After The Purge, AKA John Smith Box Set | Books 1-3

by Sisavath, Sam

  He had woken up about thirty minutes after they were deposited in one of the jail cells inside a police station, which was somewhere in the center of town. Not that he had any idea how big Gaffney was or how it was laid out. Besides his own occasional footsteps and Blake’s breathing, there didn’t seem to be another living soul awake in the whole town.

  Even Travis had disappeared and not come back in the twenty or so minutes since their conversation. Smith had listened carefully when the man left, and he’d heard a couple of doors opening and closing, then the jangling of keys inside locks. Sure, there was a chance Travis hadn’t actually left, and was instead lingering about to eavesdrop as he had earlier, but Smith didn’t think so. It was late, and he’d just finished the attack on the junkyard with the others, and the asshole was bound to be tired by now.

  “You should sit back down,” Blake said.

  She remained on the bench, leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. They still had the smell of lingering vomit on them, but their captors had given Blake some water to clean most of it off, along with the ghoul blood that had splashed them. Not that they were completely clean—that was going to require a bath and an entirely new wardrobe—but the smell took a backseat to the pounding headache he couldn’t get rid of.

  “You look silly with my bra around your head, pacing around like that,” Blake said.

  “I don’t think I’ll look any less silly with your bra on while sitting down,” Smith said.

  “No, you’re probably right.”

  He leaned against the bars again and peered out at the darkened corridor. There were lights somewhere down there, but not enough of them for him to see much. “We’re the only ones in here?”

  “I think so. I didn’t see anyone when they brought us through.”

  “How many cells?”

  “Three.”

  “We’re in the back?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “We’re not going to escape, Smith. There are probably guards outside. Besides, you’re in no condition to fight even if we could get out of this cell, which we can’t.”

  “I don’t need to fight anyone. I just need a gun.”

  “Well, you don’t have one of those, either.”

  “Not yet.”

  Blake opened her eyes and stared at him. “Tell me about those three guys Travis said you killed.”

  “Travis?” Smith said.

  “Yeah, Travis.”

  “Why do you call him Travis now, but Clarence when he’s here?”

  “Because it annoys him.”

  Smith chuckled. That made sense.

  “Tell me about the three you killed,” Blake said.

  “What about them?”

  “What happened?”

  “They murdered some travelers and kidnapped and assaulted a woman and her son.”

  “Were they friends of yours? The woman and her son, I mean.”

  “No. I didn’t know them until I met up with the three men.”

  “So what happened to them? The woman and her son? Billy didn’t say anything about seeing you with anyone outside Lucky’s.”

  “If this is Gaffney, then they’re here, too,” Smith said. “We ran into Hobson and your boyfriend, Travis, earlier yesterday.” Smith paused for a moment, before continuing. “I thought it’d be safer for her and the boy to come back here with them.”

  “You let them come back with Hobson and Travis to Gaffney?”

  “I thought they would be safe here. I don’t know anything about Gaffney.” He turned around to look back at Blake. “This town. This Judge. Tell me exactly why you and Mandy and the others fled.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “All of it,” Smith said, walking back over and sitting down on the bench.

  Blake pulled her legs up until she was sitting Indian-style. She was amazingly limber for a tall woman. “When we first got here, things were good. They had food, water, everything we needed. We got into the swing of things easily; joined groups, found jobs.”

  “Jobs?”

  “Well, not jobs, jobs. Not the kind that pays a salary, anyway. Just what needed to be done. Some people were cooks, others could help with construction, that sort of thing.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t exactly have a lot of skills before The Purge. I was still in middle school when that happened. But I learned a few things here and there, enough to join the clinic in town and help out doing whatever.”

  “Doing whatever?”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” She shrugged.

  “Okay. So everything was good for a while.”

  “For a while, yeah.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “A week.”

  “Just a week?”

  “That’s how long it took the Judge to tell us what he needed from us. What he really needed from us.”

  “Which was that?”

  “Gee, what do you think, Smith?”

  He shook his head. “Why don’t you just tell me.”

  She sighed and turned around until she was leaning back against the wall again. Blake folded her arms across her chest. “Wives.”

  “Wives?”

  “They wanted all the women to be someone’s wife. Me included.”

  “You mean get married?”

  “Yup. Official and everything.”

  “Official how?” Then, remembering, “Right. Because he’s the Judge.”

  “Uh huh. There were marriage ceremonies, papers were signed, and people swore on the Bible and everything.”

  “Are you saying you’re actually married?”

  Blake turned to look at him. “Yes. You’re talking to Mrs. Travis Clarence.”

  “Hunh,” Smith said.

  She smiled. “‘Hunh?’ I tell you some asshole who calls himself the Judge forced me to marry Travis, and all you can say is ‘hunh?’”

  Smith shrugged. “I don’t know how else to respond.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Are you guys…”

  “What? Are we what?”

  “I don’t know, Blake. You’re married to him.”

  “Yeah, by the Judge.”

  Smith shook his head again. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “I don’t even think he’s a real judge, is what I’m saying. For all I know, one day he could have found a robe in a courthouse, put it on, and decided he was now a judge. Anyone can call themselves anything these days. Who’s to know?”

  She had a good point. Smith himself wasn’t John Smith. It was just a name he’d chosen because, well, people needed names. And what he did before The Purge, before Black Tide, had nothing to do with what he was now.

  “So he’s not a real judge?” he asked Blake.

  Blake shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the thing. He could be, or he might not be. All I know is that real judges don’t go around forcing people to marry other people they don’t love, never mind having only met a week earlier.”

  “He forced all the women to marry?”

  “After a week of arriving, yes. It’s the same with everyone.”

  “They didn’t tell you ahead of time?”

  “Hell no. You really think me and Gramps and the others would have stuck around for even a single day if they had? I mean, it’s not like I think Travis is an ugly ass fucker or anything, but why would I ever marry him? Besides, I’m only twenty-one. I didn’t exactly see myself getting married at that age. Or, well, ever now.”

  “What else?”

  “What else what?”

  “I assume there’s more to Gaffney than just forcing the women to become wives. Or is that it?”

  “That’s not enough reason for you?”

  Smith gave her a noncommittal shrug.

  “But you’re right, there’s more,” Blake said.

  “Tell me.”

  “We don’t have any rights here. The Judge thinks it’s still the 1950s. We’
re to cook, clean, and get ready to spread our legs for our”—she made air quotes—“husbands when they come home. Everyone who’s not one of his chosen few are slaves. That posse of his has chased down dozens of people over the years, as far as I know. Some of the ones that made it out decided to stay behind.”

  “Like you, Mandy, and Gramps at the junkyard.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not just run away and never look back, you mean?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Because Gramps and me still have friends who showed up with us, who are still stuck in this place. I haven’t talked to them since I got out. I don’t know what happened to them. I owe it to them to find out.”

  Smith had a lot more questions for her, but a few of them made him a little uneasy, though he wasn’t sure if asking them was going to be more uncomfortable for him or her. Maybe both of them.

  “The answer is no,” Blake said when he didn’t say anything else.

  “No what?”

  “No, I didn’t consummate with Travis. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  “One of the things I was thinking, yeah.”

  “Oh, he wanted to, but I kept putting it off. I managed for a good two weeks until I could finally run away one night when he was on his rounds. I was a mile out of Gaffney when Mandy and her people found me.”

  “‘Found’ you?”

  “It wasn’t an accident. Mandy was one of the first women to escape this place; she spends most of her time out there, watching and waiting for someone else to try to escape so she can help them. I was one of the lucky ones. Other girls…” Blake shook her head. “Not everyone makes it.”

  “What happens to those?”

  “The Judge reeducates them.”

  “‘Reeducates them’ how?”

  “It’s basically brainwashing. By the time he’s through with them, they think the Judge is the greatest person in the world.”

  “How, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve seen the results. They’re not the same afterwards.”

  “How long have Mandy and the others been fighting Gaffney?”

  “I’ve only been around for six months. Mandy’s been out here for two years.”

  “Was last night the first time Gaffney has attacked the junkyard?”

  “There have been skirmishes in the past, but it was never like this. Never this intense.”

  “But they have attacked before.”

  “Yes. But they know we won’t just lie down for them. We have plenty of guns and people that know how to use them, too.”

  “What about the ghoul?”

  “The ghoul?”

  “You remember? The one that attacked us?”

  Blake nodded, then sniffed his clothes. “Oh, I remember. What about it?”

  “Where did it come from?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but stopped short.

  “Blake?” Smith said. “Where did that ghoul come from?”

  Blake stared at him, and he completely believed that she had forgotten all about the ghoul they’d fought back in the junkyard.

  “I don’t know,” Blake finally said.

  “Have you guys ever had ghoul problems at the junkyard before?”

  “No, never. At least, not one that’s managed to get through the perimeter. We have a fence all around the place. Tall fences with barbed wire on top. Ghouls have gotten tangled up there before trying to climb over, but they’ve never managed to make it through. Besides, we have permanent guards stationed pretty much everywhere, day and night.”

  “What about last night?”

  “Last night, too.”

  “But Travis and Stephens got through.”

  “They must have lured people to the front, then snuck in the back.”

  Blake went quiet and stared across the cell at the far wall, but of course Smith knew she wasn’t looking at the wall. She was probably running through everything she thought she knew—about their base, the fence, and last night’s attack—through her head right now and questioning everything.

  “What are you thinking?” Smith finally asked.

  She looked over at him. “I’m trying to figure out where that ghoul came from and how the hell it got inside the fence.”

  Sixteen

  Members of the Judge’s posse came to get him the next morning, rousing Smith from his slumber. He woke up to the sound of Blake shouting at someone to take their hands off her, and sat up on the bench to find Hobson and the young kid who had been a part of Hobson’s posse the day before standing in front of him. They were both wearing gun belts, with Hobson inside the cell while the kid, whose name Smith still didn’t know, stood waiting in the hallway. Blake was already on her feet and glaring at Stephens, the guy who had attacked Smith and her back at the junkyard.

  “Leave her alone,” Hobson said to Stephens.

  Stephens raised both hands in mock surrender before turning and walking out of the cell to wait outside with the young man.

  “Asshole,” Blake said after Stephens.

  Smith sat up on the bench and yawned. He guessed he should have been afraid, but he wasn’t. Maybe it had something to do with the fact he was feeling a lot better after getting a good night’s sleep; that, or because he didn’t feel like his life was in any danger. Certainly, Hobson didn’t have that punchable face that Travis had, and neither he nor the kid—or even Stephens—looked as if they had come here to kill Smith.

  At least, not yet. That might come later, though.

  “You’re going on trial tomorrow for those three killings, Mr. Tough Guy. You best get your defense ready, ’cause if you’re found guilty…” Travis had said last night.

  Travis had then “cut” his forefinger across his own throat, a gesture that clearly meant Smith better talk fast or he would hang. Or worse. Did they even still hang people anymore? Maybe not, but then Smith had never run across a town like Gaffney before.

  But just what kind of town was Gaffney? He’d find out, soon enough.

  “Get up. You have a date with the Judge,” Hobson was saying to Smith.

  “He’s not well enough to go anywhere,” Blake said as she walked over to stand protectively next to Smith. “Look at him. He’s whiter than a ghost.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Hobson said. “Who put the bra on his head?”

  “I did. Travis nearly killed him last night when they abducted us.”

  “He looks fine to me.”

  “I told you, he’s not in any shape to be going anywhere.”

  Hobson glared at her. “He doesn’t have a choice, woman.”

  “Go to hell, Hobson.”

  “Maybe one day,” Hobson said. He turned and gestured at the young man, who stepped inside with his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol.

  “Step back, ma’am,” the kid said. He looked even younger now than when Smith first saw him.

  “Fuck off, Kyle,” Blake said.

  The kid, Kyle, glanced over at Hobson as if to ask him what he should do next or how to respond.

  Hobson sighed. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, Blake.”

  “I told you, he can’t—”

  Hobson drew his pistol—a Glock—and pointed it at her face. “I said, step the hell aside, woman!”

  It was the first time Smith had seen Hobson be anything other than pleasant, and the switch caught him off guard. Apparently, it did Blake, too, because she stumbled and almost tripped on the edge of the bench trying to back up.

  Smith caught her first and smiled at her. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

  Blake obviously didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t like either one of them had any choice.

  Smith turned around and nodded at Hobson, who had holstered his handgun. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

  Hobson stepped back, and Smith walked over to the opened cell door. Kyle watched him like a hawk, his palm resting on the butt of his ho
lstered weapon the entire time. Smith wondered if the young man was a fast draw.

  “Eyes forward, spud,” Kyle said when he saw where Smith was looking—at the Smith & Wesson at his hip.

  “Spud?” Smith said.

  “Yeah, that’s you.”

  “I’ve never been called spud before.”

  “First time for everything, I guess.”

  “I guess so,” Smith said as he stepped through the open cell door.

  Stephens was outside waiting for him, the brim of his Stetson hiding his eyes underneath the squiggly yellow hallway lights. “Nice hat.”

  “Wanna trade?” Smith asked him.

  “Nah, I like mine better.”

  “Your loss.”

  Behind him, Hobson slammed the cell door closed, then locked it with a key that he pocketed. Kyle continued to stare at Smith, trying to intimidate him. Trying to, because it didn’t work. It might have been more effective if Kyle wasn’t twenty-something or had the fresh face of a kid who just came off the farm. Smith wondered again how good he was with that gun he kept touching.

  “Let’s go,” Hobson said as he walked past Smith to lead the way.

  Smith glanced back at the cell—at Blake leaning against the bars looking after him.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to her.

  She forced a smile. “Yeah. You do that.”

  “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Funny.”

  “I try.”

  “Try harder.”

  “You smell great.”

  “I smell like vomit and ghoul shit.”

  “Yeah, but it’s awesome-smelling vomit and ghoul shit.”

  She smiled. This one was much more convincing, almost as if she believed that he would, really, be right back.

  “Funny guy,” she said. “See you when I see you, funny guy.”

  “Count on it,” Smith said.

  Just as Blake had told him, they were being kept inside a police station that didn’t look as if it’d gotten a whole lot of use over the years. There were plenty of desks and offices in the main lobby, but no one to make use of them. The place was abandoned but didn’t look, feel, or smell it, so it had clearly been looked after even when it wasn’t in use. There were no old stacks of yellowing paper on the desks or scattered across the floor, and cork boards along the walls had been cleared of whatever had been tacked on them before The Purge.