Road to Babylon (Book 8): Daybreak

by Sisavath, Sam

  So where was that sliver now? He was looking, but he couldn’t see it.

  But it had to be there.

  Somewhere.

  Another crack! from behind him.

  He glanced back. He couldn’t see it with the cabinet in the way, but he was pretty sure a piece of glass had fallen loose. That was one piece down, and how many left? That would probably depend on—

  The first pop! made Keo jump slightly.

  Gunshot. That was a gunshot!

  One became two, then three. Those were followed by a half dozen as the pop-pop-pop of a semiautomatic rifle fired in quick succession.

  Keo ducked as something struck the door from the other side and punched its way through the metal material.

  A bullet zipped past his head about two feet to the left side and pekked! against the back of the office.

  He stood up, the thought Christ, that was close running through his head when he heard the ping-ping! of two more shots striking the file cabinet almost directly in front of him. Before he could react, two more rounds zip-zipped! past his head.

  Keo jumped down to the floor a little too late, landing on his chest. His breath was pounding when he looked up—

  Geronimo! Keo thought as he rolled away quickly.

  The filing cabinet slammed into the floor next to him, drawers banging open and sending their contents across the office around him. The bullets had penetrated the door, struck the cabinet, and sent it tumbling down almost on top of him.

  Keo stared for a second or two at one of the open drawers six inches from his face. There were two holes just above the handle. That’d been close. Too close.

  Then, the door!

  Keo pushed up from the floor and surveyed the damage, ready to run forward and use his body to defend the door now that the cabinet was on the ground.

  But he didn’t have to.

  The glass part of the door was still intact, and he could see shadowed movements on the other side, but the ghouls had stopped attacking it.

  Why? Why had they stopped?

  His answer came in the form of renewed gunfire, the pop-pop-pop of semiautomatic rifles going off outside. The gunshots sounded much louder—more echoey—than normal because they were coming from inside the steel-encased warehouse. Each shot was like a hammer striking those heavy machines outside.

  Keo rushed forward and slid up against the wall next to the door. He took the opportunity to catch his breath even as the pop-pop-pop of rifle fire continued.

  Someone was shooting out there. More than someone—someones. There had to be at least two rifles taking turns firing. Possibly more than two. However many there were, they were drawing attention away from him because he couldn’t glimpse shadowed ghoul forms outside the window anymore.

  Yay for me.

  He pressed tighter against the cold wall, feeling a lot safer now that he had concrete blocks at his back. Stray bullets were going to have a little more difficulty penetrating the wall than they had with the metal door and file cabinet.

  Keo thought he could hear voices—shouting—but couldn’t be sure. He had no difficulty continuing to pick up the gunfire, though. Rifles and handguns. It was easy to tell the two apart. Sure signs he was listening to at least two individuals engaging the ghouls outside, since it would have been idiotic for one person to use both a handgun and rifle at the same time. Not that it was impossible, just unlikely.

  So the question was: Who was out there?

  The other question was: Did he care?

  No. The answer was no, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that they had drawn the ghouls away from him. No surprise there. Given another, easier option to satisfy their urges—like people in the warehouse not hiding behind a door—the creatures always chose the quickest path. They were simple beings that way, God bless their dark dead souls.

  Not that it kept Keo from wondering who was out there and why they’d fired on the ghouls in the first place. Maybe they hadn’t intended to but came under attack and were defending themselves. He hadn’t seen other survivors in Paxton when he’d ridden through it the first time and hadn’t spotted any when he was fleeing down its streets earlier tonight.

  So who were these people?

  And again, did he care?

  Nope. I definitely don’t care.

  So he stayed where he was, safe behind his thick walls, and listened to the continued gunfire outside.

  “No meandering. Get there, get what you need, and come home. Got it?” Lara had said before he left the ranch on his journey.

  I’m working on it, babe, Keo thought. I’m working on it.

  It’d been almost fifteen minutes since the first gunshot drew the ghouls away from the office and whatever was happening out there had apparently run its course. Keo couldn’t pick up anything. There was no more gunfire, no voices; nothing that even remotely hinted at any sort of activity.

  Was it just him in the warehouse now? If so, that was good. Anything that didn’t include a horde of ghouls banging on his door trying to make their way in to feast on him was a major improvement on his situation. Sure, it was selfish, because whoever was running around out there had probably (Probably? Let’s go with definitely.) saved his life whether they meant to or not. It was unlikely they’d done it on purpose; Keo had a hard time imagining survivors deciding to put themselves in harm’s way for a perfect stranger.

  Was it possible? Yes, but these days, highly unlikely.

  He kept listening just in case the creatures came back. All it would have taken was one of them to get curious. Once a black eyes spotted you, the rest would, too. When he’d killed that first one in the warehouse, the rest came running. The creatures shared a hive mind, a kind of supernatural psychic link. Ten years ago Keo would have scoffed at such a silly thing, but that was ten years ago.

  So he had to make absolutely sure there wasn’t something out there waiting for him to do something really stupid, like poke his head out.

  Five more minutes passed.

  Then five more…

  It was two minutes past seven in the evening when Keo finally peeled himself from the safety of the wall and moved toward the door. He skirted the rusted end of the fallen filing cabinet and peeked out through the dozen or so cracks in the window. The bullet holes in the door were too small to get a good look.

  There were patches of skin and black sludge across the glass pane, left behind by the ghouls that hadn’t cared they were harming themselves or not as they pounded away. There were glass fragments on the floor next to his boots. A piece here, another there. Small ones, but they would have become big ones eventually had the creatures continued their assault.

  More importantly, there was nothing out there for him to find. Zilch. A big fat zero. There was nothing moving among the shadows or around the machines. No voices that he could detect and absolutely nothing that sounded like sentient things—undead or otherwise—waiting for him on the other side.

  It was almost too good to be true. Could he really be this lucky?

  Maybe I’m due for some luck.

  Despite every evidence of an “all clear,” the smart move was to remain inside the office. He could pick the filing cabinet back up and even add the desk to the barricade because the glass panel wasn’t going to last much longer. Those two things would be more than enough to keep the ghouls out even if the window eventually gave if the assault resumed. He’d seen less sturdy barricades keep ghouls out before.

  He checked his watch again. 7:12 p.m.

  Twelve more hours to go before morning. Twelve friggin’ more hours to go.

  Keo ran the scenarios around in his head. It was crazy to go out there. Only an idiot would leave the sanctuary of the office if he didn’t have to, and Keo wasn’t an idiot. He was safe in here. There was no telling how long that would last, yeah, but for now he didn’t have to worry about fighting for his life.

  He stiffened slightly and leaned toward the door when he heard it: The renewed but noticeably much fai
nter pop-pop-pop of gunfire.

  They were back. So his saviors were still alive, after all.

  Each gunshot had the fading quality of wet firecrackers. Telltale signs that they were coming from not just outside the warehouse but farther down the Paxton street. He could just barely make them out, and there wasn’t the same intensity or urgency as before.

  Keo peeked out the square glass frame again. Shadows and darkness stared back at him. That was good. Shadows and darkness were better than lifeless hollow eyes and glinting domed heads on top of pruned shoulders. Anything was better than those things. There were enough shafts of moonlight to give him a good look at the immediate area, including all the machine sentries that covered the place.

  Then, like a lightning bolt, the realization that there were no bodies outside.

  There are no bodies. Where are all the bodies?

  There weren’t any, not even a single dead ghoul. Whoever was out there had fired a lot of bullets at the creatures, and some of those bullets were inside the office with Keo now. So how could they have missed everything…

  …unless they hadn’t.

  They’re not using silver bullets.

  Why the hell are they running around out here at night without silver bullets? Who does that?

  He listened to the continued faint pop-pop-pop coming from some other part of Paxton. The poor, dumb bastards. They were toast. There were no two ways about it. It was just a matter of time before they ran out of ammo.

  And when the ghouls were done with them, they might turn their attention back to him. Would they remember he was back here and come to finish what they had started? Could he really take the chance?

  If not, what were his options? Go out there and find another hiding spot and hope for the best? That was the only thing he could think of. But what if he couldn’t find a better replacement than this office? What if—

  The supply bags.

  He’d forgotten about them. There was just one in particular that he cared about. The backpack. It was what he’d gone to Galveston for in the first place. It was also the whole reason he was out here. Nothing else mattered if he made it back to the ranch without it. Nothing.

  The bag. Dammit, the bag.

  He’d forgotten all about it. It was on Mirabelle when the horse got taken out from underneath him. He’d been running for his life all night that it’d slipped his mind he’d left it behind.

  How had that happened? He didn’t know, but now that he remembered, he couldn’t think about anything else. Because the contents of that bag were everything. Everything.

  And it was still out there, somewhere…

  Four

  How far away had he left Mirabelle? Two blocks? Three? He didn’t know. He only had a vague recollection of houses and stores and buildings flashing by as he ran for his life. Nothing had mattered except getting out of the streets and finding a place to hide. Then the warehouse popped up out of nowhere, its smooth metal siding standing out against the mostly dark and not-at-all-inviting structures.

  The horse was somewhere back down the street. That was all he knew. Thank God Paxton wasn’t a big city. It had multiple streets and plenty of side alleys, but it wouldn’t be hard to stick to the main one and returned to the scene of the crime. He’d know when he got there when he found Mirabelle’s corpse. Or what was left of Bunker’s horse.

  He’s definitely going to be pissed off about losing the Appaloosa.

  But Keo would worry about Bunker’s wrath later. Right now, he needed to retrieve that pack. Without it, he might as well lie down and let the ghouls finish him off. And that wasn’t going to happen. No way, no how.

  The warehouse remained quiet around him, which was exactly what he wanted. He could still make out the sporadic pop of gunfire in the distance, but they were much more infrequent now. Either the fight was winding down, or—

  No, there was no or about it. Keo’s saviors hadn’t been smart enough to move around at night with silver-tipped ammo, and it was a mistake they were quickly regretting. He wondered if they were locals, or if, like him, they’d stumbled across this ghouls’ nest and quickly gotten in over their heads. The fact that he could still hear shooting meant they hadn’t found a suitable place to take refuge in yet; otherwise they wouldn’t need to defend themselves with bullets.

  Bullet casings on the floor glinted against strays of moonlight as Keo stepped around them. One, two—a dozen. More were wedged against the edges of the warehouse’s machines, all of it leading right toward the front doors. That was all the reason Keo needed to turn left.

  “Keep your eye on the ball, and hit ’em where they ain’t,” as Willie Keeler once said. Right now where they ain’t was any direction that didn’t have ghouls waiting to say Boo! to him.

  He hadn’t found a rear exit the last time he was here, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He just hadn’t had time to search every inch of the area. Because there had to be another way in and out of the building. Didn’t there?

  Keo picked his way carefully around the bulky objects that adorned the place like Christmas decorations. He imagined the warehouse would look very different in the daylight, but he didn’t fancy being stuck here to find out hours from now.

  The gunfire had all but stopped—there was a single, barely-audible pop, then nothing for a good three or so minutes afterward—when Keo finally (Aha!) located the back door he was sure was there. It was made of steel like the one back at the office and was all the way near the left side corner of the warehouse, which was an odd spot to put a door. Wouldn’t the middle be more convenient? Apparently, someone had thought differently.

  The lever moved when he tried it, pushing the door open slightly. Keo peeked outside, knife in one hand, ready for a pair (or more) of black eyes to scowl back at him from the darkness. Instead, there was just a big blue dumpster that looked as if it had survived a nuclear blast. Keo couldn’t tell where the peeling blue paint ended and the black and brown (and other colored spots) began.

  Paxton had gone deathly silent outside, which was both comforting and alarming. The lack of gunfire convinced him the fight between his saviors and the ghoul horde was over, but it didn’t definitely answer the question of who had won. Because someone had definitely won.

  Or something had, anyway.

  But that wasn’t his problem.

  The backpack. That was his problem. He had to retrieve the bag, even if it killed him.

  Famous last words, pal!

  He needed what was in that bag. More importantly, Lara needed them. Of course he could always just go back to Galveston and get more. The people he’d gotten them from wouldn’t say no if he went back. His name still carried some weight out there, though he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing then, and still didn’t, now.

  Yeah, he could spend nine more days to repeat the process, or he could retrieve the supplies and go home tomorrow. And he was so, so close to home right now that he could feel Lara’s arms and the sweet taste of her lips.

  God, he wanted to see her again, and so badly.

  But he had to get that bag. He had to get that damn bag first!

  Keo skirted along the rear of the warehouse, sticking as close to the cold metal walls—and the plentiful shadows provided by the overhanging eaves—as much as possible. He was keenly aware that he was still only armed with a knife. It was a good knife. A KA-BAR was worth its weight in steel. But it was still just a knife. A close-range weapon. More than enough against a ghoul. Or even two or three. But against the horde that had been chasing him all night?

  Shut up and focus on finding the bag. Lara needs that bag.

  He didn’t stop moving until he was at the end of the warehouse. Keo leaned around the corner and spied the streets on the other side. It was as dark and foreboding now as the last time he’d spotted it when he was running for his life.

  But it was empty now. There wasn’t a single soul out there, undead or otherwise.

  He scampered away from the warehou
se and over to the rear of the autobody shop next door. As he moved, making as little noise as possible—he even held his breath when he was momentarily exposed to the streets as he crossed the alleyway—Keo imagined Lara scolding him for taking such a chance when he didn’t have to.

  “You did what?” would probably be the first thing she’d say. “You had an office, but you abandoned it in order to retrieve supplies from the streets, while there’s a horde of ghouls out there?”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” he would say.

  “Of course you did. You just made the dumbest one possible!”

  “I had to get the bag. You needed it.”

  “You could have gone back to Galveston for more.”

  “It would have taken me nine more days. You needed what was in that bag now.”

  He wasn’t sure if that last part was true or not, but Lara hadn’t looked all that good when he left her behind. She’d done her best to pretend that she was fine, but he could see through it. She just hadn’t been the same these last few weeks.

  No, she needed what was in that backpack lying in the street now, not nine days from now. Besides, who said he had to tell her every excruciating detail? What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her—or get her pissed off at him. Keo was used to making risky moves. In fact, he could say that was how he ended up with her in the first place, so if it worked before…

  That’s your excuse?

  Lame, pal. Real lame.

  Oh shut up, me, Keo thought as he continued darting in and out of darkness, sticking to the back alleys of Paxton and the shadows they provided as much as possible. The streets were wide open to his right, partially illuminated by too much moonlight. Thankfully, there were enough buildings around him for Keo to hide within their shadows, and as long as he didn’t run into an unexpected undead thing, he’d be fine.

  The brick and mortar walls of some kind of store scraped against Keo as he walked alongside it and toward yet another alleyway. At the rate he was moving, it would take him a while to return to the scene of the crime. As early as approximately thirty minutes and as late as an hour. Or longer. The truth was, he didn’t know how far he’d run; he’d been too busy just running. That was the problem with fleeing for your life; it was vastly difficult to keep track of time while you were doing it.