The Day After Never (Book 4): Retribution

by Russell Blake

  Chapter 23

  Rob sat forward in his swivel chair and adjusted the radio volume as he waited for the operator on the other end of the transmission to locate Rob’s handler. He’d broadcast in the middle of the night and requested an urgent meeting that morning, but apparently his superior had missed the deadline – an ominous development that spoke to declining morale and discipline in the Crew since Magnus’s demise.

  Rob had been sent by the Crew to open a trading post and act as their eyes and ears in Tulsa, a town at the edge of their territory that wasn’t worth any resources to capture. It had nothing the Crew wanted, but the group still saw the value of having informants outside of its sphere of influence, and Rob was one of several plants in outlying areas that kept Houston posted on any developments of interest.

  His cover story had been swallowed hook and line by the locals, and after several years of keeping a low profile, he was a colorful part of the landscape, his sordid past of little interest to a population on its last legs. The part he hated the most about his duty was the place itself – a dung hole inhabited by lowlifes, where nothing of note ever happened.

  Until the woman had entered with the cowboys.

  He’d seen her before – on a flyer that had been circulated by Magnus, along with the picture of the little girl.

  He couldn’t be sure, of course, but he believed it was her. There weren’t a lot of women with her looks wandering around the wilderness with an eye of Providence tattoo – the Crew’s brand to signify she was its property.

  The speakers crackled and the operator’s voice came over the air. “He’s here. Are you still there? Over.”

  “Not many places to go in this dump. Over.”

  A different voice, baritone, drifted from the speakers. “What have you got for me? Over.”

  “A party of six rode through here yesterday. Five men and a woman. Used my radio. Over.”

  “And? Over.”

  “I monitored their transmission.” Rob had engineered a tube that connected the radio room to his main room so that he could eavesdrop while anyone paying for confidential time believed themselves to be alone. “They’re on their way to Springfield. Over.”

  “This is what you woke me up last night for? Over.”

  “No, you don’t understand. One of them was the woman on the flyer you circulated a couple months back. Remember? With the girl? Over.”

  A long pause ensued, the speakers hissing softly as the handler absorbed Rob’s words. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Switch to an alternate frequency. Over.”

  Rob did as instructed. It was always the same – three channels lower on the spectrum from the one the Crew monitored, and three again should the transmission go long.

  His supervisor’s voice drifted through the room. “Are you sure it’s her? Over.”

  “She has our mark on her arm. Over.”

  “Where are they now? Over.”

  “They rode on. I don’t know. But I know where they’re headed.” Rob gave him the directions that he’d scribbled down as he’d listened to the broadcast. When he was done, there was another long silence. It stretched on, and when the handler reappeared, he spoke with a new urgency Rob had never heard in him before.

  “And you’re sure they’re meeting someone there from St. Louis? Over.”

  “That’s what he said.” Rob paused. “I could use some supplies. Rum. Anything else you can see your way clear to arrange to reach me. Over.”

  “Very well. I’ll forward this on. Over and out.”

  Rob powered down the transmitter and stood. He’d done his job and, if his handler was pleased, would get a new supply of booze and drugs with which to soften life’s blows or to trade to his fellow unfortunates, at his option. Rob was self-sustaining, which was a condition of his circumstance – the entire idea of the informant network was to have the benefit of reach without the cost of supporting it. Still, there were some things that he couldn’t get in Tulsa at any price, and one of them was rum. Another, meth.

  Both were prized by the inhabitants of the miserable place, but Rob had already decided he would keep it for himself if he got a shipment. Anything that would be a diversion from the unending sameness of each day in purgatory would be far too valuable to him to trade.

  He considered the small barred window where sunlight was filtering through the grimy glass and shook off the thought. Nothing would reach him unless his information proved valuable, and he had no idea what it might mean to his betters. He knew that they’d been searching for the woman and child as part of Magnus’s hunt for Shangri-La, but that had been a while ago, and word was that Magnus had found it to his detriment, so it might all be meaningless by now.

  “A regular firecracker, all right,” he muttered, and made his way back to the shop to begin another day of dickering with the walking dead.

  ~ ~ ~

  The operator sat back and stared up at Raz, who ran the Crew’s network of informants as part of its clandestine information-gathering apparatus. Raz shifted from foot to foot before falling still and turning to the operator.

  “We need to let Snake know. Can you reach him?”

  “Should be able to. They’ve got someone monitoring transmissions in New Orleans, just like here.”

  “When does he plan on returning?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Springfield’s a long way away from any of our strongholds. There’s no way we can get anyone up there to intercept them in four days.”

  The operator nodded mutely and cleared his throat. “Snake might have contacts outside of our territory we don’t know about. I mean, look at the ship that appeared out of nowhere. We can’t make any assumptions.”

  “Good point.” Raz’s face wrinkled with a frown, the lines deepening as he came to a decision. “Call them.”

  Chapter 24

  Sierra looked up at Lucas from the fire pit she’d built with a collection of small rocks. He smiled at her as he strode up from the shore with a stringer of plump fish. They’d reached Grand Lake O’ the Cherokees an hour before nightfall, and he’d taken the opportunity to catch a fresh dinner while the rest set up camp. Arnold had approved a fire to cook if Lucas was successful, there being numerous other fires on the bank – the huge body of water was a natural source of sustenance and, as such, was ringed with people who’d taken up residence along its shores.

  They’d found a promising spot on a bluff where they’d be able to see anyone approach from a good distance, and the clearing was surrounded by trees that would hide the glow of their flames from the curious. After the prior night’s fight and the endless day in the saddle, none of them were feeling lucky, and all their nerves were frayed. The bandage on John’s arm was seeping pus in spite of the antibiotics he was taking, and he was feverish, leaving them shorthanded in the event of another attack, and they were on edge at the prospect of a long night of sentry duty with precious little chance of sleep.

  “Wow. Looks like you scored,” Sierra said at the sight of the fish.

  “Yep. Too bad we can’t stay here a while. They practically jumped out of the water when they saw the spoon.”

  “I’ll light the fire.”

  “I already cleaned them, so that’s all we’re waiting on.”

  Sierra had gathered kindling while Lucas was fishing, and felt in her vest for a disposable lighter. She flicked it to life, and the twigs began smoking after several long moments. Soon the fire was snapping and popping as the wood caught in earnest and she tossed more branches onto the conflagration. Lucas skewered a fish with a stick and held it in the flames, and within minutes it was cooked through, the smell heavenly after so many days of dry provisions.

  Arnold stayed on watch while they dined on roasted white bass, and then Lucas replaced him on guard duty so Arnold could eat. John took a few mouthfuls of food but protested that he wasn’t hungry, and Arnold happily consumed his portion as well. When he’d eaten his fill, he found his way to where Lucas wa
s seated cross-legged with his back against a tree, watching the trail that led to their camp, his hat on the ground by his side.

  “You want to take first watch, or should I?” Lucas asked.

  “I can. I dozed some on the ride, so I’m not all that beat.”

  “Think you can manage five hours?”

  Arnold nodded. “Gonna be just the two of us, huh?”

  “Yep. John’s in no shape, and Sierra…she’s pretty tired.”

  “Rather have you on the job anyway. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Lucas understood Arnold’s lack of confidence in Sierra and had no argument of reassurance. “What do you think about John?”

  Arnold shrugged. “He isn’t taking too well to the pills. In the end, he’ll either make it or he won’t. We can’t slow down because of him. This is more important than any of us.”

  “Kind of cold.”

  “Just realistic. We’re talking the fate of the world here. One life or fifty is trivial compared to stakes like that.”

  “Not sure I’d agree with you if it was me that had to take the bullet.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Lucas nodded. “That I do.” He raised a hand to his neck and worked a kink out of it. “You really believe the vaccine’s going to save the planet?”

  Arnold frowned. “Elliot does. And he’s a lot smarter than I am.”

  “Hope he’s right.”

  “Hoping’s free.” Arnold sat at a tree to Lucas’s right and set his AR-15 beside him. “So you and Sierra are cutting loose once we hit Springfield?”

  “Yep. Heading south.”

  “Don’t need to tell you there’s little chance of success, do I?”

  “You’re singing to the choir.”

  Arnold offered a rare smile. “Man’s got to do what he’s got to do.”

  “I made a promise.”

  “Then honor’s at stake.”

  Lucas squinted at him, trying to determine whether the older man was baiting him. He decided he didn’t care – he was too tired. Lucas rose. “If you say so.”

  “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Lucas nodded and fit his hat back on his head. “See you in five hours.”

  “Let’s hope no earlier.”

  Sierra was sitting with John, trying to make him comfortable on his bedroll, when Lucas returned. He’d chosen to sleep without his tent, as had Sierra and Lucas. After the prior night, nobody wanted a repeat of losing precious seconds fighting their way out of a tent in the event of an attack.

  “How you feeling?” Lucas asked.

  “Like crap,” John said. “How long till the antibiotics kick in?”

  “Any time,” Lucas offered, unsure of the answer but not wanting to alarm him.

  “They take a while to concentrate in your system,” Sierra confirmed.

  “Then I won’t try to amputate it while everyone’s asleep,” John said with a halfhearted attempt at humor.

  They settled on their bedrolls near the horses, and Sierra rolled toward him and planted a kiss on his mouth. He answered in kind, and she sighed when they parted.

  “Maybe we should have pitched a tent,” he said.

  “John’s right there.”

  Lucas glanced over at the wounded man and smiled. “He won’t mind.”

  Sierra swatted him with a mock frown. “We’ll be on our own soon enough.”

  “Carrot and stick?”

  “Whatever makes the mare run,” she said. “But this is like Chinese water torture. I thought we’d be done by now, and we’ve still got three more days to go.”

  “Which nobody’s happy about.”

  “Me especially.” She pecked his cheek and sighed again. “Good night, Lucas.”

  He gazed up at the stars, bright as flares in the inky sky, and slid his hat down over his eyes. “If we’re lucky.”

  Chapter 25

  The rendezvous was to take place around dusk at the high school in Nixa, a small town just south of Springfield, and as the group made its way up the road that led to the school, the sky was painted with lavender and fuchsia. The trees on either side of the way shivered in the late afternoon breeze, rustling as they passed like nervous children in church.

  All had their weapons cradled in their arms, and Lucas was studying their surroundings with his binoculars. It was a less than ideal spot for a meet; most of the tract homes along the route were still standing, creating ample opportunities for an ambush or for snipers to hide.

  John’s fever had broken sometime during the second night, and he was progressively improving, the angry red flesh around his wound now reduced to a petulant pink. It still hurt him to use the arm, but he was undaunted by the pain and appeared determined, with his assault rifle resting against his saddle horn.

  They’d discussed reconnoitering the school grounds if they arrived early enough, but the terrain had conspired against them, and they’d had to press the horses hard just to make it in time. All the animals were showing signs of distress from the pace, but they bravely soldiered on, which they would do till they dropped.

  Lucas lowered his spyglasses and leaned toward Arnold. “Up there on the right. That’s got to be it.”

  Arnold squinted in the dying light. “Don’t like the parking lots around the buildings. That place could turn into a killing field in a flash.”

  “We’re pregnant now. Let’s get this over with.”

  “See anything suspicious?”

  “No. But with this many houses around us, we’d never see it coming.”

  “That’s reassuring. Probably true, though. Whoever picked this wasn’t really thinking,” Arnold agreed.

  “Or they don’t have much field craft.”

  They rode past an overgrown playing field, and Lucas eyed the large main structure: most of its glass was missing, and graffiti marred the exterior. Sierra spurred Nugget forward until she drew abreast of Lucas.

  “Where are we supposed to meet them?” she asked.

  “Inside. Assembly hall.”

  “It’ll be dark pretty soon.”

  Lucas nodded, the increasing danger obvious. “We’re on time.”

  “How will we find the hall?”

  “One problem at a time.”

  They rode across the parking lot to the main entrance, which stood open like a gaping mouth. Lucas dropped from the saddle and Arnold did the same. He looked back at Colt’s and George’s horses and peered up at Sierra.

  “You and John wait out here with the animals. If you see anything suspicious, shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “I’d rather come with you,” Sierra said.

  Lucas shook his head. “John’s got a bum wing. He’ll need your help in a clinch.”

  She didn’t look thrilled, but held her tongue.

  Arnold looked to Lucas. “Let’s go in and see if we can find our welcoming committee. Only got a few minutes before the sun sets.”

  Lucas nodded. “After you.”

  Arnold stepped across shards of glass littering the entryway and stepped over the threshold. Lucas followed him in, and they took a moment to let their eyes adjust to the gloom. Arnold continued forward, leading with his rifle, and Lucas did the same with his M4, the night vision scope now glowing. Arnold’s boots crunched on the broken glass and the sound reverberated off the walls. They both froze when a furry form scuttled across their path, the rat scurrying so fast it was a blur.

  Arnold drew a deep breath and turned his head toward Lucas before pushing on, listening intently as they descended deeper into the bowels of the building. Rusting lockers loomed in rows on either side of them, and a pool of muddy water blocked most of the passage where a skylight had failed. Arnold edged along the side of it and gestured to a sign identifying classrooms down one corridor, and administrative offices, cafeteria, and assembly hall down the other.

  “Ask and you shall receive,” he whispered.

  Lucas said nothing, the thudding of his pulse in his ears unw
anted company as he and Arnold found the way.

  At the junction of halls, Arnold pointed to the left and tapped his chest, and then to the right and to Lucas, who nodded understanding. Arnold took a deep breath and swung around the corner with his rifle, and Lucas did the same, facing the opposite direction.

  The halls were empty, the remains of looted cabling hanging like black entrails from gaps in the false ceiling. They continued along the passageway until they reached a set of double doors – the cafeteria – and down another hall till they spotted another set, with one standing open under a sign that announced the assembly area.

  They crept toward the doorway, moving slowly so their footfalls wouldn’t carry, weight on the sides of their feet to minimize any sound, and started when a voice called out from inside the dark gap.

  “That’s far enough.”

  They froze, rifles trained on the doorway, and a man stepped into view with a ten-gauge shotgun. He was razor thin, his hair cut a quarter inch from his skull, with a birdlike nose and heavy black-rimmed glasses. They stared at each other for a long beat, and then he lowered his weapon. “Code word?” he snapped.

  “Elliot.”

  That brought a nervous smile. “Welcome.”

  Arnold shook his head. “What’s yours?”

  “Thor.”

  Arnold dropped the barrel of his gun so it pointed at the floor, and Lucas did the same. The man stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “I’m Lisle.”

  “Arnold. You alone?” Arnold asked, taking his hand and shaking it.

  “No.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Don’t sweat it. You have something for me?”

  “That’s right,” Arnold said.

  Lisle raised an eyebrow and looked Arnold and Lucas over. “Where?”

  “We left our horses outside. In the saddlebags. Two containers – one of vaccine, the other of cultures.”

  “Well protected, I hope.”