by Sam Sisavath
*
The next time he woke up, he felt cold, hard floor underneath him. He was getting some feeling back, which meant the thrumming pain coursing through every inch of his body, from head to toe, was worse. Much worse. He wanted to call Rick over and demand those refills he had been promised, but when he tried to open his mouth, the only thing he heard was air escaping his lips. Very, very soft air. Even breathing was difficult.
At least the sticky sensation he had felt all over his body from earlier was gone. He guessed that was because his blood had (mostly) dried since he last woke up. Given how much he was bleeding after the highway, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were parts of him still leaking plasma.
“Your job is to keep him alive for another three hours,” Mason had said.
Three hours.
Three hours until what? He should know this. It was right there, at the tip of his very dry tongue—
Wait. How much time had he lost since the last time he was awake? Hopefully not too much. That would make escaping difficult if it was—
Night.
It was dark outside the glass windows, the blackness overwhelming everything, including the long stretch of interstate road and the…
Eyes. Black eyes, like endless oceans of tar looking through the tall panes of glass back at him.
Ghouls.
A lot of them. Hundreds. Thousands.
So many that the parking lot outside (A gas station? Was he in another gas station? Christ, how many of these places were there along the highway?) was carpeted with them—a sea of pruned flesh swaying against one another. They were deathly silent, as if biding their time, waiting for something.
He expected them to attack the store at any moment, to smash their limbs and skulls against the glass to try to bash their way in like rabid dogs. But they didn’t assault the store. In fact, they hardly moved at all.
Movement.
He wasn’t alone inside. A pair of camo print uniforms shifted in the darkness in front of him. Two men, their backs to him, the barrels of their rifles outlined against the moonlight pouring into the front half of the store. There were shelves to the left of him and the counter along with an abandoned cash register to the right.
Weapons. He needed weapons.
If the soldiers knew he was awake, they didn’t show it. Or seem to care. And why should they? He only had to look down to see that his hands were bound with zip ties, as were his ankles. Again. This was becoming the worst kind of déjà vu.
His head continued to throb, and for some reason both his palms were tingling. Oh, of course. When he was flying down the interstate, he had stuck out his hands to slow his slide. That hadn’t exactly been the smartest thing he had ever done in his life. As a result, the skin was torn and bleeding, though someone had since treated the flesh and wrapped gauze tape around both hands.
He could just barely make out the stark whiteness of the bandages wrapped around him, and since he wasn’t bleeding to death at the moment, he guessed there was more around his waist under his blood-covered shirt. Bandages clung to his temples and cheeks, which he was grateful for, even though he had no interest in seeing himself at the moment. What must he look like, he wondered. Maybe a mummy, only less capable at the moment.
One of the men finally turned around. He was older than Mason, with specks of white in his hair. “Welcome back,” the man said.
Will recognized the voice: Rick.
My savior.
“Well, shit, Rick, if you can’t keep him alive, then what the hell am I dragging you around for?” Mason had said.
My reluctant savior.
“Didn’t think you were going to be awake to see this,” Rick was saying. “You’re lucky I did a stint as a paramedic, otherwise you’d have definitely bled to death.” He looked almost sorry for Will when he added, “Of course, it might have been better for you if you couldn’t see this.”
“See what?” Will said. Or thought he did. He might have just croaked the words out. He swallowed and tried again. “See what?”
“She’s coming for you, kid. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”
He did.
She.
There was only one “she” that continued to plague him since The Purge. He knew all about her, all right.
“As sorry as I am about what’s going to happen to you, I’m anxious to see it for myself,” Rick said. “I’ve never seen them before, you know. The blue-eyed ones.”
“Me neither,” the other one said. He was sitting much closer to the twin glass doors of the store, his face partially lit by the moonlight. He was younger than Rick, even younger than Will, and there was an eagerness on his face that defied logic.
Didn’t this man know there were monsters outside the windows?
“I’ve heard stories,” the man added, “but I didn’t think they actually existed. Especially her. I’ve heard them talking about her. She’s…different, they say.”
You have no idea, buddy. No idea at all.
Will looked past them and out the windows, at the mass of black-eyed creatures. They looked like gargoyles, unmoving and watchful. Except he knew they weren’t made of stone; far from it. They were very real and alive (-ish), and he kept waiting for them to spring to life.
Any moment now…
“They’re not coming in,” Rick said. He had apparently seen where Will was looking. “The doors aren’t even locked. There’s nothing to stop them from coming in if they want to, but they won’t.”
“Why?” Will asked. His voice sounded better to his own ears, if a little too gravelly. What he wouldn’t do for a little water.
“Because we’re in here,” Rick said.
“It’s the uniforms,” the other man said.
“You’re just guessing.”
“What else could it be?”
He’s right. It has to be the uniforms. They recognize them. Or the patches on them. Or…something.
But they know. Somehow, they recognize allies from foes.
Dead, not stupid, remember?
“What did you do?” the young one asked, eyeing Will curiously across the semidarkness of the room. Will couldn’t quite make out the name on his shirt. Something starting with the letter “M.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Will said.
“You must have done something. I’ve never seen this before, or heard of it happening.”
“I did what I had to in order to survive.”
“Yeah, a lot of that going around,” M-something said before turning back to the windows.
“That’s it?” Rick said. He was apparently less satisfied with Will’s answer as M-something had been. “There has to be more than that. What aren’t you telling us?”
“Ask Mason,” Will said.
Rick’s face soured at the sound of Mason’s name. “He doesn’t tell us much.”
“Then ask Josh.”
“Josh? Who is Josh?”
Will stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if the man was lying. Either Rick was the world’s best actor, or he didn’t have a clue who Josh was.
“Never mind,” Will said.
Rick shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. Keep your secrets, dead man.”
Will leaned back against the cold brick wall and took in the room around him again. The silhouetted store shelves to his left, the boxes of food and candy on the floor—some crushed, others spoiled, which explained the strange smell. The counter to his right, with the heavy cash register on top. Cigarettes in the back. Square-shaped paper (Money?) littering the floor around him. In front of him was Rick and M-something, and on the other side of them…
How many were out there right now?
Too many. Always too damn many.
Those sea of eyes staring back at him, as if they could bore into his soul, made him shiver slightly. He wanted to think it was because of the drop in temperature, but of course he knew better.
Weapons. I need weapons.
He didn�
�t have to look far for those. Rick, who was less than a meter away with his back turned invitingly to him, had an M4 in a sling. He couldn’t be sure what M-something was holding, but it looked like another carbine. He needed one of those in the worst way.
But then there were the ghouls outside. If they weren’t coming in now, would they act differently once he killed the two soldiers? Somehow, the creatures had interpreted the two men as allies (Dead, not stupid), so what would they do if he attacked them? Would they come in to help?
“The doors aren’t even locked.”
Or would they stay back because they were ordered to?
Ordered? By whom?
Oh, don’t be an idiot. You know damn well the answer to that question.
Of course, for any of this to work he’d have to kill Rick, take his rifle, then kill M-something with it. That was going to be difficult since he could barely move, and it wasn’t just because of the restraints. His body was sore and numb, and just moving his head was painful. How the hell was he going to take out Rick—
“Will.”
He might have stopped breathing at the sound of the voice.
He looked around him, expecting to see its owner in the darkness, but there was nothing, because the voice was coming from inside his head.
“Will,” it said again. Louder and clearer, as if it were right next to him.
He watched Rick and M-something just to be sure, but neither man had reacted.
Because they couldn’t hear the voice.
It was all in his head.
Was he imagining it? Was he going crazy—
“No, Will, you’re not.”
Kate.
“Yes.”
He looked quickly to the ghouls outside the gas station, but they hadn’t moved at all. The cluster of frail forms was still pressed against one another like good soldiers. Waiting for orders. Waiting…for her.
Kate.
“I’m coming, Will,” she said, her voice like a lovely melody inside his head. “I’ll be there soon…”
BOOK TWO
‡
THE GUNS OF SONG ISLAND
CHAPTER 12
LARA
As she moved through the Trident for the second time, Keo’s words from last night kept echoing inside her head:
“Regardless of how many times you push them back, delay them, or repel a full-on frontal assault. You can’t do it forever. Sooner or later, if they want this island bad enough, they’ll get it. And when that happens, a lot of people will die.”
She had resisted it at first, but she knew he was right. She had always known. Even when Will and Danny finally returned, how long could they possible keep Song Island afloat? Sooner or later, Kate was going to throw more men at them. Even if they fought back one wave, what about the next? Or the one after that?
Kate had soldiers. Maybe not authentic soldiers, but they were real enough when you gave them assault rifles and pointed them at a target. Anyone could squeeze a trigger. She knew that personally, as did everyone else on the island at the moment. Bonnie, Jo, Gwen, Carly…and her. It didn’t take a lot of skill to storm an island, especially one that didn’t (couldn’t) move. You just needed manpower. And that was something the enemy had an abundance of.
Which was why she had wanted the yacht when she first laid eyes on it last night. Her mind had swirled with possibilities then, and it still did now. Was this what it was like to be Will? Always trying to think of the next move before the bad guys did?
This would be easier if you were here with me, Will. So what the hell’s taking you so long?
She was inside the dining room on the main deck of the Trident when she heard a boat cruising by outside. She didn’t have to look out one of the windows to know who it was.
Keo. Leaving.
Dammit.
Her best-case scenario had been to keep him around, even after Will and Danny came back. With Danny in the Tower with the ACOG-mounted rifle and Will and Keo on the beach organizing the defense, they could have held out for a while.
But not forever. Never forever.
“Sooner or later, if they want this island bad enough, they’ll get it. And when that happens, a lot of people will die.”
He was right from day one. As much as she wanted him to be wrong, she knew he wasn’t.
The trick is to keep everyone alive. So how do I do that? Can I do that? Or am I staring down the barrel of inevitability?
Wow, that was almost poetic, Lara. You should write a poem.
The squawking radio snapped her out of her thoughts. Carly, watching from the Tower. “There he goes, boss lady. We should have thrown Bonnie at him. She would have totally been able to convince him to stay.”
Lara smiled and said into the radio, “You know Bonnie’s listening to this, right?”
“Oops.”
“No, no, I would have done it,” Bonnie said through the radio. “Take one for the team, as it were.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to, Bonnie.”
“You wouldn’t have had to. But I don’t think he would have gone for it, anyway. It sounds like he’s loyal to the girlfriend.”
“Wow, a faithful boyfriend,” Carly said. “Wonder what that’s like.”
“Oh, give it a rest,” Lara said. “Yours is coming home right now.”
“Speaking of which, when are they supposed to radio back? It’s past noon, and I keep looking at the radio and it refuses to make a sound. Stupid radio. Are you sure it’s not broken?”
“It’s fine. They’ll radio when they’re closer.”
“How are you so calm?”
Because I don’t have a choice. If I think about Will, I’ll just end up paralyzed with worry. Because I love him. Because I can’t imagine life without him. Because I’m afraid he’ll never come back to me and that possibility terrifies me, and right now, I can’t afford to be terrified.
“Relax,” she said. “They’ll be here. Until then, keep your eyes on the lake. You see someone in a uniform, you shoot him.”
“They’ll have to come pretty close,” Carly said. “I’m not exactly Annie Oakley up here.”
“Hey, guys?” Maddie said, cutting into the conversation. “Sorry to break up the girl talk, but there’s something you have to see down here, Lara.”
“Where are you?” Lara asked.
“The swimming area on the lower deck.”
“I’m on my way.”
Lara cut through the fancy dining room to reach the back of the boat sooner. She hadn’t expected to find something like it onboard, but then she’d never been on a luxury yacht before. The more she explored, the more possibilities she saw. There were so many rooms and spaces that could be put to other uses. It could work, she thought, with enough time and preparation. She just had to make a decision.
Because they’ll do what I tell them. God help me, they’ll actually do what I tell them.
She climbed down the rung of stairs at the rear of the boat and hopped the last few feet to the lower deck. Maddie was waiting for her with her hands on her hips.
“What is it?” Lara asked, walking over.
“We’re not alone,” Maddie said. “Keo was right. There’s someone else still on the boat.”
“How do you know?”
Maddie pointed at a pair of shoe prints on the all-white deck. Lara didn’t know what she was supposed to see. There were a lot of prints, which made sense since she, Maddie, and the others had been coming and going all morning.
“What about them?” Lara said.
“They’re not ours, Lara.”
“How can you tell?”
“We’re all wearing boots. Those are tennis shoes.”
Lara stared again, but she couldn’t tell the difference. “Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent,” Maddie nodded.
Lara instinctively put her right hand over her holstered sidearm and looked back at the two decks above and behind them. “How long ago?”
“I just notic
ed them now, but they look pretty fresh. They weren’t here when we came back earlier. That means whoever it was, he was checking out our boat. Maybe looking for a way off.”
“Just one pair of prints?”
“Just the one.”
Lara unclipped her radio and keyed it. “Blaine, where are you?”
“I’m still on the bridge,” Blaine answered. “What’s wrong?”
“It looks like that eighth guy exists after all.”
“Figures,” Blaine said. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’m heading back to the island with Maddie, then I’m sending her back over with Roy. Until then, I want you to lock the bridge door. Don’t open it for anyone until we have more men onboard to take this boat apart floor by floor.”
“Roger that.”
Lara looked into the deck behind them. The windows weren’t tinted enough to hide the rooms on the other side, but she had discovered for herself that the Trident was deceptively larger in person than it appeared on the outside. There were too many rooms, too many hallways, and too many corners to hide in.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she whispered softly to herself.
*
Gage, the “captain” of the Trident, looked healthy for a man who had just been shot in the kneecap with his own gun less than twenty-four hours ago. He sat on one of the beds they had repurposed from the unused hotel rooms and put into the makeshift infirmary. He was still wearing the same clothes from last night, though one of his pant legs had been cut away to treat his wound.
Zoe looked over from the counter where she was scribbling on a notepad when Lara knocked on the open door. Benny, who sat guard across from Gage, looked up before quickly turning off the PlayStation Vita portable gaming console in his hands. One of the benefits of the island was the electronic devices. They didn’t have the Internet anymore, of course, but laptops and computers (and the games on them) were still useable.
Lara pretended she didn’t see Benny scrambling to put the PS Vita away and said to Zoe, “How is he, doc?”
“See for yourself,” Zoe said. She swiveled around in her stool. “Stan’s making him one of those leg braces like Benny’s. Once he has that, our fair captain should be up and marauding again in a few days. He’ll just be a lot more gimpy, that’s all.”
