He opened the top of the bag, sorting through his new equipment. Multicam uniforms, webbing to match, a new Kevlar helmet, a second pair of boots, a poncho liner, and a large freezer bag filled with socks. There were two MREs and several bottles of water. At the bottom of the bag was a small compartment, where he found boxes of extra ammunition. Jacob shook his head wearily as he closed the top of the pack. It really is just the bare essentials, he thought.
The van eased forward, causing its occupants to sway as it bumped through ruts in the road and splashed through deep puddles. It moved up a hill and picked up speed as the road seemed to level out. Stephens crawled across the floor of the van and grabbed at Jacob’s vest, pulling on his ammo pouches and checking that everything was snapped tight before moving on and doing the same with Jesse.
“Expecting trouble?” Jacob whispered.
Stephens finished with Jesse’s vest and looked up. “Have to be ready for anything once we leave the gates,” Stephens said.
James coughed and opened a bottle of water. “They’re everywhere now. Not in numbers like you’ll see in the States, but the fuckers have managed to get by the blockades,” he said before taking a long gulp of water.
“Blockades?” Jacob asked, feeling ignorant on the state of the world.
James put the cap back on the bottle and slid it into the cargo pocket of his trousers. His left hand removed his boonie cap. He scratched his head, thinking before speaking. “There's a final defensive line spanning from Lake St. Claire to Lake Erie. It’s the only thing keeping the 401 Corridor closed… we lose that, we lose Quebec. We took out the Mackinaw Bridge early on. Back East, the 10th Mountain Division has managed to plug the Buffalo route into Canada.”
Jacob let his head drop as he thought about what he’d heard. “What about the West?”
James shook his head without speaking.
The van abruptly stopped and the driver’s window rolled down. At the same time, the sliding door swung open. Two weary looking Canadian soldiers with scruffy beards and soiled uniforms looked into the van, the lead man holding a bright flashlight. Jacob watched as the others strained their mouths wide and opened their eyes. The first soldier in the door examined them as the second stood back with his rifle at the ready. The soldier pointed at Jacob. Jacob quickly opened his mouth, showing the man the roof of his mouth and gums. The soldier nodded and slammed the door shut before slapping the side and allowing the driver to take off.
“Welcome to the hot zone. We have officially left friendly lines,” Stephens said.
Jacob observed the rest of the team loading magazines and letting the bolts go forward, prepping their weapons. He followed suit by checking and double checking the safety on his rifle. The van slowed and made abrupt maneuvers, causing the occupants to sway back and forth.
“Most of the roads this far west are still blocked. We haven’t had the time or resources to clear the highways,” Stephens whispered, seeing the question in Jacob’s eyes. “Out here, if anyone approaches that you don’t personally recognize, you challenge them… do you understand?”
Jesse nodded and Jacob mumbled a soft yes.
“The Deltas are sneaky. They’ve learned they can’t cross the border en mass without being detected so they started sending out smaller groups in ones or twos. Once they get enough of them together, they start harvesting. It’s happening more frequently, hundreds every day, and the refugee camps have become their favorite target,” James said. “Even if we kill a hundred for every two we lose, we’ll run out of soldiers by the end of the year.”
“Jesus,” Jesse gasped.
“Nahh, he had nothing to do with it,” James responded, lying back against the wall of the van. “This is the Devil’s work.”
The vehicle stopped abruptly, again causing the occupants to shift. The passenger in front quickly exited the vehicle and flung the side door open. Marks looked in over the occupants and said, “No time to waste; let’s get moving.”
The men poured out of the passenger compartment, pulling on their packs and holding weapons at the ready. Jacob positioned himself close to Stephens as his eyes swept the terrain. The van had stopped just outside of a tall wooden barrier. The rain quit but the sky remained dark and gloomy.
They were at the edge of a small coastal town, where a stretched-out main street separated brick storefronts. Garbage and broken glass covered the pedestrian walkway that ran in front of the buildings. Looking down the long street, Jacob could see a narrow marina filled with small watercraft. Farther out was what appeared to be a large Navy ship sitting in the water.
The air stank of death and burning garbage; a heavy acrid odor that couldn’t be escaped. He tried to pull his shirt up over his nose when Stephens looked at him. “It’s the smell of destruction, ash, and decay. After the attacks, damn near every bomb in every Army’s arsenal was dropped on these things to try to stop them. In Europe and Asia, they even used nukes. Rumor is we might have even dropped some in the Southwest, down on the Mexico border. The shit that didn’t blow up usually burnt in the days after. All this stuff, places like this, have been abandoned. Left to rot. That, my friend, is what we have here today and what causes this glorious aroma.”
“That’s our ride,” Marks said, pointing at the ship. “Stephens, lead us out. Keep us tight to the left side.”
Stephens nodded and pointed at the bearded soldier; James grinned and pulled his cap on tight. “James, you got point. Rogers, you take slack. I’ll bring up the rear with the cherries and L-Tee. We need to move quickly so we can get on board before the Deltas know we’re in town.”
James slapped the bottom of his
