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

by Lundy, W. J.

  Jacob saw Jesse positioned at a corner of the deck where he could oversee all approaches to the boat, by water or over the docks. He dipped his chin and smiled as Jacob stumbled by him. Stephens made his way onto the dive deck of the boat and, with slight leap, landed heavily on the dock. Rogers followed him doing the same, with Jacob right behind. The men knelt down, holding their position as they listened, looking for any sign that they had been observed leaving the boat.

  After several minutes, Stephens pointed at Rogers and sent him forward on point then smacked Jacob on the back, moving him along. Jacob stepped ahead, testing his feet on the dock’s surface and finding it far steadier than its battered appearance had led him to believe. The gray and weatherworn boards creaked as Jacob prowled along. Trying to mimic Rogers’s movements, he walked upright, his body turning left and right as he patrolled forward. Not running and ducking the way they’d done back in the small harbor town.

  They moved out slowly, patrolling past the tied down boats. Rogers would square up to them, side stepping each one and slicing the view as he rounded by it to search the surface of the boat for movement. Jacob would do the same but less pronounced, trying to keep his eyes on Rogers while still observing the passing boats and looking for anything Rogers may have missed. Rogers moved them into a straightaway with less cover. He picked up the pace and dropped into the concealment the lawn blanketed with tall unkempt grass provided.

  Again they huddled low and close, keeping their heads just above the high grass; all of them taking a different direction while listening and observing for anything to indicate they’d been detected. They were at the main entrance to the marina. A narrow blacktop road followed it around with roadside parking on both sides. A large gate hung open, a chain and lock lying on the pavement nearby. All the vehicles close to the men were small; nothing large enough to suit six warriors plus all of their gear. Looking farther south, Jacob could see a larger car parked at a boat ramp. Several large pickup trucks, still connected to boat trailers, sat neatly aligned and showed no signs of chaos.

  Stephens held a hand to his lips and spoke softly into a radio receiver, updating their position back to Marks. He then shot a thumb up to Rogers. The point man waved a hand at the far-off lot and pumped his fist. The patrol rose back to their feet and moved forward. Avoiding the blacktop road, they kept to the high grass, walking directly to the far lot. A heavy tree line lay between them and their destination. Rogers moved them into the shade of the tall trees, to within a football field’s length of the vehicles. The point man circled his hand and they took cover near a tall, wide oak. Stephens used his binoculars to scout the lot, then to look back at the marina.

  He identified a long navy blue Suburban with a boat trailer still attached. “Think you can start it?” he asked Rogers.

  “It’s new; older would be easier, but I think I have the tools to hack the software and get it up and running,” Rogers answered.

  “Okay, get it done. We’ll tag along and cover you,” Stephens said.

  Rogers smirked and dropped his small pack, sorting through it until he found a small nylon case. He stuffed the smaller bag into the cargo pocket of his fatigue pants for quick access, and then slung the small pack over his shoulder. “Okay, let’s move then,” he said, stepping off quietly.

  The big man ran ahead of the interlacing vehicles, clearing corners and blind spots as he traveled. Jacob stayed just behind him and back at an angle, the way he’d learned during his brief time with Masterson. He slowed when Rogers halted and dropped to his knees behind a black sedan. The point man raised his rifle and swept the area before moving back to a crouched stance and approached the Suburban. Rogers made a quick pass of the vehicle, looking under it and peering through all the windows. Jacob posted up on a vehicle beyond the Suburban and took up a good firing position where he could observe all approaches to the parking lot and provide cover.

  He turned briefly when he detected the door pop behind him; he saw that Rogers had already gained entry and was under the console, connecting wires. Jacob put his attention back forward, searching and scanning for targets. He heard the vehicle crank then purr to life. Damn that was fast, he thought, surprised.

  When Jacob looked back again, Stephens was signaling for him to return to the Suburban. He met Stephens at the back and helped him remove the boat trailer before they all rallied around the passenger's door of the vehicle. While Rogers sat in the driver's seat, Jacob stood with his back to the others, nervously watching the road that ran past the marina. Stephens made a quick inspection then ordered them aboard.

  “How’d we do?” Stephens asked.

  Rogers looked at the dash and adjusted the mirrors. “Over three-quarters tank of gas, and this sucker is fully unlocked.” Rogers held a small device that was still connected the vehicle’s onboard computer. He stretched the wires and placed the device that looked no larger than an iPod into the cup holder. Jacob saw a small, yellow, brick-shaped device plugged into the vehicle’s cigarette lighter resting on the dashboard. Rogers unplugged the yellow brick and wrapped up the cord before placing it back in his pack. He caught Jacob’s stare and grinned. Pointing to device in the cup holder, he explained. “This hacks the truck’s PCM module and this yellow box boosts twelve-volt power to the battery. Too easy.”

  “Smart,” Jacob said, not fully comprehending how it was done but still impressed.

  Stephens reported in with Marks over the radio, who then ordered the Suburban back. Rogers shifted into gear and guided them to the road, making the return trip to their spot in the marina. He backed in the truck near a low wall to shelter it then cut the engine. Rogers lifted the small iPod device and flipped through menus. “Battery took the charge pretty well.”

  “Good, we’ll report in and maybe be on the road soon.”

  The Suburban had two rear bench seats with a large cargo compartment in the far back; Jacob sat in the first backseat row. When movement from ahead caught his attention, he jolted forward and looked to the passenger window, trying to find its source. Far off in the trees, he spotted a small child. “Stephens,” Jacob whispered tapping the seat in front of him.

  Stephens leaned back and turned his head, his expression changing when he saw the fear in Jacob’s eyes. “What is it?”

  Jacob turned to the dark tinted passenger window and pointed. The child was now feet out of the tree line and walking toward them—a young girl in a bright pastel blue T-shirt. Two more figures exited the woods near her, then two more.

  “Oh fuck!” Rogers said, securing the door locks and leaping into the back seat. He reached to the front and grabbed Stephens, dragging him back.

  Crushed under the weight of the two scrambling men, Jacob said, “What are you doing?”

  “Hiding, get down and shut up,” Rogers whispered as Stephens scrambled back into the second bench seat.

  Stephens edged his feet in and leaned back before turning his head to Jacob. “Just relax; they can’t see through the tint.”

  “Did they see us drive up?” Jacob whispered.

  Rogers eased into a better position so that he could watch the closing crowd. “Doubtful. If they did, they would already be screaming the alarm and charging at us. Probably just heard the engine and are coming out to investigate its source.”

  Stephens opened the channel on his radio. “You got company—you need to come to us,” he whispered. “…Roger that, we’ll create an opening.”

  The group cleared the woods and entered the road. They paused, seeming to be unaware of which direction to travel. They first moved back toward the parking lot then stopped and turned toward the marina. Jacob pressed back against the bench seat as the first of the group passed the Suburban. They kept their heads straight ahead, seemingly uninterested in the vehicle. Jacob could see the protruding foreheads and scaled necks as they passed. Even the child shared the reptilian features and blackened eyes. He counted only one weapon among the group, an old and battered shotgun.

 
Two of them held back with the child, just to the front of the Suburban, looking away. The remaining Deltas continued past them and onto the docks. They walked up the narrow walkway then around, not stopping at the cabin cruiser. Instead of returning to their group, they headed to the area of the burnt out boathouse in the same direction the pre-dawn Deltas had traveled.

  The remaining Deltas stood like statues just in front of the Suburban, the two males to the back with the small child directly in front of them. Rogers unsnapped a cross-draw holster on his vest and removed the Ruger MK III pistol. He checked the slide and verified the top round. He looked back at Stephens, who nodded his approval. Rogers shifted close to the door and pressed his shoulder against it, putting weight on it as his free hand released the door latch. Making barely a sound, the latch released and the door eased open.

  Rogers stepped out of the Suburban, his boots silently making contact with the street surface. He stretched an arm around the open door, focusing on the closest male target. The man was less than fifteen yards away, an easy shot and a drill he’d practiced often. Rogers leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger, clack, clack. Before the first male fell, Rogers swung his point of aim to the right, clack, clack. The knees on the second male buckled. Both targets collapsed to the ground together. The child to the front spun on the heels of its feet and looked Rogers in the eye. The big man hesitated for a brief second before putting two rounds into the creature’s face.

  As quickly as he’d left the Suburban, he slipped back into the vehicle and silently closed the door. He was breathing quickly. He dropped the Ruger’s magazine and, pulling small-rim fire bullets from a pouch on his vest, replaced the six spent rounds.

  “Holy shit,” Jacob gasped.

  Stephens was back on the radio placing a call to Marks, updating them on the situation and preparing them to move. “The way is clear. You need to move, we’ve got to leave now,” Stephens said, lowering the transmitter.

  After reloading, Rogers climbed back into the front seat and plugged in his devices. He pushed a button on the iPod and the vehicle turned over easily. Rogers, sweat dripping from his forehead, worked the controls and powered on the air conditioning, getting the air to move in the stuffy Suburban. He pressed a button, opening a sunroof, and then looked back at Jacob. “Get up there and cover them while they move; they’ll be hauling ass and carrying our shit.”

  Jacob nodded and moved himself into position over the console, bending to stand through the narrow sunroof.

  Stephens reached out for him. “Don’t hold back—if you see something, kill it. Those three waited here for a reason. They wanted to hold us in place while others moved up. It’s a basic tactic for the Deltas. They want us to hide and prevent us from moving until they get enough of them to do a deep search. We only have a few minutes until the main body arrives.”

  Jacob bit his bottom lip and nodded.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Just as Jacob spotted the remaining members of the team running down the dock, the first of the creatures appeared in the tree line. Jacob leaned into his rifle and took aim through his optics. Stephens lowered the rear window and readied his own rifle. Rogers was waiting anxiously behind the wheel; he pressed a button, opening the hatch of the rear compartment, and yelled, “Come on guys, knock those bastards down!”

  There were many this time—more than Jacob could count—and they ran in a line single-file. Setting a quick pace, they moved toward the marina. Jacob heard the suppressed report of Stephens’s rifle, and found a target of his own. Aiming for the lead runner, he squeezed the trigger and watched the creature tumble forward, causing several runners behind it to trip into the trail. Keeping his eye to the optics, Jacob stayed on the trigger, firing rapidly now, dropping them as soon as they ran into his view point.

  He fired until the rifle was empty, and not repeating his earlier mistake, he pressed the magazine release. Allowing the empty thirty-round magazine to fall back into the Suburban, he reloaded another black-taped magazine, pressed the bolt release, and went back to work. The things had closed to a half football field’s length away now; they’d also managed to pinpoint their position. He picked up the first of several gunshots and felt the disruption in the air as rounds zipped past his head.

  Jacob flinched and instinctively dropped lower into the sunroof. He got back on the rifle and searched for the shooter, finding a man in the tree line with a scoped bolt-action rifle. He saw the man’s head pull away from the rifle as he attempted to feed it another round. Jacob aimed high and eased back on the trigger. Moments later, the man spun around before dropping against a tree.

  More gunshots rang out, and a round pierced the side of the Suburban with a metallic thunk. James rounded the corner of the docks and tossed two heavy rucksacks into the back. He opened the driver’s door and stood on the running board. Taking aim over the top of the SUV, he leaned forward and returned fire. Shooting rapidly, he let loose with unsuppressed rounds. Jacob glanced back long enough to see Marks and Jesse boarding the SUV from the shielded passenger side.

  “Go, go, go,” James shouted.

  The Deltas were closer now. A fast-moving pair broke away from the rest of the group and charged forward. Stephens fired a burst, hitting one in the legs and knocking it to the ground. Jacob fired at the other one, hitting it square in the chest. Its momentum caused it to tumble forward, rolling as it hit the ground. Jacob shifted back in time to see the first crawling forward; he adjusted his aim and put a round into the top of its head.

  Rogers dropped the Suburban into gear and the SUV lurched forward, having to drive directly into the mass that now surrounded them and blocked their exit from the marina. Jacob felt a tug at his legs as he was hauled down into the vehicle and shoved against the rear passenger door just moments before Rogers collided with the mass. He drove slow, plowing through them before veering hard into the grass to escape their numbers, then racing for open roadway.

  Rounds pinged off the metal of the hood. As the Suburban skidded through the soft grass, Rogers over corrected and had the SUV nearly sideways when it entered the hard surface of the road. The right tires bit for traction, lifting the vehicle onto two wheels as they caught. Rogers hit the brake and cut the wheel hard, slamming the Suburban to the roadway. He then mashed the gas, opening the big V8, and propelling them away from the approaching mass of Deltas.

  “Well, that was closer than I prefer,” Marks said, breathing heavily. He reached into a chest pocket and pulled out his own map. He unfolded it and leaned forward from the back seat so that the map was resting over the center console. “Get us to the Middleville city limits then find a hide spot. I don’t want anything tracking us to the chemical plant. We can sneak in on foot tomorrow morning right after sunrise.”

  “Got it,” Rogers said. He pushed a button on the dash, launching the vehicle’s navigation system. James, riding shotgun, leaned forward and flipped through menus before finally entering a destination for Middleville. “Nav is still up,” he said as he pressed “Go” on the system.

  Marks folded up the map and stuffed it back into his chest pocket. “So what happened back there?” he asked, leaning back against the bench seat.

  “Hunters, same as this morning,” Stephens said. “Three came out of the woods, followed by two more. The first group stayed back by the road while the others made a round. As suspected, they had a horde behind them; we initiated contact before they had us cornered.”

  Marks exhaled loudly and removed his helmet, holding it in his hands. The Suburban continued down the road, slowing to avoid stalled vehicles and roadblocks. “They're becoming predictable. We can use it against them.”

  “How?” Jacob asked.

  Marks shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, but the time will come.”

  Jacob turned his head and looked out the passenger’s window. Things hadn’t gone well here. Badly decayed bodies lay dead on the shoulders of the road. Homes were burnt to their frames; cars were crumpled and ruste
d in collisions. It really was a war zone, and it looked and felt the way Jacob expected it to. The terrain was residential—sparse neighborhoods, single-family homes occasionally mixed with a gas station or corner store. Jacob wondered about his own home in the suburbs of Chicago, if it still stood, if he’d ever see it again.

  Rogers slowed the SUV as they approached an intersection. They were nearing the Middleville city limits from the north, passing through the outskirts, attempting to stick to the rural back roads.

  Rogers slowed just before turning toward the more congested city. Just beyond the intersection, a military tank sat dead in the middle of the street. A chewed up and destroyed sandbag barrier sat in front of it. Long strands of wire twisted and stretched from building to building, completely blocking the route. The only way they could go was to the right and deeper into the city center. Rogers looked into the back seat at Marks. “Stop here, turn around, or go right?”

  “Right, but don’t stop. I don’t want to be stuck in one of these urban areas. See if you can get us closer.”

  Rogers cut the wheel and gunned the engine. The Suburban rolled forward, crunching over a wooden police barricade. The road was covered in refuse; garbage littered the street from curb to curb. They entered the main street, spying the usual suspects of fast food restaurants and department stores. They moved along slowly, unable to detect any Deltas. At the end of the street, they corrected their course, moving left and putting them back on track.

  The terrain closed in and became more commercial. James pointed a finger to the right side of the street where bodies were stacked in a long row like firewood. A group of ambulances riddled with bullet holes and resting on flat tires were parked near them. A police car windshield was spider webbed and filled with bullet holes. Inside, a uniformed man lay dead against the driver’s seat. The skeleton of a charred Blackhawk helicopter rested on its side in the center of a destroyed building.