Krandle relates his thoughts to the team, “So, we need to focus on the front. If our scent is picked up, we have the potential of thousands heading our way. We’ll set our twelve claymores singly. I want one on each of the front girders with another two spaced along the ravine on either side in case we’re rushed and need to create a little room. The others staged in the grass along the highway. If they see us, they’ll make a beeline toward us… at least initially. Let’s not forget they’re cagey and have the capability to change strategies.”
Turning to Blanchard, he asks, “How are the wounded?”
“The one with the gunshot to the leg will live, although painfully for some time. I had to aspirate the chest wound several times. The one who is gut shot is bleeding out and I’ve run through all my IVs.”
“Is there any chance those two will make it?”
Blanchard shakes his head.
“Then, I guess the only thing to do is make them comfortable,” Krandle says.
“Any more morphine will kill them. But, I guess that doesn’t really matter,” says Blanchard.
“Will you be needed with them tonight?”
“There’s not really much I can do. I’ll give them a last dose of morphine, but that’s about it.”
“Okay. I want you up here with us once the sun hits the horizon. We may need every weapon online.”
“Aye, chief.”
Krandle looks toward the beach and the sun closing in on the horizon. “Speer, how long will it take you and Ortiz to reach the shoreline, get to the raft, drag it near the stream, and make your way back?”
“Are you asking about being stealthy, or going at a flat out run?”
“Somewhere in between,” Krandle replies.
“Well, seeing that Ortiz runs as fast as a turtle in mud… two hours… give or take,” Speer says.
“Fuck you, Speer. I can outrun your skinny hillbilly ass any day of the week. The only time you may be able to run faster is if your mom caught you with your sister again.”
“The only time you can remotely run fast, East LA, is if you hear the words ‘freeze’.”
“If you two are done making out, you have two hours. That’s about all of the time you have unless you want to be supper. If the sun sets, you’ll both get a chance to set land speed records. Before you go, leave your claymores and clackers with Franklin.”
As Speer and Ortiz disappear into the tree line, Krandle and the others set to laying the claymores and trailing the wires back to the bridge. Finishing, Krandle stands. Just as he feared, a slight breeze flows toward the ocean from the inland side. Staring toward where the others were waylaid, he knows that with the offshore flow, the scent of blood at the scene of the attack will make its way into the town. That will draw the night runners out and possibly to their position. He isn’t exactly sure to what extent the night runners have an enhanced sense of smell. It’s entirely possible they may investigate the site and not know the group is at the bridge.
I can only hope we’re far enough away.
Krandle turns toward the beach, seeing Speer and Ortiz manhandle the raft across the stream and store it in the dunes.
“You know that won’t hold everyone. Even if they hang onto the sides,” Franklin says.
“I know. But, if we get overrun and get scattered, it’s there.”
“Did you tell them about it?” Franklin asks, motioning to the group of civilians.
“I will if it comes to that point. I don’t want them to get antsy if shit hits the fan and for them to make a run for it early. That will leave us stranded,” Krandle says.
“Fair enough.”
The sun is near the horizon, the western sky a myriad of oranges and reds. The beams of the dying sun ripple across the ocean, an endless dance of light. Speer and Ortiz arrive, pulling spare mags from their packs and storing them in every available space. They replace those that they can’t find room for and shoulder their packs. Donning their NVG gear, they take a knee near the front of the bridge.
Krandle would have liked to create a barricade, but there weren’t enough materials. It may not have slowed the night runners any, but it would have given a little mental lift knowing there was something between them and the predators of the night. The sun dips below the horizon, light flaring upward, then vanishing. The deep blue sky to the east darkens, turning to black velvet which slowly invades the heavens. Stars stab out from an ebony background, twinkling silver. The sight of something so vast makes him feel small, as if their problem is so minute within the universe as to be non-existent. In the distance, screams echo across the newly darkened night.
Time passes. Behind the NVGs, his eyes feel dry and gritty from lack of sleep. He scans the trees, looking for any sign the night runners are venturing from the city. Even with binoculars, there’s no way to tell if they are hovering around the ambush zone. With the drafts of winds swirling around, he knows the night runners had to have caught scent of the spilled blood. It’s just a matter of if they pick up on their trail or catch wind of their current location. They haven’t seen any to this point.
So far, so good. Krandle turns to glance toward the civilians.
There’s no sight of them at the far end of the bridge, having been told that it’s paramount they remain hidden. Although the night runners are able to see in the dark, again, Krandle isn’t sure exactly how well. A slight breeze chills his neck as it flows from behind. The world beyond is bathed in a green glow for as far as he is able to see. The limited area of vision means they won’t have a lot of time to react should they be discovered.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this. They feel close,” Speer whispers in Krandle’s ear piece.
A chill runs up Krandle’s spine and the hairs on his neck stand on end; this time it’s not associated with any breeze. He’s learned to listen to Speer’s senses. When Speer voices one of his ‘feelings’, it’s damn near a fact in Krandle’s book. His finger runs along the trigger guard as he peers into the green-lit night.
“There, to the left… near the road,” Speer whispers.
A night runner emerges into view, its pale face almost glowing. It takes a step, face upraised as it sniffs the air. Another step, the head turning left and right as it attempts to pinpoint whatever scent it’s tracking. It’s too far away to ensure a killing shot. To fire now and only injure it will guarantee discovery. If it draws closer and hasn’t alerted any others, they’ll take it down before it can draw more into the area.
“Remember gents, semi-auto,” Krandle whispers. “If we’re located, wait until they’re close. We need to make every shot count.”
Another night runner joins the first, then another, all with their noses pointed to the heavens. Krandle’s experience tells him they left their lairs, raced to the smell of blood, and have been tracking the source ever since; moving from one side of the road to the other to pick up a trace scent in the swirling breeze, perpetually drawing closer. It’s just a matter of time before they’re located.
Just a little closer. Slowly shouldering his M-4, he hand-signals targets to the others.
His heart thumps solidly against his ribs, and he forces himself to draw in slow, deep breaths to calm his nerves. Each second feels like an hour, that moment in time just before a storm releases its fury… the waiting for it to unleash… hoping it will turn aside at the last instant.
Krandle anxiously watches as the first night runner tenses, its body becoming rigid. In his mind, Krandle hears the rumble of storm clouds. The creature’s head snaps toward where the six of them are kneeling and leans forward. Its eyes glow with a silvery light, making the hairs on Krandle’s arm stand upright. He knows the night runner is staring directly at him. The two other predators standing in the grass also suddenly turn their heads. Krandle looks out from his NVGs at three pair of liquid silver eyes staring back at him.