by Sam Sisavath
The male guard’s head and rifle simultaneously slammed against the dirt floor, the thump! so loud that Gaby actually winced. The prisoner was already scrambling out of the shadows and over Rick, moving impossibly fast for something so skeletal and malnourished. The chains jangled wildly as he climbed over his victim, the links banging against Rick’s thrashing legs.
“Let him go!” the woman shouted (Too loud!) as she hurried inside the room, her rifle already in her hands and pointing at the prisoner.
Not that the rail-thin man noticed the weapon pointed at him. Or if he was aware of the danger, it didn’t stop him from grabbing Rick by the throat and begin strangling him with both hands, letting out that familiar savage growl.
The downed Rick managed to get his bearings enough to swing with his baton, striking the prisoner once, twice, three times. But his assailant refused to let go—either because he didn’t care about the pain, or Rick didn’t have much in his swings.
“Goddammit, let him go!” the woman said, even as she tried desperately to line up a shot.
Gaby couldn’t let that happen. She pushed the door closed, and as Rick’s partner whirled around, Gaby grabbed the barrel of her rifle and hit her in the face with a balled fist.
The woman stumbled back, looking more stunned than hurt, and didn’t go down. Gaby saw the whites of her eyes going wide as she frantically tried to process what was happening. The woman was young, mid-twenties, and shorter than Gaby by a few inches. She didn’t exactly fill out the assault vest she was wearing, but size didn’t matter when you had a rifle.
Gaby was trying to wrestle away that dangerous AR (Let…it…go!) when she hit the woman in the face again, hoping to loosen her grip. The woman staggered back and would have kept going if not for the wall stopping her momentum. She stubbornly held onto her rifle with one hand, though, while scrambling for her sidearm with the other.
Goddammit! Let go!
Gaby punched the Fenton woman again. Then again.
The woman had her pistol almost out of its holster when Gaby hit her a fifth time, and only then did she finally collapse to the floor in a pile.
Gaby had the rifle in her hands, and she took a second to catch her breath before turning around to check on the struggle behind her.
Except it was over back there, too.
Gaby choked back the bile rising in her throat at the sight of the prisoner, bent over Rick, the sound of chewing filling the shack…
Thirteen
There was blood on the floor of the shack. A fresh layer of it, partially covering up the old stains from God only knew how long ago since the building’s lone occupant had been put in here. Maybe they were from a time even before this man; how many had come before him? How many others had been put through this misery?
What the hell is really going on in this town?
The prisoner had disappeared into the shadowy back part of the room, dragging his victim with him. Not all of Rick was hidden in the darkness; one of his (blood-covered) hands was still visible. The fingers had stopped twitching about ten minutes ago, and there was just the sound of chewing, grunting, and more chewing…
Gaby turned away from the shadows to focus on the dead man’s partner as she finally stirred and opened her eyes. Gaby was crouched next to the woman with the SIG Sauer in her right fist, draped over one knee. She needed the woman to see the gun as soon as she opened her eyes.
And she did, even as she scrambled up from the floor, boots sliding against the filthy dirt, before retreating into one of the corners. The blood on her face was still wet, and she wiped at it with the sleeve of her shirt, but only ended up smearing more of it over her lower jaw and cheeks. Her broken nose was crooked, and she winced every time she touched it, and after the third time, she figured it out and stopped doing it.
Light green eyes snapped from Gaby’s face to the gun in her hand, then to the door on Gaby’s right, before finally finding and lingering on the back of the shack. Gaby thought the woman was going to vomit (I know how that feels, sister), but she only dry heaved and grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her mouth.
“What’s your name?” Gaby asked.
The woman looked over at her before glancing back at the prisoner. “What’s he doing to Rick?”
“You know what he’s doing.”
She looked back at Gaby. “Stop him.”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because your partner’s already dead.”
The woman swallowed and seemed to sag against the wall. That moment of acceptance lasted for exactly two seconds before her eyes turned to the door.
Gaby gestured with the gun. “You know you’ll never make it.”
“If you shoot me, they’ll know you’re in here,” the woman said.
“Yeah, that’s true, but you’ll also be dead. How much are you willing to sacrifice to get me caught?”
The woman seemed to think about it.
Five seconds.
Ten…
“What’s your name?” Gaby asked again.
“June,” the woman said.
“Okay, June. I need to get out of here.”
The woman narrowed her eyes back at Gaby. “You’re the girl in the stables. The one who made a mess at Kohl’s Port.”
“Made a mess?” Gaby thought. I was trying to survive.
“Who told you that?” she asked instead, wondering exactly how June knew when Bruce and her stable guards apparently didn’t.
“Jackson,” June said.
“I don’t know a Jackson.”
“He was there, at Kohl’s Port.”
“Ah.”
“You’ll never get out of here,” June said.
“That’s what he said, too,” Gaby said, nodding at the darkness. “Who is he?”
June looked over at the shadows, and again lingered there, but Gaby didn’t think it was the prisoner she was trying to see.
Finally, the woman said, “Are you sure he’s dead?”
You better hope he’s dead, because the other option is Rick being awake while he’s being eaten by another human being.
“Yeah,” Gaby said. “I’m pretty sure.”
June continued to stare.
Gaby snapped her fingers to redirect the other woman’s attention back to her. “Hey. Focus.”
June glanced over.
“Who is he?” Gaby asked.
“I don’t know,” June said.
“You’re lying. I heard you talking with Rick earlier. Who is he?”
June shook her head. “I just heard stories. I’m not sure they’re even true.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Not that I know of.”
Gaby narrowed her eyes at the other woman. She was almost certain that June was lying, but at the moment she didn’t care enough to pursue it. Besides, she had other, bigger fish to fry.
“How do I get out of Fenton?” Gaby asked.
June didn’t answer her.
“How’s the face?” Gaby asked.
“It hurts, how do you think?”
“How do you think it’ll feel after I shoot you in the face?”
June winced. “You do that and you’re dead, too.”
“I’d rather be dead than be chained up like that poor bastard. So you’re going to help me get out of here, because if I don’t make it, neither do you. You won’t be the first one I shoot, and you won’t be the last.”
June glared back at her. “I believe you.”
“Good to hear. Now how the hell do I get out of this nightmare city of yours?”
“There are only two ways out. Through the fence or over the water.”
“What’s on the other side of the lake?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Woods, that’s all.”
“All right. The fence or the water. So pick one.”
“What?”
“This is your city. You know better than I do which one is
easier to get across.”
June thought about it. Gaby watched her face closely, but it was a little difficult to read June with the drying blood covering almost the entire lower half of her face.
“The fence,” June finally said.
“How?”
“There are patrols, but it’s a long fence.”
“How long?”
“About five hundred yards from end to end, with the gate almost exactly in the middle.”
“Just one way in and out?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on…”
“The patrols can’t cover every inch of the fence, especially with a skeleton crew at night.”
“So how do we get past it?”
“You can cut a hole in it.”
Gaby smiled at her. “I’m not going to be cutting anything, June. That’s going to be your job.”
She couldn’t let June walk outside unarmed, because that would have immediately drawn suspicion if they were spotted. But Gaby couldn’t just give her loaded weapons, either, so she unloaded June’s handgun before handing it back, then did the same with her rifle. She took June’s extra magazines and kept what she could, then tossed the rest into the corner of the shack to lighten her load.
Gaby opened the door and nodded at June, who stepped outside first. Gaby kept her palm on the butt of her holstered sidearm the entire time and made sure June saw it.
And just in case June had any ideas, Gaby said, “It doesn’t matter how fast you are. Unless you can do a football field in five seconds, you’ll never outrun a bullet. And not to brag, but I’m a hell of a better shot than most people you’ll ever meet.”
June pursed her lips back at Gaby but didn’t reply.
Gaby took a quick look behind her before she closed the door, but there was nothing to see. The prisoner had scooted even farther into the shadows, and there were no signs of Rick having ever existed.
She closed the door and took a moment to reorient herself with the outside world. The air was crisper, and though it was colder out here, she didn’t mind it. She could breathe fresh air again and barely smell the stench of death clinging to her clothes and exposed skin.
June apparently felt the same and took in a couple of large breaths. Gaby had forced her to spit on her hands and wipe at the blood on her face. It wasn’t entirely successful, but Gaby was hoping the darkness would hide the broken nose and still-visible dry blood along June’s lower jawline and cheeks. Besides, if they ran into another patrol who insisted on coming in for a closer look, they would already be in trouble.
Fenton—or this part of the city, anyway—was just as quiet as the last time she was outside skulking about its dark parts. Most of the buildings were dark, which made perfect sense since it was well past midnight. The only sounds she could hear were the cicadas from the fields behind them on the other side of the fence and cardinals chasing each other through the trees nearby.
Other than those sounds, Fenton was ghostly quiet. Even peaceful.
Yeah, right.
She looked back at the building they’d just come out of and wondered how many more like it there were in the area. And the prisoner inside…who was he? Whoever he was, he had been starved enough to—
Gaby shook the images away and concentrated on the task at hand.
Get out of Fenton before morning, or you may never get out.
“Where to?” she asked June.
“There’s a supply building not far from here,” the other woman said.
“Lead the way.” Then, as they started moving, “Remember, June: Where I go, you go. If I don’t make it, neither do you. If you doubt I’ll shoot you purely out of spite, don’t. Your friends murdered my friends, so I have no problem with killing anyone who gets in my way. Anyone.”
June didn’t reply, but she didn’t take off running or scream for help, either. Gaby was going under the theory that the woman wanted to live more than she wanted to be a hero. Most people Gaby had met since The Purge were survivors, from the soldiers to the women who gave up their bodies. However they did it, in the end it was all for the same purpose: self-preservation.
“Adapt or perish,” right, Lara?
Her captive seemed to know where she was going and Gaby followed exactly five steps behind, remembering what had happened with Bollman back in the woods. She kept her ears open and her eyes constantly shifting, never staying at one place for too long. The fact that they seemed to be the only people alive in Fenton at the moment was a great comfort, and though Gaby glimpsed a patrol almost immediately as soon as they started moving away from the shack, she lost sight of them just as quickly.
June led her around a handful of buildings—a couple of barracks among them—before finally coming to a white shack that looked only slightly bigger than the one with the prisoner.
“This is it?” Gaby asked, keeping her voice low enough not to be overheard by a passing patrol.
“Supplies,” June said, stopping in front of the door.
“Open it, but leave the door open so I can see you at all times. Grab anything other than what you need and I will shoot you.”
“You don’t have to keep saying that.”
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding.”
“There isn’t.”
June opened the door—there was no lock—and stepped inside. She flicked a switch on the wall, and a squiggly lightbulb hummed to life, brightening a room stocked from floor to ceiling with shelves and a variety of tools. Hammers, buckets of nails, and even a couple of jackhammers in the corner.
“Hurry up,” Gaby said.
June found what she was looking for near the back: a bolt cutter with black plastic handles and a red metal body, and plucked it from a holding peg.
“Let’s go,” Gaby said.
She stepped aside to let June exit, giving the woman plenty of space just in case she thought it was a good idea to swing with the heavy tool. But June didn’t have any such ideas and stepped out of the shack with the bolt cutter hanging at her side, leaving Gaby to turn the light off and close the door after them.
“What’s next?” Gaby asked.
“Cut a hole in the fence,” June said. “By now the patrols will have thinned out. All we have to do is wait for one to pass us by, and it’ll take them anywhere from five to ten minutes to come back around. Should be more than enough time.”
Gaby watched her closely as she talked, trying to detect any signs of lies or an ulterior motive. It was hard with only the moonlight to see with, but she didn’t notice any wavering in June’s voice.
“Lead the way,” Gaby said.
June nodded, and did.
As they moved between two dark buildings, Gaby said, “What’s out there? On the other side of the fence?”
“The city of Fenton.”
“So where are we, if Fenton is out there?”
“Still a part of Fenton. It’s just the restricted area. Beyond the fence is where everyone else resides and works.”
“Why is this area restricted?”
“It just is.”
That’s a bullshit answer, Gaby thought, but she didn’t have the energy to push for a real answer.
She asked instead, “What’s the warehouse on the island for?”
“I don’t know that, either,” June said. “I’ve never been there.”
Gaby believed that answer more than the first one. “You don’t know much, do you?”
“Guess not,” June said.
Smartass, Gaby thought as they continued through the area, always sticking to the darkness whenever possible. More than once, Gaby questioned if June knew where she was going, but eventually the well-lit fence appeared in front of them.
They stopped next to a small building about the same size as the supply shack and hid in its shadows, far enough from the bright lights that covered the long hurricane fencing to keep from being spotted by a passerby.
June looked back and whispered, “We should wait for the patrol to pass.
After that, we’ll have time to cut through the fence.”
“What then?” Gaby asked, matching June’s pitch.
“Then you go through.”
“After we go through—what then?”
June clenched her teeth. “The main city of Fenton is on the other side of the agriculture fields.”
“Patrols?”
“Not at night. Everyone and every building is locked down.”
“Ghouls,” Gaby said. It wasn’t a question.
“Every now and then one of them gets hungry enough to come inside and try its luck. It’s rare, but it does happen.”
“Is that what happened earlier? At the fence with the shooting?”
“Yeah. One of those hungry ghouls. They’re drawn to the lights because there aren’t any readily available prey in the city. At least not out in the open like the patrols are next to the fence. The guys like luring them out whenever they can. You don’t get a lot of chances to kill ghouls these days.”
“Some would say that’s a good thing.”
June shrugged. “I guess.”
“Forget going through the city,” Gaby said. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”
“Turn right and keep going until the agriculture fields end, and you’ll come to Fenton State Park. There are no patrols in there at night, but that’ll change in the morning.”
“Woods?”
June nodded somberly. She didn’t have to add what they both already knew.
Woods plus night equaled ghouls. And the shooting earlier had already proven that the creatures stalked the area.
“Once you’re through the woods, you’ll come to the southern point of Lake Mansfield,” June said. “It’s the same body of water that surrounds Lake City.”
“What’s Lake City?”
“This,” June said. “The restricted area. It’s a separate subdivision from Fenton called Lake City, except no one really calls it that anymore.”
“What do they call it?”
“Just the restricted area.”
“Do I have to cross the lake and onto the other side?”
“Either that, or you can go east along the shoreline until you reach Highway 349.”
“You know this place. You were settled here.”