by Sam Sisavath
“It’s a big group, is it?”
“Bigger than I’d like to admit, alas.”
“Sounds like good company.”
“It’s not bad.”
He paused to let the silence filter in between them again.
Then, “So again, thanks.”
“We’re even now,” Pressley said.
“Understood. Does this mean we’re still friends?”
She sighed. “Don’t push it.”
“Consider it unpushed.”
“I don’t hear anything. From outside…”
“Listen closer.”
“I am…”
“There’s still action. It’s just farther away.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Why can’t I hear anything?”
That’s a good question, Keo thought, but he said instead, “The fighting’s moved away from us completely, from the sounds of it.”
“Is that good?”
“I’ll let you know tomorrow morning.” He glanced over at her dark form next to him. He could make out her bandages easier than her, despite their close proximity. “You gonna die on me?”
“How many times are you going to ask me that?”
“Until you stop answering.”
“No, I’m not going to die on you. I think those pills I took earlier are finally working. You said they were Tramadol?”
“Tramadol Hydrochloride, to be precise.”
“How do you know that?”
“Like I said, when you’ve been shot as many times as I have, it pays to keep tabs of your pill identifiers.” Keo looked back across the hallway, at Greengrass’s unmoving outline. “So, he trained you?”
“He trained all of us. Me, the others…”
“Your team.”
“He handpicked us. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”
Most of your team wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for him, either, Keo thought, but decided it was wiser to keep that to himself.
He said instead, “Does this mean you’re not going back to Fenton?”
“Fenton?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t that the plan? Capture me, hand me over to Blue Eyes, then head back home?”
“Something like that.”
“So what now? You still going back?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly think that far ahead. Everything…happened so fast. I saw him raising his gun and… Then it was over.” She let out a heavy, pained sigh. “I haven’t even thought about what that means when it comes to Fenton.”
“Buck doesn’t strike me as the very forgiving type. Mind you, not that I’ve met the man. Spoken to him over the radio once, though.”
“Just once?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. The way he talked about you… It was like you guys knew each other from way back.”
“We don’t.”
“Hunh.”
“My guess is that, like with Greengrass over there, ol’ Buckaroo’s met plenty of guys like me before. And vice versa.”
“What’s a guy like you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is it?”
“No. Not really, now that I think about it.”
“What did you do before all of this?”
“This and that, and a lot of stuff in-between.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I did a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Helped some people. Protected some people. Did a lot of things for other people they couldn’t do for themselves.”
“Killed some people?”
“Yeah, that too.”
“I’m glad I never met you before all of this. You sound like a real asshole.”
Keo smiled to himself. “Not the first time someone’s told me that, either. I’m trying very hard not to be one, though.”
“Is it working?”
“You tell me.”
She lifted her good arm and wobbled her palm from side to side. “Eh.”
He chuckled, then nodded across at Greengrass’s form. It was slowly coming into view as his night eyes adjusted to the new normal. “The way he spoke about Buck—were they friends or just comrades?”
“Buck recruited him after that whole mess with Mercer. They became good friends. I guess they had a lot in common.” She paused, before adding, “I don’t think I can go back to Fenton.”
Why would you want to? Keo thought. Something’s happening in Fenton, and that “something” is going to get them flattened. If Black Tide doesn’t get to them first, I will.
He said, “So don’t tell Buck about the specifics of what happened tonight. Tell him I killed Greengrass.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So you can go back home…if that’s what you want.”
“Home…”
“It’s your home, isn’t it?”
“No, not really. I’ve never once thought of it as my home. Just some place I’ve been staying in for the last two years.”
“I thought Buck’s been at Fenton for more than two years.”
“He has. But I haven’t. It’s only been two years for me, after Jacob recruited me. I’ve spent most of my time with him and the team. Janks, Williams, the others. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in the same room or even general vicinity as Buck.”
“So does that mean you don’t know what he’s planning?”
“Are we still talking about Buck?”
“Yeah. What exactly is he doing over there in Fenton? Why is he attacking all the towns? Why is he taking the women and children?”
Pressley didn’t say anything.
“You know about the women and children, don’t you?” Keo asked.
“Yes,” Pressley said quietly, as if she was afraid of being overheard.
Of course she knows. What did you expect? There’s nothing pure or innocent about this woman sitting next to you. She may have saved your life, but she’s just as guilty as Greengrass and Buck.
So keep that in mind the next time you voluntarily hand her a gun and expose your back to her, you dumb idiot.
“What are they doing with them?” Keo asked. “Why are they taking the women and children and killing the men?”
“I don’t know,” Pressley said. “I’m not a part of Buck’s inner circle. Not a lot of people are. He keeps most of his plans close to the vest. Only a very small number of people know what’s really going on, why he’s in Fenton in the first place, and why they’re taking women and children from the towns.”
But you knew they were doing it. You knew, and you’re still running around out here in Buck’s name. So what does that make you?
Keo didn’t put those thoughts into words. He could already hear the hesitation in Pressley’s voice the more he probed the subject. Right now, he didn’t need her to shut down. He needed answers, and Greengrass certainly wasn’t going to provide them.
Easy does it. Easy does it…
“Did he know?” Keo asked, nodding across at Greengrass. “Was he part of Buck’s inner circle?”
“He was,” Pressley said. “Like I said, he and Buck were close, and Buck isn’t the kind of man who trusts easily. But if he did know about everything—about Buck’s plans—Jacob never told us.”
“Did you ever ask?”
Again, Pressley didn’t answer right away.
Finally, she said, “No.”
Because you didn’t want to know. Because it would be harder to lie to yourself when you know what’s happening out there, what you’re helping to happen by doing nothing about it.
But once again, Keo bit his tongue and thought about Emma. It had been a while since he thought of her. He blamed it on being too busy running for his life, trying to outrun ghouls and humans alike, but maybe she had just taken a small step down his ladder of importance now that old faces from his past had reentered his life. It was a shitty th
ing to consider—or admit to himself—but it was probably closer to the truth.
God, they’re right. I really am an asshole.
“You don’t have to go back to Fenton,” Keo said. “There are other roads to take that don’t put you right back with Buck. I know people who’d take you in. They’ll ask questions—about Fenton, about Buck, everything you may know about what’s going on in that place—but they’ll give you a second chance.”
“Friends of yours?” Pressley asked.
“Very good friends, yeah.”
“Are they part of the group that thinks you’re an asshole?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Pressley went quiet for a moment.
Then, finally, “I don’t know, Keo. I honestly don’t know about what I’m going to do next. I guess I have a lot of thinking to do.”
“It’s better than the alternative, Pressley.”
“Maybe…”
“There’s a war coming, Janet. Can I call you Janet?”
“No.”
“Fair enough. But there’s a war coming, Pressley, and you’re going to need to choose a side. When we get out of here, let me introduce you to the right side. It’s the least I can do.”
“The ‘right’ side? Who decides what’s the right side? I bet Buck thinks he’s on the right side, too. So did Jacob and the others. So did the women who sold their souls to the ghouls and allowed themselves to be impregnated. Who decides what’s the ‘right side?’ You? Me? Buck?”
The one that isn’t murdering whole towns and stealing their women and children, Keo thought, and wanted badly to say it, but restrained himself.
Not yet. Don’t push her too hard.
Not yet…
“There’s always been right and wrong,” he said. “I know it and you know it. Don’t fool yourself.”
Pressley remained silent.
“Pressley—”
“Keo.”
“What?”
“Shut up. I’m sick and tired of listening to your stupid voice.”
Keo grinned. “Stupid voice?”
Pressley’s head slumped against his shoulder before he could finish the rest of his retort.
Shit. Is she…?
There. Her breathing. It was weak, but it was there.
She was alive…barely.
Keo sighed and thought, Well, at least I won’t be sitting here in the dark all by myself, surrounded by dead bodies.
“Captain Optimism, this guy,” he said quietly, before smiling to himself in the dark like an idiot.
Nineteen
Thump.
He opened his eyes to darkness. Nothing had changed since he was awake, which was…how long ago?
Thump.
There it was again. The sound that had woken him up.
Thump.
Keo looked to his left, where Brett’s body would be. There, the teenager’s watch, the hands glowing in the blackness. Two-fifty after midnight.
Thump.
It wasn’t a gunshot. Or an explosion. It sounded almost…muted. Unnatural.
So what is natural these days?
It was definitely coming from another part of the building. That was the only thing he could be absolutely sure of. That, and Pressley, leaning her entire body against him now.
Thump.
No way that was a gunshot. Keo had too many experiences around gunfire to be able to tell the difference, and this was not someone firing a gun. It also wasn’t something exploding. So what was it?
Thump.
It was a pounding sound, reverberated along the facility, coming from somewhere beyond the corner to his right. How far away from the turn? That was the answer he needed to find out.
Thump.
Keo picked up the large, torn piece of Brett’s shirt he had been using to wipe his face clean and tossed it aside. Then he eased Pressley’s body off him and back against the wall. He spent a few seconds making sure she wouldn’t topple sideways and hurt herself before standing up. He had the pump-action shotgun gripped in his hands, but he reached down and picked up one of the ARs and slung it over his shoulder. The revolver was shoved in his front waistband while the Glock hung comfortingly in the holster on his left hip. There were more weapons to choose from, but they would have just weighed him down.
Thump.
He faced the end of the hallway, not that he could really see much except dull gray walls. What he wouldn’t give for a flashlight. Better yet, one attached to the barrel of the shotgun.
Thump.
It wasn’t going to stop no matter how hard he wished it would. And he had a feeling that when it finally did cease, he wasn’t going to like what happened afterward.
So I guess you better keep praying it doesn’t stop.
Right?
Keo stepped over Pressley’s splayed legs and moved slowly up the corridor. He stopped a few feet later and glanced back at her darkened form. He hadn’t been keen on the idea of roaming around the bomb shelter’s pitch-dark hallways by himself earlier before he settled down and dozed off, and he still wasn’t, now. But what were the chances Pressley was going to be anything other than a hindrance in her current state? Sure, an extra pair of hands holding a rifle would come in handy, but not if he had to carry her over there and back.
Thump.
He looked forward, sighed, and started walking again.
Keo held the shotgun in his right hand and used his left to keep the wall next to him at all times. His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness that he wasn’t in any danger of walking into a solid block of concrete and hurting himself, but the exact spaces were still mysteries to him. The turn was somewhere up ahead, slowly coming into view.
Thump.
What was making that noise? Was it someone (something) trying to break through…what? It sounded very much like something was beating on a solid structure. A door? It didn’t sound metal, and if it were wood it would have broken a long time ago. Was there another method into the facility that Brett and the others didn’t know about?
What was that Scarlett had said about the place?
“We weren’t really supposed to come down here. I think it’s an old bomb shelter that the people who were in Cordine City during The Purge used to hide from the ghouls. After The Walk Out, we mostly used it for storage.”
She and Brett had only fled to the building because they had seen the others doing it, and it was easily the most secure place in or around the city. But she didn’t really know anything else about it, and neither did Brett. Which meant there could have been more than one way in and out that the teenagers were clueless to.
Great. And here I thought I was safe and sound.
Keo had to chuckle at that. What exactly had his life become that sitting in a darkened building, waiting for sunlight while being surrounded by dead bodies, was the best-case scenario?
Better than being dead, pal.
Well, that was certainly true.
Thump.
Had the pounding sounded louder that time? Or was it just his imagination?
Probably just my imagination.
Maybe…
He was certain of one thing (Are you even sure about that?), and that was the intervals between thumps. They weren’t gaining in intensity and didn’t seem to be happening at a faster clip since he opened his eyes. There was an almost purposeful quality to them, like whoever (whatever) was causing them was being very, very deliberate.
Almost like they know I’m in here. Like they know every sound is driving me up the wall.
Was that possible? Was whoever was responsible doing it in such a way that they knew it would get to him? A sadistic method of getting on his nerves? Adding to his fear? Even taunting him?
What am I, Barbara from Night of the Living Dead?
Fuck that shit.
Keo picked up his pace even as another thump came from around the turn. He took his left hand off the wall and put it on the shotgun’s fore-end so he could rack the weapon faster i
f he needed to.
Shells. How many shells did he have left? He’d fired twice, reloaded once, so he was sitting on four rounds. That was fine, because he had a fully loaded AR and two pistols as backup. Though he regretted not swapping out Brett’s revolver for one of the semiautomatics. That was stupid. He was carrying an additional six shots when it could have been eight, or twelve, or more.
Live and learn, pal.
Hopefully…
Finally, after what seemed like a few hours of cautious walking, he reached the end of the hallway and turned right, the shotgun leading the way. He found nothing around the corner. Just a lot of darkness and more corridor.
Thump.
Keo tried to gauge if he was getting any closer to the origins of the noise as it faded past him slowly, slowly…gone.
Shit. I can’t tell if I’m getting closer…or farther away.
He soldiered on, suddenly very aware of the slightly increased beating in his chest.
Thump.
He was pretty sure that sounded a lot louder than all the other times. He was sure of it.
Really? You’re sure of it? Can you even see your shoes right now?
No, he couldn’t, but that didn’t mean he had lost his grip on his other senses. He could hear and feel just fine. Especially the feeling part, and right now he wasn’t very confident about anything.
The urge to turn around and go back to Pressley and wait it out was enticing, but the sound—thump—made that impossible. It had its claws in his head and wouldn’t allow him to turn tail and run in the opposite direction.
Gotta find out. One way or another, gotta find out.
He took another step forward, changing up his grip on the Remington for the tenth time in as many minutes.
Gotta find out…
Thump-thump.
It was getting louder and more insistent, and it couldn’t have had anything to do with the fact that he might be getting closer to it, because Keo didn’t even know if that was remotely true. It was more a sense that they—whoever they were—were getting close to their goal and they knew it, and that was encouraging them to work harder and faster.
Before Keo even realized he had made the decision, he was jogging through the darkness. He should have been bogged down with pain from the layers of aches and bruises building up over the course of yesterday and today, but he was feeling surprisingly spry. It was either the adrenaline or the Tramadol that Pressley had found earlier.