He had also stuffed in a couple bottles of water, an old flashlight, and a few of the bagged meals like the one Murphy had shared earlier. Jacob had read everything on the package after the supply sergeant handed the MREs to him. The meager things in the nylon bag were all Jacob owned now; everything he had before was back in the house—the house that’s probably long gone, burnt to the ground, nothing but splinters and ash. Is this my new life?
The car stopped abruptly, and a bright flashlight shined through the window. A soldier kept the light on Stephens as a second man approached from the shadows and probed the passengers with a light of his own.
“End of the line, gentlemen. Mouths open,” he ordered, crouching so that he could see inside the patrol car.
Jacob looked straight at the light and held his mouth open; the soldier scanned their faces then clicked off the light. “What’s with the wheels?” he asked.
“It’s a loaner; the Bentley’s in the shop,” Stephens answered.
“Okay, smart ass; what are you doing this far north?”
Murphy leaned forward so that he could see the soldier. “Moving to Northerly, trying to link up with the 33rd.”
The soldier yelled to the other one holding the light. The light cut off as the second soldier ran away to a Humvee on the side of the road and then came running back with a clipboard. He handed the board off to the man at the window. The solider lifted up the pages, quickly flipping them over the top of the board, and stopped near the bottom. He looked back up at Murphy.
“The 33rd?”
Murphy nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, they came through late afternoon. I got their manifest right here; but hell, the route’s closed up now.”
Jacob reached for the handle through the broken window, opened his door, and stepped into the street before reaching for the clipboard. “You have a manifest?”
The soldier pulled away, his hand dropping to his sidearm. “Whoa, back up now! Who are you?” the man said, taking a defensive stance. The second soldier quickly came back into view and put the light in Jacob’s face.
“Dammit, will you cut that shit out? I just want to see if my family was on the list!”
The soldier lowered the light, so it shone on Jacob’s chest as the first man looked down at the clipboard, then at Jacob sympathetically. “Names?”
“Laura Anderson, Katy Anderson,” Jacob said.
The soldier unfolded a long, tri-folded paper log sheet. “Gimme some light,” he said as his finger ran down a list of names from top to bottom. “Oh, here we go, Laura Anderson, 2 members.”
Jacob leaned forward. Looking at the handwritten entry, he smiled. “So, they’re at the Island then?”
“Now, I didn’t say that. I’m just saying they came by here.”
“Okay, thank you.” Jacob’s hand dropped to the door handle.
The soldier put out his arm, resting it at the top of the door. “Hold up; like I said, the route is closed now. It collapsed about a quarter mile north of here. Closed all the way up to Museum Park. I’m sorry; I’m going to have to turn you around. That’s no man’s land up ahead.”
Jacob stepped forward to the barrier and looked into the dark landscape beyond the roadblock. They were beside an old brick fire station that sat just beyond them to the right. The building’s walls were now reinforced with sandbags going up nearly five feet. Concrete forms in a serpentine pattern with wooden sawhorses blocked the road ahead; a hastily erected sandbag bunker was positioned to guard the approach.
Jacob looked off into the distance, seeing no movement. The terrain no longer held green residential neighborhoods. To the left, was a sparsely wooded lot and less than a hundred feet ahead from where he stood, a steel-girded bridge met the road. Jacob turned back toward the car where Murphy and Stephens were now standing near the gate guards. “How far to the museum?” he asked.
“Shit, might as well be a thousand miles tonight,” one of the men said.
Jacob turned and glared at them. The first soldier came forward and looked out across the bridge. “It’s a good twenty miles, sir—but it’s really bad. The marines pulled back a couple hours ago and, hell, they were in AMTRAKS.”
“I don’t know what that is, but I’m going,” Jacob muttered, turning back to look at the bridge.
“Sorry, sir, my orders were to hold all civilians. You being a cop and all… I mean, I guess if you really need to get yourself killed tonight, nothing I can do about it. But seriously, those Marines… they were in bad shape when they came limping back. The things are changing.”
“Is the road clear or not?” Jacob asked.
The soldier shook his head. “Most of the way, but it’s completely blocked at the railroad. You’ll have to finish up on foot—and that’s through heavy areas—the museum is still under siege; you’d have to get through that and—”
Jacob watched as a hole popped at the base of the man’s neck. The soldier’s eyes went wide, and his left hand reached up as the echo of a single gunshot cracked. The machine gun on the Humvee opened up and flames spit from the barrel as the gunner swept the tree line with fire. Jacob was tackled from behind and pushed to the side.
“Get down, you fool!” Stephens yelled at him as he lifted his rifle and fired quick shots off into the trees.
Jacob stared at the asphalt and watched the expended brass from Stephens’ rifle bounce and roll at his feet. He steadied himself and rose to a knee, keeping the concrete barrier between his body and the incoming rounds. He
