The Day After Never (Book 2): Purgatory Road

by Russell Blake

  “Is that where you grow everything?” Sierra giggled.

  Bruce laughed. “That’s my little secret. You have yours; I have mine. Maybe we’ll trade later?”

  Sierra batted her eyes, and Lucas found himself struggling to choke down a rising anger.

  “Maybe.”

  Bruce and Sierra prepared a meal while Lucas cleaned his guns, focusing on his task as he bit back any snipes that he felt like taking. He had no claim on Sierra, and they hadn’t had time to discuss what had passed between them, especially with Ruby and Eve always around – not that Lucas had any idea what he wanted, if anything.

  They ate while Ruby continued working, and several hours later, she sat back with a tired smile.

  “There,” she said. “Let’s let it run tonight. I can’t do anything more. The program will try pattern matching at increasingly complex levels, and go through every possible character substitution. We’ll review the results tomorrow. I can’t see straight right now.”

  Lucas yawned. “I’m with you.” He looked to Bruce, who was talking quietly with Sierra. “Is it okay to sleep on this?” he asked, patting the couch.

  “Oh, yeah, sure thing, dude.” Bruce looked at the clock on the wall. “Didn’t realize how late it is. I’m going to hit it, too.” He offered Sierra a drugged half smile. “Unless you want a nightcap or something.”

  She returned his smile. “Rain check?”

  “No problema,” Bruce said, and stood. “Sleep tight. You know where everything is.”

  Lucas watched him walk to his bedroom and throw a final smarmy grin Sierra’s way before disappearing inside. Sierra stopped smiling when his door closed and rolled her eyes.

  “More flies with honey than vinegar,” she whispered, and Ruby nodded.

  “He seems to like you.”

  “He’s kinda sweet, actually. Doesn’t seem like he gets to talk to many people,” she said.

  “Go figure,” Lucas said, and Sierra shot him a puzzled look. He didn’t elaborate, and Sierra elected to lead Eve to the second bedroom rather than engage. Ruby lingered behind.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” Ruby said. When Sierra was in the bedroom, Ruby leaned into Lucas. “She’s a manipulator. Don’t forget that. All useful information.”

  Lucas nodded. “So I see.”

  “In this case, it worked out well for us; but better to know what you’re dealing with than make assumptions, Lucas.”

  “I’m not assuming anything.”

  “You looked about ready to skin Bruce alive at one point. Maybe ‘assume’ was the wrong word.”

  Lucas sighed and lay back into the sofa. “This thing stinks.”

  “Better than spending the night on hard rocks.”

  He sniffed and tipped his hat forward, covering his eyes, and swung his feet up onto the couch, his M4 by his side. “Don’t know about that.”

  Ruby considered possible responses and then shook her head and made her way to the bedroom, leaving Lucas to his thoughts as the computer whirred and blinked, its fan sounding like a small turbine in the still, hot air.

  Chapter 28

  Slim sat in the sandbagged guard station at Duke’s trading post, idly watching bats dart after mosquitoes in the gloaming, their movements jerky and fast yet with a strange grace to them. He shifted on the uncomfortable board seat and stared off into nothingness that stretched to a dim orange glow on the horizon from the setting sun.

  He’d left the family ranch in search of adventure, bored to tears taking orders from his father and older siblings, and had jumped at the chance of being a guard at the trading post, visions of combat, showdowns, and making his fortune coloring his decision. Now, after little more than a week at Duke’s, he’d settled into a routine of crushing boredom and taking orders from anyone senior to him, which meant all the others.

  That wasn’t what he’d signed up for, and he’d quickly realized that with Loving to the north now a deserted smudge and the highway a badland of wreckage and predators, traffic to the outpost was going to be a trickle. He’d merely exchanged one form of servitude for another. It was an improvement only in style, not substance, and he found himself filled with the same sense of dread and resentment that he’d had back home – only here he had to bottle it up inside and not show it, or he’d be fired and have to return to the ranch with his tail between his legs.

  “Pride goeth,” he muttered, remembering one of his father’s often used expressions, and despised himself for his inability to have a more original thought than a repetition of the dogma that had been pounded into his head since childhood. The family had believed that the collapse had been the end of days prophesied in the Good Book and spent their time awaiting a rapture that was a long time coming. Slim didn’t buy a word of it, but he’d been forced to play along or have his ears boxed by his larger, older siblings, all of whom had had survived the flu without contracting it, no doubt in part due to living like hermits who eschewed contact with the outside world.

  That had been one thing the old man had gotten right – danger lurked around every turn, and their fellow man was a dangerous creature. But that didn’t dissuade Slim, who was young and fearless; one thing he knew was that his chances of meeting a mate or of having an adventure more memorable than baling hay or shoveling slop were less than zero if he stayed with his family.

  He’d always known he was meant for bigger things, but had nearly given up hope when Doug had ridden by the ranch to tell him of the opening on Duke’s crew. Slim had been packed and on his horse less than an hour later, after a screaming match with his dad. Now, however, he wondered whether he’d chosen wisely after all. Latrine duty and grunt work weren’t his idea of making his way in the world, and his visions of rousting hooligans and rescuing damsels in distress had evaporated when confronted with the mundane reality of the duty he’d signed up for.

  Footsteps approached from the building, and Doug limped into view, his thigh wound nearly healed but the muscles still mending and sore. He handed Slim a tin plate with some sort of stew on it over white rice, the smell of which was less than appetizing.

  “What is this slop?” Slim asked.

  “Supposed to be rabbit. But I think it might have turned. Has something of a tang to it on the end, but it’ll fill your belly.”

  “Why doesn’t he let us go hunting for something fresh? Or at least fishing?”

  “He’s still paranoid about being attacked. Doesn’t want to be caught shorthanded.”

  “So we’ve got to eat dog food?”

  “It’s not that bad.” Doug’s expression turned thoughtful. “At least, I don’t think it’s dog.”

  “Very funny.”

  Doug shrugged. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Slim swallowed a chunk of mystery meat and choked down a spurt of acid that rose in his throat at the taste, the sour bile making him gag. He set the plate aside and swigged some water, disgusted at the gruel as well as his situation.

  He needed to make a decision. He had information that the Locos had said they would pay handsomely for. All he had to do was seize the moment, take a single bold step, and his life would forever change.

  His father’s voice rang in his ear every time he contemplated selling out the woman, though. “Thirty pieces of silver,” the old man snapped in his imagination. “Goin’ price for Judas.”

  Slim tried another spoonful of the noxious concoction and then spit it onto the ground by the gate.

  “Screw this,” he muttered. He retrieved his gun and made his way to the stable for his horse, and was leading the animal out of the barn when Doug emerged from the main building.

  “Where you goin’? You’re on watch another three hours.”

  “I quit. That’s where.”

  “You kiddin’? Duke’s gonna flip out.”

  “Yeah, well, he’ll get over it. I’m through.”

  “Best tell him yourself.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but I’m outta here.”

  Doug
gazed off into the gloom beyond the gate. “Man could get killed riding at night.”

  “Better to die in the saddle than live like this.”

  Doug’s voice softened. “What’s wrong, Slim?”

  “If I wanted to be everyone’s bitch, I would have stayed home. I ain’t cut out for this, Doug. So I’m gonna hit the trail, see what’s over the hill.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Yep.”

  Slim unlocked the gate and slid it open. Doug watched him in silence as he swung up into the saddle and put the spurs to his horse, goading it to a gallop as he passed through the entryway. The sound of the horse’s departure drew Duke from inside, and he peered at Doug from his vantage point on the porch.

  “What the hell was that?” the trader demanded.

  “Slim up and quit.”

  “He what?”

  “You heard me. Said hasta la vista and rode off.” Doug scratched his head. “Had a burr up his butt over something.”

  “Damn. That means we’re shorthanded again. Looks like I’ll have to take the bastard’s watch.” Duke paused. “Kinda strange that he rode away without even bothering to collect his salary, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t even think about that,” Doug agreed.

  “He say where he was going?”

  “Nope.”

  Duke’s expression soured as he turned and went inside to get his gun and flak vest. He’d never had a man quit like that before, especially not at night with no provisions and no warning. Although the youngster had been acting odd the last couple days. Should have seen it coming.

  Duke stepped back onto the porch, an AR-15 in one hand and his body armor in the other. He trudged to the guard post, plopped down on the wood bench, and sniffed the discarded stew beside him. He eyed it and, seeing no flies, shrugged and picked up the plate.

  “Waste not, want not,” he whispered, and spooned a heaping portion into his mouth. He’d spent weeks living off rats after the collapse when the food chain had gone belly up and never missed a meal, knowing that in uncertain times any one of them could be his last. He chewed mechanically, wondering what had set the young man off, and then shrugged as he swallowed, the why less important than the inconvenience his departure would cause.

  Chapter 29

  The air in the hot room felt stifling, matching the searing pain being telegraphed from most of Cano’s body as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He tried to move but lacked the energy, and barely managed to open his good eye. He looked down the length of his torso and saw that his arms and legs were wrapped in bandages, and he realized that one of the reasons he was so hot was that his face was also swathed in gauze and cotton, insulating him and retaining his body heat.

  The last thing he remembered was a blinding flash as he rode into the canyon, senses tingling, and then the sensation of flying before everything went black. Cano tried to turn his head, and a lance of pain shot through his skull, the back of which felt like it had been run over by a bulldozer. He must have hit the rocks hard and concussed – even now, he could feel his temples pounding with pain from the impact.

  How long had he been out? He didn’t know. But he felt as weak as a newborn kitten, and his powerlessness and the vulnerability it implied were more disturbing to him than his injuries. He’d suffered near-death before; it went with the territory. But being prone, unable to move, at the mercy of anyone who would do him harm…that was frightening for a man who didn’t scare easily.

  He listened for any clue as to where he was, but heard nothing. Cano realized that he had no vision on his left side and raised his hand to his face. He felt the bandage over his eye and his arm fell back to his side.

  The door opened, and an older man stepped into the room with a notebook in hand and a stethoscope draped around his neck. He regarded Cano in surprise when he saw that he was conscious.

  “You’re…you’re up!” he said, moving to the bedside.

  “Water,” Cano croaked, his voice a harsh rasp.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Just a moment,” the man said, and scurried from the room.

  Two minutes later he was back with a plastic bottle, a straw, and a thermos. “Fruit juice. It’ll help you build back your blood count,” he announced.

  “Just…water.”

  The man leaned toward him with the bottle and dropped the straw through the top. It stuck out a few inches, and the man bent it so he could sip. Cano took measured swallows, wary of drinking too fast, but even so drained the bottle in what seemed like a few moments. The man straightened and nodded.

  “You’re lucky to be alive. I really thought you’d be out a lot longer.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The doctor who pulled a half pound of shrapnel out of you.”

  Cano digested that, and his heart rate increased. “How bad?”

  “Arms and legs got the lion’s share of it, but mostly surface wounds. No serious damage to the muscles. Your head, on the other hand…you’ve got a big gash on the back of it and probably a concussion. And of course, there’s your eye – I couldn’t save it, but it will heal over. Your biggest problem is blood loss, but that should rectify itself with time.” He paused. “You need to drink the fruit juice. It will help.”

  Cano absorbed the news about his eye and grunted. “In a minute.”

  “Let me examine you and see how you’re doing.”

  Cano allowed him to unwrap several of the bandages and check the lacerations. The doctor hummed as he worked and then listened to his heart with the stethoscope before clearing a section of his arm of gauze so he could take his blood pressure. Cano winced as the cuff tightened and the man eyed his watch, and then he was finished and removing it.

  “Still low. Ninety over fifty-six. But that should come up as you rehydrate and get more calories into you.” He set the cuff down and studied Cano. “You’re healing relatively quickly. You have a strong constitution.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “They brought you in a little over a day ago. So the injuries are two days old.”

  “How long till I can move?”

  “Probably not for another three or so, at least. Got to allow your wounds time to heal. Your head is another matter. No way of knowing how long that will take. Could be a matter of days or weeks.”

  “I don’t have weeks.”

  The doctor frowned. “You don’t have a choice. Your body will do whatever it’s going to do. Best for you to stay out of its way and let it.”

  They were interrupted by Luis barging into the room, two-way in hand. “You said he’s awake?” he asked the doctor, and then looked down at Cano. “Oh. Good.”

  “What happened?” Cano demanded.

  “Grenade.”

  “I guessed that.”

  “We lost all the men except for myself and two others.”

  “Damn. And the woman?”

  “Never saw anything but muzzle flashes and grenade blasts.”

  “Did you go back out?”

  Luis scowled. “I’m about out of men, and yours won’t listen to me. It’s all I can do to maintain order over the town with the people I have.”

  “So she’s gone,” Cano said, disgusted.

  “For now.”

  Cano closed his eye, exhausted, and took a deep, painful breath. The doctor and Luis exchanged a look, and Luis nodded.

  “I’ll leave you to rest. Glad to see you’re going to make it,” Luis said, and walked out of the room.

  The doctor pulled up a chair with a sigh. “Let’s try the juice.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any morphine?”

  “Sorry.”

  Cano opened his eye. “Whiskey?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Can’t. Thins your blood.” He held out the thermos. “Can’t give you aspirin for the same reason. But the pain should recede in another day or two.”

  “Great.”

  “At least you’re alive.”

  Cano closed his eye again
and exhaled forcefully. “For now.”

  Chapter 30

  “Damn.”

  Ruby’s voice woke Lucas. He rolled over on the couch and peered at her by Bruce’s computer station.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The system crashed at some point last night.”

  “Great.”

  She tried to reboot the computer, but nothing lit up. Ruby fiddled with the plug and checked the surge protector. She glanced up at Lucas and shook her head. “Deader than Jim Morrison.”

  “Who?”

  “I forgot. Before your time.”

  He stretched. “So, nothing?”

  She held up a USB drive. “I had it auto-save the results every hour to this dongle, just in case. So the record should be on here.” Ruby plugged the small device into the laptop’s port and opened a folder on the screen. Lucas moved to her side and checked his watch.

  “You’re up early.”

  “You know the saying about worms.”

  He smiled. “Doesn’t work so well if you’re the worm.”

  “Nobody tells them anything.” She tapped a command and then scanned a readout of possible decryptions of the character string. It didn’t take long. “Well, that amounted to a big bag of fresh squat.”

  “So what now?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I put everything I could think of into the program. If it isn’t a substitution cypher, I’m out of ammo.”

  “You don’t have a plan B?” he asked incredulously.

  “I’m not a code cracker, Lucas. I’m a programmer who’s good at writing software, but that only translates so far. I’m not Mata Hari. A code that’s something other than replacing one letter with another, or every third or fourth letter with another, can take months or even years to crack. Without knowing the basis of the string, all we can do is look for patterns. The program didn’t find anything intelligible.”

  “You sounded pretty confident last night,” he observed.