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

radio playing face up in the gravel.
    "You catch any of that?"
    Erik swung his gaze back to the locals.   Damn it, Brin, stop talking!  
    All but one of the men kept a wary eye on M-ATV.   The man closest to the road, sporting a filthy white T-shirt and baggy jeans, scratched at the stubble on his cheek and adjusted the Atlanta Braves hat on his head.   He looked over his shoulder and said something, but the others waved him off.   He took a few wobbly steps off the road and down into the high grass.
    Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…  
    Erik gripped the rifle in his hands and prayed he wouldn't set the damn thing off by accident.   The man grew closer and his legs disappeared into the weeds.   Erik watched, waiting to see what would happen and saw the man close his eyes as he unzipped his pants.  
    Erik sighed.   That was close.
    Ted's voice crackled in the near silence.   "All right, I have to assume you can hear me…"  
    Erik watched in horror as the local relieving himself in the weeds opened his bleary eyes.
    "Ted says the local sheriff offered us a deal.   They’re having some issues in town and they need some muscle to keep the peace.   They can't give us any vehicles or supplies, but if we help them, they'll trade for what we've got."
    Erik held his breath, watching as the man took a cautious step toward the line of cars.   Please stop talking…
    The radio broke squelch again with a little chirp.   "Erik?"
    The local zipped his pants and drew a pistol from his belt as he stepped through the weeds and onto the gravel parking lot.   "Hey!   There's a radio over here on the ground!   I think the guy in the army tank—"
    "It's a truck , you dumbass!" someone shouted back.
    "Whatever!" the yokel responded over laughter.   He picked up the radio.   "He's trying to talk to somebody!"
    Erik swallowed as four sets of eyes swiveled in his direction.
    Awww shit.

Chapter 11
    Survival

    L IEUTENANT C OLONEL C AROLINE E DWARDS would have killed someone to be able to scratch the back of her leg.   She'd been bound and gagged, then blindfolded—the Russians had even gone so far as to put a bag over her head.
    The rebels had found her in Washington Park after she'd bailed out of her F-16 and since then she'd been passed from one group to another, never staying long with any of her captors.   It was like everyone was nervous having her in their charge and couldn't wait to give her away to someone else.
    Not like anyone bothered to give me much to eat or drink.   I don't take up a lot of resources…
    She tried to adjust her position and bumped her lower back against the metal wall of her small compartment.   Trunk.   It had to be a trunk.   She didn't remember actually being placed in a vehicle.   She'd fallen asleep on her side in the corner of a room that smelled like it had been used as a urinal for a few years.   She huddled in the corner, going over all her SERE training and trying to find a way to break free of her constraints as inconspicuously as possible.
    When the Russians had first taken custody of her from the ramshackle group of rebels—teenagers with guns, really—they'd slapped cable ties over the crude duct tape restraints already in place.   When they blindfolded her, she started to worry.   Then the hood came down and blocked out what ambient light slipped around the rotten cloth.   Her world plunged into darkness and there it had stayed.
    She didn't know how many days had passed. All she thought about was escape.   She focused her other senses to try and figure out her location.  
    At first, she heard nothing but Russian—she had no idea what they were saying, but judging from the muffled explosions and the frantic pace of footsteps in the hallway, things weren't going well for the invaders.   She hoped whoever the hell was fighting back was doing so without mercy.
    She remembered one dreadfully loud explosion that shook the entire building—suddenly giving her an acute case of