The Fall of America | Book 3 | Enemy Within

by Benton, W. R.

“Follow me,” May said, “I was raised in Edwards, remember?”

  “Sonofabitch, did you see what that big gun did to George? It tore his ass to pieces!”

  “Lewis,” Mark said, “shut the hell up and keep it shut. Right now we need some distance between us and this gulag.”

  At that point, dogs were heard barking and a siren went off.

  “May, lead the way; let's go.”

  Once deep in the woods, it became harder and harder to see, so Mark said, “Do you know a quick way out of here?”

  “Sure, off our left, oh, maybe five hundred feet, is the town.”

  “Move there, now. We can't see well enough to walk in this shit. And, move faster.”

  The leaves made noises as they moved and Mark was terrified at the thought of being caught. The Russians will torture us to death in a minute, just to get the names of everyone involved.

  Soon they were beside the macadam road leading into Edwards from the main highway. A new day was being born, with the sun just starting to rise. No traffic was seen, but the dog barking was getting louder, and Mark was growing desperate. When they were in the woods both men had picked up pieces of wood to use as clubs, which was better than nothing, but just barely. They sent May around the corner of a building and instantly heard a voice in Russian.

  May heard the Russian but ignored him and kept walking. Finally, the man walked to her and grabbed her by the shoulder. All May carried as a weapon was a rock in her hand and when he pulled her around, she swung her arm with full force, seeing the rock strike him in the forehead. The soldier fell to the concrete where he lay twitching as May called out to Mark and Lewis.

  Mark neared the guard, pulled the man's bayonet and stabbed him up and under his ribs, hearing him grunt. Three more times he stabbed and the Russian finally gave a loud sigh and voided in his trousers. He then stripped the man of anything of use and felt much better with the Bison sub-machine gun in his hands. The pistol he gave to Lewis and he handed May two grenades.

  At that point two guards with a German Shepherd rounded the corner and were as surprised as the Americans. Mark fired first, dropping both men, and then the dog made a mad run for the small group. Lewis fired twice with his pistol and the big beast dropped to the ground about two feet from May, who was petrified with fear. The animal attempted to raise his head, but was unable to move, and in a few seconds was dead.

  “Get their weapons and gear. Get it all and quickly!” Mark said.

  “Packs too?” Lewis asked.

  “All the gear. There might be some food in the packs. Hurry, we need to get out of here and now!”

  They quickly stripped the dead men of all useful gear and took off at a trot, south. They'd gone but a half of a block when Lewis said, “Motorcycle with a sidecar off our left. We can all three ride, but once out of town a few miles we need to separate as instructed.”

  They ran to the motorcycle, where May climbed in the sidecar, Mark would drive, and Lewis would be the passenger. The key was not in the ignition, but Mark had been a cop before the fall and could hot wire any vehicle. Less than two minutes later, they were moving down the road toward the main highway.

  “Stay off the main roads, if possible!” Lewis yelled to be heard.

  “We'll use the overpass, go about five more miles, and then find a dirt road if we can.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.”

  May found dog hair in the sidecar, a pistol, canteen, and a bag. When she opened the burlap bag, she found huge dog biscuits. This stuff must have belonged to the dog handlers we just killed, she thought, as she pulled out a biscuit and took a bite. She then handed one to each of the men, who accepted the snack with big smiles on their faces. A person has to be pretty damned hungry to eat dog food, she thought and then smiled, but it's not bad at all.

  They crossed the overpass and looking in the mirror, Mark spotted a staff car behind them, and wondered why they were after him, or where they. He kept his distance and at the next side road, braked hard and turned right, giving the motorcycle more gas as soon as the turn was made. Hitting 100 KPM, or roughly 60 MPH, he began to scare his passengers. He glanced in his mirror and discovered the car was gone. He slowed down to about 10 miles an hour and yelled, “There was a staff car on our ass.”

  May looked behind them and yelled, “There still is a car on our asses!”

  The car was moving so fast that it almost ran into the rear of the bike. A soldier leaned from the passenger window and was attempting to get a clear shot at the three on the motorcycle.

  May opened up with her pistol and sent bullets flying into the windshield. She saw blood splatter on the glass and the car suddenly went out of control and crashed into the tree on the right side of the road. The passenger went airborne and his body landed in a field near the car.

  Mark, didn't hesitate, goosed the motorcycle, and soon they were moving at 100 KPH. After about twenty minutes, he slowed down and asked, “May, any idea where in the hell we're at?”

  “Yep, coming up you'll see a dirt road on the left; take it and continue down about three miles. Once there, you'll see a four way intersection, take a right. After that, the road will end completely in about four miles.”

  “You'd better slow this sonofabitch down on a dirt road, or let my ass off now.” Lewis said.

  Mark laughed and replied, “Sure, and I've been thinking, it might be smarter if we remained together.”

  Mark turned onto the dirt road and Lewis said, “We've got weapons, but no food and only a little water.”

  “We have canteens and we have no idea what's in the packs we took. Only, I think staying together is a better idea.” May said.

  Mark said, “We'll talk about it once at the end of this road coming up.” He turned right and after about three miles, it turned into a mess and looked more like a logging road than a county road.

  May, reading his mind said, “My dad used to log back in this country. He died during the fall, when he couldn't get his prescription medications.”

  No one spoke until the road ended and then Mark asked, “So, we stay together?”

  “I think it's smarter now that we have some guns.” May replied.

  “I agree.” Lewis said, and then added, “I think our survival chances are better in numbers.”

  “Okay, the Colonel stated the last know position of the resistance was about ten miles due south of Edwards, right?” Mark asked.

  “Yep, but I don't have idea where the hell we are.”

  May grinned and said, “I do. We're close to ten miles south, but more east than where we need to be. I think we should cover some ground today and then travel at night. By morning we'll be close to where we can start looking.”

  “Well,” Mark said, “make sure we have some distance between us as we move. We'll take turns moving in the front position, because it's the most dangerous. I'd say step in the persons footprints in front of you as we move. We have no idea who has been in this area, if there are any mines, or even if there are Russian or resistance members on the prowl. We'll treat everyone as an enemy until we know better.”

  “How do we know which way is west?” Lewis asked.

  “Keep the rising sun on your back and start walking. The sun comes up in the east and sinks in the west, or didn't you learn that in school?” May asked and then giggled.

  “No, I must have slept through that part.”

  “Keep the noise down and no more talking unless it's important. Keep a good twenty feet or more from the person in front of you. Let's move, and we need to cover some miles.”

  Meanwhile, back at the gulag, the Colonel was being interrogated by the vice camp commander, Lieutenant Colonel Alvang, who was selected for his position because he spoke passable English. The American Colonel and two other prisoners were shackled to metal chairs and were unable to move their arms or legs. The two men, Bill and Joe, secured with him were his friends, but they had no knowledge of the escape. They were selected because they were speaking
to him when the Russians came searching.

  “Tell me about the escape and tell me now.” Alvang said, his tone an angry one.

  “What escape? I know nothing of an escape.” the Colonel lied, knowing he'd be dead if he told or not. I have to hold out for as long as I can, so maybe Mark and the others can reach safety, he thought.

  Another Russian, Private Budian, stood in the room holding an iron bar in his hand. Alvang met his eyes and nodded. Budian moved forward and swung the bar hard, striking the Colonel's left leg between his knee and ankle. The Private was huge, closer to seven feet than six and well over two hundred and fifty pounds, most of it muscle. His intelligence was limited and was what psychologists would call borderline functional. His mind was simple and he was an uncomplicated man, except cruel and nasty, which was the reason he was the muscle behind the interrogations.

  A loud warbling scream filled the small room as Alvang moved to a desk and removed a pack of cigarettes. Removing a cigarette, he ignored the painful cries of the Colonel and waited. A minute or two later, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, lit his smoke, and then inhaled deeply. He exhaled and then looked his three captives over closely.

  The other two captives were horrified and filled with fear. Alvang moved to Joe, the thinner of the three and asked, “What do you know of the escape?”

  “N . . . nothing and I swear!” Joe's eyes were huge in fear.

  Looking into Joe's eyes, Alvang believed the man, but he had to scare the Colonel enough to speak. He pulled his pistol and asked, “What do you know of the escape? If you do not answer me truthfully, you are a dead man.”

  “Nothing! I had nothing to do with it, but the Colonel did, or so I heard. Don't kill me, please.”

  Walking to Joe, Alvang placed the barrel of his gun near the side of the man's head and said, “I want answers and I want them now.”

  “I know noth—”

  The shot was loud in the small structure and a long thin finger of blood blasted from Joe's head, splattering the wall beside him, as pieces of brain, bone and gore flew through the air. The man's body quivered a few times, as his central nervous system shut down, and then he slumped forward—dead.

  Lieutenant Colonel Alvang moved to Bill, took a drag of his cigarette, and then asked, “And what do you know, my friend?”

  “I heard rumor that the Colonel had selected four people, three men and one woman, to escape and try to link up with the resistance. Their names are Mark, Lewis, May, and George. One was killed by the guards. I don't know which died, but the Colonel was the brains behind it all.”

  “Tell me more!” Alvang demanded. “Where is this resistance group at right now? Who is their leader? How many men do they have? I want to know everything you know.”

  “I d . . . don't know more! I've told you all I know! Don't kill me, please!” Bill said and Alvang could see the man pleading for his life with his eyes, as well as his trembling voice.

  “Private, this man is yours to play with, but make his death slow and meaningful. I want to see him suffer and hear him speak the truth. This sonofabitch knows more than he is telling us.”

  Budian swung the bar and came down on the Bill's left arm, breaking it just shy of his wrist. A scream sounded and the big Russian smiled, showing brown broken teeth. The guard was happy, because inflecting pain on others stimulated him sexually, and he could feel it starting to affect him. He would help kill these three Americans and then find a whore for the night.

  The Colonel was no longer screaming, but whimpering like an injured animal. He knew as long as they were playing with Bill, he was buying time for his people. He was no hero, not in his eyes, simply a man determined to remove the Russians from America, regardless of the cost.

  Budian swung the pipe once more and struck Bill's left leg. As Bill started to scream, the guard raised the bar again and brought it down on the prisoner's right leg, which brought a loud scream of anguish. The bone on the right leg was clearly seen sticking through the flesh. Dropping the bar, Budian grabbed Bill's severely injured leg and twisted. The prisoner's screams immediately stopped and his head dropped to his chest; he was unconscious.

  Handing his knife to Budian, Alvang said, “Cut his throat and be done with it.”

  The guard grasped Bill's filthy hair, raised his head, and then cut his throat. A fountain of hot crimson shot from the injury and the man's body jerked violently, followed by choking as blood flooded his lungs. Two minutes later Bill was dead, and the growing puddle on the floor under him was rufescent. A strong smell of copper, from the blood, filled the room.

  Alvang enjoyed toying with his captives and all were to die anyway. He moved to his desk once more where he rubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. Opening the top drawer, he removed a pint of vodka, took a long drink and, still holding the bottle in his hand, said, “Tell me about this Mark, May, George, and Lewis, Colonel, or your death will not be a pleasant one.” He took another sip of the strong drink and then tossed the bottle to Budian.

  The big guard guzzled about a pint and threw the empty bottle into a trashcan beside the desk.

  Gritting his teeth against his pain, the Colonel replied, “Kiss my Yankee ass.”

  “Private Budian, pick up the Colonel's chair and bring him outside, away from the building. I have a special death planned for him.” Alvang said and left the building.

  The big Russian moved to the back of the chair and grasping the back, he tilted the chair and dragged the Colonel from the room and out the door. Once outside, he pulled the chair to the middle of two buildings, well over fifty feet between them.

  Seeing movement, he spotted the Lieutenant Colonel returning with a gas can in his hands.

  “Now, Colonel,” Alvang said once beside the chair, “I want to know everyone who knows about your organization in the gulag and I mean everyone, or I'll burn you to death.”

  “Go to hell!” the Colonel yelled.

  The Colonel said, “Pour the petrol on him and make sure you cover him well.”

  Budian took the can, but before he could move, the Colonel said, “Wait!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Willy looked at Esom and said, “Instruct the partisans to break into small groups and try to break free of the Russians. It's not likely they have every single trail marked, but expect a fight. We'll lose some people, but I think most will survive.”

  “I still can't believe we have a traitor within our group.” Esom said.

  “Well, by God, we do, but who? I have no idea.” Willy replied.

  “Me either.”

  “It has to be someone who knew we were moving to the mansion.” John said, as he stroked Dolly's back slowly. The dog had her head resting on his thigh.

  “Hell, John,” Willy said as he turned to look at his friend sitting on the floor, “that is a good two dozen men and women.”

  “We'll weed 'em out, but it'll take time. Now, we'll all split in a minute and we'll go out by teams. We'll regroup near Edwards, due south about ten miles, at an old sawmill.” Willy rolled up his maps and yelled, “Let's move, people! The more time we sit on our asses, the more time the Russians have to surround us.”

  As Willy left the room, Sandra looked at John and then asked, “Are you fit to move?”

  “I'm okay, but regardless, we need to be moving. If we can't break out of the Russian ring, we'll play hell surviving.”

  “Esom, when we leave, I want you on point. Margie, you'll be my drag; let's move and do it now. Dolly, come with me.” The big German Shepherd moved toward him.

  They no sooner cleared the old house, moving down a trail, when an explosion was heard. Looking over his shoulder, John knew the Russians had just taken out the mansion. He watched the ball of flame roll into itself and hoped the remaining people he'd seen had gotten out in time. Well, he thought, that's a safe house that's no longer safe. I grow so tired of this shit and would love for Sandra and I to have a quiet evening together, like in the old days.

  Esom raised a
balled fist and squatted on the trail.

  “Let me see what he's got.” John whispered and slowly moved forward.

  Once beside the black man, he whispered, “What?”

  “Russians, maybe a hundred meters from us and moving this way. I spotted them moving through the cypress trees on the left.”

  “Plant two mines here. One where it's easily seen and the next about a foot behind it.”

  “Will do, but move back to the last intersection and wait for me.”

  John returned, moved the group to the next intersection and waited. Ten minutes later he saw movement on the trail, flipped his safety off, and smiled when Esom appeared.

  “It looks like a big ass bunch of Russians, a company or more would be my guess.”

  Suddenly a loud explosion was heard and a minute later a second sounded.

  “Damn, how'd that happen?” Margie asked.

  “Not sure,” Esom said, “because the first mine should have been easy to see.”

  “I think they were using a cherry for their point man.”

  Seeing confusion in the eyes of the others, except Esom, he said, “New guys in combat are called a cherry, because it's their first time. Now, let's haul ass down this other trail.”

  “This trail will take us out, too.” Mollie said.

  “Tom, you pull drag and try to cover as much of our passing as you can.” John said.

  “I'll lay some surprises, too.”

  “Good, now let's move. I want no talking, and all of us need to keep our heads out of our asses as we travel.”

  The first half mile was uneventful and just as they started to turn north, the whop-whop sounds of a helicopter were heard.

  “Chopper.” Mollie said and moved to the trunk of a huge cypress tree. The others scattered in all directions as well.

  A chopper flew over them a few minutes later, then banked sharply to come back and take another look.

  “Don't move, they're returning.” John said.

  The chopper flew over once more and then they continued on another course.

  “Damn me,” said Margie, “I almost filled my pants on that second pass.”