“Keo, they’re not attacking,” Jackson said, her voice almost breathless. “Why aren’t they attacking?”
Because it’s here. The fucker is probably watching us now.
So what’s it waiting for?
The creatures continued to shadow them, racing up and over buildings and darting around trash cans and parked vehicles. Keo continued not to look, so he didn’t know how many of them there were. A part of him didn’t want to know, and the other part was afraid to take his eyes off the road in fear of losing sight of it. Maybe it was silly to think the road could just vanish if he glanced away for even a second, but what the hell, he wasn’t taking any chances tonight.
Too close. I’m too close to home!
He couldn’t look—he didn’t want to look—but Jackson didn’t have that issue. Keo didn’t even have to see her looking to know that she was.
“How many?” Keo asked.
“Too many,” Jackson said.
Keo wanted to laugh. That was always the right answer. There was always too many of the damn things. Even now, years after The Walk Out, there was still too many of them out here. It was times like these that Keo wished there were more slayers, people like Martin, to thin the herd further.
Martin…
Again, Keo thought about Martin. He couldn’t help it. His mind wouldn’t allow him to tune it out completely.
The slayer was probably dead.
Just like Jack and McBroom and Merrifield were probably dead.
And Rondo was definitely dead.
And Huston...
You didn’t fuck with the blue eyes. Martin thought he was hunting the creature, but Keo wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was always the other way around.
It likes to play games. Martin knew that…and he still fell for it.
And if a battle-hardened veteran like Martin couldn’t survive a blue eyes, with plenty of men behind him, how was Keo going to? All he had was a horse and Jackson.
“Are you giving up?” he imagined Lara asking him. “Well? Are you?”
Hell no.
“So stop thinking, and get the hell back to the ranch! As in now, mister!”
Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly—
Oh…
It was here.
…God…
In the road.
…damn…
He’d been waiting and waiting for it, and now it was here.
…it!
They were far enough away from it—Fifty meters? More?—that he might have not seen the creature at all if its eyes weren’t glowing so bright that they looked like twin stars pulsating in a vast sea of empty space.
The horse let out a loud whinny, and Keo thought, Yeah, buddy, I see it, too. I see it, too!
Keo leaned forward to pat the horse on the side of its neck, below the mane. “Don’t stop. You hear me? Don’t stop!”
The mare reacted with confusion for a moment, but that quickly turned to understanding, because they began to pick up speed.
“Keo, what are you doing?” Jackson shouted. She may or may not have seen the ghoul in front of them.
“Remember what I said!” he shouted back. “If anything happens, head southwest along the interstate! Find Longmire! Find the ranch!”
“I’m not doing this alone!”
“Just remember what I said!”
“I—” Then, “Oh, my God! What are you doing? Can’t you see it? Can’t you see it?”
Jackson had finally spotted it, so Keo guessed she hadn’t seen the thing before. The blue eyes were glowing so bright he imagined them being doused with Super-LumiNova.
He remembered what Martin had told him:
“I almost got through its skull with this,” the slayer had said, indicating his machete. “Another inch, and it would have been over.”
Damn you, Martin, why couldn’t you have taken this thing out when you had the chance?
Another inch, and I wouldn’t be here, about to go mano-a-mano with it.
Another inch, and you might not be dead in a tunnel underneath an abandoned city.
Another inch, and—
“Keo!” Jackson shouted, her voice beyond hysterical now. He couldn’t blame her, either. “Stop it! What are you doing? You’re running right at it!”
He hadn’t responded, because he was too busy gripping the reins with one hand and unslinging the MP5 with the other. He took aim, using those glowing eyes as a point of reference.
Before he could pull the trigger, the targets seemed to fade…
…and fade some more, until…
They blinked out of existence.
What the fuck?
It was gone. How the hell had it just disappeared like that?
“Where did it go? Where did it go?” Jackson shouted, echoing his thoughts. “Do you see it? Do you still see it?”
“No!” Keo shouted back.
“I can’t find it,” Jackson said. “I can’t—” She stopped for just a heartbeat before shouting, even louder (if that was possible), “Keo!” and pointing.
Fast-moving silhouettes were running out of an empty field on their left side.
About damn time.
The ghouls were finally making their move, and Keo finally glanced over.
They had left the bulk of Paxton behind, and there were rolling hills in the background, their humps reminiscent of resting camels. But all Keo could focus on were the glimmers of moonlight dancing off domed heads and pruned black skin. If his ears weren’t filled with air and his own pounding heartbeat, he could probably hear spit coming out of their mouths in rivers as they closed in for the kill.
He glanced right.
There were a cluster of buildings on this side, and little else. More fast-moving shadows were racing over and around automobiles parked inside a used car lot. Colorful ribbons that once broadcasted LIMITED TIME SALE! BUY NOW! lay trampled on the ground as the creatures made their way across the gravel floor.
There wasn’t the endless wave of ghouls that he was expecting. Instead, there were only a dozen or so on either side of him and Jackson. Where did the rest go? Or did he have the slayers to thank for thinning their numbers so dramatically? Were these all the blue eyes had in reserve?
But it wasn’t these small count of ghouls that was his primary concern. It was the blue-eyed bastard. It was still out there, somewhere.
Where are you, you fucker? Show yourself so I can put a bullet in your brain!
“Keo!” Jackson shouted.
“I see them!” Keo said just before he flicked the fire selector on the MP5 and pulled the trigger.
He hated to waste so many bullets with one pull, but he wasn’t in a position to pick off the ghouls one by one with semiautomatic gunfire. The mare was moving too fast, as were the creatures.
He glimpsed three running forms tripping on nothing and going down to his right. Not all of them, because Keo could glimpse the still-upright ones continuing their pursuit out of the corner of his eye.
They had all but left Paxton behind now, and the road had gone from hard concrete to asphalt blacktop. Keo could hear the difference in the way the horseshoes struck the pavement, but even that was suddenly lost against the whirring of the MP5’s parts as Keo raked the left side with a burst.
More ghouls “tripped” and fell as 9mm rounds tipped with silver ripped into them. As with the ones on his left, that didn’t stop the rest from continuing their pursuit.
Manageable numbers. Very manageable numbers!
Keo would have kept firing, except they were too far ahead of the remaining creatures now, with nothing but open road in front of them. Besides, the submachine gun was feeling very light in his hands.
“Jackson!” Keo shouted.
“What?” Jackson shouted back.
“Take the reins!”
“What?”
“Take the reins! I need to reload!”
He passed the reins back to her. Jackson missed them the first time but got them on the second try.<
br />
Keo ejected the magazine from the MP5, then grabbed a spare from his pouch. He slipped it in and was in the process of smacking the bolt into place when Jackson jerked on the reins and shouted, “Keo!”
“What?” he was going to say but never got the chance, because it was suddenly there, standing in the middle of the blacktop in front of them.
Five meters!
Four!
Three!
The horse tried to slow down.
Tried.
Keo wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but one second he was in the saddle and the next he was flying through the air and a field of swaying grass, impossibly green even underneath the moonlight, was coming toward his face at blazing speeds.
He landed chest first, and the pain was immense. His entire body shook for what seemed like an eternity afterward, but it was probably just a matter of seconds.
Get up, you idiot.
The entire left side of his body was screaming, as were parts of his right.
Get up, now.
The backpack. Where was the backpack? Jesus Christ, he hoped he didn’t lose the backpack. Lara needed it.
Get up!
Jackson had the pack. Which meant he had to find Jackson. If he couldn’t make it back to the ranch, then she had to. One of them had to.
Are you listening to me?
Get your ass up NOW!
NOW NOW FUCKING NOW!
Nineteen
He got up.
He didn’t know how, but he got up.
Or, more precisely, he managed to make it up to his knees as his eyes frantically searched the field of grass for the submachine gun, because it wasn’t in his hands anymore.
You lost it. How could you lose it?
He didn’t know how, but he had to find it again.
He looked left, right, behind him—
There!
Oh God, thank you, thank you, I promise never to do another evil thing ever again! Praise Jesus!
The MP5 wasn’t quite lost among the waist-high grass a few feet in front of him. Fortunately, it was close, because if it’d been just another foot away, he might not have been able to locate it in all that weed with so little light to see with.
He grabbed for it, even as he heard the loud whinny of a horse from behind him and looked up and over.
Martin’s mare was lying on the road, trying desperately to raise its head. It got up a few inches before falling back down. The horse stopped moving entirely after that. Keo hadn’t seen how badly it was wounded or couldn’t even recall how the creature had stopped the horse so easily. Was the animal dead? He hoped not. He didn’t like his or Jackson’s chances of getting out of this on foot.
The supply bags were spilled across the road, but Keo didn’t care about any of them right now. The MREs inside weren’t going to do him a bit of good if he didn’t survive tonight. Or the next few minutes. Besides, all he had to do was get home. That was it. Get home, and everything he’d need would be there.
Get home. Just get home…
He struggled up to his feet, both legs so wobbly he wasn’t sure if they were still intact. He risked a quick glance.
Yup. He still had legs. Whoopity doo.
Movement from behind him!
He spun and raked the air with a burst of the MP5, falling creatures as they raced toward him. They collapsed and vanished into the tall grass that flanked both sides of the country road like sentries.
He didn’t get all of them with the first sweep but took care of the remaining two on the follow-through.
Unfortunately, he’d fired almost entirely on instinct and hadn’t thought about how fast an MP5 could empty if you weren’t careful with the trigger. By the time the last ghoul collapsed against the silver bullets and he couldn’t locate it among the grass, the submachine gun was feeling hopelessly light in his hands once again.
Keo scrambled to reload, reaching for the final magazine even as he whirled back toward the road.
The blue eyes. Where’s the blue eyes?
Then:
Jackson. Where’s Jackson? She has the pack! I need that pack! Lara needs it!
But he couldn’t find Jackson among the grass on his side of the road or the other—
“Keo?” a voice called out.
Jackson!
He ran back to the road, forcing his legs to move even though doing so sent an incredible amount of pain shooting through both limbs and into every one of his appendages, including the fingers that were busy reloading the submachine gun and slapping the charging handle into place. Keo didn’t even have to look to perform the action; he and the H&K line of guns were old friends.
“Jackson!” he shouted. “Jackson! Where are you? Jackson!”
“Keo!” a voice responded. “Over here!”
This time he was able to trace it to the other side of the road. Close by!
Keo hopped out of the field and onto the blacktop—
—then he was in the air again, flying in one direction while the MP5 went in the other.
Christ! his mind screamed as he landed on the hard pavement on his back, more pain lancing through his body. He was pretty sure that the pickup truck that had just broadsided him might have bruised more than a couple of ribs, if not broken them.
Get up!
He couldn’t get up. It hurt too much.
No time to lick your wounds, pal!
He just needed to stay down for a minute or two. Just lie on the road and catch his breath.
Get up!
Just one minute. Okay, half a minute. Ten seconds…
Get the hell up now, or you’re dead!
He got up for the second time, even if he did stagger sideways, then back and forth like some drunk trying to make his way home after a long bout of drinking. The ground had gone uneven, and the earth was spinning erratically.
The same voice that had been urging him on all night shouted, Get control. Get control now, and focus!
That was easier said than done, but he managed it.
Somehow.
Eventually.
He wasn’t sure how long it took. Maybe a second. Maybe five. Maybe an hour?
No, not an hour. He’d be dead if it’d taken an hour.
He’d be dead…
The bang-bang-bang! of gunfire snapped him out of his stupor. Someone was firing, but not at him.
At what, then? And who was doing the shooting?
A dark brown shape emerged out of the blurry shadows in front of him. A black-clad figure. For a second, Keo thought it was one of Martin’s slayers. It was wearing a trench coat, the kind that the slayers had worn all night, except…
The head. It was domed and hairless and black. Deep, dark black, like the bottom of the Mariana Trench.
The ghoul.
The blue-eyed ghoul.
It was wearing clothes for some reason, though it had rid itself of the mask from when Keo first saw it back at the Deuces.
His mind flashed back to that conversation with Martin:
“It was wearing some kind of mask,” Keo had said. “That’s a first. They don’t usually wear masks. Or anything.”
“This one does,” Martin had said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just does.”
“You don’t think that’s a little odd?”
“I don’t think much about it at all. And right now, all I care about is getting Huston back.”
Somehow, Keo didn’t think Martin had achieved that task. If he had, the blue-eyed ghoul wouldn’t be here, now, on the road out of Paxton with Keo.
You fucked up again, didn’t you, Martin? Jesus Christ. If I ever need a slayer that can’t slay, I’ll know who to call!
Keo focused on the ghoul now.
How had he not seen it before now? It’d clearly been moving toward him when the shooting began, and now the creature was turning, its body snapping left and right as rounds buzzed its thin frame. One of those bullets came dangerously close to taking
Keo’s ear off, the heat of the silver-tipped 9mm leaving a trail across his right cheek.
“Hey, watch where you’re shooting!” he wanted to shout but couldn’t get his mouth to work.
His eyes were glued on the thick fabric of the trench coat as it fluttered like a cape—an ugly, filth-covered cape—before him. Where the hell had the ghoul gotten something like that? Why was it even wearing it? Ghouls didn’t wear clothes.
“This one does,” Martin had said.
Yeah, I guess this one does do that.
This one wasn’t like all the other blue eyes Keo had met, and that made it vastly more unpredictable. But despite that, it was still just going to take one bullet in the head to finish it off.
Which was exactly what Jackson was trying to do as she stood in the field, firing at the creature with her Glock. She had the gun in both hands and was pulling the trigger steadily. One shot after another, after another. To look at her, Keo would believe this was just shooting practice, that there wasn’t a blue-eyed devil glaring at her, daring her to hit it.
Bang-bang-bang!
She was trying, and it was walking toward her. Not exactly slowly, but not quickly, either. As if it wanted her to know there was nothing she could do to stop it from reaching her. The creature twisted and turned and jerked its body or its head—sometimes both—to evade every gunshot. Jackson was shooting for its head because she knew that was the only way to stop a blue-eyed ghoul.
Bang!
It kept walking toward her.
Bang!
Closer.
Bang!
Closer still…
Jackson hadn’t missed completely. Keo could see a hole in the back of the creature’s coat and drips of black blood running down the length of it. But it wasn’t a killing shot. You needed a head shot for that.
It was still moving torturously slow toward Jackson when Keo reached for his Ruger.
Except it wasn’t there.
No, no, no…
He’d lost it. How? When?
Fuck!
Jackson stopped shooting, and when Keo looked over, saw her reaching for a spare magazine—and finding nothing. She was either out, or she’d lost the spares when she was thrown off the horse.
That’s not good.
Road to Babylon (Book 8): Daybreak Page 18