by Sam Sisavath
He smiled at her, then sliced off another piece and slowly, casually chewed on that one, too, before swallowing it. “I told you my real name. You could at least do me the courtesy of telling me yours.”
“I already did. It’s Maggie.”
“Of course it is.”
“What do I have to do to prove it, show you my driver’s license?”
“Do you have one?”
“Afraid not. They don’t give those out anymore. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s no U.S. government, and definitely no DMV still around.”
“I’ve noticed that, yes.”
Gaby nodded at the apple. “Aren’t you at least going to offer me some of that? Seems like the courteous thing to do after you’ve kidnapped me and all.”
“No,” Buck said. He knifed off another piece. “You’d just try to use the opportunity to take the knife from me.”
She wriggled her hands behind her back. They were tight. So, so tight that it actually hurt when the plastic ties bit into her wrists. “That’s going to be hard to do hog-tied like this. I can barely breathe.”
“I didn’t say you’d succeed. I said you’d try. You would only end up hurting yourself. I’m trying to spare you the additional pain.”
The word pain made her finally acknowledge the throbbing coming from inside her skull. Gaby was pretty sure “Bill” had used the buttstock of his weapon. She wondered if she was actually bleeding; she didn’t feel anything that might have been warm liquid dripping down the side of her face, so that was a good sign. Probably.
“Awfully kind of you,” Gaby said.
Buck flicked another piece of apple into his mouth, but didn’t say anything.
“Who do you think I am?” Gaby asked.
“You’re from Black Tide Island,” Buck said. He pointed at the patch on her shoulder with the knife. “And that’s a rune called an inguz. It’s what Black Tide Island uses to identify themselves while they fly around what’s left of the country trying to keep it from tearing itself apart.”
Dammit, he really does know.
He tapped the circled M on his vest with the knife. “Every army needs a symbol to identify itself. This is ours. It’s an homage to a great man.”
That circled M. Where the hell had she seen it before? Where—
“It’s an homage to a great man.”
Oh, she thought as everything clicked into place.
She had seen the circled M once—and only once—about two years ago, which was why it took so long to recall. She had been talking with Lara inside her office on the island, and Lara had opened a drawer on her desk and Gaby had spotted it sitting on top of a stack of maps: An old armband, clearly made from a bigger fabric with the letter M inside a circle drawn on it. Lara had told her what it meant, but that was the only occasion she had seen or talked about it, and because of that, she had forgotten it ever existed.
Until now.
“Mercer,” Gaby said. “You were one of his men. One of his true believers.”
Eight
Mercer.
The name made her shiver, and she did nothing to try to hide it. It was an instinctive response built from memories and firsthand knowledge. She had come face-to-face with the man once almost five years ago, and it had stuck with her since.
Mercer.
A crazy sonofabitch who thought he could win a war against the ghouls by destroying their most valuable commodity—the human beings that the ghouls fed on and rounded up and put into small towns across the world. Some called them collaborators, but they were just survivors. Gaby had seen the results of Mercer’s war firsthand, had witnessed the destruction it wrought and the body count that it accumulated. Men, women, and children.
Mercer.
He was long dead. Someone had blown his brains out on Black Tide Island, leaving behind a small army of well-trained soldiers—or as close to “soldiers” as you could get these days—without a cause. While many had refocused their efforts on following Lara, not everyone had come back to the island after The Battle of Houston. Some had simply vanished into the world, while others, like his true believers, had stayed behind to cause trouble.
Mercer.
She shivered again.
The man was gone—long gone—but his presence still hung in the air between her and Buck, who watched her reaction carefully.
“The men wearing that circled M,” Gaby said. “They’re all like you. Mercerians.”
Buck chuckled. “I always hated that name.”
“You’re his followers. Mercer.”
“It’s still a very stupid name that makes light of what we were.” He paused, seeming to actually think about what he was going to say next before he did. “Or what we are, now.”
“And what are you now, Buck?”
The man shrugged and sat back in his chair and sliced off another piece of apple. “Not what I was. None of us are, after he died. There’s no getting around that. He trained us, gave us a purpose. Without him…” Buck slipped the apple into his mouth and chewed on it for a few seconds. “We had to find our own purpose.”
“And this is it? This is your new purpose?”
“With Mercer or without him, The Purge gave us the opportunity to go back to our real selves, to do what we were always meant to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Kill and fuck.”
She raised both eyebrows in surprise. The way he had said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
One corner of his mouth tugged up in a grin. “Does that shock you?”
“Nothing shocks me much these days.”
“Most women wouldn’t understand, but I think you do. You look like someone who’s embraced her inner primitive self. Tell me, Maggie, how many men have you fucked and killed since The Purge?”
“I don’t talk about my sex life with assholes.”
“Is that what I am? An asshole?”
“Aren’t you? I saw what your men did to Kohl’s Port. How many other towns have they done that to?”
And what are you doing with the women and children you took from those towns? she wanted to ask, but didn’t because she didn’t think he’d tell her anyway. She also didn’t want to throw a monkey wrench into the conversation with a question he wouldn’t answer. He was talking, and when men felt free to talk, they always gave away information whether they meant to or not. Sometimes it came out as boasting, other times as threats. Either way, intel was intel.
“Redman is right; you are a handful,” Buck said. “Tell me: what were you before all of this? How did a young girl become a hardened killer? You were what, seventeen before the world went to shit? Sixteen?”
Eighteen, actually, she thought, but said, “You must have mistaken me for one of your men. I don’t kill unless I have to.”
“What about fucking?”
“That’s a topic you’re never going to know anything about.”
He shrugged. “Not that I care. But when it comes to killing, it’s pretty clear from what Redman tells me that you’re better than most of my men.”
“Don’t tell them that.”
“I said most of them. Not all of them.”
“Like Redman?”
That induced a smile. “Redman tries. He really does. But he’s far from my best soldier. If I thought Kohl’s Port would be difficult, I would have sent someone else. If I had…”
“What?”
“You might not be here right now.”
“Is that right?”
“You’re good, kid, but you’re not that good.” He leaned in closer. “They say an ex-Army Ranger is one of the new leaders of Black Tide. Was he the one that trained you?”
“I thought you already knew everything there was to know about Black Tide. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know everything. That’s the problem. But that’s also something you can help me change.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t. Redman was right
, you know. Sloan could make you talk. He can make you sing like a mockingbird in the day.”
“What is he, your son?” Gaby asked.
“Sloan?”
“Redman.”
Buck chuckled. “Does he look young enough to be my son?”
“A protégé, then.”
The former Mercerian shrugged. “Maybe.”
“His men don’t like him, you know.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They talk. About him. And it’s not kind.”
“He’ll come around. Leadership takes time.”
“You really think he has what it takes? How many men did he get killed taking a town like Kohl’s Port? A town with women and children and fishermen, that you didn’t think was dangerous enough to send your best?”
Buck sighed. Apparently she’d hit too close to home that time, which made Gaby wonder what kind of assignment Buck had sent Redman on again, and so soon?
“Maybe you have a point,” Buck said. “Which is probably why I could use someone like you.”
“Why? You need an extra hand fucking and killing people who can’t fight back?”
He didn’t take the bait, and said instead, “You killed four of my people that I know of. Maybe more, if you’re willing to cop to it.”
She kept silent.
He shrugged and continued. “The ones you’ve met already aren’t farmers, Maggie. I’ll grant you that they aren’t Black Tide-trained, but they’ve had some training from myself and a few others. And yet, you still took them out. Not bad.”
“For a girl?”
“I couldn’t care less if you’re a girl or a troll that lives under a bridge. I care about the skills, and you obviously have them.”
“Are you offering me a job? Is that what this is?”
“Maybe.” He finished his apple and tossed the remaining core out the stall. It landed somewhere nearby, and Gaby heard the crunch-crunch of loud chewing almost immediately. “But you’ll have to prove yourself to me first before I offer that olive branch.”
Give me a gun and I’ll prove myself to you with a bullet between your eyes, Gaby thought, but she said, “And how exactly am I going to do that?”
“Tell me who you are. Who you really are.” Before she could even lie, he leaned forward on the stool again and, eyes narrowing at her, “Keep this in mind. I know more about what’s going on out there than you think. So don’t lie to me, little girl. You’re only going to get one chance at this.” He held up the knife, the blade glistening wet with apple juice. “There will be no second chances. None. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Gaby said.
“First question: What’s your real name?”
“I already told you. It’s Maggie.”
He didn’t reply right away, and Gaby matched his stare with her own and didn’t waver. If he expected her to look away or blink, he was sadly mistaken.
Buck was bigger, older, and she had no doubt he could take her in a one-on-one fight even without that knife, but he didn’t intimidate her. Few people did, these days. She’d seen too much and been through too much to be scared of another human being. She saved those fears for other things. Inhuman things.
“You’re from Black Tide Island,” Buck said. “With the group that took it over after we left.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” she said, because he already knew that, and there was no point in lying.
Keep him talking. He thinks he’s questioning you, but maybe you can get him talking, too.
“What were you doing at Kohl’s Port?” Buck asked.
“We were on a mission when your people charged into the place and killed everyone.”
Not quite everyone, Gaby thought, remembering what Reese had told her about the women and children, about how Buck’s people had rounded them up and took them away in groups. They were here, now…somewhere.
“What kind of mission?” Buck asked.
“Diplomatic. I was there to make first contact with the town. Why did you think I only came with four people on a boat?”
“Who was in charge?”
“You’re looking at her.”
Buck’s lips creased into an almost-smile. She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted by that or—Oh, who was she kidding. That was an insult, and she knew it.
But she pushed back the annoyance and maintained her calm when she added, “Why did you attack Kohl’s Port? Why did you kill everyone?”
“That’s not important.”
“The hell it’s not.”
“It’s not important to you at the moment, I mean.” Then, without missing a beat, “Who’s running Black Tide now? Is it her?”
“Don’t you already know? You seem to know everything else about us already.”
“I’ve heard the rumors—some more credible than others. But no, I don’t know for sure. I guess you could say I’ve been laying low, staying off their radar.”
Until now, she thought, and was fully prepared to lie, but Buck’s exact words were, “Is it her?” which meant he already knew even if he wasn’t absolutely sure.
“Lara,” Gaby said. “She’s in charge. Has been since Houston.”
Gaby watched his face closely, but she couldn’t detect anything on it that looked like surprise.
“What about the gunship?” Buck asked.
“What gunship?” Gaby said.
“The one that my people shot down. But before that, ripped apart one of my technicals, slicing everyone in it to a few hundred pieces.”
“They fired first. It was acting in self-defense.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Try telling their loved ones that.”
Again, he didn’t take the bait, and said instead, “What was it doing out there?”
“Looking for me. My team was scheduled to call in with a sitrep, but we missed it. The chopper was doing a cargo run in the area and was rerouted to come look for us.”
Buck leaned back. “I believe you.”
“You should. It’s the truth.”
“The whole truth?”
“Close enough.”
He chuckled, then glanced down at his watch. It was the second time he had done it, though she’d just barely caught him the first time. He looked back up at her. “How many of you are still out there?”
“There’s just me.”
“A five-man team?”
“I told you, it was a diplomatic mission. There wasn’t supposed to be any danger. We didn’t expect what happened…to happen.”
Buck nodded, but she couldn’t be sure if he believed everything she had told him. The irony was that most of it was the truth.
He stood up. “Sit tight. Someone will be by later with something for you to eat. There are guards posted outside, and they have orders to shoot if you try to escape.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to ask me?”
“We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”
“You got a hot date?”
“As of a matter fact, yes.”
He left her in the stall without another word. He closed the stall door, and she heard the cha-clank of a deadbolt sliding into place on the other side. Footsteps against the soft dirt ground, and in the five or so seconds the stable’s front door (doors?) opened and closed she heard more voices, more heavy machinery, and she swore there were hammers pounding away.
What is going on out there? What are they building?
Then the door closed, and it was just her and the smell of dry hay and horse manure again.
And then there was the constant throbbing coming from her temple. It had always been there, but she’d been able to ignore it…until now.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cold metal chair. It was the only part of her body she had total control over, but all it gave her was a terrible view of the arched ceiling and universe of cobwebs up there.
Gaby thought about what Danny had said to her before she left the isl
and this morning:
“Don’t get in trouble. And if you do get into trouble, try not to make it worse.”
“Like what?” she had replied.
“You know, running away with their virgin daughters and such.”
“And such?”
“And such.”
That was Danny. Always joking.
Too bad you’re not here right now, Danny. I could really use a good joke.
She was still staring up at the ceiling when a door creaked open from beyond her stall and she heard voices.
Back already? I guess that date wasn’t so hot, after all.
She expected Buck, but the voices were new.
A man, saying, “That looks pretty good.”
“It’s for the prisoner,” a woman answered.
“I wasn’t talking about the food,” the man said, and he laughed and was joined by a second male. The “guards” that Buck had mentioned earlier.
At least someone’s having a good time, Gaby thought when the same door creaked shut and she listened to footsteps approaching her stall.
Gaby looked over as the door opened, and a woman in dirty slacks and a long-sleeve sweater stood outside. She was holding a well-used brown tray, the kind her high school cafeteria had in stacks. There was a piece of bread on top along with some green grapes and what looked like a palm-size steak that didn’t look all that appetizing.
Even so, her mouth watered, and she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.
This morning, before I left Black Tide.
“Don’t get into trouble,” Danny had said.
Right. Don’t get into trouble. Good advice, Danny.
“Dinner,” the woman was saying as she stepped inside.
Dinner? How long have I been in this place? What time is it?
She couldn’t look at her watch behind her, but it couldn’t have been night outside. She could tell that much because of the natural light still inside the building with her.
“Dinner?” she asked.
“Close enough,” the woman said. She didn’t look hesitant or scared, which told Gaby this wasn’t something new for her.
Not that the woman had anything to fear, because Gaby couldn’t do anything while strapped to the chair anyway. Was the damned thing fastened to the back wall somehow? She didn’t know because she couldn’t look behind her to check.