Chapter 20
The
thousand-foot long lake freighter was filled with passengers; every inch of the
rusty, red, painted surface occupied by the city’s refugees. The passengers
were divided and separated along the decks; families were kept together while single
men and women scattered along the port rail. Men in dark-blue utility uniforms
walked the passageways, handing out paper cups of water and small sandwiches.
Other men carried clipboards while gathering names and family information.
Tyree sat across from Jacob, waiting for his turn to speak with the ship’s
officer. They’d already reported the location of his grandparents to the
helicopter crew; the information was recorded, but no promise of rescue could
be made.
The
sailors had confiscated all of their ammunition as soon as they boarded the
freighter, but the pair was allowed to keep their weapons. Jacob’s police
tactical vest still provided him with benefits. When they attempted to separate
him from Tyree, Jacob quickly interrupted and said they were traveling
together. A crewmember at first protested but upon seeing the embroidered badge
on his vest, he nodded, apologized, and allowed the men to stay together.
Jacob
hadn’t seeing Murphy since they had landed and members of the crew quickly
ushered him away to rally with other soldiers. Stephens remained on the
helicopter and had been sent off to receive treatment for his wounds at a
hospital somewhere to the north. The ship was anchored offshore in the company
of several others just like it. He overheard other men talking about how the
flotilla had been out for days. Many of the men complained how this was
supposed to have only been a temporary spot until the city could be secured.
Failing that, they would sail north to islands that were still unaffected by
the attacks.
A
bearded man carrying a scoped rifle and wearing torn, battered clothing walked
across the deck, looking at Jacob’s vest. He motioned at a space by the rail
and asked if he could sit. Jacob agreed, waving his arm and welcoming the man
to drop into the space next to him. The man introduced himself as Michael and
said he’d been on the boat for twelve hours—ever since he had been pulled out
of the water near Michigan City.
“How
are things that way?” Jacob asked him.
The
man shrugged and lit a cigarette. “Bout the same, I figure; they’re everywhere,
multiplying by the hour. I don’t think this is something we can fight.”
“You
come in by helicopter then?”
“Nah,
I got a boat,” he answered before taking a long drag on the cigarette. “Well…
had a boat. The Coast Guard commandeered it. I was able to get a couple families
out… I left a lot behind too.”
“I
was south of Chicago in the suburbs. I’m trying to get back,” Jacob said.
Michael
looked at him. “Yeah, I heard you all were planning a counterattack, trying to
get a foothold on the city. He with you?” Michael said, pointing down the
passageway.
Murphy
was walking in his direction with another sailor following close behind him. He
stopped just short of Jacob and lowered a hand to help lift him to his feet.
“Jacob, you’re coming with me. Tyree, the petty officer here will be getting
information on the whereabouts of your grandparents. Give them what they need;
they can help.”
Tyree
nodded and shook Murphy’s hand, thanking him. “What about Stephens?”
Murphy
put his hand on Tyree’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine; the Coast Guard got him to a
military hospital—”
“Do
you have any news on my family? Did you tell them what we saw at the
graveyard?” Jacob interrupted to ask.
Murphy
nodded patiently. “Come on, let’s go; you have a lot to hear.”
Murphy
turned and walked away, keeping Jacob beside him so they wouldn’t get separated
on the crowded deck. They rounded a corner at the large bridge structure where
a pair of guards in digital-blue uniform stood watch. They nodded to Murphy and
allowed the two men to pass. Jacob followed Murphy along the structure on the
portside and neared a ladder where Jacob grabbed at Murphy’s elbow, stopping
him.
“So?
Where are they?” Jacob asked.
Murphy
pulled away. “Just come inside; they’ll brief us, and then I can answer your
questions.”
Jacob
stood his ground and put out an arm, blocking Murphy’s path to the ladder.
“Just tell me. Are they dead?”
Murphy
shook his head. “No man, it’s not that.” Murphy paused, looking around him then
pushed Jacob closer to the ladder and out of sight of the guards. “Your family
is at the Field Museum. They’re calling it the Castle—”
“Then
why don’t they get them out!” Jacob interrupted again.
“Believe
me, they’re trying. The Castle is cut off and surrounded now. So far, the walls
are holding but it’s a desperate situation on the ground. They need help.”
Jacob
looked at Murphy, confused. “I don’t understand; what’s going on?”
“Jacob…
they need men to assault the beach to take back the island and Grant Park… or
at least hold it long enough to get the survivors out. While the beaches are
assaulted, the pilots can use the distraction to bring in every available air
asset to get the survivors back here.”
“Why
all the secrecy about Laura and Katy; why didn’t you just tell me they were
there?”
“The
captain didn’t want you to know their whereabouts until you volunteered to join
the assault,” Murphy said, looking Jacob in the eye.
“Me?
How? I can’t go…” Jacob muttered.
Jacob
pointed at the badge on Jacob’s chest. “I used this to get you in the door.
They’re desperate and just stretched too thin, Jacob. Most have already given
up on the city; they don’t think we have the ground resources to make this
happen. Some want us to just pull back and leave the city to its fate.”
“I’ll
go, but… I’m not a soldier, Murphy. Hell, I’m not even a cop.”
“I
know that,” Murphy said. “We’ve got law enforcement on board. They’re going to
start hitting up able-bodied civilians until they get a body to every rifle and
a seat filled on every boat. If I judged you wrong, I’ll understand; but if
this assault doesn’t succeed… well, you know the score.”
“Murphy,”
Jacob asked, looking at him sincerely, “what about your family?”
“I
don’t even know, man; I left them alone when I reported to my unit. You know
how that worked out,” Murphy said shrugging it off and obviously not wanting to
talk about it.
Jacob
lowered his arm to clear the way for Murphy to proceed.
“You
know what, Jacob? If my family is in trouble, I hope there are people like you
and me trying to help them.”
Murphy
took a deep breath and let out a sigh before slapping Jacob on the shoulder.
Jacob watched as the soldier turned and moved to the ladder before climbing it
to a small landing. Murphy rapped on the door and stepped back as the hatch
opened.
“You
coming?” Murphy called down to him.
Jacob
nodded and ran up the stairs.
***
The
duo was greeted at the hatch by another sailor in blue camouflage who led them
down a dark ladder to below decks. They entered a passageway that stunk of
solvents and fresh paint.
“Watch
your step,” the sailor said as they passed through another hatch.
The
sailor stopped and waited for them to catch up before he opened a door and
ushered them in. Murphy led the way and moved into what looked like a small
company cafeteria. Even though he’d never personally seen one, Jacob knew it
must be the ship’s galley; the tables were filled with men in varying
uniforms—pilots in flight suits, state troopers, county cops, at least four
different blends of camouflage. A tall, old, and leathered man standing at the
front, wearing dark-green digital camouflage pointed to a pair of empty seats.
Jacob
squeezed through the crowded aisles and picked a spot. He watched as others
moved through the hatch and filed into the room. Everyone in the galley sat
quietly, looking at the floor or their watches or scribbling aimlessly on
notepads. The man in front did a quick head count, then held up four fingers to
the sailor at the door. The man opened the door and relayed the message to a
guard outside.
“Some
things never change. Hurry up and wait,” Murphy said under his breath, getting
some laughs from others nearby.
There
was another knock at the door; the sailor opened it and a group in civilian
clothing filed through. Jacob recognized Michael, the man that he’d spoken to
earlier. The civilians worked their way through the room and found seats in the
back. The man in front did another head count then faced the group.
“Gentlemen,
I am Captain Nelson. By now, I am sure you have figured out that the world is a
shit sandwich and we are all taking a bite. The fifty men in this
room—military, law enforcement, veterans, and civilians—along with groups of
men scattered among this ragtag flotilla of ships are all that’s left in the
region. We are all that’s left to stand against them.
“A
very high-level overview is that the city is lost and the state is lost. Our
forces have been pushed back; the lines we thought we held even twenty-four
hours ago have now been dissolved.” The captain paused and walked across the
room to put his hand on a table.
“I
know some of you have heard the rumors that we’re withdrawing to the north. I’m
afraid it’s true. In less than eighteen hours, we will all be moving north to
the upper peninsula of Michigan. That being said, we have eighteen hours to get
the remaining people out of the city; eighteen hours before the Air Force
finishes what they started and bombs those things back to hell.” The captain
stopped talking and looked down at the silent faces at the tables. He looked
away and pointed to a young officer in the front row.
“Lieutenant
Richards, the floor is yours,” he said, stepping to the side and finding a seat
in the corner.
A
clean-shaven young man dressed in a khaki uniform and carrying a dark, leather
folder moved to the front. He dropped the folder on a table and turned around.
The
young officer cleared his throat, and then looked nervously at the captain.
“This is a classified briefing, sir.”
“Lieutenant!”
the captain interrupted. “Please continue.”
The
young officer looked at his notes before looking back up at the men in the
crowd. “Under these extenuating circumstances, the captain has ordered me to
pass on this information. I would appreciate it if—”
“Lieutenant,
keep it moving!” the captain said.
“Yes,
sir. Petty officer, please dim the lights.”
The
lights were lowered and a large map of the earth was projected on the wall. The
officer removed a laser pointer from his shirt pocket and shot a line running
parallel through Chicago.
“Fourteen
days ago, the NASA space weather bureau reported a meteor shower that
encompassed the 42
nd
parallel.
What made this event atypical is that it ran a straight, precise line down the
42
nd
as if deployed from a
high Earth orbit. NASA, through radar and satellite analysis, confirmed that
neither we nor any allies—or enemy, for that matter—had any birds on that
trajectory.
“Six
hours after the event, the anomalies began. Data collection now confirms the
earliest reports were simultaneously recorded in California, Connecticut,
Illinois, Iowa, Massachusetts, Michigan, New York, Pennsylvania, and overseas
in Europe and Asia.” As the officer spoke, his laser pointer drew a straight
line across the world map marking spots as he read them off.
Jacob
looked at Murphy. “Is this for real?” he whispered.
“Just
listen,” Murphy answered, not looking away from the screen.
More
sidebars broke out in the room. “Gentleman, hold questions and conversations to
the end!” the captain shouted over their voices.
The
young officer turned away from the map and looked back at his notes. “Thank
you, sir,” he said as he flipped pages and looked back at his audience.
“Twelve
hours after the event, mass disappearances were reported. Eighteen hours after
the event, civil disturbances and riots broke out; at forty-eight hours, we
began losing communications with remote areas; by seventy-two hours, the
condition had spread one hundred miles north and south of the 42
nd
.”
“Lieutenant,
let’s skip ahead,” the captain said.
Richards
leafed through his stack of papers and placed them back in his folder. “Yes, sir;
next slide please.” The men in the room gasped as a fully dissected naked male
body appeared on the screen. The young officer moved his pointer over the
display. “As you can easily see, the anatomy of the aggressor is not human.
Next
.”
A
new slide showed the same man, but the chest cavity had been cleared away and
the top of its head removed. “As you see on this slide, organs do exist at
early stages. Although very rudimentary—and with the exception of the brain,
eyes, and some sort of lungs—they are not recognizable. They have no
identifiable circulatory or nervous system; a sort of single-cell caustic gel
has replaced them. The gel consumes the human organs and systems then uses the
energy produced to transform the carrier. At the stage in this photo, the
carrier still holds a high percentage of measurable human DNA.