The Day After Never - Retribution (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 4) (26 page)

The man moved so fast Lucas was unprepared for the kick to his ribs. He grunted at the pain but made no other sound, and the man stood back and studied him before turning and making for the door.

“You’ll wish you’d told me,” the man said quietly, and then the steel door slammed shut behind him, echoing off the walls with the finality of a gunshot. Lucas pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning against one of the rough brick walls, his mind working furiously as he waited for his captors to reappear, this time prepared to interrogate him in earnest. He had no illusions that he wouldn’t be subjected to the tortures of the damned, and mentally steeled himself for the ordeal to come, cursing silently that having survived everything that life had thrown at him, he would meet his end at the Crew’s hands over a fight that wasn’t even really his.

Lucas closed his eyes and prayed that Sierra would honor her promise, and when he didn’t show come morning, would abandon her reckless crusade, but he knew her too well – this would be the end, not only for Lucas but for her, and likely her son as well.

Chapter 39

The mountains around the second geothermal plant were white with fresh snow as Duke, Aaron, Arnold, and Craig made their way up a trail to the valley where the hamlet and the hot springs that hosted the plant were located. Three-quarters of the way into their trip, a storm had blown through and dropped over a foot of snow, the relentless blizzard assailing them as they’d hunkered down overnight. Now, on the last day of their trek, the going was slow and treacherous, and what should have been a four-hour ride had taken most of the day.

“Don’t want to be on this trail after dark,” Arnold said, looking to his left where a ravine dropped to the silver rush of a swollen creek below.

“Shouldn’t be too much farther,” Craig assured him from his position in the lead.

“So we spend the night here and then head back in the morning?” Aaron asked.

“Assuming we make it,” Duke grumbled, unhappy at having to slog through the snow rather than enjoying the warmth of his new home in Pagosa Springs, a fire crackling in the hearth.

An arctic wind off the mountain carried with it a mist of snow, the tail end of the storm lingering like a bad taste. Craig braced himself against the onslaught, the cold burning his exposed cheeks, a bandana tied over his nose and mouth like an old Western bandit to shield them from the worst of it.

“This sucks,” Duke added as he lowered his head, his eyes slits, his appendages freezing in spite of the extra layers he’d donned. He’d spent too much time in the Texas sun – the cold affected Aaron and him more than the pair from Shangri-La, who were accustomed to the vicious winters of the New Mexico mountains.

“No country for old men,” Aaron joked, his voice deadpan.

“Who you calling old?” Duke snapped.

“If the shoe fits is all I’m saying.”

The snowfall intensified as they climbed the grade, and at times the sky was white, visibility down to nothing, which slowed them further. When the storm remnant passed, it left the landscape covered and the trail even more treacherous. The horses picked carefully along, their footing unsure in the slippery coating.

Arnold never stopped scanning the pine trees around them, his AR-15 in hand out of habit. They had no idea what they were walking into, although Craig had guessed that the plant would be deserted, the systems mothballed just prior to the collapse, based on the reports he’d discovered in a work journal of one of the engineers at the Pagosa Springs plant. Still, that was just a hunch, and Arnold was naturally cautious and refused to let his guard down, even for an instant.

Dusk was an hour away when they rounded the final bend. Arnold spurred his horse forward, pulled even with Craig, and whispered to him, “Hold up. I saw something move on our right.”

The group stopped, and Arnold swung down from his horse and handed Craig the reins. “Stay here,” he said, and disappeared into the trees. The valley with the plant and a scattering of houses still lay at least a quarter mile ahead.

Arnold plowed through the calf-high snow, weaving among the conifers as he pushed toward whatever had drawn his eye. When he reached a small clearing, he spied a young man digging in the snow with a hoe. Arnold took in his appearance – wild hair, ragged and torn clothing – and stepped from the tree line, rifle trained on him.

The man looked up with an expression of shock and stood motionless as Arnold drew near, his eyes wide. When Arnold was no more than fifteen feet away, the young man spoke in a low voice.

“I haven’t got anything worth killing me over.”

Arnold gave a half shrug. “Wasn’t planning on killing anybody today. What are you doing out here?”

“Trying to salvage what’s left of our vegetable garden. We have a bunch of crops planted and didn’t expect a freeze so soon. Thought we had a few more weeks, at least.”

“You live here?”

“That’s right.” The man studied Arnold. “Why? You sound surprised.”

“I am. It’s just that we thought…nobody would be here.”

“Yeah, well, my family and I live here. In peace, until recently.”

Arnold tilted his head at the last words. “Yeah? What happened?”

“You headed into town? You’ll see soon enough.” The man frowned. “You’re going to need that rifle. I’d just turn around if I was you.”

“Why?”

“Two months ago a gang of scavengers showed up. Meaner than dirt and violent. They camped out at the hot springs and terrorized us into doing their hunting and fishing for them.” The man paused and looked away. “And I’ve got three sisters. Youngest is only eleven.”

“Oh.”

He ground the toe of his boot absently in the dirt. “Yeah, it’s been bad.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

“And go where? Besides, they said they’d kill us. I believe them. They’re animals.”

“Just you and your family…and them?”

“That’s right.”

“Whereabouts do they stay? The scavengers, I mean.”

“There’s some kind of generator building by the springs. They took it over because it’s always warm inside.”

Arnold cursed. “Think you could describe the layout for me?”

“Why? What’s it to you, anyway?”

“We need to get some parts from the generator.”

“For what?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Taking them on is a death sentence, stranger. I’d get out of here while you can.”

“I don’t know about that. I had two sisters myself before the collapse. Hate to think they’d have been fair game to a bunch of miscreants if they’d survived.”

“You hard of hearing? There’s ten of them, and one of you.”

“Not really. More like four.” Arnold studied the man. “What’s your name?”

“Sal.”

“You must know the layout like the back of your hand, right?”

Sal nodded. “Of course.”

“You’d be better off without your unwanted guests?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Here’s what I propose. You tell me everything you know about the plant – the approach, their habits, their weapons. In exchange, we clear them out for good.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“What kind? We’re on the side of a mountain, and you’re rooting around for turnips. What do you think I’d be tricking you out of?”

Sal leaned against the hoe, considering Arnold’s hard expression and obvious familiarity with his weapon. “First thing you have to know is that you have no chance until nightfall.” He continued speaking for five minutes. Arnold interrupted him several times, but Sal proved thorough in his descriptions, anticipating most of Arnold’s questions. When the young man finished, Arnold regarded him with a half smile.

“One last question, Sal,” he said.

“Yeah? What?”

Arnold studied the young man’s lean form and angry eyes.

“How are you with a gun?”

Chapter 40

The cell door opened and Lucas looked up, the blood now dried on the side of his face. A powerfully built man with gray hair cropped close to his skull stepped into the cell and closed the door behind him. Lucas regarded him, pausing at his face, which was unblemished by the prison ink the Crew members sported. The man nodded as he approached Lucas and stood just out of reach of his legs, obviously reading the intent in Lucas’s eyes and avoiding the sweep kick he’d planned.

“Doesn’t look very comfortable,” the man noted, eyeing Lucas evenly.

Lucas stared vacantly at him.

The man smiled. “We know you’re Sierra’s accomplice. We know this because we expected you, and you didn’t disappoint. But the question is, where is she? And who are you?” Zach paused. “Although the latter isn’t of that much interest.”

“I told the other guy I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I heard.” Zach appraised Lucas, taking his time. “Have you ever been waterboarded? Probably not, I’ll guess. I hear it’s the closest to dying you can get. You basically drown – your body goes into panic mode and your lungs fill with fluid. Again and again and again. Like an unending hell.”

Lucas remained silent.

“The problem is that torture rarely generates reliable information. That’s a problem the unsophisticated ignore at their peril. Don’t get me wrong – it’s certainly cathartic for all involved, but in my experience a tortured man will say anything to make it stop, invent anything, confess anything. Not that inconvenient facts will stop the Crew from doing it, mind you. They tend to be a hammer that sees all problems as nails.”

“You’re not Crew?”

“No.”

“But you’re working with them.”

Zach crouched down and eyed Lucas, maintaining a safe distance. Lucas could see the man was seasoned, his eyes cold.

“I know all about your Shangri-La. About the vaccine. About Sierra’s son. I know it all.”

Lucas’s expression remained neutral. “Then why question me?”

“I need to know where she is.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about. I told the other goon, too. I was after rum.”

“You carry a Kimber and killed two guards with a crossbow, and you expect anyone to buy that ridiculous excuse? Maybe I give you too much credit for intelligence.”

Lucas went to a peaceful place in his mind, anticipating the pain that was to come. Zach seemed to intuit what he was doing, and his voice changed from hard to reasonable.

“Everything you think you know is a lie.” He spoke the words slowly, as though revealing a great secret. “You see things as black and white. The Crew is bad. Your leader, Elliot, is good.” Zach smiled at the flicker in Lucas’s eyes. “Yes, that’s right, I know all about Elliot. I’m sure you see this as a struggle between ultimate good and ultimate evil. Don’t get me wrong – the Crew is without a doubt a bunch of thugs and sadists and as evil as the devil himself. But they’re just a cog in a larger machine. They’re meaningless in the scheme of things.” Zach paused. “Am I getting through to you?”

“You’re talking in riddles. I was after rum.”

“Please don’t insult me with that story. It’s almost worse than if you said nothing. It’s so bad it’s painful.”

Lucas’s lips narrowed to a thin line. “Fine. You know everything. And you’re working with the Crew, who are really great guys if you can get past the mass murder and slavery and all.”

“No, they’re despicable. But we’re forced to use them.”

“Forced,” Lucas repeated.

“Let me tell you a story. I’ll start off with the version you’ve been told and then tell you the truth. You were told that Elliot was selflessly developing a vaccine to save the world because he’s a great man, and it’s the right thing to do. That Magnus was trying to stop him because he was a power-hungry monster who wanted to control the vaccine himself so he had the power of life over death, which, of course, he would abuse to enrich himself. Does that sound familiar?”

“It’s your dime, buddy.”

“Parts of that are true. Magnus was a monster. And he was certainly power-mad. The problem is that the real world isn’t your black-and-white construct – it’s shades of gray. Your Elliot is not without sin in this. I know you and the rest of his acolytes believe he’s wonderful, but the truth is that we reached out to him years ago to assist him in developing the vaccine, and he refused. The reason is anything but selfless. You see, he could have had it developed far sooner, and many innocent lives would have been spared in the interim. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to work with anyone else. No, your Elliot wanted all the credit for himself – because he is also thirsty for power, and as the savior of the world with his vaccine, he will certainly be a revered figure, will he not?”

“You say
we
. Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am or what my affiliation is.”

“Does to me.”

“Why? So you can prejudge us based on other half-truths and distortions? It’s not useful. Think of us as the power behind the throne. We’ve been that, and more, for a long time. It’s useless to resist us, and we’re anything but evil – the truth is that your concept of good or evil is entirely relative and doesn’t apply any longer…if it ever did. It was a comforting morality story, a fairy tale to keep the young and dim from misbehaving. We are neither good nor evil. We simply are, and always will be, because we correctly foresaw the collapse and took measures to ensure our survival.”

“You’re telling me this because I’m a swell fellow?”

“I’m telling you because you’re working for a zealot and a madman who would watch thousands die so he can take credit for something that could have saved them. That’s your good, in your simple-minded good versus evil equation.”

“Why is it so important to find out where he is?”

“The virus is mutating. We need his help. The vaccine he’s created will be useless against the new variants, and mankind’s existence is at risk.”

“That’s why Magnus tried to destroy him?”

“Magnus was a fool. He took matters into his own hands. He, like you, didn’t understand the full story and thought it was all about seizing more power. He was wrong, and he paid for being wrong, and the world’s better for it. But we still need to reach an agreement with Elliot; and to do that, we need to send an emissary to negotiate a truce. There are international repercussions as well – what they used to call national security. There’s a strong possibility that a hostile actor will use the current state of affairs to seize the country and eliminate us all.”