Remains (After The Purge: Vendetta, Book 3)

by Sam Sisavath

  “Careful now,” the Old Man said. “You don’t want to push too hard, kid. Reel the fish in. Reel it in slowly…”

  Keith had glanced briefly over his shoulder, back at the no-name town, the two of them listening to the suddenly empty silence around them. Whatever was going on back there, Wash had a feeling it was over.

  “Who were they?” Wash asked. “The people back there?”

  “Pissed-off survivors,” Keith said. “Blue Eyes attacked their town, killed most of the people. The little nightcrawlers it has running around out here? Most of them are from that one place. It turned almost the entire population.”

  And I bet you lent a hand in doing that, didn’t you? Wash thought, but of course didn’t say out loud. It was an accusation—probably a true one—but it wouldn’t have done his cause a lick of good.

  He said instead, “They followed it? The survivors?”

  Keith nodded. “They took over those buildings, put some kind of trap into motion from what I could gather. Lured it in. I don’t know where they got all the guns and silver bullets. Maybe they always had it with them.” He shrugged. “They sought it out, and they got what they wanted. Well, maybe not exactly what they wanted...”

  “Revenge,” Wash said.

  “Good ol’ fashioned revenge, yeah.”

  “What better reason to do anything?” the Old Man asked.

  “Sounds like the fight’s over back there,” Wash said.

  “Yeah, sounds pretty much over to me, too,” Keith said.

  Wash thought he detected something that almost sounded like regret in the man’s voice.

  He was hoping it would work, that those survivors could kill One Eye.

  “You hope,” the Old Man said.

  That has to be it.

  “You hope that’s it.”

  It has to be.

  “They like to play,” Wash said. “The Blue Eyes. But you already know that, don’t you? You’ve seen it play. It’s a monster, Keith. It’s not your friend, and it’s never going to be. You live and breathe by its mercy, and they aren’t exactly known for mercy. But then I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I?”

  Keith didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. Wash could read that on his face clear as day. Keith had seen it up close, had probably even been party to it—whether willingly or not—and he knew Wash wasn’t lying.

  “It wants me,” Wash continued. “Alive. That’s why you haven’t finished me off. That’s why it told you to keep me hanging in that barn, waiting for its return. Where did it go, by the way? Why didn’t it show up last night?”

  “I’m not sure,” Keith said. “All I know is that it headed somewhere south. Said something about being called away, but it didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. Not that any of it matters, because it’s back now.”

  “It told you to intercept me. It knew I was coming.”

  “Yeah, it did. Don’t bother asking me how it knew.”

  “One of its creatures saw me back in Jasper. That’s how it works, you know. What they see, it sees. That’s how their hive mind functions. You know about that?”

  “I’ve heard of it. But then, I’ve heard a lot of things. Most of them are just stories to scare kids.”

  “What I’m telling you is true.”

  “If you say so.”

  “We can kill it. Together. I can make it focus on me. It thinks it’s in my head, and it’s right. But I’m also in its head. That’s why we’re playing this game. We’re connected. It wants me here. It wants me.”

  Keith narrowed his eyes at him. “Who are you?”

  “Wash. My name’s Wash.”

  “No. I mean, who are you?”

  Wash picked himself up from the ground, brushing at the dirt on his pants. His thigh, where he’d been shot, protested slightly, but he ignored it.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” Wash said. “All that should matter to you is what I’m offering.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” Keith asked.

  “Freedom,” Wash said. “The question is: How badly do you want it?”

  Keith didn’t answer him.

  Five seconds…

  Ten…

  “Well?” Wash finally said.

  “I’m listening,” Keith said.

  Twenty-One

  Wash didn’t hear Keith’s shot, just as he hadn’t heard it when he was shot earlier in the night. The Jasper man had taken up a position far enough away that One Eye couldn’t detect his presence. Or, at least, not right away.

  Wash knew the element of surprise was gone when the blue-eyed ghoul’s remaining right eye shifted, first darting slightly upward—not a lot, just barely perceptible—before focusing back, accusingly, on Wash.

  “You’re not alone,” it said. “You’re trying to hide someone from me, but I can smell him. I can hear his heartbeat—”

  “Now!” Wash shouted even as he lunged forward, simultaneously reaching behind his back for the 1911 pistol that Keith had given him.

  Keith’s aim was good, and it would have been true if One Eye had remained standing exactly where it was, unmoving. But it did move, turning its head just enough to keep the 5.56 round from punching through the back of its skull and striking the brain on the other side. Instead, the bullet chopped through the ghoul’s head, around the base of the neck, ricocheted off the jawbone, and out of its cheek, splashing Ana with thick, coagulated black blood.

  Dammit dammit dammit! Wash thought as he ran forward, the semiautomatic swinging free.

  Ana had fallen chest-first onto the ground, but Wash couldn’t help her. He was too busy racing toward the ghoul, zeroing in on the creature as it staggered sideways, blood from the hole in its cheek flicking around the air. They locked eyes even as the creature twisted its body—

  Zip! as a silent bullet passed the creature and nearly took Wash’s head off.

  Keith, firing again, trying to hit One Eye, and instead almost killing Wash.

  Wash wanted to shout out for Keith to hold his fire, but he didn’t have the time or energy. But mainly, there was just no time. Besides, a part of him didn’t think Keith would have listened anyway even if the man could even hear him from wherever he was camped at the moment. Wash imagined Keith frantically trying to end this right here and now, because the alternative was to face the consequences of his betrayal.

  “Take it down! Take it down now, kid!” the Old Man shouted.

  Time slowed as Wash lined up the shot, squinting behind the iron sights of the 1911. The monster was less than ten meters away. It was an easy shot. He’d made harder ones at greater distances while on the move.

  Slow is smooth…

  The creature turned back toward him and scowled. It knew what he was going to do, not that it could do anything to stop him. He was already doing it. Wash was also fully anticipating its insane speed, its ability to adjust on the fly with alarming quickness, just as it had dodged Keith’s two shots. Wash compensated for that disadvantage by predicting everything ahead of time so he would stay, if not one step ahead, then at least parallel to the undead thing.

  …smooth is fast.

  Wash pulled the trigger—

  And the monster raised its hand up to its own face—and Wash’s round struck the back of its palm.

  Mother…

  One Eye lowered its hand and bared a set of yellow and rotten teeth at him.

  …fucker!

  The 9mm bullet had punched through the creature’s palm, but its velocity was slowed just enough by the impact that it was currently lodged in the ghoul’s forehead instead of smashing through the skull and into the brain. The round, flat bottom of the bullet gleamed in the moonlight like a stuck coin.

  Close. So close!

  The shot hadn’t gotten through, but it had hurt the monster. Wash could see it on its malformed face and in the way it squinted its remaining blue eye at him.

  It was hurt.

  It was hurt.

  Wash quickly fir
ed again.

  One Eye turned its head, flicking even more blood across the cold night air, and Wash’s second round sailed into the night, missing its target.

  Damn damn damn!

  Instead of trying for the headshot again, Wash went for the bigger, broader target—the torso. He was moving toward it as he fired, compensating on the fly for the creature’s speed. It was fast—they were always so damn fast—but Wash, again, anticipated its abilities and shot where he expected it to be instead of where it was.

  He fired five times in quick succession and hit it twice.

  Slow it down! Slow it down, and finish it off!

  But his next few shots missed entirely as One Eye spun—Wash glimpsed its cheek, the gash from the bullet wound already closing up, leaving blood pooling around its jawline—and took off.

  No!

  Wash continued to fire after it, trying to track its fast-moving form the best he could. But it was fast.

  God, it was fast.

  The pistol’s magazine emptied at a dizzying rate, and although Wash didn’t have any delusions his bullets were going to kill the monster, it could slow it down just enough for him to finish the job. If he could drop it, he could take its head. Or better yet, shove the kukri right through its brain.

  Keith had the same idea apparently and was still firing, his silent rounds zip-zip-zipping around the fleeing nightcrawler. A few landed short, others went wide, and more struck the ground as One Eye vanished into the darkness.

  Wash managed to hit the creature a few more times in the back as it fled. Or he thought he did, anyway. It was hard to tell for sure as the ghoul’s black form seemed to melt into the surrounding darkness.

  Then it was gone.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Wash said under his breath as he reloaded the magazine, eyes glued in the direction the creature had gone. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he could easily spot the glistening drops of blood the monster had left in its wake.

  All he had to do was follow it…

  Yeah, right. I’m not that stupid.

  He’d chased nightcrawlers into their nest before, but never a blue-eyed ghoul. That was suicide. He’d nailed it twice in the chest—maybe a few more in the back—and Keith had added to the damage. And yet, the damn thing was still able to flee.

  And as long as it did that, it would heal and come back.

  It would come back…

  Wash turned and hurried to where Ana lay. She was picking herself up slowly, hands rubbing at her neck. Her throat was red and purple, and she struggled to breathe.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Ana rested on her knees and looked back at him. “Did you get it?”

  “I got it.”

  “Did you kill it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Shit,” Ana said.

  “Yeah,” Wash said.

  He crouched next to her and got a good look. He hadn’t had the chance earlier with all of his attention on the creature, trying to keep it focused on him in turn. Ana was bruised and hurt, with straps of fabric tied around both forearms. Trails of dry blood were visible around her wrists and palms, and more on her face—forehead, cheeks, and jawline. She’d been through a lot.

  “So who isn’t hurt, bruised, and bleeding tonight?” the Old Man asked.

  “You okay?” Wash asked her again.

  She shook her head. “Not in the slightest.” Ana looked past him. “Chris…”

  “Who?”

  “In the truck,” she said, and stumbled to her feet.

  “Easy,” Wash said, grabbing her arms to keep her from falling back down. Her legs looked a little wobbly.

  Ana turned around and looked at him for a moment. He had forgotten how short she was, and at the same time how much fire she had. Maybe the red hair helped, but it was mostly in her eyes. She was the same Ana he remembered.

  And she punched him in the chest. “You asshat!”

  He hadn’t expected it, and it actually hurt, though he got over it pretty quickly.

  “Jesus, Ana,” Wash said.

  “You made me follow you down here!”

  He made her?

  Wash shook his head. “I didn’t—”

  She hit him again, and this time he was ready for it and could have avoided it easily. Except he didn’t, and he let her connect a second time. It was better to let her get it all off her chest now rather than later, even if it was his chest getting all the bruises.

  “You done?” Wash asked.

  “Not even close,” Ana said, and ran off.

  Wash looked after her. She was headed for the overturned Ford that he had walked past earlier. It was the vehicle’s headlights that had brought him here. He’d seen the truck moving across the Texas plains and saw it stopping. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized it hadn’t stopped but had met…resistance.

  He glanced over in the direction where he guessed Keith was by the trajectory of his shots. Somewhere out there, in the darkness, maybe right now wondering just how much he had screwed up by attempting to assassinate One Eye, and failing. Maybe, if he were smart, Keith might be contemplating trying to make up for that treachery. Would shooting Wash do it? Or would Keith conclude what was done was done, and try to salvage this?

  “You better hope it’s the latter, kid,” the Old Man said.

  Yeah, let’s hope.

  “Then again, considering how well tonight’s gone…”

  Yeah, yeah.

  He couldn’t see Keith out there, but Wash couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was standing in the crosshairs of the Jasper man’s scope right now.

  “Well, he hasn’t shot yet,” the Old Man said. “That’s good.”

  Yeah, not yet.

  Wash turned back at the truck as Ana pulled a small figure out of it. Wash thought it might have been Emily, Ana’s sister, but that didn’t make any sense because Ana had called the figure “Chris,” and what were the chances Ana would put her sister in danger again after Mathison?

  He walked over to join them. Chris, as it turned out, was a teenage girl.

  “Must be short for Chrissy,” the Old Man said.

  Must be.

  “She okay?” Wash asked.

  Ana nodded. “She’s just a little hurt.”

  Everyone’s hurt, he thought, but said, “We have to get out of the open. It might come back.”

  “‘Might?’” the Old Man said.

  Wash stared off at the no-name town he’d been running toward all night. Except he couldn’t really make it out anymore; it was just glowing embers in the thick black night now.

  “Why didn’t you shoot it in the head?” Ana was asking him.

  He looked over. “I did.”

  “I thought you were a good shot.”

  “I am.”

  “But you missed.”

  “I didn’t miss,” Wash said.

  He took a second or two to get a better look at the kid standing next to Ana. Fifteen or sixteen, standing on shaky legs, while Ana stood protectively over her. There was an obvious bond between the two, the kind that could only have been forged by fire. Wash had seen that unspoken relationship often among slayers. Whatever Ana had gone through to get to him, he had a feeling Chris had shared those experiences.

  No wonder she’s so pissed.

  “We need to get out of the open,” he said again.

  “And go where?” Ana asked. “I don’t see anything out here.”

  “Jasper,” a voice said.

  Wash glanced back as Keith walked toward them. He was cradling his rifle, and when Wash locked eyes with him, he didn’t see anything that looked like You fucked me over, you asshole on the other man’s face.

  Of course, Wash could have been wrong. He hoped he wasn’t wrong, and he didn’t hand the 1911 back to Keith or put it away, just in case. Keith wasn’t a ghoul—black eyes or blue—and it wouldn’t be nearly as challenging to end their “partnership” if necessary.

  “You suckered him i
nto this, now you’re thinking about shooting him?” the Old Man asked with a chuckle.

  I’m just playing it safe, old timer.

  “Last time I was in Jasper, you had me strung up in a barn,” Wash said to Keith.

  “Yeah, well, things change,” Keith said. He continued past Wash, but not before adding, “You missed.”

  “I didn’t miss. I hit what I was aiming at. But you didn’t.”

  “It moved too fast.” He stopped for a moment, turning his head slightly but not his body. “I almost had it, but the damn thing moved too fast.”

  Keith walked on ahead of them, leaving Ana and Chris to stare, before turning back to Wash.

  “Who the hell’s that?” Ana asked.

  Someone who is either going to shoot me before the night is over, or our best chance to survive this.

  He said, “He’s from a nearby town. It’s our best option right now.”

  Wash started to follow Keith, who had put a good twenty meters between them. Ana and Chris were at his heels.

  “Can we trust him?” Ana asked. She had lowered her voice noticeably.

  Wash slowed down until he was walking alongside the two women. Chris had put herself on Ana’s other side, maybe wanting to keep some distance between herself and Wash.

  “For now,” Wash said, matching her pitch, not that he didn’t think Keith couldn’t overhear if he really tried. It was certainly quiet enough out here, and sound traveled even if you whispered.

  “What was that you said about being strung up in a barn?” Ana asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “You better.” Then, “Wash.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I have your knife?”

  “Kukri.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  He took the machete out and handed it to her. She gripped it tightly.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Better,” she nodded, even as her eyes roamed the dark Texas landscape around them.

  With the truck left behind, there were no lights in front or to their sides. Except for the tap-tap of their shoes, there was dead silence all around. Even the animals and insects knew better than to come out tonight.