by Lundy, W. J.
“Yeah, back at the start of this, but it wasn’t at this stage yet; didn’t have the snake skin.”
“And tell me again what happened.”
Stephens moved closer and approached the captive Delta. “Well, we tackled it and brought it back to base. But like I said, it was far less developed, none of this nasty snake shit growing on it. We brought him to the doc. But the thing just kicked and screamed; there was no calming it down. Doc tried a sedative, but it had no effect on it. We still thought they were just sick, and maybe we could fix it.
“Had to keep it gagged because it wouldn’t stop screaming or fighting with us. We strapped the thing to a gurney and put it in a jail cell, but by morning, the thing was dead—all dried up.”
Rogers nodded. “Well, this one seems pretty damn calm. I mean he ain’t struggling no more. Kinda seems to be studying us. You think it can talk?”
Stephens shook his head. “I don’t think so; no reason for them to.”
“Not yet,” James laughed, pointing at the five-gallon bucket. “Ain’t no reason yet.”
The lieutenant nodded and strolled across the room toward the bucket. He put on a long, black rubber apron and a pair of long black gloves before picking up the spray bottle. He moved back to the creature. “According to the information card, this stuff is supposed to work as an area deterrent and a direct weapon. How do you suggest we test it?”
“Make him drink it,” James said.
Rogers shook his head. “Go sit down, bro. You seem too excited. Maybe go pull security for a bit.”
James shook his head and stepped back from the group. “You guys are no fun,” he said, dropping low on a stack of empty pallets. He called Duke up next to him and sat back with the dog lying across his lap, watching over them. Marks moved back to the five-gallon bucket and lifted one of the test strips with his rubber gloves. He held the strip out, waving it toward the Delta. Its black eyes didn’t appear to move; the thing’s head continued to dart back and forth between each of them.
Marks moved closer with the test strip. The creature turned its head, suddenly focusing on the paper. Its eyes blinked for the first time and the protruding brow on its head seemed to tighten. As Marks moved the paper closer, it leaned his head back as the look of recognition painted itself across the alien’s face.
“Holy shit. Like garlic to a vampire,” James gasped from his place on the pallet. “Come on, hit it with some more.”
Joe Dirt’s head moved back as Marks removed the test strip. He reached over and tore away the fabric at the creature’s wrist. Joe looked down at it with keen interest. Marks held the spray bottle in his hand with the sprayer close to the creature’s skin. He hesitated and yanked it back. The creature looked up at him. Marks looked it in the face. “Tell me why I shouldn’t spray you.”
The creature held the same expression, eyes focused once again on the spray bottle.
“Come on, man. Hit it with some juice,” James said.
Jacob stood and slinked further away, taking a position just outside of the blinding lights. Marks held up the bottle and pushed it toward Joe Dirt’s face; the creature again leaned back, away from it.
“Last chance. Communicate with me or you’re getting it.”
The creature gave no response. Instead, its gaze remained focused on the movement of the spray bottle. Without warning, Rogers squeezed the sprayer, applying a light mist to the creature’s wrist. The Delta writhed and shuddered in the chair so hard that Jacob thought its bindings might break. The creature bounced up and down, pulling and tugging at the tape.
“Look,” Marks said, pointing at the thing’s wrist as it thrashed.
All along the surface where the liquid had made contact, the previously bleach-white skin was changing from deep red to purple. At the same time, blisters had formed and continued to grow until the tips turned white and burst.
“Damn, it’s like mustard gas.” Rogers stepped closer and looked at the blisters.
“This is just a simple dioxin. It’s usually a by-product of manufacturing… things like weed killers and pesticides; how is it doing this much damage? Yeah, it can mess you up, but this is incredible,” Jacob said.
Rogers looked at the growing and popping blisters. “The Deltas didn’t grow up with this shit in the food and water like we did. It has no tolerance for it.”
Marks looked at the bottle, moved away from the bound creature, and set it back down by the five-gallon bucket. “So it works. How are we going to use it?”
“Wait,” Jacob said. “Pick the spray bottle back up.”
Jacob walked around the chair, instructing Marks to soak the concrete in a wide circle around the Delta. When he’d painted a strip of concrete a foot wide and in a ten-foot diameter, he looked back at Jacob. “Okay, now what?”
Jacob removed his pocketknife and sawed away at the tape holding the thing’s legs. James stood up to protest, but Marks raised his hand, backing him up. “Yeah, I want to see this,” Marks said.
He finished cutting away the bindings then cut its ties from the chair. James removed his MK III pistol and chambered a round. Duke still lay across his lap, the dog picking up on the building tension. As soon as Jacob cut the last arm free, the Delta lunged back, knocking Jacob to the ground. Rogers grabbed him and quickly removed him from the circle. The thing ran toward the wet concrete but backed off in agony every time.
“Look at its face,” Jesse said.
The thing was pacing back and forth within the dioxin barrier, going from side to side, trying to keep itself from the perimeter of the circle. When it turned, Jacob saw that its exposed skin was already turning pink and blisters were forming on its face and arms. Soon, it was bright red, completely covered in the festering blisters. After several minutes, it clawed at its face, trying to remove the gag; its fingers bled as it dug at the tape.
The Delta fell to the floor and drew its legs in. He looked at the men, its head moving from each one of them. Duke growled as the creature turned to the side and lay down.
“We done?” James asked.
Marks moved back from the circle. “Yeah, I’ve seen enough.”
Clack, clack—two quick shots from James’s pistol and the thing lay silent on the ground.
Chapter Forty
Light shone under the canvas tarp, letting the weary men know the sun was up. James stretched then tossed the remaining cup of coffee he had to the concrete floor before he approached the door and pulled down the heavy cloth that covered it. He pressed his shoulder against the door, cracking it just a bit, allowing the morning sunlight to fill the room. He leaned out and looked left and right before pulling back inside. He nodded satisfaction then stepped out into the open. Duke trotted out next to him, and then both relieved themselves on the building’s wall.
Rogers had worked the radio most of the night, attempting to make contact with the ship, with no success. Without a message, they would not be returning to Bay City for extraction. Marks briefed them on Plan B. The next pre-arranged egress point was a hundred miles north at an old Army National Guard Base. The place was untouched during the attacks as most of the soldiers were deployed to other areas before the outbreak reached its gates. According to all reports, the communications towers were intact and standing.
The men carefully transferred the dioxin into two dozen plastic soda bottles they found in the break area and divided them evenly among the team. Their trip allowed them to verify the location and quantity of the chemical; getting that information to command was the priority—especially now that they knew how well it worked.
Jacob followed Duke outside, where he watched the Golden Lab pace excitedly as if he was going for a walk around the block. Jacob noticed that James had shed much of his heavy protective equipment and now wore a well-worn floppy hat. It made Jacob’s own helmet feel even heavier, and he debated putting it back in his pack and trading it for a soft cap. Shifting his attention to the doorway, he watched as the others fell in behind him dressed in all of their ar
mor. He decided to follow their lead and gathered along the backside of the building, waiting for the order to move out.
James knelt by the corner of the tall steel structure and pointed to the far trees. First, the team needed to break out of the city unnoticed then it was a straight shot north to the Army base. Marks had the coordinates of a communications tower there that they hoped they could use to get a message out. James looked up and smirked as Marks folded up the map and tucked it away in a breast pocket. “What’s so funny?” Marks asked.
“I just think it’s cute watching you try to read that map,” he whispered before reaching over to stroke the dog’s ears.
Marks flipped him off then looked back at the rest of the patrol. “Let’s get this done.”
Thirty minutes later, Jacob was walking on a narrow game trail fifty feet into a thick wood line that ran parallel to a winding gravel road. The men moved through parks and what were once finely manicured gardens and golf courses. Traveling south, they crossed a bridge, taking them farther from the city before reentering the woods. Hoping to avoid Deltas, they turned west—away from any structures and opting for the high grasses and woods instead of paved roads and sidewalks.
Jacob watched as Duke worked with the point man. The dog would wander out a few feet ahead, sometimes darting off the trail, then slowly walking back to rejoin them before trotting back to the front. If the dog stopped, James would call them to a halt while Duke sniffed at the grass or looked off at some distant object. When Duke went back to wagging his tail, James would move them back out. This style of movement made them slow and would take them longer to travel, but the slow easy-to-follow pace was also less exhausting.
The dog hadn’t barked; he only growled and bared its teeth in the presence of the Delta back at the warehouse. Not the evidence Marks needed to consider the dog a true military tracker, but still, James had already taken the dog in and made it one of the Team. James was slowly putting his faith in the dog and making him part of his point man tool bag.
Duke again stopped on the trail to sniff and inspect the ground around a worn tree stump. James held up a fist, halting them as the dog stepped into the tree line while keeping its nose to the air. This time, Marks made his way up to the front of the patrol. “James, we need to pick up the pace,” he whispered. “We can’t stop every time your dog needs to mark his territory.”
James shook his head lazily, listening to the lieutenant’s rant. “Sir, Duke is in the zone right now. I’m sorry, L-Tee, but I can’t mess around with that kind of Mojo.”
Marks shook his head. “James, stop fucking around—”
The dog suddenly dropped low, its feet apart in a fighter’s stance, his tail rigid and tucked back. Duke didn’t bark or growl, but Jacob could clearly see its lip curl, revealing white fangs. James put a finger to his lip then held out a flat hand and waved toward the grass, causing the others to fan out and get low in the heavy vegetation.
James dropped to his belly and low crawled forward past Marks and took up a prone position near Duke. Feeling the closeness of James, the dog’s lip dropped, covering the white fangs; however, Duke remained rigid as he looked off into the woods with his nostrils flaring and the hair on his neck and back standing up. James stroked the dog calmly, letting him know he was there, not wanting the dog to bark.
A branch broke and tree limbs scraped against something. It was far off and out of sight, but they could hear it clearly in the silent woods. Something was walking along the shoulder of the gravel road. Whenever it moved ahead of them, it made a lot of noise as it crashed through brush. Duke’s ears remained pinned as he followed the sounds. The dog’s nostrils flared again as he looked up the trail, drool rolling over his lips and exposed teeth, just as a second sound of breaking branches and scuffing of dry leaves echoed over the trail.
“There’s the second one,” Rogers whispered from somewhere behind Jacob.
They lay in the heavy vegetation for fifteen minutes, allowing whatever was in the woods to pass them by. Afraid to move, Jacob remained completely still and silent as he watched ants crawl across his gloved hand. Duke relaxed his posture and stood high again. He panted while his wagging tail slapped against James. The team let out a collective sigh and got back to their feet, slowly grouping up. Jesse tossed a full strip of jerky to the dog who hungrily lapped it up.
“Okay, let that dog keep its Mojo and move us out,” Marks said, giving in. “The mass is still out there somewhere.”
James nodded and leaned down, giving the dog a firm pat on its ribs before stepping off. Duke eagerly moved back to the front, leading his pack. The trail slowly curved away, taking them southwest and farther from the city and congested areas.
Jacob saw an opening in the trees. James halted the group and slowly edged them out alongside a wide stretch of interstate. The road was now a parking lot. Even if they could find a usable vehicle, this stretch of highway would be impassable.
Sticking to the tree line and still moving west, they followed the road from a distance. The trees thinned out and the occasional house set back far from the road appeared. Some boarded up but most burnt out or destroyed with broken windows and kicked in doors. James was walking far ahead of them now with Duke close at his side. The dog still occasionally ran off, zigzagging in and out of the parked cars before running in the opposite direction to inspect an empty home or building. If the dog stopped, they all stopped until Duke relaxed and moved on.
The congested roadway cleared after a large pileup of cars—a rusted hulk of a fire truck flanked by a number of crushed sedans. Near a tow truck with its windows shot out lay a scattering of decomposed bodies, some in uniform. James solemnly crossed through the area then cut across a paved road, halting the patrol at a corner across from a line of cookie-cutter homes, an empty gas station, and a mini-mart.
As James debriefed Marks on what he wanted to do, Duke sat panting beside the man. Marks nodded in agreement and turned to the others. “We’re going to hold up here for a bit. See if we can find some water and food. Rogers, secure transportation; take Jesse with you. Jacob, you're on security.”
The big men took off together to look for a vehicle. Jacob followed the others as they made a direct path for the mini-mart. As they approached, he could see the storefront windows were smashed but the fully stocked shelves showed that nothing had been looted. There had been no time for that; The Darkness had moved into most areas so quickly, people had hid behind locked doors, afraid to go out into the open—even for food. The ones who had taken the chance, and were discovered, were hunted down before they ever made it to the store shelves. James stepped up to the broken door of the shop’s shatterproof glass, now white and crystallized, still held together by the frame.
The bearded Marine let his rifle hang from the sling and drew his sidearm. He stepped to the door and tugged it open with the ring of a bell hanging just above it. James pressed his back to the door and reached up, snatching down the bell. Searching the area, he found a small can filled with sand and cigarette butts. He slid this to the entrance to hold the door open, and then followed the dog inside.
Jacob paced out front as the others entered the convenience store. He saw a gas station next door. A car was parked at the pumps with its driver’s door open. Inside, a body lay slumped in the seat, a pistol still clutched in the driver’s left hand with a finger wrapped around the trigger. The gas pump handle lay on the ground near the rear tire, a gas cap to the right of it. Jacob turned to look at the station attendants’ building. A leg propped the door open, a high heel lying near its foot. As he contemplated the dried blood that covered the steps, Jacob wondered if The Darkness was responsible for the bloodshed or if people desperate for fuel did it to each other.
The sound of glass breaking behind him caused him to flinch and turn his attention. Jacob plodded back to the storefront. James was pushing containers of spoiled dairy products out of the way so he could reach the shrink-wrapped cases of bottled water. After he procu
red a bundle of water, he shambled over the mess and left the store. With Duke just in front of him, James sat on a parking block and ripped the shrink-wrap open. He removed a bottle, tossed it to Jacob then poured another into a container for Duke. Next, James removed his small pack from his back and retrieved a can of dog food. He used his knife to open the can and poured the contents on the ground, watching Duke go at it.
“Take it easy, boy. James has more where that came from, even if I gotta take less for myself.” He smiled as he held the pack open so Jacob could see several cans of the dog food inside.
Jacob drained the water bottle and sat on the curb. “Why didn’t you just grab people food and share it with him?”
The Marine looked up at Jacob, smiling. “Hadn’t thought of that.” He laughed then added sarcastically, “Damn, you’re smart.”
Jacob shook his head and stood, trying to hold back his own laughter as he wandered into the store to restock his food supplies.
Chapter Forty-One
Finishing his third candy bar, Jacob heard the low rumble of a diesel engine. He looked up to see a bright blue crew cab pickup with the window stickers still in place. The truck weaved in and out of cars, driving along the shoulder of the road before Rogers backed it up to the storefront and killed the engine. Jesse jumped from the passenger side, walking directly at several shopping bags filled with goods. He opened a bag and dug through the contents.
“You all save anything for me?” Jesse said, removing a can of peanuts.
Stephens walked around the truck, lifted a case of water, and set it in the bed of the pickup. “We loaded up everything we could find. Feel free to make another pass inside.”
Marks stepped to the side of the large vehicle and put his hand on the highly waxed rail. “Nice wheels; where’d you find it?”
“Car dealership just up the street. The salesman was willing to let it go cheap,” Rogers said, draining a warm bottle of Gatorade.