“Get up; we’ve got to move,” Murphy whispered.
Chapter Eight
The solar light went out and stayed out. The house and yard were dark—no sign of the things. Murphy moved them to the front of the house where they hid on a large, open front porch. A wood swing hanging from the rafters squeaked as the wind moved it.
“There,” Murphy whispered, pointing in the distance.
Murphy held out his goggles and put them to Jacob’s eye. Jacob blinked and let his vision adjust to the optics. Up ahead, on the opposite corner, a light flashed. Jacob dropped the goggles. Looking in the same direction, he now saw nothing.
“You can’t see it without the NODs; it’s infrared. I have one just like it,” Murphy whispered while removing a small chip holding a tiny bulb. Murphy manipulated the device connecting the battery then held it over his head. “He’s in the scrub brush. How well do you know that area?”
Jacob looked back at him confused. “I… I don’t know it at all. I mean, it’s just a few empty lots… was supposed to be developed—”
“Buddy, I don’t need a real estate lecture. Do you know what’s on the other side of it?”
Jacob looked back to the distant tree line. “It moves out from here. There is a railroad bed at the back of the lots; that’s the reason they never sold… I mean, there’s railroad tracks back there, then past that and through the trees is a two-lane highway.”
“Route 30?” Murphy asked.
Jacob nodded and watched as Murphy pulled a small spiral notebook from a pocket on his sleeve. He began to sketch their location, then scribbled notes that Jacob couldn’t make out. Murphy folded over the page and stuck the notebook back in his pocket. “Okay, that should bring us out on the approach to the safe zone. You ready to move?”
“What about the motion light?” Jacob asked.
“Well, either those things are gone, or the battery died. You can’t go home, and we can’t stay here.”
“I understand.”
“Good; I’ll run with you to the corner and stop. You keep going and head to the trees. Slow down to a walk when you cross the street; Stephens will find you.”
Jacob nodded as a response. Murphy slapped him on the shoulder and climbed to his feet. Slowly, the soldier led them off the porch with his rifle up. They moved quietly, walking a narrow path leading from the stoop to the main sidewalk. Jacob’s eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, and he could see a good distance in all directions. Murphy picked up his pace, and Jacob followed, running along and staying just behind Murphy’s right shoulder.
Just as he’d said he would do, Murphy stopped at the curb and quickly turned to cover the direction they’d traveled. Exactly as he was told to, Jacob ran past him. Continuing into the street and running for the wooded lots, his footfalls echoed off the pavement. Halfway across, gunshots erupted from behind him. He continued on his way and sprinted for the cover of the woods. When he hit the grass—instead of stopping as instructed—he kept going, the adrenaline pushing him on. Muzzle flashes from deep in the trees ahead blinded him as tracers cut just to the right of his path.
Jacob ran on, his foot catching in a hole and causing him to tumble forward. He dropped into a shallow embankment. He instinctively lowered his hands to try to cushion his fall, only to have them cut open on the sharp gravel. He ducked his head as he rolled, crashing through a thorn bush at the bottom. Gunfire continued as Jacob crawled forward deeper into the lot. Feeling cuts to his hands and face, he dragged his battered body away from the sounds. Suddenly, a hand from behind lifted him back to his feet and he heard Stephens’ voice.
“Run!”
Wet branches slapped his face; thorns tore at his shirt and dug into his skin. He ducked and turned, running for the open ground he saw ahead and praying it would be the railroad bed that would provide cover. Bullets snapped around him; the sounds echoed off the canopy of the trees as the muzzle flashes confused his vision. Jacob took long staggering steps, struggling to put one foot in front of the other as his lungs burned and he gasped for air.
He hit the railroad bed and again fell to his hands and knees. Scrambling to the top of it, he ran across the first rail, tripped over the second, and rolled down the other side. He crawled forward; disoriented, gasping for air, bile in his stomach begging him to vomit. He fought the urge to collapse as his arms and legs cramped from fear and exhaustion. He crawled on until Murphy moved up beside him. He felt himself being pummeled and pressed to the ground as someone dropped on top of him, and a gloved hand cupped his mouth, forcing him to take whistling breaths through his nose.
“Shhhhh, quiet,” Murphy whispered in his ear.
Jacob closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. A crash of footfalls tumbled over the summit of the railroad bed; stones clanged against the tracks as they ran across and into the brush on both sides. Jacob’s body flinched uncontrollably from fear and adrenalin. Murphy pinned him to ground tighter, and Jacob, putting trust in the soldier, resisted the urge to break free. He forced his eyes closed, allowing his face to be pressed against the dirt and tasting the leather glove held tight over his mouth. The things ran to the left and right of him so close, he could feel
