Jacob squinted, pulled up a hand to shield his eyes, and heard men yelling from a loft. Jacob watched as his friends peeled off their night vision devices and raised their hands.

Bright handheld spotlights painted them in blinding beams. Armed men chaotically yelled for them to show their hands. Jacob dropped the gear and thrust up his arms. He was ordered to move forward and online with the others. Whoever held the spotlight was using it effectively; they hit Jacob right in the face with the beam, and he couldn’t see anything while blinded by the light. He tried looking away but found it impossible to escape the beam. Jacob stepped forward, nearly bumping into Murphy who was speaking low, trying to identify himself to the unknown men in the loft.

Jacob heard boots clank as they ran down a set of metal stairs. The other men continued to order them to keep their arms up. A man approached, pushing a barrel into Jacob’s chest and yelled for him to look straight ahead and open his eyes and mouth. Jacob struggled to peel open his eyes against the blinding light. He heard the man yell, “Clear!”

The lights’ beams were directed away and shut off. Small portable lanterns filled the room with a softer glow. A man in jeans and a Carhartt work coat stepped forward. He held a military-looking rifle in his arms and had a revolver tucked into his waistband.

He looked Jacob over and moved to the soldiers as more men, still holding their weapons on them, walked down the stairs.

“Where in the hell did you all come from?” the man asked.

Murphy began to speak, but the man held up his hand and pointed at Jacob. “Nope, I’m asking him.”

“Why me?” Jacob asked.

“Cause one thing here ain’t like the others and you probably ain’t as good at lying. Now where did you come from?” the man asked again, stepping closer.

Jacob looked over at Murphy. The man, growing annoyed, said, “You don’t need his help. Now where are you from? If I have to ask again, I’ll toss you out the door… naked.”

“We came from town… a few miles from here,” Jacob said.

“We were evac—” Murphy began before the man angrily raised a hand, shutting him up.

He looked back at Jacob. “Continue.”

“Ah, I was at my home, the convoy came down the street picking people up, my family got on the truck, but we were attacked. I got separated from my wife and kid; these men helped me. They’ve been helping me.”

“Where’d the cop car come from?”

Jacob looked at Murphy who stood, not speaking. He shrugged to signal Jacob to continue. “Up the road; two cops… two… of… they… we killed ’em and took it.”

“What did they look like… the cops?” the man asked, pressing his face uncomfortably close to Jacob’s.

“It was dark… but they had the black blood,” Jacob said, stepping back and looking away.

The man reached out an arm, slapped Jacob on the shoulder, and nodded to Murphy. “Okay, fair enough; my name’s Johnny and this is my shop. Sorry to be an asshole, but things have gone sideways in the last week. You’re free to stay the night here, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything.”

Murphy, having heard the man out, extended his hand. “I’m Sergeant Murphy with the Illinois National Guard; this is Corporal Stephens. We’re assigned to the Wilson Street Park. Have you heard anything from them?”

The man looked at Murphy with wide eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

Murphy stood silently, then turned to face Jacob and Stephens and shrugged his shoulders.

The man called out in the direction of the loft behind him. “Miller get down here.”

Jacob watched as a younger man dressed in an identical Carhartt jacket ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stopped just short of Johnny.

“These two say they’re stationed at the Wilson Street Park,” Johnny said.

Miller shook his head. “Shit no, they gone. Pulled out this evening—shit-load of trucks, tanks, helicopters… everything. That camp they built is empty,” Miller said. “I watched ’em leave with my own eyes.”

Stephens clenched his fist angrily and swiped at the air. “Dammit! The jump order must’ve come down and we missed it!”

“What does that mean?” Jacob said, panicking. “Where the hell did they go? Where is my family?”

“It means we’re fucked,” Stephens said, disgusted.

Murphy turned to face the younger man who had come down from the loft. “Miller is it? How do you know this?”

“I was there when they left, moved off to the big evacuation point. I came back here to stay with Uncle Johnny; we’re waiting on my dad and some others. The soldiers said they were pulling back to the lake front.”

“Northerly Island,” Jacob mumbled, feeling lightheaded.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Miller answered, looking Jacob up and down. “Hey man, are you hurt? Your leg’s all bloody. You don’t look so good.”

Jacob suddenly felt far away and unable to answer—despair, exhaustion, and worry for his family taking a hard toll. He just stared at Miller, watching him talk. Jacob could see that the young man’s lips were moving, but he no longer heard the words. Stephens moved between the other men to look at the wound on Jacob’s hip.

“Dammit, fool, you let this get to bleeding again. Now I’m going to have to re-dress it,” Stephens said as Jacob began leaning forward, so far that Stephens had to catch and steady him. Wearily, Jacob watched through clouding vision as Johnny tilted his head to look at the nasty blood-soaked bandages coming loose from Jacob’s side. He grimaced and turned to Murphy. “Why don’t you get him upstairs? There are more people up there; they can help with that.” Jacob closed his eyes as the man continued to speak.

Chapter Eleven

Jacob didn’t know how long he’d been out; he didn’t remember being moved to the bed or even lying down. He looked across the darkened floor space; only a few candles lit the long, narrow room. Heavy machinery was interspersed with

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