Think positive! Think positive!
He sighed and kept moving.
Two hundred and fifty meters…
The sun was casting a massive orange glow across the entire field now, and Keo thought if anyone looked out from Jonah’s, they would surely have spotted him. But would they know it was him and not just some random Bucky? Jonah and Sherry would have told the sentries about him being out here by now. Not that he was afraid of being sniped from the buildings. The best shooter Jonah had was Carl, and he was already underground with Floyd.
For the next fifty or so meters, Keo recalled his conversation with Jonah, just before he went down to the beach with Sherry:
“Don’t shoot me,” he had told Shorty.
“I can’t shoot that far anyway,” the man had said.
“No, Jonah, I mean, tell your men not to shoot me.”
Jonah had chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m serious. I don’t want to get shot by your guys. This is already going to be hard; I don’t need to dodge bullets coming from your houses, too.”
“You’ve done this before?” Jonah had then asked.
“What? Go swimming after midnight?”
“No, running into a field that’s probably filled with bad guys intent on murdering you.”
Keo had grinned.
“What’s so funny?” Shorty had said.
“A bad guy with a gun,” Keo had said. “That’s what people used to call me.”
Jonah had grinned back. “Yeah? You and me both, brother.”
He was thinking about Jonah, about what Short Stuff had been five years ago—or even six years ago—as he made the two-hundred-meter mark. The guy didn’t look like a cop, and although he wasn’t too short for the Army, Keo couldn’t quite picture him humping around in a uniform. Maybe a uniform, but definitely not while serving Uncle Sam.
Keo pushed Jonah out of his mind when he realized he was already starting to breathe hard. He blamed it on the lack of food and little sleep. It was hard to catch a nap when you were hiding in dark woods with a scared ten-year-old girl and a constantly eating horse, while you knew for goddamn certain there was a blue-eyed ghoul somewhere out there, maybe waiting, just waiting for you to close your eyes in order to pounce.
Think positive!
At the hundred and fifty meters mark, Keo was feeling good again. He had gotten a second wind and his legs weren’t nearly as weak as they had been in the previous fifty, which was definitely very good—
A human head popped out of the ground about forty meters in front and slightly to the right of him. It was not the same head he had seen earlier through the binoculars from the tree line, because this one wasn’t quite as elaborately covered in camouflage. Keo knew because he saw the man’s face when he turned around, as if he was searching for something.
I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought!
Keo saw the whites of the man’s eyes at the same time he was spotted, and the man might have opened his mouth to say something when Keo lifted the MP5SD and, slowing down just enough to increase his aim, put the first round squarely into the man’s face. Thank God for the optic on the submachine gun, because it made the thirty or so meters that separated them a piece of cake.
The gunshot was little more than a pfft! and the noise was already fading into the crisp morning air even before the head disappeared.
And we’re off!
Keo was lowering his weapon to continue running at full speed when a second head appeared, except this one didn’t stop at just the head—a torso followed as the man spun around in Keo’s direction, revealing a black assault vest with a white circled M in the middle. The Bucky was gripping a rifle, and he was lifting it when Keo shot him in the neck. A spray of blood arced through the air and splashed the moving grass around him.
Oh, fuck me, Keo thought when three more heads, followed very quickly by the rest of the men attached to them, jumped out of the ground near the same spot where the two he had shot had been hiding.
He had two options—and only two options: Get down and hide, or run straight at them.
It was a no-brainer. At least, it wasn’t for Keo.
Why? Because you’re the world’s dumbest man?
Something like that, he thought as he switched the fire selector on the H&K to full auto and, running full speed toward the Buckies, squeezed the trigger and prayed.
Twenty-Six
Of course there would be a small army hiding in the fields.
Of course it wouldn’t just be two (or, at worst, three) snipers waiting for him.
Of course this wasn’t going to be easy.
Of course he was probably going to die trying to help a group of people he didn’t know from Adam (with the exception of Christine, of course) until twenty-four hours ago, because that was what had become of Keo’s life these days.
For some reason—and it hit him out of the blue—as he was charging toward the three Buckies even as they were still rising up from their cover and were swinging their weapons in his direction, Keo thought of her.
Not Emma. He was surprised it wasn’t Emma.
Instead, he thought of her.
It had been five years since he’d last seen or even talked to her. He’d heard stories about what she was doing now, how she was raising an army of her own with the purpose of saving the world from itself. It was a mighty feat, but if anyone could do it, it was her.
And he was imagining the look on her face when someone told her what had become of him, how he had run straight into a fight he had no skin in, only to get himself killed.
“That’s Keo for ya,” she would probably say. “Always doing something stupid even when he knows better.”
I definitely should have known better, he thought as he sprayed half the magazine at the three figures even as they began firing in his direction almost simultaneously. Or two of them were, anyway, because the third took two rounds to the chest and was falling when his comrades opened up.
Bullets zip-zip-zipped around Keo as he launched himself with wild abandon and landed sideways on the ground. The impact jarred enough of his senses that he barely noticed the stabbing pain coming from his left side. He was bleeding, he knew that much, but didn’t have time to fully acknowledge it because there were still two men out there trying to kill him and he had to keep moving.
Two? You better hope there’s just two nearby!
The truth was there could have been more. Not just in the spot where he had knocked off the first two, but somewhere nearby. What were the chances there were just five and that was it? What were the chances he wasn’t nearly as shit out of luck as he had originally thought?
About as good a chance as you getting out of this alive, pal!
He sighed and struggled up onto his knees, blades of grass swiping at his face and shoulders and arms as he scrambled pathetically against the soft, wet dirt. The pop-pop-pop of fully automatic rifle fire shattered the early morning around him. He could smell burning foliage almost right away as bullets pierced through the vulnerable wall of grass to his left and right and above.
Above? Yup, above, too!
Keo lunged forward, away from the exploding ground, and rolled once, twice—a half dozen times (maybe?) before finding his knees under him and pushing his head up just enough to see two men in black assault vests racing forward but not at his current position. They were making a beeline for where he had begun his crazy rolling spree.
Twenty meters and closing in fast.
One was frantically reloading while the other peered through his gun’s red dot sight at the spot to Keo’s left, far from his current position. The man must have caught Keo moving out of the corner of his eye, because he swung his weapon over—
Keo shot him once in the thigh, even though he was aiming for the chest. Then, when the man stumbled, Keo put a second 9mm round into his gut. The Bucky vanished into the grass even as his partner spun in Keo’s direction, while at the same time pulling back his
rifle’s charging handle. He was lifting his weapon when Keo shot him twice in the chest and watched him, too, collapse out of view.
He had a moment of triumph (five against one and he was still alive!), but it only lasted for a second or two before a loud crack! thundered, and he twisted even as searing pain erupted from somewhere along his temple.
He dropped to the ground as a second crack! exploded, and a large-caliber round sliced stalks of grass in half two inches from where he had landed on his stomach. Keo rolled away from the spot even as the sniper fired again—and again—but the man was aiming at the same location while Keo was getting farther away.
Rolling, rolling, rolling! he thought and wanted to laugh out loud, but there was too much pain to push anything through his lips but haggard grunting.
He finally stopped moving when he couldn’t make himself complete a new roll, and lay flat on his back staring up at the sun while sucking in one large breath after another. He reached up and felt along his right temple and brought his hand back covered in blood. It stung and it hurt, but it wasn’t life-threatening. At least, not the “my brain is leaking out” type of threatening wound, even if it did feel as if his skull was about to shatter at any second.
Keo wiped the blood on his pants and looked down at his left side. Now that one looked bad. It was a through and through, and he was definitely leaking out of two holes made by the same bullet.
Not good. Not good at all.
It took him a moment—a minute? Two?—before he realized the shooting had stopped. The sniper (snipers?) had either gone back into their holes, or they couldn’t locate him anymore. But the lack of bullets flying in his general vicinity didn’t mean there wouldn’t be bullets flying later when he tried to get up.
And he had to get up. He had to look for help. He hadn’t thought ahead to bring a first aid kit with him, and everything he had, he had on him. Which wasn’t much. There was the knife and the last magazine for the MP5SD.
Shit, he thought as he swapped out the almost-empty mag and put a fresh (final) one into the H&K. Another reason he should have risked the extra weight and brought a handgun along. Instead he was now down to thirty rounds and done.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda.
He wasn’t entirely out of luck, though. There were five dead bodies with plenty of ammo for him to salvage. There were two dead Buckies nearby, and all he had to do was find the strength to roll over to them—or just one of them—and take what he needed. He’d seen one of them carrying an AK-47 and the other had an AR-15. Either rifle would be perfectly acceptable, especially once he ran out of bullets for the submachine gun. And if he was lucky, maybe one of them would be carrying a first aid kit on them.
If he was lucky.
If he didn’t die before he reached them.
If there weren’t Buckies moving toward his position now to finish the job.
Keo lay perfectly still and listened (it was much easier than trying to move), but the only sounds that came to him were the back and forth of grass swaying in the fields and the winds rushing from the nearby shoreline. He couldn’t hear anything that indicated footsteps or voices, and though the first sniper bullet had nearly taken his head off, they didn’t have to be close to have gotten off a good shot.
So who were the guys he’d encountered? Maybe the snipers’ support staff. Normally snipers worked either alone or with a spotter; but then, these weren’t your everyday snipers. Maybe Buck’s boys had their own way of operating.
Who the hell cares. You’re bleeding to death, remember?
Oh, right.
He finally managed to make himself roll over onto his good side, flinching and gritting his teeth to keep from screaming out the entire time, and got his bearings. The two dead Buckies were somewhere in front of him. Ten meters or so, give or take. It was definitely makeable even if he had to crawl his way over, which was probably the only possible approach in his current condition. Sure, it would hurt like a bastard, but it was better than exposing his head and getting it shot off—
Crack! as a bolt-action rifle fired, but this one sounded from much farther away.
Jonah’s. Did that come from Jonah’s?
Keo stopped moving and listened.
One minute…
Two…
Suddenly a burst of automatic rifle fire—pop-pop-pop!—that was quickly followed by two slow, purposeful cracks! from the same high-powered bolt-action rifle. The fact that nothing was exploding around him was proof whoever was shooting wasn’t targeting him or anywhere in his general direction.
Keo moved to his knees, feeling woozy with every inch he managed, and finally pushed his head above the tree line.
There, a figure—no, not one, but two—racing across the open field nearly a quarter of a mile from his location. That would put them almost halfway to Jonah’s, and they looked like ants as they ran at full-speed not at the town but away from it. The two men were far enough apart that the gunfire coming from Jonah’s had to be split between the two of them, which Keo guessed was the plan.
A torrent of pop-pop-pops originated from Jonah’s, bullets raining down on the fleeing figures and kicking up dirt around them. But nothing was hitting and the two men continued moving, running as fast as they could, from the looks of it. Keo thought about picking them off with his MP5SD, but they were well beyond his range even with a decent scope.
Another crack! just before one of the retreating figures stumbled and fell. The other one stopped for a moment to look back—just a second, if even that—before he did the smart thing and turned around and kept running, moving even faster now, if that was possible.
The gunfire from Jonah’s continued, rounds chasing the lone fleeing sniper, but he had put too much distance for the automatic rifles. The bolt-action fired twice—crack! crack!—but neither shot hit their target, and the man kept going.
Run, little rabbit, run, Keo thought. He had to admit, the guy had definitely earned his freedom.
Keo lay back down on the wet (Why is it so wet? Oh right, my blood) and looked up at the bright sun hanging above him. The throbbing from his temple was getting a lot worse, and he was likely bleeding to death if the continually growing wetness under him was any indication.
He told himself to start crawling toward those dead Buckies to raid them for first aid kits, but he didn’t have the strength to put the thoughts into action. Instead, he continued staring up at the sun as it rose higher and higher above him, and decided that he really liked the idea of living this close to the ocean. Maybe that was why Jonah and Sherry and the others hadn’t wanted to leave this place when they stumbled across it, and it took the impending threat of Buck’s army to get them to do so.
A house on the beach next to the ocean. What could be better?
Keo closed his eyes, and he must have been dreaming, because he swore something was licking at his face while someone—a female voice—was calling out his name.
“Keo. Keo.”
Screaming his name, actually.
“Keo! Wake up!”
He opened his eyes and saw a small head with dirty brown hair dangling off the sides hovering over him, replacing the sun.
“Don’t die, Keo. Don’t die.”
“Die?” he said. Or whispered. But he was definitely sure he had said it.
Maybe.
“Yeah, don’t die,” Megan said. “You still gotta find Mom. Okay? You can’t die yet. You gotta find Mom first.”
“What are you doing out here? I told you to hide…”
“I saw you get shot, and you didn’t get back up.”
“Oh. Good reason.”
He closed his eyes again. The pounding pain from his temple hadn’t eased up even a little bit, and the wetness under him had increased. He was probably going to drown soon, from the feel of it. Can you drown on your own blood? There was a first time for everything.
“Keo, come on,” Megan said. Her voice sounded very soft and far away. Either that, or his hearing was slipping.
“Come on!”
“Come on?” Where are we going?
He was on his feet. Somehow. He didn’t know how exactly, but he was back on his feet and—
He was falling again.
No, not falling, but lying down on his stomach, then being pushed across hard leather by someone from behind.
“Come on, Horse, come on!” a voice said. Megan? Was that still Megan?
Then he was moving, somehow.
The field flashed by in front of him. Under him. Wind rushed against his face and body, and red drops drip-drip-dripped to the ground as he traveled across it.
Blood. That’s my blood.
He didn’t know how long they walked (Ran? Jogged?) but he was aware of them going faster and faster, before finally slowing down again.
“Don’t shoot!” someone screamed. “Please don’t shoot!”
Then someone was shouting, “Jesus, get them in here!”
Somehow, fields of grass gave way to sand pebbles and voices gave way to the calm, soothing waves of the Gulf of Mexico.
A house on the beach next to the ocean. That’s the way to live.
That’s the way to live, all right…
Twenty-Seven
Cars. Engines. People shouting.
What happened to the waves?
He struggled to open his eyes. He blamed it on the headache, like someone (or an army of someones) was banging away with a drum set, but the problem was they had no clue about how to play the drums.
Someone needs a lesson. Or two. Or a few hundred.
When he finally did manage to fully open his eyes and keep it that way for more than a few seconds, he found Sherry leaning against a railing next to him. There was wind and sunshine on his face, and he was outside. He assumed it was the deck of one of the houses in Jonah’s, though how he got here was a mystery. He wasn’t bleeding to death, which was all he really cared about.
Road To Babylon Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 23