The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) (2 page)

A slight motion in the eerie neon green of his goggles drew Duke’s attention to a clump of brush to his left. A gentle breeze from the north wrinkled the surface of the water, thankfully carrying his scent downriver, away from where he’d detected movement. He inclined his head slightly, careful not to move any more than necessary, and scanned the foliage.

A furry form eased into view, its leporine nose twitching and long ears cocked slightly back as it surveyed the surroundings, some primitive part of its brain warning it of a danger its eyes couldn’t detect. Eventually thirst got the better of it, and Duke inched the crossbow forward – a relatively easy shot at fifteen yards, but not a given. He held his breath as the animal crept in fits and starts toward the water’s edge, and he peered down the iron sights. His finger began gently squeezing the trigger, and then the hare was gone in a blur, startled by an explosion of gunfire from up the slope.

Duke rolled and forced himself to his feet in one seamless maneuver, his heart thudding in his chest as shots shattered the night. The higher pitched rattle of Aaron’s AR-15 was answered by the deeper chatter of AK-47s – at least three or four, Duke guessed.

“Damn,” he muttered as he retraced his steps toward the bunker, crossbow in hand, the landscape glowing neon green in the scope. In the days at the hideaway they’d had no trouble and seen nobody, but they hadn’t relaxed their guard, sticking to shifts and keeping a watch for any sign of encroachment.

Based on the pitched gun battle taking place less than a quarter mile away, that lull in their misfortunes was over.

Duke stuck to a game trail and did his best to move silently along the dirt. The gunfire increased in volume as he neared the shoot-out. At the edge of the clearing beneath the building, he could make out muzzle flashes and counted four gunmen blasting away at Aaron’s position.

He estimated the distance to the closest shooter and frowned – he would have to skirt the brush line to get close enough to be deadly with his Sig Sauer 9mm pistol. The Barnett Ghost 360 crossbow was astoundingly accurate when used with the carbon hunting bolts he favored, but he wasn’t confident it would put a man down with a single bolt, whereas the pistol could place four rounds in an area the size of a soda can at fifty yards on a bad day. He pulled back into the thicket and moved north to where he’d seen the gunmen, and re-emerged almost directly behind the men.

Duke waited to confirm there were only four, and when he was certain of the count, slid the pistol from its holster and drew a bead on the nearest man, now no more than twenty-five yards away. He centered the sights on the man’s back and squeezed the trigger. The pistol bucked three times in quick succession, its deadly bark blending with the nonstop firing from the attacker’s AK. The crouching man fell forward, dropping his weapon, and Duke nodded to himself – one down.

The other three shooters hadn’t noticed their associate’s demise and were still firing away at the bunker with undiminished fury. Duke sidled to his right and aimed at the next attacker, who was lying on his stomach to shoot at Aaron. Duke adjusted the pistol slightly to compensate for the greater distance and put his second group of three shots between the man’s shoulder blades. Two of the rounds shredded through his upper spine at an angle, exiting from the base of the front of his neck before being stopped by the hard dirt beneath him. The gunman flailed like a beached fish and then fell still.

At the bunker, Aaron must have noted the halving of the incoming fire because his AR-15 rattled at the two remaining shooters, the 5.56mm rounds slicing through the grass around them. One of the pair cried out as a well-placed shot took the top of his head off. One gunman remained. Duke held his fire – the angle was less than optimal for a kill shot. The shooter and Aaron exchanged a few volleys, and then, realizing he was the sole member of his group left alive, the attacker rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his feet.

Duke waited until the man was close and emptied the Sig Sauer magazine at him. The 9mm rounds punched into the gunman’s chest but were stopped by the ceramic plate of his flak jacket, momentarily stunning him. He froze, and then a burst of automatic fire from the bunker cut him down from behind. Duke watched as the man’s mouth formed an O and he pitched forward, his AK-47 sailing from his hands as though pulled by an invisible cord.

Silence settled over the clearing, and Duke called out to Aaron, “We got them all. You okay?”

A few seconds later Aaron’s voice answered, “Yeah. You sure that’s everyone?”

“I’ll be there in a second. Don’t shoot.”

Duke made his way toward the bunker, pausing at each of the fallen attackers to toe their weapons well away. When he reached the building, he took in the bullet-pocked mortar around the door and windows and grunted. A grim-faced Aaron stood in the doorway, still holding his rifle.

“What happened?” Duke asked.

“They tripped one of the wires. Came up fast.”

“Any idea who they were?”

“Negative.”

Duke stepped into the room, ejected his spent magazine and slapped a new one in place, and went for his rifle, setting the crossbow by the door. “This is bad news.”

“Gunfire will attract some attention,” Aaron agreed.

“Let’s check on the animals.”

Aaron followed the trader to the area where the horses were corralled further up the hill and was relieved to find them unharmed. On the way back to the bunker, Duke’s mind was processing furiously, his mouth a thin line, his eyes slits beneath a frowning brow.

At the killing field they quickly gathered the men’s weapons. Their hair was long and unkempt, and all were Caucasian, with no facial tattoos or other identifying marks. Three had their eyes frozen open, their limbs already stiffening in death, and Duke’s nose wrinkled at the stench rising from them – a combination of death, dried sweat, and lack of basic hygiene wafting from their tattered clothing.

“They aren’t Locos or Raiders,” Aaron observed.

“Yeah. Probably scavengers. Problem is there may be more of ’em.”

“Could be.”

“Which means it isn’t safe here anymore.” Duke’s frown deepened. “Hate to ride at night, but I don’t see much alternative, do you?”

“We can stay put and load for bear.”

“If there’s twenty of ’em, that’s not such a good idea. Besides, as you said, the shots will draw every Raider and lowlife for miles around.” Duke shook his head. “No, we got to pack up and git. Let’s do it.”

“Where we headed?”

“We’ll camp north of here. There are some decent spots near the river. We’ll figure out what to do next come tomorrow.”

Aaron nodded. “Damn shame. I was just getting used to this toilet.”

Duke threw a final glance at the dead men and then fixed Aaron with a worried stare. “I want to be gone in ten minutes. Pack everything we can carry. Leave the rest. The cart would slow us down too much and make us targets.”

“Gonna miss the power,” Aaron said, looking up at the solar panels arranged on the roof of the building.

“We can add it to our regret list. Now hurry up – time’s a-wasting.”

They made short work of hauling their possessions to the horses. After packing the saddlebags of all four animals, they mounted up, Duke with his night vision goggles in place to guide the way, and set off in the darkness, guns held at the ready.

They rode for three hours and set up their camp on the bank of the Black River near a spit of sand just above a rapid, the water rushing in the narrows before burbling over a scattering of boulders. Once their tents were pitched, Duke tossed Aaron some dried jerky, and they chewed wordlessly. When they’d swallowed their meager supper and washed it down with river water, Duke sat cross-legged in the moonlight, his AR-15 by his side.

“Least it isn’t raining,” he said, studying the horizon where the distant storm was playing itself out.

“So where do we go next?” Aaron asked.

“Beats me. But we can’t go south, and there isn’t much west. That leaves north.”

“Loving’s gone.”

“Yeah, but there’s more than Loving in that direction. We’ll find somewhere we can put down roots and start a new business. Just got to be the right place.”

Duke had a considerable store of gold, ammo, and weapons with which to start a new trading post, so he wasn’t worried about adapting. His profession, like prostitution, was one of the oldest and always in demand. They would move carefully during the day and see what the future held. Maybe they’d find something up by Carlsbad, maybe further north.

“You want to take first watch?” Duke asked, his tone making it obvious that it wasn’t a request.

Aaron nodded. “Four and four?”

“Same as ever.” Duke handed Aaron the goggles and then unrolled his sleeping bag. The ground was hard, but no worse than the concrete floor of the bunker. “Wake me if you hear anything.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Aaron sat with his back against a tree and adjusted the goggles before scanning the surroundings.

Duke yawned again and, with his assault rifle by his side like a lover, closed his eyes and was asleep within thirty seconds, his soft snores rumbling in his chest as Aaron cocked his head to better hear over the river, the goggles lending him the appearance of an extraterrestrial.

“Hell of a way to end the run,” he whispered to himself, and shifted into a less comfortable position so he wouldn’t nod off.

Chapter 2

Lucas’s side burned from the wound he’d acquired at the lake, but he ignored the pain as Tango followed Colt’s horse through the darkness. They’d crossed the freeway intersection forty minutes earlier, and Colt had signaled for them to remain quiet until he gave the word that it was safe to talk. Once out of town, the landscape had transitioned from the blackened husks of warehouses and wrecking yards into a flat desert dotted with sparse groves of trees. The rain abated to a light drizzle, the trees of lightning that had illuminated the terrain blown east as the storm worked its way toward the great plains.

Colt held up a hand, barely visible in the gloom, and Lucas coaxed Tango abreast.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Colt said. “Maybe get a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a hard slog, so you’ll need every bit of rest you can snatch.”

“Think we’re far enough from Roswell?” Lucas asked as Sierra, Ruby, and Eve materialized out of the rain.

“About four miles. That should do the trick. The locals avoid this area. Apache country starts at the five-mile point, but nobody wants to misjudge and stumble into their territory.”

“Then it’s safe?” Ruby asked.

Colt shrugged. “Safe as anywhere.”

Lucas swung down from the saddle. “Come on. I’ll help you with your tents.”

Sierra nodded, helped Eve down, and lowered herself from Nugget. “This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

Lucas managed a tight smile. “We’re alive. Everything else is gravy.”

“Do you think they’ll be able to follow us?”

Lucas wiped the water from his face. “They’ll damn sure try. But they’re going to have their work cut out for them. Rain’s washed away our tracks.”

Once the camp was made, they gathered under the trees and ate their rations. Ruby finished first and turned to Colt.

“So what can you tell us about Shangri-La? You’ve been there, right?”

Colt nodded slowly. “Yes. Not a lot to tell. It’s a naturally protected enclave with power and water. The people are God-fearing and decent.”

“Who started it?”

“The doctor who’s working on the cure, a physician named Barnes, Elliot Barnes. Everyone calls him the Doc.”

“He runs things?” Lucas asked.

“More or less. Everyone defers to him. Although there’s always some disagreement on how to best accomplish things – that’s true anytime you have a good number of people.”

“How many?” Sierra asked.

“Probably pushing three hundred.”

Lucas’s eyebrows rose. “That many?”

“Yeah. We aren’t recruiting. It’s sustainable at that size. Bunch more and we’d run into resource problems.”

“You trade with outsiders?”

“They have a confederate they work through in one of the nearby towns, but nobody knows that he’s trading on behalf of Shangri-La.”

“You say it’s naturally protected. How’s it set for weapons?” Lucas pressed.

“They have everything they need.” Colt’s tone wasn’t inviting more questions.

“Are you one of the original members?” Sierra asked.

“That’s right. I consider myself lucky.”

“But you were living in Roswell,” Ruby observed.

“I was sent there to wait for Eve. I infiltrated the town six months before we broke her out, and built the bar as a cover.” He hesitated. “We have others outside of Shangri-La who gather info for us and keep us abreast of any news. But none of them know where it’s located – they’re all free agents.”

“Just you,” Lucas stated flatly.

Colt nodded. “That’s right. Security. You can’t tell anyone what you don’t know.”

“Makes sense,” Lucas agreed.

“How far are we from it?” Sierra asked.

Colt smiled. “A ways.”

Lucas grunted. “You mentioned Apache country. How are we supposed to cross it without a guide? You know the way?”

“Sort of. I managed it once. We’ll be fine.”

“Even without…Frank?” Ruby asked.

“That could get sticky, but we can level with the tribe if they stop us. They may not. It’s a big area, and it’s not like they have unlimited manpower.”

“You don’t sound confident,” Lucas fired back.

“I’m not, but we’ll play it by ear. They’ve been paid already, so we should be fine. It’s not our fault if their man couldn’t make it.”

“Well, it sort of is, since it was one of our gang that gunned him down,” Ruby said.

“We’ll leave that part of the story out.” Colt finished the last bites of his meal and rose. “If necessary, let me do the talking. Now get some rest. We’ll leave at first light.”

Lucas nodded and joined him at the horses. “You figure two days to cross their territory?”

“Maybe three. Not a lot of water for long stretches. No point in wearing out our rides for nothing.”