Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

by Marcus Richardson

  Erik sensed an opening. "This place is fantastic," he said. "You've really got something here. How many people can the farm feed?"

  Norris smiled, seemingly glad to be talking about something he could be proud of. "Well over a thousand, by my calculations."

  Erik looked out the window, admiring the pastoral view. "The Professor was pretty damn smart to take over this place, huh?" He watched Norris' reaction in the reflection. The scientist controlled his face, but his voice was tight.

  "Take over? Please. I was standing here and watched him come up. We were getting along just fine before he showed up and we'll still be here after he leaves on his trek to the promised land."

  "California?" asked Erik.

  "Yes. He’s always going on about some post-modern utopia nonsense out there."

  Erik took note of how prickly the scientist became over the topic. That bit of information if nothing else would make Ted smile.

  He let his eyes roam over the green fields of vegetable crops and orchards dozens of students moved through picking ripened produce. He glanced toward the trees on the western horizon and the clouds that gathered there. Whoa. Those are pretty dark.

  Lucy trotted up, carrying a canvas satchel with a red cross on the outside. "Doc says she wants to see the patient, so she's going to join the next convoy."

  Norris nodded. "I figured as much. Once again, I’ll be left here to run the place by myself.” He put his hands in his lab coat. “Well, from the looks of those clouds, you two better get going. The convoy's likely to head out soon. We've got another storm coming in."

  "It was nice meeting you, Dr. Norris,” Erik said, shaking the man's hand once more. “I look forward to working with you. Thanks for the medicine."

  "I've enjoyed our conversation, Mr. Larsson. I look forward to more. You two stay dry." He turned and disappeared back inside the lab.

  "Why is he so worried about us being in the rain?" asked Erik as he Lucy walked through the interior of the Ag Sciences building to the rear loading docks. Erik watched as no less than a dozen bicycles pulling large handmade wooden trailers stuffed with packages of food. Each trailer had been wrapped in blue tarps and bungee cords.

  "It's because of pneumonia." Lucy looked at Erik. "We lost a lot of people to stuff like that because we were running supplies through the rain. At first, we thought it was smart—no one was out in the storms. If we could drive the supplies to the main campus through the rain, it would give us a little bit of protection."

  Erik shook his head. "Let me guess, some of your people spent too much time in the rain and got sick. And when they get sick, they got sicker without modern medicine. Right?"

  Lucy looked at the floor. "We lost more than 20 people in first month after the collapse to pneumonia—or what Doc called pneumonia at the time. We don’t have access to x-rays anymore, so she can't be a hundred percent sure—we just keep calling it that out of habit."

  "It sure makes those clouds a lot more menacing, doesn't it?" asked a female voice.

  Erik turned to face a short, slender woman wearing a windbreaker and jeans.

  "You must be our visitor, Mr. Larsson. I'm Dr. Stephanie Aldrich. I used to run the student health clinic here on campus."

  Erik shook her bony hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you Dr. Aldrich."

  "Please, call me Doc—everybody else does, I can't seem to shake it so I just embrace it."

  Erik nodded. "Then call me Erik, Doc."

  "Ready when you are, Doc!" called out one of the male students attending the bicycles.

  "See?" Aldrich nodded and glanced at the clipboard in her hand. She peeled back some paper and made a note of the time. "Okay, people, let's mount up." She turned to Lucy and Erik. "You two coming with us?"

  Lucy nodded. "Our bikes are out front. We'll meet you out on the main road."

  "Fair enough.” Aldrich turned back to the group. “Let's get moving everyone, I don’t like the look of those clouds."

  On the way north, Lucy explained to Erik the work schedules. "Nobody really gets bored with any one particular job. See, there's a rotating schedule."

  Erik listened attentively and found it easier to keep up on the trip north, despite the fact he was tired and more than a little hungry. The threat posed by the storm clouds to the west—growing closer by the minute—propelled him forward. From his time in Florida, Erik had a healthy respect for the rain, but never a fear. He glanced at the clouds, menacingly close now and wondered how cold the rain would be.

  "When we bring a load of supplies north,” Lucy continued, “we take back whatever we need to—including extra workers. They ride back in the empty trailers."

  "That makes sense," Erik said as they coasted over a foot bridge.

  "Then, people who were ready at the farm to take the next load of supplies north rotate out to work on the gathering teams in the fields while someone else takes their place."

  "Sounds pretty efficient."

  "Yeah, that's the Professor! He's pretty great sometimes."

  “Sometimes?”

  Lucy shot him a dark look, blushed, and didn’t speak for the rest of the trip.

  Erik clenched his jaw as the wind slapped his face. Yeah, he's a great guy all right.

  They made it back to town just as the first peal of thunder echoed in the distance. Aldrich slowed the convoy a few blocks south of the library. "Okay, you folks know what to do. Get your stuff unloaded and get inside. I think the storm is about on us," she said, directing the rest of the group to shelter.

  Lucy glanced around as the convoy peeled off. “Where is everyone?” she asked as they coasted by deserted streets.

  “You’re right, it sure looks quiet,” added Aldrich.

  “I don’t like this,” said Erik. “It feels even more deserted than before.”

  Aldrich nevertheless waited until the main body of the convoy had disappeared down side streets before she turned back to Erik and Lucy. "Okay, Lucy, lead the way to this patient of yours. Let’s get off the streets."

  Back at the visitor's center, Lucy, Aldrich, and Erik barely had time to dismount their bikes before the first raindrops fell. They opened the rear door and pulled their bikes inside for safekeeping. They were immediately met by Ted and Roger and provided bottles of water.

  "It's a good thing you’re back," Ted said. The edge in his voice felt like a slap in the face to Erik. "We got trouble."

  "What's up?" he asked warily, his hand automatically searching for the rifle that should've been hanging from his shoulder.

  "It seems some of the athletes are massing just north of Main Street. The Professor thinks they're planning on making a move. My guess is before sundown—they'll use the storm for cover. He put the main campus on lockdown."

  “Oh no…” breathed Lucy.

  Aldrich took a hard look at Ted. "Are you the patient's father?"

  Ted nodded. "Yes ma'am. Ted Jensen, Sarasota County Sheriff's Department. My 12-year-old daughter Lindsay is upstairs with Brin, Erik's wife. She's the one who's hurt."

  “Lindsay, not Brin,” Lucy was quick to add with a quick glance at Erik. She tucked the hair behind her ear.

  "Fine then," Aldrich said as she headed toward the stairs. "I'll go check on her." She glanced at Lucy. "Lindsay, not Brin."

  Lucy blushed but followed the physician up the stairs.

  "How did we find out?" Erik asked when Aldrich and Lucy left the room.

  Roger spoke up from the table. "Your friend and I spotted them when we were dropping our weapons off at the armory. I never thought of it as an armory before,” he said to himself. “I still think of it as part of the history department. But, ‘armory’ is starting to grow on me…"

  Ted ignored Roger. "There's lots of movement on the other side of Main Street. I got up on the roof of the armory," he said with a look for Roger, "and spotted lots of movement near some fancy building to the north."

  "That would be Memorial Hall," said Roger. "During the Civil War, a couple students
supporting each side got into a fistfight which turned into a knife fight. One of them was actually killed on the steps of that building."

  Erik blinked. "The Civil War? How old is this place?"

  "The school first opened as a private academy in 1743. It was up in PA at the time, but in 1769 they moved it here and called it the Academy of Newark."

  Erik whistled. "I had no idea this place was that old, but it sure fits with all the colonial buildings you got here."

  "Hey," said Ted snapping his fingers in front of Erik's face. "Focus, bro! We got a big problem. The Jocks are getting ready for a fight and we just turned in our weapons."

  "Oh, they're not going to fight us, Ted. It's probably just another raiding party. They're looking for more girls."

  Erik stared at Roger, aghast at the sheer callousness of his words. "How can you sit there and not care? You got a bunch of guys getting ready to kidnap—”

  "Yeah, whatever you're thinking, that's exactly what they do. I've seen it."

  "Then why are you so okay with this?" growled Erik. Just the thought of someone thinking about doing that to Brin made Erik ready to break something.

  "Because how are we gonna stop it? It's not our way, man. Violence begets more violence. The Professor always says that. Look, when the signal’s given, we all go underground and scatter. The Jocks roll through here and roam around, probably find a few things, maybe some food, then leave. They know if they push too hard or take too many people, the Professor will shut off negotiations and they won't ever get any more medicine. They'll just start dying." Roger shrugged. "It's kind of a symbiotic relationship, I guess."

  Erik put his hands on his hips. "Symbiotic? What the fuck do you get out of it?"

  "Well, they don't kill us, so that’s like, cool I guess."

  Ted threw his hands up. "Whatever. Look, we can’t go anywhere—Lindsay's trapped upstairs. We're going to have to defend this building."

  "With what?" Erik asked. He didn’t want to say out loud in front of Roger that they still had a working pistol.

  Ted rolled his shoulder. "With our bare fists, and knives if we have to.”

  “No way man. The sun goes down, they come out like vampires and we hide. It’s the only way.”

  Erik glared at Roger before he checked his watch. He looked at Ted. "The storm's on us. If that buys us some time, maybe we can come up with some expedient weapons."

  “Let’s start looking in the basement. But, I don’t think there’s much in this place other than broken furniture,” replied Ted.

  Roger sat at the table and opened a bottle of water. “Whatevs, man.”

  Chapter 49

  Divide and Conquer

  STROGOLEV SMILED, PERCHED AS he was on the turret of his BTR and stared through field binoculars. He had marched his scout division north at a leisurely pace, preserving the strength of his troops. They had averaged a mere 30 miles a day, but his strike force was in excellent condition.

  He made sure to allow his troops free run of the land as they moved north. Towns or cities they encountered that offered any resistance whatsoever were completely destroyed. General Doskoy, upon being appraised of Strogolev’s new orders from Moscow had stressed the importance of stamping out any rebellion in the north while he dealt with the Bigby insurrection in the south.

  Strogolev was only too happy to oblige. His men were like locusts as they moved north through Florida. They took everything they needed and left nothing but charred ruins behind. Of those places that decided to fight back, they left scores of bodies in their wake as well.

  And so Strogolev deployed his best troops, including a company of spetsnaz on loan from Doskoy into houses and buildings of the small border town of Hale's Corners. He had a small scout detachment roaming wide in southern Georgia and had seen the aerial reconnaissance footage from their handheld drones.

  The lead elements of Malcolm's army rushed south along the interstate. Any moment now, the Rebels would appear directly in front of his position.

  He could hardly wait. This time, there would be no one else to swoop in and claim the lion’s share of the glory.

  Strogolev scanned the off-ramp, looking for the first signs of movement. "Is everything ready?" he asked into his helmet mic. "It will only be a few minutes before he arrives."

  "Yes, comrade major."

  Strogolev grinned. Gregor was right on time as usual.

  A beat up four-door sedan rattled over the top of the ramp and stopped when it saw Gregor’s unarmed negotiating group standing by the side of the road. Of the seven men Gregor took with him, four were spetsnaz and held no fear of fighting without weapons. The other two were medics, with a decent amount of supplies and water on hand. Strogolev shifted his binoculars to focus in on his executive officer. Gregor played the part perfectly, standing at ease with his hands behind his back. His men stood neatly ordered behind him, guarding their peace offering.

  "That's him, Gregor."

  "Yes, comrade major."

  The vehicle stopped about 20 yards away, and the doors opened. Strogolev watched, fascinated, as four heavily armed black men stepped out, using the car doors as shields to cover the Russians with rifles. A fifth man emerged, impeccably dressed with a suit and…Strogolev adjusted his binoculars.

  A bow tie. How quaint. Malcolm buttoned his suit coat and strolled confidently up to Gregor.

  "Squads one through four await your disposal, comrade major," squawked the radio next to him.

  Strogolev took one hand from the binoculars and picked up the radio. "Confirm."

  "Squads six through ten, awaiting orders."

  Strogolev smiled. "Confirm."

  "Teegr, waiting for orders."

  "Confirm," replied Strogolev. He smiled. Teegr. His spetsnaz had all the ferocity of a Siberian tiger that much was certain. All of his men were in place. The spetsnaz held the middle of the line, waiting in some of the houses closest to where the meeting took place.

  After a few minutes of simple gestures between Gregor and Malcolm, it was over. The Rebels relaxed. They loaded up the supplies and drove back to the top of the off-ramp.

  Strogolev watched as Gregor collected his men and walked casually back to the Russian lines. "He agreed," said Gregor.

  Strogolev keyed his mic. "That easy?"

  "It did not take much convincing. His men look half-starved and exhausted. I do not expect the supplies we gave them to make it to any other people."

  "What did Malcolm say?"

  "Very little," Gregor related as he took his position inside one of the northern houses. "He will lead his people through the town to our main position."

  Strogolev smiled and put the binoculars down. He leaned back against the warm ring of the turret and laughed. The ‘main position’ Gregor had conveyed to Malcolm was actually nothing but a phantom. When Malcolm brought his people straight down through the streets of Hale's Corners, the houses and buildings would explode around him in a hail of missiles and gunfire.

  Though outnumbered almost 5 to 1, Strogolev was counting on the strength and skill of his troops—on top of overwhelming firepower—to not only decapitate but eradicate the rebellion. The only unknown was the American army.

  Moscow was unable to give him any information on how close the rogue general was to catching Malcolm. If he was at least a day or so away that would give Doskoy enough time to arrive with the bulk of the Russian forces. The replacement divisions should be arriving about the same time on the Atlantic coast. If need be, Strogolev figured he and Doskoy would be able to hold off whatever the nekulturny Americans could throw at them until reinforcements arrived from Canaveral.

  Strogolev smiled, thinking of the glory soon to be his. Not only would he single-handedly wipe out the rebellion, he would hold off the American advance until the rogue general himself could be destroyed. With no resistance and no Rebellion, Russia would have total control over not only Florida but most of the American South.

  I'll be a general by the end of
the year.

  Chapter 50

  Allah's Will

  MALCOLM WATCHED DESPONDENTLY AS the Russian envoy returned to his vehicle and drove back through Hale’s Corners. Any hopes he had of sneaking across the Florida-Georgia line and into their promised land unseen had been dashed almost 24 hours ago—if the Russians could be believed.

  "Do you believe him?" asked Samir around a mouthful of protein bar.

  Malcolm clasped his hands behind his back and ignored the sounds of his bodyguards as they gorged themselves on the food provided by the Russians as a good faith gesture. He watched in silence as the ugly Russian truck rumbled between two houses and disappeared down a side street.

  "I trust them not at all," he said when the truck finally disappeared. "I believe he tells us the truth when he speaks of their army waiting on the other side of this town, but I do not believe they are willing to join us."

  "You think he would lie under a flag of truce?"

  Malcolm turned to look at Samir. "Just because he is Russian and not American does not make him any less the Man. To him we are little more than exotic slaves."

  Externally, Malcolm fought harder than normal to project an image of serenity and absolute conviction. For certain he preached about inclusiveness to combat the Man's hate and bigotry—most assuredly present in the town of Dunham. But had he not been the one to give the order destroy the Dunham?

  How many innocents were killed by his command? That thought had weighed heavily on his soul the rest of the trip south. He had lost a dozen good people and would likely lose many more to grievous injuries suffered at the hands of the racists on that cursed bridge.

  And in return? I exacted an awful vengeance.

  When his army moved south to the border, they left behind them smoldering ruins where a town had once stood. They left behind more than a thousand bodies. Enraged by the unnecessary provocation, his exhausted and hungry army of followers had finally reached their limit. They'd waited for one simple order and when given, unleashed the fury of Hell upon Dunham.