Marks stepped to the side of the large vehicle and put his hand on the highly waxed rail. “Nice wheels; where’d you find it?”
“Car dealership just up the street. The salesman was willing to let it go cheap,” Rogers said, draining a warm bottle of Gatorade.
Marks nodded. “Did you get the extended warranty?”
“Oh yeah, and then some.” Rogers laughed. “Cab will only seat five, but someone can ride in the bed.”
“I got it—I’ll take the back with Duke,” James said, already tossing his ruck into the truck bed. He lifted Duke in then grabbed the tailgate and, using the bumper, climbed over the rail. Up high in the truck, he surveyed the area before lying down and stretching out across the back. Duke moved up and lay beside him with his head on the man’s chest. James pulled the floppy hat down over his eyes and covered the dog with his arm. “Hell yeah, perfect fit.”
Jacob helped sort the last of the groceries, breaking things down and stuffing them into their packs. When they finished, he helped load it all. With everything on board, they climbed into the cab and Rogers headed west on the open road.
The terrain slowly changed as they rolled north; the grass grew long and yellow, the road flanked by tall pine trees. Oaks and poplars were gold and orange with their fall colors. The road opened up with far less traffic and the homes became farther apart. Billboards pointed to tourist spots and gave directions to hotels and restaurants. They drove past an occasional body on the side of the rural highway, or sometimes slowed to look at a burnt out farmhouse.
Marks rode shotgun with his military map out across the center console. He strained to see road signs as they passed by, stopping at cross streets to compare them to his map. “A street atlas would be nice,” Marks said, trying to plot their current location. “Nobody uses the damn things anymore, relying on their smart phones and navigation systems. Well, lots of good that does us now.”
Rogers laughed in agreement. “Don’t sweat it, boss; we’ll find the base.”
Jacob rode in the back seat between Stephens and Jesse. He had his head down, and his rifle was between his knees. The slow going and buzzing sounds of the new tires on the concrete tugged at his eyelids, making his head heavy. He looked left and right and saw his friends both asleep and stopped resisting.
The truck stopped suddenly, jolting Stephens awake as the side of his head smacked against the window. “What the fu–” he barked. “What happened?”
Jacob leaned forward and saw what caused Rogers to stop. Just ahead, the road curved right. A large sign welcomed them to a quaint lake town. But what stopped them was beyond that. A long procession of people walked in a double single-file line, traveling right to left, moving across the road toward the lake. Jacob leaned forward and adjusted his view; the line stretched far into the distance.
“Do they see us?” Jesse whispered. “Why are there so many of them?”
Rogers put the truck into park and sat silently. “If they don’t, they will soon; if we turn around now they’re going to be on to us,” he said, squeezing the wheel.
A tapping come from the back window. Jacob leaned forward and strained his neck to see behind him. Rogers pressed a button, opening a window in the rear of the cab. As soon as the window opened, they could hear Duke’s growl.
“We got company,” James whispered. “Looks like a Delta convention is gathering in town.”
Behind them and on the right side of the road was a small patrol of Deltas, five walking in a staggered file and headed in their direction, every one of them armed. Farther back, a small SUV hugged the shoulder of the road as it drove slowly, keeping pace with the Delta column. James had his rifle up, leaning on the tailgate for stability.
Jacob gasped. “What the hell? They’re moving like a military unit.”
“It happens. Not often, but it happens,” Stephens answered.
James glanced at Marks. “That truck’s getting closer, L-Tee; give the word, and that driver eats a bullet.”
Marks looked back and front several times, searching for a way out, struggling to make a split-second, life-or-death decision. “Fuck it, kill him. Take out the vehicle too. Rogers, as soon as that SUV is down, get on the gas and take us off-road. Let’s get some distance before we have to bail out.”
James leaned into the rifle resting on the tailgate and fired two suppressed rounds in rapid succession. After a brief wait, two holes appeared over the driver’s side of the windshield. The Delta SUV continued forward but veered right, drifting off the road. James shifted and fired three more times and was rewarded with a flash of steam from the vehicle’s radiator. With perfect timing, Rogers stomped the gas and the truck lunged forward. James held the trigger, draining the rest of the magazine into the marching patrol.
Rogers then cut hard right, smoking the tires and tossing James to the side, forcing him to let go of the rifle and grab on. Rogers jerked the wheel and sped the truck from the roadway. He lost traction in the grass, fishtailing away and throwing mud. The Delta patrol opened fire as the truck sped down a small embankment headed for the far off trees. Rounds smacked the tailgate; others slapped the ground around them. Rogers stayed in control, dropping the vehicle into four-wheel drive as more rounds zipped overhead.
“There!” Marks shouted, pointing at a small cattle gate with a no trespassing sign hanging over the center of it. Marks slowed as he lined the truck up with the gate yet still hitting it hard enough to snap the gate back but not enough to immobilize the truck. Rounds peppered
