The Gates of Byzantium (Purge of Babylon, Book 2)

by Sam Sisavath

  “Island?” Maddie looked over at him. “What about an island?”

  “I bet an island could keep the ghouls out. Even better than a cabin or a mall could.”

  “Yeah, sure, but where would you find an island?”

  “Let me show you something,” Blaine said.

  *

  He found a ham radio in a Best Buy next to the Sortys, then grabbed a handful of new batteries from a rack near the cash registers. He made sure Gerry, Mason, and Lenny were nowhere to be found before he powered the ham radio up and hunted down the FEMA frequency.

  “What am I listening for?” Maddie asked.

  “Give it a minute,” Blaine said.

  He stopped fiddling with the dial when he heard the familiar female voice:

  “…Song Island on Beaufont Lake in Louisiana. We are broadcasting on the FEMA frequency to any survivors out there. We want you to know there is hope. There are survivors on Song Island. We have food, supplies, electricity, and protection against the darkness. If you are receiving this recorded message, we encourage you to make your way to us. I repeat: we have food, supplies, electricity, and protection against the darkness. Hello. If anyone can hear me out there. This is Song Island on Beaufont Lake in Louisiana. We are broadcasting on the FEMA frequency …”

  Blaine was watching Maddie’s expression the entire time, trying to gauge her reaction to the message. At first she looked confused by what she was hearing, but that quickly gave way to shock, followed by…hope?

  Or maybe he was reading her wrong. He was never particularly good at reading women. Sandra knew that firsthand.

  “Is it true?” Maddie asked, once the message started repeating itself.

  “To be honest, I don’t know,” Blaine said. “But if it is true…?”

  “What about the water? The ghouls can’t cross water?”

  “I don’t know that, either. But they’ve been on that island for months now, and they’re still out there.”

  “But you don’t know for sure,” Maddie insisted.

  “I don’t know anything for sure, no,” Blaine said. “I just know that this message has been repeating for months now. Every day, without fail.”

  “It could be on some kind of a loop.”

  “I’m sure it is. But the fact it’s running in a loop at all…”

  “Power,” Maddie said, the realization dawning on her. “They have power.”

  He could see it. He had her. Or he was close. “Exactly. They have a power source. You can’t run a radio tower without electricity.”

  “It could just be an emergency generator. We have them here, too.”

  “Sure, but to broadcast continuously, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for months now?”

  She nodded. “That’s a good point.” She went quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Then, “It would be nice to have power again. Plumbing. Running water…”

  “You could come with us,” he said.

  She looked up at him with genuine surprise. “Where? Song Island?”

  “Why not?” Sandra said. “You and Bobby. You wouldn’t have to do this anymore. I know this isn’t something you want to be doing for the rest of your life.”

  They didn’t have to be mind readers to know how Maddie felt about doing this forever. They could read it on her face.

  “Come with us,” Sandra said.

  Blaine was glad to let Sandra make the invitation. It wouldn’t have sounded nearly as believable or sincere coming from him, even if he did mean every word of it. He was never particularly good at playing the softy, either.

  “Bobby, too?” Maddie asked.

  “Yes, of course, Bobby, too,” Sandra said.

  Maddie nodded. But she didn’t answer right away.

  Blaine exchanged a quick look with Sandra. “We’re almost there.”

  “I need to talk to Bobby about this,” Maddie said.

  *

  It took her less than thirty minutes to talk to Bobby.

  Blaine took that as a good sign, though he could have been very, very wrong. Fatally wrong. But Blaine didn’t think he was. Still, the idea of putting his and Sandra’s fate in another person’s hands made him skittish. In those thirty minutes of waiting, he went through every possible scenario, most of them ending with him realizing, too late, that he had read Maddie wrong from the very beginning.

  By the time Maddie climbed back up to the rooftop of the Willowstone Mall where he was sitting with Sandra, it was two in the afternoon, and the sun was at its full force, blasting away at everything under it. Even inside the protective hazmat suits, Blaine could feel sweat dripping along his armpits and back.

  He heard sneakers crunching gravel and looked over as Maddie walked toward them. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t read the expression on her face. He wondered if she had gone to Mason and sold them out, or if he had cemented a new ally.

  God, don’t let me be wrong about her.

  “Did you talk to Bobby?” Blaine asked.

  “Yeah,” Maddie nodded.

  She paused and seemed to look off at the highway in the distance. He imagined she was trying to work her way up to something.

  Blaine exchanged a worried look with Sandra.

  Finally, Maddie said, “We’re going to have to kill Mason and the others, you know that, right?”

  Blaine nodded. He fully expected that. “Yeah, we know.”

  This time Maddie looked over at Sandra when she said, “Because he’s not going to let us go. Not without a fight. And if we leave him alive, he’ll come after us. Sooner or later, we’ll have to deal with him, and it might as well be now.”

  “We understand,” Sandra said. “How are we going to do this?”

  “Depending on when we leave, I’ve got a few ideas.”

  Blaine grinned at her. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you? How to take out Mason and the rest?”

  She grinned back at him. “Maybe.”

  He listened to her lay it out. It was a pretty good plan. He was right; it was obvious she had given it some thought even before they had shown up. The more he thought about it, turning it over in his head as they stood up there on the roof discussing it, the more Blaine was convinced it could work. All they really needed was a little bit of luck and some timing. And if push came to shove, it was four against three, so the odds were in their favor.

  It was a good plan.

  That is, it was a good plan, until Lenny decided to fuck everything up.

  CHAPTER 23

  WILL

  Marcus, the man who had showed up in the pontoon to pick them up, stood next to Debra, who drove the boat across Beaufont Lake and toward Song Island, still just a shimmering patch of land in the distance.

  The pontoon was seven and a half meters long and looked like a floating raft with four recliners someone had decided to tack on. Then, just for good measure, they had added an admiral’s high-back reclining chair in front of a steering wheel in the middle. Faded slick vinyl covered the chairs, and the floor matting made walking surprisingly unadventurous, even in boots.

  A three-inch heavy-duty deck rub rail with impact bumpers surrounded the boat, and there was just enough space to squeeze everyone inside, though it was a tight fit. Of course, it didn’t help that they brought two crates of supplies with them. On the plus side, the crates became impromptu seats. They also carried their personal items in backpacks, along with two heavy duffel bags—one for weapons and the other for ammo. It wasn’t everything they had, but it was all they could fit and still bring everyone on the first trip. Will was wary about leaving anyone behind.

  The pontoon moved along at a steady clip, powered by a V8 battery that was amazingly quiet. Will remembered going fishing with Marker, his former Harris County SWAT commander, and how Marker’s aging boat’s motor sputtered plumes of smoke and leaked gasoline before it even made it out onto the water. Compared to that trip, the pontoon ran like a dream.

  As they neared their dest
ination, Will eyeballed Song Island at about one kilometer long. He had no idea about its width, given that they were approaching it from just one direction. The lighthouse/radio tower sprouted from the eastern side—possibly northeast—and not from the center as he had thought when he had first seen it through the binoculars. He guessed the eastern section was also where the survivors congregated, and probably where the main buildings were located. Thick jungle foliage covered nearly the entire western half.

  Tall, glinting objects encircled the slightly jagged, oval-shaped outline of the island. Using his binoculars, he picked up an impressive array of solar panels, held in place by long, thin steel poles reaching almost as high as the trees. From a distance, they looked like flagpoles with shiny metal boards on top, soaking up the sun’s rays in crystalline cells. He could only see one side of the island, but it was clear the fence of panels extended entirely around. He did quick calculations in his head, using his guess of the island’s width and length, and came up with…a hell of a lot of solar panels.

  Will lowered the binoculars. He stood at the front with Lara and Carly, and the girls sat on opposite sides of the reclining seats. His M4A1 was slung over his shoulder, something that neither Marcus nor Debra had objected to before they had boarded the pontoon boat.

  Marcus and Debra had shown up at the marina less than an hour after they had arrived. Their vehicles had been spotted coming down the road by a watcher in what Marcus called the Tower—the combination radio tower and lighthouse. From the Tower, you could apparently see the shoreline along the western cove of Beaufont Lake.

  “How many people are on the island?” Will asked.

  “Eleven,” Marcus said. “Well, nineteen now, counting you folks.”

  The six-foot-tall Marcus, in his khaki shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and sandals, looked like a yuppie who had wandered too far from his natural habitat, the big city. His blond hair and blue eyes were incongruous against overly tanned skin. Marcus was in his thirties, and Will had thought stockbroker the first time he had seen the man riding up to the marina in the pontoon.

  Debra had similarly tanned features, though she looked like she actually belonged out here on the water. Shorter than Marcus by about half a foot, she was also wearing sandals and shorts, along with a loose-fitting T-shirt. Debra had a lean face, not exactly unattractive, but she was far from either Carly or Lara or the girl, Gaby. Rough hands that clearly spent a lot of time working outdoors guided the boat’s steering wheel with confidence. Frankly, she looked like the type of person a guy like Marcus would hire for a few days to take him fishing on her boat.

  Neither Marcus nor Debra were armed, though Will glimpsed the barrel of a revolver in the slot under the boat’s steering wheel, within easy reach for Debra. Marcus had been all smiles as the two of them had drifted up the inlet. It occurred to Will that smiling was something Marcus did well. Like breathing.

  “Eight more people is a lot,” Will said. “Is adding that many to the island in such a short time going to cause problems?”

  “I don’t see why it would,” Marcus said. “There’s plenty of room and plenty of food. Plenty of fish in the lake around us, too. You guys like fish?”

  “I like fish,” Danny said.

  Danny stood in the back of the boat with Josh and Gaby. His M4A1 was slung over his shoulder. The fact that he was back there and Will was up front was no accident. If either Marcus or Debra noticed, they hadn’t said a word.

  “Can you fish?” Marcus asked Danny.

  “You didn’t say I actually had to catch my own fish,” Danny said.

  Marcus laughed. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of people who don’t mind reeling in your share. Debra here’s one. It’s not like there’s a lot to do on the island. You can only explore it so many times before you run out of room.”

  “Free food without having to work for it? This sounds like my dream job.”

  “Why aren’t you armed?” Will asked Marcus.

  Marcus smiled at him. Apparently he had been anticipating the question. “We have guns on the island, of course, but we don’t carry them around. There’s no need.”

  “What about the creatures?”

  “We don’t have to worry about them, either.”

  “Is it the water?” Lara asked.

  “Something in the water, yeah,” Marcus nodded. “I can’t tell you what exactly, not my department. But it’s like the sun to them. For some reason, they don’t go anywhere near it.”

  “Do you see them at night?” Carly asked.

  “Along the shores, yeah,” Marcus said. “But you’d need binoculars. We’re too far from land to see anything with the naked eye, especially in the dead of night. You can see most everything that happens on this side of the lake from the Tower, including anyone approaching the marina.”

  “That’s where the radio signal is coming from?” Lara asked.

  “I think they were planning to run their own radio station. I have no idea.”

  “Whose idea was it to use the FEMA frequency?” Will asked.

  “Karen’s. Most of this is Karen’s idea. I guess you could say she’s our fearless leader.”

  “Welcome to Song Island,” Debra announced, pulling back slightly on the throttle until they were drifting, carried forward by their momentum.

  Up close, the island looked much bigger. It was still around one kilometer long, give or take, but there was enough foliage, vegetation, trees, and sandy beaches to give it the impression of being a much more expansive place. The solar panels also looked more prominent, each collection tray raised at least ten meters high. And he was right the first time—the solar panels wrapped completely around the island, like a string necklace.

  “What’s the story behind the solar panels?” Will asked.

  “A company called Kilbrew Resorts bought Song Island about six years ago,” Marcus said. “They were going to turn it into a private island for rich people, powered exclusively by solar and wind power. It was supposed to be a paradise for the environmentally-conscious. You know, get the hippie rich people from the cities someplace to play and let them leave with a clear conscience, all that good stuff. Unfortunately, they never got around to installing the wind component, but they did finish most of the solar installations.”

  “Is that how you’re powering the radio tower?” Lara asked.

  “It uses very little energy to broadcast,” Marcus said. “The rest of the power goes to the rooms in the main resort buildings. We have more than enough left over for other things like TV, DVD players. The little things that make life worth living.”

  “You guys get cable, too?” Danny asked.

  “They’re installing it next week,” Marcus said, playing along.

  “NFL network?”

  “That’s extra, so no.”

  “Bummer.”

  “You mean there are finished rooms on the island?” Carly asked.

  “Finished-ish, I guess you’d say,” Marcus said.

  “But roofs and walls and the like?” Carly pressed.

  “Most of them, yeah. I think you’ll like it here.”

  “Docking,” Debra announced.

  Debra had slowed the pontoon down almost to a crawl as they approached one of three piers sticking out of the island like wooden fingers. The piers were along one end of a clear, sandy white beach. There were already five other boats tied up, including two more pontoons and three fishing boats of different sizes and varieties.

  A young man in his early twenties jogged along one of the piers in cargo pants and an LSU Tigers football jersey. He waved them over, and Debra slowly sidled the pontoon alongside him.

  “That’s Berg,” Marcus said. “He was already at the marina when everything went to hell. Came to the island with us and hasn’t stepped foot off the place since. I don’t think he wants to, either.”

  “Smart kid,” Danny said. “Why go out and fight monsters when you can sit here on the sandy beaches and fight crabs? Though I hear those can be pre
tty dangerous, too.”

  “You’re thinking of the wrong kind of crabs, babe,” Carly smiled.

  “Never mind, then.”

  Berg, like Marcus and Debra, had dark, tanned skin from too much exposure to the sun. He grabbed a rope Marcus tossed over, the other end already tied around a metal cleat on top of the pontoon’s gunwale. Berg pulled the boat over the last few meters, then tied it into place around a metal anchor.

  “You’re good,” Berg said. Then he looked over at Lara and Carly and grinned, flashing crooked and slightly yellowing teeth. “Hey, ladies, welcome to Song Island.”

  Watch it, kid, I’m armed and you’re not.

  *

  They piled out of the pontoon and walked up the middle pier, Will using the time it took to travel from one end to the other to familiarize himself with his new surroundings.

  The beach went on for quite a long stretch, taking up a good section of the southern side of the island, until it was abruptly cut off by encroaching trees and grass on both ends. There was enough sand and beach here to make for a very decent resort, which was probably why someone had spent a lot of money to do just that. The trees grew tall, providing plenty of shade, and the bushes were thick. The lake was invitingly blue, and he saw fish breaking the surface around them.

  Behind the woods, he saw the looming structure Marcus called the Tower. It looked very much like a lighthouse, with a fat, cylindrical bottom that extended upwards, getting smaller as it neared the top. Will guessed it had to be about forty meters high, which made it taller than your average lighthouse. The height also made it a brilliant perch to see in every direction. Will saw two sets of windows, one near the top and a second set near the middle, which told him the Tower had at least three floors, not counting the unfinished section at the very top. There was supposed to be a glass housing up there, along with a revolving beacon that was never installed.

  Marcus led the way up the pier, while Debra and Berg busied themselves with the pontoon behind them. Danny was all the way in the back, as planned. Will carried the heavy duffel bag holding half of their weapons and ammo. Danny carried the other half. He was surprised by how little interest Marcus and Debra had paid to what they were bringing on board the pontoon with them, almost as if they expected a level of paranoia from their visitors.