The Fields of Lemuria (Sequel to The Walls of Lemuria) (Purge of Babylon)

by Sam Sisavath

  “Are you still listening, Keo?” Pollard continued. “I’m going to count to ten, then I’m going to execute Norris. He tells me he’s an ex-cop from Orlando. That’s too bad. I’ve always been an admirer of law enforcement. It’s a tough job.”

  Keo drew in another deep breath, then expelled it and lowered the sight over Pollard’s head. The man was standing with his side facing Keo, which automatically made his head the biggest target. At this distance, it looked like a tiny dot and not the big fat juicy watermelon Keo would have preferred.

  “Ten…” Pollard began.

  How far had his longest shot been? He couldn’t recall, which was the problem. There hadn’t been a lot of long shots in his career.

  “…nine…”

  There was a reason he was so comfortable with the MP5SD and its sound suppressor.

  “…eight…”

  Eighty meters. Probably more like ninety. Give or take.

  “…seven…”

  At least there was no wind, just the sweltering heat. So there was that.

  “…six…”

  It was definitely more like ninety meters.

  “…five…”

  Or maybe it was more like one hundred meters, for all he knew. Now that was a hell of a shot right there. He was competent, but was he that competent?

  “…four…”

  And all he had were the M16’s built-in sights to work with. Jesus, to have something like an ACOG on hand.

  “…three…”

  Then again, since he was already daydreaming about better optics, why not just go ahead and wish for a bazooka?

  “…two…”

  That way he could take out Pollard and most of his men at the same time. Of course, that would also mean Norris—

  “…one!”

  Keo fired.

  PART TWO

  ‡

  END OF THE LINE

  CHAPTER 11

  Maybe Pollard heard the gunshot and in however many milliseconds it took the 5.56x45mm round to travel eighty meters (or was that ninety?), the ex-military officer managed to move his head just in the nick of time. Or maybe Keo had overestimated his competency with a rifle and his shot was untrue, even with a weapon as sure-shot as the M16.

  It could have been either of those reasons, or a hundred other equally viable ones.

  The fact was, the outcome was the same: the shot missed and Pollard turned his head and stared right in his direction, and a second later everyone was shooting.

  At him.

  Keo didn’t even know when he decided to do it, but he was suddenly on his feet and racing away from the bushes even as they were shredded by gunfire that seemed to be coming from a hundred different directions all at once. The trees around him didn’t stand a chance either, bark flying like arrows, zip-zip-zipping at his head and body and legs and arms. Pieces of branches snapped off from above him and rained down like torpedoes.

  Keo ran through it all, because stopping meant death.

  Somewhere between jumping to his feet and turning, he had discarded the assault rifle and its extra weight. What did it matter? He couldn’t shoot worth a damn with the thing anyway, apparently.

  About five seconds into his retreat, he managed to somehow tune out the relentless pop-pop-pop behind him. After that, it was just the crashing of his breath against his chest, the cold feel of the MP5SD in his hands, the grass slapping against his legs, the thump-thump-thumping of his feet against the ground, and the soul-twisting knowledge that he had failed Norris.

  I’m sorry, old-timer. I’m so fucking sorry.

  Everything was going fine, and he was even picking up speed when there was a sudden sharp pain from his left hip. He might have actually let out a startled gasp, though he couldn’t quite be sure with all the sound and fury crashing across his body like ocean waves. When he looked down to the source of the jolt, he saw that the radio was gone, obliterated, leaving behind just the clip still tucked snugly into his belt.

  He ran, because if he stopped for even a second to think about anything, he was going to realize that he had just gotten Norris killed because he couldn’t make a shot from eighty meters. Hell, a decent grunt could have made that shot. A Boot Camp dropout from the Army would have done better. But not him. He had missed!

  Now Norris was going to pay the price. Pollard had probably already shot him in the back of the head out of pure spite. Of course, there was a chance Pollard might spare the ex-cop. Or at least realize his value and keep him alive a little while longer, if just to reuse him as bait to lure Keo back out again. It was possible.

  Damn, he had almost convinced himself that time.

  The shooting had stopped, the branches had ceased exploding, and the ground was no longer kicking dirt in his face. He had blocked out the whole thing so effectively that he didn’t even know the air was no longer filled with lead until he slowed down briefly to catch his breath and didn’t hear the familiar pop-pop-pop anymore.

  He pushed himself off the tree and kept moving.

  Sorry, old-timer. I screwed up.

  You always did say I was going to get you killed, didn’t you?

  Looks like you were right, after all.

  What the hell did he think he was doing, anyway? Even if he had succeeded in putting a bullet through Pollard’s brain, it may or may not have even saved Norris’s life. At that moment, with time running out, with no other alternative in sight, it had seemed like the right thing to do. If Pollard was dead, maybe the others would let Norris go. Or at least not shoot him. Maybe he could have negotiated with them. But Pollard was in the way, because Pollard ran the show.

  If Pollard was dead…

  If…if…

  If squat. You missed.

  You missed!

  He wasn’t tiring yet, but he was getting close. His chest was heaving a little harder than before and his legs were starting to burn. In particular, his right leg. The old bullet wound again? Maybe. His brain could just be making that part up. Probably.

  He headed south. Toward the shoreline.

  Sorry, Norris. I’m sorry.

  He was almost at the road he had crossed earlier when he heard them: ATVs.

  Keo glanced back as they came up behind him, fast. Two black-clad figures straddling all-terrain vehicles that, at that very moment, looked like predators on wheels. One was yellow, the other white with red stripes. They might have even bared their fangs at him.

  I’m losing it. Get a grip!

  Keo planted one foot and slid to a stop, spun around, and lifted the MP5SD.

  Fifty meters and coming up on him fast. In another second, it was just forty meters. Well within the submachine’s effective firing range. Even a weekend wannabe could have made this shot. Which was a good thing now that he knew just what a shitty shooter he was at long distance.

  In another second, they were only thirty meters away.

  They must not have expected him to stop, because the one on the white ATV jerked on the handles and almost crashed into a tree. Instead, he somehow got his wheels tangled up with some underbrush and the vehicle overturned, sharp edges digging into the ground, the rider holding on for dear life. He should have jumped off the vehicle because it broadsided a tree and flung him off, his hands and legs failing comically in the air as he sailed through open space.

  Keo almost laughed at the absurd sight.

  The second one must have heard his partner go down because he slowed and looked back, just before Keo shot him twice in the chest. The man flopped off the still-moving ATV, slamming into the ground and rolling forward for a few seconds before stopping in a heap. His vehicle kept going until it crumpled against another tree. Its engines continued running for a moment before finally winding down and shutting off by itself, gasoline leaking into the dirt.

  The first man had landed somewhere behind his dead comrade, but he was still alive and picking himself up. He was clearly hurt, but his rifle had somehow remained slung over his back despite the flight and fal
l. Neither of the two men were wearing helmets, and the one slowly trying to stand up on wobbly legs probably had no idea where he was at the moment.

  Always wear a helmet, kids.

  Keo almost felt for the guy, though that didn’t stop him from shooting the man in the chest anyway. Even before the body had fallen completely to the ground, Keo turned and was running through the woods again.

  He kept going, moving, pumping his legs, because if he stopped even for a second, he might start thinking about Norris again.

  *

  Norris is dead. Keep going.

  Gillian is still alive. Get to her.

  There’s no choice here. One’s (probably) dead and the other’s (probably) alive.

  It was a no-brainer. Norris would understand.

  So why was he thinking about how many men Pollard had left? What did the numbers matter if he was retreating, having given Norris up for dead (if he wasn’t dead already)?

  The numbers nagged at him. It always did, even during those days and nights in the insect-infested Louisiana woods, drinking and eating anything they could find while being continually hounded by Pollard’s people. He used to wonder if their pursuers ever slept.

  So how many were left now? He had killed seven since they cornered him and Norris back at the two-story house. Seven sounded like a lot until you realized how many men Pollard had at his disposal. When you considered that, seven was a miniscule number. Barely worth saying out loud.

  Too many left. Always too damn many…

  He pushed onward until he could see sunlight filtering through the wall of trees in front of him and smell the fresh water of Downey Creek Lake on the other side. He stumbled into the scalding hot sun against his face and the sand moving under his shoes. It wasn’t an impressive looking stretch of beach, but it hid him from the woods and Keo sat down on a fallen log, took out one of Allie’s water bottles, and drank it until it was empty.

  He closed the bottle back up and put it away. You never knew when an empty container would come in handy. He had learned that the hard way when he and Norris were stuck in the woods and it started to rain, only they didn’t have anything to catch it with. They’d had to be content with sticking out their tongues and satiating their thirst that way.

  Norris is dead. Forget about him.

  Go find Gillian. You promised her.

  He tilted his head and soaked in the heat. The warmth was intoxicating. He was content to sit there and bathe in the sun for as long as possible, but the soft tick-tick-tick of his watch kept invading his thoughts.

  He looked down at it: 5:46 p.m.

  Just under two hours until nightfall. He should be looking for shelter right about now, because night was coming.

  But then, night was always coming these days, and time always had a way of sneaking by faster and faster, day after day after day…

  *

  He walked along the beach for a while, sweating under the sun, and feeling all of two feet tall and fifty pounds after the events of the last hour.

  “You’re going to get me killed, kid,” was one of Norris’s constant sayings.

  Sorry, old-timer. I guess you were right all along.

  Not that the acceptance made the day go any faster. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, or where he was going. The beach went wide at some point, narrow at others. Keo walked along it, wishing he were somewhere else. Like maybe on a different beach, just off the coast of Texas…

  He didn’t stop until he spotted the long pier extending out of the park about a hundred meters ahead of him. Two figures were moving up the extended wooden frame toward a gazebo at the end overlooking the lake. Another patrol.

  Keo went into a crouch and slipped the MP5SD into the ready position.

  From his days scouting the park, he remembered an asphalt parking lot behind the pier with a couple of old, abandoned trucks. They both had trailers, because you could launch boats from here. Picnic tables had their own areas, including fire pits, but he couldn’t see those from his current position. On the other side of the pier were lakeside homes spread out in their own properties. He had been hoping to find shelter in one of them.

  Once the two-man team reached the gazebo, they leaned against the railing and looked around. Neither one had binoculars, so there was little chance they could spot Allie’s island somewhere out there in the lake. Even with binoculars, it would have been difficult. That was what made it the perfect spot, after all.

  It didn’t look as if the men were in any hurry. The shade from the gazebo and the cool breeze coming in from the lake probably had a lot to do with that.

  He glanced down at his watch: 6:28 p.m.

  He was cutting it too close, taking too big a risk. Even if he found shelter at this point, he would still need to make sure it was empty—of both the human and not-so-human kind. That would probably take another thirty minutes at least.

  Running out of time…

  But he wasn’t getting around those guys. Not without shooting them. And once he did that, the patrol’s absence would be noticed and he would have even more of Pollard’s goons swarming on his location.

  He didn’t have a lot of choices.

  So what else is new?

  Keo got up and turned around to retreat—

  He saw them across the distance. Two more men in black moving up the shoreline. They were still far away—about sixty meters—but close enough that as soon as he stood up, they spotted him.

  “Hey!” one of them shouted.

  Keo darted right, leaping through the trees and back into the woods.

  He spent a precious second cursing his bad luck, then put the rest of his energies into running. The problem was, it wasn’t just two guys he had to outrun. There were going to be more. Those two back at the pier, too. And how many other patrols were around the area?

  Too many. Always too damn many…

  He gripped the submachine gun as he ran, prepared for the inevitable firefight that was coming. He didn’t know when, he just knew it would be soon. Pollard was right about one thing: Sooner or later he was going to run out of room. Eventually, there would be no more places to hide, no more places to run, and no more places to retreat—

  The guy came out from behind the big tree in front of him. He was wearing the same identical black tactical vest as all the others, and the barrel of a rifle poked out from behind one shoulder. But those weren’t the things that drew Keo’s attention. It was the man’s face. Or the white skull, roughly drawn over his face and highlighted with black and green camo paint around the edges.

  The hell you supposed to be? ran through Keo’s mind just before he saw sunlight glinting off the sharp edge of a knife in the man’s hand.

  In the split-second that Keo saw the white skull and picked up the flashing knife, he knew it was too late to veer out of the blade’s path. He was moving too fast. So Keo threw himself forward and tucked and rolled instead.

  Swoosh! as the knife—a Ka-Bar, almost identical to the one he had along his left hip—sliced through the air over his head.

  Then he was behind the guy and snapping back up to his feet.

  Skull Face was faster, and he was on Keo before he could turn fully around. The MP5SD had managed to come loose from Keo’s hands when he did his tuck and roll, and it was now hanging uselessly from his body by the strap. Thank God he hadn’t lost it. Without the submachine gun, he only had the .45 Glock—

  Stop thinking and move move move!

  Keo didn’t have time to reach for either weapon because the smiling skull was coming right at him in a blur of steel and black clothes and pearly white teeth. He shoved his hands up and forward on instinct and managed to grab the man’s knife hand around the wrist, freezing it in the air. The ambusher looked stunned, as if this was the last thing he had expected, and the smile plastered to his face vanished in the blink of an eye.

  Keo lunged forward and drove his right knee into the man’s side where the vest didn’t protect him and knew he got
a part of the ribcage underneath when the guy let out a loud grunt. Keo hooked his leg around the man’s and literally swept him off his feet a second later.

  Wham!

  Skull Face slammed into the ground with another heavy grunt. Keo wrestled the knife out of his hand, then spun it until he had the sharp blade pointing down. The man’s eyes widened, the whites merging with the color of the skull. He might have opened his mouth to say something, but Keo didn’t give him the chance. He rammed the knife down and into the largest target area—the chest—just an inch over the vest’s zipper. The man gagged and groped at Keo’s hands, still fighting for possession of the knife with his last breaths.

  Keo let him have his knife back and stumbled up to his feet.

  He hadn’t taken more than two steps when a freight train hit him in the back of the head. His eyes blurred as he lost sight of the woods. But that was the least of his problems. He was falling to his knees without knowing why, the inability to understand filling him with a sense of helplessness that drove him insane. Warm liquid trickled down to the back of his neck and Keo shivered slightly from the contact.

  Then he was toppling sideways but somehow managed to twist around so that he slammed into the ground on his back instead of on his stomach. His vision started focusing in on something looming above him.

  Aw, Jesus, another one? What is this, Halloween?

  Another white skull was hovering over him. This skull looked more orderly, with just black paint along the edges to accentuate the white. Gleaming black eyes, full of mischief, stared down at him. The man was holding an AK-47, and Keo swore he could see his blood (it was surprisingly dark, and were those strings of hair?) on the weapon’s buttstock.

  Then, the sound of footsteps as someone approached.

  “You got him, Jacks?” someone asked.

  “Call it in,” the man standing over Keo said. For a guy with a white skull painted on his face, Jacks’s voice sounded mildly comforting. “Ask the boss what he wants us to do with him.”