Black (Road To Babylon, Book 5)

by Sam Sisavath

  Gaby looked down at Docks’s still body. “Was he bitten?”

  Mueller stood up with his rifle. He had a lot of Docks’s blood on his clothes, and some had gotten on his chin. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Mueller had been shot, or worse. “No. I didn’t see anything that looked like a bite mark.”

  “Lara,” Gaby said.

  The older man didn’t need her to keep going. He pressed his Velcroed radio. “A Team, come in. This is B. Please respond.”

  She watched Mueller’s face as he waited for a response through his earbud.

  After about ten seconds of silence, she said, “Anything?”

  Mueller shook his head before clicking the radio again. “A, come in. This is B. Can you hear me?”

  Again, another ten seconds of silence.

  “Well, shit,” Becker said from behind her.

  Yeah, that sounds about right, Gaby thought as she watched Mueller fidget with his radio for a moment before clicking it again.

  “A, come in,” Mueller said into his throat mic. “This is B. Do you copy.”

  Another excruciating ten seconds of silence, with the only sounds coming from her slightly labored breaths and the lights humming around her.

  Lights. At least they still had lights in C.

  Mueller took his hand away from the radio. “There could be a hundred reasons why they’re not answering. Radio reception down here is iffy at best with all this concrete. Or they could be on the move again.”

  Gaby nodded. Right now, Lara and Parrish already abandoning A was the best-case scenario she could think of. If the Mercerians had found a way into B—and possibly even C—what were the chances they couldn’t do the same with A?

  How the hell did they get down here?

  She glanced back at the door into B, at Becker leaning against it with one hand on the lever. They exchanged a quick, worried look.

  “You’re the boss, boss,” Becker said.

  Gaby turned to Mueller. “We need to reach Lara, but we’re not going to do that through B. Not with all those ghouls between us and A.” She stared down the length of the corridor. “But right now, we have to find out what the hell happened to Leo and Hartnett.”

  “And after that?” Mueller asked.

  Good question, Gaby thought, but she didn’t let him see the uncertainty on her face when she answered, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Mueller nodded. She wasn’t sure if he was satisfied with her answer or not, but he didn’t argue.

  “Um, what about this door?” Becker said behind them.

  “You’re staying here to keep it closed,” Gaby said.

  “Swell,” Becker said. “Hey, no rush. Take your time. It’s not like I got a hot date waiting for me or anything.”

  Mueller had already moved on ahead of her. Gaby followed behind him, embracing the heavy weight of the fully loaded rifle in her hands. The magazine she was armed with this time had the right kind of ammo.

  What more could a girl ask for?

  A thousand different things, actually, but silver bullets would have to do for now.

  Ten

  There were two turns between them and the entranceway underneath the warehouse. Or was that three? She couldn’t remember, even though this wasn’t the first time she’d walked through the place. It had to be either two or three. One of those. Maybe Mueller had the answer, but she didn’t ask him because the man had that focused look on his face. Also, she didn’t want to make any unnecessary noise, and there would be time to count the turns later.

  Right now, they were lasered in on what was immediately in front of them. Because something had happened to Leo and Hartnett, and whatever that “something” was, it had to still be in the C section of the bomb shelter with them. Had it—whatever it was—followed them down from the warehouse? That was the only explanation she could come up with.

  But that was also the confusing part. If it had been Mercerians, wouldn’t they have already attacked from behind when they had the chance? When she and Becker were busy with the door and Mueller was vulnerable as he tried in vain to save Docks’s life? Why just (kill) take Leo and Hartnett but leave the rest of them untouched? And if it were ghouls—

  No, it’s not ghouls.

  She knew that right away. Ghouls were base creatures, rabid in their need for human blood. They didn’t skulk around old stale bomb shelters playing games.

  And that was what this felt like: Someone (or someones) playing games.

  She remembered something Will kept telling her during those brutal months when he and Danny initiated her into their version of Ranger boot camp. He’d said her training, the very thing they were drilling into her over and over again, would be all she had when everything went out the window. “Adapt or perish,” Will would say.

  Too bad Will wasn’t here with her right now. Or Keo. Hell, she’d settle for Danny, bad jokes and all. Instead, she had Mueller. She wasn’t sure about the man’s abilities, which was what made it difficult to trust him. Becker, on the other hand, had already proven himself.

  I should have told Mueller to stay behind and bring Becker with me. Dammit, why didn’t I do that?

  It was too late for that now. She was already around the first corner and following closely on Mueller’s heels as he remained in the lead. She moved over to his left so he wasn’t in her line of fire if she had to shoot. The new angle also helped her to better see down the tunnel.

  But there was nothing to see. Just a long corridor with another turn at the very end. The second turn? Or third?

  One of those.

  There were doors to their right and more on their left, the closest ones twenty meters from their position. They were all closed—

  No. Not all of them. The one immediately to her and Mueller’s right was slightly ajar. She could just barely make out a sliver of black, nothing on the other side. Someone had opened the door, because she didn’t remember seeing it like that when they had walked past it earlier. And whoever had opened it had also turned the lights off inside.

  Unless Leo and Hartnett had done those things. But why would they do that? Why would they be inside, in the dark?

  With the lights off, the only way to see into the room was to get closer. Gaby recognized a setup when she saw one and tensed slightly. She glanced over at Mueller and caught his eyes. She didn’t have to ask if he sensed the same thing, because she could read it all over his grizzled face.

  But she also knew that there was no choice. They had to find out what had happened to Leo and Hartnett. Even if Becker were willing (which she doubted he would be), Mueller wouldn’t just leave his men without first discovering their fates.

  You could always leave without them.

  Yeah, right.

  Without a word, Mueller began moving toward the door. Gaby matched him step for step, now moving beside him instead of slightly behind. She kept one eye on the hallway in front of her while the other remained fixed on the door and the sliver of black shadows that might have been moving on the other side.

  No, not moving. Nothing’s moving. You’re imagining things.

  Yeah, that’s it.

  For all she knew, there could have been a unit of Mercerians in there waiting for them. Either that, or ghouls. Right now she wasn’t entirely sure which one she preferred.

  Neither would be better.

  Except she didn’t have that option, so she took one step, then another alongside Mueller, even knowing that everything about this screamed “Setup! This is a setup! Can’t you see? It’s so blindingly obvious!”

  Gaby tightened her fingers around the grip of the M4—Springer’s, who was dead now, along with so many others tonight—and flexed her other hand under the barrel. She was fully loaded and the fire selector was on semi, with the option to go full-auto if necessary. She prayed it wouldn’t be necessary, because she was running out of bullets. The right kind of bullets, anyway. She still had the remaining spare she’d taken off the dead Mer
cerian in the alley, but that mag wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good against a ghoul.

  Which this wasn’t. Because ghouls didn’t play games. Ghouls attacked and attacked until they either couldn’t anymore or they achieved their goal. They didn’t understand subtlety, and they didn’t sneak around. The only times she’d seen ghouls act that way was when a Blue Eyes was present to command them. She hadn’t seen one in Darby Bay (Thank God).

  At least, not yet.

  They were halfway to the door when Mueller stopped and glanced over at her. She met his eyes and was about to ask him Why? when he nodded down at the floor.

  She looked down.

  A drop of blood.

  Just one single drop. It was red and not the thick, black sludge of a ghoul’s. This one definitely came from a human being.

  But the fact there was just one single drop of blood was what bothered her. If it belonged to either Leo or Hartnett, wouldn’t there have been more? A gunshot produced a lot of blood—a pool, even a small-sized one, but not a single drop. Even a knife would spill more plasma than this.

  She exchanged another look with Mueller. It was easy to tell he was thinking exactly the same thing.

  What is going on here? What are we dealing with?

  But they weren’t going to find answers just standing around, so they began moving again. Gaby made sure to step over the droplet because it was more in front of her than Mueller.

  The door grew in size as they neared, but she still couldn’t see a damn thing through the tiny opened slit. Maybe that was the point of whoever had taken Leo and Hartnett and left the door in its current state. It was open, just not too open.

  A click! startled Gaby as Mueller turned on the flashlight at the end of his rifle.

  Goddammit, Mueller, she thought but didn’t say out loud.

  Mueller pointed his flashlight at the door. She glimpsed concrete walls inside and an equally ugly gray floor. There was nothing that looked like more blood or a body. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything inside that they could see.

  The room, like all the other ones in C and B, would be empty. They had cleared everything out, including the cobwebs, days ago, while bringing in new equipment to augment what was already in place inside A. C and B were always supposed to just be entry points. Using just one section of the bomb shelter would give them more control and a limited area to defend. The fact that they could lock all the access points from A was another plus.

  That was the plan, anyway.

  “No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Will used to say. “That’s why we train, so we can adapt to every situation. Even then, you won’t be ready for every situation, but you’ll be ready enough to take on even the ones you never thought could possibly happen.”

  God, she wished Will were here with her right now. Things would be different. For her, for Black Tide, for Lara—

  Something moved in the corner of her left eye, and Gaby turned just as the door on that side of the hallway snapped open.

  No, no, no! It’s a trap, and you fell for it! You fell right for it like an idiot!

  It was the door directly across from the one they were approaching with great care and only had eyes for, because where else were they going to look when presented with something like that?

  You should have known better!

  “Mueller!” she shouted as a figure lunged out through the swinging door.

  Gaby glimpsed black pants, a black shirt, and a black assault vest, but she couldn’t tell if there was a circled M in the center. He was moving way too fast and was already shooting, even if all she heard was the pfft-pfft-pfft! of his suppressed gunfire.

  She flinched as the first round hit her in the left arm and the rest went wide. The man was diving out of the door as he was shooting, like some character in one of those John Woo movies that Danny loved to torture her and Carly with. The sound of bullets impacting the concrete wall was louder than the gunshots themselves.

  Gaby twisted slightly from the gunshot but managed to squeeze the trigger on her rifle even as she swung it away from the (decoy) door on her right. But she was shooting with one arm, and her shots, predictably, sailed high and slammed into the ceiling down the length of the corridor even as the man stopped on a dime and raised his rifle—

  Pop-pop-pop! as Mueller squeezed off three shots in a row next to her and the man dropped to the floor.

  Mueller was about to lower his rifle when Gaby saw a silent muzzle flash coming from inside the open door on her left. Mueller’s head snapped backward, and he was falling even before she could get out a warning shout. A spray of blood arced through the air in the spot where his head had been milliseconds ago before landing on top of his crumpled body.

  Gaby reached for the barrel of her M4 with her left hand to steady the rifle for a better shot, even though doing so caused her arm to explode with pain. But her hand was still only halfway to its destination when a second figure stepped through the door.

  It was another man in black, even if she was more focused on the submachine gun in his hands. The weapon was aimed straight at her as he stepped outside, and all it would take was one pull of the trigger to end it all.

  You fell for it. Goddammit, you knew it was a trick and you still fell for it!

  Gaby froze with her own weapon still pointed in the wrong direction. It would have taken half a second to swing it over and squeeze the trigger with just her right hand, but she didn’t think she had that half a second to spare.

  Or did she?

  Before she could make up her mind, a third black-clad figure burst out of the room behind the second one. The man charged toward her and Gaby braced herself, but instead of crashing into her, the man grabbed her rifle and jerked it out of her hand. He did the same to her Glock, then the knife in the sheath along her left thigh, tossing them all up the hallway.

  The man who had shot Mueller lowered his submachine gun and said, “There’s one more around the corner.”

  The third man was already running down the hallway, when Gaby shouted out, “Becker! Look out!”

  She squinted, waited to be shot, but nothing happened.

  Instead, the man with the submachine gun—a model she’d never seen before—walked toward her with a stupid grin on his face, as if to say Now that was a naughty thing you just did. But he didn’t shoot her. She didn’t know why, but he didn’t pull the trigger even though his weapon, held nonchalantly in one hand, remained pointed at her chest.

  The man was wearing fingerless gloves and had short blond hair, light gray eyes, and a pale complexion. Now that she had the time, she didn’t have to look very far to spot the white circled M in the middle of his vest.

  Of course he’s a Mercerian. What did you expect?

  A gas mask clipped to the man’s belt swung against his hip as he walked up the corridor. His submachine gun looked like a cross between a Heckler & Koch MP5 and a UMP. If he thought she was in any way a threat to him, she couldn’t see it on his face or in his casual stride.

  The pop-pop-pop of gunshots from behind her made Gaby turn around. The other Mercerian was leaning against the corner as chunks of the brick wall came loose from the gunfire and sprayed the hallway. The man stood perfectly still and didn’t return fire, but he did glance over—looking past her—and shook his head at the blond.

  “Just one?” the blond asked.

  “Just one,” the second Mercerian said.

  “Hey, two out of three ain’t bad.”

  “Three out of three is better.”

  “Now you’re just being greedy.”

  The other one smirked before turning back around and sticking his rifle around the corner and squeezing off a shot.

  Becker returned fire, forcing the man to pull back again.

  Drip-drip-drip.

  Gaby looked down at her left arm. A thin, jagged trail of blood ran its way down her arm and to her fingers from a hole in her shirt. She was shocked to see it, because there was so little pain. M
aybe it was all the adrenaline coursing through her, but more likely it was the expectation of death that made her disregard everything else.

  But now that she wasn’t dead (Why am I still alive?), it was hard to ignore the pain.

  “You might want to take care of that,” the blond said. “Don’t expect me to lend a hand. That looks pretty nasty, and I haven’t had my shots yet.”

  She stared at him.

  He chuckled. “Work with me, kid, not against me. If I’d wanted you dead, I’d have shot you already, wouldn’t I?”

  She stumbled over to the wall and leaned against it. With one eye on the Mercerian—she didn’t trust him; not one bit—Gaby pulled out a first-aid bundle from a pouch and tore the bandages free with her teeth. She stuck a finger into the bullet hole in her shirt sleeve and widened the fabric to get easier access to the wound, then went to work cleaning and dressing the hole. She had done it so many times she barely had to think about it.

  It wasn’t a bad wound, even if it did look worse thanks to the bleeding she hadn’t bothered to stop until now. If the bullet had gone just another inch to the left, it would have missed her entirely. Of course, if it had gone an inch to the right it might have cracked a bone, and she’d be howling with pain instead of just suffering through occasional dizziness. The real pain would come later, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Pain later means you’ll still be alive, girl.

  The blond watched her curiously as she worked and didn’t say anything until she was almost done. “What’s his name?” the man finally asked. He had an accent that she couldn’t quite place. It sounded British but she couldn’t be sure.

  Gaby said, “What?”

  “Last man standing around the corner,” the blond said. “What’s his name?”

  “I have no idea,” she lied.

  “I heard you yelling for him to ‘watch out,’ but I didn’t catch the name.”

  “You’re hearing things.”

  He grinned. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

  She finished and tossed the remains of the first-aid packet onto the floor. “I don’t care what you believe.”