No, no, no! he thought, even as he continued moving toward the door, the kukri rising to the attack position next to him.
His mind raced, trying to understand what he was seeing:
A tool. He was looking at a metal tool being used to force open the door. Did that mean he was wrong about the presence of ghouls? Was he looking at men trying to break their way in? That had to be it, because ghouls didn’t use tools. He wasn’t even sure if they still remembered how. At least, the black-eyed ones had never—
Loud, grinding metal continued to pierce the night air, stopping only when the door snapped open, and cold air rushed inside the RV.
“What’s happening?” Roy asked from somewhere behind Wash.
Wash didn’t answer him. He was too busy staring at the harsh darkness outside the now-open door, trying to piece together what had just happened, what he was seeing, and what he was about to deal with—
Slitted dark eyes peered back at him.
Ghouls.
Ghouls?
But that didn’t make any sense. Ghouls didn’t use tools. They certainly had never used crowbars to open doors before.
This doesn’t make any sense.
What the hell is going on?
The only answer he got was a rush of movement as the creature—no, creatures—darted into the vehicle and bounded up the steps. And with them came the familiar stink of rotting garbage, clawing at Wash’s nostrils. His wounds pulsed underneath his clothes, and Roy might have gasped behind him, but Wash only had eyes for what was in front of him.
And right now he was looking at two—no, three—no, four ghouls as they raced into the Winnebago. Stray moonlight gleamed off their black skin and hairless domed heads, dull black eyes zeroing in on him even as their jaws opened and saliva flitted across the tainted night air, and caverns of filthy yellow and brown jagged teeth flashed before Wash’s eyes.
He took one step back even as the Old Man’s voice shouted inside his head, “How did they open the door? How did they open the door?”
But Wash was beyond caring about that. Maybe he would figure it out once he made it through this ordeal, once he had some time to do something other than fight for his life, but it was the least of his concerns at this very second.
Right now, he had to survive this.
Right now, there were at least five nightcrawlers—six—no, ten—coming through the door.
Wash slashed, taking the first and closest ghoul’s head off at the neck. Thick blood splashed the upholstery of the driver’s seat as the head ricocheted off it, and the body flopped lifelessly to the floor at Wash’s feet.
Not that the end of one ghoul did anything to stop the others. They jumped up the steps of the RV and at Wash like the rabid, single-minded creatures they were. It didn’t matter that he’d just killed one of them, that he could do the same to them. They saw him—they smelled the blood in his veins—and they wouldn’t be stopped.
So Wash didn’t, either.
He took another step back and swung again.
And again.
And again…
Six
…and they kept coming.
More and more, and more.
And more.
They didn’t stop, and neither did he. But Wash was forced to keep backpedaling farther and farther toward the rear of the RV. Roy was somewhere behind him—Wash could hear the teenager’s frantic shuffling, his ragged breathing—as he, too, retreated. At the same time, Wash resisted the urge to reach for the Kahr.
Not yet. Not yet!
He stuck to the kukri, and thank God he had become so adept with it that he could wield the deadly blade with minimal effort, slicing through outstretched arms and slashing at exposed chests. And, when possible, going for the head.
They were small creatures, black-skinned and thin like little children spitting out of the darkness at him. They rushed through the door and up the steps and forward across the narrow passageway. They were fast, and rabid, and they had only one goal: him.
But they couldn’t get to him. Not yet.
Not yet…
Wash was hurting, and his arms and legs ached and breathing was difficult, but he had fought through much, much worse, and he did so again now.
He lopped off a head, but even as it dropped from the flopping body, another ghoul leapt over it and made a grab for Wash with its bony fingers. He swung again and just managed to chop off two of the extended digits, but that was enough to introduce the silver coating of the kukri’s blade into the monster’s bloodstream, and it ceased to exist.
The Winnebago was filling up with the dead, but they were still coming.
Too many. There were always too many.
Too many!
“So what else is new?” the Old Man said. “You’ve done this before. What makes this one any different?”
But tonight was different. He was moving on weakened legs, and every step hurt. That didn’t stop him from continuing to back up, because the only other alternative was to stand still and let the nightcrawlers overwhelm him. He couldn’t allow that. Not with his mission unaccomplished; not with it still out there, somewhere, waiting for him.
Did it send these ghouls? Wash wondered. Just like it had sent the blue eyes in the red cloak last night? Had it unleashed this horde to find him, to end him now before he could reach it? Was it scared? Was that it?
There were no answers forthcoming in the black eyes and widening jaws and glistening jagged teeth coming at him. So Wash continued taking one step, then another back, while slashing at another leaping ghoul.
It fell, but that only opened up space for another one.
Then another, and another…
And another.
“Jesus, where are they coming from?” Roy shouted from somewhere behind him. Wash couldn’t pinpoint how far the kid was from his own position. He only had eyes for the nightcrawlers before him, scrambling over their dead as if the carcasses were little more than annoying obstacles to be overcome.
The truth was, Wash had momentarily forgotten Roy was even back there in the ten or twenty seconds (Minutes? Could whole minutes have already passed?) since the attack began. He was lost in his own world, his senses focused on the task at hand: surviving the onslaught.
Because they kept coming. More and more of them, as if the darkness itself was birthing them. Soon, he couldn’t see the front windshield or the driver’s seat anymore. Eventually the creatures realized rushing up the aisle at him in a line was too slow, and ghouls began scrambling over the seats and chairs and tables along the sides. The RV had limited room, and they fought for the precious inches that were available. When that didn’t work, they climbed over one another, desperate to reach him.
“Jesus Christ!” Roy was shouting. “Jesus Christ! Use your gun! Use your gun, man!”
“Not yet!” Wash shouted back.
“Why the hell not? Use your gun!”
“Not yet!” Wash shouted and thought, Not yet. Not yet…
“Can’t take those bullets with you if you’re dead, kid,” the Old Man said.
Not yet!
“When, then?”
I don’t know, but not yet!
The kid was still shouting something, but Wash had mostly tuned him out. He wished Roy would concentrate on continuing to back up instead of talking. The last thing Wash wanted was to stumble into the teenager’s path and get tangled up. The worst-case scenario would involve the two of them falling like idiots to the floor, losing him precious seconds as he attempted to right himself and keep from being overwhelmed by the surging tide of black flesh. The best-case would still mean losing precious seconds.
Either way, he didn’t need the hassle. Not now, not with an unrelenting tide (Mother of God, where are they all coming from?) of glistening dark skin and even darker eyes and domed heads continually crashing forward, bouncing off furniture and each other, the clack-clack-clack of bones drowning out even Wash’s own heartbeat.
“You’re running
out of room and time, kid!” the Old Man shouted.
Yeah, you may be right.
“I am right! So use the Kahr!”
Not yet. Not yet…
There were too many, and he wasn’t going to be able to kill them all. Not even if he had four hands and a kukri in each one. Their numbers were seemingly endless, and more were entering the Winnebago with every passing second. He didn’t have to hear or see the newcomers; he could feel the RV rocking under their scrambling feet. And if the large vehicle was moving against such impossibly light bodies, then there had to be a lot of them.
A hell of a lot.
The air had continued to take on a foul smell, invading his pores and making the exposed parts of his face tingle. There was blood on his clothes—thick gobs of it—and small viscous liquids dripped from his chin. Not a lot, but enough to make him almost gag; and he might have, if he weren’t already so used to it. This wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck in the middle of a feeding frenzy, and it was probably not going to be his last, either.
“If you survive this,” the Old Man said.
I’ll survive this.
“Talk is cheap, kid.”
I’ll survive this. I have to, because I have to get to it. I have to kill it.
“Good,” the Old Man said. “That’s the kind of dedication you’ll need to stay alive. There’s nothing like the primal need for revenge to get the ol’ motor revving.”
And his motor was definitely revving, even as Wash tried to figure a way out of this mess. He was going to run out of real estate soon—if he wasn’t already there. All it would have taken was a quick glance back to be sure—one snap look over his shoulder to gauge how much room he had left before he bumped into Roy, and, after that, the bedrooms.
The bedrooms…
“Use what you got, kid,” the Old Man said. “It’s time. You need the extra time!”
Then I’ll be empty.
“Better empty than dead!”
Good point…
“Roy!” Wash shouted, even as he jerked his head back to dodge a pair of fingers swiping at his face. He was half a heartbeat from counterattacking at the blackened hand, but it was too fast, and he held his strike for a better opportunity.
“What?” Roy shouted back. He was still somewhere behind Wash and close enough that Wash could hear his strangled voice as if he were screaming an inch away.
“The bedroom!” Wash said. “Get into the bedroom, and get ready to close the door!”
“It’s not going to hold!” Roy shouted back.
“It’ll have to!”
“But it won’t!”
“We don’t have any choice, kid!” Then, “Get ready!”
“Get ready for what?”
“Now!”
“Now?” Roy said, but he really only got No out before Wash tossed the kukri into the air, and even as his left hand snatched at the grip, his now-empty right dipped, grabbed, and drew the Kahr.
A half-second later, Wash was firing from the hip.
Bullets pinged! off bones and ricocheted into another one. Other rounds managed to avoid obstructions completely after punching through weak skin and muscle and carried on, taking down another—then sometimes a third—ghoul behind it.
The mad rush in front of him thinned out quickly as the nightcrawlers collapsed. Wash twisted his torso left and right to catch the ghouls trying to hop across the furniture along the sides. He didn’t waste the time it would have taken to lift the gun to aim and shoot. He didn’t have to. Wash had been firing from the hip, using his eyes and body to aim instead of the iron sights, since he was a teenager.
The bang-bang-bang! of each shot boomed in the closed confines of the RV, the thunderclaps pounding almost in sync to the pings! of silver-tipped lead bouncing off bones and deflecting off glass windows and fiberglass walls.
As the numbers dwindled in front of him, Wash continued to back up. He could feel the Kahr getting lighter, the magazine emptying with dizzying speed.
Too fast, too soon, and too few bullets.
Wash knew the end was near when he turned and saw Roy back there, holding open one of the bedroom doors for him. “Go go go!”
Roy disappeared into the room, and Wash looked back toward the front of the RV, fired the last shot, and dropped the pistol into its holster. He switched the kukri back into his right hand even as more of the monsters scrambled over the piles of dead bodies between them.
Jesus, there were a lot of them. Where the hell had they all come from? Where had they been hiding all this time?
“It sent them,” the Old Man said. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Wash didn’t answer himself. He was too busy kicking at a lunging ghoul, catching it in the chest, and sending it reeling back. It knocked down two creatures behind it but did nothing to stop the one crawling over a dining table to Wash’s right, while another skittered along the length of a kitchen counter to his left.
Wash ripped a piece of flesh from the ghoul on his right with the machete and didn’t waste the precious half-second to watch it fall. He was too busy backing up, backing up, even as he heard what sounded like a door opening and a voice—young and soft and feminine—screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
June. And she was close. Which meant Wash was running out of space fast.
He spun and gutted the ghoul on his right as it torpedoed itself at him. The creature made a shrieking noise, almost as if it was in pain. Did they feel pain? Even now, after years of hunting the creatures, Wash didn’t completely know the answer to that one with any certainty—
A voice, shouting behind him, very close: “Get in, man! For God’s sake, get in here!”
Wash tore his focus off the surging horde—it was difficult, and he had to force himself to do it despite his every instinct—so he could spin around and almost dive through the open bedroom door.
He was glad he hadn’t flung himself in like an idiot, because landing on the hard floor chest-first would have really hurt. Instead, he lost his balance slightly and almost collided with June, who was already in the darkened room, her back pressed against the far wall to give him and Roy as much space as possible.
“Smart kid,” the Old Man said.
The thoom! as Roy slammed the door shut behind him and Wash heard the frantic sliding of metal as the kid forced the deadbolt into place. The sound of the latch landing hadn’t finished its echo when the first ghoul smashed itself into the fiberglass door on the other side.
Bam! Bam!
Then, more joined in:
Bam-bam-bam!
Bam-bam-bam!
Jesus, it had been close. If he hadn’t thinned their numbers with the Kahr, he wasn’t sure if he would have made it into the bedroom at all. There had been so many of them (Jesus Christ, where did they all come from?) out there. There were probably still a lot of them now, pouring into the vehicle, if the constant trembling of the floor underneath Wash’s boots were any indication.
How many of them are out there? Where were they all hiding?
“It’s been busy,” the Old Man said. “It’s been waiting for your arrival too, as it turns out.”
Roy had immediately thrown himself at the door as soon as he locked it, his back pressed against the flimsy material while his boots scrambled for traction against the floor. Wash hurried to the exposed part of the door and mirrored Roy. Their shoulders were pressed against one another as—
Bam-bam-bam!
—the ghouls crashed into the door. Over and over again.
Bam-bam-bam!
Each time they struck the fiberglass material, it moved slightly behind Wash, but the lock was holding and the door always bounced right back into place.
Bam-bam-bam!
There were no windows inside the bedroom, no other way in but through the door quaking behind Wash. He wondered if the creatures actually knew that fact, though. Nightcrawlers acted on almost pure instinct. Avoid the sunlight, feed at night, and take the easiest
path to their prey.
Bam-bam-bam!
He exchanged a quick look with Roy next to him. He didn’t have to tell the kid to hold on with everything he had. The teenager had been out here too long; he knew the consequences of letting the ghouls inside the small cramped bedroom with them.
Wash nodded and got one back.
June had peeled herself from the far wall and sat down on the edge of the bed. There was so little room that the single cot was only a few feet from scraping against Wash’s knees. It was a miracle he hadn’t careened onto it or the girl when he’d made his leap into the room earlier.
He could make out fear in the girl’s eyes even with what little light there was in the bedroom. June was afraid, but it wasn’t the kind of sheer mortal terror Wash was used to seeing from civilians when they ran into their first ghoul. Just because everyone knew that nightcrawlers still existed and still roamed the night, they never really expected to come face-to-face with one…until they did.
But Wash didn’t see that on June’s face right now, and it just reminded him again that she, like her brother, had been out here for too long. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, though. On the one hand, their experience had kept them both from panicking, and that had probably saved Wash’s life. And yet, they were just kids.
“No, they’re not,” the Old Man said. “They stopped being kids when the monsters took the world.”
“Man, this sucks,” Roy was saying next to him.
Wash grinned before sliding the kukri back into its sheath so he could use both hands to keep himself upright as the door continued to wobble and push against him.
Bam-bam-bam!
“Which part?” Wash asked.
“All of it,” Roy said. “Are you out? Your gun?”
Bam-bam-bam!
Wash nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference if you had a whole armory,” the Old Man said. “Did you see how many were out there? Where’d they all come from, kid?”
I’ll let you know when I figure it out, old timer.
As if reading his thoughts, Roy said, “How many was out there?”
After The Purge: Vendetta Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 54