Black (Road To Babylon, Book 5)

by Sam Sisavath

  For the first time since she actually met them, Gaby took stock of Jones and Walton. They weren’t exactly Becker-caliber soldiers. She could tell that just by looking at them. Or more precisely, the nervous way Walton held his AR and how often the rifle moved unnecessarily. Jones, by comparison, was less erratic and his weapon didn’t move quite as often, but she didn’t like the way he kept wiping at the sweat along his brow. The man was perspiring way too much in such a chilly environment.

  A part of Gaby wanted to ask the two men for their rifles—one for her and one for Becker. But she resisted the urge even though she suspected they might have obliged if she did. Might. What if they didn’t? She wasn’t sure she needed the conflict—

  THOOM! as something smashed into the door with great force and it swung open and two figures immediately stepped aside.

  Here we go!

  Gaby glimpsed jeans, assault vests, and the husk-like apparatuses of gas masks and immediately thought, Buckies!

  Walton, on the other side of the hallway, opened fire, and one of the attackers folded over and fell. The second one spun and there was a boom! as he fired a shotgun. The blast rocked the building and filled Gaby’s eardrums, and at the same time Walton collapsed in the shadows.

  “Get back, get back!” Gaby shouted even as she retreated down the corridor, lifting her Glock just as the Bucky with the shotgun swiveled his head around while his body remained facing Walton, the contortion like something out of The Exorcist.

  Gaby locked eyes with the man—bright blue irises peered back at her from behind the lens of the gas mask—as his body began to turn. She shot him twice in the chest—bang-bang!—and then put a third round into his right eye. The lens shattered, and flickering glass gleamed in the moonlight as the Bucky fell sideways.

  But even before the man could land completely on the floor, two more shadows were already lumbering inside, nearly stepping on the two dead men in front of them. One had a sledgehammer fastened over his back, and it must have been heavy because he was stumbling way too much and ended up tripping over one of the bodies. He careened forward, out of control, barely stopping in time before crashing into the opposite wall, and was righting himself when Becker shot him in the shoulder. The man spun, tried to lift his rifle to shoot back, but never got the chance before a second bullet found its way into his chest—right where the circled M was—and he dropped.

  The fourth one managed to lift his AR and aim at Becker, but Gaby shot him first. Bang-bang-bang! All three shots exploding so fast that she didn’t even remember pulling the trigger. All three rounds struck the man’s chest, and a burst of blood covered up the white M on his vest as he collapsed on top of two other Buckies already sprawled under him.

  Gaby exchanged a look with Becker before the two of them faced forward and waited. The night had gone quiet again, with only their heartbeats thump-thump-thumping in the narrow confines of the hallway. Jones, somewhere behind them, was shuffling his feet nervously.

  “The door,” Gaby whispered.

  “You go, I’ll cover you,” Becker said.

  She shot him an annoyed glance.

  “No?” he said.

  She smiled. “I outrank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Becker said, smiling back.

  He moved forward, stepping over one of the dead men. He nearly stepped on another’s splayed arm but stopped in time.

  “Watch your step,” Gaby said.

  “Gee, thanks, boss,” Becker said.

  “Don’t be a wiseass.”

  “Wouldn’t want that.”

  Becker stumbled his way around another body until he finally reached the door. He grabbed the lever while keeping the door between him and the opening the entire time as a shield. Becker was pushing the door closed when—

  The BOOM! knocked Gaby off her feet, her mind shouting, Don’t lose your gun! Don’t lose your gun! even as she struggled to understand what had just happened.

  Becker wasn’t standing in front of her anymore, and she had no idea where he had gone. Did he just vanish? Was that possible? No, of course not. Then where was he? Had the explosion (Was that a rocket? Jesus Christ. Another one?) knocked him down the hallway? Or had it completely obliterated him where he stood?

  The door, covered in black explosive residue and badly dented near the center, had been torn off its hinges and was now half-buried in the inner wall. A thick swath of moonlight poured in through the doorless frame where the door used to be, the strong, acrid odor of smoke on her tongue and gunpowder in her nostrils. A cloud of smoke swirled in the hallway, thick enough that she had trouble making out the bodies on the floor.

  Becker. Is Becker one of them?

  She fought through a coughing spell as she stumbled back up to her feet. Someone grabbed her from behind, hands underneath her armpits, to help her up. Jones. He might have also been shouting something, but she couldn’t hear it over the thrumming in her eardrums. That seemed to be a common occurrence tonight—explosions overwhelming her senses and temporarily turning her deaf.

  Get to Becker! He saved your life more than once tonight! Don’t let him down!

  Get to Becker before it’s too late!

  Gaby could barely hear her own coughing as her chest heaved and smoke stung her eyes even as she tried to find Becker’s body among the dead littering the hallway. But it was impossible to make out who was who, and a couple of the bodies had been badly eviscerated by the blast. An arm had come detached (Please don’t let that be Becker’s…) while another body was missing half of its face.

  Slowly, very slowly, she began to make out Jones’s voice shouting behind her even as he attempted to drag her down the hallway. He had a firm grip on her left arm, which should have hurt, but she didn’t feel any pain. Either her entire arm had gone numb, or her senses were too overloaded to concentrate on any one thing.

  “Come on, we have to go!” Jones was shouting. He sounded desperate and scared.

  She didn’t blame him, but she also didn’t let him drag her off without a fight. She shouted, “Becker!” Or thought she had shouted his name. She might have just whispered it. Then, as loud as she could manage, “Becker! Becker!”

  He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t see him through the smoke and couldn’t distinguish his body from all the dead in the corridor. But that didn’t mean he was dead. He could be all the way down the hallway, having been thrown clear by the blast. He did have the door in front of him at the time, and while it was damaged, the door was still intact.

  Either way, she had to find out for sure. She had to be absolutely sure—

  The light pouring through the doorless frame began fading as silhouetted shadows approached the open door from the other side. The shadows were elongated and warped into odd shapes, but she couldn’t tell if they were skinny and tall (ghouls) or broad-shouldered and human.

  Then, a series of familiar sounds that dispelled any possibilities of ghouls outside: The squeal of car tires braking, followed by the very loud bangs of doors opening and slamming shut. And a male voice, loud and commanding, shouting, “I want this building locked down! You hear me? Lock this bitch down now!”

  Behind her, Jones’s voice, almost pleading, “Come on, come on, we gotta go, we gotta go!” even as he continued to try to control her struggling form.

  Not without Becker.

  Not without Becker!

  Gaby managed to shake off Jones’s grip—

  “Lara!” Jones hissed.

  Lara? Why was Jones saying Lara’s name?

  “She said to get you out of here!” Jones whispered. Pleading. “She said to get you to safety! Please. Please!”

  Lara.

  Lara!

  Gaby turned, saw Jones’s sweat-slicked face, and ran past him. He looked momentarily shocked and didn’t follow right away, but soon she heard him running behind her, trying to catch up.

  BOOM! as something exploded to her left, coming from the other side of the building.

  The warehou
se shook, the walls trembling underneath her. She almost fell but managed to grab at the wall to steady herself first.

  Jones did fall and scrambled to frantically pick himself back up. “What the hell was that?”

  Gaby didn’t answer him, but she knew what it was.

  The front door. Someone had just taken out the warehouse’s front door. Which meant their escape was cut off. They could also no longer take shelter in the middle of the building among all the machinery; at least, not without running headlong into however many were coming in from that direction.

  They were trapped.

  No, not completely trapped. There was one place left…

  Gaby clenched her teeth as she ran, taking the turn that came up much too fast. She had to stay alive. She had to find Lara and make sure she stayed alive. Because none of this would work without Lara. She was the key to everything. Five years of hard work and toiling and killing, all in service of creating a brighter and better future. It would all collapse tomorrow without Lara to hold it together.

  She was the key. The glue. She had always been.

  But before she could help Lara, Gaby had to first stay alive…even if that meant leaving Becker behind.

  Fourteen

  Becker was dead.

  Or if he wasn’t, then he was probably maimed beyond help. Beyond her help. She was a soldier, not a doctor. Maybe Lara could have saved him, but Gaby didn’t know anything beyond what a strip of bandage could do. Besides, you didn’t survive the kind of explosion that could take a steel metal door off its frame and drive it through another wall. Or if you did, then not without injuries. A lot of injuries.

  That’s what Gaby told herself over and over as she ran. That Becker was dead. That there was nothing she could do about it. But what she could still do something about was saving herself and then finding a way to help Lara. Despite everything that had gone wrong tonight, they could still salvage something as long as Lara survived.

  Save yourself and get to Lara.

  She repeated the mantra to herself:

  Save yourself and get to Lara.

  Over and over…

  Save yourself and get to Lara.

  …and over as she continued to run.

  Gaby was only vaguely aware of Jones behind her trying to catch up. Either he was slowing down or spending too much time glancing behind them (and slowing down as a result). She couldn’t tell, because she never looked back. There was nothing back there (Becker’s dead. He has to be dead.) but Buckies. Or Mercerians.

  One and the same.

  So she ran, taking the corner and making a beeline for the supply closet at the very end of the hallway. She thought she could make out the closed door up ahead, but that was probably just wishful thinking. This part of the warehouse was a lot darker than the others, but she knew where to go—straight ahead—and didn’t detour from it.

  Save yourself and get to Lara.

  She had to get out of here. She had to make sure Lara did, too. Because Becker was right; this whole thing started with the three of them: Her, Lara, and Danny. As long as one of them emerged from of this nightmare, then it wasn’t over yet.

  Save yourself and get to Lara.

  “Hey, hey!” Jones was shouting behind her. No, not shouting; he was croaking out the words because he was already tired despite the fact they hadn’t run for very long or very far.

  He’s out of shape. He’s so out of shape.

  They all are, because we’re not ready for this. We were never ready for this.

  She slowed down just enough for Jones to catch up to her. His face was slicked with sweat, and he was hugging his rifle to his body as if afraid it might try to get away.

  “Where are we going?” Jones was asking her.

  I don’t know, I’m just making it up as I go, Gaby thought, but she said, “The supply closet.”

  “And then?”

  I’ll think of something when and if we get there.

  “Just keep up!” she said instead.

  He did. Barely.

  They were thirty—twenty?—meters from the supply closet when Gaby finally allowed herself to steal a look over her shoulder, the action bolstered by the lack of anything that sounded like pursuit.

  Nothing. There was no one back there, not that she thought it wouldn’t be coming sooner or later. The Mercerians would be busy with the bodies at the door, trying to figure out who was who. If they were smart, they would be very cautious. They did, after all, have her cornered. She couldn’t escape farther into the warehouse, and there was no way out of the building from back here. And somehow, they knew that.

  How many spies did Buck have in Darby Bay? How many more were living and breathing within their ranks for God only knew how many years?

  Five years. He’s had five years to stay one step ahead of us.

  Then the door was there and she grabbed the lever with her left hand—she needed her right to hold the Glock—and willed herself to push through the pain as she dived inside.

  Jones followed, out of breath. “Now what?”

  “The tunnels,” Gaby said.

  “The tunnels?” Jones stared at her, his chest heaving.

  “We have to go down the tunnel. It’s the only way.”

  Even as she said the words, Gaby couldn’t be sure when she had decided on that course of action. Maybe it was when she had turned and fled (Becker’s dead. He’s dead, so stop thinking about him!) down the hallway. Or maybe it was when she made the final turn. Or, hell, it might have even been the second after she stepped through the closet door.

  The only other way out of the warehouse was to fight however many Mercerians were inside with them right now. How many had come through the side door and how many more were pouring in through the front this very minute?

  Too many. Always too damn many.

  And she was stuck with a poorly conditioned Jones against all that. The man was in his thirties but could have passed for forty-something as he stood there trying to catch his breath in front of her. He looked like someone’s dad—or someone’s dad’s CPA—and not a soldier with a rifle.

  Gaby resisted the temptation to grab the AR from Jones and instead hurried over to the back of the room. “Give me a hand.”

  “Are you sure?” Jones asked.

  “It’s the only way.”

  “You remember what’s down there, don’t you?”

  “They might have left.”

  “Why would they?”

  “I don’t know.” Then, unable to hide her annoyance, she snapped, “Just give me a goddamn hand!”

  Jones slung his rifle and rushed over. Even as they picked up the metal hooks from the floor and slipped the points through the loops jutting out of the block of concrete, Gaby couldn’t help but think, Be gone, you dumb creatures. Please don’t still be down there.

  With a heave and more than a little extra grunting from the both of them, they lifted the block and set it down, and she hadn’t completely let go of the hook when the ghoul stuck its hand through the opening.

  “Jesus!” Jones shouted as he jumped back and scrambled to unsling his rifle.

  Gaby hissed, “No! They’ll know where we are if you shoot!”

  She probably didn’t even have to bother with the warning, because Jones was having difficulty getting ahold of his rifle. She beat him to it anyway, drawing her knife and stabbing the ghoul, driving the point of the blade into its skull. The creature’s bone was so weak the knife would have sank all the way to the guard if she hadn’t stopped its forward momentum first.

  She jerked the blade out and let the ghoul fall. It tumbled down the ladder, knocking three other ghouls trying to climb up behind it along with it. Not that it took the rest very long to surge over the ones writhing on the floor and make a grab for the rungs. She couldn’t tell how many of them were down there, because there were no lights. Either their numbers had swallowed up the halogen bulbs or the tunnel’s lighting system had gone dark since the last time she was down
there.

  The first of the new climbing ghouls were halfway up the ladder when Gaby put her knife away and grabbed the hook. But she couldn’t do it herself—not even if she had two good working arms, which she didn’t. Except Jones, for whatever reason, hadn’t hurried to lend a hand.

  “Jones!” she hissed.

  He snapped out of his stupor and grabbed the other hook, and they dragged the block back into place before letting it drop into its slot with a solid and echoing thoomp!

  Gaby stepped back, her eyes focused on the square outline in the floor. She wasn’t worried the ghouls could move it. They hadn’t before, and they wouldn’t be able to now. They were too weak, and the block was simply too heavy for the black eyes. It had almost been too heavy for her and Jones.

  She looked over at Jones now. He had retreated to the other side of the room and held his rifle against his body while staring across at her. She didn’t think it was possible, but his face was even wetter than before. Jones didn’t say anything, but she could see the question in his eyes: “What now?”

  She wished she had an answer, but she didn’t. Right now she was asking herself the same thing and kept coming up empty.

  What now?

  What now?

  The voices coming from the other side of the closed door made the question irrelevant, and Gaby dashed across the room, drawing the Glock as she did so. She pressed her cheek against the cold steel and listened.

  The very obvious tap-tap-tap of booted footsteps, along with some back and forth conversation. Not quite whispering but talking in low voices. They weren’t right on the other side of the door but were getting closer.

  Gaby glanced back at Jones. He was staring at the floor, at where the entrance to the tunnel below was, as if trying to decide if braving the horde of ghouls down there might be the better alternative after all.

  “Jones,” Gaby whispered. Then, when he looked up at her, “Give me your rifle.”