by W. J. Lundy
Jacob walked away from the table and looked out of the break area into the warehouse, factory, or whatever it was. He looked at his watch, amazed at how fast the time passed. He overheard Marks talking about the plan to recover the dioxin and asking for ideas on how to gather a sample. Marks slid out the yellow envelope and set it on the table. Jacob turned and moved back to the group.
Marks used his knife cut the envelope open. The paper inside explained how to treat the chemical and included two small test strips to verify that whatever they found was concentrated enough for what they needed. Stephens lifted the little plastic pouch that contained the strips. “Looks like standard test strips. Says they turn blue if the shit’s good to go.”
“The stuff is deadly; the reaction plan said we needed suits and respirators,” Jacob added.
James laughed and shook his head. “What’s wrong, cherry? You worried about getting cancer in ten years? Hell, I’m worried about living until next week. I’ll bottle the shit for you if you’re scared.”
Jacob shook off the comment and moved to a table in the shadows. “Suit yourself, tough guy. Come talk to me when your shit shrivels up.”
Marks put up a hand again. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll gather the chemicals. I have something else in mind for you two and Rogers.”
“What?” James asked standing and leaning toward the table.
The lieutenant smiled, showing his teeth. “I need a test subject. I want to make sure this stuff works.”
Chapter 17
Half an hour later, Rogers decided it was time. He dipped his hat, signaling for James to edge up past them to the corner of the intersection. James tugged back on the cut length of rusted chain link fence, allowing Jacob to pass through. With Jacob safely on the other side, James looked back, winking at Rogers to let him know he was set.
It was dusk and the light was fading fast. Even above the chemical plant on the small road leading away, he could see it would be dark soon. They’d moved out from the factory at nearly a jog, finding what Rogers described as the perfect bottleneck: a Y-shaped intersection where two roads met. On the road nearest the factory was a long-term storage facility, Open 24 Hours, was written on a heavy wooden sign over a rusted iron gate. The first thing the men did was close the gate then move to the far end and cut a hole in the chain link fence close to the corner.
A row of dumpsters overflowing with large cardboard boxes gave them all the material they needed to construct a hiding place. There was a small import car just behind the corner; Rogers worked his magic and managed to get the car going at a slow idle. It was far too quiet to attract the attention they sought; they needed something to bring in the hunters. There would be two of them, possibly together but maybe moments apart. They always worked in twos. Jacob had the easy job. He would shoot the first one; “In the face” as James put it.
Then the bearded man would tackle the second one, while Rogers knocked down anyone late to the party. The snatch team would only have a brief window to make the grab and get out of Dodge before the follow-up Deltas from the main body arrived. If the hunters were able to get off a warning, the time to move would be even less. They couldn’t get trapped or pinned down. It would most certainly mean death, and there was no way they could lead a mob back to the chemical plant. If they failed, they were on their own.
While all this went through Jacob’s mind, James approached the small car at the corner. He snatched the rubber from a wiper blade arm then reached through a window and pushed a button, which triggered the car’s windshield wipers and hazard lights. The scraping squeal of the wiperless metal arm against the window started immediately. Jacob feared it may be too loud. They wanted to create noise, but not too much. James looked in both directions then slipped back into the alcove of a building near the car to wait.
It didn’t take long. As Jacob was adjusting his position, trying to shake the needles out of his dull and sleepy arm, the first of them stepped into view—a big farm boy that was probably less than eighteen years old in life. Jacob knew this would be the one he’d drop—no way were they carrying this guy all the way back to the chemical plant. Farm boy stumbled forward, walking like he’d had too much moonshine the night before. As the thing rounded the front of the car, Jacob could see why. Most of its right pant leg was missing, along with its shoe, showing a badly wounded shin and knee.
Jacob tried to relax, so as not to focus too much attention on the big guy. It moved right up next to the driver’s side window. The Delta swiveled its head as its lifeless eyes searched the surroundings then looked intently at the wipers’ movements, nearly hypnotized by the motion. Finally breaking away, his eyes wandered then stopped on the dumpster where Rogers was hidden. It held its focus as a second creature moved into view. To Jacob’s relief, this one was a skinny man; sticking with the farmer country boy theme, he had the appearance of Joe Dirt. He sported ragged, faded blue jeans and a long, unkempt mullet. Its face was covered in patches of the man’s best attempt at growing a beard.
In another time or place, Jacob would laugh at the duo; tonight, he was all business. He locked his sight on the big boy’s forehead. At under a hundred feet, using a scope, he knew he wouldn’t miss. Jacob held his breath and eased back on the trigger, launching a single suppressed round. The big man fell back, his wounded right leg kicking as it dropped. Before Jacob could rise out of his hide, James was already on top of Joe Dirt, raining down punches and trying to stuff its mouth with rags before covering its head with a large burlap bag.
Jacob ran to his side and dove into the mix. Joe Dirt tried to scream but was heavily restrained by James. Jacob grabbed an arm and used two hands to force it to the thing’s side. He bound its arm to its trunk using a roll of duct tape. As soon as one arm was immobilized, he did the next. Then the legs. Before he could say a word, Rogers was over them, tapping his watch. “Time’s up; we gotta roll.”
The big man reached down and lifted Joe Dirt like an old carpet. Bouncing him up and down, Rogers quickly rested the creature across his shoulder. “Get us moving, James; lead us out,” Rogers barked, still adjusting to the squirming man’s weight.
James led them off, making for cover before the rest of the mass arrived. Soon they were in waist-high grass. They moved deep into the field and penetrated a grouping of thick trees that would shield their approach back to the chemical plant. Ducking into the trees, James spun around and covered the back trail as Rogers moved past them. He tossed Joe Dirt to the ground with a thud while the creature kicked and fought against its restraints.
Jacob looked down at the figure in disgust. “You all really think this is necessary? I hate being around these things.”
James backed up; then taking the tape from Jacob, he quietly peeled back the layers, using it to double up Joe Dirt’s bindings. He slowly removed the hood and checked the gag. The man looked back at them with solid-black eyes. No pupils to follow, it was hard to see what he was focused on, but they could all feel his stare. “Damn, bro, cover that shit back up,” Rogers said. “He’s about as ugly as your last girlfriend.”
James dropped the hood, pulling it down over Joe Dirt’s neck, then loosely applied a loop of tape to prevent it from falling off.
Rogers put up a hand to silence them. “The party has arrived.”
Jacob sat still in the thick brush, looking at the far away intersection. The main body had gathered, slowly pushed around the import car, and inspected their fallen hunter on the ground at the driver’s door.
“That was a good shot,” James said, watching the Deltas look down at their big boy. “You cracked the sucker’s grape wide open.”
“Thanks,” Jacob answered, keeping his eyes on the mass.
Rogers quietly hoisted Joe back to his shoulders and scuffed through the thicket in the direction of the chemical plant. James kept them in the tree line and tall grass, moving parallel to the access road. Then, as with their initial approach, they ran across the street and entered through the security ga
te, locking it behind them.
The sun was gone now; the tall chemical holding tanks cast dark shadows over the facility grounds. James moved them to the factory’s steel sides and shadowed them around to the open access door where a black tarp had been draped. James pulled it back, revealing a space lit with white light. He held the drape so Rogers and Jacob could pass through, and then dropped it.
“Found some emergency lighting,” Jesse said. “Batteries say seventy-two hours; should be plenty for the time we’re gonna be here.” Duke ran forward and locked up in a protective stance between the team and the bundled up Delta. Duke’s lips quivered as he let out a low growl.
“That’s what I’m talking about. You go, Duke,” James said, pointing at the dog. “I told you all I liked this dog.”
A chair was set up in the middle of the concrete floor, away from the break area. Lights were pointed at the chair with it flanked by the pallets of plastic drums. Marks pointed at Rogers, who still had the prisoner on his shoulders. “Put it over there.”
Duke followed Rogers to the chair, keeping his distance while panting and walking a wide circle nervously around the prisoner. Rogers sat the man in the chair then, using more of the tape, bound its legs to the chair’s legs. He did the same with the creature’s arms, cutting them away from its trunk and securing them tightly to the chair’s arms. When he was finished, he looked up at Marks. “It’s ready.”
“Any problems?”
“Nope; like we figured, they’re getting predictable. Did you find the dioxin?”
Marks cocked his head to the side and pointed at a sealed five-gallon bucket and what looked like a spray bottle of window cleaner. Next to it were two dark-blue strips of test paper. “Right where Jacob said it would be; a bit of a pain getting it out of the tanks, but damn, the shit tested positive.”
Marks edged closer to the creature and removed its hood. He stepped back, looking it over. “It sure is ugly.” The creature was fully developed. The forehead thick and protruding, scales went from below the neck of its T-shirt, up under its chin and to the sides of its ears.
“So Stephens, you’ve caught one of these before?” Marks asked, not taking his eyes off the creature. Its head now shifting side to side, examining the men in the room.
“Yeah, back at the start of this, but it wasn’t at this stage yet; didn’t have the snake skin.”
“And tell me again what happened.”
Stephens moved closer and approached the captive Delta. “Well, we tackled it and brought it back to base. But like I said, it was far less developed, none of this nasty snake shit growing on it. We brought him to the doc. But the thing just kicked and screamed; there was no calming it down. Doc tried a sedative, but it had no effect on it. We still thought they were just sick, and maybe we could fix it.
“Had to keep it gagged because it wouldn’t stop screaming or fighting with us. We strapped the thing to a gurney and put it in a jail cell, but by morning, the thing was dead—all dried up.”
Rogers nodded. “Well, this one seems pretty damn calm. I mean he ain’t struggling no more. Kinda seems to be studying us. You think it can talk?”
Stephens shook his head. “I don’t think so; no reason for them to.”
“Not yet,” James laughed, pointing at the five-gallon bucket. “Ain’t no reason yet.”
The lieutenant nodded and strolled across the room toward the bucket. He put on a long, black rubber apron and a pair of long black gloves before picking up the spray bottle. He moved back to the creature. “According to the information card, this stuff is supposed to work as an area deterrent and a direct weapon. How do you suggest we test it?”
“Make him drink it,” James said.
Rogers shook his head. “Go sit down, bro. You seem too excited. Maybe go pull security for a bit.”
James shook his head and stepped back from the group. “You guys are no fun,” he said, dropping low on a stack of empty pallets. He called Duke up next to him and sat back with the dog lying across his lap, watching over them. Marks moved back to the five-gallon bucket and lifted one of the test strips with his rubber gloves. He held the strip out, waving it toward the Delta. Its black eyes didn’t appear to move; the thing’s head continued to dart back and forth between each of them.
Marks moved closer with the test strip. The creature turned its head, suddenly focusing on the paper. Its eyes blinked for the first time and the protruding brow on its head seemed to tighten. As Marks moved the paper closer, it leaned his head back as the look of recognition painted itself across the alien’s face.
“Holy shit. Like garlic to a vampire,” James gasped from his place on the pallet. “Come on, hit it with some more.”
Joe Dirt’s head moved back as Marks removed the test strip. He reached over and tore away the fabric at the creature’s wrist. Joe looked down at it with keen interest. Marks held the spray bottle in his hand with the sprayer close to the creature’s skin. He hesitated and yanked it back. The creature looked up at him. Marks looked it in the face. “Tell me why I shouldn’t spray you.”
The creature held the same expression, eyes focused once again on the spray bottle.
“Come on, man. Hit it with some juice,” James said.
Jacob stood and slinked further away, taking a position just outside of the blinding lights. Marks held up the bottle and pushed it toward Joe Dirt’s face; the creature again leaned back, away from it.
“Last chance. Communicate with me or you’re getting it.”
The creature gave no response. Instead, its gaze remained focused on the movement of the spray bottle. Without warning, Rogers squeezed the sprayer, applying a light mist to the creature’s wrist. The Delta writhed and shuddered in the chair so hard that Jacob thought its bindings might break. The creature bounced up and down, pulling and tugging at the tape.
“Look,” Marks said, pointing at the thing’s wrist as it thrashed.
All along the surface where the liquid had made contact, the previously bleach-white skin was changing from deep red to purple. At the same time, blisters had formed and continued to grow until the tips turned white and burst.
“Damn, it’s like mustard gas.” Rogers stepped closer and looked at the blisters.
“This is just a simple dioxin. It’s usually a by-product of manufacturing… things like weed killers and pesticides; how is it doing this much damage? Yeah, it can mess you up, but this is incredible,” Jacob said.
Rogers looked at the growing and popping blisters. “The Deltas didn’t grow up with this shit in the food and water like we did. It has no tolerance for it.”
Marks looked at the bottle, moved away from the bound creature, and set it back down by the five-gallon bucket. “So it works. How are we going to use it?”
“Wait,” Jacob said. “Pick the spray bottle back up.”
Jacob walked around the chair, instructing Marks to soak the concrete in a wide circle around the Delta. When he’d painted a strip of concrete a foot wide and in a ten-foot diameter, he looked back at Jacob. “Okay, now what?”
Jacob removed his pocketknife and sawed away at the tape holding the thing’s legs. James stood up to protest, but Marks raised his hand, backing him up. “Yeah, I want to see this,” Marks said.
He finished cutting away the bindings then cut its ties from the chair. James removed his MK III pistol and chambered a round. Duke still lay across his lap, the dog picking up on the building tension. As soon as Jacob cut the last arm free, the Delta lunged back, knocking Jacob to the ground. Rogers grabbed him and quickly removed him from the circle. The thing ran toward the wet concrete but backed off in agony every time.
“Look at its face,” Jesse said.
The thing was pacing back and forth within the dioxin barrier, going from side to side, trying to keep itself from the perimeter of the circle. When it turned, Jacob saw that its exposed skin was already turning pink and blisters were forming on its face and arms. Soon, it was bright red, completely covered
in the festering blisters. After several minutes, it clawed at its face, trying to remove the gag; its fingers bled as it dug at the tape.
The Delta fell to the floor and drew its legs in. He looked at the men, its head moving from each one of them. Duke growled as the creature turned to the side and lay down.
“We done?” James asked.
Marks moved back from the circle. “Yeah, I’ve seen enough.”
Clack, clack—two quick shots from James’s pistol and the thing lay silent on the ground.
Chapter 18
Light shone under the canvas tarp, letting the weary men know the sun was up. James stretched then tossed the remaining cup of coffee he had to the concrete floor before he approached the door and pulled down the heavy cloth that covered it. He pressed his shoulder against the door, cracking it just a bit, allowing the morning sunlight to fill the room. He leaned out and looked left and right before pulling back inside. He nodded satisfaction then stepped out into the open. Duke trotted out next to him, and then both relieved themselves on the building’s wall.
Rogers had worked the radio most of the night, attempting to make contact with the ship, with no success. Without a message, they would not be returning to Bay City for extraction. Marks briefed them on Plan B. The next pre-arranged egress point was a hundred miles north at an old Army National Guard Base. The place was untouched during the attacks as most of the soldiers were deployed to other areas before the outbreak reached its gates. According to all reports, the communications towers were intact and standing.
The men carefully transferred the dioxin into two dozen plastic soda bottles they found in the break area and divided them evenly among the team. Their trip allowed them to verify the location and quantity of the chemical; getting that information to command was the priority—especially now that they knew how well it worked.
