by Lundy, W. J.
“Find us a side street; I’m not digging this place,” Marks ordered.
James leaned forward, zooming out on the navigation system to look for an alternate route. “You know they’re out here, probably watching us right now,” he said.
They traveled on and off the main streets looking for a clear route. The avenues had become parking lots with vehicles of all makes piled up at the intersections. They passed a shopping mall with a stack of crushed vehicles at its exit. The cars were blackened hulks that wound deep into the parking lot. Jacob turned his head and saw the chard frame of a driver still gripping a steering wheel. Rogers turned them around again after finding another blocked route. Moving farther than intended, they found themselves trapped in the city center and forced to find smaller roads and alleys to get them out. Rogers guided them behind buildings and loading docks, looking for holes through fences.
The Suburban lurched forward around barricades; at the next intersection, the road was once again blocked. Rogers turned right, following the navigation system’s directions. The street narrowed. Vehicles lined the shoulders of the road alongside buildings with broken windows and doors shattered on their hinges. The road went uphill, blocking their view. As the SUV crested the hill, Rogers hit the brakes. Ahead of them, the last route into the city was blocked by a congested stream of vehicles—cars, three rows wide, packed together and reached for miles.
“We got company,” James said, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror.
Jacob twisted in the seat and searched the street behind them. At the corner of the last intersection stood a solitary male dressed in heavy clothing. He stood alone, watching the Suburban. The team sat silently, not moving as they watched the individual at the end of the street, the idling of the engine the only sound.
Jacob strained, trying to get any sign that indicated whether the man was friend or foe. “Maybe he's one of us,” Jacob whispered.
“No,” Stephens said, shaking his head, “not alone and unarmed, and not this far out.”
Another entered the intersection from the opposite side of the street, ending any doubt of the man’s disposition. A woman dressed inappropriately for the cool temperatures stepped beyond the curb and into the street. Her torso turned mechanically, halting to look in the direction of the team. She seemed to ignore the heavily dressed man next to her. After some sort of non-verbal communication, they stepped off and walked in sync with one another.
Marks leaned forward and squeezed the headrest of James’s seat. “Knock them down, James. Do it quick and silent before they can sound an alarm.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” James said.
The man retrieved his rifle from the floor and opened his door. The vehicle was angled slightly so that he was hidden from the view of the approaching creatures. James duck-walked around the front of the Suburban and raised his rifle. He swapped magazines, loading the suppressed rounds. A pop slightly louder than a nail gun, and the woman’s head snapped back, the brick wall behind her painted in a splotch of oily black. The heavily dressed man seemed unaware of the strike. He continued pacing forward without checking on the female. James followed him through his optics and, before the man completed his second step, a sub-sonic round ripped through its chin. The man stumbled then fell forward hard on its face.
James quickly returned to the vehicle, closing the door behind him. Not wasting time, he dropped the magazine and replaced the two sub-sonic rounds. He looked up at the rearview mirror and slumped. “Hold the applause, we got more moving in,” James whispered.
From the direction of the female, two more stepped into the street. The newcomers noticed the female’s downed body right away. One moved forward and looked ahead into the congested street, searching for the shooters. It shouted, the noise causing the others to become more animated. Several others rounded the corner; without a target, they joined in the shouting while a mob gathered around the bodies.
Marks turned forward. “Rogers, get us out of this shit. Take the damn sidewalk—just move!”
Rogers cut the wheel hard and gunned the engine. The Suburban launched up and over the curb, tires squealing as it entered the narrow sidewalk. The mob witnessing the motion of the vehicle became frenzied and charged after them. Rogers accelerated, picking up speed as he drove through a pile of bicycles and garbage containers. The driver’s side scraped against a storefront wall, throwing up sparks while the driver’s side mirror disappeared in a flash of dust. Rogers corrected and slapped the SUV against parked cars, continuing to accelerate and build speed.
Rogers yanked the wheel hard when they made it to the end of the street, which sent the Suburban spinning into open road, heading left. Finding the street ahead was once again blocked, they turned and raced on. Jacob looked back and spotted the mob rounding the corner, hot on their trail. Rogers cut right, headed north and crashed through another set of police barriers. After a hundred feet of open road, it was obvious that street would be impassable; vehicles were stacked from curb to curb, with more on the sidewalks. Soon, they would find themselves boxed in. Rogers, without instructions, slammed on the brakes, throwing his passengers forward.
“Bailout! There won’t be any way out—we move on foot,” Rogers yelled.
Marks looked left and right, calculating the call, though he knew his driver was right. “Let’s go. Find me an exit, and walk us out of here!”
The team bailed from the vehicle as the mob’s screams filled the air from over a block away. Frantically, the men gathered their heavy packs from the rear cargo compartment and took off at a sprint. James led the way with his rifle up, running out front. He found a building with a tall, heavy, wooden door. The windows of the red, brick-faced building were covered with heavy sheets of screwed down plywood.
James skidded to a stop on his well-worn boots and pushed the knob. The door was securely locked; he stepped back and fired several suppressed rounds into the doorknob, the impacts puncturing and shredding the steel. He reached out with his gloved hand and found the door still secure. He took aim again, firing to the right of where he knew the deadbolt would rest, destroying a portion of the door. He backed up then threw a solid kick at the door, breaking it open. James jumped out of the way and waved the others in past him. Jacob lunged forward running hard, being pushed from behind. The men poured into the room, unaware of what was waiting in front of them, but knowing they had to get out of sight before they were spotted.
James slammed the door shut behind them; the sounds of furniture scraping against the old tile floor followed as the men slid a heavy steel desk in front of the entrance. Then they stopped, slowly and silently backing into the darkness of the room until they hit a tall wall. They knelt down in the pitch black. The only light that spilled in came through the small cracks under the front door and a small decorative piece of glass at the top.
The noise on the outside roared toward them as the stampede of bodies filled the street. The light from the rattling door was blocked out as bodies pressed against it, crowding into the street and around the Suburban. Windows broke; sheet metal gave and crumpled—the sound of bending metal mixed with the wails of the Deltas.
Jacob held his breath; gripping his rifle tight, he drew it into his lap. He could hear the panting breath of his friends. Someone opened a bottle and chugged water before passing it on. Jacob took it and drank, not realizing how thirsty he’d been until that moment. He passed the bottle on and looked at his watch. The sun was already hanging low; it would be dark soon. They’d been running and fighting most of the day.
The frenzied mob continued in the street, still surrounding the vehicle and looking for its occupants. “We need to get to high ground,” Stephens whispered.
The snap of plastic, and the room filled in a soft, blue glow. Rogers crept forward with a blue chem light. Holding it in front of him, he waved it through the room. He leaned over his pack and removed his night vision goggles and dropped them down over his eyes, passing the chem light off t
o Stephens. James stood up, placing his left hand on Rogers’s right shoulder, both men now with goggles dropped down over their eyes. They moved into a hallway that led off the main room. Stephens stood in place and waved the rest of them forward into the hallway, taking up the rear with the chemical light.
“Why don’t we have more goggles?” Jacob whispered to Stephens.
Stephens placed a hand on Jacob’s back, urging him into the hallway. “Sorry, Best Buy was all sold out.”
The team moved deeper into the building, the smells of mold and decay filling the spaces. Noticeably absent to all of them was the smell of death. They walked past a bank of elevators, which were blocked off with yellow and red tape. Jacob’s feet kicked and scuffed at broken floor tile. The blue chem light reflected off of a high ceiling covered with water stains. The building had obviously been closed and empty for a long time. On the wall between the elevators was a posted directory listing department names: human resources, legal, payroll. Past the elevators Rogers located a steel fire door, with stairs stenciled across it in black.
The big man let his rifle hang slack as he pressed down on the push bar. A metallic clunk echoed through the space, followed by a loud squeak as the door opened into the stairwell. Rogers pressed against it, holding it as James slowly crept through and went up the stairs to the top of the first landing. The others filed into the dark damp space behind him. Once they all were inside, Rogers slowly closed the door behind him and pressed it shut until the latch caught.
Rogers rotated the goggles away from his eyes and clicked on his flashlight, filling the space with bright white light and causing the others to squint and look away. Rogers examined the door then secured the mechanism with two long zip ties he’d removed from his cargo pocket. He looked up at James, who was leaning out, staring almost vertical at the stairwell over their heads. The bearded soldier rotated off his own goggles and sat down on the upper step.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I feel like I’ve been here before,” Jacob whispered to Stephens.
Stephens pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, another time and place, huh? We haven’t done too good, have we? What has it been? A few months? And here we are back in a stairwell, trying to hide from them.”
Jacob ambled to the steps and sat down next to Jesse. “The more things change… the more they stay the same,” he said, smiling.
Marks gave them time to catch their breath and to drink water before he got them back to their feet and continued patrolling up the stairwell, pausing at the landings to secure each door with more zip ties.
At the fourth floor, they held up while James and Rogers cleared the roof exit then looked back in, signaling them up. This was one of the tallest buildings within view. Even at only four stories, they could see down onto neighboring rooftops. The sun had already set and the western sky was a deep orange and red. James led them down the center of the roof against a mechanical structure filled with vents and exhaust pipes.
They dropped to the ground, relaxing the heavy packs on their backs. The men sat heavily and stretched their legs out straight in front of them. Marks and Stephens moved away toward the edge of the wall with their maps out, trying to orient themselves while conducting recon on the area with the binoculars.
James used a shirtsleeve to wipe away the sweat from his brow and looked around. “I won’t say it’s clear, but we're out of immediate danger,” James whispered. “This place is a real shithole.”
“Just like the sandbox, brother; the neighborhoods stink and the people all hate us.” Rogers chuckled.
“I like the rules of engagement better here though. They look at you sideways, you feed ’em a bullet,” James answered.
“You two were in Iraq together?” Jesse asked.
“Ha. Hell no. I was there with the Corps in oh-four and again in oh-five and eight. This fucking guy though, he done way crazier shit than me,” James said sarcastically.
Rogers shook his head. Removing a granola bar from his pack, he broke off a chunk and passed the rest down to Jesse. “Don’t sell yourself short, James; you're probably one of the craziest sons of bitches I know.”
Jesse broke off a small piece of granola and washed it down with a sip of water. “So, James, you’re a Marine; what about you, Rogers?”
“Army, born and raised. Grew up a brat and signed on my seventeenth birthday. Played the game for six years before jumping into the civilian side with Dark Horse.”
“Dark Horse? Like the mercenaries?” Jesse asked.
Rogers grinned and leaned back against his pack. “Contractors, little brother. Don’t believe everything you hear,” Rogers corrected. “Security work for the State Department big wigs. When the civilians need someone willing to do the dirty work, they called on us. Guess we were too proficient for our own good; they canceled our contract early. Said we were too aggressive. Took us out of theater and blacklisted us for overseas work.
“No hard feelings though. They had no problem tracking us down and putting Black Horse back on the payroll when the first of the attacks started.”
“Yeah, what did you do?” Jacob asked, now listening intently.
“First, it was the usual shit: watching gates, providing backup to the regular mall cops at the Pentagon and White House. As things got worse, they split us up. I got paired with a senator from Pennsylvania and charged with the protection of his family.
“The guy was a real pain in the ass. I told him we needed to get out of Philly; get up in the mountains, someplace quiet, where we could lay low and have options. He didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say. Stupid bastard thought the iron gates and security system would protect him.
“By the time we got the order to evacuate the city, it was too late. The airports were closed and there was no way his fat ass was getting away on foot. He made some calls and secured a seat on a helicopter; he said the state governor agreed to get us all out.”
Jesse shook his head. “What happened?”
Rogers paused, looking into the dark night. “We left in two cars; the guy wanted to bring everything with him… pets, furniture, all kinds of useless shit. He rode in the second vehicle with his assistant and one of his private security guards. I rode in the lead vehicle with his wife and kids. By this time, I wasn’t one of his favorite people. They set up a helicopter-landing zone on this golf course—a country club or whatever; guess this guy was a lifelong member there. I remember racing across the green and this guy yelling at us over the radio about fucking up the grass. Can you believe that shit? This son of a bitch is worried about the grass while Philly burns.
“It was mayhem. Turns out Mr. Two-Bit Senator didn’t have the pull he thought he did. We weren’t the only ones there, and it was becoming apparent there wouldn’t be enough birds. The National Guard had a checkpoint. They were screening everyone for infection and crosschecking them before you could cross the barrier. A smug officer in dress blues held a clipboard determining everyone’s destiny.”
Jesse sat up. “Did he tell the truth? Was his name on the list?”
“Oh yeah, his name was on the list, but his family wasn’t. I told the fat fuck I could get them across the border. I pleaded with him to make the call while we still had time. Gunfire opened up on the far side of the course. I could see the tracers arcing through the air. People panicked. I saw his face go pale; told him again to get back to the car, and I would get them all out.” Rogers paused to take a sip of water.
He looked down then leaned back, looking up at the dark sky. “He didn’t listen. I watched him turn and walk through that barrier. The National Guard soldiers escorted him away and out of sight. He never once looked back at his wife and kids.”
“Damn, he just left you all?” Jesse gasped.
Rogers took in a deep breath and held it before exhaling. “The Guardsman said the helicopters were going to Toronto. So I loaded up his family and hauled ass. Five hundred fucking mile, six-hour drive on a good day. Ten days later, we got
there, his wife and both kids. Yeah, some wear and tear but still, they’re alive. Mr. Senator’s bird never touched down in Toronto. Last I heard they still don’t know what the hell happened to him.
“I keep waiting for it, you know… to see that fat bastard in his Italian-cut suit. Sometimes I find myself watching the crowd, looking for him, to see him out there walking around with those dead black eyes. I’m not sure what I would do. Nahh, fuck him. I know how it would end.” Rogers rocked forward on his heels and got to his feet. He grabbed his rifle and slipped away into the dark.
“That’s a messed up story,” Jesse whispered, looking to James.
James stuffed a large wad of dip under his lip and shook his head. “Don’t look at me, man. I ain’t no open book.”
Marks returned to the hide site and lifting up his small pack then stuffed the radio set inside. He dropped heavily and tossed the pack next to him, leaning back and pulling his hat over his eyes. “Well, we're on our own. No response on the handheld; the ship's long out of range.”
Stephens returned to the group and pointed at Jesse and Jacob. “Grab your rifles and follow me; I’m giving you two the first watch.”
The two of them were led away to a far corner. The roof was nothing more than a large square, flat and covered with small pebbles. At the corner, they could look back and see the rest of the team positioned near the mechanical equipment and the stairwell structure across from them. Stephens handed Jacob the low-light binoculars. “Just keep an eye on things. In two hours, wake up James and Rogers. If you need anything, come get me.”
The sergeant walked away, leaving them alone for the first time since they’d joined the group. Jacob took the binoculars and looked out over the edge of the roof, scanning the city. They were located in an industrial park—or at least that’s what they would have called it back home in Chicago. He could easily count ten warehouses within view and several more at the edge of town. Just to their south was a large factory complex where he counted several large chemical tanks.