Stephens let out a long sigh. “But I don’t think they want to kill us,” he said. “I think they want to take us; you notice they leave the people they kill? It’s only the living they keep, and their own dead.”
“Why do you think they do that? What do they want?” Jacob asked.
“Us,” Murphy said, turning back and looking ahead to stare out the windshield. “They want to replace us.”
“You guys have lost it,” Jacob said looking away; he knew they were right, but he wasn’t ready to accept it. “What are we doing here? Why aren’t we going to the park?”
“Too dangerous,” Stephens said. “We approach at night and the guards will light us up.”
“So, we just flash the lights or something… so they know we’re normal,” Jacob suggested.
“Bro, you ain’t fucking getting it! The darkness has lights too. They have everything we have; the only way to know the difference is to get up close. You gotta see the shit in their eyes, man. Most of ’em scream and run at you, but some—like those cops back there—those ones will wait until they’re close before they show any sign. No, we can’t go to the park tonight. The park doesn’t allow any traffic in or out after dark anyway.”
Jacob sat back looking at his feet. He looked back up at the soldiers in the front seat.
“This isn’t happening; it can’t be.”
“Oh, it’s happening, Jacob. It’s happening everywhere,” Murphy whispered.
“Everywhere?” Jacob asked.
Murphy reached down and clicked on the car’s FM radio. It scanned over several stations before hitting on one, another public service announcement in a monotonous voice warning people to stay indoors. Murphy pressed the scan button again. The FM dial scanned and hit more stations all relaying the same sort of recorded messages—government spokesmen and small-town officials reading prepared statements of little facts and false promises. Murphy switched to AM, skipped ahead, and stopped on a solemn man’s voice.
“We’re all in a bad way, folks. Judgment day is here. Satan’s army is marching on the White House as we speak. There is still time to repent, people. Won’t you pray with me?”
Murphy hit the button again. The digital numbers scrolled by and stopped. A man was speaking calmly and reading a list of names, one after another, in a steady cadence.
“Davis, Martin, 4. Jones, Douglas, 3, Roberts, Alice, alone.”
“What is he talking about?” Jacob asked, speaking over the narrator.
“Those are the families evacuated; the name of the sponsor and number of family members,” Stephens answered. “With no phones, it’s the only way to get the word out.”
“Riley, Steven 3, Marcus, Joseph, 2, Silvas, Richard, 2.”
“Evacuated where? The park? Is that where they took my family?”
“No; the list comes from north of here in Chicago. They’re taking the ferries out on Lake Michigan,” Murphy said.
“Ferries? No way, too many people,” Jacob said.
Murphy sighed and shook his head. He opened a leather tool bag on the floor of the patrol car and found two boxes of 12-gauge shells. He opened the box and started reloading the shotgun he’d recovered from the dead officer.
“Was… too many people; not anymore.” Murphy pressed the scan button again, finding a station just as a fatigued voice was giving a graphic content warning to the listening audience. The broadcaster’s voice faded to a recording filled with static and crackles of background noise. A reporter was on the street, in the middle of chaos.
Jacob listened to the man breathing rapidly as he ran, the microphone clicking and banging off of objects. He heard the man tumble, and the mic went dead with a loud crack before clacking back to life.
“This is real; they are firing on us right now! Remnants of the Army National Guard are firing on our position. I repeat… members on the Illinois National Guard have joined the protestors and are shooting at us! Whoever—whatever—they are, they are advancing! I don’t know how much longer I can report on this channel…” The microphone again faded in and out as gunfire erupted around the reporter’s position. The sounds seemed to swallow the man’s voice.
“If anyone is listening, we are located at Northerly Island. State Police and the Chicago Police Department are here, but we need your help. You can’t hide anymore; you need to fight. Get out of your homes and come to Northerly Island. Come to the Castle and bring any weapons you have…” More sounds of automatic gunfire and explosions drowned out the recording and suddenly the sound went to static. The broadcaster was back but Murphy reached over and shut off the radio.
“It’s like this everywhere. It started small, with the riots, and now it’s come to this,” Murphy whispered. “When they called me up, they said it was for riot duty downtown—we didn’t last more than a day. We were stupid; we came rolling into town in our trucks. We put up yellow tape and wooden barriers, like it was some kind of peaceful protest. At first, they ignored the barricades and stayed away from the roadblocks; then we watched them take down pedestrians and the weak right in front of our eyes. They ignored us, just staying far enough away so that we couldn’t stop them. We were ordered to hold; to contain the line… that the police were supposed to do the arresting.
“After dark, they started to bunch up together. Their numbers had multiplied. Suddenly they came at us—not trying to get past us—they actually wanted us! They would reach through the shields and snatch people. They’d pull someone back, and they’d pass them deeper into the mob like a baton. I
