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

by Blake, Russell

  Bruce finally spoke. “It was his choice. He bought us time. You should be grateful.”

  “I am. But I don’t want him to get himself killed.”

  Ruby’s voice had steel in it. “Sierra, your job is to get Eve to Shangri-La, not to take risks every time you get a new idea. Bruce is right. Lucas knew what he was doing, and he made a good call. If you want to be useful, try offering a prayer that he makes it.”

  “Makes it how? We have Tango!”

  “He can walk to the truck stop,” Colt said over his shoulder. “It’s not that far. Maybe three, four hours, tops, on foot. We can wait for him. If he shows, fine. If not, at least you’re safe.” He didn’t have to say that was what mattered the most.

  “I just wish there was something we could do.”

  The sound of the gun battle continued, and then, as the sky darkened, fell silent. Colt led them off the lake trail and onto a dirt road that led west, toward town. He slowed and twisted to see them. “Keep quiet from here on out. Roswell has guard outposts. I know where they are, and we’re going to pass within a few yards of two of them. Not a word, or there’ll be trouble.”

  “Why would they hassle us?” Sierra asked.

  Colt exhaled loudly. “Last thing I’m going to say. We don’t want to leave a trail of our passage. So nobody can see us. Now, all due respect, zip it, and no more questions. Not a peep. Understand?”

  Sierra nodded, and so did Eve.

  The rain grew lighter after the first hour and settled into a drizzle, now an annoyance rather than an impediment to their passage. Colt pointed to their left as they neared a grove of trees and held an index finger to his lips, reiterating that they had to be silent. They passed the outpost without incident and, forty minutes later, skirted the second without being spotted.

  The truck stop was a dark warehouse-size structure with a rusting roof, its windows broken out, the interior stripped by looters. Abandoned freight containers loomed in the darkness along the perimeter where they’d been dropped so the trucks that had pulled them could travel longer on the same fuel. The building was cavernous, they could see as they rode up to it, and after glancing around, Colt signaled for them to dismount and tie their horses where they could.

  Colt walked into the interior. The only sound was water dripping from holes in the roof. He looked around as the others followed him in and, once his eyes adjusted, smiled at the shadows.

  “You’re here,” he said.

  A man with long, gray hair and a lined face stepped from the gloom and returned the smile with a grimace. “Of course I am.” He looked at the women, Eve, and Bruce. “This is everyone?”

  “No. We’re waiting for one more.”

  “How long?”

  “We’ll give him…how long before we absolutely have to move?”

  “Four hours, on the outside. We want to be well into the territory before we make camp.”

  Colt turned to the women. “This is Frank. He’s our guide.”

  Ruby introduced them and offered a smile of her own. “So we’ll be with you for two days or so?”

  Frank nodded. “About that. Depends on how much ground we cover each day.” He yawned. “I’d advise you to get some rest while we wait. We won’t get much when we camp – we’ll be moving again at first light, so this is your chance.”

  “Good idea,” Colt said. “There’s cover from the rain, and the locals avoid this place like the plague.”

  “Why?” Sierra asked.

  “This is kind of a no-man’s land between the outer boundary of Roswell and the beginning of Frank’s people’s territory,” Colt explained. “There’s nothing here but bad memories, so no reason to come. And the truck stop and other buildings have been used by bandits in the past. It’s got a dangerous reputation.”

  Frank pointed at a dry area relatively free of debris near the entrance. “You can set your bedrolls there. I’ll keep watch.” He patted a lever-action Winchester rifle hanging from a shoulder sling.

  Five minutes later they had their rolls placed and had settled in to the lullaby of occasional thunder and the patter of rain as they waited for Lucas, an Apache stranger looking out for them at the edge of civilization.

  Chapter 48

  Lucas hit the water with a loud splash, M4 gripped reflexively in his hand. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but even as he sank, he had the presence of mind to shrug the rifle’s sling over his shoulder, freeing his arms to swim. The water’s cold chilled him to the bone. He saw light from off to his right and assumed he had gotten disoriented when he’d entered the lake. He pulled hard with his arms and broke the surface to gasp near the overhang of a willow tree’s branches, protected somewhat from the rain.

  Shooting erupted from his right, and he slipped beneath the water after a large gulp of air, thankful that he’d broken the surface near the shore and not further out in the lake where the men above were directing their fire. He figured they would exhaust their ammo shortly, and it would be completely dark due to the storm, so all he had to do was stay alive a couple more moments and he would be safe.

  He remained underwater until his lungs were burning, and when he poked his head from the lake again, the darkness was total and the shooting had stopped. Still, he didn’t want to allow overconfidence to ruin his tenuous advantage, so he treaded water as best he could beneath the tree’s cover in case anyone was still watching from above.

  A massive explosion of thunder shook the surroundings as a brilliant flare lit the lake, and Lucas took that as his cue to make for the shore. He swam underwater parallel to the steep bank for fifty yards, the effort nearly killing him; the weight of his body armor and magazines felt like he had a rucksack filled with bowling balls strapped to him. At last he dragged himself from the lake onto a rocky shore, the wind howling as waves of rain washed over the lake.

  Lucas didn’t allow himself the luxury of resting. The women were on horseback and, even at a slow pace, would make better time than he could on foot. He needed to find the truck stop and get there before they left, which meant he was already at a disadvantage, given that he had no idea where it was, other than the brief description offered by the bartender.

  What was it that he’d said? Northwest? Question was how far north and how far west?

  He shook his head to clear the fogginess in his mind, no doubt an artifact from the shock of the cold water and the fall. Think. What had Colt said?

  That it was just before the major highway intersection, which he guessed meant south of it. The best course of action would be to find the highway as it stretched north of town and follow it until he reached the truck stop.

  He removed his compass from his vest and took a bearing, and then quickly fieldstripped his M4 and dumped the water from it. He did the same with two magazines, figuring he’d deal with the others later, and finished with the Kimber.

  All things considered, it could have been worse. He was still armed, had all his fingers and toes, and had stopped any pursuit.

  Lucas removed his hat from inside the vest, restored it to a semblance of its prior glory, and fit it onto his head. He grimaced as he forced himself to his feet. His entire body was sore from weeks of hard riding and now the fall into the lake. After a glance around the area, he began trotting along the shore, wishing his NV scope wasn’t in his saddlebags, but reminding himself that if it hadn’t been, it might well have been rendered useless by the protracted submersion.

  No, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way, using his compass and watch. He remembered what Bruce had said about the good citizens of Roswell and the hospitality with which they greeted strangers, and made a mental note to dodge any patrols – there would be no asking directions from friendly natives.

  He came to a dirt access road, now a muddy wash down which brown runoff coursed, and lumbered up the slope. Lucas pushed himself to a faster clip, painfully aware that at least a few of the Crew had survived and that the further he could get from the lake, the better his odd
s. His leg muscles protested the exertion, but he continued without pause, driving himself hard for half an hour until light-headedness forced him to slow.

  The rain had lessened and was now a third of what it had been an hour before. He stopped near a tree and stood with his face upturned, mouth open, consumed by thirst. He adjusted his Kimber, and his hand brushed the bottom of his vest and came away covered with warm fluid.

  Lucas looked down at his fingers and saw blood, black in the nearly nonexistent light. He probed the area above his hip and winced when a searing jolt of pain shot from his waist.

  He’d been hit but, like many combat vets had described, hadn’t even realized it until adrenaline and shock had worn off.

  Lucas stripped off his plate carrier and noted with dismay that his entire right leg was slick with blood. That explained his weakness and dizziness – it was a wonder that he’d made it that far without passing out. He felt the wound and exhaled in relief; the bullet hadn’t hit any organs or bone, but rather had passed clean through the flesh just above his belt.

  He tore one of his long shirtsleeves off at the shoulder, and then repeated the maneuver with the other, and created a crude pressure bandage around his waist to clot the blood. When he was done, he re-donned his flak jacket and drank some more rain, but as he was doing so was struck by a fatigue so total he couldn’t force himself to go another yard.

  Lucas barely made it to the base of the nearest tree and sat beneath its branches. He’d have to rest a few minutes, allow his body time to recover. Only a few, he reasoned as he closed his eyes, shivering in spite of the moderate temperature, his mind filled with images of charging tattooed furies – and of Sierra, whose kiss still tingled on his lips as he passed from this world into the void.

  Chapter 49

  The rain had increased again as the tail end of the storm passed over Roswell, and waves of water lashed the outside of the truck stop as the group huddled inside. More thunder had awakened them a few minutes earlier, and they were now sitting around a small fire Frank had built deep in the interior, where its flames wouldn’t be seen from the outside, given the downpour.

  Ruby and Sierra, Eve’s head in her lap, stared at the fire as though in a trance, the smoke drifting to the rafters before finding a hole to escape through. Frank stood by the entrance, gun in hand, protecting his night vision from the firelight. Colt and Bruce were further away, Colt busying himself cleaning his weapons, and Bruce contenting himself with watching everyone else.

  “Poor horses. They’re getting soaked. Maybe we should bring them in?” Sierra asked.

  Frank shrugged. “They don’t mind. Not like they have umbrellas in the wild. It rains, they get wet. Then they dry off. They’re hardier than we are.”

  “You mentioned that we’ll be traveling through your tribe’s territory. What makes it theirs?” Ruby asked.

  “We took it back after the collapse. Mescalero Apache. Everything north of Roswell to just south of Albuquerque.” Frank paused. “People forget that originally this was all ours. Everything. The settlers and the white man’s army came and slaughtered the Native Americans so they could confiscate our land. All we’ve done is taken back what we can defend. We charge a toll to travel north, and east to west, or vice versa.”

  “It’s reasonable,” Colt agreed.

  “What’s funny is that since the collapse, our lives haven’t changed that much – if anything, they’ve improved,” Frank said. “We weren’t tied to the cities, to the grid, so we were better prepared to return to the old ways. That collective knowledge has served us well.”

  Ruby nodded. “I would imagine so. We’ve seen that with other places. The rural towns have fared better than the cities.”

  Frank smiled, the expression creasing his face with sadness. “Cities are unnatural. It always struck me as funny that people wanted to crowd together on top of each other when there’s so much space. Don’t get me wrong, I spent some time in them when I went to college, but I never felt comfortable. Claustrophobic.”

  “What did you major in?” Ruby asked.

  “Geology. Kind of a childhood obsession.”

  “Ah.”

  “My people are very protective of their newfound land, and nobody crosses it without paying the toll. You’ve paid, so you’ll pass through without problems.”

  Bruce rose. “I gotta use the can.”

  “World’s your toilet,” Frank said, indicating the drizzle outside.

  Bruce pushed past him and Colt’s eyes followed him into the darkness. “Where did you pick him up?”

  “He’s a tech guy – can repair anything. I’ve known him for a while. We stayed at his place in Artesia while we were lying low,” Ruby explained. “Why?”

  Colt shrugged. “More bodies means more resources required. That, and they’re very picky about who they let in.” Colt didn’t mention Shangri-La in front of Frank. “Not sure he’s got the kind of attitude they like.”

  “He grows on you,” Sierra said. “Like fungus.”

  They all laughed, and then a shot rang out. Frank dropped his rifle and opened his mouth to speak, and blood gushed from it down his chin. He pitched forward, eyes wide, gasping on the filthy ground like a beached fish, and Bruce stepped into the building with his H&K pistol in hand.

  “What the hell–” Colt said, reaching for his gun.

  Bruce was on him in a split second and slammed the butt of his pistol into the bartender’s temple. Colt went down, eyes rolled up into his head, and Bruce leaned over and scooped up his weapon, his gaze on Ruby and Sierra, the younger woman clutching Eve to her chest protectively.

  “Bruce–” Ruby started.

  “Shut up.” Bruce shook his head. “You’re really not all that smart, are you? Doesn’t surprise me. Did you know the average IQ in America is ninety-eight? I Googled it once. I don’t know why I keep expecting people to be smarter.”

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why shoot Frank?”

  “Why shoot Frank?” Bruce mimicked. “He was the most dangerous of the bunch, and he’s got no value. Colt there, maybe. Sierra and Eve? A ton.”

  “Value?”

  Bruce smirked. “Do you really believe that I didn’t hear the broadcasts offering a reward for you?”

  “You’d turn us in to those…those animals?”

  Bruce shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. Strictly business. You’re worth a lot alive, and I have you. That makes me rich.”

  “But Shangri-La,” Sierra began.

  “You mean the magical kingdom where chocolate rivers flow and the sky’s filled with marshmallow clouds?” He shook his head in disgust. “You people are truly delusional.”

  “It’s real, Bruce.”

  “You’re really out of your minds is more like it. Let me tell you what’s real: the big fish eats the smaller one, and then another even bigger one comes along and eats him. That’s real. Some Disneyland ideal in a hidden valley? Let me guess – the earth’s flat and aliens rule the world. Am I close?”

  “You’re making a big mistake. They’ll kill you,” Ruby said.

  “The only mistake I made was letting my handheld radio get wet in the saddlebags. Now I’ve got to wait for it to dry out to alert your boys to come collect you.” He held up a small radio. “But that’s okay. Not like we’re in any hurry. You’re not going anywhere, and Frank sure as hell isn’t.” He laughed harshly.

  “You don’t know the Crew, Bruce. They’ll put a bullet in you the second they have us,” Sierra said.

  “They have no reason to. I give them what they’re looking for, plus the bonus of another nutcase who believes in fairy tales, and they pay me. Simple transaction. Who knows? Maybe they could use someone who can repair anything. By the sound of it, they’re increasing their reach, so it could be a growth opportunity.”

  “You make me sick. There’s more to life than money,” Ruby spat.

  “Spoken by an old crone who’s at the end of her runway. Do you have any idea what it’s like
to live in a trailer in Hicksville, surrounded by morons? Are those the people who I’m supposed to believe my life would be better spent respecting than looking out for myself? Like I said, you’re delusional.” He shifted his aim to Ruby. “And frankly, you’re also valueless in this equation.”

  “That’s all we are to you? Pawns in a transaction?”

  “That’s all you’ve ever been to anyone. You talk about sickening – you’re the ones who’ve been living in a dream world. You really believe that the machine you obeyed before the collapse saw you as anything but sheep to be fleeced? Come on. You couldn’t cross the street without permission. You lived in a police state with twenty-four-hour surveillance. You had to pay most of what you earned to a government that couldn’t have cared less whether you lived or died, except for what it meant to its bottom line. Where did you get all these high-minded ideas about your value? You were just worker ants then, and you’re worker ants now. Only I’m the one who will benefit from your cluelessness instead of them. You? You’re in the same position.”

  Sierra looked past Bruce. He followed her eyes and spun just in time to avoid Colt charging him. Bruce slammed him in the head with his gun again, and Colt crumpled, his hand to his skull.

  “Another one that doesn’t learn,” Bruce said, and then turned back to Ruby, gun raised. “Been nice knowing you, but I’m afraid it’s time to go to Valhalla, or whatever bullshit you think happens when you die.”

  This time Ruby looked over Bruce’s shoulder, but instead of turning, he smirked and held his weapon steady. “Won’t work this time. Oldest trick in the book. Make your peace.”

  “Drop the gun,” Lucas’s voice called from the entryway.

  Bruce’s pupils contracted to dots as he pirouetted, gun in hand, crouching low as he turned. Lucas’s Kimber barked three times. The hollow-point rounds slammed Bruce backwards, exiting in bloody divots the size of tennis balls. Sierra screamed and held her hands over Eve’s ears as she clutched the little girl to her, shielding her eyes from the gruesome spectacle. Bruce staggered sideways and then toppled like a felled tree, his gun clattering by his side.