The Day After Never - Purgatory Road (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2) (14 page)

“Radio Luis. Tell him to get over here. They must have just left,” he ordered. One of the cartel gunmen activated his two-way radio and spoke into it as Cano continued studying the perimeter. When he was done, Cano motioned to him. “See that?”

The man joined him and looked to where Cano was pointing. “Tracks.”

“Want to bet the dogs go ape when they get a whiff of them?”

The gunfire had stopped a few minutes earlier. Cano paced impatiently as they waited for Luis’s entourage to reach them. When they did, he led the handler to the track. The dogs howled and strained at their leashes, and the man nodded.

“That’s them, all right.”

“Let’s go,” Cano ordered, and returned to his horse and climbed into the saddle. They followed the handler, who was being nearly dragged at a trot down the trail, the dogs issuing joyful howls periodically to signal that they were on the scent. They covered a mile that way, and Cano called out to Luis impatiently, “I want to ride up ahead. Leave two men with the dogs and bring the rest. We know this is their trail – there’s no need to go so slowly now.”

Luis selected a pair of gunmen and relayed the instruction. Cano was already riding ahead, tailed by the remainder of the cartel force. Luis scowled at the sight of his men following anyone else, but bit back the natural resentment that rose in his throat.

“Eyes on the prize,” he reminded himself quietly, and galloped after them. A full-scale war had erupted within shouting distance, and he was stumped as to what it meant. They’d been tracking only a couple of horses, according to the dog handler, but based on the gunfire, they were now dealing with a small army.

The question being who was shooting at whom, and why.

Luis frowned again. He wasn’t big on horseback riding, preferring the town and its relative stability. He was tired, he ached, and now he was riding into a question mark – and the unknown could easily get you killed.

He didn’t like it, but he was committed.

One thing he could definitely say, though, was that he hoped he never incurred the wrath of the Crew, because based on Garret’s, and now Cano’s, tenacity, their reputation for never letting go was well deserved.

A timely reminder to himself to stay on their good side at all costs.

Fifteen minutes later, Cano slowed and studied the two corpses by the side of the trail. Further along, four bodies lay in the dirt, already bloating from the heat, their faces covered with flies.

“What do you make of that?” Luis asked, drawing even with him.

“Could be they rendezvoused with this lot, and they got ambushed. That’s what it looks like to me.”

“How can you read that from six dead men?”

“You see any women here?”

“No.”

“Then she’s still alive. Simplest explanation is they were attacked by somebody, and either these were the attackers, or they died defending themselves.” Cano paused. “Those are the only scenarios I can think of that make any sense. Did I miss anything?”

Luis had to give the man credit – his mind worked at lightning speed. “Sounds about right to me.”

Cano nodded slowly as he eyed the dead. “Damn right it does.”

Luis regarded his men and then turned to Cano. “Now what?”

The corners of Cano’s mouth wrinkled with a lupine grin. “Now we finish the job.”

“What about if there’s more where these came from?” Luis asked, indicating the corpses.

“Then they’ll have company in hell soon.” He thought for a moment. “Get the handler and the men here. They’re wasting time.”

Luis nodded, his face a blank at being ordered around. Cano spurred his horse forward, eyes on the trail, the imprints of the departing horses as clear as a painted line stretching through the desert scrub.

Chapter 21

Lucas shifted behind the rocks where he had taken cover, binoculars glued to his eyes. Ruby and Sierra sat beside him; a little ways off, Eve was keeping the horses company beneath the shady spread of a tree. They were on the eastern ridge overlooking a canyon through which the trail passed, having ridden along the wash to lead their pursuers into the narrow passage, and then climbed a track at the far end before circling around the top.

He’d thought through the best location to take on a large force, and the only way he could see them prevailing was if they had the high ground and the gunmen were boxed in. The canyon was well suited to the purpose with its sheer walls; the sun would be in the gunmen’s eyes as the blistering orb ascended in the sky. They would wait until the riders were almost directly beneath them and then open up on them, the Kalashnikov rifles they’d taken from the dead gypsies on full auto in the women’s hands, Lucas’s M4 on three-round burst.

Beside him lay the green canvas bag in which he’d placed his precious four hand grenades, next to which he had the Milkor launcher and the spare 40mm projectiles. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use them – if things went according to plan, he wouldn’t need the range. Then again, things often didn’t, and it was better to be prepared for the worst than caught by surprise.

“Okay. When they enter the canyon, hold your fire until I give the signal,” Lucas said. “Then just spray them with bullets. We want to hit them hard and fast before they can react. That’s our best chance of walking away from this.” He paused. “Ruby, you focus on the last ones. Sierra, you shoot at the front of the group. I’ll take the middle.”

The women nodded. “You really think this can work?” Sierra asked.

“We have no choice – we need to make it work.” He looked to Ruby. “Are you clear on how to cock your rifle and eject the magazine?”

Ruby smiled. “I may be old, but I’m not an idiot.”

“You’ll want to get behind that cluster of boulders, Sierra,” Lucas said, pointing to his left. “And Ruby, you take that one. It’ll put you into perfect position. But under no circumstances shoot until I tell you to. You go off half-cocked, and we’re screwed. Keep your fingers off the trigger until you want to shoot, and don’t just fire indiscriminately. Give it a short squeeze, get used to the kick, and then empty the magazine once you can control your aim. Worst case, shoot low. The barrel will tend to rise.”

“You think you can hit them with the grenades?” Sierra asked, eyeing the bag.

“Got a good throwing arm.”

“How many men do you think there are?”

“I saw plenty, so I’m going to say twenty or so.”

Sierra nodded. “I’m a little scared.”

“That’s normal. But a word of warning – it’s all going to happen fast. So you have to stick to your plan, and don’t panic. Once the shooting starts, don’t freak out or you’ll fumble your magazines or make stupid mistakes. Try to stay calm, and understand that your ability to be methodical is your big advantage. They’re going to be caught in the open, surprised, bullets everywhere, on horseback. Use that advantage – don’t throw it away. And don’t close your eyes. That’s a rookie mistake. A lot of people close them and just shoot, hoping for the best. Force yourself to stay focused.”

She eyed him with a frown. “You sound so confident.”

“Because I’ve been through my share of this in just the last week. It gets easier every time. But I remember how I felt the first time, and it’s scary.”

“I was in the gulley, remember?”

“Then you know.” He turned to Ruby. “You going to be okay?”

“I don’t scare easy,” she said, her lips a bloodless line.

One corner of his mouth twitched, and he nodded. “No, I’ll bet you don’t.”

The sound of hooves from the north drew Lucas’s attention back to the canyon, and he raised his binoculars. “Get into position,” he said as he peered through them. “And remember – hold your fire. Put your spare magazines beside you so you’ll be able to reach them easily.”

They scrambled away and Ruby called over her shoulder, “Good luck.”

“You too.”

Lucas watched as the first riders appeared, all of them wearing plate carriers, but most with their weapons strapped on or in scabbards – a small piece of luck in a game where seconds would matter. He spotted two furry forms loping at the rear of the line, their leashes taut. Their handler was obviously tired even from a distance; his movements were slow and his stride hesitant. The party slowed as the trail became more uneven in the wash, and Lucas counted twenty-three men, a third of them covered with prison ink, identifying them as members of the Crew. Which didn’t matter – they would die just the same as their Loco brethren. As long as they stayed grouped tightly as they negotiated the canyon, they’d be sitting ducks.

Lucas held his breath as the riders entered the funnel-shaped gulch, and estimated the time it would take for them to reach the spot directly below him. Thirty seconds, no more. He lowered the binoculars, felt for the grenades in the bag and removed them, and placed them by his side, ready to be thrown.

Something spooked the lead rider, a monster of a man who sat tall in the saddle, and he slowed further, eyes scanning the canyon walls before moving to the crest. Lucas looked over to where Sierra was crouched behind the boulders, her AK at the ready, and nodded to himself. He checked Ruby and saw that she already had her rifle pointed at the riders, and he waved at her. She glanced over, and he signaled for her to back away. She did, and he winced as the wood stock of her AK scraped against the rocks.

The column kept coming, the lead man with his weapon clutched at his side, as if some sixth sense was warning him of an impending attack. Lucas waited with a grenade in hand as the group made its way along the wash until they were near his optimal range, and then called out in a stage whisper to Ruby and Sierra with another wave.

The women moved into position, and Lucas pulled the pin on the grenade and lobbed it over the edge, and then followed it with another without waiting to see the effect of the first. Ruby began firing, and Sierra’s rifle joined the older woman’s moments later, and then Lucas’s M4 chattered staccato bursts as he waited for the grenades to detonate.

Many of the women’s first rounds went wild, but at the close range they were able to adjust their aim quickly, and some of the riders fell to the ground. Lucas targeted the lead rider and stitched three rounds at his chest, praying that the plate carrier would shatter and at least one would make it through and take him out. Only one struck the man, knocking him backward from the impact, and then the first grenade exploded no more than twenty feet in front of him, which threw him off his horse. Four of the men behind him were also knocked from their saddles, guns flying from their hands as shrapnel tore through them, and then the second grenade detonated in the midst of the procession, raining havoc among the gunmen and turning man and beast into hamburger.

Lucas’s rifle barked again and again at the surviving gunmen, and within thirty seconds all but three riders and the dog handler were neutralized. Those at the back had turned and galloped for the canyon mouth, and in spite of Ruby’s best efforts, had made it beyond easy range of the Kalashnikovs, riding for their lives. A few of the downed men tried to take cover behind fallen horses, but Lucas shot them without compunction as they moved– the costlier this little adventure proved for the Crew and the cartel, the less appetite they would have for any more of the same.

Ruby’s third magazine emptied and she was slapping a fourth into place when Lucas screamed at her, “Enough!”

Ruby looked at him, eyes wild but her mouth a determined line, and stopped shooting. “What? They’re getting away!” she protested.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But the dogs…”

Lucas set the M4 aside and raised his Remington. “Don’t sweat it.”

He sighted on the handler, who was running for all he was worth, the dogs bounding ahead of him, and squeezed the trigger. His shot caught the man in the center of the back and knocked him forward like he’d been struck by an invisible fist. Lucas ejected the round and chambered another, but his next shot missed the last of the riders, and he sat back and shook his head.

“God…” Ruby said, and then leaned to the side and vomited up fish and tea.

Lucas took deep breaths, calming himself, and then peered over the rocks again at the carnage below. Nothing moved; the wash ran red with blood, the bodies of horses and men intertwined.

“What about the dogs, Lucas?” Sierra demanded, and he rubbed a hand along his jaw before responding.

“I got the handler. They won’t be back.”

“But they know…”

“The trail will be cold by the time anyone gets it into their head to try this again. They lost most of their men. I doubt they’re going to mount another effort.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

He spit to the side. “Haven’t been yet.”

Sierra had no rejoinder and fell silent. Lucas pushed himself to his feet and gathered the remaining grenades, the Milkor, and the spare rounds, and shouldered his M4 sling before carrying his Remington to where Tango waited. Eve looked at him with trepidation, and he realized that his face must have been frozen in a frightening expression. He exhaled and tried a smile.

“Are we okay?” the little girl asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. All taken care of.”

She visibly relaxed. Sierra joined him moments later and set her rifle down to hug Eve. Ruby made it to them half a minute later. Her complexion was as gray as her hair, and a cut on her cheek streamed crimson where a rock chip from a ricochet had sliced it open. She wiped away blood and stared at it absently, and then pressed her sleeve against the gash to blot it.

“I never want to do that again,” she said.

Lucas nodded. “There was no other way.” He considered the women and shrugged. “It’s over.”

Ruby nodded and waved away his concern, a vacant look in her eyes. “It’s…it’s horrible. How can these animals do this kind of thing every day?”

Lucas slid his Remington into its scabbard and patted Tango’s flank. “They’re not like you, Ruby.”

Nobody commented on his use of the word
you
rather than
us
.

There was no need.

Chapter 22

After circling around on foot with a pair of branches to erase any evidence of their tracks, Lucas led the way east. He seriously doubted that the cartel would be able to find anyone willing or skilled enough to employ the dogs again, but there was no harm in taking precautions. Likewise, he had little fear that the few survivors would try to give chase – like all cowards and bullies, once their superior numbers had proved useless in winning the battle, the stragglers would continue on their way back home, tail between their legs.