by Sam Sisavath
“…how many…fuck…nuked…forget it, they’re dead…whole block’s gone…what was that…Warthogs…trick…goddamn Warthogs…shit…what now…get back here, get back…regroup…everyone regroup…fucking hell…”
“Sounds like a party,” Becker said. “One that I’m glad I wasn’t invited to.”
“Screw them,” Gaby said. She turned off the radio and tossed it to the floor.
Becker chuckled. “Damn right.” Then, suddenly alarmed, “Heads up. Looks like not all of them were on the other side of the city when those bombs dropped.”
Headlights had appeared in front of them about a block away. Instead of panic, Gaby found herself instead amused that people were still driving on the right-side lane even now, six years after the end of the world.
I guess old habits die hard.
She put a hand on Becker’s shoulder. “Keep going. Don’t slow down. We’re in the right vehicle, and Peters is wearing the right uniform back there, remember?”
“Yeah, but the right vehicle’s all busted up.”
“It doesn’t matter. Right now they’re responding to what just happened on the other side of town. Don’t give them a reason to stop, and they won’t.”
“All right, but keep your finger on the trigger just in case.”
It never left, Gaby thought even as she leaned back between the two front seats and rapped her knuckles on the rear windshield.
Peters, manning the MG, crouched down and looked in at her. She pointed up the street and he nodded. She watched him stand back up and turn slightly around to eye the incoming truck. He hadn’t moved the machine gun, though, which made sense, because why would a Bucky take aim at another Bucky?
The headlights were getting closer. There was just one vehicle, and it was in a hurry.
“Don’t slow down,” Gaby said.
She put the rifle in her lap and thumbed the fire selector to full-auto. She would have preferred three-round burst fire but wasn’t going to nitpick now. She could just barely glimpse the head of the Mercerian in the back of the opposing truck, manning his own machine gun.
Then the other truck was driving past them, and as far as Gaby knew it hadn’t slowed down even a little bit. When she turned in her seat and looked after it, the technical was still flying down the street.
Keep going. Just keep right on going.
And it did, until she could barely see its rear red lights.
“I think I’m down to six lives now,” Becker said.
Gaby grinned before leaning across the seat and kissing him on the cheek.
He looked over when she pulled back. “What was that about?”
“I’m glad you’re still alive,” Gaby said. “Joe.”
He smiled. “Took you long enough. I thought you were going to call me Becker all night long.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s only been half a night,” she said.
She glanced down at her watch. 2:16 a.m.
“Is it morning yet?” Becker asked.
“Not yet.”
“It’s still taking its goddamn time, huh?”
“Apparently.”
“So what’s the plan? Are we taking back Darby Bay or what?”
“You’re goddamn right we are,” Gaby said.
She glanced at her side mirror, lingering on the glowing orange and red destruction on the other side of the city.
I’m glad Lara’s on my side, Gaby thought with a smile.
Nineteen
They drove past the park without incident, but that wasn’t too much of a surprise. The park was located on the north side of Darby Bay, and Lara had purposefully drawn as many Buckies as she could to the south, where she had laid the trap for them. Despite that, they still had to skirt a couple of random vehicle patrols, but that was easy enough once they ditched their damaged technical in a dark alley and continued on foot.
It was deathly quiet around them. The last gunshot Gaby heard was nearly ten minutes ago, and it had been a single shot from a pistol. She still wondered what or who had caused that; someone putting an end to something, perhaps.
A lot of that going around tonight.
The gun battle had died down, but fires from the bombs were still burning in the distance, creating a pulsating eerie glow in the sky that was visible all the way across town whenever Gaby glanced south. She wished she could have felt something for the men and women who were caught under the Warthogs’ ordnance, but she couldn’t summon the sympathy.
“How many you think were over there when those bombs dropped?” Becker asked as he walked next to her.
“Hopefully enough,” Gaby said.
“Enough?”
“Enough to get us to morning.”
They picked up their pace to catch up with Peters, who was waiting up ahead. He had stopped to check on his bandages, and to look at him, Becker, and herself, Gaby wondered what kind of an image the three of them made to someone who didn’t know what they had been through tonight. Becker in particular was beat up and bloodied, and though she somewhat believed him when he said his injuries looked worse than they were, she didn’t completely trust him not to lie to her.
“You okay?” she asked Becker now as they followed Peters around the corner.
“Honest, it looks worse than it is,” Becker said. “Granted, my head is just pounding right now, but I think that’s just because there’s this little devil sitting on my shoulder hitting my skull with a hammer. Other than that? I’m good.”
Yeah, right, you’re “good,” she thought but said anyway, “I really thought you were dead back there.”
“The blast threw me pretty far down the hallway,” Becker said. “Don’t ask me how any of it worked. One second I was standing next to the door, the next I’m ten or so meters away and buried underneath two Buckies.”
“I should have looked for you, just to be sure.”
“You were in a hurry. I’m not blaming you.”
“No, that wasn’t it.” Gaby sighed. “I didn’t want to see what you looked like. I thought that explosion would have…done a lot of damage.”
“Oh.” Becker paused for a moment. Then, with a smile, “You were worried I wouldn’t be so handsome anymore?”
She pursed a smile. “Something like that.”
“Talk a little louder, why doncha,” a voice said from somewhere up ahead.
Peters stopped and lifted his rifle as a figure stepped out of a dark corner in front of them. The man was wearing a Bucky vest, but his circled M wasn’t quite as white or glowing, and he was flipping night-vision goggles on top of his forehead as he emerged out of the darkness to greet them. If he hadn’t made himself known, Gaby thought they might have walked right by, oblivious to his presence.
Peters lowered his carbine. “Jesus, Hanson. I almost shot you.”
Hanson snorted. “Yeah right, old man.”
“You alone?”
“Just me and my pal here, waiting for you kids,” Hanson said, tapping his black M249 light machine gun. Gaby had seen plenty of those squad automatic weapons in the back of technicals all day, but Hanson had his slung in front of him as if it weighed no more than a normal rifle. It helped that he was a big man.
“Where is everyone?” Peters asked.
“Everyone is where they’re supposed to be,” Hanson said. He nodded at the rooftop of the building behind them. “Overwatch has been keeping tabs on you ever since you ditched that technical.”
“They’ve been watching us?” Becker asked.
“You and everyone else in the city. Wouldn’t be much of a secure location if we didn’t have snipers waiting to shoot people in the head from a mile away.”
“Good thing I have a friendly face.”
Gaby walked over and shook Hanson’s hand. “Good to see you again. It’s been awhile.”
“Hey, kid,” Hanson said.
“Lara’s okay?”
“Last time I saw her. She’s anxious to see you, so let’s not keep her waiting.”
Gaby and the others followed Hanson around the corner.
“Just you three?” Hanson asked.
She nodded. “Just us.”
“What happened to Jolly?”
“He’s dead,” Peters said.
“Shit,” Hanson said.
“Yeah.”
“Speaking of which, you guys look like shit.”
“Feel like it, too,” Becker said.
Gaby looked over at the big man. “You look like you’re doing okay. Has it been bad?”
“We lost probably more than we should have getting here, but it could have been worse,” Hanson said. “Getting out of that bomb shelter brought back some bad memories.”
“Yeah. I was down there, too.”
“At least it didn’t stink like Houston.”
“There’s that.” Then, “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in Louisiana with Danny?”
“I was until I wasn’t. I got in this morning, just in time for this little dog and pony show. How lucky am I?”
“Not exactly the word I’d use.”
“As to why I’m here, you’ll have to ask Lara that. Danny told me she ordered him to send me over. I was supposed to show up three days ago but had to wait for the last supply run to catch a ride.”
“Lara ordered you here?”
“Uh huh.”
“She didn’t say why?”
“No, and I haven’t had the chance to ask her. I’ve been meaning to all night, but, well, there’s a lot going on that takes precedence over my curiosity.” Hanson glanced over at her. “But I have a feeling you know why I’m here.”
Gaby didn’t answer, but she did know. It had everything to do with what Keo had told them about a certain blue-eyed ghoul—the same one that had chased him all the way from Winding Creek to Axton and then to Cordine City.
“It wants us,” Keo had told her and Lara. “Everyone who was down there, underneath Houston when Will took out Mabry. Me, Danny, Gaby, and Hanson. Everyone else who was there that day is dead. It’s just the four of us left.”
“Gaby?” Hanson said when she didn’t say anything.
“We should wait for Lara,” Gaby said.
“So I was right. You do know, and there’s a reason I’m here, and it’s not because of my stellar personality.”
Gaby smiled. “Maybe that has a little something to do with it, too.”
“Yeah, right,” Hanson said. Then, to Peters, “Slow down, old timer.”
Peters stopped walking and turned around. They were standing in a dark alleyway, one without any lights. “Here?”
“Give me a hand,” Hanson said. “If you can. If not, I can manage. Wouldn’t want you to pop a joint.”
“I got a finger if you want it,” Peters said as he flipped Hanson the bird.
Hanson chuckled and slung his LMG. He walked toward a battered dumpster and leaned against one side of it. He started pushing, and the trash holder began sliding forward on its wheels. Peters helped out with a shoulder, and it didn’t take them long before they’d moved enough of the metal box to reveal a heavily scarred door previously hidden in the wall. Something else they would have walked right on by in the dark.
Hanson rapped his knuckles on the metal door, producing three loud and solid thudding sounds. It opened quickly, darkness on the other side—along with two figures in blue BDUs and night-vision goggles—looking back out at them.
“Home sweet home,” Hanson said. “For now, anyway.” The big man led them inside, saying to the two men who had opened the door for them, “You boys know what to do.”
The two figures slipped out into the alley and closed the door after them. Gaby heard the sound of the large trash bin sliding back into place a few seconds later.
Hanson led them through a large building separated in sections by empty metal shelves that were at least a story high. The aisles they walked through were crowded with dark figures huddled on the floor. Most of them were civilians—Darby Bay residents—but plenty were Black Tiders in dirty (and some bloody) blue BDUs. Not all of them were armed, but there were plenty who were. Gaby glimpsed tired and well-worn faces—some looking back at her, others too tired to even lift their heads. A few bloodied faces, others with bandages around various body parts. They all looked as if they had been through hell and back.
Who hasn’t tonight?
They were inside a storage warehouse, and there were so many people crammed inside that Gaby had to be careful about where she walked. If not for the chilly air, the smell of so many bleeding and bruised and battered bodies in one place might have been overwhelming. The scent of medical ointment was everywhere. The place was ringed with high windows along the top, natural moonlight keeping the place from being swamped in darkness.
“So are we counterattacking, or what?” Becker was asking Hanson.
“What do you think we’ve been doing the last hour, kid?” Hanson said. “The fun’s only beginning. Shit’s gonna get real, real soon enough.”
Because it hasn’t been “real” before, Hanson? Gaby thought but kept that to herself. She knew Hanson well enough to know he was just trying to psych himself up for the fight ahead. He might not have had any outward injuries like the poor bastards scattered around the building at the moment (or like her, Becker, or Peters), but she didn’t believe for a second he had made it through the night completely unscathed.
The number of civilians and Black Tiders thinned out as they reached the back of the warehouse, where a group of people were huddled around a table with a small light on top of a fold-out map. Black Tiders in full assault gear stood guard nearby, the Inguz on their shoulder patches glowing brightly. If the other side of the building looked like it was housing defeated people, this other half was the exact opposite. There was electricity in the air; a buzz pointing to something big in the works.
One of those figures huddled over the table glanced over as Gaby and the others approached them.
“You okay?” Gaby asked.
Lara smiled. She looked as tired as Gaby had ever seen her. Or as tired as she felt right this moment.
“That’s my line,” Lara said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hurt.”
We’re all hurt, Gaby thought, but she pursed a smile and hugged Lara instead. They stayed that way for a while—maybe a little longer than either one of them had intended with the others around, most of them doing their best not to look—before they came apart.
Lara held her at arm’s length and managed another smile, but Gaby had known her long enough to know that it was heavily forced and mostly for her benefit. “I’m glad you finally made it.”
“Me too,” Gaby said. “Hanson tells me we’re getting ready to counterattack.”
Lara nodded and turned to the map. It was Darby Bay, but heavily annotated with markers. “We’re going to take the city back in the morning.”
“Do we have enough people for that?”
“We have as many people as they do, now,” Lara said. She looked across the table at a man with white hair in his forties.
Parrish nodded. “That last strike by the Warthogs took away any numerical advantage the Mercerians had over us. We’re getting reports of anywhere from sixty to eighty percent casualty rate.”
“Jesus,” Becker said. “Those must have been some big bombs.”
Parrish looked over at his man. “Glad to see you’re still alive, soldier.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Go get your wounds fixed up and grab some chow. You won’t get another chance for a while.”
“I’m fine—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Parrish said.
Becker nodded. “Yes, sir.” He gave Gaby a quick glance—she nodded back at him—before heading off. Or limping off. She hadn’t noticed that before, and wondered what else Becker was suffering through that he was doing his best to hide from her.
He’s hurt. I’m hurt. We’re all hurt.
Lara looked over at Peters, standing silently nearby. “Peters. You, too. Go see the medics. I’m going to need you on Overwatch.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peters said and walked off after Becker.
“How did you convince them to assemble their forces across town?” Gaby asked Lara.
“The same way they’ve been taking advantage of us since they attacked,” Lara said. “Their spies.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Our communications were compromised. Even our backups. Even our backups for our backups. They knew everything. It was obvious they had people who had been among us for a long time. Maybe years. It didn’t matter what we did or how many times we switched frequencies; everywhere we turned, there they were.”
“So you set them up.”
Lara nodded. “I gave them what they wanted. A rallying point for our forces to counterattack. All of our forces. It wasn’t easy and it took a lot of patience, but eventually they were convinced and began allocating resources for what they thought was a final assault. While all that was happening, we rescued as many people as we could.”
Gaby glanced back at the mass of people huddled behind them. “This is everyone?”
“This is everyone we could find,” Parrish said. “There are still more out there. A lot more civilians hunkered down waiting for morning.”
“That’s why the Warthogs had to be careful about their targets,” Lara said. “They had to be sure.”
“Speaking of which,” Gaby said, “how long can they last up there?”
“The pilots have been conserving fuel by landing on empty roads in the area until we need them. Right now, we still have two in play. The rest are either out of fuel or ordnance, and they can’t head to Larabie or Galveston to resupply.”
“Two is more than I could have hoped for.”
Her friend looked her up and down. “When was the last time you ate?”
The question caught her off guard, and Gaby actually had to think about it.
“Come on, we have another matter to discuss anyway,” Lara said. She turned to Hanson. “You too.”