Takedown

Prologue

Drescoll stands at the edge of the balcony firing into the unrelenting horde of night runners invading their sanctuary. The attack was sudden and unexpected. As he pours burst after burst into the multitude on the first floor below, he still has a hard time believing the fact that so many are inside. Hundreds of night runners lie on the hard floor, but they are a pittance compared to how many are on the ground in the wings under the balconies. Their shrieks permeate the interior to the point that it interferes with his thinking.

He looks across the open area where Lynn is directing Black Team as they hold the wide stairs that is only one of two ways to the second floor. They were fortunate to get into position before the onslaught began — they have the cameras, a vigilant crew in the operations room, and Sergeant Watkins to thank for that. Drescoll sees the other team’s staggered positions around the overhanging balcony directing fire into the masses below. Tracers and the smell of gunpowder fill the intervening space between the soldiers fighting for their very existence and the night runners attempting to take that away.

Drescoll wonders, and not for the first time, if they have enough ammo to hold out against the seemingly endless number of night runners still pouring through the warehouse door. A quick thought enters, How did they manage to get into the building? But he puts that aside. There’s time to figure that out later, he thinks, reloading and sending additional projectiles speeding into the teeming mass. If we survive.

Another thought enters. He is thankful that Allie isn’t here and is instead off with Jack. At least she’ll live to see another day. They’ve been kind of an item lately but have kept it secret. He isn’t usually fond of her always running around with Jack as that sometimes isn’t the safest place to be. Sure, Jack is resourceful and manages to get out of whatever situation he finds himself, but he always seems to be in the thick of it — whether intentional or that’s just his lot in life — and that worries Drescoll.

He worries first, because Allie is always there with him; and second, because of the group of survivors. Jack has done a good job of bringing them together and helping them coalesce into a team. There are plenty of people here who could lead, but everyone looks up to him — for right or wrong — and they can’t afford to lose him at this juncture. Even with him running off seemingly every few days, he’s a figurehead for many here.

Drescoll feels the heat from his barrel and readjusts his hold on the fore-grip. Smoke puffs rapidly from his suppressor as he adds to the steel curtain raining down on the night runners. He’s still not used to the silence of firefights using suppressors. To him, there should be the sharp, staccato sounds of rounds being fired. However, the shrieks emanating from below more than make up for the decreased volume of gunfire. Shouts from the other team leaders as they direct their soldiers rise above the din from time to time. Time is now measured in the number of night runners falling to the floor. The dead and injured begin to stack up in piles under the overhangs, forming small walls in places.

Drescoll watches as a ripple runs through the horde below. They suddenly turn and pour toward the stairs where Lynn and Black Team are holding their own. The speed of the sudden shift startles him as he continues — like the others around him — to fire burst after burst. The number of night runner bodies lying motionless shows that progress is being made, but the vast amount behind seems endless. The stream of night runners trying to gain the stairs is staggering, and they eventually make headway despite the determined efforts of Black Team and the others attempting to hold the second floor.

Another ripple runs through the mass and Drescoll watches in horror as they pour upward and over the top, swarming around Lynn and the rest of Black Team. All of those defending the stairs vanish under the multitude of bodies.

“All teams, form a line across near the escalator. Nothing gets by,” Drescoll shouts into the radio.

As heavy as his heart feels for Lynn and the others down, he knows the remaining teams must maintain if any of them are to survive the night. Grieving will come with the morning…if they make it. There are others to protect, and the fact that the night runners are now firmly entrenched on the second floor makes surviving a much more difficult matter.

The sound of boots pounding on the hard linoleum floor as soldiers rush to their new positions mixes with the clatter of night runners on the stairs, the ear-piercing shrieks, shouts of commands, and the moans of the dying and wounded. A thin haze from spent gunpowder hangs over the interior. The smell of it combines with the stench of blood and spilt entrails.

Drescoll pulls into position with the other teams forming a line across the second floor. This is to be their last line of defense, the only thing standing in the way of the wholesale slaughter of the rest of the survivors. A wall is formed as the rest of the teams spread across amidst a rattle of weapons being readied. Tension prevails, yet Drescoll can see determination and anger etched on the faces of the others — they too saw Black Team go down. With some on their knees and others standing, they wait for the night runners to enter their lanes of fire.

The night runners pause and then begin swarming back down the stairs much to the amazement of Drescoll and the teams. Many forms of, “What the fuck?” drift from the teams. He’s confused by the actions of the night runners. Adding to his incredulousness is that he sees Lynn’s blond hair in the midst of the packs as they make their way quickly down the stairs. They are carrying her out! He’s not sure if she’s alive or dead, but the fact that the night runners are one, taking her, and two, retreating, leaves him stunned. He doubts the teams would have been able to hold off the vast multitude of night runners, so the fact that they are hurriedly retreating is surprising to say the least.

The last of the night runners disappear through the door leaving a number of their kind behind — dead, dying, or shrieking in pain. The din that accompanied the horde leaves with them. With the exception of the moaning of the wounded and an occasional shriek from the mass of bodies below, silence prevails. The stunned teams look on in disbelief. Moments ago they were forming a last line of defense and now the building is empty; leaving a very surreal feeling.

Drescoll shakes his head to clear his amazement and brings himself back to the here and now. They aren’t out of it yet and he knows that; relaxing now can put them in another dangerous situation. For whatever reason, the night runners have fled, well, fled is the wrong word — they have left.

“Watkins, take the stairs. Mullins, you have the escalator. The rest of you, on me,” Drescoll orders.

“What about the civilians?” Horace asks.

“We’ll check on them later. We have to secure the building and check on Black Team first.”

Rounding the corner, he watches as several members of Black Team rise shakily to their feet. All but one manages to stand. Their faces are splotched with blood, whether their own or from the night runners is yet to be determined. They slowly pat themselves down checking for injuries and to assure themselves that they are, in fact, still alive. One staggers to the side and empties his stomach. Another is still down and moaning.

Drescoll kneels by the wounded man. He is shaking and convulsing with deep wounds about his face and neck which are bleeding freely. Placing one hand firmly on the most prominent bleeder, he turns to Specialist Taylor.

“Taylor, you’re in charge of Black Team. Put pressure on his wounds and send someone for the doc. This man needs blankets and an IV set up.”

Taylor looks around confused, “Where’s the first sergeant?”

“She’s gone,” Drescoll answers.

“What do you mean gone?”

“I mean they took her,” Drescoll responds.

“Took her? Who took her?”

“The fucking night runners. We’ll discuss this later. Right now, fetch the doc and take care of this man,” Drescoll says.

Taylor shakes his head in disbelief but sends someone for the supplies and the doc before kneeling next to his wounded team member. Drescoll rises and motions for the other teams not already posted to follow him. Cautiously walking down the stairs, alert for any sudden onslaught by hidden night runners, they make for the first floor. The footing is perilous and slick due to blood coating the steps and they have to step around a host of bodies lying on the treads. A few of the night runners are only injured, but their moaning is brought to a quick end with several well-placed shots. Reaching the first floor, the teams spread out. Sporadic shrieks rise from the piles of bodies that litter the floor.

“Cressman, finish off the wounded ones. Horace, you’re with me. We’re checking out the warehouse. Stay alert. If anything happens, we regroup upstairs covering the approaches,” Drescoll says.

“How in the hell did this happen?” Horace questions, looking around at the destruction.

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out. We need to make sure the night runners are in fact gone, seal this place up, and then figure out what happened,” Drescoll answers.

Drescoll looks up to the balcony where the others are huddled out of sight in the dining and kitchen area. Several heads poke above the railing and he motions them back to their places. Muffled gunshots begin to punctuate the interior, silencing the moans one by one, as he, Horace, and the rest of Green and Blue Teams make a wary approach to the warehouse door. He still can’t figure out for the life of him why the night runners would take Lynn or why they would just leave when they were gaining the upper hand. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s just another unfathomable aspect regarding the night runners.

Blue and Green Teams stack up at the entrance to the warehouse. With hearts racing, they enter quickly with Green Team going left and Blue Team to the right. The soldiers hug the walls as they enter this potentially hostile domain. Lasers zip about in the darkness searching for targets. Nothing. The warehouse is empty.

“Lights on,” Drescoll calls, walking across the open area to a bank of light switches, turning them on, flooding the area with light.

The roll-up doors, through which the night runners gained entrance, stand open to the night beyond. There’s not a night runner in sight nor is one to be heard in the darkness outside.

“Horace, shut these doors and seal them up. Green Team will stay here with you. I’m heading to the control room,” Drescoll says.

Stepping back into the interior proper, the moans and screams have ceased. Cressman approaches, “What do you want to do with the bodies?”

“Make doubly sure none of them are still alive. There’s not much we can do tonight. We’ll clear them out and burn them in the morning,” Drescoll answers.

In the control room, Drescoll watches the tapes of the evening. He sees Alan open the gates and the night runners pour through moments later, eventually passing out of sight. Continuing to watch, he sees them reappear, run through the open gate, and vanish into the night. He pauses the replay frequently looking for signs of Lynn. He is eventually rewarded by the sight of her blond hair as she is carried away by several night runners. The surreal nature of the night increases as he repeatedly watches her limp body being lugged through the gates and off into the darkness. It’s like they specifically came for her, he thinks, watching one last time. But that makes absolute zero sense.

Leaving the control room and after ensuring that all of the doors are secure, he gathers the teams, along with Bannerman and Frank. He gives a brief of the evening’s occurrence and what he saw on the videos. The group is stunned by the news of Lynn and after much deliberation, not one of them can figure out the why of it all. For all intents and purposes, they should all be dead by now.

“This thing with Alan has me worried,” Frank speaks up, changing the conversation.

“Me too,” Drescoll agrees. “We still have another like him in our midst. I want a twenty-four hour watch on Julie. She is not to go anywhere without someone with her. For now, she is to be kept in her room and escorted when she eats or needs to use the facilities. This is for her protection and ours.” With some hesitation, the others agree.

“Now, I recommend we put a curfew into effect. Anyone needing to use the facilities after hours will need an escort. I understand people not being able to sleep and wandering around at night. I don’t have a problem with that, but they need to be escorted as well. The warehouse is off limits and no one is to be allowed near the doors at night,” Drescoll states.

There is no dissension. Knowing the fear factor is still high, they discuss guarding against making rash decisions, but they all agree to these rules for the interim.

“Tomorrow, we need to clean up the interior and dispose of the bodies. It’s a mess down there so we’ll keep everyone upstairs until we’ve managed that. We also need to send out search teams for Lynn at first light. I don’t know what in the hell happened here tonight, but we need to see where they took her,” Drescoll says.

The shock of the evening’s events prevents much conversation — everyone is still digesting what happened.

Taylor reports that the injured soldier is unconscious but stable. “He’s gone through two bags so far, but the doc says his signs are stable. Although his wounds were deep, they were clean and he should recover.”

After briefing the rest of the survivors, Drescoll stands with Green Team overlooking the first floor. With the fear strong, there’s little sleep for anyone. There’s a lot to do come morning, but they still have to make it through the night. Worry about Lynn occupies his mind, and he is anxious for morning so they can mount a search. The smell of hundreds of bodies lying unmoving on the floor below barely penetrates his consciousness. He blames himself for the loss of Lynn. It’s not that anyone could ever have seen this one coming…but that doesn’t alleviate his sense of being responsible.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he lowers his head and waits for the first rays of light to pierce the darkness outside.

“I’m sorry, my friend. Fear not. We will find you and come get you.”

Sandra sees the images from her pack as they rush upward and envelop the female. She watches as they knock her down and begin to carry her down the stairs. The two-legged ones are still firing into the pack and she senses the continued loss of her numbers. Looking upward, she notices her pack has gained the floor where the two-legged ones are holding out. She knows she and her pack can gain the upper hand and destroy the lair. The thought of killing all of the two-legged ones while she has them on the run passes through her mind; however, she also knows that continuing the assault will cost her more of her pack. She has her prize and knows that she must save what is left of her numbers. She will need all she can if Michael decides to confront her. No, she must pull back and use the rest of the night to find a lair. She sends the message to pull back.

Exiting the lair, she leads her pack across the grassy plain and through the open portals. The night air feels good as she lopes along with her pack following. The interior of the two-legged ones reeked of their scent. She hadn’t been sure of how much longer she could control the anger and hunger of her pack that the scent of the two-legged ones brought. She had barely been able to control her own.

Passing through the gates, she feels eager and what could almost be construed as gleeful. She doesn’t know if the female is still alive or dead. At this point, Sandra doesn’t really care and almost hopes she is among the dead. It’s only important that the one who is so transfixed in her mind believes that she is alive. However, if the female is still alive, she will keep her that way. Whatever the case, she will ensure that the one she wants believes that the female still lives and comes to get her. With those thoughts in mind, she runs on into the darkness with her prize in tow.

It takes some time searching, but Sandra eventually finds a place to house her pack. Throughout the search, she feels several in her pack leave for Michael’s lair. Others follow as they feel more secure with him than with her. Sandra senses several images from those leaving. They are angry that she pulled them back when they could have fed on the two-legged ones. Rather than confront her about it, they decide to depart. She knows it won’t be long before Michael finds out what she has done. There is no doubt he will be angry, not just because she ventured forth and challenged his authority, but because she didn’t finish off the two-legged ones when she had the chance. He will be upset that she has potentially stirred up the ones who reside behind the giant wall.

It’s not as if they weren’t already stirred up, she thinks as she feels yet more of her pack head toward Michael. What Michael will do about it remains to be seen.

With those leaving, her pack dwindles from the thousands it once held to hundreds. It’s not near enough to hold out if Michael decides to finish them off. She knows those staying with her are loyal and will stay with her to the very end. If Michael does show up, she’ll move and try to stay out of his path. That might make it tough as she’ll have to hunt a wider area for food. She’ll be cautious where her pack hunts as she doesn’t want to tangle with Michael.

Sandra and her pack enter the large, sprawling building. The interior smells of those that died months ago — more of a musty odor than the reek of decay. She’ll direct some of her pack to begin cleaning out the dead two-legged ones with the coming of the next night. The others she’ll send out to hunt; some to gather fresh meat, and others to search nearby buildings for the alternate food sources. She will do as Michael did and begin to store against leaner days.

With regards to the female, if she’s alive, she’ll post guards with her day and night. With the two-legged ones awake during the time of the great burning light, she’ll send an image out of the female then in the hopes that the one she sensed long ago will see it and come. Sandra feels that he’ll come during the day, so she’ll keep some of her pack awake then to watch for any intrusion. However, she has the feeling that she’ll know when he draws near in time to be ready.

With those images occupying her mind, she settles in a large room with her pack around her and rubs her slightly bulging stomach, comforting the young one inside.

With the night passing and the sky above the mountains about to lighten, Michael stands by the entrance door to their lair waiting for the return of the last of those out hunting. Sandra and her pack haven’t arrived yet and he worries about what she is up to. He sensed some of her pack throughout the night and knows she went toward the two-legged lair again. There was a moment in the night when he sensed images of the pack inside and was pleased — perhaps he should have listened to her a little more. That was it, though, just a brief glimpse. However, with the night drawing to an end and no sight of her, he is worried — not so much for Sandra but about what she may have stirred up if the two-legged ones survive. Her not arriving may indicate that she and her pack didn’t make it.

Before the night begins to turn to the blue-gray of the impending dawn, several of Sandra’s pack begins to arrive — small groups arriving sporadically, and then a stream of them come into view and enter the lair. The flow trickles until the area is clear with no sign of Sandra. The sky shows the first hint of the night ending and Michael proceeds inside.

Calling one of Sandra’s leaders to his side, he “hears” the story of what happened. At first he is incredulous, but that is quickly followed by a deep, burning anger associated with hatred. He knew Sandra was a problem and should have killed her right away. The two-legged ones will search them out relentlessly and strike back. He’s still not sure what that thing is in the sky that rains down death, but he knows it’s associated with the two-legged ones — knows it for sure. The pack can’t fight that thing and he wonders if he has placed his pack far enough away.

He sends the leader off to rest and thinks about going after Sandra. He doesn’t know what that will accomplish, but it will keep her from creating new problems. For now…he’ll wait. Michael isn’t sure where she is and doesn’t want to waste time searching for her, especially if she’s close to the two-legged lair. He doesn’t want to expose the pack in that manner. They are safe for the moment and have food. He wishes he had been with her to make sure all of the two-legged ones were killed. That would make survival for the pack so much easier. If he could curse her, he would. Enough have filtered back that she isn’t a direct threat to his pack, but her actions could threaten them all.

He can’t figure out why she would capture one of their females. It just doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t be to set a trap to lure them out of their lair; she was already in it. And why didn’t she kill them all when she had the chance? Michael emits a low, menacing growl at the lost opportunity, Sandra going against his orders, and the increased danger that the pack now faces. If he sees her again, even though she is with a young one, he will kill her.