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

by Russell Blake

  “Where did he get that kind of weight?”

  “Dallas Federal Reserve had almost five hundred in their vault. The rest I heard he confiscated from jewelry stores and coin dealers in Houston and Austin.” Luis shrugged. “I haven’t seen it for myself, but the word was he brought a third of his fortune to finance the attack. I figure it’s worth a trip to investigate before the scavengers get to it.”

  Duke grinned. “I love me a treasure hunt.” He paused. “But Lucas bagged that elephant. He should get a share.”

  Luis shrugged. “If it’s there, I have no problem with that. A third, a third, and a third works for me.”

  Duke offered his hand. “Might not have to trade any more after this.”

  Luis looked him up and down. “Or you might want to take on more partners.”

  Lucas walked away, unconcerned by the discussion of rumored wealth. There wasn’t much in the world that he wanted at the moment that gold could buy – it wouldn’t bring his grandfather or Bear back, it wouldn’t keep him safe, nor would it shield Sierra and Eve…

  If anything, it could make him a target.

  Still. Couldn’t hurt to ride down to the convoy and nose around with Duke.

  He approached Sierra, who, like Ruby, had come through the shelling unscathed. She beamed at him. He cleared his throat, and she waited expectantly.

  “We need to talk, don’t we?” he began.

  She took his hands in hers with a slow nod. “That we do, Lucas.”

  “Don’t want to have to worry about you running off every morning.”

  Sierra got a faraway look in her eyes and stared at the peaks. “Me either.”

  “No need to ask whether we’re going to Colorado, is there?”

  She regarded Lucas with the beginnings of a wistful smile. “I’m glad you made it in one piece.”

  “Same here.”

  She sighed and squeezed his hand as the morning sun warmed her face, the flecks of gold in her eyes glowing as they caught the light. “We definitely need to talk.”

  Chapter 57

  The communications room in the basement of the church Magnus had taken over to use as his headquarters suddenly felt too small, even with only two men in it. The Houston Crew radio operator relayed the message he’d received to Snake, stammering in disbelief as he read from his notes. The transmission had come in fifteen minutes ago, and Snake had been summoned for an emergency conference.

  “Magnus is dead,” the man repeated. “The whole army was wiped out except for a few dozen survivors. They made it back to Albuquerque and are awaiting instructions.” The operator looked up at Snake with fearful eyes. “There’s no mistake.”

  “You’re absolutely sure this is genuine?”

  “Yes. The sender knew the passwords and the code phrases.”

  Snake shook his head. “A thousand men. Gone. And Magnus… I figured him as immortal.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Who else have you told?” Snake demanded.

  “Nobody. I called for you when I decoded it. I don’t want to cause a panic.”

  “That was smart. Very smart.” Snake nodded.

  The operator straightened in his seat. “What happens now?”

  “You’re to tell no one. I’ll deal with breaking the news. This has to be handled delicately, or there’s going to be complete chaos. Magnus was the glue that held Houston together. Without him and clear leadership… Well, I don’t want to think about it.”

  The operator nodded his understanding. “I’ll keep it secret.”

  “That may not be possible for long,” Snake said, processing the news. “This was over an open channel?”

  “Yes. But it was coded.”

  “Still.”

  Snake turned away, and the operator swiveled back to the console. A flash of steel in Snake’s hand blurred as he whirled around and drove his dagger into the operator’s spine. The operator stiffened and went limp as Snake withdrew the blade, leaving the man lying in a pool of blood.

  Snake exited the radio chamber and pulled the door closed. A guard nodded to him, and Snake ordered the man to ensure nobody entered the room until he returned.

  An hour later, Snake was sitting in Magnus’s private dining room as a lunch of freshly dressed beef filets, field greens, and spiced wine was served for himself and three of the inner circle.

  “Gentlemen, I have good news from Magnus!” Snake began. Servers placed heaping platters of mouthwatering fare before them, and a steward poured generous portions of wine in their cups.

  “Yes?”

  Snake signaled the servants. “Leave us. I’ll call for cleanup later.”

  The wait staff trooped from the room. When the heavy mahogany door shut behind them, Snake leaned forward, his eyes glittering with manic excitement.

  “The transmission was slim on details for security reasons, but apparently everything’s going to plan, and they’ve reached Shangri-La…and taken it!” Snake announced, his voice jubilant. He snatched up his cup and held it aloft in a toast. “Magnus estimates that he’ll be back before the week’s up. So today is one of celebration!”

  The men joined Snake in the toast and drained their cups. Only Snake didn’t finish his wine and, soon after toasting, excused himself and made for the restroom to flush his mouth with soap and water. He’d swallowed none of the port, but wanted to take no chances, his future now assured if he played his cards right.

  When he returned to the chamber, the three men were dead. Their faces were blue and bloated, foam frothed from their mouths and noses, and their eyes bugged from their skulls like some internal pressure had swelled to the bursting point. Snake sat back down, sliced into his filet, and chewed a bite with a look of approval.

  “Unfortunately, my homies, the world’s only big enough for one of us, and this go round I’m gonna be running the show.” He nodded to the nearest corpse and winked. “Don’t be throwing shade, big dog. I know you’re happy for me. I’m sure Magnus would have wanted things this way.” He paused, forked another heaping portion of steak into his mouth, and smacked his lips appreciatively. “You’ll have to trust me on that.”

  Thanks for reading The Day After Never – Covenant,

  (Book III in the Day After Never series.)

  I hope you enjoyed it.

  Book IV in the series continues with:

  The Day After Never – Retribution

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  Turn the page to read an excerpt from

  The Goddess Legacy

  Excerpt from The Goddess Legacy

  © Russell Blake 2016 – all rights reserved

  Chapter 1

  Old Delhi, India

  A pall of exhaust hung over India’s capital city, a hazy cloud that lingered in the still night air like a toxic mist. Everett Carson, lightheaded from the third celebratory cocktail he’d downed against his better judgment only minutes before, walked unsteadily down what passed for a sidewalk, dodging piles of refuse. The restaurant’s festive lights receded in the gloom behind him, and as he made his way down the dark street he realized that it was later than he’d thought, his meeting having taken considerably longer than planned. Still, it had been worth it, and now that the question of financing was answered, he was tantalizingly close to his objective.

  The area was deserted; the daytime crowds had vanished as the sun sank into the horizon, leaving the street eerily silent. His footsteps sounded unsteady to his ear, and he picked up his pace, wary of inviting unwanted attention i
n a district that could get ugly at a moment’s notice.

  Two men in dark robes stepped from a doorway halfway down the narrow block, and Carson’s stomach tightened. He told himself that he was too close to the main boulevard for there to be any danger, but his breath caught in his throat when he got a better look at the approaching figures, their onyx eyes glinting in the faint light from a passing car and their body language radiating menace. Adrenaline flooded his senses at the urgent determination in their stride, and he realized belatedly that he was anything but safe on the empty sidewalk.

  Carson made a snap decision and darted between two cars. A loud honk blared from his right as he stepped into the street and narrowly dodged the front fender of a sedan barreling down on him. He cursed and skirted an overloaded truck lumbering along in the opposite direction, laborers on the running boards gripping the roof rack for support, and then continued across once the vehicle passed.

  He hopped across a wide puddle and almost slipped when he landed hard, wrenching his ankle. He winced but kept moving, and when he reached the far curb, glanced over his shoulder.

  The men were nowhere to be seen.

  Carson shook his head to clear it and exhaled as he gingerly stepped onto the uneven concrete rise. A stream of noxious fluid, the surge the last of the runoff from a late afternoon cloudburst, burbled in the gutter around a clot of trash. A figure stepped into his path from the gloom and Carson stiffened. The man’s hand was outstretched, blocking Carson’s way.

  “A few rupees, mister?” a sandpaper voice pleaded in heavily accented English.

  Carson’s nose wrinkled at the stench drifting from the beggar, a rancid combination of filth, sour sweat, and decay. The vagrant eyed him hopefully through milky eyes, his jaundiced skin the texture of old leather, his trembling arm little more than bones and sinew. Carson pushed past, leaving the beggar leaning on a makeshift crutch fashioned from a broom handle, the soiled bandages that enveloped his stump of a left leg dotted with flies.

  Carson’s pulse thudded in his ears as he willed himself calm, chastising himself for allowing his imagination to get the better of him. The main avenue was only two more blocks, and he’d be there in no time. He could easily do this.

  Running footfalls thudded in his wake as he turned the corner, and his relief dissolved into fear – the city had a deserved reputation as treacherous for the unwary. He looked around for a taxi, but there were no cars on this street, and he swore under his breath at his carelessness. He’d dropped his guard for only a moment, but that had been enough in a town that offered no quarter. His pale complexion announced him as easy prey, a visitor in a country where he didn’t belong, and now his pursuers were closing in, no doubt planning to mug him.

  Carson hurried along the narrow strip of sidewalk toward the far intersection. The long block seeming to stretch endlessly before him, leaving him to navigate around muddy gaps in the concrete where the pavement had washed away. He dared a look behind him but didn’t see anything other than iron barred windows and shadowy doorways, and he slowed as he quelled the panic he’d succumbed to.

  What was wrong with him?

  It wasn’t like he was helpless – he’d spent his life in the military, where he’d seen enough combat to fuel decades of sleepless nights with the phantoms of his squad mates and those he’d gunned down. Even now he cut an imposing figure for a man of his years, his silver hair cropped close to his skull, his shoulders square, frown lines scoring a seasoned face beneath hard cobalt eyes. Any thieves foolhardy enough to tackle him would be in for an unpleasant surprise, he assured himself, although the coil of anxiety in his gut twisted tighter as he strode past crumbling, graffiti-marred façades.

  Carson swerved abruptly, narrowly avoiding a pile of cow dung in his path, a regular consequence of the sacred beasts that roamed unfettered even in the cosmopolitan areas. He skirted the lump and stopped in his tracks when another figure appeared from the shadows ahead of him, moving with a cautious precision that he instantly recognized as professional.

  He looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, but saw nothing. Carson quickly calculated the distance to the next street and his odds of dodging the newcomer, but dismissed it. Soles pounding on the street behind him decided his course, and he ran to a dark opening between two buildings – a pedestrian walkway between deteriorating tenements. He sprinted down the muddy track, and then skidded to a stop when he came face-to-face with a massive head, its baleful eyes staring at him with bovine indifference.

  Carson glared at the cow in the faint light and edged past it, ignoring the pink dust that rubbed on his clothes from where its hide had been festively colored by the faithful. He was just past the enormous beast when he heard his pursuers trail him into the passage. He slapped the cow’s haunch to goad it into charging them and sprinted as fast as he could for the far end, not waiting to see the effect of his effort.

  At the next street he spotted a taxi creeping his way and flagged it down, hoping he didn’t look so frantic he would scare the driver off. The car slowed to a stop, and he was reaching for the rear door handle when the pair emerged from the passageway behind him. The driver blanched at the sight and stomped on the gas, leaving Carson standing alone, fully exposed.

  He tore toward the glowing doorway of a curry restaurant, where a dim yellow sign over the storefront promised the best food in all India, and edged by a startled hostess in a golden sari before shouldering his way through the packed dining room, past the cash register in the rear, and through a pair of scarred double doors.

  A half dozen cooks labored over pots of steaming gruel beside two dishwashers in a corner scrubbing wooden bowls. Across from them, a wiry man chopped vegetables on a length of plywood with an oversized blade, his expression blank, head bobbing slightly with the music from a boom box on a shelf over the prep area. All looked up at Carson in surprise as he burst into the cramped cooking area and made for the rear door. A cry of protest went up from the two closest women, one of whom shook a stew-slathered ladle at him. Ignoring the commotion, he ran to the exit, hoping his pursuers had decided their easy target was now too visible to attack.

  He gagged at the stench rising from the garbage cans in the hot storage area, and swung the shabby wooden door wide. Outside he skirted a dumpster and shuddered at the sight of rats scurrying away down glistening pavement. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he inched along the brick wall, straining his ears for any hint of pursuit.

  Satisfied that he was in the clear, he strode toward the street at the end of the access-way, his footsteps the only sound other than the distant hum of traffic and the constant percussive horn toots echoing off the high walls. As he neared the alley mouth, he gasped when a figure draped in the robes of a tantric priest stepped from the darkness to block his way. Carson recoiled at the man’s filthy, matted beard and hair, and then locked on his face – a demonic vision smeared with gray ash, his mangled mouth stretched into a permanent sneer by mottled scar tissue, revealing blackened teeth filed to sharp points. The man’s eyes bored into Carson, and then a hoarse rasp issued from his ruined lips and he leaned forward. His breath stank like an open grave. Moonlight glinted off the curved blade of a knife in his hand, and he hissed at Carson like a cobra as he feinted low and lunged.

  Carson tensed, prepared to parry the thrust, and then abruptly jerked backward as razor-sharp wire looped over his head in a flash and bit into his larynx. His last breath gurgled from his ruined throat as powerful arms pulled the wire through sinew, tissue, and bone with a single heave. Carson’s body twitched spasmodically and collapsed in a heap, blood pulsing from his stub of neck. His head slammed against the pavement and bounced into the alley before settling five feet from his torso, where his sightless eyes stared in surprise at the unlikely spectacle of his headless corpse spasming in a crimson pool.

  The robed man nodded once to his companion, who removed a cheap plastic raincoat that had shielded his garments from the shower of blood, and p
ocketed the garrote. The assassin rolled the slick covering into a neat bundle while the robed man knelt and quickly went through Carson’s pockets. Finding nothing but a wallet and a room key, he straightened and shook his head.

  The pair soundlessly vanished into the gloom, leaving Carson’s remains to the rats making their way from the dumpster, the prospect of an easy meal having overpowered the animals’ natural caution. The restaurant’s service door opened with a creak and an outraged cook with a meat cleaver stepped outside, but his anger turned to panic at the grisly spectacle of ravenous vermin overwhelming the body near the alley mouth.

  Chapter 2

  “Kindly return your seat backs to their upright positions in preparation for landing.”

  The public address system crackled with an announcement warning the passengers that their flight was on final approach to Indira Gandhi International Airport. Trim flight attendants in starched uniforms strolled along the first class aisle with professional courtesy smiles in spite of the turbulence that buffeted the big jet as it shed altitude.

  Drake Ramsey offered the nearest attendant his empty glass and returned to looking through the window at the distant glow of the Indian capital’s lights. He shifted in the seat and rubbed tired fingers through his longish brown hair, wondering for the thousandth time what he was doing flying to India only ten days after returning from Myanmar. That episode had resulted in him swearing to himself that he would stay put for a while, but when Spencer had called the prior morning, everything had gone sideways.

  Drake replayed the conversation as the drone of the big motors changed, the plane slowing as it descended through scattered clouds.

  “What do you mean, ‘the game’s afoot’?” Drake had demanded after his partner in crime had announced he was in New Delhi. “And what are you doing in India? We just got home.”