“Little rain never hurt anybody,” Lucas said. “But it would slow us down some.” He peered at the clouds. “Doesn’t seem to be moving. Cross your fingers.”
“So who are we meeting?” Bruce asked.
“A guy,” Lucas responded.
“Are we back to that again?”
“Look, Bruce, you’re riding with us, okay?” Lucas snapped. “Let’s get to Roswell and see how things shake out.”
“Where exactly in Roswell is it we’re meeting this…guy?”
“At a lake north of town.”
“I know the place you’re talking about. Not much out there.”
“Like it better that way.”
Lucas spit to the side of the trail, signaling the discussion was over, and kept his eyes on the trail ahead, M4 in one hand and reins in the other, his back straight as he scanned the surroundings. An occasional low rumbling of distant thunder from the mountains reminded them all that they were far from in the clear, and it was with distinct apprehension that they rode toward uncertainty, thoughts filled with imaginings of what was to come.
Chapter 45
Their luck ran out as they skirted Roswell. The heavens opened, dropping raindrops the size of quarters, instantly soaking everyone. If Lucas was deterred, he gave no indication, checking the time occasionally as he navigated the trail and confirming with Bruce that they were headed in the right direction. Sierra wrapped a horse blanket around Eve to help shield her from the rain as they soldiered on through the storm, the rain hammering them relentlessly.
Bitter Lake was a dark strip a little over half a mile long and provided water for Roswell, as well as ample fishing and hunting of the animals that made their way to it in order to quench their thirst. Bruce told them that the bar they were going to had been built as a stopping point for townspeople out for the day, providing a cool destination when the heat became unbearable.
They traversed a dirt road and Sierra pointed to a sign barely visible in the downpour. “Look. Bitter Lake, one mile.”
“Good. Horses need a break. Harder slog in this muck,” Lucas said. The horses’ hooves pulled free of the mud with an audible sucking sound, every step a chore with the additional resistance, especially at the end of a demanding day.
They followed the road and slowed when they came around a curve and found themselves at a barrier, facing two men with assault rifles sitting beneath a lean-to with a tarp over it that sheltered them from the deluge. One of the men stood and approached them, his rifle on Lucas.
“Place is closed ’cause of the storm,” he announced. “Sorry.”
“We’re supposed to meet someone,” Sierra said.
“Yeah? Who are you?”
“My name’s Sierra.”
The man’s expression changed and he nodded. “He’s expecting you.”
“So it is open?” Bruce asked.
The gunman eyed him and then Ruby and Lucas. “For some.”
The guard turned to his companion and motioned to him. The second man climbed from the shelter and opened the gate. He pointed into the rain at a single-story shack at the top of the rise. “Up there. He’s inside.”
Lucas nodded, his eyes unblinking as water ran from the brim of his hat. “Much obliged.”
“Hell of a thing, the rain, ain’t it? Came outta nowhere.”
Lucas grunted. “It’ll do that.”
He guided Tango toward the shack and saw as he neared that it was larger than he’d first thought. The walls had been fashioned from pallets nailed together, and several long slabs of corrugated metal mounted above the wood served as a makeshift roof. When he reached the entrance, he dismounted and waited for the others to do the same, and then tied Tango to a hitching post. The women followed suit. Bruce took his time lowering himself from the saddle with a grimace.
“Damn, that hurts. It’s been a while since I’ve spent that much time in the saddle,” he said.
“Best get used to it,” Lucas said. “No planes headed to wherever we’re going.”
The hinged board that served as the front door was open, and Lucas entered the building. The rain beat a steady tattoo on the metal roof. Sierra and Eve mounted the single step after him, and Ruby accompanied Bruce inside, glad to be out of the rain.
A man stood looking out at the lake through a window opening at the far side of the room. He turned at the sound of their arrival and looked them over with eyes like a bird of prey’s, his face angular, all planes and sharp edges.
“You made it just in time,” he said.
“Had to ride a ways,” Lucas said.
The man’s gaze lingered on Eve, and it was with obvious reluctance that he pulled his eyes away and focused on Lucas.
“It’ll be dark soon. Storm’s almost over, you can tell. Couple more hours, tops, which is good. We’ll be riding some tonight, until we’re well clear of Roswell and it’s safe to make camp.” The man hesitated. “Name’s Colt.”
Lucas made introductions. “You’re our guide, then?”
“Not for this leg. I’ll be riding with you, though. We have to meet a Native who will take us through his tribe’s territory.”
“Apache?”
Colt nodded. “They control a swatch about sixty miles deep that we have to cross. Take a dim view of trying without one of their own.”
“Where are we meeting him?” Sierra asked.
“There’s a truck stop just before the freeway junction northwest of here.”
“How far?” Bruce asked.
“About six miles.”
“And from there?” Ruby asked.
Colt smiled. “From there, we’ll make camp on the other side of the intersection. That delineates the end of Roswell’s territory and the beginning of Apache land.”
“You sure we’ll be safe?” Bruce asked. “I heard about that last time I was here. Nobody goes north of the freeway, or they’re never seen again. I thought it was all BS…”
“Nope. They mean business. But it’s okay. The tribe knows we’re coming.”
“They do?” Sierra said.
“Not who or why. Just that there’s a party headed north. They were paid a pretty penny to allow us through, so there shouldn’t be any problems.”
“And where to from there?” Ruby asked.
“We’ll be riding for a long time, let me put it that way.”
“You can’t tell us where Shangri-La is?” Sierra asked.
“I’ve sworn to keep its location secret. I’d go to my grave without revealing it. It’s better that you don’t know until we’ve reached it.”
“How do we even know it exists?” Bruce asked.
Colt stared at him impassively. “Who is this?”
“He helped us get here,” Ruby said.
An uncomfortable silence settled over them as they sized one another up. Lucas checked his watch and looked to Colt. “What’s your role in this?”
“Pretty simple. I don’t want to see the world ruined any worse than it is. We weren’t meant to be at each other’s throats like we are, living from day to day, killing to survive. Way I see it is this is a fight between light and darkness. I’m on the side of light.”
Bruce tried to stifle his smirk, but Colt caught it. “Something strike you as funny?”
“Um, no–”
Gunshots from down the hill interrupted them, and Colt bolted for the entrance. Lucas joined him there, binoculars raised to his eyes. He lowered them a moment later and looked to the bartender.
“Get them out of here. The Crew is on its way.”
“What?” Sierra cried.
“Come on,” Lucas ordered. He pushed into the rain, making for Tango with hurried steps. He removed the Milkor and the bag with its grenades, slid four additional magazines for the M4 into his flak jacket, and then untied Tango and handed Ruby the reins. “Take him with you. I don’t want him hurt.”
“You’re not coming?” Ruby asked.
“You’ll never make it unless I can hold them off.
”
She frowned. “I’ll stay too.”
“Don’t argue. Get out of here now.”
Sierra grabbed his wet sleeve, her eyes frantic. “Lucas…”
“Sierra, keep Eve safe. That’s what’s important. Now go.”
Ruby touched Sierra’s shoulder and led her to Nugget. Lucas couldn’t tell whether the liquid streaming down Sierra’s face was just the rain or not, but decided that it didn’t matter – he had bigger issues to deal with than a budding attraction.
They untied the animals and leapt into the saddle, and then vanished into the downpour with Colt in the lead as Lucas loaded the Milkor, eyes glued to the gate, where at least twenty riders were jumping over it on horseback, guns in hand.
Chapter 46
Lucas slammed the Milkor magazine home, loaded with six grenades, and squinted through the sight at the gunmen. When he estimated them at five hundred yards, he pulled the trigger, launching the first with a whump. It exploded harmlessly about forty yards short of the men, and he adjusted his aim and fired as fast as he could, emptying the weapon by the time the first grenades exploded near the gunmen.
It was hard to make out in the rain, but a quick glance through his binoculars showed at least ten men and animals down, with the remainder milling on the other side of the gate. Gunfire rattled from their weapons at the bar, but only a few rounds whistled past, most punching harmlessly into the pallets or throwing up splashes of mud, the three-hundred-yard accuracy of the AKs proving to be a critical limitation for the horsemen and a saving grace for Lucas.
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 struc
k 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.”
The Day After Never (Book 2): Purgatory Road Page 23
