There, the guard somewhere above him, crunching gravel under his boots as he neared Smith’s part of the building. After a while, the boots moved away, and when Smith couldn’t hear it anymore, he went to work on the lock.
It didn’t take long. There was just a simple tumbler lock that Smith was able to pry open with the point of the knife. He pushed the door open and stepped into a dark hallway on the other side.
He remembered the layout of the building from when he was last inside it, before Hobson came to fetch him to see the Judge. Smith fully expected a second guard—maybe even a third, but that was unlikely given the lack of manpower—inside. He got silence instead. Still, he made his way through the first corridor cautiously, listening for sounds of a presence other than his own.
It took him a good half hour just to traverse the first couple of hallways, but it couldn’t be avoided. Besides, he had plenty of time on his side. His watch had barely ticked past midnight, which still left him with a good six or so hours before sunrise. That was more than enough time to do everything he needed.
Easy does it.
Easy does it…
He wasn’t sure if it was surprise or relief on Blake’s face when Smith finally showed himself. The doors between the hallways were unlocked, so he hadn’t had any difficulty finding his way to the holding cells.
Blake jumped off the bench and ran over to the cell bars. “Jesus, you’re back!”
Smith quickly put a forefinger to his lips to shush her.
Blake understood and mouthed, “Oops. Sorry.” Then, in a lower voice, “I thought you were dead. Or being reeducated.”
Smith shook his head as he stared at her. Even locked behind bars as she had been for the last two days, she was…quite the sight. They hadn’t given her anything new to wear, and he could still smell lingering vomit on her clothes, and yet…
“What?” Blake said, squinting through the bars at him. There was just a small light hanging off the wall down the hallway, which was more than enough for him to make her out and vice versa.
“Nothing,” Smith said.
“No, there was something. What was it?”
“Just glad you’re okay, that’s all.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Have you seen where you are right now?”
“Good point.” Then, leaning even further against the bars until her cheeks were pressing against them, she peered down the hallway. Or tried to, anyway. “You snuck back in here?”
“Pretty much.”
“How’d you get away?”
“I made a deal with the Judge.”
“What kind of deal?”
The kind that got Mandy killed, Smith thought but didn’t say. Blake wouldn’t have reacted positively to the news of Mandy’s death and may even blame him for it.
Oh, who was he kidding? She would definitely blame him for it.
“Smith?” Blake asked. “What kind of deal did you make with that blob of a man?”
“The kind that got me out of town. But I’m back now.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why? If you got out, why are you back?” She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the gun in its holster. Then, squinting at his face, “What’s going on? What are you doing back here?”
“I came back to make sure you were okay.”
“That’s all?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“I’m looking for my friend, Mary. I was told she was taken to be reeducated at the ranch.”
“The ranch?”
She knows about it, Smith thought, watching her carefully.
“Yeah, the ranch,” Smith said. “She’s at the ranch with her son right now. I’m going there to look for her. But I could use some help.”
“Me?”
“Why not?”
Blake didn’t take very long to think about it. “You have to get me out of here first.”
“I can do that.”
“How?”
“There should be a key.”
“It’s probably inside the lobby.”
Smith nodded. He’d thought the same thing. It didn’t make any sense for Hobson or the lone guard on the rooftop to carry the keys on him.
He was about to turn to go in search of those keys when Blake said, “Smith.” Then, when he stopped and turned back around, “I heard shooting earlier. Was that you?”
“Yeah.”
“So how many of the Judge’s men are we dealing with now?”
“Ten.”
“Did one of your victims happen to be Clarence?”
“He’s still alive, as far as I know.”
“As far as you know? What does that mean?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Later,” Smith said, and hurried down the hallway before she could ask him any more questions.
The less he told her about Travis and yesterday’s ambush, the better. Because if he told her everything, he might have to reveal Mandy’s death, too. And right now, Smith wasn’t sure about how to do that quite yet. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would never have to.
Yeah, right. As if he’d been that lucky so far.
He made his way through the corridors and out into the lobby, but like before, not until he’d made damn sure he was the only one moving around inside the police station. He’d closed the door into the holding cells so he didn’t have to separate Blake’s movements from the rest of the building’s. Or his own. He could still hear the lone guard moving around on the rooftop above him, the man’s circular path crossing Smith’s twice as Smith made his way to the door that separated him from the lobby. If the guard had noticed anything going on below him, there was nothing about his steady movements that Smith could detect. Certainly, the guy didn’t sound very excited to be up there. The phrase going through the motions came to mind.
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 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. T
hen, “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 later. 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.
After The Purge, AKA John Smith Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 33
