A New World: Sanctuary (22 page)

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

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

“You’re welcome, Dad,” Roberts says.

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

“Getting a little sporty,” I reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad, are you okay?”
 
Robert asks.

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

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

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

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

I feel a slight resistance in my arm as my point meets the tender skin and drives inward.
 
Blood splashes across my forehead.
 
Putting my shoulder into the thrust, my knife plunges further into the night runner’s neck and comes to a stop against its spine.
 
I withdraw the blade, step forward putting my right leg behind its right ankle, and push with my shoulder.
 
My push trips it and sends it to the floor where it hits with a thump flat on its back.
 
It lies gargling for a moment and then is silent.

I turn to the sound of the patio door blinds stirring.
 
Another night runner darts into the room.
 
I’m blocking the closet door so Robert and Lynn can’t fire at the new intruder.
 
It stops a couple of feet inside, thrusts its head forward and shrieks.
 
The scream fills the smallish room to the point that it seems the walls shake with its intensity.
 
Rage and adrenaline still fills me like a heated glow but there is a numbness and calm accompanying it as well.
 
I feel like I’m wrapped in a heated void.
 
I hold my arms out to the side with my knife dripping blood, thrust forward in a similar manner, and roar back at it.
 
A startled look crosses its features as I step towards it.
 
It turns and darts back through the blinds.
 
I hear a sickening thud and crack issue mutely from outside followed by a scream of pain.

I check the hall and front doorway to find them empty of any further attempts to invade the apartment.
 
Walking to the patio, I step through the shattered glass door and look down at the driveway to the rear.
 
The night is silent.
 
Below, the night runner that fled is crawling slowly across the pavement having apparently leapt off the balcony and broke one or both of its legs on impact.
 
I walk back in, grab my M-4 off the floor where I dropped it, and put a fresh mag in – my last one.
 
Flicking the release, the bolt drives home, chambering a round.

Returning outside and clearing the area, I put the sight on 2x and center the crosshairs on the night runner.
 
I continue to stare at the creature slowly and painfully crawling across the dark pavement for a moment.
 
The thought of leaving it to deal with the dawn coming a few hours away runs briefly through my mind.
 
The fear turned to anger is rapidly disappearing as the danger recedes and I feel a little sorry for the night runner below me.
 
Regardless of the situation prior, no person, animal, or other deserves to be in pain or to suffer needlessly.
 
With the crosshair centered, I send a fast-moving projectile into its head, bringing its crawling, and its agony, to a sudden halt.

*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*

Looking out at the narrow view of the bed and patio blinds, Robert kneels on one knee in the center of the group against the back wall of the walk-in closet.
 
Clothing hangs down to either side of him.
 
His heart thumps inside his chest as the thuds echo inside the apartment from night runners slamming into the front door.
 
A particularly loud bang shakes the walls around him and he hears Bri gasp beside him.

“It’s okay, Bri.
 
We’ll be fine.
 
That’s Dad out there and we’re here.
 
It’ll all be okay,” he says reassuring her.

His dad whispers at the door that Bri’s mic is on.
 
In his peripheral, he sees Bri scramble trying to find the right switch and notices her look up at him.
 
He reaches over and moves the switch on her mic cord.
 
The breathing in his ears, that he assumed was his dad’s, falls silent.
 
Several more slams resonate.

“Very well motherfuckers!
 
Bring it,” he hears his dad whisper through his earpiece.

His heart rate quickens knowing his dad and his idioms.
 
Those words mean something is about to happen and his dad is steeling himself for it.
 
He looks at Lynn kneeling beside him in the same manner; on her knee with her M-4 pointed outward.
 
She turns her head to him and nods.
 
He feels confident yet scared at the same time.
 
He knows he will react okay but will it be enough.
 
He is glad he gave his dad that hug before leaving the bathroom.
 
For some reason, it makes him feel better knowing that he did.
 
It seemed the right thing to do.
 
He almost wants the action to start so he can get rid of this feeling inside and just react like the previous times.
 
This nervousness is close to unbearable.
 
A tremendous crash blasts through the closet.

“They’re in,” his dad calls out.

Light flashes across the open doorway followed a split second later by muted gunshots.
 
This is quickly followed by more.
 
The first bursts of fire are trailed by single shots.
 
Robert tightens his grip and slides his finger into the trigger guard.
 
His thumb rubs along the selector switch to affirm that it’s set on auto.
 
If they get in this far, semi just isn’t going to cut it
, he thinks keeping his focus on the doorway and far blinds.
 
The flashes of light and sounds are near continuous except for pauses where he assumes his dad is reloading.
 
The mixture of shrieks and screams of pain make it difficult to hear anything else.