World War IV: Alliances- Book 0 (2 page)

Both Fred and Mary hacked and coughed from the smoke making its way inside the house, replacing the smell of freshly baked goods with the harsh scent of charred crops. The thump of hooves rounded the left side of the house, and the end of Fred’s rifle followed the sound until the riders came into view out front beyond the window. He fired, killing the horse, and the rider dropped to the ground as the second rider raced for cover on the opposite side of the house.

Fred poured more powder and lead down the rifle’s barrel when the back door thundered open with a smack that echoed through the house. Fred shoulder-checked the kitchen table, knocking it to its side, and pulled Mary as he dashed behind it for cover as bullets peppered the thick oak Fred had wedged between him and his wife.

“I didn’t think the clans had that many weapons after the treaty,” Mary said, keeping her head low while the wild shots redecorated the inside of her kitchen.

“They didn’t.” Fred rose from behind the table’s barrier, lining up the small iron sight on the rifle. The raiders swiftly moved through the house, darting behind furniture, walls, anything that would shield them. Fred had fought the clans before, seen them on the battlefield. They relied on savagery, brute force, and the beating of their war drums. But the way these raiders moved, the way they fought, it was evasive, tactical.

Flames devoured the living room, rushing toward them like a fiery freight train. Fred grabbed Mary by the hand and sprinted out the front door, his lungs struggling to filter the heavy smoke. Once outside, both he and Mary collapsed in the dirt, wheezing. The rifles lay at their sides, and Fred did his best to keep his eyes peeled for the raiders.

“Fred!”

A burst of adrenaline coursed through Fred’s veins from Mary’s scream, something he hadn’t felt since the Island Wars. With lead and death and fire surrounding him, flashbacks of screams of dying soldiers under his command filled his ears, and he did his best to silence them with the pull of his finger against the trigger.

A bullet bit him in his right thigh, and he collapsed to the dirt. Heat from both the fires in the fields and the blaze from the house closed in. He felt Mary’s hand reach for him, and he stumbled to his feet, the pain in his leg shooting up through his back.

The warm splash of blood trickled down his calf and into his boot. Mary did her best to hold him up, but Fred kept falling. “Go.” He couldn’t be sure how many times he repeated the words, but each time he did, Mary only pulled on him harder.

Vibrations rippled through the ground as Fred caught a glimpse of one of the riders bending around the corner of the house, still on horseback. Fred pulled the pistol from his belt, too weak to lift the rifle, and as the rider drew his own weapon, Fred fired, sending the bullet through the raider’s chest, knocking him off his horse.

The horse trotted to the road between the flaming fields and disappeared into the smoke. Fred rose to his feet, clutching Mary with his arm, and the two of them limped forward, trying to follow the direction of the horse.
At least lead them away from the boys.

Gunfire erupted behind them, and the last three raiders made their way out of the house, with the flames creeping up to the second floor. Mary turned to shoot, and when she did, a bullet caught her in the stomach.

Fred watched her face upon contact. The twist of her mouth, the shock in her eyes, and the inward curl of her body as the impact of the bullet sent her backward. Fred caught her before she hit the ground, but another bullet to his back caused the two of them to give way to gravity.

The rifle that was in Fred’s hand fell from his grip and landed in the dirt next to him. He reached his hand out, and his fingertips grazed the stock, but before he could wrap his fingers around it, the raider kicked it away and stuck his own rifle barrel in Fred’s face.

It was all Fred could do to cover Mary, his last attempt to protect her, then he looked up to the raider who’d shot them both. The light from the fires flickered on one of his shoulders, and Fred saw a patch, one that he didn’t recognize from any of the clans.

“You are Fred Mars. Brother of the regional governor.” The man wore a mask, and his words were thick and muffled through the fabric.

“Is this how you declare war?” Fred asked, his lungs burning and the bullets lodged in his back and leg aching. The flames around him ran cold as a sudden shiver overtook him. “Attacking farms and families at night behind the cover of masks?”

“We are not declaring war.” The man’s partner aimed his gun at Mary, and Fred felt his heart skip a beat. “But your brother will.” The shots were quick and successive. One bullet went through the center of Fred’s forehead and the other through Mary’s eye. And that’s where they were left, lying in the dirt, with the flames destroying what was left of their home. Before the night was over, the fires burned even them.

Chapter 2

The men whooped and hollered at the sight of land a mere few hundred yards away. The misty morning had made for poor visibility, and everyone on board was eager to finally have a chance to stretch their legs on a solid piece of rock instead of the slow, rocking deck of the
Sani
.

The usual scruff that layered Captain Lance Mars’s face had grown into a thicket of beard that crawled down to his Adam’s apple. He gave the tuft of black under his chin a good rub, the hair coarse, slick with sweat and salt. The light long-sleeved shirt hung loose on his frame, the piece of cloth worn and dirty. His crew always joked that he was the only captain in the world to dress like a deckhand, and none of his crewmen were so loud with their jokes as his first mate. “Canice!”

It only took the one word bellowing from Lance’s mouth to cut through the hysteria of the crewmen and return everyone to their duties. Canice climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse, the thin white shirt and tan pants clinging to her body in the wind. “Captain?”

“I want to make sure the cargo is checked before we make port,” Lance answered. “I don’t want any surprises when we dock. Anything that’s spoiled or looks rotten, toss it overboard. I want to make sure we can get as much beef out of this deal as possible.” The ship wasn’t originally designed as a merchant ship, and while more space could have been made if the cannons were removed, Lance refused to neuter his own ship.

Canice leaned against the doorframe to the wheelhouse and folded her arms. Her hair was pulled back and tied, and the bundle of curls behind her blew wildly in the wind. “If you’re looking to get a leg up in negotiations, I’d recommend a bath beforehand. That’s if they can’t already smell you from here.” She took a step out, flashing a grin, and bowed. “Captain.”

Before Lance had a chance to address the insubordination, Canice had already slid down the steps and was whipping the crew back into shape. There wasn’t a single captain at sea that didn’t question him about taking a woman as his first mate, but once Canice pulled a blade to their throat before they could blink, there wasn’t a single captain that didn’t take back their own words.

The Sydney port bustled with activity. Hundreds of ships from South America, the Philippines, and other Pacific islands were docked and unloading their goods to be inspected then cleared for trade. Ever since the Great War of his grandfathers, Australia had become the second largest port city in the Pacific, second only to Lima in Peru, and the world’s number-one exporter of beef.

The deckhands tied off the
Sani
, and Lance made his way to meet with the port officer. The docks were piled high with crates of seafood from the Pacific, fruits and vegetables from the west coast of South America, livestock, and a few exotic beasts with bright, striped colors from the African continent.

Sydney’s port officer was, luckily, an old friend of Lance’s. The two had served together in the Chinese uprising during the Island Wars, and while Lance had never thought twice about the Chinese again, it had become a bit of an obsession with Danny.

“Good to see you back here again,” Danny said, clapping Lance on the back.

Even the smells of the port couldn’t overpower Danny’s stench. Lance was convinced the man never showered, yet somehow he managed to keep dirt off of him. The one time Lance asked him about it, Danny simply shrugged and told him that powerful men emit powerful odors. “Looks like a busy morning.”

“Busy month.” Danny and Lance stepped aside as a group of men wheeled a cart past them filled with apricots. “I swear we’ll need to build another set of docks before the end of the year.”

Hundreds of boots thumped against the weather-worn planks as Lance and Danny headed toward the port office. “The Brazilians are charging a steep price for timber right now, although we might be able to help you out on a deal.”

“Just because you managed to strike up a new trade agreement with the South Americans doesn’t make you the expert on negotiations, Lance. It was your brother who accomplished that. Not you.”

A blast of hot, stale air greeted Lance’s face once they stepped inside the office. Danny opened a window and let the sea air try and cool the room, but it did little to help. “So, you brought six hundred pounds with you this time?” Danny flopped into his chair, reaching for the paperwork and a pen.

“Seven hundred. Along with three hundred bales of wheat.”

“Wheat?” Danny raised an eyebrow. “When did you start chancing on wheat?”

“Last harvest. With our new agreements with the wasteland clans, we haven’t had to worry about raiding in over a year. It was a risk, but it was one worth taking.”

Danny drummed the pen on the edge of his desk. “You Mars boys always trying to think three steps ahead of the rest of us. You picked a good time to do it.” He scribbled onto the trading documents. “You’ll get a good trade for that wheat, although I’m afraid I can’t say the same for the potatoes.”

“If all goes well, we’ll be able to bring more bales, and grains by this time next year should be tripled.” At least that was what Fred had told him.

“You keep this up, and you’ll be able to open up some credit with us, Lance.” Danny stamped the papers, approving his goods to be sold and traded. “That’s if the Chinese don’t try and kill us again.”

Lance grabbed the piece of parchment and shook his head. “They’d need ships and an army to do that, and you and I both know their sanctions haven’t been lifted. They don’t have the resources, Danny.”

Danny thrust a pudgy finger at the docks. “I’ve been seeing more and more of their merchants coming here. You know as well as I do that the Brazilians cozied up to the Chinese the moment they knew the war was won. Look”—Danny grabbed some of his old files—“for the past five years, they’ve had a steady seven percent increase in their beef trades each year. Why?”

“The same reason all of us do,” Lance answered. “Beef is valuable.”

“My point exactly! They could be trading with the Russians, the Africans, or whatever’s left of the deserts!”

“There isn’t anything left in the deserts. What world is left we’ve seen. Everything else is dust and ash.” With his paperwork signed and a lull in the argument, Lance took the opportunity to leave and go meet with the traders at the merchants’ market.

Traders from all over the world bustled back and forth under the makeshift canopies shading different goods and products. The air was thick with haggling as everyone bickered over prices, trying to get a leg up on their competitors.

Lance recognized a few of his regulars, some of them weathered slightly more than others but for the most part still in good shape. He passed Francis, who managed to give him a decent amount fruits for half his shipment of potatoes, and Constance, who he managed to bring down to sixty bushels of wheat for silk threads, but ran into trouble when he saw Benjamin, who was the lord of everything beef in the Australian market.

“Lance.” The voice was rough, accented with the Australian tongue to go along with it. “I’m a little disappointed to see those clansmen didn’t kill you.”

“They had a few chances but missed.” Lance shook Benjamin’s hand, which was almost twice the size of his.

“Good.” The giant clapped his bear paw on Lance’s shoulder and nearly crushed him to the ground. “I wouldn’t want some savage taking the honor away from me.” Benjamin flashed his yellow-stained teeth and with it the stench of whatever was left from his morning breakfast. “I suppose you’ll want some beef.”