The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc

by Blake, Russell

  “Who’s calling the shots now?” Lucas asked.

  “Hubert got voted out. They made me the acting mayor until someone actually wants the job. Everyone else on the council got the boot, and there weren’t a lot interested once Bill took off with his crew.”

  “Most stay with the rest of you?”

  Hayden nodded. “Sure. Where else would they go? We figure if we stick together, we can make something decent here. We’re in the middle of nowhere, with a water source and plenty of fish. A lot of folks have it way worse.”

  Jeb nodded. “True.”

  “You thinking about sticking around, Jeb? There’re plenty of empty houses. We’d be happy to have you. All that stuff with the council…that’s over. Got no problem with you personally.”

  “Good to hear. Yeah, we’re gonna try it out, see how things work,” Jeb said.

  “Any idea where Ruby’s mule is?” Lucas asked.

  Hayden frowned. “Probably over at the stable.” He indicated one of the warehouses several blocks from the water. “We keep most of the animals there.” Hayden studied Lucas and Ruby for a moment. “You’re welcome to stay, too.”

  “Thanks, but we have a home of our own,” Ruby said.

  Hayden eyed Lucas. “What happened with the Chinese?”

  “After we’ve gotten some rest, we’ll tell everyone what happened. Right now our horses need water and feed,” Lucas said. “We’re headed back tomorrow.”

  “Fair enough. We use the big hospital as kind of our headquarters. Can’t miss it. I can let everyone know you want to talk to them later. Maybe just before sundown?”

  “That’ll work.”

  They rode along the waterfront street and turned toward the stable. Many of the homes had been gutted by fire or burned to the foundations, but there were still many that appeared viable. Lucas had warmed to Jeb and his family on the ride south from Astoria and hoped that the new spot would work out better than Astoria had.

  Mary pointed at a two-story Victorian house. “Oooh. I could see us living there. Wonder if anyone’s claimed it?”

  Jeb looked the house over. “Only one way to find out.”

  They split off toward the home, and Rosemary lingered with Lucas and Ruby. She’d been asking about Shangri-La the entire trip, and it had been clear to both of them that the young woman had little interest in continuing her life with her strict parents and a dating pool of unsuitable boys.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to tell them I don’t want to stay,” she said.

  “Sometimes just coming out and saying it is the best way,” Ruby advised.

  “It’s not as easy as you think. My mom, maybe. But there’s no talking to him.”

  “Seems a little stubborn,” Lucas conceded. “But he’s got a good heart.”

  “You think they’ll accept me if I go with you? In Shangri-La?”

  Ruby held her gaze. “All we can do is vouch for you, Rosemary. But I don’t see why not. You’re smart and able-bodied, which would be positives for the community.”

  “Thing is, no place is heaven, in spite of the name,” Lucas warned. “Winters are brutal, and we have a lot of enemies. No guarantee you’d be safe there.”

  “Where is there a guarantee?” Rosemary asked. “Seems like that’s just how it is now.”

  “True.”

  Mary called from the front porch of the house. “It’s empty! Come see, Rosemary!”

  She sighed and looked to Lucas. “I hate this. I’d already decided to leave before the Chinese took over. I feel like I can’t breathe anymore. I know they mean well, but…”

  “Rosemary!” Mary called again.

  She slid from the saddle and walked her horse to the house with slumped shoulders. Ruby shook her head. “That’s going to be a tough one.”

  Lucas nodded. “For all of them.” He reined Tango to the left. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find Jax and get the horses fed.”

  “I wouldn’t mind eating,” Ruby said.

  “First things first.”

  The pair of men in charge of the stable were happy to help them find Jax, who was in a makeshift stall created out of pallets. His baleful gaze brightened when he spotted Ruby. She hurried to him and scratched his chin, and he rubbed his head against her like a pet dog seeking adulation.

  Lucas paid the men with a few bullets and, after asking them if anyone had set up a restaurant, led the way back to the water, where a family who had taken over a café was frying fish on a grill.

  They sat at one of the tables, and a boy of about twelve brought them two heaping platters of fresh cod, which they gobbled down appreciatively while cooling their throats with well water. “Caught this morning,” the boy said. “It was pretty rough out on the sailboat, but we didn’t have to go too far.”

  After their meal, Ruby and Lucas found a deserted house near the shore with serviceable beds and settled down to rest. Both were tired from the trek from Astoria and the constant tension of riding the trail in potentially hostile territory, and soon they were both asleep after having pushed a sofa across the second-floor landing stairs to prevent any intruders from catching them by surprise.

  The sun was sinking into the Pacific when Lucas started awake, his M4 in hand out of habit. He listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, rose and went to Ruby’s room to wake her.

  They made their way to the hospital, guided by one of the newcomers whom they’d asked for directions, and when they arrived, Lucas found himself facing almost the entire population of Astoria, eager to hear his story.

  Lucas gave a report in clipped sentences and finished by answering predictable questions from the townspeople – the most frequent one being whether he thought they were in danger in Newport.

  “I don’t know,” Lucas admitted. “Probably not from the Chinese still in Astoria – they’ve got their hands full with the tent city, not to mention Bill and the rest out for blood. From the river radiation? Maybe. I’m no expert, but it can’t be good to have all that pouring into the ocean. Then again, it’s a fair ways north, and the Pacific’s a big place, so could be it’ll dilute it.” Lucas paused. “But I have to believe the Chinese aren’t just going to give up. There’ll be more. Whether you’ll be safe here depends on whether they see any point in taking over Newport. That I can’t answer.”

  After a half hour of speculation, Lucas and Ruby accepted an offer for dinner extended by Jeb and Mary, and passed an enjoyable hour sharing a simple meal of fish before excusing themselves and heading back to their temporary home.

  The following morning, they were up early and at the stable to claim their steeds and Jax, whose typical lack of enthusiasm was on display when one of the stable hands led him out into the morning sun. They were mounting up when Rosemary came at a run, a backpack strapped to her shoulders and a Kalashnikov in hand.

  “Wait up. I’m coming with you!” she cried, out of breath.

  Ruby smiled. “You told them? How’d it go?”

  “They weren’t very happy,” she said. “Especially my dad. But my mom eventually came around. She doesn’t want to see me leave, but at least she understands.” Rosemary paused. “I think because I’ll be traveling with you it made it a little easier than if I’d just snuck off.”

  “How’d you leave it?” Ruby asked.

  “I told them I love them, but I need to find my future, and it isn’t in Newport. My dad didn’t even say goodbye, but my mom did after we both cried for a while. She said I broke my father’s heart. But I can’t let them guilt me into staying and being miserable.”

  “It’s a long ride,” Lucas said. “And no telling how dangerous. Sure you’re up for it?”

  She looked around the town and then into the stable, where her horse and kit were waiting. When she faced Lucas again, her eyes were unflinching and her jaw set.

  “Try stopping me.”

  Chapter 5

  Houston, Texas

  The Crewcut bar was packed with sweating humanity as a five-piece band
pounded out a passable acoustic version of a Southern rock song that served as one of the Crew’s anthems. It was a popular nightspot for members of the gang, with the booze full strength and reasonably priced, and the working girls relatively healthy by post-apocalyptic Houston standards.

  Larson Rawls, a lieutenant in the Crew in charge of a squad of almost a hundred men, threw back the last of his home-brewed bourbon and glared at a towering figure with bleached white dreadlocks and elaborate facial tattoos who was standing at the far end of the bar, laughing with a group of rowdy men. Rawls stiffened at the sight, and his companion, a swarthy streetfighter with a network of scars covering his nose and cheeks, signaled to the bartender and pointed to their glasses.

  “Two more,” he said.

  The bartender approached with a bottle of local rotgut and topped them off. Rawls glowered at the dreadlocked man down the bar and reached for his drink.

  “That prick makes my skin crawl, Axel. I don’t see why Snake lets him get away with the shit he does,” he snarled.

  “Maybe we should head over to Cassidy’s and see if there’s any new talent. I heard they was getting in some teenagers from Mexico this week,” Axel said.

  “Hell, by the time they make it here, they been ridden hard and put away wet more times than new meat in the prison shower,” Rawls said.

  “As long as they look the part, who cares?” Axel asked, and then held his glass aloft.

  Rawls drained his and grimaced. “Damn if that don’t burn on the way down.”

  Axel glanced at him uneasily. “Come on. Let’s hit the trail and see what’s shaking.”

  More laughter cut through the music, and Rawls’s jaw clenched. “Bastard’s laughing at us. Can’t let that stand.”

  “Naw, he’s just mouthing off to his boys. You know they’re all talk.”

  But Rawls was already in motion before Axel’s last words were out of his mouth, pushing through the crush of unwashed bodies like a pit bull after a bait dog. Axel hurried to catch up and was reaching for Rawls’s arm to stop him when Rawls, sensing him, twisted and growled over his shoulder, “Don’t get in the middle of this, Axel.”

  “I’m just saying–”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  Rawls stopped in front of the dreadlocked man, his fists clenched. The man looked up from his friends and leveled a prison-yard stare at Rawls.

  “What up, Rawls?” the man asked, his voice sandpaper on hardwood.

  “Think you’re pretty funny with today’s supplies, don’t you, Crank?” Rawls said. Crank was another Crew lieutenant whose men regularly seemed to enjoy better provisioning than Rawls’s group.

  “What’re you smoking? We got what was coming to us. Chill out. We’re here to relax.”

  “I could hear you across the bar.”

  Crank eyed Rawls and shook his head dismissively. “Stay away from the hard stuff. It ain’t doin’ you no favors–”

  Rawls’s punch pistoned into Crank’s gut without warning, the blow lightning fast and with all Rawls’s weight behind it. Crank’s eyes widened and his mouth formed an O, and then one of his companions leapt forward, fists swinging. Rawls ducked a haymaker and booted the man in the groin, sending him sprawling. Crank gulped air and leapt at Rawls, and then the bar was engulfed in fighting as the Rawls and Crank factions brawled, following their bosses’ examples. Bottles shattered as the fighting spread like oil spilled on the surface of a lake, and soon even neutral drinkers found themselves trading blows as the melee fed on itself.

  By the time the bouncers restored order with several well-timed gunshots over the crowd’s heads, much of the furniture had been shattered and at least half of the patrons were bleeding or unconscious. The only thing that had stopped the fight from escalating to full-scale slaughter was the bar’s no-weapons policy, but even so, several dozen hardened fighters had been wounded badly enough to require a trip to the Crew’s medical facility.

  Snake looked up at the rapping on his door and frowned at the naked young woman lying next to him in bed.

  “What?” he bellowed.

  A muffled voice called through the door. “Barton wants to see you.”

  Snake swore under his breath. Barton was Lassiter’s subordinate, whom the Illuminati boss had left to offer Snake guidance in his absence. In reality, Barton ordered Snake around like a servant, although he took care to do so in carefully guarded language. But the effect was the same – Snake had gone from being the most powerful warlord in the southwest to an errand boy for Barton’s masters.

  “Tell him I’m busy,” Snake growled.

  “I told him. He’s waiting for you downstairs in the lounge.”

  “Damn. Fine. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  Snake rose and eyed the woman, whose caramel skin and jet-black hair gleamed in the candlelight. “Wait for me to come back, but don’t touch anything, understand?”

  She nodded and bared a row of perfect white teeth. “Of course, Snake. Hurry back. We ain’t done.”

  “Damn right,” he said, and padded over to a table where a glass pipe and a baggie of Crew meth sat beside a bottle of tequila. Snake removed his leather pants from the back of the chair and slid them on, and then sat and pulled on his boots. He reached for the bottle and took a swallow of the harsh liquid. He grimaced and exhaled noisily.

  “You can have some of this if you want. But no dope.”

  She pouted. “It makes me horny.”

  “You heard me. Maybe when I get back, I’ll give you a taste.” He dipped a straw into the baggie of powder and carefully scooped a pinch into the pipe bowl, and then leaned forward and held the pipe over one of the candles. In a few moments the powder liquefied, and he pulled it away from the flame and inhaled as the liquid began to smoke. Snake drew the fumes deep into his lungs and nodded rhythmically as he counted slowly to four and then exhaled a stream of smoke as his blood pressure spiked and the drug exploded through his system.

  He sat back and waited for the initial rush to run its course and settle into the constant buzz he craved, and threw a glance at the girl, who was looking at him with hungry eyes. He rose and pocketed the baggie and then went for his shirt, which he’d dropped on the floor earlier as they’d made their way to the bed. “Just to keep you honest, babe,” he said, ignoring her dark look.

  Four heavily armed guards stood outside his suite, and he nodded to them as he brushed past, his synapses singing from the drug and his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth unconsciously. One of his underlings approached down the hall and stopped just short of him.

  “Had a big brawl at the Crewcut. Lot of our guys hurt,” the man reported.

  Snake shrugged. “What was it about?”

  “Nobody’s sure, but I’m hearing Crank and Rawls got into it, and it spiraled from there.”

  “What the hell were they thinking? They know better,” Snake snapped.

  “That’s just what I heard. I dunno for sure.” He hesitated. “But Rawls has been bitching about not getting his fair share lately.”

  “Because Rawls isn’t producing like Crank is.” Snake sighed. “Drag their asses in here. We can’t have public fights between my people.”

  Snake continued to the ground-floor lounge, his mind racing from the drug and the revelation that his men were at each other’s throats. He couldn’t afford to lose two of his top enforcers, but if he didn’t do something, he’d lose even more face with his men – and he knew that since failing to provide a vaccine, his leadership was in doubt, even if nobody had been stupid enough to tell him so to his face.

  It didn’t help that he was having to kowtow to Barton. Snake blamed much of his misfortune on the man’s interference in his affairs, even if he knew that wasn’t the real cause of the unrest. The Crew under Magnus had been run by a brutal leader whom nobody dared question, and no matter how draconian Snake’s proclamations, he would never measure up to that man in many of the Crew’s minds. They might not say so out loud, but he sensed
it with every interaction, which encouraged him to be even more unpredictable and brutal than normal. Snake had watched Magnus operate, and he understood the prison hierarchy where the most vicious sociopaths wielded the most power, so that was what he’d set out to become – but he’d still fallen short of Magnus’s magnetic leadership ability and utter ruthlessness, and ever since the disaster in Louisiana, Snake had felt the need to look over his shoulder even more than usual.

  He understood how leadership challenges were resolved in the prison yard. And the Crew was no different.

  Barton was seated on a sofa by a granite bar, and he rose when Snake entered. Snake crossed the room in a few strides and plopped down in one of the easy chairs. Barton sat again and offered a wan smile.

  “I just got word from my group about your request,” Barton began. “Unfortunately there have been more setbacks on finding the parts to bring the refinery online. But we’re working on it.”

  “That’s why you pulled me out of bed?” Snake exclaimed.

  “It’s already eight. I figured you would be up, directing your troops,” Barton answered.

  Snake’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out whether Barton was mocking him, but the man’s face was as unreadable as a statue’s. Snake decided to ignore the comment and sat forward. “Well, I’m here now. And I want to know what ‘working on it’ means. You’ve been promising to get us up and running for months, and we have nothing to show for it. That’s causing problems for me, both internally and with other gangs. This is dog eat dog, and if they sense weakness, I’ll be fighting on multiple fronts. If I have fuel, problem solved.”

  Barton nodded. “Yes, we’ve had this discussion before, and I’ve relayed your concerns to Lassiter and his people. But there are limits to what we can do. This is highly specialized equipment, and we can’t just snap our fingers and find the engineering talent to troubleshoot it and bring it up to speed. It’s an enormous undertaking, even for us.”