The Day After Never - Legion (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 8)

by Russell Blake

  Chapter 11

  Amber Hot Springs, Colorado

  Elliot sat by a smoldering campfire with his advisors, obviously tired, his face creased with fatigue. The discussion had been ongoing since Arnold and Julie had rescued Eve, but now that an enemy patrol had made it to their enclave, Elliot’s sense of urgency had mounted. He’d called this meeting to decide whether to stay and defend their camp or go in search of something else.

  It was obvious that nobody wanted to uproot and move if they didn’t have to, but with Denver capable of raising a large army, Elliot was increasingly convinced that they had no choice.

  “Look, I understand everyone’s reluctance,” he said. “But no matter how well defended we are, we’re not going to be able to counter a sustained attack by thousands. It would be the end of us, no matter how heavy the damage we were able to inflict. And there are the women and children to consider.”

  Arnold spoke up from across the fire pit. “We have to assume they’re going to come at us hard, which means an army. Elliot’s right. It would be a massacre.”

  Elliot nodded. “So the question isn’t whether we need to move. It’s really where to go. It has to be something sustainable through the winter and hopefully hospitable and defensible enough that we can put down real roots for good. Now that we’ve completed our vaccine distribution, secrecy isn’t as much of an issue, so it’s more about the best candidate area than anything.”

  After another half hour, a decision was made to make an overture to the inhabitants of the most promising location: Provo, Utah.

  Edwin, one of the Shangri-La scouts who had been chartered with distributing the vaccine, had traveled there recently and had nothing but heartening reports about how the survivors were thriving. He described his two weeks among the population, and his report was passionate and glowing – it sounded perfect, not the least of which was its proximity to the Provo River and Provo Lake, both of which had abundant fish, and which the scout said provided water for numerous agricultural projects the survivors had undertaken since the collapse.

  While it was 350 miles from Shangri-La, the distance could be traveled in under three weeks, and the highway west was said to be in reasonable shape. The area was one of the few that hadn’t been taken over by criminal warlords or fanatical despots, although it was deeply religious and what served as the government was guided by faith, although not in any destructive manner.

  The problem would be gaining the population’s approval to integrate into the city. The scout had been welcomed due to his precious cargo, and had been impressed by the community’s tolerance and openness, but he’d also seen numerous travelers turned away and discouraged from setting up camp nearby. The city council was jealously protective of what they’d built, and didn’t relish outsiders introducing problems or conflict.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Edwin said. “They’re not aggressive or militant, but they do have a hell of a militia, and they’re well trained and serious. It would be impossible to force ourselves on them – we’d have to get the council’s approval to settle there. I talked to some of the members when I was with them, and they at least seemed open to the idea, if not excited about it.” He hesitated and looked around the gathering. “But Provo’s got a lot going for it, as I’ve said. Worst thing are the winters, but compared to what we’ve been through, it would be like a Hawaiian vacation.”

  Arnold suggested sending Duke along with Edwin to propose a move to the residents, and Elliot could see no negative other than the amount of time it would take to travel to Utah.

  “I’m sure we’ll be able to find a radio once we’ve reached Provo,” Edwin said. “We know they’ve got some – there are a few operators we’ve spoken with, who helped coordinate the vaccine distribution.”

  The meeting adjourned, and Elliot made for his office cabin, where the radio transmitter was set up. He had his operator send a coded transmission every half hour on the channel Duke had been asked to monitor, and as night fell, Duke replied, speaking in veiled language and using the substitution cypher they normally employed. Elliot conveyed to him that he wanted him to travel to Provo and make an overture for relocation, and that the scout would meet him at a strategic point on the route through the mountains.

  “When do you want me to go?” Duke asked.

  “We had an unexpected visit a little while ago, so it would probably be best to make it a priority. Our friend will be waiting for you within two days at the coordinates.” Elliot paused. “Did you move your enterprise?”

  “10-4. Up the road a spell.”

  “Might want to warn your partner about our uninvited guests.”

  “You read my mind.”

  When Duke signed off, Elliot knew that he would unscramble the name of his destination as well as the spot where the scout would be waiting, and would be en route at first light. He was glad that Duke had taken the prudent step of relocating, as he’d indicated he’d been contemplating, but was concerned that he might be steamrollered when the Denver cult powered toward the hot springs.

  Elliot exited the cabin and inhaled the crisp mountain air. He paused and looked around at the dwellings that his compatriots had created with little more than their hands and the sweat of their brow. The outpost was a remarkable achievement, and he felt no small twinge of remorse at having to ask everyone to undertake yet another dangerous and lengthy trek. But there was no other alternative he could see. Staying and making a last stand was out of the question, even though a vocal minority was in favor of it – mainly the younger men who’d survived the battle with the Crew and believed themselves to be bulletproof and invulnerable now that the horror of the rout had faded. Elliot had a more accurate memory of that engagement and remembered like yesterday how it had claimed many of their best.

  Regardless of the bravado of the young bulls, his job was to herd his flock to safety, not to lead them to slaughter.

  He just hoped that they would have time to make the move without leaving obvious tracks, like they’d managed on the trek from Pagosa Springs. The problem now was that their number had been radically reduced from the fight with the Crew, and some of his most capable trackers had perished – and trackers were the best at covering the signs of passage since they knew what would give them away to others.

  He exhaled and stretched his arms over his head, and then set off for his modest dwelling for a simple meal of rabbit stew and spring water. Later, he wound up tossing and turning through the night, pursued by unforgiving demons of his past and the specter of an uncertain future.

  Chapter 12

  Galveston, Texas

  Six figures skulked in the gloom near an old beachfront hotel, now partially in ruins, the area dimly aglow from faint moonlight. Wood smoke from cooking fires lingered on a light breeze as they made their way toward the antique building on foot. Their horses trailed behind them, led by the last in the group. Occasional distant gunshots interrupted the night calm, but that didn’t slow the men, their hats pulled low over their brows, AK-47s carried with easy familiarity.

  A voice called from the darkness. “Stop and identify yourselves.”

  The leader of the group, a heavyset man with swarthy skin and a thick black mustache, paused. “Julio and amigos. Here to see Wink,” he said in heavily accented English.

  “Lower your weapons.”

  The group did, and four heavily armed men in leather vests appeared from the darkness, rifles trained on the group. “No weapons inside. You can leave them with us. We’ll watch your horses.”

  Julio exchanged a glance with the man beside him and shrugged. “Sure.”

  One of the gunmen approached the group and collected the assault rifles. “Pistols too.”

  Julio sighed and handed over a gold-plated Colt 1911. The others followed suit, and when they’d tendered their guns, Julio smirked. “We done? We’ve ridden a long way.”

  “He’s in there,” one of the guards said, indicating the hotel with the barrel of his rifle.
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br />   The group trouped into the old building and followed the faint glow of torchlight to what had once been the hotel’s main conference room.

  “Grab a seat,” a big man with hair close cropped to his skull said from behind a desk the size of a grand piano.

  Julio did as instructed, and the others pulled up chairs around him, facing the speaker, whose face was heavily tattooed with prison ink, his left eye a sightless white orb in a puckered socket.

  “Señor Wink,” Julio said, “an honor to finally meet in person. Your messengers have been most efficient, but it’s always better to eliminate the middleman, no?”

  Wink nodded. “Likewise. So you thought over my proposal?”

  Julio looked at his companions and allowed himself a small smile beneath his moustache. “We have. It is most intriguing. But we have several questions that your messengers were unable to answer satisfactorily.”

  “Well, now’s a good time to field them,” Wink said evenly.

  “The most obvious is, how do we know that you have the influence and the manpower to succeed in your attempted coup?”

  Wink nodded again. “Reasonable question. Look, I was one of the top dogs under Magnus. For years I ran half of Houston for him, so I know everybody. I’ve been talking to my former buddies for months, and they’re ready to get rid of Snake. He’s a loose cannon and he’s way out of his depth. He’s a liability to the Crew, and anyone with a brain knows it. Once this starts, most of the gang will side with me. Thousands of men are all fed up.”

  “Yes, we’ve heard this from your messengers. But how can we know it’s all true? No disrespect intended.”

  “Check on me. Ask around. I may be stuck in Galveston now, running a nothing backwater, but my history’s well known.”

  “We have. That’s why we’re here.”

  “You’ll just have to take my word for it at the end of the day. I have at least two hundred men here who are loyal to me. I have ten times that number in Houston who would help me once it’s obvious what’s going down.”

  “You’ve asked us for logistical support – men and weapons. Why, if your base is so sound?”

  “There will be pockets of undecided fighters. I want them to be completely overwhelmed. I don’t have enough men here to accomplish that. It’ll be a chain reaction. First, we make our move. Most will hold back on choosing a side, waiting to see who’s likely to win. When they see the Snake loyalists being butchered, it’ll make deciding to back me way easier.”

  The cartel leader grunted. “Assuming we do this, we have some conditions.”

  “As I expected you to.”

  “If we dedicate a thousand men to your fight, when it is over, we will have final say over major decisions. And we will take half of all profits. That will leave you at the head of the Crew, but part of a bigger group. Our cartels run Mexico, have taken El Paso, and are positioned to take over the other key border towns. Between your gang here and in Louisiana, and ours controlling everything south of the border, we’d effectively be running an area the size of a country. We have decades of experience doing so. You don’t.” Julio paused. “That’s our condition. You become part of our group, although you continue to be the Crew to outsiders.”

  “Why would I give up half of everything?” Wink snapped. “That’s loco.”

  “No, it isn’t. You can’t achieve this without our support. We both know it. That’s why you’ve been trying to get us to back you for months. So let’s just understand that if we help you take over the Crew, you wouldn’t be there unless we got you there. Our percentage isn’t negotiable. It’s all or nothing.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “We’ll continue to take your territory, and if you ever manage to pull this off, we won’t be giving it back. You’ll be our enemy, not an associate. And we deal harshly with adversaries.”

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  “It is a statement of fact. We took El Paso, and your group has been unable to get it back. We own it now. We move around Texas as we like, and the Crew forces can do nothing to stop us. Your men lack leadership. Distrust is common, as are petty rivalries. We have no such problems. It is just a matter of time until we have a hundred percent of your territory. But we’re willing to allow you to keep half in order to accelerate the process.”

  Wink considered the men in front of him without expression. Unlike many of the top Crew bosses, he’d gone to college and had only turned hard once behind bars after a triple homicide when one of his drug deals had gone wrong. As a cartel-affiliated importer of meth, heroin, and cocaine, he’d built up a distribution network that cleared seven figures a month, but it had all fallen apart when he’d been the victim of a sting operation by the Houston police. When he and his men had gunned down three undercover cops as the deal came apart, he’d been caught dead to rights and imprisoned on death row, where he’d turned to prison ink and bodybuilding to pass the time.

  A jailhouse fight before he’d been sentenced had blinded him in one eye, and the authorities had added on the death of his attacker to his toll. He’d been fond of joking that they could only fry him once. He’d become close with Magnus while on the row, and that had carried into the new world when the collapse had resulted in the prisons emptying. Wink had been one of the most loyal of the Crew’s founders…until Snake had seized power and banished him to Galveston, out of the way and far enough from the seat of power to not be a threat.

  Now that idiot was destroying everything Wink and Magnus had built. That couldn’t stand.

  Wink weighed the option he was being presented. The Crew would be relegated to the U.S. operating arm of the cartels, effectively taking orders from them and paying tribute. But the cartel boss was right – it was just a matter of time until the more powerful and aggressive Mexicans took by force what they were offering to Wink as a concession, and paying him what amounted to a management fee for operating their domestic franchise.

  While his ego hated the idea, was it really so bad? The alternative was remaining the commander of a fishing town with a limited future that was an afterthought to Houston, and which would eventually cease to be even a faint satellite of real power.

  “Half is excessive,” Wink replied.

  Julio grinned. “You don’t have to accept fifty percent. We can always take more.”

  Wink laughed. “How soon could you get your men into position?”

  “Two days.”

  Wink swallowed hard and fixed the cartel chief with his good eye. “You drive a hard bargain, but I agree.”

  “The rumors about you are true. You are a smart man.” Julio sat back. “Now we discuss your plan. Tell me, my friend, how do you plan to unseat this Snake, who from what I understand is surrounded by guards and is paranoid about his own shadow?”

  “More than half his men would gladly string him up and set him on fire. We just need to create a suitable diversion, and then we can flush him out of his headquarters in the confusion. Simultaneously, your men will attack specific points throughout the city, which I’ll identify for them. It’ll be over before it even starts.”

  “This diversion. What do you have in mind?”

  It was Wink’s turn to smile. “Something that will stop his guard contingent in its tracks and have them chasing their own tails while we overrun the building.”

  They discussed Wink’s plan for an hour, and by the time the Mexicans left, an agreement had been reached. Two days later Snake would cease to be, and Wink would take his rightful place as the head of the Crew – even if it had been gutted by the cartel, still a position of considerable power that would enable Wink to live a life that would have been the envy of medieval royalty.

  Wink looked around the dingy conference room and exhaled heavily. His exile was almost over, and with it his humiliation. He was sick to his stomach at being in charge of a place that stank of fish and decay, whose only value was as a food source for Houston. That Wink had been relegated to a position as insulting as this spoke
to Snake’s lack of judgment, as well as his vindictiveness.

  For Wink, vengeance would taste as sweet as honey and would be worth the stiff price the Mexicans had demanded, he was sure.

  “Bart! Bring me a bottle of the good stuff!” he called through the doorway, and sat back with his eye closed, imagining Snake’s charred remains hanging from the rafters of the church the Crew used as its headquarters. The vision brought a smile to his lips, which he had to muster all his willpower to erase when his assistant entered with a scratched bottle of locally brewed rum.

  Chapter 13

  Seattle, Washington

  Lucas strode through the interior of the hospital that was being used as the medical triage area for those wounded in the battle with the Chinese invaders. He’d asked at the mess tent for Yi and been directed to the hospital, where the little man had been put to use tending to the injured.

  Even with a fair number of personnel with medical backgrounds, judging by the looks of the casualties, many wouldn’t make it. They’d been administered antibiotics, and those with the most grievous injuries had been given transfusions from neutral donors who’d volunteered their fluids, but there were limitations that even a reasonably well-equipped surgical suite couldn’t overcome, and the rooms he moved through reeked of rotting flesh and death.

  Clouds of black flies colored the air like inky smoke when he entered a large hall where the wounded lay on cots like cordwood, attended to as well as the nurses could manage. Moans and racking coughs greeted him as men drifted in delirium. He couldn’t move through the area quickly enough, his gag reflex triggered by the time he made it to the far exit.

  A hatchet-faced man looked up at him from where he was transferring fluid from a bottle to a large pot. Lucas nodded to him.

  “Pretty grim in there,” Lucas observed.