They waited to hear from Milly or her captor the entire time. Noises, movements, as long as it was something (anything) that told them that she was still alive in here, somewhere. There was nothing except their dual labored breathing.
Crash!
Gaby spun around. Peter mirrored her action, his flashlight spinning a full 180 degrees until it exposed a small figure standing behind them.
A boy. Barely a teenager. His eyes bulged against the light, though he didn’t look scared—just guilty, as if he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He wore dirty slacks and a sweat-stained T-shirt, bright blue eyes looking back at Gaby through stringy brown hair that fell over his face. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, and he stood next to one of the end tables, the vase on top of it having fallen down and broken on the floor.
The boy turned and ran.
“Wait, kid, stop!” Gaby shouted before chasing after him.
Peter was slow to react, but eventually his flashlight moved and the beam bounced up and down the dirty floor, erratically picking up the fleeing form. Gaby was close enough that she could see the kid—or at least, the outline of his shape—as he scrambled down the hallway.
Damn, he was fast. Which was becoming a theme today. First Peter had outrun her in the streets, and now this boy. Was she really that slow, or was the ammo really dragging her down? Maybe she should—
The boy glanced over his shoulder back at her while never breaking his stride.
“Wait!” she shouted. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
If he heard her, he didn’t care, because he soon turned right and kept going.
She grabbed for the corner and slingshot around the turn so she didn’t have to slow down. The M4 bounced against her chest, all the magazines and equipment in Mac’s web belt weighing her down like a ton of bricks. She was used to carrying the load, but not running full speed with them.
She glimpsed the boy’s back up ahead. Jesus, he was fast. By the time she saw him again, he was already halfway to the side door, the same one they had come through earlier. Did he know it didn’t have a doorknob?
“Wait!” she shouted. “Stop, goddammit!”
The boy didn’t respond to her commands, but he was moving with purpose, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Which was where? More importantly, how had he gotten behind them in the first place? There was nothing back there…right?
Peter was still slow to catch up, and he was just now making the turn behind her when she was already ten feet up the hallway. She couldn’t see where the alleyway door was, which wasn’t a surprise since she couldn’t see much of anything anyway. Finally, Peter’s flashlight appeared, throwing a pool of light on the tiled flooring, peeling wallpaper—and up there, the boy again, racing like a little demon through the darkness.
The kid took another right turn.
Gaby primed herself to do the slingshot maneuver again, reaching out with one hand to grab the wall as she approached the corner—
Her vision—or what little of it there was—exploded as something smashed into her from the side just as she was starting to make the turn. She was flung across the narrow passageway and smashed into the wall on the other side and crumpled down to the cold, dirty tiled floor in a heap. She wasn’t sure if most of the pain was coming from the blow that sent her flying, the impact, or from the M4 unwittingly digging into her stomach and chest as she slammed down on top of it.
She hurt. All over.
Was her back broken? That would explain why she could barely move her arms and legs. Maybe her spine had been snapped. Was that possible? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t breathe without feeling stabs of brutal pain, and it took every effort to turn her face away from the floor and to her side just so she could suck in a lungful of air.
Get up. Get up!
“Gaby!” Peter shouted, his voice not quite clear because he was still around the corner.
She managed to move her head, looked up, and saw the shape of a large figure standing over her. Was this what had hit her? A man? It hadn’t felt like a man. It had felt more like a speeding train…or a dozen.
The man turned his head down the hallway as a bright beam of light splashed across his broad chest. She wanted to tell Peter to lift the flashlight up a bit so she could see the man’s face, but she couldn’t form anything that even sounded like words. Was she even still breathing? Of course she was. Wasn’t she?
“Get away from her!” Peter shouted somewhere from the other side of the universe. “I’m warning you!”
Peter, just shoot him, you idiot.
The man’s large legs backpedaled as Peter came closer, his footsteps getting louder.
Shoot him, Peter, shoot him!
She wanted to shout it out, but whenever she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out were short, labored gasps. God, her chest burned…
“Gaby—” Peter said, when there was the loud sound of something wooden hitting flesh and the bright beam of Peter’s flashlight fell away from the big man hovering over her.
She heard the clatter of metal falling against the floor and rolling around before settling against a wall and illuminating the big man’s shoes—well-worn Nike sneakers—standing next to her head.
Those same shoes squeaked as they moved past her and a thick male voice said, “Damn, you saw that, Harrison? Bam! She never had a chance.”
“You idiot, get her weapons,” another voice snapped.
“Oh, right,” the first one said.
Gaby felt herself being turned over onto her back and rough, meaty hands pawing at the M4 and pulling it away. The same pair of hands groped her web belt and drew the Glock.
She was starting to get some semblance of feeling back in her arms and legs. She could move her fingers, which was a good sign. So she wasn’t paralyzed after all. Right? God, she hoped so. She could only think of a few worse things these days, and being paralyzed was one of them.
“Did you kill her?” the second voice asked.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” the first one said.
“You don’t think so?”
“She looks alive to me.”
She was on her back, but Gaby couldn’t see much of anything. These people seemed to be able to move around in the darkness just fine, though. She wasn’t sure how that was possible. At least, not until a figure crouched next to her and leaned over. She looked up at a pair of round and green lights staring down at her.
Night-vision goggles.
“She’s still alive,” the man behind the goggles said. “She might wish she wasn’t pretty soon, though.”
More movement around her. There were at least four pairs of feet in the hallway now. Where did they all come from? And more importantly, how the hell did that kid get behind them in the first place?
So many questions. Pointless, stupid questions, because none of it mattered. Not to her. Not now.
It was a trap. A big, stupid, elaborate trap.
Milly. The kid in the hallway. The door that can’t be opened.
And you fell for it like the big, stupid girl that you are.
Will would be so disappointed in you right now. So, so disappointed…
She struggled to keep her eyes open. The pain had become unbearable, and it was easier to lay still and absorb it, let it sweep over her entire body and think about how stupid she had been, how clueless, as she stumbled into their elaborate little trap.
Stupid. So stupid.
She found it easier to ignore all the voices around her. Ignore all the footsteps moving back and forth. Ignore the rough hands grabbing her and pulling her up from the floor as if she were a rag doll without any feelings.
There was the boy—the same one that had lured her down this path—as he played with her M4 rifle as if it were a toy. He looked up as they dragged her away, and she couldn’t tell if that was innocence on his face or just a kid beaming with pride at a job well done.
She woke up lying on her side. Her b
ones ached and she wasn’t sure if she could still move her legs, but when she tried extending them, they seemed fine. She couldn’t pry them apart, though, because they were pressed together at the ankles by a rope. Her head throbbed and opening her eyes to blinding LED lights didn’t help.
She was inside some kind of basement. She could tell that much even while looking at it from the floor at an angle. The floor was cold and uncomfortable but that didn’t stop her from feeling the sweat along her face, neck, and arms anyway. Someone had removed the camo jacket she took off Mac, and her web belt was gone.
And she was unarmed again.
Dammit.
A small figure was crouched in front of her. A girl, maybe fifteen, though it was hard to tell her age with the long, dirty-blonde hair covering half of her face, reminding Gaby of the boy from the hallway.
They use the kids. The bastards use the kids.
That immediately got her thinking of Milly. Where was she now? Was she fine? Safe? In danger? Given her own situation, Gaby thought it was probably too much to think that the girl was fine…somewhere out there.
The girl in front of her now was wearing cargo pants and sneakers and had a rifle lying across her lap. She recognized the weapon from the movies. Westerns with cowboys and Indians. Winchester? Was that what those were called? You cranked the lever to load a new round after you fired. Give her a carbine with a thirty-round magazine any day.
The kid had bright blue eyes that reminded Gaby of Lara. She was short, barely five feet, and there was a seriousness about the way she eyeballed Gaby that convinced her the girl meant business. Or, at least, she was putting on a hell of a game face.
She couldn’t tell how large the room was because there was only one portable LED lamp in the entire place. It dangled from a hook along the ceiling, casting an ethereal halo around her, the girl, and…blood.
Why is there blood?
There was coughing next to her. Gaby pulled herself up from the floor and sat on her butt. It was difficult with the thick rope binding her hands, pulled so tight that it dug into her wrists. She looked to her right.
Peter was leaning back against the wall, his own hands bound behind his back. His face was red and purple and some other color Gaby didn’t have a name for. His cheeks were puffy, his right eye swollen, and he peered back at her through fresh bruises that covered every inch of his face. His lips were cut and fresh blood clung to his sweat-stained shirt, and Peter didn’t look as if he was breathing at all. There was surprisingly very little blood on the floor, which told her whatever had happened to Peter hadn’t been inside here. He had been taken outside, then brought back…after.
“Peter, God, what happened?”
He shook his head, as if he wanted to talk but couldn’t. His mouth quivered, and although she had only known him for a few hours (has it only been half a day?), she felt something shattering at the pitiful sight of him. He looked in so much pain and his entire body seemed sapped of energy.
This wasn’t the man who had rescued her this morning.
This man was…broken.
“Who did this to you?” she asked.
All he could manage was to shake his head. Barely.
She turned to the girl, still crouched in front of them, staring with those blue eyes. “Who did this to my friend?”
The girl stared blankly back at her.
“Can you talk?”
Nothing.
“My name’s Gaby. What’s yours?”
She saw something—a flicker—and was hopeful…for a brief second. Then it was gone in a flash.
Instead of replying, the girl stood up and took a step back, then another. She didn’t look frightened, but there was a clear need to disengage herself.
She knows what’s been happening. She knows what’s going to happen. She’s probably seen it before.
The trap. The boy in the hallway.
They’ve done this before…
The girl vanished into the part of the basement that was enshrouded in darkness, which happened to be most of it. There was a rustling of clothes as the girl settled back down. Then there was just silence.
“Gaby…” Peter whispered.
She looked over at him. Just saying her name seemed to have taken everything he had. “Peter, don’t say anything. Just rest.”
“Dangerous…”
“I know, Peter, I know.”
He nodded—or tried to—and closed his eyes. He rested his head against the brick wall and seemed to drift off.
She looked around her again, taking in the room with a new eye, but didn’t see anything remotely useful the second time around. Concrete floor, walls, and ceiling. Some kind of bomb shelter, maybe. Or just a really sturdy basement. She could imagine people in here surviving through The Purge and the months after. The door would probably be somewhere on the other side. And the only thing between her and it was a teenage girl with a rifle…
Her ears perked up at the sound of loud, grinding metal moving against concrete. Something opening. A door.
Then, footsteps approaching. Boots. Heavy combat boots.
A figure emerged out of the wall of shadows like some ghostly vision. But it wasn’t a supernatural creature. It was just a man. He was large, in his early thirties, with short red hair and stubble that made him look older. He wore cargo pants and a sweat-stained T-shirt and had a Glock in a hip holster.
The man stopped in front of her and seemed to evaluate Peter for a moment. “I’m sorry about that,” he said finally. “The boys got a little carried away.” He looked at her. “My name’s Harrison.”
His voice sounded familiar.
The man in the night-vision goggles.
She remembered the bigger man, the one who had tackled her in the hallway, calling someone “Harrison.”
“What did you do to Peter?” she asked.
“We had to be sure,” Harrison said.
“Be sure of what?”
“What you were doing here.”
“We’re just passing through.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what he said, too. I believe him. But we had to be sure you weren’t dangerous, that’s all.”
“So you beat him half to death?” The anger rose inside her, surprising even herself. “While he’s tied up? That takes a real man.”
She expected indignation from Harrison, but instead he just shrugged indifferently. “You’re not the first ones to come through here. And, like I said, there couldn’t be any doubts. We had to be absolutely one hundred percent sure.”
“So do you still have any doubts?”
“Not anymore.”
“Then why are we still tied up?”
“We’re sure there’s just the three of you and you’re passing through, but that’s it.” He went into a crouch and stared at her with dull brown eyes. “It’s a dangerous world out there. The types of people who survive these days aren’t to be trusted. You’d do the same in our shoes.”
“Is that how you justify it?”
“I don’t need to justify it. My people depend on me. Three strangers who I’ve never seen in my life aren’t going to change what’s worked for us for the last year.” He stood up. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
Bullshit.
“You can believe it or not,” Harrison said, as if reading her thoughts—or maybe he just saw the look on her face. “It doesn’t matter to me. Tomorrow we’ll debate about what to do with you two—whether to cut you loose and send you on your way…or not. That’s more than most people will do for you these days, so count your lucky stars. For now, sit tight.”
“And the girl? Milly? What about her?”
“She’s being taken care of.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“She’s staying,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Did she tell you she wanted to stay?”
“No. But she’s young, and she’ll get over it.” He looked behind him at the shadows—at the girl, who neither one of the
m could see at the moment but Gaby knew was still back there, watching and listening intently. “They all do, eventually. Kids are useful.”
The boy in the hallway…
“What about him?” Gaby said, nodding at Peter. His eyes were still closed and it didn’t look as if he had moved or made a noise—or even breathed—at all during her conversation with Harrison. “He needs medical attention.”
“Like I said, it’s a tough world out there,” Harrison said, with all the sympathy of a lion feeding on fresh prey. “You gotta be strong to make it these days. It’s up to him if he’s walking out of here with you…or if you’re going by yourself.”
“You heartless fuck.”
He snorted. “You should thank me. I could have found plenty of uses for you, too, but we’re not that far gone yet.” He leaned toward her and let his eyes bore into her soul. “But I can always change my mind later.”
She didn’t say anything. She also didn’t look away. If he was trying to scare her, it wasn’t going to work. At least, she hoped it wasn’t working…
He stood back up. “Sit tight,” he said with something that looked like a crooked grin before turning and leaving without another word.
She listened to the sounds of his heavy footsteps fading, doing her very best to control her rage. She wanted to leap up and lunge after him, bound wrists and ankles be damned, but that would have been stupid. He wasn’t just bigger than her, she was also bound and hurt, and it wouldn’t have taken much for him to beat her back down.
And she couldn’t afford that right now. Beaten and bruised was okay, but she had seen what Harrison was capable of—saw it on Peter’s face and God only knew what was happening under his clothes. If she wanted to save Peter, to save herself and Milly, too, she couldn’t let that happen to her.
No, she had to bide her time, and that meant sitting still and listening to the same grinding metal moving on the other side of the room. Then the door slamming shut.
Finally, she allowed herself to breathe, to let all the anger flow away.
Stay alive. Nothing matters if you can’t stay alive right now.
The Purge of Babylon Series Box Set, Vol. 2 | Books 4-6 Page 16
