They slowly faded away with the sounds of the breaking tree limbs, moving farther east. Murphy rolled off him and popped up to a knee. Jacob saw that Stephens had joined them in a small depression at the base of the embankment. Murphy and Stephens held their rifles steady as they slowly scanned the area. Jacob lay silent, still catching his breath, trying to control his heartbeat, and pushing back the pain radiating through his body.
After what seemed an eternity, Murphy looked down at him and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Hell, no. I’m not okay,” Jacob responded.
“Good.” Murphy handed Jacob a plastic bottle. “Drink some water; we’ll be moving shortly.”
Jacob took the bottle and pushed himself up to his knees, then rocked back to a sitting position. The rifle was still over his shoulder and he’d somehow managed not to drop the pistol through all of it. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Murphy looked at him, scowling.
“Finish it; you never know when you’ll get another chance,” he said.
Jacob tipped the bottle back, gulped the remainder of the water, and then let it rest in the weeds beside him. He put his hand to his hip and moved his fingers over the medical tape, feeling the curled edges and the dampness of the bandage. Jacob knew it had come loose in one of the falls he’d taken, but it could wait; he wanted to keep moving and make it to the park as soon as possible.
Without saying a word, Stephens got to his feet then dropped a hand to pull Murphy up; in turn, Murphy reached a hand to Jacob. They stood silently. For the moment, the woods seemed safer than the neighborhood; the tall trees provided concealment for their movement. Stephens, again, led the way, slowly stepping through thick cover until he located a game trail. Jacob watched as he took careful steps, lifting his feet and cautiously putting them down to avoid branches and leaves.
They stopped often to listen, sometimes kneeling in the brush and vegetation waiting for a suspicious sound to fade. They could still hear the black-eyes moving, although they were far off. Jacob could hear the distant snapping brush and splashing of water as the things continued searching for them. Stephens pressed forward until the trio reached the two-lane highway, where he dropped to his belly and crawled to the mowed shoulder of the road.
The moon was high in the sky now; its bright face lit the blacktop surface of the road, making it easier to see. Murphy pushed Jacob ahead, and soon the three of them were shoulder to shoulder at the highway’s edge. It was surprisingly empty and devoid of vehicles. Jacob expected abandoned cars and a deadlocked traffic jam; instead, he looked over a silent roadway. The buildings on the far side all appeared to be empty and surprisingly untouched. The road rose away from them and off to the right. At the top of the hill sat a police patrol car blocking the road.
Stephens had his rifle to his eye while inspecting the vehicle. He pulled his eye away from the rifle’s optics and whispered, “There’s people in the car.”
Jacob twisted while trying to get a better view of the vehicle that was a hundred yards away, but it was hard to pick out anything in the dark. Backlit by the horizon, the light bar on the top made it stand out from the grey-blue sky behind it. Jacob squinted; he could just barely make out movement from inside the vehicle. Murphy scooted back away from the shoulder, and then started to crawl in the direction of the car.
“What are you doing?” Stephens asked.
“Let’s check it out. Stay close behind me.”
Murphy continued crawling in the direction of the patrol car. Jacob felt a pat on his back and looked back at Stephens who motioned for him to follow.
“You heard the sergeant; we’re gonna check it out,” Stephens whispered.
Chapter Nine
It was slow going crawling through the tall grass toward the patrol car. Jacob watched Murphy and tried to mimic his motions—every movement deliberate and quiet as they slipped through the blades of grass. Murphy held his rifle in his right hand by the sling, near the barrel. He would push his arm forward then slowly allow the rest of his body to crawl ahead. He’d stay motionless, listening, and then lift his head to survey the area before moving his rifle arm again to repeat the movement.
One arm length at a time, they moved along the depression at the side of the road. Jacob didn’t dare lift his head to look. He stayed as low to the ground as possible, trying to become one with it, and wishing he were thinner so that he could bury himself in the weeds. Every time he pushed himself ahead with his feet, he felt the wound on his hip grind against the soil.
Keeping the pain to himself, he didn’t yelp or cringe. He didn’t want to be a burden or give the soldiers an excuse to stop. Jacob desperately wanted to reach the evacuation site, and he knew he couldn’t do it without the men escorting him. Jacob reached an arm out ahead and slapped into Murphy’s calf. In his agony and trying to push his thoughts aside, he hadn’t noticed that Murphy had stopped. Jacob pulled back his arm and waited.
Jacob heard the clunk of a car door opening and heavy-soled shoes strike the pavement. They were close now, and he wanted to look but didn’t dare. He didn’t want to give away their position. The feet moved away; another clunk and another man caused sounds of metal clinking together while heavy feet slapped the pavement. Jacob listened to the sounds of the doors slamming shut.
Murphy didn’t move. Jacob could feel Stephens behind him, lying almost on the back of his legs
