Positioned across the hood, he scanned around in the darkness as his eyes adjusted to the bright starlight. One glance told him people in the past enjoyed a much better celestial show than anyone in modern times. The stars were so numerous he could read a map.
Erik gave his eyes another few seconds to adjust to the pale light. Nothing stirred. In the distance a mournful owl hooted across the open vista to his right. They were in the low country of North Carolina, so everything looked relatively flat. He figured the most dangerous thing out there was probably snakes.
"Okay, it looks clear, hurry up," he whispered.
Lindsay opened the side door just far enough for her to squeeze through and then slipped down the slight embankment into the darkness. She didn't go far—Erik could hear the rustle of her clothes as she did her business.
Erik sat there scanning all around them, praying for her to hurry. The longer they sat still, the greater the threat of discovery or ambush. Someone could be watching them right now. They could be out there beyond Lindsay in the tall grass, behind him on the road, in front of them on the road, anywhere. If someone was equipped with night vision goggles, they'd be sitting ducks.
The more Erik's imagination ran wild, the more he felt a familiar itch between his shoulders—like someone watched him. He slowly turned in a circle, keeping the rifle at his shoulder and scanning all sectors.
There's nothing out here, it's just your imagination.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. "Lindsay," he hissed, "hurry up! Something doesn't feel right."
"Okay!" she whispered back.
Erik waited patiently for a few more moments. He started to sweat. "Lindsay? You okay?"
"I'm coming," she whispered.
To Erik's relief he heard her footsteps in the grass, then he heard a startled squeak before it sounded like she fell to her knees. On high alert, Erik crouched and moved in front of the van to the passenger side. He peered down and saw her scramble up the embankment.
Helping her to her feet, he asked, "You're crying. Are you okay?"
She sniffled. "Yeah, I just tripped. I'm okay."
Erik nodded. "Good, let's get you inside and get out of here."
After she'd climbed aboard and shut the door, Erik took one more look around the darkness. Someone—or something—was definitely watching him. He shuffled around the front of the van and slipped in the driver's seat, feeling safer by the second after the door shut. He turned on the headlights, half expecting to see a dozen armed men illuminated in front of them. Instead, he saw only open road surrounded by trees and brush.
Erik shifted the van into drive and pulled forward, only relaxing when they got back up to speed. His fingers fumbled in the darkness until he found the right switch to illuminate the instrument panel. The soft glow told him what he feared. They only had about a quarter tank left.
Well, that'll get us to sunrise, he reasoned. There were three assorted sizes of gasoline containers in the back. Two of them were empty, one contained about two gallons of fuel. It was their emergency stash.
We're not seeing enough cars, he mused, watching the miles rolled by. On the back roads, they saw hardly any sign of human civilization. No traffic, no hitchhikers—no one. It was more than a little unnerving.
Maybe it's time we shifted back to the highways…
As much as Erik hated to admit it, every time they tried to scout out an interstate, they always found parking lots—no matter the state. It seemed the universal response to the national power grid going down was to jump in a car, get on the closest interstate, and get stuck in traffic jams until the gas ran out.
In more than a few instances, miles of cars had been scorched and burned. Erik wanted to assume it started when one car got into an accident and caught on fire, then spread to the others, but he couldn't rule out the possibility that someone had deliberately torched them.
By the time the sun finally crested the horizon, Erik could barely keep his eyes open. The van's speed had dropped down to 35 miles an hour. He didn't trust himself going any faster—but they still moved north.
Finally deciding that it was time to switch drivers, Erik let the van roll to a stop on its own near the small town of Salemburg. The minivan stopped, he put it in park, and closed his eyes with a sigh.
A hand gripped his shoulder. "How long did you drive while you were asleep?" asked Ted in a cheerful voice.
Erik shook his head and forced his eyes open. "I just stopped to close my eyes for a second."
"You know how many times I heard that when I was a deputy?" Ted laughed. "Come on, get out. I'll take over."
Erik unfolded himself from the driver's seat and stretched in the chilly morning sun. He blinked and looked at Ted. "We're almost out of gas. If we don't find something soon, we're going to have to use our reserves."
Ted's face fell. "Well, this thing gets better gas mileage than the matvee, but not by much." He climbed in and buckled up.
Erik slipped into the back and shut the side door. "I think it may be time we discuss getting closer to the interstate again."
Brin stirred next to him in the tangle of children and supplies. She lifted her head up. "We out of gas?"
Ted cursed from the front seat. "Near enough," he whispered.
Brin mumbled something in response as she put her head back down. Erik moved up in the passenger seat and let it recline all the way back. "Oh my God, I'm so tired."
Erik was asleep before Ted shifted into gear.
Chapter 26
Exodus Baltimore
MALCOLM STOOD ON TOP of a large delivery truck trapped in the sea of fighters streaming south from Baltimore. His sacrificial rearguard action in Philadelphia had delayed Stapleton enough for him to get the bulk of his forces away and that was something. But was it enough? He struggled against the self-doubt. He'd sent so many of the old guard and youngest recruits to their deaths...he feared Allah would never forgive him.
He frowned as another group waved at him. There was no other way for him to do it. The needs of the many often outweighed the needs of the few. At least that's how he remembered the saying going.
After the debacle in Philadelphia, only a few people slapped the side of the truck and cheered. He glanced north. Baltimore remained as yet mostly undisturbed. A few thin trails of smoke snaked into the sky, but he was fairly certain any city after six months without power would have smoke like that.
Philadelphia had turned into a firestorm despite the fact that power for the most part had been restored to the outer fringes. The feeling of goodwill people typically experienced from regaining some semblance of normalcy—in this case through the return of reliable electricity—had not stopped the more restless elements of his army from running amok. He grimaced.
Will the same fate befall Baltimore? The last segments of his army were just now beginning to leave the downtown area. He had reports from some of his more trusted commanders the looting and rampaging that had taken place in Philadelphia had started again. Although with Stapleton's army growing ever closer, he wondered if trying to put a stop to the wanton destruction was a good idea.
Malcolm scanned the outskirts of the city through his binoculars. Rioters where even now overturning cars, trashing buildings, and doing everything they could to make as much of a mess as possible. Unwittingly, they might slow down their mortal enemy.
Something he hadn't expected was the massive, spontaneous civilian evacuation.
Far off to the sides of his column of travel, he saw cars and trucks of all shapes and sizes—not to mention thousands upon thousands of people on foot—all flowing away from the city in an attempt to flee what they perceived to be an army of destruction. He smirked. Nevermind the fact most of his people had already passed through the city on their way south.
The threat is largely over, but these people don't think logically.
He'd even sent runners ahead to announce his arrival and let people know they were not in danger—at lea
st not from him. He and his forces were merely passing through Baltimore on their way to link up with President Jones in Washington.
He stared at a family as they exited a vehicle stuck in traffic. With panicked looks over their shoulders, they pulled their children down the side of the road, desperate to flee before the surging mass of rebels overtook them.
He lowered his binoculars. I don't think my warning had the effect I was looking for. He'd have to think hard about whether to do that when he approached Washington.
His radio squawked again, another report coming in from the south about civilians tying up the roads and blocking his path. While they may be making it difficult for Stapleton to get within striking range, they were also making things tedious for him.
He sighed and looked south again, watching his people continue to move forward. He wondered how long he would be able to keep things together, to keep pushing them south before the first groups began to revolt.
He'd already heard disturbing reports of individual gangs splitting off looking for greener pastures. Reduction in overall numbers was minimal, but the psychological effect could be immense if he didn't get it under control.
It all boiled down to a question of time. How much did he have, how much could he gain, and how much he could afford to lose?
His radio squawked. "Malcolm! Them people really slowing us down! What you want me to do? We're still a little ahead of them, but if I can't get 'em off the road, there's gonna be some shit goin' down when the rest of our people show up!"
Malcolm grimaced. "Where are you?"
"Down by the school."
"What school?" Malcolm asked, looking at his well-worn map.
"Sign says UMBC School of Technology…Don't know what it is, but we're sittin' up above the interstate. Too many people down there so we had to come up this way to get around."
Malcolm tried to visualize where his lieutenant was, but failed. His map listed a small college campus but had no elevation markers. He needed to see it with his own eyes.
"What you want us to do?"
Malcolm wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was going to have to get south faster than this. The civilians were getting in the way. He climbed down off of this truck, startled to see equal numbers of tired, angry faces mixed with the jubilant.
Whatever he did with the civilian population, he had to do it quick before things got out of control. He could not let the rearguard actions became the norm for the rest of the army. That would turn everyone in their path against them.
His bodyguards pushed their way through the river of people to get him across the highway to a small car cordoned off with loyal troops. He climbed into the passenger seat and keyed the mic on his radio.
"Just stay where you're at! Try to get the refugees to keep moving! Whatever you do, maintain control of our people and make sure things do not escalate. I'm on my way—I'll be there in…" he looked at his watch and glanced at the map on the dashboard. "Ten minutes!"
He turned to the driver. "We need to be at exit 4a in five minutes."
"Sorry, man—I don't know how we can do that…" the driver said with a shrug. He gestured at the windshield. "I mean, look—they gotta get out the way first."
Malcolm ground his teeth in frustration. "Honk the horn."
The driver shrugged again and hit the horn, scattering the first dozen people in front of the car. He lurched forward about a dozen feet and then came up against the wall of people again. A few, recognizing who was in the car cheered and tried to clear path, but there were just too many bodies.
I need a helicopter.
Malcolm turned to the driver again. "I will get my bodyguards to clear a path to the next off-ramp. Get us on to the side streets. We'll just have to go as fast as we can."
He picked up the radio and switched frequencies to his guards' channel. Allah, grant me this boon. Help me to get your people safely south. You know I wish to avoid bloodshed, but the longer this goes on, the less hope I have for the journey to be peaceful.
"Terrence, we need to get to the off-ramp. There is an emergency south of here I need to oversee personally. Can you clear a path?"
"I can—how bad you need it?"
"It is a matter of life and death for a great many people." Perhaps all of us. Malcolm thought for a second. "Do what you need to, but clear that road."
After the first gunshots rang out, people quickly moved out of the way. Malcolm closed his eyes and begged for forgiveness as the car sped toward the off-ramp.
Chapter 27
Encounter
"ERIK, WAKE UP."
A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder. Erik turned his head to the side and opened his eyes, hoping to find himself in his own bed next to Brin on a lazy Sunday morning. He longed for that sleepy look in her eyes, a sly smile on her face that promised he would be in for his favorite way of waking up.
Ted's face filled his vision.
"Ugh!" Erik tried to sit up but the seatbelt across his chest slammed him back in his seat. He fumbled with the latch and the belt zipped off him. He winced as he sat up, his back protesting in pain.
"Where are we?" he asked, rubbing his lower back.
Ted grinned. "Welcome to Virginia."
Erik's eyes snapped open. "Seriously?"
Ted nodded. "We just crossed the border. But," he said, holding up an empty gas can. "We're out. Completely. I got as close to 95 as I could, but this is as far as we go without some more fuel."
"Come on," said Brin from the back seat. "It's our turn."
Erik rubbed his face to wake up, then grabbed his rifle and hopped out the passenger door. Ted tossed him the empty gas can. Brin waited a short ways away with the other two plastic gas containers. "You get some sleep?" she asked politely.
"Yeah, I guess," Erik replied around a jaw-cracking yawn.
"Good," she stated flatly. She walked off down the road toward the on-ramp, then stopped and turned around. "You coming?"
Erik sighed and accepted the small pack Ted handed over.
"Focus, loverboy," Ted said.
Erik flipped him off as he shouldered the first aid pack and the last of their protein bars. Food. Water. Two more pressing needs weighed down his spirit. They'd been on strict rationing lately, but even so they wouldn't have enough water to finish the day. Erik jogged to catch up to Brin. His mission while she collected gas from abandoned cars was not only to provide security, but to spot any targets of opportunity and find supplies they might use.
Despite her shorter legs, Brin was walking fast. Erik reached her just before the on-ramp's crest. "Hey, slow down. Let me get in position."
She didn't say anything, but dropped into a crouch. Erik slipped past her and got near the guard rail, putting his own container on the ground. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and crept up the ramp just high enough to see the interstate. His heart thundered in his chest. This was the make or break moment. They gambled all on his idea of getting to 95. If there were no cars…
Erik forced the negative thought from his mind and smiled. It wasn't wall-to-wall like I-75 had been back in Florida, but there were enough cars that there just had to be some fuel for them to harvest.
Erik paused for a moment, watching. No movement. He lowered the rifle after scanning north and south, then pulled Ted's little mini binoculars to his eyes.
"Okay, Brin. Go on out—I don't see anything moving up here. Looks like we got plenty of cars."
The words had barely left his mouth before she brushed past him.
"You got your hammer and screwdriver?" Erik called as she moved toward the closest car, about 20 feet away.
"This would be an awful short trip if I didn't," she replied over her shoulder.
Erik lowered the binoculars. So now we're talking again? He shook his head. The first day after leaving Dunham, Brin said more no more than two words to him all day. Now, suddenly she was back on speaking terms. The more she did this back-and-forth thing, the more confused and angry he became
.
He looked back down the on-ramp toward the van. Ted leaned against the hood of the vehicle, scanning the road behind them with his rifle.
The kids sat on the side of the road playing with pebbles. He flashed a thumbs up to Ted, who waved enthusiastically.
It would've been easier to pick up his radio and let them know, but as long as they stayed within shouting distance, everything would be okay. At least that was the plan.
"Jackpot!"
Erik turned and let the small binoculars dangle at his neck as he snapped his rifle up. He only lowered it again when he saw Brin giving him the thumbs-up from the Impala she had approached. She sat by the rear bumper with her hammer and screwdriver on the ground at her feet. The first small gas can sat underneath the car.
Erik closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. Finally, something was going their way.
He walked further out into the road toward Brin, eyes continually scanning. The southbound lanes had a lot fewer cars than the northbound lanes. Erik followed the road south with his eyes—a few cars here and there spaced about every 50 to 100 yards. It looked like a normal flow of traffic. The other side of the road was a different matter.
Heading north, the cars were tightly packed together and as far as he could see—more than a dozen had been abandoned in ditches. Their drivers had attempted to get around traffic and failed. He looked as far as he could but the pattern remained the same far into the distance.
Almost half the cars had their doors open, and the rest had at least one bullet hole—some had been well ventilated. Erik idly wondered how many people had locked the cars as they got out and walked to wherever they were going, hoping to come back someday. He shook his head at the waste of it all.
"I wonder how many of the owners are still alive?" Brin asked softly.
"This is as bad as we've ever seen it," Erik observed.
"Fredericksburg must be really bad, if this many people are trying to get out of town…"
Erik grunted. He dropped his rifle from his shoulder and glanced in the rear window of the Impala. "It looks like there isn't anything in this one. There's an SUV behind us in the other lane. I'll go check it out."
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 15