by Sam Sisavath
“No. What was it about?”
“Children. Cornfields. Really creepy children in cornfields.”
Ana wasn’t sure if he was messing with her, but she didn’t feel like pursuing it. He wasn’t wrong about religion and small towns, though. It’d been the same in Newton, where she came from.
Randall stopped in front of the church and put the truck in park, the shadowed spire climbing up the hood and taking over a large part of the dirty windshield. The slayer leaned back in his seat and glanced around at the empty town.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Randall said in a sing-song voice that made the hairs on the back of Ana’s neck rise slightly.
Even with both their windows open, Ana couldn’t hear anything outside except for the occasional pek-pek-pek of pebbles ricocheting off the walls and the occasional eerie howls of wind as they moved between buildings.
“Looks dead,” Randall said after a while.
Ana winced and thought, Again with the fine choice of words, Randall.
“Maybe we should keep going,” she said.
“Already?” Randall said.
“There’s no one here. There probably hasn’t been anyone here for a while, from the looks of it. And like you said, if there were anyone here, they would have heard us coming and come out.”
And I really, really want to get the hell out of here, she wanted to add but decided not to, for Chris’s sake. And hers.
“Yeah, we should go,” Chris said from the back.
“Let’s give it a sec,” Randall said before he leaned out his window and glanced into the truck bed at Shelby. “You see anything?”
Ana heard Shelby’s voice answering, “Does squat count as ‘anything?’”
“I don’t see why not,” Randall said.
“Then I see exactly squat, squat, and even more squat,” Shelby said.
“We really need to improve your vocab, Shelby.”
“I ain’t got time for readin’ and such.”
Randall pulled his head back in and turned to look at Ana. “Okay.”
“Let’s go,” Ana said. “We made the effort. Now it’s time to move on.”
“You don’t wanna check the church?”
“No.”
“What about the other—”
“Let’s go, Randall.”
The slayer chuckled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and was reaching for the gear when there was a loud banging from above them.
Shelby, in the back of the truck. “We got company!”
Randall took his hand off the gear, but instead of putting it back on the steering wheel, he dropped it casually toward his hip, where he had his semiautomatic handgun holstered.
“Nine o’clock,” Shelby said from outside.
Nine o’clock? Ana thought.
Randall apparently understood what Shelby meant and glanced out his open window. She followed where he was looking—
There, a figure standing in the alleyway between two buildings, looking out at them. The figure was too far and too well-hidden for Ana to tell if it was a man or woman or even make out details like what they were wearing. The angle was all wrong, and the figure was effectively obscured by shadows cast down by the angled rooftops above them.
For about five seconds, Ana didn’t move or look away (she wasn’t sure if she was even breathing), and neither did Randall. Ana could hear Chris in the back squeezing her backpack tighter, but she didn’t take her eyes off the dark figure.
It was watching them back—almost as if, like them, it couldn’t look away.
Somewhere behind them Shelby was moving around, and Ana found some comfort in that. Shelby was armed with a rifle, and she knew for a fact he was proficient with it. She’d seen the young man in action and was glad he was out there watching over them.
“Three o’clock!” Shelby shouted.
Three o’clock? What the hell is three o’clock?
Randall, again, knew and responded to Shelby’s voice by turning his head to look at her—
No, not at her, but past her.
Again, she followed his gaze out her own window—
Another figure had appeared in the spaces between two buildings, but there was just enough light this time for Ana to make out a long coat and some kind of handkerchief over the lower half of a face.
For a brief, paralyzing second, Ana had visions of the Raggedy Men back in Talico. The same thought must have flashed across Chris’s mind, because Ana swore the teen gasped audibly in the back seat.
We’re not in Talico. And those aren’t Raggedy Men.
God, I hope those aren’t Raggedy Men…
“I think we should go, Randall,” Ana said. “I think we should go now.”
“Fuck yeah,” Randall said, reaching for the gear between their seats and putting it in reverse—
Boom! as something exploded outside, and the front driver-side of the Ford dipped slightly to the ground.
That was a shotgun blast. That was a damn shotgun blast!
Ana had heard enough of the sound—she had even pulled the trigger enough times to cause them—to instantly recognize what she’d just heard.
Boom! as her side of the truck also dropped, even as the Ford began reversing.
Randall, thank God, hadn’t taken his foot off the gas even after the first shot.
It was a trap. The whole thing was a trap. Luring them in, then drawing their attention with the shadowy figures.
It was a trap!
“Hold on!” Randall was shouting.
“Just drive!” she shouted back.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Shut up, and just drive!”
“Nag, nag, nag!” Randall said, and she swore he was also laughing.
This is no time to be laughing! Ana thought as she gripped Ol’ Pumpy. She was lifting the shotgun off her lap to ready it for use when she caught movement out of the corner of her eyes and looked up.
Two figures were charging out of the suddenly open twin doors of the church. When had the doors opened? Was that before or after the shotgun blasts? It had to be before. Didn’t it?
Who the hell cares? They’re going to shoot again!
But not yet, as both men were clearly caught off guard by Randall’s handling of the Ford. Either that, or they were shocked the first two blasts hadn’t disabled the vehicle.
Go, Randall, go! Ana thought as the two men, both wearing boots and trench coats—one of them had a Houston Astros cap on, stringy blond hair falling around his face—raced after them with shotguns that looked very much like the one she was holding. Except she was inside the Ford and in no position to shoot back, and they were out there and taking aim—
“Randall!” Ana got out before another boom! snapped the hood of the truck loose, and it flipped up and blocked Ana’s view of everything in front of her. It also cut off her ability to track the attackers, but at the same time kept the men from unloading on her and Randall through the windshield. At least she could be grateful for that!
“Go, Randall, go go go!” Ana shouted.
Randall didn’t answer. He was too busy reversing, his head turned and his eyes fixed out the rear windshield so he could see where he was going. The two blown front tires were grinding against the hard earth, spitting clouds of dust into the air. Ana coughed as debris flicked into her open window and off her cheeks.
“Hold on!” Randall shouted.
Hold on to what? Ana thought as she lifted the shotgun and turned in her seat. She didn’t expect the two men to stay where she’d last spotted them, outside the church. She couldn’t see them, but they’d have no trouble following the retreating vehicle. The only good news was that she hadn’t heard another devastating shotgun blast yet.
There!
The man in the baseball cap was appearing and disappearing out her window as Randall frantically spun the truck in an effort to avoid what looked like a water fountain. Where the hell had that come from? Ana didn’t remember see
ing it the first time they drove through town. Had someone put it there? No, of course not. That was stupid. Who and how—
Wait. Shelby.
Was Shelby even still in the back of the truck? She hadn’t heard any returning fire from behind her, and she should have. The young slayer wasn’t shy about using his rifle, especially if someone had shot at them first. Two someones.
Ana glanced back—
Chris! Where’s Chris?
There she was. The teenager was on the floor behind Ana’s seat, huddled so low that it took a heartbeat for Ana to recognize the top of her head.
Now Shelby. Now where the hell is Shelby?
She looked out the rear cab window but couldn’t find Shelby back there. She should have been able to see his legs moving around, but there were no signs of him.
What happened to Shelby?
What happened to Shelby???
Another boom! thundered, and this time the back of the Ford dipped suddenly. Chris let out a scream, but it was from shock and not pain.
“Randall!” she shouted.
“I know, I know!” he shouted back.
The truck slammed to a stop, and Randall was reaching for the gear to put it in drive when he froze. Ana opened her mouth to ask why he’d done that when she spotted the shotgun pointing at Randall outside his open window.
The second man that had rushed out of the church stood beyond, not more than five feet from Randall’s door, pointing his weapon straight at the slayer. At that range, he couldn’t have missed even if he tried. And once all that buckshot took Randall’s head off, they would keep coming and take Ana’s as well.
“Don’t even think about it,” the man with the shotgun said, his eyes snapping from Randall to Ana and back again.
She wasn’t sure who he was talking to, not that it mattered. If she tried to point Ol’ Pumpy at him, he would have fired and cut Randall to pieces. Ana imagined the top half of the slayer missing, sitting next to her…
Slowly, Ana took her hands off the shotgun, even as the man in the Astros ball cap appeared next to her window. He kept a safe distance, his own weapon aimed at her head while he moved around to get a better look at the interior of the Ford.
“One more in the back!” Ball Cap shouted. He was referring to Chris.
Where the hell is Shelby?
Was he dead? Had someone shot him before the two with the shotguns came out of the church?
“Let me have that; don’t want you tempted,” Ball Cap said before he reached into Ana’s open window and grabbed the pump-action shotgun from her hands. “He’s got a sidearm,” the man said as he backed away again, his eyes fixed on Randall.
The attacker on Randall’s side hadn’t moved. As far as Ana could tell, he hadn’t even breathed. He was an older man than Ball Cap—early forties, at least, with short brown hair and a button nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. He held his weapon like it was a part of him, and Ana once again envisioned Randall shot to pieces…
Randall must have seen the same things and understood the dangers, because he hadn’t done anything. He also hadn’t taken his hands off the steering wheel and gearshift.
“I told you, don’t even think about it,” the man said, drilling Randall with hard eyes.
Randall didn’t answer.
“Turn it off,” the man said.
Randall did, taking his hands off the gear and turning the key until the truck’s engine went dead. Ana was able to hear her own heartbeat pounding inside her chest again. She wasn’t the only one; Chris’s was just as loud in the back.
“Outta the car,” Ball Cap said, opening Ana’s door before scooting away. He wasn’t quite as intimidating as the older man, but Ana didn’t think he was any less dangerous with that shotgun.
Even as she stepped outside, Ana couldn’t stop thinking about Shelby. Where was he? Was he dead? Had someone else—a third shooter—killed the young slayer? That was the only explanation. Otherwise, she would have heard him back there shooting back. Shelby was young, but he’d been in gun battles before.
When she was finally outside, Ana raised her hands. Ball Cap immediately started patting her down, looking for a hidden weapon (He’s done this before.), but Ana ignored him and focused on the back of the truck, hoping for signs of Shelby. He was nowhere to be found, but when she turned around—
There, a body was sprawled on the ground about halfway between them and the church.
Shelby.
She couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, but he wasn’t moving.
Oh, Shelby.
The sound of another door opening. Ana looked across the front seats and watched as Randall climbed out, then kneeled on the ground. His knees hadn’t completely touched down when the older man stepped toward Randall and struck him across the head with the butt of his weapon.
“Randall!” Ana shouted.
She got one step—then almost two—before something hit her in the small of the back and agony exploded through her. Ana stumbled and just managed to stick out both hands in time to prevent what would have been a painful collision with the open door. She was holding onto that door, trying to maintain her balance, when something else—heavier, like the hand of God—impacted the back of the head.
Ana fell to the ground, smashing into it with her cheek. It should have hurt, but there was already too much pain from everywhere else, and she hardly noticed.
She could, though, hear Chris’s voice, clear as day, shouting her name…
Ten
She had a pounding headache. The kind that made her want to lie perfectly still and never move or open her eyes ever again. But she couldn’t afford to do that. Not after everything that had happened. And what, exactly, had happened?
The two men with shotguns coming out of the church…
Randall reversing the truck like a madman…
Shotgun blasts…
Shelby on the ground…
Men with shotguns…
She opened her eyes and sat up gingerly, something that felt like very weak wooden walls scraping at her back through her clothes. Her legs were stiff, as was the rest of her body, but the discomfort had nothing on the insistent throbbing coming from the back of her head.
Ana reached behind her with one hand and carefully felt around. She brought the hand back and stared at the small clumps of blood and hair in her palm. That explained the awful feeling of her skull on the verge of caving in on itself. The only positive—and she was definitely reaching here—was that the wound had closed up when the blood coagulated, so she was in no danger of bleeding to death back there.
Yeah, you’re definitely reaching.
She wiped the blood off on her pant legs, realizing right away that her captors had taken her knife from its hidden compartment inside her sleeve. Dammit, she liked that knife. It had saved her life on a number of occasions, and being without it felt almost…naked.
Ana glanced around her, getting her first good look at her situation. It was, in a word, bad.
Badder than bad, in fact.
Really, really bad.
She was inside a small building (What is this, a shack?), and she wasn’t alone. Randall lay crumpled in front of her. Shelby was also there, resting on one side with his back turned to her.
Shelby!
Ana crawled over to the young slayer. She grabbed him by his raised shoulder and turned him over onto his back. There was cold, dirt ground underneath them. She hadn’t noticed that before, but it was impossible to ignore now.
“Thank God,” Ana whispered when she noticed the rise and fall of Shelby’s chest underneath his clothes.
He was still alive, and when she put her hand underneath his nostrils, she could feel the gradual push of warm breath coming out. After her last glimpse of him, sprawled on the ground, this was a welcome relief. There was a big gash on his temple where something had struck him. It was an ugly scar but not a killing one. It had, though, been enough to knock him off the back of the truc
k while Randall was reversing. Thank God the Ford hadn’t run him over. Ana didn’t want to think about all the things that could have gone wrong with Shelby lying helpless on the ground and Randall trying frantically to get away in a half-ton truck.
Ana moved over to check on Randall. Dry blood caked the lower half of his face where one of their ambushers had struck him with the butt of his weapon. Randall’s nose was broken, and it probably looked worse than it really was. Not that there was anything good about a shattered nose, but like Shelby, she could see Randall was still breathing, if struggling more than his young partner. But he was still breathing, and that was all that mattered.
Ana sat back on the hard ground, relieved that both men were still alive. She looked around her. Really, really looked around her this time.
They were in a shack. Or a shed. Was there a difference? It was a small building, that much she was certain of. Sunlight streaked inside through gaps in the walls. That gave her some additional comfort. Even now, years after The Purge, she still got nervous when darkness fell and she wasn’t indoors.
It had to have been just a few hours since they were attacked. The insistent throbbing coming from the back of her head was a clue, along with Randall and Shelby’s unconscious state. Ana was surprised she had woken up before the men. They were both bigger, stronger, and—
“Chris,” she said breathlessly.
She glanced around her again, this time with more urgency.
Chris. Where was Chris?
The teenager wasn’t in the building with them, and it took her no time at all to be 100 percent certain of that.
“Chris,” she said again as she stood up.
Or tried to. Her legs were wobbly, and it took a couple of tries before she was finally able to rise to her feet, groping the splintered walls for support. When she was sure she had firm footing, she took the couple of steps toward the door. There was a rusted lever on it, but even though she knew better, Ana reached for and pulled it down anyway.
The door moved but didn’t open. She glimpsed chains moving on the other side through slivers in the wooden frame, jingling loudly with her efforts. She pulled and pushed and prodded at the lever for a few more seconds, shaking the door and the walls along with it. She wondered if she could knock the whole thing down if she kept at it hard and long enough. But it was probably not a good idea to bring the building down on top of her, since she’d be in the middle of it. Her head was still pounding as it was.