The Invasion Trilogy Box Set [#1-#3]

by Lundy, W. J.

  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 after 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.

  Jacob gripped the heavy fabric of the man’s vest and stumbled forward, kicking objects on the floor as he was guided down a long hallway.

  “Watch your step. The floor is covered with luggage, bags, and boxes of shit people left behind,” Murphy whispered.

  The trio continued on shuffling; the plods of their boots echoed in the silent hallway. A latch popped, and Jacob recognized the sound of a door squeaking open and items on the floor sliding as the door was pulled outward, into the hallway.

  “Stairs are clear,” Stephens whispered back.

  Jacob was led ahead and around a corner; the echo of their footsteps changed, and the space now smelled of cleaning solvent. He heard the door latch behind him and a white light clicked on. Murphy had powered up a weapon-mounted flashlight and was surveying the stairwell. It was clean—the floors polished and the walls still vibrant with fresh paint.

  “Place must’a had power when they were pulled out… probably used the elevators,” Stephens said. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a long length of chain he’d salvaged from the front doors. He looped it through a pull handle and secured the other end to a handrail. He reached over and snatched sets of zip cuffs from Jacob’s tactical vest then locked the ends of the chain in place. He tested the stability of the hasty lock and nodded his approval to Murphy.

  Murphy turned and, holding his light up the stairwell, slowly patrolled forward. The heavy fire door at the second floor was locked, and one look told them it would be difficult to open with the crowbar. They stood near it, listening but found only silence. They continued up to the next floor, which was also locked. Murphy began to round the corner to enter the landing that brought them to the fourth floor but stopped and stepped back. He pointed ahead to the next floor’s fire door—it was slightly ajar.

  The sound of a glass bottle being knocked over rattled across a tile floor from above. Jacob crouched and held his breath as the sound of footsteps echoed into the stairwell. Murphy reached his hand forward and clicked off the light. A dim, soft glow emanated from the open door. Murphy knelt down and took a long lunging step around the corner, squaring up on the exit above. Stephens quickly moved forward, grabbing an angle and covering the other soldier from the corner.

  “Who’s there?” Murphy called out, causing Jacob to flinch with surprise; he hadn’t expected the soldier to announce their position like that.

  Sounds of scrambling above and muffled voices reached Jacob’s ears and the light went out. Jacob clutched the handrail and strained his ears to pick up the sound of Murphy’s boot treads slowly ascending the staircase.

  “Don’t ya�
��ll come up here—I’ll blow ya’ll back to hell where ya come from!” a woman’s voice shouted.

  “Now hold up!” Murphy said. “We’re not here to hurt anyone!”

  “Ya’ll ain’t dragging me off; you’ll have to kill me first!”

  Stephens moved up the steps, holding a palm up to Murphy as he passed. Murphy nodded his approval. “What the hell you talking about, lady? We ain’t the darkness!”

  “The hell you ain’t; now get to stepping before I come at you with this twelve gauge!”

  “Lady, you ever seen one of those things in an argument?” Stephens said; his voice lower.

  After a pause the woman answered, “Well, no, I guess I haven’t.”

  “Ma’am, now I’m coming up; if you shoot me… well, you’re gonna have some explaining to do to my momma,” Stephens said.

  Still staying in the cover of the stairwell, Murphy stepped ahead and followed close behind Stephens while Jacob held back on the rail. He watched as the light came back on and a shadow cut across it. Stephens stepped up the stairwell, the soft light outlining his form as he cautiously took the steps one at a time. Jacob observed as Stephens let go of his rifle and, letting it hang slack from the sling, stepped to the landing at the top of the stairs. He put his hands up and extended them into the hallway.

  “Okay, see my hands? I don’t intend no harm on y’all. I’m coming in, okay?” Stephens said, speaking calmly.

  “Yeah, I see ‘um,” the woman answered.

  “Nana, just put the gun down,” a younger man’s voice called.

  Stephens continued to extend his arms as he walked into the hallway. He stepped clearly into the light and held his hands up, the soft light illuminating his face and uniform. Garbled words were exchanged in soft voices. Then Stephens peered back into the stairwell, looking at Murphy and Jacob, and said, “You can come up.” Murphy lowered his weapon and waved Jacob forward.

  Chapter Fifteen

  An elderly grey-haired woman stood looking at them suspiciously, a shotgun tightly gripped in her hands. A young man walked past her and greeted Stephens enthusiastically. “Good to see you, brother. Where’s everyone else? When are we leaving?”

  Moving Jacob ahead, Murphy stepped out of the stairwell to stand beside Stephens and looked back into the dark hallway. He tried to close the door behind him but found it was stuck open.

  “Mr. Carson broke the door when the elevators went out. Door was locked from the inside, and it was the only way to get back up here,” the young man said, watching Murphy’s attempts to secure the entrance. “He was supposed to come back for us… but never did.”

  “What’s your name, kid?” Stephens asked.

  “Tyree,” he answered.

  “Tyree, why didn’t you all leave with the others?”

  The young man placed his hand on the older woman’s arm. “Nana, you can go back inside,” Tyree whispered.

  She looked at the strangers and shook her head at them before turning and walking back down the dark hallway. Near the end of the passage, she stopped and threw them one last scowl before disappearing into an apartment.

  The young man looked back at Stephens. “My papa has been ill for a while and he can’t walk; he’s in a chair and needs oxygen. When the folks came to get us on the bus, they didn’t have an ambulance or a wheelchair for him. The police said they’d send someone, but they dint.”

  “This place was locked up tight. Boarded and chained,” Murphy pointed out.

  Tyree nodded his head. “That was Mr. Carson, the landlord. He stayed back with my grandparents to help them out after they got everyone else out. Nana and Papa were the only tenants left in the building. He watched over them ‘til me and my cousin got here. Carson locked us in, sealed up the building, and went for help.”

  “When was this?” Murphy asked.

  “Bout three days ago, maybe. After the electricity shut off,” Tyree said. “You all thirsty? We got water… food.”

  “Thank you, I could use a bite. We’ve been on the move since yesterday,” Murphy answered.

  An explosion in the distance roared outside and shook the building, causing the windows at the ends of the hallway to rattle. Jacob stepped back and put his hands to the wall.

  “It’s okay. That shit’s happening a lot, but this ol’ building is tough; it ain’t falling down anytime soon,” Tyree said as he turned to walk toward the apartment at the end of the hall.

  Stephens glanced over at Murphy. When all Murphy did was shrug his shoulders, Stephens sarcastically smiled before stepping off to follow Tyree. Murphy started to follow as well when Jacob reached out a hand and grabbed his forearm. “What are we doing? We need to keep moving.”

  “Relax, we’re just stopping long enough to get eyes on the area, and we’ll be on our way,” Murphy said, pulling away and following Stephens.

  Jacob stood looking down the dark hallway; every apartment door was partially opened, and the windows at each end of the long hallway had been covered with paper. He turned and glimpsed back at the broken door as explosions outside made an ominous rumbling sound that crept up the stairwell. Listening to the growling echo up the stairs and the trembling as the building protested the concussion of every bomb drop, Jacob suddenly realized he was alone in the dimly lit space. Shaking himself, he quickly moved out after his friends.

  Jacob reached the apartment the others had entered and, slipping quietly through the open door, paused in a small hallway. The apartment was neatly made up and well kept. Family pictures covered the walls and Jacob recognized Tyree in several of them—as a young boy sitting on a sailboat and holding a fishing pole, group photos of happier times, but most notably, his high school graduation photo, enlarged and holding a prominent spot above a large maple bench.

  Jacob followed the voices he could hear to the end of the small hallway. He walked into a living room where an elderly man, wearing an oxygen mask, lifted a hand to wave. Jacob forced a smile and returned the gesture as younger man, possibly late teens, moved from the kitchen and looked Jacob up and down. “You a cop?” he asked accusingly.

  Jacob sighed and shook his head. “You know, I’m going to have to get a new tailor.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the kid asked.

  “Means I found this gear in the back of a cop car. I’m not a police officer,” Jacob answered.

  “Cool, because I got warrants,” the kid said.

  The old man snapped the oxygen mask from his face, the sudden movement catching Jacob’s eye. “James, will you shut up? The police ain’t sending nobody out here to arrest you for speeding tickets.” The old man looked up at Jacob. “Pardon my grandson; he tries to play tough, but he’s harmless.”

  “Papa, will you stop? We don’t owe these folks any explanation,” James said, looking embarrassed.

  “Child, hush, and go get this fella something to eat,” the old man ordered.

  Jacob let his arms relax, still not used to the weight of the rifle and tactical vest. Seeing his discomfort, the old man offered him a seat. Jacob moved across the room, pushed aside crumpled blankets and pillows, and sat at the corner of a sofa. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back as the weight relaxed from his back.

  “Sorry about the mess; the boys been staying with us and we ain’t got a lot of room,” the man said.

  Jacob scanned the space; it was a humble apartment—heirloom furniture, sofa and chairs, a small dining table for two just outside of the kitchen door. The windows had heavy blankets pulled over them, sealing out the light. The apartment door was open, but Jacob could see where furniture had been pushed against it at one point.

  Following Jacob’s stare to the front door, the old man said, “We used to keep it closed up but we leave it open ’cause the floor is empty now and the doors downstairs is all locked. Might need to change our policy, though, considering you folks just walked up on us like that.”

  James returned to the room and eyed Jacob suspiciously before handing him a pl
ate and a small plastic cup. “Here, it’s just water and a grilled cheese.”

  Jacob accepted the plate. “Been a bit since I had a hot meal; thank you.”

  “I wish I had more for you. Y’all can call me Ernest, or Ernie; most my friends do. Gas is still on up here; keeps the stove going. Some water pressure from the tank on the roof, but not sure how long that’ll last.”

  Jacob took a long drink of the water. He looked at Ernie and nodded. “It’s good; thank you, sir.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Jacob.”

  The old man turned his head, stretching to see into the kitchen. “Listen, Jacob, I know what’s happening out there. I been hearing what they say on the radio.”

  Jacob looked to the old man. “I don’t have answers, if that’s what you’re asking—” He stopped as the sound of an explosion rattled the windows and shook the building.

  The old man shook his head. “I’m not looking for that, Jacob. I need you to get the boys out of here. I already talked it over with the wife; we won’t last out there, especially not on those streets... not in no shelter either. We’ll be okay up here; we got food and water and can get by for some time on our own. I need you to promise that when you leave, you’ll take the boys.”

  Tyree walked into the room. “Papa, I already told you we ain’t leaving without you, so stop bothering this man.”

  “You got to; these folks will need your help, anyhow.”

  Jacob looked at Tyree and noticed the others were now moving out of the kitchen.

  “How, exactly, would we need their help?” Jacob asked.

  “They know the streets. You’ll find that the roads are all blocked. These two can get you in and out and up to the island—I know that’s where you all are headed; no other reason for you to be up this far.”

  Murphy stepped into the room, raising a hand as he swallowed. “What do you know about the roads being blocked?” Murphy asked. He took a seat next to Jacob, holding a half-eaten sandwich.