A New World: Sanctuary (23 page)

“How many of you fuckers are there?”
 
Robert hears his dad say.

“Jack, are you okay?”
 
Lynn asks.

“Yeah.
 
I think they’re fucking breeding out here,” his dad replies.
 
Robert chuckles knowing things are okay if his dad is keeping his humor.

While concentrating on the things within his view, he is reminded of those times where he and his dad laughed until their eyes bled tears.
 
They have an identical sense of humor, perhaps stemming from the countless hours they spent together, and they see things in life the same way.
 
Sadness folds over him as he remembers those times now with his dad out there fighting for his and their lives.

The sound of glass breaking rides over the howls and shrieks from inside the apartment bringing Robert’s entire focus back to the moment.
 
The blinds part and a night runner enters the bedroom.
 
He pulls the trigger with his dot centered on the chest.
 
Multiple strobes flash off the walls of the tight closet as both his and Lynn’s carbines fire at the same time.
 
The night runner is launched off its feet and back through the blinds from the multiple, forceful strikes on its body.

Robert sees his dad step back into his range of vision but is only able to see his back.
 
“Thanks,” his dad says.

“You’re welcome, Dad,” Roberts says.

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

“Getting a little sporty,” he replies.

Robert knows what “getting a little sporty” means to his dad.
 
It is a little more than the normal “getting a little sporty.”
 
There was a time when he and his dad rode their mountain bikes up this long, steep ridge to the top of a mountain on the Fourth of July to watch the area fireworks.
 
They sat on a mountain top, tired and exhausted from the ride, drinking Dr. Peppers and watched the light shows in the region below.
 
The sun had set on everyone else but the glow of the sunset still shown on them.
 
After a while, darkness set in firmly and the fireworks ended.
 
It was pitch black out and they only had small flashlights – yeah, that one wasn’t thought all of the way through – which illuminated the ground in front for only five feet at best.
 
The brakes only worked marginally on the exciting ride back down the steep slope.
 
It was hard to keep the bikes under control as they careened off rocks and the edge of the cliff came close several times.
 
When they finally reached the bottom, his dad said the same thing, “That was a little sporty.”
 
Truth be told, Robert had thought it rather fun and exciting.

The one other time he remembered his dad using that phrase was the time they kayaked across a large, open body of water, the wind kicked up against an incoming tide and they paddled across with waves breaking over their head.

“Oh hell no!
 
You don’t get to do that,” Robert hears his dad say over the radio.

His grip tightens on the handgrip of his M-4.
 
The reality of the moment sinks in and he feels an intense fear but with an underlying calm.
 
He feels a certain confidence with his dad and Lynn with him.
 
Moments later, he sees his dad being catapulted in the air past the opening with a night runner on top of him; the two of them disappearing off to the right.

“No! Dad!”
 
Bri screams rising to her feet.

“Stay here Bri,” Robert says holding his arm out in front of her.

“Holy shit,” Brian says in hushed voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” Robert says with adrenaline coursing through him.
 
His response surprises him as much as the others around him.
 
That came out of him from the fear he feels seeing his dad thrown like that, from the dire nature of their situation, and from his disgust for the guy next to him for getting them into this.

Other night runners follow in the path his dad and the night runner took.
 
He and Lynn fire at the ones materializing in front of the door.
 
Their rounds hit the night runners in the head, chest, and arms, knocking them to the side against and on the bed.
 
They are attempting to keep the swarming creatures away from his dad.
 
A night runner quickly appears in the doorway, completely blocking the view outside.
 
Kelly screams as Robert raises his carbine and pulls the trigger, sending speeding projectiles toward the night runner threatening them.
 
His rounds close the distance quickly and hit in rapid succession on its chest.
 
The upward angle of the shots lifts the night runner off the ground with its legs shooting forward and its head backward.
 
It falls to the ground half in and half out of the doorway.

“Nice job,” Lynn says as they resume shooting at the passing night runners.

“Get the fuck off me,” Robert hears his dad say over the radio.

The night runners coming by the door are thinning out to an extent, becoming ones and twos rather than the horde that was there moments before.

“Okay, you’re seriously starting to piss me off,” he hears his dad yell.

No further night runners come by the opening but he hears others rustling in the direction of the hallway.
 
The decibel level has dropped substantially.
 
The sounds from the hallway combine with the sounds of struggle coming from his dad’s direction.

“Get..the..fuck..off..me,” he hears his dad mumble on the radio.

“Dad, are you okay?”
 
Robert asks.

“Yeah, just fucking peachy,” his dad answers.
 
With that answer, he knows that his dad is indeed doing okay.
 
A little pissed but okay.

“Hold your fire,” his dad says stepping into view of the open doorway looking a little disheveled.

Screeches once again fill the hallway.
 
He sees his dad lean forward and yell back.
 
He watches as his dad steps forward, crouches down and drives his shoulder upward into a charging night runner.
 
He then grabs its neck, forces it into another night runner behind and brings his hand upward, plunging his knife into its belly.

“Eww,” Jessica says softly.

All eyes in the closet are mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them.
 
Robert watches his dad toss the night runner to the side and duck under the swing of the second night runner only to come up quickly, thrust his knife into its neck - even through his goggles, he sees the blood squirt outward - and push the night runner to the ground.
 
The creature disappears from view and he hears a gurgling sound for a moment and then all is silent.

“Fuuuuck me,” Brian says barely under his breath.

The soft swish and tic of the blinds stirring by the patio door reaches his ears at the same time that he catches a hint of movement on the other side of his dad.
 
A shriek fills the room once more and is answered by his dad giving an equally loud scream.
 
His dad takes a step and Robert sees movement as the night runner apparently runs back through the blinds, his dad seemingly chasing it off.

*
  
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*
  
*
  
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*

Exhaustion sweeps through me as I re-enter the apartment.
 
I check the hallway again and drop to my knee to retrieve my handgun.
 
Energy seeps from me and I remain on the floor a touch longer in front of the closet.
 
I take a deep breath and continue deep breathing to clear my mind and catch my breath.
 
The silence has returned to the dark apartment and makes my breathing seem inordinately loud.
 
With my head hanging down, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
 
Looking up, I see Lynn looking down at me with a worried smile.
 
Robert walks out of the closet and I give him a tired nod of thanks and job well done.

“Are you okay?”
 
Lynn asks quietly.

“Yeah, I think so.
 
I need all of the bottles of water we have,” I reply feeling a sting from the scratch on my neck; both from the recentness of the injury and from sweat running into it.
 
“Robert, cover the front door.
 
Bri, I need you to cover the patio door.
 
Both of you call immediately if you see or hear anything.”
 
I realize my radio is still on the voice-activate mode and switch it to the push-to-talk mode.

Robert looks down the hall at the numerous bodies heaped there and beyond.
 
“Holy shit!”
 
He exclaims quietly.

“Yeah, holy shit is right,” I reply.

Robert kneels in the hallway where I was previously while Lynn steps into the bathroom to retrieve the water.
 
With Bri standing by the bed by my side, I reach into a pouch on my vest and retrieve a batch of antibiotics we divided up seemingly years ago.
 
Lynn returns with the water and sees me taking the pills.

“Jack?”
 
Lynn says in a questioning and worried voice.

“I think I got scratched,” I reply in answer to her questioning concern.

“Oh fuck, Jack!
 
Where?”
 
She asks whispering.

“On my neck.
 
I think it was a clawing scratch and not a bite though,” I answer feeling my neck for the scratch to determine the depth and extent of damage.

“Come on, into the bathroom,” she says.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a second,” I say.

I walk past Robert and down the hall.
 
The enclosed space of the hallway stinks of torn bodies, the iron smell of blood, and gunpowder mixing together.
 
I have to step over the bodies lying on the ground filling the hallway floor.
 
I nudge each body testing for any life remaining within them.
 
Several night runners respond to the toe of my boot prodding them and I finish them off with one round to the head.
 
The entryway by the kitchen is piled waist high in places where the night runners pushed into the apartment and were met by steel.
 
I go through almost an entire clip by the time I put the last of the night runners to rest.

Climbing over the mounds of bodies is difficult as they shift and slide.
 
My boots sometimes sink between them like stepping into soft spots in a muddy swamp.
 
I exit the mounds by the kitchen and step into the living room, alert for any hiding night runners.
 
A sweep through the open living room and far bedroom reveals that none remain within the confines of the apartment.
 
We’re clear for now.
 
I backtrack to the bathroom entrance letting Robert know I am reentering the hall.
 
It would totally suck to forget something as simple as that and be shot after all the night has held to this point.
 
Communication is one of the most important keys to survival with a group.

Meeting Lynn at the bathroom entrance, we step over the broken door and enter the bathroom.
 
Lynn props the door against the entrance as best as possible to seal it against any light leaking out, and lights the candles.
 
I remove my NVG’s, prop my gun, and lean against the counter with both arms.
 
The candlelight reflects off the mirror revealing a different person staring back.
 
I don’t recognize myself.
 
My tired eyes looking back observe the blood on my forehead and neck.
 
As I look at my reflection in the mirror, it seems like I’m watching myself through a third person.
 
The area around my eyes is clear where my goggles were making me look like a reverse raccoon.

This seriously can’t possibly continue in this manner
, I think as Lynn takes one of the towels from the floor and pours water over my face and neck.
 
The water runs off my head and into the sink turning the basin into a pink, swirling mix of water and blood.
 
I feel a sting from the scratch.
 
She begins to dab my face and neck with the towel clearing the blood away.
 
Watching her tenderly administering to me, my heart is flooded with warmth.
 
This was not the homecoming I imagined or anticipated.

With the blood cleared, I see the scratch clearly.
 
Not normally concerned with such a minor wound, the fact that it was from the night runners and that some of their saliva may have come into contact with it increases the worry factor.
 
I need to be around for my kids and Lynn.
 
The scratch itself runs from the middle of my neck down to my collar bone.
 
In the yellow light of the candles, I see the skin around has already turned a bright red.
 
Lynn rummages through drawers and a bathroom cabinet until she finds some gauze pads and tape.