The Day After Never (Book 4): Retribution Page 11

  Snake watched while four tenders dropped to the water. The crew had foregone the electric winches and was lowering them manually to cut down on noise. When the boats were floating by the ship’s hull, another group lowered the gangplank, at the end of which was a platform large enough for one of the tenders to tie off while loading.

  “That’s it. Move,” he said, and the first of his fighters tromped down the ramp, bristling with weapons, their faces blacked out.

  Snake had done his homework on New Orleans’ defenses and learned that nobody watched any of the seaward approaches; if his force could land without attracting attention, they could be in the city center before anyone knew they were there. The warlord who ran the area was holed up in the Garden District with a retinue of twenty guards and had easily five hundred men in his fighting group, which made him a formidable threat. But Snake’s best estimate had been that most of those fighters would be loyal to the Crew when pressed, especially if Snake could achieve the coup he’d planned before the sun rose.

  If all went well, the New Orleans contingent would awaken to their leader deposed and Snake directing affairs until he could appoint a replacement. His hope was to avoid a frontal confrontation and present the New Orleans faction with a fait accompli – a lesson that the all-seeing eye of Providence wasn’t simply a metaphor.

  If successful, it would chill any further ideas of rebellion in the ranks and seal his place at the top of the pyramid.

  Zach had been key in developing the plan and the ship critical to avoiding telegraphing their moves, which would have translated into a long and bloody campaign with Snake’s men at a disadvantage, paying a heavy toll in blood for every yard. It was the Illuminati fixer who’d come up with the idea of transporting several hundred of Snake’s gunmen via ship with no advance notice and no warning of where they were going.

  Approaching by sea had bypassed the checkpoints along the roads connecting Houston with New Orleans, so there would be no radio alert to the warlord from a patrol.

  The only negative was that they would have to travel the twelve miles from the shore to the city on foot, but compared to the value of surprise, that was a trivial concern. They’d calculated that most of his men would survive a skirmish at the warlord’s mansion, thus leaving a formidable presence to halt any revolt against his authority by the local Crew.

  The first tender filled and putted toward the inlet while the second lashed itself to the platform and the loading continued. By the time the last boat had left, the first one had returned for a second load, and soon the men were assembled near the remains of the marina, night vision goggles in place as the inky sky flashed with celestial pyrotechnics that announced the approaching squall.

  Zach and Snake led the column along the rutted road that stretched to the city. A halo glow over Bourbon Street gave evidence that some things were perennial even after the end of the world. The bars and brothels there were a major source of income for the Crew and a big part of the reason Snake needed to assert control personally rather than allowing his subordinates to handle matters with a blade through the heart while the warlord slumbered. If he didn’t put in an appearance and quell any speculation that he wasn’t equipped to lead, his rule would be short and filled with uprisings. If New Orleans led a charge of independence from Houston, that would undoubtedly be followed by the eastern part of the state, as well as Arkansas.

  Snake picked up the pace from a march to a trot as the first sheets of warm rain blew across the marsh, dimpling the lake and clouding the way forward. Soon his breath was burning in his chest, but he didn’t slow. After forty-five minutes, he paused and announced a rest stop, and Zach joined him beneath the droop of a bald cypress tree, whose branches only marginally sheltered them from the downpour.

  “How far do you think we’ve come?” Snake asked, trying not to sound fatigued.

  “Maybe…four miles? So about a third of the way.”

  “Might be a good idea to take the rest of the way slower. No point in tiring the men out.”

  “Probably prudent. We have many hours before daybreak.”

  “And that way we’ll hit them in the early hours of the morning.”

  “Good thinking,” Zach agreed without a trace of irony, his face unreadable beneath the black face paint.

  The New Orleans warlord had commandeered a massive antebellum mansion near Lafayette Cemetery and used it as his weekend headquarters as well as his home. The men resumed a faster pace once they crossed the St. Claude Avenue Bascule bridge and were within the city limits, giving the raucous Bourbon Street district a wide berth, the streets to the north of it dark as pitch. The rain beat steadily as the last of the storm blew past, masking the sound of their boots on the pavement.

  Because of the inclement weather and the late hour, nobody was on the streets, and Snake was heartened to note they were closing on the mansion by three in the morning. As if by divine intervention, the downpour stopped as they neared the cemetery, and Snake slowed and had a whispered discussion with his general before motioning to Zach to remain behind as the fighters got into position.

  Zach checked his watch, its face glowing in the darkness, and leaned into Snake as the men hurried past.

  “They need to knock this out fast, or it’ll be fighting street-to-street when reinforcements show up,” he warned.

  “I told Derek. He’s my top commander now that Magnus’s generals are toast.”

  Zach’s tone was noncommittal. “He seems competent.”

  “He was a marine before he was sentenced to life. Lieutenant. Smart and ruthless.”

  “What did he do to get locked up?”

  Snake grinned. “More like what didn’t he do.”

  “Ah. A free spirit.”

  “Brought the war home with him.”

  Zach nodded, as though speaking from personal experience. “It can happen.”

  “You saw action?”

  Zach didn’t answer. Instead, he peered down the street to their right. “Is he going to encircle the target?”

  “I leave the tactics to him. He’s the one with the combat expertise.”

  “Let’s hope he does, because otherwise he could get flanked.”

  Snake’s men vanished into the shadows, and he watched through his night vision goggles as they fanned out. Derek made a curt hand gesture, two fingers directing one group down the sidewalk toward the looming white bulk of the antique mansion, and the other to the intersection to make their way around to the back, and they split off.

  Silence descended on the area, and Snake held his breath. He didn’t have long to wait; less than a minute later, a shout echoed down the wet street, and the night exploded with automatic rifle fire as the warlord’s guards spotted the attacking force.

  Snake’s gunmen returned fire, and the rattle of AKs was deafening, at least a hundred of his fighters unleashing hell on earth at the massive home. Wood chips flew from the siding as bullets slammed into it, and Zach shook his head.

  “Looks like it’s built out of brick. The siding’s cosmetic. This is going to be harder than we thought.”

  Orange blossoms lit the night from the mansion windows, immediately followed by hundreds of answering rounds from the attack force, and then a grenade detonated on the front porch, blowing most of the structure to pieces and blasting the entry door to splinters. More shooting chattered from the house as at least twenty of Snake’s shooters rushed the wrought-iron front gate, firing as they ran. The remainder hung back and laid down covering fire.

  Three of the lead men collapsed at the gate as defending rounds found home, and then another grenade exploded in a blinding orange flash by the nearest ground-floor window, silencing the shooting that had cut them down. The rest heaved the gate open and flooded the grounds. Another blast detonated upstairs – Derek had engaged with his RPGs, shutting down the defensive fire with a single projectile.

  The fighters continued across the front lawn and poured into the house, and Snake and Zach he
ard bursts of shooting from inside as the Crew gunmen moved from room to room. The volleys continued for several minutes, and then silence enveloped the street again, the battle over as suddenly as it had started.

  Snake rose from where he’d been crouching and made his way down the street, and Zach followed, rifle in hand. When they reached the house, Derek was issuing orders to his men, preparing them for the counterattack that was sure to follow as the warlord’s loyal circle arrived.

  Two fighters emerged from the mansion with a wounded man between them, his white shirt soaked with blood from a stomach wound and crimson streaming down his paunchy face from a gash in his forehead. They dragged him to Snake, who sneered at the warlord contemptuously.

  “Well, well, well. The mighty Victor,” Snake said. “You don’t look so good. Gut shot, huh? I hear that’s an ugly way to go.”

  The warlord’s eyes widened when he recognized Snake’s voice. Snake flipped his goggles up and waited until his eyes adjusted before continuing.

  “Your assassin botched the job.”

  “You…” Victor managed with a wince.

  “Yes, me. You really thought I’d let you come at me like that and there wouldn’t be consequences? You must be stupider than you look.”

  Victor surprised Snake by spitting blood in his face. Snake rubbed the blob away and turned to Derek. “Hang him by his arms from the streetlight. His carcass can serve as a reminder to anyone else who wants to cross me of what happens when they try. Leave him up until the birds peck his eyes out. Let his men see how he shit himself as he died – the mighty Victor, now just another piece of garbage for the buzzards.”

  Derek nodded and gave a command. The pair dragged the warlord to an iron pole and were lashing his wrists when shooting echoed from down the block. Zach touched Snake’s arm.

  “Take cover. Round two’s getting underway.”

  More shooting decided the matter, and Snake darted across the street to the cemetery, where dozens of his fighters waited quietly for Victor’s men to show themselves, the night’s brutal work not even close to done.

  Three hours later, the sun rose over a street slick with blood. Derek had taken command of the area, and the bodies of the warlord’s loyal entourage lay strewn like cordwood in the gutters. Zach and Snake strode back to the mansion. The stink of death rose from the pavement like toxic mist, the long night of death over, but Snake’s even longer day of reckoning only about to begin.

  “Think we’re in the clear now?” he asked.

  Zach nodded. “The next forty-eight hours will tell, but I’d guess so. Nobody in their right mind is going to want to wind up like these slobs.”

  “So we stay for only two days?”

  Zach shook his head. “No. I’d remain for at least a week, maybe longer. You need to show that you’re in complete control and don’t have to rush back to Houston to maintain your hold.”

  Snake absorbed the words and nodded. “You’ll stay with me, of course?”

  Zach favored Snake with an equable expression. “Of course.”

  Chapter 21

  Tulsa, Oklahoma

  “The second coming?” Lucas repeated. “Don’t tell Eve, or you’ll never get her to eat her vegetables.”

  “Lucas, I’m serious. That’s what it says.”

  “I don’t doubt it. People get all kinds of crazy ideas in their heads.”

  “They made a pamphlet, Lucas. That’s pretty serious, in a place where everyone’s starving.”

  “Let me see it,” he said, his voice resigned. Sierra handed the paper to him and he skimmed the poorly written tract, every third word misspelled or in all capital letters and exclamation points substituting for any other punctuation. When he finished, he laughed. “Like I said. Crazy.”

  “But why would they put her picture on it? Why her?”

  “Could be because the Crew circulated the photo, so it was one of the few they could find? It’s not like they have computers in the nuthouse.”

  “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “Someone went to a lot of trouble.”

  “When things go bad, people latch onto anything. Whoever came up with this was probably looking for a way to seem important. Starting your own spin on a religion isn’t a bad bet, especially when the shit’s hit the fan. So they tweaked the Bible a little, inserted someone the Crew was looking for, invented a reason why, and presto, suddenly they’re important. Maybe people are even offering them food and drink. Tithing them. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “You’re probably right. Still, you have to admit it’s weird.”

  “No question.”

  He folded the pamphlet and slid it into a pocket of his flak jacket – you never threw anything away lest you find yourself needing it later, and paper was in short supply. Then Lucas picked up the pace, and they continued up the street until they arrived at the university grounds. Lucas looked around and settled on a building across the street, where a hand-painted sign with “Trading Post” scrawled across it in childish script hung above a blown-out storefront with steel bars running across it. Four toughs with rifles loitered in the shade outside, watching them ride up.

  Lucas and Arnold dismounted and nodded to the men. “Afternoon, gents,” Arnold said. “We’re looking for a working shortwave radio we can use. There one inside?”

  A large man with a bald head and a face that looked like it had been on the receiving end of a shotgun blast looked them up and down before speaking. “He rents time on it. Owner’s name is Rob.”

  Arnold adjusted his hat. “Mind if we go in?”

  “It’s a free country. But you got to leave the artillery with us.”

  Lucas shrugged. “Here you go.” He handed the big guard his M4 and Kimber and waited as Arnold did the same.

  The man inspected the Kimber appreciatively and waved them into the building.

  The interior of the shop was dark, and it was obvious from the wares on display that trading in Tulsa wasn’t a way to get rich. They approached a counter at the back of the store and stopped when another big man, this one with the distinctive facial tattoos affected by the Crew, materialized through a door in the rear.

  “What do you boys need?” the man asked.

  “Heard you have a radio,” Arnold explained.

  “That’s right. Costs one round per minute to use it.”

  Arnold fished three bullets from his flak jacket. “Let’s try three for starters.”

  The man grinned, revealing gold front teeth. “Name’s Rob.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rob,” Arnold said. “Where’s the set?”

  “In the back.”

  Lucas eyed Rob. “The Crew’s made it this far north?”

  Rob’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

  “No offense. The ink. Distinctive.”

  Rob nodded. “Used to be. Not anymore. That was a life I left behind.” He held Lucas’s stare.

  “So you’re not affiliated?”

  “Not for two years.”

  “I didn’t think they let you quit.”

  “They stay out of Tulsa. Not their turf. They leave me alone; I leave them alone. Besides, I was small fry. They don’t bother tracking down their foot soldiers if they cut loose unless they stick around and ask for it. I didn’t.”

  Arnold took off his hat and placed it on the counter. “So…the radio?”

  “Follow me.”

  Rob led them into a smaller room where a battered shortwave transmitter sat on a table in the corner. Lucas appraised the device and the plug in the wall. “You have juice?”

  The big trader nodded. “Solar. Only works during the day.” He sat down at the radio, powered it on, and gave Arnold a quick tutorial. Arnold listened as though he’d never seen a radio before, his face a blank, and then took a seat in front of the transmitter and twisted toward Rob.

  “Won’t be more than a couple of minutes.”

  Rob took the hint and joined Lucas at the far end of the room. “Come on. Loo
ks like your buddy wants some privacy.”

  “He’s like that.”

  “I mind my own business.”

  They made their way back to the store, and Rob studied Lucas’s flak jacket. “Where you from?”

  “Texas.”

  “Long way.”

  “And then some.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t run into any trouble. It’s pretty hairy outside the city. Lot of ugly out there.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Rob nodded. “No doubt.”

  “We did run across something strange, though. Bunch of bodies that had been mutilated. That happen a lot around here?”

  The trader’s face could have been carved from mahogany. “What do you mean, mutilated?”

  Lucas gave him a brief description. When he was done, Rob rubbed the back of his neck absently. “Yeah, that sounds about right. There’s a gang of scavengers working the area that are meaner than striped snakes. They do shit like that.”

  “Why?”

  “They say they’re a cult – call themselves the Bones – but I think they’re just wannabe nuts. Best I can tell, they think the mutilation makes them scarier.”

  “Worked for me.”

  “Where was this?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Can’t say exactly. Maybe a day’s ride west.”

  “Damn shame to hear that. Nobody deserves to go that way.”

  “You must have seen plenty in your day.”

  “Nothing like that.” He sighed. “But it makes me doubly glad I got out when I did. World’s turned into hell. For good reason. All part of the plan. Like the flood in the Good Book – cleans the slate. They’ll get their comeuppance for what they did. Won’t be long.”

  “Wish I could believe that.”

  “You best believe it. I gave up the life when I found religion, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” Rob tilted his head at Lucas’s flak jacket. “I see you got one of those flyers, huh?”