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.
“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.
The Day After Never Bundle (First 4 novels) Page 33
