Another hole appeared in the back of the boat, and then another, and Sierra screamed in fright.
“Are you hit?” he hissed from between clenched teeth.
“N-no.”
A round punctured the hull beneath the waterline and a brown stream began filling the boat. Lucas swore under his breath but kept rowing – reaching the Mississippi side was now their only hope.
“Hang in there,” he said.
“We’re sinking,” Sierra said, panicked.
“Just a little leak.”
“No, really, we are.”
There was a lull in the shooting, and the next barrage was more scattered as they crossed the midpoint of the river, now well over six hundred yards from the gunmen. Every foot they were able to put between the Crew and the boat increased their survival odds, and Lucas offered a silent prayer that the current carry them to safety.
Spray geysered skyward ten yards behind them, and then five, but the pattern was wide, and none of the rounds struck the hull. Lucas continued stroking with the oars, willing himself to greater effort, ignoring the water sloshing along the bottom of the boat, easily three inches and rising rapidly.
When it became obvious they were out of range, the shooting stopped, and Lucas risked a look over the transom. He guessed that between the current and the rowing they were over a thousand yards past the shooters. He felt in his vest for his bandana, and when his fingers snagged it, he pulled it free and called to Sierra.
“Scoot down and hold the oars while I plug the hole.”
“They stopped shooting.”
“Yep.”
She did as he asked, and he maneuvered around so he was facing the transom. Lucas rolled the bandana as tightly as he could and jammed it through the hole. The fabric saturated instantly, but the flow eased to a trickle, and he sat up to study the damage. The hull looked like Swiss cheese; it had been hit at least a half dozen times. That neither of them had been wounded was a miracle, and he thanked his maker for that favor.
“Okay, let me have the oars. Hard part’s done – we’re way more than halfway there now,” he said. Sierra relinquished them and scooted back to the bow, keeping her head down as she did, wary of another volley of shooting.
“That was too close,” she said with a shiver.
“We’re lucky they’re bad shots and don’t carry anything better than AKs. If they’d had my Remington or something with a decent scope, we’d have been toast.” He fell silent and resumed rowing, keeping the bow pointed at the oil rig plant, the reality of the danger they’d willingly subjected themselves to quashing any banter. The only sound present was the sloshing of muddy water in the bottom of the boat, the creak of the oars, and his breathing, rhythmic as a metronome with each pull.
Chapter 32
The bow scraped onto the bank just south of the manufacturing site, around the bend and out of view of the Crew, and Lucas pulled it from the water with Sierra’s help and dragged it into the dense underbrush so it wouldn’t be easily spotted should the Crew decide to launch a river patrol looking for them. He had no reason to believe they would, but he couldn’t be sure, and prudence dictated that they have a means of getting back to the Arkansas side.
Lucas removed his soggy bandana and studied for a moment the bullet hole through which the water had leaked, and then selected a nearby sapling. He unsheathed his Bowie knife and sliced off a branch, trimmed it so that it tapered, and walked back to the boat.
“What are you doing?” Sierra asked, eyeing the stick. “Making a spear?”
“No,” he replied, kneeling and jamming the thinner end through the hole until it wedged firm. “Buying us a little insurance.” He sawed the excess branch from the exterior of the hull and pounded the wood to set it firmly in the gap, and then straightened and inspected his work. “That should hold. It’ll swell with water, and the external pressure will keep it in place.” He toed it with his boot. “Not going anywhere.”
“They nearly got us.”
“Like being nearly pregnant,” Lucas countered. “Ain’t so until it is.” He tried a small smile. “You okay?”
“Just shaken up. I get that way when about a thousand bullets almost hit me.”
“I know the feeling.” He paused. “You said your cousin’s compound is near here?”
“That’s right. Maybe a mile up the main road.”
Lucas checked the time. “Got about an hour of light, tops. Want to fan this until tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “Let’s get it over with. With no tent, we’re just as exposed no matter where we go. Maybe there’s a spot where we can spend the night safely.”
Lucas didn’t offer his thoughts on that possibility. “Then let’s go.”
They walked together, he with his M4 at the ready, she with her AR-15 in hand. Once off the plant access lane, they turned north along the road that traced the course of the river. The ground was still spongy from a morning cloudburst, and the air was fragrant with the scent of blooms, decaying vegetation, and wet earth. Vines and moss hung from the trees that lined the strip of cracked asphalt, now overgrown in many spots, the pavement having largely given up its battle against nature’s encroachment.
A rustle sounded from a tree to their right, and Lucas spun to face the source, only to relax when a curious squirrel leapt from one branch to the next. Sierra grinned nervously and they resumed their march, the sound of their boots muffled on the grassy shoulder. Lucas wore a serious expression after the near miss on the river. His gray eyes roamed over the road ahead, his senses on alert and his nerves clamoring a warning with every step. He realized that his disquiet was a function of residual adrenaline burning through his system. but that didn’t make it any less real, and he continually swept the area ahead with the barrel of his M4, the safety off and his finger on the trigger guard.
Half an hour later Sierra slowed, a frown in place, and stared at the remnants of a drive on her right. “I think this is it,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Okay.”
They veered off the road and followed the driveway for fifty yards until they arrived at a gate partially ajar, hanging off rusting hinges attached to a high wall on either side. Lucas noted the bullet marks marring the surface and nodded once – the evidence of an attack was as clear to him as though captured on film.
“This look familiar?” he asked.
Sierra’s voice was barely audible. “Yes.”
When they entered the compound, it was immediately obvious that it had been long deserted: the walls of the buildings were cracked and dark with mold, the roofs staved in, and the windows shattered. More bullet gouges pocked the areas around the openings, the doors ruined by termites as well as gunfire. Sierra gasped at the sight, and Lucas put his arm around her, trying to offer comfort but failing. She shrugged him off and made for one of the far buildings, and Lucas tailed her, his steps more deliberate than hers, taking in the surroundings with a wary eye.
Her boot kicked an empty can hidden beneath a carpet of leaves, and the walls echoed with the sound when it bounced off the nearest building. Lucas winced at the noise, but Sierra ignored it and continued her beeline to the structure. She hesitated at the doorway, and Lucas whispered to her, “Let me go first.”
She shook her head and pushed past the half-open rotting slab of door to the dark, dank interior. Beetles scuttled away at her intrusion, and a juvenile water moccasin slithered into the shadows, its patterned scales shining in the dim light.
Lucas entered and nearly ran into her. Sierra stood in the gloom, shoulders heaving as she sobbed quietly. He didn’t try to quiet her this time, intuiting that she needed to vent her grief and frustration at a fruitless end to their quest – it was clear nobody had survived to tell any story, and there would be no leads found in the rubble. If her son was alive, the answer to where wasn’t in the haunted ruins, and she’d now be forced to confront the hard fact that they had no plan to find him and, absent one, little room for optimism.
/> “This was where my cousin and Tim lived. The last time I saw them was at a little dining room table over there, when they were waving goodbye to me.” She gestured to a corner of the room, where any dining set had in the intervening years been looted or ground to fragments by termites.
“There’s nothing here, Sierra. I’m sorry,” Lucas said quietly.
“Their room was over there. I want to look inside, Lucas.” She didn’t say she had to. She didn’t need to.
Lucas nodded. “Be careful. I saw a snake.”
Her voice was hollow. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It will if it bites you. Remember Colt. Just watch your step.”
She moved woodenly to the doorway of the room and stared through it, stopping at the threshold as though unable to enter. The room was a shambles, the floor covered with soggy leaves and mud. The cheap beds were nearly unrecognizable as such, the mattresses rotted through and the metal frames rusted to dust.
Sierra stood transfixed until Lucas broke the spell with his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s nearly dark, Sierra. We need to find someplace to spend the night.”
She nodded mutely, her thoughts elsewhere, and Lucas’s heart lurched at the nightmare of recriminations that must have been playing through her head. He couldn’t even imagine what it was like to lose a child. To revisit the place she’d last seen him – where he’d probably died – had to be excruciating.
Sierra wiped away her tears with the back of her arm and sniffed loudly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, I knew in my head, but in my gut…” She trailed off, losing the thread.
“You don’t have to explain. Come on. Let’s go.”
She nodded, her body radiating defeat, and Lucas guided her from the building, the sky darkening by the minute. A mockingbird trilled from a tree near the wall, its call echoing through the brush, and Lucas checked his watch.
“Where to?” Sierra asked.
“Maybe back to the river? I don’t think–”
“Drop your weapons,” a male voice called out from behind them.
“You heard him. Now,” another voice ordered from near the gate.
Sierra gasped and Lucas’s eyes darted around the compound, but the shadows were too deep for him to see who was there.
“Sierra,” Lucas whispered, “listen to me. Put your gun on the ground.”
“Lucas–”
“Just do it,” he insisted.
“You heard him, missy,” the voice behind them ordered. “Drop it or you’re dead.”
Sierra slowly knelt and placed her AR-15 on the leaves at her feet, and Lucas did the same. He straightened and held his hands above his head, and Sierra followed his lead.
“Now your pistols. Use two fingers. Index and thumb. Nice and easy, or it’ll be the last thing you do,” the voice behind them warned.
They did as instructed and laid their handguns by their rifles.
“Now what?” Lucas asked.
“Stand still while we figure that out,” the voice said. A third man emerged from behind one of the buildings, his pump shotgun pointed at Lucas. The gunman from the entry moved into view, supported by an improvised crutch beneath one armpit, his left leg terminating in a stump, but the AKM in his right hand steady.
Lucas heard the leaves rustle behind him, and the owner of the gruff voice drew closer. “I say we shoot ’em now and be done with it,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” the man with the shotgun growled.
“Looking around, that’s all. Didn’t mean any harm,” Lucas said.
“Why?”
“My…my cousin used to live here,” Sierra managed, her voice tight.
“Your cousin?” the voice behind them demanded.
“Yes. Her name was Amy. She lived here with my son.”
The man with the crutch limped closer and regarded Sierra with milky eyes. His unruly beard was a mat of gray and black, his face deeply lined and burned the color of toffee by the sun. He studied her for a long beat and then nodded and looked over her shoulder. “You can see the resemblance. Looks a lot like Amy.” He considered Sierra for a long moment before speaking. “What was your boy’s name?” he asked, his voice now gentle.
“Tim.”
“That’s right. Of course. He used to play with my grandson, Eddie. I remember him well.”
“You do?” Sierra blurted.
“Of course. Just ’cause I’m a half-blind cripple doesn’t mean I’m daft. Remember it like it was yesterday.”
“But…you’re alive. How?”
The old man nodded like it was painful to do so and exhaled sadly. “That’s a longer story than we’ve got time for.” He motioned to their weapons. “Get yer guns and follow us. Be nightfall soon enough, and you don’t want to be out after dark.” He hesitated. “Name’s Eli. That’s Ned,” he said, indicating the man behind them. “And that there’s Frisco. Don’t let ’em scare you. Their bark’s worse than their bite.”
Chapter 33
Eli lived a twenty-minute hike from the compound, on the river side of the road, and night had fallen by the time they reached his home. The men had horses, but were limited by Sierra and Lucas’s walking pace and seemed visibly nervous as they rode.
They turned off the road onto a barely discernible track and found themselves in a densely overgrown area that appeared impenetrable. Ned dropped from the saddle and approached the wall of vegetation, felt around, and then something popped behind the leaves and he heaved a stainless steel chain-link gate open, its hinges groaning like a drunk after a three-day binge. Eli spurred his horse through the dark gap, and Frisco followed him through. Ned motioned to Lucas and Sierra with his rifle.
“Go on. Ain’t got all night.”
They moved through the opening and found themselves on the far side of a tall fence woven with vines and creepers, the cover completed with strategically placed hanging moss. Fifty yards away was a modest house with a metal roof, where two other men sat in collapsible lawn chairs by a small fire, rifles in their laps, one with a sweat-stained baseball cap emblazoned with a chewing tobacco logo.
Eli demonstrated surprising dexterity considering his age and limitations and was off his horse in moments and removing his crutch from a sling attached to his saddle. He limped to the men and had a muted discussion, and then waved Lucas and Sierra over.
“Have a seat,” he said, indicating a pile of lawn chairs folded near the fire. “This here’s Art and Kenny. Boys, meet Sierra and Luke.”
Sierra had introduced them on the trek, and Lucas didn’t bother correcting Eli. He tipped the brim of his hat and nodded. “Gents.”
“What’s for dinner?” Eli asked.
“Hog stew,” Kenny said. “Again.”
Eli nodded. “Plenty for guests, I reckon.”
“Enough to feed an army,” Art said.
Eli explained to Sierra as she unfolded a chair, “Woods around here are teeming with feral hogs. Things are the size of small cars. They’ve overrun the area – probably happy as hell most of the humans got their walking papers.”
“How’s the stew?” Lucas asked.
“Tasty enough, I reckon. Only one way to know, right?” Eli said.
Ten minutes later they were spooning the pungent concoction into their mouths, the gruel surprisingly good in spite of the somewhat strong flavor of wild pig. When they’d eaten all they could, Sierra sat forward in the fire’s glow and began asking the questions that had been nagging at her since meeting their hosts.
“So you lived with Amy?” she asked.
Eli nodded. “That’s right. We all did.”
“How did you survive the raid?”
“We were on a hunting expedition. Got back and found the place destroyed.”
“What happened?”
“Near as we can reckon, the Crew decided to make an example of what happens to folks that cooperate with their enemies. At the time, the Crew claimed this part of Mississippi,
but the Red Devils outta Mobile and Jackson did, too. So one day the Crew came in and wiped out our home and, with it, everybody there. Sending a message.”
“How do you know it was them?”
“They lost a bunch of men. We recognized ’em easy enough from their markings. Mansfield clan outta Alexandria.”
“Mansfield?” Lucas asked. “I thought they were Crew.”
“That’s right. They run Alexandria. They’re a chapter of the Crew. That’s how it works in the boonies.”
“So they killed everyone?” Sierra asked.
“All the adults. My daughter Kris. Your cousin Amy. About twenty-five others.”
“I didn’t realize the compound had gotten that big.”
“Yeah. Word spread we had a good thing going, so lots of folks wanted in. Probably one of the reasons the Crew took us out. Got too big for our britches, and became a target.” Eli paused. “That’s why we keep a low profile now. Ain’t good for yer health if too many know ’bout you.”
“The territory’s still being contested?”
“Oh, no. Ever since the second round of the virus hit, that’s over and done. Crew wants nothing to do with Mississippi anymore, and can’t say as I blame ’em.”
“But…you’re fine.”
“We keep to ourselves. Hunt, fish, stay off the roads. Not that there’s many out and about these days.”
“The new virus…”
“Wiped out Jackson like the wrath of the Almighty, from what I hear tell. Red Devils managed to stop it before it got to Mobile.”
“How?”
“Shot anyone tryin’ to get in.”
Lucas nodded. “That’d work.”
“Last I heard, it did. But that was spring. For all I know, someone slipped through and Mobile’s gone by now, too.” Eli shrugged. “Ain’t seen anyone to ask about it since then. Which is fine by me.”
Sierra frowned. “Wait. You said they killed all the adults. What about the children? My son? Your grandson?”
The Day After Never (Book 4): Retribution Page 17
