The Purge of Babylon Series Box Set, Vol. 3 | Books 7-9

by Sisavath, Sam

  “What ideas?” she said as she got ahold of a heavy man with a mustache. The thud! he made as he landed on the floor made her wince. She’d had a lot of experience with bodies these days, but she still had to fight back against her gag reflex.

  “That’s a good girl,” Fritz said.

  She didn’t bother responding and instead shoved her hands into the dead man’s pockets and rummaged around them. She found a pack of gum and spare 5.56 shells. The man also had random supplies in the pouches around his waist, but the ones designed to carry ammo were already empty, their contents currently sitting in one of the lobby corners right now along with all the weapons. She tossed the useless items and lifted the man up from the floor just enough to go through his back pockets.

  “Gaby,” Fritz said.

  “What?”

  “That short for something? Gabrielle?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to put yourself out.”

  He chuckled. “Come on; we’re on the same side now. Or what, you’re taken or something? You and the California surfer?”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Ah,” he said, and she thought, Jesus, is he flirting with me?

  The thought further nauseated her, especially given where they were and what they were doing at the moment. She was still trying to decide how to feel about Fritz’s comments when her hand touched cold steel in the dead man’s back pocket. She quickly wrapped her fingers around it and pulled her hand out.

  “Nothing,” Fritz said. He was working so close to her that she could smell his sweat as he reached over and pulled another body toward him, handling the dead man as if he were a (heavy) bag of flour. “You get lucky?”

  “No key yet,” she said, turning her body slightly so more of her back was to Fritz.

  She opened her hand and looked down at the folded pocketknife. The handle was about four inches long, which meant the hidden blade would be around three inches or so.

  There is a God.

  She had been prepared to do this the hard way, by getting her hands on one of Fritz’s weapons—either his sidearm or the knife in a sheath strapped to his left hip. It wouldn’t have been easy; Fritz was bigger and stronger, and despite the element of surprise, she would have had to get really, really lucky. There would have been a lot of noise, maybe even a gunshot, and Danny would be at risk.

  But what else was new? They were all at risk if they did nothing.

  “Maybe it’s not here,” Fritz was saying. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the balls? Might have to shoot our way out of here on foot. I guess that’ll be fun, too.”

  Fun? That’s one way to put it.

  “Other guys got into this because they believed in the cause,” Fritz continued, oblivious to what she was doing next to him, “but me and Benford? We just like the excitement. Be all you can be, right?”

  She pocketed the knife and turned around. “Anything?”

  “Zilch.” He wrinkled his nose. “And to top it off, they’re starting to reek, too.”

  “We all reek.”

  He grinned at her. “Some reek less than others.”

  Jesus, he really is flirting with me.

  She managed to force out a smile back at him before turning to the next body. It was heavy, but not too much that she couldn’t have dragged it closer with a little straining, and it certainly wasn’t heavy enough that she had to make noises as she edged it near her, trying to get it off the two bodies underneath it.

  “Jesus, he’s a big one,” she said between grunts.

  “Time to hit the gym,” Fritz said.

  “Maybe after this.”

  “Make an appointment. I’m always available for consultation.”

  “Deal,” she said, and grunted again as she pulled at the body.

  Fritz got up from the dead man he was searching and moved over and grabbed her man by the arm. Gaby had just enough time to glimpse the collaborator’s face—it was the same one that Danny had shot back in the lobby earlier. It might have been the lack of light, but she swore the man looked completely at peace.

  “He’s not that heavy,” Fritz was saying.

  “Heavy enough for me,” she said.

  “I got it,” Fritz said, and pulled hard enough that he dumped the body on the floor with a loud thud.

  While he was pulling, Gaby had taken a step back to give him room to work. At the same time, she slipped her hand into her pocket and took out the folded knife, then thumbed the stud sticking out of the side that allowed users to simply push the knife open with one hand—or more precisely, one thumb.

  There was a slight click as the blade came out—about three inches worth, with a serrated section—but if Fritz heard it, he didn’t react. He stood in front and slightly to the left of her, almost exactly opposite the door behind them, which allowed a stream of pale light to splash across his back. She had no trouble whatsoever finding his neck, portions of it still layered with the face paint he hadn’t taken off since she first saw him. Whatever it was he and Benford had covered themselves in, it had stayed in place remarkably well.

  Fritz crouched and reached for the dead man’s pockets, saying, “You’re taking the last two. No fair I have to do all of them. Equal opportunity and all that, right?”

  He was chuckling, his back to her, when she jammed the knife into the side of his throat, aiming for the middle while at the same time wrapping her left arm around his head and seeking out his mouth with her palm. He let out a startled grunt and jerked back even as she pushed the knife in further, and his body slammed into her chest and knocked her off balance as they spilled to the floor. As she fell back, all Gaby could think about was locating Fritz’s mouth to silence him so he couldn’t let out a scream that would alert Benford outside.

  A loud thump! as she slammed into the floor with Fritz’s thrashing body on top of her. There was pain, but she was too busy pulling the knife out of Fritz’s neck to properly feel it. An arc of blood spurted across the room, the fresh wetness mingling with the multiple trails of dry blood that smeared the floor from when they had dragged the bodies inside earlier. Fritz’s body continued to spaz on top of her as she gave up trying to find his mouth (Jesus, where the hell is his mouth?) and instead concentrated on locking her free arm around his throat to keep him from moving around too much as she plunged the knife once, twice, three times into his chest.

  He continued flailing against her, his much bigger and heavier body making it hard for her to suck in air, even as she heard him letting out a gurgling sound. Warm blood splashed both of her arms, but mostly her left hand as it tightened around his throat in a vise grip. She held him in place even as he struggled, his legs kicking out between hers. The man seemed to never run out of strength, not even when she embedded the knife a fourth time into his chest.

  Then finally, mercifully, his entire body went still.

  She gasped for a lungful of much-needed air and pushed his body off her, then rolled over onto her side and stared at the darkening wall for the next two, five—ten seconds. Both of her fists and most of her long sleeves were covered in blood, along with her chest and chin. Her clothing clung, damp with Fritz’s life force, the fresh stink of death threatening to make her vomit back out the MRE she’d eaten earlier.

  Get a hold of yourself!

  Danny, remember? He’s still in the lobby with Benford!

  She pushed up onto her knees and looked back at Fritz just to be sure he was dead. He wasn’t moving at all, though his eyes were wide open and staring up at the ceiling. She remembered how he was flirting with her just before she murdered him and could no longer hold back; she bent over to throw up.

  But it was a dry heave, and the chicken pesto pasta didn’t come up. There was spittle, though, and she swiped at it with the back of her blood-covered hand.

  Jesus, what part of her wasn’t covered in blood?

  The sudden realization of voices,
coming from the lobby, made her straighten up. She tightened her grip around the knife instinctively.

  It was Danny, saying something about a “horse and a bar,” though she couldn’t make out every word. Maybe it was the ringing in her ears or the sound of her heart hammering against her chest as it tried to catch up to her labored breathing.

  Danny was still talking when she shook off the nausea, then tossed the knife and hurried back over to Fritz’s body. She pushed it up, ignoring the warmth of his blood against her skin, and tugged the rifle off him, then did the same to the gun in his holster. A black Smith & Wesson semiautomatic, smaller than she would have expected given a man as big as Fritz.

  She bypassed the long knife strapped to his left hip and collected all the spare magazines he had on him, including an extra for the pistol, and staggered back up to her feet, feeling much better with the ammo’s extra weight on her. She made sure the AR-15’s safety was off as she approached the door, listening for clues that Benford might have heard the scuffle with Fritz, but all she could hear was Danny still talking.

  Was it just her, or did he seem to be talking louder than usual? It was almost like he was trying to keep Benford’s attention so he wouldn’t hear—

  Her. Danny was distracting Benford because if anyone could hear what was happening in here with the open door, it would be Danny, who was much closer than Benford.

  She smiled to herself.

  I love you, Danny. I really, really do.

  She wiped her bloody hands on her pant legs so she would have a better grip on her weapons, then leaned out the door and glanced left toward the lobby.

  “Oh, come on, that was funny,” Danny was saying.

  Benford might have grunted, but he didn’t take his eyes off the street outside.

  “I got another one,” Danny said. “It involves girls in bikinis. You like girls in bikinis, don’t you, Benford?”

  “What I would like is for you to sit there and be quiet,” Benford said.

  “Oh, you’re no fun,” Danny said, just as he looked back and saw her, and grinned.

  She returned it before slipping the Smith & Wesson out of her front waistband. Danny nodded and began to slowly raise himself up from the floor. Gaby went into a slight crouch, took a breath, and then slid the pistol across the lobby to him.

  She had put a lot of muster on it, thinking she needed to in order to clear the space between her and Danny, but it was probably too much and the gun made a skeeeeeee noise as it traveled to its destination—

  And Benford heard it!

  Mercer’s man turned around and started to get up, but by then Danny had already snatched the gun off the floor and, still on one knee, twisted and shot Benford twice in the chest. Benford seemed to stumble, as if he had just lost his balance, before sitting back down on the floor with the M4 landing perfectly in his lap.

  Gaby hurried out from the back, focusing on the hole in the wall next to Benford’s awkwardly sitting form. She half expected Mason’s men to use the momentary distraction to attack, but they didn’t, and she made it to the front of the bank without having to dodge bullets. She leaned against the wall and peeked out at the street. When she couldn’t see another living soul outside, she pulled back behind cover.

  “Anything?” Danny asked behind her.

  “No,” she said.

  “Of course not. Why make it easy for me? My luck’s not that good.”

  “What now?”

  “Gear up,” he said.

  Danny slid the Smith & Wesson into his empty holster, then walked over to the pile of weapons in the corner and helped himself to an M4, slung it, and began snatching up magazines from the floor and stuffing them into his barren pouches.

  “Grab that 203,” he said. “It might come in handy.”

  Gaby crouched next to Benford, ignored his accusing stare, and picked up his rifle. She poked through his pouches but couldn’t find any ammo for the grenade launcher attached to the weapon.

  “He must have used up all the grenade rounds,” she said.

  Danny grunted. “Figures.”

  She didn’t bother taking the spare magazines on Benford. She was already flush with Fritz’s, and they were interchangeable with the M4. She slung the rifle and stood up, then stared at the hole again.

  The Jeep was still out there on the sidewalk, so tempting and yet so impossible.

  “Did you find the key?” Danny asked.

  “No, but we didn’t look through all the bodies yet.”

  “Keep an eye out,” Danny said, and jogged through the lobby and disappeared into the back room.

  Gaby leaned against the wall and this time took her time looking up and down the empty streets of Gallant, Texas. She let out an involuntary sigh as the reassuring warmth of sunlight brushed against her skin.

  Something caught her eye as it traveled up the street, whipping past the parked Jeep. She glimpsed a small strip of paper with black lettering on it…it was another one of Mercer’s propaganda flyers. She followed the white sheet’s progress until it disappeared up the street, then realized she was leaning too far out and pulled herself quickly back inside.

  Stupid. If there was a sniper out there, you’d be missing a head right now.

  They had to be out there somewhere, close enough to the bank to keep an eye on Mercer’s men. The most obvious choice would be the two-story department store directly across from her. The sign above the front doors read “Gallant’s Best,” and the front exterior was painted red and white with shades of blue. A nod to the American flag, maybe. She squinted but couldn’t tell if there were things other than just curtains covering the building’s windows. But if Mason’s men were in there, the best spots to watch the bank would be either the roof or from behind one of the second-floor windows—

  She heard a squawk behind her and glanced back at the two-way radio still clipped to Benford’s hip.

  “Talk about a curious development,” a voice said through the radio.

  Mason.

  “Does this mean you and Danny boy got the upper hand on Mercer’s dickheads?” Mason asked.

  She stared at the radio but didn’t reach for it.

  “What’s the matter, kitty cat got your tongue, sweetheart? Don’t be shy. If I’d wanted to harm you, I would have done it when you stuck your head out a second ago.”

  Goddammit.

  “Go on,” Mason said. “I won’t bite. Much.”

  She crouched and grabbed Benford’s radio but didn’t use it.

  Mason didn’t seem to mind. “I know what you’re wondering: How did that handsome devil escape Mercer’s boys? Admit it. It’s been on your mind ever since you found out I’m still out here kicking and winning it.”

  She couldn’t help herself and finally keyed the radio. “You’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit.”

  “She lives!”

  “But I’ll tell you one sure thing, Mason: Your luck’s not going to last forever. One of these days you’re going to find yourself in a noose that you can’t slip out of.”

  “Why so serious, sweetheart?”

  “I’m not your sweetheart.”

  “Sweetie, then?”

  She looked up as Danny slid quietly across the lobby and pushed up against the wall on the other side of the hole. He looked over at her and shook his head: No key.

  “I see Danny boy made it through okay, too,” Mason said through the radio.

  Danny cocked his head questioningly.

  “He can see us,” she said. “I don’t know where he is, but he can see us right now.”

  “That sneaky little twat,” Danny said. “You’re right; I should have plucked out his lying tongue back in Starch.”

  “I told you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Then, “You know, Benford and Fritz weren’t completely wrong. We could make a run for it.”

  “What about Nate?”

  “Right. Nate…”

  “We can’t leave him here, Danny. I won’t do it.”
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  “There’s always Benny…”

  “Danny…”

  “Kidding!”

  The radio squawked and Mason said, “I know what the two of you are discussing right now. ‘Should we make a run for it? Surely,’ you’re saying, ‘facing anything out there is better than staying put when it gets dark.’”

  “Asshole’s kinda psychic, isn’t he?” Danny said.

  “I don’t know about the psychic part, but the asshole part’s spot on,” Gaby said.

  “Just remember,” Mason was saying, “I just need the two of you alive. They said nothing about keeping you in one piece. Do keep that in mind.”

  Gaby looked across at Danny. “Promise me.”

  He nodded. “We’re not going anywhere without Mal Reynolds.”

  “Who?”

  “Firefly?”

  She shook her head.

  “Never mind,” Danny said. “Point is, we’re not leaving without your boyfriend. And you can take that to the bank. Or, well, since we’re already at the bank…”

  “Thank you,” she said, and got up and tossed Danny the two-way radio before dashing into the back of the building.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Danny asked after her.

  “Sweet talk him to death.”

  “I’ll give it a shot, I guess,” Danny said.

  Gaby slipped inside the manager’s office in the back and caught her breath, because where Nate was supposed to be, there was just an empty sleeping bag—

  “Gaby,” a voice said.

  She spun around and found Nate behind her, leaning against the wall while clutching a large book in front of him. His face was pale and covered in sweat, and he didn’t look like he could stand at all if not for the wall propping him up.

  “Jesus, Nate,” she said.

  “I heard shooting. What happened? Where are we?” He glanced around the room. “Looks familiar…”

  “We’re back at the bank,” she said, and went to him.

  She helped him sit down on the floor, positioning his back against the wall to keep him from toppling over. He flinched with every movement, but just the fact that he was finally awake (and alive) made her overjoyed.