by Lundy, W. J.
“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 has 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.
Bowe squinted. “You mean The Darkness? Fuck if I know what they are. HQ is calling it an invasion… I ain’t kidding; that’s the words they used. Not outbreak, not riot control. They said invasion. Craziest shit I ever seen—like Fallujah all over again, except these things don’t get scared.
“Most units have pulled back to this defensive line, letting the Air Force cut them down. Urban search and rescue has been called off for anything in the city limits or west of this position.” Bowe paused and looked intently at Murphy. “Could I give you a bit of advice?”
Murphy looked at Jacob, then back at the first sergeant. “I’m afraid I already know what you’re going to say.”
Bowe reached into his pocket and removed a tin of tobacco. He smacked it against his palm then opened the lid, stuffing a bit under his lip. “I think you should stick with us; the Lake Michigan route is all but closed. Northerly isn’t going to hold much longer either. If you got family up there, you aren’t going to do them any good getting yourself and these men killed,” he said, looking at Jacob. “Only about sixty percent of the boys showed up for the recall; I’m shorthanded so we could use your help.”
“I have to get to my family,” Jacob said adamantly.
“I get it; I really do, but the routes are closing up. I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation,” Bowe said, pointing out over the now empty fields. The sky was lit with blooms of orange and yellow as bombs exploded far in the distance while the sounds of remote gunfire echoed through the trees.
Jacob ignored the first sergeant and looked at Murphy. “I’ll just take the car and go on alone.”
“Hold up; nobody is going anywhere alone,” Murphy said, raising his hand.
Stephens shook his head and started to walk away before stopping and looking back. “You should let him go, Sergeant; this isn’t our mission anymore.”
Murphy laughed. “This isn’t for him. We have orders and vital intel; we need to link back up with Battalion. If they headed north to the city, then that’s where I’m going. I understand if you want to hang back here with these guys, Stephens; no hard feelings.”
Stephens looked disgusted. He stomped away a few paces and cussed, then stopped and came back. “Man, this is some bull-shit!”
Bowe looked at Murphy and chuckled. “Well, I guess I owe you one for the help you gave me back there. If you insist on going, I can at least get you resupplied.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jacob laid his head back on the bench seat of the patrol car. Stephens was driving tactically with the lights off. His helmet was on the seat and he navigated by sparse moonlight. Going so slow and stopping so frequently, they were often passed by soldiers speed walking up the road or held up by crowds of wandering refugees being pushed south. Stephens had to keep the car to the far right, as the left lane of the road was lined with soldiers. Occasionally, they’d pass a roadblock where
men would stop the vehicle and shine lights in their mouths and eyes before allowing them to pass.
Jacob leaned back in the seat and observed the men outside his window as the car passed them. Every so often a machine gun would fire a long burst into the far-off tree lines or at an object on a distant street. At one point, they drove by a large group of field artillery firing barrages into the city skyline. The firing of the big cannons rocked the car and made the windows vibrate.
At other parts of the road, it was quiet, only occupied by tired soldiers in work parties building fortifications against the things to the west. Who those things were still hadn’t been explained; Jacob heard most soldiers refer to them as “The Darkness.” He saw the dried and shriveled corpses stacked and piled like cordwood at points on the road—no respect being paid to the bodies of whatever they had become.
Looking to the distance from the passenger’s window, he could see tall pillars of smoke rising above the trees. The neighborhoods west of the highway were now burning, the fires caused by the relentless bombing that was ordered through the night in an attempt to hold back “The Darkness.” On the seat beside him sat a large nylon backpack that at one time held chemical gear. Under Bowe’s orders, the supply sergeant near Johnny’s shop had dumped the bag out and packed it with loaded magazines for Jacob’s rifle.
He had also stuffed in a couple bottles of water, an old flashlight, and a few of the bagged meals like the one Murphy had shared earlier. Jacob had read everything on the package after the supply sergeant handed the MREs to him. The meager things in the nylon bag were all Jacob owned now; everything he had before was back in the house—the house that’s probably long gone, burnt to the ground, nothing but splinters and ash. Is this my new life?
The car stopped abruptly, and a bright flashlight shined through the window. A soldier kept the light on Stephens as a second man approached from the shadows and probed the passengers with a light of his own.
“End of the line, gentlemen. Mouths open,” he ordered, crouching so that he could see inside the patrol car.
Jacob looked straight at the light and held his mouth open; the soldier scanned their faces then clicked off the light. “What’s with the wheels?” he asked.
“It’s a loaner; the Bentley’s in the shop,” Stephens answered.
“Okay, smart ass; what are you doing this far north?”
Murphy leaned forward so that he could see the soldier. “Moving to Northerly, trying to link up with the 33rd.”
The soldier yelled to the other one holding the light. The light cut off as the second soldier ran away to a Humvee on the side of the road and then came running back with a clipboard. He handed the board off to the man at the window. The solider lifted up the pages, quickly flipping them over the top of the board, and stopped near the bottom. He looked back up at Murphy.
“The 33rd?”
Murphy nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, they came through late afternoon. I got their manifest right here; but hell, the route’s closed up now.”
Jacob reached for the handle through the broken window, opened his door, and stepped into the street before reaching for the clipboard. “You have a manifest?”
The soldier pulled away, his hand dropping to his sidearm. “Whoa, back up now! Who are you?” the man said, taking a defensive stance. The second soldier quickly came back into view and put the light in Jacob’s face.
“Dammit, will you cut that shit out? I just want to see if my family was on the list!”
The soldier lowered the light, so it shone on Jacob’s chest as the first man looked down at the clipboard, then at Jacob sympathetically. “Names?”
“Laura Anderson, Katy Anderson,” Jacob said.
The soldier unfolded a long, tri-folded paper log sheet. “Gimme some light,” he said as his finger ran down a list of names from top to bottom. “Oh, here we go, Laura Anderson, 2 members.”
Jacob leaned forward. Looking at the handwritten entry, he smiled. “So, they’re at the Island then?”
“Now, I didn’t say that. I’m just saying they came by here.”
“Okay, thank you.” Jacob’s hand dropped to the door handle.
The soldier put out his arm, resting it at the top of the door. “Hold up; like I said, the route is closed now. It collapsed about a quarter mile north of here. Closed all the way up to Museum Park. I’m sorry; I’m going to have to turn you around. That’s no man’s land up ahead.”
Jacob stepped forward to the barrier and looked into the dark landscape beyond the roadblock. They were beside an old brick fire station that sat just beyond them to the right. The building’s walls were now reinforced with sandbags going up nearly five feet. Concrete forms in a serpentine pattern with wooden sawhorses blocked the road ahead; a hastily erected sandbag bunker was positioned to guard the approach.
Jacob looked off into the distance, seeing no movement. The terrain no longer held green residential neighborhoods. To the left, was a sparsely wooded lot and less than a hundred feet ahead from where he stood, a steel-girded bridge met the road. Jacob turned back toward the car where Murphy and Stephens were now standing near the gate guards. “How far to the museum?” he asked.
“Shit, might as well be a thousand miles tonight,” one of the men said.
Jacob turned and glared at them. The first soldier came forward and looked out across the bridge. “It’s a good twenty miles, sir—but it’s really bad. The marines pulled back a couple hours ago and, hell, they were in AMTRAKS.”
“I don’t know what that is, but I’m going,” Jacob muttered, turning back to look at the bridge.
“Sorry, sir, my orders were to hold all civilians. You being a cop and all… I mean, I guess if you really need to get yourself killed tonight, nothing I can do about it. But seriously, those Marines… they were in bad shape when they came limping back. The things are changing.”
“Is the road clear or not?” Jacob asked.
The soldier shook his head. “Most of the way, but it’s completely blocked at the railroad. You’ll have to finish up on foot—and that’s through heavy areas—the museum is still under siege; you’d have to get through that and—”
Jacob watched as a hole popped at the base of the man’s neck. The soldier’s eyes went wide, and his left hand reached up as the echo of a single gunshot cracked. The machine gun on the Humvee opened up and flames spit from the barrel as the gunner swept the tree line with fire. Jacob was tackled from behind and pushed to the side.
“Get down, you fool!” Stephens yelled at him as he lifted his rifle and fired quick shots off into the trees.
Jacob stared at the asphalt and watched the expended brass from Stephens’ rifle bounce and roll at his feet. He steadied himself and rose to a knee, keeping the concrete barrier between his body and the incoming rounds. He looked out beyond the sandbag bunker; armed men were rushing in under the cover of the trees. Unlike before, when they would run head on into incoming fire, this group would run, disappear from sight, and then rise up shooting at the men dug in on the road. Rounds smacked into the Humvee and the gunner went limp—another soldier quickly took his place.
A machine gun positioned on the roof of the fire station joined the fight. Flares launched in the sky, casting long, haunting shadows over the approaching army charging in from the woods. Jacob watched as a soldier to his left was hit; he was knocked back and looked at the hole in his armor that miraculously landed at the very center of his chest plate. The soldier put a finger in the hole, looked up at Jacob, and smiled just as a second round hit the man in the top of the head.
Jacob felt fear, then anger build in his gut. He forced his rifle up and aimed into the tree line, pulling the trigger continuously though he couldn’t see his targets. He could hear a soldier speaking into a radio frantically, “Requesting fire support; unit in danger of being overrun.”
Men screamed farther down the line behind them. Jacob turned as an explosion ripped through a bunker
. Soon after, men dressed in civilian clothing and carrying all manner of weapons poured into the street, breeching the defensive line.
Jacob flinched at the shriek of an incoming round moments before it crashed into the far tree line and exploded, lighting the night sky. The radio operator continued yelling into the handset, “More, more, more, on target, fire for effect!”
Rounds shrieked in and began erupting all along the defensive line. Earth and smoke were tossed into the air. Murphy grabbed Jacob by the collar and pulled him back, then shoved him toward the rear seat of the patrol car. Jacob turned and looked down the road, back in the direction they’d traveled. The swarms were inside the containment zone, running and fighting the soldiers. Blood and blue smoke mixed with a flurry of arms.
“Back in the car! Back in the car!” Murphy shouted as he shoved Jacob into the back seat. Murphy opened the front door and stood beside it while firing his weapon across the hood as Stephens leapt in the driver’s side and fired up the engine. Murphy dropped into the passenger’s seat just as the car began moving. Stephens drove around the serpentine path of concrete barriers, crashing through the wooden sawhorses. Looking out of the rear window as the car raced toward the iron bridge, Jacob witnessed the soldiers left behind being overwhelmed by the swarm pressing against the fire station’s walls.
Tracers crisscrossed the sky while artillery rounds exploded into the street and field, churning up earth and bodies. The smoke from the rounds quickly developed a fog that mercifully blinded Jacob from the horror.
Chapter Fourteen
The streets were dark beyond the bridge. The scent of cordite and burning garbage hung heavy in the air. No people, no animals, no movement, no structure—nothing was left untouched. They passed a still smoking, tracked vehicle. Around it, expended brass and bits of uniform covered the street. Jacob watched as Stephens concentrated his focus on navigating around the smoldering hulk, using his night vision to maintain a course north and into Chicago.