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

  A tense silence stretched between the two groups, and then Luis coaxed his horse forward a few steps. “Look. We need to find a radio, and we’re looking for some help in identifying a couple of men who were killed out at the truck stop. We have no beef with you, and we don’t want trouble. We’ll pay for what we need and be on our way.”

  The guard studied Luis. “There’s a trading post in town. Well marked. But you so much as look at your guns, you’ll end the day in a box.”

  “Again, we’re not here to cause any problems. Does the trading post have a radio?”

  “No, but they can tell you who does.” The man looked Cano up and down. “You have anything to do with the gunfight out at the lake? Early reports are saying there were a lot of guys that look like you.”

  “That’s right,” Luis answered before Cano could snap at the man. “We’re after a group that stole Crew property.”

  “No trouble. Is that clear?” the lead gunman reiterated.

  “Absolutely,” Luis agreed. Cano remained silent.

  The guard turned and gestured toward the town. “Head down the main street here. You’ll find the trading post on the left about a half mile.”

  “Much obliged.”

  The guards moved the barrier out of the way, and Cano led his group through the gap. A few curious heads poked out from doors and windows as they made their way along the paved road, their horses’ hooves echoing off the façades as they pushed deeper into Roswell. They passed the gutted remains of a fast-food restaurant that had been styled as a flying saucer, and Luis smiled slightly at the reminder of innocent times. Had it really been only five years since the world had collapsed? He felt decades older.

  The approach to the trading post was lined with rusting vehicles, their tires flat and brittle from the sun, long since stripped of everything useful. The buildings were in decent shape compared to many cities, only a few with obvious scars from gun battles; most of the windows were boarded up or gaping like silent screams from a Munch painting. A pall of wood smoke from cooking fires hung over the street, and rivers of muddy water coursed down the gutters on both sides of the road. The bloated carcass of a mangy dog lay paws up in salute to the rising sun; a toddler sat nearby, poking it with a stick, laughing with another child at the unexpected entertainment.

  When they reached the trading post, they dismounted and tied their horses to a lamppost that had been bent toward the ground at shoulder level. A painted sign for Tucker’s Trading hung over one of the steel-barred windows, but the post was closed. Cano noted the heavy chain securing the entrance and sniffed the air, searching the street for the source of the smell.

  “Eggs,” he growled to Luis, who nodded.

  “Yeah.”

  Cano walked to the end of the block, where several plastic tables had been set up on the crumbling sidewalk. A woman with skin the color of saddle leather nodded to them as they sat.

  “That’s the menu,” she said, pointing at a blackboard leaning against the wall with a few items scrawled across it. “Prices negotiable, depending on what you got.”

  “Ammo,” Cano said. “We want four of the biggest farmhand breakfasts you can manage.”

  She sized him up and named a price in ammunition.

  Cano nodded and counted out the shells. “That do it?”

  “Be back in a few with your food,” she said, scooping the ammo into her apron and disappearing into the storefront.

  Ten minutes later they were feasting on eggs swimming in grease, accompanied by a small mountain of fresh potatoes slathered with a pungent gravy. They ate like it was their last meal, cleaning their plates in no time. The woman returned to collect the empties and offered a grudging smile. “Anything else?”

  “What time does the trading post open?”

  “Oh, probably in about half an hour. Never know with Tucker.”

  “Can we get more water?”

  “For another two rounds, you can drink as much as you like.”

  Twenty minutes later a short man with a small potbelly shuffled up to the trading post on foot, accompanied by three gunmen with the casual swagger of professional fighters. The man unlocked the chain, pushed the doors open, and disappeared inside.

  Cano and Luis strode to the entrance while the two Crew thugs remained at the makeshift diner.

  “You open?” Luis called into the dark space.

  “Yeah. What you want?” a voice replied.

  Cano stepped into the building, with Luis on his tail. The interior was bigger than it looked from the outside – a former auto parts store, based on the configuration. They approached a long counter and considered the steel racks of merchandise stretching into the gloom behind. The small man looked them over, a practiced half smile in place. “Help you with something?”

  “We need supplies. Jerky, dry goods, water purification tablets. And information,” Cano said.

  “Got the first three,” the man said. “Depends what you’re after on the last bit.”

  “Couple of dead men north of here in a truck stop. I need to know who they are.”

  The little man shrugged. “First I heard of it.”

  “And we need a radio. Shortwave. Good antenna, not handheld.”

  “Don’t have one. Sorry. How much jerky you want?”

  “Enough for four men for…a week.”

  “Same with the rest?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Won’t be cheap.”

  “Wasn’t expecting a bargain.” Cano paused. “What about the radio? Someone around here have one?”

  “Over by city hall. Guy charges an arm and a leg, but it works. Look for the antenna. Can’t miss it.”

  Several other men entered the trading post while one of Tucker’s helpers was collecting the provisions, and Luis engaged with them, letting them know that they were looking for someone who could help identify the two dead men. The new arrivals seemed interested at the mention of pay, but balked when Luis told them where the bodies were – apparently nobody was willing to go north, outside the city limits, to check, no matter how attractive the offer.

  Cano paid for the supplies with one of the AK-47s he’d retrieved from his fallen men, along with two STANAG magazines with sixty rounds in them – an exorbitant price, to be sure, but immaterial at the moment. He wanted the trader to know he meant business and wasn’t playing cheap.

  “You run into anyone who can help identify those two, I’d be grateful,” Cano said.

  “And how would that gratitude manifest itself?” the little man asked.

  “Another AK, at least, for you. Same for whoever helps us.”

  The trader’s eyes widened. “That’s…grateful indeed.”

  “Spread the word. My men are at the corner breakfast place. Just have ’em ask for Cano, mention you sent them, and I’ll take care of you.”

  The helper reappeared with his arm muscles bulging under the weight of the supplies. “Where you want it?” he asked.

  “Horses are outside.” Cano looked to the trader a final time. “Remember – money for nothing if you find someone to help me.”

  “Got it.”

  Luis and Cano led the helper to the horses. The young man set the bundles down and leaned into Cano. “I got a break for lunch. I ain’t afraid to go look at no dead guys. You serious about the pay?”

  Cano grinned. “Lightly used AK, all yours if you can identify them.”

  “If they were from around here, I can. I know everyone.”

  Luis sized up the man and estimated his age at somewhere around twenty. “We’ll be over at the diner.”

  “I want two AKs. One for me…and the one you woulda given Tucker.”

  Cano and Luis exchanged a look, and the Crew boss nodded slowly. “That’s reasonable. Same to me either way. You said you get off around noon? Can’t slip away now?”

  The man shook his head. “No way.”

  “All right. You know where to find us.”

  Luis and Cano watched as
the young man headed back to the shop, and Cano began packing the goods into his saddlebags. “That’s one problem solved.”

  “Assuming he knows ’em.”

  “Best lead we’ve got.”

  A tall man approached from across the street, hand on his sidearm – a Colt 1911 .45-caliber pistol in a worn holster that his expression said he knew how to use. He stopped in front of them and adjusted his ten-gallon Stetson.

  “Howdy, boys. Heard you just arrived. Not going to be staying long, are you?”

  Cano looked him up and down. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m the sheriff. Don’t want any trouble round here.”

  “We causing any?” Cano asked reasonably.

  “Heard all about a gunfight out by the lake. Be best if you weren’t here come sundown.”

  “Wasn’t planning on staying.”

  The man nodded, his eyes hard. “Good.”

  They watched the sheriff amble into the trading post, and Cano turned to Luis. “Finish stowing this stuff. I’m going to find the radio.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t pull any men from Pecos. We’re thin on the ground there…”

  Cano’s voice was hard as iron. “Don’t question me – you’re here to do what I say, and that’s all. Pack up and keep your mouth shut, understand?”

  Luis choked back the fury that surged through him and dropped his head so Cano wouldn’t see the murder in his eyes. He nodded once and moved away, fighting the urge to reach for his handgun and put a round through the man’s skull. Luis reminded himself that even if he took Cano down, he’d have to face the pair of Crew gunmen, and the odds of prevailing against all three of them were slim.

  Cano strode away, leaving Luis to stew at the insulting treatment, his back a further taunt and confirmation of Luis’s subordination.

  Luis counted slowly to ten, willing his heart rate back to normal, and began packing the goods. The long string of curses that ran through his head was as colorful as the flush that had suffused his face. Under normal circumstances, Luis would have already driven his knife into the Crew boss’s heart, but now wasn’t the time.

  He would just keep his head down and wait.

  Because eventually he’d have his chance, and then Cano would learn that he’d pushed the wrong man.

  Chapter 5

  Colt’s horse swayed along in front of Lucas, its deliberate gait measured and even, the stride of an animal accustomed to covering long distances in a day with a minimum of undue exertion.

  They had hit the trail at dawn, following the remnants of the storm as it moved northeast. The ground was still moist in patches, the earth unable to absorb any more, leaving the rest to the sun’s rays. The heat had risen as the sky transitioned from salmon to purple to blue, and in some stretches they’d been surrounded by steam as the surface moisture evaporated – an eerie spectacle that added to the impression that they were closer to hell than to heaven.

  They’d stopped periodically to rest and water the horses, allowing them to graze on what they could forage while Colt took bearings. He’d directed them toward the hills to the west, staying well off the cracked ebony ribbon of highway that stretched through the desert to the horizon. The going had gotten harder as they’d neared the hills, where the terrain grew more rugged and wild as the elevation increased, the route made doubly treacherous by the slick mud on the trail.

  Capitan Mountain jutted into the sky to the west as the horses labored up the grade. The rest stops grew more frequent as it became obvious the animals were tiring as they ascended into thinner air. The white sand and occasional scrub gave way to patches of verdant growth, and then the landscape became an explosion of green fed by the storm, the plants thriving, if only for a few rare days.

  Colt led them along a dirt road that was barely more than an indentation in the hills and then drew up short as they topped a rise and found themselves staring at a canyon filled with rushing water.

  “Damn. No way across that,” he said after a few minutes of staring at the wash. “It was dry when I was here before.”

  “Not anymore,” Lucas observed. “Any bridges?”

  Colt shook his head. “Just the main overpass at the highway.”

  “Then we either wait for the runoff to dry up, or backtrack and use the road.”

  Ruby cleared her throat. “We can’t try to cross it? Find a shallow area?”

  Colt shook his head. “Flash flooding like this is treacherous. Might just as soon lose you as make it.” His face clouded. “We need to follow the canyon down to the highway and cross there.”

  Sierra frowned. “But you said the Apaches–”

  “We have no choice. We’re stopped dead until we make it across.”

  “He’s right,” Lucas said.

  They wheeled their horses around and worked their way along the wash. An occasional hawk or buzzard overhead cast a fleeting shadow in the flattening landscape. An hour and a half later they arrived at the highway, where two overpasses crossed the canyon. They coaxed their horses across the broiling asphalt, weapons in hand, and exhaled a collective sigh of relief when they reached the far side.

  Colt led them west again, his pace faster than before, as if trying to make up for the time lost retracing their steps. The dirt road they were following degraded to a trail that ran along the ravine before improving as it jagged north.

  Ruby’s horse screamed in alarm as its front legs slipped out from under it and the earth beneath fell away. She wrestled the reins as Sidney reared up on his hind legs, pulling back from the hole that had materialized without warning, her eyes panicked. Colt rode back to Ruby and froze when he saw the depression. He leapt from the saddle and helped Ruby get Sidney under control.

  “What the hell was that?” she demanded as she dismounted, panting hard from the sudden exertion.

  Lucas dropped from the saddle and cautiously approached the hole. He knelt and used his Bowie knife to probe the edge of the dirt lip. When he looked up at Colt, his expression was dark.

  “Trap. Woven reed mat supported from below with branches, over a pit. Can’t tell how deep – there’s a lot of water filling it.”

  Colt nodded. “And the way the mat’s covered, you’d never see it. A neat trick – horse falls in, it stays in.” Colt paused. “I’ve never seen one before. I had no idea they used them. I had a guide when I came south – he must have known where the traps were and kept us clear.”

  Lucas frowned. “We’re too close to the road. They anticipated that anyone traveling without a guide would stay off the highway, and rigged the secondary routes.” Lucas looked first to Ruby and then to Sidney. “You’re lucky you were able to pull away in time. Although we need to check to see if his ankle’s broken or just twisted.”

  Colt looked over the horse’s front leg. “It’s swelling, but not like a break.”

  “Walk him around some and see how he does.”

  Colt obliged, and within a few minutes it became obvious that Sidney could walk, but there was no way he would be able to support Ruby’s weight.

  “Poor Jax. Looks like he’s going to have to do the heavy lifting again,” she said. “We should transfer his cargo so it’s only me.”

  They moved the saddlebags from the mule to Sidney, and after a reluctant start by Jax, the party continued toward the hills, the sun now well past the high point in the sky. Sidney limped noticeably as he followed in Jax’s wake, but he soldiered on without complaint, sweat drying on his flanks.

  Sierra called out to Lucas after a half hour, and he slowed for her to catch up.

  “How much longer are we going to ride today?” she asked.

  “Don’t know. Probably until dark. Why?”

  “Eve’s tired, and so am I.”

  “You can doze in the saddle. But there’s about twenty more miles we need to cover before we stop,” Colt said from ahead.

  “You have someplace in mind?” Lucas asked.

  “That’s right. There are some abandoned bu
ildings off the highway. An old ranch. We camped there on my trip down.”

  “Twenty miles?” Sierra echoed.

  “Afraid so. We need to clock fifty miles a day, and we’ve come no more than thirty.”

  “It seems like we’ve been riding forever,” Ruby said.

  “Get used to it. Three days of this before we hit Albuquerque, and a lot of it uphill, too.”

  Sierra groaned. “Why not cover it in four? What’s the difference?”

  “One more day for something bad to happen,” Colt said. “And by the fourth day, we’ll be out of water.”

  Lucas nodded. “We’re wasting time we don’t have. You want to doze, that’s fine – I can take Eve for a while.”

  “No, I can manage. I…never mind.”

  Ruby adjusted her hat and gave the younger woman a sympathetic look. “Could be worse. At least you’ve got a horse. I’m stuck with Jax.”

  Jax turned his head slightly at his name.

  Sierra had to laugh at the mule’s beleaguered expression. “I think he’s handsome.”

  “Well, he’s getting the job done, and that’s all that counts,” Ruby agreed.

  Colt cut off the banter. “Stay single file behind me, and if I stop, you do so as well. There may be some traps on the road, too, so I need to keep a sharp eye out.”

  “I can take point if you want,” Lucas offered.

  “No need. But I’ll let you know if I get tired.”

  Lucas blotted his face with his bandana as Colt set off again. The rest of them followed in a ragged procession behind, Ruby and her gimp horse bringing up the rear. Lucas swept the horizon with his binoculars, but saw nothing but endless flatland to the east and craggy hills to the west. He probed the wound in his side with his fingers and was relieved that the bandage was dry, any blood clotted, his skin already beginning the healing process in spite of the demands of the ride.

  Sierra pulled alongside him. “Does it hurt?”

  He shook his head. “No. You did a good job.” He glanced at Eve. “You holding up?”

  The little girl nodded and gave him a tired smile, her face sunburned in spite of her oversized hat. He smiled back and turned his attention back to the trail, hoping that Colt’s quiet perseverance meant he knew what he was doing. Lucas had calculated their rate of water consumption as well and had arrived at the same conclusion – barring a water source somewhere in the wilds, they would be out by the time they hit Albuquerque. And if they experienced any further delays, the experience would transition from difficult to deadly – he’d come across travelers who had died from dehydration only a few miles from water; distance in the desert was difficult to judge, even more so when one was desperately thirsty and in the end stages of life.