Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)

BOOK: Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)
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Contents

Title Page/Copyright

Books by Marcus Richardson

Dedication

Half title

Chapter 1 - Call Me Spike

Chapter 2 - Flight of the Rebels

Chapter 3 - The Hunt

Chapter 4 - The Bridge

Chapter 5 - Killing Spree

Chapter 6 - Time for a New Car

Chapter 7 - Shopping

Chapter 8 - A New Nest

Chapter 9 - New Orders

Chapter 10 - Law and Order

Chapter 11 - Survival

Chapter 12 - Captured

Chapter 13 - Vigilantes

Chapter 14 - Pressure

Chapter 15 - The Road to Dunham

Chapter 16 - Blackmail

Chapter 17 - Jailbreak

Chapter 18 - Welcome to Florida

Chapter 19 - Walk of Shame

Chapter 20 - Philly

Chapter 21 - New Wheels

Chapter 22 - New Target

Chapter 23 - The Fort

Chapter 24 - Friends no More

Chapter 25 - Pit Stop

Chapter 26 - Exodus Baltimore

Chapter 27 - Encounter

Chapter 28 - Chinese Proposal

Chapter 29 - Liberate D.C.

Chapter 30 - All in the Family

Chapter 31 - Run

Chapter 32 - The Pentagon

Chapter 33 - A Fine Speech

Chapter 34 - Rolling South

Chapter 35 - Hidden Injury

Chapter 36 - The Valley

Chapter 37 - Dunham

Chapter 38 - The Fever

Chapter 39 - Deep South

Chapter 40 - Newark

Chapter 41 - Sic Semper Tyrannis

Chapter 42 - Heading Home

Chapter 43 - Setting the Stage

Chapter 44 - The Unarmed Army

Chapter 45 - Propagandist

Chapter 46 - The Professor

Chapter 47 - Disarm

Chapter 48 - The Farm

Chapter 49 - Divide and Conquer

Chapter 50 - Allah's Will

Chapter 51 - Defense

Chapter 52 - Training

Chapter 53 - Gainesville

Chapter 54 - Ambush

Chapter 55 - Fight or Flight

Chapter 56 - Showdown

Chapter 57 - On the Road Again

Chapter 58 - Pennsylvania

Chapter 59 - Reconciliation

Chapter 60 - Death From Above

Chapter 61 - What Have We Done?

Chapter 62 - Ticonderoga

Chapter 63 - Annihilation

Chapter 64 - Welcome Home

Chapter 65 - The Arrival

Chapter 66 - Prisoner of War

Chapter 67 - Offense

Chapter 68 - Mohican

Chapter 69 - The Final Jihad

Chapter 70 - The Truth

Chapter 71 - Slaughter

Chapter 72 - The Prodigal Son

Chapter 73 - Presents

Chapter 74 - Strategy

Chapter 75 - The Walk

Chapter 76 - Endgame

Chapter 77 - Something to Fight For

Chapter 78 - Something to Die For

Chapter 79 - EMP

Chapter 80 - Aftermath

Please Review

Author Contact Info

About the Author

Books by Marcus Richardson

Half title copy

MARCUS
 
RICHARDSON

© 2016 Marcus Richardson.

All Rights Reserved.

1st Printing, July 2016.

This is a work of fiction.
 

The people and events in this book have been written
 

for entertainment purposes only.
 
Any similarity to living
 

and/or deceased people is purely coincidental and not intentional.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
 

in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical,
 

including photocopying, recording, or by any information
 

storage and retrieval system without prior written consent by the author.

Want to get an e-mail when my next book is released?

SIGN UP here!

Books by Marcus Richardson

The Future History of America
 

Book I:
Alea Jacta Est

Book II:
Sic Semper Tyrannis

Book III:
Dux Bellorum

The Wildfire Saga

Book I:
Apache Dawn

Book II:
The Shift

Book III:
Firestorm

Other Books in the Wildfire Saga

False Prey
(Novella)

The Wildfire Bundle
(Books I-III)

For SBF.
 

Chapter 1

Call Me Spike

G
ABRIEL
E
VANS
SHOVED
HIS
hands deeper into his coat.
 
On loan from the Essex County Sheriff's Department, the quilted winter coat was warm, if small.
 
He squinted up at the darkening October sky and blinked as early-season snowflakes kissed his face.
 
He and his men had to find permanent shelter soon if they planned to survive the winter.
 
A place that would suit their needs and allow him to set up shop unmolested.
 

He'd led his men through the sleepy little town of Ticonderoga a few hours back.
 
They hadn't asked for anything, hadn't even done anything, but the people were afraid and standoffish.
 
No one offered to help or provide food or shelter.
   

He couldn't blame them, but he wasn't happy either.
 
Ungrateful is what it was—he'd held his little band together through fear and sheer willpower.
 
If he hadn't been there to keep everyone moving, the violence visited upon the little town of survivors would have been Biblical.
 

And how did they repay him?
 
An hour after they left town, the undersheriff showed up.

Ah well, at least his clothes fit me.
 
Sort of.
 
Better than the rags everyone else has.
He stretched his shoulders in the undersized jacket and continued shuffling along the road.
 
Gabriel's second-in-command knew when the boss was upset and kept the rest of their little army of escaped inmates back down the road.
 
That was good—Bondo was smarter than he looked. Evans needed to think in peace as he walked.
 

His first order of business—beyond finding shelter, food, and fire—was finding clothing that actually fit his frame.
 
He pulled his right hand from the coat and plucked at the duty shirt stretched across his broad chest.
 
The old undersheriff had been a skinny little prick.
 
Ten years of hard time doing nothing but lifting weights and fighting every ethnic group imaginable had left Gabriel Evans with a body fit for any professional sport.

That huge body required food though—lots of it.
 
He pulled the brim of the undersheriff’s campaign hat over his brow to shield his eyes from the blowing snow.
 
He tromped through the dusting and hoped he would find something—
anything
—of use around the next bend.
 
He'd wandered through this Upstate forest long enough.
 

The weight of the service revolver in its leather holster on his hip was comforting, but he only had one shot left.
 
The rest had been spent freeing his fellow captives and birthing his army.
 
As he walked, he risked a backward glance over his shoulder at the ragtag group behind him.
 
The ones he could trust wore the uniforms of the ill-fated prison guards assigned to their final transfer.
 

God, what a ragged-ass group.

Why the governor would want to transfer all prisoners from outlying facilities to New
 
York City was beyond him.
 
Things must have gotten real bad on the outside, is all Gabriel figured.
 
There was no way politicians would risk moving so many hardened criminals to one spot if they didn't know something.
 

Gabriel smiled as he watched his army shuffle along.
 
They knew something, all right.
 
They knew we'd break out sooner or later.
 
They tried to herd us all together.
 
The smile faded from his face.
 
Maybe they wanted to get rid of us all in one shot...

Regardless of the why, the bus he'd been on was part of a convoy that crashed on the slick roads leading south out of Upstate. Someone upstairs had been looking out for him when the bus driver hit that patch of black ice and lost control.
 
A few prisoners died on impact, most were injured and a few wriggled free of their restraints.
 

Maybe they
arranged
to have an accident with the bus so the warden could explain to everyone how it was so unfortunate the poor bastards had all perished.
 
But, look on the bright side, he'd say, there's 27 less mouths for the taxpayers to feed.
 
Twenty-seven more sick and twisted sons of bitches had gone to meet their maker in hell.

Well, Gabriel Evans had survived.
 
He choked the first guard that came to check on him—or finish him off—after the accident.
 
He was pretty sure he'd snapped the man's neck, but it didn't matter—he got his gun just the same and dropped the others with a few well-placed shots.
 
Out of ammo and on the run, they'd stumbled on Ticonderoga toward the end of the day, exhausted and running on fumes.

Evens knew from the first face he saw they'd get no help in that tiny town.
 
Some old bitch with a long dirty braid.
 
Should have hung her scrawny ass with that braid.
 
The people in town were half-starved, and it was clear from fear on their faces they wouldn't help anyone.
 
Especially
his
crew.

You didn’t offer to help, but you called the cops.
 
Pricks.

Evans tripped over a small rock in the road and caught himself against a tree that leaned in on the side of the road until the pain in his cramped feet subsided.
 
Fucking boots were two sizes too small.
 
He stood there for a second, his hand on the cold, rough bark and held his tongue from the string of curses that longed to escape his lips.
 
If he was going to play the part of the undersheriff, walking around swearing like a sailor would not convince any civilians he was worthy of helping.
 

BOOK: Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3)
4.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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