Fight Like Hell [America Falls Series | Books 1-6]

by Medbury, Scott

  Orton’s group made it west through Connecticut and were travelling north through New York state when they met an armed group of twenty-five men on horseback. Met wasn’t really the right word. They were ambushed while they were walking along a two-lane highway through the forest. The attackers had come upon them from all sides - they were quick and well-armed, and Orton and his people were surrounded before they could react.

  While William was no coward, the odds were too stacked against them to fight or run.

  “What business do you have in New America?” the leader of the group had asked.

  He was a fearsome looking guy, with scar tissue running from high on his forehead and down over his empty left eye socket before finishing midway down his cheek. He wore a black tank top and pants. It was a warm day and sweat ran down his muscled arms as he slowly brought his horse forward to stop a few feet in front of William.

  William had always been nervous of horses and this one, carrying a man with a sword at his side and an AK47 in his hands, was no different.

  “Sorry, I’m not sure what New America is,” said William calmly, trying show he wasn’t intimidated. “We are just travelling north to Lake Ontario.”

  He had a Glock pistol in his belt, and while not an ideal outcome, he was quite willing to use it if things looked like going ass up. He had done some craven things since the end of America, but he certainly wouldn’t die like a coward.

  Their leader climbed out of his saddle and stepped up to William.

  “The state once known as New York is now called New America. And you’re trespassing,” said the one-eyed leader looking up at the taller, crooked nosed teen.

  William didn’t bother consulting his nervous looking travelling companions. Whatever the outcome, it would be decided by this one on one interaction.

  “We’re sorry, we didn’t realize. We can go back and take a different path.”

  “No,” said the other. “You’re now prisoners of New America. You’ll be taken to Albany, and the President will decide what to do with you.”

  “The President?”

  “Yes, President Riley.”

  “What?”

  William’s puzzlement was clear.

  “Not the old president,” their leader said. “Aidan Riley, his son. He’s president now.”

  “His son? Seriously?”

  It sounded extremely far-fetched, but then so did wiping out the entire adult population of a country with a virus. More importantly, they weren’t to die today. At least, not right there.

  “No more questions! You’ll hand over your weapons and form a straight line. Don’t try anything stupid. Anyone trying to run will be shot. No warnings.”

  “Do as he says,” called William to his people.

  His curiosity had been piqued, and beside the fact that he really had no choice, he wanted to find out more.

  He pulled out his gun and carefully placed it on the road as several of the other horsemen collected the few pistols and shotguns the others in his group had given up.

  The one-eyed leader came back over to Orton when the weapons had been confiscated. William stuck out his hand.

  “My name is William Orton. You are?”

  “I’m Cyclops,” the other teen said, ignoring William’s hand and turning back to his horse.

  “Of course, you are…”

  “What’s that?” said the leader, turning back to him, with one foot in the stirrup. For a teenager with only one eye, his stare was intense.

  “I said, of course, we’d love to come!”

  Cyclops glared at him a moment more, then finished mounting his horse.

  “Make sure your people keep up, or you’re the one who’ll be punished.”

  That had all happened in the very early days of ‘New America’ and Cyclops’ statement that the old New York State was now New America had been optimistic at best. While Aidan Riley’s group were by far the biggest group in New York, it was still a wild frontier with pockets of survivors scattered throughout. At that point, there was no way it could be described as a nation under one rule.

  Albany was impressive though. The bridge across the Hudson was a well-armed checkpoint, and the inner city itself had been fenced and blocked to effectively form a walled semi-circle south, north and west, with the river providing a natural barrier to the east.

  The streets were crowded with people. William, who hadn’t been in a crowd in a long time, found it almost overwhelming. This many people together in one place was more than he’d seen in the whole time since the invasion.

  Generally, they appeared happy and busy. There were lots of armed folk around, men and women. They wore mismatched clothes, but all in black.

  The people on the streets gave the procession plenty of attention but steered clear of the horsemen. Eventually, they pulled up in front of a massive three-story, stone building. It had a portico held up by six marble arches, and no doubt had been a court house or something similar in its previous incarnation.

  There were more of the black uniformed guards milling around the steps. William counted at least twenty. One came down the steps to greet Cyclops.

  “What have you got?” the man asked.

  The black beret he wore was the only thing that seemed to differentiate him from the rest of the guards.

  “A group we caught west of Salisbury,” said Cyclops in a bored tone as he climbed down from his horse. “I’ll take their leader in to see the President.”

  The man in the beret looked William Orton up and down, then nodded.

  “Okay. Him only, and two of my boys will accompany you.”

  “Fine.”

  Orton had the feeling the two had a history.

  “Come on.”

  William followed Cyclops up the steps with two guards either side of him. The entered a large marbled foyer that was manned by more of the guards and then went up another flight of stairs and took a left along a mezzanine level. At a big set of wooden doors, they were greeted by two more guards.

  “What’s up Cyclops?” said the one on the right, a muscular black kid with a deep voice.

  “Hey Bennet, I have a captive to see the president.”

  “He’s kind of busy with something.”

  “Well, you know the rules, any group we catch larger than ten, he wants to talk to the leader.”

  Bennet looked at William, then back at Cyclops.

  “How many?”

  “Twenty exactly.”

  “Okay wait here.”

  Bennet opened one of the doors and slipped in, closing it quietly behind him. William didn’t bother making small talk with Cyclops, he was about to meet the real deal, so why waste breath on a belligerent underling? Instead, he took the opportunity to look around the old courthouse. He wondered what kind of justice was being served by its new owner’s.

  He was about to find out.

  The doors opened after a few minutes, and they were ushered into a courtroom. The seats in the public gallery along with the defendant’s and plaintiff’s tables had been removed. It left the cavernous room empty except the jury box and the judge’s bench.

  There were only two guards in the room. They were facing the front and stood either side of a boy of about fourteen. The kid had his head bowed, and William noted that one of the guards next to him held a samurai sword. In front of them was a large metal brazier packed with glowing coals. The smoking embers cast the faces of the three in an orange glow.

  To the right three girls sat in the jury box. They were all around William’s age and wore makeup and what could only be described as ‘revealing’ clothing. His entrance seemed to pique their interest and they watched him like cats who had just eaten their fill watching a mouse, too full to pounce but unable to tear their eyes away from a potential meal.

  William let his eyes travel to the Judge’s bench. A tall teen sprawled on the big leather chair, his booted feet crossed on top of the bench. He held a wooden gavel in his hand and was tapping it on hi
s thigh. His face was hard, and his brown hair shorn to stubble, but there was no doubt in William’s mind, this was Aidan Riley, son of the last president of the United States.

  “Don’t be shy, come on down,” he said.

  Cyclops exited and pulled the doors shut. The guard called Bennet accompanied William as they headed towards the front.

  “You might want to give my boys some space, why don’t you stand over by the wall until this matter’s sorted?”

  William nodded and headed to the wall opposite the jury box shadowed by Bennet.

  “Where were we?” Aidan Riley asked the boy in front of him. “Oh yes, you stole a loaf of bread. That makes you an asshole. What do we do with assholes who steal, girls?”

  “Chop off their hand!” called the girls in the jury box as one.

  “Yes! That’s right. And we know he’s guilty because?”

  “He confessed!”

  “Correct.”

  The boy began to cry.

  “Oh, look. It won’t kill you son, but you must learn from this. After all, you know the two-strike rule for petty crimes, don’t you?”

  The kid sniffled and nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “One strike lose your hand. Two strikes lose your life.”

  “That’s right. Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  One of the guards grabbed the kids arm and pushed it out in front of him. The other, turned to face him, hefting the sword in his hand. The kid struggled, but the man holding him was too strong.

  William Orton watched, fascinated but unmoved. He was after all a sociopath.

  “Please!” bawled the kid, as the sword was raised high. “I’m sorry, I won’t…”

  The blade flashed, and the kid’s hand fell onto the timber floor of the courtroom with a soft plop. Amazingly he didn’t scream, just looked down at the hand with a surprised look on his face. He didn’t have time to contemplate it long. The guard holding him put an arm across his chest and shoved the bloody stump into the glowing embers of the brazier.

  The kid shrieked in agony as blood and flesh sizzled before passing out from the pain. The stench of burned meat assaulted William’s nose. He noted that the girls who had pronounced sentence so gleefully just a few minutes before, now looked a little off-color.

  “There we go,” said Riley in a regretful tone. “Okay take him out. Let’s hope he’s learned his lesson.”

  The guard picked the boy up and slung him over his shoulder before taking him past the judge’s bench and through a door in the back wall. The man with the sword picked up the severed hand and put it in a hessian bag attached to his belt.

  “Right,” said Riley. “Let’s get on with it, shall we? You can come forward.”

  Accompanied by Bennet, William confidently strode to the spot where the guy who had picked up the hand was now wiping up the blood with a rag. William was nervous but didn’t let it show. Riley smiled down at him. He smiled back.

  “Something funny?”

  William’s smile disappeared. He was on dangerous ground.

  “No, sir. Just being friendly.”

  “I see,” said Riley, nodding. “Not enough of that these days. So, what’s your name and where are you from, Mr. Friendly?”

  This drew a titter from the girls in the jury box.

  “William Orton. I’m from Massachusetts.”

  “Massachusetts? You’re a long way from home.”

  “Yes sir, it’s been quite a hike.”

  “Why aren’t you still in Massachusetts?”

  “It became too dangerous. We were only a small group, and there were gangs springing up everywhere.”

  Aidan Riley weighed him up a moment.

  “How many were in his group, Bennet?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty?” he said to William. “That’s not a small group. Why are you travelling through my country with a group of twenty?”

  “We were only three when we started out. We took people in as we travelled. We were headed to Lake Ontario; we didn’t realize we were trespassing.”

  “Hmm. You seem fairly unscathed by your experiences,” said Riley, looking him up and down. “Still well fed too, considering you’ve been on the road so long.”

  William nodded.

  “How? Why aren’t you a thin, ragged refugee?”

  Now it was William’s turn to weigh up Riley. Lie or truth. He went with the truth.

  “I made a deal with the devil.”

  Riley’s feet came off the bench, and he straightened in his seat.

  “Tell me more, Sport. What deal and with which devil?”

  “The Chinese. I’m not proud of it, but we were about to be put in a chain gang…”

  Riley held up his hand, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the girls in the jury box lean forward eagerly.

  “What deal?”

  “I offered to trap kids who were on the run from them. Kids they were having difficulty rounding up. My three friends and I had been hiding out in my grandmother’s house. It was big and comfortable and on the main highway. We saw lots of kids going past. I came up with the idea on the spur of the moment… I was desperate.”

  “I see. And did you deliver?”

  William looked at the floor and nodded.

  “Anything else?”

  “They gave us food and weapons.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” said Riley sharply. “To keep your own ass out of the fire, you offered to trap your fellow survivors, and hand them over to the Chinese for a lifetime of servitude… or death.”

  William’s heart began to pound, sure now that he’d made a terrible mistake. Riley turned to the three girls in the jury box.

  “What do you say members of the jury? Is he guilty or not guilty of being a traitorous asshole?”

  “Guilty!” they called as one.

  “And what do we do with traitors?”

  “Chop off their head!”

  Riley nodded, looking regretful. William tensed, and the man holding the sword smiled at him.

  “Luckily for you,” said Riley, looking at him. “I make the decisions around here. While I think you’re guilty of being an asshole and a traitor, it wasn’t me you betrayed. Mr. Friendly, I respect survivors. Especially ruthless survivors. Here’s the deal. Your group can stay or go; however if they choose to go, they’ll be shot. That’s the way New America works, you join, or you die. You though, I think you might be too dangerous to let loose in my city without someone to watch over you. What do you say about joining my guard? I’m always looking for ruthless assholes who can think quick on their feet.”

  Having been sure his life was about to end just moments before; a surprised William took a second to realize he was being given a reprieve. Not only a reprieve but a job.

  “Yes,” he said after he gathered himself. “You won’t find a more ruthless asshole than me - I promise.”

  “Excellent. Welcome to New America William.”

  William Orton kept his promise and then some. He had quickly worked his way up through the ranks of Riley’s guard and had eventually been awarded the title of General. The commander of the entire army of New America. It was an army now. Since Orton had arrived three and a half years before, it had grown from just over 100 poorly armed boys and girls to more than 3,000 strong. They had three tanks, trucks and 200 horses.

  Orton it seemed, had a knack for conquest. He had taken Aidan Riley’s dream to create a new America and had channeled it into concrete action. His ruthlessness coupled with a talent for organization and strategy complimented Riley’s expansive ambitions.

  They hadn’t outgrown Albany, but Orton had convinced the President that Rochester was more easily defensible and a larger, more suitable capital for ‘New America.’ Besides moving their capitol, they had conquered the rest of old New York state and started making inroads to the neighboring states of Massachusetts and Vermont.

  So far it had been easy. Their army was far superior to an
ything even the largest settlement had to offer. Generally, these settlements were just ragged pockets of undisciplined rabble, living like peasants in their own filth. Those that chose to lay down their arms and be absorbed into New America didn’t regret their decision long, and it always puzzled President Riley when they resisted.

  Orton liked it better when they chose to fight though. He always led the attack and kept a bloody tally of his kills – 290 – at last count.

  As he walked up the steps to the Brownhouse, a Romanesque, castle like structure that would have looked at home in a field surrounded by a moat, William knew Riley would be as excited by the information they had obtained from the captive as he was. It would now be his job to keep a lid on that enthusiasm and make sure that they did their homework before rushing headlong into what could be their first serious opposition.

  ***

  “Army?! That can’t be right. He was lying to you; they were wiped out when the flu hit.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Orton. He was annoyed that Riley had kept him waiting for ten minutes but hid it well. “We’d broken him by that point. He claims that the core of their personnel is a contingent that was inside an underground military facility.”

  “You trust what he told you?” asked Riley.

  “Not fully, but men broken like that usually only spill the truth.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  “They have a population of around five-hundred, but at least three hundred and fifty can be called upon to fight. From what he said, they’re well-armed and trained. Their leader is called Randall, a colonel. They have running water and electricity courtesy of a man he called ‘The Professor.’ It’s a small operation, but they’re taking in refugees and slowly growing.”

  “Electricity, we have that. It’s nothing but, running water… that’s very desirable.”

  “The electricity isn’t just from portable generators like ours, Sir. They have an entire power station up and running, which is exactly how they pump their water.”