The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) (23 page)

Magnus took an intimidating step closer to the trader. “I control three states. Most of Texas. If I say I’m good for it, I am.”

Tucker didn’t back down. “That may be, but you’re in New Mexico, not Texas. And here it’s cash and carry. Sorry – nothing personal.”

Duke edged closer to Tucker to warn him not to bait the Crew warlord, but Magnus was too fast. He reached out with both hands, the muscles in his arms bulging, twisted Tucker’s head, and snapped his neck like a twig. Duke looked away, but not before he saw the black of the abyss in Magnus’s eyes.

Magnus released the trader and he crumpled into a heap. The Crew boss next regarded Duke. “You the number two boy?” he asked.

“Just one of the traders,” Duke said. “Came to pick up my stuff, that’s all.”

“You don’t work for this piece of garbage?” Magnus demanded, indicating Tucker’s inert form.

“No. Just trade.” Duke stepped closer to Magnus as he saw the sheriff approaching from down the sidewalk. “But I can help you get anything you need. I know everyone for five hundred miles.”

“That right?”

Duke nodded. Aaron appeared at the door with his rifle, and Duke motioned for him to lower the gun. Aaron complied, and Duke angled his head and lowered his voice further. “Don’t look now, but the local law’s making for you.”

Magnus slowly turned as the sheriff neared, the lawman’s hand on his pistol. The sheriff stopped a few yards from Magnus and eyed Tucker’s form before speaking.

“What happened here?”

“Man went crazy on me. Came at me like a nut, trying for my throat. I defended myself. I think he may have got hurt,” Magnus said.

The sheriff leaned down and felt Tucker’s neck for a pulse, and then stood, his expression wooden. “He’s dead.”

“Yeah? Shouldn’ta tried anything.”

The sheriff looked to Duke. “You see this?”

Duke shook his head. “Sorry, Sheriff.”

“I got about a thousand witnesses seen the whole thing,” Magnus said, gesturing at his vehicles.

The sheriff looked around the area for any other locals, but they’d made themselves scarce at the sight of an army rolling into town. Magnus raised an eyebrow as the sheriff glared holes through him.

“I don’t believe you. Tucker was a good man. No way he’d do what you said.”

“Yeah, well, he did.” Magnus paused. “Now, sheriff, here’s how this is gonna work. You’re going to get your ass out of here, or you’re going to keep annoying me, and I’m going to cut you down like a dog, burn the town to the ground and rape all the females, and kill everyone. I’d do it anyway just for fun, but I’m on a schedule. So, you want to die today, along with everyone here, or you going to get out of my way?”

The sheriff blinked but didn’t show any emotion. “I have a dozen deputies with rifles trained on you, tough guy. You so much as sneeze, you’re dead,” he said.

“See those guns on the Hummers? .50-caliber Browning M2s. How long you think it would take to gun down everyone in this shithole? About as long as it takes me to fart. I’ve got a dozen of them, cocked and ready. Want me to give the signal so you can see what they can do? Because you’re about three seconds from getting a bird’s-eye view. Final warning.” Magnus grinned. “Never liked cops much, so I’m really hoping you make the wrong choice.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Did you not get that if you try anything, you’re the first to die?”

“You must be hard of hearing, because you’ll be dead before I hit the ground, and then the entire town will be massacred.” Magnus shrugged. “Man’s got to die sometime. Today’s as good as any for me. How about you, sheriff? You want to see sundown, or you ready to meet your maker?”

Duke cleared his throat. “Sheriff, no disrespect, but I’ve heard of this gentleman. He’ll do exactly as he says, so if you decide to push it, you’re signing my death warrant along with that of everyone in Roswell. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t play fast and loose with my life, even if you don’t much care about yours.”

The sheriff twisted toward Duke and snarled at him. “Stay out of this.”

Duke nodded. “Magnus, for the record, I know your reputation, and if this idiot makes the wrong choice, leave me out of the bloodbath. I’d put a bullet in his fool head myself if you wanted me to.”

Magnus nodded. “Either way he’ll be just as dead.”

The sheriff saw the intent in the Crew warlord’s eyes and slowly backed away. His small-town bravado had failed, and now that he’d been shamed in front of everyone, he’d lost any authority he’d had. He turned to Duke, hatred radiating from his face.

“You better be gone by sundown, or I’m coming for you, you scum. Put a bullet in me, will you? I’ll make you eat those words.”

Duke’s expression didn’t change. “I was just leaving. Aaron, grab our stuff and let’s hit it.”

The sheriff stormed off, and Magnus grinned. “Looks like you have to find someplace new to trade. I could use someone who can source whatever I need. You want a job?” he asked Duke.

Duke considered the offer and then glanced at the trading post. “Me and Aaron are a team. You got to take him on, too.”

“Fine.”

“What’s the pay?”

“I’ll make you rich.”

Duke nodded. “I hear you got quite a spread down Houston way. Be nice to have a place of my own where nobody will bug me.”

“Consider it done.”

Duke regarded the buses. “Lot of men there. What’s your final stop?”

“Los Alamos.”

Aaron reappeared with Duke’s cash bag and an armful of ammo satchels and assault rifles. Duke eyed them calculatingly. “That everything?”

“Yeah.”

Duke nodded to Magnus. “I’ll see if I can round up some horses for you. The locals might not want to let ’em go on just your say-so.”

“Then tell them I’ll kill anyone who resists.”

“That should do the trick.”

Aaron and Duke walked off to where their animals were tethered, and Aaron whispered, “You’re seriously going to work for them?”

“We don’t have a choice. They’re just going to take whatever they want by force, which will leave us broke, and nobody with anything to trade. So we either join the winning team, or we’ll wind up losers.”

“But Tucker…”

“Damn shame about the man, but he called that one wrong. So now he’s dead, and there isn’t anything we can do to bring him back. You don’t want to work with these bastards, that’s fine, but I don’t have anything better going, and I don’t want to be in the crosshairs if that psycho decides to kill everyone – do you?”

Aaron frowned. “Put that way…”

“Exactly.”

Chapter 41

The Crew convoy left Roswell shell-shocked at the confiscation of most of its inhabitants’ valuables – horses, food stores, ammunition, and weapons. Duke had done his best to soften the news that the town was facing an invading army, but some of the more stubborn had resisted. That hadn’t ended well, as the Crew fighters had delighted in destroying all in their path, and Duke had been left to wonder how the town would have fared if Magnus hadn’t been in such a hurry. Duke had heard stories about Dallas and Houston – the satanic rituals, the pedophilia, the wholesale raping and pillaging – but seeing what the Crew was capable of in person shocked even him.

The highway transitioned into a wide-open stretch and the column picked up the pace, which lasted only a few hours before more mechanical failures grounded it for the night. The Crew fighters bivouacked in tents around the buses. The desert air was still hot even after the sun had set, and their cooking fires glowed along the road as they roasted the animals they’d confiscated from Roswell for food.

Duke and Aaron kept to themselves. The Crew were hardened criminals to a man, best avoided as far as possible, and neither had much to say to each other as they ate their rations quietly at the periphery of the camp. Aaron was clearly uncomfortable with the circumstances, and most of their hushed discussion involved how best to stay alive by being useful to Magnus.

They spent an uneasy night under the stars, and the next morning the procession got under way again, the repair crews having worked until dawn, readying the vehicles for another two-hundred-mile leg. Duke and Aaron rode in one of the tow trucks with a driver who was long on curses and short on patience, their horses in a trailer behind it. They’d noted the howitzers being pulled by the semi-rigs, confirming their impression that Magnus intended to crush anything in his way.

By noon they’d lost six more tires to the sweltering pavement, and Magnus was visibly agitated at the constant interruptions. He was pacing near his Humvee when a lookout radioed on his handheld – a party of riders was approaching.

The Apaches neared, taking in the size of the force, and conferred among themselves before their leader swung from his saddle and walked to where Magnus was waiting.

“I see you made it,” the Apache said.

“Of course. You’re here to guide us?”

“Yes. But we need to stop at our headquarters so you can speak with our council.”

“Why?”

“This is a lot of men. We were expecting half as many.”

“I was clear that it was going to be a thousand men.”

“Yes, well, I’m just delivering the message.”

Magnus frowned, the tattoos on his face writhing like live snakes beneath a sheen of sweat. “Deliver one to your council: I will not be delayed. I have no problem talking to them, but if it will slow us down, it’s not an option. We can talk on the radio.”

“It’s just off the highway – about two hours’ ride from here. I’ll let them know you’re en route.”

Magnus watched the man mount his horse and ride back to his fellows with a clouded expression. He’d negotiated a fair price, but he’d done enough horse trading to see a curveball coming and silently debated how he would deal with it. The patrol retraced its steps, and Magnus ordered his column procession forward.

The Apache patrol must have ridden hard, because it was waiting for the Crew convoy when it appeared from over a rise, the afternoon sun having already begun its slow descent. The lead rider motioned to Magnus in the point Humvee. On Magnus’s orders, the buses remained on the highway, and only the Humvees followed the horsemen down the gravel road to the Apache headquarters.

Ben was waiting for their arrival surrounded by his council, projecting authority with at least a hundred Apache fighters by the buildings, all armed and staring at the vehicles bouncing toward them. When the Humvees pulled to a stop, Ben eyed the Browning machine guns and then turned to confront Magnus, who’d swung his door open and stepped onto the gravel, his heavy black boots coated with road dust.

“You Ben?” Magnus asked curtly.

Ben nodded. “That’s right. You must be Magnus.”

Magnus motioned to the Humvees. “We brought your payment. As agreed.”

“We need to discuss that.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. We had a deal.”

“We lost a guide getting you the information you requested, which we did without question. Since then, he’s gone dark. We have to presume the worst.”

“I don’t have time for this. How much more are we talking?”

Ben threw out a price in gold, at which Magnus laughed harshly. “You’re dreaming.”

“It’s a fair price.”

Magnus waved dismissively. “I’m willing to pay more, but nothing like that.” He countered with a considerably smaller increase.

Ben scowled. “I need to talk to my council.”

“Me too.”

Magnus stalked back to his Humvee and climbed in. He snapped his fingers and the driver handed him the radio.

The Brownings opened fire on the buildings, cutting down the Apache gunmen where they stood. The heavy rounds shredded Ben and the council members, spackling the wall behind them with blood and bone.

The shooting lasted less than a minute, and when the guns fell silent, Magnus stepped from his vehicle again and inspected the scene. Nobody was left alive that he could see, and he didn’t want to waste the time to do a search of the buildings. He turned to the Humvees and called out to the drivers, “Turn it around. These clowns aren’t going to be a problem.”

Magnus strode back to his vehicle. He was a conqueror. He would take what he wanted and make no excuses. Magnus had gotten what he needed from the Apaches, and they’d overestimated their importance and paid the price.

He wasn’t worried about traps they might have laid or any attacks. Only fools would take on a heavily armed force like his, and he’d put some men out front on horses to verify the road was clear. For the amount of gold he’d saved, he could afford to lose a few men to traps. And if any of the natives decided to play hero, they’d die like rats, just as their lofty council had, bleeding out on the worthless land they treasured.

Chapter 42

Arnold stood beside the Shangri-La radio operator as Elliot and Michael listened to the report from Steven, their contact in Albuquerque who’d given Colt the password. Elliot seemed to have aged ten years in the last few days; his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and his sagging skin had a sallow cast. The broadcast had come in while they’d been at dinner, and they’d raced for the radio to hear the report.

Steven’s voice faded in and out over the communication channel they used. Elliot had his hands in the pockets of his loose pants, staring at the radio with an intensity that could have powered the compound.

“Are you sure about the count? Over,” Elliot asked for the third time.

“Yes,” Steven assured him. “Based on the number of buses, you’re looking at somewhere around a thousand men. But the worst news is the four heavy artillery guns – howitzers that can lob shells fifteen to twenty miles. They can bombard you for a week before ever mounting an attack. Over.”

“The lab and the winter quarters are all underground and reinforced,” Michael said.

“Unless they were designed to withstand direct hits, I don’t like the odds. Sorry,” Arnold replied.

Michael leaned toward the transmitter. “How soon will they be here? Over.”

“They’re pulling out tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on how their vehicle repairs go, so figure fifteen hours from when I call in again. Over.”