by Lundy, W. J.
Murphy flexed his arms. “Let’s go; you’re wasting time!”
Jacob shook his head and lifted a foot into the soldier’s grip. He stood up and grabbed the top edge of the fence as he felt Murphy pushing him up and over. He cleared the top lip of the fence and fell hard to the grass on the far side. He scrambled back to his feet; the pain in his hip sent electrical shocks up his left side. Jacob had just stepped off in the darkness with his hands in front of him when the backyard exploded with bright light.
Three bright halogen lights, attached to the roof’s gables, kicked on simultaneously. Jacob looked directly into one, filling his vision with spots and momentarily blinding him. He heard Murphy thump to the ground beside him and felt a hand shove him forward.
“What are you still doing here?” Murphy yelled. “Run!”
Murphy again shoved him forward, causing him to almost trip. He ran past Jacob with his rifle up, sweeping the yard as he bolted to the opposite end. He nearly crashed into the fence when he stopped and aimed toward the front yard to wait for Jacob to catch up. Murphy, again, dropped the rifle to the sling and dropped his cupped hands. Without argument, Jacob lifted a foot to the gloved hands and felt himself being lifted up and over the fence. Again, he dropped fast to the other side and landed hard as he impacted with the ground.
Gracefully, Murphy dropped down beside him and pulled Jacob to his feet by the back of his shirt. Once more, they were up and running through backyards—fortunately ones without fences. Murphy slowed to a jog, then to a brisk walk. He kept his rifle up as he continued forward and scanned ahead. At the corner lot, Murphy stopped and moved in closer to the back of a home. He paused just off a back patio that led up to a room filled with furniture.
Murphy held up a hand, halting Jacob, then pointed a finger at the patio door. Walking low with his back to the wall, he approached the patio. As Jacob watched, Murphy lightly walked up the steps to a large deck before he crept to a sliding patio door. Moments later, the door slid open and Murphy waved Jacob forward as he disappeared inside. Jacob took a deep breath and followed the soldier into the home.
The patio door opened into a dining room dimly lit by the floodlights from down the street. The space smelled of death and rotting food. A round wooden table held a carton of milk that was knocked over; its spoiled contents splashed across the table and onto the floor. Jacob closed the door and followed Murphy deeper into the house. In the living room, they found piled luggage and an open closet with coats and shoes spilling out.
“They left in a hurry,” Murphy whispered as he walked to a partial wall banking an open staircase. He pulled back a curtain to allow more of the light to pour in and peered into the front yard.
“Is Stephens out there?” Jacob asked.
“Somewhere… he’s smart; he’ll find a tidy spot where he can watch for us.”
“Why did he fire, you sure they didn’t get him?”
Murphy clenched his jaw, looking to the front yard. “They might have gotten the jump on him, but more likely he was providing a diversion for us—”
A noise near the front of the house caused Jacob to drop down and pull his elbows in. Murphy heard it too and dropped the curtain. In one fluid motion, he spun on his heels, pressed his back to the wall, and brought up his rifle. Murphy looked across the room at Jacob and pointed to the kitchen. Jacob nodded then turned and moved quietly across the floor to get behind a kitchen island. He knelt down, his head just out of sight.
An already partially open door squeaked as it swung inward, bleeding more light into the room and backlighting the cabinets over Jacob’s head. More noise echoed through the space with the sound of a vase or pot being tipped over and rolling loudly across a hardwood floor. Jacob squatted lower as he heard wet shoes squeaking on the waxed wood floors. They moved closer and seemed to stop just beyond the kitchen. After a short pause, they moved again and stopped at the island. Jacob could hear the thing’s breath and the rustle of its clothing as it moved its hand over items on the island. A glass was knocked over; it rolled across the island’s surface and dropped to the floor, shattering at Jacob’s feet.
A shard of glass slid and rested against Jacob’s boot; it rattled and chimed with the shaking of his knee. He held his breath and tried to stop his trembling. Finding it impossible, he steeled his nerve, gripped the pistol, and rose to face whatever was there. He stumbled as he stood too quickly and caused blood to rush from his head. His already weak knees taking him off- balance, Jacob dropped a hand to the island to steady himself as he looked into the blackened eyes of a broad-shouldered man. He was wearing a collared work shirt with one sleeve ripped free, a pink and black tie still knotted around his neck.
The thing looked through Jacob like it was focusing on the wall behind him. Its lips curled back to reveal glistening ivory fangs and blackened gums. Suddenly, the thing’s arms shot out. Reaching for Jacob, it lunged forward over the island. It opened its mouth to yell but was halted by Murphy leaping from out of the dark and landing on the thing’s back. Murphy quickly wrapped his forearm around its mouth to block the scream from escaping. Pulling a knife with his free hand, he shoved the blade into the creature’s neck. Together they flew over the island and crashed into Jacob, the three of them dropping hard to the tile floor.
Murphy held on until the thing stopped moving then rose above it, continuing to stab at the base of its neck. When the black-eyed man finally stopped twitching, he pulled his arm away and rested back on his ankles. Jacob struggled below them and pulled himself clear. Murphy dropped back to his rear and scooted until he was across the kitchen, pressed against the refrigerator. Jacob continued to crawl away toward the light then rolled to his back and looked up at the ceiling.
Breathing hard, he pushed himself to a sitting position and nursed his wounded hip. The thing’s head was turned in his direction; its blank eyes seemed to glare at him as the black, oily blood drained from its neck onto the tile floor. Jacob looked across the kitchen at Murphy, who reached up and ripped a decorative towel from the refrigerator handle then used it to wipe the blade of his knife.
Murphy rolled to his knees and climbed to his feet. He pulled open the refrigerator door then looked away as a stench hit him. He looked back and, cupping a hand over the end of his flashlight, looked through the fridge again. Pulling out a bottle of water, he closed the door and twisted the cap from the bottle. He drank half of it and, on his return to the living room, tossed the rest to Jacob as he walked past him.
“Get up; we’ve got to move,” Murphy whispered.
Chapter Eight
The solar light went out and stayed out. The house and yard were dark—no sign of the things. Murphy moved them to the front of the house where they hid on a large, open front porch. A wood swing hanging from the rafters squeaked as the wind moved it.
“There,” Murphy whispered, pointing in the distance.
Murphy held out his goggles and put them to Jacob’s eye. Jacob blinked and let his vision adjust to the optics. Up ahead, on the opposite corner, a light flashed. Jacob dropped the goggles. Looking in the same direction, he now saw nothing.
“You can’t see it without the NODs; it’s infrared. I have one just like it,” Murphy whispered while removing a small chip holding a tiny bulb. Murphy manipulated the device connecting the battery then held it over his head. “He’s in the scrub brush. How well do you know that area?”
Jacob looked back at him confused. “I… I don’t know it at all. I mean, it’s just a few empty lots… was supposed to be developed—”
“Buddy, I don’t need a real estate lecture. Do you know what’s on the other side of it?”
Jacob looked back to the distant tree line. “It moves out from here. There is a railroad bed at the back of the lots; that’s the reason they never sold… I mean, there’s railroad tracks back there, then past that and through the trees is a two-lane highway.”
“Route 30?” Murphy asked.
Jacob nodded and watched as Murp
hy pulled a small spiral notebook from a pocket on his sleeve. He began to sketch their location, then scribbled notes that Jacob couldn’t make out. Murphy folded over the page and stuck the notebook back in his pocket. “Okay, that should bring us out on the approach to the safe zone. You ready to move?”
“What about the motion light?” Jacob asked.
“Well, either those things are gone, or the battery died. You can’t go home, and we can’t stay here.”
“I understand.”
“Good; I’ll run with you to the corner and stop. You keep going and head to the trees. Slow down to a walk when you cross the street; Stephens will find you.”
Jacob nodded as a response. Murphy slapped him on the shoulder and climbed to his feet. Slowly, the soldier led them off the porch with his rifle up. They moved quietly, walking a narrow path leading from the stoop to the main sidewalk. Jacob’s eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, and he could see a good distance in all directions. Murphy picked up his pace, and Jacob followed, running along and staying just behind Murphy’s right shoulder.
Just as he’d said he would do, Murphy stopped at the curb and quickly turned to cover the direction they’d traveled. Exactly as he was told to, Jacob ran past him. Continuing into the street and running for the wooded lots, his footfalls echoed off the pavement. Halfway across, gunshots erupted from behind him. He continued on his way and sprinted for the cover of the woods. When he hit the grass—instead of stopping as instructed—he kept going, the adrenaline pushing him on. Muzzle flashes from deep in the trees ahead blinded him as tracers cut just to the right of his path.
Jacob ran on, his foot catching in a hole and causing him to tumble forward. He dropped into a shallow embankment. He instinctively lowered his hands to try to cushion his fall, only to have them cut open on the sharp gravel. He ducked his head as he rolled, crashing through a thorn bush at the bottom. Gunfire continued as Jacob crawled forward deeper into the lot. Feeling cuts to his hands and face, he dragged his battered body away from the sounds. Suddenly, a hand from behind lifted him back to his feet and he heard Stephens’ voice.
“Run!”
Wet branches slapped his face; thorns tore at his shirt and dug into his skin. He ducked and turned, running for the open ground he saw ahead and praying it would be the railroad bed that would provide cover. Bullets snapped around him; the sounds echoed off the canopy of the trees as the muzzle flashes confused his vision. Jacob took long staggering steps, struggling to put one foot in front of the other as his lungs burned and he gasped for air.
He hit the railroad bed and again fell to his hands and knees. Scrambling to the top of it, he ran across the first rail, tripped over the second, and rolled down the other side. He crawled forward; disoriented, gasping for air, bile in his stomach begging him to vomit. He fought the urge to collapse as his arms and legs cramped from fear and exhaustion. He crawled on until Murphy moved up beside him. He felt himself being pummeled and pressed to the ground as someone dropped on top of him, and a gloved hand cupped his mouth, forcing him to take whistling breaths through his nose.
“Shhhhh, quiet,” Murphy whispered in his ear.
Jacob closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. A crash of footfalls tumbled over the summit of the railroad bed; stones clanged against the tracks as they ran across and into the brush on both sides. Jacob’s body flinched uncontrollably from fear and adrenalin. Murphy pinned him to ground tighter, and Jacob, putting trust in the soldier, resisted the urge to break free. He forced his eyes closed, allowing his face to be pressed against the dirt and tasting the leather glove held tight over his mouth. The things ran to the left and right of him so close, he could feel the breeze off their legs racing by as bits of mud and grass were kicked onto his cheek.
They slowly faded away with the sounds of the breaking tree limbs, moving farther east. Murphy rolled off him and popped up to a knee. Jacob saw that Stephens had joined them in a small depression at the base of the embankment. Murphy and Stephens held their rifles steady as they slowly scanned the area. Jacob lay silent, still catching his breath, trying to control his heartbeat, and pushing back the pain radiating through his body.
After what seemed an eternity, Murphy looked down at him and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Hell, no. I’m not okay,” Jacob responded.
“Good.” Murphy handed Jacob a plastic bottle. “Drink some water; we’ll be moving shortly.”
Jacob took the bottle and pushed himself up to his knees, then rocked back to a sitting position. The rifle was still over his shoulder and he’d somehow managed not to drop the pistol through all of it. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Murphy looked at him, scowling.
“Finish it; you never know when you’ll get another chance,” he said.
Jacob tipped the bottle back, gulped the remainder of the water, and then let it rest in the weeds beside him. He put his hand to his hip and moved his fingers over the medical tape, feeling the curled edges and the dampness of the bandage. Jacob knew it had come loose in one of the falls he’d taken, but it could wait; he wanted to keep moving and make it to the park as soon as possible.
Without saying a word, Stephens got to his feet then dropped a hand to pull Murphy up; in turn, Murphy reached a hand to Jacob. They stood silently. For the moment, the woods seemed safer than the neighborhood; the tall trees provided concealment for their movement. Stephens, again, led the way, slowly stepping through thick cover until he located a game trail. Jacob watched as he took careful steps, lifting his feet and cautiously putting them down to avoid branches and leaves.
They stopped often to listen, sometimes kneeling in the brush and vegetation waiting for a suspicious sound to fade. They could still hear the black-eyes moving, although they were far off. Jacob could hear the distant snapping brush and splashing of water as the things continued searching for them. Stephens pressed forward until the trio reached the two-lane highway, where he dropped to his belly and crawled to the mowed shoulder of the road.
The moon was high in the sky now; its bright face lit the blacktop surface of the road, making it easier to see. Murphy pushed Jacob ahead, and soon the three of them were shoulder to shoulder at the highway’s edge. It was surprisingly empty and devoid of vehicles. Jacob expected abandoned cars and a deadlocked traffic jam; instead, he looked over a silent roadway. The buildings on the far side all appeared to be empty and surprisingly untouched. The road rose away from them and off to the right. At the top of the hill sat a police patrol car blocking the road.
Stephens had his rifle to his eye while inspecting the vehicle. He pulled his eye away from the rifle’s optics and whispered, “There’s people in the car.”
Jacob twisted while trying to get a better view of the vehicle that was a hundred yards away, but it was hard to pick out anything in the dark. Backlit by the horizon, the light bar on the top made it stand out from the grey-blue sky behind it. Jacob squinted; he could just barely make out movement from inside the vehicle. Murphy scooted back away from the shoulder, and then started to crawl in the direction of the car.
“What are you doing?” Stephens asked.
“Let’s check it out. Stay close behind me.”
Murphy continued crawling in the direction of the patrol car. Jacob felt a pat on his back and looked back at Stephens who motioned for him to follow.
“You heard the sergeant; we’re gonna check it out,” Stephens whispered.
Chapter Nine
It was slow going crawling through the tall grass toward the patrol car. Jacob watched Murphy and tried to mimic his motions—every movement deliberate and quiet as they slipped through the blades of grass. Murphy held his rifle in his right hand by the sling, near the barrel. He would push his arm forward then slowly allow the rest of his body to crawl ahead. He’d stay motionless, listening, and then lift his head to survey the area before moving his rifle arm again to repeat the movement.
One arm length at a time, they moved along the d
epression at the side of the road. Jacob didn’t dare lift his head to look. He stayed as low to the ground as possible, trying to become one with it, and wishing he were thinner so that he could bury himself in the weeds. Every time he pushed himself ahead with his feet, he felt the wound on his hip grind against the soil.
Keeping the pain to himself, he didn’t yelp or cringe. He didn’t want to be a burden or give the soldiers an excuse to stop. Jacob desperately wanted to reach the evacuation site, and he knew he couldn’t do it without the men escorting him. Jacob reached an arm out ahead and slapped into Murphy’s calf. In his agony and trying to push his thoughts aside, he hadn’t noticed that Murphy had stopped. Jacob pulled back his arm and waited.
Jacob heard the clunk of a car door opening and heavy-soled shoes strike the pavement. They were close now, and he wanted to look but didn’t dare. He didn’t want to give away their position. The feet moved away; another clunk and another man caused sounds of metal clinking together while heavy feet slapped the pavement. Jacob listened to the sounds of the doors slamming shut.
Murphy didn’t move. Jacob could feel Stephens behind him, lying almost on the back of his legs and could hear the soldier breathing. Suddenly Murphy rose up to a kneeling position all the while concealed in the high grass and the cover of dark. Stephens slowly crawled past Jacob and rose up next to Murphy. Jacob remained lying in the grass, not wanting to move as the two soldiers set out ahead, walking much faster now while still crouched in the grass.
Frustrated and not wanting to be left behind, Jacob lifted himself to a push-up position and brought his knees forward. He climbed up and followed the other two. He could see the patrol car clearly now. It was empty. Whoever previously occupied it was gone. Murphy and Stephens moved quickly along the shoulder, then cut diagonally across the pavement and crouched near the patrol driver’s side door. Jacob knelt by the brush guard at the hood of the car while Murphy circled it and Stephens moved around to the passenger side to look through the window.
