After The Purge, AKA John Smith (Book 3): Shoot Last Read online

  Shoot Last: AKA John Smith

  Copyright © 2020 by Sam Sisavath

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Road to Babylon Media LLC

  www.roadtobabylon.com

  Edited by Jennifer Jensen, Wendy Chan & Grace Kastens

  Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Contents

  Books in the After the Purge Series

  Also by Sam Sisavath

  About Shoot Last

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Books in the After the Purge Series

  The Vendetta Trilogy

  Requiem

  Tokens

  Remains

  AKA John Smith

  Mist City

  Run or Fight

  Shoot Last

  Also by Sam Sisavath

  The Purge of Babylon Post-Apocalyptic Series

  The Purge of Babylon: A Novel of Survival

  The Gates of Byzantium

  The Stones of Angkor

  The Walls of Lemuria Collection (Keo Prequel)

  The Fires of Atlantis

  The Ashes of Pompeii

  The Isles of Elysium

  The Spears of Laconia

  The Horns of Avalon

  The Bones of Valhalla

  Mason’s War (A Purge of Babylon Story)

  The Road to Babylon Post-Apocalyptic Series

  Glory Box

  Bombtrack

  Rooster

  Devil’s Haircut

  Black

  The Distance

  Hollow

  Daybreak

  The Ranch

  The Allie Krycek Vigilante Series

  Hunter/Prey

  Saint/Sinner

  Finders/Keepers

  Savior/Corruptor

  The Red Sky Conspiracy Series

  Most Wanted

  The Devil You Know

  About Shoot Last

  FINAL JUDGEMENT COMES FOR EVERY MAN.

  He wasn’t looking for a fight, and he did everything possible to avoid one, but the Judge and his lackeys refused to let John Smith go about his way. Things got out of hand, people ended up dead, and now Smith is on the offensive.

  After being double-crossed, Smith returns to Gaffney, determined to conclude all unfinished business. It will mean taking the fight to the enemy at their own doorsteps, but Smith is just angry enough not to give a damn.

  They should have left him alone. But they didn’t.

  Now they’re going to learn that it’s not who shoots first that counts, but who shoots last.

  One

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “What the hell does it look like I’m doing here?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “And yet here I am.”

  “You shouldn’t be here…”

  “You already said that.”

  “You got away. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah, well, that wasn’t my decision, was it?”

  “You trying to get killed? Is that it? That must be it, or you wouldn’t have come back. You should have kept on walking.”

  “Oh, I think we’re well past that, don’t you think?”

  Hobson smirked. “You got a big set on you, son.”

  “I’m not your fucking son,” Smith said. He motioned with the gun in his hand but otherwise didn’t bother getting up from the nice comfortable leather armchair that Hobson had in the corner of his living room. “What were you, raised in a barn? Close the door and lock it before all the mosquitoes get inside.”

  Hobson did as he was told. The door clicked into place, followed by the clack as the deadbolt slid home. The de facto sheriff of Gaffney turned around and resumed staring at Smith from across the room.

  “Now what?” Hobson asked.

  “Now you tell me where the Judge lives,” Smith said.

  “And why would I do that?”

  “So I can go there and put him out of my misery.”

  “You’re going to kill the Judge?”

  “I ain’t going there to rock him to sleep.”

  “That’s murder.”

  “It’s justice.”

  “For who?”

  “Me, Mandy, Lucky.” Smith shrugged. “Your pick. Frankly, I don’t give a shit why he has to die. But he’s gonna die, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Wait. Mandy? What happened with Mandy?”

  Smith squinted across the semidarkness at the man, trying to decide if Hobson was attempting to pull one over him.

  Hobson lived alone in a small two-bedroom house on the southern edge of town. It was just close enough to the main center for him to walk to “work,” but far enough that he had some privacy. The residence was surrounded by bigger houses that Hobson could have chosen, but he had elected for this cozy place instead. The doors were closed but not locked, and Smith could have come through a half-dozen entry points besides simply opening the front door. Smith guessed you didn’t need to lock your doors in a place like Gaffney; it wasn’t like they had much trouble with outsiders.

  At least, not until he showed up.

  “What happened to Mandy?” Hobson was asking him now.

  Smith still hadn’t gotten up from the armchair. It was brown and cool when he sat down but had warmed up noticeably while he waited for Hobson to come home. Sneaking back into Gaffney hadn’t been all that difficult. The town was just too big to be fully watched over by guards; the Judge would have needed ten times the number of lackeys in order to keep an eye on every possible way in. And with three less pairs of eyeballs at his disposal, what was originally difficult had become impossible. Smith had simply waited until dark, using the time to scout the area, and then picked a blind spot. He’d had plenty of choices.

  “You know damn well what happened to Mandy,” Smith said.

  Hobson shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I don’t, son.”

  Again with the ‘son,’ Smith thought, wondering if Hobson was doing that on purpose to get his goat. Sure, the man was old enough to be his father, but did Hobson really think Smith was going to feel any sympathy because of their age difference? Smith had shot older men.

  “She’s dead,” Smith said.

  He didn’t believe for one second that Hobson didn’t already know that fact, but if this was some kind of game Hobson wanted to play, then Smith would accommodate him. Worst case, he wasted a few minutes; best case, he gleaned some information from Hobson, whether the man wittingly gave it up or not.

  “Mandy is de
ad?” Hobson said, looking very much surprised.

  Or maybe he was just a good actor.

  No, Hobson wasn’t that. The man didn’t look like he had an ounce of artistic ability in him. Certainly, he couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag.

  What Smith was seeing now, on the sheriff’s face, was genuine surprise.

  He doesn’t know about Mandy.

  What exactly did that mean, though, in the large scheme of things?

  Smith was trying to figure out an answer when Hobson continued. “How did she die?”

  “She was shot.”

  “When?”

  “While I was bringing her back here, per the Judge’s orders.”

  “The Judge’s orders…”

  “That’s right. He got me to bring her out of the junkyard, and when she was in the open, his sniper took her out. Probably the same asshat that shot me earlier. He’s dead, too, by the way.”

  “Who?”

  “The sniper.”

  “Roman?”

  “Is that his name?”

  Hobson nodded. “He’s the best shot we have; that’s why he’s out there.”

  Smith shrugged. He didn’t know the sniper’s name, and it didn’t matter anyway. The man was dead, along with the kid, Kyle. Travis Clarence, the man with the two first names, was still alive, but he probably wished he wasn’t right now.

  “Not anymore, I guess,” Hobson said.

  Smith wasn’t sure if the other man sounded sad or was just stating a fact with that one. Maybe a little of both, which told Smith Hobson and this Roman character weren’t exactly drinking buddies. Not that he thought Hobson was drinking buddies with anyone. If the man even drank at all. Hobson looked way too much like a straight arrow to indulge in anything that could even pass for a filthy habit. Then again, a standup guy wouldn’t be doing the Judge’s bidding, so maybe Smith was all wrong about Hobson…again. He’d been wrong about a lot of things lately, and one of these days, those errors in judgement were going to get him dead.

  One of these days, but not tonight.

  Smith motioned again with the gun. “Have a seat, Sheriff. You’re making me a little anxious just standing there.”

  “What about my gun?” Hobson asked.

  “What about it?”

  “You want me to put it on the floor? Kick it over? Isn’t that how these things work in the movies?”

  Smith smiled. “Sheriff, I could shoot you before you clear leather even if I had my own pistol holstered. Having my gun already out is just for intimidation.”

  “I believe you.”

  “You should.”

  As if to prove his point, Smith holstered the SIG Sauer.

  The older man cracked a smile. “Balls, son. You got real balls.”

  “Sit down.”

  Hobson walked over to a sofa in front of the windows and sat down across from Smith. He’d kept his hands away from his holstered revolver the entire time, almost as if he expected Smith to be looking for an excuse to shoot him. Smith wanted to tell the man that he didn’t need another excuse. He already had a dozen reasons to put a round in Hobson even before he showed up at the older man’s residence.

  The sheriff sighed as he sat down, hands pressing flat against his legs. All it would have taken was a quick jerk of his right hand toward his hip, and he’d be armed. Of course, Smith would have shot him well before he even touched his weapon.

  Smith knew that without a shred of doubt in his mind.

  And maybe Hobson did, too.

  “The Judge,” Smith said. “Where do I find him?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “If I knew, why would I be here?”

  “Just to say hi, maybe.”

  “I don’t like you that much.”

  “Ouch.” Then, his head cocking to one side slightly, “How did you find out where I lived, anyway?”

  “The mailbox.”

  “The mailbox?”

  “You put your name on the mailbox outside.”

  Hobson chuckled. “Right. The mailbox. I forgot about that.”

  “Stumbling across it was an accident. Like a sign from God, if you will. But it did make me curious. Why the mailbox?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to make this place mine. Putting my name on the mailbox up front seemed like a thing to do.”

  “It’s not your house.”

  “It is now.”

  “You get mail?”

  “Of course not. Who gets mail these days?” Then, “So it’s just my bad luck you found my mailbox, huh?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Swell.”

  “The Judge,” Smith said. “Where do I find him? He’s not at the courthouse. It was the first place I looked. And I don’t suppose he’d lower himself to staying in the same buildings as some of the other residents.”

  “No, he wouldn’t do that.”

  “So where is he?”

  “The big white house, about two blocks north from here. The one with the guards outside. I don’t know how you missed it in the first place.”

  “It’s dark. You guys need more lights.”

  “More lights bring more trouble.”

  “Ghoul trouble?”

  “We get them every now and then.”

  Smith wanted to ask Hobson about the ghoul “trouble” that had plagued the junkyard exactly one night ago, when the Judge’s men attacked Mandy’s people. But he didn’t because it didn’t matter. Right now, only one thing mattered.

  The Judge.

  “So, the big white house,” Smith said, standing up.

  “Yes,” Hobson said. His eyes tracked Smith the entire time. “What are you going to do?”

  “I already told you.”

  “Murder him?”

  “You say murder, I say justified homicide.”

  “You won’t be able to get to him anyway.”

  “How many guards does he have?”

  “I won’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Call it loyalty.”

  “To a man like the Judge?”

  Hobson seemed to sigh. Or maybe Smith just misheard him. “Something like that. Whatever you think of him, he did bring law and order to this area after everything went to shit. If nothing else, he deserves credit for that.”

  “That’s not what Mandy’s people think.”

  “Yeah, well, opinions are like assholes. You know?”

  “Yeah. Lots of those around these days, too.”

  “So you’re going to go kill the Judge, huh?”

  Smith ignored the question. He asked instead, “Mary and her son. Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “That’s your prerogative, but it’s the truth.”

  “You’re the sheriff. Aren’t you supposed to know everything that happens in your town?”

  “Most of the time, but my area of responsibility doesn’t include where people are housed.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where the woman and her son are being kept.”

  “Being kept?” Smith thought. Hobson hadn’t said where Mary and Aaron were “living.” Instead, he’d used the words “being kept.” There was a huge difference.

  “Who would know?” Smith asked.

  “Amy,” Hobson said.

  “The doctor?”

  “Yes. She’s also in charge of housing.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Most people here have multiple titles. It’s how we keep the place running. There’s not enough people to go around.”

  “You mean, other than through intimidation?”

  Hobson almost smiled that time. “Yeah.” Then, still staring across the semidarkness at Smith, with only a patch of moonlight coming in through the curtains of the windows behind him, “So what now?”

  “You have two optio
ns.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Convince me you won’t alert anyone after I leave now, or I shoot you.”

  “You shoot me, and everyone will be alerted to your presence.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Then, his eyes glued on Hobson’s face, “So convince me, Sheriff.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I figured.”

  Hobson went for his gun.

  Smith drew and shot him dead.

  Two

  Maybe killing Hobson was the wrong thing to do. After all, the gunshot would have alerted the people of Gaffney. Sound traveled these days, especially in the middle of the night with nothing else to blunt the noise.

  Then again, Hobson had gotten on Smith’s bad side, and Smith was only human. He’d already concluded the sheriff wasn’t the good man Smith had taken him for when they first met. Everything Hobson had done since had only confirmed that. Maybe, once upon a time, he had been decent, but that wasn’t the man Smith had shot tonight.

  That was his excuse, anyway.

  Still, the gunshot would alert the Judge’s remaining men to Smith’s presence. Which was fine with him; he needed to get a better look at what he was dealing with anyway. He was pretty sure he hadn’t seen everything—or everyone—while he was scouting the place earlier, searching for a way in. He didn’t think he’d develop that full picture in the next few hours, but firsthand intelligence was always better than secondhand.

  “You know how many of them there are?” Roger, Mandy’s righthand man, had asked him yesterday when Smith showed up at their junkyard and told them about his plan to return to Gaffney.