The Day After Never (Book 4): Retribution

by Russell Blake

  She walked toward the door. “I do. Make sure you remember yours, too. I won’t wait forever, Lucas. Not for you, or anyone.”

  And then she was gone, leaving tension and anxiety in her wake. Lucas chewed his lower lip and followed her out, silently reminding himself that Sierra believed her son to be alive, whereas he doubted it, so their priorities were different. He wasn’t eager to risk it all going into the heart of enemy territory on a wild-goose chase, but she would do anything to find her son, even if it meant her own destruction.

  He understood.

  He also wasn’t looking forward to the next few weeks as she turned the pressure up on him. Which she would, he was sure. He knew her that well by now and could expect to be reminded of his commitment on a daily basis.

  “Well, nobody’s holding a gun to your head,” he muttered under his breath, and then stepped onto the front porch, from where he could see Sierra already walking with Eve back toward the vehicles, leaving him to hurry to catch up.

  Chapter 8

  Dale stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the scene at the bridge over the Rio Grande. The Crew’s abandoned vehicles, already stripped by scavengers, clogged the road, and Los Alamos shimmered in the distance halfway up the side of the mountains to the west. The surviving Crew fighters were grouped around him, and Manuel, one of the ranking lieutenants, pointed with his bandaged arm at a spot near the bridge.

  “There were two more Humvees. They’re gone now. As are at least a couple of the buses and horse trailers,” he said.

  Dale nodded wordlessly, taking in the destroyed vehicles. Manuel had told him about the retreat from the canyon and the pitched battle with the remainder of Magnus’s guard detail against dozens of fighters who’d appeared out of nowhere. One of the guards had heard the grenade blast that had killed their leader, and had slipped away to confirm that the worst had happened before rejoining the fight. Dale had questioned Manuel several times, but his story never varied.

  “Where did the guard say Magnus died?”

  “Back along the river, near a ravine. He said there wasn’t a lot left of him.”

  “Let’s take a look. The rest of you, stay here,” Dale ordered, and the dozen men nodded agreement.

  Dale and Manuel made their way south along the bank, stopping periodically to study the terrain. When they reached a gulley, Manuel gestured at the hill beyond it. “This looks right.”

  “Come on.”

  Dale traversed the ridge at the top of the gulch, eyes searching the ground. He stopped several hundred yards up the rise – part of a scapula lay in the dirt, picked clean by insects and carrion birds. He knelt by the bone and stared at it for a long moment, and then continued more cautiously, scanning his surroundings with the thoroughness of a minesweeper.

  Part of a skull rested against a boulder, like an ossified chalice set by the rock to catch the rain. Dale turned to Manuel with a nod. “This looks like the place, all right. See if you can spot where the grenade went off.”

  Three minutes later they were standing by a depression created by the blast, clearly the epicenter of the shower of fragments they’d located – a femur, most of a boot, a skeletal hand. Dale walked the area and, when he had satisfied his curiosity, returned to where Manuel was waiting. “Might as well go back. If that was Magnus, he’s definitely gone now.”

  They set up camp by the river, the approaching dusk making it impractical to try to navigate the canyon until morning. After an anxious night where few of the men slept, Dale and Manuel led them up the grade to Los Alamos, retracing the Crew’s steps toward the canyon that was the final resting place of their army. The area was silent other than the clomp of the horses’ hooves against the shale wash and the soft whistle of wind through the poplar trees that lined the crest.

  The column picked along the avalanche area and worked its way at a crawl past the minefields, scorch marks and blast debris signaling where Bouncing Betties had detonated – not that there could be any doubt, given the skeletons strewn in telltale patterns. The ebony form of a crow lifted into the air and flapped above them, protesting with a cry the disruption of its solitude.

  Manuel slowed as they neared the final narrowing of the canyon and indicated a trail at the end that led up to the top. “This is as far as we got. It was carnage – they had a Browning up there and pinned us down all through this stretch. Then they flanked us, and that was the beginning of the end,” he said, his voice a whisper, as though recalling the moment like it had just taken place.

  Dale nodded and gave his horse a pat on the neck, which was damp with sweat. “Might as well head up there and see what all the fuss was about. I think it’s fairly safe to say nobody’s left – the missing vehicles don’t leave much mystery about that.”

  “You sure?” Manuel asked, doubt in his voice.

  “We’re still alive, aren’t we?” Dale said, and spurred his horse forward.

  The others followed, rifles in hand. The sloping trail was difficult to negotiate, narrow in spots, but after an hour of painstaking progress they reached the summit and stared down into the valley. Dale raised a pair of binoculars and surveyed the structures in the distance, and then lowered them with a grunt.

  “Anything?” Manuel asked.

  “Deader than Magnus,” Dale said, and flicked the reins. His horse edged forward on the downhill grade, the tall grass of the valley an inviting carpet of verdant bounty before them.

  Evidence of the relentless shelling was everywhere, but already the mounds of earth thrown clear of the shell craters were covered with green shoots, the cavities filled with rainwater from recent showers. They rode toward the structures at a trot, following the creek until they drew near.

  Dale slowed as he approached the buildings and stopped a few hundred yards away. He swung down from the saddle and crossed the remaining distance on foot, his stride confident and measured, and his men followed. Once at the entry to the largest structure, he paused, listening, and shook his head.

  “They’re gone. Like we figured. Packed up and hit the road. Nobody here but ghosts now.” He hesitated. “Let’s look around and see if we missed anything. I doubt they could carry everything. Might pick up some clues as to how many of them made it or where they went.”

  Dale led them into the building, which had been partially destroyed by the shelling, and they worked their way through the rooms, empty except for beds and simple furniture. When they finished with the buildings, they entered the subterranean area the Apache guide had described, and found themselves in a series of connected vaults, all of them with working overhead lights. The relative miracle of electricity quickly faded when Dale spotted the equipment that had been left behind – presumably because there was no easy way to move it, or no time, or both.

  They spent a half hour underground, and when they surfaced, Dale was frowning. “This was much more sophisticated than we thought. We underestimated them. Whoever set this up had serious expertise – which means unless they were killed, they still do.”

  Manuel nodded, only understanding part of what Dale had said, but getting the overall gist. “So how do we track them?”

  Dale rubbed a hand over his beard stubble and took a deep breath. “We start at the highway. We know they took the vehicles. Someone might have heard them pass or seen them. Once we get a direction, we follow the trail to wherever it leads.”

  “What if we don’t find anyone who saw them?”

  Dale made for his horse, studying the sky, gauging how long it would take to return to the road. “Then we keep looking until we find the trucks or some evidence of where they went to ground.”

  “But we don’t even know which way they went…”

  “That’s right, we don’t. But we know where the roads are. So we follow the roads in each direction until it’s obvious they didn’t go that way or we learn something new. But right now the best thing we have to go on is a bunch of big diesel engines, and my bet is that someone will have heard them.”r />
  Manuel turned to one of his men. “That could take forever.”

  Dale stilled; when he turned to face Manuel, any semblance of friendliness was gone. “That’s right. It could. Got a problem with that? Someplace you have to be?”

  Manuel swallowed hard. “N-no. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “You’re lucky I like to work alone. If we don’t trip over them in the first week, it’ll be a marathon, and you boys can run home to Texas.”

  Dale glared at the man a final time and stalked off, keenly aware that they’d already lost too much time, the trail was cold, and they needed to make it back through the canyon before it got too dark to negotiate the mined areas safely.

  Manuel, his men behind him, hurried to catch up, but if Dale noticed, he didn’t say anything. He was done with them, their usefulness over now that they’d led him to the valley. He didn’t need them, and they wouldn’t be any help in locating his quarry.

  No, that would take all his skill and cunning.

  And for that kind of job, he preferred to work alone.

  Chapter 9

  The knock at the door of Lucas and Sierra’s house echoed like a gunshot. Lucas set the pistol he was cleaning on the dining table and walked to the door.

  “Yeah?” he called out.

  “Lucas? It’s Michael. Is Eve there?”

  Lucas opened the door to find Michael on the porch, his eyes red from lack of sleep. Lucas tipped his hat at the younger man. “I think she’s back with Sierra. What’s up?”

  “Elliot needs more blood.”

  Lucas’s expression hardened. “Already given a boatload. Been through a lot for a little girl.”

  “I know. But he’s close to having the vaccine ready to test, and he just needs one last donation from her to prepare it.”

  Lucas sighed and stepped back. “Come on in.”

  Michael followed Lucas inside and Lucas indicated a chair by the sofa. “Be back in a second,” Lucas said, and disappeared into the bedroom area.

  Sierra and Eve looked up from where the little girl was helping Sierra clean the picture windows. Sierra raised an eyebrow at his sudden appearance. “You get bored with your guns?” she teased.

  “Got a visitor. Michael. Says Elliot needs Eve one last time.”

  Sierra frowned. “Lucas…”

  “I know. He says it’s important.”

  “It always is.”

  Lucas looked to Eve. “They need to draw a little more blood, Eve. What do you say?”

  Eve’s face was placid. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt that much.”

  Sierra and Lucas exchanged a glance, unsurprised that the little girl was trying to reassure them rather than seeking their support. Eve had proven to be an unusual combination of youth and maturity, and the way she’d taken the constant demands on her had been nothing short of stoic. Sierra placed the rag she was using on the windowsill and touched Eve’s arm. “You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met, Eve.”

  Eve shrugged and met Lucas’s stare with her big blue eyes. “Is there a choice?”

  When Lucas and Sierra emerged from the bedroom with Eve, Michael rose. “Good morning, Eve,” he said.

  “Morning,” she responded almost inaudibly.

  “Almost time for our morning walk anyway,” Lucas said, reaching for his hat. “We’ll head over with you. How long you figure this’ll take?”

  “Shouldn’t be too long.”

  The streets were largely empty; the weather was turning ugly, as it had periodically since they’d arrived. Leaden clouds blocked the sun, and the air was heavy with the smell of an approaching squall. Sierra eyed the angry sky with narrowed eyes. “Think we’ll be able to make it back before it starts pouring?” she asked Lucas.

  “We might have half an hour at best, from the looks of things.” Lucas shook his head. “Probably going to get wet.”

  When they reached the community center, Elliot was waiting for them, his face haggard with fatigue. A pair of scratched reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. The jovial, ruddy-complexioned physician was barely recognizable in him, replaced by a man who looked like he’d been to hell and back more than once.

  Lucas eyed him as he shook hands. “Been burning it at both ends, huh?”

  Elliot gave a rueful grimace. “We’re at a critical phase. I can sleep once we’re over this hump.”

  For weeks, Elliot had been snatching rest a few hours at a time, preferring to invest his time in refining the vaccine before winter. He spent his days racing the threat of being snowed in and thus unable to distribute the vaccine until spring. He’d become a recluse of late, leaving the day-to-day to Michael and more or less living in the laboratory he’d set up in the rear of the center.

  For the actual handling of the virus, he’d built a separate facility in what had been the post office down the road, which was now off-limits to everyone. It featured his version of a Level IV clean room with an en suite bathroom, a primitive shower and disinfection stall at the inner entrance that served as a dressing room, and a second shower in a separate enclosed area that was the exit to the main building. The suite was equipped with a makeshift air filtration system that exhausted through a set of filters that were specially designed to eliminate hazardous emissions – souvenirs he’d salvaged from the Los Alamos lab, along with additional gear for handling Level IV pathogens safely, including a pair of hazmat suits.

  Eve stepped forward and absently rubbed her arm in anticipation. “Hi, Dr. Elliot.”

  “Hello, my little treasure,” Elliot said. “I’m afraid I need to ask for a little more of your blood. This should be the last time. I promise.”

  “I’m ready,” Eve said, her posture stiff, her voice quietly resigned.

  “We’ll make it as quick as possible,” Elliot assured her, and took her hand.

  Lucas and Sierra followed them through the depths of the building to the outer area of the lab, where Elliot already had an IV bag and a butterfly needle ready. Eve hopped up onto the exam table Elliot had commandeered from one of the two doctor’s offices in town, and lay with one arm hanging below her so the veins in her forearm bulged slightly.

  “I keep forgetting you’re a veteran at this,” Elliot said with a smile as he swabbed her with alcohol.

  Eve responded by clamping her eyes tightly shut, waiting for the sting of the steel shaft that would drain her lifeblood.

  Ten minutes later Elliot had his precious sample, and Eve was sitting up, drinking a glass of blackberry juice mixed with water – one of Ruby’s contributions, from the last of the wild fruit harvested soon after their arrival.

  “How close are you?” Sierra asked Elliot as they waited for Eve to recover enough to go home.

  “A few more weeks is my hope. Then we need to go into the testing phase.”

  “How do you plan to do that? Dogs or something?” she asked.

  Elliot shook his head. “No, I’m afraid the virus only affects humans, so there’s no easy way to test the vaccine other than to expose some brave folks after they’ve been inoculated.”

  Sierra swallowed. “Any volunteers yet?”

  “I haven’t asked.”

  Nobody said anything. They didn’t have to. Elliot sounded confident, and the virus was his responsibility, not theirs.

  Sierra stroked Eve’s hair. “You up for a walk?”

  She nodded and slid off the table. Sierra led her to where Lucas was talking with Elliot, and elbowed him.

  “Let’s make a dash for it. Maybe we can avoid a soaking,” she said. Lucas nodded and tipped the brim of his hat to Elliot.

  “Good luck. Duty calls.”

  “I perfectly understand. Thanks for bringing her so promptly. And Eve? Thank you. Very, very much.”

  Eve smiled, her expression lighting the room. Thunder roared from outside, and her face grew serious as her eyes drifted to the door.

  “Wasn’t so bad.”

  Lucas held out his hand to Sierra and pushed his hat d
own lower over his brow. “All right. Let’s see if it’s our lucky day or not. Ready?”

  It was Sierra’s turn to smile as she gripped his fingers, Eve’s hand tightly clasped in her other hand.

  “Race you.”

  Chapter 10

  Elliot’s senior circle filed out of the community center. He frowned, clearly displeased by the result of the meeting, as they avoided his gaze and pushed through the door. Arnold was the last to go and barely mustered an apologetic shrug as he brushed past.

  When the men had left, Elliot paced the room while Michael sat watching him. The older man’s increasingly agitated moods had intensified in the weeks since he’d drawn Eve’s blood and put the finishing touches on the vaccine.

  “If they won’t volunteer, we can’t know for sure that it’s effective. It’s a chicken-egg proposition. Are they so dim they don’t see that?” Elliot fumed.

  “You can’t blame them,” Michael reasoned. “Nobody wants to commit suicide, even if it’s for the greater good.”

  “The vaccine’s stable. They wouldn’t be committing suicide. That’s rubbish.”

  “Right. But as they said more than once, what if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not,” Elliot snapped.

  Michael nodded. “I believe you. But obviously people aren’t a hundred percent confident. You have to understand that.”

  Elliot sat heavily and rubbed a tired hand across his brow. Ordinarily neat and precise, since immersing himself in the final vaccine development, he’d set grooming aside and now more resembled a crazed mountain man than the reasoned leader the group knew.

  “If we can’t get anyone to be the first test case, I’ll just do it myself,” Elliot grumbled.

  Michael blanched. “We discussed that. You can’t. You’re too vital…if something was miscalculated, nobody could rectify it if you…were incapacitated.”

  “You mean if I screwed up, I’m dead,” Elliot clarified. “If I’m confident enough to ask one of the others to volunteer, then I’m confident enough to do it myself.”