A New World: Return (31 page)

I swing the carbine back, thumbing the mag release with my right hand and grab a full mag with my left.
 
The glass wall and door are now only a few feet in front of me.
 
Just a few steps away.
 
I jam the fresh mag in the receiver and flip the bolt release, chambering a round.
 
Bringing the gun up, I fire a burst into the glass pane to the right of the double doors.
 
My thought is that the larger pane of glass there will shatter easier than the smaller panes that make up the doors.
 
My bullets hit the glass and go through, cracks spreading outward from each hole.
 
I sure wish this was fully auto
, I think sending another burst close to the first but letting it track upward slightly.
 
The glass remains in place.
 
A third burst a little more to the side and then a fourth away from that one.
 
Twelve holes now fill the glass pane in a box-like pattern with cracks radiating out from each hole.

I duck my right shoulder, with my M-4 out in front, just before I impact the glass at a full run; tucking my head in and down at the last moment, my left hand coming up to my temple and left arm covering my throat and eyes.
 
The impact is jarring and the sound of breaking glass fills my ears, drowning out the shrieks of the oncoming horde.
 
Stumbling through the glass pane, which is now coming down and raining glass on the tile and carpeting, I continue into the room and toward the door between the two large desks.
 
The strap holding my goggles is surprisingly still in place.
 
Below the large wooden door, a thin strip of light shows from underneath.
 
I fire three quick bursts into the jamb by the door handle.
 
I just don’t have time to knock.
 
Nor do I have time to check to see if it is locked.
 
I realize this is using up ammo that I may need should the door not open, but honestly, at this point, I could have one of the endless mags from the movies and it still would not do that much good.
 
I would only be prolonging the inevitable and the ending would still be the same.
 
Building my speed back up, I hit the door, once again with my shoulder.
 
The door latch and jamb gives way and the door flies open.

I do not think I have ever been greeted by a more pleasant sight.
 
Sunlight is pouring into the room from large glass window panes that make up the outside of the building, bathing the room in light.
 
And blinding the shit out of me!
 
I turn off and flip the NVG’s up, my eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.

My heart is pounding in my chest, both from the sprint down the hallway and from adrenaline coursing through my body.
 
I turn towards the open office door, thinking I am safe but wanting my eyes to verify it.
 
The large wooden door remains open spilling light into the reception area and across the blue carpeting in a fan-like pattern.
 
The door jamb is splintered where I both shot and forced it open.
 
Small pieces of wood on the carpet below look like a box of matches has been spilled.
 
The edge of the light/dark demarcation glitters faintly from the glass on the floor, evidence of my grand entrance.
 
Next time I’ll try the door
, I think looking at the shattered glass and then further into the hall.

The hall remains filled with shrieking although not like the tremendous roar that filled it moments before.
 
An occasional ghost-like shape or face materializes for moments in the reflected light before disappearing in the darkness.
 
Not a single one tries to enter into the light cast by the open door or enter into my momentary sanctuary.
 
I walk over and ease the door closed, trying to diminish both the volume of noise and shut out the last few moments of my life – which quite literally almost became the last few moments of my life.

“I’m here in the director’s office,” I say pressing down on the radio transmit button.

“Was that gunfire we heard?”
 
I hear Lynn respond.

“Yeah, it was a little sporty getting here,” I answer.

“Can you get out okay?”
 
She asks.

“I think so.”

“How?”

“Well, I’ll let you know in a little bit,” I say feeling the adrenaline begin to fade.

“Okay Jack.
 
Glad you’re safe,” Lynn says with relief in her voice.

“You and me both.
 
I’ll let you know what I find here,” I say beginning to take in the office surroundings.

The deep, rich blue carpeting of this large office gives it a feeling of luxury as it mixes with the dark, highly polished executive desk sitting close to the window.
 
The same rich paneling found in the lobby covers the walls with luxurious bookshelves lining one wall adding to this ambience.
 
Two brown leather chairs, the kind you never want to get out of once you sit in them, sit parked on the carpet facing the desk.
 
A large polished table meant for gatherings sits across the room from the bookshelves.
 
The view outside is not all that it could be, but it sure is a sight better than I have ever had the privilege of calling my own.
 
It is also a sight for my sore eyes after what they witnessed moments before.

Papers and folders are spread across the large desk giving evidence to the haste and chaos of the pandemic.
 
The otherwise tidy office gives an indication that it once was kept in a very neat and orderly fashion.
 
It is to these papers and folders lying on the desk that I am drawn; figuring what else could be of such a priority than the Cape Town virus and the genetic-altering vaccine.
 
Walking around to the other side of the desk, I quickly glance at the papers spread across it.
 
Most of the single sheets seem to be printed emails and reports.
 
Removing the coiled rope and shouldering my weapon with a wince, my shoulder reminding me of my attempts to be super human and walk through walls and doors, as if the continued shrieking on the other side of the door is not reminder enough, I lean over the desk and begin shifting through papers.

I quickly realize I am not going to be able to learn anything now as I scan through them.
 
They are a bit disjointed reading through them in this haphazard fashion.
 
I turn to the folders stacked on the corner of the desk.
 
Each one of them has a title referencing the virus, vaccine or lab testing.
 
This is what we came for
, I think briefly looking through the reports within.
 
I head over to a decorative filing cabinet set against the wall by the door, through which it still sounds like some rave party is happening on the other side.
 
Opening several drawers, I discover an empty section where the files on the desk must have come from.
 
Rifling through the other folders in the cabinet, I do not find any titles that refer even closely to our world-changing event.

I want to make sure I find and have everything I want to pull out of here as there is not the slightest chance I will or could ever get back here.
 
Aha!
I think as a light bulb goes off in my head.
 
Pulling the computer out from its cubby hole built into the desk, I spin the screws from the back and remove the side cover.
 
Taking my multi-tool out, yes, I do always carry one, I unscrew and remove two hard drives seated within.
 
If we can get power, which we will, I can put these in another computer and hopefully get to the files that are stored within; wishing I could get to the server hard drives as I am sure most of the files are there, or were, stored on the network.
 
But you never know what may be stored locally and I am here.

Tucking those in my left side thigh pocket, I gather the loose papers and stuff them in the folders.
 
I then remove the tape from the rope and walk to the windows.
 
The shadows have shortened tremendously as the day has moved on toward the noon hour which is only about two hours away.
 
Looking down out of the glass window, I see one of the team members standing close to the street by the entrance doors directly below.
 
I imagine the rest are by the doors themselves but they are blocked from my view by the downward angle.
 
Why are they at the door?
 
I wonder.
 
I told them to stay put.
 
Unless they moved up if they heard my gunfire.
 
That actually makes sense,
I think.

“Lynn, this is Jack,” I say into the radio.

“Go ahead Jack,” she answers.

“You might want to move your teams away from the building.
 
And I mean a ways away,” I say.

“Why?”
 
She asks and I see her emerge into my view from the doorway looking up.

“You’ll see,” I answer.

“Are you planning on rappelling down?”
 
She asks still looking up close to my actual location.

“It’s either that or sprout wings as I still have company up here who are inviting me to their party but I’m not sure I want to attend,” I say in answer to her question.

“Good luck with that,” she says.

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“Good luck with that,” Lynn says as she attempts to see Jack standing in one of the large window panes.

“Okay, you all heard.
 
Let’s pull back and off to the side,” she says to the group.

They all cross the street and head off the side of the entrance doors, having a sense of what is coming and not wanting to miss the show.
 
They all feel a little more relaxed knowing that one of theirs is okay and gather in a tight group once again.
 
Completely forgetting their surroundings, they focus on the glass a few stories up from the entrance.
 
From where they are standing, they have a perfect vantage point.

First, they see a small bit of glass shoot outward from one of the large panes, the sound of a gunshot follows a millisecond later.
 
There is a pause, and then suddenly, the pane erupts in an explosion of glass; an explosion that continues unabated for several seconds.
 
The shards begin falling to the earth in a shower of glass, looking like still photographs of a waterfall; a picture where each individual drop is captured; these pictures then rapidly running together creating the illusion of movement; and illusion of the water falling.
 
The tinkling of glass as it hits the pavement is a constant noise as the showers lands.
 
And then, with the last of the glass hitting the ground and bouncing, silence.

“That was pretty cool,” one of the soldiers says breaking the silence.

“Yeah, just wait until you see an old man try to rappel,” Lynn chuckles to herself causing the others to laugh along with her.

The sound of shrieks rises from the opening just created in the side of the building followed by continuous gunfire; followed by silence once more.

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Chuckling at her ‘good luck with that’ comment and knowing it was her feeling a little more comfortable, I continue to look out of the window; watching them as they move out and away.
 
They stop a short distance away and off to the side.
 
I want them to move further and think about getting on the radio, my hand moving to the transmit button, but they are perhaps far enough away.
 
With that, I step away from the window, withdrawing further into the office.

I remove the partially empty mag and replace it with a fresh one and contemplate the window.
 
I fire a round at a slight angle to the plane of the pane – yeah, I know, ha ha, had to say it.
 
The bullet goes through causing fractures that radiate out from the bullet hole.
 
Again, this is when I wish this M-4 was an auto rather than being limited to burst fire.
 
I can understand the reasoning behind making the gun a burst weapon but your finger should be your fire control rather than have a limiting factor on the gun.

Aiming at the window, I repeatedly pull the trigger as fast as I can, my bullets covering the entire window.
 
The glass explodes and sprays outward, the mighty crash of the disintegrating window combine with the rapid barking of the M-4 firing, filling the office with a cacophony of noise overriding the still shrieking night runners in the hallway outside.
 
I continue to shift my aim so that the entirety of the window to my front is blown out.
 
The bolt clicks back in the open position indicating that the mag is empty.
 
I hear the faint tinkling of glass falling, hitting the street and sidewalk below.