by Sam Sisavath
“You watch too many movies,” Danny said. He looked behind them, back down the highway.
“What is it?” she asked.
“They’re pinning us down. Probably because they have reinforcements on the way.”
“Is this why they haven’t been chasing us? Because they knew that sooner or later we’d run into these guys?”
“Yeah, looks like it,” he nodded. “These buggers are a lot cleverer than I gave them credit for.”
“Is that a word?” Claire asked.
“What?” Danny said.
“‘Cleverer.’ Is that a word?”
Danny chuckled. “I got a dictionary back at the island. We’ll look it up when we get there, kid.” He looked past her at Gaby. “Let’s hope either the Ford or the Chevy is still drivable, ’cause we’re gonna need a new car if we wanna get there.”
“How are we going to get to them?” she asked. “They have us pinned down, remember?”
“Normally this is when I tell Willie boy to come up with a plan, but since he’s not…” Danny didn’t finish. He shook his head instead, the frustration visible on his face for the first time since Route 13. “Goddammit. I told him that plan of his was shit. You heard me, right? But no, he always had to have a plan. Well, shit on my bread and rye. That didn’t work out too well, did it?”
Gaby wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, the girls, or…someone else.
“Danny,” she said. “What do we do? How do we get out of here? If they’re content to just pin us down and wait for reinforcements, we can’t just sit here.”
Danny blinked up at the sun. “At least the weather’s finally nice. I was starting to think this place had only two decent things going for it—bad weather and bad weather.”
There was enough of a cool breeze that none of them had started sweating yet despite the harried last few seconds. The sudden shift in weather, from insufferably hot to almost chilly, was a strange feeling because it was already making her think about sweaters, or a jacket, or maybe even some thermal socks—
“Hey! You back there!” a voice shouted. “Can you hear me?”
It was coming from the guy closest to them, the one behind the divider to their left. Thirty yards? Unless the man had moved further up since she last saw him.
Danny scooted closer to the front bumper of the Nissan and leaned out briefly, then pulled back a second later.
“Close?” Gaby asked.
“Twenty-seven meters, give or take,” Danny said.
Gaby did the calculations in her head. Twenty-seven meters was…thirty yards. Give or take. So she wasn’t too far off. That surprised and pleased her. Will used to say that combat was like playing sports—after a while, you got so used to the speed and chaos that everything started to slow down.
Too bad I can’t put this skill on my college resume. Harvard would have been so impressed.
“Did you see if they were wearing uniforms?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Too well hidden.”
“Hey!” the man shouted again. “I asked you a question!”
“Fuck off!” Danny shouted back.
They heard laughter, then, “I guess that’s a yes.”
“What do you want?” Danny shouted.
“You know what we want!”
“World peace?”
More laughter, though this time it sounded slightly forced. The man clearly wanted them to think he was enjoying this, that he had no worries whatsoever.
Yeah, right.
“That too,” the man said. “But what I’d really like is for you to throw out your guns so we can have a talk.”
“Oh, is that all you want?” Danny said. “Just to talk?”
“Exactly!”
“I’m gonna have to politely decline and ask you to kiss my ass instead.”
“Har har,” the man said. “You’re a funny guy.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely. That’s why I’m going to shoot you in the face, funny guy.”
“Well that’s ironic, because that’s what I did to your mom last night,” Danny shouted back.
The man went quiet.
Danny looked back at Gaby and grinned. “Too much?”
“Come on, leave the moms out of this,” Gaby smiled back.
“Yeah, that was definitely uncalled for.” Danny glanced at his watch, then back down the highway again to make sure it was still empty. “Can’t stay here forever, kid. If their reinforcements aren’t already on the way, it won’t be long now.”
She craned her head a bit and listened, expecting to hear car engines approaching at any second, but the drip-drip-drip of the gas on the other side of the Nissan overwhelmed everything. The smell was also getting stronger, which meant the entire tank was going to be empty, or close enough, soon.
“Danny,” she said, “what are we going to do?”
He looked at the girls. At Claire, crouched with the large shotgun, which appeared somehow even larger in her small hands. At Annie and Milly, the two of them with their arms around each other. If they were even aware of what was happening, Gaby couldn’t tell.
His eyes finally settled on hers. “You and me, kid.”
“Yeah…”
“And me,” Claire said, looking at Gaby, then Danny. “I know how to use this,” she said, clutching and unclutching the shotgun. “I saved Will’s life last night.”
“Yeah, you did,” Danny nodded. “But that’s a close-quarters weapon. Those boys are at least half a football field away—”
Crack!
All three of them ducked on instinct, but instead of hearing the familiar ping! of a bullet hitting the other side of the Nissan, there was instead just the echo of the gunshot.
“What the hell?” Danny said. “What were they shooting at?”
Before she could answer, there was a second crack!, followed by the pop-pop-pop of a magazine being unleashed on something. Or someone.
A moment later, there was just the silence again.
Danny and Gaby exchanged another look.
Even Claire, between them, looked confused.
“You take that side, I’ll take this one,” Danny said.
Gaby nodded and looked at Claire. “Stay here.”
“But—” the girl protested.
“No,” Gaby said, cutting her off. “One day I’ll teach you how to use this,” she said, showing her the M4. “For now, all that shotgun’s good for is close range. You understand?”
Claire nodded grudgingly. “You’ll teach me one day.”
“Promise.”
Gaby nodded at Danny, then turned around and moved toward the back bumper. She leaned out and looked up the highway. The white Ford was where she last saw it, about fifty yards up the road. The red Chevy was still parked across from it, but there were no signs of the men she had seen earlier.
“Anything?” she said, looking back at Danny.
He was leaning out too, when he pulled back and shook his head. “Squadoosh.”
“The guy behind the divider?”
“No signs of him.”
“What’s going on, Danny?”
“Hell if I know.” Then he sighed. “Stay here.”
“No,” she said, and lunged out from behind the bumper and into the open before he could protest.
Maybe it was a little bit courage, a little bit stupidity, or just a lot of adrenaline. Either way, she was sick and tired of hiding, of being hunted, and Gaby practically ran up the interstate with her rifle in front of her, eyes zeroing in on the two vehicles, looking for a head, a body, or just a limb. Something—anything—that she could shoot.
She was, she realized, just too pissed off to think clearly at the moment.
And Danny wasn’t trying to stop her. Instead, he had somehow hopped the divider and was moving up the highway at the same time and keeping pace with her, which was amazing given that he was limping the whole time, and she was pretty sure he was in extreme pain by the way he was grimacing
with every inch.
“Don’t shoot!” a voice shouted.
It was male, but not the same one who had been trading barbs with Danny earlier. This one was coming from behind the Chevy.
Gaby went down on one knee and lined up her scope on the red truck. She was halfway to her target and wanted desperately to find cover, but there was none around her. She was out in the open, but at least she had her rifle. A year ago, the idea of dying with her weapon clutched in her hands would have been surreal. These days, it was the best-case scenario she could hope for.
She screened the car windows, looking for signs of a head—something.
But the man was smart and remained hidden.
She sneaked a peek at Danny and saw him moving steadily up the highway on the other side of the concrete barrier. He was twenty-five yards from the truck and getting closer, and it didn’t seem like the shooter had noticed him.
“Gaby!” the voice said.
The sound of her name sent chills through her.
What the hell?
Danny had stopped ten yards from the closest vehicle and went into a crouch. She could just barely make out the top of his head on the other side of the structure, but she knew he had reacted exactly the same way she had—confused and surprised by the sound of her name.
“Gaby!” the man called again. “Don’t shoot!”
“Who the hell are you?” Gaby shouted back.
“I’m throwing out my weapon!”
“Do it!”
An AR-15 skidded across the highway from behind the Chevy. It didn’t stop until it had gotten ten feet from the back bumper. A second later, a Glock followed, landing a few feet from the rifle.
“I’m unarmed!” the man shouted.
“Come out with your hands up!” Gaby shouted, trying to inject as much menace into her voice as possible.
She didn’t have a clue what was happening. Where did the other two men go? Was there some kind of gunfight? A betrayal? Was the last remaining man trying to surrender to them? Was this some kind of trick? If it was, it was overly elaborate, because the shooters had them pinned. They had all the advantage and this…this didn’t make any sense at all.
What the hell is going on?
“Gaby!” the man shouted again.
There was something in the way he said her name, as if he knew her. As if they were close. Except she didn’t recognize the voice.
Or did she?
“Yeah?” she shouted back.
“You don’t recognize my voice, do you?” the man asked.
Not a goddamn clue.
“Maybe!” she said instead. “Come out and show yourself!”
“Coming out!” he said. “Tell the guy behind the divider not to shoot!”
Danny stood up on the westbound shoulder and took aim as the figure stepped out from behind the truck, his hands raised above his head. She immediately picked up the camouflage uniform, with the familiar white star insignia above a name tag and a patch with the Louisiana boot on one shoulder.
The man walked toward her. The sun was behind him, and instead of providing the clarity she needed, the light instead turned him into a silhouetted figure whose face was hidden almost completely in shadows.
“You really don’t recognize my voice?” he asked. She thought he sounded almost hurt.
“No,” Gaby said, standing up. She hadn’t lowered her rifle, and neither had Danny. She squinted against the sunlight, trying to see his face. “What happened to the other two?”
“I shot them.”
“Why?”
“I had to, or they would have killed or captured you. I couldn’t let either of those things happen.” He paused, then added, “Has it really been that long? You really don’t remember me…”
By now, Danny had reached the trucks and climbed back onto their part of the highway. He hobbled his way around the Chevy and then peered behind the white Ford.
“Danny?” Gaby called. “What do you see?”
“Two bodies,” Danny said. “Looks like he’s not lying. He took them both out.”
“I told you,” the man said.
“Who the hell are you?” Gaby said.
“Can I come closer?” he asked.
She nodded. “Slowly…”
He continued walking toward her, making a concerted effort not to move his hands too much or lengthen his stride to give the impression of aggression. He was taller than her, though not by very much. Maybe five-ten to her five-seven.
“They made me cut my hair,” he said. When he got to within ten yards of her, he stopped and she could finally see his face.
“You,” she said, the word coming out as barely a whisper.
“Too bad, too,” Nate said, smiling wryly at her. “Chicks dug the Mohawk.”
CHAPTER 5
LARA
Will would have taken Gage into the back of the boat, made him stand next to the railing, then shot him in the back of the head and let the body drop to the water below. And Lara wouldn’t have lifted a hand to stop him, or think about it ever again. Will did what had to be done and though it sometimes stayed with him, he never looked back on it with regret. Or, at least, he never let her think that he did.
She wasn’t Will, though.
Instead of putting Gage out of his (their) misery, she decided to use him, always keeping in mind what the man was capable of. She had no doubts there were crimes he had committed since The Purge that she didn’t know about and that he would never willingly confess to, but she knew what he had intended to do to the island. He had admitted as much, and Keo had told her what he had overheard Gage and his first mate, the man without the head inside the bridge, discussing before he opened fire on them.
“They’ve done it before,” Keo had said. “A lot of times, from the sound of it. They might as well be talking about the weather.”
“And you’re sure?” she had asked, looking him in the eyes because she needed to know with absolute certainty.
Keo had nodded. “I’ve breathed the same air, eaten with, and lived with guys like Gage. Trust me when I tell you, what they had in store for the island would have turned your stomach.”
She believed him. Every word of it.
It took her a full hour to walk the entire 140-something feet of the Trident, slipping in and out of its three decks. The interiors were surprisingly roomy, each section broken down for crew, guests, and the owners. She ended up back on the first deck where she had arrived with Maddie and the others earlier before moving through the passenger cabins, then the crew quarters further up front. The second deck (or main, as Keo called it) contained a complete dining room that was part of a large entertainment area with a bar on the side. It was big enough for a dozen people to gather around without bumping into each other.
An owner’s cabin took up the majority of available space up front, with a window that opened up onto a terrace overlooking the front of the yacht. She walked past a king-size bed, its well-used satin sheets tossed across the floor. There were spots of dried blood on the expensive carpeting, along with a pile of men and women’s clothes. She did her best to not think about who they belonged to or how they had gotten there, or where their owners were at the moment.
“Trust me when I tell you, what they had in store for the island would have turned your stomach.”
When she stepped outside the terrace, she had no trouble picking up Jo, Bonnie’s little sister, standing guard in the boat shack on the beach. The yacht had been moved a little closer to the island and they could have swam back and forth if they needed to, though of course using the boats was easier—and drier.
Jo saw her and waved, and Lara returned it.
She felt odd standing out there as if this rich man’s toy belonged to her, especially knowing what Gage and his “friends” had been using it for. So she hurried back inside, giving the posh bed and furniture a longer second look. Eventually they’d have to dump most of it. The boat was diesel-powered, and although she was sure it p
robably wouldn’t make much of a difference, the idea of leaving all these luxuries onboard felt wrong. Besides, they’d need the extra room sooner or later, and she’d rather everyone fit than be comfortable.
She moved back through the deck, past all the signs of money, from the large screen TVs that curved along with the wall to the bottles of liquor and wine behind the bar (albeit most of them appeared empty) to abstract paintings from people she had never heard of, but knew that each one probably cost more than she had ever made in her life up to this point. That might have changed if she had ever finished medical school and become an honest to goodness doctor. Those dreams were long gone, though, especially now with Zoe taking her place on the island.
So what am I now?
I guess we’ll find out tonight.
Her boots left behind white sand from the beach on the expensive flooring. Some kind of glossy wood…or something. The wall paneling that adorned the place looked like it might have cost more to install than her three years of medical school. Her mind wandered back to the yacht’s previous owner. Dead now. She hadn’t bothered to ask Gage how the man had died. It didn’t matter. Dead was dead.
Well, not really, but close.
She stepped outside onto the patio and leaned over the railing. Maddie was below her on the lower deck, busy fastening a plastic raft in place in case they needed it. The lifeboat that was supposed to be in the spot where Maddie was putting the raft now was, of course, lying somewhere at the bottom of the lake, along with its two occupants.
Two down. That leaves one.
So where’s the eighth guy?
Lara unclipped her radio and keyed it. “Blaine, come in.”
“What’s up?” Blaine said.
“Anything yet?”
Blaine and Roy were two decks below her in the engine room, searching for a man who may or may not actually exist. Lara had gone down there and taken a look herself, but it was like stepping into the belly of a submarine—she didn’t have a clue what she was looking at. It did make her glad she hadn’t actually shot Gage earlier. Whatever the man was—and he was a lot of things, most of it bad—he still possessed knowledge that none of them did. She was going to exploit that until she didn’t need to anymore.