I am once again reminded of the instances of having to penetrate buildings in search of documents, equipment, or other items of interest. I hate going into buildings and much prefer the outdoors. I like my line of sight and it is much easier to hear something outside. Much easier to hide. Most inside work is to gather information such as I am doing now. Rare was the case when we were actually after someone. Buildings are actually tougher to nab someone in, especially if they own the building. They are usually well protected and really tend to make a lot of noise as you try to get them out. For some reason, they seem very reluctant to accompany you. Unless they are drugged of course but it’s rather hard to sneak around lugging a limp body. If you are after someone in a building, it is usually not to kidnap them but that does happens occasionally. The tension I felt inside then is multiplied exponentially now.
I manage to make my way to the fourth floor with my gut tight and senses on high alert. Again, signs of an intense firefight litter the ground forcing me to slowly clear a path. I begin to wonder if the bodies, which apparently blocked the doors previously according to Lynn’s brief, were moved on purpose and why. There are times when I wish I could just call a time out and ask the opposing side a question when something puzzling like this occurs. I am just curious like that — always wanting to learn. On the other hand, I also like to try and figure things out on my own but I cannot for the life of me figure this one out. Were they eating their own and this was just food to them? Were they cannibalistic? Did they have a sense of family about them that they didn’t want their fallen to just lie there? Was it as simple as they were blocking the pathway and were moved? These questions lie in my mind as I secure the doors here on the fourth floor. There is just so much we don’t know about them.
Climbing up to the fifth and final floor, the final one for me at any rate as the stairs continue upward to a fair number of floors above, I notice the door on the left is open. I stop and become just another part of the stairwell. What’s holding the door open? I think listening to and feeling the area around me. Was I heard or smelled? Did one of the night runners sense me and is waiting for me? I don’t hear or sense anything and am pretty sure from previous experiences that it, or they, would be immediately after me, giving one of their shrieks in the process verifying I had been found.
I continue to hold deathly still. What most of us, well, when there was a most of us, do not know is that we have a highly sensitive feeling for anyone or anything around and would notice it more if we did not have so many filters or other bombardments of information flowing in. Especially if that something or someone is directing energy at us. Ever have that feeling that you are being watched? When the hackles rise on the back of your neck signaling some type of danger? That is an energy being directed specifically at you and you are detecting it. It is your subconscious picking out clues that your conscious mind missed. Standing here, I don’t have the sense that I have been found.
Step by step, I gradually make my way upward until I can see over the last stair. Two night runner bodies lie on the floor blocking the door open. Huh? Just when I thought there might be a constant here, the universe throws me a curve. Just what in the fuck is going on here? Is it some floor competition for neatness and the ones here just don’t care? Well, it isn’t like I need to tie the doors off here anyway, I think taking another step toward the open door and hallway beyond.
I check the hall from inside the stairwell for movement or sound. Fully expecting a rush at any moment and am reminded of my similar experience back in the McChord hospital. I did not like that one bit and would rather not have a repeat. I see shells scattered on the tiled hallway floor close by the door, picturing the entire firefight and retreat in my mind by where the spent cartridges lie. How it must have felt being here on the fifth floor with firefights being waged on the floors below; feeling like you could be cut off in a moment. I use the term firefight loosely here as it was really only one side firing and the other using speed and numbers to overwhelm. Much like the cold war scenarios; technology versus masses. Quality versus quantity.
“I’m on the fifth floor,” I whisper ever so quietly into my mic.
“Copy that. Anything?” I hear Lynn ask.
“Not as yet. Out,” I answer.
A chill runs up my spine and I immediately sink to a kneeling position, bringing my M-4 up to a firing position. It’s not like it was far from being ready to begin with though. Did I miss something that my mind did not alert my conscious mind to? Why the chill? There wasn’t a temperature change? I kneel and wait for something to emerge into my line of fire. Nothing comes and the darkened hallway, lit only in the green of my goggles, remains void of sound or movement.
I rise and step over the bodies with my rifle still in a firing position as I move slowly into the hallway checking to my right and left as I do so. Bodies litter the floor down the hallway to my right, lying where they fell from steel coming into contact with vitals the day before. The one thing missing here is the smell of decay like I would have expected. True, there weren’t many cars parked around but there were some indicating that people had to have been here when this happened. There should have been some smell of them if they died here and surely not all of them could have been changed. Is it that the night runners ate them early on or cleaned up their lair knowing that the smell that must have emanated from the dead bodies, especially in this heat and humidity, was bad? Did they clean up to make their lair more habitable? Those are answers I will probably never know, I think checking again to make sure the hallway was clear. There is, however, a faint ammonia smell within.
To my left, there is the glass wall with ‘CDC Director’ emblazoned on it. Just as advertised. I step slowly and silently down the hallway in that direction checking over my shoulder occasionally to make sure nothing enters the hall behind me. There are about twelve doors lining each side of the hall between myself and the director’s office; some closed and others open. It is the open ones that I am cautious of; there being no reason for night runners to close a door behind them that I can possibly think of even if they do know how. But that doesn’t mean they don’t either.
I edge near the wall and start down, passing two closed doors. As I draw near the first open door on my left, a soft sound escapes from within getting my immediate and full attention. The sound of feet padding on a floor and, by the sound of it, coming closer to the door. I freeze. A head appears in the doorway a mere fifteen feet away from me. The night runner walks into the hallway ahead of me and pads across the hall without knowing that my red dot, centered on its head, is accompanying its progress. The long hair, hanging down past its shoulders, leads me to believe it is a female. I do not dare to breathe or make the slightest sound. The adrenaline within me kicks up a notch or two. Or three. This is not so dissimilar than having a guard pass by me while hidden, becoming a part of whatever I am near, and, I am here to tell you, it never gets easy or comfortable. A slight head turn or something catching the corner of the eye can spell disaster. And spell it with capital letters.
The night runner crosses the hall and I make sure to both follow it with my M-4 but do so out of the corner of my eye making sure to not look directly at it. A habit pattern. As it reaches the opposite wall, it pulls its pants down and squats. Well, that verifies the female portion for me, I think hoping it turns in the other direction to head back once it is finished with its business. If it turns my way, its eyes will sweep directly over me. The splashing sound of urine being emptied on the tile floor fills the hall. I hear a grunt at the opening of the door. I turn my head slowly but cannot see anything within. Whatever is there must be just inside the room. The night runner in the hall turns and looks over her left shoulder, thankfully away from me, and back towards the door, giving a hiss at whatever is there before focusing once again on the wall to its front.