The Day After Never - Purgatory Road (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 2)

by Blake, Russell

  “Probably nothing. She’s just…really calm, you know?”

  “Could be post-traumatic stress, Lucas. Or delayed shock. What do we actually know about her?”

  “Just what Sierra’s told us.”

  “Exactly. We have no idea what she was subjected to while she was a captive. But I think we can assume the worst, judging by the stories.” Ruby contemplated the rushing water of the stream for a moment before she spoke again. “Besides, even assuming that Sierra did tell us the whole story, think about what it must have been like. Whole town dead. You’re all alone. Then the monsters come and take you prisoner. Next thing you know, you’re in a strange place, being experimented on. I don’t know about you, but it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see how that could scar a youngster. Remember before the collapse, the news stories of the child soldiers in Africa? Six-, seven-year-olds who had killed dozens of people? I remember seeing a special about them on TV. They had a similar detachment. Maybe that’s just how you get by in an impossible situation – you pretend it isn’t real, that it isn’t happening to you, that it’s not you doing the things you’re being forced to do. If they…if there’s more to it than what Sierra let on, you can see how that would be a natural reaction.”

  Lucas nodded. “That might be it. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  “She’s just a child, Lucas. She’s been to hell and back. That’s going to leave its mark.”

  “Quite a world we live in, isn’t it?”

  “We didn’t choose it, Lucas.”

  “Nobody did.” He stopped. “Except scum like the cartel. Or Magnus. This is their wildest dream come true.”

  Ruby rose. “Seems like the devil’s turn at the wheel, doesn’t it?”

  “Can’t say as I understand much, Ruby, but for the life of me, the thought of what those animals do to innocents like Eve…”

  “All we can do is counter it with good, Lucas. And believe that eventually sanity will be restored. It doesn’t stay dark forever.”

  “It does for people like Hal. He’s gone. Nothing’s going to bring him back.”

  “True, but a part of him lives on, Lucas. Like a chain. He passed on his good to you, and now you pass it on to others who need it.” She held his gaze. “Seems to me Eve needs it. And so does Sierra.”

  “You really believe it’s that simple?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. And no. Life’s complicated, but in the end, far as I can tell, it’s a sequence, like programming code. We’re born, we think we’re special and different, and as we get older, we recognize ourselves in others and see the commonalities. And it occurs to us that everyone who came before us also felt the same specialness, that same sense of being different and uniquely important. When you get to be my age, Lucas, you’ll see that there’s nothing but patterns everywhere for those whose eyes are open. Things are complicated on the surface, like each snowflake is intricately unique, but they’re all snow. Age teaches you to recognize the snow and stop being so concerned with the differences.” She offered a smile. “Try having a little faith in the species, Lucas. It’s not all bad.”

  “Hard to believe you’re saying that after yesterday.”

  “Everything happens for a reason.” She sighed. “Think we can risk a small fire so I can make some tea? Probably be all in our stomachs for a good stretch.”

  He looked around. “Can’t see where that’ll cause too much harm.”

  “Then gather some wood and get it started, young man, while I freshen up.”

  With that, Ruby followed the path down the stream, leaving Lucas to ponder unsolvable mysteries while she cleaned off the road dust and prepared for another hellish day. Lucas looked over to where Tango was considering him with equine dignity. “You know everything, don’t you? You’re just watching me fumble around for fun. Don’t think I don’t know your game,” Lucas said, and then smiled. Talking to his horse once a day seemed reasonable under the circumstances. “Just don’t make a habit of it,” he muttered, and then went in search of enough kindling to warm Ruby’s charred pot. The pungent concoction she brewed would offer slim relief from the miles of misery they’d have to endure that day under the sun’s relentless fury.

  Chapter 25

  Duke’s compound was sealed shut, and Doug stood manning the guard post beside the gate with weary resolve. When they had approached within hailing distance, Lucas waved a greeting and called out, “Duke around?”

  “Sure. Just the four of you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Stand by. I’ll open the gate.”

  The iron barrier slid aside and Lucas rode through the gap, followed by the women. Doug closed the panel behind them and yelled to the main building, “Duke! Got company.”

  “Who is it?” Duke’s voice called from inside.

  “Your buddy.” Doug looked at Lucas. “The Ranger.”

  Duke poked his head from the doorway and eased himself down the stairs, clad only in shorts, revealing a hirsute midriff and shoulders that would have been the envy of any orangutan. “You back for more abuse?”

  “Got some goods for you, you old pirate.”

  Duke eyed the women, and his stare stopped at Eve. “What are you in the market for?”

  “Food. More ammo for my long gun and the M4.”

  “What’re you bringing?”

  “AKs. Random pistols.”

  “There might be a swap in there,” Duke allowed, and considered Sierra for a moment. “Look a damn sight better than the last time you were here.”

  She offered a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Horse treating you okay?”

  “She’s a good one,” Sierra said, patting Nugget’s flank.

  “Practically gave her away.” Duke looked over at the gypsy horse Ruby was now riding. “Where’d you find that barn-sore nag?”

  “Had a run-in with some desperados. They felt bad about their misdeeds, so they gave us their guns and horse,” Lucas said.

  “Ah,” Duke said, his face impassive. “You have that effect on people.”

  “Need to use your radio, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know. You’re going to charge me to use airwaves now.”

  “Think of me as the local office of the FCC,” Duke agreed. “But I’ll be reasonable.”

  “Always a first time,” Lucas allowed.

  “Go ahead and let your horses drink. I’ll have one of the boys get them some hay.” Duke watched as Lucas dismounted. “Locos are all stirred up about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  Duke eyed Eve. “Offering a big reward.”

  “No kidding. You tell them anything?”

  He frowned. “What do you think?”

  Lucas nodded. “Appreciate it.”

  “You’re turning into one of my best customers. I feel like I’ve got a vested interest in keeping you alive.”

  “A regular Samaritan.”

  Duke grinned. “Runs in my veins. Can’t help myself.”

  “Occupational hazard,” Lucas agreed.

  Duke turned serious. “Let’s see the goods.”

  Lucas spread the gypsies’ sad collection of AKs and pistols on the ground, and Duke eyed them with thinly disguised disgust. “Pile of junk.”

  “Seen better, won’t argue that. But I don’t want much for them, either. Some food. Few rounds of 5.56 ball. You’ll come out ahead.”

  “Have to hang on to ’em till hell freezes over.”

  Lucas nodded. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

  Duke issued a long-suffering sigh and motioned to them to accompany him into the building. “I’ll send Aaron out for this mess. Don’t want it stinking up my place.”

  “Diamonds in the rough. Little oil and elbow grease, they’ll be good as new.”

  “I expect that sorry mule could drop better out of his backside.”

  “Mule? You mean the unicorn?” Lucas said, and both men cracked smiles.

  They followed Duke inside, and Lucas nodded
to a sleepy-looking Aaron. The Duke gave his man terse instructions, and Aaron went to gather the weapons. The trader padded to his customary seat and plopped down, rubbing a hand over his belly as he considered the newcomers. “Well, go ahead and take a load off. You’re making me nervous standing around like that.”

  “Need as many dry goods as you can muster,” Lucas said, lowering himself onto a threadbare sofa that smelled of mildew. Ruby sniffed at it and sat on the arm. Sierra and Eve pulled chairs from the dining set and sat to their left.

  “Got a decent amount.”

  “Good. Could use another hundred rounds of 5.56.”

  “Cleaning me out of the stuff, huh?”

  “Been busy.”

  “Target shooting, I expect.”

  Lucas shrugged. “Idle hands.”

  “That’s it?”

  “And the radio.”

  “Who you going to call?”

  “Easter Bunny.”

  “I think he monitors channel seventeen.”

  Lucas and Duke prepared containers full of the dried jerky Duke prepared in a homemade smokehouse in the back, and when he was done counting out rounds for Lucas, they began the negotiations. Lucas had to part with some of the AK magazines and ammo they’d scrounged as well, but all in all it was a fair trade.

  The trader escorted Ruby to the radio and powered it on, and then moved aside, giving her some privacy. Lucas leaned into him as she adjusted the channel selector and broadcast a call.

  “This reward you mentioned. The Locos stop by in person?” Lucas asked.

  Duke nodded. “Like you thought they would. Bastards were downright impolite till I schooled ’em on their manners.”

  “How much they offer?”

  “Enough so every lowlife in Texas will be after your scalps.”

  “If it’s the same bunch that tried to bushwhack us in the desert, you’ll be doing a fair business in coffins.”

  “Glass is always half full.”

  “They say anything useful?”

  “Don’t think they know about the girl, if that’s any consolation.”

  Lucas nodded. “Was hoping they wouldn’t. That’s a break.”

  “Big guy who did most of the talking seemed awful anxious to find your girlfriend there. Looked like he’d fallen into a threshing machine face first. Name of Cano. Lots of prison ink. Tattoo matches hers,” Duke said, tilting his head at Sierra. “Know him?”

  “Can’t say as I do. All the same in the end.” Lucas waved a fly away. “Appreciate you sticking up for me.”

  Duke frowned an acknowledgement and looked away.

  A tinny voice answered Ruby over the speaker, and she had a cryptic conversation that sounded like a foreign language to Lucas. When she was finished, she pushed back from the radio and stood. Lucas raised his brows inquisitively. “Well?”

  “He’s there. Said he’d be expecting me.”

  “That sounded like that kook up north, in Artesia,” Duke said. “What’s his name? Bill? Bruce? What you want with a nutter like that?”

  “Got an electric razor needs fixing,” Lucas said. “Appreciate it if you’d keep that under your hat.”

  “I see nothing.”

  Lucas shouldered the satchel containing the ammo and hoisted the containers with the food, and then Duke escorted them from the building. On their way out the front door, they were interrupted by Slim emerging from the back. The man nodded to Lucas and eyed Duke. “You need any help, boss?”

  “No, I got it,” Lucas said.

  Slim’s eyes roamed over Sierra and came to rest on Eve. He shrugged and cleared his throat. “Then I’m going back to bed.”

  “No problem. Got it handled,” Duke said, and then they were outside in the swelter. Nugget and Jax were waiting expectantly; the gypsy horse looked stunned at having eaten as much hay as it could manage. Duke watched as they mounted up and shook Lucas’s hand. “Be careful out there. I hear the natives are restless.”

  “That’s the rumor,” Lucas said. “Thanks again. Might not see you for a spell.”

  “Kind of figured. Probably best to lie low.”

  “Got that right,” Lucas said, and then gently tugged Tango’s reins. The big stallion spun and made for the gate, trailed by the women’s mounts.

  Duke watched them ride through the gate and shook his head as they disappeared from view. “Vaya con Dios,” he muttered, and turned to the building, where Slim was standing in the doorway. “Thought you were hitting the sack again?” Duke asked.

  “Have to use the can,” Slim said, and walked to the outhouse, his face unreadable, his heavy steps those of a preoccupied man.

  Chapter 26

  A day after being found half dead in the dry wash, the Crew boss lay on the steel top of a conference table as a gray-haired man with a neatly trimmed Lincolnic beard and heavy black-rimmed spectacles dug pieces of shrapnel from his wounds.

  The man had been working steadily for several hours and occasionally paused to wipe sweat from his brow with a grimy hand towel. The atmosphere in the room was oppressively hot even with the windows open and a fan consuming some of the precious electric power from the rooftop solar array. Other than the low hum of the fan, the only sound was the occasional clank of another piece of metal dropping into an aluminum trash can by the side of the table.

  Luis entered and stood with arms folded across his chest, his face somber as he watched. When the man finished with the thigh he’d been working on, he wiped away the blood from Cano’s leg with a rag, this one soaked with moonshine, and then stepped back from the table and took a deep swig from a bottle near the window.

  “Steady the nerves,” he said to Luis, whose face could have been carved from granite.

  “What do you think?”

  “That if he comes out of this coma, he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

  Luis’s eyebrows rose. “You think he’ll live?”

  “He’s tough as nails, so nothing would surprise me.” The man took another swig. “That’s both legs. I’ll get to the arms next, and then his head. Don’t think I can do anything about his left eye – you can see it’s filled with blood. That’s above my pay grade.”

  “Not going to be winning any beauty contests, is he?”

  “He can always join the circus.”

  The man dropped the pair of bloody forceps he’d been using into a tray filled halfway with alcohol, and made a face. A veterinarian who patched up cartel members when they were wounded, his knowledge of basic surgical procedures was better than anyone’s in the area, but that wasn’t saying much. He’d transitioned from cats and dogs before the collapse to being a human physician, catering to a crowd that wasn’t particular about where it got its care.

  “How much longer?” Luis asked.

  “At least another couple, three hours. Don’t want to rush it.”

  “Can you control the bleeding?”

  “You’re welcome to apply pressure wherever you want, but it’s like playing whack-a-mole. He’s clotting okay, though, so I don’t see anything worse than the blood he’s already lost.”

  Luis shook his head. “How the hell is he still alive?”

  “The short answer is none of his vital organs were damaged, and other than the eye, the wounds on his face and head are flesh wounds. Doesn’t look like anything penetrated all the way through his skull, and his body armor saved his lungs and heart. He probably won’t be in a romantic mood for the next forever, but that’s the least of his concerns.”

  “What about after you’re done?”

  “I’ll pour another bottle of this fine elixir all over him, salve him with antibacterial ointment, and dose him with fish antibiotics for a week. If he doesn’t die from that, none of his wounds will kill him. All of which is assuming his body can replace the blood loss – his pressure right now is almost nonexistent. I will say he must have the heart of a bull to have gone through this and still be breathing.” The veterinarian grimaced. “Then again, looking at his older scars, t
his ain’t his first rodeo. Man’s been sliced and diced more than a few times.”

  “If you can save him, I’d owe you,” Luis said quietly.

  “I expect free drinks for the rest of my life.”

  “And you’ll get them.”

  The man went back to work as Luis watched, methodically going over every inch of maimed skin, flushing the wounds periodically with either rotgut whiskey or boiled water, humming to himself as the fan blew tepid air through the stifling space. They’d brought Cano to the same hospital where the woman had been imprisoned only three rooms down, and the irony that their former captive had inflicted this damage on a prison-hardened Crew boss wasn’t lost on Luis.

  “If you need anything, call me. I’ll be down the hall in the lobby. Too hot in here for both of us,” Luis said.

  “Not going to fight you on that one.”

  Luis made his way to the hospital foyer and stood at the open glass doors, where two cartel gunmen guarded the entryway. Bullet holes in the walls lining the corridor were a stark reminder of the recent battle fought there, which had cost the cartel more of its dwindling members. Already Luis had begun to hear grumbling from the remaining Locos that the locals seemed less docile – which, if allowed to escalate, would mean the end of the cartel’s stranglehold over the survivors, whom they needed for growing food and doing the work that the cartel was too busy to do for itself.

  He’d instructed his men that any act of rebellion or insubordination was to be greeted in the harshest possible manner, and that those suspected of agitating against the cartel were to be hauled into the public square in front of the courthouse headquarters and shot as a lesson to the rest. He had no compunction about carrying out executions, having done so for years as the number two Loco, but he feared the effectiveness might be temporary – when the two hundred or so surviving townspeople figured out that there were only a few dozen Locos and that the Crew gunmen weren’t permanent, it could get ugly once they departed.

  Luis’s handheld radio crackled, and one of his men called his name from the tinny speaker. Luis pressed the transmit button and raised the radio to his lips. “What is it? Over.”