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

by Sisavath, Sam

“Wash!” someone shouted from behind the door to his left. “Is that you?”

  That voice…

  Sonofabitch, Wash thought as he worked the forend to load a new round into the Mossberg.

  “Ana?” Wash shouted.

  “Yes!” the voice shouted back. “You came back!”

  He grinned, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the opening in front of him. He could see into the living room, but his angle was badly limited to what was in front of him. There could have been an army amassed in the other parts of the room, hidden by the walls, and he wouldn’t have known it. But he could see the door directly in front of him just fine, which meant there wasn’t a chance anyone could use it to run outside and try to flank him from behind.

  “You came back!” Ana shouted from the bedroom to his left. And it was her. It was definitely her.

  A flicker of movement as a pair of hands—no, two pairs of hands—suddenly appeared in the opening in front of him, both clutching rifles aimed awkwardly in his direction. It was just the hands and no signs of their owners, and Wash knew what they were going to do before they did it.

  Shit!

  He dropped to the floor, reaching down with the shotgun just before his chest (Your side, idiot, your wounded side!) could slam into the boards. At the same time, Mathison’s men opened fire in front of him.

  Shit shit shit!

  Both hidden figures were swinging their weapons side to side, their bullets chopping into the thick wooden walls above Wash’s head. Above his head. Hundreds of splinters, big and small, zipped like heat-seeking missiles around him, even more falling in sheets over his body.

  The shooters kept firing, clearly determined to empty their magazines, but neither men had done very much to correct for Wash’s new position—flat on his stomach on the floor, barely an inch from the steel-toed boots of the dead man he’d killed when he first entered the cabin, and who still lay in front of him.

  Wash kept the Mossberg in front of him, aimed and ready for the first head—

  Bingo.

  A man with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail with a scar over one cheek poked out from behind the right side wall. He appeared just underneath one of the firing rifles. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of Wash with the shotgun aimed right back at him.

  Wash pulled the trigger, and the face turned to mush against a bloody torrent of buckshot, and a body thumped! to the floor.

  The rifles finally stopped firing and disappeared.

  Wash took the opportunity to rack the shotgun and climb back up to one knee when he heard Ana’s voice shouting from behind the closed door in front and to the left of him: “Wash, are you still alive?”

  “Fuck yeah!” he shouted back.

  “We’re leaving, Wash!”

  “Leaving?” he thought. How was she going to “leave” the cabin? She wasn’t going to come out of the bullet-riddled door and expect him to cover her, was she?

  No way. She’s too smart for that.

  Right?

  And she’d said we, which could only mean Emily was in there with her. If not Emily, then one of the other two captives.

  No, it had to be Emily. Ana wouldn’t abandon the cabin without Emily.

  Wash glanced at the bedroom door to his right. It had remained closed throughout this entire ordeal.

  “You hear me?” Ana shouted. “We’re leaving now!”

  And how exactly are you going to do that? he thought, but of course didn’t shout out loud because Mathison and his men were obviously listening in. It was impossible for them not to hear the back and forth between Wash and Ana.

  Then it occurred to him.

  The window. The one on the side with the wooden blocks that was designed to be closed and opened by someone from inside the bedroom.

  “Wash!” Ana shouted. “Did you hear me?”

  “Go!” he shouted back. “Go now!”

  Wash hurried the rest of the way up from the floor, the 12-gauge still aimed at the other end of the corridor with one hand—waiting, hoping for another head to appear for him to pop—while his left snapped open the pouch on his hip. There, round and cold to the touch. He pulled it out while keeping himself slightly low to the ground, ready to jump back down should Mathison’s men decided to try the same tactic twice.

  It took some fumbling around, but he managed to hold onto the shotgun’s pistol grip and keep it aimed while he pulled the pin with his teeth. Wash sucked in a big breath and tossed the canister underhanded toward the opening. It sailed, white plumes of smoke already expelling from the top on one side as it left his hand in a wide arc.

  He returned both hands to the shotgun as the canister landed, bounced, and kept rolling toward the living room beyond, spewing clouds of tear gas that quickly consumed everything in its path. He heard shouting, coughing, and swearing almost right away.

  Wash said a silent Thank you, boys to the mountain men as he backed up. His eyes were already starting to burn, his skin tingling, and that encouraged him to move faster, to get as far and as quickly away from the spreading fog as possible.

  He didn’t have to look back to know where he was going. He hadn’t gone that far into the hallway. Plus, the cold outside was drawing him out step by step—

  A figure appeared in the smoke, trying desperately to wade through it. Then two more stumbled behind the first. He wasn’t sure what they were doing—trying to get away from the smoke or pursuing him?

  Wash fired, and the first and closest figure collapsed to the floor. The other two staggered back into the smoke before Wash could pick them off, too.

  “Wash!” Someone was screaming his name from outside the cabin. “Come on!”

  That’s my cue!

  Wash stepped outside, felt damp ground under his boots, and only took one hand off the shotgun to grab the door and pull it closed. Of course it couldn’t slam shut, because he’d taken out the latch and deadbolt earlier. While it didn’t close flush, it was just good enough, with smoke filtering out through the two holes from his shotgun blasts.

  “Wash!”

  He spun around and saw Ana and a second figure, Emily, standing in the open. They were almost halfway to the woods and were looking back at him. Ana gestured wildly with one hand while her other, he saw, was holding a handgun.

  “Wash, come on!” Ana shouted.

  He turned and began jogging toward them, the fresh, cold air helping him to fight against his brief exposure to the tear gas. More importantly, he was still alive, and Ana and her sister were free.

  All in all, it was a hell of a good night.

  Not that he thought for one second the night was over.

  It was just getting started…

  Twenty-One

  “Avoid the gunfight if you can, but if you can’t, make sure you end it. Never, ever leave a man with a gun standing once the bullets fly. Finish it and move on. Next!”

  Wash wished he could have done just that, but he didn’t have the option. Even after taking down—how many? Two? Three?—of Mathison’s men inside the cabin, there was still the big man himself—and whoever was left. That was too many, and he had lost the element of surprise.

  It was time to run.

  White smoke vented from all four sides of the cabin and out the chimney. It was quite a sight, the clouds a stark contrast against the black of night. Wash could already hear voices, shouts, and doors banging as Mathison’s men flooded outside, either in pursuit or to escape the tear gas. Either way, they were coming, and it wouldn’t take them long to figure out which direction he and the sisters were headed.

  Wash turned around and followed Ana and her sister Emily as they raced through the clearing and toward the trees on the other side. They were running fast, but then they could afford to. He was the one with bullet holes in him. He gritted his teeth and picked up speed, shoving fresh shells from the carrier into the Mossberg as he did so. He still had the Beretta and could have switched to it, but there was no point in wasting the extra secon
ds he’d bought himself since fleeing the cabin.

  The sisters were twenty yards ahead of him, but he was catching up. Which was surprising, because he didn’t think he was running that fast—or was even capable. He must have been doing a better job than he thought; either that, or the sisters were moving slowly on purpose to let him catch up.

  Once he ran out of room to slip in more shells, Wash glanced over his shoulder. The voices had faded, but he didn’t for a second believe that would be the end of the chase. It hadn’t even begun yet.

  And it was coming as long as Mathison was alive. What were the chances the shrouded figure that he had put down before he darted out of the cabin was Mathison? If it had been the man, then there was a chance the others wouldn’t pursue—

  The pop-pop-pop of gunfire coming from the left side of the house was the answer to his question.

  The ground erupted around him, and bullets zipped! over his head. Wash ducked instinctively, just low enough to still maintain his stride. Ahead of him, the sisters never stopped running, though Ana did glance back.

  “Go, go, go!” he shouted at her.

  She might have nodded before looking forward, and, one hand gripping Emily’s wrist, seemed to pick up even more speed.

  Well, that answers that: She was definitely moving slow for my benefit earlier. That’s awfully nice of her.

  More gunfire, the loud clatters of rifles all coming from behind him. More than one person was shooting, from the sounds of it, but it would have cost him two or three seconds to slow down and look back to confirm that, and he couldn’t afford even one of those seconds. The dirt to his left and right flicked at his fleeing form, pelting his pants legs and some bouncing off his shoulders and cheeks. But dirt, while annoying, didn’t kill you.

  Wash kept his head low and ran for all he was worth. The trees were in front of him, so tantalizingly close that he could almost feel their shade.

  All he had to do was reach them.

  All he had to do was run faster.

  All he had to do was get there before one of Mathison’s men—maybe even the man himself—managed to get in a lucky shot.

  Gee, that’s it?

  Ten yards…

  Five…

  Ana and Emily had vanished into the wall of shadows even before the branches started snapping in half and chunks of bark filled the air from the torrent of bullets. He wasn’t sure if they were aiming at him and missing, or if they were also trying to hit the sisters. Not that it mattered. Bullets didn’t have people’s names written on them, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care anyway.

  Better branches and bark than me!

  The fact that he was still running was a miracle, one that he had every intention of prolonging as Wash leapt the last few yards and—

  He crashed through the tree line and hit the ground in a tuck and roll. It was a stupid move, but he’d done it without thinking, and let out a howl of pain as his side screamed in opposition to the ill-conceived stunt.

  Jesus Christ! Don’t ever do that again, you idiot!

  He was having trouble scrambling back on his feet when warm hands clasped over his left arm. Wash glanced up at Ana, hovering over him, that familiar smile on a face that was fanned by her amazingly brilliant red hair.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Am I?”

  He stumbled to his feet and patted himself down. He had time because Mathison’s men had stopped shooting once he made the tree line. Wash was thankful for the adrenaline; while it didn’t completely dampen the pain, it did keep enough of it at bay that he was able to remain on his feet even though he did sway erratically for a few seconds after standing up.

  “You’re good,” Ana said. She sounded out of breath. “I don’t see any blood.”

  “Thank God,” Wash said. “I didn’t think I was going to make it.”

  “You and me both. When did you get so slow?”

  He gave her a sharp look and saw her grinning back at him.

  He softened and chuckled. “I must have inhaled more tear gas back there than I thought.”

  “Yeah, that must be it.”

  “Annie, they’re coming,” a voice said from in front of them.

  Wash looked over at Emily, hugging her chest with her arms. He hadn’t realized it before, but she was wearing a one-piece silk nightgown with spaghetti straps that looked like they might slide off her small shoulders at any second.

  And so was Ana, standing next to him.

  “What?” he started to say.

  Ana shook her head and hurried over to where Emily stood. The younger sister seemed to be trembling, trying to warm herself by rubbing her arms up and down with her hands. Wash didn’t blame her, considering what she was wearing. And, like Ana, she was barefoot.

  What the hell was going on back there?

  “Em’s right, they’re coming,” Ana said. “We have to go!”

  The sisters turned and hurried through a thicket, and Wash stumbled after them. He didn’t say anything, but his mind was trying to process what he was seeing now and what he had seen back in the cabin.

  Mathison’s men surrounding the bullet-riddled bedroom door. They had clearly been shooting at it. Then there was Mathison himself, standing there with a bleeding side. How had he gotten that way? Ana, probably. But how had Ana gotten her hands on the gun that she was still clutching now as they fled through the woods?

  But all of that was going to have to wait, even if it killed him not to know the answers. Right now, it was about survival, about putting as much distance between them and Mathison’s people as possible. Besides, Wash thought he already knew the answer anyway. Maybe not the hows, but he was pretty sure about the whys.

  Two beautiful women in silk nightgowns, a bedroom that turned into a shooting gallery, and Mathison with a bleeding side…

  “Yeah, that’s Mathison; he’s a regular humanitarian, all right,” Travis had said. He had meant it sarcastically, of course, because there was nothing remotely humanitarian about the man. Hell, Wash had a hard time believing there was anything human about Mathison, and he hadn’t even gotten to know him all that well.

  Well enough to know the world’s better off with him gone. That’s all I need to know.

  He glanced back just to make sure their pursuers weren’t already on his heels, but didn’t see anyone back there.

  Any minute now…

  He turned and hurried after the sisters. They were ten yards in front of him, Ana up front with the gun in one hand and the other one pulling her sister along. The girl looked way younger than nineteen and skinnier than Wash had thought when he first saw her from a distance earlier today. Emily seemed to be always on the verge of falling or losing her balance, but never did. Her feet, like her sister’s, were already covered in dirt from the soles all the way up to their ankles. Of course, being barefoot didn’t seem to be slowing down Ana even a little bit.

  She’s a survivor, that’s why. Even if I die in this place tonight, she’ll keep going, finding ways to keep Emily alive, too.

  He admired her. Not just for everything he had seen her do, but everything else he hadn’t seen but saw the results of. Stealing that knife from one of the mountain men, then using it on them to launch their escape. And now, escaping from Mathison’s clutches.

  As if sensing him staring, Ana glanced back and caught his gaze. “Are they coming yet?”

  “I don’t see them,” Wash said. “Stop for a minute.”

  They did, and while the sisters took the opportunity to catch their breaths, Wash turned around and listened. All he could hear were the birds and owls and their slightly (too) loud breathing.

  Wash finally shook his head and turned back to Ana. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Me neither.” Instead of joy, there was just confusion on Ana’s face. “What’s taking them so long? They were right behind you.”

  “Maybe they’re regrouping. Getting their shit together before they pursue. That’s
what I would do if I were in charge.”

  He saw something on Ana’s face—a question that she wanted desperately to ask but was too afraid to say out loud.

  “What is it?” Wash said.

  “Did you get him?” Ana asked. “Did you get Mathison? Tell me he’s dead, Wash. Please tell me he’s dead. If he is, the others might not come after us.”

  The question made Emily stare at Wash, too, as both sisters waited for an answer. The expression on Ana’s face was mirrored in the little sister’s.

  “That depends on which one was Mathison,” Wash said.

  He described Baldy, and Ana nodded. “That’s him.” Then, “Did you get him?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I took a couple of shots at him, but the motherfucker’s faster than he looks. He was already bleeding when I saw him, though. Was that you?”

  “I couldn’t finish him off,” Ana said.

  “But you shot him?”

  “Yes. And you’re right, he is faster than he looks.”

  Ana’s face morphed into steely determination, but Wash thought he saw the world collapse in Emily’s eyes. The sisters had similar features, and although Emily was taller than Ana by a few inches, she seemed actually smaller in every way. That had a lot to do with her thin frame and drooping shoulders, and there was an undeniable look of hopelessness on her face that wasn’t anywhere on Ana’s at the moment.

  “We need to keep going,” Wash said. “We need to put as much distance between them and us as possible while they’re still regrouping. We might not get another opportunity once they start.”

  “Come on,” Ana said to Emily, and the sisters were moving again.

  Wash hurried over until he was moving next to them, with Ana and her sister to his right. “Where did you get the gun?”

  “It’s his,” Ana said.

  “Mathison?”

  “Yes.”

  Wash added that new information to the puzzle he’d been trying to solve. “You almost got him.”

  “Almost.”

  “What happened back there?”

  She shook her head but didn’t answer.

  “Ana…” Wash said.

  “Can we talk about this later?”