“The stuff is deadly; the reaction plan said we needed suits and respirators,” Jacob added.
James laughed and shook his head. “What’s wrong, cherry? You worried about getting cancer in ten years? Hell, I’m worried about living until next week. I’ll bottle the shit for you if you’re scared.”
Jacob shook off the comment and moved to a table in the shadows. “Suit yourself, tough guy. Come talk to me when your shit shrivels up.”
Marks put up a hand again. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll gather the chemicals. I have something else in mind for you two and Rogers.”
“What?” James asked standing and leaning toward the table.
The lieutenant smiled, showing his teeth. “I need a test subject. I want to make sure this stuff works.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Half an hour later, Rogers decided it was time. He dipped his hat, signaling for James to edge up past them to the corner of the intersection. James tugged back on the cut length of rusted chain link fence, allowing Jacob to pass through. With Jacob safely on the other side, James looked back, winking at Rogers to let him know he was set.
It was dusk and the light was fading fast. Even above the chemical plant on the small road leading away, he could see it would be dark soon. They’d moved out from the factory at nearly a jog, finding what Rogers described as the perfect bottleneck: a Y-shaped intersection where two roads met. On the road nearest the factory was a long-term storage facility, Open 24 Hours, was written on a heavy wooden sign over a rusted iron gate. The first thing the men did was close the gate then move to the far end and cut a hole in the chain link fence close to the corner.
A row of dumpsters overflowing with large cardboard boxes gave them all the material they needed to construct a hiding place. There was a small import car just behind the corner; Rogers worked his magic and managed to get the car going at a slow idle. It was far too quiet to attract the attention they sought; they needed something to bring in the hunters. There would be two of them, possibly together but maybe moments apart. They always worked in twos. Jacob had the easy job. He would shoot the first one; “In the face” as James put it.
Then the bearded man would tackle the second one, while Rogers knocked down anyone late to the party. The snatch team would only have a brief window to make the grab and get out of Dodge before the follow-up Deltas from the main body arrived. If the hunters were able to get off a warning, the time to move would be even less. They couldn’t get trapped or pinned down. It would most certainly mean death, and there was no way they could lead a mob back to the chemical plant. If they failed, they were on their own.
While all this went through Jacob’s mind, James approached the small car at the corner. He snatched the rubber from a wiper blade arm then reached through a window and pushed a button, which triggered the car’s windshield wipers and hazard lights. The scraping squeal of the wiperless metal arm against the window started immediately. Jacob feared it may be too loud. They wanted to create noise, but not too much. James looked in both directions then slipped back into the alcove of a building near the car to wait.
It didn’t take long. As Jacob was adjusting his position, trying to shake the needles out of his dull and sleepy arm, the first of them stepped into view—a big farm boy that was probably less than eighteen years old in life. Jacob knew this would be the one he’d drop—no way were they carrying this guy all the way back to the chemical plant. Farm boy stumbled forward, walking like he’d had too much moonshine the night before. As the thing rounded the front of the car, Jacob could see why. Most of its right pant leg was missing, along with its shoe, showing a badly wounded shin and knee.
Jacob tried to relax, so as not to focus too much attention on the big guy. It moved right up next to the driver’s side window. The Delta swiveled its head as its lifeless eyes searched the surroundings then looked intently at the wipers’ movements, nearly hypnotized by the motion. Finally breaking away, his eyes wandered then stopped on the dumpster where Rogers was hidden. It held its focus as a second creature moved into view. To Jacob’s relief, this one was a skinny man; sticking with the farmer country boy theme, he had the appearance of Joe Dirt. He sported ragged, faded blue jeans and a long, unkempt mullet. Its face was covered in patches of the man’s best attempt at growing a beard.
In another time or place, Jacob would laugh at the duo; tonight, he was all business. He locked his sight on the big boy’s forehead. At under a hundred feet, using a scope, he knew he wouldn’t miss. Jacob held his breath and eased back on the trigger, launching a single suppressed round. The big man fell back, his wounded right leg kicking as it dropped. Before Jacob could rise out of his hide, James was already on top of Joe Dirt, raining down punches and trying to stuff its mouth with rags before covering its head with a large burlap bag.
Jacob ran to his side and dove into the mix. Joe Dirt tried to scream but was heavily restrained by James. Jacob grabbed an arm and used two hands to force it to the thing’s side. He bound its arm to its trunk using a roll of duct tape. As soon as one arm was immobilized, he did the next. Then the legs. Before he could say a word, Rogers was over them, tapping his watch. “Time’s up; we gotta roll.”
The big man reached
