The Purge of Babylon Series Box Set, Vol. 3 | Books 7-9 Page 10

  The older man trained soft brown eyes on Danny. Anyone else might have turned weak in the knees under that gaze, but most people weren’t Danny, who had survived too many things the last few months—and the years before the world ended—to be affected. Even so, Gaby thought Danny might have actually just…stood a bit straighter?

  Mercer finally turned those same calm eyes on her before moving on to Nate a few seconds later. He must not have found anything interesting about them, because he ended up back on Danny. “What unit were you in, son?”

  “Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment, Third Battalion out of Fort Benning,” Danny said.

  “Fort Benning is an excellent producer of Rangers.”

  “They did the best they could with what they had.”

  “And your friends?”

  “She’s Gaby, and he’s Nathaniel.”

  “Just Nate,” Nate said.

  Mercer didn’t acknowledge either her or Nate. He saw them, but he didn’t see them. She didn’t know whether she should feel a little annoyed, or glad. Did she really want Mercer to “see” her? Maybe not…

  Around them, the activity continued, even as another truck backed inside, the beep-beep-beep of its warning signal loud in the confines of the hangar. The piles of items at the back wall were already much smaller than the last time she looked.

  “You were at T29,” Mercer was saying.

  “T29?” Danny said.

  “The town we attacked earlier today. What were you doing there?”

  “Four hundred…” Morris had said. Gaby thought she could still taste the smoke and blood on the tip of her tongue.

  “Saw your hog swooping in for the kill and decided to go see what all the fuss was about,” Danny said. “That’s the full extent of us being there.”

  “You killed them,” Gaby said. She didn’t realize she had spoken until the words blurted out, drawing Mercer’s eyes to her. There was something about those eyes that made her want to take a step back, and it took all of her willpower to remain perfectly still. Maybe the rising anger and the still-fresh memories of Morris’s town helped. “There were 400 people in that town. Men, women, and children.”

  “And pregnant women,” Nate said. “You murdered pregnant women, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s war,” Mercer said. “People die in wars.”

  “There were pregnant women in that town!” Nate shouted, his words booming in the hangar, so loud that they even managed to pierce through the beep-beep-beep of another Army truck backing inside.

  The soldiers working behind Mercer stopped and looked over. A few of them even glanced at Mercer for some kind of response.

  Mercer didn’t respond right away, and instead stared back at Nate as if waiting for his fury to burn out. Gaby thought he was going to have a long wait, because she had never seen Nate so angry before—his face was almost red and his nostrils flared, and suddenly that Mohawk looked threatening instead of funny.

  “Collateral damage,” Mercer said finally.

  “That’s it?” Nate said. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “That’s all that needs to be said.” And just like that, he dismissed Nate and focused on Danny. “Let’s talk, soldier.”

  “Why not? Not like I have a hot date or anything,” Danny said.

  The older man walked off and Danny turned and followed, but not before giving her a slight nod that she would have missed entirely if she hadn’t been looking for it.

  “Be cool,” that nod said.

  Mercer had climbed into the front passenger seat of a Jeep waiting outside the hangar. Danny took a seat in the back as the vehicle drove off through some kind of private airfield with a small cluster of administrative buildings all the way on the other side. That was also where most of the vehicles and people not in the hangar were congregated, and where, she guessed, they had been dropped off earlier.

  “Sonofabitch,” Nate said next to her, gritting his teeth.

  Gaby took his hand and squeezed. He looked over and pursed his lips, but she could still see the anger on his face. It was the very first time she had ever seen him so angry and though it probably shouldn’t have, it made her like him even more.

  “Come on,” Erin said, turning and leading them through the hangar.

  While blindfolded, Gaby had thought Erin was in her thirties based entirely on her voice, but she was actually younger—late twenties, and tall. Gaby was used to being one of the taller girls in most rooms, but Erin towered over her at about five-ten, with long dark hair in a ponytail and light hazel eyes. She had a slightly Eurasian look about her, but her accent was all Texan.

  The soldier with the gruff voice, Louis, followed behind them. He was in his thirties, balding, and squat. He had a rifle slung over his back and always kept a good distance, as if afraid she or Nate would try something. Maybe she might have done exactly that before she saw all the manpower Mercer had assembled around them.

  They were led to an office in the back right corner. It was the only room in the entire structure and two more soldiers stood guard with M4 rifles. Like Erin and Louis, they had red collars on top of their uniforms. That, she realized, was what distinguished them from the worker bees in the place.

  Red collars for the warriors and green for support? Was that how it worked? Then what were the ones with black collars, like Mercer? Maybe those were the commanders, the ones who called the shots. That would also make them the ones who were, ultimately, the most responsible for butchering the 400 people in Morris’s town.

  Erin walked on ahead of them to one of the two open windows, looked in, and said, “All the way to the back.” She waited for whoever was inside to obey, then walked to the door and opened it. There was no lock, but Gaby guessed they didn’t really need it with the two guards outside.

  “What happens now?” Gaby asked.

  “Once he decides what to do with you, you’ll be the first to know,” Erin said. “Until then, you’re to sit tight.”

  “Once who decides?” Nate asked.

  “Mercer,” Erin said.

  “Is he your commanding officer?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Need to know, Erin, shit,” Louis said.

  Erin took out a box cutter from her pocket and sliced the zip ties from around Gaby’s and Nate’s wrists.

  “Thanks,” Gaby said.

  Erin ignored her, said, “Inside.”

  Nate locked eyes with Gaby, and though most of his anger had diffused during the walk over here, she could still see the spark of fury in his eyes. For a moment she thought he was going to do something stupid, just like she had almost done back on the road. She wanted to tell him not to, because even if they could get by Erin and Louis and the two guards, there was still Danny somewhere out there with Mercer, not to mention the literal army of soldiers between them.

  But Nate didn’t try anything, and Gaby gratefully gave him a pursed smile as they entered the office together, side by side. Erin closed the door behind them, and one of the soldiers standing guard appeared on the other side of the closest window and glanced in. He didn’t look especially threatening, but the M4 in his hands was another matter.

  It took a few seconds to notice the stink of too many people jammed into one room, though the smell would have probably been ten times worse if the windows weren’t open. There were five of them and they were huddled against the back wall a second ago, but were now spreading out again in order to give themselves—and each other—some leg room. There used to be furniture inside the office, including a large desk in the center, but they had all been removed, leaving behind just dust outlines.

  “Fresh meat,” a voice chuckled from across the room.

  Gaby tracked the source to a short man sitting in a corner, legs splayed in front of him as if he owned the space. He had black hair and dark eyes, and there was absolutely nothing trustworthy about him that she could find in the second or two their eyes locked. The man, like his companions, wore identical black un
iforms with a patch of the state of Texas on their shoulders.

  Collaborators.

  The short man eyeballed Gaby up and down before breaking out into a grin. “And here I thought I’d seen the last of you. Small world.”

  He looked familiar, even underneath the grime and speckles of dry blood that clung to his face, but she couldn’t quite place him.

  She focused on his name tag instead.

  It said: “Mason.”

  8

  Keo

  After two hours of sitting and lying on the sand, drinking warm water, and looking out at the endless expanse of ocean while waiting for something to show up, Jordan finally said, “I don’t think they’re out there.”

  “The problem is, they could be here already,” Keo said, “and we wouldn’t know it. They won’t risk coming this close to shore in the daytime. Lara’s too smart for that.”

  “We should have gone up for the radio.”

  “We should have done a lot of things. Story of my life.”

  “Sounds like a fun life.”

  “It has its moments.” He blinked up at the sun. “I’m hungry.”

  “Ditto.”

  They got up, brushed the sand off their clothes, and headed up the beach in the direction of the row of houses they’d seen from a distance. Closer, they found a half dozen homes clustered around the same general area, partitioned off from the beach by rickety four-foot fences that wouldn’t have kept out the family of crabs Keo’d had to walk around while licking his lips at the prospect of crab meat later that night.

  Finally, something good to look forward to.

  He expected to find luxury beachfront properties, but the houses were old and covered in peeling paint, and he had a difficult time imagining them looking any better just a year ago when there were still owners around to maintain them. The buildings had no uniform designs but did share tall foundation stilts and wooden stairs that snaked up to second floors. In case the beach flooded, he guessed, though the idea of being trapped in one of these when the Gulf of Mexico decided to come ashore left him a little nervous.

  Sun-bleached grass covered a wide field on the other side of the fence, the weeds going all the way up to their knees as they moved through them. A mangy dog that had been sleeping in the shade heard them coming and jogged off, looking annoyed by the human presence.

  “Must be your smell,” Jordan said.

  “Must be,” he said, “because we both know you smell like lilacs and roses.”

  “You sweet talker, you.”

  “Either that, or my nose is all stuffy.”

  “Then you had to go and ruin it.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Try to do a little less of it.”

  “And suppress my natural charms? Perish the thought.”

  She smirked. “Try anyway.”

  They checked out a wide squat house with a gray roof, accessing the second floor by creaking wooden stairs along its side. Keo was afraid the staircase might break under him as they ascended, but it remained improbably in one piece all the way to the unlocked front door.

  He peeked inside at the empty living room. The windows were sans curtains, leaving a healthy amount of sunlight to splash across the dust-covered furniture. Everything was bright and gray and brown, and he didn’t have to sniff the air to know there wasn’t anything worth finding inside, including anything of the undead variety.

  “Maybe check the kitchen just in case?” Jordan said.

  “Sure, why not. Maybe we’ll find a carton of ice cream inside the fridge, too.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  They went inside and checked the kitchen and found it just as empty as he had expected. He opened the fridge only after pinching his nose and sucking in a large breath, and closed the door exactly three seconds later after giving it a cursory look.

  “Anything?” Jordan asked, coming out of a back hallway.

  He shook his head and sucked in a fresh breath of air. “You?”

  “I don’t think they were home when it happened. I didn’t see any traces of blood or signs of a struggle.”

  “Told you. Waste of time.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, and headed back to the door.

  They walked a short distance from the house with the gray roof to one next door with orange paint. This one looked more promising, with newer construction, and the steps up to the second floor didn’t creak nearly as much. The door, when he tried it, was locked, which was a good sign. A quick glance at the closed windows to his right got him an eyeful of cotton curtains.

  “Looks good,” he said.

  “Remember, I get first stab at the carton of ice cream,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He slung his M4 and drew his Glock, then looked over at Jordan. She had kept her M4 in front of her and was already in position to assault the door before he had ever said anything.

  He must have smiled to himself, because Jordan said, “What are you looking all goofy for?”

  “Goofy?”

  “It must be those ugly scars on your face. Reminds me of this guy I used to know in middle school. Goofy Larry.”

  “Sounds like a great guy.”

  “He was, if it wasn’t for the smell.

  Keo sniffed himself. “I’ll take a bath in the ocean later.”

  “Promises, promises,” she said. Then, “Open the door, Romeo, and let’s get this show on the road before I die of old age.”

  He took a step back and gave the doorknob a hard look. It wasn’t anything elaborate, just a round metallic silver (But not real silver, natch) knob with a keyhole in the center.

  “Maybe we should try knocking first?” Jordan said. “You know, in case there’s someone already inside.”

  “You think?”

  “It’d be the right thing to—”

  Crash! as Keo kicked the door at the spot just underneath the doorknob before she could finish.

  The door swung open, the doorknob and lock hanging off the doorframe.

  Jordan sighed. “Dick.”

  He grinned, then took a step forward and inside, raising the Glock to chest level. He swept left, then right, before forward again. Jordan followed, leaving just enough room for him to turn, if necessary. The house had been sealed off for so long that the lack of ventilation hit Keo first. It would have been stuffy and hot if the outside weather weren’t so chilly, especially this close to the ocean.

  He moved through the living room, passing leather brown furniture, and maneuvered around a glass coffee table with old copies of Sports Illustrated and Cosmopolitan in two separate stacks. His and hers, he presumed. The interior looked more inviting than its exterior, a chandelier dangling from the ceiling and framed photos all around of a couple, but no kids. Fishing poles lined one wall, and an array of sports caps took up space on another. A generous layer of dust covered everything, and Keo fought back a sneeze as he made a beeline for the kitchen in the back.

  Jordan had positioned herself in front of the back hallway to his right and was aiming her M4 into the darkness. He was thankful their weapons were loaded with silver ammo, even more grateful he had convinced Jordan to waste a couple of days to raid homes and hammer out some silver bullets along the way. Too bad everything, including all that hard-to-find bullet-making material, was lost somewhere in downtown Sunport at the moment.

  If it wasn’t for shitty luck…

  “Let’s clear the hallway first,” he said.

  He moved in front of her, and Jordan slung her rifle and drew her Glock. Keo took out a small Maglite from his pocket and flicked it on, then proceeded into the darkened hallway, the bright LED beam moving from wall to floor to ceiling and back again.

  “I don’t smell anything,” Jordan said from behind him.

  He nodded. She didn’t mean she couldn’t smell “anything,” because they could smell plenty. What she meant was she couldn’t smell them, because the creatures always gave off an identifiable stench
when they were inside a place, especially one that was this lacking in proper ventilation.

  There were three doors in the back of the hallway, leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom at the end, but none of them had anything worth finding. Like the first house, there were no obvious signs of a struggle or old, browning blood. Which begged the question: Where the hell were Sunport’s beachside residents when The Purge hit?

  When they finished clearing the closets and anything else with a door, Keo left Jordan in the house to look for something useful while he went back outside and made his way down to the first floor. The building rested on stilts like all the other homes, but unlike the gray house next door or the white one on the other side, this one had something that looked like a storage shack underneath it. There was a door in front with a large padlock, but it was wood, and Keo easily got around it by prying the hasp free with his Ka-Bar.

  Inside, he found an old couch underneath a heavy blue tarp and camping equipment scattered along a shelf in the back. More promising were three five-gallon water bottles and unmarked brown boxes on the higher shelves, probably in case the room flooded. A dirt-covered bag contained a pile of old, size-small T-shirts. Keo took down and opened one of the boxes and smiled at the unmarked silver cans inside. He held one can up and shook it, heard water sloshing around inside. Canned goods. His luck was finally looking up.

  He grabbed one of the boxes and turned to leave when he heard a creak underneath him. It was very slight, and he might have not even triggered it if he hadn’t been holding the extra weight.

  He stepped back and looked down at an old rug with fraying edges. At one point it had been covered in green, red, and brown patterns, but it was mostly just brown now. Keo put the box down and pulled back the fabric, then peered through the flurry of erupted dust at a wooden door. There was no lock, but he did spot a small rectangular hole near one end, just big enough for a couple of fingers to slip through.

  Keo took out the Maglite and shined it through the hole, spying dirt sprinkled across a floor on the other end, but no signs of obsidian eyes or black flesh. Even so, he leaned forward and sniffed the air around the rectangular opening just to be sure.