The Day After Never - Nemesis (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 9)

by Russell Blake

  Elliot settled in for the night, his M16 by his side, and blinked away his fatigue. He’d decided to follow Sierra while grappling with a hangover, and had pushed himself to think through his actions before packing and embarking on the trip. The more he’d considered it, the more certain he’d been that leaving his loyal flock and taking up the fight with Lucas was the right move. He knew more about what Lucas would be facing when he finally confronted the Illuminati than anyone else, and to remain in Provo while Lucas fought violated every bit of his sense of honor. And regardless of his actions in his past life, honor was the only thing he had left; he wasn’t about to abandon it now.

  No, he would don the armor of a warrior and help Lucas however he could, while praying for a swift victory against the forces of darkness. If he died in the process, at least it would be an honorable death, not one waiting for an assassin to slit his throat while he slept in his Provo home.

  He just hoped that Lucas would listen to him when the time came to make impossible decisions. It was the burden of leadership, and one that he knew Lucas wasn’t eager to embrace.

  Which nobody in their right mind would, he reasoned. The responsibility of leading Shangri-La had aged Elliot a decade for every year he’d had to, or at least it felt that way. He didn’t envy Lucas what was to come, but at a minimum he could offer balanced direction when needed.

  At least, that was his hope.

  Chapter 30

  Houston, Texas

  Wink arrived at the Crew headquarters as his officers were barking orders to the guards, who were scrambling to bolster the defenses with satchels of grenades and rockets. Wink leapt from his horse and told his subordinates to meet him inside, and then stormed to his quarters to gather the bug-out bag he’d prepared in the event of failure.

  The men were waiting for him when he returned to the church foyer, and he wasted no time on preamble.

  “They didn’t get him. We need to ride. Now.”

  “We heard that the cartel’s organizing an attack from the refinery. One of our informants said it won’t be long.”

  “As we expected. We only have a few minutes’ head start. Is everyone ready?”

  Nods all around. Colby, one of his lieutenants, stepped forward. “What do you want to do about the guards?”

  “Tell them we’re moving immediately. Send out riders to alert everyone they can. But Houston’s no longer safe. We can’t stay.”

  “Too bad we can’t fight. We’ve got plenty of firepower.”

  “That isn’t an option – they’ve got more. We already covered this. We gave it our best shot, but they missed him, so now all hell breaks loose. The best we can do is retreat until we have a better chance to take them down. Otherwise we’re dead meat, and everyone knows it.” Wink didn’t wait for any more discussion. “Let’s go. Anyone still here in five minutes gets left behind.”

  Wink rushed to his horse with his bag, and the rest of the officers mounted up while calling out warnings to the men, who hurried for their animals in the flickering torchlight. When everyone was assembled, Wink called to the guards.

  “Douse the torches. We’re out of here.”

  The area went dark and Wink spurred his horse forward, moving parallel to the route the cartel would have expected him to take. They’d discussed the logistics of an escape when they’d contrived the assassination scheme, and had agreed that sticking to smaller side streets and heading west instead of east made the most sense. The cartel had established strongholds by the refinery where they were producing diesel and in the northern quadrant of the city, and Wink’s chosen route skirted both areas. It would take longer to get clear, but it was safer, and Wink’s objective was to live to fight another day rather than getting forced into a suicidal last stand.

  Wink and several hundred of his best fighters galloped down the street as the sharp report of shots from the south followed them, signaling the start of the cartel’s purge. Pockets of Crew resistance fought the Mexicans as best they could, but by morning the battles were over, and the city was shrouded in a pall of smoke. Headless naked corpses of Crew fighters hung from overpasses where they’d been strung up as a warning to anyone thinking of resisting the cartel’s control, and buzzards swooped in for a grisly breakfast while a few civilians watched from the windows.

  The cartel took no prisoners, and when evening came, the last of the most powerful gang in the southwest had been butchered, and the Mexicans had dragged their bodies to a central pyre. Hundreds of dead were piled like cordwood as the cartel forced any able-bodied civilians to douse them with oil. When the heap was alight, Julio stood with his entourage with a satisfied smile, watching his enemies burn.

  “I expected them to put up more of a fight,” he commented.

  “They were cowards in the end. They cried like girls when we cut their balls off.”

  He looked around at his bodyguards and grimaced. “We should have done this weeks ago. The only way to deal with cockroaches is to step on them when you see them, not try to reason with them. They were nothing but scum. We don’t need them.”

  Wink signaled to the column behind him and pulled his horse off the shoulder of the highway for a rest. The asphalt was clogged with vehicles caught in the initial panicked exodus from town when the collapse had destroyed the infrastructure, so they’d stuck to the shoulder as they’d ridden hard away from the city. After he’d dismounted and watered his horse, he approached the men, who fell silent as he neared.

  “We’ll continue riding all night and make camp at dawn. I doubt the Mexicans will bother to follow us, but if they do, we’ll be ready for them. There’s no way they’d leave Houston defenseless to hunt us, so any force they’d send should be something we can handle. We’ll mount up in ten minutes. See to your animals.”

  Wink walked back to his horse, and Kelly, his closest advisor, accompanied him. “Once we’re sure they’re not following us, what’s the plan?”

  “Depends on when they move on our other hubs. We have to expect they will, but they probably won’t be in any rush.” The cartel had established a presence in Dallas, Lubbock, and Austin, and was using the Crew as their brethren in Houston had, but there was little question that they would also be butchered in short order. Wink had deliberately avoided articulating a destination while they’d been formulating their escape plan, mainly because he didn’t want anyone else to know where they were headed, but also because the truth was there was nowhere to head.

  And of course, because in the back of his mind, Wink still harbored a hope of retaking Houston and restoring the Crew to its position of authority. He understood logically that he couldn’t achieve it as things stood, but the new post-collapse world wasn’t logical, so anything was possible as long as you were alive. He’d survived too many close calls to retire his ambitions after having ruled the roost, and if there was some way to oust the cartel, he’d come up with it.

  The thought that perhaps it hadn’t been such a great idea to overthrow Snake and invite the cartel into Texas flitted through his mind, but he pushed it aside. He’d done what he had to do, and he couldn’t turn back time, so there was no point in having regrets over what might have been. If Snake had still been in charge, the cartel would have eventually taken Houston anyway, so in the end nothing had been averted. Wink’s decision had been a good one given the circumstances, and he’d at least enjoyed the spoils of victory for a time, if not forever.

  Wink rolled his head to work out a kink in his neck and fixed Kelly with a glum stare. “We’ll figure out where we’re going once we’re sure we’re not being followed. Get ready to ride. We’ve got a long way to go before we sleep.”

  Chapter 31

  Glenwood Springs, Colorado

  The army encampment sprawled along the Colorado River for nearly a mile, a sea of dun-colored tents that resembled a long caterpillar. The mess crew was busy salting fish that the men were catching in an effort to rebuild the army’s stock of protein to augment the grains and vegetable
s they carried. Lucas had given the men forty-eight hours to rest from the effects of the high altitude as they made their way across the Rockies, and everyone was in good spirits from the welcome respite, as well as the opportunity to trade with Glenwood Springs’ surviving residents, who proved to be a valued resource given their privileged location on the main road from east to west.

  The decision had been made to avoid going south through Arizona and New Mexico due to weather and water availability, with Colorado a better alternative as long as the approaching winter remained at bay for another few weeks. The trip to Texas would be shorter than braving the high desert, and as well offered plentiful rivers and wildlife to support foraging rather than endless days in an arid wilderness that was home to little but rattlesnakes and scavengers.

  Eddy completed his morning tasks and glanced around the camp. Jerry’s disappearance had gone unremarked beyond cursing him for being a deserter, and Nick, his junior cook, had assumed responsibility for the mess detail without anyone suspecting foul play. Nick was more easygoing, so the work became tolerable and the hours less brutal, and Eddy was no longer singled out for persecution.

  He’d completed his inventory of the army’s heavy artillery, head count, and senior officers, and had pieced together that they were headed for Texas once they reached the 25 highway on the far side of the Rockies. He’d spied Lucas several times, but hadn’t had an opportunity to kill him without being instantly killed himself, and had decided to leave dispatching him to Snake rather than volunteering for a suicide mission.

  The prior night he’d overheard the men talking about Glenwood Springs, and his ears had perked up when one of them had commented that the nearest of the two trading posts had a solar-powered shortwave radio it rented by the minute. Eddy had no interest in going into town for the prostitutes or rotgut home-brewed liquor, but the chance to discharge his duty and communicate everything he’d recorded about the army to Snake or the preacher was too good to pass up. He’d already cleared taking a few hours out of his day with Nick and would be walking into town once he was relieved for the afternoon break, before dinner preparations began. The fish salting and the fishing itself was being left to volunteers, and most of the men had signed up, largely to relieve their boredom and to assure that they wouldn’t have to eat roots and grubs for the next leg of the trip.

  “We’re done here,” Nick declared. “Be back two hours before nightfall, when you hear the whistle.” He paused. “Anyone going into town, stay away from loose women and hard liquor, and if you don’t, at least bring some back for the rest of us!”

  “The only thing they’ll be bringing back is the drip,” a voice called out from down the line.

  “You’d know,” another quipped, and laughter ran up and down the line like an electric current.

  Eddy made his way to his tent and slid his notebook into his flak vest, and then filled his pockets with rounds he’d hidden in one of his spare boots, and waited until the other men who were headed into Glenwood Springs had departed and were out of sight. Only then did he start on the mile walk, taking his time so he wouldn’t overtake anyone. He didn’t want to have to explain his interest in using a radio, and figured that any of his crew who wanted to barter for something at the trading post would do so before continuing to one of the watering holes, leaving the trading post empty while they caroused.

  He spotted the radio antenna through the trees before the first of the buildings came into view, and ambled unhurriedly to the main one, tipping his weathered hat at the pair of armed men barring the gate as he neared.

  “Gotta leave your weapons with us,” one of them said, and Eddy obliged, passing his rifle and pistol to them without protest.

  The interior of the trading post was surprisingly clean, and his eyes roamed over the display cases of weapons and ammo before settling on a short bald man with weasel eyes.

  “Heard tell you got a radio here,” Eddy said.

  The bald man nodded. “You heard right. How long you want it for?”

  “Depends on how much you charge,” Eddy said, not wanting to appear too eager.

  “A round for two minutes, or ten minutes for four.”

  “How about twenty for six?”

  The man took in Eddy’s torn jeans and stained jacket. “Seven and you got a deal. But only rifle rounds. It’s eight if all you got’s nines or forty-fives.”

  “I got 7.62 rounds and .223. Your call.”

  “I’ll take the AKs.”

  Eddy fished a handful of rounds from his left pocket and counted out seven. “Where’s the gizmo?”

  “Back here,” the man said, and indicated a black curtain. He pulled it aside and led Eddy into a back room, where a ham radio sat on a table with a swivel chair in front of it. A pair of headphones rested on the table. Eddy nodded and indicated the transmitter. “Turn it on, would you?”

  “Sure. You know how to work one of these?” the trader asked, flipping a switch on the back of the radio.

  “I’ll figure it out. Mainly wanna listen to what’s going on. Used to love to back home.”

  “Where’s that?” the trader asked.

  “South a ways,” Eddy said, making clear he wasn’t interested in idle chatter.

  “I’ll let you know when your time’s up. Dial on the right’s the volume. Left’s the frequency. Knock yourself out,” the trader said, and left Eddy to his listening.

  Eddy waited until the man was gone and then removed his hat, ran his fingers through greasy hair, and slipped on the headset before adjusting the volume and removing his notebook from his vest. He tuned the radio to the designated frequency and depressed the transmit button, waiting a moment before murmuring Benjamin’s name and the code words he’d long since memorized.

  Thirteen minutes later he was done with his transmission, and spent the rest of his time pretending to scan the air so he could listen in on snatches of static-filled conversations. When the trader returned, Eddy placed the headphones on the table and stood, smiling.

  “Thanks. Just like being back home. Now, while I’m here, you got any good knives?”

  The bald man brightened. “You kidding? We got the best selection west of the Mississippi. Pretty much anything you want.”

  Eddy feigned excitement at the prospect. “Cool. Let’s have a look.”

  “All price ranges, too,” the trader said, sensing a sale.

  “I’m sure.”

  Eddy followed him back to the main room and spent a half hour killing time before finally agreeing to buy a Chinese-manufactured butterfly knife in reasonable condition with a razor-sharp blade. When he left the shop and retrieved his weapons, he was humming softly to himself; visions of a life of leisure with a set of comely twins danced in his head, the thought of the gold he’d receive when he reunited with Snake as sweet as a virgin’s kiss.

  Back at the camp, when he returned for dinner duty, Nick smiled and gave him a lewd wink. “You sober enough to use a knife without cutting your hand off?”

  Eddy smiled back. “Got the love of Jesus in me and nothing else.”

  Nick looked him up and down. “Didn’t go for a dip while you were in town?”

  “My body’s a temple. I would never.”

  They both laughed, and the cook slapped him on the back. “Still got to wash your hands.”

  “Just like McDonald’s, huh?”

  Nick grinned. “Those were the days, weren’t they?”

  Chapter 32

  Denver, Colorado

  Snake strode purposefully down the corridor from his room to Elijah’s quarters, accompanied by two of the preacher’s elite guards. Elijah had summoned him to a meeting, with no explanation of what was to be discussed, which only mildly annoyed Snake, who’d been enjoying the church’s hospitality since successfully returning from Boulder with the canister.

  When he reached the doors to Elijah’s chambers, one of the guards twisted the handle and motioned for Snake to enter. He did and found himself facing a table
where Benjamin and Elijah were seated.

  “Sit,” Elijah said, indicating a chair across from them.

  Snake lowered himself into the seat and waited for the preacher to tell him why he was there.

  “We received a communication from your man,” Elijah began.

  Snake blinked in confusion before understanding dawned on him. “Eddy?”

  “That’s right. He filled us in on the army’s strength and equipment as well as their travel route. We’ve been discussing our options and believe there’s a unique opportunity to destroy the entire force before they get anywhere near us.”

  “Without firing a shot,” Benjamin added.

  Snake sat back, skepticism clear in his expression. “Really? How?”

  “They have to use the Eisenhower Tunnel to get across the range. It’s over a mile long. There are actually two tunnels, but we can force them into one by creating an avalanche and sealing the other one.”

  “And?”

  “Once the entire force is in the tunnel, we detonate the canister, and the nerve agent does the rest. It’ll kill everyone in the tunnel.”

  Snake considered the idea. “Sounds perfect. Why am I here?”

  Elijah grinned. “You did such a good job retrieving the canister I thought it would be appropriate if you accompanied us to rig the tunnel and see the outcome of your efforts.”

  “I don’t know anything about explosives.”

  “Don’t worry. I do,” Benjamin said. “And I’ll assemble a crew with mining experience, so they’ll know their way around a detonator.”