More gunshots rang out, and a round pierced the side of the Suburban with a metallic thunk. James rounded the corner of the docks and tossed two heavy rucksacks into the back. He opened the driver’s door and stood on the running board. Taking aim over the top of the SUV, he leaned forward and returned fire. Shooting rapidly, he let loose with unsuppressed rounds. Jacob glanced back long enough to see Marks and Jesse boarding the SUV from the shielded passenger side.
“Go, go, go,” James shouted.
The Deltas were closer now. A fast-moving pair broke away from the rest of the group and charged forward. Stephens fired a burst, hitting one in the legs and knocking it to the ground. Jacob fired at the other one, hitting it square in the chest. Its momentum caused it to tumble forward, rolling as it hit the ground. Jacob shifted back in time to see the first crawling forward; he adjusted his aim and put a round into the top of its head.
Rogers dropped the Suburban into gear and the SUV lurched forward, having to drive directly into the mass that now surrounded them and blocked their exit from the marina. Jacob felt a tug at his legs as he was hauled down into the vehicle and shoved against the rear passenger door just moments before Rogers collided with the mass. He drove slow, plowing through them before veering hard into the grass to escape their numbers, then racing for open roadway.
Rounds pinged off the metal of the hood. As the Suburban skidded through the soft grass, Rogers over corrected and had the SUV nearly sideways when it entered the hard surface of the road. The right tires bit for traction, lifting the vehicle onto two wheels as they caught. Rogers hit the brake and cut the wheel hard, slamming the Suburban to the roadway. He then mashed the gas, opening the big V8, and propelling them away from the approaching mass of Deltas.
“Well, that was closer than I prefer,” Marks said, breathing heavily. He reached into a chest pocket and pulled out his own map. He unfolded it and leaned forward from the back seat so that the map was resting over the center console. “Get us to the Middleville city limits then find a hide spot. I don’t want anything tracking us to the chemical plant. We can sneak in on foot tomorrow morning right after sunrise.”
“Got it,” Rogers said. He pushed a button on the dash, launching the vehicle’s navigation system. James, riding shotgun, leaned forward and flipped through menus before finally entering a destination for Middleville. “Nav is still up,” he said as he pressed “Go” on the system.
Marks folded up the map and stuffed it back into his chest pocket. “So what happened back there?” he asked, leaning back against the bench seat.
“Hunters, same as this morning,” Stephens said. “Three came out of the woods, followed by two more. The first group stayed back by the road while the others made a round. As suspected, they had a horde behind them; we initiated contact before they had us cornered.”
Marks exhaled loudly and removed his helmet, holding it in his hands. The Suburban continued down the road, slowing to avoid stalled vehicles and roadblocks. “They're becoming predictable. We can use it against them.”
“How?” Jacob asked.
Marks shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, but the time will come.”
Jacob turned his head and looked out the passenger’s window. Things hadn’t gone well here. Badly decayed bodies lay dead on the shoulders of the road. Homes were burnt to their frames; cars were crumpled and rusted in collisions. It really was a war zone, and it looked and felt the way Jacob expected it to. The terrain was residential—sparse neighborhoods, single-family homes occasionally mixed with a gas station or corner store. Jacob wondered about his own home in the suburbs of Chicago, if it still stood, if he’d ever see it again.
Rogers slowed the SUV as they approached an intersection. They were nearing the Middleville city limits from the north, passing through the outskirts, attempting to stick to the rural back roads.
Rogers slowed just before turning toward the more congested city. Just beyond the intersection, a military tank sat dead in the middle of the street. A chewed up and destroyed sandbag barrier sat in front of it. Long strands of wire twisted and stretched from building to building, completely blocking the route. The only way they could go was to the right and deeper into the city center. Rogers looked into the back seat at Marks. “Stop here, turn around, or go right?”
“Right, but don’t stop. I don’t want to be stuck in one of these urban areas. See if you can get us closer.”
Rogers cut the wheel and gunned the engine. The Suburban rolled forward, crunching over a wooden police barricade. The road was covered in refuse; garbage littered the street from curb to curb. They entered the main street, spying the usual suspects of fast food restaurants and department stores. They moved along slowly, unable to detect any Deltas. At the end of the street, they corrected their course, moving left and putting them back on track.
The terrain closed in and became more commercial. James pointed a finger to the right side of the street where bodies were stacked in a long row like firewood. A group of ambulances riddled with bullet holes and resting on flat tires were parked near them. A police car windshield was spider webbed and filled with bullet holes. Inside, a uniformed man lay dead against the driver’s seat. The skeleton of a charred Blackhawk helicopter rested on its side in the center of a destroyed building.
“Find us a side street; I’m not digging this place,” Marks ordered.
James leaned forward, zooming out on the navigation system to look for an alternate route. “You know they’re out here, probably watching
