DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1)

by Long, Timothy W.

  Bradley just about jumped out of his skin. If he’d had his finger on the trigger, the gun would have gone off into the street, or Chris’s chest.

  “We have to do something,” Bradley said.

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How could decent men do something like that?

  Chris dragged him around the back of a house.

  “Don’t interfere. Those guys are literally getting away with murder. Don’t become a victim,” Chris still hadn’t let go of his hand. He held his wrist, and when Bradley tried to jerk his hand free it was like he was held by a vice.

  “I have to find Junior.”

  “Fine. Let’s go find him. Do you know where he went?”

  “Yeah. Probably to Kirk’s house, but I can’t figure out why,” Bradley said.

  “What’s he been doing for the past few days?”

  “Just moping around. Hanging out in his room,” Bradley said. “I tried to talk to him but he’s not much of a talker.”

  “Kids,” Chris said. “How come you came out on foot?”

  “Don’t know. When I heard gunshots, I thought it might be safer not to announce myself with head lights and a loud engine.”

  “Let’s get the car, go over and see if your son is at his friends. If he isn’t, we may get a clue from his parents.”

  “I can go alone. This…” Bradley pointed at the house where the family had been murdered. “This is crazy. No reason to risk both of us.”

  “What just happened there is exactly why you need backup,” Chris said.

  Bradley nodded, and they huffed it back to his place.

  * * *

  Bradley idled in Kirk’s driveway for a few seconds, then cut the engine and got out of the car. Chris stayed behind to keep an eye out. Bradley approached the door, but before he could knock, it cracked open.

  “If you’re selling something, better be the most amazing thing in the goddamn world,” the voice said followed by a gun’s hammer locking into place.

  “Mr. Rosen? I’m Bradley, Brad Junior’s father. I apologize for bothering you at this hour, but I’m looking for my son,” Bradley said.

  Chris waited at the foot of the stairs and kept his eyes on the road, covering Bradley’s back in case those yahoos came around and wanted to start some shit.

  “Move to the left a little, more in the light. I don’t have my glasses on.”

  Bradley complied and was relieved when Mr. Rosen recognized him. “It is you. Damn. You about gave me a heart attack. I heard shooting, and I thought I heard a woman scream. I haven’t been able to get a wink of sleep.”

  Mr. Rosen was a short man with a U-shaped black haircut that was trimmed nearly to the skin. He was dressed in a long brown robe, and he smelled like he’d slept in a bottle of bourbon.

  “Same thing happened to me. That’s when my wife and I realized that Junior was gone.”

  “He’s not here, as far as I know,” Mr. Rosen said. “Want to come in?”

  Mr. Rosen opened the door, and then unlocked his security screen door. Bradley nodded gratefully and gestured for Chris.

  “I’ll wait by the Bronco. Keep an eye out for any trouble,” Chris said.

  Bradley nodded and stepped into the warm house.

  The hallway wall across from the door was plastered with pictures of Kirk and his family. In one particular shot, Kirk was about ten years old and holding a lacrosse pole. In another, Kirk’s mother had still been alive, and she had a huge smile, but her face was sallow and her hair had been shaved off. Cancer had claimed her shortly afterwards as far as Bradley could recall.

  “You want a drink? I was just about to have myself a little nip. Helps me sleep. You know how it is,” Mr. Rosen said.

  “No, sir. I’m all caught up on my nipping for the night. I just wanted to check on my son,” Bradley said.

  “Right. That’s right,” Mr. Rosen said and led Bradley down a long dark hallway. “Kirk’s room is at the end here. It’s usually a mess. I’ll just peek inside. I like to give him plenty of privacy. Nothing worse than Dad catching you doing something. Teenage boys and all. Not saying it’s wrong. Not saying it’s right. It’s just what they do, you know.”

  Bradley paused when Mr. Rosen nearly stumbled into the wall looking for the light switch.

  “Damn thing’s here somewhere, you know. Think I’d know my own house after thirty years. Ah, there it is.”

  Mr. Rosen hit the light switch, illuminating the end of the passage with faded yellow. His ceiling light didn’t throw much light because one of the bulbs had burned out. It must have had a glass cover at one time, but now it was bare and wires poked out of the ceiling.

  He tapped on Kirk’s door twice, then turned the knob. He pushed the door open a few inches and peered inside. Then he opened the door and walked inside. After a few seconds, he came back out.

  “Huh. He’s not here. Now what are those boys up to tonight?” Mr. Rosen said.

  Bradley’s eyes squinted in frustration. Where were they indeed? He was afraid it was going to be a very long and potentially dangerous night.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The butt crack of dawn hadn’t even made an appearance yet.

  James had dressed in his BDUs and affixed his body armor. He met with Cooper and his friend Skip in the DFAC where they ate a meal of reconstituted scrambled eggs, French toast that looked like cardboard, hash browns that were dry as sand, but all of it was saved by the glory of tobacco and syrup. His stomach grumbled before he sat down, and he wolfed down his food. He refilled a coffee mug and went back to the fold out table.

  “Sanders was the best. She gave me a ration of shit, but I loved her like a red-headed stepsister,” Skip said.

  “Aren’t you from Arkansas? I thought you liked real sisters over stepsisters,” Cooper said.

  “See, that’s the kind of shit that will get your ass kicked in Little Rock,” Skip said, temporarily dropping into his home state’s accent.

  “Little Rock? The only thing tough that ever came out of Arkansas was the man in black,” Cooper said between bites of eggs.

  “Really? I thought your mom got toughened up down there, or should I say tenderized.” Skip smirked.

  “That’s the thing about you, man. You always have to go one step too far.”

  “Fuck you, Cooper.” Skip said.

  “Fuck you back,” Cooper said. “Speaking of the man in black, how you feeling?”

  “Huh?” James said. He’d been staring into space, and had been mildly amused by Cooper and Skip’s bickering. It wasn’t even bickering, just mean natured jabs. They used to spend more time palling around outside of the National Guard than they did in uniform.

  “You have that look on your face, like you’re trying to find a glory hole,” Skip said.

  “That the same look your mom has?” James asked.

  “Oh shit, son!” Cooper howled.

  “It’s too early for this kind of abuse, I’m going to go hit my vape pipe. If anyone needs me, I’ll be out by the transports,” Skip said.

  Skip picked up his trash, stacked it neatly on his plate, and then stood up. As he turned to leave, he dumped his scraps on James’ half-finished plate of food, sending Cooper into another fit of laughter.

  James frowned, but Cooper found it pretty amusing, and practically fell out of his chair with laughter.

  “Here’s to Sanders,” James said and lifted his cup of coffee.

  Skip and Cooper sobered and lifted their own cups.

  * * *

  The trip north shouldn’t have taken over an hour. They had been diverted along a number of side streets before they made it to the freeway. The number of road blocks they were forced to bypass was an intricate maze that threatened to leave them stuck in the city forever. How regular citizens were getting around was an absolute mystery to James.

  A few days ago, cars had been abandoned, but most of them had either been retrieved or pushed aside by engineers. The streets were bare, with the exc
eption of a few souls. They moved on sidewalks with their heads down. When the MTVs passed, some headed to side streets or faded behind buildings. Chicago, a bustling city, looked like it was prepping to be a warzone.

  The exodus had started the morning after martial law had been declared and continued throughout the day. Those who could leave had packed up their vehicles and made for points unknown. But the city had over 2.7 million people, and there was no way everyone could have left.

  James couldn’t imagine how day jobs had been affected. Mass transit had become a nightmare of late buses and trains, packed cars, and people in suits giving up and simply walking. As the days passed, the daily traffic had steadily dropped.

  Would the city’s economy be able to stay functional? He checked the news when he could, but after cell phones lost access to the internet, he was forced to get his information from news stations.

  Between broadcasts, there were the ever-present reminders and warnings about the curfew, what sort of ID to have on you at all times, and the threats to looters and law breakers. The first night that martial law had been declared, it was quiet, and their job had been to warn citizens to return to their homes. By the third night, gunshots had become the new normal, along with sirens and the sound of military trucks on patrol.

  Police, looking more like a militarized force, had joined with the Army and National Guard to assist. But James had also heard rumors that some in the police force had left the city, deserted their jobs, and gone to be with family members.

  They passed an overturned pickup truck that still smoked and was riddled with bullet holes. A couple of military personnel stood around with their assault weapons in hand. On the ground, three figures were covered in white cloths.

  James’ squad entered the onramp onto I90, and he sat back and was relieved they were moving at a normal pace. The interstate, normally packed with cars, was a ghost town. They passed another pileup of cars that had been pushed off the road. A white BMW’s hood had been crumpled against a dark blue Toyota RAV4, two other cars were almost unrecognizable hulks. They had been burned and also had bullet holes in the windshield.

  A group of people with backpacks slung over their shoulder scrambled off the road as they passed. James wasn’t surprised to see them reappear as the convoy of transports got up to speed. He hoped they had safe travels.

  A new guy had reported to him first thing in the morning. He was nineteen and completely and utterly miffed that he had been called up. He wore thin, but trendy Oakley framed glasses, was skinny as a rail, and his name was Donald Sprouts.

  Cooper and Skip got his story with a little cajoling and some teasing, but Sprouts didn’t seem to have a sense of humor.

  “What are you studying in school?” Cooper asked Sprouts as the truck trundled along the highway.

  Sprouts had to yell over the wind that pushed into the truck.

  “Right now, I’m taking the biology of disease,” Sprouts said.

  “Sounds like some cool nerd shit,” Cooper said. “It’s like how diseases are created?”

  “No. More like how they work on a molecular level. We also study immune response and stuff like that,” Sprouts said.

  “So, let me ask you a serious question, Sprouts,” Skip yelled over the wind. “How in the hell does the zombie break out start? Disease, or you know, like the Romero film, people just rising up from the grave because they miss coffee?”

  “Zombies aren’t possible. There’s a mountain of research suggesting that a zombie virus or disease simply cannot happen,” Sprouts said, tilting his combat helmet back and scratching his forehead.

  “Don’t say that. I’m planning to build up a zombie-proof bunker when all of this blows over,” Skip said. “I’m going to have a year’s worth of food and water, guns, ammo, and it will be real inviting for a couple of hotties who want to ride out the zombie thing with me. We’ll lock the place up, and then practice making babies.”

  “That is the most ree-goddamn-diculous thing I’ve ever heard, Skip.” Cooper shook his head.

  “What? All that food?”

  “No. The fact that you plan to lock two women up with you in a fucking bunker. I think that’s called kidnapping.”

  “Hey, man. I’ll be their protector, and I’ll provide them with food. What more could they want?”

  “I don’t know. A guy who isn’t an asshole?” Cooper said.

  James choked back a laugh.

  “I’ll treat them like princesses. Hell, they can wear tiaras and not much else, if you know what I mean.” Skip winked.

  “More likely? They’ll quickly make you their bitch and have you chained up outside your own bunker.”

  “I’m not into the kinky shit like you, Coop. But I’ll do what I have to for the survival of our race.”

  The next half hour passed in relative silence until they reached the outskirts of Vicksburg.

  James wished he had a pair of binoculars. He pushed the front of the truck’s cover aside and looked outside. The wind howled through the opening, shrieking like a banshee.

  A mass of people had gathered in an open field park. As they got closer, it became apparent that it was more than a mass. It was a damn army of people. They milled around, working on signs, or holding them aloft. James couldn’t make out what the signs said yet, but he was sure he had seen the like before at one of the countless anti-president Henderson protests across the country.

  People pointed in their direction, and as they drew into the city limits, they were met with jeers and boos.

  They had just about passed the mass, which had to number into the thousands, and growing by the minute, when a piece of fruit sailed out of the crowd and struck the side of the transport. Then a hail of items rained down, forcing him to duck back inside the truck’s canvas covering.

  “What the hell are they doing?” Sprouts strained his neck around, trying to see out of the back, over the heads of the other troops.

  “Our greeting party,” James said.

  “That’s some greeting party. I hate to see what they send us out of town with,” Cooper said.

  James thought the same thing. Assuming they left this place anytime soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bradley spent most of the night searching for his son. He didn’t find Kirk. Instead, he found a nightmare.

  The city of Vicksburg had been a quiet city the entire time he had lived here. He shopped at the grocery, hardware, second hand stores with Monica and the kids. They saw movies at the local AMC. They went to parks, took walks, and nodded at the others on the streets. He recognized at least thirty people on site and always offered a word to those, others he nodded at and had his gesture returned.

  He went to church here, and felt like they had a tight community even as the city had quadrupled in size over the last eight years.

  Streets were packed on the weekends, but not so much during the weekday. Some nights he went out to the local watering hole and enjoyed a beer with Andy. They watched a game, talked politics, and discussed their families and friends. Sometimes gossiping, sometimes having frank talks about life in general. Bradley rarely shared his experiences in the military, preferring to keep it to himself.

  He’d spent half of the evening in a city he did not recognize.

  They had to avoid bands of roving cars looking for trouble. With no police to be seen, people let their prejudices and hatred free. The worst of humanity was on display that night, and Bradley was witness to it.

  They drove past the local Kroger, where two bodies hung outside of the store from long ropes. They were too far away to make out details such as the color of their skin, but Bradley had a feeling he already knew they had been Muslims. Bradley passed a bonfire in the middle of a park where women were being slapped and passed around like meat.

  Stores’ front windows had been shattered, doors kicked in, and from the look, of it shelves looted.

  But the strangest thing of all was a huge number of people who gathered at Perki
ns Park. A sprawling collection of tents had appeared, as well as hundreds of cars that had overfilled the parking lot and spilled out into the street, and were now beginning to cover an open section of grass. He and Monica had taken the kids to the park about a year ago. They’d picked up cold fried chicken, coleslaw, and a slab of fudge covered chocolate cake that Junior had torn into.

  “That’s where your son is,” Chris pointed.

  “What would he be doing here?” Bradley said, even though the pieces started to fall together.

  “It looks like a tent city in the works,” Chris said. “But it’s not. It’s going to be a protest. And where there’s a protest this large, there is going to be trouble.”

  “He wouldn’t dare do it again. He’s not that stupid,” Bradley’s voice dripped with venom.

  “He’s not stupid. He’s fired up. He has a cause, and he believes in it very strongly.”

  Bradley cursed and pulled the car over. They were a quarter mile away but they’d be able to cover the ground in no time if they hoofed it. Bradley turned off the Bronco’s lights, and then pulled his Kimber. He ejected the magazine, checked to make sure it was full, and then inserted it, and chambered a round.

  “You gonna help me?” Bradley said.

  “I’ll stay here,” Chris said.

  “Makes sense, besides, he’s my kid, and my responsibility.”

  “Not just that. I’d assist, but one of us needs to keep an eye on the Bronco. The way things are going out there, it might be gone by the time you get back,” Chris said. “I’ll take a look around the area, make sure they’re no bad guys lurking.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Bradley said.

  “I got you in my cell phone,” Chris reached into an inner jacket and pulled out a large phone.

  “What’s your number? With messaging down, I’ll call if I find him.”

  Chris looked at the phone. He squinted his eyes, and then unlocked it. “Damn. Don’t know my own phone number. Here it is.”