The Day After Never - Blood Honor (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller) (15 page)

“Just you and me,” he muttered to his steed, who eyed Alan with equine disinterest, waiting for him to indicate what he wanted to do. Alan nodded to himself and climbed up into the saddle, and the horse picked his way gingerly along the gorge, obviously skittish from the shooting and the stink of death around them.

He rounded the bend into the wider canyon and held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. It seemed impossible that the day was little more than half over – it felt like he’d been in the ravine for days, not a couple of hours.

A falcon alighted from the far side of the canyon mouth, and suddenly Alan bucked backward in the saddle as pain spread across his chest. The report of the rifle shot arrived a split second later, and then his horse was galloping forward, panic in its terrified eyes. Alan dropped his rifle and felt the front of his flak vest. His hand came away dry.

The ceramic body armor had stopped the bullet.

But he knew that would only happen once.

He hunched down, ignoring the ache from his sternum, and held on for dear life as his horse tore for the open plain. The steep walls of the canyon flashed by, and pain tore through his ribs with each jarring bounce. Another shot echoed from his left, but it must have missed, because he felt nothing.

“Come on, boy, come on. You can do it,” he screamed as the flatland neared.

The horse stumbled but didn’t go down, and then it slowed as another blast sounded. Alan drove his heels into the animal’s sides, but it was no good, and Alan realized too late that the gunman had aimed for the horse instead of the rider, the target far easier to hit and no ceramic armor to contend with.

Alan’s heart was in his throat as he leapt off the beast as it crumpled with a heartrending scream. It kicked its death throes, now on its side, and then three more rounds slapped into it as Alan used it for cover.

He felt for the saddlebag and got the flap open, and his fingers latched onto one of the AK-47s. He withdrew it and fumbled with the safety as bullets thwacked around him. His teeth were chattering like he’d been submerged in an icy stream, and he fought for calm even as his body rebelled.

He peered around the horse’s shoulder, spotted the shooter seventy-five yards away, and squeezed off several rounds, unaccustomed to the kick of the larger caliber gun. The rounds did no damage – the Raider had selected his spot wisely, and now the tables were turned, with Alan stranded in the open and the gunman occupying the high ground, shielded by rocks.

More slugs struck the now-dead horse, and Alan closed his eyes for a brief moment. The face of his daughter swam into focus, joyful as only three-year-olds can be, laughing at some secret joke only she was privy to. His stomach twisted and sour bile rose in his throat at the thought that he’d never see her again – wouldn’t be around to protect her or her mother, to fend for them or watch her grow up.

He opened his eyes, grinding his teeth. If he gave up, he was already dead. That wasn’t an option. He would fight until his dying breath. The alternative was unacceptable.

If he was able to hold out until dark, the playing field would be even, or at least more so. Five or so hours seemed like an eternity, but he had plenty of ammo and wasn’t going anywhere. The gunman couldn’t hit him if he kept his head down and his wits about him, so it was a standoff of sorts.

Alan fired another burst so the Raider wouldn’t feel confident in a victory, and thought it through. It was doable. With all of the magazines he’d collected, he could hold off an army, and eventually the Raider would have to show himself – his own supply of ammunition wasn’t unlimited.

That would be Alan’s edge.

He reached to the saddlebag and removed another rifle and then three more magazines. He could do this. He might have to walk out of the desert under his own steam, but he could make it. No – he
would
make it.

The crunch of gravel from behind surprised him, and he twisted too late. The second Raider who’d escaped Alan’s ambush grinned like a demon, his AK leveled at Alan’s head from twenty yards away – an impossible shot to miss. Alan swallowed hard.

The Raider snarled at him. “Put it down or I flip your switch.”

Alan slowly lowered the Kalashnikov and tossed it to the side. The Raider gestured at his pistol, and Alan removed it with two fingers and set it beside him. The Raider waved at the other gunman, eyes locked on the lawman, and footsteps hurried across the loose rocks toward them. When the second man arrived, he had murder in his eyes, and when he spoke, his words exuded menace.

“Now we’re going to have a little discussion, and you’re going to tell us everything we want to know,” the Raider hissed. “Everything.”

Alan stared into the face of death.

He believed him.

Chapter 21

Lucas’s return trip through the narrow passage seemed to take forever, even after breaking one of his cardinal rules and removing his plate carrier so he didn’t have to contend with the extra bulk. Instead, he employed the heavy vest as a makeshift sling and used it to drag Eve’s unconscious form behind him, pulling her along using a coil of trip wire he kept in one of the pouches.

Once they were at the cave mouth, he paused and examined her – her pulse felt weak, and she was probably in low-level shock from hunger, fear, and the last three days spent alone in the dark. He wasn’t sure what to do about it, though, other than get her to the doc, his hope being that the old physician would have a solution.

Eve’s unconsciousness worked in his favor as he donned the flak vest once again, slung the M4 strap over his shoulder, and then carried her in his arms. At least she didn’t have to see the freshly killed Raiders or the pile of skeletons covered with flies. He walked with deliberate care, the girl practically weightless, and was passing the two sprawled gunmen when a scrape sent him into a ducking spin. He freed the Kimber from his holster in a fluid motion with his right hand as he maintained his hold on the girl with his left. The second Raider was struggling to level his AK at Lucas, his eyes burning with hate.

Lucas didn’t hesitate. The .45 barked twice, and the man’s head slammed sideways as the jacketed hollow points liquefied his brain. Lucas stood staring at him for an instant before holstering the handgun and cradling Eve again in both arms.

Her eyelids had opened partially at the sound of the gunfire, and she looked up at him with eyes so blue they seemed to be reflections of the sky. His heart skipped a beat and a chill ran up his spine like an electric shock. He looked away, perplexed by the uneasy sensation. His mind was playing tricks on him from the combination of fatigue and adrenaline. That had to be it. Because the depth of understanding compassion in the little girl’s gaze was vastly beyond her five years. She’d looked into him – no, had looked
through
him – as though reading his entire life in a flash.

When he glanced down at her again, her eyes were closed.

He shook his head to clear it.
I’m losing it. Imagining things
.

He needed to get to Tango and get the hell out of there before he made a mistake that cost them their lives.

Lucas trudged toward the trail he’d taken down the slope. When he reached the crest, he looked around, and seeing nothing but scrub shimmering in the arid wind off the mountains, headed toward the tree where he’d left the big horse tied.

Tango threw his head back when he spotted Lucas jogging to him and whinnied a greeting that Lucas barely heard. When he was abreast of the stallion, Lucas lay Eve gently on the ground and rummaged in his saddlebag for a canteen that he’d filled in case he was successful finding her. He withdrew it and unscrewed the top, and then knelt beside the little girl and raised her head slightly with one hand while holding the canteen to her lips with the other.

“Here. Drink. This will make you feel better,” he said.

Eve’s eyes fluttered open and she touched it uncertainly. “What…is it?”

“Orange juice. Fresh from our ranch orange trees.”

Confusion clouded her expression. “Orange?”

Lucas realized that she’d probably never tasted an orange. Why would she? It wasn’t like the Crew was interested in orange groves or sound nutrition when there was blood to be shed and sin to wallow in.

“It’s good. Taste it. You don’t like it, you don’t have to drink it,” he assured her.

He tipped the canteen to her lips and she took a swallow. After coughing, she nodded. “More.”

Eve finished the entire canteen in a few minutes, and her color began to return. Lucas offered her some dried fruit and jerky, and she took small bites washed down with plentiful water. When she finished with the offerings, Lucas checked his watch and straightened. He gestured toward his mount.

“This is Tango. He’s the best horse in the whole world.”

Eve didn’t say anything, just watched Lucas with those preternaturally large eyes. Lucas had as much experience with small children as he did with space travel and was at a loss as to what to say next. He tried again.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?”

This time he got a nod. “Aunt Sierra. With her.”

“Good. Then you know how to ride. I’ll help you up. We need to get going.”

Another nod, and he scooped her up and set her onto the saddle, and then swung up behind her, shielding the child from harm with his body. He clucked at Tango, who obliged by sauntering slowly forward, speeding up until he was trotting. Eve bounced in the saddle, her eyes closed, leaving Lucas to imagine what her last three days must have been like – alone except for the bloated corpses in the gully being picked apart by vultures by day and coyotes and feral dogs at night.

He didn’t pause to think about how the experience might have scarred her – she was alive and she’d deal with it, and unfortunately would probably see far worse in the future. That was just the world they lived in, and the luxury of worrying about how many years of nightmares the trauma would cause had been lost when the country plunged into chaos.

Still, the eerie lucidity that radiated from her eyes had thrown him.

But he had other matters to concern him.

Like rendezvousing with the lawmen.

And ensuring they weren’t gunned down on the way back to Loving.

He glanced at the sky, where streaks of high clouds were drifting slowly south, and reminded himself that they had thirty miles to cover, at least, and less than five hours of daylight left. He didn’t want to consider yet another night ride, but given the girl’s fragile condition, he could see no other viable option.

Lucas gritted his teeth and nodded to himself. So be it. The hard part was done. Now all that remained was the journey north to reunite Sierra and Eve, and thereby discharge any obligation he had, imagined or not. Then he could sleep for a week and go in search of the herd of mustangs, leaving the rest of the world to figure things out without his meddling.

He saw nobody else on the ride to the burned-out ranch house, and there were no signs of being followed. When he arrived, it was getting dark, and he made a mental note to wait for no more than an hour and then continue on if nobody showed. Carl and Alan knew the way from there. If they’d been delayed or had fallen in their run-in with the Raiders, there was nothing his waiting would accomplish, and his priority now was the girl.

“We’re stopping to let the horse rest some,” Lucas announced as they paused near the gutted ranch house.

Eve didn’t protest or comment, and merely sat in place until Lucas could lift her from the saddle and help her down.

“You feeling any better?” he asked, reluctant to let go of her as she stood unsteadily.

She nodded and tottered back to Tango. She patted his head, and when she smiled, she was momentarily radiant. “I like horses.”

“Better than most people,” Lucas agreed. “Want some more water?”

She nodded again and continued to stroke Tango, who seemed enamored with the tiny human whose miniature hand was offering appreciation. Lucas removed another of the five-gallon water jugs from a saddlebag and poured a measure into his smaller plastic bottle before giving the rest to Tango. He took a swig, swished the mouthful around, and offered her the remainder.

“Do what I did. It’ll make you less thirsty,” he said. She mimicked him, and he ferreted around in his bag and withdrew more rations. “Here’s some salt. We collect it from a salt lake to the east of our ranch. Put a pinch in your mouth and swallow it – or you can drop it in the water, let it dissolve, and drink it that way.”

“Why?”

“You’re losing plenty of salt from the heat. Need to replace it. You’ll thank me.”

She dissolved the granules in the water, drank several gulps, and made a face. “Ew.”

“It’s good for you. Drink it all.”

Eve did, and Lucas tried to focus on busywork. He cleaned the Kimber and M4 with his field kit and mounted the night vision scope to the rail of the assault rifle while Eve watched without comment. When he was done, he switched the scope on and let her look through it.

“See? It makes it look like daytime, but at night when it’s dark out,” he said.

She cocked her head. “Why not use a light?”

“Takes more power. And sometimes you don’t want the other guy to see you.”

“Thank you.”

He frowned. “For what?”

She looked away, and for a split second he was reminded of Sierra. Then she turned back to him, her expression placid as a mountain lake at dawn.

“Everything.”

It was his turn to look away, the air suddenly leaden as the light went out of the sky, the temperature dropping as the sun vanished behind the hills. What had she been through already? He didn’t want to imagine.

“Rest for a while. We’ll be riding all night, so this is your big chance,” he said.

“Can I have some more food?”

“Tango likes the dried fruit, if you want to give him a little too.”

Her shy demeanor brightened. “Okay.”

“Just watch his chompers. He’s a hog.”

Chapter 22

Lucas was beyond tired as the hours wore on. Tango’s sedulous plodding reminded him not to give in to the temptation to close his eyes, but it was growing increasingly difficult to resist the urge. Eve’s head rested against his plate carrier, and the little girl snuffled softly as she slept sitting upright, Lucas’s arms framing her to prevent her from falling to either side.