by W. J. Lundy
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 aft
er 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 12
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.”
“What’s all the window breaking about?” Jacob asked.
“Windows and doors don’t open back here; I don’t want to get trapped,” Murphy said.
Jacob powered down the directional light and locked the car into gear. He drove ahead cautiously while Stephens occasionally took shots from the passenger’s window, cutting down stragglers that were still moving. Drawing closer to the side street, men in uniform ran forward and shot hand signals to Jacob. He saw the palm of a soldier’s hand and the business end of a light machine gun.
“Cut the lights, stop, and put it in park,” Murphy said.
Jacob reached down turned off the headlights, as instructed. He saw Stephens looking straight ahead through his goggles. He held open the passenger’s door, slowly stepped out, and walked straight ahead. He turned back and pointed toward the car. Murphy exited, took steps forward just past the bumper, and then moved back to the driver’s window.
“Okay, kill the engine and get out,” Murphy ordered. “Follow me.”
Jacob shut off the car, reached between the seats, and grabbed his rifle. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he joined Murphy in the street. The soldier led them ahead in the dark toward a group of men sheltered at the rear of an old bread truck resting on flat tires. A man held a red-lens flashlight to cast a soft red glow over a group of kneeling soldiers examining a map. Jacob suddenly noticed they weren’t walking alone; they were being escorted by two soldiers in full gear. As they approached the gathering around the map, a rugged man in uniform stood and looked them up and down. Old and grizzled with tanned leather skin, Jacob could tell by the way he carried himself that he was in charge.
He stepped away from the group and walked over to them. “Thanks for the support back there. Who are you with?” the man said just above a whisper.
“Sergeant Murphy, 38th MP, Illinois National Guard. You?” Murphy said.
“First Sergeant Bowe, 420th Engineer Battalion, out of Gary; I thought all you Natty boys were cleared out of here,” the man said. “My command element is about a block south if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“First Sergeant, we got some survivors held up in the warehouse down the street,” Murphy said.
Bowe stopped and turned to shout orders to the group of soldiers gathered to his rear. “Okay, we can take care of that; now what are you all doing here? Where’s the rest of your unit?”
“We need a route to the north. We were hit on an evac run and separated from the rest of the 38th. What’s going on here, First Sergeant?” Murphy asked.
Bowe turned and pointed an arm up and down the road. Adjusting to the natural light, Jacob could now make out shapes in the distance. All along the road going away from him, soldiers were dug into the shoulder and facing west. Jacob turned and saw more of them beyond the main road leading all the way to the river and past the factory.
“We just moved up here in the last half hour; been pushing our way west all day. Higher ups finally got their heads out of their asses—this is a full-on containment zone now. We’ve been tasked
to hold sixteen city blocks. No easy feat. The Zoomies started dropping lots of ordnances in the town out there; not sure what good it does, but after every run, we get a load of ’em headed this way. Poking the hornets’ nest.”
“Are you going into the town? Are there still survivors there?” Jacob asked.
Bowe paused to stare at Jacob; with a clenched jaw, he let out a guttural sound that made Jacob fear the man might bark. “What? Well, civvy, right now what we have is a defensive line going south to the interstate and north to the 2nd Street Bridge; beyond that, it goes right up to Lake Michigan.”
“What about the people at the park? Where are they?” Jacob blurted out.
“You a cop?” the first sergeant asked, looking at Jacob’s vest.
Ignoring the question, Jacob asked again, “Do you know where they went?”
Murphy put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “First Sergeant, we were extracting his family; we were en-route to the park when we got cut off. Do you know where they moved to?”
“Folks at the park are gone; all the civilians are either being pushed south toward Kentucky or up onto the ferries on Lake Michigan. If they moved this afternoon, I’d guess they shot straight up to Northerly Island.”
“That’s it, the island. That’s what was on the radio, what Miller told us,” Jacob said.
“Well, if you want to go there, you better get moving. They’re closing the corridor in forty-eight hours. Shit, most of it’s probably already collapsed. You’ll have to head straight up this route; the main highways are all blocked. The Seabees were running the route clearance missions with the Marines and keeping it open, but that was before these things started shooting back.
“Every hour, they get a bit smarter. Hell, I heard over the company net they’re starting to set up ambushes, blocking the roads and sniping from cover. Even some of these human wave attacks are letting up—like they’re improving their tactics.”
“They’re smarter? Like how…? Do we even know what they are?” Murphy asked.