After The Purge: Vendetta Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Sisavath, Sam

  “What word?”

  “You know what word.”

  He chuckled. “I was going to say, ‘I will, Miss Ana.’”

  “Sure you were.”

  “Swear.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Wash couldn’t help but smile to himself. At least he knew of another thing that could ruffle her feathers. Maybe it was a little childish, but he filed the information away for future use anyway.

  “What’s that short for, anyway?” he asked. “Ana.”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me what Wash is short for.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Anastasia.”

  “Hunh.”

  “‘Hunh?’”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think it’d be that.”

  “What did you think it was?”

  “Not that.” Then, “So it’s Ana. A-n-a?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I thought it was A-n-n-a.”

  “So what’s Wash short for?”

  “Washateria,” Wash said.

  She squinted at him.

  Wash grinned. “True story.”

  “You bastard,” Ana said.

  Ana had said it would take a day for them to reach the Kansas-Oklahoma border, but she hadn’t added why. Of course, Wash knew the answer anyway: Him. They were moving at a trot when they could have been going much faster. Certainly both their horses, after so much time to rest at the warehouse, could have cut the timetable in half. More than half, actually.

  Except they couldn’t go that fast, because Wash’s wounds wouldn’t allow it. Ana knew it, and so did he even if neither one of them said it out loud. He was grateful for that, but the gratitude was tempered by the knowledge that Ana couldn’t risk losing him before they reached Mathison. She needed his trigger finger because her skills with a knife weren’t going to do a lick of good against eleven men who had already slaughtered their way out of Newton.

  That undeniable fact should have made him wary of her, but it didn’t. It was more than just owing his life to her (twice now, even if he had joked about only having one to give earlier), or that they were heading in the same direction anyway. There was also the very real dislike Wash had for people like Mathison. Wash had crossed paths with plenty of men who did evil things because they could, and because there was no one to stop them. The existence of men like Mathison annoyed him to the core.

  More than that: It pissed him off.

  “Are you willing to die for your beliefs, kid?” the imaginary Old Man in the back of his mind asked. “Are you willing to go up against eleven hardcore killers to keep them from doing more evil deeds?”

  Do I have a choice?

  “Yes, you always have a choice. Just remember that whatever you choose, you have to live with it. All of it. No regrets. No doubts. No second guesses. You do it, you live with it, and you move on. Next!”

  They continued on for another two hours, stopping only to eat from the mountain men’s stash of nuts. In a day or two he was going to get tired of nuts, but by then hopefully they’d have found something else to replace them with.

  It was already midday, but the sun didn’t do much to chase away the chill. Afterward, they climbed back into their saddles and pushed south, their pace still slowed by Wash’s wounds. He felt guilty but also glad at the same time that he wasn’t punishing himself. The time for that was still somewhere ahead of them.

  Around hour four, Ana stopped and pointed. “Wash…”

  He saw it, too: Smoke drifting lazily in the air. It was coming from in front and slightly to the left of them, which meant it was off the road and somewhere deep in the woods.

  Ana glanced over at him. “What do you think?”

  “It could be anything,” Wash said. “A campsite. A cabin. Or even a town. I’ve never been down this road before. Have you?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe someone in trouble.”

  “Or that.”

  “We should take a look.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? It could delay us.”

  “Maybe, but if it’s someone needing help, I don’t want to just ride past them. Emily wouldn’t want me to do that.”

  “It’s your call.” He drew the Mossberg from its holster along his horse’s flank and thumbed off the safety. “You sure you don’t want a gun?”

  She shook her head before aiming her Tennessee Walker off the road. Wash followed behind her, the shotgun at his side with the muzzle pointed at the ground. It was a less aggressive posture than having the barrel aimed forward; at the same time, it wouldn’t take much to tilt it up and pull the trigger.

  The smoke was wood burning, and Wash could smell it clearly as they neared. It wasn’t a raging forest fire but appeared to be contained. The question was: What had caused it? The trick was figuring out the answer before someone started shooting. The fact that he hadn’t heard shooting yet was a good sign. But that was also the problem: You often didn’t hear shooting until they were shooting at you. He’d relearned that cold, hard truth three days ago.

  Ana stayed in front of him, and if he thought it would have done any good, Wash would have told her to let him take the lead. He had a feeling, though, that it wouldn’t have made any difference, so he didn’t. The Paint Horse trailed behind her while Wash pulled the Morgan along.

  After about ten more minutes of slowly, cautiously pushing through the woods, the aroma of burning wood got noticeably stronger. They wound their way around trees, slipping under branches, and all the while Wash kept waiting to hear gunshots. Maybe it was paranoia, but what was that saying about it not being paranoia if people really were out to get you?

  The smoke grew bigger and thicker as they got closer. Finally, they reached a clearing and Ana pulled up in front of him. Wash hurried over to her position, clutching the shotgun at his side with his finger next to the trigger guard, just in case.

  He looked out at a two-story house in flames. The fire was more intense up close, consuming the entire building and sending thick columns of smoke into the air. It was some kind of ranch, with a barn and storage shed to the right of the large structure currently being swallowed by the raging fire. Wash had a difficult time identifying where the first floor ended and the second floor began. It just looked like one big wall of flames.

  “Wash,” Ana said.

  He followed her gaze to the barn as one of its doors squeaked open and a lone figure stepped outside.

  Wash slid his forefinger closer toward the shotgun’s trigger.

  It was a girl wearing dirty overalls with a white T-shirt underneath, her dark, short hair covered in dirt, sweat making them stick to her forehead. She was close enough to the heat radiating from the house burning nearby that her figure flickered in the air almost as if she were a mirage that didn’t actually exist.

  Ana must have thought the same thing, because she said, “Are you seeing this?”

  “Yeah,” Wash said.

  The girl was barefoot as she walked toward them. Wash didn’t think she could have been more than thirteen, and there was something odd about the way she moved. It was her pace, the very deliberate way she was approaching them, as if she’d been waiting for their arrival all this time. But of course that didn’t make any sense.

  Right?

  Ana glanced over at him again and shook her head, and Wash nodded back. He understood without having to be told. He kept the Mossberg next to him, the barrel pointed at the ground, but didn’t put it away. Ana climbed off her horse and opened one of the supply packs slung over the saddle, took out a bottle of water, and walked to meet the girl.

  The girl had stopped to stare at them, her arms dangling loosely at her sides as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them. Now that she was closer, Wash realized he was wrong—she was much older than he had thought. Sixteen or seventeen, but her small, frail frame made her look younger from afar. He could make out blood on the front of her denim clothing, and he was pretty sure that instead of sweat, it was actually bl
ood that plastered her hair to her forehead. Her feet were dirty, like the rest of her, her toes caked in mud and…something else. He had an easy time imagining her crawling around in a dark and dank tunnel before finally emerging into the light in order to greet them.

  What the hell happened to her?

  Ana stopped about ten feet from the teenager, probably because she didn’t want the kid to run off. Not that the girl looked as if she could be scared away. Wash had seen it before: She was traumatized, and that look on her face wasn’t fearlessness—it was confusion. He wondered if she even remembered her own name.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Ana asked.

  The girl looked past Ana and at Wash.

  Ana glanced back at him, but Wash shrugged.

  She turned back at the girl. “My name’s Ana. What’s yours?”

  The girl didn’t answer her. Had she even heard Ana’s questions?

  Ana took one tentative step toward the kid, and when the teenager didn’t immediately turn and flee, Ana took another one. Then another. She didn’t stop until she was standing in front of the girl. Ana was taller, though not by very much.

  “You want some water?” Ana asked. “You look like you could use some water.”

  The girl remained quiet and kept staring at Wash. She had big brown eyes and a round face, childlike in so many ways. All of that was a stark contrast against her filthy appearance, including the blood on her cheeks and forehead.

  Blood. That is definitely blood.

  “Hey,” Ana said, snapping her fingers in front of the teenager to get her attention. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s your name?”

  The girl still didn’t answer. She didn’t even look like she was capable of speaking, and for all they knew she couldn’t—

  “Wash,” the girl in overalls finally said.

  The word stunned both Ana and Wash.

  “What did you just say?” Ana asked her.

  “Wash,” the girl said again, pointing at Wash.

  Wash slowly climbed off his saddle as Ana looked back at him. “Did she just say your name?”

  “I don’t know,” Wash said. “It sounded like it.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’d remember her, Ana. I’ve never been through this part of the country.”

  “But she knows your name.”

  “She said ‘Wash.’ She could have meant anything.”

  But even as the words came out of his mouth, Wash didn’t believe any of it.

  And the girl proved him right when she said, “Washington.”

  “‘Washington?’” Ana said to the girl, who continued to look past her and at Wash. Ana turned back to Wash again. “Is that…?”

  He nodded. “That’s my full name. Washington.”

  He saw the hundreds of questions racing across Ana’s face and imagined it probably mirrored his own at the moment.

  Ana turned back to the girl. “Do you know him? Do you know who this is?”

  Like the last few times, the girl ignored Ana and said to Wash while staring at him with those brown eyes of hers, “He was waiting for you. He said you’d come.”

  “What is she talking about, Wash?” Ana asked. “Who is ‘he?’”

  “I…” Wash began, but stopped himself.

  “Wash?”

  He shook his head.

  Could it be? Was it possible?

  No. It can’t be.

  Wash looked over at the enflamed house nearby as smoke continued to lick at the sky and the building’s wood crackled even as its foundation threatened to buckle under the relentless assault.

  Here? Was the bastard here this entire time? Was it this close and he never knew it?

  Impossible. Why would—

  A scream from behind him. It was Ana’s voice, shouting out a single word: “No!”

  Wash spun around in time to see Ana lunging at the girl, who was stumbling away from her. The teenager’s face had changed, the fear that wasn’t there before was now everywhere, from her eyes to her trembling pale lips to the quivering tip of her nose. At first Wash thought Ana was attacking the kid for some reason, but all that changed when he saw the gun.

  The girl had a revolver in her hand (Where did that come from?), and she was holding it to her temple. The hammer was cocked back and her finger was on the trigger. The weapon looked like something from the 1800s, and there was engraving along the grip. The barrel was silver and polished, and sunlight gleamed off its smooth bore shape.

  “He’s going to come back for me,” the girl said. “Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. He told me he’d come back one day.”

  Her eyes were glued to Wash as she backpedaled clumsily, dangerously close to tripping on her own feet, and all Wash could think was, She’s going to fall and the gun is going to go off and she’s going to blow her brains out. Jesus, kid, stop moving!

  “Who?” Ana was saying even as she followed the girl, holding out one hand, her other still clutching the bottle of water for some reason. “Who’s coming back?”

  “Him,” the girl said. “Him.”

  “Who? Does he have a name?”

  “He knows,” the girl said, pointing at Wash with her other hand. The gun shook against her temple briefly but never went away. “He’s gone now, but he says to tell you he’ll be waiting in Texas. He says not to keep him waiting too long, because he gets bored easily.”

  “He?” Wash thought. “He?”

  But even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer.

  Ana glanced back at him for a brief second before quickly turning back around to the girl. She kept pace with the teenager, matching her step by step, completely unafraid of the gun in her hand.

  She’s fearless.

  Of course she is. She’s chasing eleven dangerous men all by herself with nothing but a knife.

  “I’ll protect you,” Ana was saying to the girl. She was almost pleading. “No one’s going to hurt you while I’m here. Please. Give me the gun.”

  “Listen to her,” Wash said. “Listen to Ana. We’ll both protect you.”

  “You can’t,” the girl said, shaking her head so violently Wash was afraid she might accidentally pull the trigger. “No one can. He’s in my head. I can’t get him out. He’s in there now. Right now. Talking to me. Telling me to do things I don’t want to do. I can’t make him stop! He’s gone, but he’s still here! He’s still inside me!”

  “We can make him stop,” Ana said. “I can make him stop. Just give me the gun. Just give me the gun…”

  The girl’s eyes shifted to Ana for the first time.

  For a moment—just a second, maybe not even that long—Wash thought Ana had gotten through to the kid, that she was on the verge of believing.

  And then it was gone.

  “You can’t stop him,” the girl said, and stopped moving. She pressed the gun harder against her temple. “No one can stop him. Not even Dad. Or Billy. Or Pete. No one can stop him. He’s going to come back for me like he promised, and no one can stop him. No one.”

  “Please, don’t—” Ana began, but the very loud bang! of the gunshot made sure she never finished her plea.

  Thirteen

  For the second time in as many days, Ana was digging a grave for a stranger when Wash came out of the barn and walked over to her. He passed the house, still being consumed by flames that probably wouldn’t stop for another hour or more. The only reason the fire hadn’t ravaged the rest of the property was the lack of grass in the clearing to feed it. That hadn’t stopped the heat from spreading across the yard anyway, warming up the property significantly enough that Wash considered taking off some of his layers.

  Ana tossed the shovel away when she was done, then sat down at a nearby tree to drink from a bottle of water. Her face, like her clothes, was sprinkled with fresh dirt. Their four horses lingered nearby, grazing on the greens that connected the woods to the m
ostly dirt-floored property.

  “I’m getting sick of digging graves for people,” Ana said. “I wish I could say I haven’t done it before, but that would be a lie. But then, who hasn’t dug their share of graves?”

  No one, Wash thought. Absolutely no one that I’ve met in six years.

  Ana wetted a rag to wipe at her face. “What did you find?”

  Wash handed her the photo album he’d discovered on the floor on the second floor of the barn. It was an old thing, frayed at the corners, with the words Terry Family Album scrolled in careful cursive across the label. Ana turned the first page and paused at a Polaroid of a family of five that took up the entire sheet—a father, his wife, and their three children, one of whom was the girl who had killed herself less than an hour ago.

  “No one can stop him,” the teenager had said. “Not even Dad. Or Billy. Or Pete.”

  It hadn’t taken much to figure out who was who. Dad, Mom, Billy, and Pete. Wash had flipped through the album but hadn’t lingered on any one of them. He didn’t like looking at pictures of the dead; they reminded him too much of all the people he had lost.

  “Did you find out her name?” Ana asked.

  Wash shook his head and sat down next to her under the shade. “Not yet. It didn’t look like she’d been inside the barn for very long, though. Maybe less than a day before we showed up.”

  “You think she was the one who set fire to the house?”

  “Who else could have done it?”

  Ana didn’t answer and continued turning album pages. The family at Thanksgiving and Christmas, the kids dressed up in costumes for Halloween over the years. The girl grew up before their eyes, so vibrant in all the pictures that she practically glowed. It didn’t even look like the same person who had just shot herself in front of them less than an hour ago.

  “She said ‘him,’” Ana said quietly. “You know who she was talking about, don’t you?”

  He nodded, but kept quiet.

  “He’s gone now, but he says to tell you he’ll be waiting in Texas,” the girl had said. “He says not to keep him waiting too long, because he gets bored easily.”

  “Wash,” Ana said. “What’s going on?”