The Darkness (18 page)

Cass was knocked back but
recovered quickly and tossed a looped line over a cleat. He pulled the line
tight, ducking under the cover of the wall. Jacob watched as Cass turned and
pointed at him. “Go! What are you waiting for?” Cass yelled.

Jacob stood on wobbly
legs; he grabbed the edge of the wall and pulled himself up while being pushed
from behind at the same time as others scrambled to leave the boat. Although he
stepped high, his boot caught the edge of the sea wall. Forcing everything he
had into his leg, he launched himself up and out of the boat. Running ahead, he
saw the Others to his front charging toward the men invading the shoreline.

“Get to the trail!”
Murphy screamed.

Jacob raised his rifle,
firing at the ones directly to his front. He felt the state trooper fall in
behind him while another solder fell in to his left.

“Push forward, dammit!
Don’t stop!” Murphy yelled again.

Taking comfort in the
closeness of the rest of the squad, Jacob willed his legs forward. Soon they
were all falling in line with each other on the trail, firing to their front as
they moved forward.

The black-eyed creatures
were cut down as they advanced inland. The squad ran to the short wall lining
the highway that outlined the main grounds of the park. The state trooper took
a round to the cheekbone; his left hand reached up and touched the wound with a
gloved hand. He looked at Jacob and asked, “Is it bad?”

Jacob watched the trooper
remove his hand, revealing the blood, bone, and ripped flesh that hung off his
face. “Fuck yeah, it’s bad,” Jacob answered.

Cass jumped between them
yelling, “Get your rifles back in the fight!”

Cass yanked a bandage off
the trooper’s belt and wrapped his face and cheek while the trooper returned
fire into the remaining creatures. All the teams were ashore and bodies—friend
and foe—littered the approach.

As Jacob scanned to the
left and right, he saw a sea of rifles pointing over the short wall. The
soldiers held fifty feet of open terrain along the highway. The other short
wall on the opposite side would have to be crossed to get to them. A pair of
creatures charged forward, jumping the far wall and running onto the highway. All
along the line, weapons opened up and shredded the beasts as scared defenders
fired at anything that moved.

Murphy walked back and
forth behind the line of soldiers. Slapping shoulders and encouraging them
while also assisting with weapons malfunctions. “Watch your lanes! Conserve
your fire!” Murphy yelled up and down the lines.

“What does that mean?” a
man yelled in a frustrated voice.

“Shoot what’s in front of
you
, not what’s in front of
me
!” a soldier yelled back
sarcastically.

The immediate enemy
turned away from the highway and back to the fighting on Michigan Avenue. With
the highway and beachfront now clear, Jacob could hear the frantic battle and
screaming of the air assault teams. The sky soldiers had done their job pulling
the Others off the beaches and luring them to their positions further inland.
Now the air assault troops were cut off from the beachfront, overwhelmed, and
surrounded on Michigan Avenue. Gunships flew in making strafing runs, trying to
provide desperate cover.

 “The Apaches only have
enough fuel and ammo for a couple passes,” Cass said to no one in particular.
“They’ll have to drop back soon.”

 Jacob sat at the wall,
staring into the smoky mist and listening to the battle. Distant screams mixed
with the rapid firing of rifles and machine guns. He knew that when the Others
finished with the air assault troops, they would move back to the highway. Explosions
ripped across Michigan Avenue and clouds of dark smoke billowed across the
grasses of the park, obscuring the view ahead. Bright flashes of light shone
through like orange glows of fire as nearby buildings ignited.

Far to the south, Jacob
could see the transport helicopters returning. They hovered then dropped to the
roof of the stone-walled “castle”. Too far to see individual people, he still
knew the assault was working; the aggressors were being pulled off the museum,
allowing the helicopters to get in close enough to make extractions. The
gunfire to the front gradually picked up, and then slowly declined as the air
assault troops were taken out of the fight.

“Get ready, they’ll be
coming for us now!” someone yelled.

Men to his left and right
lay pressed against the wall. Veteran soldiers undid snaps on their vests and
readied magazines for quick access; grenades were placed on the tops of the
walls. An engineer team bravely ran to the center of the road and placed a
hasty line of claymores before bailing back.

A man’s hoarse scream
came out of the smoke. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” he yelled as he emerged from
the smoke and haze. He leapt over the far wall and tumbled to the street then crawled
forward before clawing back to his feet.

“Go! Get out of here… they’re
coming… there’s too many of them!” he yelled as he ran across the highway,
breaking through the near wall just feet from Jacob.

The man pulled himself
over the wall and scrambled for the boats. A sergeant tackled him and pulled him
down behind cover, trying to calm him. Jacob could hear the man screaming, yet
not able to make out the words. The mob in the smoke drowned out all other
sounds. As they drew closer and the yelling become frenzied, the state trooper
to Jacob’s left backed away from the wall.

“Fuck it, I didn’t sign
up for this!” the trooper said, turning away. Cass was behind him and shoved
him back into position.

“There is no place to
run!” he yelled up and down the line. “Get ready!”

Jacob had flashbacks of
watching old movies about forces armed with axes, charging an opposing army who
stood behind a shield wall and waited for a tidal wave of death to push against
them. British soldiers on line, facing down waves of charging Zulu warriors; every
man on the wall had a purpose and together, they were strong. If one man failed
and allowed a breach in the shield wall, they all would fall.

The swarm grew louder,
their feet beating against the sod and pavement. The smoke hanging over the
park appeared to boil from the turbulence of thousands of attackers charging
under the haze. The first of them rammed the far wall; the rest were moving so
fast they collided and tumbled over it as rapid salvos from the soldiers’
rifles cut them down. Another wave was close behind and moved the mass forward
like a bulldozer shoving them to their deaths at the hands of the soldiers’
rifles. The next wave slowed; calculated now, they dropped into cover. While
looking for holes and running at angles, they hurdled over the barriers.

Tactics changed again and
they massed farther to Jacob’s right. Wave after wave launched at the wall
before the attacks moved to the middle, and then more to the left. Probing for
a weakness, they hit every section. Bodies stacked up on the roadway, hanging
lifeless on the far wall, and Jacob continued firing into their rushing bodies
and faces. When his weapon would empty, he’d quickly reload. He dropped a
magazine in the grass at his feet and when he went to retrieve it, he saw the
piles of scattered brass.

“How many more can there
be?” a man yelled.

“More than we have ammo
for,” another answered back.

Jacob’s hand slapped his
vest at empty ammo pouches. They were right, he’d already expended half his
rounds, and the things were still coming. A sniper’s bullet caught the man to
Jacob’s left, his head snapping back as more shots knocked out men to the left
and right.

“Sniper!” a sergeant
screamed.

Jacob prepared to duck
just as another mass hit the walls. In coordination with the sniper’s fire, the
mass was able to break the wall and move to the center of the road. The
claymores exploded, cracking like a bolt of lightning shooting down the length
of the highway, covering the pavement in concrete dust and thick smoke. Jacob’s
ears rang from the overwhelming noise. A hand grabbed him, pulling him off the
wall, and then turned him south. He stumbled to his feet but upon seeing others
move, he stepped off and jogged with the group.

“We’re falling back to
the Castle,” men yelled as they turned to fall back to the trail and run south
to the museum.

His view to the right as
he ran to the Castle was obscured in smoke. Ahead, though, he could still see
the beacons of the helicopters orbiting and landing on the museum roof in their
rescue mission. The trail moved up into an elevated road that overlooked the
park where abandoned sandbag fighting positions were being re-occupied by the
withdrawing soldiers. When Cass pulled his team aside, attempting to regroup
the fleeing men, Jacob could see the stone steps and structure of the aquarium
behind him. The museum itself was still far away, its solid walls standing tall
while rings of bodies surrounded it. Sandbags stacked in the first floor
windows supported rifle barrels of the helmeted men looking out.

A battle-worn man stomped
forward. Jacob immediately recognized him as the captain from the ship. Now
wearing green body armor and sporting a large cut across his forehead, he moved
out of the crowd. He carried a pistol slack in his right arm as he grabbed
Murphy with his left hand, pulling him close. The captain turned and pointed to
a position far to the south, away from the reinforced line on the other side of
the Castle grounds. Murphy nodded, looked back, and waved a hand at the
remnants of his squad to bring them in.

Captain Nelson looked at
the weary bunch. “You men! Follow me; we have to support the far flank,” he ordered.

“Lead the way, sir!”
Sergeant Cass shouted back, answering for the group.

Incoming rounds smacked
the sandbag barriers behind them as they moved on. When the roar of the mobs
began again, Jacob turned. From the overlook, he could see thousands of
charging people moving at the elevated line. Machine guns opened up from the
left and right while soldiers launched grenades into the swarm. A mortar crew
fell into position and quickly set up their tubes before lobbing high explosive
rounds into the mass. Muzzle flashes revealed the positions of the enemy in the
far-off tree lines, bushes, and gardens. The enemy shooters were supporting the
charging mob with surprisingly accurate fire. Jacob was mesmerized by the chaos
of the scene and he stood like a spectator in awe watching the battle.

“Jacob!” Murphy yelled.

Jacob spun around; the
rest of the squad was moving out to the south and following the captain. He
looked back one more time at the murderous mob, and then turned to follow his
squad leader.

Chapter
22

Captain Nelson moved them
away from the sandbag defensive wall to farther south on the shoreline and into
what could be described as the backyard of the museum. Jacob saw the dead
scattered over the grounds; many were dressed in uniform, but several were the
dried, shriveled bodies that he knew were the Others. Looking to the right as
he followed the squad, he could see the back face of the museum; to his left
was a sort of park with small snack bars and the aquarium. The captain led them
through the destruction and to another walled barrier that marked the end of
the museum grounds. As on the near side, this side was also fortified with
bunkers—many that now stood empty.

Jacob could see the
beginnings of the famous museum running parallel to the defensive line. The
steps were covered in strands of concertina wire; bodies were twisted and
tangled in the jumbled coils of wire, piled in excess of ten feet. Looking
beyond the far side of the museum building, he saw a tall, battered sandbag and
plywood position standing watch over a once grassy approach to the museum
grounds. In the distance, Jacob could also see Soldier Field, a large football
stadium; the approach was now pockmarked with craters and burnt swaths of grass
as scorched bodies lay over what was once a parking lot. A road that led
visitors to the museum park was now filled with blackened skeletons of
vehicles.

Hundreds of meters out,
an explosion flashed, filling the darkened field with a glimmer of light.

“Anti-personnel mines,” a
man said from up above.

Jacob looked up at the bunker
in front of them. Facing south, the nearly twenty feet long structure guarded
the rear and flank of the museum grounds. Made from intertwined double
sandbagged walls, it was elevated and built on top of HESCO barriers. Comprised
of large wire-reinforced bags filled with gravel, the HESCO barriers were
stacked side by side until they formed a foundation for the defensive position built
directly on top of it. In order to gain access, a soldier from above dropped
down a handmade wooden ladder to the group.

Captain Nelson put a hand
on Murphy’s shoulder to pull him in. “It’s been quiet on this side of the Castle
since the beach assault started, but we know the black-eyes will be back. We
have to hold the flank while the survivors are airlifted out, and then we’ll
withdraw from the beach.”

Murphy nodded his reply.

Captain Nelson pulled him
closer. “Sergeant Murphy, I don’t know how to emphasize this. It is
imperative
that we hold. If we lose this position and get surrounded, we will never leave
this park. Everything we fought for tonight will be lost—”

More mines exploded in
the distance in ones and twos, then several in rapid succession.

Captain Nelson turned and
looked over his shoulder at the blasts in the approach. “We were able to
convince the Air Force to scatter AP mines all along this area after we
abandoned the stadium. It has slowed them down some, but it hasn’t stopped
them—”

More explosions, followed
by heavy machine gunfire from their rear at the reinforced line, caught the captain’s
attention; he took a deep breath and looked at Murphy. “Sergeant, hold the
flank… nothing gets through.”

“How long, sir?” Murphy
asked.

Nelson looked at the men
around the bunker with a somber expression. “Good luck, Sergeant; take care of
your men,” he said, turning away.

More AP mines exploded,
closer now, and the soldier at the top of the ladder shouted, “You guys need to
get up here!”

 Sergeant Cass stepped
ahead and quickly climbed the rungs. Jacob followed him to the top where they
discovered that only four men manned the bunker. Of the four, one had his left
arm tied off to his body with bloody bandages, and another’s face was bleeding
from tiny scratches. Jacob moved deeper into the structure, nearly tripping
over a row of blanket-draped bodies.

“Hey, watch yourself,” a
soldier said, looking up from a radio handset. “We haven’t been able to get
them out. The living have priority on evac.”

Jacob shuddered and
quickly walked away to the far side of the bunker. He dropped against the
sandbag wall and looked back at the museum. Exhausted, he sat back in the dark,
pulling his knees to his chest before leaning his head against the bags.
Gunfire rang out from the reinforced line on the other side. Men screamed and machine
guns ripped off long bursts. When a flare was launched somewhere over Grant
Park, he could see the backlit silhouettes of people moving along the roof of
the museum. Helicopters dropped in from high altitude, quickly loading
passengers before lifting away and flying back out toward the freighters. Jacob
stared at the people in line, imagining that he saw Laura with Katy in her
arms.

She looked down at him
and smiled. He raised a hand to wave then watched her turn away to head toward
the door of a waiting helicopter. Jacob felt comfort knowing that his family
would make it out, even if he didn’t.

“Come on, man; wake up,”
Cass said, slapping him on the cheek.

Jacob looked up at Cass,
not realizing he’d drifted asleep. “Sorry,” he said.

“Come here, I need to
show you something,” Cass said.

He dragged Jacob to the furthermost
right corner of the bunker. The floor was covered with expended brass, and green
boxes of ammunition were stacked against the wall. A machine gun, with a large
scope attached to the top, rested on a bi-pod overlooking the approach.

“This is an M240 machine
gun. You are now a machine gunner,” Cass said, sliding Jacob behind the gun.

“Really easy: pull the
handle back, lock it, and let it ride forward. Tray opens like this,” Cass explained
as he pushed a tab, causing a tray to pop open.

“Grab a belt from a can
over here and drop it into the feeder tray—brass to the grass—then close the
tray; too easy, right?” Cass said, performing the actions and charging the
weapon. “You got that, hero?”

“I’ll figure it out,”
Jacob answered.

“Good, get it figured.
This here is your basic night scope; it pretty much sucks, but I need you to
keep eyes on the park and kill anything that comes at us. If it gets crazy and
you can’t see through the scope, look over it and walk your rounds in with the
tracers.”

Cass made a fist, slugged
Jacob on the chest, and waited for him to put the weapon’s stock into his
shoulder before walking away to position the rest of the squad. Jacob tried to
get comfortable. The weapon was at just below his armpits when standing. If he
stood with his legs apart and leaned forward then the scope lined right up with
his eye.

Jacob looked through the
cupped eyepiece and saw a grainy image flecked in green and white. He blinked
his eye and moved his head away, trying to focus. Moving closer to the eyecup,
he clenched his eyes tight then slowly opened them, trying to adjust to the
image. He swung the weapon left and right and was slowly able to make out
objects. He saw a flash far off from an exploding mine and moved the barrel in
that direction.

Burning debris flickered
in the scope—the remains of a taxi cab. Jacob swung to the left then paused to stare
at what looked like the hulk of a tree trunk. He tried to focus on the grainy
image when he detected movement from the corner of his sight picture. A single
man, lit in tones of black and green was walking in the direction of the
bunker.

“I see something!” Jacob
yelled over the sounds of the fighting behind them.

The man continued walking
toward him and as he drew closer, more walking figures materialized into the
image of the scope.

“Sergeant Cass, I see
them!” Jacob yelled again, not getting an answer.

In the scope, he watched
the man transition from a walk to a jog; the group behind began running as well
and soon the scope was filled with a mass of running figures. Mines began
exploding, and the machine gun on the opposite end opened up. Jacob watched
tracers cut through the image and when his own finger finally found the
trigger, he pulled. He fired a long burst, losing the enemy group as the weapon
jumped under its recoil. Jacob looked over the machine gun’s scope just before
someone in the bunker launched a flare.

The light under the
parachute now exposed the hidden creatures. The field was full of them; Jacob
pulled the trigger again, walking the tracers through the ranks of charging
men. Jacob watched a man in the mass pause and raise a rifle. Before the thing
could fire, he was cut down.

“Focus on the runners; we
got the shooters!” Murphy yelled, standing beside Jacob and firing his rifle
while searching the crowd. “Get back on the trigger, keep pouring it on!”

Jacob swept the gun left
and right, the 7.62 rounds chewing through the charging mass. Incoming rounds
splattered the sand in front of and next to the gun; even through heavy fire,
the mass was closing on them. Jacob pulled the trigger. Getting no response, he
looked to the left and found the belt had been expended and the gun was empty.
He popped open the tray as instructed, fumbled with the belted ammunition, slapped
the tray closed, and racked the bolt. Leveling his aim on a group closing the
distance on him, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Jacob felt panic
burning. He pulled the handle and racked the bolt again.

“Get that gun up!” a soldier
yelled from down the line.

Murphy looked over at
Jacob and jumped to the weapon, knocking Jacob out of the way. He pulled the
handle back and lifted the tray cover. “What the fuck? Links on top!” He
flipped the belt, fixed the mis-feed, and slammed the tray closed. “Fire!”

Jacob leaned back behind
the weapon and squeezed the trigger; the mob had closed to within fifty feet while
he was screwing with the gun. He strafed the area to his front, moving left to
right and felt the impact as the mob closed and slammed against the HESCO
barrier below. They screamed while trying to climb the barriers to get at the
men above.

“Frag out,” a soldier
yelled, dropping a grenade over the wall, the blast thumping the bunker. More
grenades dropped over the side and Jacob saw that an entire case of them was at
his feet, the cardboard tubes discarded all over the floor. Jacob continued to
fire as Murphy lobbed grenades. He lost his breath and felt fire in his ribs as
he was knocked to the bunker floor. Murphy ignored him and jumped on the M240,
getting the gun back in action.

Jacob bit the fingers of
his glove to remove it and slipped his hand into the front of his vest, wincing
with pain. Expecting blood, he pulled out his hand and found it dry. He slapped
the front of his tactical vest and found the hole where the round slapped
against the plate. Jacob tried to stand but stopped to look at the roof of the
museum—it was empty; there was no movement. Searching the museum grounds behind
them, he saw the soldiers were pulling back and running toward boats waiting in
the harbor.

“Everyone is leaving,”
Jacob said, not being heard over the gunfire.

He rolled to a knee,
pulling himself up the wall next to Murphy who was frantically working the
machine gun, trying to push back the overwhelming mass hoarded around the
tower.

“They’re leaving us!”
Jacob yelled.

“Get on your weapon!”
Murphy screamed, grabbing Jacob by the arm and shoving him toward the firing
ports. He stumbled forward, hitting the bag wall and looked down into the faces
of the screaming mass. Jacob stepped back and again felt Murphy’s shove. “If
you ever want to get out of here, kill them!” he ordered.

Jacob raised his rifle up
over the edge and fired at a steep angle down into the mass. No need to aim;
they were so close and pressed together that every shot was a hit. The soldier
on the radio lifted his head to yell down both sides of the bunker. “I have two
birds inbound! Danger close!”

Jacob dropped his
magazine, reloaded, and leaned back over the wall, firing at the black eyes of
the mob. Rounds penetrated the bags to his left and front.

“Willy Pete out!”
Sergeant Cass yelled.

Jacob watched as Cass
tossed a grenade into the crowd; it popped and threw white-hot burning shards
that ignited clothing and billowed clouds of acrid smoke that blocked the view
of the enemy shooters.

A roar ripped through the
sky as two long-winged aircraft cut overhead then peeled off, heading north on
Michigan Avenue, doing a flyby over Soldier Field.

“Those are our A10s! Here
they come!” the radio operator cheered.

The Warthogs looped back
around and lined up for a run. The sky roared with the thunder of the planes’
cannons firing rounds that exploded and ripped the earth apart. The sound
echoed across the park like the ground was being unzipped as a line of
destruction was painted to within fifty meters of the bunker, erasing
everything in its path. Jacob was lifted off his feet and tossed to the back
wall with the rumble of the earth.

The operator yelled down
the bunker, “They are coming in hot with Mark 84s—danger close! Danger close! Get
your heads down!”

 The A10s cut away and
climbed for altitude then dove in, releasing their bombs. The sky flashed white
and the earth rolled up like God shaking out a carpet; sandbags buckled and
collapsed back onto the parking lot below. Jacob felt the floor give as the
shockwave pushed the bunker off the HESCOs. He pulled his arms in and curled
into a ball when fragments and bodies fell all around him as they tumbled in a
waterfall of wreckage. Jacob landed on his belly, debris covering his back; he
crawled away from the bunker and rolled into the street. His ears ringing and
his nose bleeding, he coughed dirt and gagged because his mouth was too dry
with suet and dust to be able swallow.