by Sam Sisavath
Running cars were rare, but she’d seen her share since The Walk Out. She’d heard stories about survivors getting refineries back up and running, but she’d never actually seen one herself. She’d also heard tales about airplanes still roaming the skies, but she’d never seen those in person, either.
Ana slipped both backpack straps over her shoulders, then unzipped her jacket to make it more obvious she wasn’t wearing a gun belt or had a weapon in her front waistband. Of course, she could have had one behind her back (even though she didn’t), but showing that she was unarmed from the front was usually enough to put most people at ease.
Her first instincts were to avoid the car and let it pass, but that ship had already sailed. The Tennessee Walker was grazing on grass a few yards from the shoulder of the road and would have been easy to spot by the approaching vehicle’s occupant (or occupants). As they got closer, they would see the saddle, followed by the supply bags draped over it. Those things, along with the reins, would be dead giveaways that the horse had an owner.
So Ana stepped away from the skinny tree that had been providing her some shelter from the sun and toward the side of the road. She lifted one hand to shield her eyes as the car grew louder as it neared.
Even with the sun in her eyes, she could make out a white truck with a shiny front grill moving smoothly down the road. She thought she could just make out two people in the front seats, with a third in the back, standing up and peering over the cab.
Ana lifted a hand and waved when the truck began to slow down. It was more cream than white, and there were big FORD letters stenciled across the front grill. It had big black tires and bugs splattered across the front windshield and hood. There were two figures in the front and definitely a third in the back.
The Walker was starting to slowly move away from the road when Ana walked over and took hold of the reins before he could get spooked and run off. The smart horses, like the smart humans these days, knew enough to be wary of humans. If Ana had any doubts about that, the last few weeks were a good reminder.
The truck pulled up beside her and stopped. The engine remained running as the man in the front passenger seat rolled down his window to look out at her, while the one in the back did likewise. The driver kept his hands on the steering wheel, but he too glanced in Ana’s direction.
Slayers, she thought almost right away.
“Where you headed?” the one in the front passenger seat asked. He was older than the other two by at least a decade. Short white hair and blue eyes, and she had no doubts the lines on his face, along with the crow’s feet, came with plenty of hard years.
But it was the eyes she focused on. They were dangerous eyes, but her instincts—and years of experience judging people, and men in particular—told her they weren’t the same “danger” that she had seen almost right away in Mark.
The same was true for the driver. Short dark hair and brown eyes, and he probably stared at her a few seconds too long. As with the older man, she saw danger in those eyes, but like his front seat companion, it wasn’t the kind that put her immediately on high alert. She wasn’t a fan of the overlong staring, though.
The one in the back was younger than the other two by a long stretch. Short blond hair and light brown eyes. He didn’t say anything as he leaned against the dirty cab roof and watched her curiously, as if he’d never seen another person before. That, or a woman. There was a backseat in the truck, and though there were supply packs on it, there was still enough space left that the kid didn’t need to be outside in the cold wind.
“Texas,” Ana said, focusing on the front seat passenger.
“Lucky you, that’s also where we’re headed,” the older man said. “I’m Chuck. This is Randall. The young ’un in the back’s Shelby.”
“Hey,” the one named Shelby said.
Shelby reminded her of Wash. That is, if Wash wasn’t weighed down by his past. Even now, as she recalled everything he had told her—and all the things he hadn’t said but she had learned anyway through other means—it struck her just what a tortured soul Wash was. Maybe, in some ways, that was what drew her to him—and still did, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
She pushed the thoughts of Wash away and nodded back at Shelby before looking across Chuck at the driver, Randall. “Where in Texas?”
“Dunno, we’ll figure it out when we get there,” Randall said. “Wanna come with?”
“What about my horse?”
“You don’t need a horse when you got a Ford.”
“Texas is at least two more full days’ ride away,” Chuck said. “We can get there before the end of the day.”
“What do you want in return for the ride?” Ana asked.
“Company.”
Ana smiled. “I don’t do company.”
“Not that kind of company.”
“Unless you’re offering,” Randall added.
“Just friendly company,” Chuck said. “You can only ride with two guys for so long before you want to pluck out your eyes. That’s why Shelby’s back there.”
“Why’s that?” Ana asked, looking over at Shelby.
“He’s a once-in-a-monther,” Randall said.
“Once-in-a-monther?”
“He thinks showering once a month is more than enough,” Chuck said.
“Who needs to shower more than once a month?” Shelby asked.
“What about the two of you?” Ana asked, turning back to the driver and his passenger.
“At least once a week,” Randall said. “Or bi-weekly.”
Chuck sighed. “Like I said. I could use better company. A man can only take so much, you know?”
The Ford was spacious up front but even more so in the back. The slayers had stacked supply packs on the floors and across the seats, but even after shifting things around, there was still plenty of space for Ana and her own bags. She’d hated to leave the horse behind, but it was difficult to make the argument that the animal could get her to Texas faster than a truck. And right now, it was all about catching up to Wash. Besides, the fact that she was in the company of slayers was a plus for a couple of other reasons, one of which was that slayers knew one another and traded information.
Unfortunately, just because they were slayers and knew others in the trade, didn’t mean they knew all of them.
“Never met him,” Chuck said when she asked the question. “You said his name’s Wash? Short for Washington?”
“Yeah,” Ana said. “The last time I saw him, he was headed to Texas on a horse.”
“The name doesn’t ring any bells, but that’s not unusual. There’s a lot of us running around out here. You wouldn’t think there would be so much work to do after The Walk Out, but you’d be wrong. And as long as the nightcrawlers are out there causing trouble, so are we.” He looked over at Randall. “What about you?”
Randall didn’t think about it for very long before shaking his head. “Name doesn’t ring any bells for me, either.” The driver glanced up at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Where’s he worked besides Kansas?”
“From what he’s told me, he’s been all over the country,” Ana said. “But I never asked him for specifics.”
“But he’s definitely one of us? I mean, he’s part of the network?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure he’s a slayer?” Chuck asked, turning around slightly in his seat to look back at her.
“Without a doubt.” Ana nodded. “I know a slayer when I see one. He’s one of you,” she added, even as she thought, Even if he doesn’t look like you. But that’s probably something he doesn’t want me to go around spilling.
She remembered being locked in a basement dungeon with Wash, who had been shot and was half-dead at the time. She’d seen his body, seen the lack of scars that usually accompanied slayers. Even now, she noticed that Chuck and Randall wore their shirts with the collars up high and around their necks. Their arms were similarly hidden underneath long-sleeve jackets. Yes, it was
cold outside the Ford, but she knew without a doubt that both men—and Shelby in the back—would be bundled up like that even during the hotter months. Every single slayer she’d ever crossed paths with carried the physical scars of The Purge on their bodies.
All of them, except for Wash.
Who are you, Wash? Who are you really?
In front of her, Chuck had turned back around in his seat. “Well, like I said, there’s lots of us running around out here. Not a surprise we’ve never run across him. Probably a bunch of other slayers we’ve never met, too.”
“It makes sense he’d be headed for Texas, though,” Randall said, looking over at Chuck when he said it.
“What do you mean?” Ana asked.
“We’re hearing stories about ramped-up nightcrawler activity down south,” Chuck said. “There was a big horde in Cordine City about a week back. The biggest single sighting of ghouls in a long time. Apparently they wrecked the place, left it in pieces, and killed everyone inside.”
“I’ve never heard of Cordine City.”
“Neither have we, but we heard about it through a good friend. But…”
“But what?”
“He heard it from someone else who heard it from someone else…”
“So you’re not sure it’s real.”
“There are always stories about large ghoul activity, and they always end up being one or two nightcrawlers making a mess of things when we get there. Hard to really trust it anymore.”
“Except this time…” Randall said but didn’t finish.
“Except this time what?” Ana pressed.
“It’s not just stories of ghouls, but bad shit with survivors, too,” Chuck said. “Something is happening down there in Texas, and it’s got a lot of people spooked. And if ghouls are involved, it could mean jobs.”
“So that’s why you’re heading south?”
“It’s what we do,” Chuck said. “Might be the same for your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He sounded like your boyfriend,” Randall said.
Ana sighed. “He’s a friend, that’s all.” Then, hoping to steer the conversation away, “Where did you guys get all the gasoline?”
She had seen more than a dozen big red containers in the back with Shelby earlier. Chuck was right: they had plenty of gas to reach Texas.
“Some folks had a little ghoul problem,” Chuck said. “They paid us in gas.”
“And this truck,” Randall said. “It’s better than walking everywhere.”
Ana couldn’t disagree with that. It was also a lot more comfortable than the saddle of a big Tennessee Walker. Now all she had to do once she reached Texas was find Wash. What were the chances he would be heading to the same places as Chuck and Randall? But she knew one thing for certain: Wash wasn’t in Texas for the same reasons as the slayers sitting in the vehicle with her right now. He was there for something else. Something much more personal.
“Have you guys ever seen a blue-eyed ghoul with one eye?” Ana asked.
The question made the two slayers exchange a look before the older man turned around in his seat to stare back at her again.
“A one-eyed, blue-eyed ghoul?” Chuck said. “Did I hear you right?”
“Yeah. Have you ever seen one?” Ana asked.
“Seen one? I’ve never even heard of one.”
“I didn’t know that was even possible,” Randall said. Then, to Chuck, “Is that possible?”
Chuck shook his head but did so hesitantly. “I don’t think so, but... Hell if I know. I’ve seen a lot of things I didn’t think were possible in the last seven years. So what’s one more?”
“This involve that slayer friend of yours?” Randall asked her.
Ana nodded. “He’s hunting it.”
“And he thinks it’s in Texas?”
“Yes.”
“Hunh,” Chuck said. “That’s a new one.”
“You think it’s got anything to do with what’s going on down there?” Randall asked the older man.
Chuck shrugged. “Your guess’s as good as mine, kid.” He shook his head again. “A one-eyed, blue-eyed ghoul. Hunh. And I thought I’d seen or heard just about everything there was to be seen or heard.”
They drove in silence for a while after that, before Randall finally said, “So, this friend of yours. Washington, right?”
“Wash for short,” Ana said.
“You said he’s just a friend?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just curious,” Randall said, but she caught those eyes of his looking back at her in the rearview mirror again.
Ana smiled back at him, because it was usually the right thing to do when a man gave you one of those looks. The other response would have turned him off—and at the same time usually turned him against you. Experience had taught her that it was always better to keep a man on your side and allow him to believe anything was possible as long as he played his cards right. When he stopped trying was when you lost him as an ally.
Sorry, Wash, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Besides, it’s your damn fault for abandoning me back in Kanter 11, you asshat.
She was still thinking about Wash when there was a loud banging noise above her head.
“Shelby,” Randall said as he slowed down the truck before stopping completely in the middle of the empty road. There was no one, and not a single vehicle for miles in front or behind them.
Chuck powered down his window and leaned out. “What is it?”
Ana couldn’t see Shelby, but she could hear his voice from outside: “Nine o’clock, boss. I hear gunfire.”
Chuck pulled his head back in and looked past Randall. Ana followed Chuck’s gaze while Randall rolled down his own window.
They couldn’t see anything out there but flat countryside and mountains that looked almost opaque in the distance.
“He said gunshots?” Randall asked.
“That’s—” Chuck started to say but was interrupted by a pop!
Ana had been around enough gunfire to know what she was hearing, and so did the slayers in the car with her. The sound was faded but still noticeable enough that Shelby had heard them with the truck’s engine running, which meant they were coming from nearby.
“We should check it out,” Randall said, just as another pop! rang out.
“What about Texas?” Ana asked.
“Texas isn’t going anywhere, kid,” Chuck said before giving Randall a nod, and the Ford turned and drove off the road.
Four
It didn’t take them long to reach the source of the gunfire, but by the time they got there it was already over. There hadn’t been much of a struggle from the looks of it, and whoever had done the shooting was gone.
“Oh, man,” Shelby said next to her. “This is not good.”
That’s an understatement, Shelby, she thought, but didn’t feel like saying it out loud.
The two of them stood nearby while Chuck and Randall walked through the campsite. The slayers were armed, with Randall cradling a pump-action shotgun while Chuck only had an automatic pistol in a hip holster. Shelby had one of those semiautomatic rifles slung over one shoulder, and like the other two, wore a gun belt with a machete in a sheath along his left hip. But as well-armed as the slayers were, Ana noticed the tentative steps they took as they explored the area. She didn’t blame them.
Ana looked back at the bodies. There were four of them—two men and two women. They had been lined up in a row before they were executed one by one. Their bodies lay on the hard ground where they had fallen, small holes in the backs of their heads and bigger ones in the front where the bullets had exited. The blood splatters on the grass were wide apart, and it took effort for Ana to avoid stepping on them.
Randall had disappeared into one of the two tents before coming back out and shaking his head at Chuck, before the two men continued on to the next one.
“Who would do something like this?” Shelby asked.
She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. Maybe it was a little of both.
“I don’t know,” Ana said. “Have you seen something like this before?”
The young slayer shook his head. “Not like this, this. This ain’t nightcrawlers.”
“No, it’s not.”
It was a mess, but it was easy to figure out what had happened. The four campers had run into someone—or someones, more likely—who wanted something they had, so they had taken it. The two women had been killed alongside the two men, and except for one of the women, they all looked to be in their mid-thirties. That was Ana’s best guess, anyway. It was difficult to be sure, with most of their foreheads gone and the strips of cloth hanging over parts of their faces. Makeshift blindfolds.
There were still ashes in the fire pit, along with opened food cans and metal sporks that had been used recently. Whoever they were, they had settled underneath the open sky, but she didn’t think they had been here for very long. A day, at the most.
Black forms flickered along the ground, moving between the bodies and hers and Shelby’s shadows. Ana looked up and shielded her eyes against the sun. She could easily make out the three—no, four—objects circling in the sky. Vultures.
“They’re fast,” Shelby said. He was looking up at the sky, too. “The bodies aren’t even cold yet, you fuckers.”
They’re survivors, Ana thought. That’s all they’re doing. Surviving. Like us.
“You okay?” Randall was asking as he walked back over to where she stood.
Ana looked back down at him and nodded. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Whoever did this, we must have missed them by just a few minutes.”
“They took off east,” Chuck said as he, too, walked over to rejoin them. He pointed toward a group of prints in the dirt. “Six people on horseback. They came up on the campsite from the east and left in the same direction, which is why we didn’t run across them.” He glanced over at the bodies for a moment. “Three of them were wearing gun belts, but it doesn’t look like that did them any good.”