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

by Medbury, Scott

  “Well, the good news is, it has a motor,” said Jamal.

  Luke and Paul laughed. Jamal was a serious guy and hardly ever joked, apparently seeing that V8 American made muscle had put him in a good mood.

  “Okay, I’ll need my toolbox and the battery. We’ll get that done first then put the gasoline in.”

  Paul and Luke grabbed the battery and tools as Jamal looked over the engine.

  “What if it’s already got gas?” asked Paul, when he put the battery down on the floor.

  “Well, hopefully, they never used an ethanol blend, it’s bad for seals and fuel lines and can cause rust if its left sitting. Usually, someone with a car like this will look after it so we might be in luck, especially if he used a fuel stabilizer. Again, if he wasn’t using it every day he might have.”

  Jamal bent over and started picking tools out of the box.

  Ten minutes later they had the fully charged battery in place.

  “Now we’ll put the gas in,” said Jamal, opening the fuel cap of the car. “And let the fresh stuff mingle with whatever’s left in there. Probably the emptier the tank is, the better.”

  Luke grabbed the five-gallon jerry can of Concord refined fuel they’d been gifted by Randall’s men and fitted the spout into the opening and began to pour.

  “I think it’s pretty empty,” he said based on the splashing sound in the tank. He put the can down by the wall when he was done and looked at Jamal.

  “Okay, so you ready to do the honors?” said Jamal, holding out the keys.

  Luke took the keys.

  “You betcha,” he said grinning. “Drumroll please!”

  Luke climbed in and without any further ado turned the key. The car began to crank but didn’t fire. He turned it off and tried again. Once again it cranked without firing. Jamal opened the passenger side door.

  “See that flat button down there; it’s called a choke, just pull it out a little and try again.”

  Luke didn’t have much hope. He knew how this would go. They’d try and try, and it would never start. He turned it again. This time it cranked and made two loud pops accompanied by a puff of white smoke from the exhaust, then it went back to the horrible cranking sound.

  “Give it a little more,” said Jamal, indicating Luke should pull the choke a little further out.

  Luke turned the key again, and this time the engine roared to life, spluttering and hiccupping for ten seconds or so until Luke tapped the accelerator.

  Vroom, vroom, vroom. Jamal shut the passenger door and gave Paul a high five, and they both proceeded to do a little victory dance.

  “Take it out onto the driveway,” called Paul, stepping out of the way.

  Luke put the car into drive and pressed the gas. It jerked forward.

  “Whoa!” he said, before hitting the brakes and then easing his foot off, this time a little more gently.

  He nursed the car out onto the driveway and wound down his window. Come on let’s go for a spin. He didn’t need to give them a second invitation. In a flash they were in the car, Jamal in the front and Paul in the back leaning between their seats as Luke drove around the jeep they’d come in and headed onto the street.

  They spent thirty minutes or so taking turns and driving around the small neighborhood before Jamal pointed out if they didn’t get it back to the tower soon, they would probably run out of gas.

  “Okay.”

  They headed back to the house. Jamal and Paul played rock paper scissors to see who would have to drive the Jeep back. Jamal won.

  “Did you want to drive?” Luke asked.

  “No, maybe another time. This is your baby, so I’m sure you’d like to be the one who rolls up to the tower behind the wheel.”

  Luke grinned and nodded. Things only got better when he tested the horn on the way home and was rewarded by the first twelve notes of the song ‘Dixie.’

  “That’s the same as the General Lee in the old Dukes of Hazzard show! Me and my Dad used to watch the reruns.”

  “Oh, they’re gonna know you’re comin’ now!” said Jamal.

  Once Luke was through the checkpoint manned by four of Randall’s, now very impressed, men, he began hitting the horn over and over. By the time they pulled up, a sizeable crowd had come out onto the steps to see what the commotion was.

  Isaac just shook his head in wonder as Luke and Jamal climbed out of the black and chrome beast. Paul pulled up behind them in the Jeep and rushed to join the other two. The car was soon surrounded by a crowd, three people deep.

  Luke received lots of requests for rides but begged off, using fuel as the excuse. The truth was, he already had an idea about who he wanted his first guest passenger of honor to be.

  “Do you think the army boys will let us have another jerrycan full?” he asked Jamal as they went inside.

  “When they get a look at that thing, I don’t think it will be a problem.”

  “That’ll get me to Concord, right?”

  “Yeah, and they have a running fuel station there. You might have to call in a favor from the colonel to get a full tank though.”

  “Leave it with me.”

  ***

  Luke spent the rest of the day with Erin. He was surprised by how quick she was developing. She could now sit on her own with only the occasional wobble and had taken to solid food like a trooper.

  “She’ll be crawling soon, and then you’ll be in trouble,” said Diana.

  She and Ben had come to visit. They sat holding hands on the sofa watching Samuel playing with Erin as Luke made them a drink. He handed them each a glass of the fresh lemonade that Allie and Ava had been making every day and sat down opposite them.

  “Delicious as always,” said Ben, smacking his lips. “I’d still like to know how they keep up a fresh supply of lemons to make this stuff!”

  “Some deal they did with the boys I believe,” said Luke. “They found an orchard within an hour’s ride believe it or not.”

  “Orchard might be a stretch. I heard it was a backyard full of trees behind a big old house,” said Diana.

  “Sounds more plausible given the locale.”

  “I’m glad you guys came by,” said Luke. “I wanted to ask you something…”

  “What is it?” asked Diana, concerned by his troubled face.

  “I… not sure how to say it.”

  “I’m sure we can help if its advice you need,” said Ben.

  “Well it’s not advice exactly,” Luke said, looking at Ben. “It’s more like permission I guess.”

  “Permission? I don’t understand.”

  “I was… well, I was wondering if you thought it would be okay or if you would mind if I asked someone out on a date?”

  A flash of pain passed over Ben’s face, like a cloud across the sun.

  “Sorry,” Luke blurted. “It’s too soon, isn’t it? Shit, I shouldn’t have...”

  Ben put his hands up to placate Luke.

  “Its fine mate. Really, there’s no designated time for these things. I’m sure Brooke…” He took a second to gather himself and wiped away a tear with his sleeve. “I’m sure she’d want you to get on with life. For your sake and for Erin’s.”

  Luke nodded, not able to trust his voice would make it past the lump in his throat.

  Diana squeezed Ben’s hand in support.

  “So, who’s the lucky lady?” she asked to lighten the suddenly somber mood of the room.

  “Yes,” said Ben. “I’m certainly curious.”

  “It’s a girl called Becky, in Concord. She works for the colonel.”

  “Well, you’ll have to introduce us.”

  “I will, definitely. Who knows, I haven’t asked her yet. She’ll probably say no.”

  “I’m sure she’ll say yes to at least one date,” said Diana.

  Ben and Diana stayed late into the afternoon and were eventually joined by Isaac, Indigo, and Max. They were also fine with the news Luke had broken.

  “Let me guess,” said Isaac. “
The colonel’s assistant?”

  Luke nodded.

  Isaac left off his normal ribbing, understanding the sensitivity of the situation.

  “Well, she looks nice. I hope it goes well for you. Should we go down for dinner?”

  There was a chorus of agreement and Diana made a beeline for Erin.

  “I’ll take this little cutie-pie.”

  “Ooh watch out Ben, someone looks clucky!”

  Diana laughed but didn’t deny the charge. Ben just blushed.

  Luke grasped his arm before they went through the door. When Ben turned, he pulled him into a tight hug.

  “I just want to say thanks for everything you’ve done for Erin and me and for… well, you know, not being awkward about this whole dating thing.”

  “No worries,” said Ben. “You’re a good bloke, and I know Brooke’s smiling down on us.”

  ***

  “Are you ready Sir?” asked William Orton when he was let in to the President’s office.

  “I am,” said Riley, turning from the full-length mirror where he had been patting his hair into place.

  Orton had to admit, Aidan Riley looked the part. Freshly shaved and wearing a blue suit with a red tie, the 21-year-old bore a striking resemblance to his father.

  “How do I look?”

  “Presidential, Sir.”

  “Good, is the car ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, let’s go then.”

  As they headed for the doors and out into what had been dubbed ‘The Plaza’ President Riley took in the breathtaking sight through the glass. The whole civilian population of Rochester had turned out. They lined both sides of the plaza each one of them waving small flags. The flag of New America had been designed by Riley himself; it was a gold Liberty’s torch against a stark black background. The flag was also painted on the sides of his presidential vehicle, a midnight black Mercedes sedan with darkened windows.

  More impressive even than the 2,000 or so people waving his flag was the army itself. It was in the plaza and ready to march. The three black tanks stood on the street like rhino’s ready to charge, behind them the horses and their riders shuffled in place, seemingly eager to be on their way. The line of infantry in their black uniforms snaked down the length of Church street and out of sight around the corner, their weapons bristling like the spines of a porcupine.

  Two armed soldiers stepped through the door before Riley, and the crowd started to cheer. When Riley emerged into the noon sun, the cheers became a roar, the flags fluttering with vigor as he followed the soldiers down to the stretch Mercedes at the foot of the steps. General Orton followed, basking in the glow of what he had helped create and what, if his plan went well, would be his to enjoy as leader - the second president of New America. Bull, also in a black uniform whose buttons strained to contain the heavy muscle of the big man, followed him closely.

  Aidan Riley waved graciously to the crowd as he walked down the stairs to his car. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and for the first time, he thought he had a small sense of the feelings his father must have experienced when he was sworn in or had to speak in front of big crowds.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d been in front of his people of course, but the last time had been over two years ago, and this was a much bigger crowd. Additionally, there was a tangible difference this time. A heightened sense of excitement that was, no doubt, due to the fact they were marching out to conquest. They’d never assembled an army this big before. Never had to, and it definitely seemed to get the juices of the city flowing.

  Aidan gave a final wave to his adoring crowd. The roar was deafening. He got into the car buzzing with excitement. Orton slid into the seat beside him while Bull and one of Riley’s escorts sat opposite them. The other guard got in the front with the driver.

  The president sighed and let his head loll back onto the plush headrest. He turned his head and looked at his general, his eyes narrowed.

  “Nice little plan, William.”

  Orton felt his guts turn to water as a shot of adrenaline went through his body. He eyed the guard opposite him and then looked back at the president.

  “Plan, Sir?”

  “The march,” said Aidan Riley. “And the flags of course. Everything. Well done.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said William managing to keep the relief from his voice.

  The walkie-talkie in Orton’s pocket crackled.

  “Ironfist is locked and loaded, let’s move out.”

  The Mercedes moved onto the roadway, easing in between the tanks and the small cavalry.

  Riley patted Orton on the knee.

  “Here we go.”

  It wasn’t long before his excitement would turn to sheer boredom as the reality of the long slow journey to New Hampshire sunk in.

  14

  Three hours later, Daniel Bowman, a former lieutenant of the US army, began eating the cold can of baked beans he had just opened. He was about twelve miles out of Rochester on a hill overlooking the 490. His partner, a kid, called Mel Gunnerson was taking some shuteye in preparation for his turn on watch when the sun went down.

  Bowman was on his third spoonful of beans when he heard a low rumbling sound. He stopped chewing, the beans in his mouth suddenly losing their flavor. He grabbed a pair of binoculars from his backpack and crept up behind the boulder that he had been sitting against.

  He viewed the road three quarters of a mile away and took the opportunity to chew the beans in his mouth. He focused the binoculars on a clearing between two sets of trees and waited while the rumbling grew louder. Of course, he knew what the sound meant, but a visual would give him confirmation. He swallowed the beans and held his breath.

  The tank rolled into view, and then another, and then another. They moved slowly and were followed by a black stretch Mercedes. Then came men on horseback. Bowman counted a hundred horses with men on their backs carrying rifles. After the horsemen came infantry, men, and women on foot, they wore black uniforms and, every one of them held a long gun.

  Bowman could only estimate the numbers; it took them approximately 10 minutes for the entire column to pass through the gap where he had his binoculars trained. He thought the number was somewhere between 2,500 and 3,000 men. Gunnerson joined him just as the last of the infantry passed.

  “What's going on? He asked.

  “Big trouble.”

  He watched for a while longer, to make sure there no stragglers then stood up.

  “Ok, it's on. I want you to grab your bike and head back to Concord as fast as you can go. Take the smaller roads, stay away from the 90. Tell the colonel there are around 3,000 men, all armed plus three tanks, and cavalry.”

  “What about you?” asked Gunnerson.

  “I’ll head back along the 90.”

  “If they are on the march now, shouldn't we both go back the same way?”

  “We haven’t been on the 90 at all since we began the surveillance. While it is the fastest way back to Concord, we don't know if its guarded or being watched. Trust me, it's safer this way, no matter what happens, splitting up means at least one of us should get back in time to warn Randall.”

  “Okay. Now?”

  Bowman clapped him on the back good-naturedly.

  “Yes. Now Gunny. Go!”

  Bowman waited until Gunnerson had packed up his gear and gone before strapping on his own backpack and mounting his Yamaha. Strangely exhilarated, he sped down the mountain. It was a small single lane Road that led to the 90 just a head of a little town called Farmington. That would bring him out well ahead of the slow-moving column.

  Bowman didn't waste any time, once he turned onto the 90, he gunned the Yamaha and sped East. As he rode, he thought about the briefing that Randall had given him before he left. The reality of the situation was even worse than Randall had imagined. While he was confident in Randall’s ability as a general, the sheer size of the army they would be facing was daunting and while not a pe
ssimist, or a coward, Bowman did not see how they could overcome this foe.

  He wasn't sure if Randall would listen to his Council, but he would be recommending they retreat to somewhere more defensible than Concord or even come to some agreement with the New America people.

  Bowman rode as fast as he dared. While the roads had been cleared of wrecks, there was still the occasional fallen tree or other debris that could bring him down. 40 minutes later he passed by a little town called Montezuma, barely a third of the way back to Concord. Here the 90 was a four-lane highway called the New York state thruway, the two lanes going each direction separated by a large overgrown median strip.

  He rounded a bend and slammed on the brakes.

  “Shit…”

  Two hundred yards ahead was a manned roadblock. There were vehicles and barriers spread right across the thruway and median strip, from tree line to tree line. While it had obviously been set up to guard against a threat coming from the opposite direction, Bowman and his bike had caught the attention of the men manning it.

  Clearly not expecting trouble from the direction of Rochester, they milled around and regarded him with curiosity. One even raised a hand. When he saw another man raise a pair of binoculars, he took his cue to get the hell out and swung the bike around before zooming off with a skid of rubber.

  Like an ant’s nest stirred by a kid with a stick, the men suddenly burst into movement and scrambled for guns and vehicles. The chase was on.

  At the roadblock, the leader of the small group of New Americans was none other than Dan Eshman. After his punishment, he’d been demoted by Orton and sent to the outposts. Roadblock duty was boring, but Eshman, still in pain from the flogging, passed the time fantasizing about killing Orton in all manner of nasty ways.

  The punishment meted out to him; he could handle. It was, after all, he who had been in command. Orton killing Juliano in cold blood though, that ate at Eshman, and he couldn’t let it go. The kid had made one mistake, and he was killed for it. It proved to him that Orton was a rabid dog and the only thing to do with a rabid dog was to put it down. He probably wouldn’t ever get the chance, but in the meantime, it seemed like good therapy to mull it over.