Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  I need to get inside this thing and get us out of here. Whatever’s going down here, I don’t want any part of it.

  Hoping the noise from the ruckus would cover what he was about to do, Erik pulled his rifle up and yanked back the charging handle. He aimed at the driver's window and pulled the trigger. The rifle blast, much to his chagrin, sounded like a cannon in the enclosed parking structure. He winced as a few car alarms on the floors below screamed to life with indignant honks.

  Jesus, that was louder than I’d expected.

  A neat hole perforated the window he'd aimed at. Erik stepped forward and with a mighty swing drove the butt of his rifle straight through the window, sending glass bits everywhere.

  He reached in and unlocked the door, then threw it open and frantically searched for a spare key. First, he flipped down the driver's visor, then the passenger side. Nothing.

  He slammed them back up and threw open the central console. Nothing. Leaning across the passenger seat, he reached for the glove box. He used to carry a spare apartment key and a valet key there in his old green Sebring convertible. He looked out the windshield.

  Sudden memories flashed across his mind of cruising through Sarasota with the top down, Brin at his side as they headed toward the beach for sunset. He could almost smell the salt in the air.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago. He frowned.

  His only hope was that whoever owned the Ford did something similar. He didn't want to think about trying to hot-wire it. He'd never done it before—had never even seen it done—but desperate times called for desperate measures and he was prepared to try.

  He'd just closed the glove box empty-handed when he heard the first voices echoed up from the lower levels of the parking garage.

  “Did you hear where it came from?” said one.

  “…definitely up.”

  “—set off all these alarms.”

  “Are they still here?”

  —don’t know, why don’t you ask?”

  “Hello?” someone shouted.

  “Shut up, dumbass!” the first voice said.

  “Aww shit.” Erik scrambled from the SUV, rifle at his shoulder.

  Chapter 43

  Setting the Stage

  HAKIM CURSED AS HE threw his burner phone into the canal. He watched as the water rippled and spread out in concentric rings from the point of impact.

  Fools. All of them! We've come so far come, come so close!

  "Bad news?" asked Saldid from the shadow of their safe house on the east side of Tampa. They had split from the main group after the successful conclusion of their mission the night before.

  A few well-placed improvised bombs had killed dozens of unarmed American prisoners and more than a score of Russians in the pre-dawn confusion. The panicked Russians had started shooting and killed who knows how many of their own men. It had been glorious. But it wasn’t enough.

  He doubted anyone would ever find out about the attacks. In coordinated strikes all through the night, other Fistbrothers launched their own small-scale attacks scattered throughout Tampa and even in Orlando.

  It was something, but it wasn’t enough. Not for Hakim—not after what they’d done in Arizona. Los Angeles had burned to the ground because of the fires he’d set. What was a few pipe bombs and dead prisoners compared to the destruction he’d already wrought in Allah’s name?

  The previous night’s attacks had been the brainchild of Zarin. Effective but unimaginative. The Iranian had heard of the guerrilla uprising near the small town of Bigby—in some swamp south of Orlando—where Russian troops had been slaughtered in an ambush by civilians. He wanted to provoke the Russians and stir up trouble. He wanted them to think the insurgents from Bigby had attacked Tampa.

  The resistance movement started when a Russian prison camp burned to the ground and a number of American captives escaped. But Zarin and his group chalked it up to special forces activity and laughed when the Russians reaped the price of failure.

  The timing couldn't have been more perfect. With so many Fistbrothers concentrated in Florida, all they had to do was start launching small-scale raids against the invaders and the Russians would naturally blame these attacks on the Bigby uprising.

  The more the Russians were attacked, the more they'd crack down on the American civilian population and the more the civilians grew ready to fight back. It was a vicious cycle Hakim had seen countless times in Iraq and Afghanistan, which would lead only to the destruction of both the Russians and the Americans. The chaos that would ensue would be beautiful.

  And now this.

  "Yes, bad news," he grunted. He sat down heavily against the cool brick wall next to his partner. Saldid handed him a bottle of Jack Daniels honey whiskey and a protein bar. Without even thinking of breaking his faith, Hakim took a long swig of the alcohol, relishing the burn in his throat.

  He ate half the protein bar before answering Saldid's unspoken question. "It is Mushani—he commands us to stand down and return to cover."

  "What?” Saldid gasped. “But—we're so close! Another few attacks and the Russians will be on such high alert even looking at them the wrong way will start a firefight!"

  "I know!" hissed Hakim. He chewed another mouthful of the foul protein bar and washed it down with a slug of liquor. "It makes no sense. We have waited for decades, only to be roused and cause so much destruction and glory for Allah…and now, just on the brink of ultimate victory, they tell us to stand down and slink back to the shadows."

  "This…" Saldid said, his hands shaking, "…this is wrong…"

  Hakim nodded. "I agree. This reeks of weakness. Our esteemed leaders back home do not see the situation on the ground—they fear reprisals. Mushani said the Americans are not only surviving this catastrophe but defeating the Russians. Yet he made no mention of the Chinese in the southwest! No mention of the destruction of Los Angeles!" Hakim threw the empty protein bar wrapper into the canal.

  "Gah! Cowards! Fools! Allah give me strength!" He rested his head against the cool brick wall and closed his eyes, hands at his face. He'd been awake for nearly 29 hours and it was increasingly hard to think.

  "So…what options do they leave us?" asked Saldid. He was quiet. That was good. When he was quiet, he was thinking.

  "They want us to disappear back into the population, abandon our weapons and supplies…and show up at one of the aid stations." Hakim took another drink. He had to cleanse his mouth after speaking such foulness.

  "No," Saldid said quietly. "I will not."

  Hakim grinned. It was exactly the reaction he hoped for. He wiped the smile off his face and turned to look at his partner. "Are you sure? You know the price of disloyalty?"

  "It is they who are disloyal! Allah does not tell us to strike and then just when we have our grip on the infidel's throat to let him go! Allah commands us to destroy the infidel!” Saldid waved his hand dismissively. “Mushani and those fools are 10,000 miles away—they don't know how close we are to victory!"

  "I agree." He shrugged one shoulder. "But what can we do?"

  Saldid nodded, his brutish face contorted in concentration. "We…we must continue our attacks! Though this may mean the death of both of us…"

  Hakim wiped the sweat from his forehead and gazed out across the canal at the row of burned houses. Part of a charred American drone stuck out of the roof directly across the water.

  "I never expected to return home from this mission.” Hakim said slowly. “But I will be thrice damned if I quit."

  Saldid got to his feet and extended a hand to Hakim. "Then let us both do what is right in Allah's eyes."

  Hakim spat on the ground, gripping his partner's hand tight. "Agreed."

  Chapter 44

  The Unarmed Army

  ERIK'S EYES DARTED AROUND the fourth floor of the parking garage. He had to get out. The voices echoing up through the guts of the garage grew louder by the second. There had to be at least ten people coming.

  Shit. I knew this was too
easy!

  Erik bolted for the nearest emergency exit stairwell. He tried to open the door as quietly as he could. The coast looked clear.

  He had a partial view down the ramp and spotted shadows moving at the far end. No one had turned the corner yet, so he slipped inside and slowly closed the door. He stood there a moment in the cool, total darkness listening for the sounds of someone coming up through the stairwell. Nothing. He fumbled for his LED flashlight and clicked it on.

  Concrete steps. Well, maybe it's not so bad after all. At least they won't echo like those metal ones in the library.

  Erik took the steps two at a time to the third floor, then the second, before reaching the ground level. He pressed his back against the wall next to the exit, avoiding the small window and its bright beam of sunlight. He waited until his heart slowed, listening for the clank of a door opening three floors above. Nothing.

  Erik risked a glance out the small window, expecting to see a group of people milling about waiting to hear from those who went up, but he saw nothing.

  The streets look exactly the same as they did when he first entered the parking structure. He hated leaving all those cars behind, but he hated getting surrounded even more.

  Erik took a deep breath and slowly pushed on the handle to open the exit. Under normal circumstances, he would expect to hear a high-pitched chirping alarm, but the battery in the door had failed long ago. The panic bar squeaked slightly, so he quickly slipped outside and shut it.

  Not hearing any sounds of alarm nor seeing any movement, he sprinted across the street and returned to his hiding spot in the bushes around the corner. The sign he passed mentioned the history department, but he didn't slow down long enough to see the actual name.

  All he knew was he’d escaped a particularly hazardous situation and made it back to cover. He waited another few moments, letting his breathing adjust back to normal, then started to move. That’s when he heard the first shout.

  "Over here!"

  Erik froze. Voices drifted down from on high. He slowly turned in the shelter of the bushes and peered through the leaves up toward the top of the four-story parking garage. Someone leaned over the safety railing and waved.

  "Somebody was definitely up here! There's busted glass all over the place!

  "Okay—fan out and look for them!" a voice—it sounded like a girl—shouted nearby.

  Erik held his breath. The responding voice sounded like it could've come from the other side of his building. He readied his rifle and thumbed the safety off. Whatever the hell was going on, he wasn't about to be captured. Never again.

  "Hey, like, if you're out there, let me know okay? We don't want to hurt anybody!" the girl called.

  Erik frowned. That's what they all say…

  "Seriously! Look, maybe we can help each other out?"

  Erik adjusted the grip on his rifle. Suspicion began to cloud his mind. She certainly didn't sound like a soldier. She sounded like a twenty-something college student.

  Movement at the far end of the building caught his eye. Someone stepped between two trees around the corner, flashing past his narrow field of view before he could make out who they were. The shape was shorter than what he expected, about Brin's height.

  "Hello?"

  He readjusted the grip on his rifle again and closed his eyes. Stop. It's a God damn girl—I can't shoot a girl…

  He waited, peering out through the base of the bushes as the girl strolled past humming a tune.

  She sounds nervous…

  The girl eventually worked her way around the building, walking within three feet of Erik's position and stepped back out into the sunlight.

  "You think he went this way?" she called, hands cupped over her mouth.

  "We're not even sure if it's a he!" someone yelled back from the top of the parking garage. "Don't even know if there's more than one or not. We just know someone was up here!"

  Erik watched as the girl put her hands on her hips. "Well, I don't see anybody down here…you sure they came this way?"

  "Nope! Keep looking!"

  "For what?" she asked. "I don't see anyone."

  "I don't know…footprints? Crime scene shit, you know? Look, just hurry up! The Jocks might come back…"

  Jocks? Erik shook his head in disbelief. If these jokers are serious about trying to hunt someone down, they've got a lot to learn. All I have to do is pull the trigger and I might be able to take out both of them. Ted certainly could.

  Instead he waited. His instincts paid off—the girl grumbled something about wasting time and walked off to the left, over toward the next building.

  Erik waited another few moments until the person up on the fourth floor of the parking garage turned and disappeared back into the shadows. He didn't see anyone else on the ground level, so he inched his way toward the far corner of his building, then rose to a crouch and waited.

  After counting to 30, he was fairly satisfied the coast was clear. Erik sprinted across the street and ducked behind a parked car. He looked south and spotted the short brick wall surrounding the library a few blocks in the distance.

  But there was still one major problem: there was at least a 20 or 30 yard gap between cars before he found cover again. If anyone looked in his direction, they'd make him in a second.

  Erik gathered his courage took a deep breath. He adjusted his helmet then sprinted for the next car down the street. His boots rang out like thunder on the pavement as he ran for all he was worth to the next car. He skidded to a stop and dropped painfully to his knees, hoping no one spotted him.

  Kneeling there panting, he listened for the telltale shouts that would signal someone had seen him. After a moment of listening to the chirping birds in the trees and the pounding of his own heart, he shook his head in disbelief.

  I may not be a real soldier but these guys are pathetic. How did no one see me?

  With renewed confidence, Erik got to his hands and knees before standing and sprinting for the next car. In this manner, he leapfrogged his way back to the safety of the low brick wall surrounding the library. Without pausing to stop for the final car, Erik vaulted the wall and threw himself lengthwise in the grass.

  He lay there until his heart slowed and his breathing had returned to normal. He peered up at the darkened windows of the library and realized most of the trees on this side of the building effectively blocked the view of his hiding spot from anyone on the inside. If someone happened to be glancing in the right direction at the right moment they might spot him, but for the most part, he felt fairly invisible.

  Erik backed up against the brick wall and slowly raised his head enough to look north. The street remained quiet and deserted. Only a slight breeze ruffled some of the leaves on the nearby bushes and a piece of newspaper flitted across the street.

  Thanking God for his luck, he trotted the last block on his side of the brick wall until he came up to the barricade of ruined cars, behind which sat their dismantled van. He took one last look up and down the street, then quickly rolled over the brick wall and made for the visitor’s center. Brin was there waiting for him. She opened the window as he pushed aside the juniper and slipped into the building.

  He lay there panting, his back against the wall as she refastened the window. She squatted next to him. "Are you okay? What's going on? We heard a gunshot."

  Erik removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Ted appeared at the base of the stairs, followed by Teddy. He walked over to Erik and handed him a fresh water bottle.

  "What's the sit rep?"

  Erik nodded his thanks and took a long swig. "This place is definitely not deserted," he said around a gasp for breath. "I found a parking garage full of cars and trucks about five blocks north of here. Main Street runs straight through the middle of town, east-west. The parking garage sits right off that street. Four floors," he continued, describing the vehicles he found inside. "I found a big SUV on the top floor, but couldn't figure out how to get the window open."


  Ted frowned. "Did you try your knife?"

  Erik rolled his eyes at him. "Of course I tried my knife—you need something pointed to break a car window, right?

  Ted nodded. "That's what the handle's designed for," he said. On Brin's questioning look, Ted unsheathed his own knife and handed it to her hilt first. "Here. Look at the base of the handle that raised part of it that looks like a pyramid."

  "It's not very sharp," Brin said running her thumb across the little nub that stuck up from the bottom of the handle.

  "That's not the idea," he said, taking the knife back. "When you swing the handle of this thing toward a car window, all the force of the impact is directed towards that point. Even if it's rounded a little, that's a tremendous amount of force projected at the glass. Works like a charm—it'll bust open a window, easy as you please."

  Erik rested his head against the wall and sighed in frustration. "Yeah, well, I found out the other end doesn't work so well."

  Ted laughed. "You didn't…"

  Erik pulled his knife out and stared at the damaged tip. "I did."

  Ted laughed again.

  "What was that gunshot, then?" asked Brin.

  Ted stopped laughing and stared at him. "You didn't," he said.

  Erik picked up his rifle and thumbed the safety on. "Oh, I did. Earlier, I saw a bunch of people coming from the north. I watched 'em slip across Main Street and start attacking some others. I didn't know what the hell was going on—these two groups were chasing each other all over the place and fighting and ransacking some of the buildings. I was out of options and time. It looked like they were heading in my direction, so I aimed at the window and pulled the trigger. Instant access."

  "Good grief," said Ted as he rolled his eyes. "You may have gained instant access, but you gave away your position to anybody with two ears—"

  "Where's the car?" asked Brin.

  Erik looked down and felt the heat rise in his cheeks. "I got the car open, but I didn't know how to hot-wire it."