The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) Read Online Free

my problem. I don’t care whether the natives get restless in our absence or not. I’ll deal with any insurrection when we return.”
    “What about Lubbock? Isn’t it about the same distance from here?”
    Cano stepped outside, ignoring Luis, who followed him out. The two remaining Crew gunmen carried their saddles from the depths of the building. Luis rubbed his eyes with a tired hand and tried again. “How are we going to get the locals to cooperate?”
    Cano scowled at him as though every question was annoying him further. “Let me worry about that.”
    “They have a reputation…”
    Cano sneered, revealing several gold teeth. “So do I.”
    The men strapped their gear on their horses and set off toward town at a slow walk, the humidity stifling as dawn broke over the valley. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a guard post manned by three civilians in camouflage fatigues and armed with AKs, the highway blocked by a cart loaded with bails of wet hay.
    “That’s far enough,” one of the guards warned, weapon trained on Cano and his men.
    “We’re no threat. We need to do some bartering,” Cano said.
    “You don’t look like traders,” the lead guard said, his gun unwavering on the heavily muscled and tattooed Crew boss.
    “Didn’t say we were. Who runs this place? I want to talk to him.”
    “Who are you?” the guard demanded.
    “My name’s Cano. I represent the Crew.”
    The guard’s face changed, and a tic twitched his left eye twice. Cano held his stare.
    “What do you mean you represent the Crew?” another guard asked.
    “It means you either take me to whoever runs this dump, or you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
    A tense silence stretched between the two groups, and then Luis coaxed his horse forward a few steps. “Look. We need to find a radio, and we’re looking for some help in identifying a couple of men who were killed out at the truck stop. We have no beef with you, and we don’t want trouble. We’ll pay for what we need and be on our way.”
    The guard studied Luis. “There’s a trading post in town. Well marked. But you so much as look at your guns, you’ll end the day in a box.”
    “Again, we’re not here to cause any problems. Does the trading post have a radio?”
    “No, but they can tell you who does.” The man looked Cano up and down. “You have anything to do with the gunfight out at the lake? Early reports are saying there were a lot of guys that look like you.”
    “That’s right,” Luis answered before Cano could snap at the man. “We’re after a group that stole Crew property.”
    “No trouble. Is that clear?” the lead gunman reiterated.
    “Absolutely,” Luis agreed. Cano remained silent.
    The guard turned and gestured toward the town. “Head down the main street here. You’ll find the trading post on the left about a half mile.”
    “Much obliged.”
    The guards moved the barrier out of the way, and Cano led his group through the gap. A few curious heads poked out from doors and windows as they made their way along the paved road, their horses’ hooves echoing off the façades as they pushed deeper into Roswell. They passed the gutted remains of a fast-food restaurant that had been styled as a flying saucer, and Luis smiled slightly at the reminder of innocent times. Had it really been only five years since the world had collapsed? He felt decades older.
    The approach to the trading post was lined with rusting vehicles, their tires flat and brittle from the sun, long since stripped of everything useful. The buildings were in decent shape compared to many cities, only a few with obvious scars from gun battles; most of the windows were boarded up or gaping like silent screams from a Munch painting. A pall of wood smoke from cooking fires hung over the street, and rivers of muddy water coursed down the gutters on both sides of the road. The bloated carcass of a mangy dog lay paws up in salute to the rising sun; a toddler sat nearby, poking it