The Day After Never - Retribution (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 4) (15 page)

Lucas shrugged. “Can’t say exactly. Maybe a day’s ride west.”

“Damn shame to hear that. Nobody deserves to go that way.”

“You must have seen plenty in your day.”

“Nothing like that.” He sighed. “But it makes me doubly glad I got out when I did. World’s turned into hell. For good reason. All part of the plan. Like the flood in the Good Book – cleans the slate. They’ll get their comeuppance for what they did. Won’t be long.”

“Wish I could believe that.”

“You best believe it. I gave up the life when I found religion, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” Rob tilted his head at Lucas’s flak jacket. “I see you got one of those flyers, huh?”

“Oh, this?” Lucas asked, tapping the pocket where part of the pamphlet was sticking out. “Yeah. Preacher was handing them out down the street.”

“That right there’s the way to salvation, cowboy. Damned straight.”

“I didn’t really get a chance to look at it.”

“I’d study on it if I was you. Lord works in mysterious ways. That came to you for a reason – there are no accidents. You can either ignore the call and burn in hell for eternity, or you can wake up and atone. Nothing in between.”

“There’s a picture of a girl. What’s that all about?”

“She’s the one. Read the paper. It’s clear.”

“Yeah? First I heard of it.”

“It’s spreading, brother. Can’t keep it secret. Evil doesn’t win this one in the end. Study on the message and you’ll see – it all fits.” Rob fell silent and Lucas exhaled in relief. It was just his luck to run into a zealot for company.

Arnold emerged from the back and walked toward them. “Going to need to use it again in a few hours. That work for you?”

“Sure. You manage the channel selector okay? It can be funky sometimes.”

“No problem.” Arnold tapped his stomach. “Anywhere we can get some food around here?”

“Few places further down the street, but they’re iffy. If you’re going to try them, stick to potatoes – no telling what the meat is or how long it’s been stewing.”

“Water safe?” Lucas asked.

“Watch them boil it. They’ll tell you they do, but best to watch.”

“We’ll be back after we eat.”

“I’m around till dark.”

Arnold accompanied Lucas out the door and they retrieved their guns. Lucas leaned toward him as they walked to the horses. “Well?”

“They’re going to check with Elliot’s contact in St. Louis. Apparently the compound here was just helping out as a relay point.”

“Did you know that going in?”

Arnold shook his head. “They don’t tell me everything.”

“Need to know,” Lucas said.

“That’s right. Smart. If we’d been captured and interrogated, all they’d have gotten was Tulsa.”

“And the location of the new sanctuary.”

“No plan’s perfect.”

The group ate in silence at a greasy spoon that had more roaches and flies per table than menu offerings. Lucas had counseled them about the trader’s warning, and everyone had opted for boiled potatoes and scrambled eggs, but only once Colt had negotiated with the owner to be able to watch the cook break the eggs and boil the water. The food was tasteless and the plates chipped and stained, but after two weeks on the road it was practically chateaubriand and Pétrus.

Once they were finished, Lucas told them about Rob’s enthusiastic endorsement of the second coming of Eve, and Arnold shook his head in amazement. “Maybe the virus had the right idea. The planet wouldn’t be all the poorer for being rid of us as a species.”

“Maybe,” Sierra countered. “But the dogs and horses wouldn’t have anyone to keep them company.”

When they got back to the trading post, Sierra accompanied Arnold and Lucas in, uncomfortable with the leering stares of the guards outside.

Rob looked up from the counter as they entered. “Who’s this?” he asked, eyeing her appreciatively.

“None of your business,” Sierra snapped.

He took in the eye of Providence tattoo on her arm and raised an eyebrow. “Nice tat.”

“I see you’ve got one too. Small world,” she said.

“Let’s get this over with,” Lucas said.

“Sure thing, boss man,” Rob said, and led them into the rear of the shop.

After another leer at Sierra, Rob left them in the radio room, and Arnold went to work. He used the default channel first, and when he reached Elliot, the Englishman offered a terse greeting and instructed him to switch to channel six.

Arnold spun the dial to ten and whispered to Lucas and Sierra, “We add four to whatever channel he says, and we switch channels every twenty seconds or so. That makes it practically impossible for anyone to get more than a snatch of the transmission.”

Elliot’s voice came over the speakers. “All right. I spoke to my associate. He’s sending a group to rendezvous with you in four days. He was shocked to hear about the incident, but he didn’t believe it was related. Over.”

“We confirmed that here, but we’re not a hundred percent convinced. Over.”

“Switch to channel nine.”

When they were on the new channel, Elliot continued. “You have four days to get to Springfield, Missouri. It’s a hundred and sixty miles. Can you make it? Over.”

“Affirmative. What are the details? Over.”

“Switch to channel eleven.”

Arnold twisted the dial again, and Elliot filled him in on the rendezvous location and then signed off. Arnold sat back, powered the radio down, and then rose and headed for the door.

“Forty miles a day. That’s aggressive for horses that have been putting in hard time for two weeks,” Lucas said.

“Don’t see much choice, do you?”

“We might not make it in four is all I’m saying.”

“Didn’t sound like that was an option.”

“Won’t do us any good to wind up twenty miles out with a couple of dead animals. That could happen if we’re not careful, and we’d still miss the meet.”

“We’ll figure it out. For now, let’s pay the nice man and ride. We still have some daylight left to burn.”

“Getting across the city will probably eat most of that.”

“Maybe the trader knows the fastest route to the eastern side of town.”

“Not sure I want him to know where we’re headed,” Lucas said.

Arnold gave him a dry grin. “He’s the last honest man, to hear your story.”

“He might be, but right now I wouldn’t trust my brother.”

“He’s a creep,” Sierra added.

They pushed through the door and found Rob behind his counter, polishing a chrome Smith & Wesson snub-nosed revolver. He set the pistol down and tapped on a stopwatch resting on the glass. “You’re into me four minutes.”

Arnold counted out the rounds and set them in front of him. Rob pocketed the bullets and offered Sierra a smile. “Anything else I can do you for? You might be surprised at what I’ve got upstairs.”

Lucas could see Sierra was going to reply harshly and cut her off. “We need to resupply. How are you on dry goods?”

“Not so great. I specialize in weapons and ammo.”

“Where’s the nearest place we could get some fixings?” Arnold asked.

Rob thought for a moment and gave them directions to another trading post. “But watch them. They’re crooks.”

Lucas tipped his hat and made for the entrance with Sierra, Rob’s eyes burning holes in her jeans the entire way. “We’re used to it.”

“Study on that flyer like I said. It’ll ease your mind,” Rob called out after him, but Lucas was already gone, Arnold behind him.

“You boys are in a hurry, aren’t you?” the trader muttered to himself, and went back to polishing the pistol. “I would be too if I had that little honey waiting on me. She’s a firecracker. I can see that from a mile away.” He inspected his work with a keen eye and then continued wiping at the metal with the rag. “Need to slow down and smell the flowers. Life’s too short, that’s for sure.” He glanced up at the empty doorway and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. “More for some than for others.”

Chapter 22

After a tense exchange at the second trading post, their saddlebags were bulging with provisions. Lucas checked the surroundings before swinging onto Tango. He’d convinced Sierra to wait outside with George and John while he, Arnold, and Colt dickered with the trader, which hadn’t been hard after her experience with Rob. All of them were on edge, their sense of unease growing as they rode along the wide boulevard, and Arnold cautioned them to spread out so if anyone started shooting, they’d present more difficult targets.

“This place is giving me the willies,” Colt muttered.

“Yeah. My spidey sense is tingling,” Arnold agreed.

“But I don’t see anything.”

Arnold smiled humorlessly and looked around. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

The pavement was hard on the horses’ hooves, limiting their speed to a slow walk, and by the time they reached the eastern edge of the city, the afternoon sun was sinking behind them. Lucas checked his watch again, did a quick reckoning, and twisted to Arnold.

“Probably got a couple more hours before it gets dark. We’ll want to stay off the road once we’re outside the city limits.”

“I won’t fight you on that, but I want to keep going as long as we can.”

“I know. But if we find something defendable, we should make camp there. The ex-Crew guy warned us about the scavenger cult – the Bones. After seeing their work, I don’t want to cross paths with them.”

Arnold’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s see what happens.”

“Go ahead and take the lead, then. This is your show.”

“We’re all in the soup together until we get to Springfield,” Arnold corrected. “But I’ll ride point. Colt?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Colt said.

Lucas allowed Arnold and Colt to pass and settled next to Sierra, who’d been quiet since her encounter with Rob.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Sure. Fine.”

“Because you look like you just drank vinegar.”

She tried a fake smile. “That guy gave me serious chills. Sorry. It was just a reminder of how…evil that bunch is.”

“But he’s found religion.”

“Maybe so. I don’t buy it. His type never do. Not really.”

“Well, it’s over now. You can relax.”

“Spoken by the man with eyes in the back of his head.”

They slogged along parallel to the highway that ran toward Claremore, using the turnpike only to cross a waterway before getting off the road again. The fields were green from fall rains, and with a breeze as mild as the temperature, the ride was as pleasant as any they’d experienced since setting off from Colorado.

They pitched their tents behind a cluster of burned-out homes south of Claremore, the ruins like broken teeth jutting from the earth against a twilight horizon, and after a hushed meal of salted meat and water, Colt took first watch with George while the rest of them crawled into their tents to snatch some sleep.

Lucas had finally dozed off when he was jarred awake by gunfire. Holes appeared in the upper part of his tent, revealing starlight outside. He dog-crawled to the entry flap, M4 in hand. A scream from nearby pierced the night as he fumbled to unzip the opening, and then he was out and rolling to the side, where the crumbled lower part of a chimney provided cover.

He switched on the NV scope, raised his rifle, and spotted a gunman fifty yards away, running toward him in a crouch. A three-round burst knocked the attacker off his feet, and Lucas shifted his aim to the next shooter. He loosed a second burst and the man jerked like a rag doll before tumbling to the ground, dropping his weapon.

“Colt! George! You okay?” Luke called as he drew a bead on yet another attacker, thankful that they were so careless they hadn’t thought about cover. His M4 barked death and the man collapsed.

The distinctive rattle of Arnold’s and John’s AR-15s sounded from Lucas’s left. George’s voice answered Lucas from his right. “Colt’s hit.”

Chunks of brick sprayed from the chimney. He spotted the source and answered with two three-round bursts, the second of which drove the shooter backward as the rounds punched into his chest. Lucas didn’t dwell on his success, instead adjusting his aim and cutting another gunmen’s legs from under him, his bullets slamming into the man’s unprotected thighs.

“How bad?” Lucas yelled.

More shooting interrupted George’s answer, and Lucas concentrated his fire on the muzzle flashes flaring in his scope. He fired burst after burst and then ejected his spent magazine and slapped another into place, keeping his head down as he chambered a round, the brick absorbing the worst of the offensive fire. When there was a lull in the shooting, he picked another target near one of the piles of rubble and waited until the man’s head was in his crosshairs before squeezing the trigger and finishing him.

More rounds snapped past and he spied a gunman firing from behind a tree. None of the shooters appeared to have night vision gear, which gave Lucas and his group a marked advantage. The attackers were firing at shadows, whereas the landscape was neon green in Lucas’s scope, making it child’s play to spot the gunmen from their rifles’ blossoms.

Lucas made every burst count, and when his second magazine was spent and he’d rammed another into place, he held his fire, taking in the measured, disciplined bark of Arnold’s rifle. Lucas swept the area with his gun, searching for another target, but there were no more. He spied movement a couple of hundred yards away and loosed a few bursts at the men who were trying to edge into the gunfight, offering them a reason to rethink their choice. The strategy worked, and he saved his rounds as the attackers retreated out of range.

He watched and waited, too seasoned in combat over the last few months to believe that the skirmish was over. His patience was rewarded when a figure with an assault rifle popped from the tall grass to his left and fired at George’s position. Lucas heard a grunt near him and squeezed the trigger, stitching the figure with a burst and driving him to his knees. A final burst ended it and the man fell to the side with a scream.

A hail of rounds pocked the foundation around Lucas as another gunman emptied his rifle at him on full auto – an amateur move. Lucas kept his head down until the weapon was empty and then shot the man as he fumbled with his weapon, obviously unaware that he was visible to Lucas with the NV scope.