The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3)

by Russell Blake

  “What are we going to do?” Toby asked.

  Arnold took a long sip of water and stared into space. “Let’s assume a worst-case scenario. I think we have to. I want to review our inventories of ammo, explosives, everything, and put together a trading team to go into Santa Fe in the next twenty-four hours and buy every piece of gear we can get our hands on. If there’s a siege, there will be no such thing as enough ammunition or food.”

  “We can do that,” Ken agreed. “But without knowing what we’re defending against, we’re spinning our wheels.”

  Arnold nodded as he stood. He finished his drink and set the cup down on the table. “Spinning our wheels is our job. We get paid to be paranoid. We’re the first – and last – line of defense, and it’s up to us to imagine the unthinkable and prepare for it.” Arnold strode to the door. “Toby, have that inventory for me by tonight. Anything that looks borderline needs to be replaced. I want a complete list of all raw material we can commit to bolstering our defenses.”

  “I have schematics of some antipersonnel devices we could make in the machine shop if we shunted off all other projects,” Ken volunteered.

  “Make a list of what you need, and I’ll meet with the Doc tomorrow and get it approved.”

  Toby followed Arnold to the door and stepped outside with him. When they were out of earshot, he murmured to Arnold while looking around to confirm they wouldn’t be overheard. “You really think this is the big one?”

  As the force chartered with Shangri-La’s defenses, they’d often discussed their nightmare scenario – a full mobilization of a hostile force against them, rather than opportunistic scavengers. It had been considered by Michael and Elliot as a distant likelihood, given the security safeguards they had in place, which had withstood years of testing with flying colors, but Arnold had always believed they were living on borrowed time.

  He met Toby’s stare without blinking. “We’re going to find out. And that should scare the crap out of everyone, because most of these people have never been in an all-out war. I have.” He swallowed away his frustration and lowered his voice. “Pencil out an evacuation scenario, too. I want all options on the table once we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Toby nodded. “Hope she was just pissed at him. Lovers’ quarrel or something.”

  Arnold looked away. “Hope’s a lousy defense. Get to work.”

  Toby returned to the room, leaving Arnold to his thoughts. The security chief made his way toward the lab, a coil of anxiety tightening in his stomach with every step.

  Chapter 32

  Night had fallen hours earlier, but the temperature was still broiling, and the heat radiating from the hard-packed dirt sapped Lucas of energy with every mile. Tango had performed valiantly, but Lucas had wrung about as much out of the stallion as he dared, and had slowed to a leisurely clip as the sun had crested and begun its steady descent. He estimated he’d covered fifty-five miles, though couldn’t confirm his impression, there being no obvious landmarks.

  He was using the night vision monocle as he rode; the light from the stars was dim, a high striation of clouds blurring their glow and making their faint illumination untrustworthy for navigation. By his reckoning, he would come across Sierra and the guide at any moment, and in spite of his fatigue, a buzz of adrenaline coursed through his veins at the thought.

  Lucas hadn’t arrived at any monumental conclusions as to how he’d handle Sierra when he found her, but he figured that the likeliest straight answer he would get would be from Tarak, who’d performed as requested at every step of their journey and would have no reason to mislead him. That he couldn’t trust Sierra wore at him, but he was an adult, and in his line of work he’d seen everything, so he was no stranger to dishonesty. That he had to be on the defense against someone for whom he had feelings was immaterial.

  A hint of wood smoke wafted on the breeze from the south, and he slowed to a crawl. He sniffed the air like a tracking dog and, when he was sure he hadn’t imagined the odor, drew Tango to a halt and dismounted.

  He listened with his head cocked, ears straining for the slightest sound, but could make out nothing but the rush of the river and the occasional low whistle of the faint wind through desiccated branches. After several minutes of standing motionless, he tied Tango to one of the stunted trees and crept along the trail, staying away from the river in the hopes that he could surprise Tarak and Sierra.

  When he arrived at a thicket of tall bushes, he blinked at the sight of a small fire flickering near the river. His heart skipped when he spotted a collection of sleeping forms around it – six that he could make out. He swept the area with the monocle and froze at the sight of Sierra, sitting up, back to a log, eyes closed. Lucas squinted through the scope but couldn’t make out enough detail to identify who the men surrounding her were, or why she wasn’t also lying on her bedroll.

  He set the monocle down and lifted his M4 to his shoulder, the high-power NV scope on, and peered at Sierra. In its high magnification he could make out the odd angle of her arms and realized that they were tied behind her back. The crosshairs drifted down to her legs, and he spotted rope binding her ankles, confirming his deduction.

  Lucas eyed the sleeping forms, noting their weapons lying where they could get to them in an instant. In the scope’s higher resolution he recognized Tarak, his distinctive hat tilted over his face, covering his eyes.

  Movement in the periphery of the scope stopped him dead, and he adjusted until he found its source: a gunman with an AK hanging from a shoulder sling, relieving himself near some bushes. Lucas frowned at the logistics he was facing – a total of six hostiles, counting the lookout, heavily armed. His chances of taking them all out before one could return fire were slim no matter how precise his aim.

  He watched the sentry return to where he was stationed near a tree. The man took a seat, unslung his rifle, and laid it across his lap, sitting Indian-style. Lucas waited ten minutes to see whether anyone else appeared and, when nobody did, made his careful way back to Tango. He patted the horse and then lifted the leather flap of one of the saddlebags and retrieved the crossbow and quiver, cocking it silently before fitting a quarrel into the firing slot.

  His trip back on the trail was soundless; the artificial light of the monocle enabled him to pick the most solid sections so he didn’t inadvertently kick any loose rocks or, worse, stumble. Moments later he was closing on the guard from his flank, reducing the distance until it would be almost impossible to miss him.

  The bow discharged with a loud snap and the bolt drove through the sentry’s temple – a tricky shot from any distance. He winced at the sound and listened for any sounds of life from the fire, but heard nothing.

  The guard died instantly, as Lucas had hoped. If he could eliminate one more man with the bow and then bring the M4 to bear in three-round burst mode, he might be able to neutralize them all without getting killed.

  Lucas cocked and loaded the crossbow again and made his way toward the fire. He was almost in range when he stopped – one of the sleeping men was no longer there.

  Heavy footsteps crunched on dry twigs from his right. One of the men had awakened and was moving toward the dead guard, forcing Lucas’s hand.

  Lucas spotted a huddle of dark forms near a stand of trees well away from the fire and moved toward the group’s horses, an idea forming. When he was close to the first animal, he untied it and led it in the direction of the sentry, hoping an improvised distraction would buy him the few seconds he would need.

  Lucas broke into a trot with the horse, keeping its body between him and the dead lookout, and saw a surprised bearded face looking up at him from the edge of the scrub, no more than ten yards from the sentry’s body.

  Lucas released the reins and the horse continued on, leaving himself exposed, bow at the ready. He squeezed the trigger and sent the arrow flying; and then he was in motion, dropping the bow and running at the man, Bowie knife unsheathed. The bolt struck the gunman in the chest with
an audible thwack, and Lucas was on him as he went down. He drove the knife through the man’s eye as he tried to bring his weapon around, ending the fight with a violent shudder.

  “Quincy?” a voice called from the fire, and Lucas ran in a crouch toward the dense brush that bordered the clearing, stealth abandoned now that others were up. He reached the bushes and raised his rifle to see one of the men standing, gun in hand, and two of the other sleeping forms stirring.

  The M4 barked three rounds and the man’s chest fountained blood. The others rolled toward their weapons and Lucas fired at the nearest, two of his rounds shredding through the target’s torso as he screamed in anguish. He adjusted his aim at the next man but missed as the gunman threw himself to the side, hoping to use the fire pit as cover. Another burst from the M4 stopped the man cold as he returned fire at Lucas, and took half the shooter’s skull off as he crumpled in a heap.

  Lucas searched the area for the last gunman but came up empty. He swore under his breath and then rounds snapped past his head – Tarak was firing at him. Lucas couldn’t scream at the Apache for fear of drawing the missing man’s fire, leaving him little choice. He grimaced as he drew a bead on the guide and stitched him with a burst, knocking him backward, and his gun fell by his side as his arms windmilled.

  Shots erupted from Lucas’s right and he dove for the ground. An AK on full-auto hammered the brush with a sustained burst. Lucas waited for it to end with a telltale snap as the shooter ejected the spent mag, and then fired at where the muzzle flashes had lit the night twenty-five yards along the bank.

  Answering fire dashed any hope that he’d scored a lucky hit, so he rolled left and dog-crawled to a different spot as the shooter rattled another half a magazine at him. Forcing himself to remain calm, Lucas peered through the scope for a glimpse of the shooter and waited in tense silence for the man to make a mistake.

  Seconds ticked by, and then one of the bushes directly ahead moved. He fired two bursts and was rewarded with a volley from the ground beneath it – the shooter had done the same as Lucas, hugging the dirt to minimize his profile as a target.

  What he hadn’t banked on was the night vision.

  Lucas saw a flash of faint reflection in the scope and realized it was a man’s bald head. He fired four bursts, grouping the rounds within a two-foot area, and then ejected the magazine and slammed another home by feel, his eye never leaving the scope’s glowing field.

  His pulse thudded in his chest and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He ignored the itch caused by its passage and continued to sight on the target’s last position. After a good five minutes, Lucas rose slowly and ran low to the ground toward the gunman. When he reached the bushes, he found a powerfully muscled figure lying face down in a coagulating pool of blood. Lucas toed an AK-47 away from him and checked his torso for any evidence he was still breathing. Seeing nothing, he stepped away and put a final burst into the man’s head for good measure, and then made his way to the fire to confirm all threats were neutralized.

  Sierra’s jaw dropped when she saw him materialize from the darkness, and she uttered a strangled cry.

  “Lucas!”

  He ignored her and moved to Tarak, whose eyes were staring into the eternity of the night sky. Lucas took cautious steps to each fallen form, leading with the M4, and verified that the men were all dead before slowly turning to Sierra with an unreadable expression.

  “Lucas,” she tried again. “Thank God.”

  His boots crunched on the gravel bank as he neared. She looked up into his steel gray eyes and her face fell at what she saw in them.

  “Please. Untie me,” she pleaded.

  “Hello, Sierra,” Lucas said, his voice a rasp. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Lucas, I can explain. Untie me – I can’t feel my hands.”

  Lucas nodded and unsheathed the bloody blade of his Bowie knife. He studied it in the firelight before kneeling by her side, his movements mechanical and a bitter frown twisting his features. He hesitated at the rope and glanced at the dead men.

  “You’re going to tell me everything, Sierra. Everything, or so help me God, you’ll be joining this bunch in hell.”

  Chapter 33

  “Lucas, I’m sorry. I know…I know how this looks.” Sierra hung her head as Lucas severed the cord on her wrists and then went to work on her ankles.

  “You mean where you snuck out of my room and left with Tarak in the middle of the night?” he spat. “I’m sure there are a dozen plausible reasons.”

  “Nothing I say is going to change that.” Tears streamed down her face as she slowly flexed her fingers to get the blood flowing. “But this isn’t about you, Lucas.”

  “Of course not. How about we skip past all the drama and you tell me how you wound up with a bunch of Crew gunmen, for starters?”

  Sierra sighed. “I want you to know that our night together meant a lot, Lucas. That was real. It was.”

  “Sure,” Lucas said, his voice tight. His expression hardened. “No more stalling. Why did you leave?”

  “I’d fulfilled my obligation. I got Eve to Shangri-La safely.”

  “Right. And I risked everything to get you there. So did Ruby. So did a lot of people. And then you snuck out under cover of night.”

  “I had to, Lucas.”

  “Sierra, I’m losing patience. Give me some hard answers and stop talking in riddles.”

  “I was heading back to Texas.”

  “Why?”

  “Unfinished business.”

  “That’s a bullshit answer. Why were you going back to Texas?”

  Sierra looked away. “My son.”

  “Your son’s dead. You told me so yourself.”

  She nodded. “I thought so.”

  “But now he isn’t?” Lucas demanded skeptically.

  “When Garret took me captive, he told me that my son was still alive. That he’d survived.”

  Lucas studied her face, trying to decide whether she was telling the truth. He gave up after a few moments. He couldn’t read her. “And you believed him?”

  “Why would he lie?”

  “Let me guess – he was interrogating you when he popped out with that?”

  Sierra closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked lost. “Does it matter? If there’s a chance that he’s alive, I have to find him. You’re not a parent, Lucas. You don’t know what it’s like. For a mother, especially. There’s nothing more precious than your child.” She drew a ragged breath. “Nothing.”

  “He used that to break you down, Sierra. It’s predictable. The job of an interrogator is to do whatever he has to in order to get answers. Lie, misrepresent, threaten, cajole – anything. And you fell for it.”

  “You’re guessing. Neither of us knows.” She paused. “And I need to know.”

  “Because nobody tells you what to do, right? You just get an idea into your head, and it’s damn the torpedoes. And every time it results in disaster – but you don’t learn a thing.” Lucas shook his head. “So that’s why you left? I’m amazed.”

  “I don’t care whether you approve or not, Lucas. This isn’t any of your business. It’s mine. You don’t own me. We had an amazing night together, but I’m not some schoolgirl to be scolded because you disapprove of my choices.”

  Lucas sighed. “Choices that had you a captive of the Crew within forty-eight hours. Way to go, Sierra. Why listen to anything I have to say when you’re doing so well?”

  Sierra pursed her lips. “Thank you for saving my life. Again. Sorry I’m such a burden.” She forced herself to her feet and walked over to Tarak’s inert form. “But we’ve got a bigger problem than you being pissed because I left.”

  “Which is?”

  “Him,” she said, pointing to the dead guide. “He told them where Shangri-La is.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Dead men tell no tales.”

  “No. You don’t understand. The big one, Cano, sent a pair of riders to Albuquerque to radio Mag
nus with the location.”

  Lucas scowled. “When?”

  “In the late afternoon.”

  Lucas checked his watch and swore. He’d never be able to catch up to them – it would be physically impossible.

  Sierra turned to him. “So for all your anger over me leaving, the real problem is that our guide here sold Shangri-La out. Which would have happened whether I’d left or not. In a way, we only know about it because I did leave, so maybe everything happened for a reason.”

  Lucas moved to Tarak and searched him. He retrieved the heavy suede pouch with the gold in it and slipped it inside his vest pocket. Sierra stood uncomfortably close, but he forced himself to ignore her presence.

  “We have to warn them,” he said.

  “Obviously. You can go back and save the day. I’m headed to Texas.”

  “Did you overhear anything that we can use?”

  “Just that Magnus would pull out all the stops once he knew where it was.”

  “Any idea of what that means?”

  “Cano bragged that he’d send a thousand men.”

  Lucas’s frown deepened. “Was he serious?”

  “He sounded like it.”

  “It would take weeks to get a force that large from Texas to Los Alamos.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “Do the math, Sierra. Figure twenty-five miles a day. It’s got to be a thousand miles. And you’d have to supply all those men and horses.”

  “That’s not what he thought. He figured a week.”

  “There’s no way.”

  “You’re underestimating Magnus. He’s got vehicles. And fuel. He’ll be in a hurry to take down Shangri-La, so he’ll throw everything he’s got at this. Cano was confident enough to wait for him here. That’s not the actions of a man who expects it to take a month.”

  Lucas hadn’t considered the possibility of a motorized force. But it made sense that if Magnus controlled so much territory, he would have access to resources beyond the norm.