Free Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) by Marcus Richardson Page A

sure the Army has more important things to worry about than a small town election."   He turned back to the M-ATV.   "Am I right, captain?   How's the fight against them Russkies doing?"
    Ted rested his elbows on the edge on the rim of the M-ATV turret.   "Not good, not so good at all.   The front collapsed along the Orlando-Tampa line.   They've probably pushed us up to the border by now.   We lost comms a few days ago."
    The sheriff cursed.   "A few days ago?   Took you that long to get up here?"
    Ted glanced south.   "Lotta roadblocks—towns don't want visitors coming through.   I can't tell you how many wrecked cars we had to move out of the way.   It's been real slow going.   In fact, that's why we're here."
    "Do tell," said the sheriff.   Erik couldn't help but notice the subtle tone shift in the man's voice.
    Ted noticed as well.   "Now, we don't mean to impose," reassured Ted, "but my mission is to find supplies and report back.   So far we haven't found squat.   But this pig is in need of repairs," he said slapping the roof of the M-ATV.   "It's been a rough trip.   We stopped here hoping to pick up a civilian vehicle.   Maybe a big SUV," Ted said.
    The sheriff stared at him for a moment.   The only sounds Erik heard were the insects in the grass and the M-ATV’s engine at idle.
    "I'm afraid I can't let you take anything, captain.   Law and order's already breaking down.   I let you walk off with private property, things'll just go from bad to worse."   The sheriff looked up at the M-ATV with an appraising eye.   "But that don't mean we can't come to some sort of understanding, you hear?"
    Erik didn't like the way the men by the trucks mumbled and nudged each other as they looked at the big army vehicle.   The locals had a predatory look about them.   He remained silent, thinking.  
    It'd been almost five months since terrorists had taken out the power grid.   In that time, Erik had seen enough suffering and depravity to fill up dozens of horror novels.   The people, if the sheriff could be believed, should be starving, sick, or at least a little apprehensive about seeing a big military truck rumble into their hometown unannounced and alone.  
    Yet these men looked like hunters.   They appeared well fed, well rested, and if Erik could trust his judgment, a few of them looked drunk.   He checked his watch.   7:52 AM.   Something was off.
    "That sounds like a mighty fine proposition, Sheriff Jonston," Ted's voice called out.   "Will you give me some time to consider my options?"
    "Time is not something we have a lot of just now," began the sheriff.   "I tell you what—you take as long as you want—just so you don't take more than ten minutes.   After that, I'm gonna have to ask you to clear on out of town if you won't help."
    Erik tried to control his breathing as he leaned against the side of the truck.   He cursed his situation.   He been so tired from the previous night's driving he didn't even pay attention to what deal Ted and the sheriff and just worked out.
    He leaned his head forward until his helmet touched the barrel of his rifle.   If only he could have a few hours of sleep to clear his head.
    "Nobody do anything stupid," said the sheriff in a lower voice.   "Nothing we got can punch a hole through the side of that thing.   So we just wait them out, you hear?"
    The men near the pickup trucks mumbled the responses, too soft for Erik to pick up.   Whatever was going to happen, he'd have to stay where he was and hope no one spotted him.   His only option was to wait until Ted and Brin rolled out of town with the M-ATV.   After the locals dispersed, he'd slip off to the countryside and meet them at the rendezvous point.   He was not looking forward to a long hike through unfamiliar terrain.
    "Erik?   You read me?"   The little radio squawked.   Erik's heart skipped a beat.   He turned and glanced out into the no-man's-land and stared at the little handheld