The Day After Never - Purgatory Road (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2)

by Blake, Russell

  The figure looked up and reached for a shotgun leaning against the wall of the farmhouse. Lucas shook his head and called out, “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.” His tone softened. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He moved closer and saw that it was a woman, whippet thin, her arms covered with full-sleeve tattoos, her face emaciated, her greasy black hair cropped short. She regarded him with ill-concealed fear, her eyes darting to his gun and then back to the shotgun just out of reach. He easily read her intention and kept his M4 pointed at her. “Don’t try anything stupid. I said I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “What do you want, mister?” she asked, her drawl pronounced.

  “Just came from the mayor’s. He said someone I’m looking for might be here.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  “Short guy wearing a badge.”

  “He ain’t around.”

  He took cautious steps until he was within a few yards of her and could see that she was younger than he’d thought, maybe Sierra’s age, but already worn down by a hardscrabble life.

  “Where’s he at?”

  “How would I know? Ain’t none of my business.”

  “What are you doing out here on your own?” Lucas asked.

  “Just tryin’ to get by, same as everyone. Don’t like stayin’ near town. Some of the guys get their booze on and go off, you know?” She eyed him and tried a smile. “But you’re not like that, are you?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not.”

  “I can tell.” She paused. “Name’s Connie. I’m cooking rabbit. You ate yet?”

  “Doesn’t smell too bad,” Lucas allowed.

  “Guess if you was gonna shoot me, you woulda by now, huh?”

  “Probably true.” He glanced at the shotgun. “Stay clear of the scatter gun, and we’ll get along fine.”

  “You can sit down, ’less you’re afraid I’ll bite or somethin’,” she said.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Lucas decided to try the soft route with her, given there was no obvious threat.

  “Why you lookin’ for that guy?” she asked, reaching out and turning a rabbit that was crackling over the fire, skewered on a piece of rusted rebar.

  “They said he might be able to help me find something.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “A vest. Some friends of mine lost one.”

  She made a face. “You’re riding around in the dark lookin’ for a vest? You crazy or something?”

  “Or something.” He looked around. “You’re out here alone?”

  “See anyone else?”

  Lucas pointed to a pair of bedrolls. “More than one of those.”

  “I like to be comfortable.” She smiled again. “Don’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You scared the crap outta me, sneakin’ up like that.”

  “Wasn’t my intention.”

  She studied him. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

  “Down El Paso way.”

  “Thought so. I’d a remembered if I’d seen you before.” She edged a little closer. “You by yourself?”

  “Just me.”

  She appraised him frankly and unfastened the top buttons of her shirt. “You lookin’ for more than a vest?”

  “It’s not like that,” he said, looking away.

  “Just you and me here.”

  “I–”

  The snick of a blade opening stopped him. He caught the gleam of steel in his peripheral vision and grabbed her wrist, stopping the hand that was snaking at him with a wicked-looking stiletto. Her smile instantly turned into a grimace of pained rage, and she swung the skewered rabbit at his head, hissing a curse as she fought to break free. Lucas avoided the blow and squeezed her wrist harder. She dropped the knife and squirmed, and he whipped the Kimber from his hip holster and pointed it at her head. He leaned toward the knife, .45 leveled on her, scooped it up, and tossed it into the darkness.

  “This thing’ll blow a hole in you the size of a grapefruit,” he warned.

  The struggle went out of her and she went limp. He slid away, gun steady in his hand, and pointed to the sleeping rolls. “Get up and bring me that rope.”

  She looked where he indicated and the smile returned. “Don’t need to tie me up. ’Less you want to.”

  “Get the rope. Not going to ask again.”

  “Or what? You gonna shoot me?”

  His tone was glacial. “Last time; then you learn the hard way.”

  “All right. Cool your jets.”

  He’d misjudged her, lulled by fatigue. She was high, probably on the home-made meth everyone was taking, dangerous as a pit viper and probably full-boat crazy. Had to be in order to keep the company she did, he figured. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  “I see you grab anything but the rope and you’re buzzard food,” he warned.

  “Just tryin’ to defend myself.”

  It was as close to an apology as he was likely to get, even if an obvious lie. He nodded as though buying it. “No harm in that, but I’ll still blow your head off if you make one false move.”

  “Forget what I said ’bout rememberin’ you. You’re just like all the rest.”

  “No, I’m not, or you’d already be dead.”

  He wasted no time and had her wrists and ankles bound within moments, tying her expertly, her struggling inadequate to do anything but delay the inevitable. When he was finished, he stood and considered her. “Waste of good rabbit.”

  “You can have it all, if that’s what you’re after. That and anything else you want.”

  He hastily searched her things and found nothing of value, other than a snub-nosed five-shot revolver with a taped handle and two disposable lighters. He did a quick inspection of the interior of the farmhouse and quickly returned.

  “All right. Where’s the guy I was asking about?” he demanded.

  “Told you. Don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Whatever.”

  He sat back down and retrieved the rabbit from the dust and set the rebar back across the rocks so it could continue cooking. “Know why you should care? Because when that iron gets hot enough, I’m going to go to work on you with it. Worst part about bad burns is they hurt for days. Blister, peel, get infected. Hell, I expect a lot of people die from them these days, with no medicine and all.”

  She shook her head. “I told you the truth.”

  Lucas smiled, and the effect was chilling. “Connie, assuming that’s your real name, you have no idea what you’re playing with here. But I’ll offer fair warning. I intend to burn the skin off your face, then your nose and ears. Only way that’s not going to happen is if you tell me where he is, no more stalling or lies. I have nothing against you, so no reason to hurt you unless I have to. But I will. You read me?”

  Her eyes widened, and the look of panic told him that she understood.

  “He…he may be over by the highway, near the spring. He’s getting water.”

  “Is he alone?”

  She shook her head. “No. A friend.”

  “This spring. You mean the one by Highway 285? The well?”

  “That’s it.”

  He eyed her skeptically. “Getting water? At night, with a buddy?”

  She looked away. “That’s what he said.”

  “They armed?”

  “Course.”

  He debated what to do with her and decided to leave her tied up. “You lied to me, I’ll be back.”

  “How am I supposed to get untied?”

  Lucas studied her without expression. “You’ll think of something.” He removed the rabbit from the fire and tore a steaming chunk off the carcass before blowing on it to cool it. “No point in ruining the meal, is there?” he said, and then popped it in his mouth. “Mighty tasty. Enjoy it.”

  She watched him walk away, her shotgun only a few short yards from her, but about as much use as a life raft in her predicament. She w
aited until he was out of sight and then began rubbing the rope that bound her wrists against the hot rocks of the fire pit, determined to get loose before the madman came back for her, which she was sure he would, if he survived.

  A big if, but she wasn’t feeling lucky.

  And there were other predators in the darkness for her to fear.

  She swallowed the dry lump in her throat and sawed harder, praying to a God she didn’t believe in that she was successful before he returned.

  Chapter 7

  Lucas watched through the NV scope from five hundred yards away in the darkness as the woman freed herself, gathered her things, and saddled up the emaciated horse. He didn’t believe for a second she had told him the truth, but figured it was a near certainty that she would go in search of his quarry to warn him.

  She set off to the south, confirming his suspicion, and continued at a gallop until she was barely a speck. He took off after her, Tango easily keeping up even after the long day’s ride, covering the ground with fluid grace as Lucas hunched low over the saddle, rifle gripped tightly in his right hand.

  Twenty minutes later, he slowed as he approached the highway in the distance. He could just make out her horse silhouetted in the moonlight, and pulled Tango up short. “Time for a rest. I’ll handle it from here,” he said as he dropped from the saddle and tied the horse to a tree.

  He ran in a crouch toward Connie’s horse, and as he neared, he could hear her screech of a voice from behind the carcass of a bus stalled by the side of the road – and the lower resonance of a man speaking in more hushed tones. Lucas didn’t bother trying to hear their conversation, instead concentrating on narrowing the distance without being spotted and flanking them so he could see what he was dealing with.

  Once he was only a hundred yards away, he peered through the night vision scope and saw the woman, arms akimbo, speaking to two Raiders, one of whom matched the description of his man.

  As Lucas had suspected, the scumbags were lying in wait on the highway to rob and murder anyone stupid or desperate enough to be traveling at night by the main roads. He debated whether to take the woman and second man out right then and there, but the decision was made for him when the shorter Raider struck the woman with a slap he could hear. The men were in motion and the woman was running for her horse, and then she was riding back the way she’d come as the men mounted up, presumably to waylay him at the springs she’d misled Lucas about.

  He could have shot the horses, but the smaller targets in motion were too difficult given the angle. His opportunity squandered, he returned to Tango and gave cautious chase. The Raiders rode hard on the highway, and Lucas followed silently through the scrub. He knew the springs she’d described, no more than a quarter mile off the road, and would wait for them to search the area and find nothing before moving on them.

  When they arrived at the well, nothing more than a cinderblock utility building and a walled hole in the ground, they leapt down from their horses, guns in hand, and rushed the structure in as amateur a manner as Lucas could have imagined. He dropped from the saddle and crept toward the springs while they roamed the grounds, and closed in on them while they were busy inside.

  When they emerged and were both clear of the doorway, Lucas called out from behind the cement rim of the well.

  “Drop the guns or you’re dead.”

  The small man’s accomplice opened fire on full auto, and Lucas cut him down with a three-round burst. His target dove for the door, but Lucas’s second burst caught his left leg, and he went down hard. Lucas fired another burst near the man’s head and then yelled at him, “Throw the AK away and put your hands where I can see them, or the next round’s between your eyes.”

  Lucas could practically smell the desperation as the Raider made his choice. His rifle rattled against the hard clay and he raised his right hand, his left clutching his wounded leg. Lucas rose and moved toward him, and when he reached the first Raider, toed his weapon away and knelt beside him to check his neck for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  The little Raider groaned in pain. Lucas straightened and approached him. He could make out the man’s features, twisted with agony, but his eyes still possessed of cruelty and animal cunning.

  “Hurts, huh?” Lucas observed, and spit to the side.

  The man glared at him wordlessly.

  Lucas eyed the man’s injured leg, blood seeping between the Raider’s fingers, and nodded. “Looks like it got you pretty good. Man could die from a wound like that.”

  “What do you want?”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “That’s not the one.”

  The Raider’s expression changed to confusion. “What?”

  “Your vest. Wrong one.” Lucas paused. “Although the tin star’s a nice touch. Where did you get it?”

  “Found it,” the thug said through clenched teeth.

  “Huh.”

  “What do you want?” the man repeated, his voice strained.

  “World peace. Understanding. The love of a good woman. But I’ll settle for a straight answer. I’m looking for a vest.”

  “You shot us for a lousy plate carrier?”

  “This is a special one. Sentimental value. A friend of mine’s. He died west of here, in a gulch by the foothills. Bushwhacked by a bunch of you. Has an eagle on the breast.”

  The man’s eyes widened in recognition, and then he quickly recovered, resuming his unreadable expression. But Lucas had caught the brief tell and nodded. “Seems like we have ourselves a winner.”

  “I didn’t kill those dudes, man. I swear. I just found the stuff. They was already dead.”

  “Oh, I believe you. Based on your moves here, you’d have been dead if you had taken them on. That’s not important. Where’s the vest?”

  “Why you so interested in it?”

  “I collect them. Where is it?”

  The Raider coughed. “I don’t have it.”

  “Who does?”

  The man shrugged with a wince. “I’m bleeding out here.”

  “Yup. Looks like you are. Where is it?”

  “I lost it in a card game. Back in Mentone. Along with a bunch of other crap.”

  “To who?”

  “Old guy. Dealer. But I heard he’s dead.”

  “Tell me about him,” Lucas said, his voice low.

  “Partner or something with the guy who runs the bar. Call him the mayor.”

  “I know the place.”

  “Mayor’s probably got it.”

  Lucas offered a humorless smile. “What does the badge say?”

  “How would I know? Police. Something like that.”

  Lucas shook his head. “Nope. Says sheriff.” He paused. “You the one dragged him over the rocks? Or your buddy there?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

  Lucas could see the lie in his smirk. “Friend of mine had a star just like that. Decent sort,” he said, and looked down at his M4.

  The Raider’s hand reached for his boot and a small pistol appeared from an ankle holster.

  Lucas’s final two three-round bursts chewed the man’s torso to hamburger, and the light went out of his eyes. Lucas knelt down and retrieved the Raider’s gun – a piece of Chinese junk, .32 caliber, compact but deadly at close range. He pocketed it and quickly searched the thug, holding his breath at the man’s odor, one of his rounds having punctured his abdomen and small intestine. He retrieved two curved magazines for the AK and slipped them into his flak vest, and then moved to the other Raider and repeated the process with much the same results – a few magazines, a lighter, and a battered Sig Sauer pistol that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a lifetime.

  Lucas hurried back to Tango and loaded the weapons into his saddlebags. He knew his shots would have carried to the woman, who might circle around and try to ambush him. He doubted it, but he’d learned you could never assume anything but the worst.

  He pointed Tango north and put three
miles between himself and the well, and then made camp with no fire. He’d wait until morning to return to Mentone and continue following the thread to see where it led. Of course, the dealer could have traded the vest to someone before he was killed, or the mayor could have sold it, but Lucas had no better place to start and resigned himself to another trip to the hellhole once day had broken.

  Would the woman say anything, warn them? Lucas didn’t think so. She would assume the worst when her pals failed to show, but he didn’t see her as being adventurous enough to ride to the well until it was light out, and he had put enough of a scare into her that she wouldn’t go back to the farmhouse any time soon. No, she would find someplace to sleep, maybe go looking for her companions in the morning, and when she found them…it didn’t matter. Lucas would have finished his business with the mayor by the time she could make it to town, if she dared – a lone woman without a vicious ferret like the little killer to defend her might decide that there were greener pastures than the open sewer that was Mentone.

  He watered Tango and settled onto his bedroll, troubled by how easily snuffing out life had come to him since rescuing Sierra. After the collapse, he’d had to shoot three different men, all of them in self-defense, but he’d avoided most altercations – which was why he was still alive, he reasoned. None had been easy for him, and he’d struggled with his conscience many a night; the knowledge that he’d had no choice afforded slim comfort when their ghosts came to visit.

  But now he’d butchered, what, over a hundred in a week or less? Had he become one of the monsters he so despised? Had the collapse finally taken its toll on his soul and robbed him of his humanity?

  He closed his eyes and tried to dismiss the notion. That he had the thought at all was proof of a kind that he wasn’t lost. Not yet. Animals like the Raiders didn’t miss a beat and killed innocents so they could steal their possessions – or worse, to entertain themselves. Lucas wasn’t that. Whatever he had become, he wasn’t one of them.