The Day After Never - Purgatory Road (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2) (13 page)

Lucas rounded a bend and spied several doves rising over the brush no more than a quarter mile ahead of him. He stopped Tango and swept the area with his binoculars, and caught a faint beige tint to the sky just above the horizon – the telltale dust that a decent-sized party would be unable to completely avoid no matter how careful they were.

Half a mile away, he guessed. No more.

He recognized the area and eyed a rock monolith to his right that had been carved from the earth by millennia of flash floods. If they stuck to the path, they would pass through a dried riverbed framed by dense vegetation – perfect for his purposes. Lucas could see it in his mind’s eye and nodded. Depending on the size of the party, it could be enough.

Keeping the attack surgical would be the challenge. He weighed the benefit of trying to get closer to assess the strength of the group and decided it was worth the risk. There was no point attempting to take on a force he couldn’t overcome without jeopardizing the women.

Lucas urged Tango toward the landmark and cut to the east, sticking to brush in order to avoid stirring up any dust. It made for harder going for the stallion, but there was no choice if he wanted to avoid detection. His mind worked furiously as he rode, trying to figure out how to avoid drawing the cartel to their position once the shooting started, but he couldn’t see any way around it. Which meant that the best he could do with an exhausted horse and the women in tow, assuming he was successful in freeing them, would be to choose the location of the confrontation.

When he had flanked the group, he cut back, sticking to the east so the sun would be at his back, knowing from years riding that the natural inclination was to avoid staring in the direction of its glare. He hoped that between the element of surprise and his orientation, he could avoid detection and size up his adversaries.

He lowered himself from the saddle and brought the spyglasses into play, and found the trail. A quick survey told him that they hadn’t passed yet, so he’d been successful in the first part of his ambition.

Five minutes went by with the only sound the buzzing of a persistent fly around his face, and then he saw the first riders come around the bend. He counted heads and exhaled in relief when he spied eight. Sierra and Eve were near the end of the ragged procession, and Ruby and a gunman brought up the rear.

The men looked filthy and half starved; their clothing was little more than rags, their hats tattered and stained, their skin burnished the color of pecans by constant exposure to the elements, and every inch of them coated in trail dust and grime. Yet for their appearance, they rode in an orderly fashion and showed sufficient field know-how to keep a low profile. Their horses were as thin as they were, ribs jutting through their hides like washboards, but had the easy gait of animals who’d spent their existence on the road – unlike the domesticated creatures of the pre-collapse world, most horses still alive were working mounts expected to go until they dropped.

Three of the men wore plate carriers, but like their clothes, their gear looked worn and frayed. Still, Lucas would have to shoot around the body armor if he was to make each shot count.

The outline of a plan began to form. There were a few relics of utility buildings ahead on the trail where he could fire from cover as they neared, leaving them out in the open with no place to hide. The challenge would be to avoid hitting the women, which would require precision shots rather than bursts from the M4.

Eight riders, eight bullets, if he did this correctly. The Remington’s superior range over the hardware the gunmen were toting would be his edge once the shooting started. The scope was still set at seven hundred yards, at which distance he would be deadly while they would be ineffective.

It could work.

He returned to Tango, removed the Remington, and dialed back the adjustments to what he reckoned was six hundred yards, which would be more than sufficient edge, given the AKs and ARs he’d seen. The trick would be to maintain a disciplined pace as the gunmen scrambled for nonexistent cover.

He would keep the M4 ready for when a few inevitably closed in. There was a limit to how long they’d take his fire and watch each other fall before desperation made them rush him, thinking he only had a single-shot weapon.

Lucas drove Tango through the brush until he reached the buildings, tied the horse out of sight in the shade of one, and set up in the other. He placed several magazines for the Remington by his side, along with six spares for the M4 for when it got sloppy.

He didn’t have long to wait.

The first riders came into view, and Lucas held his fire until the final man was in his crosshairs. Because he was moving so slowly, that would be the easiest shot. Lucas took his time, watching the gentle sway from the horse’s stride, and then caressed the trigger with even pressure.

The gun bucked against his shoulder and he watched a ruby blossom appear on the left side of the rider’s chest. Lucas was already twisting the adjustment one notch to correct for the breeze that had caused the drift, and then worked the bolt and chambered another cartridge as the column disintegrated into a confusion of panicked horses and startled men.

His second shot drilled the rider next in line from the women, this time dead center of his chest, high in the sternum. He flew back off his horse as it bolted, and it dragged him by one leg as it ran for the hills. Lucas worked the bolt again with calm deliberation, his gaze through the scope unwavering. As he’d hoped, the remaining six gunmen were disorganized, two of them trying to ride into the nearly impenetrable brush in order to evade his shots, the other four dropping from their horses and opening fire at the building with ineffective fury.

Another of his rounds caught a rider in the back, and he fell. The gunman was one who was wearing a plate carrier, but Lucas had fired low, calculating that the body armor wouldn’t reach his lower spine, given its fit. Lucas didn’t dwell on the downed rider, but switched to the remaining man, who was struggling through clumps of prickly pear, his horse all but stopped by the natural barrier.

His attention was drawn momentarily to Ruby and Sierra; they’d wisely remained on their mounts, who’d turned tail and run in the opposite direction from the shooting. Every step took them further out of harm’s way, and he returned his focus back to the rider.

A few slugs thudded into the cement wall to his right as Lucas pulled the trigger again. The shot missed, and Lucas swore and reloaded as more rounds found the building. So the ragtag scavengers had found the range even with their limited-accuracy weapons, which presaged a final rush, he was sure. He fired at the horseman, and this time was rewarded with an explosion of blood from the man’s torso and a scream that split the air like the cry of a wounded calf. More rounds thudded into the building and one ricocheted off the wall behind him; it was only a lucky stray that had entered the window, but still potentially deadly if his good fortune ran dry.

He switched magazines and loaded another round, his ears ringing from the long gun’s report. The surviving shooters were on the ground, presenting smaller targets but stationary ones, which made all the difference to Lucas. His next shot vaporized the top of the nearest man’s skull, and the gunman slumped over his weapon.

That acted as the catalyst for the charge Lucas had been expecting. The men fired and screamed like it was a Civil War reenactment as they ran toward the building – a classically amateur suicide run that worked no better in present-day combat than it had in the old days. Lucas set the Remington aside and held his fire until the men were three hundred yards from him, their magazines emptied, creating a lull in the onslaught. They jettisoned the spent ones as Lucas peeked over the bottom of the window with his M4, and then he was firing three-round bursts, cutting the men down without mercy.

It was over in less than ten seconds, even those with flak vests terminally wounded or dead once their body armor failed. Lucas waited until he was sure nobody was in any shape for a final bite at the apple and stepped through the building entrance, M4 pointed at the downed men.

Lucas was halfway to them when a burst of automatic fire coughed from his right, and he dove for cover. One of the riders still had some fight in him – probably the one hit in the lower back, he thought grimly. The rounds missed Lucas by a fair margin, but still, the snap of incoming bullets shredding the air by his head was a sensation he’d never get used to. He waited for another salvo and, when it came, returned fire, burst after burst as he drove himself to his feet and ran for the dead shooters, intent on using their bodies for cover.

Another volley echoed through the brush as he threw himself amid the downed men and got a fix on the shooter’s location. When more shots sounded, he narrowed in on the likely area and saturated it with five three-round bursts.

He swapped magazines, but there was no more shooting. After he was sure he was out of danger, Lucas rushed into the brush to confirm that he’d neutralized the last gunman, and looked down at the scavenger’s bloodied form.

Lucas then spun and ran as hard as he could toward Nugget and Jax, who were clomping away, now at least four hundred yards down the trail.

“Ruby! Sierra! Stop!” he cried between gasps, his energy waning now that the battle was over. Ruby must have heard him because she reined the mule to a stop and looked back over her shoulder.

“Lucas!”

Sierra turned Nugget and they rode back to where he was bearing down on them. He slowed to a stop and waited as they approached, and only saw their bound wrists at the last moment. Lucas unsheathed his big Bowie knife and made short work of the rope and, when he had freed Ruby’s hands, repeated the effort with Sierra and Eve. Once they were untied, Sierra helped Eve down and, after dismounting, hugged Lucas impulsively, as did Eve from behind. Lucas stepped away after a long moment and patted Eve’s head for lack of a better response.

“Who were they?” he asked softly.

“Gypsies. Trail bums,” Ruby said. “Looks like a bad day for them all around.”

“Thank God you found us,” Sierra said. “They were going to sell us to the cartel. There’s a reward.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Lucas said, looking away from Eve’s piercing cobalt eyes.

“How did you find us?”

“Followed your trail.”

“So you know they’re searching for us–” Ruby said.

Lucas shushed her with a curt gesture and cocked his head.

“What is it?” Sierra asked.

“If I could find you, so can they,” Lucas said quietly. “I heard dogs.”

“I know. We outran them, though, and hid our trail. We’d hoped…”

He tried to keep the impatience from his response; he knew the women must be half panicked as well as exhausted. “Hope isn’t a great defensive strategy. See if you can find your guns – I’m guessing they took them away. Once you do, Sierra, try to catch one of their horses – you can see one over in the brush, hanging around, grazing. Maybe Eve can ride it, or Ruby. But we don’t have all day. We need to try to make some decent time, because they’re on their way, no doubt about it.”

“The shooting,” Ruby said, nodding, realization clear in her expression.

“Right,” Lucas said. “Let’s move.”

“What are we going to do?” Sierra asked.

“You’re both okay?”

“Just beat,” Ruby answered.

Lucas eyed the dead men and frowned. “Hopefully not too tired to shoot. We’ve got work to do.”

“Shoot?” Sierra blurted.

“They aren’t going to quit. You said so yourself. So it’s either them or us. I prefer us.”

Ruby looked him over. “You ride all night?”

“Been a rough few days.”

“Did you find the USB?” Sierra asked.

“We’ll talk about it later. Go find a horse. Ruby, gather up as many of the full magazines as you can, as well as the best-looking AKs.” He paused. “You ever shot an AK?”

She looked away. “It’s on my bucket list.”

Lucas turned to the corpses.

“Then you’re in luck.”

Chapter 20

Cano stood at the bank of the Black River, glowering into the murky water while the bloodhounds tried to pick up the scent again. The night had crawled by with agonizing slowness; their quarry had zigged and zagged through the water in a vain attempt to throw the hounds off the scent – which told him they had heard the dogs and were alerted to their pursuit.

There was nothing to be done about the speed, but he was on edge, sleep-deprived and tense, his stomach a ball of burning acid. Luis was watering his horse beside him when the sound of distant gunshots echoed through the canyon. Luis glanced up as everyone froze, and then Cano was in motion.

“What’s over that way?” he demanded.

The dog handler shrugged. “Blue Springs. Not much else till you get to the caves.”

“Caves?” Cano repeated.

“Carlsbad. Famous. Ton of ’em.”

Luis nodded. “I heard of them.” He paused. “You think they might be headed there?”

“Which direction are the caves?” Cano asked.

“Due west. Past the spring.”

More shooting sounded, and Cano strode to his horse. “Luis, stay with the dogs. I need ten good men to come with me.”

“What are you thinking is going on?”

“I don’t know, but I plan to find out.”

“You think it’s them?”

“Could be. But listen to that. Sounds like a pitched battle. Could be somebody else. Let’s split up, and you keep working the dogs while I go ahead.”

Luis nodded. “Makes sense.”

“They’ve been trying to make it hard for us to follow them, and it’s worked. This may even things up,” Cano said.

“Told you nothin’ throws the hounds off for good,” the handler said.

“Yes, but it’s too slow,” Cano complained.

“Been at it all night. Even dogs get tired.”

“Ten men,” Cano repeated. “Five of mine, five of yours in each group.”

Luis called out to the assembly and selected his best troops. They mounted up and followed Cano west along the river until they arrived at the spring. Cano swung down from the saddle and inspected the bank, and then nodded to himself as he approached the fire pit. He held his hand over the ashes, felt the rocks, and stood.