After The Purge, AKA John Smith Box Set | Books 1-3

by Sisavath, Sam

  “I don’t like you that much.”

  “Ouch.” Then, his head cocking to one side slightly, “How did you find out where I lived, anyway?”

  “The mailbox.”

  “The mailbox?”

  “You put your name on the mailbox outside.”

  Hobson chuckled. “Right. The mailbox. I forgot about that.”

  “Stumbling across it was an accident. Like a sign from God, if you will. But it did make me curious. Why the mailbox?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to make this place mine. Putting my name on the mailbox up front seemed like a thing to do.”

  “It’s not your house.”

  “It is now.”

  “You get mail?”

  “Of course not. Who gets mail these days?” Then, “So it’s just my bad luck you found my mailbox, huh?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Swell.”

  “The Judge,” Smith said. “Where do I find him? He’s not at the courthouse. It was the first place I looked. And I don’t suppose he’d lower himself to staying in the same buildings as some of the other residents.”

  “No, he wouldn’t do that.”

  “So where is he?”

  “The big white house, about two blocks north from here. The one with the guards outside. I don’t know how you missed it in the first place.”

  “It’s dark. You guys need more lights.”

  “More lights bring more trouble.”

  “Ghoul trouble?”

  “We get them every now and then.”

  Smith wanted to ask Hobson about the ghoul “trouble” that had plagued the junkyard exactly one night ago, when the Judge’s men attacked Mandy’s people. But he didn’t because it didn’t matter. Right now, only one thing mattered.

  The Judge.

  “So, the big white house,” Smith said, standing up.

  “Yes,” Hobson said. His eyes tracked Smith the entire time. “What are you going to do?”

  “I already told you.”

  “Murder him?”

  “You say murder, I say justified homicide.”

  “You won’t be able to get to him anyway.”

  “How many guards does he have?”

  “I won’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Call it loyalty.”

  “To a man like the Judge?”

  Hobson seemed to sigh. Or maybe Smith just misheard him. “Something like that. Whatever you think of him, he did bring law and order to this area after everything went to shit. If nothing else, he deserves credit for that.”

  “That’s not what Mandy’s people think.”

  “Yeah, well, opinions are like assholes. You know?”

  “Yeah. Lots of those around these days, too.”

  “So you’re going to go kill the Judge, huh?”

  Smith ignored the question. He asked instead, “Mary and her son. Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “That’s your prerogative, but it’s the truth.”

  “You’re the sheriff. Aren’t you supposed to know everything that happens in your town?”

  “Most of the time, but my area of responsibility doesn’t include where people are housed.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where the woman and her son are being kept.”

  “Being kept?” Smith thought. Hobson hadn’t said where Mary and Aaron were “living.” Instead, he’d used the words “being kept.” There was a huge difference.

  “Who would know?” Smith asked.

  “Amy,” Hobson said.

  “The doctor?”

  “Yes. She’s also in charge of housing.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Most people here have multiple titles. It’s how we keep the place running. There’s not enough people to go around.”

  “You mean, other than through intimidation?”

  Hobson almost smiled that time. “Yeah.” Then, still staring across the semidarkness at Smith, with only a patch of moonlight coming in through the curtains of the windows behind him, “So what now?”

  “You have two options.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Convince me you won’t alert anyone after I leave now, or I shoot you.”

  “You shoot me, and everyone will be alerted to your presence.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Then, his eyes glued on Hobson’s face, “So convince me, Sheriff.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I figured.”

  Hobson went for his gun.

  Smith drew and shot him dead.

  Two

  Maybe killing Hobson was the wrong thing to do. After all, the gunshot would have alerted the people of Gaffney. Sound traveled these days, especially in the middle of the night with nothing else to blunt the noise.

  Then again, Hobson had gotten on Smith’s bad side, and Smith was only human. He’d already concluded the sheriff wasn’t the good man Smith had taken him for when they first met. Everything Hobson had done since had only confirmed that. Maybe, once upon a time, he had been decent, but that wasn’t the man Smith had shot tonight.

  That was his excuse, anyway.

  Still, the gunshot would alert the Judge’s remaining men to Smith’s presence. Which was fine with him; he needed to get a better look at what he was dealing with anyway. He was pretty sure he hadn’t seen everything—or everyone—while he was scouting the place earlier, searching for a way in. He didn’t think he’d develop that full picture in the next few hours, but firsthand intelligence was always better than secondhand.

  “You know how many of them there are?” Roger, Mandy’s righthand man, had asked him yesterday when Smith showed up at their junkyard and told them about his plan to return to Gaffney.

  “Six,” Smith had said.

  “More than six,” Mandy had said.

  “How many more?”

  “At least ten,” Roger had said.

  “At least ten” wasn’t exactly a specific number. “At least” could be eleven or fifteen or fifty. Not that Smith thought the Judge had fifty men on the payroll, or whatever he was using to keep them to stay loyal to him. But “at least” could be as few as eleven and as many as twenty…or more.

  Smith needed to find out one way or another. He was good with a gun, but even he didn’t think he could take on twenty men. At least, not in a straight-up fight, which was what he preferred. At least now he had one less man to deal with.

  No, that wasn’t quite correct. Three less men to deal with, actually. He had forgotten to count Travis, the kid, Kyle, and the sniper, Roman. Travis was still alive but out of the game. (There was the possibility Travis was still alive. Who knew what Roger and company were doing to him now?)

  Smith stood next to the window on the second floor of the house across the street from Hobson’s and watched as shadowy figures arrived. There were four of them—two on horseback, the other two on foot. All men, of course. The two on foot were carrying LED lanterns, the kind with solar-rechargeable batteries that Smith had seen often out here, while the two mounted ones had similarly bright LED flashlights fixed to the barrels of their weapons—one rifle and one shotgun.

  They charged up to Hobson’s home, coming from two separate directions, almost as if they had orchestrated the approach. And maybe they had, for all Smith knew. It took them almost twenty-five minutes to respond, which was pretty fast given the size of the town and the fact they would have had to get together, figure out what had happened, and then assembled.

  And where the hell did they keep the horses, anyway? Smith still didn’t know the answer to that one. Then again, he also didn’t know where they had kept the Jeep that Travis had tried to run him down with yesterday. There had to be a garage, or stables, somewhere in town that he hadn’t seen yet.

&n
bsp; He concentrated on what was happening out in the darkened streets as the Judge’s men carefully entered Hobson’s home. Two of them went inside while the other two remained outside as guards. Smith glimpsed flashlight beams slicing across the home’s front windows within. It wouldn’t have taken the men long to find Hobson’s body. Smith had left him sitting on the sofa where he’d died.

  The two sentries on Hobson’s front lawn were eyeballing the street, alleys, and buildings around them. They looked jumpy, clutching their weapons. It was too dark outside, with only the moonlight and limited glows of the lanterns that the men held in their hands for Smith to see with, so he couldn’t tell if any of the faces were familiar. The men actually scanned the home Smith was hiding in a couple of times, but if they saw him, they didn’t react. He was pretty sure he was well-hidden.

  Pretty sure.

  Or maybe he wasn’t that well-hidden and was hoping to be spotted. Maybe he wanted them to come into the house so he could take down a few more of them. Knock a few of those “at least” down a couple more notches. Was that why he’d remained so close to Hobson’s place after shooting the man to death?

  Of course not.

  Probably.

  Voices, as the two that had gone into the house came back outside. The four men milled about the one-story structure, eyes scanning the area as if they expected to find him out here, as he watched them back.

  Oh, if you only knew, boys.

  If you only knew…

  Two of them climbed back onto their horses, turned the animals, then proceeded down the street. The two on foot loitered around the property, still scanning for signs of him. Smith noticed that they hadn’t removed Hobson’s body; for all he knew, they had just left the sheriff sitting where he’d been shot.

  He listened to the clop-clop-clop of shod horse hooves as they faded down one side of the block, while the lights from the LED lanterns of the ones on foot remained where they were. If they had noticed him and were planning some sneaky rear attack, he couldn’t detect it. He stayed ready anyway, a part of him still hoping they would try something.

  Got ourselves a little death wish tonight, don’t we?

  Maybe. Just maybe.

  He was surprised there weren’t armed men roaming around Gaffney looking for him. There were two of them outside and two more on horseback, but where were the others? Asleep? Guarding the Judge? If he was the paranoid type, Smith would almost think they were setting him up and waiting to spring an elaborate ambush. What was it going to take to wake all of Gaffney up? A full-blown attack?

  Maybe I should have blown up a building or two to really get their attention.

  He waited patiently, but no one tried to sneak up on him or flank the house he was hidden inside. Smith didn’t keep listening for signs of something happening anyway. When he’d entered the place earlier, it’d smelled and looked abandoned. The uncovered mattress behind him was stained with rainwater from old leaks in the ceiling, and the wallpaper was peeling. The floor crunched as he walked across it, a combination of debris and fallen Sheetrock.

  Smith didn’t move from the window or go anywhere, and about forty or so minutes later, the horsemen returned. This time they were dragging a wagon between them, with a third figure sitting on it.

  A woman. Smith could tell that much by her shape.

  The group stopped in front of Hobson’s house, and the woman climbed off, then disappeared inside.

  Amy.

  It had to be Amy, the former Black Tider turned Gaffney’s resident doctor. It made sense. Who else would be roused from sleep to take care of Hobson’s body? Unless, of course, the town had its own undertaker, but that was unlikely.

  “Most people here have multiple titles. It’s how we keep the place running,” Hobson had said.

  So it was a good bet Amy was also the undertaker when called for. The fact that she was in charge of housing as well was a little more out of the ordinary for someone of her skill set, but like Hobson had said, that was how they kept the place running.

  He watched the group return outside Hobson’s home about ten minutes later, with Hobson’s body wrapped in a sheet and carried between two of the four men. They loaded him onto the back of the wagon while Amy watched on. She was looking around the street, and for an instant or two, settled her eyes on the window Smith was hidden alongside.

  Can she see me?

  Nah.

  Probably nah.

  Then Amy looked away, said something to one of the horsemen, and they moved on. The two on foot followed.

  Smith stepped away from the window before moving silently across the bedroom. He remembered where the clinic was in relation to Hobson’s house, so it wouldn’t be hard to find again. Where else would they take the sheriff’s body? Unless he was wrong, but he didn’t think he was.

  It was dark outside the house, but Smith could still hear the clop-clop-clop of horse hooves on the street behind him. He slipped out of the dark structure and into an alleyway, then made his way across the darkness.

  Gaffney remained pitch-black and silent around him, reminding Smith to be very careful about every step he took. He kept his eyes on the rooftops of the buildings around him in case there were lookouts up there.

  He didn’t see anyone. Not above him and not on the street. But he could still hear the fading clop-clop-clop of horse hooves. Smith followed them while sticking to the shadows. The air had grown chilly, but there were no telltale signs of ghoul presence in the vicinity.

  He kept his senses alert anyway. You could never tell when the bastards would decide to pop out of the shadows at you.

  Three

  He wasn’t sure if he was surprised there were no guards outside the clinic—the same one he’d been in the day before—where they took Hobson’s body or not. He supposed it made sense; there was no reason to post anyone outside or inside, for that matter. From what he could see, the Judge’s men—a half dozen, now—were moving through town looking for something.

  Someone.

  If they even knew he was the one responsible for Hobson. After Travis had failed to show up after ambushing Mandy, maybe the Judge would have already assumed things hadn’t gone as well as he had hoped. Either way, his men were looking for someone out there.

  Smith easily avoided them by sticking to the back alleys of Gaffney, winding his way through the shadows and brick buildings until he found himself at the rear of the clinic. There was a door, but it was unlocked, so Smith let himself in. There were two main rooms inside—the entry lobby and the back, the two spaces separated by nothing more than a curtain like before.

  He found Amy standing next to Hobson’s body, jotting down notes on a clipboard. The sheriff lay on a gurney, his naked body exposed, with the hole in his chest where Smith had shot him underneath a single LED light.

  Amy spun around when she heard his footsteps, dropping the clipboard and reaching for a scalpel on a tray nearby. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and the words, “Jesus, Smith,” came out between her lips.

  Smith wasn’t sure if she was scared to see him or relieved. “You’re up late,” he said.

  “What the hell are you doing back here?”

  He noticed she hadn’t relaxed her grip on the scalpel even a little bit after recognizing him. In fact, it was still clutched in her hand and in front of her—a clearly defensive posture.

  “I’m looking for my friends,” Smith said. “I was told you’d know where they were.”

  “What friends? And told by who?”

  Smith nodded at Hobson. “Him.”

  Amy glanced back at the dead man briefly. From the look on her face, it didn’t take long for her to put two and two together. “You killed Hobson.”

  Smith nodded.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “He went for his gun.”

  “That’s all?”

  Was that all?

  No, that wasn’t all, but he didn’t think the doctor needed to know that.

  Smith had b
een careful about keeping his hands away from his holstered weapon. He knew he was taking a chance here; all it would have taken was for Amy to scream for help and the Judge’s men would swarm the place. Of course, it’d take them a while, and he was reasonably confident he could escape before then.

  But still, he was taking unnecessary chances here. And yet, Smith didn’t really feel endangered. Something about his encounter with Amy before convinced him she was a potential ally rather than an enemy. Maybe it was their shared history with Black Tide.

  His instincts were rewarded when Amy relaxed and put the knife back on the tray. “Did you have to kill him?”

  No, Smith thought, but he said, “Yes. He didn’t give me a choice.”

  She looked back at the sheriff and shook her head. “He wasn’t a bad guy. Not completely.”

  Bad enough, Smith thought, but he hadn’t come here to talk about Hobson. Besides, if the doc had warm feelings toward the sheriff, Smith didn’t have any issues with that. And he certainly wasn’t going to try to change her mind. Not now, anyway.

  “He told me you knew where to find my friends,” Smith said.

  Amy turned back to him. “The woman and her son, that came in here yesterday.”

  Smith nodded. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He told me you did.”

  “I did, when they first showed up. But I don’t know where they are now.”

  “They were moved?”

  Amy nodded. “After you left.”

  Dammit.

  He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by the news. The Judge wasn’t a stupid man, and if he’d willingly used Mary and Aaron as incentives for Smith to do his bidding, why wouldn’t he take extra measures just in case Smith turned on him? Which, seeing as how Smith had done just that…

  “You don’t have any ideas where they might be?” Smith asked.

  Amy shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Who moved them?”

  “Stephens and a couple of men.”

  “Not Hobson?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Well, at least the sheriff hadn’t lied about that part.

  “What are you going to do now?” Amy asked.