He ducked through the doorway and reloaded the grenade launcher with the last six projectiles and then loosed them from one of the windows. Blossoms of orange flame and black smoke erupted from around the gate, but Lucas didn’t wait to see the result of his final onslaught, instead dropping the Milkor and bringing his M4 into play. He squinted as he tried to fix the iron sights on a target, but the rain made it almost impossible, and he didn’t want to waste rounds. After two bursts that did nothing he could make out, he looked through his binoculars to see how many of the Crew gunmen had survived.
He swore as seven of the riders leapt the barrier. Five peeled off into the woods, leaving two to ride into his fire. Lucas dropped the binoculars to his chest and took aim, gritting his teeth as the riders neared, a vision of naked aggression and bloodlust that would have been perfectly at home in a film about Mongols charging enemy lines.
When the riders were no more than a hundred yards from the bar, he began shooting, the M4 stuttering the distinctive bark of its three-round burst, and the lead gunman pitched backwards with a scream Lucas could hear through the rain. Lucas shifted his aim to the second man before the first had hit the ground, and fired again and again. Four of the bursts missed as the rider dodged and weaved, but the fifth found him, and a fountain of crimson blew from the man’s back as his body armor gave way.
The man fell from his horse, still squeezing the trigger of his AK, and landed facedown in the mud, the pool of water beneath him marbled with ruby tendrils as he struggled for breath. Lucas drew a bead on him and ended his life with a final burst, and then ejected the spent magazine and slammed another into place.
He swept the trees with the scope but saw nobody. The five riders had vanished, and now things would get messy – it was rifle against rifle, with his adversaries having the benefit of the cover of the trees, whereas Lucas’s position was known to them.
The first thing he had to do if he was going to survive was to get away from the bar and find a location he could defend until he could slip away once night fell.
He sprinted through the bar and made for the window that faced the lake. A sound behind him was all the motivation he needed, and he threw himself through the opening as fire erupted from the area in front of the bar, peppering the flimsy pallet walls and sending rounds tearing through the half-rotten wood.
Lucas landed hard on the wet ground and drove himself to his feet as the shooting continued. Let them waste their ammo on an empty building. He ducked low and ran toward the bluff that overlooked the water. The lake’s surface was dimpled by a million raindrops, and his boots slid on the muddy terrain.
He spotted a promising tree – a pine with a trunk thick enough for him to hide behind, which would provide cover from enemy fire. A glance at his watch told him he only had a few minutes before the dim glow of remaining daylight faded behind the storm clouds, and he’d be in the clear.
The area lit with a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a deafening boom of thunder nearly directly overhead. His ears popped from the pressure change and the wind switched direction, driving sheets of dense rain into his eyes and slowing his progress.
He was almost at the tree when an assault rifle chattered behind him and the ground around his feet churned. Lucas veered left as the stream of bullets neared him, and then launched through the air in a bid to get to the tree before the rounds stitched across his legs.
The wet ground rose up to meet him and knocked the breath out of him as he slammed into it and slid toward the trunk. He ignored the pain in his chest from the impact and pulled himself along, and then he was behind the tree only moments before rounds whistled past him, shredding the nearby leaves.
Lucas removed his hat and collapsed the top and, once flattened, slid it into his vest. Free of it telegraphing his movements with the brim, he peered around the trunk and spotted a dark form running toward him. He fired two bursts from the M4 and cut the assailant down, the man’s only exclamation a surprised grunt as he collapsed.
The forest around him erupted with orange muzzle flashes, and another peal of thunder shook the ground. The storm’s fury seemed to intensify with the shooting, and the next cloudburst sent a blinding sheet of rain at the earth – buying Lucas the opening he needed, as the air was suddenly so thick with water he could barely see a few feet in front of him.
He pushed himself up and tore off as fast as he could, running away from the gunmen; his death was assured if he stayed and tried to battle it out, one against four. He was nearly at the outcropping of rocks at the edge of the bluff he’d spied when the shooting from behind him zeroed in on him, and bullets punched into the earth to his right. He dodged left along the edge of the bluff and was almost to the rocks when his foot slid out from under him on a patch of slick mud, sending him sailing through the air, falling toward the surface of the lake below.
Cano raced for the spot where the shooter had disappeared. Luis was only footsteps behind him, and both fired as they ran. They reached the edge of the bluff and saw nothing but the lake below. Cano screamed in rage and emptied his gun into the water, and Luis did the same as the two surviving Crew gunmen joined them.
“Did he dive in?” the nearest one asked, and Cano turned to him, his face distorted with fury.
“No. It looked like he slipped and fell.”
Luis took several steps and knelt down by the edge, where there was a clear impression left by the man’s body sliding over the precipice. He held up his hand and two of the fingers were red with blood.
“Maybe he didn’t slip. Looks like at least one round hit him.”
Cano watched as the rain rinsed Luis’s hand and nodded. “Did you see anyone else?”
“No. I think it was just him.”
“Damn. Where are the others? I saw them up by the bar.”
“They must have escaped.”
Cano glared at his men and then at Luis. “Get the horses. We can follow them,” he fumed. “Hurry. We’re losing the light.”
The pair of gunmen ran to obey, and Cano led Luis back to the front of the bar.
Luis cursed as they studied the tracks that led away from the decrepit structure. Cano leaned to look at the prints, the impressions already almost obliterated by the storm, and then stood. “They can’t have gotten far.”
A sound like a jet on takeoff filled the clearing and the area around the shack brightened as white as a phosphor flare. Lightning struck the big pine the man had used for cover and it split in two. A massive fireball exploded into the sky, sending the men reeling, arms covering their faces, the air suddenly searing, steam rising from the ground near the tree as thunder deafened them directly overhead.
Cano recovered first, his ears ringing, and staggered toward the tree to look at the damage as Luis picked himself up and wiped mud from his face. When Cano turned to face him, for the first time since he’d laid eyes on the man, Luis saw what might have been defeat – it was hard to tell in the dimming twilight. Luis looked back at the tracks and saw that they were now indistinguishable from the surrounding earth, large pools of water forming as the ground saturated. Cano walked heavily toward him and, following Luis’s stare with hooded eyes, roared at the sky with a clenched fist, the sound that of a mortally wounded animal in its death throes, otherworldly issuing from a human throat.
Chapter 47
Colt rode at a moderate pace on a trail that ringed the lake, and the others followed close behind. Only a few moments after they had gotten under way, there had been a series of loud explosions, and Ruby had leaned toward Sierra.
“That’s the grenade launcher. Lucas is laying waste.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“He’s got heavy artillery. If anyone can pull it off, it’s him.”
Bruce listened in silence as the rain pelted them with the ferocity of a jilted lover. He was about to speak when rifle fire exploded from behind them. Colt picked up his speed. Sierra looked over at Ruby.
“If they’re
shooting, that means he didn’t get them all, Ruby. We need to go back and help him.”
“If Lucas had wanted us to put ourselves into harm’s way, he would have told us to stay. He didn’t. We need to honor his wishes.”
“But he’s hopelessly outgunned.”
Bruce finally spoke. “It was his choice. He bought us time. You should be grateful.”
“I am. But I don’t want him to get himself killed.”
Ruby’s voice had steel in it. “Sierra, your job is to get Eve to Shangri-La, not to take risks every time you get a new idea. Bruce is right. Lucas knew what he was doing, and he made a good call. If you want to be useful, try offering a prayer that he makes it.”
“Makes it how? We have Tango!”
“He can walk to the truck stop,” Colt said over his shoulder. “It’s not that far. Maybe three, four hours, tops, on foot. We can wait for him. If he shows, fine. If not, at least you’re safe.” He didn’t have to say that was what mattered the most.
“I just wish there was something we could do.”
The sound of the gun battle continued, and then, as the sky darkened, fell silent. Colt led them off the lake trail and onto a dirt road that led west, toward town. He slowed and twisted to see them. “Keep quiet from here on out. Roswell has guard outposts. I know where they are, and we’re going to pass within a few yards of two of them. Not a word, or there’ll be trouble.”
“Why would they hassle us?” Sierra asked.
Colt exhaled loudly. “Last thing I’m going to say. We don’t want to leave a trail of our passage. So nobody can see us. Now, all due respect, zip it, and no more questions. Not a peep. Understand?”
Sierra nodded, and so did Eve.
The rain grew lighter after the first hour and settled into a drizzle, now an annoyance rather than an impediment to their passage. Colt pointed to their left as they neared a grove of trees and held an index finger to his lips, reiterating that they had to be silent. They passed the outpost without incident and, forty minutes later, skirted the second without being spotted.
The truck stop was a dark warehouse-size structure with a rusting roof, its windows broken out, the interior stripped by looters. Abandoned freight containers loomed in the darkness along the perimeter where they’d been dropped so the trucks that had pulled them could travel longer on the same fuel. The building was cavernous, they could see as they rode up to it, and after glancing around, Colt signaled for them to dismount and tie their horses where they could.
Colt walked into the interior. The only sound was water dripping from holes in the roof. He looked around as the others followed him in and, once his eyes adjusted, smiled at the shadows.
“You’re here,” he said.
A man with long, gray hair and a lined face stepped from the gloom and returned the smile with a grimace. “Of course I am.” He looked at the women, Eve, and Bruce. “This is everyone?”
“No. We’re waiting for one more.”
“How long?”
“We’ll give him…how long before we absolutely have to move?”
“Four hours, on the outside. We want to be well into the territory before we make camp.”
Colt turned to the women. “This is Frank. He’s our guide.”
Ruby introduced them and offered a smile of her own. “So we’ll be with you for two days or so?”
Frank nodded. “About that. Depends on how much ground we cover each day.” He yawned. “I’d advise you to get some rest while we wait. We won’t get much when we camp – we’ll be moving again at first light, so this is your chance.”
“Good idea,” Colt said. “There’s cover from the rain, and the locals avoid this place like the plague.”
“Why?” Sierra asked.
“This is kind of a no-man’s land between the outer boundary of Roswell and the beginning of Frank’s people’s territory,” Colt explained. “There’s nothing here but bad memories, so no reason to come. And the truck stop and other buildings have been used by bandits in the past. It’s got a dangerous reputation.”
Frank pointed at a dry area relatively free of debris near the entrance. “You can set your bedrolls there. I’ll keep watch.” He patted a lever-action Winchester rifle hanging from a shoulder sling.
Five minutes later they had their rolls placed and had settled in to the lullaby of occasional thunder and the patter of rain as they waited for Lucas, an Apache stranger looking out for them at the edge of civilization.
Chapter 48
Lucas hit the water with a loud splash, M4 gripped reflexively in his hand. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but even as he sank, he had the presence of mind to shrug the rifle’s sling over his shoulder, freeing his arms to swim. The water’s cold chilled him to the bone. He saw light from off to his right and assumed he had gotten disoriented when he’d entered the lake. He pulled hard with his arms and broke the surface to gasp near the overhang of a willow tree’s branches, protected somewhat from the rain.
Shooting erupted from his right, and he slipped beneath the water after a large gulp of air, thankful that he’d broken the surface near the shore and not further out in the lake where the men above were directing their fire. He figured they would exhaust their ammo shortly, and it would be completely dark due to the storm, so all he had to do was stay alive a couple more moments and he would be safe.
He remained underwater until his lungs were burning, and when he poked his head from the lake again, the darkness was total and the shooting had stopped. Still, he didn’t want to allow overconfidence to ruin his tenuous advantage, so he treaded water as best he could beneath the tree’s cover in case anyone was still watching from above.
A massive explosion of thunder shook the surroundings as a brilliant flare lit the lake, and Lucas took that as his cue to make for the shore. He swam underwater parallel to the steep bank for fifty yards, the effort nearly killing him; the weight of his body armor and magazines felt like he had a rucksack filled with bowling balls strapped to him. At last he dragged himself from the lake onto a rocky shore, the wind howling as waves of rain washed over the lake.
Lucas didn’t allow himself the luxury of resting. The women were on horseback and, even at a slow pace, would make better time than he could on foot. He needed to find the truck stop and get there before they left, which meant he was already at a disadvantage, given that he had no idea where it was, other than the brief description offered by the bartender.
What was it that he’d said? Northwest? Question was how far north and how far west?
He shook his head to clear the fogginess in his mind, no doubt an artifact from the shock of the cold water and the fall. Think. What had Colt said?
That it was just before the major highway intersection, which he guessed meant south of it. The best course of action would be to find the highway as it stretched north of town and follow it until he reached the truck stop.
He removed his compass from his vest and took a bearing, and then quickly fieldstripped his M4 and dumped the water from it. He did the same with two magazines, figuring he’d deal with the others later, and finished with the Kimber.
All things considered, it could have been worse. He was still armed, had all his fingers and toes, and had stopped any pursuit.
Lucas removed his hat from inside the vest, restored it to a semblance of its prior glory, and fit it onto his head. He grimaced as he forced himself to his feet. His entire body was sore from weeks of hard riding and now the fall into the lake. After a glance around the area, he began trotting along the shore, wishing his NV scope wasn’t in his saddlebags, but reminding himself that if it hadn’t been, it might well have been rendered useless by the protracted submersion.
No, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way, using his compass and watch. He remembered what Bruce had said about the good citizens of Roswell and the hospitality with which they greeted strangers, and made a mental note to dodge any patrols – there would be no asking directions from friendly
natives.
He came to a dirt access road, now a muddy wash down which brown runoff coursed, and lumbered up the slope. Lucas pushed himself to a faster clip, painfully aware that at least a few of the Crew had survived and that the further he could get from the lake, the better his odds. His leg muscles protested the exertion, but he continued without pause, driving himself hard for half an hour until light-headedness forced him to slow.
The rain had lessened and was now a third of what it had been an hour before. He stopped near a tree and stood with his face upturned, mouth open, consumed by thirst. He adjusted his Kimber, and his hand brushed the bottom of his vest and came away covered with warm fluid.
Lucas looked down at his fingers and saw blood, black in the nearly nonexistent light. He probed the area above his hip and winced when a searing jolt of pain shot from his waist.
He’d been hit but, like many combat vets had described, hadn’t even realized it until adrenaline and shock had worn off.
Lucas stripped off his plate carrier and noted with dismay that his entire right leg was slick with blood. That explained his weakness and dizziness – it was a wonder that he’d made it that far without passing out. He felt the wound and exhaled in relief; the bullet hadn’t hit any organs or bone, but rather had passed clean through the flesh just above his belt.
He tore one of his long shirtsleeves off at the shoulder, and then repeated the maneuver with the other, and created a crude pressure bandage around his waist to clot the blood. When he was done, he re-donned his flak jacket and drank some more rain, but as he was doing so was struck by a fatigue so total he couldn’t force himself to go another yard.
Lucas barely made it to the base of the nearest tree and sat beneath its branches. He’d have to rest a few minutes, allow his body time to recover. Only a few, he reasoned as he closed his eyes, shivering in spite of the moderate temperature, his mind filled with images of charging tattooed furies – and of Sierra, whose kiss still tingled on his lips as he passed from this world into the void.
The Day After Never Bundle (First 4 novels) Page 46
