Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  "So this Professor is going to be pretty happy you’re back, huh?"

  Roger paused and stared at Erik. His left eye twitched. "I should hope so, I was his lead assistant. God only knows how he survived without me."

  Erik had to suppress a grin as he nodded. I can't wait to tell Ted…we got ourselves a nice little bargaining chip here.

  "The real threat in town is the Rebels."

  Erik checked the window again. Still nothing. He watched a fluffy cloud float overhead. "Okay, you keep talking about them. Who are they?"

  "They've taken over the west campus. Pretty much everything west of here, actually. This here is like, the edge of no-man's-land, man," he said, patting the commercial grade carpet on the floor.

  "That explains a lot," muttered Erik.

  "You were pretty confused by all the barricades, huh?" asked Roger with a smile. "That was my idea. See, the rebels still have access to a few working cars—ones the rednecks haven't disabled or shot up."

  "Rednecks?" asked Erik. "How many groups do you have in this town? I didn't think Newark was that big…"

  "Oh, they're not based here—they're from Maryland. I call them rednecks—I honestly have no idea what color their necks are." Roger waited for Erik to laugh, then cleared his throat and continued. "Um, they're just a bunch of townie racists, actually. They're always fighting with the Rebels."

  "Okay, wait again—who are these rebels?" asked Erik, one hand on his head.

  "They call themselves the Brotherhood.”

  A chill ran down Erik’s spine. “The Brotherhood?”

  Roger nodded. “They're…well, we consider them black separatists. Freedom fighters, you might say."

  Freedom fighters? Is this guy nuts? "Separatists?"

  "Yeah—from what we can gather, they just want to be left alone. They're the ones who built this country. Well, not them specifically, but their ancestors, right?” Roger paused and smiled. When Erik stared at him in disbelief, the smile faded and he continued.

  “The slaves, man—you know, they’re the ones who really built this country. I say it's the least we can do for them, to let them have their own space. Hell, the country is plenty big enough and goodness knows we aren't doing anything productive with all that land anymore."

  Erik blinked. He was glad when Ted returned to the room—he had no idea how to respond to Roger's last statement. He wanted to laugh and punch the fool at the same time. The level of delusion Roger lived under was epic. Before Ted could speak, Erik thought of something.

  “Have you seen any flags or banners the Rebels fly?”

  Roger snorted. “Oh yeah. They love the hand thing. No one really knows what that’s all about, but they paint it on everything.”

  Erik thought back to the parking garage and the graffiti he found. “You mean the black fist, raised up like this?” he asked, raising his own fist to mimic the painting.

  Roger shook his head. “No, that was what they did in the beginning. You can still see some of their graffiti throughout the town. They used that black fist back before we agreed to a truce with the Jocks. Now they use this white hand thing—ever since all the refugees came pouring out of Philly. Well, that and after the army came through.”

  Erik leaned against the wall. It felt like someone had hit him in the chest with a piece of lumber. White Hand. Jesus Christ, it’s those guys again…they’re everywhere!

  “You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…or maybe had a few too many of those Russian bars…”

  Ted cleared his throat. "Roger, you said you have communications."

  "Yeah, we got radios. That's how we found out the power was back on in Philly and why people were leaving." He shook his head. "I suppose it's going to be like that everywhere—gangs took over after the grid collapsed. The government is going to have to take the kid gloves off and get serious about restoring law and order. I wouldn't want to stay there either. Not if I had any choice."

  "Yep," Erik agreed quickly. Ted looked like he wanted to ask a question. "But where do you get your news? Like the BBC or something?"

  Roger laughed. "Oh hell no—we don't listen to those fascist pricks. The Professor knows they're just propagandists. They're just spewing the same hate as those guys from Maryland that keep harassing the Rebels. The same shit those army scouts said. Always talking about liberty and national sovereignty.” He laughed bitterly. “As if we gave up the right to free speech when the lights went out," Roger said, shaking his head. "No, we listen to the broadcasts from the U.N. news service they broadcast out of New York. I guess it's kind of like their headquarters or something?”

  Erik looked at Ted. New York?

  "Anyway," he continued, "that's where we get our real news—or at least we did. I haven’t heard anything since before the Jocks captured me. But the Professor used to let us all listen to updates on how the recovery efforts were going all the time…like, before, you know, man?"

  "That's where you heard the Russians are doing so much good in Florida, right?" asked Ted.

  "Yup," replied Roger. "From what we heard, it was pretty nice down there. Why'd you leave?"

  Erik blinked. "Uh…"

  "My daughter's sick," Ted said suddenly. "Do you think the Professor will really have any antibiotics?"

  Roger smiled. "Oh sure. The Professor's actually an apiologist." Roger stared at Erik and Ted for a moment. "Apiology? You know, the study of bees?"

  Erik glanced at Ted and shrugged.

  "What does that mean?" asked Ted.

  "Bees make honey."

  "Yes, I know that," growled Ted. "How does that answer my question? Does he have access to antibiotics or not?"

  "I said yes, man. Look, honey has been used throughout history as an anti-biotic. We’ve use it plenty of times to heal cuts and stuff. I think he boils it in water to put on bigger wounds.”

  “You said your roommate got a scratch and died though—” began Erik.

  “That was different,” Roger said.

  “How?” asked Ted.

  “He didn’t follow the Professor’s advice.” Roger shrugged. “Good guy, you know? But he was an engineering major. Very analytical. He wouldn’t see reason. He cared more for his measurements and his calibrations than for things like freedom and survival.” Roger looked down at the carpet. “I liked him, man.”

  “So only the Professor’s supporters get access to the meds?” asked Ted.

  Roger looked up. “You think there'd still be 30 or 40 of us if we didn't have honey? Shoot, we'd be more like the Jocks, just running on dumb luck."

  Ted nodded, looking out the window. "Good. Because your friends are about to arrive."

  Erik glanced around a curtain. "I don't see anything."

  "I just spotted them coming down the street when I was upstairs. There's a group of about ten headed our way. Got a big white flag and a few smaller ones. It looks like their coming in peace, anyway."

  "God, I can't wait to take a shower," sighed Roger as he leaned his head against the wall.

  "You have antibiotics and showers?" asked Brin from the stairwell. She looked at Erik. "Okay, now I'm glad we stopped in this town."

  We'll see, thought Erik.

  Chapter 46

  The Professor

  THE PROFESSOR SMILED AND offered a slight bow before Erik and Ted. "I cannot express to you my gratitude. We never expected Roger to return to us after his long captivity among the athletes. I don't know how we can repay you."

  Erik regarded the older man. The professor stood about 5’10” with his shoulders slumped forward a little and his birdlike head perched slightly forward on his neck. The man had sharp, intelligent eyes which never seemed to rest on anything long. To combat the chill in the air, he wore a tweed jacket complete with elbow patches. Erik wouldn't have been surprised to see the man pull out a hornpipe and start smoking.

  "I suppose it's best for people to try to stay on good terms with each other, isn't it?" said Ted.

  The Pr
ofessor nodded. "Indeed, it is."

  Erik turned his gaze to the gaggle of young people who stood behind the Professor. They appeared bright-eyed and alert. None of them appeared to be suffering from malnutrition or dehydration and their clothes were in good repair. In contrast, Roger looked like he'd just crawled out of a homeless shelter.

  The conspicuous absence of weaponry of any kind—even a knife—made Erik uneasy. He felt overly conscious of the rifle he kept in his hands, even though it was safed and pointed down.

  Erik forced his attention on Professor once more. He was speaking with Ted and nodding enthusiastically, almost like a bird hunting on the ground for food. "…quite possible. I would very much be open to discussing how we may benefit each other."

  Something about the way the man spoke set Erik on edge. He was too concise, too smooth, too comfortable using academic syntax.

  Smug—it was intellectual smugness. That's what bugged him. The man was a tenured university professor. He probably had more knowledge about his specific field of study that most of the people left alive in the country. And he knew it.

  Good grief, is this what I was trying to become? Some kind of smug old man, prattling on about history?

  "I'm glad to hear that, sir," Ted said. "As it happens, my daughter has been injured on our journey and we're in need of some medical supplies."

  "Goodness," the Professor said putting his hand across his chest. "I hope it's nothing serious?"

  Ted sighed. "To be honest we're not exactly sure how bad it is. She sprained her ankle pretty good. And there was this cut…but she's got a fever now..."

  "Lucy?" the Professor called over his shoulder.

  One of the girls from the Professor's group, a raven-haired girl who looked like she appeared to be no more than 19 or 20 spoke up. "I was in the nursing program before everything went crazy…if you'd like, I'd be happy to take a look at her…?"

  Ted smiled and Erik felt the tension in the air immediately slackened. The marine slung his rifle over his shoulder and gestured toward the visitor's center door.

  "Thank you so much! She's right in there—here, I’ll show you the way."

  Erik smiled awkwardly as nine sets of eyes swiveled to focus on him. More than one person shifted their feet and glanced at his rifle. Erik became more and more uncomfortable by the second.

  Their faces were easy enough to read: who was he to go about armed to the teeth while they, mere students—most of them half-grown children—went unarmed. Almost as an afterthought, Erik slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  "So…uh, I can't help noticing that nobody has any…"

  "Guns?" the Professor asked with a wry smile on his face. He gestured toward the group. "We have no need of weapons here. We're all part of the same community. We are survivors, not warriors. We strive to offend no one and help all. I like to believe that is what humanity was put forth of this earth to accomplish. Don't you agree?"

  Erik hooked his thumbs behind the utility belt at his waist and rocked back on his heels, considering the question. "Well, I won't argue that's not a noble ideal." He paused for a second to gather his thoughts. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and offend anybody, especially as Ted was working to get some medical help for Lindsay.

  "I just…from what we've seen, this has become a really dangerous world. I don't like violence, personally—despite this,” he said, shrugging his shoulder to indicate the rifle. “But I've had to do my fair share and seen much worse in the past six months."

  "Is it bad out there?" asked one of the young men behind the Professor. "I mean, you look like you're with the army…"

  Erik subconsciously glanced down at the plate carrier he wore on his chest and extra magazines for his M4. The weight of the rifle pulled at his shoulder and he couldn't help but notice the handle of the large knife he had strapped to his leg.

  "Unfortunately, yes. It’s pretty violent out there. I don't even want to talk about what we went through in Georgia…I've seen things I didn't think possible…not in this century at least."

  The Professor nodded. He gestured for Erik to take a seat by the little outdoor table located behind the visitor’s center in a little secluded garden bordered by pines.

  "I understand. We've seen more than our fair share of barbarism since the power went out." He shook his head sadly as he lowered himself into a chair. "However, I can't help thinking this is an opportunity to start over, to make this a better world." The students arrayed themselves around him on the grass.

  This guy sounds like a politician, Erik thought. And you guys just look creepy. What is this, some sort of cult?

  "Did you stop to visit Washington or Baltimore on your way, north?"

  Erik shook his head and took a seat, keeping his back to the visitor’s center. "I wouldn't exactly we visited.…"

  "But surely you heard of the U.N. safe zones?" asked one of the girls in the back. "They talk about them all the time on the radio broadcasts. People are gathering in the state capitols to promote peace and prosperity for the future—"

  "Let's not bore our guests," said the Professor, waving a casual hand toward his students. "Our new friends have had a long trip," he announced.

  "You have no idea," Ted said, returning with Lucy to join the group.

  The Professor stared at Ted as the girl moved behind him and took her place in the grass. "I will cut to the chase," he said with a sigh. He picked up an untouched bottle of water in his hand and examined the plastic like it was a dead snake. Sitting in the wire frame garden chair with his acolytes behind him on the grass, he looked like a medieval prince.

  "I propose we come to terms that will prove to be equitable to both our parties."

  Erik shifted in his seat and glanced as Ted sat across the table from him. Ted took a sip of his own water before replying.

  "Sounds fair enough—what did you have in mind?"

  The Professor's head bobbed like a bird. "In exchange for providing you some of my medicinal supplies, you will provide my people with…security training." The Professor held up a hand to forestall any argument from the students and plowed ahead.

  "The three groups in this town—my own, those who call themselves Rebels, and the athletes to the north—must come to terms with the new reality we all face. The only way to survive in these harsh times until the authorities regain control is through the peaceable exchange of aid and services. The ridiculous fighting we've been party to—regrettably so—since the electricity failed us must stop."

  Erik watched the Professor’s facial expressions as he spoke. The man's words sent a chill down his spine. He looked like an old-school revival preacher, his eyes burning as he leaned forward over the table, fists clenching in time with the emphasis he put on his words.

  The more Erik learned about the Professor and his followers, the more he disliked them. He felt the urge to jump in a car—any car—and race north as fast as possible. Yet for Lindsay's sake he swallowed his fears along with his water and sat in silence.

  Ted considered the Professor for a moment, letting his eyes roam over the faces of the others as they sat clustered around their glorious leader. "You're sure you have antibiotics that can treat my daughter?"

  "Lucy?" The Professor asked over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with Ted.

  "Yes, Professor," said the dark-haired girl who had seen to Lindsay. She stood from the ground, brushed off her jeans, and stepped closer to her leader.

  "Is it your professional opinion that the young lady in question can indeed be treated and possibly saved by using our honey-derived antibiotics?"

  Without hesitation, Lucy nodded. "Oh definitely. She doesn't appear to have any sort of puncture wound. She has a slight infection, but it hasn't progressed to the bloodstream yet. You can tell because there are no red streaks coming up from where the—"

  The Professor held up a hand and smiled at Ted, looking more like a carnivorous bird of prey than a pigeon. "That's quite enough, dear. Thank you." He waite
d until Lucy settled herself on the grass at his feet before continuing.

  "I have full faith and confidence in Lucy. She has served me well over the past few months," he said. Erik immediately noticed the girl was now looking down at the ground and color was rising in her cheeks.

  I wonder how she’s served you… The smirks on some of the boys’ faces and glares from a few girls confirmed Erik’s thoughts.

  "The only concern left in my mind," the Professor continued, "is whether or not you and your rather large companion here," he said with a smile toward Erik, "can adequately train my people to defend themselves." He paused. “Without weapons.”

  Erik sputtered on his water. "Without weapons? You don't have any?"

  The Professor leaned back in his chair, a condescending look on his face as he interlaced the fingers of his hands over his thin chest. "Of course we have weapons: reason, intellect, and logic. These are the weapons of an educated man. What you carry," he said waving a disdainful hand toward Erik and Ted's rifles, “those are the weapons of war and destruction. They can bring no lasting peace. And by the way," the Professor said leaning once more over the table, "we have plenty of those as well. Voluntarily given up as part of the Covenant."

  “Covenant?” asked Erik. I don’t like the sound of that.

  “Yes. Think of it like a home owner's association. We have rules that one must obey to be a part of our community.”

  Community. I hate it when people who have no idea what that word means throw it around like it ends the conversation. Erik clenched his jaw at the disgusted looks from the students. Every one of them glared at him, except Lucy. Nice. Anyone who relies on guns is an ignorant savage, eh Professor?

  Ted frowned. "I don't understand. If you have weapons, you have the means to defend yourselves—why are you—"

  "Insisting on using peaceful means?" asked the Professor. He leaned back in his chair, the metal springs creaking softly. "Roger, would you care to enlighten our guests?"

  Erik shifted his gaze to Roger, who sat at the Professor's right hand. He grunted as he got to his feet, shrugging off the helping hands of his friends.