Requiem (After The Purge, Book 1)

by Sam Sisavath

  She shot him a quick, annoyed look. “It’s not that simple. She’s my friend. I’m going to find out what happened to her, one way or another. Whether she was turned or not, I’m going to find out. I can’t go back to Newton until I do that.”

  Then you’re going to be spending a lot of time running around out here, lady.

  But he said, “So you’re a tough chick on a mission, is that it?”

  “And what are you?”

  “I’m not a chick.”

  “No, but you’re a tough something on a mission, too, aren’t you? What were all those questions about a one-eyed ghoul? I didn’t even know they could lose an eye. I thought they always regenerated. I mean, they can do that with entire limbs, for God’s sake. Why not an eyeball?”

  It was a good question, and Wash hadn’t known it was possible, either, until he had seen it with his own eyes.

  But Wash didn’t say anything.

  “I told you my story,” Ana said. “Not fair you’re keeping quiet. You haven’t even told me why you’re running around out here alone. Slayers always work in pairs.”

  “Not always.”

  “No, not always. But almost always.”

  “I bet half of what you told me isn’t true. Maybe more than half.”

  She shrugged. “That’s your prerogative to think that. All I know is that you asked me about a one-eyed ghoul last night. One of those blue eyes.”

  He focused on the road and continued to ignore her.

  “Fine,” Ana said. “Keep being an asshat.”

  “Act your age, lady. Calling people asshats is what a ten-year-old would do.”

  “Don’t want me to call you an asshat? Stop acting like an asshat, then.”

  Wash sighed and tried to come up with a perfectly good reason why he didn’t just shoot her now, take back the Tennessee Walker, and continue south alone again. Except this time he would be able to add a backpack full of instant coffee to his inventory.

  Stop pretending like you could actually shoot her in cold blood. You couldn’t even hit her back after she punched you last night, for God’s sake.

  “Did it kill someone you loved?” she was asking him.

  He glanced over at her. “Seriously?”

  “What? You thought I’d just give up?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I don’t give up that easily. I never have, and I never will.”

  “Just let it go.”

  But she didn’t. “I know silver doesn’t kill them. The blue eyes, I mean. Not the way it does the black-eyed ones. Was that how it lost its eye? Did you or someone shoot or stab it in the eyeball with silver? That must have been something.”

  He didn’t answer, not that she seemed to care. Ana tilted her head as she ruminated over her own questions, and he got the sense she wasn’t even talking to him anymore.

  “We still don’t know all that much about the ghouls,” she continued. “They have three weaknesses. Silver, sunlight, and bodies of water. Someone told me it was something in the water. A combination of mercury and chemicals and who knows what else that sinks them like stones if it gets down their throats. I saw it, you know, a couple of them in the Platte River. They looked like those gargoyles you see perched on the edge of rooftops in the cities. Their skin had turned rock hard, like granite.”

  Ana paused for a moment, the Tennessee Walker moving casually underneath her. She wasn’t even looking at him as she kept talking.

  “There are so many things we still don’t know about them. Why does silver kill the black-eyed ones just like”—she snapped her fingers—“that, but barely slows down the blue eyes? Why does a headshot have almost no impact on the black eyes, but is the only thing that can kill the blue eyes?” This time, she turned in his direction. “Do you know?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I don’t know why I asked. You’re just a slayer. I haven’t met a slayer yet who gave two cents about what makes the ghouls tick. You guys aren’t in it for answers. It’s all about revenge, isn’t it?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You talk about us as if you’re not one of us.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She shrugged. “Believe what you want, but I’m not one of you.”

  “I saw what you did last night. You may not dress like us, but you’re definitely one of us.”

  “Why? Because I know how to use a knife?”

  “Because you weren’t scared. You walked into those woods looking for nightcrawlers.”

  “A lot of people aren’t afraid of the night anymore. The Walk Out changed everything.”

  “And a lot of people can’t do what you did.”

  “Just because I didn’t devote the rest of my life to going around the country looking for monsters to kill doesn’t mean I can’t defend myself.”

  Wash let out a short laugh. “You’re full of shit, lady, and you know—”

  He didn’t get the chance to finish. It wasn’t even the pain—it was the shock.

  The shock of being shot.

  The first bullet knocked him off his saddle, and the second one sailed over his head because he was already tumbling to the ground when it was fired.

  Wash hadn’t heard a gunshot either time, but before he could fully grasp what had happened (I’ve been shot. Jesus Christ, I’ve been shot!), he was crashing to the dirt road, and the sharp edges of the Mossberg slung over his back was digging into his flesh from a dozen different points.

  “Wash!” Ana screamed.

  Her voice was echoing in his ears as he managed to roll over onto his stomach and reached for the Beretta, wrapping his fingers around its cold grip. He lifted his head and looked down the road at the same time, just as dark-clad figures emerged out of the trees on the left side.

  At first he thought the ground had come alive, but his mind quickly adjusted and saw them for what they were: Men in ghillie suits. The barrels of their rifles were abnormally long, and he thought, Suppressors. They’re using suppressed weapons. That’s why I didn’t hear the gunshots! It’s an ambush!

  The word ambush! was still reverberating around in his skull as he pulled the Beretta and at the same time attempted to focus on the attackers. Why was it so damn hard to focus? Because he’d been shot, and there was a pretty good chance his body was, at this very second, going into shock from blood loss.

  But he managed to get the 9mm out anyway and was trying to point it when something stopped him. His hand simply froze, and he wasn’t sure why—

  Ana was crouching next to him (How’d she get down here so fast?), and one of her knees was pressed against his gun hand, pinning it to the ground while her other hand frantically groped at his side. He wasn’t sure what she was doing until he saw bright red liquid squirting through her fingers.

  Blood. That’s my blood.

  Wash looked up at her as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. Everything was still moving at regular speed—that slowing down of time that he’d come to rely on so often to save his life hadn’t kicked in and he couldn’t understand why.

  Ana’s eyes were fixed on him, and strands of red hair had fallen loose over her face.

  “What…?” he managed to get out.

  “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “They’ll kill you.”

  He had difficulty processing what she was saying. Of course the men in ghillie suits charging up the road toward them right now were going to kill him. They had already made that blatantly clear when they shot him off his saddle. And when they finally reached them (Any minute now), they were going to finish the job.

  So why was Ana not letting him fight back before that happened?

  She had leaned down and was whispering. “Trust me, Wash. Trust me.”

  Trust you? he wanted to reply. He didn’t know her, had just found out her name less than an hour ago, so why did she expect him to “trust” her?

  And yet, and yet there was something about the way she was looking
at him that made him want to believe her. That did make him believe her.

  Don’t trust her. She can’t be trusted.

  Don’t trust her!

  Not that he could put those doubts into words. He had a hard enough time just keeping his eyes open, much less getting anything more than a slight wheezing sound through his gaping mouth.

  Growls, more animal than men, approaching them. The ghillie suits. They were coming, shaking the ground with their heavy footsteps. They were shouting something, but he couldn’t decipher any of it.

  Ana seemed to understand just fine, and she turned away from him and looked up the road. Her face changed in the blink of an eye, morphing from the confident woman who had just told to him to trust her to a suddenly terrified redhead who should have been hiding behind closed doors in a town somewhere in Nebraska instead of out here traveling a dangerous backcountry road with him.

  “Don’t shoot!” Ana cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t shoot! Oh God, please don’t shoot!”

  Six

  Wash opened his eyes to Ana hovering over him. There was light behind her, but it was pale and fading and splashed across what looked like a wooden ceiling.

  I’m alive. How am I still alive?

  They were in some kind of room, but he couldn’t turn his head to see the rest of it. It was hard enough just keeping his eyes open, and doing anything more was beyond his ability.

  “Don’t move,” Ana whispered. “You’ve been shot.”

  He winced as pain lanced through his entire body.

  “It’s not bad,” Ana said. “It was a through-and-through. I got them to let me stop the bleeding and bandage it up. You owe me, Washateria.”

  “That’s not my name,” he groaned out.

  “I know, I’m just messing with you.” She glanced up at something nearby. “He’s awake. Can you help me?”

  Not something, but someone.

  Shuffling sounds as that someone approached them, followed by a new voice. “His name’s Washateria?” Soft and small, and female.

  “Yes, but he likes to be called Wash,” Ana said.

  “I don’t blame him. Washateria. Now that’s a name.”

  Ana looked back down at him, that teasing smile on her lips. “Don’t try to move. I couldn’t get them to give you anything for the pain, so it’s going to hurt for a while. But at least you were unconscious on the way here.”

  If he could get another groan out, it would have been I’ve been shot before, and I’m still alive, but he was too weak to make the attempt. Instead, he continued looking up—not that he could do anything else; he wasn’t even sure he could move his head—as the owner of the female voice appeared next to Ana.

  Young, maybe still in her teens, dirty blonde hair draped over an oval-shaped face. She would have been amazingly attractive if not for the dirt on her cheeks and cracked lips.

  “Hey, Wash,” the girl said. “I’m Marla.” She turned to Ana. “Are you sure he’ll be okay if we do this?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Ana said.

  “But he doesn’t look very good.”

  “He’s tougher than he looks.”

  “Okay, if you say so.” Marla didn’t look convinced, though. “How are we gonna do it again?”

  “We need to roll him over onto his side so I can take off his bandage,” Ana said. “I need you to hold him still while I clean and apply some ointment to the wounds and swap in some new gauze. You look pretty strong.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “Just make sure he doesn’t fall forward or backward while I’m working on him.”

  Marla frowned. “I’ll try.”

  “Don’t try. I’m counting on you.”

  “Okay,” Marla said again, with so little confidence that even Wash, in his current delirious state, could see through. “How did you get them to give you all of this stuff, anyway?”

  “I’m very convincing.”

  “They wouldn’t give me anything.”

  “You probably didn’t ask the right way.”

  “What’s the right way?”

  “The way that makes them say yes.” Then, a slight edge to her voice, “Now, hold him still, okay?”

  Ana’s face leaned in closer, her green eyes focusing in on him. “I have to move you. It’s going to hurt.”

  He might have nodded, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Okay,” Ana said, this time to Marla.

  “What if I drop him?” Marla asked.

  “Don’t do that. Just push him up onto his side. Slowly and carefully.”

  “God, this is…”

  “Don’t think about it. He’s a tough guy. He’ll survive.” She looked back down at Wash. “Easy does it…”

  He wasn’t sure how “easy” the whole thing went because as soon as he felt a pair of warm hands on his shoulders, his body began moving and the lancing pain became a throbbing tidal wave, and then there was just darkness.

  “I thought for sure Marla was right and you were going to die,” Ana said when he opened his eyes a second time. “You put a real scare into me, Washateria.”

  “How long…?” he managed to moan out.

  “Just a few hours.”

  “No. Since I was shot.”

  “Half a day.”

  That explains the fading light, he thought as he tried to concentrate on Ana’s face, using her vibrant eyes to help him focus. He’d never met anyone with green eyes before, and wondered if they were all this spectacular.

  “I’m pretty, but I’m not that pretty,” Ana smiled.

  He was staring at her again. He couldn’t help it. Besides the fact that her face encompassed pretty much everything he could see at the moment, she was…nice to look at.

  “Where…?” he asked, because it was still too hard to turn his head to get a better look at his surroundings. Besides, that would mean turning away from her face, and he didn’t want to do that right now.

  Ana glanced up and around for him. “Some kind of dirt basement. They took us about another five or so miles through the woods after the ambush. I walked, and you were tossed over the Tennessee Walker. They were kind enough to let me take off your shirt and use it as a tourniquet so you wouldn’t bleed to death on the way over here. I’m not sure where we are, exactly. I’ve never been to Kansas before. I didn’t see anything that looked even remotely close to a landmark, though.” She shook her head. “Right now, we’re under a big building. Some kind of warehouse. Can you smell it?”

  He shook his head. Or did he?

  “Grease and oil,” Ana said. “It’s stronger topside. I can smell them through the walls even from down here. I didn’t see any big machineries when they were walking us through the place, so maybe it was abandoned before The Purge. Not anymore, though.”

  Wash tried to get a whiff of what she was talking about, but he came up with nothing. It didn’t help that his senses were impaired, which, when he really thought about it, was a blessing. He’d been shot before, and the lingering pain was always the worst part.

  Almost, because the really worst part was the absence of the familiar tick-tick-tick-tick from his left wrist. It wasn’t there anymore, and the sudden realization made him try to sit up.

  “Stop it,” Ana said. “What are you doing?”

  “They took my watch,” he groaned.

  “Yeah, so? They took everything.”

  “My watch…”

  “It’s just a watch.”

  “It’s not.”

  “There are watches all over this country, Wash. Rolexes, Swiss-this, Swiss-that. You won’t even have to pay taxes on them anymore.”

  “Not like mine.”

  “What makes yours so special?”

  “It just is.”

  “If you say so.” Ana sighed. “Look, don’t try to move, okay? You’ll just aggravate the wound. Marla and I didn’t go through all that trouble and get our hands dirty for nothing. Especially me. I’ve been covered in your blood since the road. I’m
frankly sick of it. Anyway, give yourself time to heal. Here.” She picked up a cheap plastic spoon filled with something that looked and smelled incredibly unappealing and held it up to his lips. “It’s not exactly gourmet, but you need it more than I do.”

  He didn’t argue and opened his mouth to let the food slip through. His tongue tasted oat and wheat and little else. He would have gagged at the taste if he weren’t starving. He forced it down his throat and into his empty stomach, even as he tried to shake the absurd feeling of loss at the watch’s absence.

  “Is he okay?” a voice asked. Wash recognized it as Marla’s, the pretty blonde who had helped Ana change his bandages earlier.

  “He will be, as long as we keep them away from him,” Ana said. She held another spoon to his lips.

  “What if we can’t do that?” Marla asked.

  “We’ll have to, Marla.”

  “But what if we can’t?”

  “We’ll have to,” Ana said. There was something in her voice—part confidence and part aggression—that made Marla stop short of asking the same question a third time. “Besides, they’re not going to do anything. If they were, they wouldn’t have given me medicine and bandages for him.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Marla asked. “They took Kenny…”

  Who’s Kenny? Wash thought, but the only thing he got out was a labored wheeze.

  “Just remember what I said, okay?” Ana said to Marla. “Do your part, and we’ll get through this. I promise.”

  She promises, Wash thought, watching Ana’s face as it was turned toward Marla somewhere else in the basement with them. And I’ll be damned if she doesn’t mean it. Holy Christ, can she be convincing.

  He replayed the image of Ana, out in the road, telling him to trust her just before she turned toward the men who had shot him and began crying. The sight of tears streaming down her cheeks had shocked him. Where did those come from? he remembered asking himself just before he lost consciousness.

  She’s one hell of a convincing actress, Wash thought now as he opened his mouth for another spoonful of disgusting gruel. Thank God she’s on my side, or I’d be just another corpse in a backwater road waiting for nightfall to vanish.

  At least, I think she’s on my side…