Chapter
14
The streets were dark
beyond the bridge. The scent of cordite and burning garbage hung heavy in the
air. No people, no animals, no movement, no structure—nothing was left
untouched. They passed a still smoking, tracked vehicle. Around it, expended
brass and bits of uniform covered the street. Jacob watched as Stephens concentrated
his focus on navigating around the smoldering hulk, using his night vision to
maintain a course north and into Chicago.
Jacob leaned against the
door, his weary eyes looking out into the street and watching the abandoned
homes as they passed. Sounds of battle persisted all around them. On all sides,
the glow of explosions bloomed and receded in the sky. The clacking of small
arms and the booming thump of mortars and artillery rounds intermingled with the
sound of low-flying aircraft roaring overhead… a manmade thunderstorm that overstimulated
Jacob’s already fatigued brain.
“Where is everyone?”
Jacob whispered.
Murphy had his window
down with his rifle aimed out and at the ready. “I haven’t seen shit since we
crossed the bridge.”
Stephens grunted. “We’re
in the eye of the storm. Look around; everything here is dead. The Darkness is
all around us. They’re out there. If we keep driving we could run right up
their ass… but that ain’t gonna happen.”
“What?” Murphy looked
away from the open window.
Stephens flicked a finger
at the dashboard. “Gas; something must’a punctured the tank back there. It’s
bleeding out faster than it should be.”
Jacob leaned up over the
rear seat to look through the window in the cage. “Can we fix it?”
Stephens shrugged. “I
don’t know… but I’m not about to go all Mr. Good Wrench out here in the fucking
open.”
“Okay, find us some place
to pull over,” Murphy ordered.
Stephens guided the
patrol car through wreckage and a twisted makeshift barrier of wooden police
obstacles and plastic barrels. Dark-blue riot gear and helmets littered the
street. Just ahead was a long intersection and on the northeast corner was a
tall four-story brick building—two stories higher than the neighboring
structures. The sidewalk in front of the building was clear. Murphy pointed it
out and Stephens gingerly brought the car up to the curb, stopping just shy of
the entrance.
With the car stopped and
tight to the curb, he cut the engine. They sat silently, Stephens and Murphy
searching the surrounding area with their night vision and the scopes on their
rifles. Jacob looked through the side window at the front of the brick
building. Plywood was nailed over the front lobby windows. The entry door was
doubled padlocked and held shut by a large chain. A black panel was bolted to
the wall with a long list of names next to white buzzer buttons.
“Think there are people
in there?” Jacob whispered uneasily.
Stephens turned his head
to look. “Doubt it… it’s chained from the outside. Place was probably evac’d
early—especially being on the main route.”
Murphy lifted his rifle.
“Let’s get this done; this place is creeping me out,” he whispered before
opening the door and stepping into the street.
Jacob moved quickly and followed
him out. Murphy moved to the back of the patrol car and held up, looking out in
all directions. He then turned to Jacob and adjusted his rifle in his grip so
that it was against his chest, pointed down and out. “Hold it like this, ‘low
ready’. Watch our backs; we need to grab some gear.” Stephens used the keys to
open the trunk and the men rummaged through the bags while Jacob watched the
surrounding buildings.
Jacob looked at the
luminous dial on his wristwatch.
Just after 2 am—the darkest part of the
night,
he thought. He looked at the watch again; his wife had given it to
him as a birthday gift years ago. At the time, he had discounted it; he was so
used to using his smart phone for the time that he wasn’t sure if he could get
back to wearing a watch again—until his wife turned the watch over and showed
him the inscription on the back.
My Friend, My Love, My
Hero, Laura
Reciting the words in his
head didn’t comfort him; instead, he felt the returning sense of helplessness
and panic. Jacob looked away from his watch and gripped the rifle. Knowing he
needed to stay alert, he scanned the streets. “Gotta get it together for the
girls,” he whispered to himself.
“What?” Stephens asked,
as he approached from behind. “You see something?”
“Huh? No… you find what
you were looking for?”
Stephens held up a
compact set of bolt cutters and a crowbar as an answer then walked to the
chained door. He moved close to the chain and waited for Murphy to move in
behind him to provide cover while he worked. Jacob followed Murphy’s lead and
stepped to the opposite side then looked outward into the dark street.
A clank and a snap later,
Jacob could hear Stephens fishing the chain through the heavy handle of the
door. The door rattle and Stephens worked the handle. “Locked; just be another
minute,” the soldier whispered.
Jacob looked behind him
and saw Stephens wedge the bar under the plywood covering the door, just enough
so that he could smack the glass with the bar. The sound shattered the
otherwise silent area.
“Damn, you’re being
noisy. Let’s step it up,” Murphy whispered.
“Think you can do better,
Sarge?” Stephens said as he slipped his arm inside the break. A click and a
clunk later, and the door was unlocked. He pulled back and stood, peeking into
the open door, checking for threats. He looked back and announced, “It’s open.”
“What are you waiting
for?” Murphy turned to cover the street. Jacob felt him pressed against him as
Murphy moved backwards, pushing him inside. They closed the door behind them
and relocked it. In the pitch dark of the lobby, sealed shut by the plywood,
Jacob was blind again. He felt a hand grab his wrist. “Keep hold of my vest,”
Murphy whispered as he guided Jacob’s hand to his back.
Jacob gripped the heavy
fabric of the man’s vest and stumbled forward, kicking objects on the floor as
he was guided down a long hallway.
“Watch your step. The
floor is covered with luggage, bags, and boxes of shit people left behind,”
Murphy whispered.
The trio continued on
shuffling; the plods of their boots echoed in the silent hallway. A latch
popped and Jacob recognized the sound of a door squeaking open and items on the
floor sliding as the door was pulled outward, into the hallway.
“Stairs are clear,”
Stephens whispered back.
Jacob was led ahead and
around a corner; the echo of their footsteps changed and the space now smelled
of cleaning solvent. He heard the door latch behind him and a white light
clicked on. Murphy had powered up a weapon-mounted flashlight and was surveying
the stairwell. It was clean—the floors polished and the walls still vibrant
with fresh paint.
“Place must’a had power
when they were pulled out… probably used the elevators,” Stephens said. He
reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a long length of chain he’d
salvaged from the front doors. He looped it through a pull handle and secured
the other end to a handrail. He reached over and snatched sets of zip cuffs
from Jacob’s tactical vest then locked the ends of the chain in place. He
tested the stability of the hasty lock and nodded his approval to Murphy.
Murphy turned and,
holding his light up the stairwell, slowly patrolled forward. The heavy fire door
at the second floor was locked, and one look told them it would be difficult to
open with the crowbar. They stood near it, listening but found only silence. They
continued up to the next floor, which was also locked. Murphy began to round
the corner to enter the landing that brought them to the fourth floor but stopped
and stepped back. He pointed ahead to the next floor’s fire door—it was slightly
ajar.
The sound of a glass
bottle being knocked over rattled across a tile floor from above. Jacob
crouched and held his breath as the sound of footsteps echoed into the
stairwell. Murphy reached his hand forward and clicked off the light. A dim,
soft glow emanated from the open door. Murphy knelt down and took a long
lunging step round the corner, squaring up on the exit above. Stephens quickly
moved forward, grabbing an angle and covering the other soldier from the corner.
“Who’s there?” Murphy
called out, causing Jacob to flinch with surprise; he hadn’t expected the
soldier to announce their position like that.
Sounds of scrambling
above and muffled voices reached Jacob’s ears and the light went out. Jacob
clutched the handrail and strained his ears to pick up the sound of Murphy’s
boot treads slowly ascending the staircase.
“Don’t ya’ll come up
here—I’ll blow ya’ll back to hell where ya come from!” a woman’s voice shouted.
“Now hold up!” Murphy
said. “We’re not here to hurt anyone!”
“Ya’ll ain’t dragging me
off; you’ll have to kill me first!”
Stephens moved up the
steps, holding a palm up to Murphy as he passed. Murphy nodded his approval.
“What the hell you talking about, lady? We ain’t the darkness!”
“The hell you ain’t; now
get to stepping before I come at you with this twelve gauge!”
“Lady, you ever seen one
of those things in an argument?” Stephens said; his voice lower.
After a pause the woman
answered, “Well, no, I guess I haven’t.”
“Ma’am, now I’m coming
up; if you shoot me… well, you’re gonna have some explaining to do to my momma,”
Stephens said.
Still staying in the
cover of the stairwell, Murphy stepped ahead and followed close behind Stephens
while Jacob held back on the rail. He watched as the light came back on and a
shadow cut across it. Stephens stepped up the stairwell, the soft light
outlining his form as he cautiously took the steps one at a time. Jacob
observed as Stephens let go of his rifle and, letting it hang slack from the
sling, stepped to the landing at the top of the stairs. He put his hands up and
extended them into the hallway.
“Okay, see my hands? I
don’t intend no harm on y’all. I’m coming in, okay?” Stephens said, speaking
calmly.
“Yeah, I see ‘um,” the
woman answered.
“Nana, just put the gun
down,” a younger man’s voice called.
Stephens continued to
extend his arms as he walked into the hallway. He stepped clearly into the
light and held his hands up, the soft light illuminating his face and uniform.
Garbled words were exchanged in soft voices. Then Stephens peered back into the
stairwell, looking at Murphy and Jacob, and said, “You can come up.” Murphy
lowered his weapon and waved Jacob forward.
Chapter
15
An elderly grey-haired
woman stood looking at them suspiciously, a shotgun tightly gripped in her
hands. A young man walked past her and greeted Stephens enthusiastically. “Good
to see you, brother. Where’s everyone else? When are we leaving?”
Moving Jacob ahead,
Murphy stepped out of the stairwell to stand beside Stephens and looked back
into the dark hallway. He tried to close the door behind him but found it was
stuck open.
“Mr. Carson broke the
door when the elevators went out. Door was locked from the inside, and it was
the only way to get back up here,” the young man said, watching Murphy’s
attempts to secure the entrance. “He was supposed to come back for us… but
never did.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
Stephens asked.
“Tyree,” he answered.
“Tyree, why didn’t you
all leave with the others?”
The young man placed his
hand on the older woman’s arm. “Nana, you can go back inside,” Tyree whispered.
She looked at the
strangers and shook her head at them before turning and walking back down the
dark hallway. Near the end of the passage, she stopped and threw them one last
scowl before disappearing into an apartment.
The young man looked back
at Stephens. “My papa has been ill for a while and he can’t walk; he’s in a
chair and needs oxygen. When the folks came to get us on the bus, they didn’t
have an ambulance or a wheelchair for him. The police said they’d send someone,
but they dint.”
“This place was locked up
tight. Boarded and chained,” Murphy pointed out.
Tyree nodded his head.
“That was Mr. Carson, the landlord. He stayed back with my grandparents to help
them out after they got everyone else out. Nana and Papa were the only tenants
left in the building. He watched over them ‘til me and my cousin got here. Carson
locked us in, sealed up the building, and went for help.”
“When was this?” Murphy
asked.
“Bout three days ago,
maybe. After the electricity shut off,” Tyree said. “You all thirsty? We got
water… food.”
“Thank you, I could use a
bite. We’ve been on the move since yesterday,” Murphy answered.
An explosion in the
distance roared outside and shook the building, causing the windows at the ends
of the hallway to rattle. Jacob stepped back and put his hands to the wall.
“It’s okay. That shit’s
happening a lot, but this ol’ building is tough; it ain’t falling down anytime
soon,” Tyree said as he turned to walk toward the apartment at the end of the
hall.
Stephens glanced over at
Murphy. When all Murphy did was shrug his shoulders, Stephens sarcastically
smiled before stepping off to follow Tyree. Murphy started to follow as well when
Jacob reached out a hand and grabbed his forearm. “What are we doing? We need
to keep moving.”
“Relax, we’re just
stopping long enough to get eyes on the area, and we’ll be on our way,” Murphy
said, pulling away and following Stephens.
Jacob stood looking down
the dark hallway; every apartment door was partially opened, and the windows at
each end of the long hallway had been covered with paper. He turned and glimpsed
back at the broken door as explosions outside made an ominous rumbling sound
that crept up the stairwell. Listening to the growling echo up the stairs and
the trembling as the building protested the concussion of every bomb drop,
Jacob suddenly realized he was alone in the dimly lit space. Shaking himself,
he quickly moved out after his friends.
Jacob reached the
apartment the others had entered and, slipping quietly through the open door,
paused in a small hallway. The apartment was neatly made up and well kept. Family
pictures covered the walls and Jacob recognized Tyree in several of them—as a
young boy sitting on a sailboat and holding a fishing pole, group photos of
happier times, but most notably, his high school graduation photo, enlarged and
holding a prominent spot above a large maple bench.
Jacob followed the voices
he could hear to the end of the small hallway. He walked into a living room
where an elderly man, wearing an oxygen mask, lifted a hand to wave. Jacob
forced a smile and returned the gesture as younger man, possibly late teens,
moved from the kitchen and looked Jacob up and down. “You a cop?” he asked
accusingly.
Jacob sighed and shook
his head. “You know, I’m going to have to get a new tailor.”
“What’s that supposed to
mean?” the kid asked.
“Means I found this gear
in the back of a cop car. I’m not a police officer,” Jacob answered.
“Cool, because I got
warrants,” the kid said.
The old man snapped the
oxygen mask from his face, the sudden movement catching Jacob’s eye. “James, will
you shut up? The police ain’t sending nobody out here to arrest you for
speeding tickets.” The old man looked up at Jacob. “Pardon my grandson; he
tries to play tough, but he’s harmless.”
“Papa, will you stop? We
don’t owe these folks any explanation,” James said, looking embarrassed.
“Child, hush, and go get
this fella something to eat,” the old man ordered.
Jacob let his arms relax,
still not used to the weight of the rifle and tactical vest. Seeing his
discomfort, the old man offered him a seat. Jacob moved across the room, pushed
aside crumpled blankets and pillows, and sat at the corner of a sofa. He closed
his eyes and tipped his head back as the weight relaxed from his back.
“Sorry about the mess;
the boys been staying with us and we ain’t got a lot of room,” the man said.
Jacob scanned the space;
it was a humble apartment—heirloom furniture, sofa and chairs, a small dining
table for two just outside of the kitchen door. The windows had heavy blankets
pulled over them, sealing out the light. The apartment door was open, but Jacob
could see where furniture had been pushed against it at one point.
Following Jacob’s stare
to the front door, the old man said, “We used to keep it closed up but we leave
it open ’cause the floor is empty now and the doors downstairs is all locked.
Might need to change our policy, though, considering you folks just walked up
on us like that.”
James returned to the
room and eyed Jacob suspiciously before handing him a plate and a small plastic
cup. “Here, it’s just water and a grilled cheese.”
Jacob accepted the plate.
“Been a bit since I had a hot meal; thank you.”
“I wish I had more for
you. Y’all can call me Ernest, or Ernie; most my friends do. Gas is still on up
here; keeps the stove going. Some water pressure from the tank on the roof, but
not sure how long that’ll last.”
Jacob took a long drink
of the water. He looked at Ernie and nodded. “It’s good; thank you, sir.”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch
your name.”
“I’m Jacob.”
The old man turned his
head, stretching to see into the kitchen. “Listen, Jacob, I know what’s
happening out there. I been hearing what they say on the radio.”
Jacob looked to the old
man. “I don’t have answers, if that’s what you’re asking—” He stopped as the
sound of an explosion rattled the windows and shook the building.
The old man shook his
head. “I’m not looking for that, Jacob. I need you to get the boys out of here.
I already talked it over with the wife; we won’t last out there, especially not
on those streets... not in no shelter either. We’ll be okay up here; we got
food and water and can get by for some time on our own. I need you to promise
that when you leave, you’ll take the boys.”
Tyree walked into the
room. “Papa, I already told you we ain’t leaving without you, so stop bothering
this man.”
“You got to; these folks
will need your help, anyhow.”
Jacob looked at Tyree and
noticed the others were now moving out of the kitchen.
“How, exactly, would we
need their help?” Jacob asked.
“They know the streets.
You’ll find that the roads are all blocked. These two can get you in and out
and up to the island—I know that’s where you all are headed; no other reason
for you to be up this far.”
Murphy stepped into the
room, raising a hand as he swallowed. “What do you know about the roads being
blocked?” Murphy asked. He took a seat next to Jacob, holding a half-eaten
sandwich.
Ernie grinned and pulled
back a blanket on his lap. He had a small handheld police scanner. He held it
up and clicked it on; hearing nothing but static, he powered it back off. “It
was alive with reports up ‘til about four hours ago. That’s when the fire
department called in for help. We heard their distress calls; said they were
pulling back to the south. Later, those men out front, they got shot up and
their vehicles wrecked.
“That street out front
will get you killed. You’re gonna have to stick to the alleys. These boys can
help you.”
Tyree raised his hand and
stepped closer to face Ernie, moving behind his chair and leaning over his
shoulder. “I told you, Papa, we ain’t leaving. Now stop this.”
“It's okay, Ty,” the old
woman said. “Your grandfather and I already discussed it; it’s all been figured
on. You know I can’t go running and jumping over no fences, and no way I’d go
an’ leave him here alone. When you get to the island, you can tell ’em where we
be and they’ll come back for us. I got plenty here to take care of your Papa.”
Tyree looked down and shook
his head, then stepped away while looking toward the hall and staring at the
door. James moved from the kitchen and hugged the woman. “Don’t make us go,
Nana,” he said, his voice breaking.
The old man cleared his throat
and looked back at Jacob. “Now, y’all can take what you need. The boys
scrounged up plenty from the empty units, but you need to be going quick. It’s
been quiet for a couple hours, but you can bet it won’t last.”
“Wait!” Murphy said loud
enough to silence them. “Tell me about what happened out front; you saw it?”
Tyree turned away and
looked at Murphy. “I saw it… I was on the roof.”
“Who did it, and how?”
“It was a bunch of trucks
and a school bus; they was driving down the center of the street, then the
people… you know them, the ones on the news—”
“The Darkness,” Stephens
said.
“Yeah, it was them. They
come out and filled the street. They was pushing at the vehicles; you know,
crowding around them and trying to open the doors to get in. But the trucks
didn’t stop; they just kept going, slowly pushing them out of the way. Then it
was like… shooting from everywhere. The trucks tried to speed up through the
crowd, but more of ’em—these different ones with guns—they started shooting.
The army guys, they started shooting back.
“Well, one of them things
had a bazooka or something because it blew a hole right through one of those
tanks out there; the one out front.”
Stephens nodded. “Yeah, and
then what?”
“Well, mostly the
vehicles kept going right through it, leaving that one out front to burn.
Later, some helicopters flew by and I waved to them from the roof, but they
didn’t stop. When I looked back at the street… they was all gone… every last
one of ‘em.
“I still been seeing them.
Right before you showed up, a group moved down the street, all carrying rifles.
A woman ran to them for help… they tackled her and drug her off.”
“Where did they take
her?” Stephens asked.
“I don’t know. Just gone…
up the street somewhere.”
“You think you can get us
to Northerly Island through all of that?” Murphy asked.
“No… no way. Not through
the city—too many people and too many places for them to get at us. You’re
talking ten miles on foot. If it was that easy, I would have already tried.”
“So think about how you would
go now. How would you go if you had to, without being seen?”
“Go to the lake,” Nana
said.
Murphy looked at her.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s where we want to get.”
“No, I mean straight to
the lake; you could go through the Oak Woods Cemetery and then to the harbor,”
Nana said.
Murphy looked at her,
then back to Tyree.
Tyree nodded his head.
“She’s right. It’s only a couple miles if we cut through the graveyard.”
Stephens chuckled. “For
real man? You want to go through the friggin' graveyard? In the middle of the
night?”
Murphy put up a hand,
silencing Stephens as he got to his feet and stepped toward Tyree. “Take me to
the roof and show me the route.”