The Day After Never - Retribution (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 4) Read online

  That was how Magnus would have handled it.

  The snap of the lighter and the crackle of the meth as he sucked in as much of the pungent vapor as he could manage were replaced by the thud of his pulse in his temples, and then he was soaring, his heartbeat spiking, stamina flooding his system as he closed his eyes, the rush almost impossibly euphoric.

  Snake coughed twice and sat motionless for a long, silent beat before leaping to his feet. A manic smile revealed yellowed teeth, and he paced the room with jerky movements, muttering to himself, scratching his bare arms, glaring at the furnishings as though they’d insulted him. After several minutes he froze in the center of the room, eyes closed, and then exploded into motion and retraced his steps to the entry door.

  When it swung open, his guards maintained neutral expressions at the sight of their leader obviously amped, the corners of his mouth spasming in an unconscious grimace.

  “Bring me a girl. Now,” he ordered.

  The chief of the guards nodded. “Anything special?”

  “Young. I want her young. And scared. A new one.”

  The chief took in Snake’s leer and smirked.

  “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Chapter 2

  “They should have called in by now. Something’s wrong.”

  Elliot Barnes was standing with his hands on his hips, transfixed by the radio. The riders he’d sent north from Shangri-La to Colorado to scout the most promising location for a new settlement had been gone for five days. The prospective site, Pagosa Springs, was a little over a hundred miles from their valley, in the mountains and sufficiently remote to avoid attention, with water and power from an experimental geothermal plant – assuming that hadn’t fallen into complete disrepair or been destroyed by looters.

  The only negative to the location was the harsh Colorado winter, which Elliot was confident they could withstand as well as they had the snow and freezing conditions in their former mountaintop sanctuary. But they had little time to prepare the new location, assuming it was livable – which brought him back to waiting for a report from the scouting party, which had failed to check in.

  He’d last heard from them three days earlier, and they hadn’t responded to any of the transmissions Elliot had broadcast over the last twenty-four hours. The coil of anxiety in his gut blossomed as the time had raced by, and he’d spent most of the day in the radio room, fidgeting as the operator sat nearby.

  Michael frowned in his seat near the window. “They might have gotten delayed.”

  “Or hit a snag. Lame horse. Bridge collapsed. Robbers. We don’t really have any idea what it’s like up there these days,” Arnold said from the corner of the room where he sat with his arms crossed, his face drawn after the hardest week of his life.

  After taking stock of the survivors, it had been immediately apparent that the group’s most capable fighters had fallen, leaving women, children, and about sixty able-bodied males – a far cry from the nearly two hundred and fifty militiamen they’d had before the confrontation with the Crew. Many wounded during the battle had succumbed to their injuries over the last six days, and there were now fewer than twenty still hanging on, tended to by Sarah, the sanctuary’s physician, using what slim supplies had survived the shelling.

  “What do we do if we don’t hear from them by tomorrow?” Elliot asked, his voice soft. “We have to get moving. One way or another, we need to put some distance between us and this valley – the surviving Crew members may have reached their headquarters by now, and an army could be rolling our way.”

  Arnold scowled. They didn’t have the resources to hold off another attack and couldn’t spare anyone to mount guerilla forays against an approaching force, so they were sitting ducks should the Crew decide to finish them – which was highly likely in everyone’s opinion, even with Magnus dead.

  And then there was the matter of Santa Fe, with plenty of opportunistic miscreants who would be more than willing to complete the Crew’s job if they thought they could get their hands on Shangri-La’s wealth of antibiotics, gold, and arms. It wasn’t whether anyone would make a play, it was when, and the clock was working against them with each passing hour.

  “I still think we should have gone after the survivors,” Arnold griped. “If nobody had gotten away, there would be nobody to report back on what happened, and we’d have bought ourselves more time.”

  Michael shook his head. “It would have been impossible to catch everyone. They had too much of a head start. For all we know, they could have radioed from the river, and there’s already a column rolling toward us from Houston or Dallas or Lubbock.”

  “Probably not. There’s little chance their mobile transmitters would have reached Houston,” Arnold countered.

  “They might not have had to. They could have left some men in Albuquerque to relay messages,” Elliot said. “We’ve gone over this a dozen times. Let’s not bicker over what’s done. We need to focus on the challenges ahead.”

  Michael nodded agreement. “Like how we’re going to transport the wounded and all our supplies – not to mention the lab gear.”

  Elliot sighed. “I can’t see any way for the equipment other than by horseback over the dam trail. We’d never be able to get it down the canyon with all the rockslides, not to mention the mines.”

  “Lucas suggested using the Crew’s vehicles for as long as they last. I think it’s a good idea,” Arnold said. “Even after being shot up, some of them are serviceable – the horse transports and a few of the buses. And a couple of the Humvees.”

  “A fine idea, but impractical until we have a destination,” said Michael.

  Arnold shifted from foot to foot. “We can’t just sit here forever, hoping to hear from the scouts. We all agreed we had to move within a week. Tomorrow will be the seventh day.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Michael grumbled. “We can all read a calendar.”

  “My point is that we’re jeopardizing our survival if we stay any longer. My vote was to leave earlier, if you remember.”

  Elliot interrupted the exchange. “We’ll leave tomorrow. One way or another.”

  “But go where, if we don’t hear back?”

  “There were some other locations we considered. Pagosa Springs was only one.”

  “It was the most promising, as I recall,” Michael countered.

  “No argument. Worst case, we can discuss it on the road. But I agree we can’t stay.” Elliot paused. “Arnold, how’s the inventory going?”

  Arnold ran down a list of their weapons and ammunition, as well as their portable food stocks, medical stores, and necessary equipment – lathes and tools from the machine shop, the lab essentials, hospital gear. The report was disheartening. Much of their equipment had been damaged by the bombardment in spite of its underground location, the incessant vibration from the shelling having caused some minor cave-ins. When Arnold finished, he glanced out the window at the lunar landscape surrounding the few buildings still standing. The trees that had shaded the river were now bare, their branches transformed into skeletal fingers clawing at the sky.

  “Well, that’s more than we had when we started Shangri-La,” Elliot said. “We should consider ourselves lucky. That we survived a full-scale attack by the most powerful group in the region is a testament to the bravery of our people and the preparation that went into creating our defenses.” He hesitated. “I’m sure that wherever we land, we can apply that same determination and make ourselves a home worth taking pride in.”

  “The hurdle being the wherever part,” Arnold said.

  “We have enough problems without all the negativity,” Michael snapped.

  “I’m not being negative. I’m being realistic,” Arnold said coldly. “Without a destination in mind, it’s just a matter of time before we’re picked off on the road. We need to choose somewhere and make tracks, not pat ourselves on the back for surviving.” He frowned slightly at Michael and then looked away. “We have a lot of logistical issues no
matter where we go, and they aren’t being solved by standing around and waiting for a call that may never come.”

  Elliot nodded slowly, his cherubic face hanging slack with fatigue. He was preparing to speak when the radio crackled and a voice drifted from the speakers, distorted and faint, fading in and out as it spoke the code words everyone had been waiting to hear.

  “Papa Bear, this is Baby Bear. Do you read? Over.”

  Chapter 3

  Elliot rushed to the radio and snatched the microphone from the startled operator.

  “This is Papa Bear. What kept you?” he demanded.

  “Ran into some trouble. Unfriendlies on the road.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sam took a bullet, but he’ll make it.”

  Elliot and Arnold exchanged a troubled look. “What kind of hostiles?”

  “Scavengers. About ten of them. Thankfully they didn’t know what they were doing. But they kept us pinned down for half a day, and when it was over, we had to patch up Sam and tread lightly.”

  “You make it to the objective?”

  “Affirmative. Appears the plant’s on standby. There’s nobody here but us. I’d say it’s perfect.”

  “Can you give us more of a rundown?” Arnold demanded from beside Elliot.

  The lead scout spoke in oblique terms, assuring them that there were sufficient buildings intact to house them, and that after a half day of exploration, they’d detected no signs of life. He avoided mentioning the area so any eavesdroppers would learn nothing more than they’d known when he started to speak.

  When the scout was done, Elliot nodded to Michael and Arnold and told the man to stay put and radio if there were any developments.

  “When do you expect to be here?” the scout asked.

  “A few days. Over and out.”

  Elliot straightened and eyed Arnold. “That’s one problem taken care of. So now we have to shift into travel mode.”

  Arnold cocked his head. “I’ll go with you and the lab equipment. Lucas and Colt can supervise the main group getting to the vehicles. They’re both more than capable.”

  Everyone had been issued responsibilities during the meetings that had occupied much of the prior week, and Lucas had reluctantly agreed to ride herd on the caravan in Arnold’s absence. Duke, Colt, and Luis would assist. Colt had spent the last several days clearing and marking a safe route through the mines that lined the canyon, while the trader and the former cartel head had spent much of the time with Lucas at the vehicles.

  The gathering broke up, and they emerged from the building into the bright light of the afternoon. The sky overhead was as blue as painted porcelain, with only a few clouds drifting lazily in the distance. The valley stood in stark contrast to the ethereal tranquility: the buildings were largely ruins, and the ground was scarred with shell holes.

  Arnold waved to Lucas, who was speaking with Duke and Sierra near the stream while Eve chased her piglet along its banks. Lucas returned the gesture and said something to Sierra before making his way to them.

  “Well?” Lucas said, by way of greeting.

  “We heard from them. Time to mount up,” Arnold said.

  Lucas squinted at the security chief. “Going to take the rest of the day to load the gear and get everyone down the canyon. Probably want to spend the night at the bridge and hit it at first light.”

  “I figured. Do the best you can. We’re going over the mountain to the dam. We’ll rendezvous tomorrow and stay in touch on the two-ways,” Arnold said.

  “Going to be touch and go with the wounded. No guarantees,” Lucas warned.

  Elliot nodded gravely. “I know, but it can’t be helped. Sarah offered to stay here with them and join us later, but we can’t risk discovery if she’s captured. It was a difficult decision, but the right one.” He paused. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “We should be fine. We’re ready. Everyone’s been preparing, so I don’t anticipate any problems,” Lucas said.

  “That’s good to hear. We’re going over the trail sometime in the next few hours,” Michael said.

  “Then we better get moving,” Lucas agreed, and strode back to where Duke and Sierra were waiting.

  It took longer than Lucas had hoped to organize everyone into a ragged column. The wounded were strapped to travois slung behind the strongest horses, while the other animals bore smaller equipment from the machine shop and the medical clinic. Lucas surveyed the line of survivors with Sierra by his side – Duke, Aaron, and Luis heading the column with Colt waiting at the top of the ridge on his horse – and nodded to them.

  The trip down the canyon was grim, even after crews from the valley had transferred the visible remains of attackers and their fellow defenders to funeral pyres for cremation. The rocks were still stained with dried blood, every step of the trail a reminder of how close they’d all come to the abyss. Colt led the procession, sticking to a trail that Lucas, Duke, and Luis had been up and down half a dozen times in their search for Magnus’s gold, which had turned out to be a fraction of what he’d been rumored to be transporting – fifty kilos, still a vast fortune, but nothing compared to the hoard Luis had heard about.

  They’d divided it up as agreed, but Lucas still had substantial misgivings about his portion of the loot. A superstitious part of him nagged that no good could come from blood money in any shape. Sierra and Duke had done their best to convince him that he’d earned it, but he remained doubtful that he’d done the right thing and reserved the right to parcel it out if he still felt on edge when they reached their final destination.

  The column picked its way along the rockslide that had buried so many, the cliff walls sheer and ominously shadowed. A soft wind whistled past and a chill ran up Lucas’s spine, as though the ghosts of the departed were lingering in the ravine, reluctant to let go of their crushed bodies, their turn in any afterlife sure to be as unpleasant as their deaths.

  The sun brooded in the western sky like an angry red eye as they finally crossed the rickety wooden bridge over the Rio Grande. The procession stopped at the vehicles gathered along the road, and Lucas dismounted before calling out to the survivors.

  “Tend to the wounded and make camp. We’ll load the horses before dawn and be on the road by sunup.”

  Sierra joined him with Eve in tow. The little girl’s nose wrinkled at the stink of death that permeated the area even after the bodies had been disposed of, tossed into the river with a prayer. Sierra stared at the long line of vehicles, most pocked with bullet holes or ruined by grenade blasts, and frowned.

  “This place gives me the creeps.”

  Lucas nodded. “Same here. But it’s only for one night, and then we’re rid of it for good.”

  “Which one was Magnus’s?” she asked softly, eyeing the Humvees.

  “The one over by the tent. But the engine took a hit from some shrapnel, so it’s staying put. The only two that run are that one and that one,” he said, indicating a pair of vehicles parked on the shoulder. Lucas and Colt had already inventoried the vehicles and selected for the trek four horse trailers with intact tires, two buses that looked to be on their last legs, and the pair of Humvees equipped with .50-caliber Brownings.

  Sierra glanced at the horses. “At least we don’t have to ride all the way there.”

  “Small mercies.” Lucas looked down at Eve for a moment, who didn’t seem to be listening, and then shifted his attention back to Sierra. “Problem’s the fuel situation. They ran the damn trucks near dry, so we’re not going to make it all the way.”

  “I thought it was only a hundred miles or so?”

  “More like a hundred and fifty following the road.” Lucas shrugged. “I’m going to help Duke and Aaron siphon what’s left from the buses that are out of commission. Mind pitching a tent for me?”

  Eve had wandered out of earshot, and Sierra gave Lucas a knowing smile. “Only if I get a tour later.”

  Lucas answered with a smile of his own and then remov
ed the saddlebags and tack from Tango and left the stallion to forage. He made his way to where Duke was standing with Aaron and Luis with a pair of red plastic jerry cans in his hands.

  “Going to be like getting blood from turnips,” Lucas advised. “We already checked most of them – they’re close to empty.”

  Duke nodded. “But between ’em all, there might be enough to get the trailers and the two buses all the way there.”

  “I wouldn’t bank on it.”

  The sun was sinking into the mountains as they moved from bus to bus, draining a gallon here, two there. Once both cans were full, Lucas emptied them into the Humvees. “Those are the most important. They’ll eat the least fuel, and they’ve got the big guns,” he explained. “We’ll load them with the more delicate gear and the heaviest of the weapons – when we run out of diesel, no point in working the horses any harder than we have to.”

  Bats flitted along the river, giving chase to mosquitoes as the crew worked through dusk. Two hours later they had exhausted what the convoy had to offer. When they finished pouring the last of the cans into the second bus, Duke appraised the fleet in the darkness.

  “How far you think we’ll get?” the trader asked.

  “Depends on how much these things use. But if we make it more than halfway there, we’ll be lucky.”

  “About what I figured. Oh well. Better than nothing.” Duke frowned at Aaron. “Think there are any fish in the river?”

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “That’s his not so subtle way of asking me to try to catch dinner.”

  “Luis and I will be right beside you. No point digging into our rations if we don’t have to.”

  Luis smirked. “I’m a city boy, but I’m willing to give it a go. Not like we have much else to do.”