The Darkness

by W. J. Lundy

  Bowe squinted. “You mean The Darkness? Fuck if I know what they are. HQ is calling it an invasion… I ain’t kidding; that’s the words they used. Not outbreak, not riot control. They said invasion. Craziest shit I ever seen—like Fallujah all over again, except these things don’t get scared.

  “Most units have pulled back to this defensive line, letting the Air Force cut them down. Urban search and rescue has been called off for anything in the city limits or west of this position.” Bowe paused and looked intently at Murphy. “Could I give you a bit of advice?”

  Murphy looked at Jacob, then back at the first sergeant. “I’m afraid I already know what you’re going to say.”

  Bowe reached into his pocket and removed a tin of tobacco. He smacked it against his palm then opened the lid, stuffing a bit under his lip. “I think you should stick with us; the Lake Michigan route is all but closed. Northerly isn’t going to hold much longer either. If you got family up there, you aren’t going to do them any good getting yourself and these men killed,” he said, looking at Jacob. “Only about sixty percent of the boys showed up for the recall; I’m shorthanded so we could use your help.”

  “I have to get to my family,” Jacob said adamantly.

  “I get it; I really do, but the routes are closing up. I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation,” Bowe said, pointing out over the now empty fields. The sky was lit with blooms of orange and yellow as bombs exploded far in the distance while the sounds of remote gunfire echoed through the trees.

  Jacob ignored the first sergeant and looked at Murphy. “I’ll just take the car and go on alone.”

  “Hold up; nobody is going anywhere alone,” Murphy said, raising his hand.

  Stephens shook his head and started to walk away before stopping and looking back. “You should let him go, Sergeant; this isn’t our mission anymore.”

  Murphy laughed. “This isn’t for him. We have orders and vital intel; we need to link back up with Battalion. If they headed north to the city then that’s where I’m going. I understand if you want to hang back here with these guys, Stephens; no hard feelings.”

  Stephens looked disgusted. He stomped away a few paces and cussed, then stopped and came back. “Man, this is some bull-shit!”

  Bowe looked at Murphy and chuckled. “Well, I guess I owe you one for the help you gave me back there. If you insist on going, I can at least get you resupplied.”

  Chapter 13

  Jacob laid his head back on the bench seat of the patrol car. Stephens was driving tactically with the lights off. His helmet was on the seat and he navigated by sparse moonlight. Going so slow and stopping so frequently, they were often passed by soldiers speed walking up the road or held up by crowds of wandering refugees being pushed south. Stephens had to keep the car to the far right, as the left lane of the road was lined with soldiers. Occasionally, they’d pass a roadblock where men would stop the vehicle and shine lights in their mouths and eyes before allowing them to pass.

  Jacob leaned back in the seat and observed the men outside his window as the car passed them. Every so often a machine gun would fire a long burst into the far-off tree lines or at an object on a distant street. At one point, they drove by a large group of field artillery firing barrages into the city skyline. The firing of the big cannons rocked the car and made the windows vibrate.

  At other parts of the road, it was quiet, only occupied by tired soldiers in work parties building fortifications against the things to the west. Who those things were still hadn’t been explained; Jacob heard most soldiers refer to them as “The Darkness.” He saw the dried and shriveled corpses stacked and piled like cordwood at points on the road—no respect being paid to the bodies of whatever they had become.

  Looking to the distance from the passenger’s window, he could see tall pillars of smoke rising above the trees. The neighborhoods west of the highway were now burning, the fires caused by the relentless bombing that was ordered through the night in an attempt to hold back “The Darkness.” On the seat beside him sat a large nylon backpack that at one time held chemical gear. Under Bowe’s orders, the supply sergeant near Johnny’s shop had dumped the bag out and packed it with loaded magazines for Jacob’s rifle.

  He had also stuffed in a couple bottles of water, an old flashlight, and a few of the bagged meals like the one Murphy had shared earlier. Jacob had read everything on the package after the supply sergeant handed the MREs to him. The meager things in the nylon bag were all Jacob owned now; everything he had before was back in the house—the house that’s probably long gone, burnt to the ground, nothing but splinters and ash. Is this my new life?

  The car stopped abruptly and a bright flashlight shined through the window. A soldier kept the light on Stephens as a second man approached from the shadows and probed the passengers with a light of his own.

  “End of the line, gentlemen. Mouths open,” he ordered, crouching so that he could see inside the patrol car.

  Jacob looked straight at the light and held his mouth open; the soldier scanned their faces then clicked off the light. “What’s with the wheels?” he asked.

  “It’s a loaner; the Bentley’s in the shop,” Stephens answered.

  “Okay, smart ass; what are you doing this far north?”

  Murphy leaned forward so that he could see the soldier. “Moving to Northerly, trying to link up with the 33rd.”

  The soldier yelled to the other one holding the light. The light cut off as the second soldier ran away to a Humvee on the side of the road and then came running back with a clipboard. He handed the board off to the man at the window. The solider lifted up the pages, quickly flipping them over the top of the board, and stopped near the bottom. He looked back up at Murphy.

  “The 33rd?”

  Murphy nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Well, they came through late afternoon. I got their manifest right here; but hell, the route’s closed up now.”

  Jacob reached for the handle through the broken window, opened his door, and stepped into the street before reaching for the clipboard. “You have a manifest?”

  The soldier pulled away, his hand dropping to his sidearm. “Whoa, back up now! Who are you?” the man said, taking a defensive stance. The second soldier quickly came back into view and put the light in Jacob’s face.

  “Dammit, will you cut that shit out? I just want to see if my family was on the list!”

  The soldier lowered the light so it shone on Jacob’s chest as the first man looked down at the clipboard, then at Jacob sympathetically. “Names?”

  “Laura Anderson, Katy Anderson,” Jacob said.

  The soldier unfolded a long, tri-folded paper log sheet. “Gimme some light,” he said as his finger ran down a list of names from top to bottom. “Oh, here we go, Laura Anderson, 2 members.”

  Jacob leaned forward. Looking at the handwritten entry, he smiled. “So they’re at the Island then?”

  “Now, I didn’t say that. I’m just saying they came by here.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Jacob’s hand dropped to the door handle.

  The soldier put out his arm, resting it at the top of the door. “Hold up; like I said, the route is closed now. It collapsed about a quarter mile north of here. Closed all the way up to Museum Park. I’m sorry; I’m going to have to turn you around. That’s no man’s land up ahead.”

  Jacob stepped forward to the barrier and looked into the dark landscape beyond the roadblock. They were beside an old brick fire station that sat just beyond them to the right. The building’s walls were now reinforced with sandbags going up nearly five feet. Concrete forms in a serpentine pattern with wooden sawhorses blocked the road ahead; a hastily erected sandbag bunker was positioned to guard the approach.

  Jacob looked off into the distance, seeing no movement. The terrain no longer held green residential neighborhoods. To the left, was a sparsely wooded lot and less than a hundred feet ahead from where he stood, a steel-girded bridge met the ro
ad. Jacob turned back toward the car where Murphy and Stephens were now standing near the gate guards. “How far to the museum?” he asked.

  “Shit, might as well be a thousand miles tonight,” one of the men said.

  Jacob turned and glared at them. The first soldier came forward and looked out across the bridge. “It’s a good twenty miles, sir—but it’s really bad. The marines pulled back a couple hours ago and, hell, they were in AMTRAKS.”

  “I don’t know what that is, but I’m going,” Jacob muttered, turning back to look at the bridge.

  “Sorry, sir, my orders were to hold all civilians. You being a cop and all… I mean, I guess if you really need to get yourself killed tonight, nothing I can do about it. But seriously, those Marines… they were in bad shape when they came limping back. The things are changing.”

  “Is the road clear or not?” Jacob asked.

  The soldier shook his head. “Most of the way, but it’s completely blocked at the railroad. You’ll have to finish up on foot—and that’s through heavy areas—the museum is still under siege; you’d have to get through that and—”

  Jacob watched as a hole popped at the base of the man’s neck. The soldier’s eyes went wide, and his left hand reached up as the echo of a single gunshot cracked. The machine gun on the Humvee opened up and flames spit from the barrel as the gunner swept the tree line with fire. Jacob was tackled from behind and pushed to the side.

  “Get down, you fool!” Stephens yelled at him as he lifted his rifle and fired quick shots off into the trees.

  Jacob stared at the asphalt and watched the expended brass from Stephens’ rifle bounce and roll at his feet. He steadied himself and rose to a knee, keeping the concrete barrier between his body and the incoming rounds. He looked out beyond the sandbag bunker; armed men were rushing in under the cover of the trees. Unlike before, when they would run head on into incoming fire, this group would run, disappear from sight, and then rise up shooting at the men dug in on the road. Rounds smacked into the Humvee and the gunner went limp—another soldier quickly took his place.

  A machine gun positioned on the roof of the fire station joined the fight. Flares launched in the sky, casting long, haunting shadows over the approaching army charging in from the woods. Jacob watched as a soldier to his left was hit; he was knocked back and looked at the hole in his armor that miraculously landed at the very center of his chest plate. The soldier put a finger in the hole, looked up at Jacob, and smiled just as a second round hit the man in the top of the head.

  Jacob felt fear, then anger build in his gut. He forced his rifle up and aimed into the tree line, pulling the trigger continuously though he couldn’t see his targets. He could hear a soldier speaking into a radio frantically, “Requesting fire support; unit in danger of being overrun.”

  Men screamed farther down the line behind them. Jacob turned as an explosion ripped through a bunker. Soon after, men dressed in civilian clothing and carrying all manner of weapons poured into the street, breeching the defensive line.

  Jacob flinched at the shriek of an incoming round moments before it crashed into the far tree line and exploded, lighting the night sky. The radio operator continued yelling into the handset, “More, more, more, on target, fire for effect!”

  Rounds shrieked in and began erupting all along the defensive line. Earth and smoke were tossed into the air. Murphy grabbed Jacob by the collar and pulled him back, then shoved him toward the rear seat of the patrol car. Jacob turned and looked down the road, back in the direction they’d traveled. The swarms were inside the containment zone, running and fighting the soldiers. Blood and blue smoke mixed with a flurry of arms.

  “Back in the car! Back in the car!” Murphy shouted as he shoved Jacob into the back seat. Murphy opened the front door and stood beside it while firing his weapon across the hood as Stephens leapt in the driver’s side and fired up the engine. Murphy dropped into the passenger’s seat just as the car began moving. Stephens drove around the serpentine path of concrete barriers, crashing through the wooden sawhorses. Looking out of the rear window as the car raced toward the iron bridge, Jacob witnessed the soldiers left behind being overwhelmed by the swarm pressing against the fire station’s walls.

  Tracers crisscrossed the sky while artillery rounds exploded into the street and field, churning up earth and bodies. The smoke from the rounds quickly developed a fog that mercifully blinded Jacob from the horror.

  Chapter 14

  The streets were dark beyond the bridge. The scent of cordite and burning garbage hung heavy in the air. No people, no animals, no movement, no structure—nothing was left untouched. They passed a still smoking, tracked vehicle. Around it, expended brass and bits of uniform covered the street. Jacob watched as Stephens concentrated his focus on navigating around the smoldering hulk, using his night vision to maintain a course north and into Chicago.

  Jacob leaned against the door, his weary eyes looking out into the street and watching the abandoned homes as they passed. Sounds of battle persisted all around them. On all sides, the glow of explosions bloomed and receded in the sky. The clacking of small arms and the booming thump of mortars and artillery rounds intermingled with the sound of low-flying aircraft roaring overhead… a manmade thunderstorm that overstimulated Jacob’s already fatigued brain.

  “Where is everyone?” Jacob whispered.

  Murphy had his window down with his rifle aimed out and at the ready. “I haven’t seen shit since we crossed the bridge.”

  Stephens grunted. “We’re in the eye of the storm. Look around; everything here is dead. The Darkness is all around us. They’re out there. If we keep driving we could run right up their ass… but that ain’t gonna happen.”

  “What?” Murphy looked away from the open window.

  Stephens flicked a finger at the dashboard. “Gas; something must’a punctured the tank back there. It’s bleeding out faster than it should be.”

  Jacob leaned up over the rear seat to look through the window in the cage. “Can we fix it?”

  Stephens shrugged. “I don’t know… but I’m not about to go all Mr. Good Wrench out here in the fucking open.”

  “Okay, find us some place to pull over,” Murphy ordered.

  Stephens guided the patrol car through wreckage and a twisted makeshift barrier of wooden police obstacles and plastic barrels. Dark-blue riot gear and helmets littered the street. Just ahead was a long intersection and on the northeast corner was a tall four-story brick building—two stories higher than the neighboring structures. The sidewalk in front of the building was clear. Murphy pointed it out and Stephens gingerly brought the car up to the curb, stopping just shy of the entrance.

  With the car stopped and tight to the curb, he cut the engine. They sat silently, Stephens and Murphy searching the surrounding area with their night vision and the scopes on their rifles. Jacob looked through the side window at the front of the brick building. Plywood was nailed over the front lobby windows. The entry door was doubled padlocked and held shut by a large chain. A black panel was bolted to the wall with a long list of names next to white buzzer buttons.

  “Think there are people in there?” Jacob whispered uneasily.

  Stephens turned his head to look. “Doubt it… it’s chained from the outside. Place was probably evac’d early—especially being on the main route.”

  Murphy lifted his rifle. “Let’s get this done; this place is creeping me out,” he whispered before opening the door and stepping into the street.

  Jacob moved quickly and followed him out. Murphy moved to the back of the patrol car and held up, looking out in all directions. He then turned to Jacob and adjusted his rifle in his grip so that it was against his chest, pointed down and out. “Hold it like this, ‘low ready’. Watch our backs; we need to grab some gear.” Stephens used the keys to open the trunk and the men rummaged through the bags while Jacob watched the surrounding buildings.

  Jacob looked at the luminous dial on his wristwatch. Just aft
er 2 am—the darkest part of the night, he thought. He looked at the watch again; his wife had given it to him as a birthday gift years ago. At the time, he had discounted it; he was so used to using his smart phone for the time that he wasn’t sure if he could get back to wearing a watch again—until his wife turned the watch over and showed him the inscription on the back.

  My Friend, My Love, My Hero, Laura

  Reciting the words in his head didn’t comfort him; instead, he felt the returning sense of helplessness and panic. Jacob looked away from his watch and gripped the rifle. Knowing he needed to stay alert, he scanned the streets. “Gotta get it together for the girls,” he whispered to himself.

  “What?” Stephens asked, as he approached from behind. “You see something?”

  “Huh? No… you find what you were looking for?”

  Stephens held up a compact set of bolt cutters and a crowbar as an answer then walked to the chained door. He moved close to the chain and waited for Murphy to move in behind him to provide cover while he worked. Jacob followed Murphy’s lead and stepped to the opposite side then looked outward into the dark street.

  A clank and a snap later, Jacob could hear Stephens fishing the chain through the heavy handle of the door. The door rattle and Stephens worked the handle. “Locked; just be another minute,” the soldier whispered.

  Jacob looked behind him and saw Stephens wedge the bar under the plywood covering the door, just enough so that he could smack the glass with the bar. The sound shattered the otherwise silent area.

  “Damn, you’re being noisy. Let’s step it up,” Murphy whispered.

  “Think you can do better, Sarge?” Stephens said as he slipped his arm inside the break. A click and a clunk later, and the door was unlocked. He pulled back and stood, peeking into the open door, checking for threats. He looked back and announced, “It’s open.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Murphy turned to cover the street. Jacob felt him pressed against him as Murphy moved backwards, pushing him inside. They closed the door behind them and relocked it. In the pitch dark of the lobby, sealed shut by the plywood, Jacob was blind again. He felt a hand grab his wrist. “Keep hold of my vest,” Murphy whispered as he guided Jacob’s hand to his back.