The Fires of Atlantis (Purge of Babylon, Book 4)

by Sam Sisavath

  Sonofabitch.

  “What happened to Donna?” she asked.

  “The same thing that’ll happen to you and the kids if you make trouble.”

  “Donna wasn’t making trouble.”

  “She was going to die anyway.” He shrugged. “I saved us both the hassle. You should thank me.”

  I’ll kill you instead.

  Claire tensed up next to her. It never occurred to Gaby just how small Claire really was until now. The driver’s seat completely covered her up, which meant Harrison couldn’t see her.

  As the fog began to clear from her head, Gaby’s mind went to work. She turned over everything that had happened, that was happening, and that would likely happen if they were still here, in this car with Harrison, when night fell.

  Options. What were her options?

  She couldn’t think of one at the moment. The shotgun was her best bet, but with Harrison already alerted to her conscious presence, her chances of reaching it before he struck was, at best, fifty-fifty. At worse, he was baiting her so he could hurt her some more. She wouldn’t put it past him to play games. He seemed sadistic enough to get his jollies out of something like that. And there were the handcuffs. Grabbing the shotgun and using it was going to be problematic with her limited mobility.

  Her other option involved Claire. The girl was able and willing to act, but how? Maybe, if Claire could distract Harrison long enough for her to reach the shotgun…

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Harrison didn’t answer right away. Maybe he didn’t know. She guessed that Interstate 10 was somewhere in front of them, at the end of Route 13. At the moment, the road looked never ending, just another mile of flat highway and sunburned farmland to the sides. There were so few houses and nonexistent businesses that they might as well be traveling across another planet. Mars, maybe. Was Mars this hot?

  “The kids said you were taking them to an island,” Harrison said. “The radio broadcast. You believe it. About the bloodsuckers not being able to cross bodies of water.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Stall for time. That’s what Will would do. He would stall for time while he came up with other options. Because there are always options.

  I just have to see it…

  “It’s true,” Gaby continued. “Silver bullets. Bodies of water. They’re all true.”

  “And ultraviolet?”

  “I don’t know about that one.”

  She couldn’t tell if he believed her. His face, in the rearview mirror, was placid. But then it always looked that way. Even back in the VFW basement when he admitted to beating Peter to within an inch of his life because he “had to be sure” Peter was telling the truth. There was a casualness about Harrison that bothered her. That, and a clear mean streak, a desire to inflict pain because he could. It was as simple as that. Some people, she had come to learn, were just born mean.

  I’m going to kill you, Harrison. It’s just a matter of time.

  She must have been staring at him without realizing it, because Harrison looked up at the rearview mirror and snickered at her reflection. “You want the shotgun? Go for it. It’s right there. All you have to do is grab it. What are you waiting for?”

  She didn’t move. She didn’t reply and didn’t grab for the weapon.

  What are my other options?

  She was watching Harrison’s face when she picked up something in the distance. A slab of gray concrete rising out of the ground like some mirage. At first she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the longer she stared, the more certain she was that it was the real thing.

  Interstate 10! Finally!

  Harrison saw it too, and he eased the Dodge down to a slower rate of speed. It wasn’t just the interstate in front of them that got his attention, but also the outlines of businesses on both sides of the road. Gas stations, maybe even strip malls. They were still too far away—a mile? two?—to really make out any details, but after so much nothingness, the sudden appearance (silhouettes?) of civilization was unmistakable.

  Then Harrison stopped the car completely and leaned forward against the steering wheel, peering out the dirty windshield. It took her a few seconds to see what he was looking at: men on horseback, loitering on the road near the buildings, still so far away that they looked more like slivers of shadows than actual figures.

  The posse. L15…

  She knew immediately who they were and wondered if Harrison did, too. By the way he was staring—part confused, part intrigued—she wasn’t so sure.

  “They’re soldiers,” she said.

  He didn’t respond. Had he even heard her?

  “They’ll kill you,” Gaby said, thinking, And us, too. Or worse, they’ll take us back to the towns. Back to Josh. Back to the blood farms. Back to breeding for future generations of ghouls to feed on.

  Harrison leaned back against his seat, his eyes still focused on the figures dancing across the highway toward them now. She could practically see through the back of his head to his mind as the gears turned, as he tried to come up with a new plan of action. The only path for him at the moment was to go backward. He couldn’t go around the soldiers, even if he could survive the ditches and attempt to go around them by using the open land. The Silverado hadn’t managed that feat, and it was a hell of a lot more powerful and sturdier than the car they were riding in at the moment.

  Gaby looked over at Claire, saw the girl staring back at her. Waiting (begging?) for her to do something.

  Options. What are my options?

  The idea of staying another day with Harrison was too much. What would he do to her? To the girls? She couldn’t even understand why he kept her alive. Did he plan on using her for other purposes? She shivered at the thought.

  The hell with that.

  Gaby caught Claire’s eyes again and nodded her head slightly forward.

  Claire gave her a questioning look: “What?”

  She rocked forward slightly—just enough—to let Claire know what she wanted her to do. The girl stared back for a moment, then a light went off behind her eyes. She nodded back and grinned.

  That’s my girl.

  Gaby steeled herself, turning forward again. Harrison was still concentrating out the windshield, both hands on the steering wheel, a foot no doubt poised over the gas pedal just in case. He hadn’t put the car in neutral, which was smart of him. But he hadn’t put it in reverse yet, either.

  She took a big breath and snapped a quick glance at the shotgun resting on the front passenger seat. She looked just with her eyes while keeping her head facing forward.

  How far? About four feet of space between her and the weapon.

  Just four feet.

  She could do it.

  It was just four feet…

  “Now!” Gaby shouted.

  Claire rammed her entire body (all eighty or so pounds of it) into the front seat. She was so small and slight that she didn’t get nearly as much force into it as Gaby would have liked, but it was enough to rock Harrison forward, knocking him momentarily off-balance. He must have also stepped on the accelerator involuntarily, because the Neon lurched forward a good three feet before he was able to jam down on the brake again.

  Gaby threw herself between the two front seats. She reached forward with both handcuffed hands, lunging for the shotgun. When Harrison stepped on the gas pedal, the weapon actually swiveled toward her, decreasing the distance between her and it. But as soon as her fingers brushed against the stock, Harrison stepped on the brake and the shotgun slid forward and off the seat and onto the floor!

  With no choice and her body already stuck between the two front seats, Gaby changed course and swung left at Harrison. She balled her handcuffed hands into fists a split-second before she slammed them into the side of his face. She wasn’t sure if that little stunt hurt him or her more, because both her arms and entire body were vibrating from the impact.

  Keep moving! Keep moving, or you’re going to die!


  Gaby shoved the rest of her body through the front seats, and with her knees braced against the armrest—one knee actually dipped inside a cup holder—she rained blows down on Harrison, summoning as much force as she could muster with each strike. Her entire body screamed and her broken nose felt as if it would break free from the rest of her face at any second.

  Harrison was caught off-guard and seemed to be struggling with keeping the car from going forward and warding off her attack at the same time. If her blows were having any impact, he didn’t show it, especially when he swung his right (sharp) elbow and caught her in the chest. Stabbing pain flooded her, as if she had been impaled by a sword.

  Well, at least he didn’t go for my nose again, she thought even as she fought through the bursting sensations and continued hitting him with her balled fists over and over again. Except now Gaby had begun using the steel handcuffs, angling the metal just right, in order to cut into Harrison’s temple and face with every successful contact.

  Blood sprayed the air between them.

  She must have done a hell of a better job than she thought, because Harrison took his foot of the brake and somehow stepped on the gas and the Dodge started moving forward again. His face was bloody, his eyes lolling in their sockets, and his body went slack against the seat.

  Gaby stopped hitting him long enough to lean over his body, grab the door lever, and jerk on it. The door swung open and she leaned back, put both feet against Harrison’s shoulder, and pushed with everything she had. He didn’t fight her—he didn’t look as if he were capable of fighting her. Thank God he wasn’t wearing his seat belt, because his body toppled toward the open door and disappeared into the air, landing with a solid thump! against the highway moments later.

  “Gaby!” Claire shouted behind her.

  Gaby looked back at the girl, saw her pointing, and turned toward the front windshield.

  The horsemen were coming right at them at a fast gallop. There had to be at least a half dozen of them, and there was no confusing the camo uniform they were wearing.

  Josh’s soldiers. I hate it when I’m right.

  She climbed into the driver’s seat, jammed a foot down on the brake, and pulled the gear into reverse. She grabbed the steering wheel and switched her foot over to the gas pedal, pushing down as far as it would go until she felt it touch the floor.

  “Hold on!” she shouted.

  Here we go again, she thought as the Dodge began to reverse up the highway.

  She struggled to keep it straight, using both the rearview and side mirrors, jerking the steering wheel left and right the entire time, trying to compensate for the drift. It was amazingly harder to drive backward than she had expected, but then, she knew that all too well. The last time she had tried this, she ended up in one of the ditches…

  And the horsemen were coming. She had no idea horses could move that quickly.

  She kept backing up, praying she was going straight enough. The last thing she needed was to go into the ditch again.

  “Left, left!” Claire shouted behind her.

  Gaby jerked the steering wheel left, knowing full well she was overcompensating but unable to relay that information to her hands.

  “No, no, your right, your right!” Claire shouted.

  Gaby righted the steering wheel and saw the ditch flashing by in her rearview mirror.

  “Straight, straight!” Claire shouted.

  Gaby grinned. Her own personal highway traffic controller. Now if only she could find Claire a pair of bright orange sticks—

  Pek-pek-pek!

  The front windshield cracked and Gaby heard a whistling sound as a bullet sliced past her right ear—an inch from taking it off completely? Two?—and tore off a piece of her seat’s upholstery. More rounds slammed into the hood, the ping-ping! of metallic ricochets echoing in the air.

  “Get down, get down!” Gaby shouted.

  She didn’t look back to make sure both Claire and Milly had obeyed orders because Gaby was too busy looking forward at the horsemen galloping up on them. Jesus, were horses supposed to be able to move that fast?

  They were close enough now that she could make out six of them, like camo-wearing cowboys, a couple sporting baseball caps to keep out the sun. The country sky was thick with gunfire, bullets screaming around the car, digging chunks out of the road outside her window. The only reason she was still alive, she imagined, was because the soldiers were riding and shooting at the same time. It looked easier in the movies, but was apparently not so in real life.

  But they weren’t completely terrible shots, either. Enough bullets were hitting the Dodge that smoke began venting out of the hood, and Gaby kept hearing glass breaking. The headlights, the windshield… Where else did the car have glass? And how long before every single one of them was shattered?

  We’re going to die. We’re going to die on this miserable piece of sun-drenched highway. I’ll never get to drink ice cold water or sleep in my own bed again, or take a hot shower. I should have never gotten on that damn helicopter…

  Then she heard an explosion and braced herself for the car to be engulfed in flames. But that didn’t happen. The hood was still in one piece and though smoke continued to rush out from underneath it, the sound hadn’t come from in front of her. It had come from under the car, which meant—

  The Neon began fighting her and she knew one of front tires had been punctured. Oh great. She had barely managed to get this far on four good tires, now she was swerving dangerously left, then right, then left again on just three.

  What else can go wrong?

  “Gaby!” Claire shouted.

  “I know, I know!” Gaby shouted back.

  She struggled with the steering wheel and searched out the shotgun and found it on the floor of the front passenger seat. There was no choice now. If she kept backing up, she would end up in the ditch again and that would be it. If the Silverado hadn’t been able to survive that kind of drop, there was no way the sedan, in its current sad state, would even come close.

  “Stay down!” Gaby shouted just before she slammed down on the brake.

  The car swerved, coming to a stop with the front bumper pointing at the left side shoulder and the front passenger side facing up the highway. Gaby put the car in park and lunged for the shotgun. In order to reach the weapon, she had to lay across both front seats, and when she scrambled up on her knees, the first thing she saw was one of the horsemen right outside the window.

  Gaby pulled the trigger, prayed that Harrison had a shell already racked, and was rewarded with a loud blast that, in the closed confines of the car, was ear-splitting. The buckshot tore off pieces of the open window, but enough of them made it through and hit their intended target. Red splotches spread across the rider’s shirt as he fell out of the saddle.

  The other soldiers, seeing one of their own go down, reined up twenty, maybe thirty yards away. Gaby threw herself back down to the seats as gunfire filled the air once again.

  The ping-ping-ping! of bullets punching through the Dodge’s side, the warbling shrill of Milly screaming at the top of her lungs and her own labored breathing filling her ears all in one loud rush. Then there was another boom! as one more tire exploded and the car dipped slightly behind her.

  Gaby gripped the shotgun and kept her head down. Glass pelted her from every direction, the noise of bullets whistling above her head like missiles. It was impossible to rack the shotgun and load a new shell while still handcuffed, so she had to grab the forend with both hands and pulled it back before returning her finger to the trigger.

  She bided her time, keeping her eyes on the open front passenger door window above her, waiting for a head to appear on the other side like last time. But they had apparently learned their lesson and no one came close enough for her to shoot. They didn’t have to, either, because they could destroy the car from a distance just fine, which seemed to be what they were trying to do. The seats around her were perforated, the dashboard to her left literally comi
ng apart by the second, and glass continued to rain down on her, cutting her arms. She might have been bleeding from her face (again), but she couldn’t be sure.

  She didn’t know how long she lay there across the two front seats holding the shotgun, small and large shards of glass falling off her body with every slight movement she made or breath she took. It could have been a minute. Or a few seconds. Hell, it could have been an hour for all she knew.

  We’re going to die. We’re all going to die.

  There was a silver lining, though. If she died out here, she wouldn’t have to face Josh again. So there was that—

  Silence.

  She looked up, shocked by what she was hearing—or not hearing.

  The shooting had stopped.

  A trick? Were they moving toward her now? Maybe they wanted her alive after all. Or maybe they thought she was already dead. All she had to do was look around her at what was left of the Dodge’s interior and realize it was a miracle she wasn’t already bleeding to death from a dozen bullet holes—

  Pop-pop-pop as a new round of gunfire erupted, but this time the walls of the car were unaffected. They were shooting over her.

  What the hell?

  She was still trying to figure out what was happening when another volley joined in, except these new ones were coming from behind her.

  At first she thought some of the horsemen had somehow managed to outflank her. Those horses could probably maneuver over the deep ditches better than a car, but if that was the case, why didn’t they just run up and shoot her through the driver side window?

  She was about to flip over onto her back and face her attacker when she felt a rush of wind and the door creaked open first. Gaby had no choice and scrambled up to her knees, turning the shotgun around.

  A familiar voice said, “Whoa there, G.I. Jane.”

  A hand grabbed her by the shirt collar and jerked her off the seats and through the open door like she weighed less than Milly. She was unceremoniously deposited onto the hot asphalt road, where she gasped for breath and looked up, then grinned at the figure crouched next to her, firing with an M4A1 rifle across the Neon’s hood.