Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  Brin sat back on her heels. "Think we should keep moving?" she whispered, hugging her knees.

  Erik looked north again. He half expected to see headlights any second, signaling the mystery car’s return. "I don't know. If we step out on the road again and keep moving north, what happens if those guys come back in the car? Look up the road," he said with a nod. "There's no cover for at least half a mile—the next stand of trees is way down the road there. We'd be sitting ducks out in the open until we reach them."

  "And if we stay here?" she asked.

  Erik shrugged. "I don't know," he said, frustrated. "I just don't know, okay?" He took his helmet off and rubbed his forehead. All he wanted to do was sleep. He was even past the point of being hungry and thirsty. He just wanted sleep. He wanted to forget about the worries of the new world they found themselves in. He wanted to stop thinking about who was going to kill them, or how they were going to get food or water, or if they would even live to see the next sunrise. He just wanted to be home. He wanted to be on his parents sailboat, cruising Lake Ticonderoga fishing in the afternoon. He wanted to relax under his favorite oak tree behind his parents' house, reading a book in a hammock. He wanted to stop worrying.

  "I said, what are we going to do?" she repeated.

  "I said I don't know," hissed Erik. He regretted the tone of his voice immediately. Brin looked like he'd physically slapped her. She lowered her eyes and nodded, then shuffled back to the children.

  "Brin, I…" he whispered, but it was no use—she was already out of hearing.

  Erik turned his back to the rest of his group pounded his fist silently into the soft earth. Indecision will get you killed just as fast as making the wrong decision.

  Erik lifted his head up and stared at the smoke coming from town.

  I thought we got further away than that. The smoke didn't look any more than a few miles away, yet they'd been walking all day. His back and shoulders ached, his feet hurt—the kids were exhausted. He wasn't even sure how Lindsay still remained on her feet. Brin carried more weight than Erik had ever seen someone her size carry and she did it in silence, too.

  And here he was stressing over a simple choice: stay or go? What would Ted do?

  That smoke unsettled Erik, the more he looked at it. Something was wrong. He glanced at Lindsay and Teddy. Something was really wrong. He could feel it.

  Okay, let's assume that something happened. It's just us now—what do I do next? Erik turned north again. If we keep going that clump of trees up there is about as far as I think we'll be able to get before the storm hits—if the kids can even make it that far. If the car doesn't come back and catch us in the open. If somebody doesn't sprain an ankle on the way… If, if, if…

  Erik sighed. He ignored the murmurings behind him as Brin and the children chatted. If we stay here, we'll be locked in one position. We'll have to cover our tracks, go deeper into the woods. Less sleep with no shelter, we'll be drenched if it rains. Unless I start breaking off branches. He looked up in the pine trees and thought back to the camping trips of his youth. He’d learned to make expedient shelters out of whatever was at hand—branches, leaves, bits of trash.

  At the time, the lessons had seemed ridiculous. Everyone in his troop had a perfectly good tent with them. Why was the scoutmaster making them dig through garbage and sleep under rotten branches?

  The old man had just laughed and said one day you'll thank me. Erik smiled. I'm not ready to thank you yet—you old bastard—but I can see how you were right.

  He still hadn't reached a decision, and that knowledge was beginning to eat away at him. His stomach rumbled. Or maybe that was just thunder. He looked up and sighed—through the gaps in the canopy above, the clouds had darkened as the storm approached. He was no meteorologist, but his gut told him they didn't have much time.

  So. What the hell do we do?

  Erik's radio broke squelch and shattered his train of thought. "Erik?"

  Even though the radio was set to its lowest volume, Ted's voice sounded as if he'd shouted in the relative silence at the edge of the forest. Brin and the kids immediately quieted.

  "Dad?" squeaked Lindsay.

  "Daddy!" called out Teddy.

  Erik whirled around. "Guys, you gotta be quiet!" he hissed.

  He pulled the radio off his vest and held it to his lips before pushing the transmit button. He kept his eyes facing north, watching for the return of the car. "Ted? You okay?"

  "I was about to ask the same thing of you? How are my kids?" he asked, his voice surprisingly relaxed.

  "We're fine. Where the hell are you?" Erik whispered.

  "I'm just leaving town. But hey, I got us some new wheels. Where are you guys?"

  Erik held the radio in his hand and looked at the kids. Ted would never knowingly give away the location of his kids—he'd kill himself first, taking at least half a dozen people with him, if Erik knew the marine at all.

  Goddammit, make a decision! You've got to at least decide on something today!

  Erik nodded to himself and pushed the transmit button. "We're fine. We're about…well, I don't really know how far we are north of town. I can see the smoke though, so it looks like a good couple miles in the distance…"

  Ted laughed. "So you see that, do you? I wondered."

  "What is it?" asked Erik, fear rising in his throat.

  "Did you think I'd really let those rednecks keep that matvee?"

  "But how? What'd you do?"

  Ted laughed again. "Let's just say Marines have a natural tendency toward blowing things up.”

  Erik felt a grin crease his face for the first time in a long time. "Sounds good. Listen, a car drove past here about 15 minutes ago. They went by slow, checking out the trees we're hiding in. They're definitely looking for us."

  "What kinda car? Wait, nevermind. It doesn't matter—not that many people on the road anymore, are there? How many were in it?"

  "As far as I could tell, the driver plus one. Passenger had a long gun, driver had binoculars. When they spotted the storm, they drove on north."

  "Any sign of them since?"

  Erik took another glance to the north. No headlights, no movement. The only thing he could see was the hazy smudge of green at the horizon signaling the tree line on either side of the road. Unattended crops painted the landscape dull greens and browns.

  "Nothing. Soon as they pulled away from here, they sped up to the next clump trees, then slowed down again. After that they disappeared."

  Ted was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, Erik heard the background roar of wind whistling past the vehicle. "All right, that complicates things, but it wasn't unexpected. I didn't think that son of a bitch would let us walk out of Dunham, anyway. You guys find some good cover?"

  Erik tried to ignore the ominous clouds rolling in. Thunder echoed in the distance, a soft reminder of the violence to be visited upon them soon. "Yeah, storm's almost on us and I think we've got a good spot to hide. We're fixing to get wet, but we'll be safe enough."

  "Well, I'm making pretty good time. I'll be there as quick as I can, just keep watching for headlights. When you see them from the south, radio me and I'll flick my hi-beams. If you don't see that, stay hidden and be ready."

  "Were you followed?" asked Erik.

  "I don't think so. It was kind of…chaotic. But you never know."

  Erik nodded again to himself. He sat down and leaned his back against a pine tree as he reached for his canteen. After a long swig of warm water, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled the radio to his lips again. "Oh, by the way, you see that big oak tree on the right side of the road yet? The one with the busted barbed wire fence right behind it?"

  "No, not yet. Although I have seen—wait—I think I see it up ahead. Light's fading fast. Yeah…yeah I think that's it, that's the biggest oak tree I've seen in a while."

  "Okay, under some leaves and a branch behind it are about half of our supplies."

  "What the hell, man?"<
br />
  "The kids were getting tired and I've had to carry Teddy. We couldn't carry everything at the same time, so we had to drop off some of it. Just make sure you get it—it's really important to Lindsay."

  He watched a small smile spread on the preteen's space. Brin looked down at her and patted her head before wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders and squeezing. She tousled Teddy's hair and looked at Erik with a genuine smile on her face. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished, as if she caught herself doing something she shouldn't.

  Erik latched on to that image of his wife, surrounded by kids and seared it into his memory. That was something they'd always wanted. Happiness, peace, and children. He turned away and closed his eyes, hoping to control the emotion that threatened to crack his voice. He cleared his throat.

  "Just hurry up, will you? The kids really miss you."

  When Ted spoke again, Erik heard a subtle ding..ding, signaling a car door had been opened. "Roger that. Tell them I'm on my way. I just got to the oak tree, I'm gonna see if I can find your stuff and I'll be there in a few minutes."

  "All right, I'll keep an eye out for that car to the north."

  Erik moved back to the forward position underneath the front edge of the bush and lay on the ground, settling in with his rifle at his shoulder.

  "You hear that guys? Your Dad's going to be here soon. And he's got a car."

  "No more walking?" asked Lindsay.

  "Hooray!" cheered Teddy. His face crumpled. "But no more pirates?"

  Erik couldn't help but smile at the young boy's enthusiasm. "That's right," he whispered. No more walking. But you can still look for pirates. Just look out the windows."

  As the storm drew closer, the surrounding light grew dimmer. Movement to Erik's left caused him to look south. Headlights appeared around the bend about a quarter mile away. "Brin, headlights! Get everybody down and keep quiet."

  Erik pulled the radio free and whispered, "Headlights—I got lights to the south."

  The lights winked off and on twice. "Is it me?" asked Ted.

  Erik smiled. "Yes it is—boy am I glad to see you again." Erik shifted his eyes to the north out of habit, relief washing through his system and draining away the stress. His breath caught in his throat. A second set of headlights had appeared on the far horizon. They blurred and shimmered in the distance winking as the car coming south traveled over the bumpy road. Erik's hands shook as he gripped the radio.

  "Ted hurry, the car's coming back from the north!"

  "Distance?"

  "How the hell should I know without a rangefinder? I know they're as far off as they can be. The lights are winking on and off like a mirage. Bet they're driving through potholes." He looked back south. Ted's headlights had disappeared.

  "All right, I'm coming in blind where the hell are you?"

  "You're almost here, I can see your car. The road turns left up ahead, you see that sign?"

  "Yeah, the one full of shotgun holes?"

  "That's the one. About 100 feet behind it is a clump of trees just off the right side of the road."

  Ted was silent for a second, but Erik heard the engine as the vehicle raced forward. "Is there enough room to pull this thing in there?"

  Erik scrambled to his feet and looked around their little encampment. "I think so, as long as you don't have an RV. There's a gap in the bushes alongside the road. I'll meet you over there. We can get you inside the tree line—hopefully before they see you."

  "There a way out of there?"

  Erik spun around in the gathering darkness. "I don't think so. We'll have to back out."

  "Damn," muttered Ted. "Well, it's better than getting into a gunfight in the open. The car still out there?"

  Erik broke cover and raced to the side of the road as low as he could. "They're still coming. Must not be moving very fast—the headlights haven't gotten much closer."

  "Probably still looking for you. That's good. Okay, I think I see you by the side of the road. Get the hell out of the way so I can pull this thing in there."

  Erik jumped back as a dark blue minivan crunched across the gravel at the side of the road and rolled down the slight incline toward the farmland below. Erik pulled back on the bushes as well as he could and winced—the bushes scratched the side of the van as it passed like nails on a chalkboard.

  When Ted had successfully pulled forward into the dense cover, Erik let the bushes snapped back into place, and hoped the van hadn't left tire tracks. He pushed through the trees ahead of the van and guided Ted as far into the trees as he could.

  Before the engine had even stopped, Ted jumped out and shut the door to kill the interior lights. "Branches? Anything we can use to cover the outline?"

  Erik turned. "Brin, kids, everybody find branches! Quick!"

  The next few minutes the entire group scrambled to pick up dried branches and sticks—or handfuls of leaves in Teddy's case—and pile them up around the outside of the van, facing the road.

  "Ted, the lights!" gasped Brin at one point. She pointed north.

  The storm was almost upon them. Erik could smell the rain on the wind. The headlights of the mysterious car were no more than a quarter mile away, glowing bright in the distance through the trees.

  "They're close, man."

  "Okay everybody, let's get on the other side of the van and make sure you grab all the gear."

  Erik scooped up his rifle and stood guard while everyone disappeared behind the van. He took one last look around their impromptu campsite and rushed over to the tree were Brin and the kids had been sitting. He felt it was a little unnecessary, but he kicked the dirt and scratched up pine needles to cover their tracks before disappearing behind the van himself.

  "You ready?" asked Ted, pulling back the charging bolt on his rifle.

  "Ready as I'll ever be."

  Ted looked at Brin. "Stay with the kids. Whatever you do, don't let them be taken."

  Brin had one arm around Teddy and held the pistol in her other, pointing at the ground between her legs. "Never again."

  The steel in Brin's voice sent a chill down Erik's spine as he moved around to the rear of the van. Ted had moved to the front. Between their two fully automatic rifles, Erik knew the two of them could take down the men in the car should they stop. He just didn't want to risk a firefight so close to the children and their brand-new ride.

  The car soon appeared, silhouetted by lightning flashes in the distance. Thunder pealed overhead. The vehicle came to a stop in the same spot as it had before, just in front of their position. A window rolled down, and the driver moved inside the car. Erik couldn't tell what the hell he was doing and prayed the man didn't have night vision goggles.

  This close to the trees, the outline of the van would be impossible to miss. He heard muffled talking, and the beat of a radio from inside the car. The passenger lit up a cigarette, an orange light flaring inside the darkened interior. Erik noticed there were two heads in the rear passenger seat now as well, huddled together.

  Oh shit.

  He held his breath, brought his rifle up to his shoulder and took aim at the driver. If the man so much as opened the door, he would be forced to fire. That's when the shaking started.

  Erik found couldn't hold the rifle still. Just the thought of pulling the trigger and ending someone's life sent him over the edge. Erik prayed the car would move on before his finger hit the trigger by accident.

  What's wrong with me? I should be able to do anything to protect my family. Those bastards double-crossed us and now they're hunting us and I can't even pull the trigger?

  The car shifted into gear and rolled forward, the window rolling up. The driver threw a beer can out the window that rattled on the ground, then hit the gas. The car peeled out, roaring off in the distance as the first drops of rain pelted the world.

  Erik slumped against the back of the van and fell to his knees. He dropped his rifle and threw up.

  Chapter 22

  New Target

  ST
APLETON STARED AT THE sat phone in his hands. "Say again, Seeker?"

  "Repeat, package is not in the store. No sign at all, Actual. This is a big fat Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot."

  Stapleton cursed and pounded his fist into the console next to his main terminal. "They moved Dragonfly! Get out of there, we're going in hard."

  "You want us to exfil without the package?"

  "Yes, God damn it! I'm going to rain holy hell on that city. Get out! Signal when you're clear. I'm taking the gloves off, Seeker. Command Actual, out." Stapleton slammed the secure satellite phone back in its cradle.

  Son of a bitch! This Malcolm was proving to be a wily bastard. They'd traced the secure commlink the rebel commander had used to a specific address in north Philadelphia. He heard Edwards' voice—she'd been there.

  He knew we were going to make a play for her. He's smarter than I thought. Stapleton stared at the force asset location screen, watching the blue blips that designated Hughes' position as they clustered, then started to move north again. Good, he's in the air. He frowned. I won't underestimate you again, Malcolm.

  The general grabbed the sat phone again and punched in the authorization code he needed. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he needed some intel.

  "Hello?" a woman's voice answered. She sounded young.

  "This is Brigadier General Joseph Stapleton calling for…" he couldn't bring himself to call Daniel Jones by his preferred title.

  "The President?" she breathed.

  Stapleton closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

  "Okay, I've been practicing this. You're the first one!" she squealed. "Okay, here goes."

  Stapleton rolled his eyes. I don't need this.

  "Please hold for the president." The girl squealed again as the phone went silent.

  Jesus Christ. Stapleton held the phone away from his ear and stared at the ceiling.

  "Ah, General Stapleton, good to hear from you. Are you ready to surrender yourself and your men to face—"

  "Shut up, you little prick. I'm not here to surrender anything. I'm calling to deliver terms."

  "T-terms?" the 'president' stammered. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" The subtle click in the line told Stapleton he was on speaker phone now.