Purge of Babylon (Book 5): The Ashes of Pompeii

by Sisavath, Sam

  It didn’t help that this part of the world was pitch black with no source of artificial light for miles. Not that he minded that, either. Given the shape he was in now, Will wasn’t excited about seeing what he looked like anyway. The bandages, the bloodied clothes he was still wearing, the pool of dried blood he had been sitting on ever since he woke up. What part of him wasn’t covered in blood?

  At least Rick had been nice enough to give him back his pill bottle as promised. Will tilted it up to his lips now and swallowed the last three remaining lifesavers. He swore it worked almost right away, but maybe that was just his mind trying to convince him his entire body wasn’t about to shut down from the pain of the last few days.

  “They freak me out, man,” Millard was saying while clutching the carbine as if it were a baseball bat.

  “So don’t look at them,” Rick said.

  “I can’t help it. Can you?”

  “No…”

  Millard was skinny and tall, whereas Rick was thick and slightly pudgy. “Man, they must really want you bad,” he said to Will.

  “They don’t want him,” Rick said. “She does.”

  “She?”

  “Yeah. She.”

  “Oh,” Millard said, turning back to the window. “So what happens when she shows up? We just give him to her or something?”

  “Mason says to stay out of her way. We’re just here to make sure he doesn’t run off again.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re here to make sure he doesn’t run off, too.”

  “I doubt he’s going anywhere. The guy looks like a bad extra from The Mummy.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s done it before. So we just sit tight until she shows up.”

  “Freaky,” Millard said. He looked at Will again. “I don’t know what you did, buddy, but you must have fucked up bad.”

  Will chuckled.

  That prompted a glance from Rick. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” Will said.

  Rick walked over and crouched about a foot in front of him, leaning the rifle across his knees. Will fought every instinct to grab at the weapon. It was so damn close…

  “Come on,” Rick said, “I wanna hear what the dead man thinks is so funny.”

  “Have you ever met her in person?” Will asked.

  “Who?”

  “Her.”

  Rick and Millard exchanged a look.

  I guess that’s a no.

  “She’s not like the others, you know,” Will said. “She’s different from the ones outside.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Millard said. “Blue eyes, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What else do you know?” Rick asked him.

  Apparently more than you.

  “They like to play,” Will said.

  “Play?” Millard said. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He thought about Harrison and how the blue-eyed ghouls had toyed with him. Then there were the people from Mississippi who had suffered the same fate. Gaby had also told him and Danny an interesting story about a man named Peter, whom she had escaped L15 with. Peter had fled the town because he was afraid for his life, because men had a bad habit of going missing, never to be seen again.

  And there it was.

  He had been searching for a way out ever since he opened his eyes, and it was right under his nose the entire time. Now all he had to do was tell a convincing enough story because his life depended on it.

  “It means she’s not going to just come and take me,” Will said. “It’s not how this works.”

  “‘This’?” Millard said. “What’s ‘this’?”

  “This is Mason, leaving you here for a reason. This is Mason, offering you up to her.” Before they could respond, he added quickly, “You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? About people going missing in the towns? Men who are never seen again?”

  He watched their reaction: The way they exchanged another quick glance, the way their shoulders trembled ever so slightly, and the way they gripped their rifles as if their life depended on it, because maybe it did. They didn’t really understand their ghoul overlords, he realized now, but they had heard the whispers. The rumors. Maybe they’d even talked about it amongst themselves in quiet rooms when they were certain no one could hear.

  God, I hope this works.

  “You’ve heard the stories,” Will said.

  “Maybe,” Millard said hesitantly. “Guys have said they’ve seen some crazy things.”

  “About the blue-eyed ones.”

  “Yeah…”

  “The stories you’ve heard? No matter how crazy they sound, I can tell you this: They’re not even close to the real thing, because the truth is worse.”

  “Bullshit,” Rick said.

  “When she comes, it won’t be just me that she takes,” Will said, keeping his focus—directing everything out of his mouth—at Millard, and Millard only. He could feel Rick staring at him, but he ignored the other man. He didn’t have to convince both of them—he just needed one of them on his side. “The ones outside? Those are pets. The blue-eyed ones are the masters. And masters take what they want. Me, I’ll survive this, because she wants me to. But you two? I don’t see it. You’re not here to protect me, or to keep me from running off. Look at me. I’m not going anywhere. You two are here for a reason. You’re snacks.”

  “He’s lying,” Rick said. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Where’s Mason now?” Will said, pressing on as if Rick hadn’t said anything. “Did you ever wonder why he left just the two of you behind? Let me guess. You got on his bad side recently? Maybe talked back one time too many?”

  “How do you know all this?” Millard said. His mouth twitched, which was either a sign Will was getting to him or…the guy just had a twitch.

  “I’ve been around,” Will said. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. I’ve fought the blue-eyed ones. More than once. And I’ve lived to tell the tale. What about you two? You really think you’re supposed to survive this? Wake up.”

  “Shut up,” Rick said. Then to Millard, “Don’t listen to him. We’re rejoining Mason in the morning.”

  “Where?” Millard said. “Where’s Mason now?”

  Rick didn’t answer right away.

  “He doesn’t know,” Will said.

  “He’s at Lake Charles,” Rick said.

  “He’s lying,” Will said. “Look at his face.”

  Millard peered at Rick in the semidarkness, almost leaning forward with his entire body. “He’s at Lake Charles?”

  “Yes,” Rick said. “He told me himself.”

  Will laughed. Loudly. When both men looked back at him, he said, with all the conviction in the world, “You’re a shitty liar, Rick. Mason’s gone. He never told you where he went because you didn’t need to know. Because he won’t see you or Millard again after tonight.”

  Millard looked at Rick, then at Will, then back at Rick. “He’s in Lake Charles right now?”

  “That’s right,” Rick nodded. “He’s just messing with your head. Don’t listen to him. Mason told me to be careful with this guy. He’s slippery.”

  Will snorted at Rick, then smiled at Millard. “What did you do?”

  “What?” Millard said.

  “You must have done something to piss Mason off.”

  “I didn’t—” He paused, then seemed to think about it. “I had no choice.”

  “What did you do?” Will asked again.

  “Don’t tell him,” Rick said.

  Millard ignored him, said, “Back at Route 13. When those people from Dunbar attacked us. There were too many of them, and they had a machine gun. I…ran.”

  “Mason doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who forgives something like that,” Will said. “No wonder he sent you here.”

  Almost there, Will thought when he saw the conflicted look on Millard’s face. Just a little more…

  “Stop ta
lking to him,” Rick said. “He’s just filling your head with lies. I should have left him bleeding on the floor instead of saving his life.”

  “What were Mason’s orders?” Millard asked Rick.

  The question caught Rick by surprise. “What?”

  “What were Mason’s orders?” Millard repeated, his voice growing slightly in volume, almost threatening. “He didn’t tell me. He just said to stay here with you. But he never told me how to reach him in the morning.”

  “I told you, we’re supposed to meet up with him at Lake Charles tomorrow,” Rick said, looking noticeably more irritated by the second.

  There was a flicker of movement outside the window. It was the ghouls. They seemed to be reacting to the growing agitation inside the store. It was just a slight tremor that rumbled across the field of black pruned flesh. Will wouldn’t have noticed it at all if they hadn’t been so still just seconds ago.

  “We’re just supposed to stay here and wait for her to come get him,” Rick was saying.

  “That’s it?” Millard said.

  “That’s it. Just sit tight and it’ll be over soon.”

  “Nice story,” Will said. “A bald-faced lie, but I’ll give you points for trying. Then again, you might actually believe it, which is pretty sad if you ask me.”

  Rick looked back to him. “No one asked you, dead man.”

  “If I’m the dead man, why are the two of you ready to piss your pants? Maybe it’s because you know I’m right. Mason’s gone. He may or may not be at Lake Charles, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect you to link back up with him in the morning. The rest of your unit is gone. They left you behind. Face it.”

  “You don’t know a damn—” Rick said, but he never got the chance to finish because there was a loud bang! from the back of the store and Rick collapsed to the floor in a pile.

  The gunshot was still echoing off the walls, causing the windows to vibrate slightly, when a voice said, “Move and you’re dead.”

  Millard stood shaking over Rick’s crumpled form, desperately trying to control his breathing. He looked wide-eyed, as if he’d just run a marathon and was not quite sure if he should sit down and rest or have a heart attack. His right hand had also begun to inch toward his holstered sidearm—

  Bang!

  Millard dropped and laid still.

  “Christ,” Will said.

  “That’s two you owe me,” the voice said as its owner stepped out of the shadowed back part of the gas station.

  She had looked better, but then she could probably say the same thing about him. There was a gash along her left temple that had left thick clumps of blood along the side of her face, and she moved with a noticeable limp. Other than that, it was still the same woman who was a trigger pull away from shooting him dead when they had first met back at the Palermo along Route 13.

  Natasha lowered the M4 rifle and smirked at him. “That’s some silver tongue on you. I thought for sure you had them convinced.”

  “Almost,” Will said.

  “Listening to you back here, it occurred to me everything you might have told Leo and the others was bullshit, too.” She narrowed her eyes. “Well? Was it?”

  “I needed to get to Song Island.”

  “So that’s a yes.”

  “Not everything. The part about the ghouls avoiding bodies of water is true. I’ve been on that island for three months and they never once crossed it.”

  “Not once?” she said doubtfully.

  “Not once.” He turned back to Rick’s and Millard’s still bodies. “Nice shot.”

  “I’ve had practice.”

  She walked over and took out a knife. The sharp edge gleamed in the moonlight and Will waited for her to strike.

  Natasha snorted. “Relax. If I wanted to kill you, I would have just shot you.”

  She sliced his hands free, then did the same to his legs.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Can you even stand? You look like shit.”

  “I can stand.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Will stood up, even as every joint in his body popped and creaked. He had been sitting for so long that he didn’t realize just how much his entire body still ached and throbbed from the events of the last twenty-four hours. Just moving his arms to rub his wrists to get the blood flowing again made him wince. He couldn’t tell how bad his hands had been shredded by the highway underneath the gauze, and frankly he didn’t want to know. Every time he touched something, there was a painful jolt.

  I should be dead.

  How many times have I said that this week?

  He sucked it up. None of it mattered because he was still far from his destination.

  Song Island.

  Lara.

  Gotta get back home.

  “Motherfucker,” Natasha whispered.

  She was staring out the store windows at the ghouls outside. The wall of dark flesh and gleaming black faces was stirring, moving slightly left and right and front and back. The eyes that peered back at them seemed to have grown with intensity since he last looked.

  It had to have been the violence. They were reacting to the deaths of Millard and Rick. So what was still keeping them back? What was holding them in place?

  Not what. Who.

  Kate…

  “I’ve never seen so many of them in one place,” Natasha said.

  She had lowered her voice to almost a whisper for some reason. He wondered if she knew that the doors weren’t even locked, that there was nothing—absolutely nothing—keeping the monsters at bay this very moment.

  Will hurried forward—grimacing, trying not to scream out with every step—and turned the locks on the doors before retreating quickly back into the darkness.

  When he was in the moonlight, he had spotted his reflection in the glass door and was glad he had only seen himself for a split second. The sight of a dead man wearing bloodied clothes and covered in bandages, limping badly, wasn’t something he wanted to see again.

  “Are you shitting me?” Natasha said. She might have been hyperventilating a little bit. “Those doors were never locked?”

  “They are now,” Will said.

  “Jesus Christ,” she said breathlessly. She was still staring out the windows, unable to take her eyes away from the throng of creatures outside.

  Will picked up Rick’s M4 and slung it, then rolled the man onto his back, careful to avoid the blood dribbling out the side of Rick’s head. He unclasped the gun belt with the Smith & Wesson semi-automatic in the hip holster and found a nylon sheath stuffed behind Rick’s waist. The knife inside was a tantō style model about a foot long with a seven-inch black stainless steel blade. It looked overly stylish and nothing he would have been caught dead carrying in combat or elsewhere, but you never knew when an extra weapon might come in handy.

  “What are you doing back here, Natasha?” Will asked as he finished going through Rick’s pockets. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  When he was done with Rick, he went through Millard’s belongings. The two men didn’t have any extra ammo on them besides the magazines already loaded in their rifles and sidearms.

  “What else was I going to do?” Natasha said. She had walked back to him, but kept glancing over her shoulder and out the windows. “Figured I’d follow these assholes and kill as many of them as I could before they get me.”

  “What happened?”

  “You mean how did I survive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was thrown clear. Landed on the side of the highway in some thick grass. Thank God no one’s done any mowing for a year, otherwise they’d have spotted me. I woke up in time to see them hauling you away.”

  “What about the others?”

  She shook her head before looking behind her again.

  “You limped all the way here?” he asked.

  “We’re only half a mile from the crash site. I didn’t even know you were in here until I climbed in through the wi
ndow in the back room just before nightfall.”

  “So you heard everything.”

  “Most of it. Was it true? What you said? Or were you just feeding them a line to try to turn them on each other?”

  “What do you think?”

  She grunted. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

  “I’m just trying to get home.”

  “Song Island.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So how are you going to get there now?” Another quick look at the ghouls behind her, before she added, “How are you going to get through that.”

  Will didn’t answer her. He was too busy looking down at Rick and Millard.

  No, not at the two dead men. More, specifically, at their uniforms.

  “What?” Natasha said. “What are you looking at? You already took everything they have. What’s left?”

  “Their uniforms,” Will said. He kneeled back down and began unbuttoning Rick’s shirt.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because they leave the soldiers alone,” she said. Then, with something that almost sounded like hope in her voice for the first time since he’d met her, “You really think it’ll work?”

  “Only one way to find out,” he said.

  *

  It didn’t take them long to strip the two men down to their underwear. Rick was the smaller of the two, so Natasha took his uniform into the back room. Will pulled on Millard’s, grateful to shed his own bloodied clothes.

  He didn’t realize just how bruised and purple and yellow he was until he was standing in his boxers. He quickly put the uniform on and cinched the gun belt in place, covering up the scars and bandages and everything else that reminded him he was probably not going to last very long in this condition. The painkillers he had popped earlier were starting to work, but what he wouldn’t give for a little bit more pep.

  He told himself he’d get the help he desperately needed when he finally made it back home. Lara could treat him. Or Zoe, though he’d insist Lara do it.

  Have to get home. Get back to Lara.

  Have to get home at all costs…

  Natasha came back out, still doing up the buttons on Rick’s shirt. “It kind of fits. For all the good it’ll do.”