The Day After Never - Perdition (Book 6)

by Russell Blake

Ray stepped into view, and Lucas grinned. “Morning, Ray. Still around, I see.”

  “Might want to get out of view of the gate,” Ray said, backing into the woods.

  Lucas took the young man’s advice and followed him into the trees while Jeb hung back, distaste twisting his features. Lucas checked back over his shoulder at the big man. “You coming?”

  Jeb sighed and approached. He nodded to Ray.

  Ray’s expression darkened. “They have Mary and Rosemary,” he said by way of greeting.

  Jeb frowned. “The Chinese?”

  “That’s right. In the jail.”

  “How do you know?” Jeb demanded.

  “I slipped into town. They’re there.”

  Lucas cut off Jeb’s next question. “Wait. Slow down. How many Chinese are there in Astoria, Ray?”

  Ray thought for a moment. “A whole bunch left today, so maybe a few hundred, I’d guess.”

  “You sure?” Jeb asked.

  “Yeah. And they have patrols roaming the streets. I almost didn’t make it out.”

  “How did you slip by them?” Lucas asked.

  “It was raining. Dark. They don’t know the town; I do. But by now they’re probably familiar with it, so I lost that edge.”

  Lucas frowned. “You have any idea why they’re holding them prisoner?”

  Ray looked toward the gate. “The General says it’s to maintain psychological control over the population. I don’t know what to believe.”

  Lucas’s mouth dropped. “The General? I thought he was history.”

  Ray shook his head. “Nope – although he looks like someone took a branding iron to him. He’s hiding out, though. He said his place was booby-trapped, but he doesn’t know who did it.”

  Jeb eyed Ray skeptically. “Why would anyone booby-trap his place? That makes no sense.”

  Lucas grunted. “It kind of does. Same reason the Chinese blew up the ammo depot and took out a bunch of the town’s best fighters with an IED: to eliminate potential challenges to their rule. Anyone with military experience could present a threat. The General was high profile.” Lucas shrugged. “He’d be on the list, all right.”

  Ray nodded. “Plus, it threw everyone for a loop. Kept the town off-balance for a while, not knowing what was going on.”

  Lucas regarded the younger man. “Where is he now?”

  “At the shack where…where Joel bought it. He cleaned it out and is staying there until we figure out what to do.”

  “What to do?” Jeb growled.

  Ray met his hostile stare. “Somebody’s got to figure out how to rescue Mary and Rosemary. We can’t just leave them to rot.”

  “That’s not your problem,” Jeb snapped.

  “Whose is it, then?”

  “We don’t need help from you or the General,” Jeb said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Ray snorted. “With all your military expertise? Who are you kidding?”

  Lucas gave the young man a warning look. “Let’s go see him.”

  Jeb turned to him. “Why?”

  “We need all the help we can get right now, Jeb,” Lucas said. “Regardless of your feelings about Ray or the General, the priority is to free the women. Park your ideology outside and let’s see if he has any ideas, because right now it’s us against two hundred, and I’m not feeling lucky.”

  Jeb fell silent, and Ray led them deeper into the woods to the shack where Joel had been butchered. When they drew near, the snout of an AK-47 poked from a gap in the doorway and Ray stilled.

  “It’s us. Don’t shoot,” he said, hands raised.

  The door swung open and the General stepped into view. Seeing Lucas, he dipped his head in greeting, and then his expression clouded when he registered Jeb.

  Lucas took in the scab on the older man’s face. “Nice to see you in one piece, Art.”

  “Likewise.” He motioned at Jeb with the gun. “What are you doing with the preacher here?”

  “Mind lowering the piece? We came to talk.”

  Art stood his ground. “So talk.”

  Lucas paused to gather his thoughts. “We’re here to see about rescuing the women. You’ve got a good eye. What’s your take?”

  Art’s grin was anything but amused. “Have you picked out where you want to be buried? Assuming there’s anything left when the Chinese get done with you.”

  Jeb swiveled toward Lucas and shook his head. “I told you this was a waste of time.”

  Lucas ignored him. “How would you do it?”

  Art barked a single harsh laugh and lowered his weapon. “How I’d go up against a cadre of trained military? I wouldn’t.”

  “We can’t just leave them,” Jeb said. “That’s my wife and daughter.”

  “You’d need a small army,” Art said. “I don’t see one nearby, do you?”

  Lucas frowned. “Maybe not. Ray was able to get in and out. If we had a few good fighters, we could create a distraction and break them out while the Chinese were dealing with it.”

  Art regarded Lucas with new respect. “Guerilla action would be about the only thing that might stand a chance. But even so, a lot would have to go right. And where would you find folks who could pull it off – not to mention willing to risk their lives to help you?”

  “Maybe the council…” Jeb began.

  Art laughed again. “That bunch of spineless grubs? All they care about is protecting their skin. You’re not going to get any love there.”

  Jeb frowned. “You don’t know that. I have pull with Caleb, and Mary has helped most of them at one time or another.”

  “They needed what she had. Now they don’t – at least not enough to risk their necks. Believe me, I know the type.”

  Lucas looked him up and down. “You got any buddies who might want to earn some gold?”

  Art’s face revealed nothing. “You got any?”

  “I might.”

  “You’d need a lot to get a sizeable bunch interested.”

  “First I have to find them. You know anyone?”

  Art’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe. There are some hard cases over Salem way. Mostly vets. But you’d need a hell of a plan for them to take it on.”

  “Do you have a way of contacting them?”

  “You’re looking at everything I own on my back. So afraid not.”

  Jeb shook his head in disgust. “He’s not going to help us. This is a waste of time. We need to ask the council.”

  Art shook his head. “You’re fantasizing. They won’t do squat.”

  “You have any better suggestions?” Lucas asked.

  “I’ll think on it, but right now, no. I’m not riding all the way to Salem on my lonesome to see if anyone there’s crazy enough to go to war with the Chinese. As it sits, I’m afraid you’re screwed. I see no way you can manage this without big-time help, and there’s none available,” Art said. “Sorry. That’s how I see it.”

  Jeb bristled. “I never liked you…”

  Art shrugged. “My loss, I’m sure.” He nodded to Lucas. “Nice to see you again. Let me know how it turns out.”

  Jeb grabbed Lucas’s arm. “We have to try to break them out.”

  Lucas shrugged off Jeb’s hand and said nothing.

  Art sneered at the big man and sighed. “And die within minutes of trying? Good luck with that plan, buddy,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my beauty rest.”

  Jeb gaped as the older man returned to the shack and closed the door behind him. After several moments, he turned to Lucas. “I’m not leaving them to the Chinese, Lucas.”

  Lucas fixed him with a hard stare. “Art’s right. We have no chance of doing anything but getting ourselves killed without help.”

  “Then we go back to the council and tell them. They’ll send some men with us, and we can get this done.” Jeb paused. “Except you clobbered Hayden. That was a dumb move.”

  Lucas exhaled. “Got you here, didn’t it?”

  “You think they’ll still help us after th
at?” Jeb swallowed, exuding desperation with every word. “We have to try. We can ride hard and catch up with them by tomorrow night.”

  Lucas turned away. “Suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

  Chapter 19

  Colorado Foothills

  “Pa! Rider coming up the road.”

  A man with a dusting of beard, his skin tanned the color of tobacco, his blue flannel shirt faded from age, looked up from where he was repairing a fence by reusing nails to hold branches he’d cut himself in place on tree trunks imbedded in the red earth. A few head of cattle were grazing on the opposite side of the pasture near a small log cabin with a coil of smoke snaking from the chimney. He shielded his eyes from the sun and studied the approach, where a single man on horseback was nearing.

  “Mark, fetch me my rifle, would you?” he said. “Mind you don’t touch the trigger.”

  The little boy moved quickly to the AR-15 leaning against a far post, a shovel beside it, and hurried back to his father with the weapon in hand.

  “Here you go, Pa,” he said, taking care not to point the gun at his father.

  The man took the rifle, chambered a round, and snapped the firing selector from safe to single fire. He’d converted the gun to full automatic after the collapse, the laws against doing so as meaningless as those against speeding on the freeway, but had only fired it a couple of times in self-defense. The homestead was far off any beaten path, and he and his son had been spared the raids that had been a regular occurrence for so many others. The property had a well and there was a stream nearby with plenty of trout, and between that, the spring garden he replanted when the weather turned each year, and his cattle, he was fully self-sufficient except for ammo and meds.

  “Go to the house and stay there. Might want to get your own gun…just in case.”

  “Yes, Pa.”

  “You know what to do if anything happens.”

  Mark took off at high speed for the cabin, the scenario one that he and his father had practiced many times. Even though Mark was only eleven, he was more than conversant with the pump shotgun his father had entrusted to his care, its heavy double-aught buckshot and sawed-off barrel an effective defense against anyone trying to enter the house.

  The road meandered from the east, barely a scar in the landscape now. The hard dirt with which it had once been partially paved had long since been washed away by seasonal storms and the nearly constant wind that springtime brought. The sun was high overhead, and the man could make out the rider as he closed the distance – a face covered with greenish-black prison ink, arms those of a pro wrestler, and a body like a fireplug with a sweat-stained flak vest straining against his chest. When the rider was fifteen yards away, the man called out to him, his tone stern.

  “That’s far enough.”

  “Howdy. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” the rider asked, reining his horse to a stop.

  “Long way to ride to talk about the weather, ain’t it?”

  The rider smiled, and the tattoo in the center of his forehead shifted upward, the eye in the center of the triangle seeming to focus on the farmer before he shifted to the right and it settled on the cabin. The farmer hefted his rifle and waited for a response, checking the rider to confirm that his rifle was strapped to his back and his pistol stayed in its hip holster.

  “Suppose it is. I noticed the road on my last trip north and thought I’d stop by and say hello.” The rider paused. “Name’s Dale.”

  The farmer didn’t say anything. Dale surveyed the pasture and smiled at the cows before resuming the conversation.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen any of those fenced in. Most are free range now. Go where they like,” Dale observed.

  “What can I help you with, Dale?”

  “That your boy?” Dale asked, pointing at the cabin, where Mark was barely visible at the window, shotgun sticking from it, the barrel pointed at Dale. “Fine-looking young man. You’re lucky the virus didn’t get him.”

  “Wouldn’t say it was lucky. We keep to ourselves. Don’t encourage visitors.”

  “That’s probably good. The new virus is supposed to be even worse. Heard tell it’s spreading from back east.”

  “Is that so?” the man said in a tone that signaled impatience.

  “Yes, indeed. But they got a new vaccine for it, I hear. Supposed to stop it dead.” Dale fixed the man with the cold stare of a predator. “You should get it if you can.”

  “Already have.” The man raised the rifle barrel several inches. “Nice of you to stop in, but I have to get back to work.”

  “That’s a shame. I don’t get to spend much time with people anymore. Always enjoyed having a chat.”

  “Should be able to make it back to the main road by sundown. You’re lucky I wasn’t watching the approach – I usually just shoot anyone I don’t know.”

  “Sensible. You can never tell these days,” Dale agreed. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Hank.”

  Dale nodded as though approving of the name. “Hank, I’m trying to get a read on a settlement around these parts. Supposed to be a few hundred folks. The vaccine came from there, I think.”

  “Wouldn’t know about that. Got it on my trading run.”

  “Yeah? Where’s that?”

  “Down south a ways. Don’t know if the place is even still there. They come and go.”

  “That they do,” Dale said, nodding again as though Hank had said something profound. “You haven’t heard of any new settlements?”

  “Like I said, we keep to ourselves. I don’t pay much mind to what others are doing. Got my hands full with what I got, which ain’t much.”

  “I hear you.” Dale paused. “How many of there are you out here?”

  Hank’s voice was cold as a glacier when he answered. “Enough.”

  “That’s good. Real good. Smart to stick together and all.” Dale smacked his lips and looked over at the cabin again. “You mind if I refill my bottles?”

  “There’s a spring you passed a few miles before the main road. Water’s drinkable.”

  Dale appeared ready to say something, but apparently thought better of it. “I’d best get back there, then. I’m parched.”

  “Probably want to steer clear of this road. Like I said, I normally shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  Hank watched as Dale slowly wheeled his horse around and instinctively raised the assault rifle and flipped the fire selector to full auto so if Dale tried to make a move, he could blow him to pieces. The weapon could empty its thirty-round clip in under two seconds, sending a stream of slugs that would shred the rider to pieces in spite of his body armor.

  Dale seemed to sense the scrutiny because he kept his hands in view, one holding the reins, the other at his side, well away from his weapons. Hank considered gunning him down as he rode away, his gut telling him he might regret not doing so later, but couldn’t bring himself to back shoot the man in spite of his instinct. If Mark hadn’t been watching, it might have been a different story, but he wasn’t going to murder a man in cold blood in full view of his son.

  Dale faded into the heat waves rising off the road, and Hank followed him with the sights of his rifle until he disappeared. The air grew still, and he called to Mark.

  “Boy? You can come out now. But keep your gun handy.”

  “All clear, Pa?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mark came back to the pasture, weapon over his shoulder and hair askew, reminding his father that it was time to cut it soon. Mark looked up at him with a worried expression.

  “What did he want?”

  Hank considered the question for a long time. “Not sure. Might have been casing the place.”

  “Were those tattoos on his face?”

  “Yep. Prison tats. Only the lifers get them. They’re never getting out, so no reason not to, and it lets everyone else know they’re dangerous and gang related.”

  Mark con
sidered the information. “So now what?”

  “We take turns watching the road. If he shows himself again, I shoot him.”

  “You think he will?”

  “No telling. But we’re not taking any chances.” Hank paused. “Come dusk we’ll head into the hills and watch the cabin from there tonight. Just in case he gets any ideas of trying to get the jump on us after dark.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Some people are just bad.”

  Mark nodded as though that explained everything. In his short life he’d seen his mother disappear one evening, never to return, and two men shot dead by his father. He took for granted the law of the jungle he’d known since the collapse, and didn’t question ideas like some just needed killing. If anyone did, a former lifer covered with prison tattoos was probably a safe bet as deserving it.

  Mark glanced at the grazing animals. “What about the cows? You think he’d hurt them just to get back at us?”

  “No telling, but I don’t think so.”

  “What was he asking about?”

  Hank wiped a bead of sweat from the side of his face with his free hand and debated how to answer the question. The exchange was puzzling, in retrospect, little information going either way except that the rider was looking for someone in a new settlement that Hank knew nothing about.

  When Hank answered, his voice was flat.

  “Nothing, son. Nothing at all.”

  Chapter 20

  Lucas and Jeb retraced their route to the river crossing, which had receded to normal levels after the storm and was now far less treacherous to traverse. They shadowed the main road once they reached it, sticking to forging a path through the adjacent brush. They spent the first night on a hill beneath the stars, the sky unusually clear, the near-constant springtime marine layer having melted away sometime during the day. Jeb and Lucas traded three-hour shifts, and for the first time Lucas slept soundly, secure in the belief that they were too far from Astoria for Jeb to try anything foolish.

  The following morning, they continued their ride and arrived at the township’s first campground an hour after dawn, of which there was nothing left but a few fire pits and ruts in the muddy ground from the wheels of overladen carts. Lucas knelt by one and felt the ashes, and then stood and spoke to Jeb.