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

by Medbury, Scott

  ***

  In front of City Hall back in Concord, Bowman and his thirty men were assembled and ready to head out. By dark, they would be ensconced on the edges of the Fox State Forest. Equipment wise they had three rocket launchers, every man had a pistol, and those not carrying launchers were armed with an assortment of Chinese and US army automatic weapons.

  Bowman and his second in charge, the newly promoted lieutenant, Saracen, had already given a briefing on the location of their ambush and the plan of attack. Bowman almost felt the waves of excitement coming off his men. The romantic allure that battle had for young men never faded and this group was no different. He had no doubt their emotions would be quite different in a days time.

  It had been close enough to 24 hours since he and Gunnerson had parted ways and it was clear the kid had gotten into trouble. He shrugged off the worry. It wasn’t something he could afford to think about right now.

  He heard murmurs amongst the men and looked back up the steps to City Hall. Randall was coming for his final pep talk. He nodded to Randall as he took his place in front of the men.

  “Men, you have an important task in front of you. Today you’re marching to become the first line of defense for our little community. Make no mistake; this will be a difficult challenge. We didn’t invite this fight to our doorstep, so have faith that right is on your side.” He paused, before going on. “It’s quite possible that some of you, a lot of you even, won’t come back. But remember why we’re doing this. Your families, your friends… your city.

  “This enemy offers only death or subjugation; we’ll give them death in return because the other is not an option for the people of Concord. That’s all. Good luck!”

  The men returned his salute and broke up to gather their gear. The colonel turned to Bowman and saluted.

  “All the best, son – remember, have your men lay down withering fire to allow the rocket launchers to do their thing. Fall back only after you take out the tanks but don’t take stupid risks.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll see you at the river.”

  Twenty minutes later Bowman and his men were crammed into the one five-ton troop carrier that the people of Concord possessed and were heading for their ambush site.

  ***

  Isaac jerked the wheel in shock, and the Mustang veered dangerously to the right then back to the left as he struggled to bring it under control without braking. If someone was shooting at them, there was no way he was going to stop until they were out of range.

  “What the Hell was that?!”

  Ben didn’t answer, and when Isaac turned, he saw his friends head lolling on his chest, his body slack and only held up by the seat belt.

  “Ben!”

  He put his foot down harder on the gas and tried to wake Ben by shaking his arm. The Englishman didn’t stir. He could see no blood or wound.

  “Please be okay,” said Isaac.

  He pulled the car over five minutes later in an area he could see for miles in each direction and jumped out, running around to Ben’s side of the car.

  There was a large irregular shaped hole in the shattered glass of the window. With shaking hands and dread threatening to overwhelm him, Isaac pulled the passenger side door open.

  Blood flowed from a wound on Ben’s scalp. It seeped through his hair, down over his ear and onto his neck. Isaac could see straight away it wasn’t a bullet wound.

  “Thank God,” he whispered and gently pushed Ben back against the seat so that his head rolled back onto the headrest.

  He felt for and found a pulse in Ben’s wrist and saw a fist sized rock on the floor between the seat and the door. It looked like a river stone, smooth and shaped a little like an egg. They hadn’t been shot at. It had probably just been some nasty, feral kid who heard their car coming and took the opportunity to create some mischief.

  He slapped Ben lightly on the cheeks.

  “Ben, can you hear me? Ben!”

  His friend began to stir, his slack face immediately transforming into one of pain as he reached up. Isaac grabbed his wrist.

  “Don’t touch it, buddy. You got hit pretty good by the look of it.”

  Ben’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Did I get shot?”

  “No, it was a rock. Luckily the window probably took most of the velocity out of it, or it would have caved your head in.”

  The Englishman winced as he straightened in his seat.

  “I think it did.”

  “No, you’ll have a pretty decent lump for a few days, but your head is definitely not caved in. Try not to move too much; I’ll see if there’s anything I can clean you off with.”

  Isaac opened the trunk and found a square of towel that someone had torn off and used as an oil rag. It would have to do.

  “That looks nice and sterile,” said Ben, when he saw the rag.

  “Sarcasm is a good sign,” said Isaac, as he began to dab away the blood on his friend's face and neck, then more gently into the hair and around his scalp wound.

  “The blood looks like its stopping. Here, just hold this against it for a while.”

  Ben took the bunched-up towel and placed it gingerly against his head.

  “Did you see who threw it?”

  “No, I was driving along lost in my thoughts one minute, the next thing I know the window explodes. How do you feel?”

  “Okay, I guess. My head is throbbing, and I feel a little woozy, but I should be okay.”

  “Do you want to turn around and go home?”

  “No, let’s keep going. We can’t afford to lose the time.”

  “Okay.”

  They were back on the move a few minutes later.

  “Try not to go to sleep,” said Isaac.

  He’d heard you shouldn’t sleep straight after a concussion somewhere in the before days.

  “My head hurts too much to sleep,” said Ben.

  19

  They arrived in Ashland twenty minutes later and parked the car a short walk out of town, parking it in the driveway of an abandoned home. For both, walking into the town itself was an eye-opening experience. If Concord was the benchmark for an ordered and neat city in post-apocalyptic America, Ashland was the opposite.

  There was no doubt in its time it had been a postcard perfect little New England town. Now though, it was a disheveled, dirty and overcrowded village. People were everywhere in the center of the town. There were kids running around with no shirts on, women selling items from stalls that lined the main street. They even walked by a girl who was no older than sixteen suckling a baby as she sat on the sidewalk. There was an unpleasant smell in the air. A toxic combination of raw sewage, rotting food and dead animals.

  The two strangers barely warranted a look until they were spotted by a group of armed men sitting in the shade of what Isaac took to be a bar or saloon. The men sauntered across from where they were lazing around and blocked the two strangers from walking any further.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked the bigger of the three, eyeing Ben’s matted hair and bloody shirt.

  He was bald with a crude cross tattooed on both of his cheeks. Isaac looked him in the eye and drew himself up to his full 6’1 height, careful to keep his hands relaxed and by his side.

  “I’m Isaac Race. This is Ben. We’re from Manchester; we’re here to talk to Jarrod.”

  “Oh, I remember you. Ash handed your ass to you before your big friend with the pirate hook killed him.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Is Jarrod around?”

  For a moment Isaac thought the big guy might give them some more lip but after weighing him up for a few moments, seemed to change his mind.

  “Follow me.”

  They walked through the town and headed into a school on the outskirts. The buildings and grounds of the school were less disordered than the rest of town, and it seemed to be almost exclusively populated by men. To Ben, the school yard looked like a prison yard. Tough looking men stood around talking or lifting weights or throwing
a ball. The only obvious difference was the weapons that lay around all over the place. Swords, pistols, rifles, even a battle axe.

  “Seen Jarrod?” the big guy asked two men playing cards at a table after they entered the main doors of the school’s reception area.

  “He’s in the gym playing B ball,” said one without looking up.

  They went through the building and into the adjoining gym where two teams were facing off in what came across as a pretty brutal game of basketball.

  A compact, fit looking man took a shot and sunk the ball as they walked down the side of the court. Isaac recognized him as the one they’d come to see.

  “Jarrod! Someone to see you.”

  Mid celebratory fist pump, the man turned around, and his eyes widened slightly.

  “Take five,” he said to the other players on the court and then jogged over, wiping his face with a small towel he had tucked into his shorts.

  “Isaac,” he said holding out his hand.

  Isaac shook it.

  “This is Ben.”

  “What happened to you? It wasn’t my men was it?” he asked glaring at the big man who had escorted them in.

  “No,” said Isaac. “Call it a random act of violence.”

  “I’m okay though. I just need to clean up,” said Ben.

  “I can fix you up with a shirt,” said Jarrod.

  “No, that’s okay, I’ll clean up when we get home.”

  The Marauder’s leader shrugged.

  “Suit yourself,” he said and turned to Isaac. “So why the visit? The three months you gave us is up, and I was going to come and see you in a week or two. I think most of the group have changed their mind about joining up with you, but we were going to take a vote.”

  Isaac looked around. Everyone in the gym was watching them.

  “I wasn’t really here to talk about that, but we can kill two birds with one stone. Have you got somewhere private we can talk?”

  “Sure, my office. Come on.”

  ***

  “So, you want our help to fight them? A killer army of three thousand?”

  “Yes,” said Isaac. “I know you’re probably wondering why you should risk your people when their fight’s not with you.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, the thing is, they won’t stop. They’ve already taken all the old New York State and parts of Vermont. They won’t stop until the rest is under their control. If they get Concord, New Hampshire will fall. That includes Ashland…”

  Well, lucky for you my boys are spoiling for a fight. We did what you asked and stopped our raiding, but I know for a fact they’d love to stomp this army.”

  “How many men do you have?” Ben asked.

  “We had over eight hundred fighters when we marched on Manchester. It’s more like four hundred now. A lot of people went their own way once Ash was gone.”

  Isaac was disappointed. He had been hoping for at least six hundred. He kept his face neutral and nodded.

  “That would be great. How soon can you march?”

  Jarrod thought about it for a moment.

  “We could start preparation this afternoon and march first thing in the morning.”

  Isaac started to do some calculations in his head.

  “That means you’ll get there late tomorrow afternoon. You don’t have any vehicles?”

  “Oh, sure we do. But there’s no gas left.”

  “It’ll have to do,” Isaac said.

  The colonel had estimated the army from Rochester would pass by the Fox State Forest the next day at around midday. Hopefully, the ambush and then the blockade on the bridge would stop them because it didn’t leave a lot of time for the marauders or the Brotherhood to arrive and be deployed, but there was no other option.

  He stood up and shook Jarrod’s hand.

  “Thanks, I’ll make sure the colonel is expecting you. Good luck.”

  “You too, let’s kick some ass.”

  20

  In Portland, Paul lay curled up on his seat and desperately tried to think of a way out of his situation. It was useless though. Panic had set in, and his usually quick brain refused to work.

  “You’re surrounded, drop your weapon and come out of the vehicle,” a deep voice called.

  “I’m not armed,” Paul yelled in what he hoped was a confident voice. He reached over and grabbed the white flag and held it up over his head waving it side to side. “We came to talk!”

  “Sorry about your friend, the man who did that will be punished. You can come out. I guarantee your safety but step out of the vehicle slowly.”

  Paul took a deep breath. He half thought it might just be a trick to get him to show himself, but another part of his brain said they could just as easily have shot up the Hummer. He sat up with both hands in the air, one still holding the makeshift white flag.

  He winced half expecting a hail of bullets, but they didn’t come. A few of the men had come closer to the Hummer. There were four of them, and they all wore black robes. Two of them had guns trained on him.

  “It’s okay come out,” said one of the unarmed ones.

  Paul shuffled over to the door, still with his hands up and opened it with his elbow, before stepping out onto the road. That was when he heard a moan from the other side of the Hummer. He looked through the Humvee’s cabin and saw Lockwood’s hand reach up and grab the bottom of his door frame.

  Paul looked at the unarmed black robe who was approaching. He had a kind face.

  “Do you mind if I check on Lieu… my friend?”

  The other man paused then nodded.

  “Yes, alright, but come around the front of the vehicle. No sudden moves.”

  Paul walked around the Hummer as fast as he dared. He barely took any notice of the four brothers that had closed to within three yards. He was focused on Lockwood, a man he thought was dead until seconds before. He rounded the door and fell to his knees near the groaning man.

  Lockwood was still facedown, a line of three bullet holes stitched the back of his shirt from his right hip to his left shoulder. Strangely, there was no blood. Paul helped to turn him over as the four brothers arrived and stood over them

  Lockwood’s eyes were dazed, but he looked well and truly alive.

  “You’re ok?” asked Paul.

  “Yeah, I’m ok,” he said pinching the thickness of the Kevlar vest under his shirt

  Lockwood looked up at the brothers who were looking down at him in wonderment.

  “You guys sure know how to put on a welcome.”

  “I’m glad you were wearing a vest,” said the one with the kindly face. “Here, let me help you up.”

  He reached down and grasped Lockwood’s wrist.

  “Rest assured elder, the man that did this will be disciplined,” said another as he was pulled to his feet.

  “No hard feelings,” said Lockwood.

  “May I ask where you are from and why you are here?” asked the kind faced one.

  “We’re from a little town called Concord in New Hampshire. We're here to ask a favor.”

  “Ahh Concord,” he said, looking at the other brothers. “We’ve heard of you. Come we will hear of this favor. First, you will sup with us.”

  Paul doubted he would have gotten this far if he’d come on his own. The fact that Lockwood really was ‘old’ in their eyes did help, just as Isaac had said it would. He thought Lockwood might beg off because time really was of the essence, but in the end, he said they would be honored to join them for a meal.

  Before eating, Lockwood was taken to be treated for the bruising on his back, and Paul handed his letter over to the senior brothers. In the clinic, Paul sucked in a breath when he saw the large welts on Lockwood’s back. For some reason, he had always assumed bullets would bounce of Kevlar as they did of Superman.

  “Son,” said Lockwood, as he downed the painkillers offered to him by the physician, a kid barely older than twenty. “Looks bad, but not half as bad as it would if I’d
not being wearing that vest.”

  They ate a hearty lunchtime meal with what appeared to be all of the black robed ‘senior’ brothers and barely two hours after they arrived were brought before the three white robed members of the council.

  Lockwood gestured that Paul should take over now.

  Clearing his throat, the younger man stood up and faced the council.

  “We are of the city’s Manchester and Concord in New Hampshire. We know of the Brotherhood, through the people of Willatan Green who now reside with us.” There were murmurings around the room before the black robed speaker knocked his staff on the ground three times. “The casualties that day were unavoidable. We later released the surviving brothers and allowed them to travel home to you.”

  One of the men in white stood up.

  “We acknowledge that the treatment of the Willaton Green people was unjust and instigated by a brother who has been banished although he has not returned. Brother Simon returned and told us of you and your mercy. I have read the letter you carried to us. You want our help to fight a battle?”

  “Yes, Sir. A large army marches upon the people of Concord and Manchester. It numbers at least three thousand and is well-armed. Our leaders have asked us to come and seek your assistance.”

  “To fight a war, we are not involved in?” Asked the middle white robe.

  “Yes, sir. The army is very aggressive, and they won’t stop until they reach the east coast. Their motto is submit or die. If our two cities are defeated, there is nothing left between you and them.”

  Paul went on to relay the information that Isaac and Luke had asked him to pass on. He pulled no punches and emphasized the barbarity of the way New America conquered territories.

  “Our leader requests that you send a fighting force to Concord. In return, he wishes to open trading with you.”

  “Assuming the war is won, of course.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Allow us to confer.”

  The white robes disappeared through a door at the back of the room. A young man that neither Paul nor Lockwood recognized came over.