The keys to the cell doors were hanging from hooks near the door into the holding area. They were properly labeled, and Smith pocketed the one to Blake’s cell. Then he spotted the gun racks. Rifles, shotguns, and handguns. Smith helped himself to a few of them, including a Glock that he put behind his waistband, along with a spare magazine. Any more and he would have weighed himself down too much. Besides, if he needed to reach for the secondary pistol, he was probably already in trouble.
Blake was where he’d last seen her when Smith returned—leaning against the cell bars. “You’re back.”
He smiled. “You sound surprised.”
She shrugged. “I thought you might keep going.”
“Why would I do that? After coming here in the first place?”
“I dunno. Maybe you realized coming back here was a stupid idea and decided to rectify it.”
“You’re overthinking things.”
“Maybe. I tend to do that, sometimes.”
Smith opened her cell door, and Blake stepped outside.
“Do I get a gun?” she asked.
He handed her the Glock and the spare magazine, then the shotgun he’d also brought along. Blake gave him a surprised look as she took them.
“What?” Smith said.
“You’re giving them to me?”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
Smith tapped his holstered SIG. “I have this.”
“Just the one?”
“How many do you think I need?”
She shrugged as she slipped the Glock behind her back, then turned the pump-action shotgun over in her hands. It was a Benelli M4 semiauto and looked a bit cumbersome in Blake’s smaller hands. She didn’t give it back to him, though.
“So what now?” Blake asked.
“The ranch,” Smith said.
“The ranch?”
“I’m going to the ranch.”
“What about me?”
“You can come with me, or you can go home. It’s up to you.”
Blake seemed to think about it. Then, “I’m coming with you.”
“You sure?”
“No, but it’s dark out there, and I don’t feel like walking around in the dark. I mean, it’s not like it used to be, but still…” She might have shivered slightly, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. “Safer with you.”
Smith chuckled. “You sure about that?”
“For now.”
You sure about that? he wanted to ask her but didn’t. If she wanted to stick around as he made his way to the ranch, who was he to tell her otherwise? Besides, he could use the backup. The Judge still had nine men that he knew about, even if he didn’t quite know how many more would be waiting for him at the ranch.
“All right,” Smith said. He glanced down at his watch. “We have five hours before sunlight. But I hear the ranch is nearby.”
“About half a mile,” Blake said.
“You know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been there.”
“Sort of.”
“‘Sort of?’”
“I’ve seen it from a distance, but I’ve never been inside the property.”
“But you know where to find it.”
She nodded, if clearly reluctantly. “Yeah.”
“You sure you wouldn’t rather head right back to the junkyard? Last chance.”
Blake clutched the shotgun and looked down the hallway. “If I change my mind on the way there, I’ll let you know.”
She headed off, and Smith followed.
“You’ve been back at the junkyard?” Blake asked.
“Yes,” Smith said.
“How’s everything? How’s everyone doing?”
“Good, as far as I know,” Smith lied without missing a beat.
Six
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Barbed wire? Perimeter guards? This looks…”
“What?”
“Just like a hundred other ranches I’ve seen.”
“It’s not the exterior, but what’s inside it.”
“And what is inside it?”
“A place you want to avoid, because no one leaves the same.”
“Reeducation.”
“Yeah.”
“What exactly is that?”
“I don’t know, but when they come out of this place, they’re not the same.”
“But you don’t know exactly what happens in there.”
“No.”
So how do you know it’s as bad as you keep saying? Smith wanted to ask her but didn’t. He didn’t think it mattered anyway.
Blake, like most of Mandy’s people, had been taught to believe everything the Judge and Gaffney did were evil. For all Smith knew, it was true, but nothing he’d seen had really reinforced that. Sure, they weren’t exactly the greatest people, but he’d encountered plenty of folks in post-Purge America that were worse. Some were much, much worse.
But again, he kept those opinions to himself. Right now, Blake was providing him with backup. Not that Smith thought he needed it, but, well, it was better to have an extra gun watching your back than none at all. She seemed to believe everything she was saying, which was her prerogative, as long as she pointed the shotgun in the right direction.
He had to admit, though, that the ranch really didn’t look like much—a group of buildings spread out across a field, with two big two-story structures near the center and smaller ones surrounding them. There was a wooden fence that ringed the property, but Smith figured that was mostly for show because they certainly weren’t going to stop anyone from entering. A few lights dotted the place, but nothing that would point to the ranch’s existence from a distance if you didn’t already know it was here.
Fortunately for Smith, Blake knew where they were going, and they’d found it easily enough after about an hour of skulking their way out of Gaffney. They could have gotten here much sooner, but Smith had plenty of darkness to work with, so he was more than happy to take his time. Besides, morning was still a long way off.
“So what’s the plan?” Blake asked.
“Go in there, and find Mary and Aaron,” Smith said.
“And then what?”
“Get them out of there.”
“It’s not going to be that easy, you know.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?”
“Yeah, why not? I have surprise on my side. As far as the Judge’s people know, I’m still in Gaffney.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“What happens when they find out I’m not in my cell anymore?”
“I don’t know. Probably that you’d run right back to the junkyard.”
“Makes sense. That would be the smart thing to do.”
Smith smiled. He was wondering how long it was going to take Blake to have second thoughts about following him out here.
He checked his watch just to be sure he still had plenty of nighttime to work with: 2:14 a.m. At least three hours, maybe a little more, before sunup. He didn’t think he’d need all of it; especially out here, in the open.
The open prairies were a lot safer these days in the aftermath of The Walk Out, but you still had to be careful. There were plenty of ghouls roaming about, some more daring than others when it came to potential prey. All he had to do was remind himself what had happened back at the junkyard when Gaffney attacked two nights ago.
Smith looked over at Blake, lying on the hillside next to him. They’d been at the same spot for about ten minutes now, waiting for signs that the ranch had guards on the perimeter. There were none that Smith could see, and Blake confirmed it. They were a good 200 meters (maybe more; it was hard to gauge distance accurately in the middle of the night) from the place, far enough that Smith felt good about not being spotted but close enough to see what he needed to. Or most of it, anyway. He considered getting closer but saved that for late
r. Right now, he just needed to get the lay of the land.
The hill they were on was wider than it was high. About twenty meters up and at least a football field at its base. It looked like a hump, sticking out of a mostly flat Nebraska field. There were similar ones around them, but this one was, by far, the highest; not that it was all that high to begin with.
“The house,” Smith said. “That’s where the reeducation takes place?”
Blake shook her head. “I don’t know. This is as close as I’ve ever gotten. I don’t know what happens in there, or where, exactly.”
There were lights hanging off the front of the big two-story building that was almost exactly in the middle of the property. Every ranch Smith had ever seen had a main structure that the ranchers lived in. This was it. The next-to-biggest building slightly to the left of it would be the barn. Smith could tell that by the red sides. Most barns out here were red.
Smith turned over until he was lying on his back. He looked up at the moon above them and thought about his next move.
“What are you thinking?” Blake asked.
“If Mary and Aaron are in there, I need to get to them. The problem is…”
“What?”
“I don’t know if they’re in danger or not. If they’re just being held here, then I could do more harm than good.”
“Smith, everyone who is brought here is in danger.”
So you keep saying, Smith thought but didn’t say.
He said out loud instead, “Maybe.”
He turned over until he was lying on the grass on his chest and belly again. Smith peered down the hillside at the property. It was certainly spread out, and it would be easy to get past the fence. After that, he could hop between the smaller buildings—supply sheds, he assumed—until he reached either the house or the barn.
The barn was two stories, with an arched second floor, and red all around. It was big enough to house a few hundred people—or plenty of stables for horses. That was likely where Gaffney kept their horses, and who knew what else. Smith was still wondering where the Jeep Travis had tried to run him down with had come from. That big barn was a good bet.
“It sounded like you didn’t believe me,” Blake was saying.
He looked over at her. “About what?”
“That this place is dangerous. That people don’t come here willingly.” She shook her head. “You didn’t sound like you believed me.”
“I believe you,” Smith said. It wasn’t a complete lie…but it wasn’t the complete truth, either.
“You sure about that, Smith?”
Mostly, he thought but said, “Yes.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”
“Does it matter? You’re here. I’m here. And they’re here.”
Blake squinted back at him before smirking. “What does that even mean?”
“It means we’re on the same—”
He smelled it before he saw it.
“Blake!” Smith hissed even as he reached down for the SIG Sauer at his hip—and remembered that it didn’t have silver bullets.
Blake must have smelled it too, because she was already rolling over onto her back while reaching for the Benelli lying next to her on the ground, before he could completely get her name out.
It staggered up the incline toward them, the stink wafting off its body as it traveled.
A ghoul.
A lone ghoul.
It might have moved faster if it’d had two legs instead of the one and a half it was using to trudge up the hillside. Its right leg ended in a stump at the knee, but there was nothing wrong with its arms. Glossy black eyes, like glass marbles, glinted in the moonlight even as saliva flitted from its open mouth.
It could taste them. No, not them, but the blood pumping through their veins. Smith could see the hunger in its eyes, and he thought, How the hell didn’t I smell it before? Jesus Christ. How did it get so close?
Blake was lifting the shotgun and taking aim at the creature when Smith reached over and grabbed it before she could pull the trigger. Her eyes widened in shock as he wrestled the weapon from her grasp.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blake shouted. Too loud.
I hope no one back at the ranch heard that, Smith thought as he pulled the Benelli away from her.
“The ranch,” Smith said. “They’ll hear the blast.”
Blake instantly understood, not that Smith waited for the confirmation. He put the shotgun on the ground and drew the same knife he’d been using to pry his way through Gaffney’s locks all night from his left hip. The blade was coated with silver, which was the only thing that was going to stop the ghoul. And stop it quietly, which was the important part at the moment.
Fortunately for both of them, the creature was still far enough away that Smith didn’t have to rush. The knife was out and in his hand before the undead thing even did ten yards. It wasn’t exactly moving slowly, just awkwardly. He guessed that was what happened when you only had one good leg and a stump for the other one.
Not that the ghoul let its disability stop it. It scrambled up the hillside, eyes snapping from Smith to Blake and back again, as if it couldn’t quite decide which one of them to attack first. Finally, its hollowed-out black eyes settled on Smith—or maybe the silver-coated knife in his hand. It could probably smell the material, but if it was afraid of it, the ghoul didn’t stop. It kept coming.
“Stay here,” Smith said as he got up.
“Silver?” Blake asked.
“Uh huh.”
“Where’s mine?”
“I don’t know. Back at the police station?”
“You couldn’t have grabbed me one?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Still...”
Smith scooted down the hill to meet the creature. It reached for him, and Smith lopped its right hand off at the wrist. Black blood spurted, but Smith managed to avoid the liquid as the creature toppled harmlessly to the side, then rolled back down the hillside—
Fuck, Smith thought as he smelled it.
Not the ghoul he’d just killed (re-killed?), but even more stink.
A lot more.
Three more ghouls, appearing out of the night at the base of the hill. These three had all their limbs and were scampering up the sloped ground, propelling themselves toward Smith with hands and legs working in unison. They looked more like crab monsters than things that used to be bipedal humans.
“Oh, shit,” Blake whispered behind him.
That sounds about right, Smith thought as he clutched the knife handle. Thank God for silver, otherwise he’d be forced to make a hell of a lot of noise to deal with these things.
The question, Where the hell did they come from? flashed across his mind for just a brief second before the threat of the moment took over and he stopped thinking and simply acted.
There were just three more of them, which he was grateful for. Any more, and he might question if he could handle them with just a knife. A small knife, at that. He couldn’t have used the SIG even if the bullets were silver; the gunshots would have alerted the ranch behind him, and that would ruin the element of surprise Smith was clinging to.
“Stay where you are,” Smith said without looking back at Blake. He heard movement back there as, he guessed, she rearmed herself with the Benelli.
“There’s three of them,” Blake said.
“I can deal with three.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
The ghouls didn’t show any tactical sense as they clambered up the hill toward him. There was no tact, no subtlety to their approach. Which was exactly how ghouls operated. They were base creatures that existed on primal instincts. They needed to feed, and he was the closest meal.
Well, he and Blake. But at the moment he stood between them and her, and if they even had eyes for her, he couldn’t see it in the almost rabid look on their pruned black faces as they zeroed in on him.
They were ugly. They’d always been ugly
. It’d been years since The Walk Out, even longer since The Purge, but these things always reminded Smith that no matter how “normal” things seemed out here, they were far from what used to be. The world was irrevocably changed, and this was just a reminder of that sad fact.
“Smith?” Blake said from behind him. She sounded worried for some reason. Was she afraid he couldn’t handle three ghouls?
“Don’t do anything,” Smith said. “I’ll handle—”
The boom! of a shotgun blast left his ears ringing, and Smith spun around, ready to scream at Blake.
Except nothing came out of his mouth, because he knew why she’d fired. She didn’t have a choice, because there were ghouls climbing up the other side of the hill toward her.
There were three of them.
No, not three.
Four—five—more.
Blake was already on her feet and trying to keep her footing as she backed down the slanted ground toward him. The Benelli was a semiautomatic, so she didn’t have to rack the forend to reload the weapon. It was already reloaded, and all she had to do was pull the trigger to fire again.
Which she did now, and a ghoul about five yards from her stumbled as its head disappeared in a shower of buckshot. Not that that stopped the creature, as it continued to stagger after Blake, even minus a head.
Smith wished he could have said he’d never seen a sight like that before, but it would have been a lie. His time with Black Tide had exposed him to a lot more horrific sights, and this wasn’t even close to some of those.
Even so, it took him a second or two—or five—to get a handle on what was happening.
Not only were there ghouls behind him, but they were now in front of him, too. The creatures were coming at them from two sides. And whether they had purposefully tried to outflank them or not, that was exactly what had happened.
And oh, now that Blake had fired her shotgun—twice—it was a good bet the folks at the ranch were awake. If the Judge’s men didn’t know what was happening out here, they would get a pretty good idea very soon.
And just like that, Smith’s element of surprise went out the window.
Seven
It had never occurred to him that the shotgun he’d handed to Blake back at the police station might not have been loaded with silver buckshot. He’d just assumed they weren’t. After all, why would they be? Silver wasn’t exactly readily available before The Purge, and that hadn’t changed after. His instincts were proven correct when Blake blew the ghoul’s head off and it kept coming after her.
After The Purge, AKA John Smith (Book 3): Shoot Last Page 4
