by W. J. Lundy
The big man lifted the object and set it on the edge of the hole. “I don’t know, I guess not. But it is a lot of guns.”
The old man crept along to the edge and leaned down to lift the M202 flame weapon. He held it up and turned it in his hands, inspecting it. “Been in there awhile. Need to make sure it ain’t leaking. If the jelly gets to leaking and you fire it, the rocket motors tend to ignite the whole damn thing then blow up on your shoulder and roast you like a marshmallow. But don’t worry about none of that; this one looks good,” Stone said, slapping the case and setting it beside him. “I’ll show you how to use it later.”
Jesse looked at him apprehensively. “Oh, gee, thanks… I guess.”
“However, to answer your question, I’m not militia, but I don’t got nothing against them either. They always paid me well to make purchases and hold stuff for ‘em, and they’re all legal like—I got nothing to gain by selling to criminals. Property taxes don’t pay themselves, and an Army retirement check only stretches so far. Man’s gotta run a business.”
They closed up the barn and weapons cache then followed Stone back to the cabin.
“We better lock up, it’s getting dark. Gloria’s got some venison on the stove. Oh, and don’t mention the guns to her—she don’t know about half of them,” Stone said, letting out a deep laugh before stepping inside.
The team followed him in, securing the cabin’s doors. As Stone had mentioned, as soon as they entered the space, they were hit with the smell of roasting meat. They followed him down into the bunker below. Gloria had the table set, and they gathered around for a family-style dinner. The kids had gathered at one end of the room, watching the hungry men devour the meat and vegetables.
Jacob looked up away from his plate and saw a little girl in the corner staring at him curiously. He smiled at her, causing the girl to blush and retreat to the back. Jacob finished his meal and helped the others clean up before they began closing up the bunker for the night.
Stone spread the men out and split them up across the bunker, making sure they were comfortable. James and Stephens would sleep above ground, keeping watch behind the bolted door, while the others slept below on fold-out military cots. Rogers stuck by the radio, managing to get it working, but still not reaching anyone.
He planned to stay awake all night, attempting to make calls, but Stone insisted he get some sleep. He showed one of the kids how to operate it, and they formed a twenty-four hour radio watch, hoping to get a message out. Rogers was satisfied and returned to a cot along the bunker wall. Stone walked the length of the bunker, shutting off lights before retreating to the family space in the back. “Try to get some rest. We have a big day ahead of us.”
Chapter 23
Eve led them into a lowland next to a small lake. At the north end of the lake was a creek that flowed around and into the larger lake. There were larger streams, even rivers, farther away, but she didn’t think they could reach them without running into the neighbors. Everything else in this area flowed out of the lake and wouldn’t suit their purpose.
The activity was fierce the closer they got into the wetlands. They had to stop often to avoid the wandering Deltas, sometimes forced to lie in ditches for long agonizing minutes while they passed by. They now pressed close to the ground with their bodies prone in the fresh snow.
Jacob looked up, swiveling his head. The ground in the well-traveled area was covered in footprints. “It’s not safe here; we need to make this quick.”
Stephens lay beside him. He knew Rogers would be somewhere on the high ground, perched over a scope, covering them while they worked. Eve crawled toward the bank then stopped and looked back. “How close do we have to get?” she asked, looking away from the black murky water. She was looking at Jacob, the resident engineer. They all assumed he was the expert on all things mechanical or scientific.
“I’m not that kind of engineer,” he whispered back.
“Grace us with a guess,” Stephens snarled through his teeth.
Jacob pushed up from his stomach, looking in all directions. The small lake stretched for hundreds of yards. Eve had brought them in through a thick point on the north side of the small lake. Behind them was the larger lake. Jacob could see where the water pooled and flowed through a narrow channel into the larger body of water, both visibly contaminated by the Delta oil. They were hidden in tall reeds right at the water line. The shoreline to the east and west was met with cottages and larger lake homes. “This feeds into the big lake; it should be good enough.”
She nodded. Jacob looked down at the oily water, watching it swirl and flow. Searching the shoreline, he could see masses on the far sides. There was no denying this was a seed pond. “How fast is the current? How fast does it flow into the big lake?” he whispered.
She looked back at him, her eyes showing frustration. “I don’t know; it’s a creek. What the hell, Jacob; are we going to do this or not?” she snapped.
He second-guessed the plan. They were attempting to mix a few gallons into millions. What if it diluted the solution and it didn’t work, making it useless, wasting the small amount they had. They’d only get one shot. He watched the swirling liquid, observing bits of the lake’s surface flex and relax, as though it wasn’t really water. The fluid motion looked more organic, like a large living organism. What if the entire surface reacted in the same way the Delta’s skin did?
Stephens pushed his pack forward, breaking his thoughts. “This will have to do.” He opened the flap and removed the plastic bottles. He passed them forward to Eve, who was closer to the shoreline, lying just above where the bank rolled into the opaque liquid.
Eve took the repurposed soda bottles and carefully placed them next to Jacob. There were twenty in all, the team deciding to hold some back to return to command. “How do we do this?” she asked, looking to him again.
Jacob reached for a bottle, opened it, and placed it next to a rock as he opened several more, prepping them. “Let’s get them all opened, then we toss ‘em in and run like hell. We need to be quick; once we disturb the surface, they’ll be on the move.”
Stephens stretched a hand to offer another set of bottles. As he moved, he shifted loose a small rock. Jacob watched as it tumbled down the bank and lunged forward, trying to stop it. Unable to reach it in time, the rock bumped into the stack of bottles, knocking one loose. It fell over, spilling its precious liquid as it rolled down the small embankment to the water line. They held their breath watching as the bottle stopped short in the soft sand, not quite touching the oily liquid.
The bottle slurped and burped as the dioxin flowed out. It rolled along the bank then joined with the murky fluid. Like oil and water, the compounds didn’t mix. At first, the oil looked as if it would pull back; then it curled into itself, giving the appearance of thick churning black butter, foaming with hundreds, then thousands of tiny bubbles that formed and popped with astounding speed. The oil seemed to scream with the sounds of the now writhing liquid.
“It’s too late—get them all in,” Jacob said.
Jacob rapid fired, tossing the open bottles into the lake as fast as he could. Eve took bottles from the pack, spun off the caps, and launched them into the now boiling and turbulent surface of the lake. They heard the creatures on the far shore react, screaming in agony, somehow remotely affected by the liquid’s reaction to the chemical. As Jacob held the last bottle, he looked to the far side of the lake and saw them massing, running to get at them. Jacob took the last bottle and threw it deep into the lake.
“That’s all of it; let’s move,” he said.
The entire body of oil now churned and writhed like a boiling pot. Turning, Jacob could see that it was not localized. As he’d guessed, the liquid spread like a large organic skin—it was connected. The creek bed filled with the same bubbling froth, stretching down the channel. The waters of the larger lake were already turning over and seemed to explode from within.
Jacob stared, mesmerized and fascinated in
the way the liquid reacted to the dioxin. Stephens reached out and grabbed the back of his armor, pulling him up the embankment.
“It’s time to go,” he shouted, just moments before rounds impacted the muddy bank around them. Jacob looked up and saw creatures on the opposite shore with rifles raised. Shots from higher ground let them know Rogers was engaging targets of his own. They needed to move back to the ambush site.
Eve scrambled up the muddy bank on all fours then rolled to a knee and raised her rifle, taking a quick shot. Jacob’s jaw dropped as a shooter on the far side of the lake tumbled back. She lowered the rifle and continued scrambling up the bank. Jacob moved behind her, gripping the blades of the tall grass to pull himself up. Soon they were out, moving fast to rejoin Rogers on the lake view trail. Jacob spotted him perched beside a tall tree while taking long shots, slowing the enemy as the team regrouped. They’d broken contact for the time being, but they knew—needed—the creatures to follow.
Stephens ran to Rogers’s side and slapped him. “Move. We’re right behind you.”
Rogers dipped his chin, peeled back from the tree, and moved toward the ambush site at a slow jog. Gunfire cracked far behind them in the distance. Sporadic, the Deltas were shooting carelessly into the unknown. Stephens stood silent, hearing it too. The man tried to catch his breath. “It’s panic fire,” Stephens whispered. “Seems the Deltas can be broken.” He put his hand on Eve’s back and guided her forward.
They moved out quickly now, the sounds of the forest slowly coming alive all around them—rounds fired like a far off Fourth of July exhibition, branches snapping in the distance, the screaming and yelling, the echoes of feet impacting the forest floor as the things rallied for an offensive. Jacob felt his chest tighten with fear. He knew they were coming. It reminded him of the dark scenes in black and white movies when a lost patrol was alone in the Congo waiting on a violent native assault, drums beating in the night, scared men standing behind lit torches. Jacob felt his hand shaking and picked up his pace, wanting to be back with the rest of the team and off the trail.
Eve led them to the split, following Rogers’ boot prints in the snow. They ran ahead, winding through the bottleneck they intended to draw the Deltas down. The trail was flanked by rows of buried bombs. Eve stopped and turned, looking at Jacob and Stephens. “Good luck, see you at the cabin.” She ran away, leaving them alone.
Stephens lifted the precut pine boughs, handing one to Jacob. Walking backwards now, they swept the snow covering the trail, trying to conceal their tracks. The duo moved deep past their original hiding spots then separated, Stephens moving low and to the left while Jacob snaked back up through thick brush to a downed log.
He spotted Jesse lying low with a rifle in his hands and the flame weapon nestled behind a large log to his front. Jacob approached slowly, walking low, and then dropped to his belly before crawling ahead the last few yards. The sounds of the approaching Deltas pushed him low and out of sight. Still second-guessing the plan, he felt the impending doom build in his stomach. He rolled to his back and raised the scoped M14 to his chest, letting his gloved hand squeeze the synthetic stock. “Embrace it,” he said to himself, remembering James’s words. Jacob rolled back to his belly and nestled up to the log, covering himself with the white linen left there to conceal himself in the snow. He moved forward, easing his weapon in front of him.
He cautiously turned his head to the right, looking for James. He couldn’t see him but knew he was out there, dug into a high mound on the side of the sloping terrain. The heavy machine gun in front of him, James would have wide fields of fire once it all started. Jacob looked back to the front and heard the things on the far off lake view path pick up their trail; they were coming. The snow melted in the sun, causing a thick fog to form over the forest floor and blanket the ground to their front. He wondered if they would take the bait and make the turn toward them, or continue on past them.
“Come get us, you sons a bitches!” James shouted from somewhere to the right. Duke’s excited bark joined the man’s challenge. “Come over here, I got something for you!”
Jacob sighed as he put his head back down behind the cover of the log. “Guess that’s one way to embrace it,” he said just above a whisper.
“What?” Jesse asked from his position, hidden to Jacob’s left.
“Get ready, they’ll be here soon.”
He rolled to his left side and eased the rifle ahead before pulling it back tight into the pocket of his shoulder. Lining his eye up to the scope, he scanned. He tried to relax, controlling his breathing, slowing his heartbeat. They were moving closer. He could see their movement as they were drawn in by James’s taunts. He saw them slowly appear from the lake view trail; they made the turn toward them while they followed the fresh tracks in the snow. This pack was more controlled, not yet affected by the dioxin. They were aware and they were hunting them.
The pattern was different. They knew the team was here. They were on the attack; having already been alerted, no pair of hunters led the way. They moved in a long column stretching back. They were heavily armed, carrying all make and model of weaponry. This time would be different for all of them. This time, the Assassins were ready, and they arranged the meeting.
He signaled Jesse with a tap of his boot to start the ambush. Marks had placed the two men forward to initiate the attack and to act as scouts after. He lay impatiently listening to his friend ready the M202 FLASH. Jacob lifted his own rifle, put his eye to the glass, and searched for a target. The largest threat was a tall creature walking out front, a heavy machine gun cradled in his arms. He led the man slightly in his sights, held his breath, and waited for it to start.
Jacob pulled his rifle into the pocket of his shoulder and pointed it at the tall creature. Aiming just in front of the thing at shoulder height, he held his breath and waited. Four successive explosions propelled the sixty-millimeter rockets forward. Boom, boom, boom, boom… gray smoke twisted ahead, straight down the firing line they’d cleared with the Bobcat.
Jacob pulled the trigger and watched machine gunner fall just as the white-hot shards of flaming explosive filled the trail. The forest exploded in flame and fire. James, in an overwatch position to their right, let loose long bursts of machine fire, shredding the enemy column. Blue smoke and fire covered the terrain ahead as Jacob searched for anything still able to shoot back and picked off targets.
A whistle from Marks silenced his team’s weapons. They quickly reloaded and pressed their bodies into the earth, waiting and listening for the follow up attack. The screaming started on the trail just as it always did. The Deltas did as expected, their movement always the same. They would make contact and attack. As before, they would mass on their prey. Only now, Jacob’s group was ready—the plan was working.
Jacob listened to the Delta scream deep in the smoke-covered trail amidst the crushing and breaking of branches as the mass gathered to their fronts. Marks blew the whistle again. It let The Darkness focus on their direction, allowing them to accurately mass to their fronts. Jacob could hear the bodies pressing together while they formed up, the clanging of their weapons, and the united breathing and beating of their feet on the trail as they coiled tightly for the attack.
Then it happened… the roars—roars always preceded the counterattack. The Deltas charged forward en masse, supported by their own riflemen on the flanks. Unable to pinpoint Jacob’s men dug into the snow-covered ground, the enemy rounds went wild. The Darkness charged forward at a sprint. Hundreds of them, a horde of screaming, rage-filled faces armed with whatever they could carry. Jacob kept the tip of his trembling finger on the trigger but held his fire.
“Cover!” Marks ordered.
Jacob buried his face into the soil berm to his front, pulling up his gloved hands to cover his as the forest exploded around him and the ground beneath him protested and shuddered. He was levitated from the earth and then slammed back into it as a shockwave ripped through the ground. He felt clods of mud an
d ice fall from the sky onto his back. Branches cracked and popped in the distance, remnants of the trees now fully engulfed in flame.
Jacob lifted his head and looked to the front. The once thick, pristine forest was now void of life, everything decimated by the blast zone. The rows of buried 250-pound bombs did their job; the column was destroyed.
Jacob picked up his leader’s orders from a hidden position. “Jacob, Jesse. Scouts out.”
Jacob nodded even though he knew the gesture would be unseen. He pushed himself up with his hands to a kneeling position and raised his rifle, covering ahead while Jesse pulled up beside him. Jacob twisted his long rifle on its sling and let it hang across his back as he readied a short-barreled, pistol version of an AK47. Jacob took a lunging step forward, moving ahead with Jesse covering the rear.
Crouching stealthily, he moved into the kill zone where the stench of burning flesh and cordite mixed with the strong essence of pine and earth. Jacob moved between twisted trees and broken bodies, searching for threats. He spotted a tall, stretched out creature wearing a chest rig; a separated arm clutched an SKS rifle. Jacob knelt beside the figure and stripped its chest of magazines, placing them in a drop pouch on his belt. He searched its shirt pockets, finding nothing.
Jacob dumped the man’s pants pockets, finding remnants of its previous life: a battered wallet, some folded currency, a set of car keys. Winslow stepped forward and knelt beside him.
The Darkness didn’t communicate with written word, or even spoken that they could see. It was through touch and other non-verbal means. A faint wisp of movement pulled Jacob’s eyes back to the front as a mangled man scrambled to its feet and stumbled forward. It gripped a rusty machete tightly in its one good arm, while its other arm and part of its torso were missing. The black blood oozed from its wounds, and charcoal-colored foam dripped from its broken jaw as it limped toward them.
Jesse rose to his feet and stepped forward, leveling his rifle. “Just die already,” he whispered. One pull of the trigger, and a round tore through the thing’s chest, ending it. “Why won’t they all just die?” he said.