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.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
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.
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