Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) (46 page)

Erik figured he would have taken over the agricultural department buildings, or at least been somewhere closer to the food and water sources on the south campus.
 
According to the Professor that was not necessary—they had plenty of people to run food and supplies back and forth.
 

"Man, this feels weird…" Erik said.
 
"I didn't think I'd ever get used to carrying a rifle around when I first agreed to Captain Winters' proposal."
 
He placed his rifle on the table, his hand lingering on the upper receiver.
 
"And here I am feeling even more weird handing the damn thing in."

Ted frowned at him, hands on his hips.
 
"You
should
feel weird.
 
A soldier without a rifle is just a target."
 
Ted reached over and picked up his own rifle.
 
"And a citizen without a gun is just a subject."
 

He ejected the magazine and pulled one round free of the chamber.
 
He handed Erik the magazine and then proceeded use the loose round to fiddle with the side of the rifle. Soon, Erik heard a
click
and the top half of the rifle separated.

Erik turned away and ejected the magazine from his own rifle and added it to the pile of ammunition they had on the other side of the table.
 
When he had turned back, Ted had already ejected the locking pin from his rifle.

"I thought we were going to turn them in, not clean them."

Ted looked up, a crooked grin on his face.
 
"I said I'd turn 'em in.
 
I don't agree with it at all, but if that's what it takes to get Lindsay better, I'll do it and gladly."
 
Ted looked down and lifted up the charging handle, removing the bolt assembly from his rifle.
 
He put the body of the rifle on the table and examined the cylindrical, open-sided tube in his hand.
 

"I never said I'd hand over every
part
of the rifle."
 
Ted continued: "I trust that limp-wristed Stalin out there as far as I can spit.
 
Here," Ted said handing Erik the bolt assembly.
 
"See that little clip there?"
 

Erik looked.
 
"Yep."

"Pry that thing out and the firing pin will drop right out.
 
They can have the rifles—we're keeping the firing pins."
 
Ted moved to the first pistol, pulled back the slide and checked the chamber, then dropped the magazine out.
 

"Same thing for the pistols.
 
When these guys take our weapons, all they're going to get are paperweights."

"I don't think they know how to use them anyway…" muttered Erik as he fumbled with the bolt assembly.
 
Finally pulling the firing pin free, he looked at the needle-like object in his hand.
 
"It's amazing—you take one little part out and none of it works."

Ted grunted.
 
"I think you're right—these clowns probably don't know how to shoot, but if pushed too far, even the biggest pacifist knows how to pull a trigger."

Erik gathered the firing pins from all their weapons, sealed them in a baggie and dropped them in the thigh pocket on his cargo pants.
 
"I'll keep these on me.
 
I wouldn't put it past them to try and search our stuff when we're out training the troops."

"At least we still have our knives," said Ted as he stepped back to admire their handiwork.
 
The table contained three reassembled pistols and two M4 rifles, piles of ammunition for each, along with spare magazines.
 
Ted tossed the .223 round he'd used to disassemble the rifles onto the pile.
 

"Yeah, that bit about knives being 'tools not weapons' was genius," he said shaking his head.
 
"Why some people can't figure out that a firearm is a tool too, is beyond me."

"Listen, you need to be on your best behavior when you take this stuff over to the armory," warned Erik.
 
"These guys are obviously drinking the Kool-aid.
 
They bought everything the U.N. is putting out there, hook line and sinker.
 
You know what Roger told me?"

Ted carefully placed their weapons into a spare bag.
 
"What?"

"He told me the Russians are here to
save
us.
 
He's actually excited to meet them.
 
They think the U.N. arrived to help us out of this mess.
 
You believe that shit?"

Ted paused for a moment.
 
"I'm not surprised, actually.
 
Think about it," he said zipping up the duffel bag.
 
"If the only communication you had was a small radio that only received signals from stations powerful enough to reach it—and those stations happen to be controlled by our enemies, what do you think you're going to hear?"
 
He shook his head.
 
"We don't have the Internet, there's no cell phones, and most of the people around here are dead."
 
He stacked the ammo on top of the weapons.
 

"The only word that we're getting is coming from our enemies.
 
So of
course
they're going to tell us everything is rosy and they're helping us.
 
I don't blame these folks for believing the bullshit."

Erik blinked.
 
"You don't?"

Ted zipped up the bag.
 
"I blame them for getting behind that Prophet Professor of theirs without questioning anything.
 
Did you see the looks on their eyes out there?
 
They look at the guy like he's some kind of savior.
 
Hell, he knows a lot of stuff—so do I.
 
It doesn't mean you're walking around following me like I'm some kind of academic messiah or something."

Erik nodded.
 
"Yeah, that kind of freaks me out, too."
 

Ted slung the bag over his shoulder.
 
"The quicker we get Lindsay back on her feet, the quicker we can get the hell out of here."

Erik folded his arms.
 
"Maybe what we're doing is wrong."

Ted paused.
 
"Say again?"

Erik looked at the floor.
 
It was so hard to say out loud.
 
"I've been thinking—”

"Here we go."

"I'm serious.
 
Lindsay only got hurt because of me—”

"Come on, I thought we already went through this," Ted started.

"No, hear me out.
 
I need to say this."
 
Erik waited until Ted sighed and nodded.
 
"I've been thinking.
 
Maybe this trip we're on, this journey—maybe it's just too much, you know?
 
Maybe we need to just find a safe spot and hole up for a while.
 
See where we stand in the spring and then continue if that's what we decide."

Ted stared at him for a moment.
 
"You know, I might've been willing to agree with you a few days ago, but after finding out what's going on in this town?
 
No way.
 
I want to bounce.
 
Now
."

"But—"

"No, Erik.
 
This town is
fucked up
.
 
No guns?
 
Some kinda weird truce based on honey?
 
The Brotherhood—yeah, I caught that—running free to the west and these guys are calling them
freedom fighters?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Screw that."

Erik shook his head.
 
"I know!
 
But you heard the way the Professor talked about how we should give the country to the Brotherhood.
 
He really believes it, man," Erik groused.
 
"My family's been here since the 1630s and we never had any slaves.
 
They hacked a living out of the wilderness in Massachusetts on their own, fighting Indians the whole time.
 
This whole thing about the country built on the backs of slaves is bullshit.
 
Maybe the South was built on the backs of slaves, but not
everywhere!
"

"Either way," Ted said with a dismissive hand, "that's getting on 300 years ago.
 
I'm willing to bet this Professor's gonna start having everybody apologize for it soon, too."

"You know what's weird?
 
There was a couple black kids with his crowd.
 
They didn't seem to care at all.
 
They stared at him just like the others did," Erik observed

Ted nodded.
 
"I saw that too.
 
I guess this Brotherhood isn't for everyone, huh?"

"What I don't get is why the Brotherhood hasn't come in here and wiped everyone out.
 
If the Jocks don't have many guns and these guys keep theirs locked up—”

"Mostly it's because they have other things to worry about," said Roger from the other side of the room.

Erik spun as Ted cursed.
 
"Dammit!
 
Stop doing that!"
 
Erik hissed.
 
He caught Ted's look:
Did he see the weapons being disassembled?

"Sorry," Roger said, smiling.

Erik took his hand off his knife, hoping to send the message to Ted that he thought Roger was harmless.

Ted cleared his throat.
 
"Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"What?
 
Walk around without being heard?
 
Trust me.
 
If you get captured by the Jocks and manage to escape, you'll figure out real quick how to walk around all ninja-like."

Erik straightened his shirt.
 
"So what is it that the Brotherhood—”

"We prefer to call them Rebels," interrupted Roger.

"What is it the Rebels really want?
 
What’s their goal?" asked Erik, ignoring the interruption.
 
He remembered what the Brotherhood had done to Colonial Gardens.
 
The Freehold.
 

Rebels
was too dignified a label for them.
 
Animals
was more like it.
 
They destroyed everything in their path, took what they wanted, and cared only for themselves.
 
They were almost as bad as the Russians in his mind.

"The Klan for one," shrugged Roger.
 
"They got a pretty big presence in Elkton, just across the border.
 
Nobody likes to talk about it around here and the administration never said a word, but every year the KKK used to have marches down Main Street."
 
He shrugged again.
 

"Most people just kinda laughed and thought they were a bunch a harmless rednecks getting drunk in the woods.
 
But once everything went crazy, especially after the Rebels started making their presence known…the Klan showed up."

"Good Lord, what is this South Carolina in the 1950s?" asked Ted shaking his head.
 
"This town is crazy."

"About that, yeah.
 
They were pretty vicious.
 
We heard gunfire and saw lots of burning crosses in the beginning…but once the Rebels got a hold of some guns, they began fighting back."

Erik looked at Ted.
 
He gave them the guns to fight back.
 
The Professor's an arms dealer running out of stock—that's why he's nervous about the Rebels and the Jocks.
 

Roger continued.
 
"That was about the time one of them came and talked to the Professor and convinced him a truce would be in the best interests of everyone.
 
For the most part, they keep the Jocks in line, too.
 
Then all of a sudden we get a wave of refugees passing through from Philly and the Rebels just up and vanish."

"Why?" asked Erik.
 
"That doesn't make much sense—it sounded like they had a pretty good thing going…"

Roger nodded.
 
"That's what I thought, too."
 
He shrugged.
 
"I've heard a disease got to them or something.
 
Others say they joined the refugees, or the army came and got them in the middle of the night.
 
Nobody really knows.
 
But like, the Klan has all but disappeared, too.
 
To be honest, we haven't seen anyone but Jocks in the past few days.
 
Maybe a week.
 
I know
I
haven't, but I've been hiding in bushes and shit."

Ted nodded.
 
"That's why the Professor’s all gung ho about getting your security up to snuff.
 
He thinks the truce is about ready to collapse."

Roger shrugged.
 
"I don't know, man.
 
I just work here."

Ted and Erik shared a look.
 
"Well, let's get this shit-show on the road."
 
Ted hefted the duffel bag.
 
"I take it you're the one leading me to the armory?"

"Yep.
 
Follow me," he said.
 
His flip-flops slapped his heels as he headed out the door.
 

"I'll see you later," Ted called.
 
“Hi Lucy,” he added as he passed the girl on her way in.

Lucy stepped through the door, both hands clutching her canvas satchel and glanced around as if looking for someone.
 
She found Erik and almost tripped on her own feet.
 
"Oh, uh…hi…"