Fighting Rough

5

“I don’t get it,” said Marshal, trudging through the snow beside Anton. “Why’d you send out those two scouts if you wanted to just roll on out yourself?”

“Easy,” said Anton. “I knew those two morons would botch the whole thing. They’ll work as a distraction more than anything else.”

“But we still don’t know where the camp is.”

“It won’t be hard to find. Trust me. You saw the maps.”

“I did, and it’s a big park.”

“Hunting grounds,” said Anton, correcting him. “It’s not a park.”

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be hard to find them. Especially in this snow. I don’t see why we couldn’t have waited until this all blows over.”

Anton chuckled. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Marshal. You’ve spent too much of your life in prison.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Well, watch and learn. The snow gives us cover. Decreased visibility is our friend here. We’ll be able to create confusion, and cut them off when they try to flee. We’ll get them, one by one. And the best thing of all? The roads are impassible, and traveling on foot far will be difficult.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” said Marshal. “If you didn’t notice, we’re traveling long distances in the very same snow.”

Anton made a dismissive noise. “We’re outfitted perfectly for the conditions. How you liking those new boots, anyway?”

“They’re fine,” said Marshal, who glanced behind them.

The men from the compound walked behind them in a single file line. They all wore large parkas and heavy snow boots. And most importantly, they all carried weapons. Some had hunting rifles with scopes. But most had semi-automatic assault rifles.

Max and his pitiful little group would be no match for them.

Anton was pleased with himself. Frankly, he didn’t care about the radios that they were supposedly after. What he cared about was proving himself a leader, taking control of the compound in Kara’s absence. He needed to show Marshal what his group was made of, and what he himself was capable of.

Marshal may not have known much about fighting in a rural environment. But he wasn’t a fool. And he’d done fine enough on the dirt bike.

Anton would have never let on, but he was terrified of Marshal. And eager to please and impress him. His bravado was merely a cover for the insecurity he felt.

Marshal had spent the last ten years of his life incarcerated. The EMP had meant a new life for him. He’d been a higher up in one of the more prominent prison gangs, and he’d used his connections to work his way up in the newly formed post-EMP militia. He’d been chosen as an envoy because of his intelligence and ability to simply “get shit done,” as he put it.

Marshal was covered in prison tattoos, running in every direction across his pasty pale skin. Not that they were visible now. But Anton had seen them when they were changing into their outdoor winter gear.

“I can’t see shit in this snow,” said Marshal.

“Neither can the enemy,” said Anton. “Our ears are our ally in a situation like this.”

“Yeah, but I’d prefer seeing. You know, in prison, everything’s up close and personal. You may not know what’s going to happen, but at least you can see ten feet in front of you.”

“Must be weird being out again, eh?” said Anton.

Marshal grunted.

“You really think we can find them in this snow? We’ve been on the move for what, eight hours?”

Anton glanced at his watch. “More like twelve. But we’ll find them.”

“How do you even know where we are?”

“I used to hunt here as a kid. That’s why I know we’ll find them. I don’t even need to look at the maps.”

“Well, let’s hope nothing happens to you then, buddy, because I don’t know how the hell to get out of here.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. They don’t stand a chance against us.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I thought you’d be tougher.” Anton paused, realized he might just have put his foot in his mouth.

Marshal gave him a look. It wasn’t much, but it scared Anton, making his heart start to beat faster. He was, after all, terrified of Marshal and what he was capable of.

It was funny the way it went sometimes, thought Anton. If someone had been listening to their conversation, it would have sounded like Anton was the tough one, not to mention sure of himself. But in reality, Marshal had already seen more action in his life than Anton could even dream of.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Anton. “I just meant… I thought you wouldn’t be worried about their chances. You’ve done a lot of fighting. And before you went to prison, you were in plenty of gun fights, right?”

“That’s right,” said Marshal. “But if there’s one thing my life has taught me, it’s never underestimate your enemy.”

“Words of wisdom, definitely,” said Anton, glancing back at his men, who were following dutifully behind them.

“Can I ask you something?” said Marshal.

“Sure.”

“Where are you from, anyway?”

“I’m from around here. What do you mean?”

“Your accent. You sound kind of foreign or something.”

“Oh,” said Anton. “I came here with my parents when I was ten. I grew up here, though.”

“Where are you parents from?”

“Germany. They were doctors.”

Anton was surprised at the question, but he shouldn’t have been. After all, for one reason or another, he had never lost his German accent. It was still just as strong as his father’s.

“You ever get to visit Germany? I hear it’s beautiful. One of my cellies was from there. He said there’s nothing like it. Rolling green hills and all that.”

“Uh, once or twice. When my grandparents died. Why are we talking about this anyway?”

It seemed strange to Anton that Marshal would be interested in his accent or his history. After all, none of that mattered now. For all Anton knew, there were no more nations. Germany could have easily gone the way the US had, crumbling into anarchy.

What he was concerned about was taking a piece of the chaos and molding it with his own sheer force of will. He wanted to exert his power over others. He wanted to bring back some law and order, no matter what the cost.

In Anton’s mind, that was how the great nations had been created in the first place. Violence and power had been necessary. Required, even. Those times had fallen to the wayside, and a new era had taken over. But now the time for violence was back. This was the time for strong men, for men who weren’t afraid to do what needed to be done. Order needed to be restored.

But if Anton was being honest with himself, he would have admitted that it was more than just order he wanted. He was more concerned with making his own mark, with carving his own little place in history. By whatever means necessary, of course. But wasn’t that how the great nations had been founded in the first place? There’d been men who’d been willing to do whatever it took. And more often than not they’d had their own personal interests in mind rather than the interests of the greater good.

“Hey, Anton!”

Someone behind him was tapping him on the shoulder. It broke him out of his little philosophical daydream.

It was Nick, and he was pointing over to the right.

“What is it?”

“Check it out. Looks like something man made. Thought you should know.”

“Let’s take a look.”

It was hard to tell what it was with all the snow. But it was something, a vague white blur off in the distance, barely visible through the snowfall.

“Marshal, come on.”

Marshal nodded.

“OK, Nick, you come with me and Marshal. The rest of you, post up around the area. Groups of two. And don’t get too far you can’t see each other. I want the area covered, but I don’t want any of you getting lost in the blizzard.”

The three of them moved on out towards the objects. Anton lead the way. He didn’t want to be like other leaders who stayed behind and let their troops do the dirty work. No, he wanted to be out there, exposing himself to danger. He wanted to get his hands dirty, to fire the first shots. His goal, after all, was to gain respect.

And the only way to do that?

Be more vicious and ruthless than anyone else.

As soon as he got his hands on Max, he’d tear into him with his own hands if he had too.

“What the hell is that?” said Marshal, from behind him.

Now that they were getting closer, the object was coming into view better. It wasn’t actually an object.

“Looks like a field of some sort,” said Anton. “You think that’s corn someone’s growing?”

“Dunno, but I’m going to find out,” said Marshal, who picked up his pace, passing Anton.

Anton huffed with annoyance. After all, he wanted to be the first there. That was how it was supposed to work. He was the leader, not Marshal. Marshal was just along for the ride, a member of a different organization altogether.

Anton’s legs were aching from the hours of walking. But they were warm, and he pushed his muscles, picking up the pace. His heavy boots slogged through the snow as he struggled to keep up with Marshal, who was already more than ten feet ahead of him, rapidly approaching the snow-covered crop field.