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

by Lundy, W. J.

  Jacob ran through the gate and on to a parking lot inside, which paralleled a boardwalk and a number of small docks. The first of the docks held several small boats. Having already crossed the lot and hurdled over a small fence, Tyree was nearing the dock when he stopped and looked back at Jacob.

  Jacob waved him on and yelled, “Ready the boat; I’ll get the gate!”

  A sliding gate, secured with a chain lock, was left gaping in the open position. Jacob used his rifle to shoot at the lock, the third time successfully shattering its mechanism. The lock exploded and fell from the chain. Heaving with his back, Jacob pulled at the gate until it broke free and swung toward the closed position. Jacob left just enough space to allow Murphy and Stephens to squeeze through.

  The gunfire put Jacob’s attention back to the distance; Murphy and Stephens were behind an abandoned car, firing into the charging mob. Jacob spotted a man far behind the mob, raising a rifle and preparing to fire. Rounds already pinged off the car’s hood, dangerously close to Stephens.

  Jacob raised his rifle. Eye to the sight, he focused on the far-off target and pulled the trigger. A clear miss—he didn’t even see the round impact near the gunman. Using a trick his father taught him years ago when he learned to shoot, he aimed low and watched the rounds splash into the grass to the low right of the target. He adjusted his aim and fired again, this time knocking the man down. With the mob now closing in, Jacob dropped his point of aim and began firing rapidly into the mass.

  Murphy and Stephens fell back, firing steadily until they reached the fence. Once they passed through, Jacob slid the gate shut behind them. Stephens removed a D-ring from his vest and placed it on the gate’s hasp moments before the mob collided with it. Jacob raised the rifle and shot one point-blank in the face. Even as it fell back, another quickly took its place.

  “Go; leave them!” Murphy ordered, already turning to run toward the dock.

  Tyree had a small boat untied and was standing on the bow, holding a rope while waiting for Jacob and the rest. Stephens grabbed Jacob by the back of his vest, pulling him along as they ran for the small boat. Jacob moved behind while Murphy leapt over the bow and climbed to the controls. When Jacob neared the bow, Stephens grabbed at Jacob’s jacket and pushed him aboard. Taking the rope from Tyree, he shoved the boat off the dock and into the water then jumped aboard as it drifted away.

  The boat continued to pull away slowly, gliding through the water as Murphy called out, “I can’t start the motor; I got this running off the battery, but we won’t have much speed.”

  A round shattered the small windshield; Stephens spun around, raised his rifle, and squeezed off several shots before being hit in the chest. He fell back, nearly rolling off the deck. Tyree dove, caught his arm, and pulled him back to the center. Jacob brought up his own rifle and aimed at the shoreline. The mob was climbing the iron fence and more were pouring in from the sides farther up the drive. They were ringing the water, yelling and shouting while, beyond the gates, more armed men hid in the shadows and fired at the boat.

  Murphy fired quick rounds and then lifted his head to yell at Jacob, “Prioritize your targets! Shoot what’s shooting at us.”

  Jacob saw three men running along the roadway carrying rifles, one leading by several feet. Jacob fired then watched the first one drop and trip up the one that was following close behind. Jacob shifted his point of aim, fired again, and saw another man drop. A round impacted the boat’s deck near his knees, causing Jacob to dive over the windscreen and take cover in the cabin. He held the rifle and continued to search and fire at targets while the boat crept along.

  They were moving in on a bridge and would have to pass below it before entering the channel that would bring them into Lake Michigan. The surface of the crossing was covered with the Others, arms outstretched and reaching for them. Jacob fired up at their black eyes, taking a strange satisfaction in watching them tumble over the rail and into the water.

  “We’re fucked!” Stephens called out. Lying back against the cabin with blood spilling from a rip in his vest, he struggled to swap magazines with one hand. He finished the task and brought his rifle back up. “Too many of ’em.”

  “There!” Tyree screamed, spotting two attack helicopters.

  ”Stephens, smoke!” Murphy called while watching the Apaches circle around in a search pattern.

  Stephens struggled with his left arm to free a smoke canister from his gear. He pulled it free of the pouch and tossed it under handed to Jacob.

  “Get it on the bridge!” Murphy yelled.

  Jacob held the canister in his right hand and pulled the pin. He threw it as hard as he could, but the grenade hit the bottom deck of the bridge and bounced into the water. Thinking he’d failed, Jacob cringed—then the channel surface erupted and red smoke boiled out of the water, quickly forming a cloud.

  “Stephens, get your strobe on!” Murphy yelled. Reaching to his own collar, he connected a battery to a small device that he then inserted into a carrier on his chest.

  The Apache helicopters dipped their noses then circled back around, at first flying away before cutting a high angle into the sky and turning ninety degrees to line up with the bridge. They hovered in the air, rapidly firing rounds that exploded all along the bridge just before rockets screamed from the helicopters and splashed into the banks. The bridge erupted in plumes of yellow flame and black smoke.

  The Apaches split apart, strafing opposite sides of the shoreline and clearing the way for Murphy to get back on the throttle and ease the boat through the wreckage of the bridge and into the upper harbor. Jacob saw Murphy yank ignition wires from the battery and short them to the engine. The big outboard roared to life.

  “Tyree, steer this hog,” Murphy said. Jacob ran to the back deck and helped Murphy lower the heavy outboard engine into the water.

  The boat rocketed forward with Murphy manually opening the throttle. Tyree cut the wheel and guided them into the channel. Fire and smoke billowed on both sides of the approach to the lake as the helicopters continued to provide cover while they raced through the channel. The boat jetted a course straight into Lake Michigan and away from land.

  Clear of the shore, Murphy dropped the throttle and the engine quickly lulled into an idle as the boat stopped hard in the water and bobbed ahead. Murphy went to Stephens’ side and found that he was unconscious. He pulled away the wounded soldier’s vest and pressed a dressing against his wound. Jacob looked away and back to the shore, now barely visible in the distance. The engine had died and all they could now hear was the water slapping against the sides of the boat.

  Tyree turned around in the captain’s chair he’d been occupying and asked, “What do we do now?”

  “Come get pressure on this wound,” Murphy answered.

  Jacob climbed across the deck and held a hand to Stephens’ chest where Murphy’s had been. Murphy tossed back a seat cover from a bench to reveal a storage area below. Throwing out fishing gear and life jackets, he located a small first-aid kit. He pulled the kit open, dumped its contents onto the deck, then sorted through the items until he found a package of gauze dressing, and went back to Stephens’ side. Murphy replaced the soaked field dressing with the new pads and then put Jacob’s hands back in place.

  “Don’t worry, guys, it won’t be long now,” Murphy said just over the low pitch of a red Coast Guard helicopter flying in their direction.

  Chapter Twenty

  The thousand-foot long lake freighter filled with passengers; every inch of the rusty, red, painted surface occupied by the city’s refugees. The passengers were divided and separated along the decks; families were kept together while single men and women scattered along the port rail. Men in dark-blue utility uniforms walked the passageways, handing out paper cups of water and small sandwiches. Other men carried clipboards while gathering names and family information. Tyree sat across from Jacob, waiting for his turn to speak with the ship’s officer. They’d already reported the location of his gr
andparents to the helicopter crew; the information was recorded, but no promise of rescue could be made.

  The sailors had confiscated all of their ammunition as soon as they boarded the freighter, but the pair was allowed to keep their weapons. Jacob’s police tactical vest still provided him with benefits. When they attempted to separate him from Tyree, Jacob quickly interrupted and said they were traveling together. A crewmember at first protested but upon seeing the embroidered badge on his vest, he nodded, apologized, and allowed the men to stay together.

  Jacob hadn’t seeing Murphy since they had landed and members of the crew quickly ushered him away to rally with other soldiers. Stephens remained on the helicopter and had been sent off to receive treatment for his wounds at a hospital somewhere to the north. The ship was anchored offshore in the company of several others just like it. He overheard other men talking about how the flotilla had been out for days. Many of the men complained how this was supposed to have only been a temporary spot until the city could be secured. Failing that, they would sail north to islands that were still unaffected by the attacks.

  A bearded man carrying a scoped rifle and wearing torn, battered clothing walked across the deck, looking at Jacob’s vest. He motioned at a space by the rail and asked if he could sit. Jacob agreed, waving his arm and welcoming the man to drop into the space next to him. The man introduced himself as Michael and said he’d been on the boat for twelve hours—ever since he had been pulled out of the water near Michigan City.

  “How are things that way?” Jacob asked him.

  The man shrugged and lit a cigarette. “Bout the same, I figure; they’re everywhere, multiplying by the hour. I don’t think this is something we can fight.”

  “You come in by helicopter then?”

  “Nah, I got a boat,” he answered before taking a long drag on the cigarette. “Well… had a boat. The Coast Guard commandeered it. I was able to get a couple families out… I left a lot behind too.”

  “I was south of Chicago in the suburbs. I’m trying to get back,” Jacob said.

  Michael looked at him. “Yeah, I heard you all were planning a counterattack, trying to get a foothold on the city. He with you?” Michael said, pointing down the passageway.

  Murphy was walking in his direction with another sailor following close behind him. He stopped just short of Jacob and lowered a hand to help lift him to his feet. “Jacob, you’re coming with me. Tyree, the petty officer here will be getting information on the whereabouts of your grandparents. Give them what they need; they can help.”

  Tyree nodded and shook Murphy’s hand, thanking him. “What about Stephens?”

  Murphy put his hand on Tyree’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine; the Coast Guard got him to a military hospital—”

  “Do you have any news on my family? Did you tell them what we saw at the graveyard?” Jacob interrupted to ask.

  Murphy nodded patiently. “Come on, let’s go; you have a lot to hear.”

  Murphy turned and walked away, keeping Jacob beside him so they wouldn’t get separated on the crowded deck. They rounded a corner at the large bridge structure where a pair of guards in digital-blue uniform stood watch. They nodded to Murphy and allowed the two men to pass. Jacob followed Murphy along the structure on the portside and neared a ladder where Jacob grabbed at Murphy’s elbow, stopping him.

  “So? Where are they?” Jacob asked.

  Murphy pulled away. “Just come inside; they’ll brief us, and then I can answer your questions.”

  Jacob stood his ground and put out an arm, blocking Murphy’s path to the ladder. “Just tell me. Are they dead?”

  Murphy shook his head. “No man, it’s not that.” Murphy paused, looking around him then pushed Jacob closer to the ladder and out of sight of the guards. “Your family is at the Field Museum. They’re calling it the Castle—”

  “Then why don’t they get them out!” Jacob interrupted again.

  “Believe me, they’re trying. The Castle is cut off and surrounded now. So far, the walls are holding but it’s a desperate situation on the ground. They need help.”

  Jacob looked at Murphy, confused. “I don’t understand; what’s going on?”

  “Jacob… they need men to assault the beach to take back the island and Grant Park… or at least hold it long enough to get the survivors out. While the beaches are assaulted, the pilots can use the distraction to bring in every available air asset to get the survivors back here.”

  “Why all the secrecy about Laura and Katy; why didn’t you just tell me they were there?”

  “The captain didn’t want you to know their whereabouts until you volunteered to join the assault,” Murphy said, looking Jacob in the eye.

  “Me? How? I can’t go…” Jacob muttered.

  Jacob pointed at the badge on Jacob’s chest. “I used this to get you in the door. They’re desperate and just stretched too thin, Jacob. Most have already given up on the city; they don’t think we have the ground resources to make this happen. Some want us to just pull back and leave the city to its fate.”

  “I’ll go, but… I’m not a soldier, Murphy. Hell, I’m not even a cop.”

  “I know that,” Murphy said. “We’ve got law enforcement on board. They’re going to start hitting up able-bodied civilians until they get a body to every rifle and a seat filled on every boat. If I judged you wrong, I’ll understand; but if this assault doesn’t succeed… well, you know the score.”

  “Murphy,” Jacob asked, looking at him sincerely, “what about your family?”

  “I don’t even know, man; I left them alone when I reported to my unit. You know how that worked out,” Murphy said shrugging it off and obviously not wanting to talk about it.

  Jacob lowered his arm to clear the way for Murphy to proceed.

  “You know what, Jacob? If my family is in trouble, I hope there are people like you and me trying to help them.”

  Murphy took a deep breath and let out a sigh before slapping Jacob on the shoulder. Jacob watched as the soldier turned and moved to the ladder before climbing it to a small landing. Murphy rapped on the door and stepped back as the hatch opened.

  “You coming?” Murphy called down to him.

  Jacob nodded and ran up the stairs.

  The duo was greeted at the hatch by another sailor in blue camouflage who led them down a dark ladder to below decks. They entered a passageway that stunk of solvents and fresh paint.

  “Watch your step,” the sailor said as they passed through another hatch.

  The sailor stopped and waited for them to catch up before he opened a door and ushered them in. Murphy led the way and moved into what looked like a small company cafeteria. Even though he’d never personally seen one, Jacob knew it must be the ship’s galley; the tables were filled with men in varying uniforms—pilots in flight suits, state troopers, county cops, at least four different blends of camouflage. A tall, old, and leathered man standing at the front, wearing dark-green digital camouflage pointed to a pair of empty seats.

  Jacob squeezed through the crowded aisles and picked a spot. He watched as others moved through the hatch and filed into the room. Everyone in the galley sat quietly, looking at the floor or their watches or scribbling aimlessly on notepads. The man in front did a quick head count, then held up four fingers to the sailor at the door. The man opened the door and relayed the message to a guard outside.

  “Some things never change. Hurry up and wait,” Murphy said under his breath, getting some laughs from others nearby.

  There was another knock at the door; the sailor opened it and a group in civilian clothing filed through. Jacob recognized Michael, the man that he’d spoken to earlier. The civilians worked their way through the room and found seats in the back. The man in front did another head count then faced the group.

  “Gentlemen, I am Captain Nelson. By now, I am sure you have figured out that the world is a shit sandwich and we are all taking a bite. The fifty men in this room—military, law enforcement, v
eterans, and civilians—along with groups of men scattered among this ragtag flotilla of ships are all that’s left in the region. We are all that’s left to stand against them.

  “A very high-level overview is that the city is lost, and the state is lost. Our forces have been pushed back; the lines we thought we held even twenty-four hours ago have now been dissolved.” The captain paused and walked across the room to put his hand on a table.

  “I know some of you have heard the rumors that we’re withdrawing to the north. I’m afraid it’s true. In less than eighteen hours, we will all be moving north to the upper peninsula of Michigan. That being said, we have eighteen hours to get the remaining people out of the city; eighteen hours before the Air Force finishes what they started and bombs those things back to hell.” The captain stopped talking and looked down at the silent faces at the tables. He looked away and pointed to a young officer in the front row.

  “Lieutenant Richards, the floor is yours,” he said, stepping to the side and finding a seat in the corner.

  A clean-shaven young man dressed in a khaki uniform and carrying a dark, leather folder moved to the front. He dropped the folder on a table and turned around.

  The young officer cleared his throat, and then looked nervously at the captain. “This is a classified briefing, sir.”

  “Lieutenant!” the captain interrupted. “Please continue.”

  The young officer looked at his notes before looking back up at the men in the crowd. “Under these extenuating circumstances, the captain has ordered me to pass on this information. I would appreciate it if—”

  “Lieutenant, keep it moving!” the captain said.

  “Yes, sir. Petty officer, please dim the lights.”