Road To Babylon | Book 10 | 100 Deep

by Sisavath, Sam

  Keo didn’t have to guess what was inside. The name said it all.

  There were guns.

  A lot of guns.

  Every type known to man, it seemed, hanging off one rack after another. Boxes of ammo lined shelves, and ammo cans were stacked on top of one another along the floor. There were already other people inside picking out weapons and dumping bullets into bags. At least ten, with more in the background moving around.

  The intel on Shaker Town said The Deacon’s men had “liberated” the weapons from a nearby Air Reserve base. They’d cleaned out everything but the aircraft and cars left over from the pre-Purge days. After all, Joe Blow couldn’t just grab a plane and make it work. And cars were next to useless without gas. On the other hand, any Tom, Dick, and Harry could pick up a gun and pull the trigger.

  Harvey turned back to Keo. “I don’t have to ask if you know your guns, do I?”

  “Do I look like a bleeding-heart hippie to you?” Keo asked.

  The big man smirked. “No, you do not.”

  “So what are we doing here?” Keo nodded at the others. “You boys getting ready for a parade or something?”

  “Something like that,” Harvey said. “Load up. We leave in an hour.”

  Then Harvey began walking back to the door.

  Keo stared after him. “Hey.”

  Harvey stopped and glanced back. “Which part of ‘load up’ don’t you understand, Chang?”

  “Where exactly am I going, and what exactly are we doing once we get there?”

  “Wherever I tell you, and whatever I tell you. You got a problem with that?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “You wonder too much.”

  “Yeah, that’s what everyone always tells me. Too much wondering. Wonderer Chang, they call me.”

  Harvey squinted at him. Like the half dozen or so times since they’d met, Keo imagined the big man trying to figure out if Keo was being serious or not.

  Finally, Harvey turned to go again. “Join us outside when you’re done.”

  “Yes, sir,” Keo said.

  He looked back at the rack of guns, then at the other Shakers. No one bothered to acknowledge him, so Keo walked along the rows and looked for something good. Something special, maybe. He didn’t know where they were going or what he was going to be asked—okay, ordered—to do once he got there, but you could never go wrong with being as fully prepared as possible.

  He stopped at a group of submachine guns. One in particular caught his eye.

  “M4s are farther down,” a voice said.

  Keo looked over at a man in his thirties, wearing an Atlanta Falcons ballcap on his head. He had an M4 carbine slung over his shoulder and was holding two boxes of 5.56 bullets in one hand.

  “What?” Keo said.

  “The M4s,” the guy said. He nodded. “They’re down there.”

  “I was looking at these,” Keo said, nodding at the submachine guns. He removed a Heckler & Koch MP5. It had a collapsible buttstock and an empty magazine attached, but no suppressor.

  Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “German?” Atlanta Falcons guy said.

  “What can I say? I’m a fan.”

  “I’d thought you’d go for a Chinese gun,” the guy said, grinning crookedly.

  “You thought wrong, didn’t you?”

  The guy shrugged. “I guess so,” he said, before walking off.

  Keo grabbed a box of 9mms from another shelf, then thought better of it and went hunting for a belt and backpack. After all, Harvey had told him to load up, and Keo had every intention of doing just that. It’d been way too long since he was fully armed and was starting to feel just a tad naked.

  He was shoving spare magazines into a tactical pack he’d found when someone said, “Catch.”

  Keo turned just in time to see a ball cap similar to the one Atlanta Falcons guy was wearing flying at him. He snatched it out of the air. No wonder it looked the same—because it was. He looked around him and saw that everyone who was still inside the armory with him had put on identical caps.

  The guy who had thrown Keo’s hat to him was adjusting the brim of his own. Late twenties, with long blond hair. He had a slender figure, and Keo wondered if he would have been able to peg the guy as, well, a guy from behind.

  “Why the hat?” Keo asked him.

  “So we don’t shoot you,” the guy said.

  “We certainly wouldn’t want that,” Keo said as he slipped the hat on. It had a snap in the back that could be adjusted for comfort. Keo took his time doing that.

  “I’m Fridge,” the guy said.

  Keo gave him a nod. “Chang.” Then, “Fridge?”

  “’Cause I’m big like a fridge, of course.”

  “Of course. What was I thinking?”

  Fridge chuckled, before smacking Keo playfully on the shoulder as he walked past him. “Let’s go, Chang. We don’t wanna be late for all the fun.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want that,” Keo said as he grabbed another spare magazine, just in case, before following on Fridge’s heels. If he’d learned anything in his time before, during, and after The Purge, it was that there was no such thing as too much ammo.

  Harvey was waiting for them outside, surrounded by the ones that had come out before Keo and Fridge. The big man looked over at Keo, and his eyes fell on the MP5 Keo was slinging. “You going with that?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Keo said, even though of course he knew why. When given the option of a carbine or a submachine gun, most people went for the former. Keo, though, always prized portability and maneuverability over range. He was a close-quarters combat kind of guy.

  “It’s small,” Harvey said.

  “It’s not the size that matters, but how many rounds you put into the guy.”

  “That’s your final answer, Chang?”

  “Yup.”

  “All right, then. Do what you gotta do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Harvey turned back to the others. They were all wearing the same black Atlanta Falcons caps, even Harvey.

  “What exactly are we gonna be doing, boss?” one of the men asked.

  “What’s the mission, sir?” another one said.

  “We’re going to go kill some people,” Harvey said. “Any other questions?”

  There wasn’t.

  Harvey stared over at Keo again. “What about you, Chang?”

  “What about me?” Keo said.

  “You got any problems with our mission?”

  “None whatsoever,” Keo said, but he thought, Dammit. This was not what I came here to do...

  Eight

  There were five of them. Two women and three men. They were moving east in the general direction of Shaker Town, though whether they were really headed there or not was open to debate.

  Keo didn’t get the chance to ask them, because Fridge opened fire first. The lanky kid was somewhere near the middle of the line of hidden Shakers and was too quick on the trigger. He let loose with his M4, the suppressor on the end dulling the fully automatic shots into a wet-sounding pop-pop-pop.

  The others, of course, took that as a hint and joined in on the fun.

  Keo didn’t. He was two trees down and to the left of Fridge. Three more down from him was Harvey, who was waiting to give the order. The big man never got the chance, because the Shakers sprayed the road first.

  Four of the five people fell off of their saddles immediately. The fifth tried to take off, but he was taken down by a burst of automatic gunfire. His horse, unfortunately, also took some of the rounds, and it fell next to him. The animal attempted to get back up, found its legs weakening, and collapsed permanently alongside its dead rider.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” That was Harvey shouting. Then, not more than a few seconds later, “The horses! Grab the fucking horses!”

  Some of the Shakers attempted to do just that, running out of the wooded area where they’d been hiding and out into the country road. The horses—three were st
ill on their feet—took off before they could reach them. A couple of the men attempted to give chase, but they might as well be running after Usain Bolt. Those animals were gone, and they weren’t coming back.

  “Goddammit,” Harvey said, stepping out from behind the big tree he’d been hiding behind. He didn’t look very pleased with what had transpired.

  Keo walked over to join some of the Shakers as they stood around the dead bodies. Four were definitely dead, but one wasn’t. A woman with short black hair. She was lying on her stomach, hands pressed against a bullet wound in her left side. There was an extra hole in her right leg that was left to bleed freely, though her tight denim pants stanched it somewhat. She was wearing an empty holster, and one of the men had taken a bolt-action rifle from her, as well as removed the knife in the sheath on her left hip.

  The Shakers were staring at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t that attractive. But then, maybe Keo just had higher standards than most people. Lara tended to inspire that.

  One of the men drew his pistol and took aim at the woman. She stared back at him with the fire of defiance burning in her eyes. If Keo expected her to start pleading for her life, she disappointed him. There was a lot of fight in this one, even if it wasn’t going to help her one bit.

  Goddammit, Keo thought. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this.

  But he also couldn’t just let her be shot down in cold blood.

  “What are you doing?” Keo asked the man with the handgun.

  The man—thirties with greasy black hair—looked over at him. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “She’s not a threat.”

  “So?”

  “She’s a prisoner.”

  “Not anymore,” the man said, and turned back to the woman.

  She continued to stare daggers back at the gunman. Defiant to the end.

  Damn it, Keo thought and reached out and grabbed the Shaker’s hand and jerked it up just as the man pulled the trigger.

  Bang! as the shot echoed.

  Greasy whirled on Keo, eyes flaring. “What the fuck!”

  The others had stepped back, wanting no part of this. Either they didn’t approve killing an unarmed and wounded enemy, or the woman’s sex had a little something to do with that. Either way, they weren’t getting involved.

  So it was just Keo and Greasy.

  Keo held onto the man’s hand, his right holding the MP5 slightly tilted. He could have pulled the trigger at any time, but didn’t.

  Not yet.

  “She’s wounded,” Keo said.

  “So?” the man said.

  “She’s no threat.”

  “So?” the man said again.

  “What the hell’s going on?” a voice said before Keo could respond.

  Harvey. The big man walked over to where they huddled. He glanced at the woman, then over at Keo and Greasy.

  Keo let go of the man’s hand. Greasy took a quick step back, face turning red, but didn’t make another attempt to murder the woman.

  “He was going to kill her,” Keo said, nodding at the woman.

  “And your point is?” Harvey asked.

  Keo turned to face the big man. “We have an opportunity to find out if there’s anything waiting for us between here and there. What if they’re expecting us?”

  “Why would they be?”

  “After what they did? Why wouldn’t they be?”

  Apparently Harvey hadn’t thought about that, and he didn’t answer right away.

  “Sir?” the guy with greasy hair said. “Should I put her out of her misery?”

  Harvey stared down at the woman.

  She stared right back at him.

  Tough nut, Keo thought. If the woman were even a little bit scared, Keo couldn’t detect any hints of it on her face.

  “All right, Chang,” Harvey finally said. “She’s your responsibility.” He turned around and waved an older man over. “Patch her up. She’s coming with us.”

  Harvey walked away and to where the others were gathered, looking down the road.

  “Fridge,” the big man barked.

  Fridge—the skinny and tall man who looked nothing like a fridge—turned around. He must have known what Harvey was going to say next, because he quickly stuttered out, “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what happened.”

  Harvey didn’t waste his breath. Instead, he walked up to Fridge and punched him in the gut. If Fridge was ready for it, it didn’t keep him from folding over and going down to the asphalt road, where he lay crumpled up like a fetus.

  Harvey hovered over him. “Next time I tell you to wait for my signal to open fire, you goddamn well better wait for it.”

  Fridge managed to squeak out, “Yes, sir.”

  Harvey stomped back into the same woods where they’d emerged from, barking, “Hide everything that’s dead, and let’s go!”

  Everyone in an Atlanta Falcons cap broke into activity. Some of the men grabbed the dead bodies and horses and carried them into the woods after Harvey, while two others helped Fridge up from the ground.

  Keo remained standing over the woman. Toby, one of the older members of the group, had arrived and taken out a kit from his pouch, but the woman didn’t want to remove her hands from her side wound for him to work.

  “You’re gonna bleed to death if he doesn’t patch that up,” Keo said to her.

  She scowled at him.

  Keo shrugged. “But hey, if that’s what you want…”

  That wasn’t what she wanted, and she grudgingly took her hands away. Blood squirted out briefly before Toby pressed a wad of bandage against it. Keo noticed that the man hadn’t bothered to clean and disinfect the wound first, or taken any precautions before beginning his work. Either Toby wasn’t a real medic, or he just didn’t care all that much about his current patient.

  “What’s your name?” Keo asked the woman.

  She didn’t answer.

  “I just saved your life,” he said.

  “Why?” she said.

  “She speaks!” He grinned. “I need to call you something.”

  “Call me whatever you want.”

  “Just don’t call you late for dinner?”

  She squinted back at him with a puzzled Say what? look.

  He sighed. She was probably way too young to understand that. The woman was only in her late twenties. Maybe even younger than that; people just looked older than their age these days. She would have grown up during The Purge. Most people her age, like Fridge, didn’t have a clue what life was like before everything went to shit. Or they didn’t remember it with any clarity.

  “How about Suzanna?” Keo said.

  “Whatever,” she said.

  He grinned.

  Toby finally finished—he’d wrapped up her side, wrapping the gauze around her clothes—and did the same for her right leg. It looked like shit, and Keo would be shocked if Suzanna survived beyond the day.

  But he told himself he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

  If he got to it, that was.

  “She’s good,” Toby said, standing up.

  If by ‘good’ you mean royally shit, Keo thought.

  He said instead to Suzanna, “Can you get up?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she got up. Or tried to.

  She managed halfway before falling back down. She would have crashed right back to the cold asphalt if Keo hadn’t grabbed her by the arms first and kept her upright. She staggered, and even as she did so, he noticed that her eyes went for the Beretta in his hip holster.

  “Don’t,” Keo said. He’d said it softly, low enough that only she could hear.

  Her eyes darted from the gun to his.

  He shook his head back at her, then sneaked a look over to the others. Toby was walking toward the trees, and the others had cleared the road of bodies. Not that they’d done a very good job, because there were still patches of blood to mark the ambush.

  Keo t
urned back to the woman, and in the same low voice, “You want to stay alive or not?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  Grudgingly, she nodded.

  “Good,” Keo said.

  He tightened his grip on her right arm while moving to stand on her right side in order to keep his holstered gun and slung MP5 out of reach. They weren’t completely out of reach, but she’d have to reach around him for either one of them. With her left hand at that. Of course, he was going under the assumption she was right-handed, like most of the world’s remaining population.

  Toby the Not Very Good Medic had stopped near the tree lines to wait for them. “You need help?”

  “I got her,” Keo said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The man turned and disappeared into the woods.

  Keo and Suzanna followed.

  They had just left the road ten yards behind them when they came across Suzanna’s former comrades. The Shakers had dumped the bodies and hadn’t bothered to hide them from anyone or anything. As soon as they were gone far enough, the animals would descend on them. And then, at night, another kind of animal would feast.

  Keo didn’t have to look over at Suzanna to see the horror on her face. He could feel her entire body stiffening at the sight of the other woman and three men that she probably used to call friends.

  “Come on,” Keo said and gave her a slight tug because she’d come to a stop.

  She stumbled a bit, and he remembered that she wasn’t just wounded in the side but also in one leg. He slowed down so she wouldn’t fall—

  She fell.

  Keo turned just as she did so, presenting the front of his body to her—and moving the holstered Beretta within reach.

  She was reaching for the pistol—either she’d planned the whole thing, or this was a spur-of-the-moment decision; not that it really mattered—when he let go of her right arm. Without him holding her up, she fell backward and crashed into the ground on her butt, letting out a pained scream at the same time.

  “Dammit, I told you not to do that,” Keo said.

  She glared at him, her lips twisting in a Go fuck yourself expression.

  Running footsteps as Toby and two others, including Fridge, appeared out of the trees in front of them. They slowed down when they saw Keo standing and Suzanna on the ground.