The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc

by Blake, Russell

“Damn.”

  Eve pointed to the chains holding the doors in place, and Julie looked through the glass at an interior promenade with steps leading down to the main floor. There was nobody around in the upstairs area, so she gripped the AK by the stock and slammed the steel barrel against the glass panel like a battering ram. The tempered glass shattered but held together, and she drove the barrel through multiple times until the glass fell out in a sheet of fragments.

  A cry rang out from below, but they were already through and running the width of the convention center, staying low. When they reached the other side, there were two stairways that led down, and Julie opted for the one on the right since the alarmed voices were coming from the left.

  They made it to the lobby area, and a woman screamed, “Stop! What are you doing?”

  Julie didn’t slow, Eve’s hand in hers and the AK in the other. She shouldered through the doors, and then they were outside the center, bolting toward the buildings across the boulevard, where Arnold, Devin, and Anne were waiting – assuming nothing had gone wrong.

  Shouts followed them as they ran but no shooting, and when they turned the corner, they nearly slammed headlong into Arnold.

  “Get on,” he hissed to them, holding the reins to his and Julie’s horses. Julie shouldered the AK sling and swung up into the saddle, and Arnold did the same before pulling Eve up behind him. “Hang on,” he ordered, and when he felt her small arms encircle his waist, he spurred his steed forward and took off at a gallop, Julie following close behind.

  Chapter 40

  Pacific Ocean, near Canada

  The hours crawled by, the seas flattened to five-foot rolling swells, and the moon eventually peeked through the clouds enough to silver the surface in the distance. When the ship had reached the latitude where they were to make the turn into the Salish Sea, they could barely make out the northernmost tip of Washington’s Pacific coast to starboard.

  Kirk gave everyone a tired smile. “So far, so good,” he said as the big vessel leaned into the turn.

  “Now it gets tricky,” Gary reminded them, and any relief on the bridge evaporated.

  “Pick up the speed,” Art ordered, and Gary goosed the throttles again. Soon they were flying over the surface with the wind at their back, making twenty-four knots according to the gauges.

  “At this rate we’ll get there before dawn,” Kirk pronounced from the chart table. “We’re only twenty minutes behind schedule, and this should make it up. We have about…ninety miles of relatively open channel here before it gets dicey near the Strait of Juan de Fuca.”

  “Dicey?” Lucas asked.

  Kirk indicated the chart. “See for yourself. Lot of direction changes, and the channel narrows a lot. If there’s anything off on our reckoning or course, we’re screwed.”

  Lucas approached the chart table and studied the chart. He looked around the bridge and yawned. “Sounds like we have four hours to get some rest. I’m going below.”

  He slept surprisingly soundly and only woke when the vibration from the engines changed. Lucas returned to the bridge to find the ship enshrouded in fog so thick he could barely make out the bow. He exchanged a glance with Art, who looked beat, and moved to the windshield before turning to Gary and Kirk.

  “Would it do any good to put someone on the bow?” he asked.

  Gary shook his head. “Not really. By the time they saw anything, it would be too late.”

  “Turn forty degrees and maintain course for…thirty minutes at eighteen knots,” Kirk called out.

  Gary made the adjustment and eyed Kirk. “Then?”

  “Another thirty degrees for thirty-six minutes.”

  “How accurate you figure that speedometer is?” Lucas asked.

  “It’s pretty on, based on what we saw on the ocean. But here we have no way of knowing whether the tide’s going in or out. If it’s going out, it’ll show us making eighteen knots, but we might only be doing sixteen or seventeen against a one- or two-knot current. Same if the tide’s coming in. Might add a knot or two.”

  Lucas squinted at the wall of white. “Not pumping me full of confidence.”

  Kirk shrugged. “You asked.”

  They made the next turn, and the knot of tension in Lucas’s gut eased slightly.

  “How much farther?” Bill asked, his voice hoarse from fatigue.

  “About…forty-seven miles.”

  Lucas checked the time on his mechanical watch. “That’ll put us there around six. Sunup’s about six thirty. Doesn’t give us much time to unload.”

  “Get the men ready,” Art said. “I want everyone off the boat in fifteen minutes once we land.”

  “We’ve still got about three hours,” Kirk pointed out.

  “No harm in being prepared.”

  Henry, Sam, and Bill went to rouse the troops and relay the order, and Lucas walked over to Gary. “How’s your Chinese buddy done so far?” he asked, looking at where the man was slumbering in a chair in the corner.

  “He was good when we were repairing things. There’s not much for him to do now.”

  “Lock him below.”

  “What are we going to do with the crew once we land?”

  Lucas frowned. “I’ll leave that up to Art.”

  Kirk stood and woke the crewman, who looked around the bridge in confusion before his eyes settled on Lucas. Kirk led him away, pistol in hand, and Lucas stared again into the wall of fog. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

  “Suit yourself. Just don’t fall in. The decks will be slicker than snot.”

  Lucas descended to the deck level and let himself out. He walked to the bow and stood in front of the gun turret, listening. All he could hear was the rush of water against the bow and the drone of the engines, and within minutes his face and hat were damp from the fog.

  He headed back to the bridge and waited until everyone had returned. Art had the maps in hand, and they went back and forth about the best places to dock the vessel and how to disperse from there.

  The next turn happened in the middle of a heated discussion, and Kirk gave them a heads-up. “Only an hour to go. Where do you want to berth the ship?”

  Lucas rose and walked with Art to the chart table, and Art put a beefy finger on a spot. “There’s a big pier right here. I was there years ago. It’s far enough away from the city that they won’t see us put in, and we’ll be off the boat before they can make it there. Probably an hour from Harbor Island? And there are enough homes in West Seattle so we can disappear. It’s a big area, especially if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

  Lucas thought for a moment. “What do you want to do with the crew once we’re off the boat?”

  Art’s expression hardened. “We can’t let them tell the others who came off the ship.” He turned to Henry. “You have any problem tossing a grenade in with the crew?”

  Henry swallowed before answering, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Pretty cold-blooded, ain’t it?”

  “We’re not the ones who crossed an ocean to invade Seattle and enslave the population. You tell me.”

  “They were just doing their job.”

  “And I need you to do yours. You want me to find someone else? Not a problem, if so.”

  “Nah. If it’s got to be done, I’ll handle it.”

  “It does. I’d let them live if I thought it wouldn’t endanger us. But we’re at war here. These guys didn’t surrender – we got the jump on them. They’re enemy combatants, and as such they get the same treatment as the soldiers at Newport did – and as the soldiers in Seattle will.”

  A scraping sounded from the bow, and they all tumbled forward as the ship abruptly slowed from eighteen knots. Cups and trays flew from the tables and smashed against the windshield, and the lights on the instrument panel went dark. Gary cursed and threw the engines into reverse, but the ship kept grinding against the bottom, the bow groaning in protest as momentum carried it forward, and the steel hull plates twisted beyond recognition u
ntil a spit of land in front of them darkened the haze.

  Chapter 41

  Denver, Colorado

  Ulysses stormed into Elijah’s quarters with six of his bodyguards and stood openmouthed at the sight of his naked son, snoring, bound to the bed like a slaughtered hog.

  “Elijah! What the hell is going on here? Wake up!”

  When Elijah didn’t move, he gestured to his bodyguards. “Untie him.”

  They rushed to obey and had him free within seconds. One of them looked up at Ulysses, his jaw set. “He smells like a brewery.”

  Ulysses strode to where the pitcher was sitting beside the bed, sniffed it, and then hurled it across the room. “Drunk! The greatest disaster to befall us, and my son’s drunk!”

  He spit on the floor in disgust and turned from the spectacle of his son. “Sound the alarm. They’re not going to get away with this. We’ll catch them. They can’t make it far.”

  “Sir, we’ll take care of–”

  Ulysses cut the man off. “I’m perfectly capable of riding a horse, you dolt. Now move. We’re losing time.”

  They hurried down to the ground level and out of the buildings and made for the church stable. Ulysses barked orders at the men, and ten of his best were in the saddle and ready to ride a few minutes later.

  “Follow me!” he commanded, and rode away at a gallop in the direction of the railway tracks. The report he’d gotten had been that two riders had been seen tearing through town, and an enterprising guard had followed them to the tracks, which led south out of the city. They had at most a twenty-minute lead, which Ulysses could narrow given that he didn’t care whether he blew out his horse – his party only needed to catch up to the fugitives, not carry them all the way back to their cursed Shangri-La.

  He had no doubt that was who’d engineered the escape and murdered one of his faithful in such a grisly manner. But they wouldn’t get away with it. Tonight was to be the pinnacle of his ambition, when he would take his entire congregation with him to heaven as the voices in his head had commanded. At first he’d been hesitant, but as they’d become more insistent, he’d seen the logic – by choosing to go home with him at the height of the celebration, they would be welcomed as having passed the ultimate test, and would be worthy of eternal life in the loving arms of the Lord.

  These interlopers would not be allowed to ruin his moment of triumph. The brat would be dragged back, and the celebration would go on as planned. Anything else would be failure, and he’d come too far to consider it.

  He would not be denied. Not now. Not with everything – not with heaven – so close.

  His men rode as hard as he did, and as dusk painted the sky with ribbons of ochre and crimson, he cried out in victory. “There! See? The Lord has led us to them, and they are ours!” He spurred his horse harder and ducked low in the saddle to gain even greater speed, and his men struggled to keep up.

  “Arnold!”

  Julie’s voice was barely audible over the clatter of the horses’ hooves, but he slowed and waited for her to catch up to him.

  “Behind us. Big party of riders.”

  “Damn. Well, we knew they’d give chase.”

  “How much farther?”

  “I can’t tell. Maybe a mile or two.”

  “They’ll be on top of us by then.”

  “Not if we push harder,” he said through gritted teeth, and goaded his horse back to a full gallop. Julie did the same, and they practically flew along the tracks, loose gravel spraying behind them.

  Five minutes later, Arnold called to Julie, “There it is!”

  The distinctive outline of a big-box store materialized on their right, and Arnold veered toward it. The light was almost out of the sky as they reached the parking lot and continued past a row of metal dumpsters filled with soil and construction rubble.

  “We got company,” Arnold yelled as he passed the dumpsters, and Devin’s voice answered from behind the nearest one.

  “I see ’em.”

  “You take the ones on the left; Luis and I will take the right,” Duke hollered from behind another dumpster, his rifle steadied against the lip, Luis by the side with his weapon steadied on a pile of cinderblocks.

  Devin waited until he couldn’t miss, and signaled to Anne. They both opened up on the riders at the same time, their rifles chattering as Duke’s and Luis’s did the same.

  Six of the riders jerked in the saddle and fell to the ground. The other five split off and made for the corner of the building for cover, but Duke’s rifle on full auto took two of them down before they made it.

  “Circle around and make sure they don’t flank us,” he said to Luis, who nodded understanding and leapt to his feet.

  “You want some of this?” he called to Devin, who joined him as he ran toward the far side of the structure.

  They were nearly to the corner when the sound of hooves on pavement forewarned them, and they ducked beneath the overhang and waited for the riders to show themselves.

  Two appeared, and Devin’s and Luis’s rifles barked in unison at the riders’ white uniforms standing out in the faint light. Both tumbled backward and dropped to the asphalt, their rifles clattering away as the horses raced off without their riders.

  “One to go,” Devin said, and then a three-round burst from the tracks shattered the silence.

  Arnold came riding around the corner a few seconds later, and Julie appeared out of the darkness.

  “That’s all of them,” he said, returning his rifle to its saddle scabbard.

  “There’ll be more behind them,” Devin warned.

  “Sure. But they won’t be able to find us in the dark, and by daybreak we’ll have too much of a lead.”

  Duke and the rest ran to their horses and swung into the saddle, and they rode away. Duke checked behind them every few minutes with his NV scope. He called out when they were a quarter mile away. “More riders approaching the Costco.”

  “Then let’s veer off the tracks,” Arnold said. “There are fifty roads leading south from here. There’s no way they’ll catch up to us now.”

  Another group of church guards led by Minister Fogarty slowed as they neared the store. Fogarty motioned to the men to dismount, and they crept forward in the darkness, staying low, leading with their rifles.

  Fogarty almost tripped over the first corpse and grimaced when he saw two more, all unmoving, the stink of death in the air. The men fanned out, and then a moan of horror sounded from the corner of the building.

  Fogarty ran over to where one of the guards was doubled over, retching. The distressed man pointed at a fallen form on the ground, and Fogarty walked over to the corpse and gasped.

  Even in death, three red blossoms stitched across his chest, Ulysses was instantly recognizable. His mouth was frozen open in a silent scream, his eyes wide in shock, and his white pants had been soiled as he died.

  Ten minutes later, Fogarty pointed his horse north toward the church as the others continued the hunt. The Prophet’s stiffening form was slung facedown across the back of his horse, and tears of anguish streamed down his face in the moonlight.

  Chapter 42

  Seattle, Washington

  Lucas was on his feet in a flash and rushed to the windshield to look out. The bow was crumpled like a soda can and buried up to the railing in dirt. Just beyond it, buildings loomed in the fog. Alarms clamored from the console, and steam hissed from a broken pipe on the far side of the bridge.

  “Damn,” Kirk said, fighting to stand.

  “Where are we?” Lucas snapped.

  Kirk felt on the floor for the charts and found the one he’d been working on. Lucas flicked his disposable lighter to life, and Kirk traced their route until his finger was resting on land.

  “Looks like West Point. North of Seattle, maybe…five miles. Nowhere near West Seattle.”

  “Five miles,” Lucas repeated. “Art? You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just bruised.”

  “We need to get the men and
horses off as quick as we can.”

  “He’s right,” Art said. “Men, go downstairs, assess the damage, and let’s figure out how to make this happen.” He stood. “Shut off the engines so we don’t blow up.”

  Gary felt along the console until he found the kill switches and obliged. The hull stopped shivering, and the alarms quieted.

  “Is the generator still working?” Art asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Why aren’t there any lights?”

  “Beats me.” He pointed at a glow from the stairs. “Looks like it’s just up here.”

  “Okay. Let’s evacuate,” Lucas said. “Seems like the men can get off the bow, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that’s what they should do, assuming the stairways are still passable. The horses can swim to shore from the stern.”

  “Where are you going?” Art asked.

  “No way I’m leaving my horse down in the hold. If he’s going to swim for it, I’ll be on his back.”

  Lucas took off down the stairs, leaving Art and the others to figure out the situation on the bridge. He was at the cargo deck in two minutes, where the men were carrying weapons and ammo in the opposite direction, making for the deck. Emergency lighting in the floor and ceiling illuminated the cavernous holds, and he dodged past departing fighters to make it to the rear chamber.

  He reached the animals, who were panicking and a danger to their handlers as they stomped their hooves and thrashed about. Lucas barked instructions to the men and worked through the throng until he found Tango, who looked frightened but manageable. Lucas murmured words of comfort to the big stallion and stroked his neck, and the terror slowly seeped from his eyes, and his rapid breathing quieted.

  “How do we get this hatch open and the ramp lowered?” Lucas called.

  “We’re working on it,” a voice replied from the rear.

  “Work harder,” Lucas said. “We need out of here.”

  Cold water lapped at his boots, and he looked down. The entire surface had an inch of water sloshing around, and the level seemed to be rising – there hadn’t been any when he’d found Tango.