They traveled on and off the main streets looking for a clear route. The avenues had become parking lots with vehicles of all makes piled up at the intersections. They passed a shopping mall with a stack of crushed vehicles at its exit. The cars were blackened hulks that wound deep into the parking lot. Jacob turned his head and saw the chard frame of a driver still gripping a steering wheel. Rogers turned them around again after finding another blocked route. Moving farther than intended, they found themselves trapped in the city center and forced to find smaller roads and alleys to get them out. Rogers guided them behind buildings and loading docks, looking for holes through fences.
The Suburban lurched forward around barricades; at the next intersection, the road was once again blocked. Rogers turned right, following the navigation system’s directions. The street narrowed. Vehicles lined the shoulders of the road alongside buildings with broken windows and doors shattered on their hinges. The road went uphill, blocking their view. As the SUV crested the hill, Rogers hit the brakes. Ahead of them, the last route into the city was blocked by a congested stream of vehicles—cars, three rows wide, packed together and reached for miles.
“We got company,” James said, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror.
Jacob twisted in the seat and searched the street behind them. At the corner of the last intersection stood a solitary male dressed in heavy clothing. He stood alone, watching the Suburban. The team sat silently, not moving as they watched the individual at the end of the street, the idling of the engine the only sound.
Jacob strained, trying to get any sign that indicated whether the man was friend or foe. “Maybe he's one of us,” Jacob whispered.
“No,” Stephens said, shaking his head, “not alone and unarmed, and not this far out.”
Another entered the intersection from the opposite side of the street, ending any doubt of the man’s disposition. A woman dressed inappropriately for the cool temperatures stepped beyond the curb and into the street. Her torso turned mechanically, halting to look in the direction of the team. She seemed to ignore the heavily dressed man next to her. After some sort of non-verbal communication, they stepped off and walked in sync with one another.
Marks leaned forward and squeezed the headrest of James’s seat. “Knock them down, James. Do it quick and silent before they can sound an alarm.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” James said.
The man retrieved his rifle from the floor and opened his door. The vehicle was angled slightly so that he was hidden from the view of the approaching creatures. James duck-walked around the front of the Suburban and raised his rifle. He swapped magazines, loading the suppressed rounds. A pop slightly louder than a nail gun, and the woman’s head snapped back, the brick wall behind her painted in a splotch of oily black. The heavily dressed man seemed unaware of the strike. He continued pacing forward without checking on the female. James followed him through his optics and, before the man completed his second step, a sub-sonic round ripped through its chin. The man stumbled then fell forward hard on its face.
James quickly returned to the vehicle, closing the door behind him. Not wasting time, he dropped the magazine and replaced the two sub-sonic rounds. He looked up at the rearview mirror and slumped. “Hold the applause, we got more moving in,” James whispered.
From the direction of the female, two more stepped into the street. The newcomers noticed the female’s downed body right away. One moved forward and looked ahead into the congested street, searching for the shooters. It shouted, the noise causing the others to become more animated. Several others rounded the corner; without a target, they joined in the shouting while a mob gathered around the bodies.
Marks turned forward. “Rogers, get us out of this shit. Take the damn sidewalk—just move!”
Rogers cut the wheel hard and gunned the engine. The Suburban launched up and over the curb, tires squealing as it entered the narrow sidewalk. The mob witnessing the motion of the vehicle became frenzied and charged after them. Rogers accelerated, picking up speed as he drove through a pile of bicycles and garbage containers. The driver’s side scraped against a storefront wall, throwing up sparks while the driver’s side mirror disappeared in a flash of dust. Rogers corrected and slapped the SUV against parked cars, continuing to accelerate and build speed.
Rogers yanked the wheel hard when they made it to the end of the street, which sent the Suburban spinning into open road, heading left. Finding the street ahead was once again blocked, they turned and raced on. Jacob looked back and spotted the mob rounding the corner, hot on their trail. Rogers cut right, headed north and crashed through another set of police barriers. After a hundred feet of open road, it was obvious that street would be impassable; vehicles were stacked from curb to curb, with more on the sidewalks. Soon, they would find themselves boxed in. Rogers, without instructions, slammed on the brakes, throwing his passengers forward.
“Bailout! There won’t be any way out—we move on foot,” Rogers yelled.
Marks looked left and right, calculating the call, though he knew his driver was right. “Let’s go. Find me an exit, and walk us out of here!”
The team bailed from the vehicle as the mob’s screams filled the air from over a block away. Frantically, the men gathered their heavy packs from the rear cargo compartment and took off at a sprint. James led the way with his rifle up, running out front. He found a building with a tall, heavy, wooden door. The windows of the red, brick-faced building were covered with heavy sheets of screwed down plywood.
James skidded to a stop on his well-worn boots and pushed the knob. The door was securely locked; he stepped back and fired several suppressed rounds into the doorknob, the impacts puncturing
