The Darkness (9 page)

“After dark, they started
to bunch up together. Their numbers had multiplied. Suddenly they came at
us—not trying to get past us—they actually wanted
us
! They would reach
through the shields and snatch people. They’d pull someone back, and they’d
pass them deeper into the mob like a baton. I watched many of my own men
dragged off, and there was nothing I could do to help them. The normal stuff
didn’t work. Tear gas, rubber bullets. Sure, fire hoses knocked them down, but
didn’t stop ’em.

“We fought hard, but we
couldn’t hold them back. By dawn, we were using lethal ammo… but they still
came. We… we were killing them by the hundreds, but they still came and grabbed
us.”

Murphy pressed back
against the seat and took a long drink of water from his drinking tube. He let
out a long sigh. “Just before dawn, orders came to pull back. We loaded up in
the trucks and prepared to move out, but…”

“But what?” Jacob asked.

“I saw them,” Murphy
whispered.

Stephens nodded. “I know,
brother. I saw it too; we all did.”

“What? What did you see?”
Jacob asked impatiently.

“The soldiers—the ones we
lost, our friends. They were back but changed… still wearing their riot gear. They
marched
with
the mobs,” Murphy said.

Jacob leaned back in the
seat. “This is all bullshit. It had to have been something else. Maybe another
unit, a group you didn’t know about, in stolen uniforms.”

Murphy nodded and turned
his head to look out the window. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Stephens started the
car’s engine and put it into gear. “We need a place to hole up.”

Chapter
10

The patrol car rolled
slowly down the center of the empty road as Jacob surveyed the small industrial
park that was coming up on their left side. Only a block from the two-lane road
that led to the park encampment, it would make for a perfect hide.

Stephens slowed the car
until it was rolling just above idle speed, then turned into a paved drive that
faced a building with a double overhead door. The wheels crunched as the car
maneuvered over broken asphalt. A large sign at the front of the building
labeled it a commercial heating and cooling sales shop. Stephens eased the patrol
car forward, then stopped it in front of the door—close, but not so close that
he couldn’t turn and flee if need be—then reached down and shut off the
ignition.

“Why here?” Jacob
whispered, still frustrated they were not going straight to the park. He was
growing anxious with worry about his family.

“This building looks solid
enough: only one door in the front, no windows, steel overheads,” Stephens listed
off patiently as he dropped his arm and secured his rifle. He reached up,
popped the dome light cover, and removed the bulb. He held a hand on the door
and used his other to slowly pull the latch so that the door quietly released
under pressure while Murphy did the same on the passenger’s side.

Jacob waited and watched
as they quietly let their doors swing shut. Stephens opened the back door, and
Jacob realized for the first time that there were no handles on the inside of
the rear passenger’s doors. Stephens handed Jacob the shotgun they’d retrieved
from the dead cop. “Here take this; it’ll get you farther than that rifle,” he
said.

Jacob nodded his
acceptance and stepped out of the car.

Stephens moved to the
rear of the car and used the key to open the trunk. A large black gear bag was
inside; Murphy reached in and opened the zipper.

Inside were a police
carbine and a black tactical vest already loaded with three, thirty-round
magazines. Murphy removed the rifle and set it to the side, then pulled out the
heavy vest and placed it next to the rifle. The rest of the bag was filled with
road flares, a protective mask, and a baton. Another bag was filled with tools
and other emergency gear. Murphy closed the bags and pushed them aside.
Searching the rest of the trunk, he found nothing further of use.

He waved Jacob forward
and placed the vest in his hands. It was heavy.
Police
was stenciled across
the back in white, bold letters, and an embroidered badge patch was affixed to
the front center. Several loops held zip ties and other bits of equipment.
Jacob pulled the vest tighter and let the weight adjust in his arms. Murphy
took the rifle and opened the sling, hanging it over Jacob’s back.

“Come on, man; what am I,
a mule?” Jacob whispered, protesting.

“Just until we get
inside; then I’ll show you how to put the gear on,” Murphy said.

After one more sweep of
the trunk, Stephens slowly lowered the lid and pressed until he heard the latch
click. The soldier reached up and dropped his NODs over his eyes, then gave
Murphy a thumbs up. Murphy looked at Jacob. “Just follow us in and press your
back against the wall.”

Jacob nodded back to the
man as Murphy pulled down his own goggles and followed Stephens to the front
door of the business.

Stephens moved to the
right of the door with Murphy standing just behind him. He reached out an arm
and felt the handle move in his hand. The door pushed in easily and glided
open, staying that way. Stephens sidestepped to the lip of the door, lowered
the barrel of his rifle, tapped it twice against the doorjamb, and then pulled
back. The three of them silently stood, holding their breath and listening for
any sound of movement.

After several agonizing
minutes, Stephens stepped into the doorway and dropped into the room with
Murphy close behind him. Jacob moved in quickly after and, as instructed,
pushed his back to the wall and waited. Murphy reached back and closed the
door, the room quickly falling pitch black. Jacob couldn’t see a hand in front
of his face; he pressed against the wall and began sweating while holding the
heavy gear in his trembling arms.

He could hear the
soldiers’ footsteps as they moved deeper into the space. Their sounds of
movement reflected off walls and played tricks on Jacob’s mind as he tried to
imagine the layout of the room. The soldiers’ steps continued to move away;
then, suddenly, the room flashed in bright light. Jacob squinted, pulled up a hand
to shield his eyes, and heard men yelling from a loft. Jacob watched as his
friends peeled off their night vision devices and raised their hands.

Bright handheld
spotlights painted them in blinding beams. Armed men chaotically yelled for
them to show their hands. Jacob dropped the gear and thrust up his arms. He was
ordered to move forward and online with the others. Whoever held the spotlight
was using it effectively; they hit Jacob right in the face with the beam, and
he couldn’t see anything while blinded by the light. He tried looking away but
found it impossible to escape the beam. Jacob stepped forward, nearly bumping
into Murphy who was speaking low, trying to identify himself to the unknown men
in the loft.

Jacob heard boots clank
as they ran down a set of metal stairs. The other men continued to order them
to keep their arms up. A man approached, pushing a barrel into Jacob’s chest
and yelled for him to look straight ahead and open his eyes and mouth. Jacob
struggled to peel open his eyes against the blinding light. He heard the man
yell, “Clear!”

The lights’ beams were
directed away and shut off. Small portable lanterns filled the room with a
softer glow. A man in jeans and a Carhartt work coat stepped forward. He held a
military-looking rifle in his arms and had a revolver tucked into his
waistband.

He looked Jacob over and
moved to the soldiers as more men, still holding their weapons on them, walked
down the stairs.

“Where in the hell did
you all come from?” the man asked.

Murphy began to speak,
but the man held up his hand and pointed at Jacob. “Nope, I’m asking him.”

“Why me?” Jacob asked.

“Cause one thing here
ain’t like the others and you probably ain’t as good at lying. Now where did
you come from?” the man asked again, stepping closer.

Jacob looked over at
Murphy. The man, growing annoyed, said, “You don’t need his help. Now where are
you from? If I have to ask again, I’ll toss you out the door… naked.”

“We came from town… a few
miles from here,” Jacob said.

“We were evac—” Murphy
began before the man angrily raised a hand, shutting him up.

He looked back at Jacob.
“Continue.”

“Ah, I was at my home,
the convoy came down the street picking people up, my family got on the truck,
but we were attacked. I got separated from my wife and kid; these men helped
me. They’ve been helping me.”

“Where’d the cop car come
from?”

Jacob looked at Murphy
who stood, not speaking. He shrugged to signal Jacob to continue. “Up the road;
two cops… two… of… they… we killed ’em and took it.”

“What did they look like…
the cops?” the man asked, pressing his face uncomfortably close to Jacob’s.

“It was dark… but they
had the black blood,” Jacob said, stepping back and looking away.

The man reached out an
arm, slapped Jacob on the shoulder, and nodded to Murphy. “Okay, fair enough;
my name’s Johnny and this is my shop. Sorry to be an asshole, but things have
gone sideways in the last week. You’re free to stay the night here, but I’m
afraid I can’t offer you anything.”

Murphy, having heard the
man out, extended his hand. “I’m Sergeant Murphy with the Illinois National
Guard; this is Corporal Stephens. We’re assigned to the Wilson Street Park.
Have you heard anything from them?”

The man looked at Murphy
with wide eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

Murphy stood silently,
then turned to face Jacob and Stephens and shrugged his shoulders.

The man called out in the
direction of the loft behind him. “Miller, get down here.”

Jacob watched as a
younger man dressed in an identical Carhartt jacket ran down the stairs, taking
them two at a time. He stopped just short of Johnny.

“These two say they’re
stationed at the Wilson Street Park,” Johnny said.

Miller shook his head.
“Shit no, they gone. Pulled out this evening—shit-load of trucks, tanks,
helicopters… everything. That camp they built is empty,” Miller said. “I
watched ’em leave with my own eyes.”

Stephens clenched his
fist angrily and swiped at the air. “Dammit! The jump order must’ve come down
and we missed it!”

“What does that mean?”
Jacob said, panicking. “Where the hell did they go? Where is my family?”

“It means we’re fucked,”
Stephens said, disgusted.

Murphy turned to face the
younger man who had come down from the loft. “Miller is it? How do you know
this?”

“I was there when they
left, moved off to the big evacuation point. I came back here to stay with Uncle
Johnny; we’re waiting on my dad and some others. The soldiers said they were
pulling back to the lake front.”

“Northerly Island,” Jacob
mumbled, feeling lightheaded.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”
Miller answered, looking Jacob up and down. “Hey man, are you hurt? Your leg’s
all bloody. You don’t look so good.”

Jacob suddenly felt far
away and unable to answer—despair, exhaustion, and worry for his family taking
a hard toll. He just stared at Miller, watching him talk. Jacob could see that
the young man’s lips were moving, but he no longer heard the words. Stephens
moved between the other men to look at the wound on Jacob’s hip.

“Dammit, fool, you let
this get to bleeding again. Now I’m going to have to re-dress it,” Stephens
said as Jacob began leaning forward, so far that Stephens had to catch and
steady him. Wearily, Jacob watched through clouding vision as Johnny tilted his
head to look at the nasty blood-soaked bandages coming loose from Jacob’s side.
He grimaced and turned to Murphy. “Why don’t you get him upstairs? There are
more people up there; they can help with that.” Jacob closed his eyes as the
man continued to speak.

Chapter
11

Jacob didn’t know how
long he’d been out; he didn’t remember being moved to the bed or even lying
down. He looked across the darkened floor space; only a few candles lit the
long, narrow room. Heavy machinery was interspersed with moving lumps of
blanket on the floors and tired men holding rifles, keeping watch over their
families as they leaned against walls. A child cried from some place in the
back. A sharp pain pulling at the wound in his hip caused him to turn away. He
jerked to the side to look back and saw a woman cleaning his wound with a damp
wad of gauze.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she
whispered.

Jacob squinted, trying to
see her face in the low light. He could make out that she was middle aged, her
hair was pulled back, and she wore a dark sweater. He tried to sit up for a
better look but the weight of his own body prevented it.

The woman placed a hand
on his chest and eased him back onto the cot. “Come on now, hun, you need to
rest. Just let me get this bandaged for you,” she whispered.

“Where am I?’

She pushed a gauze
dressing around the wound. Holding it in place, she attached a long piece of
tape. “You’re in the loft of the shop. You got a little dizzy down there, and
your friends brought you up here.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re here; don’t
worry, they didn’t leave you,” she whispered, pulling a blanket over his lap.

A loud rumble from
overhead shook and vibrated the corrugated roofing above their heads. Jacob
jumped and tried to sit up. Again, the nurse gracefully lowered him to his
back. “It’s okay; just relax.”

“What was that?” Jacob
asked; the shock obvious in his voice.

“I was told it’s the Air Force
dropping their bombs in town,” the nurse answered.

“Bombing? But... I
thought they were evacuating everyone.”

Rumbling explosions in
the distance shook the building, the air cracking with impacts.

The clanking of footsteps
came up the stairs, followed by the smiling face of Stephens, who overheard the
last bits of the conversation. “They’re CAS missions,” Stephens said, moving to
Jacob’s side. “How you feeling?”

“CAS?” Jacobs asked.

“Close air support.”

Not understanding, Jacob
looked blankly at him as aircraft flew low overhead, on another pass.

“They’re blowing the hell
out of the things trying to get close to our people!” Stephens said over the very
distant rumblings of explosions, a remote and deadly fireworks display ripping
apart the night air. “Those are Warthogs, most likely. I’d say they’re pulling
out all the stops tonight. About damn time too.”

Jacob shook his head.
“Why didn’t you just say that to start with?”

“That
is
what I
said; not my fault you don’t understand shit.”

The
crack, crack,
crack
of gunfire echoed from somewhere outside the building—far away at
first but quickly moving closer. Stephens stepped back and ran to the loft
window overlooking the factory floor. Jacob pushed himself to a seated
position, this time ignoring the nurse’s advice. The gunfire grew louder and
was joined by the ping and squeal of rounds slapping against the building’s
metal skin. Stephens turned and walked hurriedly for the stairs leading to the
factory floor as hidden faces in the loft began to cry out and speak in hushed
tones.

Jacob sat upright and slipped
his pants on halfway before he searched the floor at his feet in the dim
candlelight. He found his boots and quickly slipped them on. Giving the laces a
quick yank, he wrapped them around his ankles and knotted them. He looked
around and saw his shirt and jacket in a bundle at the end of the cot. He got
to his feet and felt the pull at his side, his hand instinctively dropping. He
pulled his pants up the rest of the way over the bandage and winced at the
discomfort.

The nurse, watching him
with frustration, moved and grabbed his shirt and jacket. “I had to stitch you
up. Sorry, I only had a local anesthetic and not much for the pain; it will be
wearing off soon,” she said hurriedly as she helped Jacob into his jacket.
“You’ll need to have that cleaned again and the stitches out in a week or so.”

Jacob nodded and searched
the jacket pockets and the empty holster on his waist. “Where are my guns?” he
gasped.

The woman moved along the
wall just behind the cot to a tall metal cabinet. She quickly returned, carrying
the black tactical vest and police carbine. Jacob noticed at once that his P89
was now fastened into a holster on the chest of the vest. “This is yours. The
soldiers said you would gladly trade the other rifle and shotgun for the
medicine we used on you,” she said, placing the rifle on the bed and handing
Jacob the vest.

The vest was open at the
sides, but he’d never worn one before. He stuck his head through the center,
nearly getting lost in the heavy armor. The nurse stepped in and pulled the Velcro
side apart and snugged the vest down over him, then lashed the Velcro waist
straps.

“You aren’t too familiar
with this, are you?” she said, helping him to adjust the straps.

“No, guess I never had
much reason to put one on before tonight.”

She curled her brow,
throwing Jacob a puzzled look. “Well, this is correct. Unfortunately, I have
spent enough time in the ER to know how an officer’s gear goes on and off.”

Jacob nodded a thank you
as he looked over the snaps and attachments at the front of the vest. He tried
pulling them until he felt the pressure against his wound. The heavy plates in
the chest and back caused the other straps to cut into his shoulders. He lifted
himself to his feet and shrugged hard, trying to adjust the weight before he
took an uneven step toward the stairs.

“Officer, your gun!” the
nurse called after him. She moved toward him, holding the rifle.

Jacob turned to look at
her, and then recalled seeing an embroidered badge patch on the front of the
tactical vest. Suddenly, he realized that the entire time she had assumed he
was a police officer. “I’m not a—oh, right. Thanks.”

He paused then reached
out for the rifle. Never having really held one like this before, it was
foreign in his grip. A magazine that stuck out of the lower receiver was
already seated so Jacob let his hands work over the metal and up the hand-guards
to feel the weight of the rifle. He turned it to the sides, examining the
mechanisms. Pushing a button, the magazine dropped and nearly fell to the floor
before he clumsily caught it and slapped it back home.

Mistaking Jacob’s
curiosity with the new weapon as an inspection, the nurse said, “It’s fine;
nobody messed with it.”

 Jacob thanked her and
walked toward the stairs, spotting families hiding in the shadows of the loft
as he passed them. He turned into the opening and clanged down the metal treads
to the factory floor.

The lower level was dark
with all the lights off, and rounds continued to ping off the outer walls. Jacob
was able to spot Murphy and Stephens pressed against the door they’d entered
earlier. Johnny, along with some of his own men, was crowded around them while
Murphy was trying to convince Johnny to move his people away—and losing the
argument. Murphy turned his head, catching the movement of Jacob’s approach.

“What are you doing down
here?” Murphy asked. “You’re going to bust yourself open and start bleeding again.”

Jacob stepped closer to
the group, holding the rifle awkwardly in his hands. “You need everyone,” Jacob
said just above a whisper, the fear showing in his voice as the sounds of
battle echoed just beyond the walls.

“You even know how to use
that?” Murphy asked, reaching out and snatching the rifle from Jacob’s hands.
He dropped the magazine then reseated it. He instructed Jacob, giving a quick
rundown of the rifle’s parts and functions. He pulled back the charging handle
and chambered a round before turning the rifle so that Jacob could see the
selector switch. “This is safe, that’s semi… don’t even fuck with the other
one.” Then he pushed the rifle back into Jacob’s hand.

“Stay here with them;
we’re going outside to see what’s going on. If we break out, we’ll come back
for you and the others,” Murphy ordered.

Jacob shook his head.
“No, I’m sticking with you.”

Stephens turned and faced
Murphy. “Come
on
, Sergeant; he’s just going to slow us down,” Jacob
overheard him whisper.

Murphy looked at Jacob waiting
eagerly as rounds stitched the top of the building and a loud explosion rattled
the steel sides. Murphy dropped his head, rubbed his temple with his gloved hand,
and then forced a grin. “Fine, get your ass behind Stephens and don’t miss.” Murphy
turned to Johnny. “Take care of your people. If I can get contact with my
command, we’ll send someone back for you.”

Johnny nodded, reaching
toward the door’s handle. “Good luck out there,” he said, slapping Murphy on
the back as the door swung open. Murphy looked back over his shoulder and cut
out into the night with Stephens following close. Jacob lurched forward and
hesitated in the doorway. He felt a nudge from behind as he was shoved outside,
and the door closed behind him.

Murphy and Stephens were
running, crouched between the patrol car and the building. Jacob came to his
senses and took off after them, sprinting as more gunfire erupted from close
by. Murphy rounded the far side of the car, dropped to a prone position, and
crawled to the rear bumper. Stephens squatted, keeping the engine block between
himself and the sounds of battle. Jacob ran and dropped in next to him.

He looked out at the
field across the street. It was dark, and he couldn’t make out any figures—only
the muzzles of weapons spitting flame as they fired. Tracers cut back and forth
across the field and occasional rounds flew over Jacob’s head, smacking into
the steel-clad building behind him. Jacob looked to his left and saw Stephens hovered
over his rifle with his night vision down. Murphy scooted back away from the
tire and rejoined them around the hood.

“Looks like a patrol made
contact,” Murphy whispered, “They’re taking some heavy fire from the tree line.
I think if we target them from here, it’ll loosen up their flank.”

“You sure, Sergeant? They
don’t even know we’re up here. What if our guys fire on us?” Stephens
protested, not looking up from his rifle.

Jacob looked around. He
was still blind in the dark but could hear the sustained battle coming from
across the street. “What are you two talking about?”

Murphy grinned. “There’s
a unit in the field over there. Someone… something has them pinned; we’re gonna
suppress so they can maneuver.”

Jacob scowled. “Just tell
me what to do.”

“That’s the spirit. Let’s
go; we need to get distance on this building. We don’t want to draw attention
to it.”