Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  "A couple days ago?" Erik asked. He knelt inside the van. "Lindsay, when?"

  The girl sniffled and looked at Brin as if waiting for final approval to tell her tale. Brin nodded. Lindsay closed her eyes. "It was when I had to go to the bathroom that night you were driving."

  Erik looked at the floor, thinking. He didn't remember her getting hurt at all. She never cried out, she only…

  "You said you tripped."

  "Wait, you knew about this? And you didn't say anything?" asked Brin in an accusing tone.

  "Whoa, wait a minute," said Erik, raising his hand. "She said she tripped when I asked her if she was okay. She said she was fine."

  "And you didn't look?"

  Erik frowned. "It was like three in the morning, everyone was asleep, and we were almost out of gas. No, I didn't look when a 12-year-old girl told me she was fine. I didn't look because I didn't hear her scream, or cry out…or anything."

  "Guys, don't fight, please," Lindsay begged.

  "It's okay, sweetie, Uncle Erik should've known—"

  Lindsay shook her head, barely containing tears now. "No! It's not his fault! I tried to hide it from him, I didn't want him to know—"

  "Lindsay," Erik said slowly. "Why not?"

  "Because I’ve rolled my ankle before—it's never been a big deal. It's happened at school, gym, and cheerleading practice, and…" her voice faded. “I just rolled my ankle. That’s all.” She sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  "And how did they treat it at school?" asked Brin.

  "With ice packs…"

  "Lindsay, this is much worse than a twisted ankle." Brin shot a concerned look at Erik. "Take a look."

  Erik leaned forward and peered into the dim light where Brin pointed at Lindsay's ankle. The skin was stretched tight with decent swelling and darkened to a sickly purple color. A red line snaked across the top of the bruise.

  "Did you get cut?"

  Lindsay nodded. "I didn't think it was any big deal. It was just a little scratch."

  Erik sat on the floor of the van and faced out, watching Teddy. Jesus. Now what are we gonna do?

  "Lindsay," he began, "you have to tell us every single time something happens. Okay? We can't just run down to the drugstore and get you an ice pack, or bottle of Tylenol. We have to be very careful now—"

  "Don't you dare lecture her," hissed Brin.

  "Lecture her?" asked Erik in a defensive tone. What the hell is your problem?

  "That's right—she only hid this from us because of you."

  Erik blinked. "What? Because of me? I never asked anybody to—"

  "I didn't want to slow us down!" Lindsay burst, tears pouring down her face. She wrapped her arms around herself and covered her face in her hands. "We were always in such a hurry to get north, I didn't want to slow us down. I didn't think it was a big deal, it was just a scratch! I'm sorry, guys, I'm so sorry!"

  Brin shot one more glare at Erik and wrapped her arms around Lindsay's shoulders as she shook. Erik turned and stood up, standing in the sunlight outside the van and staring at the side of the RV.

  Oh my God. Did I really push everyone this hard? All I wanted to do was get us the hell out of Florida. I never wanted anyone to get hurt, I just…oh, my God. What if she's got an infection? His mind raced. They didn't have any antibiotics. If the cut was infected, he didn't know what they could do.

  Erik only knew basic rudimentary first aid—he'd picked up a few tips from Ted like how to use a tampon to plug a bullet wound—marine shit like that. How would they even know it was infected?

  He leaned against the RV, watching Teddy kick the rock back and forth next to the van. I gotta tell Ted. This changes everything. He turned and looked north. We have to find medication, we have to… His mind spun circles, grasping at ideas before rejecting each one of them in turn. Erik stood rooted to the spot, frozen in indecision.

  He tried to think of anything to block the dark shadow that formed in the back of his mind as soon as he saw that red line across Lindsay's shin. In a world without doctors, without power, without refrigeration, the tiniest scratch could get infected. Infection would inevitably lead to what? Blood poisoning? Death without proper medical treatment.

  Oh God, don't let that happen. Ted's already lost so much. Between Susan and Mark… And it's all my fault… She was afraid of upsetting me… Of trying to slow us down…

  Erik listened for a moment as Lindsay sobbed softly in the van. I have to tell Ted. He turned and trotted to the back of the RV and was halfway up the ladder before Ted called out.

  "Erik! You need to check this out."

  Erik closed his eyes, hanging off the ladder. "On my way." He did not want to give Ted this kind of news.

  Once on top of the RV, Erik slithered his way forward, every movement bringing a new wave of fear that he’d crash through the roof of the thin-skinned vehicle. He moved his legs a foot at a time and felt the RV creak under his weight. Not for the first time, he envied Ted’s shorter stature.

  "Took you long enough," muttered Ted. He didn't look back, but handed the small field binoculars to Erik. "Due north, right up there at the curve of the road."

  Erik put his rifle on the roof and settled in. "Listen, there's something you need to know…"

  "Later. We got bigger things to worry about."

  Erik looked at Ted sideways for a moment. I doubt that. Stalling for time, Erik brought the binoculars to his eyes. "Okay, what am I looking at here…" he sighed.

  "Trust me, you'll know it when you see it. They finished eating down there?"

  "Yeah…about that," Erik began. Then his eyes caught movement in the distance. At first he wasn't sure what it was—it looked like a tan rectangle that moved. It was much bigger than a car and lower too. It didn't make any sense. Then he realized why it didn't make any sense—the long barrel that stuck out the back pointed the wrong way.

  "Is that—holy shit, that's a tank!"

  "M1-Abrams. You betcha. Either someone jacked a mainline battle tank from the army, or they're right around the corner clearing roads."

  Erik couldn't tear his eyes away the sight of the lumbering machine as it crept around the corner and made contact with two cars. "What do you mean? What the hell is the army—" he froze as the tank lurched forward and shoved the two cars aside as if they were made of paper. "Wow."

  "Someone's clearing a path south out of Richmond. You know what that means?"

  "Help?"

  Ted took the binoculars back. "No, it means we need to get the hell out of here. In case you haven't noticed, we're still carrying standard issue army equipment. What are they going to think when they find us with fully automatic Colt M4s? And all the ammo we have for the pistols? Or packages of Russian emergency rations?"

  Erik's blood ran cold. "Oh, this is not good."

  "Yeah, you're telling me. Let's get going."

  Erik looked at Ted. "No, I mean we may have to stay…I mean, I don't know. Look, Lindsay's hurt, you need to get down there."

  "What? How? She was sitting inside the van—"

  Erik put a hand on Ted's shoulder. "Just get down there. I don't know what we're going to do, but we're gonna have to make a decision pretty quick." He turned back and barely caught the movement of the tank in the distance with his naked eye. "God damn that thing's big."

  Without a word, Ted rolled to the side of the RV and disappeared over the edge.

  Chapter 36

  The Valley

  ERIK GRIPPED THE WHEEL with white knuckles as he weaved around a single car parked sideways in the middle of the small country road. The van jerked left as he pulled them around the car, then swerved back to the middle of the road. He cursed as he overcompensated and felt the supplies and passengers behind him jostle.

  Dammit, calm down.

  "Hey, you don't have to go quite so fast—take it easy."

  Erik couldn't meet Ted's eyes. He stared at the road, watching the trees zip past.

  "Sorry."r />
  Ted chuckled softly. "There's nothing to be sorry about, man. Lindsay is as stubborn as Sue ever was." Ted was quiet for a moment. "Look, things have changed, okay? It's gonna take us all a little time to adjust to the way the world works now. I never even noticed she was limping. I never noticed her ankle was swollen or that big bruise—and I'm her father. I would never have expected you to notice first."

  Erik clenched his jaw. If anything, Brin should have spotted it first. She spent more time with the kids than anyone.

  No. It's not her fault Lindsay got hurt—it's mine. This constant pressure I put on everybody to push north, to keep going, to switch cars… It's all come from me.

  "I can tell what you're thinking," Ted said after a moment. "I want you to listen to me: it's not your fault."

  Erik tore his gaze away from the road and stared at Ted. "How can you say that?" he whispered. "She said she didn't tell anyone because she was afraid to upset me. Dude, she was afraid of me."

  Ted shifted in his seat and tried to face Erik. "Listen to me, she's my daughter, okay? I know her better than you do. When she says that, she doesn't mean she's literally afraid of you. What she's afraid of his disappointing you. Have you seen the way she looks at you? That girl idolizes you man. I wouldn't be surprised if she's jealous of Brin and wishes she could marry you at some point," Ted muttered.

  Erik blinked. "Keep your voice down."

  Ted laughed. "They can't hear me, Brin's got them all the way in the back playing games and all the windows are open on this thing. Sounds like we're driving through a wind tunnel." Ted adjusted his rifle and leaned it against the dash.

  "We didn't find any gas back there except what was in that little tow-behind, right? You need to slow us down a bit so we don't burn through what we got too fast. We're gonna have to keep pushing north, going way the fuck around Washington and Baltimore now. There's no way in hell I want any contact with the army."

  “You sure?" asked Erik, grateful for changing subjects. It didn't relieve any of his guilt, but at least it was temporarily distracting relief.

  "If they found us, how long you think it'd be before they separated us for interrogation? How long you think it'll be before Teddy, Brin, or Lindsay let slip we came from Florida? That we were in a Russian prison camp? That you and me were in the army? That we drove a fucking matvee into some town in Georgia…"

  Erik gripped the steering wheel even tighter. "Okay, when you put it that way, you right—it doesn't sound very good."

  Ted chuckled. "You're God damn right it doesn't sound good. Sounds like a firing squad waiting to happen." Ted looked out the window. "No, we gotta stay the hell clear of the army for a good long time. And that means we need to steer clear of Baltimore and Washington. And Richmond."

  "I just wish we could have stayed on the interstate, you know? Feels like we're slowing way down."

  "Look at it this way," Ted offered, "at least we're still heading north. Well…northwest. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see the Shenandoah Valley. We may be only going 55 or 60, but there's less traffic and no scavengers."

  "So far," groused Erik. "But less cars means less gas."

  "You're telling me you're sorry we’re bypassing Richmond?"

  Erik answered eventually, "No..."

  Ted grunted. "Okay then. Look, if the military's active in or around Baltimore or even Washington, they're trying to push south—and that means one thing: the Russians are still kicking our ass down there in Florida and these guys are trying to get there. Either way, I don't want to get in the crossfire, do you?"

  "Nope," said Erik, watching the signs on the road. "Look, we're coming up on Leesburg."

  "How are we doing on gas?" asked Ted.

  Erik smiled at the laughter that erupted from the back. At least Brin got Lindsay laughing. That was a start. He glanced down at the dash. "Uh, looks like we got a quarter tank. Again."

  "And only one jug full…that's about four or five gallons."

  "I think this thing has about a 25 gallon tank," Erik mused. "So if we add the reserves in, we'll have between a third and a half a tank."

  "But nothing to spare," observed Ted. He rubbed his face, the sound of his hands on his cheeks like sandpaper. "I'm getting hungry again."

  "Me too," Erik said. He squinted at the sun. "Should we stop for dinner outside Leesburg? Maybe we'll get lucky and find some cars to drain."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  A short while later, Erik found a suitably deserted scenic overlook. Sheltered by trees on three sides and the open road behind, the little gravel turnoff fit their needs.

  "I spotted a car up the road a ways," Erik said as he stepped out of the van. He held his rifle close and peered around. "Don't see anything else. Want me to go check it out while you get everyone some food?"

  "Brin?" asked Ted as he exited the vehicle.

  She got out the side door and handed Erik the large and small gas cans. "Here you go—I'll stay and help with the kids."

  "Oh," said Erik, holding the cans. "Okay."

  So much for getting a chance to talk. He took the hammer and screwdriver from her and tucked them in his belt.

  He strolled north through the parking lot, listening to the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel. It was just before 3pm and the air held a hint of a chill, promising a cold night. He unzipped his sweatshirt—a boon from one of the parked cars he'd looted—and let the dying warmth of the sun propel him toward the road.

  The temperature's really going to start dropping soon, he mused as he stepped on the highway. He grinned at himself as he checked both ways before starting to walk along the road. Old habits died hard.

  A stiff breeze ruffled the orange and brown leaves of the oaks and bright yellow birches along the road. He paused for a moment and listened to the wind, the birds chatting in the branches, the utter silence of the day. The sound of the wind in the trees was altogether different the sighing of the pines further south. He'd almost forgotten that unique rattle the wind causes in trees with autumn leaves. The sound was comforting, like nature itself offered proof he was getting closer to home.

  He watched a squirrel scamper across the road, cheeks stuffed and round. Erik watched the bushytail disappear into the brush at the side of the road. He'd never thought of eating squirrels before, but their recent brush with an empty larder had him pondering alternative sources of food.

  Erik kept his mind busy thinking up ways to trap and kill small game as he approached the car. Shooting one of their precious weapons was a surefire way to accomplish the grisly task, but he wasn't sure how well a squirrel or rabbit would react to a .223 round from one of the M4s. He assumed there wouldn't be much meat left. Maybe if they used the XD he'd found, or the Russian 9mm Brin wore?

  He shelved those thoughts as he approached the abandoned car, a purple Scion that had been in an accident. He put the gas cans down and shouldered his rifle. The car had been shoved off to the side of the road, a trail of glass sparkling in the sun from its original position near the middle of the southbound lane. The whole front end had crumpled in on itself after impact. He wondered if anyone had walked away from that mess. The driver's side door had collapsed inward, but the passenger door lay open.

  The car was indeed deserted. He didn't see any sign of dried blood and a decent layer of dust and leaves covered the seats. He tore his eyes away from the surrounding woods and examined the back seat. Dried animal droppings littered the back seat. Something had made a home in there.

  The driver's door was hopelessly jammed, so he reached in with his right hand and tried to find the trunk release button. After a moment of fiddling around blind, he moved around to the back of the vehicle.

  First things first. He dropped down to the ground and set the small gas can under the car's gas tank. He took one more look around to make sure no one was coming, then placed his rifle gently on the pavement. Two strong hits from the hammer against the screwdriver's handle, and the blade sunk deep into the tank. Gas imm
ediately leaked around the hole and he yanked the screwdriver out to allow the liquid gold to collect in the small can.

  The stream wasn't as strong as some he'd seen Brin find, so he figured it'd take a minute or so to fill up the little can. He sat up and brushed his hands on his pants, sniffing at the strong gasoline smell.

  Erik pondered the trunk for a moment. "How do I get you open?" He tried to pry the trunk up with the screwdriver to no effect. The metal around the trunk bent and the paint cracked, but it didn't open. After thoroughly damaging the finish, he paused.

  Placing his thumb over the hole in the gas tank, he stopped the flow long enough to use his other arm and pour the little can into the big one. Once it was empty, he returned the little can under the car.

  That just got us a couple gallons. Not enough, but it's a start. Erik wiped his hands again and observed the weakened stream of gas. Won't get but maybe half that now.

  He stood up and checked his surroundings again. Still nothing as far he could see around the bend to the north. The road disappeared into the dappled shadows—still, there could be anything lurking around that corner just 20 yards off.

  Erik set to prying open the trunk under the license plate. This is getting me nowhere fast, he grumbled to himself.

  He stared at the trunk for a moment then peered through the cracked rear window. Maybe there's a trunk release switch or something behind the seats?

  Hands on his hips, Erik stared at the button just above the license plate. He hadn't tried pushing it yet, assuming the thing had been locked. "What the hell," he said. He stabbed the button with his fingers and laughed when he heard a click and the lid popped up an inch.

  "Son of a bitch!" he hooted. A jay squawked at him from the side of the road and flew off, indignant. "You too, pal," he muttered, lifting the lid to see what treasures he might find.

  "What the hell is this shit?" he asked, rooting through rolls of duct tape and neatly bound lengths of rope. He found two big bowie knives, a couple box-cutters and three cans of tuna. Dirt-crusted work gloves and a couple filthy t-shirts rounded out the contents of the trunk.