by Lundy, W. J.
“Why me?” Jacob asked.
“Cause one thing here ain’t like the others and you probably ain’t as good at lying. Now where did you come from?” the man asked again, stepping closer.
Jacob looked over at Murphy. The man, growing annoyed, said, “You don’t need his help. Now where are you from? If I have to ask again, I’ll toss you out the door… naked.”
“We came from town… a few miles from here,” Jacob said.
“We were evac—” Murphy began before the man angrily raised a hand, shutting him up.
He looked back at Jacob. “Continue.”
“Ah, I was at my home, the convoy came down the street picking people up, my family got on the truck, but we were attacked. I got separated from my wife and kid; these men helped me. They’ve been helping me.”
“Where’d the cop car come from?”
Jacob looked at Murphy who stood, not speaking. He shrugged to signal Jacob to continue. “Up the road; two cops… two… of… they… we killed ’em and took it.”
“What did they look like… the cops?” the man asked, pressing his face uncomfortably close to Jacob’s.
“It was dark… but they had the black blood,” Jacob said, stepping back and looking away.
The man reached out an arm, slapped Jacob on the shoulder, and nodded to Murphy. “Okay, fair enough; my name’s Johnny and this is my shop. Sorry to be an asshole, but things have gone sideways in the last week. You’re free to stay the night here, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything.”
Murphy, having heard the man out, extended his hand. “I’m Sergeant Murphy with the Illinois National Guard; this is Corporal Stephens. We’re assigned to the Wilson Street Park. Have you heard anything from them?”
The man looked at Murphy with wide eyes. “You’re joking, right?”
Murphy stood silently, then turned to face Jacob and Stephens and shrugged his shoulders.
The man called out in the direction of the loft behind him. “Miller get down here.”
Jacob watched as a younger man dressed in an identical Carhartt jacket ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stopped just short of Johnny.
“These two say they’re stationed at the Wilson Street Park,” Johnny said.
Miller shook his head. “Shit no, they gone. Pulled out this evening—shit-load of trucks, tanks, helicopters… everything. That camp they built is empty,” Miller said. “I watched ’em leave with my own eyes.”
Stephens clenched his fist angrily and swiped at the air. “Dammit! The jump order must’ve come down and we missed it!”
“What does that mean?” Jacob said, panicking. “Where the hell did they go? Where is my family?”
“It means we’re fucked,” Stephens said, disgusted.
Murphy turned to face the younger man who had come down from the loft. “Miller is it? How do you know this?”
“I was there when they left, moved off to the big evacuation point. I came back here to stay with Uncle Johnny; we’re waiting on my dad and some others. The soldiers said they were pulling back to the lake front.”
“Northerly Island,” Jacob mumbled, feeling lightheaded.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” Miller answered, looking Jacob up and down. “Hey man, are you hurt? Your leg’s all bloody. You don’t look so good.”
Jacob suddenly felt far away and unable to answer—despair, exhaustion, and worry for his family taking a hard toll. He just stared at Miller, watching him talk. Jacob could see that the young man’s lips were moving, but he no longer heard the words. Stephens moved between the other men to look at the wound on Jacob’s hip.
“Dammit, fool, you let this get to bleeding again. Now I’m going to have to re-dress it,” Stephens said as Jacob began leaning forward, so far that Stephens had to catch and steady him. Wearily, Jacob watched through clouding vision as Johnny tilted his head to look at the nasty blood-soaked bandages coming loose from Jacob’s side. He grimaced and turned to Murphy. “Why don’t you get him upstairs? There are more people up there; they can help with that.” Jacob closed his eyes as the man continued to speak.
Chapter Eleven
Jacob didn’t know how long he’d been out; he didn’t remember being moved to the bed or even lying down. He looked across the darkened floor space; only a few candles lit the long, narrow room. Heavy machinery was interspersed with moving lumps of blanket on the floors and tired men holding rifles, keeping watch over their families as they leaned against walls. A child cried from some place in the back. A sharp pain pulling at the wound in his hip caused him to turn away. He jerked to the side to look back and saw a woman cleaning his wound with a damp wad of gauze.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she whispered.
Jacob squinted, trying to see her face in the low light. He could make out that she was middle aged, her hair was pulled back, and she wore a dark sweater. He tried to sit up for a better look, but the weight of his own body prevented it.
The woman placed a hand on his chest and eased him back onto the cot. “Come on now, hun, you need to rest. Just let me get this bandaged for you,” she whispered.
“Where am I?’
She pushed a gauze dressing around the wound. Holding it in place, she attached a long piece of tape. “You’re in the loft of the shop. You got a little dizzy down there, and your friends brought you up here.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re here; don’t worry, they didn’t leave you,” she whispered, pulling a blanket over his lap.
A loud rumble from overhead shook and vibrated the corrugated roofing above their heads. Jacob jumped and tried to sit up. Again, the nurse gracefully lowered him to his back. “It’s okay; just relax.”
“What was that?” Jacob asked; the shock obvious in his voice.
“I was told it’s the Air Force dropping their bombs in town,” the nurse answered.
“Bombing? But... I thought they were evacuating everyone.”
Rumbling explosions in the distance shook the building, the air cracking with impacts.
The clanking of footsteps came up the stairs, followed by the smiling face of Stephens, who overheard the last bits of the conversation. “They’re CAS missions,” Stephens said, moving to Jacob’s side. “How you feeling?”
“CAS?” Jacobs asked.
“Close air support.”
Not understanding, Jacob looked blankly at him as aircraft flew low overhead, on another pass.
“They’re blowing the hell out of the things trying to get close to our people!” Stephens said over the very distant rumblings of explosions, a remote and deadly fireworks display ripping apart the night air. “Those are Warthogs, most likely. I’d say they’re pulling out all the stops tonight. About damn time too.”
Jacob shook his head. “Why didn’t you just say that to start with?”
“That is what I said; not my fault you don’t understand shit.”
The crack, crack, crack of gunfire echoed from somewhere outside the building—far away at first but quickly moving closer. Stephens stepped back and ran to the loft window overlooking the factory floor. Jacob pushed himself to a seated position, this time ignoring the nurse’s advice. The gunfire grew louder and was joined by the ping and squeal of rounds slapping against the building’s metal skin. Stephens turned and walked hurriedly for the stairs leading to the factory floor as hidden faces in the loft began to cry out and speak in hushed tones.
Jacob sat upright and slipped his pants on halfway before he searched the floor at his feet in the dim candlelight. He found his boots and quickly slipped them on. Giving the laces a quick yank, he wrapped them around his ankles and knotted them. He looked around and saw his shirt and jacket in a bundle at the end of the cot. He got to his feet and felt the pull at his side, his hand instinctively dropping. He pulled his pants up the rest of the way over the bandage and winced at the discomfort.
The nurse, watching him with frustration, moved and grabbed his shirt and jacket. �
��I had to stitch you up. Sorry, I only had a local anesthetic and not much for the pain; it will be wearing off soon,” she said hurriedly as she helped Jacob into his jacket. “You’ll need to have that cleaned again and the stitches out in a week or so.”
Jacob nodded and searched the jacket pockets and the empty holster on his waist. “Where are my guns?” he gasped.
The woman moved along the wall just behind the cot to a tall metal cabinet. She quickly returned, carrying the black tactical vest and police carbine. Jacob noticed at once that his P89 was now fastened into a holster on the chest of the vest. “This is yours. The soldiers said you would gladly trade the other rifle and shotgun for the medicine we used on you,” she said, placing the rifle on the bed and handing Jacob the vest.
The vest was open at the sides, but he’d never worn one before. He stuck his head through the center, nearly getting lost in the heavy armor. The nurse stepped in and pulled the Velcro side apart and snugged the vest down over him, then lashed the Velcro waist straps.
“You aren’t too familiar with this, are you?” she said, helping him to adjust the straps.
“No, guess I never had much reason to put one on before tonight.”
She curled her brow, throwing Jacob a puzzled look. “Well, this is correct. Unfortunately, I have spent enough time in the ER to know how an officer’s gear goes on and off.”
Jacob nodded a thank you as he looked over the snaps and attachments at the front of the vest. He tried pulling them until he felt the pressure against his wound. The heavy plates in the chest and back caused the other straps to cut into his shoulders. He lifted himself to his feet and shrugged hard, trying to adjust the weight before he took an uneven step toward the stairs.
“Officer, your gun!” the nurse called after him. She moved toward him, holding the rifle.
Jacob turned to look at her, and then recalled seeing an embroidered badge patch on the front of the tactical vest. Suddenly, he realized that the entire time she had assumed he was a police officer. “I’m not a—oh, right. Thanks.”
He paused then reached out for the rifle. Never having really held one like this before, it was foreign in his grip. A magazine that stuck out of the lower receiver was already seated so Jacob let his hands work over the metal and up the hand-guards to feel the weight of the rifle. He turned it to the sides, examining the mechanisms. Pushing a button, the magazine dropped and nearly fell to the floor before he clumsily caught it and slapped it back home.
Mistaking Jacob’s curiosity with the new weapon as an inspection, the nurse said, “It’s fine; nobody messed with it.”
Jacob thanked her and walked toward the stairs, spotting families hiding in the shadows of the loft as he passed them. He turned into the opening and clanged down the metal treads to the factory floor.
The lower level was dark with all the lights off, and rounds continued to ping off the outer walls. Jacob was able to spot Murphy and Stephens pressed against the door they’d entered earlier. Johnny, along with some of his own men, was crowded around them while Murphy was trying to convince Johnny to move his people away—and losing the argument. Murphy turned his head, catching the movement of Jacob’s approach.
“What are you doing down here?” Murphy asked. “You’re going to bust yourself open and start bleeding again.”
Jacob stepped closer to the group, holding the rifle awkwardly in his hands. “You need everyone,” Jacob said just above a whisper, the fear showing in his voice as the sounds of battle echoed just beyond the walls.
“You even know how to use that?” Murphy asked, reaching out and snatching the rifle from Jacob’s hands. He dropped the magazine then reseated it. He instructed Jacob, giving a quick rundown of the rifle’s parts and functions. He pulled back the charging handle and chambered a round before turning the rifle so that Jacob could see the selector switch. “This is safe, that’s semi… don’t even fuck with the other one.” Then he pushed the rifle back into Jacob’s hand.
“Stay here with them; we’re going outside to see what’s going on. If we break out, we’ll come back for you and the others,” Murphy ordered.
Jacob shook his head. “No, I’m sticking with you.”
Stephens turned and faced Murphy. “Come on, Sergeant; he’s just going to slow us down,” Jacob overheard him whisper.
Murphy looked at Jacob waiting eagerly as rounds stitched the top of the building and a loud explosion rattled the steel sides. Murphy dropped his head, rubbed his temple with his gloved hand, and then forced a grin. “Fine, get your ass behind Stephens and don’t miss.” Murphy turned to Johnny. “Take care of your people. If I can get contact with my command, we’ll send someone back for you.”
Johnny nodded, reaching toward the door’s handle. “Good luck out there,” he said, slapping Murphy on the back as the door swung open. Murphy looked back over his shoulder and cut out into the night with Stephens following close. Jacob lurched forward and hesitated in the doorway. He felt a nudge from behind as he was shoved outside, and the door closed behind him.
Murphy and Stephens were running, crouched between the patrol car and the building. Jacob came to his senses and took off after them, sprinting as more gunfire erupted from close by. Murphy rounded the far side of the car, dropped to a prone position, and crawled to the rear bumper. Stephens squatted, keeping the engine block between himself and the sounds of battle. Jacob ran and dropped in next to him.
He looked out at the field across the street. It was dark, and he couldn’t make out any figures—only the muzzles of weapons spitting flame as they fired. Tracers cut back and forth across the field and occasional rounds flew over Jacob’s head, smacking into the steel-clad building behind him. Jacob looked to his left and saw Stephens hovered over his rifle with his night vision down. Murphy scooted back away from the tire and rejoined them around the hood.
“Looks like a patrol made contact,” Murphy whispered, “They’re taking some heavy fire from the tree line. I think if we target them from here, it’ll loosen up their flank.”
“You sure, Sergeant? They don’t even know we’re up here. What if our guys fire on us?” Stephens protested, not looking up from his rifle.
Jacob looked around. He was still blind in the dark but could hear the sustained battle coming from across the street. “What are you two talking about?”
Murphy grinned. “There’s a unit in the field over there. Someone… something has them pinned; we’re gonna suppress so they can maneuver.”
Jacob scowled. “Just tell me what to do.”
“That’s the spirit. Let’s go; we need to get distance on this building. We don’t want to draw attention to it.”
Chapter Twelve
Jacob sat anxiously behind the wheel of the patrol car. He had the vehicle in neutral as the soldiers pushed it out of the factory’s parking lot and into the street. The car slowly rolled back, entered the decline, and picked up speed. The two soldiers jogged to keep up. Jacob maneuvered the car backwards and into the street. He overcut the wheel, causing the car to turn too far and smack into the curb, one tire screeching against it as the steel rim scrubbed the concrete.
Murphy ran up alongside the driver’s window. “Okay; when I give the word, start the car and hit the field with your high beams.”
Jacob looked through the windshield to the field in front of him where he could still see the muzzle flashes and the tracer fire crisscrossing the dark sky like laser beams.
“How will they know we are the good guys?” Jacob asked nervously.
“Don’t worry. Soon as I drain a mag into those black-eyed monsters, they’ll know who we’re siding up with,” Stephens said, moving close to the car and leaning his rifle over its roof.
“Do it,” Murphy ordered, speaking louder.
Jacob felt the key in the ignition and turned on the engine; it quickly roared to life.
“Hit the lights!” Murphy yelled.
Jacob searched the left side of the column and found the
toggle. He pulled the lever, turning on the lights. He hit the switch that activated the high beams, then grabbed the hand-powered spotlight and directed it into the field. His stomach dropped, and he fought the urge to run back to the factory.
The terrain to the front was filled with moving figures—men, women, and children running through the high grass toward a line of soldiers dug in on a side street. The men fired desperately, trying to hold back the approaching mass. Farther behind the swarm were more of the things, armed and indiscriminately organized. Walking straight ahead with their rifles loosely tucked into their shoulders, they shot blindly toward the soldiers on the far side of the field.
Jacob steeled his nerves and pointed the spotlight at the things in the open, causing their dark eyes to turn in his direction. Murphy’s rifle rattled off a burst and Stephens’ quickly joined it. The target direction for the creatures changed as they turned ninety degrees and headed for the road. As Murphy predicted, this now had the swarm moving perpendicular to the line of soldiers in the field and allowed them to shoot at the sides of the mob, more effectively cutting them down.
A round smacked the windshield and Jacob ducked down. When he rose back up, he saw a statue-like man aiming a rifle in his direction. Jacob moved the spotlight to blind him while rounds pecked around the man’s feet before one found home and knocked him back. Jacob continued to move the light, pointing out targets and blinding the rushing things as they moved across the high grass. As Jacob directed the light, he saw that the approaching waves were thinning out. The things on the fringes with weapons disappeared back into the shadows while the soldiers on the side street were cutting down anything still alive in the field.
The passenger’s door opened, and Stephens dropped into the seat, quickly changing out magazines in his weapon. He rolled down the window and fired again while leaning out. Murphy smashed out the rear window then jumped in the back. Reaching across, he kicked out the other side and slapped the cage with a gloved hand. “Okay, let’s move. Get up to that side street where the troopers are. Drive slow; I’m sure they’re a bit jumpy… and cut off the spotlight.”
