"Don't stretch yourself too thin," replied Stapleton. "Our supply line won't last forever. We’re going to need air support when we catch these bastards and the shooting starts."
"Roger that, sir, we'll start phasing out the helos with drones."
Stapleton stood back and pulled a cigar out of his mouth, fists on his hips. "Now, seems to me these fools don't have much of a plan other than following 95 south as far and fast as they can go. They are purposely misleading the local populations into thinking we're going to slaughter everyone in our path."
"It's the only way to explain why the civvies collectively lose their shit when we show up, but not when they show up," muttered Vinsen. "It's not like we're the ones who set Philly on fire."
Stapleton frowned. Shelling Philadelphia had been unfortunate, but necessary. If he hadn't attacked, he wouldn't have been able to link up with Nella in Washington.
And yet that son of a bitch Jones slipped away too, another in a long string of failures.
Stapleton jabbed his finger at the map as if the force of the gesture could propel them on to victory through sheer willpower alone. "We've got to gain ground. I don't care what it takes, as long as we can avoid civilian casualties, we've got to push through."
Vinsen shook his head immediately. "About half my force has to be transported on flatbeds—the other half has to move on its own power, which slows us all down. The roads are taking a beating—”
"To hell with the roads!" said Stapleton, slamming his fist down on the hood of the car. "If your tanks tear up a few streets on the way south, then so be it. I want maximum speed in this, Bob. We can worry about rebuilding the roads after we stop this rebellion. Tear up whatever you have to, just get those tanks moving."
Vinsen nodded, a grim look on his face. "Yes, sir."
"If we have to, we can use the Black Hawks to ferry troops. Maybe jump out in front of them…we've got to slow them down," suggested the general.
"Carrying soldiers, equipment, and fuel…to get ahead of Malcolm and disable the roads…" The commander of the air wing shook his head slowly. "It'll be close, sir—we'll deplete a lot of our reserves. I'm not sure it's feasible."
Stapleton nodded, thoughtfully. "Fine. Run some numbers and get back to me by sundown. I want best estimates. We've got to have options here, people."
Vinsen step forward. "I have an idea. It calls for splitting up my tanks, but it might give us the edge we need to gain ground."
"I'm all ears," Stapleton growled around his cigar.
Vinsen nodded and placed his hands on the map, framing Washington and the interstates that fed the city like lifelines. "I can jump across to 1—from what the scouts are telling us, it's mostly empty."
"That's right, most of the civilians fleeing the city aren't bothering to get off 95, they're just getting off on whatever road they can and getting the hell out of Dodge," added the aviation brigade commander.
Vinsen nodded. "Right. So I take what tanks I can on flatbeds and transport them south on 1. We can merge back here—near Fredericksburg." He adjusted his finger to point at the intersection of 95 and 1.
"Other options?" asked Stapleton. He didn't exactly like the idea of splitting up the Division.
"We've got minesweepers that I can hook onto my leading Abrams—we can roll through any abandoned civvie vehicles like a hot knife through butter." Vinsen shrugged. "It'll be a lot faster than the Strykers ever could clear the road. I'll have to put a handful of my M1s out of commission through wear and tear, but it won't lower the overall combat effectiveness of the unit. I think it'll be acceptable for what we face."
"Is this feasible?" Stapleton asked the others. He waited as the brightest of his staff leaned over and examine maps, making calculations and muttering amongst themselves.
The consensus was it would work and they might gain at least half a day on Malcolm. That would be enough to pin him down.
Stapleton nodded. "Then it's settled—make it happen, Bob. Take whatever support you need." He looked at the other brigade commanders. "I want to give priority to this, people. Get us on the other side of this son of a bitch and we'll have a real chance at stopping that bastard Malcolm before he reaches Richmond."
Chapter 35
Hidden Injury
IT WAS NOON ON the third day after they left Dunham that the troubles really began. Brin was behind the wheel of the van, taking them north on I-85. They were moving at a decent pace, closing in on Petersburg, Virginia.
Erik sat in the back with the kids, trying to stretch out as best he could, but between his long frame, the kids, and the meager supplies they'd collected, there was precious little room to relax.
"Okay, I think it's decision time team," said Ted from the front passenger seat. "We just passed the 10 mile mark to Petersburg."
Erik unfolded himself from the back, and pulled himself into one of the middle seats next to Lindsay, who sat behind Brin staring out the window.
"How…" Erik cleared his throat. It was so dry, he found it difficult to speak. "How we doing on gas?"
Ted looked over his shoulder. "We only ended up getting about three quarters of a tank last time we stopped."
"We're almost out again," Brin announced.
Erik shook his head in amazement. I guess I fell asleep after all. "Okay, want to do the same thing we did outside Fayetteville?"
Ted paused as Brin weaved in between stalled cars and slowed to a stop next to an RV.
"Good idea Brin, this thing will provide at least a little cover."
"Well, I'm sure the people around here have already picked this place clean, but I figure it's worth a shot," she replied.
"Good thinking, sweetie," Erik said. It was the first time he'd called her that since they left the prison camp. He felt his cheeks redden when she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder. It'd been an unconscious slip of the tongue. Erik pulled his rifle from in between the front seats and opened the side door to escape the awkwardness.
He stepped out into the early afternoon noticing immediately the difference in temperature between Virginia and Georgia. He stared up at the crystal clear blue sky. "Almost forgot what it's like to be in the north."
The passenger door opened and Ted stepped out, stretching. "We ain't there yet—don't get cocky."
"Okay kids, we're all going to stay here…" Brin said as Erik moved away.
"Let's check this big bitch out first," suggested Ted, jerking his head toward the RV.
Erik and Ted cautiously approached the abandoned RV, rifles aimed at the open side door. Erik took a position to cover the front half of the RV, then nodded as Ted moved past him and slipped straight into the vehicle. It only took a few seconds before Ted called out "clear."
As Erik's eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the RV, he saw that Brin's guess was correct. Someone had ransacked the RV.
"They even cut up the cushions…" Ted said, lifting up the torn up remains of foam and fabric with the barrel of his rifle. Erik slipped past him and poked about in the small galley kitchen.
"Yeah, there's nothing here but silverware."
"Well…we tried," Ted sighed.
Erik slammed shut the cabinets over the sink. "Okay," he said as he turned and leaned against the counter. "You want to do this like before?"
Before Ted could answer, Erik felt moisture in his hand. He jumped back from the counter in surprise.
"You sir, are a God damn genius," Ted muttered as he pushed Erik out of the way. He slapped at the faucet and shut the stream of water off that Erik had inadvertently bumped when he leaned against the counter.
"Well, I never expected to see running water again…" Erik mumbled in amazement.
Ted pulled his empty canteen from his belt, put it under the faucet and filled up. "This thing must be full of water. Look, I just filled the canteen, and the flow is still steady and strong."
Erik licked his lips his Ted sniffed the water in the canteen and smiled over the rim at Erik. "Smells good.” H
e brought it to his lips and paused. "We should probably filter it first."
"How long will that take?" asked Erik, fingers itching to get his own canteen under the water.
"I don't know, but that'll keep us occupied while you look ahead for other stuff. Sorry man," Ted said.
Erik dry-swallowed and nodded, not taking his eyes off the canteen. "No, I get it. You're right. We need to make sure this is safe before we start drinking it. Who knows how long it's been sitting here?"
Ted licked his own lips. "I mean, it's probably safe…it's inside someone's RV. Not like they would intentionally poison their own water…and I can't see bacteria growing in a sealed..."
Erik looked around them. "It’s pretty obvious whoever came in here had no idea what they were looking for. They probably never checked the faucet."
"I bet most people were digging for food…" rationalized Ted.
Erik pulled his canteen out. "Okay, I'm just going to fill this up to take with me—in case of emergency."
Ted nodded. "In case of emergency, right. You go on ahead and start checking the cars, I'll get Brin and the kids working on filtering this and collecting as much as we can." Ted shoved Erik’s shoulder. "You may have just save our asses, brother," he said with a grin.
Erik put his canteen back in his pack with a smile. For the first time since they left Dunham, Erik felt a spark of hope.
Erik left as Ted called through the RV’s window to the others. He slipped out and walked north to the car immediately behind the RV. The windows were smashed. His boots crunched on the broken glass as he stepped forward, eyes on the horizon looking for movement. He reached in to unlock the driver's door, then popped the trunk on the little two-door Hyundai hatchback.
Mumbling to himself how the thing looked like a clown car, he stared at what waited for him in the trunk. A few cans of dog food had been scattered in the trunk. Marks and slashes scored the interior paneling and the carpeted seat backs were trashed. Bits of paper and cardboard mingled with curled up pieces of shrink wrap.
Whatever the hell had been inside the little car, someone had a field day removing it. But they left the dog food. Erik sighed as he fished out one of the dented cans. Despite his disgust, his mouth watered. The first ingredient listed was beef.
He closed his eyes. Gross.
Erik tossed the can back inside with a hollow thump. He turned, about to yell to Ted when what he heard caught up with his mind. A hollow thump?
He took another quick check of the horizon and satisfied he was the only one on the road, probed around the edge of the cargo space with his fingers. He found the catch to release the false bottom which covered the spare tire and jack. Only, when he lifted the panel, there was no tire or jack.
Inside the space reserved for a spare tire, he found a small black duffel bag and about a dozen cans of chili. He hurriedly pulled out the cans and found the cavity extended a little further toward the rear seats. He found another six cans of vegan chili. Erik's mouth began watering immediately.
Erik looked up from the back of the car at the RV. On the camper’s bumper a big sticker proclaimed the owner's love for their shih tzu. A smile spread across his face.
"Your dog ate pretty good." He picked up one of the cans and checked the expiration date—two years in the future. Closing his eyes, Erik whispered a prayer of thanks as he gathered up the entire haul. He let his rifle hang by his side as he carried part of his treasure back to the van.
Brin's eyes opened wide in sight. "Is that what I think it is?"
Ted's head popped out of the van. "What? More water?"
"Grade A, FDA-certified processed horsemeat and beans!" Erik said as he deposited the cans on the passenger seat.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" exclaimed Ted.
"That's disgusting!" said Lindsay.
"Horse?" asked Teddy.
Erik laughed and turned back to the towed car behind the RV. "I'm gonna keep going—Brin you want to give me one of those gas cans?"
"Don't worry about it, I'm right behind you."
Back at the car, Erik pulled out the last of the chili cans and cursed as his watch caught on the cheap plastic paneling in the cargo area. He pulled, and the panel gave way at the corner with a plastic pop. Out of curiosity, he pulled again, and the panel fell off.
That was too easy.
He immediately saw why—behind the panel was a small compartment that housed wiring inside the rear quarter panel styling. A small black bag had been stuffed in there. It was surprisingly heavy. He unzipped it as Brin squatted next to the Hyundai and pounded away with her screwdriver on the gas tank.
"You think this thing’s got any gas in it?" she asked.
Erik grunted as he looked inside the bag, revealing several zipped baggies of 9mm ammunition and a canvas pouch. He opened the pouch and pulled free a pristine Springfield XD Mod.2. He whistled. "I would be surprised if this thing wasn't completely full of gas."
"Well, you're right," said Brin as she sat up, wiping her face. "The gas is like a fire hose coming out down there," she said. “How did you know?” Her eyes lit up when she saw the pistol. "Look at that!"
"I guess whoever looted the RV figured all the good stuff would've been inside…" said Erik. He slipped the pistol back into the case and zipped the duffel.
Watching her wipe sweaty hair from her forehead and squint up at him, he suddenly felt uncomfortable. Now would be a good time for him to try to talk with her, but she’d probably get mad—so he chose option B. He turned and made for the next car.
"Make sure Ted gets that gun, I'll go see what else I can find," he called over his shoulder.
An agonizing hour later, Erik walked back to the van empty-handed. Every single car, truck, and sport-utility vehicle had been stripped clean or burned to the ground for hundreds of yards.
That wasn't the worst of his news though. At some point, somewhere around the curve in the road up north a little ways, the traffic pattern had switched. The closer they approached Petersburg—and Richmond just beyond—the stronger the flow of traffic heading south.
They'd have to switch to the other side of the road if they wanted to continue. With as many cars that littered I-85, it would be a time consuming ordeal. Assuming of course, they could find a break in the median to allow them to cross at all.
Ted handed Erik a plastic bottle of clear, sparkling water when he returned to the van. "I take it you didn't find much?"
Erik took three sips, swishing the water around his mouth to make sure everything was good and wet before he swallowed. "Nothing. God, that's good." He drank half the bottle. The lukewarm water revived his spirit.
"It's like a graveyard out there. But we got other problems."
Ted looked at Erik sharply. "Such as?"
Erik jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "We're getting too close to Petersburg. The traffic up there around the corner is like a parking lot. Way worse than that stretch back around Rocky Mount. We'll have to switch to the northbound lanes."
"Damn," muttered Ted, already sizing up the problem.
"Everyone was trying to escape Richmond I guess…" Brin said staring around at the hundreds of cars.
Erik accepted the open can of meat-filled chili from Ted and tucked in immediately. He examined the plastic spoon he’d loaded with soupy glop before dumping it all in his mouth. It tasted awful. It tasted wonderful.
"Nice silverware," he muttered.
Ted laughed. "It was Teddy's idea. He said there was no point in letting it sit there…"
"Recycling!" The little man chirped from his seat on the van’s running board, kicking his legs in the air.
Erik smiled. Everyone seemed in good spirits for once, even Brin. They gathered around the side of the van as if they were on a camping trip, sitting around the campfire at night enjoying a hearty meal. His eyes rested on Lindsay, huddled up inside the van by the seat farthest from the door.
"She not hungry?" Erik said, gesturing with his spoon.
Te
d looked over his shoulder at his daughter, then looked back at Erik. He shook his head. "I'm not worried about it. Teenager thing, I think."
"Look at you two nodding like you actually know what you're talking about," Brin muttered in mock disgust. She scraped the bottom of her can of chili and set it carefully on the ground before standing up and dusting her legs off. "I'll go talk to her."
Ted sighed as he put his empty chili can in a plastic bag. "Oh my God, that was good."
Erik tried to savor what was left in his can. He took another sip of the bottled water and closed his eyes, letting himself fall into a wave of bliss.
"It's my turn behind the wheel," Ted said as he shouldered his rifle. He belched. "I think with all the stuff we've gathered, you're gonna need to reorganize back there if you want to lay down," he gestured toward the rear of the van.
"First, I'll head up on top of the RV for lookout." He glanced at his watch. "Let's take a 10 minutes break and then try to switch to the northbound lane?"
Erik nodded, only half listening. His entire being was consumed with the taste of room temperature chili with meat. At any other time he probably would've gagged, but he felt as if he sat at the table of a five-star restaurant.
"Sounds good…" he mumbled, eyes closed.
Ted laughed and moved around the rear of the RV. Erik heard his boots ringing off the thin aluminum ladder that led to the top of the big vehicle.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Brin's voice said, from inside the van.
Erik paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. That didn't sound good. He wolfed down the chili and leaned in the van.
"Everything okay?" He saw Lindsay huddled against the far side of the van. Brin, kneeling between the middle captain's seat, had one hand on Lindsay's leg. "Hey Lindsay, you gotta try this stuff it's really pretty good—"
"She's hurt," Brin said quietly.
Erik froze. "What? Where? How bad?"
"Keep your voice down, I don't want to upset Teddy," whispered Brin, her eyes on the little towhead as he happily kicked at a rock outside. "She said it happened a couple days ago…"
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 20