Requiem (After The Purge, Book 1)

by Sam Sisavath

  As he waited for the horses to finish their breakfast, Wash heard the faint pop-pop-pop of gunshots in the distance. It was very far—much too far for him to be worried about them, even if his hand did dip instinctively toward the holstered Beretta. He listened to the shots echoing before they slowly faded into oblivion.

  Gunfire wasn’t uncommon out here, but that didn’t mean you should ignore it. Everyone and their dads carried guns these days. Unless, of course, they were like Ana, who was more dangerous with that hidden knife of hers. And then there was that mind. You could lose a knife, but that brain of hers was always at her disposal.

  He waited to hear more gunshots, for signs that whoever was doing the shooting might be coming in his direction, but there were just the birds chirping freely in the trees and the rustling of animals on nearby branches. He thought he might have glimpsed a buck somewhere in the woods behind him, but it was gone before he could make sure. Now that was meat he would gladly wolf down.

  When the horses were done eating, Wash led them to the stream and let them drink their fill. He found that he enjoyed the slow walk to the stream and back to the warehouse, and by the time he reached the door, he wished he could have stayed outside longer.

  Ana was sitting on the floor rubbing her eyes when he walked back inside. “What happened?”

  “What happened where?”

  “So nothing happened?”

  “Depends on what you’re talking about.”

  She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I heard gunshots in my dream.”

  “It wasn’t in your dream. Someone was shooting out there.”

  “Nearby?”

  “Not nearby enough to be worried about.”

  “You think it might have been Marla?”

  “Maybe, but what would she still be doing around here after two days?”

  “She wouldn’t,” Ana said. “Unless she didn’t have any choice. That other mountain man—mountain boy—could still be chasing her. That would explain why he hadn’t come back yet.”

  “Unless she got him first.”

  “There’s that, I guess.”

  Wash put the animals back into the stable, then took out the remaining three. “I’ll be back.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Feeling better than I have all week.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Better than the last two days.”

  “That’s more believable.” She stood up and stretched. “How much of the Tramadol did you take?”

  “Two more.”

  “Remember to go easy on that. It can be habit forming. You don’t want to become an addict out here, Wash. No rehab to check into.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Mom.”

  She frowned. “Don’t make me kick your ass, Washateria.”

  He chuckled, and they exchanged a brief smile that was, Wash thought, not nearly as awkward as when he had touched her hand earlier.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Ana said. She stood next to him, watching the three horses grazing on the thriving grass spread out all around them. A cool breeze ran through the trees, rustling strands of her long red hair that had come loose from the ponytail. “I can see why they chose this place. It’s hidden, but at the same time, there’s something peaceful about it.”

  “It’s not bad,” Wash said. He drank some water and passed the bottle to her. “You could always come back here after you get your sister back.”

  Ana shook her head. “That’s not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.” She glanced back at the warehouse. “Not after what they’ve been using this place for.”

  “We don’t know for sure what they’ve been using this place for.”

  “It wasn’t to make friends, Wash. That dungeon they put us in is proof of that. Shooting you on the road was the biggest proof of all.”

  “It was just a thought,” Wash said. He took the bottle of water back and finished it off. “We should get going soon.”

  “Can you ride?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Wash,” she said, focusing on him, “I need you to be absolutely sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Sure, sure?”

  He smiled. “As sure as sure can be, sure.”

  She returned it. “Okay. In another hour or two?”

  “Let’s make that two.” Wash looked back at the building. “You said they have an armory in there?”

  “Next to the living quarters on the other side. Why?”

  “The Mossberg I’m carrying is good for nightcrawlers, but if we’re going up against men, I’ll need something with better range. And, I need to find my watch.”

  “Again with the watch.”

  “It’s important to me.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to see that,” Ana said.

  The armory was an appropriate name for the room Wash found himself in. Even with just a single squiggly light bulb spraying its weak yellow light on the place, he was amazed by how much armament the mountain men had put together. There were racks of rifles, walls of handguns, and shelf after shelf of ammo.

  There were too many guns to choose from, half of which Wash had never laid eyes on before, and he’d seen more than his share while traveling the country with the Old Man. There were exotic models from around the world in front of him, including plenty of what looked like custom-made battle rifles.

  But rifles were rifles, and it was the same for pistols.

  He settled on the much more familiar M4 carbine with a pistol grip and a Trijicon ACOG mounted on top. Seven pounds, give or take, with a fourteen-and-a-half-inch barrel. The optic would give the weapon maximum range; at the same time, the length was “short” enough to maneuver in close quarters if necessary. The fire selector had an option for full-auto, and you never knew when that might come in handy.

  Wash shoved a couple of spare magazines into his old tactical pack, then grabbed four more and put them into a second bag. Before he left, he snatched up a pair of pistols and magazines for those, along with two boxes of 12-gauge shells. He would have taken more, but the weight was already dragging him down noticeably.

  Next, he went to the storage room where Ana had told him about the box of jewelry. He sifted through clothing, shoes, and personal belongings of the mountain men’s previous victims. There, on a shelf. It was a box, but Ana had failed to mention it was a green ammo box. Instead of bullets, there were rings, necklaces, and watches inside.

  Wash tossed a couple of Rolexes, Omegas, and some TAG Heuers to the floor. He eventually found what he was looking for near the bottom. It had a smooth silver case around a white dial with a brown alligator leather strap. It was plain and unassuming, but he felt whole again as soon as he slapped it around his wrist. The hands were frozen, which was expected for an automatic watch after sitting still for the last few days. He got it moving again by motioning his hand up and down a couple of times. After that, he used one of the quartz watches to find the right time and reset his.

  Ana was already outside the warehouse, cinching up the saddle on her Tennessee Walker when he rejoined her. They were going to take only four horses—with Wash riding the Quarter Horse—and using the remaining two to ferry their supplies. The fifth horse, which according to Ana was the oldest by far, was released back into the woods. The animal had hesitantly taken a couple of steps toward the tree line before stopping and glancing back at them, as if afraid this were some kind of trick. After it was satisfied it wasn’t a trick, the animal took off and they didn’t see it again.

  “You should take one of these,” Wash said, holding up the M4.

  She gave him an amused look. “You’re still saying that after what happened on the road last time? Why would anyone shoot little ol’ me, in her tight jeans and jacket, and nothing that even looks remotely like a weapon on her, when there’s you with all those guns?”

  “So I’m just the diversion, is that it? They see us on the road, and it’s a no-brainer to shoot me but not
you?”

  “You’re just figuring that out now?”

  He grunted, thought, She’s got a point, and tossed his bags over the brown horse that he would be using to ferry his supplies, tying the animal’s reins to the horn of his orange-brown’s saddle. Ana said the horse was a Morgan breed, and it was small compared to the one he was riding.

  “I’m only doing this because you saved my life,” Wash said.

  “Twice,” Ana smiled.

  “Technically, but since I only have one life to give, I’m only counting it once.”

  “You cheat at cards, too, Wash?”

  “Only when the other guy’s not looking.”

  Wash walked the short distance over to his horse, and when he was sure Ana wasn’t watching, took a couple of deep breaths before swinging into the saddle. He probably did it too fast, if the sudden stabs of pain were any indication. He grimaced through them before looking back at Ana.

  She was staring at him, but he didn’t think it was because she had caught him in pain. It was something else.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Ana said.

  He nodded. “Thank me when this is over.”

  “I’ll do that, too.”

  She climbed into her saddle, and he couldn’t help but feel a little envious at how easily she had done it. The horse attached to Ana’s Tennessee Walker was also brown, but with large splashes of white paint, which, Wash guessed, explained why it was called an American Paint Horse.

  “Did you find it?” Ana asked.

  He pulled back the long sleeve of his left hand to show her the watch.

  “That’s it?” Ana said. She sounded disappointed.

  “That’s it.”

  “I saw a couple of Rolexes in there. Why didn’t you swap for one of those? They were probably twenty grand each, easy.”

  “It’s not about the price tag.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Not dollars.”

  She waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, “Maybe you’ll tell me the real reason some day.”

  Maybe some day, he thought.

  Ana turned her horse around and started off. Wash gave his orange-brown a soft kick and quickly caught up to her. They rode side by side away from the warehouse and were back underneath the cool shade of the woods moments later.

  “Why Texas?” Ana asked. “I know why I’m going, but why are you? What’s down there that’s so important you wouldn’t take Harrisonville’s very generous offer to get hitched to one of their eligible ladies and make beautiful babies?”

  “Is that what the mayor told you?”

  “He told me lots. He would have told me more, but I was in a hurry to catch up to you.” When Wash hadn’t answered her question, “So what’s in Texas? It’s not a woman, is it?”

  “Why is it you think everything comes down to a woman?”

  “It’s just the woman in me. I’m biased.”

  He smirked. “No, it’s not a woman.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He kept silent.

  “It’s going to be a long ride down to Texas,” Ana said. “You might as well tell me now, because you’ll end up telling me later anyway.”

  “Leave it alone, Ana,” Wash said. “Just…leave it alone.”

  Twelve

  A part of Wash wanted to stay at the warehouse until he could walk without feeling pain. He didn’t like the idea of going up against it with two holes in him already. He was going to need everything he had (and then some) to kill the bastard, and the idea of facing off with it with one hand tied behind his back was not all that appealing.

  Of course, he couldn’t wait and heal up. He’d already held Ana back two days, and to make it three would have widened the gap between her and Mathison even further. Regardless of what she had told him—that it didn’t matter how far ahead Mathison got because she knew where he was going—he didn’t completely believe her. And there was a simple reason for that: Because it would have mattered to him if that were his sister out there.

  But he’d be damned if he didn’t feel the urge to hang back and wait, if only just another day.

  “Wishing for it doesn’t make it happen,” the Old Man would say.

  Yeah, I’m beginning to figure that one out, old timer.

  They were only an hour into their journey when Wash snuck in a couple of painkillers. He made sure Ana was slightly ahead of him when he did it and quickly ground the pills between his teeth before swallowing them without water. The powder clung to his throat somewhat, but he worked some saliva around and got them down eventually.

  The weather remained chilly, but not freezing cold. Wash was comfortable inside a new set of thermal clothing, one that wasn’t covered in his blood. They were his last, because he wouldn’t allow himself to make use of the mountain men’s stash or the leftovers from their previous victims. Ana wasn’t complaining despite only wearing jeans and that leather jacket of hers. The road was the same one they’d been traveling on before they were ambushed, a fact that kept Wash’s attention on high alert.

  Fat lot of good that did you the last time.

  He wanted to blame it on Ana’s sudden presence, how he was too busy arguing with her to notice the ambushers sneaking up on them. But the truth was, they were just that good. Which made sense considering how long they had been intercepting travelers on the road. How many people had crossed their paths and never saw it coming?

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that. It’s better than admitting your instincts failed you.

  “It’ll take us a day to reach the Oklahoma border,” Ana was saying in front of him. She pointed to their right. “Interstate 35 is over there, about five miles away. All we have to do is continue south, which will take us through Oklahoma City. Dallas-Fort Worth is two hundred miles after that.”

  “How do you know that?” Wash asked.

  “They’re called maps, Wash. I made sure to know where I’m going at all times.” She glanced back at him. “How were you going to get to Texas?”

  “Keep heading south. Eventually I’d get to where I needed to be.”

  “You didn’t have an itinerary?”

  “Don’t have to. Texas is a big state. Hard to miss.”

  “Still, it’s never a bad thing to have a plan.”

  She sounds like you now, old timer.

  Ana didn’t say anything for a while after that. She had also stopped asking him about his reasons for going to Texas. Wash was hoping that was going to hold, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t, so he wasn’t surprised when she finally broached the subject again.

  “It’s down there, isn’t it?” she asked. “One Eye. The blue-eyed ghoul you’re looking for. It’s in Texas.”

  He didn’t answer her. At least not verbally, but he forgot that his silence was the same as an answer, because he didn’t deny it.

  “How were you going to find it?” she asked. “Like you said, Texas is a big place. It could be anywhere. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that the blue eyes are good at hiding.”

  Wash kept quiet.

  “I’ve heard stories about them out there,” she went on anyway, “but I don’t know anyone who’s actually seen one of them with their own eyes since The Walk Out. Most people think they’re bogeymen. Made up.”

  “Most people are wrong,” Wash said.

  “So you’ve seen them with your own eyes?”

  “Yes. More than one.”

  “What happened?”

  “We killed them.”

  “‘We?’”

  “It usually takes more than one slayer to kill a Blue Eye. Sometimes a lot more.”

  “And yet you’re going down to Texas to take on one of them by yourself…”

  He sighed. “Ana, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She pursed her lips at him, and he thought she would keep going, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “All right.”

  “All right?” he repeated.

  “All right. You’ll tell me w
hen you’re ready.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

  “You will.”

  “If you say so.”

  They rode on in silence for a few more minutes, before Ana said, “You need to go easy on the pills.”

  He sat up straighter in his saddle. “What are you talking about?”

  She slowed down until he caught up to her, and Ana flashed him a wry I saw your hand in the cookie jar glance.

  “Let me guess: You have eyes in the back of your head, too?” Wash said.

  “No, but you weren’t being nearly as sly as you thought you were.” Then, with a look of concern, “Are you okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  “I’m being serious, Wash.”

  He nodded. “I’m fine. The pills were there; it seemed stupid not to use them. That’s what they’re for, right?”

  “You have to be careful. I’ve seen people get addicted to them.”

  “I won’t take any more until tonight. And only if I need them.” Which I probably will, he thought, but didn’t add.

  “Okay,” Ana said. “Just don’t lie to me. I’m only looking out for you.”

  “I will, mo—”

  She shot him a quick warning look. “Don’t finish that word.”

  “What word?”

  “You know what word.”

  He chuckled. “I was going to say, ‘I will, Miss Ana.’”

  “Sure you were.”

  “Swear.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Wash couldn’t help but smile to himself. At least he knew of another thing that could ruffle her feathers. Maybe it was a little childish, but he filed the information away for future use anyway.

  “What’s that short for, anyway?” he asked. “Ana.”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me what Wash is short for.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Anastasia.”

  “Hunh.”

  “‘Hunh?’”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think it’d be that.”

  “What did you think it was?”

  “Not that.” Then, “So it’s Ana. A-n-a?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I thought it was A-n-n-a.”