“Oh shit! Hold on!” Rogers shouted.
Jacob looked ahead and could see that the muddy trail was covered by water. They hit the water hard. The mud exploded and wrapped around the front of the truck, covering the windshield. Deeper than it looked, the water rose to the center of the truck’s doors, bogging the vehicle down. Rogers stayed on the gas; he fought the mud as the truck tires spun, searching for traction. The truck fishtailed and sank deeper into the muck.
Rogers punched the dash and cut the engine.
“Okay, dismount, fellas,” Marks shouted, throwing his own door open. “Time to beat feet.”
James was standing in the back tossing the packs to dry ground. Jesse pried the rear door open, throwing his weight against the muddy water. He took a long step into the mud and fought through it to the weed-covered bank. Then turning back, he helped pull Jacob up the slope behind him. The muck permeated his clothes with a skunky, bog water stench.
They scrambled into their packs and waited for James, rifle across his back and Duke cradled in his arms, as he jumped from the truck. He set the dog down and threw the straps of his own rucksack over his shoulders just as rounds impacted the muddy water. Duke bounced back and forth, agitated by the gunfire.
James pivoted and adjusted his rifle, firing several times and dropping the only visible attacker. More came into view; Jacob raised his M4, aimed at the center of the group, and pulled the trigger, sending rounds in their direction. Some dropped, but more quickly filled the space. “There’s too many; let’s move!” Marks ordered, forcing them to break contact.
Rogers led the way. At a near run, he cut through the thick lodge-pole pines, moving the team back into high ground. The terrain was covered now with pine needles with most of the forest floor open. Unlike the thick brush they traveled earlier, this terrain allowed long fields of vision. The soft groundcover cushioned their footfalls and concealed their tracks, making them hard to follow. They changed direction often, trying to lose the pursuers. This forced them further south and away from their destination.
After running nearly a mile through the pine forest, Rogers called them to a resting halt. The men dropped to the ground, hiding in any sparse cover they could find, breathing heavily trying to listen for sounds that the Deltas were still in pursuit. The gunfire had stopped. No trace of the moaning or sounds of vehicle engines. They looked at Duke for signs; the dog was sitting calmly next to James, panting. His nose was in the air, sniffing, but its ears were relaxed.
“They know we’re here. They won’t stop looking,” Stephens said. “Let’s keep moving.”
Rogers traded out the point position with James, allowing him and Duke to lead them out. They cut a diagonal path through the pine forest, trying to intersect with a game or recreational trail that would lead them north. Moving farther west, James stepped them into a dry streambed. He turned to follow it until the ground became wet. The damp, sandy soil made it easier to travel but also left heavy, easy-to-follow boot prints. They hurried across it and moved farther north through sparse woods. They stayed just below a ridgeline until they crossed a hilltop and found a well-marked lake view hiking trail. James cautiously led them onto the hard-packed trail. From there, they could clearly see the distant lake, the water holding a jet-black sheen. The town far below was filled with the Deltas.
“That explains the mass on the road,” Rogers said. “Looks like we got ourselves a mega seed pond… or hell, mega seed lake, even.”
“Nothing we can do about it. Let’s get some distance on this place,” Marks said, pushing them on. “We can’t afford to get into a fight with these numbers.”
At the top of the hill, the trail cut sharply again, moving them down and to the south in the wrong direction. James slowed and navigated the terrain before throwing a fist in the air. Jacob strained to see over James’s shoulder to find out why he had stopped them.
At the bottom of the hill, he spotted movement—a flash of white fabric. Jacob ignored the halt and stepped just behind James, straining his eyes to get a better look. He spotted her; she was standing straight up, wearing khaki cargo pants and a camouflage parka. She had a rifle slung over her right shoulder while waving a white flag with her left hand.
Jacob felt the others move up, gathering around him at the top of the hill. “Damn, is that a woman? What’s she doing way out here?”
Chapter Forty-Two
The men bunched up on the slope, staring down at her. Tall with broad shoulders, she wore an army patrol cap with aviator sunglasses. The girl was younger than Jacob, mid- to late-twenties, but stood with the confidence that gave her the appearance of being much older. She didn’t flinch or hesitate as the men approached. She stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and arms folded in front of her.
Seeing them move closer, she tossed the white flag to the ground and unslung her rifle, putting it into low carry with the barrel pointed down. Not threatening, but not overly inviting either. Jacob had seen enough bad war movies to recognize the AK47 with a thirty-round magazine. On her hip was a long Bowie knife, and tucked into a shoulder holster under her left arm, she carried a black semi-automatic handgun.
“Dibs,” James, said walking forward, letting Duke lead them.
“Bullshit,” Rogers mumbled. “You got the dog. Boss, you think we can trust her?”
Marks stalked close behind them, speaking low as they approached. “Let’s see what she has to say. Right
