Black (Road To Babylon, Book 5)

by Sam Sisavath

  The man walked closer and casually pressed the built-in suppressor at the end of his weapon’s barrel against her bandage. She grimaced but didn’t give him the satisfaction of making a sound.

  “Nice work,” the man said. “Looks like you’ve had a lot of practice.”

  You don’t know the half of it, fucker, Gaby thought but gritted her teeth back at him instead.

  He smiled and took a step back. “I thought for sure you’d spotted Jenkins in time, that it was all over, red rover for him, but the little punter ended up being much faster than I gave him credit for.”

  Jenkins? she thought. Then, looking down the hallway at the dead man Mueller had shot, Jenkins.

  “Didn’t help your mate here, though,” the man said, looking down briefly at Mueller’s body.

  Mueller had landed awkwardly when he fell, with his torso bent backward and his legs still under him, propping him up from the floor. It looked uncomfortable—that is, if he wasn’t already dead.

  I’m sorry, Mueller. I’m sorry for Leo and Hartnett, too.

  She didn’t know for a fact that Leo and Hartnett were dead, but what were the chances they weren’t?

  Jack and shit.

  The man standing in front of her didn’t have a name tag on his clothes, and he looked to be in his mid-thirties. He had a good five or so inches on her, but he was tall and lanky instead of big and muscular, not that Gaby thought she could take him. Even if she had two good working arms, there was a dangerous quality about the man that she could sense.

  Pop-pop-pop! from behind her.

  The other Mercerian continued to lean against the wall next to the turn. Every now and then, there was a gunshot from Becker and another chunk of brick wall turned into gray clouds next to him.

  “Clive,” the man in front of her said.

  “What?” Gaby said.

  “My name. It’s Clive.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  He flashed a crooked grin. “The other one’s Fresno, ’cause he’s from Fresno, you see. He has a real name, but who cares about real names nowadays, yeah?”

  “I didn’t ask about him, either.”

  The man who called himself Clive chuckled before poking at her bandaged left arm with his submachine gun again. “Smart of you to hurry up and take care of this. You know what kills a soldier faster than a bullet on the battlefield? An infection.”

  “Don’t worry about my arm,” Gaby said through clenched teeth.

  “But I have to worry about it, you see. I need you alive. After all, how am I going to get to Lara if you’re dead, Gaby?”

  Shit. He knows who I am.

  It wasn’t the fact that he had said her name, either, which was written on her name tag, but that he’d referenced Lara and getting to her.

  “And we are going to get to her, you know,” the man who called himself Clive said. “Darby Bay isn’t nearly big enough to hide forever.”

  “Who says she’s hiding?” Gaby said.

  “Oh, I know she’s hiding. I’ve been tracking her all night.”

  He grinned again, and she thought he did that easily. Too easily.

  Another round of gunfire from behind her, and she looked back in time to see the second Mercerian pulling his head back as bullets punched into the corner next to him, while others struck the turn. Another burst of pulverized concrete joined those already hanging in the hallway air as the gunfire faded.

  Fresno glanced down the corridor toward them. “This guy’s good.”

  “Fuck me dead, Fresno, it’s just one guy,” Clive said. He wasn’t trying to hide his irritation. “Use your grenades, fer cripes sake. That’s what they’re for.”

  “Wait, we wanna kill this guy?”

  “We sure as hell don’t need him. Unless you know something I don’t, which seems highly unlikely.”

  “Well, shit. Why didn’t you say so before?” the Mercerian said. “I’ve been holding back, trying to take him alive all this time.”

  “Now you know, and as they say, knowing is half the battle.”

  Fresno grinned and was reaching down for one of his pouches when—

  —Becker appeared next to him as if by magic, and there was a single, purposeful pop!

  Fresno’s head snapped back as a spray of blood flitted across the air.

  Jesus! Gaby thought even as she lunged to the floor. Then, as her bandaged left arm banged against the hard concrete, Shit!

  Through a haze of exploding agony, she caught a glimpse of Clive to her right, swinging up his submachine gun while backing up at the same time. The pfft-pfft-pfft! of his weapon firing, bullet casings flicking through the air around her.

  When she looked up the corridor, Becker had slid behind cover, the already damaged corner coming apart even further against Clive’s onslaught. Gray and white clouds continued to fill up the hallway, chunks of concrete falling on top of Fresno’s lifeless body.

  Clive stopped firing just long enough to turn, grinned, and actually winked at her before spinning and diving through the same door he’d come out of earlier. A second later, he slammed it shut.

  Did that motherfucker just wink at me?

  “Gaby!”

  She looked up the hallway to find Becker leaning cautiously around the corner.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded and scrambled to her feet, using just her right hand to push up, before running to his position. She snatched up Springer’s rifle that Fresno had tossed earlier, along with her Glock and knife along the way. She had to do it one at a time, with her left arm dangling painfully at her side. It didn’t really hurt (she still had too much adrenaline), but it was numb and she didn’t quite trust it.

  “You’re hit,” Becker said as soon as she reached him.

  “It’s worse than it looks,” Gaby said, cradling the M4 with her good arm.

  “You sure? It looks pretty worse.”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine.” She glanced behind her at the door that connected the C and B tunnels. “How did you lock it?”

  Becker gave her a confused look. “Lock what?”

  “The door.”

  Becker glanced past her and down the hallway. “I didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t lock it. There’s no way to lock it, remember?” Then, as the realization sank in, “Oh.”

  Gaby was already running down the hallway toward the metal door. She got halfway when she noticed that the lever was in the wrong direction. It was vertical instead of horizontal.

  Son…

  A heartbeat later, the door began to slowly open for the second time that night.

  …ofabitch!

  Eleven

  The door was opening.

  It was opening.

  Slowly, but it was opening.

  It was opening!

  The fact that it was moving so slowly made perfect sense since it was heavy, and the black-eyed ghouls, despite being fast and impossible to kill unless you had silver, were also incredibly weak physically. It would have taken a dozen, maybe more, to push the hulking metal object open even just a little bit.

  The problem was that there were more than a dozen ghouls in B right now. How many more? A hundred? A few hundred? Thousands? She didn’t know for sure because it had been too dark on the other side, and all she’d seen were teeth and black eyes and—

  Move, move, move!

  She was running as fast as she could, the rifle in her right hand swinging back and forth. She told herself that at least she had the right ammo this time, that if they managed to get through—if she didn’t reach the door in time—then she could defend herself.

  But silver bullets weren’t going to do much good if there were more than thirty of them pushing against the door. Then again, as thin as they were, she could probably kill two with every shot—maybe even three. So what did that make, ninety total possible kills?

  What if there were more than ninety?

  Shut up and run, run, run! Get to th
at door! Get to it now!

  She was three-quarters of the way when the first ghoul fell through the opening and plopped to the floor and began thrashing around like a fish out of water.

  Too late!

  She slid to a stop and lifted the rifle. A jolt of pain from her left arm as she grabbed the barrel of the carbine with her left palm, but she gritted her teeth through it.

  The creature appeared less fearsome under all the yellow lights in this part of the bomb shelter. It looked more like a deformed child, all skin and bones, rather than a creature of the darkness. Its dome-shaped head spun around—searching, searching—until it found her. Black eyes peered across the short distance and it opened its mouth, revealing spiked teeth that provided no obstacles for the gooey liquid that slithered around them and down its jaw.

  Gaby started the motion to pull the trigger. It didn’t matter where she shot it—the head, the chest, the legs. As long as the silver found its way into the creature’s bloodstream, the skinny malformed thing baring its teeth at her would die. (Again.)

  Before she could shoot, though, a second ghoul lunged through the opening, landing on top of the first and pancaking it.

  Then a third, a fourth—and a fifth stumbled out.

  And the door was still swinging, opening wider, and wider…

  Gaby didn’t fire. Instead, she turned and ran back up the corridor, shouting, “Run! Becker! Run, run, run!”

  Becker, leaning against the corner watching for signs of Clive, glanced over his shoulder back at her. It didn’t take him long—if any time at all—to figure out what was happening. He could clearly see the ever-widening door behind her and the creatures fumbling their way into their part of the tunnel system.

  “Go go go!” Becker shouted as he moved out of her way and took aim.

  “No, no, just run!” she shouted as she ran past him. “Just run!”

  It took a few seconds before Becker was suddenly beside her, matching her stride for stride. That surprised Gaby, but maybe it shouldn’t have. He was taller and in much better shape, and she did have a useless arm hanging off one shoulder.

  “The door!” Becker said and began angling toward the one on their right. It was the same slightly ajar door that she and Mueller had been working their way toward before Clive and his two buddies ambushed them. The same one that was currently opposite the room Clive had vanished into.

  In a blink, her mind worked out the odds:

  Becker was right to go for the room because the door was metal, and while nowhere as strong as the one that connected the tunnels, it would still easily hold against the ghouls even if there were a few million of them. If they could make it—and they could, with their current head start on the creatures—they could last inside indefinitely.

  But how long was “indefinitely?” A few days? They didn’t have water on them. Maybe Becker had some food in his pouches, but how long could they last without water? How long could they hold out while they waited for rescue? And what if there was no rescue? What if the only “rescue” came in the form of more Mercerians? Given how badly the fighting was going for them in the city, she didn’t think there was a chance they could retake the town before she and Becker died of thirst inside that room. And she knew for a fact there was nothing in there—including no food or water. Dying of thirst might be their best-case scenario in that case.

  The odds were against them. In fact, the odds were shit.

  Becker was reaching for the door handle when she slung her rifle and grabbed his arm and pulled him past it with her. She thought he would struggle against her grip, but he came willingly, maybe because he was too shocked by her actions and didn’t quite know how to respond.

  “No!” Gaby shouted. “We won’t last in there!”

  She was fully prepared for him to start fighting, but he didn’t. Instead, Becker ran alongside her when she let go of his hand. He did, though, throw her a quick glance as if to say, “I hope you know what you’re doing!”

  I hope I know what I’m doing, too, because if I’m wrong, we’re both dead…or worse!

  Because there was very much a or worse when it came to ghouls. The best you could hope for was a quick death, but that wasn’t always an option.

  The smell hit her first, filling up the hallway.

  Here they come!

  Gaby threw a quick look over her shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see them turning the corner behind them. It was difficult to make out the gray of the concrete from all the moving black forms that were suddenly filling up the tunnel. They squeezed into the hallway, fighting for space, while the more intrepid creatures climbed over the backs and shoulders and heads of the ones in front of them.

  So many. Why are there always so damn many of them?

  “Where are we going?” Becker was shouting next to her.

  “I don’t know!” she shouted back.

  He gave her an incredulous look. “You don’t know?”

  “I’m making it up as I go!”

  “Swell!” Becker said just as they came up to a turn and took it.

  Gaby wanted desperately to grab onto the corner so she wouldn’t have to slow down, but she couldn’t with her right hand clutching the rifle. She could have switched the weapon over to her left but wasn’t sure she could hold on. She could barely feel anything up and down that arm; there was just a numbness from her shoulder joint all the way down to her fingers.

  So she had to concentrate on her footing instead and nearly lost it as she made the turn. Almost. She managed to stay on her feet, but having to decrease her forward momentum to keep from running headfirst into the wall meant she had to slow down. It wasn’t much, but given what was behind them, even a little bit was too much.

  Becker, who had wisely grabbed the corner to slingshot himself around it, was three—four—five steps ahead of her when he realized he was too far ahead and glanced back, saw her, and shouted, “You waiting for an invitation?”

  “Shut up and run!” she shouted back.

  He might have laughed, she couldn’t be sure, but he definitely grinned in response before shouting, “Faster, slowpoke!”

  “I’ve been shot in the arm, you asshole!”

  “Excuses, excuses!”

  She summoned as much reserve energy as she could and started to catch up to him. Of course Becker could have just been running slower for her benefit, but she chose to believe she was actually catching up.

  Yeah, that’s the ticket!

  Yellow halogen lights flashed by on both sides of them, and Gaby thanked God for the electricity still powering the place. The last thing she wanted was to be running through a dark corridor, unsure of where she was going while a legion of ghouls chased her.

  She glanced back.

  They were still coming, slipping and sliding to make the turn. The ones that couldn’t change course fast enough skidded across the floor and collided against the wall, smashing face-first while others slammed into them from behind, their bony forms like flesh and bone accordions.

  She burst out laughing.

  Becker shot her a perplexed look. Gaby smiled back at him. It took less effort than opening her mouth to explain.

  She was breathing too hard, her ears pounding with the effort of just taking a breath, so much so that she couldn’t even hear their heavy-booted footsteps. But she could feel the results of all the straining just fine. It was in the weight of the rifle in her hand, the sledgehammering in her chest, the perspiration stinging her eyes and dripping down her cheeks to her jawline and beyond.

  “Almost there!” Becker shouted.

  She looked forward and saw another turn coming up. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure!”

  She didn’t know where the strength came from, but she managed to shout back at him, “You sure, sure?”

  He grinned at her again even as sweat flitted from his brow, and Gaby thought, Well, at least it’s not just me sweating up a storm!

  “Get ready!” he shouted and
held out his left hand.

  She was going to ask “Get ready for what?” when she looked down and saw that he was palming a grenade.

  Where’d he get that? she thought, before remembering that Clive’s pal Fresno was reaching for a grenade to kill Becker with when Becker got him first. Apparently Becker had picked it up when she wasn’t looking. Either that, or he’d had one on him the entire time. Not that it mattered where he got it, because—

  Warm breath hit her in the nape of the neck, and she thought, Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ!

  She glanced back and saw dark black eyes peering at her. It was just one lone ghoul, and it had broken free from the pack. Five feet behind her, maybe less, and it was reaching toward her, elongated fingers extending as far as they would go—

  Bang! as Becker fired his pistol and the ghoul’s head exploded, black sludge splattering the nearby walls and the faces and chests of the other creatures in the back.

  Becker put his gun away. His rifle was already slung. For the life of her, Gaby didn’t remember when he’d done that. Then again, she couldn’t remember how long they’d been running. Had it been just a few seconds? Or minutes?

  It couldn’t have been a few minutes. Could it?

  “Go go go!” Becker shouted just before he pulled the pin on the grenade (Wait, wait, not yet!) and let it fall out of his hand.

  Too late!

  The oblong object bounced on the floor and careened toward her, and Gaby instinctively jumped over it.

  Most grenades had a four to five second fuse on them before they exploded, and one second had already been accounted for after Becker pulled the pin and dropped it. Which left them with—

  Three seconds.

  She could have gone with four seconds, but Gaby thought it was better to err on the side of caution.

  “Faster!” Becker shouted.

  Faster? She was going as fast as she could!

  Two seconds…

  “Faster!” Becker shouted again.

  Shut the hell up! she thought, and would have spat it out at him if she thought she could make her mouth do anything beyond desperately gasping for breath—

  One second!

  She squinted her eyes and waited for the explosion, but it didn’t happen.