Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) by Marcus Richardson Page B

there's not enough space for all of us.   And our gear would be exposed.
    Erik's radio broke squelch.   " Still clear ," advised Ted.
    He clicked the transmit button twice and sprinted for the third and final row.   He skidded to a stop next to a minivan that had been partially burned.   He brushed his fingertips against the bubbled paint on the rear door.   A quick glance towards the main building showed him why the cars in this row had been burned.   The building, seemingly undamaged from the road, was mostly a shell.  
    He took a good look left and right.   Seeing no movement, he ran across the open space and worked his way down the side of the dealership.   He headed toward the rear, confident if anyone were inside waiting to spring a trap, they’d be toward the front where they could see the road.  
    Erik slipped around the back and his hopes fell.   The whole back wall of the building had collapsed during a fire—charred rubble, bits of rebar, and debris spilled out into the service area behind the office.  
    The fire had gutted the building.   He looked at the three blackened remains of showroom vehicles in the front.   There wouldn't be anything useful to scavenge in there.   He turned the corner and glanced inside, peering into the darkened interior.  
      "The building’s a total loss,” he reported.   “A fire got started here a while ago—there's weeds and shit already growing in the showroom."
    Erik's radio chirped.   "Damn.   See if you can find fuel storage tanks.   Sometimes dealers have those…"
    "On it," replied Erik.   He clipped the radio back to his vest and brought his rifle up to his shoulder.   He scooted along the exterior of the rubble pile at the rear of the building, keeping a wary eye out for movement.   Erik crouched next to a black and white sign that he could barely read in the growing light.  

      Service Department

    Gotta be getting close.
    He peered out into the empty yard and spotted a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire around the rear end of the property.   Several small structures sat tucked inside the chain-link fence.   Bingo .   He pulled the radio off his vest.
    "Found something.   Looks like a couple big tanks and an electrical shed.   Everything looks untouched," he said quietly, eyes roving the dealership.   "But we're gonna need a big set of bolt cutters to get through."
    "Erik, get back here—there’s people in front of us.   Four guys on foot.   I think they're armed," said Brin.
    Erik stared at the fuel depot.   Damn .   "Okay, I'm on my way."
    Heart racing, he turned and sprinted around the corner of the building.   As he approached the fire-damaged row of cars, headlights in the distance behind the M-ATV caught his eye.   He ripped the radio off as he passed charred minivan and continued racing to the next row.  
    "Lights! On the road behind you—headlights!"
    " Hurry! " Brin urged.
    "You in the truck!" a voice called out over a loudspeaker.
    The suddenness of the sound caused Erik to trip mid-stride.   He fell painfully to the ground and skidded in the gravel on his chest, coming to a stop behind the first row vehicles in the parking lot.   Cursing, he got to his knees.   He reached for the radio and his hand came up empty.   In a panic he spun around.   The radio lay out in the open space between the rows of cars.
    "Shit!" he hissed.
    "I say again, you in the truck!   Come on out!   We got you surrounded!"
    " Shit ," Erik said again through clenched teeth.   He gripped his rifle and looked around, hoping he wouldn't find someone sneaking up on him.   The lot remained deserted save for him and the empty cars.
    A squeal of brakes from the road brought his attention back to the M-ATV.   A Hull County Sheriff’s Department   cruiser had parked directly behind the M-ATV, next to a beat-up red pickup full of armed men.   As he watched, men spill out in a disorderly rabble and took up positions behind the vehicles