by W. J. Lundy
The group cleared the woods and entered the road. They paused, seeming to be unaware of which direction to travel. They first moved back toward the parking lot then stopped and turned toward the marina. Jacob pressed back against the bench seat as the first of the group passed the Suburban. They kept their heads straight ahead, seemingly uninterested in the vehicle. Jacob could see the protruding foreheads and scaled necks as they passed. Even the child shared the reptilian features and blackened eyes. He counted only one weapon among the group, an old and battered shotgun.
Two of them held back with the child, just to the front of the Suburban, looking away. The remaining Deltas continued past them and onto the docks. They walked up the narrow walkway then around, not stopping at the cabin cruiser. Instead of returning to their group, they headed to the area of the burnt out boathouse in the same direction the pre-dawn Deltas had traveled.
The remaining Deltas stood like statues just in front of the Suburban, the two males to the back with the small child directly in front of them. Rogers unsnapped a cross-draw holster on his vest and removed the Ruger MK III pistol. He checked the slide and verified the top round. He looked back at Stephens, who nodded his approval. Rogers shifted close to the door and pressed his shoulder against it, putting weight on it as his free hand released the door latch. Making barely a sound, the latch released and the door eased open.
Rogers stepped out of the Suburban, his boots silently making contact with the street surface. He stretched an arm around the open door, focusing on the closest male target. The man was less than fifteen yards away, an easy shot and a drill he’d practiced often. Rogers leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger, clack, clack. Before the first male fell, Rogers swung his point of aim to the right, clack, clack. The knees on the second male buckled. Both targets collapsed to the ground together. The child to the front spun on the heels of its feet and looked Rogers in the eye. The big man hesitated for a brief second before putting two rounds into the creature’s face.
As quickly as he’d left the Suburban, he slipped back into the vehicle and silently closed the door. He was breathing quickly. He dropped the Ruger’s magazine and, pulling small-rim fire bullets from a pouch on his vest, replaced the six spent rounds.
“Holy shit,” Jacob gasped.
Stephens was back on the radio placing a call to Marks, updating them on the situation and preparing them to move. “The way is clear. You need to move, we’ve got to leave now,” Stephens said, lowering the transmitter.
After reloading, Rogers climbed back into the front seat and plugged in his devices. He pushed a button on the iPod and the vehicle turned over easily. Rogers, sweat dripping from his forehead, worked the controls and powered on the air conditioning, getting the air to move in the stuffy Suburban. He pressed a button, opening a sunroof, and then looked back at Jacob. “Get up there and cover them while they move; they’ll be hauling ass and carrying our shit.”
Jacob nodded and moved himself into position over the console, bending to stand through the narrow sunroof.
Stephens reached out for him. “Don’t hold back—if you see something, kill it. Those three waited here for a reason. They wanted to hold us in place while others moved up. It’s a basic tactic for the Deltas. They want us to hide and prevent us from moving until they get enough of them to do a deep search. We only have a few minutes until the main body arrives.”
Jacob bit his bottom lip and nodded.
Chapter 13
Just as Jacob spotted the remaining members of the team running down the dock, the first of the creatures appeared in the tree line. Jacob leaned into his rifle and took aim through his optics. Stephens lowered the rear window and readied his own rifle. Rogers was waiting anxiously behind the wheel; he pressed a button, opening the hatch of the rear compartment, and yelled, “Come on guys, knock those bastards down!”
There were many this time—more than Jacob could count—and they ran in a line single-file. Setting a quick pace, they moved toward the marina. Jacob heard the suppressed report of Stephens’s rifle, and found a target of his own. Aiming for the lead runner, he squeezed the trigger and watched the creature tumble forward, causing several runners behind it to trip into the trail. Keeping his eye to the optics, Jacob stayed on the trigger, firing rapidly now, dropping them as soon as they ran into his view point.
He fired until the rifle was empty, and not repeating his earlier mistake, he pressed the magazine release. Allowing the empty thirty-round magazine to fall back into the Suburban, he reloaded another black-taped magazine, pressed the bolt release, and went back to work. The things had closed to a half football field’s length away now; they’d also managed to pinpoint their position. He picked up the first of several gunshots and felt the disruption in the air as rounds zipped past his head.
Jacob flinched and instinctively dropped lower into the sunroof. He got back on the rifle and searched for the shooter, finding a man in the tree line with a scoped bolt-action rifle. He saw the man’s head pull away from the rifle as he attempted to feed it another round. Jacob aimed high and eased back on the trigger. Moments later, the man spun around before dropping against a tree.
More gunshots rang out, and a round pierced the side of the Suburban with a metallic thunk. James rounded the corner of the docks and tossed two heavy rucksacks into the back. He opened the driver’s door and stood on the running board. Taking aim over the top of the SUV, he leaned forward and returned fire. Shooting rapidly, he let loose with unsuppressed rounds. Jacob glanced back long enough to see Marks and Jesse boarding the SUV from the shielded passenger side.
“Go, go, go,” James shouted.
The Deltas were closer now. A fast-moving pair broke away from the rest of the group and charged forward. Stephens fired a burst, hitting one in the legs and knocking it to the ground. Jacob fired at the other one, hitting it square in the chest. Its momentum caused it to tumble forward, rolling as it hit the ground. Jacob shifted back in time to see the first crawling forward; he adjusted his aim and put a round into the top of its head.
Rogers dropped the Suburban into gear and the SUV lurched forward, having to drive directly into the mass that now surrounded them and blocked their exit from the marina. Jacob felt a tug at his legs as he was hauled down into the vehicle and shoved against the rear passenger door just moments before Rogers collided with the mass. He drove slow, plowing through them before veering hard into the grass to escape their numbers, then racing for open roadway.
Rounds pinged off the metal of the hood. As the Suburban skidded through the soft grass, Rogers over corrected and had the SUV nearly sideways when it entered the hard surface of the road. The right tires bit for traction, lifting the vehicle onto two wheels as they caught. Rogers hit the brake and cut the wheel hard, slamming the Suburban to the roadway. He then mashed the gas, opening the big V8, and propelling them away from the approaching mass of Deltas.
“Well, that was closer than I prefer,” Marks said, breathing heavily. He reached into a chest pocket and pulled out his own map. He unfolded it and leaned forward from the back seat so that the map was resting over the center console. “Get us to the Middleville city limits then find a hide spot. I don’t want anything tracking us to the chemical plant. We can sneak in on foot tomorrow morning right after sunrise.”
“Got it,” Rogers said. He pushed a button on the dash, launching the vehicle’s navigation system. James, riding shotgun, leaned forward and flipped through menus before finally entering a destination for Middleville. “Nav is still up,” he said as he pressed “Go” on the system.
Marks folded up the map and stuffed it back into his chest pocket. “So what happened back there?” he asked, leaning back against the bench seat.
“Hunters, same as this morning,” Stephens said. “Three came out of the woods, followed by two more. The first group stayed back by the road while the others made a round. As suspected, they had a horde behind them; we initiated contact before they had us cornered.”<
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Marks exhaled loudly and removed his helmet, holding it in his hands. The Suburban continued down the road, slowing to avoid stalled vehicles and roadblocks. “They’re becoming predictable. We can use it against them.”
“How?” Jacob asked.
Marks shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, but the time will come.”
Jacob turned his head and looked out the passenger’s window. Things hadn’t gone well here. Badly decayed bodies lay dead on the shoulders of the road. Homes were burnt to their frames; cars were crumpled and rusted in collisions. It really was a war zone, and it looked and felt the way Jacob expected it to. The terrain was residential—sparse neighborhoods, single-family homes occasionally mixed with a gas station or corner store. Jacob wondered about his own home in the suburbs of Chicago, if it still stood, if he’d ever see it again.
Rogers slowed the SUV as they approached an intersection. They were nearing the Middleville city limits from the north, passing through the outskirts, attempting to stick to the rural back roads.
Rogers slowed just before turning toward the more congested city. Just beyond the intersection, a military tank sat dead in the middle of the street. A chewed up and destroyed sandbag barrier sat in front of it. Long strands of wire twisted and stretched from building to building, completely blocking the route. The only way they could go was to the right and deeper into the city center. Rogers looked into the back seat at Marks. “Stop here, turn around, or go right?”
“Right, but don’t stop. I don’t want to be stuck in one of these urban areas. See if you can get us closer.”
Rogers cut the wheel and gunned the engine. The Suburban rolled forward, crunching over a wooden police barricade. The road was covered in refuse; garbage littered the street from curb to curb. They entered the main street, spying the usual suspects of fast food restaurants and department stores. They moved along slowly, unable to detect any Deltas. At the end of the street, they corrected their course, moving left and putting them back on track.
The terrain closed in and became more commercial. James pointed a finger to the right side of the street where bodies were stacked in a long row like firewood. A group of ambulances riddled with bullet holes and resting on flat tires were parked near them. A police car windshield was spider webbed and filled with bullet holes. Inside, a uniformed man lay dead against the driver’s seat. The skeleton of a charred Blackhawk helicopter rested on its side in the center of a destroyed building.
“Find us a side street; I’m not digging this place,” Marks ordered.
James leaned forward, zooming out on the navigation system to look for an alternate route. “You know they’re out here, probably watching us right now,” he said.
They traveled on and off the main streets looking for a clear route. The avenues had become parking lots with vehicles of all makes piled up at the intersections. They passed a shopping mall with a stack of crushed vehicles at its exit. The cars were blackened hulks that wound deep into the parking lot. Jacob turned his head and saw the chard frame of a driver still gripping a steering wheel. Rogers turned them around again after finding another blocked route. Moving farther than intended, they found themselves trapped in the city center and forced to find smaller roads and alleys to get them out. Rogers guided them behind buildings and loading docks, looking for holes through fences.
The Suburban lurched forward around barricades; at the next intersection, the road was once again blocked. Rogers turned right, following the navigation system’s directions. The street narrowed. Vehicles lined the shoulders of the road alongside buildings with broken windows and doors shattered on their hinges. The road went uphill, blocking their view. As the SUV crested the hill, Rogers hit the brakes. Ahead of them, the last route into the city was blocked by a congested stream of vehicles—cars, three rows wide, packed together and reached for miles.
“We got company,” James said, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror.
Jacob twisted in the seat and searched the street behind them. At the corner of the last intersection stood a solitary male dressed in heavy clothing. He stood alone, watching the Suburban. The team sat silently, not moving as they watched the individual at the end of the street, the idling of the engine the only sound.
Jacob strained, trying to get any sign that indicated whether the man was friend or foe. “Maybe he’s one of us,” Jacob whispered.
“No,” Stephens said, shaking his head, “not alone and unarmed, and not this far out.”
Another entered the intersection from the opposite side of the street, ending any doubt of the man’s disposition. A woman dressed inappropriately for the cool temperatures stepped beyond the curb and into the street. Her torso turned mechanically, halting to look in the direction of the team. She seemed to ignore the heavily dressed man next to her. After some sort of non-verbal communication, they stepped off and walked in sync with one another.
Marks leaned forward and squeezed the headrest of James’s seat. “Knock them down, James. Do it quick and silent before they can sound an alarm.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” James said.
The man retrieved his rifle from the floor and opened his door. The vehicle was angled slightly so that he was hidden from the view of the approaching creatures. James duck-walked around the front of the Suburban and raised his rifle. He swapped magazines, loading the suppressed rounds. A pop slightly louder than a nail gun, and the woman’s head snapped back, the brick wall behind her painted in a splotch of oily black. The heavily dressed man seemed unaware of the strike. He continued pacing forward without checking on the female. James followed him through his optics and, before the man completed his second step, a sub-sonic round ripped through its chin. The man stumbled then fell forward hard on its face.
James quickly returned to the vehicle, closing the door behind him. Not wasting time, he dropped the magazine and replaced the two sub-sonic rounds. He looked up at the rearview mirror and slumped. “Hold the applause, we got more moving in,” James whispered.
From the direction of the female, two more stepped into the street. The newcomers noticed the female’s downed body right away. One moved forward and looked ahead into the congested street, searching for the shooters. It shouted, the noise causing the others to become more animated. Several others rounded the corner; without a target, they joined in the shouting while a mob gathered around the bodies.
Marks turned forward. “Rogers, get us out of this shit. Take the damn sidewalk—just move!”
Rogers cut the wheel hard and gunned the engine. The Suburban launched up and over the curb, tires squealing as it entered the narrow sidewalk. The mob witnessing the motion of the vehicle became frenzied and charged after them. Rogers accelerated, picking up speed as he drove through a pile of bicycles and garbage containers. The driver’s side scraped against a storefront wall, throwing up sparks while the driver’s side mirror disappeared in a flash of dust. Rogers corrected and slapped the SUV against parked cars, continuing to accelerate and build speed.
Rogers yanked the wheel hard when they made it to the end of the street, which sent the Suburban spinning into open road, heading left. Finding the street ahead was once again blocked, they turned and raced on. Jacob looked back and spotted the mob rounding the corner, hot on their trail. Rogers cut right, headed north and crashed through another set of police barriers. After a hundred feet of open road, it was obvious that street would be impassable; vehicles were stacked from curb to curb, with more on the sidewalks. Soon, they would find themselves boxed in. Rogers, without instructions, slammed on the brakes, throwing his passengers forward.
“Bailout! There won’t be any way out—we move on foot,” Rogers yelled.
Marks looked left and right, calculating the call, though he knew his driver was right. “Let’s go. Find me an exit, and walk us out of here!”
The team bailed from the vehicle as the mob’s screams filled the air from over a block away. Frantically, the men gathered their he
avy packs from the rear cargo compartment and took off at a sprint. James led the way with his rifle up, running out front. He found a building with a tall, heavy, wooden door. The windows of the red, brick-faced building were covered with heavy sheets of screwed down plywood.
James skidded to a stop on his well-worn boots and pushed the knob. The door was securely locked; he stepped back and fired several suppressed rounds into the doorknob, the impacts puncturing and shredding the steel. He reached out with his gloved hand and found the door still secure. He took aim again, firing to the right of where he knew the deadbolt would rest, destroying a portion of the door. He backed up then threw a solid kick at the door, breaking it open. James jumped out of the way and waved the others in past him. Jacob lunged forward running hard, being pushed from behind. The men poured into the room, unaware of what was waiting in front of them, but knowing they had to get out of sight before they were spotted.
James slammed the door shut behind them; the sounds of furniture scraping against the old tile floor followed as the men slid a heavy steel desk in front of the entrance. Then they stopped, slowly and silently backing into the darkness of the room until they hit a tall wall. They knelt down in the pitch black. The only light that spilled in came through the small cracks under the front door and a small decorative piece of glass at the top.
The noise on the outside roared toward them as the stampede of bodies filled the street. The light from the rattling door was blocked out as bodies pressed against it, crowding into the street and around the Suburban. Windows broke; sheet metal gave and crumpled—the sound of bending metal mixed with the wails of the Deltas.
Jacob held his breath; gripping his rifle tight, he drew it into his lap. He could hear the panting breath of his friends. Someone opened a bottle and chugged water before passing it on. Jacob took it and drank, not realizing how thirsty he’d been until that moment. He passed the bottle on and looked at his watch. The sun was already hanging low; it would be dark soon. They’d been running and fighting most of the day.
