A nod. “Deadly.”
“Come on, then.”
They entered the mall through double glass doors, and the thug guided the rider and his mule over detritus and the scattered remains of stores to a furniture outlet that boasted a dozen men with assault rifles standing in front of it. They stepped out of the way at the sight of the rider to allow him in. The big man led him to the rear of the store, where an enormous figure with a gleaming bald head and arms the size of tree trunks sat on a sofa, smoking a hand-rolled joint.
“What the hell you want with me?” he barked. “And what’s that damn donkey doing in here? Thing smells like ass,” he said, and laughed loudly at his joke.
The rider nodded in agreement. “Amos, I presume. My name’s Brett. I’ve ridden from Las Vegas to see you. In those saddlebags you’ll find four hundred pounds of gold maple leafs as a token of our seriousness.”
Amos’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Who’s we?”
“A group you’ve no doubt heard rumors about. A group that’s survived for centuries and is the power behind the throne in all epochs.”
Amos took a long drag on the joint. “That so?”
“It is. And I come with a proposal. Tit for tat. The gold is to get your attention. I can offer something far more valuable than coins, though.”
“Like what?”
“Victory over your most hated rivals in Stockton, for starters. And after you’ve vanquished that area, over the rest of the Bay Area.”
Amos exhaled a cloud of pungent sweetness. “You must be smoking more of this than me. Where you get your stash? This shit’s played.”
“I’m serious.”
Amos sat back and blew smoke at the ceiling. “How the hell we gonna do that? Stockton’s got thousands of fighters. Hard cases. And weapons out the ass. We tried to take ’em three times, and they beat us back every time.”
“I can give you their heads on a plate. Access to anything you’ll need to win the fourth time.”
Amos grinned with good humor that never reached his eyes. “Yeah? Like what, a nuke?”
Brett smiled with similar warmth. “Not quite. But almost as good. The contents of the national guard armory here that was locked down during the collapse.”
Amos waved a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt. “We’ve tried everything to get in. Those doors are steel. A foot thick, at least. Maybe more. A torch wouldn’t dent it. Neither would explosives.”
Brett’s smile widened and he nodded again. “Yes. I’m sure they had no effect. But I have the keys.”
Amos sat upright, his eyes more alert. He licked his lips and considered his joint before framing his monosyllabic question. “How?”
It was Brett’s turn to wave. “That’s unimportant. What matters is that I do. Which means that everything inside can be yours.”
Amos studied Brett like he was seeing him for the first time. He put the joint in an ashtray and watched the smoke corkscrew into the air. When he spoke, his voice was deadly earnest. “What do you want?”
“We have a problem. You can solve it for us.”
Amos blinked. “What kind of problem?”
“Rumor has it that you have a working steam locomotive?”
Amos narrowed his eyes briefly before responding. “That’s right. One of my boys used to work on the thing before the collapse.”
“Can it haul five thousand men?”
“Where to?”
“Oregon.”
“That thing can haul anything. But why? What’s going on?”
“We have an enemy in Seattle. We received word from an informant that he’s going to try to make it to Salem with a large force. We need him ambushed and his force destroyed. No prisoners.”
“Five thousand men’s almost my entire crew. It’ll leave me defenseless here.”
“We’re aware of the strength of your group. That’s why we’re approaching you rather than one of the others. That, and you have the means to transport them quickly. Which makes you extremely valuable to us. As the offering of gold is intended to convey.” Brett paused. “Once you wipe out the Stockton gang, you aren’t going to have any need for a huge defense force. So that’s the priority. Then you take care of our errand, after which we’ll help you move on Oakland and San Francisco – you’ll be able to leave a group in the Pacific Northwest and take over as much of it as you like.” Brett paused and eyed Amos knowingly. “With what’s in the armory, Stockton will fall in a day.”
Amos grunted. “Okay. You got my attention. Tell me more about this enemy of yours that needs killin’.”
Chapter 6
Denver, Colorado
Elijah stared out over his gathered troops. His father’s white robe did little to insulate him from the mountain chill, but if the cold affected him, he gave no sign. His call had gone out to all his able-bodied men, and he’d assembled a fighting force nearly two thousand strong, equipped with weaponry and sufficient ammunition to overwhelm anything in its path. Benjamin, an ex-military officer who was his top tactician, was standing by his side in front of the convention center. The plaza before them was filled with humanity, their customary white replaced with clothes more suitable for the trail, and their horses were waiting nearby.
Benjamin cleared his throat and turned to Elijah. “We should probably get moving,” he said, his voice as gruff as his features were ruggedly chiseled.
“Yes. Of course. But first, a few words.” Elijah stepped forward and stretched his arms to the sides, forming a human cross for effect. “Men! You have answered the call, for which you will be blessed. My father gave his life to create a better world for us, and was rewarded for his efforts by being cut down by cowardly assassins as his plan was coming to fruition. Everyone here knows the story, so no need to belabor the details. Today we embark on a journey of revenge, acting as the sword of God. His wrath will know no bounds – either you are on his side or you are on the side of evil. The cursed members of the cult in what they call Shangri-La demonstrated which side they’re on. As servants of the Dark One, they must be punished, and we are the vehicle of punishment.”
Elijah paused for effect before continuing.
“We will be traveling to the den where these snakes live to eradicate each and every one of them. There can be no mercy. Our mission is a holy one, a crusade of the righteous against the forces of darkness. You are all, to a man, angels of justice, with the Holy Spirit guiding your bullets home. There can be no higher calling, no more noble pursuit, and I am honored to be riding with you to put an end to this blight on humanity once and for all.”
A murmur went up from the crowd, and Benjamin frowned as he leaned toward Elijah. “You’re coming with us? Perhaps that isn’t the wisest–”
Elijah continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard the older man. “You’re all making a supreme sacrifice, leaving your families, your loved ones, to bring justice to the miscreants in Shangri-La and put an end to their depraved worship of the prince of lies. Know as you ride that you are all knights destined for eternal reward for your service to the cause. As privileged survivors, it is our duty to root out Satan’s toeholds in this world and to right wrongs.
“My father was murdered because these sick animals were frightened of him and all he represented. As light drives out darkness, he was expunging a pestilence that was waiting to sweep across the land, and they could have none of that. So they took his life while he was on the threshold of his greatest triumph.” Another hesitation, and when Elijah resumed, his voice was louder and more confident. “That affront to all that’s holy will not go unpunished. We are the instruments of the Lord’s righteous wrath, and together we will eradicate the blasphemers to the last man!”
A cheer rose from the assembly, and fists thrust into the air at the prospect of the coming bloodshed. Benjamin tried again to get Elijah’s attention, but the young preacher seemed entranced by his own rhetoric and was beaming at the troops, oblivious to the military man’s discomfiture.
When Elijah turned to Benjamin, there was a manic gleam in his eye. “Wait for me. I need to pack a proper kit. Give me ten minutes.”
“I’m not sure the trail is a fitting place for the leader of the church. You’re needed here, to guide the flock during these troubled times,” Benjamin tried.
“Nonsense. I ride at the head of the greatest army this country’s ever seen. That’s the true place for a leader, not locked away in some musty building waiting for his men to carry out his wishes.”
“But the city–”
“The city will do fine in my absence for a week or two. The church is strong. Have a little faith, Benjamin.”
The older man did his best not to show his disapproval, but his effort was wasted – Elijah wasn’t paying any attention to him. Elijah spun and entered the church with a hand wave, leaving Benjamin to stare at his billowing white robe with his arms still outstretched, resembling a giant stork trying to take flight as he disappeared into the convention center’s depths. The crowd’s cheers followed him as he marched into the darkness, and Benjamin swallowed hard.
“All right,” Benjamin called out when the clamor had died down. “Everyone should know who their commanding officers are. We’ll organize into platoons, and you’re to take your orders from the platoon leader, who in turn will report to me. This may seem like a simple exercise, given our number, but for all of you who’ve never been in combat, there’s an old rule that summarizes what you’re going to see: there’s no substitute for planning, even if a plan is only good until the first shots are fired. We’re going to run this operation like a real army, which means organization and discipline, which can save your life. Anyone who’s got a problem with that, ride back home now – we won’t allow any insubordination once we’re on the move.”
Benjamin stared at the men, his eyes hard gray in the sunlight, and nodded when everyone remained in place awaiting his next orders. But his stern expression couldn’t completely mask his concern over Elijah accompanying them into the wilds and the possible disruption that might cause in the chain of command. The prophet’s son had no experience other than orating from the pulpit, and if he chose to insert himself into the decision-making process when it came to battle, it could be disastrous. Benjamin wasn’t looking forward to the discussion he’d be forced to have with his leader, but knew that he had no choice but to have it, and the knowledge soured his stomach even as he stood ramrod stiff, a model to his men.
Chapter 7
Seattle, Washington
Lucas paused at a run-down intersection clogged with wrecked cars that had been stripped of anything usable, their tires degraded to the point of disintegration by the sun, and looked around. He’d followed his instinct and made his way down a long straight street, taking his time, alert for any further ambush attempts. After an hour of dodging around the thousands of cars that filled the avenues, if he was any closer to his destination, he couldn’t tell. He’d been sure at first that he was making progress, but because of the height of the surrounding buildings, he couldn’t see anything to confirm he was close to his headquarters, and he’d grown increasingly frustrated at being hopelessly lost in a city he’d just helped liberate.
“What do you think?” he whispered to Tango, who snorted and shook his head at the question. The big horse had powered along tirelessly, but Lucas would need to get him some water sooner than later – not to mention his own stomach was growling.
Lucas caught movement in an upstairs window just on the periphery of his vision and pressed Tango forward as he ducked down. A shotgun blast reverberated off the gutted storefronts, and the windshield of a Chevrolet truck a few yards behind him exploded in a shower of glittering safety glass. Lucas leapt from the horse and darted into a double doorway and, when there was no more shooting, peered around the brick edge, M4 at the ready.
He scanned the building and spotted the barrel of a shotgun protruding from a second-floor window. Thumbing the firing selector to burst mode, he loosed a couple of three-round bursts at the window, tossed Tango’s reins over a bannister, and then sprinted across the street to the building’s dark entryway while the shooter was taking cover from his fire.
The interior of the building was dank and reeked of stale urine and rot. Mold had devoured much of the sheetrock walls, and the ceramic tile floor was littered with debris. Lucas took careful steps, avoiding the broken bottles, discarded syringes, and refuse that covered the ground. He stopped at a stairway at the rear that led to the second level, and cocked his head to listen before ascending.
When he could see over the second-floor slab, he eyed the long hall. The apartment doors that lined it had been staved in by looters and left in splinters. He continued up onto the landing with his M4 aimed down the corridor, and froze at the sound of footsteps approaching from one of the rooms. A glance around yielded no ready cover, and he knelt down in a combat crouch, ready to shoot whatever came through the doorway.
A small Asian man wearing little more than rags appeared at the threshold, clutching a cheap pump shotgun. He looked around, obviously agitated, and made for Lucas’s position, blind to Lucas in the darkness.
“Drop the gun or I shoot. No second chances,” Lucas said when he had the wiry man’s torso in the crosshairs.
The Asian froze for an instant and then threw the gun to the side and ran in the other direction. Lucas fired off a burst at the ceiling over the man’s head, and he stopped in his tracks, visibly cringing. He slowly pivoted to face Lucas, his hands in the air.
“Please. I…don’t shoot.”
Lucas straightened. “Anyone else in here?”
“N-no,” the man stammered.
“I should return the favor and plug you,” Lucas said.
“I…I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it when you’re trying to back shoot a man,” Lucas replied, and walked toward him, rifle trained on his head.
“It…it wasn’t personal. I’m…I’m desperate. No other choice.”
“Than to shoot anyone on the street?”
The man shook his head. “No. I’ve been tracking you for six blocks. You’re not just anyone. You’re the leader of the army. Lucas. There’s a price on your head.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. He stopped six feet from the man and studied him. Emaciated, probably late forties to early fifties, with a gaunt look of malnutrition that was all too familiar to Lucas. Hardly a credible threat now that the shotgun was on the floor.
“Turn around and put your hands on the wall. You try to kick me or do anything stupid, I’ll put a bullet in you.”
The man obliged, and Lucas performed a perfunctory frisking before stepping back.
“I don’t have any other weapons,” the man said.
“Tell me about this bounty. Who put it out on me?”
The man turned toward him. “I can help you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“My name’s Yi.”
Lucas’s frown hardened. “Didn’t ask. Last time: who put the price on my head?”
“You’re in a Chinese gang’s territory. Triad-affiliated. They want you dead.”
“Why?”
“They’re hiding some of the Chinese invasion force. Whether they want revenge for you foiling their plan, or to destroy your army’s leadership…does it really matter?”
“How many invaders?”
Yi shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. That’s just the word on the street. But they want you badly, and they’re willing to pay to get you.”
“And you thought you’d play bounty hunter?”
Yi nodded again. “I haven’t eaten in three days. I…I thought maybe I could get lucky. I said I was sorry.”
“You’re a lousy shot. And that scatter gun’s the wrong tool for the job.”
“I’m not an assassin.”
Lucas slowly lowered the rifle. “I’ll say.” He regarded Yi. “So this is some gang’s territory? How many more like you are on the street?”
; “I’m not part of the gang.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“They’ll have watchers on some of the corners. I can help you. I know where they’ll be.”
“Why so helpful?”
“I need food. And…gold.”
Lucas considered the desperate man. “How about I just shoot you and take my chances?”
“That would be foolish. And your army has both food and gold. It’s common knowledge.”
“You seem to know a lot about me. How did you know I’d be here and not downtown?”
“From a rumor that you were to meet with one of the other warlords. Word went out this morning. They want you dead. Who kills you doesn’t matter.”
“How much are they willing to pay?”
“Ten ounces of gold. A fortune.”
Lucas gave a grim smile. “I suppose I should be flattered.”
“I’ll guide you to safety for…three. And as much as I can eat.” Yi paused. “Please. We can help each other. It will cost you nothing but a token.”
Lucas grunted. “You can eat your fill once I’m safely back at our headquarters. You’re welcome to stick around if you like and join up – not that you’re what I’d call prime material. That’s the only offer you’re going to get.”
Yi’s face fell. “No gold?”
“Listen, you little runt. You tried to shoot me. You really expect me to give you a bunch of gold for your trouble?”
“How about two ounces, then?”
“How about a few grams of jacketed lead? You’re wearing on me.”
It was Yi’s turn to frown, and the skin of his face creased like a shar-pei. “Fine. I accept your offer.”
“Let’s get moving before the gunfire draws company.”
“That’s not unusual here.”
“You lead. I get a whiff of any sort of double cross and you’ll be the first to die.”
“I won’t betray you.”
“Move.”
Back on the sidewalk, Lucas whistled, and Tango came at a trot from around the corner. Lucas swung up into the saddle, his eyes and gun never leaving Yi. When he was seated, he motioned with the rifle. “Which way?”
The Day After Never - Legion (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 8) Page 4