“What about the people at the park? Where are they?” Jacob blurted out.
“You a cop?” the first sergeant asked, looking at Jacob’s vest.
Ignoring the question, Jacob asked again, “Do you know where they went?”
Murphy put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “First Sergeant, we were extracting his family; we were en-route to the park when we got cut off. Do you know where they moved to?”
“Folks at the park are gone; all the civilians are either being pushed south toward Kentucky or up onto the ferries on Lake Michigan. If they moved this afternoon, I’d guess they shot straight up to Northerly Island.”
“That’s it, the island. That’s what was on the radio, what Miller told us,” Jacob said.
“Well, if you want to go there, you better get moving. They’re closing the corridor in forty-eight hours. Shit, most of it has probably already collapsed. You’ll have to head straight up this route; the main highways are all blocked. The Seabees were running the route clearance missions with the Marines and keeping it open, but that was before these things started shooting back.
“Every hour, they get a bit smarter. Hell, I heard over the company net they’re starting to set up ambushes, blocking the roads and sniping from cover. Even some of these human wave attacks are letting up—like they’re improving their tactics.”
“They’re smarter? Like how…? Do we even know what they are?” Murphy asked.
Bowe squinted. “You mean The Darkness? Fuck if I know what they are. HQ is calling it an invasion… I ain’t kidding; that’s the words they used. Not outbreak, not riot control. They said invasion. Craziest shit I ever seen—like Fallujah all over again, except these things don’t get scared.
“Most units have pulled back to this defensive line, letting the Air Force cut them down. Urban search and rescue has been called off for anything in the city limits or west of this position.” Bowe paused and looked intently at Murphy. “Could I give you a bit of advice?”
Murphy looked at Jacob, then back at the first sergeant. “I’m afraid I already know what you’re going to say.”
Bowe reached into his pocket and removed a tin of tobacco. He smacked it against his palm then opened the lid, stuffing a bit under his lip. “I think you should stick with us; the Lake Michigan route is all but closed. Northerly isn’t going to hold much longer either. If you got family up there, you aren’t going to do them any good getting yourself and these men killed,” he said, looking at Jacob. “Only about sixty percent of the boys showed up for the recall; I’m shorthanded so we could use your help.”
“I have to get to my family,” Jacob said adamantly.
“I get it; I really do, but the routes are closing up. I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation,” Bowe said, pointing out over the now empty fields. The sky was lit with blooms of orange and yellow as bombs exploded far in the distance while the sounds of remote gunfire echoed through the trees.
Jacob ignored the first sergeant and looked at Murphy. “I’ll just take the car and go on alone.”
“Hold up; nobody is going anywhere alone,” Murphy said, raising his hand.
Stephens shook his head and started to walk away before stopping and looking back. “You should let him go, Sergeant; this isn’t our mission anymore.”
Murphy laughed. “This isn’t for him. We have orders and vital intel; we need to link back up with Battalion. If they headed north to the city, then that’s where I’m going. I understand if you want to hang back here with these guys, Stephens; no hard feelings.”
Stephens looked disgusted. He stomped away a few paces and cussed, then stopped and came back. “Man, this is some bull-shit!”
Bowe looked at Murphy and chuckled. “Well, I guess I owe you one for the help you gave me back there. If you insist on going, I can at least get you resupplied.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jacob laid his head back on the bench seat of the patrol car. Stephens was driving tactically with the lights off. His helmet was on the seat and he navigated by sparse moonlight. Going so slow and stopping so frequently, they were often passed by soldiers speed walking up the road or held up by crowds of wandering refugees being pushed south. Stephens had to keep the car to the far right, as the left lane of the road was lined with soldiers. Occasionally, they’d pass a roadblock where men would stop the vehicle and shine lights in their mouths and eyes before allowing them to pass.
Jacob leaned back in the seat and observed the men outside his window as the car passed them. Every so often a machine gun would fire a long burst into the far-off tree lines or at an object on a distant street. At one point, they drove by a large group of field artillery firing barrages into the city skyline. The firing of the big cannons rocked the car and made the windows vibrate.
At other parts of the road, it was quiet, only occupied by tired soldiers in work parties building fortifications against the things to the west. Who those things were still hadn’t been explained; Jacob heard most soldiers refer to them as “The Darkness.” He saw the dried and shriveled corpses stacked and piled like cordwood at points on the road—no respect being paid to the bodies of whatever they had become.
Looking to the distance from the passenger’s window, he could see tall pillars of smoke rising above the trees. The neighborhoods west of the highway were now burning, the fires caused by the relentless bombing that was ordered
