and who knew if it was effective against the invaders’ weapons? Nobody had been able to examine a dead alien—or even one of their victims for that matter.
James waved a hand to the ground, slowing them as they approached the main cabin. The place appeared empty; a low fog hung close to the structures and blanketed the lonely buildings. In the yard of the cabin, Jacob spotted the trucks they used to get there. Along with their trucks were several open-backed Humvees and a massive cargo truck, and a white Toyota pickup was next to the barn. James let Duke move on his own, the dog zigzagging between the vehicles and stopping to sniff the air.
The point man knelt near a tree, waiting for the dog to return before he waved the others forward. Jacob moved close and squatted, finding a position where he could watch the road. He heard Masterson order five of the men to stay and secure the cabin site before ordering Rogers to push ahead. As Jacob got back to his feet, he could feel the mood change. The hair on his neck buzzed with electricity; moving onto the road felt dangerous and foreign to him.
Looking back at Rogers’ stone face and clenched jaw, he knew his leader was feeling it too. They were in a dangerous place now. James moved them across the road and onto high ground on the far side. It was a low ridge that gave them viewpoints over the gravel access road. They turned and moved south, cutting through a saddle and onto a high, tree-covered slope. Working their way to the top, they could begin to see the shapes of roofs and far off buildings from the high vantage point.
Pillars of black smoke snaked up from a bunching of homes. Farther away, where the gravel road met the paved highway, was a cluster of destroyed and smoldering vehicles—civilian cars and military trucks twisted and smashed. The distance spared him some of the carnage, but Jacob knew what he would find if he wandered closer.
James dropped into the cover of a large tree and waited for his teammates to join him. He huddled the dog close to his side, pointed down at the destroyed vehicles, and said, “What’s left of last night’s battle.”
Jacob used the scope on the M14 to examine the devastation. Nothing moved; no signs of life. Panning from left to right, he could see more signs of black smoke on the horizon. The rest of Masterson’s men moved up behind him and formed a wide, half-circular perimeter on the face of the hill. Riflemen moved in with nervous anticipation, finding bits of cover and concealment as they searched the far off sights.
Clem, the rough and tattered civilian, weaved in close to James with Masterson right behind him. He retrieved a pair of olive-green binoculars from his hip pocket and scanned the distant horizon. He pointed his hand and waved it past the distant streams of black smoke. “They’re hitting every bit of civilization between here and Lake Huron.”
Rogers ignored the older man. “We should go down and have a look, check for survivors.”
Clem pivoted and pointed to the east. The road twisted and disappeared into a series of deep cuts and rolling hills scattered with heavy trees. “No, they’re close; we need to stay out of sight.”
Rogers shook his head. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Cause it’s war. The sides change but tactics are always relative.” Clem paused to look down at the twisted, smoldering vehicles. “Looks like local survivors trying to make a caravan west, away from the landings. Got ambushed just past the intersection and tried to push through. Military escort pulled up ahead and went down with ’em.
“Yeah… if it was me, I’d have shot up everything in the kill box down there then dropped back into the cover of those hills. Yeah, I reckon they’re waiting in there.”
Rogers looked at Masterson with a smirk. “Who the hell is this guy?”
Clem put up a flat hand, waving off the comment. “I’m a nobody, kid, don’t you worry about me,” he said, passing
James waved a hand to the ground, slowing them as they approached the main cabin. The place appeared empty; a low fog hung close to the structures and blanketed the lonely buildings. In the yard of the cabin, Jacob spotted the trucks they used to get there. Along with their trucks were several open-backed Humvees and a massive cargo truck, and a white Toyota pickup was next to the barn. James let Duke move on his own, the dog zigzagging between the vehicles and stopping to sniff the air.
The point man knelt near a tree, waiting for the dog to return before he waved the others forward. Jacob moved close and squatted, finding a position where he could watch the road. He heard Masterson order five of the men to stay and secure the cabin site before ordering Rogers to push ahead. As Jacob got back to his feet, he could feel the mood change. The hair on his neck buzzed with electricity; moving onto the road felt dangerous and foreign to him.
Looking back at Rogers’ stone face and clenched jaw, he knew his leader was feeling it too. They were in a dangerous place now. James moved them across the road and onto high ground on the far side. It was a low ridge that gave them viewpoints over the gravel access road. They turned and moved south, cutting through a saddle and onto a high, tree-covered slope. Working their way to the top, they could begin to see the shapes of roofs and far off buildings from the high vantage point.
Pillars of black smoke snaked up from a bunching of homes. Farther away, where the gravel road met the paved highway, was a cluster of destroyed and smoldering vehicles—civilian cars and military trucks twisted and smashed. The distance spared him some of the carnage, but Jacob knew what he would find if he wandered closer.
James dropped into the cover of a large tree and waited for his teammates to join him. He huddled the dog close to his side, pointed down at the destroyed vehicles, and said, “What’s left of last night’s battle.”
Jacob used the scope on the M14 to examine the devastation. Nothing moved; no signs of life. Panning from left to right, he could see more signs of black smoke on the horizon. The rest of Masterson’s men moved up behind him and formed a wide, half-circular perimeter on the face of the hill. Riflemen moved in with nervous anticipation, finding bits of cover and concealment as they searched the far off sights.
Clem, the rough and tattered civilian, weaved in close to James with Masterson right behind him. He retrieved a pair of olive-green binoculars from his hip pocket and scanned the distant horizon. He pointed his hand and waved it past the distant streams of black smoke. “They’re hitting every bit of civilization between here and Lake Huron.”
Rogers ignored the older man. “We should go down and have a look, check for survivors.”
Clem pivoted and pointed to the east. The road twisted and disappeared into a series of deep cuts and rolling hills scattered with heavy trees. “No, they’re close; we need to stay out of sight.”
Rogers shook his head. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Cause it’s war. The sides change but tactics are always relative.” Clem paused to look down at the twisted, smoldering vehicles. “Looks like local survivors trying to make a caravan west, away from the landings. Got ambushed just past the intersection and tried to push through. Military escort pulled up ahead and went down with ’em.
“Yeah… if it was me, I’d have shot up everything in the kill box down there then dropped back into the cover of those hills. Yeah, I reckon they’re waiting in there.”
Rogers looked at Masterson with a smirk. “Who the hell is this guy?”
Clem put up a flat hand, waving off the comment. “I’m a nobody, kid, don’t you worry about me,” he said, passing
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