***
“About friggin’ time!” After waiting in line for two hours, Dixon and Rachel were finally within sight of the chow hall’s entrance.
As the last batch of hungry people slipped inside, the tent flap opened. Two armed security guards stepped out. They each wore body armor and tactical vests over their blue Polo shirts. Something about the way the private security contractors carried themselves prickled the hair on Dixon’s neck. He’d never seen such fit, alert and self-confident rent-a-cops before. Especially none that were so well armed. Dixon cocked his head as they raised their M4 battle rifles to the low ready and blocked the entrance. One even had a M320 grenade launcher attached underneath his weapon.
“God Damn mercenaries.”
He thought he’d whispered under his breath, but Rachel nudged his shoulder.
“You think so? Look, here come more.”
Several five-ton military trucks rattled up to the chow tent and parted the endless line. Despite their weaponry and vehicles, none of the soldiers getting out sported a traditional military uniform. Just more navy blue polo shirts and creamy khakis. A familiar figure climbed onto the cab of the lead truck.
Administrator Heinrich pushed his glasses back up his nose and raised a bullhorn.
“Attention: The mess hall is closed until further notice.” He turned up the volume and shouted over the crowd’s murmuring.
“We haven’t had a supply delivery since last night. Nor any communications from any Federal authorities. Yet, we’ve also had 30,000 new arrivals in the last 24 hours. The rumors are true. An unknown type of radiological bomb hit Gainesville this morning. Same thing with Jacksonville on the coast. Casualties are… well, immense.”
He gave the bad news a few seconds to sink in before firing up his bullhorn again. “That means this camp is the largest surviving population center within a hundred miles. Maybe more. As you can imagine, we just can’t tolerate freeloaders any longer.”
Heinrich’s goading only enlarged the crowd. For every person that left the line and headed to the main gate, several more joined the growing party clustered around the trucks.
Heinrich beamed down at his hungry, terrified and… desperate audience.
Dixon took Rachel’s hand and moved her away as Heinrich went on.
“Now, I can guarantee food and shelter for anyone willing to pull their weight. By the authority granted to me as the senior Homeland Security official in the region, I’m calling for volunteers. Male or female, as long as you’re at least 16-years old, we’ll take you. You’ll be deputized into our officially sanctioned security teams. You’ll be responsible for maintaining law and order in the disaster zone and, of course, requisitioning necessary civilian resources until the crisis has passed.”
A few young men in the mob raised their hands and stepped forward.
Dixon snorted. “They’re setting up scavenging parties already. Damn vultures… What?”
Rachel dug her nails in his arm and nodded at the open tailgate of the nearest supply truck. The cargo bed was stacked to the ceiling with weapons. Most of them were civilian varieties, but a pair of M16’s stood out from the rest. Homemade satchels made out of a Humvee’s tarp sat next to them.
“You sons of bitches! That’s my gun!”
Some old man took the words right out of Dixon’s mouth. He raced towards the truck and reached for a shotgun. One of the private security contractors butt-stroked him in the back. As he fell, Heinrich strutted over. He kept the bullhorn to his lips.
“That’s property of the Department of Homeland Security now. You can have it back if you plan on volunteering.”
The old man wheezed and tried to stand, but collapsed to his knees. He settled for spitting in Heinrich’s general direction.
“Go to hell!”
Heinrich’s face held no trace of anger, but also not a drop of mercy. He pointed at the group of new recruits.
“In wartime, defying Federal authority is an act of treason. Take him out of the camp. He’s exiled.” Four of the youths hoisted the man up high. He didn’t even struggle. Heinrich stepped close, but kept speaking through the mic. “If you come around this place again, you’ll be shot on sight.”
Heinrich turned back and spoke directly to the crowd.
“Do remember, your wages include room and board for your families.” A few more volunteers squeezed their wives and kids and raised their hands. Heinrich caressed the strap of his shoulder holster as he counted the dismal turnout.
“Just to be clear, the volunteer phase of our recruitment drive will not last forever. Pretty soon, participation will be mandatory. At least if you want to stay here.”
Dixon picked up his pace, but Rachel hung back. “Peter, that doesn’t sound so bad. I’m almost sixteen. If you vouch for me…”
He snatched her arm, but fought the urge to drag her away. Now was not the time to make a scene. “Can’t you see that this is bullshit? Heinrich only needs a few people to raid supermarkets and stuff. His FEMA staff could do that already. That’s not what this is about. He’s building an army. A private army, loyal to him. We’ve worn out our welcome here. It’s time to—”
A lone Humvee rolled up to the powwow. Four men in real Army uniforms dismounted. Dixon couldn’t hear them arguing with Heinrich over the chattering horde of potential recruits, but they sure didn’t seem pleased.
One of the soldiers, a strange unit patch on his arm pegging him as some part-time Reservist, ripped the bullhorn from Heinrich’s grasp. He twisted around and tried to calm the murmuring crowd.
“I’m Lieutenant Parker, US Army. As far as we know, I’m the highest-ranking surviving member of the Armed Forces in northern Florida. Administrator Heinrich here is no longer in charge of this facility. Any private militias are hereby disbanded. We will begin rationing our supplies as soon as possible. There’s not much to go around, but everyone will get a fair share. Now, we are accepting volunteers into the US military, but there will be no looting—”
Parker’s face exploded in mid-speech. Heinrich lowered his smoking sidearm as his security staff mowed down the other three Reservists before they could get a shot off. Heinrich trumped over to the corpse. His whole body shook for a minute before he wiped the bloody microphone off and clicked it back on.
“This is a brave new world, ladies and gentlemen. Washington is gone. The governor’s dead. Even the municipal governments have collapsed. The remnants of the military sure can’t protect you. Only I can save you. It’s decision time, people. Are you going to be part of the problem or the solution?”
Most of the mob just stood around in shock, but several hundred civilians swarmed forward to “enlist.” A thousand more tore off running for the camp’s only exit.
Dixon led that last group, with Rachel close at his elbow. She veered slightly towards their tent, but he yanked her back to him.
“Forget our stuff. Just go! Heinrich needs a safe way to test his new army’s loyalty. Move your butt before he figures out the next logical step.”
They were only a hundred yards shy of the racetrack’s gate when Heinrich’s shrill voice cried from behind them.
“We don’t need an insurgency brewing among the ruins. If you’re serious about survival, then prove your loyalty! Don’t let them get away. Permanent rations for anyone bringing a runner back.”
Fifty yards short of the gate, Heinrich added a final tip.
“Dead or alive!”
Rachel dived to the ground as gunfire chopped the air around them. Dixon swooped down and scooped her up. “Keep moving or you’re a sitting duck!”
A round cracked right over Dixon’s head and knocked down the guy in front of them. Dixon and Rachel managed another dozen paces before one of the four security guards at the gate drew a bead on them.
Dixon jumped in front of Rachel and raised his hands. “All right, all right. We give up. We’re all yours.”
The guards held their fire. They had plenty of other targets to oc
cupy their attention. Dixon and Rachel moved forward with their hands held high, cringing at the occasional shot around them. Dixon risked a peek behind him at the other runners.
No one was still running. Every person still on their feet had their hands up. At least a hundred bodies lay crumpled in bloody heaps across the kilometer-wide grass field.
Rachel and Dixon shuffled towards the gate with fifty other surrendering civilians. One of the guards lowered his weapon.
“Let’s go. Women on the left, men on the right. Actually…hold up, sweet thing.”
He grabbed Rachel’s shoulder as she stepped past and whistled at another guard. “Hey, I’d say strip searches are in order, eh?”
His compatriot grinned and took Rachel’s hand. “Absolutely. Can’t be too careful. Of course, we should definitely do this in private…”
Dixon risked taking a step closer. “Is that really necessary? She’s just a kid, please.”
The first guard whipped his weapon up and laughed. “Probably not, but what are you going to do about it?”
Dixon tried hard to focus on letting fear etch his face rather than rage. “Look, I’ve got some gold squirreled away. Just leave her alone and it’s all yours. Here…”
He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his bulging wallet. Dixon made sure to hand it over with his left hand, all while babbling in submissive terror. The mercenary reflexively took a step closer and reached for the pouch. By necessity, he held his weapon with one hand, pressed to his side and muzzle pointing down. By stupidity, he focused on Dixon’s offered hand and ignored his darting eyes.
Dixon dropped the wallet a split second before the mercenary could grab it. His right hand lanced out against the guard, who instinctively raised his left arm to block. Instead of the man’s face, Dixon buried his concealed blade into the taller man’s exposed armpit… and bulging brachial artery. Dixon stepped in and leaned his whole body weight against the guy’s weapon-holding right side. The guard still struggled to raise his rifle one-handed while Dixon flipped the knife out of his armpit and sliced it into his inner thigh. A heavy squirt drenched Dixon when he found his target’s femoral artery.
With every heartbeat spraying out a quarter pint of blood, the mercenary could only squeak as Dixon ripped his rifle away. The second guard was even easier to drop. As distracted as he was trying to carry Rachel off while she kicked and bit, he missed his buddy’s death behind his back. He dropped Rachel and spun around, just in time to take a controlled pair to the face.
Dixon stayed on his knees and pivoted around to engage the other security guards, but they had their own problems. Dixon’s little stand touched off a powder keg of fury in the other prisoners. The mercenaries gunned down a few of the suddenly empowered refugees, but the human wave stampeded over the last two guards blocking the gate in seconds.
Dixon was so obsessed with escaping to the parking lot that he forgot all about stripping the dead guards for supplies. “Stay low and stay on my hip, honey. We’re going to be okay.”
Despite Rachel’s bloodshot eyes, she forced down her terror and ran off with Dixon. Rachel followed in silence as he swerved between the parked cars for cover. At the end of the lot, Rachel only spoke up when Dixon prepared to run into the woods.
“Where are you going? We won’t get far on foot!”
A few cars pealed out of the parking lot, but trucks full of armed blue-shirts chased them down, shooting the whole time.
“We’ll get farther than hitching a ride.” Several frightened civilians ran past them and disappeared in the woods. “Look, there’s safety in numbers. They can’t get us all…” A couple of dogs barking cut him off. Dixon risked a peek around the minivan.
The dogs were on leashes, each with a pair of armed guards behind them. “Fuck me!” With impotent rage, he punched the bicycle rack on the back of the van… and then laughed.
He flipped out his knife and jimmied the cheap lock. Rachel mounted the first bike and pedaled off as soon as the wheels hit the ground. She veered towards the road, but Dixon hooted.
“No! Follow me!”
She didn’t protest as he plunged off road and into the bush. They both stumbled several times and landed face first into stinging nettles before Dixon spotted a flat-ish wild hog trail.
Rachel cursed from behind him as a palm frond smacked her face and cut her cheek.
“This is pointless. We’re moving only a tad faster than we could on foot.”
The hounds yapped at someone fifty yards behind them. A shot rang out and cut off the screams. Dixon just pushed his burning thighs even harder.
“We don’t have to outrun the mercenaries. Just the other runners.”
Rachel forced back her tears and turned her fear into more productive anger. She panted, “Mom wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t abandon these people to those monsters!”
Dixon kept his head down and charged ahead, thankful she couldn’t see his misting eyes.
***
Seven miles and over an hour later, Dixon and Rachel stretched out in the grass behind a hole-in-the wall gas station. The small shop had been thoroughly ransacked, but no one bothered carting off the melted bags of ice in the warm freezer.
Rachel drank until she gagged and then doused her head with the rest of the five-gallon bag. She and Dixon hadn’t spoken a word since their escape.
“Ah. Ok Peter, what does your all-knowing, end-of-the-world prepper playbook say to do now?”
Dixon ignored the snarky words and smiled at her vulnerable, frightened face.
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be much of a prepper if I didn’t have a backup plan, now would I?”
“Peter, I think we’re on plan J by now. Whatever. Anything’s better than wandering around waiting for those psychos to find us. Where we headed?”
“My cousin’s place. He lives on a, uh, don’t know what you’d call it. Commune, I guess. Anyway, it’s northwest of here. On the Suwannee River a bit past High Springs.”
“That deep in the swamp? Nothing but alligators and rednecks out there. I don’t know which is worse.”
“Or food and rugged individualists. It’s all how you look at it.”
“Oh God, since when are you such the optimist? Well, yee-haw, I guess. At least you have a gun already. If I can get a banjo and lose some teeth, then we’ll fit right in.”
She bounced to her feet and mounted her bike. Dixon grunted at her youthful resiliency and rubbed out the Charlie horses in both his legs.
“Give me a minute. It’s going to take us a day or two to get there anyways. High Springs must be at least thirty miles from here, as the crow flies. For obvious reasons, we won’t be taking the highway. If I can help it, we’re going to avoid contact with anyone, for any reason, until we get there.”
Rachel shrugged, but her smile beamed relief. She double bagged an unopened water sack and pinned her wet hair back.
“Wait. If we stay off the streets, just how are we supposed to find our way? You’re talking thirty miles of woods and swamp. Not many signs out there. It’s not like we’re prepared to get lost in the woods.”
She splayed her hand over the lavish stock of food they found in the gas station. Just one already opened box of stale crackers and a few melted candy bars.
“Food’s the least of our worries right now. I guarantee you all those wildfires along the coast have pushed most of the game inland. Should be the easiest hunt ever. We need to put some more distance between the FEMA camp and ourselves before I make a fire, but I promise you will be dining on poached bird eggs and some rotisserie squirrel tonight. Play your cards right, and just maybe I’ll roast up some escargot to polish off the feast.”
Rachel grimaced, even though Dixon could hear her rumbling belly. “Yeah, you enjoy that. I think I’m going to take up fasting. Seriously, how long is this going to take if we’re traipsing through the boonies?”
“Oh, we’ll cheat and get there as fast as possible.” He unfolded a small map of north ce
ntral Florida they found in the store under a fallen postcard rack.
“Those train tracks over there head northwest and only veer off just before the interstate. That takes us halfway to our goal. We’ll go cross-country after we pass the freeway, but don’t worry. Even if they aren’t listed here, there are plenty of logging, hiking and tractor trails that we can follow. I think there are just enough landmarks on this so-called map to keep from getting lost. If we keep heading northwest, then we’ll be there in no time.”
Rachel eyed the local Chamber of Commerce map. The brochure identified some major roads and a few towns, but the rest of the page obsessed over tourist traps. “If you say so. I guess this is better than nothing, but just how are we supposed to navigate? I don’t know about you, but I’m fresh out of compasses.”
Dixon winked. For the first time in a while, the confidence edging his voice was genuine. “Now that’s one problem I do have a solution for.”
He unsnapped an old timey analog wristwatch he’d liberated from the National Guard Humvee on their first night. Dixon laid it in his palm, face up and parallel to the ground. He faced the shadow from a power line pole.
“Just line the hour hand up with any narrow shadow and south will be exactly halfway between that hand and the 12 O’clock mark. The opposite point, of course, is north. Just remember to measure clockwise before noon and counterclockwise in the afternoon. For example, it’s three right now. Going counterclockwise, that puts south at 7:30. The opposite of that makes north right at 1:30. Every three hours makes a quadrant, so we just find a reference landmark along the 12 O’clock hand…” Dixon stared down the watch without moving his palm. “Say to that oversized oak tree three hundred yards over there and ta da! We’re moving exactly northwest. Neat trick, huh?”
Rachel smirked at his smug cleverness. “Interesting. What about daylight savings time?”
Dixon’s mouth hung open. “Son of a… okay, then we measure the shadow to the 1 O’clock mark rather than 12, but the rest stays the same.” He grinned sheepishly. “I knew that. I’m just exhausted, you know?”
The Caliphate Invasion Page 8
