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
