Jacob searched the left side of the column and found the toggle. He pulled the lever, turning on the lights. He hit the switch that activated the high beams, then grabbed the hand-powered spotlight and directed it into the field. His stomach dropped, and he fought the urge to run back to the factory.
The terrain to the front was filled with moving figures—men, women, and children running through the high grass toward a line of soldiers dug in on a side street. The men fired desperately, trying to hold back the approaching mass. Farther behind the swarm were more of the things, armed and indiscriminately organized. Walking straight ahead with their rifles loosely tucked into their shoulders, they shot blindly toward the soldiers on the far side of the field.
Jacob steeled his nerves and pointed the spotlight at the things in the open, causing their dark eyes to turn in his direction. Murphy’s rifle rattled off a burst and Stephens’ quickly joined it. The target direction for the creatures changed as they turned ninety degrees and headed for the road. As Murphy predicted, this now had the swarm moving perpendicular to the line of soldiers in the field and allowed them to shoot at the sides of the mob, more effectively cutting them down.
A round smacked the windshield and Jacob ducked down. When he rose back up, he saw a statue-like man aiming a rifle in his direction. Jacob moved the spotlight to blind him while rounds pecked around the man’s feet before one found home and knocked him back. Jacob continued to move the light, pointing out targets and blinding the rushing things as they moved across the high grass. As Jacob directed the light, he saw that the approaching waves were thinning out. The things on the fringes with weapons disappeared back into the shadows while the soldiers on the side street were cutting down anything still alive in the field.
The passenger’s door opened, and Stephens dropped into the seat, quickly changing out magazines in his weapon. He rolled down the window and fired again while leaning out. Murphy smashed out the rear window then jumped in the back. Reaching across, he kicked out the other side and slapped the cage with a gloved hand. “Okay, let’s move. Get up to that side street where the troopers are. Drive slow; I’m sure they’re a bit jumpy… and cut off the spotlight.”
“What’s all the window breaking about?” Jacob asked.
“Windows and doors don’t open back here; I don’t want to get trapped,” Murphy said.
Jacob powered down the directional light and locked the car into gear. He drove ahead cautiously while Stephens occasionally took shots from the passenger’s window, cutting down stragglers that were still moving. Drawing closer to the side street, men in uniform ran forward and shot hand signals to Jacob. He saw the palm of a soldier’s hand and the business end of a light machine gun.
“Cut the lights, stop, and put it in park,” Murphy said.
Jacob reached down turned off the headlights, as instructed. He saw Stephens looking straight ahead through his goggles. He held open the passenger’s door, slowly stepped out, and walked straight ahead. He turned back and pointed toward the car. Murphy exited, took steps forward just past the bumper, and then moved back to the driver’s window.
“Okay, kill the engine and get out,” Murphy ordered. “Follow me.”
Jacob shut off the car, reached between the seats, and grabbed his rifle. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he joined Murphy in the street. The soldier led them ahead in the dark toward a group of men sheltered at the rear of an old bread truck resting on flat tires. A man held a red-lens flashlight to cast a soft red glow over a group of kneeling soldiers examining a map. Jacob suddenly noticed they weren’t walking alone; they were being escorted by two soldiers in full gear. As they approached the gathering around the map, a rugged man in uniform stood and looked them up and down. Old and grizzled with tanned leather skin, Jacob could tell by the way he carried himself that he was in charge.
He stepped away from the group and walked over to them. “Thanks for the support back there. Who are you with?” the man said just above a whisper.
“Sergeant Murphy, 38th MP, Illinois National Guard. You?” Murphy said.
“First Sergeant Bowe, 420th Engineer Battalion, out of Gary; I thought all you Natty boys were cleared out of here,” the man said. “My command element is about a block south if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“First Sergeant, we got some survivors held up in the warehouse down the street,” Murphy said.
Bowe stopped and turned to shout orders to the group of soldiers gathered to his rear. “Okay, we can take care of that; now what are you all doing here? Where’s the rest of your unit?”
“We need a route to the north. We were hit on an evac run and separated from the rest of the 38th. What’s going on here, First Sergeant?” Murphy asked.
Bowe turned and pointed an arm up and down the road. Adjusting to the natural light, Jacob could now make out shapes in the distance. All along the road going away from him, soldiers were dug into the shoulder and facing west. Jacob turned and saw more of them beyond the main road leading all the way to the river and past the factory.
“We just moved up here in the last half hour; been pushing our way west all day. Higher ups finally got their heads out of their asses—this is a full-on containment zone now. We’ve been tasked to hold sixteen city blocks. No easy feat. The Zoomies started dropping lots of ordnances in the town out there; not sure what good it does, but after every run, we get a load of ’em headed this way. Poking the hornets’ nest.”
“Are you going into the town? Are there still survivors there?” Jacob asked.
Bowe paused to stare
