The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) (7 page)

The older man gave him an oily smile. “Then have a seat.”

Luis did and tossed back the rest of his tequila. “What are you drinking?”

“Whatever you’re buying.”

Luis waved for the bartender, pointed at his glass, and held up three fingers. The man nodded and went to work. Luis sat back in his chair and studied the two men. Both had junkie pallors, their faces pockmarked and cruel, and their eyes periodically darted around the room with animal cunning.

“You spend a long time inside?” Luis asked.

“Some,” the one with the tattooed tears replied.

“Where?”

“PNM in Santa Fe. Four years.”

“Level Five?”

The man shook his head. “Six.”

“Brutal.”

“It was okay.”

The bartender arrived with the drinks and Luis counted out more ammo for him. When he was done, he raised his glass.

“I’m Len. That’s Marco,” the older one said.

They threw back the tequila. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Len said appreciatively.

“I have a job for two guys who don’t mind a fight.”

Len nodded. “I’m listening.”

“I’m after some people who stole from my group. The Crew. I have to get them back. You don’t steal from us.”

Len nodded again. “Magnus’s outfit. Houston, right?”

“Almost all of Texas now. Clear to Pecos.”

“How much, and for how long?”

“Probably a week or so.” He told them what Cano had offered. They exchanged a glance.

“That’s for a week or two?” Len asked.

“It could get snotty.”

“Hell, I’d walk through boiling lava for that. Where do we sign up?” Marco said.

“Guy running the show has to approve you. Name’s Cano.”

“Sounds good. When and where?”

“You got horses?”

“Of course.”

“What kind of shape are they in?”

“Good enough.”

“Any problem following orders? Cano doesn’t put up with crap.”

Marco shrugged. “He’s the boss. We do what he says.”

“And what I say.”

“Right.”

Luis stood. “You know the breakfast joint down by the trading post?”

“Sure.”

“Meet me there in an hour.”

Len threw a glance at Quincy. “You thinking of hiring him?”

“Already did. Why?”

“Dumb as a stump.”

“Not asking him to think.”

“It’s your money.”

“You have a problem working with him? Any bad blood between you?”

Len shook his head. “Nah. Just sizing up the competition, is all.”

“We’re going to be riding hard. No booze or dope.”

“Fair enough. When do we get paid?”

Luis explained the deal to them and told the pair where they were headed.

Marco’s eyes fixed on his. “You got a guide?”

“No.”

“Bad idea.”

“We’re working on it. That a problem?”

Len tilted his glass to his mouth to get the last few drops and then tossed it on the table with a clatter. “If you say it ain’t, then it ain’t.”

Luis allowed himself a small smile. “Right answer.”

Carlton and Quincy looked at him quizzically when he returned to the table and sat down heavily.

“They’re on board,” Luis said, and checked the time. “Damn. Going to be dark in a couple hours. We need to get back.” He told Quincy to meet them at the diner, and he rose. Carlton joined him, and they stepped out into the sunlight, blinking from the bright contrast to the dim bar interior.

The sheriff was standing across the street, now with two more men. He held out his index finger and pointed it at Luis, and then moved his thumb down, simulating shooting. Luis ignored him and they made for the trading post. Luis was more than anxious to be rid of the town, even if it meant the hostile wasteland stretching north.

Chapter 11

The rain abated as Lucas and Ruby prepared Colt to ride with his makeshift tourniquet. He gritted his teeth at the pain tracing up his leg, which he described as liquid fire in his veins. But he was still breathing, his vision was clear, and other than clammy sweat on his forehead, he seemed to be in reasonable shape, considering. He insisted on continuing their trek, reasoning that his horse hadn’t been bitten and that he could sit upright in the saddle as well as he could on the ground.

Sierra dressed the wound with antibiotic ointment and placed a pressure bandage on it, which relieved at least some of the localized pain. Lucas supported him under one arm and Ruby under the other, and he hopped toward his horse with a determined expression.

The sun broke through the overcast and Colt tried a smile, which turned sickly at the end. “See? An omen. I’ll be fine.”

Lucas nodded in agreement, even though he didn’t share the bartender’s optimism. Colt’s skin felt clammy to the touch, and Lucas suspected he was in low-grade shock from the bite.

They were preparing to boost Colt up into the saddle when Sierra cried out from behind them.

“Lucas!”

Lucas turned to see Sierra facing seven gunmen who’d materialized on the trail, all with assault rifles leveled at them. He cursed his M4 being slung on his shoulder and debated going for his Kimber, but stopped when the tall man at the front of the group spoke.

“Don’t move a muscle,” the man ordered. He angled his head at the nearest man on his right. “Collect their weapons. Shoot them if they so much as twitch.”

“Who are you?” Colt asked, his voice a rasp.

“We own this land. You’re trespassing.”

“You Apache?” Lucas asked.

The man nodded. “That’s right. And if you know that, then you know that to ride through our land without paying the price is a death sentence.”

“We…we had a guide,” Colt said. “Frank.”

The man’s expression remained stony. “Where is he?”

“He…he’s dead.”

“How?”

“A fight back at Roswell,” Colt managed.

“Frank? Bullshit. I knew him. He was level-headed.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to him?”

“We didn’t do anything. He was attacked. We were supposed to meet him at the truck stop north of town. We got there, and he was dead. Gut shot, but he took the other guy with him.”

The Apache who was disarming them reached Lucas and removed his Kimber from its holster, gave it an admiring glance, and then tossed it on the ground with the rest of the weapons. Next came the M4, and he whistled when he hefted the gun.

“Serious artillery,” he said. Lucas didn’t comment.

When they were unarmed, the leader eyed Colt. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Snakebit. Rattler,” Lucas said.

“That’s some bad luck.”

“You have any tricks for treating a bite?”

“Tricks? Keep breathing as long as you can.”

Lucas nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

The man studied Lucas for another moment and then looked to Colt. “You say Frank was supposed to guide you?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you talk to headquarters about him getting shot?”

“No. We were on our way out of town. No radio. But we already paid. Talk to your people.”

“I will. Or you will.” The leader looked at the sky. “Tomorrow.” He turned to his men. “We’ll camp here tonight. Spot’s as good as any.”

“No. He’s been bit. We have to get him help,” Sierra protested.

“We’re not riding at night. Terrain’s too treacherous, and it’s a long way. If he’s going to die, he’s going to die out here. Nothing they can do for him on the reservation either.” He paused. “We’ll make camp. He should sleep sitting up so it slows the venom to his heart. Other than that, he’s in God’s hands. Welcome to Apache country.”

The leader turned and strode away as his men collected the weapons and carried them to the horses. They packed them into their saddlebags and then prepared a primitive camp. They allowed Lucas to pitch tents for the women and one for himself. Lucas worked efficiently and finished by setting his saddlebags on the ground so Colt had something to lean against while he dozed.

The sun was sinking into the western mountains when the leader allowed Lucas to distribute food and water to his group. Colt waved off food until Lucas forced him to eat.

“The more you have in your system to soak up the poison, the better. Flush it out. Plenty of food and water’s the best we can do for you, so take advantage of it,” Lucas advised.

Colt glumly chewed his portion. Sierra slid closer to Lucas and whispered to him, “What are we going to do? Try to escape?”

Lucas shook his head. “No. Colt’s people paid for safe passage. This will all get straightened out tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Lucas lowered his voice further. “Sierra, listen to me. There’s no place to escape to. This is their land – there’s no way we would make it far, especially with Colt. All of which assumes we could get our weapons back and overpower them, which isn’t going to happen.”

“I just feel so powerless.”

“Sometimes you have to go with the flow, Sierra,” Ruby cautioned. “Lucas is right. We need to stick together, do as they say, and figure it out at their headquarters. Anything else could get us all killed.”

“I know you’re right. I just don’t like it.”

Lucas put his arm around her and squeezed her to him. “I know. Nobody does. Just concentrate on taking care of Eve, get some sleep, and tomorrow will be a new day.”

“Now I’m worried about snakes, too.”

“Zip up your tent and you’ll be fine,” Colt said.

One of the men rose with his gun and began a slow walking patrol as darkness fell. Another sat directly across from them, the gun in his hands a reminder that they were prisoners until they accounted for themselves to the Apache leader. Lucas squeezed Sierra’s arm again and she kissed his cheek before gathering Eve and escorting her to their tent.

Ruby watched them go and stood. “I’m calling it a night. Colt, holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Lucas joined her and walked her to her tent. “Think Sierra will be okay?” he whispered.

“She’s headstrong, but I think you got through to her. I’ll keep an ear peeled, just in case.” She paused. “Colt doesn’t look so good.”

“No. He doesn’t,” Lucas agreed. “I’ll say a prayer for him tonight.”

“I will too,” Ruby said with a smile. “And I’ll add in a request for no more snakes.”

“If you’re taking requests…”

“Good night, Lucas.”

He took a last glance at Colt, who was shivering slightly while doing his best not to show it, and shook his head. “I hope so, Ruby.”

Chapter 12

Cano adjusted his saddle straps and inspected his horse as the rest of his men did the same. They’d spent the night outside of town near the truck stop, having been delayed by their new men, who had to barter with Tucker for supplies for their trip. He’d been furious that identifying the dead men, communicating with Magnus by radio, and finding mercenaries had eaten up an entire day, keenly aware that his quarry was now two days ahead of him.

Morning had broken a half hour earlier, a distant rooster announcing sunrise, and Cano pushed the group to eat and prepare for a long slog. He didn’t have much hope of picking up tracks after the storm, but he knew that if they’d hired a guide to get through Apache territory, the next outpost was Albuquerque, and they would ride as hard as they could to make up for lost time.

“I want to get sixty miles under our belts today. We’ll go till dark,” he announced, and the new men nodded as though the astronomical distance were reasonable. They’d been happy to get their gold the night before, with the promise of more when the job was done, and would have followed Cano into hell.

As they rode past the skeletons of looted and burned buildings, Cano wondered if that wasn’t where he was leading them, the sun already blazing hot as it rose over the eastern desert. They crossed the freeway intersection, the huge overpasses a reminder of a time that seemed impossibly distant, rusting cars mute witness to their passage. Once north of the highway crossing they followed the road, sticking to the dirt shoulder for their animals’ sake, where the going was relatively easy for the first few hours.

The heat of the day intensified, and they had to stop more than Cano would have liked to water the horses. At one of the pauses he overheard Luis talking to the new recruits, explaining their quest in more detail. Cano interrupted their powwow by calling to him.

“Luis, get over here. Now.”

Luis stopped what he was doing and trotted to where Cano was seated. The big man glowered at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“I was telling them what to expect and what we’re after.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“No, but–”

“Luis, listen closely. Don’t volunteer anything. Don’t tell them anything more than you have. If they ask questions, refer them to me. Clear?”

Luis struggled to maintain his composure. “I thought–”

Cano cut him off. “Don’t talk to them about anything more than the weather. Period. They’re not your new friends, and they aren’t long-lost relatives. They’re hired muscle, nothing more. So shut it.”

Luis nodded slowly, his face a blank. Cano recognized the thousand-yard stare. Luis had retreated inward to a place Cano couldn’t get to, and had tuned everything out. Cano had done the same many times while behind bars – it was a survival skill you learned when dealing with authority. In the joint, if you gave a hint of rebellion to the guards, they’d beat you to a pulp and you’d spend a month pissing blood. So you mastered the blank stare. Luis was getting more practice on this trip. Cano didn’t care.

“Now get out of here. You’re breathing my air.”

Luis turned wordlessly and made his way to his horse. Cano sneered at his back, and one of the Crew gunmen saw him and smiled. They’d noted the way Cano was treating the Loco and would follow their master’s lead.

Cano had already decided he would kill Luis once his usefulness had passed. The man had a rebellious streak he didn’t like, and he suspected he wouldn’t be a strong ally if left alone in Pecos once this episode was over. Cano would need someone more pliant, someone who didn’t hold delusions of his own importance. He didn’t care who, but he knew that an uppity punk like Luis was trouble waiting to happen, and could feel the hate radiating from him whenever they interacted.