by Sam Sisavath
“Something like that.”
“You kept two alive for intel, is that it?”
“Three,” Winston said.
“Two,” Keo said.
Winston chuckled. “We’ll see about that.” He stood up and finished off what was left of his drink. “You say you’re not one of them.”
“Hand to God,” Keo said, and lifted one hand to do just that.
“Anyone can raise their hand to God and swear.” Winston walked around the desk. “Come with me.”
Keo stood up. “Where we going?”
“Follow me.”
“I guess I’ll follow you, then.”
Keo started to turn, but not before giving the trophy another glance. It looked like a heavy sucker and could likely break through a man’s skull with one swing. Hell, he might not even have to put that much effort into it.
Not yet. Not yet…
He followed Winston to the door. As Keo had suspected, the Skinny Brothers were waiting for them outside.
“Stay close, Keo,” Winston said. “You don’t want to get lost out there.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Keo said.
“The first time I came down here, I almost couldn’t find my way back up. It can get a little tricky.”
“How big is this place, anyway?”
“Big enough.”
“Big enough for what?”
Winston didn’t answer, and continued walking. Short and Skinny and his partner fell in behind them. They turned into a barely lit corridor, and Keo remembered again why it was so hard keeping track of his whereabouts in this place.
“You want shoes?” Winston, walking in front of him, asked.
“That would be nice,” Keo said.
“I’ll see what I can do once we’re done with this.”
“‘This?’”
Winston ignored the question and said instead, “The only reason I’m even entertaining the possibility that you’re telling the truth is how we found you. In that stairwell under a pile of rubble, along with those dead guys.”
“Like I keep telling you, I’m not one of them. I’m not from Fenton.”
“What were you doing in that building with them, then?”
“I got there first. They came later.”
“They were after you?”
“Yeah. They’ve been tracking me for the last two days.”
“Why?”
“I have an ongoing hate-hate relationship with Fenton. Mostly hate. The kind that involves guns. And bullets. And stabbings.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“But you’re going to have to tell me more than that.”
“I’d love to, as soon as I’m convinced you’re not going to execute me anyway.”
“I guess we’ll have to both wait and see.”
“Swell.”
They turned into another semi-dark corridor, and Keo thought, Did I walk through here before? Shit, I can’t tell.
“You conserving electricity?” Keo asked.
“We’re conserving everything,” Winston said. “There used to be more resources out there just lying around for the taking, but with more and more survivors roaming the land again, they’re dwindling. We’re running these lights on solar power, but if you know anything about that, you know it takes a lot of sun to power even the smallest battery.”
“Are we even still in Cordine City?”
“We are.”
“Under it?”
“What gave it away?”
“The ugly décor, for one.”
“They weren’t exactly concerned with aesthetics when they built this place more than forty years ago. But it served its purpose; still does, now.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Survival, of course.”
“Of course.”
Keo expected them to keep walking for a while yet, but after another couple of turns (Christ, I really am lost…again) Winston stopped in front of a metal door that seemed to have popped out of nowhere. But that wasn’t true; it had more to do with his lack of familiarity with the place and all of its twists and turns. The fact that every corridor was identical to the two dozen or so ones he’d walked through so far didn’t help.
Winston didn’t open the door right away. Instead, he turned around to look at Keo. “So you keep insisting that you’re not from Fenton. That you’re enemies.”
“That’s right,” Keo said. “Want me to say it again? ’Cause I can.”
“Tell me what happened. How did you become enemies?”
“They killed some friends of mine, and I killed some friends of theirs.”
“And that’s it?”
“You need more than that?”
Winston shrugged.
“You know how it goes,” Keo said. “It’s a vicious cycle. Sooner or later, everyone ends up dead.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m just stubborn that way.” Keo looked over at the door. “So where are we?”
“I want you to meet someone.”
“The cooks? Is it the cooks? ’Cause I’m starving.”
“Not quite,” Winston said. He turned around and pulled open the door before stepping inside.
Keo followed.
“You recognize her?” Winston asked.
“Yeah,” Keo said.
He stared forward at Pressley. She was awake and bloody, and Keo had a pretty good idea why Winston had brought him here. Winston was going to make him prove that Keo wasn’t from Fenton.
He was going to make Keo kill Pressley.
Eleven
She sat in the middle of a room that looked almost identical to the one Keo had woken up to, and that Greengrass was probably still sleeping inside at the moment, except it was bigger. Maybe twice as big, but definitely wider and with extra spaces to move around, which only made Pressley appear more insignificant.
Keo wasn’t quite sure how Pressley remained upright since she could barely lift her head to look at him. Wet red hair draped over her bandaged forehead and bruised cheeks, and there were just as many sweat stains on her clothes as there was blood. It didn’t appear as if she’d been tortured or beaten, or physically harmed in any way since the last time he saw them dragging her out of the other cell.
The only source of light came from an LED bulb that was clearly new, placed in the very center of the room. It bathed the place in a bright glow, which only made Pressley’s current state all the more shocking. Not that she was in terrible physical shape, but that she was even still alive at all.
And he’s going to make me kill her to prove I’m not one of Buck’s boys.
Keo was pretty sure that was exactly why Winston had brought him here, and while the idea didn’t sit right with him, it didn’t completely come across as all that objectionable, either. He’d done worse things to survive. Way, way worse things than murdering someone who had been, just a day ago, trying to do the same to him.
What was that saying? What comes around, goes around? So why was there this uncomfortable hole in the pit of his stomach that seemed to be growing steadily?
“Does she have a name?” Winston, standing next to him, was asking.
The Skinny Brothers had followed them inside and closed the door, but they stayed back to give Keo and their leader some space to work. He could feel their eyes on his back, waiting to see how he would respond.
“You didn’t ask her?” Keo said.
“She wouldn’t tell us,” Winston said. “We could have made her talk—that was the original plan—but she didn’t look to be in any position to survive that kind of…nudging. At least, not yet. Maybe in a few days things might change.”
“I think you might need more than a few days there, boss man.”
“It could have been worse.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“She could be dead already.”
“Ah.”
“I could also have
sent a few dozen RPGs into that lobby and not a single one of my man.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because Cordine City is within a stone’s throw away from Fenton. I need to know what they’re doing over there, what plans—if any—they have for us. They came here for a reason. Maybe you were telling the truth and they were just after you. But maybe you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“That remains to be seen. Either way, one of them is telling me what I want to know. The boys tell me the one still in the cell looks healthier. He’s also the leader, so that makes him infinitely more valuable than her.”
“You sound like you’ve got it all figured out. So what am I doing here?”
“Prove to me you’re not of them.”
Goddammit, I hate it when I’m right, Keo thought, but he said anyway (maybe because he was just trying to stall for time, he wasn’t sure), “How am I supposed to do that, exactly?”
Winston held out his hand, and Short and Skinny walked over and placed a Glock semiautomatic pistol in his palm. Winston took out the magazine and began thumbing bullets loose, the rounds clink-clink-clinking off the cement floor and ricocheting around their feet. One bounced off Keo’s socked foot and rolled toward Pressley’s unmoving form.
How is she even still upright?
“What size do you wear?” Winston was asking him.
Keo looked over, surprised by the question. “What?”
“What size shoes do you wear?”
“Why, you gonna fit me for a new pair of boots? I hope it’s not cowboy boots. I don’t do rodeos.”
“We have plenty of footwear in storage. One of them should fit you.”
“What else you got in storage?”
“You’ll find out when we’re done here.”
Keo turned around to face Pressley—
—and was surprised to find that she had opened her eyes and was staring back at him.
The hell?
Light blue eyes peered from behind a curtain of sticky red hair. Pressley’s eyes reminded him of someone else, though they weren’t quite as intoxicating. But then, few people had those qualities.
What is she doing?
If Pressley knew what was happening—or what was about to happen—to her, she didn’t say a word. Not to Keo or to Winston or anyone. She didn’t make a sound at all. And for whatever reason, she was only looking at him. Right at him.
Then something happened. A flicker of…something danced across Pressley’s eyes just before they snapped to the right, in Winston’s direction, before returning back to him. It was brief—barely half a heartbeat—and Keo would have missed it entirely if he hadn’t been staring straight at her when she did it.
What…the…hell?
His eyes—just his eyes—shifted down to her hands. Pressley was clutching her thighs, her fingers coiled, as if she was preparing herself for…what?
What exactly was going on here?
Or the better question was, what was it that Pressley was expecting from him?
The sound of Winston slipping the magazine back into the gun—click!—snapped him back to the present.
When he looked over, the older man was holding the weapon out toward him. “There’s one round in the pipe. You can use it to shoot me or one of the boys back there, or you can prove to me you’re not from Fenton.”
Keo stared at the gun, then up at Winston’s face. “You ever heard the saying, ‘Two is better than one?’ What if the one back in the cell dies while you’re…nudging him? Then what? No more intel.”
“I’m willing to take that risk.”
“Why would you, when you don’t have to?”
“Life is a risk.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m just very curious by your decisions, that’s all.”
“You’re stalling,” Winston repeated. He nodded in Pressley’s direction without bothering to look over at her. “She’s probably not going to survive the day, anyway. You’ll be doing her a big favor.”
“You want me to kill her.”
“I thought that was understood. Do you need me to say it, too?”
“No.”
“So stop stalling and make your choice. Are you against Fenton, or with them?”
The hole in the pit of his stomach was growing when Keo focused on the gun in Winston’s palm, the grip turned toward him. He told himself that he’d done this before, that this was just another “must do” in a list of “must do’s” that kept him alive.
So what makes her so special?
The answer was nothing. He didn’t even know her name until Greengrass told him. Before that, she was just Ms. Do It, the one who had told Williams to blow him to hell in the stairwell.
So what did he owe her, exactly?
Nothing. Not a damn thing.
“Take it,” Winston said, watching Keo’s face closely. “You can help me talk to the other one later. Find out what Fenton is doing over there, what their plans are for Cordine City. A lot of people are curious what the hell they’re doing running around with all that firepower.”
“People? So you’re not alone in this?”
“You don’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway.” Winston sighed. “Make your choice, Keo. Are you with them, or are you with us?”
“That’s an easy choice.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Good man,” Winston said.
Keo took the gun from Winston, and as the older man pulled his hand back—
—Keo lunged forward.
“What—” Winston got out when Keo slipped his left arm around his throat and pulled his body back until it was in front of him, even as Keo lifted his gun hand and pointed it toward the door.
The Skinny Brothers reacted quickly, both men moving much, much faster than Keo had expected. But he’d still caught them off guard, and that yielded almost exactly two seconds of a head start.
Even so, the closest of the duo—Short and Skinny—was already lifting his rifle. Except the Cordine City man didn’t pull the trigger because there was no shot with Keo hiding behind Winston. That extra second of hesitation cost him, and Keo shot him.
You idiot! a voice shouted inside the back of Keo’s mind even as he pulled the trigger and the Glock bucked.
Keo’s first and only round had hit Short and Skinny center mass in the chest, and the man dropped to his knees. He was still alive, somehow, but didn’t have the strength to return fire. He had also fallen directly in front of his partner, who had to go around him, all the while trying to line up a shot at Keo with his shotgun.
“Don’t shoot!” Winston shouted. “Goddammit, don’t shoot me!”
Tall and Skinny stepped around his partner and hesitated, and that once again gave Keo the opportunity to throw the now-empty Glock with everything he had. The gun’s Polymer grip hit the guard in the forehead, and the man’s snapped head back, even as he pulled the trigger on his shotgun and sent buckshot into the ceiling, loosening a chunk of white powder.
Winston attempted to duck in front of Keo when the shotgun went off, but Keo had too strong of a grip around his neck, and the man only managed a slight crouch. Keo changed up his grip, then tossed Winston aside like he was a nuisance before he dove forward at the stumbling Tall and Skinny.
The shotgun! Get the shotgun!
Tall and Skinny was fighting to stay upright after being hit by the gun in the face, while still managing to rack his shotgun. He kept blinking, trying desperately to focus as Keo charged him and crashed into his target, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist as he drove him back, back, and back into the closed metal door.
Grunts from behind him, mixed with boots scraping frantically against the floor.
Shit, Winston!
Keo glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see Pressley on her feet and tackling Winston and the two of them flying down to the hard ground—
&
nbsp; Boom! as the shotgun fired again, so close to Keo’s ears that he was pretty sure he had just gone deaf. But that couldn’t have been the case, because he could still hear Tall and Skinny letting out an almost animalistic roar as he attempted to push Keo away. Gray mist from the second buckshot impact drifted down on top of the two of them, covering their heads and shoulders.
Keo punched Tall and Skinny in the face with a balled fist, felt wetness splashing his knuckles as the man’s nose erupted in a geyser of blood. Not that it deterred the guard from pushing Keo back, just enough to dislodge the shotgun from between their bodies, and swinging it at Keo’s head.
Keo ducked under the shotgun, and even as Tall and Skinny began to bring the weapon back for another swing, Keo sprung up and drove the heel of his right hand into the man’s jaw with everything he had. The guard’s head snapped backward and struck the metal door behind him with a resounding bam!
The shotgun clattered to the floor and Keo snatched it up, racked it, and pointed it at its previous owner. But he didn’t pull the trigger because Tall and Skinny was done. A thick layer of blood covered most of the lower half of his face, and there was a patch of blood and hair clinging to the section of the door where the back of his head had collided seconds ago. He wasn’t dead yet, but there was nothing about the way he was looking at Keo that indicated he had anything left.
Keo turned around and stepped over Short and Skinny lying in an almost fetal position on the floor as blood pooled underneath his lifeless body. The man had actually fallen and died while Keo wasn’t looking. Thank God, because Keo wasn’t sure he could have taken both of the Skinny Brothers at the same time.
Winston and Pressley were trying to kill each other in the back of the room.
Or Winston was doing the “trying to kill” part while Pressley was doing most of the “trying not to die” part, anyway. Pressley was on the ground, attempting to get up and failing, even as she whaled at Winston’s head with her fists. Winston seemed impervious to her punches and was trying to strangle her with his hands around her neck. Pressley’s face had already turned a dangerous shade of blue as her eyes, bulging, looked past Winston’s shoulder and at Keo. Winston, on the other hand, was oblivious to Keo’s presence.
Keo racked the shotgun, ejecting a perfectly unused shell, and the sound was enough to draw Winston’s attention. The older man looked back at him, hands still wrapped around Pressley’s throat, and his eyes snapped from Keo to the Skinny Brothers, then back again.