“Waiting for your tracker to turn up a lead in New Mexico.”
“He hasn’t located the vehicles. He’s at a dead end,” Snake said.
“For now. He needs to keep looking.”
“Which is what he’s doing. But it’s a big area. They could have gone anywhere. And the weather’s gone to hell. There was a blizzard a couple of days ago.”
Zach’s brows narrowed. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah. It is,” Snake said, wondering how the man could remain so detached about the failure in St. Louis. “And there’s no way to pick up the woman’s trail?”
“None that I can see, unless she’s spotted again by one of your people.”
“No ideas why she might have separated from the other two?”
“The obvious is that she wanted to go somewhere else.”
Snake couldn’t suppress the sneer that twisted his lip. “Even I figured that out. The question is where, and why?”
“Two questions,” Zach corrected.
Snake bristled but didn’t snap back. He’d gotten accustomed to the Illuminati man’s deadpan delivery and had noticed that he evidenced no emotional responses to anything. So he wasn’t trying to goad Snake with the correction – Zach was clarifying that he’d posed two questions rather than one.
“Why did they send vaccine to St. Louis? I still don’t understand.”
“Assuming that’s what it was.”
“It’s a fair bet.”
“Yes. Well, probably so it could act as a distribution point for the region.”
“Then we’re screwed no matter what. If they’ve got something that advanced, we’re spinning our wheels.” Whitely’s latest report on the Lubbock effort hadn’t been encouraging, and Snake was beginning to suspect that developing a foolproof vaccine was beyond the Crew’s abilities.
“No, until we see what it is that they’ve created, we can’t assume anything.”
Snake frowned. “We have to do something.”
“You’re right. Issue the woman’s photograph to the field again. It’s possible she’ll surface, and if her face is fresh in everyone’s mind, the odds of one of your men recognizing her go way up.”
Snake nodded. “I will, but it’s a long shot. Only a fool would dare set foot back in our territory once she’s escaped.”
Zach studied a spot on the wall, an expression on his face like a thought was flitting just out of reach, and then he turned back to Snake with his usual unreadable stare. “Maybe. But it can’t hurt, and it’s not like you have a lot of options.” He didn’t have to say, “Just do it and shut up.”
Both he and Snake perfectly understood the nature of his advisory role. His masters had bailed Snake out and solidified his leadership position, and the presence of their warship on the horizon served as a constant reminder of the Crew’s ability to reach virtually anywhere, as far as his men were concerned. Reports of insurrection had all but vanished since he’d taken back New Orleans, and that had been handed to him on a platter.
Snake nodded agreement to the Illuminati man. He would find out where Magnus had gotten the photo and put someone on distributing the flyer again. It would take time to circulate, due to the realities of traveling by horse, but it was better than nothing – although not much.
Snake cleared his throat. “Lassiter mentioned getting the refinery in Houston back online so we can manufacture fuel?”
Zach blinked once. “Then he will.”
“Any idea when?”
“He hasn’t confided in me.”
“It would speed up our ability to help you if we could run our trucks. He also mentioned giving us some of his ship stores so we could…”
“I’ll let him know next time I talk to him.”
“Maybe I should?”
Zach’s lip twitched. “I wouldn’t try his patience. Better to let me.”
Snake swallowed hard at the obvious warning. “Whatever you think’s the right way to do it.”
Zach nodded and made for the door, his message delivered. Snake waited until he was gone and shook his head in frustration. He ran the most powerful gang in the country, and now he had a boss he had to answer to? Snake couldn’t understand how someone as volatile as Magnus had put up with it. After only a few weeks, Snake was already considering arranging for Zach to have an accident.
He dismissed the thought. He would do what he had to in order to consolidate his power. He could play along with the best of them and lull Zach into believing that he’d capitulated. In the meantime, he would build his organization and get what he needed out of Zach’s masters – and the refinery would be just the first of their concessions; he’d see to that. Because right now they needed him. Their mercenaries had blown it in St. Louis, which left them nobody to turn to except the Crew.
And they’d soon learn the Crew didn’t work cheap.
Chapter 30
Lucas and Sierra arrived at the banks of the Mississippi River across from Vicksburg, Mississippi, on a cloudy afternoon eleven days after leaving Springfield, the air heavy with humidity as a front pushed north from the Gulf of Mexico. They’d spent the night in a decrepit barn outside of Tallulah, one of the easternmost bastions of the Crew, occupied by two dozen miscreants who preyed on the surrounding countryside for amusement and sustenance.
They’d skirted Little Rock, Arkansas, and stuck to secondary roads and trails from Missouri, trading with isolated locals whenever they could for produce or eggs. Lucas honed his prowess with his fishing tackle when there were no other options. There had been several anxious moments on the trip when they’d had to outfox Crew patrols, but Lucas had found doing so not particularly hard – the cartel thugs were clearly out of their depth in the wilds, their experience as urban parasites failing to translate well outside the city.
Sierra’s anxiety had grown as they’d pushed deeper into Crew territory, although she’d tried to hide it, and Lucas sympathized with her. He couldn’t imagine what it had to be like returning somewhere she’d been a slave, and a part of him suffered with her every step of the way. Then again, everything had a price, and nobody was forcing her. He just hated to see someone he had feelings for pay so dearly.
The river was at least a half mile across at the narrowest point he could see, swirling past like liquid chocolate. Lucas studied the pair of bridges that spanned the Mississippi from Arkansas to Vicksburg through the binoculars and shook his head as he lowered the glasses.
“They’ve got a roadblock in place,” he said. “Bunch of Crew. So much for crossing here.”
“But there aren’t any other bridges for three days’ ride in either direction. And the compound my cousin and Tim were at is only a few miles south of the Vicksburg airport, Lucas. We have to figure a way across. Maybe we can distract them or something? Blow something up and sneak across while they’re dealing with it?”
“Not sure that would work. I mean, there isn’t a lot out here, and the chances that everyone deserts their post to check on what happened are slim and none.” He hesitated. “I thought you said the compound was attacked by a rival gang in a territorial fight.”
“That’s right.”
“But Mississippi isn’t Crew territory?”
“Not anymore. Since the new virus, they pulled back to this side of the river and let the other bunch have it – assuming there’s anything left of them now.” Sierra’s lip twitched. “We have to get across somehow.”
“I know, Sierra. Come on. Let’s see what’s south of here. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“How?”
“If I knew that, we wouldn’t need luck.”
They turned inland until they were out of sight of the bridge and then rode toward the water along a dilapidated secondary road. Mile after mile of marsh stretched before them, but the river was far too wide to cross, even with a strong swimmer like Tango beneath him, and the current was likely treacherous. He didn’t know much about the Mississippi but figured that amount of water running out to sea
had to have some momentum behind it, and he didn’t want to risk their lives any more than they already had.
Their prospects didn’t improve over the next hour as they rode along the levee, farmland to the west of them, swamp and marshland to the east along the river. They were crossing a gravel road that led toward the water when Lucas stopped abruptly and cocked his head.
“What is it?” Sierra asked.
He shushed her and then motioned to her to follow and spurred Tango down the gravel road. Sierra goaded Nugget after him and they disappeared around a bend just as a Crew patrol rode into view, their horses’ steel shoes clacking on the levee like ball-peen hammers.
Lucas guided the big stallion onto the grassy shoulder and Sierra followed, the color drained from her face at the prospect of being stopped so close to their objective. She looked like she was going to speak and Lucas held a finger to his lips, his stare unflinching. She nodded silently, the message received, and they made their way farther from the road, the river only footsteps away.
After thirty seconds he paused and listened, breathing evenly, and leaned forward to pat Tango reassuringly. When he didn’t hear any sounds of pursuit, he tilted his hat forward and coaxed Tango along the shoulder toward a collection of abandoned homes by the water, their tin roofs dull under a slate gray sky.
He dismounted at the last house in the line and rested a hand on Sierra’s leg. “Let’s take a break. The horses can eat – there’s plenty of grass in that field.”
“Why don’t we keep going?”
“Because I want to nose around, and if there are Crew patrols actively working the area, that changes things.”
“Wonder what they’re looking for?” she asked, almost to herself.
“I’ve been thinking about the roadblocks. That’s probably how they’ve kept the virus at bay – it’s not to keep people from escaping Crew territory. It’s to keep travelers from crossing from Mississippi.”
She nodded. “Makes sense. But I’m not sure how that helps us.”
“It doesn’t. But it tells us they’re afraid of whatever’s over there.” He regarded her. “If they’re afraid, maybe we should be, too.”
“We’ve gotten the vaccine.”
“Right, but remember that Elliot said no vaccine’s a hundred percent.” Lucas looked away and sighed. “I suppose it’s a little late to worry about that now. Take a load off Nugget and let her graze.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Like I said. Look around.”
Chapter 31
“Sierra!”
Sierra twisted toward where Lucas was waving at her from beside one of the houses. She stepped around the horses, who were munching on grass, and walked toward him. As she neared, she saw a smile on his face.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Help me drag this out of the garage,” he said, motioning to something in the dark interior. Sierra peered inside and her eyes widened.
“It’s a boat.”
“Makes sense,” Lucas said. “What’s the point of having a waterfront home if you’re not going to play in the water?”
They moved inside the garage and she studied the skiff – maybe eighteen feet long and fashioned from aluminum. Lucas reached over the transom and began unscrewing the outboard motor from the hull. “We aren’t going to need this. The gas will have gone bad a long time ago.”
He lifted the motor free, set it down next to the wall, and then tested the weight of the boat, which was resting on a rusting trailer, its tires disintegrated to piles of black dust. Sierra hefted the bow and nodded. “We can do this.”
“On three,” he said, and gave a quiet count.
They heaved the boat free and carried it onto the dirt. Sierra barely made it out of the garage before giving a small cry and dropping the bow. “Sorry,” she said. “It got away from me. It’s heavy.”
“I know. Don’t worry. I can drag it down to the water from here.”
“How are we going to get across, though?” She looked inside the boat, empty except for a couple of filthy vinyl cushions.
“There’s a pair of oars in the garage. Can you grab them?”
“Sure.”
Lucas didn’t wait for Sierra, instead hauling on the yellow nylon rope tied to the bow, his boots digging into the moist soil. The bass boat scraped along the dirt until he got it onto the grass, his work suddenly easier as the friction reduced by half. Sierra came at a half run, carrying a pair of wooden oars, and he continued pulling the craft down the bank, maintaining his momentum as she followed him to the river.
Once in the water, he climbed into the boat and she handed him the oars. He fit them into the oarlocks, testing them with a tug to make sure they were secure, and then stepped out of the boat and gave her the rope. “Hang onto it while I stow Tango’s and Nugget’s kits.”
“What are you going to do with the horses?”
“They seem happy enough in that field. There’s a fence around it, so that should keep them from wandering too far. Plenty to eat, and there’s water in a cement cistern near the gate. Owner kept horses, that’s for sure. They’ll be fine for a day or two.”
Sierra gave him a worried look. “What if it takes longer?”
Lucas frowned. “No way to get them across, so we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t. Besides, it’s not like they’ll die if we’re not with them. They won’t run out of food or water with the rain and amount of grass here.”
Lucas was gone for fifteen minutes. When he came back, he was carrying his M4 and the night vision monocle, and his tactical vest bulged with extra magazines. Sierra climbed into the boat while he held it steady, and then he pushed it away from the shore and hopped in, his legs and boots soaking.
The current carried them south, and Lucas pulled on the oars to steer them toward the far bank, but the further into the middle they drifted, the faster the rush carried them downriver. Sierra pointed at a large industrial complex on the Mississippi side about half a mile south of them, its cranes reaching for the sky like skeletal arms.
“That’s where they used to make oil rigs. I remember it from my trip here. They’d build them over there and tow them down the river to the Gulf.”
“Long way,” Lucas said, twisting to get a look at the massive buildings on the bank.
“My cousin’s compound is north of that. If we can make it to the landing there, it shouldn’t be that long a walk–”
She was interrupted by the crack of a rifle from the Arkansas side, and a fountain of water plumed skyward ten feet away. Lucas heaved on the oars with all his might while crouching as low as he could manage and yelled at her from the awkward position.
“Get down!”
~ ~ ~
The leader of the Crew patrol was urinating near the water while his men took a break beneath some trees on the bank when he spotted an aluminum boat in the middle of the river, maybe three hundred yards away. Fishing on the river was allowed, with permission from the Crew – at a cost – but crossing to the Mississippi side wasn’t, and it looked to him like that was what the boat was doing that far from the shore.
He finished draining his bladder and buttoned up, and then raised his binoculars to get a better look. There were no fishing poles that he could see, but that didn’t necessarily mean much – they could have been using hand lines.
A man wearing a cowboy hat was rowing hard, fighting the current, and it was obvious that he was no fisherman, judging by the rifle strapped to his back. He adjusted the focus and his eyes narrowed at the sight of a woman in the bow, her back to him as she gestured at something ahead of the boat. He could see from her slim curves and athletic frame that she was young, probably in her twenties, and his interest quickened when he spotted a tattoo on her bare arm, her olive wifebeater offering an ample view of tanned skin.
She turned to speak to the rower and his breath caught in his throat. He recognized the face – it was the woman on the flyer they’d received a few days befo
re.
He called out to his men as he made his way up the bank, and they came at a run.
“What?” one of them called.
“Out on the river. It’s the woman Houston’s looking for.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. She’s got the mark.”
The man eyed the boat. “They’re making for the Mississippi side.”
“I know.”
“Out of range for these things,” the gunman said, holding up his AK-47.
“Maybe out of accurate range, but the bullets keep traveling. We can adjust our aim by watching where they hit the water,” the leader said, and snatched the rifle from the man and jogged back to the shore. He took up position behind a tree and used the trunk to steady his aim, and then flipped the firing selector to single shot and drew a bead on the boat.
The first shot went wide, and he cursed. He’d misjudged the distance, which was growing longer by the second. They were more like four hundred yards, judging by how badly he was off. Any chance of an accurate shot discarded, he switched the rifle to continuous fire and called to his men.
“Empty your rifles at them. We throw enough bullets their way, we may hit something,” he ordered, and then opened up, the assault rifle bucking in his hands like a wild animal.
~ ~ ~
Sierra ducked down as the river around them erupted in a spray of water. She cringed as the chatter of rifles from the western shore reached them a moment later.
“Oh, God, Lucas…”
“Stay down,” he said, but got cut off by a bullet punching through the transom and exiting through the bow not eight inches from where Sierra was crouched. “Lie as flat as you can on the bottom. That’s the safest place,” he said, and renewed his effort on the oars, aware that at any moment a round could end his life.
More slugs peppered the river around them as he strained, his arms burning from the exertion, sweat coursing down his face. He didn’t dare look over the hull to see how far they were from the shooters, leaving only his arms above the boat as he followed his own advice and lay on his back as he rowed, Sierra’s legs beside him.
The Day After Never (Book 4): Retribution Page 16
