“Fuck it then, you two go, Duke and I got this,” he said, running his hand down the dog’s back.
“Can it, James, nobody is saying that. We just need to think, is all. Consider all the options,” Rogers said. “Hide or fight… either way we need to be smart. If we hit them again, they’ll certainly come after us, and if we hide, how long will it be before they find us?”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this here; we need to get back to the cabin,” Jacob said, pulling his pack toward him. “We should load up and take the Blackhawk back to Stone’s place. If we want to fight them, we should do it from there, not here.”
Suddenly, gunfire echoed across the valley. The men spun around and pressed back to the opening, Rogers squeezing between them with his binoculars in hand, searching the opposing high ground. On the far ridge line were muzzle flashes, tracers raining down into the alien soldiers. Rounds pinged and slapped into the soft earth around the convoy. A group of the red armor-clad infantry bounded ahead toward the ridge. Taking long leaps and landing with planted feet, they squatted and turned their rifles upward, opening fire as the vehicles’ turrets rotated and unleashed a barrage of blue flame.
With the same voomp, voomp, voomp they’d heard before, the barrels released blue bolts of energy—something Jacob had never seen outside of a Hollywood movie. The bolts propelled forward, the blue energy sticking to and engulfing anything it made contact with in a bright blue flame. The noise of battle increased while the alien infantry and armored vehicles moved toward the ridge line. Soon, all of their forces were engaged, the bright light of their weapons forcing Jacob’s eyes away. The gunfire from the ridge lessened as whatever attacked was killed or withdrew over the ridge line.
Rogers backed away and grabbed at James’ shoulder. “There will be time to fight later, let’s go.” The big man rolled then crawled away back toward the tower.
James twisted and leaned back into the rocks, the flashes of the battle reflecting off his face. He switched his gaze between Jacob and his leader then grimaced, knowing full well that they were out-gunned. He dipped his head in surrender and conceded they wouldn’t win any fights tonight. James gathered his gear and followed Rogers into the night with Jacob close behind him, the flashes and voomps of the battle continuing at their backs.
Jacob followed them to the summit of the hill and rolled over the top. They came out farther away from the tower. Rogers gathered them without speaking and led them out, walking quietly with his weapon up. The rifle fire had stopped, but they could still hear the voomps of the enemy weapons, and bright flashes lit the sky to their backs.
Rogers led them over the side and down along the tower past the bunker entrance. He checked the lock then continued on down the trail without stopping. Jacob fell farther back, allowing James and Duke to take point as he lagged back into rear security. After a short distance, Rogers fell in beside him, checking both sides of the trail and looking at the illuminated dial on his watch.
“We’ll get them out,” he whispered.
Jacob nodded, understanding who he was talking about. “How?”
“We’ll take the Blackhawk.”
Jacob stalked several steps, scanning the dark path ahead and watching James’ cautious movements. “What if they shoot it down?”
Rogers didn’t answer. He held up a hand, pausing Jacob then pulling him down to the muddy trail. Ahead on the path, James vanished from sight. Jacob was alarmed he hadn’t seen it; he didn’t know where the point man went. He took the nudge, found the side of the trail, and dropped to a prone position with his rifle ahead of him. Looking right, he saw Rogers doing the same, perched up on his elbows with his eyes just over the sights of his rifle and looking intensely into the dark.
To the left came a loud snapping of a branch and the shuffling of feet in the leaves. Jacob twisted, searching the thick vegetation for movement. A flicker of light appeared and a low voice sounded out, followed by a high-pitched voice that was lost and frustrated. “Joe, you don’t know where the hell you’re going.”
“Shut up, they might be out here,” responded a tall man.
Jacob held his rifle steady and dropped his head, waiting for a response from his leader. The men broke the thick vegetation and stumbled onto the trail. Moving into the open just ahead of Jacob, two men, both unarmed, stepped to the center of the trail that divided them from James. The men continued to argue as more people spilled into the clearing, crouching behind them. The others were silent, but from the silhouettes, Jacob could tell they were women and children. Smaller in stature and not burdened with gear, they cast a thinner shadow.
He strained and looked across the trail to Rogers for a sign, seeing that his friend’s head was down and slowly shaking from side to side. Jacob watched him remove a small pen light from his sleeve. He lifted it up and flashed the strangers with three quick splashes of green light before leaving the beam on and focused on the faces of the strangers.
The people on the trail froze; a gasp escaped the tall man’s lips. He raised his right arm as his left palm reached out in an attempt to shield the light.
“Relax,” Rogers said just above a whisper. “We’re the good guys.” Rogers cut the light, the transitions from bright to dark leaving the strangers on the trail momentarily blinded. “Who are you? Where are you going?”
The tall man lowered both arms and took a cautious step toward Rogers’ voice. “We’re just like you, trying to escape whatever is out there.”
“You militia?” Rogers asked.
“What? No. We’re from the village over the hill… well, what’s left of it. I’m Clayton, this is my
