“Where’s Masterson?” the soldier gasped between labored breaths. “Where the hell is Clem?”
James shook his head, taking the canteen from Jesse and passing it to the new arrivals. “He’s not coming. Can you tell me what happened here?”
“Fuck,” the soldier gasped, dropping to the ground on both knees. “He’s not coming? What do you mean he’s not com—?”
Jacob edged toward him, interrupting. “Where are the civilians, the other survivors?”
The wounded man pulled himself together and sat up. He put his hands on his face and rubbed away dirt and grime from his forehead. He looked at Jacob intently. “I know you; you’re the one with the little girl.”
“Yes,” Jacob said eagerly. “Where are they?”
The man looked down at the ground then met Jacob’s stare. “I’m sorry. Those things—just so fast, they—they took them.” The man closed his eyes tight and looked away.
“Where are they? I have to know.”
The man swallowed hard and pointed in the direction of the cottages. “I barely got away myself.”
Jacob got to his feet and faced the trail. Stepping off, he moved out alone. James and Rogers were quickly up and following him. Rogers turned back and pointed to Jesse struggling to his feet. “Salvage what you can from here then take this one and get to the bunker at the end of the trail—”
“By the radio tower,” the soldier answered.
“That’s the place. Now go.”
Jacob moved on, walking the center of the trail. He noticed the others following him and looked back. “You don’t have to do this; I understand the odds,” he said, his voice breaking.
James increased his pace. Not answering, he moved past Jacob, taking the point position and moving down the trail filled with nightmarish scenes. “We’ll find them,” he said, ignoring the obvious all around him.
Bodies were strewn along the trail, many of them scorched by the blue flames; open wounds cauterized by the heat of the plasma weapons. Smoke was billowing through the woods, mixed with the smell of burning plastics and building materials. Fires raged all around them. Ahead, Jacob could see the one-room cottages fully engulfed, the orange flames lighting the forest floor. He moved past them, feeling the heat of the fires, stepping over the bodies of fallen soldiers and civilians, checking each as he passed.
He stopped and looked down at the ground. The packed dirt of the trail was broken and disturbed. He knelt and fumbled with the loose soil. Duke was at his side, whimpering and sniffing at the ground.
James pointed off the trail. “The branches are broken, the grass bent against the others… they left the trail here,” he said. James swiveled his head, giving a worried glance back at the flames. “We’ll need to hurry.”
The bearded scout broke the trail, stepping into the pucker brush, his hand pointing to the signs of a cut trail. He nearly stumbled over the body of a young man in civilian clothes, the back of the man burnt down to his exposed ribcage. James stepped to the side and pointed; without saying, the others knew they were on the right path. Coming out of the thick cover, Duke ran ahead and sat on another trail, this one far narrower and led along a dry creek bed. The dog moved ahead, leading the way with the others close behind.
The forest was suddenly quiet, only the roaring of the fire and the crackling of burning trees making any sounds. The light had faded; if not for the eerie back glow of the burning forest, it would have been too dark to see each other. James put down a palm, slowing the others and bringing them in close before pointing down at sets of odd boot prints on the trail. Large and oval shaped, they pressed deeply into the soil and looked to be composed of hundreds of tiny spikes. James stepped off, leading them on before pausing again.
Duke was ahead on the trail, pacing anxiously and whining as he moved on and off the trail to show the way. James cautiously followed along beside the animal and made his way to a steep drop-off. He weaved left and navigated his way off the trail with the others close behind. James stopped in a gravel depression and touched his gloved hand to the soil. When he raised it, it was covered with sticky blood. He then waved his hand along the sand and gravel bed, covered with more of the odd boot prints nearly lost on the loose soil. “A group of them stopped here; one didn’t leave vertical,” he said, sticking a gloved finger into a puddle of blood.
Jacob followed him into the creek bed, the despair building in his body, fearing what he may find. He spun, looking at the boot prints and the blood on the sand. A lingering fear began building in his stomach. He stopped and was caught by a sudden flash of color, bright nylon fabric against the bank. He rushed ahead and found Laura’s backpack, her rifle and a spent shell casing on the ground beside it. Jacob took a step forward and dropped to his knees, pulling the backpack to his chest.
“Jacob, over here,” Rogers called, following Duke over a rise on the far side of the creek.
A bare foot exposed from the surrounding grass. Jacob moved closer, climbing the rise and finding a scene of burnt and discarded bodies scattered among the small clearing. “My God, they killed them… all of them,” he gasped.
Rogers shook his head in disagreement as he bent over and lifted a stuffed bear. “No, only the men,” he said, indicating the bodies. “Check them for yourself. All the women and children are gone, and all their belongings are left where they were dropped. They were taken, Jacob.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The television was too loud. Tin echoes recalling the previous day’s news, traffic, and highlights of the weather. She had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Jacob would be home soon, she should get up. She squinted. Bright sunlight
