Traitors (Damned of the 2/19th - Book Five) - Finished

Open the Door

2/19th Special Weapons Group Barracks
Restricted Area - Western Germany
Early Winter - 1986
Day: Fifteen

Bomber swore softly under his breath in the darkness, and I could hear all three of us breathing as the hallway got noticeably colder. Another strange chuckle sounded out in the hallway and I felt the edge of panic fluttering around in my stomach.

Ahead of me, in the darkness, the door thumped once, twice, three times.

The chuckle sounded again, and this time I was able to tell it was coming from our right, in the other half of the hallway.

"Run for it!" Bomber yelled, and I felt him move past me.

"Not yet." I hissed, reaching out in the darkness to where the LT had been standing. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and heard him squack as I slammed him face first into the wall with one hand and opened the door to Room 221 with the other. Cold air and the smell of rotting flesh mixed with the unmistakable scent of hot blood wafted over me. I could dimly see the inside of the room, see the blood smear that led from the door to the wall lockers on the right.

To my right, the double doors shrieked as they opened and icy wind blew against me.

I shoved the LT into the room and slammed the door, plunging the hallway into darkness, then whirling around and running for the stairs at the far end of the hallway. I saw the light ahead of me as Bomber reached the stairwell door and waited, turning on his flashlight and shining it toward me.

"Run faster, Stillwater!" He yelled, and I lowered my head, putting everything I had into it. I was a distance runner, not a sprinter, and I knew without a doubt that I'd never make it to the flashlight before long arms grabbed me and talons sunk into my flesh just above my collar bones.

A scream sounded behind me, long, drawn out, almost inhuman, reaching the higher registers where a human voice shouldn't make those kinds of sounds, and I slid across the waxed floor tiles, trying to keep my momentum up to make it into the stairwell but slow down enough so I could actually make the corner. Bomber moved as I scrabbled into the stairwell, and he slammed the door behind me.

"Where's the LT?" He asked as we headed downstairs.

"Making an acquaintance with 221." I told him. "Who's next highest ranking?"

"You are." Bomber answered, pausing right in front of the door. "Think we'll make it?"

I thought for a moment. The LT had done some serious damage to our cohesiveness, serious damage to military discipline, and there was more than just me aching for some payback with the LT's little minions.

"Depends on if someone pops." I answered. "If nobody pushes anything, we'll be all right. If someone snaps, then all bets are off."

"Then lets hope nobody snaps." Bomber answered, pushing open the door to the CQ Area.

Everyone left was gathered up.

We'd lost a lot of people so far.

Glouse, gone from his room. Martins, killed in the stairwell. Corman, vanished when he went on a security check of the barracks. Lewis, who'd been sent to the Motorpool during the daytime with Littles and never come back. Carstairs and Durret, who vanished between the Orderly Room entrance and the Supply Room. Sergeant Shabazz, who'd been in Room 221 when the door slammed shut. Sergeant Tee, who'd vanished in the CO's office while the LT had been left alive. And hopefully the LT, murdered by whatever it was that lived in Room 221.

Out of 23 of us that had been here when it had started, only 12 of us remained.

Twelve Little Indians, trapped in the snow.
Twelve Little Indians, with nowhere to go.