Remains (After The Purge: Vendetta, Book 3)

by Sam Sisavath

  And the creature kept coming.

  He hadn’t hit it. He hadn’t even come close to hitting it.

  But Wash didn’t think he would anyway. He already knew how fast the blue-eyed ones were, and he didn’t for one second believe he could nail it. And knowing that, he had fired at it with one hand while his left reached for the kukri and began drawing it, and it slipped out of the sheath just as the monster reached him.

  It grabbed him by the neck, icy-cold fingers sliding around his throat and tightening like a vise. Razor-thin lips curved into existence from the black void that was its face, the hood still clinging to the creature’s forehead somehow. Was the damned thing glued in place? Wash wondered. How had it not fallen down yet?

  It was so small—barely five feet—that it only had to bend slightly at the waist to take hold of Wash’s kneeling form—

  Wash drove the kukri into the blue-eyed ghoul’s stomach. Instant shock exploded and ballooned in both of its eyes at the sharp contact. It hadn’t seen it coming, just as he had planned.

  Adapt or perish, bitch! Wash thought, grinning through a mouthful of blood (Blood? Now where had that come from? Oh right, that stupid stunt where he threw himself off the horse’s saddle.) as he jerked the knife upward and eviscerated the creature from its gut all the way up to its chest before it could react.

  Then he angled the kukri slightly so he could break through the chest cavity and bones and pull the blade free.

  Blood splattered the air, and the blue-eyed ghoul let out an ear-splitting shriek that shouldn’t have been possible for something its size. It wasn’t the kukri’s fourteen inches of razor-sharp and curved blade that was causing it incredible pain, but the silver that coated it. Silver didn’t kill the Blue Eyes, but it hurt.

  Wash saw the truth of that as the childlike figure stumbled away from him. It moved with difficulty, its severed torso causing it to sway from side to side. Not that Wash felt any sympathy for it. He had none to give this wretched thing that was once human—once a little girl that someone, somewhere called daughter or sister—but wasn’t anymore. It was just another undead monstrosity, a crime against nature, as alive as the clump of dirt that flicked from its soles as it attempted to flee.

  Wash lunged after it and lopped its head off at the neck with one wide-arcing swing. He’d had too much practice with the kukri to miss. There was barely any resistance to the blade, and he cut through the bones as if they were little more than flimsy sheets of film.

  The figure flopped to one side while its head went flying in the other. The head rolled away for a few feet before stopping and settling, the face turned toward Wash. Wide blue eyes, now devoid of any sheen, stared back at him while its mouth trembled in shock.

  It was still alive…somehow.

  “The brain, kid,” the Old Man said. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”

  Right. The brain.

  Wash remained on his knees, looking back at the creature, when there was a sudden surge of suffocating rot in the air.

  He spun on his knees, fingers tightening around the kukri.

  There was a black-eyed nightcrawler standing less than ten feet from him. Standing, because it had frozen in place, along with the other two. They didn’t even seem aware of his existence anymore and stood like statues, staring at the decapitated head of the blue-eyed ghoul.

  “They control them, the Blue Eyes,” the Old Man once told him. “The Black Eyes turn into mindless machines without them. Kill one, and you’ve essentially killed all of its soldiers.”

  That was what Wash was looking at now. Soldiers waiting for orders from a higher-up that would never come. The ones that were out there on their own could act independently, but once a Blue Eyes got involved, linked to their minds, they became another cog in the machine, incapable of autonomous thinking. If the black eyes could even think at all. Even after killing so many of them, Wash wasn’t so sure.

  For a moment, he didn’t have to do anything. Wash took advantage of that and put his blade away before picking the Kahr back up and swapping in a fresh magazine. A loud clack! as the gun’s slide snapped into place, and the nearest ghoul turned its head in his direction. Wash wasn’t sure if it even saw him. Maybe it just noticed the gun in his hand. Or maybe it smelled the silver in the magazine. He’d encountered ghouls before that could sense when silver was nearby.

  Wash shot the nearest creature in the chest, and even as it was falling, shot the other two. Bang-bang-bang, and it was over, leaving behind the echo of gunshots across the open fields. This part of Texas was almost as flat as the Oklahoma countryside he had passed to get down here, and he had a feeling those shots would be traveling for quite some time tonight.

  He turned around and shot the blue-eyed ghoul in the forehead, placing the round between its now-dull blue eyes. Any semblance of light drained completely from its black flesh, until he couldn’t even be sure he was looking at something that was once alive and not just the husk of a plastic mannequin.

  He hated to waste the bullets—especially now, without any more spares on him—and would have preferred to kill all four with the kukri. But he was too tired and in too much pain to believe he could get back up, and this was so much easier.

  Just this once, he allowed himself the luxury of taking the easier option.

  Wash glanced around and tried to find the Quarter Horse, but the animal was gone. It had taken off down the road in the direction they’d come, and he couldn’t see any evidence of it anywhere in the distance.

  Smart horse.

  “Smarter than you,” the Old Man said.

  Wash snickered. It wasn’t the Old Man’s real voice, just Wash’s mind making up the words the Old Man would have said.

  He wasn’t surprised the horse hadn’t come back. It wasn’t like he’d bonded with the animal over the last few days. The problem, of course, were those supply bags draped over the saddle. The extra ammo, the rifle, but maybe more importantly, the food.

  Wash put the gun down on the ground next to him and dug out the bottle of painkillers. At least he was smart enough to carry this on his person at all times. Just prying open the childproof cap took way too much effort, but eventually he got it loose and was able to shake out the last two of the white pills and swallow them down. He tossed the empty bottle.

  The meds weren’t going to do his aching side any good right away, but they would come through eventually. He’d know they had finally kicked in when he stopped seeing two copies of the headless blue-eyed ghoul, its now-black eyes staring accusingly back at him.

  You had it coming, bitch.

  He lay down on the ground and closed his eyes. It was dangerous, and there was no telling what else was out there, and he didn’t care. He kept his ears open for sounds of new incoming dangers, though, because he couldn’t rely on his sense of smell with the stink all around him.

  There was plenty of moonlight for Wash to see just how cloudless the sky was at the moment. For a brief second, he thought there was something up there—a black shape gliding from one side of his peripheral vision to the other. It might have been a bird, or a hawk, or a vulture. Or it might have even been metal. It looked metal. A plane, maybe? Was that a plane?

  Whatever it was, it was there and gone the next.

  Soon, all he could hear was the soft wind blowing across the flat Texas countryside, along with the tick-tick-tick-tick of the watch on his wrist. Four ticks. Exactly four ticks per second. Most people couldn’t discern the individual beats, but Wash could.

  Tick-tick-tick-tick.

  They were reminders that after all that had happened and everything he had lost, the end was still somewhere ahead of him, waiting for him.

  Tick-tick-tick-tick.

  It wasn’t over yet, but it would be, soon.

  Tick-tick-tick-tick…

  Tick-tick-tick-tick…

  Three

  The sun was being a real pain in the ass, but at least it kept him from freezing to death last night. It didn’t,
though, do much to help him alleviate the whole new universe of pain that came with morning.

  Should have stayed in Kanter 11. I bet they have plenty of cozy beds.

  Picking himself up from the ground took more effort than it should have. The urgency to abandon the stink of evaporated ghoul flesh lingering in the air like a swarm of locusts trying to get into his every orifice helped some. Not by a lot, but some.

  “Now that’s one hell of a visual, kid,” the Old Man said inside his head. “You’re a real poet when you want to be.”

  No, not the Old Man. You. You’re talking to yourself.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the Old Man laughing.

  You’re going crazy…but at least you’re still alive, even if you are surrounded by stinking ghoul bones.

  He’d forgotten how badly they smelled after the sunlight got ahold of them. No, forgotten wasn’t the right word. It was more that he’d gotten used to it. The stink. The sight of bleach-white bones under the exposed sun, as if someone had come along while he slept and chemically cleansed them.

  All of it was a reminder that he’d almost died last night, because he was too stubborn to turn and run.

  “Adapt or perish, kid, remember?” the Old Man said.

  I remember. I remember everything you taught me.

  “And here I thought you barely listened.”

  I always listened.

  “Always?”

  Always.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” the Old Man said.

  His stitches were still in place when he checked on them last night, and they, along with all the bruising across his skin, hadn’t gone anywhere this morning. In fact, they might have actually increased, showing up in places where they weren’t before.

  Dammit. Should have stayed in Kanter 11. Should have stayed with…

  “Ana?” the Old Man said.

  Yes. Ana. Should have stayed with Ana.

  “She wanted you to, kid.”

  I know.

  “You should have taken her up on her offer.”

  I couldn’t.

  “You mean you didn’t want to.”

  No, old timer. I couldn’t. Not yet.

  “Not until it’s done…”

  Yes. Not until it’s done.

  “Not until it’s done,” he said out loud to the empty road.

  Wait. The empty road? When had he gotten up and begun walking?

  Oh, who cares? I’m up. I’m up.

  The scenery hadn’t changed very much since he opened his eyes, sat up, and tried not to choke on the stink of evaporated ghoul flesh clinging to his clothes and skin. His legs were heavy, and he resisted the urge to stop and rest. Walking was the easy part, even if he didn’t know how he got started. Once he allowed himself to sit down, even for a second or two, he might not be able to summon the strength to stand back up and keep going. Right now, he still had the willpower to see this (“Insane?” the Old Man said.) journey through to the very end, even if he couldn’t quite imagine the finish—

  Something glinted in the distance.

  He stopped and stared for a moment, squinting his eyes against the midday sun.

  Wait. Midday? It’s midday?

  He glanced up at the sky and grimaced at the sea of brightness. How long had he been walking? Long enough that the giant white globe was at its highest point, meaning it had been hours. He was pretty sure there was still darkness when he regained consciousness, so he’d been on his feet and moving, nonstop, for at least five hours without realizing it.

  And there, the first trace of civilization since he lost his horse and almost died.

  “Your fault. You should have gone around it,” the Old Man said. “Or turned away and fled.”

  I’m not running from that bastard.

  “You’re not thinking smart, kid. Didn’t I tell you to always think with your brain and not your knives?”

  You taught me a lot of things. Good ol’ fashioned revenge was one of them.

  “Me and my big mouth,” the Old Man said.

  Wash honed in on the glinting object in the middle of nowhere. It was metallic—gray and shiny, reflecting back the rays of sunlight. Some kind of building rooftop, just barely visible in the distance. It wasn’t anywhere close to the road, but to the left of it—at least half a mile, but that was just a guess.

  “Remember last night?” the Old Man said. “Maybe you should keep going.”

  Maybe I should.

  He left the dirt trail and started walking toward the structure, unable to ignore the siren’s call of gleaming metal.

  “You dumb kid,” the Old Man said. “You dumb, dumb kid…”

  It was an old RV parked, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around it to suggest there was any reason why the driver would have chosen this spot to stop. The seemingly and completely arbitrary nature of it was what really struck Wash.

  The light tan color along the vehicle’s side had been heavily damaged by the sun over the years, but there was still enough color for Wash to make out striped patterns. It was lighter on top than it was at the bottom, which was almost dark brown. The word Journey, embossed on the back, greeted him as he approached. He had one palm resting on the grip of his holstered Kahr, just in case.

  There was a small staircase in the back that provided a path to the roof. For sightseeing? Repairs? For something. Wash had no experience with RVs. If working cars were hard to maintain after The Purge, a big gasoline-guzzler like this would be beyond most people’s abilities, and more importantly resources, to keep it running.

  There were no windows on the back, but plenty on the left side. The vehicle was huge, maybe just short of forty feet in length and raised high off the ground despite resting on flat tires, allowing wind to rush back and forth underneath its carriage. The windows were covered in grime, making it nearly impossible to see what was on the other side. The tinted glass didn’t help.

  Wash neared the large abandoned hunk of metal cautiously, slowly. Not that he could really move all that fast. All the walking hadn’t done him any favors, but at least most of his body had numbed over during the hours he still couldn’t recall. He was hurting—and that was going to last for a long while yet—but it wasn’t bad enough to stop him.

  The door on the left side of the RV was closed, but unlike the side windows, the security glass section near the top wasn’t as darkly tinted, allowing Wash to look in at an empty driver’s seat raised off the floor. He had already unconsciously slipped his right hand along the grip of the pistol at his hip, so it would take him precisely half a second to draw the weapon. If that. Wash was by no means 100 percent, but he didn’t have to be to pull and shoot.

  He stepped closer to the door and peered inside.

  There were no movements when he glanced left, toward the back of the vehicle. From his outside vantage point, he could see a sofa among the shade and the lowered curtains behind it. There were no hints of people or movement, though. Not that Wash believed it right away, every part of him wary of another trap.

  “Like last night?” the Old Man asked.

  I knew what I was doing last night.

  “Could have fooled me, kid.”

  Wash knocked on the door, the thunk-thunk-thunk of his rapping knuckles the only sound except for some slight breeze howling across the flat land behind him. That, and his slightly labored breathing. Why was he having so much trouble breathing?

  No one answered his knocks, and still nothing moved inside that he could see.

  Wash did it again, and waited. And watched.

  Thunk-thunk-thunk.

  More nothing.

  Thunk-thunk-thunk.

  Ten seconds…

  Thunk-thunk-thunk.

  Thirty…

  He took a step back and gave the door a long, hard look. It felt strong to the touch (and knocking) but wasn’t metal or wood. He guessed fiberglass. That was pretty tough, but not impossible to break down or pry—

&n
bsp; When he twisted the lever and pulled at the door, it opened without resistance.

  “Should have tried that first,” the Old Man laughed.

  Yeah, yeah.

  He hadn’t expected the door to just open for him, but maybe he should have. It was an old vehicle dumped in the middle of nowhere—literally in the middle of nowhere—so why wouldn’t it be abandoned and left unlocked? It made perfect sense.

  Didn’t it?

  He pulled the door open and took the first step up and inside, regretting it immediately.

  Wash blamed it on the lingering pain. That, and the relief of being alive after last night’s encounter, left him vulnerable and unable to take all the precautions necessary. But the truth was, he wasn’t thinking straight. And he definitely shouldn’t have just opened a door into a strange object and stepped right through it like an idiot.

  “Better luck next time,” the Old Man said about the same time something glanced off his left temple.

  Then he was falling sideways.

  Then backward.

  Then out of the RV.

  He slammed against the ground so hard that he thought he might have jarred a stitch or two (or a dozen) loose with the impact. The severe pain from last night that had numbed over this morning came roaring back with a vengeance, and it was all he could do to grit his teeth and not scream out.

  Or maybe he did let out a shriek, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped he didn’t, though. That would have been very unmanly.

  He was suddenly staring up at the sun and had forgotten all about the Kahr. He had a flash of something happening just before it did and was pretty certain he had gotten the pistol halfway out of its holster before he was struck on the side of the head.

  Not fast enough, as it turned out.

  He closed his eyes, trying to gather the strength just to breathe.

  In and out.

  In and out…

  He was only vaguely aware of a thrumming sensation slashing from the soles of his boots all the way up to the very top of his head. Keeping his eyes open was difficult, but he somehow managed it anyway, even as he heard footsteps (Clunk-clunk-clunk!) coming from somewhere nearby.