The Day After Never - Blood Honor (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller) (21 page)

“Of course. Where are you going?”

“Stop by the ranch and see if I can salvage anything, and then…south.”

“Can I talk you out of it?”

“Not hardly.”

“Didn’t think so.” She sighed. “I’ve got some honey you can put in the tea if you want. And later I’m planning to do some work with my garden. I have a feeling I’ll want as much to barter with as I can carry.”

“Nobody to trade with here anymore,” Lucas observed.

“No. And now that I don’t have a home…”

He moved to the door and stepped outside. “Nice day for a ride.”

“I knew you’d say that. You really think you can take on the entire Pecos cartel by yourself?”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair fight, does it? Maybe I should wait till they can get reinforcements.”

Ruby smiled in spite of herself. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’ve avoided the place since the collapse, but I still remember the layout. Figure I’ll stop in at Duke’s and see what I can learn, and then make it up as I go along.”

She frowned. “Not much of a plan, Lucas. No offense, but you can’t just ride in with guns a-blazing.”

“I’ve got the broad strokes. Just need to finesse the details.”

Half an hour later, Lucas was packed and mounted up. He said his goodbyes and rode off, Tango refreshed after his night’s rest and full of energy. Ruby and Eve watched him go, and when he was out of sight, the little girl tilted her face up toward the older woman.

“Is he coming back?”

Ruby thought about all the possible answers and settled on one a five-year-old would accept without questioning.

“I hope so.”

Chapter 29

The ranch was as deserted as a graveyard at midnight, and Lucas wasted no time on sentimental strolls down memory lane, sticking to his agenda, painfully aware of minutes ticking by. Pecos was a good thirty-five miles from Duke’s, and he was many hours away from the trading post, so he was already racing the clock and losing.

He first scrounged the last of his grandfather’s white lightning and packed six jars wrapped in cloth into his saddlebags. He next did a hasty search of the house and was relieved that the floor compartment beneath his bed hadn’t been discovered. In it was a Walther PPK in an ankle holster and a spare magazine, as well as a hundred-round box of ammo for the M4. Finally, he withdrew a portable solar panel with a battery charger and three spares for the night vision scope. Those would be priceless if he was forced to stay on the road for an extended period.

Reality slammed into him with the force of a blow. Of course he’d be traveling for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t return to the ranch and live as he had – without anyone to trade with, he’d eventually run out of staples, and he couldn’t very well stay awake around the clock to stave off any assault attempts. So what would he do?

Lucas concentrated on filling a sack with the remaining dry fruit and jerky in the back of the pantry, packed two bags of white rice into his saddlebags, filled his empty water bottles from the well, and was in and out in little more than ten minutes. He stopped at Hal’s grave and offered a silent prayer, and then made for Tango, who seemed as anxious to be clear of the ranch as he was.

He rode all day and was relieved when he arrived at the trading post by dusk and saw Aaron minding the gate. Lucas waved to him, and he opened the barrier to allow him to pass. The cavity from the grenade blast had been filled in with fresh dirt, and if Lucas hadn’t been there during the attack, other than the bullet pocks peppering the wall, he’d never have known anything had happened.

Duke called out to him from the main building as he tied Tango to a hitching post by the water trough. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a grin.

“You don’t know the half of it. Got a few minutes?”

“For you? Always.”

Duke led him into the house, where a swarthy man Lucas had never met was sharpening a bowie knife on a whetstone. The man looked up at him and Lucas took his measure – late twenties, already whip-hardened by life, probably ex-military.

“Lucas, this here’s Slim,” Duke said. “He’s the new man.”

Lucas touched the brim of his hat. Slim nodded wordlessly and continued sharpening the knife, the scrape of steel against the stone as rhythmic as a clock.

“You eaten?” Duke asked.

“Not for a spell.”

“Well, come help me in the kitchen and we can talk. What’s on your mind?”

Lucas waited until they were out of earshot to recount the story of the ranch and town. When he was done, Duke’s ruddy complexion was gray.

“You sure it was cartel?” he asked softly.

“Oh, yeah. Tattoos made that pretty obvious.”

Duke stirred a pot of fish stew with a wooden spoon, the only light now the lamp in the living room. “What are you going to do?”

“I need intel. Anything you can give me on Pecos. Where the cartel’s holed up, what their numbers are, any habits.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know, but it’s precious little.” Duke didn’t have to ask Lucas what he intended to do – the look in his eyes made that obvious.

“I’d appreciate it. I’ll also need a fresh horse I can push hard. I’ll leave Tango as collateral. And as many rounds of 5.56mm as you can spare.”

“I’ve got some 5.56mm M855A1 ball that fell off a truck. About three hundred rounds. Might want to use that until you run out – more stopping power with that popgun you carry around than civilian ammo.”

“I’ve used it before. I’ll take it all.”

Duke nodded and considered his face. “Stretch between here and Pecos isn’t safe at night. Stay, and hit it at dawn.”

“I expect you’re right.” Lucas paused. “Still got that night vision monocle?”

“I might. Why? You want to borrow it?”

“If it works and has a decent battery, I’ll buy it. I’ve got six jars of lightning for your trouble.”

Duke shook his head. “Which will all be here when you get back. Just take the NV gear and return it in good shape.”

“Don’t want charity, Duke.”

“It isn’t. I never properly repaid you for saving our bacon.”

“I did no such thing.”

“One of the guys you shot had four more grenades. That would have been it, Lucas, if you hadn’t bagged him.”

“Did he have cartel tats?”

“Oh, plenty of ink, but didn’t see any of the Loco’s markings. Then again, that doesn’t mean much. Only the original members have ’em.”

“You’d think they’d have known better than to try to take you.”

“Yet they almost did. Which is why I’m feeling all generous. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Lucas looked over his shoulder. “Where’d you find the new guy?”

“Doug’s buddy. Lives west of here a day’s ride. Big family, meaner than pit vipers. He wanted more stimulation than home offers. So now he’s in the big leagues.”

“You tell him what happened to Clem?”

Duke’s eyes hardened. “All he cared about was there was a vacancy.”

Dinner was quiet. Lucas wasn’t predisposed to talk, and the others showed no interest in listening. The men limited their interactions to requests for more stew and to pass the salt, which Lucas was fine with. When they’d cleared their plates, Duke showed him to a guest room, and after tending to Tango and loading a dozen magazines with the military-spec ammo and stowing them in his saddlebags, he lay down in the dark, plate holder still cinched tight, M4 with night vision scope beside him like a lover, safety off, and the Kimber on the nightstand within easy reach.

His rest was uneasy, filled with gruesome imagery, and he woke multiple times with a cry on his lips and bathed in sweat. The final time, an hour before dawn, it had been Sierra’s face he’d awakened to, her eyes accusatory, as though castigating him for letting her down.

He hadn’t been able to sleep from that point on, and instead busied himself preparing for his journey. Duke had offered a capable steed, a three-year-old stallion he’d assured Lucas could make the trip to Pecos in a single long day, though the ride would be a stretch for even the fittest of his species. Lucas carried his tack to the barn, where the horse allowed Lucas to outfit him without protest, and Lucas was finishing up when he spun, Kimber in hand, at a sound behind him.

Duke was watching him from the barn entry, his hair askew. “Got ants in your pants, huh?”

Lucas nodded. “No point in wearing out my welcome.”

Duke held up the night vision monocle. “Figured you could use this.”

Lucas approached him and took it. “I’ll bring it back.”

“I hope so. Got kind of attached to it.”

Duke had filled Lucas in on the cartel’s strength, and Lucas was under no illusions about what he was facing. Duke had suggested posing as a trader when he arrived. Pecos, for all its criminality, served as an important hub for those in the area. Lucas could blend in with the rough crowd as well as any, and his weapons wouldn’t draw a second glance from the cartel enforcers; the traders who chose to brave the city’s perils were normally armed and extremely dangerous, and military weapons were a common sight on the streets.

Duke had told him that the cartel was headquartered in the courthouse, across the street from the US Marshals’ former headquarters, which Lucas was familiar with from trips there with prisoners in his past life. The courthouse was a formidable brick edifice in the original downtown area and would be hell to infiltrate, he knew.

“There’s a bar where many of the traders hang a few blocks away. Think the one from
Star Wars
, only worse,” Duke said. “That’s where I’d start.” He mentioned the name of the watering hole.

Lucas nodded. “Appreciate the ammo and the rest. Especially the hospitality.”

Duke hesitated. “Sorry about Hal. He’ll be missed.”

“Me too.” Lucas eyed his watch and walked over to where Tango was housed. “Be good, old friend. I’ll be back. Catch up on your beauty rest, eat too much, maybe make friends with some of Duke’s mares.” Lucas turned to Duke. “Take care of him.”

“Like my own child.”

Lucas hesitated. “If I don’t make it back…”

“You will.”

“Yeah, but if not…hold this for me. Seeing what a gold bug you are.” Lucas handed the trader a small suede bag cinched tight with a drawstring. “Twenty ounces. Use it to take care of my friend Ruby if she comes looking for me, which she will if I don’t show up within a week or so.”

Duke’s eyes widened. “Twenty! I’ll kill you myself for that kind of loot.”

Lucas managed a sad smile. “Got to stand in line.” He led his new horse from the stall. “What’s his name?”

“Gunner.”

“Fitting.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the barn. Duke offered his hand, and Lucas shook it.

“Give ’em hell, Lucas.”

Lucas’s eyes were cold anthracite in the predawn glow as he escorted Gunner from the barn and mounted. “Count on it.”

Damp earth scented the breeze on the trail south as the trading post receded into the distance. Lucas calculated that with rest stops he would be in Pecos after nightfall, assuming that Duke’s assurances about Gunner were accurate. The chestnut stallion covered ground at a reasonable clip, and the day passed without event, no one else on the trail that paralleled the highway. In the distance, the occasional ruins of a ranch house or farm stood in dry fields turned a fallow beige, sacrificed to looters or Raiders.

He could make out Pecos two hours before he arrived, the distant city’s bonfires lighting the horizon with bright tongues of yellow and orange. As he drew near, he was forced to navigate the main highway for the final two miles. At an overpass above the train tracks that marked the boundary of the city, a cartel gunman greeted him from a fortified guard post with the barrel of an AK.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man growled.

“Got some trading to do, and need a place to bunk for the night.”

“What you got to swap?”

“Ammo.”

“Yeah? How much?”

“Plenty. You going to let me through, or do I head elsewhere?”

The gunman considered Lucas carefully and then motioned with his rifle. “Let’s see what you have.”

Lucas sighed and reached behind him for one of his saddlebags.

“Easy,” the Loco cautioned.

“I’ve got ten STANAG thirty-round mags of 5.56mm to trade. Like new. Only used by Grandma on Sundays.”

That drew a laugh. “I’ll bet.”

“Want to see them, or are we done?”

The thug lowered his weapon. “There’s a place down that road that rents out rooms. Cost you five rounds per night. Used to be a motel.”

“Safe?”

Another laugh. “Assuming you know how to use your gun, it should be.”

Lucas nodded. “I do. Where can I get some grub and a drink?”

“Couple joints downtown. You’ll see ’em. Only places that are open.”

Lucas rode on into Pecos. As he approached the courthouse, he heard music blaring from its grounds, which answered any questions about whether the cartel had figured out solar power. Shouts and whoops drifted down the boulevard, and as he drew closer, he could see a pair of gunmen camped in the parking lot. The interior ground floor of the building was illuminated, and he could make out a large foyer that had been converted into a bar, from which rap boomed with bombastic insistence, at least fifty men inside yelling at one another over the music.

He continued past without slowing, the guards’ eyes burning into his back as he guided his horse down the street, and two blocks further along he spied one of the restaurants, a half dozen empty plastic tables outside on the sidewalk indicating business wasn’t good. He stopped at a storefront next door, whose picture window and door had been destroyed, and tied Gunner to a wrecked pickup truck’s door handle before moving to one of the tables.

The meal was tasteless gruel served in tortillas, and he wolfed down four of them, opting for his own water rather than what was offered, and paid with ammunition. After eating, he watered Gunner and then walked the horse down a dark street that ran parallel to the courthouse, where one of the bars Duke had told him about was located. The shabby watering hole, whose façade was pocked with bullet holes, was identified by a sign over the door boasting a cigar-smoking rooster with a ten-gallon hat and six guns. He’d reached the Half-Cocked Saloon, which looked even worse than Duke had described.