The Coward's Way of War

by Nuttall, Christopher

  Al checked on his two prisoners and then walked to the rear of the vehicle, wishing that they had a more powerful escort than a single Humvee with armed National Guardsmen. If it had been up to him, the streets would have been thoroughly swept for nasty surprises and then guarded by armed Marines, but they simply didn’t have the manpower to spare. Parts of New York were almost normal, due to the massive police presence on the streets; parts were effectively free-fire zones. Henderson’s Disease might not even carry off most of the gangs, not now that a comprehensive vaccination program had been instituted. There was a good chance that the gangs had managed to get themselves vaccinated as well.

  He scowled as he saw an explosion billow up in the distance, followed by the sound of gunfire. The entire city was a war zone now – he remembered watching Escape From New York as a younger man – and it was every man for himself. A bullet pinged off the windows of the prison van – they’d chosen them because they were armoured, if nothing like sufficiently enough to allow them to serve in an army – seconds before something slammed into the Humvee. The vehicle exploded, blowing the four soldiers riding in it across the street. They would be dead before they hit the ground.

  “Way cool,” one of the prisoners shouted. “They got them!”

  Al swung around, somehow restraining himself from murdering the two silly punks right in front of everyone else. “Shut up,” he barked. The sound of bullets drumming off the side of the prison van was growing louder. “Drive faster!”

  “This fucking thing won’t go much faster,” Jane shouted back, revving the engine. Al turned and saw a dark figure standing by the roadside, pointing a gun at him. The bullet pinged off the van as Jane yanked them forward as fast as she could. “And they’re trying to block the road.”

  Al felt his mind shift into high gear. Someone had planned an ambush; they’d used an antitank weapon – part of his mind wondered where that had come from – on the military vehicle, isolating the bus and leaving it almost undefended. He unslung his rifle and moved over to the door as Jane jerked the vehicle from side to side, knocking down a gang member who was dumb enough to get in her way. The vehicle barely lurched as he was run over and squashed flat. The two boys cheered his death with the same enthusiasm they’d shown for murdering policemen.

  He keyed his radio and called in the contact, but there was almost nothing in a position to help them, not now. In time, something could be spared to assist, yet he was sure that they would be completely overrun by then. He saw another gang member, opened the hatch and shot him through the head, pulling back his rifle before another wave of bullets pinged off the armour. A helicopter made a pass overhead, but didn’t fire, much to Al’s puzzlement. Surely they had orders to engage the enemy wherever possible.

  It had still bought them some time. “Keep us moving,” he growled, wondering if they could simply outrun the enemy. The bus lurched again as Jane pulled the wheel sharply to the left, avoiding a damaged car someone had placed in the centre of the road. Al followed her gaze as she swore and realised that the gang had been moving wrecked cars and using them to make firing positions. If they forced the bus to come to a halt, they were doomed. Something smashed against the side of the bus and flames roared into life, racing over the glass as if they were animated by a living will. “Don’t stop, keep moving.”

  The bus ground to a halt. “There’s a fucking blockade in the way,” Jane said. Al cursed aloud and scrambled for the hatch in the roof. “We need to reverse.”

  Al opened the hatch, silently praying that the enemy hadn’t thought of occupying the high ground and placing snipers in the buildings surrounding him, and pulled himself onto the roof. The air stank of burning paint and oil, along with some smells he couldn’t identify, even after a long career in the Marine Corps. He yanked his rifle off his shoulder and looked around, spying the gang members moving towards the bus. Their expressions told their own story; they wanted to raid the bus, take the women and kill all the men. Perhaps they wanted to rescue their former comrades too. Al grinned to himself, recalling desperate last stands down the ages, and opened fire. A dozen gangsters died in the first few seconds, before they even thought of returning fire.

  He stayed low, unhooking a grenade from his belt and hurling it into the mass of gangsters as they tried to approach. They didn’t seem to have much tactical sense, even though they had set up a workable trap, but some of them were definitely learning. The bus lurched back into life as Jane reversed course, trying to get out of the trap, while Al laid down what covering fire he could. A burning bottle flew over the bus and came down among the cars the gang had used to block their escape, setting fire to the disabled vehicles. Al winced at the stench, but found himself hoping that it would help to cover their retreat. He emptied his rifle, exchanged the empty clip for another and continued firing, trying to force the gang to keep their distance. Jane pulled them back and turned, starting to head down a different road and reinforcements, when the entire bus rocked. Al lost his grip and slid down the side of the vehicle, coming down hard on his right leg. He felt it break under the impact, knowing that it was sheer luck he hadn’t fallen under the vehicle. He’d kept hold of his rifle, but without his leg escape was impossible. Jane wouldn’t stop for him. Her duty was to get the bus’s passengers out of the city and into the refugee camp.

  Al heard the sound of running footsteps and reached for a grenade, using one hand to pull out the pin and hold the grenade close to his chest. He knew what happened to policemen who fell in the hands of the gangs, now all of the normal rules were out of the window, and he had no intention of going out that way. It crossed his mind - as a foot kicked him over so he could stare up at his captors - that it was a strange place for a Marine to die. He had never, not even in his worst nightmares, dreamed of fighting a war on the streets of New York.

  “We got you, fucker,” one of the gangsters said. He produced a switchblade and leaned in closer, clearly intended to make it a slow and painful death. “We’re going to fuck you up real bad.”

  “Semper fi,” Al said, and let go of the grenade.

  ***

  Nicolas watched as yet another bus drove into the camp, scarred and pitted from running battles with the gangs. The civilians within the bus looked terrified as they were herded out of the vehicle and pushed towards Entry Control, where they would be processed and spread out among the refugee camps. They were all vaccinated, but they would be forced to shower and eat a proper meal before their final destination was announced. Many of them had literally nowhere to go, but the President had made a speech and asked many Americans living in unaffected areas to consider taking in refugees. Nicolas had been astonished – and proud – to see how many ordinary Americans had volunteered to help their fellow countrymen. It wouldn’t have happened back in his father’s country.

  But then, America had always – until now – been blessed with a high degree of social trust. The ordinary Americans trusted each other and trusted the law to back them up. The Mayor of New York might have spat in the face of such people, but they still existed and were willing to help. Many of the refugees were just grasshoppers, convinced that the government would somehow help them out of the mess if they whined loudly enough, yet others were ants, willing and able to help as best as they could. Nicolas had set the priorities and those willing to help would be the first to leave the camps.

  He shook his head as he caught sight of a blonde girl leading two smaller girls into Entry Control. Whatever their story was, it was over now, along with much of New York City. The most optimistic projections suggested that it would be years before New York – and most of the other large cities – would be reopened for settlement, although once the entire population was vaccinated he was sure that much could be recovered from the ruins. Once the gangs had surrendered or died out…

  “Doctor, we have a problem,” Captain Darryl Tyler reported. Nicolas looked over, alarmed. “There have been multiple attacks on guard posts along the perimeter.”r />
  “Hellfire,” Nicolas said. Attacks inside the city had been expected; attacks on the outskirts were an unpleasant surprise. “What happened?”

  “I think the gangs were trying to break some of their men out before we started sealing the city,” Tyler said. “A lot of them got killed in the fighting, but I think a number of them got through and out into the countryside.”

  “They could be carrying Henderson’s Disease,” Nicolas realised. He swore. They’d gone to a great deal of effort to set up the quarantine and now it had been broken. Holding the blockade around the major cities was draining the military’s strength. It would be hard to create additional blockades now.

  “Much of the country has been vaccinated,” Tyler reminded him. “They may have been vaccinated as well, but the real problem is that they’re armed and dangerous – and are considered outlaws. Anyone who encounters them is going to be in trouble.”

  Nicolas nodded grimly. “Pass the warning on to the military authorities,” he said, gazing over towards the New York skyline. Fires were burning in the distance, suggesting that the entire city was dying. “That’s all we can do from here.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It is one’s Christian duty, once one has secured one’s family, to do what one can for one’s fellow humans. Jesus would have it no other way.

  -Jim Revells

  Mannington VA, USA

  Day 55

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stop right there,” a voice said, as Jim walked down towards Mannington. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Jim obeyed, impressed. He hadn’t even seen the gunner until the red dot had appeared on his chest, flickering over his heart. A man wearing a police uniform appeared out of a concealed hide and slid down to face him, studying him nervously before patting him down quickly and efficiently. He didn’t remove any of Jim’s weapons, but he definitely knew that they were there.

  “I need to see your certificate,” he said, once he had finished the quick search. Jim removed the small card from his wallet and passed it over to the cop, who checked it quickly with a handheld scanning device. “It was issued longer than five days ago; good.”

  Jim blinked. “Five days ago, sir?”

  “Five days is how long it takes for Henderson’s Disease to become obvious,” the cop said, more relaxed now that he'd checked Jim’s vaccination certificate. “The vaccine doesn’t seem to work if you’re already infected, but if you haven’t become ill by now, you’re probably clean.” He laughed. “Clean in body, if not in mind.”

  He waved a hand in the air, signalling his unseen comrade. “You’re clear to enter town, sir,” he said. “I suggest that you remember your manners. We had to hang a couple of men last week and I’d prefer not to have to go through that again.” He nodded towards a dead tree on the edge of town. “We hung them from that tree and then cut them down and buried them.”

  Jim nodded. “What did they do?”

  “Tried to con us with false vaccination certificates,” the cop explained. “I have no idea why they thought they could get away with it, but they tried” – he tapped the device at his belt – “without knowing a thing about the computer database. We caught them at it and hung them, in hopes of discouraging others from doing the same thing.”

  “I see,” Jim said. He wanted to walk onwards, but his mother had always told him to be polite to policemen. “Thank you for your time.”

  Mannington itself was a reasonably small town by American standards, with a permanent population of around two thousand men and women. The crisis had swelled its population sharply, with an additional thousand citizens having arrived before the Mayor cut off all traffic and deployed a makeshift army of volunteers to seal the town off from the rest of the world. He’d succeeded in keeping Mannington disease-free and the federal government had turned it into a coordinating centre for vaccinating the population. Jim was surprised by how noisy it was, compared to the video streamed directly from the infected cities, but perhaps that wasn't unexpected. The first busload of refugees had arrived in the town.

  It had been Linda who’d insisted that they take in some refugees, although Jim, Brian and the others had demanded that they only take in children, rather than adults who had learned bad habits in the city. Brian had pointed out that Jim’s kids – and most of the other kids – had also grown up in a city, although that argument hadn’t gotten him very far. Linda had terminated the discussion by pointing out that it was their duty to help their fellow countrymen as much as possible and registered them on the government network for coordinating refugees as much as possible.

  “You must be Jim Revells,” an older woman said. She was short, with a lined face and grey hair, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. “I thought that you’d be bringing your wife here as well.”

  Jim grinned. “Granny Ashley,” he said. The older woman had been a friend of the family for a long time, even though they’d only seen her on holiday. There was no point in explaining to her that Linda and he were not actually married. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m the coordinator, young man,” she said, in a voice that would scare a hardened convict straight. She never took any lip from anyone, or offered unwanted advice, but she was always there to help anyone who asked for it. “Your wife said that you could take in three children, right? You’d better take good care of them. I had to convince them that they would be able to see their families again one day.”

  Jim frowned. “What happened to their families?”

  “Two of them have a father in Saudi Arabia,” the older woman said. “The third has somehow lost track of her family in New York. She rarely talks to us; maybe Linda will have more luck in getting her to open up. You’ll have access to the refugee net so you might be able to locate her family and help her return to them, later on.”

  “Thank you,” Jim said. “How has it been so far?”

  “Not too bad,” Granny said. She grinned, a grin that wouldn’t have shamed a younger girl. “The only real problem was a couple of young men who didn’t know the first thing about living in a small town. They’re going to be in for a nasty shock before things settle down, I think.”

  She led him into a smaller house and stopped him just before they entered the main room. “Jim, these kids have been through a lot,” she said, flatly. “They really need to go into therapy” – her voice showed just what she thought of that – “and get some proper care, but the whole country is shattered. There won’t be any expensive brain care sessions for years, if at all. Take very good care of them or I’ll send my sons round to deal with you.”

  “I understand,” Jim said. “I will take care of them.”

  Granny pushed open the door, revealing three young girls sitting on a sofa, half-asleep. One of them was in her early teens, with long blonde hair and a pistol hidden under her shirt. Jim winced, staring at how she was carrying it; if she accidentally fired the pistol, she’d do herself a serious injury. The other two were younger, with brown hair and softer faces, as if the trauma hadn’t really touched them.

  “Stephanie,” Granny said, softly. “It’s time to wake up.”

  The older girl’s eyes shot open, one hand reaching for the gun. “It’s all right,” Granny said, soothingly. “Jim’s here to take you to your new home. You won’t have to move again for a long time.”

  Jim watched as she coaxed the girls to their feet and gave them some food from the table, before she introduced them to Jim. The older girl refused even to meet his eyes, leaving him wondering just what had happened in New York. The other two were more talkative, although their faces darkened whenever they thought of their missing parents. The file that Granny had dumped on his lap and told him to read didn’t tell an encouraging story.

  “I’ll have Joey and Bessie take you home,” Granny said. She stuck her head outside and shouted orders across the street. “You’ll love Bessie, believe me.”

  The girls broke into almost
identical smiles when they saw Bessie, a massive carthorse pulling a cart. Joey, one of Granny’s grandchildren, waved at the girls, perhaps with a hint of jealousy as they showered Bessie with attention. The horse took it pragmatically, swishing her tail from side to side as the girls tried to clamber onto her back. Jim lifted one of the girls up and placed her on the horse, while he and the other two joined Joey in the cart. Bessie clopped off without even needing to be told.

  Jim helped them down when they reached the gate and waited for Brian to open it, allowing the girls into their new home. The younger ones – Karen and Nancy – seemed astonished by the farm, as if they’d never even imagined anything like it; Stephanie seemed…not unimpressed, but tired. Linda urged the girls into the backroom, helped them to unpack what little they’d been allowed to bring with them, and chased the men out. Jim grinned at his partner’s mothering skills and left her to ensure that the newcomers were made ready for dinner.

  Brian was listening to the radio when Jim entered his room. “There's some bad news,” he said, flatly. Jim looked up in alarm. “There are supposed to be some bandits heading towards this area.”