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

by Russell Blake

  “Let’s try to get into the casino. If we can make it onto the roof, we can take them out,” Snake said.

  “I don’t know…” Eddy replied doubtfully.

  “I’m not going to make it another day, and we both know it. We need to deal with them now or we won’t be able to get to the trading post – and that’s my only chance.”

  “We could try to make it, and leave before they catch up to us.”

  Snake shook his head. “Stop arguing. It’ll be night before long, and they won’t be able to see us any more than we can see them. It’s now or never.” Snake winced in pain and probed his wound. “Do as I say or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  “So we try to get onto the roof? That’s the whole plan?”

  “Let’s look inside. Maybe there’s something else we could try. But that’s our best option right now.”

  The main entrance yawned like a black mouth as they neared, and Snake spurred his horse up the steps and into the interior, where its hooves crunched on debris. Eddy followed him in and they were immersed in darkness, the faint light from the entryway vanishing the deeper they went.

  “How do we get onto the roof?” Eddy asked.

  “How would I know? We need to find a service door or something.”

  “I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

  Snake reined to a stop and dropped heavily from the saddle. “Help me look for one.” Snake paused. “How far back do you think they are?”

  “I don’t know. Not far. Maybe a mile, mile and a half.”

  “Then we’re short on time. Move it.”

  Lucas had caught sight of the pair an hour earlier but had hung back. With the approaching dusk they’d likely be hunkering down for the night, and it would be far easier to sneak up on them while they were stationary than to try to hit them while they were on horseback.

  He watched as they rode hard toward the buildings and disappeared inside. Lucas couldn’t think of many reasons for the burst of effort other than that they’d spotted him, but he didn’t want to assume anything, and so continued his approach in a stealthy manner.

  When he was a hundred yards from the casino, he lashed Tango to a tree and crept the rest of the way on foot. At the entrance, he paused and listened for any hint of movement inside. After thirty seconds of silence, with the only sound the soft moan of the wind through the abandoned husk, he stepped inside and swept the space with his rifle.

  The casino’s slot machines were strewn haphazardly across the floor where looters had left them as they’d ransacked the building. His boots crunched on glass fragments and he froze, his senses hypersensitive.

  A horse snorted somewhere in the depths, and he remained immobile, finger on the trigger guard of his M4. When nothing happened, he switched on the night vision scope, which he’d charged with his solar array before the battle, and slowly scanned the surroundings in the device’s green glow.

  The debris in the casino was worse than he’d imagined before the scope revealed the true level of destruction, and he struggled to make out anyone in the hundreds of downed one-armed bandits. Movement drew his attention halfway along the mammoth hall, and he settled the crosshairs on a horse before shifting his aim past it to where a rifle barrel jutted from one of the doorways.

  He held still, hoping for the shooter to make a mistake and reveal himself, and he didn’t have to wait long. A man’s head appeared as he took aim at Lucas, who squeezed off two rounds that vaporized part of the gunman’s skull.

  A dozen rounds punched into the machines around Lucas, and he dove for cover, confirming that the second man was also in the building. Lucas hit the concrete hard and brought his gun to bear on the shooter’s position, and loosed a half dozen shots of his own at the rubble pile behind which the gunman had fired.

  Lucas’s ears rang from the explosions in the enclosed space as he waited for the shooter to make the next move. The darkness was a powerful ally given his NV scope, and one-on-one it was only a matter of time before the gunman slipped up and Lucas put him down for good.

  One minute stretched into three with no further shooting, and Lucas adjusted his aim to better take in the area where he’d last seen his attacker. Beyond the pile of debris were what looked like a restaurant and some private gaming rooms, but an entire area of his field of vision was blocked by the heap of detritus the gunman had hidden behind.

  He glanced at his watch but resisted the urge to show himself again. Time was on his side, and all he had to do was remain alive and wait the man out. He slowed his breathing and remained vigilant, but after another five minutes began to doubt whether the shooter was still there.

  Lucas slowly rose to one knee, watching the pile through the scope, and moved as silently as he could. He inched closer, crouching low. When he reached the debris, there was nobody there, and he swore silently. What he’d hoped would be a short gun battle would now require him to search a complex that could easily take an hour, during which time his quarry might be riding away. Even with the scope, tracking a rider on asphalt would be difficult, and once outside, he would be easy prey for a sniper – his advantage of surprise lost.

  Lucas moved over to the man he’d shot and shook his head. It wasn’t the Crew thug, so it had to be the deserter.

  Forty-five minutes later he’d searched every room. Aside from the dead man’s horse, there was no sign of any other animals or the second shooter. Lucas debated continuing to track him, but once outside in the moonlight abandoned the idea – he’d be a sitting duck if the gunman was waiting for him, which he could surmise was a good bet.

  He resigned himself to having to wait until morning, and returned to where Tango was waiting. He led the horse along the river back the direction he’d come, and stopped at a crumbling building where he settled in for a long sleepless night, the steady tattoo of rain on the metal roof as loud as a snare drum.

  The storm blew past shortly before dawn, and Lucas and Tango were moving at first light. When he reached the casino, the dead man’s horse had bolted, but everything else was exactly as he’d left it. A cursory look at the road north revealed that the storm had erased any possibility of picking up the Crew thug’s trail, but he nevertheless spent the morning searching the main buildings along the river before giving up.

  He patted Tango’s neck before climbing into the saddle. “That’s it, boy,” he said. “Time to get back to business. We gave it our best shot.”

  After a final look at the washed-out highway, he reluctantly swung the stallion’s head around and pointed him south, where with any luck he would be able to intercept the army on the main highway as it marched toward Denver.

  Chapter 41

  Snake’s teeth were chattering and he was slumped low in the saddle when he reached the trading post, which was as dark as the surrounding mountains except for trees of occasional lightning that flashed across the sky. A glow emanated from the building’s windows, and Snake guided his horse to the gate that punctuated high walls, and jerked on a rope that hung near it. A bell clamored from housing halfway to the trading post, and he waited for someone to come as the low rumble of thunder shook the ground.

  Two men strode from the front door with assault rifles.

  “We’re closed, buddy,” one of them growled as they approached the gate.

  “I know,” Snake said. “But I need help. I’m wounded and I have to get some antibiotics.”

  “Didn’t you hear him?” the other said. “We’re closed. Come back at sunup.”

  “I won’t make it that long. At least tell me if you have anything.”

  “What do you have to trade?” the first man demanded.

  “Ammo. Weapons. Gold. Whatever it takes.”

  “You got gold on you?” the man asked, his expression skeptical.

  “Yes. Not a lot. But it won’t do me any good if I die of infection, so I’ll make it worth your while if you have something I can take.”

  The men looked at each other, and the grumpier of the
two nodded. “Hand over your weapons and we’ll open the gate. But you’d better have gold or you’ll regret bugging us.”

  “Do you have any antibiotics?”

  “We’re opening up, ain’t we?” the second man said.

  Snake passed his guns through the gate and the barrier creaked open. He rode into the courtyard, which was a parking lot with a tall wall around it, pulling his spare horse with him. When he dismounted, he nearly fainted from pain and clutched his saddle for support until the spell passed.

  “You wasn’t kidding about being in a bad way, huh?” the second man said.

  “No.”

  “Where you hit?”

  Snake indicated the side of his abdomen. “What do you have?”

  The first trader mounted the steps to the trading post. “Get in here and I’ll show you.”

  Snake accompanied the men into the building, which was illuminated by a pair of LED lanterns, and the first trader moved to a steel cabinet and opened one of the double doors. He rooted around inside and removed a white plastic bottle, peered at the name, and then turned and set it on the counter.

  “Penicillin. Expired three years ago, but should still be plenty potent.”

  “You don’t have anything newer?”

  “You want it or not? That’s all we have.”

  “How many pills?”

  “Fifteen. Still factory-sealed. And it’s cool in here year round, so they’ll be stronger than if they’d been stored wrong.” He named a price in gold that was ten times too high.

  Snake frowned and glanced beyond the big man to where a radio sat. “That thing work?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I’ll give you a quarter ounce for the pills and fifteen minutes of time.”

  “Maybe you don’t hear so good. I said half ounce for the bottle.”

  “I’ve only got a quarter ounce. But I can give you a couple of magazines of .223 or 7.62, too.”

  The men exchanged a glance. “Deal.”

  Snake felt in his flak vest pockets for one of the smaller coins and, when he felt the dime-size ridge, withdrew it and set it on the counter beside the pills. The first trader held it up, inspected it, and then bit it before smiling malevolently.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “You must really be hurting.”

  “Deal’s a deal. Got any water to wash them down with?”

  “I think we can muster some up. Where are the magazines?”

  “Saddlebags. You can have them when I leave.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The second trader walked to an ice chest and removed a plastic bottle while the first walked to the radio and powered it on. Snake opened the pill container, read the dosing instructions, and then shook out two, figuring that a double dose might have the strength of a single in unexpired terms. He washed them down with water when the trader handed him the bottle, and then pocketed the pills and walked to the radio.

  “Know how to work this?” the first trader asked.

  “Sure. How about a little privacy?”

  The men stepped away and conferred, and the larger one nodded. “You bet. Fifteen minutes. We’ll be right outside. Don’t touch anything or we’ll take the pills and keep the gold for our time and trouble, understand?”

  Snake nodded. When they left, pulling the front door closed behind them, he tuned the transmitter to the frequency the Illuminati had given him and spoke the words he’d memorized.

  He didn’t have to wait long for a response.

  “Repeat,” a voice said in his headphones.

  Snake did so, and heard nothing but static for several moments. “Stand by.”

  A new voice came on ninety seconds later. “Speak.”

  “I was told to make contact if I made any progress.”

  “Who’s speaking?”

  “Snake. From Texas.”

  Another pause. “Switch to the following frequency.” The voice rattled off a number, and Snake twisted the tuner to it and spoke into the microphone.

  “Anyone there?”

  “Yes. You have news?”

  “The targets are on the move at the head of a five-thousand-strong army. They’re headed to Houston by the main highway from Oklahoma.”

  “What’s their objective?”

  “They plan to drive the cartel out of the city.”

  “Why?”

  “They want the fuel that the cartel’s producing,” Snake said with a frown. “Fuel they wouldn’t be making if it hadn’t been for me.”

  The voice didn’t speak for thirty seconds. “Where are you?”

  “Near Denver.”

  “Do you have a breakdown of their strength?”

  “Around fifteen hundred cavalry, with the rest infantry. But a lot of heavy ordnance. Probably National Guard or something.”

  “Any idea why they need fuel?”

  Snake cleared his throat. “Listen. I’m wounded. I need some help. I’m almost out of gold, and I need a doctor. You want more information, you need to get me someone or I’m not gonna make it.”

  “I asked a question.”

  “Which I’ll answer if you can help me. If not, that’s all you get.”

  A long silence. “Where in Denver are you?”

  “Outside of town. But I’m mobile. For now.”

  “Let me see what assets we have there. It will take some time, though. Can you contact us again in the morning?”

  Snake exhaled raggedly. It was more than he’d expected. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll relay your report. Contact us again on this frequency in eight hours.”

  “Will do.”

  Snake memorized the frequency and inched the dial past it, and then shut down the radio. When the traders reappeared, his olive skin was sickly pale.

  “You open at sunup?” he asked.

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “You got a barn or something where I can stay the night? There’s another magazine in it for you.”

  The head trader shook his head. “Sorry. We aren’t a hotel.”

  “Two more magazines. Please.” Snake looked out one of the windows. “You can see it’s raining. I’ll never make it to morning outside.”

  “Plenty of abandoned houses, buddy. Sorry. No can do. Now let’s see the magazines.”

  Snake walked unsteadily outside and down the steps to where the horses were standing in the rain. He opened one of the saddlebags, removed a thirty-round magazine, and handed it to the first trader, who hefted it in his free hand with a grin.

  Snake felt in the bag again, but when his hand came out, it held a Cobra Arms CB38 dual-barrel derringer. The big trader’s eyes bugged out at the sight. Snake shot him between the eyes and then spun and fired the second round in the two-round pistol into the second man’s temple.

  “Should have taken my offer,” Snake said, and knelt by the first trader to feel in his breast pocket and retrieve his coin.

  Five minutes later he’d used his horse to drag the bodies behind one of the smaller buildings and was standing, soaked, in the trading post. He walked to one of the doors and opened it, and found an array of military fatigues and other clothes, along with a survivalist’s dream of trail gear. He stripped down and ferreted through the garments until he found some that fit; once clothed, he searched for a first aid kit in the steel cabinet. As he expected from the penicillin, the traders had a good selection, and he swabbed and redressed his wound with clean gauze, wincing as he wrapped it multiple times around his waist.

  Next were the pills. He read labels and tossed bottles on the floor as he emptied the cabinet, and paused when he came across another container of antibiotics – this one only expired a year. He pocketed it and continued until he found some expired Vicodin. He popped a couple into his mouth and choked them down, and then collapsed on one of the sofas with a nearly new M16 from one of the gun cabinets for company, exhausted by his recent exertion. He opened the newer antibiotics and took a couple for good measure,
and closed his eyes with a sigh. The searing pain in his side had been reduced to a dull ache by the drugs, though his breathing was still shallow and his brow gleamed with sweat. Within minutes he was snoring softly over the patter of falling rain.

  Chapter 42

  Denver, Colorado

  Elliot rode point alongside Duke, the way before them cleared by advance scouts who returned regularly to report on conditions ahead. They were skirting the city, sticking to the highway that ran south to the main interstate that would take them to the crossroad that led to Oklahoma – a route they’d decided on after studying the maps, given the sparse population on the way to Texas. Duke had advised against traveling through New Mexico due to the likelihood of someone working for the cartel or the Crew tipping them off, and Elliot had concurred that prudence was the order of the day.

  The troops had settled into a routine that covered twenty miles per day on the downhill trek, and they’d made good time to Denver. They’d discussed avoiding the city out of concern the citizenry would take up arms and ambush them, but so far they’d seen few people, and those had all been moving fast away from the army, as though afraid of being attacked.

  “You sure Lucas will be able to catch up to us?” Elliot asked, by way of idle conversation.

  “He should be able to cover five more miles per day than we’re doing, so sure, assuming he doesn’t ride to Canada before heading our way.”

  “What do you think about making camp here for a few days to wait for him?”

  Duke shook his head. “That wasn’t his instruction. He knew what he was facing. He’ll catch up.”

  “You’re probably right. It’s just that…”

  “I know. What’s the hurry, right? Problem is that every day we aren’t on the move, we’re burning through tonnage of supplies, and they aren’t infinite. So we can’t afford to waste even an hour.”

  Elliot sighed. “It’s amazing how much we burn through in a day. And I thought Shangri-La was demanding.”