“Let’s see what’s going on in there,” Arnold said. “Maybe they have a kitchen set up or something?”
“Worth a shot,” Lucas allowed. He unslung his M4 and laid it inside his tent, noting the bullet holes from the other night. “Not going to do well in the next rain.”
“Mine’s fine,” Sierra said. “I don’t mind sharing.”
“That’s the spirit,” Arnold said with a wink at Lucas, more relaxed now that he’d completed his mission.
They walked together to the entrance, where music was emanating from inside – by the sound of it, a bluegrass band, complete with fiddler. A pair of men with the faces of undertakers stood at the entry and nodded a greeting to the newcomers.
“Howdy, folks. Welcome, welcome,” one of them said. “Be three rounds apiece, all you can eat, free entertainment. A bargain at twice the price.”
“What’s on the menu?” Lucas asked.
“Beans, stew, juice, lemonade, fresh baked bread with honey. All the fixin’s. Like grandma used to make.”
Lucas counted out nine rounds of the 9mm he used for barter purposes and handed them to the greeter. The other man tied a length of dirty red string around their wrists and stepped back to allow them to enter. “Enjoy. Preacher starts up in about fifteen minutes. He’s amazing, he is,” the man said with a Creole accent.
“Good to know,” Lucas said, and ducked into the tent with Sierra, Arnold tailing them.
Inside were several hundred people, most of them gaunt from the deprivations of the post-collapse life, but wearing clean clothes, the men’s hair roughly cut and most with it greased back, the majority of the women with kerchiefs over modest braids or modestly trimmed styles. Many wore long dresses that were obviously homemade, and a few clutched Bibles to their chests, eyes burning with inner light as they studied Sierra with disapproval.
Lucas knew they looked like they’d been dragged behind the horses, but removed his hat as a concession, as did Arnold. Sierra ignored the scrutiny of the females and nudged Lucas in the ribs. “Smell that? Food! My mouth is already watering.”
“Let’s take a look at what they’ve got.”
They walked to the side of the tent where collapsible tables had been set up and a line of stern-faced women were ladling out heaping portions. They stood in the queue and collected dented metal plates from the end of the first table, and a boy with grubby hands set a square of yellow bread on each. “Corn bread,” he explained. “Honey’s over yonder.”
“Thanks,” Sierra said with a smile, which faded when she met the gaze of the first serving woman.
“Beans?” the server snapped.
“Please.”
The woman dipped her ladle into a steaming pot the size of a beer keg and dumped a portion onto their plates. The next did the same with the stew after answering Lucas’s question as to what kind it was with a tight frown. “Meat.”
They found a spot on a wooden bench and Sierra went for lemonade. She returned with a pair of red plastic disposable cups, set one beside Arnold, and then sat next to Lucas, who had waited for her to begin eating. Arnold mumbled a thanks as he mopped up beans and stew with a wedge of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
The food was better than anything they’d had since they’d left Colorado, and they cleaned their plates in record time – just as a buzz went up from the crowd and people began heading toward the folding chairs in the center of the tent. Lucas and Sierra lifted their heads, and Arnold leaned toward them. “I feel like I’m going to explode. Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be outside keeping John company.”
He rose and carried his plate back to the serving women and asked where the latrines were, and then trundled toward the exit, patting his stomach. Sierra and Lucas did the same with their plates, and Sierra took Lucas’s hand and pulled him to the chairs. He shook his head, but she gave his fingers a tug. “Come on. I’ve never been to one of these. Maybe it’ll be interesting.”
“Been a long time since I had a full night’s sleep, Sierra.”
“Just a little while. I promise.”
He saw the pleading in her eyes and acquiesced, reckoning that it had been a while since either of them had done anything that wasn’t drudgery or risking death. They took a seat at the back of the gathering just as a tall man in a frock coat entered through a flap in the back of the tent and strode purposefully to a podium that looked like it had been liberated from a local school.
The preacher’s assistants led the crowd through a few hymns, and when everyone had quieted down, he ran his fingers over his balding head and glared at the gathering like they’d stolen his wallet.
“The devil walks the earth, ladies and gentlemen. Just as the Good Book said he would. Lucifer! The Bringer of Light! Prince of Lies! Old Club Foot! He’s here with us right now, in this very room. Can you feel him? Can you feel his cold fingers on your heart?” he cried in a loud voice that increased in volume as he spoke. “You are all, every one of you, his helpers! He’s visited his wrath upon all of you as your punishment for not having the strength to cast him out.”
“Oh, brother,” Lucas whispered, and Sierra kicked him.
“Now I don’t have to tell any of you all what happens when you get into bed with the devil. You can just look around and see it everywhere. You get the four horsemen. You get your disease, your pestilence, your famine…and his right-hand man, the grim reaper. That’s your reward for having sin in your hearts. And you all do. You know it, I know it, your neighbors know it.” The preacher slammed his hand down on the Bible he’d placed on the podium and lowered his voice. “You have consorted with the king of the underworld, the number one demon, and he’s punishing you for your trouble. That’s fact, just as plain as day, so understand what brought this about. We been wicked for so long our Father hardly recognized the place, so he turned his back on us and said…”
The crowd hung on his pause, holding its collective breath.
The preacher leaned forward, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. “To HELL with you!”
The throng gasped, the hook set.
Lucas’s neck tingled and he looked around, searching for what had set off his alarm. At the far side of the gathering, a rough-looking man with black hair was staring at him and quickly averted his eyes when Lucas spied him. Lucas frowned and looked back at the preacher, who was raising a hand over his head in preparation for another spellbinding volley.
The watcher’s interest could have been nothing – he and Sierra were obviously road-weary, dressed differently, and thus would arouse the curiosity of locals. But Lucas wasn’t in the habit of dismissing his instincts so blithely, and his hand reached for his Kimber.
The oration went on for an hour, and by the time the sprightly preacher had finished, Lucas had been subjected to enough fire and brimstone to last him into his next life. He had to hand it to the preacher, though – he had mastered the art of hypnotic delivery, and Sierra had, like the rest, seemed entranced by his every word.
The man who’d been staring at him hadn’t shown any further interest in them, and Lucas had gradually relaxed, ascribing the scrutiny to benign curiosity. A hat was passed and the crowd dropped bullets into it while the final hymns rose from their lips, and Lucas took the opportunity to rise, reaching for Sierra.
“You coming?” he asked.
She took his hand. “I suppose it’s that time.”
They made their way from the tent under the disapproving glowers of the faithful and emerged into the cool of the night. Lucas waited for his eyes to adjust, enjoying the breeze after being cooped up in the stuffy confines of the tent, and Sierra inched closer.
“So what did you think?” she asked.
“I’m hell bound.”
She smiled. “Hopefully not quite yet.”
“Matter of time.”
“Well, then, might as well have some fun in the meantime,” she said, her eyes dancing in the starlight.
“I’m listening.”
She pulled o
n his hand and began walking toward the camp area, an impish smirk on her face. Lucas had no choice but to follow, banishing the thoughts he’d had during the sermon about the ease with which he’d taken to ending the lives of his fellow men, and instead marveling at his good fortune in having found something worth fighting for in Sierra.
Chapter 27
The following morning Lucas and Sierra packed their things before joining Arnold and John in a subdued breakfast of leftovers from the prior night’s feast, now available for the discounted price of a bullet per plate, presumably as a concession to the lack of refrigeration. They opted for only corn bread, preferring to avoid botulism from stew or beans that had turned.
“How’s the arm?” Sierra asked John as she finished her portion.
“Better every day. Thanks for patching me up.”
“No problem. Just keep it clean and keep taking the pills until your course is through.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Arnold popped the last chunk of the dense bread in his mouth and chewed with gusto. He swallowed from his canteen and turned to Lucas. “So how many days you figure it’ll take you to get to Vicksburg?”
“Reckon about ten.”
“Crew territory really starts for real in Arkansas?”
Sierra nodded. “Yes, but from what I heard, there isn’t much in northern Arkansas for them to police. Their main hub is Little Rock, which we’ll avoid – obviously.”
“And once you make it to Vicksburg?”
Lucas shrugged. “See what we can learn.”
“That’s on the east side of the Mississippi River, right? The virus side,” John said.
“Right. But we’ve had the vaccine. We should be fine,” Sierra said.
“That’s one way to test it,” Arnold observed.
“Yeah, well, we aren’t planning on staying there long,” Lucas said. “How about you? Back to Colorado?”
“Yep. Assuming we can make it and it’s not snowed in by the time we get there.”
“What if it is?” Sierra asked.
“Then we’ll sit it out somewhere like Santa Fe.”
“Ah.”
Lucas ate his last bite of bread and stood. “Time to hit the road, fellas. Best of luck making it back in one piece.”
Arnold also stood and shook Lucas’s hand. “Thanks for the help. We did it.”
“Seems that way,” Lucas agreed.
“You two be careful. I wouldn’t want to be heading into the belly of the beast like you.”
Lucas lowered his voice. “Makes two of us.”
Sierra frowned as she rose. “I heard that.”
They carried their saddlebags to the corral and retrieved their horses and tack, tipping the boys before mounting up. Sierra waved at Arnold and John while Lucas scoped out the area, looking for his admirer from the night before. He didn’t see anyone watching them, so he led Sierra down the dirt path toward the highway, aware of his surroundings as they rode.
“You seem tense,” Sierra noted when they turned south.
He told her about the prior night. She shook her head.
“Probably was staring at me,” she said. “Not that you’re not worth a second look.”
“No, he was eyeing me.”
“Maybe he was interested.”
That drew a tight smile from Lucas. “Takes all kinds to make a stew.”
“Well, I don’t see anyone following us, so we’re in the clear.”
“Still got all the usual suspects to watch for.”
“Their bad luck if they try to get the jump on you.”
“It’s the trying that can get you killed. We’ll stay off the roads, same as ever.” He looked to his right. “And here’s a trail. Time to put that into practice.”
They picked their way through the high grass to a track that stretched toward an abandoned farmhouse with a broken wind vane and half the roof gone. Tango veered left along another trail and Lucas let the stallion have his head while he checked behind them, the nagging sense that all wasn’t well still with him from the night before. Seeing nothing, he lifted his binoculars and swept the trees just to make sure.
“Anything?” Sierra asked.
“Nope.”
“Maybe what’s bugging you is your guilty conscience.”
Lucas sighed and dropped the spyglasses back against his chest. “I’m not proud of the men I’ve killed, Sierra. It eats at me every day.”
She gave him an odd look. “I was thinking more about us living in sin.”
Lucas’s face flushed slightly. “Oh.” He chuckled. “Not feeling too guilty about that just now.”
“We’re going to hell.”
“Way I read the preacher’s sermon, we’re already there.”
“Still time to turn it around.”
Lucas shook his head. “Problem is, if I manage to sneak past the pearly gates, I won’t know anybody. All my friends will be in the basement.”
“You’re irredeemable.”
“Set in my ways,” he agreed.
“There’s always the chance I could make an honest man out of you yet.”
Lucas held his tongue, marveling at how differently their brains worked. He was running scenarios, calculating the odds of making it to Vicksburg without getting killed, trying to figure out their next step, and Sierra…well, Sierra was considering other matters.
She fell silent for several minutes, and when she spoke again, her voice was earnest and hushed. “Thanks for doing this, Lucas. You’re a man of your word. That means everything to me.”
“Even if I’m a sinner?”
It was her turn to smile to herself. “There’s worse things.”
He nodded. “At least the hours are good.”
That brought a laugh. She studied his profile: the worn straight-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow, eyes continually scanning, skin tanned the color of burnished copper. “Why, Lucas, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re developing a sense of humor.”
“Tango will tell you I’ve got a great one.”
They quieted, leaving only the sound of birdcalls from the trees along the trail and the clumping of hooves as they made their way toward enemy territory and the unknown.
Chapter 28
St. Louis, Missouri
Dr. Charles Darby looked up from his desk at his assistant, who’d offered a courtesy tap at the lab doorjamb and was standing at the threshold with an excited expression.
“Yes, Colleen?” he asked, setting his reading glasses down and fixing her with an expectant stare.
“They’re here,” she said.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, and pushed back from the desk. “Let’s go see what goodies they brought, shall we?”
Darby was a distinguished man in his early sixties, lean with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a perennial expression of mild bemusement, as though puzzled by the continual folly of the human condition. An oncologist by training, he’d parlayed a chain of free-standing radiation treatment centers into a waterfront home in the Hamptons he would never see again, as well as this walled compound on the outskirts of the city that was now home to a thriving colony of like-minded survivors – the remnants of a militia cell that, like he, had prepared for the worst and who’d agreed to share resources with him and fight against the encroachment of the gangs who’d ridden roughshod over the land since the collapse.
Darby followed Colleen from his office down the hall to the building entrance. Originally a lodge for corporate retreats before it had fallen on hard times and been bought for a song by Darby, it was perfectly suited to its new role as the headquarters of the militia, whose numbers had swollen to fifty over the years as new recruits had joined.
The nucleus of the compound was walled, making it easily defendable, and had ample land surrounding it for vegetable gardens, along with a grazing area for the cattle and sheep they’d acquired through trade. The outbuildings surrounding the main house served as bunkhouses, and one of the original rec h
alls had been converted into a passable medical clinic and lab, as well as Darby’s offices and storage for all the necessities and equipment he’d accumulated over the years. An ample solar array provided power, a well sufficient potable water, and regular hunting parties reasonable variation in their menu.
The perimeter wall was eight feet tall, crafted from brick and mortar and reinforced to stop even armor-piercing rounds, with turrets at each of the four corners that were manned at night by pairs of sentries with assault rifles and night vision gear. An electrified fence encircled the property, whose battery banks stored sufficient charge to fry anyone unwise enough to try to take them on.
With Darby’s help, they’d created a sustainable enclave of sanity in a mad world and had been able to stave off attacks by miscreants to the point where the compound was avoided as a death sentence by the gangs that still terrorized the area.
Darby stepped out into the afternoon sun and shielded his eyes with his hand as a half dozen horsemen rode through the open gate, Lisle in the lead. When the younger man saw his mentor, his face lit with a grin.
“We did it!” he exclaimed, and reined his horse to a halt, slipped down from the saddle, and strode to Darby to shake his hand. Darby embraced him and patted Lisle on the back, ignoring the road dust that covered him.
“Well done. No difficulty?”
“None. We made decent time and avoided the problem spots.”
“Excellent news.” Darby eyed the rest of the party. “Where is it?”
Lisle unbuckled the straps of his saddlebag and withdrew the containers, still taped shut, and presented them like gifts to the doctor.
“I didn’t open them.”
“Let me get them into the lab so I can verify they’re fine. Good work, Lisle. It’s a proud day for us all.”
Lisle flushed at the praise. “Glad I had the opportunity to contribute something.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you.” Darby studied his face. “Get cleaned up, fed, and grab some sleep. You look worked.”
The Day After Never Bundle (First 4 novels) Page 86