Sic Semper Tyrannis (46 page)

"Lance, what we’re doing is called a tactical withdrawal."  Rob had laughed.  "The Chinese think we’re running, the immigrants think we’re running, the terrorist think were running.  We’re simply
relocating
.  When we’re ready, on our terms, we’ll strike back.  And you know why we’re going to win?"

Lance had pulled himself away from the window, feeling his spirit return.  He looked at his friend, still staring out at the open road, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.  "We're going to win because this is
our
land. 
Our
country.  For starters, we have nowhere else to go.  They've backed us into a corner, not given us any escape route, and taken away everything we had.  You know what that makes us?"  He looked at Lance.

"Desperate?"

Rob shook his head, and a wicked smile spread across his face.  "That makes us the most dangerous enemies they could possibly have.  We got nothing left to lose, brother."

"—lost everything, already!" yelled George.  Jerry almost looked ready to fight.

"The Regulators are dead."

The three men in the room paused in their argument and as one turned to stare at the titular leader of their doomed organization.  George opened his mouth to protest, but Lance held up a hand and stalled his voice.

"You know it, I know it.  We’ve suffered too many losses," Lance said quietly.  "Between firefights on the border with them illegal immigrants, being harried by the Chinese, and now this mess I've let us all into…"

“You did what you had to do to rescue Rob and the others—"

Lance shook his head.  "I will always blame myself," Lance said sadly.  He flashed a quick smile at George.  "I appreciate you saying otherwise, but it was my fault and everybody out there knows it," Lance said with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.  He'd seen the looks on the faces when he exited the vehicle.  He came back, but too many others didn't.

"No, the Regulators are finished."  He looked at the men for a moment.  "There's only a handful of us left, the last ones who can walk and fight.  Everybody else is dead or so wounded that they can't move out of bed.  Sure, we got a dozen or so Border Patrol guys still with us, but that's it.  Less than 20 men against an entire army of foreign invaders.  It just ain’t gonna happen, boys.  We’re done."

"But," stuttered Jerry.  He looked around the room and pointed at the radio behind them.  "What about those folks from Tucson?  They’re on their way here, right now.  They've got a couple
hundred
people with them!  Not to mention all the families that made it out Tucson before the Chinese burned to the ground…"

Lance nodded.  "Yeah, and how many will be left after we make another attack on the Chinese?  A hundred?  Fifty?  Don't you
get
it?  It's always going to end in the same result.  They're military.  We're
not
.  They got bigger guns, better training…No matter what we do, we’re going to get cut apart.  We can't fight them toe to toe."

Lance's statement seem to take the air out of the room.  All three of the Regulators before him found seats and sat heavily.  George was the last one standing.  He simply collapsed on the edge of the desk and stared at the floor.

"But…”  Lance took a breath. 

This land is still worth fighting for…

He could almost hear Rob’s voice in his head.  When Lance spoke again, his voice had more strength.  “Just because the Regulators are finished as an organization doesn't mean I'm willing to give up."

"Well, if the Regulators are done…What’re we gonna we do?"

"I know what I'm going to do," Lance said.  Dark thoughts flashed through his mind, a way to find escape from the pain, a way to atone for his sins.  For the deaths of so many friends.  "I'm going to load up on all the ammo and weapons I can carry and track down these Chinese fucks and take as many of them out with me as I can."

"Lance, going after them for revenge…" said Jerry.  “It’s…”

"Oh, it's well beyond revenge.  I will not be satisfied with revenge.  I seek cold, hard, retribution."

George jumped to his feet.  "I'm in!"

Lance stood, decision made.  He felt the spirit return to him.  A sudden strength returned to his damaged body.  He ignored the pain and smiled.  "It feels good to have a purpose again."

"Whoa, boys.  Let's think about this, okay?"

"I'm done thinking, Jerry" said Lance.  "That's all I've been doing since I woke up under that pile of rubble down in town.  This may not be for everybody—hell, I'd be disgusted if it was."

"So what do we tell the families?  The widows?"

"I don't know.  Sorry won’t cut it.  I don’t think anything I tell them will help."  Lance shrugged.  "Let them take all the food and supplies they want.  They can carry out Rob's last order and head north if they want.  Hell, they could head south, east or west.  But me and anyone who wants to come with me—we’re going after the Chinese.  And we’re bringing death with us."

CHAPTER 31

Scavengers

ERIK LOOKED UP FROM the open tin can and scanned the empty parking lot.  He savored the taste of the jellied, processed meat as it slid down his throat and filled his stomach.  As Erik leaned against the supermarket’s wall, he could feel the heat of the day through the bricks.  He rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

"Oh my God, this tastes so good…"

Ted mimicked a retching sound from the other side of the corner and chuckled.  "Man, I couldn't eat that shit back
before
the world ended.  Now that it's been expired for a few months, I don't think I'd be able to chew on it any better.  I think I'll skip."

"What?” asked Erik.  He looked at the can of SPAM in his hand.  “This stuff lasts forever, right?  Besides, I haven't had a decent meal, in…" Erik shoveled another spoonful of the pink, salty meat paste into his mouth.  He chewed thoughtfully.  "Honestly, I don't even know the last time I had a decent meal.  Probably back in Sarasota.  Remember that night on the
Tarpon Whistler
?  That fish we grilled up on that little spit of land?"

Ted's eyes never stop roaming the deserted streets of the small town they had discovered.  "Oh yeah," he said in a hushed voice.  He scanned the streets with his rifle checking the distance to see if anyone was following them.  "That was some damn good fish."

"Yeah," Erik said quietly around a mouthful of SPAM.  "I remember you coming back on board the ship—"

"Boat.  That little thing was a
boat
," Ted said.

"Boat, whatever… You scared the shit out of me that night when you climbed up out of the water."  Erik laughed as he scraped the sides of the can for the last dredges of meat and gobbled it without a thought to manners.  He tossed the can on the ground and winced as the sound echoed around them.

"Would it kill you to be a little less noisy?"

"Come on, man, you don't think there's anybody still in this town, do you?  The Russians must've been through here already.  Anybody that hasn't left yet is either dead or on their way."  Just to be safe, though, Erik peered around before he opened a can of peaches.  "Man, these things smell good.  Sure you don't want any?"

Ted chuckled.  "Nah, go ahead.  I filled up earlier.  I've been eating high on the hog since you were captured."  Ted glanced around the streets once more.  A frown creased his face.  "I don't have much of an appetite lately, anyway.  Can’t stop thinking about Susan and the kids, you know?"

Erik slowed his ravenous consumption of the sweet fruit chunks.  "Yeah… If I didn't know that they were being fed better than the men, I'd be a lot more concerned."   He sighed and looked at the half eaten canned fruit.  "I guess I don't have much of an appetite anymore, either."

Ted glanced over his shoulder.  "For fuck's sake, don't waste it.  Man up and finish it off."

Erik brought the can to his lips, careful to avoid the sharp edges and drained the can of juice before scooping up the last of the fruit.  He carefully placed the can on the ground next to the other empty cans from his meal.  As he stood, he dusted off the front of his shirt and re-shouldered his pack.

"You ready?" asked Ted.  "I don’t think we’ll be lucky enough to find any more food here… So, the sooner we find some cover, the sooner I’ll feel safer.  Something don't feel right."

Erik drew his Russian pistol.  He pulled the slide back, made sure there was a round in the chamber and brought it up to scan the alley behind them.  "I guess I'm ready.  Where we headed now?"

"South.  Now that we've looped up north and west away from the camp, it's time to come down and pay a visit to our Russian friends from a direction they're not expecting."  Ted started to walk down the length of the front of the building, his rifle at the ready.  Erik followed and made sure to check behind them every few steps. 

He had to admit, the little town of Bigby, Florida, did have a certain creepiness factor about it.  They hadn't seen a single Russian soldier, but they'd seen the handiwork of their foragers.  Most of the shops had caved-in walls.  Scorch marks and bullet holes—big holes—peppered just about every building and car they found.  Erik had yet to see a single intact window in the whole place. 

Erik realized the food and drink the American captives at the prison camp had been enjoying had likely been lifted off of small towns like Bigby.  The Russians were like locusts in that regard.  They stripped the land clean as far as they could in every direction.

"Stay frosty back there…” Ted whispered.  “Something is making my trigger finger itchy…"

Erik tightened his grip on the pistol and looked behind them once more.  He thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye by the rear of a building down the street.  The drug store.  He immediately froze and dropped to one knee.  "Movement, behind us,” he hissed.

"Got a target?" whispered Ted.

"Nope, but I think I saw somebody duck around the corner down the street.  By the drug store.”  He shook his head.  “I don't see anything now.  "

"Let's get inside the bank here, just in case."   He tapped Erik on the shoulder.  "All clear.   Follow me—
quietly
…"

Erik shuffled a few steps backward and kept his weapon trained on the area where he’d thought he’d seen movement.  When he could see the open doorway to the bank out of the corner of his eye, Erik shifted sideways and ducked inside, only raising his pistol from a possible target at the last possible second.

"Not bad," Ted whispered.  "Guess you remembered what I taught you after all.  Okay, there's a window over there, north side of the building.  Get over there and cover it.  I’ll cover the door from here."  Erik took one step and crunched some broken glass under his boot.  "And be quiet, for God's sake…"  Ted whispered.

"Got it…" Erik muttered.  He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and gingerly made his way across the ransacked bank.   It took longer than he wanted, but he finally made it to the north side of the building. His position occupied some long-gone manager’s corner office. 

He slipped over the dust-covered executive desk and crouched at the corner of the window.  His first thought was to peek around the windowsill, but he worried that would expose his head too much.  Back against the wall, he quickly scanned the office.  He opened the first drawer and rifled through some useless papers before he tried the second drawer.

"Score!" he whispered to himself.  He pulled out a CD-ROM with a hand-written label that read, “Q3 Acct. Backup”.

Erik grabbed the disk and held it to the window.  He could tell right away someone lurked around the corner of the drug store. 

"Got somebody!  Right where I first saw him.  Corner of the drug store," he said.

"Good eyes," replied Ted.  Erik heard the crunch of Ted’s boots on the debris in the lobby as he shifted position.  "I got eyes on target," the Marine’s voice drifted in through the open office door.

"He's moving!"  Erik warned in a loud whisper.

"Freeze!
  Hands in the air where I can see them!  Do it, now!"  Ted's voice rang out in a commanding tone.  The sound of his voice shattered the eerie silence that enveloped the deserted town.

Erik watched the drama reflected on his CD.  Whoever it was had frozen where they were.  They looked left and right, as if they were searching for Ted.

"Do it now, or I will drop your ass!" hollered Ted.  He waited two seconds, then fired his sniper rifle.  The suppressed rifle popped and Erik could see a portion of the wall explode in a shower of brick and mortar just to the right of the target's head.

"The next one will be right between your eyes!  Now, get on the fuckin’ ground!"

Erik saw their target drop and spread his arms.  He stuffed the CD in his pack and made his way to the front of the bank.  His makeshift mirror could come in handy again.  As he approached Ted, he peered around the corner of the bank.  "I only saw one person, it's gotta be him."

Ted whispered back, "Roger that.  Cover me.  I'm going across the street.  Keep a bead on that asshole and if he so much as farts, blow his head off."  He handed Erik the sniper rifle and drew his own pistol.

Erik shouldered the rifle and brought the scope to his eye.  He tried to put the crosshairs on the prone figure at the end of the block.  He tried a different hold and braced side of the rifle against the exterior of the bank and tried to calm his breathing.  It was no use—the rifle moved too much for him to make an accurate shot.  His hands started to sweat.  The crosshairs jiggled all over his field of view and never rested on his target for more than a heartbeat.  As he watched the crosshairs slide across the target’s shoulders once more, he didn’t think he
could
shoot him even if he wanted to…

He saw Ted rush across the street and move toward the target at an oblique angle.  As Ted moved forward, his head swiveled left and right.  Ted quickly closed the distance and put his pistol to the man's head.  Confident that Ted now had the person under control, Erik let his gaze lift and scanned the streets looking for other threats.  The only movement he saw was a bit of crumpled newspaper as it rolled by on a slight breeze.  Bigby, Florida was a ghost town.

Erik turned his attention back to Ted.  The ex-Marine waved him over.   Erik trotted down the sidewalk toward Ted and his captive.   "What gives?" he asked as he approached.

"He’s a local," replied Ted.  He holstered his pistol and stood up.  The man grunted with relief and got to his hands and knees.

"Despite that less than warm welcome," he said in a gruff voice that matched his rugged appearance.  "I sure am glad to see you boys."

"You out here all by yourself?" asked Erik.

"Yeah.”

“What were you doing?" asked Erik.

The man regarded Erik with a skeptical eye.  "Whaddya mean ‘what am I doing’?  I'm looking for
food
.  I came in looking for whatever scraps I could find.  Gotta get something for the kids.  Anything.  Can’t hardly even find a
squirrel
anymore…”

“Be safer to have a buddy with you,” noted Ted.  He took the sniper rifle back from Erik and slung it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, most of my friends been killed or run off.  When them Russians came through, they burned everybody out—lost my house.  I got the kids an’ my wife holed up in my huntin’ shack out in the woods."  The man shrugged.  "Gotta do what you gotta do, right?"

"Looks like the place has already been pretty well picked clean," observed Ted.

The man frowned.  "Don't I know it.  Don't have much of a choice though, do I?  Next town is 10 miles that way," he said pointing a scrawny arm to the east.  "They ain’t got no gas neither and anyway, most of the cars here in town done been shot up.  Not much for it but to scavenge… Or hunt, but I guess I gotta save my bullets…"

"For what?  Seems to me, putting food on the table’s the most important thing right now," said Erik.

"For starters, in case the Russians come back," the man said.   He glared at Erik.  "They come rollin’ through here again, they ain’t taking me an’ mine without a fight."

"Sir," said Ted quietly.  "If the Russians come back, you won't be able to stop them.  There's too many of them…"

"I know," said the man.  He sighed and the spirit of defiance seem to leave his body as his shoulders sagged.  "Gotta save at least enough bullets…"  He swallowed.  "For us."

Erik never thought he’d see the day when an average American talked about saving bullets to commit suicide with his family rather than starve or be taken captive by a foreign invader.  It was surreal and for a moment Erik had nothing to say.  When his senses finally returned, he opened a pouch on the back of his pack and handed over a handful of cans of food to the grateful man.

"Where… Where'd you get these?"

"Here and there," Erik said.  "Back at the grocery store, there's a lot of stuff that's been left behind because people didn’t like the expiration dates… I guess…"

"I saw some of that stuff, but I figured it was all bad…"

"Nope," said Ted.  "You gotta eat what you can.  I'm pretty sure those expiration dates are just guidelines on the nutritional value of food.  But when you're looking at tree bark and thinking it might taste like steak, even expired canned food—as long as it’s not full of bacteria or something—will go a long ways towards fillin’ an empty belly… I know."

“You're welcome to tag-along with us.  We’re scavenging on our way, south,” offered Erik.

"Might be I will.   Thank you."

The three men moved down the street and ducked into ruined shops on their way through Bigby.  The local, formally introduced as Erastus Sewell, was able to explain how the town of Bigby had died.  At the start of the Troubles, when the power had gone out he explained, the town leaders had decided to collect as many nonperishable foods as possible in one location—the police station.  Bigby was too small to have a proper City Hall, everybody used the police station as a gathering place for any major town event.  They’d even set up the town Christmas tree right in front, where the squad cars normally parked.