The Vulgus Chronicles

Vulgus Chronicles - Chapter 1

1

Manny Roca held his breath. The Global Alliance soldier was immediately behind him on the other side of the broken wall of rubble. He exhaled slowly hoping his breath wouldn't show in the chilled air. The fog helped to camouflage his hiding place. His lungs ached for air, but he had to keep his breathing silent.

The soldier rode an electric, stand-up, two-wheeled Enduro Personal Transport, EPTs, but commonly called glides. Their silent operation did not make them immune to crunching through the gravel and debris. The soldier slowed with the tilt of his feet, probing with his rifle mounted flashlight, the beam sweeping over Manny's position but kept moving.

A second soldier approached, the quick pace of his glide announced by running over leaves and sticks. It sounded as if he were at the top speed of thirty miles per hour.

"Hey, Corporal, I'm here."

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Uh—urgent matters," the second said in an anxious voice.

They both stopped moving. Everything was silent except for their voices.

"What the hell is so urgent, dumb ass?" the corporal said.

"I got the runs, okay?"

"Damn it, Benson! You've always got some fucking excuse or another."

"Sorry, but nature calls, ya' know," Benson said. "It's all the spice they put in the stew. Hot going in, hot coming out."

"Spare me the details, dipshit."

Manny relaxed a bit. The friction between the patrolling soldiers meant their focus was elsewhere and not on him. He held fast, controlling his breathing until he heard the fat, knobby tires of their ETPs munch away on the rubble and sticks. They moved at a moderate pace, their powerful light beams waving back and forth across the abandoned boy's academy that Manny called home. The soldiers spent only a moment examining the broken windows. Everything was still. Soon, they were some distance away, and Manny wrestled from his prone position to peer over the rubble.

"Shut your trap, Benson," the corporal yelled as they continued down the tree-lined lane, their voices louder than their stealthy vehicles.

The night patrols had been staggered at different times. Manny could never be quite sure when to venture out to his garden behind the fragmented wall surrounding the academy. He waited a while longer, watching them.

Manny had the combat training to fight, if necessary, but he no longer had any legs. He envisioned what he'd do to them, jump one of them, wrest the rifle out of the soldier's hands, a quick strike with the butt of the rifle, then maybe shoot the other. If he had legs, that is. He didn't know what it was like to shoot someone, but he'd been pretty good at attacking in mock raids during his training days. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he envisioned performing the act.

Finally, they were out of sight.

Back to business.

He found his hand blocks that he used to hobble around. They were chunks of four-by-fours that he had carved, shaped, and then layered and tacked on fabric to make more comfortable on his knuckles, with straps nailed to each end as hand-holds. He got his hands under his weight, and he began hobbling toward the garden. The stumps of his thighs in his cropped and reinforced pants, more of a sack with a waistband and fly, made a scrapping sound on the ground wherever he hobbled. He checked to see that the noise wasn't attracting attention from the soldiers.

All clear.

He had set some snares in the hope of trapping a few rabbits that routinely ate the vegetables he was growing. Not only did he want to stop them, but he thought some protein would be extremely good right about now. Cookie, the old lady that had been the boy's academy cook, could make just about anything taste reasonably good. They had run out of stored food some time ago, hence the garden. Rabbit would be fantastic.