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

by Russell Blake

  The preacher cocked his head and listened, and then began berating the men, gesticulating frantically at the shaft and the highway below.

  “Now?” Duke asked.

  Lucas shook his head. “No. Wait until they’re getting into the duct. They won’t be able to climb the ladder with their rifles, so less chance of them getting off any lucky shots.”

  Duke adjusted his aim and waited for Lucas. They could hear Elijah yelling at the men in a high-pitched voice, but the words were indistinguishable. One of the men countered his yelling, and Elijah raised his rifle to threaten him, which stopped both of them in their tracks.

  Lucas had the preacher in his crosshairs and was fingering the trigger when a burst of gunfire from the tattooed thug shattered the silence. The preacher’s chest erupted in blood and he dropped the rifle. Lucas shifted his aim and shot one of the men by the blast box through the throat just as the tattooed thug threw himself to the side and began firing at Lucas.

  Duke’s rifle barked twice, and the thug disappeared into the tall grass. Lucas rose from the brush as the last man took off at a run down the hill, and stitched him across the back with three shots. Duke continued firing at the last place the tattooed thug had been until Lucas motioned for him to cease fire.

  The area quieted, and they waited for more shooting. When after a long pause nothing happened, Lucas leaned over to Duke, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the tattooed gunman had vanished.

  “You hit him?”

  Duke frowned. “I think so. But it’s hard to be sure.”

  “If he’s still there, he’s waiting for us to show ourselves so he can cut us down.”

  “That occurred to me.”

  “I’ll see if I can flank him. Give me a few minutes and then take a couple of shots. See if you can get him to fire back and reveal where he is.”

  “Roger that.”

  Shooting erupted from down the hill at the prophet’s camp, spurring Lucas to action. He darted behind a nearby tree and crept farther into the forest, where the underbrush would cover his movements. He made it to the far side of the shaft and eased toward it, sweeping the grass with his barrel. He was halfway there when two shots rang out from Duke, and he waited for answering fire, cheek pressed against the M4 stock.

  Silence greeted the shooting, and Lucas continued through the grass with cautious steps, finger on the trigger, the rifle on three-round-burst mode. When he reached the spot where the tattooed shooter had last been, he knelt and fingered the grass, and then worked his way back to Duke.

  Lucas held up one hand to show Duke the crimson that stained his fingers. “You scored. But there’s no sign of him.”

  Duke shrugged. “Seems like he’s long gone now.” He scratched his head. “Why do you think he shot the nutcase?”

  Lucas’s lips twitched. “No idea. But he saved us the trouble.”

  “Maybe he wants a job with the army?”

  Lucas chuckled. “Maybe.” He turned toward the gun battle at the camp. “Let’s go and see if we can pitch in.”

  “You got it.”

  Snake’s breath hissed between his teeth as he ran half bent over. The wound in his side burned like liquid fire, but he couldn’t slow or he risked the shooter finishing the job.

  Snake eventually tired and sank against a tree. He probed his wound, and his hand came away wet. Even if it had missed his vital organs, any kind of gunshot wound was a death sentence in a world without antibiotics, presuming he didn’t bleed to death before an infection got him. The only way to improve his survival odds was to cauterize the wound, but there was no way he’d be able to remain conscious from the pain, so doing it himself wasn’t an option.

  “Damn,” he murmured. He’d managed to evade Elijah’s obvious plan to kill him once the bomb had detonated only to have some anonymous sniper tag him. The irony of having survived the coup in Houston and then a thousand-mile journey across dangerous terrain only to get bushwhacked by a faceless gunman when he wasn’t even a threat made him grimace.

  He dug a bandana from his pocket and dabbed at the wound. The round had glanced off one of the ceramic plates of his flak jacket, which had saved his life by changing its trajectory enough that instead of scoring a center torso hit, the bullet had gouged through his side. He balled up the bandana and pressed it between the jacket and his shirt, and then closed his eyes, the blood loss combined with the adrenaline crash draining him of energy.

  A familiar voice jarred him from borderline unconsciousness a short while later.

  “Almost made it, huh?”

  Benjamin stepped from the trees, his rifle pointed at Snake. “Elijah manage to do that?”

  Snake shook his head. “No. Someone shot him along with the others. I got away, but only barely.”

  “Shame. If they’d have gotten you too, it would have made my day complete.”

  Snake held his stare. “You don’t have to do this. He’s dead. If you help me, I’ll give you a mountain of gold. You’ll be able to do anything, go anywhere.”

  “Elijah might have been stupid enough to believe your line of bull, but that doesn’t mean I am. You’re a liar and a con. I knew it the second I laid eyes on you.”

  Snake shook his head and looked away. “You’re wrong. I was carrying twenty ounces when you captured me. That’s a fraction of what I have stashed. And part of it can be yours. As much as you want.”

  Benjamin spit and flipped his rifle’s firing selector to single shot and sighted on Snake’s head. “I’ll make it quick. Dying from being gut shot’s the worst way to go.”

  Snake closed his eyes and cringed when three shots rang out in quick succession. His eyes snapped open when he realized he was still alive, to find Benjamin tumbling forward, his rifle dropped on the ground.

  A figure stepped from behind a tree not thirty yards away, and Snake struggled to make him out. He reached for his gun, but a voice called to him.

  “Don’t, Snake. It’s me. Eddy.”

  Snake blinked in confusion. “Eddy?”

  “I ditched them down at the camp when I didn’t see you. Found the bodies and tracked you from the blood.”

  “God…”

  “We’d better keep moving, though. How bad you hurt?”

  “Bad enough. But I can make it as far as I need to. You know anything about wounds?”

  “I seen my share.”

  “You’re gonna have to deal with this one. That a problem?”

  Eddy shook his head. “As long as you can handle it. I’ve done a few. The stink’s the worst of it when the skin burns.”

  “Then help me up. We need to get out of here.”

  Chapter 36

  The army was camped at the tunnel’s western entrance as darkness descended over the mountains. Lucas and Elliot had decided it was more prudent to spend the night on the familiar side of the tunnel than to risk another potential surprise at the far end. A messenger had been dispatched to the men Lucas had left on the eastern side to tell them to hold their position for the night, and the army was now sprawled along the highway and well into the tunnel. The tents had been pitched and the business of feeding the animals and men commenced.

  The fight for the enemy camp had been short lived, with the preacher’s fighters taken completely by surprise, as expected. Lucas, Duke, and Elliot were in the command tent comparing notes when footsteps neared from the mess area. Lucas looked up when Sam entered.

  “What’s the damage?”

  “We lost three men. They lost eighty-six. We took eleven prisoners.”

  Duke scowled. “What are we going to do with them?”

  Sam shrugged. “More mouths to feed.”

  “True.”

  Worry lines furrowed Elliot’s brow. “They’re all from Denver? Perhaps we should release them once we’re nearer. It’s not like they pose a threat to us anymore.”

  Lucas shook his head. “Can’t risk it. We don’t want word of the army being broadcast to the world. Denver’s got plenty of
radios.”

  “Then…what?” Sam asked.

  Duke grunted. “Give them a choice. Join up with us or a bullet to the head.”

  Lucas threw him a dark look. “Not the catchiest recruiting slogan.”

  Duke smirked. “It’s simple and direct. If we treat them as prisoners, they’re dead weight – and an ongoing risk of sabotage or mutiny.”

  “Not if we use them as forced labor. Then they’ll actually help our efforts.” Lucas paused. “It’s probably a bad idea to start summarily executing prisoners.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “We’ve been questioning them, and apparently Denver’s a ghost town now that the preacher emptied it of able-bodied men. It’s mostly women, children, and geriatrics.”

  “They’ll figure out how to get by. They got plenty of natural resources,” Duke said.

  “No question. But here’s one troubling piece of information. Lucas, you asked about the guy with the tattoos? One of the prisoners said he was a Crew bigwig who’d joined forces with the preacher to get us.”

  “The Crew? All the way here? I thought they’d been shut down by the cartel – that was the last word from Luis.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they’re working together now. But that’s who he is. Or was.”

  Lucas frowned. “Damn. And we let him get away.” He thought for a moment. “He’s a potential danger. If he makes it to a radio, he can warn Houston about us.”

  “What can he possibly know?” Elliot asked.

  “That a huge force is on the move. A force that was responsible for defeating Magnus and severely weakening his gang. We have to assume there’s at least one informant in our ranks – otherwise, how did the preacher know where to ambush us?”

  Sam’s expression became thoughtful. “Maybe not. One of the mess crew went missing during the battle. We have no idea where he went, but the men said that he was suspicious, always kept to himself, and was nosy about our plans.”

  Lucas sighed. “That does it. We need to track this Crew scum down before he can do any damage to us.” He moved to where his M4 and flak jacket rested on the floor. “There’s still enough light to pick up the trail.”

  “I’ll grab my gear,” Duke said.

  Lucas shook his head. “No. I need you here. If I’m gone for more than a few hours, the army still needs to continue toward Denver. We don’t have enough food to wait.”

  “Just send someone,” Duke countered. “You don’t have to do this. You have an entire army, remember?”

  “I know where the trail starts, and I’m as good or better a tracker than anyone we have.” He picked up his rifle. “I should have finished this on the mountain. I let him get away, so it’s on me to stop him.”

  “You’re the commander of the army, Lucas. This isn’t just you and a few riders anymore,” Elliot said.

  Lucas shook his head. “We’re wasting time. If I’m not back by morning, head east, and I’ll catch up to you.”

  “What about the gas canister?” Elliot asked. “We can’t just leave it in the tunnel.”

  “Why not?” Duke asked. “It’s not like it’s our problem anymore.”

  Lucas thought for a moment. “Elliot, take a few men and locate it. I disarmed the charge, so it’s no danger. And see if you can figure out what exactly it is – one of the prisoners might know. We might be able to use it somewhere down the road.”

  “Going off on a goose chase when it’s getting dark’s a poor idea,” Elliot said. “You can wait till morning. It’s not like you can track at night.”

  “I have a flashlight. I’ll make do.”

  Duke looked like he was going to protest again, but he held his tongue. Lucas regarded the others as though daring them to say anything, and then hurried from the tent to where Tango was tethered, and ordered a handler to saddle him up. He filled several bottles of water from one of the jugs and slid them into the saddlebags, and then led the big stallion toward the trail that led up to the duct, the M4 clutched in his free hand.

  When he arrived, the last of the sun’s rays were leaching from the darkening sky. Lucas oriented himself based on the positions of the corpses, ignoring the cloud of black flies buzzing around them, and walked Tango to the edge of the clearing. He knelt by the now rust-colored blood smear on the grass and scanned the area for more. He spotted a few dried drops several meters away and continued into the woods, his LED flashlight now switched on, its ghostly white beam playing over the ground in regular sweeps.

  It was completely dark when he came to a game trail. His eyes narrowed as he took in the tracks in the dirt. He looked back at Tango and knelt to touch the prints, and when he stood, he was frowning.

  “Two sets,” he whispered to the horse. “Good news is they’ll be easier to track than one.”

  Tango snorted as though in agreement, and Lucas nodded.

  “They’ve got a hell of a head start, though,” Lucas muttered. “Going to be a long night.” He played the flashlight beam along the trail, searching for the telltale drops of blood that confirmed the tracks belonged to his quarry, and followed the boot prints until he came to a russet smudge. One of the sets of prints was uneven in depth, indicating that less weight was being borne by that leg, and Lucas grinned humorlessly. At least one of Duke’s rounds had struck the Crew scum badly enough that he would be slowed by the wound, even if he was being helped by the deserter.

  “Come on, boy. Clock’s ticking,” he said, and tugged gently on Tango’s reins.

  Chapter 37

  West of Georgetown, Colorado

  The sun was a blazing disk over the eastern mountains when Snake stumbled against Eddy and moaned in pain. Eddy slowed and turned to Snake, who was using a sapling that Eddy had felled with his heavy-bladed survival knife to support himself. After stopping before dawn and chancing a small fire to heat his butterfly knife, he’d cauterized Snake’s wound and felled the tree to fashion a crutch while Snake had been unconscious from the agony of the procedure.

  “I need to rest again,” Snake managed through clenched teeth.

  “Bad idea. We need to keep moving.”

  “I need a break. Over there. There’s enough cover to hide us for ten or fifteen minutes.”

  Eddy didn’t argue. It was a minor miracle the Crew boss had made it this far. They’d been hiking through the night, and other than the hour lost stemming Snake’s bleeding, they’d been on the move more or less continuously, averaging what Eddy estimated had to be around a mile per hour. The distance would have been reassuring had it not been for the chance that some of the army would pursue them – albeit a distant possibility. But the thought of being caught deserting, which was an offense punishable by death, drove him forward, along with the desire to avoid having Snake captured, at which point Eddy’s forthcoming trove of gold would vanish and all his effort would have been for nothing.

  They made their way to the grove, and Snake slumped against one of the trees. Eddy followed suit, and Snake licked his parched lips.

  “Water,” he ordered.

  Eddy handed Snake his nearly empty canteen and watched him drain it without comment. He knew that the wounded man needed as much water as he could get so his body could replace the blood he’d lost. Their only lucky break so far was the river that ran along the highway, from which he’d been refilling his stores.

  “That was the last of it,” he said. “You want some more? I can fill it at the rapids,” he added, indicating the water rushing twenty-five yards away.

  “I can wait.” Snake paused. “You said there should be a town up ahead?”

  “Can’t be that much farther. The army was averaging fifteen miles a day. We’ve probably come nearly that far by now. But it’s probably deserted.”

  Snake nodded weakly. “Hope not. We need horses. I’m not going to be able to make it much longer.”

  The fever had started with the arrival of dawn. At first Snake had attributed the shaking and weakness to the trauma of the cauterization, but as the hours had worn on,
it had become obvious that they’d let the wound go untreated for too long and infection had set in. Snake removed the blood-soaked bandana that covered it and eyed the flesh around the puckered cavity, which was turning an angry red in a spreading ring.

  He closed his eyes to calm the fear that swelled his chest at the sight. Snake had seen enough men die from lesser injuries to know that if he didn’t get some drugs soon, he was finished. Which meant making it to Denver, where Elijah’s entourage still considered him an ally and so would be willing to treat him.

  That seemed an impossibility eighty miles away and limping along with no food, but even if they managed to make it, the threat of the army ransacking the city weighed heavily on him – it would do them no good to get to Denver only to be killed in a futile defense of the city.

  Eddy had tried to put Snake’s mind at ease by insisting the army wasn’t predatory, but Snake had brushed the claim aside. All armies had to be marauders in order to supply their needs, and he suspected that this one, for all its high-minded claims, would be no different – especially given that Denver’s leader had tried to murder them all, not once but twice. If Snake were in the army commander’s position, it would have been open season on Denver, and he couldn’t imagine that the population would escape the army’s wrath.

  Eddy intruded on Snake’s rumination. “Hey. You smell that?”

  Snake’s eyes popped open, and he managed a weak glare. “What are you talking about?”

  Eddy sniffed the air. “Smoke. I swear.”

  He stood and sniffed again as Snake watched him through narrowed eyes. “The army already?” Snake asked. “They’d have had to march all night. Why would they risk it?”

  “No, the wind’s blowing from the east. It’s coming from over there.”

  The only reason they’d made it this far was the highway they’d been following had sloped downhill for most of the journey, gravity’s subtle pull making their trek easier.

  Snake mustered the last of his energy reserves and pushed himself to his feet with great effort and a groan of agony. “If they’ve got a fire, they may have food.”