Bombtrack (Road To Babylon, Book 2)

by Sam Sisavath

  Any moment now…

  The very loud squawk of a radio from not very far away sent a slight jolt of shock through her body, and the movements behind her temporarily ceased. A voice spoke through tinny speakers, but it wasn’t close enough for her to make out actual words. A male voice, she knew that much, but couldn’t say if it was familiar or not.

  Then a man replied, “Roger that,” and the movements toward her resumed.

  They were moving in a line, using their number (Three? Four? More?) to cover as much ground as possible. The fact that they weren’t talking told her they had some discipline, but not enough to know better about making too much noise with their footsteps.

  The snap! of another twig breaking.

  The tap-tap of boots getting closer, coming from her left.

  The one on her right, and his buddy directly behind her, were farther away. Either Lefty was ahead of the others, or they weren’t moving in a perfect line.

  Gaby closed her eyes again and prepared herself.

  What would Will do?

  “Stay alive. That’s your job. Dead men can’t do anything or help anyone.”

  She stepped away from the tree and spun to her left—

  The man was less than ten meters away, and his eyes widened at the sight of her appearing out from behind the tree. It took him half a second to process what was happening before he was able to finally lift his rifle.

  It was a half a second too late, because she shot him once in the chest.

  The man crumpled, grabbing at his gut, and even as the pop! of her gunshot ricocheted off the trees around her, Gaby was already turning and running. She ran away from the road and back into the thick of the woods, where she would have a better chance of getting lost among all the green.

  Faster! Faster!

  Someone opened fire behind her, and a branch snapped above her head. She ducked lower and darted right to get around a tree just as it exploded, bark flicking at her face and body as she went around it.

  The pop-pop-pop of automatic rifle fire filled the woods, bouncing off the trees to her left and right.

  She didn’t look back because it would have only slowed her down, but she did hear someone shouting, “Hold your fire! He wants her alive! Hold your fire, goddammit!”

  “He?” Gaby thought even as she kept running, faster and faster—or at least she thought she was gaining speed with every stride. She hoped she was, anyway.

  They had stopped shooting and were pursuing, the desperate crunch-crunch-crunch! of boots on the ground and snapping branches and breaking leaves and twigs replacing gunfire. Those new noises sounded even louder, but maybe that was all just in her mind.

  Gaby fought against the urge to glance back, to see how many there actually were in pursuit and where they were. She’d only seen the one man she’d shot, but from the sounds of it there were definitely more than two pursuers behind her. Five, maybe even more, given how loud they were being as they charged through the woods after her.

  Too many. Too many!

  She hopped over bushes, ducked dangling branches, and when possible, tried to keep a tree between her and Buck’s men at all times just in case one of them decided to disobey orders and take a shot at her anyway—

  There was a pop! followed by a pek! as a round slammed into the trunk of a tree in front and to the right of her, the round fired low enough that had it actually hit her (Jesus, that was close!) it would have clipped her thigh.

  She went around the tree and used it as a shield in case the shooter tried again, but that was only going to last for as long as it took them to go around—

  Pop-pop! as more rounds sailed over her head, and Gaby ducked instinctively.

  “Goddammit, stop shooting!” someone shouted. It may or may not have been the same man who had told the group to hold their fire earlier.

  Yeah, goddammit, hold your goddamn fire! Gaby thought, and might have laughed out loud, but she was pretty sure that didn’t happen because she was too busy gasping for breath. Her lungs were burning, and she wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t been running for that long, had she? Of course not. It’d only been a minute.

  No, it hadn’t even been a minute.

  Thirty seconds, at the most.

  Maybe…

  She refused to give in to the aching temptation to look back and check the distance between her and her pursuers, because that would have cost her another half second (maybe even a full second), and she couldn’t afford it. Right now, she was relying on her head start—which was what? Two seconds? Maybe three max, if she wanted to be completely optimistic about it.

  Captain Optimism, right, Danny?

  But it wouldn’t last forever. It didn’t matter how fit or fast she was, or how strong she had trained her body, because an equally fit or strong man would always outrun her. But maybe luck was on her side and Buck’s men had gotten fat and lazy over the years.

  Yeah, maybe.

  But she couldn’t count on luck right now, not with her life on the line—

  Warm breath hit the back of her neck (What?), and Gaby had no choice but to finally give in to the siren’s call and glance back—

  Jesus!

  It was a man in a black assault vest, his long and slightly damp black hair whipping in the air behind him, slung rifle poking out from behind his back, and he was almost on top of her.

  How? How?

  Before she could react to his presence, the man launched himself into the air, outstretched arms reaching out to her.

  Gaby couldn’t stop—she was simply running too fast for that. Instead, she threw her body into a midstride spin, almost like a ballerina’s pirouette. The rifle was gripped tightly in both hands, but she didn’t try to shoot the man (No time! There’s no time for that!), and instead swung the AR and caught the (flying?) man in the side of the face with the buttstock just as his fingertips brushed against her chest.

  There was the very loud crack! as the man’s cheekbone gave way under the impact, just before he flew past her and slammed into a tree with the back of his neck, before falling in a pile of flesh and broken bones to the ground.

  He had missed, but he had slowed her down. No, not slowed her down—he had forced her to stop completely, and by the time Gaby realized her mistake, the flying man’s companions were almost on top of her.

  Two converging on her left, two more on her right, and a single man (That makes five!) coming directly in front of her.

  She shot the one in the middle, and he jerked back and into the air like he had slipped on a banana peel. The whole thing would have looked funny if blood wasn’t spraying out of the hole she’d just put in his chest, right between two vest pouches.

  Gaby spun to her right, but the two running at her from that side lunged for cover, going in separate directions almost as if they had rehearsed it. But they hadn’t, she was sure of it, because one nearly ran headfirst into a tree while the other flopped to the ground behind a large bush.

  She lost two seconds trying to shoot them that she never got back, and by the time she managed to regroup, one of the other two coming from the other side had rammed his shoulder into her gut while a second man clotheslined her with his arm and nearly took her head off doing it.

  Fortunately, she still had her head attached to her neck when she crashed into the ground, but that was the only good news. The rifle had flown out of her hands on impact, and the man who had torpedoed her in the gut was crawling on top of her even as she scrambled frantically to locate the holstered SIG Sauer at her hip.

  “Grab her, man, grab the bitch!” one of them shouted. It was the one who had nearly taken her head off.

  The one who got her in the gut had short blond hair and amazingly deep green eyes, and she only knew their color because he was staring down at her from a few inches away even as he straddled her waist while trying to pin both her arms to the ground.

  “Relax!” Blondie shouted. “Relax!”

  Go to hell! Gaby thought and lifted her torso
and slammed her forehead into his nose.

  Thick warm wetness sprayed her face, but she’d had the presence of mind to close her eyes before she made her move, or else she would have Blondie’s blood in her eyes at the moment.

  When she opened her eyes back up, Blondie had tumbled off her and was rolling away, grabbing at his nose and screaming something incoherent. Or maybe it was perfectly coherent, but all Gaby could hear were ocean waves pounding her brain and a thrumming sensation coming from the center of her forehead. She was pretty sure half of her face was covered in a thick layer of Blondie’s blood at the moment.

  Move, girl, move your ass!

  She managed to sit up, at the same time catching a glimpse of the two men who had dived for cover earlier, now back on their feet and racing toward her.

  Gaby stabbed her hand down to her hip and groped…empty air?

  “Looking for this?” a voice said behind her.

  She turned her head, knowing full well what she was going to see back there.

  The guy who had clotheslined her was standing back there with her SIG Sauer stuffed into his front waistband. She didn’t know how that had happened or when he had grabbed her pistol. Was it while she was fighting Blondie?

  The man grinned at her. He was tall and muscular, with a smooth bald head and dark, unsympathetic eyes. He was also holding his rifle in his hands when she turned around, and before Gaby could say or do anything, he hit her with the weapon’s buttstock.

  Pain. A lot of it.

  And darkness…

  She might have lost consciousness for a second or two, or possibly even longer, because the next thing she was aware of was lying on her back on the cold ground and looking up at four figures standing above her.

  Two on each side, all of them looking down at her.

  How long had she been out? Long enough that Blondie was now holding a bloody rag to his nose. He didn’t look quite as handsome as before. The wrestler was also there, still with her pistol in his waistband. He was pulling at leaves that were sticking out of his black vest and clothes. The other two—a short man with a buzz cut and his partner, the oldest of the foursome by far—stood on her right side.

  “Who is she?” the wrestler was asking.

  “The one that got June killed,” the older one said.

  “That’s her?”

  “That’s her.”

  “She doesn’t look like much, does she?”

  “Depends on what you’d use her for,” the short one said, and the others chuckled.

  “Good point,” the wrestler said, and she swore the bastard winked at her.

  Kiss my ass, she thought, but couldn’t make her mouth say the words.

  Blondie mumbled something behind the rag, but Gaby couldn’t make it out. Neither could the others, because Shorty grinned and said, “Can’t understand a thing you’re saying, Ron.”

  “I said,” Blondie said, removing the rag and showing the bloody mess that used to be his nose, “she killed Morton.”

  “Morton’s dead?” the older one asked.

  “Broke his fucking neck when he went Superman into a tree.” The wrestler sneered. “He almost had her, though. Almost.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to go,” Shorty said. “What about—”

  He hadn’t finished his question when a nice, round hole appeared almost perfectly between his eyes. The man’s head snapped back, just before the rest of his body followed, until he had vanished out of Gaby’s peripheral vision.

  She tried to turn her head to look for him, but couldn’t get it to obey. And besides, had she managed that feat, she wouldn’t have been able to see the remaining three scrambling for their weapons. At about the same time, she heard a high-pitched sound from behind her, like a machine coming to life, before blood began erupting from the chests of all three men.

  The whole thing looked amazingly orderly—first the oldest one fell, then the wrestler, then Blondie, who had managed to draw his sidearm before three—four—five holes appeared in his chest, and he too vanished out of Gaby’s peripheral vision, leaving behind red mists floating gracefully in the air.

  What’s…

  She hadn’t heard anything except that odd, almost elegant noise of machine parts turning before Buck’s men started falling one by one.

  …happening?

  She tried to get up, but the throbbing inside her skull was too much to handle. Inside? No, it was coming from everywhere. She could only wince and lie perfectly still, because doing something even as minimal as blinking caused pain.

  Footsteps approaching. Soft and measured, and not the loud crunching of Buck’s men from earlier.

  Get up. Get up!

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even make herself turn her head.

  Instead, she remained staring up at the towering trees above her. There was just enough break in the crowns to allow a few slivers of sunlight to poke at her eyes.

  Get up!

  She couldn’t. The pain was too much. Was it all coming from her forehead, where she had struck Blondie? Or was it somewhere else? Where exactly had that bald-headed wrestler sonofabitch hit her with his rifle? And how many times?

  Everywhere, and a hundred times each.

  A figure appeared above her, a darkened face silhouetted by the sunlight in the background. She couldn’t make out details no matter how hard she blinked and tried to focus.

  “You’ve looked better,” the face said.

  A man. And his voice…

  It sounded familiar. Why did it sound so familiar?

  Will?

  No, that was stupid. Will was dead. He died in Houston saving all of them, even if only a few people would ever know the truth. Not that he would care. Will had gladly given his life for them.

  Danny?

  No, it couldn’t be him, either. What would Danny be doing out here in the first place? Unless, of course, he’d come looking for her. Maybe Lara had sent him. How long had she been missing?

  Days? Months?

  No, not months. Definitely days, though.

  Probably…

  “What are you doing back in Texas, kid?” the man asked.

  No, not Danny.

  Not Will, either.

  But familiar…

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  Yes, she was. Too far.

  So far…

  “You by yourself?”

  She tried to answer, but couldn’t. Just opening her mouth to breathe hurt, and she couldn’t imagine how she looked. Given how she was feeling, it was probably not very pretty.

  Was that Blondie’s blood dripping down her face?

  “Looks like you took quite a beating.”

  The shadowed man crouched next to her, and his face slowly came into view.

  “Welcome to the club.”

  That face…

  I know you. I know you.

  The figure smiled, and it made the scar that ran down almost the entire left side of his face twitch slightly.

  Gaby managed to smile and croak out, “What kind of name is Keo, anyway?”

  The man chuckled. “Everything else was taken.”

  Knowing who it was that was hovering over her (A friend. He’s a friend.) allowed her to close her eyes and give in to the darkness.

  Seventeen

  She was lying on a sofa in the back of a small room, dwindling sunlight in her eyes forcing her to blink a few times before she could adjust to the fading light. Every part of her ached from her neck down to her toes, but those were nothing compared to the thrumming inside her skull. She was sure her head was going to explode at any second, and it was all Gaby could do to sit up and groan, and hope to last a few minutes more.

  “You took a couple of good licks back there, kid,” the figure standing next to an open window said.

  Keo.

  He hadn’t changed very much since the last time she saw him, almost five years ago. Still the tall string bean, as Danny would say, with that German model submac
hine gun (though she couldn’t tell if it was the same one he’d left with) hanging off a shoulder strap. He was eating what looked like venison from a see-through bag as he watched her struggling up on the sofa.

  Gaby touched her forehead and found a bandage wrapped around it. Medical ointment hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of deer meat coming from across the room. Breathing was difficult because of the invisible elephant sitting on her chest.

  She rubbed her chest, then glanced over at the window and took some comfort in the presence of sunlight. Slowly fading, but it was still light out. Chilled air filled the room, which was some kind of office. There was a large desk behind Keo and a swivel chair with torn upholstery; the vest she’d stolen from Bruce dangled from one of the chair’s armrests. The place, like the sofa she’d been lying on, didn’t look as if it had been put to use in quite some time.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “About twenty miles from where I found you,” Keo said. “Small town called Sandy-something down State Highway 359.”

  “Sandy-something?”

  He shrugged. “I only glanced at the sign. Sandy-something sounds about right.”

  “How long…?

  “Four hours, give or take.”

  It feels like four years, she thought, and tried to stand up.

  It was the wrong move, and she had to sit back down before she fell flat on her face…again.

  “Are we safe this close to Fenton?” she asked.

  “There’s about a hundred other places just like this one between them and us. If they take the time to search every single one, they deserve to find us.”

  She tried to get up again—and had to quickly sit back down a second time.

  Keo chuckled.

  “Glad you’re so amused,” Gaby smirked.

  “What’re you doing down here, kid?”

  “Kid.” Only Keo and Danny, and a few others on the island, ever called her that. She hadn’t been a “kid” in a long time, but five years ago she was just that. Like everyone who had survived The Purge, she had grown up fast. Faster than most in a lot of ways, when she really thought about it.

  “Diplomatic mission,” Gaby said, and told him about Kohl’s Port—the assignment, what happened during it, and what had transpired since. She didn’t leave anything out, because unlike a lot of other people, there was nothing she could say that would shock Keo.