Rogers eased into a better position so that he could watch the closing crowd. “Doubtful. If they did, they would already be screaming the alarm and charging at us. Probably just heard the engine and are coming out to investigate its source.”
Stephens opened the channel on his radio. “You got company—you need to come to us,” he whispered. “…Roger that, we’ll create an opening.”
The group cleared the woods and entered the road. They paused, seeming to be unaware of which direction to travel. They first moved back toward the parking lot then stopped and turned toward the marina. Jacob pressed back against the bench seat as the first of the group passed the Suburban. They kept their heads straight ahead, seemingly uninterested in the vehicle. Jacob could see the protruding foreheads and scaled necks as they passed. Even the child shared the reptilian features and blackened eyes. He counted only one weapon among the group, an old and battered shotgun.
Two of them held back with the child, just to the front of the Suburban, looking away. The remaining Deltas continued past them and onto the docks. They walked up the narrow walkway then around, not stopping at the cabin cruiser. Instead of returning to their group, they headed to the area of the burnt out boathouse in the same direction the pre-dawn Deltas had traveled.
The remaining Deltas stood like statues just in front of the Suburban, the two males to the back with the small child directly in front of them. Rogers unsnapped a cross-draw holster on his vest and removed the Ruger MK III pistol. He checked the slide and verified the top round. He looked back at Stephens, who nodded his approval. Rogers shifted close to the door and pressed his shoulder against it, putting weight on it as his free hand released the door latch. Making barely a sound, the latch released and the door eased open.
Rogers stepped out of the Suburban, his boots silently making contact with the street surface. He stretched an arm around the open door, focusing on the closest male target. The man was less than fifteen yards away, an easy shot and a drill he’d practiced often. Rogers leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger, clack, clack. Before the first male fell, Rogers swung his point of aim to the right, clack, clack. The knees on the second male buckled. Both targets collapsed to the ground together. The child to the front spun on the heels of its feet and looked Rogers in the eye. The big man hesitated for a brief second before putting two rounds into the creature’s face.
As quickly as he’d left the Suburban, he slipped back into the vehicle and silently closed the door. He was breathing quickly. He dropped the Ruger’s magazine and, pulling small-rim fire bullets from a pouch on his vest, replaced the six spent rounds.
“Holy shit,” Jacob gasped.
Stephens was back on the radio placing a call to Marks, updating them on the situation and preparing them to move. “The way is clear. You need to move, we’ve got to leave now,” Stephens said, lowering the transmitter.
After reloading, Rogers climbed back into the front seat and plugged in his devices. He pushed a button on the iPod and the vehicle turned over easily. Rogers, sweat dripping from his forehead, worked the controls and powered on the air conditioning, getting the air to move in the stuffy Suburban. He pressed a button, opening a sunroof, and then looked back at Jacob. “Get up there and cover them while they move; they’ll be hauling ass and carrying our shit.”
Jacob nodded and moved himself into position over the console, bending to stand through the narrow sunroof.
Stephens reached out for him. “Don’t hold back—if you see something, kill it. Those three waited here for a reason. They wanted to hold us in place while others moved up. It’s a basic tactic for the Deltas. They want us to hide and prevent us from moving until they get enough of them to do a deep search. We only have a few minutes until the main body arrives.”
Jacob bit his bottom lip and nodded.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Just as Jacob spotted the remaining members of the team running down the dock, the first of the creatures appeared in the tree line. Jacob leaned into his rifle and took aim through his optics. Stephens lowered the rear window and readied his own rifle. Rogers was waiting anxiously behind the wheel; he pressed a button, opening the hatch of the rear compartment, and yelled, “Come on guys, knock those bastards down!”
There were many this time—more than Jacob could count—and they ran in a line single-file. Setting a quick pace, they moved toward the marina. Jacob heard the suppressed report of Stephens’s rifle, and found a target of his own. Aiming for the lead runner, he squeezed the trigger and watched the creature tumble forward, causing several runners behind it to trip into the trail. Keeping his eye to the optics, Jacob stayed on the trigger, firing rapidly now, dropping them as soon as they ran into his view point.
He fired until the rifle was empty, and not repeating his earlier mistake, he pressed the magazine release. Allowing the empty thirty-round magazine to fall back into the Suburban, he reloaded another black-taped magazine, pressed the bolt release, and went back to work. The things had closed to a half football field’s length away now; they’d also managed to pinpoint their position. He picked up the first of several gunshots and felt the disruption in the air as rounds zipped past his head.
Jacob flinched and instinctively dropped lower into the sunroof. He got back on the rifle and searched for the shooter, finding a man in the tree line with a scoped bolt-action rifle. He saw the man’s head pull away from the rifle as he attempted to feed it another round. Jacob aimed high and eased back on
