Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (24 page)

Malcolm tried to visualize where his lieutenant was, but failed.
 
His map listed a small college campus but had no elevation markers.
 
He needed to see it with his own eyes.

"What you want us to do?"

Malcolm wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was going to have to get south faster than this. The civilians were getting in the way.
 
He climbed down off of this truck, startled to see equal numbers of tired, angry faces mixed with the jubilant.
 

Whatever he did with the civilian population, he had to do it quick before things got out of control. He could not let the rearguard actions became the norm for the rest of the army. That would turn everyone in their path against them.
 

His bodyguards pushed their way through the river of people to get him across the highway to a small car cordoned off with loyal troops. He climbed into the passenger seat and keyed the mic on his radio.
 

"Just stay where you're at! Try to get the refugees to keep moving! Whatever you do,
maintain control
of our people and make sure things do
not
escalate. I'm on my way—I'll be there in…" he looked at his watch and glanced at the map on the dashboard. "Ten minutes!"

He turned to the driver. "We need to be
 
at exit 4a in five minutes."

"Sorry, man—I don't know how we can do that…" the driver said with a shrug. He gestured at the windshield. "I mean, look—they gotta get out the way first."

Malcolm ground his teeth in frustration. "Honk the horn."

The driver shrugged again and hit the horn, scattering the first dozen people in front of the car. He lurched forward about a dozen feet and then came up against the wall of people again. A few, recognizing who was in the car cheered and tried to clear path, but there were just too many bodies.

I need a helicopter.

Malcolm turned to the driver again. "I will get my bodyguards to clear a path to the next off-ramp. Get us on to the side streets. We'll just have to go as fast as we can."

He picked up the radio and switched frequencies to his guards' channel.
Allah, grant me this boon. Help me to get your people safely south. You know I wish to avoid bloodshed, but the longer this goes on, the less hope I have for the journey to be peaceful.

"Terrence, we need to get to the off-ramp. There is an emergency south of here I need to oversee personally. Can you clear a path?"

"I can—how bad you need it?"

"It is a matter of life and death for a great many people."
 
Perhaps all of us.
 
Malcolm thought for a second. "Do what you need to, but
clear that road
."

After the first gunshots rang out, people quickly moved out of the way. Malcolm closed his eyes and begged for forgiveness as the car sped toward the off-ramp.

Chapter 27

Encounter

"E
RIK
,
WAKE
UP
."

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder.
 
Erik turned his head to the side and opened his eyes, hoping to find himself in his own bed next to Brin on a lazy Sunday morning.
 
He longed for that sleepy look in her eyes, a sly smile on her face that promised he would be in for his favorite way of waking up.

Ted's face filled his vision.
 

"Ugh!"
 
Erik tried to sit up but the seatbelt across his chest slammed him back in his seat.
 
He fumbled with the latch and the belt zipped off him.
 
He winced as he sat up, his back protesting in pain.

"Where are we?" he asked, rubbing his lower back.

Ted grinned.
 
"Welcome to Virginia."

Erik's eyes snapped open.
 
"Seriously?"

Ted nodded.
 
"We just crossed the border.
 
But," he said, holding up an empty gas can.
 
"We're out.
 
Completely.
 
I got as close to 95 as I could, but this is as far as we go without some more fuel."

"Come on," said Brin from the back seat.
 
"It's our turn."

Erik rubbed his face to wake up, then grabbed his rifle and hopped out the passenger door.
 
Ted tossed him the empty gas can.
 
Brin waited a short ways away with the other two plastic gas containers.
 
"You get some sleep?"
 
she asked politely.

"Yeah, I guess," Erik replied around a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Good," she stated flatly.
 
She walked off down the road toward the on-ramp, then stopped and turned around.
 
"You coming?"

Erik sighed and accepted the small pack Ted handed over.
 

"Focus, loverboy," Ted said.

Erik flipped him off as he shouldered the first aid pack and the last of their protein bars.
 
Food.
 
Water.
 
Two more pressing needs weighed down his spirit.
 
They'd been on strict rationing lately, but even so they wouldn't have enough water to finish the day.
 
Erik jogged to catch up to Brin.
 
His mission while she collected gas from abandoned cars was not only to provide security, but to spot any targets of opportunity and find supplies they might use.

Despite her shorter legs, Brin was walking fast.
 
Erik reached her just before the on-ramp's crest.
 
"Hey, slow down.
 
Let me get in position."

She didn't say anything, but dropped into a crouch.
 
Erik slipped past her and got near the guard rail, putting his own container on the ground.
 
He brought his rifle to his shoulder and crept up the ramp just high enough to see the interstate.
 
His heart thundered in his chest.
 
This was the make or break moment.
 
They gambled all on his idea of getting to 95.
 
If there were no cars…

Erik forced the negative thought from his mind and smiled.
 
It wasn't wall-to-wall like I-75 had been back in Florida, but there were enough cars that there just
had
to be some fuel for them to harvest.
 

Erik paused for a moment, watching.
 
No movement.
 
He lowered the rifle after scanning north and south, then pulled Ted's little mini binoculars to his eyes.
 

"Okay, Brin.
 
Go on out—I don't see anything moving up here.
 
Looks like we got plenty of cars."

The words had barely left his mouth before she brushed past him.
 

"You got your hammer and screwdriver?"
 
Erik called as she moved toward the closest car, about 20 feet away.

"This would be an awful short trip if I didn't," she replied over her shoulder.

Erik lowered the binoculars.
 
So now we're talking again?
 
He shook his head.
 
The first day after leaving Dunham, Brin said more no more than two words to him all day.
 
Now, suddenly she was back on speaking terms.
 
The more she did this back-and-forth thing, the more confused and angry he became.

He looked back down the on-ramp toward the van.
 
Ted leaned against the hood of the vehicle, scanning the road behind them with his rifle.

The kids sat on the side of the road playing with pebbles.
 
He flashed a thumbs up to Ted, who waved enthusiastically.

It would've been easier to pick up his radio and let them know, but as long as they stayed within shouting distance, everything would be okay.
 
At least that was the plan.

"Jackpot!"

Erik turned and let the small binoculars dangle at his neck as he snapped his rifle up.
 
He only lowered it again when he saw Brin giving him the thumbs-up from the Impala she had approached.
 
She sat by the rear bumper with her hammer and screwdriver on the ground at her feet.
 
The first small gas can sat underneath the car.

Erik closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks.
 
Finally, something was going their way.

He walked further out into the road toward Brin, eyes continually scanning.
 
The southbound lanes had a lot fewer cars than the northbound lanes.
 
Erik followed the road south with his eyes—a few cars here and there spaced about every 50 to 100 yards.
 
It looked like a normal flow of traffic.
 
The other side of the road was a different matter.
 

Heading north, the cars were tightly packed together and as far as he could see—more than a dozen had been abandoned in ditches.
 
Their drivers had attempted to get around traffic and failed.
 
He looked as far as he could but the pattern remained the same far into the distance.
 

Almost half the cars had their doors open, and the rest had at least one bullet hole—some had been well ventilated.
 
Erik idly wondered how many people had locked the cars as they got out and walked to wherever they were going, hoping to come back someday.
 
He shook his head at the waste of it all.

"I wonder how many of the owners are still alive?"
 
Brin asked softly.

"This is as bad as we've ever seen it," Erik observed.

"Fredericksburg must be really bad, if this many people are trying to get out of town…"

Erik grunted.
 
He dropped his rifle from his shoulder and glanced in the rear window of the Impala.
 
"It looks like there isn't anything in this one.
 
There's an SUV behind us in the other lane.
 
I'll go check it out."

"Okay."

The hope Erik had that Brin would try to strike up further conversation died with that one word.
 
He shrugged and left his gas can as she plugged the hole in the Impala's gas tank and poured the contents of the little container into the big one.
 
He walked across the distance to the Jeep Cherokee that sat with its driver's side pinned against the guard rail.
 
The only sound that reached his ears were his own footsteps and the scrape of plastic on gravel as Brin switched containers again.

He looked around and seeing no movement, risked a glance over the concrete barricade on the median.
 
No one was hiding there, but he did find nice piles of windblown trash.
 
He shook his head and went back to the Jeep.
 
The tinted rear windows revealed little of what was inside.
 

He opened the passenger door and a stench hit him so powerful it caused him to back up gagging.
 
His eyes watered and he dropped to his hands and knees, unsure if he needed to throw up or cough.

Brin jumped to her feet and raced over.
 
"You okay?"

As the odor hit her, she stumbled backward, her gasoline soaked hands in front of her face.
 
"Dear God, what the hell
is
that?"

Erik coughed again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he rose to his feet.
 
"There's gotta be a dead guy in there…" He walked up and shut the door with his rifle stock.
 
It didn't do much to stop the odors that already escaped, but he could at least breathe.
 

"
That
was the nasty."

"Yeah," Brin chuckled.
 
"You're on your own with this."
 

Erik stood there for a second watching her jog back to the Impala.
 
He tried to ignore the foul stench of death around him and watched his wife's lithe form across the road.
 
He missed her touch.
 
He missed watching her without being worried that his eyes would start a fight.
 
He missed the sound of her laughter.
 

He missed his wife.

Erik steeled himself and decided the best course of action would be to open the Jeep's rear hatch and let it air out while he worked on other cars.
 
As he stepped back, he saw Brin signal the tank on the Impala was empty.
 
She held up one empty gas jug and trotted toward another car.
 

Erik walked around the back of the Jeep and tore open the door while quickly spinning away to avoid the foulness that billowed out.
 
As his eyes watered, he watched Brin slither under the rear bumper of a Ford Escape and line up the screwdriver on the edge of its gas tank.
 

She swung the hammer and hit her screwdriver three times before puncturing the tank.
 
She pulled it out fast and slid the small fuel tank under it.
 
A stream of gas immediately poured out into the small container.
 

Flashing him a smile and the thumbs-up sign, Erik felt…something.
 
It wasn't relief—he knew from previous experience that even though she was happy this second, the next she might be mad.
 
He offered a half-smile and shook his head, turning back to his task.

Focus.
 
It's still a long way to New York.
 

He took one more look around the surroundings to confirm there was nothing moving besides birds and squirrels.
 
Holding his nose, Erik peered inside the Jeep.
 
There was a suitcase and a few small bags in the back.
 
Resolving himself to check out the treasure when they were ready to leave, he made his way over to the next car.