by W. J. Lundy
Jacob picked up a thump behind him and turned as James dropped a woman’s body onto the deck. Without speaking, he went back below and returned with the body of an elderly man, which he placed on top of the woman. He stopped and pointed at Jacob. “Get these over the side, but be quiet about it.”
Jacob looked at him, disgusted, but nodded his acknowledgement, knowing it had to be done. He grabbed at the old man’s corpse. The stench permeated through the man’s clothing and overwhelmed him; Jacob’s eyes watered and he had to turn away before he retched. He backed away, pulled his T-shirt over his face and returned to the task. Jesse came up beside him and helped by grabbing the body under a shoulder, gripping its heavy shirt. Together, they moved it to the rail and slowly lowered the man over the side, watching as the corpse slipped below the surface of the water then bobbed back to the top before drifting away.
They moved to the woman next and did the same. Again, the body slipped below the surface, returned to the top, and then floated into an unseen current, following the old man. They watched in macabre fascination as the couple floated off and into the stronger currents of the Saginaw River.
“I feel like we should say something,” Jesse whispered.
“Let’s go, we need to be set up below before the sun comes up,” Stephens whispered to them.
Jacob swallowed, still watching the couple drift away, wondering who they were, how they died, and why they didn’t sail away when they were so close to entering the big lake and making their way to Canada. Maybe they passed early on or were ambushed back when people were hiding and sheltering in place trying to wait things out like he had done. Jacob hoped they passed peacefully, maybe an overdose of pills, or carbon monoxide poisoning. He blinked his eyes hard, pushing the thoughts away; he’d seen enough death that these things shouldn’t bother him anymore.
Stephens called out to them again to get below deck. Jacob shook off the dark thoughts and grabbed his gear, making his way to the large cabin. As soon as he entered the hatch, the stench hit him. The rot and decay of death was in the air, so thick it seemed to cling to his skin. He hesitated in the door, not wanting to enter. He wondered if he could negotiate a way to stay outside. James barreled out, carrying a folded up mattress. He pushed Jacob aside, making his way through the cabin entrance and dumping the soiled blankets and linens over the side. When James returned, he pushed Jacob ahead of him. He moved forward, closed the master cabin door at the end of the galley, and sealed it with duct tape. It helped cut down on the smell.
Rogers was moving around, opening hatches to circulate air and powering off all the main electrical breakers. Marks moved in behind him. “How’s it looking?”
Before answering his leader, Rogers opened another panel and flipped down a long set of breakers. “Solar and wind chargers seem to be up—but the radios and navigation lights bled the system dry. We should have something tomorrow once the sun comes up, assuming the battery can hold a charge.”
“Radio?”
Rogers nodded. “We have comms open with the ship. They’re pulling back the UAV and will anchor up in forty mikes. I can get the big antenna up once we get some daylight. I don’t want to stumble around up there in the dark. Cables and lines are twisted everywhere.”
Marks slapped the man on the shoulder. “Nice work. Let’s button up and wait for the sun then.”
The team settled in below deck, leaving only James on the top to stand watch with the night vision. Jacob moved into the small galley and sat at a booth-shaped dining table. Scooting himself along a bench so that he was against a wall, he lifted a foot to the seat and placed his rifle on the table in front of him. The smell of death was still prevalent, but with the master cabin door closed and sealed, it was tolerable. Stephens pushed buttons and spun dials on the galley stove. He was rewarded with the hiss of a small, blue flame. Smiling, he found a small coffee pot and a can of grounds. Pouring water from a bottle in his pack, he quickly went to work brewing.
Jacob sat without speaking as the boat gently rocked. He felt the air pick up with the breeze that cut through the porthole windows. The boats in the marina shifted with the wind, their skeleton framework creaking and cracking as the boats crunched together. The sailboat in the slip next to the cabin cruiser rubbed against the dock, wailing and screeching as the water lifted it up and down, the hull protesting as it scraped against the docks. Jacob cringed with every impact of the neighboring vessel.
Looking up from the brewing coffee, Stephens noticed the new man’s discomfort. “It’s good, the noise; it covers our sound,” he whispered. “Anything in this area would have grown accustomed to it.”
Jacob nodded. “So why are we here? Why us? If this is real, shouldn’t they send everything they got after it? Don’t they have Special Forces guys for stuff like this?”
Marks nodded and moved across the cramped galley. He pushed into the bench across from Jacob. Stephens poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of the officer. “There aren’t enough of us left to make a big push for it… not anymore. Doesn’t matter, anyway; whenever we show up in force outside the wire, they crush us. Two months ago, every team that went out was fifteen to twenty men strong. We found it’s too hard to move without getting caught in those numbers. If they see us, they swarm and bog us down, forcing an evacuation… or worse.”
“That leaves all the snoop and poop work to small teams like this now,” Stephens added.
“Really, though? We’re the best they can do?” Jacob said.
Marks sipped at the coffee and quickly pulled away, blowing on the liquid before taking another sip. “Do you really think they’d augment my team with you and your buddy if there were plenty of experienced operators left? Most of us are gone, all used up. Yeah, this really is the best they can do.”
A rapid tapping at the cabin roof shifted their eyes to the porthole windows. Jacob’s hand touched his rifle as he spotted movement on the nearby docks. Two individuals, barely silhouetted in the dark by the backlighting of the stars. “Deltas?” Marks whispered.
Stephens held a pair of lowlight binoculars already to his eyes, searching. “Two of ‘em, both with weapons, moving this way.”
“They on to us?”
Stephens eased away from the porthole, into cover. “I don’t think so,” he whispered.
Jacob flexed his arm to pull his rifle close. Stephens dropped his palm to the table, covering the hand-guard and waving him off, shaking his head no. The two individuals continued along the dock across the water from them, stopping when they were in line with the cabin cruiser. They held up, appearing to stare at the RHIB tied tightly to the side. One of them continued on, passing the other. After tense moments, the remaining Delta lifted its head and followed before stopping again just yards away. It stood silent, looking back before continuing on and disappearing in the direction of the burnt-out boathouse.
“Were they Delta?” Marks asked again.
Stephens shook his head. “Too hard to confirm, but by their movements, I’d say so. Anything human would be scared shitless out there in the dark. These things had swagger.”
Marks put out his hand, reaching for the binoculars. He searched the horizon then placed them on the table. “If they come back, we’ll need to move. Can’t take chances this far from help.”
Stephens nodded then looked at Jacob. “Get some rest. You’ll be on the first patrol out with Rogers and me. We need to find us a ride.”
Chapter 12
The cabin door creaked open. Jacob opened his eyes and watched the bearded man creep through the small opening. The sun was out, shining bright rays of light over the boat, illuminating the mess that had been hidden in the shadows earlier. There was evidence the couple lived here for some time. White, overstuffed trash bags covered the floor and empty cans and bottles filled a large cardboard box. A .38 special revolver sat on a shelf. Marks lifted it and opened the cylinder, removing six empty shell casings.
He lined up the small brass shells side by si
de on the shelf, everyone watching him, not needing to voice how the rounds must have been spent. “My old man used to have wheel guns just one like this. He loved the things; never got used to semi autos,” Marks said, holding the pistol in his hands. He flicked his wrist, closing the cylinder. “He was an Air Force man, a master sergeant. Heck, Dad is the reason I went to the academy and became a combat rescue officer. He said the only way he would allow me join up is if I got an education and became an officer. He didn’t want me on the ground getting shot at.” Marks shook his head and laughed softly to himself, taking the small pistol and tucking it into a pocket on his pack. “If he only knew…”
James crept across the cabin and shook Jesse awake. “You got the next watch; let me show you the ropes,” he whispered.
Jesse shook his head, closing his eyes tight then opening them wide again before taking a long sip of water. “What time is it?” he asked, fumbling to his feet.
“It’s time for your watch.” James smiled and led the big man back out onto the deck.
Stephens opened his rucksack, digging out a map and laying it across the galley table. Several items and locations were already circled. Grease markers of different colors marked routes and objects of interest. Marks moved close and pointed to an area to their south.
“Just follow the road, look for a ride here at the marina parking lot, and then patrol back up this way. The UAV showed several vehicles that matched our needs. Stay out of trouble, okay? We aren’t here to fight,” Marks said, using his finger to trace the path he wanted them to follow.
“Got it, boss,” Stephens said. He looked at Jacob and shot thumbs up. “You good to go?”
Jacob lifted his rifle to his chest and pivoted out of the dining booth. He leaned over for his pack, grabbing the straps. “Leave it; you won’t need it,” Stephens said.
Rogers was already up, checking his rounds. Jacob saw that he had loaded one of the black-taped magazines, so he did the same, dropping his standard mag and reloading one with the sub-sonic rounds then charging his weapon. Stephens took the map from the table and folded it so that the patrol area was at the top then placed it into his chest pocket. He looked at Rogers and nodded. The barrel-chested soldier led them out of the hatch and up to the main deck.
Jacob saw Jesse positioned at a corner of the deck where he could oversee all approaches to the boat, by water or over the docks. He dipped his chin and smiled as Jacob stumbled by him. Stephens made his way onto the dive deck of the boat and, with slight leap, landed heavily on the dock. Rogers followed him doing the same, with Jacob right behind. The men knelt down, holding their position as they listened, looking for any sign that they had been observed leaving the boat.
After several minutes, Stephens pointed at Rogers and sent him forward on point then smacked Jacob on the back, moving him along. Jacob stepped ahead, testing his feet on the dock’s surface and finding it far steadier than its battered appearance had led him to believe. The gray and weatherworn boards creaked as Jacob prowled along. Trying to mimic Rogers’s movements, he walked upright, his body turning left and right as he patrolled forward. Not running and ducking the way they’d done back in the small harbor town.
They moved out slowly, patrolling past the tied down boats. Rogers would square up to them, side stepping each one and slicing the view as he rounded by it to search the surface of the boat for movement. Jacob would do the same but less pronounced, trying to keep his eyes on Rogers while still observing the passing boats and looking for anything Rogers may have missed. Rogers moved them into a straightaway with less cover. He picked up the pace and dropped into the concealment the lawn blanketed with tall unkempt grass provided.
Again they huddled low and close, keeping their heads just above the high grass; all of them taking a different direction while listening and observing for anything to indicate they’d been detected. They were at the main entrance to the marina. A narrow blacktop road followed it around with roadside parking on both sides. A large gate hung open, a chain and lock lying on the pavement nearby. All the vehicles close to the men were small; nothing large enough to suit six warriors plus all of their gear. Looking farther south, Jacob could see a larger car parked at a boat ramp. Several large pickup trucks, still connected to boat trailers, sat neatly aligned and showed no signs of chaos.
Stephens held a hand to his lips and spoke softly into a radio receiver, updating their position back to Marks. He then shot a thumb up to Rogers. The point man waved a hand at the far-off lot and pumped his fist. The patrol rose back to their feet and moved forward. Avoiding the blacktop road, they kept to the high grass, walking directly to the far lot. A heavy tree line lay between them and their destination. Rogers moved them into the shade of the tall trees, to within a football field’s length of the vehicles. The point man circled his hand and they took cover near a tall, wide oak. Stephens used his binoculars to scout the lot, then to look back at the marina.
He identified a long navy blue Suburban with a boat trailer still attached. “Think you can start it?” he asked Rogers.
“It’s new; older would be easier, but I think I have the tools to hack the software and get it up and running,” Rogers answered.
“Okay, get it done. We’ll tag along and cover you,” Stephens said.
Rogers smirked and dropped his small pack, sorting through it until he found a small nylon case. He stuffed the smaller bag into the cargo pocket of his fatigue pants for quick access, and then slung the small pack over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s move then,” he said, stepping off quietly.
The big man ran ahead of the interlacing vehicles, clearing corners and blind spots as he traveled. Jacob stayed just behind him and back at an angle, the way he’d learned during his brief time with Masterson. He slowed when Rogers halted and dropped to his knees behind a black sedan. The point man raised his rifle and swept the area before moving back to a crouched stance and approached the Suburban. Rogers made a quick pass of the vehicle, looking under it and peering through all the windows. Jacob posted up on a vehicle beyond the Suburban and took up a good firing position where he could observe all approaches to the parking lot and provide cover.
He turned briefly when he detected the door pop behind him; he saw that Rogers had already gained entry and was under the console, connecting wires. Jacob put his attention back forward, searching and scanning for targets. He heard the vehicle crank then purr to life. Damn that was fast, he thought, surprised.
When Jacob looked back again, Stephens was signaling for him to return to the Suburban. He met Stephens at the back and helped him remove the boat trailer before they all rallied around the passenger’s door of the vehicle. While Rogers sat in the driver’s seat, Jacob stood with his back to the others, nervously watching the road that ran past the marina. Stephens made a quick inspection then ordered them aboard.
“How’d we do?” Stephens asked.
Rogers looked at the dash and adjusted the mirrors. “Over three-quarters tank of gas, and this sucker is fully unlocked.” Rogers held a small device that was still connected the vehicle’s onboard computer. He stretched the wires and placed the device that looked no larger than an iPod into the cup holder. Jacob saw a small, yellow, brick-shaped device plugged into the vehicle’s cigarette lighter resting on the dashboard. Rogers unplugged the yellow brick and wrapped up the cord before placing it back in his pack. He caught Jacob’s stare and grinned. Pointing to device in the cup holder, he explained. “This hacks the truck’s PCM module and this yellow box boosts twelve-volt power to the battery. Too easy.”
“Smart,” Jacob said, not fully comprehending how it was done but still impressed.
Stephens reported in with Marks over the radio, who then ordered the Suburban back. Rogers shifted into gear and guided them to the road, making the return trip to their spot in the marina. He backed in the truck near a low wall to shelter it then cut the engine. Rogers lifted the small iPod device and flipped through menus. “Battery took the charge pretty we
ll.”
“Good, we’ll report in and maybe be on the road soon.”
The Suburban had two rear bench seats with a large cargo compartment in the far back; Jacob sat in the first backseat row. When movement from ahead caught his attention, he jolted forward and looked to the passenger window, trying to find its source. Far off in the trees, he spotted a small child. “Stephens,” Jacob whispered tapping the seat in front of him.
Stephens leaned back and turned his head, his expression changing when he saw the fear in Jacob’s eyes. “What is it?”
Jacob turned to the dark tinted passenger window and pointed. The child was now feet out of the tree line and walking toward them—a young girl in a bright pastel blue T-shirt. Two more figures exited the woods near her, then two more.
“Oh fuck!” Rogers said, securing the door locks and leaping into the back seat. He reached to the front and grabbed Stephens, dragging him back.
Crushed under the weight of the two scrambling men, Jacob said, “What are you doing?”
“Hiding, get down and shut up,” Rogers whispered as Stephens scrambled back into the second bench seat.
Stephens edged his feet in and leaned back before turning his head to Jacob. “Just relax; they can’t see through the tint.”
“Did they see us drive up?” Jacob whispered.
Rogers eased into a better position so that he could watch the closing crowd. “Doubtful. If they did, they would already be screaming the alarm and charging at us. Probably just heard the engine and are coming out to investigate its source.”
Stephens opened the channel on his radio. “You got company—you need to come to us,” he whispered. “…Roger that, we’ll create an opening.”
