by Sam Sisavath
“It’s all supernatural shit,” Rhett said. “I stopped trying to understand them a long time ago.” He gazed across the table at Lara. “If she says killing King Ghoul takes them out, then I believe her.”
Lara nodded gratefully back at him.
“I’ve seen it up close and personal,” Danny said. “I’ve gone toe-to-toe with them. And I’m not talking about your garden-variety black eyes.”
“The blue eyes,” Riley said.
“We’ve heard stories about them,” Peele said. His voice had dropped noticeably for some reason. “They lord over the towns, keep the blood pumping.”
“They do that, and then some,” Danny said. “The important takeaway is that they run the show. They use the black eyes like marionettes. Cut the strings by taking out the baby blues, and the puppets go down for the count.”
“How?” Cole asked.
“That’s for history and scientific folks to figure out. I just know that when you snuff out one of them, every black-eyed ghoul in the area just stops.”
“Just stops?” Peele said.
“Like they ran out of batteries or something.”
“That’s…insane.”
“Right, because this whole year has been so sane,” Keo said. It was the first time he had spoken, and they all turned to look at him. “I’ve seen the same things Danny has, up close and way too personal for my liking. You take out one of the blue eyes, and the rest don’t know what the hell to do. Imagine what happens when you remove King Ghoul. The one that controls them all. The head of the snake.”
“Think of it like a military chain of command,” Danny said. “At the bottom you have the grunts—the black eyes. They make up the vast majority of the ghouls out there. The baby blues are the COs and NCOs rolled into one—they run every aspect of the daily grind. And up at the very top—”
“King Ghoul,” Cole said.
Keo watched the veteran’s face carefully. Cole might have been the only pilot to volunteer so far, but he had come into this room with a lot of doubts, and from the looks of it, Keo had a hunch he would eventually leave with less.
“Exactamundo,” Danny said. “Cut off the head and the tentacles flail around all dramatic like, then they eventually die. That’s what Frank found out while he was out there. Trust me when I tell you, he went through hell and back just to get this information to us. He sure as hell didn’t do it for the LOLs.”
“And now he’s back out there again,” Lara said, picking up after Danny.
It was almost as if the two of them had rehearsed it, but of course Keo knew better because he had been with them for the last five hours on the Trident, coming up with the plan.
She continued: “He’s moving into position, and when the time is right, Frank will kill King Ghoul.”
“How?” Peele asked.
“It doesn’t matter how. What matters is that he’ll be the one to do it, with a lot of help from us. From you and Cole, and Keo over there. He can’t do this alone. If this is going to work, he’s going to need all of us to throw everything we have at the city.”
Alex and Peele exchanged another quick look, and this time Cole joined them.
“What do you think?” Alex asked, looking across at Rhett.
“I think this is our chance,” Rhett said. “Lara and her people know more about these things than all of us combined. Mercer had us so concerned with the collaborators, with the towns, that sometimes I think he forgot who the real enemy was. Lara and her people never did. I think we need to grab this opportunity before it’s gone, because we might not get another shot at these fuckers.”
Keo watched the faces carefully, and he was almost certain Alex was completely convinced. Peele still had some way to go, but he was headed there. As for Cole…the pilot could have been thinking about a cheeseburger, for all Keo could decipher from his facial expression.
“There’s some good news,” Keo said.
“Spill the beans, Kerosene,” Danny said.
Keo got up and walked over to the table. He leaned over the map and made a circle around the city of Houston. “They’re calling every available patrol unit to help secure the roads into the city. That leaves everything else”—he circled the rest of the state—“wide open.”
“Meaning?” Peele asked.
“Meaning, when we reinsert back into Texas and start moving toward the target, there won’t be any opposition until we reach Houston itself. Or if there’s any along the way, it’ll be but a shadow of what they could have thrown at us. Will we run into a patrol or two out there? Maybe. Maybe not. But it won’t be as many as we were going to before they recalled everyone to help guard Houston. So in a way, Head Ghoul—or King Ghoul, or whatever it’s called—did us a big favor and it doesn’t even know it.”
“Even if all that’s true, there’s gonna be a hell of a lot of opposition once we do reach the city limits,” Peele said. “Truthfully, I can shell those black-eyed fuckers all day, but the other type of enemy does tend to shoot back. The tanks can withstand a lot of damage, but if what your people are saying is true and there are a couple thousand collaborator assholes waiting for us…” He shook his head. “Man, I wish we had more tanks.”
“What about you, Cole?” Alex asked, looking eagerly across at the former airman. “What are you thinking?”
Good question, Keo thought, turning to observe the grizzled veteran himself.
“It’s going to be more dangerous for you boys down there,” Cole said. “Like you said, Peele, I’ll be in the sky. Unless the bad guys have learned to fly since R-Day, I’ll have the airspace all to myself.”
“So you’re in?” Peele asked.
Cole pursed his lips, but he nodded, if almost reluctantly. “After what we’ve done, even if it was in another man’s name, I don’t see how I can not do this.” He paused, before continuing: “If you’re asking me to tell you what to do, I’m not going to do that. That’s for every man to decide for himself. But I got markers on my soul, boys. We all do, after R-Day. I figure we owe it to ourselves to try to make up for that. It’s not going to magically erase every horrible thing we did out there, but maybe it’ll help me get some sleep in the nights to come.”
It was a damn fine speech, and even Lara and Danny were impressed by it. The fact that it had come from Cole meant even more to the other islanders from the looks on their faces.
Leave it to the old guy to bring it home.
“Are you guys in?” Rhett asked, looking across at the tankers.
Alex hesitated and looked to Peele.
“Yeah,” Peele nodded. “I’m in.”
“Then I guess I’m in, too,” Alex said.
“Good,” Lara said, as if she never had a single shred of doubt that this was exactly how the meeting would end up.
Damn, she’s good at this.
Lara glanced down at her watch. “Go back to your people and fill them in. Then try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day for all of us.”
Lara and Danny went back to the Trident, but instead of going with them, Keo decided to stay behind and wander the halls of Black Tide even though it was well after three in the morning. He had never really had much luck getting shut-eye the night before a big assignment, and this was definitely the biggest he had ever been given by a long shot.
“See the world. Kill some people. Make some money.”
That was the old motto, for a simpler time. Which was funny to think of them as that, but looking back, everything was so much more black and white when he was pulling the trigger for the organization. Nowadays he was coming up with mission plans and volunteering for work that no one was going to pay him a single dime for, and if he were to not come back, probably only a few people would even care.
Lara would be one of them. Maybe Danny too, and Lorelei. He would have been able to add Carrie and Bonnie to that list, once upon a time, but that wasn’t possible anymore.
Rhett’s people had done a great job cleaning the hallways aft
er the running firefight yesterday. Except for the area around the command wing, the rest of the buildings looked almost untouched, and he wouldn’t have known a shootout had taken place if he hadn’t been right in the middle of it.
It was late, and he hadn’t stumbled across a single soul until he reached the civilian section. There, a man and a woman were engaged in quiet conversation when he turned the corner. As he walked past them, the woman followed him with her eyes.
He was almost at the other end of the corridor when she finally said, “Hey.”
Keo stopped and glanced back.
“You’re Keo,” the woman said.
“Who?” Keo said.
“Keo. The guy who killed Mercer.”
“Wrong guy.”
“You sure?”
“I’d know my own name.”
“What is your name?”
“Ken.”
She clearly didn’t believe him. “Where’d you get all of that, Ken?” she asked, making a circle in front of her face with her hand.
“Went for a swim and jumped smack into a pile of rocks.”
“Really.”
“Uh huh. It’s dangerous out there, so you guys might want to be careful when you’re skinny dipping later on tonight.”
He turned and went around the corner.
“That was him,” he heard the woman say.
“He said it wasn’t him,” the man said.
“Seriously? Who gets those scars from jumping into the ocean?”
Keo smiled to himself and kept going.
The infirmary door was closed, but not locked. There were no guards standing outside, but there were bloodstains on the floor and walls from the last time someone had tried to kill him. He guessed Rhett’s people hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up this part of the facility yet.
He opened the door and leaned in, then took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the semidarkness. A single stream of moonlight splashed in from the high window, and Keo could just make out the figures occupying the beds. The wounded from this morning’s coup attempt.
A figure sitting at a desk turned around. Male, wearing a white coat, and not who Keo was hoping to find.
“Help you?” the man asked.
“I’m looking for Mary.”
“Her shift was up three hours ago.”
“Communal quarters?”
“She has her own room now.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know which one, would you?”
The man squinted through the darkness at him. “Do I know you?”
“Keo.”
The man chuckled. “I should have known with that face.”
Keo sighed. “You got a number for me or not, pal?”
“What time is it?” Mary asked when he knocked on her door and she opened it and peered out, blinking rapidly against the hallway light.
The room behind her was darkened, but it was the exact same décor as Mercer’s had been the night Keo came for him. He guessed every single private quarter in the place was identical, with a small bed in the rear and very little in the way of aesthetics.
More importantly, a quick glance inside the room didn’t reveal a second figure.
Half-asleep or not, Mary noticed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m alone.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Uh huh.”
“Gary?”
“So you came here looking for Gary?”
He smiled. “No.”
She took a step back and held the door open for him. “Wanna come in?”
“Yes, please.”
“Just to sleep.”
“I’m insulted you think I’m here for anything but.”
She smirked and closed the door behind him.
“Nice place,” Keo said. “The guy at the infirmary told me you just moved in.”
“A lot of the private quarters opened up after this afternoon, and they let me choose one. I guess being one of a handful of people who know their way around a wound helps. Though I wouldn’t have had the opportunity if it weren’t for you.”
The cot squeaked as he sat down. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.” She walked over. “I don’t know who it used to belong to, but he was a Mercer loyalist. I found his black armband hiding under the pillow.” She sat down next to him and yawned. “I’m really tired, Keo. It’s been a long day.”
“Then you should go back to sleep.”
“You staying?”
“It’s an awfully small bed.”
“We’ll make it work.”
She lay down on her side and turned her back to him. Keo followed her lead, and she scooted over until their bodies were pressed front to back.
“Keo,” she said. “Go to sleep.”
“I didn’t say or do anything.”
“I can feel little Keo stirring.”
“Little?”
“Tame him now, or you’ll be sleeping on that very hard floor.”
“Speaking of hard—”
“Keo!”
“All right, all right,” he said. “Sleep only.”
She reached back and patted his hands, and he slid them around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. He inhaled her scent, and even though he knew she had been much too busy today to take a shower, he couldn’t fathom how she could still smell so wonderful.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she whispered, not sounding nearly as tired as she had seconds ago.
“I thought you wanted to sleep?”
“Answer the question.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“That’s only a few hours from now.”
“Uh huh.”
“I heard not a lot of people volunteered.”
“Enough did.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re one of them.”
“I am.”
“Why you?”
“Why not me?”
She didn’t answer right away, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of her heartbeat even from behind. Finally, she said, “You’re crazy. You’re all crazy. After everything Mercer put us through, to jump right back into another fight so soon…”
“This might be the last one we ever have to fight. That’s worth a little risk, isn’t it?”
“That’s the problem, Keo…”
“What is?”
“You know why there are wars with Roman numerals in human history?”
“Crazy Germans?”
“No, because they’re leaving room for more. Because there will never be a ‘war to end all wars.’ There will just be sequels. That’s why they put Roman numerals at the end of wars.”
Keo didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He’d never been much of a historian—staying alive one day at a time, one gig at a time, had always been more important than what some old guys did before he was born.
But he had to admit, Mary made a good point. Did he really think this was going to be the end of the struggle? Even if, by some miracle, Frank’s plan actually worked out the way he said it would, would there be no more wars for him to fight? No more skirmishes to survive? No more bad guys (Haha, look who’s calling other people bad guys now. Cute.) for him to nip in the bud?
“Go to sleep,” Mary whispered, the tiredness returning to her voice. “You’ll need all the rest you can get.”
He closed his eyes and felt her body relaxing even further against him as she dozed off moments later.
Keo followed ten minutes after that.
In his dreams, there was asphalt and bullets and blood. In the middle of it all were pulsating blue eyes, so blue and bright that it was like staring into the sun itself…
24
Gaby
This is what you get for ditching Nate. This is your punishment. And you deserve it. Every stinky chunk of it.
She sighed as one foot and then the other sank into the thick, muddy water.
No, not water. Not even close t
o water. She wished it were water.
For a second she was afraid she would keep sinking, that the unholy mess (That’s a nice word for it) would just swallow her up, but the liquids finally settled around her knees even though the ripples extended farther out and bumped harmlessly against the brick walls around her.
I can’t believe I’m down here. This is so disgusting.
Even with the mask firmly in place over the lower half of her face, the still-exposed parts of her skin tingled against the tainted air. She concentrated on regulating her breathing (In and out, in and out) and focused on seeing the world in a sea of green provided by the night-vision goggles. The extra effort helped to keep her mind distracted, and for just a second or two she almost managed to convince herself she wasn’t standing knee-high in a sea of year-old waste.
Year-old? God, I hope it’s only a year old.
Her heart was racing at double its normal speed, and she could hear every single breath she took like aftershocks against her earlobes. She snapped her eyes shut and fought for control, willing herself to slow down, to let the mask’s filter do its work, and pretend she was somewhere else at that moment.
“Gaby.”
She opened her eyes to the sound of Blaine’s voice behind and slightly above her. “Yeah.”
“You went quiet there for a moment.”
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“What’s the verdict down there?”
“It stinks. What do you think?”
Blaine chuckled. “I’m coming down.”
“The more the merrier.”
She took a couple of steps forward and swept the narrow passageway with the M4, the laser pointer underneath the barrel providing an exact guide of where the bullet would go if she fired. She tuned out the clank-clank of Blaine’s boots moving down the rusted metal ladder behind her while getting a better look at her surroundings.
The only saving grace to standing in a major city’s sewer system was the size—the round-shaped tunnel was over ten feet wide and tall, like a giant straw made of brick and concrete, except the floor was flat against the soles of her boots. Condensation drip-drip-dripped around her, the plops that landed adding to the filth like drawn-out raindrops. Despite the generous size of the place, she would have still felt a stab of claustrophobia if not for the fact she could see every crack and puddle of water thanks to the NVG.