"Where?" Malcolm whispered. He knew Stapleton was continuing his relentless pursuit from the north. Once the American caught sight of the explosions and smoke, he'd increase his speed to join in the fray. By nightfall his people would be trapped between two opposing armies.
Part of him almost hoped for the swift annihilation that would soon occur. They could be no other outcome. His entire rebellion, trapped between an American sledgehammer and a Russian anvil.
How could I have misread Allah's will so?
His only hope lay in defeating the Russians and slipping south. But how?
"We have to flee!" screamed Samir. He grunted and fell against the house, screaming as he dropped to the ground. He rolled into Malcolm, clutching his right arm. "I've been shot!"
Bodyguards emerged around the back of the house and pulled Malcolm to his feet, urging him to hurry. Malcolm tried to resist, but they were stronger. They yelled over the din of battle about making sure he was safe. Malcolm refused to leave until one of them grabbed Samir and hauled him off the ground as well.
"Now's our only chance—we have to leave!" one shouted in his ear.
"What has happened?" called out Malcolm over the noise.
One of the bodyguards pointed at the sky. A Russian jet streaked overhead and abruptly disappeared into a ball of fire.
The Americans. They're attacking the Russians. It's already started. We'll be locked between the two of them and wiped out before anyone can escape. I was too slow. Allah forgive me—I was too slow!
"Hurry!" called out one of the bodyguards as he struggled to get Malcolm to move faster. "Some soldiers found us. They're from the army! They're trying to help us evacuate."
"What?" asked Malcolm, incredulous. It was impossible—it was a trap. "No! Don't trust them! It's a trick!" He struggled against the bodyguards. "Let me go! We have to save our people!"
"Malcolm! It's true—the soldiers saved me! I was pinned down by the Russians over there," he said pointing down the street toward a smoking house. "Some soldiers popped up behind us and shot the Russians, then protected us while we retreated. They said the Russian forces were a lot bigger than anyone expected. The only way we're going to survive is if we all work together!"
"Was that a message from General Stapleton?" asked Malcolm as he allowed himself to be led further north. He shook his head. "We cannot trust them!" he cried, struggling against the guards.
"We don't have a choice!" yelled one of the man on his left. "If we stay here, the Russians will kill us all!"
"If we go with the Americans, they will kill us all!" retorted Malcolm.
Samir leaned against the closest house, gripping his bloodstained shoulder. "Malcolm…" he muttered weakly. "We don't have a choice anymore."
"He needs a doctor," observed one of the guards as if he were something more than a bouncer.
"What do you want us to do?" asked the other, finally relenting.
Malcolm stood there, listening to his radio squawk about reinforcements and Russian attacks and people dying. The chaos surrounding him was too much.
"What are you doing standing out there in the open! Get the fuck behind some cover!" a voice shouted from the left.
Malcolm watched as his bodyguards produced weapons. American soldiers crouched behind the corner of the house. "If you're gonna shoot, shoot—otherwise get your asses over here before the Russians kill you all!" one of them shouted as he urged them forward.
“Look out!” A second soldier raised his rifle and fired a shot, causing Malcolm to flinch.
Malcolm spun and saw a Russian writhing on the ground across the street. Two more took his place and charged, laying down fire from AK-47s. Bullets peppered the ground and walls around them. One of the guards went down, clutching his chest in a spray of blood.
Malcolm turned and helped get Samir around the corner where they were joined by not one, but four soldiers.
"Thank you," Malcolm said breathlessly. "What do we do now?"
"We'll lay down suppressing fire. You get your wounded man out of here. It's clear that way," the soldier in charge said, signaling with his hand to the northwest. "I've got reinforcements coming in from the north on the eastern flank. Our armored division should be here within 20—we just have to hold out until the armored cav shows up." He peered around the corner. "Go!"
Malcolm reached out his bloodstained hand. "Thank you. Thank you, Sergeant.…Miller," he said reading the man's blood-stained name tag.
The handshake was firm. "No problem…?"
"I am Malcolm."
The soldier's eyes widened. "No shit."
Chapter 64
Welcome Home
ERIK WATCHED AS TED spun and aimed his weapon at the guy behind their van. The man didn't move.
"Freeze!" shouted Ted. He dropped behind the driver’s door. "Get on the ground or I'll shoot!"
"We don't want any trouble," a gravelly voice said off to Erik's right.
Erik turned and saw two older men step out from the shoe repair shop across the street.
"That's right, we just want to stop you—”
Erik dropped into a crouch as he reached the van while Ted continued to scream at the man behind the van.
"Stop us? Why?" asked Brin from inside.
"Brin, keep the kids down!" Erik hissed.
"Because you don't want to go any further up the road," a woman said behind him.
"What the hell is going on?" Erik said as he spun to face yet another person. She was older, like the two men from the shoe store. She stepped out from behind one of the trees alongside of the road, her hands in front of her, empty.
"You just hanging out up there waiting for us?" asked Ted, shifting his rifle between the targets.
The old woman nodded, brushing a lock of white hair from her face. She wore a sad look. "It's our job. We warn people away."
Erik relaxed when he saw no visible weapons. "Ted, I think it's okay…"
"That's right, none of us are armed," said the woman. She took a step forward, her arms spread wide. "We threaten no one and hope to protect everyone who drives this road."
Ted reappeared from behind the door, albeit slowly. His rifle was aimed at the ground, but ready to snap up in an instant. "If you're unarmed and you don't threaten anybody, why are you guys snooping around and hiding?"
"Because people like you would gun us down in a heartbeat if we stepped out in the open to meet you, even though we only want to help."
Erik glanced from the old woman back to Ted. He shrugged his shoulders. She's got a point.
"Well, if it's gonna be like that, I guess I may as well introduce myself. I'm Erik Larsson." He walked over to her and extended his hand.
She wrinkled her nose. "Larsson? I know that name…"
"My parents live on the lake. Ed and Vi?"
Her eyes opened wide and her mouth creased in the smallest of smiles. "Erik? Little Erik that used to come to my husband's ice cream shop?"
Erik laughed. "Mrs. O'Malley?"
Before he could say anything else, she enveloped him in a hug. Erik gave the gas can to Ted and patted the old woman on the back.
"I didn't expect a welcoming committee, but this is nice…"
She stepped back, her hands on Erik's arms. "But why are you here? I thought you were in Alabama or Texas or something at school?"
"Florida," Erik chuckled.
"I'm sorry," Mrs. O'Malley said with a grandmotherly smile. "Your parents don't come to town all that often and the last I heard you'd just graduated college."
"Well, I'm back. I brought my wife—”
Mrs. O'Malley's face lit up. "Your wife?"
Erik nodded, smiling at the old men who crossed the street and cautiously approached the van. "We've come all the way from Florida and I can't tell you how excited we are to be this close to home."
The two older men looked at each other before looking down the street. Erik glanced at Mrs. O'Malley, who wouldn't meet his eyes.
"What'd
I say?" asked Erik.
The man behind the van caught up to Erik and Ted. "I'll tell you what's going on—that crazy son of a bitch out by the lake thinks he's some kind of king—that's what's going on. If you know what's good for you, you'll get the hell out of here as fast as you can." The old man turned his rheumy glare on the trees as if expecting an attack.
"Probably got one of those bastards of his watchin' us right now."
The old woman sighed. "Dan can be a little rough around the edges, but he's mostly right."
"You're damn right I am!" Dan replied emphatically. He cast Ted a wary look as he stepped around the marine to approach the front of the van.
"Dan Smith," he said holding his hand out for Erik. "That's my shoe store there," he said with a nod toward the dilapidated building. "Don't look like much, but it probably saved my life. A cobbler's shop is too boring to attract the interest of assholes like them."
Erik shook his head. "Whoa, whoa. What are you talking about? What's going on—who is this king?"
Mrs. O'Malley glanced nervously around. "We should head inside and get out of sight."
Erik frowned. "I'm not going anywhere until somebody at least gives me a hint about what's going on around here."
Mrs. O'Malley sighed, fidgeting with her dirt-caked shirt. "It's kind of difficult to explain."
"Young man, we've seen some horrible things," Dan said.
"Try me," said Erik, crossing his arms. He heard the unique creak and rattle of a wooden window sash rise.
"Dan!" hissed a voice across the street from the second floor of the cobbler shop. "Someone's coming in through the woods! They're moving around up at the top of the hill," said a middle-aged woman leaning out the window, pointing south.
Dan waved her off. "Get back inside, Melissa!" He turned his attention back to the others. "We've got to hurry. That'll be last night's patrol coming back." He turned to look at the white Newark University van. "You gotta get this thing off the street."
"Well, she's not going anywhere without this gas," Erik said holding up the gas can.
"No, you don't understand—we have move it without noise." Dan turned to the two other men. "Help us push this thing."
Ted shot Erik a look.
"Brin, put it in neutral and steer," Erik called. He shut the passenger door.
"Everybody, on me," Ted announced from the back of the van. "We'll push it together."
"Just turn left," said Dan through the window as Brin climbed into the driver seat. "Pull on back around my shop—they never go off the street anymore."
Erik put the gas can in the passenger seat through the open window and rushed to take his place at the back of the van with Ted, Mrs. O'Malley, Dan, and the two old men. They pushed and heaved and strained, forcing the van forward.
Brin steered them around the corner and parked behind the cobbler's shop in a small, weed-infested gravel lot. Erik stepped back from the van and wiped the dirt from the door on his pants. He glanced up at the back of the cobbler's building in the growing light of the morning.
"Why did they shoot this place up?"
"Why the hell did they shoot anything up? Why the hell did they kill all the people in town and take the survivors away? Nobody knows. Like I said, the bastards are plum crazy."
"We can talk later—let's get everyone inside," suggested Mrs. O’Malley.
Dan nodded. "She's right, let's go," he said circling his hand over his head. The old men had already mounted the rear steps and threw open the wooden door.
"Hurry!" a voice called from inside the darkened building.
Erik opened the van’s back doors and helped Lindsay and Teddy hop down. Lucy tumbled out blushing, her first aid satchel clutched tight in both hands. Brin jumped out next and pulled two backpacks with her. She handed one to Erik as she ushered the kids into the building. Ted grabbed his pack, and they shut the doors as quietly as possible before following Mrs. O'Malley up the steps into the building.
"That everybody?" asked Dan.
"Yes," said Erik as he entered the darkened building.
"Good. What the hell are you doing dragging kids up here? This is a war zone."
Chapter 65
The Arrival
ERIK STARED THROUGH THE grimy window and narrowed his eyes at the familiar yet surreal scene outside. He turned away from the window and looked around the darkened room.
"None of this makes any sense. I don't see why we can't just go right now."
Ted sighed, the chair he sat in creaking under his shifting weight. "Erik, you saw those guys out there just like we did. They were carrying shotguns. We have a pistol and one rifle. I don't—”
"Oh, give me a break, Ted—you can take those guys with your bare hands!"
"That's not the point and you know it," Ted snapped. "Look, we can't rush in half-cocked. We have too many people relying on us now."
Erik clenched his jaw and stepped away from the window into the room. The group watched him impassively as they sat around a card table amid piles of empty cans and trash on the floor .
Brin sat so close to Lucy their shoulders almost touched. Lucy, their de facto nurse, nervously fingered the strap on her satchel. On the other side of the little table from Brin and Lucy, Lindsay sat next to Ted as the marine folded his arms across his chest. Their new friends sat opposite Ted and Lindsay. Teddy sat on the floor playing with an empty plastic bottle.
More lives than you know, Erik thought as his eyes met Brin's. Guilt washed over him. He had been reckless in pushing the group north as fast as he had and Lindsay had already paid the price. As he stared at Brin, he realized pushing now might endanger his unborn child.
Get a grip on yourself and think, dammit! Ted's right.
Erik turned back to the window, barely resisting the urge to pace the room. He needed to move, to do something. Standing around cooped up in a dark, stuffy room just a few miles from the end of their journey ate at him like nothing he'd ever experienced.
The only thing stopping him now was some mysterious group that had rolled through town—according to Mrs. O'Malley and Dan—and killed most of the survivors of the collapse, then set up shop down by the lake.
"Your friend is right, Erik," Mrs. O'Malley said in a soft voice. "These men are dangerous."
"We already told him once," grumbled Dan. "What good is it to go over this again? He doesn't believe you," the old man stood up and moved to the door.
"It's not that I don't believe you, Mrs. O'Malley," Erik muttered "it's just that…"
"Maggie. Please, dear. Call me Maggie. Mrs. O'Malley died when my husband passed away."
"It's just what?" asked Dan, ignoring Maggie. "It's not fair?" he demanded in a mocking tone. "You're just like the others—'it's not fair,' they said. 'It's not fair these people have all the supplies, it's not fair these people moved in, fought us, and took what was ours. It's not fair people died'."
The old man opened the door and left, slamming it behind him.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Maggie said standing up from the table to face Erik. "He's had a hard time since his brother went with the last group to challenge the newcomers."
"What happened?" asked Brin.
It was Maggie's turned to stare out the window. "Just like the rest of them, he never came back. I think they were killed, but I also think Dan holds out hope his brother is alive out there somewhere." She shook her head. "No one else has been brave enough—or young enough," she said with a glance at Erik, "to go find out what happened. The frustration's been eating away at him for a while now."
"How long have these 'newcomers' been in power?" asked Ted.
Maggie sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Oh, it had to be early this month. We had that surprise early snowfall—late September or early October. I don't really remember which. Without power for computers and clocks, I'm afraid we all forgot what day it was a long time ago."
Ted rubbed his chin, the scratching sound of his finger across the dark patchy beard on
his chin the only noise in the room. "So they've been consolidating for what, about a month, month and a half now?"
“That’s right,” Maggie replied.
"Can you give me your best estimate on how many people they have?"
Maggie put her hands in her threadbare coat and scrunched her shoulders into the fabric. "Oh, I don't know, I'm not the one to ask. The others probably know better—”
"Maggie, the others aren't here. Just a guess that's all we need," suggested Erik.
She looked into his eyes, then turned and squinted out the window. "When they first came through town…it seemed like there were hundreds of them. Of course they were walking in ones and twos—slowly—like they'd been on their feet for a long time…" she said, her eyes glassing over.
Erik felt the limits of his patience quickly approach as the old woman stared out the window, lost in the past. "Would you say there were ten? Twenty?"
She shook her head. "It's hard to say. They just kept coming," she said craning her neck to look south. "We tried talking to the ones at the front, and the others would just shuffle past like they didn't even see us…" Maggie shuddered. "Then there were a few that did see us. When you looked in their eyes, you didn't see men…just animals."
Erik turned and shot a glance at Ted. The marine grimaced.
Maggie hugged herself tighter. "They looked at us like we were prey or something." She shook her head and looked away from the window. "And that was back when there were a couple thousand of us still alive in town. I'd hate to think what they’d do if they came through again. " She looked at Erik.
"No one left now but the old and sick…"
Erik folded his arms and stared out the window next to her. "You said there was a group that went after them recently?"
Maggie nodded. When she spoke her voice sounded distant. "Yes. About three weeks ago. We got together and decided to find out what happened to the those who'd been taken." She turned and looked at Ted.
"There were a few people who'd gone out on their own—mostly the younger men. Hunters. They disappeared too and never came back."
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 39