by Sam Sisavath
These people clearly weren’t stupid, so anything was possible.
Of course, it could just be his paranoia talking. Or maybe, just maybe, he was giving them too much credit again.
There wasn’t really much of a choice when he got right down to it. Run or fight. Or surrender. That last option wasn’t really an option. Keo had never been good at surrendering. It wasn’t in his DNA. At least he shared that much with his father. Of course, if he had been a better planner, a better tactician, he wouldn’t have found himself in these situations so often. Norris could have told him that. The old-timer was always criticizing his (lack of) ability to strategize.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda…
After watching the figure in the lighthouse and the one on the patio for an hour and getting their patterns, Keo waited for his opportunity. When he saw the woman in the lighthouse move away from the south window and the one on the patio turn his back briefly to check the other side of the island, Keo jogged out of the woods. He kept low, bent over at the waist, while still managing to sprint.
He made it to one of the swimming pools less than ten seconds later. He slid along the tall grass and fell off the smooth concrete edge and into the empty and slightly curved hole in the ground. It took him a moment to realize the thing was shaped into a pear and that he had landed somewhere in the shallow section. Which was lucky. If he had chosen the wrong spot, he would have had a pretty long plummet into the deep end.
He moved toward the other side of the pool and didn’t have to stand up to scan the lighthouse on one side and the patio on the other. It was two in the morning and he could tell both guards were tired. It was in their sluggish back and forth, the way they held their weapons.
Keo waited for the double turn again, and when it came, he climbed up and darted across the grounds, sticking to the patches of darkness and skirting around the haloed LED lampposts. The damn things were ridiculously bright up close and he had to blink away temporary blindness a couple of times. There were a couple of damaged lights here and there that allowed him to go in a straight line every now and then.
He finally slipped behind a large palm tree (Where the hell did they even get palm trees in Louisiana?) and glimpsed the lighthouse to his right, the patio to his left, and the side of the hotel—wicked bright floodlights and all—directly in front.
And there, one of the side doors stared invitingly back at him.
Keo waited again.
One minute. Two…then three…
The double turn.
He dashed through the lights and made the side door fourteen seconds later. He reached for the lever and cranked it and slipped inside, his MP5SD moving up into firing position—
Keo froze.
There was a police Remington pump-action shotgun pointed at his face from one meter away.
“You took your sweet time,” the redhead standing behind the shotgun said. “We thought you might have decided to swim back to the shore or something.”
Keo’s mind raced.
The redhead noticed and grinned. “Yeah, go for it. Three feet? I’m sure there’s a chance I could miss. Probably.”
*
“What happened to your face?” the pretty blonde asked.
“Birthmark,” Keo said. “It was a very painful birth.”
“I’m sorry for her.”
“So am I.”
“Is that why your mom named you Keo? As punishment?”
“She wanted to call me Harry, but it was already taken.”
“Really.”
“True story.”
“I’m sure it is.” She paused for a moment, watching him intently. “The plan didn’t quite work out, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been more of a doer than a planner.”
“It would appear so.”
The blonde was the clear leader. If he had any doubts before, he didn’t anymore. She looked convincing in cargo pants with a Glock in a hip holster. Late twenties (though it was hard to tell these days), watching him with crystal-blue eyes. The redhead, leaning against the wall behind her, looked even younger. She might have been twenty, maybe twenty-one.
They were both staring at him. Really, really staring at him.
After the incident at the side door, they had led him to a small room at the back of the building. Some kind of supply closet, with concrete walls and floor. He sat on an uncomfortable metal chair now, hands zip tied behind his back and ankles similarly restrained. The three of them were inside the room, but he could hear a fourth person—a man by the heavy back-and-forth footsteps—in the hallway.
How exactly had he ended up being held prisoner on an island run by two kids?
This is fucking embarrassing.
“We talked to Carrie,” the blonde was saying. “You’re looking for seven of your friends.”
Friends of friends, actually, he thought, but said instead, “What happened to them?”
“They were responding to a message on the radio?”
“Yes.”
“When was this?”
He recalled his conversation with Allie. “A while back.”
The blonde nodded. “They’re dead.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill them?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“The people who had this island before us.”
“And what happened to them?”
The blonde didn’t answer, and neither did the redhead. Their silence was all the answer he needed.
“Ah,” Keo said. “This is one dangerous island.”
“It can be,” the blonde said.
“So what happens now?”
The blonde gave him a long look before glancing back at the redhead. “Do you see it?”
The redhead shook her head. “Nah.”
“You sure?”
“Looks okay to me.”
“Maybe I can help you ladies out if you’ll tell me what you’re looking for,” Keo said.
“We wanted to make sure you didn’t have squirrelly eyes,” the blonde said.
“I have no idea what that means,” Keo said, looking from the blonde to the redhead and back again.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
“He looks like one of those K-pop guys,” the redhead said. “Except for the scar. That’s butt ugly.”
“Now that’s just mean,” Keo said.
“K-what?” the blonde said.
“Those Korean boy bands I told you about.”
The blonde shook her head. “You do know that I only pay attention to you half the time, and almost never when it involves pop culture?”
The redhead smirked. “Now you tell me.” She looked over at him. “Your English is pretty good, K-pop.”
“I was born on an American base in San Diego,” Keo said.
“Well, that explains it.”
The blonde stood up and walked to the door. “Get some sleep and we’ll talk again tomorrow morning,” she said to him.
“Sleep?” Keo said. “It’s going to be hard getting any sleep like this.”
“He’s right,” the redhead said. “The poor guy.”
She walked over, stopped beside him, then lifted her foot and kicked the chair over. Keo landed on the hard concrete floor on his side with an oomph.
“There,” the redhead said. “That’s for making us stay up past midnight chasing after your dumb ass. Do you have any idea how much beauty sleep I need per day?”
“Not much, I’m sure,” Keo said.
“Flattery will get you pancakes in the morning.”
“You have pancakes?”
“Oh yeah, we have a lot of things. There’s a big ol’ freezer with all kinds of goodies. Be a good boy and don’t try anything funny, and we might share some of it with you tomorrow.”
“Deal.”
The blonde was waiting at the door. “Sit tight.”
“Some way to welcome a gue
st,” Keo said.
“You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight after the month we’ve been having.”
The two women left, slamming the metal door shut after them. Keo heard a lock turning, then saw the big man from earlier look in at him through the security glass, before he, too, vanished. He didn’t go very far, though, because Keo could still see his shadow just under the door.
At least they hadn’t tied him to the chair, which Keo scooted away from now and laid on his side, his hands still bound behind him. He stared up at the ceiling, at the bright squiggly lightbulb above. It was impossibly bright, though the fact that he hadn’t been this close to an artificial light source in a while might have a little something to do with that.
“Hey!” Keo shouted. “Can you at least turn off the light so I can get some sleep?”
He waited for a response. The guy outside didn’t seem to have heard him. Or if he did, he didn’t care.
“Come on. Do a guy a solid, huh? Geneva Convention and all that? I know you can hear me. Come on, man.”
The shadow didn’t move.
Keo sighed and closed his eyes.
At least he was still alive, so there was that.
One promise down, one to go…
CHAPTER 21
WILL
“Silver bullets?” Tommy said. “You mean they actually work?”
“You’ve heard about them?” Will asked.
“There was a radio broadcast some of the kids picked up a few days ago. Something about silver, ultraviolet lights, and islands.” The teenager shook his head. “Harrison dismissed it and we never really tried to put it to use. I mean, the idea of silver… That sounded crazy.”
“Because all of this is so clearly not crazy,” Danny said.
Tommy looked slightly embarrassed. “Harrison made the decision.”
“You guys do everything he says?”
“He’s the one who put this city together. He organized the resistance in the beginning. I don’t think we’d be here without him. For all his faults, he really did save us in the early days. After that, I guess it just became a habit to follow him.”
Even in the semidarkness of the Dunbar museum, Tommy looked young and innocent, and Will could easily picture the kid falling in line like the others, including Rachel. She had seemed strong-willed to him, even stubborn, but she too had hitched her wagon to Harrison.
It’s hard to say no to a savior.
“This radio broadcast,” Danny was saying. “Was it a woman?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “You heard it, too?”
“I might have caught a snippet or three.”
Tommy was talking about Lara’s broadcast. The same message that had incurred Kate’s wrath. Kate, who at this moment was plotting the island’s destruction as retaliation.
Goddamn you, Kate. You’re going to haunt me for the rest of my life, aren’t you?
They were crouched behind a half-circle entranceway that separated the lobby of the museum with the back of the building, where the administrative offices and back rooms were linked by a long, curving hallway on each side. The spacious front lobby made up nearly sixty percent of the place, with still-intact double glass doors looking out into the moonlit sidewalk beyond. There were half a dozen small windows, but they were too high up to make any difference. Why bother with those when there were the doors?
The museum was made up of old photos, commissioned paintings of the city’s founders, and different angles of Dunbar over the decades from cattle town to what it was now. Not much, if you were to ask Will, but then its residents probably saw it differently. There were old maps, clothing, and even six-shot revolvers in dust-covered glass cases. Evidence that mankind once built something here. How long would they last once Dunbar’s citizens were scattered into the wind after tonight?
“The towns, the pregnancies,” Kate had said. “They’re all just the beginning. In ten, twenty years, you won’t recognize any of this. In a couple of generations, man will have forgotten they were ever in control of the planet.”
A couple of generations, Kate? It’s hard to remember now, a year on…
He pushed those defeating thoughts of Kate away (nothing good ever came of thinking about Kate) and concentrated on the doors in front of him.
Those damn doors. Those were going to be a problem if the ghouls attacked. Will didn’t have any doubts that the creatures knew they were inside. Not after pursuing them through the alleyway.
Dead, not stupid.
So why hadn’t they attacked? The twin doors wouldn’t last under a prolonged assault. An hour, if he was being optimistic. Less, if he was being practical. Barricading them hadn’t been an option. The only furniture in the lobby were a few chairs, a water cooler, and some stanchions that had been knocked over months ago, along with the velvet ropes attached to them. Bringing the heavy oak desks and metal filing cabinets from the offices in the back was too much work. Besides, they had already come up with a plan of retreat for when the creatures finally gained entry into the museum. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.
So where the hell are they?
He could easily make out the abandoned streets on the other side of the doors about twenty-five meters across the lobby. The entire city of Dunbar looked and felt as if it had become stuck in time, like a museum outside of a museum.
Tommy moved nervously next to him from time to time. Danny was on the other side of the half-circle, sitting Indian-style with his M4A1 in front of him as he ate a granola bar Tommy had produced from one of his pockets. The teenager had put away his M40A3 sniper rifle and was clutching a Glock from his hip holster. Will had given him one of his silver-loaded magazines, something they had precious little left of at the moment.
“How’re you for ammo?” he asked Danny.
“Three mags for the rifle, all five left for the nine mil,” Danny said while chewing and spitting out pieces of granola at the same time. “You?”
“Two for the M4, three for the sidearm.”
“I guess we should start conserving. Of course, we could always use Tommy here as a baseball bat. You take the right leg, and I’ll take the left.”
“Hey,” Tommy said.
Will grinned. “Deal.”
“Whatever,” Tommy said. “Anyway, where should I shoot them with this?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Danny said. “As long as you put silver into their bloodstream, that’s all she wrote.”
“Like some kind of chain reaction? Are they allergic to silver or something?”
“Ask him,” Danny said, nodding at Will. “He’s supposedly the mastermind. I just work here.”
Will shook his head. “We don’t know. Just that it works better than anything except the sun.”
“Hard to holster the sun,” Danny said. “I’ve tried. Burned a hole right through my boxers. Had to go commando for weeks until I could find another pair.”
Tommy stared at Danny uncertainly.
“He’s joking,” Will said.
“Oh,” Tommy said.
“Carly wasn’t amused, though,” Danny went on.
“Who’s Carly?” Tommy asked.
“The hottest redhead you’ll ever see, kid. I’ll introduce you to her when we get to Song Island.”
Tommy nodded anxiously.
They sat in silence and stared out the twin doors for the next few minutes, which became the next thirty minutes. Will glanced at his watch every now and then. Between the running and shooting and waiting, it was easy to lose track of time.
Three in the morning. Four hours, give or take, before sunup.
Doable.
Maybe…
“Where are they?” Tommy finally whispered. “They know we’re in here, so where the hell are they?”
“Why, you getting anxious?” Danny asked.
“I wish they’d just attack already, that’s all. Get it over with.” He passed the Glock to his left hand, then back to his right.
“Now you’re just t
rying to jinx us, kid—”
Danny hadn’t finished saying the word “kid” yet when the sound of exploding glass cut him off. Their eyes darted back across the lobby to the two front doors. Something had obliterated the long pane of glass that made up nearly eighty percent of the left door, leaving behind just the frame and a big gaping hole. Will traced the trail of destruction to the source—a long metal wrench lying on its side on the floor.
“Now you’ve done it, kid,” Danny said. “I blame this on you, I hope you know that.”
Tommy wanted to respond, but either couldn’t figure out how, or couldn’t make anything come out of his mouth when he opened it.
“You ready?” Will said.
“I was born ready,” Danny said.
“Then you changed your name to Danny?”
“What, I told you this story before?”
“Only a few thousand times.”
“Hunh,” Danny said.
Crash! The second glass door shattered into a thousand pieces, this time against the black metal of a tire iron that clattered to the floor. Glass sprinkled the lobby, chunks of it reaching halfway to the three of them crouched on the other side of the room. It was already cool in the building after nightfall, but now that the lobby was suddenly ventilated, the temperature dropped even further.
“Hey, kid,” Danny whispered.
“Yeah?” Tommy whispered back, his voice shivering slightly.
“What’s the difference between a wife and a hooker?”
Tommy stared at him for a moment. Finally, he said, “I don’t know. What?”
“The hooker’s cheaper to keep around.”
There was a brief pause as Tommy processed the joke.
“Don’t think about it too hard, kid; you’ll bust a blood vessel,” Danny said. He glanced over at Will. “I call dibs on the sniper rifle when he keels over.”
“Hey,” Tommy said.
Tommy might have continued his protest, except whatever sound was going to come out of his mouth turned into an involuntary gasp when they heard the tap-tap-tap of bare feet against concrete, and the streets outside the broken front doors blackened. It wasn’t because the moonlight had disappeared, though Will thought that might have been the preferable explanation. Instead, it was because a swarm of ghouls had come out of nowhere and converged on the sidewalk and began squeezing their way through the openings.
