The Day After Never - Retribution (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 4) (18 page)

Lucas looked to Arnold. “What do you think?”

“Seems okay to me.”

“What about our stuff?” Sierra asked. “I don’t want to just leave it.”

“I can watch it. Got no interest in going in there,” John said.

“No? Why not?” she asked.

“Long story, but let’s just say it’s not my thing.”

“You sure?” Arnold asked.

“Positive.”

They dismounted and removed their saddles and bags, and the boys helped them carry everything to the campsite. Thirty minutes later their tents were pitched and John was sitting in front of a small fire, watching a pair of children chase each other a few rows over, darting between the rough aisles and laughing in the glow of the campfires.

“Let’s see what’s going on in there,” Arnold said. “Maybe they have a kitchen set up or something?”

“Worth a shot,” Lucas allowed. He unslung his M4 and laid it inside his tent, noting the bullet holes from the other night. “Not going to do well in the next rain.”

“Mine’s fine,” Sierra said. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“That’s the spirit,” Arnold said with a wink at Lucas, more relaxed now that he’d completed his mission.

They walked together to the entrance, where music was emanating from inside – by the sound of it, a bluegrass band, complete with fiddler. A pair of men with the faces of undertakers stood at the entry and nodded a greeting to the newcomers.

“Howdy, folks. Welcome, welcome,” one of them said. “Be three rounds apiece, all you can eat, free entertainment. A bargain at twice the price.”

“What’s on the menu?” Lucas asked.

“Beans, stew, juice, lemonade, fresh baked bread with honey. All the fixin’s. Like grandma used to make.”

Lucas counted out nine rounds of the 9mm he used for barter purposes and handed them to the greeter. The other man tied a length of dirty red string around their wrists and stepped back to allow them to enter. “Enjoy. Preacher starts up in about fifteen minutes. He’s amazing, he is,” the man said with a Creole accent.

“Good to know,” Lucas said, and ducked into the tent with Sierra, Arnold tailing them.

Inside were several hundred people, most of them gaunt from the deprivations of the post-collapse life, but wearing clean clothes, the men’s hair roughly cut and most with it greased back, the majority of the women with kerchiefs over modest braids or modestly trimmed styles. Many wore long dresses that were obviously homemade, and a few clutched Bibles to their chests, eyes burning with inner light as they studied Sierra with disapproval.

Lucas knew they looked like they’d been dragged behind the horses, but removed his hat as a concession, as did Arnold. Sierra ignored the scrutiny of the females and nudged Lucas in the ribs. “Smell that? Food! My mouth is already watering.”

“Let’s take a look at what they’ve got.”

They walked to the side of the tent where collapsible tables had been set up and a line of stern-faced women were ladling out heaping portions. They stood in the queue and collected dented metal plates from the end of the first table, and a boy with grubby hands set a square of yellow bread on each. “Corn bread,” he explained. “Honey’s over yonder.”

“Thanks,” Sierra said with a smile, which faded when she met the gaze of the first serving woman.

“Beans?” the server snapped.

“Please.”

The woman dipped her ladle into a steaming pot the size of a beer keg and dumped a portion onto their plates. The next did the same with the stew after answering Lucas’s question as to what kind it was with a tight frown. “Meat.”

They found a spot on a wooden bench and Sierra went for lemonade. She returned with a pair of red plastic disposable cups, set one beside Arnold, and then sat next to Lucas, who had waited for her to begin eating. Arnold mumbled a thanks as he mopped up beans and stew with a wedge of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

The food was better than anything they’d had since they’d left Colorado, and they cleaned their plates in record time – just as a buzz went up from the crowd and people began heading toward the folding chairs in the center of the tent. Lucas and Sierra lifted their heads, and Arnold leaned toward them. “I feel like I’m going to explode. Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be outside keeping John company.”

He rose and carried his plate back to the serving women and asked where the latrines were, and then trundled toward the exit, patting his stomach. Sierra and Lucas did the same with their plates, and Sierra took Lucas’s hand and pulled him to the chairs. He shook his head, but she gave his fingers a tug. “Come on. I’ve never been to one of these. Maybe it’ll be interesting.”

“Been a long time since I had a full night’s sleep, Sierra.”

“Just a little while. I promise.”

He saw the pleading in her eyes and acquiesced, reckoning that it had been a while since either of them had done anything that wasn’t drudgery or risking death. They took a seat at the back of the gathering just as a tall man in a frock coat entered through a flap in the back of the tent and strode purposefully to a podium that looked like it had been liberated from a local school.

The preacher’s assistants led the crowd through a few hymns, and when everyone had quieted down, he ran his fingers over his balding head and glared at the gathering like they’d stolen his wallet.

“The devil walks the earth, ladies and gentlemen. Just as the Good Book said he would. Lucifer! The Bringer of Light! Prince of Lies! Old Club Foot! He’s here with us right now, in this very room. Can you feel him? Can you feel his cold fingers on your heart?” he cried in a loud voice that increased in volume as he spoke. “You are all, every one of you, his helpers! He’s visited his wrath upon all of you as your punishment for not having the strength to cast him out.”

“Oh, brother,” Lucas whispered, and Sierra kicked him.

“Now I don’t have to tell any of you all what happens when you get into bed with the devil. You can just look around and see it everywhere. You get the four horsemen. You get your disease, your pestilence, your famine…and his right-hand man, the grim reaper. That’s your reward for having sin in your hearts. And you all do. You know it, I know it, your neighbors know it.” The preacher slammed his hand down on the Bible he’d placed on the podium and lowered his voice. “You have consorted with the king of the underworld, the number one demon, and he’s punishing you for your trouble. That’s fact, just as plain as day, so understand what brought this about. We been wicked for so long our Father hardly recognized the place, so he turned his back on us and said…”

The crowd hung on his pause, holding its collective breath.

The preacher leaned forward, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. “To HELL with you!”

The throng gasped, the hook set.

Lucas’s neck tingled and he looked around, searching for what had set off his alarm. At the far side of the gathering, a rough-looking man with black hair was staring at him and quickly averted his eyes when Lucas spied him. Lucas frowned and looked back at the preacher, who was raising a hand over his head in preparation for another spellbinding volley.

The watcher’s interest could have been nothing – he and Sierra were obviously road-weary, dressed differently, and thus would arouse the curiosity of locals. But Lucas wasn’t in the habit of dismissing his instincts so blithely, and his hand reached for his Kimber.

The oration went on for an hour, and by the time the sprightly preacher had finished, Lucas had been subjected to enough fire and brimstone to last him into his next life. He had to hand it to the preacher, though – he had mastered the art of hypnotic delivery, and Sierra had, like the rest, seemed entranced by his every word.

The man who’d been staring at him hadn’t shown any further interest in them, and Lucas had gradually relaxed, ascribing the scrutiny to benign curiosity. A hat was passed and the crowd dropped bullets into it while the final hymns rose from their lips, and Lucas took the opportunity to rise, reaching for Sierra.

“You coming?” he asked.

She took his hand. “I suppose it’s that time.”

They made their way from the tent under the disapproving glowers of the faithful and emerged into the cool of the night. Lucas waited for his eyes to adjust, enjoying the breeze after being cooped up in the stuffy confines of the tent, and Sierra inched closer.

“So what did you think?” she asked.

“I’m hell bound.”

She smiled. “Hopefully not quite yet.”

“Matter of time.”

“Well, then, might as well have some fun in the meantime,” she said, her eyes dancing in the starlight.

“I’m listening.”

She pulled on his hand and began walking toward the camp area, an impish smirk on her face. Lucas had no choice but to follow, banishing the thoughts he’d had during the sermon about the ease with which he’d taken to ending the lives of his fellow men, and instead marveling at his good fortune in having found something worth fighting for in Sierra.

Chapter 27

The following morning Lucas and Sierra packed their things before joining Arnold and John in a subdued breakfast of leftovers from the prior night’s feast, now available for the discounted price of a bullet per plate, presumably as a concession to the lack of refrigeration. They opted for only corn bread, preferring to avoid botulism from stew or beans that had turned.

“How’s the arm?” Sierra asked John as she finished her portion.

“Better every day. Thanks for patching me up.”

“No problem. Just keep it clean and keep taking the pills until your course is through.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Arnold popped the last chunk of the dense bread in his mouth and chewed with gusto. He swallowed from his canteen and turned to Lucas. “So how many days you figure it’ll take you to get to Vicksburg?”

“Reckon about ten.”

“Crew territory really starts for real in Arkansas?”

Sierra nodded. “Yes, but from what I heard, there isn’t much in northern Arkansas for them to police. Their main hub is Little Rock, which we’ll avoid – obviously.”

“And once you make it to Vicksburg?”

Lucas shrugged. “See what we can learn.”

“That’s on the east side of the Mississippi River, right? The virus side,” John said.

“Right. But we’ve had the vaccine. We should be fine,” Sierra said.

“That’s one way to test it,” Arnold observed.

“Yeah, well, we aren’t planning on staying there long,” Lucas said. “How about you? Back to Colorado?”

“Yep. Assuming we can make it and it’s not snowed in by the time we get there.”

“What if it is?” Sierra asked.

“Then we’ll sit it out somewhere like Santa Fe.”

“Ah.”

Lucas ate his last bite of bread and stood. “Time to hit the road, fellas. Best of luck making it back in one piece.”

Arnold also stood and shook Lucas’s hand. “Thanks for the help. We did it.”

“Seems that way,” Lucas agreed.

“You two be careful. I wouldn’t want to be heading into the belly of the beast like you.”

Lucas lowered his voice. “Makes two of us.”

Sierra frowned as she rose. “I heard that.”

They carried their saddlebags to the corral and retrieved their horses and tack, tipping the boys before mounting up. Sierra waved at Arnold and John while Lucas scoped out the area, looking for his admirer from the night before. He didn’t see anyone watching them, so he led Sierra down the dirt path toward the highway, aware of his surroundings as they rode.

“You seem tense,” Sierra noted when they turned south.

He told her about the prior night. She shook her head.

“Probably was staring at me,” she said. “Not that you’re not worth a second look.”

“No, he was eyeing me.”

“Maybe he was interested.”

That drew a tight smile from Lucas. “Takes all kinds to make a stew.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone following us, so we’re in the clear.”

“Still got all the usual suspects to watch for.”

“Their bad luck if they try to get the jump on you.”

“It’s the trying that can get you killed. We’ll stay off the roads, same as ever.” He looked to his right. “And here’s a trail. Time to put that into practice.”

They picked their way through the high grass to a track that stretched toward an abandoned farmhouse with a broken wind vane and half the roof gone. Tango veered left along another trail and Lucas let the stallion have his head while he checked behind them, the nagging sense that all wasn’t well still with him from the night before. Seeing nothing, he lifted his binoculars and swept the trees just to make sure.

“Anything?” Sierra asked.

“Nope.”

“Maybe what’s bugging you is your guilty conscience.”

Lucas sighed and dropped the spyglasses back against his chest. “I’m not proud of the men I’ve killed, Sierra. It eats at me every day.”

She gave him an odd look. “I was thinking more about us living in sin.”

Lucas’s face flushed slightly. “Oh.” He chuckled. “Not feeling too guilty about that just now.”

“We’re going to hell.”

“Way I read the preacher’s sermon, we’re already there.”

“Still time to turn it around.”

Lucas shook his head. “Problem is, if I manage to sneak past the pearly gates, I won’t know anybody. All my friends will be in the basement.”

“You’re irredeemable.”

“Set in my ways,” he agreed.

“There’s always the chance I could make an honest man out of you yet.”

Lucas held his tongue, marveling at how differently their brains worked. He was running scenarios, calculating the odds of making it to Vicksburg without getting killed, trying to figure out their next step, and Sierra…well, Sierra was considering other matters.

She fell silent for several minutes, and when she spoke again, her voice was earnest and hushed. “Thanks for doing this, Lucas. You’re a man of your word. That means everything to me.”

“Even if I’m a sinner?”

It was her turn to smile to herself. “There’s worse things.”

He nodded. “At least the hours are good.”

That brought a laugh. She studied his profile: the worn straight-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow, eyes continually scanning, skin tanned the color of burnished copper. “Why, Lucas, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re developing a sense of humor.”