He blinked several times and squinted at the apparition of thousands of marching infantry led by several hundred mounted riders that had materialized from the landscape. Art spun toward the command tent and called out, “Bring me binoculars! And make it quick!”
One of his aides scurried into the tent and returned moments later clutching a pair of Bushnell spyglasses. He handed them to Art, who raised the binoculars to his eyes and studied the approaching force for a long moment before his face broke into a grin, and he slowly lowered them.
“It’s the rest of the army. About damn time,” he grumbled, and handed the glasses back to the waiting aide. “We’ll need to make room for them and get their animals tended to.”
“Yes, sir!” the man barked, and retraced his steps to the tent, glasses in hand.
Art returned his attention to the still-smoldering cigarette in the dirt and exhaled wearily. His celebratory smoke had been premature, but the coppery taste of his own blood lingered like a stain. He patted the pouch of tobacco in his tactical vest and considered rolling another, and had just decided against it when the sound of galloping hooves sounded from nearby.
Art’s head whipped around when several of his men shouted a warning. A lone rider was bearing down on him, a lever-action rifle in one hand and the reins of his horse in the other. Time seemed to slow; Art could make out the grim determination etched into the man’s unshaven face, as well as the unmistakable murderous intent in his steel gray eyes. Art was reaching for his holstered pistol when the rider brought the rifle to bear, and then a shot shattered the silence and Art felt a hard punch to his left shoulder, followed a split second later by an agonizing burning.
He spun from the force of the shot, his right hand groping for the butt of his 1911 pistol, and then his knees buckled and his legs turned to water. Art tumbled to the side as another shot sent a fountain of dirt into the air three feet from him, and he winced when he hit the ground with a thud.
He caught sight of one of his aides raising an assault rifle by the command tent, and a three-round burst barked from the gun. The assailant’s horse whinnied, and the rider grunted in pain and fell from the saddle, his rifle flying from his grip when he slammed into the hard-packed dirt. Art blinked in confusion. The scene was surreal: men running toward his attacker with guns at the ready, the ground beneath him pitching and yawing like a ship at sea. The ringing in his ears grew louder, the sound a high whistle as his vision compressed into a long dark tunnel, the only light at the far end, stretching seemingly endlessly away. His pulse thudded in his temples and he fought for air. It felt as though a demon were sitting on his chest, stabbing his pectoral muscle with a sharp stick with each attempted intake of breath.
“General! How bad you hurt?” a nearby voice called.
Art forced his eyes open to the concerned face of his aide, his head framed in sunlight like an angel, his expression grave. Art tried to speak, to reassure the man that it was only a flesh wound, but the effort exhausted him, and he closed his eyes again as a creeping cold suffused his limbs. The pain from his shoulder was now something distant, almost apart from his consciousness, an irritation of little importance while he struggled against a suddenly overwhelming desire to sleep.
“General! General! Stay with me,” the aide cried, and Art felt the man’s hand squeezing his while another pair of hands applied pressure to his wound.
He wanted to tell the aide to let him rest, to get whoever was probing the bullet hole to stop so he could drift away, but words failed him, and his tongue felt thick and unfamiliar in his mouth.
The aide’s voice rang out again. “Somebody get a medic. And you! Go find the doc in town. Hurry. He’s bleeding out.” A pause. “Keep pressure on the wound. And bring a stretcher, quick.”
Art tried to raise his head, but his neck muscles wouldn’t respond, so he gave up and allowed the men to attend to him. His survival instinct had gone numb, the encroaching darkness of the tunnel now consuming all of his awareness except a pinhole flare of brilliance, little more than a remote star in an impossibly distant universe.
Chapter 9
Near Green River, Utah
Snake groaned as he came to. The first thing he registered was the mother of all headaches; each beat of his heart sent needles of agony through his temples. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to remember what had happened, and a dim recollection of having been captured flitted through his awareness – which explained why, when he tried to move his arms, he couldn’t. He pulled against the bindings and concluded that he’d been tied to a tree, seated on the ground beneath its branches.
A boot kicked his thigh, and his eyes popped open, radiating fury. The man who’d clobbered him with the AK stood in front of him, a pistol in hand, his expression eerily tranquil.
“Put a bullet in him and be done with it,” one of the other men said, from where their horses were tied.
“That would be a mistake,” Snake managed. His voice sounded hoarse and his words muffled, and he struggled for clarity.
“Yeah? Why’s that?” Elijah asked with raised eyebrows, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Gold. If you’ve searched me, you know I’ve got a bunch. There’s a ton more where that came from.”
“Bushwhacking travelers must pay better than I thought,” Elijah said to nobody in particular.
“It’s true about the gold. As for ambushing you, we’re following a group’s trail, and we thought you might be one of their recon patrols.”
Elijah studied Snake for a long beat. “What group?”
Snake swallowed dryly and licked parched lips. “From Colorado. You wouldn’t know them.”
“Try me.”
“A few hundred people. Last seen in Amber Hot Springs.” Snake paused. “You see any large groups like that? They’d be pretty hard to miss.”
Elijah ignored the question. “Why are you tracking them?”
“Got a bone to pick.”
“Really.” Elijah motioned to Benjamin, who walked over to Snake. “What do you think?”
“You’re not long for this world, buddy,” Benjamin said to Snake. “If you’ve got something to say, I’d say it, or you’re of no use to us.”
Snake’s eyes riveted on Benjamin. “You ever hear of the Crew?”
Benjamin and Elijah exchanged a glance.
“A gang out of Texas,” Benjamin said.
“I’m one of their top dogs. They sent me after this bunch.”
“Why? What did they do to you? Colorado’s a long way from Texas.”
“They crossed us, and we declared war on them. Nobody crosses us and lives.”
Elijah snorted. “You expect us to believe the most powerful group in Texas sent a couple of lowlifes after hundreds of people?” Elijah cocked the pistol. “You must think we’re idiots.”
Snake shook his head and immediately regretted it. “Not after all of them. Just their leader. We don’t care about the rest. We decided that a small group would be less likely to draw attention than an army. And we can move faster.”
Benjamin and Elijah stepped away and conferred for several moments. When Elijah returned, his expression was unreadable.
“If you’re telling the truth, we have a mutual enemy,” he said.
Snake didn’t speak, preferring to let silence work for him.
“You say you’ve got access to gold?” Elijah asked. “What else?”
Snake shrugged. “Weapons. Men. You name it. We’re the Crew. We have unlimited resources,” he said, maintaining the fiction he’d spun. “You say you’re also after the same group? Why?”
“They waged war against us and killed our spiritual leader. My father.” Elijah hesitated. “We own Denver.”
Snake looked around. “This is all of you? I could ask the same question about why such a small number.”
“We’re actually returning to Denver for reinforcements. We located them and know where they’re staying put. So now we need to strategize
how to best go after them,” Elijah lied.
“Look,” Snake said. “Sorry about hitting you from out of nowhere. We got our wires crossed. But it’s stupid for us not to work together. We both have the same goal, and by pooling our resources, we’d be able to crush them.”
“Or I could shoot you and be done with it. We don’t need you.”
“I’m not saying you do. I’m saying I can help you, and by doing so, I’d help myself.”
“And save your own skin,” Benjamin muttered.
Snake glared at him. “Do you have a bottomless chest of gold to throw at the problem? Do you control a land area larger than most countries? No. You have Denver. And while that’s nothing to sneeze at, you’re talking a completely different level when it’s the Crew.”
Elijah lowered the pistol and considered Snake for a few seconds, and then turned to Benjamin. “Untie him and get him cleaned up and hydrated.”
“But–”
“You heard me. Do it.”
An hour later, Snake was fed and the gash in his head stitched, and he sat where the men had tied his and Clint’s horses, waiting for the inevitable discussion to come.
Elijah walked over and faced him, hands on his hips. “I hope you appreciate the act of will it took to allow you to live. The Lord was watching over you today.”
Snake nodded. “You won’t be sorry.” He eyed Elijah. “You mentioned you located Shangri-La. Where did they settle?”
“West of here,” Elijah said. “Provo, Utah. I have a plan for how to deal with them once and for all, as well as the cowards who are protecting them.”
“Someone’s protecting them?” Snake repeated.
“That’s right. The townspeople.”
“How many?”
Elijah sighed. “Thousands. But it won’t matter.”
“Why not?”
Elijah’s smile had a psychotic quality to it. “The Lord has blessed me with a weapon that will smite our enemy, as well as all who protect them.”
“What kind of weapon, and where is it?”
Elijah looked Snake over. “A bioagent. Nerve. My father got it from a military lab.”
Snake considered the preacher. “I could help. You know I have gold. I can organize a force if you like. Recruit mercenaries. Whatever you need.” He paused. “How dangerous to handle is this agent?”
“It’s in a canister. It should be fine to transport as long as it doesn’t get damaged.” Elijah frowned. “Where would you get mercenaries? Wouldn’t you want loyalty rather than hired guns?”
“Not necessarily. There’s some jobs that you’re better off leaving to trained killers. Sounds like this could be one.” Snake swallowed. “Do the Shangri-La people have any idea you’re onto them?”
Elijah shrugged. “I expect so. But it’s not going to matter. All we have to do is get the canister within the city limits, near where their enclave is, and God will do the rest.”
Snake scowled. “How do you release it without killing yourself?” he asked. The thought of murdering hundreds, or thousands, indiscriminately posed no problem for him.
“A fair question. It’s a gas. I’m thinking we could detonate a small charge on the canister to punch a hole in it, and the pressure would do the rest.”
They continued discussing possible tactics for a half hour, and by the time the conversation was over, Snake and Elijah had arrived at an agreement. Snake would help the madman with his toxin in exchange for sparing his life, and possibly another canister of the gas from the secret lab for Snake to use against those who’d overthrown him in Houston – for a steep price Snake was more than willing to pay.
Snake closed his eyes when the preacher left him, and wondered how much Elijah wasn’t telling him. Like most liars, Snake had a finely tuned sense for deception, and he’d intuited that the holy man had left out more than a little. Of course Snake had done the same, so the exchange was more or less even, with the exception being that Snake had agreed to retrieve the bioweapon from its hiding place, so anything that Elijah had omitted might cost him his life. If by some miracle it didn’t, they’d then have to make it back to Provo safely and figure out a way to infiltrate a religious stronghold without arousing attention.
The plan sounded mad even to Snake, who’d heard his share of craziness in prison and while heading up the Crew. But for now he was still alive and had gotten a fix on the whereabouts of Shangri-La, so he was ahead of where he’d been when he’d woken up that morning.
He tried not to think about Clint’s corpse stiffened in the clearing, and breathed deeply, the pain in his skull now a numb ache, but each inhalation still jabbing daggers behind his eyes.
The preacher seemed determined to kill everyone associated with Shangri-La, which would make Snake’s life easy if he were successful, so they both had every reason to work together, even if they were like a pair of scorpions circling, waiting for the other to slip up so they could plunge their stinger into their adversary’s heart.
Chapter 10
Provo, Utah
Lucas had just finished looking in on the prisoner who’d shot Art when a pair of riders clattered to a halt in front of the jail. He looked up as the two men swung down from their horses and strode to the entrance, where a pair of deputized gunmen stood with rifles in hand.
“We hear you’re holding Eric,” the taller of the newcomers said in a gruff voice.
One of the guards nodded. “That’s right, Steve. He shot an unarmed man.”
Steve looked down for a moment before speaking. “He isn’t in his right mind. You must have heard what they did to his daughter.”
“I did. Damn shame. But that don’t excuse what he done.”
Henry frowned at the guard. “We hear he’s hurt.”
“Shot in the shoulder. Doc says he’ll live. Didn’t hit anything major.” The guard’s gaze moved to Steve’s pistol. “You ain’t supposed to have guns inside the city limits. You know the rules.”
Steve ignored the comment. “Can we see him?”
The guards looked at Lucas, who shook his head. “He’s sedated,” he said. “You can come back tomorrow.”
Steve sized Lucas up. “Who’re you?”
“Friend of the man Eric gunned down.”
“We’re his brothers,” Henry said. “He isn’t like this at all. He’s a peaceful man.”
“My buddy’s got a bullet wound that says otherwise.” Lucas sighed. “Look, I realize he’s torn up about his daughter. I would be too. But what he did isn’t going to fix anything, and he could have killed my friend. There’s a price to pay for that, regardless of what happened to her.”
Steve frowned. “That’s easy for a stranger to say. You didn’t watch her grow up.”
“He tried to kill the commander of the army. That can’t stand. But we’re going to let the town council decide on the punishment, so we can’t be accused of bias. You have a case to make, take it to them.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one of the army chiefs, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore. I’m just helping out since your brother shot my friend.”
“Then you could drop the charges,” Steve said. “Eric’s a mess because of what happened to his little girl. He’s never done anything like this. He’s not violent at all. He’s a devout Christian and a damn good father.”
Lucas shook his head. “Must have missed the bit about thou shalt not kill,” he said, meeting Steve’s stare. “Besides, that’s not for me to decide. Fortunately for everyone, your brother isn’t a good shot, so the damage he did to my buddy isn’t fatal. You want to see if he’s in a forgiving mood once he’s mended some, that’s up to you. But I wouldn’t expect him to be feeling very generous with a hole in his chest.”
Steve’s hand tightened into fists and Henry’s fingers inched toward his holstered pistol. The two guards raised their rifles, and Lucas grunted. “Not very smart to double down on your brother’s mistake, boys. You want him to have any chance at all, you’d best
walk out of here and go back where you came from. Escalate this and you’ll be leaving in body bags.”
“We’re not going to abandon him,” Steve said.
“Don’t see as you got much choice. Now stand down before this turns ugly,” Lucas said, his hand hovering over his pistol butt. “I sympathize with what your brother’s got to be going through, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to walk away without paying. That’s not how things work.”
“What about Melanie? Who’s gonna pay for her?” Steve snapped.
“The two psychos who raped her will be tried and shot tomorrow. I don’t like their kind any more than you do. If it were up to me, I’d have strung them up from the nearest tree and slept well, so I understand your brother better than you think. But both the army and the town have rules. So it’s out of my hands.” He eyed the brothers calmly. “Figure it out. You want to have even more tragedy in your family today, or you had enough?”
Henry stiffened at Lucas’s final words, and he could see the younger man debating whether or not to make a move.
Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he turned toward his brother. “Don’t. Let’s see what we can do by talking to the council. There’s been enough violence.”
The wild look in Henry’s eyes faded, and his hand dropped from his pistol.
Steve returned his attention to Lucas. “You say he’s out of it?”
Lucas nodded, his hand still near his gun. “That’s right. But the doc said he’d probably be alert by tomorrow. Come back then.”
“You ain’t heard the end of this,” Henry warned.
Lucas’s expression didn’t change. “I expect not.” His eyes flitted to Steve. “We done here?”
“Yeah. Come on, Henry. Let’s see if we can find Glenn.”
Lucas watched the pair retrace their steps to their horses and mount up. When they’d ridden away, he glanced at the guards. “Might want to keep the door bolted in case they get to drinking and decide to take a run at it.”
The older gunman nodded grimly. “They aren’t drinkers, but not a bad idea.”
The Day After Never - Nemesis (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 9) Page 5