sweep of the first floor, radioing in as he re-entered the receptionists room where he’d started the sweep.
Grayson pointed Johansson to the third floor, then made his way up to the fifth, starting his search in a far corner and working his way through the corridors and patients rooms methodically. The top floor looked to be set up for private practices, a few scattered offices, an ample amount of pediatricians’ waiting rooms, and various other physicians’ rooms populated the area. Grayson took off the NV goggles, the moon and stars were shining through the mostly devastated roof and top edge of the walls on the side of the hospital he was on, and the green visual from the goggles had gotten to bright for his eyes, giving him a headache. He cautiously walked through the glassless frame of a doorway, a few remaining pieces of glass crunching softly under his feet. The room he entered had obviously been a waiting room geared towards children, singed wallpaper decorated with inappropriately happy cartoon characters was still visible in a few of the remote corners. The ceiling was collapsed for a few feet past the juncture with the outside wall, insulation and wiring hanging limply from the gapping hole and broken ceiling tiles lay against the far wall. The outside wall was jagged and broken, with pieces of broken masonry laying scattered across the floor nearby and signs of a brief fire played around a destroyed play house in the far corner of the room. Grayson walked to the window sill and looked out over the ruined city. The moon gave him enough light to see fairly well, and its position in the top of the sky eliminated most of the shadows from the extinct buildings. He scanned the area of the city around him. Most of it had been flattened or devastated enough to make it virtually impassable, but a few buildings still stood behind the hospital, the same buildings had taken much of the force from the blast. The rooftops were lower, the overall buildings being about three stories tall; they were swept clean by the blast, leaving flat spaces. As Grayson watched, his eyes started to pick out a form that looked like it was sprinting across the rooftops. The figure ran with startling quickness, slowing for a moment, it looked as if it was looking behind itself, then sped up again and took a flying leap from the edge of the roof it was on. A large cloud blocked the moon and Grayson lost sight of everything. He scrambled to get his goggles back on, and turned them on in time to see the same figure running across the next roof over, having apparently made the landing. With the aid of the NV goggles, he could make out not only the figure running out in front, but three or four crouched figures moving almost as fast if not fast behind it. Grayson flinched slightly as he realized that the lead figure was running for its life. As they passed a outcropping on the roof, he saw the figure rip something off the wall and glance back again at the pursuing figures. The runner reached a ladder for a fire escape and took another jump off the building, catching the edge of the ladder with an outstretched hand and viciously swinging itself down and kicking off the wall to drop onto the fire escape stairway. Grayson radioed in to Saunders, relating the story as he watched a first figure start closing the gap between it and the runner who lept cleanly over the railing at one end of the stairway, landing with a roll on the top of a dumpster, dropping from that and out of sight of Grayson. The close figure followed him off the stairway, the rest holding back watching. As the chaser landed on the dumpster, it was enveloped in flames. The top of the dumpster had burst into flames. Grayson watched on as the figure that had been being chased rose from the edge of the flames at the base of the dumpster, turned, and fired three shots from a pistol. Two of the figures on the stairway dropped instantly from what looked like headshots, and the third was blown backwards, the fire light revealing a dark spray of blood. A savage howl split the air and the hair on the back of Grayson’s neck stood up. He radioed Saunders “Sir, something’s going down outside, doesn’t look like anything good either. We’ve got an unknown person killing what looks likes more of those cultists, looks like he stirred up a hell of a hornets’ nest somewhere and he’s heading our direction.” The figure that had been the runner started to pick his way through scattered debris to the back area of the hospital. Grayson could tell he was taking it slow, possibly injured, and completely unaware that the wounded cultist was trailing him about thirty feet back and sticking to the shadows.
Johansson finished his search of the third floor, checked in via radio, and started taking over Grayson’s search of the fourth floor. He hadn’t seen much, the area had been easily evacuated. The third floor had been the ER and the x-ray and other imaging equipment, so the amount of people was minimal. He did grab three unopened sterile surgery kits with scalpels, needles, and all the other works. He radioed to Saunders his findings and they agreed to meet back in the first floor lobby with Grayson. He packed up the surgical kits and lopped back to the stairway, meeting Grayson on his way down.
Saunders was waiting on them in the lobby, the grim look on his face made eerie through the night vision. Johansson and Grayson stopped short and Saunders made the rest of the distance to them. “Ok, we’ve got the scalpel and some more syringes thanks to Johansson. I found a doctor’s note in his office that makes me think the medicine and the like are held in a basement office, only problem is I think there are more of those cultists down there, or at least nearby.” Grayson looked up “Sir?” “Well, the few instances I’ve seen of these bastards camping out somewhere have had bloody hand prints somewhere near the edge of the doors. I don’t know why they do it, but two out of two times it’s held true so I’m thinking the third time won’t change anything. Now, we all heard Grayson’s report on the attack he saw outside. Didn’t end to well for the cultists, if that’s what the things chasing that guy were, so I’m thinking now’s a good time to bust them in the chops downstairs, while they’re still reeling from the run and gun outside.” “Don’t forget sir, last I saw of that guy he was running this way. Could be he knows something we don’t, or worse yet, could be he’s leading them here for whatever reason.” “Right, so we’re going to do this pretty damn quick and get the hell out of dodge. Sound good?” “Sounds like a plan, sir.” “I’m up for it.” “Good, good. Johansson, take your SPAS and run point, Grayson behind him with the UMP45, and I’ll take up the rear with my M4. Make sure you can get to your knives and side arms in case it gets dirty. Let’s move out, no need to play it quiet, so we’re going noisy.”
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Eighth instalment
Night Raid
“Ok, Hernandez is stabilized with three cracked ribs, a head contusion, and a stab to the shoulder joint. We need some medical syringes, a bottle of morphine, and judging by the knife, some tetanus treatments. We’ve got the morphine and a syringe, but no tetanus shots or surgical kits; any suggestions?” Saunders was seated in the corner at Hernandez’s feet; the others were assembled near him. They sat in a circle around a fire that Anara had collected the fuel for while Saunders and Hernandez were on their ill fated recon mission. “Two of us could make a run back to the base and get the supplies or hell, we could all go back, taking him with us, then get back here tomorrow or the day after.” Saunders looked at Anara and nodded, then Johansson spoke up “We can’t just go back to base tonight carrying Hernandez, it’s impractical, we don’t know how many others like that… thing there are out there, or anything. We’ve got a flashlight a piece, if even, and five pools of light are nowhere near enough to keep good on watching a three hundred and sixty degree range. I say we wait till light and either reassess our options, or bust our asses back to the base then.” “Look, I hate to say it, but if we don’t get something to deaden his pain, he might go into a coma. Concussions are nasty shit, if he gets into enough pain to pass out again, and my guess is he will, then he might not come to for days. We’ve got what; two, three doses of morphine? If we stay the night, we’re going to need more before we make it to the base. That’s not to mention the fact that at some point we’re going to need to treat him for tetanus. That means a tetanus shot, some hydroxide, and at least a sterilized scalpel to cut out any infected tissue in the wound. There’s a hospital not six blocks from here, it’s dark outside, but the stars should give us enough light to get there easily, and if we’re worried about not being able to see once we get in there, I know where we can get some night-vision goggles, give ourselves an edge without making us stand out as much.” Johansson asked the question hanging in all three of the other’s heads, “Wouldn’t the electromagnetic pulse from the nukes have fried them?” “I doubt it, they’re in the SWAT supply room, which is a few floors underground under the police station. It’s keypad locked, but that part works on vacuum tubes, which withstand EMP’s, and that door and the entire room is protected from EMP’s and radiation by about three inches of lead, so they should be in working order. Even if they’re not, it’s worth a shot, they’ve got flashbangs and other equipment in there we can use in a pinch.” Saunders thought for a few minutes then made a decision. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. Grayson, you and Johansson are going to get into the SWAT storage and check the situation with the gear. Johansson, while you’re down there grab another gun that’s better for close quarters. We need at least three night vision kits, preferably four, then get back here ASAP and we can get set up to get to the hospital.
Saunders and Anara kept watch on the door and checking on Hernandez in shifts, switching positions when either got tired as Johansson and Grayson made their way through the night without lights, trying to keep quiet. The streets were dead quiet and the burned out hulks of cars haunted the streets as their footsteps echoed softly through the corridors of the decrepit buildings. They made good time on the way to the police station; Grayson was on point with his MK23 out and M21 across his back on a strap, Johansson was keeping close behind him on his left with his M60 in his hands. They were moving in a crouched run across the final street to the front of the police station within minutes, and as they walked over the flattened door, Grayson switched on a maglite and but it under a corner of his shirt to cut down on the shine. The dim light helped them find the stairway, and they were down three flights and at the door to the SWAT storage room in a few more minutes. The keypad was still online, and the door mechanism worked. Whether it was the outdated vacuum tubing wires or the mass amounts of concrete between it and the nuke, it had survived intact. Grayson pushed the door open and uncovered the light, illuminating the whole room. It was about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide with racks on the walls and in the center space of the room filled with collections of well organized guns, ammo, riot gear, explosive devices, and other tactical equipment. Grayson and Johansson both started filling two packs with extra equipment, Grayson carefully grabbing four sets of night vision goggles, along with a few flashbang grenades. Johansson grabbed a SPAS-12 shotgun from the wall and held a UMP45 with a rail system out to Grayson. “Sniper rifle won’t be much use while it’s still dark out, and you’ll want something besides that pistol if we get in a bind.” Grayson reached out a hand and took the submachine gun from him “Yeah, you’re probably right, and its light enough I can carry it and the M21 tomorrow, don’t want to be leaving behind any firepower for our crazy cultist buddies.” He moved to a rack along the back wall and picked through the equipment there, coming up with a red dot sight, fore grip, and a IR laser sight for the rail system and a few extra clips which he promptly loaded. Johansson had picked up a similar red dot sight for his SPAZ and a folding stock that attached to a spot just above the pistol grip. After checking one of the sets of goggles, they set off for the campsite again, each wearing a night vision rig. They made the trip back even faster with the night vision. The green lighting gave the scenery an even eerier appearance, the shadows fleeing from the skeletal cars giving them a haunting look. They made it to the encampment a few minutes later, whispering “Friendlies coming in.” from beside the doorway, and waiting for a whistled acknowledgement from within before stepping through the doorway.
They set their bags down by the still burning fire and started running down the list of goodies they’d grabbed from the storage room, laying them out on a desk in the corner of the room away from the door. Extra ammo for all the guns, suppressors for the P90, UMP45, and the M4, IR laser sights for all, a few red dot sights, a dozen flashbangs, a half dozen stun grenades, a pair of binoculars that could switch from regular, to thermal, to night vision, and a half dozen sets of radio transmitters with throat mic’s and ear pieces came from Grayson’s bag; from Johansson’s came a half dozen breaching charges for doorways, some flexi cuffs, and ammo for most of the guns, and an assortment of shot and slug shells two and three quarter inch shells for the SPAZ. Saunders looked over the haul with the slightest hint of a smile playing across his face. “Shit guys, we’re not starting world war four here. All these electronics work Grayson?” “Well sir, the night vision’s work, so I’m assuming the rest of the stuff was equally shielded from the EMP. I especially love these little doohickeys.” Saunders looked up to see Grayson holding up one of the IR units. “Not trying to be nitpicky here Grayson, but it’s been my experience that laser sights work just as well for your enemy as they do for you.” “Yes, and I would have to agree, but these babies… well, just watch.” Grayson handed Saunders a set of night vision goggles and waited for Saunders to slip them over his head and power them up. Saunders nodded his head slightly to indicate he was ready, and Grayson pulsed the IR beam across Saunders’ line of sight. No one else in the room saw it, but to Saunders it was a bright white line shooting across his field of vision. He pulled the NV goggles off and looked to Grayson to see a wicked grin on his face. “They won’t see a damn thing but the back end of the bullet that just went through their head, sir.” “I got to say Grayson; I do like these things, nifty little bastards.” Johansson came back from his pack “One more thing sir, or, I guess two more.” “Yeah?” “Claymores sir, two of ‘em, took the liberty of liberating them from the armory at the base, tested one of their friends on the outskirts of the base and the sensors still work. I figure one or two in the hallways ought to give whoever’s back behind with Hernandez a heads up if anyone’s sneaking up on them.” “Johansson, I like the way you think.” Saunders sat down for a minute, looking over the equipment and after grabbing an IR laser for himself, a silencer for the M4, a set of NV goggles, and a radio transceiver set up, he turned back to the rest. “OK guys, here’s the plan. If you’ve got any suggestions, speak up once I’m through so I can get it all out first. Anara here has some limited medical training from a survival course she opted to take with the marines, so I think she should stay behind and watch over Hernandez. That leaves the three of us to get to the hospital and find the supplies we need. We’ve got the throat mic’s now, and that gives us a distinct advantage and lets us take care of this ten times quicker since we can split up now, or get back here quick if Sgt. Tobin need’s us. It’s currently 2000, Grayson we’ll follow you to the hospital, then split up to search the grounds there. If anyone gets into any trouble, don’t hesitate to raise hell. From what we know of these bastards, they like to take it stealthy, so if you’re in a bind, blast away, might make a few of them a little more shy. Any suggestions?” He took a moment to survey the faces of his three compatriots, their eyes were on him and no one was raising any questions, he threw them a cocky smile “Hoorah?” “Hoorah!”
“Ok, Hernandez is stabilized with three cracked ribs, a head contusion, and a stab to the shoulder joint. We need some medical syringes, a bottle of morphine, and judging by the knife, some tetanus treatments. We’ve got the morphine and a syringe, but no tetanus shots or surgical kits; any suggestions?” Saunders was seated in the corner at Hernandez’s feet; the others were assembled near him. They sat in a circle around a fire that Anara had collected the fuel for while Saunders and Hernandez were on their ill fated recon mission. “Two of us could make a run back to the base and get the supplies or hell, we could all go back, taking him with us, then get back here tomorrow or the day after.” Saunders looked at Anara and nodded, then Johansson spoke up “We can’t just go back to base tonight carrying Hernandez, it’s impractical, we don’t know how many others like that… thing there are out there, or anything. We’ve got a flashlight a piece, if even, and five pools of light are nowhere near enough to keep good on watching a three hundred and sixty degree range. I say we wait till light and either reassess our options, or bust our asses back to the base then.” “Look, I hate to say it, but if we don’t get something to deaden his pain, he might go into a coma. Concussions are nasty shit, if he gets into enough pain to pass out again, and my guess is he will, then he might not come to for days. We’ve got what; two, three doses of morphine? If we stay the night, we’re going to need more before we make it to the base. That’s not to mention the fact that at some point we’re going to need to treat him for tetanus. That means a tetanus shot, some hydroxide, and at least a sterilized scalpel to cut out any infected tissue in the wound. There’s a hospital not six blocks from here, it’s dark outside, but the stars should give us enough light to get there easily, and if we’re worried about not being able to see once we get in there, I know where we can get some night-vision goggles, give ourselves an edge without making us stand out as much.” Johansson asked the question hanging in all three of the other’s heads, “Wouldn’t the electromagnetic pulse from the nukes have fried them?” “I doubt it, they’re in the SWAT supply room, which is a few floors underground under the police station. It’s keypad locked, but that part works on vacuum tubes, which withstand EMP’s, and that door and the entire room is protected from EMP’s and radiation by about three inches of lead, so they should be in working order. Even if they’re not, it’s worth a shot, they’ve got flashbangs and other equipment in there we can use in a pinch.” Saunders thought for a few minutes then made a decision. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. Grayson, you and Johansson are going to get into the SWAT storage and check the situation with the gear. Johansson, while you’re down there grab another gun that’s better for close quarters. We need at least three night vision kits, preferably four, then get back here ASAP and we can get set up to get to the hospital.
Saunders and Anara kept watch on the door and checking on Hernandez in shifts, switching positions when either got tired as Johansson and Grayson made their way through the night without lights, trying to keep quiet. The streets were dead quiet and the burned out hulks of cars haunted the streets as their footsteps echoed softly through the corridors of the decrepit buildings. They made good time on the way to the police station; Grayson was on point with his MK23 out and M21 across his back on a strap, Johansson was keeping close behind him on his left with his M60 in his hands. They were moving in a crouched run across the final street to the front of the police station within minutes, and as they walked over the flattened door, Grayson switched on a maglite and but it under a corner of his shirt to cut down on the shine. The dim light helped them find the stairway, and they were down three flights and at the door to the SWAT storage room in a few more minutes. The keypad was still online, and the door mechanism worked. Whether it was the outdated vacuum tubing wires or the mass amounts of concrete between it and the nuke, it had survived intact. Grayson pushed the door open and uncovered the light, illuminating the whole room. It was about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide with racks on the walls and in the center space of the room filled with collections of well organized guns, ammo, riot gear, explosive devices, and other tactical equipment. Grayson and Johansson both started filling two packs with extra equipment, Grayson carefully grabbing four sets of night vision goggles, along with a few flashbang grenades. Johansson grabbed a SPAS-12 shotgun from the wall and held a UMP45 with a rail system out to Grayson. “Sniper rifle won’t be much use while it’s still dark out, and you’ll want something besides that pistol if we get in a bind.” Grayson reached out a hand and took the submachine gun from him “Yeah, you’re probably right, and its light enough I can carry it and the M21 tomorrow, don’t want to be leaving behind any firepower for our crazy cultist buddies.” He moved to a rack along the back wall and picked through the equipment there, coming up with a red dot sight, fore grip, and a IR laser sight for the rail system and a few extra clips which he promptly loaded. Johansson had picked up a similar red dot sight for his SPAZ and a folding stock that attached to a spot just above the pistol grip. After checking one of the sets of goggles, they set off for the campsite again, each wearing a night vision rig. They made the trip back even faster with the night vision. The green lighting gave the scenery an even eerier appearance, the shadows fleeing from the skeletal cars giving them a haunting look. They made it to the encampment a few minutes later, whispering “Friendlies coming in.” from beside the doorway, and waiting for a whistled acknowledgement from within before stepping through the doorway.
They set their bags down by the still burning fire and started running down the list of goodies they’d grabbed from the storage room, laying them out on a desk in the corner of the room away from the door. Extra ammo for all the guns, suppressors for the P90, UMP45, and the M4, IR laser sights for all, a few red dot sights, a dozen flashbangs, a half dozen stun grenades, a pair of binoculars that could switch from regular, to thermal, to night vision, and a half dozen sets of radio transmitters with throat mic’s and ear pieces came from Grayson’s bag; from Johansson’s came a half dozen breaching charges for doorways, some flexi cuffs, and ammo for most of the guns, and an assortment of shot and slug shells two and three quarter inch shells for the SPAZ. Saunders looked over the haul with the slightest hint of a smile playing across his face. “Shit guys, we’re not starting world war four here. All these electronics work Grayson?” “Well sir, the night vision’s work, so I’m assuming the rest of the stuff was equally shielded from the EMP. I especially love these little doohickeys.” Saunders looked up to see Grayson holding up one of the IR units. “Not trying to be nitpicky here Grayson, but it’s been my experience that laser sights work just as well for your enemy as they do for you.” “Yes, and I would have to agree, but these babies… well, just watch.” Grayson handed Saunders a set of night vision goggles and waited for Saunders to slip them over his head and power them up. Saunders nodded his head slightly to indicate he was ready, and Grayson pulsed the IR beam across Saunders’ line of sight. No one else in the room saw it, but to Saunders it was a bright white line shooting across his field of vision. He pulled the NV goggles off and looked to Grayson to see a wicked grin on his face. “They won’t see a damn thing but the back end of the bullet that just went through their head, sir.” “I got to say Grayson; I do like these things, nifty little bastards.” Johansson came back from his pack “One more thing sir, or, I guess two more.” “Yeah?” “Claymores sir, two of ‘em, took the liberty of liberating them from the armory at the base, tested one of their friends on the outskirts of the base and the sensors still work. I figure one or two in the hallways ought to give whoever’s back behind with Hernandez a heads up if anyone’s sneaking up on them.” “Johansson, I like the way you think.” Saunders sat down for a minute, looking over the equipment and after grabbing an IR laser for himself, a silencer for the M4, a set of NV goggles, and a radio transceiver set up, he turned back to the rest. “OK guys, here’s the plan. If you’ve got any suggestions, speak up once I’m through so I can get it all out first. Anara here has some limited medical training from a survival course she opted to take with the marines, so I think she should stay behind and watch over Hernandez. That leaves the three of us to get to the hospital and find the supplies we need. We’ve got the throat mic’s now, and that gives us a distinct advantage and lets us take care of this ten times quicker since we can split up now, or get back here quick if Sgt. Tobin need’s us. It’s currently 2000, Grayson we’ll follow you to the hospital, then split up to search the grounds there. If anyone gets into any trouble, don’t hesitate to raise hell. From what we know of these bastards, they like to take it stealthy, so if you’re in a bind, blast away, might make a few of them a little more shy. Any suggestions?” He took a moment to survey the faces of his three compatriots, their eyes were on him and no one was raising any questions, he threw them a cocky smile “Hoorah?” “Hoorah!”
Monday, December 10, 2007
Seventh instalment
Eagle eye
Grayson had spent the last three days stuck up on a roof. The Chief had released the night shift as soon as the threat had been affirmed; letting those who could get back to their families, and those who couldn’t, get the hell out of dodge. Everyone else hid under desks, or ran to the basement, he went deeper, the staircase on the center of the city block, six levels of car parking below the surface. After the shaking stopped he tried like hell to fall asleep, pass the time quicker. He ended up staring at the blank concrete wall as dust floated down from above in lazy loops. An emergency generator somewhere went undamaged, and red light flooded the staircase, giving him dim light to see by. Four days he waited, cramped up in the stairway. The fifth day he slowly climbed his way up debris piles to the surface and walked over the door of the police station. He didn’t find anything but bodies in the offices, so he made his way to the basement, hoping someone there would be alive. Not a soul was to be found. There were a few bodies pinned under what had been flying or falling debris, but if there had been anyone else there, they were long gone. The only evidence he found of any survivors was a large pool of dried blood, with a half dozen three inch nails in the center of it. He found the Chief pinned under a hardwood desk that had been thrown against the wall on the main floor, rummaging through his pockets he got the key to the armory. If what he thought had happened with those nails was right, he was going to need some guns. He got to the armory and the storage lockers and got some body armor, nothing big just a Kevlar vest, an MK23 pistol with a thigh holster, and an M21 sniper rifle with an adjustable 6-12X scope.
After that it got a little hazy, the days ran together, one ruined building after another and no signs of survivors except for the odd gunshot echoing across the waste. Until three days ago, somebody stupid had tried to sneak up on him while he was napping in a fourth story window. He winged the sucker pretty good, but didn’t think he’d quite finished him off and would have given chase if it weren’t for a three inch nail protruding from his shoulder. He made his way cautiously into a hospital a little West of downtown and rummaged for medical supplies; after bandaging himself up, he made his way to a five story building that looked in moderately good condition on the outskirts of downtown. He made sure he could get up to the roof easily, and after doing so looted the remains of a nearby gas station for food and bottled water and set up camp on the roof. That night someone had made another attempt at killing him; six nails shot through the wood door and thunked into an air conditioner unit that had been ripped from its mounting and thrown halfway across the roof. He fired a few rounds through the doorway with his MK23 and after a few seconds of nothing, he cracked the door open to see a blood splatter on the far wall with the sounds of running echoing up through the stairwell.
After that he had piled as much debris in front of the doorway as he could, and spent the daylight hours trying to spot anyone he could through his M21’s scope. Three days of that and mild amounts of sleep had left him fatigued and annoyed. He had seen so many objects that looked human to the naked eye that it was hard to believe that not a single one hadn’t been. Yesterday he had heard too much gunfire for his mind to rationalize it as someone giving in to the disparity of post-apocalyptic life. So today he woke up and scanned the city thoroughly for any signs of life, and a few hours past noon he saw a series of small dots on the horizon. A quick glance through the scope revealed it was four figures in camo making their way over piles of debris and heading for the downtown area. Another hour and they were barely a mile away. Grayson looked through the scope again to get a better look at them.
The guy in the lead was about six two and was carrying an assault rifle. He was wearing a camo combat vest over a black t-shirt, camo pants, and black combat boots. His face was shaded by a camo boonie hat, but as he looked sideways the shadow moved from his face and he saw steady brown eyes set above a nose that had been broken at least once and about five days worth of beard growth. He had moderately long brown hair that was swept backwards from his head and hung down to the base of his neck under the boonie. He looked to be about two hundred pounds or so, but by the way he was moving Grayson could tell that he was in damn good shape and moved with almost complete confidence. Behind him was a woman; she had a similar camo combat vest that covered her torso completely and similar pants and boots, she carried an odd shaped submachine gun that Grayson knew to be a P90 and her long light brown hair was swept behind her head and held in place by a knot tied at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a light green and her face bore a look of determination and alertness. Behind her was a Hispanic man with another assault rifle. He had brown eyes and heavy eyebrows that sat under a camo dew rag. He was smaller than the point man, but not by much, and he carried himself with the same ease and confidence. Bringing up the rear was a behemoth of a man, at least six foot seven with close cropped blond hair and hard, ice blue eyes. He easily weighed in at two fifty and his arms cradled a large M60 heavy machine gun as if it were a small baby. Grayson watched their approach into the downtown area with reserved anticipation, noting that they set up camp in the second floor of a building. He started removing the debris blocking the door and set out to reach their camp a half hour later.
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Incoming
The hike to their current campsite had been uneventful and long. They picked a large sized room on the second floor of a bombed out office building to make their base of operations in. Before they rested, Saunders had Hernandez and Johansson move some furniture around the doorway, making a covered position ten feet from the entrance of the doorway that gave them a line of fire that covered the entrance. Using other debris, they added shoulder high barriers on either side of the door, forcing someone entering to walk straight at the desk for a good five feet. Meanwhile, Saunders and Anara checked the two windows in the room for ease of access from the ground floor. Once they decided the area was safe, Saunders and Hernandez went to go a quick scout of the area before the sun set, leaving Anara and Johansson to watch the base. They went around the block their building was situated on then expanded into the surrounding area, checking for buildings that survived the blast in decent shape. There were very few, but more buildings here than in the area immediately outside the city center, where the buildings were less reinforced concrete and more wood or brick. A few minutes from sunset, Saunders spotted a bloody hand print on the side of a doorway that had somehow remained in place. He tapped Hernandez, and they both stopped and looked at the door for a minute. Saunders brought up his M4 and crept towards the doorway and listen beside the door for a minute to see if he heard anything, then moved his left hand up to turn the knob. He swept the room behind the door twice with his eyes; it was empty, but there were signs of inhabitants who had stayed there after the strike; inhabitants with a sick sense of decorating. There was an area in the corner that was covered in dried and congealed blood, and unlit torches encircled it. On the walls were human hearts; sun dried and nailed to the wall, more than two dozen of them ‘decorated’ the area. Saunders checked the back room for any other signs of life, but only found an eerie mural of a raven, painted in blood. He’d seen enough and made his way to the door. He opened the door again just in time to see Hernandez tackled by blackened figure with a knife, Saunders brought his gun up as the figure pulled the knife from Hernandez’s shoulder and prepared to plunge it into his chest, he could tell Hernandez had been knocked out by the fall, a pool of crimson blood seeped from the back of his head, almost meeting the pool from his shoulder. Saunders raised his M4 to shoot and shouted at the figure to try and buy a split second more to aim. The figure spun its upper body toward Saunders and let out a hideous screech. Its teeth were blackened and its eyes were bloodshot, but if you’d asked him to describe it right there and then, that’s all he’d have been able to say, because that’s all there was to this figure, bloodshot eyes and black stained teeth. The knife slowly began to plunge towards Hernandez’s chest, and Saunders had the figures head in his sights and squeezed the trigger. The figure’s head disappeared in a cloud of crimson blood spray as Saunders’ bullets struck the concrete behind where the figure had been. Saunders fell to a crouch, taking cover behind an upturned dumpster and snapped his head around, looking for the other shooter in the dying light and saw a person running towards him. He was about five foot ten and was wearing a black Kevlar vest. He had an M21 sniper rifle and a pistol in a thigh holster. His hair was short cropped and black, with a matching thick and short goatee. The man sprinted towards him, vaulting over a car hood, landed, and ran up to Hernandez. He pulled the figure off and rolled it to the side, then checked Hernandez for cuts other than his head and shoulder. Saunders walked up and knelt down beside the man. “That was a pretty nice shot. You a civilian?” without looking up, the man replied “No sir, well, kind of sir, I’m Sgt. Thomas Grayson, from the local SWAT. Your buddy got dinged up pretty bad from what I can tell, stab wound to the shoulder, probably a concussion too, and I think he’s got a few cracked ribs from the bastard landing on top of him.” Grayson helped Saunders carry the limp body of Hernandez back to the second floor base camp, where they set him down on a flat surface and introductions were made as they bandaged him up.
Grayson had spent the last three days stuck up on a roof. The Chief had released the night shift as soon as the threat had been affirmed; letting those who could get back to their families, and those who couldn’t, get the hell out of dodge. Everyone else hid under desks, or ran to the basement, he went deeper, the staircase on the center of the city block, six levels of car parking below the surface. After the shaking stopped he tried like hell to fall asleep, pass the time quicker. He ended up staring at the blank concrete wall as dust floated down from above in lazy loops. An emergency generator somewhere went undamaged, and red light flooded the staircase, giving him dim light to see by. Four days he waited, cramped up in the stairway. The fifth day he slowly climbed his way up debris piles to the surface and walked over the door of the police station. He didn’t find anything but bodies in the offices, so he made his way to the basement, hoping someone there would be alive. Not a soul was to be found. There were a few bodies pinned under what had been flying or falling debris, but if there had been anyone else there, they were long gone. The only evidence he found of any survivors was a large pool of dried blood, with a half dozen three inch nails in the center of it. He found the Chief pinned under a hardwood desk that had been thrown against the wall on the main floor, rummaging through his pockets he got the key to the armory. If what he thought had happened with those nails was right, he was going to need some guns. He got to the armory and the storage lockers and got some body armor, nothing big just a Kevlar vest, an MK23 pistol with a thigh holster, and an M21 sniper rifle with an adjustable 6-12X scope.
After that it got a little hazy, the days ran together, one ruined building after another and no signs of survivors except for the odd gunshot echoing across the waste. Until three days ago, somebody stupid had tried to sneak up on him while he was napping in a fourth story window. He winged the sucker pretty good, but didn’t think he’d quite finished him off and would have given chase if it weren’t for a three inch nail protruding from his shoulder. He made his way cautiously into a hospital a little West of downtown and rummaged for medical supplies; after bandaging himself up, he made his way to a five story building that looked in moderately good condition on the outskirts of downtown. He made sure he could get up to the roof easily, and after doing so looted the remains of a nearby gas station for food and bottled water and set up camp on the roof. That night someone had made another attempt at killing him; six nails shot through the wood door and thunked into an air conditioner unit that had been ripped from its mounting and thrown halfway across the roof. He fired a few rounds through the doorway with his MK23 and after a few seconds of nothing, he cracked the door open to see a blood splatter on the far wall with the sounds of running echoing up through the stairwell.
After that he had piled as much debris in front of the doorway as he could, and spent the daylight hours trying to spot anyone he could through his M21’s scope. Three days of that and mild amounts of sleep had left him fatigued and annoyed. He had seen so many objects that looked human to the naked eye that it was hard to believe that not a single one hadn’t been. Yesterday he had heard too much gunfire for his mind to rationalize it as someone giving in to the disparity of post-apocalyptic life. So today he woke up and scanned the city thoroughly for any signs of life, and a few hours past noon he saw a series of small dots on the horizon. A quick glance through the scope revealed it was four figures in camo making their way over piles of debris and heading for the downtown area. Another hour and they were barely a mile away. Grayson looked through the scope again to get a better look at them.
The guy in the lead was about six two and was carrying an assault rifle. He was wearing a camo combat vest over a black t-shirt, camo pants, and black combat boots. His face was shaded by a camo boonie hat, but as he looked sideways the shadow moved from his face and he saw steady brown eyes set above a nose that had been broken at least once and about five days worth of beard growth. He had moderately long brown hair that was swept backwards from his head and hung down to the base of his neck under the boonie. He looked to be about two hundred pounds or so, but by the way he was moving Grayson could tell that he was in damn good shape and moved with almost complete confidence. Behind him was a woman; she had a similar camo combat vest that covered her torso completely and similar pants and boots, she carried an odd shaped submachine gun that Grayson knew to be a P90 and her long light brown hair was swept behind her head and held in place by a knot tied at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a light green and her face bore a look of determination and alertness. Behind her was a Hispanic man with another assault rifle. He had brown eyes and heavy eyebrows that sat under a camo dew rag. He was smaller than the point man, but not by much, and he carried himself with the same ease and confidence. Bringing up the rear was a behemoth of a man, at least six foot seven with close cropped blond hair and hard, ice blue eyes. He easily weighed in at two fifty and his arms cradled a large M60 heavy machine gun as if it were a small baby. Grayson watched their approach into the downtown area with reserved anticipation, noting that they set up camp in the second floor of a building. He started removing the debris blocking the door and set out to reach their camp a half hour later.
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Incoming
The hike to their current campsite had been uneventful and long. They picked a large sized room on the second floor of a bombed out office building to make their base of operations in. Before they rested, Saunders had Hernandez and Johansson move some furniture around the doorway, making a covered position ten feet from the entrance of the doorway that gave them a line of fire that covered the entrance. Using other debris, they added shoulder high barriers on either side of the door, forcing someone entering to walk straight at the desk for a good five feet. Meanwhile, Saunders and Anara checked the two windows in the room for ease of access from the ground floor. Once they decided the area was safe, Saunders and Hernandez went to go a quick scout of the area before the sun set, leaving Anara and Johansson to watch the base. They went around the block their building was situated on then expanded into the surrounding area, checking for buildings that survived the blast in decent shape. There were very few, but more buildings here than in the area immediately outside the city center, where the buildings were less reinforced concrete and more wood or brick. A few minutes from sunset, Saunders spotted a bloody hand print on the side of a doorway that had somehow remained in place. He tapped Hernandez, and they both stopped and looked at the door for a minute. Saunders brought up his M4 and crept towards the doorway and listen beside the door for a minute to see if he heard anything, then moved his left hand up to turn the knob. He swept the room behind the door twice with his eyes; it was empty, but there were signs of inhabitants who had stayed there after the strike; inhabitants with a sick sense of decorating. There was an area in the corner that was covered in dried and congealed blood, and unlit torches encircled it. On the walls were human hearts; sun dried and nailed to the wall, more than two dozen of them ‘decorated’ the area. Saunders checked the back room for any other signs of life, but only found an eerie mural of a raven, painted in blood. He’d seen enough and made his way to the door. He opened the door again just in time to see Hernandez tackled by blackened figure with a knife, Saunders brought his gun up as the figure pulled the knife from Hernandez’s shoulder and prepared to plunge it into his chest, he could tell Hernandez had been knocked out by the fall, a pool of crimson blood seeped from the back of his head, almost meeting the pool from his shoulder. Saunders raised his M4 to shoot and shouted at the figure to try and buy a split second more to aim. The figure spun its upper body toward Saunders and let out a hideous screech. Its teeth were blackened and its eyes were bloodshot, but if you’d asked him to describe it right there and then, that’s all he’d have been able to say, because that’s all there was to this figure, bloodshot eyes and black stained teeth. The knife slowly began to plunge towards Hernandez’s chest, and Saunders had the figures head in his sights and squeezed the trigger. The figure’s head disappeared in a cloud of crimson blood spray as Saunders’ bullets struck the concrete behind where the figure had been. Saunders fell to a crouch, taking cover behind an upturned dumpster and snapped his head around, looking for the other shooter in the dying light and saw a person running towards him. He was about five foot ten and was wearing a black Kevlar vest. He had an M21 sniper rifle and a pistol in a thigh holster. His hair was short cropped and black, with a matching thick and short goatee. The man sprinted towards him, vaulting over a car hood, landed, and ran up to Hernandez. He pulled the figure off and rolled it to the side, then checked Hernandez for cuts other than his head and shoulder. Saunders walked up and knelt down beside the man. “That was a pretty nice shot. You a civilian?” without looking up, the man replied “No sir, well, kind of sir, I’m Sgt. Thomas Grayson, from the local SWAT. Your buddy got dinged up pretty bad from what I can tell, stab wound to the shoulder, probably a concussion too, and I think he’s got a few cracked ribs from the bastard landing on top of him.” Grayson helped Saunders carry the limp body of Hernandez back to the second floor base camp, where they set him down on a flat surface and introductions were made as they bandaged him up.
Sixth instalment
Gratitude
Saunders made his way over to the area of the camp that Hernandez had pointed him in. It was woefully small to be the survivors’ area; it consisted of about a half dozen tents arranged haphazardly in a semi-circular set up. He spotted the woman sitting at a makeshift table made of various pieces of debris from the base. She looked up at him as he approached, and he stopped a little short of the table. ‘Ma’am, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She gazed at him for a second, and then murmured the first words he’d heard her speak, “You’re the one who pulled us out, aren’t you?” Her voice was smooth, he could hear sadness in it, but barely, she kept it in check and didn’t let it show. “Yes ma’am, I am, name’s Saunders. May I ask what yours is?” “Anara. We heard shots on our way back to base. I wanted to turn around, but Hernandez made us speed up and get back to base, what happened?” “Nothing you need to worry about, and Hernandez did exactly as I had told him. No reason to risk four lives when one person risks theirs. Now, how did you get to be in that hole with that boy?” “Well, I was staying with one of my parents friends from college while I was having a job interview in downtown, they had to leave on vacation for a bit and asked if I wouldn’t mind staying a few extra days to watch their kid. I, of course, agreed to return the favor, cute kid, but a handful before bedtime. I heard the sirens, but not being from here thought nothing of them, Chris though, the little boy, came running in scared, so I asked him what he was supposed to do, and he just ran over, rolled over the carpet, and pointed to the hatch. So I opened it and tried to get him to get in, but he wouldn’t, so I went down first and he followed. It was dome shaped maybe six or seven feet across and about four feet high at the center. I was about to get out myself and see if I could find out what had happened on the news, but I heard a series of horrible explosions and the house started shaking, then something blew the hatch shut. I reached up and spun it closed tight and we sat there for what seemed like eternity. We found a few glow sticks in a shelf that was in the side of the shelter, we popped one at a time, and would sit in the dark till we absolutely had to see or we’d go made. The second one we popped we noticed a small container in the floor of the shelter and in there was a few cans of beans and some water. All around not the best supplies ever, but I guess they saved our lives. I had been in ROTC when I was in high school and did a stint in the marines till I got discharged for refusing a few orders that I found to be morally reprehensible, so I was tapping out s-o-s in Morse code on the bomb shelter wall any time I heard a noise from above.” “You were in the marines? Reserves or what?” “I went in with the surge to Iraq in 2007, got discharged in late 2010. Since then I’ve been moving around a bit trying to find a niche that I can fit in comfortably.” “What rank were you when you were discharged?” “Sergeant.” “Would you be willing to help out with this situation? It’s a cluster fuck, Bates won’t admit it, but we need all the hands we can get.” “Saunders, I would be more than willing to help, but I’ve been under men like Bates before. He’s the type that got me discharged after the incident in Ramadi.” “You were involved in the My Lai of the middle east?” “Not quite, I got discharged for making it very clear I didn’t want to be involved.” “Well, if that’s what you’re edgy about, I can make sure you’re in my command, and believe me, if Bates wants anything distasteful done, he knows better than to come to me for it.” “Ok, I’m in then, so long as Chris gets looked after here while I’m out.” “Of course. I’ll be back around 0900 tomorrow morning and we can get you over to Bates and geared up.” “Yes sir.”
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You can always go…
Saunders stopped by Anara’s tent to make sure she was still ready to go to see Bates. She was already up and waiting on him outside her tent, and they went to see Bates. He was inspecting the medical set up they had at the base. There were a lot more military personnel then Saunders had seen the first day he’d been at the base after the strike. It looked like the majority of them had made it to the bomb shelter and survived the missile strike. Saunders walked up to Bates “Sir, reporting for duty.” Anara stood off to his right slightly behind him. “Good Lieutenant.” His eyes went to Anara, “who is this?” Saunders was about to introduce her when she spoke up “Sgt. Anara Tobin, USMC, sir, just wondering if I can help out Lt. Saunders here.” “Good to have you here, Sergeant. Saunders, I’m sending you to the downtown area, I need a good recon of what’s left and who’s left. You did well yesterday, even if you did get back late. Take the Sergeant here and get her suited up, then find Cpl. Hernandez and head out. I’m sending a Private Johansson with you as well, he’ll be waiting by the main gate of the base, just pick him up as you leave.” “Yes sir.”
By 1000 hours they were ready to move out. Anara had taken a P90 submachine gun from the armory and had gotten herself a pack and supplies along with some BDU pants and combat boots, opting for a grey tank-top under her combat vest instead of the BDU top, complaining that it was to restricting. Hernandez had joined them with his M16, and the picked up Johansson with his M60 at the gate on the way downtown.
The route to downtown from the base was close to twenty miles, and they were planning on spending a few nights on this excursion so their packs were moderately heavy. By 1600 they were only a few miles away. The landscape had become almost completely flattened as they neared the city center and the route was getting to be less and less walking down city streets with scattered debris and more climbing of burnt out cars and piles of rubble from buildings that had been completely flattened by the strikes. They weren’t even to their destination yet, and Saunders was already expecting four days of nothing while searching for more survivors.
Saunders made his way over to the area of the camp that Hernandez had pointed him in. It was woefully small to be the survivors’ area; it consisted of about a half dozen tents arranged haphazardly in a semi-circular set up. He spotted the woman sitting at a makeshift table made of various pieces of debris from the base. She looked up at him as he approached, and he stopped a little short of the table. ‘Ma’am, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She gazed at him for a second, and then murmured the first words he’d heard her speak, “You’re the one who pulled us out, aren’t you?” Her voice was smooth, he could hear sadness in it, but barely, she kept it in check and didn’t let it show. “Yes ma’am, I am, name’s Saunders. May I ask what yours is?” “Anara. We heard shots on our way back to base. I wanted to turn around, but Hernandez made us speed up and get back to base, what happened?” “Nothing you need to worry about, and Hernandez did exactly as I had told him. No reason to risk four lives when one person risks theirs. Now, how did you get to be in that hole with that boy?” “Well, I was staying with one of my parents friends from college while I was having a job interview in downtown, they had to leave on vacation for a bit and asked if I wouldn’t mind staying a few extra days to watch their kid. I, of course, agreed to return the favor, cute kid, but a handful before bedtime. I heard the sirens, but not being from here thought nothing of them, Chris though, the little boy, came running in scared, so I asked him what he was supposed to do, and he just ran over, rolled over the carpet, and pointed to the hatch. So I opened it and tried to get him to get in, but he wouldn’t, so I went down first and he followed. It was dome shaped maybe six or seven feet across and about four feet high at the center. I was about to get out myself and see if I could find out what had happened on the news, but I heard a series of horrible explosions and the house started shaking, then something blew the hatch shut. I reached up and spun it closed tight and we sat there for what seemed like eternity. We found a few glow sticks in a shelf that was in the side of the shelter, we popped one at a time, and would sit in the dark till we absolutely had to see or we’d go made. The second one we popped we noticed a small container in the floor of the shelter and in there was a few cans of beans and some water. All around not the best supplies ever, but I guess they saved our lives. I had been in ROTC when I was in high school and did a stint in the marines till I got discharged for refusing a few orders that I found to be morally reprehensible, so I was tapping out s-o-s in Morse code on the bomb shelter wall any time I heard a noise from above.” “You were in the marines? Reserves or what?” “I went in with the surge to Iraq in 2007, got discharged in late 2010. Since then I’ve been moving around a bit trying to find a niche that I can fit in comfortably.” “What rank were you when you were discharged?” “Sergeant.” “Would you be willing to help out with this situation? It’s a cluster fuck, Bates won’t admit it, but we need all the hands we can get.” “Saunders, I would be more than willing to help, but I’ve been under men like Bates before. He’s the type that got me discharged after the incident in Ramadi.” “You were involved in the My Lai of the middle east?” “Not quite, I got discharged for making it very clear I didn’t want to be involved.” “Well, if that’s what you’re edgy about, I can make sure you’re in my command, and believe me, if Bates wants anything distasteful done, he knows better than to come to me for it.” “Ok, I’m in then, so long as Chris gets looked after here while I’m out.” “Of course. I’ll be back around 0900 tomorrow morning and we can get you over to Bates and geared up.” “Yes sir.”
----------------------------------------------------------
You can always go…
Saunders stopped by Anara’s tent to make sure she was still ready to go to see Bates. She was already up and waiting on him outside her tent, and they went to see Bates. He was inspecting the medical set up they had at the base. There were a lot more military personnel then Saunders had seen the first day he’d been at the base after the strike. It looked like the majority of them had made it to the bomb shelter and survived the missile strike. Saunders walked up to Bates “Sir, reporting for duty.” Anara stood off to his right slightly behind him. “Good Lieutenant.” His eyes went to Anara, “who is this?” Saunders was about to introduce her when she spoke up “Sgt. Anara Tobin, USMC, sir, just wondering if I can help out Lt. Saunders here.” “Good to have you here, Sergeant. Saunders, I’m sending you to the downtown area, I need a good recon of what’s left and who’s left. You did well yesterday, even if you did get back late. Take the Sergeant here and get her suited up, then find Cpl. Hernandez and head out. I’m sending a Private Johansson with you as well, he’ll be waiting by the main gate of the base, just pick him up as you leave.” “Yes sir.”
By 1000 hours they were ready to move out. Anara had taken a P90 submachine gun from the armory and had gotten herself a pack and supplies along with some BDU pants and combat boots, opting for a grey tank-top under her combat vest instead of the BDU top, complaining that it was to restricting. Hernandez had joined them with his M16, and the picked up Johansson with his M60 at the gate on the way downtown.
The route to downtown from the base was close to twenty miles, and they were planning on spending a few nights on this excursion so their packs were moderately heavy. By 1600 they were only a few miles away. The landscape had become almost completely flattened as they neared the city center and the route was getting to be less and less walking down city streets with scattered debris and more climbing of burnt out cars and piles of rubble from buildings that had been completely flattened by the strikes. They weren’t even to their destination yet, and Saunders was already expecting four days of nothing while searching for more survivors.
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