The Purge of Babylon Series Box Set: Books 4-6
Author: Sam Sisavath
Date: 2020-09-07 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Post-Apocalyptic | Horror | Infected
Publisher: Road To Babylon Media LLC

Contents

The Completed Purge of Babylon Series

Also by Sam Sisavath

The Fires of Atlantis

About The Fires of Atlantis

Prelude

Book One

1. Keo

2. Lara

3. Gaby

4. Will

5. Gaby

6. Keo

7. Gaby

8. Lara

9. Will

10. Gaby

11. Keo

12. Gaby

13. Will

14. Gaby

15. Will

Book Two

16. Keo

17. Will

18. Lara

19. Will

20. Keo

21. Will

22. Gaby

23. Will

24. Lara

25. Gaby

Book Three

26. Keo

27. Will

28. Gaby

29. Lara

30. Will

31. Keo

32. Gaby

33. Will

34. Gaby

Epilogue

The Ashes of Pompeii

About The Ashes of Pompeii

Prelude

Book One

1. Keo

2. Lara

3. Will

4. Gaby

5. Lara

6. Will

7. Keo

8. Gaby

9. Will

10. Gaby

11. Will

Book Two

12. Lara

13. Keo

14. Gaby

15. Josh

16. Lara

17. Gaby

18. Keo

19. Josh

20. Lara

Book Three

21. Will

22. Gaby

23. Keo

24. Will

25. Lara

26. Will

27. Keo

28. Gaby

Epilogue

The Isles of Elysium

About The Isles of Elysium

Book One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Book Two

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Book Three

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

The Completed Purge of Babylon 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)

Also by Sam Sisavath

The Road to Babylon Post-Apocalyptic Series

Glory Box

Bombtrack

Rooster

Devil’s Haircut

Black

The Distance

Hollow

Daybreak

The Ranch

100 Deep

The After The Purge: Vendetta Trilogy

Requiem

Tokens

Remains

The After The Purge: AKA John Smith Series

Mist City

Run or Fight

Shoot Last

The Allie Krycek Vigilante Series

Hunter/Prey

Saint/Sinner

Finders/Keepers

Savior/Corruptor

The Red Sky Conspiracy Series

Most Wanted

The Devil You Know

The Fall Man Post-Apocalyptic Series

The Break

Homefront

Firebase

About The Fires of Atlantis

Copyright (c) 2014 by Sam Sisavath

Separated, but not out of the fight.

Gaby has been captured by a familiar figure from her past. Some might take captivity lying down, but they aren’t Gaby.

Will and Danny are close on Gaby’s trail, but their rescue mission is detoured in a city under siege by a very dangerous new breed of ghouls. The reunited ex-Army Rangers will face their toughest fight yet if they want to get out alive.

Back on Song Island, Lara prepares for an impending attack. She receives unexpected assistance from a man named Keo, an ex-mercenary with his own agenda.

Meanwhile, the survivors’ radio broadcast has elicited surprising responses from around the globe. It might be the start of a resistance against the ghoul domination…if Lara can keep everyone alive long enough.

Where The Purge begins, the Gates hold, and the Stones crumble, the Fires will burn…

Prelude

“To any survivors out there, if you’re hearing this, you are not alone. There are things you need to know about our enemy—these creatures of the night, these ghouls. They are not invincible, and they have weaknesses other than sunlight. One: you can kill them with silver. Stab them, shoot them, or cut them with any silver weapon, and they will die. Two: they will not cross bodies of water. An island, a boat—get to anything that can separate you from land. Three: some ultraviolet light has proven effective, but flashlights and lightbulbs with UV don’t seem to have any effect. We don’t know why, so use this information with caution. If you’re hearing this message, you are not alone. Stay strong, stay smart, and adapt. We owe it to those we’ve lost to keep fighting, to never give up. Good luck.”

Book One

S.E.R.E.

1

Keo

The scar tingled whenever it got cold. And it was cold at night, even in October in south Louisiana. If he thought about something else—like Gillian, or better yet, Gillian in a bikini walking along a stretch of beach waiting for him—it was easy to forget that someone had very recently tried to carve his face like a jack-o’-lantern. The scar was a reminder of three months of running and fighting.

Remember when you didn’t give a damn about anyone but yourself?

You’re really getting soft, pal.

The earbud in his right ear clicked, interrupting the silence he had been enjoying for the last hour while waiting for darkness to fall. A voice said, “You’re putting your life in the hands of some girl you don’t know from Adam. If that doesn’t make you the dumbest man still alive, it’s gotta be pretty close.”

“You know what they say about lives,” Keo whispered into the throat mic. “The only thing certain is death and taxes. And since good ol’ Uncle Sam isn’t around anymore to collect the latter, where does that leave us?”

“You and us up a creek, San Diego.”

“So what else is new?”

“Leave the man alone with his death wish, Shorty,” a second voice said.

“We should be on Song Island right now, Zach,” Shorty said. “Wasn’t that the point of coming down here in the first place? But instead, we’re stealing people’s silver and turning them into bullets. What a big ol’ waste of time.”

“Song Island’s not going anywhere,” Zachary said. “It’ll be there when we get there. Besides, if the lady on the radio’s right, this could change everything. We might actually be able to kill these things. What did she call them?”

“Ghouls,” Keo said.

“Sounds about right.”

“We could have at least tried this closer to the water,” Shorty said. “Safer.”

“Since when did you start playing it safe?” Keo asked.

Shorty snorted. “We should have stayed on the boat. Wait for one of them to get close to the pier and test this theory out. Coming out here is stupid, Zach.”

“We tried that last night,” Keo said.

“This is too risky…” Shorty insisted.

“Life’s a risk, especially now,” Zachary said.

Keo couldn’t help but smile to himself. Shorty called him crazy, but he wasn’t the one who had voluntarily spent his nights in the ground wearing a ghillie suit while the bloodsuckers were running around—sometimes on top of them. He had been calling them creatures, monsters, and bloodsuckers, but the woman on the radio referred to them as ghouls. He guessed it was as good a name as any.

The woman on the radio also told him silver would kill these things.

I guess we’ll find out tonight…

He focused on the creature in the center of his weapon’s optic. It had been a good nine seconds since he acquired his target and laid the red dot directly over something that used to be a forehead. It was pruned, like someone’s asshole. He shouldn’t have been able to see the creature from this distance, but there was a full moon out tonight and he had a good perch.

“You guys could have stayed on the boat,” Keo whispered. “You didn’t actually have to come out here with me. I could have done this myself.”

“Someone had to watch your ass,” Zachary said in his right ear. “You’re used to working alone, kid, but we’re not.”

“Your funeral.”

“What a nice thing to say,” Shorty said. “I should have stayed at the park. You know what’s the best thing about sleeping on a boat? Not being surrounded by a few thousand ghouls.”

“A few thousand?” You’re being overly generous there, Shorty. There’s got to be a few tens of thousands of the bloodsuckers out tonight…

“Well?” Zachary said.

“Well, what?” Keo whispered back.

“The one you got in your crosshairs right now. I assume it’s the same one I’m looking at. You going to shoot it or not?”

“Why so anxious? The two of you don’t even believe it’ll work.”

“Can you blame us?” Shorty said. “Silver bullets? Come on. That’s crazy.”

“Right. Silver bullets is crazy,” Keo said. “Because all of this is perfectly sane.”

Zachary chuckled. “He’s got you there, Shorty.”

Shorty wasn’t buying it. “I’m just saying. Why would silver bullets work when good ol’-fashioned lead don’t?”

“The lady on the radio says it works,” Keo said.

“You don’t even know who she is.”

“She sounded pretty sure of it. And she got the rest of it right. Sunlight, bodies of water… We know for a fact those work, too.”

“All right, all right,” Zachary said impatiently. “So get it over with and let’s see once and for all. I’m freezing my ass off out here, and Shorty’s all pruned up so much I might not be able to tell the difference between him and those ghouls pretty soon.”

“Just don’t accidentally shoot me in the ass,” Shorty said.

“No promises.”

“Relax,” Keo said. “You’re hiding inside the building while I’m up here on the rooftop. The only one who should be worried right now is me.”

“Don’t miss,” Shorty said. “As I recall, you’re not much of a long-distance shooter.”

“This isn’t much of a shot.”

“You hope.”

He tuned out the two men, along with the soft wind blowing through his hair and across the rooftop, scattering loose gravel around him.

Nice and slow. Breathe.

Keo tightened his forefinger against the trigger of the MP5SD. The long barrel of the submachine gun was steady against the brick edge in front of him. From his vantage point, he had a clear look at everything for a good block and a half. There were, at the moment, a handful of the creatures moving from building to building, but he didn’t have any illusions that that was the full extent of their numbers.

Where you find one, you find a hundred…or a thousand…

The one he was staring at stood underneath a streetlight. He imagined a pool of white circling the thing’s head, but of course there was no such thing. The city was pitch black at night, and had been for the last few days ever since he and Allie’s two boys arrived.

Nice and slow.

The creature was forty meters farther down the street. It wasn’t a terribly difficult shot. Your average Boot Camp graduate could have made it standing on his head with an M4 rifle. But he didn’t have a carbine. The MP5SD was a close-quarter combat weapon and was not designed for long-distance shooting.

Still, it was only forty meters. Even an up-close-and-personal shooter like him could probably make this shot.

Probably.

Breathe. Nice and slow.

Just breathe…

He squeezed the trigger and the 9mm round was away, the soft pfft! sound of the gunshot echoing slightly in the darkness, most of it muffled by the highly effective stainless steel suppressor connected to the end of the gun barrel. The noise made by the bullet casing as it ejected, then flicked through the air, before clinking on the rooftop was almost louder than the shot itself.

He watched through the scope as the creature jerked its head back and slumped to the sidewalk in a pile.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Zachary repeated in his right ear.

“Sonofabitch,” Shorty said, sounding slightly breathless.

Keo pulled the submachine gun back just in case the moonlight decided to give away his position on the rooftop. Below him, the creatures were converging on the dead one, their black-skinned and gaunt forms more silhouetted shadows than actual figures. What were they thinking now? Shock? Fear? Confusion? Did they even still think at all?

“So, was it worth it coming out here tonight?” Keo whispered into the throat mic.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zachary said. “Stop gloating and get back down here before they spot you.”

Keo grinned, got up, and moved across the rooftop, keeping his profile as low as possible by bending at the waist. He snatched up his pack along the way, very aware of the crunch-crunch of his boots against the loose gravel floor. He slung the MP5SD as he reached the stairwell door and pulled it open, careful not to make a sound—or more than necessary, anyway, since it was impossible to be completely silent these days—and slipped inside.

He flicked on a small LED flashlight to navigate his way down the enclosed room, the only noise the soft tap-tap of his boots against concrete. He fought against the instinct to turn and flee when faced with darkened corners. Not too much, though; that instinct was what had kept him alive all these months, and it didn’t pay to water it down.

He flicked off the flashlight and entered the fifth floor through another door.

Zachary and Shorty were exactly where Keo had last seen them—still crouched at the window on the far side, peering through night-vision binoculars at the streets below. Zachary’s beaten and well-used Browning BAR rifle rested against the windowsill, while Shorty’s Winchester rifle was on the floor within easy reach. Both men wore jeans and black shirts, far removed from their ghillie suits and Robertson Park.

Chilly air filtered in through some of the broken windows up and down the floor, including the one in front of Zachary and Shorty. The office building was nestled in the heart of downtown Lake Dulcet, and in the daylight, it looked hauntingly abandoned like all the rest around it. The place didn’t look any better at night, but it was one of the few large structures that hadn’t revealed any signs of ghoul occupancy. It also had everything he needed, including a tall enough perch with an easy view of the area and a place to shoot from that couldn’t be traced back. Or at least, he hoped not.

“Silver bullets. Now I’ve seen everything,” Zachary said, looking over his shoulder at Keo. He was in his forties, with a thick patch of beard and a face, like Keo’s and Shorty’s, that hadn’t seen a decent soap or shower in weeks. “Maybe we should call you Tonto from now on.”

“Because I’m half-Korean that means I can’t be the Lone Ranger?” Keo said.

“I was thinking more because you’re a smartass troublemaker.”

Keo grinned. “I hate horses, anyway.”

The young man sitting next to Zachary, Shorty, remained fixed outside the window with his binoculars. “Man, you really stirred them up. They’re running around like chickens with their heads cut off. You better hope they didn’t hear that gunshot.”

“Did you hear it?” Keo asked.

“No.”

“Then I’m guessing they couldn’t hear it, either.”

“You hope,” Shorty said. “You know what I say about hoping these days?”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Because there is no hope. Get it?”

Keo smirked. “You suck at this.”

“Whatever,” Shorty said. He lowered his binoculars and glanced at Zachary. “We locked the lobby doors, right?”

“Yup,” Zachary nodded. “Why?”

“Nothing, just wanted to make sure,” he said, and Keo thought the young man might have shivered slightly in the semidarkness, but that could have just been his imagination.

Keo crouched next to them at the window. He looked out at the shadows gliding up the street in their direction. After all these months, he still couldn’t quite get used to watching them moving around at night. This was their world now. There was no mistaking that. They—he, Zachary, and Shorty, and all the other humans still running around out there—were the outliers. The exception to the rule.

Santa Marie Island. That’s where you should be. With Gillian. On the beach.

Soon. Soon…

He could see the dead ghoul he had shot, farther down the sidewalk and left to lay where it had fallen. He had done that. Killed it. With a silver bullet. The reality of it was still a little hard to grasp.

But there it was. The evidence.

Daebak.

It had taken them days to collect enough of the valuable metal and find an Archers store in the city with the right bullet-making supplies. Despite Zachary’s and Shorty’s doubts (which he shared, if he was being honest), they all wanted to believe. The creatures had been unkillable except by sunlight for so long that just knowing you could take them out even at night was a game changer.

“You can kill them with silver,” the recording had said. “Stab them, shoot them, or cut them with any silver weapon, and they will die.”

Damn straight.

“Silver bullets,” Keo said. “If she’s right about that, what else do you think she knows?”

“The bodies of water and sunlight we already know,” Zachary said. “I don’t know where we’d get industrial strength ultraviolet lights, though.”

“I knew a couple of guys that grew some plants using those,” Shorty said. “I don’t know if they were industrial strength, but they looked pretty big to me.”

“I know one thing. We’re making a lot of silver bullets tomorrow.”

Shorty glanced at Keo. “Nice shot, by the way. I didn’t think you could hit a trash dumpster with that German peashooter.”

“You’d be surprised what a peashooter can do in the right hands,” Keo said.

“I bet. You ever gonna tell us what you used to do before all of this?”

“This and that, and some of those.” Keo leaned back against the wall and pulled a half-eaten granola bar from his pack and took a bite. “Next stop, Song Island?”

“After we make a shitload of silver bullets,” Zachary said. “As much as we can carry.”

“What about knives?”

“Silver knives?”

“Yeah.”

Zachary nodded. “Good idea. Give me a day, and I can come up with a lot more silver-based weapons.”

“Take your time,” Keo said. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere tonight—” He stopped in mid-sentence.

Zachary glanced over. “What?”

Keo looked across the empty floor at the stairwell door. He was still chewing, but there was no taste anymore. “Are you sure the lobby’s sealed?”

“Like I told Shorty, yeah. Why?”

“I thought I heard something.”

“Like what?” Shorty asked.

“Moving.”

“What kind of moving?” Zachary said.

“Moving.”

“That narrows it down,” Shorty said just before he picked up his rifle and laid it across his lap.

Zachary pulled away from the window and faced the stairwell door. He stopped moving—even stopped breathing entirely—and listened. After a moment, he shook his head, eyes searching out Keo’s again. “I don’t hear anything. You sure you heard something?”

“Pretty sure,” Keo nodded.

“Shorty?”

Shorty shook his head. “Maybe all those months being chased through the woods by that Pollard guy’s got him spooked.”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“Nope.”

Zachary looked back at Keo. “What do you think it was?”

“I told you. Movement.”

“From the floor below us? You mentioned the lobby…”

“Somewhere below us.” Keo dropped the unfinished granola bar and tightened his hands around the MP5SD. “Definitely below us.”

“Maybe you’re just imagining things,” Shorty said. “Maybe killing that bloodsucker’s got you overly excited.”

“I don’t get overly excited.”

“First time for everything, San Diego,” Shorty said.

Keo flashed him a slightly annoyed look. He didn’t really like Shorty all that much, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Keo preferred the older Zachary’s company. Shorty was a couple of years younger, and his insistence on calling Keo San Diego was getting old real fast. The only reason the kid had come along with them in the first place was because he was tied to the hip with Zachary, who had his own reasons for wanting to reach Song Island.

“Are you guys loaded with silver?” Keo whispered.

“We just made the nine mil rounds for your peashooter, remember?” Shorty said.

Zachary’s eyes remained focused on the door across from them. If he heard or saw anything, he didn’t say it. After a while, he looked down at Keo, sitting to his right—Shorty was to his left—and said, “Are you sure—”

He never finished because Zachary’s words became slurred, then stopped becoming words entirely, and instead took on the form of a scream as his body jerked backward toward the window, as if he were being sucked out by a vacuum.

Keo lunged away from the wall and unslung the MP5SD as he watched, with a mixture of horror and disbelief, as two of the creatures clung to the windowsill outside the building and pulled Zachary through the opening.

One of them had a fistful of Zachary’s scruffy long hair while the other had a viselike grip over the lower half of his jaw, quickly clamping down on Zachary’s screams and turning them into muffled cries for help instead.

And all Keo could think was, How did they get up here? Did they…crawl up the side of the building?

He didn’t know they could do that. He didn’t know the ghouls could do a lot of things.

“Zachary, fuck!” Shorty screamed as he too stumbled away from the wall, spinning around and lifting his rifle.

Shorty fired, his first shot splattering the left eyeball of one of the ghouls outside, the round punching through the back of its head and disappearing into the cold October air, continuing on. The creature, too, kept on going—pulling Zachary’s struggling body through the window along with its partner.

Then Zachary disappeared from view.

Keo stood, frozen, even as he heard Zachary screaming like a banshee from outside. The screaming went on for what must have been two or three seconds, though it sounded more like two to three minutes.

Jesus Christ, how long does it take a man to fall down five floors?

Both he and Shorty flinched involuntarily when they heard the thump! of flesh and bones striking the sidewalk outside.

“Shorty,” Keo said. “We gotta go.”

“Zachary,” Shorty said.

If he had more to say, he never finished it. Instead, he might have gasped audibly when two of the creatures—different ones, this time (or were they?)—reached up from below the windowsill, grabbed the frames, and pulled themselves upward until their faces were visible in the opening. Grotesquely deformed features, like nothing that could possibly be mistaken for human, peered through the window at them.

“We gotta go!” Keo shouted.

Keo backpedaled from the glaring eyes, lifted the submachine, and fired. He hit one of them in the face and the creature let go of its grip, dropping back into the night. Keo was momentarily shocked by what had just happened. He had shot these things more times than he could count and they never reacted that way. He had even seen Shorty put a .308 round through one of them a few seconds ago, and it didn’t even flinch.

But this one…this one went down.

Silver bullets. Silver bullets!

The second one had managed to hook its spindly legs into the window frame, like some kind of insect, and was in the process of pulling itself through the opening when Keo shot it in the chest. It let go and dropped backward, swallowed up by the darkness.

“Shorty!” Keo shouted. “Let’s go!”

But Shorty didn’t move, not even when deformed shapes began climbing through the windows to their left and right along the floor. It was too dark for him to see anything beyond moving shadows. Not that Keo had to guess what was happening around him, because as soon as he killed the first two bloodsuckers, two—three—five more were trying to crawl in through the exact same space that had just been vacated.

Gather some supplies. Make some silver bullets. Go find Gillian.

What could possibly go wrong?

He flicked the fire selector on the submachine gun to full-auto and opened fire.

“Shorty!” he shouted over the clink-clink-clink of bullet casings falling against the tiled floor around him.

Silver 9mm bullets ripped through flesh and kept going, and the creatures fell like dominos in front of him, others swan diving back out of the window.

Then Boom! Boom! as Shorty began shooting. It was a bolt-action rifle, and each shot required him to manually reload. Keo remembered all those days on the road trying to convince the kid to switch to something more practical. But Shorty wouldn’t go for it. He was married to his Winchester.

Stupid kid, Keo thought, shouting again, “Shorty, come on!”

Because Shorty’s .308, as devastating as it was to a human body, was like throwing pebbles at the ghouls. His bullets tore through them, and some even hit the ones behind them—and it still kept going even then—but it didn’t stop them. Not for a moment. Not even for a millisecond. Keo wasn’t sure if the creatures even felt the bullet impacts.

“Shorty!”

He was backpedaling and firing, spraying from left to right, watching the bounding forms stumbling and falling. They were converging from every side now, literally pouring in through the windows across the floor, the tap-tap-tap! of bare feet against the carpet like a dozen stampeding herds at once.

Too many. Always too goddamn many...

Even as they collapsed left and right and over each other, more were climbing through the windows every second. Every half-second. He found breathing difficult as the floor began filling up with their stench. There was a never-ending stream of them, and he guessed this must be what it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

And Shorty was standing in front of him, shooting and smashing the buttstock of his rifle into the creatures as they surged toward him. He was backpedaling, but not fast enough. Too slow. Way too slow.

“Shorty, goddammit!”

He didn’t know if the other man could hear him. Probably not. Shorty didn’t seem capable of moving any faster, and soon—

They were on top of him. Driving him to the floor.

Shorty started screaming.

Then the sea of black tar began changing directions and converging on Shorty. He saw Shorty’s hand sticking out of the squirming mass of shriveled skin and bony limbs.

Keo turned and ran, reloading at the same time, dropping the long, slender magazine. He didn’t have to look to perform the task. It was second nature by now.

He made a beeline for the same stairwell door he had come through earlier.

The tsunami of bare feet slapping against the floor burst through his eardrums as the creatures gave chase. He guessed not every one of them was going for Shorty anymore. How many were back there on his heels? A dozen? Hundreds? How many undead things could fit into one floor, he wondered.

Too many. Always too damn many…

Keo didn’t look back. It was pointless because he knew what was back there. And he didn’t want to see Shorty’s death. He couldn’t even hear the kid’s screams anymore. He couldn’t hear his own breathing, for that matter—only the relentless pounding in his chest.

Around him, their stench overwhelmed the stale odor of the abandoned floor.

They were fast, but he was faster. A steady diet of beef jerky and protein had kept Keo lean, and the nearly three-month long jaunt through the woods, being hunted by psychos with assault rifles, had forced him into the best shape of his life. He was also blessed with a long stride, one of the benefits of being six-one.

He grabbed for the stairwell door with his left hand, his right still wrapped around the MP5SD with the forefinger against the trigger. He twisted the doorknob with one fluid motion, pulled the door open with another, and was greeted by total darkness—

—except for the pair of yellow, crooked teeth coming at him.

He squeezed off a burst, slicing the creature in half. It fell soundlessly, thick clumps of black liquid splashing the wall behind it.

Silver bullets. Silver fucking bullets!

Keo jumped over the shriveled-up dead thing.

Sounds—coming from below this time. That meant he couldn’t go down. Which wasn’t his first choice anyway, but it would have been nice to actually have a choice.

So what was left?

He glanced up the flight of stairs, just as—

—THOOM-THOOM-THOOM as they crashed into the stairwell door behind him with the intensity of rabid dogs that hadn’t eaten in days, weeks, maybe months.

He went up.

They were coming. Fast-moving bastards. The manic tap-tap-tap! of bare feet slammed against the solid concrete of the stairwell, echoing along the length of the confined space. He didn’t look back, didn’t look down. The rush of wind caught up to him from behind as the fifth-floor stairwell door was flung open and they poured inside, the very distinctive splatter of feet against black blood spilled by the dead ghoul ringing in his ears.

He reached the rooftop door faster than he expected and burst outside, boots crunching against familiar loose gravel. He darted across the wide-open spaces, intimately aware that he was going to run out of space soon.

Very, very soon.

Darkness, moonlight, and a pair of smaller buildings around him, including one directly in front. A two-story building, with a bar on the first floor and living quarters on the second. He had scouted it earlier in the day with Zachary but hadn’t gone inside because the windows and doors were locked. The most important thing, though, was that the windows were not covered, which meant there were no nests inside.

That was the good news.

The bad news? The building was three stories down, with just over four meters of empty space between rooftops. It was going to be a hell of a drop if he couldn’t make the jump.

London Bridge is falling down, falling down…

Shut up!

They flooded out of the stairwell behind him and were battling against the loose gravel. He wondered if it looked nearly as comical as it sounded.

I should have brought a camera.

He unslung his pack, and with a meter left until he reached the end, flung it and watched it disappear into the night. He glimpsed the edge—was he running to it, or was it coming to him?—and lunged forward with his left leg, landed solidly, and catapulted himself up and over and forward through the cold, chilly Louisiana air.

So this is what it feels like to fly.

The rooftop of the building next door came into view as he plummeted back down through the darkness, way faster than he had anticipated. He tried to pick up where his pack had landed while he was still in the air so he wouldn’t have to waste time looking for it later—

—If my legs aren’t broken when I land—

—and saw it lying almost near the far edge. Jesus, how the hell had it gotten that far?

I must be stronger than I look.

He almost laughed out loud, but before he could put thought into action, the flat rooftop was there and he managed to land in a crouch, his momentum carrying him forward into a tuck and roll. He snapped back up on one bent knee, shocked and joyous that he was still alive, that neither one of his legs were broken even though pain shot through both and up his thighs, his entire body seeming to vibrate for a few seconds afterward.

Daebak!

He was on his feet instantly and rushing toward his pack. He snatched it up and slipped it through his arms as—thoomp! thoomp!—two of the creatures landed on the rooftop behind him.

He glanced back, saw them floundering like fish out of water, bony arms and legs snapping in every direction and at one point actually became entangled with one another. But that didn’t last, and they quickly became two separate creatures again—

He shot them and watched them drop, even as more fell out of the inky black sky like raindrops, landing one after another…after another. Bones snapped and broke, then another, then another still—not that it stopped any of them.

They kept coming—falling over and over, then actually on top of one another when they ran out of space. And still they kept dropping out of the sky…

Keo backed up until cold air was brushing against his backside. He looked over his shoulder at empty space, having nearly backpedaled right off the edge. There was a catwalk below him.

He emptied the remaining 9mm rounds into the mass of creatures in front of him, watching as they stumbled and fell, still amazed that they were going down, that he was actually killing them for once.

Killing them again? Re-kill? Whatever.

When the submachine gun ran empty for the second time, he slung it and dropped off the edge without looking back. It wasn’t a steep fall, only a few meters, though it felt like more. He landed on the catwalk with a loud bang!, the structure threatening to buckle under him, to pry itself free from the brick wall it was fastened to.

But it held. Miraculously, it held.

The window in front of him was closed and Keo was prepared to smash it open with his weapon, but when he grabbed the bottom and tried to open it, it actually slid up for him.

Hallelujah!

He pushed it all the way up and dived inside, turned, and slammed the glass back down just as one—two—five of the creatures landed on the catwalk outside. Whomp-whomp-whomp! There were so many coming down at once that they started falling on top of each other’s heads and shoulders, then bounced off and tumbled over the railings.

The first creature to right itself slammed its fist into the window and cracked it, but it must not have been strong enough because the window held. At least, until another one of the ghouls joined the first one with its own flailing fist. Then a third and a fourth began ramming their entire bodies—one was using its skull—until the glass panes began cracking under the frenzied assault.

Keo took a couple of steps back, ejected the magazine, shoved it into his pack, and pulled out a fresh one from a pouch around his waist and slammed it home. He shot the first ghoul that made it through the jagged opening in one of the panes. It fell forward into the room, landing awkwardly on its skull.

The others continued scrambling inside, undeterred, fighting to be the first one in.

He strafed the window, emptying the magazine, and watched with morbid fascination as the mass of black, pruned flesh and skeletal bodies corralled within the four walls of the catwalk outside. The congestion didn’t slow them at all, and even more were falling out of the sky like endless raindrops.

Silver bullets or not, he wasn’t going to stop them. Not even close.

He fled, making a run for the door, grabbing it and pulling it open without a problem, and lunged into darkness. His eyes quickly adjusted, picking out the banisters at the other end of the hallway. Keo ran for it when his forehead hit something soft. He slid to a stop and looked up at a rope dangling from the ceiling.

Crash!

From below him on the first floor, the unmistakable noise of glass breaking.

Then another crash!, followed by another…

He grabbed the piece of rope and yanked it. The frame of the attic door appeared in the darkness as it opened up from the ceiling. Keo grabbed the ladder and pulled even as something smashed into the door behind him.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

He shut the noises out—from below him, from behind him—everywhere.

Scrambled up the stairs and ignored the last few steps and jumped upward onto the wooden scaffolding above. Clouds of dust that had been gathering for the last year erupted around him. Twisting, he grabbed the ladder and pulled it up, making sure to bring the dangling rope along with him. Before the door could slam shut and join the tumultuous symphony of chaos exploding below him, Keo grabbed it at the last second, slowing its speed, and cautiously—painfully slowly, almost as if in slow-motion—tapped it shut.

Darkness swamped him, taking away what little light he had with the attic door open. The tap-tap-tap of bare feet against the wooded hallway floor filtered up from the room below him, overwhelming everything, including his own ragged breathing. There were no peepholes, so Keo had to only go with what his ears could pick up.

Footsteps on the stairs, rushing down, then up, then down again.

They were searching for him, an endless wave of the creatures moving through the hallway below, in and out of doors and rooms.

Keo moved into a sitting position facing the door in the floor, the submachine gun resting between his legs. Something small and furry scrambled next to him in the darkness, brushing up against his right arm. It was all he could do not to open fire on it. Instead, he gritted his teeth and listened to the creature burrowing through attic insulation, more afraid of him than he was of it. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

He glanced at his watch, the hands glowing in the suffocating darkness.

It was hours yet before morning.

He sat and waited and did his best not to breathe in the dust around him. The place probably had asbestos, too. Just his luck. He had survived the end of the world only to get mesothelioma. Now that would really suck.

His body had already begun to itch from the close proximity to insulation. He battled the urge to sneeze and had to cup his mouth and nostrils with one hand.

Below him, the endless tap-tap-tap of bare feet continued unabated, like an ocean’s wave lapping against a beach, soft and soothing and promising safety and shelter from the darkness.

He wondered if Gillian and Jordan and the others had made it to Santa Marie Island after all. If they were waiting for him on the beach right now, wondering why he hadn’t made it there yet like he had promised. Would Gillian understand when he finally arrived and explained what took him so long?

“See, there was this crazy guy with a small army hunting us…”

She might have even found someone else after giving up on him ever showing up. It would serve him right. Maybe Mark was the lucky guy…

“Keo. You promise me. You’ll follow us to Santa Marie Island,” Gillian had said to him when they had their last conversation.

“Yes,” he had answered. “I promise. Reserve a spot on the beach for me. I also wouldn’t mind if you were wearing a bikini when I get there.”

How long ago was that? It seemed like another lifetime now.

This’ll teach you to make promises you can’t keep, pal…

2

Lara

“This is your way of making me hate you, is that it? Because it’s working. First you let me think you were dead, then I learn you’re alive, and now you’re telling me you’re not coming home. Are you purposefully trying to piss me off, Will?”

He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment she wondered if hearing his voice for the first time in nearly a week had been just an illusion, something her grief-stricken mind had conjured up in order to spare her the pain of believing she had lost him for good. Maybe it was all a bad dream. She’d had plenty of those since he left the island with Gaby on Jen’s helicopter.

“Will? Are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” he said finally.

He sounded so close, as if she could reach out and touch him. She had to remind herself that he was alive, something she hadn’t been sure of until yesterday when Danny found him outside of Lafayette. That should have been all that mattered, but at the moment she couldn’t stop her anger from boiling to the surface.

The guilt immediately washed over her, and she struggled to control it.

“So say something, Will…”

“Lara, you know there’s nothing in this world I want more than to come back to you right now. I just can’t. Not yet.”

Of course not, Will. If you did what you wanted instead of what you needed to do, then you wouldn’t be Will, would you? You wouldn’t be the man I love.

She sighed. “Forget for a moment that I’m this close to getting in a boat and hunting your stupid, inconsiderate ass down for leaving me hanging. Forget that for one moment. Take emotion out of it and think about this logically, Will. You’re hurt. You’re bleeding. You’ve been shot. You need to come back to me. I need you to come back here so I can make sure you don’t die.”

“I will.” He sounded tired, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Which was to say he sounded exactly the way he always did. “But I can’t. Not yet.”

“Can you even trust this Kellerson? What if he’s leading you into another trap?”

“He’s not. I’ve made sure of that.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer, and Lara realized she didn’t want to know.

Will does what he has to. What he needs to. Like he always does.

That’s why he’s Will.

“No, don’t tell me,” she said. “What about Roy?”

“He should be back at the island in a few hours with a passenger. Her name’s Zoe. She’s hurt, so you’ll have to take care of her for me.”

“Carly warned me you’d find someone else out there.”

He laughed, and Lara couldn’t help but smile.

“We were sort of thrown together,” he said. “I think you’ll like her.”

“Is she okay?”

“She was shot, too.”

Who hasn’t been shot these days? Lara thought, but said, “How bad is it?”

“I wasn’t sure if she would live, but she’s a tough one. She was in one of those blood farms when all of this began.”

“How did you two meet?”

“She was working in one of the camps the collaborators were running. The one Josh was in charge of.”

Josh.

Lara still couldn’t believe it. Eighteen-year-old Josh, who followed Gaby around like a lost puppy when she first met them all those months ago. But as difficult as it was for her to believe that Josh had changed so much, it had been even more of an ordeal for Gaby.

Will’s hurt. Gaby’s missing. And Josh has become the enemy.

How did it all go so wrong?

“When I was shot, she saved my life,” Will was saying. “I owe her everything, Lara.”

“Then I’ll have to thank her when she gets here.”

“She’s a doctor, so once she’s better, she’ll be a big asset to the island.”

“Oh, a doctor. A real doctor, you mean.”

He laughed again. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” she teased.

It had been so long since she’d had the opportunity to have a little fun at his expense. The fact that he was still alive made her a bit giddy, and Lara was glad she was alone in the third floor of the Tower so no one could see. She could be herself with Will, but these days, other people expected more out of her. Too much, sometimes.

“She could never replace you,” he said. “No one could. Not in a million years.”

“Good answer,” Lara said. “Though I’m sure if she wanted to replace me, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge. She is, after all, a real doctor.”

He went quiet again, and she wondered if she had gone too far.

“Will, it’s just a joke.”

“It’s not that, Lara.”

“What is it, then?”

“You can do this. It’s in you to lead.”

“That’s not my job. That’s yours.”

“I’m just a grunt.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true. I’ve always been just a grunt. Give me a gun and a target, and I can handle it. But you… You’re smarter and stronger than I’ll ever be.”

Her chest tightened. The way he had said it—so earnestly and with so much conviction, as if he believed every word of it with every fiber of his being. At that moment, she wasn’t sure if she should be proud or scared. It was probably a little of both.

“Danny told me how you handled the West and Brody problem,” Will said. “You did good, babe.”

“Thanks.”

“Just like I knew you would.”

“Then you had more faith in me than I did.”

“Don’t doubt yourself, Lara. You survived The Purge.”

“I was lucky.”

“It wasn’t luck. It was persistence and that strength I mentioned before. You have it in you to lead, Lara.”

“Will…”

“That’s why I know the island will be fine without me for a few more days. Or however long it takes to find Gaby. When I’ve done that, I’ll come home. There’s nothing I want more. Nothing in this world than to hold you and kiss you again.”

“You still love me?” she asked.

It sounded like something only a lovesick teenager would come up with even to her own ears. But she couldn’t help herself, and she wasn’t the least embarrassed by it. Not here. Not with Will.

And she had to know…

“More than anything,” he said. “More than anything in this world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Absolutely nothing.”

His voice was steady, heartfelt, and she wanted to cry but didn’t. Because that was something a teenage girl would do, too, and she hadn’t been that in a long time.

She sat up straighter in the chair instead.

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“But I need to find Gaby first. I have to try.”

“I know.” She took her fingers off the transmit lever and took a breath, then gathered herself, grateful for the cool wind sweeping into the Tower through the four open windows around her.

“Lara,” Will said.

“Yes…”

“I’ll see you soon.”

She smiled, pressing the transmit lever. “Go find Gaby, then come home. The island and I will still be here when you get back. I promise.”

* * *

Hours after her conversation with Will over the radio, Lara stood at the end of the pier and watched the pontoon through a pair of binoculars. Blaine and Bonnie were standing on the boat, with Roy and the woman sitting in chairs as they glided smoothly across Beaufont Lake. Blaine was behind the steering wheel, Bonnie leaning to one side, her long auburn hair blowing wildly in the breeze.

Lara smiled at the sight. Even on a fast-moving boat, her face splashed with too-bright sun and no makeup, Bonnie still looked like a supermodel that had just stepped off a runway. It was almost unfair for every other woman on the island.

“As milady requested, the infirmary’s ready for its newest customer,” Carly said, coming up behind her. “Though I have to say, it’s a good thing Roy’s bringing back medical supplies, because we’re running dangerously low.”

“I know,” Lara said.

Their dwindling medical supplies. It was one of the reasons Will and Gaby had gone out there in the first place. There were other reasons, but there was no getting around the fact that they had suffered too many injuries lately.

Everyone’s hurt. Everyone’s shot up. Every day, surviving gets harder and harder.

I could use you back here with me right now, Will.

“You know, there’s an easier solution to this problem we keep having,” Carly said.

“I’m listening…”

“Stop getting shot or stabbed.”

“Now that’s an idea. I’ll bring it up at the meeting later tonight.”

“I get credit for it, right?”

“Absolutely.” Then, Lara added, “Danny’ll be all right, Carly.”

“I know,” Carly said. “I just realized this is the first time we’ve really been apart, that’s all.”

Carly watched the pontoon coming toward them and absently played with her red hair. Lara was always surprised how much older her friend looked despite being just twenty. Carly had been a teenager when they first met, but then you grew up fast or you didn’t grow up at all these days.

Adapt or perish, right, Will?

Lara took Carly’s hand and squeezed. “He’ll be fine. The two of them out there? Those collaborators don’t stand a chance.”

Carly smiled back at her. Or tried to. “I know. So why does it take me so long to go to sleep, and I keep waking up in the middle of the night?”

“Because you love him.”

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She sighed. “Love’s depriving me of my beauty sleep.”

“Amen, sister.”

They both laughed.

“Please don’t say that ever again,” Carly said.

“Shoot me if I ever do,” Lara said.

“Deal.”

Lara glanced down the pier at Jo, who was standing on the boat shack at the other end with a shotgun poking out from behind her back. The sight of the tall, skinny girl with the weapon was borderline absurd. Lara waved, and Bonnie’s little sister waved back.

“Has she fired that thing before?” Carly asked, looking back at Jo.

“Not yet,” Lara said. “I don’t want her to, either. She might hurt herself.”

“I’m more concerned about her hurting me with that thing.”

“Let’s all hope it doesn’t come to Jo saving us with a shotgun.” Lara unclipped her radio and said into it, “Maddie, what do you see?”

“The lake’s clear from up here,” Maddie said through the radio.

Maddie was back in the Tower, pulling overwatch with the M4 rifle equipped with the ACOG scope. Just like with the beach, someone was always in the Tower to keep an eye on the surrounding lake and the shore to the east and south of them. Another one of Will’s protocols that everyone had taken to heart, because the alternative was unacceptable.

We’re like a well-oiled machine. If by machine you mean a bunch of amateurs with dangerous weapons they don’t actually know how to use.

“No traffic on the roads?” Lara asked.

“None that I can see,” Maddie said. Then, “Lara, when you’re done down there, I need to see you back up here.”

“Something wrong?”

“Something good.”

Carly and Lara exchanged a curious look.

“I was playing around with the radio and I heard something that you’re going to want to hear,” Maddie continued.

“What is it?” Lara asked.

“I think you should hear it for yourself. It’s hard to explain. But your message, the one you sent out into the world? Someone just responded to it.”

“Is that good?” Carly asked.

Lara shook her head. “I have no idea. Can you…?”

“Go. A boss lady’s work is never done.”

Lara sighed.

Boss.

The very idea that she was the “boss” of anything, much less an island full of desperate survivors, still sounded wrong in so many ways. Despite what Will had said this morning, Lara had doubts. But then, she always had doubts. It stuck with her when she went to sleep and when she woke up.

Doubts. There were always doubts.

Carly must have seen the look on her face. She smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Get used to it. When Will comes back, we’ll have to call you guys co-bosses. You’ll be CBL.”

“CBL?”

“Co-Boss Lady.”

“How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“I spent all night thinking it up. I mean, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Awesome, right?”

“Yeah, no,” Lara said.

* * *

“This is the United States government, trying to reach the person or persons responsible for the message that has been broadcasting across the radio frequencies. If you can hear us, please respond. I repeat: This is the United States government, trying to reach the person or persons responsible for the message that has been broadcasting across the radio frequencies…”

“The United States government?” Lara said.

“That’s what they’re claiming,” Maddie said. “Though Uncle Sam sounds like a sixteen-year-old virgin if you ask me.”

Lara was back on the third floor of the Tower, staring at the ham radios sitting on the table. She had used one of them to talk to Will earlier. There were three, with the most visually interesting one connected to a laptop by a tangled mess of wires duct-taped together. That radio was still broadcasting, sending out the recorded message, though they had muted the sound on their end.

The second radio sat undisturbed on its own part of the table. It was tuned in to a very specific frequency—their little private designated emergency channel, because no one else but Song Island’s residents knew to monitor it.

The voice they were listening to now was coming from the third radio. The all-purpose one, free and clear of any special use.

“…trying to reach the person or persons responsible for the message that has been broadcasting across the radio frequencies…”

“Is it a recording?” Lara asked.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Maddie said. “You can tell he’s reading from a script, but he’s definitely doing it live on air.” Then, “Should we answer it?”

“I don’t know.”

What would Will do?

“The less people that know about the island, the better,” Lara said. “It’s fine to bring new people like Bonnie’s and Benny’s groups every once in a while, but when we start opening the place up to just anybody….”

“Lollapalooza,” Maddie finished.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s an alternative rock concert. I went to it once when they came to Austin a few years back.” She waved her hand. “Never mind. Neither here nor there. But is it possible? Do you think the United States government really is still functioning out there?”

Lara shook her head. It had been nearly a year since they knew of anything even remotely resembling an official government broadcast. To hear it now, out of the blue, was unreal. The fact that they were responding to her message was, frankly, unsettling.

“Is it just on the FEMA frequency?” Lara asked.

“As far as I know,” Maddie nodded.

“How long have they been broadcasting?”

“No idea. I heard it about thirty minutes ago while playing around with the radio.” She shrugged. “It gets boring up here by yourself.”

“…this is the United States government,” the voice repeated on the radio, “trying to reach the person or persons responsible for the message that has been broadcasting across the radio frequencies…”

Lara reached for the radio’s microphone and lifted it to her lips but didn’t press the transmit lever right away. She took a deep breath, and then, only then, answered. “This is the person responsible for the broadcast, responding to your message. Over.”

She released the lever and waited, but the only response was silence from the other end. The “sixteen-year-old virgin” had stopped broadcasting.

Lara pressed the transmit lever again. “Hello. If you can hear me, please respond. Over.”

She waited five seconds, then ten…

“Hello,” a voice finally answered. It was different from the one she and Maddie had been listening to. Older, with an authoritative tone that came through even over the radio. “Who am I speaking to. Over.”

“Identify yourself first,” Lara said.

“Colonel Beecher,” the man said. “Commanding officer of what currently remains of the United States of America.”

She looked back at Maddie, who frowned. “That can’t be a good sign. My dad used to say the military is good at a lot of things, but running a democracy isn’t one of them.”

Lara turned back to the radio. “I wasn’t aware the military had taken charge of the country, Colonel.”

“I assure you, I didn’t come to this command voluntarily,” Beecher said. “As far as I know, we’re it. We haven’t been able to make contact with any other civilian or military authority. So I’m left to assume there is no one else out there. Now that I’ve identified myself, would you mind responding in kind, Miss?”

“My name is Lara.”

“Lara, it’s good to hear your voice. We have a lot of questions.”

“Such as?”

“Are you in charge over there?”

No. Far from it. I’m so out of my depth I feel like I’m constantly drowning, except people keep telling me I’m doing fine. Great, even.

God help us.

“Yes,” she said into the microphone.

“Where are you currently located?” Beecher asked.

Nice try.

“That’s not information I’m willing to divulge at the moment, Colonel.”

“Is there a reason?”

“I don’t trust you.”

Beecher chuckled. “Fair enough. It’s a dangerous world out there. It’s difficult to know who to trust.”

“Agreed.”

“So what can you tell me, Lara?”

“Ask, and we’ll find out together.”

“All right.” Beecher paused for a moment. Then, “First of all, the silver. We’ve been trying to kill these things for nearly a year, then overnight your broadcast changed everything. How in God’s name did you know about silver?”

“Trial and error and a lot of experience,” she said. “My turn, Colonel.”

“Fire away.”

“Are you willing to say where you’re located?”

“We’re in Colorado. Five miles out of Denver.”

“Are you in some kind of bunker?”

“Nice try,” Beecher said.

She smiled. “Your turn.”

“Now that you brought it up, are you under or aboveground?”

“Aboveground. You?”

“Both.”

“Now who’s being cute?”

Another chuckle. “I don’t mean to be. Have you ever heard of Bayonet Mountain?”

“No.”

“It’s an old 1950s Cold War bomb shelter designed to withstand an atomic bomb. As it turns out, it works just as well against ghouls, as you call them. That’s where we are now. My men and a sizable civilian population.”

“What’s your definition of sizable, Colonel?”

“At the moment, just over 4,000 military personnel and civilians,” Beecher said. “How about you? How many do you have over there?”

She looked back at Maddie, who mouthed back, “Four thousand?”

Lara took a breath and said into the microphone, “We have, uh, just slightly less than that, Colonel.”

“Can you say how many?” Beecher asked.

“Not at this time.”

“Fair enough. So tell me, Lara. Any ideas about how to take back the planet from these bloodsucking bastards?”

That made Lara pause.

“Lara?” Beecher said. “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here, Colonel.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No. I’m just not sure why you’re asking me that question. You’re the one with 4,000 people with you, including soldiers. I’m just a civilian.”

“You’re more than that. Your message saved our lives, Lara. Learning about silver has turned the tide for us.” He paused again. Then, “You don’t have a clue what you’ve done, do you?”

She didn’t, because she had put out the message at Danny and Roy’s insistence. Lara was still grieving what she thought at the time were Will’s and Gaby’s deaths. The radio message was supposed to give whoever was still out there hope, but in so many ways it was to give herself hope.

“No,” she said finally. “I guess I don’t.”

“You gave us a fighting chance,” Beecher said. “Your broadcast changed everything, and I’m willing to bet there are others monitoring this frequency right now, who have been waiting for someone to lead them...”

3

Gaby

The spork was white and plastic and flimsy in her hand. It was one of those disposable utensils that came in cases of a thousand. It barely held together as she picked her way through the baked potato, so it was a good thing the toughest food on the brown cafeteria-style tray were strips of shriveled bacon, dirty brown rice, and two buttered biscuits.

As for its ability to penetrate the human skin, well, she didn’t have very high hopes. They didn’t even trust her enough to give her one of those plastic butter knives. As if she could actually stab anyone with it. Of course, that wouldn’t have kept her from trying, though the point was moot since she didn’t have one.

“You barely touched your food.”

She rubbed her thumb along the teeth of the spork. The two middle claws were probably too weak to puncture anything as tough as human skin, but the two flanking teeth were twice the size and just as sharp. Better yet, they were reinforced by the oval-shaped spoon connected to them. So, pretty tough, as far as flimsy plastic utensils went.

“Gaby?”

Even if she couldn’t get the plastic teeth through flesh, she might still be able to dish out some hurt. It wouldn’t be a killing blow and she probably couldn’t dig deep enough to sever a major artery, but there were possibilities—

“Gaby!”

She looked up at him. “What?”

“You hardly touched your food,” Josh said. “You should. We’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“My birthday.”

“Your birthday?”

“I turned nineteen last month. I was going to tell you when we met in the park, but… Well, you know.”

She nodded. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. Too bad we don’t have any cake. Do you guys have cake on the island?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter.” He smiled. “We’re not kids anymore. Do you realize that? We’re both nineteen. Damn. When did that happen?”

She sat across from him, the frail portable table between them. The tabletop space was so limited that a quarter of their trays dangled off the ends. Josh had eaten most of his potato, wrapped in aluminum foil and baked over a grill, and was shoveling a sporkful of brown rice into his mouth. He seemed to have grown since the last time (Days? Weeks? How long have I been here?) she had seen him back at the camp in Sandwhite Wildlife State Park. In another couple of weeks, his hair would be long enough to tie in a ponytail. She wondered if he had left it long on purpose, or if he was too busy for a barber because of the demands of his new job.

What was the job interview like, Josh?

“I know it’s not a lot,” Josh said, almost apologetically. “But it’s more than most of the people here get to eat. We have to ration the food until we can grow more in the fields. Most of them are still eating MREs and stale bagged chips. Cans of SPAM, if they’re lucky. We found cases of those in a warehouse outside Shreveport. Mountains of them. I guess it’s true what they say. When the world ends, only the cockroaches and SPAM will be left.”

I’m supposed to be grateful for this. Potatoes baked over a grill. Strips of bacon. Dirty brown rice.

“Where did you get the bacon?” she asked.

“Wild hogs. They’re all over the place. Somehow, they managed to survive all this time; I have no idea how. We already have farmers raising them, and in a few years they’ll be plentiful and everyone will be eating bacon and biscuits in the mornings. Oh, and eggs, too. Plenty of chickens are still running around out there. When we’re done, the farms will be the biggest part of the towns.” Josh picked up his water bottle from the floor and twisted it open. “You never asked me how I found you at the pawnshop.”

“How did you find me?”

“She told me. The blue-eyed ghoul. Kate.”

“Will’s Kate…”

“Uh huh. After the black-eyed ones located you, she told them to stay back, to wait until I got there. I guess they sort of jumped the gun a bit, but I arrived just in time, didn’t I?” He smiled, probably expecting her to acknowledge it. “She knew you were important to me. Because you are, Gaby.”

She rubbed her thumb against the teeth of the spork again before glancing over at the closed door to her left. There was a man on the other side named Mac. He took turns walking around the second floor hallway with another one of her guards, Lance. It was afternoon and sunlight was visible through the open window across the room, so Mac was out there because Lance had the night shift.

She turned back to Josh. He was wiping his hands on a handkerchief before stuffing the wool cloth back into his shirt pocket. Josh didn’t wear a hazmat suit when he came to have lunch with her. She wondered if he still did. Mac and Lance didn’t wear one, either. In fact, it had been a while since she had seen a hazmat suit on one of the collaborators.

“What do you want from me, Josh?”

He didn’t answer right away. Maybe he didn’t have an answer. Or, more likely, he just wanted her to wait. Josh did that these days. He had the power, and he knew it. The old Josh, who would do anything to please her, was long gone. The transformation showed in the way he walked, the way he sat, and in the way he looked at and talked to her. She used to adore his shyness, but there was none of that anymore.

This Josh…he knew who he was. What he was. And most of all, he understood and embraced the authority he wielded. Over the others, over the town, and most of all, over her.

Finally, he said, “I just want you to understand what I’ve been doing here, that’s all.”

“And what’s that, Josh?”

He stood up and walked across the room to the window, looking out at the street below. Her eyes went to the chair and she wondered if she could take Josh out with it, then break off a leg and use it on Mac.

Maybe…

“How many times have you stood here and looked out this window?” he asked.

“What does it matter?”

“Just answer me, please, Gaby.”

“Plenty of times.”

“And what do you see?”

“I don’t understand what you want me to say.”

“It’s just a conversation, Gaby.” He sounded a bit exasperated. “When you look outside, what do you see?”

“People.”

“That’s right. People going on with their lives. Little kids not scared of walking in broad daylight. This, Gaby, this is what we’ve always wanted, don’t you remember? To live freely. To not be afraid. Isn’t this what we talked about all those times in every dark and stinky basement we’ve ever hid in since the world ended?”

She stared at him, trying to understand. This new Josh, who was so different from the boy she had known. Where did this Josh come from?

“I did this, Gaby,” he continued. “I helped them put all of this together. Those people down there, they’re going to live out the rest of their natural lives. And all they have to do is give a little blood every night and teach their children to do the same.”

You’re breeding a race of slaves, Josh.

“What’s so bad about that?” He was watching her face intently. “Tell me, Gaby, what’s so bad about what I’ve done here?”

You don’t know. You’re so deep in it, you’re incapable of seeing it.

“What?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

Gaby realized she had been smiling at him.

“Share with the class,” he said, the annoyance creeping back into his voice.

“I get it now,” Gaby said.

“Get what?”

“That you’re delusional.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped and sighed instead. “Don’t say that, Gaby.” He sounded genuinely hurt. Or maybe it was just more playacting. “Please don’t say that. I did all of this for you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“Stop saying that, Josh. I want nothing to do with this place.” She could feel her patience slipping and did her best to rein it in. Emotion was the enemy here. (Stay in control!) “Get it through your head, Josh: I don’t want any part of this.”

He walked silently back over and gathered up the sporks, dumped them on her plate, over her uneaten potato and strips of bacon and dirty brown rice, and stacked the trays together. “I’m leaving tonight to help out with another town.” His voice was still calm, even-keeled. Josh had mastered his emotions. Somewhat. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks.” He picked up the trays and walked to the door without another glance in her direction. “Mac!”

The door opened and Mac leaned in. He had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder and was wearing a camo uniform that made him look almost like a soldier, though she guessed Will and Danny would disagree. Lance had been wearing the same identical clothing the last few days, and so had other men with guns she had seen on the streets.

Is this another one of your doing, Josh? Turning collaborators into soldiers?

“Grab the chair,” Josh said before stepping outside the room.

Mac came inside and walked over to the bed. He gave her a sharp look, almost daring her to do something, as he picked up the chair.

“How’s the head?” she asked. “Stitches holding up?”

He smirked. “Keep it up. Your boyfriend won’t be here forever.” He had said that last part almost in a low whisper, as if afraid Josh would overhear.

He’s afraid of Josh. This grown man is afraid of a nineteen-year-old teenager who was in high school last year.

Mac exited and slammed the door after him. She heard the familiar click-chank of the deadbolt sliding into place on the other side.

When she was alone again, Gaby stopped fighting and let her stomach growl and wished she had at least eaten the potato. Or the bacon. When was the last time she was going to get a chance to eat fried bacon again?

At least they had left her the water bottle. She picked it up from the floor and drank greedily. It was warm—but then, they all were these days. The liquid helped soothe her throat, which still hurt from the night at the pawnshop when one of Josh’s people had struck her with the butt of his rifle. It was Josh who had wrapped her up in a ball, his hazmat suit saving the two of them from the horde of ghouls rushing into the room. He had saved her, but what about…

Nate.

He had been there too, though Josh refused to tell her what had happened to him. Josh wouldn’t even tell her if Nate was alive or dead. Or worse—if he had been turned. It was Josh’s way of punishing her, letting her know that, ultimately, he held all the cards.

Because he did. All fifty-two of them.

She walked to the window, hoping that staying active would keep her hunger temporarily at bay. They had left her plenty of clothes. Or whoever used to live in the room before her had. The jeans and T-shirt fit fine, and there were even socks, but no signs of shoes of any type. Not that she needed to wear shoes at all. The only place they would allow her to go was a single bathroom two doors down the hallway. She hadn’t even made it far enough to the end of the second floor to see down to the first.

Gaby looked out at the sun-streaked streets below, just in time to catch Josh emerging from the building and climbing into a waiting green Jeep. As far as she could tell, they were keeping her in some kind of boarding house. Not exactly a hotel, but one of those bed-and-breakfasts. That explained the other rooms. She heard plenty of people coming and going over the last few days, even if she never actually got the chance to lay eyes on them. If this was some kind of prison, she was the only one locked up.

Her view of the outside world was revealing, even through the metal burglar bars fastened over the window. She didn’t know if hers was the only one secured like a prison cell. The bars were so tightly pressed against the frame that it was impossible to stick her head out far enough to see around her.

The driver waiting for Josh wore the same type of uniform as Lance and Mac and looked at least twenty years older than the kid he was picking up. The two men exchanged a perfunctory nod, but nothing resembling a salute. As the Jeep moved away from the curb, she waited for Josh to look up, perhaps sensing her, but he never did. She watched them drive off until they disappeared up the street.

“I’m leaving tonight to help out with another town,” Josh had said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks.”

And maybe I won’t be here when you get back, Josh.

She looked around at the room.

Of course, getting out of this place was easier said than done. Besides the round-the-clock guard outside her door, she had no weapons, and they had taken away anything that could even remotely be used as a weapon ever since she had nearly killed Mac with the nightstand the first day she woke up.

But Gaby didn’t for a second think about giving up the idea of escape. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Surrender wasn’t a part of her DNA. It had never been, and the end of the world hadn’t changed that.

Take all the time you need, Josh. I won’t be here when you get back…

* * *

She didn’t get another visitor for the rest of the afternoon. There were no clocks in the room, so she had to use the sun outside to tell time. That and the noise, because the people on the streets were most active in the mornings and afternoons, but as it got darker, the activity died down and the town became ghostly quiet.

They still remember. This place might have become a safe haven, but they still remember what’s out there when the sun goes down.

After four days in L15, she had become used to the sight of people on horseback and kids in shorts running around the street. There wasn’t any danger of getting run over because there were so few cars in town. And you knew when a car came, because it was usually one of those big Army transport trucks settling yet another group of people. She wondered how long those vehicles had been coming and going. Sooner or later, the space would run out, and then what?

Another town. L16, maybe. Or L20.

L30?

How long had they been building these places, she wondered, and how many more were out there right now? In Louisiana, and in the other states?

What about around the world?

The sight of pregnant women had also ceased to become a novelty. She watched them from her window with a mixture of sadness and pity. Did they know what they were getting into? Of course they did. Josh had told them. Or whoever ran this place when Josh wasn’t here. She didn’t think Josh was actually responsible for the day-to-day operations. He was like an overseer, coming and going as needed.

The sun was already fading over the rooftops across the street. She didn’t need a watch or a clock to tell her that it was almost six. It would be dark in less than thirty minutes. Sometimes sooner, when you least expected it.

Night is not our friend. Not anymore.

She glanced back when the doorknob behind her jingled and Mac pushed the door open. He looked in cautiously, as if expecting her to be lying in wait for him. Gaby almost grinned at his reluctance.

“Dinner, your highness,” Mac said, with just enough of a smirk to get across his disdain for her.

A young girl who Gaby had never seen before squeezed her way past Mac. Gaby’s entire world in L15 up to this point had revolved around Josh coming in the afternoons and evenings, and Mac standing outside her door in the day and Lance at night. The girl brought a newness that stirred curiosity and suspicion in Gaby.

And who might you be, little girl?

She wore a white sundress and had short black hair cut to complement a round face. She looked all of thirteen, with big brown eyes that gave her a rare vibe of innocence, something that was in short supply these days.

She smiled at Gaby. “I brought you dinner.”

“Thank you,” Gaby said.

The girl was carrying a brown plastic tray with a red apple, a baked potato in aluminum foil, (Potatoes again? she thought, just as her stomach growled), and two pieces of bread with something that looked like ham placed with care between them.

“Where should I put it?” the girl asked her.

“Put it anywhere,” Mac said impatiently behind her.

“But I don’t want it to get dirty.”

“Just put it anywhere, for God’s sake.”

“On the bed’s fine,” Gaby said.

She smiled at the girl and got a pleasant response. “Are you sure?” the girl asked. “Peter would kill me if he saw food on my bed.”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

That elicited another bright smile. The girl walked over to the bed and put the tray down over the duvet. She stepped back and seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“Get on with it,” Mac said behind her.

“I’ll come back later—for the tray—when you’re done,” the girl said. There was something about the way she looked at Gaby—a strange, almost anxiousness in her voice—that made Gaby even more curious.

“Okay,” Gaby nodded when the girl didn’t say anything else.

“Come on,” Mac said. “I don’t have all day.”

The girl hurried back to the door. Mac held it open for her then slammed it shut after them and immediately pushed the deadbolt into place on the other side.

Gaby stared at the door after them.

What was that about?

* * *

She sat on her bed, eating everything on the tray. She devoured the potato skins and apple core and crumbs from the two slices of bread. Homemade bread. She could tell. Her mom couldn’t make bread to save her life, but her friend Anna’s mom could. The ham was delicious and fresh. They weren’t from a frozen package like on the island. She guessed the townspeople got it from the same pigs as the strips of bacon Josh was boasting about earlier.

She thought about the girl as she ate and watched nightfall blanket the world outside her window. She had gotten used to leaving it open. The sight of candles and flickering lanterns from the buildings around her brought a sense of normalcy she didn’t realize she had missed until now.

But it was the girl in the white sundress that stayed at the forefront of her mind. The kid had wanted to say something, but the presence of Mac had discouraged it. What was going on behind those big eyes?

It was pitch-dark outside when she finished her meal and found herself back at the window, looking past the buildings and at the woods beyond. L15 was ringed by woods. Dark and natural, their trees teeming with things she couldn’t see. Things other than the animals on the branches, the birds perched among the crowns. Things that were moving on the ground, restless…

Ghouls.

She shivered involuntarily. They were out there right now. Somewhere. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel their presence beyond the town limits. The people around her could, too. That was why L15 shut down well before nightfall, why everyone—despite the arrangement, despite the promised safety—still operated under the assumption it wasn’t safe to wander outside in the dark.

How many were out there right now, in the woods? Hundreds? Thousands? Easily thousands. The creatures always seemed to know where people congregated. And there were a hell of a lot of people here, right now, in these buildings around her. What was keeping them from coming in one of these days?

Or maybe the better question was, who was holding them back…

* * *

The girl with the round face and the big eyes came back five minutes later, still wearing the sundress, while Gaby was at the window. Mac did his usual look-inside-first move before letting the girl in. Then he stayed behind at the open door, watching Gaby like a hawk. He was so consumed with her that he didn’t pay any attention to the girl.

“Get it and let’s go,” Mac said.

The girl hurried inside and picked up the tray, glanced briefly at Gaby—sideways, so Mac couldn’t see their brief exchange (Okay, now what was that about?)—before leaving again without a word.

“Sleep tight,” Mac said. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite, princess.”

“Can I ask you something, Mac?” Gaby said.

That caught him by surprise. He hesitated, then said guardedly, “What?”

“Have you lived it down yet?”

“Lived what down?”

“Almost getting your head bashed in by a girl with an end table.”

He grunted. “Yeah, you keep bringing that up, princess. Like I keep telling you, one of these days your boyfriend might not be in charge anymore. Those things out there? Those bloodsuckers? They’ve been known to change their minds.”

Mac gave her a big grin, one that was intended to scare her.

It didn’t work. “Josh thinks you’re a pussy. He told me himself. Can’t stand you. Says you don’t bathe.”

His face turned slightly pale even in the semidarkness of her room, and he was about to respond when he apparently decided against it and left without a word instead. Gaby sighed when she heard the deadbolt snapping into place. She didn’t think very highly of Mac, but the man was damn good about always locking her inside.

The girl had left without a word while she was talking with Mac. Gaby cursed herself. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the kid instead of wasting her time with—

Then she saw it. A piece of folded paper, tucked underneath the duvet near where the tray had been.

She hurried across the room, suddenly terrified Mac might choose tonight, of all nights, to come back in for a last-minute check before turning the shift over to Lance. She picked up the paper and walked toward the door on tiptoes, making as little noise as possible, and leaned against the wall and listened.

Mac, moving around, the creak of his heavy combat boots against the floorboards.

Gaby unfolded the note. It was a small piece of what looked to be from a sheet of 8.5x11 piece of writing paper. There was writing on it in black pen, the letters drafted in fine, almost elegant cursive letters. Which meant the girl didn’t write it. Gaby had known plenty of girls at thirteen—herself included—and none ever had this kind of penmanship.

She scanned the letters, her eyes widening with every line she read:

“If we help you escape, will you take us with you? Destroy this when done.”

Gaby re-read the note again just to be sure her desperate mind hadn’t accidentally (purposefully?) “rewritten” the note for its own purposes:

“If we help you escape, will you take us with you? Destroy this when done.”

No. It was still the same.

“If we help you escape, will you take us with you?”

Gaby folded the note back up until it was barely the size of her thumb, then slipped it into her mouth and swallowed.

* * *

She woke up sometime in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps outside her door. They were too quiet, someone walking on tiptoes, to be Lance. So quiet, in fact, that she only heard it because she had been sitting on the bed waiting for it, or something like it, for the last few hours.

The second floor was partially lit by a portable LED lantern hanging from the ceiling somewhere in the middle of the hallway, between her door and the staircase on the other side. It was rechargeable, and she had seen Mac taking it down to recharge every morning when he showed up for his shift.

There was definitely a figure moving against the hallway light now, visible as elongated shadows through the slit under the door. The figure stopped, shifted (crouched?), then the sound of paper sliding across the floor.

Gaby climbed out of bed and raced toward the door just as the figure stood up and turned to go. “Wait,” Gaby said, whispering just loudly enough to be heard. She snatched up the paper—the same size as the other one—and pocketed it. “Don’t go.”

The shadow turned, then someone pressed against the door. A soft, familiar voice whispered, “You’re awake.”

Gaby smiled. It was the girl in the sundress. “What’s your name?”

“Milly.”

“Milly, who sent you—”

“I have to go,” Milly said, cutting her off. “He’s coming back.”

“Wait—”

But Milly was gone, the barely audible tap-tap of bare feet against the hallway floor, before a door opened and closed softly seconds later. Gaby was certain Milly had disappeared into a room somewhere further down the hallway, which meant she lived in the building and was one of the many unseen neighbors that came and went every day.

A few seconds later, loud footsteps—like thunder compared to Milly’s—climbed up the stairs and moved across the hallway.

Lance.

She got up and tiptoed back to her bed, lay down, and pulled the duvet over her chest and under her chin as the footsteps got closer. Lance moved with all the grace of a bear wearing combat boots.

Gaby closed her eyes when she heard the metal scraping—the familiar noise of the deadbolt sliding free. The door opened a crack and dimmed LED lights flooded into the room. She imagined, but didn’t open her eyes to see, Lance’s familiar hulking frame in the doorway, making sure she hadn’t escaped while he was gone.

A few seconds later, the door closed and the click-chank of the deadbolt once again locked her in.

She sat up, took out the note, and unwrapped it.

It was the same black ink written in the same careful cursive handwriting:

“First light. Be ready. Destroy this note.”

Gaby re-read the note again, making sure she didn’t miss anything, before folding it back up and swallowing it.

She looked over at the window and the darkness outside.

“First light” was sunrise. The “Be ready” part was obvious.

What wasn’t clear was what they were planning. She didn’t believe Milly was acting on her own, and the careful handwriting proved it. So Milly was working with someone. Who? Maybe her father. Or a brother. Maybe just a friend. Gaby was no expert, but the handwriting looked like a man’s. Then again, for all she knew, it really could just have been little Milly. Was that possible?

She lay back down and closed her eyes. If there was some kind of escape being planned for tomorrow, she had to be ready. And that meant getting as much sleep as possible now so she would be alert for tomorrow.

“First light…”

* * *

An hour later, she was still awake.

An hour after that, she gave up trying to sleep altogether.

Gaby climbed out of bed and did push-ups on the floor. She had been keeping up her strength ever since she first opened her eyes in L15, knowing that eventually the time would come when she would need it, so the sudden burst of physical activity wasn’t anything new to her body.

She did thirty push-ups, then threw in fifty sit-ups, hoping to tire herself out enough to get the sleep she needed. When that still didn’t work, she shadowboxed in the dark, careful to stay away from the window where someone outside could see her.

She didn’t stop until she was covered in sweat and her body was sore all over.

When she lay down on the bed for the second time, she had no trouble falling asleep.

“First light. Be ready...”

4

Will

“We go in, hit the bars, deflower the virgins, and we’re outta there with no one the wiser,” Danny said. “Easy peasy.”

“What about the guys with guns?” Will asked.

“Weekend warriors. We’ll be nice and give them a couple of rounds’ head start. But that’s as far as I’m willing to bend over for these bozos.” He glanced back at Kellerson. “What do you think? That strike you as fair?”

Kellerson stared blankly back at him. He couldn’t have said a word even if he wanted to, not with a strip of duct tape over his mouth. His hands, resting limply in his lap, were bound at the wrists. The pinky and ring finger of his left hand were missing, and blood was seeping through the fresh gauze Will had put on the man this morning. Kellerson was quickly becoming more trouble than he was worth.

“Not much of a conversationalist, huh?” Danny said.

“He’s shy,” Will said. “Cut him some slack.”

“‘Cut him’?” Danny snorted.

Will smiled. “No pun intended.”

“What pun? Oh, you meant those missing fingers of his?”

They were hidden in the woods, looking out from cover at what used to be a small town called Downer Plateau. There was a good kilometer of open clearing and small roads between them and the town, now referred to by the collaborators as simply L15. Behind them, hidden by trees for at least another three kilometers, was Interstate 49, the primary road through this part of Louisiana.

L15—or what parts of it he could see—had been a good-sized place once upon a time. Big enough for thousands of people to call it home. It was connected to the interstate by a state highway, and from what he could see most of the buildings were concentrated around a central main street. The place gave off an old-fashioned vibe, which was exactly what the ghouls and their human collaborators were going for.

“We think it’s because they want us to start over,” someone had once told him. “A fresh start. The cities are filled with reminders of the old world. Our achievements, our art, our evolution as human beings. Out here, surrounded by farmland, woods… It’s like going back to our roots. No power, no electricity... It’s easier to believe the last two centuries never happened.”

It wasn’t a bad place, if you were looking to start all over without actually beginning from scratch. The people moving around the streets were there willingly. Children poked their heads out of apartment windows, and every now and then he heard the clop-clop of horseshoes on roads meant for cars. The last collaborator town he had been this close to had armed men on rooftops and walking the streets. But there was a noticeable lack of anything resembling “the enemy” at L15.

He looked back at Kellerson again, leaning lifelessly against a tree. The man’s face was white, his eyes hollow, and Will kept expecting him to bolt any second, but losing two fingers must have taken all the fight out of him. That, and he just didn’t look like he had the strength to stand up, much less think he might be able to outrun them.

“L15,” Will said to Kellerson. “That means there are fourteen more towns just like this one?”

Kellerson nodded and mumbled something behind the duct tape.

“How far does the number go? Twenty? Higher?”

Another nod.

“Thirty?”

Kellerson seemed to think about it, then shrugged.

“You don’t know for sure.”

Nod.

“I guess you were right,” Danny said. “Little buggers have been busy while we were twiddling our thumbs back on the beach and drinking piña coladas.”

“Looks like it.”

Will glanced at his watch. 4:14 p.m.

Two hours before sunset. Even with the ATVs Kellerson and his men had been using (when they weren’t tooling around in their armored Humvees), it had taken him and Danny too long to travel from Lafayette, where they had parted company with Roy and Zoe earlier this morning. He couldn’t afford to let Zoe go yesterday after she had been shot, not until he was sure she wouldn’t die on Roy while they were en route. Zoe was a doctor, and those were more valuable than bullets these days.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” Will said.

“Of course it is,” Danny said. “If it didn’t, then this would just be another boring jaunt through the woods. And I forgot my jaunting pants at the island.”

“Shoulda packed appropriately.”

“Shoulda, coulda, but didn’ta.”

Will gestured at Kellerson, who pushed himself off the tree with some effort, turned around, and began marching back through the woods. There was enough light splashing through the trees around them that Will didn’t feel like he was walking through a nest of ghouls, something that you had to take into consideration these days, especially when you were close to an area filled with humans—or prey, to the creatures. They crunched dried leaves and snapped twigs under them, the noise swallowed up by birds perched along branches.

“You think he’s back there?” Danny asked. “Our little buddy Josh?”

“If she’s there, he’s probably there, too.”

“Kid’s got it bad. I remember the last time a girl had me so head over heels. Of course, it never occurred to me to sell out the human race for her affections. Then again, Dad always did say I lacked ambition.”

“If only he could see you now.”

“Yeah. Take that, Pops.”

They hadn’t gone more than a few minutes before Will heard it—felt it, really. He grabbed Kellerson and pushed him down onto one knee, while at the same time he and Danny went into a crouch and looked to their right through a small grouping of trees.

They were less than forty meters from the highway that connected the town to the interstate, and Will had previously spotted a couple of vehicles—both trucks—coming and going. At the moment, he caught a flash of red paint, then dull green. A pickup truck up front, followed by an Army five-ton transport, its thick tires kicking up clouds of dust in its wake.

“Haven’t seen those in a while,” Danny said. “My ass hurts just looking at them.”

Will reached over and peeled the duct tape half off Kellerson’s mouth. The man sighed with relief and sucked in a deep, fresh breath.

“Those five-tons,” Will said. “Are they always full when they show up at these places?”

“Yeah,” Kellerson nodded. He sounded hoarse, even though he had just drank some water a few hours ago. “The kid believes in efficiency, and he’s been organizing everyone into a military mindset. Thinks he’s a major or something.”

“The kid.” Josh.

You actually entrusted one of your operations to an eighteen-year-old kid, Kate? Really?

“How many does a town like L15 hold?” Will asked.

“Maybe two or three thousand,” Kellerson said.

“How many dickheads do they have watching that many people?” Danny asked.

Kellerson shrugged. “Anywhere from ten to twenty.”

“Ten to twenty for a few thousand?” Danny wrinkled his nose. “You telling a fib, Kellerson? Want Willie boy here to start working on those toes next?”

“He doesn’t get it, does he?” Kellerson said, looking at Will.

Will slapped the duct tape back over Kellerson’s mouth.

“Get what?” Danny said. “You BFFs have a joke you wanna share with me? Come on, I’m starting to feel like the third wheel here.”

“He means they don’t need a lot of guards,” Will said. “The people in these towns are here of their own free will. They don’t want to leave. My guess is, ten is more than enough, and twenty is overkill.”

“So what you’re saying is, when we finally get around to going in there guns blazing, they won’t be throwing their virginal daughters at us?”

“That’s an affirmative.”

Danny grunted. “Well, damn. I certainly signed up for the wrong road trip, didn’t I?”

* * *

They walked for another hour until they reached the spot where they had stashed the camouflage ATVs earlier—a small group of buildings about half a kilometer from I-49. It was a homestead connected to the highway by a spur road that hadn’t looked traveled even before The Purge. The house’s main building was a bungalow flanked by an empty garage. A long red barn, the paint badly chipped by neglect and weather, squatted in the back with a rusted-over tractor out front. The place was as out-of-the-way as they could find on short notice.

The ATVs were hidden inside the barn among the unused bales of hay and horseless stables. Walking the rest of the way to L15 had been necessary. Sound traveled these days, and the roar of all-terrain vehicles would have been obvious to even a deaf man.

There hadn’t been much of the bungalow to explore, and their biggest worry was the decayed sloping roof falling down on them. They found what they were looking for in the back of the house, hidden behind rotting twin doors that opened up into an underground cellar. There wasn’t much inside except for old tractor parts and stacks of cinder blocks under dust-covered tarps. They cleared out just enough space in one corner and dropped their bedrolls and supply packs.

Kellerson sat down in one corner on the dirt floor. Will let him eat a stick of beef jerky and gave him a bottle of water to wash it down with. When he was done, Will covered his mouth back up before he could say a word. The fight had gone out of Kellerson about the same time Will threatened to take the collaborator’s third finger.

They found a way to lock the doors by looping coiled steel cables around the handles and snapping a padlock in place. When that didn’t look like it would hold against a prolonged assault, they stacked the cinderblocks in front of the entrance, then threw the heavy tarps over them to make sure not a single inch of space could be seen from the other side. The creatures had proven themselves too smart at detecting people to take any chances.

If their luck did happen to run out, at least they had plenty of the right ammo to fend off an attack. Danny and Roy had left Song Island well prepared, and Will had taken all of Roy’s before they parted company this morning. Roy took the regular ammo because in the daytime, any ol’ bullet would do. Will and Danny carried two heavy bags and two tactical backpacks with them, stuffed with a combination of what Danny and Roy had brought and what they had salvaged from Kellerson’s dead crew. Dead men didn’t need beef jerky, bottled water, and spare ammo. The portable ham radio he had been using to communicate with Song Island was among the supplies.

Will looked down at his watch’s glow-in-the-dark hands: 5:34 p.m.

“You think she’s still alive in there?” Danny asked. He was chewing loudly on a stick of jerky.

“Gaby?”

“No, Yoko Ono. Yeah, Gaby.”

“She’s Gaby.”

“Yup. That’s her name, all right.”

“What I mean is, she’ll be fine. She’s a survivor. You should have seen her at the hospital.”

“Yeah?”

Will nodded. “Yeah.”

Soon, the only evidence that Danny was even leaning against the dirt wall next to him was the sound of chewing. Somewhere to his right, Kellerson was breathing deeply. How the man could make so much noise while only inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils was a mystery. Will had considered removing Kellerson’s duct tape to make it easier on him, but it never took long for the man’s crimes—those that Will knew for a fact, and likely more he didn’t even know about—to come up again, and it took all of Will’s strength not to execute him on the spot.

Night came, and they heard scurrying outside almost immediately. The soft patter of bare feet against hard ground vibrated through the dried dirt around them.

Will flicked the fire selector on his M4A1 rifle from semi-automatic to full-auto just in case.

“You nervous in the service, son?” Danny whispered somewhere in the darkness.

Will smiled.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your flimsy cellar doors down,” Danny whispered.

A soft click as Danny flicked at his carbine’s fire selector.

Will sat back against the cool dirt wall and groped his pack for the all-too-light bottle of painkillers. He shook out two Tramadol and popped them into his mouth, then swallowed without chewing. He pulled up his shirt and ran his palm over the stitching along his right side and considered it a good sign he didn’t feel any wetness. His left arm had numbed over since yesterday, and he hadn’t felt anything more than the occasional slight tingles coming from his left hip in a while. Either the pills were working, or he had become used to them.

What he wouldn’t give to have Lara look him over. The last thing he needed was an infection. Battlefield wound treatment was a crapshoot at best, but leaving them for days was just asking for it.

Of course, having Lara treat him meant going back home. Back to Song Island.

And he couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not while Gaby was still out there…

* * *

Around midnight he drifted off, waking up two hours later to let Danny sleep.

Each time Will woke up, he could hear Kellerson moving erratically in the darkness, possibly from a nightmare. Or it could be the bugs and hairy legs of spiders crawling up and down his body. Will felt them too, but they were small enough that he didn’t bother chasing them off. He did slap a few that wandered too close to his neck and face, squashing them against his palm, then wiping the leftover goop on the floor.

When he was awake, he listened to the occasional movements on the other side of the cellar doors, like rats scratching in the walls. He wasn’t surprised they were out there, though it did make him more than a little uncomfortable they were this close. There was no one in the house, and surely they must have already searched it a hundred times since The Purge, so why were they back?

But the creatures’ presence in the area didn’t surprise him at all. There were people nearby in L15. Humans that had given up liberty for salvation. Blood for safety.

“They’re not like you, Will,” Zoe had said to him once. “They’re not soldiers. They’re just trying to survive the end of the world the best they can.”

I would rather die first.

Danny woke up two hours later, and Will went back to sleep.

* * *

He felt the heat building inside the cellar with the morning, and small slivers of sunlight flitted through the barricade in front of him when he opened his eyes. Not much light, just enough to illuminate parts of the room.

He sat up and soaked in the peace and quiet of a waking world. The birds had already begun chirping, and Will thought about Lara, about waking up next to her and wishing he were there now instead of sitting inside a room literally dug out of the ground.

After about an hour of tranquility, he stood up and woke Danny, who had been sleeping soundlessly next to him.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Danny said. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Beef jerky.”

“That’s what we had yesterday.”

“Ain’t life grand?”

“I could have stayed on the island and eaten pancakes. Speaking of which, you know what else Sarah found in the kitchen freezer?”

“What’s that?”

“Jimmy Hoffa. Turns out he was in there this whole time.”

“You don’t say.”

“I just did. Sheesh. You never listen.” Danny looked over at Kellerson, sleeping awkwardly on his side across from them. “Should we wake up Sleeping Beauty?”

Will looked at Kellerson for a moment. He had been thinking about what to do with the collaborator for some time now and had even devoted one of his two-hour awake times last night just to mull over the question. The possibilities were endless. Some were bloody, others were cruel, and there were a few merciful options in there, too. Each time he had to weigh the lives Kellerson had taken against the man’s fate…all the bodies Will knew about, and all the ones he didn’t…

Finally, Will said, “We should put him out of his misery. He’s already served his purpose.”

“Kinda rude to just kill the guy after he’s been so helpful,” Danny said. “But hey, you know what they say about karma and bitches and all that good stuff.”

Will was reaching for his Glock in its hip holster when a faint noise from outside the cellar drew his attention.

“You heard that?” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Will said. He moved toward the doors and began removing the barrier they had put up there last night.

The noise they had both heard was a faint wet pop sound, something they wouldn’t have detected eleven months ago when the world was still alive.

As he and Danny were throwing cinderblocks out of their path, they heard it again. This time it wasn’t a single sound, but a continuous rattling pop-pop-pop. They knew exactly what it was and where it was coming from.

Behind them. L15.

Gunshots.

5

Gaby

She stood next to the door, just out of the path of the sunlight pouring across the length of the room through the open window. Her back was pressed against the wall, and Gaby willed her breathing into slow beats to allow her senses to concentrate on what was outside the second floor at this very moment.

Mac was out there again, moving around loudly. He might as well be stomping cockroaches in boots. The man would be carrying his usual gear, including the AK-47, a belt with full ammo pouches, and a sidearm.

“First light. Be ready.”

It was first light, but no one had come.

Not Milly the girl or her accomplice. She knew Milly wasn’t working alone because of the first note she had received: “If we help you escape, will you take us with you?”

The “we” was the dead giveaway. If this was real. She didn’t put it past Josh to play games with her, though that was a worst-case scenario. There was no reason for Josh to deceive her now. Not after he had won. She was locked inside a room and not allowed to leave for any reason except to use the bathroom. In every way that mattered, she was at his mercy, so it was doubtful he would stoop so low as to mess with her head.

No, this wasn’t some elaborate trick. It had to be real.

Probably.

She wished she had a weapon, something that could break bone—or at least puncture skin. She had her hands, but it wasn’t nearly as easy to incapacitate someone with your fists as the movies made it out to be. She had learned that the hard way during sparring sessions with Will and Danny. Regardless of what kind of an advantage she had over a man, when it came to hand-to-hand fighting, she was still shorter, smaller, and weaker than her opponent. Girl power be damned, she would rather have a weapon.

Gaby glanced down at her watch: 7:36 a.m.

More than twenty minutes since the sun rose over the tree lines (“first light”) and bathed the town in a welcoming orange glow. To look at it, you wouldn’t know L15 was a town built on lies and desperation—

Voices, coming from the hallway outside.

About time.

Gaby slid closer to the door, leaving just a foot of space between her and the hinges, the doorknob on the other side. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with socks but no shoes. Josh hadn’t responded to her requests for shoes. Just another way to control her, to keep her at his mercy. He was good at that these days.

“Already?” a male voice said. Mac.

“I gotta go do something after this,” a soft female voice answered. Milly. There was a hint of anxiousness. Gaby hoped Mac didn’t notice.

“Like what?” Mac said.

“What do you care?” Milly countered.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“I’m just saying, if I don’t give her her breakfast now, I won’t be around for another couple of hours. Peter’s got me busy today.”

“Okay, whatever,” Mac said. “Hurry up.”

The familiar sound of the deadbolt sliding, then the doorknob turning. A second later the door opened, followed by something hard and plastic clattering against the floor. She recognized the sound. It was one of the food trays.

“What—” she heard Mac start to say a split-second before Milly backpedaled through the open door, fumbling with a handgun in her small hands.

Oh, hell, this is the plan?

Mac was moving quickly through the door after Milly, reaching one hand out toward her. “Give that back to me, kid. What are you doing? Are you crazy? Give that back to me!”

He was so concerned with Milly—no, about his gun in her hands—that he didn’t do his usual due diligence. He didn’t look around to make sure she wasn’t lying in wait for him.

Now now now!

Gaby pushed herself off the wall and had gotten one step toward Mac—the sound of her bare feet pulling Mac’s eye away from Milly and over to her—but neither one of them managed to do anything before a fourth body slammed into Mac from behind. Arms snaked around Mac’s waist as the new figure’s head buried itself into the small of the guard’s back. The whole thing was so awkwardly executed that Gaby actually found herself staring in astonishment.

Mac let out a loud surprised grunt as he was thrown forward by the surprise attack. He slammed into the wooden footboard of the bed with his stomach and bent over awkwardly at the waist, the AK-47 slung over his shoulder swinging wildly around him. He attempted to right himself when the other man hit him in the back of the head with a brown maple wood rolling pin, swinging the kitchen object like some kind of hammer, and thwack!

Another burst of pained sounds sprung from Mac’s mouth as he slumped forward again, his body draping over the bed’s footboard. The attacker staggered back, gasping for breath, while Milly stood nearby holding the handgun, looking impossibly frightened.

Gaby took a step forward and the attacker whirled on her, rolling pin rising to strike. Gaby ignored him and made a beeline for Mac. She grabbed the AK-47 and pulled it free. A small pool of blood had clumped at the back of Mac’s head, and he didn’t fight her as she took his rifle away.

The man and Milly were looking at her, their labored breathing filling the room as if they had just run a marathon. The man was in his mid-thirties and tall. He wore slacks and a T-shirt, but what got her attention was the Garfield apron around his waist. He opened his mouth as if to say something but ended up just sucking in more air instead.

Gaby held out her hand to Milly and the girl anxiously gave up the handgun. It was an automatic, almost entirely stainless steel except for a strip of laminated wood along the grip. Smith & Wesson SW1911TA was engraved along the side. It looked a hell of a lot more expensive than the Glocks she had been trained on, and she wondered where Mac had gotten something that fancy.

“What now?” the man said, his eyes focused on her. She couldn’t tell if he looked disappointed or confused. “Jesus, I thought you’d be older.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said.

“I didn’t mean—I just thought—”

“That I’d be older. I got it. Close the door,” she said to Milly.

The girl stepped over the plastic tray and the spilled food and closed the door. Gaby grabbed Mac and hauled him off the footboard, dropping him to the floor on his back. Dull, pained eyes stared up at her, but if she was afraid Mac would fight, she didn’t have to be. It was entirely possible he wasn’t even seeing her at the moment. He was alive, if barely, because she could still hear him breathing.

“What are you doing?” the man asked behind her.

She didn’t bother to answer him. Instead, she unclasped Mac’s gun belt and pulled it off, along with the holster and ammo pouches. She cinched it around her waist and instantly felt better with the weight. These last few days, walking around without weapons was like being naked in front of the world. The Smith & Wesson slid easily into the hip holster, and though it didn’t have silver bullets in the magazine, it was better than no ammo.

“How many of you are there?” she asked, busying herself with Mac’s boots. He was a few inches taller than her and she expected his boots to be a little larger as a result, but she was surprised when they fit her as well as they did.

“Just us,” the man said. “What are you doing now?”

“Stop asking stupid questions,” she snapped. “You know what I’m doing.”

Gaby pulled off Mac’s camouflage jacket and slipped it on. It was slightly big around the shoulders, but luckily Mac wasn’t fat. She took off his watch and put it on her wrist.

“Maybe I should take the rifle,” the man said.

“You know how to use one of these?” she asked.

“How hard could it be?”

“Right. I’ll keep the rifle.”

She got up and walked over to the door and opened it just a crack. She looked out at the empty second-floor hallway with Milly standing next to her, eyeing her curiously.

“Where is everyone?” she asked the girl.

“At work,” Milly said.

“Work?”

“Everyone has assigned work details,” the man said. “I work in the kitchen downstairs, and Milly is the server girl.”

“Hostess,” Milly said.

The man smiled. “Sorry. Hostess.”

She glanced back at the two of them. There wasn’t much of a resemblance, so she crossed out father and daughter. Not brother and sister, either.

“I’m Peter,” the man said, holding out his hand.

She shook it. “Gaby.”

“Milly told me. How are we getting out of here, Gaby?”

She stared at him for a moment. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head. “We were hoping you might have a plan.”

“Are you serious? You’re the ones who are supposed to be rescuing me, not the other way around.”

Milly and Peter exchanged a look.

“Never mind,” Gaby said. “Tell me about the town. How many collaborators are here?”

“Collaborators?” Peter said.

“The guys in the uniforms with guns.”

“Oh.” He thought about it. “Seven. Four left yesterday, but four more came with the new group of arrivals.”

“Is that too many?” Milly asked eagerly, still watching her face closely.

Gaby shook her head. “No. Seven is doable.”

I hope…

* * *

They were keeping her in a bed-and-breakfast just as she had guessed. That accounted for all the rooms on the second floor. According to Peter, except for her, everyone came and went as they pleased, though the building was reserved for singles.

Milly and Peter had their own rooms, and they disappeared inside them while Gaby stood watch at the top of the stairs. The first floor below her was empty, with everyone having already left for their “jobs.” Peter was still around because he worked in the kitchen while Milly assisted him.

“It sort of worked out perfectly for us,” Peter had said. “Besides Mac, there won’t be anyone here to stop us from leaving.”

“What about outside?” she had asked. “Where are all the other guards?”

“Walking around most of the time. You probably already know this, but this isn’t exactly a prison. They’re not going to stop anyone from leaving. Well, except you.”

Gaby had seen the way Peter looked at her more than once. He had questions, but he had (smartly) decided to keep them to himself for now. He didn’t really have the look of a chef, but then most of the people around L15 were probably doing things they didn’t think they would be doing before The Purge. She certainly had no idea she would be sneaking around a bed-and-breakfast with an AK-47.

Milly and Peter came back a few minutes later, both carrying large backpacks. Too large.

“What’s in there?” Gaby asked.

“Clothes,” Milly said. “And other stuff.”

“What kind of other stuff?”

“Deodorant, tooth paste, toothbrush…”

“Get rid of the clothes.”

“Why?”

“Take only what you need.”

“But I need my clothes,” Milly said.

“Get rid of the clothes,” Gaby said again.

Milly sighed and went back into her room.

Peter looked after the girl, then over at Gaby. “I, uh, just have socks and underwear. And some personal stuff.”

She nodded. “That’s fine.”

“How old are you, anyway?” he asked. She guessed that was one of the questions that had been swirling around in his head since they met.

“Old enough,” she said.

“I thought you’d be older.”

“You said that already.” Gaby glanced over as Milly came back out of her room with a noticeably lighter backpack. “Is there a back door?” she asked Peter.

He nodded and moved to take the lead, but she put a hand on his arm.

“I’ll go first,” she said, stepping ahead of him. “Just tell me where to go.”

“Down the stairs, turn right into the back hallway,” Peter said.

She moved down the stairs, the rifle in front of her. She didn’t particularly like the AK-47, but she knew how to use it. Although she was more familiar with the M4, there were other rifles on the island she had trained on over the months. Will always told her it was fine to have a favorite, but not at the risk of being ignorant of the rest.

As Peter promised, there was no one on the first floor. The emptiness made her nervous, with the main entrance looming in front of her. She glimpsed two figures standing across the street, both wearing camo uniforms similar to the ones Mac and Lance wore and the jacket she had on now. The uniforms made it easier to pick them out from the civilians. The last thing she wanted was to shoot someone who was just trying to survive the end of the world. The ones with guns, on the other hand…well, she could live with putting them down.

She turned right and led Milly and Peter into the back hallway. They followed (too) closely behind and made too much noise. There was a door at the end, sunlight filtering in through a security window. She reached it and looked out, past the sidewalk and at the buildings across the street. Large trees encircled the town in the near distance. Figures—men and women, and some children—moved along the sidewalks.

She looked back at Peter, then Milly. They were watching her anxiously.

“We’re going to walk out of here like we belong,” she said. “Act normally. Walk normally. You belong here. Don’t draw attention to yourselves, but don’t look away from anyone, either. Got it?”

They nodded back.

“If anyone calls your name, respond,” Gaby continued. “You’re doing what you’re supposed to do—going about your business.”

“Okay,” Peter said.

“Got it,” Milly nodded.

“I don’t see any vehicles except the ones the guards drive,” she said to Peter.

“There aren’t that many still left in town,” Peter said. “There are a couple of trucks and some ATVs parked near the administrative building.”

“Can we get to them?”

“I don’t see how. Besides you, those are the only places they actually guard.”

She could see it in Peter’s eyes again. It was the question that had been going through his mind: “What’s so special about you?”

But he didn’t voice it, and she was glad. Gaby didn’t feel like explaining her relationship with Josh. It was complicated. “See, there’s this guy, and he’s in love with me, but he has a really screwed up way of showing it.”

It sounded messed up even in her head.

“What about the horses?” Gaby asked. “I’ve seen them around.”

“There’s a stable on the south side, but there are people watching it. They’re not armed, but I don’t think they’re just going to give the animals to us.”

“They won’t have a choice.”

“Can you really just shoot them?”

She stared at him, wondering if the shock on his face was real. “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t want to do that,” Peter said, and shook his head. “Can’t we find another way?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“I want to leave this town, but not if I have to kill to do it.”

“You bashed Mac’s head in pretty good upstairs.”

He flinched. “That was different. He’s one of the guards, and it was necessary. These other people…they’re not dangerous.”

She could see the conflict on his face, and he reminded her very much of Nate.

Where are you, Nate? Are you dead? Are you out there somewhere? Are you one of those things now, lurking in the darkness?

“All right,” she said. “Then we’ll have to go on foot.” She looked back down the hallway. “The highway is back there.”

“The interstate,” Peter nodded.

“Then what’s on this side?”

“The farms, woods, and Hillman’s Lake, where they get the water.”

“And beyond that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never gone past the lake. I don’t think anyone has except the guards.”

Gaby took a breath. Milly smiled back at her, looking strangely confident in what they were about to do. Gaby couldn’t fathom what was going through the kid’s head at the moment. The last thing she was feeling was confidence. She wanted to escape, but she always thought she’d only have herself to take care of. Dragging a thirty-something guy and his, well, whatever it was Milly was to him, was never part of the plan.

Finally, she nodded. “All right. Remember: You belong here. Act normal.”

“Normal,” Peter said. “Right.”

She turned back around, opened the door, and stepped outside into the bright sun, gripping the AK-47 tightly in front of her, forefinger sliding comfortably close to the trigger.

* * *

Seeing and feeling the warmth of the sun from her apartment window (prison cell) was one thing; actually being outside walking under it was another. She had forgotten how freeing and comforting the daylight was. Even with all the potential dangers around her, Gaby couldn’t help but take a moment to soak in the clean air.

The first sound that reached her after stepping out onto the sidewalk was loud hammering from across the street. A dozen men were carefully lowering a large rectangular sign—a gaudy monstrosity featuring a woman lying on her side, barely clothed—to waiting hands below them. There was a second, plainer sign leaning against the building with writing that read: “Housing #14.”

Other buildings around her were being similarly repurposed, their old signs either already redone or in the process of being replaced. They seemed to be working from right to left, probably depending on what they needed. With the constant arrival of new five-ton transport trucks on a regular basis, she imagined they had dozens, maybe even hundreds, of new people in need of homes every day.

Salvation comes at a price. Your blood. Your soul. Your future.

I’d rather die first.

“Let’s go,” she said quietly.

They started up the sidewalk, making a beeline for the end of the street. The road curved left out of town, but the tree line in front of her beckoned, promising safety within the woods beyond. Gaby set a calm, almost leisurely pace, smiling and nodding and exchanging looks with everyone they passed. No one wore uniforms, which helped to set her mind somewhat at ease, and she allowed herself to lessen the pressure against the AK-47’s trigger.

She expected to see men on horseback, but there were none. Instead, the streets and sidewalks were filled with civilians. Men, women, and children. And pregnant women. It wasn’t hard to pick them out of the crowd. There were a lot of them.

“How many pregnant women are in town?” she asked Peter.

“A lot,” he said. “Over a hundred. There are more women here than men. I asked around, and it’s the same in all the other towns.”

She could see for herself that he was right. For every man or boy she saw, there were at least two females. Some pregnant, others not. And there was something else she noticed: They were all young and healthy.

Perfect birth-giving age. To squeeze out babies for the monsters.

Gaby’s mood darkened.

I’d rather die first…

“Peter!” a female voice shouted.

Gaby looked over as a woman in her twenties walked briskly across the street toward them. She was slim and attractive, with long black hair that fell all the way to her waist. She wore a white one-piece dress and beamed at the sight of Peter. Gaby searched for the telltale signs of a baby bump, but there wasn’t one.

“Hey, Anna,” Peter said, smiling back at the woman.

“Where you off to?” Anna asked.

“Um, to the lake.”

“What’s going on at the lake?”

Peter glanced at Gaby, and she could see him struggling for an answer. Lying, apparently, didn’t come easily to Peter.

“They wanted me to look at some plants they found,” he said. “To see if they’re edible.”

The woman stopped in front of them, and bright green eyes settled on Gaby. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Gaby said.

“I haven’t seen you around before. Did you just arrive?”

“You know everyone in town?” Gaby asked, injecting just enough annoyance into her voice to let the woman know it wasn’t her job to question her. She was, after all, the one wearing a uniform (or at least, Mac’s boots and jacket) and holding a rifle.

The woman was properly chastised. “I guess not.”

“Right,” Gaby said, and looked away.

Anna smiled at Milly instead. “Hey there, kid.”

“Hey, Anna,” Milly said. The girl smiled, playing along. She was definitely a more convincing liar than Peter. “How’s Bobby?”

“He’s okay. Working at the barn with the horses now.”

“That’s cool.”

Anna looked back at Peter before her eyes shifted over to Gaby again. “So, I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “See you around.”

“Yeah, sure.” She gave Gaby a pursed smile before walking off.

Gaby looked after her.

She knows.

She must have been unconsciously raising the AK-47 when she felt Peter’s hand on the rifle’s barrel. “No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Please. She’s a good person.”

They’re all good people until they shoot you in the back, she thought, but said instead, “Whatever. Let’s go.”

She started up the sidewalk again. Peter and Milly followed in silence for a moment, their quickening footsteps sounding almost in tune to the hammering across the street.

Gaby risked a quick glance over her shoulder.

Anna, farther back down the street, was watching after them, and her eyes met Gaby’s again.

“Pick up the pace,” Gaby said.

She began moving faster, dodging people in their path. If they were indifferent to her before, they became slightly alarmed as she moved aggressively around and sometimes through them. Gaby measured the distance between them and the woods.

Fifty yards, give or take.

Her pace quickened and she was almost moving at a trot now. “Hurry.”

“What’s happening?” Peter said.

“Just hurry!”

Peter and Milly already looked out of breath and they weren’t any closer to the tree lines. The girl probably hadn’t built up much of a stamina delivering food, and Gaby could already see the strain on her round face. Peter didn’t look any better. She guessed cooking for people in the bed-and-breakfast hadn’t done him any favors, either.

Forty yards…

…thirty-five…

“Hey!” a male voice shouted behind them.

Gaby looked over her shoulder a second time.

Anna was standing next to a uniformed guard, the woman pointing after them. The man was too far back for her to make out any details, but she could easily discern the M4 hanging at his side.

“Stop where you are!” the man shouted.

The hell with that.

She took off, shouting, “Run!”

She knew Peter and Milly were close behind because she could hear them gasping, their sneakers slapping against the pavement. People stumbled out of their way, others hurrying into open doors. Men working on a building across the street stopped what they were doing and stared curiously.

A gunshot pinged! against a metal sign hanging four feet above her head. Gaby ducked reflexively, even though she didn’t really need to.

She picked up even more speed.

Twenty yards…

She glanced back and saw Peter holding onto Milly’s hand, the two of them somehow keeping pace despite the sweat and veins popping out along their temples and foreheads.

God, they’re out of shape.

Gaby didn’t stop. Didn’t waste precious seconds shooting back at the guard. The first gunshot would already be bringing other collaborators. One or two, she might have been able to prevail against in a stand-up fight, but if even half of those seven showed up, she was a goner.

No, not seven. Six. Because Mac was probably still bleeding on the second floor of the bed-and-breakfast right now.

Death by roller pin. Now that’s a hell of a way to go.

Ten yards…

…five…

She finally reached the end of the sidewalk and darted into the woods just as the man fired again, the pop-pop-pop of a three-round burst chopping into the branches above her head. She heard Milly scream and glanced back at the girl’s terrified face. Peter had picked her up and was cradling her like precious cargo as he struggled to catch up.

“Keep running!” she shouted.

He might have nodded, she couldn’t be sure. But he didn’t stop, and that was all that mattered. Milly was clinging to his neck, her face shoved against his chest. She might have also been whimpering, but Gaby couldn’t be certain with her own heartbeat slamming against her chest.

As she ran, Gaby wondered how long it would take Josh to hear about her escape and come after her. How many men would he commit to getting her back under his thumb? That would probably depend on how badly he wanted her. At the moment, she didn’t particularly care. She had weapons again and freedom, and she’d be damned if she was going to give up both of those things now.

Come and get me, Josh.

Come and get me if you can…

6

Keo

Sunset Deluca Drive, with its commercial buildings and vast parking lots to one side and the crystal clear waters of Lake Dulcet on the other, made for a great morning walk. The only sounds came from the soles of his boots against the pavement, a welcome distraction after last night’s near miss. The wind blew through the palm trees and birds glided through the air with all the time in the world. He could almost believe there was nothing wrong with the universe, that at any moment the area would be filled with tourists snapping photos.

Keo walked under streetlights and alongside dead cars, most of them still with keys in their ignitions. But minus gas or working batteries, they were useless. There was surprisingly little traffic, with only the occasional sedan or abandoned truck to break the monotony of gray concrete and random spurts of weeds. He had traveled this stretch of the city dozens of times, and the silence never failed to make him just a little bit uncomfortable.

It was noon by the time he finally made it back to the marina.

He stepped out of the street and onto the cobblestone walkway, dodging the same three white trucks that had been parked there since the day he had arrived with Zachary and Shorty. He took note of each truck’s windows and their current positions and was satisfied they hadn’t been moved or tampered with since yesterday morning.

The marina had three long docks and sixteen slips, with the middle section capable of hosting eight vessels while the outer two were able to hold four each. There was only one boat in the entire place at the moment. A sailboat with blue along the sides, about thirteen meters long. It was spacious enough to house five or six comfortably, with an American flag fluttering proudly at the stern. Inside the cabin, they had found photos of a family of six. A nice-looking group of people with blue-blood genes in expensive polo sweaters and Ralph Lauren slacks.

The fact that there was only one lone sailboat in the entire marina was a bit of a mystery. Inside, they had found emergency rations, nonperishable food, and cases of bottled water, which led Keo to believe the cruisers had arrived only recently. Maybe they docked, went into the city, but never made it back onboard. In a way, it was similar to how Mark and Jordan had been surviving since the end, which would mean the previous owners knew about water being a sanctuary from the monsters.

So where were they now? Maybe out there, somewhere.

Or dead, like Zachary and Shorty.

That wasn’t entirely true. There were worse things than death these days…

The problem with the sailboat was the size. Thirteen meters was big, and the vessel wasn’t designed for single-handed sailing. Even with Zachary and Shorty, two men who were even more novices at this than he was, it would have been a chore to manage the boat along the veins of the river heading south—

Engines.

Keo was about to climb over the boat’s fender when the noise cut through the silence of the city. It was impossible to miss. Sound already traveled long distances these days, but mechanical noise was like shouting through a bullhorn.

Car engines.

He finished the climb and dropped down, flattening himself against the sun-bleached white deck. He unslung the pack and slid it in front of him, then laid the MP5SD on top of the nylon fabric. He pulled the zipper and took out the small binoculars and peered through it, past the railing in front of him.

He tracked two vehicles moving fast down Sunset Deluca Drive.

Trucks.

A sleek black GMC Sierra and a white Honda Ridgeline. They were staying close together, clearly moving in tandem. He waited for both vehicles to flash by and keep going, but instead they began to slow down—

Crap.

—before stopping completely in front of the parking lot and behind the three white trucks.

And my luck keeps getting better and better.

Two men, wearing clothes Keo didn’t think he’d ever see again, climbed out of the GMC in camo uniforms and combat boots, with sidearms and ammo pouches attached to web belts. They looked like soldiers, but Keo knew better. There were no American soldiers anymore. You would need an American government to still be around for that. Besides, these guys didn’t actually look like servicemen. Keo had been around guys in uniform almost his entire life, and these jokers looked more like civilians dressing up for Halloween. Even the shade of their camo was wrong.

One of the men reached into the large GMC and pulled out a tan-colored FN SCAR assault rifle. The second, bigger one had an M4. He was wearing some kind of an assault vest with a radio in a pouch, which the man pressed now. A loud squawk, then muffled voices, but they were too far away for Keo to eavesdrop.

He was caught in no man’s land. Escaping into the cabin behind him was a non-starter. He had only two real options at this point—fight or flee. He couldn’t flee. There was nowhere to go unless he wanted to go for a swim.

Which left fight.

Because there was no way these men were going to leave now. Even if they didn’t know the boat existed before showing up, they would have to be blind not to spot the white-painted forty-meter mast sticking up into the air like a beacon. If these bozos came any closer and looked for more than a few seconds, it would be impossible to miss the only boat in the entire marina.

So he wasn’t terribly surprised when the fat man began walking up the middle dock toward him.

If it weren’t for shitty luck…

He watched Fatty turn sideways to move between two of the trucks in the parking lot, barely making the tight squeeze. His eyes, predictably, saw the docked sailboat right away as soon as he was through.

Keo slipped the binoculars back into the pack and picked up the submachine gun. He pressed as much of his body against the deck as he could in order to lower his profile even further. The railing would hide him somewhat, but if the man came any closer…

He flicked the fire selector on the MP5SD from fully automatic to semi-auto. The sound suppressor would do a lot to hide the gunshot, but the other guy standing outside the Ridgeline would notice pretty quickly when Fatso fell down.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…

He couldn’t see up the dock anymore, so he had to rely on his ears. Heavy footsteps approached him at a slow pace. Keo didn’t think the man could hurry if he wanted to because of the girth he was carrying.

How do you stay fat at the end of the world? Now, that’s a nice trick.

“—see the boat, but I don’t see anyone,” the man was saying.

“Well, someone’s gotta have sailed that thing here,” a voice said through a radio. “The kid said it wasn’t here a month ago when he last came by.”

“Maybe he got it wrong.”

“Kid swears by it.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll check it out.”

“Careful you don’t slip and fall into the water,” the other man said, chuckling. “I’m not jumping in there after your fat ass.”

“Har har,” the fat man said. “You’re a funny guy.”

Keo had been counting the man’s loud footsteps, and when he got the right number, he rose up on the deck of the boat with the MP5SD in his hands.

The man was halfway up the dock when he froze at the sight of Keo.

A painful second, then two, ticked by.

The man groped for the radio and tried to lift it to his lips when Keo shot him once in the chest. He watched the man stagger for a moment, a shocked expression spreading across his generous face. Keo shot him again between the eyes, and the big man dropped to the wooden boards, his bulk making a loud thump!

Keo quickly threw himself over the boat’s fender and onto the dock. He raced back toward the parking lot with the MP5SD in front of him.

The man with the SCAR was running up the parking lot when he spotted Keo and slid to a stop.

Keo squeezed the trigger twice, putting both rounds into the man’s chest. The “soldier” stumbled but didn’t go down. Instead, the man actually put a hand back against one of the white trucks to steady himself.

Bulletproof vest? Cheater!

Keo put the third bullet in the man’s face, the silver 9mm round obliterating the nose in a shower of blood and bone. This time, the man dropped.

He reached the end of the marina and pushed on, passing the second dead man, whose radio squawked, a voice shouting through, “Milton? What’s going on out there? Milton?”

He slipped around one of the trucks instead of going between them. He flicked the fire selector to fully automatic as soon as he reached the parking lot and came up on the Ridgeline just as both front doors opened and two more uniformed men clambered outside. The passenger was trying desperately to unsling an M4 carbine, while the driver had managed to get a silver Colt 1911 automatic out of its holster and was aiming it over the hood of the truck.

Keo shot the passenger first because he was the closer target, stitching the moving man with a quick burst and catching him in the chest with three rounds. His fourth, fifth, and sixth bullets shattered the Ridgeline’s window and Keo glimpsed faces inside the truck, in the back, and heard screams.

Female screams.

The driver fired over the hood of the truck. Too fast and his hands were shaking, throwing his aim off. Barely. Keo still heard the zip! as the bullet nearly took his head off anyway.

He went into a crouch and lost sight of the driver on the other side of the truck momentarily. Not that that seemed to stop the man from shooting. He fired off two more shots, then a fourth one, the clink-clink of his bullet casings landing on the ground.

Keo stayed low and crab-walked sideways when the driver appeared from around the hood. Keo shot his legs out from under him, and the driver screamed as he slammed into the parking lot.

He got up and rushed over, kicking the fancy Colt under the Ridgeline. He ignored the driver’s screams and circled the truck before leaning into the open driver-side door and looking into the backseat.

Two faces, both draped with long hair, peered back out at him.

One of the women, a brunette, held out her hands—showing scarred palms—as if to let him know she wasn’t armed. The other one had dirty-blonde hair and seemed to be trying to disappear into the floor of the truck.

“Outside,” Keo said.

He stepped back and waited for the women to come out. They did, reluctantly, shaking with every step. They clung to one another, staring at Keo, then at the driver rolling around on the ground next to them. The driver’s eyes, like the women’s, were glued to the bloody stumps that used to be his legs.

Keo made a quick tour of both vehicles, searching for hidden passengers that didn’t exist. He gave the area a once-over and listened for sounds other than the driver screaming behind him. His own gunfire had been suppressed, but the driver’s Colt might as well have been artillery fire against the stillness of the city.

He walked back to the women. Both wore cargo pants and cotton undershirts underneath long-sleeve work shirts covered in sweat. They looked dirty, but then again, he was probably not much of a prize himself at the moment, especially after running for his life and spending all night inside a smelly attic.

“We should go,” the brunette said.

“Go where?” Keo said.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s not here.”

“Why?”

“There are others out there. Nearby.”

“How near—”

He hadn’t gotten the question out when he heard them.

Car engines.

And they were coming in his direction…fast.

* * *

“Are they after you or me?” Keo asked.

“These new guys? I don’t know. The ones from earlier were taking us back,” the brunette, Carrie, said. “But it’s not like we’re important or anything; we just had the bad luck of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. What about you? They went to that marina looking for someone. Are you important or something?”

“No. I’m just some guy trying to get to Texas.”

“What’s in Texas?”

Gillian.

“Be quiet for a moment,” he said.

They were inside an abandoned lakeside bar called Bago’s, about half a kilometer from the sailboat that Keo needed. From here, using a pair of binoculars, he had a direct line of sight to the marina across Lake Dulcet. Carrion birds were gathering in the air above the parking lot waiting to feast, except they couldn’t because there were men below them. Living men, moving around in familiar camo uniforms.

One of the men that had arrived five minutes ago started shooting into the air, scattering the birds. At least for a little while. Soon, the creatures had circled back around to where the bodies were. It didn’t look as if they were going anywhere anytime soon.

There were two new vehicles in the marina parking lot, and they had dumped six more men with assault rifles. Keo watched them from the safety of Bago’s for nearly twenty minutes as they searched through the bodies, the vehicles, and then the lone sailboat at the end of the dock. When they were satisfied he wasn’t there, two of them opened fire on the boat with their carbines, the pop-pop-pop filling the air for ten full seconds. When they were finally empty, they reloaded…and poured more rounds into the vessel.

Shit. There goes my ride to Texas.

They didn’t stay behind to watch the boat sink. Instead, they headed back to the parking lot, where one of them drew his sidearm and shot out all four tires on the already bullet-riddled Ridgeline while his friends picked up the bodies and loaded them into the trucks. Two of them climbed into the GMC and the three vehicles drove off.

Except they didn’t all go in the same direction. Instead, they headed off in separate paths, spreading out into the city. That was a search formation if he ever saw one. The closest truck came within 200 meters of Bago’s before turning and disappearing eastward. The only bright spot was that not a single one of them headed south, which was the direction he needed to go.

Yeah. Bright side. Get it where you can, pal.

“They’re gone,” Keo said, lowering his binoculars and putting it away.

“Thank God,” Carrie said behind him.

She and the blonde teenager, Lorelei, sat at a booth eating canned food from the supplies they had salvaged from the two trucks before running off. There were boxes of ammo and more weapons in the back of the vehicles, but Keo kept things efficient—as much supply as they could carry and still run. Everything else was superfluous, including two women he didn’t know until very recently.

He had thought about leaving them behind but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe it was losing Zachary and Shorty last night, or maybe it was the thought of what Gillian would say if she found out he had abandoned two desperate girls just to get to her.

Gillian.

Was she even still alive out there? Did she even make it to Santa Marie Island months ago?

He didn’t know, but that only meant he had to go there and find out. Whatever happened, he had to find out for sure…

Of course, doing that would have been much easier with the supplies he had left behind on the sailboat. The silver rounds they had made, the bullet-making materials, and those stacks of silverware they had collected but never got around to melting down. Losing the boat hurt in more ways than one.

In the boat’s place, he had two women he didn’t know from Adam and a world of trouble. Those uniformed men definitely hadn’t come looking for him. They had gone there looking for a boat, but not him specifically. Besides, the only person who knew he existed at all and wanted him dead was, himself, dead.

Burn in hell, Pollard. You and your son.

“I don’t understand why we didn’t just sail away on your boat,” Carrie said. “I almost had a stroke running here, and we barely made it before those guys showed up.”

“Not enough time,” Keo said.

“How long would it have taken to get a boat ready to sail?”

“More than what we had.”

“Oh.”

He sat down on a stool and finished off the can of peaches he had left open on the bar counter. He ate while trying to ignore Carrie as she watched him intently. She was an attractive girl, mid-twenties, with high cheekbones and a long, slender figure. The other girl, Lorelei, looked all of sixteen and hid behind her long hair. She barely talked, and for a while Keo thought she might have been a mute, but no, she just had very little to say, at least to him. She did whisper into Carrie’s ear every now and then. They acted like sisters, but there was no obvious resemblance.

“Those guys back there,” Keo said, “the ones that went looking for my boat. You said they were taking you somewhere?”

“They were taking us back to the town.”

“What town?”

“L11.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s what they call it,” she said and shrugged.

“L11,” Keo repeated. “Sounds like something the military would come up with.”

“You were in the military?”

“God, no.” Then, “Those guys back there. They weren’t soldiers, either.”

“No. They just started dressing in those uniforms recently. Before then, they ran around in hazmat suits and gas masks.”

Hazmat suits and gas masks? Now that rings a bell…

“You say there are more of them around?” Keo said. “Besides the ones we’ve seen already?”

“A lot more.” She looked anxiously toward the window. “How long are we going to stay here?”

“Until I’m sure no one else is going to pop up. Then we’ll leave.” He glanced at his watch. “Still six more hours until nightfall. Relax.”

“Relax. Right.”

“Do your best.”

Carrie went back to scooping syrup-drenched pieces of fruit into her mouth with one of the cheap plastic sporks they had found in the back of the Ridgeline. Lorelei, meanwhile, ate ravenously from a can of SPAM.

“Tell me about this town,” Keo said to Carrie.

“What about it?”

“Why did you run away?”

“You really don’t know? About the towns?”

“‘Towns’? So there is more than one?”

“That’s why it’s called L11,” she said, watching him carefully, maybe trying to gauge if he was messing with her. When she was certain he wasn’t, she continued. “There are dozens of them in Louisiana alone. That’s what I heard, anyway. The one we escaped from was called L11.”

“L11,” Keo repeated again. “So there are ten more before it. And more after it?”

“Yes, I think so. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve heard the stories.”

“And there are people in these towns? How is that possible? What happens at night? How do they keep the bloodsuckers out?”

“You don’t know?” she said again. “Where have you been all this time?”

“In the woods. I guess I’m a little behind the times.”

“Have you ever been to the camps?”

“These are different from the towns?”

She nodded and told him, and Keo listened intently.

Carrie explained the camps filled with survivors. The towns like L11, where the creatures stayed out. And humans donating blood every day. “The agreement,” as Carrie put it. Then there were the pregnant women. He found that the hardest to swallow, but when he stared at the women and saw the very real fear on Lorelei’s face underneath her hair, he believed it. Every single word of it.

“Goddamn,” he said when she was finished. “So they’re working for those things? The enemy?”

“Yes,” Carrie said. “They watch over us in the daytime.”

“But that’s not all they do.”

“No. They do a lot of other…things.”

Keo nodded. Suddenly the presence of those men in hazmat suits and gas masks trying to kill him in Robertson Park made sense. Or as much “sense” as selling out your own species to bloodsucking creatures made any sense, anyway.

“You’re taking this well,” Carrie said, watching him closely.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen some crazy things in my life.”

“Crazier than this?”

“Not this, but I’ve seen people do some crazy things to survive.”

He spent a few minutes rolling all the information he had just absorbed over in his head in silence. A year ago he wouldn’t have believed a single thing Carrie had just said, but what was possible and impossible had been upended for good in the last eleven months. These days it seemed anything was not only possible, but likely.

After a while, he glanced back at her. “You said they wanted to impregnate you.”

“Yeah. That’s why we ran.”

“Were the guys too ugly?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “It’s not the sex. It’s what happens afterward. With the babies.” She looked almost imploringly at him. “You understand, right? Why we couldn’t stay? Why we ran?”

He nodded and thought about Gillian. “I understand.”

She nodded back gratefully then returned to eating her canned fruits with the flimsy utensil.

“One of the men I shot mentioned a kid over the radio,” Keo said. “Was that why they were there?”

“I heard them talking on the radio,” Carrie nodded. “One of the kids spotted your boat at the marina. That’s why they were checking it out.”

“‘Kids’?”

“They have eyes everywhere. Kids. Eleven, twelve-year-olds. They’re all over the cities on bicycles. Some on skateboards.”

“Skateboards?”

“Whatever they’re used to and can get them from place to place the easiest, I guess.”

“What do these kids do, exactly?”

“They’re spies. Lookouts. Their job is to go around the city looking for survivors. The guys in uniform come later. That’s how they found us. One of those stupid kids spotted us and the trucks swooped in.”

“Kids on skateboards, towns, camps, and pregnant women carrying babies to feed the ghouls,” Keo said, shaking his head. “Next thing you know, you’re going to tell me Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are real, too.”

“‘Ghouls’?” Carrie said.

“That’s what she calls them.”

“Who?”

“The woman on the radio.”

Carrie stared at him like he had a third eye. Then Lorelei joined in.

Keo sighed. “My turn, I guess.”

He told them about the woman on the radio. The repeating message. Bodies of water. Sunlight. Ultraviolet. And silver.

“Is she right?” Carrie said. “About everything? I know about sunlight, but the others…”

Keo nodded. “She’s right about pretty much everything. The only thing I can’t be sure of is the ultraviolet light. Hard to test that one out without the right equipment, and I have no idea where to get those.”

“But silver…”

“It works. I was testing it out last night.” And got Shorty and Zachary killed doing it, he thought, but left that part out. Instead, he said, “The boats at the marina. Do you know what happened to them? That sailboat was the first and only vessel I saw since I arrived in the city.”

Carrie shook her head. “I don’t know. I spent most of my time in the camp before they relocated us to L11. It’s weird, though. Those marinas are usually filled with boats.”

“You used to live around here?”

“The east side,” she nodded. “That’s where we were headed when they grabbed us.”

“What’s over there?”

“My old house.”

“That’s it?”

She looked embarrassed. “I couldn’t really think of anywhere else to go. I don’t even know what I expected to find there. Everyone I know is gone. I just didn’t…know where else to go.”

Lorelei reached over and clutched Carrie’s arm tightly. The two girls exchanged a brief private smile, an attempt to give each other strength that he wasn’t entirely sure was successful.

Keo watched them closely for a moment. The teenager, hiding behind her hair as if it were an invisible force field, doing her best not to draw attention. The older Carrie, who would have been pretty if not for the dirt and grime. They looked beaten and tired and in so many ways were the exact opposite of Gillian.

Or, at least, the last time he saw Gillian.

Was she even still alive out there?

He had to know. And that meant finding a boat. Maybe somewhere down south.

He had to go down there anyway…

“Have you ever heard of Song Island?” he asked Carrie.

“Yes,” Carrie said, looking back at him. “It’s on Beaufont Lake. I used to go fishing with my dad down there when I was a kid. Those were some of the best times of my life. Why?”

“I was told there might be people there. The plan was always to find out one way or another if they’re still there before I headed off to Santa Marie Island.”

“An island,” Carrie said. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Because the creatures—the ghouls—wouldn’t be able to cross the lake. Do you think that’s why all the boats are missing? Maybe the soldiers are going around destroying them so no one can use them to get to these islands?”

“That’s one theory.”

“You said going to Song Island was the original plan. Is it still the plan?” Carrie asked anxiously.

He nodded, thinking about Zachary, who had come with him specifically to find out what had happened to his friends who had gone to Song Island, following the siren call of a radio message promising shelter and security many, many months ago.

“I owe it to a friend to make a pit stop there first,” Keo said.

7

Gaby

Horses. They sent the guys on horses after her.

Like a posse in a Western. Now I’ve seen everything.

But instead of six-shooters and Winchesters, this posse was carrying assault rifles and semi-automatic pistols. They were wearing identical uniforms, combat boots, and two of them had caps to keep the sun out of their eyes. There were four and they were spread out in pairs of two, which told her they weren’t complete dummies.

She kept that in mind as they moved slowly through the woods, sometimes ducking to get under low-hanging branches. The only positive she could find was that they didn’t appear to be expert trackers and seemed to be searching randomly, perhaps hoping to just stumble across her. So there was that. It had been hard enough keeping Peter and Milly on course, but it had been downright impossible to get them to stop stepping on every twig in their path.

This is what it’s like to run around with civilians. How did Will and Danny ever do it?

She gripped the AK-47 tighter. Mac had done her a favor and kept two magazines in his pouches, with two more for the M1911. Unfortunately all the bullets were regular ammo, which meant she had to get out of the woods by nightfall. If she was caught in here without silver to defend herself with…

Gaby looked down at Mac’s watch: 9:13 a.m.

Plenty of time.

That was the other good news. Night wasn’t her friend anymore, but she had plenty of time to find shelter. Of course, that might be harder to do than she had expected, given the lack of civilization inside the woods—

“What now?” Peter whispered behind her. He was so close she could feel his breath against the back of her neck.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Maybe we can wait them out.”

Milly moved nervously behind them. They had been crouched in the same spot for the last thirty minutes, waiting to see how the guards would proceed. She had expected a stronger chase and was surprised they had only sent four. Then again, she had to remember they didn’t have that many in town to begin with.

You don’t need a lot of guards when no one wants to leave.

Well, almost no one.

She looked back at Peter and Milly. She had a lot of questions for them: Why leave and why now? The questions had been nagging at her ever since they entered the woods. No one else in town had seemed interested in abandoning the safety of L15. The woman Anna, who had sold them out the first chance she got, was proof of that.

“What?” Peter said when he caught her staring.

Gaby didn’t say anything. She turned away and took in their environment for the tenth time in as many minutes. They were surrounded by trees and bushes, with the sound of Hillman Lake behind them. Forty yards from the shore, give or take. Close enough to make the heat just slightly bearable.

The closest two men on horseback were moving away from them before turning right. Gaby listened to the fading clop-clop-clop of the horseshoes against soft earth. Every now and then there was the squawk of radios as the men communicated back and forth in muffled voices.

Gaby glanced back at Peter again. “How big is the lake? Can we go around it?”

He shook his head. “It’s big. Half a kilometer. It would take too long to circle it.”

“How deep?”

“You mean you want to cross it?”

“Where else are we going to go? If we can’t go around it and we can’t head back toward town, there’s only one direction left—across the lake.”

“It’s pretty deep,” Peter said. “There are shallow ends—”

Crack! A bullet slammed into a tree trunk two feet from Peter’s head, cutting him off. He flinched with his entire body, instinctively dodging flying bark as the gunshot echoed loudly around them.

“Go!” Gaby shouted.

Milly and Peter launched to their feet and raced off behind her. She stood up slightly, gripping the AK-47, and searched out the source of the gunfire the best she could, though it was like looking for a needle—

There! A man sitting on a horse sixty yards away.

He was taking aim at Milly’s and Peter’s fleeing forms when her movement drew his attention. She was still swinging the AK-47 around when he snapped off a shot with his M4, but his horse was moving under him and his bullet sailed harmlessly over her, chopping a branch free above her head.

Gaby took careful aim and fired—and missed!

Dammit! she thought, and was about to fire again when the horse, responding to her near-hit, reared up on its hind legs and tossed the rider as if he were nothing more than a nuisance. Long, luxurious brown mane flashed in the air as the animal turned around and galloped off, leaving its rider on the ground.

The man had lost his rifle as he went down, and he was scrambling to find it when Gaby shot him in the back, right over the ass. Or did she actually hit him in one of his cheeks? The man screamed, whether in surprise or pain, she wasn’t sure. He gave up on locating his weapon and began crawling to safety, his bleeding backside in the air, facing her.

Now that’s a sight.

She lifted her rifle to shoot when the man somehow half-crawled, half-lunged behind a big tree.

Gaby took a step forward to finish the wounded man off when another horse pushed its way through a thick bush in front of her, with another uniformed figure swaying in the saddle. They were still far away—almost eighty yards—and hadn’t seen her yet. Gaby decided not to risk a shot at this distance and instead turned and fled in the same direction that Peter and Milly had gone.

Or, at least, the same general vicinity. Her only hope was that Peter was smart enough to grab the girl before she could get too far ahead of him and lead her somewhere safe.

The first thing she had noticed when she fled into the woods earlier was that it was a massive place. It reminded her of Sandwhite Wildlife State Park, but minus the trails, which made it wilder and more unpredictable. If she thought every inch of Sandwhite looked exactly the same, she couldn’t imagine getting lost in here. Thankfully, there was Hillman Lake to her right, so if nothing else, she always knew which direction would lead her away from the town and the pursuit.

She had been running for two straight minutes at a full sprint before she finally heard the noise she had been waiting for. The clop-clop-clop of horseshoes, bearing down on her fast.

She looked over her shoulder. Nothing. But not being able to see the incoming rider wasn’t the same as him not being there. She could almost feel him gaining on her, and she could definitely still hear him getting closer.

Clop-clop-clop!

Clop-clop-clop!

Gaby pulled up to a stop and slid behind a tree. She hugged the gnarled trunk and waited, using the momentary respite to suck in air and did her best to control her breathing, but it was like trying to hold back a freight train.

She was still gasping for breath, trying to temper the adrenaline coursing through her like wildfire, when a man on a horse galloped past her. Like the others, this one was wearing a camo uniform and he was holding onto the reins for dear life with one hand while clutching an M4 rifle at his side. He didn’t look entirely comfortable in the half-second or so that it took him to ride past her.

Gaby didn’t let him get too far ahead. She pushed away from the tree, took aim, and shot the man in the back. He must have pulled on the reins reflexively because the horse let out a furious whine as it slid to a stop, horseshoes digging trenches into the ground.

As the animal settled and the man on top of it hung on, Gaby took two quick steps forward and took aim again, but before she could squeeze off another shot, the man collapsed from the saddle. He crumpled onto the ground on his belly, legs twisted awkwardly under him, and lay still.

The horse didn’t stick around. It turned and ran back—right at her!

Gaby stepped into the animal’s path and threw her hands into the air, waving them wildly to gets its attention. She got it, all right, not that the large brown charging thing with magnificent flowing mane had any intentions of stopping for her.

“Whoa!” Gaby shouted. “Whoa, horse!”

She didn’t have time to process how stupid she must have looked (or sounded) before the horse came within a foot of running her over like she was an annoying gnat. She lunged out of its path, going sideways at the last second, losing the AK-47 at the same time she crashed into some underbrush headfirst.

By the time she picked herself back up, the horse was running freely through the woods until there was nothing left of it but the gradually fading clop-clop-clop echoing back and forth among the trees.

She sighed and struggled to her feet. “Stupid horse.”

Right. The horse is the stupid animal and not you, who just tried to flag it down like it was a taxi. Keep telling yourself that, girl.

She snatched up the assault rifle and jogged over to the dead rider. Gaby robbed him of the M4 and pocketed his spare ammos and a small first-aid kit. She pulled out his holstered sidearm—a 9mm Glock—and stuffed it into her waistband.

Voices, coming from behind her. “Greg! Where the hell are you?”

She didn’t hear galloping, so the man had to be on foot. Gaby didn’t stick around to find out for sure. She slung the newly acquired carbine and hurried off, feeling much better with her pouches stuffed with spare magazines and an extra handgun in her waist. The extra weight made her move slower, but she didn’t want to risk throwing anything away.

“A soldier who complains about having to carry too much firepower is a dead one,” Will liked to say.

* * *

Will and Danny had taught her a lot of things on the island, but tracking people wasn’t one of them. She had no idea where Milly and Peter had gone, and although there were clues—a broken branch here, a snapped twig there—each time she thought she had picked up their trail, it suddenly changed again.

She entertained but quickly dismissed the idea that Peter was purposefully mixing up his footprints in order to throw her off. He didn’t strike her as someone who had a lot of experience in the woods. She didn’t either, but compared to him she might as well be one of those frontier woodsmen she had learned about in school. Peter was one of the town’s cooks, for God’s sake. A guy like that probably didn’t spend a whole lot of time learning tracking—or in this case, hiding his tracks—from pursuers.

Of course, she could be wrong. What did she really know about them, anyway? What did she know about the girl? Besides the fact they were both clearly desperate to leave L15. They were the only two, from the looks of it. Was that suspicious? Maybe. Right now, though, she owed them for saving her life. Maybe she would have gotten out anyway on her own, but they had made it easier.

Even so, after about fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, the idea of heading off by herself was becoming more and more feasible.

What did she really owe them, anyway? Yes, they had helped her escape, but if they had run off on their own, they were beyond her help. The smart thing would be to keep going, cross Hillman Lake, and somehow reorient herself and head back south, back toward Beaufont Lake…

…and Song Island.

How long had it been? It felt like years since she had seen the white beaches and eaten the fresh fish and stood watch in the Tower’s third floor—

Snap!

She spun around, lifting the AK-47 to fire—

“It’s just me!” Peter shouted.

She sighed and lowered the rifle. He had come close to dying. Too close.

“Where’s Milly?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Follow me,” he said, lowering his voice to match her pitch. He started off and Gaby followed.

“Where’s Milly?” she asked again.

“We found a place to stay not far from here.”

“Is it safe?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“It looked pretty safe.”

They walked in silence for a while, and Peter seemed to know where he was going.

“You’re pretty good with that rifle,” he said finally.

She remembered missing the horseman with her first shot. “I’m not that good with the AK. I was trained on an M4.”

“Which one is that?”

“The black one.”

“Oh.”

“Where did you put Milly, Peter?”

“It’s a cave, but it’s pretty well hidden. I left her to come look for you.”

Gaby grabbed his arm and spun him around. “You left her inside a cave?”

He didn’t answer right away, and she could tell he didn’t understand the accusatory tone in her voice. “Why? Isn’t a cave safe?”

“Caves are dark, Peter.”

The realization spread across his face. “Oh God,” he said, and jerked his hand away before running off at full speed.

She fell in behind him, keeping one eye in front of her and the other scanning the woods. Her ears were up, listening for the familiar clop-clop-clop of horse hooves on soft earth. She didn’t believe for a minute the remaining two guards on horseback hadn’t converged toward all the gunfire. The fact that they weren’t here yet worried her. Then again, maybe like Peter, they were more terrible at this whole woods thing than she initially attributed to them.

“Are we close?” she asked Peter.

“Almost there,” he said, already sucking in air with every step.

She didn’t know why he was breathing so hard. She was the one carrying two rifles, two handguns, and nearly half a dozen magazines. Even with all that weight, she was still matching him stride for stride. A part of her wanted to ask him what he did before all of this, but the other part—the survivor in her—didn’t want to know. If he and Milly died today or tomorrow, it was better if she didn’t know too much about them. It was a cold thought, but Gaby had gotten progressively good at detaching herself from her emotions these days.

Except with Nate.

What happened to you, Nate? Are you dead…or worse?

Peter finally slowed down as they came up on the mouth of a cave, partially hidden among the trees and bushes. It was impossible not to notice the suffocating darkness staring back out at her.

“Milly,” Peter whispered. He had stopped near the entrance. When there was no answer, he whispered louder, “Milly.”

Gaby moved past him with the AK-47 in front of her, wishing badly for the magazine to be full of silver bullets. She flicked the fire selector to full-auto. Regular bullets didn’t do a damn thing against the ghouls, but maybe enough of them at once…

“She’s not answering,” Peter said.

No shit, Peter.

Gaby took a deep breath and stepped into the pitch-black. Peter moved behind her, his footsteps tentative, his breathing too loud despite the fact he had stopped running more than a minute ago.

She stepped cautiously, allowing her eyes to adjust to the nothingness. The sunlight only penetrated the cave for a few precious yards, and it wasn’t nearly enough to see with. She only managed four, then five steps before she was swallowed up by the pitch-black nothingness.

What are you doing? You don’t know these people. You don’t owe them this. You don’t owe them dying.

Go back. Go back now!

She kept moving forward instead.

“Milly,” Peter whispered behind her. “Where are you?” Then, much louder than he should, “Milly!”

Even as Milly’s name echoed off the walls, the creature lunged out of the darkness at her, reaching with one hand, black eyes glistening (That shouldn’t be possible) and a mouth full of devastating brown and yellow teeth lit up in a staccato effect as she pulled the trigger and the AK-47 leaped in her hands.

The creature jerked as bullets riddled its chest at almost point-blank range, and she heard a ping! as a round bounced off bone. That, more than anything, stunned and sent the ghoul tumbling to the damp cave floor. Not that it stayed down there for very long. It was back on its feet and moving toward her again a heartbeat later.

“Go!” she shouted. “Get out of here, Peter!”

Peter might have turned and ran, or maybe he just backpedaled. She didn’t look back to make sure because she was too busy firing again. Split-second lightning flashed with every round she discharged, allowing her to see—

Them.

Because there was a nest. They had stepped right into a nest.

She fired from side to side, backing up, always moving, never standing still. The assault rifle got lighter in her hands as the magazine emptied. She held on and kept shooting and moving until she finally felt the warmth of the sun (mercifully) against the back of her neck.

Click!

She didn’t stop moving, didn’t think about the empty magazine, and instead swung with the empty rifle. She caught a creature in the cheek—its face broke in front of her, cheekbone crunching—and the blow tossed the ghoul into two others in the process of lunging at her.

Gaby swung again—this time to the right—and the barrel pierced the chest of a ghoul and impaled it all the way up to the hand guard. The creature staggered back, stunned by the blow, but somehow still managed to rip the assault rifle out of her hands as it fell away to the side.

She stumbled her way out of the cave and lost her balance, landing on her ass.

The sun! She was outside!

One of the creatures followed her out, mouth opening, jagged teeth snapping in an attempt to clamp down on her exposed arm—

The creature squealed as sunlight descended on it. The ghoul’s flesh turned ashen and it vaporized before her eyes, and a second later bleached white bones that looked deformed for some reason tumbled out of the air and landed on the ground in a pile. The acidic smell enveloped the surroundings, and Gaby forced herself to start breathing through her mouth to keep from choking.

Hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her back, back, then finally up.

She unslung the M4 and pointed it at the silhouetted forms squirming inside the darkened mouth of the cave, just beyond the reach of sunlight. They had stopped their pursuit, the sun holding them at bay. She could sense their desperation, their rabid desire to get at her. It drove them crazy and they squirmed restlessly, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought one or two—or possibly all of them—might try to get her anyway.

But they didn’t.

“Dead, not stupid,” Will always said.

How many were in there right now, looking back at her and Peter? A dozen? A hundred? Was Milly one of them? The girl with the round face. Thirteen. Or twelve. She didn’t know for sure. She should have asked, but Gaby hadn’t wanted to know, didn’t want to get too involved, to become committed to people who could die on her at any moment.

Because everyone died these days. Everyone…

Like Nate.

“Peter?” a soft female voice said behind them.

They spun around and saw Milly, wide-eyed and standing there, looking back at them.

Peter ran to her and scooped her up in a bear hug. She wasn’t prepared for it and barely had time to register what Peter was doing before she was in his arms. Confusion gave way to happiness, and Gaby watched them embrace each other for a long five seconds.

Peter finally put her down. “You left the cave…”

“I heard noises,” Milly said. “It was too spooky, so I left to wait for you out here. Then I heard all the shooting. What happened? What’s in there?” She looked past them and toward the mouth of the cave and saw the bones, twisted and white against the daylight. “Oh.”

“Come on, we have to go,” Gaby said. “Everyone heard those gunshots.”

She hurried off, and Peter and Milly followed.

“Where to now?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Gaby said. “You have any ideas? You live here.”

“But we’ve never actually been this far out of town.”

“Never mind, then. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

She glanced down at her watch: 9:41 a.m.

Still plenty of time…

8

Lara

“Kinkasan Island,” Takeshi said. His English was good and came through crystal clear over the radio. “There are a few thousand of us here. Most are from Ishinomaki, but I’ve met some from Sendai and as far as Osaki.”

“How did you know to get to an island?” Lara asked.

“We didn’t,” Takeshi said. “Not consciously. I think most of us just thought we needed to get as far away from the cities as possible. The ferries were running for hours…until they just stopped. That was the last I’ve seen of anyone from the mainland.”

Lara looked over at Bonnie leaning next to the window with the binoculars. The former model had been listening to her conversation with Takeshi for the last few minutes, both of them riveted by his story. All these months of trying to survive on the road and to finally get confirmation that there were others out there like them who had managed to continue on, despite the odds, was exhilarating.

Takeshi, like the last few strangers who had contacted them over the radio, had responded only because of her broadcast. In so many ways, something she hadn’t even wanted to do but did anyway at Danny and Roy’s urging was becoming the most important thing she had ever done since The Purge. She couldn’t help but feel a little pride in that.

“How did you know about FEMA, Takeshi?” she said into the microphone.

“American history,” Takeshi said. “I’ve always been fascinated with your country. I told my girlfriend that once I graduated university, we would get married and move to Silicon Valley and start a new life. I’d work at one of your tech companies and she would teach Japanese in school.”

“Is your girlfriend…?”

“Mako’s here. We fled together. It was actually her idea to come to the island, where her family still lives.”

Another pair of lovers lives on!

She smiled at the silly thought and was glad Bonnie couldn’t see.

“Have you made contact with anyone else before you heard our recording?” she asked.

“Yes, there were a couple of Frenchmen, a few Englishmen, and I think some Chinese,” Takeshi said. “It’s been a while since I heard back from the Chinese, though. I didn’t know about the islands, how the creatures—ghouls, as you call them—couldn’t cross water. Which leads me to this thought, Lara; there are other islands nearby. Aji and Tashiro, to name just two. I should bring this up with the elders, tell them what I’ve learned. There must be survivors there, too. If not from the mainland, then those who never left.”

“I hope so, Takeshi. It’s worth finding out. Just…be careful.”

“Yes. Always. We’re always careful these days.”

More survivors in and around Japan. How many were out there? More than she had imagined, as it turned out. The last year had seemed so dark and hopeless, and there were so many days (and weeks and months) that she thought they might have been the only living souls still moving, looking for safety from the darkness.

“How are you for food and water?” she asked.

“Kinkasan has everything we need,” Takeshi said. “Food, water, even wildlife. We can survive here for centuries. We were lucky. Very lucky. A lot of people weren’t.”

She thought about all those months on the road, the loss of Harold Campbell’s facility in Starch, Texas, and fighting for the island. Luck had a lot to do with it, but sweating blood and tears did, too.

“What else have you heard, Lara?” Takeshi asked. “I’ve been listening to your conversations with the American government.”

He means Beecher. The Colonel from Bayonet Mountain.

“Not much,” she said. “Everything I know was in the message and what I told Beecher.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but as with Beecher, she didn’t think Takeshi or anyone else listening to them at the moment needed to know everything. While talking to Beecher, she had to constantly remind herself that anyone could tune in.

Anyone, even the enemy…

Dead, not stupid, right, Will?

“I told the others about these blood farms and the camps you discovered,” Takeshi said. “Why would anyone surrender their future like that? I don’t understand it.”

He must be young, she thought.

Before she could reply, a voice she hadn’t heard before joined them. “Sorry to cut in without an invitation, folks, but glad to hear Japan’s still in play.” The voice belonged to an older man with an accent she couldn’t place. “My name’s Miller. Radioing in from San Francisco. I wanted to let everyone know we’re still fighting the good fight over at the Bay, too.”

“Good to hear your voice, Miller,” Lara said. “Where in San Francisco are you?” Then she quickly added, “If you can reveal your location.”

“It’s no secret,” Miller said. “They already know we’re here, anyway. You won’t be surprised to hear this, given your bodies of water theory—well, not theory anymore, I guess—but we’ve been getting by on Alcatraz.”

“The prison?”

“It’s more of a tourist attraction these days. A lot of us managed to grab a ferry when everything went to shit. Pardon my language. You’re right; the bloodsucking bastards don’t seem capable of crossing the water. Their human lackeys, on the other hand, don’t have that aversion. They’ve dinged us up over the months.”

“Collaborators. That’s what we call them.”

“As good a name as any. We’ve managed to fend off every assault so far, mostly because it’s hard to approach the island without being seen and some of the survivors brought weapons with them.”

“How many are on the island with you?”

“A few hundred. Mostly civilians. A pair of ex-law enforcement, like myself.” He paused, then, “So, what’s next, Lara?”

“What do you mean?”

“You started this. What do we do now? How do we take the planet back from these bloodsucking bastards?”

She pressed the microphone to answer, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Instead, she let go of the lever and stared at the radio in silence.

“Lara?” Bonnie said behind her. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No.”

It was a lie. There was something very wrong here.

She didn’t have any answers for Miller, and the fact that he and all the other strangers listening to them at the moment thought that she did didn’t just perplex her, it terrified her.

* * *

“Am I going to live, Doc?” Zoe asked.

“I don’t know; you tell me. I’m just a third-year medical student and you’re the doctor, Doctor.”

Zoe smiled back at her. The woman had very deep green eyes. “I’ve never been shot before. It’s…a revelation. Have you ever been shot?”

“Once.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Like a sonofabitch.”

“Good. I thought it was just me.”

Lara helped Zoe sit up on the small bed, then stacked two fluffy pillows between her and the wall. She looked better than yesterday when she first arrived with a hole in her side. Color had returned to her cheeks and her lips didn’t look as deathly pale anymore.

Zoe let out a slightly pained sigh and looked around the room. It was an office that Lara had converted into an infirmary and stocked with beds taken out of a couple of unused rooms in the hotel. The shelves and cabinets were recently restocked with medical supplies that Roy had brought back with him along with Zoe.

“You came here just to check up on me?” Zoe asked.

I needed to get away from the radio, from all the questions, from people who wanted answers that I didn’t have.

She didn’t say any of that, of course. Instead, Lara said, “It’s part of the job description. I don’t have to tell you this, but don’t do anything to aggravate the wound until it heals completely.”

“What about a hot shower? Will promised me a hot shower.” Then, quickly, “I don’t mean with him. I mean, you know, by myself.”

Lara smiled, feeling strangely pleased with the other woman’s awkwardness. “I know. And there’ll be plenty of those later. As soon as you can get up and walk around.”

“You know what they say, Lara. The worst patient is a doctor.” Zoe looked down at the hospital gown she was wearing. It was really just bed sheets that Liza, Stan’s wife, had sewn for them. “Is this…?”

“Bed sheets.”

“Looks better than the hospital gowns I’m used to.”

“When you’re better, you can pick out some clothes. There are more than enough to go around, and I’m sure there will be plenty in your size.”

Lara didn’t tell her where the clothes came from. She, Carly, and the other survivors had brought clothes to the island with them, but a lot of it was already piled high in the basement under the Tower. The shirts and shoes and pants, along with equipment and weapons and ammo, belonged to people who had come to Song Island seeking salvation but had found a nightmare instead. Lara didn’t like reusing those clothes, but Will was right about keeping them so they could focus their supply runs on the essentials like silver, food, and ammo.

Especially the silver. You could never have enough of that these days.

“Where did you go to medical school?” Lara asked.

“LSU,” Zoe said. “You?”

“University of Houston.”

“What are you guys doing in Louisiana?”

“We heard a voice on a radio. It’s a long story.” She picked up a bottle of water and handed it to Zoe. “Bottom line, we’re here now.”

Zoe’s eyes widened when she touched the bottle. “Oh my God, it’s cold.”

Lara smiled. No matter how many times she heard that response, it never failed to amuse her. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh my God,” Zoe said again. She fumbled with the cap and took a sip, then sighed with pleasure before drinking some more.

“We have plenty more where that came from.”

“What is this, tap water?”

“The hotel has a huge water purification and filtration system. As long as we have power, we have drinkable water.”

“I can get used to this.” She took another gulp and spilled some on herself but didn’t seem to notice. “I can definitely get used to this.” Then she looked around the room again. “Where’s Will?”

“He’s still out there.”

“He is?” She looked stunned. “I thought he was the one who brought me to the island. That wasn’t…?”

“That was Roy.”

“Roy?” She shook her head. “I don’t know who that is, but I think I might have called him Will a couple of times on the way over here.”

Lara chuckled. “He mentioned that.”

“You said Will’s still out there? That’s surprising. Every chance he got, he talked about coming back here. To you.”

Lara felt a flush of embarrassment. Or was that pride? “He’s looking for Gaby.”

“The teenager?”

“Yes. She’s still missing. Will’s not coming back until he finds her.”

Zoe nodded and took another sip of water. “He treated her like his little sister. I can see him going back out there for her.”

There was a brief moment of awkward silence, and Lara thought Zoe might be purposefully trying to avoid looking at her for some reason.

What happened out there with her and Will?

She said instead, “You saved Will’s life. Thank you, Zoe.”

Zoe finally looked over and might have actually blushed a bit. “We’re even. I wouldn’t be here without him.”

“Still, he told me what you did for him out there. Thank you for bringing him back to me. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“He loves you,” Zoe said, and gave her a smile that seemed a bit too forced. “I’ve seen a guy in love before, but that man of yours…” She shook her head and laughed softly. “I hope he comes back okay.”

“He will,” Lara said with absolute certainty. “As soon as he finds Gaby, he’ll come home.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Zoe said, and looked away again.

The radio clipped to Lara’s hip squawked just in time to spare the two of them from another round of awkward silence.

They heard Maddie’s voice. “Lara. I got Will on the emergency frequency.”

“Speak of the devil,” Lara said.

“Say hi to him for me,” Zoe said.

She nodded and got up to leave. “I don’t have to tell you, right?”

“Hey, I have a comfortable bed and cold drinks,” Zoe said after her. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

* * *

“Good news and bad news,” Will said through the radio. “What do you want first?”

“Will, how many times have I ever chosen the bad news first?” Lara asked.

He chuckled. “We found where they’re keeping Gaby.”

“That’s great.” Then, with reluctance, “So what’s the bad news?”

“She escaped before we could bust her out.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Well, we’re tracking her through the woods at the moment. The problem is, the woods over here are big. Massive. Twice as thick as Danny’s head and three times as messy.”

“Hey,” she heard Danny say in the background.

Lara smiled.

She was on the second floor of the Tower with one of the radios. It was slightly smaller and more portable than the two above her on the third floor right now. She sat on the windowsill and looked toward the south side of the island, at the girls on the beach with Roy standing watch on the boat shack.

“Can you find her?” she said into the radio.

“That’s the plan,” Will said. “It’s just going to be a little bit more difficult than we expected, that’s all.”

“Will, you took Danny with you because you thought you might have to fight your way into a town full of collaborators. Now all you have to do is find Gaby in the woods, and this, somehow, is more difficult?”

“I see your point.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“They’re wearing uniforms now.”

“Who?”

“The collaborators.”

“What kind of uniforms?”

“Army camo. Close to real thing, but not quite. With their names and from what I can tell, their state designation.”

“State designation?”

“Louisiana for this lot. A boot-shaped patch. Real craftsmanship, too. They probably have a whole room of sweatshop kids putting them together. Oh, and a white star.”

“What does that represent?”

“I don’t have a clue, babe. Maybe it means they’re all destined for stardom.”

She smiled. “That doesn’t sound likely.”

“No.” He paused for a bit, then, “How’s Zoe?”

“She says hi.”

“Up and about already?”

“Up, but not about just yet. You did a good job stabilizing her after she was shot, Will. Waiting a day before moving her was also smart.”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Long story short, she’ll be fine with time and a lot of rest. You’re right; it’ll be nice to have a proper doctor on the island for a change.”

“Is that real enthusiasm or self-pity?” he asked. She could almost imagine him smiling on the other end of the radio.

“Don’t be an ass,” she said.

He laughed. “She’ll be good for us, Lara.”

“We can definitely use someone with her skills. Which I guess is good and bad. Having it, and needing it.”

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” Then, without skipping a beat, “Tell me about this Beecher guy.”

“He says he’s an Army Colonel, so I guess he outranks you.”

“Only if the United States government is still in operation.”

“He says it is.”

“Anyone can say anything these days. Danny thinks he’s the President of the United States.”

“Hey, I was fairly elected,” Danny said in the background.

“See?” Will said. Then, “Where did this Beecher guy radio from?”

“Someplace called Bayonet Mountain,” Lara said. “Have you ever heard it?”

“Yes,” Will said, but she noticed that he didn’t elaborate.

“You’ve been there before…”

“Once or twice. Did he say how many were there with him?”

“He says over 4,000 people, including civilians. Is that possible? Is that place big enough for that many people?”

“The Bayonet Mountain I knew could easily fit twice as many. Three times, if necessary.”

“So you really have been there. What for?”

“It’s a long story, and right now I need to go hunt down Gaby. When I get back, I’ll talk to Beecher. Try to suss him out.”

“You think he’s lying about something?”

“I don’t know, but we have a civilian authority for a reason.”

“This is coming from a soldier…”

“Exactly,” Will said.

They didn’t say anything for a moment.

Finally, she said, “Will.”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said.

“Barf,” Danny said in the background. “Get a fucking room, you two.”

She ignored Danny and said, “Hurry up and find Gaby and come back home. I like hearing your voice and I’m not quite as pissed off as I was the last time we talked, but I need more than this. You understand? I need to see you in person.”

“I’ll be home soon. Leave a light on for me.”

“How about a big lighthouse?” she smiled.

“That’ll work, too,” Will said.

9

Will

The ATVs would have taken them back to L15 faster, but the roar of engines would have exposed their approach. That meant they were forced to trek back through the woods on foot. They jogged as much as they could with their full gear but spent most of the time walking at a brisk pace before reaching the same clearing from yesterday just beyond the edge of town. They took out binoculars and peered through them.

The place looked calm, and he wouldn’t have known a gunfight had taken place less than an hour ago if he hadn’t heard it for himself.

“Everything looks pretty hunky dory in there,” Danny said next to him. “What gives?”

“Two possibilities,” Will said. “Either the fight’s over, or it’s just getting started.”

“Which one of those is better for us?”

“That depends on who was doing the shooting and who was being shot at, and if Gaby is involved. And if she is, that means she made a run for it.”

“That’s a pretty big leap, chief.”

“What else could it be?”

“Maybe the boys in uniforms were just letting off steam with some target practice.”

“Could be. But it was pretty short for target practice.”

The lack of activity around the town was disturbing. A place filled with that many people shouldn’t be that calm. There was no one running around, no one shouting or pointing, and no men with assault rifles searching buildings. It made him wonder if he had been wrong about Gaby being involved somehow. But if it wasn’t her, then what was the gunfire all about?

It had to be her. The Gaby he knew would try like hell to escape, even if it cost her everything.

The girl’s a born fighter.

“It’s gotta be Gaby,” Will said after a while.

“If she did make a run for it,” Danny said, “wouldn’t we have run across her? The first thing she’d do would be to head for the interstate.”

“Maybe. They could have been keeping her on the other side of town. Kellerson didn’t know her exact location.”

“I’m glad we finally ditched that guy. Terrible conversationalist.”

They hadn’t really ditched Kellerson. He was still waiting for them in the cellar behind the house. Not that he had much of a choice. Will had left him on the same patch of dirt floor he had been sleeping on last night, still duct taped. The look on Kellerson’s face had been a mixture of concern and elation when he saw them leaving without him. It wouldn’t be long now before he realized they might not come back. Whenever Will started to feel sorry for the collaborator, all he had to do was think about Mercy Hospital, and it went away.

Clop-clop-clop.

Will looked up. “You hear that?”

“Are you kidding me?” Danny said. “What is that, a posse?”

Two men on horseback rode down the town street, the clop-clop-clop of metal horseshoes against cobblestone echoing in the quiet morning. The riders wore camo uniforms with assault rifles bouncing against their backs. Neither man looked entirely comfortable on top of the animals.

“Horses,” Danny said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “What is this, the Dark Ages? What’s next, guys with bows and arrows? Pooping in the woods?”

Two more riders appeared from down the street, meeting the first two halfway for some kind of powwow. After a moment, they turned and headed off toward the other side of town, picking up speed as they went.

“That’s definitely a posse,” Will said, lowering his binoculars. “And they’re headed to the other side. What’s back there?”

Danny took out a folded map from one of his pouches and spread it on the ground. “Woods. Lots of woods. So many, they should call the place Woodsville. And there’s a lake.”

“The lake would explain why they chose this place. It gives them a water supply.”

Danny folded the map back up and put it away. “What’s the plan, Kemosabe?”

“Wait and see?”

“I’m not good at waiting and seeing. I’m more of an action man. That’s what they used to call me back in college. Action Danny.”

“Skirt around the woods, see what’s happening on the other side, then?”

“Sounds like a better plan. Action Danny approves.”

“Glad to hear it,” Will said.

He got up and began moving alongside the clearing while still sticking to the woods. Danny kept pace behind him.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be running this much,” Danny said.

“Hey, I’m the one with bullet holes in me.”

“Stop yer bitchin’. Those bullet holes are already a few days old. Plus, I was thinking…”

“Uh oh.”

“Shaddup. Anyway, I was thinking, we shoulda brought Kellerson along. I’ve always wanted my own personal pack mule. You think he could have carried me, too?”

“Not without two fingers. Hard to get a grip.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”

“He hesitated when I asked him a question.”

“He said, ‘Huh,’ just before you cut off his pinky finger.”

“What are you, Amnesty International?”

“I didn’t tell you? They even sent me a membership card. That shit was laminated and everything.”

It took them another twenty minutes of steady jogging before they reached the highway. It wasn’t much to look at—two lanes with fading yellow dividers. There were steel guardrails along the sides that they had to climb over before darting across the open to the other side.

Back in the comfort of the woods again, they continued around trees and bushes before risking a run across open ground with L15 fading to their right. After another thirty minutes, they finally reached the other side of the woods.

Will didn’t breathe easier until he had trees around him again.

They hadn’t come to a complete stop when they heard gunfire from somewhere further ahead. The unmistakable clatter of assault rifles, and this time it wasn’t a one-sided fight. There was clearly a back-and-forth gun battle going on.

They went down on one knee and listened.

“AK-47?” Will said when the shooting finally stopped.

“And at least one other rifle,” Danny said.

“How many shooters?”

“Two, possibly three.”

“Sounds about right. If it is our girl, it’s four against one. I don’t like those odds.”

“She’s a lot tougher than you think, Danny. You should have seen her at Mercy Hospital.”

“Yeah?”

Will nodded.

“Damn,” Danny said. “We should definitely open up that school we’ve been talking about. Danny and Will’s School of Badassness. My name goes first, of course. Purely based on awesomeness, you understand.”

“That goes without saying,” Will said.

They got up and moved forward, toward the source of the gunfire.

* * *

More gunshots, this time coming from a different section of the woods, which told him they were going in the wrong direction and had been for some time. Either that, or the action was on the move.

There was something odd about this new round of gunfire—there was just a volley, the very clear indication of a single rifle firing on full-auto.

“AK-47?” Danny said.

Will nodded. “Yup. Plus, we’re going the wrong way.”

“That’s the last time I let you drive.”

They changed course, heading even deeper into the woods.

* * *

There was blood on the ground. Fresh. Small splatters that led them to a brown horse grazing on grass next to a big oak tree, shading itself from the morning glare. The animal lifted its head when they approached, nostrils flaring in warning. When they didn’t do anything, it went back to blissfully feeding.

The blood belonged to a man in a camo uniform sitting against a tree. His eyes stared off at nothing in particular, face frozen with an oddly perplexed expression. A still-wet pool of blood seemed to originate from his bottom.

“Ass shot,” Danny said.

“Yup,” Will nodded.

“Gregson” was written on a nametag over the man’s right breast pocket, with a large but simple white star-shaped patch on the right shoulder. There was another patch, this one in the shape of a boot on his left side. After scrutinizing the “boot” for a moment, Will realized it was actually the state of Louisiana.

“Look at this,” Will said.

Danny, who was busy watching the horse dine out, glanced over. “Whatcha find?”

“They’re organizing. Names on uniforms. Regional declarations.”

“Well, damn, it’s about time they got their shit together.” Then, “Hey, you know how to ride a horse?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever ridden one.”

“Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re from Houston.”

“So?”

“And we’ve never ridden a horse before.”

“And I’ve never owned a Stetson or cowboy boots or a belt buckle the size of my head. What’s your point?”

Danny shrugged. “Seems kind of wrong, that’s all.”

Will stood up and pointed at the ground. “There was another horse heading south. Let’s see where it leads.”

“Famous last words,” Danny smirked.

* * *

The trail didn’t lead him to Gaby as he had hoped. Instead, it took them to two of the men on horseback they had seen earlier. One of the riders had climbed off his mount and was peering cautiously into the mouth of a dark cave. He saw something in there that he didn’t like, and it kept him from getting too close to the opening.

Then the man took a step back and kicked at some bones on the ground.

A dead ghoul.

Will glimpsed nametags on their uniforms, along with the same white star and the Louisiana boot. He didn’t bother trying to make out their names, though he and Danny were close enough that they could hear the two men talking just fine.

“Are we going in there to make sure?” the one still mounted asked.

“Fuck no,” the one on the ground said. “I’m not going in there.” He kicked at a deformed skull as if it were a soccer ball and watched it roll all the way into the cave, where Will saw something (somethings) squirming within the darkness.

“You see that?” the mounted one said.

“Yeah,” the second one said before walking back and climbing into his saddle. “Freaks me out every time.”

“What are we going to tell the kid?”

“The kid”? Will thought.

The second man reined his horse around. “We tell him the truth—that his girlfriend had the misfortune of trying to hide inside a cave full of the bloodsuckers and didn’t come out.”

“Girlfriend”? “The kid”?

They’re talking about Josh and Gaby…

“Just like that?” the first one said.

“But more tactfully, of course,” the other one said, chuckling.

“Of course.”

Will and Danny watched them go.

When they couldn’t hear the horses anymore, they stood up and made their way over to the cave.

“One guess what’s in there,” Danny said. He kicked dirt at the bones. They were almost pure white under the sun and looked malformed. He sniffed the air. “Lots of them, too.”

“Why don’t you go in to make sure,” Will said.

“Maybe later. So now what?”

“Those guys are either smarter than they look and she’s dead, or they’re just as dumb as they look and she’s not.”

“That’s so convoluted I bet you think it actually made sense, huh?”

Danny peered into the dark cave opening while Will looked around for tracks.

The ground was soft and malleable, which was both a good thing and a problem, because there had been a lot of activity around the area very recently. There were more than one set of tracks, both on foot and on horseback. He noted then quickly dismissed the horseshoes, along with the newest pair of boots belonging to one of the dismounted (wannabe) soldiers. With those out of the way, he was able to focus on three separate pairs of shoes. Two sneakers and one pair of boots.

“What’s your Injun skills tell you?” Danny said, coming up behind him.

“Three people went inside—either separately or together, but they all went inside—the cave, and the same three came back out later and headed south.”

“That’s a good sign. Everyone who went in came back out.”

“That’s a very good sign.” Will stood up and followed the tracks until they vanished through some underbrush. “Those two seemed convinced one of those tracks belonged to Gaby.”

“The ‘girlfriend’ in question?”

“Yup. If they go back to town and tell Josh she’s dead, that means she’s free and clear of him.”

Danny chuckled. “Now who’s Captain Optimism?”

Will grinned. “Let’s go find our girl.”

“Let’s,” Danny said.

They headed off, Will feeling more hopeful than he had in days.

Gaby was out there. If he had to guess, the two with her were friendlies. That was the good news. The thought of Gaby having to face all of this alone bothered him more than he wanted to admit. It was his fault she was out here in the first place. Also his fault that she had gotten caught, because he had sent her on ahead of him.

Hang on, Gaby. Hang on a little longer…

* * *

After about twenty minutes of steadily tracking Gaby and her two companions, it became clear they were using the lake—Hillman’s Lake, according to the map—as a guide while traveling further south.

“We’re going to have to stop so I can call in to Song Island,” Will said. He glanced at his watch. “I promised Lara at least two contacts a day.”

Danny made an exaggerated whipping sound.

Will grinned. “Until then, what’s up ahead?”

Danny fished out the same map. “If they keep along the lake, they’ll run across a place called Dunbar about thirty-five klicks south. If they turn left between here and Dunbar, they’ll be heading toward a place called Harvest.”

“I know Harvest.”

“Fun times?”

“Oodles.”

“Tell me about it never. In the meantime, what the hell’s in Dunbar?”

“No idea. She either has a map or one of the people she’s traveling with knows the area. Anything smaller that’s worth stopping for between us and there?”

“We’re in the sticks, buddy. They probably have towns out here that have been around since the days of Tutankhamun.”

“Who?”

“Tutankhamun.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Egyptian pharaoh. He’s the dude all you uneducated types call King Tut.”

“You been sneaking off to read again?”

Danny smirked. “It’s amazing what you can shove into your learning hole when you’re bored.”

“Carly know you’ve been shoving things into inappropriate places?”

“Oh, the things you don’t know about that little demon redhead—”

The whine of an engine cut Danny off and sent both of them into a crouch among the tall grass. They scooted over behind a large tree and put it between them and the lake just as the noise turned into the roar of an outboard motor.

It was an aluminum twenty-footer, gray sides reflecting back the sun as it skidded smoothly across the lake’s surface. There were two men onboard, one sitting on a swivel chair on the bow cradling an M4 while the other stood behind the steering wheel near the center. Both were wearing the same uniforms as the ones they’d seen so far.

They watched the boat disappear up the lake, the man up front glancing around and talking into a radio.

“Lake patrol?” Danny said.

“Looks like it,” Will said.

“First uniforms with nametags and now this? Looks like our boy Josh has really whipped these naughty buggers into shape.”

“Looks like it.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Better.”

After the boat faded into the distance, they got up and continued alongside the lake, but this time sticking closer to the thicker parts of the woods to keep from being spotted. The good news was that they could hear the motors coming from a distance, which gave them plenty of time to hide. After all, no one had ever accused the collaborators of being subtle.

“You know what this means, right?” Danny said after a while. “About the kid.”

Will nodded. “Yeah.”

“We see the kid, we gotta pop him. He’s getting too dangerous to let run around out here. Him and his newfangled ideas are begging for a reckoning.”

“A ‘reckoning,’” Will said, grinning at him. “What are you, John Wayne?”

“I’m just saying. The kid’s become a royal pain in the butt cheeks.”

“Even if we popped Josh, it still wouldn’t stop what’s happening out there with the camps and towns. Kate probably has a hundred more like him running the show for her in the daytime. Take one of them out and she’ll just replace him with another eager beaver.”

“Yeah, well, I’d still like to put the kid over my knees and give him a good spanking,” Danny said. “Bad boy, Josh. You’ve been a very bad boy.”

Will recalled that day when he thought Josh had died. The eighteen-year-old had done something stupid and stood up during a boat chase and had gotten shot as a result. He had ended up falling into Beaufont Lake. How was Will to know the teenager would float back up later and turn into…this?

I should have put a bullet in him while he was drowning in the lake.

Still not too late for that, Josh.

Still not too late for that…

10

Gaby

“He had a Mohawk,” Gaby said.

“A Mohawk?” Peter thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t remember seeing anyone like that. And I would definitely have remembered a guy with a Mohawk. Milly?”

“What’s a Mohawk?” Milly said.

“You don’t know what a Mohawk is?” Peter asked, slightly amused.

“No.”

“It’s a hairstyle. Like in those cowboys and Indians movies.”

“I don’t like cowboys and Indians movies.”

“Okay, um.” He paused, then, “It’s mostly a shaved head, except for the middle that stands up.” Peter demonstrated by flattening his own hair and leaving just the middle section standing up. “Like this.” He looked over at Gaby. “Right?”

She nodded. “Something like that. But shorter. You didn’t see anyone with hair like that in town, Milly?”

The girl shook her head. “Nope. Was he your friend?”

“He’s my friend, yes.”

Was. Nate’s dead. You know it. Stop pretending he’s not. Josh would never have let him live even if he had survived that night. Maybe the old Josh would, but that Josh is long gone.

I’m sorry, Nate. You shouldn’t have been there with me that night…

She walked on in silence and could feel Peter’s and Milly’s eyes on her back. She ignored them and continued to set the pace through the woods, moving close enough to the shoreline to their right to get some of the cool breeze, but far enough that they couldn’t be seen. Peter told her there were boat patrols along Hillman’s Lake.

They had been walking for the last two hours, keeping to the shade provided by the trees. Every now and then she looked around her, expecting an attack by someone in a camo uniform. Josh’s people. Or maybe Josh himself.

He’ll never let me go. In his deranged mind, he’s doing all of this for me.

“Where are we going?” Milly asked after a while.

“There’s a place called Dunbar up ahead,” Peter said. “A small city with a state highway running through it. We should be able to find shelter and food there, then figure out where to go next.”

Song Island. Where else but Song Island?

“Are there a lot of people in Dunbar?” Milly asked.

“Well, there was supposed to be about 10,000 people,” Peter said. “I’m not sure now.”

“Is it close to the interstate?” Gaby asked, looking back at him.

He shook his head. “It’s about thirty miles from Interstate 10.”

“You’ve been there.”

“I used to live there before I went to New Orleans for work.”

“They took you from New Orleans?”

“Uh huh.”

“What were you doing there? What was ‘work’?”

He smiled. “What, you don’t think I was a cook in my previous life?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Human Resources,” Peter said. “Boring job, but it made use of my degrees. Of course, I wish I had spent more time in the woods hunting or something. What about you? What did you do before all of this?”

“I was in high school.”

“Oh,” he said.

She smiled. “I’m nineteen, Peter.”

“I thought you were older.”

“You keep saying that. Why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you think I was older? Don’t I look nineteen?”

The question was rhetorical, because Gaby knew she didn’t look nineteen. The Purge aged you and she hadn’t looked—much less felt—nineteen in a year.

“I don’t, I’m not…” he stammered. “I wasn’t sure, that’s all.”

“Sure of what?”

“Milly didn’t tell me you were so young.”

“I didn’t?” Milly said, surprised. “I thought I did.”

“You didn’t,” Peter said.

“Oh.”

“What did she tell you about me?” Gaby asked.

“Not much,” Peter said. “Neither one of us saw you when they first brought you into town. Yesterday was the first time Milly had actually seen you up close.”

“So who did you think I was?”

“I just thought, because…you know.”

“Because of what?” She watched him struggling with an answer. She took pity on him and said, “Because they had me locked up, you thought I was dangerous and you assumed dangerous meant older.”

He nodded, grateful for the rescue. “Yes.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“You didn’t. That’s not what I meant at all. I just couldn’t figure out why they had you locked up in there, that’s all.”

“It has to do with him,” Milly said.

“‘Him’?” Peter said.

“The kid. The leader.”

“Oh,” Peter said. Then, “Is she right? What’s his name? James?”

“Josh,” Gaby said.

“What did he want with you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she kept walking.

Peter took the hint and didn’t ask again.

I’m not yours, Josh. Get that through your thick head.

I was never yours, and now I’ll never be.

* * *

They crouched behind tall grass and watched the boat pass. There were two men in uniform riding on top, both heavily armed. The one up front looked bored, occasionally turning his head left and right.

“How often do they go up and down the lake?” she whispered to Peter.

“Once or twice a day, I think,” Peter whispered back. “In the morning and in the afternoon. Everyone tries to get back to town before nightfall.”

She glanced at her watch. “How far is Dunbar?”

“Probably four more hours of walking.”

“‘Probably’?”

“I’ve never actually walked there. If we pick it up, maybe three hours?”

“So let’s try to pick it up.”

She stood up and started off, but this time made sure to angle left for a bit until they had put more space between them and the lake. Milly and Peter followed as best they could, the girl already looking as if she was struggling with her pack. That didn’t surprise Gaby. The thirteen-year-old was painfully thin, even though she and Peter had been living in L15, according to them, for over two months now.

They’ve had it too easy. Got soft. Meanwhile, I was in the woods with Will and Danny eating bugs and sleeping on dirt.

She sneaked a look back at them. They were moving too slowly, hampering her pace. Every now and then, she had to fight the urge to run off and leave them behind.

They saved your life. You owe them a little bit of patience.

For now…

* * *

Hillman’s Lake had ended about an hour back, and they were now walking alongside a two-lane state highway somewhere at the outskirts of the Dunbar city limit. They had passed a dozen or so farm houses along the way, with old structures that appeared barren from the road. Most of the city was still ahead, but at the moment there were just the walls of trees to the left and right of them.

Milly’s pace had flagged even further and the girl was straining, both hands hooked around the straps of her backpack. The heat, simmering against the hot concrete road, didn’t do them any favors, and they were all soaked from head to toe in their own sweat. It was October in Louisiana. When the hell was it going to get cold? She couldn’t wait, though she was starting to wonder if she would actually live long enough to see the seasons change. What she wouldn’t give to be able to wear a jacket these days…

Peter was doing better than Milly, but that was probably because he wasn’t always a cook in a nondescript town in the middle of nowhere. For a former Human Resources manager (whatever that was), he kept up with her well enough that Gaby stopped worrying about him. As he walked beside her, she couldn’t help but think about Nate and that day in Sandwhite Wildlife State Park as they fled the men in Level B hazmat suits.

Are you still alive out there, Nate? Or are you one of them now?

“Was he a friend of yours?” Peter asked, his voice intruding on her thoughts.

“Who?” she said, though she already knew the answer.

“Nate. The man you were looking for. He was a friend of yours?”

“He is.”

Was. He’s dead. Why can’t you accept it?

“Why?” she asked.

“I was just wondering,” Peter said. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have told you more about what happened to him.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know if—” he survived “—they brought him back to the same town as me. They might have split us up.”

Now you’re lying to a stranger about Nate? Someone’s delusions have gone into overdrive.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t even know exactly know how long I’ve been in your town. The days are a little fuzzy.”

“Maybe he’s out there somewhere. You never know.” He shrugged. “Look at me and Milly. Who would think we’d still be around? So many people have died, and we somehow managed to keep going.”

“There’s an island,” Gaby said. “Down south. Have you ever heard of Beaufont Lake?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t know there was an island on it.”

“There is. I have friends there. After we spend the night in Dunbar and gather some supplies, that’s where I’m going. You and Milly are welcome to tag along.”

“Okay,” Peter said quickly.

“That’s it? You’re not going to ask me any more about it?”

He grinned. “Gaby, you seemed to know a hell of a lot more about what’s going on out here than I do. And you’re damn well more prepared than I am to survive it. If you say this island is preferable to staying out here, then yeah, I’ll take you at your word.”

She shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“Whose funeral?” Milly said behind them.

“Nothing,” Peter said, smiling back at her. “It’s just a figure of speech.” He looked over at Gaby. “Right?”

“Right,” Gaby nodded, but thought, Maybe…

“See?” Peter said.

Milly didn’t look convinced.

“You never told me why the two of you decided to run,” Gaby said, hoping to steer the conversation away from less depressing subjects.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask,” Peter said. “What took you so long?”

“There were more pressing matters until now. Like staying alive.”

He didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “Things weren’t what we thought they were. Back in town.”

“What did you think it was?”

“Don’t get me wrong. We went there with our eyes wide open. We accepted the contract with those ghouls, as you call them. But then people started disappearing.”

“Disappearing?”

“Men, mostly. Guys who were more—I guess you would say—opinionated than most.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“They asked questions. Too many questions, as it turned out.”

“Troublemakers?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call them that.”

“Just the guys?”

“Just the guys,” Peter nodded. “One day they’re there, the next they’re gone. Whenever anyone asked, the guards just said they were moved to another town. It wasn’t like anyone could verify it. We were allowed to leave whenever we wanted—or so they said—but you know what’s out there, so no one ever did. Plus, they never told us where these ‘other towns’ were.”

“So you decided to run because some loudmouths were going missing?”

“No, it wasn’t until someone I knew disappeared. A guy named Jake. He was a cop from New Orleans. Milly and I met him in one of those camps. Good guy, tough.”

“How big was the camp?”

“What?”

“The camp you were in.”

“Oh. Pretty big.”

“How many people were there?” Gaby asked, remembering the size of the one at Sandwhite Wildlife State Park. All those people in one place, like rats looking for salvation from a sinking ship. Thinking about it always made her angry and sad at the same time.

“A few thousand, probably,” Peter said.

She nodded. “So what happened to Jake?”

“He disappeared one night. Milly saw it happen.”

Gaby glanced back at the girl, who confirmed it with a solemn nod. “What did you see?” Gaby asked her.

“The soldiers took him,” Milly said.

“She has trouble sleeping,” Peter said. “It’s all those nights we spent running after everything happened. It still gives her nightmares sometimes.”

Milly looked away, apparently no longer interested in the topic. Or trying her best to avoid it. In so many ways, she wasn’t even close to being as tough as Lara’s Elise, or Carly’s little sister Vera. Thirteen or not, Milly didn’t have either of those girls’ survival instincts.

“What happened to Jake?” Gaby asked Peter.

“I don’t know, exactly. I asked around—as discreetly as possible—but no one could tell me where they took him. The closest thing to an answer I got was from Howard. He’s one of the guards. A good guy, as far as guards go.”

Gaby wondered if “good guy” guard Howard was one of the men she had shot in the woods while Peter and Milly were fleeing. She said instead, “What did he say?”

“That I should stop asking about Jake.” Peter walked quietly for a moment before continuing. “The day after that conversation, Howard started avoiding me. I figured it out pretty fast that I was going to be next.”

“So you decided to escape.”

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

Gaby sneaked a glance back at Milly, then said quietly to Peter, “Why did you drag her with you?”

He shook his head, clearly offended by the suggestion. “I didn’t. But she wouldn’t stay behind. We’ve been together since all of this began, and I guess I’m the closest thing to family she’s got left. I tried to talk her out of it. Hours and hours of conversation.”

“He goes, I go,” Milly said loudly behind them, with all the confidence a teenage girl who didn’t know any better could muster. “Case closed.”

Peter gave Gaby an exasperated “See?” look.

Gaby almost smiled but managed to stop herself in time.

People die around you, remember? These two can die at any moment. Don’t get too attached.

Don’t get too attached…

* * *

The city of Dunbar, according to Peter, had a population of 10,000. That was twice as many as Ridley, Texas, where she had spent the first eighteen years of her life. She expected the city to look more impressive given its size, but it reminded her too much of her hometown—spread out and unspectacular and…country.

After passing the empty acres of unattended farmland, they moved through the suburban areas filled with old and new houses. The bulk of the city was in front of them, gathered around State Highway 190. The highway was flat to the ground and would have looked like any other road if not for the signs. One pointed south toward I-10.

And beyond that, Song Island…

They stuck to the roads, maneuvering around the occasional abandoned vehicle. Homes, businesses, and gas stations flanked them. The afternoon sun continued to beat down mercilessly, further soaking her in her own sweat. All of it just made her miss Song Island more.

For a city that 10,000 people used to live in, Dunbar was abandoned and empty and dead. They waited thirty minutes near the outskirts and listened for noise or anything resembling life but didn’t hear a single thing. The stillness continued as they made their way inside. Instead of making her feel better, the quiet only gnawed at Gaby, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched from the very first moment they stepped foot into the city limits.

“Ten thousand people?” she said.

“Doesn’t feel like it, does it?” Peter said.

“No, it doesn’t.” She walked in silence for a moment. Then, “Look for a place to stay the night.”

“Already?” Peter said, glancing down at his watch.

“We took too long to get here. And it’s harder to find a safe place than you think.”

Peter nodded. “What kind of place are we looking for?”

Gaby thought about the pawnshop. About Nate… “Something with a basement. Just to be safe.”

“I’m hungry,” Milly said.

“Can we look through the gas stations for food first?” Peter asked.

She stopped in the street as her own stomach growled. On cue, Peter’s and Milly’s joined in. The three of them exchanged smiles, and this time she wasn’t able to stop herself in time.

“Yeah,” she said. “We should probably find something to eat.”

Gaby took out the Glock and handed it to Peter. He took it hesitantly, as if he was afraid it would go off if he gripped it too tightly. She gave him two spare magazines and he put it in his pocket.

“Be careful,” she said. “If you run across one of them, don’t fight or shoot, just run.”

“Just run?”

“Shooting them will just piss them off. You saw what happened in the cave.”

He nodded and turned the gun over in his hand.

“Have you ever fired a gun before, Peter?”

He gave her an embarrassed look. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just point and shoot.”

“Where’s the safety? I thought guns have safeties?”

“Glocks don’t.” She held up her forefinger and twitched it in front of him, the way Will had done to her all those months ago back on the island during the first phase of her weapons training. “That’s your safety.”

“My finger?” Peter said, slightly confused.

“You don’t pull the trigger, and the gun won’t go off. Simple as that.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Here,” Gaby said, and took the Glock back and handed him Mac’s 1911 instead. “This one has a safety.” She showed him the switch, then took back the magazines she had given him and passed over two new ones. “Be careful.”

Peter felt a little better, and it showed on his face.

“Milly, stay with me,” Gaby said.

The girl nodded quickly. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

“Nice,” Peter said.

* * *

They settled on an Exxon gas station at the corner of Tripps and Meer and walked around a white pickup truck in the parking lot before passing two more vehicles frozen at the gas pumps. The convenience store was long and advertised “Beer Cigarettes Liquor.” They were just hoping for some nonperishable food.

Gaby went inside first, Peter behind her, while Milly stayed outside on the curb, looking worriedly back at the empty street. There was an auto body shop called George’s on the other side, flanked by two big red buildings, including a Mexican restaurant called Rosita’s.

Peter fidgeted behind her, and she prayed to God he didn’t accidentally shoot her in the back.

“Don’t shoot until you’re sure,” she said quietly.

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay,” he said again.

For some reason she didn’t believe him, but she kept that to herself. “Let’s stick together, okay? You watch my back and I’ll take the front. Try not to stray too far.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes. Was she being bossy? Probably. Then again, she was the one who had been out here for the last year. According to him, Peter went to sleep in one of those blood farms on the very first night of what Will and the others called The Purge and didn’t wake up again in one of the camps until two months later. He wasn’t exactly equipped to survive out here, especially dragging around a thirteen-year-old girl who had about the same experience as he did. Maybe that was a bit harsh, but she had no time to pussyfoot around when her life was at stake.

Gaby headed down the first aisle they came to, scanning and listening for sounds other than their own footsteps and Peter’s slightly loud breathing. There was enough sunlight that she wasn’t too worried about ghouls hiding behind the shelves. But there were other things just as dangerous as ghouls in the daytime.

The city’s too empty. So why does it not feel empty?

They went through the aisle and found nothing of interest except some melted chocolate on the floor, little more than puddles of black and brown spots now. The M4 she had taken off one of the dead guards felt more at home in her hands than the AK-47, and it moved in front of her as they finished up with the second aisle. Despite the comfort level, the fact that the rifle wasn’t loaded with the right ammo played havoc with her confidence.

“What’s that smell?” Peter asked.

“Rotten food,” she said.

“Oh.”

“The freezer’s at the back. They should have some water, too.”

“Good, because I’m thirsty as hell. I know I should have prepared something last night, but it never entered my mind. I guess I’m not very good at this.”

“I guess not,” she said. “Stay alert.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She sighed. He was talking too much. She didn’t know why he was talking so damn much. Didn’t he know they were in a precarious situation here? That there could be bad things waiting for them in the next aisle? Or in the next room? Or outside?

Why does this city not feel empty?

When she didn’t answer, he said, “What’s it like to kill someone?”

“You killed Mac,” she said, hoping that would nip the conversation in the bud.

It didn’t work.

“I think he’s still alive,” Peter said.

“He’s probably brain-dead if he is.”

That made him go quiet, and in the few seconds that followed, she felt a pang of guilt.

Jesus. What’s wrong with me?

“It’s okay,” she said. “You did what you had to.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

She wasn’t the least bit convinced he was okay with what he had done to poor Mac, but Gaby didn’t know how else to comfort him. This wasn’t the time, either. They were still moving inside a building they had never been in, in a city that may or may not hold dangers they didn’t even know existed yet.

Later. I’ll talk to him about it later.

They were turning toward the third aisle when a scream pierced the air, coming from outside.

“Milly!” Peter shouted.

He was already running before Gaby could turn fully around. She hurried after him, just in time to see him shoving the glass doors open and lunging outside.

Christ, she had no idea he could move that fast!

Gaby burst outside onto the sidewalk after Peter, the M4 swinging up and sweeping the large parking lot for threats.

There’s something wrong with this city. Dammit, I should have listened to my gut instinct!

Everything was where it should be—the white truck and the two vehicles at the gas pumps. There was nothing out here that could pose a danger to them, so why were alarm bells exploding inside her head?

But everything was where it should be—except for Milly. The girl was gone.

“Where is she?” Gaby asked.

Peter was whirling around, the Smith & Wesson gripped too tightly in his right fist.

“Peter,” Gaby said. “Where’s Milly?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know!”

The girl’s backpack was leaning against the curb. Gaby bent to pick it up when a loud cry streaked across the air, coming from down the street. Peter took off running in that direction with the same deceptive speed she didn’t know he was even capable of.

Where the hell had he been hiding that?

She ran after him. Or tried to, anyway.

Another scream, this one just as pained and shrill, rocketing up the street and prompting Peter to run even faster. He seemed to know where he was going, where Milly’s screams were coming from, and soon he had abandoned the highway and was turning into a side street with long, smooth strides.

Gaby followed as best she could. Gray and red and white buildings flashed by on both sides of her. Store and restaurant signs. Windows, some painted, others barren, reflecting back a streaking figure—her. Thank God she had tied her hair in a ponytail.

She swerved around vehicles in the streets, keeping sight of Peter in front of her. He had somehow added to the distance between them.

God, he’s fast. Where is all that speed coming from?

She blamed her lagging pace on the rifle she was carrying along with the Glock in the hip holster. There were also the pouches around her waist, still stuffed with spare magazines even though she had dumped the ones for the AK-47.

Milly’s voice, shouting, “Peter!”, coming from their left, and very close by.

Without hesitation, Peter turned into the mouth of an alley. Gaby was on his heels, and she was surprised to see that Peter had slowed down in front of her. As she began to catch up to him, she could hear his breathing hammering out of him in quick, pained bursts, flooding the narrow space along with their pounding footsteps.

There was a dead-end in front of them, along with a metal door that was opening and a figure darting through it with Milly thrown over its shoulder.

“Peter!” Milly shouted, looking back at them with hands outstretched and eyes wide with terror.

Gaby had never seen someone look so frightened in her life. Well, that wasn’t true. Her mind flashed back to the kids from Mercy Hospital being taken away in the back of the Humvees. She had failed to save those kids. She didn’t even know where they were at the moment or what had become of them.

Not again.

She didn’t know where she got the burst of speed, but suddenly she was running past Peter. Then she was halfway up the alley when the steel door slammed shut in front of her. She didn’t stop for one second. As she neared it, she reached out with one hand and grabbed the knob and twisted it and jerked the door back and slipped inside in one continuous, blurring motion.

Darkness.

It was pitch-black inside.

She stopped, the only sounds coming from inside her chest and through her mouth as she struggled to breathe. She swiveled the carbine left, then right, then behind her. Not that it did any good.

She couldn’t see a goddamn thing.

Her eyes tried desperately to adjust to the blackness, but she could only see a few inches in front of her. It looked like some kind of hallway. She listened for footsteps, prepared to hear the soft patter of bare feet against tiled floor.

Ghouls! her mind screamed. There are ghouls in here!

Her finger tightened against the trigger.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, swallowed up by darkness, but it must have only been a few seconds, because the alleyway door opened behind her and sunlight flooded inside. Peter hurried through, his breath flooding out in long gasps. In the brief few seconds that the door was opened, she confirmed that she was inside a hallway with old walls, peeling paint, and a vinyl-covered floor.

“Milly!” Peter shouted.

His voice echoed just before he let the door slam shut behind him and they were, once again, swallowed up by the same black void as a few seconds ago.

“Oh my God,” Peter said, his voice breathless.

“What is it?” she said, keeping her eyes forward at…nothing. There was a big fat nothing in front of her.

“The door,” Peter said, the panic rising with each syllable. “There’s no doorknob on this side of the door, Gaby. I can’t open it!”

Gaby glanced behind her, searching out the door, trying to find the doorknob in the sea of nothingness. She couldn’t locate it, and the only reason she even knew Peter was standing next to her was the smell of his sweat and his out-of-control panting as he ran his hands over the metal door.

It’s a trap. They led us right into a goddamn trap.

She heard a click before a stream of light flashed across her face, illuminating the peeling and old faded multicolored patterns over one side of the wall. Peter, with a flashlight, swiveled the light back to her. She winced, and he quickly took the bright light away.

“Sorry,” he said.

“You brought a flashlight?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You’ve had it this entire time?”

“I—”

“The cave, Peter,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you use it when we were back in the cave?”

“I…forgot I had it.”

“Jesus,” she said, and looked away. “Never mind. Show me where we are.”

He turned the flashlight down one side of the hallway, then swiveled around and did the same to the other side. There was a nightstand with a vase and dead flowers draped over the lid behind them. And beyond that, just a solid wall. The other side, on the other hand, showed an intersection about twenty yards further down, pointing left and right.

“Can you hear her?” Peter whispered.

She shook her head but then realized he probably couldn’t see. “No. Can you?”

“No…”

“There’s only one way to go. Can you find any windows?”

He moved the flashlight along the walls. First one side, then the other. They only saw old, discolored, peeling wallpaper. “Nothing,” he said.

Of course not. Because it’s a trap. They lured us in here.

You idiot!

“Keep beside me with the flashlight,” she said. “If I turn, you turn. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Do you have your gun out?”

“Oh.” She heard him pull the 1911 out of his waistband and cock back the hammer, the soft click sounding overly dangerous in the blackness. “Okay.”

God, she hoped he didn’t accidentally shoot her. The chances of that happening had been pretty high back in the gas station with the lights to see with. Now, with only the flashlight, she had a very bad feeling.

“Peter,” she said.

“Yes?”

“See what you’re shooting at before you shoot, okay?”

“Okay,” he said uncertainly.

She sighed, then said, “Let’s go,” and started forward into the darkness.

11

Keo

Lake Dulcet was a city of 23,000 or so people, about half the size of neighboring Lake Charles. It had a decent downtown and the surrounding areas were a concrete jungle like every other city. Despite the sun, it would have been a pleasant walk if Lorelei, who hadn’t said a word when they first met earlier in the day, didn’t suddenly transform into a chatterbox.

The teenager talked about everything. The ghost city around them, the fact that they were walking instead of driving, or how she needed a haircut. Keo tuned her out the best he could, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Can’t we get a car?” Lorelei asked. “There are so many cars around. Can’t we use one of them? I’m tired of walking. How long have we been walking? It feels like days. Weeks. Months. Right, Carrie?”

“Uh huh,” Carrie said absently.

Lorelei reminded him of Shorty. Annoying. Carrie was more like Zachary. Quiet, unless she needed to say something. Lorelei liked to talk, even if no one was responding to her.

“Look, there’s a truck,” she said behind him now. “It’s nice. I like the color. Can we use that truck? Keo? Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Keo said.

“Carrie?” Lorelei said. “What about the truck? Can we use that truck? My feet are so tired. I think my legs are about to fall off.”

“We’ve only been walking for three hours,” Carrie said.

“It feels longer. It feels like months.”

“Well, it hasn’t been months. Now be quiet for a bit, okay?”

Lorelei sighed and lapsed into silence. Keo was able to once again enjoy the stillness of the city and their unhurried footsteps. They kept to the shades provided by the buildings while Keo kept both ears open for the first sound of pursuing vehicles.

There were three trucks, likely more than two men in each one. Well-armed men playing soldiers. The uniform didn’t bother him, but the weapons did. He had the submachine gun, but he was now saddled with two civilians, which put him at a disadvantage. All it would take was one of those cars to stumble across them by accident and he was screwed.

He thought about Zachary and why he was following up on a dead man’s promise.

You really are the dumbest man alive, you know that?

Carrie had walked up beside him. “She’s got a point.”

She had light brown eyes, and despite the bruising around her mouth and cut lips, she was more attractive than he had given her credit for this morning. Like most women he had met since the world went to shit, Carrie had very few extraneous pounds on her, which helped exaggerate what he guessed was a generous B-cup under that white T-shirt.

He looked away before she could catch him sneaking a peek. “What’s that?”

“Why didn’t we circle back to the marina after the soldiers left and take one of those trucks? They looked in pretty good shape.”

“They weren’t. I checked when I first got there. No gas, and the batteries are dead.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, listen.”

She did. “What am I listening for?”

“It’s quiet.”

“And?”

“Sound travels these days. Even if we could find a working vehicle, you don’t think your friends would hear a car rumbling down these streets? There are three of them out there looking for us. All it takes is one. Right now, they don’t have a clue where we’re going. That’s our advantage.”

“Do we know where we’re going?”

“South.”

“I was hoping for a more concrete answer.”

“South, until we fall into the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Funny,” she said, then glanced up, shielding her eyes against the sun. “You think we’ll make it out of the city before nightfall?”

Keo didn’t have to look at his watch before he answered, “No.”

“What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon.”

“You didn’t even look at your watch.”

“I don’t have to.”

“It doesn’t get dark around this part until after six. So we have four hours or so?”

“Sounds about right.”

They walked in silence for a moment. Behind them, Lorelei was loudly unwrapping something. A few seconds later, he got a whiff of one of the Teriyaki-flavored Jack Link’s jerky he had given them before taking off. One of the few foods he was carrying around in his pack from last night.

“She’s eating again?” he asked.

“She eats like a horse,” Carrie smiled. “Were you in the Army?”

“What makes you think I was in the Army?”

“You’re really good with that rifle.”

“It’s a submachine gun.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One’s a submachine gun, and the other’s a rifle.”

She smirked. “So were you in the Army or not?”

“Not.”

“So how are you so good with that…submachine gun?”

“Experience,” Keo said.

“Were you living in the marina?”

“I was lying low on the sailboat that they sunk. Me and a couple of guys. After we tested out the silver bullets, we were heading south down the lake. First Song Island to check up on it, then the Texas coast for me.”

“What happened to your friends?”

The same thing that happened to the rest of the world. Their numbers came up.

“Bad luck,” he said instead.

“That’s it?”

“Yup, that’s about it.”

She didn’t say anything after that, but he caught her sneaking a look at him every now and then. Not really at him, but at the scar along the left side of his face, very visible under the bright sunlight. Pollard’s good-bye gift.

“What?” he said.

“How’d you get that?” she asked.

“I cut myself shaving.”

“Must have been one hell of a shave.”

“You have no idea.”

* * *

They made it to the outskirts of Lake Dulcet around five. Not quite within the city limits anymore, but not quite in the boondocks just yet, either. Lorelei was still grumpy about having to walk, though Keo was impressed with her and Carrie’s stamina. With the sun already starting to dip in the horizon, he began looking for a place to hide.

They walked under the open sky along a street flanked by ancient looking power poles. Trucks were sprinkled in the parking lots of businesses and industries around them. He glanced backward, remembering the suburbs they had passed an hour ago, and thought about going back. Last night’s run across the rooftops had convinced him he needed a place with a basement. Or, failing that, a place that could be easily defended. He couldn’t hope to survive in attics the rest of his life.

“What?” Carrie said, walking beside him.

“The suburbs,” Keo said. “I’m thinking we might have to backtrack to one of the houses we passed earlier. One with a basement.”

Lorelei had stopped in the middle of the street. She put her hands on her hips and looked around. With her hair in a ponytail, she was actually a very pretty girl, if a bit too thin. The boots she was wearing that they had liberated from a shoe store a few kilometers back looked two sizes too big, but that was only because her legs were toothpicks.

“What about that?” Lorelei said, pointing.

Keo looked over at a large building inside some hurricane fencing.

“The warehouse?” Carrie said.

“No, the RV,” Lorelei said.

It was a white recreational vehicle housed inside a garage with an open wall attached to one end of a warehouse. The RV sat in the shade, which only reminded Keo that he was sweating badly under the heat.

Carrie glanced over at him. “What do you think?”

Keo walked over and scanned the area. The grass inside the fence was burnt, mostly dead, with the occasional spots of weed. There were two, maybe three dozen groupings of gray cinderblocks, as if their owners had planned to build something in the wide-open spaces but never got around to it. Two swinging gates were closed tight with rusted-over chains and a large padlock. There was a gas station next door, its windows broken some time ago.

“What do you think?” Carrie asked again.

“Let’s check it out,” Keo said.

The fencing was cheap and stood only six-feet high. It was easy for Keo to scale; he waited on the other side as Carrie and Lorelei did the same.

“Couldn’t you just shoot the lock?” Lorelei said as she struggled up the fence one inch at a time.

“Too noisy,” Keo said.

“This is so hard…”

“It’ll be easier if you climbed without talking.”

“Whatever,” she said, and threw her legs over the top and dropped down into his arms.

He set her down. “See?”

She made a face and looked around them.

Next, he caught Carrie as she came down. She was surprisingly light and he probably held onto her longer than necessary. He also noticed that her arms had conveniently gone around his neck as he lowered her to the ground.

“Thanks,” she said, and actually blushed a bit.

“Sure.”

He thought about Gillian, waiting for him on the beaches of Santa Marie Island…probably. For all he knew, she had never made it to the island. For all he knew, she and Jordan and the boat were somewhere at the bottom of a river…

Keo unslung the MP5SD as they moved across the wide-open spaces. Like the last five hours, the only sound he heard was a minor wind and their footsteps. The warmth against his face was growing unbearable, and he wiped at a fresh bead of sweat.

There were zero vehicles (other than the RV) inside the lot, which told him that the place was being used for storage. The lack of a sign or company logo was a bit confusing, though. Then again, if they weren’t doing business out of here, the people who ran it wouldn’t necessarily need to advertise. Even with all those excuses, the emptiness, combined with the encounter with the soldiers this morning, made him jumpy.

And I thought the woods were dangerous…

“You think the fence can keep them out?” Carrie asked, glancing backward.

“Not in this lifetime,” Keo said. “But maybe it’ll deter them anyway. If they’ve been through here before—and chances are they have—they won’t bother coming in again unless we give them a reason to.”

She gave him a doubtful look.

“What?” he said.

“You talk about them like they’re smart. Like they can think.”

“Carrie, look around you. What do you see?”

She did. Then, “I don’t understand.”

“They did this. One night. That was all it took. Now tell me—can stupid, mindless creatures that can’t think do something like this?”

“I guess not.”

“These things—these ghouls—might not be the smartest kids in class anymore, but they can still think and reason. Never, ever underestimate them.”

She nodded solemnly.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s see what’s in the bus.”

“It’s an RV,” she smiled.

“Same difference.”

The RV used to be white, but it was now a faded gray color with long brown and black patterns, like the Nike swoosh, from front to back. It was about thirty feet long and eleven feet high, give or take a few inches, and parked along the length of the garage, taking up the entire space with a few feet to spare up front. Despite the deflated tires and dust-covered windows, it seemed to be in relatively good condition.

“It looks cool,” Lorelei said. “I’ve always wanted to travel around the country in an RV. My parents used to—” she stopped and didn’t say anything else.

Carrie walked over and put an arm around the girl, and the two of them exchanged another one of their brief, private smiles.

“Stay here,” Keo said. “I’ll check the warehouse first.”

He left them at the RV and walked around the warehouse. He ran his free palm along the building’s side, feeling the heat that the metal walls had been absorbing all day. There were closed windows at the top, but too far to reach from ground level. Both front doors were locked, and pulling at them didn’t get him anything. More layers of dust along the doors themselves and there were no telltale signs that they had swung open recently.

He located a smaller side door and two large ones at the back, but all three were similarly locked. It wouldn’t have taken much to pry them open, but if the creatures—or one of their human lackeys—stumbled across the damage, they might know someone had taken up residence. If that happened, he’d have to defend a large property by himself. He could probably count on Carrie to lend a hand, but Lorelei, not so much.

I should just dump them. Both of them. Gillian would understand.

Probably…

He headed back to the girls.

“Anything?” Carrie asked when he reached them.

“Doors are locked.”

“Can we break into them?”

“We could, but we shouldn’t. It’s a big warehouse with too many access points. I doubt it’ll have a basement or anything more secure than an office or a bathroom. If they catch us in there, we’re sitting ducks.”

“So where, then?”

“Let’s check the RV first.”

He wiped at the thick layer of dust over the security window on top of the RV’s door. He peered through it, but despite the bright (falling) sun, he couldn’t see more than a few feet inside. He glimpsed the driver’s seat, the big steering wheel, and what looked like an empty can of Diet Coke on the floor.

“Stay out here,” he said to the girls.

They looked back at him, as if to say, “What, you thought we were going to go in there with you?”

He smiled to himself then tried the door. It clicked open without a fight. He pulled it all the way open and slipped inside, sweeping the immediate area with the MP5SD. He took out an LED flashlight from one of his pouches and ran the beam over the seats in the middle. He was greeted by the very good sign of dust along the headrests and the smooth surface of a table to his right, half-encircled by a booth with plastic seats.

He moved up the aisle, boots squeaking softly against the vinyl flooring. There was a small kitchen complete with sink and range to his left. A dining table was fastened to the floor across from it, and more booth seating. Two doors at the very back. One opened up into a small bathroom and the other into a surprisingly spacious bedroom with a twin-size bed that had a wooden frame in one corner and an oak dresser on the other. There was a single window at the back, but it was blocked by the warehouse wall on the other side.

He rasped his knuckle on the solid fiberglass door and liked the sound he heard. It had a 12x21-inch tinted window at the top and a deadbolt lock on the inside. The odds of it withstanding a prolonged assault were good, especially with the dresser and bed as reinforcements.

Keo headed back to the front door.

Lorelei was leaning through the opening, giving him an anxious look. “Is it safe?”

“Safe enough,” he said.

Carrie followed Lorelei up the steps. “Okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’ll do. We only need it for one night, anyway.”

“So,” Lorelei said, “can we eat now? I’m starving.”

Carrie smiled wryly at Keo. “I told you. Like a horse.”

“Hey!” Lorelei said.

* * *

As dusk fell, visibility inside the RV began to drop. Carrie sat in the booth across from Keo while they listened to Lorelei snoring inside the bedroom in the back. The teenager had gone to sleep almost instantly. Keo wondered if she was tired from all the walking or the talking. Maybe both.

Carrie had her legs pulled up against her chest, sneakers resting on the seat. “What now?” she asked after they had been sitting there in silence for a while.

Keo reached into his pack and pulled out a Glock, then handed it to her butt-first. “Just in case.”

She took the gun and laid it on the table between them. Keo took out two spare magazines and placed them next to the weapon.

“How many of these things are you carrying around with you?” she asked, sounding amused.

“Plenty. Now, pay attention. It doesn’t matter where you shoot them. As long as you hit them with a silver bullet, they go down. Understand?”

She nodded and picked up the magazines, putting them into her pocket. “So, you’re like Chinese or something? I know you’re Asian. But not the whole way.”

He smiled. “‘Not the whole way’?”

“You know what I mean.”

“My mom was Korean.”

“Ah. What kind of name is Keo, anyway?”

“Chuck was taken.”

She stared at him, unsure how to process that response.

“You can take the bedroom with Lorelei,” Keo said. “I’ll sleep out here and keep an eye out.”

“You sure?” she asked, the tiredness coming through.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Keo. For everything.”

She picked up the Glock, stood up, and headed to the bedroom in the back.

Alone again, Keo pulled the tab on a can of Dole pineapple and sporked himself a nice big chunk dripping with syrup. He finished the entire can in a few minutes, watching as night fell outside the window like a canvas draping over the streets, the Spartan grounds within the hurricane fencing, and finally, the RV itself.

He picked up his MP5SD and put it on the table next to him, then leaned back against the wall. There was another window behind him, but it was blocked by the garage wall so there was no chance of anything coming through it. That only left three possible points of entry—the window directly across from him, the door to his left, and the front windshield. The windshield was mostly concealed by one of the other three walls, which really left just the window and door.

He closed his eyes briefly and thought about Gillian to help pass the time…

* * *

Keo wasn’t asleep, but he had settled into a peaceful state somewhere been dozing off and wide alert. It was an old trick he had learned a long time ago, something that had become very useful when he found himself stuck up a tree recently.

When he heard the noise, he knew immediately what it was before he even opened his eyes, slid off the plastic seat, and glided across the RV to the other side and pushed up against the window.

Headlights speared the street, cutting across the fading light outside. From the sounds of it, a truck. Despite his limited perspective, he could tell it was moving erratically, headlights swaying left and right as it got closer.

One of the trucks with the soldiers? How did they find us?

Keo watched it near, wondering what was going to reach him first—the truck or the falling night. If he were a betting man…

Click.

Carrie squeezed out of the partially open bedroom door and looked across the darkened vehicle at him. He lifted a finger to his lips, hoping she could see, and when she quietly closed the door and walked on her tiptoes toward him, he guessed she had.

She flattened her body against the wall next to him. “I heard a car…”

He nodded.

“Did they find us?” she asked. “The soldiers?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The pickup finally came into view. It might have been red, but it was hard to tell against the falling night. The vehicle had begun to slow down a bit, but it was still swerving from lane to lane, clearly out of control.

“It’s in trouble,” Carrie whispered.

As if on cue, the truck flipped and a figure—thin, gaunt, and unmistakably ghoul—flew off the bed where it had been holding on and was slingshot across the night sky as if shot out of a cannon. It landed somewhere further up the road, well beyond Keo’s line of sight.

The truck rolled on its side like a ball of steel and metal and aluminum, chunks of its frame firing off in every direction like missiles. Its bright front and rear lights shattered against the asphalt, showering the road with fireworks.

“Oh God,” Carrie gasped.

Finally, the truck came to a stop, settling on its roof with a loud groaning noise as smoke flooded out of its crumpled hood. They heard the metallic clinking of car parts big and small rolling around the road and dropping from the overturned vehicle.

“We should go out and help them,” Carrie said.

Keo didn’t say anything.

“Keo…”

“It could be a trap. I can’t tell if the truck is one of the three we saw earlier…”

A figure crawled out of the truck. It was a man. Or, at least, it had the size and large shoulders of a man, though Keo couldn’t make out details in the darkness. The man (?) crouched and reached into the truck and was pulling something out (another person, maybe?) when he suddenly let go and staggered back, and two loud gunshots exploded across the empty city.

The man fired again and again and again.

Until he finally stopped, turned, and ran—right at the fence in front of them.

He leaped desperately and reached out for the top of the fence, just barely managing to get a handhold, and began to pull himself up. He was wearing slacks and a T-shirt. Definitely not one of those camo uniforms.

“He’s not one of them,” Carrie whispered next to him. “We should go help.”

“It’s too late,” Keo said. He kept his voice calm, measured, and unyielding. “He’s on his own.”

“We can’t do this. We have to help—” She gasped again when she saw them. “Oh my God. Oh my God…”

There was a tide of them, so many that at first he thought the night was actually moving, that it had somehow come alive. But no, it wasn’t the darkness that had changed into a living thing, it was the living things inside it.

Ghouls. Hundreds, maybe more. Thousands?

He didn’t know where they had come from, only that they weren’t there one moment and then there was nothing but them. They swarmed toward the man, swallowing him up as if he were a fish trying to outswim the ocean itself. But he couldn’t, and Keo heard the scream, the sound of gunshots that wasn’t quite as loud as before because this time they were muffled by suffocating flesh.

Something grabbed onto Keo’s arm. He looked down at Carrie’s hand, her fingers digging into his skin. She stared out the window, face frozen in horror, the sight too frightening to comprehend yet too fascinating to look away from.

“Carrie,” he whispered when he felt a trickle of blood along his arm.

She didn’t hear him. Her eyes were transfixed by the amorphous blob moving outside the window, just beyond the flimsy hurricane fencing that would fall in a split-second if the creatures ever knew they were in there—

“Carrie,” he said again, a little louder this time.

That did it. She looked over at him, then down at his arm, and quickly unfurled her fingers and pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.”

He slid down to the floor and took a handkerchief out from one of his pouches and wrapped it around his arm.

Carrie sat next to him, clutching her knees to her chest. She stared forward and rocked absently back and forth. “What were they doing out there, Keo? What in God’s name were they doing out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Everyone knows not to be outside at night. Everyone knows. Even Lorelei knows. Everyone…” Her voice trailed off.

Keo put his arm around her and pulled her against him. She came willingly, anxiously, and leaned her head against his shoulder. He could feel her trembling, and it wasn’t because of the slightly chilly night air inside the RV.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Will it?”

“Yes. I promise.”

Carrie’s body slackened against him and Keo tightened his grip on her with one hand, the other holding the MP5SD in his lap. He kept his eyes and ears open and knew he wasn’t going to be getting sleep anytime soon. Which was okay. He was used to not getting a decent amount of sleep these days. Hell, these last few weeks and months...

He thought about Gillian, walking on a white sandy beach, barefooted. He wondered if she had given up on him by now or if she still looked off at the Gulf of Mexico every day, waiting for him to arrive, for him to finally make good on his promise.

“You promise me,” she had said. “You’ll follow us to Santa Marie Island.”

“Yes,” he had answered. “I promise.”

“I’ll wait for you. Just hurry.”

That had been months ago. Did she still remember the exchange between them as vividly as he did? Was she even still waiting for him? There was only one way to find out.

First, though, he had to make good on a dead man’s promise, and that meant going to Song Island…

12

Gaby

What are you doing, you idiot?

Turn around. Right now. Run back to the door.

Do it.

And then what? There was no way out. No way to open the door. (She would need a doorknob for that.) No windows to climb out of, either. Not even a vent to crawl into.

They were inside the building, just like whoever had led them in here had planned it.

You’re screwed. You’re so screwed.

She must have sighed out loud because she heard clothes rustling as Peter, somewhere in the darkness with her, turned in her direction. Or she thought he did, anyway.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She shook her head before realizing he probably couldn’t see, not with the flashlight beam in front of them instead of on her face. “I’m fine,” she whispered back. “Keep the flashlight in front of us.”

“Okay…”

They had been walking down a long, empty hallway toward another intersection for the last ten minutes, though it didn’t seem as if they had gone very far from the alleyway door. That probably had something to do with the inability to see beyond the end of Peter’s flashlight. She must have gripped and re-gripped the M4 at least a dozen times.

At least there was a window in front of them this time, even though it was covered up so thoroughly with thick slabs of wood that not a single sliver of sunlight managed to slip through. Peter’s circle of light illuminated the occasional paintings of birds and ducks and flowers on the wall, along with end tables that held delicate-looking vases with nothing inside them.

It continued to be deathly quiet inside the building, not helped by the normal silence beyond the walls. It seemed as if she and Peter were the only two people still alive in the world at that moment, moving in the dark.

Moving in the dark…

She had trouble figuring out what kind of building they were in, much less its size. Maybe some kind of boarding house, judging by the hallways? Or an apartment building, maybe. Was there more than one floor? She hadn’t come across any stairs yet, and there were no sounds above her. She had been so busy chasing Peter through the streets and then the alley that she hadn’t taken even a second to take a look at the buildings around them. Her situational awareness, Will would say, had been utter shit.

How long had they been moving through the darkness? Twenty minutes? More? Less? Hard to tell. Hard to breathe.

But it wasn’t hard to sweat. She was doing a lot of that. The thickness in the air was made worse by the boarded-up window. She assumed the rest of the windows in the place were similarly covered, which would explain the complete lack of ventilation. Peter was sweating almost as much next to her; she could tell because whenever they accidentally brushed up against each other—which was about once every other step—his sweat rubbed off on her exposed arm and vice versa.

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 bones 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 them 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.

Gaby looked over at Peter again and felt a sickening knot in her gut. He looked even more awful than a few seconds ago, the discoloration around his face seemingly changing color at least a dozen times. The flesh around his right eye was now the size of a giant fist.

He’s going to die. Tonight. Tomorrow morning. But he’s going to die.

I’m sorry, Peter.

She sat back against the wall and closed her eyes and tried to think.

Options. What were her options?

Limited. But Will always told her there were options, some that were obvious, but most that were hidden. She just had to find them.

So what were her options right now?

She had to think.

Think!

Then it came to her.

The girl.

Gaby tried to find the small figure in the darkness, focusing in on where she last heard the girl moving around, the soft rustling of clothes.

“Hey,” Gaby said.

There was no answer.

“Have you ever heard of Beaufont Lake?”

Still nothing.

“There’s an island on it. Song Island. It’s safe. There’s even a hotel—”

The girl stepped out of the blackness with her head cocked slightly to one side. She had moved so quickly that Gaby was momentarily taken by surprise. There was a fleck of interest in the girl’s eyes. “You said an island?”

“Yes,” Gaby said. Be careful. Don’t spook her. “Song Island. Have you ever heard of it?”

“No.” She glanced behind her, as if trying to decide how to proceed. Maybe she was afraid of Harrison finding out she was even talking to the prisoner.

Easy does it. You have her attention now. Don’t lose it…

“It’s safe there,” Gaby said. “There’s a hotel. Electricity. Hot showers. Frozen food. And ice. When was the last time you had ice?”

The girl didn’t answer.

“I can take you there,” Gaby said.

The girl looked over at Peter, then back at her. “It’s near here?”

“It’s not far. A day’s drive. Maybe a couple of days on foot.”

The girl looked back into the shadows behind her a second time. With her hair out of her face, she was a lot younger than Gaby had first thought. Thirteen, maybe, like Milly.

“I know you don’t want to be here,” Gaby said. “I know you’re just staying because you don’t have a choice.”

The blue eyes seemed to confirm everything Gaby had just said. Or was she reading the kid all wrong?

God, please don’t let me screw this up.

“You can come with us,” Gaby said. “With Peter and me. And Milly, too. Did you see Milly? She’s about your age.”

“They took her,” the girl said.

“We can get her back and leave here, and you can come with us.”

“To the island?”

“Yes, to the island.”

Gaby did her best to control her rising excitement. She could almost imagine the girl’s brain working, absorbing the information. But she had to tread lightly. The girl was taking a risk. She knew that much. Harrison had left her here because there was no way Gaby or Peter could escape in their condition. Certainly Peter had no more fight left in him, and it was hard for her to do anything when she couldn’t even walk.

Even so, it bothered her that he had just left a little girl behind to watch them. Were the adults all busy somewhere with something else? Maybe there were guards on the other side of that door Harrison had gone through twice now. Maybe—

Concentrate on the girl! She’s your opening! Seize it!

“What’s your name?” Gaby asked.

“Claire,” the girl said.

“I can take you with me, Claire. You’ll be safe on the island.”

“Because the bloodsuckers can’t go there,” Claire said.

“Yes,” Gaby said. “How did you know—”

Claire whirled around and disappeared into the shadows.

“Wait, Claire,” Gaby said, but the girl was gone. She wanted to shout but was afraid of making too much noise in case there were guards outside the basement door.

She sighed and leaned back against the wall, crestfallen. All her hopes of escaping with Peter and Milly died inside her and all she could do was look at Peter, asleep—or somewhere between asleep and dead—next to her.

I’m sorry, Peter. I’m not good at saving people. Nate could have told you that.

And Matt.

And Josh…

There was the quick patter of footsteps just before Claire reappeared out of the darkness. The rifle was slung over her back, looking absurdly big against her slight frame. There was something else, too: Claire was clutching a small black microcassette voice recorder.

Gaby opened her mouth to ask what was happening when Claire shushed her by holding up her hand. The girl crouched in front of her and pressed the play button on the recorder and held it out as a familiar voice came through the tiny speaker:

“To any survivors out there, if you’re hearing this, you are not alone. There are things you need to know about our enemy—these creatures of the night, these ghouls. They are not invincible, and they have weaknesses other than sunlight—”

Lara! It was Lara’s voice!

“—One: you can kill them with silver. Stab them, shoot them, or cut them with any silver weapon, and they will die. Two: they will not cross bodies of water. An island, a boat—get to anything that can separate you from land. Three: some ultraviolet light has proven effective, but flashlights and lightbulbs with UV don’t seem to have any effect. We don’t know why, so use this information with caution. If you’re hearing this message, you are not alone. Stay strong, stay smart, and adapt. We owe it to those we’ve lost to keep fighting, to never give up. Good luck.”

The message ended, and Claire clicked off the recorder. “You said an island. Not far from here?”

Gaby nodded anxiously. “Yes. It’s called Song Island.”

“And she’s right? The creatures can’t go there?”

“Yes. She’s right. They can’t.”

“She’s not lying? You promise?”

“She’s not lying. I promise.” Then, “Where did you record that from, Claire?”

“Donna has a small radio that she listens to every now and then. It’s our father’s; he used to listen to talk radio on it. Donna thinks the government might still be out there, but I told her it wasn’t. A few nights ago, we heard this. It keeps changing channels, so I decided to record it just in case we couldn’t find it again.”

“Did you try to radio them back?”

“Can’t. You can only pick up stuff with the radio.”

“Do the others know about it? Harrison?”

“Donna tried telling him, but he doesn’t believe it.” She frowned. “I think he doesn’t care. He likes it here. The way things are.” She looked at Peter. “We don’t, though.”

“Who is Donna?”

“My sister.” She glanced back at Gaby and narrowed her eyes a bit. “How do I know the woman on the radio isn’t lying? How do I know you’re not lying? Everyone lies. Especially adults. Harrison lies all the time. He uses the kids to watch the roads and trick people. Like he did with you.”

“I swear I’m not lying, Claire.”

Claire watched her intensely, blue eyes squinting as if she could read Gaby if she stared long and squinted hard enough.

She’s too young to look so old.

“And you’ll take me with you?” Claire asked finally. “To the island? Swear it?”

“I swear it,” Gaby said.

“And Donna?”

“Donna, too, if she wants to come.”

Claire nodded, seemingly satisfied. She pocketed the voice recorder.

“Do you keep that with you all the time?” Gaby asked.

“Uh huh,” Claire nodded.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess it gives me hope.” She stood up and flicked another quick glance back at the shadows behind her. “What now? How do we get out of here?”

“Are there people on the other side of the door? Guards?”

“No. They left before you woke up.”

Why? What’s happening out there? Where are all the adults?

All those questions raced through her mind, but she forced them away. No guards. That was all that mattered. There were no guards outside the door!

“I need my guns, Claire,” Gaby said. “Do you know where they took them?”

The girl shook her head. “No, but there are others.”

“Others?”

“Guns. There are lots of guns on the other side of the door. How many do you want?”

“How many you got?” Gaby said, grinning back at her.

13

Will

“How many?” Danny asked.

“A dozen, give or take,” Will said.

“How many is ‘give or take’?”

“A dozen or so?”

“Remind me to never let you do my taxes, Mister CP-Or So.”

They were crouched just beyond the tree lines, watching the trucks roll by and up the road—Route 13, according to a sign they had passed earlier—and toward the city of Dunbar.

Lucky number 13.

The trucks were of various sizes and colors, some beat up, others brand new. They included a shiny silver F-150 that was hauling an orange and white U-Haul truck in the middle of the pack. Will glimpsed a couple of white stars and the state of Louisiana on the sweat-drenched uniforms of a couple of the men sitting in the back of the Ford as it flashed by him.

Josh’s boys.

What are they doing here?

“Fourteen,” Will said when the last truck had passed.

“You think they’re tracking Gaby?” Danny asked behind him.

“I don’t think so. Way too many cars for just one girl.”

“Maybe our boy Josh is in one of them. Kid’s in love. You remember what that was like? With the hormones going nuts? I wouldn’t put it past him to commit this kind of force to recapturing her. Sounds like something a teenager would do.”

“You’re assuming he thinks she’s still alive.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“The cave, remember?”

“Oh, right. I forgot about the cave.”

“It was this morning, Danny.”

“It’s hot out here. My brain turns to soup in the heat. Give me a break.”

Will grunted, then glanced down at his watch: 3:14 p.m.

Three hours until nightfall. Gonna be close…

“Did you see anything I might have missed?” Will asked.

“Like what?”

“Like something that’ll tell us where they were coming from, or going?”

Danny thought about it, then shook his head. “Can’t say, but then again, I don’t know the area. You?”

“Nope.”

“So, I have a question.”

“Did you raise your hand?”

Danny raised his hand. “So, I have a question.”

“What is it?” Will smiled.

“How do you think the ghouls know to avoid those betraying buggers now that they’re no longer wearing the hazmat suits and gas masks?”

“Probably the same way they knew not to attack the guys in hazmat suits and gas masks in the first place.”

“The whole hive mind thing. Someone gives the command and it goes out to the infantry. Someone high up. Like your buddy Mabry.”

“Or one of his acolytes.”

“Like, for instance, your ex-ghoulfriend Kate?” Danny grinned at him.

Will sighed. “Don’t rub it in.”

He sat back down on the hard ground and looked up Route 13. Dunbar wasn’t a particularly big place, but like most country cities, it was spread out and separated into districts, with the suburbs circling the main business area. The whole place sounded dead at the moment, and Will could still hear the engines of the soldier’s caravan moving away from them, fading with every passing second.

“Gaby probably went in there,” Will said.

“Likely,” Danny nodded. “If she’s still alive…”

“Those soldiers seemed to think so back at the cave. So let’s go find out, one way or another.”

“Not like I got anything else to do.”

Will got up and moved through the woods, keeping parallel to the road on his right. Danny followed, but only after making sure no one had sneaked up behind them while they were waiting for the cars to pass.

Gaby and her two companions had clearly been heading for Dunbar since leaving L15 behind. He had picked up multiple tracks moving alongside Lake Hillman and in this direction. If one of those prints had belonged to Gaby, that is. He still wasn’t sure, but the odds were in their favor. This was Gaby, after all. If he knew one thing about her, it was that the teenager was a survivor.

“How’re your wounds?” Danny asked after a while.

“My guts are still where they should be. Thanks for asking; I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t, but Lara made me promise.”

“You scared of Lara?”

“Hell yeah, she’s five-five of balls of fury. I told you she’s running the island now, right?”

“You mentioned that once or twice.”

“Yeah, you really know how to pick them, buddy.”

“What does that mean?”

“First Kate, and now Lara. I guess you have a type.”

“Is that right?”

“Ball busters,” Danny chuckled.

Will grinned. Danny probably had a point there.

* * *

They passed a train track, then a slew of old houses with peeling paint and rooftops that didn’t look strong enough to withstand a harsh wind blowing in the wrong direction. There were too many open spaces, forcing them to dart from building to building as they followed the motor oil trails of the collaborator caravan up Route 13 toward the center of Dunbar.

After about an hour of skirting around the open, keeping to the same stretch of road but never on it, they finally sidled up to an orange building called Gaine’s Meat Market near the very center of what Will surmised was the busy business section of town. A streetlight swayed back and forth in front of them, while half a block along Highway 190’s four-lane stretch the trucks and ATV had made camp in the mostly barren parking lot of a strip mall. Heavily-armed men milled about the vehicles, doing…what?

Will and Danny leaned out from the corner of Gaine’s with binoculars and watched the soldiers for a moment. The U-Haul sat almost in the center of the parked vehicles, but no one had pulled open the back doors, which further piqued Will’s curiosity. It couldn’t have been people inside, because trailers didn’t have air conditioners and it would be suffocating under the heat.

“You think it’s a coincidence they’re here at the same time as us?” Danny asked.

“I’m not a fan of coincidences,” Will said.

Danny sniffed him. “Not a fan of hygiene, either, from the smell of it. When was the last time you showered?”

“It’s been a while.”

“I can smell that.”

“Stop sniffing me and take a look at the U-Haul.”

“I am,” Danny said, peering through his binoculars. “What about it?”

“They haven’t opened it yet.”

“You think there’s something worthwhile in there?”

“Gotta be. Why haul it around?”

“Maybe it’s dirty laundry. Or a washer and dryer to wash those sparkly uniforms. Look at them; they almost look like soldiers. How precious.”

“Where would they plug the washer and dryer in?”

“Details, details.”

“Look at the way they parked it. In the center.”

Danny chuckled. “Isn’t this what got you in trouble in the first place? This need to know everything about everything?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the curious idiot.”

“I’m not sure that’s quite the saying.”

“Details, details.”

The men (wannabe soldiers) began spreading out along the streets, moving in pairs of two. He counted ten, then twenty—ten pairs in all. They were searching the buildings around them while a dozen or so remained behind with the caravan. It was a mixed bag of men—old and young, fat and skinny, and some sported ponytails or unruly long hair that stuck out underneath ball caps.

Try getting away with that in Basic Training, boys.

Weekend warriors or not, the fact that each man was carrying military-grade firepower made them just as dangerous as any enlisted man he had been around. They were wearing sidearms and he glimpsed the barrels of M4s, a couple of AK-47s, and one was hauling around a Belgian FN FAL battle rifle. Will wondered where he had gotten that. The weapon that people called “The Right Arm of the Free World” was a rare sight these days.

“Heads up,” Danny said.

One of the pairs had come out of a Shell gas station in front of them and was moving up the street in their direction.

They pulled back from the corner.

“What’s the call?” Danny said.

“Find out what they’re doing here and if Gaby’s still around.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“Quietly.”

“Oh, that’s cute. When did you get so cute all of a sudden?”

“Must be the extra bullet holes,” Will said.

“So that explains the whistling noise I’ve been hearing,” Danny said.

* * *

What’s in the U-Haul?

There was a gas tanker directly below them, and Will wondered how much fuel was left inside it and if it would be worth it to somehow drive it down to Song Island as an emergency reserve.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

A tanker full of fuel would definitely help in a worst-case scenario. Of course, getting it there was the problem. That was, if they could get it working in the first place, which wasn’t a given these days with cars sitting around collecting dust and rust for the last eleven months.

He fixed his attention back on the camouflaged pair walking on the street below them, carbines cradled in their arms.

Will and Danny had circled back around and headed up to the second floor of Gaine’s Meat Market, using a catwalk in the back, but only after they had witnessed the soldiers searching it and, finding nothing, moved on. The last thing they wanted was for Josh’s boys to show up unexpectedly and get them involved in a gunfight. That would bring everyone down on them, as well as stopping their search for Gaby in its tracks. They couldn’t afford that. Not now. Will didn’t know for sure, but he felt as if she was close. Now all he had to do was find her before someone else did…

He glanced at his watch: 4:15 p.m.

Two hours and change before nightfall. So was this it, then? Had the soldiers only stopped at Dunbar to spend the night? Did that mean they didn’t have protection after nightfall the way they used to when they wore those hazmat suits? Or was he right and the ghouls just knew to ignore them?

Dead, not stupid.

“They coming back?” Danny asked behind him.

Will shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Good. Oh, by the way, I call dibs on the chair.” Danny had settled down on a big, comfortable-looking black felt couch in the corner of the room and was stuffing his mouth with beef jerky from a bag of Oberto.

“How many of those do you have?” Will asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He threw his boots up on an ottoman and leaned back. “Turn on the AC, will ya?”

“I’ll get right on it.”

There was enough light coming through the curtains over the closed window in front of Will to see with, but it did nothing to help with the heat or the lack of circulation. Opening the window for some wind was a no-go after the soldiers had searched the room earlier. There was a chance one of them might remember that the window was closed if they should walk back in this direction. It was a small risk, but there was too much at stake to do something that stupid just because he couldn’t stand a little (or a lot of) sweat.

Will glanced to his left, down the state highway and back toward the strip mall. He couldn’t see much of anything from this angle. The soldiers left behind hadn’t moved from their spots as far as he could tell, and the ones that had fanned out in pairs had begun to drift back one at a time as the hour dragged on.

What’s in the U-Haul?

“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” Danny said behind him.

“What’s that?”

“The U-Haul.”

“Nope.”

“Let it go. We’re here to find Gaby and get the hell outta Dodge. Keep your eyes on the prize, Kemosabe.”

“You’re not curious?”

“Of course I’m curious. But I’d also like to get home to Carly. This little adventure is fun and all, but I’m frankly tired of walking around with sweaty balls.”

“Good to know, good to know.”

“I’m just sayin’. A man needs more in life than a wet scrotum.”

Will caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. It came out of nowhere and forced him to take a step back from the window before sliding against the wall.

A second later Danny was standing across from him with his rifle. “Company?”

“Not the kind I was expecting.”

Danny followed Will’s gaze to the rooftop of Tom’s Billiard, a one-story building across the street from them. A lone figure in jeans and a black T-shirt was hurrying across the gravel floor toward the edge, where he went into a crouch and peered up the street with a pair of binoculars. He was looking at the same strip mall parking lot.

The one with the U-Haul...

What the hell is in there?

“Now how’d he get up there?” Danny said.

“Probably a ladder in the back.”

“Not one of Josh’s boys, from the looks of his outfit.”

“Maybe a local.”

The man unclipped a radio and raised it to his lips and spoke into it.

“I guess he’s not alone,” Danny said. “What are the chances that Gaby’s with him, that she’s drinking lattes somewhere around here?”

“Captain Optimism,” Will smirked.

Danny chuckled. “Hey, we’re due for a little luck.”

“Gaby said that, too. Then she disappeared.”

“You and your half-empty glasses. Can’t you think positively for once?”

The man stood up and jogged back the direction he had come—the other side of the rooftop—where he leaned over the edge.

“What’s he doing now?” Danny said.

“Taking a leak?”

“Should we be watching that?”

“What, you’re not confident enough with your manhood?”

“Hey, the kid could be packing a cannon.”

“Is that what Carly calls it?”

“She calls it lots of things. Paul Bunyan, her favorite glow stick, the nightstick to end all nightsticks…”

The man was pulling up a second figure from the side of the building. This one was bigger, with a round gut, and also wearing civilian clothes. He was carrying a faded green duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, look, he’s got a BFF,” Danny said.

“Look at what he’s carrying.”

“About fifty extra pounds. So the poor guy has an eating disorder. Give him a break.”

“No, over his back.”

“Oh, yeah.” Danny looked for a moment, then, “Looks like they’re up to no good, these two.”

“Yep.”

“Should we stop them?”

“Nah. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Besides, I really wanna know what’s in that U-Haul.”

“What if it’s people?”

“People?”

“Like captives.”

That hadn’t occurred to him. “Good point.”

“Really?”

“Hey, even the sun’s gotta shine up a dog’s asshole at least once.”

“And I got a pretty bright asshole, too.”

“Good to know, good to know.”

The two men moved back over to the edge overlooking the street. The fat one put down the duffel bag and unzipped it. He reached in and took out something long and metal. Will knew what it was before the sun glinted off the green camouflage barrel of the M40 rifle. Not the original M40, but a later model. Likely an M40A3 from the looks of it.

The fat man handed the Marine sniper rifle over to his friend, who took it and extended the tripod underneath the barrel before lying down on the rooftop on his stomach. He settled in behind the long scope and positioned his shoulder against the stock.

The kid’s done this before.

“It’s all fun and games until someone breaks out the peashooters,” Danny said. “Then it’s eyes and balls getting popped. Never good.”

“They got friends, too.”

Will nodded down the street, where two more men had appeared and were leaning out from the side of Tom’s Billiard. One had an AR-15 with an ACOG scope and he was zeroing in, while the second one stood behind him peering down the street with binoculars while talking into a radio.

“Oh boy,” Danny said. “Looks like we done run right into a good ol’-fashioned gunfight at the OK Corral. Question is, we wanna get involved in this?”

“Let’s steer clear and see who comes out on top. The Clantons, or Doc Holliday and the Earps.”

“Which one is the Clantons and which ones are the Earps, though?”

“Hell if I know. Does it matter?”

“Hey, you’re the one who made the half-assed analogy. You tell me.” Danny peered up and down the street for a moment. “You think there are more of them hanging around?”

“Gotta be. Whoever’s coordinating this seems to know what they’re doing. Probably a couple more snipers on a few more rooftops. If they’re locals and this is their city, they’ll know all the good spots, including all the ins and outs of the surrounding buildings.”

“Ambush.”

“Looks like it, yeah.”

“Can’t say I’m feeling sorry for the Earps.”

Will grinned. “Josh’s boys are the Earps?”

“They have the uniforms and the lot down there kinda look like outlaws, what with their sweat-stained shirts and AR-15s and whatnot.”

“Let’s go with that, then.”

The sniper on the rooftop fired, the gunshot impossibly loud in the still city. The shot was still echoing when the man with the AR-15 below them began sending rounds up the street, the clink-clink-clink of his bullet casings flickering into the air and dropping one after another like loud metallic raindrops on the sidewalk.

“I wish we had popcorn,” Danny said, dipping into another bag of Oberto and pulling out a big stick of jerky. “But I guess this’ll have to do.”

“Seriously, how many of those things do you have?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The gunfire continued unabated, the steady pow!, pause, pow! of the sniper rifle banging out a tune with the rapid pop-pop-pop! of the AR-15 as its melodic companion. They were clearly shooting at something, and Will wished he could see what, but his angle was all wrong.

He thought about moving, going to find another window in the building, when someone up the street unleashed with another rifle and the brick wall the two men were hiding behind flew apart. One of the men ducked behind cover, while the second one calmly pulled himself back and reloaded.

Then all hell broke loose, and the all-too-familiar rattle of dozens of assault rifles firing at the same time on full-auto filled the air. It was like rolling thunder, sweeping up and down the streets of Dunbar, Louisiana.

And all the while, Will’s thoughts kept going back to the parking lot. To Josh’s soldiers. And that one vehicle they seemed to be surrounding like precious cargo.

What’s in the U-Haul?

14

Gaby

Claire returned to the basement about ten minutes after disappearing up the stairs. She came back with a tall blonde girl, the two of them racing down the steps as if they were afraid of being caught. Which, Gaby guessed, wasn’t too far from the truth.

The new girl looked all of seventeen and fresh-faced. Gaby couldn’t remember when she last looked that innocent. The girls were definitely sisters—blonde, slender, and one of these days (probably soon) Claire was going to sprout and become just as tall as her sister. In the time it had taken them to come back, Gaby could tell Claire had already filled Donna in.

“When are we leaving?” Donna asked as soon as she climbed down the stairs.

“Now,” Gaby said.

While waiting for the sisters, Gaby had time to take stock of their surroundings. She and Peter were being kept in the basement of a Veterans of Foreign Wars building somewhere in the center of Dunbar. Someone had converted the room into a bomb shelter, with two sections—the interior where she and Peter were being kept and an exterior portion with the stairs. There was plenty of light out here thanks to LED lamps hanging from hooks. Nearly thirty percent of the space was filled with weapons and ammo, with the rest reserved for nonperishable canned goods, cases of bottled water, plastic red cans of gasoline, an entire corner of propane tanks, and stacks of MREs in crates.

Gaby had grabbed one of the M4 rifles off the rack as soon as she saw them. The carbine had a nice pistol grip under the barrel and a decent, if not great, red dot scope mounted on top. She’d worked with worse all day, so this was definitely an upgrade. She had also snatched up a web belt and began stuffing the pouches with magazines. She was still choosing and adding supplies, shoving them into tactical packs and feeling better with every additional pound, when the girls returned.

“Grab Peter,” she told them.

Claire and Donna helped Peter up from the floor and he hung between them, looking even paler and weaker than when Gaby had first managed to shoulder him into the outer room. His right eye was almost completely shut now, the skin around it giving off an abnormal appearance. Donna looked uncomfortable being this close to Peter, but she didn’t say anything.

Gaby picked up a heavy-duty nylon bag from the floor and stuffed food and water into it before handing it to Donna. “Can you carry this?”

Donna nodded, taking the bag with her free hand. “It’s either me or Claire, right? I mean look at her. She can barely carry herself.”

“Hey, I can carry myself just fine,” Claire said. “I’m still growing.”

Gaby turned back to the gun racks and picked up an additional Glock, this one smaller than the one she already had in her hip holster, and held it out, butt-first, to Donna.

The girl looked at the gun, then at her. “I don’t know how to use that.”

“You want a rifle instead?”

“I don’t know how to use one of those, either.”

Gaby glanced over at Claire and the rifle slung over her back.

“Claire’s been using that since we were kids,” Donna said, picking up on Gaby’s unasked question. “Our dad taught her.”

“And he didn’t teach you?”

“I didn’t want to learn. I wasn’t a tomboy like her.”

“You were just lazy,” Claire said.

“Keep telling yourself that, daddy’s girl,” Donna said.

Gaby stared at them for a moment. If she had any doubts they were actually sisters before, that would have gone away after listening to them. Only siblings bickered like that. She was pretty sure they weren’t even aware of it because it came so naturally at this point.

“I’ll take it,” Claire said, nodding at the gun in Gaby’s hand. “You can teach me how to use it.”

“Later,” Gaby said.

She shoved the spare Glock into her tactical pack, then flicked the safety off the M4. She walked over to the stair landing and glanced up at the closed door at the top. She stood perfectly still and listened but couldn’t hear voices or sounds of any kind from the other side. Definitely no telltale signs that Claire and Donna’s arrival had triggered some kind of an alert from upstairs.

“How many men did Harrison leave behind?” she asked.

“None,” Donna said. “Just the women and children. Harrison took all the men to the north side of town.”

“What’s happening there?”

“Some soldiers showed up.”

“Soldiers?”

“They looked like soldiers, anyway, but I don’t know what soldiers would be doing around here. I didn’t even know they were still around.”

Because they’re not. They’re Josh’s people.

She remembered the town guards in their nice and clean uniforms. She knew they weren’t actually soldiers, just collaborators playing dress up. Not that it mattered now. What was important was that Harrison had marshaled all his forces to deal with it.

What was that saying? “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”?

“Are the women up there armed?” Gaby asked.

“Some of them,” Donna said, before adding with some concern, “You’re not going to shoot them, are you?”

“Only if I have to.”

“They’re good people. You don’t need to hurt them.”

“I won’t if I don’t have to.” Donna didn’t look convinced, but Gaby didn’t care at the moment. “What’s Harrison going to do? With the soldiers?”

“He’s going to attack them.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what he does.”

“He’s done it before,” Gaby said. It wasn’t a question.

“He says this is our city, that we have to fight to keep it.”

Like with Peter, Harrison?

Gaby looked back and stared at the three people standing behind her. Really, really stared at them.

They looked back at her intently, anxiously.

Except for Peter, who hadn’t looked any better since she handed him off to the girls. Despite their size, Donna and Claire were holding Peter up surprisingly well, but she could see Claire grimacing with the heavy weight. Peter was limp between them, as if he would fall and never get up again if they let go even just a little bit.

At first she had thought Harrison’s people had only beaten Peter around the face during the interrogation (because Harrison “needed to know for sure”), but she knew better now. When she had helped him up from the floor, he had flinched with every contact regardless of where she touched him. And walking from one side of the basement to the other had been an ordeal she wasn’t sure he would even survive.

At the moment, Peter was looking back at her with his one good eye. His right was never going to open again. He seemed to know what she was thinking, and he nodded. Or, at least, he motioned with his head in something that resembled a nod. It was mostly just a slight tremble.

“It’s not just the broken ribs,” he said. His voice was very low, coming out almost a whisper, because that was all he could manage, and even that seemed to take a great deal out of him. “I’m bleeding internally, too. This is the end of the road for me, kid.”

“Peter…”

“My right eye’s gone. I can barely see out of the left. I can’t walk without feeling like every bone in my body’s going to break apart at any second. I don’t think I’ll even make it up those stairs.”

“What are you saying, Peter?”

“I want you to go. Take the girls, find Milly, and go.”

He struggled against the sisters then somehow managed to untangle himself from them. They looked on worriedly as he stumbled over to the nearest wall and sat down. He let out a loud sigh, actually managing to smile back at the girls.

“Go,” Peter said. “I’ll be all right.”

“You’re going to die down here, Peter,” Gaby said. She was surprised by her own matter-of-fact tone.

Damn. When had she gotten so cold?

He shrugged back, almost indifferently. “I’m thirty-six. You’re just kids. This is your world now. Go.”

“Peter…”

“I’m not having this conversation, Gaby. Go, now, before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” Gaby was about to say when the first gunshot reached them as a slight echo—a wet, barely noticeable pop noise.

She knew it hadn’t come from the hall above them. It originated from across the city, and it was quickly followed by a burst from an assault rifle. Then there was another shot and suddenly the city of Dunbar exploded with gunfire, the noise so intense that Gaby and the sisters found themselves standing perfectly still and listening to it, transfixed, for almost an entire minute.

Gaby finally snapped out of it. “How many soldiers are out there?” she asked Donna.

“I didn’t see all of them,” Donna said, “but it couldn’t have been that many if Harrison thinks he can take them.”

“How many men does he have?”

“Twenty-five.”

Gaby glanced up at the basement door, this time with more urgency. “Is Milly out there, Claire?”

“Yes,” Claire said.

“Are you sure?”

“I saw her.”

“Okay.”

Gaby looked back at Peter. He was holding his hand under his chin and there was blood in his palm. More red liquid coated his bloated, pale lips, and some trickled down his chin.

“Peter,” she said softly.

He wiped the blood off on the floor and met her eyes. She saw resoluteness in them. A courage she didn’t know he even possessed. “Get Milly, Gaby, and get her to the island. Please do that for me.”

She took a step toward him. “Peter…”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I’m going to stay down here for a while. Rest.” Then, he cracked a grin. Or tried to, anyway. “Enjoy the show for a while. Sounds like they’re really having a blast, huh?”

She gave him a half-smile back. It was the only response she could come up with.

How did you say good-bye to a man whom you barely knew, but who had saved your life? And now she was going to leave him down here to die, because she knew there was no way Peter was going to get out of the basement.

Not alive, anyway.

A loud, suddenly intense burst of pop-pop-pop from outside drew their attention again. The gunfire seemed to be coming at a faster clip now as more people were adding to the chaos. Twenty-five of Harrison’s people were out there, according to Donna, and how many of Josh’s soldiers?

All those people, all those guns, gathered in one place…

But she noticed something very clear about it, though: it was all coming from the north side, just like Donna had said. That left the rest of the city as a viable escape route, with the south in particular being, at this very moment, wide open.

“Go,” Peter said. “Go now, Gaby. Save Milly, please.”

Gaby nodded. She looked at him one last time, then turned and headed back to the stairs. “Let’s go, girls.”

Donna and Claire followed.

Gaby took the steps one at a time, her eyes fixed on the door, the M4 at the ready, the fingers of her left hand tightening around the pistol grip. She wondered if Peter was looking after them, if he would scream for her to stop at the last moment, just before she reached the exit. She didn’t know if she wanted him to or if she was afraid he would.

Could she keep walking if he began calling her name? Could she just abandon him down here to die?

The hellacious back and forth continued outside, indifferent to what was happening with them in the basement at the moment. Those combatants out there didn’t know and didn’t care that a good man was dying, and that they (me) were going to leave him down here because he had become useless.

And in this new world, useless was the same as dead…

* * *

The basement door opened up into a back hallway that joined with the main area of the VFW hall. There was another door to their left leading to some kind of office. The sound of gunfire, no longer constricted by the basement’s concrete walls, was much louder and harder to ignore up here.

Gaby closed the door behind them and looked over at Donna. The girl wore shorts and a plaid long-sleeve work shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She had on a belt with a knife in a sheath but no other weapons. Donna seemed to be carrying the bulky supply bag just fine—at least, for now. Gaby would have to keep an eye on her. She didn’t want to lose anything in that bag, depending on how long it was going to take them to get to Song Island. If they couldn’t locate a working vehicle along the way, it was going to be a hell of a walk.

Claire still had her lever-action rifle, which she gripped tightly in both hands. Gaby couldn’t tell if the girl had ever used the weapon before (or at least, on a real live person), but she certainly held it as if she had and was willing and ready to put that experience to work if need be. Gaby wasn’t quite sure if entrusting her life to a thirteen-year-old-girl and her seventeen-year-old sister was madness or desperation.

Oh, who are you kidding. It’s definitely a lot of both.

The three of them stood very quiet for a moment and listened to the gunfire raging back and forth from the other side of the city. She couldn’t tell who was winning. Hell, she couldn’t even tell how many sides there were at the moment. There could just be two—Harrison’s and Josh’s—or a dozen, for all she knew. She was sure of one thing, though: it was definitely coming from behind them—not too far away, but not close, either.

“We need to head south,” Gaby said. She glanced down at her watch: 5:09 p.m. “We’re going to be cutting it pretty close, but we can’t stay here tonight or we might never leave. So let’s get Milly and get out of here.”

She headed up the hallway toward the opening. Donna and Claire followed silently behind her.

“It’s just the women and kids?” Gaby asked.

“Last time I was up here, yes,” Donna said behind her.

As it turned out, the last time Donna checked wasn’t recent enough, because when Gaby stepped out of the hallway and into the large main area of the VFW hall, the first thing she saw was a tall man sitting on a chair next to the twin front doors all the way across the room. He was cradling an AK-47 and looked bored, his head craned to one side as he listened to the gun battle outside with an almost wistful expression on his face.

Oh crap, Gaby thought when the man launched up from the chair at the sight of her.

But he had moved too fast, and instead of getting a grip on his assault rifle and putting it to use, he instead fumbled with it for a split-second. It was just long enough for Gaby to lift the M4 and shoot him once in the belly. The man stumbled back into his chair, tipping it over. He looked more stunned than hurt.

She shot him a second time, and he crumpled to the floor, the rifle clattering away.

There were kids in the hall, and they began screaming. The instant increase in decibel was so startling for everyone, including Gaby, that for a moment even the sound of gunfire from outside the building was drowned out by the cries.

Move move move!

Horrified faces turned toward her as Gaby rushed out of the hallway, the M4 in front of her, sweeping the room, looking for a target, anything that even resembled danger. Her left hand tightened around the grip as her right eye settled behind the sight.

The large hall was built to accommodate hundreds of people at one time, though at the moment there were only a couple dozen inside. Half of them were kids, the other half adult women. They all looked unarmed—or at least, no one reached for a weapon—when they saw her.

That is, except for the woman sitting at the bar with a shotgun resting on the countertop next to her. The woman was reaching for the weapon when Gaby swiveled the carbine around and stared at her. The woman froze and for a brief second, Gaby was sure the woman’s hand would keep going.

But it didn’t. Thank God it didn’t.

Instead, the woman took her hand away from the shotgun as if it had become hazardous to her health.

“Sit down,” Gaby said.

The woman did as ordered.

“Gaby!” a voice shouted.

Milly scrambled up from the floor across the room where she had been sitting with some kids and rushed toward her. A woman made a grab for her, but Milly managed to slip through her hands.

The thirteen-year-old practically barreled into Gaby and grabbed at her waist, almost knocking her over. It was a good thing Milly was barely eighty pounds soaking wet, or she might have sent both of them tumbling to the floor.

She put a hand around the girl’s neck and hugged her back briefly. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Milly said. “Where’s Peter?”

“Peter’s gone.”

“‘Gone’?” She squinted up at Gaby. “Gone where?”

“He’s gone,” Gaby said again, hoping the girl would understand.

Milly did. Or she understood enough to frown.

“This is Claire and Donna,” Gaby said. “We’re leaving this city, okay?”

Milly nodded back mutely.

The kids had stopped screaming, but some were still sniffling. The women held them, fear and anger flashing across their faces as Gaby and the three girls moved toward the doors. They, like the windows around them, were reinforced with slabs of wood, with burglar bars on the outside.

“Keep moving to the door,” Gaby said. She picked up the shotgun from the bar counter as they passed it by. The woman glared at her but didn’t say anything. “Move from that stool and I shoot you, understand?”

The woman didn’t respond, but she “understood,” all right.

“Claire, the rifle,” Gaby said.

Claire rushed forward and picked up the AK-47 from the dead man. She already looked ridiculous lugging the Winchester around, but now with the assault rifle too, the sight of her was almost comical.

Gaby turned around and backpedaled after the girls. She scanned the faces looking back at her. Some of the children were still crying, and others had their faces buried in the women’s chests.

“Tell Harrison not to come after us,” Gaby said loudly.

No one responded.

Donna had already led Claire and Milly outside. Gaby walked backward, careful not to step over the dead man (or into blood spreading out like tentacles from under his still body) and slipped through the opening. She was instantly reassured by the warmth of the bright sun (It’s still light out, thank God) splayed against her back.

Donna pushed the doors closed as soon as Gaby stepped outside. “What now?”

“We head south. After that, we’ll figure it out. You lead the way.”

She tossed the shotgun down on the sidewalk and took the AK-47 from Claire. They jogged across the street after Donna, who was already moving swiftly ahead with the heavy supply bag slung over one shoulder. She was definitely stronger than she looked.

Gaby glanced back at the VFW building, expecting the doors to open and the adult women to rush outside, guns blazing. Maybe they had hidden the guns somewhere and were scrambling for them now. Or maybe they had run to the basement and gotten the rifles down there. She wondered how they would react when they saw Peter bleeding to death down there. Did they know that was part of Harrison’s MO? Claire knew, and so did Donna. She had a hard time believing a group of adult women didn’t know, too.

I’m sorry, Peter. I’ll take care of Milly for you. I promise.

The VFW hall’s doors remained closed behind her, so she spun around before stealing a quick look down at her watch: 5:15 p.m.

Too close. We’re cutting it way too close…

* * *

They left the streets as soon as possible in case they were being pursued. Fortunately, both Donna and Claire seemed to know where they were going. The two sisters led them through alleyways, then empty buildings, stores, and even diners. Whenever Gaby thought they had run into a dead end or cul-de-sac, the girls found a side or back door or knew a way around a fence or wall.

Gaby didn’t know the path, but she knew where they were headed: south.

That was all that mattered. South took them back to Song Island.

South took her home.

South.

They spent almost thirty minutes steadily making progress toward the city limits, and the entire time Gaby could hear gunfire continuing unabated behind them. The battle seemed to just keep going and going, growing in intensity with every passing minute. She kept expecting it to die down as the fight wore on, but it never did.

Gaby kept her eyes on the sky. There were no clouds, and the sun was still bright. She guessed they had an hour, tops, before nightfall. Probably less than that. More like fifty minutes. A part of her wanted to start looking for a place to hide, but they couldn’t afford that. Not yet. Not yet.

“The soldiers,” Gaby said to Donna as the teenager guided them through a series of empty buildings near the edge of the city. “Have you ever seen them before?”

“Not these ones,” Donna said. “But I’ve seen others come through in the past. Not soldiers, but guys with guns. Some of them wore those weird CDC suits.”

She means collaborators in hazmat suits.

“They would search for supplies and keep going,” Donna continued. “We have early warning systems all over the city, so when someone shows up, we know right away. Usually we can hear the vehicles coming for miles. Harrison decides how we react—either hide from them, or if he thinks they’re easy prey, then lure them into a trap.”

Donna glanced over at her almost apologetically when she said that last part.

Like with Milly, and the boy in the darkened hallway…

She wondered whatever happened to the boy. She hadn’t seen him back at the VFW hall. Then again, she had been moving so fast, looking for adults with guns, that it wasn’t as if she had actually paid attention to the kids.

“What makes these soldiers different?” she asked.

“Harrison says they’re here for something and we have to stop them. But he always says that when he wants us to do something dangerous. It’s always ‘we this,’ ‘we that.’ He’s good at rallying the troops.”

“But not you.”

Donna shook her head. “Harrison’s a bullshit artist. He’s out for himself, and he’s just using the rest of us to do it. Claire and me, and a lot of the others back there, just go along with it because it’s safer in there than out here.”

Gaby nodded and didn’t ask anymore. She didn’t blame the sisters for siding with Harrison. Donna was right. It was easier to survive in there, even under Harrison’s thumb, than out here alone with just the two of them.

I would probably do the same.

They stopped to rest inside a Sonic Drive-In and Gaby looked out the front windows at train tracks. There were a couple of houses scattered on the other side of the streets and more businesses to the left and right of them. She listened, but the only sounds were the distant echoes of gunshots behind her.

Donna pointed at a two-lane highway with wide shoulders that ran across the tracks. “That’s Route 13. It’s got other names, but we just called it Lucky 13.”

“Lucky 13?” Gaby said.

“You know, teenagers. Anyways, it leads straight through the countryside. Lots of fields, farms, that kind of stuff. On the other end is Interstate 10.”

“How far?”

“About thirty miles. It’d be easier and faster if we had a car.”

“You know where to get one that still works?”

“Harrison has garages around the city where he stashes working vehicles and gasoline.”

“Back in the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Any of them close to us now?”

Donna thought about it, then shook her head. “No, sorry. I should have told you about them earlier.”

“It’s my fault for not asking you sooner,” Gaby said. Then, “What’s between here and I-10?”

“Not a whole lot, unless you count farms. Guys from town used the highway for drag racing because it’s essentially thirty miles of nothing. Sometimes the farmers complain, but most of the time they don’t care. The Dunbar cops don’t bother going out that far, either.”

Gaby looked over at Milly, crouched silently next to her. The girl was glancing over her shoulder. At first Gaby thought she was listening to the fading gunfire but quickly realized Milly was turned in the direction where she assumed Peter was at the moment. Gaby didn’t want to tell her that after all the back alleys and side streets and zigzag turns they had taken, Milly was looking in the wrong direction.

Instead, she put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Milly pursed her lips into an attempted smile. “Peter wanted me to get you to the island,” Gaby said. “And that’s what I’m going to do, okay?”

Milly nodded back in silence before looking away again.

“Okay,” Gaby said. “Let’s go. Once we’re out of the city limits, we need to start looking for a place to stay the night, so keep your eyes open.”

The others nodded.

Gaby lifted her M4 and slipped out through the Sonic’s glass doors. The three teenagers followed closely behind her with no one saying a word.

Behind them, the shooting continued in sporadic bursts, but now there were noticeably long lulls between sustained volleys. The gunfight was almost over. Gaby wondered who was winning before deciding that she didn’t care. They could all go to hell as long as she was on her way south…

* * *

The darkening sky was like a physical heaviness trying to bury her along the shoulder of the road. She pushed on with the girls because there was no other choice. They couldn’t turn back now. It was much too late for that. They had to keep going forward.

South.

Toward home.

Claire walked with the Winchester in her hands, looking every bit like a soldier. Her sister Donna remained up front, leading the way, even though there wasn’t really much in the way of navigation. There was only forward. Milly kept pace alongside Gaby but was flagging with every passing minute. Pretty soon, the girl was going to ask to sit down to rest. Gaby kept waiting to hear those words and was surprised she never did.

Maybe she’s tougher than I give her credit for.

The shooting behind them had mostly faded with time and distance. There were still occasional echoes, but it took a lot of effort to actually pick them out of the silence now. Instead of focusing on what was back there, she had been concentrating on what was around them. Or, to be more specific, what wasn’t around them.

Gaby searched for a building, a house, or a store. Hell, even a shack. Someplace where they could get out from under the open skies.

Too close. We’re cutting it too close…

Donna wasn’t wrong when she said there wasn’t much between Dunbar and I-10. Route 13 was barren and low to the ground. The highway was surrounded by vast, flat, and empty scenery, and they were still too close to town to spot any farmland, not to mention the houses (shelter) that would be sitting on them. There were also no vehicles in sight. She hadn’t spotted a car since they left the city behind twenty minutes ago.

“Donna,” Gaby said. “We need to find shelter.”

Donna nodded and glanced around them, turning a full 360 degrees. Gaby could practically see the gears turning inside the girl’s head.

“Donna,” Gaby said. “We need a place.”

“I’m thinking,” Donna said.

“Think faster,” Claire said, sneaking a look at the darkening clouds above them.

“Shut up already,” Donna said. Then, after a while, she turned to Gaby. “Okay, I know a place. It’s not far from here, but you might not like it.” And at Claire, “You’re definitely going to hate it.”

“I can take it if you can,” Claire said.

“We’ll see.”

“Does it have a basement?” Gaby asked.

“It sort of has a basement,” Donna said.

“Sort of?”

Donna shrugged. “We don’t have a whole lot of choices, do we? It’ll be dark in half an hour.”

“Okay,” Gaby nodded reluctantly. “Take us there.”

Donna led them over to the ditch, then down into it and back up again onto the other side. They followed her across flat, undeveloped land for five, then ten minutes. With every step they left the highway behind, but there was no way to leave the graying sky above them. It chased them wherever they went, undeterred and inevitable.

* * *

Donna wasn’t kidding when she said they might not like the place she had in mind.

It was a cemetery.

Milly’s face grew paler as they neared the wrought-iron fences that surrounded the place. They walked alongside it for a minute or so before entering through the open front gates with a big sign that read, “Dunbar City Cemetery.”

Donna seemed to know exactly where she was going.

“How far?” Gaby asked.

“Not too far now,” Donna said. She glanced over at Claire. “So?”

“So what?” Claire said, putting as much defiance into her voice as possible. Gaby thought she wasn’t entirely successful.

“You scared yet?”

“No.”

“We’ll see.”

Donna led them off the main pathway and across the grass, all four of them moving with obvious urgency. No one had to say it. Not Gaby, and not Donna. Even Claire and Milly knew that time was running out for them. If it wasn’t the skies above them, it was the tombstones jutting out from the weed-infested ground, along with the long-dead flowers and personal keepsakes scattered nearby.

How appropriate would it be if everything ended here tonight? It would be poetic if it weren’t so damn depressing.

Gaby pushed the thought away and concentrated on the steps ahead of her instead, doing her best to ignore all the reminders of the dead and the grieving from their loved ones around them.

“How much farther?” she asked Donna.

“There.” Donna pointed at a white structure flanked by two large trees that looked like ancient sentries that had been there long before man and would remain there long after.

Oh God. She wasn’t kidding.

It was a crypt, and it was made of either concrete or white marble. She had a hard time distinguishing the material under the fading light. It wasn’t particularly big, maybe the size of a small backyard shack. The front entrance was shaped into an arch and a rusted-over metal gate covered the front doors. “Evans” was engraved at the top in Roman alphabet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gaby said.

“Hey, it’s the only thing I could think of,” Donna said. She turned to her sister. “So? You still not scared?”

“No,” Claire said, though this time she didn’t have a prayer of making it sound the least bit convincing.

“How are we going to get inside that thing?” Gaby asked.

“There’s a key,” Donna said.

“You have a key to a crypt in a cemetery?”

“No, but I know where they keep it. Well, these guys I know.” Donna hurried over to one of the trees and crouched in front of it. She groped the ground around its base, pushing aside blades of overgrown grass. “It should be buried around here somewhere…”

Buried. She just said ‘buried’ in a cemetery.

Gaby waited for Donna to give her a hint that she had used ‘buried’ on purpose, a pun to break the ice. But she didn’t.

She looked over at Milly, whose face had grown deathly pale during the walk from the front gates to the crypt. Even the usually taciturn Claire looked just a little bit disturbed as they watched Donna rooting about the grass.

“Eureka!” Donna said. She stood up and brushed dirty hands on her shorts. “I thought someone might have taken it for a moment.”

She gave Gaby a half-terrified, half-elated grin before walking to the crypt and sticking a large old key into the lock and twisting it. The gate unlatched with a loud craaaank, like giant metal cogs grinding against each other. The painfully brown metal bars squeaked loudly as Donna pulled at them.

Gaby gave her a hand. It was heavy, like pushing boulders.

“You guys, um, played here?” Gaby asked.

“Not really, well, played,” Donna said, grunting with the effort while trying to hide a bit of embarrassment at the same time.

She means they made out here. And...other stuff.

With the gate open, all Donna had to do was push the thick doors of the crypt inward. These, surprisingly, moved without much effort. They looked inside, using what little light was left to make sure the place was empty. Not that Gaby expected it not to be. Who would be hiding in there, with the doors locked? The place gave off the smell of an enclosed space that had been sealed for almost a year—maybe even longer.

It was surprisingly roomy inside, with a large rectangle-shaped concrete block in the center. There were none of the cobwebs or scampering bugs she always envisioned invading crypts like these. It looked amazingly well-kept, the people who owned it clearly having shown great care with whoever lay inside the coffin at the moment.

She looked back at Milly and Claire. They stared back at her, perhaps hoping she had changed her mind. “Let’s go, girls.”

The two girls stepped inside first, Milly groping the walls for support. They went all the way into the back, keeping as much distance from the coffin as possible. Gaby and Donna pulled the heavy metal gate closed after them. Donna stuck her hand out between the bars and locked it back up. She had clearly done all of this before. They stepped into the crypt and pushed the doors closed from the other side.

Gaby was prepared for it, but as darkness enveloped her inch by inch, she felt dread rushing down her body anyway.

We’re inside a crypt. We’re going to hide from the night inside a pitch-black crypt.

God help us.

Somewhere in the darkness, Milly might have sniffled. Then Gaby heard a click just before the beam of an LED light splashed across the walls, then illuminated the coffin and Donna, who was standing nearby. Claire was holding a small flashlight in the back.

“Where did you get that?” Donna asked.

“It’s the same one I always carry with me,” Claire said.

“Since when?”

“Since forever.”

“Let me have it.”

“It’s mine. Get your own.”

Donna sighed at Gaby, as if to say, “See what I have to deal with?”

Gaby smiled back. This very human moment was a welcome absurdity when they were trapped—voluntarily, too—inside a crypt with a dead body. How old was the body, anyway? And was it a man or a woman? Maybe they should find—

I’m going to throw up.

She unslung her pack and weapons, needing to move, to be doing something so she wouldn’t entertain more idiotic thoughts like opening up a coffin to find out who was inside it. Claire helpfully shined her flashlight over so Gaby could see what she was doing.

She pulled out the bags of MREs and handed the girls one each. “Be careful with them. They can be pretty messy. Claire, help everyone with the flashlight. Why don’t we all sit together so Claire doesn’t have to move around too much?”

They moved to the very back and sat down on the floor. Claire’s flashlight appeared as Gaby opened her MRE.

At least the room didn’t smell too bad. There was a musty aroma, but none of the death stench she was expecting. Did all crypts smell this…nice?

“You, uh, played in here?” Gaby asked Donna.

“It’s really not that bad,” Donna said, again with just a shade of embarrassment. “It doesn’t smell at all. You’d think a room with a dead body would smell, right?”

“It’s probably the coffin. It keeps the body from the elements, so it doesn’t…you know.”

“I guess.”

“No one ever found you guys out?”

“Nah. We always cleaned up after ourselves and we only came here at night. There’s not a lot of people here at nights.”

Gee, I wonder why.

“Where’d you get the key?” she asked. She didn’t really need to know, but she felt it necessary to stave off the silence for as long as possible.

“It’s a copy,” Donna said. “This guy we know used to work here one summer. He made a duplicate and after he went off to college, it sort of became a thing within our group. Anyone who wants to use it can. Pretty cool, right?”

If you like making out in crypts while surrounded by the decaying bodies of other people’s dead loved ones, then yeah, it’s pretty cool.

She said instead, “I guess so.”

“I mean, there’s not a lot to do in Dunbar,” Donna said.

There’s less to do now.

“You guys lived in the city?” she asked.

“We had a farm about two miles on the other side of town. Dad, me, and Claire. Our mom passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, she was the lucky one, as it turned out. I guess we’ve always kind of been stuck around Dunbar our whole lives.” Donna paused for a moment to eat, the sound of chewing and the (grateful) aroma of food filling the crypt. “I was really looking forward to getting out of town, too,” Donna said after a while. “I guess better late than never.”

They didn’t say much after that, and there was just the sound of everyone eating.

After a few minutes of silence and darkness, Gaby heard Milly crying softly next to her. She put an arm around the girl and was glad Claire hadn’t shined the flashlight at them to see what was happening. She knew enough to give them their privacy.

Gaby squeezed Milly’s shoulder tightly and thought of Peter.

Probably dead now, back in the VFW basement. If not from his injuries, then when Harrison went back and found him. Or if not Harrison, then whomever he was fighting with and had killed him and his men.

There was another soft click from somewhere in the darkness, then Lara’s familiar voice, slightly muffled by the recording, reverberated against the hard walls around them:

“To any survivors out there, if you’re hearing this, you are not alone. There are things you need to know about our enemy—these creatures of the night, these ghouls…”

Gaby smiled and thought of Song Island.

South leads home.

Go south, young girl…

15

Will

“Looks like this party’s going to go all night,” Danny said. “Are you sure our invitation didn’t get lost in the mail?”

“Anything’s possible,” Will said.

“This is why you should always tip your friendly neighborhood mailman during Christmas. That, or invite him in for tea.”

“I always knew you were a teabagger.”

“I’ll try anything once. Or thrice.”

The gunfight had raged on for the better part of two hours, with Will and Danny content to watch (and listen) from the safety of Gaine’s Meat Market. The sniper on the rooftop of Tom’s Billiard across the street had left, replaced by two men with AR-15s who fired up the street at the soldiers, the clink-clink-clink of their empty brass casings pelting the street below them like never-ending raindrops. The two down on the sidewalk were also gone, and a woman with a ponytail firing calmly with an M4 had taken over.

Every now and then Will saw figures in civilian clothes running up and down the streets that were visible from his limited angle behind the window. They were almost always moving in pairs, all of them well armed, and he often saw them talking into radios. Which told him these weren’t complete amateurs. Either they had been well trained or they had been out here surviving long enough to know how to fight as a unit.

Or, well, a unit-ish.

He was never going to mistake them for a Ranger battalion, that was for sure. Like Josh’s soldiers, these were civilians playing at being weekend warriors. That didn’t make them completely incompetent, but he had seen real soldiers, and these weren’t them.

About an hour ago, they heard footsteps moving on the rooftop above them. The man (or woman) stayed up there for almost thirty minutes, pouring fire up the street. Eventually, he (or she) left, too, maybe for a better position elsewhere. The locals were moving around like busy bees, never staying in one place for too long.

The phrase “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” flitted across his mind throughout the two hours, but he had learned not to put too much stock in strangers with assault rifles. They could turn on you at a moment’s notice, especially given the number of fighters he saw just outside his window alone. From the intensity and spread-out nature of the chaos, there were more of them across the city. The fact that they were fighting the ghoul collaborators from multiple angles was further proof these were dangerous people not to be underestimated.

And maybe the enemy of my enemy is also my enemy…

“You getting flashbacks, too?” Danny said after a while.

Will smiled across the window at him. “Just a little bit.”

They were intimately familiar with the whole scenario playing out before them. The fact that the faux soldiers were clearly outnumbered and outmatched, fighting in a city they didn’t know, facing what, from all appearances, were people who called this place home. People who knew all the angles and how to get to all the rooftops.

It’s Afghanistan all over again. Minus the camels.

“It’s almost just as hot, too,” Danny said, pulling at his shirt collar for effect. “The only thing missing? That wonderful goat smell. Of course, you’re making up for it.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“I’d settle for you taking a shower once per century.”

“Yeah, well, can’t do anything about that now.”

Danny snorted. “Guess not. Who you think’s winning, anyway?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d put money on the locals.”

“That seems kind of wrong.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I’m no fan of Josh’s boys, but still… Uniforms and everything. I’m partial to a man in uniform, but don’t tell Carly.”

“Mum’s the word.”

The fight continued, gunshots like firecrackers, the insistent pop-pop-pop without end. But this gunfight had been going on for some time, which meant the soldiers were dug in, the strip mall parking lot they were calling a base likely providing plenty of protection. Was that on purpose? Had someone chosen that spot for its defensive capabilities? Probably not. He hadn’t found the collaborators to be especially good at tactics. Then again, Kellerson had been pretty smart, and Will was quickly learning not to underestimate Josh.

Not that the fight was going to last for very long either way. Well defended or not, the soldiers were at a great disadvantage. They were pinned in, and sooner or later Dunbar’s fighters would get just close enough to finish it. He could already see the locals surging up the street, taking over new buildings as they pushed forward. Already, the fight had almost completely abandoned their window, and they were now listening instead of watching what was happening.

Will glanced down at his watch: 5:52 p.m.

“They’re cutting it close,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Speaking of which, we got a place to go when it’s night-time time?”

Will looked around the room. He had been thinking about that, too, especially since it was becoming obvious they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. “This room looks decent. Barricade the door and window. Push comes to shove, there’s the bathroom.”

“Hide in a bathroom with you all night?” Danny wrinkled his noise. “Talk about torture.” Then, “The kids still going at it out there? I can’t see them anymore.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I guess they really, really want to kill Josh’s boys.”

“Or maybe they’re just really curious about what’s in that U-Haul, too.”

Danny smirked. “You and the U-Haul. Remind me never to ask you to help me move.”

Will peeked up at the darkening skies above them. Patches of shadows were spreading and the sun was dipping in the horizon like a giant orange ball. “Thirty minutes before nightfall. Give or take.”

“Checked in with your girlfriend on the radio yet?”

“Aw, hell, I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me—”

The crack! of a rifle cut him off.

It had been a few minutes since he last heard or saw anyone firing nearby, with the fight having progressed up the street, so the shot made Will instinctively jerk his head away from the window just as a neat hole appeared in the glass pane in front of him. The bullet kept going and embedded itself into the ceiling across the room. The point of impact had been so clean that the glass somehow managed not to break apart.

Will was twisting backward and almost fell. He turned his rifle into a crutch at the last second and just barely managed to stay on his feet.

Danny was already spinning away from the wall on the other side of the window and was firing down, shattering the glass panes as he squeezed off two, then three shots at whoever was down there.

Danny stopped shooting and pulled back. “You hit?”

Will reached up and wiped at a trickle of blood on his forehead. A small cut, barely a graze. “I’m good, I’m good.”

“You don’t look so good.” Danny grinned, adding, “Oh, wait, never mind. That’s just how you normally look.”

“Tell me you got him, pretty boy.”

“I dunno. He was pretty fast.”

A loud series of gunfire from outside was proof that Danny had missed. The remains of the window exploded, showering them with pieces of glass. Danny yelped and dived to the floor before crawling away on his hands and knees. Will backed away as fast as he could, the zip-zip-zip of bullets slashing through the air around him.

Through the sound of shooting, Will picked up the unmistakable noise of pounding footsteps rushing toward them from the other side of the door. He spun around, dipped to the floor on one knee, and lifted his M4A1.

He waited one second, two—

The doorknob started to turn.

He fired, stitching the door with the carbine on full-auto. Left to right, then right to left, putting bullets in the walls around the door as well as the door itself just in case there were more than one and they were waiting in a stacking formation. That’s what he and Danny would do if it were them out there.

He heard the telltale sounds of falling bodies and the clatter of weapons against wooden floor.

“Go go go!” Will shouted.

“Gee, and here I was going to take a nap!” Danny shouted back.

Danny scrambled up to his feet and raced to the big comfortable felt chair and snatched up his pack and slipped it on. He took aim at the door as Will jogged over and did likewise with his own pack. It was stuffed with emergency rations and ammo, but the rest of their supplies were in two other, thicker bags still on the floor.

The shooting behind them from outside the window had stopped.

“Radio?” Will said.

“I got it,” Danny said. “Plus, some more Oberto.”

“Seriously, how many of those did you bring?”

“That’s for me to know and eat, and for you to look on enviously. The rest?”

“Ditch them.”

Danny stood up and moved toward the door. He threw it open and Will slipped out into the darkened hallway first, stepping over two crumpled forms in jeans and T-shirts. Local fighters. He was careful to step around their pooling blood, too.

The stairs were down the hall in front of him, and he glided toward them now, listening for more footsteps besides his own and Danny’s. They weren’t really just going to send two into the building after them, were they? If so, whoever was in charge was either very confident or was strapped for manpower. After two hours of slugging it out with Josh’s soldiers, maybe the locals had suffered their own share of casualties. He could only hope.

Either way, visibility was minimal without any source of light inside the narrow hallway, but he was lucky his eyes had adjusted to the state of semidarkness inside the room while he was watching the show outside for the last few hours. Somewhat, anyway.

He heard it: The muffled sounds of someone speaking through a radio floating up from the first floor.

The building was split into two sections—the store below and living quarters on the second, accessible only by stairs in the back of the property. To get to it, you had to move through a kitchen with linoleum tiles.

He heard the squeaks of tennis shoes racing across those same tiles now.

Will made it to the top of the stairs and looked down just as two figures appeared below him with rifles aiming up in his direction. They fired as soon as he poked his head out into the open, and the newel directly in front of him shattered, slivers of wood flashing around his head like missiles.

He pulled his head back, then stuck the M4A1 out into the open space and squeezed off a burst. He didn’t expect to hit anyone, but scattering them was just as good. He was rewarded with more squeaking noises as the two below scrambled for cover.

Danny was crouched behind him, keeping a safe distance. “How many?”

“Two.”

“Not so bad.”

“They have position on us and they can afford to wait us out.”

“That’s bad.”

“Any other way outta here?”

“There’s a catwalk behind us that might work.”

“Go for it,” Will said, leaning around the staircase again. He glimpsed a head mirroring his action at the bottom of the stairs and opened fire, shredding a part of the handrail but missing the patch of sweaty dark hair completely.

He pulled back and listened to more muffled voices communicating back and forth below him. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded as if someone was giving an order and someone didn’t want to follow it.

Weekend warriors.

Danny had moved toward the other end of the hallway and Will backpedaled after him now, reloading his rifle as he went. He kept both eyes on the stairs in front of him the entire time, ears open for the familiar squeaking of shoes. He stopped briefly when he stepped into a pool of blood, cursing as he changed directions to circle around the dead bodies.

“We good?” he asked, just loud enough for Danny to hear.

“Getting good,” Danny said. A window opened and there was a brief silence for about five seconds, then, “You waiting for an invitation?”

Will turned around and ducked under the open window and stepped out onto the metal catwalk. Danny was already racing down the stairs below him, toward the familiar back alley of Gaine’s Meat Market. Will knew it was getting darker from the second-floor window, but actually being outside and underneath the blackening skies told him he had underestimated the approaching nightfall.

Shit. This is gonna be tight…

He had been hoping they could hole up inside Gaine’s until morning. It wouldn’t have been an ideal situation, but given the gunfight outside and the need to find Gaby, who was probably still in the city somewhere (he hoped, anyway), leaving Dunbar now wasn’t in the plan.

All that was out the window now after being discovered.

And now the sun was almost gone. What else could go wrong?

Cutting it close. Way too close.

A flicker of motion caught his attention just before a shadow appeared over one of the handrails down the hallway. Will flicked the M4A1’s fire selector to semi-auto and waited patiently.

One second…

…two…

…three…

A head appeared up the stairs, peeking out curiously.

Will shot the man square in the forehead and watched the body disappear back down the stairs, the thump-thump of a full-bodied adult male sliding his way down each step until he finally landed at the very bottom.

“You coming?” Danny called from below.

Will slung his rifle and raced down as Danny pulled security in the alleyway. From back here, the only path was forward into the street. Will hopped the last few meters and landed behind Danny.

“Took you long enough,” Danny said.

“Great view, I was just enjoying myself.”

“Yeah, well, save that for your own time, buddy.” He glanced at his watch and his face darkened. “Gotta be scootin’, scooter. We’re gonna be SOL in a few minutes unless Mister Sun decides to stay put.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Way to be optimistic.”

“Fuck optimism,” Will said, slipping his rifle free, and together they moved toward the mouth of the alley.

The snap and pop of gunfire from up the street continued, though they were now coming at a much slower pace. Will imagined whoever was in charge of the locals were caught at two fronts—he and Danny down the street, and Josh’s soldiers further up. The fact that they had only sent, as far as he could tell, three men was proof of that.

Then again, you know what happens when you assume…

Danny peeked his head out and scanned the street while Will looked back up at the catwalk behind them. There was still one more man up there, though it was probably a fifty-fifty chance he would continue onto the second floor alone. The smart move would be to backtrack and wait for reinforcements. He wondered how smart (or suicidal) the man was.

“Anything?” Will said.

“Looks clear,” Danny said.

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure. Well, mostly sure.”

“Good enough.”

Quick movement as a head poked out of the window above him. Will fired, but the man pulled his head back inside just in time, and Will’s bullet harmlessly chopped loose some pieces of brick.

Suicidal, then.

“That’s our cue,” Danny said, slipping out onto the sidewalk.

Will followed and they turned right, moving away from the fighting.

“We need to find shelter,” Will said.

“Thanks for that suggestion. And here I was gonna run around like a moron for the next thirty minutes. What would I ever do without you?”

“I’m glad you finally realize that.”

“It’s Lara’s fault. She’s been filling my head with how great you are and shit. Frankly, I think she’s delusional.”

Danny turned left and darted across the empty street, then skirted around a large six-wheel gas tanker with “Shell” written across its side parked in the middle of the road. Will was following him when—

Ping! A bullet ricocheted off the side of the tanker and disappeared into the wall of a coffee shop.

“Incoming!” Will shouted, ducking and sliding behind the large vehicle for cover.

“Ya think?” Danny said.

Bullets slammed into the other side of the tanker, the ping ping ping! ringing out one after another after another. More rounds missed the vehicle entirely (how that was possible given its size, Will couldn’t fathom) and slammed into the sidewalk and street around them instead.

Danny dropped, hugging the road, then peered underneath the small space that separated the gas tanker and asphalt.

“How many?” Will asked.

“Three,” Danny said, rising back up.

“How far?”

“Sixty meters, give or take. Now would be a good time to flex some of that mush you call brain muscle.”

Will was about to do just that when he realized that his shadow was gone and the suffocating heat had lessened noticeably. He didn’t have to spend a precious second or two looking at his watch, either. An inky black coating had fallen over the streets and the last trace of sunlight had dissipated almost entirely.

Ah, shit…

“We gotta get out of the streets,” Will said. “Danny—”

“Bar,” Danny said, nodding at a building called Ennis further up the sidewalk. “They always have basements in bars, right? To store the beer and kegs and peanuts and all that good stuff?”

“You better hope so. Go!”

Danny went first and Will followed, ignoring the persistent ping ping ping! from behind him.

Ennis looked intact, and the door opened without a fight. The tables and counters had been put to use recently, and Will guessed the beer tap was either empty or had gone bad. Old bags of peanuts were scattered about the place, and someone had been using the custom-made coasters as Frisbees.

Danny flicked on his flashlight. He had slung his rifle and drawn his Glock, moving cautiously toward a back hallway. Will kept pace behind him, keeping his eyes on the front door. He could barely see the street anymore with the gloom that had fallen outside.

“The best laid plans of mice and men…”

The locals had stopped shooting, probably realizing Will and Danny were no longer at the gas tanker. Either that, or they had taken a look at the sky and realized for themselves what was about to happen. You didn’t survive for this long without knowing when to run and when to stick around, especially in the evenings. More than he and Danny, it was entirely possible the locals had simply lost track of time. Anything and everything was possible during the heat of battle, and the locals had been fighting Josh’s soldiers for a few hours straight now.

There was a metal door at the end of the hallway, the smooth surface glinting against Danny’s flashlight. “Nice,” Danny said. “Looks like a tough little hombre.”

“Does it open?”

“Of course it opens. Why wouldn’t it—” He grabbed the lever and twisted it, but the door didn’t budge. “Aw, shit.”

“No?”

“Locked.”

“That’s not good.”

“I’d say it’s fucking awful myself, but ‘not good’s’ good too, I guess.”

It had gotten even more miserably dark in front of Will, and in the same instant he noticed that, he also heard a sudden burst of gunfire and something else. Something loud and sharp, like a knife slicing through the heart of the city.

Screaming.

“You hear that?” Will said.

“I got ears, so yeah,” Danny said, his voice dropping slightly.

Will scanned the hallway and saw two rooms. One was marked “Office,” the other “Bathroom.” He moved toward them and tapped on the office door. Solid wood, which was good. He knocked on the bathroom door and got back a dull, satisfying thud.

Metal. Much better.

“Bathroom,” he said, and pushed the door open just as he caught movement coming from the front of the bar out of the corner of his right eye.

Will spun and squeezed off a burst as the first ghoul lunged at him. He shredded it, but even as it collapsed, he was already opening fire at the dozen (two dozen?) that followed it inside the building, little more than moving black silhouettes coming in through the windows and doors, scrambling over chairs and tables because that was apparently faster than running around them.

“Shenanigans!” Danny shouted just before he opened fire next to Will, the loud blasts of his Glock just a bit too close for comfort.

Their silver rounds tore into the creatures, ripping through yielding flesh and shattering the windows and pecking at the walls in the background. The last of the ghoul wave fell in front of them, caking the floor with flesh and bone and black, oozing blood.

Will quickly ejected the magazine and slapped in a new one. Danny was reloading the Glock behind him. They moved on instinct, without thinking.

Then he saw it: a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him from outside the bar.

It stood tall, like a human, outside in the falling night. He thought he would have gotten used to the sight of them by now—or, at least, not be as surprised to see them anymore. That wasn’t the case, though, because they were such an anomaly. In a world overrun by undead things, these blue-eyed bastards remained freakishly supernatural in his mind.

There was something different about this one. The second he saw it, Will knew that it wasn’t Kate or even Mabry, the only two blue-eyed ghouls he had ever seen. No, this was another one entirely, which prompted him to think with more than just a little bit of dread. Jesus Christ, how many of these fuckers are running around out there?

It stood proud and tall while the other ghouls flooded across the streets and up the sidewalk and crouched and kneeled around it like children worshipping at its holy feet. There had to be hundreds of them outside now, but since the initial attack, the rest hadn’t come into the bar yet. They were forming a wall, their gathered mass blotting his view of the streets entirely until the only thing he could see was pruned black flesh moving under the growing darkness.

Will moved fast—faster than he had ever moved before, faster than he thought even he was capable of moving. He snapped the rifle up and squeezed off a single shot without the benefit of aiming—

—and hit the blue-eyed ghoul right in the shoulder.

It flinched at the impact, turned slightly, but it didn’t go down.

It didn’t go down.

Instead, it just grinned back at him.

Then the wall of black-eyed ghouls came unglued as the individual creatures broke into a run. They vomited through the windows and doors and moved like one single black entity, indistinguishable from the hundred others around them. They were not the least bit slowed down by the shards of glass clinging to the window frames that ripped into their flesh, or the bodies of the dozen or so dead already caking the floor in front of them, or even the furniture in their path.

“Aw, man, this isn’t fair,” Danny said behind him.

“Go go go!” Will shouted.

Danny pushed his way through the bathroom door as Will backed up and fired, putting ten rounds into the surging blob before he heard gunfire coming from behind him. Danny, firing, but not at the horde in front of Will—he was shooting into the bathroom.

Will knew what that meant even before Danny shouted, “No go! Bathroom’s a no go! They’re coming through the windows!”

He continued backing up, firing into the sea of ghouls. There were so many that their number suddenly became a problem as they tried, like rabid animals, to all jam themselves into the narrow passageway at the exact same time. The first creature that somehow managed to get through slipped on the congealed blood of the previous dead and flopped to the floor. But then it quickly righted itself and was moving up the hallway again, bringing more behind it.

Danny was backing up and firing beside him as the bathroom door, now in front of them, flew open and skeletal figures poured out of it. These new ones were quickly swallowed up by the unrelenting tide already pushing through the limited space. That, more than anything, was what held the creatures back, taking away their one superior asset: their sheer numbers.

Temporarily, anyway.

Danny was opening up with the M4A1 now, pouring silver rounds into the quivering mass alongside Will. The only source of light was the staccato effect of their nonstop weapons fire.

“Office!” Will shouted.

Danny spun around, but Will heard shooting behind him—again not directed up the hallway—before Danny shouted, “No go! More windows!”

Goddamn windows!

Will stepped into a pool of blood and stumbled over twisted bones that snapped apart under his boots. He ignored it, reloaded, and kept shooting.

They kept backing up, firing and moving, the creatures coming out of the office door in front of them now, too. They were so thin, their skin so weak, that the bullets punched their way through and hit one, two, sometimes three more of the undead things behind them.

But as effective as the silver ammo was, they still weren’t effective enough. At least, not against the sheer volume of cracked teeth and black eyes literally filling up the hallway, growing bigger and higher in a pile of writhing flesh and tangled limbs. The creatures stumbled and fell and stepped over each other. Blood splattered the walls and floor and even the ceiling.

And still they came, climbing over their dead.

Relentless. Murderous. Rabid.

Will emptied his magazine, shouting, “Changing!”

Danny stepped up and unloaded into the freight train of flesh and bone and brown and yellow-stained teeth. There were so many bodies now that the creatures had begun to pile on top of one another, threatening to reach all the way up to the ceiling.

“Changing!” Danny shouted.

Will resumed shooting as Danny moved behind him and reloaded. He hadn’t had time to look back to see just how close they were to the basement. A part of him didn’t want to know, because as soon as they reached it, it would signal the end, because the locked door would seal their fate.

This’ll teach me to run to the basement every time.

“Live by the basement, die by the basement.”

He almost laughed out loud. Almost.

Instead, he just concentrated his full attention on killing as many of the pressing monsters as he could. They were close. Too close. He oscillated his fire from side to side, shooting at almost point-blank range. There was a surreal quality to the sight of them toppling back one after another as they climbed up on the growing mountain of bodies. But as soon as one disappeared over the pile, another—five—ten more took its place.

Then, finally, Will felt it.

The harsh and brutal cold of the basement’s metal door pressing against his back, the chill seeping through his clothes and into his bones.

End of the line.

“Hey!” Danny shouted.

“Yeah?” he shouted back.

“You still wanna find out what’s in that U-Haul?”

Will laughed this time as he stepped back and grabbed a fresh magazine out of his pouch and slammed it into the carbine. “Hell yeah!”

Danny was laughing, too, before the sound of his M4A1 firing on full-auto swallowed up every noise in the back of the hallway, with the locked basement door at their backs and the growing cemetery of dead (again) creatures in front of them.

They kept coming and climbing, pushing the layers of their own dead forward.

Now I’ve seen everything.

Will waited for Danny to finish shooting when he heard a soft click-clack behind him. It was such a small sound that it was almost completely drowned out by Danny’s weapons fire, and Will wouldn’t have heard it at all if he weren’t standing directly against the metal basement door.

He spun around, lifted the rifle, and saw darkness gaping back at him.

The basement door was open and he could just make out the top of a flight of metal stairs leading down. But there was nothing down there—just a sea of empty blackness.

Behind him, Danny shouted, “Changing!”

“Door’s open!” he shouted.

“The fuck?”

“Let’s go!”

“You first!”

Will hurried inside and turned, waiting for Danny to dart in before he slammed the door shut. He turned the metal lever and heard the lock sliding into place a split-second before the ghouls crashed into it from the other side.

The impact staggered Will for a moment, but the door held.

They smashed into it again and again, the thoom-thoom-thoom! ear-splitting at such close proximity. The metal door and the surrounding brick wall shook and trembled with every impact, but they, too, held.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

Will turned around. Danny was already facing the stairs behind them with his rifle aimed down into the darkness.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

Will stepped up beside him. “Anything?”

“I saw movement,” Danny said. He wasn’t quite whispering, but it was close.

Will could hear his own heartbeat racing in his chest, and Danny’s next to him, despite the nonstop banging coming from behind them.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“How many?” Will whispered.

“More than one.”

“Human?”

“I couldn’t tell ya.”

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

There was a click and a bright LED flashlight beam sliced through the darkness and down the stairs, illuminating a dirty concrete floor. Danny moved his flashlight left then right, up and down, until the round beam washed over the barrel of a rifle pointing up at them.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

The figure standing behind the weapon was a woman in civilian clothes, and she wasn’t alone. Two other forms flanked her, both men, both armed. One of them, a familiar-looking lanky teenager, had an M40A3 rifle pointed up at Will’s chest. The second man was peering behind the iron sights of an M4, and Will couldn’t help but notice that the man’s forefinger was trembling slightly against the trigger.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“This brings back memories,” Danny said.

“Good ones?” Will said.

“Not so much.”

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

Will saw additional movement out of the corners of his eyes, figures (not ghouls) emerging from the darkness to their left and right. Two more on his side and a third on Danny’s. Assault rifles. Slacks and T-shirts.

Dunbar’s locals.

“This is how it’s gonna go down,” the woman said. “The two of you put down your weapons and step back, and we won’t shoot you down like dogs.”

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

Book Two

Blue Moon Rising

16

Keo

“Are we there yet?” Lorelei asked for the fifth time in the last three hours.

“Not yet,” Keo said.

“How long have we been walking?”

“Not long enough.”

“It feels like it’s been days since we stopped. Can we stop and rest again?”

“We’ve already stopped three times.”

“Yeah, but the last time was so long ago.”

“It was thirty minutes ago.”

“That’s pretty long.”

“We’re almost there.”

“That’s what you said two hours ago. Carrie, can we stop and rest a bit?”

“One more hour, okay?” Carrie said.

Lorelei groaned but said, “Okay.”

It took them most of the morning and parts of the afternoon, but after hours of walking and listening to Lorelei complaining, they finally reached the bridge he had seen on the map. The brown water below was part of a river, one of many that connected to Beaufont Lake, which would take him to Song Island. After that was the Gulf of Mexico and, if he was lucky, Santa Marie Island and Gillian.

Because you’ve been really lucky so far. Yeah, right.

Two lanes and fifty meters long, the bridge looked old and cracked. There were no helpful marinas (or boats inside them), but someone had put a trailer park next to the shoreline on their right, while the left had been converted for warehouses. A couple of wooden planks partially submerged in water was the closest thing to a dock he could find.

Keo glanced down at his watch: 1:16 p.m.

They had made better time than he thought, which was a miracle given that Lorelei was hungry every other hour. They had also spent time raiding a few convenience stores along the way, replenishing what little supplies they were carrying. Other than that, he was frankly surprised they had gotten this far in just half a day.

According to the map, there were lakeside homesteads five kilometers on the other side of the bridge. And where there were homes by a lake, there were boats attached to docks. That was the theory, anyway, one formed before he found out the ghouls’ human flunkies had been sinking boats up and down the lake. It all made sense. No wonder they sent two trucks and four men to scout the marina yesterday. A boat suddenly showing up, when they had been systematically sinking every one they crossed paths with, was a major anomaly in their world.

Still, all he needed was to find one boat, preferably a sailboat where he didn’t have to scout for fuel to run an outboard motor. What were the chances of that happening? Who the hell knew, but it beat walking the rest of the way to Texas…

As they crossed the bridge, the heat seemed to double down on them. Lorelei was drinking from another bottle of water, her third since this morning, but Keo didn’t bring it up. Lorelei eating or drinking meant the teenager was not complaining about something (her favorite topic being why they couldn’t find a working vehicle when there were so many just sitting around), or asking him to rest for a bit.

“What about those homes?” Carrie said, looking at the rows of trailers parked to their right. “Should we look for supplies in those?”

“No,” Keo said.

“You don’t think there might be anything worth salvaging? There’s an awful lot of them.”

“Nothing we couldn’t do without. Besides, we have enough on hand to get to Song Island. You still want to go there, don’t you?”

“Of course.” She gave him that earnest look again. “And thank you, Keo. For taking us there. I know you didn’t have to. You could have left us behind at the marina too, but you didn’t. I mean it. Thank you for bringing us along. Lorelei thanks you too, when she’s not stuffing herself.”

Lorelei smiled and nodded, but for once didn’t say anything. She actually blushed a bit before taking another drink of water.

“We’re not there yet,” Keo said.

“But we soon will be,” Carrie said. “Even if there’s no one there now, the fish in the lake aren’t going anywhere. We could stay there, Keo. If the creatures can’t cross the water, we could stay there indefinitely.”

“You think you can survive on an island by yourself? Just you and Lorelei?”

“You can learn to do a lot of things when you don’t have a choice.” She paused, then said, “Besides, it’s better than out here. And you could always stay with us…”

“I can’t.”

“I know. Texas.”

Galveston, he thought, but nodded instead. “Yeah.”

“What’s her name? Gillian?”

He nodded.

“She must be some woman.”

“She is.”

“I bet.”

“Hey, how much further, guys?” Lorelei said behind them.

Keo pulled out a plastic bottle of peanut butter. He had been saving it since yesterday’s raid at a Kwik-e-Stop convenience store. Keo held it out to Lorelei. “Here, have some of this.”

“Oh wow, peanut butter,” Lorelei said, taking the bottle. “I haven’t had this in ages. Thanks, Keo!”

“Here’s a spoon.” He handed her a titanium spork from one of his cargo pant pockets. “Wash it when you’re done. Thoroughly.”

“I will!” Lorelei drifted back a bit as she enthusiastically twisted open the peanut butter lid and dug in, sighing with pleasure at the smell.

“Is that peanut butter still good?” Carrie asked him with some concern.

“Should be good for up to a year.”

“You’ve been saving that up, haven’t you?”

He smiled to himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

* * *

He heard the roar of outboard motors from a kilometer away, prompting him to dart out of the small two-lane road and into the sparse grouping of trees on the other side of the ditch to his left. There was nothing on the right except undeveloped land, dried marsh, and a never-ending sentry of ancient power poles.

Route 410 was a long stretch of asphalt that ran through the countryside until it finally ended at the shoreline of Beaufont Lake, which was currently hidden in front of them though he thought he could smell the lake water already, and the air seemed a lot cooler than before.

They continued forward alongside the road, using the trees for as much cover as they would provide, which wasn’t very much at all. Every minute brought them closer to the loud motor, which was as anomalous a sound as you could get these days.

Keo saw doubt in Carrie’s face whenever he looked back. She was scared, and he guessed she had every reason to be after what she had been through. The idea was to stay clear of people—especially ones that were making so much noise—not walk right to them, which was exactly what they were doing now. Even Lorelei had gone completely silent, only occasionally picking at her nearly empty bottle of peanut butter.

After about twenty minutes of slowly walking toward the sound, they came across a group of old homes. That forced them to traverse one overgrown lawn after another, as well as skirting wooden fences with peeling paint. Most of the houses had boats in their backyards and some in the front, though the vessels didn’t look as if they could still stay afloat on the water, much less sail. Keo took mental notes of the houses they passed. There was a two-story yellow monstrosity that looked like a good last-minute option in case they needed a place to hide—or fight—from.

He glanced at his watch: 3:21 p.m.

He smelled the familiar scent of fresh lake water before glimpsing the sparkling surface of Beaufont Lake moments later, visible even in the distance thanks to the clear day. Where housing was sparse and individualized this far back from the shoreline, the ones that crowded the more expensive lakeside properties were large and inviting, with private wooden docks with boats tied to them.

Boats.

Say, brother, can you spare one of those?

The outboard motors they had heard before had begun to fade and were now moving south down the lake. There were men standing around on one of the docks, and Keo glimpsed figures moving inside a two-story red house at the end of the street. Two Jeeps were parked in the driveway, and a man with an M4 stood on a boat launch watching birds flying in a V-shape pattern high above him.

Keo counted six men in all, wearing camo uniforms similar to the ones he had killed back at the Lake Dulcet marina. And these six were just the ones he could see from his position, about a hundred meters from the shoreline.

Carrie and Lorelei leaned out from the corner of the house, and Carrie’s face turned noticeably paler at the sight of the uniforms. “Soldiers. They’re from the towns.”

“Do they all wear uniforms?” Keo asked.

“The ones I’ve seen recently, including those that tracked us down.”

Keo took out a pair of binoculars from his pack and focused on a man moving up the street toward the red house. Like the others, this one also had a patch of Louisiana on his left shoulder and a star on the right side.

“What are they doing here?” Carrie asked. “Is there a town nearby?”

“I don’t know,” Keo said. “But from what you told me, there’s not a lot around here that could sustain a population of any size for any length of time. You’d need plentiful food, supplies, and most importantly, water.”

“There’s plenty of water in the lake.”

“Not safe drinking water. You’d have to constantly boil it to kill all the microscopic organisms unless you want the entire population getting sick. That takes too much time to do by hand, which is what they’d have to do since, from what you tell me, they don’t have electricity in these places.”

“No. It’s sort of like going back to the old west. Everything’s done by hand, though they do use propane and gas to cook sometimes and I’ve seen battery-powered lamps in some of the buildings.”

“But no big machinery to treat the water. Those need electricity.”

“The town I was in definitely didn’t have electricity.”

“A spring well would be ideal. But I don’t see anything like that around here.” He shook his head. “No, this looks a lot like a staging area to me.”

“Staging for what?”

“Good question.” He thought about it for a moment, then took out the map and scanned it. “According to the map, Song Island is about fifteen miles south from here...”

“So you think there is something on Song Island after all?”

“I don’t know. It would be nice to know what these assholes are doing here, though.”

Keo put the map away and pulled back around the corner, Carrie following suit. Lorelei had retreated halfway to the end and was now searching for something along the weeds at her feet. Keo was amazed how quickly she could switch from the girl he thought at first was a mute to the chatterbox who couldn’t shut up, and now back again.

“What now?” Carrie asked in a low voice.

Keo didn’t answer right away. Things had gotten complicated. Again. First losing Zachary and Shorty, then finding himself straddled with two civilians. Now, running afoul of heavily-armed men in uniforms. Whatever happened to the guy whose biggest worry was living up to the motto of “See the world. Kill some people. Make some money”?

Damn. I really have gone soft.

“Keo?” Carrie said. She was watching him closely. “What do we do now? Are we still going to Song Island?”

“We need a boat for that,” he said. “I’m not sure we’re going to find another one down the shoreline. If they really have been sinking boats up and down the state, they’d keep just what they need. The ones out there might be it.”

“They’re not just going to give us one—” She stopped herself. “Oh.” Then, “You’re crazy. There are too many of them.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

She stared at him in silence for a moment. “Are you being serious right now?”

A sharp zip! made him look back toward the corner.

Carrie opened her mouth to say something, but he quieted her with a finger to his lips. Behind her, Lorelei physically snapped her mouth closed, and her entire body started trembling noticeably.

Keo gripped the MP5SD and moved back over, then slowly leaned around the corner of the house. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t one of the “soldiers” standing with his back to them just three meters away, pissing into a dying garden. How the hell had the man crept up on them, unnoticed until now?

Sunlight bounced off the man’s smooth and completely bald head, and he was humming some pop song Keo vaguely remembered as being popular before radio stations stopped broadcasting entirely. He was swaying a five-ten body from left to right and spreading a generous stream of urine over the shriveled flowers at his feet.

Keo leaned back and reconnected with Carrie’s anxious eyes. He shook his head and slipped the submachine gun behind his back, then reached down and pulled the Ka-Bar knife out of the leather sheath strapped to his left hip.

Carrie tensed while Lorelei groped for her hand and held on.

The crunch-crunch of heavy boots on brittle grass sounded from around the corner. The noise was coming toward them, a realization that struck Keo a second before the man actually walked by while still zipping up his pants.

Either Lorelei or Carrie must have let out a gasp, because as soon as the man appeared next to them, he spun around, right hand abandoning his zipper and reaching for his holstered sidearm.

Keo lunged, and he didn’t have all that far to go before he could shove the very sharp point of the Ka-Bar upward. The knife pierced the man’s chin, slicing through a generous layer of fat, and kept going until it penetrated the bottom of the soldier’s mouth and sliced through his tongue. The seven-inch blade didn’t stop its momentum until the knife guard banged against skin.

Keo slipped behind the falling man, grabbing the pudgy figure around the waist. He caught the body as it went completely slack and lowered it to the ground before leaning the man against the wall of the house.

The girls had stepped back, Lorelei with her hands over her mouth to fight back a scream. Carrie looked stunned, but fine. At least, until Keo pulled the Ka-Bar out of the man’s head—“Lewis” was written on his nametag—and there was a surprisingly loud slurp as blood poured freely out of the skewered chin.

Carrie made a gurgling noise before throwing up into the grass.

* * *

There were houses along the shoreline, and from what he could tell, the soldiers were only staying at the two-story red building. So he made the decision to move sideways with Carrie and Lorelei instead of retreating back up Route 410 and found a house about 300 meters from their last spot (and the dead body currently occupying it).

It was a small white house, quaint compared to its neighbors, with a dirt driveway and an old red pickup parked up front. They hurried across the backyard and entered through a sliding glass kitchen door. Keo went in first with his MP5SD, Carrie and Lorelei following close behind.

He was surprised the women hadn’t put up more of a fight when he suggested this course of action. He was almost sure they would battle him tooth and nail, the idea of sticking around in a place filled with soldiers almost as deplorable as being captured by them again, but they hadn’t. Keo wasn’t sure if that was because they trusted him (go figure) or if they were too shocked by what he had done to the soldier to think straight.

Either way, he was glad for the lack of drama. Working behind enemy lines was nothing new for him, but he preferred a quiet area of operation when possible. He had been doing this, in one form or another, since he was twenty-one. The organization paid good money for people who were willing to throw their lives away for a hefty paycheck. It wasn’t as if he was good at anything else.

“See the world. Kill some people. Make some money.”

Like its exterior, the inside of the house wasn’t much to look at. The kitchen was tiny, as were the living room and a single bedroom on the other side. A wooden rickety dock extended from the side of the house into the lake, so walking on dirt was entirely unnecessary. There was nothing attached to the end of the dock, though he did find two fiberglass paddles leaning against the wall next to the side glass door.

Carrie and Lorelei were searching the cupboards in the kitchen for supplies when he returned. “Anything?” he asked them.

“Nothing worth taking,” Carrie said. She stopped what she was doing and looked out the glass window. “What are we doing here, Keo? Shouldn’t we be running?”

“Run where?”

“Away from here.”

“There are only two directions to go—here or back up the road. Once they discover the body, and they will sooner or later, they’ll launch a full-scale search. When that happens, they’ll spot us from a mile away. There’s nowhere to hide out there, Carrie. No place they can’t find us before nightfall.”

“And here…?”

“The less shitty of two really shitty alternatives.”

He glanced at his watch: 4:16 p.m. Keo unclipped the radio he had taken from the dead man. It hadn’t squawked yet, which meant the body was still undiscovered. He was surprised it was taking so long. Apparently the soldiers weren’t nearly as organized as he had thought.

“Why did you take the radio?” Carrie asked.

“They’re going to start communicating when they find the body,” Keo said.

“So this way we can listen in on them. Find out what they’re going to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Smart.”

He smiled. “I’ve had recent experience dealing with assholes trying to kill me.”

Keo went into the living room and sat down with his back against the wall, both eyes focused on the glass side door. Lorelei sat silently across from him, knees pulled up against her chest. She had reverted back to the frightened girl from yesterday morning at the marina. He thought he would be grateful for the quiet, but after a while he found himself missing the sound of her voice.

The radio finally squawked about five minutes later, and a man’s voice said, “Lewis is dead.” Keo picked up a lazy Southern drawl. “You should see him. Goddamn.”

“What the fuck happened?” another man asked.

“Hell if I know,” the first one said. “He’s got a big hole under his chin where someone shoved a knife up into his face.”

“Fuck.”

“What I said.”

“Everyone, sound off,” the second man said.

Keo listened to three other voices calling out on the radio as ordered.

One of them was a woman, who said, “You said Lewis is dead? How the hell did that happen? I just saw him taking a piss about twenty minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, someone clocked him while he was taking the whiz probably,” the Southerner said. “His fly’s still open. Luckily, he shoved his little Lewis in before they took him out. Thank God for small miracles.”

“Ouch, what a way to go,” someone else said, and there was laughter.

I guess Lewis wasn’t the most popular guy in the group.

“Shut the fuck up,” the second man snapped.

Must be the leader of this little sideshow.

“Everyone get back to the OP until we can figure out what happened,” the leader said.

“Travis,” the woman said.

“What?” This was the Southerner.

“Lewis’s radio. Does he still have it?”

There was a brief moment of silence before Travis finally responded. “No, it’s gone. Shit.”

“What?” the leader said. “What’s going on now?”

“Lewis’s radio is gone,” Travis said. “Whoever killed him has it.”

“That means they might be listening in on us right now,” the woman said.

Looks like there’s at least one with a working brain cell in the bunch. So why isn’t she in charge?

“Fuck,” the leader said, annoyed. “Everyone, get back here. Now. Until then, no one uses the radio.”

The radio went dead after that. Keo waited to hear more, but they had completely shut down on him. He assumed they were going to switch radio frequencies as soon as they met in person, which, again, meant they weren’t nearly as stupid as he had originally thought.

Carrie came out of the kitchen where she had been watching the back window and, probably, listening through the open door. “They found the body.”

“Uh huh,” Keo nodded.

“What now?”

“They’re probably going to start looking for us once they meet up and come up with a plan.”

“Then we should go before they get here.”

He looked out the window at the empty dock. “We’re not going to walk the rest of the way to Song Island from here, Carrie. And I’m not getting to Santa Marie Island without a boat.” He gave her his best reassuring smile. “Besides, there’s only five of them left.”

“Only five?”

“Five’s better than six. I’ve seen worse odds.”

“Really? Where?”

“Have you ever been to Kabul in the spring?”

Carrie started to answer when he held up his hand and tilted his head to listen.

“What is it?” she said instead.

“Outboard motors.” He looked back out the window. “They’re coming back. The boat that left earlier.”

“How does that help us? Doesn’t it just mean the bad guys will have more people looking for us now?”

Keo smiled.

“What are you smiling at?” Carrie asked, annoyed.

“The guys at the house are meeting in person to change their radio frequency so I can’t listen in on them anymore, remember? The ones on the boat don’t know that.”

“How can you be sure?”

He held up the radio. “I’ve been listening. There’s no way the guys on the boat know about what’s happening here. Besides, this thing has a max range of two miles.”

“I still don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“We need a boat. There just happens to be one coming toward us right now. The question is, do you trust me?”

She stared at him and didn’t answer.

“Carrie. Do you trust me?”

She finally sighed and nodded. “Do I have a choice?”

“Daebak.”

“What?”

“It means let’s get us a boat.”

* * *

It was an all-white twenty-footer with three guys inside. One stood behind the steering wheel in the center while the other two sat on a long plastic seat behind him, both cradling M4 rifles. They looked like men who had been on a long but uneventful trip and were glad to be back. The outboard motor was a Yamaha, about 200 horsepower from the sound of it, pushing the boat through the calm Beaufont Lake surface without any trouble.

It took the three men exactly fifteen seconds to spot Carrie standing at the end of the dock, waving her hands frantically over her head at them. It took them another ten seconds to slow down before he saw one of them on a radio, no doubt trying to reach someone at the house. He knew that was the intention because the radio he had picked up from Lewis squawked softly (he had turned down the volume) and he heard a male voice asking about “the woman.”

Of course no one answered, because the men at the two-story red house had already switched frequencies, though he figured they could probably hear the boat coming right about now. How long did he have before the leader switched back to the old frequency to warn the returning soldiers? Ten seconds? Twenty? This entire plan was already tenuous enough, but it was going to go straight to hell as soon as someone from the house realized what was happening.

But for some reason, no one had responded by the time the boat slowed down as it neared Carrie, who had lowered her hands to her sides and was watching the vessel approach. The two men on the seat had stood up and were clutching their rifles as they scanned the area, looking wary of an ambush.

You have no idea, boys.

He was impressed with Carrie. She had to have nerves of steel to just stand there as the boat came straight toward her. It was either insane courage, or she was too terrified to do anything else. He couldn’t see her face from his position, but he guessed it was probably a mixture of both.

The boat slowed down as it sidled up to the dock. One of the men had moved toward the bow, one hand on the gunwale to keep from toppling over. The soldier behind the tall, clear plastic windshield at the helm fixed Carrie with a hard look, hands carefully manipulating the vessel with surprising deftness.

“Don’t move!” the man behind the steering wheel shouted. “Stay right where you are!”

Carrie didn’t move or say anything back.

The third soldier had started to let his guard down. Maybe it was the sight of Carrie in her jeans and sweat-stained T-shirt, with no signs of a weapon anywhere on her. It was hard to look at the woman and think she was dangerous, especially the way she hardly moved.

Nerves of steel. Or suffocating, mortal terror.

Either/or works for me.

Keo was lying in the grass at the end of the dock, almost completely hidden among the two-foot-tall yard that grew around the house and up and down the shoreline. He watched the boat sidling alongside Carrie’s still form and the man at the bow leaping out, landing on the wooden planks in front of her.

The third man slung his rifle and threw a line to the first one, who wrapped it around a wooden post. When Keo saw the man finish wrapping the rope and pull it tight, then straightened up, he pulled the trigger and shot the man in the back.

Even before the soldier went down, Keo was already scrambling up from the warm ground.

It took the two in the boat a few seconds to realize what had happened. Keo didn’t blame them. They hadn’t heard anything—the suppressor on the MP5SD had done its job. The fact was, they had a better chance of seeing the bullet casing ejecting (if they had been looking in his direction) instead of hearing the actual gunshot.

Keo didn’t give them a chance to gather themselves.

He was on one knee, using the higher angle to aim and put the second round into the driver’s chest. The shot shattered the protective screen at the same time. The soldier stumbled back and into the third one, and the two of them went down in a tangled heap. The boat rocked but was held in place by the line.

Keo was on his feet and racing forward, shouting, “Get down! Get down!”

Carrie dropped and flattened herself against the dock as Keo ran up at full speed. He hadn’t taken his eye or the submachine gun’s red dot sight off the boat the entire time and was waiting patiently for the third man to pop back up.

One second…

…two…

There, finally.

Keo shot him once in the chest, then put a second bullet into his forehead as he was falling back down.

He reached Carrie a second later, stepped over her prone form, and checked on the first man. Dead. He swept the boat, making sure the other two weren’t going to get back up anytime soon, either.

“Lorelei!” he shouted.

The teenager burst out of the house before he even finished screaming her name. She was carrying their supply bag, which probably weighed almost as much as her. She didn’t seem to feel the extra weight, though, and he guessed that was thanks to a combination of fear and adrenaline.

Carrie scrambled back up and Keo helped her into the boat. “What about the bodies?” she asked.

“We’ll toss them later,” he said.

She looked as if she was about to throw up again but thankfully managed to keep it in this time.

The boat moved under them and Carrie had to grab at the rail for support, almost stepping on one of the dead soldiers. He waited for Lorelei, then helped her onto the boat, too. She wasn’t quite as lucky and actually stepped on the driver’s open palm.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her face pale.

“Later,” he said.

He turned, grabbed the rope, and was untying it when the first volley of gunfire sliced through the air and pelted the dock around him, the already-rotting wood disintegrating inch by inch against the barrage.

“Keo!” Carrie shouted.

He looked across the lake and at another dock seventy meters away as uniformed men fired in his direction. Bullets zip-zip-zipped past his head and sliced into the water, and more than a few drilled holes into the boat’s fiberglass side.

More men were running along the shoreline toward them, assault rifles and legs pumping wildly as they sprinted with everything they had.

Keo tossed the line back into the boat and jumped in after it, landing between Lorelei and Carrie, both crouched behind the gunwale amongst the two dead soldiers. Keo moved behind the steering wheel and grabbed the throttle and pushed it up, doing his best to ignore the fact he was standing on a dead man’s arm. It couldn’t be helped. There was only so much space inside a twenty-foot boat, especially around the cramped space around the steering console.

The boat roared to life, drowning out the sound of gunfire. Even so, he could hear the buzzing noise of bullets zipping past his head.

“Stay down!” Keo shouted.

Not that he had to. Both women looked permanently stuck against the bottom, Lorelei with her hands thrown over her head and Carrie doing her best not to look at the face of a dead man staring back at her with lifeless eyes.

The boat shot forward, fighting against his control. He got it turned around and pointed it down the lake even as bullets continued to zip-zip-zip around him, punching into different parts of the boat and vanishing into the brown water. He pushed the throttle up as far as it would go and the boat rocked, the bow lifting dangerously into the air as the motor poured on the power and the stern dipped, threatening to go under the lake’s surface.

Keo finally allowed himself to duck down into a crouch, still tightly gripping the steering wheel above him with one hand. Thank God the lake was wide enough that he didn’t have to worry about driving them right into the shoreline.

He threw a quick look back at the soldiers as they finally reached the dock he had just abandoned. A couple of the men were still firing, but the boat was already a good sixty, seventy meters away and putting more space between them with every passing second. Keo couldn’t even hear the sound of gunshots over the motor anymore, even when a bullet snapped off one of the windshield fragments in front of him and disappeared into the dashboard.

Close, but no cigar.

Soon the soldiers faded into the background, and Keo finally stood back up to take full control of the steering wheel. Carrie was rising next to him, looking back at the house. Lorelei was still on the floor, apparently having decided not to risk it, even if she was lying across a dead man’s legs.

“You okay?” he shouted at Carrie.

She nodded back. “You?”

“One piece.”

“Do we have enough gas to get to Song Island?”

He looked down at the gas gauge. It was almost at “E.”

Carrie frowned. “We’ll never make it!”

Keo nodded at the skinny trolling motor latched to the bow. “We’ll get there. It just might not be as fast as we want.” He looked up at the darkening skies and could feel Carrie tightening up next to him. “We’ll make it.”

She gave him a pursed smile. “If you say so.”

“I promise,” he shouted. “And I always keep my promises, even if it might take a while.”

17

Will

“Kate.”

“Hello, Will.”

“What are you doing here?”

She smiled at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The Kate he remembered smiled rarely. Which was how he knew all of this was a lie, even if it did feel, sound, and even smell real.

“You’re not really here,” he said.

“I’m not,” she said. “I know it’s hard to believe, Will, but I have things on my mind at the moment other than you.”

“Mabry’s keeping you busy.”

“I’m always busy.”

“Are you still in the state?”

“Maybe. But then, when has distance ever stopped the two of us? Whether you want to admit it or not, there is something that ties us together, you and I. A bond beyond the physical that you’ll never have with Lara.”

Lara…

Stop it. She can read your mind.

“Oh, Will. You still think you can keep things from me. Haven’t you learned by now? When I’m with you, I know everything. I know things you don’t even realize you know.”

“How are you in my head right now, Kate?”

“There are ways. So many ways that you can’t even imagine. What’s that saying you love so much, Will? ‘Know thy enemy’? You’ll never know us. Never really know us. Which is why you’ll never win.”

They were still in Dunbar. He knew that much. Night was falling around him, but for some reason he wasn’t anxious at all, which didn’t make any sense. Every inch of him should have been tingling at the moment, itching to get indoors. Darkness was not his friend. It hadn’t been for almost a year now.

But of course, it was just a dream. Or a figment of his imagination. Or whatever the hell Kate did when she invaded his head.

Trying to make sense of it—any of it—was pointless.

She was wearing a long white dress. It was silk or gossamer. One of those. Almost see-through, though it played tricks with his mind, the hem billowing as if it had a life of its own. She looked radiant, long black hair glimmering under the falling dusk. He couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to.

“You always were a charmer, Will,” she smiled.

She’s in your head.

He forced himself to look away from her, to take in his environment instead. Occupy his mind with other thoughts that weren’t so dangerous.

Hide his secrets…

The street looked familiar, and it took him a moment to recognize the strip mall where the soldiers and the U-Haul had taken up residence earlier in the day. Except most of the men in uniform were dead, their bodies spread around the white and orange trailer in an almost semicircle. The gunfight he had listened to with Danny was over.

This is yesterday. Why am I seeing a day that’s already happened?

A man with red hair, wearing a military vest, stood over one of Josh’s soldiers. The injured man was lying on the parking lot looking up, one bloodied hand raised in some kind of meek defense. Neither one of them seemed to noticed that Will was watching them.

So this is what it feels like to be a ghost.

The man with red hair shot the soldier in the head with a 9mm handgun. Then he calmly ejected the magazine and put in a new one before looking over at the U-Haul nearby. “Open it,” the man said.

Big mistake, Will thought, though he didn’t know why.

He heard giggling behind him and looked back at Kate. She stood a short distance away, hands clasped in front of her, a wicked, knowing grin spreading across blood-red lips.

“What’s in the trailer?” he asked her.

“You’ll find out,” she said.

“Kate, what’s in the trailer?”

“It’s a surprise. You still like surprises, don’t you, Will? You’re going to get a kick out of this one. It was my idea, you know. This town, this little city in the middle of nowhere, was becoming a nuisance.” The smile faded, replaced by something dark and dangerous. “Like a certain little island that should have stayed quiet. This is what happens when you stick your head out and get my attention, Will. I grab a hammer.”

The island. She’s talking about Song Island.

“Now pay attention,” Kate said. “This is where it gets really fun.”

He looked back at the man with red hair. There were others gathered around him now. Two dozen or so, mostly men, but a couple of women among them, all well-armed and loaded for bear. They had moved in a rough, jagged circle around the U-Haul, having emerged from the alleys and streets and buildings while he wasn’t looking. They stepped over the dead bodies, some going out of their way to move around the pooling blood. A few looked squeamish.

Only a couple of them seemed to notice the fading sunlight. The others, like the man with red hair (the leader), was too busy focusing on the trailer at the center of the death and destruction. There were bullet holes in the sides of the orange and white vehicle. Stray bullets, he guessed, during the gun battle.

The man with red hair pointed at the U-Haul. “I said open it.”

Look up, you idiot. Look up!

But the man didn’t look up. Instead, he took another tentative step toward the parked vehicle, clenching and unclenching his handgun, one of those fancy Smith & Wesson semi-automatics.

Look up!

Two men with assault rifles moved toward the trailer and one of them grabbed the lever at the bottom, twisted it open, then pulled at the door—but it didn’t budge. He paused and exchanged a nervous look with his comrade before slinging his rifle and grabbing hold of the lever with both hands and this time really yanked.

Nothing. The door refused to move.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Kate said gleefully behind him. “It was such an easy sell, too. Give them something mysterious, something intriguing. They couldn’t leave it alone even if they wanted to. Look at them, Will. Most of them are so caught up with it they don’t even notice the sun is disappearing, little by little, by little....”

She was standing right next to him now. He didn’t know how she had done that.

This is her dream. She can do anything she wants.

They were standing in the middle of the group, people with rifles fidgeting around them, more than a few looking nervously at the darkening streets, some even glancing at the blackening sky. So some of them had noticed the setting sun. But not nearly enough, he saw.

“Harrison,” one of them said. A woman. Will recognized her from the basement last night. (Today? This morning?) “We have to go, it’s almost dark!”

Harrison looked conflicted. He glanced back at the U-Haul, then at the others.

He’s target fixated. He’s so focused on what’s in front of him, he doesn’t see the danger coming up behind him. Or…above him.

“Yes,” Kate said. “That’s the idea. Not bad for a civilian, huh?

“Harrison!” the woman shouted. “We have to go now!”

The others were backing up, their precarious situation finally dawning on them. Half of them looked ready to turn and run, but something was holding them back. They kept shooting quick questioning looks at Harrison.

He’s the leader and they’re scared of him. Even with night coming, death waiting in the wings, they won’t run. Not without his permission.

Idiots!

“Harrison!” the woman shouted again. When Harrison still didn’t respond, the woman whirled on the others. “Everyone head to the designated safe buildings! Go! Now now now, goddammit!”

They finally moved. Some of them, anyway, but a few still hesitated, waiting for Harrison’s orders, though they too looked on the verge of fleeing.

Then even Harrison turned and ran.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Kate said in a singsong voice, and he swore she might have cackled. Or maybe he just misheard?

The two men who had been trying to open the U-Haul had also turned to go when the door flew open behind them and the trailer actually quaked against the truck connected to it as something—somethings—exploded with movement from inside.

There were two of them—no, four—coming out of the trailer.

Blue-eyed ghouls.

He recognized one of them instantly. It was the same one he had shot outside Ennis’s bar, who took the silver round and flinched but didn’t go down.

It didn’t go down.

The man who had been trying to open the trailer heard the vehicle squeaking and turned around. It was a mistake. He let out a piercing scream just before one of the blue-eyed creatures landed on top of him, pummeling his much larger frame down to the concrete floor. The ghoul bent and flesh tore and the man kept screaming as blood flowed.

The second man had made it almost out of the parking lot when he heard his friend’s howls. He spun around and let loose with his rifle on full-auto, shredding one of the blue-eyed monsters as it was almost on top of him. Blood and flesh were ripped from the creature’s skeletal frame, but it kept coming and seemed to smash into the man and drive him down behind a parked blue Chevy, where they both disappeared out of Will’s sight.

A woman stumbled and fell. She turned around on her back and was reaching for her sidearm when another of the blue-eyed things fell on top of her. She didn’t even get a chance to scream.

Then the ghoul was back up and running, its jaw slicked with fresh blood that was visible even in the darkness swallowing up whole sections of the streets. Gunfire exploded across the city, a continuous cacophony of gunshots and screams.

Then they came. The others. The black-eyed ones.

Harrison’s people were scattered—in buildings, alleyways, some poor souls trying to escape in the streets—and their cries filled the air along with the endless pop-pop-pop of automatic weapon fire.

“You wanted to know,” Kate said.

“You were here last night,” he said.

“No. But I have a strong link with the others.”

“‘Others’?”

“The other blue-eyed ones. Our bonds are stronger, and I can communicate with them over greater distances. Of course, even if I knew you were here, I couldn’t have come anyway. Like you said, Will, Mabry has me very busy these days.”

He heard slurping and looked behind him at a blue-eyed ghoul perched over one of Harrison’s locals. The man’s eyes were open and he stared up at the dark sky, mouth quivering as the ghoul suckled rabidly at his neck. The creature looked in a state of frenzy, like a man about to orgasm.

“You did this,” Will said. “You planned this…massacre.”

“Most of it. But I admit, I didn’t expect them to attack so fast and so ferociously. What’s that saying you soldiers have? No plan survives contact with the enemy?” She smiled. “Are you impressed, Will?”

“Yes…”

“There’s a reason Mabry chose me. He knew my potential.”

“The same reason you chose Josh? Because of potential?”

“The young ones are always the most malleable. But yes, he’s a lot smarter than many of these...” she looked around at the dead soldiers, the ones he had come to call Josh’s men, “…cannon fodder. This is what they’re good for. Josh and the other young ones will keep going. What’s that saying, Will? The children are the future. So true. So true…”

Will stared at the bodies spread around the parking lot. So many. Soldiers and locals. Spent bullet casings by the thousands. Pools of blood everywhere. And still, the shooting went on and on, along with the screams.

The screams…

“What now?” he said, turning back to face her.

But she wasn’t there anymore, and he was no longer standing in the streets of Dunbar.

Instead, he was in Ennis’s bar, the same one he and Danny had used as their last stand before escaping through the basement door. He was sitting on one of the stools at the counter, which wasn’t covered in dust and time like it had been earlier.

This is her domain. She can do anything, because none of this is real.

She’s not really here.

Right?

That didn’t explain how she was sitting on the stool next to him, wearing some kind of formal evening gown. It was bright outside the windows, and the sun glinted off her exquisitely long neck as she saluted him with a small glass of brandy. “To your health, Will,” she said, and took a sip.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“You don’t think I worry about you? Running around out here? Trying to stop the inevitable? It’s like watching a child standing on the tracks trying to hold back a runaway train. You don’t hate the child, Will, you feel sorry for him, because you know the train is going to run him over. All you can really do is try to reason with him, get him off the tracks before then.”

“Is that what I’m doing, Kate? Standing on a train track?”

“What do you think, Will?” A bottle of brandy, the liquid inside brilliant orange against the glow of the sun, had appeared on the counter between them. Kate picked it up and poured him a glass. He wasn’t sure where the glass had come from, either. “Drink up, Will. We should talk.”

“What about?”

She poured with precision, another skill he didn’t know she possessed. Or was that the dream? Kate could do things in dreams that were impossible in the real world. But was this his dream or hers?

Or…theirs?

“What about? You, me, this world,” she said.

He stared at the glass. Was that real cognac inside? It smelled like it.

“I almost had you in Harvest,” she said, pinching her fingers together. “Missed you by that much.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“Don’t be silly. Death doesn’t mean what it used to anymore. You of all people should know that by now.”

Will picked up the glass and took a sip. The taste was sweet, followed by the familiar warm aftermath.

“The towns, the pregnancies,” she continued. “They’re all just the beginning. In ten, twenty years, you won’t recognize any of this. In a couple of generations, man will have forgotten they were ever in control of the planet.”

“Is that the long-term goal?”

“You say that as if there is a short-term one, Will. There isn’t. We’ve shed the mortal coil. Time is no longer the enemy. Days, months, years, even centuries. They mean nothing anymore. You have no idea how long they’ve been preparing for this.”

“So there are more than just Mabry.”

She smiled mischievously. “I meant him.”

“You said ‘they.’”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you misheard. This is just a dream, after all.”

She said ‘they’…

“You sound very confident,” Will said. “Is that why you haven’t attacked the island?”

“Ah, the island,” she said almost wistfully. “Lara shouldn’t have sent out that broadcast. Why did she do that, Will?”

“I don’t know…”

“I was content to leave you alone. As long as you left me alone. Because of what we’ve been through, because of my feelings for you. But then your little pre-med doctor had to send that broadcast, blabbing about the silver to the whole wide world.” She sighed. “That complicated things, you know. It’s too bad.”

She nursed her glass of brandy while watching their reflections in the big mirror behind the bar. That mirror had been broken when he and Danny came through before—when was that? Last night? A day ago?

He was losing track of time…

Kate smiled again. That strange emotion that was at once so human and at the same time so…wrong.

“What are you going to do, Kate?” He felt anxious for the first time in a long time, and he tightened his grip on the glass without realizing it. “What are you planning?”

“You shouldn’t have left the island, Will. That broadcast was a mistake. You should have stopped Lara from putting it out there.”

“You’re going to attack the island because of the broadcast?”

She shrugged and said nothing.

“It’s too late,” Will said. “Even if you burned the island down tomorrow, you won’t be able to put the genie back into the bottle.”

“Maybe I don’t care about putting the genie back into the bottle,” Kate said. “Maybe I’m just a spiteful bitch. Or maybe I’m just feeling a little jealous toward that little girl of yours.”

“Jealousy and vindictiveness are human traits, Kate.”

She laughed. It was almost lyrical. Almost…human. “Yes, they are, aren’t they? I guess I’m still more of the old Kate than we both thought.”

“What would Mabry say if he knew?”

“You’re assuming he doesn’t already know. Mabry knows everything, Will. Everything we know. It all comes from him, and it all goes to him. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

She stood up from the stool.

“Kate…”

She didn’t seem to hear him and instead turned and walked away, the hem of her dress swishing around her legs. She wore high heels, the click-click of stiletto points like firecrackers in the emptiness of the city around them.

What happened to the locals? The soldiers? Where did everyone go?

It’s just a dream. It’s just her dream.

Or mine.

Or ours?

“Kate…”

He tried to get up in order to stop her, but he couldn’t move. Something was holding him down on the stool. An invisible force of some kind clinging to his arms and legs. He couldn’t even let go of the glass in his hand.

“Kate!”

She finally stopped at the door and looked back at him, and a ghost of a smile flashed across her ethereal face. “You shouldn’t have left the island, Will. It might not be there when you get back. If you make it back.”

She opened the door and stepped through. Daylight flooded inside and Will grimaced at the blinding brightness.

“Kate!” he shouted, but his words were lost in the wind, as if he had never said it in the first place. “Kate!”

* * *

“Don’t tell me, another trip to Deussen Park?” Danny said when Will opened his eyes from the dream.

“Shit,” Will said.

“The dream or our present predicament?”

“Both.”

“Then I’ll join your shit with my own shit. Talk about a double-shit burger.”

Three of the people they had met in the basement were asleep, dozing somewhere in the darkness. One of the faces visible in a small pool of LED light placed in the center of the room was the woman who had greeted them when they first entered, and who Will remembered from his dream (Nightmare?).

Her name was Rachel. The kid next to her with the M40A3 sniper rifle cradled against his shoulder like a comfortable blanket was Tommy. A third person, Milch, was somewhere to their right, still awake because Will could hear him moving against the hard concrete floor.

Rachel was clearly the leader of this group, and she stared across the room at him now, her AR-15 in her lap. Dirty black hair hung over her shoulders and she gave him the kind of look that was devoid of warmth. She wasn’t entirely unattractive. Late thirties, a face lined with hard living and surviving. Her people had taken his and Danny’s weapons and equipment when they surrendered less than—how long ago? A few hours.

At least they hadn’t taken his watch, and he looked down at the glow-in-the-dark minute hand, which ticked to five after midnight. He heard the ticking clear as day in the silence. The monsters had stopped banging on the door hours ago.

Dead, not stupid.

“Who’s Kate?” Rachel asked.

Did I say her name out loud?

“Someone I used to know,” Will said.

“Ex-girlfriend? Must not have left things in a very good place, the way you were moving around in your sleep, saying her name.”

“I shot her.”

She gave him a wry look, as if she was trying to decide whether to believe him or not. “Now that’s what I call a breakup.”

“The funny thing is? She didn’t die.”

“Just clipped her, huh?”

“No. I shot her in the chest.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “And she didn’t die?”

“Nope.”

“Whatever. Keep your little secret.”

Danny chuckled next to him. “She doesn’t believe you.”

“I guess not,” Will said.

Rachel looked annoyed. “You never told me what you two were doing in Dunbar.”

“We’re just passing through,” Will said.

“Bullshit. No one passes through Dunbar. It’s barely a blip on any map and we’re miles from the closest interstate. The only people who come to Dunbar are people who were coming to Dunbar.”

“That includes you?”

“I was born here. So were most of these guys. It’s our city. We’re not leaving.”

“Doesn’t sound like you have much of a choice anymore after last night.”

“Wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Tomorrow’s another day. We’ll start again.”

“With just the five of you?”

“There are more of us out there.”

“You hope.”

“I know.” She said the words with the right inflections, as if she actually believed it. “Harrison made sure we all knew where the safe houses were. There are other basements like this one around the city. We’re not the only ones left.”

Harrison was the man with the red hair, who Will had watched lead the locals to certain death last night. Probably dead now, like most of his people. There had been a lot of blood and bodies in the dream (memories?).

“You can always leave,” Will said.

“And go where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

She shook her head. “Dunbar’s our home. We’re not leaving tomorrow or the day after that.”

Will nodded. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Talk of home made him think of Lara, of the island.

What was that Kate had said?

“You shouldn’t have left the island, Will. That broadcast was a mistake. You should have stopped Lara from putting it out there.”

The island. He had to get back to the island…

“What now?” he asked Rachel. “What happens to us tomorrow?”

She shrugged. “The only reason you’re still alive is because you’re not wearing one of those uniforms. I’m willing to believe you’re just passing through, but I’m not taking any chances tonight.”

Will thought about the locals he’d been forced to kill when he fled Gaine’s Meat Market with Danny yesterday.

Right. Just passing through. Totally innocent bystanders here.

“I get where you’re coming from,” Will said. He looked to his left, where Tommy and the others had taken his and Danny’s weapons and packs. The radio was somewhere back there, too. “I need to ask a favor…”

Rachel snorted. “Oh, do you now?”

“I need the radio in our pack.”

“What for?”

“I need to transmit a message to a friend about something.”

Danny looked over, concern flashing across his face.

“It has nothing to do with you or this city,” Will said. “But my friend and I had a scheduled call that I missed last night. I just want to let them know we’re okay.”

Rachel shook her head. “You can do that tomorrow when you leave the city.”

“It’s vitally important they get this message. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“That’s your tough fucking luck, isn’t it?” she said, her eyes hard.

Will glanced over at Danny and could practically hear his thoughts: “The island? Something’s happening with the island?”

He looked back at Rachel and the sleeping Tommy next to her. There were three meters between him and Rachel. He didn’t know exactly where Milch was, just that he was (probably) still awake. That might be a problem. Tommy, on the other hand, would be easy to handle. He was obviously tired and struggling to keep his eyes open.

The real problem was Rachel…

Doable.

“Go ahead,” Rachel said, staring back at him. She placed her hand on the AR-15 for effect. “This rifle’s been converted to full-auto. All I need to do is pull the trigger once. You think you can make it across the room before that happens?”

Or not.

Will clenched his lips into a smile. “You’re right. It can wait till morning. Besides, my friend is probably asleep by now anyway.”

“Definitely asleep,” Danny said. “Probably snoring like a horse, too.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Bear?”

“Shut up,” Rachel said. “You’ll get your weapons and radio back tomorrow morning and get the hell out of my city. Do anything before then and I won’t hesitate to shoot you both.”

Will and Danny exchanged a look.

“Go ahead,” Rachel said, narrowing her eyes at the both of them. “Try me. I’m having one hell of a shitty day, so shooting the two of you might just turn it all around.”

“It can wait till morning,” Will said, gritting his teeth.

She’s coming, Lara.

Kate’s coming…

18

Lara

“You hear that?” Maddie said. “Listen carefully.”

Lara did listen carefully, but after about five seconds of silence, she shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“I swear it was there. And this isn’t the first time, either. I’ve heard it before. Earlier this morning; and before that, yesterday.”

“It could just be the quiet,” Lara said. “It plays tricks with your mind. Besides, it’s been more than three months. Don’t you think they would have attacked by now if they wanted the island back?”

“I guess,” Maddie said. “I’d feel better if Will and Danny were around, though.”

You and me both, sister, she thought, but said, “What time is it?”

Maddie glanced at her watch. “Five fifteen. When is Will due to radio back in?”

“Before nightfall. We don’t have a set time, but he promised to check in with me twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon or evening, depending on his situation.”

“You think they found Gaby yet?”

“I hope so.”

“I guess they’re good at that, huh? Tracking and stuff? They teach that at Ranger School, don’t they?”

“I’ll ask him when I talk to him again.”

Maddie went back to staring outside the east window at the long shoreline in the distance. The horizon was blanketed in a shade of orange and red, like a painting come to life. You wouldn’t know how dangerous it all was just to look at it.

Lara tried to remember the last time she had allowed herself to watch the night come with absolute serenity, but couldn’t. It had been a while.

Since Will left the island…

“What did it sound like?” Lara asked. “The noise you heard?”

“Like an outboard boat motor.”

“How many did you hear?”

“Just one, I think.”

“And you’re sure it was a motor?”

“I thought it was, but…” She shrugged. “I’m not so sure now. I didn’t see anything, so maybe you’re right; I might have just been imagining things. It can get pretty quiet when you’re all alone up here.”

“You should bring one of the kids to keep you company next time.”

“That’s a good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Until then, stay alert until Blaine relieves you.”

“Will do, doc.”

“You should probably stop calling me that.”

“Why?”

“Because we have a real doc on the island now. I don’t want her to get confused.”

“You’ll always be our doc, doc.”

Lara smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She left Maddie on the third floor of the Tower and headed down the spiral staircase. She had done a good job hiding her disappointment in front of Maddie, but now that she was alone with her thoughts, she gave in to the overwhelming anxiety. It was almost nightfall, and Will hadn’t radioed in yet. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Twice a day, Will. That’s all I asked. So where’s my second radio call?

You better not be messing around out there.

She stepped outside the Tower and into a slight chill. It always got cool around the island near sunset, something that made her look forward to the coming months. November and December wouldn’t exactly be Christmas in Louisiana, but anything was better than the daytime heat of October.

Lara did the buttons on her long-sleeve shirt as she walked across the empty hotel grounds back to the hotel. She spotted figures racing down the front patio and up the pathway toward the beach. Bonnie’s girls, trying to get in a final hour along the white sands before dark.

Even with the safety of the island, they had a curfew—everyone needed to be at the hotel by six except for the guards. Benny would be on the boat shack right now. Even limping on one good leg, the young man had proven a worthwhile addition to the group. Not that she really needed him to do much. He and the others posted out there throughout the day were really just an early warning system in case of an attack.

Plan Z, right, Will? God, I hope we never have to use it.

She slipped into the hotel through a side door and walked up Hallway A, then the short distance to an office near the lobby. It was a big room, worthy of whoever was supposed to run the Kilbrew Hotel and Resorts. The plaque on the door was originally marked “Administrator,” but someone had put duct tape over it and written in large permanent marker, “Lara’s Lair.” She suspected Carly, but her best friend refused to own up to it.

Lara’s Lair had stainless steel filing cabinets, shelves, and comfortable chairs along one wall. Most of the offices in the hotel were empty, the island’s chosen administrators having never had the time to settle in before The Purge. Which made sense since the building itself was never completed. Far from it, with the entire second floor still missing and whole chunks of the first floor unfinished.

She slumped down on the large executive chair behind the equally large desk, which never failed to make her feel like a fraud. It might have had something to do with the vinyl upholstery or the way-too-elegant looking mahogany wood finish. The hand-applied brass nails certainly didn’t add to her comfort level. After settling in, she picked up the pen and wrote in the ledger, recording the day’s conversation with survivors through the radio.

Japan…upstate New York…Alaska…Beecher in Colorado…and now, just recently, a man claiming to lead a few hundred survivors in London.

All this time, we thought we were the only ones still out there running against the night. I wonder if they all thought the same thing?

There were so many people still left, all of them just waiting for someone to tell them what was happening. Her broadcast had been responsible for that, and they had used her as their in-between to communicate, exchanging ideas about weapons, defenses, and even survival techniques to live off the land.

She couldn’t help but feel pride swelling whenever she thought about it. She had done that. A third-year medical student. How the heck did she even get here?

Lara looked up at the sound of Carly’s voice. “You decent?”

“No, but that’s never stopped you before.”

Carly came inside and slumped down into a large loveseat, the furniture’s mahogany finish and oxblood vinyl swallowing up her bright red hair. She rubbed her stomach as she looked contently at Lara. “Heard from the boys yet?”

“Not yet.” Lara kept writing. “You look happy.”

“I had a good meal.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m a simple girl, Lara. A good meal, good company, my little sister laughing.” She beamed. “What more could a girl want?”

“I’m thinking about making a work rotation for the kids. I know they’ve been spending a lot of time on the beach and exploring the island, but sooner or later they’re going to get bored. This should keep them busy.”

Carly smiled at her.

“What?” Lara said.

“You’re good at this.”

“‘This’?”

“Running the island. You’re really good at it.”

“It’s only temporary. Once Will comes back—”

“He’ll insist you stay in this room, doing what you’re doing now.”

“You think so?”

“I know how your boyfriend operates. My guess is that’s why he brought Zoe—so she can take over the infirmary. He has big plans for you, kiddo.”

Lara laughed. “You really think Will thinks that far ahead?”

“It’s Will. ‘Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,’ remember?”

“Maybe.” She put down the pen and leaned back in the chair. “He sort of said the same thing when we talked earlier today.”

“See?”

“Don’t gloat just yet. Zoe can barely stand, much less run the infirmary.”

“For now. But she’ll get better. Then you’ll be stuck in here behind that big desk. Heck, we should get you a permanent plaque as befitting your new position.”

“Are you finally admitting you’re responsible for Lara’s Lair?”

Carly grinned. “I’m admitting nothing of the sort.”

* * *

“What time is it?” Maddie asked.

“Seven thirty,” Lara said.

“He should have called by now, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s got Danny with him. What could possibly go wrong?”

She gave Maddie a pursed smile. “I’m not worried. Why, do I look worried?”

“Just a little bit.” Then, as if it should explain everything, “Lara, it’s Will.”

She smiled again. This time it came out more convincing. Or at least, she hoped so. “I know.”

“If they didn’t call in today, I’m sure they had a good reason.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” God, I hope you’re right. “Did you eat yet?”

“Sarah’s saved me something in the kitchen. I’ll grab a bite when Blaine relieves me in a few.” Maddie turned back to the night sky outside the east window and peered out with the night-vision binoculars. “Sounds like they’re still going at it.”

“Sounds like it,” Lara said.

She glanced back at one of the radios on the table behind her. It was permanently tuned in to the FEMA frequency, and although the volume was lowered almost the entire way, she could still make out the endless chatter. Beecher had signed off a few hours ago and it was now mostly foreigners. The clamor of a dozen different languages, accents, and broken English was next to impossible to decipher.

“I can’t understand half of the things they’re saying,” Maddie said. “I can barely understand the guys from New York.”

Lara smiled, then glanced at her watch again: 7:34 p.m.

Two times a day, Will. That was all I asked. You can’t even do that for me. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate your guts right now.

She stared at the designated emergency radio on the other side of the table, willing it to come alive, for Will’s voice to blurt through the speakers.

Instead, she heard the loud roar of an outboard motor rising in the distance. No, not in the distance. Closer.

Lara ran to the south window and looked toward the beach.

“Is that one of ours?” Maddie said behind her.

“I don’t know.” Lara unclipped her radio and keyed it. “Who’s at the beach right now?”

“I am, Lara!” Benny said through the radio. He was on the verge of screaming, trying to be heard over the loud noise of the outboard motor in the background. “I was about to call in!”

She could see it—a small white light moving away from the pier. It was a spotlight on one of the boats. It was moving fast, so she guessed it was one of the bass fishing vessels.

“That’s one of ours, all right,” Maddie said. She was peering through the M4 with the ACOG mounted scope. “Blaine was using it earlier to recon the area for those sounds I thought I heard.”

“What’s going on down there, Benny?” Lara said into the radio. “Who’s on the boat?”

“It’s Roy and Gwen,” Benny said. “We saw something on the lake. A white boat. It looked adrift, so they’re going to intercept it.”

“Goddammit, who told them to do that?”

“I’m sorry, Lara. I tried to stop them. What should I do?”

“Stay right where you are.”

She took a breath and tempered down the anger and frustration. What the hell were those two thinking, running off like that?

She gathered herself, then keyed the radio again. “Roy, Gwen…come in. Roy, Gwen, answer me.”

She waited, but there was no response.

“They might not be able to hear over the motor,” Maddie said. “It can get pretty loud standing right next to it.”

“Yeah, probably.” Either that, or they were ignoring her. She wasn’t sure which answer was more aggravating. “I need you up here—”

“Got it,” Maddie said before she could finish. “Go.”

Lara nodded gratefully back at her. At least she could count on Maddie, Blaine, and the others. Carly, and even the kids. They had been together since Texas. Roy and Gwen and the others had shown up on the island recently and were still wildcards, trying to get used to how they did things over here. Or maybe it was her leadership. Maybe they didn’t fully respect her enough to do what she told them not to do…like running off on a boat to catch something floating in the lake like a bunch of amateurs.

Will would never have this issue.

She raced through the door in the floor and sprinted down the spiral staircase. She keyed her radio as she leaped onto the second floor below and found the second set of stairs. “Blaine, did you hear all of that?”

“I heard,” Blaine said through the radio. “What the hell are they thinking?”

“I don’t know. Grab your rifle and meet me at the beach.”

“On my way.”

“What about me?” Bonnie asked through the radio. “Carly’s out here with me.”

Like all the adults on the island, Bonnie had her own issued radio tuned into the same channel and it was powered on at all times, so whenever someone broadcasted, they all heard it. It was another one of Will’s protocols, and its singular purpose was to keep everyone in the loop. It was also why she was fuming that Roy and Gwen were ignoring her. If they could hear her radio call, that is.

Yeah, let’s go with that. The other answer is too aggravating.

“I need you guys on the patio,” Lara said. “Everyone else, stay put inside the hotel, and anyone who isn’t already in the hotel, get there now.”

“Got it,” Carly said through the radio.

“Carly…”

“Yeah.”

“I need a rifle.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Lara burst out of the Tower and jogged across the grounds, making a beeline for the beach. Bonnie was already back outside the hotel’s front patio, cradling a Remington shotgun. The ex-model waved at her and Lara waved back.

Carly jogged down the patio steps as she reached them and handed Lara an M4 rifle. “Blaine’s waiting for you at the beach.”

“What were Roy and Gwen thinking?” Lara said to Bonnie.

Bonnie shook her head helplessly. “I don’t even know what they were doing down there at this time of the night. They know better than that. The curfew…”

“They’re, uh, involved,” Carly said. The other two women looked over at her. “What, you guys didn’t know? They’ve been sneaking into each other’s rooms for the last few days. I guess they were down there doing, you know.”

“Spare me the details,” Lara said, finding herself even more annoyed than before. “I need you guys here. There are other ways on the island besides the beach.” She met Carly’s eyes. “Remember?”

Carly nodded back. She remembered that night, too. “We got this. Go.”

Lara slung the carbine and jogged along the cobblestone pathway toward the beach. “Blaine,” she said into the radio.

“I’m on the beach with Benny,” Blaine answered.

“What do you see?”

“I think they stopped the other boat.”

Lara noticed how quiet it had gotten suddenly. They shut off the motor, she thought, and keyed the radio. “Roy, Gwen…can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Gwen said through the radio.

It took all of Lara’s self-control not to tear into the twenty-something right then and there. “Are you and Roy all right?”

“We’re fine,” Gwen said. “We have them, Lara.”

“The other boat?”

“Yes. There are two women onboard. They’re both unarmed.”

She was halfway to the beach, the wooded area that separated the hotel grounds from the water to both sides of her. Birds took flight as her footsteps warned them of incoming humans.

“Two women?” she said into the radio. “On a boat in the middle of a lake at night?” Alarm bells went off inside her head. “You and Roy need to be careful. It could be a trap.”

“What should we do with them?” Gwen asked.

Oh, so now you want orders? she wanted to ask, but instead said, “Bring them in.”

“Will do.”

The soothing breeze brushed up against her as soon as she reached the soft, mushy sands and heard the slowly lapping waves. It was always colder on this part of the island and was the main reason everyone loved to sneak in an hour or two near the evenings. There was no better place to forget about the state of the world than running barefoot across the white sands.

Which, she guessed, explained why Roy and Gwen were down here last night. She tried very hard not to picture them hiding in the woods somewhere doing…something.

She spotted Benny standing on top of the boat shack, peering through binoculars out at the water. It was impossible to see much of anything too far out beyond the lights along the piers—except for the bright spotlight of the boat that Roy and Gwen were on at the moment. Next to them, she guessed, was the other boat….with the two unarmed women.

Blaine was moving up one of the piers and Lara jogged past the shack, exchanging a quick nod with Benny. She headed up the middle pier, one of three that stuck out of the beach like the teeth of a fork. The wooden planks clapped loudly under her boots.

Blaine glanced back. “Doc.”

“You heard?”

“Two unarmed women in the middle of the lake, at night? Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The loud outboard motor had started up again and the bright light floating on the surface of the lake started moving, this time coming back toward them.

“How did they catch up to the other boat?” she asked.

“Benny said he heard a low whining sound, so they were probably using a trolling motor,” Blaine said. “It would explain how they managed to creep so close to the island without being seen. Well, until they were spotted, anyway.”

“How did that happen?”

“Benny saw it first with his binoculars. I guess they were drifting and got too close. He said Roy and Gwen were walking back to the hotel when he called them over. It didn’t occur to him those two idiots would jump into one of the boats and take off to intercept.”

Lara ground her teeth together. She had a lot of things to say, most of them vulgar. But this wasn’t the time. Not now. Roy and Gwen had come to the island at the same time as Bonnie and her sister Jo. They were in the same group, and it made perfect sense the two of them would be drawn to each other. It was almost inevitable, in a way.

It didn’t take long for the boats to reach them. The bass fishing boat was towing along a white vessel by a rope, and the two women they had caught were sitting on the floor at the front, while Gwen, all five-two of her, stood next to them (too close for Lara’s liking) with her Glock in her hand. Roy steered the boat over to the pier and cut off the engine.

Lara stared at Roy, who quickly looked away. She wasn’t sure if that was embarrassment or realization that he had done something she didn’t approve of. She ignored him (for now) and turned her attention to the two women while Gwen tossed a second line over to Blaine. The women were a brunette in her twenties and a blonde teenager peering back at her through long, stringy hair that seemed to shine under the pier lamps.

The older woman met Lara’s eyes. There wasn’t fear there, just a lot of reluctance. “We didn’t mean to start any trouble.”

“What are you doing here on a boat in the middle of the night?” Lara asked.

“Looking for a place to stay. We heard a message on the radio. It said to get to an island…”

Lara exchanged a glance with Blaine.

The radio broadcast. Her radio broadcast. A lot of things were happening because of what she had sent out into the world. A lot of it was good, but a part of her, deep down, wondered if the bad was around the corner…

“What’s your name?” she asked them.

“I’m Carrie and this is Lorelei,” the brunette said. “We were just looking for a safe place—”

The crack! of a gunshot exploded across the island from behind her.

She spun around and traced the shot back to Benny, standing on the roof of the boat shack. He was looking down his rifle at something further up the beach.

Benny fired again.

Lara looked where he was shooting and glimpsed a figure moving out of the water and darting up the white sands. It was a man, and he was moving fast. Sand erupted behind him as Benny fired a third time and missed badly.

“Blaine!” Lara shouted.

Blaine was already pointing his rifle at the two women in the boat. They stood frozen and terrified because both Roy and Gwen had also drawn their weapons.

“I got ’em, go,” the big man said.

Lara ran back up the pier, looking right, trying to track the figure’s progress as it slashed across the beach, making a straight line for the trees. He was moving too fast for her to see any details, except that he was running in wet clothes and was still somehow managing to outpace Benny’s shots. That was one hell of a feat. Could even Will move that fast?

She heard voices through the radio in her hand.

Bonnie, from the hotel patio: “I hear shooting. Guys?”

Maddie, in the Tower with the ACOG: “I can’t get a shot!”

Carly, also at the hotel: “What’s happening? Is everyone okay?”

Lara leaped off the pier and landed in the soft sand. She almost lost her balance, but managed to regain it quickly enough to run up the beach. She unslung her rifle as she ran and took aim—

—when the man disappeared into the woods.

Shit.

Lara lowered her rifle and pulled up. Her heart was pounding and the adrenaline was pouring through her.

You wanted to be a leader? Well, here’s your chance. Make it count.

She keyed her radio. “Someone’s in the woods. I repeat: we have an intruder in the woods. Consider him armed and dangerous. If you get a shot, take it.”

19

Will

Tommy woke up around one in the morning along with another man, Bratt, to take their turn on guard duty over Will and Danny in place of Rachel and Milch. Rachel had gotten up and disappeared into the shadows while Bratt replaced her in the light, sitting down next to Tommy.

It was dead silent outside the basement, and the only sound was the breathing of the people inside. Will watched Tommy continuing to struggle to keep his eyes open while Bratt looked as if he had gotten his full eight hours, even though Will knew for a fact he had only slept about four since they fled to the basement after the massacre.

And that was exactly what it had been. Rachel and the others didn’t want to admit it, but everyone they knew in the city was likely dead except them. Kate’s ghouls—especially the blue-eyed ones—had made sure of that. That was bad for Rachel, but it was also bad for him and Danny. They had come to Dunbar expecting to find Gaby. Unless she had made it out of the city before everything went to hell, chances were she was just as dead (or worse) as Rachel’s people.

What were the chances she had actually gone around the city? There was a small—very, very small—possibility of that. But unlikely. Dunbar was too big. It would have taken too long to go around. Easier to just go through it. Plus, Gaby would have wanted to look for supplies on the way to Song Island. She was traveling south—and there was only one thing down there.

Home.

The more he turned over all the possibilities in his head, the more Will reluctantly concluded that the chances of finding Gaby now had lessened dramatically. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he and Danny were going to survive tonight. Despite Rachel’s assurances about letting them go in the morning, Will wasn’t too confident there was going to be a morning.

Not with Kate’s ghouls out there. Her blue-eyed ghouls.

Four of them. Jesus. There were four of them out there right now. One was bad enough, but four that didn’t go down even after you shot them with silver bullets?

Then there was what Kate had said about the island, about Lara’s broadcast:

“Like a certain little island that should have stayed quiet. This is what happens when you stick your head out and get my attention, Will. I grab a hammer.”

He needed to get his hands on the radio. Even if Lara was asleep, someone would be monitoring the emergency frequency twenty-four hours a day in the island’s Tower. It was protocol. He should know; he was the one who put it together.

But to get to the radio, he needed to get through Tommy and Bratt. Maybe if he could talk to the kid, get him to understand. It was always easier to convince someone to do something when he didn’t look at you as an enemy.

Then there was Bratt. The man was cleaning a silver-chromed Smith & Wesson automatic with a small toothbrush. He was quiet and invisible for a big man—240 pounds easy—with a full graying beard and dark eyes. Bratt hadn’t said a word since he sat down.

Will only really needed to convince one of them, so it had to be Tommy. It was a no-brainer.

“Where did you get that?” Will asked the teenager.

Tommy was clutching the M40A3 sniper rifle, the same one he had been shooting during the gun battle yesterday afternoon. “It’s my dad’s. He taught me how to shoot with it.”

“It’s a hell of a rifle. Was he a Marine?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve only seen Marines using the M40 when I was in Afghanistan.”

“You were in Afghanistan?”

“Danny and me. You good with it?”

“Not bad. I’ve been shooting with it since I was eleven.”

“So, five years ago?”

Tommy grinned. “Eight going on nine, wise guy.”

Will smiled back at him, feeling like a pervert on a playground trying to lure a kid into his ice cream truck.

“I always thought I’d enlist when I was old enough,” Tommy was saying. “Never got the chance, with everything that happened. What branch were you in?”

“I was Army.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Will chuckled. “Yeah, well, we all have our crosses to bear.”

Tommy glanced briefly at Danny, sleeping with his back against the wall next to Will. “Is he really asleep?”

Will looked over at Danny, then shrugged. “I think so.”

“He doesn’t look asleep.” Tommy narrowed his eyes. “He’s faking it, isn’t he?”

“He’s tired. We’ve been moving on water and beef jerky for the last couple of days, trying to get home.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said. “If it was up to me, I’d have let you guys go.”

There it is. There’s the opening.

“I need the radio, Tommy,” Will said. “I really need to give my friend a message. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. But he also didn’t say no right away, either.

“Tommy,” Will said, keeping his voice calm, conversational, “it’s just a radio. What’s it going to hurt?”

“I can’t,” Tommy said finally, shaking his head. “Rachel’s orders. I’m sorry.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“She’ll know.” The kid shrugged. “Anyways, it’s not going to work. Look around you. Concrete walls and floor. It’d be a miracle if you could get a signal out of this room.”

“I have to try. You have to let me try. A lot of lives are at stake.”

This time Tommy shook his head faster without even taking a moment to think about it. It was a bad sign.

“I can’t,” the teenager said. “I’m sorry. You’ll get it back tomorrow. It’s only, what, six hours away?”

Six hours too long…

This wasn’t going to work. So he tried another tact.

“You saw them?” Will asked.

“Saw what?”

“The blue-eyed ones.”

Tommy looked hesitant, uncertain, maybe replaying what he may or may not have seen in his head. Will knew for a fact Tommy was there at the parking lot along with Rachel. They had seen the four blue-eyed ghouls emerging out of the U-Haul trailer like demons from hell. You didn’t forget a sight like that. Will certainly wasn’t going to anytime soon.

“I don’t know what I saw,” Tommy said. “Everything happened so fast…”

“You saw them,” Will said. “I saw them, too. Blue eyes.”

The kid nodded reluctantly.

“How many of them were there?” Will asked.

“I saw four,” Tommy said. “They had blue eyes like you said, and they were fast. I mean, the others—the black-eyed ones—they’re fast, too, but these ones were… They were way faster.”

“Shock troops,” Bratt said suddenly, surprising both Will and Tommy. Bratt’s voice was deep and sounded as if he were swallowing gravel with every word.

Dammit. Not now. Can’t you see I’m working on the kid here?

“What?” Tommy said, looking over at Bratt sitting next to him.

“Shock troops,” Bratt repeated. He hadn’t stopped working on his gun and didn’t look up. If Will didn’t know any better, he would swear the man was talking to himself. “In wars, they’re the point of the spear, lightning-quick and mobile. They’re sent to break through the enemy lines to lead the way for the rest of the army. That’s what they were doing here last night. They were sent into Dunbar for us.”

“Us?” Tommy said. “What are you talking about, Bratt?”

“We’ve been causing trouble. It’s Harrison’s fault.” The click-click of meaty fingers slid gun parts into place. “Attacking their convoys around the area, killing their soldiers, all that stupid-ass stuff. I told Harrison he was asking for trouble, but he wouldn’t listen.” Bratt chuckled—or was that a cackle? “I guess it’s kind of an honor. I bet they don’t send those blue-eyed freaks out for just anyone, right?”

You’re not wrong, Will thought, remembering again what Kate had said:

“This is what happens when you stick your head out and get my attention, Will. I grab a hammer.”

“Shock troops,” Tommy said to Will. “Crazy, huh?”

Will almost laughed.

Crazy? If you’ve only seen the things I’ve laid eyes on in the last eleven months, you’ll realize this is the least crazy thing, kid.

He said instead, “Yeah.”

“I mean, what makes us so special?” Tommy shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing that I can think of.”

You’re not. You’re just an annoyance to her. That’s all we are to Kate, to Mabry. Cockroaches running around, dirtying up their new house. And cockroaches get stepped on if they stray into the light—

He felt it. It was a very soft vibration at first, and there was almost no sound.

Slowly, as he listened more carefully, it grew in volume...

Danny opened his eyes next to him. “You felt that?”

“Yeah,” Will said.

Tommy said across from them, “That wasn’t just me, right? You guys felt that, too?”

Will nodded and stood up, Danny and Tommy mirroring him.

Bratt followed suit, holstering his sidearm and unslinging his AR-15. “They’re coming,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I think you better wake the others up,” Will said to Tommy.

The teenager nodded and vanished into the darkness. Will heard urgent whispering, then Rachel’s groggy voice.

The sound had picked up noticeably and it was definitely coming from above them—the basement door. Will and Danny wandered over to the landing and looked up the flight of stairs. Even in the semidarkness, the steel door seemed to gleam at the other end.

“What are the chances they’ll give us back our weapons?” Will said.

“Maybe if you ask nice like,” Danny said.

“I did. Again and again.”

“Questionable noises weren’t coming from the other side of the door then.”

Will looked over as Rachel and Tommy emerged from the blackness. Milch and two others, Eaton and George, were moving slowly after them, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

“What the hell’s happening?” Rachel said.

“Listen,” Will said.

Rachel did. So did the others.

Slowly, their eyes wandered over to the top of the stairs. They could all hear it now. The slight vibrations, the dull thump-thump-thump of something tapping against the thick metal door from the other side.

“I thought they gave up?” Tommy said, whispering for some reason.

“They did,” Will said. “Now they’re back.”

“They’ve never done anything like this before,” Milch said. He unslung his M4 rifle and held it in front of him at the ready. “Right?” Milch added, looking over at the others. “They’ve never stopped and started over again, right?”

It’s the blue-eyed ghouls, Will wanted to tell them. The black-eyed ones behaved differently when they were around. They became more unpredictable, more creative.

And this time there are four of them out there.

A little overkill, don’t you think, Kate?

Will exchanged a brief knowing look with Danny before he sought out Rachel in the semidarkness. “If they get in…”

“They won’t,” she said.

He didn’t buy it for a second. “We need our weapons.”

“No.”

“I thought we already came to an understanding. We’re not a threat to one another.”

She didn’t answer right away, and Will saw conflict playing across her face.

“Rachel,” Will said, “we’re not your enemy. If they get through that door—”

“Give them back their stuff,” she said to Milch and Eaton before he could finish.

“Thank you,” Will said.

“You’re definitely going on my Christmas list now,” Danny added.

Rachel grunted before turning her full attention back to the door up the stairs. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Milch and Eaton vanished into the darkness before coming back with Will’s and Danny’s M4A1s and gun belts. Will took them eagerly, as did Danny. He felt instantly whole again with the extra weight of the pouches, spare magazines, and the cross-knife in its sheath around his left thigh.

“What about our packs?” Will said to Eaton. “The radio’s in one of them.”

Eaton glanced back into the shadows. “They’re back there somewhere.”

“We need them.”

“Not my problem,” Milch said before turning back to the door.

Will exchanged a look with Danny.

“The service in this place sucks,” Danny said. “I’m definitely complaining on the comment card.”

Will started to move toward the back of the basement when above them the noise had increased and the soft, barely audible thump-thump-thump became noticeably faster and seemed to be growing in volume. That stopped him in his tracks and he gripped the rifle, turning to face the door.

What the hell are they doing out there?

He knew for a fact the creatures weren’t banging on the metal slab without a reason. Not with the blue-eyed ones guiding them. So what was it, then? How did they plan to get inside?

“What about the side door?” Will asked.

“What about it?” Rachel said.

“There’s one, right? That’s how you got in here before us.”

“Yeah.”

“We might have to use it.”

“You don’t think there are more of them waiting out there?”

“Probably, but it’s a better option than facing what’s going to be coming through this door.”

“Assuming they get through.”

“Listen to them,” Will said. “They’re going to get through. They’re just getting warmed up.” He glanced at his watch: 2:16 a.m. “And they have hours on their side.”

“You’re a warm bowl of optimism, aren’t you, buddy?” Danny said.

“If we have to, we’ll use the side door,” Rachel said.

BOOM!

They all took an involuntarily step back from the stair landing. It wasn’t the same noise they had been hearing for the last few minutes. No. This was a single blow. Heavier, stronger, and more damaging. Will had become used to the rhythmic pattern of the ghouls slamming their useless flesh against a door, and this wasn’t it.

This was something else. Something more intense.

“Sounds metal,” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Will nodded.

“That all you got?”

“Yup.”

“You’re useless.”

“I try.”

“Shut up,” Rachel said, annoyed.

Danny mouthed at Will, “I blame this all on you.”

“We’re going to die tonight,” Will mouthed back.

“Captain fucking Optimism. I’m telling Lara.”

Will grinned.

“Tommy, go see if you can hear anything happening at the side door,” Rachel said.

Tommy rushed off into the darkness. The fact that people could disappear and reappear without warning was a bit disconcerting to Will, especially since he had zero visibility outside the small pool of light provided by the single LED lamp.

BOOM!

“Definitely metal,” Danny said.

“Let’s find out for sure,” Will said.

He jogged up the stairs, where he could still see the doorframe trembling in the aftermath of the last blow just seconds ago. Whatever they were using out there was definitely heavy and doing tremendous damage. He hadn’t been counting the seconds between the impacts, but it sounded like every ten seconds.

Which was just about—

BOOM!

Every inch of the door shook, and the brick wall surrounding it threatened to come unglued at any second. And there—a noticeable indentation had appeared at the side of the door, just over where the lever and locking mechanism were.

Footsteps behind him before Rachel’s and Danny’s breaths hit him in the back of the neck.

“Holy shit,” Danny said, staring at the indentation.

“What the hell is that?” Rachel asked, out of breath.

“They’re using some kind of battering ram,” Will said. “It’s the blue-eyed ghouls. They’re running the show out there.”

“Blue-eyed—” Rachel started to say.

BOOM!

All three of them took a step back as another indentation materialized in the door, very close to the first one. It sounded as if the creatures were literally driving whatever was on the other side into the door with great force, raining one concentrated, massive blow at a time every ten seconds.

“They’re going to cave the lock in,” Will said. “The door won’t hold for long after that.”

They hurried back down the stairs just as Tommy reappeared in the light.

“Nothing,” Tommy said. “I didn’t hear anything on the other side.”

“Are you sure?” Rachel asked.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing out there—”

BOOM!

Will swore the entire basement vibrated for a good five seconds afterward that time.

“We gotta split,” Bratt said, his gravel voice cutting through the momentary silence. “The shock troops are coming. That’s them out there. We gotta go now.”

Will exchanged a quick look with Danny, who nodded back.

“Rachel,” Will said. “He’s right. We gotta go.”

“The side door?” she said, looking uncertainly at him.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll never survive out there.”

“We’ll have a better shot out there than down here when they start coming through that door.”

“Not much better…”

BOOM!

“Better than down here,” Will said, “trapped in this one big room with nowhere to go.”

“The door will hold,” she said, looking back up the stairs.

Will could tell he wasn’t going to get through. Maybe it was fear, or determination, or just simple human stubbornness (he knew a little bit about that last one), but he wasn’t going to budge her. She had decided, made her choice, and she was going to live (die) with it.

“It’ll hold,” she said again.

Another BOOM! blasted through the entire basement.

They spun around back to the stairs almost as one just as the metal door flew wide open and a burst of cold, rancid air flooded inside.

The first ghoul raced in, its bones clacking loudly.

Rachel, Eaton, and Milch opened fire and the creature’s forward momentum was stopped by a hail of bullets tearing into it, ripping away flesh and revealing bleach-white bones underneath. Then they lost sight of the ghoul because the black ocean pouring in through the open door swallowed the lone creature up and flooded down the stairs in a quivering obsidian tide.

“Go go go!” Will shouted.

Danny was already running, Tommy right behind him, when Will opened fire on the stairs.

Silver bullets punched through weak flesh and ricocheted off bones. Ghouls fell, flopping down the stairs, while others threw the dead ones over the banisters to make way for more to get down faster.

“Rachel!” Will shouted.

It didn’t do any good. He didn’t even think she heard him over the roar of blazing gunfire in the tight confines of the basement. Bullet casings sprayed around her and Bratt and Milch and Eaton, the clink-clink-clink of empty brass almost as loud as the unrelenting boom of assault rifles firing on full-auto.

Will turned and fled.

He darted into the darkness, guessing (praying) at the direction of the side door, using where he had last seen Tommy going and coming out of as a marker. Then he saw moonlight spilling through a rectangular hole in the wall and ran toward it.

Screams erupted behind him. Men’s voices, then a woman’s.

He kept going, because looking back would only slow him down. A second. Half a second. It didn’t matter. Slow was slow, and slow was death.

The floor under him trembled as the creatures landed everywhere. The slapping of flesh against concrete was loud because the gunfire had all but stopped. For a split-second there was no noise at all, until Rachel’s screams filled the room and bounced off the walls, then someone began firing with a semi-automatic handgun—

Will saw Danny in the doorway, holding the door open for him. There were no signs of Tommy. “Come on!” Danny shouted. “Can you run any slower, old man?”

Will put on a burst of speed and lunged through the opening and crashed into a brick wall chest-first on the other side. Behind him came the loud bang! of the door slamming shut and almost instantly the sound and fury of dozens of ghouls crashing into it from the other side.

Thoom thoom thoom!

Ennis’s basement side entrance was one floor below ground, with steps leading up into an alleyway beside the bar. Danny was already halfway up, shouting, “Can’t lock the door on this side! Run run run!”

Will pushed himself off the wall and followed as a gust of wind rushed against him about the same time the door banged open and the sound of hundreds (thousands?) of crashing bare feet flooded his senses.

Tommy was waiting for them in the alley above, absurdly still armed with his sniper rifle, and was pointing it at the mouth of the alley.

“Go go go!” Danny shouted.

Tommy turned and ran toward the back of the alley. Will wanted to shout at him, find out if he knew where he was going, but he didn’t get the chance. Creatures were coming up fast behind him, and he skidded and nearly fell against the dirty floor. He managed to catch himself at the last second, made a quick U-turn, and pursued Danny and Tommy into the darkened alley.

There were no lights, just the weak spill of moonlight from above. Thankfully that was enough to see with, and Will caught sight of Tommy’s lanky form moving with surprising speed. The kid was running so fast, so determined to get to the end, that Will wondered if he even still realized they were behind him.

Danny slowed down in front of him, then spun around like a ballerina doing a pirouette. Will kept going, the loud clattering of Danny’s rifle firing on full-auto behind him even louder in the narrow passageway.

Then he began to slow down, and as soon as Danny fired his last shot, Will stopped, spun, and lifted his rifle.

Danny darted past him a split-second later. “Changing!”

Will opened up on the horde. It was a wall of living darkness, liquid black eyes against the enveloping night. He fired into the center, then swung the rifle left to right, then right to left again. The magazine emptied at an impossible rate, the carbine getting lighter and lighter with every half-second—

“Go go go!” Danny shouted behind him.

Will turned and ran, Danny commencing firing as soon as he was past him.

Up ahead, Tommy was waving them over while holding open a steel door, moonlight glinting off its shiny surface. It was beaten and old, but it was intact, and that was all that mattered.

He ejected the magazine and let it drop to the floor and shoved in a new one while shouting, “Danny! You coming or what?”

Danny was already running back toward him, a big grin on his face. “Aw, I didn’t think you cared!”

“Don’t tell anyone!” Will shouted back, then pulled the trigger again.

Ghouls stumbled and fell, creating a dangerous pile that the others slipped and stumbled against as they tried to get over to get to him. Will was backing up as he fired, watching with morbid fascination as the black-eyed undead things toppled like dominos, bullets piercing non-existent muscle and dropping more of their kind behind them. They were so crammed into the tight confines of the alley and there were so many of them he was pretty sure he was killing a half dozen (more?) with every silver bullet.

He wished he could have said it did any good, but it didn’t. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference at all because for every single ghoul he killed, a dozen were already scrambling over its lifeless carcass and they were constantly moving forward at an obscene rate.

“Move your ass, Kemosabe!” Danny shouted behind him, his voice shockingly close.

Will hadn’t realized he was almost on top of Danny until he spun to his left and saw the open door in front of him. He threw himself inside while Danny unleashed another full magazine into the surging tide of writhing flesh, the harsh sound of bullets snapping and glancing off bones like some kind of strange melody that could only be orchestrated by a mad composer.

Will was turning around when Danny stepped through and Tommy, who had been waiting beside him this entire time, slammed the door shut with all his might. There was the loud (and very satisfying) clack-clack! of a large deadbolt sliding into place. Almost instantly, the door shook as the ghouls flung themselves into it from the other side—

Thoom thoom thoom!

—and Tommy stumbled back, disoriented by the brute force on display.

But the door held. It held.

“Where the hell are we?” Will said as he took in his surroundings.

He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the sound of his and Danny’s instinctive reloading. Not that he needed light to change magazines. He mastered that little trick years ago and hadn’t looked back since.

Thoom thoom thoom!

Danny was standing next to him, the two of them in competition to see who was breathing harder and faster and more desperately. It was, he thought, a tie. The fact that they were standing in some kind of darkened hallway with no source of light whatsoever did nothing to make him feel any calmer. Danny apparently shared his apprehension.

Thoom thoom thoom!

Click! A beam of light speared a long hallway with white walls, carpeted flooring, and dust flitting wildly in front of them. “Someone’s been shirking their dusting,” Danny said behind the flashlight.

Will grabbed his own flashlight from one of his pouches and flicked it on. “Tommy, where the hell are we?”

Tommy stepped in front of them, still sucking in air. He looked back every time the creatures smashed into the door.

Thoom thoom thoom!

Will and Danny had forgotten about the sound. God help them, but they had become so used to it that it didn’t even faze them now.

Thoom thoom thoom!

“It’s a museum,” Tommy said.

“A museum?” Danny said. “In Dunbar? What’s the museum for? The crawdads of Louisiana?”

“History of the town. Dunbar is, uh, kind of proud of itself.”

“I’m proud of my boxers, too, but you don’t see me starting a museum for them.”

Thoom thoom thoom!

“Are we safe in here?” Will asked.

“I, uh, hope so,” Tommy said, looking back at the door again.

Then—silence.

The pounding had ceased without any warning.

All three of them looked back at the door, Will and Danny running their flashlights over it to make sure it was still closed. It was, and the deadbolt remained firmly in place. The frame looked slightly cracked by the vicious assault, but the door itself was still in one piece.

It was quiet around them. Not just inside, but outside as well. There were no screams, no gunshots, not even the soft but familiar tap-tap of bare feet. It was as if the ghouls had ceased all activity within the city limits.

“What the hell is this?” Danny whispered.

“Hell if I know,” Will whispered back.

It’s the blue-eyed ghouls.

Four of them.

Out there, somewhere.

They know we’re in here.

They have to know.

So what the hell are they up to now?

20

Keo

Damn, that plan went down the crapper fast.

The guy missed with his first two bullets, but all it took was one stray round to turn this into a very bad night. Fortunately for Keo, he had surfaced on the other side of the beach, with a good one hundred meters separating him and the man standing watch on the boat shack. He would have chastised the guy for being a lousy shot, except Keo didn’t think he could have done any better himself.

Looks like we both could use a little more time on the firing range, pal.

He pushed his way into the tree line and kept running. Bullets punched through branches behind and to the left of him as Mister Boat Shack continued to try to take him out. The guy had no chance out in the open when he could see Keo, and he had even less now.

Of course, all it took was one lucky shot…

This wasn’t how he had expected it to go down. Then again, he hadn’t anticipated finding an island lit up like a Christmas tree, with what looked like bright halogen lamps strategically placed from side to side and front to back, either. Towering solar collector trays ringed the place like a shiny necklace, which meant solar power. In a world without electricity, that alone made Song Island worth its weight in gold.

It also went a long way to confirm Allie’s story about a mysterious radio signal she had intercepted months ago that had lured seven of her people here. Those same survivors hadn’t kept in touch, which wasn’t supposed to happen. That was why Zachary and Shorty had come down here with him (well, mostly Zachary), to check up on their missing friends. It was that knowledge of those potentially missing (dead?) people that convinced Keo to take this particular approach.

Carrie hadn’t been enthusiastic about his idea when he told her. “You’re crazy,” she had said. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Why can’t we just go over there and tell them we’re looking for shelter and you’re looking for people who had come here before?”

His natural instinct was to respond with a cavalier, “Because this is the real world, not Fantasyland,” but instead he had said, “Can’t take the chance they turn out to be soldiers. This way, we’ll know who they are before they even see us.”

The three of them sat in the boat, adrift in the darkness with the island in the background. The string of lamps along the three piers looked like glowing fingers, and he could make out a silhouetted form moving on top of a shack on one side of the long stretch of beach. He couldn’t tell if the man (or woman) was armed from this distance, but that was probably a safe bet. The Song Island he was looking at now was worth killing for.

So where did that leave Allie’s people?

You owe me big for this, Zachary.

With the trolling motor turned off, the boat moved slightly back and forth on its own accord over the calm lake water. He was certain the guard would eventually spot the white paint on the boat, but so far, so good.

The lone guard didn’t concern him too much. It was the tall structure at the back of the island, with the floodlights over its windows. Some kind of lighthouse with an antenna sticking out of it. You could probably see the entire island from up there.

Now that’s one hell of an overwatch.

He expected to hear an argument between the girls, but there wasn’t one. In fact, neither woman said a word. He gave them their privacy anyway and didn’t hurry them along with a decision. It wasn’t as if he was going to run out of night anytime soon. Out here, far from land, he felt a certain freedom knowing the creatures couldn’t—wouldn’t—reach him. No wonder Allie and her people refused to budge from their little island—

“Okay,” Carrie said behind him. “We’ll wait here until you come back.”

He looked over. “Are you sure?”

“No, but we’ll do it anyway because we owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He looked at Lorelei. “You don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” Lorelei said, with what sounded like absolute certainty. “We’d be back at L11 right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Besides,” Carrie said, “you’re just sneaking onto the island and finding out what you can and swimming back before daylight, right? If it’s not safe, we’ll go back to shore. If it is, we’ll show ourselves like we just arrived.”

“That’s the plan.”

Carrie nodded. He wasn’t sure if that was for his benefit, or hers and Lorelei’s. “Okay. We’ll wait out here in the dark for you. What could possibly go wrong?” She had said that last part while gritting her teeth.

Famous last words.

“Use the trolling motor if you have to,” Keo said. “It got us this close without being spotted, and it should be fine to turn on again if we need it.” He paused, then, “Remember, if things go bad—and if you hear shooting, that means things have gone bad—wait an hour, and if I’m not back by then, or you see boats leaving the island and coming your way, take off.”

“Take off,” Carrie repeated. “Right.”

They both looked scared. Lorelei had all but shrunk into the back of the boat, once again trying to hide behind her curtain of blonde hair.

“Just stick to the plan,” Keo said. “As long as you keep your distance, they shouldn’t spot the boat, and I’ll be back before sunrise. We’ll be fine. No muss, no fuss.”

* * *

He left his pack in the boat, strapping just the MP5SD tightly around his body before dropping off the side and into the water. It was cold at first, but his body adapted after a few minutes. He measured the distance to the beach. Not too far. Four hundred meters, give or take. He could do that in his sleep. Thank God for all those summers on Mission Beach back in San Diego.

Keo did calm breaststrokes for the first one hundred meters. He wasn’t in any hurry. The night wasn’t going anywhere, and he had plenty of time to search the island and do a little exploring. Push came to shove, there was a lot of water he could jump into from just about any part of the island and plenty of woods he could get lost in. He had a lot of experience outrunning pursuers in wooded areas these days.

At the 150 meter mark, he slipped under and didn’t come up for another fifty.

As soon as he poked his head back through the surface, he heard the roar of an outboard motor and saw the boat leaving one of the piers, bright spotlight flashing across the lake in the direction of—

Carrie and Lorelei.

On cue, he heard the boat they had commandeered this afternoon fire up its trolling motor behind him. The slow, gradual whine was almost instantly lost in the blare of the loud outboard motor pushing a bass fishing boat across the lake. Waves surged against him, jostling Keo around as the faster vessel shot across the water.

Dammit.

He treaded in place and looked after the boat as it streaked toward Carrie and Lorelei. Fast. Too fast. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he was close enough to use the submachine gun. Which he wasn’t. Instead, he helplessly watched it catch up to the white boat.

He waited to hear gunfire, hoping that he wouldn’t. Carrie still had her Glock, but if she was smart, she would get rid of it before the boat caught up to them. There was no way they were going to fight off a boat that was probably better armed, and he hoped she figured out that before it was too late.

Throw the gun away, Carrie. Throw the gun away…

Thirty seconds later, the boats were now drifting in the lake close to one another, and there still wasn’t any gunfire. That was a good sign. Carrie and Lorelei had surrendered and no one had shot anyone. They were still alive. Which meant he could still save them…later, on the island.

Keo turned and went back under the surface and continued toward the beach.

When he came back up again, he was just fifty meters from the impossibly white sands, and the craft with the loud motor was on its way back, towing Carrie and Lorelei’s boat behind it. He could just make out four figures in the first boat now. Two were seated and two were standing. He squinted, but he couldn’t tell if the two standing were wearing uniforms.

Maybe, maybe not…

He ducked back under and pushed on toward the island, fighting against the jostling waves from the boat’s wake a second time.

He was ten meters from the beach when his boots touched something mushy but just solid enough and he began walking up at an angle. He went into a crouch, half-submerged in the water. A quick check to the side found the island boat sidling up to one of the piers, where a man and a woman had appeared and were waiting for them.

Carrie and Lorelei were standing up on the boat now, so they were okay. At this point, both women alive was more than he could have hoped for, especially given the precarious nature of the night.

Of course, their capture changed everything. Without the boat waiting for him out there, he had no place to retreat to—

Crack! A bullet splashed into the lake behind him.

He bolted up from his kneeling position and took off up the beach. Not an easy feat. He was drenched from head to toe and he was carrying extra pounds thanks to the water absorbed by his clothes. Parts of Beaufont Lake were in the pockets of his cargo pants and T-shirt, and a whole lot of it was in his boots. He picked up speed (or thought he did, anyway) with every ounce of water that literally poured out of him. He would probably look like a bloated corpse on the beach if he were to die now.

Swim fast, leave a bloated corpse. Wasn’t that the old saying?

Close enough.

* * *

It was going to take a while before he dried up completely. Maybe half a day, since it was still night and he didn’t have the sun to make it go faster. He was shivering, because being out of the water and moving in wet clothes was a lot colder than when he was submerged in the lake.

The MP5SD in hand, Keo picked his way through the woods, skipping round underbrush and trees, making as little noise and leaving as few tracks as possible. The moon provided little light for him to navigate with, but he took comfort in the knowledge that if he couldn’t see where he was going, then likely his pursuers wouldn’t be able to, either.

Right. Keep telling yourself that, pal.

He was far enough from the lampposts to avoid their halos, and the only creatures that noticed his passing were birds in the trees and random land creatures that were annoyed by his presence, who scampered off. A few squirrels sat and watched him curiously. He grinned back at them. The furry little buggers had become his new lucky charms these days.

I should catch one of them, skin it, and hang its fur around my neck for good luck.

He could certainly use a little luck now. Hell, why settle for a little? He could use a lot more than that. It was going to be tricky if he had to fight an entire island full of soldiers, though he was starting to think that wasn’t the case. They just didn’t act like the men in uniform he had encountered the last two days. Something about them was…different. The vibe was all off.

Groovy, man. We living and dying by vibes now?

Keo took a moment to take inventory of his supplies. Besides the Ka-Bar, the submachine gun was it. Heckler & Koch made excellent weapons, and even wet, the MP5SD would still work like a charm. He fired off a couple of rounds just to be sure, putting two bullets into the ground, the suppressor keeping both shots at minimum decibels.

Satisfied he still had a working weapon, Keo moved on.

He was sure they would chase him into the woods or attempt to locate him from the surrounding fields (with the beach behind him) almost immediately. He was wrong. They were either taking their time, or they were too smart to follow him into the darkness. He would have preferred to keep doing this under the cover of night, but daylight had its advantages too, including drying him out, which would help with the shivering.

He thought he was prepared for what he would find as he reached the end of the woods, but the sight of the hotel startled Keo and left him breathless for a moment.

Daebak. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

The building was huge, with floodlights spaced out along the walls. And it wasn’t even finished yet. He knew that because there were scaffolding and construction equipment visible on the flat rooftop. The lights coming from the rooms, particularly the front patio and lobby, told him that the quiet hum he had been hearing since stepping foot on the island was the product of a power station probably somewhere on the other side of the island where the hotel guests wouldn’t notice. That was where all the solar collector trays were sending their juices.

A solar-powered island. God bless the peaceniks.

And there was the lighthouse, about half a football field from the back of the hotel, with a sprawling lawn between the two structures. Or it looked like a lighthouse. Three floors, with a cone-shaped top. Four windows each on the top two floors, light pouring out from the openings. A figure moved back and forth between the windows on the third floor with binoculars. Possibly a woman from the curves.

Keo would have liked to move around the island while sticking to the woods, but once he reached the eastern cliff, he was stuck. The woods only went so far, leaving him with open ground filled with two large empty swimming pools and bird-poop-covered fish ornaments between him and the hotel. From here, his only choice was to retreat back to the beach.

It wasn’t an optimal fighting position. Not by a long shot.

A voice, booming across the wide-open space in front of him, snapped his attention back to the hotel. “Keo!”

A woman. Probably the same one from the beach. The fact that she knew his name was expected. Carrie and Lorelei would have given up information on him by now. He hadn’t expected them to hold out under interrogation, much less torture, if indeed that was what had happened to them in the last two hours.

“Keo!” the woman shouted again. “We talked to Carrie and Lorelei!”

No kidding, lady.

“We’re not soldiers! Or collaborators!”

Keo tracked the voice to the patio, maybe 200 meters from his current position. He fished out his lightweight binoculars from one of his cargo pants pockets and looked through them.

A blonde. About five-five. A taller woman and the large man stood behind her. All three were clearly illuminated by the harsh glare of lights above them, which also allowed him to see their clothes—civilian pants and shirts, but no uniform. Of course, it could just be one big trap to lure him out. After what he had done to them, first at the marina and then later at the shoreline, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of the fake soldiers finally grew a brain.

“I know you can hear me, Keo!” the woman shouted.

She seemed to be looking in his direction, so he guessed she figured out that he didn’t have a whole lot of real estate to hide in after escaping the beach. It made sense. This was their island. They would know every inch of it by now. So why hadn’t they attacked him yet? Either they were risk-averse, or they didn’t want to make this encounter bloody. Of course, he could just be overthinking the whole thing, too.

“This is your chance to keep this from getting out of hand!” she shouted. “Step outside with your hands up!” She paused, probably for effect. “You make us chase you in there, and it’s not going to end well, and neither one of us wants that!”

Speak for yourself. I happen to have a lot of recent experience eluding people with assault rifles in the woods.

Keo turned and hurried back toward the beach. He skirted over familiar terrain that he had memorized before arriving at his destination.

He went into a crouch and listened for signs of armed men trying to outflank him.

Behind him, the woman was still shouting, her voice fading a bit with the distance. But the night was so silent he would have to be deaf not to hear her. “Look, we get it! You had no choice! You couldn’t be sure who we were! I understand that! I would have done the same thing in your shoes!”

Satisfied no one was moving in on him from the beach, Keo got up and jogged through the darkness and back to the other side of the woods. The woman and her companions hadn’t moved from the patio.

He looked to the lighthouse and saw two figures inside now, moving from window to window with binoculars. Searching for him, no doubt. He wondered if they had special binoculars. Night-vision, maybe. That made him take a couple of extra steps backward until he was behind a thick underbrush just in case.

“Keo!” the woman shouted. “Let’s talk this out!”

When he didn’t respond, the woman turned to the others and said something. When she was done, she went back into the hotel with the tall woman, and a few seconds later a second man came out and took up position outside the patio alongside the big guy.

Keo waited again for the attack he knew was coming.

And waited, and waited…but nothing happened.

He sat down on the ground in his still-wet clothes instead.

Who were these people? If they weren’t soldiers, then who were they? Maybe they were even Allie’s survivors. But that didn’t make sense, either. That lighthouse made a hell of a good broadcasting station, especially with the antenna at the top. Wouldn’t they have contacted Allie with it by now? Or broadcasted a “safe and sound” message? They had to know Zachary and the others were waiting to hear back from them. The only reason they hadn’t done that yet in the months since they arrived was because they were (dead) in trouble. So was that it—

“Keo!”

It was Carrie’s voice, coming from the hotel patio.

“Keo!” Carrie shouted again. “It’s okay! They haven’t hurt us, and they’re not going to hurt you!”

He moved back toward the tree line and looked out with the binoculars again. Carrie was on the patio with the boss lady and the two men. The sight of her, standing among the islanders, caught him by surprise. He certainly hadn’t expected this little development.

“Keo!” Carrie shouted. “They’re not going to hurt you! I’ve been talking to them! That’s all we’ve been doing. Just talking! They know what happened to those seven people you came here looking for! Keo, can you hear me?”

Carrie waited for him to answer, and when he didn’t, she turned back to the woman. They exchanged some brief words, the back and forth almost casual. Then the women went into the hotel, once again leaving the two men outside.

What the hell was that about?

Keo remained where he was, watching them and listening for sounds around him. Any noise at all other than the birds in the trees, the scurrying along branches from his furry buddies. Hints that the attack he knew was coming would finally arrive. They certainly knew where he was—or at least, the general vicinity—so what was keeping them?

He got up and moved back toward the eastern part of the woods. There, he leaned out between two trees and peered at the rocky formations below. There was nothing down there except large rocks. No handholds, either, so climbing without equipment was definitely out of the question.

There was only one path out of the woods that he could see. That was straight across the open grounds, past those two empty swimming pools, the unfinished gazebo, and hope and pray he didn’t get too close to one of the hundred or so lampposts that snaked around the place like someone’s gaudy idea of showing off to the neighbors during the holidays.

Hey. No one told you you had to come here. Remember?

Yeah, yeah…

* * *

There was a new figure on the boat shack; he could tell the difference by the height and the man’s outline. There was also someone new in the lighthouse—just one, this time, going from window to window and peering through binoculars and occasionally talking into a radio. The big man was alone at the hotel patio again.

Presenting one lone guard at each position was tempting. Was that the point? Were they trying to lure him out into the open? To make the first move? Was there really just one person at the beach? Or more inside the shack? Another one hiding in the lighthouse? Or waiting behind the front doors into the hotel lobby?

These people clearly weren’t stupid, so anything was possible.

Of course, it could just be his paranoia talking. Or maybe, just maybe, he was giving them too much credit again.

There wasn’t really much of a choice when he got right down to it. Run or fight. Or surrender. That last option wasn’t really an option. Keo had never been good at surrendering. It wasn’t in his DNA. At least he shared that much with his father. Of course, if he had been a better planner, a better tactician, he wouldn’t have found himself in these situations so often. Norris could have told him that. The old-timer was always criticizing his (lack of) ability to strategize.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda…

After watching the figure in the lighthouse and the one on the patio for an hour and getting their patterns, Keo waited for his opportunity. When he saw the woman in the lighthouse move away from the south window and the one on the patio turn his back briefly to check the other side of the island, Keo jogged out of the woods. He kept low, bent over at the waist, while still managing to sprint.

He made it to one of the swimming pools less than ten seconds later. He slid along the tall grass and fell off the smooth concrete edge and into the empty and slightly curved hole in the ground. It took him a moment to realize the thing was shaped into a pear and that he had landed somewhere in the shallow section. Which was lucky. If he had chosen the wrong spot, he would have had a pretty long plummet into the deep end.

He moved toward the other side of the pool and didn’t have to stand up to scan the lighthouse on one side and the patio on the other. It was two in the morning and he could tell both guards were tired. It was in their sluggish back and forth, the way they held their weapons.

Keo waited for the double turn again, and when it came, he climbed up and darted across the grounds, sticking to the patches of darkness and skirting around the haloed LED lampposts. The damn things were ridiculously bright up close and he had to blink away temporary blindness a couple of times. There were a couple of damaged lights here and there that allowed him to go in a straight line every now and then.

He finally slipped behind a large palm tree (Where the hell did they even get palm trees in Louisiana?) and glimpsed the lighthouse to his right, the patio to his left, and the side of the hotel—wicked bright floodlights and all—directly in front.

And there, one of the side doors stared invitingly back at him.

Keo waited again.

One minute. Two…then three…

The double turn.

He dashed through the lights and made the side door fourteen seconds later. He reached for the lever and cranked it and slipped inside, his MP5SD moving up into firing position—

Keo froze.

There was a police Remington pump-action shotgun pointed at his face from one meter away.

“You took your sweet time,” the redhead standing behind the shotgun said. “We thought you might have decided to swim back to the shore or something.”

Keo’s mind raced.

The redhead noticed and grinned. “Yeah, go for it. Three feet? I’m sure there’s a chance I could miss. Probably.”

* * *

“What happened to your face?” the pretty blonde asked.

“Birthmark,” Keo said. “It was a very painful birth.”

“I’m sorry for her.”

“So am I.”

“Is that why your mom named you Keo? As punishment?”

“She wanted to call me Harry, but it was already taken.”

“Really.”

“True story.”

“I’m sure it is.” She paused for a moment, watching him intently. “The plan didn’t quite work out, huh?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been more of a doer than a planner.”

“It would appear so.”

The blonde was the clear leader. If he had any doubts before, he didn’t anymore. She looked convincing in cargo pants with a Glock in a hip holster. Late twenties (though it was hard to tell these days), watching him with crystal-blue eyes. The redhead, leaning against the wall behind her, looked even younger. She might have been twenty, maybe twenty-one.

They were both staring at him. Really, really staring at him.

After the incident at the side door, they had led him to a small room at the back of the building. Some kind of supply closet, with concrete walls and floor. He sat on an uncomfortable metal chair now, hands zip tied behind his back and ankles similarly restrained. The three of them were inside the room, but he could hear a fourth person—a man by the heavy back-and-forth footsteps—in the hallway.

How exactly had he ended up being held prisoner on an island run by two kids?

This is fucking embarrassing.

“We talked to Carrie,” the blonde was saying. “You’re looking for seven of your friends.”

Friends of friends, actually, he thought, but said instead, “What happened to them?”

“They were responding to a message on the radio?”

“Yes.”

“When was this?”

He recalled his conversation with Allie. “A while back.”

The blonde nodded. “They’re dead.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kill them?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

“The people who had this island before us.”

“And what happened to them?”

The blonde didn’t answer, and neither did the redhead. Their silence was all the answer he needed.

“Ah,” Keo said. “This is one dangerous island.”

“It can be,” the blonde said.

“So what happens now?”

The blonde gave him a long look before glancing back at the redhead. “Do you see it?”

The redhead shook her head. “Nah.”

“You sure?”

“Looks okay to me.”

“Maybe I can help you ladies out if you’ll tell me what you’re looking for,” Keo said.

“We wanted to make sure you didn’t have squirrelly eyes,” the blonde said.

“I have no idea what that means,” Keo said, looking from the blonde to the redhead and back again.

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

“He looks like one of those K-pop guys,” the redhead said. “Except for the scar. That’s butt ugly.”

“Now that’s just mean,” Keo said.

“K-what?” the blonde said.

“Those Korean boy bands I told you about.”

The blonde shook her head. “You do know that I only pay attention to you half the time, and almost never when it involves pop culture?”

The redhead smirked. “Now you tell me.” She looked over at him. “Your English is pretty good, K-pop.”

“I was born on an American base in San Diego,” Keo said.

“Well, that explains it.”

The blonde stood up and walked to the door. “Get some sleep and we’ll talk again tomorrow morning,” she said to him.

“Sleep?” Keo said. “It’s going to be hard getting any sleep like this.”

“He’s right,” the redhead said. “The poor guy.”

She walked over, stopped beside him, then lifted her foot and kicked the chair over. Keo landed on the hard concrete floor on his side with an oomph.

“There,” the redhead said. “That’s for making us stay up past midnight chasing after your dumb ass. Do you have any idea how much beauty sleep I need per day?”

“Not much, I’m sure,” Keo said.

“Flattery will get you pancakes in the morning.”

“You have pancakes?”

“Oh yeah, we have a lot of things. There’s a big ol’ freezer with all kinds of goodies. Be a good boy and don’t try anything funny, and we might share some of it with you tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

The blonde was waiting at the door. “Sit tight.”

“Some way to welcome a guest,” Keo said.

“You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight after the month we’ve been having.”

The two women left, slamming the metal door shut after them. Keo heard a lock turning, then saw the big man from earlier look in at him through the security glass, before he, too, vanished. He didn’t go very far, though, because Keo could still see his shadow just under the door.

At least they hadn’t tied him to the chair, which Keo scooted away from now and laid on his side, his hands still bound behind him. He stared up at the ceiling, at the bright squiggly lightbulb above. It was impossibly bright, though the fact that he hadn’t been this close to an artificial light source in a while might have a little something to do with that.

“Hey!” Keo shouted. “Can you at least turn off the light so I can get some sleep?”

He waited for a response. The guy outside didn’t seem to have heard him. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

“Come on. Do a guy a solid, huh? Geneva Convention and all that? I know you can hear me. Come on, man. ”

The shadow didn’t move.

Keo sighed and closed his eyes.

At least he was still alive, so there was that.

One promise down, one to go…

21

Will

“Silver bullets?” Tommy said. “You mean they actually work?”

“You’ve heard about them?” Will asked.

“There was a radio broadcast some of the kids picked up a few days ago. Something about silver, ultraviolet lights, and islands.” The teenager shook his head. “Harrison dismissed it and we never really tried to put it to use. I mean, the idea of silver… That sounded crazy.”

“Because all of this is so clearly not crazy,” Danny said.

Tommy looked slightly embarrassed. “Harrison made the decision.”

“You guys do everything he says?”

“He’s the one who put this city together. He organized the resistance in the beginning. I don’t think we’d be here without him. For all his faults, he really did save us in the early days. After that, I guess it just became a habit to follow him.”

Even in the semidarkness of the Dunbar museum, Tommy looked young and innocent, and Will could easily picture the kid falling in line like the others, including Rachel. She had seemed strong-willed to him, even stubborn, but she too had hitched her wagon to Harrison.

It’s hard to say no to a savior.

“This radio broadcast,” Danny was saying. “Was it a woman?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “You heard it, too?”

“I might have caught a snippet or three.”

Tommy was talking about Lara’s broadcast. The same message that had incurred Kate’s wrath. Kate, who at this moment was plotting the island’s destruction as retaliation.

Goddamn you, Kate. You’re going to haunt me for the rest of my life, aren’t you?

They were crouched behind a half-circle entranceway that separated the lobby of the museum with the back of the building, where the administrative offices and back rooms were linked by a long, curving hallway on each side. The spacious front lobby made up nearly sixty percent of the place, with still-intact double glass doors looking out into the moonlit sidewalk beyond. There were half a dozen small windows, but they were too high up to make any difference. Why bother with those when there were the doors?

The museum was made up of old photos, commissioned paintings of the city’s founders, and different angles of Dunbar over the decades from cattle town to what it was now. Not much, if you were to ask Will, but then its residents probably saw it differently. There were old maps, clothing, and even six-shot revolvers in dust-covered glass cases. Evidence that mankind once built something here. How long would they last once Dunbar’s citizens were scattered into the wind after tonight?

“The towns, the pregnancies,” Kate had said. “They’re all just the beginning. In ten, twenty years, you won’t recognize any of this. In a couple of generations, man will have forgotten they were ever in control of the planet.”

A couple of generations, Kate? It’s hard to remember now, a year on…

He pushed those defeating thoughts of Kate away (nothing good ever came of thinking about Kate) and concentrated on the doors in front of him.

Those damn doors. Those were going to be a problem if the ghouls attacked. Will didn’t have any doubts that the creatures knew they were inside. Not after pursuing them through the alleyway.

Dead, not stupid.

So why hadn’t they attacked? The twin doors wouldn’t last under a prolonged assault. An hour, if he was being optimistic. Less, if he was being practical. Barricading them hadn’t been an option. The only furniture in the lobby were a few chairs, a water cooler, and some stanchions that had been knocked over months ago, along with the velvet ropes attached to them. Bringing the heavy oak desks and metal filing cabinets from the offices in the back was too much work. Besides, they had already come up with a plan of retreat for when the creatures finally gained entry into the museum. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

So where the hell are they?

He could easily make out the abandoned streets on the other side of the doors about twenty-five meters across the lobby. The entire city of Dunbar looked and felt as if it had become stuck in time, like a museum outside of a museum.

Tommy moved nervously next to him from time to time. Danny was on the other side of the half-circle, sitting Indian-style with his M4A1 in front of him as he ate a granola bar Tommy had produced from one of his pockets. The teenager had put away his M40A3 sniper rifle and was clutching a Glock from his hip holster. Will had given him one of his silver-loaded magazines, something they had precious little left of at the moment.

“How’re you for ammo?” he asked Danny.

“Three mags for the rifle, all five left for the nine mil,” Danny said while chewing and spitting out pieces of granola at the same time. “You?”

“Two for the M4, three for the sidearm.”

“I guess we should start conserving. Of course, we could always use Tommy here as a baseball bat. You take the right leg, and I’ll take the left.”

“Hey,” Tommy said.

Will grinned. “Deal.”

“Whatever,” Tommy said. “Anyway, where should I shoot them with this?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Danny said. “As long as you put silver into their bloodstream, that’s all she wrote.”

“Like some kind of chain reaction? Are they allergic to silver or something?”

“Ask him,” Danny said, nodding at Will. “He’s supposedly the mastermind. I just work here.”

Will shook his head. “We don’t know. Just that it works better than anything except the sun.”

“Hard to holster the sun,” Danny said. “I’ve tried. Burned a hole right through my boxers. Had to go commando for weeks until I could find another pair.”

Tommy stared at Danny uncertainly.

“He’s joking,” Will said.

“Oh,” Tommy said.

“Carly wasn’t amused, though,” Danny went on.

“Who’s Carly?” Tommy asked.

“The hottest redhead you’ll ever see, kid. I’ll introduce you to her when we get to Song Island.”

Tommy nodded anxiously.

They sat in silence and stared out the twin doors for the next few minutes, which became the next thirty minutes. Will glanced at his watch every now and then. Between the running and shooting and waiting, it was easy to lose track of time.

Three in the morning. Four hours, give or take, before sunup.

Doable.

Maybe…

“Where are they?” Tommy finally whispered. “They know we’re in here, so where the hell are they?”

“Why, you getting anxious?” Danny asked.

“I wish they’d just attack already, that’s all. Get it over with.” He passed the Glock to his left hand, then back to his right.

“Now you’re just trying to jinx us, kid—”

Danny hadn’t finished saying the word “kid” yet when the sound of exploding glass cut him off. Their eyes darted back across the lobby to the two front doors. Something had obliterated the long pane of glass that made up nearly eighty percent of the left door, leaving behind just the frame and a big gaping hole. Will traced the trail of destruction to the source—a long metal wrench lying on its side on the floor.

“Now you’ve done it, kid,” Danny said. “I blame this on you, I hope you know that.”

Tommy wanted to respond, but either couldn’t figure out how, or couldn’t make anything come out of his mouth when he opened it.

“You ready?” Will said.

“I was born ready,” Danny said.

“Then you changed your name to Danny?”

“What, I told you this story before?”

“Only a few thousand times.”

“Hunh,” Danny said.

Crash! The second glass door shattered into a thousand pieces, this time against the black metal of a tire iron that clattered to the floor. Glass sprinkled the lobby, chunks of it reaching halfway to the three of them crouched on the other side of the room. It was already cool in the building after nightfall, but now that the lobby was suddenly ventilated, the temperature dropped even further.

“Hey, kid,” Danny whispered.

“Yeah?” Tommy whispered back, his voice shivering slightly.

“What’s the difference between a wife and a hooker?”

Tommy stared at him for a moment. Finally, he said, “I don’t know. What?”

“The hooker’s cheaper to keep around.”

There was a brief pause as Tommy processed the joke.

“Don’t think about it too hard, kid; you’ll bust a blood vessel,” Danny said. He glanced over at Will. “I call dibs on the sniper rifle when he keels over.”

“Hey,” Tommy said.

Tommy might have continued his protest, except whatever sound was going to come out of his mouth turned into an involuntary gasp when they heard the tap-tap-tap of bare feet against concrete, and the streets outside the broken front doors blackened. It wasn’t because the moonlight had disappeared, though Will thought that might have been the preferable explanation. Instead, it was because a swarm of ghouls had come out of nowhere and converged on the sidewalk and began squeezing their way through the openings.

The sight of them slashing their skins against the glass shards hanging off the doorframes—thick clumps of black blood wetting the tiled floor—while desperately forcing their way in was hypnotic. There were so many of them it was hard for Will to know where one began and ended and the rest continued. It looked like one continuous squirming flesh, accompanied by the plop-plop-plop of blood on the floor and the patter of footsteps growing in intensity with every passing second as more arrived.

“It’s about damn time,” Danny said. He had dispensed with the whispering. “My legs were starting to cramp anyway.”

Will flicked his rifle to semi-auto, leaned out, and shot the first ghoul that was almost through in the chest. The bullet easily punched through the creature’s skin and muscle and hit another one—then another—behind it. As the undead thing fell lifelessly (again) forward, it was pulled unceremoniously back through the door and the next one flopped inside.

And just like that, the dam broke.

They moved with the same speed and agility, and with the absolute and complete lack of self-preservation that always managed to both fascinate and terrify Will. While he stared, Danny stood up and fired on full-auto, dropping a dozen ghouls on the first volley as they raced across the room. Silver bullets punched through soft, yielding flesh and slammed into bones and muscle.

“Go!” Will shouted back at Tommy.

The teenager gave him a horrified look before stumbling to his feet and running up the hallway to their right. He was moving so fast he was literally tripping over his own legs.

“Changing!” Danny shouted.

Will flicked the M4A1 to full-auto and pulled the trigger.

Ghouls fell, others slipped and slid, and multiple streams of arcing black liquid sprayed the lobby. Not that it did anything to slow them down. Not even close. The surging black wave of amassing flesh began to spread out, at once providing easy targets and too many to concentrate on.

“You coming or what!” Danny shouted behind him.

Will stopped firing and turned and ran.

He followed Danny up the hallway, reloading as he went, dropping the magazine and snapping in his next-to-last one. “Stick to the plan!”

“As long as it’s not Plan Z!”

“You love Plan Z!”

“You misheard! I said I love zucchini lasagna!”

They ran past offices and closets and didn’t bother to stop at any of them. They had checked earlier: the doors were cheap wood and wouldn’t last against a prolonged attack, even with a barricade using desks and filing cabinets. Maybe against just the black-eyed ghouls they might have stood a small chance, but that wasn’t all they were dealing with tonight. Not by a long shot.

They get creative when the blue-eyed ones are around.

The metal basement door under Ennis was proof of that.

But there was one, a bathroom at the end, that could work. Or, at least, it had the most potential to get them to sunrise. It had a stainless steel door with a large deadbolt on the other side and no windows. It was easily their best choice by a good margin, and the plan was always to retreat to it once the attack began.

Now all they had to do was get to it…

Then something happened. It was so unexpected that Will couldn’t have explained how he knew, except that he just sensed it.

He slid to a stop. “Danny.”

Danny stopped a few meters up the hallway and looked back, then opened his mouth to ask— Will held up his hand and Danny didn’t follow through with it.

Except for their labored breathing, they couldn’t hear anything.

The building, as it had been just a few minutes ago, was dead silent again.

“The fuck?” Danny mouthed at him.

“No clue,” Will mouthed back.

They both looked down the hallway—at the empty nothingness staring back. There was no wave of ghouls, no black eyes seeking them out, or moving death nipping at their heels like rabid dogs. Even the telltale patter of bare feet against tiled floor was gone, along with the all-too-familiar clacking of bones underneath sagging flesh.

There was just…silence.

Five seconds…

…then ten…

Until a scream pierced the hallway from behind them.

Tommy!

They looked back up the hallway and Danny started moving, and Will was right behind him when—

—he heard it, the noise he had been waiting for—anticipating with dread—coming from behind him: the tap-tap of bare feet coming, inhumanly fast.

He spun back around, lifting his rifle and expecting to see a flood of ghouls making their way up the narrow passageway.

But there was just one.

A tall, silhouetted figure with piercing, almost pulsating blue eyes. It wasn’t quite as thin as the ghouls he was used to seeing; it actually looked almost healthy, like the one that was standing outside of Ennis last night.

Ennis…last night…blue-eyed ghoul…

Silver…

It didn’t go down.

Will squeezed the trigger.

It was fast and somehow—and Will didn’t understand how—the creature was actually dodging his bullets! But as impossibly fleet of foot as it was (and God help him, it was fast), Will still managed to put two bullets into its chest.

But it didn’t go down.

Instead it kept coming, moving with a swiftness that defied logic (so what else is new?), disintegrating the distance between them even before Will felt the last silver round leave the carbine and smash into the curving wall, taking a big chunk of the creature’s shoulder with it.

Then it was there, in front of him, batting the rifle out of his hands.

Up close, Will saw black blood oozing out of the holes in its chest. He had put those there with two silver bullets.

Silver bullets!

Will opened his mouth to scream Danny’s name, but before he could get anything out, smooth black flesh wrapped around his throat and he was flailing from one side of the narrow hallway to the other. His breath exploded from his half-open mouth and his lungs burned in a sea of fire as it slammed him into the wall.

Where the hell’s Danny?

Will’s eyes darted left, up the hallway—and saw Danny firing at another blue-eyed ghoul running toward him from the other side. The damned thing was dodging Danny’s bullets, too. It also had something on its face that almost looked like a grin. But that was impossible. These things didn’t grin…right?

The creature grabbed Danny by the face and slammed his head into the wall, and a second later Danny’s body went slack and crumpled to the floor. The blue-eyed ghoul stood over Danny and there was fresh blood covering its mouth, the bright red liquid glistening in what little moonlight managed to penetrate this far into the hallway.

Tommy’s blood…

It looked up at him. No, not at him, but at the first creature, the one holding Will in place with a single hand, as if Will were fifty pounds of nothing. Its fingers dug into his throat, threatening to crush his windpipe with just a little bit of pressure.

And then the creatures did something Will had never seen them do before, that he didn’t think they could even still do.

They spoke.

“I told you it’d be easy,” the second one said. Its voice came out as a sharp hiss, almost like hot steam venting. It didn’t sound the least bit human. It was more than that. More than human. Beyond human.

“So you did,” the first one said. It manipulated Will’s eyes back to its face by turning his head, like a grown man would an infant that was completely and utterly at its mercy.

Forced to stare at it, Will couldn’t help but marvel at the smoothness of the creature’s skin and its domed, hairless head. Its face was encased in impossibly tight flesh, showing none of the pruned bumps that covered the black-eyed ones. The smooth contour of its skin from the neck up looked almost pristine, like something fresh and newly born. The holes in its chest, where he had shot it, had cauterized in the last few seconds, even if the monster probably didn’t consider them wounds in the first place. It sure as hell hadn’t acted like getting shot (with silver bullets!) had hurt at all.

The eyes were closer to a shade of sky blue, and the unnatural thing’s long and bony (and cold) fingers were wrapped so tightly around his throat that Will had trouble breathing. He guessed that was the point.

“Will,” it said, its voice coming out in the same unnatural hiss. “Kate says you’re a hard man to kill. But I told her you couldn’t be. After all, you’re only human.”

“Kate exaggerates,” the other ghoul said, and it made a noise Will didn’t understand at first, until he realized it was laughter. Soft laughter, as if it didn’t quite remember how to do it properly but thought that this was just close enough.

“Would you like to play a game, Will?” the one in front of him asked.

“Kate wants him,” the other creature said.

“We’ll tell her he resisted. Oops.” Lines where lips should be morphed into a smile. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Mabry will know.”

“Mabry thinks she’s too obsessed with him. He’ll approve of this.”

“You’ve talked me into it.” And it, too, smiled. “Go on, then. Tell him the rules.”

“The rules are simple,” the first one said to Will. “We’ll have a blast—” It stopped talking and stiffened, and its fingers tightened further (Is that even possible?) around his throat as the creature hissed, “A knife? Really, Will?”

Cross-knife, Will thought.

He didn’t know when he had even reached for it, much less pulled it out of its sheath. But there it was, in his hand, gleaming in the moonlight as it moved in a wide arc from his thigh toward the ghoul’s head. He wasn’t sure if he was even aiming, but the knife seemed to know where it was going, as if it had a mind of its own.

The ghoul glared at him and there was a glint of something that could have been pity just a split-second before the knife punctured the side of its head. The blade kept going, penetrating the skull—it was surprisingly tough—and Will kept pushing with everything he had—which wasn’t much at the moment, but there was just enough—until the hilt of the weapon rammed up against slightly cold flesh and the knife couldn’t go any further.

He thought the creature would let out a scream, a cry of pain, maybe even panic, but it did none of those things. Instead, the sparkling blue in its eyes lost their luster and it collapsed in front of him. The fingers let go and Will could breathe again, and he slid down the wall, sucking in air, following the falling motion of the creature with his own. The clack-clack of bones as the ghoul hit the tiled floor first, then thump as Will landed on his ass.

There was a sharp hissing sound and Will looked up at the second ghoul. It stared at the creature lying motionless in front of him, the cross-knife still embedded in its skull. Then its eyes shifted over to Will and it moved—

The Glock, like the knife, had somehow magically appeared in Will’s hand without him ever knowing how it had gotten there. He stopped thinking about it, stopped trying to understand what was happening, and just pulled the trigger.

He fired once—twice—three times—hitting the creature in the chest with all three rounds.

It didn’t stop it. Of course it didn’t stop it. He knew it wouldn’t, but he was trained to hit center mass and that’s what he did.

The monster shook off the three silver bullets and kept coming.

Will tilted the gun up slightly and fired, creasing the ghoul’s right cheek. It flinched that time and actually paused for a second.

For a moment—just a brief, optimistic moment (Captain fucking Optimism, yeah right)—Will thought he had forced it to change its mind, that it would now turn and run away.

But of course it didn’t.

It lunged at him again, and Will fired instinctively and from point blank range, hitting it square in the center of the forehead. Something that might have been brains—or whatever still passed for brains inside them—exploded out the back of the ghoul’s head. The creature’s body—emaciated, yes, but somehow stronger and tougher and fuller looking than the black-eyed ones—twisted at the last moment and flopped to the floor, bones clacking and blood oozing out of what was left of its skull. The entire back part of its head was gone, leaving just the front.

Will gasped for breath, every successful attempt sending a jolt of pain through his body. He wondered if his old wounds had opened up. It would be ironic if he survived these blue-eyed bastards only to die from a gunshot wound inflicted by a human traitor.

Ironic, or was that tragic?

Who gives a shit.

But he wasn’t dead yet, and Will grabbed the cross-knife and jerked it out of the dead ghoul’s head. It came out easily, with no resistance whatsoever, just a soft slurp. He picked up his rifle and slung it, then crawled on his hands and knees over the two dead bony things to get to Danny.

He reached for the neck first and felt a strong pulse.

When he turned Danny over onto his back, he thought he might have felt a pulse that wasn’t there, because the face he was staring down at was covered in a thick layer of blood. Will felt his neck again just to be sure and got the same response. The bleeding must have looked way worse than the actual wound. He hoped, anyway.

He snatched up Danny’s carbine, then got a good grip on the back of his friend’s shirt collar and began dragging him up the hallway. He kept his eyes glued in front of him, at the half-circle arch into the lobby, and his ears open for any noises coming from behind him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was seeing very much or hearing anything at all over the roaring pain in his chest and throat and ears.

Jesus, was there a part of him that wasn’t hurting at the moment?

Stupid question. Of course there wasn’t. He didn’t even know how he was still moving. It had to be adrenaline. It would hurt later, but for now, he could still make his legs move and keep his grip on Danny, and that was all that mattered.

He moved on automatic pilot, trying not to think about every aching bone and pulsating muscle in his body. It didn’t help that Danny was heavier than he remembered. Or maybe he was just getting weaker.

Will glanced back and saw the bathroom door coming up. It was open, unable to close because of the shadow-covered body lying half-in and half-out of it. Tommy. How the hell had the ghoul gotten behind them? They had searched the entire building and found no other way into the museum except through the front doors. The offices didn’t even have windows, for God’s sake. So how had the blue-eyed bastards sneaked inside?

When he finally reached the bathroom, his suspicions were confirmed. It was Tommy. Or most of him, anyway. It was actually just everything from the neck down, because his head was missing. Teeth marks covered the stump where the head had been attached.

He pulled Tommy’s lanky frame out into the hallway to clear the door, then dragged Danny inside. He closed the heavy stainless steel door, then turned the lock and heard the satisfying click-clank of the metal bolt sliding into place.

With Danny inside, Will unslung his rifle and scanned the bathroom just to be sure. There were no windows in here, so the other blue-eyed creature had to have gotten in from somewhere else. Maybe another window they had missed. It was dark and they were moving by flashlight, so just about anything was possible.

He fished out the flashlight and clicked it on. He slung the rifle and drew the Glock, then went through the three stalls inside the bathroom again, just to be sure. He found nothing, which made him relax a little bit, though not by much since even just breathing hurt.

He walked back over to Danny and sat down next to him.

Even under the mask of blood, Danny had something on his face that looked suspiciously like a smile. Maybe he was dreaming he was back on the island with Carly. Danny had the right idea. What Will wouldn’t give to be back on Song Island right now, walking on the beach with Lara…

He thought about last night’s dream. Of Kate again. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. The way she had proudly admitted to orchestrating everything that had happened in Dunbar yesterday. The trap with the U-Haul, with the blue-eyed ghouls inside. Four of them.

Four of them…

He glanced at the door. There were two out there. He couldn’t tell if they were the same ones from the dream, the same group that had ambushed Harrison’s people. But they had blue eyes, and there had been four of them when Kate showed him the…what the hell was it? A memory? A dream? More like a nightmare…

So where were the other two now? Did they always work in fours? Or did the other two leave after they had decimated Harrison’s people? No, that didn’t make any damn sense at all.

Because, obviously, all of this makes perfect sense.

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

He stuck his hand into his cargo pants pocket and pulled out the small bottle. Thank God Rachel hadn’t taken it from him last night along with his pack and weapons. He couldn’t read the label in the dark, not that it mattered. He twisted off the cap and shook out a couple of pills and swallowed them, then realized that wasn’t going to work and tossed down two more.

He put the bottle away and pulled his shirt up to make sure his wounds hadn’t reopened during the fight. No wetness along his waist, which was good. That was the one stitching he was worried most about opening up again. But Zoe had done a hell of a job, and the stitches were still in place. He’d have to thank her again when he got back to the island.

Now who’s being Captain Optimism?

He tucked his shirt into his pants, then picked up the M4A1 and made sure it was still in one piece. He laid it across his lap and leaned back against the wall, trying to see if he could hear them through the door. It was so dead silent he could hear just about everything, including the thrumming in his chest, the creak of his bones, and the throbbing from all the bruises up and down his body.

He wasn’t too worried about the black-eyed ghouls, though. They were weak and they didn’t have the creativity to break down a metal door. But the others, the blue-eyed ones, were dangerous. Ennis’s metal basement door hadn’t stood a chance, so if those other two bastards were out there somewhere…

He drew the Glock and laid it on the floor next to him.

Blue eyes or not, faster and stronger or not, they still went down if you got them in the right spot: the head. Or was it the brain?

Either/or.

Just to be sure, he’d just shoot them in the head until there wasn’t a head anymore.

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

22

Gaby

The cemetery didn’t look any less inhospitable in the daylight, but that could just have been the plentiful weeds and scattered debris that had overtaken the place since it had last seen a caretaker. Nothing ever looked the same these days; the cities were always too hollow and unwelcoming, the houses too dark and depressing, and the streets too wide and empty. There was no reason a place where the dead resided would be any different.

Gaby kept to the winding path, staying out of the grass with the girls following closely behind. Donna kept pace behind her, followed by Milly, and Claire brought up the rear with her Winchester clutched tightly in her small hands. Though Donna was older and taller, Gaby had no doubt that when things went sideways—and they usually did, these days—she wanted Claire to be the one standing beside her, shooting.

She didn’t remember the front gate of the cemetery being as far as it was or the place being so big. She couldn’t see Route 13 from here, but the sunlight danced off a pair of large buildings to her right. Not far, maybe half a mile.

“What’s over there?” she asked, pointing.

“Dunbar Airport,” Donna said.

“Big airport?”

“Not really. Just a couple of hangars and a waiting room in one of the buildings. Not much to look at, and most of the planes that land there are those small ones. Why?”

“It’s always a good idea to reload on supplies whenever you can.”

“I remember a couple of vending machines. Drinks and stuff.”

Gaby shook her head. “Not worth walking all that way for just drinks and stuff. We’ll make do with the supplies we took from the VFW hall.”

“You think that’ll be enough?”

If it’s not, that means we didn’t make it to Song Island, Gaby thought, but she decided the girls didn’t need to hear that. She said instead, “It should be.”

She looked back at Milly. The girl had been quiet since they woke up in the crypt this morning. Not the best morning she’d faced before or since the end of the world, and it had to be worse for Milly, who had just lost Peter. The two of them weren’t related, but they shared a stronger connection, one created from survival. She knew what that was like. Her link with Will, Danny, and Lara—those were the kind of bonds she could never have created with her friends or even family before The Purge. It was the kind cemented in fire and combat.

“Hey, are you hungry?” she asked Milly.

The girl looked up, big eyes peering through long, dirty hair. She shook her head silently.

“If you are, tell me, and we can stop and eat again,” Gaby said.

Milly nodded. She looked as if she were moving in a stupor, not connected to the world the way Gaby and the sisters were. Gaby would have to keep an eye on her. She owed Peter that at least.

“Claire said you guys had been wanting to leave Dunbar even before I arrived,” she said to Donna. “Why?”

“It’s Claire’s idea,” Donna said. “Ever since she heard that radio broadcast, she’s been obsessed with it. She plays the tape recorder once every hour, and to anyone who’ll listen. It’s kind of annoying.”

“That’s the only reason?”

Donna shrugged. “Harrison… I never liked him. My dad used to teach us about what kind of man to stay away from. You know, when we got older. Harrison fit his description perfectly.”

“So why did you stay with them for so long?”

“Dunbar’s the only place we know. And besides, the others were pretty cool. Rachel, for one.”

“Was she back at the VFW hall?”

“No. She was outside with Harrison. She’s like his second-in-command.”

“She’s really your friend?” Claire asked from behind them. “The woman on the radio?”

“She is,” Gaby said.

“She sounds cool.”

“She is pretty cool.”

“And the island is safe?” Donna said doubtfully. “The creatures—these ghoul things—can’t get to it?”

“I was there for three months and they never crossed the water,” Gaby said.

“What about the hotel? Tell me about the hotel. You said it had power, which means hot showers, right?”

Gaby nodded. “All the hot showers you want.”

“Oh my God,” Donna smiled widely. “It’s been so long since I’ve had an honest to goodness real shower.”

“You smell it, too,” Claire said.

Donna rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you smell any better.”

“Better than you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Claire snorted, but didn’t have any comeback for that one. The thirteen-year-old continued to keep watch behind them, eyes roaming the cemetery for potential threats or surprises.

“Can she really use that rifle?” Gaby asked Donna.

“She was good with it before all of this,” Donna said. “Now, she goes to sleep with that thing in her arms. It’s creepy.”

“I heard that,” Claire said.

“You were supposed to.”

“Whatever.”

Gaby smiled. It had been a while since she heard sisterly bickering. In some strange way, she liked it. It reminded her that, whatever happened, sisters would still be sisters even at the end of the world.

“Come on,” Gaby said, glancing up at the sun. “The faster we get up Route 13, the faster we’ll hit Interstate 10.”

“And Song Island after that,” Donna said.

“And Song Island after that. Meanwhile, keep an eye out for any vehicles. It’d be nice not to have to walk the entire way there.”

“Can you drive?”

“A little.”

“Good, because I never got my driver’s license.”

“I doubt anyone’s going to ticket you, Donna.”

“No, but she might drive into a ditch and kill us all,” Claire said.

Donna groaned. “God, you’re stupid, Claire.”

“Whatever.”

They finally reached the front gates of the cemetery and stepped through it. They turned left, heading back toward the highway in the distance.

* * *

They hadn’t gone very far toward the highway when Gaby saw sunlight glinting off the metal dome of a vehicle parked at the intersection between Route 13 and the country road that had led them to the cemetery. The car hadn’t been there last night.

She grabbed Donna’s arm and pulled her left, toward the ditch and off the road, snapping, “Car.”

Behind them, Milly and Claire smartly followed without a word. Gaby slipped to one knee and unslung the M4, flicking off the safety.

Donna was on both knees in the grass, peering forward. “Is that a truck?”

Gaby nodded. It was a big silver truck, about 200 yards further up the road and parked along the shoulder. She couldn’t tell what kind of vehicle from this distance, not that she had ever been particularly good at distinguishing one car from another. The end of the world hadn’t done a whole lot to fill in that particular knowledge gap.

A man was climbing out of the front passenger seat of the truck now and did something she couldn’t quite make out from this distance. Too bad she hadn’t grabbed a pair of binoculars. She remembered seeing a few of them on the shelf in the basement under the VFW hall. Will and Danny would have picked one up just in case.

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” they would say.

“What should we do?” Donna whispered. She didn’t really have to, given how far they were from the highway. Then again, sound did travel these days, so maybe the girl was wiser than Gaby gave her credit for.

She glanced back at Claire and Milly. They were crouched behind them, Claire with her rifle in front of her, looking ready for action. Milly was a quivering mess, and Gaby expected her to jump up and run off at any second.

She looked back at the truck just in time to catch a second figure approaching from the other side of the road. Both men. She could tell by the way they moved. After a while, she began to make out the multiple colors of their camo uniforms.

Josh’s soldiers.

Were they looking for her? Had Josh sent them? He would have been informed by now of her escape. There was one thing about Josh—the old and the new—that she knew with absolute certainty: he didn’t give up when he set his mind on achieving a goal. Unfortunately, that was her at the moment.

Whatever he had become, whatever he had deluded himself into believing, he was still, at heart, the kid who fell in love with her the day she moved in across the street from him. She knew that because he had told her.

Kid? Did I just call him a kid?

He’s not a kid anymore. He’s nineteen. Old enough to know better. Old enough to stop lying to himself.

“Gaby?” Donna whispered. “What should we do?”

They were watching her curiously. Donna next to her and the two girls behind them.

Good question.

Options. What were her available options?

She could look at this as a stroke of bad luck, but that was probably not what Will or Danny would have done. No, they would see the soldiers and the truck (but especially the truck) as an opportunity.

Besides, she didn’t feel like walking the rest of the way to Beaufont Lake, anyway.

“Stay here,” Gaby said, looking first at Donna, then at the thirteen-year-olds. “Don’t move from this position, and stay as low as you can until I give you the word.”

“I can help,” Claire said eagerly.

“Yes, you can—by keeping everyone here safe with that rifle.”

She fixed the girl with a hard look and Claire, understanding—which didn’t mean she liked it one bit by the way she gritted her teeth—nodded reluctantly.

“Remember, keep low,” Gaby said. “Don’t make a sound. If anything happens and I don’t come back, wait until they leave, then keep going south until you reach Beaufont Lake. Understand?”

Donna nodded without any enthusiasm. Like her sister, she apparently didn’t see any point in arguing. Milly just looked mortified by the whole thing.

“Okay,” Gaby said. “I’ll be back.”

She gave them her best smile, then shrugged off her pack and handed it to Milly since Donna was already carrying the supply bag. She got up and began jogging up the country road, back toward the highway. With just the rifle, her holstered sidearm, and spare magazines around her waist, she felt lighter on her feet, though of course that could just be the adrenaline trying to convince her she could, possibly, survive this.

Captain Optimism, right, Danny?

They needed the truck. It was going to make returning to Beaufont Lake easier, faster, and safer. There was no way around it. That truck had a working battery and likely a full tank of gas to be out here by itself. She needed that damn truck in the worst way.

Gaby was fortunate the country road had ditches on both sides, each about four feet deep. That allowed her to slide all the way down to the bottom of one of them and, hunched slightly over, move up the road without being seen.

Or, at least, she hoped she couldn’t be seen.

The morning heat had picked up noticeably and Gaby was already sweating after twenty yards of bent-over running. She kept the M4 in front of her the entire time, ready to use at a moment’s notice. Her legs carried her forward on automatic pilot, and she kept her eyes focused straight-ahead at all times. She prayed something didn’t pop up in front of her—like a tree root—and trip her up. It wouldn’t have taken much, given how little attention she was paying to what was on the ground at the moment.

Thirty yards…

…forty…

She watched the soldiers the entire time. There were definitely just the two of them, which was the good news.

The bad news was, there were still two of them, and just one of her.

She gripped the carbine tighter, wishing she had her own weapon. The rifle she had now had proven decent back at the VFW hall, but she understood why Will and Danny were so adamant about holding onto their M4A1s all the way from Afghanistan. Soldiers weren’t supposed to bring weapons back home with them, but the two had managed it anyway. “We knew someone who knew someone,” was all Will would say when she asked how he had managed that.

She missed her old M4. The feel of this one wasn’t quite right, though she imagined it was all in her mind. Probably.

Sixty yards…

She concentrated on the two soldiers to take her mind off the things she didn’t have but wished that she did. She still couldn’t make out a whole lot of details, but they were definitely both men. Gaby had only killed men so far, but she didn’t think she would have trouble pulling the trigger on a woman. A collaborator was a collaborator. And uniform or not, these were still members of the human race that had sold out their kind. She couldn’t summon any sympathy for them even if she tried.

Eighty…

They hadn’t spotted her yet and seemed to be too busy talking to really pay any attention to their surroundings.

After moving steadily up the ditch for a while, she stopped and went into a crouch. She took the opportunity to glance back at the girls. They were lying on their stomachs and watching her back. Or she assumed they were looking in her direction. She could only really see three lumps in the grass, and that was only because she knew where to look.

She faced forward again and caught her breath: one of the soldiers was turning in her direction when he stopped and seemed to stare right at her from across the distance.

She gripped the M4 tighter and mentally prepped herself to launch into battle—

False alarm.

The man hadn’t seen her. He was looking down while trying to open some kind of bag. Then he was turning away, stuffing something into his mouth as he did so.

She forced her fingers to loosen around the rifle.

Jumpy. She was way too jumpy.

When the man had turned his back to her again, she got up and continued along the ditch at a half-trot while slightly bent over at the waist to lower her profile.

Ninety yards…

She was at one hundred when she stopped a second time to get her bearings. The man on her side of the silver vehicle was leaning against the front grill and staring off down the road at nothing in particular. Their lack of attention to the land around them was incredible.

You need better “soldiers,” Josh.

She got up again and kept going.

110 yards…

The second one was walking back around the truck and handed the first one a bottle of water. They drank while looking down the highway, back toward Dunbar. They were clearly waiting for someone and weren’t going anywhere soon.

130 yards…

She took a second to make sure the fire selector on the M4 was set to semi-auto.

150 yards…

She was close enough now that she could hear them talking. They sounded young, and she could make out blond hair on one soldier, while the other one had a long black ponytail.

160 yards…

She wasn’t sure what happened. Maybe she wasn’t being nearly as quiet as she thought she was. Or maybe one of them, by some fluke, saw something that alerted him to her presence, the way she had seen the reflection of their truck under the sun earlier.

Either way, one of them saw her, said something, and both men began unslinging their rifles.

Gaby immediately stopped, took aim through the red dot scope, and fired—and missed.

Her bullet pinged! harmlessly off the hood of the truck. It was a bad shot, but it still made one of them dart for cover, so at least it had some impact. The one that didn’t move opened fire on her, the pop-pop-pop of his three-round burst filling the air even before her own shot’s echo had faded.

Gaby forced herself to stand perfectly still and reacquire her target even as the ground to her right, at shoulder level, exploded and she was showered with loosened dirt and grass. The man was firing too fast, too wildly, probably trying to fight against the same adrenaline that was pumping through every inch of her at the moment.

Whoever these men were, they didn’t have the advantage of being trained by a pair of Army Rangers. Will and Danny hadn’t held back—not once in the three months they broke her down and built her back up on the island.

She summoned that experience now and forced one of her senses to ignore the sound of bullets buzzing past her head.

She corrected her aim, swiveling slightly to the right, and fired again.

This time she hit the man in the waist, and he dropped his rifle and grabbed at the spot where he had been shot. When the man tried to run around the truck for cover, Gaby calmly took aim again and shot him in the back.

The man stumbled and slammed into the hood of the truck and slid down the smooth surface, but by then Gaby was already rushing up the ditch again. This time she dispensed with the slow jog and was in a full sprint mode, peering through her weapon’s sight the entire time and searching for another target.

Where’s the other one? Where’s the other one?

Running forward was the only path open to her. She couldn’t retreat, not with one of the (fake) soldiers still alive. He had the truck and she needed it. She knew exactly where the resolve came from: the very real desire to get back home to Song Island at all costs.

That’s my truck, asshole!

The second man was moving along the length of the truck, smartly keeping behind cover. Unfortunately for him, thanks to her lowered vantage point inside the ditch, she easily spotted his boots moving underneath the vehicle. The man was clearly trying to reach the back of the truck (a Chevy, as it turned out), probably in hopes of catching her by surprise. Either he didn’t know she could see his feet or he was counting on her not picking it up.

When he poked his head out the back, she snapped off a shot. Her bullet shattered one of the taillights and the man jerked his head back instinctively.

Gaby picked up the pace. She was twenty yards away now and she could still see the man’s boots, this time holding their position at the middle of the truck. Gaby laid the M4 on top of the ditch, took careful aim, and shot the man in the right ankle. There was a loud scream and the figure crumpled to the ground on the other side of the Chevy.

Gotcha.

She climbed up the ditch and scrambled up the road. The first man she had shot was dead, lying facedown on the hot asphalt in a pool of his own blood. Gaby scanned all the sides of the highway, looking for any potential threats. She hadn’t seen any before, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t heard the shots and was responding. It was a big road and seemed to go on endlessly in both directions. She hadn’t properly realized what a huge task it would have been to travel it on foot until now.

I definitely need that truck.

She skirted around the hood of the Chevy, the rifle ready to shoot the second man on sight. He must have had plenty of time to prepare for her by now. It had taken her how long to climb up the ditch and then jog over? Twenty seconds? Maybe thirty?

More than enough time. Maybe he was going to make a final bloody stand, hoping to take her with him. She wasn’t going to give him that chance if she could help it. She was tired of giving people the benefit of the doubt. They always ended up disappointing her, like Josh…

But the man wasn’t a threat. Not anymore.

He sat on the highway, back against the driver side door, trying desperately to tie a handkerchief around his bleeding ankle. His face was locked in a tight grimace, sweat pouring down his temple and chin, and he didn’t seemed to notice her at all. He was young, too. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, and “Darren” was stenciled over his nametag.

Gaby tightened her finger on the M4’s trigger.

Darren finally realized she was there and looked up. He didn’t make a move for his weapons and only clenched his teeth in pain. “Please, please don’t shoot.”

Gaby stared at him. He had soft blue eyes and a burgeoning stubble. He didn’t look dangerous, but then, none of them did. It wasn’t what they did that made them her enemy; it was what they were committed to.

“Please,” Darren said again. “God, please, don’t kill me.”

She wanted to shoot him. It was the smart thing to do. He was the enemy and she was, without a doubt, stuck behind enemy lines. If she let him go, he would alert the others to her presence. If Josh had sent him, he would go back and tell him where she was. Josh would immediately know where she was heading, and what roads she would take.

Letting this man (boy) go would be the dumbest thing she could do at this very moment. Will would shoot him. He wouldn’t even hesitate.

So why was she?

Gaby breathed for the first time in what seemed like hours and took her finger off the trigger. Darren, seeing her response, sighed with great relief.

“Don’t move,” Gaby said.

He nodded.

She scooted over and picked up his assault rifle. She pulled his sidearm out of its holster and shoved it into her waistband, then took a step back. “I need your magazines.”

Darren began removing them from his pouches and placing them on the road without hesitation. Gaby stepped back a little bit more and gave Darren a quick look, then glanced down the road and waved with both hands at the girls. She hoped they would understand and was grateful to see all three rising and running up the road as fast as they could. From this distance, they looked like stick figures twinkling against the sun.

She looked back at Darren as he took out the last magazine. “Is there gas in the truck?”

He nodded. “We filled it up this morning.”

“From where?”

“In town.”

“Dunbar?”

“Yes.”

“You were there last night?”

“No, I arrived this morning.”

“What are you doing out here? Are you looking for someone?”

He looked reluctant to answer.

“Are you really going to make me ask twice?” she said, trying to inject as much menace as she could into her voice. Will wouldn’t have had a problem with it, but then, she wasn’t an ex-Army Ranger.

“There were people still left in the city,” Darren said. “We were supposed to make sure no one tried to leave.”

“Did Josh send you?”

“Who?”

She stared at his face. Was he lying to her? The way he had answered the question—quickly, without even taking a second to think about it—made him either the world’s best liar or he was telling the truth. Josh hadn’t sent him. He didn’t even seem to know who Josh was.

If Josh didn’t send you, then who did?

“Never mind,” she said.

Gaby glanced over again. She could make out Claire in the lead, with Milly behind her, and Donna lagging in the back because of the heavy supply bag she was carrying.

“Where’s the key?” she asked Darren.

“Inside,” he said. Then, blinking in the sun at her, “Are you going to kill me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

His face turned ghostly white. “Please…”

“Stop begging,” she said, fighting the growing irritation.

“Be a man,” she wanted to say. “Accept the consequences of your decisions and your actions. You and Josh and the rest of them.”

Instead, she motioned for him to get away from the truck. He struggled to his feet, then dragged one leg behind him as he hobbled away, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His eyes shifted down the road for a brief moment.

“Expecting reinforcements?” she asked.

He shook his head quickly. “No, I was just…” He didn’t finish and instead looked down at nothing.

She slung her rifle and drew the Glock, then opened the driver side door. The key was in the ignition. She pulled it out and pocketed it, then opened the back door and looked in. There were two cases of refilled water bottles in the back, unopened bags of MREs, and spare magazines thrown haphazardly across the seats.

“How many others are out here?” she asked.

He seemed to think about it. “This far out? Just us.”

She fixed him with a hard look.

He swallowed. “I swear.”

She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. She had never been particularly good at reading faces anyway, but Darren looked too scared to lie.

“I’m going to take your truck,” she said.

“Take it,” he said quickly.

The girls had reached them by now, Claire clutching her rifle at the sight of Darren. Donna was out of breath and leaned against the hood for support. Milly looked winded but was too busy being queasy at the sight of the dead soldier.

Claire returned Gaby’s pack, but her eyes were fixed on Darren. “What are we going to do with him?”

“I don’t know yet,” Gaby said. “What do you think?”

The girl was eyeballing Darren like a predator. Although he was five-ten and probably had one hundred pounds on the thirteen-year-old, Darren still shrunk back from her intense stare. He glanced from Claire to Gaby, then back again.

Gaby couldn’t tell if he was more afraid of her or the kid.

Definitely the kid, she thought with a smile.

23

Will

“Am I dead?”

“Almost,” Will said.

“Thank God,” Danny groaned. “Because if I’m dead and your ugly mug’s the first thing I see, it’s a pretty good bet I didn’t go, you know, up there.” He hiked a thumb upward, then looked down at his shirt, which was covered in a thick film of dry blood from last night. “All this red stuff mine?”

“Yup. There’s more on your face.”

“Shit.”

“Yup.”

“So that explains the sore joints, aching bones, and this wicked pounding inside my skull.”

Danny winced as he sat up, pushing back against the wall for support. In the glow of morning that filled up the bathroom, his face was covered in dried blood, and to look at him, it was unfathomable that he was still alive. His nose was crooked and broken at the bridge. Will had stuffed two wads of year-old toilet paper into each nostril.

“Morning?” Danny said.

“Morning.”

“We made it.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s not do last night again.”

“Deal.”

Danny pulled the tissue paper out and flicked them away. “I hate nosebleeds.”

“I wouldn’t call what you had last night nosebleeds. More like a blood-gushing torrent.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I was pretty sure you were dead. I had a speech prepared for Carly and everything.”

“I kinda wish I was.” He glanced over at Will, sitting to his right. “You look like how I feel.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

Will didn’t feel like moving from where he had been sitting for the last few hours. In-between chewing on a pair of granola bars from one of his pockets, he had downed two more painkillers. His side throbbed and his neck hurt, but he was alive, even if every inch of him claimed otherwise.

“Water?” Danny said.

“Back in Ennis’s basement.”

He looked over at one of the stalls. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but…toilet water?”

“Went dry a long time ago.”

“So what’s the good news?”

“We’re still alive.”

“That’ll work. So, you got anymore of the good stuff?”

Will pulled out the light bottle of painkillers and tossed it over. “Finish it off.”

“This everything?”

“More in the packs…”

“…back at Ennis’s,” Danny finished. He shook out two, then decided four was the better number and popped them into his mouth and chewed on them as if they were rock candy. He tossed the empty bottle away and watched it skid across the room. “It wasn’t my imagination, right? There was one of those blue-eyed buggers in the hallway.”

“Yup.”

“I shot it.”

“You did.”

“With silver bullets.”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, I shot the crap out of it. A dozen rounds. At least six.”

“Give or take.”

“So how the mother truckin’ hell did it keep coming?”

“I was going to tell you,” Will said. “I saw one of them outside the bar last night. I shot it with a silver bullet and it didn’t go down.”

Danny smirked. “And you were saving this for…when?”

Will shrugged. “Eventually. We were sort of preoccupied with other things last night. Like trying to keep Rachel from killing us. Then I fell asleep. And you know what happened after that.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Danny paused, then, “So why are we still alive?”

“Shooting them doesn’t work, not even with silver bullets. But taking out the brain seems to work just fine.”

“You still need silver for that, or will any ol’ bullet do?”

“I have no idea. Let’s just use silver to be sure.”

“Sounds good to me. That’s what they used to call me back in college, you know. Sure Thing Danny.” He paused again to catch his breath. “Damn, I could use some water.”

“Yup.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. Talking was easier than moving, but it seemed to have tired Danny out almost as much as it had Will.

Danny touched the gash along his left temple, fingers sticky from the ointment and disinfectant Will had used to cover it up when there was enough light to work with. He had wiped as much blood off Danny’s face as he could, but even so, Danny looked like the result of a plastic surgery gone awry.

Danny flinched. “Goddamn, that hurts.”

“So don’t touch it.”

“Yeah, good idea. You’re full of good ideas this morning.” Danny nodded at the long trail of dried blood that led to the door. “Is that mine or Tommy’s?”

“Both.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I think one of them found another way in. Waited for Tommy, then…you know.” He added, almost as if in afterthought, “It took his head.”

“It took his head?”

“Yeah. It took his head.”

“The fuck?”

“What I said.”

“Did you…find it?”

“No. I don’t want to, either.”

The bathroom smelled of something rotten, and it wasn’t just from their sweat and blood. Will had been breathing mostly through his mouth ever since he struggled to drag Danny inside about four hours ago. Even though there were no windows, visibility had greatly improved and he could feel the warmth of the sun against his skin and face coming into the room from…somewhere.

“So,” Danny said after a while.

“So…”

“Blue-eyes.”

“Yeah.”

“Two?”

“Four.”

“Four?”

He told Danny about his dream, the one Kate had shown him. About how they had ambushed Harrison’s people.

“Smart buggers,” Danny said.

“Bratt had it right.”

“What’s that?”

“He called them shock troops. The tip of the spear, sent behind enemy lines to break the resistance. That’s what they did. Harrison and his people have been causing problems for the ghouls, attacking their convoys, that sort of thing. So Kate sent the four blue-eyed ones to take Dunbar.”

“And it was all your ghoulfriend’s idea?”

Will sighed. He hated that word. “She claims it was. She was a former ad executive, you know. It’s what she used to do for a living. Getting people to do what she wants.”

“That how she got you into bed?”

“All she had to do was take her clothes off to accomplish that.”

Danny snorted. “Tits and ass is all it takes with you, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re such a dude, dude.”

“Dude, right?”

Danny chuckled for a moment, then smacked his dry, cracked lips together. “So, four?”

“I saw four.”

“In the dream.”

“Uh huh.”

“And we’re sure the dream was real?”

“It didn’t feel so much like a dream as they were…memories.”

“Whose?”

“She said one of the ghouls’.”

“She can do that now?”

“I guess so.”

“Man.”

“Yeah,” Will said.

A few more seconds of silence passed between them before Danny said, “But there were only two last night.”

“Two minus four is indeed two.”

“So Mrs. Miller was right. Math really does come in handy in real life. So where are the other two?”

“I have no idea.”

“Does that worry you?”

“Every second of last night.”

Danny’s stomach growled. “Excuse me.”

“Hungry?” Will smiled.

“Just a tad.”

“Well, we know where our packs are…”

“Ennis’s.”

“Yup.”

Danny sighed and reached over and picked up his rifle. “What are we just sitting around here twiddling our thumbs for, then? Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

Tommy’s headless body wasn’t in the hallway when Will and Danny emerged from the bathroom, weapons at the ready. There wasn’t a whole lot of light back here, and patches of shadows jumped out at them from both sides of the passageway.

They swung left, then right, then stood with their backs together, rifles pointing into the darkness on both sides of them, waiting for something to happen. There should have been an attack from a nest of waiting ghouls, only there wasn’t.

“Shoot for the head?” Danny asked.

“Shoot for the head,” Will nodded.

“Should have told me that last night.”

“I didn’t know last night.”

“Yeah, well, this broken face is still your fault.”

“Relax. You still look pretty.”

“That goes without saying…”

Even among the shadows, multiple streaks of blood ran up and down the hallway, including a long jagged trail from when Will dragged Danny to the bathroom. And another big swath of blood, where Tommy’s body used to be.

“They take the bodies, right?” Danny said.

“As far as I know.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“We should really sit down one of these days and talk about everything we know about them. I’ll dictate and you type.”

“What makes you think I can type?”

“I dunno, but you look like the typing kind.”

“What kind is that?”

“You know, with dainty fingers and such.”

They moved toward the lobby, passing the spot where he had last seen the blue-eyed ghouls. He wasn’t surprised to find them gone, leaving behind only smeared, clumpy black blood in their wake, too far from the sunlight to have evaporated. There was still a wet quality about the liquid, which shouldn’t have been possible given how many hours since they had bled out.

“That them?” Danny asked.

“Yup.”

“Blood’s still wet.”

“Yup.”

“How’s that possible?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Do you know anything?”

Will pointed at the patch of dried red blood on the wall. “I know that’s you.”

“Damn. Are you sure I’m still alive? Maybe this is just one big freaky Jacob’s Ladder type of scenario?”

“Are you saying you’re Tim Robbins?”

“Hell no. I’m much handsomer.”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

“I do every day. Someone’s gotta.”

They stepped over the blood—a difficult feat, since there was so much spread around the narrow passageway—and continued down toward the lobby, drawn forward by the warmth of the morning heat. There was just enough sunlight as they neared the half-circle arched entrance that they began to relax.

“Right in the head?” Danny said.

“How many times are you going to ask me?”

“So it’s the brain.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“When will that be, you think?”

“Five years, two months, one week, and three days from now.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that. Anything else you wanna share, now that we’re both in a sharing mood?”

“I think Kate’s going to attack the island.”

Danny sighed. “How many times have I told you? Stop dating the psycho bitches. But do you ever listen to me? Noooooo.”

“In my defense, we barely dated.”

“You know what I always say about those one-night stands, man. They’re killer.”

The lobby looked like a war zone, with shards of glass covering most of the tiled floor, scattered among dozens of bleached-white bones. The acrid smell of evaporated flesh and tainted blood hung in the air.

Will started breathing through his mouth again. It seemed like he was doing a lot of that lately.

They maneuvered around the chaos and death and stepped outside onto the sidewalk and into the hot sun. The street looked even more empty this morning, and the city of Dunbar was eerily quiet, with hardly any wind at all. Debris and spent shell casings littered the streets.

Except for the two of them, there were no sounds or signs of any other survivors.

Danny looked over at Ennis’s next door. “You think any of them made it?”

“Doubt it.”

“Maybe Rachel got out.”

“You think?”

Danny thought about it, then shook his head. “Nah, I can’t even muster up enough optimism for that one.”

“Some Captain Optimism.”

“I know, I’m really not living up to the title these days. You wanna give it a try for a while?”

“No thanks.”

Danny glanced around him for a moment, then said, “So, what else did your ghoulfriend say about attacking the island?”

* * *

Ennis’s basement was covered in swaths of dried red blood. Or, at least, the part of it that they could see using the light pouring in from the side door. There were still large sections of the room covered in darkness, and Will and Danny scanned the place with their flashlights first and were surprised to find it empty.

They headed straight into the back, where Rachel’s people had taken their packs last night. They found what they needed in a corner, some of the contents spilled around the area. Everything was still there, including the radio.

They hurried out and climbed back up to the alley next door, then stepped through another graveyard of bones, this one thicker and deeper and longer than the one in the Dunbar museum. It was impossible to take a step without crunching a femur or snapping a finger or pulverizing ribcages. The lingering acrid smell of dead ghouls was overwhelming, and they had to put handkerchiefs over their mouths and nose to get through the alley on their way in and out.

Will took a moment to gather himself back out on the sidewalk, pulling out a warm bottle of water from one of the packs and quenching his thirst. He spent the rest of it washing as much of the blood and grime off his face and hands as possible. Danny had already wasted two bottles cleaning the dry blood off his face, grimacing and hissing each time he touched his broken nose.

The city hadn’t gotten any livelier since they stepped outside the museum thirty minutes ago, though it seemed to have gotten hotter, the streets on both sides of him flickering like mirages.

He found a beat-up red truck on the curb and sat the portable ham radio down on the hood and powered it on. He pressed the pre-set button to bring up the island’s designated emergency frequency and adjusted the attached antenna as high as it would go.

“How’s this going to work?” Danny asked, drinking the rest of his second bottle. Mostly free of his bloody mask, he actually looked even more bruised and battered in the sunlight, if that was possible.

“What do you mean?”

“So, you’re just going to tell Lara that your psycho ex is going to launch an attack on the island, and that she told you herself in a dream?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And this doesn’t strike you as the least bit odd?”

He thought about it. Then, “Lara and I have talked about it before.”

“And she believes you?”

“Of course she does.”

“Why?”

“Because—” Will stopped.

It was a good question. But whenever he thought about it, he always came back to the same answer: because Lara had seen Kate that night in Harold Campbell’s facility back in Starch, Texas. Once you’ve seen the blue-eyed creatures and had their existence confirmed with your own eyes, it was easier to accept that they were capable of things that weren’t always entirely explainable. Danny, for all his involvement in their survival, had never actually seen Kate. Last night was, in fact, the first time he even saw one of the blue-eyed ones.

“Because she’s seen them,” Will said finally. “Just like you did last night. Did you really believe me before then?”

“Of course,” Danny said without hesitation.

“Really?”

“Well…” Danny grinned. “Okay, I had my doubts.”

“And after last night?”

Danny sighed and nodded at the radio. “Call the island. Then we have to get the hell back there as soon as we can.”

* * *

“Are you sure?” Lara asked.

“Yes,” Will said.

“Will, are you sure?”

“Lara, she’s coming. I don’t know how, or when, but she made it pretty clear that she’s been ignoring the island all this time because we haven’t been worth her attention.”

“And now, because of the broadcast, she’s paying attention again. So all of this is my fault.”

According to Kate, yes, he thought, but said, “Don’t blame yourself. It was bound to happen sooner or later. We couldn’t hope to stay under the radar forever. We’re a loose end. She said as much.”

“Kate…”

“Yes.”

“Goddammit, Will.” He could hear the exasperation in her voice. And maybe a little bit of anger. Or a lot of anger. It was sometimes hard to get all the nuances of someone’s tone over the radio.

“Look, anything she says can’t be taken at face value,” Will said. “Maybe she’ll attack, and maybe she won’t. Maybe it’s because of the radio broadcast, or maybe she’s just using it as an excuse. I don’t know. But we shouldn’t take any chances.”

Lara didn’t say anything for a while.

“Lara…”

“I’m still here,” she said. “What about Gaby?”

Now it was his turn to take a long pause.

“Will, what about Gaby?”

“The island is vital, Lara.”

“It’s just an island.”

“But you’re on it. And Carly. And the kids…”

“You have to find Gaby. We don’t leave our own behind, remember?”

He wanted to find Gaby, but he couldn’t deny what had happened last night. Kate had all but ended Dunbar and its occupants. It had been so easy, too. That was the most disturbing part. Everyone who was here before last night was dead (or worse), and that included Gaby. Will was still certain she had come into the city. What were the chances she had made it out after last night?

“We’ll keep looking for her on our way back,” he said finally.

He must not have been convincing enough, because she said, “Will, you can’t leave her out there alone. Not again. You can’t give up now.”

“The island is important, Lara. We can’t lose it.” He added, “Gaby would understand.”

There was another long silence, this time from both of them.

“Do you know where she is now?” Lara finally asked.

“That’s the problem. Danny and I tracked her to Dunbar yesterday. If she was still here after nightfall… I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’ll keep looking. But the island, Lara, the island…”

“I know,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the connection. “I know.”

He didn’t know what else to say and was grateful for the sound of a car engine coming from up the street. He glanced back as Danny turned the corner in a white Ford Bronco.

“Danny found a vehicle,” Will said into the mic. “I have to go.”

“Find her, Will. Do everything you can to find her.”

“Lara…”

“Promise me.”

“The island…”

“Don’t worry about the island. I’ll take care of us here. You just take care of yourself and Danny, and find Gaby. Find her, Will.”

If she’s even still alive, he thought, but said, “We’ll keep looking for her on our way back. But we can’t stay out here forever. Not with the island in danger.”

“There’s something…” she started to say.

“What is it?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“What is it, Lara?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing that I can’t handle. Just find her and come home. In the meantime, I’ll look after things here. You trust me, don’t you?”

“You know I do.”

“Good. I love you, Will.”

He smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

He put the microphone down and turned off the radio as Danny parked the Bronco in the middle of the street behind him, then hopped down from the raised driver side door.

“How’d it go?” Danny asked.

“It went.”

“You told her about Gaby?”

“Uh huh.”

“And she was fine with us coming back without the kid?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to tell Carly it was all your idea.”

Will grunted. “Sounds fair to me.” He nodded at the truck. “Where’d you find that beast?”

“Auto body garage next to a VFW hall on the other side of town. Harrison might have been an idiot, but he wasn’t a total idiot. There were a half dozen working vehicles inside, including a fuel truck. Working batteries, too. From the looks of it, they kept all the cars running just in case.”

“Any survivors?”

“There was a hell of a lot of blood in the VFW. They had the windows and doors barricaded, but apparently it didn’t work. There was a basement in the back, but I heard scurrying from down there and decided I’d rather not investigate further.”

“Smart.”

“It’s been known to happen.” Danny watched Will pack up the radio. “Song Island or bust?”

“No choice,” Will said. The words came out like gravel. “Can’t take the chance that Kate will attack without us there.”

Danny nodded. Will knew he didn’t like the idea of giving up their search for Gaby any better than he did. But like him, Danny had come to the same conclusion.

The island. They had to protect the island. It wasn’t just the beach and the hotel and the solar power, though those were important, too. It was the people on the island.

Lara, Carly, Vera, and Elise….

We can’t lose the island. Not now. Not after we’ve fought so hard to keep it.

“Well, let’s get truckin’, then,” Danny said. “I’m driving.”

“You’re a terrible driver.”

“I’m a great driver. Better than great. I’m a spectacular driver. Back in college, they used to call me Danny the Driver. True story.”

* * *

The back of the Bronco was piled high with supplies Danny had raided from the VFW hall, though to hear him tell it, there were probably more goodies in the basement. He had stockpiled a generous amount of MREs, granola bars, and unopened cases of bottled water. He had also picked up weapons and ammo, along with a Mossberg pump-action and a FNH self-loading tactical shotgun.

Will grabbed the FNH from the back and turned it over. Eighteen inches, black matte finishing, and it didn’t look as if it had ever been used. It had a metal shell carrier along the left side with six shells already preloaded. The shotgun was semi-automatic, which meant you didn’t need to pump it after each shot. Harris County SWAT had been thinking about switching from the Remingtons to the FNHs but had never gotten around to it.

“Nice, right?” Danny said. “For the lazy shotgunner.”

“I can dig it,” Will said.

“There’s a box of ammo in the back if you can find it.”

Will had to rummage around the water and lumps of shiny MRE bags before he found the box of shells on the floor. He tossed it into his pack. “This was all in the VFW hall?”

“Most of it.”

“Last stand?”

“Looked like it. A hell of a mess. I think they had kids in there, too.”

“How could you tell?”

“I just could,” Danny said, but didn’t elaborate.

“So there were definitely more goodies in the basement,” Will said. “An armory, maybe, where they kept more of these.”

“Probably.”

“It might have been worth it to go down there.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“When did you get so queasy around these things?”

“Since shooting them only got me these little keepsakes,” Danny said, touching his broken nose, then rubbing—and grimacing—the red gash along his temple. “Now I know how you feel walking around with that face all day.”

“Keep your eyes on the road, pretty boy.”

“What the hell for? There’s nothing out here. Even less than nothing. If there was a name for this place, they’d call it Nothingland. Nothingapolis. Loadacrapola.”

He wasn’t wrong. Route 13 out of Dunbar was uneventful. Will was ready for an ambush or at least some kind of activity on their way out, but there was none. The streets remained deserted, and the main highway connecting Dunbar to Interstate 10 was a flat two-lane road with empty scenery on both sides of them. He expected to start seeing farmland and houses soon, but apparently they hadn’t ventured far out enough.

‘Loadacrapola’ is right.

Then Danny said, “Whoa,” and slowly stepped on the brake.

Will looked out the front windshield and immediately saw a body lying across the highway where Route 13 intersected with a country road on its right side.

“Body?” Will said.

“Body,” Danny nodded.

“Stay sharp.”

“I’m so sharp I give myself pinpricks.”

Will put down the FNH and unslung the M4A1. The window was already rolled down, so all he had to do was focus in order to listen in on his surroundings. Not that he could hear very much over the churning of the Ford’s engines. He did glimpse something to his right in the distance, along the country road. It looked like a cemetery.

Now that’s not an ominous sign at all.

Danny stopped in front of the body. It was wearing a camo uniform and lying on its stomach. “Ambush?”

“Doubt it.”

“You go out and make sure while I wait in here.”

“Don’t leave without me.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Will opened the passenger side door and hopped down. He scanned the area—the land to his right, then up and down the highway. He stepped on bullet casings as he moved toward the body.

The figure was definitely dead, fresh blood pooling underneath him. The man’s hip holster was empty and there was no sign of a weapon nearby. Will turned the man over onto his back with the toe of his boot. Male, twenties, with a ponytail. “Lumis” was written over his right breast pocket. He hadn’t been dead for very long. There were no vultures or crows circling above, so the smell hadn’t reached the carrions yet. He had been shot once in the hip, then again in the back.

His right ear clicked, and Danny’s voice came through the earbud in his ear, part of the comm system they had recovered from Ennis’s basement earlier. “Dead?”

“Looks dead to me.”

“Give it mouth to mouth just in case.”

“I think I’ll skip that part.”

“Why, cause he’s a guy? You’re such a homophobe.”

Will straightened up and looked around at the flat country landscape again. There was nothing out here, which made stumbling across a body odd. Someone had to have killed this man. Maybe someone had actually survived Dunbar last night. Maybe that person might have even been Gaby…

Captain Optimism.

“I’m heading back,” he said into his throat mic.

He was halfway to the Bronco when he heard rustling and spun back around toward the ditch that ran alongside the country road. He didn’t hesitate and ran toward the source of the sound with his rifle at the ready.

“Don’t shoot!” a voice shouted as he neared.

Another man in his early twenties, also wearing camo, was crouched in the ditch with his hands raised high. The man was unarmed, sporting an empty hip holster and a makeshift tourniquet around his right ankle. His face was pale and he was covered in sweat, and the name “Darren” was stenciled across his nametag.

“Don’t shoot!” Darren shouted again.

“Get up here,” Will said.

Darren hesitated, then stood up and climbed out of the ditch with some difficulty. The handkerchief he had tied around his ankle was covered in blood and he winced each time he put pressure on the leg.

Danny had come out of the Bronco and was standing behind Will now, scanning their surroundings for possible signs of a threat. “Looks like we missed the party.”

“Looks like,” Will said. Then to Darren, “What happened here?”

“We were parked on the road when someone attacked us,” Darren said.

“You were in a car?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“They took it.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“I don’t know,” Darren said. He wiped at the beads of sweat dripping down his face. “There were four of them.”

“What did they look like?”

“They were girls.”

“Girls?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean kids?”

Darren seemed to think about the question before answering. “Teenagers, I guess.”

Will exchanged a quick look with Danny, who grinned back at him. “Ya think?”

Maybe…

“Was one of those teenagers blonde, tall, about five-seven?” Will asked Darren. “Pretty, despite the bruises on her face?”

“You know, the kind you’d give that right leg to take to the prom?” Danny added.

Darren grimaced at him for a few seconds. Will wasn’t sure if it was because of the sun, the pain, the memory of what had happened to him, or maybe all three.

The kid finally nodded. “You guys know her or something?”

Will smiled. “Yeah, we’ve met. Where’d she go, and how long ago?”

24

Lara

Carrie and Lorelei had good things to say about Keo, but more important was what they told her about the “soldiers” and Keo’s reaction to them. He wasn’t their friend. Far from it.

The enemy of my enemy is friend. Isn’t that the old saying, Will?

Then Will called on the radio and told her about Kate. A part of her was still annoyed his ex-girlfriend was visiting him in his dreams. In his dreams. But that was the kid in her talking. The pre-med student who had survived The Purge on pure luck. The new her, the one who had been running Song Island for the last few weeks, was concerned about other things.

Like survival. Hers. And Carly’s. Elise’s and Vera’s, too. The new people who had joined them, hoping for a fresh start. Or, at least, a less terrifying existence. All these people who had come here and now depended on her, and she didn’t know when it would all fall apart.

That was what concerned her the most. The not knowing. Today, tonight, or tomorrow. Or the week after. She knew one thing: they were sitting ducks. The enemy knew where they were at all times. The island that was such a godsend also made them an easy target. There was nowhere to run or hide, just fight.

Just fight…

Those thoughts swirled around her head as she walked to the back of the hotel.

Survival. Their chances would increase when Will and Danny returned. But that wasn’t for a while. A day at least. Maybe two. Gaby was still out there, too. The thought of losing her because Will had to rush back home tormented Lara.

Roy was sitting on a chair outside the makeshift jail cell, an old inventory room with a steel door, when she turned the corner. He glanced up when he heard her footsteps.

“Did you eat yet?” she asked.

“Not yet. Blaine’s supposed to show up in thirty minutes.” He looked nervous this morning, and she guessed he had been waiting for this—the two of them talking—since last night. “Lara, about what happened …”

“We’re not talking about that right now, Roy.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Going out there was stupid—”

“Later,” she said, cutting him off. “For now, go get something to eat.”

He looked confused. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She peered through the security glass.

“Lara, about last night, with Gwen…”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Roy, we’re all adults here, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine. You found someone. I’m happy for you. For Gwen, too. And about what you did… Well, it worked out for the best. I’m not saying it was the right thing to do—and yes, I’m still pissed off you did it—but no one died. That’s all that matters for now.”

He nodded, looking not pleased exactly, but relieved. “Just be careful with him. I’ve seen guys like this before.”

“What kind of guys is that?”

“The dangerous kind,” Roy said.

She nodded. He was talking about West and Brody, two men Roy had traveled with since The Purge. He was right. Those two were dangerous men. Every now and then, she wondered whatever became of West…

“Go grab some breakfast, Roy.”

“Just be careful with him,” Roy said again before heading down the hallway.

“Roy,” she said after him. When he stopped and looked back, “Don’t ever do that again without asking for my permission first. Do you understand?”

He nodded and pursed his lips. “I understand.”

“Go eat some breakfast.”

She waited until he turned the corner before reaching for the key that hung from a hook. She unlocked the makeshift cell door and pulled it open.

Keo looked up from the floor where he was sitting with his back against the far wall. A white plastic plate with thick dripping syrup rested between his bent legs while he shoved the last piece of fluffy pancakes into his mouth using a flimsy plastic spork. Crumbs from biscuits were sprinkled liberally on his clothes and around him.

“Frozen pancakes,” he said.

“Frozen pancakes,” she nodded.

“Tastes just like the real thing.”

“They are the real thing. Just thawed out. How’d you like the biscuits?”

“What’s not to like? The only thing missing are eggs and sausages.”

“We were thinking about bringing a hog or two onto the island and letting them run wild in the woods.”

“I always wanted to try my hand at being a pig farmer.”

She picked up Roy’s chair and set it down in front of the open door, then sat down on it. She leaned forward and smiled at him. “You don’t strike me as the farming type, Keo.”

“What do I strike you as?”

“Dangerous. That’s what everyone says.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

He hadn’t moved from the floor and his eyes watched her curiously, first dropping to the Glock in her hip holster, then to the open door behind her. Ten feet of space separated them. It wasn’t very much and she wished it were more.

He was tall for an Asian-American. Six-one, easily, and was obviously in good shape. Muscled; more toned than huge like Blaine. Fast, too, she thought, remembering last night. If she had any doubt that he was, as Roy said, dangerous, one look at that long scar along one side of his face took it away. This was a man used to violence, even before the world came to an unceremonious end.

So what were the chances she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life right now?

You wanted to be the leader, so lead. This is what it means to lead.

The hard choices. The tough calls. This is it.

So lead.

She replayed everything Carrie had told her about this man in her head for the fifth time in as many minutes. The soldiers at the marina in Dulcet Lake. The ones on the shoreline of Beaufont the next day. The man was dangerous. A professional, she had thought when she heard about what he had done. She had come so close to telling Will about him during their radio call this morning.

So why hadn’t she?

Because Keo is dangerous. Too dangerous.

And after West and Brody, Will would never agree to let me do this. And maybe he’s right, and I’m dead wrong, because that’s exactly what I’ll be if I misjudge this man.

But she had other information Will didn’t. She had seen Keo up close and in person. She knew what he had done, why he was even on the island. The fact that he had saved Carrie and Lorelei and never asked for anything in return and in fact had shouldered the responsibility of bringing them down here with him…

“I’m Lara, by the way,” she said. “We didn’t get a chance at introductions last night.”

He stuck a finger into the leftover syrup and licked it clean. “You know what I miss most about the end of the world, Lara?”

“What’s that?”

“IHOP. Best damned pancakes in the history of the world. Their French toasts with fruit topping and sweet cream? To die for.”

“I don’t think we have any of that in our kitchen.”

“Heaven without the fluffy clouds?” he smiled.

She smiled back. “Carrie told me you were headed somewhere else, that you only came here to find out whatever became of your friends.”

“I’m keeping a dead man’s promise. It was the only reason he came down here with me in the first place. I figured, what the hell. It’s already on my way.”

“The seven people.”

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t know if they actually made it to the island.”

“Nope.”

“But I didn’t lie to you last night. If they did make it here, then they’re probably dead. My group only survived because we got lucky. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, if you’re telling the truth.”

“What reason would I have to lie? Look at where you are now.”

He chuckled. “Point taken.”

This time, it was her turn to watch him closely. She thought he looked almost relieved by what she had told him. Then again, she didn’t know this man at all, and she could be misreading him completely.

God, please don’t let me get everyone here killed.

“So what’s next for you?” she asked.

“I move on.”

“Santa Marie Island.”

“That was the original plan.”

“Who is she?”

“What makes you think there’s a ‘she’?”

“There’s always a she, Keo.”

He grinned. “I met her when all of this first happened. We got close, and like a fool, I told her I’d meet up with her later. It’s been four—five?—months since, and I’m still trying to make good on it. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

“So all of this could be for nothing?”

“A big fat nothing, yup.”

“Must be true love.”

“Sure, that’s one way to look at it.” He nodded at the Glock at her hip. “Can you use that thing?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“I believe you.” He picked up the spork and sucked at the syrup clinging to it. “So what happens now? You going to lock me in here for the rest of my life? Even after how Carrie and Lorelei told you what a swell guy I am?”

She leaned back in the chair. “I have a proposition for you, Keo.”

“I thought you already have a boyfriend.”

“You wanna hear it or not?”

He gave her a noncommittal shrug. “Not like I have a choice.”

“I’m expecting an impending attack. It might be today, or tonight, or tomorrow. But it’s coming.”

He gave her a knowing look. “The soldiers I ran into yesterday.”

She nodded. “You told Carrie you thought it was a staging area. She also told me about the boat that was going up and down the lake. It was watching us.”

He nodded. “They were reconning you.”

“Here’s my offer, Keo. Lend us a hand, and I’ll give you everything you need to reach Santa Marie Island. It beats swimming over there.”

“I don’t know, I can swim pretty far, as you saw last night.”

She continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “I’ll give you a sailboat with an outboard motor and plenty of fuel and supplies to last for weeks out in the Gulf of Mexico. The way I hear it, boats are in pretty short supply these days.”

“I’m sure there’s one lying around somewhere…”

“Not according to what Carrie told me.”

“Carrie talks too much.”

“She wants to stay here. Lorelei, too.”

“Are they?”

“You mean, am I going to let them?”

“Yes.”

“I am,” she nodded. “There’s no reason not to.”

“That’s big of you.”

“It’s common decency.”

“I’ve heard of that. Never had much use for it.”

She smiled at him. “That’s not what the girls told me.”

“Like I said, they talk too much.” He sucked on the spork again. “I could always just walk to Texas.”

“Yes, you could. It’s a long way, but hey, maybe one day you’ll actually make it. Hide in basements at night, walk in the day. Of course, you might run into those soldier buddies of yours again, or some nutcase with a sniper rifle who decides he wants your stuff.” She shrugged. “Who knows, you might even find a working vehicle.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve been out there, Keo.”

“All right. I’ll play along. What exactly do I have to do to win this great prize of yours, Barbie Barker?”

“I don’t need you to fight our battles for us. I just need you to help me delay the attack.”

“Delay it?”

“Yes.”

He seemed to think about it, then gave her that noncommittal shrug again. “For how long?”

“A day. Two. Whatever you can give me. I’m going to get reinforcements from two Army Rangers either later today or the day after. But I’m not waiting around to find out when the attack is coming.”

“You want to attack them first.”

“Yes.”

“Ballsy.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just desperate.”

He actually looked impressed. For a moment, anyway. Then he was back to pretending he didn’t give a damn about her or the others on the island. “Sounds like you have it all figured out, Lara.”

Except for the part where I mess up and trust the wrong man and get everyone killed as a result.

“The question is,” Keo said, “are you really willing to put your life, and the lives of everyone on this island, into the hands of a stranger with a gun? Because that’s what you’re about to do. Are you certain you’re not going to regret that decision?”

* * *

“Is this smart?” Carly asked.

“I don’t know,” Lara said.

“Can we trust him?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

“What did Will say?”

“I didn’t tell him about Keo or last night.”

“Oh.”

“Should I have?”

“I don’t know,” Carly said. “I guess that’s why you get paid the big bucks. To make decisions like this.”

“Yeah,” Lara said. “The big bucks.”

If I’m wrong, we’re all dead.

Then again, if I don’t do this, we’re probably all dead, anyway.

“If all else fails, there’s always Plan Z,” Carly said.

“God, that’s such a stupid name.”

Carly chuckled. “Isn’t it, though?”

They both smiled. Mostly because they didn’t know what else to do. Carly, more than anyone, knew what was at stake here. Not just her own life, but her sister Vera’s, too. The fact that she was making a decision that could take away both lives hung over Lara like the Sword of Damocles.

“We’re probably all going to die,” Lara said.

Carly laughed. “Yeah. Probably.” Then, after she had settled down, “I have to tell you, the image of Kate out there pulling the strings makes for a pretty icky visual.” She shivered a bit. “I liked her, you know. We were friends.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t think we were ever as close as you and me right now. The age difference and everything. She was always kind of…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess out of my league.”

“I didn’t know the two of you dated.”

Carly snorted. “She wishes.”

They leaned against the railing on the hotel’s front patio and watched Keo and Roy across the open grounds in silence for a moment.

The two men were observing Kendra and some of the kids as they worked on a patch of land that Kendra told them had the best soil for growing vegetables. They had found everything they needed to loosen the earth from the supply shacks in the back, including rakes, shovels, and more variety of hoes than Lara knew existed. Kendra had been disappointed they didn’t have a tiller machine, which would have made everything easier. In one of Will and Danny’s forays on land for supplies, they had picked up a crate full of seeds from one of the home improvement warehouses. It wouldn’t be long now before they could begin planting along the rows being carved out.

If they were still alive in a week from now, anyway. A lot of things could happen in a few days. All she had to do was look at the last couple of weeks for evidence of that.

“I know what you’re doing,” Carly said.

“What’s that?”

“Giving him a tour of the hotel, then showing him everyone eating breakfast together in the dining room. And now showing him the garden, with Kendra and the kids. Danny told me about this. The Army calls it psy ops. Psychological warfare. Hearts and minds, right? You’re trying to convince him without actually saying a word that the island is worth saving by showing him the people on it. I mean, the kids, Lara. Who could resist Elise and Vera covered in dirt? You’d need a heart of stone, and I don’t think Keo has one. At least, not the Keo that Carrie and Lorelei told us about.”

“You give me way too much credit, Carly,” Lara said before she smiled to herself, hoping that Carly hadn’t caught it.

“Slick,” Carly said, grinning at her. “Real slick, boss. I always knew you had it in you.”

* * *

She stood with Keo on the beach. He had taken off his boots and was enjoying the sensation of bare feet soaked in the cool and clear Beaufont Lake water. Elise, Vera, and Jenny, fresh from helping Kendra with loosening dirt for the garden, were fighting against the waves in front of them, cleaning off the dirt and grime of their hard work. The girls hadn’t bothered to change into bathing suits given how everything on them was dirty. She guessed this way they were hoping to kill two birds with one stone—clean up themselves, and their clothes, too.

Blaine’s silhouetted form on top of the boat shack watched them carefully; he was there just in case Keo decided he wanted the boat and supplies minus the whole risking his life part. That was why she only wore her Glock in a hip holster. Worst-case scenario, Keo would be armed with a handgun while Blaine had the M4. Maddie was also watching them from the Tower with the ACOG-equipped rifle while Roy and Carly were on alert back at the hotel.

She hadn’t counted on the girls showing up suddenly on the beach, though. If things did go bad and he grabbed one of them…

Please, God, don’t let me be wrong about Keo.

“If you were me, how would you do it?” she asked. “Delay the attack.”

“You seemed to be awfully sure there’s going to be an attack.”

“You saw it yourself. The staging area with the soldiers.”

“But that’s not all. You have inside information.”

That’s one way to put it, she thought, and said, “I know it’s coming, yes.”

“Okay.” He seemed to think about her question for a moment. Then, “It’s been a whole day, so by now they would have gotten reinforcements. Men to replace the ones I took out yesterday. You’re looking at a dozen assaulters at least. Two, maybe three dozen, if you’re really SOL.”

“What else?”

“The fact that they’re willing to commit to assaulting the island at all, given how isolated you people are, tells me you’ve pissed either them or their ghoul masters off. I’m guessing that radio broadcast of yours had a little something to do with it.”

She smiled. After Carrie and Lorelei mentioned he knew of her broadcast, she had been waiting for him to put two and two together. “Finally figured it out, huh?”

He chuckled. “I know I look it, but I’m not that dense. But yeah, it took a while.”

“What finally gave me away?”

“Your voice sounds more echoey on the radio.”

“I recorded it in the Tower. It’s an enclosed space.”

“How’d you find out about the silver?”

“Trial and error.”

She sneaked a look at him. He was watching the girls frolicking against the waves. She couldn’t quite read his reaction. Maybe he was marveling at the sight…or was it complete indifference?

I can’t read this man. I’m about to put the lives of everyone on this island into the hands of a stranger whose face I can’t read with any certainty.

“Will you help us, Keo?”

He looked over at the boats docked along the pier. One of them was a sailboat—small enough to be handled by one person, with a powerful outboard motor that would have had no problems taking him south and to the coast of Texas. The boat Carrie and Lorelei had come in sat among them, looking almost quaint next to the more travel-ready vessels.

This is it. This is where he proves me right or wrong.

She didn’t realize it, but her hand had moved closer toward her sidearm. She shifted her eyes slightly to the right and saw Blaine watching them closely, his rifle gripped in front of him at the ready.

“And you’ll give me one of those boats, plus fuel and supplies?” he asked. “Everything I need to make it to the Texas coast?”

“Yes,” she said, and hoped her voice wasn’t nearly as anxious as it had sounded to her own ears.

She waited for his answer, but he surprised her by chuckling softly to himself.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“A year ago, you wouldn’t have liked me.” He was watching Elise and Vera building castles in the sand while Jenny, Sarah’s daughter, did backstrokes nearby. “In fact, you would have hated me, and justifiably so. I’ve done things you couldn’t imagine.”

“I’m sure you had good reasons.”

“No,” he said, and laughed, though it was devoid of humor. “Not really.”

“You’ve changed. We all have. Adapt or perish.”

“I’ve gone soft is really what’s happened.” He sighed. “The organization would have put me out of my misery months ago.”

“‘Organization’?”

“The people I used to work for.”

“They don’t sound like very nice people.”

“Nope. They were most definitely not.” He looked over at her. “I’m not promising anything, you understand? I’ll do what I can, but it might still not be enough. But maybe it’ll buy your boyfriend time to get back here and put up a proper defense.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

“First things first,” he said. “I’ll need guns, ammo, explosives, and at least one person to lend a hand. So, I asked you the question before, and I’ll ask it again: Are you really willing to put your life, and the lives of everyone on this island, into the hands of a stranger with a gun?”

* * *

Over the months, Danny had organized the subterranean space under the Tower into a makeshift armory. Lara had been surprised when she first saw it, but Danny had single-handedly done a magnificent job. He had halved the basement, with emergency supplies like rations, crates of MREs, cases of small bottled water and five-gallon coolers—half of them unopened, the other half refilled with tap water—and equipment up front. The back contained the weapons, ammo, and silver that hadn’t been melted down yet. There were green ammo cans filled with silver rounds stacked high in one corner and even more housed in regular moving boxes. The rest of the non-essentials, like clothes and personal items, had been transferred over to the hotel and put in a “lost and found room” in the back where anyone could take what they needed.

As a result, the basement looked bigger than when she was last down here two months ago. The room was longer than it was wide, extending away from the northeast cliff. Lara had never measured the space, but she guessed it was ten yards at its widest and at least twenty at its longest. LED lights, powered by the solar cells around the island, lined the ceiling, with battery backups hanging from wall hooks.

“When do you expect your boyfriend back?” Keo asked. He was standing in front of the racks of rifles. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or indifferent by the selection Will and Danny had collected over the months.

“Best-case scenario is later tonight,” Lara said. “Worst-case scenario is…God knows.”

“So I’m a stopgap, is that it?”

“You said it, not me.”

His laugh echoed slightly in the contained room. “At least you’re honest about it.” He pulled an M16 from the rack. “You got rounds for the M203?”

The M203 was the grenade launcher attached under the barrel of the rifle. It was the same type of weapon that had almost ended her life when Kate’s people last assaulted the island.

She gestured at the crates around them. “Be my guest.”

“I’ll also need my guns back.”

“They’re in the hotel.”

He nodded. “So. Where are my volunteers?”

* * *

Blaine and Bonnie had joined her and Keo on the third floor of the Tower. She expected to see Blaine there. He had volunteered almost as soon as she brought it up earlier, but Bonnie’s presence was a surprise.

“How’s this going to work?” Blaine asked.

Keo leaned against one of the windows, looking over his submachine gun. He looked overly well-armed with the addition of the M16. “I just need you to do the driving.”

“What about me?” Bonnie asked.

He shrugged. “I guess you’ll be there in case he gets shot.”

Bonnie and Blaine exchanged a worried look.

“Just you against that army out there?” Blaine said.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Keo said. “Even with reinforcements, it’s still a makeshift group of assholes in homemade uniforms. And besides, numbers isn’t going to play a part in this.”

That didn’t seem to really reassure either Blaine or Bonnie, and Keo didn’t look like he cared too much about their reactions.

“You guys don’t have to go,” Lara said. “I can ask for other volunteers.”

“I’m good,” Blaine said without hesitation.

“Me too,” Bonnie said, though not nearly as quickly. She scrutinized Keo across the room. “Tell me one thing: You’re not going there just to get yourself killed, right? You want to come back here?”

“That’s a dumb question,” Keo said, looking almost offended by the mere suggestion. “I don’t have a death wish. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think I could walk away from it. I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting into, that’s all. People are going to die. Maybe the two of you will be among them. You need to understand the risks. But trust me when I tell you, I’m not going there to get killed. I got places to go and people to see.”

That seemed to reassure them somewhat.

“Last chance,” Lara said. “Speak up now—”

“I’m good,” Blaine said again.

“Yeah, me too,” Bonnie nodded, and this time she said it quicker and with more conviction.

Lara wanted to tell them something reassuring, make a speech that would ease their minds. She tried to come up with words that Will would say to rally the troops as they prepared to go into battle.

Instead, the only thing she could think of to do was glance down at her watch. “Let’s get something to eat before you guys go.”

“Maddie’s relieving me in a few hours,” Blaine said.

“Okay, I’ll send her over earlier.”

If having someone in the Tower twenty-four hours a day was important before, it was imperative now. So she, Keo, and Bonnie walked down using the spiraling cast-iron staircase while Blaine stayed behind.

Keo wandered ahead, and Lara used the moment to walk beside Bonnie.

“I’m volunteering because I want to, Lara,” Bonnie said before Lara could ask the question that had been on her mind since she saw Bonnie waiting for them on the third floor.

“Can I ask why?”

“You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

“Because someone had to, or else you would have volunteered. And we couldn’t allow that.”

“‘We’?”

“Carly, me, Benny, Roy… Everyone.”

The ‘we’ strikes again.

This wasn’t the first time the island had made a decision for her because they believed it was for her own good. It was ironic because she was supposedly running the place in Will’s absence. And yet, whenever they felt like it, the others always got together and discussed what was best for her. She should have been angry about it, even pissed off, but she couldn’t, really, because they were almost always right.

“One of us had to go with Blaine and Keo,” Bonnie continued. “Carly wanted to. So did Maddie. And Benny and Roy, and even Jo and Gwen. But in the end, we decided I was the best choice.”

“Why you?”

Bonnie laughed. “You sound so surprised.”

“I…” Lara began, but didn’t finish because everything she would have said would have come out as an insult to Bonnie.

“I know,” Bonnie said with a grin. “The ex-model? I don’t blame you. All I can say is, you have to trust me, because compared to the rest, I’m the best choice. I was always athletic as a kid. I played basketball when I was in high school and I’ve stayed pretty active over the years. It was either stay skinny by sweating your ass off or throw up everything you ate, and I was never good at chucking food.”

Lara smiled.

“So yeah, between everyone, I’m the obvious choice,” Bonnie said.

“All of this, so I wouldn’t volunteer myself?”

“Yes.” Bonnie gave her an earnest look. “You’re important to the island, Lara. More than the rest of us.”

“I don’t know what to say, Bonnie.”

And she didn’t. She had no idea whatsoever. Because Bonnie was right. She would have gone with Keo and Blaine if no one else had stepped forward. Keo had made it clear—he could have done with one, but he preferred two. Three people gave them the best chance at success, and right now, they needed success in the worse way until Will and Danny could come home.

“Thank you,” Lara said. It was the only thing she could think of to say, and it felt too simple and unworthy of Bonnie’s sacrifice.

She wondered if Bonnie had even heard her, though, because the other woman looked preoccupied with Keo, who was walking ahead of them. “You really think he’s as good as he thinks he is?” she asked.

“From what Carrie and Lorelei told me, he’s pretty damn good,” Lara said.

“And you think this could work?”

“I hope this works.”

“What happens after that? I know you just want to delay them for a few days until Will and Danny can get here. But what happens after that?”

“I don’t know,” Lara said quietly. “I’m just trying to get us to tomorrow first…”

25

Gaby

She should have killed the kid. Darren. Well, he wasn’t really a kid. He was older than her by a few years, but to Gaby, anyone with a rifle who couldn’t put up a fight was a kid. Of course, killing Darren went out the window as soon as he started crying. Even Claire had looked almost sickened by the sight of that.

So they had left the collaborator on the side of the road and taken his truck. It was a Chevy Silverado, though one truck was the same as another to Gaby. It had a high perch, which allowed her to see a lot of the road up ahead, something that she liked. It was also powerful, and she finally understood why boys loved their trucks so much. It was hard not to feel as if you could run over just about anything behind the wheel of one of these monsters because, in all likelihood, you probably could. All she needed from it at the moment was to get her to Song Island.

Donna and Milly were stuffing themselves with food and refilled bottles of water in the back. Claire, who sat shotgun in the front passenger seat, leaned over every now and then to grab some for herself. Each time she did, Gaby resisted the instinct to tell her to put on her seat belt. She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t the girl’s mom, though she felt a strange connection to her, even more so than to Milly, whom she had known longer.

It was still morning, and the sun baked the empty vastness to both sides of them. The hot asphalt road shimmered and looked like water in front of her, and the nothingness made her feel like she was daydreaming. It should have made her comfortable and lulled her into something resembling serenity, but instead it only made her more alert and sit up straighter in the leather seat.

It was Josh. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. About what he had become, what he was doing. She kept looking at her side mirror, expecting to see him coming up behind her at any moment, declaring his love for her, that he was doing all of this for her, while bringing along a small army of lackeys.

Keep lying to yourself, Josh. Maybe one day you’ll actually believe it.

“Is it far from here?” Claire asked after a while. She talked through a mouthful of bread and pieces of sausage.

“Where’d you get that?” Gaby asked.

“Back here,” Donna said, holding up a blue plastic Tupperware with more sausages inside. “It’s pork.”

“How’s the bread?”

“It’s about a day old. Still pretty good, though.”

Donna pulled off a chunk and leaned forward. Gaby gobbled it up and chewed for a moment, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and her eyes outside the windshield the entire time. The last thing she needed was to run them into a ditch while trying to eat. All those “Don’t Text and Drive” commercials flashed through her mind all of a sudden. That and those “Click it or Ticket” billboards.

The good old days…

Donna was right. The bread was still pretty good. Then again, it had been a while since she had last eaten some. They had frozen dough on the island, but these actually tasted fresh. Or, at least, one-day fresh. Donna handed her one of the pork sausages and Gaby devoured that, too. It was even better when she stuffed the remaining parts into the bread and ate it like a hot dog.

“They must have a pig farm or something,” Donna said. “And fresh flour.”

Gaby nodded. She wondered how much Donna knew about what was happening out there, with the collaborators and the towns, while she was stuck in Dunbar all this time with her sister under Harrison’s protection. But she decided not to ask. The sisters knew enough to be scared of the soldiers and what was out there at night, and those were the only two things she needed them to know at the moment.

“You know how to cook?” she asked Donna.

Donna shrugged. “A little.”

“She thinks she’s good, but she’s terrible at it,” Claire said.

“At least I can cook,” Donna said.

“Barely.”

“Ugh, you’re never eating anything I cook again.”

“Promise?”

“You say that now—”

“Look!” Milly shouted, leaning between the front seats and pointing not up the road, but to the right of the highway.

Gaby took her foot off the gas slightly and the Chevy slowed down, going from forty to thirty, then twenty, as she saw what Milly was pointing at: a white two-story house being ravaged by a raging fire. The building was part of a farm, flanked by a red barn and some kind of storage shack. After leaving the cemetery behind, farmland and the houses of the people that tilled them had begun popping up.

“Whoa,” Claire said, leaning against her door. She had rolled down the window and the girl stuck her head out a bit. “It’s really burning that sucker up.”

They were almost past the house, and Gaby swore she could feel the flames all the way over here, adding to the already terrible morning heat. Donna and Milly moved toward the back right window to get a better look at the flames.

“Should we stop?” Donna asked.

“No,” Gaby said without hesitation.

“What if someone needs help?” Milly said.

“It’s too dangerous. After what happened with the soldiers, I don’t want to take any chances.”

Gaby gave the house one last look, scanning the grounds around it. She couldn’t detect any signs of movements or vehicles in motion in the front yard or along the manmade dirt road that connected it to the highway.

She added pressure to the accelerator and the Chevy began to pick up speed again.

Donna and Milly continued gazing out at the burning house, eventually moving from the side window to the rear windshield as they passed it by. Gaby looked briefly over at Claire, and the girl, bread stuffed into her mouth, gave her an approving nod.

Gaby smiled back.

* * *

“How much further to Beaufont Lake?” Donna asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gaby said. “After we reach I-10, it’s about half a day, I think. The good news is that the road out here is pretty empty, so we should make good time. But depending on how long it takes us to reach Salvani, we might have to find a place to spend the night.”

“I was hoping we’d get there today.”

“Me too,” Milly said.

“But you know where to go?” Claire asked. “Even without a map?”

Gaby nodded. “Once we hit I-10, we turn right, then left on Salvani. After that, it’s a straight drive down south.”

She glanced at Claire, then at Donna and Milly in the backseat, and hoped she had been convincing enough. They looked satisfied, so she probably had been.

The truth was, without a map, she was just guessing. She had traveled from Texas to Louisiana with Will and Lara, but she had never taken the wheel during any part of the drive. She even spent most of that trip asleep in the backseat (with Josh). Even during the helicopter ride with Jen, she was just a passenger, and she slept through most of that, too.

But it seemed like a pretty straightforward trip. Hopefully.

“I can’t wait for a hot shower,” Donna said wistfully. She took a sip from a bottle of water and made a face. “And cold water. With ice. That would probably be the best thing ever.”

“It’s not bad,” Gaby said. “The soft bed and your own room is a close number three and four.”

“I’ve never stayed in a hotel before,” Claire said. “Is it a nice hotel?”

“The parts that are finished are.”

“How unfinished is it?” Donna asked.

“You’ll hardly notice.”

“She’ll notice,” Claire said. “She complains about everything.”

“I only complain about you,” Donna said.

Claire smirked. “See?”

They went back and forth for a few more minutes, but by then Gaby had automatically tuned them out. She found it easy to do after the tenth time they started in on each other. Not that she ever thought about telling them to stop. She just assumed this was their way of coping, the same reason Danny joked his way through a firefight. It was their natural response, their sanctuary.

She couldn’t help but share Donna’s enthusiasm. How long had it been since she tasted cold water? Or stood under a hot shower? Had it really been weeks since she laid down on her own soft bed? God, she missed that the most.

Thinking about all the comforts waiting for her back on the island only made her long to see signs of the I-10 highway in the distance. Any sign at all. It would be hard to miss: a tall concrete structure rising up from the flat landscape she had been traveling for the last—how long had it been?

Gaby glanced at her watch. 9:15 a.m.

Had they only been on the road for less than forty minutes? Of course, she had only been driving at forty miles per hour. The slow speed was a combination of not being entirely confident in her driving skills and a wariness of what lay ahead. She had very little experience driving, but even more so when it came to these big trucks—

Sunlight reflected off something metallic in the road, and her left leg went down on the brake before she realized what it was: a barricade, consisting of two vehicles parked across the lanes and spilling onto the shoulders on both sides. It wasn’t an accident; she could tell that much even from a distance. The cars had been parked on purpose to block the road.

Claire saw it, too, and immediately stopped her back and forth with Donna.

“What?” Donna said. Then she, too, saw it. “Oh no, that can’t be good.”

Gaby slowly eased her foot off the gas pedal until the truck was moving at a snail’s pace. Claire had already picked up her rifle and put it in her lap.

“Power up your window,” Gaby said. Claire did, and Gaby did hers at the same time. “Girls,” Gaby said, looking up at the rearview mirror, “move behind the seats. Milly, get on the floor. Stay hidden.”

Donna moved behind Gaby while Milly did as she was told. She was small enough that she was able to sink all the way down to the floor on her bent knees until she was hidden completely behind Claire.

Gaby checked to make sure her rifle was still leaning against her seat, the stock resting on Claire’s side so it wouldn’t accidentally fall and become tangled with her feet while she was busy with the gas and brake.

Outside, the vehicles took the shape of a white four-door sedan and a beat-up red truck. Both cars looked like they had seen plenty of use; the sedan’s paint was peeling and its windows were rolled down. The truck’s windows were down too, and both looked empty.

Looked empty, anyway.

Gaby knew better. Cars didn’t stop in the middle of nowhere and park themselves nose to bumper. Certainly not out here, with only the spread-out land and farmhouses (including one that was burning somewhere behind them) resembling civilization. She guessed they were either halfway to the I-10 by now, or pretty close.

God, she hoped they were almost there.

The Chevy was thirty yards from the obstruction when Gaby came to a complete stop. She kept both hands on the steering wheel because if she had to jam down on the gas pedal, the truck was going to shoot forward like a rocket. When that happened, it was going to fight her with everything it had, which was a hell of a lot.

She did what Will taught her and turned the options in front of her over in her head.

There were a few that she could think of right away. The sedan and truck were no match for the larger Chevy, and she could probably power her way right through them without suffering too much damage. But there would be some damage, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to risk that. At least, not yet. Not as long as she had other options.

Which were…?

The ditches, she knew from earlier, were too deep to drive across. That seemed to be the entire point of positioning the two cars across the road in the first place. Even if they couldn’t completely overlap the shoulders, enough of them did that it left little space for her to maneuver the wide truck around without ramming the bumper on one car or the front hood on the other. So she would have to go down the ditch and come up on the other side if she wanted to avoid impacting the vehicles entirely. Was the Silverado powerful enough to pull that off? She had no idea.

She could retreat. That was the third option. She didn’t particularly like it, but it was there. Going backward meant heading in the wrong direction, though. Home was up ahead, not behind her. So that was out of the question.

“Gaby?” Donna said. She was pressed so tightly against the seat that Gaby heard her even though she was whispering. “What are we going to do?”

“We can ram them,” Claire said.

“Ram them?” Donna said. “You’re crazy.”

“Why not? I bet we could.”

It had been less than thirty seconds since she had stepped on the brake. In that time, the highway remained empty except for their vehicle and the two in front of them. She expected a head, followed by a weapon, to appear behind one of the cars at any second, signaling that this was an ambush as she (knew) feared. The Silverado’s raised seat gave her a good view of her surroundings, but at the moment she couldn’t see anything to indicate this wasn’t just some freak accident.

Yeah, right. And I’m on a Sunday drive in the park with some kids.

She waited, but nothing happened.

There were no heads, no weapons, and no signs that someone was hiding behind the vehicles. Or around them. There were just two dead cars that shouldn’t be there but were and an empty field to the right and left of her.

Up ahead was I-10…

Maybe she was overthinking this. Or maybe someone had set up an ambush here a while ago but gave up when they didn’t find any takers. That was possible, too. You could only wait so long until you got tired and moved on. Maybe those vehicles were actually dead.

Maybe. So many maybes.

It was starting to get hot inside the truck with the windows rolled up, and Gaby glanced down at the AC controller when she caught a flicker of movement in the rearview mirror.

A man, cradling a rifle, was sneaking up on them from behind—

“Get down!” Gaby shouted, at the same time shoving the gear into reverse and slamming her foot down on the gas pedal. The truck lurched backward with such awkward force that Gaby was thrown forward into the steering wheel and had to hold on with everything she had.

The Silverado’s tires screamed as it reversed. Or was that more of a shrill? She swore she could also smell rubber burning, but that could have just been something her frenzied mind was making up on the spot.

She felt rather than heard the THUMP! as the truck rammed into the figure behind them and she glimpsed something flying through the air, flashing across her side mirror. It was big and dark and seemed to be failing wildly, and it was there one split-second and gone the next.

Keep going! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!

She didn’t stop and she kept going, pushing back against the seat while gripping the steering wheel with all her might. A dark black lump flashed by to her left, lying on the road (I guess he landed), just as a flurry of movement tore her eyes away to a second man emerging out of the ditch to her left. She didn’t get a good look at his face—the truck was moving too fast—but he was definitely wearing slacks and a T-shirt, so he wasn’t one of Josh’s people. Not that it mattered at the moment. The shotgun clutched in his hands was what was important.

Then Claire screamed her name.

Gaby snapped a look in the girl’s direction and saw a third figure climbing—lumbering, really, because the man was huge and moved with great difficulty—out of the ditch to their right. The AR-15 looked like a toy in his hands. The man stopped and took aim and opened fire.

“Stay down!” Gaby screamed.

She kept her hands tight around the steering wheel even as the truck continued to reverse, the sound of peeling tires now lost in the string of shotgun blasts pounding the air, joining the AR-15 as it pelted the truck. She hoped and prayed she was going in a straight line back down Route 13 even as the front windshield shattered and glass shards zip-zip-zipped around her head. In another second, the entire windshield seemed to disintegrate until there was nothing left.

“Gaby!” Claire shouted. “Watch out—”

Before the girl could finish, the ground gave out under them and they were going down. Then her view out of the rectangular hole that used to be the windshield changed positions and she found herself staring up at the cloudless sky, bright sun hitting her full in the face. Without the glass to protect her, the full force of the heat was overwhelming and she had to blink even as the sound of the truck’s rear tires spinning fruitlessly against the ground forced its way into her senses. She still had her foot pressed down on the gas pedal, though she wasn’t sure why because they didn’t seem to be moving at all.

They were upended, with the truck’s bumper resting on the bottom of the ditch and the tires fighting for purchase against the dirt wall. She looked to her right and saw Claire clinging to her seat, hands over her head, dazed and confused.

Gaby pulled her foot off the gas pedal and reached for the M4 lying across her and Claire’s seats just as the driver side door was yanked open with a loud squeal of metal grinding against metal. The man had to be immensely strong because opening a door upward took a hell of a lot of strength, and yet he had done it almost effortlessly.

She gave up on the rifle and went for her Glock instead.

The large man with the AR-15 was trying to pull her out with one hand even while he kept the door pried open with one bulging shoulder. Trying? No. He was succeeding. Meaty fingers dug into her flesh, and she couldn’t have fought him even if she wanted to. He was so much stronger that she didn’t think he was even exerting any force whatsoever as he yanked her toward the open door.

She twisted in her seat and saw his eyes go wide at the sight of the gun in her right fist. He opened his mouth to say something—maybe to ask her not to shoot—but before he could get a word out she shot him in the chest, the discharge deafening in the tight confines of the vehicle.

Behind her, either Donna or Milly began screaming. By the shrill noise, she guessed it was probably Milly. Gaby had been wondering when the girl would finally let it all out. She guessed this was as good a time as any.

The big man—who was probably shorter than her, though he made up for it with width and at least one hundred pounds—let go of her arm before stumbling back, looking more stunned than hurt. The door slammed back down, but Gaby could still see him through the cracked driver side window. The man’s rifle was slung over his shoulder and he was clawing for it. He looked confused, as if he couldn’t quite figure out where the rifle was, or remember how to breathe.

She shot him a second time in the chest, shattering the driver side window in the process.

“Aim for center mass,” Will always said. “The biggest part of the body is your best target. Only delusional idiots aim for the head in a gunfight.”

The man crumpled to the bottom of the ditch on his stomach.

She was about to leap out of her seat (Get out of the car! It’s a death trap! Get out of it now!), when she heard glass shattering behind her, from across the front seat, and Claire screaming. Gaby twisted back in that direction. She hadn’t gotten completely around when she saw a familiar face, the same shade of red hair, leaning in Claire’s suddenly open passenger side window with a shotgun in his hands.

But she was still halfway around when the man ruthlessly shoved the barrel of his weapon against Claire’s cheek, then glared at her from behind the girl’s head. “Go ahead, see if I don’t blow this little girl’s head open like a melon before you get that gun all the way around.”

Gaby froze.

Harrison.

She stared at him, then at Claire, fastened to her seat as if she was glued to it, too afraid to even move. There was a big bump in the girl’s forehead where she had slammed into the dashboard because she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. For the first time since she had met her, Gaby saw very real fear in the thirteen-year-old’s eyes.

“It’s okay, Claire,” Gaby said. “Everything will be okay.”

“Don’t lie to the girl,” Harrison said. “It’s unbecoming.”

Gaby gripped the Glock. It was still pointed in the wrong direction—at her steering wheel—but it wouldn’t have taken much to swing it sixty more degrees, lift it slightly, and shoot Harrison on the other side of Claire. Of course, that would require better aim than she had proven herself capable of with a handgun. And he was standing right behind Claire, using her small head as a shield.

The crying continued in the backseat. Gaby couldn’t be sure if it was still just Milly or if Donna had joined in.

Options. What were her options?

Will said there were always options. She just had to see them.

So what were her options now?

She couldn’t see them. God help her, she couldn’t see any of them.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Harrison said. “Put down the gun or I’m going to splash this little girl’s brains all over you. You know I’ll do it.”

“Yeah,” Gaby said. “I know you’ll do it.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

She threw the Glock out her window. “Don’t hurt her.”

Harrison kept the shotgun pressed into Claire’s cheek with one hand and reached down with the other. He brought the hand back up and tossed something to her.

Gaby looked down at a pair of steel handcuffs in her lap.

“Put one around your right wrist and the other around the steering wheel,” Harrison said.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Options? What are my options?

None. I don’t see any.

God help me, I don’t see any…

She picked up the handcuffs and did as he instructed. The metal bit into her wrist and she instantly regretted it. “Now what?”

“You’re going to sit tight,” Harrison said.

He snatched up Claire’s rifle and tossed it into the ditch. Then he grabbed her M4, which had slid into Claire’s side of the truck, and stepped backward before disappearing completely from her field of vision. She heard him moving around the ditch, climbing up and then scrambling over to the other side, though she couldn’t see him because the truck was pointing up at the sky at the moment.

She looked into the backseat, at the weapons that Darren and his friend had brought with them. There, an AR-15, lying between Donna and Milly— “Donna, the rifle, hurry.”

Donna stared back at her as if she couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“The rifle!” Gaby said, just loud enough to get through to her.

She could hear Harrison moving around the truck, reaching the other side…

“Give me the rifle!” Gaby said again, louder this time.

Donna finally understood and reached for the rifle. She picked it up by the barrel and was holding it out to Gaby when the back passenger window exploded and showered the teenager and Milly with glass shards. Both girls screamed and the rifle fell. The girls threw their arms over their heads while Milly sank even lower into the floor behind Claire’s seat. Gaby couldn’t tell if they were hurt or just terrified, but she saw fresh blood on the upholstery in the backseat.

The loud, unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked filled the air, then Harrison was standing next to her on the other side of her shattered window. “Nice try,” he said, then hit her in the face with the stock of his weapon.

Gaby actually heard her nose breaking, then tasted blood in her mouth as her head laid back against the comfortable headrest. She tried to shut off her senses. She wanted to go to sleep, but the sun was still beating down on her and she was able to open her eyes just in time to see Harrison pulling open the door with some effort.

He reached in and unlocked the handcuff around the steering wheel. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the truck roughly, throwing her down into the ditch. She landed on top of the short but large man she had shot earlier and scrambled to get away.

She was straightening up when Harrison hit her in the gut with a balled fist. She doubled over from the pain before falling back down to her knees in the grass. Thick blood dripped down around her in clumpy streams.

Are those mine? Yes. I think so.

Harrison towered over her, his bigger frame blotting out the sun. “You should have stayed out of my city. Everything was going fine until you showed up. Everything that’s happened, it’s all your fault.”

She looked up at him and shook her head. “No,” she said, but before she could continue defending herself, he punched her in the face—right in her broken nose. All the pain in the world seemed to come down on her at that very moment.

Someone screamed, then someone else joined in.

She heard her name just before the loud roar of another shotgun blast silenced it.

Book Three

Run and Gun

26

Keo

“That’s one nasty scar,” the woman, Bonnie, said.

“You should have seen the other guy,” Keo said.

“Worse than that?”

“He’s dead, and I’m not.”

“Hunh.”

“That’s what he said.”

The redhead (Auburn hair? Close enough) with the supermodel good looks was crouched on one knee at the bow of the eighteen-footer, as if she expected someone to start shooting at them from the shoreline at any moment. She had a Remington tactical shotgun slung over her shoulder and wore a gun belt with a sidearm, though the combination of the deadly items on someone that gorgeous struck him as somehow unnatural.

The boat they were traveling in was used primarily for bass fishing, with two seats in the middle, one behind the steering wheel, and two pedestal seats—one in the back next to the loud outboard motor and the other up front where Bonnie was crouched next to at the moment. It was also the same boat they had used to intercept Carrie and Lorelei last night. No wonder it hadn’t been much of a chase. The damn thing was fast.

The big guy, Blaine, was maneuvering them toward the shoreline. His target was a spot about half a kilometer up the road from a burnt out marina and what looked like the blackened foundations of a fire-gutted house.

“Coming up,” Blaine announced.

Keo freed his MP5SD and moved from his seat and toward the bow, then crouched next to Bonnie. He still had the M16 with the M203 grenade launcher. It was a heavier weapon—about nine pounds loaded—than the submachine gun and felt like a baseball bat thumping against his back.

Bonnie glanced nervously at him. “You’ve done this before, right?”

“What’s that?”

“This, what you’re about to do.”

He shrugged. “First time for everything.”

She gave him a horrified look. “Are you kidding me right now? Tell me you’re just kidding me.”

He looked back at Blaine instead. “Bring her in easy. Fifty meters.”

Blaine nodded, then pulled back on the throttle. The boat slowed noticeably before continuing forward on a glide. A tall ridge and muddy banks greeted them, but no signs of another living soul anywhere. There was a long field on the other side crowded with overgrown and sun-bleached grass. That would come in handy if there was a sniper out there waiting to pick him off. If he was lucky, Blaine’s bigger form would make a more tempting target and give him the early warning he needed to retreat.

I’d shoot him first, too.

It was hot and Keo was already sweating under his T-shirt. Both Bonnie and Blaine looked similarly drenched and uncomfortable under the unrelenting heat.

“Shore’s coming up,” Blaine announced.

Keo stood up and put his submachine gun away. He waited until the boat slipped onto the muddy bank before leaping out. He grabbed a line Bonnie tossed to him and tied it around a boulder nearby. After the islanders climbed out after him, he tightened the rope and made sure it wasn’t going anywhere. The last thing he wanted was to swim back to the island. Once was enough, and he was closer last night.

He glanced at his watch: 11:13 a.m. “There and back again by five should give us a ninety-minute cushion.”

“It’s your operation,” Blaine said.

“As long as we’re on the water by the time the sun goes down,” Bonnie said. She might have involuntarily shivered when she added, “I don’t like the idea of being caught out here at night.”

Keo took point. He climbed up the ridge and went into a crouch before scanning the area. Despite the oppressive weather and lack of shade, the grass had grown three feet high from the ridgeline all the way to the road on the other side. Route 27, according to a map Lara had shown him. Blaine and Bonnie climbed up behind him.

“I don’t see it,” Keo said. “You sure this is the right spot?”

Blaine nodded. “Should be.”

“‘Should be’?”

“It’s here,” Blaine said, with just a little more conviction that time. He stood up to survey the area before crouching back down. “I see it. It’s where it should be.”

“Take the lead, then.”

Blaine picked up a car battery he had brought with him, got up, and jogged through the grass. Keo followed, Bonnie right behind him with two red plastic cans of gas in each hand. She was surprisingly strong for such a skinny beanpole.

The big man was leading them toward an old tree about thirty meters from the flat highway. As they neared it, Keo began making out a large object. Square-shaped, covered in some kind of brown tarp and repurposed grass that blended it, if not perfectly, then just enough into the surrounding field to make it mostly invisible to passing eyeballs unless you knew what you were looking for and where.

They slowed down as they reached the vehicle sitting underneath the makeshift camouflage. Blaine grabbed one side of the tarp and pulled it, revealing a black Dodge Ram that looked to be in reasonably good condition.

Blaine tossed Keo a key. “Pop the hood.”

Keo got a whiff of stale air when he opened the door. Apparently they hadn’t needed to use the Ram in a while. He leaned in and pulled the lever. “How many of these things do you guys have stashed around the lake?”

“About a half dozen,” Blaine said. He stuffed the battery back into its slot and reconnected the wires. “Most of them still have some gas left in the tanks, but we bring enough extra just to be sure.”

Behind him, Bonnie had finished pouring the two cans of gasoline into the tank. She closed it back up now and tossed the empty cans into the back, then wiped her hands on her shirt and made a face at the smell.

When Lara had told him that Blaine knew where to get a vehicle and they would need a battery for it, Keo hadn’t been convinced. But the more he got to know these people, the more he realized he was dealing with seasoned survivors and not civilians fumbling their way through the end of the world.

Most of that, he thought, was the result of good leadership. Lara, and this Will guy whom Keo hadn’t met yet. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to, either. Keo had never gotten along especially well with Army guys. His father had been proof of that, and subsequent encounters with grunts during his career with the organization had never turned out especially well. As much as he didn’t have any use for career soldiers, Keo suspected they thought the same about him and his ilk.

Blaine slammed the hood down and walked back over. “How far up the road?”

Keo did the calculations in his head, replaying snapshots of the map and where he had encountered the weekend warriors. Or collaborators, as Lara called them. “Twenty kilometers north, but since we’re on the wrong side of the lake and we’ll need to loop around the south end, add in an extra ten. Thirty kilometers, give or take.”

“How much is that in miles?” Bonnie asked.

“Just a shade over eighteen,” Keo said.

“Eighteen miles,” Blaine nodded. “As long as we don’t get held up by anything, we shouldn’t have any problems making it back down here by five, and we’ll be on the island thirty minutes later.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let them know we’re off.”

Blaine unclipped his radio and keyed it. “Song Island. Can you read me. Over.”

“Loud and clear, Blaine,” a voice answered. It was one of the women, Maddie. Song Island, Keo discovered, had a lot of very capable women. Gillian and Jordan would definitely have fit in like gangbusters.

“We’re heading off now, Maddie,” Blaine said. “Wish us luck.”

“Good luck and see you when you get back,” Maddie said.

Keo climbed into the front passenger seat while Blaine slipped in behind the wheel. Bonnie settled into the back and leaned in between the two front seats. She gave Keo a long, curious look.

“What?” he said.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked.

“No, but it’ll be fun to find out.”

Bonnie sat back with a heavy sigh. “Oh God, you’re going to get me killed, aren’t you?”

“That’s the spirit,” Keo said.

* * *

You really thought it was going to be that easy, huh? Think again, pal.

They were exactly where he last saw them yesterday, gathered around the red two-story house near the shoreline. Except this time there were more vehicles and more men guarding the roads and standing along the docks. He counted almost two dozen uniforms, likely more scattered elsewhere that he couldn’t see.

The radio clipped to his hip squawked, and Blaine’s voice came through at half volume because he had lowered the volume halfway. “How’s it look up close?”

He told Blaine about what he could see and what he couldn’t.

“Damn,” Blaine said.

“Yeah.”

“What’s the plan now?”

If I’m smart, I’ll go back and shoot you and the girl and take the truck and not look back until I’m halfway to Texas.

“Sit tight,” he said instead.

Blaine and Bonnie were waiting for him about three kilometers up Route 410. They had stopped even further back than that before pushing the vehicle with the gear on neutral for almost two extra kilometers so they wouldn’t give away their approach. Well, he and Blaine had pushed anyway, while Bonnie steered. Keo had hiked the rest of the way. It was a pain in the ass, but necessary since sound traveled these days, especially car engines. Even with all those precautions, he kept expecting gunfire coming his direction at any moment.

He was probably 200 meters from the red house, just further back than when he was last here with Carrie and Lorelei, and well hidden behind a brown building that was once a house before a fire gutted it years ago, leaving behind three walls and not much else. Keo was crouched along one of those still-standing sides, peering through his binoculars up the road at men transferring supplies from the house and parked trucks over to the docks. One of the men was looking through a box and pulled out night-vision goggles and tried it on.

Looks like they’re getting ready for a night assault.

The sentries at the two-story structure, including the one on the rooftop, looked alert. Two men paced the road almost exactly halfway between him and the shoreline. One of them was carrying an M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, an ammo belt wrapped around his shoulder and waist like he was a bandito out of a Western. That was the first time Keo had seen a machine gun in the last year, and he wondered where they found that little beauty.

“Are we still good?” Blaine said through the radio. “Keo?”

Keo didn’t answer right away. Then, “Nothing’s changed. Just more targets.”

“Maybe we should come up with another plan,” Bonnie said.

“I’m listening…”

“I didn’t say I had any ideas. I just think we should go back to the island and talk it over with Lara. Or wait for Will and Danny to come back tomorrow.”

“They’re going to attack tonight,” Keo said.

“How do you know that?” Blaine said.

“They brought night-vision goggles.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Keo said.

He put the MP5SD away and reached for the M16. Besides the extra two pounds, he also disliked the length of the rifle, but the M203 grenade launcher more than made up for that. Keo opened the ammo pouch along his right hip and took out a 40mm grenade round—the size of a deodorant dispenser, except cylindrical and with a bulbous head—and fed it into the tube under the barrel.

The M203 had an effective range of 400 meters, which was more than enough to take out the house and maybe a few of the trucks. They were still moving supplies back and forth, so if he could knock out the vehicles and what they were carrying, all the better. Maybe they had ammo in there, or if he was really lucky, things that went boom. Some secondary fireworks might even result in collateral damage.

The house, though, was the main objective. Besides being the biggest and easiest target, he counted at least a dozen soldiers inside (and the one on top of it). If he could take it out, that would probably cut the invasion force in half, or close enough. Hell, if he was really lucky, he’d take out their command and control, too. That would really cripple them. Even weekend warriors needed someone to give the orders.

It wasn’t a bad plan. Best of all, it was a safe plan, with minimal risk to his scalp. He felt even a little bit like a coward shooting from a distance hidden behind the gutted house, but what the hell, these soldiers were about to invade an island full of women and children. Keo had done a lot of bad things in his life, but he wasn’t going to sit by and let that happen.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not a fucking asshole.

The M16 came with a second sight for the grenade launcher toward the front of the barrel, and Keo flicked it into position now. He remained crouched but scooted a bit further out from behind the building, then moved left toward the road until he could see (and shoot) around the wall. He spent a few seconds adjusting for wind and elevation.

It was going to be a hell of a shot, but firing a grenade launcher wasn’t quite the same as shooting a rifle. It was mostly about angles and adjustments and letting the round do all the work. Unlike shooting a rifle from long-distance, an explosion was easier to “miss” with and still be effective. He was also comforted by the fact that he had extra ammo in his pouch if the first shot went astray.

See, adjust, and fire again. So simple even a baby could do it.

Of course, he would have loved to get closer. Maybe another fifty meters. Oh, who was he kidding. A nice, round hundred meters would have been ideal.

He aimed for the roof, hoping to land a round somewhere in that vicinity so the resulting impact would take out the second floor and collapse it down onto the first. If not, a second shot into one of the walls would just about do it. The one thing Keo knew for sure was that if one grenade didn’t accomplish its goal, two—or hell, three—usually got the job done. Usually—

Clink!

The sharp sound of metal grinding against metal made Keo stand up and spin around, his finger sliding away from the grenade launcher to the main trigger. He was prepared to fire, to spray and pray (Thank God he had kept the fire selector on three-round burst), but instead Keo lost a second processing what he was seeing.

It was a kid.

A goddamn kid.

He was sitting on a shiny new bicycle in the middle of the road, wearing one of those plastic shell helmets that was supposed to protect him from cracking his head if he fell. He had on wrist and knee pads and brand new Nike sneakers. The kid couldn’t have been older than ten, sporting a white T-shirt that was stained in equal measure with sweat and what looked like chocolate.

He stared at Keo, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Join the party, pal.

Then the brat reached down and unclipped a rectangle black object housed inside a holder along the bike’s down tube, where a water bottle was supposed to go. The kid pulled out a walkie talkie, and Keo remembered what Carrie had told him after the marina shootout back at Lake Dulcet. It was how the soldiers knew there was a boat at the marina in the first place.

“They’re spies. Lookouts. Their job is to go around the city looking for survivors. The guys in uniform come later. That’s how they found us. One of those stupid kids spotted us and the trucks swooped in.”

“No,” Keo said, taking his finger off the M16’s trigger, hoping that would have some kind of effect. “Don’t do that, kid. You don’t want to do that.”

The little bastard didn’t hear a word he said. Or if he did, it never registered, because he lifted the walkie talkie to his lips, pressed the transmit lever, and shouted into it, “There’s someone here! There’s someone down the road! And he’s got a machine gun!”

Aw, hell.

Keo turned back around and saw the two soldiers in the road looking in his direction. Because he was standing now, they saw him immediately and started pointing.

When Keo glanced back at the kid, the little tyke was bicycling away at full speed, the clink-clink-clink of his chains against heavy metal frame.

“Yeah, you better run, you little bastard!” Keo shouted after him, but he hadn’t gotten “bastard” completely out when gunfire split the air and bullets buzzed past his head.

He ducked instinctively and moved back behind the wall, which started coming apart piece by piece in front of his face. He slipped down to one knee and tried to wait out the pop-pop-pop of a carbine shooting, which meant the guy with the M249 hadn’t opened up yet. Of course, it was only a matter of time. Chances were the guy was waiting to get closer. Either that, or he wasn’t comfortable firing that heavy weapon standing up—

The wall behind him disintegrated before he could finish the thought, ripped apart by a barrage of brap-brap-brap gunfire that seemed to go on and on and on.

The M249 light machine gun had just joined the party.

“Keo!” Blaine shouted through the radio. “What’s going on? Keo!”

Keo could barely hear Blaine’s voice over the roar of the machine gun fire. He didn’t know how far the two soldiers were at the moment, but he guessed they would keep together, which meant slowly moving up the road toward him. At the moment, staying down and keeping his head from being detached from his shoulders by one of the SAW’s 5.56mm rounds seemed the more prudent move.

He swapped the M16 for the MP5SD then glanced to his left, wondering if there were more pieces of the house still standing back there when the machine gun suddenly stopped firing.

Keo sucked in a breath, thought, The hell with it, you only live once, and stood up behind what was left of the wall. There wasn’t much remaining, just about four feet of brick and mortar reaching up from the ground.

The two soldiers were still on the road. One of them was slightly crouched over and moving cautiously forward, but he was a good fifty meters away still. His partner was farther back and struggling to feed the ammo belt into the M249. That was the problem with belt-fed weapons. You never know when the next round was going to jam and ruin your day.

The one with the M4 saw Keo stand up and snapped off a shot. Too quick and the round missed by a wide margin, not even hitting what was left of the house wall. Of course, in the guy’s defense, there really wasn’t much left to hit.

As the man adjusted his aim, Keo returned fire. The man staggered down to one knee, so Keo guessed he had hit something. He kept pulling the trigger because fifty meters was a hell of a distance for the MP5SD, and Keo wasn’t taking any chances. He only stopped shooting when the soldier collapsed to the road on his stomach and didn’t move.

The one with the light machine gun saw his partner go down in front of him and tossed his jammed weapon and took off running back down the road. Keo was taking aim at his fleeing form when he saw something else—two of the trucks parked in front of the red house had fired their engines and were starting to move, their tires peeling and tossing dirt into the air around them.

“Keo!” Blaine was still shouting through the radio. “What’s going on? Are you alive?”

He didn’t waste time responding. Instead, he slung the MP5SD and brought out the M16 again, then calmly stepped out from behind what was left of the house wall and carefully took aim with the rifle.

One hundred meters for a grenade launcher designed to blow the crap out of something from four times that distance was almost child’s play. It was such an easy shot even a baby could have pulled it off. And he was definitely more skilled than a baby.

Nice, you almost believed it that time!

The trucks were burning rubber up the road, men in uniforms hanging on for dear life in the back, swarms of dust scattering in their wake. The soldier who had ditched the SAW had to dive out of the path of the oncoming vehicles when they were almost on top of him. He rolled comically sideways and landed somewhere in the ditch.

“Keo!” Blaine shouted through the radio. “Answer me, dammit!”

Blaine might have said something else, but his words were lost against the sound of the grenade launcher belching out a dull but incredibly satisfying ploompt!

The 40mm round landed near the closest truck as it was halfway to him. The driver, predictably, reacted badly to the sight of an explosion ripping a hole in the road directly in front of him and showering his windshield with chunks of asphalt. The man jerked on the wheel and the truck looked as if it had hit an invisible wall, turning sharply to the left and then rolling over onto its side before spinning forward once, twice, three times. It finally settled back down on its roof, sending showers of glass everywhere.

The second truck, seeing the first one spinning out of control in front of it—peppering the road with metal and plastic and aluminum, along with the two sad bastards who were in the back—came to a screeching stop, the smell of burning rubber filling the air.

Keo pulled back his right hand and found the main trigger on the M16 and fired, stitching the second vehicle’s front windshield with a series of three-round bursts. They were close enough now—less than fifty meters, he guessed—that it wasn’t too hard of a target. Of course, he was firing again and again just to be sure. God knew he had realized his shortcomings with long-range shooting recently.

Two men inside the front cab ducked as their windshield caved in on them. Men in the back dropped out of sight and one jumped down from the truck, lost his footing, and started crawling toward the back bumper for cover.

Keo backpedaled as he fired again and again, glimpsing more figures racing up the road behind the vehicles, weapons swinging wildly in front of them. There were simply too many of them. Way too many. So what else was new?

His eyes darted briefly to the two-story red house in the background. He thought about sending a 40mm grenade toward it, but that choice went out the window when he saw sunlight flashing off additional trucks blasting up the road.

Then he heard something—coming from behind him.

He glanced back, wondering how the hell they had outflanked him, and was shocked to see the Dodge Ram coming up on him fast. Blaine was behind the wheel, Bonnie in the front passenger’s seat holding onto the dashboard for dear life.

I guess they’re more useful than I thought.

Keo grinned at them—saw their terrified faces staring back—before he turned around and looked up the road. He grabbed a second 40mm grenade out of his pouch and reloaded the launcher. He did his best to ignore the sound of the Ram’s brakes squealing behind him as it came to a stop inches away. He was guessing it was inches away, because he actually felt the wind pushing against the back of his neck as Blaine nearly ran him over with the Dodge.

See, adjust, and fire again. So simple even a baby could do it.

The men from the house were about to reach the first two dead-in-the-road trucks while the driver and his passenger took the opportunity as Keo reloaded to scramble outside and run for cover behind the back bumper.

Wrong hiding spot, Keo thought, and fired and listened to the equally satisfying second ploompt! as the second round sailed.

This time the grenade hit its intended target, vanishing through the windshield of the second truck. The resulting explosion ripped across the vehicle and shredded the two men hiding behind it and tossed two more into the road, their clothes and hair and skin on fire. They might have been screaming, but it was hard to hear over the roar of flames and tires.

“Keo!” Bonnie, shouting behind him. “Come on!”

He tossed the M16 onto the ground and turned and nearly ran into the scorching hot hood of the truck. It was inches behind him. Jesus Christ. Blaine really did almost run him over seconds ago. He stared across the hood at Blaine, who stared back at him wide-eyed.

“Keo!” Bonnie shouted again.

Keo snapped out of it and ran around the Ram.

Bonnie saw him coming and threw the passenger side door open and he jumped inside, landing in her lap. She grabbed him with one hand, her other arm reaching across him and slamming the door shut, shouting, “Go, Blaine, go!”

Blaine didn’t need any encouragement. He shoved his foot down on the gas pedal and the Ram began reversing up the road, the big man’s hands gripping the steering wheel with such intensity Keo wondered what it would take to pry them loose if he needed to.

Bonnie struggled out from under him and scooted over to the middle of the front seats. “Jesus, we thought you were dead.”

He was about to answer when bullets punched through the front windshield and zipped past his head and tore into the truck upholstery around them.

“Christ!” Blaine shouted.

The big man spun the steering wheel even as rounds slammed into the vehicle’s side and front hood, the constant ring of ping! ping! ping! filling the air. Then a second later they were facing the right direction—back down the road—and the truck was picking up speed again with every breath Keo took.

Bonnie screamed when the back windshield exploded under a hail of bullets and they were showered with glass. She threw her hands over her head and kept it down, unwilling to come up even after the last piece of glass fell away.

“We’re good, we’re good,” Keo said, looking back up. Then to Blaine, “Nice driving.”

“Thanks,” Blaine said, though he hadn’t looked away from the road or even relinquished an ounce of pressure on the steering wheel.

Keo glanced out the blown back window. He didn’t see any pursuing vehicles, just the two wasted ones blocking the road. The first was still resting on its roof, while the second one was engulfed in flames. Two trucks were trying to get around them, but one had run into a ditch and men were trying to push it out to no avail. The fourth truck didn’t even make the attempt.

“Are they following us?” Bonnie asked.

“No,” Keo said. He glanced at his watch. “Get to the island by six, right?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said, almost breathless.

Keo reached into the back and pulled his pack over. He unzipped it and took out a bottle of water. It was freezing cold a few hours ago and was just cold enough now. Hell, that was more than he’d had in almost a year.

He sat back in his seat and took a sip, flicking broken glass off his clothes and picking them from his hair. He hoped he hadn’t been cut by flying shards. God knew he already looked like a mess with the scar and a broken nose that hadn’t entirely healed properly yet. The last thing he needed was a piece of glass sticking out of the other cheek.

After a while, he realized Bonnie was staring at him. “What?” he said.

“Did that go as you planned it?” She wasn’t being sarcastic, either; he could see it in her eyes. She was hoping he would say yes, because that would mean it was mission accomplished. Or close enough.

“The idea was to stall them until the Army Rangers get back and you can put up a proper defense for the island, right?”

“Yes…”

He looked at the truck’s side mirror, back at the flaming wreckage behind them. “Then maybe. I guess we’ll find out tonight one way or another…”

27

Will

Two down, two to go.

So where were the other two blue-eyed ghouls?

The question nagged at him from the time they climbed into the Bronco to when they were halfway up Route 13, with I-10 still hidden somewhere in the distance.

According to the map, thirty minutes would take them to the interstate, and from there another hour on the highway before hopping off for the small roads at the town of Salvani. Song Island lay further south. Another hour, give or take, thanks to the nonexistent traffic. If they could locate Gaby somewhere along the way, there was no reason why they couldn’t be home by nightfall. He was looking forward to that. More than anything, he wanted to see Lara again. Imagining her in his mind’s eye had become harder with each passing day.

And yet…

Two down, two to go.

Where did the other two go? Why weren’t they in Dunbar last night? The only explanation he could think of was that they had split up. Which had benefited Danny and him. He wasn’t sure he could have fended off four at once, even knowing a bullet to the head (Silver bullets? Or would any ol’ bullet do?) could finish them off, whereas they simply shrugged off everything else.

That was good and bad news. The good news was that you could kill them with a bullet to the head. The bad news was that you had to shoot them in the head and destroy the brain. The average human melon had a circumference of fifty-six centimeters (give or take), with the brain residing in the top portion. So take fifty percent away from the initial size, leaving the shooter with, at best, a target circumference of twenty-eight centimeters.

Not a difficult shot in and of itself, but when the target was moving—and there was no way in hell those blue-eyed bastards were going to stand still and let him zero in on them—it was another matter entirely. He had gotten lucky with the two from last night. The first one by way of the cross-knife when it was standing still, gloating over its victory, and he had caught the second one at almost point-blank range with the creature coming right at him. Even an amateur could have made that shot.

Shoot them in the head. Right. Easy peasy.

“At the risk of sounding like Carly,” Danny said, “what are you thinking?”

“Where did the other two blue-eyed ghouls go?”

“And you definitely saw four in that, uh, walkabout of yours.”

“Definitely. I mastered counting in elementary school.”

“I wouldn’t know. I was too busy making out with Suzy by the jungle gym.”

Danny had both hands on the steering wheel. His broken nose and bruised face looked even more noticeable against the burning sun and dry wind blowing through the open windows. Both of their clothes, weighed down by the gear they were carrying, were damp against their seats. Will would have preferred to drive with the air conditioner blasting, but knowing Gaby was out there somewhere made that impossible. They were also driving much slower than before—barely forty miles per hour now—just so they wouldn’t miss seeing or hearing anything that could point them to Gaby’s whereabouts. The idea of driving past her now, after all but giving her up for dead thirty minutes ago, was an unsettling thought.

“Given their whole hive mind thing,” Danny said, “it doesn’t make sense they didn’t launch a second attack after you took out the first two.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

“So maybe they weren’t in Dunbar. Maybe they were out here in Nowheresville doing…something else.”

“Or tracking someone else.”

“Gaby?”

“Best-case scenario.”

Danny chuckled. “Our best scenario is that two blue-eyed ghouls are hot on Gaby’s trail. Didn’t think I’d be saying that anytime soon.”

“Desperate times call for desperate best-case scenarios.”

“So we know she left L15 with two locals, then left Dunbar with three. Where do you think she picked up the third stray?”

“In Dunbar, maybe. Or—” Will stopped when he saw the smoke rising in the distance. “Slow down, Danny. Two o’clock.”

Danny eased the Bronco down to thirty-five, then twenty, miles per hour. They leaned forward at the sight of smoke hovering over the remains of a house. Recently, from the looks of it.

“Someone must have left the oven on,” Danny said.

“I see a road,” Will said, pointing.

Danny pulled the truck off the highway and onto a manmade dirt road, past an open gate, and drove them toward a farm. The remnants of the house were flanked by a red barn to one side and what looked like an unattached garage or possibly a supply shack on the other. There were a couple of vehicles parked in the wide, expansive yard.

Will picked up his M4A1 from the floor and scanned the property. Like most of the land they had passed since leaving Dunbar behind, the ground was flat and baked brown. There were no animals grazing, no signs of horses or cows, or whatever it was the owners had been raising before The Purge. Then again, he hadn’t seen a large land animal running free for almost a year now, so the complete lack of livestock didn’t add to the potential (if any) threat around the area.

The road was rough, but the Bronco’s tires traversed it without trouble. They reached a front yard covered in dead grass, and Danny parked behind a white pickup that was so old Will couldn’t place its make or model. A black minivan that looked out of place sat on the other side of the property. It had Mississippi license plates.

“Someone’s far from home,” Danny said. “Hell of a time to take a vacation.”

“It might be worse where they’re from.”

“I somehow doubt that, Kemosabe.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They climbed out of the Bronco, weapons at the ready, and spent another few minutes giving the property a cautious look-over. There was a slight breeze, but not enough to chase away the sweltering heat or keep the ruins of the house from smoldering in the aftermath of what looked like a ravaging fire. There were no bodies that he could see or signs of a battle.

So what started the fire?

“No Silverado,” Will said.

Darren, the twenty-something soldier who Gaby had shot in the ankle earlier in the day, told them Gaby had continued up Route 13 in his and his dead partner’s Chevy Silverado truck. They were hoping to run across it sooner or later.

“Fire must have been raging something purty when she came through here earlier,” Danny said. “You think she kept going?”

Will thought about it. “She’s a smart girl. And taking into account she’s dragging along three people…” He nodded certainly. “I don’t think she’d stop. We taught her better than that.”

“We would totally rock as parents. Separately, I mean. With, you know, girls. Not that there’s anything wrong with the other thing.”

“How about we make sure no one’s in the minivan first before we start making marital plans, Mrs. Doubtfire.”

“Certainly,” Danny said, mimicking a high-pitched female voice

They approached the van from separate angles. Will peered into the open front passenger window while Danny did the same on the driver’s side. A pink watermelon-flavored Little Tree Air Freshener, long past its smell-by date, hung from the rearview mirror. Will used that same mirror to look into the back of the van before opening the side hatch to make sure it was really empty.

Old soda cans and water bottles littered the floor. A pair of men’s shirts, shorts, and sandals. He picked up old footsteps in the ground from the side hatch outward, but they were barely noticeable.

“It’s been a while since they used the van,” Will said. “It would make sense if they came all the way from Mississippi. Maybe they exited the interstate to see what was out here, found the house, and decided it was as good a place as any to settle down.”

“Here?” Danny said. “There’s nothing here, buddy.”

“Maybe that’s the point. This far from civilization, if they hunkered down, they could go unnoticed for a while.”

Danny circled the van. “Dunbar’s nearby.”

“They might not know that.”

“So where are they now?”

Will looked back at what was left of the house. The charred frames that were still standing told him it used to be a two-story building. They moved toward it, trying to glimpse anything that might give an impression of who had been in there or what had caused the fire. The flames had mostly burned themselves out, leaving behind embers to give off more than enough heat to make getting too close uncomfortable. They stopped about ten meters away from what used to be a front wooden deck. There wasn’t much left except for the concrete steps that led up to the front door.

“Guess no one’s home,” Danny said.

“But something—or someone—had to have started the fire.”

“Spontaneous combustion?”

“That’s one theory.”

“What’s another one?”

“No idea.”

“Hunh. So what now?”

Will glanced back toward the road. “Come on, we’re burning daylight. Gaby was smart not to stop, and we should have done the same thing.”

“Too late for that.”

“Just don’t tell her when we finally catch up.”

“Mum’s the word.”

They started walking back to the Bronco when a flicker of movement—from the barn—caught the corner of Will’s eye and he stopped on a dime and spun. Danny did the same, and they stared across forty meters at the large twin doors that had swung open.

“I guess someone’s home after all,” Will said.

“Awesome,” Danny said. “Let’s go see if we can borrow some milk and sugar.”

They changed direction and moved toward the barn, approaching it from two different angles the way they had the minivan earlier. Will kept his eyes on the open alley doors in front and the closed loft door directly above those. If there was a sniper inside, he would use the higher perch to shoot from, but Will couldn’t make out any holes or makeshift gun ports.

The barn doors remained open, but no one had shown themselves yet.

They took the first twenty meters without fanfare, taking their time but moving steadily forward. Will scooted slightly right to eyeball the bottom of and along the slanted roof. Danny did the same on his side.

“Anything?” Will asked.

“Squadoosh,” Danny said. “Unless they have an invisible sniper. If they do, that would really suck.”

Finally, one of the barn doors opened even wider and a pair of tanned arms appeared in the sunlight. “Don’t shoot!” someone shouted. Young and male. “We’re not armed!”

“Step outside!” Will shouted back.

The owner of the outstretched hands stepped out of the barn. Tall, jeans and a white T-shirt stained with something red. Blood. The man squinted in the sunlight and his hair was a mess. Will couldn’t see a gun belt or a weapon, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something behind his waist.

The man had moved a foot outside the building when Will said, “Stop.”

He did.

“Turn around,” Will said.

The guy gave him a confused look.

“Like Cinderella,” Danny said.

Another confused look.

“Just to make sure you’re not armed,” Will said.

He understood that and turned around a full 360 before facing Will again. He had wisely not lowered his arms the entire time.

“You said ‘we,’” Will said. “Who else is inside?”

“My girlfriend,” the man said.

“Her name wouldn’t happen to be Gaby, would it?” Danny asked.

The guy shook his head. “Um, no. It’s Annie.”

“Oh well, worth a shot,” Danny said.

* * *

Lance and Annie hadn’t arrived from Mississippi by themselves. There had been six of them four months ago. That number was trimmed to two after last night.

“They had blue eyes,” Lance said, trembling noticeably as he talked. “They played with them. I mean, they played with them. I’d never seen anything like it.”

“There were two,” Annie said.

Will and Danny exchanged a knowing look.

They stood around the Bronco with the weary couple. Both Lance and Annie still looked shell-shocked from last night’s harrowing encounter with the ghouls.

“What do you mean by ‘they played with them’?” Will asked.

“They let Toby out of the house,” Lance said. “Then they made him run into the fields. At first I thought the black-eyed ones would be all over him, but they weren’t. They just stood around and watched. Then the new ones—the ones with blue eyes—ran after him. Then…there was a lot of screaming. Toby. I would know his voice anywhere.”

“They gave him a head start?” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Lance said, as if he could barely believe his own story. “Those things… they didn’t act like the others. I think they were controlling them. I know that sounds crazy…right?”

“It’s not that crazy,” Danny said.

“You’ve seen them too, haven’t you?” Annie said, staring at them.

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “What happened to the rest of your people?”

“They killed them,” Lance said. “One after another. They started with Toby, then Danielle, then Sally…”

“…then Howard,” Annie finished.

“We hid in a room under the floorboards inside the main bedroom when they first attacked the house. I guess the homeowners were using it to store valuables. We saw bundles of money in there.”

“There was jewelry, too.”

“We stumbled across it by accident when we first moved in. We didn’t really have any uses for it until last night when they came. Usually they don’t bother with the house. We make sure the place is completely dark at night and we seal ourselves into the rooms. We had barricaded the windows and doors, too.”

“Every night?” Will said.

Lance nodded. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it. Until last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“Usually the black-eyed ones might sniff around. Sometimes they’ll even bang on the doors or windows. But then they always leave when we don’t show ourselves. But last night, they didn’t stop. They just kept at it. I don’t know how, but they managed to break down one of the windows.”

It’s the blue-eyed ghouls. The others become unpredictable when they’re around…

“We barely got into the hidden room in time,” Annie said. “Then the screaming started…”

“They played games with them,” Lance said, and his eyes drifted over into the fields that surrounded the property. “It’s so quiet at night, you can hear a long way even through walls.”

Annie reached over and squeezed Lance’s hand.

“What about the house?” Will asked. “What happened to it?”

“We burned it down,” Lance said. “After last night, there wasn’t any point in staying. And they were in there…”

“They?”

“The creatures. They were hiding in the basement. When we came out of the secret room, we could hear them moving around under the house.”

“Lance thought we might be able to kill a few of them,” Annie said. She was staring back at the house now. The smoke had all but vanished, leaving behind just a twisted, blackened carcass. “I don’t know if it worked, or if the basement is still down there under all that. Should we…find out?”

Will exchanged another look with Danny.

“There could be a couple of Mister Blue Eyes down there,” Danny said. “Might be worth it to find out.”

“Through that?” Will said. “It’d take the whole day to sift through the wreckage. We don’t have that kind of time with Gaby still out there.”

“You mentioned her before,” Lance said. “Who’s Gaby?”

“A friend of ours. We’ve been looking for her since Dunbar.”

“We saw a lot of vehicles coming from Dunbar all morning.”

“Was one of them a Silverado truck?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know, I didn’t see one. Annie?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what a Silverado looks like. And I only got glimpses of them from the barn.”

“But there was something else,” Lance said. “We heard shooting from farther up the road.”

“How long ago?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know, I think thirty or forty minutes?”

“The timing’s about right,” Will said. He looked back at Lance and Annie. “You guys can come—”

“Yes,” Annie said before Will could even finish.

Lance grinned sheepishly. “What she said.”

* * *

The Chevy Silverado was inside a ditch, resting on its back bumper with the front grill facing the cloudless sky. Harsh sun beat down on its chrome and hood, streams of sunlight piercing bullet holes that stitched the front windshield. There was a dead man outside the driver side door with two bullet holes in his chest. All the car windows were broken, with glass sprinkled liberally over the seats and spread out among the splashes of blood.

Will climbed up the ditch and back onto the highway, where the Bronco idled in the road. Lance and Annie were standing outside in the sun glancing around.

“Bad news?” Lance said, looking over.

“Not good news,” Will said.

He blinked up the road at Danny, walking back from a lone red pickup parked across one of the two-lane roads. He was dropping spent bullet casings from one hand.

“Anything?” Will called.

“There was a second car,” Danny shouted back. “Some kind of half-assed roadside ambush.”

“To stop the Silverado.”

“Looks like it. And these,” he said, flicking one of the bullet casings in Will’s direction.

Will crouched and picked up a 5.56x45mm brass casing. Assault rifles. Probably M4 or AR-15. God knew there were plenty of those just lying around these days.

God bless the Second Amendment.

“There’s a dead body up there,” Danny said. “Poor bastard decided to go up against the Silverado and—surprise—lost. Any signs of Gaby?”

“No, and that’s a good thing.”

“Pray tell.”

“No body means she’s still alive.”

Danny peered up the road. “They must have taken off in the third car. That thing’s leaking motor oil. I get the feeling they intended to dump it, grab the first vehicle that came across their little slapdash barricade, but—” he looked over at the undercarriage of the Silverado “—I’m thinking that didn’t quite work out as planned. That car can’t be moving very fast at all. If we haul ass…”

“So let’s get to hauling,” Will said.

* * *

Danny was able to track the motor oil stain on the highway from the Bronco’s driver seat. This way, they would know if the vehicle unexpectedly left the road. It hadn’t so far. Will just hoped they could catch up to it before it reached the interstate up ahead. It was going to be difficult, leaking motor oil or not, after that.

He hung out the window listening for sounds that didn’t belong and scanned the horizon just in case the trail they were following proved deceptive. Lance and Annie pitched in, the couple leaning out their windows while armed with Will’s and Danny’s binoculars.

They were ten minutes into the pursuit when Will said, “How’s it looking?”

“It’s looking,” Danny said. “Whatever they’re driving, it’s leaking good. No wonder they were so hot to switch vehicles. I’m guessing the red pickup must have been in worse condition or else they would have taken it instead.”

“We’re pushing up on time here, Danny. If we don’t find her and hit the interstate soon, we’re not reaching Song Island by tonight.”

“I know, I know.”

They drove on for another few minutes, the only sound coming from the wind rushing through the vehicle and the engine churning under them.

Behind them, Lance asked, “Anything?”

“Nothing,” Annie said. “Just a lot of empty land. God, there is so much emptiness out here. We were so lucky to find the house.”

“Yeah, lucky.”

“I mean before last night,” Annie said softly.

“I know what you meant, babe. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Will imagined them smiling at each other back there, trying to comfort one another as best they could. The same way he would do with Lara...

“Aw, shit,” Danny said beside him.

Will looked out the windshield and saw it.

A lump in the road: a body.

Danny slowed down as Will picked up his M4A1 and looked into the back at Lance and Annie. “Stay inside.”

They nodded silently back.

Danny stopped the Bronco, and Will opened the car door and hopped out. He heard Danny’s door opening behind him, but he was already moving quickly toward the body, scanning the ditch to his right and the landmass beyond. He didn’t bother with his left side because he didn’t have to—Danny was covering it. Traces of leaked motor oil zig-zagged in front of him, already drying in the heat.

The body was thirty meters away and Will reached it first. He felt a tightness in his gut at the sight of blonde hair blowing against a slight wind. The lump lay on its stomach, arms awkwardly folded under it, as if the woman had attempted to stop her fall as she fell.

She was wearing shorts, a long-sleeve shirt, and sneakers. Blood gathered under her, glimmering against the harsh sun. He crouched next to the body and slowly, almost hesitantly, turned the woman over onto her back.

A girl. Young. Maybe seventeen.

But not Gaby.

“Is it her?” Danny said behind him.

“It’s not her,” Will said.

The girl’s face was partially covered in blood, and there were deep cuts along her cheeks and temple, likely from glass. From far away, she might have been mistaken for Gaby, but Will knew Gaby’s face well enough to see through the scars and blood.

“They dumped her,” Will said. “She was probably still alive at the time.”

“One of the girls with Gaby?”

“Maybe.”

Will thought about searching the girl for clues but quickly dismissed it. She looked at peace, and considering what she had gone through, she didn’t need him digging around her pockets.

“What’s the word?” Danny said.

“Let’s go.” He got up and they jogged back to the Bronco. Will could feel the urgency in every one of his bones. “She’s still fresh. Five minutes. Maybe less. We’re catching up to them.”

“Shitty car,” Danny said. “They’re probably moving slow, too. Good for us and good for Gaby. We get her and head home. No muss, no fuss.”

“Yeah,” Will said, glancing down at his watch.

12:40 p.m.

Too close. We’re cutting it too close…

28

Gaby

She was still dazed from the pain, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening to them, when Harrison stopped the car and threw Donna’s body outside. Then he climbed back in and drove off, leaving Claire’s sister to die in the middle of the highway. She was vaguely aware of Milly sniffling next to her, just barely able to stop herself from outright bawling, while Claire pressed the rag down against Gaby’s mouth, trying to stop the bleeding from her broken nose.

Gaby’s entire body was on fire, and the scorching sun that turned the backseat of the old Dodge Neon into an oven didn’t help. She couldn’t tell how Claire was handling the situation because she could barely make out the girl’s face through the haze that blanketed her vision. Claire wasn’t crying—she could tell that much because the girl was so close to her—but Milly was doing enough of that for both of them.

Harrison had taken their weapons and tossed them into the trunk before putting all three of them into the vehicle. The handcuffs dug into Gaby’s wrists, but she found herself grateful for them because the biting metal sensation took away some of the pain coursing endlessly through the rest of her body. Every inch of her face hurt, and her nose was clearly broken. If only her high school friends could see her now, they might not even recognize her.

She struggled to sit up and was only able to do so with Claire’s help. The thirteen-year-old took the blood-soaked rag away because she wasn’t bleeding anymore. She couldn’t tell if the sun was overly bright this afternoon or if something was wrong with her eyes. Maybe a loosened socket or two. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was bleeding internally, too. It felt like it.

“Donna…” she said.

Claire, sitting to Gaby’s left, shook her head silently. The girl looked resolute in her determination not to let any emotion show on her face, though when she glanced forward at Harrison, sitting directly in front of her, the hate shone through. Milly had turned herself into a ball to Gaby’s right, arms folded across bent legs and her head placed between her knees, like a tortoise hoping to escape from all this.

Harrison drove in silence. What was that he had said when he pulled her out of the Silverado?

“Everything was going fine until you showed up. Everything that’s happened, it’s all your fault.”

Screw you, Harrison.

There were a lot of things wrong with that statement, but she was sure Harrison wasn’t in the mood to debate them. Not that she was, either, as her eyes drifted from his face, reflected in the rearview mirror, to the Remington shotgun lying across the front passenger seat, the stock facing him. As luck would have it, she had sat up in the middle of the backseat and there was nothing at all between her and the weapon. All she had to do was lean forward and reach for it—

Harrison’s eyes shifted, picking her up in the rearview mirror. “You’re up.”

Sonofabitch.

“What happened to Donna?” she asked.

“The same thing that’ll happen to you and the kids if you make trouble.”

“Donna wasn’t making trouble.”

“She was going to die anyway.” He shrugged. “I saved us both the hassle. You should thank me.”

I’ll kill you instead.

Claire tensed up next to her. It never occurred to Gaby just how small Claire really was until now. The driver’s seat completely covered her up, which meant Harrison couldn’t see her.

As the fog began to clear from her head, Gaby’s mind went to work. She turned over everything that had happened, that was happening, and that would likely happen if they were still here, in this car with Harrison, when night fell.

Options. What were her options?

She couldn’t think of one at the moment. The shotgun was her best bet, but with Harrison already alerted to her conscious presence, her chances of reaching it before he struck was, at best, fifty-fifty. At worse, he was baiting her so he could hurt her some more. She wouldn’t put it past him to play games. He seemed sadistic enough to get his jollies out of something like that. And there were the handcuffs. Grabbing the shotgun and using it was going to be problematic with her limited mobility.

Her other option involved Claire. The girl was able and willing to act, but how? Maybe, if Claire could distract Harrison long enough for her to reach the shotgun…

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Harrison didn’t answer right away. Maybe he didn’t know. She guessed that Interstate 10 was somewhere in front of them, at the end of Route 13. At the moment, the road looked never ending, just another mile of flat highway and sunburned farmland to the sides. There were so few houses and nonexistent businesses that they might as well be traveling across another planet. Mars, maybe. Was Mars this hot?

“The kids said you were taking them to an island,” Harrison said. “The radio broadcast. You believe it. About the bloodsuckers not being able to cross bodies of water.”

“Yes,” she said.

Stall for time. That’s what Will would do. He would stall for time while he came up with other options. Because there are always options.

I just have to see it…

“It’s true,” Gaby continued. “Silver bullets. Bodies of water. They’re all true.”

“And ultraviolet?”

“I don’t know about that one.”

She couldn’t tell if he believed her. His face, in the rearview mirror, was placid. But then it always looked that way. Even back in the VFW basement when he admitted to beating Peter to within an inch of his life because he “had to be sure” Peter was telling the truth. There was a casualness about Harrison that bothered her. That, and a clear mean streak, a desire to inflict pain because he could. It was as simple as that. Some people, she had come to learn, were just born mean.

I’m going to kill you, Harrison. It’s just a matter of time.

She must have been staring at him without realizing it, because Harrison looked up at the rearview mirror and snickered at her reflection. “You want the shotgun? Go for it. It’s right there. All you have to do is grab it. What are you waiting for?”

She didn’t move. She didn’t reply and didn’t grab for the weapon.

What are my other options?

She was watching Harrison’s face when she picked up something in the distance. A slab of gray concrete rising out of the ground like some mirage. At first she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the longer she stared, the more certain she was that it was the real thing.

Interstate 10! Finally!

Harrison saw it too, and he eased the Dodge down to a slower rate of speed. It wasn’t just the interstate in front of them that got his attention, but also the outlines of businesses on both sides of the road. Gas stations, maybe even strip malls. They were still too far away—a mile? two?—to really make out any details, but after so much nothingness, the sudden appearance (silhouettes?) of civilization was unmistakable.

Then Harrison stopped the car completely and leaned forward against the steering wheel, peering out the dirty windshield. It took her a few seconds to see what he was looking at: men on horseback, loitering on the road near the buildings, still so far away that they looked more like slivers of shadows than actual figures.

The posse. L15…

She knew immediately who they were and wondered if Harrison did, too. By the way he was staring—part confused, part intrigued—she wasn’t so sure.

“They’re soldiers,” she said.

He didn’t respond. Had he even heard her?

“They’ll kill you,” Gaby said, thinking, And us, too. Or worse, they’ll take us back to the towns. Back to Josh. Back to the blood farms. Back to breeding for future generations of ghouls to feed on.

Harrison leaned back against his seat, his eyes still focused on the figures dancing across the highway toward them now. She could practically see through the back of his head to his mind as the gears turned, as he tried to come up with a new plan of action. The only path for him at the moment was to go backward. He couldn’t go around the soldiers, even if he could survive the ditches and attempt to go around them by using the open land. The Silverado hadn’t managed that feat, and it was a hell of a lot more powerful and sturdier than the car they were riding in at the moment.

Gaby looked over at Claire, saw the girl staring back at her. Waiting (begging?) for her to do something.

Options. What are my options?

The idea of staying another day with Harrison was too much. What would he do to her? To the girls? She couldn’t even understand why he kept her alive. Did he plan on using her for other purposes? She shivered at the thought.

The hell with that.

Gaby caught Claire’s eyes again and nodded her head slightly forward.

Claire gave her a questioning look: “What?”

She rocked forward slightly—just enough—to let Claire know what she wanted her to do. The girl stared back for a moment, then a light went off behind her eyes. She nodded back and grinned.

That’s my girl.

Gaby steeled herself, turning forward again. Harrison was still concentrating out the windshield, both hands on the steering wheel, a foot no doubt poised over the gas pedal just in case. He hadn’t put the car in neutral, which was smart of him. But he hadn’t put it in reverse yet, either.

She took a big breath and snapped a quick glance at the shotgun resting on the front passenger seat. She looked just with her eyes while keeping her head facing forward.

How far? About four feet of space between her and the weapon.

Just four feet.

She could do it.

It was just four feet…

“Now!” Gaby shouted.

Claire rammed her entire body (all eighty or so pounds of it) into the front seat. She was so small and slight that she didn’t get nearly as much force into it as Gaby would have liked, but it was enough to rock Harrison forward, knocking him momentarily off-balance. He must have also stepped on the accelerator involuntarily, because the Neon lurched forward a good three feet before he was able to jam down on the brake again.

Gaby threw herself between the two front seats. She reached forward with both handcuffed hands, lunging for the shotgun. When Harrison stepped on the gas pedal, the weapon actually swiveled toward her, decreasing the distance between her and it. But as soon as her fingers brushed against the stock, Harrison stepped on the brake and the shotgun slid forward and off the seat and onto the floor!

With no choice and her body already stuck between the two front seats, Gaby changed course and swung left at Harrison. She balled her handcuffed hands into fists a split-second before she slammed them into the side of his face. She wasn’t sure if that little stunt hurt him or her more, because both her arms and entire body were vibrating from the impact.

Keep moving! Keep moving, or you’re going to die!

Gaby shoved the rest of her body through the front seats, and with her knees braced against the armrest—one knee actually dipped inside a cup holder—she rained blows down on Harrison, summoning as much force as she could muster with each strike. Her entire body screamed and her broken nose felt as if it would break free from the rest of her face at any second.

Harrison was caught off-guard and seemed to be struggling with keeping the car from going forward and warding off her attack at the same time. If her blows were having any impact, he didn’t show it, especially when he swung his right (sharp) elbow and caught her in the chest. Stabbing pain flooded her, as if she had been impaled by a sword.

Well, at least he didn’t go for my nose again, she thought even as she fought through the bursting sensations and continued hitting him with her balled fists over and over again. Except now Gaby had begun using the steel handcuffs, angling the metal just right, in order to cut into Harrison’s temple and face with every successful contact.

Blood sprayed the air between them.

She must have done a hell of a better job than she thought, because Harrison took his foot off the brake and somehow stepped on the gas and the Dodge started moving forward again. His face was bloody, his eyes lolling in their sockets, and his body went slack against the seat.

Gaby stopped hitting him long enough to lean over his body, grab the door lever, and jerk on it. The door swung open and she leaned back, put both feet against Harrison’s shoulder, and pushed with everything she had. He didn’t fight her—he didn’t look as if he were capable of fighting her. Thank God he wasn’t wearing his seat belt, because his body toppled toward the open door and disappeared into the air, landing with a solid thump! against the highway moments later.

“Gaby!” Claire shouted behind her.

Gaby looked back at the girl, saw her pointing, and turned toward the front windshield.

The horsemen were coming right at them at a fast gallop. There had to be at least a half dozen of them, and there was no confusing the camo uniform they were wearing.

Josh’s soldiers. I hate it when I’m right.

She climbed into the driver’s seat, jammed a foot down on the brake, and pulled the gear into reverse. She grabbed the steering wheel and switched her foot over to the gas pedal, pushing down as far as it would go until she felt it touch the floor.

“Hold on!” she shouted.

Here we go again, she thought as the Dodge began to reverse up the highway.

She struggled to keep it straight, using both the rearview and side mirrors, jerking the steering wheel left and right the entire time, trying to compensate for the drift. It was amazingly harder to drive backward than she had expected, but then, she knew that all too well. The last time she had tried this, she ended up in one of the ditches…

And the horsemen were coming. She had no idea horses could move that quickly.

She kept backing up, praying she was going straight enough. The last thing she needed was to go into the ditch again.

“Left, left!” Claire shouted behind her.

Gaby jerked the steering wheel left, knowing full well she was overcompensating but unable to relay that information to her hands.

“No, no, your right, your right!” Claire shouted.

Gaby righted the steering wheel and saw the ditch flashing by in her rearview mirror.

“Straight, straight!” Claire shouted.

Gaby grinned. Her own personal highway traffic controller. Now if only she could find Claire a pair of bright orange sticks—

Pek-pek-pek!

The front windshield cracked and Gaby heard a whistling sound as a bullet sliced past her right ear—an inch from taking it off completely? Two?—and tore off a piece of her seat’s upholstery. More rounds slammed into the hood, the ping-ping! of metallic ricochets echoing in the air.

“Get down, get down!” Gaby shouted.

She didn’t look back to make sure both Claire and Milly had obeyed orders because Gaby was too busy looking forward at the horsemen galloping up on them. Jesus, were horses supposed to be able to move that fast?

They were close enough now that she could make out six of them, like camo-wearing cowboys, a couple sporting baseball caps to keep out the sun. The country sky was thick with gunfire, bullets screaming around the car, digging chunks out of the road outside her window. The only reason she was still alive, she imagined, was because the soldiers were riding and shooting at the same time. It looked easier in the movies, but was apparently not so in real life.

But they weren’t completely terrible shots, either. Enough bullets were hitting the Dodge that smoke began venting out of the hood, and Gaby kept hearing glass breaking. The headlights, the windshield… Where else did the car have glass? And how long before every single one of them was shattered?

We’re going to die. We’re going to die on this miserable piece of sun-drenched highway. I’ll never get to drink ice cold water or sleep in my own bed again, or take a hot shower. I should have never gotten on that damn helicopter…

Then she heard an explosion and braced herself for the car to be engulfed in flames. But that didn’t happen. The hood was still in one piece and though smoke continued to rush out from underneath it, the sound hadn’t come from in front of her. It had come from under the car, which meant—

The Neon began fighting her and she knew one of the front tires had been punctured. Oh great. She had barely managed to get this far on four good tires, now she was swerving dangerously left, then right, then left again on just three.

What else can go wrong?

“Gaby!” Claire shouted.

“I know, I know!” Gaby shouted back.

She struggled with the steering wheel and searched out the shotgun and found it on the floor of the front passenger seat. There was no choice now. If she kept backing up, she would end up in the ditch again and that would be it. If the Silverado hadn’t been able to survive that kind of drop, there was no way the sedan, in its current sad state, would even come close.

“Stay down!” Gaby shouted just before she slammed down on the brake.

The car swerved, coming to a stop with the front bumper pointing at the left side shoulder and the front passenger side facing up the highway. Gaby put the car in park and lunged for the shotgun. In order to reach the weapon, she had to lay across both front seats, and when she scrambled up on her knees, the first thing she saw was one of the horsemen right outside the window.

Gaby pulled the trigger, prayed that Harrison had a shell already racked, and was rewarded with a loud blast that, in the closed confines of the car, was ear-splitting. The buckshot tore off pieces of the open window, but enough of them made it through and hit their intended target. Red splotches spread across the rider’s shirt as he fell out of the saddle.

The other soldiers, seeing one of their own go down, reined up twenty, maybe thirty yards away. Gaby threw herself back down to the seats as gunfire filled the air once again.

The ping-ping-ping! of bullets punching through the Dodge’s side, the warbling shrill of Milly screaming at the top of her lungs and her own labored breathing filling her ears all in one loud rush. Then there was another boom! as one more tire exploded and the car dipped slightly behind her.

Gaby gripped the shotgun and kept her head down. Glass pelted her from every direction, the noise of bullets whistling above her head like missiles. It was impossible to rack the shotgun and load a new shell while still handcuffed, so she had to grab the forend with both hands and pulled it back before returning her finger to the trigger.

She bided her time, keeping her eyes on the open front passenger door window above her, waiting for a head to appear on the other side like last time. But they had apparently learned their lesson and no one came close enough for her to shoot. They didn’t have to, either, because they could destroy the car from a distance just fine, which seemed to be what they were trying to do. The seats around her were perforated, the dashboard to her left literally coming apart by the second, and glass continued to rain down on her, cutting her arms. She might have been bleeding from her face (again), but she couldn’t be sure.

She didn’t know how long she lay there across the two front seats holding the shotgun, small and large shards of glass falling off her body with every slight movement she made or breath she took. It could have been a minute. Or a few seconds. Hell, it could have been an hour for all she knew.

We’re going to die. We’re all going to die.

There was a silver lining, though. If she died out here, she wouldn’t have to face Josh again. So there was that—

Silence.

She looked up, shocked by what she was hearing—or not hearing.

The shooting had stopped.

A trick? Were they moving toward her now? Maybe they wanted her alive after all. Or maybe they thought she was already dead. All she had to do was look around her at what was left of the Dodge’s interior and realize it was a miracle she wasn’t already bleeding to death from a dozen bullet holes—

Pop-pop-pop as a new round of gunfire erupted, but this time the walls of the car were unaffected. They were shooting over her.

What the hell?

She was still trying to figure out what was happening when another volley joined in, except these new ones were coming from behind her.

At first she thought some of the horsemen had somehow managed to outflank her. Those horses could probably maneuver over the deep ditches better than a car, but if that was the case, why didn’t they just run up and shoot her through the driver side window?

She was about to flip over onto her back and face her attacker when she felt a rush of wind and the door creaked open first. Gaby had no choice and scrambled up to her knees, turning the shotgun around.

A familiar voice said, “Whoa there, G.I. Jane.”

A hand grabbed her by the shirt collar and jerked her off the seats and through the open door like she weighed less than Milly. She was unceremoniously deposited onto the hot asphalt road, where she gasped for breath and looked up, then grinned at the figure crouched next to her, firing with an M4A1 rifle across the Neon’s hood.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said.

Danny didn’t take his eyes off his scope as he continued shooting, calmly pulling the trigger again and again. “We’ll talk about your terrible choice of fighting positions later, missy. Right now, grab the kids and head back to Big Willie.”

She looked over at Will, positioned behind the open door of a parked truck behind them, also firing calmly over her and at the horsemen farther up the highway.

Gaby scrambled up and opened the Dodge’s back door. Claire, her small body practically merged with the floor, looked up at her with wide eyes. “Come on,” Gaby said, and held out her hand. Claire took it and Gaby pulled her out. “Run to the truck!”

Claire glanced past her at Will.

“They’re my friends,” Gaby smiled.

Claire nodded and ran off, smartly keeping herself as low as possible.

Gaby looked back into the car and found Milly on the floor behind the front passenger seat. “Milly, come on.”

The girl hesitantly held out her hand and Gaby took it, pulling her toward the door. Milly leaped into her arms and Gaby, holding her tight, began backpedaling.

“Danny,” Gaby said.

“Right behind you,” Danny said. He fired two more shots before ejecting his magazine, making sure to catch it and put it away before slamming in a fresh one. “Go go go.”

Gaby turned around and ran, Milly clutching her so tightly she could barely breathe. She kept as low as possible while still running, which was amazingly hard with Milly’s weight pulling her down to the road.

Will said, “Hey, kid,” as she ran past him.

“Hey, Will,” Gaby said. “You look like shit.”

“Don’t tell Lara.”

“I won’t if you don’t tell her about my face.”

“Deal.” Will switched his rifle to full-auto, said, “Danny,” before firing off a single, continuous burst.

Danny ran toward them, using Will’s fire as cover. When Danny was back at the truck with her, Will switched back to semi-auto and continued firing off one round at a time again.

Gaby put Milly down behind the back bumper of the truck next to Claire. She took a moment to compose herself, her chest pounding so loudly she had difficulty hearing Milly’s sniffling. Gaby had to put one hand against the truck to steady herself before leaning back out to look up the highway.

There were four riderless horses out there now, two moving along the right side shoulder while the other two had escaped into the ditches and were grazing on sunburned grass. Their riders lay still on the road. The remaining two soldiers were fleeing up Route 13 at a fast gallop as Will fired casually after them, but by now they were already too far away to be picked off.

“What happened to your face?” Danny said to her.

“What happened to yours?” she said.

“Touché.”

Will fired a final shot, then walked back to them, reloading his rifle as he did so. “Anyone missing an arm or a leg or have holes where there shouldn’t be extra holes?”

Gaby shook her head and wiped at trickles of blood along her arms where falling glass had cut her. None of them were too deep, thankfully. “Just a couple of scratches. I’m good.”

“Yeah?” Will said, watching her carefully.

She gave him her best smile. “Good enough for now. Thanks for the rescue.”

“It’s a good thing we didn’t stop at that sushi place down the road,” Danny said. “You know how much I love roadside sushi.”

She looked at Will, then at Danny, this time more closely. They were still the same guys she knew, but in the week or so since she had last seen them, they looked beaten up, bruised, and battered. Danny, in particular, had a broken nose and cuts along his face, as far removed from the California blond surfer she was so used to. Will still looked like Will, which was to say, tired and weary, but somehow still moving around. But then, Will always did hide his wounds well.

“Man, you guys look like total crap,” she said.

“You should see the other guy,” Danny said.

“Bad?”

“Worse.”

“What could be worse than the sight of you two?”

“Dead.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely worse.”

Will had turned back up the highway. She walked over and stood next to him and looked over the roof of the Dodge. She hadn’t realized just what bad shape the vehicle was in until she got enough distance from it. All four tires were punctured and every window was broken. There had to be dozens of holes across the length of the car that she could see and probably more that she couldn’t on the other side.

My God. How did we survive that?

Will fished out a pair of binoculars from his pack and peered through them.

“The interstate,” Gaby said. “They’re guarding it, aren’t they?”

“Looks like it.”

“How many are up there?”

“A dozen,” Will said, lowering the binoculars. “Horses aren’t the only thing they’re riding around on. Looks like they have technicals, too.”

“Technicals?”

“Improvised fighting vehicles,” Danny said, walking over. “Basically, they put a machine gun on top of a truck.”

“Oh.”

“How many?” Danny asked.

“Two that I can see,” Will said.

She saw a vehicle—maybe a truck—moving up the road toward them. She could just barely register the silhouette of a man standing in the back. Then a second truck appeared and joined the first, the two of them riding side by side.

“Here they come,” Gaby said.

“Come on,” Will said. “We’re not going to survive a stand-up firefight against those.”

Danny circled the vehicle over to the driver side while Will slipped into the front passenger seat. Gaby opened the back door and was surprised to find two people already inside. A man and a woman, both in their twenties.

“Oh yeah,” Danny said. “It’s a little crowded back there. But that’s what laps are for, right?”

Gaby held open the door for Milly and Claire as they squeezed into the back. “Milly, sit on my lap.”

The girl nodded. She had stopped crying and her cheeks were covered in dried tears, but she looked ready to start all over again at a moment’s notice.

Gaby closed the door as Danny started up the truck and reversed. Then he somehow swung the vehicle around until he had it turned a full 180 degrees. He stepped on the gas and they were flying down the highway, away from Josh’s approaching soldiers.

It was a tight fit in the back. Even though the other two people were doing their best to make themselves small, they had to fight for space with weapons and boxes of supplies piled on the floor. Claire ended up sitting on one of the boxes while Gaby had to place her legs over another one, with the edge of crates poking into her ribcage.

Danny looked up at them in the rearview mirror. “Just think of it as a studio apartment and ignore the smell. Annie and Lance, that’s Gaby. I have no idea who those kids are, so don’t ask.”

“We’re sorry about your friend,” the woman, Annie, said.

“Friend”? Gaby thought, then, Oh, she’s talking about Donna.

“Thanks,” Gaby said, and wondered if Claire had deduced the same thing.

Gaby looked over her shoulder and out the back window.

Two trucks—the “technicals”—were coming up the road after them, but they weren’t going to catch Danny anytime soon. At least, she hoped not. After surviving Harrison and reuniting with Will and Danny, the idea of having all of that ripped away now was too difficult to stomach.

Will looked into the backseat and observed her for a moment.

“What?” she said.

“How’s the face?” he asked.

“It hurts. What do you think?”

He smiled, then took something out of one of his cargo pants pocket and tossed it to her. “Something for the pain.”

She caught the bottle. It didn’t have any labels, and there were only a few pills left when she opened it. She didn’t ask him what the pills were because she trusted Will. Gaby swallowed two of them.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“There has to be a back road, another way to the interstate and around what’s waiting up there.”

“And if there isn’t?”

“Then we’ll do what we always do,” Will said. “Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

29

Lara

“Everyone’s in one piece,” Bonnie said through the radio. “I don’t know how, to be honest with you. I think one of them had a machine gun. We could hear it shooting from miles away.”

A machine gun. Jesus.

“Where are you now?” Lara asked.

“Almost home. Thank God. I can see the sun starting to set, or maybe that’s just my imagination.”

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Okay. Over.”

Lara put down the radio. “They’re on their way back.”

Carly moved over to the north window and peered out with her binoculars. “I see them coming down the road now. Sarah will be relieved to have them back.”

“Blaine?”

“No, Lara, she’s been nervous about Bonnie. Of course Blaine.”

Lara smiled. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Everyone’s getting some nookie these days except us.”

“Danny will be back soon and you can make up for lost time.”

“Done, and done,” Carly said. “Has Will radioed in yet?”

“Not yet.”

She looked down at her watch: 5:29 p.m. It would be dark in less than an hour, and Will hadn’t called yet. If he was on his way, he would have told her so. But he hadn’t, which meant he was nowhere close to home and was busy doing something else (like surviving). For some reason, she wasn’t surprised by that. She just hoped he had spent all that time out there looking for Gaby.

No one gets left behind, Will. Find Gaby. Find her and come home to me.

“Looks like all that time you put into convincing Keo paid off,” Carly said. “How did you know he’d go for it? Or come through with flying colors?”

“I didn’t. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, remember?’

“Well, you did good, kid.”

“Only if they don’t attack us tonight.”

“You think they might anyway? Even after what Keo did with that grenade launcher?”

Lara shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know anything for sure.” She picked up the radio again. “Roy, come in.”

“What’s up?” Roy answered.

“Blaine and the others are headed back now. I need you to get one of the fast boats ready just in case they need a hand. Grab a battery out of the supply building and get Maddie to help you gas it up.”

“Will do.”

“I heard some Russians on the radio today,” Carly said behind her.

“Russians?” Lara said.

“Yeah. They were talking to some Italians.”

“What were they saying?”

“I have no idea. The Russians were talking in Russian to the Italians, who were talking Italian back at them. It was, uh, kind of confusing for everyone, not to mention super surreal.”

Lara smiled at the thought. She’d done that. Got people around the world communicating with one another. Even if they couldn’t understand a single word the other was saying, her broadcast had connected them by letting them know there were other survivors out there. That, she found, was what they needed to hear most—that they weren’t alone.

We started something. Now all we have to do is survive it.

Yeah, no pressure.

* * *

Blaine and the others didn’t shove off from shore on their way back to the island until five minutes after six. They were cutting it close, and Lara only allowed herself to breathe easier when they were halfway home and she could see their boat in the distance, with the sight of the sun dipping in the horizon behind them. She still didn’t feel comfortable sending people out there, and she didn’t think she ever would be.

It was beginning to darken, and still no word from Will. That meant there was no chance he was coming back today. A part of her always knew they’d have to survive another day without him. Maybe that was why she took such a big gamble with Keo.

“How many?” she asked Keo later while he was eating in the dining room.

Keo tore apart a white bass and gobbled up the meat. “Over twenty, easy. They were definitely preparing for an assault.”

“One hundred percent sure?”

He nodded. “They were loading supplies onto boats when I showed up. And they had night-vision gear.”

“Even after you killed some of them, they were still coming…”

“Like I said: they really have a bug up their ass for you people.”

Will was right. Kate’s coming, and nothing’s going to stop her.

Keo grabbed a glass of water and gulped it down and didn’t stop until he had drained the entire thing. Even Blaine and Bonnie, eating across the table from him, looked impressed. Lara exchanged a brief grin with them.

“Ice cold water,” Keo said, putting the glass down. “Worth its weight in gold these days, especially in the summer.”

Lara had already eaten with the others two hours ago, so she was the only one at the table not pulling apart fish at the moment. Blaine and Bonnie still looked a bit shell-shocked by their experience, and to hear them tell it, they hadn’t really done much except dropped Keo off, then picked him back up when the shooting started. Keo, who had been in the middle of the firefight, didn’t look the least bit fazed. At first she thought it was an act, a tough guy façade. She only had to watch him eating for a few minutes to realize that wasn’t the case.

“What happened exactly?” Lara asked Keo. “It sounded like you had to improvise.”

“There was a kid,” Keo said. “He ruined the plan.”

“We didn’t see him,” Bonnie said. “But then we had to stop the truck pretty far away so they couldn’t hear us coming.”

“Carrie told me about them,” Keo said. “The soldiers are using them as lookouts. They send the brats across the cities to look for survivors, then radio in if they find any.” Keo wiped fish oil from his lips. “I should have shot the little bastard.”

Lara and Bonnie stared at him.

“I said should have,” Keo said. “I didn’t, for the record.”

“So, in your expert opinion,” Lara said, “do you think you stopped them?”

“Stopped them? Not even close.” He shook an ice cube out of his glass and popped it into his mouth, crunching it loudly. “Delayed them, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know these ghouls as well as you do, so I can’t predict what they’re going to do next. I would have liked to take out more. That house, for instance. But situations being what they were…”

“The kid,” Lara said.

“Yeah. The kid.”

“They’re using children,” Bonnie said, shaking her head. “It’s hard to believe they’ll stoop that low.”

“It’s actually pretty smart,” Lara said. “Kids are impressionable. Adaptable, too.” She thought about Elise and Vera and how the two young girls had carried on despite everything they had been through. “You give them a job and they’ll glom to it. Especially if you make them think it’s the most important thing in the world. And by extension, they’re important for doing it.”

“Yeah, well,” Keo said, “I still think I should have at least stolen the little tyke’s bicycle. That was a pretty sweet-looking ride.”

* * *

“There are plenty of rooms left to choose from if you don’t like the one I picked out for you,” Lara said when she was walking with Keo up Hallway A after dinner. “This is assuming you’re at least staying the night.”

“It’s a little too dark out there to be sailing, don’t you think?” Keo said.

“I didn’t want to presume. You’ve already done more than enough to earn everything I promised you. We’re grateful. I’m grateful.”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“What?”

He laughed. “I’m just messing with you, Lara.”

“Oh.” Then, because she thought she had been blushing just a bit, “You’re anxious to get going.”

“I made a promise, and I’m way overdue.”

“She doesn’t know you’re trying to make your way over?”

“No. We didn’t exactly plan to separate. It just came up at the last minute, so we didn’t put any kind of communications system into place, the way you have with your boyfriend. You guys are a lot smarter than us.”

“We have our moments.”

“But it’s not going to last, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“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 didn’t answer him because she knew he was right. She had spent countless days and hours thinking about it, trying to find a way out, a way that would keep them all alive. And each time she failed to see the answer. Always.

They walked in silence for a moment, the only sounds coming from their footsteps against the hallway and the slight hum of the lightbulbs.

“What would you do if you were in my position?” she finally asked.

“The odds are against you,” he said with that matter-of-fact tone that annoyed her, but at the same time she found herself grateful for because it was the truth—or at least, as he saw it. “Even with the Army Rangers, you won’t be able to keep the island indefinitely. I understand why you don’t want to leave. The hotel, the power supply, the beach… Hell, I’d risk it just to have ice water every day, but that’s me. I’ve survived past my sell-by date even before the world went kaput. Bottom line? There’s no reason why you and the others can’t start again someplace else.”

“Where would we go?”

“I can’t tell you that.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “This island is a paradise, Lara, but it’s not worth dying for. What’s that old saying? ‘Home is where the heart is’? These days, it might be enough just to have a home that isn’t constantly under attack.”

* * *

It was almost dark outside when she stepped out onto the hotel patio with Keo’s words echoing inside her head.

“The odds are against you… This island is a paradise, Lara, but it’s not worth dying for.”

Wasn’t it, though? If Song Island wasn’t worth spilling blood for (and God knew, they already had, too much), then what was these days?

She just wished Will were here with her. Right now, she would be satisfied with just hearing his voice.

She looked toward the Tower, where Carly was still posted with Jo, Bonnie’s little sister. The two of them were moving from window to window with night-vision binoculars. Lara had doubled up on the watch to improve their chances of catching an attack if Kate decided to send her collaborators anyway. It was dead quiet out there, so if they were coming by boat (which they would be—was there any other way?), even using those trolling motors, they would give away their approach.

“This island is a paradise, Lara, but it’s not worth dying for.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

Lara unclipped her radio and said into it, “Everyone in position?”

“Lake looks quiet from up here,” Carly said. “Jo and I are good to go.”

“Keo’s coming up to relieve you later tonight, Carly.”

“He’s staying?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“For tonight.” Then, “Roy?”

“Beach is clear,” Roy said.

“Piers, too,” Blaine said.

Blaine and Roy had the beach tonight, with Bonnie scheduled to relieve Roy in an hour, and Gwen for Blaine an hour after that. Not that she expected two people on the beach to repel a full-scale attack. But if they could see an assault coming, it would give them time to set up the real defense at the hotel and, if necessary, start putting Will’s Plan Z into motion.

God, that’s such an awful name for a plan that’s supposed to save our lives, Will. We need to come up with a better, more optimistic-sounding one.

“Benny?” Lara said.

“Looks good from up here,” Benny said.

Lara glanced up at the roof of the hotel behind her but couldn’t see Benny up there. He wasn’t alone; Stan the electrician and Kendra’s son Dwayne were also up there somewhere. Lara had been hesitant to make use of twelve-year-old Dwayne until she saw him shoot with his bolt-action rifle. Even Benny and Blaine were impressed. The kid was, easily, the best shot on the island. She hadn’t asked the boy if he had ever shot anyone before, because she didn’t really want to know.

She listened to the others calling out through the radio. Gwen and the fourteen-year-old Derek were with Sarah, along with Carrie and Lorelei, in the hotel lobby. They had looked nervous when she walked through the room a few minutes ago. She didn’t blame them and she wondered if they were thinking the same thing:

“We’re prepared…but are we really?”

She didn’t know the answer to that, and she wouldn’t know until the real thing. Lara prayed none of them had to find out tonight.

One more day. Until Will and Danny come back.

And then what? We do it all over again, because Kate isn’t going to stop. She’s going to keep coming, and coming, because what’s one or a dozen more human sellouts to her?

“This island is a paradise, Lara, but it’s not worth dying for,” Keo had said.

Maybe he was right. Maybe…

Her radio squawked and Carly’s excited voice came through. “Lara. It’s your boyfriend on the radio. Should I tell him you’re busy?”

Lara smiled and ran down the patio, then across the grounds toward the Tower. She felt ten years old again and didn’t care.

If she was going to die tonight, at least she’d get to hear Will’s voice first…

30

Will

Once they realized they weren’t going to catch up to the Bronco, the technicals slowed down, then stopped completely. An hour after that, they resumed traveling cautiously up Route 13, showing surprising patience. Then again, he guessed they could afford to take it slow and easy—the night was their ally.

Will checked his watch for the third time in the last hour: 3:16 p.m.

Three and a half hours before nightfall, give or take.

Josh’s soldiers were a kilometer out before he could actually see their vehicles as more than just flickering mirages under the sun. One was a bright cherry red mid-size Toyota Tacoma. The other was a gray full-size Nissan Titan. Both trucks moved on large tires and each had a soldier in the back positioned over an M240 machine gun (Where the hell did they find those, and where can I get one, too?) mounted on the roof by bipods. There was a driver and a passenger in each vehicle, making the total number six, unless there was additional personnel in the truck beds that he couldn’t see from his position. That was unlikely. It was way too hot to be lying down back there.

Not that he could see everything from the side of the ditch where he had been positioned for the last hour, bathing in his own sweat. Wearing the assault vest didn’t help, but Will was used to discomfort, especially with the smell of upcoming combat lingering over the horizon.

He lowered the binoculars and keyed his radio. “They’re on approach. One klick.”

Danny’s voice came through Will’s right ear. “Two little piggies went to market, while the other little piggies stayed home. Two little piggies in trucks, with more little piggies in the back with machine guns. Two little piggies are about to get shot, and they’ll be crying wee wee wee all the way home.”

Will opened one of his pouches, pulled out a granola bar, and took a bite.

“What are the chances we’re making it to the island today?” Gaby asked through his earbud.

“Not while they’re out here,” Will said.

The problem was the flat terrain around them. It didn’t matter where they drove, on or off the highway, because the soldiers would be able to spot them from a safe distance. That would lead to a car chase and a running gunfight. The Bronco was a decent vehicle, but it wasn’t going to stand up against two trucks with mounted machine guns. And those were just the bad guys they could see. There were probably (likely) more waiting closer to the interstate. A radio call later and they could easily run into an ambush without realizing it.

No, they weren’t going to avoid this. That much was clear now. The soldiers knew exactly where the Bronco had turned off the road, and it was there they were moving toward at the moment. Hopefully, they hadn’t also seen him and Danny making their way back up Route 13 on foot using the ditches as cover.

Hopefully.

“Better to shoot our way through, anyway,” Danny was saying. “Funner.”

“‘Funner’ isn’t a word,” Gaby said.

“You’re wrong and I’m righter,” Danny said.

Will imagined Gaby rolling her eyes back at their temporary base, where she was staying at the moment with the girls and Lance and Annie. The farmhouse was the best they could do in a pinch, since retreating all the way back to Dunbar was a non-starter. Gaby had mentioned a cemetery, but that was too far back, though he was impressed when she told him she had stayed in a crypt the previous night.

The enemy trucks were close enough now that Will could hear the sounds of their engines, even at their current slow, almost painfully deliberate pace. He swallowed the last piece of nearly stale granola down.

He didn’t have to use the binoculars to see them this time, with the Tacoma in one lane and the Titan in the other. The men in the back were swiveling the mounted LMGs around, looking for targets. They were scanning the ditches, fully expecting some kind of an ambush. The bipods holding up the weapons looked firmly attached to the roof.

He slipped the binoculars into his pack and scooted backward until the curved angle of the ditch allowed him to slide all the way down to the floor. He unslung the M4A1 and leaned back against the cool earth wall and waited.

“They’ll be on top of you in five,” Danny said in his right ear. “Try not to screw this up like you always do.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That reminds me of a joke…”

“Of course it does.”

“Two high school best friends are sick and tired of being virgins, so one day they cook up a scheme to both get laid at the same time. One of the boys comes up with the perfect girl to seduce. So they go on the Internet and watch hundreds of videos about what girls like. When they’re finally ready, they plot their move. One day, as their target is walking home from school, our virgins jump out of a bush and both shout at the same time, ‘Hey, you wanna have hot sex? We guarantee we’ll please you!’ The girl squeals, ‘Ew, gross!’ Then she points at virgin number one and says, ‘I’m going to tell mom, Rob!’ And runs off. Virgin number two is understandably confused. He turns to his buddy and says, ‘Dude, we are so screwed! Why didn’t you tell me she was your sister?’ To which virgin number one replies, ‘Well, her room’s right next to mine and she’s always screwing guys every night, so I figured she’d be pretty easy!’”

“Gross, Danny,” Gaby said.

“You gotta be there, I guess.” Then, “Speaking of which, one minute until they’re on top of you, Kemosabe.”

“Roger that,” Will said.

Not that he needed Danny to tell him. He could hear the tires crunching against the hard asphalt. He guessed they were moving ten, maybe fifteen, miles an hour. From this distance, the drivers could see the bright red barn and the two-story house where Gaby was currently watching from, along with the Bronco parked in the front yard.

“I counted six,” Will whispered into his throat mic.

“Sounds about right,” Danny said. “Four inside, two in the rear. Speaking of rears—”

“Be careful, guys,” Gaby said, cutting him off. “I don’t like the look of those machine guns.”

“Neither do I,” Danny said. “950 rounds per minute is not my idea of a fun prom date.”

“What’s the range on that thing?”

“Don’t worry; they’re not going to be shooting at the house until they’re way closer.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Danny.” She sighed, then, “Where did they get something like that, anyway?”

“Probably the same place they got the rifles and ammo, and army boots, and MREs…”

Will glanced up just as the first truck—the Tacoma—was directly on the road in front of him. There was a slight squeak as the gunner swiveled the machine gun around on its bipod. The M240 was a heavy weapon at just under twenty-eight pounds, which was why it was more effective when mounted instead of being carried by a single soldier. It utilized an ammo belt, which was the source of the clink-clink noise he was hearing now as the dangling bullets tapped against the metal of the car.

“You good?” Danny said in his right ear.

“Go for it,” Will whispered back.

“I call shotgun,” Danny said just before a loud crack! rang out.

Will was moving even before the shot had finished its echo. He stretched up to his full five-eleven height and his vision filled with the cab of the Tacoma that had stopped directly in front of him.

Danny fired again, then again, and again. Calmly, putting every bullet where he intended them.

The driver was fumbling with the gear, trying to reverse, when Will shot him in the left temple, shattering the closed window in the process. The man slumped forward, his head slamming into the horn and causing it to fill up the countryside with a headache-inducing blare.

Then the brap-brap-brap-brap of one of the M240s firing, overpowering even the loud car horn. Bullets weren’t hitting the ditch around him, so Will assumed the man was trying to hit something else (Danny) down the road and still didn’t know he existed.

Will couldn’t see the Titan from his position, with the Tacoma in the way. He had to climb out of the ditch before he could see the rest of the road.

The Tacoma wasn’t going anywhere. He had shot the driver and Danny had taken out the front passenger and the one manning the machine gun in the back. But while the Tacoma was down, the Titan was still alive and kicking, its machine gun firing at Danny’s position, the clink-clink-clink of bullet casings pelting the bed of the truck like falling rain. A second soldier was adding his own fire, standing behind the open driver side door. Will couldn’t tell if the passenger was still alive on the other side of the truck. Not that he wasted too much time thinking about it.

He shot the machine gunner in the back, then put a second bullet into the man’s collarbone as he was falling down. The sudden silence of the M240 must have surprised the driver, because he stopped shooting up the highway and looked back, saw Will, and swiveled his rifle around just before a bullet chopped through the door’s open window behind him. The soldier stumbled forward, looked surprised, then collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Will maneuvered around the Tacoma, sweeping it for signs of movement, before moving on to the Titan. There was no body outside the front passenger side door, and when Will got closer, he saw the third man slumped over the dashboard with a neat bullet hole drilled through the windshield in front of him.

“We good?” Danny said in his right ear, his voice barely audible over the blaring horn.

Will didn’t answer until he had completed a full circle around the two vehicles. He reached into the driver side window of the Tacoma and pulled the dead man off the horn. Blessed silence.

“Right as rain,” he said into his mic.

“Anyone hurt?” Gaby asked.

“My butt’s a little sore from sitting down for the last hour and change,” Danny said.

“So what? You want me to massage it for you or something?”

“Would you, please?” Danny said.

* * *

They dumped the bodies on the highway and drove the trucks back to the farm where the others were holed up. They had been careful not to damage the vehicles during the firefight (bullet holes in windshields and broken car windows didn’t count) and as Will expected, there were more 7.62x51mm ammo for the M240s and supplies in the backseats. The machine guns would come in handy, and Will had no intention of giving them up now. He was already thinking about ways to set them up along the island’s perimeters in preparation for one of Kate’s assaults…

Gaby and the others came out of the house while they were driving up the dirt road. The farm was surrounded by fields of dry grass, which made it like every other homestead they had passed since starting up Route 13 out of Dunbar. At one point he imagined that horses, cows, and other livestock grazed the vast acres and kept the family fed. They might have even raised enough to sell at the market.

The two-story house wasn’t anything special, but it looked sturdy, with a front porch and peeling paint, along with evidence of rotting foundations if you looked closely enough. For their purposes, it would work just fine.

The thirteen-year-old girls, Claire and Milly, stayed close to Gaby the entire time. Milly looked just as shell-shocked now as when Will first saw her, but Claire seemed to be amazingly composed for someone who had just lost a loved one. According to Gaby, the girl he and Danny had found on the road earlier was Claire’s sister, Donna. In so many ways, Claire looked like a younger version of Gaby—strong, determined, and way tougher than most people probably had given her credit for in her pre-Purge life.

“Nice rides,” Gaby said.

“The machine guns will come in handy on the island,” Will said.

“Pump out some silver rounds for those belts and we got ourselves a bona fide ass kicker or two,” Danny said.

“We can’t use our silver bullets for them now?” Gaby asked.

“Wrong caliber,” Will said. “We’ll fix that when we get back to the island—”

He was cut off by the distant sound of car engines.

“Or not,” Danny said.

Will took out his binoculars and turned back to the highway. Men on horseback, maybe a half dozen, were galloping alongside a light green truck heading in their direction.

“How many?” Gaby asked behind him.

“At least six on horseback and a technical,” Will said.

The caravan stopped about half a kilometer away, and men climbed out of the back of the trucks and began taking up positions, the vehicle moving to straddle the two lanes. The riders climbed off their horses and began spreading out, some sliding down the ditches along the shoulders. They were already passing around bottles of water.

“Are those little rascals doing what I think they’re doing?” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Will said. “Looks like they’ve come prepared to stay a while.”

“Does that mean they’re not attacking?” Lance asked. He sounded almost hopeful.

“Maybe their friends have the answer,” Danny said.

He was looking down the other side of the highway as another technical appeared and parked across the lanes, while more men in uniforms climbed out of the back. There were no horsemen on this side, but Will counted seven men in all, including one perched behind another machine gun mounted on the roof of the vehicle.

“What are they doing?” Annie asked, sounding already panicked.

“They’re boxing us in,” Will said.

“Why?” Lance asked.

Will glanced at his watch. 3:59 p.m.

“Does this mean we’re not going to the island?” Milly asked, her voice on the verge of cracking.

“I don’t know,” Gaby said. She walked up beside Will and exchanged a look with him. “What now?”

He glanced back at the house, the barn next to it, and a smaller building they had checked earlier that contained farming equipment. Then he looked at both sides of the highway one more time to make sure the soldiers still weren’t moving. They weren’t. His first instincts were correct: they were settling in.

Night is their ally. But it’s not ours.

“Will?” Gaby said. “What now?”

“We get ready for nightfall,” Will said.

* * *

“How are you for silver bullets?” he asked Gaby as he handed her a box of ammo from one of the two technicals.

“I’m out,” Gaby said. “I used everything up in Lafayette when me and Nate got caught in the pawnshop.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Gaby nodded. “He was a nice guy.”

“Yeah. He was a good soldier, too. We could have really used him at the island.”

“I don’t even know what happened to him, Will. Not really, anyway.”

Gaby was looking at Claire, standing across the yard from them, watching the road. Will had given her the FNH shotgun and it hung across her back, its thirty-nine inches just a foot shorter than her entire frame. A large pouch bulged against her hip, stuffed with extra shotgun shells. She had learned surprisingly fast when he showed her how to load and fire the weapon less than thirty minutes ago. The girl was a natural, which again reminded him of Gaby.

“Are you sure about that?” Gaby asked.

“Not really,” Will said. “Fact is, if we need her to start shooting, we’re already in trouble.”

“Just don’t give Milly one of those, okay?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Gaby followed Will back to the house. He glanced up at Danny, watching the roads from one of the open second-floor windows. He had chosen a spot that gave him a clear view of both sides of Route 13. Lance stood next to him with binoculars, peering left, then right, then back again every few seconds.

“We should have brought Tommy’s rifle,” Danny said down at them.

“Shoulda woulda coulda,” Will said.

Danny made a gun with his fingers and said, “Pew, pew,” up at the road.

“Who’s Tommy?” Gaby asked.

“A kid we met in Dunbar,” Will said. “He had a sniper rifle. He was pretty good with it, too.”

“What happened to him?”

Will shook his head, recalling Tommy’s decapitated body in the hallway outside the bathroom in the Dunbar Museum. The next morning, it was gone.

They take the dead. Why the hell do they take the dead?

They walked up the rickety steps to the front porch and stood underneath the awning. It was old and cracked and there were holes up and down its length, but it still provided a welcome respite from the heat. They stood in the shade and looked back out at the yard, Claire’s tiny figure standing sentry, the sun-drenched road beyond.

“Everyone’s dying around us, Will,” Gaby said quietly.

“Not us.”

“What makes us so special?”

She peered out at him through the broken nose and bruises around her face. Even with all of that—and all the cuts and scratches from the helicopter crash, if he looked closely enough—Gaby was still just the eighteen-year-old girl he and Danny had molded and trained to be a killer on the island. He guessed she would never outgrow that image in his head.

“We’re not,” Will said. “We’re just well-prepared. And we have something to live for. Don’t underestimate the importance of that.”

“The island,” Gaby said.

“No, not the island. The people on it...”

* * *

“You radioed Song Island yet?” Danny asked.

“Not yet,” Will said.

“What’s keeping you?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Good news and bad news. Good news, we found Gaby. Bad news, reunion time won’t start until tomorrow. Don’t tell her we’ll probably die tonight, though.”

“Good advice, Danny.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Then, “Sunset at 6:30, give or take.”

“Yup.”

“They got us by the balls.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Kinda, yeah. And itchy, too. Is it supposed to itch?”

“When was the last time you bathed?”

“You’re asking me?” Danny sniffed him. “You smell like week-old cabbage. No, I take that back. That’s giving week-old cabbage a bad name.”

Will smiled. Pouring bottles of water over himself took away some of the stink, but it wasn’t nearly enough. “I’ll shower when I’m dead.”

“So soon, then?”

Will smirked. “Captain fucking Optimism.”

Danny chuckled. He was leaning on one side of the open window across from Will. The main bedroom on the second floor gave them a perfect view of Route 13 and the soldiers at both sides of the road. With only one vehicle parked across the lanes, it was less a barricade and more of an invitation. Will knew a fake opening when he saw one, and he was looking at two right now. Danny had come to the same conclusion.

“Maybe we should give it a shot anyway,” Danny said, alternating between looking out the window and finishing a can of SPAM with a steel spork. “Give them what they want. You know me; I’m a people person.”

“We’d never make it. Even with the M240s on each truck. A machine gunner out there is a sitting duck. We proved that.”

“Maybe we can move it inside the cab.”

“How?”

“I dunno. I’m just throwing out ideas. That’s me. The idea man.”

“We’d never make it,” Will said again. “Not with the girls and the kids.”

“When did you get to be such a Debbie Downer all of a sudden?”

“I’m just being practical. The ones along the ditches are the problem. They’ll pick us off because we’ll be sitting ducks in the middle of the road. Before we know it, the ones on the other side will flank us, cut off our retreat.” He shook his head. “No, there’s no way around that. And they know it.”

“I hate sitting and waiting. Did I tell you that? They used to call me Action Danny back in college.”

“So I hear.” He glanced down at his watch again. 5:31 p.m. “It’ll be dark soon, and they’re still out there.”

“‘They’?” Danny said.

“Yeah. They.”

“Oh. They.”

The other two blue-eyed ghouls. They’re out there somewhere. Waiting for nightfall.

Always waiting…

“Maybe we got lucky and they’re not around here anymore,” Danny said. “Maybe they went home. They have homes, don’t they? Maybe when you put down the other two, they got scared and ran off.”

Will didn’t say anything.

“Of course not,” Danny said. “When has anything ever been easy with you around?”

“You blaming all of this on me?”

“I thought that was pretty obvious.” He shoved another chunk of SPAM into his mouth. “We need a new plan.”

“We already have a plan. Sit and wait and see what they do, and react accordingly.”

“That’s a sucky plan. Come up with a better one.”

“You know what they say about plans.”

“That yours suck?”

“No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

As soon as he said the words, he thought about Kate. She had said the same thing back in Dunbar. In the dream. The nightmare. One of those.

He looked out the window and scanned the flat empty landscape around them.

Are you out there, Kate? Are you pulling the strings right now?

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Danny said.

“What’s that?”

“Contact with the enemy. The real enemy. The last time that happened—” he touched his broken nose “—I got just a little bit uglier. I mean, sure, I’m still male model material compared to you, but a guy can only take so much abuse before he starts losing gigs, ya know?”

* * *

Gaby, Lance, and Annie were downstairs hammering the closet doors they had pulled off the rooms on the first and second floor over the windows as well as the front and back doors. They had found everything they needed from the shack on the property, including buckets of rusted nails. Lance, who didn’t look as if he had ever picked up a tool in his life before The Purge, handled a hammer surprisingly well, while the girls, Milly and Claire, pitched in as best they could.

Will had no illusions that the barricades were going to hold, but putting them up gave everyone something to do and took their minds off what was about to happen in less than an hour. It was either this or watch them staring off into empty space, waiting for the inevitable darkness to fall.

Gaby glanced over when he came down the stairs. “We’re almost done. What about the upstairs windows?”

“Three windows—main bedroom and two additional rooms in the back,” Will said. “We’ll save the rest of the doors for them.”

“What if we run out?”

“We’ll pull the floorboards. There’s just dirt under them anyway.”

The house was old and the stairs groaned. The wallpaper was peeling, and the floorboards were real wood that could be easily ripped free with the proper tools, like a hammer or a prying bar. Everything moved and creaked as they walked around.

Lance sat down on a couch and drank deeply from a warm bottle of water. His clothes were soaked, his face was flustered, and his tired, hollowed eyes sought out Will. “They’re not going to hold. You know that, right? I told you we had them up at the other house, too. They broke in after a couple of hours.”

Gaby and Annie didn’t say anything. Even the two girls seemed to greet the matter-of-fact comment with subdued acceptance and were paying more attention to the heat. The temperature had been tolerable earlier, but now with the windows covered, it had become insufferable.

“We don’t need them to hold,” Will said. “They just need to keep them out for a while.”

“And then what?” Lance said.

“Then we make our stand on the second floor.”

“What about the basement?” Gaby asked. “Those have always worked for us in the past.”

“Against the black-eyed ghouls, it’s a no-brainer. But not with the blue-eyed ones around.” Images of Dunbar and the basement under Ennis’s flashed across his mind. “They’re too smart. Even if they couldn’t get through—and that’s a big if—there are the soldiers to worry about. If we seal ourselves down there, we’re trapped with only one way out.”

“Like what we did to the other house,” Annie said softly.

“What did you do?” Gaby asked.

“We burned it down because we thought there might be creatures—the things you call ghouls—in the basement.”

“Did that kill them?”

“I don’t know. We never checked.”

“We’ll make our stand on the second floor,” Will repeated. He glanced at his watch again. “We need to finish up soon, so let’s get it done.”

Lance got up and held out his hand, and Annie took it and the two of them exchanged a private smile. Will thought they looked almost resigned to their fates as they walked past him and up the stairs. Claire and Milly followed, leaving him on the first floor with Gaby.

The nineteen-year-old stood next to him and looked after the others. “It’s going to be close,” she said, keeping her voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear.

He nodded. “So what else is new?”

“These blue-eyed ghouls… They can be killed?”

“Yeah, but you have to shoot them in the head.”

“Regular bullets or silver?”

“I don’t know. We’ll default to silver just in case. I stabbed one of them in the head with my knife and that seemed to work, too.”

She glanced down at the cross-knife at his hip. “I really gotta get me one of those.”

“I’ll make you a copy when we get back to the island. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They walked up the stairs together. Slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.

“So it’s the brain,” Gaby said. “Which would explain why you say they’re smarter than the others. They actually still have brains.”

“As good an explanation as any.”

Gaby smiled at him through her scars, bruises, and broken nose. “I thought you were dead after we split up in Harvest.”

He smiled back. “Someone once told me I’m too stubborn to die.”

“They’re probably right.” Then, she surprised him by hugging him in the middle of the stairs. “I knew you’d find me. I always knew you would.”

Will hugged her back and felt her body trembling in his arms. He decided she didn’t need to know that he was prepared to leave her behind, thinking she was dead, until he found out differently just a few hours ago.

Instead, he said, “There’s someone else who’ll be glad to know you’re still alive...”

* * *

“Gaby,” Lara said through the radio. She sounded breathless and happy. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“That’s funny, because I’ve been hearing your voice a lot these days,” Gaby said, smiling across the window at Will.

They were back in the main bedroom on the second floor of the house, with the portable ham radio sitting on the windowsill between them, its antenna sticking outside the open window.

“The broadcast,” Lara said.

“How did you know?”

Lara told them about other survivors who had reached out to her through the radio because of the message she had sent out into the world. People from Russia, the United Kingdom, and even some kid living on an island in Japan.

“Wow,” Gaby said. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know there were so many people still out there.”

“Neither did they,” Lara said. “I guess this is why Kate’s so pissed off. We unwittingly brought everyone together. At least, over the airwaves. People are starting to coordinate as a result. Guys in New York are talking to guys in San Francisco. Will, there are two groups in East Texas that we didn’t even know about until now.”

Gaby passed the microphone to Will. “All of that’s great, but I’m more worried about the island right now,” Will said. He sneaked a look outside at the darkening skies. “Are there any signs of an attack yet?”

Lara didn’t respond right away.

Will and Gaby exchanged a worried look.

“Lara,” he said into the mic.

“Do you trust me, Will?” Lara said finally.

“You know I do. Implicitly.”

She told him about some guy named Keo and the two women he had been traveling with. What they had seen back on shore, including more men in uniforms roaming Louisiana, and a staging area higher up Beaufont Lake. He listened and didn’t interrupt, absorbing everything she said, especially what she had attempted—and succeeded—with this Keo guy.

“I think it might have worked,” she said. “I guess we’ll know for sure tonight.”

“And everything’s ready just in case it didn’t?” Will asked.

“Plan Z…”

“Yes.”

“Everyone knows their roles,” Lara said. “I just hope we don’t have to use it.” She paused for a moment, then, “I knew you weren’t going to make it back today, Will. That’s why I made the choices I did.”

“You did the right thing, Lara.”

“Did I? Maybe I just made things worse.”

“Things can’t get any worse, babe. Besides, the island’s still there, isn’t it? You’re still safe. And the others, too.”

“Yes…”

“So you made the right choices.”

“I wasn’t sure…”

“Don’t doubt yourself. You’re smarter than me. Always have been.”

“You’re the one who kept us alive all these months.”

“Not by myself.”

“You and Danny…”

“Danny’s just a dumbass with a gun.”

“Hey,” Danny said. He was sitting on the big mattress behind them, cleaning his rifle. “Leave me out of this.”

Will ignored him and said into the mic, “We’ll be back tomorrow. Gaby, Danny, and me. And some other people, too.”

“You keep picking up strays,” she said. “Looks like we have that in common.”

He smiled. “I guess we just can’t help ourselves.”

He looked outside at the falling night again, at the soldiers milling about on both sides of the highway. The trucks had turned on their headlights. Waiting, just waiting, because they had all the time in the world.

They do, but we don’t.

And it seems to get shorter every day…

Will turned back to the radio. “It’s getting dark, and we both have a long night ahead of us.”

“Be careful,” Lara said. “You too, Gaby. I don’t want to lose you guys again.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Danny said behind them.

Will held the mic toward Gaby, who said into it, “Get a glass of cold water ready for me, Lara. I also wouldn’t mind if someone went into my room and made the bed. I might have left it a little messy.”

Lara laughed. “Your highness’s wishes are my command.”

Gaby nodded at Will, then stood up and walked over to where Danny was, her way of giving Will some privacy with the radio.

“We’ll be home tomorrow,” he said into the mic. “Wait for me, okay?”

“Someone recently told me that home isn’t where I’m staying, but where the person I love is,” Lara said. “Come back to me, Will.”

“Tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow,” she repeated.

31

Keo

“You think it worked?” Blaine asked. “Earlier today?”

“I don’t know,” Keo said. “Maybe.”

“We should have blown up that house. Or taken out one of those docks and the boats. Maybe if we’d stayed longer instead of running so quickly…”

“Then all three of us would be dead right now.” Keo shrugged. “We did what we could. If they’re smart, they’ll accept today’s losses and regroup.”

“And if they’re not that smart?”

“Look around you, Blaine. These people took over the planet. I’m not talking about the human puppets. I’m talking about the ones pulling the strings. The creatures that Lara called ghouls. They’re not stupid.”

Blaine nodded. “You’re right. Anyway, if they want this island, they’re going to have to take it over our dead bodies.”

That’s what I’m afraid of, Keo thought, but said instead, “That seems to be the consensus with everyone here.”

“Lara’s a smart woman. She’ll get us through this.”

Keo didn’t doubt that the blonde was smart, but sometimes it took more than smarts to survive an unwinnable situation. Sometimes you just have to accept that you can’t win and move on. Or run. He had done plenty of both in his life.

And that’s what I should have done earlier today, too. Run the hell away from here and these people as fast as I could.

So why the hell am I playing guard duty?

Isn’t it obvious? Because you’re the dumbest man alive.

Keo sighed to himself.

From up here, he had a view of every inch of the island with the exception of the forested western half. He could see why Lara had someone up here twenty-four seven. It was a hell of an overwatch. Armed with the ACOG-mounted M4, a good shooter could pick off targets on the beach or boaters coming from the shorelines almost at will. Not him, of course. His skills were more close and personal-based.

“I was here when the island came under attack the first time,” Blaine was saying. “It was a hell of a night. Bullets everywhere. People dying.”

“They attacked the place before?”

“Over three months ago. Will and Danny were here that time.”

“You guys made it through okay, apparently.”

“Barely.” He lowered the binoculars and glanced up at the skylight above them. “They almost took down the Tower with one of those grenade launchers you used back at the staging area.”

Keo peered up at the full moon. It was a cloudless night, which was good for them because it extended their coverage of the surrounding lake.

He looked down at his watch: 8:16 p.m.

“Are you staying?” Blaine asked after a while.

“No,” Keo said. “I’ll help out as much as I can until I leave tomorrow.”

“Thanks for that.”

Keo chuckled. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Blaine. I’m stuck here for now, so if they attack, my ass is on the line, too.”

“Hunh. Good point.”

They didn’t say much after that, and Keo was glad Blaine wasn’t the type who felt the need to fill every second with noise. Shorty had been one of those.

The silence was finally broken by their radios squawking, and they heard Lara’s voice. “Keo, Blaine.”

Blaine answered his radio first. “What’s up?”

“Anything?” Lara asked.

“Nothing yet.” He glanced over at Keo for confirmation. Keo shook his head. “All quiet up here.”

“If you see anything, I want to hear about it. Anything at all.”

“Roger that.”

Keo moved to the south window and looked off at the stretch of white sands along the beach. There was a figure standing guard on top of the boat shack. Either Bonnie or Roy, though Keo hadn’t completely memorized their guard shift yet. A second figure walked in and out of the dozen or so halos along one of the piers. Tall and slender, so that was probably Bonnie. He turned a bit to the right and looked over the roof of the hotel and spotted two more figures, one crouching, the other standing. There were supposed to be three people up there tonight.

“Doesn’t she ever sleep?” Keo asked. “Lara.”

“A few hours here and there since Will left the island,” Blaine said. “I don’t know how she does it. She must drink two or three cups of coffee every morning.”

“Where do you guys get coffee anyway?”

“We got stacks of the stuff in freeze dried form. Sarah says those things last anywhere from two to twenty years in the pantry, and indefinitely in the freezer. You don’t know how much you miss coffee until you’ve smelled it in the morning.”

A flicker of movement against the moonlight caught his attention just before their radios squawked again. This time it was an excited female voice. Not Bonnie, but one of the other women. Maybe the short one?

“I see something on the water! I think it’s coming toward us!”

Keo adjusted his binoculars and picked up multiple white lights skirting across the lake at a snail’s pace, moving gradually in their direction. The object was too far away and too hidden by darkness to make out any details, but Keo had seen enough of them to know what the lights belonged to.

“I see it,” Keo said into his radio. “It’s a boat.”

“What kind of boat?” Lara said through the radio. Her voice was shaky and she was breathing hard.

Keo turned the binoculars downward and saw a figure racing toward the beach. Damn. How’d she gotten out of the hotel so fast? The woman really didn’t sleep.

“It’s still too far away to tell,” Keo said. “But it’s moving slow, which means it’s big.”

“Or it could be trying to sneak up on us,” Carly said through the radio.

“No. It’s got its lights on.”

“Keo,” Lara said, “I need you on the beach with me. Maddie, head to the Tower and take his place.”

“I’m on my way,” Maddie said.

Keo nodded at Blaine, then slipped through the door in the floor.

He saw Maddie racing in and out of the lampposts that dotted the hotel grounds as he exited the lighthouse/radio tower. They exchanged a brief nod and he jogged off as she darted into the building behind him, slamming the door after her.

Keo glimpsed dark figures moving around on the hotel rooftop as he ran past. Three up there at the moment, including the twelve-year-old, what’s-his-name. Civilians were usually queasy about kids and guns, but Lara had put the tall kid up there anyway.

She’s ballsy, all right. Gotta give her that.

He made the beach a few minutes later. The short woman with the impressive rack, Gwen, was on top of the supply building to his right, while Bonnie, the tall ex-model, was at the other end of the beach to his left. He wondered if their placements were on purpose, because that was how he had sneaked onto the beach last night. The result of Lara adapting?

He found her at the end of the middle pier, standing underneath one of the bright LED lampposts that lined the walkway.

“What’s out there, guys?” Carly asked through the radio. She sounded anxious.

“It’s definitely a boat,” Lara said. “And it’s headed toward us.”

“Hard to miss the island. We are lit up like a Christmas tree, remember?”

“It’s a yacht,” Keo said. He had been thinking about it during the walk over. “It’s the right size. Two, probably three decks from the position of the lights.”

Lara glanced back at him. “You’ve seen yachts at night before?”

“I’ve boarded one or two in my time.”

“At night?” she said doubtfully.

“Hard to board a boat in the day when they can you see you coming.”

He stopped beside her and peered through his own binoculars. The boat was really moving slowly, as if it was in trouble. Was it leaking? Damaged? Still, he could just make out a bit more detail now. From the front, it was difficult to tell how many decks the vessel had, but its sleek white paint job was clear enough against the blackness.

“How many people does something like that hold?” Lara asked.

“I’m guessing anywhere from five to ten cabins. So two, maybe three per would be comfortable. But you could squeeze in more if you had to. You’d need at least five crewmen to keep something like that running, with eight to ten being preferable.”

“It looks pretty big.”

“The beam can be anywhere from five to ten meters.”

“What’s a beam?”

“The width of the boat.”

“Oh.”

“Something that wide is probably thirty to fifty meters long.”

“Is that big?”

“For a yacht? That’s luxury yacht territory. It’s a moving bed-and-breakfast, basically. Can you hear its engines?”

“Barely,” she said, straining to hear.

“That means it’s got a really quiet engine. Whisper quiet, they call it.”

“You know your yachts.”

“Like I said, I’ve had to board one once or twice in my old job. Of course, that just means I know my own limitations. You need to take something like that, I’m your man. You need someone to keep it afloat? That’s not me.”

Lara hadn’t said anything in a while, so he glanced over. He could see her mind working, processing the information.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

“What?” she said. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know that look.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to know you to know that look.”

She smiled almost sheepishly. “I was just thinking…”

“Of course you were…”

“…that it might be nice to have a moving bed-and-breakfast on hand.”

Keo had to laugh. “You’re seriously thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have something like that around just in case. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, as Will would say. Besides, wouldn’t you like to ride something like that to the Texas coast?”

“I’ll make do with a sailboat.”

“Think about it,” she said. Then, into her radio, “Tower, I need you to keep an eye on the rest of the lake in case this is some kind of distraction. I don’t want someone sneaking up on us again.”

“Roger that,” Blaine said through the radio. “What about the boat?”

“Let’s wait and see what they want. They’re not trying to hide their approach, so that’s a positive sign.” She said to Keo, “Can they turn off those lights manually?”

He nodded. “They’re letting us see them on purpose.” Then, “We should probably step back.”

“Why?”

“In case they have snipers onboard.”

“You think…?”

“Can’t be too sure, right? You saw the boat and you’re already making plans to acquire it. And they’ve seen what you have on this island. Even from a distance—”

“The power,” Lara said. “They know we have power.”

“And lots of it,” he nodded.

She turned and headed back down the pier, lifting the radio to her lips again. “Gwen, make yourself as small as possible back there. Bonnie, head back toward the tree lines for now.”

At the end of the pier, Gwen went into a crouch on top of the boat shack and Bonnie retreated up the beach toward the woods.

“Are we expecting trouble?” Roy asked through the radio.

“No,” Lara said. “Just in case.”

Just in case, Keo thought. Apparently that was the island’s motto.

“What now?” he asked her.

“I don’t know.” He thought he might have heard the first sign of a strain in her voice. “I wish Will was here. He’d know what to do.”

“You’re doing pretty well on your own.”

“For now,” she said. They stopped at the end of the pier and looked back at the approaching lights. “You said a boat that size had to have a big crew.”

“At minimum, five people just to keep it running.”

“They can’t be Kate’s soldiers. It’s too obvious.”

“Who’s Kate?”

“This bitch we used to know,” Lara said, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and said, “If they’re hostile, it might be too late to do anything about it once they’re closer.” She paused for a moment, and he could almost see that mind of hers spinning again. “Can you sink something like that? I mean, by shooting it?”

“You can sink anything if you shoot it enough,” Keo said.

She continued staring at the approaching lights, her lips twisting, face contorting with indecision. He felt almost sorry for her. It wasn’t just her life at stake here. It was the others, too. Blaine, Maddie, the girl with the big rack behind them.

And the kids. He didn’t even know their names. One of them was Ellie or something. Janet? Wang?

You don’t even know their names. So what’s the point?

Because they’re kids.

Goddamn it, because they’re kids…

“There’s a way to find out if they’re friendlies,” Keo said.

“How?” Lara said, looking at him.

“It’s your island, and it’s your people. If you tell me to go ahead with this, you could be putting them all in unnecessary danger. Or you might be saving their lives. But ultimately, you’re going to have to decide, because once I start, I can’t stop. And whatever happens because of it will be on you. You understand?”

She stared at him, clearly confused. But that confusion quickly gave way to understanding, and she nodded. “Thank you, Keo.”

He sighed. “Don’t thank me yet. This is either going to work out and everyone will live happily ever after, or it’s going to blow up in both of our faces and everyone’s going to end up dead.”

* * *

Two nights on this island, and I’m soaked from head to toe…again.

He slipped into the water from the eastern half of the island and swam in the darkness laterally—not toward the approaching yacht, but where he expected it to be at a certain point. His biggest advantage was that he could see the boat just fine to his left along with the island to his right.

Keo swam at a leisurely pace, slowing down and treading water only when he could feel the waves pressing against him more urgently than before. The vessel, bright white against the black canvas, glided in front of him, its half-dozen floodlights on full blast. They definitely weren’t trying to hide themselves. Either they actually did come in peace, or they really, really wanted the island to think that.

From his angle, he was able to count all three decks on the boat, with the highest one also the smallest. He eyeballed the length of the craft at just over forty meters, so he wasn’t too far off when he had guessed from the pier. Keo let it glide smoothly across the water in front of him and read the name written along the side: Trident.

He reached the boat’s stern just as it was passing him by and grabbed at one of the two ladders half-submerged at the back. He thought he had missed it for a moment but felt smooth metal at the last second and tightened his grip, then let himself be dragged through the water. He reached out with his other hand, got a good grip on the wet ladder, and slowly began climbing. The only sound other than the engine was the tricolor Mexican flag flapping from a long metal staff above him.

Keo crawled onto the lower deck, dripping pools of Lake Beaufont everywhere. A large floodlight created a giant halo with him in the center. This part of the boat was designed for lounging and easy access to the water. Fortunately, there was no one around at the moment to see him. He didn’t worry about being overheard, either. The churning engine, “whisper quiet” or not, still overwhelmed most noises around him, especially at night.

He swung the MP5SD forward and flicked off the safety, then darted out of the pool of light.

Keo could feel the vibrations of the boat’s engine room under his bare feet, humming as it pushed the Trident at a ridiculously slow pace toward the island. The boat was definitely moving at speeds well below its capability. So what was the point of that?

Even from his limited angle in the back of the luxury yacht, he could see the well-lit beach of Song Island spread out like a huge welcome mat. The piers in front, the long stretch of white sands, and the ring of solar-powered collector plates looked like glittering jewelry.

Windows and glass doors in front of him provided a nice view of a dimly lit dining room. No movement, so he ignored it and moved to the side toward one of the ladders leading up to the main deck. Keo climbed as quickly as he could, very aware that he was still dripping water with every rung he took.

He was almost at the top when he heard voices. He flattened his body against the ladder as two men walked past above him. Male voices talking in English, with heavy footsteps. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, though they sounded excited.

Keo waited until the voices faded before continuing up.

He swung over the rail and landed in a crouch in the back of the main deck, the MP5SD swinging in front of him at the ready. Keo scanned the boat, wondering what he looked like at the moment if someone spotted him. A tall barefoot guy in wet black clothes with a silenced submachine gun. He wouldn’t blame them if the first person who spotted him started shooting. He would, in their shoes.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He was operating under the assumption that the people on the boat had ulterior motives. Lara thought the same, which was why she had agreed to let him take this approach.

“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” she had said.

“Trust me,” he had replied, “if you hear shooting on the boat, there’s a very damn good reason for it.”

She had nodded solemnly back at him.

Tough girl, he remembered thinking. Tough call. Ballsy call.

He was impressed with her. Keo wasn’t a leader; he didn’t give orders, but he appreciated people who could. Lara was one. He wondered if she had known she possessed that kind of fortitude before the world crapped out on them. Not everyone knew their full potential until they were faced with a cliff and had to take the leap. Lara had, in his eyes, passed with flying colors.

He was squatting in another lounging area, one that was open to the moonless sky, with a darkened room in front of him. Sofas, chairs, and a bar. Entertainment center. The bridge was above him on the upper deck, and he moved toward another rung of ladders and climbed again. He wasn’t dripping quite as much water this time and didn’t encounter voices above him, either.

He went into a crouch next to the ladders and took a moment to orient himself with the boat’s layout. Then, after about ten seconds, he found an unlocked door and slipped inside.

Another entertainment room, with a big-screen TV on a wall with a wide array of media players and electronics facing comfortable sofas. There was plenty of evidence that the place had been lived in, but the details were hidden in semidarkness. He slipped through the spacious room, reaching a spiral staircase to his right that led back down to the main deck. The bridge was in front of him and around a slight turn in the narrow passageway.

He tiptoed down the hallway, then peered around the corner and into the bridge through an open door. There were two men inside, one standing at the helm, the other one next to him looking through binoculars at the island. They wore gun belts with sidearms in hip holsters, and an AK-47 lay across an empty chair, another one leaning against the console. Their backs were to him, so he couldn’t see their faces and only caught glimpses of their reflections in the wide windshield up front. The one with his hands on the steering wheel was wearing a white captain’s hat that didn’t look like it quite fit him.

They were in the middle of a conversation, so Keo leaned back and listened.

“How many do you see?” the “captain” asked.

“Just three,” the other one said.

“What does Rod say?”

The man with the binoculars grabbed a radio off the console and said into it, “Give me a count, Rod.”

“I see two,” a third muffled voice said through the radio. “But I saw four about thirty minutes ago when we were on approach. One’s gone and one’s just disappeared. I think one of them went into the woods.”

“Where’d the fourth one go?”

He’s behind you, Keo thought.

“I have no idea,” the man named Rod said.

“Do you have a shot?” the captain asked.

Rod didn’t answer right away.

“Rod,” the captain pressed, “do you have a shot?”

“One’s moving around too much,” Rod said. “But the other one’s pretty still. He’s crouched on top of a building. Looks like a storage shack. Short fucker, too.”

“Can you take him?” the second man asked.

“Probably,” Rod said.

“‘Probably’ isn’t good enough.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all you’re gonna get,” Rod said. “Take it or leave it.”

The captain grunted. “We should have put Hank up there instead. He always follows orders.”

“Rod’s okay,” the second man said. “You think they got diesel in that place?”

“Fat chance of that. But you see those things around the island? Those are solar panels. That means they have a constant reliable power source. When was the last time we had that?”

“So we’re definitely doing this, then.”

“Hell yeah,” the captain said. “Tell the boys to stay hidden, but get ready. We’ll see what kind of firepower they have first.”

“I still think we should have taken the lifeboats inland instead of just showing up with lights flashing.”

“It’s called a Trojan Horse. And it’s worked before. If it ain’t broke…”

“…don’t fix it,” the other man finished.

There was a slight tremor in their voices. It wasn’t fear. Keo recognized it from all those times he was deployed into a new arena.

It was excitement.

Clang-clang from behind him, coming from the spiral staircase that connected the main and upper decks.

Keo hurried back down the hallway and slipped behind the staircase just as a bearded man wearing a sweat-drenched T-shirt climbed up the steps. The man had a shotgun slung over his back and a gun belt was riding low around his waist. He was turning, the staircase moving him from left to right as he climbed higher and higher.

Keo slung the MP5SD and slowly, silently, slid the Ka-Bar out of its sheath.

He took a breath, and just as the man put his foot onto the wooden floor of the upper deck, Keo lunged forward and slapped one hand over the man’s mouth and stabbed him once, twice, three times in the side before the man could get out his first startled gasp. Keo kept his grip over the man’s mouth as he lowered the still-twitching body to the floor. Blood poured out of the gaping wounds and over Keo’s fingers, but he ignored the warm sensation.

His eyes remained fixed down the hallway, toward the bridge hidden around the bend. He could still hear them talking.

“You think they have women on the island?” one of them was asking. It sounded like the one with the binoculars.

“What are the chances they don’t?” the captain said.

“It’ll be nice to get some new ones onboard.”

The other man chuckled. “Just keep it in your pants until we have the whole place locked down.”

“Remember, we get first dibs.”

The bearded man had gone completely still in Keo’s arms. He lowered the body all the way to the floor and wiped blood off his hand against the man’s dry pants.

“Rod sound a little rebellious to you a while ago?” the “first mate” was asking.

“A little,” the captain said. “Probably cabin fever. We’ve been at sea for way too long.”

“Must be.”

Keo tugged the shotgun from the lifeless body and stood up. He would have used the MP5SD, but the suppressor wasn’t going to make a lot of noise. And right now, he needed to make noise. Enough that Lara could hear all the way from the island.

“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” she had said.

“Trust me, if you hear shooting on the boat, there’s a very damn good reason for it,” he had answered.

He headed back down the hallway and turned the corner, and as soon as he stepped inside the bridge, the captain saw his reflection in the glass.

The man looked over his shoulder. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You the captain?” Keo asked.

The “first mate” turned around and went for his sidearm. Keo fired and the man’s head disintegrated in a hail of buckshot that continued and spiderwebbed the windshield behind him, splattering chunks of brain and skull against the console.

Keo racked the shotgun and swung it back over to the captain. “I asked you a question.”

“I—I guess,” the man said.

Keo stepped forward and pulled the man’s sidearm out of its holster. It was a fancy silver chrome six-shot revolver. “Nice gun.”

“Thanks,” the captain said.

Keo shot the man in the right kneecap with his own gun. The captain howled in pain and fell to the floor. Keo grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and dragged him across the room, then deposited him into a corner.

“Stay,” Keo said.

Even through the captain’s high-pitched cries, Keo heard footsteps pounding across the boat, originating from outside the bridge. They weren’t being the least bit subtle about it. Then again, they probably didn’t know what the hell was happening.

He slid the revolver into his waistband and leaned out the door just as a bald man poked his head up the spiral staircase. Keo lowered the shotgun’s iron sight over the melon-size target.

Nice and juicy, just the way he liked them.

32

Gaby

She shouldn’t be this afraid. If her chances were decent when she was lugging around three girls, then having Will and Danny beside her was a hell of an improvement. But of course all those times didn’t involve a small army of Josh’s soldiers pinning her inside a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and the knowledge that the coming night was going to bring out something worse.

Will said there had been four of them in Dunbar. He had killed two. Four minus two got you two.

Four!

She wasn’t sure she wanted to see them. Just hearing stories about the creatures—from Will, from Lara, from Blaine and Maddie—was creepy enough. She had never actually felt the need to ever come face-to-face with the abominations.

Gaby shivered slightly and was glad no one was around to see it.

She was on the second floor, crouched at the head of the stairs, looking down at total darkness. Ten feet. That was all that separated her from the first floor, where the ghouls would come in first. Unless, of course, they decided to try climbing the two-story house. That was possible, too.

“They can be creative when the blue-eyed ones are around,” Will had said.

Gaby shifted her bent legs to keep them from falling asleep. Lance was sitting against the wall next to her, an AR-15 loaded with silver ammo in his lap. His eyes were focused on the peeling wallpaper in front of him, just barely visible in the streams of moonlight filtering through the main bedroom further down the hallway to their left. The door was open and Danny’s silhouetted form stood still, peering out the slots they had left in the window after covering it up with slabs of countertop from the second-floor bathroom.

There wasn’t enough light to see much of anything, though her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and her mind filled in the missing pieces. She couldn’t see Will on the first floor, but she could hear him moving from one barricaded window to another every few minutes. Nightfall had come an hour ago, and they were still waiting for signs of an attack.

Because it was coming. She knew that for a fact. There was no way they were getting through tonight untouched.

Gaby was in the center of the second floor, with two bedrooms to her right and a bathroom at the very end. All three doors had been removed to cover the first-floor windows and reinforce the main bedroom. Closet doors, along with whatever else they could take down, had also been used to block the other windows along the floor. It wasn’t impossible to get through the barriers, but it would take a lot of force and there wasn’t a lot of leverage to be had while clinging to the outside. Just the same, they had sealed up the other bedroom windows with dresser, beds, and furniture.

Better safe than sorry. Always better safe than sorry.

She felt reasonably safe up here. It was the first floor that they had to worry about. The fortification would hold for a while, but not forever. Sooner or later, the ghouls would batter their way through. And if they couldn’t, then their human allies could open the door, literally, for the creatures. Then there would just be the stairs to block their path.

A click in her right ear, and Danny’s voice. “Anyone huffing and puffing down there yet?”

She heard him loud and clear through the earbud, connected to a Motorola radio clipped to her hip. Danny and Will only had two of their assault vests, but Danny had brought along an additional comm rig when he came looking for them days ago and found Will outside of Lafayette. She reached up and pulled at the plastic band wrapped around her throat. Gaby didn’t think she would ever get used to the constricting feel of it against her skin.

“Nothing in the front yards,” Will said. “You?”

“I got zilch and nada,” Danny said.

“What about the soldiers?”

“Still hanging around. Buggers aren’t leaving anytime soon. All dressed up and nowhere to go.”

“Ghouls?”

“I see them.”

“How many?”

“How do you say ‘a shit lot’ in Spanish?”

“What are they doing? How are they reacting to the soldiers?”

“They’re leaving them alone.”

Gaby keyed her radio. “How do they know to leave the soldiers alone? Is it the uniforms?”

“Maybe,” Will said.

“Like with the hazmat suits.”

“Likely.”

“Aw, shit,” Danny said.

“What is it?” Will said.

“Buckle up your seat belt, kids, here comes trouble. And the bitch brought friends.”

Will didn’t respond. Gaby waited impatiently, wanting to ask what they were seeing, but somehow managed to bite her tongue. She felt a pair of eyes on her and glanced over at Lance. He was watching her and had been for a while. Questions flooded his eyes, but like her, he was exercising amazing restraint. Lance was in his late twenties but looked older.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head at him.

He nodded, grateful for at least that much.

Then Will’s voice, finally, in her right ear. “Gaby.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Remember: shoot them in the head.”

“In the head,” she repeated. Then, “How many of them are out there?”

“Four.”

“Four?” Gaby said, almost shouting the word out.

“You think it’s a new group, or did they get reinforcements?” Danny asked.

“I have no idea,” Will said. “I can’t tell them apart. One blue-eyed fuck looks like the other to me.”

“You’re such a racist.”

“Four?” Gaby said again.

“It’s probably because of what Willie boy did back in Dunbar,” Danny said.

“Or protocol,” Will said. “They operate as squads of four. They lose two, they replace two. Or maybe it’s an entirely different group. That doesn’t seem likely, though.”

“Maybe one of them’s your ghoulfriend.”

“Ex-ghoulfriend.”

“What are they doing, Will?” Gaby asked.

“The black-eyed ones are staying back along with the soldiers. It’s just the shock troops.”

“Shock troops?”

“That’s what this guy back in Dunbar called them. It’s not a bad theory.”

“What was that guy’s name, Brick?” Danny said.

“Bratt,” Will said.

“Ah, that’s right.”

“What happened to him?” Gaby asked.

“He didn’t make it,” Will said.

Of course not. What a stupid question.

Gaby heard a soft tapping noise and looked over at Lance. His fingers were moving nervously against the side of the AR-15 while his eyes had returned to the same patch of dirty wallpaper in front of him.

“Lance,” she whispered.

He glanced over. “Hmm?”

“You okay?”

He nodded and tried to smile. “Yeah. You?”

“We’ll be fine. Will and Danny are really good at this. Just do what we talked about, okay? Exactly what we talked about, and you’ll get through this fine.”

“Okay,” he said, and made another futile attempt at a smile.

She turned back to the stairs and peered down at the pool of darkness below, wondering just where her ability to suddenly bullshit with such conviction came from. She had never been a particularly good liar, but these days, lying came easier. She wanted to think it was because Lance needed the assurance, but maybe it was for her own benefit, too.

A click in her right ear, followed by Danny’s voice. “Gaby.”

“Yeah?” she said.

“You’ve never seen one of them before, right?”

“No…”

“Come take a look.”

Gaby stood up and said “Stay here” to Lance then jogged up the hallway toward the bedroom.

Danny peeked over his shoulder as she approached. “It’s time you find out what all the crazy kids are talking about. It’s a real gas, man.”

Gaby moved across the large bedroom, looking briefly over at Claire, Milly, and Annie huddled on the floor next to the king-size bed. Claire had the FNH gripped tightly in her hands, while Milly was lying across Annie’s lap, her eyes closed. Annie stroked the girl’s hair, the two of them finding comfort in each other. Claire, though, was all business. She caught Gaby’s eyes and nodded. Gaby smiled back at her.

She’s going to make a great soldier one of these days.

Gaby reached the window and slid against the wall across from Danny. They had left plenty of slots to see out through, with the biggest being a few inches wide. He pointed at the front yard, lit up by the moonlight. It was amazingly bright out there and she could make out a lone figure standing next to one of the trucks with the mounted machine guns.

The first thing she noticed was the way it stood—tall, like a human male. It also looked noticeably healthier than the other ghouls she was used to seeing, which usually made her think of loose flesh draped over skeletal remains. And its eyes. If she couldn’t quite make out the details of its body, she had no trouble seeing its eyes.

Blue eyes. Blue fucking eyes.

She always believed Will and the others when they told her about the existence of the blue-eyed ghouls, but maybe there was a part of her (a very, very small part) that was doubtful. But here, now, staring down the window at one of them—and being watched back by it—she felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach.

They’re real. Jesus, they’re real.

In some ways, she thought she knew the world. Even after The Purge when she was confronted with an all-new set of realities, she had become accustomed to it and understood its rules: Stay out of the dark. Silver kills. Bodies of water. Now there was something new, and suddenly everything was upside down again. It was almost enough to make her want to scream and pull out her hair.

“There and there,” Danny said.

She followed where he was pointing and saw a second one standing next to the supply shack on the left side of the yard. And there, a third, perched on top of the same building. Three pairs of blue eyes glowed in the darkness.

Radiant blue, like diamonds…

“Three,” she said, her voice coming out strangely calm (Why am I so calm?). “You said there were four.”

He pointed again. “And heeeeeere’s Johnny.”

The fourth blue-eyed ghoul emerged out of the sea of black, moving with impossibly fluid steps for something that shouldn’t even exist. It was pulling a man behind it by a strap it held almost nonchalantly in its right hand. The other end of the line was wrapped around the man’s neck, like some kind of dog leash. The man didn’t struggle against his restraints or seemed capable of resistance. All the fight had clearly been beaten out of him.

The ghoul and its “pet” stopped about ten feet from the front door of the farmhouse. It tugged at the leash and the man staggered forward until he was standing beside his “master” before falling (gratefully, tiredly) to his knees. The man had distinctive red hair, the color providing an absurd contrast next to the black-skinned creature with the smooth black skull.

The man lifted his head and looked in her direction. Blood coated his face from forehead to chin, and he peered across the short distance through badly bruised eyes.

Harrison.

She always wondered what had happened to him after she pushed him out of the car. Now she knew.

Gaby keyed her radio. “That’s Harrison.”

“Yeah,” Will said in her ear.

“You’ve met him before?”

“No.”

“How did you know who he was?”

“It’s a long story.”

“The guy from Dunbar?” Danny asked.

“Uh huh,” Will said.

“What’s it doing with him?” Gaby said.

She had no love for Harrison. She hated the man’s guts. He had killed Peter, all because he “had to make sure.” That phrase haunted Gaby. They were such simple words, but there was nothing simple about the result.

“They like to play,” Will said through her earbud. “They played with Lance and Annie’s friends last night. And they were toying with us back in Dunbar, too. They called off the dogs when they had us trapped just so they could have more fun. It’s all a game to them. A sick, bloody game.”

“I’ve been telling Willie boy,” Danny said, “that if they like games so much, we should introduce them to Parcheesi or Monopoly. All the fun and none of the fatality. Win-win.”

The other blue-eyed monstrosities in the yard hadn’t moved. The one on the roof of the shack continued to stare in her direction while the other two remained perfectly still, as if waiting for the show to begin. There was an effortlessness about the way they just stood that unnerved her, as if they could stay in that pose all night and never have to move for even a second. It was so…unnatural.

“Here we go,” Danny said softly.

The ghoul tugged on the leash, and Harrison stood up obediently. Gaby braced herself for what she thought she knew was coming when the creature beckoned its captive toward it. Long, delicate fingers reached toward Harrison’s throat, and when they pulled away seconds later, the leash was no longer attached. It had freed him.

Why?

When Harrison realized this, he groped at his neck to make sure. He stared at the creature, then around the front yard, before finally up at the second floor. She wondered if he could see her and Danny peeking back at him through the slits. Maybe just her eyes. Was that enough? Did he know she was up here? For some reason, she hoped he didn’t. The prospect of her name being shouted out loud in front of those things made her shiver.

The blue-eyed ghoul opened its mouth and said something to Harrison. Its voice was too low for her to hear from up here.

Its voice.

It’s talking!

“Oh yeah, apparently they can talk, too,” Danny, seeing her reaction, said from across the window.

Harrison was backpedaling in the yard now. First slowly, then quicker, while glancing wildly around him. Then he did what she knew he would do—what she feared he would: He ran toward the farmhouse and straight to the front door. He disappeared under the window and a second later she heard loud banging from below.

Then Harrison’s voice, pained and panicked. “Open the door! Please, open the door! Let me in! You have to let me in!”

The ghoul tossed away the rope and watched Harrison. There was a look on its face, something she had never seen before on the creatures. It looked amused. She turned slightly and saw the same look on the faces of the other three.

They’re enjoying every second of it.

The loud banging continued for a while along with Harrison’s voice. “Please! For God’s sake, open the door! You have to let me in!”

Like hell, Gaby thought, when the banging suddenly stopped.

Harrison reappeared outside her window for a moment before whirling around, expecting an attack at any second. So did she. They were both surprised that none came. Harrison turned and fled up the yard. Then he stopped, seemed to be trying to get his bearings, before taking off again, this time running alongside the house and disappearing.

The creatures hadn’t moved. They simply watched him go. Waiting.

For what?

“There he goes,” Danny said.

“Are they just going to let him go?” Gaby asked.

He shook his head, and in a voice that was odd for Danny, he said solemnly, “No.”

The first ghoul to move was the one perched on the shack. It leaped off the building and darted off in the same direction that Harrison had gone. Then a second one took off, followed quickly by a third, until all four had vanished from the yard.

There was just silence again.

“What are they going to do to him?” she whispered.

Danny shook his head and didn’t answer.

A minute passed, and she was only aware of her shallow breathing.

Five minutes…

She looked across at Danny again, hoping to find some answers from his expression. There weren’t any. He was waiting and listening like her. Maybe he knew something more, but he didn’t say it. She was going to click her PTT and ask Will when a scream pierced the night air.

Harrison.

It was shrill and loud and seemed to go on and on and on.

She had never heard that kind of scream in her life. It wasn’t just that he was in pain. There was mortal terror in every second of it.

And my God, did it seem to keep going, and going…

She had difficulty reconciling that voice with the hardened man who had beaten Peter half to death (or if he hadn’t done it himself, had ordered it), then later tossed Donna out of the car to die on the highway. She wanted not to feel sorry for him, but she did anyway.

Gaby didn’t know how to interpret her feelings. Was it weakness? He was her enemy. She shouldn’t care what was happening to him. Or was it strength? Was courage being able to feel empathy even for your enemy? She didn’t know. She only knew that no one, not even Harrison, deserved what was happening out there at this moment.

No one…

She looked back at the girls huddled in the corner. Annie had placed her hands over Milly’s ears and the girl looked half-asleep in her lap. But it was Claire’s eyes that Gaby saw. The thirteen-year-old’s face was placid, unmoved by Harrison’s cries.

Click. “Gaby,” Will said in her ear. “I need you back at the stairs.”

“On my way,” she said, and walked quickly across the room.

She was glad to leave the window, because the further she moved away from it, the harder it was to hear Harrison’s continued screams. Until finally she was back in the hallway, and she couldn’t hear the dying man anymore.

Lance looked over at her. “They’re doing it again, aren’t they? Like last time. Back at our house. They’re doing it again...”

She didn’t reply. Instead, Gaby sat numbly back down at the head of the stairs, then flicked the fire selector on her M4 from semi-automatic to burst fire. She longed for her own weapon, or at least something with full-auto capability. At least she had silver bullets in her rifle again, so there was that.

“Remember: shoot them in the head,” Will had said.

Right. Shoot them in the head.

Easy enough…

* * *

The next two hours ticked by in silence, inside and outside the farmhouse. The lack of noise—or any sounds at all—was nerve-wracking.

Blue-eyed ghouls.

She could have lived the rest of her life without seeing them in person.

Not just one, but four.

Four!

She shivered again in the semidarkness and looked quickly to see if Lance had noticed. She shouldn’t have bothered. Lance had dozed off, the AR-15 positioned awkwardly across his lap. She thought about taking the rifle away from him. The last thing she wanted was for him to wake up suddenly and start shooting. And the barrel was pointed right at her, too…

The neon hand of her watch ticked to 10:16 p.m.

Not even close to sunrise. When did the sun come out last time? Around seven?

All we have to do is survive nine more hours.

Oh, that’s it?

The clicking noise in her right ear made her jump slightly. “What’s the word, daddy bird?” Danny said through the comm.

“Jack shit,” Will said.

“How long does it take to eat Harrison? The guy was kind of thick around the ankles. An hour? Two?”

“Oh, nice.”

“What? Too soon?”

“Way too soon.”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t like we really knew the guy. You know what they say about gingers.”

Tap.

Gaby’s eyes darted up to the ceiling.

Tap tap.

She reached down and squeezed the Push-to-Talk switch connected to her radio. “I hear something.”

“Sorry, kid, I tried to hold it in,” Danny said.

“No, above us.”

“What was it?” Will asked.

“Footsteps. I think.”

She looked across the hallway and saw Danny, still stationed at the window, craning his head upward toward the ceiling.

Tap tap.

“I hear it,” Danny said.

“Ignore it,” Will said. “They’re just probing the roof, looking for a weak spot.”

“What if they find it?” she asked.

“Then we’re shit out of luck with a fist full of ham sandwiches,” Danny said.

Gaby listened intently to the noise above her when it suddenly stopped.

She breathed a little easier.

They’re probing. That’s all. They’re just probing for weaknesses.

“Gaby,” Will said in her ear.

“Yes…”

“Stay where you are. You’re in the perfect spot right now. And wake Lance up.”

She smiled. “How’d you know?”

“He’s not one of us.”

Gaby felt a flush of pride. “One of us.” Her, Danny, and Will. The three of them. In this post-Purge world, it meant the world for him to include her.

She turned to Lance and put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight nudge.

He opened his eyes and snapped awake, looking around before locating her through his groggy haze. “What’s happening?”

“You were asleep.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his eyes, then wrapped his hands back around his rifle as if it were his lifeline. The barrel was still pointed at her…

Gaby turned back to the stairs. Or the pitch blackness at the other end. She could really see only the first half dozen or so steps, with the rest hidden in the shadows.

“Heads up,” Danny said in her ear.

“I see it,” Will said.

Gaby glanced to her left, past Lance and into the open bedroom door at Danny. He had taken a step away from the window and had lifted his M4A1 slightly.

“Danny,” Gaby said out loud. “What’s happening?”

“They’re back,” he said through her earbud.

“The blue-eyed ones?”

“Ol’ blue eyes. Maybe they want to serenade us. Sing us to death.” Then he added, his voice rising noticeably, “Shit.”

“What is it?” Will said through the comm.

“I only see two of them.”

“Find the other two—”

Something that sounded like an explosion rang out, drowning out Will’s voice. Gaby moved on instinct, diving further up the hallway, away from the stairs, just as the first pieces of rubble came tumbling down from above her.

The roof. It was caving in on them.

“Lance!” she shouted.

He was struggling to his feet, legs wobbly from sitting too long, and hadn’t straightened all the way up before the roof crashed down on top of him. He let out something that sounded like a scream (A squeal?) before he was pummeled by falling slate tiles. One of them broke over Lance’s head and he stumbled, somehow managing to brace himself against the wall, as more roofing material flooded down on top of him one by one by one.

Then it came down.

It.

One of the creatures. It fell down from the sky like some archangel, minus the wings and halo and good intentions, landing in a crouch next to Lance. It straightened up, its body impossibly long, spindly arms and legs extending in what little light was available in the second-floor hallway.

Glowing blue eyes searched her out, and finding her, zeroed in.

It was gripping something long and shiny in one of its hands. Moonlight glinted off the smooth surface of a sledgehammer.

“Gaby!” Will shouted in her ear.

She was too busy scrambling back up to her feet to respond. She didn’t think and didn’t waste a second. She simply reacted, lifting the M4 and pulling the trigger. The carbine bucked in her hands and the sound of the three-round burst in the close confines of the hallway was like three powerful thunder strikes, one after another.

Her aim was true, and she hit it with all three rounds in the chest.

But it didn’t go down.

It didn’t go down.

Instead, it looked back at her and grinned before tossing the sledgehammer away. Then it took a step forward. Pow! A bullet hit the creature from behind. That same bullet punched through flesh and zipped past her head before disappearing into the wall behind her. Slurping noises as thick, coagulated black blood burst out of the fresh hole in the thing’s neck and splashed with a sickening plop against the floor.

“Gaby, get down!” Danny shouted from the other side of the hallway.

Her mind was reeling, the sight of the creature still standing after she had put three silver bullets into its chest making it hard for her to think straight.

“Remember: shoot them in the head,” Will had said.

Shoot them in the head!

The creature wasn’t looking at her anymore. It was already turning and bounding up the hallway toward Danny, who was firing, having switched to full-auto. Bullets pierced the creature’s body and embedded into walls as Danny tried to track its constantly moving and shifting form. It was dodging his gunfire. How was that even possible? Were they really that fast?

Stupid question, because she could see it with her own eyes.

Danny’s silver rounds that did land were penetrating the creature’s body and continued on, zip-zipping up the narrow space like flies buzzing, slamming into the wall around her. She had to duck to keep from being hit by a stray bullet, and suddenly the prospect of dying by friendly fire was very real.

In a crouch, Gaby lifted her rifle and tried to get a bead on the creature as it fled away from her (“Shoot them in the head!”). Before she could fire, she lost track of it as it disappeared into the room. It was suddenly on the floor and Danny was under it, fighting for his life, and she couldn’t make out where the creature ended and Danny began.

Instead, she reached down and pressed the PTT, and shouted, “They’re inside! Will, they’re inside the house!”

Where the hell was Will? Couldn’t he hear what was happening up here? What was he doing down there? What—

There was a massive BOOM! and the entire house shook from its foundations all the way up to its ceiling, as if a bomb had gone off on the floor under her.

The first floor. Will.

What the hell was happening down there?

She started forward toward the stairs—

—when a second creature fell through the same hole the first one had made with the sledgehammer and landed in an elegant crouch in front of her. It made so little noise, and there was so little effort in its movements, that for a moment the sight of it straightening up, stretching its body like some twisted, deformed ballerina, startled Gaby to the core.

It had its back to her as it rose to its full height—it was at least a foot taller than her, maybe more—and turned around. Gaby became instantly mesmerized by its ethereal blue eyes. Like two impossibly bright orbs washing over the darkened hallway, reaching into her very soul.

It opened its mouth, revealing twisted and cracked brown and yellow teeth stained with oozing black liquid that looked, for some reason, as if they, too, were alive and wiggling.

“Wanna play?” it hissed, eyes glinting with mischief in the moonlight.

33

Will

The darkness did things to you these days. It lulled you into a strange state of numbness with its overwhelming silence, the unnatural sense of calm that seemed to pervade everything, while at the same time it made you dread all the things out there that you couldn’t see.

Inevitable. Night after night.

Are we just living on borrowed time? Is that all it is?

Tonight. Tomorrow night. The week after. The next month?

How long can we keep the island? How long can we keep fighting them before it becomes too much? Before the costs are too great?

How long…

He had to shake himself to rid his mind of those depressing thoughts. Being downstairs by himself didn’t help. The most he could do to keep busy was move from window to window, checking every corner of the front yard. He couldn’t really see the soldiers on the road from here, but he knew they were still out there, somewhere.

When they finally came, he was able to concentrate on the matter at hand. His senses were never more razor sharp as they were during the preamble to combat. He felt it now, the hyper awareness of his surroundings. Every sound, every flickering image, and every glowing blue eye.

As he watched them toying with Harrison, he realized just how different these creatures were. They were the same, but not—an entirely new breed of what he was familiar with. Radically different. More dangerous. This was why they had kept the other ghouls back in Dunbar. Because this was their show. Their sport. Harrison was a warm-up and now they were coming for the main event. He and the others inside the house.

So where were they now? What was taking them so long?

Will glanced back at the staircase behind him. It was too dark to make out much of anything on the first floor even with the slivers of moonlight filtering in through the barricades over the windows, one next to him and the other one on the other side of the door. He could just make out the stair landing—

There was a loud crash from above him, and the entire house shuddered.

He reached for his radio. “Gaby!”

He waited for a response, but there wasn’t any. Instead, he heard the pop-pop-pop of an M4 exploding from the second floor. Three-shot burst. Gaby’s rifle, because Danny still had his M4A1 and he would have either used single shots or gone full-auto.

Will abandoned the window as more gunfire erupted from the top of the stairs. In the packed confines of the house, the sounds were thunderous, but they couldn’t quite drown out the voice. Danny’s, shouting between gunshots. He wasn’t using the radio, either. That was a bad sign.

The first floor. Stay on the first floor! Don’t abandon—

Then Gaby’s voice, blasting through his earbud. “They’re inside! Will, they’re inside the house!”

He was at the stairs, grabbing for the wooden globe on top of the newel, when shadowed movements flickered across the wall in front of him. Figures, moving outside one of the windows, their shapes casting across the room by moonlight.

He spun back around and saw the indistinguishable shapes moving on the other side of the window he had abandoned just seconds ago. As soon as he saw them, the silhouetted forms raced away again.

What—?

The explosion (or was that explosions?) shredded the window, the barrier over it, and a large section of the house around them. Will dived to the floor as chunks of the wall and even the porch buzzed over and around his head, sharp pieces embedding into the floor inches from him. Debris rained down across the room and his ears were buzzing. He was sure he had gone temporarily deaf (Please let it be temporary), though that couldn’t possibly be the case because he could still hear continuous gunfire from above him.

Grenades? Did they just use grenades on the wall?

Jesus Christ.

He looked up from the floor, expecting the entire house to come tumbling down on top of him at any second. But it didn’t. Somehow, by some miracle, the second floor remained where it was—above him—despite the jagged, gaping hole across the room looking out into the moonlit yard. Absurdly, the door next to it had remained intact, as had the repurposed lumber they nailed over it. Smoke from the explosion poured out of the house, and he became aware of the chilly night air for the first time in the last few hours.

He managed to scramble to his knees, glad he hadn’t lost the M4A1 during his swan dive. Pieces of wood and glass fell off his shoulders and back and head, and there may or may not have been a trickle (or two or a dozen) of blood flowing down his face. His ears were still ringing, which made the sight of two figures, both in camo uniforms and gas masks, stepping through the hole in the wall and moving against the lingering smoke look like monsters in a bad dream.

He couldn’t hear his carbine firing, but he could feel it bucking against his hands.

The first man slumped forward while the second one tried desperately to track him in the smoke. His vision was likely blocked by the limited view of the gas mask.

Sucks to be you.

Will put a bullet into the second man’s right eye. He stumbled awkwardly before collapsing into a pile.

Will struggled to his feet. His equilibrium was off and he swayed left, then right, then left again. The coughing fits didn’t help him adjust any quicker as he reached out with his free left hand, got a grip on something solid, and finally managed to steady himself.

Or as steady as he could get, anyway. The room had begun to spin and he considered falling back to the floor, where it would be so much easier to regain his senses. The world had looked pretty stable from down there, and he didn’t remember coughing nearly as much, either. Up here, though, the smoke was everywhere, and it was hard to just breathe.

The wall he was touching shook, but he had a hard time tracing where the vibrations were coming from. Behind him? Above? Maybe from outside the house. It could have been more steady gunfire from the second floor. Gaby and Danny were still up there. So were Lance and Annie and the two girls.

What’s happening up there?

He made to turn back toward the stairs to go find out when he saw the shadows shifting once again out of the corner of his eye. He spun back around just in time to see a pair of blue slits glowing in the swirling smoke.

They were coming—launching—at him.

Will reflexively struck out with the rifle, because lifting it and firing would have taken more time—a second, maybe two, that he didn’t have. The M4A1 vibrated on contact, both his arms shaking long after he had swung from right to left, his body turning with his momentum.

It didn’t fall very far and it was back up on its feet even before Will could right himself. It attacked again, springing like an animal on all fours, barreling into his chest and knocking him back. He groped for the wall but couldn’t find it and briefly had a feeling of being weightless as he was thrust through empty air before crashing back down to earth.

He was in the back hallway, past the stairs leading up to the second floor. The door was farther behind him, invisible in the darkness. For a moment, he waited for another blue-eyed ghoul to break its way through that side of the house—

Concentrate! Focus!

The creature climbed up the length of his body and he felt (impossibly) cold dead fingers wrapping around his throat, over the plastic band of the mic. A pair of glorious gems in the blackness bore down at him even as thin, pencil-like lips curled into a smile. It leaned down until its face—the deformed shape of the skull obvious behind smooth black flesh—was inches from his own.

Will stared up at it, fumbling with his fingers for the cross-knife in its sheath along his left hip, cursing himself for losing the rifle. He hadn’t even remembered when he had lost it. Hopefully it was still somewhere nearby.

The rifle.

Lara called it superstition, but he called it habit.

She’s probably right. I am superstitious about the damn thing. I should tell her that when I get back to the island.

I love you, Lara, please forgive me for dying.

He couldn’t breathe. How long had it been since he took his last (smoke-filled) breath? A second ago? Two seconds? Ten? An hour?

The creature’s fingers were tightening with every erratic heartbeat he managed, and he momentarily rejoiced at the touch of the cross-knife’s smooth handle.

The brain.

Go for the brain.

Will pulled the knife out and swung it upward in a wide arc—

—but the sharp point never reached its destination. The creature’s other hand had intercepted his swing well short of its intended target.

Oh, shit.

“We know,” it hissed at him. “Didn’t Kate tell you?” It was holding his hand up in the air with hardly any effort. “We know what happened with the others. How it happened. You didn’t think we’d let you get away with it twice, did you?”

He could hear its voice, which meant he hadn’t gone deaf after all. Thank God.

“Don’t worry,” the creature hissed. “It’s not going to end that easily for you, Will. Kate made us promise her this time. I think she has big plans for you. Of course, she didn’t say anything about punishing you for what happened at Dunbar first.”

Its lips curled into a devilish grin.

He somehow found the strength to look away from its face to his own hand, suspended in the air, the cross-knife (Go for the brain!) frozen in place. It didn’t even look like the ghoul was exerting any effort at all. It was so strong. So fast and so strong. What chance did he have against an army of these things? What chance did Lara and the island have?

Lara. At least I got to talk to her one last time.

Please forgive me for dying.

His vision was faltering and the creature’s fingers were still tightening, and Will swore he could feel cold bones cutting into the skin around his throat. Was that even possible? Who the hell knew? He didn’t. Right now, all he could do was lie on the floor and wait to die, wait to be taken, wait to be given to Kate…

BOOM!

The hallway trembled, as if it had been hit by an earthquake.

The walls, the ceiling, and even the floor underneath him quaked in the aftermath of the shotgun blast at such close proximity.

Will’s eyes snapped open because he could breathe again.

Air!

The creature was still perched on top of him, but it had turned its head and was glaring at something behind it. Chunks of its shoulder and neck were gone, and blood arced out of the ruptured flesh and splattered the wall next to it in a grisly shower of thick, clumpy black blood.

Will looked past the ghoul and saw a small figure standing at the mouth of the hallway, holding a shotgun.

Claire. It was Claire. The little girl with the FNH semi-automatic shotgun.

How’d she get down here?

Claire fired again—the massive BOOM! lighting up the hallway a second time.

The blue-eyed ghoul’s head jerked backward as buckshot tore into its face, shards of shiny white skull shattering and imploding in the air. Meaty globs of foul-smelling flesh hit Will in the face before he could turn his head in time.

Then his left hand was free and Will wrestled it loose from the ghoul’s grip, even as the lifeless (again) body on top of him flopped sideways to the floor. The creature’s form was so much lighter now that Will found it difficult to understand how this almost feathery thing landing next to him was the same creature that had, just moments ago, smashed into him like a five-ton elephant.

He sucked in air like a drowning man, scrambling up from the floor, trying desperately to command his legs to work properly. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, or the throbbing pain. Despite what the creature had said about promising Kate (What the hell did that even mean?), it sure didn’t seem to care that it was about to crush every bone in his throat.

Claire was standing in front of him, staring at the dead (headless) body resting in a thick pool of its own blood. She didn’t seemed to notice him as he finally got back on his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself, the creature’s flesh and blood caking his face and clothes like a second layer of rotting skin.

Goddamn, it smells.

The continued loud clatter of gunfire from the second floor told him everything he needed to know—it wasn’t over. Far from it.

The gunfire snapped Claire out of it, and the girl rushed over and grabbed his waist with one hand—the other still clutching the shotgun—to keep him upright because, even though he didn’t realize it, he needed her help. She was a small, frail thing, but she gave herself up as a crutch so he could stand on wobbly feet.

“My rifle,” Will said, his voice coming out as a croak. “My rifle,” he said again, louder and clearer this time.

“I don’t know,” Claire said. Her own voice was strained but somehow still impossibly calm.

She’s going to make a great soldier…if we survive this.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked.

“They told me to run,” Claire said.

Gaby and Danny…

He clutched the knife in his left hand, thanking God he had held onto it all this time, and searched the darkness for his rifle, doing his best to squint through all the pockets of shadows. There were no traces of the carbine anywhere. Of course, there was so little light that it could have been right next to him, and if he didn’t step on it, he might never find—

Claire gasped.

Will looked up at a new pair of blue eyes piercing the darkened living room from the jagged hole in the wall. Its tall, elongated frame looked theatrical against the light of the moon splashing in behind it. Will couldn’t figure out if it really was that tall or if the angular shape of its body added to the preternatural deceit.

He reached down and pulled Claire’s arm away from him, pushing her back into the hallway. She went willingly.

The creature’s eyes shifted from Will to the dead carcass of the other ghoul lying on the floor behind him and Claire. What was it the creature was seeing? Was it the twisted body of its friend? Comrade? Maybe even a lover? Did they even love anymore?

“Kate made us promise her this time. I think she has big plans for you.”

What the hell does that mean?

Will reached for the holstered Glock at the same time the creature moved, but he only groped empty air. The Glock was gone. He hadn’t realized it until now, but he should have sooner. The gun belt felt lighter, but in all the moments of trying to survive, trying to just learn to breathe again, he had missed it.

He switched the knife to his right hand and prepared himself for the inevitable when Claire fired next to him. She was standing so close that he swore this time he really did go deaf from the noise of the shotgun blast. She didn’t stop with one shot, either.

The girl fired again and again, the self-loading gun allowing her to shoot without having to manually rack the weapon each time. She was so small she would never have managed it anyway, though Will was awestruck that she somehow held onto the shotgun after every shot. What was she, eighty pounds soaking wet?

The blue-eyed ghoul didn’t come straight at them. Oh no, it wasn’t going to make it that easy. Instead, it was running sideways—left, then right, then back again—like some kind of goddamn leaping animal. Buckshot from Claire’s blasts caught it in the sides, the thighs, and even took a big piece off its temple. The creature was almost on top of them when another blast hit it full in the chest, making a hole so absurdly wide that Will could actually see through it.

And yet it kept coming.

Will waited for Claire to fire again, but she didn’t. Or she couldn’t. The FNH had seven shots. Had she fired all seven?

Fuck it.

He launched himself forward at the oncoming creature. He saw its radiant blue eyes widen, registering shock a split-second before he hit it straight in the chest with his entire body, catching it while it was still in the air. He thought he might have heard a grunt from the undead thing, or maybe that was just air wheezing out of the gaping hole in its chest.

Something wet and thick slathered across Will’s face, joining the remains of the first dead ghoul, as he tackled the creature. They both fell to the floor in a heap, but Will had the momentum and he was up first. He shoved his left arm against its neck to pin it to the wooden floorboards, putting every ounce of strength he had into it. Even so, it was already getting back up, its strength unimaginable for something so sickly looking.

It was hissing at him. He couldn’t be sure if they were words or just guttural sounds. He didn’t give a damn. Its eyes bored into him. It didn’t quite look so amused or smug anymore, and for a second—just a split-second—Will allowed himself a momentary surge of triumph.

But it wouldn’t stop moving against him. Of course not; what was he thinking?

It had managed to pull its head up from the floor and its hands were reaching for his throat when Will slammed the cross-knife into its temple. He didn’t stop pushing down down down until the guard smacked into the bone and the end of the knife pierced the floorboard on the other side of the thing’s head.

The creature went slack almost instantly under him.

“Will!” Claire shouted.

He looked back at Claire, shoving shells from the pouch into her shotgun, her hands fumbling with the ammo because her eyes were elsewhere. He followed her gaze to the hole in the wall, knowing full well what he was going to find out there.

He wasn’t disappointed.

There were hundreds of them crowding around the ragged opening, and those were just the ones he could see. But there was something wrong with the way they moved. Or didn’t move. They weren’t pouring inside the house even though there was nothing to hold them back. Instead, they were peering tentatively at him.

No, he was wrong; they weren’t looking at him.

They were looking at the creature under him. The dead blue-eyed thing he was crouched over was the center of their universe. It, and only it, as if he didn’t exist at all. They weren’t running, or charging, and there was none of the rabid intensity he was so used to.

“Will, what should we do?” Claire shouted behind him.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“But—”

“Don’t move.”

Will looked down at the creature lying still, dead (again), on the floor. Blue eyes, not quite as bright as before, stared accusingly back up at him. He pulled out the knife, then grabbed as firm a grip as he could on the smooth, oozing black skull and lifted it up.

The mass of quivering figures outside the house seemed to go absolutely still as one. He saw something in them, in their responses, that he hadn’t seen in a while. Since that night back in Harold Campbell’s facility. And he could smell it, too. It wasn’t the two dead creatures’ flesh and muscle and blood that drenched him from head to toe.

No, this was coming from the hundreds (thousands?) of undead things that gathered outside the house.

Fear.

They were afraid.

Will looked down at the blue-eyed ghoul, then, getting a better grip on the smooth head, began sawing the neck with the cross-knife.

“Oh God,” Claire said behind him just before he heard retching, followed by the smell of vomit.

He kept sawing…

34

Gaby

Someone was screaming inside the bedroom, but it was impossible to tell if it was Danny, Milly, Claire, or Annie. She guessed it had to be either Milly or Annie, though it was a stretch that Milly could produce that kind of ear-splitting sound. It couldn’t be Claire, who was as strong as a rock. And she knew for a fact that it couldn’t possibly be Danny, because she had never heard Danny scream in his life. At least, not in fear like this.

Not that she could have done anything to help them anyway, because the blue-eyed ghoul was right in front of her, grinning like a madman. There was something amazingly human about its expression—a twisted, nightmarish version of what a man would look like if he simply gave in to all his base animal urges.

She pulled the trigger on the M4 again and got off another three-round burst. Just a lone silver bullet found its target this time, snapping a piece of flesh off the creature’s shoulder blade as its body slid to the right to dodge the other two rounds. Then, without missing a beat, it was moving forward with that same unnatural fluidity that shouldn’t be possible.

Impossible. All of this is impossible.

It grabbed the rifle by the barrel and yanked it out of her hands. The move was so effortless that for a moment it took her breath away. She staggered back, unsure if she even had control of her legs anymore. She reached down to her hip for her sidearm and drew the Glock as the creature watched her, head cocked to one side, eyes glowing magnificently in the semidarkness of the narrow hallway.

She aimed for the head—

“Remember: shoot them in the head,” Will had said.

—and fired.

It flicked its head to one side, and the bullet sailed harmlessly past it and hit the master bedroom doorframe at the other end of the second floor.

“Remember…”

She fired again.

It moved its head left, and again the bullet disappeared up the hallway, but this time it vanished into the darkened bedroom. She prayed she didn’t accidentally hit Danny or one of the girls.

“…shoot them in the head.”

She squeezed the trigger again and again and again—

The creature continued coming toward her, its head snapping left, then right, as if it were sashaying, a dancer with absolute control over every inch of its body, every slight twitch. Its head bobbed and weaved like a boxer.

And it kept coming…

It was three feet away when she fired her final shot and watched the bullet graze its cheek, taking away flesh and cutting into bone underneath. There was a thin trickle of black blood before the wound seemed to seal itself up.

It stood so close to her now that she could feel its breath—acidic and strangely warm—against her face. It watched her struggling to reload the Glock, her fingers trembling from the adrenaline and terror and the sight of this undead thing standing so close to her that it could reach out at any moment and lick her face.

She managed to put the magazine in and worked the slide, and as she lifted the weapon there was a blur of black skin and the gun flew from her hand. Her arm stung from the blow and she backpedaled again in shock.

It followed and grabbed her by the shoulders, smashing her into the wall. The entire house shook. Or maybe that was just her imagination. The world that existed from her toes to her head definitely trembled because she couldn’t focus on any one thing anymore as pain exploded through every fiber of her being.

She slid to the floor, thankful that the wall was there to prevent her from collapsing like the sad sack of useless meat she felt like at the moment. Her ears might have been bleeding, and she couldn’t feel the shape of the earbud in her ear anymore. When had she lost that? And where was the radio? It was gone, too. When had that happened? Maybe it was for the best, since she couldn’t hear much of anything anyway, even the gunfire from below her.

Will.

And Danny from the main bedroom. Was he shooting? Was that the pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire? Or something else? Maybe all the noises were being conjured up by her mind, which at the moment might have been on fire.

Was that possible? Could her mind actually be burning?

And pain. There was so much pain...

She couldn’t feel her left arm, which had jammed into the wall first. Was it broken? She couldn’t move it no matter how hard she tried. So maybe.

And what the hell was that ringing in her ears?

It was crouching in front of her, long bony legs bending at awkward angles. Its smooth skin, pulled taut over a sharp skeletal frame, reminding her of all those anorexic supermodels in lingerie catalogs. Eat something, she wanted to say to it, then maybe laugh in its face. Of course, when she opened her mouth to do just that, only a slight gasp came out.

Had she even opened her mouth? Could her mouth even move?

It touched her cheek with one long, slender finger. There was no fingernail, only a fleshy nub. The contact was surprisingly gentle, almost like a lover’s caress. She didn’t feel very loved, though, but trying to pull away was not working. She only managed to turn her head slightly, but even that took a lot of effort, and the creature simply grabbed her chin with its other hand and forced her to stare back at it again.

“I knew someone,” it said, hissing out the words.

Unfathomably bright eyes pierced through her as if they could touch her soul, but she didn’t see what she expected to see. There was no glaring evil on the other side, just something that, once upon a time, was human, but wasn’t anymore.

“She looked like you,” it said.

It turned her head carefully left, then right again, as if to get a good look at every inch of her face, to memorize every line, every bruise and healing scar. The broken nose from this morning and the cuts from the helicopter crash that still hadn’t fully healed yet, and might never.

“Not as pretty, but close,” it said.

The crashing of gunshots. Danny and Will. Fighting for their lives against how many more of these monsters inside the house? Three? One was definitely inside the room with Danny, so were the other two downstairs with Will? How was Will going to fight off two when she and Danny could barely survive one each?

We’re dead. We’re all dead.

If we’re lucky…

The creature turned its head, looking back toward the bedroom, just as a small figure emerged out of the blackness.

Claire.

The thirteen-year-old was holding the shotgun Will had given her. It still looked ridiculously massive against her slight frame. Claire was running toward them when she slid to a stop in front of the pile of debris—and Lance, still buried under them—as the ghoul feasted its eyes on her.

“Shoot it!” Gaby shouted. “Shoot it in the head!”

The creature was standing up when Claire fired, the shotgun blast so loud in the narrow passageway that Gaby physically flinched at the explosion. The ghoul turned its body slightly right as most of the buckshot glanced off its shoulder, the rounds punching through soft flesh and embedding into the wall.

Then it moved toward the girl.

No, not Claire! Stay away from her!

Gaby’s eyes darted down to the floor.

The Glock. Where the hell was the Glock?

There!

Less than three feet away. She lunged for it, throwing her entire body forward with everything she had, unsure if it would even work until her chest slammed into the floor. That was a stupid move. More blinding flashes of pain, but she gritted her teeth through them and she reached for the 9mm handgun, wrapped her numbed fingers around it—

She struggled to sit back up.

The creature was almost on top of Claire, who had backed up and fired again. A large chunk of the ghoul’s thigh disintegrated, but the creature kept advancing, undeterred. It could have reached Claire faster, she realized. She had seen it move with blinding speed when it wanted to. But it wasn’t at the moment. Why not?

Because this is a game. It’s playing with her.

It’s all just a game to them…

“Hey!” Gaby shouted.

It turned and looked back at her, and its mouth curved into a grin.

“Run!” Gaby shouted, not at the creature, but at Claire. “Go to Will! Go now!”

Claire climbed over the debris and Lance and darted down the stairs.

The ghoul didn’t seem interested in pursuing Claire anymore. It only had eyes for her again. “Still want to play?” it hissed.

“No,” she said, and shot it in the right kneecap.

The gun was steady in her hand. She didn’t know how that was possible, but it barely moved as she fired.

The creature’s leg buckled, and as it went down, she shot it again, this time in the left kneecap, forcing it to involuntarily kneel in front of her.

Then she saw it in its eyes.

Understanding.

It knew what she was doing, and it wasn’t smiling anymore.

It started to get up when she shot it again, but this time her hand moved slightly for whatever reason, and she hit it in the cheek. The impact snapped its head upward like a spring. Before it could fully recover, she shot it in the center of the face. Its nose—or what was left of it—exploded into tiny chunks, and something punched its way out of the back of its skull, sticky wet goop splattering across the walls.

The creature flopped sideways and lay still.

It wasn’t as dramatic as she thought it would be. One second it was on its knees, as if in worship, and the next it was lying in a pool of its own oozing black blood, blue eyes still incandescent in the semidarkness. It might have even been looking back at her. Or maybe through her. What mattered was that it didn’t move again.

She struggled up to her feet. It was difficult. Her left arm wouldn’t respond no matter how hard she tried. She stumbled over the twisted carcass—it looked more emaciated in death for some reason, and less powerful—and up the hallway.

She stopped for a moment at the sight of Lance, buried in debris, bright red blood pooling under him with the halo of moonlight falling through the opening in the roof. Gaby looked toward the stairs. She couldn’t hear anything from down there. Not a single sound. And she couldn’t see anything, either. The other end of the staircase was completely swallowed in darkness.

Crying, coming from the master bedroom. Annie. Or was it Milly?

She climbed over the debris and Lance—she felt like throwing up while doing it—and fumbled her way to the open bedroom door. She lifted the Glock as she neared it. There was just enough moonlight shining through the still-barricaded window that she could make out a figure on the floor, near the center of the room.

Danny. God, don’t let it be Danny.

As she stepped closer, the shape on the floor became clearer.

Don’t let it be Danny…

It wasn’t Danny. It was one of the ghouls, lying on its back. Where she expected to see blue eyes, there were instead two black holes. Except they were much bigger than eye holes were supposed to be. The head lay in a thick puddle of congealed blood, blackened against the moonlight. Danny’s cross-knife was buried in the creature’s forehead up to the guard.

“Danny!” Gaby called out.

“Over here,” a voice said.

There was a click! and Danny’s face was lit up by a flashlight beam. He grinned back at her through a layer of blood. A mixture of black and red, like some kind of Kabuki mask. It was impossible to tell where he was bleeding, or where he wasn’t.

“Can you move?” she asked.

“My right leg’s broken,” he said. “Too bad, cause that’s my dancing leg.”

“Annie?”

Danny moved the light away from him and across the room at Annie. She was still huddled in the corner with Milly, the two of them having folded up into a ball, arms encircling each other in mutual defense. Both were crying softly, unwilling to look up even when Danny’s flashlight illuminated them.

“The other girl…” Danny said.

Gaby looked back toward the stairs.

“Go,” Danny said.

“What about you?”

“I got this situation well in hand. The busted leg’s just to make it fairer.”

She managed a slight smile at him before stumbling her way back down the hallway toward the stairs, fighting the urge to throw up again as she stepped over Lance and the debris a second time. The fact that Lance’s face, turned to the side, was clearly visible in the pouring moonlight made her gag slightly.

She finally reached the stairs and hurried down.

“Will!” she called out. “Claire!”

Her voice echoed, but there was no reply. The only sound was the loud echo of her footsteps. She was halfway down when a silhouetted figure moved in the darkness below her. She stopped and lifted the Glock.

“Don’t shoot!” a small voice shouted.

Claire.

Gaby sighed and ran down the rest of the way as Claire stepped back. The thirteen-year-old was still clutching the FNH in both hands, and she didn’t look hurt or bleeding. Then again, it was so dark on the first floor that Gaby could barely see where she was stepping. She could tell where Claire was looking, though, and she turned in that direction.

Will.

He stood with his back to her, standing near a large hole in the wall of the house. The loud boom that she had heard earlier, she guessed. Some kind of explosion. Will was holding his M4A1 at his side, not in any threatening manner, and was looking out at the front yard.

“Will,” she said, a lot quieter than she had meant to.

Will glanced over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Alive.”

“Danny?”

“Alive, too.”

He nodded and looked forward again.

Gaby turned to Claire. “You okay?”

Claire nodded. “Annie and Milly…?”

“They’re fine.”

“I saw Lance…”

“Yeah.” She looked back at Will, but said to the girl, “Stay here.”

She walked to Will and almost stepped on a body lying on the floor, hidden in the shadows. She looked down at a twisted black and pruned carcass. Or what was left of it. The head was missing. The monster wasn’t the only evidence of a fight down here. There were also two men in uniforms lying unmoving on the floor, both wearing gas masks. She didn’t have to ask Will what had happened to them.

“Will,” Gaby said. “What happened to the others? The black-eyed ones?”

“They’re still out there,” Will said. “There’s a lot of them.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Maybe thousands.”

“Why haven’t they…?”

She didn’t finish her question, because by then she was standing beside Will and looking out the hole in the wall. There was something else there in the middle of the jagged opening. It was a decapitated head impaled on a long, thin piece of broken wood. The head was hairless and the smooth skin gleamed in the moonlight. When she looked back at the dead creature behind her, she was able to put two and two together.

“Where…?” she whispered.

“Outside,” Will said. He wasn’t whispering, she realized.

She looked out the house and into the yard again. Will was right. The ghouls hadn’t gone anywhere. They were still outside.

All of them.

She could only see the first few hundred through the opening. The rest were hidden in the darkness beyond the power of even the moon to reveal. Not just in the yard, but around the house. The sides, the back, and well into the fields, too.

Her heart pounded at the sight of the creatures amassed outside. Their eyes, always creepy even when there was just one of them, were unfathomably terrifying with so many gathered at one spot. They looked like uncertain children, tentative and afraid. At first she thought they were looking at Will, but she was mistaken. They were staring at the head he had placed in the middle of the hole in the wall, which looked like the crooked mouth of a cave opening.

There was, she knew with great certainty, absolutely nothing to stop the thousands of undead things out there from coming into the house at any moment. Even silver bullets would only kill so many before the rest overwhelmed them in an unstoppable tidal wave of black death. And then what? They could head up the stairs, but against that many, they would never survive the night. She didn’t have to look down at her watch to know that they had hours—hours—to go before sunrise.

But the creatures weren’t attacking. They stayed where they were, swaying slightly against each other, a mass of squirming black flesh, almost indistinguishable against the night. There was something odd about the way they looked at the head, with a mixture of fear and awe and something she hadn’t really seen from them before.

It was indecision. They didn’t know what to do.

“Will,” Gaby whispered. “How did you know it would work?”

“I didn’t,” Will said. “But the blue-eyed ones control them. I just didn’t know to what extent.” He paused, then, “There were two more…”

“They’re upstairs. Dead.”

“Good.” Will pulled out his cross-knife and handed it to her, the silver gleaming brilliantly against a stray stream of moonlight. “Bring them down here. Just the heads.”

* * *

It was stickier than she had expected, and the smell made her want to retch every few seconds. She was no stranger to blood these days, but this wasn’t really blood. At least, not anymore. It was like washing her hands in tar, and she wondered if she would ever be able to clean them off—really, really clean them off—after tonight.

Cutting the heads hadn’t been easy with one hand. Her left was still effectively useless (though she didn’t tell Will that), but she found that pressing down on the creatures’ chests with one knee and slicing with her right hand was good enough. It took a lot of work, but thank God it hadn’t been as difficult to saw through bone as she had anticipated.

The black blood dripped from her fingers as she stood next to Claire and watched Will prop up the two heads on two separate objects sticking up from the floor. With the first makeshift spike, Will had broken a hole in the floorboards with the heel of his boot, then rammed the piece of wood into the dirt ground and set the head on top. He did a similar thing now with the two new heads she had brought down, using a lamp for one, shoving the exposed neck into the spot where the lightbulb was supposed to go, then setting it down on the ground. He used a rifle he had picked up from the floor for the other one.

If she thought the sight of the three decapitated heads side by side was disturbing, she felt better at how uncomfortable, how frightened the black-eyed ghouls looked outside where they continued to amass in the hundreds and thousands.

Claire stood next to her, both of them keeping a safe distance behind Will. He hadn’t moved, so they hadn’t, either. She wasn’t sure how long they stood on the first floor, in the darkness, waiting for something to happen.

But the ghouls never came in. They remained outside for the rest of the night and through the early morning hours. As far as she could tell, they barely moved at all and continued to huddle against one another, shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, peering in at the three severed heads, as if transfixed.

Around midnight, Will ordered her and Claire upstairs.

Annie was asleep in the corner, on the floor, with Milly snoring in her lap. Danny had (somehow) stood up and was peering out the window through the slots. He was using his rifle as a crutch and had wrapped pieces of lumber around his broken right leg with duct tape. He drank water and kept in constant contact with Will downstairs through their radios. Like Will and her, he had lost his earbuds during the chaos, but both of them had managed to keep their radios in one piece.

Gaby wanted to pick up Milly and put her on the bed, but she didn’t have nearly enough feeling in her left arm to lift her own hand, much less carry the girl. So she sat on the bed with Claire instead and listened to the thirteen-year-old gradually fall asleep, until eventually she was snoring in tune with Milly and Annie. Claire was still clutching the shotgun against her chest as if it were a childhood teddy bear.

She stayed awake throughout the night and morning, watching Danny as he stood, unmoving, by the window. Every now and then, he asked her to take out some food from his pack and they ate. It didn’t occur to her until much later that he could hardly move.

“You okay?” she asked as he chewed on some stale jerky.

“Sure,” he said, giving her a smile.

Danny had rinsed blood off his face with water, leaving behind a gash along his cheek and another one across his temple that he had treated. Those new wounds, along with his broken nose, ruined the California surfer good looks. But scars, she knew, would heal. It was the ones you couldn’t see that lingered.

“You did good, kid,” Danny said after a while.

“Thanks.”

“Not just tonight. The last few weeks, too, to hear Willie boy tell it.”

“I did okay.”

“Don’t be so modest. We did so good with you, I told the guy downstairs we should open a school. Willie and Danny’s School of Asskicking. What do you think? If you refer a friend, you get a free ammo can filled with silver bullets as bounty.”

She smiled. “Sign me up.”

“I’ll do that. Now, go to sleep,” Danny said. “I’ll wake you in an hour for your turn at the window.”

She didn’t argue. She simply didn’t have the strength.

Gaby lay down on the bed next to Claire’s snoring form. She didn’t think it would happen, but as soon as she closed her eyes (Just for a little bit), she was asleep.

* * *

Danny was still standing by the window when she opened her eyes and struggled up on the bed.

“Danny,” she said. “You were supposed to wake me.”

“You feel that?” he asked.

She did. The warmth inside the room. The brightness of the walls. The bloody stains on the floorboards looking more ghastly somehow in the morning light. And the small remnants of blood that Danny had failed to clean off his face during the night.

Morning!

“We made it,” she said softly, afraid that if she said it too loud it might jinx it.

Danny nodded. “Told you.”

She looked down at Claire, who had crawled over to sleep in her lap sometime during the night. Annie and Milly were both snoring on the floor in the corner, Milly curled up in a fetal position. The girl looked cold despite the sun that highlighted her dirty round face.

“So what now?” she asked.

“We go home,” Danny said.

“Can we?”

“I don’t see why not.”

She carefully untangled herself from Claire, then climbed off the bed and walked across the room to the window. She looked out at the empty front yard. The grass was trampled and there were signs everywhere that hundreds (thousands) of ghouls had been down there last night. The trucks, she saw with some relief, were still where she had last seen them, and they looked to be in the same condition.

“Will?” she asked.

“Still giving head downstairs.”

She smiled, then peered out across the farm at the highway in the near distance. She expected to see trucks—or technicals, as Will and Danny called them—staring back at her, waiting to finish the job, but they were gone, too.

“The soldiers?” she said.

“They made like bananas and split sometime around sunrise,” Danny said. “My guess is, they realized we had a secret weapon—” he glanced at Claire’s snoring form on the bed “—and decided not to risk it. What is she, twenty?”

“Thirteen.”

“The hell you say.”

“Uh huh.”

“Damn. That girl saved my life last night.”

“How did she manage that?”

“When Frankly Dead Sinatra came through the door, she was the one who distracted it long enough so it didn’t rip my heart out when it had the chance. Hit it with that shotgun of hers, like she was swinging a mallet at a county fair. I guess she didn’t want to risk shooting it for fear of hitting me. Thank God. Have you ever been shotgunned?”

“No.”

“Take my word for it, kid; you’re gonna want to avoid it if you can.”

“I saw her outside in the hallway. She saved my life, too.”

“Technically, you owe me since I’m the one who told her to run.” He looked over at Annie and Milly. “I told them, too, but they weren’t quite as good at following orders. Anyway, when ol’ Blue Eyes was distracted, I managed to judo it and got on top and did my thing with the knife.” He mimed it for her. “I feel sorry for it, actually. It never stood a chance.”

“I didn’t know you knew judo,” she said.

“I didn’t tell you? Judo and me go way back. She still calls me every time she’s in town. She loves to wrestle, oh boy, does she ever.”

Gaby couldn’t help but laugh. Even her left arm didn’t seem to be hurting quite as much as when she had first opened her eyes a few minutes ago. Well, that wasn’t quite true, but she figured as long as she told herself that, the pain was manageable.

Mostly, anyway.

Epilogue

They didn’t like seeing him around, and though they did their best to hide it, it was never really good enough. Sometimes he wondered if they were trying at all, or if their hatred for him managed to seep through anyway despite their best efforts. Not that it mattered. Their opinions didn’t have any effect on him either way.

He had been chosen. It was something they would never understand.

“Something’s happening over there,” Travis said. “Turner says there’s a lot of shooting. He could hear it from half a mile away.”

“On the island?” Josh asked.

“Yeah.”

“What did he say was happening?”

“He’s not close enough to know for sure, but he says it sounds like a gun battle, and it’s been going on for the last thirty minutes.”

Josh liked being out here, in the open at night. It was such a luxury after so many months of hiding in smelly basements and other people’s houses, and he took advantage of it whenever he could.

This is the privilege of the chosen. Freedom.

He leaned against the patio railing on the second floor of the red house overlooking Beaufont Lake. A pair of men in uniforms walked along the docks, and there were more on the other docks up and down the shoreline. Just over thirty men in all. Josh had arrived before nightfall with twenty soldiers to augment the twenty or so already here. Except when he showed up, there were only twelve left. Eight were dead.

“They hit us,” Travis had said. “They had a grenade launcher.”

Josh hadn’t bothered to ask for details, because it didn’t matter. Thirty-two men wasn’t going to be enough to overwhelm Song Island. He was already hesitant to move on them with forty, but without Will and Danny, he thought it was doable. Just women and children mostly, he had thought.

“What should we do?” Travis asked now. He sounded nervous when he added, “What does she want us to do?”

Travis was in his thirties and could have passed for Josh’s dad. He used to be some kind of supervisor at a construction company and was used to giving orders, which made him ideal to take over this group, now that the guy who was supposed to lead them had gone and gotten himself dead earlier today. Caught in an explosion, according to Travis.

“She hasn’t told me yet,” Josh said.

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Earlier today, before I came here.”

“I thought they slept in the day?”

“They do.”

“So how…?”

“If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you,” Josh said, cutting the older man off. “Tell Turner to get as close as he can without being seen and find out what’s happening on the island.”

Travis nodded. Josh could tell he wanted to say something else, but Travis turned and went back into the house instead. The glass door opened and slid shut behind him. Like everyone these days, even though he was safe in the night, Travis couldn’t quite shake the nervousness and preferred to stay indoors when possible.

And for good reason, too. Josh could see them out there, skirting around the spotlights his men had set up around the perimeter. After two attacks in two days, Josh wasn’t going to take any chances. He had men all the way up the highway watching everything—

Josh smelled it before it even announced its presence. They gave off a scent that was different from the black-eyed ones. Travis probably couldn’t tell the difference, but he had never really been around these new breed of ghouls. Josh had. Too many times to count.

So he didn’t have to glance back at the tall, silhouetted figure standing in the shadows behind him, blue eyes glowing softly against the darkness.

“Why haven’t you taken the island yet?” the ghoul asked. Its voice, like all the other blue-eyed ones, came out as more of a soft hiss, almost like a lisp. It was male, though sometimes it was hard to tell, even for Josh. “It’s become a haven. A beacon of hope. It has to be taken at all costs.”

“We don’t have enough people,” Josh said. His voice was calm and steady. The trick was not to let them know you were afraid. “I’ve sent for more. They’re coming tomorrow, with additional supplies.”

“And you can take the island then…”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Josh said. Did his voice just quiver a little bit? Of course not. He wasn’t afraid of them. He didn’t have to be. He was one of the chosen. “Where’s Kate? She usually gives me the orders herself.”

“She’s busy.”

“With what?”

“It’s none of your concern, meat.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“Don’t I?” It sounded amused that time.

Josh fought the urge to whirl around and face the creature. It was testing him, trying to see if it could get under his skin. But he wasn’t afraid. Why should he be? He was one of the chosen. He didn’t have to fear anymore.

“Tomorrow,” the creature said. “No more excuses. You’ll take the island tomorrow.”

“What about Gaby? Kate told me she’s still alive.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll save your precious lover for you.”

“Don’t hurt her.”

The creature might have snickered. “Just do your part, meat. We’ll bring your female to you, as promised.”

“I’ll take the island, don’t you worry,” Josh said. “What else—”

He stopped. He didn’t have to look back to know it was gone. He could feel it in the way the air hung and the sudden loss of the familiar scent.

Josh refocused on the calm water of Beaufont Lake in front of him instead.

Pros and cons: What were they?

Pros: Gaby was alive. Thank God. She had escaped L15 and hadn’t perished inside the cave outside of town as reported by his men. (Those idiots.) She was stuck outside of Dunbar now. Trapped and surrounded and outmatched. But they wouldn’t harm her once they killed the others. Will and Danny, and some kids he didn’t know and didn’t care about. Gaby was all that mattered. Gaby had always been the only thing that mattered.

Cons: He would storm Song Island tomorrow once the replacements showed up. They had no shortage of manpower these days. All the civilians in the towns were volunteering by the dozens. It had to be the uniforms. Everyone was a sucker for uniforms. It was why he had come up with the military idea in the first place. Even Kate hadn’t thought of it. She and Mabry were already replicating his success in the other states and around the world. Soon, he’d join them in the global effort to domesticate the planet. But that was for later. For now, there was Song Island to deal with.

Conclusion: Gaby was alive and soon they would be reunited. He had failed to convince her before, but he couldn’t give up now. Gaby was too important. She was everything. Even if he had to lock her up for a month or a year. Sooner or later, she would come around. He just needed time. And to get that precious time, he would have to take Song Island and show Mabry he could do more than just think outside the box, that he could act—and do it successfully—too.

He was one of the chosen, after all.

One of these days, humanity would thank him. They would write books about him. Maybe he’d even get his own national holiday. Wouldn’t that be something?

Josh smiled into the darkness and looked south, where he imagined Song Island was.

Tomorrow. It would all be over tomorrow.

There would be violence. It was inevitable. Lara wouldn’t just let him land on the island. They would have to take it by force. Overwhelming force.

The white beaches were going to run red with blood.

So be it.

About The Ashes of Pompeii

Copyright (c) 2015 Sam Sisavath

Every war requires sacrifices.

The only way to survive in a post-Purge world is to keep your head down, but that’s not always an option.

Still stranded in the Louisiana countryside, Will, Danny, and Gaby race against the clock to get back to their friends, but the road home is treacherous and enemies lie in wait.

Meanwhile, Lara and the survivors at Song Island continue preparations for an inevitable attack. But what does a third-year medical student know about fending off a full-frontal assault?

As enemies close in on all sides, Will and Lara will be faced with life-and-death decisions. The lives of their friends—and possibly the future of humanity—will rest on the choices they make.

A year after The Purge, the Gates have held, the Stones have crumbled, and the Fires have burned, but now the Ashes will consume…

Prelude

The little girl begged her not to do it.

Not with words, because the fear was too much and the simple act of uttering a sound was beyond her ability at the moment. Instead, dirt-caked lips trembled and light brown eyes (large as saucers, as her father used to say) stared back at her as if the girl couldn’t comprehend what was happening or why.

Her father. When was the last time she had thought of him? Sometimes, when she least expected it, memories from her past rushed back to remind her of what once was but could never be again. Sometimes these disjointed flashes would stay awhile, but often they were fleeting.

The girl was still staring intently at her.

Brown eyes, large as saucers…

But her father wasn’t the reason she lingered on the girl’s face. Those eyes, they reminded her of him. Every pair of brown eyes she encountered these days did. She didn’t know why exactly, and the not knowing gnawed at her like an elusive tick. There was nothing extraordinary about him. Nothing that she couldn’t find in a hundred other men. A thousand. Tens of thousands.

And yet, and yet…

They’d found the girl hiding in the woods outside one of the towns. How she had managed to stray this far, for this long, was a mystery. Moonlight glinted off her large-as-saucers eyes as she peered out from her hiding place, a thick patch of undergrowth that had formed years ago, and would continue to grow as the planet consumed the remains of humanity. Even now, you could barely tell man used to tread these areas.

The ones who had found the girl swayed back and forth in the background. Her brood. They made very little noise. She once thought they were empty husks, useless flesh draped over frail bones, but she had been mistaken. There were still shreds of humanity in them, somewhere; they were just pushed into the background. Unlike her and the other chosen ones, it was difficult for her brood to reclaim what they had lost.

She crouched in front of the girl and watched the little figure shrink back in response, as if she could disappear into the thickets if she tried hard enough. The fear trembled across the parts of her rail-thin body that were visible, and the smell of fresh urine lingered. The girl wore dirty clothes and was barefoot, dried mud clinging to her toes. She folded her arms around scraped knees and peered up while periodically sneaking glances at the things moving quietly in the darkness around them.

“You’re safe,” she said to the girl. Her voice came out as a hiss and she hated it, but it was beyond her control. The transformation did things to her body at the cellular level, all the way up to the noises she made.

The girl didn’t believe her, and her eyes darted to the darkness again before returning. If she was terrified, the little thing was handling it well. She reminded her of Vera, Carly’s little sister. Carly had been her friend too, once upon a time.

“Yes,” she whispered, trying her best to lessen the hissing. It was difficult, a monumental task, and she didn’t know why she was making the effort. But there was something about the girl that she wanted to draw out. “You’re safe now. With me.” She couldn’t tell if the girl believed her that time. “What’s your name?”

The dirt-tinged lips quivered and a squeaky voice, like that of a mouse, said, “Mary.”

“Hello, Mary. My name is Kate.”

She smiled—or thought she did. Her lips didn’t always do what she wanted them to these days. It was so much easier to communicate with the others, with her brood. This old form of talking was crude and cumbersome and took too much effort.

“What are you doing out here by yourself, Mary?”

“My dad…” the girl said, her voice growing stronger with each word, her fear slipping little by little.

“Where is he?”

“Out there…”

Gone, a voice whispered inside her head. We took him two nights ago.

It wasn’t one voice, but many—a cacophony of fractured thoughts that clashed and merged and somehow formed meaning anyway. It came from the swaying figures behind her, from the ones keeping out of sight, as well as the hundreds racing across the darkened woods like children playing. There was no individuality among the brood; there was just the collective, the us. It was one of the few things that she still struggled with.

“Let me take you to him,” she said, and held out her hand.

The girl hesitated.

“You’ll be safe with me, Mary. I promise.”

“You’re not like them…”

“No. I’m different. I’m…something else.”

“You won’t hurt me?”

“No. I promise. Do you believe me?”

A slight tremor from the girl turned into a weak nod.

“Now, take my hand, and let me take you to your father.”

Soft fingers caked with a generous layer of dirt wrapped around her own long, slender ones. She was sure the girl’s fear would reclaim her and that she would retreat at any second, but the surprising toughness that reminded her so much of Vera caused the girl to tighten her grip instead.

“You’re such a brave girl, Mary. So brave.”

She pulled the girl out of her hiding place slowly, gently. Long, stringy auburn hair fell over a round face. One day, she would grow up to be a beautiful young woman. One day, boys would flock to her and other girls would be jealous and whisper cruel words behind her back. One day, those big brown eyes (big as saucers) would make her popular.

“Where’s my dad?” Mary asked. Her voice had continued to grow stronger, more confident.

“We’ll find him,” she said. She stood up too, extending her long thin frame, the joints clacking slightly as she did so.

The girl had to crane her neck to look up at her. “They won’t hurt us? The monsters in the shadows?”

“No. They’re my children. And they’re very obedient.”

“You’re their mother?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“You have so many questions.”

Mary smiled. It was delicate and radiant. “You’re not like the others.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re friendly.”

“Yes…”

“But they’re not.”

The girl glanced at the dozen or so of the brood that hadn’t hidden themselves well enough. Upon discovery, her children scurried back until it was just the night and her and the girl again in the clearing.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re with me now. They won’t hurt you.”

Mary looked up at her again, her smile widening. In the moonlight, she looked cherubic and pure. “We’re going to find my dad now?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go? I thought he’d left me.”

“No. He would never leave you. No parent would leave their brood.”

“Brood?”

“My children…”

“Oh.”

She tightened her grip around Mary’s wrist and led her toward the darker parts of the woods. There was stirring in the shadows as her children stepped back to make room. She didn’t have to tell them. They knew her wants and needs, and they obeyed without question.

“Kate?” Mary said. Her voice had gotten smaller, and she could practically hear (sense) the fear creeping back into every inch of her small frame. “You’re hurting my hand. Kate? Kate?”

“Shhh,” she said, putting one long, bony finger to her lips and looking down at the girl. “It’ll be over soon, little Mary. Shhh…”

Book One

The Rundown

1

Keo

“See the world. Kill some people. Make some money.”

Well, one out of three wasn’t bad.

Okay, so it was downright pitiful, but then Keo was used to making lemonade out of lemons these days. First there was that whole end of the world curveball, then getting stuck with strangers in a cabin in the woods. He compounded those problems by falling in (lust) something with a girl named Gillian.

And now this.

“This” being stuck on a luxury yacht adrift in the middle of the lake with Song Island behind him and God only knew how many guys with guns in front of him. On the plus side, he was well-armed; besides the shotgun, he still had the Heckler & Koch MP5SD submachine gun, and he had added an AK-47 and a silver-chromed revolver with five bullets left to his arsenal. If life before everything went kaput had taught him anything, it was that there was no such thing as having “too many” guns.

Have bullets, will make mess.

In some ways, his life now wasn’t all that different than it was a year ago. These days, though, people weren’t paying him a lot of money to risk his hide. These days, he was voluntarily risking his precious limbs for…what again? A bunch of people he didn’t really know? Sure, he respected them, but was that really worth dying for?

Then again, maybe he had just finally developed something approaching a conscience.

Say it ain’t so.

The big guy with the melon for a head was lying half-on and half-off the floor of the upper deck. Or what was left of the head, anyway. The shotgun in Keo’s hands had removed most of the top portion, leaving behind something that looked suspiciously like a badly carved jack-o’-lantern. Clumps of blood and brains were spilled across the floorboards on the other side of the spiral stairwell that connected the upper and the main deck directly below.

There had been footsteps pounding up those same stairs a few seconds ago, but they quickly stopped after Melon Head took the buckshot to the side of the face. The hard chargers decided to retreat after that, then went very quiet soon after. They were tiptoeing around down there, most likely getting ready for an assault on his position. So they weren’t complete idiots, after all. Too bad. He liked dealing with amateurs.

Keo was crouched in the semidarkness of the Trident, the boat continuing to move even with the anchor lowered. He had turned off the whisper quiet engine at the same time, allowing him to hear everything around and underneath him, including his own slightly racing heartbeat.

Jesus, calm down. What is this, your first time in a firefight?

He leaned back from the turn in the hallway that connected the bulk of the deck’s floor with the bridge behind him. Keo spent a few seconds slowing down his breathing while keeping one ear open for noises.

Come on, boys, let’s not keep daddy waiting. He’s getting antsy.

Song Island was directly behind him, but Keo hadn’t had the opportunity to check how far he still was from the beach before he dropped the anchor to keep the boat from running aground by accident. They were close, he could tell that from the halo of lights visible on the other side of the bridge’s curving windshield, the swath of intense brightness reaching all the way across the room and into the hallway.

There was no doubt Lara and the others would have heard the shooting by now. Even muffled by the walls around him, there was no mistaking a shotgun blast against the quiet night. Just to make sure, though, Keo leaned out from the corner and fired another shot at the wall across the deck, squinting involuntarily at the thunderous boom!

There. They’d have to be deaf not to hear that.

He recalled his last conversation with Lara (a.k.a. kid leader), just before he went for a swim (again) in the cold lake water:

“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” she had said.

“Trust me,” he had replied, “if you hear shooting on the boat, there’s a very damn good reason for it.”

He didn’t know why, but Keo trusted her. She had proven to be a tough customer with some big brass ones. That was hard to find in a woman, but especially the civilian variety. He didn’t even mind that she had manipulated him into helping with the island’s defense the last few days. Now that was smooth. Keo was a shoot-first-and-what-was-the-question type of guy, but he’d always had a lot of grudging respect for people who could think two, three steps ahead and give orders with lives at stake (usually his).

He pressed his back against the wall and tried to pick up any slight vibrations that could signal an incoming attack.

Nothing. A big fat zero. Nada. Zilch.

That should have comforted him, but instead it just made him more paranoid.

Come on, boys, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?

To keep his mind off what may or may not be happening out there right now, Keo spent a few seconds taking inventory.

He counted four victims, but only three bodies. There were the two in the bridge—the captain (or the guy wearing a captain’s hat, anyway), his first mate, and a third man who had come up the stairs. And Melon Head made three stiffs. The captain was kneecapped and whimpering softly in one of the bridge’s corners. Alive, but whipped. Just the way Keo liked them.

That was four down and an unknown number still to go. The vanishing footsteps he had heard earlier were proof of that. There was also someone named Rod, a sniper who had been watching the island when the boat was on approach earlier tonight. He was likely on a high perch—possibly on top of Keo right this moment, or maybe somewhere along the side rails. Someplace high to shoot from.

Counting Rod, there were at least two more still running around out there. His one big advantage was that they were going to have to come to him if they wanted to get the Trident moving again. That meant retaking the controls on the bridge.

Keo waited for ten more seconds.

Then ten became twenty…

…and still no attack.

At thirty, he got up and moved, slightly bent over at the waist just in case (you could never be too careful when there were assholes running around with loaded guns), making a beeline back to the bridge. The assault rifle and submachine gun thumping against his back made more noise than he would have liked; the eerie quiet made them sound like firecrackers, and he wished he had tightened their straps before moving.

Live and learn, pal. Live and learn.

He slipped back inside the bridge and closed the door, then locked it. Not that he expected to keep out a half dozen determined assaulters, but it would give him time to prepare a proper defense. Which, in this case, meant waiting with the shotgun for the first target to appear so he could pull the trigger. Keo was a simple guy that way.

The “captain” was still in the corner, where Keo had left him earlier. The man had taken off his shirt (it turned out he had an undershirt beneath, though it, too, was now stained with blood) and wrapped it over his right kneecap, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. Keo couldn’t tell if the man was more freaked out by his injury, the pain, or the inability to stop blood from dripping through his makeshift tourniquet.

Or it could have been the sight of his first mate’s body, sitting on the floor with his back against the long console that covered nearly the entire front half of the room. The man, like Melon Head outside, was missing most of his noggin, with pieces of it clinging to the curving glass windshield behind him. It was a hell of a mess, made more surreal against the wash of the island’s LED and multicolored lights from the boat’s computer screens and buttons. The fragments of a destroyed handheld radio were sprinkled around the body. Too bad, because Keo would have liked to use it to contact the island.

If wishes were assholes…

Bottom line, he was cut off. Or, at least, until either the remains of the boat’s crew got their act together and assaulted the bridge or Lara decided to do something from her end. Frankly, he hated the idea of waiting for one of them to do something already. Patience had never been his strongest trait.

The captain flinched even before Keo got close enough to do anything to him. “Don’t kill me!”

Keo put a finger to his lips, and the man clenched his mouth shut. He picked up the white captain’s hat from the floor and put it back on the man’s damp head, then gave him a slight tap on the cheek.

“That’s a good boy,” Keo said.

“Don’t kill me,” the captain mouthed.

“Now why would I do a thing like that? You’ve been so cooperative.”

The captain glanced down at his bleeding leg.

“Oh sure, that,” Keo said. “You’re not the type to hold a grudge, are you?”

The captain looked uncertain about answering, so he didn’t.

“Let’s put that behind us and move on,” Keo said. “Start with this: How many of you are on the boat?”

The man stared back at him, sweat dripping down his forehead despite the cooling mid-October weather. It was still hot in the day, but at night Louisiana dipped to fifty and sometimes hit the forties. Right now Keo felt a slight chill; then again, he had been submerged in the lake not all that long ago, so that probably factored into it.

“Numbers,” Keo said when the man didn’t answer fast enough. “I need numbers, el capitan. How many are on the boat with you?”

The captain seemed to be seriously brooding over the question. It wouldn’t have surprised Keo if the man thought his life might be at stake, depending on his answer. He was a man in his late thirties and wore a beard that was flecked with white strays, and he actually did look like a ship’s captain. The only thing missing was a pressed white uniform like the one worn by that guy from The Love Boat.

“Come on, spit it out,” Keo said. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

“Sev—eight,” the captain finally said.

“Sev-eight? I must have been absent from Mrs. Krapthorpe’s math class that day. How many is sev-eight again?”

The captain swallowed. “Seven.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Keo pushed the barrel of the shotgun against the man’s wounded leg. The captain let out what sounded like a low-pitched squeal. Keo didn’t know what to make of that noise, but it seemed to be working so he added more pressure.

“Seven or eight?” Keo said. “Think carefully.”

“Eight,” the captain said, almost shouting the word out.

Keo lessened the pressure slightly. “Rod the sniper is one.”

“Yes…”

“Where is he?”

The captain’s eyes shifted up to the ceiling.

“Still?” Keo said.

A shrug and a look of uncertainty.

“And the others?” Keo asked.

“Below.”

“Doing what?”

“Guard—”

Keo heard a soft tap! and glanced up, reaching forward and clamping one hand over the captain’s mouth at the same time.

Tap…tap…

It was coming from the roof.

Rod, the sniper.

Keo pulled his hand away from the captain and took two, then three quick steps toward the middle of the bridge. He leaned the shotgun against the nearest wall and unslung the MP5SD. He traced the sound as it moved from the back of the roof toward the front. Slowly, carefully, because Rod the sniper was that kind of a guy.

A second later, an elongated shadow draped over the windshield. It was in the shape of a human head.

Keo fired into the ceiling, stitching it from west to east, then north to south until he had emptied half of the magazine. The only noise was the cyclical whine of the German weapon’s parts as it unleashed a series of 9mm rounds. The clink-clink-clink of bullet casings flicking and bouncing off the floor was louder than the actual gunshots themselves, thanks to the built-in suppressor at the end of the barrel.

There was a soft thud, followed by a pair of arms dangling out the windshield where the glass met the roof of the bridge. Blood dripped from the fingers and ran in thin rivulets along the smooth surface all the way to the bottom.

Five down, three to go.

Keo moved quickly to the door and pressed up against it. He stopped breathing entirely and listened, flattening his hands against the wall to search for any hints of vibrations that would signal the impending attack he had been waiting for.

To his surprise, he continued to hear nothing and felt nothing. Either these guys were incredibly patient, or they weren’t willing to risk their necks to regain control of the bridge. Frankly, Keo didn’t know whether to be impressed by their sense of self-preservation or irritated by it.

He looked over at the captain, who was staring back across the room at him. The man’s face was slicked with a new coat of sweat. That was either all fear, or the man was just a perspiration machine.

“Three to go,” Keo said.

The captain’s lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something but was too afraid to.

“Catfish got your tongue?”

He got a confused reaction that time.

Keo nodded at the largest chunk of the destroyed two-way radio on the floor next to the first mate’s body. “Got another one of those?”

The captain followed Keo’s glance, then looked back at him. The man gave Keo a look that convinced him the guy wasn’t sure if he should cooperate. Or maybe he was wondering what was in it for him.

Keo decided to help him out and drew the revolver from his waistband, cocking the hammer back. The loud click! seemed to echo through the large room.

The captain’s entire body went rigid.

“I think that’s a yes,” Keo said. “But you don’t want to tell me where I can find it. Now, normally I’d make you show me how to use the boat’s radio, but that console looks awfully complicated, and I’m just not a very techie sort of guy. So…where’s the backup radio?”

“Under the console,” the captain said.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Keo moved back across the room, maneuvering around the still-wet glistening pools of the first mate’s blood and brass casings that were now everywhere, and slid back a compartment under the large console that controlled every facet of the yacht. Inside, he found a first aid kit, supplies, and, near the back, another two-way portable radio. He fished it out and spent a few seconds trying to recall the frequency the islanders were using.

Keo turned the dial and pressed the transmit lever. “Lara, come in.”

Five seconds of silence went by.

Then ten…

Had he tuned into the right channel? The island was well within the radio’s reach, so that couldn’t have been it. Of course, if they didn’t recognize his voice, they might not respond. Maybe they were wondering who the hell had just broken into their lines of communication—

“Keo,” a voice finally said through the radio. Lara. “You’re still alive.”

“Surprised?” Keo said.

“Just worried. What’s going on over there? What’s your situation? We heard shooting. Was that you?”

“It wasn’t Santa Claus. Watch out for snipers. I took one out, but there might be more.”

“I was wondering what was hanging off the bridge’s roof.”

“That would be Rod.”

“You talked to him?”

“I heard the captain and his first mate talking.”

“What else did you hear?”

“Remember our talk? That if I started shooting, there’s a damn good reason for it?”

“I remember.”

“Well, there’s a damn good reason I started shooting.”

She didn’t answer back right away. After a while, she said, “We’re getting ready to head over and board the boat right now.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“There are still three more of them running around outside the bridge. I have no idea where they are at the moment. That means they could be lying in wait for you, so there’s no point in taking the risk. At least, not yet.”

“What about you? Are you under attack?”

“Not right now. They seem to be hanging back.”

He looked over at the door just to make sure. It would have been a hell of a jinx if they burst inside as soon as the words came out of his mouth. But the door was still closed, and there were no telltale vibrations of approaching men.

These guys are either the most patient assholes left in the known universe, or they’re quaking in their boots right now.

“What about the yacht?” Lara asked. “It stopped moving.”

“I killed the engines and dropped anchor. At the moment, I have possession of the bridge. That means I control where the boat goes; or, in this case, doesn’t go. But I don’t have eyes on what’s happening outside or on the two lower decks.”

Another long pause from her. He could almost imagine that brain of hers working, turning over her options, trying to come up with a plan that wouldn’t get her people killed. The kid leader was definitely impressive.

“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll stay back for now. What are you going to do next?”

“I’m going to stay up here and wait for them to make their move. If they’re smart, they’ll realize they’re beat and take one of the life boats and abandon ship.”

“And if they’re not that smart?”

“I got plenty of bullets,” Keo said. “And since I’m surrounded by water in this floating tub, this is one time where the night’s my friend.”

* * *

The night settled down into a crawl, with the only noise coming from the occasional slapping of Beaufont Lake’s lazy waves against the hull of the Trident. It always amazed him just how dead the world was at night. Now mostly devoid of the loud excesses of humanity, there was a peacefulness here that, were he a peaceful-loving kind of guy, he might have appreciated.

Now, though, the pervading silence, with armed men somewhere outside the bridge door waiting to kill him, just made him irritable.

Keo glanced down at his watch. 12:51 a.m.

Six hours before sunrise.

He looked over at the captain, who was trying desperately not to pass out in the corner next to him. Keo didn’t know why the man was even fighting an obviously losing battle. In his experience, people sometimes hung onto things when they didn’t have to. But then again, most of the world’s population didn’t see things the way he did. Too bad, because Keo was sure he was right and everyone else was wrong.

“You got a name, cap?” Keo asked.

The man blinked sweat from his eyes, but the prospect of conversation seemed to give him new energy. “Gage.”

“As in 12-gauge?”

“Gage. G-a-g-e.”

“Cute name.”

“What’s yours?”

“This isn’t a date. I ask the questions and you answer them.” Then, “This your boat, Gage?”

“It belonged to this Mexican guy we worked for.”

“What happened to him?”

Gage shrugged. “He didn’t need it anymore.”

Keo smiled. “Gee, I wonder if you had anything to do with that.”

“I didn’t,” Gage said. His eyes flickered to the headless first mate across the room from them. “But Johns did. I…just went along with it.”

“Sure you did.”

“I had to. Johns was in charge.”

“Hey, I believe you,” Keo said, though he assumed Gage knew differently by just looking at him. He had heard the two of them talking earlier. They sounded more like partners-in-crime than boss-and-lackey. “What about the others? What were they doing when this totally mutual exchange of boat ownership went down?”

Gage decided to start drifting off at that moment.

Keo stuck a hand in front of him and snapped his fingers. “Hey, wake up. This is no time to be falling asleep, pal. Especially not in the middle of a Q&A. That’s just rude.”

Gage’s eyes opened back up. “What?”

“You were giving me a very good reason why I shouldn’t just put you out of your misery right now.”

The other man looked alarmed. “I was?”

“Yes. And let me just say, you’re doing quite the shitty job of it.” Keo drew the revolver with its five bullets and laid it across his lap, tapping the trigger guard with his forefinger for effect. “Wanna try harder?”

Gage suddenly looked very alert, or was trying very hard to give that impression, anyway. “The boat. I can drive the boat.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t your boat.”

“It’s not, but I was its captain.”

“That explains the hat,” Keo grinned.

Gage didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

“What about the other three?” Keo asked. “Your crew?”

“A couple of them. The others, we picked up along the way.”

“Like Rod?”

“Yeah.”

Keo glanced over at what was left of the first mate. “What about Johns?”

“He’s just a friend.”

“He was just a friend.”

“Yeah…”

“Your boat buddies. The ones running outside like busy little mice. Any ideas what they’re up to—”

The rattle of automatic gunfire stopped Keo in mid-sentence. His eyes darted to the door before he realized it had come from behind him—from the direction of Song Island.

He got up and hurried to the front of the bridge and looked out toward the island, just in time to see full automatic rifle fire pouring from one of the piers. It was shooting at something bobbing in the water in front of the Trident. A second rifle was shooting from the beach, both weapons spraying at what he could now see was an orange raft, its color making it nearly impossible to miss in the darkness. The small craft had been moving toward the island when it was fired upon. Now, it seemed to be floating in place and Keo could just barely make out a figure lying inside.

He unclipped the radio from his hip and pressed the transmit lever. “Song Island, come in.” He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one after a few seconds, “Anyone there? What was the shooting about? Song Island, come in.”

“Keo,” Lara said through the radio. “Are you still on the yacht?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“People were heading toward the island on some kind of boat. They fired at Blaine, so we fired back. It’s orange.”

“I see it. Survivors?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Then, “Shit.”

“What?”

“I think we might have hit it one time too many; it’s starting to sink.”

Keo saw it, too—the raft was being pulled under the lake’s surface.

“You said you saw two people onboard?” he said into the radio.

“Pretty sure,” Lara said. “Blaine was on the pier, and he had the best view.” Then to someone else, “What did you see, Blaine?”

“Two,” Blaine said through the radio. “Probably two.”

“That leaves one still unaccounted for,” Keo said.

“How many lifeboats does a yacht like that hold?”

“Usually one or two. Hold on, let me ask el capitan.”

“He’s still alive?” Lara said.

“Sort of.” Keo looked over at Gage. “Hey, how many lifeboats do you have onboard?”

The man didn’t answer him.

“Gage,” Keo said, louder this time.

When he still didn’t respond, Keo walked over and crouched in front of him. Gage looked dead and was leaning over slightly to one side. Keo pressed two fingers against the side of his neck and detected a pulse. Weak, so apparently Gage had decided to go with the flow after all.

“Keo?” Lara said through the radio. “What did the captain say?”

“He’s unconscious.”

“What did you do to him?”

“I shot him in the kneecap with his own gun.”

“Now why the hell did you do that?”

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“Let’s…try not to shoot people in the kneecaps unless we have to from now on, okay?”

“Sure, if you want to take all the fun out of this.”

She ignored him and said instead, “So what do we do about the last man? If there’s really only one left?”

“El capitan sounded pretty certain. Then again, he looks like the type that might lie.” He stood up and looked over at the door again. “Sit tight and wait for morning. We’ll figure it out then.”

Lara didn’t answer right away.

“You good with that?” Keo asked.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Lara said.

He could hear it in her voice—that burden that came with leadership. He had heard it often enough in people who took on the job that few could do, or wanted to do.

“Relax,” he said. “It’s not coming tonight.”

“What isn’t?”

“The attack you’ve been expecting for the last two days.”

She paused for a moment, then, “How can you be so sure?”

“The bad guys will have heard the shooting. They’ll know something is happening, but they don’t know what. And this boat showing up would have freaked them out. Add all of that with the damage they took yesterday from moi, and if I was them, I wouldn’t attack tonight. I’d wait, because I could afford to wait. It’s not like you’re going anywhere, right?”

“No…”

“And they know that. So my guess is, they’ll wait another day. Which means we don’t have to do anything drastic until then.”

“Captain Optimism, huh?”

“I don’t know what means.”

“Inside joke,” she said. Then, sounding more reassured than a few seconds ago, “Okay. If we’re not moving until sunrise, that means you’ll be on your own for the next six hours. Can you go that long without unnecessarily killing people?”

“No promises.”

She sighed. “I’ll get one of the boats ready, just in case.”

‘Just in case,’ he thought with a smile. The island motto, apparently.

2

Lara

In the morning light, the Trident’s long, sleek, and sharp features gave it the impression of being a massive white sword, ready to pierce the side of Song Island if it so desired. That seemed to be the only thing the island was good for these days—a target to be attacked.

Maybe keeping it is more trouble than it’s worth, Will. Maybe it’s time to go.

She watched the sun rising in the distance as Blaine, Roy, and Maddie were prepping the bass fishing boat behind her. Everyone was moving on automatic pilot, strung out on coffee and the work in front of them. Bonnie had returned to the hotel to rest, though Lara was surprised Roy was still there. She guessed he was still trying to make up for two nights ago.

“Keo,” she said into the radio. “We’re about to head over to you now. Any word on the eighth guy?”

“What, no good morning?” Keo said through the radio.

She smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“So, about the eighth guy…”

“Not a peep all night.”

“Are we even sure there’s an eighth guy?”

“I’ll ask the captain again when he’s awake. I guess he’s not a morning person.”

She glanced down at her watch. 7:22 a.m.

Sunrise had come about thirty minutes ago, and she had watched it with barely contained glee from inside the boat shack, where she had been sleeping on a cot. Keo was certain the collaborators wouldn’t attack, not with the mess he had made at their staging area yesterday and the chaos of last night. His reasoning was sound, but then these days you couldn’t always count on logic to save the day.

He had turned out to be right, though, and she had never been more happy to be wrong in her life.

She concentrated on the Trident now. It was almost two football fields away but looked much closer, like she could swim to it with a few strokes. Well, maybe Keo could. She had seen the man swim like a fish the last two nights.

“Boss lady,” Blaine said behind her. “You coming, or what?”

Lara turned around and walked back to them. They were already inside the boat, Maddie settling in behind the steering wheel while Roy sat on a chair up front with his M4 in his lap. Blaine was seated on another chair at the back, next to the outboard motor that sent out puffs of smoke and coughed loudly, sounding as if it was going to die at any moment.

She climbed into the boat and nodded at Maddie. “Let’s go.”

Maddie guided the boat away from the pier. The back dipped slightly as it gained speed, and Lara hurried up to the front to help balance out the weight distribution.

Roy looked over at her and shouted over the roar of the engine, “What about the last guy?”

“I don’t know!” Lara shouted back. She glanced at Maddie and Blaine. “Keep your eyes peeled! He might be waiting for us!”

“If there’s actually an eighth guy!” Blaine said.

“Take no chances! If you see a head, and it doesn’t look like Keo’s, shoot first and ask questions later!”

The big man nodded back and checked his rifle.

The boat had already carried them halfway to the Trident, the yacht growing in size (and sharpness) as they got closer. Lara unslung her own carbine and flicked the safety off without even realizing it.

Jesus. I really have become used to this thing.

“I can’t believe that guy took the whole boat by himself!” Maddie shouted at her. “Let’s make a reminder to ourselves: Don’t piss this guy off!”

“I’m glad he’s on our side!” Roy said.

Lara nodded. She thought about telling them how close she had come to not trusting Keo, but she didn’t. They didn’t need to know the details right now.

Is this what being a leader is, Will? Keeping things from people, for their own good? Making big decisions that could cost everyone their lives and knowing you’re solely responsible for the outcome?

How in God’s name did you ever manage the burden all by yourself all these months? You should have told me. I would have been there for you…the way I wish you were here for me right now…

“Approaching!” Maddie shouted behind her.

Lara gripped her M4 tighter, and so did Roy next to her.

The Trident really was long, though not nearly as wide (What had Keo called that? The beam?) as she had thought when looking at it from afar. Even so, it was an intimidating sight, especially the large chain connected to the massive anchor sitting at the bottom of Beaufont Lake at the moment, keeping the white beast from floating away. The yacht had three decks, with the bridge at the very top. Windows lined the sides, sweeping from front to back.

She eyeballed every inch of glass and railing within range, looking—waiting—for that elusive eighth man that may or may not exist.

Maddie steered them alongside the boat, then turned completely around until they were facing the back. They were greeted by a large, flapping flag hanging from a long metal pole, featuring an eagle eating a snake over green, white, and red stripes. The engine shut off and they continued drifting toward what looked like a lounging area, complete with chairs and recliners for sunbathing. A ladder dipped into the water, though it looked like it could be folded back up when not in use.

Roy stood up with his rifle at the ready, while Maddie manipulated the smaller craft over, deftly spinning the steering wheel left, then right, then left again. Lara felt anxious just watching the smaller woman grit her teeth as she cautiously moved closer and closer. Behind her, Blaine remained seated, but like Lara, he was sweeping the visible parts of the yacht looking for something—someone—to shoot.

Lara unclipped her radio and keyed it. “Keo, we’re at the back of the yacht now.”

“I heard you on approach,” Keo said through the radio. “Did you see me waving?”

“Uh, no.”

“Too bad. I was doing a jig and everything.”

She smiled. “I’m sure you were. What about the eighth guy?”

“You don’t see him out there?”

“Not a living soul.”

“Maybe he’s hiding. If el capitan’s numbers square up, he’s the only rat left that hasn’t tried to jump off this sinking boat yet. That means he’s either very determined, or a dumbass. Either way, that makes him unpredictable.”

“Understood. We’ll make our way to you as soon as we can.”

“Roger that,” Keo said.

Lara put the radio away, then watched Roy sling his rifle and position himself precariously at the front of their boat. She wanted to tell him to be careful, but doing so might undermine his courage, so she didn’t say anything. Roy waited, and when Maddie had gotten close enough to the yacht, he jumped. For a second Lara thought he had missed his target, but he landed soundly on the Trident, barreling into one of the chairs and causing it to skid along the smooth floor.

“Easy there, Oklahoma,” Maddie said.

Roy gave them an embarrassed grin.

“Throw him the line, Lara,” Maddie said.

Roy held out his hands to catch the rope Lara tossed over to him, then began pulling them all the way in.

“Blaine, you first,” Lara said.

Blaine got up and moved forward before jumping the short distance onto the luxury cruiser. He landed next to Roy, who was already tying up the rope. Lara had to admit, they were working pretty well for people who had never done any of this before. She almost felt like a proud parent.

Adapt or perish, right, Will?

She followed the men further onto the Trident while Maddie stayed behind at the lounge area to keep an eye on their boat.

Lara climbed onto the deck with Blaine and Roy before unclipping her radio a second time. “Keo, we’re on our way now.”

“Take it easy,” Keo said. “No rush. The captain woke up, and we’re having a nice talk.”

“Try not to shoot him again.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She followed Blaine and Roy toward the nearest ladder. The bridge would be on the top deck, which meant they had to climb two floors. That was preferable to traveling through the interiors, where anyone could be waiting around any corner. Out here, in the sun, she felt slightly safer.

“What’s he saying?” she said into the radio.

“He’s spinning a pretty interesting story,” Keo said.

“About?”

“How he and his buddies commandeered the boat. They’re originally from Mexico, you know.”

“I saw the flag. He’s Mexican?”

“Nope. Looks like a gringo to me.”

“What happened to the owners of the boat?”

“Let’s just say they didn’t give their pride and joy up willingly.”

“They killed them and took the boat?” Blaine asked.

Lara nodded. “Sounds like it.”

“A Mexican boat staffed by an American crew?” Roy said from up front. “That’s a new one.”

Blaine chuckled. “End of the world, man. Everything’s upside down these days. Monsters are real, silver’s more valuable than gold, and Mexicans are using Americans to clean the poop decks.”

* * *

They didn’t find the eighth crewman on the first deck. He wasn’t on the second one, either. The third also didn’t yield a hidden shooter, and they had to go inside this time in order to access the bridge at the front. Walking through the top floor, Lara almost slipped on the congealed blood in her path. Keo had left behind a hell of a mess as he took the boat last night.

Blaine moved diligently in front of her, while Roy stayed behind outside in case someone tried to sneak up on them. He also kept an eye on Maddie. Will would probably have come up with a better system of watching each other’s backs; but then, Will was a soldier and she was just a third-year medical student masquerading as one.

She and Blaine had to circle around two bodies before they reached the hallway that connected a roomy area—a combination entertainment center and living room, complete with couches and a big screen TV along one wall—to the bridge. One of the bodies was missing its head and lay half on and half off the floor, the rest of the man draped over a spiral staircase that connected two of the decks. The other body lay on its back in a thick pool of blood. His face was pale, lifeless eyes staring up at her as she stepped over him.

“Keo!” Blaine shouted as he stepped around the second body and into the adjoined hallway.

They heard the sound of a door opening, then Keo appeared. He had that German weapon of his and was clad all in black. He looked dry for someone who had been swimming most of last night. “I was wondering who was stomping around out here. You guys ever heard of a subtle entry?”

Blaine ignored him and said, “We couldn’t find the eighth guy.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him. He’ll poke his head up sooner or later.”

“Where’s the boat’s captain?” Lara asked.

“Inside, resting. Got questions? He’s in a very talkative mood this morning.”

“I’m sure he is,” Lara said, reminding herself what a good decision it had been to recruit Keo onto their side instead of making an enemy out of him. It could have gone either way, but she had trusted her instincts.

Maybe you were right, Will. Maybe I can do this leadership thing.

Maybe…

* * *

The yacht’s “captain” looked like he had seen better days. Even so, despite the blood loss and obvious pain on every inch of his face, he seemed to be taking captivity reasonably well. If nothing else, he looked well-rested for a man who was missing one of his kneecaps.

Blaine stayed outside the bridge to stand guard, with Roy and Maddie remaining at their posts. If the eighth man was out there, he was biding his time. Which was fine with her. She didn’t feel like adding another victim to her growing body count this morning anyway.

Sorry, lake, you’ll just have to wait until tonight for more bodies.

Keo nodded at the man in the white hat. “Gage, this is Lara. Lara, that’s Gage. Say hi.”

“Hi,” Lara said.

Gage peered through a sweat-covered face at her. “Hey.”

Lara focused on Gage, which helped her to ignore the body sitting against the Trident’s control console across the room, along with the chunks of…something sticking to the windshield. She hadn’t asked Keo where he had gotten the shotgun and AK-47 he was carrying around with him this morning, but she could guess. There were three bodies on this deck alone.

“What happened last night?” she asked Keo.

“They were Trojan Horsing you,” he said. Then to Gage, “Tell her.”

Gage nodded. “He’s right.”

“You’re admitting it?” she said.

“Yeah, why not? Everyone’s dead. I’m half dead. What’s the point in lying now?”

“See?” Keo said. “Gage here’s the pragmatic type. He figures that if he doesn’t lie, I won’t have any reason to shoot him in his other kneecap.”

“Yeah, that, too,” Gage said, and this time he did manage a full grin, though she noticed it was half-amusement and half-mortal terror. “What else you wanna know, lady?”

“What were you going to do?” Lara asked. “When you got to the island?”

Gage quickly lost some of his enthusiasm and began noticeably squirming in the corner.

“Don’t start lying now, el capitan,” Keo said. “The truth. Nothing but the truth. So help your other kneecap.”

“We were going to take it,” Gage said. “Then we would take everything else.”

“What’s ‘everything else’?” Lara asked.

“Whatever you had. The food. The supplies. The…people.”

“The people? What were you going to do with the people?”

“Not everyone. Mostly…just the women.”

“The women…”

“Yeah.”

“What were you going to do with the women?” was the next question that she never asked. She knew. Keo knew. They all did, even the dead man with half of his head blown across the windshield.

She turned to Keo. “What are we going to do with him?”

“That’s up to you,” Keo said. “It’s your island he was going to raid. It’s also your people he was going to do probably-not-very-nice things to.”

She nodded and looked back at Gage.

“Hey, you promised nothing bad would happen to me,” Gage said, but she noticed he had said it to Keo and not her. He wasn’t even looking at her now. Maybe he was afraid, or maybe he thought his salvation lay with Keo.

He was wrong.

She drew the Glock and shot him.

The bullet hit the wall an inch from Gage’s ducking head, and the yacht’s captain might have actually squealed.

Footsteps pounded the deck behind them just before Blaine burst through the open door. “Jesus, what’s going on?” He looked at Gage, at Keo, then finally at her. “Lara?”

“It’s okay,” she said, holstering her sidearm. “I was just making a point.”

“Oh.”

“I need you back outside, Blaine.”

The big man nodded, then exchanged a brief look with Keo, who shrugged back at him. “She was making a point,” Keo said.

Blaine didn’t look convinced, but he left anyway.

Her radio squawked, and she heard Maddie’s voice. “Guys? What’s happening? I heard a gunshot.”

“Everything’s fine,” Lara said into the radio. “Everyone stay where you are. We’re just…interrogating the survivor.”

“You sure?” Maddie asked.

“Yes. Keep an eye out for the eighth guy.”

“Will do.”

“Well, that was fun,” Keo said.

Lara stared at Gage, who peered back out at her from the corner of the room. When he saw her looking, he quickly glanced away. If he could have gotten up and run, he probably would have. But his days of running were over with that still-bleeding kneecap.

“He can be useful,” Keo was saying.

“How?” she asked.

She hadn’t thought about putting Gage to use. The very idea of the man’s continued existence offended her at an almost primal level.

“The yacht,” Keo said. “You’re going to need someone who knows his way around it.”

“You know boats.”

“I know boats, but I don’t know that,” he said, pointing at the long console behind them. “He does.”

“You also told me a boat this size needs a big crew to run it. All of his crew is dead, except for an eighth guy who may or may not exist. How is one man going to keep this thing afloat, even if he does know what all those buttons are for?”

“We’re talking about a twenty-first-century luxury yacht here, Lara. It might break down eventually, but it’s still in good enough shape right now that you could use it to get to wherever you needed to go. I think that’s worth keeping him alive for a little while longer, don’t you?”

Keo wasn’t wrong. She was already thinking about all the things she could do with a boat this size when she first saw it last night, and seeing it sitting on the lake under the morning sunlight had crystallized so many of those possibilities.

Keep the island if you can, but if you can’t…

Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst, right, Will?

Gage was still cowering in the corner, probably trying to figure out if he was going to live past the next few minutes. She could have reassured him, but Lara decided to let him keep wondering instead.

Her radio squawked, breaking the silence, and Carly’s voice came through. “Lara, come in.” Carly was back on the island in the Tower with Benny, and Lara thought she sounded slightly anxious. “You still there, ol’ fearless leader?”

“I’m here,” Lara said into the radio.

“I have your boyfriend on the other radio,” Carly said. “Should I tell him you already found someone else?”

* * *

“We’ll get home,” Will said through the ham radio. “Whatever it takes. We’re not going to leave the island undefended for another day.”

He sounded noticeably tired. She could only imagine it was the culmination of what he had gone through the last few weeks, coming through in his voice even if he didn’t mean for it to. So much of Will’s life was about making the right choices for the right reasons and internalizing most of it, and she hadn’t realized how draining all of that was until the last few weeks.

How did you do it all these months, Will? How did you not break down?

She was glad she was by herself on the Tower’s second floor. It was easier to talk to Will when no one else was around. She could let her guard down and for just a brief moment strip away the façade of leadership that they had given her, that she wasn’t certain she was capable of living up to.

I feel like every choice I’m making is the wrong one. Why aren’t you back here with me now, Will? Why are you still out there?

“It’s not undefended,” she said into the microphone. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we’re actually not nearly as incompetent as we seem.”

He chuckled on the other end. “Yeah, but I have a couple of M240s that’ll come in real handy when they try to land on the beach next time.”

“What’s an M240?”

“It’s a machine gun. Spits out enough lead really fast to make things uncomfortable for an invading force. Put two on the beach and we’re all set. What do you think?”

Machine guns. On the beach. It was as if she were living in a World War II movie.

“Lara,” he said when she didn’t respond right away.

“I’m still here…”

“I love you. Have I said that lately? I’ve always meant to.”

He said it with such seriousness that it made her catch her breath slightly.

“I love you, too,” she said, barely getting the words out.

“You hesitated for a moment,” he said. Was that an attempt at humor? Will was bad at jokes. That was Danny’s department.

“I didn’t,” she said.

“Don’t tell me you’ve found someone else. You always did have eyes for Blaine.”

“He’s already taken, so you can relax. No one’s replacing you yet.”

“I hear a warning in there somewhere.”

“Good, because I was afraid I was being too subtle.”

“Loud and clear, babe.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, how much longer until you come home?”

“Soon,” he said. “We’ll be on the road soon, and then home.”

She recycled through their conversation from yesterday. The farmhouse. The soldiers on the roads. The town of Dunbar…

“What happened to the soldiers from last night?” she asked. “I thought you said they had you surrounded at the farmhouse?”

“They did. But they were gone when the sun came up.”

“How did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything. They were just…gone. It doesn’t matter why.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.” He paused for a moment before adding, “What matters is that we should be back on the road in half an hour. If all goes well, we’ll be home by three or four today.”

“With Gaby and Danny...”

“That’s the plan.”

This time it was her turn to pause. After a while, she said, “What if it’s a trap, Will? The soldiers. What if they pulled back to ambush you further down the road?”

“Maybe. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Then, with more than a hint of approval in his voice, “You’re thinking like a soldier now. I like that.”

“I’ve been hanging around you and Danny for too long, picking up bad habits.”

“Danny will be happy to hear that. He likes spreading his bad habits around. Among other things. Smelly things.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Lara…”

“Yes, Will.”

“I love you.”

Again, there was something in his voice, a surprising seriousness that made her wonder what was actually going on out there with him, Danny, and Gaby. He had told her what had happened last night at the farmhouse, how they had made it through, and that they were all “in one piece.” That should have comforted her, but Will’s idea of “one piece” was a little different than hers…and every other person in the world.

Despite all that, hearing him tell her that he loved her made her smile anyway. “I thought we already did this…”

“Do it again anyway.”

“I’m tired, Will.”

“You’re not that tired.”

“I slept inside the boat house on the beach last night. Did you know that? I think I clocked a few minutes total.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s what my back says.”

He chuckled again. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Promise?” she said. She realized how silly she sounded as soon as the word left her mouth, but she didn’t care, especially down here on the second floor alone with just Will on the other side of the radio.

“I promise,” he said. “Whatever it takes, whatever happens, you won’t have to face another night alone.”

“Because you’ll be here with me.”

“Yes…”

There was something about the way he said that. “Yes.” It should have put her mind at ease, because Will making a promise was as close to a sure thing as you could get these days. But the way he said it made her hesitate for some reason.

“Now,” he said before she could put her troubled thoughts into words, “what’s this Carly was saying about a new boat?”

“It’s a yacht.” Lara smiled. “And it’s big...”

3

Will

Sunrise brought the peace and tranquility that he always longed for, but also that nagging sense of incompleteness, because it was another day without Lara. How long had it been now? Weeks? It felt like months. Even his daily communications with her through the radio only left him needing more.

Feeling the morning’s warmth against his face after the brutal encounter of the previous night made him smile for the first time in hours. He should be grateful to have another day when so many people didn’t have that luxury. Lance was one of those poor souls, but Annie, his girlfriend, had made it through. So had the two girls that had come out of Dunbar with Gaby. Both Danny and Gaby had also made it, though, like him, they had seen better days.

So what else is new?

“Smells like a trap,” Danny said through the radio now.

Will picked up the two-way from the front passenger seat. “What does a trap smell like?”

“Warm and fuzzy, and not the nice kind of warm and fuzzy. Slightly odorous, with a hint of sewage.”

“Nice imagery.”

“I do my best.”

“We gotta find out one way or another, right? Can’t stay at the farmhouse another day, not after last night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Last night was a hoot and a half. And you know how much I like my hooting and halfing.”

“How far are we from the interstate?” Gaby asked.

He didn’t have to look at the folded map on the seat next to him. He had been counting the distance ever since they left the farmhouse this morning. “Ten minutes, give or take.”

“Ten minutes to death,” Danny said.

“That’s the spirit.”

“Oh, sorry, did I say that out loud? My bad.”

Danny and Gaby were in the Nissan Titan behind him, carrying the two girls and Annie in the backseat. Their truck followed closely behind his, leaving just enough distance for both vehicles to stop on a dime and (retreat) maneuver around any obstacles, if necessary. Will drove the Toyota Tacoma by himself, the wind rushing in through the missing driver-side window. The Nissan was the bigger of the two vehicles, so it made sense for it to carry the others, including most of their supplies, while he used the smaller (and disposable) mid-size Tacoma.

“Is this really a good idea, Will?” Gaby asked through the radio. “Splitting up like this?”

“We’re not splitting up. We’re just making it harder for them to hit us with an ambush.”

“But if we know there’s an ambush up ahead…”

“Can’t be helped. We need to get home, and there’s only one way to do that. Straight ahead.”

“Right into the jaws of death,” Danny chimed in. “Oops. Did I say that out loud, too? Damn my charming mouth.”

Will understood Gaby’s apprehension. In fact, he shared it. But he had spent the entire night, while waiting for the second attack that never came, thinking about this, turning the options over in his head. There were always options, but some were more possible than others.

And time was against them. Time was always against them.

Time…and Kate.

“Like a certain little island that should have stayed quiet. This is what happens when you stick your head out and get my attention, Will. I grab a hammer.”

Kate was talking about Song Island. About the message Lara had broadcast out into the world.

How much of it was true? How much of it was just an excuse to attack? Kate wasn’t Kate anymore; this Kate, this ghoul Kate, wasn’t above a bald-faced lie.

But they had to get back home to Song Island. That was the only thing he knew with absolute certainty. Lara and the others had made it through yesterday thanks to a combination of guts and tough decisions, but what were the chances of that kind of favorable circumstances two straight nights?

Maybe, maybe not.

He couldn’t risk it, because the stakes were too high…and time was running out.

It was still a kilometer away from their position when Will took his foot off the gas, slowing the Tacoma from thirty-five miles per hour to thirty, then twenty-five, until he had stopped completely in the middle of the two-lane highway.

Route 13.

Not-so-lucky thirteen.

Then again, given how they’d managed to stay alive, maybe it wasn’t such a bad stretch of road after all.

He glanced at his left-side mirror. Danny, in the Titan behind him, had also parked and left a twenty-meter space between the two cars.

On cue, his radio squawked, and Danny’s voice came through. “Home sweet home.”

“Not quite,” Will said. “But we’re getting there.”

“You and what army?”

“You, me, the girls…”

“The bad guys don’t stand a chance…says the two idiots in the trucks about to drive right through an ambush.”

Will grinned. “Captain Optimism.”

“Hey, you know me, always bringing the funk. Just ignore the BO.”

“It’s getting harder by the day,” Gaby said.

“Ouch,” Danny said. “You really know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.”

Will leaned forward against the steering wheel and focused out the front windshield. The portion of the glass in front of him was dirty, but at least it didn’t have a bullet hole to obscure his vision like the passenger side half. Danny’s bullet had caused that, along with the bloody spot left behind on the seat and headrest.

He unzipped his tactical pack on the passenger seat, pulled out a pair of small binoculars, and peered through them. The same buildings from yesterday rose out of the flat scenery flanking the highway, looking like something humanity simply decided to drop into the middle of nowhere. The last time he was here, men on horseback had been trying to kill Gaby, forcing them to retreat backward. They couldn’t do that today. Going back was out of the question. Everything was in front of them, including the gray concrete structure on the other side of the buildings.

Interstate 10.

It would take him west toward a small town called Salvani. From there, it was a straight shot south down to Beaufont Lake and Lara. He needed to reach that stretch of gray concrete in the worst way.

“What do you see, Will?” Gaby asked through the radio.

It was a good question. What did he see, really? Seemingly empty (Yeah, right) buildings on both sides of the road, and I-10 beckoning them. This was the first sign of civilization other than the half dozen or so abandoned farmhouses they had passed since they took off this morning.

“Will?” Gaby said through the radio again. “What do you see?”

It’s not what I see, it’s what I don’t see.

Nothing and everything.

“The same feeder road businesses from yesterday,” he said into the radio. “And I-10 on the other side.”

“What about the posse from yesterday that tried to perforate our little Gaby?” Danny asked. “They didn’t seem like the ‘wander off and not come back’ types.”

“No signs of anyone on horseback.”

“Hunh. I guess my prayers last night worked. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait for that private jet to take me to Song Island. You guys can hop along if you want. I’ll only charge half-price.”

“You’re a swell guy, Danny.”

“Just don’t tell anyone. I got a reputation to maintain.”

Will reached over and pulled his M4A1 off the floor where it had been leaning against the hump between the two front seats. He laid it on the passenger seat with the stock facing him for an easy, fast grab.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Danny said through the radio. “We gonna sit here on our hands and wait for your ghoulfriend to try her luck again?”

“‘Ghoulfriend’?” Gaby said.

Danny chuckled. “I came up with that, you know.”

“Somehow, I figured that, Danny.” Then Gaby said, “Are we really going to do this, Will?”

We don’t have any choice, Will thought, but said instead, “We have to get home. It’s not about the island. There are a thousand islands out there. It’s about the people on it. Lara, Carly…”

“…Maddie, Blaine…” Gaby continued.

“Carly,” Danny added.

“He already said Carly.”

“I know, but she’s so special she deserves to be mentioned twice.”

“You’re such a charmer.”

“Why do you think Carly lets me do questionable things to her?”

“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Gaby said.

“There goes breakfast,” Danny said. Then, “So, back to our little Sophie’s choice here. I don’t know about you guys, but I got people to see and things to shoot, and if that means pulling a Clint Eastwood and Gauntleting it through that little two-horse town, then so be it.”

“What’s Gauntlet?” Gaby asked.

“Damn, kid, what are you, a kid?”

“Kind of.”

“It’s a movie starring the baddest man alive, Clint Eastwood. Ol’ Dirty Harry plays a cop—of course—who has to get a witness to court in order to testify and all that good stuff. But in order to do that, he has to brave an army of gun-toting bad guys waiting to shoot him. Which he did.”

“Clint had an armor-plated bus,” Will said.

“And you got me. Same difference.”

“God, you guys are old,” Gaby said.

“Shut up and get off my lawn,” Danny said.

Will tuned them out for a moment, letting the group of buildings in front of him fill his vision.

Options. What were his options?

There were a couple, but all of them would take time. Too much time. That was the one thing he didn’t have at the moment.

“Like a certain little island that should have stayed quiet. This is what happens when you stick your head out and get my attention, Will. I grab a hammer.”

Time. They were always running out of time.

Will put the truck back in gear, but didn’t take his foot off the brake.

“Well, make up your mind already,” Danny said through the radio. “Some of us got places to go and things to do, ya know.”

“Stick to the plan,” Will said. “Understand?”

“About damn time.”

“Will, are you sure?” Gaby asked.

No, he thought, but said, “Yes. Stick to the plan.”

“Okay,” she said, even though he could hear the obvious hesitation in her voice. “What about the machine guns? I can go out there and man one of them.”

She was talking about the two M240s mounted on the roofs of the Titan and Tacoma, each one capable of unleashing a hellacious number of rounds per second. But someone had to stand out there in the open in order to use them. That made them too easy a target. He knew, because both he and Danny had shot the two men who had been manning those guns a day earlier.

“No,” Will said. “You’d be too vulnerable back there. All it takes is one sniper on a rooftop and you’re done. Stay inside with Danny, and stick to the plan we came up with this morning. You’re in the full-size truck for a reason.”

“All right,” she said, but he could tell she still wasn’t the least bit convinced.

He didn’t blame her. He wasn’t convinced either, but he had spent all night and morning thinking about it, and it was the only path he could come up with.

Time. That was the culprit. There was so little time, and the island was still so far away…

“We’ll get home,” he had promised Lara. “Whatever it takes. We’re not going to leave the island undefended for another day.”

“Danny,” he said into the radio.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Danny said.

“We can’t let the island go undefended for another night. Agreed?”

Danny didn’t respond right away.

“Danny,” Will said. “Agreed?”

“Yeah,” Danny said finally. “Agreed.”

“Rangers lead the way.”

“Is that why your blinkers are still on? How many times have I told you about that? You’re making us look bad in front of the kids.”

Will grinned. “Okay, everyone. Ears up, eyes open, and guns within easy reach.”

“Roger, Roger,” Danny said.

“We’re ready back here,” Gaby said, and Will almost believed her that time.

If only we had more time.

If only…if only…

He took his foot off the brake and pressed down on the gas pedal, and the Toyota started moving forward again. At first slowly, then picking up speed. Five miles an hour, ten, then twenty, until the buildings in the distance started to grow with every passing second, including two large signs glinting under the sun. There were no indications of movement. Nothing that would tell him people had been gathering all morning.

What kind of game are you playing, Kate? I know you’re behind this. In the background somewhere, pulling the strings…

Something one of the blue-eyed creatures had said to him last night was still stuck in his head:

“Don’t worry,” it had hissed. “It’s not going to end that easily for you, Will. Kate made us promise her this time. I think she has big plans for you.”

He picked up the radio with one hand, keyed it. “Gaby.”

“Yeah,” she answered.

“Whatever happens, keep moving forward. Don’t stop to look back. Keep moving forward, because that’s how we survive. Understand?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Gaby,” he said. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she said.

Will put the radio down and refocused on the road ahead. The sun poured streams of light down on the rooftops of the buildings gathered in front of him, and Will looked through the binoculars again, one hand on the steering wheel, and searched for glimpses of figures hiding on top of them.

Something. Anything.

Half a kilometer now, and getting closer…

He could make out more of the buildings, including two gas stations facing off across the street from one another—a Chevron and a locally-owned business called Palermo, their signs raised high and proud like dueling billboards. There were no cars parked along the pumps of either gas station that he could see. In fact, there were no vehicles in either parking lot.

Where did all the cars go?

You always found cars where there were businesses. That was one of the undeniable patterns of a post-Purge world. He was so used to seeing them abandoned in front of stores and gas stations and along streets and curbs that the total absence of them here was unnerving.

200 meters…

Route 13 wasn’t well-traveled—he knew that all too well after spending two days on it—but the spot next to a major interstate was still good for business. He put away the binoculars as a restaurant popped up to his right, a Domino’s to his left, and an auto body garage owned by a man named Ralph alongside a cellphone store.

150 meters…

A restaurant called Louie’s, next to a furniture place advertising new and secondhand inventory. They were having a sale for just this weekend…a year ago.

100 meters…

The buildings were one story high, which made their rooftops easier to spot from a distance. He couldn’t make out every detail, but if there was someone (someones) up there right now, they were well hidden. Of course, Josh’s boys would know they were already on their way. You couldn’t hide the sound of two trucks moving up a flat and empty road for miles. He didn’t discount the hidden presence of scouts around the farmhouse, either, or along the highway as they traveled across it. Men whose job it was to watch and radio ahead.

That’s what I would do.

He glanced briefly at the radio. He should call this off. Try their luck some other way. Use one of those other options he had considered this morning. Yes, they would take longer. Not just hours, but days…

Can’t afford days.

Not even close…

There was no getting around it. The enemy knew where they were going. Which made the lack of activity, the apparent nothingness of the road since they left the farmhouse, the stuff of nightmares. There was nothing worse than knowing that the bad guys knew you were coming. He had endured plenty of that during his time in Afghanistan.

Fifty meters…

He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and looked over to make sure the M4A1 was where he had left it. He did a last-minute weapons and inventory check, then gave the Titan behind him a second glance to make sure it was still back there.

Forty meters…

Now!

Will gunned it. He slammed down on the gas pedal until he felt it thud against the floor. The Tacoma leaped forward like a caged monster finally unleashed, its engine roaring exponentially louder and louder as he flooded it with gas. The truck bucked and fought under him, and it was all he could to do hold on with both hands on the steering wheel for dear life.

He didn’t have to look to know Danny was doing the same thing behind him in the Titan. He could always trust Danny. And he would need to, now.

The Domino’s to his left disappeared in a streak of red, white, and blue, then the restaurant to his right (something Onions; he hadn’t caught the rest of the name) did the same thing. Up ahead, the Chevron and Palermo rushed up toward him, their signs beckoning him forward, sunlight glinting off the sharp, metallic edges.

He kept the truck floored, the speedometer rising on the dashboard.

From thirty miles to forty, to fifty, to sixty—

The first shot came when he was almost at the gas stations. He didn’t know if he had caught them off guard, or if they had been waiting for him to get close all along. Not that it mattered. He had been waiting for it and his foot remained on the gas pedal as the bullet chopped into the side of the Tacoma; there was a loud-ringing ping! as it pierced metal.

Crack! A second shot fired, this one coming from his left, as another bullet went ping! off the other side of the truck.

There were a third and fourth shot, both producing their own ping! as they either ricocheted or punched through another part of his car.

A flicker of movement, and Will caught sight of the first sniper standing up on the square-shaped roof of the platform that covered the gas pumps of the Palermo to his right. The man’s form was silhouetted by the sun, and for a second—just a brief second—Will thought it was a ghoul, out here in daylight, armed with a rifle.

The sniper fired down on him on semi-auto. Will braced himself—at this distance, he didn’t think it would take much of a shooter to hit the windshield and him behind it—but there was no pain, because the man’s bullets weren’t landing. Or, at least, they weren’t piercing the windshield the way he had expected them to. The man, he realized quickly, was trying to hit the tire of the Tacoma.

They’re trying to shoot out the tires. Why are they trying to shoot out the tires?

Because they’re not trying to kill us. They’re trying to take us alive.

Why?

Kate…

“Don’t worry,” the blue-eyed ghoul had hissed at him last night. “It’s not going to end that easily for you, Will. Kate made us promise her this time. I think she has big plans for you.”

Kate, this is your doing, isn’t it?

“I think she has big plans for you…”

He glimpsed more figures rushing out of the Palermo store. Men in camouflage uniforms. Josh’s soldiers.

The second sniper was to his left, also standing on the platform over the Chevron’s gas pumps. But this one wasn’t shooting at him. The man was firing at the Titan coming up behind him.

The ping-ping-ping! of bullets bouncing off both moving vehicles rang up and down the street. He was amazed he could actually hear it over the loud roar of the Tacoma.

And there, up ahead—Interstate 10.

It was elevated, with a view of more businesses on the other side of its underpass. The turn was coming up. Right would take him onto the feeder road, then up and onto the interstate itself. Salvani was waiting for him on the other side. Then south to Song Island.

Easy as pie. All he had to do was make the turn now and—

There were two of them. Both trucks with large tires that made them look like hulking predators. One was black, and the other cherry red. They were massive against the sunlight, appearing out from behind the gas stations where they had been hiding all this time. There were uniformed men in the back, and though he was surprised by the lack of mounted machine guns, they made up for it with two shooters in the bed of each truck. He almost laughed at the sight of the four men in the backs trying desperately to hold onto the fast-moving vehicles as they were tossed around like rag dolls.

Will knew what they were trying to do. It didn’t take Patton to figure out their plan. The snipers were trying to shoot out his tires, and if that didn’t work, the two “monster” trucks bursting onto Route 13 directly in front of him right now would cut off his path to the interstate. It was so simple even a CPA masquerading as a soldier could have come up with it.

And I drove right into it. So who’s the sucker here?

He grabbed the radio and shouted into it, “Don’t stop! Don’t you let him stop, Gaby!”

“Will!” Gaby shouted back.

“Get to the island! Whatever you do, get back to the island!”

“Will!”

She might have said something else, but he had already dropped the radio and returned both hands to the steering wheel. His eyes were fixed out the windshield and on the two trucks. They took up positions in the middle of the road and parked nose-to-nose, both vehicles occupying the entire two lanes. The only way around them was up the curb and into the parking lots of either the Chevron or the Palermo, and there were already men in uniforms, carrying assault rifles and racing out of both gas stations. He counted at least half a dozen on each side.

Jesus Christ, Josh, where do you get all these assholes from?

He saw what was in front and to the sides of him, and Will knew what he would find even before he took a quick peek at the rearview mirror. He looked past Danny and Gaby in the Titan and saw two similarly large trucks appearing in the road behind them, blocking off their retreat.

The snipers were still shooting, trying to hit the tires but missing badly.

Amateurs, Will thought, wanting to laugh. Danny could have shot off the tires on a moving vehicle. If he had missed once, he would have corrected for the next shot. But these guys had already wasted half their magazines (if not more), and they hadn’t come close to knocking either the Tacoma or the Titan off course.

Better luck next time, boys!

They must have known he wasn’t going to stop, because one of the soldiers in the back of the cherry-red truck up ahead said something to the man standing next to him, and they both leaped off the vehicle. Two seconds later, Will smashed the front grill of the Tacoma into the noses of both parked trucks. They had stopped so close to one another (part of the plan, probably) that it didn’t take much to get both of them at the same time.

The loud crash! of metal against metal spun both vehicles out of the road, and he glimpsed a body flying through the air. Then, his vision blurred at the same time the airbag deployed and slammed into his face. His hands were ripped from the steering wheel by the blinding blow as the Tacoma spun out of control. It seemed to go round and round in a dozen revolutions, but he guessed it was probably more like one or maybe half of one, until it crashed into a streetlight pole, the sound of more metal grinding against metal piercing what little of his senses were still functioning.

He didn’t actually have to see the smoke flooding out from the crumpled hood to know it was happening. He could feel the steam filling up the cab, though that took a backseat to the pain pounding through every inch of his face and chest at the moment. The airbag had done its job and kept him alive, but it had also rendered him useless. He scrambled to push the nylon fabric out of his face and reached sideways for the M4A1.

Except the rifle wasn’t there anymore.

He was still looking for the carbine when the shooting outside broke through the haze. There was the loud ping-ping-ping! of bullets hitting their intended target—which wasn’t him.

The Titan. They were still shooting at Danny, Gaby, and the girls.

He waited to hear the sound of another crash to signal that the chase was over, that the Titan had also spun out. Maybe one of the snipers would finally get lucky. Even the sun had to shine up a dog’s ass once in its life, he thought.

But instead, the sound of ricocheting bullets seemed to become more distant with every passing second. Which had to be good news, right? If there was no crash, no screams, and the ping-ping-ping! was fading, that could only mean…

Faster, Danny. Get to Song Island. Save them.

Save Lara…

He was dazed from the impact, which made finding the rifle even harder. It was difficult to focus on the passenger seat, the sea of sprinkled glass, or the shattered window on the other side of the vehicle. The passenger-side door may or may not even still be connected to the car.

Was he losing consciousness? No. He had gotten hit in worse ways, and he’d always made it through. Besides, the airbag had saved his life—

Voices, coming toward him.

Will abandoned his search for the M4A1 and groped for his holstered Glock instead. He drew it and turned toward the door, somehow finding the handle despite the fact there were now three levers instead of one. He managed to grab the right one—or were all three the right ones?—and pulled.

A gust of cooling Louisiana wind hit him in the face, piling on the already throbbing pain. He stumbled out of the truck, almost lost his balance but somehow regained it, and saw the first man coming toward him with a rifle at the ready. The man hadn’t fired yet, which Will thought was stupid because he wasn’t going to hesitate.

He lifted the Glock, but before he could fire, something hit him on the side of the head. The blow stunned him and Will staggered to his left, his gun hand falling to his side. Suddenly the sidearm seemed much heavier than it should be. Like a bowling ball. Or maybe a really big metal pole. Gripping it was difficult.

And slippery. Why was it slippery?

A second blow to the same part of the head made him drop the gun. He stumbled, then was sitting on his knees a second later.

How’d he get down here? He didn’t have a clue. Things weren’t making sense. He still couldn’t focus on any one thing, especially not on the dozen or so pairs of feet surrounding him.

More voices. Men’s voices.

Garbled at first, but slowly, very slowly, he started to make out actual words and sentences. Which was a hell of a feat, given that he could barely keep his eyes open. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. That would be nice. When was the last time he had actually slept? Days? Weeks?

He couldn’t remember…

“Why are we keeping him alive?” someone was asking. He didn’t sound very happy about it.

“Shut up,” someone else snapped.

“I’m just saying, let’s just put him out of his misery.”

“You’re not in charge here.”

“Then who is?”

“She is.”

“‘She’? Who the fuck is—” the man started to say, but never finished.

She? Who is she? Why won’t someone answer him?

He should know the answer. And maybe he did. It was right there at the tip of his tongue. Or the edge of his brain. Or wherever it was that words came from. Or the letters that would form those words. And make a name.

She. Who is she?

I know that answer!

Hands grabbed and pulled him up, saving him from the hard concrete that was biting into his knees. He had lost the Glock and couldn’t find the rifle, but he still had his cross-knife. Ah. The trusty cross-knife. It had saved his and Danny’s lives on the first night of The Purge. It would be strapped to his left hip, still in its sheath.

If only he could reach down for it…

“What about the other truck?” a third voice asked. “Should we go after them?”

“Don’t worry about them,” the second man said. He was clearly in charge. “They’re not gonna get far.”

They were carrying him across the parking lot now. Which one? The Chevron or the Palermo?

He smelled old motor oil and spilled gas on the ground around him, all these months later.

Despite the cool air, he was still dripping sweat as he was carried across the parking lot. Curiously, his perspiration looked bright red for some reason.

Focus.

Focus!

The fact that he was still alive was all that mattered right now. As long as he was breathing, there were options available to him. He just had to see them—and seize the right one—when they presented themselves, and they would. They always did.

Don’t worry, Lara. I’m coming home.

I’ll just be a little later than expected, that’s all…

4

Gaby

She hadn’t said a word since Route 13 and was content to watch the vehicles strung along both sides of the interstate flash by in groups of two, three, and every now and then, a lone car that looked out of place. But mostly, there were just empty slabs of gray concrete, and despite the cars, she couldn’t shake the feeling of wandering through a barren and lifeless world.

She was numb all over and barely felt the wind against her face, flooding in through the shattered front passenger-side window. There were holes in the windshield and dry blood on the seat behind and under her, but she was used to the stains. It helped that they weren’t hers, but instead belonged to the men who had been in the vehicle a day earlier, when they had the misfortune of running across Will and Danny.

Danny drove with a singular determination, both hands on the steering wheel, his eyes seeking out ambushes that weren’t there. He was calm and steady, and to look at him, she wouldn’t know he was riding in a car that was covered in bullet holes. If most of that was a mask, Danny wore it well.

“Don’t stop! Don’t you let him stop, Gaby!”

She hadn’t had to convince Danny to keep going. He knew the odds and what was at stake, just like she did. Not that the knowing made abandoning Will back there any easier. If it was hard for her, it had to have been hell for Danny.

“Get to the island! Whatever you do, get back to the island!”

“Gaby,” a voice said behind her.

She turned and smiled back at Claire, who was sitting in the backseat with the FNH semiautomatic shotgun clutched between her legs, the barrel pointed up at the ceiling of the Nissan Titan. Claire was thirteen, but the girl already had the stern face of an adult and the lines around the eyes to match.

“I’m sorry about Will,” Claire said. She flicked absently at a strand of dirty blonde hair draped over her face. “He was a great guy. I really liked him.”

“Is,” Gaby said. “Will’s not dead yet. If he died that easily, then he wouldn’t be Will.”

Claire nodded back. Gaby couldn’t tell if the girl believed her (Had she been convincing enough, or did her own doubts come through despite her best attempts?), or if she was just humoring her. With anyone else—Milly, for instance—the latter wouldn’t have been possible, but Claire wasn’t anyone else. The girl had lost more than her share, and Gaby didn’t for one moment mistake her for just another “kid.”

She’s like me. We haven’t been kids for a long time now.

“How’s everyone doing back there?” Gaby asked.

“Scared,” Claire said, “but we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Milly said to the right of Claire.

Milly was thirteen too, with a round face and large eyes. One of these days, Milly would grow up and turn boys’ heads. Seeing the two girls side-by-side was always such an amazing contrast. Milly looked fragile and unready for the world, especially sitting next to Claire, with her dirty hair and steely resolve.

“Annie?” Gaby said, looking to Claire’s left.

Annie had been staring out the window the whole time, and she flinched noticeably at the sound of her name. She gathered herself and gave Gaby something that was supposed to be a smile. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m in one piece. We all are, thank God.”

“I don’t know how,” the older woman said. “They were shooting from everywhere. I wasn’t this scared back at the farmhouse last night. All those guns, all those bullets… It’s a miracle we’re still alive. How are we even still alive?”

“I don’t know. Lucky, I guess.”

“I haven’t felt very lucky these last few days.” She attempted another smile, and it came out equally bad. “But I guess we’re owed a little, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gaby said. She thought about Lance. The other Lance. Annie’s boyfriend, and not one of the soldiers who had guarded her back in L15. The good Lance had died last night in a pile of rubble. “Song Island’s not far now. We have plenty of gas, and we’ll be there by noon today. Right, Danny?”

“Oh sure, you betcha,” Danny said without hesitation. “Smooth sailing now, kids. You got ’em, I suggest you smoke ’em.”

“Smoke what?” Claire asked.

“He’s just being funny,” Gaby said. “We’re getting there. Just hang on a bit more.”

Claire nodded. Annie, next to her, had already looked back outside the window at the seemingly never-ending wave of concrete dividers that separated the east and westbound lanes. Will had once told her about the thousand-yard stare that soldiers would get after a firefight, the result of being shell-shocked by combat. Annie looked like she was having one of those at the moment.

Gaby sat back in her seat and looked at Danny. “Were they just bad shots back there? Was that how we survived?”

“No one’s that bad,” Danny said. “They were aiming for the tires.”

“The tires?”

She took a moment to digest what he had said. The tires? They were shooting at their tires? Was that why they had missed the windshield? Every second during the ordeal, she had waited and waited for the first bullet to punch through the glass or the roof and kill her, Danny, and the girls in the back. It would have been easy, because the snipers were firing down on them without anything at all blocking their view.

Instead, all she could remember was the ping-ping-ping! of bullets hitting the sides of the vehicles.

He’s right. They were trying to shoot out the tires.

“Why were they doing that?” she asked him.

“Because they were trying to stop us, not kill us,” Danny said. “The only reason we survived back there was because they were trying to take us alive.”

“They didn’t seem to care whether we lived or died yesterday.”

“Different day, new orders. The only thing you can count on as a grunt in the field is the higher-ups sitting around in their comfy chairs back at headquarters, changing their minds from day to day.”

“So someone changed the orders. Who?”

Danny didn’t answer right away. Gaby watched him closely. She looked past the bruises, the broken nose that was still healing, and the cuts that covered a face that always used to remind her of a transplanted California surfer, even though she knew for a fact Danny had never lived anywhere else outside of Texas after his Army days.

“Danny,” she pressed. “Whose orders were they following back there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Bullshit. I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

He looked over and grinned. It was a valiant attempt, but it wasn’t anywhere close to being the usual Danny grin, and she thought he probably knew it, too.

“You sound like Carly,” he said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Then, “Tell me, Danny.”

“I don’t know for sure…”

“But you know something.”

“Willie boy and I talked about it on and off. She’s been dogging him since she went turncoat.”

Gaby knew who Danny was talking about without hearing the name. She had heard it often enough. Not from Will or Danny, but from Lara and Carly. The topic never came up on purpose, but something would happen that reminded them she was out there. Both women had known her in the early days of The Purge, especially Carly, and they knew what she had become later, and still was now.

Out there, somewhere.

“You know about her and us,” Danny said. “More specifically, her and him.”

“They were at the underground bunker in Starch, Texas, together. You all were.”

“She came back with a vengeance while we were out there looking for you. A few nights ago, she made one of her patented appearances in his dream. Or nightmare. Foggy walkabout.” He shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. She was there, and she showed him that whole mess in Dunbar.”

“With Harrison…”

“Uh huh.”

She paused. Gaby didn’t want to say the woman’s name, but she had to make sure. “Are we talking about the same person, Danny?”

He looked at her and mouthed the word, “Kate.”

She knew the name, but hearing Danny say it—even if he didn’t actually say it out loud—made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Kate.

Will’s Kate.

And now her men—her human hands and feet in the daylight—had him. That was the bad news. The good news was that knowing that Kate was behind all of this made it easier to accept that Will was still alive back there, and that, ironically enough, buoyed her spirits. Because he was Will, and as long as he was still breathing, there was a chance.

“Someone once told me I’m too stubborn to die,” he had said to her not all that long ago. “Okay, more than one person, actually. There’s a good chance it could be true.”

For the first time since the shooting stopped, Gaby found herself smiling into the wind.

* * *

They didn’t stop for another thirty minutes, when Milly declared she couldn’t go another mile without using the bathroom. Of course, there wasn’t a bathroom or a roadside rest stop anywhere nearby, so Danny parked the Titan in the middle of the highway, and Milly jumped out and ran behind a blue sedan.

Gaby climbed out to stretch and look over the damage from the ambush. Danny was right when he said the shooters had been trying to disable the car instead of killing them. The bullet holes were all concentrated around the four tires, which by some miracle had all made it through in one piece. She didn’t know what they would have done if one of the shooters had actually managed to puncture a tire. Did they even have a spare in the back somewhere? What would have happened if they had lost two tires?

Danny hobbled out of the truck on the other side. For a guy moving on one good leg—the one encased in a makeshift splint that was really just floorboards and duct tape—he had driven amazingly well throughout. He was still grimacing with every step, and when he turned his back to her, she heard the clinking of pills in a bottle he had retrieved from one of his cargo pants pockets.

She wished she could say seeing Danny hurt was a novel thing, but the sad truth was they were all hurt. Their entire life since The Purge had been a series of running and fighting, and that kind of existence tended to leave scars and bruises. If they weren’t struggling against the creatures in the night, they were braving their human lackeys in the day. Thank God those same men couldn’t shoot for crap, or they might have been dead a dozen times over by now.

The sun beat down on her as she peered down the highway. Will was back there, somewhere, captured by those very fallible humans right now.

“Someone once told me I’m too stubborn to die.”

She smiled again. Those same men were going to find out just how stubborn he was very soon. As long as Will was breathing, she had faith he’d find his way back to the island. Or wherever Lara ended up, anyway.

Gaby glanced around her to make sure they were alone. I-10 consisted of four lanes, two on each side, and had become low to the ground as they left Route 13 far behind. The east- and westbound lanes were separated by a tall divider with a healthy stretch of shoulder on both sides of the concrete barricade. Tall walls of wood flanked them, and it had been ten minutes since they last drove past a business advertising seafood and “Good Eats.” There hadn’t been anything else since, which made stopping here ideal.

With the truck’s engine turned off, they would be able to hear another vehicle coming for miles. More than enough warning to get back in and flee. It still nagged at her that the soldiers hadn’t pursued them from Route 13. They had chased after them on foot for a while, but those large trucks that had tried to block their path, the same ones Will had barreled into with the Tacoma, or the ones that had cut off their retreat, hadn’t pursued.

They have a plan. Whoever’s leading them, has a plan.

Is that you out there calling the shots, Josh? Is that you doing Kate’s bidding?

She looked down at her watch: 10:16 a.m.

It felt like evening already. The temperature had lessened noticeably when they stepped out of the farmhouse this morning. It was hovering around seventy degrees at the moment, pleasant enough that she almost didn’t realize for the first time in a long time that she wasn’t sweating profusely under her clothes while standing out in the open.

According to the map they carried with them, they were already halfway to Lake Charles. It would take another hour of driving at a decent rate of speed to get there. From there, the town of Salvani wasn’t far off. Once they made it past that, it was south toward Song Island. Smooth sailing.

Because everything up to this point has been smooth sailing so far, right?

Danny leaned against the driver side door and looked across the hood at her. “How’re you holding up, kid?”

“I’m still standing,” she said. “You?”

“Got me a busted face, with a busted nose, and a busted leg. Other than that, I feel super duper awesome.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Danny was looking past her at the girls. Annie had walked over to join Milly behind the sedan, while Claire was standing watch with that shotgun of hers and looking back down the highway, as if she, too, expected someone to appear in pursuit of them at any moment.

“Where are they, Danny?” Gaby asked. “They had trucks. Maybe more, stashed behind those buildings. But they just let us go. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Danny said. “Maybe because they got what they wanted.”

“Will.”

“Yeah.”

“That would make sense, if she’s the one pulling the strings like you thought.”

“Oh, it’s her, all right,” Danny said with absolute certainty. “I told him never to pick up the psychos. They have separation issues. Plus, he shot her. That tends to sour a relationship, which is why I always try to avoid shooting my girlfriends.”

Gaby smiled. It came out easily that time, and Danny looked pleased with himself as a result.

I guess we both needed that.

“Come on,” Danny said, “let’s keep truckin’. Mother always said not to look a gift horse in the mouth. If we can get to Song Island by three or four, I’ll be a happy little boy with bells on his feet.”

“Should we radio ahead? Tell them we’re coming?”

Danny shook his head. “Not yet.”

“We should tell them we’re coming.”

“We will, when we’re closer, but…not yet.”

“Why—”

“I don’t know what to tell her,” he said, and climbed back into the Titan without another word.

Lara. Danny was talking about Lara. As much as they both believed that Will would be fine, that as long as he was breathing he would find them (Maybe even beat us to Song Island), a part of Danny had doubts.

But she didn’t.

Did she?

“Girls!” Gaby called. “Let’s go!”

Milly and Annie headed back, clinging to one another and looking like mother and daughter. Claire stayed behind until the two had passed her, then she turned and jogged over.

“Next stop, Song Island?” Milly asked, looking brighter than she had all day. Or maybe that was just the sun shining in her face.

“Next stop, Song Island,” Gaby nodded.

“Sweet,” Claire said. “I’m going to drink cold water until I barf.”

* * *

The part of her that had been trained by Will and Danny, and that had been surviving out here by herself without them, knew that they weren’t going to reach Salvani without encountering resistance. The nineteen-year-old in her that was barely a year removed from her senior year of high school was holding out hope that it was a possibility.

She should have known better.

The first shot hadn’t finished its echo before the bullet punched through the front grill of the Nissan and Danny jammed on the brake. The truck swerved slightly, Danny fighting the steering wheel for control, face contorted into a tight grimace. He finally managed to stop the vehicle, freezing it in place across the two-lane highway, the nose barely a foot from ramming into the concrete divider.

That allowed Gaby to look out her glassless window and up the road at two nondescript trucks parked about fifty yards from them. They had looked like all the other derelict vehicles they had passed since Route 13, with nothing about them standing out. Which was why Danny had almost driven right up to them when the first shot shattered the calm midday air.

Except these cars weren’t abandoned, because there was a man peering back at her from behind a scope, the long barrel of his rifle leaning over the hood of the parked white Ford truck. The other vehicle was some kind of Chevy, and it sat along the shoulder. She thought she caught a glimpse of another figure moving around on the other side of its windows.

A flicker of movement drew her attention, and she didn’t have to turn very far to see a third man moving on the other side of the concrete divider, jogging up the highway toward them. The man’s head was bobbing up and down as he attempted to stay as low as possible, but he was doing a very poor job of it.

She twisted in her seat and shouted, “Get out the other side! Now now now!”

Then she was turning back around, opening her car door, and lunging out before she even realized what she was doing.

The other side, you idiot! Go out the other side!

Too late. Her M4 rifle was clutched tightly in her hands, though she didn’t remember when she had picked it up from where it had fallen during Danny’s chaotic struggle to regain control of the vehicle. As soon as her foot landed on the hard highway floor, she expected to pay for her dumb decision. When she heard the crack! of the rifle, instead of feeling pain in her chest, there was a buzzing sensation right next to her right ear. The bullet sailed past her and hit the roof of the car behind her before ricocheting into the air.

Two more shots rang out as she darted toward the back of the Nissan, the ping! ping! coming from behind her. She swore she could smell metal against metal. Maybe that was just her imagination, though she didn’t stop to ponder it. Instead, she grabbed at the top of the truck bed and used it to slingshot herself around the corner until she saw the back bumper and kept running until she was on the other side.

She was happy to see that Danny was on the highway and pulling Milly out after him with one hand, the other holding his beat-up M4A1. Claire and Annie were already huddled against the truck, using it as a shield.

“You okay?” Claire asked when Gaby crouched down next to her.

Hey, that’s my job, Gaby thought, but it took her a few seconds to stop her racing heartbeat long enough to respond. “I’m good. You?”

“I don’t think I was hit.”

She looked past Claire at Danny, who was depositing Milly next to Annie. “Danny…”

“I saw two,” he said.

“I saw three.”

“Where?”

“On the other side of the divider—”

“Check.”

“—behind the white truck—”

“Double check.”

“And behind the red Chevy.”

“Didn’t see that one,” Danny said. “You still running around with just the holes God gave you?”

She managed a smile. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Crack! as a bullet punctured the front tire on the passenger side of the Nissan. The truck dipped slightly just before a second shot rang out and the back passenger tire joined it.

“Sonsofbitches,” Danny grunted. “And I misplaced my Triple A card, too. Now how are we gonna get to Song Island on just two good tires?”

“Maybe we have some spares in the trunk?” Annie said.

Danny looked over at her, then grinned at Gaby. “Captain Optimism, this one.”

“I thought you were Captain Optimism,” Gaby grinned back.

“I’ve since decided to relinquish the title. It’s too much work—”

Crack! A third shot cut Danny off, and they heard the ping! as the bullet pierced the other side of the vehicle.

It didn’t take long for Gaby to smell it: gasoline.

She dropped to the ground and looked under the car and saw liquid pouring to the highway on the other side. “Danny, they shot the gas tank.”

“Oh my God, is the car going to explode?” Annie said, her eyes wide with terror.

“You watch too many movies,” Danny said. He looked behind them, back down the highway.

“What is it?” she asked.

“They’re pinning us down. Probably because they have reinforcements on the way.”

“Is this why they haven’t been chasing us? Because they knew that sooner or later we’d run into these guys?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” he nodded. “These buggers are a lot cleverer than I gave them credit for.”

“Is that a word?” Claire asked.

“What?” Danny said.

“‘Cleverer.’ Is that a word?”

Danny chuckled. “I got a dictionary back at the island. We’ll look it up when we get there, kid.” He looked past her at Gaby. “Let’s hope either the Ford or the Chevy is still drivable, ’cause we’re gonna need a new car if we wanna get there.”

“How are we going to get to them?” she asked. “They have us pinned down, remember?”

“Normally this is when I tell Willie boy to come up with a plan, but since he’s not…” Danny didn’t finish. He shook his head instead, the frustration visible on his face for the first time since Route 13. “Goddammit. I told him that plan of his was shit. You heard me, right? But no, he always had to have a plan. Well, shit on my bread and rye. That didn’t work out too well, did it?”

Gaby wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, the girls, or…someone else.

“Danny,” she said. “What do we do? How do we get out of here? If they’re content to just pin us down and wait for reinforcements, we can’t just sit here.”

Danny blinked up at the sun. “At least the weather’s finally nice. I was starting to think this place had only two decent things going for it—bad weather and bad weather.”

There was enough of a cool breeze that none of them had started sweating yet despite the harried last few seconds. The sudden shift in weather, from insufferably hot to almost chilly, was a strange feeling because it was already making her think about sweaters, or a jacket, or maybe even some thermal socks—

“Hey! You back there!” a voice shouted. “Can you hear me?”

It was coming from the guy closest to them, the one behind the divider to their left. Thirty yards? Unless the man had moved further up since she last saw him.

Danny scooted closer to the front bumper of the Nissan and leaned out briefly, then pulled back a second later.

“Close?” Gaby asked.

“Twenty-seven meters, give or take,” Danny said.

Gaby did the calculations in her head. Twenty-seven meters was…thirty yards. Give or take. So she wasn’t too far off. That surprised and pleased her. Will used to say that combat was like playing sports—after a while, you got so used to the speed and chaos that everything started to slow down.

Too bad I can’t put this skill on my college resume. Harvard would have been so impressed.

“Did you see if they were wearing uniforms?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Too well hidden.”

“Hey!” the man shouted again. “I asked you a question!”

“Fuck off!” Danny shouted back.

They heard laughter, then, “I guess that’s a yes.”

“What do you want?” Danny shouted.

“You know what we want!”

“World peace?”

More laughter, though this time it sounded slightly forced. The man clearly wanted them to think he was enjoying this, that he had no worries whatsoever.

Yeah, right.

“That too,” the man said. “But what I’d really like is for you to throw out your guns so we can have a talk.”

“Oh, is that all you want?” Danny said. “Just to talk?”

“Exactly!”

“I’m gonna have to politely decline and ask you to kiss my ass instead.”

“Har har,” the man said. “You’re a funny guy.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I’m going to shoot you in the face, funny guy.”

“Well that’s ironic, because that’s what I did to your mom last night,” Danny shouted back.

The man went quiet.

Danny looked back at Gaby and grinned. “Too much?”

“Come on, leave the moms out of this,” Gaby smiled back.

“Yeah, that was definitely uncalled for.” Danny glanced at his watch, then back down the highway again to make sure it was still empty. “Can’t stay here forever, kid. If their reinforcements aren’t already on the way, it won’t be long now.”

She craned her head a bit and listened, expecting to hear car engines approaching at any second, but the drip-drip-drip of the gas on the other side of the Nissan overwhelmed everything. The smell was also getting stronger, which meant the entire tank was going to be empty, or close enough, soon.

“Danny,” she said, “what are we going to do?”

He looked at the girls. At Claire, crouched with the large shotgun, which appeared somehow even larger in her small hands. At Annie and Milly, the two of them with their arms around each other. If they were even aware of what was happening, Gaby couldn’t tell.

His eyes finally settled on hers. “You and me, kid.”

“Yeah…”

“And me,” Claire said, looking at Gaby, then Danny. “I know how to use this,” she said, clutching and unclutching the shotgun. “I saved Will’s life last night.”

“Yeah, you did,” Danny nodded. “But that’s a close-quarters weapon. Those boys are at least half a football field away—”

Crack!

All three of them ducked on instinct, but instead of hearing the familiar ping! of a bullet hitting the other side of the Nissan, there was instead just the echo of the gunshot.

“What the hell?” Danny said. “What were they shooting at?”

Before she could answer, there was a second crack!, followed by the pop-pop-pop of a magazine being unleashed on something. Or someone.

A moment later, there was just the silence again.

Danny and Gaby exchanged another look.

Even Claire, between them, looked confused.

“You take that side, I’ll take this one,” Danny said.

Gaby nodded and looked at Claire. “Stay here.”

“But—” the girl protested.

“No,” Gaby said, cutting her off. “One day I’ll teach you how to use this,” she said, showing her the M4. “For now, all that shotgun’s good for is close range. You understand?”

Claire nodded grudgingly. “You’ll teach me one day.”

“Promise.”

Gaby nodded at Danny, then turned around and moved toward the back bumper. She leaned out and looked up the highway. The white Ford was where she last saw it, about fifty yards up the road. The red Chevy was still parked across from it, but there were no signs of the men she had seen earlier.

“Anything?” she said, looking back at Danny.

He was leaning out too, when he pulled back and shook his head. “Squadoosh.”

“The guy behind the divider?”

“No signs of him.”

“What’s going on, Danny?”

“Hell if I know.” Then he sighed. “Stay here.”

“No,” she said, and lunged out from behind the bumper and into the open before he could protest.

Maybe it was a little bit courage, a little bit stupidity, or just a lot of adrenaline. Either way, she was sick and tired of hiding, of being hunted, and Gaby practically ran up the interstate with her rifle in front of her, eyes zeroing in on the two vehicles, looking for a head, a body, or just a limb. Something—anything—that she could shoot.

She was, she realized, just too pissed off to think clearly at the moment.

And Danny wasn’t trying to stop her. Instead, he had somehow hopped the divider and was moving up the highway at the same time and keeping pace with her, which was amazing given that he was limping the whole time, and she was pretty sure he was in extreme pain by the way he was grimacing with every inch.

“Don’t shoot!” a voice shouted.

It was male, but not the same one who had been trading barbs with Danny earlier. This one was coming from behind the Chevy.

Gaby went down on one knee and lined up her scope on the red truck. She was halfway to her target and wanted desperately to find cover, but there was none around her. She was out in the open, but at least she had her rifle. A year ago, the idea of dying with her weapon clutched in her hands would have been surreal. These days, it was the best-case scenario she could hope for.

She screened the car windows, looking for signs of a head—something.

But the man was smart and remained hidden.

She sneaked a peek at Danny and saw him moving steadily up the highway on the other side of the concrete barrier. He was twenty-five yards from the truck and getting closer, and it didn’t seem like the shooter had noticed him.

“Gaby!” the voice said.

The sound of her name sent chills through her.

What the hell?

Danny had stopped ten yards from the closest vehicle and went into a crouch. She could just barely make out the top of his head on the other side of the structure, but she knew he had reacted exactly the same way she had—confused and surprised by the sound of her name.

“Gaby!” the man called again. “Don’t shoot!”

“Who the hell are you?” Gaby shouted back.

“I’m throwing out my weapon!”

“Do it!”

An AR-15 skidded across the highway from behind the Chevy. It didn’t stop until it had gotten ten feet from the back bumper. A second later, a Glock followed, landing a few feet from the rifle.

“I’m unarmed!” the man shouted.

“Come out with your hands up!” Gaby shouted, trying to inject as much menace into her voice as possible.

She didn’t have a clue what was happening. Where did the other two men go? Was there some kind of gunfight? A betrayal? Was the last remaining man trying to surrender to them? Was this some kind of trick? If it was, it was overly elaborate, because the shooters had them pinned. They had all the advantage and this…this didn’t make any sense at all.

What the hell is going on?

“Gaby!” the man shouted again.

There was something in the way he said her name, as if he knew her. As if they were close. Except she didn’t recognize the voice.

Or did she?

“Yeah?” she shouted back.

“You don’t recognize my voice, do you?” the man asked.

Not a goddamn clue.

“Maybe!” she said instead. “Come out and show yourself!”

“Coming out!” he said. “Tell the guy behind the divider not to shoot!”

Danny stood up on the westbound shoulder and took aim as the figure stepped out from behind the truck, his hands raised above his head. She immediately picked up the camouflage uniform, with the familiar white star insignia above a name tag and a patch with the Louisiana boot on one shoulder.

The man walked toward her. The sun was behind him, and instead of providing the clarity she needed, the light instead turned him into a silhouetted figure whose face was hidden almost completely in shadows.

“You really don’t recognize my voice?” he asked. She thought he sounded almost hurt.

“No,” Gaby said, standing up. She hadn’t lowered her rifle, and neither had Danny. She squinted against the sunlight, trying to see his face. “What happened to the other two?”

“I shot them.”

“Why?”

“I had to, or they would have killed or captured you. I couldn’t let either of those things happen.” He paused, then added, “Has it really been that long? You really don’t remember me…”

By now, Danny had reached the trucks and climbed back onto their part of the highway. He hobbled his way around the Chevy and then peered behind the white Ford.

“Danny?” Gaby called. “What do you see?”

“Two bodies,” Danny said. “Looks like he’s not lying. He took them both out.”

“I told you,” the man said.

“Who the hell are you?” Gaby said.

“Can I come closer?” he asked.

She nodded. “Slowly…”

He continued walking toward her, making a concerted effort not to move his hands too much or lengthen his stride to give the impression of aggression. He was taller than her, though not by very much. Maybe five-ten to her five-seven.

“They made me cut my hair,” he said. When he got to within ten yards of her, he stopped and she could finally see his face.

“You,” she said, the word coming out as barely a whisper.

“Too bad, too,” Nate said, smiling wryly at her. “Chicks dug the Mohawk.”

5

Lara

Will would have taken Gage into the back of the boat, made him stand next to the railing, then shot him in the back of the head and let the body drop to the water below. And Lara wouldn’t have lifted a hand to stop him, or think about it ever again. Will did what had to be done and though it sometimes stayed with him, he never looked back on it with regret. Or, at least, he never let her think that he did.

She wasn’t Will, though.

Instead of putting Gage out of his (their) misery, she decided to use him, always keeping in mind what the man was capable of. She had no doubts there were crimes he had committed since The Purge that she didn’t know about and that he would never willingly confess to, but she knew what he had intended to do to the island. He had admitted as much, and Keo had told her what he had overheard Gage and his first mate, the man without the head inside the bridge, discussing before he opened fire on them.

“They’ve done it before,” Keo had said. “A lot of times, from the sound of it. They might as well be talking about the weather.”

“And you’re sure?” she had asked, looking him in the eyes because she needed to know with absolute certainty.

Keo had nodded. “I’ve breathed the same air, eaten with, and lived with guys like Gage. Trust me when I tell you, what they had in store for the island would have turned your stomach.”

She believed him. Every word of it.

It took her a full hour to walk the entire 140-something feet of the Trident, slipping in and out of its three decks. The interiors were surprisingly roomy, each section broken down for crew, guests, and the owners. She ended up back on the first deck where she had arrived with Maddie and the others earlier before moving through the passenger cabins, then the crew quarters further up front. The second deck (or main, as Keo called it) contained a complete dining room that was part of a large entertainment area with a bar on the side. It was big enough for a dozen people to gather around without bumping into each other.

An owner’s cabin took up the majority of available space up front, with a window that opened up onto a terrace overlooking the front of the yacht. She walked past a king-size bed, its well-used satin sheets tossed across the floor. There were spots of dried blood on the expensive carpeting, along with a pile of men and women’s clothes. She did her best to not think about who they belonged to or how they had gotten there, or where their owners were at the moment.

“Trust me when I tell you, what they had in store for the island would have turned your stomach.”

When she stepped outside the terrace, she had no trouble picking up Jo, Bonnie’s little sister, standing guard in the boat shack on the beach. The yacht had been moved a little closer to the island and they could have swam back and forth if they needed to, though of course using the boats was easier—and drier.

Jo saw her and waved, and Lara returned it.

She felt odd standing out there as if this rich man’s toy belonged to her, especially knowing what Gage and his “friends” had been using it for. So she hurried back inside, giving the posh bed and furniture a longer second look. Eventually they’d have to dump most of it. The boat was diesel-powered, and although she was sure it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference, the idea of leaving all these luxuries onboard felt wrong. Besides, they’d need the extra room sooner or later, and she’d rather everyone fit than be comfortable.

She moved back through the deck, past all the signs of money, from the large screen TVs that curved along with the wall to the bottles of liquor and wine behind the bar (albeit most of them appeared empty) to abstract paintings from people she had never heard of, but knew that each one probably cost more than she had ever made in her life up to this point. That might have changed if she had ever finished medical school and become an honest to goodness doctor. Those dreams were long gone, though, especially now with Zoe taking her place on the island.

So what am I now?

I guess we’ll find out tonight.

Her boots left behind white sand from the beach on the expensive flooring. Some kind of glossy wood…or something. The wall paneling that adorned the place looked like it might have cost more to install than her three years of medical school. Her mind wandered back to the yacht’s previous owner. Dead now. She hadn’t bothered to ask Gage how the man had died. It didn’t matter. Dead was dead.

Well, not really, but close.

She stepped outside onto the patio and leaned over the railing. Maddie was below her on the lower deck, busy fastening a plastic raft in place in case they needed it. The lifeboat that was supposed to be in the spot where Maddie was putting the raft now was, of course, lying somewhere at the bottom of the lake, along with its two occupants.

Two down. That leaves one.

So where’s the eighth guy?

Lara unclipped her radio and keyed it. “Blaine, come in.”

“What’s up?” Blaine said.

“Anything yet?”

Blaine and Roy were two decks below her in the engine room, searching for a man who may or may not actually exist. Lara had gone down there and taken a look herself, but it was like stepping into the belly of a submarine—she didn’t have a clue what she was looking at. It did make her glad she hadn’t actually shot Gage earlier. Whatever the man was—and he was a lot of things, most of it bad—he still possessed knowledge that none of them did. She was going to exploit that until she didn’t need to anymore.

After that, well…

“It’s dirty down here,” Blaine said through the radio, “but so far no signs of the eighth guy. But I can see why he’d be down here, though. This place is a maze. There are nooks and crannies and places I don’t even have names for.”

“A lot of places to hide?”

“Too many. We’d need more time and manpower to look everywhere. And if he knows the place as well as Keo thinks he does, then he’ll know where to hide from us. Or move around without being seen or heard.”

She didn’t know what she had expected. That the eighth guy would voluntarily give himself up after hiding out all night? She was hoping, maybe, but she always knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Of course not. Because that would have been too easy.

“Okay,” she said into the radio. “Finish searching what you can, then get back up here. Once you’re outside, seal the engine room. If he’s down there, we’ll just have to be satisfied with locking him in.”

“What about the engine?”

“What about it?”

“What if he sabotages it?”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that what people usually do in the movies? To keep us from launching a nuke or shooting someone important? Or, in this case, using the boat?”

Sabotage? She hadn’t thought of that.

So what else hadn’t she thought about?

“Or he could just do enough damage so we can’t use it, but he can fix it later,” Blaine said.

“Blaine, you’re overthinking it.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she said, doing her best to sound confident. Did it work? Was she just fooling herself? She added, “Finish up and get up here. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”

“You’re the boss,” Blaine said.

So everyone keeps reminding me. God help us all.

She clipped the radio back to her hip. Maybe the eighth guy didn’t even exist, and Gage was playing games with them. Or maybe the man didn’t know how to count. Either way, she didn’t like the mere prospect of having someone running around on the boat who could hurt one of her people. Not that she could do anything about it at the moment. At least, not without more manpower.

Below her, Maddie was looking up in her direction. “I always wanted my own personal yacht!” she shouted.

“What were you going to name it?” Lara called down.

“Jaxon. With an x.”

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“I wish. He didn’t know I existed.”

“Well, now you have a yacht. That’ll teach him.”

Maddie laughed, then went back to cinching the craft into place.

Lara looked down at her watch. It was almost ten.

Will had called two hours ago. He wouldn’t call again for another few hours, until he was almost at the island. She had wanted to ask him to make it three contacts instead of their usual two, just for today, but had decided against it. Will had other things to worry about out there, like men in uniforms with assault rifles. The less she put on his plate, the more energy he could devote to actually surviving. God knew that was difficult enough on an island that didn’t move, but to be constantly hounded and chased out there in the open…

Hurry home, Will.

She glanced over at the shoreline in the distance. She couldn’t quite see the burned-down marina or the two-story house with the naked eye, but if she squinted long and hard enough, just maybe…

Her radio squawked, and Carly’s voice came through. She sounded anxious and even slightly out of breath. “Lara, come in.”

She answered as fast as she could. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“I guess you can’t hear it,” Carly said. “Boat motors. They’re coming toward us from the north.”

“Did you say ‘motors’? Plural?”

“Yeah. Benny says he can see two of them right now.” She paused, then added, “Benny says there are men in camo army uniforms on both of them.”

Already? In the daylight?

She pressed the transmit lever again, said, “Keo, did you hear that?”

“I’m on my way to the Tower now,” Keo said.

He was back at the hotel, having returned earlier to get out of last night’s damp clothes and escort Gage over to Zoe in order to get his wound treated. She might have entertained the idea of killing the “captain” earlier, but now that she accepted how valuable he could be, they had to keep him alive, even if he only had one good leg left. She only needed what was inside his head, anyway.

“Blaine, Roy,” Lara said into the radio.

“Where do you want us?” Blaine answered.

“Stay on the boat and guard the yacht.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Then, “Maddie, get the boat ready.”

“Readying,” Maddie said, already climbing onto the bass fishing boat tied to the back of the Trident below her.

Lara hustled down the rung of stairs. She hadn’t set foot on the lower deck for more than a few seconds when her radio squawked again.

“Lara,” Carly said through the radio.

“Where are they now?” she asked.

“Still at the same spot. But remember when I said there were two boats?”

“Yes…”

“They just got friends,” Carly said. “There are four of them now.”

Are they really attacking? In the daylight?

Maybe I was wrong about them. About what they would do. What they could do.

What else was I wrong about?

* * *

Four boats. If they had two men in each one, that was eight soldiers. That was the best-case scenario, anyway. It was more likely there would be more than just two per vessel. Like four. She remembered that night when Karen’s people tried to retake the island. There had been around four per boat then.

The worst-case scenario had sixteen heavily-armed men sent to kill them.

In the daylight? she thought again.

For some reason, she found herself hoping sixteen was the right number. Sixteen men, as menacing as that sounded, was preferable to twenty, or thirty, or God help them, forty or more. If Kate really wanted the island and to kill every living thing on it, she had plenty of collaborators willing to help her achieve that end. All those soldiers out there (like Josh) running around rounding up survivors who hadn’t capitulated to the ghouls yet was proof of that.

But still…sixteen?

She was jogging up the pier, having hopped out of the boat even before Maddie finished sidling alongside it. Lara was amazed how comfortable she had become with moving while carrying a full arsenal strapped to her body. The gun belt didn’t even feel heavy anymore, and she hardly noticed the M4 thumping against her back. She had even become used to the weight of the ammo pouches, the handgun, and the knife on her left hip.

Look at me, ma. All armed and a lot of men to kill.

She unclipped her radio and keyed it as she leaped off the pier and landed on the cobblestone pathway that wound its way from the beach to the hotel grounds beyond the wall of trees in front of her. “Talk to me, guys.”

“Four boats, two men each,” Keo said through the radio.

Two men per boat? That didn’t make any sense.

Why so few? And why in the daylight?

“Small boats?” she asked.

“Nope,” Keo said.

She couldn’t tell if he was just as confused as she was. It was hard enough to hear nuance over the radio, but Keo, like Will, had a bad habit of not giving away his thoughts, even up close and personal. And she knew Will. As much as she had put her trust and the lives of her people in Keo’s hands, she had to constantly remind herself that he was still a stranger.

“It doesn’t look like this is an attack run,” Keo added.

“So what are they doing?”

“Watching us back with binoculars.”

A scouting mission? Was that it? Was that all this was?

“How far?” she asked.

“About half a kilometer.”

“Can you take a shot?”

“You mean you want me to shoot them?” he asked, almost…was that befuddlement?

“Yes,” she said, racing between the trees.

She was momentarily alarmed by the sudden dip in temperature as she jogged up the cobblestone pathway. The island had cooled down noticeably in the last few days, but with the plentiful shade provided by the towering walls of trees to both sides of her at the moment, she felt as if she was running through a pristine valley.

“Um, no,” Keo was saying through the radio.

“Why the hell not?”

“I can’t make the shot. Who do you think I am, an ex-Army Ranger?”

She sighed. “Never mind. Just keep an eye on them for now.”

“Now that, I can do.”

Bonnie was on the front patio of the hotel waiting for her when she emerged out of the woods. The ex-model had her rifle and looked like she had just woken up, which was probably not too far from the truth. Bonnie was tired, but then, they were all getting by with less sleep these days. It was just another privilege of surviving in a post-Purge world.

Adapt or perish, right, Will?

“I heard on the radio,” Bonnie said. “Where do you want me?”

“Stay in the hotel,” Lara said as she jogged past Bonnie. “The girls. Watch the girls!”

Bonnie nodded before heading back into the hotel.

It took Lara another few minutes to finally reach the Tower, a tall structure—a combination lighthouse and radio tower—on the northeastern edge of the island. It stood next to a cliff overlooking Beaufont Lake and was tall enough at forty meters to give them a perfect view of the entire island and the surrounding lake and its shorelines. Will called it a perfect sniper’s perch, and she supposed that was true. Unfortunately for her, there was no one on the island at the moment who was good enough with a rifle to actually make use of it. Still, it served other purposes, like an early warning device in case of an attack.

Or boats of undetermined motives approaching, like now.

What the hell are they doing out there? If this isn’t an attack, then what is it?

She climbed the cast-iron metal staircase up the three floors and was laboring badly by the time she poked her head through the third floor’s opening. The Tower’s second and third floors had four windows in each direction, and Keo was standing at the north one, now peering out with binoculars. He had changed into dry cargo pants and a sweater and had that German submachine gun slung over his back. For the life of her, she didn’t understand why he didn’t switch to an M4, which had a much better range.

Even as she thought that, Lara almost laughed at herself. When did she get so comfortable with all of this that she was seriously considering telling a man like Keo what made for a better weapon? A year ago, she had thought every gun had a safety and didn’t know the difference between a clip and a magazine.

She had managed to regain some of her composure and wasn’t nearly hyperventilating as much when she stepped through the door. “Where’s Benny?”

Carly looked back at her from the south window. “Keo sent him down to the northwest cliff in case they had managed to sneak someone closer when we weren’t watching.”

“Did they?”

“The kid hasn’t seen anything,” Keo said.

“Benny’s still hurt.”

“He’s fine enough.” He handed his binoculars to her as she walked over. “North. That means they came from the same staging area I told you about.”

“The same one you’ve hit twice now.”

“That’s the one.” He smirked. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed by their refusal to abandon that place. A part of me feels just slighted enough to go back there and hit them a third time.”

“Hey, you shoot the grenade launcher, and I’ll drive,” Carly said.

“I thought you were leaving soon,” Lara said to him.

“That’s still the plan,” Keo said. “But I had a few minutes to kill.”

“Thanks.”

He gave her a noncommittal shrug, then pointed again. “See them?”

It was impossible to miss them with the binoculars. Even half a kilometer away, they looked clear as day drifting on the water. It wasn’t as if they were trying to hide. A couple of the men were standing and peering back at her with their own binoculars, while the rest seemed to be lounging about without a care in the world. All four boats were powered by outboard motors that were shut off, and the only sound was the crashing of waves against the rocky formations at the edges of the island outside the window.

There were only two in each boat, and although they were heavily armed, the way they were just loitering around made them look like fishermen hanging out for the day. Of course, the fact that they were all heavily armed and wearing what looked like army uniforms said otherwise.

“You’ve seen those before?” Lara asked. “The uniforms.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They’re the same ones I’ve run across.”

“But are they Army?”

“As in US Army?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve been around grunts all my life. Those aren’t standard army issue. They’re assholes dressing up in costumes.”

Carly chuckled behind them. “Damn, you and that silver tongue of yours, K-pop.”

“I try,” he said. Then, “My guess? Whoever’s in charge already knows that you know they’re coming. Maybe he figures there’s no point in hiding it.”

“Maybe it’s a she,” Carly said. “Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean you can be a sexist pig, Keo.”

“My mistake. It could be an asshole chick calling the shots.”

“Better.”

“So what’s the point of this?” Lara asked, lowering the binoculars.

“Maybe just intimidation,” he said.

“That makes sense to you?”

“Beats the hell out of me. I just do the shooting. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the psychology of why, how, and when.”

Lara shook her head. “Well, I do spend a lot of time thinking about that, and none of this makes any sense to me.” She keyed her radio. “Benny, come in.”

“Benny here,” the young man answered.

“Are you seeing anything out there?”

“Nothing. I’m halfway to the western half right now, but so far, I don’t see anything.”

“How’s the leg?” she asked.

Benny had come to them with a broken leg, and she hadn’t expected very much out of him as a result. But the young man had proven himself more than capable, and with the help of a custom leg brace designed by Stan, he was moving around again. To help maximize his abilities, she had given him jobs that didn’t require a lot of constant movement, such as standing watch on the shack at the beach or in the Tower.

“It itches,” Benny was saying, “but I’m still mobile.”

“Okay, keep looking. I need to make sure they’re not trying something.”

“Roger that.”

“Carly?” Lara said, looking across the room. “Anything along the shoreline?”

“Not a thing,” Carly said. “If they’re out there, or planning something, they’re really being sneaky about it. Sneaky buggers, as Danny would say.”

The not knowing gnawed at her. What the hell were they doing out there? Or was Keo right? Were they just trying to intimidate them? Maybe whoever was in charge didn’t even know these bozos had come here? Maybe they were trying to figure out what all the shooting last night was about? Did they know about the yacht yet?

She had so many questions, and so few precious answers.

To keep her mind off the growing frustration, Lara keyed the radio again. “Blaine, come in.”

“Blaine here,” the big man answered.

“Anything on your end?”

“There’s nothing coming at us. It’s all quiet on this side.”

“Okay.” She put the radio down and glanced at Keo. He was staring out the window at the men in the boats. They were mostly stick figures with the naked eye, but that didn’t seemed to deter him. “So?”

“So?” he repeated.

“You’re the expert. What happens now?”

“I’m the expert?” he said, sounding amused.

“Compared to the rest of us? Yes.”

“They’re going to attack tonight, aren’t they?” Carly said behind them.

Keo did that noncommittal shrug again.

“What does that mean?” Carly said, echoing Lara’s own thoughts.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” he finally said.

Lara waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She was about to press him on it when she heard the roar of outboard motors starting up. She looked through the binoculars as the four boats turned around and began moving away, back in the direction they had come.

“They’re leaving,” she said.

“They’ll be back tonight,” Keo said.

She handed the binoculars back to him, catching his eyes as he took it. “We could use you tonight.”

“Your boyfriend will be back by then.”

Hopefully, but I’ve been living on hope for so long, maybe I’m just deluding myself this time, too, she thought, but said, “I know, but we could still use your help.”

“I told you, army guys and me don’t get along.”

“After what you’ve done for us, I’m pretty sure Will and Danny aren’t going to have any problems with you, Keo.”

He didn’t reply right away. He hung the binoculars back up on the hook along the wall and looked across the room at Carly, who had also turned around and was watching him intently as well.

He turned back to Lara. “Look, I respect what you guys are doing here, fighting for this island. But you know my feelings about it. Sooner or later, this place is going to fall and you’re going to lose people. It’s not worth it.”

He stopped for a moment and seemed to be trying to gather his thoughts. Lara could tell talking things out wasn’t something Keo did on a daily basis and that this was all new territory for him.

“But I can tell I’m not going to change your mind,” he continued. “I hate to say it, but I’m a selfish bastard, and I can’t die for a cause I don’t believe in.”

She could see he was struggling with it, which actually surprised her. Will had called Keo a mercenary, and maybe he had been once upon a time. But he had clearly changed a lot since The Purge, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Lara decided to take pity on him. She keyed her radio and said into it, “Maddie, come in.”

“Are they attacking?” Maddie asked through the radio.

“No. They left.”

“They just left?”

“Looks that way.”

“That’s good, right?”

“For now.” Then, “Maddie, I need you to prep one of the boats for Keo, like we talked about before.”

Maddie didn’t say anything for a moment. It took about five seconds, and Keo was watching her closely the entire time. Or was there something else going through his mind at the moment that she couldn’t read? She hated to admit it, but the only thing obvious on the man’s face was that long scar along the left side of his cheek. Other than that, she couldn’t read a damn thing from his expression.

“Roger that,” Maddie finally said.

“Thank you,” Lara said. “Sarah, come in.”

“Yes,” Sarah answered. She was back at the hotel with the kids, Bonnie, and the others.

“Put some supplies together for Keo. At least a month’s worth.”

“Is he leaving?” Sarah asked. It was impossible to miss the disappointment in her voice.

“Yes. I need it within the hour, okay?”

“Okay,” Sarah said.

Lara clipped the radio back to her hip.

“I could use some more weapons and ammo, too,” Keo said.

“You can take whatever you need from the basement.”

“The Army Rangers won’t mind if I raid their stash?”

“They probably will a little bit, but I won’t tell them and since you won’t be here to say otherwise…”

“Works for me. I guess all that’s left is to say good luck.”

“You too.” She shook his hand. “Thanks for everything. We couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

“Yeah, watch yourself out there, K-Pop,” Carly said.

He smiled awkwardly back at her. If Lara thought Keo was bad at expressing his thoughts, he was even worse at saying good-bye, apparently.

She decided to take pity on him again. “I hope you find Gillian, Keo. I mean that.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

She watched him step through the door, his footsteps clanging against the cast-iron stairs as he went down, and down... She didn’t know why, but Lara kept expecting him to pop back up through the opening and confess he wasn’t really leaving after all.

He didn’t, of course.

When they could barely hear his footsteps, she looked across at Carly. “We need to get ready for tonight.”

“Will and Danny should be back by then,” Carly said.

“I know, but we need to get everything and everyone ready anyway until they do get here. Besides, it’ll give everyone something to do, keep their minds off other things.”

“You’re the boss, boss.”

“Until then, I’ll get Stan up here with you.”

“What about Benny?”

“Keo had the right idea. He’s better out there making sure they don’t sneak up on us before nightfall. I should have thought of it myself.”

“Yeah, but Stan?” Carly said. “He’s an electrician, Lara.”

“He’s an electrician, I’m a failed medical student, and you were a teenager before all of this. We adapt or perish, remember?”

Carly sighed. “I hate it when you get all bossy.”

“Hey, you’re the one who made me boss, remember?”

“Me and my big mouth.”

Lara glanced at her watch. 11:30 a.m.

It wouldn’t be long now until Will radioed to tell them he was almost at the shoreline and for her to get a boat ready to pick him up. She would probably need to use the pontoon, because Will was coming with more than just him, Danny, and Gaby. And there were those M240 machine guns he had promised her.

In just three—maybe four—hours, she would see him again. Finally.

It’s about time, Will. You’ve kept me waiting long enough…

6

Will

They were talking amongst themselves when he woke up, and they were still chattering away when he finally summoned enough strength (A few minutes later? A few hours later?) to sit up on the dirty tiled floor. He was in some kind of back room, with the only ventilation coming from a small vent along the top wall in front of him. Except the AC had stopped working a year ago, leaving behind just unrecycled, musty air. Slivers of sunlight shined through a closed high window above him, but most of it came from the open door across the room.

His movements were limited by the zip ties around his ankles, though they were nice enough to let him have his hands folded in front of him instead of bent behind his back. He was uncomfortable, but it could have been a worse. A lot worse.

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

He was breathing, which was all that mattered. As long as he was alive, there was a way out of this. He just had to see it. Then he would be back on his way, back to Song Island. Back to Lara.

His current surroundings weren’t much to look at. The wallpapers were peeling, and debris was strewn along the floor. A pair of empty boxes sat in a corner, but the room was otherwise empty. Figures moved back and forth across the open door, and he could just make out the rest of a store beyond. He guessed he was inside one of the gas stations along Route 13. Either the Palermo or the Chevron.

His head throbbed like someone was inside his skull kicking up a ruckus. Dried blood clung to one side of his face and ran all the way down to his neck. He looked down at his waistline to make sure the nagging wound he was most worried about hadn’t resurfaced, but breathed easier at the lack of blood at that particular spot. That meant Zoe’s stitches were still holding. Good, because the last thing he needed right now was to start bleeding down there, too.

“Do you always carry thread and needle around with you?” Zoe had once asked him.

Expect the best, prepare for the worst, Zoe.

They had taken his weapons, of course. The gun belt, the pouches, the sidearm, and the sheathed knife. The Motorola radio and comm gear were also gone. When he moved his legs back and forth he didn’t hear the familiar clink-clink, so they had taken the pills, too. That, more than anything, was problematic. He was still sore from the last few days, and without the relief of the meds, it was going to be tough sledding.

They were nice enough to leave him his watch, though, and Will looked down at it now: 11:05 a.m.

Cutting it close. Lara’s going to be so pissed when I don’t show up later today as promised.

Sorry, babe, but it couldn’t be helped. I did send Danny and Gaby on ahead. At least two of us will be there for you tonight, so don’t be too mad at me.

He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, just before a man appeared in the doorframe. Will assumed it was a man, though he was much shorter than any soldier he had ever seen. Of course, these men weren’t actually soldiers, either, so his past experiences in Uncle Sam’s armed forces was probably irrelevant to the current situation.

Shorty leaned against the door and looked in at him. The man was casually shining a red apple against the front of his uniform and stood about five-five, but Will figured that was partially thanks to the boots. Without those, he was five-three, max. He had short black hair and dark beady eyes and a smirk that looked permanently fixed on his face. Even the sidearm appeared to be too big for him, though the uniform seemed to be tailored for his size.

They must have a sweat shop in one of the towns, cranking out these uniforms. Custom made, too. That must be nice.

“Will, right?” the man said. The name “Mason” was stenciled across his name tag. Like the others Will had seen walking by the open door in the last few minutes, Mason’s uniform had the Louisiana patch and white star in prominent locations. “How the hell are ya?”

“I had a bottle on me,” Will said.

“What, no ‘Hey, how you doing?’”

“Hey, how you doing?”

Mason grinned. “That’s better.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the familiar white bottle. He shook it, the pills clink-clinking inside. “This one?”

“That’s it.”

“You need it?”

“I could use it.”

“Say ‘please.’”

“Please.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Will gritted his teeth. “Pretty please with a cherry on top.”

“Good boy.”

Mason tossed it over to him. Will caught it with both bound hands. He was surprised when he twisted off the cap and saw the pills inside and not the small rocks he had been expecting. For some reason, he didn’t think it would be this easy, and Mason, smirking at him from across the room, seemed to get a kick out of proving him wrong.

“Thanks,” Will said.

He tilted back his head and dropped two of the pills into his mouth, then swallowed without chewing.

“Damn, just like candy, huh?” Mason said.

Will ignored the comment, said instead, “You want it back?”

“Nah. You look like you need them more than me.”

“That’s awfully civilized of you.”

Mason chuckled, then took a big bite out of the apple. Juice flowed down his chin and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt. Will’s stomach might have growled a bit at the sight.

Definitely not officer material, this one.

“Hey, we’re all just trying to get by, right?” Mason said.

“Absolutely.”

“Besides, she made it pretty clear she wants you alive. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Will said.

It took a while before he finally matched Mason’s voice to that of the man who had given the orders earlier when they pulled him out of the truck. Mason was the one who had responded, when asked about pursuing Danny and Gaby’s vehicle, “Don’t worry about them. They’re not gonna get far.”

Officer material or not, the man was definitely in charge. Or, at least, in the daylight.

“What about my friends?” Will asked.

“You should be more worried about yourself right now,” Mason said.

“I’m multitasking.”

“Be careful; you can get hurt doing that.” Mason shrugged, giving the impression of indifference, even though Will suspected the man knew—and cared—more about what was happening around him than he wanted to let on. “Don’t worry about your friends. I know it looks like we’re running a Scooby-Doo operation around here, but there are actual brains at work. What, you thought we were just going to let you get to the interstate and keep going after last night?”

“I was hoping.”

“Hope springs eternal. But no.” He took another large bite of the apple. “What you saw out there when you tried to come through was just a small part of it. We have people everywhere. If you’d tried to go back to Dunbar, it would have ended the same way. Even if you’d tried to bail through the fields? Same difference. You wouldn’t believe the number of guys with rifles I got running around out there. Like cockroaches. With, you know, assault rifles.” He chuckled. “You really thought we’d just leave you alone after last night?”

“So you’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

“Not me. I’m just following orders.”

“Hers,” Will said.

Mason grinned. “Yeah. Hers.” Then, as if he were conspiring with Will, he leaned slightly forward. “You know her, don’t you? I mean, really know her.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess she wasn’t always like that. What do you people call them? Ghouls?”

“Sounded like a good name at the time.”

“Well they are a little…ghoulish. The black-eyed ones, anyway. The others, like her? I don’t even know how to describe them.”

Mason had gone back to chewing on his apple when the radio clipped to his hip squawked and a male voice said, “Mason, come in.”

Will didn’t recognize the voice, but the reception was staticky, clearly transmitting just outside the two-way portable’s range.

Mason unclipped the radio. “How goes it out there, boys?”

“I just got word from Reeves,” the voice said.

“And?”

“He just reached the ambush point, and he says they’re gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“The others,” the man on the radio said. “They made it through the ambush.”

“They.” He means Gaby and Danny.

Will almost smiled outwardly, but managed to hold it in just barely.

He watched Mason closely instead, waiting to see the flash of anger, but the man’s only reaction was to curl one corner of his mouth into a half-smirk. Will had always thought of the collaborators as more opportunists than true believers; people who were in it for themselves, using the situation to their advantage. He’d always believed there were more Kellersons among them than Joshes. Mason, without a doubt, fell into the former group.

“Well, shit,” Mason was saying. “How’d they do that?”

“Reeves found Harry and Douglas dead,” the man said through the radio.

“What about the targets?”

“They ditched the Titan and took one of our vehicles.”

Something seemed to bother Mason, or occurred to him suddenly. “Wait, weren’t there supposed to be three people down there?”

“Yeah. Nate’s missing.”

The name made Will straighten up slightly. He hoped Mason hadn’t noticed.

Nate? Did he just say Nate?

“Reeves wanted to know what he should do now?” the man on the other end of the radio asked.

“I guess he better find them again,” Mason said.

“We have more people waiting in Salvani, right?”

“Last time I checked.” He glanced at his watch. “Whatever you do, you better do it fast. You have exactly six hours before it gets dark, and then you’ll be answering to her.”

“Me? Why me?”

You’ve got them running scared, Kate. Didn’t anyone ever tell you a scared soldier is a poor soldier?

“Hey, I did my part,” Mason said into the radio. He looked amused, like all of this was fun and games. “I got what she wanted. You’re the one who screwed up with the girl.”

‘Girl’? Were they talking about Gaby, or Annie, or one of the kids?

Will sat silently and waited for more clues.

“You heard what I said?” Mason said into the radio.

“Yeah, I heard you,” the other man finally answered. “Out.”

Now that’s one hell of a chain of command there, boys.

Mason put the radio away and gave Will that smirk again. “These radios don’t work for shit. We had to put in relays just so we can keep in contact with the ones spread out too far. What do you guys have on that island? Ham radios? Now, that’s smart.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe that’s why she wants you so bad. To take over this sad mess we have going on here. You think?”

Will shrugged.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Mason said. “All that stuff’s way above my pay grade, anyway.”

“I’ve always wondered what they’re paying you.”

Mason grinned. “Life.”

“Life?”

“Duh. I get to live. Self-preservation, my man. It’s a hell of an incentive to do anything, but especially these days.” He glanced over his shoulder at the store for a moment before looking back at Will. “Damn, no rest for the weary. We’ll have to continue this chat later. I hope you don’t mind, but I never had the privilege of asking an Army Ranger for advice before, and I wanna pick that brain of yours later if you got the time.”

“Sure,” Will said. “I got no plans.”

“Hah,” Mason said. “I’ll be back.”

The short man turned and left, closing the door after him. Will listened to the sound of a deadbolt click-clacking into place on the other side.

Alone again, he took inventory of his situation.

What did he know with absolute certainty? A couple of things.

First, Gaby and Danny had survived a second attempted ambush further up the interstate. Which meant they were still en route to Song Island. All they’d have to do now was get past Salvani, which, according to the conversation Will had just overheard, meant there were more soldiers waiting for them there.

Secondly, there was that thing about someone named Nate.

Could it be…?

That would depend on how optimistic he was willing to be at the moment.

I’m not ready to take over Captain Optimism just yet, Danny.

Not that knowing what was happening out there did him any good in here. He could hear them moving around outside the door, along with the occasional sounds of car engines in the streets beyond. He tried to re-orient himself with his surroundings, to get a better sense of direction and where everything was. He was still at Route 13, he knew that much. Everything else was open to debate.

Bottom line: He needed more information, and he wasn’t going to get it locked in here.

He leaned back against the wall. It was still noon, so there were still over six hours until sunset. Nightfall was the enemy—had always been, would always be. Besides the darkness, and the creatures lurking inside it, she would come, too.

“Don’t worry,” the blue-eyed ghoul had hissed at him last night. “It’s not going to end that easily for you, Will. Kate made us promise her this time. I think she has big plans for you.”

Kate.

Where are you now, Kate? What are you doing? Are you waiting for nightfall, too? Or are you on your way here now, the way you made the soldiers transport your shock troopers to Dunbar in the U-haul?

Somehow, some way, all his actions—what he did or didn’t do—always seemed to be spurred on by Kate in one form or another.

Eventually, inevitably, it always seemed to come back to her…

* * *

He opened his eyes to what sounded like hell on Earth and promptly sought out his watch in the semidarkness of the back room.

11:47 a.m.

Shit.

The realization that he had dozed off despite having been knocked unconscious just hours ago was troubling, because it could have been a sign there was something wrong with him. Or, at the very least, a lingering effect of the blows he had taken to the head.

That, and he knew what those thunderous brap-brap-brap sounds coming from outside were without having to think about it. God knew he had heard and been around them often enough. Someone, somewhere, was firing a machine gun, and the pop-pop-pop that accompanied it meant a gun battle.

He stared at the door, waiting for it to burst open and for someone to run inside. Maybe Mason, the short guy in charge of this mess they called an operation. People were definitely running around in the store outside; the vibrations of boots racing frantically back and forth were hard to ignore. Shouting, too, though that was mostly lost in the back and forth gunfire.

It was chaos out there, which was both good and bad for him.

It was good that someone was attacking the soldiers. The phrase, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” ran through his head.

Bad, in that he was stuck inside the back room of a gas station while men were shooting machine guns outside in the streets. Depending on how much gas was still left inside the tank under the Palermo (Or the Chevron, either/or), there was a very good chance he could die in a raging fire sometime soon. Double the chances if someone had some kind of incendiary device and decided to stupidly use it.

Okay, so it was mostly bad.

He couldn’t tell who was winning or where the shooting was coming from, because it seemed to be some kind of running gunfight.

How many men did Mason have out there, and how many were attacking them? Better yet, who was attacking, and what were the chances they could be friends instead of foes? The only group he’d seen proactively attack the soldiers had been Harrison’s group back in Dunbar. And that, unfortunately, hadn’t ended very well for them.

“What you saw out there when you tried to come through was just a small part of it,” Mason had boasted earlier. “We have people everywhere.”

But how many of those people were here, now? Especially since the ambush had succeeded. He knew for a fact Mason had sent more men up the interstate after Danny and Gaby. So how many were left? How many would Mason think he needed when he had already, essentially, won the day?

Will was still trying to come up with a viable number (or, at least, one that would make him feel better) when the door finally banged open and a familiar camo uniform rushed inside. No, not familiar. Same uniform, but different person inside it. Taller, skinnier, and younger.

The kid (he couldn’t have been more than eighteen, maybe seventeen?) spun around and slammed the door shut before stumbling away from it. He was cradling an AR-15 and wore a gun belt with a sidearm, but Will recognized the awkwardness in the way he carried the equipment.

He’s green. Really, really green.

“Kid,” Will said.

The teenager whirled around, lifting his rifle and aiming it at Will. He looked frightened, even shocked to see Will there. “Jesus! I almost shot you!”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t. What’s going on out there?”

The kid (he was tall for his age, which was amusing when Will thought about the thirty-something but much shorter Mason) lowered his weapon and shook his head. He wiped at beads of sweat along his temple and whirled back around to face the door. Then he hurried over and leaned against the wall and listened to the pop-pop-pop of gunfire still raging outside.

The battle hadn’t slowed down even a little bit in the minute or so since Will woke up. That meant there were a lot of people out there, and all of them well-armed. Meanwhile, he was stuck in here, hog-tied and weaponless.

Will looked for and finally caught the name written across the kid’s uniform: “Michael.”

“What’s going on out there, Michael?” Will asked.

The kid looked momentarily confused by the sound of his name, then must have realized how Will knew and shook it off. “They’re attacking,” he said.

“Who’s attacking?”

“I don’t know. They came out of nowhere. They must have…they must have been crawling along the fields all day toward us.”

‘Crawling along the fields all day’?

Will watched the kid closely. He was scared. That much was obvious. So Will did what he always did: He took stock of his situation and considered his available options. Because there were always options. You just had to see it.

“Kid,” Will said.

Michael didn’t react, either because he was too focused on what was happening outside or he was purposefully ignoring him. Will would have put good money that it was the former.

“Michael,” Will said, louder this time.

That did it. Michael looked over. “What?”

“Listen.”

“I am…”

“No, I mean, really listen.”

Michael looked confused again.

Doesn’t take much, does it, kid?

“You’re losing,” Will said. “You know that, right? The other guys are winning. You can hear that, can’t you?”

Will had said it all with absolute certainty. It was in his voice and on his face. He knew what he was talking about, and Michael would be smart to listen.

Of course, it was all bullshit. It was impossible to tell who was winning the battle outside. He had no idea how many were taking part or even who they were—two very important details needed to predict the outcome of a gun battle. Who were the good guys and who were the bad guys? If there were any good guys at all. For all he knew, Mason and his men could be putting down the attackers right this moment, which would lead him right back to where he started.

But he didn’t tell Michael that. No. The kid was frightened and out of his element. Running in here to hide was proof of that. The shaking hands trying desperately to keep their grip on the assault rifle sealed it.

“Your unit’s losing,” Will pressed. “Mason’s losing. If he’s not already dead.”

Michael didn’t answer. Instead, he looked back at the door so Will couldn’t see his face to gauge if he was getting through.

“You need to get out of here, kid,” Will said. “Before it’s too late.”

“There’s too many of them out there,” Michael said. His voice shook noticeably. “I think they’re using our trucks. The ones with the machine guns. How’d they get those?”

“I know, I can hear them using it,” Will said. More bullshit. He couldn’t tell one way or another who was firing the machine guns, but Michael didn’t need to know that at the moment, either. “Trust me, kid, I’ve been through enough of these situations to know a losing side when I hear it. And your side’s losing. Bad.”

Michael shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that.”

“I am. And you are, too.” Then, with a harder edge to his voice, “You wanna live or not?”

Michael glanced over. He opened his mouth to answer, but then snapped it shut just as quickly.

A second, then five…

“Yes,” Michael said finally. “I want to live.”

Will held out his bound wrists. “Cut me loose, and I’ll get us out of here.”

“How?”

“You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“What? No fucking—”

An explosion ripped through the building and something smashed into the door on the other side. The clatter of shelves falling, glass pelting tiled floors, and someone (or someones) screaming in pain. Chunks of the ceiling rained down on them, and Michael threw his arms over his head as if that would save him. Thankfully, the bulk of the store remained in one piece, leaving them to cough in the aftermath of falling debris.

Oh, hell. That was definitely a grenade.

“Kid,” Will said, watching Michael pick himself up from the floor and coughing. “It’s either get out of here with me, or stay here and die with the rest of your guys. What’s it going to be?”

Michael was on his knees and looking for his rifle. He had accidentally tossed it while falling and grabbing for his head. Now he crawled over and picked it up, even as the gunfire continued to rage outside, the brap-brap-brap of a machine gun continuing to fill the air as if the damn thing had an endless supply of belt-fed ammo.

“Michael,” Will said. “You gotta decide and you gotta decide now: You wanna live or not?”

The teenager got up and hurried over, drawing his knife. The blade was trembling as he cut the zip tie from around Will’s wrists, then did the same to the one around his ankles.

“What now?” Michael said. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“I need a gun,” Will said.

The soldier stared at him.

“A sign of good faith,” Will continued.

Michael sighed and drew his sidearm—a Sig Sauer 9mm—and handed it over reluctantly. “Can I trust you?”

Will stood up. “Kind of a little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”

The kid made to smile back, but it came out badly forced. “I guess.”

“A deal’s a deal,” Will said. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here before whoever’s wiping out your friends finishes the job and comes looking for us next.”

He grinned at the kid.

For a moment there, Will actually thought he was in trouble.

Option found. Opportunity seized.

I’ll be home soon, Lara.

* * *

“How many of you are out there?” Will asked.

“Ten,” Michael said.

“I saw more than that this morning. A lot more.”

“Most of them left after we captured you.”

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. They really don’t tell me very much.”

Of course not. You’re the kid so wet behind the ears he runs into the closest room to hide the first time someone’s shooting at him.

“What about Mason?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I think he left before the attack. Like I said, they don’t really tell me very much.”

Will crouched among the ruins of the gas station (the Palermo, as it turned out) and watched through the broken windows as a bullet-riddled blue Ford F-250, its front windshield dotted with the same bullet holes that had punctured its side and front hood, moved slowly down the street. There were two men in the back, one swiveling a heavy M60 perched on the roof of the vehicle.

Christ, no wonder Mason’s people hadn’t stood a chance. The all-purpose American machine gun was capable of firing 500 rounds per minute with an effective range of over 500 meters and beyond. That single weapon probably accounted for all the broken windows in the stores up and down the street that he could see, not to mention the destroyed cars that hadn’t been there this morning, along with the crumpled uniformed bodies visible in the parking lot on his side of Route 13.

The Ford looked like one of the technicals Josh’s soldiers had been using, though he’d never seen this one before. While one man was behind the machine gun, a second was slightly crouched behind him with an AK-47. Other well-armed men were walking alongside them, easily keeping up with the truck’s slow pace.

This wasn’t a charge, it was a victory march through occupied territory.

The gunfight had stopped almost at the same time Will and Michael slipped out of the back room and into what remained of the convenience store. They hid behind a couple of fallen shelves now, within sight of two bodies lying next to the gas pumps outside. The frag grenade had landed inside where it had left behind a crater in the middle and torn apart everything that wasn’t nailed down, including the poor soul whose shredded uniform they were looking at.

There were no rifles for Will to find, though he did see the remnants of an M4 stock among the debris. Which meant he had to make do with the Sig Sauer. At least Michael was smart enough to carry spare magazines, which Will had pocketed. The young man continued clutching his AR-15 (as if he knew how to use it, which Will doubted), eyes snapping from the remains of the uniform and out the shattered windows at the technical and its companions.

The sight of the attackers was intriguing. They were wearing civilian garb, including jeans, cargo pants, and long-sleeve shirts. The fact that they had come extremely well-armed and had acquired one of Josh’s technicals offered up more questions than answers.

Who are these guys?

“What now?” Michael whispered behind him.

“Do you know who took my rifle?” Will asked.

“Your rifle?”

“Yeah. I had an M4A1 with me when I was captured. It was in the truck.”

“I dunno. What’s an M4A1 look like?”

Will started to answer, but shook his head instead. “Never mind.” He looked back out the store at the figures moving slowly down the street. “We’ll let them pass us by. There’s no point in engaging. We’re outmanned and outgunned—”

He hadn’t finished “outgunned” when two of the attackers broke away from the technical and started angling—right toward them.

Right. Because why would luck be on my side now?

“Oh no,” Michael whispered a few seconds later.

Kinda late there, kid, don’t you think?

“What now?” Michael said in a hushed voice.

Will didn’t answer right away. He glanced back at the teenager’s terrified face, then looked past him at the back room. There was nothing in there that could help him escape. The window was too high to climb out of, and he wasn’t going to break down a wall with his bare hands. The only way out was through the front door of the Palermo. Or the broken windows would do just as well.

The technical had continued down the street and out of his view, but the two figures were stepping over dead bodies at the pumps after checking them for signs of life. One was a man, the other a woman. They both looked haggard, as if they had been fighting for days instead of ten, maybe fifteen minutes, tops. The woman looked in her mid-thirties and was wearing a Texas Rangers baseball cap that she pushed slightly up when she stopped in front of what remained of the windows so she could peer inside.

“Anything?” the man, who was older by at least ten years, asked behind her.

“I see a body,” the woman said.

“Dead?”

“I said a body, didn’t I?”

The man grunted. “So let’s go.”

“There’s a back room.”

“What about it?”

“It’s open and it looks undamaged.”

Shit. Should have closed the door… Too late for that now.

“Be careful,” the man said.

The woman didn’t answer him. She stepped through one of the broken windows, crunching glass under her boots.

Will’s mind turned. Spun. Then whirled.

He looked back at Michael again. The kid was trembling badly, causing the rifle in his hands to shake along with him. He looked like he was about to throw up.

Will turned his focus back to the woman, the man in the background, and the technical out there, along with, from what he could see, at least four more heavily-armed men.

Then he glanced down at the Sig Sauer in his hand. It was a good weapon. He could probably kill the woman, take her weapon (it looked like an M4), and use it on the man outside. But then there was that damn truck and the M60 mounted on top of it. That thing could chew up what was left of the gas station in no time, and him right along with it.

Gotta get to Song Island. Can’t do that if I’m dead.

As long as I’m alive, there’s a chance…

“Shit,” Will said, before he realized he had said it out loud. Or whispered, anyway.

“What?” Michael said, alarmed. “What are we—”

Will grabbed Michael’s rifle and jerked it out of his hands. It came easily, as if the teenager was barely holding onto it. Before Michael could protest, Will tossed the rifle along with the Sig Sauer toward the woman. The two weapons skidded across the floor and stopped in front of her. She immediately snapped up her M4 and took aim at them, hiding behind one of the many toppled shelves, though he was certain she couldn’t actually see them.

“Don’t shoot!” Will shouted. “We’re unarmed!”

The woman didn’t answer right away. She looked confused. Then, “Step outside. Slowly!”

Will nodded at Michael, who stared back, horrified. “Slowly, like the woman said, okay, kid?”

Michael sighed, but didn’t respond. He did, though, stand up when Will did, and they moved slowly—ever so slowly—out from behind the shelves. The woman’s hands tightened around the rifle, and Will was almost certain she was going to shoot them down at any second. There was something in her eyes…

I’m a dead man. Any second now…

But she didn’t fire. Instead, she held her ground and glared at them over the iron sights of her weapon, even as the older man rushed into the store behind her. “Where’d these jokers come from?” he asked, slightly out of breath despite the relatively short distance.

“Dunno,” the woman said. “They tossed their weapons.”

“Step forward,” the man said, motioning at them with his rifle.

Will and Michael did as they were instructed, the kid still shaking so much it looked as if he was moving in a herky-jerky motion, desperately trying to make each leg move forward one at a time, one at a time.

The older man hurried forward and circled them before patting them down. He found Will’s pill bottle and pocketed it, then stepped back. “They’re clean.”

“Hear me out,” Will started to say.

“You don’t have a uniform,” the woman said, cutting him off.

“No. I’m not one of them.”

“So what are you doing here with them, then?”

“I was captured this morning.”

The man and woman exchanged a glance. Will was suddenly very thankful he looked like he had been through the blender, with his bruises and dried blood clinging to one side of his face. He really didn’t look anything like the clean-cut Michael in his spiffy uniform standing beside him.

“This morning?” the man said.

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “I’m not one of them,” he repeated, just in case they didn’t hear it the first time. You could never be too clear about your allegiances when someone was pointing a rifle at you.

“What about him?” the woman asked, moving her rifle to rest on Michael. “He’s one of them.”

“He’s surrendering,” Will said.

“I’m surrendering,” Michael said, nodding furiously while his voice trembled badly. “Please don’t shoot. I’m surrendering.”

“How old are you, kid?” the man asked.

“Seventeen,” Michael said. “Please don’t shoot,” he said again. “I’m surrendering, like he said.”

The woman stared at Michael.

Those eyes. Will had seen those eyes before.

Aw, shit, he thought, just before the woman said, “Too bad. We’re not taking prisoners.”

Then she shot Michael in the head from ten feet away.

7

Keo

He was ready to say good-bye to Song Island by noon. The fact that he hadn’t come to the place with very much, so had very little to pack on his way off it, helped. The short Texan, Maddie, was taking care of the boat while the other pretty blonde, Sarah, was packing his food for him in the kitchen.

With everything he needed being taken care of, all Keo had left to do was to grab some dry clothes from the hotel’s lost-and-found room, where there were piles of the stuff. He knew where they came from, even though Lara hadn’t mentioned it. Some of them probably belonged to Allie’s people, who had come here months ago seeking salvation, only to find death instead. He should have been a little queasy taking dead people’s things, but a shirt and cargo pants, along with socks and boots that fit, were hard to come by these days. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had ever actually met Allie’s people, or the poor saps who had found the island not quite as hospitable as they had expected.

He was surprised when Carrie knocked on the open door and leaned inside. In all the chaos of the last few days, he had forgotten about her and Lorelei.

“Busy?” she asked.

He gave her his best smile. “I got time if you got time.”

She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed and watched him stuff a couple of extra T-shirts and a few rolls of duct tape into the bag. The Rangers had really stocked up on the duct tape.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“I just wanted to come see you off. We wouldn’t have gotten here if it wasn’t for you. Lorelei and me. I’m sorry to see you go.”

“I made a promise.”

“I know. And you always keep your promises.”

Not always, he thought. “These days, yeah. I try.”

“It’s too bad we never got to talk.”

“What would we talk about?”

“I don’t know. What you were like before. What I was like. What could have been…”

“Ah. Trouble lies in that direction.”

She laughed. It was just a little bit forced. “I guess you’re right, so maybe we shouldn’t go there.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“It’s going to be lonely out there by yourself. The Gulf of Mexico is a big place.”

“So maybe you should come with me.”

Carrie looked surprised. She wasn’t the only one. It took Keo a second to realize what he had said and another second to know that he meant it. It wasn’t because he wanted the company. Well, that might have been a part of it, but it was also the undeniable fact that he had brought her and Lorelei here, a place that was about to come under attack. He felt, as difficult as it was to admit to himself, responsible for the two of them.

“It’s not safe here,” Keo said. “You must know that after everything we’ve been through the last few days. Especially after last night.”

“I know it’s dangerous…”

“Dangerous isn’t quite the word I’d use, Carrie.”

“What, then?”

“Endangered.”

“‘Endangered’?” She gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”

He hesitated and spent some time searching for the right words. What would make her understand? Did she really know what was coming tonight? How was he going to convince her without scaring her at the same time? Or maybe that was exactly what he needed to do right now. Terror might be what she needed.

“They want this place,” Keo said. “The soldiers working for the ghouls. And they’re going to take it. If not tonight, then the next, or the one after that. Eventually, it will happen. These people are fighting a losing battle.”

He paused. Was he using the right approach? Was the truth what she wanted to hear? Needed to hear?

“Sooner or later, the island’s going to fall,” he continued. “It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. And when that time comes, one of two things will happen to you and Lorelei along with everyone here. They’re either going to capture you and take you back to the towns, or they’re going to kill you. That’s it. There is no third option.”

Carrie didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked down at her hands. He didn’t have a clue what was going through her head at the moment. Keo had never been especially good at reading the opposite sex, and the end of the world hadn’t changed that.

“Come with me,” Keo said. “You and Lorelei. There’s plenty of room on the boat. Lara would probably be okay with giving me extra supplies.”

She finally looked up at him. Damn if he had no idea what she was about to say. He guessed picking up women in seedy bars across the world, as it turned out, hadn’t been very beneficial to understanding them.

“What’s out there?” Carrie said.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s better than what’s going to happen here when night falls. You saw the same things I did out there. The second time I was at the staging area, there were even more soldiers than before.”

Her face paled a bit. He had never asked her what had happened to her that forced her and Lorelei to go on the run in the first place. There was that whole thing about the women in the collaborator towns being impregnated, but he always suspected there was something else. He hadn’t pushed her about it because he didn’t think it was his business.

Now, looking at her, he wanted to ask but managed to bite his tongue. He said instead, “You’ll like Gillian. And I hear the Texas coast is nice this time of year.”

“We’re not going,” she said. She pursed her lips into a half-smile. “Lorelei doesn’t want to leave, either.”

“Carrie…”

“I know the risks, Keo. I also know there’s nothing out there for us.”

“There’s something in Texas.”

“You don’t know that. You just hope there’s something waiting for you.”

Crap. She’s got me there.

He hadn’t been in touch with Gillian or Jordan in months, ever since they split up back at Earl’s cabin. That was…how many months ago? Too long. So what were the chances Gillian was actually out there waiting for him, like he kept telling people? Or if she was even alive at all? For all he knew, Mark’s boat could have sunk on the way over. Or they might have met more of those soldiers, or…

I’m hoping for the best, just like a sucker. I’m no different from these people.

“Maybe she’s there, and maybe she’s not,” Carrie was saying. “You’re just like Lorelei and me before you met us, Keo. You’re looking for a place to belong, hoping something’s there when you finally arrive. Well, we found that. Here on Song Island. You could stay with us. With me.”

He didn’t answer right away. It was a tempting offer. Gillian may or may not be out there, but Carrie was here, now. That was a certainty. And he’d always been more pragmatic than a dreamer, so what was keeping him from accepting her offer?

Tonight. The answer was tonight.

It’s going to be a bloodbath. Only an idiot would stay behind.

“You don’t seem to understand what I’m saying,” Keo said. “There won’t be an island after tonight.”

“Maybe,” Carrie said. “Maybe not. Lara’s friends are coming back.”

“The Rangers.”

“Yes.”

“They won’t be enough.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s just an island, Carrie. There are other islands.”

“The one in Texas is just an island, too, but you’re doing everything you can to get to it anyway. What’s the difference?”

He sighed. Christ. She had an answer for everything. The woman was going to drive him crazy if he spent any more time arguing with her.

And she was right, too. That was probably the most galling part. Dammit, she was right.

“So you’re staying,” he said. “You’ve decided?”

“It’s not about the island,” she said. “It’s about the people on it. It’s always been about the people. Stay with us, Keo. There might not be anything for you out there, but there’s something here, now.”

“Not after tonight.” He walked to the dresser and picked up the Glock and holstered it. “I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

“Yeah,” she said, the disappointment showing on every inch of her face. So she had come here with a mission after all: To convince him to stay. “I hope you find her waiting for you in Texas. I really do.”

He nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say next, because everything he was thinking of at the moment would have come out sounding too obviously forced.

Carrie, thank God, decided to take mercy on both of them and left before he could come up with something.

* * *

He stepped outside onto the front patio and breathed in the fresh air. The island had cooled down noticeably, and he was glad he had on a long-sleeve shirt. The grass crunched under his boots as he made his way to the beach, using the road that wound around the island like a stone serpent, each different pebble like scales. He glanced over at the Tower and saw a figure moving behind one of the windows. Judging by the height, he guessed it was either Carly or Jo, Bonnie’s little sister.

A motor started up as he neared the beach, the noise rudely breaking through the quiet. He walked across the mushy sand and toward the pier, where Maddie was revving one of the boats. It was an ugly aluminum vessel with chipped navy blue colors, but judging by the sound of its outboard motor, it would do just fine.

She shut down the boat when he was halfway to her. “Lara tells me you know your way around boats.”

“Just enough to get in trouble.”

“Like last night?”

“They started it.”

“Right. So,” she said, doing a Price is Right gesture at the boat, “it’s not the best-looking specimen we have on the island, but the motor’s good and it should get you where you need to be. That is, unless you run into pirates out there in the Gulf.” She glanced at the big Trident anchored nearby, moving slightly back and forth with the wind. “Which would have been an absurd idea until last night.”

Keo looked over the boat. It was a sixteen-footer, one of those deep-V vessels with a stainless steel stern and bow, and had fishing decks that took up plenty of space. The windshield above the center console was tinted, the glass cracked in places with something that looked like a fresh bullet hole near the center. He decided not to ask about that.

“Don’t let her looks fool you,” Maddie was saying. “She’s a sturdy little one.”

“It’ll do.”

“Where’s your stuff and that cute German gun of yours?”

“Back at the hotel,” he smiled. “I was thinking about picking up one of those M4s you guys like so much for insurance.”

“How many guns do you need, Keo?”

“After everything that’s happened, you’re actually asking me that question?”

Maddie chuckled. “Sorry, total brain fart.” She tossed him the key, then climbed up onto the pier. “Tank’s topped off and I’ll bring out the extra gas cans when you’re ready to shove off.”

“How many?”

“It won’t get you all the way to the Texas coast, but that’s what the 12-volt trolling motor is for. Battery’s fully charged, and I’ll give you a spare just in case. Also, two livewells, twenty gallons each, to stash your supplies, and plenty of compartments for everything else. First aid kit, flare gun, et cetera. Oh, and two paddles. You know, just in case.”

“Looks like you got everything covered. Thanks.”

“Boss lady tells me to do it, I do it.”

“You believe in her,” Keo said, looking at Maddie.

“She’s got us this far. Her and Will. I’m not going to start doubting them now.”

“That kind of loyalty’s hard to come by. I respect that.”

“What can I say? They earned it.” Maddie nodded at the white yacht. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to take that monster.”

“Too rich for my blood.”

“I think Lara’s already coming up with some ideas on how to use it.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that.” He remembered the look on her face when she had first seen the Trident last night. “She strikes me as the kind of girl who thinks two or three moves ahead of everyone, including me.”

“I’m just glad she’s on our side.” Then, “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask...”

“What’s that?”

“What kind of name is Keo, anyway?”

“George was taken.”

Maddie snorted. “You got that down pat, huh?”

Keo smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Absolutely no one has ever asked me that question before.”

“Riiiiiight. Well, I wish you’d stay. I won’t lie; we could really use another gun around here. But I get that you have to go. If I don’t see you again, vaya con dios, Keo.”

“What if I don’t believe in God?” he asked.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she smiled back.

* * *

The last time he was in the Tower’s basement, he had been looking for something with explosive capabilities. This time, Keo was content to pick up an M4 carbine with a decent optic and a collapsible stock. He liked the MP5SD, but there was nothing wrong with loading up on firepower—especially since he didn’t know what was waiting for him out there. The absent Rangers had stockpiled plenty of silver ammo, and he loaded up on as much as he could carry.

He climbed out of the basement with the weapon and spare magazines in his cargo pants pocket. As he was closing the door back up, he heard voices coming through a radio from two floors above him. Foreign accents, some thicker than others, floated through the open doors.

The idea that people around the world were contacting each other made him feel strangely optimistic. Of course, those good vibes always faded when he realized what some guys in China, Russia, or France were doing had zero impact on his life at the moment. The world was a vast place, made more distant by the lack of convenient transportation. Unless, of course, you could find a pilot somewhere with a working plane and the fuel for it. Talking to some guy over the radio was one thing; actually getting together to form some kind of plan was another.

Good luck with that, guys. I’m just looking for a girl to hook up with again.

He headed out, feeling strangely content. What Lara and the islanders did from now on was their business. He had done his part—more than his part, actually—and it was time to go.

There was no one working the nascent garden outside because everyone was sticking to the hotel these days. Keo wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good idea and thought about bringing it up, but decided against it. Lara was a smart girl, and she probably knew what she was doing. And if not…

Not my problem anymore. Time to go.

Carrie wasn’t in his room when he returned, but there was a large faded gym bag sitting on the bed. Keo opened it and found stacks of sealed beef jerky, along with bottled water, nonperishable canned goods, and a dozen shiny bags of MREs. There was enough inside to last him weeks on the ocean. More than a month, if he conserved. Of course, if he needed a month’s worth of food out there, he was already in trouble. Whoever had brought it over had also generously tossed in a couple of metal sporks and a can opener.

Keo shoved the newly acquired magazines into the same tactical pack he had put his spare clothes in earlier, one of many the Rangers had stashed around the hotel. He slipped the nylon bag on and picked up the much heavier gym bag (the damn thing weighed a ton) and left the room.

The faster he moved, the faster he climbed into the boat, the faster he took off, the better things would be. For him. For Carrie. For Lara and the others.

He decided he wouldn’t tell Gillian about Song Island when they finally reunited. Hell, he’d like to forget about this place too after tonight, but somehow he didn’t think that was going to be possible anytime soon.

* * *

He returned to the beach just in time to see Lara and Maddie cruising toward the Trident in one of the bass fishing boats while Blaine watched after them from the yacht’s main deck. It was just as well. He had been dreading another encounter with Lara anyway. He respected the hell out of her, so the prospect of having to face her again while he was (running) leaving wasn’t at the very top of his to-do list.

Bonnie saw him coming and stood up on the boat shack, where she was standing guard. She was easily the tallest woman on the island, but that wasn’t what he noticed most about her. He didn’t have any trouble believing she used to be a model. In another time, another place, Keo might have decided dying tonight was worth it if that meant the possibility of getting into her good graces.

But that was then, and this was now. And right now, he had to get the hell off this island before he did something stupid…like decide not to.

“So you really are leaving,” Bonnie said.

“Afraid so.”

“Too bad. We were hoping you might stay awhile.”

“‘We’?”

“Everyone on the island.”

He sighed. He should have run instead of walked to his boat.

“Can’t,” he said.

“She must be some woman.”

“What makes you think there’s a woman?”

“Oh, come on. There’s always a woman. Plus, Carly told me.”

“Ah.”

“Is she pretty?”

“What do you think?”

“Must be. I just hope she’s actually there.”

Great. Who doesn’t know I’m the world’s biggest sucker?

“Gotta take the chance,” he said.

“So this is all on faith?” Bonnie chuckled. “Somehow, I never took you for the kind of guy who went on faith, Keo.”

“People change.”

“I guess so.”

Keo stopped next to Bonnie’s shack and glanced in the direction of the luxury yacht moored nearby. Maddie had expertly sidled the boat toward the back, as if she had done it a million times.

“What’s going on over there?” he asked. “Still searching for the eighth guy?”

“If he even exists,” Bonnie said.

“The captain thinks so.”

“But he’s not a real captain.”

“He had a captain’s hat.”

“Well, since he had a captain’s hat…” Bonnie said, rolling her eyes.

“So what’s happening on the yacht?”

“Lara wanted to check something out.”

“She didn’t say?”

“Not to me. I guess she has a lot on her mind.”

“Guess so.” Keo started up the pier toward his boat. “See you around, Bonnie.”

“Later, alligator,” Bonnie said after him. “Don’t be a stranger.”

He turned around, but continued backpedaling down the pier. “Remember: Shoot first, shoot often, and reload fast.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have one of those grenade launchers,” she shouted after him.

He grinned. “Somehow, I think you’ll do just fine without one.”

He spun around and tossed the gym bag into the boat, then untied the line before climbing in. He put the M4 down next to the supplies and dug out the key Maddie had given him and powered on the boat. The outboard motor coughed for a bit, then caught a second later and filled the air with a loud ear-splitting roar. It sounded like a winner. Or close enough to get him to Texas.

Bonnie, still watching him from the shack, waved. Keo waved back.

He maneuvered the boat away from the pier and turned it around, then pushed the throttle forward. North took him further inland—with the soldiers waiting up there—but south took him to the Gulf of Mexico. From there it was right toward the Texas coast and Santa Marie Island.

“So this is all on faith? Somehow, I never took you for the kind of guy who went on faith, Keo.”

No kidding. Neither did I.

Blaine appeared along the railing on the main deck of the Trident as he neared the big boat. The big man waved and Keo returned it, even though doing so made him feel like a fraud. He didn’t see Lara or Maddie or the other kid, Roy. Which was just as well. If he had to fake another good-bye wave, he might decide to end it all now with a silver bullet to the temple.

Keep going. Don’t look back.

Gillian’s waiting. You’ve kept her waiting enough, don’t you think?

Damn straight.

Goddamn, you almost convinced yourself that time, pal.

He pushed the throttle up as far as it would go, and the boat dipped slightly behind him. The loud noise helped to drown out his thoughts, which was something he was very grateful for. Who knew a guilty conscience could be so loud and annoying?

Keep going, he told himself, and repeated over and over again. Keep going and don’t look back.

Just keep going…

8

Gaby

“Is something wrong with your shoulder?” Nate asked.

Gaby had been massaging her shoulder for the last few seconds. The pain had lessened noticeably thanks to the painkillers, but every now and then (usually when she sat in one place for too long doing nothing, like now), it came back. It was a reminder of last night and the fight with the blue-eyed ghouls, as if she would ever forget it for as long as she lived.

“No, I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

There was an edge to her voice that she hoped he didn’t catch, because she didn’t know where it had come from. She should be happy to see Nate alive and well, but for some reason she wasn’t. Not entirely, anyway.

“So that’s Danny, huh?” Nate was saying. “The way you talked about him, I thought he’d be prettier.”

“He was, until a few days ago.”

“What happened?”

A farmhouse. Blue-eyed ghouls. Will killing them, then cutting off their heads to keep an army of the black-eyed ones at bay all night.

You know, same-o, same-o.

“A lot of things,” she said. “Like how you’re supposed to be dead, but aren’t. Why is that, Nate?”

“I’m starting to think you’re not happy I’m alive.” He smiled. It was his attempt at being charming, but he didn’t have his heart in it and she saw through it.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Nate. Why aren’t you dead?”

He sighed. “I guess I wanted to live more.”

He shook his head and she could see him struggling with it, too. Gaby felt suddenly very guilty about not responding to his resurrection with the fanfare he had expected, and that she dearly wanted to give him but just didn’t know how.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“Maybe later…”

Gaby sneaked a look at him. She thought it was the absence of the absurd Mohawk that made him look somehow older, but she realized now that she had been wrong. It wasn’t the hair at all. Nate just seemed to have physically aged since the last time she saw him.

“Gaby,” he said. “It’s me. I swear it.”

She looked away, feeling very self-conscious about her own appearance. Nate didn’t look the same, but neither did she. Far from it. They had both changed so much in such a short time, in every way that mattered. She had the broken nose that still hurt if she touched it (which she did often, always forgetting why it was tingling), and the bruises and scars from the last few weeks that would never heal properly.

What did he see when he looked at her, she wondered.

“You’ll tell me everything later,” she said.

“I will. I promise.”

She nodded before refocusing back on Interstate 10.

Everything was where they had left it thirty minutes ago, including the white Ford truck and the overturned Nissan Titan further down the road, sitting in a pool of its own gasoline. The only thing missing was the red Chevy Silverado truck, which they had taken to replace their now-unusable vehicle.

“By the way, you look good,” Nate said.

Gaby sighed. “This isn’t the time.”

“I’m just saying. You still look good, and I don’t say that to a lot of women with more scars on their face than me—”

Her radio vibrated against her hand, cutting off Nate. Danny’s voice came through the speakers at half-volume, just loud enough for them to hear. “Heads up. Here comes the cavalry.”

The sound of car engines grew in the distance, getting louder as the vehicles got closer.

“More of your friends,” Gaby said.

“Not my friends,” Nate said, sounding almost…annoyed?

Two trucks, with men clinging to the back, sped down the highway toward the Titan. She watched them through her binoculars and easily identified the camo uniforms they had on. They were identical to the one worn by the man crouched next to her right now. The vehicles stopped ten yards from the Nissan, and the men hopped out and swarmed it. They were moving in something that she could almost believe was an actual tactical formation.

“Nate,” Danny said through the radio.

She looked to her left at a patch of overgrown grass about forty meters from her position and halfway to the highway. Danny. He was close enough that he could probably hear everything the soldiers were saying. He had camouflaged himself so well that she couldn’t find a single trace of his existence. And if she couldn’t spot him—and she knew exactly where to look—there was no chance the men on the interstate were going to.

Gaby handed Nate the radio, and he said into it, “Yeah.”

Although they weren’t quite whispering, they had adopted a low decibel. She and Nate were firmly established inside their hiding spot more than seventy meters from the highway, far enough that they couldn’t be spotted through the yard or so of trees in front of them. Of course, it would be a different story if the soldiers started walking toward them or looked closely with binoculars, but hopefully the missing Silverado would convince them they had taken it. After all, what reason could they possibly have to stick around thirty minutes later?

So what does that make us? Smart or stupid?

I guess we’ll find out.

“Who’s in charge of this little circus of yours?” Danny was asking Nate through the radio.

“In charge?” Nate said. He thought about it for a moment. “I guess Mason. This short guy. He was running things when they sent us over to replace the ones they lost back in Dunbar. Why?”

Danny ignored his question and asked instead, “How many of you are running around out here?”

Nate winced a bit at the “how many of you” part, as if he didn’t like being reminded of the uniform he was wearing. Which was hard, since he was still wearing the damn thing. It even had his name on it, for God’s sake.

“They sent ten of us over just in case you made it off Route 13,” Nate said. “They left the three of us behind and the rest went on to Salvani, like I said before.”

“The not-so-magnificent seven. What were their orders?”

“I have no idea. They don’t actually tell me everything. Most of us don’t know what’s happening until guys like Mason show up and start giving orders. You gotta understand, these aren’t actually soldiers. They’re playing dress up. I don’t think half of these guys could have survived a real Boot Camp.”

“What about these mutts we’re looking at now? What’s their story?”

He was talking about the six men spreading out along the interstate in front of them, probably looking for hints of where she and the others had taken the Silverado. Gaby wondered if any of them actually knew what they were doing.

“Weekend warriors,” Will had once called them.

“My guess is that Mason sent them forward to connect with us,” Nate said into the radio. “We’re using two-ways, but they have limited range. There’s probably another group further down the highway, waiting to relay the message back to Route 13.”

On cue, one of the men took out a radio and spoke into it. She had no chance of hearing him over the distance, which was good because that meant he couldn’t overhear them, either.

“It’s a slapdash operation,” Nate continued. “I get the feeling they’re just making it up as they go.” He had looked over at her when he added, “Imagine what they could do if they had someone with actual leadership ability at the helm, instead of some eighteen-year-old kid.”

He’s talking about Josh.

“That’s nineteen-year-old kid to you,” Josh would say.

She didn’t bother correcting Nate or responding to his querying glance. If he was going to keep secrets from her until later, then she’d return it in kind. Maybe it was a little childish, but what the hell, he was supposed to be dead.

“You gonna tell me what we’re still doing here?” Nate said into the radio. “We could be halfway to Salvani by now.”

“There’s no hurry, kid,” Danny said. “You ever heard the story about the hare and the tortoise?”

“Slow and steady wins the race?”

“Sure, there’s that, but I was referring to the part where the tortoise hid in the woods and ate a bag of jerky.”

They heard what sounded like chewing on the other end of the radio.

Nate gave her a confused look. “Is he eating?”

Gaby shook her head. “It’s Danny.”

“And that explains it?”

“Yes.”

“Hunh.”

They sat in the same spot and watched in silence until the newly arrived trucks fired up again and the men climbed into the back. The vehicles took off up the highway, picking up speed as they went. Soon, the only sounds were the slight echoes of their engines reverberating across the calm midday sky. Gaby and Nate didn’t move or say a word until they couldn’t hear the vehicles anymore. Even then, both of them were hesitant to break the silence—

“There goes the hare,” a voice said behind them.

She spun around at the same time as Nate, both of them reaching for their weapons.

Except it was just Danny, standing behind them chewing on a piece of jerky he had taken out of a bag of Oberto.

“Jesus,” Gaby said.

“Nah, it’s just me,” Danny said. “Let’s get back to the Chevy before the girls run off in search of better pastures.”

He turned around and began moving through the woods.

She got up, and with Nate at her side, followed him. Nate gave her a How’d he get behind us? look.

She shook her head.

“What now?” Nate asked Danny.

“They’re going west, toward your other friends,” Danny said.

Nate flinched again, this time at the word “friends.”

Danny was picking his way back to where they had parked the collaborator truck they had taken off the highway, and she couldn’t help but find his slow and steady pace to be slightly irritating. Shouldn’t they be moving faster? With purpose?

“Looks like they’re gathering the buggers into one place,” Danny said. “Despite my legendary skills, that’s way too many to take on, especially with the women and kids to take care of. And, oh, you too, Natester.”

“So we go around them,” Gaby said. “We don’t actually have to go through Salvani, do we?”

“No. But it’s likely they’ll have the rest of the interstate covered, too. Leave behind spotters just in case we decide to take a detour or find a shortcut. Right, Nathaniel Hawthorne?”

“I don’t know,” Nate said. “Maybe. Like I said, they didn’t really tell me the whole plan. Go here, stay there, back up these guys. That’s pretty much it.” Then he added, “And it’s just Nate.”

“We need to get going, Danny,” Gaby said. “Lara and the others are counting on us showing up tonight.”

“Get back to the island!” Will had said. “Whatever you do, don’t leave it undefended for another night!”

“You know anything about that?” Danny asked. The question was obviously directed at Nate, even though Danny hadn’t looked back at them when he said it.

Nate shook his head. “That’s beyond my AO. I haven’t been anywhere past the interstate since I woke up.”

Woke up? Gaby thought, but restrained herself from blurting out the question.

She said instead, “AO?”

“Area of operations,” Nate said. “Though they didn’t call it that. Like I said, it’s a pretty helter-skelter outfit. I don’t think they know what the hell they’re doing. Mostly, they’re just obeying orders from them.”

She didn’t have to ask who “them” was. She knew. Danny knew, too.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked Danny.

“The fastest path to Song Island is the interstate,” Danny said. He was still moving unfathomably slow. She wished he would move faster already. “We could try going around it, but it’s going to cost us time if we have to pick through the small roads. Of course, we’d have to try not to get lost in the process, too. One wrong turn, and it’s another hour or two. Or days. Maps aren’t nearly as reliable as GPS, and unfortunately I don’t think those are up and running anymore. Like you said, kid, we gotta get home before dark.”

“So what are our options?”

“They think we already went on ahead, in the truck we took. So the guys at Salvani are expecting us, and the ones that just took off think they’re going to cut off our retreat. I’m guessing they also have guys in Lake Dulcet thirty minutes from here, and Lake Charles after that.”

“They’re not real soldiers by any stretch, but yeah, they’re not total idiots, either,” Nate said.

“Good to know. So, my guess is when they can’t find us, they’ll start spreading out, thinking we left the interstate before we reached one of their ambushes. That’s the smart move.”

“But that’s not what we’re going to do,” Gaby said.

“Nope.” Danny bit on another big stick of jerky and nodded back at Nate. “Nice uniform.”

“Thanks?” Nate said.

Danny grinned at them.

* * *

“You trust this guy?” Nate asked.

“If it wasn’t for Danny and Will, I wouldn’t be alive more times over than I could count,” Gaby said. “Yeah, I trust him.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

She looked at the girls in the backseat. Annie had Milly in her lap, the two of them staring somberly out the window. Like Gaby, they hadn’t protested when Danny laid out his plan. Although she looked like she might have bolted at any second, Annie hadn’t said a word when given the chance. Milly, too, had kept quiet. But if Annie and Milly looked terrified of where they were heading, Claire was the exact opposite.

“We’re almost there,” Claire said, smiling at her.

“Almost,” Gaby said.

She returned the girl’s smile, though inside she couldn’t help but wonder where she was leading them. Was Song Island really safer than out here? Or in one of those collaborator towns? If you obeyed and went along with the program, those places weren’t so bad. All you had to do was give blood every night…and let some stranger impregnate you…so your child could be born to serve the ghouls.

Like cattle.

That’s what they want to turn us into. Docile cattle.

Gaby shivered slightly and was glad no one noticed, including Nate behind the steering wheel next to her. Claire was also too busy wiping dirt off her FNH shotgun to pay attention.

God, Josh, how did you ever convince yourself any of this was okay?

She turned back around in the front passenger seat and got a quick glimpse of herself in the tilted rearview mirror. If seeing Nate in the fresh soldier’s uniform still threw her for a loop, seeing herself in one was even more jolting.

There was a hole in the back of the shirt she was wearing now, along with some dried blood. The man Nate had shot in the back had been about her size, though a few inches taller and wider around the hip area. The pants barely fit, but she was able to cinch it mostly in place with the gun belt. Not that she was going to have to wear it for long, which was why she kept her original clothes crumpled on the floor at her feet.

There were hardly any vehicles left along the interstate to look at, or obstructions in the roads to avoid. This stretch of the countryside had been barren of stray cars for the last twenty minutes ever since they drove out of the woods and made their way back onto I-10. According to all the signs, Lake Dulcet was still five minutes ahead of them.

“I know you want to ask,” Nate said after a while.

“Later,” she said.

“If we live through this.”

Gaby sighed and hoped Claire and the others hadn’t heard that. But of course they had. They were sitting right behind them, after all.

“We’ll be fine,” she said, a little louder than she needed to because she wanted the girls in the back to hear her clearly. “Danny knows what he’s doing. You just have to trust him.”

God, I hope Danny knows what he’s doing.

“You really trust him,” Nate said.

“We’ve been through a lot together.”

“So have we.”

“It’s not even close, Nate.”

“Not even close?”

“Night and day.”

“Even after the pawnshop?”

“Even after the pawnshop.”

“Oh.”

He sounded genuinely hurt that time, though she couldn’t understand why. He had to know, didn’t he, that what she had gone through with Will and Danny was beyond anything he and she had shared in the couple days they knew each other before he was taken? Didn’t he know that?

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said.

“Okay,” Nate said. Then, “They’re there? Dwayne, Kendra, and the others? They made it to Song Island safely?”

“They did.”

“Good. Not knowing what had happened to them kept me up at night.”

“After what you went through, you were worried about them?”

“I’ve been responsible for them for a long time. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.” He paused for a moment, then, “How sure are you they’re going to attack the island tonight?”

“Will seemed pretty sure.”

“I’m sorry about that. Will, I mean.”

“You don’t know Will. As long as he’s breathing, he’s capable of anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if he beats us to the island.”

God, I almost believed myself that time.

“You didn’t know about the ambush on Route 13?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I know they were setting up an ambush, but not that you were involved. I told you, they really don’t tell us anything. Just where to go and what to do. I didn’t even know you were still alive until I saw you through my scope.”

“When did you decide?”

“Decide what?”

“To change sides.”

“I was never on their side,” Nate said. Again, he sounded slightly frustrated with the question—or the accusation, she guessed, was the more appropriate word. “You have to understand what happened to me after Lafayette—”

“Later,” she said, cutting him off and leaning slightly toward the dashboard. She peered out the windshield at what she had been waiting to see since they returned to the highway.

Nate saw it, too, and went quiet.

There were two vehicles up ahead, parked nose-to-nose in the middle of the two-lane highway. The shoulders were wide open, but getting to them would be a miracle with the four men standing around the trucks, aiming assault rifles down the interstate at them.

Nate began to slow down. “Ready?”

She nodded, then turned around slightly in her seat. It was a minor move that was (hopefully) unnoticeable from outside the car. “Guys, get down, just like we rehearsed.”

There was a lot of movement behind her as Annie and Milly sank into the floor behind Nate’s seat, and Claire did likewise behind hers. She imagined the thirteen-year-old clutching her shotgun and steeling herself for what was about to come.

Gaby faced fully forward again and gripped the M4 leaning against her right leg. It had been there the entire time, just out of view.

Please let this work. Please don’t let us all die in the next few minutes.

The two-way radio on the dashboard squawked, and they heard Danny’s voice. “Easy does it, Nathaniel Ramsey. Just pretend you’re back at the Colonial Congress of the Confederation.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Nate said to her.

Gaby couldn’t help but smile. “I have no idea. Just keep going. Remember who you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“A traitorous scumbag who sold out humanity.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he said.

She nodded. “I didn’t say it before, but it’s good to see you again, Nate. I’m glad you’re still alive.”

He smiled at her, genuinely touched by that. She almost blushed under his gaze.

“Ditto,” he said.

Now all they had to do was survive the next few seconds.

I hope you know what you’re doing, Danny. God, I hope you know what you’re friggin’ doing…

9

Will

“One door closes, another door opens.”

Or maybe the better saying was, “Up a creek without a paddle and nothing to show for it but a wet ass”?

The point was, he was in trouble. Maybe. There were options in front of him, but as always, the trick was to pick out the best one and go for it. Choose the wrong one, and he was likely a dead man. And Lara would so be pissed off if he went and died on her.

Don’t worry, babe, I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

“You’re from Dunbar,” Will said.

“How’d you know?” This was Leo, the forty-something who, along with the woman, had found him inside the Palermo. He was the talkative of the duo; which was to say, he was the only one who talked.

“The direction you came from, for one,” Will said. “That, and your less-than-enthusiastic reaction to the soldiers.”

“‘Soldiers,’” Leo snorted. “Don’t call them that.”

“What do you call them?”

“Wannabes. Killers. Pieces of shit. Take your pick.”

Will nodded. He would have gone with “weekend warriors” himself, but “wannabe killer pieces of shit” was just as good.

Natasha, the woman, was watching him closely from across the room. Not that there was a lot of space between them. They were sitting on the dust-covered floor of one of those small pick-up centers for Domino’s Pizza. The building was on the other side of the I-10, beyond the underpass, and to the right of Route 13. They were close enough to the highway that he could see out the windows at the Palermo and Chevron signs jutting in the air. There were two more men in a Valero gas station across the street from them, both heavily armed individuals that were, like the three of them, waiting for signs of a counterattack from Mason’s men.

Dunbar’s fighters didn’t have the desire to go anywhere anytime soon post-attack, he had discovered. They were at least nice enough to give him back his painkillers and a half-full bottle of water to wash away the caked blood from his face while they waited, though Will spent most of it keeping dehydration at bay.

He sneaked a look down at his watch: 1:06 p.m.

Almost an hour after Leo, Natasha, and the others laid waste to the ten or so men Mason had left behind at the intersection. Since then, no one else had shown up yet. Looking around him at Leo’s gnarled face and Natasha’s dead-serious eyes, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had found himself in the company of people who had embraced a death wish. Attacking the soldiers had been a hell of a gamble and had cost them two of their own, leaving behind just six, including the two in the technical hidden next to their side of the highway now, ready to burst out and open fire at anyone who came down Route 13.

That was the full extent of their “plan,” as it turned out. He wondered if he could use that lack of ambition to his advantage. What would a group of people who just wanted to kill some assholes that had laid waste to their city do when those intended targets never showed up?

Maybe I should find out.

“You’ve been to Dunbar?” Leo was asking him.

“We thought about it, but we never got that far down the highway,” he lied.

“Where you from?”

“Mississippi.”

“That was you,” Natasha said. “We saw a minivan not far from here, at a farmhouse. It had Mississippi plates.”

Will nodded. He was hoping they would have stumbled across it on their way down the road. The minivan belonged to a young man named Lance and his girlfriend, Annie. The two had come to Louisiana from the neighboring state with other survivors looking for salvation.

Old story. New characters.

Annie was the only survivor after last night, and she was with Gaby and Danny right now on their way to Song Island.

Song Island. That was the key.

But first, he had to slowly build up his credibility. Maybe Leo and Natasha knew about his and Danny’s presence in Dunbar two nights ago, and maybe they didn’t. Right now, he needed them to see him as an unaffiliated third party who wasn’t a threat. After all, it was hard to take suggestions from someone you’d rather shoot in the head.

“You alone?” Natasha asked him.

He shook his head. He had a feeling she already knew about the other truck—the one Danny and Gaby had managed to escape in earlier. What was that Michael had said?

“They came out of nowhere. They must have…they must have been crawling along the fields all day toward us.”

That kind of stealth approach took a long time. It hadn’t surprised him to learn Leo and Natasha’s group had been approaching Mason’s long before his and Danny’s vehicles made their mad dash to reach the interstate. Which meant there was a very real possibility the two people watching him closely right now had witnessed the ambush from cover.

So he had to choose his lies and truths carefully. Very, very carefully. He could see it in Natasha’s stare—and, to an extent, in Leo’s, too. Days later, they were still reeling from what happened back at Dunbar.

“No,” Will said, looking Natasha in the eyes, because this version of him that he was trying to sell had nothing to hide. “After we left the farmhouse, we ran across a couple of the soldiers in trucks. We managed to overpower them and take their vehicles. We were trying to escape when they ambushed us.”

“How many more of you are out there?” she asked.

“Four.”

“Christ, how many did you fit into that minivan?” Leo asked, with just a hint of amusement.

“We didn’t just come in one vehicle.”

“Why did you burn down the farmhouse?” Natasha asked. She was still staring at him, trying to read him, maybe catch him in a lie. Sunlight streamed through the windows to their right and splashed across her hardened face.

“After they attacked us, we thought there were some left in the basement in the morning,” Will said. “We couldn’t stay there anymore, so we burned the house down in hopes of getting some of them, too.”

It wasn’t a total lie. All of it was true, except for the part where he inserted himself into Lance’s role.

“You’re talking about them, them,” Leo said. “The creatures.”

Will nodded.

“Did you get them?” the older man asked. He sounded almost hopeful. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” Will said. “We never opened the basement door to check.”

Eureka, he thought when he saw Natasha casually slide her finger out of the trigger guard of her M4. She probably didn’t even know she had done it—an unconscious act that told him she had stopped seeing him as the immediate danger he once was.

Or, at least, he hoped he was reading her reaction correctly. He had to remind himself that he was treading on very dangerous ground here. One wrong lie, one creative story that couldn’t be corroborated by evidence or what they already knew, and he’d never make it to Song Island.

Like walking a tightrope fifty stories up…while getting shot at.

Will sat back against the dirty wall, took out the bottle of meds, and downed two more, leaving just three lonely white pills at the bottom. He had been surviving on mostly adrenaline and sweat these last few days that the old wounds throughout his body had begun to fade into the background. He just had to worry about the ones still held together by stitches, especially the one in his side. That, more than anything, was his primary concern.

“What’s that?” Natasha asked.

“Painkillers,” Will said.

“You hurt?”

“You’re not?”

She almost smiled. Almost.

“Who isn’t, these days,” he said.

“Dead people,” she said.

Leo chuckled. “Hallelujah.”

The older man was sitting to Will’s left and rummaging through a school backpack. Will had been hoping one of them had picked up his tactical pack, along with all the silver ammo inside, but it was gone. Either Mason had thrown it into his own inventory, or it was lost somewhere in all the rubble back in the Palermo.

There were also no signs of his M4A1, which really hurt. From Afghanistan to Harris County to the end of the world, only to lose it at a lousy gas station in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t ask them about it, either, because that would mean he was a guy who knew guns, and the Will he was trying to sell right now was a civvy through and through.

“Here,” Leo said, and tossed him another refilled bottle of water along with a vacuum-sealed bag with strips of jerky inside. “Eat up; it might be a long wait.”

“Thanks,” Will said. He pried the bag open and devoured the jerky. It tasted like deer meat. “You made this?”

“None of that store-bought junk. I’ve been hunting since I was twelve and learned to make my own jerky when I was thirteen.”

“Where did you even find deer?”

“They’re around, if you look hard enough. Not easy by any means, but there are a few still running around out there in the woods. Of course, turns out surviving the bloodsuckers is easier than dodging me.”

“He’s really proud of his jerky,” Natasha said. She unzipped her own pack and took out a similar bag, then produced another long strip of jerky. “He should be. It’s better than the crap we hoarded after everything fell apart.”

“And that’s the closest you’ll come to getting a compliment out of Nat, kid,” Leo said.

Will smiled, then, “How long are you guys going to stay here?”

Leo and Natasha exchanged a brief look.

They have no idea. They’re just making it up as they go. Swell.

“Maybe an hour,” Leo said with a shrug. “If they send more over, we’ll deal with them the same way we dealt with the others. Too bad we already used up the frag grenade.”

“Whose bright idea was that?”

Leo grinned at him. “One guess.”

Natasha. Of course.

“I expected the damn gas station to go up like a Roman candle,” Leo said. “I guess it’s a good thing for you that Nat doesn’t throw like a girl. You should have seen that fastball vanish into the Palermo. Boom. If it had landed over the storage tanks under the pumps, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“No kidding. Where’d you get your hands on something like that?”

“From the same meatheads we took the truck from. The stuff these guys are carrying around, all those M4s and MGs. They must have hit a fort or something. Who knows what else they have stashed around the state.”

Will glanced down at his watch again.

“You in a hurry?” Natasha asked. The edge had crept back into her voice.

“Yes,” Will said, meeting her suspicious gaze.

Sell it. She expects you to run from her glare. So don’t.

“My friends got away, and I need to find them again,” Will said. “We came here together, survived all this as a group. You guys seem okay, don’t get me wrong, but these are my people. I need to catch up to them.”

He must have sold it well enough, because Natasha nodded. “They went up the interstate. West.”

So they really had been close enough to witness the ambush. Where the hell had they been hiding during the whole thing? The sunburned grass in the fields around them wasn’t exactly a sniper’s dream. There were thicker woods further up the highway, but there wasn’t much of that over here, where the businesses were concentrated.

“Where they headed, anyway?” Leo asked.

And there it is.

“Have you ever heard of Song Island?” Will asked.

* * *

They waited another thirty minutes.

Then thirty minutes became an hour.

And no one showed up.

Meanwhile, the carrion birds had begun circling over the corpses left behind in the streets and parking lots of both the Palermo and the Chevron.

Ray, one of the two guys in the Valero across the street from them, jogged over, his lanky six-three frame like a scarecrow against the heavy afternoon sun. “We’re leaving,” he said as soon as he was inside the Domino’s. “They’re not coming.”

Then he left and ran up the street, toward the parked technical.

Leo stood up, brushing dust off his pants. “Come on,” he said to Will, “let’s see if you can convince the others about this Song Island. If we’re going, it’s gotta be as a group, or not at all.”

Will pulled himself up from the floor. He was glad to finally be up again. His side stung a bit, but stinging was better than bleeding, and a quick check told him he was still fine. For now, anyway.

“I can be pretty convincing,” Will said.

“You better hope so,” Natasha said.

There may or may not have been a warning in her voice, and before he could gauge which one was more likely, she had pushed open the doors and stepped out into the street, leaving him behind with Leo.

“What’s her deal?” Will asked.

“What do you mean?” Leo said.

“Back there, at the station. She shot that kid in cold blood.”

Leo frowned, which didn’t do anything for his already heavily lined face. “She lost her daughter two nights ago. The kid was waiting for her in the VFW hall in Dunbar when the soldiers attacked, and… Well, it didn’t end happily for her. For any of us. I guess that explains why we’re all out here trying to kill as many of the bastards as possible.”

Will nodded. He didn’t need Leo to give him the details. He knew what had happened in Dunbar two nights ago, because he had been there. Kate’s shock troops, Harrison’s people being slaughtered…

He walked outside with Leo. “What was she before all of this?”

“State trooper,” Leo said. “She actually busted me a couple of times for hunting out of season. I don’t think she ever had to draw her weapon before the world went to shit, though. Funny how things work out.”

“Yeah,” Will said, though the word “funny” wasn’t quite what he would have used.

* * *

“An island? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“An island. You’re out of your mind.”

“The radio broadcast? I heard about that.”

“I say we keep going.”

“Maybe we should go back to Dunbar.”

“We have to find someplace else. Dunbar’s lost.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Let’s find more of these fuckers and kill as many as we can, before they get us.”

Because what remained of Dunbar’s fighters didn’t have anything resembling a leader, everyone spoke at the same time. Which made it difficult for Will to judge who was leaning toward his proposition and who was just shooting off at the mouth.

Natasha, though, had kept out of the fray. She leaned against the Ford’s hood and looked solemnly back down Route 13 through the underpass, as if she expected Mason’s soldiers to pop up at any moment. By the way she was holding her M4, he guessed she was hoping for exactly that.

“Shit, it’s not any more unbelievable than what’s happening now,” Leo was saying. “Look around you, boys. The impossible is possible. What makes this any less possible, considering everything we’ve been through? Have you forgotten about those blue-eyed fucks we all saw two nights ago?”

That seemed to quiet them.

I have a champion, Will thought, fighting back a smile. He couldn’t have chosen a better person to argue for him, either. Leo was tall, big, older than the rest, and forceful when he talked so you couldn’t help but pay attention.

Leo turned to him now. “And it works. The bodies of water. Just the way the woman on the radio says it does?”

“She was right about the silver,” Will said.

“You’ve used silver on them?” Ray asked.

“We have. After we heard the radio message, we started sharpening silver crosses into weapons. All you have to do is stab them and they die. They actually die.”

Ray, Leo, and the others exchanged a look. All except Natasha. She was still focused on the underpass, oblivious to the conversation. Will thought she would at least react to his confirmation that silver worked on the ghouls, but no. Natasha was in her own world. Right now, he didn’t think anything besides the presence of Mason’s men could make her care.

“Dammit,” Ray said. “We heard that same broadcast days ago, but Harrison insisted it was all bullshit, so we never followed through on it. But you’re saying it works. You swear it?”

“I swear it,” Will said, “and I’ve used it.”

“So, silver bullets?” Leo said. Will could practically see the gears in the older man’s head turning. “We could do that. Make silver rounds. It’d be nice to finally be able to shoot and kill the fuckers for once.”

“Silver works, just like the woman on the radio said it would,” Will said. “If she’s right about that, she could be right about the bodies of water, too. All we’d have to do is get to Song Island. You guys are looking for a new place to stay. There it is.”

“I have a question,” Ray said. “How the hell are we going to survive on an island?”

“It has a hotel and solar-powered electricity.”

“And you know this how?”

“We didn’t all come from Mississippi. One of us was from here. He was born and raised around Beaufont Lake and he saw them building the hotel over the years, and he says it’s mostly finished. As for what you’d eat, that’s easy—the lake is filled with fish. When we heard the radio broadcast, it just made sense to retreat to Song Island.”

“Sounds like a fool thing to do,” another man, Greg, said. He was in his thirties, squat, and looked ridiculous next to the tall Ray.

The other two were Olsen and Barnes, who had been manning the technical all this time.

Olsen was leaning out the front passenger side door looking bored. “They’re from Mississippi, what’d you expect?”

Will ignored him, said, “Look around you, guys. There’s not a lot of choices left these days. If it’s not the creatures, it’s the soldiers.”

“And hiding on an island is better?” Ray said.

“Better than out here.”

“He’s got a point,” Barnes said. He was resting against the front hood of the Ford. “We barely got out of Dunbar with our hides. This island sounds pretty good to me. I mean, what the fuck? We gonna run around getting into fights all our lives? We did what we could. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

The others didn’t argue Barnes’s point, but they didn’t exactly shout their agreement, either. A couple of them, like Leo and Greg, sneaked a quick look over at Natasha. If she noticed them, she didn’t show it.

“When we get there, how do we reach the island?” Ray asked.

“John, the guy who told us about it, said there are a couple of marinas with boats in the area,” Will said. “He also said there are houses along the shoreline, in case we get there and need emergency shelter.”

He stopped talking to let all of that sink in. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was working because each man seemed to have retreated into his own internal monologues, maybe even weighing the pros and cons. He hoped at least most of them were leaning toward the pros. He probably had Leo and Ray. The others, though, were a toss-up.

“Clock’s ticking,” Will said. “If you’re going to decide to go, you need to do it soon.” He glanced at his watch for dramatic effect. “You know what happens when it gets dark out here. We all do.”

They glanced at each other in silence. All except Natasha. Will wasn’t sure if she had even heard any of the conversation going on around her.

“Well?” Leo said finally. “Do we go, or continue taking our chances out here?”

“Fuck it,” Ray said. “How long we going to last out here like this, anyway? We had it good in Dunbar, but that’s gone. Harrison’s dead or worse. Rachel, too. What’s left?”

“An island,” Greg said. He sounded as if he wanted to laugh, but couldn’t make himself do it. “Well, shit. I’ve heard of worse ideas, I guess.”

“If we go, we all go,” Leo said. “So do we go?”

They nodded one by one.

Except for Natasha. She still hadn’t said a word.

“Nat,” Leo said, turning to her. “Did you hear—”

“Okay,” she said before he could finish.

“Okay?” Leo repeated, just to be sure.

“Yeah, okay.” She walked past him and to the back of the truck. “I guess we better hurry, then. Like the man said, the clock’s ticking.”

The others followed her example and began piling into the truck.

Leo turned to Will and grinned. “You better hope this island’s there, buddy, ’cause if it’s not, we’ll be standing around watching the sunset with our balls in our hands.”

Will smiled back at him.

I’m coming home, Lara. Just hold out a little longer, babe.

* * *

By 1:44 p.m., they were back on the highway and heading west. Olsen and Greg were in the cab of the Ford F-250, with Barnes behind the wheel. Will sat in the back with Ray, Leo, and Natasha. They had given him one of the M4s from the gun battle, but there were still no signs of his M4A1. Besides the carbine, he was wearing a dead man’s gun belt and a holstered 9mm Sig Sauer, though not the same one Michael had given him earlier.

The optimist in him hoped Danny and Gaby had already arrived back at the marina and were on their way to the island right now. They needed to be there before nightfall. They had to, because it was going to happen tonight. He could feel it in his bones. Lara had managed to stall them with the help of the new guy, Keo, but that was a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. She was counting on him to return, and the last thing he wanted to do was let her down.

Dunbar’s people had a map of the state and knew the way down to Song Island, and Will had told them about Salvani. He was worried about a potential ambush along the way—Mason had shown enough foresight to set one up for Danny and Gaby earlier—but he didn’t tell the others about that. He should have felt guilty about the omission, but he didn’t. He was using them, yes. He couldn’t avoid that even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to.

He had to get to Song Island. He had to reach Lara before tonight. That was all that mattered.

It was chilly in the back of the truck with the wind ripping at his face, because Will was sitting with his back against the right side of the bed, facing Leo. He had chosen the spot on purpose, because it allowed him to see both in front and behind him. Natasha sat to his right, with Ray next to her. The ammo belt attached to the M60 draped down from the roof and into the can of ammo sitting between them. Dunbar’s fighters hadn’t said a word since they started on their way, but every now and then he caught them glancing up at the sun, as if to make sure the night hadn’t snuck up on them when they weren’t looking.

Will passed the time by watching the never-ending stretch of road flashing by, a constant sea of unyielding gray structures. How long would the roads last? The highways, big and small? The buildings? The businesses and homes and vehicles? Man’s time was over. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. He sure as hell wasn’t one, and he knew that.

After a while, he became aware of Natasha staring at him again.

“What?” he said, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the roar of the wind in his face.

“There were two vehicles this morning,” she said. “You were in the Tacoma.”

He nodded.

“You rammed the trucks that were blocking the streets,” she continued. “Why?”

“They were in the way.”

“But you rammed them. You could have tried to go around.”

“Maybe. But there wasn’t any time. I made a split-second decision.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Why?”

“I don’t understand,” he said, wondering again just how close Natasha had been to the action this morning to have seen all of that.

“You sacrificed yourself for your friends,” she said. “By opening up a lane for them to drive through. Why?”

“I didn’t think I was sacrificing anything,” Will said. “I just misjudged how badly the truck would go into a tailspin after the impact.”

“You screwed up, is that it?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

He wasn’t sure if she believed him. For that matter, did he believe it? Or had he really been thinking about sacrificing himself so Danny and Gaby could reach Song Island, instead of all three of them not making it?

It wasn’t as if he’d had the time to think about it since this morning. He had been too preoccupied with trying to survive since waking up from the crash.

But now that the question was posed to him…

Doesn’t matter. Danny and Gaby are on their way home, and so am I.

That’s all that matters now.

“You might have gotten through if you had been driving the bigger car,” Natasha was saying.

He shrugged. “We had kids in the backseat, and we needed the extra space.”

“Still…”

“Yeah, well, they got through. I just hope they made it to the island.”

“That was your first mistake.”

“What’s that?”

“You still have hope,” Natasha said before looking away.

“I’m sorry about your daughter, about what happened in Dunbar,” he wanted to say to her, but he didn’t. Natasha didn’t care about his condolences. She had lost a child, and some stranger telling her that he was “sorry” wasn’t going to do a damn thing for her.

So Will kept his mouth shut and laid the M4 across his lap instead.

Besides, there was a very good chance he was sending these people to their deaths with an elaborate series of lies and half-truths. Then again, guilt was for survivors, and if he was lucky enough to call himself that after tonight, then he’d embrace it and carry on like he always did.

But first, he had to get home.

Get to Lara.

Whatever it took, he had to get back home to Lara. Nothing else mattered before and after that.

10

Gaby

No one fired a shot as they drove up to the roadblock, and the clatter of gunfire was still unnervingly absent when they parked and climbed out of the truck. She expected to be fighting for her life the moment her foot touched the hard concrete, and when that didn’t happen, Gaby had to spend a few seconds adjusting.

It’s the uniforms. They’re not shooting because of the uniforms.

I can’t believe it’s working.

The men pointing the assault rifles at them saw the familiar camo print and must have breathed a sigh of relief almost right away. Or it could have been the sight of a very assured Nate walking forward with his rifle held loosely at his side before stopping near the hood. He was non-threatening, but somehow still aggressive enough to draw their eyes to him.

If he was scared, Nate didn’t show it, especially when he shouted over at the soldiers, “What the hell, guys? Stop pointing those guns at us! They told us to come up here and back you up, not to get shot in the face!”

‘Shot in the face,’ Nate?

That was a nice flourish. Someone who didn’t belong here would have reacted differently, and not with the righteous indignation that was clearly evident in Nate’s voice. That seemed to relax the men even further. Or, at least, she hoped so. She could have been reading the whole situation wrong and not know it until it was too late.

Gaby had her rifle in her right hand, but she held it loosely at her side, almost cavalierly in order to give off the right impression. Like Nate, she was playing a role, trying to sell that she belonged here, that she wasn’t afraid of the rifles pointing—relaxed, but still pointing—at them. Her body might have seemed calm, but her hand was clutching tightly onto the rifle. Maybe too tightly. She couldn’t be sure because she didn’t look down, but it felt as if her entire arm had gone numb.

Relax. This is going to work.

Because we’re all dead if it doesn’t.

God, I wish Will was here…

She was certain there were just the same four men she had seen from inside the truck as they pulled up. If there were more hiding, maybe even on the other side of the divider like last time, that was going to throw everything off. It would mean they had to adapt on the fly, which might not be possible when the bullets started flying.

What was that Lara liked to say? Adapt or perish.

One of the men had short blond hair, and he straightened up behind the hood of one of the trucks—a black GMC that looked fresh off the lot—and peered up the highway at Nate and Gaby. Thirty yards separated them. That was just far enough of a distance for the soldiers to see them (The uniforms; focus on the uniforms we’re wearing), but not too close to reveal everything. A part of her was afraid they might spot the bullet hole in the back of the uniform she was wearing. Which was silly, because she was facing them. Unless there was a fifth man back there…

Please don’t let there be a fifth man. Please, please…

She could hear nervous movement behind her from inside the truck. It was either Annie or Milly, because it couldn’t have been Claire. The thirteen-year-old knew better. Claire was a born soldier, and Gaby could trust her to remain perfectly still as they attempted this charade. All they had to do was keep their heads down when the shooting started.

Just a little bit longer…

“Who sent you?” the blond shouted at them.

“Mason sent us over as reinforcements,” Nate said. “In case those guys in the truck came back. They up there, or what?”

“Mason sent you?”

“Who else? You think I’m out here for my health? I’d rather be back in town.”

God, he’s good at this, Gaby thought, glancing briefly across the truck at Nate. If she didn’t know better, she would have believed him, too.

“Where you from?” the blond asked. It was almost conversational, like he wasn’t looking at Nate from behind the iron sights of a rifle.

“L17,” Nate said.

“We’re from L11.”

“I’ve been there. You know Hank?”

“Yeah, I know him,” the blond said.

That seemed to do it. Two of the men flanking Blondie started to relax, and one of them took his hands off his M4 lying over the roof of the other truck—a white Toyota pickup—and actually stood back a bit. The third man had also straightened up from behind his cover and now let his rifle hang at his side.

The only one who hadn’t shown any signs of easing up was the fourth man. He was older than the other three by at least ten years and had a large beard. He looked as if he was wearing a uniform that was at least a size too small, making him seem bigger than he really was. He was still watching the Chevy from behind the back of the GMC, as if he expected a gunfight to start up at any moment.

The man must have sensed Gaby staring, because he looked over in her direction and they stared at each other across the short distance. She didn’t know how long that lasted. Maybe it was just a second, or a few seconds. It could have been just a split second.

Oh, shit.

Gaby responded on pure instinct. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing until she had squeezed the trigger on the M4 and hit the side of the truck.

She had fired too fast and missed!

Fortunately for her, the solid ping! as her round drilled into the vehicle must have startled the bearded man enough, because instead of shooting back at her, he ducked behind cover. That gave her the precious extra second to flick the fire selector on the carbine to burst fire and squeeze the trigger again.

She strafed the truck with the first three-round volley, swinging her rifle from right to left, shattering the driver-side window in the process. She kept squeezing the trigger even as the other three men were slow to react, as if they couldn’t decide between hiding and returning fire. One man was struggling to get a hold of his rifle, while another was racing along the length of the pickup.

Thank God for amateurs, Will.

She was already backing up, moving behind her open passenger door (hoping and praying Nate was doing the same on his side) while continuing to pull the trigger again and again and again—

Then, a second later her own gunfire was lost in the torrential downpour of brap-brap-brap! coming from behind and slightly to her left.

Danny.

Gaby threw a quick look back and saw him standing in the back of the Chevy. He was firing the M240 machine gun over the cab, the nonstop clink-clink-clink of empty 7.62mm brass casings pouring down and bouncing off the roof and landing in the truck bed around his feet. Some flickered onto the highway behind Gaby, while others somehow managed to rain down the front windshield and clank against the front hood.

Danny held onto the heavy weapon with both hands and was moving it right and left, bracing its bucking weight against the truck’s roof to keep it under control as he oscillated his fire. He was slightly bent over, eyes looking behind the iron sights of the weapon at his targets thirty yards up the highway.

There was a loud explosion as a tire blew, then another one. Windows shattered against the constant ping-ping-ping! of bullets punching through aluminum and metal and steel. All the noise and fury drowned out her own labored breathing. She couldn’t even hear (though she could see) Nate, outside the driver-side door on the other side, still firing up the highway. The smell of gasoline wafted across the highway to her nostrils as the two perforated vehicles began leaking fuel.

Gaby didn’t realize she had stopped pulling her M4’s trigger until Danny finally stopped shooting. By the weight of her weapon, she guessed she still had half a magazine left, so she switched it back to semi-auto and focused on the two vehicles.

Or what was left of them.

The last half dozen or so shots from the M240 were still echoing off the sun-baked highway and the walls of trees to both sides of them when she finally recognized her own shallow breathing. Slowly, slowly, she forced herself to settle down, just as the last gunshots faded.

“Clear it!” Danny shouted. She didn’t know why he was shouting until she realized he was probably slightly deaf from firing the machine gun and didn’t even know it.

Then there was just the silence again, with the occasional clinking as she moved forward, kicking casings out of her path. Nate was moving forward, parallel to her. They exchanged a brief look and nod before continuing on to the GMC and Toyota.

They were wrecks. Worse than wrecks. The tires were blown, every window smashed to pieces, even the ones on the other side. Danny hadn’t spared a single round, and she made a promise to herself never to get in front of one of those weapons.

She didn’t say a word, and neither did Nate as they scooted toward the shredded metal carcasses. She counted two bodies on her side, including the man with the beard and the blond. There were two more on Nate’s end. Thick red blood pooled under and around their still bodies, wet and unnaturally bright against the sun.

Gaby lowered her rifle and looked back down the interstate at Danny and waved. He nodded back and put the M240 away and climbed out of the truck. She didn’t have to be able to see his face to know that all those little motions were causing him a lot of pain with his broken leg. Not that Danny said anything as he hobbled over to the driver-side door and looked in at the girls.

She glanced across the lanes at Nate. He was staring at the bodies, and she couldn’t quite tell what the expression on his face was at the moment. Regret? Sympathy? Guilt?

“Nate,” she said. “We should take their weapons and look for anything else we can use in the trucks, then get out of here.”

He nodded back but didn’t say a word. He looked inside the Toyota through the broken front passenger-side window, and she did the same to the GMC. There was a case of MREs in the back, along with green cans of ammo. She grabbed a tactical pack from the floor and found it filled with extra clothes that she yanked out and replaced with the MREs before collecting two M4s from the ground.

Nate had picked up a third rifle on his side, but didn’t bother with the fourth one. “It’s busted,” he said before she could ask.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and they took their spoils back to the Silverado, where Danny was waiting for them.

“We good?” he asked them.

“We’re good,” Gaby said.

“How about you, Nathaniel Bacon?”

Nate shook his head. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Read a book sometime,” Danny said. He glanced down at his watch, then looked up at the feeder road beside them. “We’ll cut across Lake Dulcet and make our way south. It’ll be close, but if we haul ass, there’s no reason we can’t reach Song Island by four or five. That sound good?”

“You know where you’re going?” Gaby asked.

“Yeah, sure. Just follow the signs, right? I’m good at that, you know. Back in college, they used to call me Follow The Signs Danny.”

“‘Follow the Signs Danny’?” Nate said.

Gaby managed a smile. “Just go with it.”

“Ah,” Nate said.

She tossed the bag of food, ammo cans, and rifles into the back. Annie and Milly were outside on the driver side and Claire was standing next to her, looking at what remained of the soldiers’ trucks. Gaby was glad the girl couldn’t see the bodies on the other side of the vehicles. Claire was strong, but she didn’t particularly want the kid seeing everything if she could help it.

“What’s that smell?” Claire asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Gasoline,” Gaby said.

“Oh.” Then she turned her calm eyes on Gaby. “I could have helped.”

“Not until you learn how to shoot a rifle.”

“I already know how to shoot a rifle.”

“I mean a real rifle.”

“You’ll teach me?” she said, nodding at the carbine in Gaby’s hands. “Soon? I want to help, too.”

“Soon,” Gaby nodded. “Now get inside so we can get going.”

“Next stop, Song Island?”

God, I hope so, she thought, but smiled reassuringly and said, “Yeah, definitely next stop, Song Island.”

Claire grinned and climbed back into the truck.

Danny was already settling in behind the steering wheel. “You did good, kid.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Perish the thought.”

He grunted, then, “Asses down and seatbelts on. Annie, you’re up front with me. You know how to read a map?”

Annie climbed into the front passenger seat. She didn’t look nearly as shell-shocked or dazed as she had earlier during the first firefight on the highway. Maybe, Gaby thought, Annie was finally warming to what it took to survive out here.

It’s about time, too.

“It’s just a map,” Annie said, taking the folded paper from Danny. “How hard could it be?”

“Pretty hard, if you’re blind,” Danny said.

Gaby walked over to Nate, who was already waiting in the back of the truck. He held out his hand, and she let him pull her up.

“How old is that girl? Twelve?” he asked, looking into the cab window at Claire on the other side, clutching her FNH shotgun.

“She’s thirteen.”

“Thirteen. Jesus. You think she’s ready for an assault rifle?”

“I wasn’t ready for one, either, but I got over it.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t we just give her a bazooka?”

“If only we had one.”

“I was kidding,” Nate frowned.

“I wasn’t,” Gaby said.

* * *

She sat in the back of the truck across from Nate, with the M240, now reloaded with a fresh ammo belt, rattling next to them. The soldiers were, if nothing else, well stocked when they ventured out. Danny drove, with Annie in the front passenger seat directing his turns using the map.

They had taken the feeder road off the I-10 and were now moving through what looked like Downtown Lake Dulcet. It wasn’t a particularly big city—more like a tourist attraction—and the only sound for miles was the churning of the truck’s engine. If Josh’s soldiers were in pursuit, they would be able to hear them easily enough. But that couldn’t be helped right now. To move fast, they had to be loud, too.

The one bright spot was that it had been almost an hour since they entered the city and there were no signs of pursuers. That supported Danny’s theory that the rest of the ambushers were either positioned in Lake Charles further up the interstate or waiting to strike near Salvani. Either way, they had skirted trouble.

Or they hoped, anyway.

Nate sat across from her so they could see both forward and back, as well as both sides of the road. She kept the M4 in her lap, because the very thought of not having it was terrifying. The only sounds for the longest time were the car engine, the wind blasting in her ears, and stray brass casings clinking randomly around them. Danny was driving at forty miles per hour in the narrow streets and gassing it when he found bigger lanes.

She should have felt good about making it through a second ambush unscathed, but seeing those men falling under Danny’s onslaught hadn’t been nearly as triumphant as she had expected. Looking across at Nate now, she guessed he felt the same way, which may or may not be why he hadn’t said a word since they climbed into the Chevy.

“You okay?” she finally asked. She had to raise her voice over the roar of the wind to be heard.

He gave her a forced smile. “Yeah. You?”

“We did what we had to. Back there.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s wrong? Is it the four guys we had to kill?”

“I don’t care about those guys. I was thinking about the other two. The ones who were with me before.”

“What about them?”

“I shot them in the back.” He paused. “They never saw it coming. One of them…he was surprised. I could see it on his face afterward.”

They chose their fates, Nate, she wanted to say. They got what they had coming. Would they have felt bad about shooting us?

But she didn’t say those words out loud because she could see how much it was bothering him, and had been for some time now. It didn’t surprise her at all that he would feel guilty about it. They had once argued about whether to kill another man who had ambushed them on the highway not all that long ago.

“Did you know them?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not really. We were thrown together when I volunteered for this.”

“You volunteered?”

“I had to. It was the only way to leave L17 and find you.”

“L17,” she repeated. “The town they took me to was called L15.”

“There are dozens of towns in just this state alone. You have no idea how massive the operation really is, Gaby. L17 had over 5,000 people.”

Not people, Nate. Cattle. That’s what we are to them. Nothing but cattle.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said, and managed a smile that wasn’t completely forced.

“You already said that.”

“It deserves saying again.”

He gave her his best (mostly) unforced smile. “I wasn’t sure for the longest time, you know. After I woke up…”

“What happened to you, Nate?”

His face darkened slightly. “The night at the pawnshop. They didn’t kill me. They’d been feeding on me for…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how long. After they were done, I guess they put me in one of the towns.”

He stopped talking and seemed to drift off.

“What happened then?” she prompted.

“I eventually got my strength back. After that, they asked me if I wanted to keep fighting or comply. That was the word they used. ‘Comply.’ Not ominous at all, right?”

“Who was it?” she asked. “Who asked you?”

“Just some guy,” Nate said. “I was lucky your friend Josh wasn’t around. I don’t think he would have been quite as willing to just let me go on my merry way.”

You have no idea, Nate. No idea at all.

Nate was staring at her intently when he added, “After he took you, that kid, did he do anything to you, Gaby?”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Did he do anything to you?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t like that, Nate. Josh…”

Wouldn’t have done something like that, she wanted to say, but she didn’t, because she couldn’t be certain. The Josh she knew—the eighteen-year-old kid who had survived with her and Matt, would never have even thought about something so despicable. But that boy was long gone, replaced by a stranger. This Josh was different. He wasn’t her Josh.

“No,” she said. “He didn’t do anything to me.”

Nate looked relieved. She wondered how long he had been thinking about that, tormenting himself with what was happening to her at Josh’s hands. Gaby didn’t know if she should be grateful or annoyed. Maybe she was overthinking it. Nate was one of those gallant types. An idealist. If the world hadn’t ended, he would have become an Army officer and served his country dutifully and likely retired a war hero, one that was well-liked by his platoon. Or unit. Or whatever it was they called groups in the Army.

“But anyway, back to their comply-or-die question, it was a no-brainer,” Nate was saying. “When I told them about my military background, they were happy to let me enlist. Like I told Danny, most of these guys are average Joes. Office drones, salesmen, construction workers, you name it.”

“Why did you decide to become one of them?” Gaby asked. She was thinking about all the soldiers she had seen, the ones she had shot at, and the ones she had killed. The men from Mercy Hospital, the ones in Dunbar, men like Mac and (the other) Lance that held her captive in L15…

“It was the only way I was going to get to leave the towns,” Nate said.

“I thought anyone could leave.”

“That’s what they tell you, but it’s a lie. You’re never seen in town again, but it’s not because you found someplace better. You just…disappear. I don’t know what happens exactly. No one I’ve talked to does; but then, we’re all pretty low on the totem pole. Maybe the guys higher up know.”

I bet Josh knows.

What happens to those who leave the towns, Josh? Where do they go? What becomes of them?

“How did you escape?” Nate asked.

She told him about waking up in L15, then escaping with Peter and Milly before getting captured again in Dunbar by Harrison’s men. He smiled when she got to the part about reuniting with Will and Danny later.

“He’ll be okay,” Nate said. “Will, I mean. I’ve never met a more capable guy in my life.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I would worry if it was someone else, but it’s not. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got to Song Island and found out he already beat us there.”

Nate nodded back, but she could tell he didn’t actually believe her. Which wasn’t a total surprise to Gaby, because she had a hard time believing it herself.

* * *

They didn’t say anything again for a while. There was a lot to talk about, but she didn’t want to do it in the back of a moving truck with the wind tearing away every other word between them. Besides, there would be time for everything she wanted—needed—to ask him later.

She glanced into the cab window to break the monotony of staring at Nate across from her. Annie was consulting the map in her lap while Danny drove. They were aimed south the entire time, except for a few minutes where they had to take detours. But for the most part, it was always south, toward Song Island. Toward home.

They were approaching the southern city limits of Lake Dulcet, with the downtown far behind them now, when Gaby heard something that made her sit up. It wasn’t a gunshot, another car engine, or any of the alarming noises she had been waiting for since they abandoned the interstate for the streets.

It was a man’s voice shouting at them.

Nate heard it too, and he looked around before settling on a group of office buildings behind him. There were two figures on the rooftop of what looked like a big box warehouse store, both jumping up and down and waving their arms frantically above their heads to get their attention. The sun was behind them, but both had the shape of men clutching guns in their hands. If the intention was to flag them down, swinging assault rifles wildly back and forth was probably the dumbest thing they could have done.

The Chevy slowed for a bit—not much, just enough for her to notice—but it didn’t stay that way for very long. It picked up speed again three seconds later and continued on. Businesses and storefronts flashed by them again, including the one with the two figures on the rooftop still waving after them, though they had stopped jumping enthusiastically when they realized the truck wasn’t going to stop.

Nate turned back around and looked across at her. “You think Danny saw them?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything. He started to ask another question, but stopped himself and looked down the street instead.

In many ways, he was still the same Nate she remembered (and missed dearly when she thought he was dead), but he had also changed a lot. His smiles didn’t come out quite as easily as before, and when they did, she couldn’t tell if they were genuine or forced. Maybe somewhere in between. As much as she noticed the slight change in him, he probably saw the same thing in her. Beyond the physical (bruises and broken noses didn’t heal overnight), she wasn’t the same girl she was when they had first met in Lafayette.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the truck and wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep. Maybe when she woke up she’d finally be at Song Island, back home again. She tried to imagine that the hard steel vibrating behind her was her soft mattress back at the hotel. Of course it was like trying to convince herself the blood and dirt on her tongue was milk chocolate.

“Gaby,” Nate said.

She opened her eyes and looked across the small space at him.

“You’re still as beautiful as I remembered,” he said.

“Bullshit. My nose is broken and I have scars all over me that are never going to heal properly. For the last few days, I’ve purposefully stayed away from shiny surfaces so I wouldn’t have to look at myself.”

He surprised her by chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, unable to hide her annoyance.

“That you think you’re still not the most beautiful girl running around out here.”

“You know we’re probably going to die tonight, right?”

“You mean at the island?”

“Yeah.”

“So we’re racing like crazy to get to this island of yours, just so we can end up dying there tonight?”

“Yup,” she said. “How you like them apples?”

He laughed. “I like ’em just fine, as long as you’re there. How about you?”

“We’re all going to die one of these days anyway. If my time comes, I’d rather it be at home with my friends.”

As soon as she said it, Gaby knew she meant it. Every single word of it. She had managed to survive when so many had perished, but if her time came tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that, she would embrace it with open arms. Just as long as she had the right people by her side. Her friends…

“So where do I fit into that scenario?” Nate asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ll figure it out.”

11

Will

They only stopped once so Ray and Leo could take a leak. Natasha didn’t move from the back of the truck, and neither did Will. He opened one of the MRE bags they had shared with him and spooned out some meat loaf.

“Mississippi, huh?” Natasha said.

He nodded.

“Which part of Mississippi?” she asked.

“South.”

“Where, south?”

He chewed slowly, enjoying the taste. Natasha never took her eyes off him the entire time.

“Hattiesburg,” he finally said. Then, before she could ask anything else, “We took I-59 down before switching over to the I-10. We were originally headed for New Orleans, but it was too big, and you know what that means.”

“The creatures…”

“Yeah. So we headed west instead, looking for someplace smaller where we could get lost.”

“You found that along Route 13?”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s a pretty obscure road. I wouldn’t even know it existed if I didn’t live in Dunbar all my life.”

“We had a map and we were looking for a quiet place. Route 13 is pretty desolate, which was what we thought we needed.” He took a sip from a refilled bottle of water. “It worked for us. For a while, anyway.”

“I’m surprised you guys never went into Dunbar.”

“We had everything we needed, brought most of it with us. Maybe we’d have to start looking for more supplies eventually, but we never got that far.”

“How long were you there?”

“A couple of months.”

He wasn’t sure if he had been convincing enough, because Will didn’t look up at her as he spun his tale. But when Natasha finally took her eyes off him and watched the others coming back from wherever they had gone to do their business, he figured he had probably done a decent enough job.

“I’m sorry about your daughter,” Will said.

She didn’t reply.

“Leo told me about her,” he continued.

“Leo talks too much,” she said.

“I heard that,” Leo said, climbing back into the truck.

“You were supposed to,” Natasha said.

“He understands, Nat,” Leo said, settling in across from Will. “He’s lost someone, too, remember? We all have.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest and pretended to go to sleep. Or maybe that was just her way of letting them know she wasn’t interested in this conversation anymore.

“You lost someone?” Will asked Leo.

The older man nodded. “I guess you could say I was luckier than most. Some friends, but no family to lose when everything went tits up.”

Leo opened another bag of MRE and sniffed the contents before peering inside. He must have liked what he saw, because he produced a metal spork from his pocket and devoured the food with a flourish usually reserved for starving homeless people.

Ray climbed up behind them and walked to the front, where he banged on the cab window. “Let’s go, guys! We’re losing daylight!” He glanced at his watch. “We’re cutting it close. I don’t like it.” Ray banged on the window again. “Drive faster!”

“Fuck off!” Olsen shouted from inside.

The Ford started up and they were moving again a few seconds later. The truck began picking up speed, and although he couldn’t see the speedometer, Will guessed they were topping off at around sixty miles per hour, judging by the speed with which the concrete barricade was flashing by in front of him.

Too fast. We’re going way too fast.

He wanted to get to Song Island as soon as possible, but he also remembered all the accidents and ambushes he had endured on the road in the last year. Of course, he didn’t expect someone with a rocket launcher to pop up in front of them, but the possibility existed because Josh’s soldiers had free rein of the state’s armory. The machine guns up and down Route 13, including the one perched on the roof of the truck’s cab right now, were proof of that.

“Ray,” Will said.

Ray looked up from a bag of jerky. “What?”

“We’re going too fast.”

“So?”

“There could be hazards on the road. Barnes is going too fast.”

Ray smirked. “Relax, Mississippi. You want to get down there before sunset, don’t you?”

“He’s right,” Leo said. “Tell them to slow down.”

“Jesus Christ, what are you two, grandfathers?” Ray said. “Keep your diapers on. There’s nothing on the fucking road. It’s been a year since the end of the world, for God’s sake.” He looked at Will. “And besides, you got all the way over here from Mississippi just fine. We’re not even going that far.”

Will was hoping Leo would press the issue—it would have been better coming from him—but the older man had already gone back to eating his MRE. Nearby, Natasha had opened her eyes and was staring at him intently. There was something about the way she was eyeballing him that made him think he hadn’t really thrown her off the scent at all.

He leaned out and looked up the highway. It was flat and empty, with no vehicles other than theirs for miles in any direction. No wonder Barnes didn’t see any problems with going sixty miles an hour along this stretch of road. Maybe he was worried about nothing; maybe Ray was right, after all.

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

* * *

He was expecting it. He had turned all the possible scenarios over in his head and how he would react to each one, but as mentally prepared as he was for it to happen, the how still caught him by surprise. It was worse for Natasha, Leo, and Ray in the back of the truck with him, because when the tires blew, no one was ready for it.

At first there was a loud series of popping sounds, like small explosions ringing out one after another underneath them. Then the truck spun, and Will imagined Barnes inside fighting for control of the vehicle. Olsen might have even screamed. Or it sounded like someone was screaming behind him, the voice slightly muffled by the wall between them.

Will went from looking at the divider wall behind Leo to staring back down the highway as the car skidded off course, tires screeching as the brakes clamped down and the stinging smell of burnt rubber filled the air. A moment later, the front bumper dug into the concrete and the F-250 was no longer on the highway.

That was when Will leaped out of the truck. It wasn’t anything he had planned, but he was already being flung anyway by the vehicle’s chaotic flipping momentum, so he decided to stop fighting it. His one hope of surviving was to get far enough from the tumbling vehicle not to get caught—and dragged—underneath it.

Then he was sailing through the air, the wind rushing against his face, grinding metal filling his ears. He blocked the noises out and curled his body inward, doing his best impersonation of a flying human ball, just before he slammed into the highway on his right shoulder. The pain lanced through his body as he tumbled once, twice, and three times before unfurling his legs and arms in an attempt to stop his momentum.

He finally came to a stop on his stomach and was turned in the right direction, allowing him to see the truck as it rolled down the highway on its side, roof and undercarriage taking turns digging gaping divots in the concrete pavement as it went. Pieces of the F-250 flung wildly into the air around it, falling back down to earth just as the vehicle—or what was left of it—rolled one final time and…settled. It had left large chunks of glass and aluminum and metal in its wake, along with thick bloody swaths from bodies it had dragged.

The M60 that was once welded onto the roof was nowhere to be found, leaving only the twisted legs of its bipod behind. He was thinking about the weapon, about all the other guns that were inside the truck, and where they were now. Tossed free, most likely, along with his newly acquired M4.

What the hell happened?

He was alive, even if his arms and legs were numbed from the collision. He had somehow been tossed almost across the road and now lay in an unmoving pile against one of the guardrails.

Will managed to pull himself up from the scalding hot floor and onto his knees. His palms were cut and bloodied, and he was pretty sure that the warm sensation dripping down both sides of his face was blood. Although it was hard to concentrate, he looked around anyway, searching for bodies. That long and thick trail of blood had to have come from someone (someones).

The sun glinted off a long strip of something metallic lying in a jagged line back down the highway. Linked square-shaped objects stretched from one side of the two lanes to the other, sharp spikes at the end of them pointing in the air.

Police spikes. Christ, they put police spikes on the road and Barnes drove right over them.

You idiot, Barnes, I told you, you were going too fast…

He was still trying to come to terms with what had happened, how Barnes had screwed them over, when sudden movements in the corner of one eye caught his attention. He turned around as men in camo uniforms were climbing over the middle concrete divider. Had they been there the whole time? Probably, given the presence of the spikes on the road. This was the plan all along. Stop them without firing a shot.

Maybe they’re not so dumb after all.

There were a half dozen of them. Or maybe five dozen. He couldn’t be certain because they seemed to be multiplying the more he tried to focus.

There was more movement from behind him, the shuffling of boots against concrete. He turned around (something red—blood?—flicked away as he did so) as another half dozen men in camo were rising up from the fields of swaying grass along the feeder road. They looked like serpents coming out of the ground.

Snakes in the grass. With assault rifles.

One of them stepped over a body (Leo? Ray?) that had been tossed all the way across the highway, while a second man paused to check the prone figure’s pulse before standing back up and moving on a few moments later.

The first group of men was converging on the truck, resting on its crumpled roof. The loud crunch crunch of boots on broken glass and metal were almost as loud as the drip drip of gasoline from the overturned Ford’s tank. Smoke drifted from the battered hood and one of the wheels, now missing its tire, was still spinning in the air. How long was it going to keep doing that, he wondered.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t reached for the Sig Sauer in his hip holster yet. It was within easy reach, so close that it wouldn’t have taken much to move his hand toward it. Except that hand was covered in a thick film of blood that drip dripped from his fingers to the concrete, where they appeared to sizzle as if they were hitting a frying pan.

Christ, it’s hot out here. Didn’t the weather just cool down?

You know what they say about Louisiana. If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few…

Wait, or is that Texas?

The soldiers were now moving cautiously toward him, but no one had fired a shot yet. He kept waiting for it (Here it comes, here it comes) but it never happened. He blinked at the first few faces before they started going out of focus and it became impossible for him to see more than just clouds.

Bloodied red clouds.

He didn’t even feel anything when his face hit the concrete the second time.

* * *

“Is he still alive?” a voice asked.

“I think so,” a second voice answered.

“You think so?” The first man chuckled. “You better hope he lives, or it’s your ass on the line. You told me those spikes would work.”

“They did work.”

“So what happened?”

“I don’t know. The guy must have lost control of the truck, or pulled the steering wheel too hard or something. What happened back there wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like that, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, looks like you just got one of your nine lives back, because he’s awake.”

Will opened his eyes to sunlight flooding in through tall glass windows. Too bright, and he immediately had to close his eyes again.

He was alive, but at the moment he wished he weren’t. Every inch of him hurt and there was an incessant banging in his head, like a thousand drums going off at once, that wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t open his eyes a second time and didn’t want to. His entire body felt sticky, as if he were covered in syrup.

Blood. I’m lying in my own blood.

Can someone spare a towel?

“Who is this guy, anyway?” the second man asked. “Why’s he so important?”

“Don’t you worry about him,” the first one said.

That voice. It sounded familiar.

Mason.

The short dickhead in charge of the ambush at Route 13. In charge of more than that, for all Will knew. Was Mason behind the ambush? And, more importantly, he wondered if the man knew where his M4A1 was…

“Just keep him breathing until nightfall,” Mason was saying. “Can you handle that?”

“I’m not a doctor,” the other man said. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not guaranteeing anything. The guy was in shitty shape even before the truck flipped.”

“He had a little vehicular accident earlier today.”

“So he was already hurt. You can’t put it all on me.”

“The spike strip was your idea, remember?’

“I told you, it wasn’t supposed to do that. If this guy dies, it’s not my fault.”

“Well, shit, Rick, if you can’t keep him alive, then what the hell am I dragging you around for? Might as well put someone else in charge of him, right?”

“I’ll keep him alive,” Rick said quickly.

Will didn’t entirely believe Rick, because the man hadn’t been all that convincing. It sounded like poor Rick was afraid for his own life and was saying whatever Mason wanted to hear.

Join the party, buddy. You and me, up a creek without pants on.

“So it’s true?” Rick said. “She’s coming here?”

“You scared?” Mason asked.

“Shit, yeah. Aren’t you?”

“If you’d seen all the things I’ve seen, Rick ol’ buddy, you wouldn’t be. Now, less questions, more action. Your job is to keep him alive for another three hours. Can you handle that?” Mason’s voice sounded like it was coming from across the room this time. “Get it done, or, well, you know.”

The sound of something opening and closing.

Then, silence.

Will couldn’t be certain how long that lasted, before the man who had stayed behind (Rick) said, “You hear that? Three hours. That’s all you got left.”

Three hours…

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Rick said. “For saving your life. Truthfully, I don’t even know how you’re still moving around even before I got my hands on you. I guess the painkillers help, huh?” Clinking noises. “You’re running out of those, by the way. Don’t worry, we got plenty of refills. Lucky you.” Then, Rick chuckled. “Well, not really lucky you, but…you know.”

Yeah, I know, Rick. Fuck you, too.

He gave up what little fight he still had in him and slipped back, back into darkness.

* * *

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

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 possibly 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 noticed 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.”

If Gage was insulted by being called a “marauder,” he didn’t show it. Not that he had any right to take offense. The word was appropriate, given what he and his friends had planned to do to Song Island. In the few minutes she’d talked to the man, Gage hadn’t lied to her once. Or, at least, she hadn’t caught him in an obvious falsehood yet. In fact, the man seemed at home with what he was and what he had done. She hadn’t expected that, and a part of her was actually impressed with his frankness.

She sat down on a chair at the foot of his bed. “The eighth man. Does he have a name?”

“I thought you didn’t believe he existed,” Gage said. “You didn’t care about his name back when I told you and that Chinese guy about him.”

“Korean,” Benny said.

“What?” Gage said.

“Keo’s half-Korean, asshole.”

“Same difference.”

“Answer the question,” Lara said.

“Boris,” Gage said, turning back to her. “His name’s Boris.”

“Is he Russian?”

Gage smirked. “Nah. It’s just what we call him.”

“Why?”

“Did you find him yet?”

“No. But we will. Tell me about Boris.”

“What’s to tell? He was a crewman on the Trident before I even signed up. After we, er, took over, he decided to stay onboard. He knows that boat better than everyone, including me.”

“You gave him a choice to stay or leave?”

“Of course I did,” Gage said, sounding almost offended. “Everyone who stayed did so because they wanted to. I didn’t have to force anyone.”

“What happened to the owners of the boat?” Zoe asked.

Gage looked past Lara at the doctor. “We took the boat,” he said, as if that should explain everything.

“How did you take the boat?”

“How do you think we took the boat? They didn’t exactly want to give it up. So we took it.”

“What will Boris do next?” Lara asked.

“What do you mean?” Gage said, shifting back to her.

“Will he try to get off the boat? Like the other two did last night?”

“I have no idea. It’s not like we’re joined at the hip. I captained the boat, and he worked the decks.”

“He sweep the poop deck?” Benny grinned.

Lara ignored him and said to Gage, “Is he dangerous?”

Gage shrugged. “It’s a dangerous world. Who isn’t, these days?”

Lara stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if the man was holding something back. Gage was in his late thirties, with a hardened face that had seen a lot of sunlight over its lifetime. She could imagine this man nonchalantly shooting the Trident’s previous owner and assuming command simply because he could. She’d guess that anyone who traveled with him would be capable of that same level of violence.

She nodded and stood up. “Okay.”

“What about me?” Gage asked.

“What about you?”

“What happens to me now?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Right now, you’re still valuable because I might need someone to pilot the boat. But that doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate to throw you into the water if you endanger my people in any way. I’m betting that with time, I can teach someone to push all those buttons on the bridge.”

“Yeah, but there are so, so many buttons,” Gage said, grinning at her. When he didn’t get the reaction he was expecting, he lost the stupid grin and frowned instead. “Look, truth is, I was a captain before all of this, and I can be your captain, too. I mean, I’m not above taking orders. I did it for most of my life. I can do it again.”

“Good to know.” She glanced at Benny, who sat up straighter. “Keep an eye on him. If he does anything that’s even the least bit threatening toward you or Zoe, you have my permission to shoot him in the other kneecap.” She looked back at Gage. “Who needs legs to push some buttons, right?”

Gage swallowed.

“Gotcha,” Benny said.

Lara walked back to the door, where Zoe was waiting for her. Lara was glad to see the doctor up and moving around. She might have been a third-year medical student back when the world still made sense, but Zoe was the real deal. Lara had a feeling they would need her in the days to come.

Lara nodded at the hallway outside. Zoe understood and followed her out, and Lara closed the door behind them.

“Any word from Will?” Zoe asked.

“He’s on his way back now. He’ll radio in when he’s closer.”

“Good. For a moment there, I thought he might be in trouble. Then I remember who I’m worrying about.”

“Will can take care of himself. It’s us I’m worried about.” She looked back at the door. “You have to be careful around him. Gage. He’s dangerous.”

“I know. That’s what Benny’s here for, right?”

“Benny’s just a kid.”

Zoe smiled at her.

“What?” Lara said.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Jesus, you’re just a kid, too. All of you guys, except for Mae and Kendra, are just kids.”

Lara smiled. Zoe had a point there. “I guess I haven’t felt like a kid in a long time.”

“I know. Everyone grows up fast these days. You have to.”

We all adapt and grow, or not at all. Adapt or perish.

“Just remember not to relax too much around Gage,” Lara said. “He’s not our friend.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. I just spent an hour with that guy.”

“Good. I gotta get back to the boat and look for Boris.”

Lara turned to go, when Zoe said, “Hey.” When Lara stopped and looked back, Zoe said, “I’m glad Will’s fine, and that he’s coming home.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They exchanged an awkward smile before Zoe went back into the infirmary.

Lara continued up the hall. She unclipped her radio and keyed it. “Blaine, come in.”

“You headed back?” Blaine answered.

“I have to collect a few more bodies to help with the search. Anything happen while I was away?”

“Nothing exciting. Any word on our mystery man?”

“His name’s Boris.”

“Boris? What is he, some kind of Russian?”

“Apparently that’s just what they call him.”

“Hunh.”

“That’s what I said.”

* * *

She was halfway back to the beach when a slight echo, like a warm and wet popping sound, from far away drifted across the island. It sounded like it was coming all the way from the other side of the lake.

“Anyone hear that?” Maddie asked through the radio. “I’m pretty sure that was a gunshot.”

“Did it come from the yacht?” Lara asked, alarmed.

“Definitely not the yacht,” Blaine said through the radio. “I’m on the bridge, and it doesn’t sound close.”

“Okay, stay where you are, Blaine,” Lara said. “Maddie…”

“We can take off as soon as you show up,” Maddie said.

Lara smiled to herself and started jogging down the pathway that connected the hotel grounds to the beach.

We’re like a well-oiled machine. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but we’re definitely getting pretty good at this.

She said into the radio as she ran, “Everyone hold your positions. I repeat: hold your positions.”

Two more shots rang out, followed by a long silence, before two more popping noises echoed across the water. It had to have come from the other side of the lake. She remembered hearing the ferocious gunfire between Will and some of Kate’s collaborators months ago from the nearby marina, and those had sounded much louder.

She was halfway back to the beach when there was a long series of gunshots. These came faster and furious, the pop-pop-pop signaling the unmistakable exchange of automatic rifle fire between two sides.

What was going on out there? It couldn’t have been Will. He would have radioed as he got closer. Plus, the shooting seemed to be coming from the other side of the lake. Will had no reason to venture that far out, especially when a simple radio call would bring a boat to him.

Maddie was waiting for her on the pier, looking out at the lake with binoculars as Lara walked up behind her. “Anything?”

Maddie shook her head. “It’s too far south. The only reason we can hear it is because we’re downwind.”

“So it’s probably not meant for us.”

“I don’t think so, no.” She looked over. “What should we do?”

Lara didn’t answer right away. What should they do? If the shooting was coming from the other side of the lake, it was closer to the Gulf of Mexico than the island. Was what was happening out there worth finding out? What if it was some kind of elaborate trap to lure them out? The last thing she wanted was to send someone out there and have them be picked off by snipers along the shoreline.

What would Will do?

“Lara?” Maddie said. “What should we do?”

“I don’t—” The loud boom! of a shotgun blast cut her off.

This one was much closer to home.

The Trident.

Even as that revelation hit her, there was a second boom! and moments later, the pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire. It sounded like they were coming from the upper parts of the boat.

The bridge.

* * *

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Maddie said. “That’s him?”

“I guess,” Blaine said.

“Him” was Boris. Or a man she assumed was Boris, though she couldn’t be sure without bringing Gage over to the boat to ID him.

The man was large, almost as big as Blaine, with a bushy red beard and a very pale complexion, which was amazing given that he probably spent most of the last year on a boat, basking in the sun. Or maybe he spent most of his time in the engine room, which would explain how he could have hidden from Blaine and Roy earlier in the day.

Whoever he was, he was lying on his stomach a few feet inside the bridge. Blood pooled under him and his head was turned to one side, black eyes staring almost accusingly across the room at Blaine.

A pump-action shotgun leaned against a nearby wall where Blaine had put it. That shotgun had blasted a hole in the bridge door where the lock and doorknob used to be. Having stumbled inside, Boris (unless, of course, there was a second man running around on the Trident) had taken a shot at Blaine only to miss, sending buckshot into another part of the wraparound windshield and adding to the existing damage.

Lara looked at Blaine. “You okay?”

He nodded. “He surprised me, that’s all.”

“Man, we need to stop people from firing guns on the bridge,” Maddie said. “We’re lucky no one’s shot out the control panels so far.”

“I guess he was waiting for just one of us to be on the boat,” Blaine said. “Lucky me.”

“Or maybe he was using the shooting across the lake as a diversion,” Lara said. “Maybe he thought it was his best chance to take back the bridge.”

“Well, the poor bastard figured wrong.”

“Looks like it,” Maddie said. “So, who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“You shot him.”

Blaine pretended he didn’t hear her and said to Lara, “You guys figured out what all the shooting before was?”

“We don’t know, but it was coming from the southern part of the lake,” Lara said.

“It has to be Keo. He went in that direction, and the timing’s right. Maybe we should go see if he needs help.”

Lara didn’t answer right away.

“Lara,” Blaine said. “He could be hurt.”

“No,” she said finally. “Keo’s on his own.” She glanced at her watch. “Besides, we have other work to do now that Boris isn’t a problem anymore. It’s past noon, which means it’ll be dark in less than seven hours.”

Maddie and Blaine exchanged a worried look. Maybe they were hoping she’d change her mind about Keo.

“Head back to the island and bring Gage over,” Lara said to Maddie. “I need to find out what this boat’s fully capable of.”

“So we’re definitely using it,” Blaine said.

Lara nodded. “I don’t know how yet—not exactly—but yeah, I think we’re going to use it.”

13

Keo

It was eight kilometers from Song Island to the mouth of the channel that connected Beaufont Lake and the Gulf of Mexico. After thirty minutes of traveling at full speed across the wide-open lake, seeing the narrow corridor coming up made Keo slow down to half speed. He instinctively loosened the MP5SD and laid it on top of the console behind the steering wheel.

Better safe than sorry.

Like the rest of the shoreline, the channel was flanked by swaying sunbaked grass on both sides and buildings rose in the distance farther inland. He guessed the channel was about 300 meters wide, which was big enough for most vessels, including the Trident that had come through last night.

He cruised the sixteen-footer toward the familiar bridge that arced over the water and connected the two sides of the channel. The metal structure looked as dangerously old now as it did when he had driven over it yesterday with Blaine and Bonnie. After making sure there was no one on top of it, he glided the boat underneath and onto the other side, passing floating red and green buoys marking the edges of the channel.

More flat and uninteresting fields of grass greeted him. It was peaceful out here, but instead of putting Keo at ease, it only made him more alert. He belatedly noticed that the windshield in front of him only went up slightly higher than his waist, which made it useless in terms of protection. Not that he expected a thin piece of clear plastic was going to deflect a bullet, but, well, something was better than nothing.

A kilometer and a half into the channel, the buildings started to become clearer in the distance. He spotted eerily empty marinas and abandoned shrimp barges, and warehouses dotted both sides of the landscape. Cranes and towering equipment, part of whatever industry had once thrived here, crisscrossed the skyline like ancient sentries. He wondered how long they would remain like that before the elements pulled them back down to earth.

He was glad for the motor running behind him. Keo thought he would become used to the silence of an empty world by now, almost a year in, but that was always proven false whenever he went through an area that was, once upon a time, a nest of activity. The marina back at Lake Dulcet was one of those places. The desolation always got to him, a reminder that no matter what he did, how many promises he kept, or bad (badder) men he killed, the world as he knew it was gone. And in its place was…this.

Whatever “this” was.

He was too far away from land to make out a group of businesses, but they looked like stores or possibly offices. He hadn’t really gotten the chance to explore the area yesterday, and Lara and the others had no reasons to. He did think the two Army Rangers would have at least taken some time to scout their immediate AO for potential dangers, though, and was surprised to learn that they, in fact, hadn’t—

Crack!

The windshield in front of him shattered and Keo instinctively grabbed the submachine gun with one hand, pulled back on the control lever with the other, and hit the plywood floor a split second later.

He waited to hear a follow-up shot, but there wasn’t one. Instead, there was just the boat continuing to move, its forward momentum keeping it going up the channel even though he had put the shift into neutral. Thank God this part of the lake was wide enough that it would take a miracle for him to run aground—

Crack!

The hull in front of him splintered, and a round zipped! to the right of his head and exited the other side before plopping! into the water.

A sniper.

Jesus Christ. There was a sniper out there. A pretty good one, too, since the guy was probably shooting at him from 150 meters or more from land.

He’s a better shot than me, that’s for damned sure.

The boat’s momentum had lessened by quite a bit now, but it hadn’t stopped completely. How much farther was the channel entrance? If he could reach the Gulf of Mexico, he had an entire ocean to escape into. Even the world’s best sniper couldn’t hit him out there.

Of course, Keo hadn’t lifted his head to make sure of his current position. That would have been a fool move that, quite possibly, also ended his life. Judging by the angle of the first two shots, he guessed he was getting closer to the shooter. The first round had hit from in front of him, and the second had penetrated the boat at an almost 120 degree angle at the port side. Pretty soon, he’d be sidling right alongside the bastard. That, unfortunately, was also going to make it much easier for the guy.

He thought about reaching up and pushing the throttle forward to hasten his trip to the channel’s entrance. That might work, as long as he kept going straight like an arrow. Of course, if the boat started to drift to either the left or right side, he might very well run right into one of those barges or hit the shoreline. It was kind of hard to steer when he couldn’t even see over the sides at the moment.

He kept waiting to hear a follow-up torrent of gunfire and was again surprised there wasn’t any. What was the man waiting for? Maybe the guy couldn’t see him. Keo was flat against the floor of the boat, and if he couldn’t see above the portside gunwale, chances were very good the guy (or guys, if his luck was really that bad) couldn’t see him, either. The fact that the man hadn’t fired again was unsettling. A man who didn’t shoot randomly was a lot more dangerous than one who just fired blindly at a target.

So how did that help him?

It didn’t, really.

He was stuck, and the boat had slowed down to a crawl now even though the engine was still coughing behind him, threatening to shut down at any second. His only available line of sight was up at the open skies, because looking left, right, front, or back only offered up the same ugly navy color.

He realized now how stupid pulling back on the gear had been. The smarter move would have been to pour on the power, because his best chance to survive was to blast right up the channel and stay low. Even a great shooter was going to have difficulty hitting a moving target, and that was what he would have been.

Live and learn, pal.

How good was this guy, anyway? That was the million dollar question. How long would the shooter need to acquire a target and pull the trigger? A second? Half a second? Two? Because that was how long Keo guessed he would need to lift himself up from the floor and expose himself (or, at least, his nice, big juicy head) while he reached for the lever, made sure of his direction, and pointed the boat at the Gulf of Mexico.

Two seconds.

Okay, maybe three…or four.

That was a long time. He had killed men in less time than that, and he was a lousy shot. This guy, on the other hand…

Four seconds.

Damn. Stuck between the Gulf of Mexico and a wet grave. What a way to go.

Keo put the MP5SD down and pushed both palms against the floor and readied to spring himself up. The first motion would get his feet back under him and the second would send him straight up, just far enough to reach the steering wheel and control lever. It wasn’t exactly brain surgery, and all he’d have to do was keep from getting his head blown off in the four seconds he probably had. Probably. Once he made sure the boat was pointed in the right direction and the motor was at full throttle, he could jump back down and only expose his hand. If the sniper managed to shoot off his arm while he was moving at full speed, then more power to him.

Who needs two arms, anyway?

Keo sucked in a deep breath. It was slightly stale and smelled of dead sea life, not to mention whatever chemical they had been pumping out of those industrial buildings from the nearby areas.

Two breaths…three…

On five, he jumped—got both feet under him, pushed up, twisted to his right, grabbed the rubber-covered steering wheel with one hand and the metal lever with the other and—

Oh, crap.

It was a Jeep. About a hundred meters farther up the channel. The vehicle was bright yellow against the brown and green fields, and men were jumping out of the back. He didn’t need binoculars to know they were probably all armed, and from the way they were running toward the shoreline, they knew exactly where he was and what they were going to do when they reached it, and he reached them.

And then there was the sniper—

The loud crack! of another gunshot split the air, just before something hit him in the right shoulder and spun him slightly. He fought through the pain, ignoring it (or at least telling himself to) and shoved the throttle all the way back up. The motor roared and instead of holding the steering wheel straight, Keo spun it right until the boat turned away from the swarm of men and he was arcing in a wide U-turn.

Water churned under him and he ducked just as another shot zipped over his head, right where he had been standing a brief half-second ago. The boat was swinging around in a wide circle—too wide—and he was holding on for dear life. There was a solid thunk! as he broadsided one of the buoys, warning him that he was getting too close to the shallower parts of the channel.

He waited for the sniper to shoot again, but the man either didn’t have a bead on him or—

Crack! Another round buzzed past his head just as the boat completed its U-turn, coming dangerously close to ramming into the other side of the channel. He righted the vessel, spinning the wheel back left as the sixteen-footer fought against the surface while tearing up the lake, back in the direction he had come moments ago.

He expected to hear the pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire as the men from the Jeep opened up on him, but to his surprise, they didn’t. Not that he spent more than a few seconds thinking about it. He remained kneeling, steering with one hand, hoping something didn’t pop up in front of him and take him out in a collision.

Five seconds…ten seconds…

He had put enough distance between him and the shooter that Keo felt safe enough to stand up. A good thing, too, because he had swerved dangerously too close to the left shore in the last few seconds and had to quickly right the boat again. He slashed underneath the bridge a second time and finally burst back into the wider section of Beaufont Lake.

Then, and only then, did he let himself glance over his shoulder back into the channel.

Silhouetted figures, like twigs in the distance, were scrambling around on land. If the sniper was among them, Keo couldn’t tell. Not that he had seen the man during the whole ordeal. But he had to be somewhere in the weeds, close enough to the water that he could see everything in the channel. He knew for a fact the gunshots had all come from ground level. If the guy had been higher up—positioned on one of those cranes, for instance—Keo would have been a dead man.

The drip-drip of blood on the console reminded him he hadn’t made it out of the channel completely unscathed. The bullet had clipped his right shoulder, taking a quarter inch of flesh for its trouble. He was bleeding, but it looked worse than it really was. A dripping wound was better than a pouring one.

He didn’t stop the boat until he had gone for a few more minutes. Keo opened the compartment under the console and fished out the first aid kit. It was a dirty white box, but the contents were clean the last time he checked. He rolled up the sleeve and disinfected the wound, then wrapped it up with gauze and taped it into place. The pain was slight and nothing he couldn’t handle. After surviving all those months in the woods with a pair of holes in him, this was more of an inconvenience.

He hadn’t finished putting the first aid kit back under the console when he heard a second outboard motor filling the air behind him. Keo glanced back just as a fast-moving white boat blasted out of the mouth of the channel. It was pointed straight in his direction and men clung to it. He couldn’t tell how many, or if they were wearing uniforms or not from the distance.

The sight of them set him off. He wasn’t sure if it was annoyance, anger, or maybe a little of both. Probably a lot of both, now that he thought about it. He picked up the M4 from the floor and pulled back the collapsible stock. He flicked the fire selector to semiautomatic, then moved toward the stern and balanced himself for a few seconds before settling in behind the red dot scope. The optic wasn’t anything fancy, but he could see the moving vessel coming easily enough. Three hundred meters, and closing in fast.

Keo fired, waited, then fired again, then again, and again.

He didn’t know if he hit anything, but by the way the boat slowed down before breaking off the pursuit entirely, he assumed he had gotten close enough to spook them.

He lowered the rifle and waited for a response. He didn’t have to wait long. They fired back in his direction a moment later. Two shooters, and they were apparently just as bad at long-distance shooting as he was, because while a couple of rounds landed in the water off his starboard and one sailed harmlessly over his head, most of them didn’t even come close.

Keo thought about returning fire to let them know he was still standing, but decided they could probably see him just fine. The fact that they hadn’t kept coming was a sign they either weren’t ready to risk their lives chasing him, or they had orders to stay back. He wasn’t keen on either possibility, but the latter gnawed at him.

By the time they stopped shooting, it was clear they weren’t going to chase him anymore, but they weren’t moving, either. That meant the channel was blocked off to him. Unless, of course, he was willing to shoot his way through. But even if he could get past these bozos, there was still that sniper out there, lying in wait in the weeds. Keo had a feeling that dickhead wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and he probably hadn’t hopped onto the boat along with these other guys.

Keo slung the M4 and walked back to the console. He pushed the throttle, and the boat jumped back to life and headed off. He glanced back once, to see if they would pursue, but they were just shifting back and forth against his waves, content to watch him go. Soon, they faded into the background.

So much for escaping into the Gulf of Mexico. He’d have to find another way to reach Santa Marie Island and Gillian.

Maybe he could try the roads. That had to be safer, right?

* * *

The Trident was where he last saw it, next to Song Island, with the long strip of white beaches on the other side. A small boat drifted off the stern next to the swim platform, where the beautiful people gathered to soak in the sun and take a dip when the wind moved them. At the moment, there was just Maddie’s small figure facing him, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. He couldn’t tell if that was a smirk or a grin on her face as she watched him near.

Keo felt another pair of eyes and looked up at Blaine peering back down at him through his rifle’s optic. He lowered the M4 and waved from the rear of the upper deck, and Keo, feeling like a failed college student returning home to mom and dad, waved back.

“We figured you had something to do with all that shooting,” Maddie said when Keo sidled his boat alongside the yacht. “What happened? You ran into more old friends?”

“Not quite.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“Mosquito bite.”

“Must have been a big ass mosquito.”

“You have no idea.”

“And my boat?” she frowned. “You putting holes in my boat, Keo?”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.” Then, “Where’s Lara?”

“Up here,” Blaine called down. “You need a doctor?”

“No, I just need to talk to her. What’s happening up there?”

“Lara’s doing what she does,” Maddie said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Keo said.

“She’s looking for a way for us to survive tonight.”

“Did the Rangers show up yet?”

“Not yet.”

“When are you expecting them?”

Maddie looked anxiously down at her watch. “I have no idea, but it shouldn’t be long now.”

Or maybe they’re already dead. That seems to happen a lot to people out there these days.

But he said instead, “Yeah, they’ll probably be here soon.” He picked up his line, said, “Heads up,” and tossed it to Maddie.

* * *

He found Lara in the captain’s cabin behind the bridge on the upper deck of the Trident, looking at a large map spread out on a table in the center of the room. Sunlight poured in through two curtainless windows, and she looked up when he knocked on the open door.

“What happened to the bridge?” Keo asked.

“We found the eighth guy,” she said. “Or, actually, he found Blaine.”

“That explains the mess.”

“Yeah.” Then, “What happened out there?”

“Soldiers. I guess they weren’t keen on me leaving.”

She looked from his face to his bandaged shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.”

“How many were there, and where?”

He walked inside and slumped down on a felt armchair. Clothes were strewn about the floor, others draped off the large queen size bed behind her. The place looked and smelled heavily lived in.

“A handful of shooters at the channel,” he said. “It doesn’t look like they want anyone leaving this place. You can assume they’ve got people on the roads, too. Maybe even technicals.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“The last thing. Technicals?”

“Machine gun-mounted vehicles. Usually trucks. I saw a couple of soldiers with machine guns back at the staging area. Along with the M4s, I’m guessing they’re flushed with weapons, probably from one of the state armories in the area.”

Lara didn’t say anything for a while. He saw that mind of hers turning again, absorbing this new information and slotting them in order of importance. It was kind of impressive to see someone who was obviously smarter than him working in real-time.

“You think the Trident’s appearance had something to do with why they’re cutting off the Gulf?” she finally asked.

“They probably heard the commotion from last night and realized there was a possibility you might take off in that direction.”

Which means if I had left when I was supposed to, I would be at Santa Marie Island right now, on the beach with Gillian.

He sighed, and added, “Of course, they probably had no idea you were going to fight to the death to keep the island.”

“I don’t have a death wish, Keo,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed with him.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m not the one with a bleeding shoulder.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Go let Zoe fix it up anyway. You’re no good to me bleeding to death. Flesh wound or not.”

“You assume I’ll still be here by nightfall.”

She was already looking back at the map. “Call me Captain Optimism.”

“Maybe we should get you a captain’s hat, too.”

“Go, Keo, before you bleed to death on my fancy new boat.”

He got up, but instead of leaving, he walked over to her. “Maddie says you’re looking for a way to save everyone.”

“She’s being overly dramatic.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Looking for a way to save everyone.”

He chuckled. “What’ve you come up with so far?”

He looked down at the map. It was spread out with the Gulf of Mexico and its surrounding areas, including the southern United States, with Mexico to one side and the Caribbean Islands on the other.

“Are you staying?” she asked, not looking up at him.

“It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice. At least, not today.”

“How bad is it?”

“It’s a choke point, Lara. The channel’s wide and deep enough for a large boat like this, but it’s tight enough that a half dozen men with assault rifles could make it difficult for anyone attempting to run through it.”

She didn’t respond; her mind churned silently next to him.

He nodded at the map. “So, what’re you looking for specifically? Maybe I can help.”

“Maybe you can. I’m guessing you’ve traveled more than me.”

“Other people go out of the country for vacation, but I go in country for mine. That should tell you something.”

“You’re an odd one, Keo.” Then, “I’m looking for someplace to take everyone just in case we have no choice but to abandon Song Island. God willing, we won’t need it.”

“I didn’t know you believed in God.”

“I don’t.” She hesitated, then, “At least, I didn’t use to.”

“But you do now.”

“Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’?” He smiled. “You either believe or you don’t, Lara.”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it all out. Anyway, you have any ideas?”

“When was the last time you left the States?”

“I went to Paris when I was twenty-one for summer vacation with my roommate.”

He was going to ask, “What happened to your roommate?” but of course he already knew the answer, so he kept his mouth shut about that and said instead, “You thinking about sailing this thing to Gay Paree?”

“You got any better ideas?”

He scanned the map, noticing just how close the Texas coastline was to his current location. He could easily have reached it by boat. So easily…except for those soldiers waiting to pick him off in the channel.

So close, yet so far.

He looked past the Gulf and moved into the Caribbean Sea. There was Cuba and Jamaica, and nearby, a familiar spot of land that he recognized. It was hard to forget one of the few places where he almost died.

“There,” he said, pointing at a tiny dot. It was so insignificant compared to everything else on the map that it didn’t even have a name. “Bengal Island.”

“Bengal Island?”

“It’s actually two islands. Grand Bengal and Little Bengal. The one that shows up on the map is Grand Bengal, but there’s a smaller companion island—”

“Let me guess. Little Bengal?”

“That third-year medical school education is finally paying off.”

She snorted.

“Here,” he said, putting his finger over an empty spot on the map.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s a good-size island, about 160 kilometers—”

“I still get my kilometers and miles mixed up. What’s that in miles?”

“About 100, give or take.”

“Okay. Go on…”

“It’s about 100 miles—”

“Give or take.”

“Can I finish?”

She smiled. “Sorry.”

“I was saying, it’s about 100 miles from its big brother, Grand Bengal, and is about ten kilometers in length and one-point-six in width, though the middle is more like two-point-four.”

“So, about six miles long?”

“Yeah, about ten times the length of Song Island. Big enough for an airfield on the east section and a hotel resort on the west, with the two sides linked by roads. There’s a strand of white beaches in front of the hotels where the rich and infamous bunk. The water is blue and everything is expensive, but depending on the state of the island, you may or may not have to fight for a spot in one of those suites.”

“You’ve been there before.”

“I almost died there.”

“Which Bengal?”

“Both.”

“Hunh.”

“Yeah. Anyway, the place used to be a notorious pirate den until the British Empire took it over in the seventeenth century. You know the Brits. Law and order and Queen and Country, and all that good stuff. These days, it’s treated as a British Overseas Territory.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s technically a part of the old British Empire, because apparently they enjoy the prestige of being linked to an old carcass, but for all intents and purposes, it’s entirely self-governed.”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t have, because you’re a normal, decent person. The main island is only fifty square miles with about 5,000 locals, and the rest are all tourists and criminals.”

“You mean tourists or criminals?”

“No, I mean tourists and criminals. Bengal Island is where you put your money if you want to hide it from Uncle Sam or some other government body. As long as you pay for the privilege, the government there will hold pretty much an unlimited amount of funds for you. That includes your own private villa to live out the rest of your miserable, criminal life.”

She gave him a curious look.

“What?” he said.

“You really know a lot about this place.”

“I’ve had occasions to go there in my old job. The point is, Little Bengal is a perfect replacement for Song Island. You wouldn’t necessarily have to deal with the main island, and the closest countries are Cuba to the east and Jamaica to the southeast. Both are well over 300 kilometers away with nothing but open Caribbean sea in the middle.”

“Around 200 miles?”

“Close enough. But you understand where I’m going with this?”

“It’s isolated.”

“Yes. It’s very isolated. Both physically and internationally. That’s what makes it so attractive to the criminal element. You’ll be able to see anyone coming for, literally, miles away.”

“And all that water…”

“There’s that, too.”

Lara pulled out a marker and circled Little Bengal, then drew a line from it to the channel that connected Beaufont Lake with the Gulf of Mexico.

“How far?” she asked.

Keo did the numbers in his head. “Less than 2,000 kilometers and more than 1,000 miles?”

“Can you be more specific?”

He grunted. “You know there’s a bridge on this boat? In it, there are all kinds of neat computer doodads that you can program to tell you the exact distance of places and such. Just sayin’.”

She ignored him and continued looking at the map. “I like it.”

“You should. It’s exactly what you’re looking for. The only thing you have to worry about are the criminal elements that may or may not still be there.”

“Guys with guns?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Well, then,” she said, “if we actually do go there, it’s a good thing we have plenty of guns of our own.”

14

Gaby

As much as she longed for the white beaches and blue waters of Song Island, she dreaded finally reaching it after being away for so long. It was less about the island and more about who would be waiting for her there.

Lara. She would be there.

What am I going to tell her? How am I going to explain Will not being with us?

“You should smile more,” Nate was saying from across the back of the moving truck.

She snatched hair out of her face with one hand, the other holding the M4 in her lap. “What did you say?”

“You don’t smile enough,” he said, shouting a bit to be heard over the roar of the wind. “You should smile more. It brings out the cut on the bridge of your nose.”

She smirked. “Funny guy.”

“I try.”

“Well, stop. This isn’t the time.”

“So when is the time?”

“I don’t know. But this isn’t it.”

“Relax, Gaby. You’re almost home. Look around you. There’s nothing but road and grass and fields out here. I haven’t seen a building in…ten minutes? Twenty?”

Nate had a point. There was nothing out here except large acres of sun-bleached and overgrown grass to one side and the clear, calm waters of Beaufont Lake on the other. She couldn’t see Song Island yet because they were still too far north, but it wouldn’t be long now. An hour, maybe less, and the first signs of home would appear in the distance. She found herself getting more anxious and at the same time more alert as they got closer.

How many days and nights now had she been waiting for this moment? It had been too long, and the prospect of finally getting there was overwhelming, both exhilarating and terrifying.

What am I going to tell Lara?

“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” Nate said.

“What’s that?”

“At the island. Tonight.”

She looked at him curiously for a moment. Did he actually believe that, or was he trying to make her feel better? Or maybe he was trying to convince himself. Looking at him, she felt guilty all over again. She had to remind herself of all the troubles he had gone through just to find her, and now having done so, she was dragging him straight into another hellish gunfight. Somehow, the fact that he was coming willingly—even anxiously—made it just that little bit worse.

“Do you really believe that?” she asked.

“Why not?”

Because you didn’t see them. Back at the farmhouse. The blue-eyed creatures. This is their world now, Nate. We’re the trespassers. And they might be coming for us tonight. Are you ready for that, because I’m not.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He gave her a confused look. “For what?”

“Bringing you here.”

“I don’t understand…”

“They’re going to attack tonight, Nate. Will is certain of it. And he’s rarely wrong.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not this. He was so sure of it he risked his life so we could get through the ambush back at Route 13. And as much as Danny and me wanted to come home—and God, we did, desperately—Will wanted to come home more.”

He nodded and went quiet for a moment.

After a while, he said, “I never heard anyone talking about it, you know. Song Island. Back when I was with the others in town. I don’t think most of the soldiers knew it even existed.”

“What did you hear?”

“What do you mean?”

“Back at the town. What did the soldiers talk about?”

The question had been nagging at her ever since L15. The guards assigned to watch her back then hadn’t been very talkative, and she was confined to a room where she didn’t get to interact with the townspeople. She saw them from her window—the way they lived, went about their lives, and sometimes she could hear the tail end of their chatter—but she never really knew them.

“Mostly about everyday things,” Nate said. “What they used to do before, that sort of thing. They weren’t all bad, you know.”

“The soldiers…”

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Some of them were in it for the power trip, but most of them…” He shook his head, then pursed his lips into a forced smile. “There were a couple of good guys back there.”

She didn’t ask him if one of those “good guys” had been back at the highway because she decided she’d rather not know. They’d all had to do things these days that they weren’t completely proud of. Gaby didn’t regret very many things, but sometimes the more violent situations stuck with her for days afterward. Every now and then when she closed her eyes, she still remembered Mercy Hospital back in Lafayette, and the blood and the screams and the gunshots...

This is our existence. Surviving from day to day. Night to night.

Everyone dies, sooner or later. Everyone.

“Gaby,” Nate said, smiling across the back of the moving truck at her. “We’ll make it through tonight. We’ll be around to see tomorrow, and the day after that. We have to, otherwise I won’t be able to convince you what a charming devil I am.”

She smiled back at him.

Or tried to, anyway. It may or may not have been all that believable, but at the moment it was all she could manage, and he looked like he desperately needed to see it.

* * *

Her watch had just ticked to four in the afternoon when Danny finally slowed down and stopped the Chevy in the middle of the two-lane highway. The heavy vehicle creaked as Danny turned off the engine and climbed out.

“Stretch ’em if you got ’em,” he shouted.

The girls climbed out, and Gaby hopped out of the back with her M4. She exchanged a brief grin with Claire, who had also come out of the Silverado, still clutching onto her FNH shotgun, ready for battle.

“Are we almost there?” the thirteen-year-old asked.

“Almost,” Gaby said.

She glanced around at their surroundings. Every inch of grass looked like the last few thousand they had passed. The same went for the water on the other side. The truth was, without Song Island anywhere in the distance, she had no idea where they were. This side of the lake was all new to her.

Danny had placed the portable ham radio on the hood of the truck and was fiddling with the buttons and dials.

She walked over. “Where are we exactly?”

“We should be directly beside the island if my internal GPS is correct.”

“Internal GPS?” she said doubtfully.

“By which I mean, the map.”

She looked back at the lake, but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t make out any signs of the island in the distance. “There’s nothing out there, Danny.”

“It’s there. Just too far to see from this side of the lake.”

“So why did we stop here?”

He showed her his watch. “We don’t have time to circle all the way around to the marina. Besides, we’re running low on gas.”

“How low?”

“I’ve-been-driving-on-fumes-for-the-last-thirty-minutes low.”

Nate had walked over. “We’re out of gas?”

“Unless you have a secret stash hidden somewhere, Famous Nathan, that’s an affirmative.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

“That’s what ESPN’s for,” Danny said. He turned back to the radio and pressed the lever and spoke into the microphone. “Song Island, come in. Roger if you roger me, roger.”

A male voice answered almost immediately. “Danny? Is that you?”

“It ain’t Danny Elfman. Although I was known to play a pretty mean Casio keyboard back in college.”

“Holy shit, you’re alive,” the man said.

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah, well, you know…” The man disappeared from the line for a moment before returning about ten seconds later. “I just told Lara over the two-way. She’s still on the yacht.”

“Who is that?” Gaby asked. “I don’t recognize the voice.”

“That’s Roy,” Danny said. “He came over with a handful of people after you left on your helicopter adventure.”

“Danny?” a female voice said through the radio, sounding slightly out of breath. This one Gaby recognized instantly. Carly. “You asshole. You had me worried.”

Danny smiled. “Sorry, babe. You know I love you. Girls have been throwing themselves at me, but I told them to back off because there’s only one redhead for me.”

“I want names,” Carly said.

Gaby nodded at Nate, and they drifted to the back of the truck to give Danny some privacy. That, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be around when someone on the island got to asking about Will, which they would, eventually.

The girls were skipping rocks across the calm lake on the other side of the truck while Annie watched them. The sight of the girls being so carefree for the first time in such a long time made Gaby smile.

“They look happy,” Nate said next to her. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen kids that happy.”

“What about back at L17? Did you have kids there?”

“A lot of kids. Most of them were happy to be there. Not all of them, but most. Did both girls come from L15?”

“Just Milly,” Gaby said.

She thought about Peter, the man whom Milly had treated like a brother. Peter was gone, and in so many ways Annie had taken his place. That was how it worked these days. You needed someone to cling to, because the emotional loneliness was sometimes worse than the physical isolation.

Gaby glanced back as Danny walked over to them.

“Are we at the right spot?” she asked him.

“Close enough,” Danny said. “Looks like running out of gas might have saved our lives.”

“How’s that?” Nate asked.

“Apparently there is a very strong possibility of bad guys with big guns lying in wait at the bridge up the road. So instead of us braving that snake pit, the kids from Song Island will be coming here to pick us up. It’ll take longer, but it’ll keep us from being dead, and gosh darn it, that’s a good thing.”

“How long before they get here?” Gaby asked.

“Long enough. So I need you and the Natester to pull security until they arrive.”

“Did you tell her?”

Danny shook his head. She didn’t have to say who “her” was; he already knew. “She was busy on the yacht.” He pointed down the road. “Former bad guy, you take that side. Gaby, the other one. Stay within shouting distance in case you see or hear anything that isn’t us or the fishies.”

Nate gave her an exasperated look before heading off to take up position farther down the road. She did the same thing in the opposite direction, with Danny falling in beside her. Gaby made a concerted effort to walk slower to accommodate his limping pace.

“What are you going to tell her when we get back?” she asked.

“I’ll think of something between now and then.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” Danny said. “She deserves to hear it from me.”

She nodded. As much as coming back home without Will pained her, she knew it was nothing compared to what Danny was going through.

“Keep an eye out, kid,” Danny said. “We’ll be back at Song Island and drinking ice cold water before you know it.”

He turned around and limped off.

“Hey,” she said after him.

He stopped and glanced back. “What’s up?”

“We made it. I didn’t think we’d ever see Song Island again, but we made it.”

“We’re not there yet.”

“Close enough.”

“It’s never close enough until you’re chewing on the cheese.”

“That makes absolutely no sense, Danny.”

“Of course it does,” Danny said, turning and walking back to the truck. “Think about it.”

“Yeah, no,” Gaby said after him.

* * *

After sitting in the back of the Chevy with the wind pounding against her face for most of the day, standing in the middle of the road under the sun was a nice change of pace. The combination of warm and cool air was almost enough to lull her into a sense of calm, and for a moment, just a moment, she almost forgot that they were cutting it too close, that it would be dark soon.

Always running from the night. Always running. How long before I get tired of it? How long before I just lie down and decide not to do it anymore?

She pushed those thoughts away. They were defeatist, a lingering part of her old self that refused to completely go away no matter how hard she tried, because she knew the old Gaby could never survive in today’s world.

Claire, a reminder of how much times had changed, appeared next to her. The girl cradled the heavy shotgun across her arms and squinted down the barren road. “Do they take the dead, Gaby?”

The question caught her off guard, and it took her a moment to answer.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

It was the truth. She really didn’t know, and it was one of those nagging questions that she tried not to think too much about because there didn’t seem to be any point.

“Will had some theories about that,” she added, “but we don’t know for sure. Why?”

“We haven’t seen any bodies. I’m just wondering where they all went.”

“I’m sorry, Claire, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” She kept staring down the road, as if she expected to see something (or someone) coming down it anytime now. “I miss Donna.”

“I know.” Gaby put her arm around Claire, who leaned against her. “Donna’s in a better place now.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” she said, wondering what kind of special hell was waiting for her for lying to a thirteen-year-old. “You still have me, and if you want, I can make fun of how you stink.”

“I stink?” Claire said.

“Oh yeah.” She sniffed for effect. “The BO’s so bad I’m about to barf.”

Claire laughed. “You’re such a liar.”

“Maybe.”

They exchanged a brief smile.

“Do I get my own room and bed on the island?” Claire asked.

“Yup.”

“I’ve never had one before.”

“Well, first time for—”

“Incoming!” Nate screamed behind her.

She turned around in time to see sunlight glinting off the hood of a vehicle driving up the road toward them. It was coming from the southern part of the lake and looked like a Jeep, its bright yellow color making it obvious against the gray of the road and the brown and green of the surrounding fields.

“Into the truck!” Gaby shouted.

Claire took off without a word, and Gaby actually had to run just to catch up to her. The girl was deceptively fast, even hauling that huge shotgun around.

Danny was climbing out of the Silverado, still moving gingerly on his bad leg. “How many?” he called back to Nate.

“Just that big ugly mustard thing coming at us,” Nate said, peering through his binoculars.

Gaby also pulled out hers and looked through it. The Jeep was still too far off to make out a lot of details. A mile, she guessed, maybe two. But it was bearing down at them at full speed and they could already hear the sound of its engines despite the distance.

“Gaby,” Danny said. “Keep an eye on your side.”

She nodded. Danny was worried about a two-prong attack, and so was she. They had been here long enough for the enemy to set up some kind of coherent plan. Of course, these men weren’t exactly seasoned tacticians, but it didn’t take a combat veteran to know that attacking from two directions was better than one.

Claire, Annie, and Milly had already disappeared back into the truck, and Danny slammed his door shut and unslung his M4A1. “Kid, in the truck,” Danny shouted at Nate. “Man Big Bertha.”

Nate slung his weapon and ran back, then hopped into the bed of the Chevy. Gaby had to be satisfied with looking back one second for every five she paid attention to her side of the road.

“Wait until they get closer before you shoot,” Danny said.

“How much closer?” Nate asked. “I’ve never fired one of these things before. What’s the effective range on it?”

“You’re overthinking it, Nateroni. Squeeze the trigger when you can smell them.”

Nate grumbled as he perched the machine gun against the closed truck gate and settled down into a crouch. The ammo belt clinked against the truck with every movement he made.

Danny had stepped forward a bit and was now looking through his rifle’s scope.

“Danny!” she shouted.

“Yeah?” he shouted back.

“Stop messing around and kill them already.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and fired.

A single shot. She waited for him to pull the trigger again, but he didn’t.

Instead, she listened to the shot echo for a second—maybe two—before the Jeep began swerving as if the driver had suddenly lost control. Then the vehicle seemed to make a sharp right and disappeared into the ditch, even as two men in the backseat were flung into the air, arms and limbs and rifles flailing wildly around them. Clouds of dirt plumed briefly about 200 meters from their position.

“Holy shit,” Nate said, sitting up in the back of the truck. “Nice shot.”

“Eh, I was aiming for the engine block,” Danny said. “But I guess that’ll do.”

A lone figure stood up from the fields, but there were no signs of a second or third man. The survivor picked something up from the ground, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then after stumbling around, turned and began jogging back in the direction he had come.

They waited to see if anyone else would rise from the grass, but no one did.

“Should we go see if there are survivors?” she asked.

“We might be able to use the Jeep,” Nate said. “If it’s not too damaged.”

“Fuck ’em,” Danny said. “We’re not going to need a Jeep where we’re going.” He glanced to his left. “Besides, our ride’s here. Everyone look presentable. First impressions count and all that.”

She looked over at the lake as a vessel appeared, getting bigger as the sound of a boat motor made its presence known. There were two figures onboard, mostly silhouettes against the bathing sun. One of them was pointing a rifle up the road, looking for something to shoot, which meant they had either seen the Jeep or heard Danny’s gunshot and were taking precautions.

Nate looked through his binoculars. “Two people. A man and a woman. The woman’s short and the man’s a blond.”

“That’ll be Roy, the guy I was talking to earlier,” Danny said. Then, to Gaby, “You’ll like him. Handsome kid. Good with his hands, and I hear the ladies like that in a man.”

Gaby wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t say anything.

“Then, of course, there’s Benny,” Danny continued. “Face it, kid, you’re going to have your hands full with the gentlemen callers when we get back to the island.”

“Hey, I’m right here,” Nate said.

“So you are, Natepoleon Bonaparte, so you are.”

“Give it a rest, guys,” Gaby said, smiling anyway, because it allowed her to think about something other than what she was going to say to Lara when she finally saw her again very soon.

* * *

Maddie steered the old but dependable pontoon around the big white vessel anchored in front of Song Island. It was massive and occupied a ridiculous amount of real estate. Or maybe that was just her imagination, since she’d never seen a yacht up close before, never mind one that probably cost more than her parents made in their entire lifetime. The word Trident was written along its side.

Gaby saw a familiar figure leaning over the railing at the top of the boat waving to them. Blaine. She’d recognize his hulking size anywhere. She waved back, as did Danny and the girls. Blaine wasn’t alone on the yacht. Two women on the other two decks watched them coming in. They were all heavily armed and looked the part of soldiers waiting for a fight.

Song Island has been getting ready for war. God help us.

Gaby felt the familiar pangs of guilt whenever she looked back at Claire, Maddie, and Annie. The three of them seemed awestruck by the sight of the big white yacht, and then later the beaches of Song Island and the towering solar panels that ringed it. She couldn’t shake the nagging fear that she had made a terrible mistake by bringing them here. What was she doing? Song Island might have been a sanctuary once upon a time, but if Will was right and Kate was going to throw her human forces at it tonight, the place might as well be a death trap. And she had led them here with promises of a soft bed, their own rooms, and ice-cold water.

Song Island’s not safe. I shouldn’t have brought them here. Anywhere but here.

And then they were past the yacht and slowing down as they approached the piers. And there, standing at the end of one of the wooden structures sticking out of the beach, was what Gaby had been dreading since she stepped onto the boat.

Lara.

She was standing with a man Gaby hadn’t seen before. Like Blaine and the two women on the Trident, Lara and the stranger were heavily armed and wearing assault vests.

Lara looked so different from the last time Gaby had seen her, and she suddenly realized that it wasn’t just her who had gone through the kind of metamorphosis that even her parents wouldn’t have recognized while she was running around out there trying to stay alive. Lara had changed, too. They all had. You had to, these days, or you didn’t survive.

“Who’s that?” Nate, standing next to her, asked.

“That’s Lara,” Gaby said.

“I thought you said she was some kind of medical student.”

“She was. I mean, she is.”

“Wow,” Nate said. “Medical school in Texas is, uh, really different.”

Gaby couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“Who’s the string bean?” Danny asked Roy. The two of them were standing at the back of the boat.

“Keo,” Roy, the blond who had come to pick them up along with Maddie, said.

“What kind of name is Keo?”

“You’ll have to ask him. Showed up a couple of days ago. He’s the reason the collaborators haven’t attacked the island yet.”

“So that’s Keo.”

“Yup. That’s Keo,” Roy said.

Gaby was listening to their conversation, but she was mostly focused on Lara standing on the pier with Keo. They were watching the pontoon on approach and talking. Gaby wondered how long it would take Lara to notice that Will wasn’t among them.

She caught her breath and waited for the inevitable.

“Welcome home,” Lara said as Maddie shut off the pontoon’s motor and sidled it alongside the pier. “Guys, this is Keo. Keo, this is Gaby and that’s Danny and…I don’t know who the rest are.”

The tall Asian guy nodded at them. Gaby could just barely make out a long, thin scar running down one side of his face, and he seemed to be favoring his right shoulder for some reason. Instead of an assault rifle like the others were carrying, he had a weapon with a long suppressor attached to the end. It looked mean and dangerous, and she wanted one.

“What kind of name is Keo?” Danny asked, climbing out of the boat.

“Lou was taken,” the guy said.

Gaby hadn’t made it onto the pier yet when Lara said, “Gaby, Danny—where’s Will?”

15

Josh

“We almost had him,” Travis said. “Smiley said he might have even tagged him.”

Smiley? Right. The sniper.

Or as close to a sniper as he was going to get out here. Josh had to constantly remind himself that he wasn’t actually leading a group of soldiers. It took more than a nice polished uniform to turn some accountant or restaurant manager or, in Travis’s case, a construction supervisor, into a full-blooded killer.

Will and Danny would laugh at these guys.

“But he was too fast,” Travis was saying. “Lucky bastard somehow managed to do a U-turn in the channel and slipped back into the lake before the others could catch him.”

“So where is he now?” Josh asked.

“Back on the island’d be my guess.”

“Just one guy?”

“Just one guy.”

“I guess one more or less won’t matter.” Then, “Have you heard back from Mason?”

“Sonia didn’t say anything, so I’m guessing not. He’s probably still trying to deal with those other guys that popped out of nowhere and laid waste to his group back at Route 13.”

“The Dunbar people.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought we killed everyone in that city.”

“That’s what Mason thought, too. But apparently not. It’s funny…”

Funny? Nothing about this is funny, Travis, Josh thought, but he said, “What’s that?”

“I think this is the first time I’ve heard of them not being able to finish a job.”

“First time for everything,” Josh said.

The “them” Travis was referring to were the blue-eyed ghouls. They had slaughtered almost everyone in Dunbar a few nights ago and took the women and children. Or, well, most of the ones that were still alive at the end of the night, anyway. Josh didn’t want to think about it too much. He accepted what the ghouls were, what they did, but it didn’t mean he wanted to dwell on it. As long as he wasn’t directly involved, it was easy to pretend it wasn’t actually happening.

“I don’t know what’s giving Mason so much trouble,” Travis said. “He’s got what, thirty or forty people with him?”

“Something like that.”

“He should have had them by now. They were right there for the taking.”

Mason.

The man was irritating. Or was that aggravating? Maybe both. The worse part of it was that Mason just didn’t care. Sometimes Josh wondered if he should bring it up with Kate during one of their talks. It would serve Mason right. What Josh needed were dependable men, not lazy ones that did whatever the hell they wanted.

Will and Danny could whip them into shape. Maybe I just don’t have what it takes. Or maybe some people just aren’t meant to be soldiers.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Travis said behind him.

“What’s that?” Josh said, even though he knew the question, because it always came up.

They were always so curious about how it worked. He couldn’t really blame them. Even now, after having gone through it dozens of times, it still freaked him out, though he would never admit it out loud. He had learned in those first few weeks that the only way to lead men was to make them fear your authority. Josh was never the biggest or most imposing kid, and he didn’t have to be. He had something better. He had them standing behind him. Most of all, he had her.

“How does it work?” Travis asked. “How do they contact you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It’s dreaming…but not really dreaming. It feels more like reliving a memory.”

“Whose?”

“Yours, theirs… Whatever they want it to be.”

“So they control it.”

“You really have to ask that question?”

“No, I guess not.”

Travis paused, and Josh could see him weighing the pros and cons of continuing this conversation. Like the rest of them, Travis was trying to balance wanting to know more and being afraid of the answers.

Finally, Travis said, “And they tell you what to do while you’re in these dreams?”

He nodded. “It takes some getting used to, but yeah, that’s essentially how it works.”

“Freaky,” Travis said. He might have also shivered involuntarily.

Josh smiled. He didn’t bother telling Travis that in the dreams, Kate always came to him as her former human self, a major change from the first time he had seen her. It was sometimes difficult for him to reconcile the beautiful thirty-something woman, who moved with dreamlike sensuality and elegance, with the ghoul-Kate that had first recruited him not far from where he was standing now.

As much as he told himself he had become used to Kate’s presence, or the sound of her voice inside his head, he could never quite shake the feeling there was something odd about her existence that went beyond the skeletal frame, pruned black flesh, and blue eyes. It was as if she was straddling the line between human and ghoul, trying to hold onto something that was long gone.

Why? he always wanted to ask her. Why bother?

He knew why he was bothering, though.

Gaby. I’m doing this for you. For us.

Josh lowered his binoculars and wrinkled his nose. It had been months since Will burned down the two-story house across the small inlet, but Josh thought he could still smell the damage. The marina had also been reduced to ashes, but the wild grass around it hid the scent better.

He looked down at his watch: 3:36 p.m.

It wouldn’t be long now before Josh could finally leave this place and put Song Island into the back of his mind for good. He was looking forward to that. Beaufont Lake hadn’t been very good to him. He still remembered getting shot and almost drowning and dying out here. Those were memories he’d rather bury in the past.

“You used to live there, didn’t you?” Travis was saying.

Josh didn’t need binoculars to see Song Island in the near distance. It was the only thing to break the monotony of calm lake water for miles around, its Tower jutting out like a sore thumb. It looked so insignificant, like a stain holding back progress. How did Will ever think this place could save them?

“I wouldn’t say I used to live there,” Josh said. “I was there for a couple of days, long enough to know it’s just another island.”

“Still,” Travis said, “it must feel a little weird to be leading the attack on it.”

He had thought the same thing, once upon a time. It only took looking at the place from afar to realize it wasn’t true at all. Song Island was just another patch of dirt on a lake. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

“No,” Josh said, turning and walking back to the Jeep, “it doesn’t feel weird at all.”

Travis jogged after him. “So, it’s settled. We’re attacking tonight. Even with that guy going back? That’s an extra gun.”

“You see that big thing sticking out of the island?”

“The lighthouse?”

“Yeah. There’s a basement at the bottom. Song Island’s always had all the guns and ammo it needs. One more guy isn’t going to make any difference.”

The former construction supervisor glanced back at the island one more time. “Man, it’s gonna get bloody. I was hoping it’d go down easier.”

“It could have, but that ship’s sailed.”

“What about the big boat that showed up last night? Did you tell them about that? Maybe they’ll let us delay the attack—”

“They don’t care,” Josh said, cutting him off. “Besides, if we’re lucky, all that shooting last night did was cut down their numbers. Either way, it’s going to happen tonight.”

Josh climbed into the front passenger seat of the Jeep while Travis slipped into the driver side. He still had to fight back a big smile whenever one of the older men had to drive him around, which was pretty much every time. Nineteen-year-old boys weren’t supposed to be leading armies, but here he was anyway, doing just that. All of this, because he was one of the chosen ones.

Soon you’ll be one, too, Gaby. Then you’ll understand why I’m doing this.

I’ll make you understand.

* * *

Sonia jogged down the outer stairs of the two-story red house as he and Travis arrived in the Jeep. She looked excited, which told Josh she probably had news from Mason (finally). Sometimes Josh thought Mason was the most capable man under his command, and other times he couldn’t be trusted to look for gas for their vehicles.

Travis parked in the driveway, among the trucks and people in uniforms milling about and talking excitedly among themselves. They were anxious and scared, and they had every right to be. Most of them had never shot anyone or been in real combat. Some of them knew how to use the weapons they were carrying, but the majority had never fired at a living, breathing person in their lives.

He felt almost sorry for them, for what they were about to experience tonight. But whenever that pity threatened to paralyze him into backing out of the plan, he just had to remind himself that this was for the best. He was doing this for them—he and Gaby. He needed to prove himself to Kate and Mabry and the others. And once tonight was over, he could move on and prepare for the future.

With Gaby. Because none of this mattered a lick without Gaby at his side.

Sonia smiled at him as he climbed out of the Jeep. She was here the last few days and had lived through the grenade launcher attack. She was a Southerner, like Travis, minus the accent for some reason. Of course, that could have just been the hormones talking. For all he knew, she sounded exactly the same as Travis, except the visual was throwing him off.

“Mason?” he asked.

“Got word from him about ten minutes ago,” Sonia said.

She fell in beside him as they walked across the large yard. Josh liked the fact that she hadn’t even acknowledged Travis’s existence, and Travis no doubt noticed that, too. He could tell the older man had a thing for the twenty-something. He didn’t blame the guy. You had to be dead not to pitch a tent at the sight of Sonia. Somehow, that gun belt around her slim waist only made her more—

Gaby. There’s only Gaby!

“What did he say?” Josh asked.

“They lost the trail at the interstate around Lake Dulcet.”

“What does that mean?”

“They killed some guys he had stationed outside the city. Apparently, they used a machine gun. One of ours, if you can believe it.”

Oh, I can believe it. You don’t know half of the things these ex-Rangers are capable of. If you did, you’d be more scared about tonight.

“So where are they now?” he asked.

“He doesn’t know.”

Josh felt the familiar flurry of annoyance flaring up.

Mason. Goddamn Mason. Simultaneously the most capable man under him, and the most aggravating.

“What about Salvani?” he asked.

“They haven’t seen them,” Sonia said.

“So that means they left the interstate at Lake Dulcet.” He stopped and glanced north, where he imagined the casino town was in the distance. “They could be anywhere by now. Maybe even on their way down here this very moment. How long ago did Mason say he lost them?”

“He couldn’t be sure. He guessed two, maybe three hours ago.”

Goddammit, Mason.

“What do you want me to tell him?” she asked.

“Tell him—” He paused, then shook his head in frustration. “What about Will? Did he reacquire Will after the attack by the Dunbar people? Is he even still alive?”

“He says he’s working on that.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t elaborate.”

Fuck, shit. Goddamn you, Mason!

He could feel Travis watching him closely to his right and Sonia doing the same thing in front of him. A couple of the other soldiers loitering around were also eavesdropping. They were all waiting for him to blow up, to finally reveal the nineteen-year-old kid (because they all thought of him as a kid, despite everything he had done and all the power he wielded) instead of the commander of men he had become since he struck out on his own.

But he was one of the chosen ones, and although Josh was flustered, pissed off, and angry, he reined it all in and tempered down his emotions and didn’t let any of them show.

“Tell him to get his shit together, or he’ll be answering to me,” he said finally.

“Okay,” Sonia said.

Josh continued to the house and climbed up the outer stairs to the second floor with Sonia beside him. He was proud of himself. Despite how badly the day was going (Mason, you worthless piece of shit, you better get it together!), he had maintained his composure and was still on track to finish this whole messy affair with Song Island tonight. By morning, he could move on with the rest of his life with Gaby at his side.

Christ, Sonia smelled good. It was just generic soap, but women always had a way of making the ordinary extraordinary. Then again, for all he knew, Sonia could have put something extra on just for him. He had seen the way she looked and acted around him. She gave out all the signs and was all but begging him to make a move.

But he couldn’t. Not with Gaby out there. Not with Gaby waiting for him.

I’m doing all of this for you, Gaby. I know you won’t understand. Not at first. But one day you’ll finally come around and then we’ll be together. You’ll see.

“Josh,” Sonia was saying.

He stopped on the second-floor patio. “Hmm?”

“You’re gone again.” She frowned. “Gaby must really be something.”

“She is,” he said. She’s the most beautiful girl in the world, he thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. He liked Sonia and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he asked instead, “Did you eat yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You should, if you’re going with us tonight.”

“I was waiting for you to come back.”

Gaby. There’s only Gaby.

“I already ate,” he lied. “I need to get some sleep. Wake me up when Mason radios back with news.”

“About Gaby, or just anything?” she asked.

“Anything,” he said, and slipped into the house before she could keep the conversation going.

* * *

Around five-thirty, he got good news and bad news.

“Sorry, didn’t know you were still napping,” Sonia said when she entered the bedroom after knocking once on the door.

Fortunately he had lain down and gone to sleep in his clothes. The last thing he needed was to be caught in his underwear by Sonia. It was hard enough keeping his hormones in check around her when he was fully clothed.

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, then absently flicked at the hardened pieces of dirt his boots had left on the mattress. “It’s okay. What’s up?”

“Mason finally radioed back.”

“What took him so long?”

“He didn’t say.”

Mason. Christ.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“He caught that Will guy,” Sonia said. She had sat down on a chair at the foot of the bed. “It took him a while, and he says it was messy, but he got him again.”

“And he’s still alive?”

“Mostly.”

“‘Mostly’?”

“He said the guy was injured, but that he’s still breathing.”

“I guess that’s all that matters.”

“What’s so special about him, anyway?”

Nothing, except she wants him, and what’s important to her is important to all of us, because she’s the only thing holding back the sea from drowning us all.

“He’s just a guy,” Josh said, standing up and yawning. It was a good nap, and he was glad he had taken it. Tonight was going to take a lot out of him and the more energy he could save up for it, the better. “Anyway, Will’s not our problem now. The island’s the only thing we should be focusing on.”

“Speaking of which, one of the guys watching the other side of the lake just intercepted a vehicle heading toward the bridge.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Looks like it.”

He picked up a canteen from the windowsill and took a sip. “How many?”

“He couldn’t tell for sure. Maybe half a dozen, though he says he thinks some of them were women and children.”

“You said ‘he’?”

“Yeah. Only one of the scouts came back alive. The rest are dead.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“Apparently the newcomers had a really good shooter with them. He shot the driver of their vehicle from two football fields away, according to the survivor. That forced their vehicle into a ditch, and the crash killed the driver and another guy in the back.”

“Aw, shit,” Josh said.

“What?” Sonia said, eyeing him curiously. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Danny. It has to be Danny.”

“Who’s Danny?”

“He’s an ex-Army Ranger. He’s by far the best shot on the island, and he’s one of the guys Mason was supposed to stop at Route 13.”

“The one that escaped somewhere around Lake Dulcet?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So that means…”

“Gaby,” Josh nodded. “She has to be with him, which means she’s already on the island right now.”

No wonder he had felt differently when he woke up just a minute ago. He thought it was just the aftereffects of the nap, but there was a strangeness in the air.

Because Gaby was nearby.

He didn’t say that out loud to Sonia. Besides the fact that the other woman was probably a little jealous of Gaby, it might sound a little crazy to tell her that he could feel how the air changed when Gaby was around.

But it wasn’t crazy. It was the truth.

Sometimes Josh wondered if he had developed the same kind of connection to Gaby that Kate had with him, this thing that couldn’t be explained to people who hadn’t experienced it. Sonia wouldn’t understand, and neither would Travis, regardless of how hard he tried to break it down for them. It was like something out of a comic book; unreal, unless it was happening to you night after night.

“So what does this mean?” Sonia asked. “Are we still attacking the island tonight? Even with Gaby there?”

Josh didn’t answer right away. His mind was whirling, trying to process this new wrinkle in what had, up to this point, been smooth sailing.

Danny was back, but not Will. That was the only bright spot in all this mess. He didn’t like that Gaby had returned, though. It was going to make tonight more difficult. Goddammit, why couldn’t Mason have taken her on the interstate? Or back at Route 13? They had promised him.

Mason, and Kate. They had promised him they would keep Gaby away from the island.

“Josh?” Sonia was saying, trying to get his attention. “About tonight. Are we still going through with it?”

He stood up and walked to the window and peered out at the darkening skies. It was almost time. He could feel it coming without having to look at his watch.

Maybe he was seeing this all wrong. Maybe Gaby returning to Song Island, just as he was about to attack it, was a sign. Maybe it was always destiny that he would find her again at the same place where he had lost her, where everything had changed for both of them.

This is fate. It has to be.

“Tell the men to get ready,” he said. “We’re taking Song Island tonight.”

16

Lara

She was numb all over and had to summon every ounce of strength to push through it. The others were watching her. Keo beside her, Danny and Gaby in front of her, and the kids whose names she didn’t know, even though Gaby had just told her a few seconds ago.

Will. You promised me. You goddamned promised me.

“He’s still alive,” she finally said.

“The last time I saw him,” Danny nodded.

“What kind of shape was he in?”

“I couldn’t tell you. He was in a car and so were we, and everyone was going fifty to sixty miles an hour. And, oh yeah, bad people were shooting at us, so that didn’t help.”

“They wanted us alive,” Gaby said. “They were shooting at the tires.”

“Which means he’s definitely still alive,” Lara said.

“Yeah,” Gaby nodded.

Lara could see it in the teenager’s eyes: Gaby was saying all the right things, but she didn’t fully believe in them.

The girl had changed so much since the last time Lara saw her, and she wanted nothing more than to welcome her home like a big sister, but the pier suddenly felt too unbalanced and the air became suffocating, and she needed to leave.

Now. Now.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” Danny repeated.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Lara…” Gaby said.

“We can catch up later, but right now you guys need to go get cleaned up and eat something. It’s going to be a long night.” She ignored their searching gazes and turned around and walked down the pier. “Keo…”

Keo followed without a word.

She could feel the others watching after her. Danny and Gaby, even Maddie and Roy, and the newcomers. The woman and the kids, and the young man who stood protectively next to Gaby. Maybe she should have spent a few more minutes talking to them, hugging and making useless welcome-back talk. But there was no time for that. The sun was setting and the hours were dwindling, and soon, very soon, they would have to get ready.

There wasn’t enough time. There was never enough time.

She kept walking and didn’t look back. She was afraid of what might happen if she stopped. She had never been particularly good at keeping her emotions in check, but Lara had discovered she was capable of a lot of things that would have been unfathomable a year ago. Maybe it was the constant life-and-death choices, or this label of leader everyone had given her the last few weeks, or maybe it was because she knew he was alive.

Out there, alone, maybe even captured, but still alive.

Will was the most capable man she had ever known in her life, and as long as he was breathing, he would find a way back to the island. Back to her.

I’ll wait for you, Will. I’ll wait for you as long as I can.

She snapped another look at the skies. It would be dark soon, except for the halo of lights emanating from the LED lamps around the island. Then it would be just them and the people coming to kill them, using the blanket of night as cover.

“So your boyfriend’s not dead?” Keo said. His voice came out of nowhere, and for a moment she forgot he was keeping pace beside her.

“No,” she said.

“You sure about that?”

“If you knew Will, you wouldn’t need to ask.”

“So we’re going on faith, then?”

“You honestly think your girlfriend actually made it to Santa Marie Island? That she’s wearing a bikini and waiting on the beach every morning, waiting for you to finally show up?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Hit a guy while he’s down, why don’t you.” Then he shrugged. “One ex-Army Ranger ain’t bad, I guess. Even a gimpy one.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as everyone follows the plan. Including you. Like it or not, you’re stuck here with us now, Keo.”

“Lucky me.”

Carly was running down the beach toward them and jumped onto the pier. Lara didn’t know she could even run that fast. She and Keo made room as Carly darted past them—she might not have even noticed they were there—and ran straight into Danny’s arms.

Lara turned back around and quickened her pace down the beach.

“How good is he?” Keo asked, still walking beside her.

“Danny?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s good.”

“And the girl?”

“Danny and Will taught her themselves.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Lara.”

“Will says she’s the best soldier on the island after him and Danny. He says she’s gotten better since she’s been out there.”

“What is she, twenty-five?”

“Nineteen.”

“Damn,” Keo said. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or a little scared of you people.”

* * *

While Carly and Benny welcomed Danny and Gaby back in the dining room, Lara spent the rest of the remaining daylight making sure everyone knew where they were supposed to be. Blaine, Bonnie, and Gwen remained on the Trident to keep watch, while she sent Roy over with Gage. The captain figured out pretty quickly what she was planning and seemed to be moving fine on the leg brace Stan had made for him. The painkillers Zoe had given him probably helped, though the doctor assured her it wouldn’t be enough to dull his ability to pilot the boat.

Lara was in the basement under the Tower, making final preparations. She could have given the job to anyone, but she needed the solitude only the room’s concrete walls, floor, and ceiling could provide. Ironic, since she always hated coming down here alone. Now, though, surrounded by the reminders of people who had come to Song Island seeking shelter only to find tragedy, she felt perfectly at home.

Nothing lasts forever. So why did I think this island would?

She remembered a conversation she’d had with Will not all that long ago.

“The island is vital, Lara,” he had said to her.

“It’s just an island,” she had responded.

“But you’re on it. And Carly. And the kids…”

The people. That was what mattered. The people on the island, not the island itself. There were other islands out there, like the Bengals, that Keo had shown her. Islands were just patches of dirt and could be replaced. But its people were another story.

She wasn’t surprised to hear Danny climbing down the steps behind her. She knew he would seek her out sooner or later. Under the bright LED lights of the subterranean room, the scars along the bridge of his nose and face looked more pronounced, as if he had just stepped out of the boxing ring. He limped across the room, wearing another one of Stan’s custom-made leg braces.

“How’s the leg?” she asked.

“My dancing days are definitely over,” Danny said. “At least until the break heals.”

He ran his palms along the leather padding held together by Velcro straps and rigid hinged steel bars. The elastic material went all the way over his knee and down the calf. From what she could tell, Stan had done a marvelous job making it practical, and she made a mental note to ask him to make more, just in case.

Danny was looking at the nearly empty weapons rack at the back of the room. “Been busy, huh? I guess it’s true what they say: Give a woman the key to your place, and before you know it, she’s reorganizing everything. Should I ask what you’ve been doing with all the stuff me and your boyfriend collected over the last few months?”

“They’re around.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Here, there, everywhere.”

“Ah. All part of the plan?”

“Yes.”

“So, tell me about it. That is, if you have the time. I mean, if you don’t, maybe I can make an appointment or something. I can see you’re a very busy gal these days.”

“I’m sorry about before. At the pier…”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Water under the yacht. So tell me about this plan of yours that’s supposed to keep everyone alive.”

She did.

“Hunh,” he said when she was finished. “I guess it’s a good thing we stocked up on those cheap boats and emergency ladders.”

“That’s Will, Danny. He’s always thinking ahead. That’s why he’s such a good leader and I’m…barely hanging on.”

“You’re doing all right from what I can see.”

“Barely.” Then, “So tell me. Am I going to get everyone killed?”

He thought about it for a moment. “It’s risky,” he said finally.

“It’s very risky. But I don’t see any other way. If we need to abandon the island, the Trident has to be ready. For that to happen, it can’t be involved until we need it.”

“It’s a big boat.”

“We’ll have the cover of darkness, and I’m hoping they won’t be able to adjust their assault plan on the fly. Or want to, given their overconfidence.”

“So many maybes, Aunt Bee would be jealous.” He seemed to think about it some more before nodding. “What’s the worst that could happen? They try to board the big boat?”

“Keo did.”

“Yeah, but from what everyone’s told me, that guy is half-dolphin. Besides, I brought something that’ll discourage them if they do decide to go that path. Have you ever stared down the barrel of an M240? It’s guaranteed to make anyone cry for their momma.”

“The other option is to pack everyone and everything onboard the Trident now and take our chances at the channel before nightfall.”

“And you say they’ve got that place sealed tight?”

“Keo barely survived.”

“He’s a merc. You can’t really trust a merc. Even one that’s half-dolphin.”

She sat down on one of the crates and looked over at him. “Tell me the truth. Am I going to get everyone killed, Danny?”

“Like I said, it’s risky, but I trust you.”

“Why?”

“You’re smarter than me.” He grinned, and despite the bruises and cuts, she could almost believe he was the same Danny who had left her and Carly to go look for Will. “Let’s face it, you’re smarter than everyone on this island. I used to think it was just book smarts, but Willie boy’s convinced that’s not the case. And I’ve learned to trust his instincts, even though this time it got me a busted nose.”

“Funny, because I don’t feel so smart.”

“Now you know how I feel every day. Wait, did I just say that out loud?”

She managed a smile, but her mind was already elsewhere. She hesitated with what she was going to say next because she had been dreading it, but knew it was inevitable.

“What happened out there, Danny?” she finally asked.

“What do you wanna know?”

“It’s her, isn’t it? Kate?”

He sat down next to her. “They went to great lengths to take us alive back at Route 13. Kate’s orders would be my guess. I don’t know what that bitch has up her fleshy sleeve, but it’s got everything to do with Willie boy.”

“He was only with her for one night. Or did he lie to me?”

“Nah, I think that was it. But it’s not like I have a bell around his ankle or anything.”

“So what is this, some kind of schoolgirl crush?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

He shook his head, and she could see that Danny had been thinking about it for some time now, too. “Putting on my serious hat here, but I don’t think it’s something we would understand. You know how she would sometimes show up in his dreams?”

Lara nodded. It was one of the more infuriating things about Kate.

“He used to tell me they had this unexplainable connection,” Danny said. “Some psychic shit, or something. Maybe it happened back in the early days of The Purge. The Kate you met on the road wasn’t the same Kate we first saw back in Houston. She’d changed a lot by the time you joined us.”

Everyone changes. You adapt or perish.

“So I don’t know what happened between them,” Danny continued. “You should ask him when he comes back.”

“I will.”

“And he will come back.”

“I know.”

“Your boyfriend’s stubborn. It’s one of his most annoying qualities. Sometimes I want to punch him in the face just for being him.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Lara reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re back. You know I love you, right?”

He grinned. “What would Carly say?”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Welcome home. I’m sorry you’re not going to be able to spend a lot of time with Carly.”

“Fortunately, I don’t need all that much time. Back in college they used to call me Speedy Danny. You don’t wanna know.”

“I think you’re right,” she smiled, and this time it came out easier.

“I could tell you.”

“No.”

“It’s a funny story.”

“Save it for tomorrow.”

“Right-o.” Then, “So. Your own little Plan Z, huh?”

“I’m trying to come up with a better name, but yeah. If we need it, that’s what I’ve come up with.”

“Eh. I’ve heard worse.”

“When?”

“Whenever your boyfriend opens his mouth.”

Lara laid her head against his shoulder. “He’ll be back. As long as he’s alive, he’ll come back to me. He promised, and he knows I’ll kick his ass if he breaks that promise.”

“Well, that settles that, then.”

They didn’t say anything for a moment, and the only sound for the longest time was the humming of the lights around them.

Finally, Lara said, “What if they don’t do what I think they’ll do? What if they’re smarter than that?”

“They’ll definitely go for the beach,” Danny said. “They won’t be able to help themselves. They have the manpower and firepower for it. They’ll overwhelm us with force. Shock and awe. Or, at least, that’ll be the plan. Personally, Willie boy and me could have come up with something better. Like, a billion times better. But we’re not talking about professionals here. They’ll take the path of least resistance because they’ll be overconfident in their numbers.”

“Do they really have that many soldiers?”

He nodded. “However many you think they have, they actually have more. Everyone loves a winning side, right? And you don’t get any more winning than taking over the planet in one night. Hell, if we’re smart, we would have joined them long ago.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not that bright, then.”

“Ouch.”

“But I love you anyway.”

Danny put his arm around her and pulled her tight against him. “One more day. That’s all we need. Just long enough for Big Willie to make his way home. I don’t like to tell him this, but he’s the brains of the operation, you know. If there’s a Will, there’s a way.” Then he added, “Get it?”

“I’m not an idiot, Danny.”

“Well, you did drop out of school.”

“I had a really good excuse,” she said.

* * *

She found Gaby in her room. The same one she had left behind weeks ago when she climbed into the helicopter with Will and didn’t come back to until now. It still looked the same because Lara hadn’t touched it since, and Carly had visited it once every few days to keep the dust at bay. From the looks of the clean carpeting and bed, Carly had done a good job of it.

Gaby was sitting on the end of the bed, looking at the open bathroom door across from her. Someone was in the shower singing some song that sounded familiar, but Lara couldn’t quite place it. It was probably the young blonde girl who had stood on one side of Gaby while the young man, Nate, stood on the other when they arrived on the island earlier. Looking at the two girls was like seeing sisters, and she wondered if that’s what people saw when she stood next to Gaby.

A dirty T-shirt and pants lay crumpled on the floor next to the supply packs Gaby and the girl had brought with them. Gaby was still wearing her gun belt, and her M4 rifle leaned against the bed within easy reach. There was an awareness about her, as if she was waiting for something to happen so she could explode into action, that hadn’t been there when she had last seen the teenager.

Always the soldier. You trained her too well, Will.

“Hey,” Lara said.

Gaby looked over. Despite the bruises, the cuts, and the healing broken nose, she still looked very much like the painfully pretty eighteen-year-old teenager who had come to her and Will not all that long ago. Josh had been with her then, but that was another life. These days, Gaby had other boys scrambling for her attention, and no amount of bodily injury was going to stop that.

“Some homecoming, huh?” Lara said. “‘Welcome back. Oh, by the way, we’re about to be attacked by an overwhelming force. Can you grab that rifle?’”

Gaby smiled. “Beats what’s going on out there.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“Who hasn’t?”

Lara nodded. She couldn’t argue with that.

And Will was still out there…

“I was hoping you’d come by,” Gaby said. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me after…earlier.”

“I’m sorry about that. I reacted badly.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t shoot me and Danny.”

They exchanged a brief smile, then Lara pointed at the open bathroom door.

“Claire,” Gaby said.

“Mini you.”

Gaby chuckled. “I guess we do kind of look alike.”

“What’s she singing?”

“I think that’s a Taylor Swift song.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah.”

“She was a country singer, sang mostly about boys and breaking up and all that girlie stuff. Then she became a pop singer. Then…well, I don’t know what she did after that. This happened.”

Lara walked over and sat on the bed next to her. Gaby hadn’t changed clothes since she arrived. She was still wearing the same cargo pants and long-sleeve shirt, clothes that would make other women look tomboyish or plain, but of course other women weren’t Gaby.

“You should have seen me this afternoon,” Gaby said. “I was wearing a dead man’s uniform.”

“Why in the world were you doing that?”

Gaby told her about posing as soldiers in order to get past the barricade at the Lake Dulcet exit.

“Oh,” Lara said. She wondered how many of those “soldiers” were running around out there right now. More importantly, how many Will would have to elude (kill) in order to come back to her.

However many it takes, Will. You better come back to me.

“From what Carly told us in the dining room, it sounds like you have everything ready,” Gaby said.

God, I hope she’s right, Lara thought, but she said, “Will has a saying: No plan survives first contact with the enemy. I just hope I don’t get everyone killed.”

“We’ll do fine. I was trained by two of the best, and you guys have been fighting for this island for a while now. We’re going to give them a hell of a fight.”

They didn’t say anything for a while. Instead, they sat quietly and listened to Claire singing inside the shower. Gaby was right; the song was about a boy and heartbreak, and maybe a high school was involved somehow. They could make out Claire’s figure behind the curtain, scrubbing herself down as heavy mist drifted through the open door.

“I told her there was a five-minute limit,” Gaby sighed. “I think she’s way past that.”

“It’s okay. Let her enjoy it.” Because it might be the last shower any of us gets for a while, she thought about adding, but didn’t. She said instead, “Then you should take one, too.”

“I will. I have a lot to scrub off.” She paused for a moment, before adding, “Thanks for keeping my room clean, by the way.”

“Thank Carly. She did all the work.”

Gaby looked toward her patio window. “What are the chances he’s out there, you think?”

“Who?”

“Josh.”

The question caught her off guard. It had never occurred to her that Josh would be out there right now, somewhere on the shoreline waiting for nightfall. Would Kate send him to do her dirty work? The Josh she knew was still eighteen, tall but gangly, even nerdy, and if she had to pick someone to lead a battle, he would have been the last person on her list. But according to Will and Gaby, that teenage boy was long gone, replaced by a very capable (and dangerous) ghoul collaborator. So who was to say what he was capable of now?

Adapt or perish. Maybe Josh has adapted, too.

“I don’t know,” Lara said. “Would they let him join in the attack?”

“The Josh I saw out there wouldn’t be a part of the attack, Lara; he would be leading it.”

“Josh?” She knew he had changed, but had he changed that much?

“He’s gone, Lara.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s gone. He’s not a boy anymore. You can’t think of him as the same boy who you met in Lancing. If you get the chance—if you see him tonight—don’t hesitate. Shoot him, because he’ll shoot you.”

Lara was speechless for a moment. Finally, she said, “I guess it doesn’t matter who leads the attack. One man in a soldier’s uniform is the same as another.”

Gaby looked over at her. “Just don’t hesitate, Lara.”

Lara nodded. “I won’t.” Then she stood up. “I’m going to need you tonight, Gaby.”

“That’s why I came back. You just tell me where you want me, and I’ll be there.”

“Meet me in the lobby in—” she glanced at her watch “—half an hour.”

“Should I bring my gear?”

“No. And you won’t need the M4, either. I’ll have something else for you.”

Gaby nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Lara walked to the door.

“Lara,” Gaby said.

She stopped and looked back.

“What about Will?” Gaby asked.

That’s the question of the century. What about Will?

“He can take care of himself,” Lara said. “Right now, we need to worry about us.”

“Danny’s convinced Kate’s the one pulling the strings out there. Is she capable of something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Lara said. “Let’s save that question for Will when he comes home. Until then, let’s make sure he has someplace to come back to.”

17

Gaby

The island had changed. She didn’t think it was possible it could look and feel so different since the last time she had walked along its white sandy beach or dipped her feet into the cool blue waters. But maybe it wasn’t Song Island that had changed. Maybe it was her. She wasn’t the same girl who had left this place. She had killed. More than once. If not for The Purge, the lives she had taken would have made her notorious.

The conversation with Lara hadn’t really gone as planned, but in many ways it went better. She loved Lara. She hadn’t realized that until they sat together and simply talked. They had both changed a lot, and maybe not all of it for the better. They had become survivors. They always had been, of course, but there was a difference between surviving and being survivors.

Was that a good thing? It was hard to say.

Once Claire finished showering, Gaby took her turn. She didn’t linger too much. Five minutes, tops, standing underneath the scalding hot spray and letting it cleanse away the days on the road, the night slept in that crypt outside of Dunbar, and whatever remained of L15 and Josh’s company.

Are you out there right now, Josh? Are you the one leading tonight’s attack?

She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she saw him tonight. Josh in that uniform, with a rifle in his hands, running toward her. Could she do it? Could she shoot him the way she had told Lara to?

Stay away, Josh. Please stay away.

Claire was already gone by the time she came out of the shower. Gaby put on clean black cargo pants and socks, then pulled on an olive green long-sleeve sweater. She dressed silently while sneaking looks at the clock on the wall.

6:15 p.m.

The audible clicking of the second hand was like a grenade going off inside the quiet room. One of these days, the batteries were going to die and the hands would stop moving. That was life now. Sooner or later, everything just stopped.

She glanced at the patio window for the fifth time in as many minutes. The curtains were pulled halfway, revealing the falling night outside. Soon, very soon, it would be complete darkness. She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Maybe it was being back home again, or the fact she was now surrounded by friends.

Tonight felt different somehow. She was calm. Amazingly so.

The lack of activity in the hallway outside was surprising, given how many people were now calling the hotel home. She made sure to close her door before heading up to the lobby with just her pack in one hand. She walked past two doors before stopping at the third.

She took a breath, then knocked on it.

“Come in,” Nate called from the other side.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

He stood next to his bed, shirtless, with his back to her. His hair was wet, and fresh steam drifted out of the open bathroom door. His dirty clothes were in a pile on the floor, and Nate looked cleaner than she had ever seen him.

She smiled briefly, remembering the look Benny had given Nate back in the dining room. Benny had burst inside, not expecting to see her sitting next to Nate. The next few minutes had been incredibly uncomfortable, and Gaby felt miserable about not preparing either one of them for that moment.

I’m back in high school all over again, she remembered thinking.

Nate glanced over and gave her a wide smile. “You weren’t kidding about this place. Your own room, a big soft bed, and working plumbing. I could definitely get used to all of this.”

If we’re still alive after tonight, she thought, but asked instead, “How was your reunion with Mary, Kendra, and the others?”

“It was good to see them again. A lot of questions, though.” He pursed his lips. “I didn’t know how to answer most of them.”

“Mary must be especially happy to see you back.”

Mary was the teenage girl who had been a part of Nate’s group back when they were still out there on their own. The girl had stuck close to Nate the entire time, and Gaby used to feel a little guilty about Nate just leaving them behind to go with her. That guilt was compounded by what happened to him afterward.

“She was,” he nodded. “I was happy to see her, too. They all look healthier than I’ve ever seen them. Coming here was a good thing.”

Gaby wasn’t so sure about that. She couldn’t help but think about Claire, Milly, and Annie, and bringing them to a place that was about to be attacked. It must have shown on her face, because Nate gave her a reassuring look.

“We’ll get through tonight,” he said. “We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

He turned around and picked up a shirt from the bed. She was so used to seeing him with that stupid Mohawk that not to see it perched on top of his head still took some adjusting. She was staring at his head when her eyes fell down to his arms as he pulled the shirt on.

Teeth marks.

They covered both his arms, extending from the wrists to the shoulders blades. There were dozens of them, like tiny mazes crisscrossing his flesh, or poorly thought-out tattoos. Most looked healed, but some still looked fresh. Too fresh. She stared and couldn’t look away, and couldn’t stop herself from wondering where else they were on his body that she couldn’t see at the moment.

Nate looked back and saw where she was staring. The look on her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because he quickly grabbed a knitted black sweater and pulled it over the T-shirt.

“It looks worse than it really is,” he said.

“Do they hurt?” she asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words blurted out of her mouth.

He didn’t look offended, though. If anything, she had the impression he had been waiting for this conversation.

“Not anymore,” he said. “In the beginning, yeah. Back at the pawnshop, when I was still conscious. I could feel their teeth breaking skin.” He seemed to drift off a bit, maybe flashing back to that night. “But after a while, I blacked out. When I woke up, they told me that was how it usually worked. Once they put you under, you don’t feel anything anymore.”

“Usually?”

“Some of the guys had stories…”

“What kind of stories?”

“You know all those scary stories people tell about how some coma patients in hospitals are still awake when everyone else thinks they’re asleep? But in reality they’re trapped inside their bodies and can still see, hear, and feel everything? But they just can’t move or talk? I think there’s a medical term for it, but I can’t think of it right now.”

“Maybe Lara knows,” she said absently.

“Probably. Anyways, some guys said they could still feel the ghouls drinking them when they were unconscious.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t, so I can’t really say for sure either way.”

“Then you woke up…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Nate,” she said quietly.

“What for?” he said, smiling across the room at her. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Gaby.”

“You wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you forced me to. Or even asked me to. I volunteered, remember?”

“I know. Still…”

“Gaby,” he said, and there was a forcefulness in his voice she hadn’t heard before. “You didn’t do this. Understand? Those things did. Everything else was my choice. Okay? You don’t ever have to apologize for what happened to me. I don’t blame you. I never did, and I never will.”

She didn’t know what to do or what to say, so she just did what felt right at the moment, and that was to walk silently to him. Nate opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him down and kissed him. His arms slipped anxiously around her waist, and he pulled her body to his and ground his mouth down against hers with a hunger that momentarily took her breath away.

They kissed for the longest time. Or maybe it was just a few seconds. It wasn’t until she couldn’t breathe anymore that she pulled slightly back, but she was still so close to him that she could feel his warm breath against her face. He was, she noticed, breathing harder than usual. Maybe even harder than her.

“You wanna see this wicked scar I have on my back?” he asked with a grin.

She gave him a confused look. “Why would I want to see that?”

“I dunno, but you saw the scars on my arms and I got this. I figured, scars must turn you on.”

She shook her head. “They don’t.”

“Wow. Totally read that signal wrong, then.” He glanced at his wall clock. “We still have a few minutes—”

“Not nearly enough for everything I want to do with you,” she said, and pulled him down and kissed him again.

* * *

She sent Nate to the lobby ahead of her to join the others while she made a detour to the infirmary first. Carly had given them a quick tour of the new rooms as they were walking through earlier, so Gaby didn’t have any trouble finding it again. It was also close enough to the lobby that she could hear voices on the other end of the hallway. Muted conversations, part anxious and scared, but there was a determination among them that heartened her.

The only person in the infirmary was a blonde woman sitting on a stool at a counter, her back to Gaby. When she entered and knocked on the open door, the woman turned around and Gaby smiled at Zoe.

“Long time no see,” Gaby said.

Zoe smiled back, which was something Gaby found amusing, since the last time they were in the same room, she had threatened to kill the other woman. More than once, actually.

“Gaby,” Zoe said. “Welcome home.”

“Glad to be back.” She walked over and sat down on a stool. “You look pretty healthy. Will told me you were shot.”

“Yeah. Word of advice? Don’t get shot.”

“Good advice.” She looked around the room. “Not bad. Beats working out of a tent in the woods.”

“I know, right? It only took the end of the world to get my very own medical practice. And on a tropical island, no less. I still don’t know where they got those palm trees from, though.”

“They were here when we showed up.”

“That’s what Lara said. This place was supposed to be a resort for the rich and famous. I bet they didn’t expect it to become a refuge for humankind’s last holdout.”

“Wow. I never thought of it quite like that.”

Zoe laughed. “What, too ominous?”

“Just a bit,” she said, pinching her fingers together. “You’re not going to the lobby for the big powwow?”

Zoe shook her head. “That’s just for the badass warriors like you. The rest of us already got our marching orders. I’m just finishing up here before heading off. Lara’s got it all figured out.”

Gaby had seen the way Lara took control of the island, giving orders with the kind of authority she’d only seen Will exert.

You would be proud of her, Will. She’s like you—only prettier.

“I spent most of this afternoon following Lara’s orders,” Zoe was saying. “She’s got me running back and forth from the yacht.” She looked thoughtful, adding, “I can see why Will likes her so much. She’s the female him.”

Likes her? Will doesn’t like Lara. He loves her. We should all hope for something close to that at least once in our lives.

“So,” Zoe said, “what can I do for you? Or is this just a friendly visit?”

“I was hoping to stock up on something for tonight.”

“What kind of something?”

“You have any painkillers you can spare?”

“Is it your nose?” Zoe leaned forward slightly. “Does it hurt? It looks like it was broken recently.”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She thought about complaining to Zoe about her shoulder, which still bothered her if she sat around in one place for too long, but decided the occasional numbness wasn’t worth mentioning.

She said instead, “I want to make sure I have something to fall back on if I need them. Maybe a field first-aid kit. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Zoe repeated. “You sound like Lara.”

Gaby smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

* * *

By the time she reached the lobby, the only people left were Danny and Lara. They were talking quietly next to a large granite table in the center of the room, which looked cavernous with just the two of them inside at the moment. There were extra gun belts, magazines, and two ammo cans on the table between them, along with a pair of M4s and shotguns that hadn’t been claimed yet.

“Where is everyone?” Gaby asked. “I didn’t know I was that late.”

“You’re not,” Lara said. “Everyone’s where they should be.”

She looked at Lara, then Danny, and realized they had stayed behind on purpose. They were waiting for her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Lara picked up one of the M4s. It looked like the one she had left behind in her room except for the long and slightly bulky scope mounted on top. She took it from Lara and turned it over under the harsh lobby lights.

“Night vision,” Danny said. “You’re going to need it. It doesn’t have the range of the ACOG, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“How many of these do we have?” Gaby asked.

“Not nearly enough,” Lara said.

Danny held up his M4A1, the same rifle he had been carrying around ever since she had known him, though it had gone through plenty of fixes and replacement parts. It was also equipped with the same scope as hers.

“Just you and me, kid,” he said. “Keo’s going to have to make do with a laser pointer and NVD.”

“NVD?”

“Night-vision device. Basically, goggles with glowing green beer cans for lens.”

“The laser sounds cool.”

“This is cooler.”

“I feel so special.”

“That’s because we are special. Special snowflakes in an ocean of dripping crap.”

“Oh, nice vision, Danny.”

He grinned. “I’m here to serve.”

“How’s the leg?”

“How’s the nose?”

“Still busted.”

“There you go.”

“Wise ass,” she said. Then to Lara, “What about Nate?”

“Don’t worry about your boyfriend,” Danny said.

“Shut up, Danny.”

Danny chuckled.

“Benny and Nate have everything they need,” Lara said. “They’ll be fine.”

“So who’s going to be in the Tower?” Gaby asked. “I thought Danny and I were the best shooters on the island.”

“Long-range isn’t going to get it done tonight, kid,” Danny said. “We’ll be on the beach. Up close and personal. When those little buggers show up and ring the doorbell, we’ll be the ones to greet them. With a face full of lead.” He grinned. “I always wanted to say that. Did I get the tone right?”

“I got chills,” Gaby said.

“Awesome.”

“So how is this going to work?” Gaby said to Lara.

“I’ll fill you in on the way over,” Danny said.

He picked up an ammo pouch and tossed it to her. It was a lot bigger than the ones she was used to, with two slots already filled with two magazines each, for a total of four.

“Shove what you can carry into your pack,” Danny said. “Just pretend you’re a really well-armed pack mule.”

She strapped on the pouch, then begin grabbing extra magazines for the Glock in her hip holster. “Silver bullets?”

“Nothing but,” Danny said.

“Are we expecting ghouls tonight?”

“We’re not expecting them, but we’re not not expecting them.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it does. Think about it.”

“I’d rather not.” She sensed Lara watching her and looked over. “What’s wrong?”

Lara smiled. “You’ve grown up.”

She grinned back. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Tonight? Absolutely.”

“What if they don’t come tonight?”

“Everything points to it happening. I wish I was wrong. But they’re coming.”

Gaby glanced reflexively at the wall clock. 6:46 p.m.

“The funny part is, they know that we know they’re coming, but they’re coming anyway,” Danny said. “If I was a betting man, I’d say they’re a lot more scared of not attacking than they are of facing the Wrath of God, a.k.a. Danny and Gaby’s Shoot-o-rama.”

Kate. He’s talking about Kate.

“Meet me outside when you’re done getting all dolled up,” Danny said. He slung his M4A1 and headed across the lobby, whistling as he went. He still had a noticeable limp, but he was either doing his best to hide it or the contraption on his leg was actually doing its job.

“Here,” Lara said, handing Gaby an LED flashlight. “It’s going to get really dark out there.”

“No moonlight tonight?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Gaby shoved the heavy Maglite into her pack, then slung it. “How long have you been thinking up tonight’s plan?”

“Since noon. But I’ve been considering it for a while now. I call this Plan D.”

“Plan D?”

“Will has his Plan Zs, but I never liked that name. It’s too…”

“Last resort-ish?”

“Yeah.”

They both chuckled.

“Plan D,” Gaby nodded. “I like the sound of that. Not quite as last resort-ish.”

“That’s the idea.”

“If that’s Plan D, then what’s Plan A?”

“You, Danny, and Keo,” Lara said, patting her on the shoulder, “saving the island.”

“Oh,” Gaby said.

No pressure. No pressure at all.

* * *

Danny was waiting for her on the raised front patio when she stepped outside the hotel. “We good?”

She nodded. “We’re good.”

“You ready to kick ass and ignore the whole taking names part?”

“Not so much.”

“That’s my girl.”

She followed him down the steps and they continued along the cobblestone pathway toward the beach. The silence of the island, except for the steady and ever present hum of the lamps, was the first thing she noticed. That, and the blanket of darkness that had fallen around them. Instead of making her anxious, she felt growing excitement.

God help me, I’m ready for this.

There was no activity around them except for her and Danny’s movements, as if the entire island had shut down. Which, she guessed, wasn’t far from the truth. She looked behind her at the Tower, literally a beacon of light shining on the northeast cliff. Two shadowy figures moved around on the third floor.

“Where’s Nate, Danny?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about your boyfriend. He’s doing his job.”

He’s not my boyfriend, she thought about saying, but it sounded too much like something a high school teenage girl would say, so she said instead, “Where are the girls? Claire and Milly and the others?”

“They’re safe and sound and tucked away. Don’t worry about them, either.”

“What should I be worried about, then?”

“Shooting straight and reloading fast.”

She grunted. “Thanks for the advice. You’re full of pearls of wisdom tonight.”

“I aimsta please.”

“So what’s the objective? Besides not dying, I mean.”

“The objective tonight is to put enough hurt on them to convince them to back off.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Well, that’s what contingency plans are for, kid. Any more questions?”

“Yes.” She glanced around them. “Where’s that Keo guy? Lara said he was going to be on the beach with us.”

“He’s around.”

“What’s your opinion of him?”

“He’s a merc.”

“Merc?”

“Mercenary.”

“I take it that’s not a good thing.”

“A year ago I would have said yes, but these days?” He shrugged. “Times change, pants go out of style, and everyone’s suddenly wearing long johns again. Plus, Carly seems to like him.” Then he added, with what sounded like a slight annoyance, “Just a tad too much, if you ask me.”

They reached the corridor between the woods, with the smell of lake water wafting from the beach in front of them. It wasn’t a full moon tonight, but there was enough to see with. Coupled with the solar-powered lamps that lined the island, it would be incredibly difficult to miss them from any part of the lake.

Men are coming. Men with guns.

So why am I so calm?

“Danny,” Gaby said.

“What’s up?”

“Are we really going to survive this?”

“I’d say the chances are pretty low, but hey, stranger things have happened. Like, say, the end of the world. Who saw that coming? But here we are.”

She frowned. “That isn’t very reassuring.”

“I got a joke that’ll take your mind off it. Wanna hear it?”

“No.”

“A priest, a rabbit, and a horse walk into a bar,” Danny said anyway. “The bartender sees them and exclaims, ‘Whoa, whoa, didn’t you read the sign outside? This is a No-Animals bar!’ To which the priest harumphs, puts his fists on his hips, and indignantly replies, ‘Animals? I’m not an animal, good sir!’”

“‘Good sir’?”

“He’s a priest. They talk old-timey like that.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever. Now shaddup. You wanna listen to the rest of it or not?”

“Are you saying I have a choice?”

“No,” Danny said, and continued. “So the bartender reaches under the counter and pulls out a shotgun…”

18

Keo

I’m so screwed.

Gillian was so going to kill him. If she was even still alive out there, and if he ever made it to her if she was. There were a lot of maybes. He really was just operating on faith, and had been for some time. Maybe he always knew it, but it took Lara trying to convince him—and herself—that her boyfriend was still alive to bring it home.

She wants to believe it. Badly. Just like I want to believe Gillian’s still out there waiting for me.

We’re both suckers.

Between the two of them, he was definitely the bigger sucker. After all, he was the one stuck on a doomed island. It didn’t get any worse than that. It might have been different if he had a battalion of soldiers fighting with him. Or, hell, he would have settled for some seasoned mercs. But no, just kids and women and…more women. Way too many women. Maybe it was a sign from God that he’d end up surrounded by double X chromosomes. A really sick and perverted sign. He’d be angry about it if he actually believed in a higher power.

So screwed.

He had to admit, when it came to suicidal plans, Lara had him beat by a mile. His friend Norris would have had a heart attack if he’d heard what she was planning. Then again, Keo recognized his own shortcomings when it came to tactical decisions, so what did he know? Maybe this was the only way out. Could he have come up with something better? Probably not. Most of his ideas ended up with him nearly dying anyway.

The lights up and down the beach had buzzed to life by the time darkness enveloped the island in a nice thick blanket, and soon even the quiet hum of the lamps was drowned out by the sloshing of water against the sand. The wind was picking up, and a nice breeze washed over him. He was glad for the long-sleeve wool sweater he’d found at the hotel’s lost-and-found room. Even the lake seemed to know something was about to happen as soon as night fell.

He heard their footsteps against the cobblestone pathway before someone called over, “Shouldn’t you be hiding with the women and children?”

They looked like brother and sister with their blond hair, matching broken noses, and facial scars. The girl, Gaby, was gangly but obviously athletic, and actually looked comfortable with the M4 for a civilian. The gun belt sagged a bit against her narrow hips, mostly thanks to the heavy ammo pouches she was carrying.

“Apparently I’m neither women or children enough,” Keo said.

“Coulda fooled me,” the guy, Danny, said.

Keo smirked.

“See what I mean?” Danny said to the girl. “Mercs have no sense of humor. It’s always shoot this, shoot that, and where’s my money with them.”

“Not all of us get to live off Uncle Sam’s teats,” Keo said. “Some of us actually have to work for a living.”

“You good at keeping the lights on, Kia?”

“I’ve sent a few Army Rangers packing in my time.”

“Oh ho, don’t mess with this guy.”

They walked over and stood next to him, and the three of them stared off at the darkening lake in silence for a moment. It wouldn’t be long now until the shoreline in the distance became indistinguishable from the nothingness gathering beyond the lights of the island.

“Wind’s picking up,” Danny said.

“Is that a good or bad sign?” the girl asked.

“Depends…”

“On?”

“If you believe in good and bad signs. Me, I just pay attention to the ones that say ‘Stop’ and the ones with dresses on the door.”

Gaby was focusing on the white yacht at the end of the piers. It looked like a sleeping whale waiting to be awakened, moving slightly against the waves. “What exactly are we going to do with that thing?”

“Part of Lara’s Plan Z,” Danny said.

“Plan D,” the girl corrected him.

“Plan D?”

“Yeah. She says it sounds better than Plan Z. Less last resort-ish.”

“Sure, if you want to take all the fun out of it.” He looked over at Keo. “What about you, Karaoke, you prefer Plan Z or Plan D?”

“As long as it keeps me alive at the end of the night, I don’t really give a shit,” Keo said.

Danny chuckled. “Listen to this guy,” he said, jerking a thumb at Keo. “He actually thinks we’re going to survive tonight. Looks like someone wants the Captain Optimism title.”

* * *

At exactly 7:00 p.m., the earbud in his right ear, connected to the throat mic and Motorola radio clipped to a stripped-down assault vest, clicked, and he heard Lara’s voice. “Stan, come in.”

Stan was the Mexican electrician, who as far as Keo knew was at the power station on the western part of the island. “I’m in position,” Stan said through the radio.

“It’s seven,” Lara said. “Do it.”

“Shutting down the power in five, four, three, two…one.”

Then it got dark.

Really, really dark.

The lamps that lined the beach and stretched out into the lake along with the three piers shut down one by one. Even though they were all solar-powered, the lighting system had a built-in manual power override, or so he’d been told. In a matter of seconds, the white sand and blue water of Beaufont Lake seemed to blink out of existence.

His heartbeat actually accelerated as he sat there in complete darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden shift. It had been so long since he found himself outside and exposed at night that for a very brief moment, Keo remembered what fear was.

It took about thirty seconds, but he’d be damned if it didn’t feel more like thirty minutes before his vision finally adjusted to the new reality, and he could once again make out the waves lapping against the beach in front of him under the moonlight.

“And so it begins,” Danny said in his right ear. Then, “Was that ominous enough?”

“I give it an eight out of ten,” Gaby said through the comm.

“I was going for at least a nine.”

“Better luck next time.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Better Luck Next Time Danny. That’s what they called me in college, you know.”

“What school did you go to?” someone else asked through the radio. A woman. It sounded like either Bonnie’s little sister what’s-her-name or one of the other women whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn yet.

“Um, I don’t know,” Danny said.

“You don’t know?” the woman said, slightly amused.

“Well, no one’s ever had a follow-up question before.”

“Shouldn’t you have thought of one just in case?”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

“Hey, everyone, leave my boyfriend alone,” someone else said. Keo recognized Carly, the redhead. “Don’t listen to them, baby. Your jokes are awesome.”

“Ah, thanks, babe. You’re the bestest. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Not yet, but the night’s still young.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Gaby said.

Keo tuned them out, which was difficult because he was connected to the same channel as the entire island. After a while, their playful back and forth faded into the background and he was able to focus on…absolutely nothing.

He was sitting on the ground, his back pressed against a tree. The beach started less than a meter in front of him, and from his position he could see all of the piers, including the Trident, its white paint easily distinguishable in the darkness. Gaby was all the way on the other end of the beach, with the ex-Ranger somewhere in the middle.

Finally, Lara’s voice cut through all the jokes that were still going back and forth. “Blaine, come in.”

“Read you loud and clear,” Blaine answered.

“Is he there with you?”

The “he” in question was Gage, the boat captain.

“In front of me now,” Blaine said.

“Is he listening?” Lara asked.

“He’s listening…”

“Good. If he does something you don’t like—if it even looks like he might be thinking about doing something you won’t like—I want you to put a bullet in his other kneecap.”

“I hear you loud and clear.” There was, Keo thought, almost giddiness in Blaine’s voice when he answered.

No one likes you, Gage. That’s what happens when you go around marauding at the end of the world, dipshit.

“All right, it’s time for you guys to go,” Lara said.

“Roger that,” Blaine said. “We’ll see you when we see you.”

The Trident came alive, its whisper-quiet engine and 1,400 horsepower starting as a low whine before rising in volume. A moment later, its anchor rose out of the water like a metal serpent.

Keo hoped for their sake that whatever eyes the enemy had along the shorelines at the moment couldn’t make out the boat against the now-darkened island despite the white paint. The fact that the luxury yacht had powered up without turning on any of its lights would help to keep it invisible from a distance.

The large vessel began moving, turning and sending waves crashing against the beach as it did so.

“Thar she goes,” Danny said.

“How’s he doing that without lights?” Gaby asked.

“I guess that’s how he earned his captain’s hat. The rest of us have to parallel park, but they have to navigate by total darkness.”

“Are you just making that up?” Carly asked.

“Pretty much,” Danny said.

Keo held the night-vision goggles up to his eyes in order to see the vessel more clearly. It was cautiously moving away from the island, the water under it churning, before it turned completely around with all the speed of a bloated metal whale. For a one-legged marauding asshole with no redeeming values, Gage was a hell of a boat captain, because the man was doing all of this without the benefit of a single spotlight on or off the vessel.

“He’s wearing night-vision goggles,” Lara said through the comm. “That’s how he’s able to pilot in the dark.”

“I guess he’s not that special after all,” Danny said.

Keo could just make out Bonnie, the leggy ex-model, moving along the side of the main deck on the Trident. There was a third figure on the lower deck, but she had ducked inside as soon as the boat started moving. Probably Gwen, the short one with the impressive rack. He had yet to memorize everyone by name, and a part of him didn’t want to know.

A click in his ear, and Gaby’s voice. “Can’t they still see the boat from shore?”

“Can you see it without your night vision?” Lara asked.

“Let me see…” A brief pause, then, “Barely.”

“And you’re closer. If we’re lucky, they won’t be able to see it from the shorelines even with night vision.”

‘If we’re lucky,’ Keo thought with a slight smile. If you’re lucky, someone will survive tonight. If you’re unlucky, everyone will be dead, including me.

Which sucks for all of us, but especially me.

“We should have painted the whole thing black,” Danny was saying.

“There was no time,” Lara said.

The Trident was turning, before disappearing completely around the western corner of the island. He could still hear the engine, but it was already fading.

“Seven-thirty,” Lara said in his right ear. “If they’re coming, it’s going to be soon. Everyone buckle down for the night. No one goes anywhere unless I give the order.”

“Sheesh, who died and made her boss?” Danny asked.

“Everyone,” Carly said.

* * *

Eight o’clock came and went, and nothing happened.

The chatter over the radio had since died down, with only the occasional updates between Lara and the others spread out across the island. Or, in the case of Blaine, off-island. Everyone who didn’t have a gun and wasn’t in position to shoot something had been given explicit instructions not to break into the radio channel unless absolutely necessary. Much to his surprise, they were actually obeying protocol. Keo wasn’t used to civilians having that kind of discipline, but then he had to remind himself that everyone here had survived the end of the world. That, he guessed, took more than just dumb blind luck.

“Nate, come in,” Lara said around 8:17 p.m.

“Nate here.”

The kid who had just arrived on the island with Gaby and Danny was patrolling the northern cliffs, with Carrie and Jo (or was it one of the other girls?) moving around in the same general vicinity. The beach was the obvious target—it was wide and easily accessible—which was why he and two others equipped with night vision were watching it. But there was a chance the collaborators might risk scaling the cliffs, the way they had the last time the island came under attack.

“Anything on your end?” Lara asked.

“Nothing so far,” Nate said. Keo could hear a slight wind in the background from Nate’s side. He guessed the kid was very close to the cliff.

“Stay sharp, everyone.”

“Will do,” Nate said.

The other two women echoed him a second apart. He still couldn’t tell if one of them was Jo.

“Danny,” Lara said.

“Yes, milady,” Danny said.

“How’s it going down there?”

“No complaints. It’s a real beach.”

“Nice,” Gaby said.

“Thanks, kid.”

“Stay sharp,” Lara said.

“Don’t worry,” Danny said. “I’m so sharp they used to call me Danny The Really Sharp Guy back in college.”

“And what college would that be?” someone asked.

“Ah, man,” Danny groaned.

* * *

Nine o’clock came and went.

Then ten…

Click. “Maybe they’re not coming after all,” Carly said in his ear.

“Babe, I’m Captain Optimism here, remember?” Danny said. “I just wrestled the title back from Kazaam over there.”

“Who?”

“Kazaam.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Carly said.

“Shaquille O’Neal?”

“Okay, now you’re just making it worse.”

“Nineties movie. Shaquille O’Neal played a genie named Kazaam.”

There was silence over the radio.

“You know who I’m talking about, don’t you, Kablooey?” Danny asked.

“I don’t watch a lot of movies, sorry,” Keo said.

“Ah, you guys suck. Remind me never to invite any of you over to movie night.”

“Promise?” Gaby said.

“That hurts. That really, really hurts.”

“Hey, if you can’t take the heat,” Gaby started to say, when she stopped and said instead, “Danny.”

“I see it,” Danny said. “Karaoke, your ten o’clock.”

Keo had no trouble making them out against the green phosphor of the night-vision goggles he had put on an hour ago. Lara had given him a first-generation device, which was not nearly as bright or clear as the third-generation he was used to working with back in his old job. It was good enough, though, to let him spot the bright circles of light—at least a dozen of them—moving in their direction.

They were spotlights at the front of a fleet of boats.

He clicked his radio’s Push-To-Talk switch. “I see them.”

“You have the better angle,” Danny said. “What’s the count?”

“Ten.”

“That’s more than last time. Looks like they’re going to love us to death with sheer numbers.”

“You guys must be really special.”

“It’s the special sauce. Everyone wants the special sauce.”

“Ten boats?” Lara said through the radio. “Or ten spotlights, Keo?”

“Boats,” Keo said. “Ten boats. Confirmed.”

“Can you see what kind of boats?”

“Not a chance. Give them ten more minutes.”

“Benny, Carly?” Lara said.

“Keo’s right,” Carly said through the radio. Carly was in the Tower with Benny, using night-vision binoculars to keep an eye on the surrounding lake. “I see ten separate lights moving from the southeast shoreline. They’re launching from the old marina.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Lara said. “They have the entire lake to launch from. Why the marina?”

“Crazy kids be doing crazy things,” Danny said.

“You think it’s a trick?” Gaby asked.

Lara didn’t answer right away. After awhile, she said, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is where they’re headed. Nate, Carrie, and Jo, report in.”

“I don’t see anything back here,” Carrie said.

“Nothing here, either,” Jo said. “I can’t hear a single engine or see anything moving out there.”

“Confirming the big fat nothing,” Nate said. “It looks like they’re going to hit the beach straight on, just like you said.” Then, sounding slightly anxious, “I’m heading over there now.”

“No, stay where you are,” Lara said.

“I’ll be more useful down there.”

“Nate, I need everyone exactly where I put them. That’s an order. ”

“There’s nothing back here,” Nate said. “You were right. They’re going to assault the beach. That’s where I should be.”

“Stay where you are.”

“I’m coming—”

“Nate,” Gaby said, “do what Lara says. We’ll be fine over here.”

“I can be more useful down there,” Nate said.

“Please, hold your position. Lara knows what she’s doing.”

“Gaby…”

“Nate,” the girl said. There was a surprising hardness to her voice. “Please, stay where you are. We’ll be fine down here.”

There was a brief pause, then Nate said, “Roger that.”

Keo had to admit, he was impressed with the girl. He didn’t know a lot of nineteen-year-olds who had that kind of control over not just her emotions, but others as well. Nate might as well be putty in her hands.

“Blaine, Bonnie,” Lara said through the comm. “What do you see?”

“Confirming that everything’s clear back here,” Blaine said.

“Night vision?”

“Yeah, and still nothing.”

“Ditto for me,” Bonnie added. “You were right, Lara. They’re going to attack the beach with everything they have.”

“Weekend warriors,” Danny snorted. “These yahoos wouldn’t know a sound tactical plan if it bit them on their keisters.”

“Everyone maintain your positions,” Lara said. “Everyone has a job to do, so do your part.”

She sounded firm and in control. To listen to her, Keo could almost believe she wasn’t scared shitless at this very moment. Of course, he knew better, but she was doing exactly what she needed to—giving off the aura of confidence that the others needed to hear. Not bad for a third-year medical student.

“Lock and load, boys and girls,” Danny said. “Shoot first, shoot straight, and shoot often. And if all else fails, shoot some more.”

“You practiced that one, too, Danny?” Gaby asked.

“Yeah. How’d I do?”

“I’ll give it an eight.”

“Sweet, just two short of perfection,” Danny said.

* * *

The Heckler & Koch MP5SD had been a lifesaver, but right now it wasn’t going to do him a lot of good until the bad guys actually stepped foot on the sand.

Oh, look who’s calling other people ‘bad guys’ now. My, my, how times have changed.

He slung the submachine gun and slid it behind his back and picked up the M4 leaning against the tree next to him. He patted the ammo pouch along his left hip to make sure it was still there—six mags in all, loaded with silver bullets. Not that he was going to need anything that special on the people coming in the boats now.

Better safe than sorry, I guess. Seems to be the island’s other motto, right after ‘just in case.’

He slipped the night-vision goggles back on and moved closer toward the tree line until he was less than a yard away. In his dark clothes, he would be completely invisible (or pretty damn close) even if the men on the approaching boats had their own night-vision gear. Which, of course, they did. He remembered seeing them when they were prepping a few days ago back at the staging area. Even so, the tree line would provide him plenty of cover. That was his one and only advantage when the soldiers stormed the beach.

Should have left when you had the chance, pal. Live and learn.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the sound of the first boat motor reached him. It had taken them a while because they weren’t moving very fast. He guessed the fact that the island was pitch dark was the reason for their cautious approach. That, or they were dragging it out, dreading what awaited them. So maybe they were smarter than he gave them credit for.

A click in his right ear, followed by Danny’s voice. “Hey, Keo.”

“Yeah,” Keo said. He didn’t bother whispering. There was no point. The enemy was still too far away and the closest person to him was Danny, further down the beach.

“Carly tells me you’re on your way to see a girl in Texas.”

“Uh huh.”

“How’s that going?”

“About as well as you and this island.”

Danny chuckled. “That good, huh?”

“Yup.”

The boats had begun to spread out, which signaled they intended to hit the entire length of the beach at the same time instead of concentrating their forces into one spot. Too bad, because he would have loved to see what ten boats landing a few yards apart would have looked like, especially while he, Danny, and Gaby were pouring as much lead as they could manage at them.

“You’re all right, for a merc,” Danny was saying.

“You’re not bad, for a soldier.”

“You don’t like soldiers?”

“Never had much use for them.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that. I bet it goes deeper. Parental involvement, perhaps?”

Keo grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, grunt.”

“Heh heh, I knew it. What’s the matter, the old man rode you too hard?”

“Something like that.”

“You should have rode him back. Old people hate it when you ride ’em like a horsey.”

“Yeah, I should have thought of that.”

Watching the boats moving against the phosphorous green of his night vision was a surreal experience. The way the spotlights were bouncing up and down as the vessels picked up speed (and the rumble of motors gaining in intensity as a result) made him think of a legion of BMX bikers doing stunts as they charged.

“You wanna hear a joke?” Danny was asking.

“No,” Keo said.

“So this couple are out on a date and the guy realizes he’s out of condoms. He decides to make a pit stop at a grocery store and runs inside…”

“Hey, Danny,” Gaby said.

“What’s up, kid?”

“I’ll give you a buck if you shut up.”

“Tough beach,” Danny said.

* * *

Party boats, Keo thought when the first vessel emerged out of the black canvas like some demon from the pits of hell.

It was white and long, with red-hot rod flames along the sides, and flat. The driver sat in the middle, guiding the steering wheel while two men crouched at the stern and two more manned the bow. They were wearing battle gear, complete with ballistic Kevlar helmets and knee and elbow pads. Keo could almost see their faces constricted into tight grimaces as they held onto the speeding boat as it burst out of the water. Like him, they were all wearing night-vision goggles, the long lens bobbing up and down like extra appendages.

Hot rod was the first boat to hit the beach fifty meters in front of him, its sharp front hull digging a trench as it was driven forward by a roaring motor. The driver was battling with the steering wheel, looking almost spastic, while the passengers hung on to keep from being thrown off by the erratic vessel. When they were closer, he saw that the two up front were actually attached to the boat by coiled cables clipped to their belts. Flurries of sand arced through the air as the propellers came into contact with the beach.

Still on one knee, Keo lifted the M4 and switched on the laser pointer underneath the barrel. A red beam pierced the darkness, clearly visible through the green of his NVG. Keo stood up and focused on the boat that had made landfall first; it just happened to be directly in front of him. He watched the two on the bow struggling furiously to free themselves from the cables. One of them finally got himself unattached and was standing up when Keo settled the half-inch red dot on the man’s chest and put two rounds into him. Despite being unsuppressed, unlike his MP5SD, both shots were barely audible against the raging storm of ten boat motors roaring in his ears at the same time.

The dead man slumped off the boat and his partner, seeing his comrade go down, decided to give up trying to manually detach himself and began ramming the butt of his rifle into the hook that held him hostage.

Losing your cool during the heat of battle is a good way to die, pal.

Keo shot him in the right thigh, then squeezed off two more rounds even as the man was going down. He was pretty sure he hit the guy at least one more time. Fifty meters should have been a difficult shot for him, even with the long-range ability of a rifle, but the red laser dot made it a cheat. Not that he spent more than a nanosecond giving a damn.

The two on the stern had already decoupled themselves and were hopping off the boat, even as more vessels shot out of the water and made landfall to the left and right of them. More sand arced into the air, and the roar of the motors became deafening.

Meanwhile, the driver of the hot rod had ducked his head behind the steering wheel, and the only thing Keo could make out from him was the twin protruding lens of his NVG over the console. Keo ignored the hidden man and turned his attention to the two running up the beach, one of them struggling to maintain control of his rifle while the other had lost his night vision along the way.

They weren’t the only two trudging their way forward, their heavy boots and equipment causing them to sink into the soft beach, further slowing them down. They should have considered that when they were gearing up for the attack. He thought of something the British used to say called the 7 Ps: Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance.

More boats were landing one by one now, hitting the long stretch of sand many meters apart. He wondered if that was part of the plan or a byproduct of the drivers trying not to crash into each other in the darkness.

As soon as he fired his first shot, Danny and Gaby immediately joined in, pouring bullets into the surging mass of black-clad bodies trying to jump off their vessels up and down the beach. The pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire clashed with the continuous whirl of machinery, creating an odd melody that was painfully out of tune.

They had plenty of targets to choose from. Too many, in fact. The surging men looked like ants trudging and falling and stumbling as they attempted to flee from the open. They might not have any combat experience, but he couldn’t fault their tactical awareness. They knew just enough to understand that standing on the beach right now was a death sentence. Most of them hadn’t even returned fire, probably because they had no idea where he or Danny and Gaby were.

Keo flicked the fire selector on his M4 to full-auto and emptied the remaining magazine into the group of black-clad figures directly in front of him. They were already angling left toward the opening in the woods that led to the hotel grounds. Most of the soldiers were irresistibly drawn to it like moths to the flame, while only a few stayed behind to use the beached boats as cover and to return fire into the woods.

He didn’t know how many had already fallen, and he didn’t bother counting. He just knew that men were going down as he oscillated his fire from left to right, shearing the leaves and branches that had kept him hidden until now. The smell of burning foliage filled his nostrils and Keo was still smelling it as he emptied his weapon.

He hustled to his right, ejecting the magazine and slamming in a new one as he went.

A group of charging men was returning fire. They didn’t know where he was exactly inside the tree line, but even an idiot could tell his general vicinity after his last barrage. And that was where they were concentrating their fire now. Fortunately he wasn’t there anymore, and was still moving right, continuing to use the woods to his advantage.

He took a step closer toward the beach, stopping only when he could see out again, and went down on one knee, ignoring the zip-zip-zip of bullets slamming into the section of the woods where he had been just seconds ago. He was now a good twenty meters from his last position and the soldiers were still stuck in no-man’s land. The group of battle-dressed figures that had unleashed on him was reloading, while others continued running toward the passageway.

Fallen black-clad bodies zig-zagged the length of the beach, stretching from the parked boats to the trees. That was a sign Danny and Gaby were doing their part. Not that he expected any less from the soldier, though the girl continued to be a revelation. The pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire continued back and forth, still smashing against the roar of motors that had been left unattended as their drivers darted for safety.

The group that had returned fire on his last position had just finished reloading when Keo stepped outside of the trees and onto the beach, opening up on them. He felt the sand sinking under his boots as he pulled the trigger. He was so close to them that he didn’t even need to use the red dot this time; he just kept the trigger depressed until all four men had fallen down and stopped moving.

Keo quickly searched for more targets, but there were none to be found. The rest had already made it into the opening at the center of the beach and were on their way to the hotel grounds right this moment.

How many had gotten through? He couldn’t tell. If there were at least four per boat (five in some), that meant over forty soldiers, easily. And he was pretty damn sure he didn’t see forty-plus bodies lying on the beach at the moment.

He tossed the carbine, then unslung the MP5SD. The familiar feel of the submachine gun immediately reassured him, and Keo took hurried steps back into the tree line where he wouldn’t be exposed. He hadn’t gotten completely back inside cover when he heard the hellacious explosion of gunfire coming from the cobblestone pathway to his right.

It seemed to go on forever, and Keo found himself standing still and listening, wondering how many were dead or dying. That would depend on how many had managed to survive the beach.

Ten? Twenty?

A lot.

He looked back at the bodies lying under the moonlight. Too many to count. Some were his, some were Danny’s, some were Gaby’s. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Soldiers died—often. Even weekend warriors. And these poor bastards were only shot with small-arms fire. It beat having an arm or leg amputated by a large-caliber round from close range. He’d seen plenty of that, too.

You pick up a gun, this is what happens. Sooner or later, someone has a bigger gun, or has a better fighting position. Either way, live by the gun, die by the gun.

One of these days, that same thing would happen to him. Keo was fully prepared for it. He had been ready, even before the world ended. Surviving when so many had perished that first night had been a miraculous event. It was akin to making it through the Rapture. He was pretty sure someone, somewhere, had screwed up.

Keo looked back at the beach, past the unmoving figures and at the boats. Almost all of the motors had shut down except for a couple still running, still sending streams of sand and water into the air behind them.

He could take one of those boats and leave right now, take his chances back at the channel…again. (Second time’s the charm, right?) Would the sniper still be there? What about the men in the Jeep? Or was everybody already here, storming the beach? It made sense for the collaborators to throw everyone at them at the same time. That’s what he would have done—

BOOM!

The island shook under his boots and continued for at least two full seconds before settling again.

An explosion. Not a big one, judging by the short duration of the aftershock, but big enough for him to hear it over the continued churning of the few remaining motors on the beach.

Keo looked back into the woods, toward the northwest part of the island. He knew the sound (and feel) of an explosive device going off when he heard one, even from a distance.

“What was that?” a voice gasped in his right ear. Lara. “Anyone know what that was or where it came from? Someone answer me!”

No one answered for the longest time. Or maybe it just seemed like a long time. It could have been only a few seconds.

Keo looked back at the boats again. Nine of the vessels had gone silent, leaving a lone one to continue spinning sand into the air. It was a nice white bass fishing boat, just big enough to take him wherever he wanted to go.

So what was he waiting for?

He sighed, turned around, and waded through a sea of black and green and shadows, dodging trees and pushing his way north as fast as he could. He was carrying a noticeably lighter load now without the M4 and most of its ammo. The MP5SD was gripped tightly in front of him, and he used it to bat at branches in his path.

“The shack!” Carly finally shouted through the radio. “It’s the shack!”

“Shack?” someone else said. Male. It sounded like Nate, but it was hard to tell because his heart was beating too hard against his chest. “What shack?”

“The one at the power station!” Carly shouted. “It’s open! Lara, the shack’s open!”

19

Josh

“It’s dark; I think they turned off the lights,” Travis said, his voice partially obscured by the harsh sound of wind rushing against him. “I can’t see shit.”

“It’s an island,” Josh said, his own voice slightly muffled by the gas mask over his face. “It’s not going to start moving now. Just keep going straight and you’ll run into it eventually. Besides, that’s why I ordered everyone to pack night-vision goggles.”

“Have you ever assaulted an island with night vision?”

“Just get the job done,” Josh said, slightly irritated.

Travis might have laughed at the other end of the radio. Or snickered. It was a little difficult to tell, because sounds echoed inside the close confines of the tunnel.

“This is a stupid plan,” Travis said.

That’s your part of the plan, but it’s not the plan.

“Keep going,” he said. “We’re taking Song Island tonight—” even if I have to sacrifice you to do it “—because that’s what she wants.”

That did it. Just mentioning her was enough to shut Travis up.

Next to him, Sonia shifted her legs again, the soft plopping sound of her boots moving against the puddles of water that had settled and still continued to drip-drip-drip lazily from the ceiling above them. It wasn’t nearly as bad as when they were moving through the length of the tunnel about an hour ago. He was glad he was wearing combat boots because there was no telling what types of infestation had taken root inside the concrete structure ever since Will and the others sealed it up months ago. Or thought they had, anyway.

The gas mask he was wearing helped, the breathing apparatus filtering out all the suffocating stink of the long tube that connected the shoreline with Song Island, eventually opening up onto a large shack next to the power station.

Josh glanced down at his watch and was glad it had glow-in-the-dark hands. Travis and the boats had just started off from the marina a few minutes ago. It would take them a while moving at their current speed to reach their destination. Making them take off from the familiar marina was on purpose; Josh wanted the island to see them coming, to draw all their attention.

“How long?” Sonia called up the stairs.

“Five minutes!” a voice shouted back down at them.

Josh could see and feel the staccato glow of the cutting torches working their way against the steel shack door above the stairs right now. At one point, the people responsible for constructing Song Island had used the tunnel to bring supplies over from the mainland, transporting them by trucks to this cavernous room that looked like some kind of tomb at the moment, even with strategically placed LED portable lamps to light their way. The door was going to be a tight fit, and he would have preferred to use the wider cargo elevators, but those weren’t going to work without any power available down here. No, it would have to be the stairs and the shack.

He spent the next few minutes glancing at the gas-masked faces standing, sitting, or leaning against the thick walls around him. Thirty. That was how many heavily armed soldiers in battle gear he had brought with him through the tunnel, unnoticed by whoever was in the Tower at the time.

It hadn’t been easy, but once darkness fell and the island, predictably, went into action to get ready for the impending attack on the beach, Josh’s people were able to sneak over to the tunnel entrance and remove just enough of the rubble to gain entry. Under the cover of night, and wearing all-black while carrying nothing that would give them away against the blackness, they had made the almost mile-long walk from their vehicles to the tunnel entrance. Josh had been counting on whoever was in the Tower tonight being accustomed to movement on land by Kate’s creatures as soon as darkness fell. Removing the debris took time, but he had plenty of men to make short work of the necessary labor.

After that, it was a matter of jogging through the tunnel that extended under Beaufont Lake like an unused limb. The thought of moving under the large body of water had been unnerving at first, but that was just the side effect of having once “died” out here. It had been one of his worst experiences, and the idea of being trapped down here was almost paralyzing. But all he had to do was remind himself that the others were watching him, waiting for signs of weakness, and he was able to power through.

Drip-drip-drip.

Most of the men gathered round him looked anxious, and some were clearly terrified. They tried to hide it by looking away or chatting quietly among themselves, but he could hear the quivering in their voices even behind their gas masks. They had every right to be afraid. Even if their approach to the tunnel entrance had been discovered, Josh would have still stuck to the plan. He had brought plenty of men for just that possibility. Even if every gun on Song Island was concentrated outside the power station at the moment, Josh would have ordered these men out there anyway.

And they would have gone through with it, because she had given the order through him, and these men had sold their souls. Guns were scary, but a legion of mangled teeth coming at you relentlessly, night after night, was more terrifying.

Josh didn’t blame them. He remembered those nights before he saw the light and stopped fighting the inevitable. This wasn’t a war, as Will falsely believed; this was conquest. It was already over, and only the stubborn kept pretending it wasn’t.

Except for Sonia and a few others crouched nearby, Josh didn’t know the names of most of these people he was leading at the moment. If not for the name tags, he wouldn’t be able to tell one man from another, which, Josh had found, was a good idea. What was the point of memorizing the names of dead men?

What’s that old saying? Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Or killing a few guys.

Okay, a lot of guys.

He remembered the looks on their faces when he told them their roles in the attack. Half of them wanted to curse him, and the other half wanted to shoot him right then and there. Travis, he was certain, wanted to do both.

But they did neither of those things. Because they knew who Josh was. He was one of the chosen ones. To disobey him was to disobey the ghouls. To disobey her.

“Take the island,” Kate had said to him last night in his dream (nightmare?).

“I will,” he had replied.

“Whatever it takes,” she had said, “Song Island has to fall. It’s become a symbol. It has to fall at all costs.”

But not at the cost of Gaby’s life, Josh thought to himself now.

Drip-drip-drip.

She was on the island right now. His Gaby. He knew it with absolute certainly, even if he had no visual confirmation. She would have returned with Danny and the new arrivals from earlier, all because Mason had screwed him over and was solely concentrating on capturing Will. Josh guessed he couldn’t really blame the guy. Mason was doing Kate’s bidding, just like he was. Just like they all were. At the end of the day, Kate’s needs were the only things that mattered.

He looked back at Sonia. “How much longer?”

She leaned into the stairwell and glanced up. “How much longer?”

“Almost done!” a voice shouted back down.

“Almost there,” she repeated to him.

Josh nodded and turned back to the gathered men. They had heard, too, and the ones who were sitting had stood and the ones leaning were straightening. Electricity filled the room, emanating from the almost three dozen bodies squeezed into the tunnel. They were ready, anxious, and terrified at the same time.

Drip-drip-drip.

“Take the hotel,” Josh said to them. He wanted to be loud and commanding, but his words came out flat and echo-y to his own ears. He gathered himself and continued. “That’s your job. That’s your only job. Once the hotel falls, the island will follow. Got it?”

Some nodded, but others were too scared to do much besides fumble with their rifles or equipment in an attempt to stop their hands from shaking. Josh didn’t quite understand why he was feeling so calm. Like these men, he’d never (willingly or not) gone into a war zone before, which was what he was about to do right now.

And yet, and yet…

I’m one of the chosen ones. Whatever happens, I’ll be fine. Because it’s fate. Just like Gaby and me. We belong together.

Always. Forever.

“What about them?” one of the men said. He was looking behind them at the wide half-circle entrance that connected the large room they were inside now with the rest of the tunnel.

He couldn’t see them, because they were keeping their distance just as she had ordered them to. He wasn’t quite sure how many were back there, invisible in the darkness beyond the ring of LED lamps spread out across the large room, but there had to be hundreds, maybe more. They had entered the tunnel only after Josh’s people had begun moving through the over-half-mile-long concrete structure.

Kate’s ghouls. Or were they his?

Maybe ours…

Josh pulled the gas mask off and breathed in the stench. It reeked in here, made worse with the creatures nearby. One of them was bad, but so many crowded into one room without ventilation was unbearable. He pushed through the smell and sucked in a large lungful of the stale air anyway.

“Forget about them,” he said, hoping the confidence came through in his voice that time. He couldn’t be sure if he had succeeded, though a couple of the men did look comforted, even if he could only see their eyes behind their gas masks. “They’re only here as a last resort—not that we’ll need them. We’ll get this done, men. Everyone just do your jobs, and this will be over in a few hours.”

He must have been pretty convincing, because that seemed to placate most of the men; there might have been one or two (or a dozen) that weren’t moved. It was less about him and more about being so close to the creatures gathered en masse behind them. They might not have been able to see those black eyes, but their stink…

Josh slipped the gas mask back on and was grateful for the filtered air that flowed to his lungs.

“They’re done,” Sonia said.

Footsteps echoed as two men wearing welding masks, rivers of sweat dripping off their faces and clothes, trudged down the stairs carrying heavy portable equipment, the two cylinders inside clinking with every step. They looked exhausted and were leading two more men hauling a thick metal plate between them. The door. Or a part of it that had been cut free. It must have been extremely heavy by the way the men’s eyes were clenched behind their gas masks.

Josh and Sonia stepped aside to let them exit the stairwell. Then he leaned inside and glanced up, not that he could see much of anything even with the portable LED lamps sitting at the very top step.

After Will and Danny closed and then locked the shack, they had sealed it with two layers of brick and mortar. That was why Josh couldn’t see anything now, even with the hole where the door used to be.

“You ready?” Sonia said to someone behind him.

Hank and two others walked over to his position. They were carrying backpacks, and while Hank seemed comfortable with the items, the other two couldn’t hide their nervousness. It almost looked as if they might both bolt at any second.

“Relax,” Hank said. “Nothing’s going to blow up unless I want them to.”

That didn’t make the other two relax at all. Josh stood aside to let the three men go up the steps.

Sonia leaned closer to him. “What’s in those bags?”

“C4,” Josh said.

“Explosives?”

“Uh huh.”

“Should we, uh, move farther away?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Josh nodded.

He took a couple of steps back, and Sonia did the same. They stopped, looked toward the stairs, then at each other, before taking another half dozen more steps backward.

Around them, the other black-clad figures tried to move as far away from the stairwell as they could, though of course there weren’t a whole lot of places for them to go. The only possible way to retreat further was the adjoining tunnel, and it was already occupied.

* * *

He knew Travis and the others had finally landed on the beach when the pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire penetrated the thick walls around him. The gunshots sounded wet and echo-y, like everything else around him at the moment.

He was heartened that the battle seemed to be getting louder, which was a sure sign Travis (if he was even still alive) and the men were pushing inward, just as planned. Josh didn’t know how many guns Lara would have on the beach waiting for them, but he knew she would have everyone she could afford over there right now.

That’s it, Lara. Concentrate on the beach. Just like I want you to.

Where else was he going to land people, after all? Was he going to make them climb up the cliffs? That wasn’t going to work. Besides the fact that his soldiers weren’t really soldiers, they had seen armed guards walking around everywhere. Not to mention in the Tower. They could see every damn thing from that building. Besides, Lara and Danny would remember that Karen had sneaked onto the island that way the first time, and they’d be ready for it.

No. It had to be the beach. It was the most obvious access point to the island. Everyone knew it; there was no point in getting cute. That knowledge, more than anything, was why he was down here at the moment.

Josh had an idea about how things were going up there, but he hadn’t been in contact with Travis in almost twenty minutes. He didn’t really need to know all the details anyway. The men had their orders: Attack the island and take the hotel. What could be more simple than that? Did he really expect them to reach the hotel? Not really. Even without Will, there was still Danny. The guy was an ex-Army Ranger. He would know how to coordinate a proper defense. With enough people and enough rifles, you could do a lot of damage. Even an idiot could fire a gun.

Josh was crouched next to Sonia, with Hank’s large form in front of them. The older man, a former demolitions expert in his past life, had his gas mask perched on top of his head and was wrestling with a thin, bright-yellow plastic rope that snaked all the way around the stairway entrance ten yards in front of him. The detonation cord. The rest of the line was connected to a six-inch-long tube. Josh had expected something more dangerous looking given what was on the other end of the wiring, but apparently all you needed to set off C4 was something that looked like a Roman candle.

Finding Hank among the soldiers had been serendipitous. Locating the C4 had been more troublesome, but with the army depots open to them, all it took was some searching. Fortunately for Josh, he had plenty of manpower to throw into the simple job.

When he was finished, Hank threw a quick look over his shoulder. His bright red beard and hair stood out even in the semidarkness. “Better cover your ears. It’s gonna get real loud in here.”

Josh took out the earplugs Hank had given him earlier and slipped them on. Sonia did likewise. The rest of the men had to make do with pressing their hands over their ears. Some were curling up into a ball on the floor as if that would protect them if Hank misjudged and the ceiling caved in on them.

He glanced up. The entire room was made of concrete, and the faded gray looked surreal against the LED lights. What if the room actually caved in on him? After all, it had been a while since Hank blew something up, and maybe his skills had gotten rusty?

That last thought, more than anything, made Josh shiver slightly.

“You okay?” Sonia said quietly next to him. She had said it just low enough that the others (hopefully) couldn’t hear.

Josh nodded back. Then, to Hank in front of him, “Are you sure this is safe?”

“Should be,” Hank said. The man sounded just a bit too glib for Josh’s tastes. “I put just enough to blow through the walls.”

“‘Should be’?” Sonia said.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Josh asked.

“Of course,” Hank said, sounding almost offended. “I used to do this for a living, remember?” He squinted at Josh in the semidarkness, his heavily lined face covered in sweat and grime. “You want me to do this or not? It’s up to you, kid. You’re the boss. You want me to shut this down?”

Josh stared back at him.

I am the boss.

He saw the challenge in Hank’s eyes. It was the same look all the others gave him whenever he told them to do something. They despised the idea that a nineteen-year-old “kid” was leading them, giving orders. They couldn’t stomach that he was chosen and they were not, even though, like him, they had all sold their souls to the ghouls.

But he had done it for Gaby. In order to save her and to ensure their future.

I’m the boss. I’m in control.

“No,” Josh said, staring back at Hank. “Do it.”

“You’re the boss,” Hank said.

You’re damn right I am.

Hank slipped the gas mask back down over his face, while Sonia slid closer until she brushed up against Josh. He didn’t know if she’d sought out the contact or if it was an accident. Not that he minded. He enjoyed the warmth of her closeness.

“Fire in the hole!” Hank shouted, just before there was a soft click.

Almost instantaneously, there was a loud, crashing BOOM!

The walls and floor and even the ceiling shook, and continued to shake for what seemed like an eternity. Despite the earplugs, the explosion was earsplitting in the close confines of the tunnel, and he actually flinched even though he knew it was coming. Thank God it was just dark enough and everyone was probably too busy keeping their heads down to notice his response.

Pek-pek-pek as debris trickled down the stairs in front of him, followed by a thick cloud of dust—red and white from the brick and mortar—that plumed out of the stairwell opening like some kind of smog monster. Josh snapped his eyes shut, expecting to be hit full in the face by the spreading aftermath, but of course he didn’t have to because the gas mask protected him.

He continued to breathe normally, even though men were coughing erratically around him. Sonia had moved even closer, and he fought the urge to wrap one arm around her slim body to keep her safe.

He thought about Gaby instead.

I’m doing this for you. Everything I’ve done, it’s for you. Please be safe up there. If anything happens to you, all of this will be for nothing.

He summoned all the courage he had and stood up in the swirling smoke. “Go!” he shouted. “Get your asses moving now! Move move move!”

To his surprise, they burst into action. Maybe he was more convincing than he gave himself credit for. Or maybe they were too shocked and disoriented and were looking for the first voice to give them orders, and it just so happened to be him. Or maybe, finally, they recognized his authority and were reacting accordingly.

I’m the boss. I’m in control.

They ran past him and up the stairs, boots crunching debris as they went. It was a long stream of black-suited figures, one after another, and for what seemed like forever, Josh stood tall and proud and watched them go.

“Take the hotel first!” he shouted after his men (his soldiers!). “Take the hotel, and the island will fall!”

20

Lara

“It’s okay to be nervous. When they come, just shoot straight. Don’t be afraid of friendly fire. No one we know will be coming up this path. It’ll just be the bad guys. Okay?”

Stan nodded and tried to smile back at her. She could just barely make him out on the other side, with just the moonlight to keep the both of them from standing completely in darkness. He was much older than her and could have been her father, and she wondered if he found the idea of her attempting to comfort him just as absurd as she did.

She was crouched next to some trees and listening to the sound of boat motors getting closer. It seemed as if they had been coming for hours now. What was taking them so long?

Be careful what you wish for.

It wouldn’t be long now before heavily armed men began rushing up the beach in an attempt to kill her and everyone on the island. It was going to be bloody. Even more so than the last time. And back then she had Will, and there weren’t nearly as many men coming.

Ten boats. At least four men to a boat. At least.

How were they going to kill so many? And could they really go through with this? Could she? The idea of spilling so much blood just to keep the island should have horrified her, but it didn’t. That, more than anything, made her hands tremble so much she had to rub them against her pants just to give them something to do.

This wasn’t what she had envisioned doing with the rest of her life. Not that she had any choice in the matter. The decisions had been made for her. Out there. By Kate.

Where did you get so many men willing to die for you, Kate? Was this the plan all along? Make us kill each other?

She pushed those useless thoughts away and focused on the here and now. It didn’t matter where these men came from or who they were. They were coming fast and armed and they had only one goal, and she couldn’t allow that. Not with everyone’s lives at stake. Carly, Vera, Elise, and all the poor souls who had come here hoping for a new start.

As afraid as she was about what was about to happen, Lara was also angry. More than that, she was pissed off. She wondered if this was how Will felt whenever he went into battle. No, probably not. Will was always pragmatic. He wouldn’t really look at the men coming on boats now as anything but obstacles to overcome.

You should be here with me right now, Will. Where the hell are you?

You promised you’d come home…

She remained crouched behind the wall of trees, next to the ten-yard-wide pathway that connected the beach and stretched about half a football field until it reached the wide open grounds behind them. Without the lamps that serpentined across the island, everything was blackened, including the hotel and the unfinished swimming pools. The only structure on the entire island that still had lights was the Tower, glowing brightly behind her, and that was only because of the LED lamps on the third floor.

Even the birds that usually chirped away, oblivious to human presence on the island, had gone uncharacteristically quiet tonight.

Did they know? Of course not. How could they?

Behind her, Sarah shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet, apparently unable to decide whether she wanted to sit down or remain standing.

“You okay?” Lara whispered over her shoulder.

Like Stan a few seconds ago, Sarah tried to smile, and just like Stan, it came out poorly. “I’ve never shot anyone before.”

“You’ll do fine. Just follow my lead.”

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Killing someone. What’s it like?”

“Don’t think about it. Shoot, reload, and keep shooting until there’s nothing to shoot at anymore. They’re coming here to kill us. Just keep reminding yourself of that. Do it for Jenny. For Mae. For everyone who is counting on us right now.”

Sarah nodded mutely, then went back to trying to decide whether to sit or stand, and constantly changing up her grip on the M4.

“You’ll do fine,” Lara said again, and hoped it was at least convincing. Judging by Sarah’s face, she guessed she was only halfway successful.

There was a time when Lara had been just like Sarah—scared and uncomfortable with a gun in her hands. Those days were long gone, and even as she turned back to the darkness, she wished Will’s face was looking back at her.

You promised me, Will. Where are you?

But he wasn’t there. Instead, she saw Roy, his blond hair easy to spot in the semidarkness. He had moved away from the trees and was standing next to Stan in a spot that allowed him to remain behind cover while still able to peer down the pathway and at the moonlit beach on the other side. Compared to Stan, Roy looked strangely serene, the M4 hanging almost naturally from a sling in front of him. She knew better, of course. Roy was a former IT man, and the closest he’d ever come to holding a gun in his life before The Purge was playing Call of Duty on the PlayStation.

Roy glanced over and grinned at her. “Remember that time in the woods? When we were chasing West?”

She smiled back. “Yes.”

“Man, I was so unprepared back then.”

“Not anymore.”

“Not anymore. What’s that motto of yours again?”

“Which one?”

“‘Adapt or perish’?”

“Ah.”

“I guess you can say I’ve successfully adapted.”

And not a moment too soon.

“They’re taking their sweet time,” Roy said. “I wish they’d get here already. My legs are cramping up from the waiting.”

Be careful what you wish for, Lara thought for the second time as the sound of motors seemed to increase in decibel on cue.

It wouldn’t be long now…

There was a click in her right ear, and she heard Blaine’s voice through the earbud connected to her radio. “Lara.”

Lara pressed the PTT dangling from her vest. “Yeah, Blaine.”

“They’re getting closer, right? We can hear them all the way on the other side of the island.”

“Yeah, they’re getting closer.”

“Keo said ten boats?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand why they’re just attacking the beach with ten boats. Is that all they have?”

“I don’t know,” Lara said. Then, “Keo.”

“Yeah,” Keo said through the radio.

“How many boats did you see when you were at their staging area?”

“I didn’t exactly do an official count. Most of them were already in the water.” He paused, seemed to think about it some more, before adding, “Remember what we talked about? How they’ve been going around sinking boats for a while now, trying to keep everyone on land? Maybe these ten are all they have left in the area.”

“What a bunch of asshats,” Danny said. “I bet a lot of people paid good money for those boats.”

“What are you thinking, Blaine?” Lara asked.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Blaine said.

“Spit it out,” Danny said.

“It’s just that…this is pretty bold of them, to just think they can invade Song Island by hitting the beach,” Blaine said. “Especially knowing how it all turned out last time.”

She didn’t blame Blaine for being suspicious. That was all she had been doing since they spotted the ten boats. But there was no way to alter the plan now, not with the attackers bearing down on them.

“Blaine has a point,” she said into the radio. “This could all be one big diversion. There could be more approaching from the other sides. Report in as soon as you see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Anything at all. Understand?”

The others responded one by one.

“I wish Will was here,” Sarah said quietly behind her.

So do I. God, so do I.

On the other side of the trees, the sound of boat motors seemed to have picked up in volume. She knew what that meant: They were getting closer.

“Look alive, boys and girls,” Danny said through the radio. “Here they come. Shoot straight, shoot often, and keep moving. Do not—I say again—do not let them get a bead on you. It’s a big beach. Use it.”

* * *

Keo fired first. She knew it was him because the gunshot came from the other side of the pathway. Danny was in the middle, while Gaby was camped to her left.

Once Keo let go with the first shot, the shooting didn’t stop. It sounded like thunder crashing against the beach over and over again, first concentrated on one side, then the other, and before she knew it, it was impossible to pinpoint where the bulk of the gunfire was coming from because it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

If Sarah was nervous before, she was on overdrive now. Lara could feel the other woman’s anxiety in the warm breaths hitting her in the back of the neck. Across from her, Stan was equally anxious, gripping and ungripping his M4 at least a dozen times in as many seconds. Roy seemed to be faring better, though even he had gone into a crouch to keep his feet from fidgeting.

Lara had to fight her own instincts. She wanted badly to peek into the pathway, to see if they were coming yet, or get a glimpse of the gunfight that was taking place on the beach at this very moment. But she didn’t, because doing so might give away her position. That, and the prospect of getting hit with a stray bullet flying from the beach was more than enough motivation to keep her rooted in place.

Staying still became more difficult when bullets began pelting the trees behind and around her. Branches snapped off and whenever a round zipped! nearby, she flinched, while Sarah gasped audibly. The assaulters were pouring everything they had into the woods, obviously trying to hit Danny, who was somewhere in front of them, moving constantly and using the trees as cover. That didn’t stop them from firing into the woods anyway, and branches were continually snapping around her, some just a little bit too close for comfort.

She exerted every ounce of control she had to remain perfectly still, even if every instinct she had told her to move, move, move.

No one was talking—not Danny or Keo or Gaby, or anyone else plugged into the channel, which was everyone on the island with a radio. Like her, they were mesmerized by the chaotic back and forth, the never-ending pop-pop-pop of assault rifles crashing up and down the length of the beach.

It went on and on, and whenever she thought it would calm down, having run its course, it picked up again.

My God, how many men are out there? How many have they killed already? How many more do we have to kill? I don’t want this. This bloodbath.

God help me, I never wanted this…

Then, through the tumultuous pounding of gunfire and her own thrumming chest, she heard the click! that she had been waiting for, followed by Danny’s voice, slightly out of breath, shouting into her ear. “Hot Gates! Persians in the Hot Gates!”

Lara snapped her eyes shut and counted down from ten.

The first step was to rein in her heartbeat. It was racing too fast, threatening to overwhelm her.

Nine…

She clutched and unclutched the pistol grip under the M4’s barrel.

Eight…

Made sure the fire selector was on full-auto.

Seven…

Behind her, Sarah whispered, “Oh, God.”

Six…

Opened her eyes back up.

Five…

Roy was staring across the pathway at her, and he managed a nervous smile.

Four…

She smiled back at him, hoping the confidence she was faking came through all right, but knowing it probably wasn’t even close to being convincing.

Three…

“Oh, God,” Sarah said again.

Two…

She located the trigger on her rifle.

One…

“Now!” she screamed.

She might have run or walked really fast. She wasn’t quite sure. One second she was hiding behind the trees, the next she had moved out from behind cover and into the open, spun around sixty degrees until she was facing the beach, and even before she saw the first black-clad figure rushing up the cobblestone path right at her, she was already squeezing the trigger.

There had to be a dozen of them—maybe more—racing up the ten-yard-wide opening with wild abandon, the adrenaline of the beach landing clearly surging through them. She didn’t need the lamps to see they were wearing black uniforms and helmets. Moonlight glinted off the rifles swinging back and forth in their hands as they charged forward.

They had no idea she was there. Or Stan, running out from behind his part of the woods and going into a crouch. Or Roy, positioning himself behind the electrician. Sarah might have followed her out from cover and into the open, too, but Lara didn’t have the second or two it would have taken to make sure.

She was too busy shooting.

They fell like dominos. She was glad it was too dark to make out each individual man, because that would have meant thinking of them as men. Right now, she couldn’t afford that, because killing was still unnatural to her even as she tried to convince herself this was necessary, that it was kill or be killed. The anger that had carried her through the last few minutes flooded out of her with every bullet she poured into the mass of bodies, replaced by pity and horror.

But none of that made her take her finger off the trigger—all she had to do was think of Elise, of Vera, of the teenagers who had come with Bonnie—and she was able to hold on as the rifle bucked and the magazine emptied at a dizzying rate. She wasn’t shooting at any one person—she was shooting at all of them.

Roy and Stan were still firing into the ten-yard-wide pathway when Lara ejected her magazine and grabbed a new one, slamming it home. She became vaguely aware of Sarah crying while the rifle in her hands was bucking again and again. The other woman still had her weapon set to semi-automatic for some reason.

They were crumpled in front of her, the closest one having gotten halfway up the road before she felled him. She didn’t count the number of lumps lying across the cobblestone floor. She didn’t want to.

(A dozen? Two? Too many…)

She finished reloading and started shooting again. She didn’t even know what she was shooting at. There may or may not still be men moving around in front of her. She might have simply been firing into the pile of bodies now, looking for survivors that might not even exist.

She thought of Elise and Vera again and didn’t stop shooting until she was empty a second time. Then she instinctively ejected the magazine and groped for a third one from around her waist.

Roy and Stan were frantically changing magazines to her right, but Sarah was holding her M4 uselessly at her side. The woman had stopped crying, and the sudden quiet was deafening, with the only noise coming from the clicking of metal as they reloaded their weapons.

“Oh, Jesus,” Roy said.

He was looking at a lone black-clad figure crawling out of the pile of bodies. It was a man, but he might as well have been a ghoul because that was all they could see—a twisted, bloodied black thing moving slowly, painfully toward them. He might have been groaning, or moaning, or even saying something, but it was hard to tell. Or maybe she just didn’t want to know for sure. The man was having trouble pulling his legs out of the unmoving bodies stacked on top of him.

Roy put away his rifle, drew his handgun, and aimed at the man.

Lara waited for him to shoot, but the gunshot never came.

Roy finally let out a sigh and lowered the gun to his side. “I can’t,” he said, almost breathlessly.

Lara drew her own sidearm slowly. It was the only way she could get it out because her hand was shaking, her fingers having a difficult time gripping the Glock.

She took aim at the figure, even as the man lifted a hand toward her, but before she could fire there was a loud bang!

One side of the man’s head exploded and showered the cobblestone. The body slumped to the ground and didn’t move again.

A figure walked calmly out of the tree line to their left side, and a voice said, “I come in peace.”

Danny.

Lara gratefully holstered her gun. Her hand was still trembling slightly, and she had to grip the M4 to give it something to do.

Danny walked toward them with a noticeable slight limp. He opened his mouth to say something when—

BOOM!

The ground shook for a few seconds, and Sarah gasped loudly behind her.

“What the hell was that?” Roy almost shouted.

“That was an explosion,” Stan said.

“What was that?” Lara said into her radio. “Anyone know what that was or where it came from?” When no one answered, she shouted, “Someone answer me!”

She waited for a response, but there wasn’t one for what seemed like an eternity, until Carly finally said, “The shack! It’s the shack!”

Oh, God, did she just say the shack?

“Shack?” Nate said through the radio. “What shack?”

“The one at the power station!” Carly shouted. “It’s open! Lara, the shack’s open!”

The power station was halfway between the hotel and the western cliff. It was a large but unremarkable gray building that controlled the island’s power source. Without it, Song Island was just another dry patch of dirt. But the station itself wasn’t “the shack” Carly was referring to. That was the building next to it—a structure no bigger than what you’d find in someone’s backyard. It was locked and sealed, because on the other side was a tunnel that connected the island to an entranceway along the shoreline of Beaufont Lake. There hadn’t been any activity there for months. Even if someone had managed to sneak their way into the tunnel unnoticed, the door was sealed. It would take…

“The explosion,” Lara said breathlessly.

She was still trying to wrap her mind around the last few seconds when a new burst of gunfire ripped across the island. It wasn’t coming from the beach, because the landing had failed and the invaders were dead. This time it came from the other side of the sprawling but darkened hotel, from the direction of the power station.

Lara spun around and almost bumped into Danny.

“It’s time,” he said.

He was amazingly calm despite everything that had happened, despite what he must know (because she knew, too) what was about to happen.

“Will,” she said, her voice coming out in gasps. “What about Will?”

“He can take care of himself,” Danny said. “We have to go. Now.”

“Lara, what do we do?” Roy asked.

“The shack,” Stan said. He was looking in that direction. “Without the shack…” He didn’t finish.

“Lara?” Sarah said. “What should we do?”

She glanced at Danny one last time.

He nodded.

She turned around and fumbled with the radio, found the right switches, and shouted into it.

“This is Lara! Everyone who isn’t already there, head to your designated exit points now! I repeat! Head to your exit points now! The island is lost! I repeat! The island is lost! We’re evacuating Song Island!”

Book Three

All Good Things

21

Will

He was alive, and as long as he was breathing, things weren’t completely hopeless. It would take some doing, but it could be done. He could be on his way back to Song Island by the morning and finally see Lara again after being away from her for so long.

I’ve been in worse situations.

He couldn’t remember when exactly, but it would come back to him eventually. Besides, he was dealing with two grunts who were far from home and isolated from their unit. If Mason were around, things might be different. That midget was smarter than he looked. These two, on the other hand, maybe not so much.

“You see that?” Rick asked.

The second guy, whose name turned out to be Millard (Close enough), had stood up and taken a step away from the pools of moonlight pouring in through the gas station’s glass curtain wall. Will wondered if he had done that intentionally or if it was an involuntary response. Either way, the reaction of both men told him that despite whatever deals with the devil they had struck, the fear of the creatures amassed outside hadn’t gone completely away.

“What?” Millard said.

“I thought they moved,” Rick said. He had risen from the floor but remained in a slight crouch, his M4 resting at his side like a crutch.

That’s no way to treat a rifle, soldier.

Of course, Rick wasn’t really a soldier. Despite the fact that the former paramedic had essentially saved his life, Will didn’t feel very warm toward the man. Besides, it would make having to kill Rick easier.

“I don’t see anything,” Millard said.

“No, I swear, I thought I saw them move,” Rick said.

“You said ‘thought.’”

“I saw it.”

Millard had retreated completely into the shadows at the back of the store. Will didn’t know what Rick saw (or thought he saw), but the creatures outside didn’t seem to have moved in any way. They continued to stand, shoulder to shoulder, their numbers so thick that it was impossible to see past them and at the I-10 highway in the background.

It didn’t help that this part of the world was pitch black with no source of artificial light for miles. Not that he minded that, either. Given the shape he was in now, Will wasn’t excited about seeing what he looked like anyway. The bandages, the bloodied clothes he was still wearing, the pool of dried blood he had been sitting on ever since he woke up. What part of him wasn’t covered in blood?

At least Rick had been nice enough to give him back his pill bottle as promised. Will tilted it up to his lips now and swallowed the last three remaining lifesavers. He swore it worked almost right away, but maybe that was just his mind trying to convince him his entire body wasn’t about to shut down from the pain of the last few days.

“They freak me out, man,” Millard was saying while clutching the carbine as if it were a baseball bat.

“So don’t look at them,” Rick said.

“I can’t help it. Can you?”

“No…”

Millard was skinny and tall, whereas Rick was thick and slightly pudgy. “Man, they must really want you bad,” he said to Will.

“They don’t want him,” Rick said. “She does.”

“She?”

“Yeah. She.”

“Oh,” Millard said, turning back to the window. “So what happens when she shows up? We just give him to her or something?”

“Mason says to stay out of her way. We’re just here to make sure he doesn’t run off again.”

“What about them?”

“They’re here to make sure he doesn’t run off, too.”

“I doubt he’s going anywhere. The guy looks like a bad extra from The Mummy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s done it before. So we just sit tight until she shows up.”

“Freaky,” Millard said. He looked at Will again. “I don’t know what you did, buddy, but you must have fucked up bad.”

Will chuckled.

That prompted a glance from Rick. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Will said.

Rick walked over and crouched about a foot in front of him, leaning the rifle across his knees. Will fought every instinct to grab at the weapon. It was so damn close...

“Come on,” Rick said, “I wanna hear what the dead man thinks is so funny.”

“Have you ever met her in person?” Will asked.

“Who?”

“Her.”

Rick and Millard exchanged a look.

I guess that’s a no.

“She’s not like the others, you know,” Will said. “She’s different from the ones outside.”

“Yeah, we know,” Millard said. “Blue eyes, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What else do you know?” Rick asked him.

Apparently more than you.

“They like to play,” Will said.

“Play?” Millard said. “What the hell does that mean?”

He thought about Harrison and how the blue-eyed ghouls had toyed with him. Then there were the people from Mississippi who had suffered the same fate. Gaby had also told him and Danny an interesting story about a man named Peter, whom she had escaped L15 with. Peter had fled the town because he was afraid for his life, because men had a bad habit of going missing, never to be seen again.

And there it was.

He had been searching for a way out ever since he opened his eyes, and it was right under his nose the entire time. Now all he had to do was tell a convincing enough story because his life depended on it.

“It means she’s not going to just come and take me,” Will said. “It’s not how this works.”

“‘This’?” Millard said. “What’s ‘this’?”

“This is Mason, leaving you here for a reason. This is Mason, offering you up to her.” Before they could respond, he added quickly, “You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? About people going missing in the towns? Men who are never seen again?”

He watched their reaction: The way they exchanged another quick glance, the way their shoulders trembled ever so slightly, and the way they gripped their rifles as if their life depended on it, because maybe it did. They didn’t really understand their ghoul overlords, he realized now, but they had heard the whispers. The rumors. Maybe they’d even talked about it amongst themselves in quiet rooms when they were certain no one could hear.

God, I hope this works.

“You’ve heard the stories,” Will said.

“Maybe,” Millard said hesitantly. “Guys have said they’ve seen some crazy things.”

“About the blue-eyed ones.”

“Yeah…”

“The stories you’ve heard? No matter how crazy they sound, I can tell you this: They’re not even close to the real thing, because the truth is worse.”

“Bullshit,” Rick said.

“When she comes, it won’t be just me that she takes,” Will said, keeping his focus—directing everything out of his mouth—at Millard, and Millard only. He could feel Rick staring at him, but he ignored the other man. He didn’t have to convince both of them—he just needed one of them on his side. “The ones outside? Those are pets. The blue-eyed ones are the masters. And masters take what they want. Me, I’ll survive this, because she wants me to. But you two? I don’t see it. You’re not here to protect me, or to keep me from running off. Look at me. I’m not going anywhere. You two are here for a reason. You’re snacks.”

“He’s lying,” Rick said. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Where’s Mason now?” Will said, pressing on as if Rick hadn’t said anything. “Did you ever wonder why he left just the two of you behind? Let me guess. You got on his bad side recently? Maybe talked back one time too many?”

“How do you know all this?” Millard said. His mouth twitched, which was either a sign Will was getting to him or…the guy just had a twitch.

“I’ve been around,” Will said. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. I’ve fought the blue-eyed ones. More than once. And I’ve lived to tell the tale. What about you two? You really think you’re supposed to survive this? Wake up.”

“Shut up,” Rick said. Then to Millard, “Don’t listen to him. We’re rejoining Mason in the morning.”

“Where?” Millard said. “Where’s Mason now?”

Rick didn’t answer right away.

“He doesn’t know,” Will said.

“He’s at Lake Charles,” Rick said.

“He’s lying,” Will said. “Look at his face.”

Millard peered at Rick in the semidarkness, almost leaning forward with his entire body. “He’s at Lake Charles?”

“Yes,” Rick said. “He told me himself.”

Will laughed. Loudly. When both men looked back at him, he said, with all the conviction in the world, “You’re a shitty liar, Rick. Mason’s gone. He never told you where he went because you didn’t need to know. Because he won’t see you or Millard again after tonight.”

Millard looked at Rick, then at Will, then back at Rick. “He’s in Lake Charles right now?”

“That’s right,” Rick nodded. “He’s just messing with your head. Don’t listen to him. Mason told me to be careful with this guy. He’s slippery.”

Will snorted at Rick, then smiled at Millard. “What did you do?”

“What?” Millard said.

“You must have done something to piss Mason off.”

“I didn’t—” He paused, then seemed to think about it. “I had no choice.”

“What did you do?” Will asked again.

“Don’t tell him,” Rick said.

Millard ignored him, said, “Back at Route 13. When those people from Dunbar attacked us. There were too many of them, and they had a machine gun. I…ran.”

“Mason doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who forgives something like that,” Will said. “No wonder he sent you here.”

Almost there, Will thought when he saw the conflicted look on Millard’s face. Just a little more…

“Stop talking to him,” Rick said. “He’s just filling your head with lies. I should have left him bleeding on the floor instead of saving his life.”

“What were Mason’s orders?” Millard asked Rick.

The question caught Rick by surprise. “What?”

“What were Mason’s orders?” Millard repeated, his voice growing slightly in volume, almost threatening. “He didn’t tell me. He just said to stay here with you. But he never told me how to reach him in the morning.”

“I told you, we’re supposed to meet up with him at Lake Charles tomorrow,” Rick said, looking noticeably more irritated by the second.

There was a flicker of movement outside the window. It was the ghouls. They seemed to be reacting to the growing agitation inside the store. It was just a slight tremor that rumbled across the field of black pruned flesh. Will wouldn’t have noticed it at all if they hadn’t been so still just seconds ago.

“We’re just supposed to stay here and wait for her to come get him,” Rick was saying.

“That’s it?” Millard said.

“That’s it. Just sit tight and it’ll be over soon.”

“Nice story,” Will said. “A bald-faced lie, but I’ll give you points for trying. Then again, you might actually believe it, which is pretty sad if you ask me.”

Rick looked back to him. “No one asked you, dead man.”

“If I’m the dead man, why are the two of you ready to piss your pants? Maybe it’s because you know I’m right. Mason’s gone. He may or may not be at Lake Charles, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect you to link back up with him in the morning. The rest of your unit is gone. They left you behind. Face it.”

“You don’t know a damn—” Rick said, but he never got the chance to finish because there was a loud bang! from the back of the store and Rick collapsed to the floor in a pile.

The gunshot was still echoing off the walls, causing the windows to vibrate slightly, when a voice said, “Move and you’re dead.”

Millard stood shaking over Rick’s crumpled form, desperately trying to control his breathing. He looked wide-eyed, as if he’d just run a marathon and was not quite sure if he should sit down and rest or have a heart attack. His right hand had also begun to inch toward his holstered sidearm—

Bang!

Millard dropped and laid still.

“Christ,” Will said.

“That’s two you owe me,” the voice said as its owner stepped out of the shadowed back part of the gas station.

She had looked better, but then she could probably say the same thing about him. There was a gash along her left temple that had left thick clumps of blood along the side of her face, and she moved with a noticeable limp. Other than that, it was still the same woman who was a trigger pull away from shooting him dead when they had first met back at the Palermo along Route 13.

Natasha lowered the M4 rifle and smirked at him. “That’s some silver tongue on you. I thought for sure you had them convinced.”

“Almost,” Will said.

“Listening to you back here, it occurred to me everything you might have told Leo and the others was bullshit, too.” She narrowed her eyes. “Well? Was it?”

“I needed to get to Song Island.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“Not everything. The part about the ghouls avoiding bodies of water is true. I’ve been on that island for three months and they never once crossed it.”

“Not once?” she said doubtfully.

“Not once.” He turned back to Rick’s and Millard’s still bodies. “Nice shot.”

“I’ve had practice.”

She walked over and took out a knife. The sharp edge gleamed in the moonlight and Will waited for her to strike.

Natasha snorted. “Relax. If I wanted to kill you, I would have just shot you.”

She sliced his hands free, then did the same to his legs.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Can you even stand? You look like shit.”

“I can stand.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Will stood up, even as every joint in his body popped and creaked. He had been sitting for so long that he didn’t realize just how much his entire body still ached and throbbed from the events of the last twenty-four hours. Just moving his arms to rub his wrists to get the blood flowing again made him wince. He couldn’t tell how bad his hands had been shredded by the highway underneath the gauze, and frankly he didn’t want to know. Every time he touched something, there was a painful jolt.

I should be dead.

How many times have I said that this week?

He sucked it up. None of it mattered because he was still far from his destination.

Song Island.

Lara.

Gotta get back home.

“Motherfucker,” Natasha whispered.

She was staring out the store windows at the ghouls outside. The wall of dark flesh and gleaming black faces was stirring, moving slightly left and right and front and back. The eyes that peered back at them seemed to have grown with intensity since he last looked.

It had to have been the violence. They were reacting to the deaths of Millard and Rick. So what was still keeping them back? What was holding them in place?

Not what. Who.

Kate…

“I’ve never seen so many of them in one place,” Natasha said.

She had lowered her voice to almost a whisper for some reason. He wondered if she knew that the doors weren’t even locked, that there was nothing—absolutely nothing—keeping the monsters at bay this very moment.

Will hurried forward—grimacing, trying not to scream out with every step—and turned the locks on the doors before retreating quickly back into the darkness.

When he was in the moonlight, he had spotted his reflection in the glass door and was glad he had only seen himself for a split second. The sight of a dead man wearing bloodied clothes and covered in bandages, limping badly, wasn’t something he wanted to see again.

“Are you shitting me?” Natasha said. She might have been hyperventilating a little bit. “Those doors were never locked?”

“They are now,” Will said.

“Jesus Christ,” she said breathlessly. She was still staring out the windows, unable to take her eyes away from the throng of creatures outside.

Will picked up Rick’s M4 and slung it, then rolled the man onto his back, careful to avoid the blood dribbling out the side of Rick’s head. He unclasped the gun belt with the Smith & Wesson semi-automatic in the hip holster and found a nylon sheath stuffed behind Rick’s waist. The knife inside was a tantō style model about a foot long with a seven-inch black stainless steel blade. It looked overly stylish and nothing he would have been caught dead carrying in combat or elsewhere, but you never knew when an extra weapon might come in handy.

“What are you doing back here, Natasha?” Will asked as he finished going through Rick’s pockets. “Not that I’m complaining.”

When he was done with Rick, he went through Millard’s belongings. The two men didn’t have any extra ammo on them besides the magazines already loaded in their rifles and sidearms.

“What else was I going to do?” Natasha said. She had walked back to him, but kept glancing over her shoulder and out the windows. “Figured I’d follow these assholes and kill as many of them as I could before they get me.”

“What happened?”

“You mean how did I survive?”

“Yeah.”

“I was thrown clear. Landed on the side of the highway in some thick grass. Thank God no one’s done any mowing for a year, otherwise they’d have spotted me. I woke up in time to see them hauling you away.”

“What about the others?”

She shook her head before looking behind her again.

“You limped all the way here?” he asked.

“We’re only half a mile from the crash site. I didn’t even know you were in here until I climbed in through the window in the back room just before nightfall.”

“So you heard everything.”

“Most of it. Was it true? What you said? Or were you just feeding them a line to try to turn them on each other?”

“What do you think?”

She grunted. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

“I’m just trying to get home.”

“Song Island.”

“Yeah.”

“So how are you going to get there now?” Another quick look at the ghouls behind her, before she added, “How are you going to get through that.”

Will didn’t answer her. He was too busy looking down at Rick and Millard.

No, not at the two dead men. More, specifically, at their uniforms.

“What?” Natasha said. “What are you looking at? You already took everything they have. What’s left?”

“Their uniforms,” Will said. He kneeled back down and began unbuttoning Rick’s shirt.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because they leave the soldiers alone,” she said. Then, with something that almost sounded like hope in her voice for the first time since he’d met her, “You really think it’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out,” he said.

* * *

It didn’t take them long to strip the two men down to their underwear. Rick was the smaller of the two, so Natasha took his uniform into the back room. Will pulled on Millard’s, grateful to shed his own bloodied clothes.

He didn’t realize just how bruised and purple and yellow he was until he was standing in his boxers. He quickly put the uniform on and cinched the gun belt in place, covering up the scars and bandages and everything else that reminded him he was probably not going to last very long in this condition. The painkillers he had popped earlier were starting to work, but what he wouldn’t give for a little bit more pep.

He told himself he’d get the help he desperately needed when he finally made it back home. Lara could treat him. Or Zoe, though he’d insist Lara do it.

Have to get home. Get back to Lara.

Have to get home at all costs…

Natasha came back out, still doing up the buttons on Rick’s shirt. “It kind of fits. For all the good it’ll do.”

“That’s it, think positive,” Will said.

Millard’s clothes actually fit him pretty well, and he shoved the sheathed knife behind his back.

“I’m being realistic,” Natasha said. “These two didn’t even know why the uniforms work. They just accepted it because that’s what they do; they’re followers. Look how fast the tall one was willing to buy your bullshit.”

They were adapting so they wouldn’t perish. It’s human nature.

“What’s in the back room?” he asked.

“Just some empty boxes. The window was unlocked, and it was just big enough for me to crawl through.”

Then Natasha went very quiet.

“What’s—” he started to ask.

She was staring past him and out the windows again, at the creatures gathered outside. Nothing had changed that he could see. There were still too many of them, overflowing out of the parking lot and onto the feeder road. No matter how hard or long he stared, it was impossible to make out the gray concrete of the I-10 in the background. Was it even still there?

“What’s happening?” Natasha asked. Her voice had dropped noticeably again.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“They don’t look different to you?”

He shook his head, then glanced back at her. Natasha had retreated until she was standing (almost leaning) against the far wall, now little more than a silhouette in the shadows. He didn’t know how, but he could actually see her terrified face in the darkness.

“I swear I saw them move,” she said.

“Move?”

“Yeah. They moved.”

“How?”

“I can’t explain—”

Bang!

He spun around, lifting the M4 just as the ghoul picked itself up from the concrete sidewalk. It had smashed itself, skull first, into one of the twin glass doors and left behind a crack about an inch long. The figure slowly straightened up, tar-like black eyes finding Will and focusing in, as if it knew—it knew—who he was.

“That can’t be good,” Natasha said breathlessly behind him.

Yeah, I think that’s the understatement of the century, Natasha.

Will took another step back, then another one, when a second ghoul raced forward and flung itself into the other glass door. It struck headfirst, like the other one, and instantly fell to the sidewalk before picking itself back up. Like the first one, it had left an inch-wide crack across the glass.

What the hell were they doing? They weren’t going to break through the doors. Most convenience stores had tempered glass designed to withstand this kind of brute force attack. It would take forever to shatter unless you had a pickup truck moving at full speed. And right now he didn’t see a vehicle—

Oh, fuck.

He stumbled back as they began flinging themselves into the glass walls—bang! bang! bang!—all across the length of the store.

One after another—

Bang!

—after another—

Bang!

Each impact rang out like a gunshot—

Bang!

Worse than gunshots, because this weapon could be reloaded again and again, because they never died, they didn’t feel pain, and shattered limbs and broken bones meant nothing to them. The windows, along with the doors, were starting to chip little by little with every strike. They would break. Sooner or later, they would break.

“What now?” Natasha shouted behind him.

He didn’t answer her, because there was nowhere to run. If there were this many ghouls outside that he could see, there were probably even more surrounding the building that they couldn’t. Because it was night outside, and the night was theirs.

It was hers.

“I’m coming, Will,” she had said. “I’ll be there soon…”

“What the fuck is happening?” Natasha shouted, her voice drowning in the maddening fury of ghouls spearing the glasses with their bodies.

The constant hammer pounding, growing…

Bang!

“Hey!”

BANG!

“What now? What do we do now?”

BANG!!!

22

Gaby

“This is Lara! Everyone who isn’t already there, head to your designated exit points now! I repeat! Head to your exit points now! The island is lost! I repeat! The island is lost! We’re evacuating Song Island!”

She might have stopped breathing for a moment as Lara’s words echoed through the earbud. Her body was still trembling from the sight of men dying on the beach—and the fact she had contributed to that body count—when the explosion ripped through the island, followed by Lara’s voice over the radio.

“The island is lost! We’re evacuating Song Island!”

It couldn’t be possible, could it? She and Danny and Nate had risked everything to get down here just to save the island. They had left Will behind in order to do it. All that sacrifice had resulted in these bodies lying on the beach, the lapping waves of Beaufont Lake flooding the white sand with crimson blood that looked shockingly bright even with just the moonlight. At first she thought shooting men behind the night vision of her optic was surreal, like playing a videogame. The men stumbling and jumping out of their beached vessels didn’t look like actual human beings; they were more pixilated CGI.

But they were real, just like the round after round she had sent into them from the safety of the tree line. She had lost count of how many times she moved from spot to spot, never giving the black-clad assaulters a single location to shoot at. Eventually, they started believing there was more than just her in the eastern half of the beach and began spraying indiscriminately into the trees.

All of that, and for what?

“The island is lost! We’re evacuating Song Island!”

This can’t be how it ends. All this blood. All those lives…

“Gaby!” someone shouted in her ear. Danny. “Get your ass moving!”

How did he know she wasn’t already moving?

Because he was Danny, and he knew her. Just like Will knew her. They had trained her themselves on this very island, where she had dreamt about coming back to night after night. Only to have it end now…like this?

“Gaby!” Danny again. “Move your ass! That’s an order! Vamos!”

How the hell did he know she wasn’t already moving?

She pushed up from the slightly damp ground and onto her feet, then spun around and began running through the woods. She was glad to go, happy to be leaving the beach behind. If not figuratively, at least literally. She was going to have nightmares about tonight for years to come, she knew that much, and the less she could remember the images—the blood, the dead…but especially the dead—the better.

She tried to do that now—push the sight of those men falling as she shot them—as Danny and Keo shot them—out of her mind. But they were still too fresh and the best she could do was tell herself it was either her or them, because they hadn’t come here to talk. They had come here armed and ready to kill.

The wind against her face, the branches slapping her legs and arms, brought her back to the present. Back to the here and now. And right now, they were evacuating the island—

Wait, how was she moving so fast? Oh, right; because she wasn’t as weighed down by ammo as she was when the night started, because she had used up all her spare magazines. The one in the M4 at the moment was only half full, and once she used it up she would be down to just the Glock in her hip holster. At least she had two spare magazines for that.

The bodies on the beach. I did that. I killed those men.

God help me, I killed those men.

For a second or two, she entertained the idea of stopping and turning around and running back to the beach and collecting spare magazines from those very same men who she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Did they want to come here? Were they forced? Did they have friends or family waiting for them back in the towns? She remembered the woman with the boy in L15 and the countless other people walking along the sidewalks. Couples. Families. Was there a husband among the dead on the beach right now? Maybe she had killed him. Or maybe it was the man next to him—

Stop it. They’re gone. You did what you had to do.

Focus!

The clicking in her right ear helped her to concentrate on the moment, on the branches still slapping against her arms and legs, and the chill that pervaded the island and soaked her to the very bones despite her clothing.

“Lara,” a voice said.

“Keo!” Lara shouted back. “Where are you?”

“Southwest corner, just beyond the power station.”

“What do you see?”

“More assaulters. They’re coming through the shack next to the power station and heading right at you.”

“How many?”

“Too many. But if we coordinate a defense—”

“No,” Lara said, cutting him off. “It’s not the humans we have to worry about. Without the shack, there’s nothing to hold them back. Do you understand? Get to your exit point. We’re getting off the island!”

“Roger that,” Keo said, and the radio went quiet again.

Gaby burst out of the woods a moment later and into the almost pitch-black state of the hotel grounds. Even the Tower in the distance was barely visible, a hulking and darkened spire sticking out of the cliff, the familiar floodlights that usually adorned its exterior missing. Not gone, just turned off like the rest of the island, along with the LED lamps that had been inside the third floor a few hours ago.

For the first time in a long time, Gaby felt alone. The others were gone, moving toward their exit points. Soon, they’d all be converging on the Trident, anchored somewhere on the other side of the island. Lara’s Plan D, just in case everything went to hell.

I guess this means everything’s gone to hell.

She jogged across the tall grass, trying to get her bearings as she went. She had exited the woods at a random point and was much further away from the hotel than she had expected. She could see its squat one-story shape in the distance, the walls visible against the deep black of a lightless world. She was so used to seeing the grounds around the hotel lit up by bright LEDs that not having those markers now was startling.

She turned away from the hotel and ran in the direction of the Tower, where her designated exit point was. Even without lights, it was hard to miss, its structure looming against the moonlit sky. Carly or Benny would have already put the escape ladder in place over the cliff and climbed down, where two cheap aluminum boats, each with a pair of paddles inside, awaited them among the rocks. If both of them had left at the same time (which made sense), they would have left one boat down there for her. Or, at least, she hoped.

She was halfway to the Tower when the pop-pop-pop of assault rifles made her slide to a stop in the tall grass. The shooting was coming from her left, where the hotel was. The vicious back-and-forth paralyzed her, and Gaby didn’t know whether to keep running to her exit point or turn toward the hotel.

“The island is lost! I repeat! The island is lost! We’re evacuating Song Island!”

Orders were orders, but the sound of gunfire seized her and refused to let go. Maybe it was the ferocious nature of it, or its proximity—so close, and yet so far away. Who was shooting? Lara and Danny and how many assaulters? It was definitely concentrated inside the hotel, she was sure of it. There was a hollow almost echo-y quality to the gunshots, hints that they were coming from enclosed spaces.

“We’re pinned!” someone screamed in her right ear. Lara. She was shouting to be heard over the continuous roar of rifles firing at close proximity. “Blaine, take off now!”

“What?” Blaine shouted back through the radio. “We’re not leaving without you! Get over here!”

“We’re not going to make it!”

“Then we’ll come back to you!”

“Don’t be stupid!”

“Lara!”

“That’s an order, Blaine! Move your ass now or I’m sending Danny over there to kick it!”

“Yeah, what she said!” Danny chimed in.

“Danny!” Carly. “What are you doing? Get over here, you dumbass!”

“Get going!” Danny shouted back. “We’ll catch up! I promise, babe!”

“You goddamn better!”

“Scout’s honor!”

“You were never in the scouts—” Carly started to say, when a loud explosion drowned out the voices all trying to speak at the same time.

The blast had come from the hotel, almost a football field away from her, but it sounded much closer. Thick plumes of smoke were drifting into the air, looking almost poetic against the black canvas of night. But she knew there was nothing lyrical about it, especially when the gunfire temporarily halted in the aftermath.

Gaby was running full-speed toward the hotel before she even realized she had made the decision. About ten seconds into her run, the shooting started up again, the back-and-forth still as frenzied as they had been before the explosion. As horrific as it was to think so, the fact that two sides were exchanging gunfire was a good sign that either Lara or Danny (or both) were still alive.

She hoped, anyway.

To keep her mind off the fact that she was running to the sound of automatic gunfire, Gaby tried to imagine how many assaulters were waiting for her in there. They had sent anywhere from thirty to fifty on the beach alone. So how many more had gotten through the tunnel? Another thirty to fifty? God, she hoped not. The very idea of having to kill that many more made her want to stop and vomit into the grass.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Lara and Danny were in the hotel right now. (What happened to Roy and Stan and Sarah?) And they clearly needed her help, or Lara wouldn’t have ordered Blaine to go. She had done that to save them, Gaby knew, because for whatever reason, she and Danny weren’t going to make it to their exit point.

Gaby ran until her lungs were burning, and still the hotel seemed to remain just as far away as when she had counted the distance a few seconds ago. As she drew closer, she realized the shooting wasn’t just coming from the building in front of her. It was coming from the other side, too, as well as from her right. That was where the Trident was, waiting to shove off. There were, as far as she could tell, at least two or three gun battles going on simultaneously across the island.

And here she was, running right into the middle of one of them—

BOOM!

Another explosion tore through the hotel just as she was about to reach it. This time she was close enough to feel the ground trembling as the blast blew a hole in the roof near the middle, almost directly in front of her. It sounded like a grenade had gone off. Christ, who was throwing around grenades on the island? Was the first blast a grenade, too?

Gaby dived to her left as debris—chunks of the ceiling and God knew what else was up there at the moment, left behind when the workers abandoned the place—rained down around her. Something hard pelted her head and shoulders and she threw herself against the hotel wall and clung to it, trying desperately to make herself small against the falling pieces of the building.

She could smell the pluming smoke and hear the still-rattling gunfire from the other side of the wall she was pressed up against. Right on the other side. Even a grenade going off hadn’t stopped them for very long.

The side door was to her right, within easy reach. Even without lights to point her way, she knew there would be one around here and there it was. She moved toward it now, trying in vain to keep track of the back-and-forth clatter of assault rifles inside the hotel.

What was going on in there? Some kind of running gunfight? Although at the moment it sounded like it had stalled in one spot. The first explosion had come from her left—very close to where the lobby would be—and moved right toward the back, through the hallways. So why had it stopped now?

Stop thinking and move!

She grabbed the doorknob and took a breath, then counted to five—

She pulled the door and slipped inside—raising the M4, peering through the night-vision scope—even before the door had swung completely open. It would have been pitch black inside the narrow passageway except for the staccato flash-flash-flash of assault rifles firing in the connecting hallway ten meters in front of her. She easily picked up the distinctive clink-clink-clink of ejected shell casings pelting the hotel’s smooth tile floor.

The endless flashes filled her vision while the continuous slamming of gunshots dominated her eardrums, and the lingering sting of sulfur in the air, combined with the suffocating smell of gun powder in the closed confines, threatened to overwhelm her sense of smell. There was a big hole in the ceiling in front of her where the two hallways joined, though it hadn’t done very much to vent out the place.

Gaby pushed through until she was almost at the corner, when there was a flurry of movement in front of her. A man clad all in black, with a thick beard that might have been red (though it was hard to tell when everything was awash in green), took a step backward and stopped in front of her and began reloading. The man’s night-vision goggles protruded forward from his aging face like a pair of alien eyes. She guessed he had to be in his forties, and he looked a bit like her Uncle Bill.

He must have sensed her, because he turned his head and saw her—

Gaby shot him once in the chest.

Even as the man fell, she was running up the hallway and flicking the fire selector on her rifle to full-auto. She reached the corner and stepped over the crumpled body, turning right to find three men crouched further up the narrow passageway—two on one side, the third on the opposite—with their weapons aimed at a door that had already been perforated by at least two dozen bullet holes. The backs of all three men were to her, their black uniforms glowing green under the phosphorous lens of her night-vision scope.

Once upon a time, Gaby might have hesitated. Certainly, the Gaby from a year ago, who depended on Matt (and, to a lesser extent, Josh) to keep her safe would have been horrified at the thought of shooting men in the back. That Gaby would never have made it off the beach earlier tonight.

This Gaby, at this very moment, only saw three enemies trying to kill her friends.

She emptied the remaining rounds in her magazine into the three figures. She didn’t let go of the trigger until she couldn’t feel the rifle bucking in her hands anymore. Then she immediately slung it and drew her Glock and looked for something else to shoot.

The men lay still on their stomachs and she was glad she couldn’t see their faces in the semidarkness, though one of them had his head turned slightly to one side, revealing the side profile of a young man in his twenties, the brim of his helmet riding low over his eyes, the night-vision device thrown askew against his face during the fall.

Her heart was racing, battling to be heard over the continuous pop-pop-pop of other gun battles taking place outside the hotel, on other parts of the island right this moment. She imagined the Trident engaged in its own fight. Did Nate make it to the yacht? What about Keo? What about Carly and Benny, who were at the Tower earlier—

There was a click! behind her and she spun around, finger tightening against the trigger, as a familiar voice said, “Stop, or my mom will shoot.”

He was pushing his way out of a badly damaged door at the end of the hallway. She recognized the infirmary on the other side and the owner of the messy blond hair and blue eyes looking back at her.

“Danny,” Gaby said.

“That’s me,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be gone by now?”

“What about you?”

“Point taken.”

While Danny struggled with the bullet-riddled door, she holstered her gun and crouched, then went through the dead bodies looking for spare magazines. She had done it instinctively, the need to have a loaded rifle overwhelming the part of her that was still squeamish about going through a dead man’s pockets.

“Where’s Lara and the others?” she asked.

“Lara’s in here with me,” Danny said. He had returned to the room, and now came back outside with Lara leaning against his shoulder. “They caught us out in the open, forced us into the hotel. Fearless leader and I stayed behind to give the others time to make their exit points.”

“Did they make it?”

“I have no idea. Too busy trying not to die. And that last grenade fried both of our radios. And, ah, other things.”

She was able to salvage three magazines and shoved two into her ammo pouch, using the third to reload her carbine. She stood up and watched Danny and Lara walk over to her.

Or hobbled. Danny was moving on his one good leg, using his rifle as a crutch, while holding Lara against him. Blood dripped down his temple, and there were cuts along his right cheek. His neck was covered in blood, as was almost the entire right side of his clothes.

“Jesus, Danny,” Gaby said. “How are you still alive?”

“It’s not mine,” he said. “Well, most of it isn’t mine.”

She didn’t have to ask whose it was. Lara had a field tourniquet wrapped around most of her left shoulder and right thigh. Blood was already seeping through them, and she leaned back against the wall and sighed, catching her breath and somehow managing to grin back at Gaby anyway. She didn’t have her rifle and her hip holster was empty.

“They threw a grenade into the lobby,” Lara said. “Looks like we’re going to have to redecorate.”

“Let’s get some better wallpaper this time,” Gaby said, trying her best to smile back. “Are you okay? Where’s your rifle?”

“Lost it. My Glock, too. Got this big piece of shrapnel in my shoulder, though.” She touched the bandage over her thigh and shook her head. “And I think I was shot here. I don’t remember.”

“She was shot down there,” Danny said. “I’m the one who wrapped it up. Trust me, that was a bullet hole.”

“If you say so,” Lara said.

“I do, I do. And I also say we gotta go.”

“Where?” Gaby asked. “Lara told Blaine to leave in the Trident, remember? The exit points are useless now.”

“The beach,” Lara said. “There are boats on the beach, remember?”

* * *

They left the hotel through the same side door she had used earlier and stepped back out into the chilly night. The world looked different behind the night-vision goggles attached to her head. She thought things were surreal peering behind the scope mounted on her rifle, but it was nothing compared to actually wearing one of the NVGs she had taken from one of the soldiers.

Gaby went outside first, then let Danny and Lara move in front while she brought up the rear. She wasn’t looking forward to returning to the beach and seeing all those dead bodies again, but they didn’t have any choice now. Blaine and the Trident were already moving and the last thing Lara wanted was to stall them, to make them vulnerable again. There were too many people on board. The kids, the adults…and Nate.

As they moved away from the hotel, they could hear isolated bursts of gunfire continuing from the other side of the island. It was difficult to pinpoint the location, almost as if the battle was constantly moving.

Gaby pulled her earbud out of her ear and disconnected the wire before keying the radio. “Blaine, come in.”

“Jesus, are you guys still alive?” Blaine said. His anxiety came through her radio’s speakers loud and clear, along with the brap-brap-brap of machine gunfire in the background, echoing what they could hear from across the island.

Gaby held the radio out for Lara, who said into it, “We’re heading to the beach for one of the boats. Is Keo with you?’

“No, I thought he was with you guys.”

Lara exchanged a brief look with Gaby, then she said into the radio, “We’ll meet you at the rendezvous point as planned, Blaine.”

“Good luck! We’ll wait as long as it takes!”

“See you soon.”

Gaby clipped the radio back on. “What about Keo?”

Lara glanced across the hotel grounds. Gaby saw the conflict on her face.

“Keo’s resourceful,” Lara said finally. “He’ll find a way off the island. I’m more worried about us.”

“Don’t forget, the guy’s half-dolphin,” Danny said.

They continued to the beach, moving as fast as Lara and Danny could manage, while essentially keeping each other from falling. Gaby wanted to lend a hand, but she was their only security at the moment and she had to make do with keeping an eye on them while also scanning the blackened grounds.

Soon, they had left the hotel behind and were moving down the cobblestone pathway that cut through the woods. She could already feel the colder air from the beach wafting up in their direction. She shivered slightly before realizing it wasn’t from the dropping temperature. No, it was the prospect of seeing those bodies lying across the sand one more time. She had wanted to avoid that at all costs, but that was impossible now.

“Watch your step,” Danny said in front of her.

“Why?” she asked, turning around and almost stepping on a helmet.

The owner of the helmet (or, at least, one of the possible owners) lay in front of her among a pile of dead men in black clothing. There must have been two dozen of them, their arms and legs draped over each other’s bodies and limbs, like friends that had fallen asleep during some kind of commando sleepover.

Gaby flinched. She always knew this was part of the plan, that the objective was always for her, Danny, and Keo to kill as many as possible on the beach while funneling the rest into the pathway where Lara and the others laid in wait for them. But knowing and being faced with the reality of what they had done…

She pulled the NVD off and sucked in a lungful of cold air.

“Gaby,” Lara said. She was standing with Danny on the other side of the bodies looking back at her. “Come on, we have to go. There’s no telling how many more of them are running around the island. Sooner or later, they’ll find their dead friends at the hotel and start looking for us.”

She nodded and started moving again, but made sure to go around the dead as much as she could, skirting along the edges and doing her best to ignore the lingering smell of almost-vomit on her lips.

The bodies, the death, the blood…

All of it made her glad they were abandoning the island, despite doing everything possible to hold it. Even if they had been successful and repelled the attack, she wasn’t sure if she could look at Song Island in the same light ever again. In the morning, the dead would still be there, and the knowledge she had contributed to the body count weighed on her.

She had helped to do this. One year removed from high school. If her friends could see her now, she wondered what they would say. Would they be impressed by her growth or horrified by what she had become?

And what was that? A shooter? A killer? A survivor?

Even she didn’t know for sure—

Bang!

She was almost beyond the pile of dead and looking back to make sure she didn’t step on a pale arm covered in blood when the gunshot exploded behind her. She spun around, lifting her M4, just as Danny and Lara collapsed to the ground in front of her.

There had just been the one shot, so her mind couldn’t reconcile why both of them were falling. That quickly gave way to the sight of the dark figures standing at the other end of the pathway, blocking the exit to the beach. With the night-vision goggles dangling around her neck instead of over her eyes, all she could see were shadows. Although she couldn’t make them out, she could see the rifles in their hands just fine, and they were all pointed at her. That wasn’t entirely true. Four of them were pointing weapons at her, but the fifth one—in the center—was pointing a handgun at Lara and Danny.

She waited for them to shoot, to get it over with. She would fire back, even knowing she had no chance of surviving this, especially at this range. She could probably take out one, maybe two. If Danny or Lara weren’t too badly hurt, they would chip in. Together, maybe the three of them could kill the rest, or enough to make this a pyrrhic victory.

“Gaby,” one of the silhouettes said. It was the one in the middle. He had lowered the handgun and was looking across the darkness at her. The way the others flanked him, she guessed he was their leader.

And his voice!

She would recognize his voice anywhere.

“Thank God you’re still alive,” Josh said, taking a step toward her until she could see his face in a sliver of moonlight. He picked up Danny’s rifle from the ground, then pulled out Danny’s sidearm and tossed both weapons into the woods. “This whole thing has been a real mess. Everyone’s shooting at everyone; no one’s following orders. I was even hoping you’d gotten on that yacht, just so you’d be safe.”

Somehow, she knew it would be him to lead this invasion. Somehow, just as Will could never escape Kate, she knew she would never be rid of Josh.

Gaby took the opportunity to glance down at Danny and Lara again. Lara was kneeling, with Danny lying on his back on the cobblestone floor, his head resting in her lap. Danny’s body was very still, and Lara was moving her hands frantically around his midsection.

She looked back at Josh, her forefinger never leaving her rifle’s trigger. She thought she’d know what to say when this moment came, but staring at him now, she didn’t have a clue. All she could remember was what she had told Lara back at the hotel, hours ago.

“He’s gone. He’s not a boy anymore. You can’t think of him as the same boy who you met in Lancing. If you get the chance—if you see him tonight—don’t hesitate. Shoot him, because he’ll shoot you.”

And she was right. Josh had done exactly that—shot Danny.

So why didn’t she pull the trigger? Why didn’t she do what she told Lara to do? Why was she hesitating?

“You shot Danny,” she said. “Jesus, you shot Danny.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it was Danny. It’s dark…”

“You shot him.”

“I had to stop you from getting to the beach. I knew you’d come down here.” He gave her that cocky smile that she was so familiar with. “The yacht’s gone. The only place with any boats left is the beach. I knew any survivors would come down here sooner or later. It was easier than going into the hotel after you.” He was beaming, looking so very young at the moment. “I’m glad you’re alive, Gaby. I was really worried. Things have spiraled out of control so fast…”

“Let us go, Josh.”

The words came out a lot calmer than she had expected. She thought her voice would crack, maybe quiver slightly, but there was none of that. She was so still, and she wasn’t even breathing hard. Maybe it was because somehow she always knew it would end this way, with Josh in front of her and the two of them holding weapons on each other.

Josh frowned. “I can’t do that, Gaby.”

He took another step forward, then another, leaving the other four behind. They didn’t follow but stood obediently in the background, though Gaby detected a slight movement from one of them—the shortest of the four—almost as if the figure wanted to follow Josh but somehow managed to restrain itself, if just barely.

“Put the rifle down, Gaby,” Josh said. “I’m sorry about Danny. That was a mistake. An accident. Don’t do anything crazy—” He stopped and his eyes darted down to Lara. “What are you doing?”

“Saving his life,” Lara said. She had pulled a roll of gauze out of one of her pouches and was wrapping it around Danny’s waist. His shirt was pulled up, exposing his blood-slicked stomach. He groaned against her, but Gaby couldn’t tell if he was still conscious.

“Stop that,” Josh said.

“No,” Lara said.

“What?”

“I said no.”

Josh looked confused, and for a moment he reminded her of the old Josh—young and inexperienced and awkward. Then the gun in his hand started to move…

“Don’t, Josh,” she said.

Josh looked at her, then back at Lara, who hadn’t stopped treating Danny’s bleeding wound despite the threat. The four behind Josh fidgeted—the shortest of the four even more prominently—as they moved their rifles from Lara to Gaby and back again.

A part of her wanted all of this to end right here, right now. After all the bloodshed of tonight, this would be poetic. Now, while standing with all those poor souls on the beach behind them, in a burst of gunfire. Wasn’t that how all violent men’s lives ended in the history books? Bonnie and Clyde? John Dillinger? Every bank robber she had seen on TV caught in the act by the police?

“Gaby, put down the rifle,” Josh said. “It’s over.”

“I almost died ten times tonight, Josh,” Gaby said through clenched teeth. “If you came here to save me, you’re not doing a very good job.”

He sighed. “You don’t understand. It would have been worse if I hadn’t been leading the attack. Kate would have sent someone else, someone worse. And believe me, there are worse people than me out there. That’s how badly she wants this island.”

“She can have it,” Lara said. “Let us go.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that. She doesn’t just want the island, she wants you too, Lara. But it’s not for the same reason she wants Will. I’m sorry. This is the end of the line for you and Danny.”

“Josh, don’t,” Gaby said.

He turned back to her, and she thought he looked almost apologetic. “It’s not my decision. You have to know that. It’s Kate’s. It’s always been Kate’s.”

“She’s not here. You are.”

“She’s everywhere. You don’t understand. She’s everywhere,” he said, almost whispering the word “everywhere” as if he was afraid someone (Kate) might hear it.

She could see it in his eyes: Josh was scared. Not just him, but the four behind him blocking their path onto the beach. Gaby had very clearly seen a couple of them shifting their feet nervously at the sound of Kate’s name.

No one wants to say the devil’s name out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Josh said again. “It has to be this way.”

“If you get the chance—if you see him tonight—don’t hesitate. Shoot him, because he’ll shoot you,” she had told Lara earlier.

So why couldn’t she do it now?

Because he was Josh. No matter what he had become, or what she told others he had become, when she looked at him she still saw the eighteen-year-old boy who spent nearly a year trying to keep her safe. As much as he had changed, as much as he had done, he was still Josh.

And as she stood there watching Lara trying desperately to save Danny’s life, working diligently despite the presence of the man who had just shot him standing close to her on the verge of shooting her too, Gaby realized she couldn’t have loved Lara and Danny any more than she already did.

And she didn’t want it to end. Not for her, and not for them. Not even for Josh. But most of all, not for her friends.

She wanted Carly to run into Danny’s arms again, the way she had earlier today at the pier. She wanted Lara to finally see Will one more time after being apart for so long. She wanted the two of them to take little Claire and Milly to someplace better and start all over. Even if she couldn’t go with them, she wanted that for these people, her family.

No, she didn’t want it to end tonight after all. Not this way.

It can’t end this way.

“Lara,” Gaby said. “How is he?”

Lara looked back at her and shook her head.

It shouldn’t end this way.

Gaby lowered her rifle and placed it on the ground, then did the same with her Glock. Josh sighed with relief at the sight. Even the four behind him seemed to relax a bit.

“Gaby,” Josh said, “you’re doing the right thing.”

“Let them go,” she said.

“What?”

“Let them go, and I’ll come with you.”

“Gaby, no,” Lara said, looking back at her again.

“It’s okay,” Gaby said, and smiled at her. “It’s just Josh.”

Lara didn’t believe her. Gaby could see it in her eyes.

“You’ll come with me?” Josh said, sounding so young again.

Gaby nodded. “If you let them go.”

“And you won’t try to escape?”

“No.”

“Ever.”

“I won’t try to escape. Ever.”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked down at the road. This was what he wanted. This had always been what he wanted. The young boy whose family lived across the street from her for all those years. The teenager who secretly admired her from the back of the classes they had together. The survivor who did everything he could to keep her safe.

It won’t end this way.

Finally, he looked back up and nodded. “I’ll tell her everyone died on the island during the assault.”

“What about them?” Gaby said, nodding at the four standing behind him.

“She talks to me, not them,” Josh said. Then he nodded again, as if to confirm what he had already decided—or maybe to convince himself he could get away with it. “All right.”

“All right?” she repeated.

“All right,” he said again. Then to Lara and Danny, “Go. Hurry.”

Lara looked back at Gaby, but before she could say anything, Gaby crouched next to her and embraced her as hard as she dared, keeping in mind Lara’s hurt shoulder and that she was still cradling Danny’s unmoving form in her lap. Lara put a hand on her arm, covering her in some of Danny’s blood.

“I’ll be okay,” Gaby whispered. “Go. Please. Danny needs you to go now. I’ve already left Will behind and there won’t be anything left of me if Danny dies, too. Please, save him. Save us. Save everyone.”

She stood up quickly before Lara could say anything and nodded at Josh.

He held out his hand.

She forced a smile and reached for it when Josh’s entire body suddenly stiffened.

“What is it?” she said.

“I…” he stammered, tried to say something, but couldn’t get it out. Then he stared past her and back down the pathway at the black emptiness on the other side.

“Josh,” Gaby said. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“She knows,” Josh said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Oh God, she knows. She knows.”

“Who? What does who know?”

He whirled on her, his eyes wide and seized with terror. “She knows!” he shouted. “She’s in my head, Gaby! She’s always been in my head! She knows everything!”

Lara had struggled up from the ground with Danny, his weight threatening to collapse the both of them. But somehow Lara was holding them up, though Gaby couldn’t fathom how since Danny had to be so much heavier, especially now that he looked completely unresponsive.

“She knows!” Josh shouted again. “And she’s pissed off!”

“Kate?” Gaby said. “Are you talking about Kate?”

“Yes!” He looked back down the pathway at the darkness. She couldn’t see anything. What was he looking at? “She’s in my head, Gaby. We’re connected. I didn’t realize—I didn’t know how much—Oh my God, she knows.”

“Josh…”

He seized her wrists and his fingers dug into her skin. “Run,” he said breathlessly.

“Josh…”

“RUN!”

Gaby was looking at Josh, trying to understand, when the hotel grounds behind him seemed to have come alive…moving.

Then she saw them. Black pits of tar piercing through the night, rays of moonlight gleaming off pruned flesh and emaciated forms. The familiar clacking of bones and the tap tap tap of bare feet against cobblestone.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, pouring into the opening on the other end.

Ghouls.

23

Keo

Blood. Death. And bullets.

So what else was new?

Even the island locale wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before. Of course, back then he had a team behind him. Men who were grizzled beyond their years and killed with a glee usually reserved for butchers wearing plastic aprons. Tonight, all he had was a gimpy ex-Army Ranger, a teenage girl, and a bunch of civilians he wouldn’t have trusted to watch his back in a snowball fight, much less a gunfight. And the cherry on top? A third-year medical student was calling the shots.

It could have been worse, though. People could have been looking to him for leadership. Now that would have been a nightmare.

At the moment, there was a lull in the radio channel, so he assumed Lara and the others were trying to figure out what was happening. He had already darted through the woods and stepped out into the opening at the western part of the island, with the big power station visible to his left in the open field. At one time it had been surrounded by hurricane fencing but was now left exposed. A red and brown mist had gathered around the area, the result of a few layers of brick and mortar being disintegrated by explosives.

It was hard to miss the silhouetted figures pouring out of a building the size of a backyard shack next to the ugly gray structure. They were clad in the same black uniforms and Kevlar helmets as the ones that had assaulted the beach. He was too far to count their exact number, but he guessed more than ten. Maybe two dozen. Who knew how many had already made it out before he arrived?

Keo crouched just beyond the tree lines and watched the figures racing across the open field. They clearly knew where they were going—east, toward the hotel. At least the figures weren’t heading north where the Trident was currently anchored. That meant they hadn’t spotted the yacht yet. Then again, for all he knew the first stream of invaders might have gone in that direction before he arrived.

There was a click in his right ear, and he heard Lara’s voice through the comm. “This is Lara! Everyone who isn’t already there, head to your designated exit points now! I repeat! Head to your exit points now! The island is lost! I repeat! The island is lost! We’re evacuating Song Island!”

Oh, so now you want to leave?

Women. Can’t make up their minds.

A part of him wanted to laugh. They had gone through all this effort to hold the island, but all it took was one well-placed explosive to change everything.

“Lara,” he said into the radio.

“Keo!” He heard ragged breathing, which meant she was moving fast. “Where are you?”

“Southwest corner, just beyond the power station.”

“What do you see?”

“More assaulters. They’re coming through the shack next to the power station and heading right at you.”

“How many?”

A shitload, he thought, but said, “Too many. But if we coordinate a defense—”

“No,” Lara said, cutting him off. “It’s not the humans we have to worry about. Without the shack, there’s nothing to hold them back. Do you understand? Get to your exit point. We’re getting off the island!”

“Them?” Oh. Right. Them.

“Roger that,” he said.

He didn’t move right away. Instead, he bided his time and let the stream of black-clad figures race across and vanish one by one into the waiting woods that separated this part of the island from the hotel on the other side. There was no point engaging that many men. He had done more than enough killing in the last hour to last a lifetime, and that was saying something given his past—

A lone figure, clearly not part of the invading horde, had appeared on the other side of the open ground. Keo was still trying to figure who it was (it had to be one of Lara’s islanders, given how the man was trying to stay hidden), when the guy decided to ruin Keo’s night by opening fire. Two men running full speed toward the woods fell instantly.

The man kept firing, but was smart enough to start moving sideways at the same time. He darted behind trees only to pop out on the other side and shoot again.

Keo ran through the island’s inventory of men in his head. He discounted Danny because the man had come from the wrong direction. Stan the electrician would be near the hotel with Lara and Sarah, the cook. Roy would also be there with them. Benny, the other gimpy guy on the island, would be in the Tower with the redhead—or was, since Lara had given the abandon ship signal. Blaine, the big Mexican, had the important job of keeping Gage and the Trident in play.

So who did that leave?

The shooter had the right height for the kid Dwayne, but it was stretching it to think a twelve-year-old had the tactical ability he was witnessing now. No, that was a full-grown man out there who had just moved behind cover as the invaders returned fire on him.

Keo would have preferred to stay out of it, let the whole group pass him by before he made his way to his own exit point. That, unfortunately, was on the other side of the open clearing. The only other way to get to the yacht was to go around the power station using the western cliff, then circle over to the north side.

He would have liked to use the more direct approach because it was much, much faster, but as he observed the men in black starting to diverge toward the north and at the lone defender, his choices became very limited.

Remember when you were on your way to Gillian at Santa Marie Island?

Yeah. Live and learn, pal.

Keo ripped the NVD off and let it hang around his neck, then lifted the submachine gun and flicked the fire selector to full auto. He was more than a hundred meters from the closest assaulter when he stood up and unleashed all thirty rounds across the open field.

To his surprise, one of the men actually stumbled and fell to the ground, even though Keo had just fired randomly into the jagged line of attackers hoping to draw their attention away from the islander. They didn’t hear his gunshots with the attached suppressor, but they either saw one of their own going down or they recognized someone was shooting at them from behind. Half of them turned around, night-vision goggles seeking him out in the darkness.

Keo spun and ran back into the tree line as they opened up on him, the loud clatter of a dozen or so assault rifles firing at the same time crackling across the air. They were armed with M4s and firing on three-round bursts. Unlike the carbines the islanders were using, the soldiers’ weapons hadn’t been converted to full-auto, it seemed. The difference between having a pair of Rangers on hand who knew their guns…and not, he guessed.

The problem was that those M4s, fully auto or not, still had the long-distance shooting ability that his MP5SD didn’t. Fortunately for him, he was moving before they started shooting, though that didn’t stop bullets from slamming into trees and snapping branches and kicking at the ground around him as he dived the last few meters into the sanctuary of the woods.

Daebak!

He scrambled to his feet, turned right, and ran as hard as he could. The air was filled with buzzing and gunfire, branches being reduced to splinters all around him. Either they knew the direction he was taking or they were shooting at everything. Not that it mattered. He was still in one piece with no extra holes in him, which was good enough.

He didn’t slow down until he could hear the lapping of the lake against the rocks at the bottom of the western cliff. Cool air floated through the trees and he stopped to catch his breath, then slipped the night-vision goggles back on. Running through a sea of trees with something blocking your vision, even if it gave you artificial night vision, wasn’t a good idea. He had learned that the hard way outside of Caracas a few years back—

BOOM!

Keo turned back around. He knew instinctively the explosion had come from the hotel even before he glimpsed the gray-white plume of smoke rising lazily into the air. It sounded like a grenade.

This night just keeps getting better and better. Now aren’t you glad you stayed?

So the bad guys had grenades, too. He guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised. They had blown up the brick wall around the shack with something pretty strong. Maybe C4 or Semtex. Probably C4, since he was on American soil. Uncle Sam’s boys in uniform hoarded those things in bunches.

The rattle of gunfire had picked up again, but this time not directed at him, thank God. He listened and judged their distance.

The hotel.

That was a bad sign, because Lara and the others were at the hotel. Or would have to go through it in order to reach their exit point as fast as possible. So he was right. More soldiers had come out of the shack before he even got there. He knew the sound of a ferocious firefight when he heard one, and he was listening to that right now.

He turned around and pushed north, even as the fight back at the hotel continued, the gunfire crashing like rolling thunder from one side of the island to the other. It was much louder than it really should have been, given the distance.

Beaufont Lake grew in volume to his left, but it wasn’t enough to replace the clatter of another running gunfight ahead of him along the northern side. That would be where the Trident was waiting. How long before Blaine decided to take off? That would probably depend on how much fire he was taking. With his luck—

His right ear clicked and he heard someone screaming through the comm, “We’re pinned!” Lara. “Blaine, take off now!”

Oh, hell no.

“What?” Blaine shouted back. “We’re not leaving without you! Get over here!”

Good call. Just wait a little longer until I get there, Blaine ol’ buddy.

“We’re not going to make it!” Lara said.

“Then we’ll come back to you!” Blaine said.

“Don’t be stupid!”

No, Blaine. Be stupid. Be really stupid.

He picked up his pace just in case tonight was the night Blaine decided to start being smart.

“Lara!” Blaine shouted.

“That’s an order, Blaine!” Lara said, most of her words drowned out by gunfire on her end. “Move your ass now, or I’m sending Danny over there to kick it!”

“Yeah, what she said!” Danny chimed in.

Then Carly said something before another BOOM! cut her off.

Keo stopped moving and glanced back toward the hotel. Another plume of smoke was rising into the air, wisps of it like a dragon’s breath.

Well, that’s not good.

He gripped the MP5SD and looked north, then east. The Trident was north. If he didn’t get there soon, Blaine was going to obey Lara’s orders and take off without him onboard. But Lara and Danny were pinned in the hotel. The bad guys also had grenades. They had made use of them twice now. What kind of chance did they have against that kind of firepower? What kind of chance did he have?

He looked north again.

I’m the dumbest man alive.

He sighed and took a step back toward the hotel, but he hadn’t completely stepped out of the tree lines when a new round of gunfire ripped across the air nearby. He dropped to the ground reflexively, expecting the trees around him to be sliced in half by the rapid brap-brap-brap of a machine gun blasting away.

The Trident.

Danny had brought the M240 with him and it was now perched along the rails of the yacht, with either Blaine or one of the islanders behind it firing away. He was trying to pinpoint the location of the machine-gun fire when it started to get louder.

Oh, for the love of God.

Keo remained pressed against the cold ground, stretching out the MP5SD in front of him, when he heard the heavy crunching of combat boots tramping grass with wild abandon as they came toward him. They were shooting as they ran, the zing-zing-zing! of bullets stripping away leaves and branches as they attempted to hit—

The yacht, its stark white color like a metallic beast swinging around the curvature of the island. He glimpsed the staccato effect of the M240 firing away from the upper deck railing, the light show blinking in and out as the boat moved across the row of trees between him and the cliff. Keo imagined the stream of empty brass casings falling into the ocean as the MG razed the column of woods as it passed.

Two men, both clad in black, burst through a pair of trees in front of him. They were somehow moving while crouched and trying to get a shot on the Trident’s machine gunner through the trees. They were ten meters away and closing in when Keo dropped both of them with a squeeze of the trigger. Rifles clattered to the ground just before a third man, out of breath, slid to a stop at the sight of his dead comrades.

Keo shot him twice in the chest, then scanned the woods, waiting for more pursuers.

The yacht had continued on behind him, its weapon still firing nonstop into a section of the woods in front of Keo. He stayed low against the ground as 7.62mm rounds, coming at 700 to 900 rounds per minute (give or take), sheared the trees around him like axes chopping down branches and reducing bark into clouds that stung his eyes.

Keo didn’t move his head for fear of getting it shot off. He didn’t breathe or move at all until the brap-brap-brap finally faded and a large branch plopped down in front of him. The smell of burnt wood filled his nostrils, and he had to switch to breathing through his mouth.

Only then did he allow himself to hop back up to his feet.

He glanced back and saw the white of the Trident fading through the trees. Keo ran after it, moving closer toward the edge as he went, but not so close that he’d run right off the cliff with one false move. He could already feel the cool swirls from the lake brushing against his face as he neared the end of the woods.

There. The yacht, like a white missile, gliding across the calm lake water and getting smaller as it went. The damn thing was picking up speed and it wasn’t going to stop for him. Nosirree. He thought about shouting after it, maybe tell it to Get the hell back here, but decided that probably wasn’t going to work. The boat was too far away and besides, shouting might bring more men in black uniforms after him.

Not daebak. This is definitely not daebak.

He headed back to where he had left the three bodies. He slung his MP5SD and snatched up one of the M4s, knowing the magazine was almost empty by how light the rifle was. He searched the bodies and found two spares, pocketing what he could. You could never have too many bullets, especially on a night like this. He was about to swap in a full mag when—

“Hey!” a voice shouted from behind him.

A man. It didn’t sound familiar, but it was close.

Keo stiffened, kept his back to the man, and didn’t move. Unfortunately for him, he was still holding the rifle at hip level.

“Terry?” the man asked.

The crunch crunch of boots on grass as the man neared. The name was clearly accompanied by a question, so the guy wasn’t certain who Keo was. Then again, he was surrounded by shadows and trees. In here, the moonlight picked and chose what it wanted to reveal, and at this very moment he was standing in one of those patches of darkness and wearing black.

“Yeah, what?” Keo said, keeping his voice as level as possible. He just hoped “Terry” didn’t have a deep voice. Or a feminine one. Hell, for all he knew, “Terry” could have been a girl.

But apparently not, because the guy said, “Where is everyone?” and the crunch crunch of grass got louder as the man got closer.

“I don’t know,” Keo said, spinning around.

He fired the carbine without lifting it first, just in case the guy had a rifle pointed at him. The first three-round burst knocked a man in a black uniform to the ground…and revealed four more standing about twenty meters behind him.

Keo pulled the trigger again but only got a click!

He turned and ran as all four opened fire at the same time.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, but sometime between either the third or fourth time he bent down to keep his head from getting blown off, he collided with a large tree that popped out of nowhere. Well, that wasn’t true. The tree was always there, but he hadn’t seen it because he was essentially running blind through the woods, too afraid to put on the night-vision goggles for fear of limiting what little vision he had.

Southeast.

That was all he knew; he was heading back toward the beach.

Then the tree said “Hi” and Keo bounced off it, but the impact knocked the radio loose from his hip and it went flying. He thought about trying to find it—for a brief nanosecond, anyway—but when the crack! of rifles sounded behind him, he decided he didn’t really need it and kept running instead.

With the radio now lying in some bushes behind him, Keo ripped out the earbud and throat mic and tossed them. He had also dropped the M4 to further lighten his load, because he needed the extra speed more than he needed firepower at the moment.

The four chasing him were fast and relentless, and they apparently had plenty of ammo, because they kept shooting. A couple of rounds came dangerously close to detaching his head from his shoulders, but he credited that more to dumb luck than skill. It was hard enough hitting a running man, but it was next to impossible to hit him while you were running, too.

He did manage to lengthen his lead by turning suddenly left, which threw them off a bit. About half a minute later, he righted his direction until he was running toward the beach again.

He could almost feel the lake water somewhere up ahead. Almost there. All he had to do was reach one of the boats and get the hell off this island and forget this night ever happened. Or the last few nights. Dammit, where would he be now if he hadn’t picked up Carrie and Lorelei? Probably on his way to Gillian. Or maybe already there, drinking piña colada. Did they have piña coladas on Santa Marie Island? He preferred to think they did.

To get off the island, he had to traverse about fifty meters of open beach while being shot at, which was why he was sticking to the woods for as long as possible. It had been a while since a bullet buzzed near his head, though he could still hear his pursuers crashing through branches and stomping the ground with their heavy boots behind him.

He couldn’t hear the loud mechanical roar of boat motors anymore, but that wasn’t surprising. After a while, the motors would turn off by themselves. As long as there was enough fuel left in one of the tanks, he could always turn them back on. There would be keys in the ignitions still. He didn’t remember any of the soldiers taking the time to pocket those before leaping off the beached vessels.

He was certain he was back at his old spot, where he had been lying in wait for the assaulters, when he saw moonlight glinting off spent shell casings on the ground. That was good, because a man could only run for so long. How long had he been in constant motion, anyway? He had no idea. Time had a way of slipping by when you were trying to keep from getting shot.

The sudden burst of pop-pop-pop from behind him made Keo duck his head instinctively, praying for the twentieth time in as many seconds that one of those bullets didn’t get lucky and take out his legs. Except he didn’t have to duck, because nothing was coming at him. Bark on the trees around him weren’t flying, and branches weren’t snapping into kindling. Instead, the gunfire continued behind him but, for whatever reason, it wasn’t being directed at him.

He told himself to keep running, to keep going—

Then someone screamed.

Then someone else joined in…

Keo slid to a stop and twisted around, lifting the MP5SD to fire. He was breathing hard, all the running finally catching up to him. He expected to see the four men in pursuit, but instead there were only two of them, and they were backing up toward him while shooting at something behind them.

It took only a second for Keo to see what they were shooting at.

He stared, because the sight was too much. Too…insane.

There had to be hundreds of them, so many there was no room for the trees, for the branches, for him and the two poor saps standing twenty meters in front of him, firing regular bullets into the creatures. Keo couldn’t see the other two, but he didn’t have to know where they were or what had happened to them. He could hear them screaming from inside the thick mass of moving ghouls.

I guess the uniform’s not working anymore, Keo thought before he turned and lunged out between the trees and felt mushy white sand under his boots a second later.

Run! Run, run, run, run!

Behind him, from inside the woods, the screaming and the gunfire continued, but Keo didn’t waste a second looking back. He didn’t have to. He knew what was back there. God knew he had seen plenty of it to last a lifetime. Tens of lifetimes. Right now, there was just the blood-soaked beach under him, the bodies left behind where they had fallen, and the boats still perched on the other side waiting, so close and yet so, so far away.

Christ, he didn’t remember the beach being this wide. Had it always been this wide?

Keo pushed harder, leaping over bodies and dodging rifles buried in the sand. There was so much blood it looked as if Song Island had soaked up all the plasma and was trying to give itself some kind of Grand Guignol makeover. And yet, and yet, the air still smelled fresh and clear, as if he could lie down and go to sleep right here and now and never notice the horrors.

Then the ground under his feet started to rumble. It felt like an earthquake, but of course he knew better. It wasn’t a natural disaster. Hell, there was nothing natural about this.

He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know what was back there, but he did it anyway.

Because he had to be sure.

Because there was a chance he could be wrong—

He wasn’t wrong.

They came out of the woods, between the trees, and the sight of the beach being swallowed up by the wave of pruned black flesh, like a living flood, sent a shiver up and down his spine. This was the stuff of nightmares, and Keo might have given in to his instincts and let out a loud mindless scream if he still had any energy left to make his mouth do anything besides gasp for breath.

To keep himself from freezing with fear, Keo looked forward instead and counted the steps to the nearest boat.

Twenty meters. Not too bad.

Then what?

Jump up into the boat. Turn the engine. Pray the motor still worked. Then somehow back out into the lake—

Dead. I’m dead meat.

He didn’t have to look over his shoulder this time to know they were almost on top of him. He could smell them. The air had changed, shifting from that pleasant clean lake aroma to something thick and grimy that made breathing difficult. His lungs continued to burn from all the running he had done, and his legs became dangerously wobbly.

Ten meters…

Gunshots rang out, and Keo glanced left without breaking his stride. Someone else was also moving toward the row of boats further down the beach. Because of the distance and with only moonlight to see with, he couldn’t tell if it was a lone figure or multiple people huddled together. Or hell, an entire basketball team.

But at least they knew where they were going.

The water. Get to the water!

Five…

Four…

Three…

Then he was there, the splash of wetness against his boots, letting him know that he had made it. He ran past the closest boat without looking at it, because the air behind him crackled and he felt warm, tainted breath hit the back of his neck and what sounded like a guttural squeal of delight—

Keo took a leap of faith. Or maybe he just leaped. Through the air. He imagined he must look like some kind of dolphin.

He hit the water headfirst and went under, unable to squash the laughter even as he sucked in a mouthful of Beaufont Lake water, because this was the third time he had gone for a swim in as many nights. He sank with his entry, but thank God he was a strong swimmer, because Keo quickly righted himself.

“They will not cross bodies of water,” Lara had said in her broadcast. “An island, a boat—get to anything that can separate you from land.”

Why, exactly, wouldn’t the ghouls cross bodies of water? Lara didn’t know. No one knew. The creatures just didn’t.

Well, it was time to test that theory. Up close and personal.

Hello, Guinea Pig Island!

He was halfway to the bottom of the slanted lake floor when he whirled around and almost choked on more of the clear water when he saw them dive bombing into the lake around him, shattering the surface one by one by one. They looked like missiles falling from the sky, but they were so light (bags of bones) that they didn’t sink right away.

Keo counted.

Five…ten…

Twenty!

Maybe one more. Maybe one less. Twenty or more (or less) ghouls in the lake with him were more than enough to make this a very short swim.

He was reaching for his MP5SD, hoping the German gun would still prove effective. He had never actually fired it under water before. But hey, there was a first time for everything. Like the end of the world. Like keeping a stupid promise to a woman he hadn’t seen in half a year. Like almost giving up his life for an island full of strangers run by a third-year medical student—

Keo never had to try shooting the submachine gun under water, because one second the creatures looked as if they would right themselves at any second and the next they seemed to be convulsing, desperately trying not to swallow the lake water. Their arms and legs were thrashing about wildly and one or two, maybe more, of them began trying to swim back toward the shore. Or what appeared to be an attempt to swim. It actually looked more like frantic kicking and clawing, movements he’d seen more than once from dumb tourists who got to Mission Beach and realized, too late, that they didn’t know how to swim.

He watched with a combination of fascination and exhilaration as the closest ghoul struggled to stay afloat, its dark eyes bulging as water poured into its agape mouth, bony fingers reaching out toward him as if for a handhold. Keo tread water, neither sinking nor going up, too mesmerized by the sight to go anywhere.

Then they stopped moving entirely, and one by one they began to sink toward the bottom. They looked like stones, blackened gargoyles with arms and legs frozen in mock surrender. These creatures that he always thought of as being entirely devoid of humanity were suddenly very human and he saw, to his surprise, what looked like terror frozen across their faces. They sank and sank, before resting softly, almost delicately, against the angled incline of the lake floor.

He waited for more of the creatures to drop down from the sky after him, into the water, and die, too. But there were no more. He could see them on the other side of the surface, like staring through a murky, flickering mirror. They crowded the beach, black shapes easy to make out, and looked after him but unwilling to pursue.

“They will not cross bodies of water. An island, a boat—get to anything that can separate you from land.”

Keo turned around and continued swimming. He stayed under for as long as he could before finally breaking the surface to suck in a lungful of fresh air.

He wasn’t surprised to find that he was surrounded by darkness. When he turned around, the island sans lights was barely visible in the distance. He couldn’t even see the beaches anymore, and it took him a few seconds to realize why.

The ghouls. There was nothing on the beaches at the moment but those shriveled black things that used to be human, so many that they blotted out the white sand.

He was staring at them when he thought he heard the sound of a motor droning somewhere behind him. Keo glanced around, but there was no boat in sight. At least, nothing on the water. There were plenty on the beach, but given what was also waiting for him there, they might as well not exist.

He pointed himself in the direction where he thought the shoreline was—even though it was impossible to see right now—and started kicking toward it.

He always liked swimming in the ocean at night anyway. You had to, in order to avoid the crowds during tourist season along San Diego’s beaches. Of course, if he had known he’d spend this much time in the water at night, he would have put in even more time.

Live and learn, pal.

Live and learn…

24

Will

“We’re going to die,” Natasha said. “I should have stayed in the back room and not come out to save you. You’re going to get me killed. Jesus, you’re going to get me killed.”

“I thought you didn’t care about dying,” Will said.

“I changed my mind.” She was visibly shaking, even in the semidarkness of the store. “I changed my mind, you hear me? I want to live. I didn’t think I did, but now I want to live.”

Check out Captain Optimism here, Danny.

“Shut up and listen,” he said.

“Listen to what? That? I can hear that just fine!”

The constant bang! bang! bang! of ghouls smashing themselves into the glass curtain wall hadn’t let up, not even for a second for him to catch his breath. There were so many of them, and they were raining blow after blow on the windows that the cracks were now stretched from one end of the frame to the other and connecting like river veins along the way.

It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, very soon, the windows would break and there would be nothing to stop them. Then it would be over. He would never reach Song Island. Never get to see Lara after so long. Never hold her hand or walk on the beach with her again.

Kate. This is your doing, isn’t it?

“Yes.”

Her voice echoed inside his head. It was unnatural and yet so intimate. Too intimate. It was like talking to a lover. Pillow talk. He shivered at the thought.

“How sweet.”

Had she just laughed? Giggled? Was it possible to project that sort of thing through…what was this? Telepathy? ESP? Insanity?

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Will.”

Where are you?

“Close.”

You’re coming here.

“Yes…”

You know.

“Yes…”

How?

“I can see you,” she said. “Inside that store. In that uniform with the woman. You’ve looked better, Will. But we can fix that. Imagine: No more wounds, no more scars, and no more illnesses.”

The uniforms aren’t going to work, are they?

“Haven’t you figured it out by now? It only works when I tell them it works.”

He stared out the cracked (breaking) windows at the creatures, past the ones flying into the glass like raindrops falling to the sidewalks, and at the wall of skeletal figures standing like good soldiers in the back. The sight of them, unmoving in the moonlight, was somehow more distracting than the ones smashing into the windows.

For some reason, he wasn’t really frightened. Disappointed and saddened, yes, but the fear wasn’t there. Even if everything ended tonight, he could take solace in one thing: At least Kate was here and not on Song Island. If nothing else, there was comfort in knowing she was too busy to pay attention to Lara—

“Oh, Will.” He sensed, even if he couldn’t actually hear it, amusement dripping with every word that echoed inside his head. “I don’t have to be there to be there. Will, Will, Will. How did you ever think you could beat us when you know so little?”

You’re attacking the island now, aren’t you?

“Not me. The island is an annoyance, but it’s not worth my time. I have people for those things.”

Like Josh. Like Mason…

“Two of many. So, so many. You have no idea.”

It made sense she wasn’t at the island in person, because she didn’t have to be. There was a legion of human collaborators willing and anxious to do her bidding. People like Rick and Millard, dead on the floor in their boxers behind him. Opportunists like Mason. Then there were all the poor, easily malleable souls like Josh, who didn’t know any better.

She laughed inside his head. “You, on the other hand…I can devote time to you, Will.”

What do you want from me, Kate?

“You’re living in the old world. It’s time to join me in the real one.”

No…

“Don’t be so naïve. You don’t have a choice.”

CRASH!

The first section of windowpane shattered and fell in streams to the tiled floor. The creature that had used itself as the final hammer flopped through among the shower of cubed glass, like sand pebbles, but only thicker and sharper. It rolled forward, bones clacking, shards of shiny glass sticking out of its cheeks and body and shoulder and chest—

“Run!” Will shouted.

By the time he turned around, Natasha was already racing toward the back room, arms swinging wildly in front of her. She had apparently forgotten all about her injuries. Like her, he couldn’t feel his own wounds anymore. His legs had stopped hurting (or, at least, that’s what he told himself) and every cut and bruise had ceased to matter. Everything faded into the background except the need to flee.

He glanced back as the ghoul rose from the floor, even as more of its brethren gave up on assaulting the other parts of the window and converged on the opening. They attacked the entrance with wild abandon, slashing their flesh against the jagged glass, thick rivulets of tainted blood arcing through the air and splashing the tiles and counters and shelves.

Run run run!

He darted into the last aisle and saw the open backroom door waiting for him at the very end. The brass handle stuck out in the semidarkness, gleaming with promise.

Natasha, already inside, was shouting at him. “Move your ass! Move your ass now!”

Gee, thanks for the suggestion, Natasha. I was just going to lollygag out here for a few minutes and then—

TAP TAP TAP!

He glanced over his shoulder again—

A flying swarm of twisted limbs and seemingly rippling flesh leaped onto the top of the shelves and knocked over products as they hopped their way toward him. Black eyes pierced the darkness and he imagined Kate, somewhere out there, looking through those very same hollowed holes at him.

“How did you ever think you could beat us when you know so little?”

She was right. She was so right. He knew so little. After all these months, he still knew so little about them. How did he—

“Come on!” Natasha’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He turned and lunged into the backroom and spilled against the cheap tiled floor. He landed on his outstretched arms and spun around until he was on his back, his hands scrambling to unsling the M4. Pain from the torn flesh underneath the bandages roared, but he pushed them aside and concentrated on getting a solid grip on the weapon.

Natasha was slamming the door—BANG!—then groping for the deadbolt and shoving it into place. She turned around and pressed her back against the slab of wood as if that would be enough to keep it shut.

It wouldn’t be. He knew it, and she knew it, too.

He looked into her eyes and knew that she wanted to live. Desperately. The woman he had met earlier, who had murdered Michael in cold blood and had some kind of death wish, really had come to an epiphany. She didn’t want to die.

He wished he could tell her that she had a choice at this moment.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

Natasha was stunned by the ferocity of the attack and staggered forward before regaining her composure and shoving herself back against the door. The sections of the wall that flanked the door quivered as the creatures assaulted it from the other side, over and over again, a ceaseless pounding of flesh against wood. Weakening wood. There was no way in hell the door was going to last the entire night. Not even close.

“Now what?” she shouted at him.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

He picked himself up from the dirty floor and glanced around the semi-dark room. He saw it right away—a small pool of moonlight shining inside through the three-by-three-feet window at the back. The same one Natasha had climbed through earlier.

“Will.”

There was an ethereal quality to her voice that seemed to sing only for him.

“It’s over, Will. Stop fighting and open the door.”

No.

“Open the door.”

No!

“Why do you always have to fight?”

Why? Because that was who he was. He didn’t surrender. He couldn’t. Lives were at stake. His. Natasha’s. Lara’s. Because he had to get home to her. Get back to Song Island. Whatever it took. However long. He had to get home.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“Hey!” Natasha shouted behind him. He looked back at her, still pressed against the door, both feet sliding each time the creatures crashed against her on the other side. “Do something, goddammit!”

Good idea. Do something. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Will…”

Get out of my head!

“No.”

Get out of my head, damn you!

“Open the door, Will.”

No!

“Open the door!”

NO!

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice again, loud and raw, drawing him constantly out of Kate’s soothing embrace. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, for God’s sake!”

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“This door’s not going to last! Hey! Can you hear me?”

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“Do something!”

He nodded back at her. Or thought he did.

What do to? What to do?

The window. Use the window.

And then what?

Later. No choice.

Out there, he had a chance. A tiny chance. Miniscule. But it was better than in here. There was absolutely zero chance within the confines of this small backroom. Out there, in the wide open, maybe…

You almost believed yourself that time. Ha!

He slung the rifle and hurried across the room to the back.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

The window was locked by a simple latch at the bottom. Will stood on his tiptoes and looked out at the darkness, expecting to see a pair of black eyes staring back at him. Instead, there was just the pitch-black of night.

Was it possible the creatures were all converging on the front windows, trying to get in through the door? Was the back of the store really clear? His heart actually raced at the possibility of surviving.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha shouted behind him. “Aren’t there more of those things out there?”

“I don’t see any!” he shouted back.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

He swore he could feel the entire room trembling with each crash, and he pretended that he couldn’t hear the sounds of pieces of the wall falling apart around the door. Not long now. A few minutes, at the most…

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“Do it!” Natasha shouted. “Whatever you’re gonna do, do it!”

He flicked open the latch and pulled the window up and open. Cold wind rushed inside and swamped him. He shivered, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the chill or something else.

“Will.”

He ignored it.

“Why do you persist?”

There was such a lyrical quality to her voice that made it difficult to shut out.

“This is for the best.”

He stuck his head out through the opening and looked left, then right.

“This is inevitable.”

Nothing. Emptiness.

“Song Island is gone. And Lara and Danny with it.”

There was nothing out there. He had expected to see a legion of them, but there was…nothing.

Just…nothing.

“Will…”

He didn’t answer the voice. Instead, he looked back at Natasha and nodded.

“Oh, God,” she said.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“Come on,” Will said.

“You first.”

He gave her a grin. Or close. It might have been something awkward or half-assed. Or maybe both.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

He turned around, got a good grip on the windowsill, and pulled himself up and—

—over.

He landed in a crouch and quickly unslung the M4, scanning the darkness behind the iron sights of the weapon.

There was just the black shroud of night staring back at him from every direction. The gas station was flanked by a thick wooded area to his right and Interstate 10 to his left, its gray concrete form just barely visible under the moonlight about a hundred meters away on the other side of a feeder road and overgrown grass that swayed in the breeze. The real jungle was on the other side—thick patches of shadows, like walls, that was as inviting as stepping into a wood chipper.

He stood up just as Natasha made an oomph! sound as she landed a few inches next to him.

It didn’t take long for the door in the backroom to go. In fact, the loud crash! caught him off guard because Will expected it to last just a little bit longer. Had Natasha really been the only thing keeping it from collapsing all this time?

“Oh, shit,” Natasha said breathlessly. She stumbled, turned around, and lifted her M4, ready to shoot the first thing that came through the open window behind them.

She didn’t get the chance because the darkness behind her shifted, moving in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Natasha fell. As she did, she pulled the trigger and the carbine fired a three-round burst into the air, the staccato effect of the discharge lighting up the immediate area for a second and a half, illuminating the half dozen ghouls that were pulling her down, bony fingers clutched around her legs and arms and waist.

Natasha let out a shriek that pierced Will’s soul.

Then she was gone, swallowed up by the shadows. The air crackled and the stench of death filled his nostrils as she screamed and screamed and screamed…

He started moving toward Natasha instinctively, but froze when they emerged out of the blackness. There was just enough moonlight to make out their emaciated forms, hollowed black eyes, and the sound of bone joints popping as they scrambled toward him.

He took a step back and fired, the first three-round burst shredding the chest of one of them. The second burst drilled three holes into the head of a second. Of course he knew it wouldn’t stop them. Why should it? The bullets weren’t silver, and he might as well be throwing sand pebbles at them for all the good the rounds were doing.

But he didn’t have a choice. Will kept backing up along the wall, moving left, even though he didn’t know why left would be any better than right. Left took him toward the highway, but he had no illusions he was ever going to reach it. He should have stopped then and there to catch his breath, but that would mean surrendering. Will hadn’t given up when the world died, and he’d be goddamned if he was going to do so now.

He kept shooting, because there was nothing else to do. But it wasn’t just the ghouls coming out of the nothingness around him now; they were also pouring out of the small gas station window, dropping to the ground one after another, after another…

He shot the legs out from under a ghoul, and it fell and was instantly stepped on by two—three—a dozen others.

“Will, stop.”

There wasn’t the sound of triumph in her voice that he was expecting. There was almost…what was it? Concern? No. That had to be a trick of his mind, giving her human traits when he knew damn well Kate was no longer human. She was a monster, like these poor bastards coming at him from every direction at the moment.

He was hoping the continuous gunfire would drown out her voice, but he had no such luck. He could hear her just fine. More than fine, actually. Her words were so loud and clear despite everything that he might as well be trying to shut himself off from his own thoughts.

“Why do you keep fighting me?”

He smashed the butt of the rifle into the head of the first ghoul that reached him. He heard a crack! as its skull gave way. The blow sent it reeling, though whether he had actually hurt it or not (or maybe just annoyed it), he couldn’t tell. And he didn’t have time to find out because the others were already closing in from the right and left—

Left. Christ, the left!

“You always were so stubborn.”

He spun and started shooting in that direction, but that meant he was now cut off from the highway.

“Always so…Will.”

Click! as the rifle went empty.

Already? He didn’t have time to breathe or reload because they were everywhere, converging on him in an unending tide. He dropped the rifle and drew the Smith & Wesson, shooting the closest one point-blank in the face. The bullet drilled through its right eye and hit another ghoul behind it in the forehead. It, too, snapped back momentarily.

“The world turns whether we’re here or not.”

He shot another one in the chest, spun around, and blew out the forehead of another, and then they were all over him. One had gotten a grip on his right arm and was pulling it back, along with the gun. He punched it in the face, staggering it. That forced it to let go of his arm, but it just gave another ghoul—two—the opportunity to take its place.

“There is order in acceptance.”

He could only see the tops of their pruned foreheads as they climbed over him, and soon they were pushing him down to one knee. He fired another shot, but it was like throwing a pebble into an ocean of black tar. Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened.

“You don’t have to lose your humanity. Not all of it, anyway. I can show you how.”

Then he was kneeling, trying to rise, but unable to against their sheer number. One or two, or even a dozen wouldn’t have done it, but there was more than that. There were two, maybe even three dozen, crawling over him. Whatever had happened to them—this infection, this deviant transformation—it had shrunk them into husks of their normal size. They were shorter and lighter, but that didn’t matter when there were so many of them.

“Let go.”

He fell. He had no choice. He went down on the grass, trying desperately to punch and kick at them, but he could barely move any of his limbs.

“Just let go…”

No.

“It’s over…”

No!

“Yes…”

He couldn’t see anything—just a world of black, even darker than the night itself. This nothingness, this void was complete and suffocating. He waited to feel their teeth penetrate his skin, to inject their poisoned blood into his veins and turn him from who he was into what they were—

“No, Will. You’re not for them. You were never meant for them.”

There was a sadness in her voice. He didn’t know how he knew, but he felt it in every fiber of his being that this Kate was once again the Kate he knew, the survivor of The Purge and not the one that had become a monster. Or maybe he was fooling himself again.

“Soon you’ll understand everything.”

They had pinned his right arm against the ground near his hip, bony fingers wrapped around every inch of his skin like pricking needles.

Never.

“Yes.”

Never…

It took every ounce of muscle, but he was able to move his hand partially up the length of his body despite the arms—so many fingers, and so strong—tugging at him the entire way. Or maybe they weren’t strong at all. Maybe it was just their sheer number. How many now? Three dozen hands? Four?

It didn’t matter. There were too many. There were always too damn many.

He kept pulling anyway, willing every muscle to work, and slowly, very slowly, turned the gun in his hand until it faced up instead of down.

Lara, I’m sorry. I tried to make it back home.

He wrapped his finger around the familiar cold trigger.

I tried, baby. I really tried.

The gun wasn’t exactly right under his chin where he could be guaranteed of a killing shot, but it was close enough. Or it would have to do, anyway.

I can’t become one of them, Lara. I won’t become like her.

He wished he could see where the barrel was pointing, just to be sure. He wished, he wished, he wished…for so many things at the moment.

Please understand.

He had to get it right with the first shot, because he wouldn’t have a second one. If he just wounded himself, he might not have the strength to try again.

I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.

He started to pull the trigger...

“What are you doing, Will?”

He didn’t remember the trigger being so strong, so difficult to pull. It felt as if the gun was purposefully fighting him. Or was he just weak from all the struggling? That could have been it.

“No.”

He ignored her and closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the wall of black flesh. He didn’t need to see them to know this was the right thing to do. He couldn’t become one of them. Never. Lara would understand.

“You can’t do this.”

At least Danny and Gaby had made it home. At least there was that. If nothing else—all the failures, the near-misses—at least he had done that one thing right.

Take care of her, Danny. I’m counting on you.

There, almost there—

“Stop it,” the voice said, and this time it wasn’t inside his head. This time it was coming from outside. “It can’t end like this.”

The ghouls pinning him to the ground unraveled, their thick layers dissolving like liquid around him. They released his arms and legs and slithered backward on their hands and knees.

He could breathe again, and sucked in a deep lungful of biting cold air.

He was still on the ground, his chest heaving, the thickness of the night sky exposed above him. It was ironic that it would end here—out in the open and under the stars. The Purge had begun inside an apartment building for him, and it seemed as if he had been hiding inside back rooms and basements ever since.

Except for all those wonderful times when he was at the island with Lara. Those were the best days of his life. The best nights, too. Because of her.

Lara…

Something moved in the darkness, flickering in the corners of his eyes. He sat up and scrambled to his feet, backing up until he was pressed against the brick wall of the store, the Smith & Wesson clenched tightly in his hand.

Almost. He’d almost pulled the trigger.

He didn’t shoot the approaching figure right away; not yet, not until he could see what he was shooting at. He could feel the weight of the gun even through the gauze covering the raw (and probably bleeding again) flesh underneath—the magazine was half empty, and he knew with absolute certainty he wouldn’t have time to reload if he emptied it now.

Not yet, not yet…

The lone ghoul emerged out of the black canvas like a ghostly apparition; it was taller than the others, and it stood straight. It walked toward him with a preternatural fluidity that shouldn’t have been possible and had the obvious hips of a woman even though anything resembling breasts were long gone, replaced by a sunken chest that, nevertheless, managed to still look strong and boastful.

The way it moved was undeniable: It owned this moment with every step, and it knew it.

Bright blue eyes pulsated in the darkness.

He knew this day would come. Somehow, some way, he knew it would end this way, with the two of them face to face in the middle of a lonely, dark night.

“Hello, Will,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

25

Lara

“Run!” the kid shouted.

Kid? Why was she calling him a kid? The Josh who had come back to the island after supposedly dying wasn’t a kid anymore. Far from it. The fact that he had just shot Danny with a pistol erased any doubts about that.

Lara was struggling to pick Danny up when Gaby grabbed him on the other side. They exchanged a brief look and as much of a smile as they could manage before they lifted Danny up from the cobblestone road.

“Run!” Josh was shouting behind them. “Get out of here, Gaby! Leave him, and get out of here now!”

But Gaby didn’t leave him, and Lara couldn’t be more proud of her. The girl who had come back to her was hardly recognizable, but it wasn’t because of the bruises and cuts. Gaby had changed. She had grown up. She might have still been nineteen, but Lara saw a woman when she looked across Danny.

She’s a soldier, Will. You’d be proud of her.

And she was going to need Gaby, too, because Danny was heavy. God, he was so heavy.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when the air became drenched with a nauseating smell. It was indescribable, and though she hadn’t seen them in such a long time, she knew exactly what the stench was a harbinger of even before she glanced back over her shoulder. She had to see for herself—the proof that all of this was happening, that Song Island really was lost to them.

The wall of pruned flesh moved against the night, blackening the already dark background on the other side of the open pathway. She swore she could hear them not just in front of her, but through the woods to both sides, too—the loud and stampeding crunch! of grass and the snap! and thwack! of branches assaulting every one of her senses.

“Faster,” Lara said, the word coming out in a breathless whisper. “Faster, Gaby!”

Gaby didn’t answer, but she did pick up her pace, and together they pushed their way through the four soldiers staring, a couple of them already lifting their rifles at the legion of creatures swarming down the pathway toward them.

Run! Lara wanted to shout at them. Run, you fools! Bullets don’t stop them! Even silver bullets only slow them down until the next hundred more take their place!

She didn’t, because she didn’t care what they did or didn’t do. She didn’t have any interest in their lives at all. They were the enemy—people who had come here to kill her and her friends—and she didn’t give a damn what happened to them. But a small part of her that thought maybe, just maybe, having the soldiers between her and the ghouls would slow the creatures down.

What was that old joke? “I don’t need to outrun the bear. I just need to outrun you!”

She wanted to laugh, but of course when she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was harried breathing. She was already out of breath and they hadn’t even gone a few yards yet.

“Run!” someone was shouting behind them.

Josh. He wasn’t talking to her or Gaby; he couldn’t be, because they were already running. So who was he screaming at?

The soldiers. Of course.

“I can’t control them!” Josh was shouting. “Run! For God’s sake, run!”

Lara risked a second look back.

Josh was running after them even as his soldiers opened fire on the creatures bounding down the pathway at them. She had forgotten just how unnatural they looked in motion, like a flip picture book colored all in black.

“Go!” Josh shouted at her. “Don’t stop! Kate sent them! They’re not going to stop! I can’t stop them! No one can!”

“Lara, she’s coming,” Will had said. “She’s coming…”

Kate. Lara remembered how the woman had chased them from Starch, Texas to Beaumont, then all the way into Louisiana and finally, Song Island. She wouldn’t let them go. No, that wasn’t true. She was more than happy to let them go. She just wouldn’t let Will go.

You and your exes, Will, she wanted to laugh.

If Lara went another day without having to hear that creature’s name, she would die a happy woman.

As Josh chased them—no, not chased, followed—the soldiers he had abandoned were still shooting behind them. The men, anyway. The only woman among them—the twenty-something with the black ponytail—was looking after them. After Josh. There was an expression on her face that Lara had seen plenty of times before.

Hurt. Regret. Betrayed.

“The boats!” Josh shouted at her. “Get to the boats! They won’t go into the water! Get to the boats!”

Lara didn’t know what he was doing, or why. She only knew that he wasn’t shooting at them with the gun clenched in his hand, and that was all she cared about.

She turned around and got a better grip around Danny’s waist just as they stepped off the pathway and she finally—finally—felt the squishy beach under her. The sand seemed to sink under her boots and she wasn’t running nearly as fast as she had been just a second ago.

It wasn’t that she was running slower, it was Danny. He was too heavy even with her and Gaby carrying him at the same time. His head hung against his chest, his eyes closed, and sweat dripped off his temple and down his painfully pale, unresponsive face. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was already dead, if she and Gaby weren’t carrying around a dead man with them at this very moment.

Bang! Bang!

Two quick gunshots from almost directly behind her. Lara didn’t have to look back to know who was shooting. Josh. She recognized the sound of his handgun from earlier, when he’d shot Danny.

“Faster!” Josh was shouting behind them between gunshots. “Get to the boats! Gaby, get to the boats!”

Lara looked over at Gaby on the other side of Danny, but she couldn’t see the teenager past Danny’s bouncing head. She could hear Gaby’s heavy breathing just fine, though, even over the pop-pop-pop of assault rifles and Josh’s earsplitting gunshots behind them.

The water! Get to the water!

She willed herself not to look back a third time (it was hard, so hard) and kept running—or ran as much as she could, anyway. The fact was, she was mostly stumbling, Danny’s weight like a giant boulder on her shoulders. It was his feet—they were dragging across the sand like an anchor. But that couldn’t be helped. He was simply too heavy for her and Gaby to lift completely off the ground.

Josh was still firing behind them. She didn’t know why he was wasting his time. Did that handgun of his (some kind of black semiautomatic) even have silver bullets? If they didn’t, he might as well be picking up handfuls of sand and throwing them at the ghouls for all the good he was doing.

Of course, she didn’t bother to tell him that. If he fell now, that was one more thing for the creatures to waste a precious second or two on. Another speed bump on the road to salvation.

Speed bump of the dead. Ha ha. Good one, Lara.

She might have chuckled to herself that time.

I’ve finally developed Danny’s morbid sense of humor. God help me.

They were halfway to the water when Gaby began to slow down noticeably. Lara thought about shouting encouragement when she realized the teenager was only mirroring her own flagging pace. It wasn’t just that they were both tiring, they were also literally sinking into the beach with every step.

She didn’t know why it felt as if they were running in quicksand until she looked down and saw the blood. It was all over the beach, supplied in generous amounts by the dead men that had assaulted the island. The dozens of bodies lay across the white sand, multiple jagged lines of lost lives thrown away by Kate as if they were little more than expendable sacks of meat.

That’s all we are to them. Meat.

What chance do we have? Why do we keep fighting—

The shooting behind them had suddenly stopped and there was just her and Gaby’s labored breathing, along with Josh’s (he was so close behind her that she swore she could feel his warm breath brushing against the back of her neck) crashing against the lapping waves in front of them.

My God, it was still so far away.

The water—she could see it, even smell and taste it in the air, but it was still so far away. Why was it so damn far away?

She thought about handing Danny off to Josh. He was a man now—bigger and taller and stronger. He could help Gaby carry Danny faster than she could. The two of them were uninjured and would have a better chance of reaching the boat than with her. Besides, she was pretty sure she was bleeding again. The question was, was it both her wounds or just one? Given how badly her night was going, it was probably both.

Her left shoulder and thigh were screaming at her at unimaginable decibels. It had started when she first picked Danny up, and it had only gotten worse—and louder—as she trudged across the length of the beach. Her shoulder in particular howled and bounced off the insides of her skull. Both of her legs were throbbing—and not just the one that was injured and wrapped in gauze at the moment.

She wanted to stop and sit down. No, lie down. That would be so much better. It was time to rest, anyway. She had been fighting for so long, and now she just wanted to stop for a moment and take a breath that wasn’t so labored that it felt as if her chest would cave in with every gasp of air.

Why fight it? We can’t win.

Why didn’t you tell me, Will? Why didn’t you ever tell me the truth?

We can’t win. We can’t—

She looked across and saw Gaby on the other side of Danny. Her face was locked in a tight grimace, and every inch of her was flushed with pain. But she hadn’t stopped—not even for a second. She pushed on, fighting through whatever physical hell was trying to suffocate her at the moment.

The sight of Gaby filled Lara with pride.

You’re right, Will. We have to keep fighting. Not just for us, but for everyone. For all the Gabys of the world. The Elises and the Veras and the Dwaynes.

Goddammit, you’re right. You’re always so damn right…

She could do it. She could take the pain and keep moving, because there were no other choices. It was stop and die, or keep moving and live. It didn’t matter if they only survived for another second. Or minute. Or hour.

Survive!

“The boat!” Josh’s voice, so much louder than before, as if he was almost on top of her. Had she and Gaby really slowed down that much? “Get on the boat!”

“Lara!” Gaby? Why was Gaby shouting at her? “Ready?”

Ready? Ready for wha—

Oh.

The boat. One of the ten boats that lined the beach, coming up on them. It was one of the smaller ones, and it had only partially slid up onto the sand before its occupants bailed. There was blood along the sides, and a man in a black uniform lay half-in and half-out of the water nearby, like a permanent fixture.

Then she did a stupid thing and looked back again.

They were coming out of the trees, an oozing black blob of moving limbs and black eyes. There wasn’t a single part of the beach behind her that she could see that wasn’t already turning black, as if someone had poured a giant bottle of ink that was now swallowing up the white sand inch by inch.

She couldn’t take her eyes off them—these impossibly twisted and emaciated things that were once human beings. Their speed was incomprehensible, and for a moment she was sure her eyes were lying to her. But no, they really were that fast, it was just that she hadn’t seen them for so long that she had forgotten.

“Lara!” Gaby’s voice again. “Hurry!”

She looked forward just as wetness swamped her feet.

Water?

The lake!

The boat wasn’t so tall that they couldn’t have climbed over without help, but Danny was heavy and all the running had tired her out, and her wounds were screaming inside her like banshees. Every inch of her ached, so Lara had no idea where both she and Gaby found the strength, but they hoisted Danny up—

—he went over and landed on the other side of the beached boat with a loud thump! that she hoped wasn’t a bad sign. To have gone through all the trouble to save him, only to have him land on something sharp, was a terrifying thought.

Gaby grabbed the side of the boat and disappeared up it with surprising fluidity. Lara wondered where she’d learned that. She’d ask her later…if there was a later.

She gripped the side and pulled herself up, somehow managing not to cry out as pain exploded across her body, her left arm feeling as if it would snap in two—or maybe three or four—pieces at any second.

She might have either cried or screamed (or both) as she climbed over the side and dropped to the floor on the other side. She didn’t remember, because she was scrambling to her knees next to Danny, who had fallen on top of an M4 rifle that had been left behind by one of the assaulters.

Lara grabbed the rifle and jerked it out from underneath Danny, then she made the mistake of looking back up the beach again.

They were still coming (of course they were, what did she think, they were going to give up when she wasn’t looking?) and there was so many that she imagined this must be what it was like to stare into the heart of a living and breathing black hole. There was nothing in front of her but death.

Josh. Where’s Josh?

Not far, as it turned out. He was in front of her, firing the last of his bullets into the incoming horde before dropping the gun.

He spun around, his face wild, screaming. “Go! Go!”

Go? she wanted to ask him. Go where? We’re stuck. The boat won’t move—

The roar of the engine filled the air as Josh rammed himself into the front of the boat. What was he doing? What—

“Go!” Josh was shouting. He was pushing and screaming, digging his boots into the sand for leverage and howling like a madman. “Go, get out of here! Get out of here!”

He was pushing them back into the water.

She didn’t know how he was doing it. This skinny kid who had come to her and Will months ago, who couldn’t do much of anything right. It was Gaby who had saved his life not once, but twice, because Josh was one of those kids in school who you ignored. He was average in every way—not tall enough, not big enough, and certainly not handsome enough for a girl like Gaby—and there shouldn’t have been any possible way he could actually be pushing the boat back into the water.

“Josh, what are you doing?” Gaby screamed, most of it lost over the roar of the outboard motor.

The boat kept moving, because Josh was still pushing even though she couldn’t see him in front of the vessel anymore.

This isn’t possible. How is this even possible?

And the beach got darker and darker, until there was nothing left—

Then the sound of the motor changed noticeably as the propeller finally found water to churn against, and the boat was now reversing faster off the beach and into the lake.

She could finally see Josh again. He stood on the beach, his legs buried in the sand up to his knees. He was looking after them, gasping for breath, his chest heaving with all the effort and strain of what he had just done. And yet there was something strange on his face.

It wasn’t fear. Or terror.

Was he smiling? No, not smiling. Josh was beaming as he looked back at her—or maybe he was trying to find Gaby behind her. That was probably it. At that moment, Lara didn’t think she actually existed in the teenager’s eyes. He was so serene, as if his entire life had led to this moment and he had finally achieved something that had eluded him all this time.

Then he was gone.

Josh disappeared under the tidal wave of surging pruned flesh and hollow eyes. He didn’t scream, but simply vanished under the pile of twisted limbs and blackened flesh, as if he had never existed at all.

But Josh had done it. The boat was reversing at faster speeds, moving back, back, back from the beach and away from the unending tide of creatures that blanketed it—

Not all the creatures were converging on Josh. There wasn’t enough space for all of them, so the rest kept coming. She didn’t know what they were doing.

The water. They couldn’t go into the water…could they?

As she looked on, breathless, one of the ghouls launched itself into the air and at the boat. It spilled against the side of the vessel and groped desperately for something to hold onto, but couldn’t, and went tumbling into the water.

Two—no, three more—catapulted themselves at the V-shaped front of the boat, but they too didn’t land at the right spots and failed to find something to hold onto and disappeared over the side.

The rest began plop-plop-plopping into the lake around them. They looked like kamikaze pilots sailing through the night air only to miss their target. She watched them sink into the lake water and thrash about. A few managed to break the surface again, only to drop back under like…stones?

She was still staring off the side, trying to process what she was seeing (The water! They really can’t survive in the water!), when one of them sailed across the distance and managed to land on the boat in a ball of clacking bones. It rolled forward and slammed into the bench in front of the steering console, unraveling its limbs.

As soon as it lifted its head, Lara shoved the barrel of the M4 toward it and pulled the trigger. The first half dozen bullets obliterated its eyes and nose and mouth, and the next half dozen shattered its skull and sent it stumbling back, back. She didn’t expect it to go down (no silver bullets), and it didn’t disappoint her.

Mostly headless now, it continued coming.

Lara spun the rifle around and smashed the stock into its chest. That, more than the bullets, made it reel backward. She followed it and hit it again, this time aiming for what remained of its lower jaw, sticking out like one half of a crushed watermelon. That kept it staggering back and off balance. She hit it a third time on the side of its leftover “head” and heard the stock of her rifle cracking with the impact.

She kicked it squarely in the chest, putting as much strength as she could muster (or as much as the rippling pain from her thigh would allow her) into the blow. The creature had nowhere else to go, and the force of the kick sent it toppling over the side. There was a satisfying plop! as it disappeared into the water.

Lara hurried over and looked down and could see the creature sinking, reaching out with its bony arms for her. Then it was gone, and the waters of Beaufont Lake settled over the spot where it had vanished.

“Lara,” Gaby said behind her.

She looked back at Gaby, saw her staring past her and at the island. She followed Gaby’s gaze back to the beach—or where she thought it was supposed to be. Normally she would be able to see the long stretch of white sand from anywhere, even at night without lights. That wasn’t the case this time. Everywhere she looked, there was just shifting, moving darkness.

Lara shivered, even though they were already forty to fifty yards from land and there was no way they could throw themselves that far. Or, at least, she hoped not.

She looked away. She didn’t need to see anymore. The island was gone. Lost. She had fought against it—tried like mad to keep it—but the truth was staring back at her now.

Song Island was lost. Truly, truly lost.

She crouched next to Danny instead and felt along the side of his neck. To her great relief, he still had a pulse, but it was very weak. He was alive, though, something she hadn’t been entirely certain of earlier.

“Is he okay?” Gaby asked.

“He’s alive,” Lara said.

She looked up at Gaby, who was still staring back at the island. But Lara knew what she was really looking for. Josh.

Lara couldn’t wrap her mind around what he had done. He had saved their lives. Pushed the boat back into the water. How? That was the question. Could Will, even at full strength, have done something like that? She remembered seeing Josh buried up to his knees in the sand as they were backing up. What kind of strength had the kid possessed to do something like that?

“Gaby, we need to go,” she said. “Blaine and the others will be waiting for us.”

Gaby nodded and spun the steering wheel. She looked back at the island as long as she could until they had turned completely around. The boat started moving smoothly under her, and Lara fumbled her way to the bench at the front and sat down.

She was tired, and sitting down seemed to help, even though every part of her was threatening to come apart at any second.

“Lara,” Gaby said. She looked back as Gaby threw her a white pill bottle. “Don’t read the label; just take two.”

Lara nodded. She didn’t have the strength to argue, anyway. She opened the bottle, took out two pills, and swallowed them. She had never been good about taking medicine without a glass of water, so she felt a little proud of herself when the pills went down surprisingly easy.

“I think I saw someone on the other side of beach,” Gaby said. “At the same time we were running for the boat.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. He was wearing dark clothes.” She shook her head. “It could have been one of Josh’s…” Gaby stopped in mid-sentence, then said instead, “How long will Blaine wait for us? I don’t want to leave anyone behind, Lara. Not again. Not ever again…”

26

Will

Kate.

He used the wall behind him as a crutch, because he wasn’t confident in his legs. The sight of her in person after all this time left him speechless, confused, and unable to fully understand how the last few months had all ended up with him here, face to face with her.

She was taller than he remembered. Thin, but not quite as skeletal as the others. He recalled seeing this new version of her in the town of Harvest that morning at the water tower. But that was from afar, and though he recognized her (even now, he didn’t know how, he just did), it wasn’t the same as seeing her standing before him.

The blue of her eyes was ethereal and nothing like the crystal blue of Lara’s. These seemed to actually pulsate, as if they were living organisms in and of themselves.

The creatures were gone. All of them. They had slinked away into the night, leaving just the two of them, like children abandoning the room to bickering parents. He couldn’t even smell them anymore, and in their place was just the crisp night air. He didn’t know how that was possible. Usually when the ghouls were around, there was always the stink of compost.

Maybe it was Kate. There was an iciness about her presence, an almost regal vibe that made him want to fall to his knees and bow. But of course he did no such thing, because this wasn’t the Kate he knew. That Kate was gone—dead. He would know; he had shot her in the chest himself.

This Kate wasn’t anyone he knew. This Kate was…more.

But even new Kate could die.

“Shooting them doesn’t work, not even with silver bullets,” he had told Danny. “But taking out the brain seems to work just fine.”

“You still need silver for that, or will any ol’ bullet do?” Danny had asked.

“I have no idea. Let’s just use silver to be sure.”

Being sure was a luxury he didn’t have at the moment, because he had no silver bullets on him. But he still had the gun, and the magazine was half-full. So there was that.

He measured the distance between Kate and him: Three meters.

Not too far, but not too close, either. If last night was any indication, the blue-eyed ones were fast. Much, much faster than the black eyes. (What had Kate called them? Her “brood”?) But how much faster was Kate? Could she dodge a bullet—

“Yes,” Kate said. Her voice was almost a hiss, not the same soft and melodic sound that it was inside his head.

“Yes”? he thought. Yes what, Kate?

“Yes,” she said again, as if he should know.

Because he did know.

Yes, she was fast.

Yes, she could take him before he could put a bullet in her head and splatter the brain inside. Because Kate, like the other blue-eyed ones, still had brains. That was their weak spot.

All he had to do was hit the brain…

Captain Optimism, amirite, Danny?

“He’s dead, you know,” she said.

Dead?

“Danny,” the ghoul said. The creature. Kate. “On the island. He was shot, and he’s dead. Everyone’s dead, Will. Song Island is lost.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Lara is gone, too. But you don’t have to join her.”

Was she lying? She was certainly capable of it. She was a monster, after all. There was no such thing as honor among monsters. Everyone knew that.

She might have snorted. Or made some other derisive sound. It was hard to tell because the noises that came out of her (it) were difficult to interpret.

She hadn’t moved from her spot. Three meters, that was all that separated them, though it felt so much closer because he could hear her voice like a sharp knife. He didn’t have to strain, even though her hisses were unnaturally soft, almost whispers. Or was he hearing her inside his head, too? That could have been very possible.

Three meters for a head shot…

“More than enough time,” she said.

He smiled at her. He didn’t know where it came from. Maybe it was the clown in him, or the gung-ho asshole he thought he had whipped out of his system since the first weekend of Basic Training.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “Are you really that fast?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I’m not the one who’s dying tonight, Will.”

“You mean dying again?”

Thin creases, like cuts rather than lips, formed something that might have resembled a smile. He wondered how long it had been since Kate—this new Kate—had performed such an act that the result was so horrendous.

“Do you really want to die, Will?” she asked. “Is that what you want?”

“You think I’m scared of dying, Kate? If you think that, then you really never knew me at all.”

He pointed the gun at her, and the moonlight glinted off its smooth side. He expected some kind of reaction, but there was none; Kate stood perfectly still, as if he were armed with nothing more than a water pistol.

“Let’s find out how fast you really are,” he said.

She sighed. Or seemed to sigh. He couldn’t be sure. “You’re so human, Will.”

“When did that become a bad thing?”

“Have you looked around you?”

He grinned. She had a point there. “Tell me one thing: Why?”

“Why?” she repeated.

“Why? Why are you in my head? Why can’t I get rid of you? Why, Kate?” He was almost shouting now. “What the hell do you want from me?”

She didn’t answer for the longest time. In fact, she seemed almost taken aback by the questions. Or was that all in his mind? Was he subscribing human traits to her again in an attempt to understand her?

“It’s lonely,” she said finally, her voice dropping to a mere whisper, so low he wouldn’t have heard if she wasn’t standing so close to him.

Three meters…

“I’m surrounded by billions of us,” she said, “and it’s still so lonely.”

A head shot at three meters. Just under ten feet. That was all it would take to end this. Maybe, like with the farmhouse last night, if he could kill Kate and use her as a shield to keep the black-eyed ones back, he could survive tonight. The other creatures were still out there, waiting—always waiting—even if he couldn’t see or hear or even smell them (Is that your doing too, Kate?).

Maybe, just maybe, this might work.

Then in the morning, he’d find a vehicle and make his way down to Song Island. Or he’d walk, if he couldn’t find a car. It didn’t matter. As long as he was breathing, that was all that mattered. As long as he was still sucking in breath, he could get home to Lara, because Kate was lying about Song Island being lost. She had to be.

He almost smiled, because there it was. The opening he had been waiting for. He knew it would come sooner or later as long as he bided his time. Like always, the trick was to recognize it and jump through feetfirst.

Kill Kate and use her to keep the black eyes back. Repeat what he had done at the farmhouse last night.

Easy peasy.

The only thing standing between him and seeing Lara again was a bullet and three meters. He’d made harder shots in his life. But he was only going to get one shot (Haha, good one) at this. If he missed, and she proved to be just as fast as the others (or faster), then he might not get a second try.

The shot of your life.

No pressure.

“There are others,” she said, when he didn’t respond. “Like me. Like Mabry. But it’s not the same. This colonization—it’ll be over soon. We’re bringing order to the chaos, and the future is bright. You must know that this was how it was always going to end, Will. You can’t win. You must know that by now.”

It doesn’t matter how fast she is. You can’t outrun a bullet.

Hopefully.

“I think you do, Will. You might deny it out loud, but deep down, in your private thoughts, you know I’m right. You can’t win. You never could. You never will.”

He focused on the stunning glow of her blue eyes, the windows to her soul. If she even still had a soul. He imagined he could see the old Kate through those eyes, the one that existed beyond the black flesh and gangly frame.

“When it’s over, we’ll rebuild,” she continued. “We’ve already begun. Humans will serve us and provide for us. There’ll be no more fighting. No more violence. We’ll rise above it all.” She smiled again. Or attempted to. “And when it’s over, when it’s finally all over, I’ll need someone with me. By my side. You, Will. You should be that someone.”

Me?

The reality of what she was saying eluded him. He understood every word of it, but he couldn’t grasp the concept. Maybe it was the idea of being with her after all of this. Or just being with her at all. It was…unnatural.

How did she ever think it could be possible?

How did she ever think he would agree to it?

“I was content to let you waste your time on the island with that little girl until I could convince you to see the truth,” she continued, unbothered by his lack of response. “But then she had to go and make things difficult. That radio broadcast made Mabry angry, and he gave me no choice. And here we are.”

She held her hand out toward him, the palm facing up, the flesh so impossibly tight that he could only see the curvature of bones underneath.

“Fate brought us here, Will. But you don’t believe in fate, do you?”

I believe in what I can touch, and see, and hear, and shoot. I believe you’re not the same Kate, even though you pretend to still be her.

“No,” he said.

“You should. Remember the first time we met? Most of the world was gone, but we still found each other. Something led me to you, and something made you stop there to wait for me. It was fate, Will. Nothing happens without a reason. Everything works to achieve a perfect balance. Order out of chaos. That’s what this is. This is order.”

He stared at her and knew she believed every word of it. That, more than anything, was surprising. The Kate he remembered was mature, smart, and would have laughed in his face if he started talking about destiny and fate and strange, unexplainable psychic connections.

And yet here she was, trying to convince him all of this was…fate?

He pitied her. He hadn’t realized what he was feeling until now. There was something sad about Kate—despite her millions of ghouls, her brood—because she longed for a connection that she couldn’t have.

You’re gonna get a good laugh out of this one, Danny ol’ chum.

Her fingers moved as she prompted him. “Give me the gun, Will. Let it be your token of surrender. You have no choice.”

“No,” he said.

“No?” she repeated. There was a stunned look on her face. Or, at least, something he interpreted as stunned. It could have been anything, really.

He grinned again. It was reckless, and he must have known she wasn’t going to receive it well, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Sorry,” he said, “but Lara would kick my ass if she found out I was cheating on her with a corpse.”

He caught the sudden movements out of the corner of his eye just before the ghouls came back, bringing with them the terrible smell; a swarm of them appearing from the darkness, as if oozing out of the night itself. There were too many to count, so he didn’t bother. He always knew they were out there so he wasn’t surprised, but how the hell had they appeared so fast?

His eyes were drawn back to Kate because something had changed with her (it); a flash of emotion flickering across her blackened face, the skin so constricted it might as well have been satin over a skull in a medical lab somewhere. Even her eyes seemed to flare up, growing in size, the blue doubling (tripling?) in intensity. He might have even believed they were on fire if they weren’t so blue.

“Lara,” she hissed, practically spitting the name out. “Always Lara. Lara. Lara.”

Will wasn’t ready for it. He wasn’t even remotely close to understanding what was happening even as it occurred in front of him in real-time. His reaction was delayed, and it cost him dearly. The blue-eyed ghouls had been fast, but Kate (Not really Kate, this thing that used to be Kate) was beyond them.

She was more. So, so much more.

(“How did you ever think you could beat us when you know so little?” she had said to him.)

She didn’t so much move as explode into a blur of motion.

He fired—

Three meters. Just under ten feet. He’d made tougher shots before in his career.

—and hit empty air.

Then she was there, in front of him, so close that when she opened her mouth and hissed “Lara!” he felt the icy cold of her breath, and goose bumps raced through every inch of his flesh.

He was still trying to process what he was seeing, hearing, and feeling when her hand encircled his and she squeezed, mashing his fingers against the grip of the Smith & Wesson as he reflexively fired another shot. Like the last one, the bullet sailed harmlessly past her scrawny shoulder and vanished into the night.

She kept folding her hand over his until his fingers were so crushed against the gun’s grip that he couldn’t have squeezed the trigger a third time even if he thought it might do any good. Her other hand slithered around his neck and pushed, and he stumbled back in shock, the breath rushing out of him in a single, devastating spurt. It wasn’t so much the pain of the impact against the wall that jolted him, it was more the ferocity of her attack. That and the sheer speed of it overwhelmed all his senses until he couldn’t focus on any one thing.

The hand around his throat was viselike, and it was all he could do to grab her wrist with his free hand and try to keep her from tightening it any further. He didn’t know if he was succeeding or if she just decided not to crush his windpipe at that very moment.

But as suffocating as the bones wrapped around his throat were, it was nothing compared to the pressure being exerted against the fingers of his right hand. She was crushing them as if they were brittle candy. He didn’t know how that was possible given how bony her own fingers were, but there was a strength in them that defied the laws of physics. She shouldn’t have been as monstrously strong as she was, but if he was imagining this whole thing, then why was he screaming?

“I gave you a chance,” she hissed, the icy cold of her breath hitting him in the face and piercing through his screams. Her face was so close, her eyes mere inches away, that he found his entire vision swimming in a blue irradiated ocean. “But I realize now that Mabry was right. Free will is overrated.”

She finally let go of his neck and pulled back. He gasped for breath and managed half of it before she hit him in the face with a balled fist. Or, at least, he thought it was a fist. It could have been something else, maybe a hammer. Or a sledgehammer, given how easily his nose broke and the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. His head snapped back from the blow, and she grabbed his left hand and broke it at the wrist with a casual twist.

Will had endured pain before. He had been shot more than once, for God’s sake, but actually hearing his wrist breaking—the snap! like firecrackers in the cold, still night—was a new revelation.

He opened his mouth to scream again but only sucking sounds came out, any noises he might have made drowned out by the blood pouring down his face. He swallowed as much of it as he could and did his best not to choke on his own plasma.

She still had a firm grip over his right hand, the one with the gun pointed at nothing—less than useless—and she was pressed so close to him that instead of the heat of her body, there was just the unnatural cold emanating from every pore. Why was she so cold? The other blue-eyed ghouls hadn’t been. Or was he misremembering? That was entirely possible. At the moment, the only sure thing was that he was going to die and he would never reach Song Island and never see Lara again.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he was sitting again, the uneven brick and mortar wall pricking against his back, keeping him upright. His right hand was on the ground, the gun lost somewhere in the grass. He didn’t remember if she had taken it from him and thrown it away, or if he had simply dropped it.

He thought about looking for it (The head. Shoot her in the head and end it!), but soon the only sensations he was aware of were coming from the side of his neck, where Kate was bent over and—

Teeth.

He felt teeth penetrating skin. Strangely, it didn’t hurt quite as much as he thought it would.

Those are teeth.

She’s…

“Don’t fight it,” Kate said.

Her voice was inside his head again. They weren’t hisses anymore, but the Kate he remembered. No, that wasn’t true. The Kate he had known didn’t really sound like this. This was an artificial version of her. This was the voice of the Kate-that-never-was.

Stop it.

“It’s too late.”

Lara…

“She’ll never accept you now.”

No…

“But I will.”

No!

There was no response that time. Maybe she was busy, or maybe she realized it was pointless to argue with someone who didn’t have a choice.

Instead, there was just the sound of slurping, of Kate drinking him.

Lara.

His thoughts were filled with Lara on the beach of Song Island, walking side by side with him because they always snuck away before the others woke up. Even before Danny could rise, which was not an easy feat.

He was back on the beach with Lara, holding hands like teenagers. Not really talking, but doing a lot of smiling. Because he was happy. He was most happy when he was with her.

Lara…

I’m not coming home.

I’m so sorry, baby, but I’m not coming home after all.

Please forgive me.

He came back to the present when Kate finally pulled herself off his neck. Her blackened mouth was covered with blood. His. It dripped from teeth that were crooked and devastated and brown and black.

She smiled gleefully at him, cradling his painfully broken right hand in hers as if they were lovers. “Let it wash over you, Will. Don’t fight it. Accept it. This is the way of things now. We’ll build the future together, beside Mabry. You and I.”

No.

“Yes,” she hissed, that hint of anger flashing across her eyes again like blue fire.

No…

She frowned. “Why do you keep resisting? When the transformation is over, there’ll be no more pain. No more diseases or illnesses or wounds to worry about. You’ll finally be free.”

No!

He summoned what strength he had left and lunged at her, seeing the surprise register on her face. Maybe she was still drunk from his blood, and it made her slow to react. Or maybe it was because she was too close, and was crouched and wallowing in her triumph. Whatever the reason, and despite all her preternatural speed, she couldn’t move fast enough.

He barreled into her with his entire body and knocked her back, reaching behind him and wrapping his hand around the hilt of the knife (Millard’s knife, the one he wouldn’t be caught dead carrying around, if he had a choice). He screamed as he forced his mangled fingers to tighten around the grip and he pulled, pulled until the blade came out of the sheath. Crushed fingers were not meant to be moved, much less grab something, and the pain was unbearable and speared him like a thousand bullets.

Below him, Kate glared, her lips moving like worms underneath the wet coat of his blood around her mouth. Her body rose, but he threw himself into her again, and though she was longer, he was still bigger and heavier. He used his body as a blunting instrument and knocked her back to the ground. He wrapped his left arm—the one with the useless broken wrist—around her long, thin neck and held on for dear life.

“What are you doing, Will?” she screamed inside his head.

He ignored her and swung the knife from behind his back. Moonlight gleamed off the sharp seven-inch blade, and Kate’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to it.

Recognition spread across her face and her straining under him grew exponentially, but he held on with his left hand and continued to crush down on her with his entire body. He refused to give an inch, to let her curl her legs underneath him in order to kick him off. As inhumanely strong as she had become, she had no leverage, and he saw something that looked amazingly like fear flicker across her eyes.

“Will!”

Her voice boomed inside his head, ricocheting off the sides of his skull. Just his name, in that feminine, unreal voice that was the real Kate but at the same time belonged to the Kate-that-never-was.

“Will!”

There was a sudden and fierce stabbing pain in his gut as she drove her fingers into his stomach. She shoved and pulled—

He screamed the flesh-rendering sensations away and drove the knife into the center of her forehead, even as her fingers wrapped around something inside him—maybe a kidney, maybe a lung—and tried to pull it out. He forced the knife to go deeper and deeper, until the guard bumped against her skull and refused to go any further.

Her hand, buried somewhere inside his stomach, went limp, and so did her body. Her eyes, once full of (unnatural) life, faded quickly, as if someone had hit a light switch, and her head lolled to one side, taking the knife with it.

He gasped for air, every inch of him shuddering, and crawled off her still form. He slid against the wall. He would have reached for his midsection to stem the flow of blood if he could, but he no longer had any control over either one of his hands. Instead, he let them dangle from his sides like the two useless limbs they had become.

Breathing hurt too much, and the air had become impossibly frozen. His insides burned, as if trying to make up for the cold outside, and he wasn’t entirely sure how his intestines weren’t already splayed in his lap.

Kate’s body lay in front of him, still so close to him that his legs were touching her malformed ones. Her head had ended up turned in his direction, the eyes—with the knife buried in the forehead between them—staring accusingly back at him.

Well, Danny, I guess any ol’ bullet (or knife) would do it, as long as you get them in the brain.

Mystery solved, ol’ buddy.

He coughed up blood and didn’t bother to wipe it from his lips or stop it from dripping off his chin. There was going to be more where it came from in the next few seconds or minutes, or however long it took him to die. Not only had she bitten (infected) him, but the human body was not designed to survive someone shoving their hand into your gut.

Soon. Very soon.

He closed his eyes. It hurt too much to keep them open.

Besides, he didn’t need to see them. He could smell them just fine and hear them shuffling against the grass. They were everywhere, their stench overwhelming his senses, trying to suffocate him in their thickness.

How long before they ripped him limb from limb, then drank him dry? If he was lucky, they would kill him before he could turn. He didn’t want to become one of them. Worst, he didn’t want to turn into something like Kate.

Was that how it even worked? He didn’t know. Shit, he didn’t know anything.

“How did you ever think you could beat us when you know so little?” Kate had said to him.

She was right. As much as he had learned about the enemy in the year since The Purge, he still didn’t know enough.

It was too late to change that now, though. Way too late.

Will relaxed and let his mind drift. He detached himself from his convulsing body and floated away from the gas station, then glided across the night sky and headed southward, back toward Song Island.

Back to Lara.

Instead of the sight of his guts spilling into the grass in front of him, he focused on the color of Lara’s crystal blue eyes, the shade of her skin under the morning Song Island sun, and the gentle sway of her blonde hair in the crisp wind.

Instead of the clacking of bones as the creatures moved closer, he concentrated on the sounds of Lara’s laugh when she allowed herself those rare moments to enjoy life again, the feel of her body against his when they came together at night and never wanted to come apart, but knowing that inevitably they would have to.

Because the days would go on, the nights would come to an end, and there would always be another sunrise on the other side.

Lara.

Lara…

27

Keo

He wasn’t sure how far he had gotten toward the shoreline in the last five or ten minutes since he lost track of time. Frankly, he was just trying not to drown. Keo had learned to adapt to the water long ago, and a part of that was forgetting about everything else except the waves pushing against you.

He had taken off his boots, socks, and assault vest, and had been swimming in pants and a T-shirt for the last kilometer or so. Just as it was difficult to tell time, it was next to impossible to gauge how far he had come and how much further he had to go before he reached the nearest land mass. His vision was limited by darkness; which was to say, he couldn’t see shit at the moment.

He had, though, managed to hang onto the MP5SD.

Have German gun, will swim.

Just because he was tiring didn’t mean Keo stopped. Besides, he was used to being tired. Hell, the last year was one long run after another. What’s that old saying?

“It’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon.”

Whoever came up with that hadn’t been living in his boots for the last year. Sprinting from one spot to another was all he had been doing. Screw the marathon.

He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t tired. It seemed like just yesterday when he had taken Delia to a motel after she got off work at that terrible country and western bar. Things went downhill fast from there.

But there had been some good spots, too. Gillian, for one. Norris wasn’t such a bad guy, either. But for every Gillian and Norris, there was a Pollard and assholes in black commando uniforms trying to kill him.

None of that did anything to help with the lead weights someone had attached to his arms and legs when he wasn’t looking and were trying to pull him down to the bottom of the lake. He was pretty sure his cargo pants had ballooned to five times the size (not to mention the complimentary bloated weight), and he had drunk more of the lake than any fish that ever existed. At least he wasn’t a ghoul. If he were, he would have turned to stone and sank to the bottom.

Now that was something you didn’t see every day. He still couldn’t get over the sight of watching fear flashing across their eyes.

I guess they still remember fear. Welcome back to the human race.

Well, sort of.

He was doing calm, slow breaststrokes, simultaneously hoping to find shore and dreading it. He hadn’t figured out yet what he would do when he finally got there. Climb up and…then what? There were going to be creatures waiting for him. He had seen them from the Tower, racing back and forth like little speed freaks along the shoreline.

Where the hell was he going, anyway? Dammit. He’d lost track of his direction again. The closest shoreline would be the marina and the burnt-down house, but he couldn’t see signs of them at the moment even after stopping and twirling around in a circle.

Then again, it was so dark he could barely see more than a few meters in front of him, so that certainly didn’t help. For all he knew, he had been swimming around in circles these last few minutes…hours? No, minutes. It couldn’t have been hours yet. Could it?

He sighed. Maybe he should be grateful he couldn’t locate land. Drowning might be preferable to fighting a horde of those things, even with the silver bullets in his submachine gun and two spare magazines.

One year. He had survived for one year. Not so bad. Most of the world’s population had turned into ghoulish creatures overnight, except him. Certainly no one would have put money on him making it through this long. Only God knew how he had made it when so many hadn’t.

God.

That was funny. He didn’t believe in God, and he was pretty sure the old guy didn’t believe in him, either. Keo didn’t blame him. He had too much blood on his hands to think anyone—anything—floating on a cloud up in the sky was looking out for him.

Keo looked up at the twinkling stars. It was peaceful tonight, with only the waves sloshing against him to fill the silence. Everything was so serene he didn’t know why he was even still treading water. It was time to just stop and let go. He, too, would sink to the bottom of Beaufont Lake and join those pesky black-eyed bastards. Some people would call that poetic, but Keo was just lazy and felt like giving his legs and arms a rest.

“See the world. Kill some people. Make some—”

The gradual whine of a motorized device intruded on his thoughts.

He spun around and caught the white spotlight as it danced across the water and blasted him in the face. Keo flinched and held up one hand to keep from being blinded. He managed to peer through his fingers at a white boat. Long and sleek, being powered in his direction by what sounded like a trolling motor. He wouldn’t have heard it at all if it wasn’t the only thing running in the entire lake at the moment, and was almost on top of him.

Keo lowered his hand and gripped the MP5SD under water. The boat’s passengers hadn’t fired yet, so he assumed whoever was onboard wasn’t shooting on sight. That was good, because it meant he had the advantage.

Yeah, right!

He slipped his forefinger into the trigger guard but kept the barrel of the submachine gun under water as the boat neared. A little bit closer and he’d find out, once and for all, if the German gun could fire while partially submerged in water.

“Keo!” a voice shouted from the boat.

He relaxed at the sound of the voice and grinned against the spotlight. Of all the people he expected to see out here right now, she was definitely not one of them.

The vessel slowed down as it reached him, waves jostling him around and making staying in one place difficult. They angled alongside him and he saw the familiar tall blonde figure behind the steering wheel, two hands frantically trying to keep the boat from running him over and under. Keo had a sudden image of being saved, only to be accidentally shredded by the propellers. Now that would have been ironic.

The girl stopped the boat, hurried over to the portside, and leaned over. “You’re alive,” she said, grinning down at him.

“So are you,” Keo said. “I thought you were on the yacht.”

“No, we never made it.”

“That makes two of us. Who else made it?”

“Later. Get up here first.”

He grabbed her extended arm and let her pull him up. She was a tall kid, but lean and not very muscular. It didn’t help that he had been soaked in water for all this time and “gained” weight as a result. He crawled over the gunwale like a crab, snaking arms and legs over every stable piece along the boat he could find. Finally, he slumped over the side and landed on the floor, then struggled to sit back up with his back against the side, water pouring out of every inch of him.

Gaby wasn’t alone in the boat. Lara was in the back, using a second spotlight to treat Danny’s wound. It looked like a big ugly gunshot to the side. There was already a thick stack of bloodied gauze next to them, and it was clear Lara had been working on him for some time. She looked pretty shot up herself and was grimacing with every little movement she made.

“Glad you made it, Keo,” Lara said.

“You came looking for me?” he said, not able to hide his surprise.

“Gaby swore she saw someone else making a run for the water while we were fleeing down the beach. We weren’t sure if it was you or one of the soldiers, but we thought we needed to find out before rejoining the others.”

“What if I’d been a soldier?”

“Then I’d have run you over,” Gaby said.

He chuckled. “My lucky night, then.”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘luck,’ Keo,” Lara smiled.

“Hey, any night where I’m alive at the end of it is a lucky night,” he smiled back. He nodded at Danny. “How’s Jokes-a-lot doing?”

She frowned. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll live.” She looked over at Gaby, that steely resolve he had come to respect so much returning in the blink of an eye. “Let’s find the Trident, Gaby. Zoe will be able to do more for Danny there.”

“We know the Trident made it?” Keo asked. “The soldiers didn’t attack it?”

“Not as far as we know,” Lara said. Then, “I guess we’ll find out soon.”

Gaby switched off the trolling motor, then hurried back behind the steering wheel and switched on the outboard motor. It coughed, then caught, and the sound of it powering up was like an explosion against the silent lake.

“Why the trolling motor?” Keo asked her, shouting over the roar.

“In case there were soldiers still around!” Gaby shouted back.

“And now?”

“We’ve been circling for almost thirty minutes. If they’re still around, we would have run into them by now!”

Just in case, Keo thought, and slipped the MP5SD in front of him and looked off the side as the boat started moving.

Gaby pushed on the throttle and the stern dipped slightly as the vessel picked up speed until they were racing across open water, the spotlight at the front lighting their path.

* * *

The Trident was exactly where it was supposed to be, drifting half a kilometer from the opening into the channel that connected Beaufont Lake with the Gulf of Mexico. He saw silhouetted figures moving on the main and upper decks as soon as they were within sight of it and wondered if one of them was manning the M240 right now, ready to blast away like they had back at the island.

The luxury yacht looked like a ghost ship afloat on the lake with all of its lights still switched off, and only the moonlight to hint at its presence. That is, until the people onboard saw the much smaller boat approaching with its spotlight shining in the darkness. The Trident’s industrial strength lights quickly blasted on at full intensity, nearly blinding Keo in the process.

All three of them (and Danny) had lost their radios in the rush to escape Song Island, so they didn’t have anything to contact the yacht with to let them know they were coming in. Fortunately, no one onboard had a happy trigger finger, and Keo was still in one piece when a figure on the main deck waved them in. Gaby, one hand shielding her eyes from the bright lights, guided the boat alongside the yacht and toward the back.

Two figures were waiting for them at the large swimming area as Gaby maneuvered over. There were already other crafts onboard, including the lightweight aluminum boats they had used to abandon the island. The two shadows turned out to be Maddie and Nate, and as they stepped into the large pool of floodlights, both were beaming back at them. The boy only had eyes for Gaby, who looked equally happy to see him alive.

True love in the apocalypse lives.

There might be hope for us yet, Gillian.

Gaby moved as close to the yacht as she dared before turning off the engine. They climbed out one by one, then Keo and Nate took Danny from Lara and carried him between them while Gaby stayed behind to help Maddie tie the twenty-footer up.

The ex-Ranger looked more dead than alive, and Nate knew it too when they grabbed the unconscious man. Keo didn’t realize he and Nate were rushing through the deck until he glanced back and saw Lara struggling to keep up with them, half-limping and half-running.

He looked over at Nate. The kid “got it” without Keo having to say a word, and they slowed down just enough for Lara to catch up.

“You okay?” he asked her.

She nodded, which was a big lie. He could see her trying to hide the pain. It was all over her face, even if she didn’t think it showed.

“You?” she asked.

“Better, now that I’m dry. Mostly dry, anyway.”

“Good,” she said, and looked away.

Keo didn’t say anything, but he pegged the chances that he’d be carrying both her and Danny over to Zoe in the next few minutes at fifty-fifty.

Nate’s radio squawked, and they heard Blaine’s voice. “Are they onboard?”

Nate unclipped the radio from his waist and handed it to Lara. “It’s for you.”

Lara took it and said into the radio, “We’re onboard, Blaine.”

“Thank God you guys are fine,” Blaine said. “We were seriously debating about going back there. I had the boat turned around and ready.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She wiped at a bead of sweat and grimaced. “Is everyone onboard?”

“Almost everyone. Sarah’s here.”

“What about Stan and Roy? Danny and I sent them ahead with Sarah while we held the attackers back at the hotel.”

“They didn’t make it, Lara. Sarah said they were ambushed on the other side of the hotel, and Roy and Stan stayed behind to make sure she could reach the exit point.”

There was silence behind him. He thought about shooting one of those cursory, “You okay?” questions back at her, but didn’t. It would have been a stupid thing to do because she wasn’t okay. How could she be, when she had just found out two people she had sent ahead didn’t make it to their destination? Even seasoned commanders took the loss of their soldiers hard, and Lara wasn’t anywhere close to being a soldier.

He was surprised, though, that her voice was calm when she finally said, “Let’s go, Blaine.”

“Are you sure?” Blaine asked.

“Yes. Follow the plan.”

“What about Will? What about the island?”

There was a brief moment of silence before she said, “Follow the plan, Blaine.”

Blaine didn’t answer, but it didn’t take long for the Trident’s engine to power back on. Then the boat began turning, back toward the channel.

* * *

They left Danny inside the makeshift infirmary, which was really just one of the guest cabins, with the doctor, Zoe. The rest of the islanders, who had been on the Trident ever since the yacht moved from the beach to its hiding place, were confined to other rooms to keep them out of the way as Keo and the others got ready for the channel.

They had to brave it, regardless of who was waiting out there, because on the other side was the Gulf of Mexico, an ocean big enough that even the yacht could get lost in it. To get there, though, they would first have to traverse a 300-meter wide section of water, which would put them easily within shooting distance of well-armed men on both sides. Given the size of the yacht, once they started through there was no turning back.

Keo climbed up to the roof of the bridge with the M240. The damn thing was already heavy, but he had to struggle with the ammo belt the entire way, too. When he finally reached the highest point on the yacht, he crawled forward and laid down near the edge, over old dried blood and bullet holes he had put there himself. He tried looking through the holes and into the bridge below, but since Blaine had turned off the lights to make himself and Capitan Gage into harder targets, he only saw small halos of lights generated by the console illuminating nothing in particular.

He turned his attention back to the channel and situated himself behind the machine gun, getting as comfortable as possible, which was harder than he had expected with the wind whipping at him. Unfortunately he wasn’t nearly as dry from his long swim as he had thought earlier, and the combination made for a cold night out. He perched the MG on its tripod and peered through the iron sights. It would have been nice to have a night-vision scope. Then again, it would have been nice if he could fly and shoot laser beams out of his eyes, too.

He was unclipping the radio and about to set it on the roof next to him when it squawked and he heard Lara’s voice. “Keo, you set?”

“I’m set,” Keo said into the radio. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean, can you do this?”

“Yes,” she said, with just a hint of exasperation. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had asked that question. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. You’re the one up there in the open.”

“Thanks for reminding me. I had forgotten that I’m a goddamn idiot.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, with just a tiny hint of amusement in her voice. Then, “Blaine, maintain our current speed and keep the lights moving in case they try to put some kind of obstruction in the water.”

“Did you see any of that last time, Keo?” Blaine asked.

“I didn’t get that far,” Keo said.

“How many snipers?” Lara asked.

“Just the one.”

“But he had backup.”

“Yeah.”

“What are the chances they actually left someone behind?” Gaby asked.

“They’re not exactly tactical geniuses,” Nate said. “I think there’s a good chance they would have thrown everything they had at the island.”

“Let’s hope so,” Lara said. “Until then, everyone stay alert. No one blinks until we make it into the Gulf.”

Gaby and Nate were defending through windows on the port side, while Benny and Maddie had starboard. Lara was moving around the boat. Or limping around, anyway. Keo had caught her taking a couple of pills from a bottle after they finally delivered Danny to Zoe. He didn’t have to ask what she was taking. Lara might have been a (surprisingly) tough customer, but the way she was moving around, he kept expecting her to fall down at any moment.

She never did, though, which doubled his respect for her, and it was already high to begin with after last night.

“Entering the channel now,” Blaine announced.

Keo stiffened and pushed himself even flatter against the roof.

He hated coming back to a place where he had been shot before; it was the whole pushing your luck aspect of it that didn’t sit right with him. He wondered if Blaine and Gage could hear him moving around up here. Hopefully not. He didn’t want them to think he was fidgety, even though he was. The best-case scenario was that the height, combined with the spotlights blasting away around him instead of on him, would be just enough to make him invisible. He was heartened by the fact that when the Trident had first approached Song Island, there was a sniper up here and no one had spotted him.

He sucked in a deep breath and settled behind the M240 and did his best to ignore the wind that seemed to have picked up, causing the night to get even colder. It reminded him that he should have changed out of his wet clothes when he had the chance. Or at least put on dry boxers.

A boat the size of the Trident had a maximum speed of just fifteen knots, and fourteen when it wanted to cruise. Of course, it wasn’t going nearly that fast at the moment. Lara was right when she said to watch out for obstructions in the water. It wouldn’t have taken much to throw a barge or large fishing boat or two into their path. The soldiers would have been fully aware of the yacht’s existence and how it had entered Beaufont Lake previously. That was probably what had prompted them to put a sniper at the channel in the first place.

Swell. If it wasn’t for bad luck…

Unlike the last time he was here, the colored buoys that warned of the shallower ends of the channel reflected back the yacht’s bright lights, allowing them to easily navigate the dangerous terrain. He wondered if the soldiers knew about that or if it never occurred to them to sink the markers. Either way, he was glad to see them, because a boat the size of the Trident needed all the space (and depth) it could get.

He scanned the pitch-black buildings and swaying fields of grass to his left and right, wishing he had taken Nate’s spot down there instead. He’d be standing next to a pretty girl right now and not freezing his ass off up here. Even if there was a shooter lying in wait, he wasn’t going to see a damn thing until they started firing (hopefully not at him). Once that happened, and only then, could he unleash the machine gun’s 900 rounds a minute capability, which, admittedly, would do wonders to overcome his long-distance shooting handicap.

“How long is this thing?” Gaby asked through the radio.

“Gage says it’s just over eight kilometers,” Blaine said.

“How many is that in miles?” Carly asked.

“Five,” Lara said.

“And where are we now?” Gaby asked.

“He says just over a kilometer in,” Blaine said.

Keo reached for the radio. “Heads up. This is where they took their potshots at me.”

He imagined everyone below him sliding just a bit further away from the windows they were supposed to be manning. Where was Lara now? Probably still moving around, trying to pick out a target with her M4. Too bad they had lost the night-vision carbines back on the island. They could really have used those at the moment. Of course, they could have used a lot of—

Damn.

They were like cockroaches, sprinting through the tall fields of overgrown grass on both sides of him. More were darting in and out of the warehouses, and he swore there were a dozen or so climbing up one of the cranes. Thin silhouetted figures stood along the rooftops of buildings and watched them pass. The ones on land, racing along the sides of the channel, kept vanishing and materializing out of the moonlight.

There had to be thousands of them out there, just beyond the water’s edge to both sides of him. He shivered, reminding himself that if Gaby hadn’t found him in the water, he would have had to climb out of the lake and into…that.

“Jesus,” Gaby said through the radio, her voice barely audible. “You guys see what I’m seeing?”

“Yes,” Lara said. “Blaine, make sure Gage stays in the middle of the channel. Don’t veer too close to the edges.”

Keo remembered how the ghouls had dive-bombed into Beaufont Lake after him, knowing full well they were going to die but unable to stop themselves. He waited for these to do the same thing, and thank God the channel was over 300 meters wide and the Trident remained in the very center, as directed.

“Steady,” Lara was saying through the radio. “Stay on course. Steady…”

“Can they jump?” Nate asked.

“Yes,” Gaby said, and he thought her voice might have quivered a bit there.

“Stay on course,” Lara said again. “Stay on course…”

Keo tested the trigger on the M240 and waited for the creatures to start flinging themselves through the air. The ones back on Song Island had risked it—either because they had forgotten they couldn’t survive the water, or they had simply given in to their primal instincts.

“Dead, not stupid,” Blaine said through the radio.

“What?” Nate said.

“Something Will used to say,” Gaby said. “He always reminded us that the creatures were dead, but they weren’t stupid. It was his mantra, and something we should all keep in mind if we want to stay alive.”

Dead, not stupid. I like it.

It might have been the mention of Will’s name, because the radio went silent after that.

It turned out they didn’t have to worry about the ghouls or soldiers. There was no ambush, no obstructions in the water, and nothing at all to keep them from cruising straight into the Gulf of Mexico.

Keo sat up and looked back at the channel and the surrounding land mass, at the peaks of warehouses and towering cranes that had been abandoned a year ago. He could still see them racing back and forth, their thin forms flickering against the moonlight as if they weren’t actually real and might have just been a figment of his imagination.

He wished he were that imaginative.

He picked up the machine gun and climbed down from the roof.

Lara was leaning on the railing at the back of the upper deck, looking at the channel as the coastline of Louisiana was absorbed into the darkness. She looked at peace, even though he knew there was a lot going through that mind of hers at the moment. Not least of which was the ex-Ranger they had left behind who had never made it home.

He recalled their conversation when the other ex-Ranger and Gaby had arrived back on the island. He had asked about Will, and if she actually believed he was still alive out there.

“If you knew Will, you wouldn’t need to ask,” she had answered.

“So we’re going on faith, then?” was his smartass response.

“You honestly think your girlfriend actually made it to Santa Marie Island?” she had countered. “That she’s wearing a bikini and waiting on the beach every morning, waiting for you to finally show up?”

That last part had been a real kick in the balls, because she was right. He was—and had been for some time now—just operating on faith, like a sucker.

Keo put the M240 down on the floor and leaned against the railing next to her. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t, either. They looked back at the dwindling coastline, almost completely swallowed up by the blackness now. Entering the Gulf of Mexico was like voyaging into the Bermuda Triangle, because at that moment they couldn’t see much of anything beyond the halos of the Trident’s lights.

Finally, he said, “You left a message for him back on the island?”

“I did,” she nodded. “It’s in a place only he’d think to look. When he finds it, he’ll know it’s from me.”

“So it’s only a matter of time before he follows you to the Bengals.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to the Bengals?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll make a decision after we reach the refueling depot. After that…”

“What?” he said.

“Can you stay awhile, Keo? I know it’s asking a lot, after everything you’ve already done. But I have to ask anyway. Not for me, for the others. Can you stay a little longer?”

He knew it was coming, and he was fully prepared to tell her no. But standing there next to her, hearing the desperation in her voice and knowing this was the last thing she wanted to ask him, he couldn’t pull the trigger.

Christ, you’ve gotten soft.

Like a big ol marshmallow…

“How long?” he asked.

“As long as you can.”

He sighed. “Hell, why not. I’ve already invested a lot of time keeping you guys alive, wouldn’t want all my efforts to go to waste now.” He nodded. “I can stick around until the Ranger’s back on his feet.”

“That might take a while.”

“Then I guess it’ll take a while.”

“What about Gillian?”

“She’ll understand. Probably.”

“Thank you, Keo.”

“Sure.”

He looked out at the Gulf of Mexico churning against the Trident’s propellers. It would be a few more hours yet until sunrise, though for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the internal conflict of watching darkness staring back at him.

Beside him, Lara was quiet for a long time before she finally said, “When you jumped into the lake, did you see what happened to the creatures?”

“They sank.”

“Yeah.”

“Silver, bodies of water, and…what was the third thing?”

“Ultraviolet light. But we haven’t been able to replicate what happened back at Starch.”

“Maybe you should go back there.”

She nodded. “One of these days. Right now, the lives of everyone on this boat is more important.”

She did a marvelous job of hiding it, but Keo could hear it in her voice and see it in the way she leaned against the railing. She was tired. Dead on her feet.

He knew how she felt; it had been months since he could say he was sufficiently rested. He hadn’t gotten any at the island, which was supposed to be safe. But out here, on this boat, maybe he could finally get a full night’s sleep.

“Why?” she said.

“Why?” he repeated.

“Why?”

“What’s the question?”

She gave him a knowing look, and he smiled back.

“You needed my help,” he said, and shrugged, hoping she’d let it go.

“We did,” she said. “We still do. In the worst way. But you didn’t have to do any of it. You don’t have to do it now. So why?”

“I’ve done things…” He hesitated, turning the words over, searching for the right ones. Or at least, the least objectionable ones. “I have a lot of blood on my hands, Lara. A lot. You have no idea.”

She didn’t interrupt and just listened.

“I didn’t use to do what I did for God, country, or apple pie,” he continued. “I wish I could say I was a true believer. Or at least a jingoistic moron. But I can’t.”

He paused again. Why was he even bothering to tell her any of this? What was the point? He guessed maybe he just needed to say them out loud more than he needed her to understand, because he didn’t really think she could understand.

“I have a lot to make up for,” Keo said. “I don’t know. Maybe I figured you and your friends were a good start.”

He stopped talking and waited for her to respond. He was both afraid and longed for it.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You already said that.”

“I don’t think I can ever say it enough.”

I’ll take it, he thought, and said, “You should get those wounds properly dressed. How’d you get shot twice, anyway?”

“I just got shot once. The other wound is shrapnel.”

“Hurts?”

“Everyone’s hurt. Pain lets you know you’re still alive.”

He smirked. “Daebak, Rambette.”

“One of these days you’re going to tell me what that really means.”

“Ask nicely and I might.”

“Deal.” She leaned over and surprised him by kissing him on the cheek. “Go get some rest, Keo. You’ve earned it,” she said, and pushed off the railing and hobbled through the door back into the upper deck lounge.

She moved gingerly, and though he couldn’t see her face, he imagined she was grimacing with every step. She wasn’t trying to hide the pain anymore, he realized, because there was just him around to see her vulnerable. He took that as a compliment and looked back at the ocean.

Or the big black spot where the ocean was supposed to be, anyway.

He thought about his mantra, the three sentences he had been basing his life on for the last ten years.

“See the world. Kill some people. Make some money.”

Not all that much had changed if he really thought about it. He was still seeing the world, still killing people, except no one was paying him to do it anymore. Or, well, not in stacks of green rectangular pieces of paper, anyway. Instead, there were just kisses on the cheek.

He’d take it.

28

Gaby

“Go, get out of here! Get out of here!”

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. The sound of his voice, the way he had screamed the words at her. There was a look on his face: terror, regret, and an absolute certainty that defied logic.

She didn’t know how he had done it, and she still didn’t despite running it over in her head again and again for the hundredth time. Josh had never been the strongest kid; it was one of the reasons they had defaulted to letting Matt call the shots after The Purge. There was no reason why Matt should have been the leader. He wasn’t older by that much and he certainly wasn’t smarter than either one of them. But he was bigger and stronger.

And yet, Josh had pushed the boat with them onboard off the beach by himself.

How? How did you do that, Josh?

She was reminded of all those stories about mothers lifting cars to save their child after an accident. Was that where Josh had summoned his strength? Had he dug deep because he wanted to save…

Her.

She found it difficult to reconcile the Josh in the uniform who had shot Danny (even if he did claim he didn’t know it was Danny) with the one that had ultimately saved her. They were the same man—and yet, so different. It didn’t make any sense, and her inability to understand him—what he was, what he had become, and what he had done at the very end on that stretch of beach—kept Gaby up all night.

After a while, she stopped trying to sleep and lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling. It was quiet outside despite the hum of the yacht’s engine everywhere. Even the gentle waves of the ocean under her didn’t lull her back to sleep.

She finally got up from the floor where she had been trying to sleep with nothing but a pillow and walked across the cabin she was sharing with some of the other girls. Bright lights from outside splashed through the windows and over Bonnie’s and Gwen’s snoring forms. The Trident ran on diesel but also had its own electric generator, which was how they still had lights now.

There were no signs of Jo, even though Gaby had seen her in the room earlier. Mary and the kids who had come with Bonnie were on the edges of the bed or spread out along the floor on the other side. She stepped around the bodies, then slipped out into the hallway, grateful she had gone to sleep—or had tried to go to sleep—with all her clothes on, including her gun belt. She didn’t have her rifle, but Gaby felt at ease enough not to go looking for it.

She stopped at another one of the cabins and peered inside at a pair of sleeping figures on the bed. She recognized the older woman who had arrived with Bonnie and Jo, sleeping with Sarah and her daughter, Jenny. The two women who had come to the island with Keo (their names escaped her) were sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed. They were snoring, and she didn’t think anything could possibly wake them.

She closed the door back up and moved to the next one, Josh’s words still echoing inside her head.

“Go, get out of here! Get out of here!”

She found another door and opened it and leaned in.

Gaby smiled at Claire’s thin figure, curled up on a couch in the corner of the room with the FNH shotgun leaning against the wall next to her, within easy reach. She looked cold and her body was trembling slightly, even though the room was warm. Gaby slipped inside and picked up a blanket from the floor that the girl had kicked off her sometime during the night and re-draped it over Claire’s shivering body.

Gaby took a moment to look over at the bed where Annie and Milly were asleep in each other’s arms. Elise, who Gaby always thought of as Lara’s “other little sister,” was asleep with Vera, Carly’s sister, the two of them snoring lightly next to each other. They looked almost like twins.

She walked to the door and was about to step into the hallway when a small voice said, “Gaby.”

She stopped and looked back at Claire, peering at her through the semidarkness. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?” Claire asked. She reached up from under the blanket to rub her eyes.

“I just came over to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” Claire said, and smiled.

“I can see that.”

“Can’t sleep?”

Not for a while, Claire. I don’t think I’ll be able to close my eyes without having nightmares about tonight and all those men I killed on the beach. About Josh and what he did. About Danny, half-dead somewhere on this boat. And Will, out there somewhere, maybe dead, maybe alive…

She smiled at Claire. “No, but I’m going back to sleep now, and you should, too.”

Claire nodded and closed her eyes. She was asleep again almost immediately.

Gaby slipped into the hallway and closed the door soundlessly behind her.

She found Zoe in the last cabin up the hallway, keeping a vigil over Danny from a chair next to the bed. She was half-asleep and only perked up when Gaby opened the door and leaned in.

“Hey,” Zoe said, sitting up in the chair. “I know why I’m not asleep, so what’s your excuse?”

“I wanted to check up on him,” she said.

Danny was on the bed and Gaby was glad most of his body was hidden in shadows, because she wasn’t sure she could stand seeing him so helpless and near death. Danny and Will had always been invincible in her eyes, but after tonight she’d never be able to think of him in that way again. Will, too. She hadn’t realized it until now, but throughout the night she had always expected Will to come riding home just in the nick of time to save the day.

But he hadn’t, and Danny had proven less than bulletproof.

Zoe and Danny weren’t the only ones in the room. There was a third figure asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. Carly, curled up into a ball with a blanket draped over her. She looked restless, and her lips moved as if she were stuck in some kind of endless conversation loop, though she made no sounds.

“She wouldn’t leave,” Zoe said. “I don’t think she’s had a lot of sleep these last few days.”

None of us have, Gaby thought, but said, “Has he woken up?”

“Not yet.”

Gaby leaned against the wall next to the door, just far enough from the bed so she couldn’t see Danny’s face. She remembered how unresponsive he had been during their race down the beach, and then on the ride over to the Trident. She had no trouble seeing the blood bag hanging from a steel coatrack next to the bed though. A tangle of wires connected it to one of Danny’s arms.

“How is he?” she asked.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Zoe said. “Unfortunately, only Lorelei is O-negative like Danny, so she was the only one who could give him a transfusion. But she’s not exactly Keo or Blaine, so Danny didn’t get as much as he needed. I’m going to need more from the poor girl in the morning if she’s up to it.”

“But he’ll be fine?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “If he’s like Will, he’ll be too stubborn to die, but…” Zoe paused and seemed to choose her words carefully when she said, “I’ll be able to tell for sure in the morning. I don’t know how she knew, but if Lara hadn’t insisted I had all of this stuff ready just in case things went bad…” She let it trail off, before finishing with, “I guess she knew what she was doing, after all.”

“Lara’s smart. Sometimes I don’t think she realizes just how smart she really is.”

“After tonight, I’m a believer.” Zoe stood up and walked to a mini fridge and took out a bottle of water. She took a sip and sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for some cold water right now.”

“The galley has a refrigerator. The water bottles we put in there should be cold.”

“Galley?”

“That’s what Maddie called the kitchen.”

“Oh.”

It was all part of Lara’s plan in case they had to abandon the island. Even before she and Danny had arrived, the others had been transferring some of the hotel’s inventory over to the boat and storing it. A lot of the nonperishable food, as well as supplies, ammo, and even vanity items like shirts, shoes, and personal hygiene were scattered among the rooms on all three decks. It had taken them hours, and according to Lara, they had only managed to move barely twenty percent of the island’s resources.

You would be proud of her, Will. Lara saved us. She saved all of us tonight.

Zoe sat back down in her chair. “I’ll keep an eye on him, Gaby. That’s why I’m here, remember? If things go bad between now and morning, I’ll do the best I can.”

“But you don’t know for sure if he’ll make it through the night.”

“I don’t usually believe in prayers, but if you do…well, it probably wouldn’t hurt.”

Prayers? That required faith, didn’t it?

She had faith in Will and Danny, but even that was shady these days.

“Go get some sleep,” Zoe said. “You look like you need it.”

Gaby nodded and left the room.

“Go, get out of here! Get out of here!”

Zoe was right; she did need sleep. But needing it and getting it weren’t the same things.

She climbed up the spiral staircase to the upper deck instead, stepping over some dried blood along the steps. She found Nate asleep on one of the couches in what looked like an entertainment lounge, alongside Benny. The two of them hadn’t exactly gotten along yesterday, and she wondered if they had been talking before falling asleep. Just what she needed—two men who both liked her exchanging war stories.

She glimpsed a figure moving along the railing outside through one of the windows, and Gaby stepped out just as Blaine rounded the corner.

“Hey, kid,” he said.

“Hey, Blaine. Anything?”

“Just water. Lots and lots of water.” He had his assault rifle slung over his back and a pair of night-vision binoculars hanging around his neck. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He leaned against the railing and looked out at nothing in particular. Their world at this moment began and ended in the halo of lights that encircled the Trident. It was as if the rest of the universe no longer existed; or, if it still did, it had gone into hiding.

“Did Lara say where we were going?” Gaby asked, leaning next to him.

“There was talk of some Caribbean island, but I don’t think she’s decided yet.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

“No?”

“Nah. One island’s the same as another.”

She didn’t think that was exactly true. Song Island had been unique.

“Where’s Lara?” she asked.

“In the captain’s quarters next to the bridge.”

“Thanks.”

As Gaby started off, Blaine stopped her with, “Hey, kid.” And when she looked back, he said, “I’m sorry about Josh.”

“Go, get out of here! Get out of here!”

“We move on,” Blaine said. “It’s hard at first, but eventually the pain hurts less. Don’t make the same mistakes I did by closing yourself off for too long. There are people who care about you.”

She gave him a pursed smile. He was talking about himself. About Sandra.

“Thanks, Blaine,” she said.

“Don’t mention it.”

Gaby went back inside.

She walked past Benny and Nate again, but this time stopped to linger on Nate for a moment. He looked peaceful, and she was glad he was still alive. Not just after tonight, but after the pawnshop. Had she ever made that clear to him? If not, she could always fix it, maybe starting this morning.

But that was for later.

Now, she continued on, finding the hallway at the back. She knocked on the first door that came up.

“It’s not locked,” a voice said from inside.

Lara was alone, looking over a heavily annotated map spread out on a table with a lamp turned on next to her. The rest of the room was dark except for sections that were lit up by moonlight filtering in through the windows.

Like Gaby, Lara hadn’t changed out of the blood-splattered clothes, and her shoulder and leg remained heavily bandaged. Gaby didn’t know how she was even still standing despite all the painkillers she had been taking throughout the night. Had she even gone to see Zoe yet? She had washed the dirt and grime (and blood) off her face, though there were still spots that she couldn’t get to or didn’t know were there.

Gaby made a mental note to talk to Keo and Blaine about forcing Lara to take a break—or at least get her off her feet. Now that Keo would be staying around for a while, they could afford to take turns getting some rest. God knew they all needed it. A lot of it.

“Can’t sleep either?” Lara asked.

Gaby shook her head. “You?”

“No rest for the weary.”

“Amen, sister.”

Gaby leaned against the table and looked down at the map.

“You checked up on Danny?” Lara asked.

“Just came from there.”

“How is he?”

“Zoe thinks it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start praying.”

“She doesn’t know him the way we do,” Lara said. “He’ll pull through. He has to. We need him now more than ever without—” She stopped herself in mid-sentence and didn’t finish.

We need him now more than ever without Will here, Gaby thought, finishing for her friend.

“Who’s watching our fearless captain?” she asked instead.

“Jo.”

“Jo?”

“Gage is handcuffed to the steering wheel. He’s not going anywhere or doing anything. I would have preferred Roy—” She stopped again and shook her head. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“No matter what we do, where we go, we keep losing people.”

Like Will. Dead or alive, somewhere out there by himself.

“He’ll be back,” Gaby said. She didn’t have to say who “he” was, because Lara already knew. “He’ll return to the island, find your message, and come look for us. Have faith.”

Lara nodded. “I do have faith.” Then, as if to convince herself, “I do have faith…”

Gaby reached over and took Lara’s hand and squeezed. They exchanged a brief half-smile. It was the best either one of them could manage at the moment.

“Is that it?” Gaby said, looking down at the map. It was covered in Lara’s notes, with a barely-visible dot in the middle of the ocean heavily circled. “Bengal Island?”

“Bengal Islands. There’s a main one and a smaller companion island.”

Lara hadn’t said it with a lot of enthusiasm—or, at least, not as much as Gaby had expected when talking about a place that was supposed to be their salvation.

“What’s wrong?” Gaby asked.

“We don’t know what’s waiting for us there,” she said, staring at the map as if she could see all the bad things lurking if she just stared hard and deep enough.

“Isn’t it like that everywhere?”

“Yes, but this place…it has everything we need, and everything we don’t want.”

“Like?”

“People with guns. A lot of guns. Bad people.”

“Badder than us?” Gaby smiled.

“According to Keo…yes. Way badder.”

They didn’t say anything for a moment, and Lara seemed to drift off with her thoughts again. They were standing across the table from each other, but her friend might as well be on the other side of the continent.

“So what do we do?” Gaby finally asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” Lara said. “Whatever happens, whatever’s out there, we’ll adapt and survive.”

“He said something similar to me back on Route 13.” Again, she didn’t have to say who “he” was. “He said, ‘Whatever happens, keep moving forward. Don’t stop to look back. Keep moving forward, because that’s how we survive.’”

Lara pursed her lips, then walked around the table and embraced her. Gaby wrapped as much of her arms around Lara as possible, careful to avoid her bandages. She was fighting back tears and could tell Lara was doing the same thing, Lara’s body trembling noticeably against hers.

“Adapt or perish,” Gaby said, just barely able to contain herself. “We should make a banner and hang it somewhere.”

Lara laughed and pulled back. The two of them took turns exchanging embarrassed smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

Gaby pushed off the table, needing to go before she ended up bawling like a little kid. She couldn’t allow that to happen, because that childish version of her had been excised and she couldn’t afford to let her back in. Not now.

“Anyway, I’m going to go keep Blaine company,” Gaby said. “I don’t think he’s slept at all the last couple of days.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Gaby walked to the door.

“Hey,” Lara said.

She stopped and looked back.

“He saved us,” Lara said. “Josh. Despite what he did to Danny, if he hadn’t pushed the boat off the beach…”

Gaby smiled at her and was surprised how easily it came out. “That was the Josh I always wanted you to meet. That was him back there. Not the one in the uniform, or the one that shot Danny, but the one that I grew up across the street from.”

“He was a good kid, that Josh.”

“He was.”

Lara nodded. “Okay, enough chick talk. Go check on Blaine, make sure he doesn’t nod off and drop into the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Aye aye, boss,” Gaby said, giving her a mock salute as she left.

She closed the door behind her and walked along the hallway, her footsteps seemingly louder than even the hum vibrating along every inch of the yacht, originating from the engine room three levels below.

“Whatever happens,” Will had said, “keep moving forward. Don’t stop to look back. Keep moving forward, because that’s how we survive.”

She owed it to Will to keep going. And Josh too, because for all his faults—and there were many—the boy she knew had returned to her last night when it mattered. And there was Nate, and Carly, and Danny, and everyone else onboard the Trident at the moment. She owed it to them, and to herself, too.

We’ll keep going, Will, because that’s what you taught us.

We’ll adapt, and we’ll keep going...and we’ll survive.

Epilogue

“Come home.”

Night after night, and sometimes even in the day, they chased him. Hunted him. It didn’t matter how many times he got away; they always picked up his scent again, and the chase would resume.

It wasn’t the other blue eyes he had to worry about. They weren’t any faster or stronger or smarter than him. No, it was really just the one person (thing) he couldn’t escape, regardless of how high he climbed, how deep he dug, or how long he ran.

Mabry.

The name echoed inside his head. It was always there, lingering at the corners of his mind, waiting to spring. Its voice was like that of a patient father, whispering to him, cajoling him to do things he didn’t want to.

“Come home,” it would say. “You took her from me. Now you have to take her place.”

He wouldn’t answer, because responding would be to give himself away. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.

“You can’t run forever.”

Escape was impossible, because Mabry was a part of him, the way he (it) was a part of Kate and the ghouls that stalked the darkness, that chased him even now. They all came from Mabry, like the veins of a river.

Thousands of veins.

Tens of thousands.

Millions.

The war was lost. He knew that now, even though he once tried to delude himself into thinking otherwise. Or maybe he had really, truly wanted to believe it. Not for himself, but for her. For the others, too. He had come to his senses days ago.

Or was it weeks ago?

Months?

Impossible. It couldn’t have been months. Or even weeks.

Could it?

How long had he been running, trying to stay one step ahead of them, one step ahead of Mabry? Time was fluid, especially when all he could see was darkness. That was his life now. Racing through the blackness, the nothingness. He had forgotten the feel of the sun against his skin, the warmth caressing his flesh…

Flesh.

…and bones.

Thinking about it only made it worse, so he concentrated on surviving instead. He was good at it. Had always been. Even now, when he was a remnant of what he used to be, he still knew how to stay alive.

He crouched in that always present darkness now, listening to them moving in front of him. They had come down the stairs a few seconds ago, somehow tracking him across the last three cities and dozen towns and hundreds of miles of countryside and woods. All the way down to this basement, in a house that hadn’t been lived in for a year. It didn’t matter how far he went, how deep he hid, they always found him.

“You can’t hide forever.”

A small splash of moonlight intruded on the basement from a high window just above his head. Not that he needed light of any kind to see with. His eyes were different now—they were made for the darkness.

There were two of them, and he recognized what they were almost immediately, even before he saw the deep blue glow of their eyes. He could feel them. Sense them when they were nearby. It wasn’t the same as with the black-eyed ones. Their thoughts may have been shut off from him, but the air was different—it smelled and even moved differently—when they were around. He could always tell how many there were just by the way the wind moved, their aura like a living thing pressing against his flesh.

They were talking, but their lips weren’t moving. No. They had a more efficient method of communication now. Sometimes, when he was close enough and they let their guards down, he could hear their thoughts and eavesdrop on their conversations.

And he learned.

“How did you ever think you could beat us when you know so little?” she had said to him once.

But he was learning. Slowly, he was learning.

In the quiet moments when he found shelter and was safe from pursuit, he let himself think about all the things he knew about them. He knew so much now that he didn’t know before, but it still wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Not yet, anyway.

That was always the tricky part: Seeing the options and choosing the right one to exploit. But in order to do that, he had to have more information.

More. Always more—

One of the creatures had turned its head in his direction. It had sensed him, maybe in the same way he could always tell when they were around. Why hadn’t he realized that possibility earlier?

Before the first blue eyes could act, he leaped out of the corner and straight at it. He was fast. So much faster than he used to be. At first it had frightened him, but now he embraced it because his survival depended on it. The speed, the ferocity, the ability to move almost instantly as soon as his mind conjured up the idea.

The skinny thing, eyes blazing blue, made to lift its arms in defense, but he smashed into it with everything he had. It crashed into the second one, and all three of them tumbled in a tangle of limbs and clacking bones to the floor.

Before the first one could right itself underneath him, he drove his fingers—all five digits pressed flat against each other like steel knives—into the side of its neck and pushed, pushed, pushed until it came out the other side. With his other hand, he gripped the creature’s head, fingers digging into its eye sockets, and pulled.

There was a soft wet pop! as the head came free, and black blood arced through the air, splashing the walls and floor of the basement and his chest. He ignored the thick liquid, the taste of it against his lips, and flung the head across the room. The body slumped back to the floor with a dull thoomp, black tainted blood slurping out of the stump that used to be a neck.

The second blue-eyed ghoul had risen, and it looked at its dead brethren. Then it sneered at him.

“Come home,” it said inside his head.

But it wasn’t this creature standing in front of him talking. No, it was someone (something) else.

Mabry.

He (it) was speaking through the blue-eyed ghoul standing in front of him now.

“It doesn’t matter where you run,” it said. “I can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Come home. Come take her place by my side. You belong with us now.”

“Never,” he hissed, and leaped at the creature.

About The Isles of Elysium

Copyright (c) 2015 Sam Sisavath

Every journey has an ending.

He’s survived the Purge and battled overwhelming odds, but now Keo is back on the road and more determined than ever to fulfill a promise made nearly half a year ago.

What he didn’t expect—or want—was to end up in another bloody conflict.

With the help of some old friends and some dangerous new ones, Keo must figure out a way to keep everyone he cares for alive. In a world where creatures maintain unquestioned dominion over the night and opportunists lord over the day, that’s easier said than done.

Keo is not the devil-may-care mercenary he once was, but he’s never backed down from a fight before, and he’s not going to start now.

A year after The Purge, mankind is still an endangered species, but the Isles may finally offer the path to victory…

Book One

Welcome to Texas

Chapter One

I should have stayed on the Trident.

That thought rushed through Keo’s head as he watched water from Galveston Bay pool around his boots. The only thing standing between him and the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico at the moment was the fiberglass hull of the boat that had been his home for the last three days and two nights.

And the morning had started off so well, too.

He was halfway through a bag of roast beef MRE, and Santa Marie Island—the place he had been chasing for half a year—was finally within sight. There were times when he didn’t think he’d ever actually make it here. After all the days and nights, weeks and months, and the pile of trouble that he’d had to overcome, there it was.

Pollard, Song Island, and ghouls.

Lots of ghouls.

A hell of a lot of ghouls.

But there it was, at last, and he was so close he could almost feel the sharp edges of the rocks that haloed the ridgeline of the island. The rooftops of houses poked out from one side to the other, and there was a raised hill in the center of the place with a couple of residences on top of it. One of those homes would have made a perfect sniper’s perch.

I bet Danny and Gaby could hold off an army from up there.

He had approached the island from the east and could just make out the marina with the naked eye. It extended out from near the bottom of the oval-shaped landmass and was a welcoming sight, even if he couldn’t spot a single boat among the slips. Not that he expected to find any. If previous experience was any indication, boats were few and far between these days. Or, at least, ones that weren’t already being used by ghoul collaborators, guys he’d rather avoid whenever possible.

Santa Marie Island was coveted real estate, and according to Rachel, he was looking at an island that was eight kilometers long and one and a half wide. The size made it easy to spot from a distance once he slipped into Galveston Bay. There it was, sticking out of the ocean like a fabled land, with the Texas coastline (Everything’s bigger in Texas) surrounding it in the background.

He was a few minutes away from finally reaching land, finding Gillian, and finally (finally!) running in slow motion up the beach and into her arms like in the movies. Keo should have felt dumb running that kind of scenario through his head, but what the hell, he was feeling a little giddy at that moment.

That was when the guy came out of nowhere and started shooting at him.

Keo assumed it was a guy, anyway. The shooter was positioned on the ridge to the left of the marina. The man was a decent shot and the round plopped! into the water just a few feet from Keo’s starboard.

For about four seconds after the shot, Keo had a rare moment of indecision.

Maybe it was the fact that he had finally (finally!) reached Santa Marie Island after months of traveling that slowed his reaction time, or maybe he just hadn’t expected the first person he would see after three days on the ocean would try to kill him. Considering the past year, he really shouldn’t have been that surprised. Who wasn’t shooting at him these days?

He was back to his old self just as the second loud crack! rang out and was followed by a bullet punching into the floor of his twenty-two-footer just a couple of feet from the nose of his boots.

Water instantly began to spring inside, pooling around his feet.

Oh, hell.

The third shot nearly took his head off. It was so close that Keo heard the zip! as the large-caliber round slashed through the air a few inches from his right ear. He finally did what he should have done when he heard the first shot and dropped to his stomach, bracing with his hands against the now-wet floor of the boat.

He reached to his right and grabbed the steering end of the trolling motor, jerking it left until the boat started to turn. The good news was due to the motor’s low power, he had only traveled another twenty meters toward the island after the first shot. The bad news was that it was taking longer to turn than he would have liked, and meanwhile the guy had a perfect (and closer) bead on him.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Three more shots, about three seconds apart. That meant the guy was using a bolt-action rifle. It took at least one second to eject the spent shell casing, another second to punch in a new round, then a third second to take aim and squeeze the trigger. Three seconds was impressive, but it also meant the guy wasn’t taking his time. He was shooting too fast, either because he was an amateur and was rushing it, or he was really good.

Keo leaned toward the former when a fourth bullet sailed harmlessly over his head and a fifth punched into the starboard because Keo was forced to present that side of the boat as he completed the U-turn. The last round missed by a mile.

Then the boat had finished its turn, and Keo kept it pointed away from the island. He waited for more shots—he was still well within range of a bolt-action with a good scope—but none came. The shooter had apparently decided to save his ammo. Or maybe the idea was just to scare Keo away. He wasn’t exactly scared (Okay, maybe just a little), but he had definitely gotten the hint: He wasn’t welcome on Santa Marie Island.

He turned his attention to the Gulf of Mexico making its way into his boat. The craft had continued to take in water while he was scrambling to keep his head attached to his shoulders, and the shiny half-empty bag of MRE he had been eating a moment ago was now floating in front of him.

Damn. I should have stayed on the Trident…

* * *

He didn’t stop completely until he had put another 200 meters between him and the shooter and felt safe enough to cut off the trolling motor and pick himself up from the wet floor. Keo plugged up the bullet holes with wooden plugs from an emergency kit, then spent the next twenty minutes collecting and tossing the water back into Galveston Bay using a ceramic mug with “The World’s Greatest Boat Captain” written on the side. The mug was a good-bye gift from Lara before he left her and the Trident behind. There was still water in the boat when he finally stopped to rest, but at least he wasn’t sinking anymore.

After the short rest, Keo walked up to the bow and looked back at the island with a pair of binoculars. He could just make out the lone figure standing at the same part of the ridge as before, watching him back with his own binoculars. If the man expected him to just turn around and leave, he was very disappointed right now, because Keo wasn’t going anywhere.

Gillian was on that island. Or she was supposed to be. Either way, he wasn’t leaving, not after all the trouble he’d gone through to get here.

Keo was still too far away to make out the face or any distinguishing features on his nemesis. At first he thought it might have been Mark shooting at him, but he dismissed that idea because Mark couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, much less a moving boat. Of course, it didn’t take a well-trained sniper to hit a slow-moving target like his twenty-two-footer, especially if that rifle was equipped with a really good scope.

For a few minutes, neither one of them moved. Keo kept expecting the man’s reinforcements to show up, but they never did. Was it possible he was being thwarted by a single individual?

After a while, the shooter disappeared from the ridgeline, and about a minute later he reappeared at the marina before walking all the way out to the end of one of the docks.

Five minutes after that, with nothing except the birds in the air, the fishes breaking the surface, and the calm waves of the Gulf sloshing against his hull to break the monotony of silence, Keo concluded that the man had no help coming. Instead of relief, that realization made him just a little bit depressed, because if there wasn’t anyone else on the entire island to lend a hand…

What was that Lara had said to him, once upon a time?

“You honestly think your girlfriend actually made it to Santa Marie Island? That she’s wearing a bikini and waiting on the beach every morning, waiting for you to finally show up?”

Maybe, maybe not. But he had to find out for sure one way or another. After all these months, he had to be absolutely certain. And there was really only one way to do that, and it was staring back at him.

Crack! as the guy fired again and the round sailed harmlessly over his head.

He went down on one knee and waited for the man to try again, but the shooter didn’t. Instead, the guy lowered his rifle and just looked back at him.

Keo thought about returning fire with the M4 but decided he didn’t want to waste a couple of bullets on some dick-measuring contest. He had a full magazine and three spares in his tactical pack, with the rest of his ammo geared for the MP5SD, his primary weapon. The German gun had served him well in the last twelve months, and Keo was the kind of guy who appreciated that kind of unquestionable loyalty.

He sat down on one of the high-raised seats in front of the steering console, opened a bottle of water, and took a sip. The November weather was a tricky beast; last night’s temperatures had dropped to around thirty degrees, only to climb back up to fifty at sunrise. It had since settled at around sixty, though with the cool breeze he could almost believe it was fifty-five.

What to do, what to do?

There were only two directions open to him: Go forward, or go back.

He didn’t fancy the latter. He had come this far and braved too many obstacles to turn back now. The very idea of backtracking made him want to vomit.

So it was a no-brainer. He had to go forward.

But how?

A lone shooter was a dream scenario. It had been almost an hour since the first shot, and he was still just staring at one man with a rifle. No reinforcements. No help.

…and no Gillian on the island.

Maybe.

Have to find out. One way or another, have to find out for sure.

Keo stood up and waved his hands to get the shooter’s attention. The man went rigid and peered at him with his binoculars. With the man watching, Keo unslung his MP5SD and laid it on the seat behind him.

“Can you hear me?” he shouted, folding his hands into a funnel over his mouth to project his voice across the water.

He listened and heard a reply, but he was too far away to understand the words. It could have been a Yes, or possibly a No, or maybe even a Come any closer and I’m going to shoot your balls off.

Keo sighed. He had done some pretty dumb things in his life, and many of them since the world went kaput, but he had to know. He had to know.

He walked back to the trolling motor, gripped the tiller, and switched it on. The low whine started gradually before increasing in volume. He directed the boat forward, back toward land, all the while watching the man closely. He waited for signs of an aggressive move that would likely be followed by a gunshot. Or two, or three.

He had gone twenty meters when he shut off the engine again.

Closer now, he stood up and shouted, “Can you hear me?”

The sun was in his eyes, which made it difficult to see how the man was reacting. But at least he could make out the rifle easily enough. If that barrel started moving, he would know he was in trouble.

Ten seconds ticked by in absolute silence, then twenty…

“Yeah!” the guy finally shouted back, his voice bouncing against the water’s surface until it reached Keo as barely a soft whisper. “What do you want?”

“For you not to shoot me!”

He couldn’t be sure, but the guy might have laughed. “What else?”

“I need to get on that island!”

“You and what army?”

“No army, just me!”

A brief pause. Then: “Why?”

“I’m looking for someone!”

“Who isn’t?”

Smartass, Keo thought, but shouted, “I’m coming in, so don’t shoot!”

The guy didn’t answer, but he also hadn’t raised his rifle into a firing position, either. That was a good sign. A really good sign. Now all Keo needed to do was grease the wheels a bit. How? Maybe offer something he had that the guy needed.

And what would that be?

Weapons? Probably not. Santa Marie Island was a part of Texas, and there was a good bet you could find plenty of guns in all the houses that dotted the ridgeline. Even out here, you weren’t going to convince a Texan to part with his Second Amendment rights.

So what, then? Maybe something more valuable than bullets these days. Which would be?

Ah.

“I have supplies!” Keo shouted.

“You got supplies?” the guy asked. Keo might have barely heard his voice over the distance, but he swore it sounded almost hopeful.

You willing to risk your life on that, pal?

“Yeah!” he shouted back. “I got supplies! Let me dock, and I’ll split it with you!”

Another long pause, but this time only ten seconds went by.

Then, “Put your weapons down and come in slowly, hands where I can see you the entire time! You make one wrong move, and I’m gonna plug ya!”

‘Plug ya’?

Keo grinned to himself before shouting back, “Deal!”

This is such a bad idea, he thought as he unclasped his gun belt and let it drop to the still-wet floor.

Bad idea or not, he had to get on that damn island. He had to make sure, one way or another, because he was faced with one absolute certainty at the moment: He couldn’t keep doing this forever. Hell, there had been a few times when he had almost convinced himself to stay on the Trident with Lara and the others. Carrie had done everything she could to make him stay. She’d said all the right words, made all the right overtures, and if he wasn’t the complete idiot that he was surely being at the moment, he would have stuck around.

But no, he had to be here, standing on a boat in the middle of the ocean voluntarily letting his holstered sidearm, along with the ammo pouches, thump to his feet.

Keo made sure his actions were “loud” enough that the guy watching him the entire time with binoculars could see everything. Finally, Keo switched on the trolling motor again and guided the twenty-two-footer forward one more time, all the while telling himself that this was stupid, that it was possibly the dumbest thing he had ever done, which was saying something given the last few months.

But he had to know.

One way or another, he had to know for sure…

* * *

The “man” wasn’t a man at all. He was a teenager. Barely seventeen, maybe just a few months past his sixteenth birthday. Keo made a mental note to ask him later when he was certain the kid wasn’t going to shoot him, which at the moment wasn’t a given.

The teenager was lanky and wore mud-caked boots, jeans, and a stained cream cotton sweatshirt that looked like he had put it on a few days ago and hadn’t gotten around to taking off since. He wasn’t exactly the picture of a survivalist, and from the looks of it he had acted as his own barber very recently. The fact that this kid almost blew his head off made Keo just a little bit queasy.

Okay, a lot queasy.

His almost-killer might have been young and skinny and looked as if he was starving, but he was also holding a cherry-red bolt-action rifle, and at this range—less than fifty meters—he wouldn’t have had any trouble putting a nice large-caliber round through the boat and Keo at the same time. So Keo eased his vessel toward the marina and did everything humanly possible not to look or act threatening.

Speed wasn’t an issue, because trolling motors were not made to go fast anyway, which also meant if he had to turn around now…well, he’d have better luck jumping into the ocean instead. They didn’t call him half-dolphin for nothing, after all.

Up close, the docks looked much bigger than it had from afar, especially without a single vessel tied in place. He guessed at least two or three dozen numbered (and very empty looking) slips, some bigger than others. That made sense since there weren’t a lot of other ways on or off the sea-locked landmass except by boat that he could see. Maybe there was a small airstrip somewhere he hadn’t been able to spot, but he thought it unlikely given the uneven nature of Santa Marie Island.

Once he finally slid past the day markers, “No Wake” signs, and other warnings that surrounded the island, he was sure the boy wasn’t going to shoot him. The teenager continued to hold the rifle at the ready in front of him anyway, forefinger in the trigger guard for a quick lift-and-shoot motion, if necessary.

Smart kid.

“You got a name?” Keo shouted, before realizing he was close enough now that he could have asked in a normal voice.

“Gene,” the kid said. “You?”

“Keo.”

The kid gave him a look before saying, “What kind of name is Keo?”

“Chuck was taken.”

Gene gave him a confused look. “Hunh?”

“Just a joke.”

“Oh. You Chinese or something?”

“Or something.”

Another confused look.

At the ten-meter mark, Keo said, “You’re not going to shoot me, are you, Gene?”

“If I was gonna shoot you, I would have done it already, don’t you think?”

“Good point. Just wanted to make sure, that’s all.”

“Sure’s sure.”

Keo didn’t know what that meant, but he decided not to ask. He said instead, “You alone, Gene?”

“No.”

For some reason, Keo didn’t believe him.

Gene held up his rifle. “I got my friend Deuce here with me.”

Keo grinned and angled the boat toward the dock before switching off the motor and letting his forward momentum take him into one of the slips.

“What now?” he asked.

“I dunno,” Gene said. “I guess we tie up your ride and you come up.” He shrugged. “Work for you?”

Keo nodded. “Works for me.”

“All right, then.”

He tossed his line over and Gene tied the boat in place.

Up close, Gene had bags under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping well and hadn’t for some time now. He was wearing fingerless wool gloves and the sun glinted off large-caliber bullets around his waist, housed in their own individual loops. The getup made him look like a bandit out of a Western, the rifle almost bigger than both his arms put together. The scope on top was massive, which explained how he had managed to put holes into Keo’s boat from such a long distance. Even an amateur could have managed that. If the teenager had just been a little better, Keo would be fish food by now.

Thank God for amateurs.

He climbed onto the dock while Gene gave the boat a cursory look before asking, “You said you have supplies?”

“MREs, bottled water, and beef jerky.”

“What kind of water?”

“Filtered.”

“Where’d you get those?”

“From a hotel.”

“No shit?”

“Nope.”

Keo looked around at the rocky ridgeline of Santa Marie Island, taking in the still houses to the left and right of him. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe more…life. Instead, it was like looking at a vivid painting rather than a real place that people actually used to live in.

“So how long have you and Deuce been here?” he asked.

“For a while now,” Gene said. “Who was it you were looking for?”

“A woman named Gillian.”

Gene shook his head. “Never heard of her.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“Don’t have to. Never heard of her.”

“Well, shit.”

Gene shrugged. “Sorry, man.”

Keo sighed.

Yeah, you and me both, pal.

Chapter Two

“Where is everyone?” Keo asked.

“What you see? That’s it,” Gene said between mouthfuls of cheesy lasagna. Or what was supposed to be lasagna, anyway. The kid didn’t seem to notice the difference though.

They walked up the road from the marina, passing houses with overgrown lawns and stalled vehicles along the curb and driveways. Santa Marie Island looked frozen in time, a picture of what once was. He didn’t have any trouble imagining that things were exactly like this a year ago. He kept expecting to see a housewife in a flower-print dress and apron calling her husband, who would likely be busy mowing the lawn, in for dinner. Or a dog barking. Or kids on bicycles swerving up and down the sidewalk, trying not to hit him.

But there was none of that.

Instead, there was just the quiet, the overwhelming smell of abandonment. He wondered how the people on the island had learned about The Purge and how they had reacted. There were very few barricades over the windows, which told him they hadn’t been prepared when the end came.

The streets were curved, rarely staying in a straight line for very long, and there was a noticeable incline almost as soon as they began walking away from the marina at the southern tip. Santa Marie Island was big enough for more than one subdivision, including the expensive luxury houses along the ridgeline. The ones inland to his right looked like cheaper options. Though even “cheap,” he imagined, was probably still pricey, given the locale.

Location, location, location, as the saying went.

“Ferry,” Gene was saying, looking at him. The kid must have been reading his mind. “There’s another marina on the other side. It’s twice the size, and there’s a big ramp just for the ferry.”

“They got here by ferry?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t see it anywhere. The ferry.”

“It’s gone. Someone took it. Or sunk it.”

“Not in these waters. A sunken ferry would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. Unless they towed it out into deeper waters and then did the deed, which doesn’t make sense. Why go through all the trouble?”

“I never thought of that.”

Keo looked back at him. “Where do you stay at night, Gene?”

“I move around. You can’t spend more than one night at the same place.”

“Why not?”

“They know.”

“They?”

“Yeah. They.”

“They’re still here?” Keo asked as his hand instinctively reached for the MP5SD hanging off him by its sling.

“Won’t do any good,” Gene said. “I’ve put a .308 round right into one’s head, blew its brains out, and nothing. It just kept coming.”

“Are you using silver bullets?”

“Silver bullets?” He stopped eating momentarily to stare at Keo.

“They work.”

“The fuck you say,” Gene said.

Keo smiled. “Anything silver works. Something about the metal interacting with their bloodstream. You have to get it inside them, though. So shooting’s the easiest way—the safest way by far—but stabbing them with something silver works just as well.”

“What are they, allergic to silver or something?”

“Beats the hell out of me. I just know it works.”

He pulled out a spare magazine from his pouch and handed it to Gene. The kid thumbed out a round and held it up. It was midday, and the warm sunlight glinted off the smooth silver tip. Gene eyeballed the bullet with intense fascination, pieces of lasagna clinging to his chin, though he was blissfully unaware of it.

The kid finally slipped the bullet back into the magazine and handed it to Keo. “I’ve seen some silverware in a lot of the kitchens. Maybe I can use them as weapons.”

“Real silver?” Keo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Silver is expensive, Gene. People don’t just keep them in the drawer and use them as everyday utensils.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Although I do know about a couple of guys who stumbled across a pair of silver crosses inside an abandoned apartment. They ended up using them as knives.”

“They must be the luckiest guys alive.”

Keo thought about Danny and that knife of his. “They were.”

“‘Were’?”

“That’s the problem with luck. Sooner or later, you run out of it.”

“Did they? The guys you’re talking about. Did they run out of luck?”

“One of them did.”

Gene didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, finally, “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, how can you tell real silver from the fake kind? You know, in case I run across a pair of silver knives or something.”

“There are a couple of ways. Silver makes a distinctive ring when you tap them against one another; it also melts ice faster.”

“Seriously?”

“Which part?’

“Both.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Someone once paid me entirely in silver.”

“For what?”

“Some of this, some of that, and a little of whatever.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Then, “How long have you been here by yourself?”

The teenager shrugged, but he didn’t answer right away. He went back to eating what was left of the lasagna, though at this point Keo wasn’t sure if there was very much still in the bag by the sound of Gene’s spork scraping the bottom.

“A while,” Gene finally said.

“Why are you still here?”

“Because it’s safe. Well, mostly.”

“How do you avoid the ghouls night after night?”

“Ghouls?”

“That’s what these people I met called them. Ghouls.”

“Cool name,” Gene said. “But no. I mean, yeah, them too, but I don’t really have to worry about them too much. I’ve gotten good at staying away from the houses where they’re hiding. There are signs, if you know what to look for. But I’m really talking about guys like you.”

“Guys like me?”

“People on boats.”

“Is that why you shot at me?”

Gene gave him an almost embarrassed grin. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“No harm, no foul. Unless you count my boat. So you’ve had trouble before.”

“Yeah, you can say that.” He tossed the empty MRE bag into a trashcan that was already brimming with garbage. The bag bounced off some cans of beans and landed on the sidewalk behind them. “I wasn’t always alone.”

“Besides you and Deuce?”

Another grin. “Yeah, besides me and Deuce.”

“What happened to your friends?”

“Soldiers came and took them,” Gene said.

* * *

“You’ve been here before,” Keo said.

“Yeah, I like it,” Gene said. “I can see the whole island from up here.”

“Is that how you spotted me?”

“Nah, I was just walking around when you showed up. I do that every morning. Go around the island, taking note of anything that might have changed during the night. It’s how I keep track of their movements.”

“The ghouls.”

“Uh huh.”

They were inside one of the two-story houses on the hillside in the middle of the island. From the second-floor windows, Keo could see the entirety of Santa Marie Island’s five-mile stretch. The house faced west with a great view of the Texas coastline, along with a clear line of sight to the large marina in the center. He had to use a window at the back of the master bedroom in order to see the east marina where he had docked his twenty-two-footer. The boat looked incredibly lonely out there all by itself.

There were empty cans of nonperishables on the first and second floors, and more signs that Gene had made use of the house in the recent past. The teenager told Keo that he didn’t worry about leaving evidence of his presence around since he never stayed at the same place two nights in a row anyway. In the bathroom of the master bedroom, Keo was surprised to find weapons—assault rifles, handguns, and boxes of ammo—housed inside the tub.

“I didn’t know where to put them,” Gene said when Keo asked about the guns. “I found most of them around the island after we showed up. Maybe some of them belonged to your friends.”

“Why the bolt-action and not one of the assault rifles?” Keo asked.

“I learned to shoot with Deuce, so I guess I’m comfortable with it. What kind of gun is that?” he asked, nodding at the MP5SD.

“Submachine gun.”

“It doesn’t look like it can shoot far.”

“It can’t. It’s a close-quarters weapon.”

“Are you good with it?”

“Depends on who you ask. You never told me how long have you’ve been here, Gene.”

Gene was sitting on the floor behind him, going through the supply bag, while Keo looked out at the Texas coastline in the distance. Cool air from the open windows vented out the second floor, making it easier to be around Gene, who stank. It had obviously been a while since the teenager showered, and it hadn’t occurred to him to just take a swim in Galveston Bay every morning. Keo himself had done exactly that on the way over here.

“You mean, did I ever come across your friends?” Gene asked.

“Yeah.”

“Three months ago. But I definitely never met anyone named Gillian, or who looked like her.”

Three months ago? Keo crunched the numbers in his head.

The last time he had seen Gillian, Jordan, and the others was almost six months ago. That would have given them more than enough time to reach their destination before Gene. A three-month window. Possibly two, if they were somehow delayed. After all, it had taken him almost six months to finally get here, so who was to say it hadn’t taken them just as long? If, that is, they had made it at all.

More ifs and maybes. He didn’t have a single clue what had happened to them. All this time, and he was probably chasing a ghost.

Well, shit.

Gene opened one of the water bottles and drank it. When he was done, he let out a whistle. “Man, this is good stuff. I ran out of bottled water months ago, and I’ve been drinking rain all this time, but this… Wow.”

“It’s better cold,” Keo said absently.

“Everything’s better cold, except the weather.”

Keo smiled. The kid really did have a way with words. “You said the soldiers took your friends?”

Gene nodded. “We ran across them a couple of weeks after we arrived. They cruised up to the western marina, and like idiots we went out there to greet them. They caught the others, but I managed to escape. They come back here every now and then to look for me, or to see if they can catch other two-legged fish.”

“That’s why you shot at me.”

“Normally they come from the west, but they’ve been known to try to sneak up on me from the east.”

“Why don’t you just avoid them entirely?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you shoot at them, won’t they know you’re on the island?”

Gene shrugged. “They already know I’m here. But knowing and finding me isn’t the same thing. I know every house on this rock, all the good places to hide. They always look for me, but at the end of the day, they always get bored and leave.”

“How often do they come looking?”

Gene thought about it. “About once a week since I’ve been here. The last time they came was about five days ago, so you know, they’re due. They have bases all across Galveston Island. I’m surprised they didn’t hear you coming through the channel.”

“I was using a trolling motor. Ran out of gas about eight kilometers out.”

“Kilometers?”

“About five miles.”

“Oh. Anyway, that probably explains it. Otherwise they might have intercepted you before you ever reached Santa Marie.”

“They do that a lot?” he asked, thinking about Gillian and Jordan coming on Mark’s boat. Was that what had happened to them? Did they get intercepted?

“That’s all they do,” Gene said. “People are always showing up here. Like you. Like us. Maybe like your friends.”

Keo stared out the window at the coastline in the distance. The land, or what little of it he could see, was brown and gray under the sun. What were the chances Gillian had made it inland? Maybe they had decided to bypass the island entirely?

“When was the last time you left this place?” he asked Gene.

“Not since I arrived. Why would I?”

“For one, you’re running out of food.”

“Not really.”

“No?”

“There’s a big ocean out there. Once I run out of nonperishables, I figure I could always learn to fish.”

“You mean you don’t know how to fish?”

Gene gave him a noncommittal shrug. “I’m a fast learner. And I’ve been hoarding books about doing all sorts of things.”

“Is one of them fishing?”

“Fishing, hunting, shooting, all kinds of things.”

Keo glanced at Gene’s rifle leaning against the wall nearby. Deuce looked well-used, its stock noticeably chipped.

“So what now?” Gene asked. “You came here looking for your girlfriend, but she’s not here. She probably never even made it. So what’re you gonna do?”

He sighed.

Good question, kid.

* * *

Keo spent the next few hours walking around the island. For a place that stretched eight kilometers long, Santa Marie was a lot smaller than it looked from the water, with one main road that encircled the place. It was well designed to accommodate a small and privileged population, and he could see why it was so attractive. It was isolated, but just a boat ride away from the mainland, and perfect for those who could afford its limited space.

As he walked out in the open, Keo could feel their eyes on him. They could see him, but he couldn’t return the favor. For every house that looked empty, there was one or two that showed clear signs of occupation, either by the pulled curtains or the furniture stacked on the other side of the windows to stave off the bright sun.

Come out, come out, wherever you are…

If Gene’s theory was correct and the creatures had arrived by ferry that first night and never left, then the islanders were still here, somewhere, either hiding in their old bedrooms or basements, or wherever they could find a dark, damp place. That led Keo to wondering how long these things could survive without fresh blood. Or did they even need fresh blood at all?

The things he didn’t know about them could fill a book…or a dozen.

Keo had completed a full circle around the island when he saw a figure moving on the roof of one of the homes in front of him. He unslung the MP5SD and slipped behind a power pole, realizing too late that it was much too small to hide his entire frame.

He peered out and watched the figure, silhouetted against the sun, picking something up from the roof. It was a man—he could tell that much by the shape and shoulders—and as he straightened up—

It was just Gene, and he was cradling a couple of plastic two-liter Coke bottles in his arms.

The teenager spotted him and shaded his eyes, then shouted down, “Hey, what are you doing?”

Almost putting a bullet in you, that’s what, Keo thought as he came out from behind the pole.

“I scared ya?” Gene said, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

“What are you doing up there?” Keo shouted up. He stood outside the house, which had two garden gnomes that had been completely overtaken by the weeds, giving them the impression of children lost in a forest.

Gene held up one of the bottles. “Just retrieving this,” he said. Then, “Give me a sec,” and disappeared off the roof.

Keo put the submachine gun away and looked around the street. He would never get used to the quiet, the nothingness staring back at him. He had no idea how the kid had survived by himself for so long. Keo would probably have gone insane after a month. Oh, who was he kidding? He probably wouldn’t have survived the first few weeks.

Gene came out from behind the house, cradling the two bottles in his arms. One was half-full, the other even less than that. “Forgot to get these after the rain last week.”

“Are they clean enough to drink?”

“Only if you don’t subscribe to the theory that rain is just the gods taking a leak, then I don’t see why not.”

Keo chuckled. “You’ve been here by yourself way too long, Gene.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They walked up the street, back toward the house on the hill.

Keo glanced briefly back at the house Gene was standing on the rooftop of a few moments ago. “No ghouls?”

“Not the last time I checked, but I didn’t go inside.”

“Scared?”

“No point. I took whatever I could from the place last week.”

“So how’d you get to the roof?”

“Ladder in the back. You wouldn’t believe what you can find in people’s backyards if you look hard and long enough.” He walked in silence for a moment before adding, “They usually stay away from the smaller houses. There’s a whole nest of them in that red one near the west marina. The thing is, they don’t really move around that much. My mom had a word for it, but I can’t remember.”

“Lazy?”

“Nah. Something with an L, though.”

Keo looked at the Coke bottles in the teenager’s arms. “How many of those do you have sitting around?”

“Dozens. I told you, I could live here for the rest of my life on just the fish alone. I mean, I don’t want to, but if I had to, I could.”

“What about your friends?”

“What about them?”

“Have you tried looking for them?”

Gene shook his head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.” He paused, then glanced at Keo. “What about you? You decided what you’re gonna do next yet?”

Keo sighed.

“I take it that’s a no,” Gene said.

“Maybe tomorrow—” Keo started to say, when he stopped and looked backward toward the east side of the island.

“What?” Gene said.

Keo shushed him, then unslung his MP5SD.

The very familiar whine of boat motors in the distance, closing in fast…

Chapter Three

He had heard motors—more than one, he was sure of it—but as it turned out, there was just one craft; it just happened to have two motors in the back powering it. It was coming from the east, which meant it was probably cruising around the Gulf of Mexico when it decided to swing over to check out Santa Marie Island. Just his luck, it was heading straight for the marina, where his boat was tied up.

It was some kind of offshore fishing boat, bigger than his twenty-two-footer by a mile, and a hell of a sight better looking, too. What he wouldn’t have given to have had something that comfortable during his three days on the ocean. He might have stretched it out to a week, just to prolong the solitude.

The boat coming toward him now had a sleek deep V hull design and shiny navy blue colors on the outside, with an all white interior. Probably twenty-eight or twenty-nine feet long with a three-meter beam. He couldn’t see the man behind the steering console in the middle because of the enclosed T-top that hid him, but he didn’t have any trouble picking out the two soldiers on the bow. One was crouched and peering through binoculars at the marina, while the other stood watch with a rifle in a sling.

He couldn’t make out any details across the distance, but it wasn’t hard to spot their uniforms. Soldiers. Except these guys were wearing dark black and not the brown and gray camo of the ones he was used to seeing back in Louisiana.

“What’re they doing back so soon?” Gene said next to him.

The teenager was whispering, even though he didn’t have to. They were flat on their stomachs along the ridgeline, about fifty meters from the marina to their right, and surrounded by plenty of rocky formations to hide them from even binoculars. The vessel was still more than 500 meters away but closing in fast, thanks to its dual motors.

“The same ones that took your friends?” Keo asked, just to be sure.

“Yeah, that’s them.” Gene lowered his binoculars. “Maybe they heard my gunshots...”

“See what happens when you shoot at strangers?”

Gene snorted. “Whatever. If you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have fired.”

“And you wouldn’t have had that delicious lasagna MRE.”

“That’s true.” Gene reached for his rifle lying nearby.

“What are you doing?” Keo asked.

“I’m going to shoot them.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Let them get closer. You’re not going to hit something moving that fast anyway. You could barely hit me, and I was crawling toward you.”

“Good point.”

“Let them come up,” Keo said, thinking, And I’ll figure it out as we go.

It didn’t take long for the saltwater boat to reach the marina. The pilot deftly glided the vessel into the slip behind Keo’s twenty-two-footer, while one of the soldiers up front hopped onto the dock and pulled security. He watched the man go into a crouch and aim his rifle up and down, then side to side. Meanwhile, the second man tossed the line over, then followed it and tied the boat into place. They had clearly done this many times before, so he wasn’t dealing with complete amateurs.

“You think it was your boat or my shooting?” Gene asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Just curious.” Gene had slid his rifle up next to him and was clutching it. “You sure we shouldn’t—”

“Yes,” Keo said. “Besides, I need to find out what they know.”

“How’re you gonna to do that?”

“I need to take at least one of them alive.”

The motors cut off, and blessed silence once again swept across the island. All three of the soldiers were on the dock now, and one of them jumped onto the tied twenty-two-footer. He searched through the compartments under the console, then spent a few seconds peeking into the livewells.

“I can take them,” Gene said.

“No.”

“But—”

“No,” Keo said, probably a bit louder than he needed to that time.

It had the desired effect, though, and Gene sighed as if Keo had given him a spanking. The kid unclutched his rifle and laid his chin against the ground and pouted.

The soldiers were moving up the dock, the clomp-clomp-clomp of their heavy boots against the wooden structure echoing all the way up here. To his absolute non-surprise, they were all well-armed, wearing gun belts and sidearms, and the sun reflected off the barrels of their assault rifles. Either M4s or AR-15s, though given how every soldier he had met in Louisiana seemed to have been armed with the US military-adopted M4s, he was leaning toward the former.

“Okay,” Keo said. When Gene lifted his head expectantly, he asked, “You see the fat one?”

The kid peered through his binoculars. “Which one?”

“The one in the back.”

“That’s the fat one?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t look that fat.”

“Okay, the biggest one in the back, then.”

“What about him?”

“He’s yours. When I make my move, you take him out. Got it?”

“What about the other two?”

“Don’t worry about them. I’m going to kill the second one and keep the third one alive for questioning.”

“Can you do that?” Gene gave him an earnest look. “I mean, you can do that?”

“Yes,” Keo nodded. “I can do that.”

“Okay. So when should I shoot?”

“After I make my move.”

“And what’s that? Your move?”

“When one of them goes down.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Get ready,” Keo said, then began sliding backward, away from the ridgeline.

Gene watched him go, looking so much younger than he had earlier this morning. Keo had thought he was seventeen, but he was probably closer to sixteen. Which made the fact that Gene had managed to survive these months on Santa Marie Island all by himself something of a miracle.

“Don’t sweat it; you can make the shot,” Keo said.

He didn’t so much as have faith in Gene’s shooting ability than he did in the high-powered scope mounted on top of Deuce. They were, from what he could tell, less than a hundred meters from the marina. Even someone as distance shooting-challenged as Keo could have made the shot all day long with the equipment and position.

“I can make the shot,” Gene repeated, likely more for his own benefit than Keo’s.

When he was far enough away that he was sure the angle kept him from being spotted from below, Keo picked himself up from the ground. He brushed off dirt and pebbles clinging to his clothes, then turned and, bent over at the waist, moved quietly down the sidewalk.

Like most marinas, this one was slightly angled with the entrance at the top and the docks at the bottom, with the parking lot spread out in the middle. The only potential hiding spot Keo had seen when he first walked through the place earlier was a natural defilade made of rocky formations and a wall of dirt that flanked the entrance. It wasn’t very much at all, but at least it would keep him invisible from anyone approaching on the other side.

Keo slid against the wall of dirt now, and out of pure habit checked the weight of the MP5SD to make sure he had a full magazine in place. The submachine gun was equipped with its own suppressor, which made it longer and less mobile than its smaller cousin, the MP5K. The weapon was heavily chipped and dented, and Keo was resigned to the fact that sooner or later he would have to look for a replacement. Like everything these days, even the German gun would eventually fall apart.

It was too bad Gene didn’t have two-way radios, otherwise Keo wouldn’t have needed to risk peeking around the wall of rock to glimpse the docks and the three soldiers walking up it at the moment. They were taking their time, which was probably a byproduct of being in control of the surrounding area and, most likely, having everything go their way for a long time. Even if they knew Gene was on the island, they were used to him hiding from them.

As he had guessed, they were carrying M4s. New models, from the looks of it, and nearly identical to the one he had left behind in Gene’s two-story house on the hill. Of course, he’d gotten that carbine from Song Island, and the Rangers had converted it to full-auto. Would these bozos have done the same thing to their weapons? He guessed he’d find out pretty soon.

There was fifty to sixty meters of open space, including the parking lot, from where he was and the end of the docks, plus a generous amount of trucks, many with boat trailers, left behind to block his view of the soldiers, and vice versa. The windows of the vehicles were coated with the elements, and not a single one looked even remotely usable. Gene had told him he’d found keys to some of them, but after trying a half dozen or so, he’d given up trying to find one that still worked.

Given the range of the MP5SD, there was no way he was going to hit them from this distance, even if he could shoot around the cars. No, he’d have to let them come closer and make use of the submachine gun’s close-quarters ability. Of course, that would mean Gene would have to wait just a little bit longer to—

Crack! as a single rifle shot smashed the silence.

Or not.

He stuck his head out into the open a second time and watched the soldiers scrambling around on the docks. The two up front, anyway, while the third had fallen and was grabbing onto his left thigh, where he had been shot.

Gene had missed—sort of.

The two able soldiers returned fire on Gene’s position along the ridgeline to the right of them, the pop-pop-pop of their assault rifles rolling back and forth across Santa Marie Island.

Ah. Three-round bursts, and not full-auto.

He should have felt better about that, but of course two people letting loose with a string of three-round shots were still two people too many when lead was involved.

Gene hadn’t fired a second shot, probably because he was trying not to get his head blown off at the moment. That was awfully smart of him, but Keo didn’t have that luxury. Well, he did. He could stay right where he was, and either the soldiers would come closer or they would turn tail and—

Shit, he thought when he saw the soldiers turning and heading back toward their boat. One of them had grabbed the wounded (not really “fat”) man and was half-dragging and half-carrying him, while the third continued raining fire on the ridgeline where they’d last spotted Gene.

Keep your head down, kid.

That was exactly what he should have done, too. There was no point in pursuing the soldiers. Hell, he’d have to get a lot closer just to shoot them with his weapon.

Yup. The smart thing here was to hang back. He could always wait for another group to show up. Gene said they came around regularly, didn’t he? Once a week?

Just hang back and wait. There was no point in doing something stupid now, when the men down there didn’t even know he existed. He could gather intelligence about the operation around here some other way. Maybe even find out if they had Gillian somewhere, if he was really, really lucky.

Right. Because he had been really lucky these last few months.

Keo sighed and slipped out from behind cover and jogged across the parking lot.

He used the parked vehicles as cover, darting from one to the other, but always moving east toward the docks.

While he was going as fast as he could, the soldiers had bogged down halfway back to their boat. The wounded man had proven too hurt to keep moving and was sitting down while the second one tried to dress his wounds, blood spurting on the deck around them. The third soldier was pulling security, pointing his rifle at the ridgeline and still searching for something to shoot. Gene was being very smart, though, and not giving the man anything.

Keo was halfway to the docks, willing the guard to keep his eyes focused on the ridgeline, when the man decided to look down and saw Keo just as he slid behind a blue Chevy truck. The man didn’t waste any time and opened fire.

Ping-ping-ping! as bullets pelted the other side of the vehicle.

“Hurry up!” someone shouted between shots. The shooter. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

The gunfire was continuous, bullets smashing into the truck, some going astray and chipping the pavement around him. Finally, after about ten seconds of nonstop shooting, there was a brief respite.

Keo peeked out from behind the bumper at the soldier as the man was backing up, reloading as he went. His friends had stood up and were continuing to hobble back to their boat.

Should have parked closer, dummies.

Crack! as a bullet punched into the wooden dock floor in front of the third soldier.

Gene, back in play.

But before Gene could correct his errant second shot, the soldier turned toward another part of the ridgeline and opened up with a new magazine.

Keo took the opportunity to slip out from behind the Chevy and race across the parking lot. He picked up speed as he went, taking the remaining meters in a matter of seconds and reaching the docks just as the soldier turned back toward him.

He let loose with a burst and didn’t release the trigger until the man fell sideways and off the dock, splashing into the water below.

The other two were almost at their boat. They were shouldering each other, alternating between hobbling and running, when they turned around just as their comrade disappeared into the water behind them. They hadn’t heard Keo’s gunshots because the MP5SD barely made any noise when it fired, except for the cyclical whirring of its parts. Compared to the crash of the M4 and Gene’s rifle, Keo might as well be spitting. So the remaining soldiers weren’t reacting to Keo’s gunshots, but rather the loud splash of their friend falling into the water.

Keo was running full speed up the dock now, stepping on the trail of blood one of the soldiers had left in his wake as he was dragged off. He switched the submachine gun’s fire to semiautomatic as the second soldier dropped his friend and tried to unsling his rifle.

Keo shot the second soldier once in the thigh, then as the man screamed and grabbed for his leg, shot him again in the chest. Unlike his friend, this one only crumpled to the deck, where he lay still and didn’t move.

The not-really-fat soldier looked shocked to see the body fall next to him. Then he snapped out of it and glanced over at Keo before scrambling to unsling his rifle.

“Don’t make me kill you!” Keo shouted.

The wounded man looked conflicted, and Keo was sure he might finish going for his M4 after all—there was at least a fifty-fifty chance—but the man was apparently smarter than he looked. Either that, or he wanted to live more. He pulled his hands away from the rifle and placed them over his thigh to stanch the bleeding instead.

Blood was squirting out through the man’s fingers when Keo finally reached him. He grabbed the wounded man’s rifle and tossed it up the dock, then kicked the dead soldier’s rifle into the water. Once he secured the remaining soldier’s handgun—a nice-looking Smith & Wesson .32 semiautomatic—Keo took a step back to catch his breath.

“Keo!” Gene, waving with both hands (and Deuce) at him from the ridgeline.

Keo waved back. “All clear!”

He looked back at his captive. Like the soldiers Keo had encountered recently, this one had a name tag over his right breast pocket. It read: “J. Miller.” Unlike the ones in Louisiana, Miller and his fellow Texans had a patch of the Lone Star State over one shoulder.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Keo said.

“Huh?” Miller said, blinking the sweat and sun out of his eyes.

“Me, you guys, and marinas.”

Miller continued to blink at him, unsure how to respond. He finally said, “I don’t know you, man.”

“No? Hunh. I must be thinking about some other douchebags in uniforms, then.” He looked down at the blood oozing out between Miller’s fingers. “Hurts?”

“What do you think?”

“Looks like it hurts.”

“That’s because it does.”

“You need a doctor?”

“I got medical supplies in the boat.”

“Oh, do you now? That’s convenient.”

Miller didn’t say anything.

Keo glanced at the dead soldier nearby. His name tag read: “Matthew.” Keo hadn’t caught the third soldier’s name before he did his swan dive into Galveston Bay. Not that it mattered. Fish food didn’t need names.

“So,” Keo said, looking back at Miller. “I have a few questions. You mind answering them for me?”

“I got a choice?” Miller asked.

Keo grinned. “Of course you do. It’s a free country, isn’t it? Well, it used to be, anyway.”

Chapter Four

J. Miller, as it turned out, was a former paramedic, and when Keo tossed him a first-aid kit he had retrieved from the soldiers’ boat, the man quickly took out what he needed, cut off a large chunk of his pant leg, and treated his own wound. He worked without making a sound, though every now and then his breathing accelerated slightly.

They were in the parking lot, with Miller leaning against a white Bronco and the sun beating down mercilessly on both of them. Keo gave Miller space to keep himself from bleeding to death while Gene had retreated back to the ridgeline overlooking the western marina in case more soldiers tried sneaking up on them.

When Miller was finished, Keo handed him a refilled bottle of water, also from the soldiers’ boat. The vessel was packed with supplies, including spare magazines with 5.56 rounds but no 9mm, which was what Keo would have preferred. He’d only used up half of the bullets in his MP5SD and he still had two full spares, but a man with extra ammo (especially the right kind) was a rich one these days.

Miller, his hands covered with his own blood, swiped them on his one good pant leg before taking the water and gulping it down in one long swig. He was in his early thirties, with a somewhat pudgy face and already stripes of gray among his dark hair. He eyed Keo suspiciously over the bottle as he drank.

“Careful there, don’t wanna drown yourself,” Keo said. “How’s the leg? Any broken bones?”

Miller slowed down but kept drinking. “It went clean through.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Miller said, clenching his teeth.

“J. Miller,” Keo read. “That’s a first.”

“What’s that?” Miller said, lowering the bottle. He sighed with relief.

“The initial on your tag.”

“There was another Miller in my outfit, so I had to add a J.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“Jack.”

“Ah. So should I call you Jack or Miller?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Miller said, and handed the bottle of water back.

Keo put it away. “Fair enough.”

“Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“I’m just a guy with a gun. Those two back there your friends?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

He shrugged. “I’ve only known them for a few months. It’s not like we had dinner at each other’s houses or anything.”

“You guys have houses out here?”

“Rooms might have been more appropriate. So what’s the deal with you and the kid?”

“I guess he lives here. I just showed up earlier this morning.”

“Your boat…”

“Uh huh.”

“What are you, Japanese or something?”

“Or something,” Keo said. “You did pretty good there with the leg.”

“I could still use some real medical attention, I’m not gonna lie.”

“And where would you find something like that?”

“T18 has a full medical staff.”

“T18?”

“Where I’m based.”

“What’s the T stand for?”

Miller gave him an Are you kidding me with that question? look. Then he said, “Texas.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Where you from, anyway?”

“San Diego. But I’m assuming you meant recently. In which case, that would be Louisiana.”

“I’ve never been to Louisiana,” Miller said almost wistfully.

“Not too late. It’s just next door. I hear the traffic’s pretty light these days.”

“Can’t. Got a job to do.”

“I can appreciate that. But speaking of going places, how far is T18?”

Miller clammed up. Apparently he realized (too late) that he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

“Look,” Keo said, “here’s the deal. I need information, and you have it. I’d prefer if you told me what I needed to know without all that messy bloodshed. Er, well, more bloodshed. I mean, you’re already hurt, but you can still walk. Mostly. Just tell me what I need to know and we’re cool. You go your way, and I go mine. Tell me that’s not the best deal you’re gonna get all day.”

Miller gave him that long look again, as if he could read Keo’s face.

Good luck with that, pal.

“Well?” Keo said. “What’s it going to be?”

“You know where League City is?” Miller asked.

“For the sake of avoiding further pointless questions, let’s just pretend I’ve never stepped foot in the great state of Texas in my entire life.”

“It’s about thirty miles from here. Up the I-45. It used to be a town called Wilmont.”

“How big is T18?”

“Pretty big.”

“Okay, let’s put it another way. How many people are in T18 right now?”

Miller thought about it for a moment, then, “Around 4,000.”

Keo whistled. “That’s a lot of people.”

“It’s probably the smallest town in Texas. There’s one outside of Dallas that has almost 10,000.”

Keo wished he could say he was surprised. From everything he had heard, there were a hell of a lot more towns out there he would never know about, all of them filled with survivors. He used to think the creatures had either killed everyone or turned them into ghouls, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. There had been a plan in effect from the very first day of The Purge, and he was only now starting to fully grasp the scope of it. He had never been especially good at out-of-the-box long-term thinking, but Keo had to admit, what the creatures had done and what they were currently doing out there was beyond impressive.

“Good to know,” Keo said, hoping his face didn’t betray his thoughts. “So, let’s pretend you and your friends caught survivors running around out here. Say, like my little buddy Gene. Where would you take him?”

“Our orders are to take everyone we find to T18.”

“How many did you take in the last, say, six months?”

“Me personally? None. I just joined Matthew and Bo out here two weeks ago. Before that, I had guard duty back in town.”

“So this is a promotion?”

“It beats looking at the same patch of dirt every day.”

“Thirty miles is a pretty long drive to take people back and forth.”

“Not if there’s nothing between here and League City.”

“Nothing?”

“I mean, there are small towns, but no one lives out here if they can help it. It’s not exactly fertile ground.”

“What about T18?”

“It’s the exception. It’s connected to Trinity Bay by a river, and there are large undeveloped lands in the area.”

“Wildlife?”

“Yeah, sure. Some of them are just starting to come back now that the crawlers aren’t feeding on them anymore.” Miller paused, then added, “You’re looking for someone.”

Keo nodded. “I am.”

“You think they’re in T18?”

“Don’t know. I guess the only way to find out is to go there and look.”

Miller smiled at him.

“That’s funny to you?” Keo asked.

“If you go to T18, you won’t come out alive.”

“Really.”

“Really,” Miller nodded.

“I thought these towns were paradise. Peace and quiet. Sanctuary from the night. All that good stuff. You telling me all of that’s a big fat lie?”

“They’re supposed to be, but T18’s different. It’s…problematic.”

“How so?”

“It’s at war. If you go there, you better choose sides.”

“So tell me who the good guys are.”

“That’s the problem. There’s no such thing. There’s just the bad guys and the badder guys.”

Sounds familiar, Keo thought, and asked, “And which ones are you and your buddies?”

“The bad guys,” Miller said. “The badder guys? Trust me, when you meet them you’re going to wish you were on our side.”

* * *

“You believe him?” Gene asked.

“I don’t know,” Keo said. “Maybe. Or he might just be a very good liar.”

“You can’t tell?”

“I’m not a human polygraph, Gene.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Polygraph.”

“A lie detector.”

“Oh.”

Gene glanced back at Miller, leaning against the same Bronco with zip ties around his ankles and wrists. They had found bundles of the stuff inside the compartments of the soldiers’ boat. No doubt they came in handy whenever Miller and his crew ran across stragglers such as Gene’s friends. Or, possibly, Gillian and the others a few months earlier. Though, according to Miller, he was new to the gig, which meant Keo had shot the wrong men.

“I don’t know how you can trust him,” Gene said.

“I can’t. But as long as I have a gun and he doesn’t, I don’t have to.”

He had said it louder than necessary, even though they weren’t so far from him that Miller couldn’t already hear everything they were saying anyway.

“You can come with me,” Keo said.

The teenager looked surprised. “Me? What would I do out there?”

“Try to find your friends.”

“I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

“When the soldiers took them, were they still alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Then they’re still alive now.”

“How do you know that?”

“The towns Miller was telling me about? They don’t kill you. It’s not a prison. Not really, anyway. I mean, yes, it is in a sense, but it’s not a death camp by any means. Think of it more like a federal pen for white collar criminals, with only minimal possibilities of shower rapes.”

Gene gave him that patented confused look.

“Point is,” Keo continued, “if they did take your friends to T18 or one of the other Ts, that means they’re still alive and probably fine as long as they play by the rules.”

“How do you know all this?”

“The question is, how is it that you don’t? Weekend warriors like Miller have been setting these towns up for months now. First the camps—”

Gene’s eyes lit up at that.

“You know about the camps,” Keo said.

The kid nodded. From his expression, he knew a lot about the camps. He might have even been in one of them once upon a time, and for a moment Keo thought about asking Gene to pull up his sleeves to show him his arms, but decided against it. Being victimized by those creatures was traumatic enough; he didn’t feel the need to force Gene to relive it, too.

“They’re gone,” Keo continued. “The camps. From what I’ve been told, they started moving people over to these resettlement towns months ago.” He glanced back at Miller. “Right?”

Miller nodded. “Right.”

Gene was staring at Miller intently. Keo wasn’t sure what he saw in the kid’s eyes—maybe anger, a little bit of fear, but definitely a lot of dislike.

“Kid,” Keo said, directing Gene’s eyes back to him. “It’s your choice. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. If you stay, you can keep half the supplies like we agreed, and I’ll give you half of the soldiers’, too.”

“What about him?” Gene asked.

“He’s coming with me.”

“What if he comes back with more men?”

“He won’t. Whatever happens, I promise you won’t see him again.”

Gene nodded reluctantly, then said, “So when are you leaving?”

Keo glanced at his watch: 3:14 p.m.

The afternoon had crept up on him, leaving him just three hours before sunset. He thought about all those houses behind him along the streets and the things that may or may not be hiding inside, watching them at this very moment.

Keo looked back at the docks, at his boat in the slip next to the soldiers’ bigger vessel. He had spent the last few days in the Gulf of Mexico sleeping under the stars on his way here. It had been some of the best night’s sleep of his life because he didn’t have to worry about anything crawling up and over the gunwales. He would have no trouble doing that for one more night.

But that was back when he was out there in the middle of the ocean all by himself, and not this close to the Texas coastline. Even if he took Miller’s boat, a gunfight out in the open water would not end well for him, especially if they had more than one gun onboard, which they certainly would. If his experiences with the soldiers in Louisiana had taught him anything, it was that where you found one patrol, you usually found more.

“Tomorrow morning,” Keo said, turning back to Gene. “Until then, show me how to survive the island at night.”

* * *

Instead of staying at the two-story white house on the hill, Gene led him and a hobbling Miller further up the street. Keo had given Miller a paddle from his boat to use as a crutch, and the former paramedic turned human collaborator seemed to be moving surprisingly well for someone with a hole in one of his thighs. He only clenched his teeth every now and then and had decided to smartly keep any complaints to himself.

The fact that Miller seemed to be taking captivity so well made Keo doubt everything the man had told him. Guys who were that calm while facing the wrong end of a gun were dangerous enough to come up with clever lies, like a town with two warring parties. But Keo kept his suspicions to himself. He would find out one way or another if Miller was telling fibs in the morning. Right now, there was the night to worry about.

One problem at a time.

The house Gene took them to was another two-story, this one squeezed between two much smaller residences. It sat along the north end of the island, with a quaint backyard overlooking the bay. A mailbox with the name “Tanner” greeted them as they walked up the driveway.

“You’ve been here before?” Keo asked Gene.

The teenager nodded. “Couple of times.” He pointed at the exposed windows and the living room on the other side. “That’s how you know if they’ve been inside the houses.”

“The curtains…”

“Yeah. If they’re inside, they’ll pull the curtains or something, like furniture, to block out the sun. The tricky part is tricking them while not letting them know you’re tricking them.”

“Tricky,” Keo said.

“Heh,” Gene grinned. “I see what you did there.”

Keo smiled back at him.

Gene walked on forward, then opened the door—it wasn’t locked—and leaned inside and seemed to sniff the air for a moment. Satisfied, he glanced back at Keo. “Smells good.”

“Smells good?” Keo said.

“Yeah, they have a smell. Like shit mixed with garbage. It always lingers when they’ve been inside a house.”

“Sounds good to me,” Keo said. Then, nudging Miller in the back with the barrel of his MP5SD, “In you go. You’re our guinea pig for the day.”

Miller grunted before taking his first tentative step inside, the paddle under his armpit clack-clacking against the tiled floor.

There were no signs of a struggle, and the place was spotless except for old, faded stains here and there. Dried blood, from the night the creatures invaded Santa Marie Island, probably. What must it have been like as the creatures took the population one by one, multiplying as they went? The only way off the island would be through the marinas, but how many had made it? How many even knew to flee before it was too late?

Keo closed the door behind him. “Should I lock the door?”

“No,” Gene said.

“What about the windows?”

“No, everything has to be the way they were when we found them. They’re smarter than you think. If they see something wrong with a house, something that wasn’t there the night before, they’ll know someone’s inside. A locked front door, a closed curtain, even the slightest things. We have to trick them without letting them know they’re being tricked, remember?”

Smart dead things? Now where’d he heard that before? Right. It was something Lara said, about how the creatures were dead but not stupid. A motto her boyfriend had come up with that had kept them all alive. For a while, anyway. As far as Keo knew, it hadn’t helped the ex-Ranger in the end.

Gene led them up a flight of stairs, their footsteps against the carpeted steps the only noise in the entire house.

“How do you know they didn’t sneak in through the back door since the last time you were here?” Keo asked as he and Miller followed the teenager up.

“I can tell just by looking at the floor,” Gene said. “Or the walls. Things moved, broken furniture, glass, that kind of thing. And like I said, they smell. Once they’re inside a house, the stink doesn’t go away for weeks even after they’ve moved on. Can you smell it?”

“No.”

That wasn’t entirely true. He did smell something. Abandonment. But that was normal these days. You couldn’t stick your head into a building, a vehicle, or anything with enclosed spaces and not get a whiff. It was everywhere.

“No smell means they’re not inside,” Gene was saying.

The second floor was wide open, with curtainless windows exposing the calm waters of Galveston Bay on the other side.

“You sure we’re going to be safe up here?” Keo asked.

“I’ve stayed here before,” Gene said. “The last time was almost three weeks ago. They’ve never come close to sniffing me.”

“First time for everything.”

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.”

Famous last words, kid.

Miller, moving in front of him, must have had the same thought, because he gave Keo a quick look.

“What?” Keo said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Miller said.

“Uh huh.” Then, “I have a question for you.”

“What?”

“How do they know to avoid you?”

“Avoid me?”

“Yeah. How do they know not to have you for dinner?”

Miller seemed to actually think about it for a moment. “I don’t know. They just do.”

“That’s it? You’re not even curious?”

“It works. I don’t care why or how, just that it does.”

“I bet that’s what the Nazi sympathizers said during World War II.”

“There’s a difference between me and them.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m still alive.”

“For now.”

Miller snorted. “Have you looked around you?”

“What about it?”

“There’s no winning here, sport. We’re down for the count. The faster you accept it, the easier it’ll be.”

“Are you trying to recruit me?”

Miller grinned back at him. “You interested?”

Keo chuckled. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

Gene pushed his way into the master bedroom at the end of the second-floor hallway. It was appropriately huge, with satin sheets crumpled on the floor. The king-size bed looked to be in good condition, though clouds of dust flitted off the sheets and across the streams of fading sunlight coming in through an open window.

The teenager led them past the bed, a massive dresser, and LCD TV, and toward a pair of doors in the back. Keo already knew what was on the other side even before Gene pulled them open. It was a bathroom, big enough to fit a couple of families and their pet. More sunlight poured in through a window behind a large bathtub and reflected off the long mirror opposite from it.

“Here?” Keo said.

“Doors are solid wood, super tough,” Gene said. He knocked on one of the mahogany slabs for effect, producing dull thudding sounds. “They’re going to need a battering ram to get through them. Push comes to shove, we can always escape through the window.”

“The window?” Keo said doubtfully.

“I’ve tested it out. You can climb onto the roof from it.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Why, you scared of heights?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I want to go around climbing people’s roofs, Gene.”

The kid smiled mischievously before walking over and opening the cabinet underneath the sink. He took out a backpack and put it on the counter, then unzipped it and pulled out a bottle of water that he tossed to Keo. It was warm, and Keo brushed aside a generous layer of gathered dust.

“I have go-bags in all the safe zones around the island,” Gene said. “Lots of water, but I’m running out of food.” He also pulled out a Glock handgun. “You need another one?”

“I’m good,” Keo said. Then to Miller, “What about you? You need a gun?”

Miller gave him a look that said he wasn’t entirely certain if Keo was kidding. “Yes.”

“Too bad. Have a seat instead.”

Miller grunted, then hobbled over to the toilet in the back. It was separated from the shower stall by a three-inch wall, and the wounded soldier sat down gratefully on the porcelain lid.

Keo stared at the man for a moment. He had expected Miller to at least try to escape once during the trek from the marina over to the house, but he had remained perfectly obliging. In fact, it seemed as if he hadn’t given the possibility of escape a single thought.

“How long before your friends show up looking for you?” he asked Miller.

“My friends?” Miller said. Either the guy was surprised by the question, or he really was a very good liar.

“When you don’t return to T18. What happens then?”

Miller shrugged. “Hell if I know. ”

“Are you telling me no one’s going to care if you don’t report back in?”

“Report back? Man, you’re way overestimating us. We’re not nearly that organized. I wish we were. It’d make a lot of things easier.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want. No skin off my nose.”

Keo eyed him closely, but if Miller had a tell, he disguised it well.

He looked over at Gene instead. “I’ve seen them climb before. The ghouls. You sure we shouldn’t cover up the window?”

“There are no handholds out there,” Gene said. “We’ll be fine. I told you. I’ve been here before, and they’ve never come close to checking the place out.” Gene pulled back the sleeve of his sweatshirt and glanced down at a black sports watch. “Two more hours until nightfall.” Then he gave Keo a crooked, almost nervous grin. “Should be fun, right?”

“Yeah, sure, kid,” Keo said. “But just to be safe—” he opened his tactical pack and took out a spare Glock and handed it to Gene “—here’s something you can use. Magazine’s loaded with silver bullets.”

“Thanks.” Gene took it and turned it over in his hands. “You remember all those guns from the other house?”

“Uh huh.”

“You think some of them had silver bullets?”

“You didn’t check?”

“It never occurred to me to.”

“We’ll go through them tomorrow morning and find out. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Until then, let’s just try to survive tonight first.” He glanced over at Miller. “What about you?”

Miller looked over. “What about me?”

“You have something to add? Maybe a secret handshake that’ll keep the crawlers at bay?”

“Nah,” Miller said. He leaned back against the toilet and closed his eyes. “Looks like you and the kid got it all figured out.”

Keo could be wrong, but he swore Miller almost smiled that time.

Chapter Five

Once upon a time, he was trapped inside an attic listening to the creatures as they tap-tap-tapped below him. This time he was inside a second-floor bathroom. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, apparently.

Gene had heard the sudden movements—like scratching—from outside the house too, and his entire body stiffened. Keo could just make out the teenager’s dirty sweatshirt in the semidarkness. He sat inside the bathtub with his back against the wall, the only window inches to the left of his head. The kid’s eyes kept darting between Keo and the window and Miller, sitting against the glass shower stall to Keo’s right. A large swath of moonlight illuminated half of the room in a strangely serene baby-blue tint.

Keo tightened his grip on the MP5SD resting in his lap. He felt better knowing the bullets were silver, but that might not do him a lot of good if there were a lot of them out there right now. Sooner or later, he would use up his spare magazines, and then what? He remembered seeing Danny carrying a silver knife around with him. Smart. Guns ran out of bullets, but knives didn’t.

I need to get me one of those. Maybe a sword.

“Hey,” Keo whispered across the room at Gene. When the kid glanced over, “How many of them are out there?”

Gene didn’t look like he understood the question. Or maybe he couldn’t hear him.

Keo raised his voice a bit (but not too much). “The island. How many ghouls are on the island? How many houses? Ballpark figure.”

“Fifty or so, I think,” Gene said.

Fifty or so. Assuming at least two people to a house and four maximum would give him one hundred at least, and two hundred at the most. Probably somewhere in the middle to account for the loners, the retirees, and the divorcées. Somewhere around 150. Maybe a little bit more, maybe a little less. And that wasn’t counting however many bloodsuckers had invaded the island during The Purge.

That was a hell of a lot more targets than he had bullets for.

Outnumbered again. So what else was new?

He looked over at the doors. Solid wood. Tough. He wouldn’t have been able to physically hammer them down with his body. He’d need a sledgehammer at least. So Gene had chosen wisely by bringing them here. Would 150 (or so) ghouls be able to batter their way through in a single night?

Maybe. Maybe not.

He turned back to the window. His instincts were to barricade it or at least cover it up with something, but Gene had said he’d found it that way. And the kid had been surviving on the island by himself for months now, which meant he knew what he was doing. Keo hoped, anyway.

“How many?” Gene whispered.

“Hmm?” Keo said.

“How many are out there, you think?”

“One-fifty, give or take a few dozen here and there. Could be less. Could be more. I’m just spitballing numbers.”

“Sounds about right,” Gene said. He had Deuce between his legs, the barrel pointed up at the ceiling.

Keo glanced at Miller in the corner. The man’s eyes were closed, as if he was trying to sleep, but Keo could tell by the rise and fall of his chest that the soldier was still wide awake.

“What do you think?” Keo asked him.

Miller opened his eyes. “About what?”

“How many do you think are out there?”

“I don’t know. One-fifty sounds about right.”

“What are the chances they’ll leave you alone if you go outside in that uniform?”

“I don’t know.” Miller looked suddenly very uncertain. “There were always others with me when I’m out at night, and we were always on missions.”

“What kind of missions?”

“Finding stragglers. People hiding out in the hills or the cities. Bringing them back to the towns.”

“And here I thought everyone went there voluntarily.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? There are a lot of stubborn people out there. You should know a thing or two about that.”

“You saying I’m stubborn?”

“Maybe I’m wrong. It’s been known to happen.”

“Why don’t you just leave them alone?” Gene said. There was an edge to the kid’s voice, and Keo saw him flexing his fingers around Deuce.

“It’s not my call,” Miller said, and smartly didn’t meet Gene’s accusing eyes when he said it. “I just follow orders, sport.”

“So you’ve been out there at night in those uniforms, and nothing happened?” Keo asked.

“Uh huh,” Miller nodded.

“Interesting.”

“How so?”

Keo shrugged. “Just wondering if that uniform will fit me.”

Miller’s eyes widened a bit, and he opened his mouth to say something when—

Crash!

He froze. And so did Gene and Keo.

Broken glass from downstairs. The living room windows; Keo was sure of it. The island was so still, the silence so complete, that the noise might as well be cannons going off right under them.

“Oh, shit,” Gene whispered. “I don’t understand. We didn’t leave any clues down there. They should have just run past the house like all the other times.”

Maybe they can smell us.

He didn’t know if they could or not, but what else could it be? They had left the front of the house exactly the way they had found it this afternoon. They had even left the bathroom window curtainless for fear of messing with the status quo.

So how the hell did they know?

“Give me a gun,” Miller said. He was fidgeting in his corner. “I need a gun.”

“What’s the matter?” Keo asked. “You don’t think that uniform’s going to save you?”

“I think I don’t wanna find out.”

“Well, tough nuts.”

“Come on, man.”

“Let me think about it,” Keo said. Then, a second later, “I’ve thought about it. The answer’s still no.”

Keo gave the window another quick glance before scrambling to his feet and darting across the pool of moonlight and onto the other side. Gene anxiously watched him slide against the thick double doors and press his hands and ear against the smooth and slightly cool mahogany finish.

He willed his heartbeat to slow down, then held his breath and listened.

Footsteps.

The familiar tap-tap-tap of bare feet against carpeted flooring.

At first they were distant, like faded echoes, but they quickly grew in volume. A lot of them.

Too many, racing up the steps to the second floor.

Growing louder, and louder—

Keo staggered away from the door as…

…silence.

He waited for the inevitable. The familiar pounding of flesh against wood. He had heard it before—too many times to count.

But there wasn’t any this time.

What the hell?

Behind and to the right of him, Gene had stood up inside the tub, his rifle gripped tightly in front of him. Miller was a statue in the corner, his eyes glued on Keo. They were both waiting for the relentless assaults against the door, too.

So where was it?

Keo pushed his ear back against the smooth, wooden surface. He listened for the telltale signs, the tap-tap-tap of bare feet moving around outside, but he could only hear…

Silence.

He’d heard them earlier, hadn’t he? Of course he had, because Gene and Miller had heard them, too. They had broken through the living room windows and raced up the steps and converged on the second floor.

So where were they now? Had they searched the main bedroom and finding no one, just decided to…leave? Without even bothering with the two doors on the other side of the room?

Yeah, right.

“Well?” Gene whispered behind him. “What’s out there?”

The kid looked rooted in the tub, and the sight of him clutching Deuce made Keo smile for some reason. He turned back to the door and leaned against it for the third time, listening to the overwhelming silence outside.

Finally, Keo shook his head.

“I told you,” Gene said, and although he did his best to sound confident, he couldn’t hide the slight trembling in his voice. “They’ll check the houses, but if they don’t see anything out of the ordinary, they’ll move on.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way inside?”

The teenager shook his head. “I checked. It’s just those doors and this window.”

Keo didn’t tell him about the last time he had been in a building that was supposedly secured. That time, the ghouls had found a way in through the—

“Vents,” he said.

“What?” Gene said.

“AC vents.”

He hurried away from the door and began scanning the ceiling, looking for grates designed to blast air into the room in the summer and heat in the winter.

There, just above the mirror over the long sink counter with the two faucets for him and her. Except it was small. Too small. Barely one-by-one-foot. Even the scrawniest ghoul was going to have difficulty crawling through that thing.

“What about the vents?” Gene asked from the bathtub.

“Nothing,” Keo said. “False alarm.”

But he didn’t completely breathe easier. They were still in a house and on an island teeming with ghouls. There were at least a hundred of the monsters outside right now, scouring the homes and buildings and parked vehicles for signs that someone stupid enough (like me) had arrived on Santa Marie Island and decided not to leave before sunset.

Dammit. He should have taken the twenty-two-footer back out and slept on the ocean like he had the last few nights. He should have risked the chances of running into one of Miller’s friends. At least out there he’d be able to hear trouble coming from miles away. And if push came to shove, he could have always gone into the water. He’d done it before.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda, pal.

“This is wrong,” Miller said.

Keo looked over at him. “Now you have something to say?”

“This is wrong,” Miller repeated.

“What is?” Gene asked.

“They’ve never been this quiet before,” Miller said. He was breathing hard for some reason.

“Never?” Keo said.

“Not when they know people are nearby. People that aren’t us. In uniforms. And they goddamn know you’re in here.”

“You don’t know that,” Gene said. “They’ve always passed the house over. Tonight’s no different.”

Keo thought the teenager was trying to convince himself more than he was Miller.

“They know,” Miller said with absolute certainty. “Trust me, they know. I’ve been around enough of them that I can tell when they know. And they fucking know.”

Keo and Gene exchanged a quick look.

“Then why—” Gene started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish before the crack! of a gunshot broke the island’s quiet and the window next to him shattered.

Gene ducked down, dropping Deuce and throwing his arms over his head.

Keo dived to the floor as a bullet slammed into the ceiling above him. He landed hard on the dirty and shoeprint-caked slate tiles, but even through the rain of glass shards falling into the tub around Gene, he heard the echoing ploompt! from outside.

Grenade launcher. That was a grenade launcher!

He expected an explosion, waited to be screaming in agony as fire and shrapnel ripped through him, but instead he looked up and saw a cylindrical canister appearing out of the night like a bulbous bullet, but slower and shinier. It slipped through the broken window and rainbowed from one end of the room to the other before bouncing off the counter behind him. The loud hissing filled the air even before the object had settled, telling him that he was wrong—it wasn’t a grenade, but a gas canister.

Keo grabbed his shirt and pulled it up and over his mouth and nostrils. His eyes stung immediately even before the smoke managed to engulf his side of the bathroom. When he had first seen the room he thought it was big, but now as he teared up and his lungs burned, he wished it was much bigger.

The sounds of Gene and Miller coughing up a storm in the room around him invaded his senses. Gene might actually have been crying, or that might have been Miller. Maybe both. Or all three of them, for all he knew.

He was trying to maintain his grip on the MP5SD when he heard the loud pounding of footsteps. Not ghouls this time, because these were heavier and showing all the subtlety of a stampeding herd of elephants. He wasn’t sure how long it had been—ten seconds? Ten minutes?—since he could barely keep his eyes open, and every time he took a breath it felt like someone was stabbing his chest with a spear, or a dozen.

The door. Someone was knocking on the door.

No, not knocking.

Banging.

It would take the ghouls hours, maybe days, to finally break through, he remembered thinking. The creatures weren’t known for their strength, and he had felt relatively safe inside the confines of the bathroom. They would need something like a sledgehammer, or maybe a car to get the job done.

Boom-boom-boom!

It sounded as if they had found one of those two things right now, because the entire room seemed to be trembling each time they smashed into the doors on the other side.

He had made it across the bathroom, alternating between breathing and trying to look past the gathering smoke. It was difficult enough trying to maintain his vision through the waterfall of tears and the sensation of someone dropping barrels of ground peppers into his eyes, but every step made him want to give up and fall down and scream until the pain went away.

Boom-boom-boom!

He spun around until he was facing the doors—or, at least, where he thought the doors were—and waited. He didn’t have to actually see to know where they were—he just had to follow the crushing sounds of blow after blow landing against the mahogany wood somewhere on the other side of the blanket of smoke.

The MP5SD was slippery against his hands, and someone was screaming to his right. Keo ignored everything and focused on what was in front of him, which at this point was smoke and…more smoke.

Soon, the tear gas would be sucked out through the broken window, but soon wasn’t fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.

Boom-boom-boom!

His vision started to blur. Or maybe that was all the tears flooding them. God, he hadn’t cried this much since...well, he’d never cried this much in his life. Of course, no one had ever locked him inside a bathroom with an exploding gas canister before, either, so it wasn’t like he had any experience here.

There was a final boom! before the very distinctive sound of wood splintering came from across the room.

There goes a door. Maybe both.

He sought out the window and saw a figure next to it curled up inside the large bathtub. Gene, trying desperately to make himself small and be spared the tendrils of crushing smoke gathering around him like tentacles. It wasn’t going to work. Poor Gene was alternating between crying and trying not to cough his lungs out.

The window!

What was that Gene had said earlier?

“Push comes to shove, we can always escape through the window.”

He hadn’t greeted that comment with much enthusiasm, and Keo still didn’t have a lot of it as he stumbled in that direction, but he had very little choice at the moment. Unfortunately for him, while his mind had declared that this was the correct path, his legs had somehow turned to Jell-O while he wasn’t looking, and he had to grab at the nearest wall to keep from falling down.

And his lungs. Jesus, his lungs were on fire.

He pushed off the wall—or was it a counter?—and braved the endless curls of smoke, using the window as a beacon of hope. If he could get to it, if he could climb out, and he could somehow crawl up to the rooftop...

Out there, he would be able to breathe again, to see, to not feel like every inch of his body was on fire.

He didn’t know how far he had actually gotten before something blindsided him and Keo went sailing across the room. He must have slammed into another wall and gone down in a pile. Not that he felt it. Any of it. He just knew it was happening. At that moment, the only thing he was intensely aware of was screaming pain from his insides as it threatened to turn all of him into a pool of liquid.

Keo was on his back and looking up as the thing that had assaulted him rose up from the floor. It was a minotaur, blackened and monstrous, and it peered back at him with glassy oblong eyes.

No, it wasn’t a beast from Greek mythology after all. It was just an asshole in a gas mask.

Pain exploded across Keo’s face as something struck him and his head snapped backward and slammed into the slate tiles. It hurt, but the blow wasn’t nearly as intense as the inferno raging inside his body, threatening to burst through his eyeballs.

Then, mercifully, there was just darkness.

Chapter Six

Keo’s lungs were still burning, but at least he could breathe again without fearing that his entire chest cavity was going to cave in with every breath. Motor control was (gradually) coming back, along with feeling in his legs and arms, though he was pretty sure his eyes were the color of mandarin oranges. If Keo weren’t already covered in scars, he would have been hesitant to look at a shiny reflective surface at the moment.

Instead, he concentrated on his surroundings.

They were inside the living room of the same two-story house where he, Gene, and Miller had retreated for the night. The windows were broken, the jagged shards still sticking out of the frames covered in coagulated black blood. It looked less like plasma and more like mud: thick and still oozing.

Two men in black uniforms similar to the one Miller wore sat on the floor in opposing corners, M4 rifles lying across their laps and gas masks dangling from their hips. One was already snoring, the other getting there. A third man leaned against a wall looking out the window while spooning gobs of mashed potatoes into his mouth from a bag of MRE. Keo recognized the distinctive bulky six-shot cylinder and short barrel of the M32 grenade launcher—the weapon that had sent the tear gas sailing into the bathroom—slung behind the man’s back.

If Keo had any ideas about taking that launcher and giving the soldier a taste of his own medicine, he quickly gave it up when he looked down at the zip ties around his wrists and ankles. They were the same color and brand as the ones he had used on Miller earlier. He wondered if they found a warehouse full of this stuff or something.

“Finding stragglers,” Miller had said about his mission. “People hiding out in the hills or the cities. Bringing them back to the towns.”

Keo bet those zip ties came in real handy for that. Maybe Gillian and Jordan and the others had been hauled into T18 in similar conditions. At the moment—and as crazy as it might sound—that was his best-case scenario of ever finding them again.

He looked around the room again. There were plenty of signs that the ghouls had trampled their way through the carpeting earlier, so where were they now? The windows were wide open and it was still obviously night outside, so what was stopping them—

A flicker of movement, as one—no, two—five—emaciated forms scampered past the windows on the house’s front lawn. More of them, on the sidewalks and streets beyond, like moving shadows come alive.

Keo tensed, and so did the soldier leaning in front of him. The man actually stopped eating his MRE for a while. A few seconds, anyway, before he went back to business as usual. But for a while there, the man hadn’t been so sure.

So you’re still scared of them too, huh?

Good to know, good to know…

The first five were only the beginning. There were more, flitting across what little moonlight was visible beyond the broken windows. If they knew he was inside the house without anything to stand in their way, they didn’t show it. They appeared oblivious to him and the portable LED lamp resting on a dresser that hadn’t been there when Keo walked through the place this afternoon. That was just enough light for him to see Gene lying unconscious on the floor, his back against one of the sofas in front of the windows.

Footsteps, before a pair of calm male voices appeared behind and to the right of him, coming from the kitchen.

“…back by morning,” one man was saying. “I expected better from you.”

“Give me a break; I almost died,” a second voice said. This one sounded familiar, but it took Keo a few seconds to put a name to it, which told him he was still a little out of it from the blows he took upstairs.

J. Miller.

“Bo and Matthew weren’t so lucky,” Miller was saying.

Miller appeared in the living room with a second man. They looked almost identical in their black uniforms, except the second man was just a little taller and was in his early forties. Keo found out why they looked so much alike when he saw the second man’s name tag: “S. Miller.”

“There was another Miller in my outfit,” Miller had said to him back at the marina yesterday. Of course, Miller had failed to add that the other Miller was, likely from the resemblance, his big brother.

So what else did J. Miller lie about?

“Look who’s up,” younger Miller said. For a guy moving on crutches made from a pair of sofa cushions duct-taped to paddles, Miller still looked his cheery self despite red eyes from the tear gas. He looked as if he had washed most of it out, a luxury Keo wished he had at the moment.

“How’s the leg?” Keo asked.

“It’s been better, but can’t complain, considering.” He jerked a thumb at the other man. “This is Steve. You might have noticed the resemblance. Yes, he’s the other Miller I was referring to earlier.”

“Ah, thanks for the clarification.”

“He the one who shot you?” the older Miller asked.

“That’s the other one.” Jack nodded at Gene’s sleeping form. “Shot me with that big .308. Christ, it hurt.”

“You’ll live.”

“Not the point.”

Steve ignored his brother and walked over to Keo, crouching in front of him. Besides being older than Jack, he was a little more haggard, his face lined and weathered from experience. He had the kind of calm, inquiring brown eyes that could be intimidating when focused entirely on you, the way he had them zeroed in on Keo now.

“Like what you see?” Keo asked.

Steve smiled. “What happened to your face?”

“Which part?”

Steve traced an imaginary line along the side of his own face, starting from the temple and finishing up at the jawline.

“Rollercoaster accident,” Keo said.

“I’ve heard those can be dangerous.”

“You have no idea.”

“His name’s Keo,” Jack said.

“Keo?” Steve repeated. “What kind of name is that?”

“Mike was taken,” Keo said.

Steve chuckled. “Is that right?”

“Yup. I was heartbroken, too. Really wanted to call myself Mike.”

“Life’s full of disappointments.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Anyway, I hear you’re a dangerous man, Keo. Took out two of my guys on the docks like it was nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say it was nothing. It was definitely something.”

“A real badass, huh?”

“I do all right with the ladies.”

“What did you use to do before all of this?”

“You mean before I found this quaint little island?”

Smack! as Steve’s open palm struck Keo across the cheek.

He wasn’t prepared for it, which as it turned out was a good thing, because he was too stunned to actually feel the pain. Steve had a pair of meaty hands on him, which made sense since the man looked like a solid 220 pounds of muscle. It was hard to stay blubbery at the end of the world.

“Was it something I said?” Keo asked, trying to shake the blow off.

“What did you use to do?” Steve asked again.

“This and that.”

“Probably ex-military,” Jack said. He was leaning against a nearby wall, clearly enjoying the show.

“Nah, but close,” Steve said. “I can smell ex-military guys, and he’s not one of them. It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me now.” Steve stood up and looked at Jack. “Get some shut-eye and rest your leg. We’re heading back at sunup.”

Jack nodded and found himself a spot on the same sofa that Gene was lying against and lay down.

“The creatures,” Keo said.

Steve, who had settled on the floor across from him, said, “What about them?”

“They’re going to stay out there the entire night?”

“You scared?”

“Fuck yes.”

Steve grinned. “Don’t worry your pretty little head off. They’ll stay away.”

“How does it work? How do they know to leave you alone?”

“You ever heard the phrase need-to-know?”

“No one ever told me.”

Steve snorted. “They’re not coming in as long as we’re in here.”

“You sure about that?” Keo asked, watching as three more of the creatures darted across the windows. Just seeing them out there, with nothing to protect him if they stopped and turned around on a whim, made his skin crawl.

“You better hope so,” Steve said. He laid his M4 across his lap, then looked up at the soldier with the M32. “This is Horace. He’s running around on five cans of warm Red Bull and enough caffeine to keep a herd of longhorns going. Try anything, and he has my permission to put you out of your misery.”

Horace winked at Keo. He was a big man with an Army buzz cut. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you, spud.”

“I feel so special,” Keo said.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because you didn’t shoot my little brother,” Steve said. “That, and you treated him like a human being after he was wounded. Otherwise I’d have fed you to those things outside.”

“I guess it still pays to be a good guy these days.”

“I paid you back by letting you keep breathing, but I don’t owe you shit after that. Keep that in mind.”

Oh, I’m keeping it in mind, all right, Keo thought while trying to ignore the tingling radiating from his cheek.

* * *

Keo opened his eyes to large doses of sunlight in his face and Steve sitting next to Gene on the sofa across the room. They looked like they were talking and had been for some time. Steve’s soldiers were already outside the house, moving around on the lawn. The one with the M32, Horace, was on the sidewalk beyond.

“You did the right thing,” Steve was saying to Gene. “You’ll find out when we get there that all this running around was a waste of time.”

“And I can leave anytime?” Gene asked.

“Absolutely, but you won’t want to once you see what’s there.”

Gene nodded, though he didn’t look as if he quite believed Steve, but was too smart to say so if he did have any doubts.

“Morning,” Jack said, coming out of the kitchen with an open can of SPAM. He was shoveling large chunks of it into his mouth and talking at the same time. “You said you wanted to visit T18. This is your lucky day, sport, because that’s exactly where you’re going. Excited?”

“I can barely contain myself,” Keo said.

Jack chuckled.

“Let’s get going,” Steve said. He stood up before fixing Keo with a hard stare. “One wrong move, and you’re a dead man. Do we understand each other?”

“Crystal.”

“Good man.” He turned around and called through the broken windows, “Donovan, Taylor. Come get our guest of honor.” Then to Gene, “Come on, son. Time to go home.”

Gene nodded mutely, the kid who had fought off the soldiers these last few months seemingly MIA after last night. Keo couldn’t really blame him. He’d been in his share of scrapes, but getting gassed in a bathroom, well, that was something he didn’t want to go through again if he could help it.

Donovan and Taylor came back inside and pulled Keo up from the floor. He paid very close attention to Donovan, who had his MP5SD and pack slung over his back.

“Go for it, you know you want to,” Taylor said, grinning knowingly at him.

Keo smiled back, but thought, Damn.

Donovan pulled out an all-black tactical knife from a sheath strapped low to one of his thighs and sliced the zip ties around Keo’s ankle, but left the one around his wrists. Then Taylor gave him a (not so) friendly shove in the back as they led him outside.

If the sun was ridiculously bright before, it was practically blinding as he walked down the driveway. The crisp morning air flooded his lungs, and for a moment Keo almost believed there was nothing wrong with the world. He took a moment to stare at the impressive sight of birds flocking in formation above him. That ended when Taylor gave him another shove in the back, this time with the cold barrel of his rifle.

Steve turned in the street and led the way toward the eastern marina. Horace had taken point, while Jack limped on his two crutches behind him. They were moving slowly, probably for Jack’s sake. Keo let the cool air cleanse the remains of last night’s gas from his face and eyes. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of water to wash away the rest.

He was very aware of Donovan and Taylor moving step-for-step behind him. They were keeping their distance—Donovan further back than Taylor. He thought about making a run for it every time the narrow spaces between houses popped up to the left and right of him, but whenever he calculated the distance with the time he’d need to make it to safety, the results always came out against him surviving.

“You stopped at Galveston Island on your way over here?” Steve, walking in front of him, asked.

“I was thinking about going back for a visit,” Keo said. “Nice?”

“Oh, yeah. Tons of things to see and do. The seawall in particular. Now that’s engineering.”

“You from around here?”

“Pearland. You know where that is?”

“Nope.”

“Up I-45. Close enough that I spent most of my free weekends down here. I’ve always wanted an oceanside house.”

“So what’s stopping you now? Pick one. Or fifty.”

“You know that old saying, ‘I don’t want to join a club that will have me’? Now that there’s no one around to keep me from taking any house I want, it doesn’t quite have the same cachet. Know what I mean?”

“You a man who worries about cachet, Steve?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I could care less.”

“No?”

“Nope. Give me a gun, a boat, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Steve turned around but continued backpedaling down the street. He smiled at Keo. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll probably end up killing you.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He chuckled, though it sounded just a little bit too forced. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me what you used to do for a living. Until then—” he spun back around, “—I’ll have to be satisfied with knowing I can put a bullet in your head any time I feel like it.”

* * *

They took all three boats with them, including Keo’s twenty-two-footer. Personally, with the bigger and more powerful vessels the soldiers had arrived in, Keo would have dumped his, but Steve had other plans. Like the one Jack had come in yesterday, Steve’s was an equal-size offshore model with two engines in the back.

Steve had, he told Keo, approached Santa Marie Island last night using trolling motors to escape detection. Just that alone made him much smarter than all the other “soldiers” Keo had met the last few months, including the poor bastards that had assaulted Song Island.

Once they put him inside Steve’s boat, Donovan zip tied his ankles back up and placed him on a bench up front alongside Gene.

“You okay?” Keo asked the kid.

Gene gave him a nervous smile. “Yeah, you?”

“My eyes still sting a little.”

“Mine, too.”

“Can we get some water?” Keo asked Steve, standing behind them at the console.

“No,” Steve said. “Consider it punishment for shooting my little brother in the leg. Now shut up and enjoy the ride.”

Taylor piloted Keo’s twenty-two-footer, while Jack and Horace followed behind them on the second offshore vessel.

They cruised along Galveston Bay for a while before Keo spotted civilization in the distance and what looked like a fairground to the left of a channel. Carnival rides, including a Ferris wheel and a large red round structure, jutted out from behind a long boardwalk next to the bay. He imagined the place teeming with tourists on the weekends, a far cry from the ghost town it had become.

There was always something sad about seeing a once-thriving city abandoned, left to tilt against the wind and the elements. How long would these rides stay up? Maybe another year. Maybe a decade. That would probably depend on their construction, he guessed. That red thing, whatever the hell it was, looked like it could last a few more decades before tumbling back down to earth.

If there was once thriving life to the left of the channel, there wasn’t much on the right side. He glimpsed warehouses, businesses, and overgrown fields of grass spread across undeveloped land. The juxtaposition of the two areas was stunning, and Keo found himself drawn back to the structures along the boardwalk to his left. Abandoned or not, at least there was a lot to look at over there.

They cruised through the channel, passing silent buildings and sun-bleached parking lots still filled with vehicles. It wasn’t until they went underneath a highway that stretched across the channel that they finally saw a shipyard. It covered a huge chunk of the water and was spread out to both sides. The multitude of open slips told him hundreds of boats had once called this place home. Where were all those boats now? At the bottom of the bay, probably. Maybe the vessel he was riding in now was one of the lucky few survivors.

After the shipyard, it became a series of turns and empty houses and buildings and more (though much smaller) docks with empty slips. Keo lost track of how many times they eased around a bend, and each time he thought they might have reached their destination, they kept going. The path was wide enough that Donovan felt at ease keeping their boat moving at a reasonable speed. At this point, the soldiers had probably traversed this same area so many times it would have been second nature to them by now. To Keo, one stretch of water and empty parking lots and the wooded areas that surrounded them looked like the dozen others they had passed in the last hour. He stopped trying to make sense of his scenery after a while.

One thing was certain: They were getting further inland.

Donovan didn’t slow down until they had slipped under a large highway that ran west to east. Signs told him it was Interstate 45, with Galveston back east and Houston, along with the rest of Texas, to the west. Once they went under the I-45, the river began narrowing and thick patches of woods sprouted up to both sides of them.

Keo knew they were getting close to their destination when he started seeing men in black uniforms moving among the trees to their right. Sentries. They were all very well-armed, and a few of them waved to the boats. Donovan and Steve waved back.

Soon, the soldiers gave way to civilians along the riverbanks. Like the soldiers, they were concentrated only on the right side. A dozen or so women were washing clothes against the rocks while half-naked kids jumped into the water, which had to be cold given the falling temperature. Keo was reminded of documentaries about frontier times, before washing machines and dryers were invented.

The people waved excitedly at them as they passed by. He had to look long and hard before he could conclude that they either wanted to be here, or they were really good actors.

“What are they doing?” Gene asked, straining to see the women—and they were almost all women, except for the children—off the boat’s starboard.

“Washing clothes,” Keo said.

“I’ve never seen that before.”

“That’s how people used to wash clothes before washing machines.”

“No, not that,” Gene said. “Her.”

He was pointing at a young woman standing further up on the bank holding a laundry basket and talking to a couple of older women as they scrubbed clothes against some boulders. She had a noticeable belly, but it wasn’t because she was fat.

She was pregnant.

Now that he had seen one, it was easier to spot others. Two more women who also looked pregnant, though not nearly as far along as the first one.

He thought about Carrie and Lorelei; the girls had fled one of the collaborator towns and had ended up at Song Island with him.

“It’s not the sex,” Carrie had told him. “It’s what happens afterward. With the babies. You understand, right? Why we couldn’t stay? Why we ran?”

Because the babies didn’t belong to the women who would give birth to them; they would belong to the ghouls, to continuing the cycle of humans supplying blood to the creatures for years, decades, and generations to come. That was the foundation of an “agreement,” the why and how towns like T18 existed in the first place, because the people here—the women washing clothes by hand, the children swimming in the river—had come voluntarily. They had agreed. Sanctuary and safety, in exchange for human slavery.

Keo wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling. He had heard the stories and believed them, but to actually see it in person was an entirely different universe. Part of him didn’t blame them for choosing this path, but the other part, the one that had kept him alive this last year, felt a bit sick to his stomach.

He glanced back at Steve, standing next to Donovan behind the center console. “Why am I here?” he asked, shouting over the roar of the double motors to be heard.

Steve didn’t answer, and for a moment Keo thought the man hadn’t heard him. He seemed preoccupied with waving back to a couple of kids that were chasing after the boat along the banks, as if Steve were some kind of returning hero.

“Why am I here?” Keo asked again, shouting louder this time.

“You’ll find out,” Steve shouted back.

“I’d like to know now.”

“I bet you would, but you’ll find out when I decide you can find out. And not a moment sooner.”

“They look so happy,” Gene said next to him. He looked mesmerized by the sight of the women and children. “Are they really that happy? Is this real?”

“I don’t know,” Keo said.

“They look so happy,” Gene said again.

Don’t be fooled, Keo was going to tell the kid, when he caught a glimpse of a figure among the civilians on the riverbanks.

A woman, and something about her seized his attention. It helped that she was standing up just as their boat passed, and she was clearly taller than the other women around her, which made her stick out even further.

Keo shot up from the bench, wobbly on his feet because of his zip-tied ankles, and looked back at her until they locked eyes over the river.

She was moving up the riverbanks, trying to keep up with them, but there were just too many people in her way, and a few seconds later she disappeared behind some tall trees.

After all this time, all these months and uncertainty, there she was, still as breathtakingly beautiful as the day he sent her away on Mark’s boat, hoping to save her life.

Gillian.

Chapter Seven

They had taken over a small city called Wilmont and turned it into T18. The place was separated into two parts, with a residential district and a commercial area connected by a wide steel bridge further up the river. As far as Keo could tell, the left side of Wilmont was abandoned, with the civilians (and Steve’s men) congregating entirely on the right side.

And among those civilians was Gillian.

She had seen him too, he was certain of it. They might have locked eyes for just a brief second or two, but the way she had looked back at him, following the path of the boat, he could tell she recognized him.

Gillian.

The fact that she was still alive, after all the ifs and maybes of the last six months, was the best news he could have hoped for, especially after the disaster that was Santa Marie Island. The problem was, he was still in zip ties and being boated away from her.

That left Keo to focus instead on his new surroundings.

The marina where they docked was tiny compared to the shipyard they had passed earlier, but it had a full complement of boats, anywhere from thirty to forty of them (So that’s where all the boats went), occupying almost all of the available slips. Heavily armed soldiers stood watch, with two stick figures moving along a walkway that ringed the top of a rocket-shaped water tower in the near distance.

They were led up the dock, with Taylor and Donovan (still carrying the MP5SD and Keo’s pack, with all the silver bullets) up front. Keo watched Steve stop momentarily at a stainless steel metal box resting on a long pole just inside the parking lot, in front of the docks, and opened it. He took out the boat keys and hung them inside, then closed it—there was no lock, just a latch—and continued on.

Keo made a mental note of the box’s location and, more importantly, its contents.

He saw mostly men standing guard along the length of the marina, and the last time he had seen this many near a shoreline, he was lobbing grenade rounds at them. When Keo saw men on horseback moving back and forth along the banks nearby, he nearly did a spit-take.

“What’s the matter, you don’t like horses?” Steve asked.

“I like horses just fine,” Keo said. “It’s the guys on top of them that bother me.”

“Welcome to the new world order. You hear that?”

Keo listened for a moment. “What am I supposed to be hearing?”

“Nature. That’s the whole point of this, you know. We’re going back to our roots. That’s what they want.”

Keo didn’t have to ask who “they” were. Different people might have different names for them—ghouls, nightcrawlers, bloodsuckers, creatures, even monsters—but they were always the same. They. That was all you really needed to say.

“You ever wondered why they want it like this?” Keo asked. “Taking us back to the Stone Age?”

“I know exactly why, and I’m good with it.”

“It must be nice to care so little about your fellow human beings.”

Steve chuckled. “Don’t make me slap you again, Keo.”

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we? Especially me.”

“That’s a good boy.”

They walked through a wide-open (and very empty) parking lot that took up a huge chunk of the marina and toward a pair of buildings to the right side of the grounds. Men milled around inside one of them, visible through open doors and windows. A large warehouse that looked like it could hold a handful of boats at one time squatted to one side of the buildings. Keo wondered what was inside. It probably wasn’t boats…

“Expecting trouble?” Keo asked, looking around him at the armed men.

“You never know when you’ll run into someone with a fancy German submachine gun,” Steve said.

Keo grunted. “It’s not that fancy.”

“What’s the matter, an American gun like the M4 isn’t good enough for you?”

“I didn’t know you were so patriotic, Steve.”

“Rah rah, and all that jazz.”

They were heading toward one of the two buildings next to the warehouse. Someone had spray painted “Marina 1” and “Marina 2” on the walls.

“Your boys look a little on edge,” Keo said.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Steve said. They stopped in front of the buildings and Steve nodded at Taylor and Jack. “Take the kid to Processing.” And to Donovan and Horace, “The two of you with me.”

Steve pulled open the door and stepped inside Marina 1.

Behind Keo, Taylor was leading Gene away while Jack waved one of the soldiers on horseback over. Gene looked over at Keo, and if he expected to see fear in the teenager’s eyes, he would have been disappointed. Gene looked almost happy, as if he had come home.

“See you around, Gene,” Keo said.

“Yeah, see you around, Keo,” Gene said.

Jack had traded places with the horseman and had tossed his crutches to Taylor. “Save them for me, just in case.” He looked over at Keo. “Don’t worry about the kid. Look at him. Once he sees what T18 has to offer, he’s never going to want to leave. They never do.”

Jack turned the horse around and galloped off, while Taylor led Gene after him.

“Come on,” Donovan said, and poked Keo in the back with the M4 again.

Keo followed Steve into Marina 1.

It was an office suite, with a big desk where a secretary would have sat and a row of empty cheap plastic chairs along the walls for the guests. A dead plant draped over the side of a faded brown pot and magazines were strewn along a chipped table. Keo walked across dirty, heavily mud-caked tiled flooring and into a back hallway that Steve had disappeared into earlier.

They walked all the way to the end before Donovan said, “Inside,” and gave him another shove in the back with the same barrel.

He stepped inside, expecting Donovan to follow, but the man instead turned around and headed back to the waiting area.

Steve had already made himself comfortable inside a nice big office. The place looked heavily lived in, with a blanket and pillows on a pullout sofa along one wall and empty plastic bottles of water littering the corners.

The older man was pulling up the lone window, letting the cool breeze from the river rush inside. He looked comfortable, like a king in his (shabby) throne room. “Have a seat, Keo.”

Keo sat down on a surprisingly comfortable chair in front of a desk, its laminated surface covered with a large and heavily annotated map of the area that finally allowed him to see T18/Wilmont in relation to the rest of the Gulf Coast. They were on the outskirts of League City, on the other side of the I-45 highway. A long river, like the slithering body of a snake, stretched from T18 all the way to Galveston Bay.

Steve walked back over. “I saw that.”

“What’s that?”

“You looking at the map.” He smirked. “You think you’ve committed enough important details to memory?”

Keo smiled. “You give me too much credit. My memory is shit. I was just trying to figure out where I was.”

“Ah,” Steve said, though he clearly didn’t believe a single word Keo had said.

The man sat down on an executive chair and opened one of the drawers and produced a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels, then grabbed two shot glasses from another drawer. Keo watched him expertly pour the Tennessee whiskey into both glasses before sliding one across the desk.

“To your health,” Steve said, and downed his.

Keo hissed as his went down. Even as he was tilting the glass to his lips with his still zip-tied hands, he briefly considered using it to bash Steve’s head in and grab his weapons, including the M4 Steve had leaned against the wall behind him.

“It’s been a while, huh?” Steve said with a grin, watching him closely. Too closely. It was going to be tough to catch Steve off-balance.

“I’m more of a brandy man.”

“I can see that. A world traveler like you.”

“How you figure?”

“Oh, come on. You’re not from around here, we both know that. You couldn’t find Pearland on a map if I put a gun to your head.”

“What is that, a city made of pears?”

“Cute.” He poured himself another glass and offered Keo another one too, but Keo waved him off. “You should learn to appreciate American whiskey. There’s nothing like it, especially now. Soon, there won’t be Americans anymore. No Europeans or Asians or blacks and whites and Mexicans, either. They’ll just be humans and nonhumans.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think they’ll always be Asians and blacks and whites to some people.”

“Neanderthals,” Steve said, and emptied his second glass with a flick of his wrist.

“I didn’t know you were such a progressive fella, Steve.”

A chuckle. Keo couldn’t tell if that was the whiskey talking or if Steve really was an easygoing guy. Of course, that easygoing guy had given him a nice slap last night for absolutely no reason. Okay, so there was a reason, but it was far from justified.

“I’m pragmatic,” Steve said. “It’s just us and them now. The faster the human race accepts our new position on the totem pole, the easier it’ll be for us as a species to move forward. We’re obviously the second-class citizens at the moment. All of us. That’s fine, someone has to be. But there are classes within classes. People who embrace that get to keep on keeping on.”

Keo looked out the window as two armed men in black uniforms walked the riverbanks behind Steve. “You need that many guns to keep on keeping on, Steve?”

“Can’t be helped. We have a bit of a problem, you see.” Steve leaned slightly across the table. “You wanna hear about it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Steve shrugged.

“Gee, Steve, what kind of problem do you have?” Keo asked, with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced to recite a line at gunpoint.

Steve smiled. “I like you.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m a likable guy.”

“Was that before or after this?” he asked, tracing the left side of his face with his finger.

“Scars give a man personality. You should try it.”

“I’ll stick to looking handsome.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, this problem of mine. You see, everyone here’s gotten with the program, but not everyone out there has. I still have people running around causing trouble.”

“Like me?”

“Nah, you’re just a straggler.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“I put people who haven’t gotten with the reality of our situation into two categories: The ones that don’t know any better, and the ones that are determined to make things miserable for everyone else. You belong in the former category.”

“Yay for me.”

“Then, of course, there are the ones in the latter category. They’re the reasons my men have to guard the marina and the bridge and the surrounding areas every second of daylight. Obviously we don’t have to worry about the nights.”

“Obviously.”

Steve offered to pour him another glass, but Keo turned it down again. “So that’s my dilemma,” Steve said, pouring himself a third shot. “I have people I need to take care of—the ones here, who depend on me and my men—but there are troublemakers out there making it difficult. That’s where you come in.”

“I didn’t know this was a job interview.”

“It is. Consider it your last job interview.”

“How so?”

“If you don’t pass, I shoot you.”

Keo smirked. “I guess I better pass, then.”

“I would think so.”

“So what’s the job?”

“Jack told me what you did on that island. That was impressive.”

“I had help.”

“The kid?”

“Yeah.”

“The kid shot Jack from the ridge when no one knew he was up there. I saw that scope on his rifle. A half-blind coal miner could have made that shot. And he actually missed. He was aiming for Jack’s chest. You, on the other hand, went at two of my guys straight on with nothing but that German gun. That takes a lot of guts. And skill.”

“You don’t care that I killed two of yours?”

“I care, but I can respect that you did what you had to do. Besides, plenty more where they came from.”

“Classes within classes, right?”

Steve nodded while eyeing Keo over the rim of his glass. “That’s right. And right now, I need a man like you, Keo.”

“To do what?”

“To do what you do.”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific. I do a lot of things. Some of them even involve whipped cream.”

“Unfortunately I’m all out of whipped cream, but I do have Gillian.”

Keo smiled back, doing his very best not to betray his thoughts. He remembered waking up on Santa Marie Island to find Gene and Steve talking. They had been for some time, too. Now he knew what the topic of conversation had been.

“You don’t look surprised,” Steve said. “I guess you saw us talking this morning. Don’t blame him; he’s just a kid. What is he, seventeen?”

“I thought he was sixteen.”

“Either/or. Doesn’t matter, I guess. These days, you have to grow up fast or you don’t grow up at all.”

Steve finished his third glass and put it down softly. The man’s hand, Keo saw, was steady. Too steady, even after three shots.

“Back to you and Gillian,” Steve said.

“What about me and Gillian?”

“That was her, wasn’t it? On the riverbanks while we were coming up? Come on, don’t deny it. The way you stood up and stared.” He put a hand to his chest and grinned. “It was so romantic.”

Keo remained as stone-faced as possible but internally cursed himself for giving it away on the boat. He should have known someone like Steve would have noticed.

He had to be careful around Steve. Very, very careful.

“The kid described her to me, and it was a no-brainer to put two and two together,” Steve continued. “I still remember the day she showed up. Hard to forget someone like that. Tall, black hair, and green eyes? Not a lot of those around these days. We caught her on a boat just off Galveston.”

“Just her?”

“There were others, but to hear the boys tell it, they tried to fight back and, well, bad things happen when you fight back. She survived, though, and we brought her here. That was…hmm…” He was either really thinking about it or was doing a good job of selling it. “Five months ago? Maybe six? Processing has all the information, if you’re curious.”

“Maybe I can ask her myself.”

“Maybe.” The man was watching him closely, reading every flicker of emotion on his face. “She’s gorgeous. I can see why you spent all this time trying to find her. I would, too.”

Keo leaned forward and pushed his glass back toward Steve, who smiled and refilled it.

“So what’s the job?” Keo asked.

“Right to the point? Fine. I need you to do something for me. Do this one thing, and you can either stay here with Gillian or take her and run off to…wherever. I personally don’t think there’s anything better out there, but hey, it’s still a free country.”

“Is it?”

Steve gave him a noncommittal shrug. Keo picked up the refilled shot glass and sipped the whiskey. It went down easier the second time.

“What’s the job?” he asked again.

“I need you to kill someone for me,” Steve said.

Keo smiled.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Even at the end of the world, there were still people who wanted him to take away other people’s lives for their own purposes. Except this time Gillian was the payment.

Hell, he’d done worse for less.

“Who’s the target?” Keo asked.

* * *

“What do you need?” Steve asked.

“My guns,” Keo said.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m a very simple guy. Have gun, will assassinate.”

Steve chuckled. “So I was right about you. You were born for this. Even before the world went to shit.”

“Some people can play the piano, I can do this. So who’s the target?”

“His name’s Tobias. He’s the reason I have men on the bridge and at the marina, and sentries all around town. He’s a real pain in my ass.”

“He’s alone?”

“No. He has some men with him.”

“How many is ‘some’?”

“Maybe as few as a couple, and maybe as many as a dozen.”

“A dozen is manageable.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ve gone up against worse odds.”

“Well, shit, you really are a bad man, aren’t you?” Steve laughed. “Glad you’re on my side.”

For now, asshole.

“One thing,” Keo said.

“What’s that?”

“I want to see Gillian first.”

Steve shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You may have agreed to the job, but you haven’t earned my trust yet, Keo. You’re not going anywhere past this marina until I know I can absolutely trust you not to screw me over.”

“So tie me at the hip to Donovan.”

“You’ll probably kill Donovan if he ever got that close to you.”

Keo smiled. He had to admit, Steve had a good point. Given how many times Donovan had unnecessarily prodded him with the barrel of his rifle, Keo would have liked nothing more than to get him just a little bit closer and return the favor.

“At least let me talk to her,” Keo said.

“You already saw her on the riverbanks. She’s fine. Better than fine.”

“I see her in person, or no deal.”

Steve pulled out his sidearm—an impossibly smooth and polished Colt 1911 series semiautomatic—and laid it on the desk with a heavy thunk!, then glared across at Keo. “I have a better idea. You keep pushing me on this and I put a bullet in her leg. She doesn’t need two legs to wash clothes. What do you think?”

Keo stared back at him.

Steve didn’t move, didn’t look away, and didn’t flinch.

Fuck.

“Yeah, okay,” Keo said. “So where do I find your friend Tobias?”

Steve picked the gun up and slid it back into its holster. He didn’t laugh or grin like an idiot, and his face remained perfectly unmoved. Keo had absolutely no doubt the man would have shot Gillian just to spite him, which further convinced him that the only way he was going to survive T18 was over Steve’s dead body.

I can live with that.

“Jack will brief you on everything we know about him,” Steve said before glancing at his watch. “You have seven hours and thirty minutes to find Tobias, put a bullet in his head, and get back here before sundown.”

“What if I don’t make it back before nightfall?”

“Then I guess you better find a nice and safe place to hide until morning.”

Chapter Eight

“You’re really good at that,” Keo said. “You raised on a farm or something?”

Jack chuckled from his horse’s saddle. “Conroe, Texas. We had more fish than horses out there. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“You boys been here long?”

“Long enough to be one of the original guys that had to clean up the houses for all the new arrivals. Let me tell you, that’s grunt work I’d rather not do again.”

“Who gets the houses?”

“The worthy ones.”

“Like you?”

“Like I said: The worthy ones. That can be you too, if you play your cards right.”

“You mean if I can find Tobias, kill him, manage to get away, and return to the town still breathing.”

“I thought all of that was implied.”

“Hard to tell with you, Jack, on account of your propensity for lying.”

“A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”

I’ll keep that in mind for next time, dickhead.

“You can do this,” Jack was saying. He sounded almost encouraging, for a dickhead. “Steve says he’s pretty sure you used to do something like this back in the day.”

“What did Steve use to do…back in the day?”

“He was a cop. A detective. A pretty good one, too. Smart. Why do you think he’s running the show around here?”

“I thought it was because of his charming personality.”

“It ain’t that charming.”

For a guy with one bad leg, Jack was easygoing, being a dickhead notwithstanding. Then again, he was riding on a horse while Keo had to walk next to him up the length of the bridge that connected T18 and the rest of what used to be the city of Wilmont. It was midday and would have been peaceful if not for the loud, echoing clop-clop-clop of horseshoes against the steel floor.

A pair of soldiers with binoculars keeping a constant watch on both sides of the river barely paid them any attention as they walked past. There were four soldiers on the bridge, including two manning a guard station on the right lane, leaving just the left open for back and forth travel. The setup was really just two large desks stacked with sandbags underneath a camo canopy that provided plenty of shade. What Keo really paid attention to was the M60 machine gun perched between the two men.

Four men on a bridge were not nearly enough to keep T18 from invasion, but that probably wasn’t the point. The men were just a buffer, with more soldiers manning a swinging metal gate behind them. The figures he had seen earlier moving around the ringed walkway of the water tower were still there, further down the river. Now that was a hell of a perch, and likely one he’d have to evade or take out first if he ever expected to escape the town.

“Have they ever tried to attack the bridge?” Keo asked.

“They’re too smart for that,” Jack said. “Why do you think they’ve been giving us so much trouble? If they were stupid, Steve would have snuffed them out a long time ago.”

Keo looked up at Jack. The younger Miller was eyeing the other side of the bridge as if he expected the mysterious Tobias to be lying in wait for him. The full extent of Jack’s “briefing” had involved pointing out the last spot they had skirmished with Tobias’s group and what the man looked like. Tall, blond, blue eyes, and formidable. He might as well be describing Captain America.

“You respect him,” Keo said. “Tobias.”

“You have to respect the enemy in order to effectively fight him.”

“One of Steve’s sayings?”

Jack grinned but didn’t deny or confirm.

They stopped next to the guard station in the middle of the bridge. The steel structure extended about fifty meters from side to side and about fifteen meters above the water. Keo couldn’t see much of anything on the other end except a two-lane country road flanked by walls of trees. The city’s main commercial district was supposed to be beyond that. As with the right side, the left half of what used to be Wilmont was surrounded by thick woods.

And somewhere out there was Tobias.

“This is where you get off,” Jack said. He picked up the duffel bag lying across his saddle and handed it down to Keo. “Do us both a favor and don’t open it until you’re on the other side. You know, in case the boys here get itchy fingers. It’s been a while since they’ve shot anything, so you don’t wanna tempt them.”

“Heaven forbid,” Keo said, and slung the bag over his shoulder. It was heavy, which was a good sign.

He glanced at his watch: 12:15 p.m. Just over six hours until nightfall.

“You sure you don’t want something with more firepower for the job?” Jack asked. “Not too late. I can ask one of these boys to let you borrow their M4.”

“It’s not the size of the gun, Jack; it’s the finger behind the trigger.”

“Is that what you tell the ladies?”

“I do just fine with the ladies.”

“I bet. I’ve met Gillian, by the way. I can see why you’d be willing to take this job just to get back to her. She’s something.”

“Yes, she is.”

“You’ve tapped that before, right?”

Keo didn’t answer.

“Of course you have,” Jack smiled. “Why else would you be running around out here doing Steve’s bidding. Must have been some—”

“Watch yourself.”

Jack chuckled. “Fair enough.” Then, “Well, good luck, sport, because you’re going to need it. Tobias is a hard man to find and a harder man to kill. But after seeing what you did back at Santa Marie, I’m sure you’re more than up for the job.”

“Tell me something,” Keo said, looking up at Jack.

“What’s on your mind?”

“You always knew your brother was going to come looking for you, didn’t you? That’s why you never tried to escape yesterday.”

“We’re brothers. That’s what we do; look out for one another.” He picked up the reins and was about to turn the horse around when he paused, adding, “Oh, one piece of advice. When you get Tobias in your crosshairs, don’t hesitate. You’re probably only going to get one shot at him.”

Jack galloped off, the clop-clop-clop of horseshoes against the steel bridge like gunshots.

Keo started walking. He didn’t bother looking back because he could feel the men behind the sandbags manning the M60 watching him closely. The thought of being on the wrong side of that monster when it unleashed its full fury made him shiver slightly.

* * *

About three kilometers from the bridge, Keo came upon the first sign of civilization—a shopping center with sun-baked concrete floors and gray buildings that had been stripped of most of their signs. A slight wind moved through broken storefront windows without resistance, and overgrown grass swayed against the edges of the expansive and mostly spacious parking lot.

The sight of the abandoned stores and the few dirt-covered cars around him was like stepping through a portal in time, a reminder that he was living through the end of civilization as he knew it. He couldn’t even summon the curiosity to search the buildings for hints to Tobias’s whereabouts. It was all incredibly depressing, and Keo quickened his steps to get through the lot as fast as possible. Besides, there was little chance Tobias would leave clues this close to T18.

All things considered, this was one of his better days. He’d found Gillian, and that alone made up for everything else. It felt as if someone had lifted a 500-pound safe off his chest. He was optimistic for the first time in a long time, and it made leaving Carrie behind on the Trident easier to stomach.

He was almost giddy as he flattened his finger against the trigger guard of the MP5SD hanging from a sling in front of him. Having the submachine gun back was another major plus, and Jack had even been nice enough to return his pack intact, including the spare magazines and his gun belt with the silver bullet-loaded Glock. From the way the younger Miller had simply handed the bag full of weapons over, Keo guessed his captors hadn’t bothered to pay very close attention to his supplies. Either that, or finding guys loaded with silver rounds wasn’t anything new to them, which Keo doubted.

The only thing he was missing was food and water. Apparently they expected him to find his own rations out here. Or maybe that was just another incentive to hurry up, finish the job, and return to T18.

Not that he needed more incentive, with Gillian back there…

He was grinning to himself like an idiot when something small but fast—incredibly fast—hit the parking lot about two feet in front of him and chipped concrete flicked at his face like little bees.

Sniper! Shit!

Keo darted out of the open and slid against an old Chevy minivan with peeling white paint that, thank God, was just a few feet away. He was trying to come to grips with the absence of a gunshot as he pressed against the dirty vehicle when the back windshield to the left side of his head exploded. Except this time he heard the subsonic round as it shattered the glass and punched its way into the floor of the car behind him.

He dropped into a crouch and hurried toward the front, waiting for a third shot that didn’t come. He reached the driver-side door, ignored it, and rounded the front bumper until he was leaning against the dirty grill of the Chevy.

He waited again for more follow-up shots, but nothing was exploding around him, so he assumed the guy didn’t have a clear shot. That meant his position in front of the minivan was good, which in turn translated to the shooter being somewhere behind him.

Keo recalled the layout of the area in his head.

There was an Archers Sports and Outdoors next to what looked like a pizza place featuring some guy in a toga, and a dozen or so other businesses that he hadn’t paid very much attention to. One of them might have been an insurance place and the other was—

The Archers. It had to be the Archers.

Whoever it was, he was using a rifle with a suppressor, because Keo hadn’t even heard either one of the two gunshots. That was hard to do with a rifle. Even the best suppressors left some kind of noise, especially against the nearly silent backdrop of a dead world. Firing from a high angle, which any sniper worth his salt would be doing, would increase the possibility of noise. And yet he hadn’t heard a single peep when the first bullet nearly took his head off.

He was pretty sure the shooter was on top of the Archers directly behind him, about one hundred meters across the parking lot. There was nothing but a lot of open ground between him and the store. Oh sure, there were a few cars sprinkled here and there, like the minivan that had saved his life, but not nearly enough of them for one hundred meters’ worth of safety.

Still, he had to be sure.

Keo stood up quickly, turning around and looking through the dirt-speckled front windshield of the Chevy and out the exposed rear area and across the parking lot at the Archers—

The man saw him almost at the same time Keo spotted him, perched along the edge of the sports store. Sunlight glinted off the long barrel of the rifle as it twitched, and Keo dropped back down as the round pierced the windshield and zipped! a few inches over his head.

Too close!

Okay, so now he knew exactly where the guy was. On top of the Archers, just as he had guessed.

So how was he going to use that information?

He had no idea. It wasn’t like he could counterattack, even if he desperately wanted to. Keo had never been the kind of person to take being shot at lying down. But one hundred meters was probably ninety meters too many, and as pissed off as he was at the moment, he wanted to stay alive even more—especially now that he had found Gillian.

The shooter clearly had a good scope on top of his rifle. Or maybe not. He did miss the first shot, didn’t he? Then again, he’d only missed by two feet…

Maybe, maybe not.

Keo sat on the concrete pavement, which was curiously both hot and cold against his butt. He didn’t really have much of a choice at the moment. He could run or fight, and fighting seemed like a lost cause. Besides, he had other fish to fry. One named Tobias, to be very specific.

Yes, the sniper had him pinned behind the minivan, but it was difficult shooting a moving target from across an entire parking lot. The guy would have to be pretty good, and he had already proven that he wasn’t, even if that last shot had come dangerously close.

He knew one thing for sure: He definitely couldn’t stay here forever. Even if the shooter didn’t have reinforcements—though the chances of him being out here alone were pretty slim, especially this close to T18—Keo was working against the clock. He had less than six hours to find and kill Tobias and return to town. Failing that…

Failure is not an option.

Unless you fail.

He smirked to himself, then glanced down at his watch.

Did he say six hours? It was more like five.

Time flies when people are shooting at you.

There wasn’t very much to the right and left of him, and behind him were the stores. His only choice was forward, back toward the same long stretch of road that had brought him here from the bridge in the first place. On the other side were a couple of large warehouses, hard to miss given their size, their front yards like jungles. There was nothing behind them but woods.

Thick woods. He could easily get lost in there. If he made it across alive, that was. But his best option at the moment was to lengthen the distance between him and the shooter. The problem with that was, the warehouses were at least another hundred meters away. That was a hell of a long distance to run, even if the guy had proven not to be a world-class marksman.

The things I do for you, Gillian.

He sighed and rose from the ground.

Keo counted to five, but on three decided to play a trick on himself and pushed off the grill of the Chevy and ran forward as fast as he could. His pack thumped against his back as he began zig-zagging, hoping to make getting a bead on him more difficult.

It seemed to work when the first two shots went wide—one landing to his right, the other to his left.

At the twenty-meter mark, Keo decided to run straight for a while before breaking off and going right for another fifteen. Each time he changed directions, the shooter had a hard time keeping up, and three more shots missed him by wide margins. Keo started noticing that each round was falling further behind him, which meant the guy was having difficulty adjusting.

The sniper finally stopped shooting—or at least the ground stopped exploding around him—when Keo successfully crossed the road and entered the overgrown lawn of the closest warehouse. He passed a sign with a guy holding a welder’s torch, but he was moving too fast to read the company name.

The large twin doors into the building had been pried open long ago, leaving a gaping hole for Keo to easily slip through without the need to break his stride. A good thing, because as soon as he darted out of the open there was a loud pang! as a bullet ricocheted off the metal wall behind him.

A little late there, aren’t you, pal?

The interior was steel walls and roof and solid concrete floors. Heavy machinery lined the cavernous room, which actually looked much bigger inside, and the ground was sticky with year-old oil spills and God knew what else. Every step he took produced a squeaking sound that echoed (too loudly) off the walls. The air was musky and smelled of chemicals, more oil, and a lot of grease. He couldn’t find any evidence as to what the warehouse had been used for once upon a time, and as he hurried through it toward the back, he guessed it didn’t really matter.

It was just another old relic of the past, like Santa Marie Island, like the boardwalk and fairground at the channel and the strip mall with the sniper behind him. No one was going to come in here anymore except guys like him looking for shelter, and soon nature would reclaim this area. He’d be surprised if he could even still see the warehouse in ten, maybe twenty years. Unlike back at the shopping center, there were no concrete parking lots to keep the woods at bay on this side of the street.

It took a while given the size of the building, but finally he reached the other end and made a beeline toward a steel back door. The lever was covered in black gunk that might have been oil or grease or a combination of the two—or possibly something else entirely. He was reaching for it when there was a crack! and a round ping! off the metal surface, ricocheting into an assembly line machine behind and to the right of him.

Keo spun and fired back without aiming, or really knowing what he was shooting at. He was also darting left when more than one rifle opened up in return.

The sound of unsuppressed gunfire inside the warehouse was deafening, and they were quickly joined by the multiple pings! of bullets bouncing off walls and machinery around him, every single one of them seemingly trying to track him down.

Out of the frying pan and into the bonfire.

Daebak.

Chapter Nine

They stopped shooting only after he had made it behind cover. Through the fading echoes of ricocheting bullets, Keo picked up the loud squeaking of shoes from the front of the warehouse. That told him there was definitely more than one shooter, but he had already figured that part out when they unloaded on him.

It couldn’t have been the sniper. There was no way that guy could have gotten down from the Archers and crossed the parking lot so fast. Which left him with what? Maybe those reinforcements he was sure the man must have had waiting in the wings, finally arriving. A sniper left behind to watch the road and lie in wait for Steve’s people would be armed with a two-way radio so he could relay information about enemy movements.

He’d waited too long, giving the shooter the time to call in his friends. It had to be Tobias’s people. Of course, Jack hadn’t said anything about an ambush at the first hint of civilization, but then again, that was Jack. Lying Jack. Or, in this case, information-hiding Jack.

Dickhead Jack.

“Spread out!” someone shouted.

A male voice. Deep. Keo wondered what the chances were that he was hearing Steve’s best friend Tobias giving orders.

Right. Like your luck’s that good, pal.

Hard metal poked into his back. Part of some kind of manufacturing equipment. He’d never spent a day of his life inside a warehouse working an assembly line, so the shape pressing into him was just another mystery he didn’t have any interest in exploring. It was cold and heavy and easily stopped bullets, and that was all he really cared about.

“Hey!” the same voice shouted. “You still alive back there?”

The man was still near the very front of the warehouse, which was of course part of an elaborate trick to divert his attention. The man’s “friends,” the ones ordered to spread out earlier, were moving slowly in his direction right now. Keo could hear their shoes squeaking against the grease and oil and God-knew-what-else covered floors as they did their best to move silently.

Not quite silent enough, boys.

Keo leaned out the right side of the bulky object behind him and saw two men moving steadily up in his direction, almost hugging the wall. They were half-crouched, half-walking, and were still a good forty meters away when he spotted them. They were both wearing sneakers and civilian clothes, and he swore one of them had on a Houston Rockets cap, though they were in a dark patch of the warehouse and he didn’t get a clear look at them.

When they saw him peeking out, their reaction was priceless. It was like looking at two deer caught in a car’s headlights.

That lasted for about half a second before one of them snapped off a shot while the other darted behind something shiny for cover. The round pinged! off whatever it was Keo was leaning out from behind, forcing him back behind cover. He stuck his MP5SD out and squeezed off a short burst up the warehouse, heard the satisfying ping! ping! as his rounds bounced off something solid.

Hopefully that would send them scurrying back. Or, at least, halt their advance.

“Make this easy on yourself!” the same man shouted, his words booming off the steel walls and high ceiling. Despite the distance between them, the ensuing echo meant Keo didn’t have to strain to hear him. “There’s no way out of here! I got people on the other side of that door, too. You’re trapped!”

Keo sighed. And here he had been hoping to eventually make a run for the back door and slip out into the woods the first chance he got. Then again, people tended to lie a lot these days. Jack was proof of that. So what was to keep this other guy—

The lever on the back door moved up and down, but it was locked and whoever was on the other side gave up on opening it a few seconds later.

Or not.

“Come on now!” the man shouted. “You gotta know you’re trapped. Don’t prolong the inevitable!”

“What do you want?” Keo shouted back.

He figured he didn’t have anything to lose. Maybe, if he was lucky (Yeah, right) one of them was Tobias. If so, that would make his job a lot easier. Well, maybe not easier, easier. But definitely cut down on all that time he was going to have to spend looking for his target, something he thought might take a while. Like a day or two…or a week.

“He’s out there, somewhere,” was all Jack had been able to tell him about Tobias’s whereabouts.

Yeah, thanks for that, Jack, you lying piece of shit.

“I want you to come out!” the man shouted.

He sounded much closer than before, but Keo was trying to keep tabs on the squeaking shoes instead of concentrating on the voice. That was a diversion, and had been from the very beginning. The shoes, on the other hand, didn’t lie, and they were definitely getting closer. They were also coming along the walls to both the right and left of him, but of course he could hear the ones to his right much clearer because of proximity. His spray-and-pray earlier might have forced them behind cover, but it hadn’t lasted.

How long did he have? Not long enough.

Running out of time again. So what else is new?

“And then what?” Keo shouted back.

“We can talk!” the man said.

“You wanna talk?”

“Yes!”

“So why’d you start shooting?”

“That was a mistake!”

“No shit! The sniper out there, he one of yours?”

“Maybe!”

Keo grinned. “I’m not from Texas, but is everyone in this state a fucking liar?”

The man actually chuckled that time.

Keo listened past it for the familiar squeaking of footsteps, but failed to find one. That was disturbing, because there was no reason for them to stop their advance. They had him cornered like a rat inside the warehouse.

And time was running out. Sooner or later, it’d be dark. That was the other problem. The always-over-his-shoulder problem.

Sooner or later, it was always going to be dark.

“Depends on who you talk to!” the man was shouting back.

“What do you want?” Keo shouted.

“You already asked that!”

“Try telling the truth this time!”

“God’s honest truth! We just want to ask you some questions!”

“Oh yeah? Is that all?”

“Yup!”

He leaned out the side of the machine, ready to fire, but there wasn’t anyone in the open. He pulled back, then looked across the warehouse to the other side. Nobody there, either. Maybe they really were going to wait him out. Hell, that’s what he would have done, too.

“What’s got you so curious, my friend?” he shouted.

“You came from T18, didn’t you?” the man asked.

The voice didn’t sound any closer than before, which was another hint they might be content to wait him out instead of the more risky approach of bum-rushing him. So maybe they really were curious about him. Could he really stake his life on that, though?

“I get the feeling you already know the answer to that one!” Keo said. “Let me guess: You have lookouts?”

“Maybe!” the man said. “What are you doing out here by yourself, my friend?”

“So we’re friends now?”

“Why not?”

“Friends don’t shoot at friends!”

The man laughed. “Come on, how many times I gotta apologize for that?”

“How about one more time?”

“All right! Sorry about trying to kill you! Now, what are you doing out here all by yourself, buddy?”

“That’s better! And the answer is, I was sightseeing!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup! Figured, what the hell? Maybe I could pick up some flowers for the old lady, too!”

“She waiting for you in T18?”

“That’s right! You don’t wanna stop me from coming back home with flowers, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes!”

“Well, shit, that’s darn rude of you!”

The man laughed again.

Keo flicked the fire selector on the MP5SD to full-auto and took a breath.

The squeaking noises had picked back up again from his right. He could hear it coming from his left, too. They were getting closer, but not rushing it. They didn’t have to, and they knew it.

Dammit. If it wasn’t for shitty luck…

He’d found Gillian again, after so long of not being sure if she was even still alive. But there she was, on the riverbank, looking back at him. Beautiful. He couldn’t see the green of her eyes over the distance, but he imagined them sparkling at the sight of him. Hopefully he didn’t still look like he had just been tear gassed the night before. He wondered how he was going to explain all the other scars to her. The one along the left side of his face, in particular, was going to be a doozy.

“Remember those assholes from the cabin? Well, they had a leader, and he was determined to slice my face open.”

Yeah, that should work.

He sighed again and slid up the length of the cold machine behind him and counted down to five. But this time, he would go the full five. No more surprising himself by going at three. Nossirree Bob—

Pop-pop-pop!

Automatic rifle fire, and it wasn’t coming from inside the warehouse, either.

What the hell?

More than one firing at the same time, too, he was sure of it.

Pop-pop-pop! Pop-pop-pop!

A dozen. Maybe even more than that. There was a full-fledged gun battle going on outside the warehouse at this very moment.

Then, suddenly, the brap-brap-brap! of a machine gun raining death, the loud roar of the weapon drowning out everything else.

Jesus fucking Christ.

That was the M60. Which meant…

“It’s a trap!” the same voice that had been trying to cajole him out of hiding shouted. “Everyone get the fuck out of here! It’s a trap!”

The man hadn’t finished screaming “trap” when the shriek of bullets punching through the warehouse’s metal walls flooded the cavernous room. The ping-ping-ping! of bullets ricocheting off machinery around him, followed by screaming, then the very clear squawking of handheld radios blasting away with panicked voices.

Keo blocked out all the sounds—hard to do, with the M60 drowning the air in an unending tide—and focused on the back door in front of him. What were the chances there were still people on the other side? Now, with the hellacious gunfire pummeling everything in its path out in front of the warehouse? Would the ones out back rush to assist or flee? Or stand their ground? That would depend on how well-trained these guys were.

Whatever was out back—if anything—it was definitely better than being stuck in here among the flying bullets and the shrieks of people dying behind him.

“Ambush!” someone else was shouting. “It’s an ambush!”

Screw it.

Keo didn’t bother counting. He pushed off his hiding spot and ran forward and fired at the door. It took half of his magazine to demolish the door lever. That was way too many bullets, but it couldn’t be helped because he had to make sure—

He kicked the door and it swung wide open, harsh sunlight blinding him momentarily.

Keo waited for gunfire as he exposed himself, but either the men who had tracked him into the warehouse were already dead or too busy fighting for their lives against the machine gun at the front, or they weren’t paying him any attention.

He lunged out, thankful to be outside and breathing fresh air again. Hell, to be breathing at all. He was surrounded by grass that went up almost to his waist, and Keo began swimming through it and toward the wall of trees on the other end. He wasted a half second to consider taking a peek at the battle out front but decided he’d rather not be anywhere close to whoever was letting loose with the machine gun, or the poor saps on the wrong end of it.

The brap-brap-brap seemed unending, crushing everything else that might have made a sound, including the returning pop-pop-pop of assault rifle fire.

Give it up, boys, he wanted to tell them. That’s an M60. You’re not going to win against that monster.

Keo slipped into the woods, immediately feeling the drastic change in temperature as the high canopies blocked out most of the sun. That, more than anything, alarmed him, but he kept moving because the opposite direction was untenable at the moment.

Even safe beyond the tree lines, he could still hear the barrage of gunfire from behind him, until suddenly…it just stopped.

The M60 had gone quiet.

Maybe he was wrong after all. Maybe Tobias’s men had managed to knock down the gunner—

Then it was back, louder and more ferocious than before, if that was even possible.

Or not.

It had to be Steve’s people attacking. Maybe even the same guys back on the bridge, or they could have had more than one machine gun. It wouldn’t surprise him, given the armaments the soldiers he’d met in Louisiana had been lugging around. The ones at Beaufont Lake had been armed with an M240, a more modern squad automatic weapon than the M60, but just as dangerous in the right hands. They also had what seemed like an unlimited number of military-grade M4s and the ammo to endlessly feed them.

The shooting continued nonstop behind him, but it had lessened in volume the further he waded into the woods. Keo might have felt sorry for the poor saps back at the warehouse if they hadn’t been trying to kill him.

Sucks to be you, boys.

He kept moving, not really sure where he was going, just knowing that he didn’t want to be anywhere close to the gun battle when the winners started spreading out and looking for survivors. Even if that was Steve’s people back there, the fact that they had laid down a hellacious amount of lead meant they weren’t very concerned about his safety. For all he knew, Steve might have sent him out here for the express purpose of drawing Tobias out.

Shit. Had Steve just dangled him out there as bait? So he could then charge in with his men and waste Tobias’s people? If those were Tobias’s men back there. For all Keo knew, they could have been more of the “stragglers” that annoyed Steve and just happened to have picked on the wrong victim.

There was no denying that those other shooters had shown up pretty fast, right about the time Keo found himself besieged inside the warehouse. So they were around the area, waiting for a sign, because they likely hadn’t heard the sniper shooting earlier. Keo hadn’t heard the gunshots, and he was the one being shot at. Anyone at the bridge, or the wooded area around it (or wherever the hell Steve’s men had been hiding) wouldn’t have heard a whimper. But those gunshots in the warehouse, on the other hand…

He stopped in his tracks.

The shooting behind him had ceased entirely, leaving a quiet lull that, even more than the sound of the M60 firing away, gave him goose bumps.

It was over, and Keo didn’t have to think very hard about who had won.

What now? Carry on or go back to T18?

Did he even have much of a choice? Whatever Steve’s game, walking back after that carnage was probably not going to end very favorably for him. No. The smart move here was to keep going, then decide what to do later when he had more intel.

He pushed on, even though he didn’t have a clue where he was going and there wasn’t anything resembling a trail for him to latch onto. It didn’t take long for him to get flashbacks to another time and another place when he had spent way too many days inside a wooded area much like this one. Back then, he was being chased by a madman with a small army.

The more things changed…

He was thinking about Pollard, about Norris and Allie, when he stepped on a twig and it snapped! under one of his boots.

Keo paused and looked down just a split second before the wire sprung out from the ground, scattering dried leaves that had been camouflaging it, and slipped around his right leg. The razor-thin steel line dug into his ankle as it tightened and he was shot into the air like a rocket. The sky above him flipped until he was staring at the ground and Keo found himself hanging upside down from a tree.

He’d stepped right into a snare trap!

He scrambled for the MP5SD, but it was on the ground below him. He still had the Glock, and Keo was reaching for it when something hard and metallic pressed into the back of his neck, the rifle barrel cold against his exposed skin.

“Draw it, and you’re a dead man,” a voice said behind him.

Keo took his hand away from the Glock.

The figure scrambled around him in a wide circle, giving him plenty of space in case Keo had any ideas about grabbing for his weapon. He was a short man (or maybe he was actually tall, since it was a little difficult to tell proper height while hanging upside down) wearing green and brown hunting clothes, boots, and green and black camo paint on his face. Brown eyes peered out at Keo.

“This must be a Texas thing,” Keo said.

“Shut up,” the man said. He took out a radio with one hand and keyed it. “I got him. The guy from the warehouse.”

“Bring him in,” a woman answered through the radio. “He’s got a lot to answer for.”

“Maybe I should just shoot him.”

The man was holding a large rifle with one hand. Like his face, the weapon was covered in a camo pattern. He cocked his head slightly to one side, one eye focused on Keo from behind his rifle’s scope despite the short distance. At this range, the bullet would probably take off half of Keo’s head. If one didn’t do the job, and given the magazine under the weapon, the man would easily be able to try again with a second trigger pull.

“Whoa, whoa,” Keo said. “Let’s talk this over.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the man said.

“No, bring him in,” the woman said through the radio. “Tobias’s orders.”

The man hesitated.

“Did you hear me?” the woman asked.

“Whatever you say,” the man said, and put the radio away. He took a step back before slinging his rifle and producing a knife from a sheath along his hip. “This must be your lucky day, Chinaman.”

Not quite, but hey, the day’s still young.

Because Keo had heard it clearly. The woman on the radio had definitely said the name “Tobias.”

Keo didn’t need to look at his watch swinging underneath him to know what time it was. Despite the thick canopies on the other side of his boots, there was still at least five hours of sunlight left.

Five hours to kill Tobias and return to T18.

He’d done more with less time.

Chapter Ten

His captor was in his late twenties and maybe just a year or two younger than Keo himself. He learned this useless fact while they were moving through the woods when the man wiped the camo off his face with a rag that he then stuffed into his back pocket. The wiring that had snared Keo was now binding his hands in front of him, the thin piece of steel digging into his wrists, just deep enough to hurt but not draw blood.

Keo walked up front, moving slowly because he had no idea where he was going and a part of him was afraid of stepping into another trap. From the looks of the man keeping a decent distance behind him, rifle no doubt pointed right at Keo’s back, he had been out here for some time setting up plenty of snares. The damn thing had been strong enough to hold him suspended, so either the man was looking for big game or he was hunting humans. The only other option was that he was hoping to catch something that used to be human, but that didn’t really make much sense in the daylight.

They were definitely moving deeper into the woods because the canopies were getting thicker and the temperature was continuing to fall around him. Keo kept sneaking a look at the darker parts of his surroundings, the places where shadows lingered, and imagined black eyes watching him back. He might have shivered and hoped his captor didn’t notice.

“What’re they for?” Keo asked.

“What?” the man said. He moved quietly, almost like a cat. No wonder Keo had never known he was hiding nearby.

“The snare. What was it for?”

There was no response, just the crunch-crunch of shoes over brittle grass. Keo couldn’t see the man’s face, so he didn’t know if he didn’t want to answer or if he just didn’t feel like talking.

“Humans?” Keo said anyway. “Or things that used to be humans? Is that it? You trying to snag yourself a ghoul?”

“Ghoul?” the man said.

“The creatures.”

“You call them ghouls, too?”

‘Too’? Keo thought. Curiouser and curiouser.

“So do you, apparently,” he said.

There was no response that time.

“Where are we going?” Keo asked.

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“What if I walk right into a hole and fall down or something?”

“I guess you better watch your step, then.”

Keo smiled. “I’m Keo, by the way.”

“Good for you.”

“You got a name?”

“Yes.”

“Wanna share?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t be that way. I have to call you something.”

Silence.

Keo sighed. “This is how misunderstandings get started, you know.”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” the man said. “You set us up.”

“I didn’t set anyone up. You ambushed me. The sniper—”

“Bullshit.” Then, “Turn left here.”

Keo turned left, though there were still no trails, old footsteps, or anything that would indicate this was a well-traveled route. So what exactly was his captor using to tell directions? Or maybe the guy was making it up as he went. That seemed unlikely, though.

“He’s out there with his men,” Jack had told him.

“Where exactly?” he had asked.

“If we knew, you think we’d need you to go out there to find him for us?” Jack had laughed. “They’re all over those woods on the other side of the river. We could never pin them down. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some hillbilly survivalists among them.”

Hillbilly survivalists. Like the one behind him right now? His no-name captor didn’t really sound like someone who had spent most of his life in the wilderness. Or the hills. Or wherever the hell Texas hillbillies came from. Not that Keo would know the difference anyway. He didn’t meet many hillbillies growing up in San Diego and had managed to avoid them in the years since. Though, he had crossed paths with a few in the French countryside that might fit the description—

Focus.

Keo figured he had until they reached wherever they were going to get out of this jam. If he met Tobias with his hands bound and weaponless, he was likely as good as dead. The man walking behind him had made it pretty clear they thought he was responsible for the ambush at the warehouse. Even the woman on the radio had indicated the same thing.

“Bring him in. He’s got a lot to answer for,” she had said.

As if he were the one who had tried to pick off some poor sap with a sniper rifle and not the other way around. As if he had run into the warehouse so Steve’s men could then corral his pursuers and blast away with an M60. Of course, he had a feeling they weren’t going to believe him when he tried to sell that story. Never mind that it was the God’s honest truth.

Just his luck. The first time he had truth on his side, and it wasn’t going to do him a lick of good.

“What’s he like?” Keo asked.

He didn’t expect an answer, but his captor said, “Who?”

I guess he feels like talking after all.

“Tobias,” Keo said.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Give me a hint.”

“Keep walking.”

“One more question…”

“Shut up.”

“You a hillbilly?”

“What?” the man said. Keo grinned at the insulted tone. “What did you just call me, Chinaman?”

“Hillbilly. I was told there were Texas hillbillies all over these woods. I was just wondering if you were one of them.”

“Fuck you.”

“Whoa whoa, let’s keep it civil, okay? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a hillbilly. Even a Texas one. No judgments here, pal.”

“Man, I’m getting real sick of the sound of your voice.”

His captor had picked up his pace. Keo knew that from the slight increase in the sound of the man’s footsteps. He was getting closer…

“It was a genuine question,” Keo said.

“Shut your mouth.”

“Is Tobias a hillbilly, too?”

“I said, shut up.”

He sounded much closer that time. Much closer.

“Can I ask you a question?” Keo said.

“No.”

“Is it true that hillbillies inbreed?”

Keo was waiting for it, and when it finally came—the cold touch of the rifle’s barrel starting to poke him viciously in the back of the neck—he dropped down, spun around, and swept his right leg from front to back in a wide arc. His captor went down and squeezed the trigger at the same time. The gunshot exploded, scattering birds in the vicinity, the buzz! of the bullet passing over Keo’s head.

The man landed on his butt with an oomph!, but somehow still managed to cling onto the rifle. Keo lunged forward and drove his knee into the man’s face, slamming the back of his head into the ground. The gun fired again, the second shot buzzing past Keo’s right shoulder this time and shattering a tree branch behind him.

Before the man could pull the trigger a third time, Keo leaped on top of him, driving both knees into his chest. His captor let out a surprised grunt as Keo captured the rifle’s barrel with his bound palms and wrenched it free. He tossed it, then lifted himself slightly before dropping back down with his entire weight. Another loud grunt, the man’s eyes flaring, his lips twisting in intense concentration—

The knife. A big monstrous thing with a gleaming metal blade like something out of the Jim Bowie collection was coming out of the man’s sheath along his hip.

Aw, crap.

Keo dove to the other side—away from the knife—and slipped his arms over the man’s head until he had the steel wire binding his wrists positioned in front of his captor’s neck. Keo shoved the heels of his boots into the ground and pulled back even as the man whaled desperately at his arms with one balled fist while trying to swipe blindly at his head with the knife.

Keo didn’t let go and didn’t relinquish pressure on his victim. He held on through the convulsions, the kicking and punching and slashing against empty air. He only lessened his stranglehold when the body in front of him finally relaxed, the knife hand dropped to the ground, and the man stopped struggling.

He sighed and finally pulled his arms up and rolled away and lay on the damp ground for a moment to catch his breath. Clear white skies poked through massive tree branches above him, so he still had plenty of time.

He finally sat back up and rolled over and reached for his captor’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Weak, but present. He hadn’t been trying to kill the guy, just cut off his oxygen; but that was a fine line to tread and it was difficult to show finesse with his hands bound.

But the guy was still alive, and that was all that mattered. Keo had a feeling he was going to need a guide to find Tobias.

Find the girl. Kill some guys. Live happily ever after.

If all went well, he’d only have to kill one guy. God knew he’d had to do a hell of a lot worse and for much less.

* * *

“What’s your name?” Keo asked.

The man blinked at him, the long red stripe across his neck like a glow-in-the-dark scar against the black and green of his shirt collar. His nose was broken at the bridge, and Keo had stuffed some pieces of wadded cloth he’d cut off the man’s shirt using the Jim Bowie knife into his nostrils to stop the bleeding.

“Look, I need to call you something, right?” Keo said.

The man seemed to think about it for a moment. Finally, he said, “Wyatt.”

“See, there you go. Now we’re friends.” Keo smiled. “Well, close enough. So, where do I find Tobias, Wyatt?”

Wyatt didn’t answer. He sat on the ground with his back against the tree, the same strand of steel wire that had been biting into Keo’s wrists earlier now binding his hands in his lap. Keo had taken back his MP5SD, Glock, and pack, and tossed Wyatt’s rifle into a nearby brush and taken the man’s Smith & Wesson semiautomatic.

Keo glanced at his watch: 2:56 p.m.

“Tobias?” Wyatt said. “You mean you want to find Tobias?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

“I have a message for him.”

“A message?”

He could see Wyatt trying to read him and not doing a very subtle job of it.

“Yeah, a message,” Keo said. “Like one of those singing telegrams. That’s me. Except I’m not a very good singer. But I can hum pretty good.”

That elicited a confused look.

“Joke,” Keo said.

“Oh.”

“So where’s Tobias?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Wyatt shook his head.

“You do realize that you were taking me to him a moment ago, right?” Keo said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“No.”

Keo sighed and slung his submachine gun and drew the Glock. He pointed it at Wyatt’s kneecap and squinted behind the sight.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Wyatt said, suddenly alarmed.

“I’m going to shoot you in the kneecap.”

“Why the hell you gonna do that?”

Keo looked up at him. “To get you to tell me where Tobias is. Duh. I know it’s going to hurt, but trust me, I’ve had experience with this. I once shot a guy in the kneecap while we were both on a boat. He was perfectly happy to assist me after that.”

“Hey hey, come on now.”

“Hold still. It won’t hurt. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely going to hurt a lot.”

“Don’t, okay?”

Keo pulled back a second time. “Why not?”

“I…” Wyatt’s eyes darted behind Keo, as if he expected someone to come out of the woods at any moment and rescue him. When no one did, he said, “I’ll take you to him. Just…don’t shoot me in the leg.”

“I was going to shoot you in the kneecap.”

“Yeah, don’t shoot me there, either.”

Keo stood up and holstered the Glock. “See? Now we’re almost best friends.”

Wyatt sighed and stood up, using the tree behind him for support.

“How far away are we?” Keo asked, even though he thought he already knew the answer. Wyatt had fired two shots, and no one had showed up in the last ten minutes. That meant the camp wasn’t close by.

“Not far,” Wyatt said. “Maybe another hour by foot.”

“You guys have vehicles?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t hear any earlier.”

“We’re pretty deep in the woods. We’ll have to start circling back toward the road.”

Keo nodded. “So you do know where you’re going.”

“Yeah.”

“Lead the way, then. Just keep in mind that I’m not against cutting short our burgeoning friendship, Wyatt.”

Wyatt grunted and started off, moving in the same path they had been going earlier. Keo noticed the man’s head turning slightly left and right. Wyatt probably thought he was being slick, that Keo wouldn’t catch the movements. He was, of course, looking for his weapons, the same ones Keo had tossed earlier. Keo decided not to tell him that he was looking in the wrong direction.

“What does he look like?” Keo asked. “Tobias.”

“He’s a guy,” Wyatt said.

“Really? And here I thought he was a bear.”

Wyatt snorted. “What do you want with him, anyway?”

“I’m going to ask him to friend me.”

“Friend you?”

“You know, like on Facebook.”

“You have Facebook?”

Keo smiled. “Joke, Wyatt. Just a joke.”

“Oh,” Wyatt said, and Keo thought he sounded just a little too sad when he said it.

* * *

They walked through the woods for another ten minutes, then fifteen, and though Wyatt insisted they were moving back to the road, Keo couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. After a while, Keo was sure Wyatt was leading him to a dead end, that maybe the guy never knew where he was going in the first place and was just hoping to stave off getting shot for as long as possible.

After about an hour of pointlessly stumbling around one identical section of woods after another, Keo was about to stop Wyatt and use the bullet-in-the-kneecap as incentive when he saw sunlight filtering in through a wall of trees in front of them.

He grabbed Wyatt by the shirt collar and jerked him back roughly, then deposited him to the ground. “Stay, boy.”

Keo stepped forward with the MP5SD at the ready and looked out.

They’d slowly been angling back toward civilization after all, and he was now looking out at a strip mall with a Valero gas station and a row of businesses on the other side of a two-lane road. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a rifle just barely visible on the rooftop of a Wilmont Mutual Insurance office building. The shooter’s head poked up briefly before disappearing again behind a cut-out picture of the Statue of Liberty.

Keo scanned the rest of the buildings and saw a second, then a third man, the two stationed at opposite ends of the connecting rooftops. They were watching the streets and surrounding area with an alertness that told Keo they were waiting for an impending attack. The rest of the strip mall looked deceptively empty, but Keo didn’t buy it.

Behind him, Wyatt was picking himself up from the ground when Keo grabbed him by the shirt collar and walked his former captor back to the tree line.

“Your friends?” he asked.

Wyatt nodded.

“Why here?” Keo asked. “Why are they still hanging around so close to the ambush site?”

“Maybe that’s what we want.”

“Come again?”

“Tobias isn’t stupid.”

“Go on…”

“Maybe he wants the people from T18 to try to hit him again.”

“You’re saying this is a trap? Tit for tat, is that it?”

Wyatt shrugged.

“How many men do you have left?” Keo asked, looking back out at the sentry perched behind Lady Liberty as the man raised his head briefly to glance down the street before ducking back down.

“I don’t know,” Wyatt said.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know how many made it back from the ambush. I was inside the woods, remember? That’s my job. Scout the area for signs of movement coming and going from the town and report back. I wasn’t even supposed to be involved until the shooting started. Then you just ran right at me.”

Keo still couldn’t spot any movements behind any of the storefront windows, but that didn’t mean the buildings were empty. If this was a trap, an attempt to lure Steve’s people into a payback ambush, the shooters would be hiding and waiting to strike.

Clever dogs.

“Is Tobias in there?” he asked.

“I guess,” Wyatt said.

“You guess?”

“They told me to bring you here, so I guess he’s in there, somewhere.”

“Makes sense,” Keo nodded.

“So what happens now?”

“Give me a second.”

“I mean, to me.” Wyatt sighed. “Tobias won’t be happy that I led you right to him.”

“He told you to take me to him, didn’t he? Why wouldn’t he be happy that you did exactly as ordered?”

That seemed to confuse Wyatt temporarily. “I guess…”

“Besides,” Keo said, “I just want to talk to the guy. Sit down and have a chat. Maybe over some warm beers—”

Snap!

Keo spun around—a difficult feat, since he was still half-crouched—in time to see two figures emerging from behind a thick brush. They were both huge men, their faces painted in camo like Wyatt earlier (More of Tobias’s scouts, Keo thought). More importantly, they were both armed and by the look on their faces, they were equally surprised to see him.

“Fuck!” one of them shouted, even as he lifted his rifle—an M4 with a red dot scope on top.

Keo was wondering how the hell had they gotten so close without him hearing them until now even as he jerked Wyatt in front of him. Wyatt gasped and tensed up as he realized what was happening. Keo abandoned the MP5SD—it was too long, making it too cumbersome for what he had in mind—and drew his Glock and jammed the barrel under Wyatt’s chin at an angle.

“What the fuck is this?” the same man shouted. Then he added, as if he couldn’t quite believe it, “Wyatt?”

“Don’t shoot!” Wyatt shouted. “Don’t fucking shoot!”

“Yeah, listen to him,” Keo said.

“Fuck!” the second man shouted, pointing his bolt-action rifle at Keo. Or trying to, with Wyatt in the way.

Keo smiled. The constant barrage of profanity was amusing to him for some reason. He just hoped the sight of him hiding behind Wyatt, his Glock against the man’s chin, was enough to keep them from squeezing their triggers. Either the M4 or the bolt-action could do some serious damage at this distance. Which was to say, if someone fired, he was a dead man. Really, really dead.

The two scouts shuffled their feet, not sure whether to move forward, back, or side to side; or just stand there and keep their weapons pointed at him. Keo was just glad no one had fired a shot yet even though he realized all the screaming might have already drawn attention from the strip mall behind him.

He threw a quick look back, out past the trees and into the streets, and sure enough there was movement at one of the buildings. The Wilmont Mutual Insurance office doors were opening and people were pouring out. Armed people.

Goddammit, I hate it when I’m right.

He looked back at the two men in front of him. Like Wyatt, they were wearing hunting clothes, and one of them had blood splatters along his pant legs and shirtsleeve. The blood looked fresh, too.

“Come on,” Keo said to Wyatt, pulling him slightly to the right.

Both men quickly followed, their rifles never leaving him.

“Where the fuck you going?” one of them shouted. Keo didn’t know why he was still shouting.

He had a good point, though. Where the fuck was he going? Not front. Not side to side. And certainly not back—

Dammit. There was nowhere to go but back.

He tightened his left hand around Wyatt’s neck, then began dragging the other man backward. He felt the warmth of the sun splash against his back almost as soon as he stepped outside the woods and into the overgrown grass jungle.

The sound of heavy footsteps overwhelmed everything else, and Keo spun around briefly, Wyatt still in front of him, to face at least six men running in his direction with rifles swinging in front of them. They were just about to cross the parking lot when they saw him, slid to a stop, and took aim.

Great. Now instead of two guys with rifles, he was staring at six.

Six? It was more like nine, because the three guards on the rooftops were now training their rifles on him, too. That prompted Keo to press his body even tighter against Wyatt’s. Thank God Wyatt was around six foot, which was just an inch shorter than Keo.

“Don’t shoot!” Wyatt was shouting. “Don’t anyone shoot, for Christ’s sake!”

There you go, Wyatt. Keep at it, pal.

The fresh sounds of footsteps behind him forced Keo to drag Wyatt south along the shoulder of the road. The two scouts burst out of the tree line to the left of him a second later. Now he had men with guns at two directions—front and from the right.

They kept pace with him as he pulled Wyatt southward, and they stopped when he stopped. That lasted for a few seconds until a couple of them got smart and ran further down the street before crossing over to outflank him.

He stopped, now with men on all three sides and just the woods behind him.

The woods. He could probably get lost in there. He could always come back later and find Tobias. Steve didn’t say anything about killing Tobias today. There was no timetable, there was just the job.

Yeah, that could work.

Of course, he was assuming the pissed-off looking men with guns—half of them haggard, their civilian clothes splashed with blood—would let him just back up into the trees without a fight. That was a pretty big if right there, but what the hell, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice at the moment.

“Get ready,” Keo said.

“What?” Wyatt said.

“Get ready to move.”

“Christ, you’re going to get us killed!”

“Shut up and get ready—”

“Don’t shoot!” someone shouted. It was a woman. He thought she sounded like the one that had talked to Wyatt over the radio earlier. “No one goddamn shoots!”

She pushed a couple of men out of her way and jogged across the street toward him. He watched her closely from behind Wyatt’s head, doing his best to expose as little of himself as possible to the shooters. He just hoped the riflemen on the rooftops were as bad a shot as the one that had tried to take him out earlier.

“Jesus Christ,” the woman said. “It really is you. I was pretty sure you were dead.”

Keo blinked once, twice.

The sun was in his eyes, but there was no mistaking who the woman was. She’d cut her hair short and the boots made her look taller—and she had been pretty tall to begin with—but it was definitely her.

Of all the people that had escaped on Mark’s boat, she would have been the one he’d put money on surviving. Besides, Gillian had made it, so why not her, too? Despite what Steve had told him about her and Mark dying when his men first encountered them, a part of him never really believed it.

“Well, shit,” Keo said.

She stopped a few feet away and seemed to sigh with a mixture of frustration and annoyance. “What kind of name is Keo, anyway?”

He smiled. “Donnie was taken.”

She smiled back, then held out her hand toward him. “Give me the gun, Keo, before someone loses their shit and we all end up dead.”

“Can I trust you?”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice right now, do you?”

Good point, he thought, and took the gun away from Wyatt’s chin and held it out to her. “So what now?”

“Now you meet Tobias,” Jordan said.

Book Two

The Ties That Bind

Chapter Eleven

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” Jordan said.

“You said that already,” Keo said.

“What happened to your face?”

“Long story.”

“I bet. We spent days and weeks wondering what had happened to you and Norris, not knowing if you were dead or alive or captured…or worse.”

“Just days and weeks? What about months?”

“We eventually had other things to worry about.”

“Santa Marie Island.”

She frowned. “They were waiting for us when we got there.”

“The soldiers.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened, Jordan?”

“She’s alive. You know that, right?”

He nodded. “I saw her back at T18.”

Jordan didn’t respond right away and instead continued leading him through the strip mall while men with guns watched him like a hawk. Despite taking his weapons and pack, the others were still nervous, and he saw fingers in trigger guards. He didn’t blame their skittishness; he had, after all, just shown up in the aftermath of what he now knew was a bloody fight with Steve’s men. These guys were beat up, hurt, and licking their wounds. You had to be extra careful around men who were on edge, especially when assault rifles were present.

“How is she?” Jordan finally asked.

“You don’t know?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

“What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I might not have a later.”

“You’ll be fine. Just…be truthful.”

“Tobias?”

“Yeah.”

Well, you wanted to find him, pal.

Mission accomplished.

She led him into the insurance building and across (fresh) blood-covered carpeting while the others returned to wherever they had been hiding before he showed up. He followed Jordan into a back hallway that was just a little bit too dark for his liking.

“You’re waiting for them,” Keo said. “The soldiers. You’re trying to lure them up the road and into an ambush.”

She gave him a quick, sharp look.

“Wyatt gave it away,” he said.

She nodded, relaxing. “We have men planted along the roads. If they’d followed us like we had hoped, we would have had hit them back. We’ve done it before.”

“But they didn’t bite this time.”

“No…”

“Still, pretty gutsy move.”

“Yeah, well, it takes guts to run around out here. But you probably know a little bit about that.”

“Just a little bit, yeah.”

Jordan opened the last door into a small office. There were two people already inside, and one of them—a woman, even though Keo only saw her from the back—was busy wrapping fresh gauze around the thigh of a man with short blond hair. The man’s pant leg had been cut away, and a pool of fresh blood was gathering on the floor under him. Like the men outside, he looked haggard and on edge.

The man looked up when they entered. “This him?”

Jordan nodded. “Keo, this is Tobias.”

Tobias eyed him. Jack wasn’t far off when he described the man—the steely blue eyes, square jaw, and the six-three frame. Early forties, though he could have passed for a man five years younger with a shave and a decent haircut.

The woman working on Tobias was in her fifties and Hispanic, and the gun belt around her narrow waist looked awkwardly strapped on. She swiped at some gray hair and gathered up the bloody rags and bandages and tossed them into a nearby trash bin that hadn’t been emptied in over a year.

“I’ll get Denver to make you a crutch,” the woman said.

“Thanks, Pita,” Tobias said.

“Try not to break the stitches, if you can help it.”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well, do your best,” she said, and left the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Tobias picked up a black jacket and slipped it on before hopping off the desk and making his way to a chair in a corner. He sat down and drew his sidearm—a dull black revolver—and placed it in his lap before looking across at Keo again.

“What kind of name is Keo, anyway?” he asked.

“Matt was taken,” Keo said.

“What?”

“It’s…just something he says,” Jordan said, shaking her head. “He thinks it’s funny.”

“You guys know each other,” Tobias said to her. It wasn’t a question.

She nodded. “We met a while back.”

“He set us up.”

“He says he didn’t.”

“Let’s hear him say that.”

“I didn’t set you up,” Keo said.

Tobias didn’t take his eyes off Keo. “Convince me.”

“Convince you of what? Your guys tried to kill me. Why don’t you convince me why I shouldn’t be pissed off right now?”

Tobias narrowed his eyes, and Keo almost smiled. Almost. He bet they didn’t expect that response from him. It was a risky approach, but at the moment he didn’t think he had very much to lose.

What was that old saying? Ah, right. “The best defense is a good offense.”

“What were you doing out there?” Tobias asked.

“It’s a free country,” Keo said.

“Not anymore.”

“I was never very good at following rules.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jordan said. “Ron shot at him first, then Mack and the others chased him into the warehouse. I know him. He wouldn’t set us up like that.”

“Maybe…”

“I can vouch for him. Keo and I have been through a lot together.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

Keo couldn’t help but glance over at her. She stood calmly next to him, facing Tobias. He remembered the first time they had met—in a cabin in the woods, pointing guns at each other. Things got better after that initial encounter, but even so, Jordan was the last person he expected to find out here, giving her word to the man he was supposed to kill.

“People change, Jordan,” Tobias said. There might have been a little warning in his voice. He pushed back up to his feet with a grimace, then holstered the gun. “He’s going to have to answer a lot more questions. Like what he was doing in T18 in the first place. But all that can wait until we get back to base. Until then, he’s your responsibility.”

She nodded.

Tobias pushed past Keo and Jordan and hobbled out the door.

Jordan looked after him for a moment, then over at Keo.

“Thanks—” he started to say.

“Shove it,” she said. “He’s got a point. We know you came from T18, so you better have a damn good reason.” He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off again. “I said shove it. You have a couple of hours to come up with a better answer than whatever you were about to say, because I can’t protect you forever.”

“I was just going to ask about what happened to Mark and the others,” Keo said.

That was a lie, but he needed her back on his side, and the best way to do that was to remind her of their mutual experiences…and friends.

“A lot,” she said quietly.

* * *

“What happened?” Keo asked when they were back outside in the strip mall parking lot watching Tobias and his men pack up their gear to move.

Keo counted four wounded men being helped out of the buildings, including two that had to be carried outside. They had hidden Jeeps and trucks in the back of the lot and were now carefully loading their wounded onto them, with Pita standing by giving instructions.

“We made it to Santa Marie Island about two weeks after we left you at the cabin,” Jordan said. “But they were waiting for us. They were already on the island. Of course, we didn’t know that. They shot Mark and brought us to T18.”

“I saw Gillian, but I didn’t see Rachel and her daughter.”

“How long were you there?”

“A few hours.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, and she gave him a suspicious look.

“Whatever, Keo,” she said. “You’re going to have to tell Tobias everything later anyway. I just hope you come up with a better story than that.”

I’m working on it, he thought, but said, “What about Rachel?”

“She didn’t make it,” Jordan said.

“Christine…?”

Jordan shook her head. “When the soldiers first showed up, things got messy. Mark and I fought back and…”

She stopped and didn’t say anything for a while.

“We can talk about it later when you’re ready,” he said.

“They’re gone. That’s what happened. They’re gone. Only Gillian and me made it off that island alive.”

He thought about the little girl, Christine, and her mother Rachel, and all those months in the cabin with him and Norris and Gillian. The mother and daughter were easy to like, even though he had done his best to keep his distance. A part of him always doubted they would all make it to Santa Marie Island, but to finally get there, only to lose everything...

He looked over at Jordan. She was staring at the men, but he knew she wasn’t really seeing them. It was easy enough to guess where her thoughts were at the moment. Back at Santa Marie Island, back to that day…

Keo felt suddenly very guilty about making her relive it.

“Is this everyone?” he asked, hoping to draw her back.

Tobias had hobbled into the Jeep’s front passenger seat while two of the wounded were being loaded into the back. Pita climbed in after them, along with two other men. The others were piling into the truck, a beat-up gray Honda Ridgeline.

“No,” Jordan said. She looked down the road. “The others will follow us later, when we’re sure T18 isn’t going to press their attack.”

They watched the two vehicles turn into the road and pick up speed as they went.

“So we’re walking?” Keo asked.

“The only thing more precious than lives these days is gas.” Jordan waved to the three men who were still standing guard on the rooftops of the strip mall and shouted, “Let’s go!”

Keo followed her across the street and back to the tree lines. He felt naked without his weapons, and that feeling got worse when they stepped into the darkened woods. Despite wearing a long-sleeve shirt and pants, he shivered anyway.

What he wouldn’t give for a gun, or two. And silver bullets, of course. Always silver bullets.

Tobias’s men followed them inside, then immediately began spreading out without having to be told. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, including Wyatt, who gave Keo a hard stare before vanishing behind one of the many identical trees around them.

There were, he counted, five other people inside the woods with him and Jordan at the moment. Five people meant five potential sources of weapons. He’d prefer his MP5SD and the silver ammo, but he was good at making do. He had been looking for the man who had taken his things, but the guy had either left with Tobias or was somewhere else in the woods at the moment.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jordan said beside him.

“Think about what?”

“You know damn well what.” She flashed him a warning stare with her brown eyes.

He smiled innocently back at her. “I’m just following you, Jordan. That’s all I’m thinking about at the moment.”

“Uh huh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No.”

“I’m hurt.”

“And I’m a virgin.”

“You mean you’re not?”

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a date, Keo.”

“Too bad.”

The last time he saw Jordan she was a shooter in training, but she had clearly progressed past that stage. As he watched her walking with a gun belt and her beat-up M4 held at the ready in front of her, he had no doubts she had been putting all those lessons at the cabin to good use since they separated almost six months ago.

“Where’d you get all the M4s?” he asked.

“T18 supplies them. But don’t tell them that.”

“Mum’s the word. How long has this been going on? You guys and T18.”

“Before there was even a T18. You know about the camps?”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“T18 was just a camp when we first showed up. It wasn’t that bad in the beginning, despite how they brought us here. I mean, I wanted to kill every last one of them for what happened back at Santa Marie Island, but it wasn’t like we had a lot of choices, or chances.”

“You and Gillian.”

“Yeah.”

“She stayed and you left. Why?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“I’m asking you.”

“And I’m telling you, you’ll have to ask her.”

“Was it the whole pregnancy thing? Is that why you left?”

“That was a big part of it. The ‘donating’—” she used air quotes “—blood part, I might have been able to live with. It made me physically sick each time they forced us to go into those tents and give blood, but the idea of conceiving and then raising a child for that cycle to continue? That made me want to throw up.”

“I saw a lot of people back there. They seemed okay with it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a lot of people, Keo.”

He looked over at her again. She was still the tall athletic girl he had almost killed back in Louisiana, and the same college student who had kept Mark and Jill alive for months after The Purge. Her hair was shorter, but somehow the new cut complemented the shape of her face more.

“What?” she said, narrowing her eyes back at him.

“Nothing.”

“So stop staring like a perv.”

“Sorry.”

“So, have you come up with a better story yet? Because, make no mistake about it, Tobias would have killed you back there if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“And I appreciate that.”

“That’s not the point. You need to make him believe you weren’t a part of the ambush. Can you do that?”

“I didn’t know about the ambush because I came here to kill Tobias,” he thought about saying, but of course, didn’t. He said instead, “It’s the truth.”

“I don’t think Tobias is going to like your truth very much. And out here, what he says goes.”

“Even with you?”

“Even with me.”

“You guys involved?”

“What?”

“Are you guys—”

“I heard you the first time.” She paused, then, “Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know. Back in the office, the way you guys were talking…” He shrugged. “The two of you seemed to have a very copacetic relationship.”

“Just because we see eye-to-eye doesn’t mean we’re screwing, too.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” she repeated, as if she didn’t understand the question.

“The guy’s Captain America. Who doesn’t want to jump Captain America’s bones?”

She actually smiled. “I was always more of a Punisher fan myself.”

“Punisher? I didn’t know you rolled that way.”

“What way?”

“Sex and punishment?”

“Oh, God,” she groaned. “I meant the Punisher. The comic book character?”

“I don’t read comic books.”

“He had a couple of movies. Three, I think.”

“I don’t watch a lot of movies, either.”

“What exactly did you use to do with all your free time, Keo?”

“Troll bars for women.”

She sighed. “Why did I even ask?”

He smiled. “So, that’s a no on the sex and punishment?”

* * *

They had been walking for half an hour, and it didn’t seem as if they were any closer to reaching their destination. Keo spent most of that time keeping tabs on Tobias’s people, but they moved like ghosts, coming and going around him. He had no trouble at all understanding why Steve had such a hard time pinning them down. These people had made themselves comfortable out here, with guys like Wyatt and the two scouts he had encountered earlier probably giving the soldiers fits around T18.

The only person who was close enough for him to even consider taking her weapons was Jordan. Maybe it was the soft gooey part of him that had developed in the last year despite his best efforts, but the idea of hurting her for her guns didn’t sit well with him.

You’ve gone soft, pal. Real soft.

“I’m sorry about Mark,” he said after they had been walking in silence for a while.

“Yeah, me too,” Jordan said.

She was slightly in front, the handle of her holstered Glock staring invitingly back at him. It was tempting. So, so tempting.

He thought about Gillian. He could do it for her if he had to. Finding Gillian again after all these months was a minor miracle, and all he had to do to be permanently reunited with her was kill Tobias and return to T18. But to do that, he needed guns, such as the one staring back at him right now…

“What happened to you?” Jordan asked, looking over her shoulder at him. “After the cabin, we were pretty resigned to you and Norris being dead. Even Gillian. She kept waiting for you to find us, you know. After Santa Marie Island, and even when we were at T18. I would catch her staring off at nothing for long stretches until it occurred to me she was looking for you. Waiting for you to show up to rescue her.”

“Norris and I ran into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that kept me away for almost six months.”

He told her about Pollard. About Joe. About running for his life in the woods of Louisiana and not knowing where the hell he was going, until he finally ran out of room. He skipped the part about Allie but told her Norris had found some survivors to stay with and that he was probably still safe right now, living out his remaining years.

Then he told her about Song Island. About Lara. And about the soldiers.

“Jesus, how many of them are out there?” she asked.

“My understanding is that they’re everywhere. Every state. Maybe every country. Who knows?”

She was speechless for a moment. After a while, she shook her head. “I guess it makes sense. Everyone we knew in the camp was either from Texas or Louisiana, so we didn’t get any information about what was happening in the rest of the country. Talk about a myopic view of the world, huh?”

“The big picture is overrated.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

They walked on for another few minutes in silence before Keo said, “Are we almost there yet?”

“What are you, ten?”

“It’s going to get dark soon, Jordan.”

“We’re almost there. The base is temporary because we never stay at one place for too long. Sooner or later, they find us.”

“The soldiers?”

“No.”

She’s talking about ghouls.

He thought about his guns again, about the silver ammo inside them…

“What are you carrying?” he asked.

“About five pounds lighter since the last time you saw me,” she said, grinning back at him. “I like to think I’m at my perfect fighting weight.”

He chuckled. “You got funnier.”

“You think?”

“Uh huh.”

“I try.”

“What about silver?” he asked. “Do you guys know about silver?”

She stopped and turned around, then stared at him curiously for a moment. “Do you?”

“About silver?”

“Yeah.”

“I know a lot about it.”

“What do you know?”

“The people I told you about, on Song Island? They’re the ones who sent out those broadcasts about the silver.”

“No shit? We picked up their broadcast over a month ago. We didn’t believe it at first, but we tested it out and now we’re believers.”

She pulled out a spare magazine from her pouches and tossed it to him. Keo thumbed off a round and held it up to what little light managed to pierce the canopies, easily making out the silver tip.

“Silver bullets,” Keo said.

“The problem is finding enough silver lying around out there.” She took the magazine back. “I just have the one for the Glock. Everyone has just one, too. Everything else is loaded with regular ammo. We put them in at night and never before. They’re more valuable than gold these days.”

He kept his mouth shut about the silver loaded in his weapons that one of her people was carrying around out there. Chances were the man hadn’t inspected his belongings very closely, so he could still retrieve them later. Hopefully. The last thing he needed was to “share” the valuable bullets with strangers he was planning to double cross as soon as he got Tobias in his crosshairs.

“What else do you know?” Jordan asked. “Do the other things the islanders mentioned actually work? Bodies of water? Ultraviolet lights?”

“The bodies of water, yeah.”

“How?”

“I have no idea. I just know it works.”

“You saw it?”

“I saw it.”

“What happened?”

They turn to stone and drown, he thought about telling her, but it sounded crazy even in his own head.

“It works,” he said instead. “I don’t know how. Just like I don’t know how shooting or cutting them with silver works. It just does.”

She nodded. “Where’s a scientist when you need one, huh? An explanation would be nice.”

Keo glanced at his watch again. 3:14 p.m.

“Clock’s ticking,” he said.

“Relax, we’re close. This isn’t our first rodeo, you know. We have this entire area mapped out. We know where everything is.”

“And yet T18 still managed to ambush you.”

Her entire body flinched, and Keo instantly regretted saying it.

“Sorry,” he said. “Were some of them your friends?”

“A lot of them were my friends.”

“I’m sorry, Jordan.”

She sighed. “Whatever.”

“I mean it.”

She nodded but began walking faster in front of him. He had to pick up his pace to catch up.

“Have you come up with a better story yet?” Jordan asked after a while.

“I’ll just tell him the truth,” Keo said. Then, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Probably not.”

“Then go ahead.”

“What are you still doing here? You, Tobias, and the others. Why are you guys spending your days making life miserable for T18?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Jordan?”

“These guys helped me escape,” she said finally. “I’m paying them back.”

“That doesn’t explain why they don’t just pack up and leave. Why is Tobias keeping the others here?”

“Almost all of them still have friends and family in town. They won’t leave until they get everyone out.”

He recalled seeing the soldiers along the riverbanks, at the marina, and riding around on horseback. It wasn’t just their numbers or their weaponry that Tobias’s people were going up against, but the enemy also had the night, not to mention the creatures inside them, at their side. Steve and his brother had all the advantages. All of it.

Keo had seen lost causes before, but this was ridiculously unfair.

“Jordan,” he said.

“What?”

“How many did you lose back there?”

“Seven.”

“How many do you have left?”

“Not enough,” she said quietly. “Not nearly enough.”

Chapter Twelve

The temporary base Jordan took him to was a YMCA building, about half a kilometer from the long and empty stretch of I-45 in the distance. It was part of a business center, but had its own separate area. Two empty swimming pools greeted them as they stepped out of the woods and trudged through thick, overgrown grass that covered the backyard.

Keo followed Jordan while the rest of Tobias’s people emerged out of the tree lines around them. Wyatt was among them, along with the two familiar scouts. They were greeted by sentries along the rooftops of the YMCA. One of them waved, and Jordan returned it.

Keo checked his watch again. 4:41 p.m.

“How long have you guys been here?” he asked.

“Two days,” Jordan said. “Counting today. Can’t afford to stay in one place for too long. Like I said before, it’s not the soldiers we have to worry about. They usually don’t wander out this far unless they come with everything they have. You saw all the boats they have back there? They can afford to stick to the river, use it to go back and forth from the Gulf. This far from T18, it’s just the crawlers we have to stay one step ahead of.”

“It must be tough, fighting a two-front war.”

“It’s not easy, no.”

The YMCA building was only one-story, but it was spread out with multiple wings. There was a shooter on three of the rooftops, possibly even the same men that had been at the strip mall earlier.

“I usually try to steer clear of big buildings,” Keo said.

“So do we,” Jordan said. “They like using them for nests. But this one’s secure, for now.”

They skirted around the bigger of the two swimming pools and entered the main building through a metal back door guarded by a man with an M4.

Jordan nodded at him. “Hey, Tim.”

“Welcome back,” Tim said. “I heard things went sideways out there.”

“Yeah, they did.”

“Who’s he?” the guard asked, looking at Keo.

“Keo.”

“What kind—”

“Don’t,” Jordan said.

Keo smiled and followed her into a back hallway. It was surprisingly bright inside, thanks to a series of high ceiling windows flooding the room with sunlight. He could hear activity on the other end even before they stepped out into a large cafeteria where Tobias’s men were gathered.

Pita was there, moving through the wounded men that had traveled here earlier by vehicle. Three of them were unconscious while a fourth drank from a bottle of water as Pita undressed his bloody bandages and grabbed a fresh roll from a teenage girl who was acting as her helper.

He counted about two dozen men in all, including Wyatt and the others that had arrived with them. The three or four men who hadn’t had to brave Steve’s ambush were easy to tell apart from the rest—they were the ones without blood on their clothes. Besides Pita and the girl, there were only two other women in the place. Like the men, they wore gun belts, but unlike Jordan, they didn’t look very dangerous at all.

Keo looked around but couldn’t find Tobias anywhere. Maybe he was in a back room, trying to come up with a plan to regroup after the shellacking they had taken. No one went toe-to-toe with an M60 and came out unscathed.

“Is this it?” Keo asked.

“There was a lot more this morning,” Jordan said quietly. She grabbed a man with a thick red beard as he was walking past them. “Where’s Tobias?”

“Back office with Reese,” the man said.

“Thanks,” Jordan said. Then to Keo, “Come on.”

He kept pace with her through the cafeteria, which looked abandoned despite the company of men and women moving around it at the moment. The cavernous feel, he guessed, was because the room was designed for a large army of hungry teens and not the two dozen or so people eating MREs or talking quietly among themselves. They all looked beaten and whipped, and he wondered how long Tobias was going to be able to keep this fight up after today.

“Where’d you get all the MREs?” he asked.

“Same place we get most of our weapons. T18.”

“You have an inside man.”

“We have inside men. One of them supplies us with as much nonperishables as he can get his hands on.”

“Where does he get them?”

“T18 has a storage warehouse filled when the Millers raided the surrounding areas. One of them sold mail-order civilian versions of Army MREs. Prepper food. That’s what we’ve been living on for the last month or so. Before that, we were surviving off the land.”

“Hunting?”

“Hunting, fishing, whatever it took. It’s a big river. They can’t guard every inch of it twenty-four hours a day.”

“They seem to go back and forth along it just fine in those boats.”

“That’s because we don’t attack the riverbanks if we can help it.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t see you them?”

He was going to ask who, but he remembered the women and children along the banks washing laundry and swimming.

“Civilians,” he said.

“Yeah. We’re trying to save them, not get them killed. So we do our best to keep the fighting contained to just us and the soldiers. It’s not always ideal, but no one said this would be easy.”

Keo wanted to tell her that he had seen a little bit of what Steve had at T18, and that “this” wasn’t just not going to be easy, it was going to be downright impossible. But that would have antagonized her, and right now he needed at least one ally at his side.

Even so, Keo kept close enough to Jordan that he was within easy lunging distance of the Glock in her hip holster. If she noticed or was uncomfortable with his closeness, she didn’t say anything. He was thinking about how he was going to kill Tobias and somehow keep both him and Jordan alive when she opened a door marked “Director.”

He hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps inside when he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his right eye. Keo turned, started lifting his hands to ward off an attack, but the man was faster and pain exploded across Keo’s face as the butt of a rifle smashed into his forehead.

The blow would have done more damage if he hadn’t seen it coming just in the nick of time and turned slightly. The result was more of a glancing blow, but it was enough to stun and stagger him.

He glimpsed a buzz cut as the man followed, pressing his attack, even as Jordan shouted, “What the fuck, Reese?”

The man ignored her and swung his weapon at Keo’s face again, but Keo managed to dodge the oncoming strike this time. The wooden stock flashed across his face for a split second before Keo grabbed the barrel with one hand, pulled his attacker off balance, then slammed his cocked elbow into the back of the man’s neck.

He heard a satisfying, pained grunt.

Keo followed his attacker-turned-victim, hoping to finish this as soon as possible (and that rifle, he could definitely use that rifle), when something rammed into the small of his back. He might have screamed; he couldn’t be entirely certain. But he definitely felt the boot stepping on the back of his left knee and dropping to the floor.

He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see Tobias, all six-three of him hovering with an M4 clutched in both raised hands. Tobias didn’t look happy or sad, he just looked like a man doing a job.

It was the last thing Keo saw before the collapsible stock of the carbine hit him in the face and he dropped like a sack of meat.

* * *

“Jesus, your face looks like shit,” Jordan said. She was whispering and looked concerned as she dabbed his face with a wet…something. “That throbbing pain? That’s your forehead. It was bleeding so much even Pita thought you were going to bleed out. Lucky for you, it stopped.”

Yeah. Lucky. That’s me.

He grimaced and fought the urge to reach up to touch his forehead, where the strong odor of antibiotic ointment was coming from. Someone had been very generous with it. He guessed too much was better than not enough when you were dealing with possible infection.

His entire face hurt. At least both Tobias and Reese had aimed straight for the noggin and spared his nose. Having it broken once was enough, especially now that it had all but healed. Well, mostly, anyway.

He was lying on a cold, hard floor and staring up at a patch of moonlight spilling in through a high ceiling window. Something soft, probably cotton, was rolled up underneath his head, allowing him to turn it with minimal effort and take in his new surroundings.

He and Jordan were inside some kind of classroom, and they weren’t alone. One of the women he had seen in the cafeteria was sitting against the opposite wall next to one of the wounded men; her eyes were closed and she was stroking his forehead while he snored. Pita and her teen assistant leaned against each other in another corner; they were both asleep. Unused school desks were scattered around them, some lying on their sides.

Nightfall.

There was barely any noise inside the room except for their breathing and the light snoring around them, as if everyone just knew not to be too noisy. Maybe a survival instinct kicking in unconsciously after a year of living in a post-Purge world.

What was that Lara liked to say? “Adapt or perish.”

These people had clearly adapted. You didn’t survive this long without understanding the rules. Making a sound in the middle of the night (What time is it?) was one of those things to be avoided at all costs.

It was impossibly quiet outside. Even the birds were afraid to make any noise. He was relieved to discover that the window in the back of the room was closed tight. He and Jordan, along with everyone in the room, were sitting along the sides, with Pita and the girl underneath the window. Even if one of the ghouls had crawled up there, they wouldn’t be able to see them.

Hopefully.

Next to him, Jordan put down the balled T-shirt she had been using on his face and leaned tiredly back against the wall. It wasn’t just the day’s events pressing down on her—the ambush, the losing friends—but his arrival probably hadn’t contributed to her peace of mind. What should have been a happy reunion for both of them had instead kicked off a bloody and challenging day for her.

Mom always did say my timing sucks.

“You okay?” he asked.

She gave him a wry look. “You’re the one with the big cut on your forehead. Did you always look this ugly?”

“Kick a man while he’s down, why doncha.”

“Sorry.”

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.” She sighed and looked at the window. “They’re out there, you know.”

“I know…”

She glanced back at him. “So, are you ever going to tell me what happened to your face? I mean, before this afternoon. That scar looks pretty nasty.”

“The guy I told you about?”

“Pollard?”

“Yeah. He tried to carve my face with a knife.”

“Damn.”

“That was after he stabbed me.”

“Jesus, Keo.”

“No, just Keo.”

She tried to stop it, but the smile came through anyway. He returned it, because he couldn’t help it, either. Jordan had always been a pretty girl, even with the short hair that made her look less “girly” than he remembered. The dirt on her face that she hadn’t bothered to clean since the road, the worry lines on her forehead, and the dry skin—none of those things took away from her.

He must have been staring, because she wrinkled her nose at him and said, “What?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring. Again.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, but at least buy me dinner first, for God’s sake.”

He chuckled, and they went back to looking at the room and the window. He expected to see them out there at any moment crawling around like spiders, but there was just the bright moonlight. Instead of being relieved, it just made him paranoid. After so many peaceful nights on the Trident, being back on land left him overly anxious.

“You didn’t know Tobias was going to do that?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t.” She sighed, then, “He’s going to kill you tomorrow.”

“He said that?”

“Not in so many words, but I’ve been around him long enough to know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t trust you, and he’s already lost too much today. We all have. He’s not going to risk it.”

“Why didn’t he put me out of my misery after he knocked me out?”

“Because I wouldn’t let him. He wanted to, but I made it pretty goddamn clear that if he didn’t at least give you a chance to explain, then I was done, too. I’ve been loyal to him, and Tobias is a man who values loyalty.”

“So I have until morning.”

She nodded.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Around ten. You’ve been unconscious for half the day.” She looked down at him and narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here, Keo? I can’t help you if you won’t tell me the truth.”

“The guy in charge of T18 gave me a job. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the job?”

“He wanted me to kill Tobias.”

Jordan didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t be sure if that was surprise or disappointment on her face. Maybe a lot of both.

“I’m doing this for Gillian,” he said.

“What’s she got to do with it?”

“In return for taking out Tobias, I get Gillian.”

“‘Get’ her?”

“He wouldn’t let me see her, or even talk to her, until I do this for him.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“She was at the riverbanks when Miller was bringing me in. She definitely saw me.” I hope, he thought about adding, but decided he wanted to believe it, too, so he didn’t.

“And she looked okay?” Jordan asked.

“From what I saw, yes.”

She nodded. “We need to get you out of here.” She glanced across the room at the door. “There’s a guard outside. He has orders to shoot you if you try to escape. That’s why no one in here has a weapon, including me.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that Jordan was unarmed, but he saw it now. Her holster was empty, and she didn’t have the M4 he’d seen her carrying all day. Even her sheath was missing its knife.

“Tobias wouldn’t let me stay with you if I didn’t give up my guns,” she said.

“I thought he trusted you.”

“Not after I’ve been vouching for you all day.” She pursed her lips. “We had a pretty loud, knock-down, drag-out screaming match after he...love-tapped you.”

“What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter what he said.” Her face hardened, turning serious. “He’ll give you a chance to explain yourself tomorrow, but the truth is, it won’t matter. He’s already decided to kill you.”

Keo believed her, even if she was talking about a guy who looked like Captain America.

“Keo,” Jordan said, her brown eyes still focused on his bruised face. “You need to get out of here before morning, or you’re going to die.”

“I can’t go out there.”

“You have to. In the morning—”

“I’ll talk to him,” Keo said.

“There’s no point. I told you, he’s already made up his mind.”

“Then I’ll just have to make him change it.”

“How?”

He smiled and hoped it was at least partially convincing. “I got a plan. Trust me.”

She frowned.

He guessed he wasn’t all that convincing after all.

Chapter Thirteen

The one that tried to take his head off yesterday, Reese, was a stout man with a bad goatee. He entered the classroom with another man around eight in the morning to collect Keo. Pita and the girl had woken up before Keo opened his eyes, leaving just him, Jordan, and the couple across from the room.

“Rise and shine,” Reese said. Then, in what sounded like an Australian accent, “It’s judgment day.”

“That’s an Australian accent, you idiot,” Jordan said.

“Huh?”

“Arnold Schwarzenegger, who plays the Terminator in T2: Judgment Day, is Austrian.”

“Whatever, close enough,” Reese said, annoyed. “Now get your asses up.”

Keo hadn’t gotten very much sleep last night, most of it spent trying to figure out how he was going to survive the following morning. Jordan had dozed off around midnight and woken up a few minutes before Reese showed up. Morning sun blazed in through the high window and washed over half of the room, making it easy to notice that both Reese and the other man, who kept a safe distance just in case Keo tried anything, were very well armed and alert. He wondered if they had coffee in the cafeteria.

“Where’s Tobias?” Keo asked, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s waiting outside,” Reese said.

“I need to talk to him.”

“Oh, you’re going to get the chance to talk to him, all right. Get up.” Reese put his hand on the butt of his holstered sidearm for effect. “Time to pay the piper.”

Not nearly ominous enough, pal.

Keo stood up, surprised he wasn’t more wobbly on his feet. Being knocked unconscious had, ironically, done him a lot of good and Keo felt refreshed, as if he had been sleeping for days. Jordan had more trouble, the day’s events showing on her face as she tried to fight through the muscle aches and sores.

He gave her a hand. “When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

“Can’t remember,” she said, and gave him a brief smile.

He returned it.

“I must look like you did last night,” she said, running her hands over her face, her palms coming away dirty. “Ugh.”

“You look fine. Better than fine.”

She smirked. “You’re full of crap, but thanks anyway.”

“Let’s go,” Reese said before turning and leaving the room.

Keo and Jordan followed him out into the hallway. Reese walked in front while the second man trailed behind them, still keeping a safe distance. Keo heard voices and activity even before he stepped back into the cafeteria.

The rest of Tobias’s people were packing up their things, everyone moving with purpose. There was an efficiency to the way supplies were being bundled up, despite the fact that they were now working with fewer men. These people had been doing this for a while now, and even still clearly dazed and shell-shocked by yesterday, it didn’t stop them from doing their jobs. Tobias had trained them well.

The man himself stood over a table, looking down at a map. He was talking to a couple of men when he glanced over. Unlike last time, Keo didn’t see Captain America in those eyes—instead, he saw his would-be executioner.

Damn, this better work.

“You come up with a story yet?” Jordan asked, keeping her voice just low enough that only he could hear.

“Yes,” Keo said.

“You better, because I’m not going to be able to get you out of this.”

“Any advice?”

“Just pretend Tobias is one of those women you pick up in bars. If you can get him to drop his pants, you’re home free.”

Keo grinned.

By the time they reached him, Tobias had folded the map and slipped it into his back pocket. He nodded at Reese, then said to Keo, “Let’s talk outside.”

He led them to the same back hallway that Keo and Jordan had come through yesterday, limping noticeably on his wounded leg. There was another guard at the back door, and Tobias pushed the door open for them. They stepped out into the thick backyard jungle, the bright and warm sun hitting them in the face.

Keo breathed in the cool, crisp morning air. He hadn’t realized how thick and musky the interior of the YMCA was until now. Out here, he could almost believe he had a decent chance of surviving the next few minutes.

“Jordan,” Tobias said. He had stopped and turned around. “Step aside.”

Jordan didn’t move. “No.”

“He has a lot to pay for.”

“He didn’t know Miller was using him to draw us out.”

“Bullshit,” Reese said. He stood slightly to the right of Tobias, his hand still resting on the butt of his holstered sidearm, finger tapping anxiously against the walnut grip.

Keo heard the sentries moving around on the rooftop above and behind him and wondered if they were paying attention to what was about to happen down here.

“Ron shot at Keo first,” Jordan said. “Then he called the others in to finish the job. Ron did what you put him up there to do, Tobias.”

“I didn’t know anything about an ambush,” Keo said.

“But you came from T18,” Tobias said. His voice was calm and measured. Compared to Reese, who had a tendency to raise his voice, Tobias could have passed for the Dalai Lama…with an assault rifle.

“Yes, I did.”

“What were you doing there?”

“The same reason everyone else ended up at T18. I was captured at Santa Marie Island.”

Tobias’s eyes moved to Jordan.

“Like I already told you, we know each other from Louisiana,” Jordan said. “My friends and I came to Santa Marie first, and Keo was supposed to follow. It just took him longer than expected.”

“Got held up,” Keo said. “Better late than never, right?”

“But you left T18 with your weapons,” Tobias said. “That’s not possible unless you’ve also put on a black uniform.”

“You see a uniform on me?”

“You don’t need to wear one to be one.”

“Like a spy,” Reese said.

“I’m not a spy,” Keo said. “I’m not very good at sneaking around. I prefer the frontal approach.”

“The fact remains,” Tobias said, “you left T18 with your weapons. That says everything.”

“That’s because Miller gave me a job.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah. Steve Miller.”

Tobias narrowed his eyes. “What kind of job?”

“Find you, and kill you.”

Reese reflexively gripped his weapon but stopped short of pulling it out.

Jordan, meanwhile, had tensed up beside Keo; apparently she hadn’t expected him to use this tack.

For his part, Tobias hadn’t reacted. Either the man had ice water in his veins, or he wasn’t surprised by Keo’s admission.

Cool as a cucumber, this guy.

“Steve sent you here to kill me,” Tobias finally said.

“I had to find you first,” Keo said. “That’s what I was doing when your sniper took a shot at me. What happened after that was out of my hands. I didn’t know Miller was planning an ambush using me as bait. It’s not my fault you converged on one lone target so close to T18. That’s a leadership problem.”

Tobias grunted. There was a heaviness in his face that Keo recognized. He had seen that look in the eyes of commanders who actually cared if he survived a job or not. Those types of men were far and few, but he could always tell them apart from the ones who didn’t give a damn if they lived or died.

“And what do you get in return?” Tobias asked.

“I get to live happily ever after.”

Tobias looked to Jordan, who nodded. “My friend Gillian,” she said. “The one that came with me to the camp. She and Keo are involved.”

“A woman,” Tobias said. Then he chuckled. “It’s always a woman, isn’t it?”

“It’s the truth,” Keo said.

“I believe you. The question is, what do I do with you?”

“That’s the easy part.”

“How so?”

Christ, I hope this works, Keo thought, and said, “Miller expects me to kill you and return to T18. But he didn’t say anything about bringing back your head on a pike. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Steve never asked you to bring back proof.”

“Right. It didn’t occur to me until now why that was. It’s because he didn’t think I was going to survive yesterday’s action. They pointed me up the road and waited for your guys to swoop in and try to kill me. It was win-win for him. I either kill some of your men, or your men get me, then his men get yours. I’m guessing he had people in the woods nearby, waiting for me to walk past like a sucker. I doubt he expected you to send that many to finish me off. That was stupid, by the way. Why the hell did you send so many to kill one man?”

Tobias shook his head, looking very frustrated. “There were only five men backing up Ron, and they weren’t supposed to engage you. I had to send reinforcements when Steve attacked.”

“What did they use, technicals?”

Tobias nodded solemnly. “And ground forces. It looked like he threw everything he had at us. It was overwhelming. We’re lucky we only lost seven men. It could have been much worse. All-of-us-dead-level worst.”

“The point is, Miller doesn’t expect me to come back. So when I do, and with proof that I killed you, he’ll want to see it.”

“Proof?”

“I need to convince him I got the job done.”

“What kind of proof?”

“You tell me. You’ve been fighting him for how long now? What would it take for Miller to believe I killed you?”

Tobias seemed to think about it before he said, “And then what?”

“Then I kill the fucker,” Keo said. “That sound good to you?”

* * *

“That’s your big plan?” Jordan said. “Convince him to let you double cross Miller?”

“He’s thinking about it,” Keo said.

“Yeah, but…”

“Jordan, it’s not like I had a lot of options. It’s either this or let them execute me. I really don’t want to be executed. I kinda like living.”

They were back in the classroom, except this time they were alone, with a guard outside the door. Everyone was gathering their things into the vehicles parked up front, leaving Keo and Jordan to wait for Tobias’s decision. He would know in a few minutes if he was going to live or die.

If he were a betting man, Keo would guess fifty-fifty.

Jordan leaned her head back against the wall next to him and threw her arms around her bent knees.

“Relax,” Keo said. “Whatever happens, you’ll be fine.”

“Is that what you think this is? That I’m just worried about my own hide?”

“Aren’t you?”

She sighed. “You’re clueless.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Never mind, Keo.”

He looked at her for a moment, not sure where any of this was going. He had never been particularly good at reading women, but—

“They were friends, you know,” she said.

“Who?”

“Miller and Tobias.”

“I figured that one out myself.”

“How?”

“He kept referring to Miller as ‘Steve.’”

“Yeah. They were friends for a long time after everything happened. They were in the camp together. Then one day, they were running things.”

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know for sure. Tobias never told me, but I’ve heard rumors that they—the creatures—choose leaders. I don’t know how, and frankly it gives me goose bumps to think about communicating with those things.”

“The blue-eyed ones.”

“You’ve heard of them?” she asked, looking over.

He nodded. “The people I knew at Song Island have experience with them. A lot of experience. The ones with blue eyes are like the overseers—the commanders. They can talk, too.”

She stared disbelievingly at him.

Keo shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”

She shivered. “Great, now I’m going to have nightmares. As if the black-eyed ones weren’t bad enough.”

“About Tobias and Miller…”

“They were in charge of T18 back when it was still just Wilmont. Ran the whole place for a while. It was just after the transition to a full-fledged town that they had a falling out and Tobias left, taking some of the men with him.”

“Reese?”

“Uh huh. He was one of them.”

“Why did Tobias leave?”

“It was that whole agreement with the ghouls. Tobias was always uneasy about the daily bloodletting, but I think it was the pregnancies that did it. I know that’s what happened to me. ‘Donating’ wasn’t so bad, but seeing those pregnant girls and knowing what would happen to their babies, to the human race in a year or a decade from now…” She shivered again. “I couldn’t take it. Tobias couldn’t, either. Since then, he’s been trying to help as many people escape from T18 as possible.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Not great.” She leaned her chin against her knees. “We haven’t managed to get any of the pregnant ones out. It’s mostly been the men, with a few women in between, like Pita. She was one of the nurses in the camp. She left with the girl that’s always hanging around her, Shelley. Pita didn’t want her to become like the others, so we managed to help them escape. They’re valuable, you know. Anyone with medical skills, especially the doctors. There are only a few of them in each town, but I hear they’re constantly training nurses. Pita was doing a lot of that when she was there.”

“How does it work? Escaping the town. You said before that you have inside help.”

“Tobias talked a few people into staying.”

“That must have taken some convincing.”

“Well, he does look like Steve Rogers.”

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers. Captain America’s civilian alter ego?”

“Ah. So if Tobias is Capitan America, who’s Reese? Robin?”

“Bucky. Robin is Batman’s sidekick. Bucky is Captain America’s.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you making this up?”

She smiled. “No. I guess you really didn’t use to read comic books.”

“Too busy chasing girls.”

“Of course,” she said, and rolled her eyes at him.

“How does a jock like you know so much about comic books?”

“My brother had stacks of them. Sometimes I would partake.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, without the inside guys, we probably wouldn’t even have what little success we’ve managed so far, never mind the M4s and MREs.”

“Where do they get those, anyway? The weapons?”

“I don’t know, but they have crates of military-grade stuff in town. Grenades, handguns, you name it.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“The town they’re building. T18.”

“I never got past the marina. Miller gave me the job as soon as I arrived.”

“And he never let you see Gillian?”

He shook his head.

“And yet you took the job anyway,” Jordan said.

“I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t already seen with my own eyes that she was alive.”

“Did you really think he was going to keep his side of the bargain?”

“What can I say? I have too much faith in people.”

Jordan chuckled. “Since when?”

“People change, Jordan.”

She looked over at him and stared for some time before finally nodding. “You really have changed, haven’t you?”

* * *

“Here,” Tobias said, tossing him something huge and sparkling. “That’ll convince Steve you killed me.”

Keo looked down at a big, gaudy, diamond-encrusted ring that no man with any semblance of taste would be caught dead wearing. Which probably explained why Tobias didn’t have it on him but had been keeping it somewhere else. It was bigger than Keo’s thumb and featured the state of Texas in the center, with the words “State Champ” on top.

“It’s the only thing of value I have from the old world,” Tobias said. “Steve would know I wouldn’t give it up to anyone unless I was dead. It should get you back into T18 in one piece. What happens after that is up to you.”

“You don’t want me to kill Miller?” Keo asked.

“I don’t care one way or another. Steve is just a mouthpiece for the creatures. They’d just replace him with someone else if he was gone. My goal was never to kill Steve or his people; it was always just to save the townspeople.” He sighed, looking at the ring in Keo’s palm. “I don’t know why I held onto it. Maybe it was just a reminder of what used to be. If you’re still alive when we meet again, you can give it back to me.”

There was a line of vehicles filled with people and supplies waiting in the parking lot of the YMCA. Reese was in one of the cars and Wyatt was perched in the back of a truck. The street behind them was empty, and he could see the raised structure of I-45 in the distance. It looked gray and never-ending, but also strangely inviting.

“So this is it?” Jordan asked. “You’re giving up?”

Tobias gave her a pursed smile. “Not by a long shot, Jordan. But for now—right now—it’s time to take a break.” He glanced back at his people. “They’re tired. I’m tired, too. My number one job was always to make sure they stay alive. That means giving them time to get healthy. After that, we’ll reevaluate.”

“What about the people back in T18? They’re going to wonder why you’ve stopped communicating with them.”

“They’re smart, and they’ll get by until we make contact again.”

Jordan shook her head. She wasn’t convinced.

“You’re not coming with us, are you?” Tobias asked her.

“No.”

“About yesterday…”

“It’s not yesterday,” Jordan said. “Keo’s going to need my help to get back to T18 and save Gillian.”

That caught Keo by surprise, and he looked over at her.

She avoided his stare and focused on Tobias instead. “She’s my friend, too. I owe it to her.”

“All right,” Tobias nodded. “It’s not like I could ever make you do anything you didn’t want to, anyway.”

He waved to Reese, who, along with another man, grabbed some weapons and packs out of one of the trucks and jogged over to them. Reese didn’t look happy when he handed them over—including the MP5SD and Keo’s pack—but Keo couldn’t care less. He was too busy clasping the belt back on and beaming as he checked the magazine inside the submachine gun.

Tobias was looking at Keo closely.

“What’s on your mind?” Keo said.

“The Steve I used to know was a good man. We wanted to do what was right for people, but somewhere along the way he went astray. The Steve that sent you out there as bait is the one you’re facing now. If you get the chance, pull the trigger. Not for me or for my people, but for your own sake.”

“I’ve never had much trouble pulling the trigger when it needs to be pulled.”

“I don’t doubt that at all. He sent you out there for a reason. Steve, for all his faults—and God knows he has many—was always a very good judge of character. He always knew how to manipulate people, how to make them do things that would benefit him.”

“I don’t think that was a compliment. To him or to me.”

“Maybe not,” Tobias said. “But I’m guessing it’s pretty accurate.”

Keo shrugged.

Tobias turned to Jordan. “I’m taking everyone to the backup location. You remember where that is?”

Jordan nodded. “I remember.”

“When you get tired of this guy, come find us.”

“No promises.”

“No promises,” he repeated.

Tobias turned around and whirled his hand in the air, and the vehicles fired up. The sudden loud blast of machines scattered birds in nearby trees, and more than a few creatures in the overgrown yards around them, on both sides of the streets, scampered away. Keo wondered how long it would take Steve’s people to track them down to this location by just the noise alone.

Reese pulled up in the truck and Tobias hobbled into the front passenger seat before leaning back out and nodding at the two of them. “Good hunting.”

Then they were gone, the caravan turning into the street and heading toward the interstate. Keo and Jordan watched them go, bright sun shimmering against the roofs of their vehicles, the smell of exhaust filling his nostrils for the first time in a long time.

“Well, that was easy,” Keo said. “I was expecting more screaming and gunplay.”

“There’s a reason we followed him for this long,” Jordan said. “Tobias is a good man.”

Keo held up the gaudy ring. “He’s got bad taste in jewelry though.”

“We better get going. That much noise is going to attract attention, even this far from T18. Just like we have scouts around the woods, Miller does, too.”

Keo put the ring away and looked at her. “What are you still doing here, Jordan?”

“Gillian’s my friend, too,” she said, walking off, “and I’m tired of losing friends. That includes you, Keo.”

Chapter Fourteen

“You don’t have to do this,” Keo said for the third time since they left the YMCA behind and began the trek back to T18. That was almost an hour ago.

“Shut up,” she said.

“I’m serious. I can do this on my own. I have the ring of power. Its gaudiness will be more than enough to strike down the bad guys.”

She smirked. “You don’t even know if it’s going to work.”

“Tobias seemed to think it will.”

“It’s been months since he talked to Miller. People can change a lot these days. You, of all people, should know that.”

They walked in silence for another few minutes, passing parts of the woods that he didn’t recognize from yesterday. Jordan was leading the way because she was more familiar with the area, and according to her, just as it didn’t pay to stay in the same place for too long, it wasn’t smart to travel the same path more than once if they could help it. She knew better, so he deferred to her experience.

“So what’s the plan?” Jordan asked. “You’re just going to walk up and hand the ring to Miller and ask him to pretty please give you Gillian?”

“You act like that’s a bad plan.”

“It’s a stupid plan. He didn’t expect you to survive yesterday. He practically dangled you so we’d expose ourselves.”

Jordan had a point, but Keo knew men like Miller. They were cunning and dangerous, but also vain. When presented with the opportunity to take a prize like Tobias’s state championship ring and lose nothing in return, would Miller really turn it down? Keo didn’t think so. Which was good, because he was going to put his life on the line for that belief.

Solid plan, pal. You just forgot the part where everything turns to shitburgers and you get killed.

“About Gillian,” Keo said. “You never told me what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“T18. You left and she didn’t. You never told me why.”

“We talked about it more times than I could count, and I thought she was going to leave with me.” She looked momentarily lost in thought, maybe reliving all those conversations with Gillian. “But when the time came, I left and she stayed behind.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her when you see her again.”

“And she hasn’t tried to leave since?”

Jordan shook her head. “I sent her messages using one of our inside guys, but she never answered. The only thing left would have been to get our guy to approach her, and I didn’t want to risk exposing him like that in case—”

She didn’t finish.

“In case of what?” Keo asked. When she still didn’t say anything, “Jordan.”

“You’ll have to ask her when you see her again,” was all she would say.

“Jordan…”

“She was different in the weeks leading up to the escape. To this day I don’t know what happened, but when the time came, I was the only one who left. Only she can say why.”

He thought about pressing the issue, but one look at her and he knew he wasn’t going to get far. If anything, it would probably piss her off.

So he asked instead, “How long have you been running around out there with Tobias’s gang?”

“Three months. It feels like three years. Time has a way of slipping by out here.”

They walked on, moving as quickly as they could without making too much noise. Keo caught a couple of squirrels sitting on a branch nearby watching them pass, and he grinned. He had a long and glorious history with squirrels.

“So, these people on Song Island,” Jordan said after a while. “They sound like good people.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind all the crazy shit they do.”

“Hunh.”

He gave her a curious look. “Meaning?”

She had walked on in front of him, but he pictured her smiling to herself when she said, “You calling someone else crazy. That’s a good one.”

He grunted. “You haven’t met these people. They’re all nuts.”

“I’d still like to meet them one of these days. Especially Lara.”

“Maybe you will.”

“You think he found them by now? Her boyfriend Will?”

“He’d have to be alive first to do that.”

“You don’t think he is?”

“We were out there for a month and never heard a peep from him. If he was still alive, he would have already made contact.” He shrugged. “But what do I know. From what everyone keeps telling me, he’s too stubborn to die, so anything’s possible, I guess.”

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“People finding each other out here. Like you and Gillian.”

“Happily ever after?”

“Maybe just a happily for now—”

Clop-clop-clop!

Jordan froze and started lifting her rifle, but Keo grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down to the ground first. They ended up behind a thick bush on their stomachs, faces pressed into the soft earth just as two men on horseback galloped past them.

Soldiers in black uniforms, M4s thumping against their backs.

They were heading off in the same direction Keo and Jordan had just come from: toward the YMCA building. It had to have been the cars firing up at the same time. Tobias’s people had made a hell of a ruckus, but they could afford to, because they were abandoning the base.

He was hoping one of the soldiers might be Jack Miller, who would have made for an even better bargaining chip than Tobias’s ring. But that turned out not to be the case. Even though he only saw the two men from the back as they were riding away, one was too thin and the other was too tall to be Jack.

Next to him, Jordan had eased her carbine forward and was gripping it perhaps just a little too tightly. He could tell she wanted to fight.

He shook his head and they exchanged a brief look, then waited for the clop-clop-clop to slowly fade into the background.

When they couldn’t hear the soldiers anymore, they picked themselves up and brushed the dirt off their clothes.

“They’re heading for the YMCA,” Jordan said.

“If we move farther back into the woods, away from the road, can you still find T18?”

“I’ve been walking and running and fighting around here for months now. I could find T18 with a blindfold on.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes, smartass.”

They continued on, but also moved deeper into the woods. It wasn’t a guarantee they wouldn’t run into more soldiers, but Keo didn’t feel like taking any chances now. He’d already taken too many unnecessary risks on his way here, and having found Gillian, he wanted to play it as safe as possible.

“Kill Steve. Save Gillian. Live happily ever after.”

* * *

His head had started bothering him as soon as they left the YMCA behind, and it only continued to get worse during the long walk back to T18. The quick spurt of adrenaline from the near-miss with the mounted soldiers hadn’t helped, either.

“You okay?” Jordan asked when she saw the way he was touching his head.

“A little dizzy,” he said, stopping momentarily and leaning against a tree. “I guess I’m still not over getting my head bashed in by your friends.”

She looked at him worriedly for a moment. “You need to rest. Get off your feet.” She glanced around them, then bit her lips for a moment. Finally, she said, “Come on. I know a place around here.”

They headed off again, Jordan taking him deeper into the woods.

“So everyone’s gone?” Keo asked when they had been walking for a few minutes.

“Gone?”

“Tobias’s people.”

“Except for the ones still in town, yeah.”

“How many inside agents do you have?”

“Two that I know of for sure, more that only Tobias knows about. They’re risking a lot to help us, and he doesn’t want to unnecessarily endanger them. The more people know, the greater their chances of being discovered.”

“So except for the undercovers in T18 and you, that’s it. Tobias has officially thrown up the white flag.”

“You heard him. He said he was just going to rest, to let the others heal up.”

“And you believe that?”

She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“You followed Tobias because you believed in him. It’s never an easy thing when your leader decides he’s had enough, and vamos.”

“I guess.”

“And you’ve never slept with him?”

She threw him an annoyed look.

Keo raised his hands in surrender. “I was just double checking.”

“When you feel like triple checking, just keep in mind that I know where we’re going and you don’t,” she said, moving ahead of him.

He smiled and followed her.

They were now moving through a part of the woods that made him a little uneasy. The canopies were getting thicker, which meant the sun was having a harder time finding its way through. As a result, the air had grown chillier and Keo instinctively clutched the MP5SD in front of him.

“You know where you’re going?” he asked after a while.

“The woods might look endless, but it’s not. There’s a cabin not far from here that we’ve used before.”

“Is that a good idea? If you know about it, what are the chances that the soldiers do, too?”

“We’ll have to risk it. You need to rest for a while. That lightheadedness you’re feeling is a result of the blows you took. You might have even gotten a concussion, and it’s just now showing up.”

Keo felt his forehead again. The cut had started to scab over, but it was going to be a while before it healed. The good news was that it would definitely heal, unlike the scar along the left side of his face. Pollard’s farewell gift wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, if ever.

Thanks again for that, Pollard, you sonofabitch. I’m glad both you and your son are dead.

“Okay,” Jordan said as she finally slowed down before stopping completely.

She held her rifle at the ready as she peered through two trees at an old cabin sitting in a rough circular clearing that would be, in a few years, swallowed back up by the woods. Two dirt-encrusted windows flanked a door and a chimney jutted out on one side of the roof. The building looked just big enough to have a couple of bedrooms in the back.

The bright spot was that the clearing was wide open to the skies, and a thick pool of sunlight shone down on the cabin. It was a far cry from the last few minutes, when it seemed like they were walking deeper and deeper into the lightless bowels of the woods.

Jordan crouched at the edge and listened, and Keo joined her. He had to put his hand down against the ground because the sudden movement nearly made him keel over.

“You okay?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Mom.”

She pursed her lips.

“Anything?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Looks clear. You ready?”

She got up and jogged into the clearing and slid against the wall next to one of the windows before he could respond. Keo sighed. He would have liked to sit and listen for another thirty minutes, maybe an hour. Not just to be sure they were the only people around, but because he could have used the rest. But that was just wishful thinking now, and he hurried over to join her outside the cabin.

The window next to them revealed a dust-covered floor, along with a kitchen lit up with sunlight through the windows above the sinks and a barren fireplace on the other side. There was no furniture to speak of, and the only thing staring back at them were the heads of two deer mounted on the far wall next to a darkened hallway that was just a bit too dark for his liking. The passageway led into the back of the house.

“Anything?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “You?”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I can rest in the woods,” he said, even as another throbbing pain rushed through him. He gritted his teeth and hoped she didn’t notice.

It must have shown on his face anyway, because she looked more determined when she said, “No cover. If they find us out here, we’ll have nowhere to run. In here, at least we have a chance.”

He started to argue, but she had already moved toward the door, and Keo had no choice but to follow.

The handle was a simple lever, and she pressed it and pushed the door inside and stepped in a half-second later. Keo had to admit, she had developed a pretty nice rhythm since the last time they saw each other back at Earl’s cabin. Being out here with Tobias’s people, fighting Steve and the town, had definitely increased her battle movements. Now all she needed was a little more patience, a notion that Keo thought was funny since he’d never really been known to have a whole lot of that himself.

Dust brushed against his face as he stepped inside the cabin. The living room smelled slightly stale, but he blamed that on the lack of ventilation thanks to all the closed windows. The back hallway was partially submerged in shadows, but he didn’t detect movement or see obsidian eyes staring back at him.

Jordan had slung her rifle and opened up her pack. She pulled out a bottle of water and an old Tylenol bottle and handed it to him. “Sit down, drink, and rest for a while.”

“You came prepared,” Keo said. He turned the bottle over and noticed the expiration date.

“Don’t worry, that’s just a suggestion,” she said. “Probably. Anyway, the town’s not far from here. Maybe another hour, so we can afford to stay awhile or until you’re ready to move again.”

“It’s just a small headache.”

She peered at his face—or specifically, his scabbing forehead. “He really laid you out good. I thought you were going to bleed to death in that office last night.”

“That bad?”

“But you look okay now. Still ugly as hell, but better.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean, compared to the first time I saw you.”

She walked to the kitchen and laid her pack and rifle on the island counter, then began flipping through the top pantries and pulling drawers along the counter. Dust erupted every time she opened something, then again when she closed them.

Keo shook out two of the pills and washed them down with water. He walked over to one of the windows, and staying as far away from the grime-smeared windowsill and glass panes as possible, looked out at the clearing and the woods beyond. He couldn’t help but remember all those months at Earl’s cabin at the start of The Purge.

Gillian was there. So was Norris, and Rachel and her daughter, and the girl, Lotte. Jordan and her friends didn’t show up until later. Then there was that whole mess with Levy, and the garage…

But most of all, he remembered the good times. The days and nights and weeks and months when they didn’t have anything to worry about, when it seemed like they could hide from whatever was going on in the world around them. At the time, he had no idea what the ghouls were doing, and thinking back, he didn’t care. He would have been happy to live however many months or years he had left at the cabin with Gillian and Jordan and the others.

What was that old saying? “Ignorance is bliss.”

What he wouldn’t give for a little bit of ignorance right now.

“Did you take the pills?” Jordan called from the kitchen.

“Yes.”

“Take a few more later. They won’t make you drowsy.”

He did feel better, though it wasn’t really the pills but mostly the resting, the not moving his feet every other second. The throbbing remained, but it wasn’t nearly as unbearable as it had been a few minutes ago when they were out there in the woods.

He finished off the water, then putting the bottle away (you never knew when an empty bottle would come in handy), called back to Jordan, “Find anything?”

“Not a thing.”

“Did you expect to find something?”

“Maybe.”

“You said no one’s been here awhile. Why wouldn’t Miller put someone out here? Use it as a station or something.”

“He did, once. Not just here, but other locations around the area. The strip malls, the warehouses…until we convinced him it was a bad idea. Nowadays, he sticks to the other side of the river.” Then, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What did you do back there to make Miller think you could kill Tobias for him?”

“I’m not convinced he thought I could. Chances were, he was hoping I could take out a few of your people. Best-case scenario, maybe make your men reveal themselves.”

“That’s probably true. You do make pretty good bait, Keo.”

He grunted. “Stop trying to butter me up.”

“Don’t take it too personally—” There was a loud thump! followed by a clattering sound, then Jordan’s voice, screaming, “Keo!”

He turned back to the kitchen, but she wasn’t there. Her rifle and pack were still on the counter, but there were no signs—

Jordan was on the floor on her stomach behind the counter, both hands clawing at the wooden floorboards.

“Keo!” she shouted again.

He unslung the MP5SD and ran to the kitchen. He was halfway there when Jordan managed to spin around onto her back and lifted her head, looking at something on the other side of the counter. Her Glock was lying across the kitchen where she had sent it clattering when she fell.

He changed directions at the last second, and instead of running to the right side of the counter, he went left where Jordan’s feet were. When he finally made the turn and saw it, Keo might have actually frozen for a full second.

The bottom half of the creature’s body was hidden inside the cabinet under the sink, where it had apparently been hiding when Jordan stumbled across it. It had lunged out through the open door and had gotten a hold of her legs and was trying to pull her toward it—pull her out of the sunlight and into the shadows that fell over its part of the counter. She was kicking at it, but it had two solid grips on one of her legs and wouldn’t let go.

It must have heard him coming, because its head snapped in his direction and twin lifeless black eyes settled on him. He lifted the submachine gun and pointed at it, and the creature actually sneered at him.

“Don’t shoot me, Keo!” Jordan shouted.

Keo almost laughed.

Gee, thanks for that suggestion, Jordan. Real helpful there.

He fired three times into the cabinet, splintering the door and sending rounds inside rather than trying to hit any specific part of the ghoul’s body. He didn’t know how many times he hit it, but once was enough and its head flopped to the floor even while its body continued to jerk up and down with Jordan’s struggling motions.

She finally realized it had stopped trying to pull her into the darkness under the sink and stopped kicking. Jordan stared at it, gasping for breath, before finally regaining enough control to reach forward and pry its bony fingers off her leg. Then she scrambled backward and up to her feet. She picked up her Glock and stumbled away from the kitchen, then looked over at him.

“What?” he said.

“There’s more of them in there,” she said, almost gasping out the words.

“Where?”

“The lower cabinets.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard them when I was on the floor. And I can smell them. Can’t you?”

Keo took a quick, involuntary step away from the cabinets. “You sure?”

“You can’t smell them?”

He sniffed the air. There was that smell again, the same one he had detected when he first entered. But it seemed to have gotten stronger…

“Yeah,” he said.

“What should we do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do we just…leave? What if someone else comes in here and stumbles across them later?”

Keo aimed and fired a shot into one of the closed cabinet doors.

He heard something scurrying behind the cheap wood paneling for a moment before settling into silence again. He had to remind himself that they were just bags of bones, and if losing a head or a limb didn’t bother them, squeezing into the small spaces of the cabinets probably didn’t register at all.

“Screw this,” Keo said. “We can’t save everyone. We can barely save our friends.”

He took another couple of steps back and picked up her M4 and handed it to her. Jordan grabbed her pack and slung it back on.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll rest later, when I’m dead.” That drew a quick, almost pained look from her. “Too soon?”

She gave him a half-smile, but it was easy to see she hadn’t completely recovered from being grabbed by the ghoul and almost dragged into its hiding place. Keo knew from experience that even though the creatures looked like emaciated little children, they were goddamn resilient. It probably helped that they didn’t care about self-preservation when they locked onto a prey.

He was still backing up when a flicker of movement drew his attention.

He spun toward the hallway in the back and the smell hit him. It was bearable earlier, but that had all changed. The stench was suffocating now, because there were so many of them out in the open and squeezed into the hallway at once.

Jesus Christ, where did they come from?

It had to be the back rooms. They had been inside (Sleeping? Resting? What exactly did ghouls do in the daytime?) until now.

They crowded into the hallway, so many that Keo didn’t know where the shadows began and their numbers ended. Black eyes peered out of the darkness at him, but it was the growing overwhelming smell of rot and decay that got to him. They would have come out if not for the swaths of sunlight splashing across the living room, an invisible barrier they couldn’t cross even though he could tell they wanted to with every fiber of their being.

“Oh God,” Jordan breathed beside him.

She drew her Glock, the one with the silver magazine, and pointed it at them, but Keo grabbed her arm before she could fire.

“There’s too many of them,” he said. “One or ten dead won’t make any difference. But we have limited ammo. Especially the right kind.”

She nodded, and they backpedaled toward the door together, side by side.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

She shook her head and shivered slightly.

He knew how she felt, and didn’t feel better himself until he opened the door and stepped outside. The warmth of the sun against his back was like a mother’s embrace, and fresh air filled his lungs once again.

He forgot about his throbbing headache and turned around and followed her back into the woods without a word.

Chapter Fifteen

After the near-miss with the riders, then the surprise at the cabin, they took the rest of the way back to T18 slowly while listening for sounds of more soldiers and other things that might be hiding in the darker parts of the woods around them. And there was a lot of it, further increasing Keo’s paranoia.

Gradually, he noticed that the air had become chillier, and when he glanced up at the sky, it had darkened since the last time. He had to look at his watch to make sure it wasn’t even noon yet.

“You feel it?” he asked.

“What?” Jordan said.

“The air.”

She paused for a moment. “I think it’s going to rain.”

“Does it rain a lot out here?”

“This far inland? It’s only rained twice since I’ve been here.”

“Maybe you guys are due.”

“I guess. How’s your head?”

“I took two more pills.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“The pills are kicking in, but I’ll feel better when we finally reach T18.”

Finally, around midday, he heard the familiar rush of water and they approached the tree line slowly before going into a crouch and looked out.

Like yesterday, there were people on the opposite riverbanks, maybe even the same ones. Women were washing clothes while children jumped into and frolicked in the river. A few soldiers stood around in the back, some chatting with the civilians. The sound of laughter and inane chatter was completely incongruent with the world as Keo knew it, and had been surviving in, for the last year.

He stared at them in silence for a moment. These people were at home and at peace with their choice. He could tell that just from the way they talked and moved around. His first instinct was to pity them, but maybe they were the smart ones. They had accepted and embraced the reality of the world, and from the looks of it, they were happy. People like him and Jordan, on the other hand, were living hand to mouth, getting by on what they could scavenge, and always looking over their shoulders.

Who was he to pity them? They would probably pity him, and he would have a pretty hard time convincing them it should be the other way around.

Jordan hadn’t said a word since they looked out across the river. He wondered if she was rethinking the last few months of her life. She had been trying to rescue these people, but they probably had no idea and might not have been all that grateful if she had succeeded.

“Jordan,” he said softly.

She looked over.

“You okay?”

She nodded, then got up. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to be caught out here when it starts raining.”

She stood up and pushed through the brush. She was moving too fast, as if she was in a hurry to get away from the civilians and their carefree laughter on the other side of the river. She was already a full meter ahead of him when Keo saw something black moving against the green and brown of the trees and branches in front of her. Jordan had her head slightly down and didn’t see it. He would have screamed at her if he could, but there was no time and he was afraid someone else might hear him anyway.

Jordan finally looked up and froze at the sight of the man stepping out through two large trees. He was wearing a black uniform and he mirrored her response, halting completely at the sight of her. They stared at one another for just a second, though he imagined it must have seemed longer to the both of them. Time had a habit of stretching endlessly when you were staring death in the face.

“Hey, wait up,” a voice said behind the man.

That seemed to spur the man into action, and he reached for his sidearm because his M4 was slung uselessly behind his back.

Jordan, on the other hand, hadn’t moved at all.

Keo fired past Jordan, the pfft! of his gunshot sounding much too loud to his own ears even though he knew for a fact it was little more than a coughing noise. The soldier had a name stenciled across his name tag, but Keo didn’t get the chance to read it before the man fell to the ground on his stomach and face—

Revealing a second figure coming out through the same trees behind him.

Jordan was still stuck in time, and by now Keo had already caught up to her. He almost pulled the trigger again at the sight of the second black-uniformed body but somehow stopped himself. It wasn’t the fact that the second one was barely out of his teens. Age didn’t enter into Keo’s calculations at all.

The teenager’s eyes went straight to the dead man in front of him. For a split second Keo thought he would turn around and run for it, but instead the kid scrambled to unsling his rifle.

Jordan finally snapped out of her stupor and began fumbling with her carbine, but she was having as much difficulty getting a handle on it as the soldier seemed to be. Keo didn’t let either one of them get to their weapons first before he fired a second shot, his bullet sailing over the soldier’s head and hitting the tree behind him on purpose. Bark flew into the back of his head, and the kid ducked as if missiles were coming at him.

That gave Keo another extra second or two, enough time to grab Jordan’s arm. He said, “Don’t,” and kept going.

The soldier had gotten back up. He was already gasping for breath, and when he saw Keo coming right at him, it only made him scramble faster for his weapon. But he was having so much difficulty Keo wondered if his rifle was covered in oil.

The teenager had finally gotten a firm enough grip to raise the M4 when Keo reached him and slammed the stock of his submachine gun into his neck. He gagged, the rifle forgotten, and reached up as Keo shoved the MP5SD’s suppressor into his cheek, putting a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Jordan hurried over, skirting around the dead man on the ground. She was hyperventilating but slowly getting control. “Jesus, where did they come from?”

The soldier was looking at Keo, his face turning slightly blue. Keo grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and sat him down on the ground, his back against a tree, before disarming him. The teenager didn’t fight, probably because he was too busy trembling.

“When was the last time you shaved?” Keo asked. When he got a confused look back, he said, “Never mind, just thinking out loud.”

He crouched in front of his captive and waited for him to gather himself. Like all the other soldiers he’d met, this one had a name tag with letters stenciled across it: “Eric.”

“In and out, slow breaths,” Keo said. When Eric had turned less blue, “There you go. Better?”

Eric nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but Keo shook his head and Eric stopped short.

“Just listen,” Keo said. He produced Tobias’s ring from his pocket and held it up, then turned it around, making sure Eric got a good look and had enough time to read the inscription at the top. “See it?”

Eric stared at the gaudy piece of jewelry as if his life depended on it.

“Got it memorized?” Keo asked.

The teenager looked unsure.

“Good enough,” Keo said. He stood up. “I want you to go back to Steve and tell him what you saw. Tell him Keo wants to give it to him. He’s to meet me at the bridge in an hour. Got all that?”

Eric nodded.

“Get up.” The teenager stood up and Keo patted him on the shoulder, then pointed him across the river. “Off you go.”

The soldier looked at him, then at Jordan, maybe wondering if this was a trick. It didn’t take him long to decide to risk it anyway, and soon he was running off. They could hear him snapping branches as he barreled his way through the woods long after he had disappeared out of view.

Keo turned back to Jordan and found her staring at the dead soldier behind them.

“You okay?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, and he wasn’t even sure if she had heard him.

Keo put a comforting hand on her arm. “Jordan. You okay?”

She finally looked up. “I know him.”

“The kid?”

“No, him,” she said, looking back down at the dead man.

“Who was he?”

“He was in the camp when we first arrived. His name’s Dominic. He helped us get used to how things were. We…” She paused. “We were friends. I always thought I’d be helping him escape one of these days. The last thing I expected was to see him out here in that uniform.”

The last thing he expected was to see you out here, too, Keo thought, remembering the stunned look on the dead man’s face when he saw her.

Jordan had gone silent next to him. She had said they were friends, but the way she was looking down at the back of Dominic’s head, with broken twigs in his hair, he guessed they were more than that.

“Sorry,” he said. “I had no choice.”

“I know,” she said. Then, already moving off again, “Let’s get out of here before your messenger boy decides to bring back more of his friends.”

* * *

“So how’s this brilliant plan of yours going to work?” Jordan asked. “You’re going to kill him when he shows up on the bridge? Then what?”

“Killing him isn’t going to get me closer to Gillian,” Keo said. “That’s the whole point of this, remember?”

He looked out of the tree line and toward the bridge, almost a full 200 meters in front of him. They were far enough to be invisible among the woods, but close enough to see with binoculars. It had taken them an hour to find the location, most of that time spent skirting around areas that could potentially have soldier presence.

By the time they reached a safe spot, his watch had ticked to 2:16 p.m.

He could see the two behind the guard station in the middle of the bridge easily enough. They looked alert behind the M60, as did the four soldiers walking around them. Four, instead of just the two that were there yesterday. They kept to their half of the steel structure, probably because they didn’t want to get caught in front of the machine gun. Smart.

There were no signs of Steve, which was problematic. It shouldn’t have taken Eric all that long to report in. Unless Steve sensed an ambush, then he wouldn’t show up. It wouldn’t surprise Keo if he was wary of just that, especially after what he had done to Tobias less than twenty-four hours ago.

Maybe he’d even send Jack in his place—

Or not, Keo thought as Steve himself appeared on the other end of the bridge with Jack riding on a horse next to him. The lesser Miller, perched in his saddle, made for an awfully tempting target.

Next to him, Jordan was clutching her rifle so hard he could hear the sound of her fingers tightening.

“Don’t,” he said. “I need him alive for now.”

Jordan didn’t say anything.

“Jordan…”

“I heard you the first time,” she snapped. Then, in a softer voice, “So what now?”

“I’m going to go out there and give him the ring.”

“And then?”

“Hopefully he’ll keep his word and take me to Gillian.”

“‘Hopefully’? Christ, Keo. I didn’t know you were that stupid.”

“I think he’ll keep his word.”

“What makes you think that, for God’s sake? He can’t be trusted.”

“I’m relying on what I know about men like Miller.”

“What, that they’re all assholes?”

“That, too.”

“And if he does exactly what I think he’ll do, and shoots you as soon as you hand the ring over?”

“That’s what you’re here for.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Can you hit him from this distance?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me? It’s too far. I’m not that good.”

That makes two of us.

“Then you’ll have to get closer,” he said.

“How much closer?”

“As close as you need to make the shot if I’m wrong. But you have to promise me you won’t kill him if I’m still alive.” He looked at her, catching her eyes and holding them. “Remember, we’re here to save Gillian. After I make sure she’s fine, we can all get out of here. I told you about the Trident?”

“The yacht?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“I know how to contact them. All I’ll need is a ham radio. When I get Gillian, we’ll leave Texas behind. The three of us.”

“Your friends on the boat will come get us?”

He nodded. “All I need to do is make contact.”

She clenched her teeth for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But what about Miller?”

“If he gets in the way, I’ll kill him.”

“What if Gillian doesn’t want to leave, did you think of that? She didn’t want to leave with me last time.”

“Yes, but I have to find out for certain. I spent six months looking for her, Jordan. I can’t just half-ass it now.” He paused, still holding her gaze. “Agreed?”

“You’re risking a lot on a hunch, Keo. Miller could order them to shoot you down as soon as you show up and just take the ring from your cold, dead hand.”

“I agree, he could do that. But I’m going on faith that he won’t.”

Jordan almost laughed. “Faith in Miller?”

“Not in him, but in men like him. He thinks of himself as a commander, and every commander collects soldiers. Certain types of soldiers. If he believes that I’ve killed Tobias for him, I think he’ll want to keep me around.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Any man who accepts the kind of job I did—and can pull it off—is valuable these days, don’t you think?”

She smirked. “You ever consider that maybe you’re thinking way too highly of yourself?”

He chuckled. “That’s entirely possible, but I don’t think so.”

“You willing to bet your life on that?”

“Why not? I’ve been doing it for the last six months, looking for you guys. What’s one more day?”

She shook her head before staring intently back at him. “Just shoot him, Keo. Then we can try to save Gillian my way. Without Miller around, the town won’t be nearly as dangerous. We can do this together. You don’t have to go out there and risk everything on some stupid hunch.”

“I’m relying on human nature.”

“Whatever you want to call it, it’s not worth your life.”

She looked conflicted, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t put it into words. Keo wished he were better at reading women, but he didn’t know what was going on behind those deep brown eyes of hers at the moment.

“If everything works out, can you find someplace to survive the night alone?” he asked.

“Big if…” But she nodded. “There are plenty of places around here to lay low. Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it. It used to be I was just worried about me, but these days, I find myself worrying about other people, too. Frankly, it’s annoying.”

“Welcome to the human race.”

“Eh,” he shrugged.

She smiled, and he thought it was a very nice smile despite the dirt on her cheeks and flecks of something green and brown in her hair.

“If this blows up in your face, there’s another way out of town,” she said.

“Your inside guys?”

“One of them. His name’s Dave. I’ve never actually met him before, but Tobias seems to trust him.”

“How do I make contact?”

“He works in the main cafeteria. Most of them wear name tags when they’re working, so you won’t have any trouble finding him. Oh, and he’s a black guy.”

“Okay. A black guy named Dave who works in the cafeteria.”

“The main cafeteria.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Two. One for the soldiers and one for the general population. Big town, remember?”

“So what does Dave look like?”

“Didn’t I just say I’ve never met him?” She looked annoyed, which wasn’t anything new. He had that kind of effect on women lately.

“Right. So Dave the black guy who works in the cafeteria.”

Keo turned back to the bridge.

Miller had reached the middle and was looking around with his hands on his hips. Jack, on the horse next to him, was saying something.

He looked back at her. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to catch up to Tobias.”

“Are you tired of me already?” she asked with a slight smile.

“It’s not that—”

“I’m just messing with you, Keo.”

“Ah.”

She stood up. “Good luck. I hope you’re right about Miller, because otherwise you’re a dead man.”

Tell me something I don’t already know.

He watched her jog off with her rifle. When he couldn’t see her anymore, he listened to the soft crunch-crunch of her boots against the ground. Eventually, even that faded, and he was left with just his slightly elevated breathing.

Why was he breathing so hard?

Right. Steve. The soldiers.

And that M60...

He slung the MP5SD just as Steve shouted, “Keo! You out there? You said you wanted to see me, so here I am!”

He paused for a moment at the sight of a squirrel perched on the biggest tree he’d ever seen in his life. The tree had been there before Wilmont was a glimmer in its founder’s eyes, and would likely be here long after he and Steve and everyone else in T18 were gone. The squirrel was staring blankly at him.

Keo grinned back at the animal.

“Keo!” Steve shouted. “Where are you?”

He could hear the growing agitation in Steve’s voice. Apparently everyone was getting annoyed with him today.

Keo decided to let the man keep waiting a little longer, just to give Jordan enough time to get to her spot.

“Keo! Get out here or I’m gone!” Steve looked down at his watch for dramatic effect. “You have one minute!”

Keo stood up.

This is such a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

The squirrel must have agreed, because it seemed to shake its head at him before turning and trotting off along the massive branch of the tree.

“Keo!” Steve shouted. “You out there? I don’t have all day!”

He sighed and took a step outside the tree line and onto the road and waited for the M60 to cut him down like the idiot he clearly was.

Any minute now…

Chapter Sixteen

He reached the bridge, and he was still alive, so he kept walking.

Steve watched him coming, but Jack and the other soldiers were scanning the area with binoculars. Even the two perched on the water tower to his right were focused on the bridge. One or both probably had their rifles pointed at him at this very moment, though they were too far downriver for him to be sure. He’d rather not know anyway.

He hoped Jordan had found a decent spot to shoot from if this whole thing went sideways. What the hell was he thinking anyway, putting his life in the hands of a man like Steve? The guy had sent him out there to kill his best friend. Okay, former best friend.

Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. Steve had sent him out there more as bait to lure in Tobias’s fighters, who he knew were hiding in the area. That was clever, and exactly the kind of thinking Keo was relying on: a man who could make that kind of tactical decision would see the value of keeping someone like him alive and working for his cause. How different was Steve from all the men Keo had worked for in his ten-plus-year career with the organization?

If the answer was a lot, then this was going to be a very short walk.

But he had made it onto the bridge, and a full minute later, he was still alive.

Definitely a good sign.

If Steve was going to kill him, he would have done it by now. Probably. Instead, the man stood perfectly still, hands on his hips, and squinted across the steel structure at Keo as he walked toward him.

Keo looked from Steve to the two behind the M60. One of the soldiers was permanently fixed behind the machine gun while the other held the ammo belt, waiting to feed it into the black metal monster. The other four guards continued moving around, looking for danger around and under them.

He walked with his hands at his sides, the MP5SD behind him. There was a good chance he could draw the Glock in his hip holster if someone started shooting, but it was unlikely he was going to hit much of anything from this distance. Especially when those two behind the sandbags started unloading.

“You look good for a dead man!” Steve shouted. “A little worse for wear, but apparently still in one piece! What happened to your face?”

“A painful birth!” Keo shouted back.

Steve said something to Jack, and they both chuckled. Then, back at Keo, “I didn’t think you’d survive the ambush!”

“Yours or theirs?”

“Either/or!”

Keo was close enough to the middle of the bridge now that he didn’t have to shout when he said, “You couldn’t have given me a heads up about that?”

“I could have, but then you wouldn’t have walked so casually into their sniper fire.”

“You saw that.”

“Not me, but guys I snuck into the area before you even showed up.”

“You had it all planned out.”

“I’ve been fighting Tobias for a while now. You have to understand the enemy in order to defeat him.”

“Now where have I heard that before?”

Keo finally stopped a meter in front of Steve.

“Let’s see it,” Steve said.

Keo fished out the ring and tossed it over. Steve caught it and held the jewelry up to the light. The sun glinted off the diamonds and washed over the shape of the Lone Star State in the middle.

He took a moment to look up at the sky. Jordan was right; it did look like rain. Not quite here yet, but he guessed before the night was over T18 was going to get a lot of extra water. Maybe they could hang the clothes out and save themselves a day at the riverbanks tomorrow.

Steve had all but ignored him and seemed focused entirely on the ring. If Keo didn’t know better, the older Miller looked almost…sad?

“They were friends, you know,” Jordan had told him. “They were friends for a long time after everything happened. They were in the camp together, then one day they were running things...”

“He loved this,” Steve said, then smirked. “I don’t know why. It’s ugly as fuck. What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it,” Keo said.

“Yeah, me too.” Steve pocketed the ring. “But I’ll keep it anyway. In memory of him.” Then he fixed Keo with a suspicious look. “How did you do it? Take out Tobias?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’d like to know.”

“I shot him in the back of the head.”

“How did you know about the ring?”

“I didn’t, but I figured it was better than dragging his entire corpse back here. The ring was the most obvious personal possession he had on him.”

He expected more of an interrogation, but Steve just nodded. “Come on, I think I still have a bottle of spirits stashed somewhere in my office.” He turned to go, but then suddenly stopped and looked back at Keo. “Oh, just for your safety and mine, give Jack your weapons.”

“And here I thought I’d earned some trust,” Keo said.

Steve smiled. “You have. But you can never be too careful these days.”

Keo unslung the submachine gun and unclasped his gun belt and handed them over to Jack. “You’re looking spry.”

“Feeling spry,” Jack grinned back. “Won’t be running around for a few more weeks, though. But hey, things will be calming down with Tobias out of the way. Looks like they turned tail and ran from what our scouts saw back at the YMCA building.”

“I wouldn’t know. I was out of there by first light.”

He followed Steve off the bridge, but not before sneaking a look back at the woods on the other side. Jordan was there, somewhere, among all the green and brown. Of course he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her watching him back.

He turned to Steve. “So where’s Gillian?”

“You in a hurry?” Steve asked.

“I haven’t seen her in half a year, so yeah, I’m in a little bit of a hurry. I want to make sure she’s fine.”

“She’s fine. I saw her this morning.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why were you seeing her this morning?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s a small town, Keo. Don’t read too much into it.”

Keo didn’t believe him, but he said, “How did she look?”

“Definitely worth killing a guy for.” He walked on for a moment, before adding, “So, six months without any action?”

“I’ve seen plenty of action.”

“But no sexy times.”

Keo didn’t confirm or deny. He said instead, “When do I get to see her?”

“After you and I have a little chat.”

“About what?”

“Where we go from here,” Steve said, “and whether you’re more useful to me dead or alive.”

Keo sneaked another look at the woods on the other side of the river, wondering if it was too late to signal Jordan to take the shot.

* * *

“He was a star football player, but you probably already guessed that,” Steve said.

He was pouring from the same bottle of Jack Daniels from yesterday, though there was, at most, just three to four more pours left. He pushed the shot glass across the table and Keo took it, then cringed at the burn as the whiskey went down.

“I think our schools might have even played each other’s once or twice, but I can’t remember,” Steve continued. “Way before your time, obviously. What are you, late twenties?”

“Sounds about right,” Keo said.

“You’re pretty impressive for a guy that young.”

“I didn’t have a lot of choices.”

“Hard life?”

“Hard enough.”

“I can respect that. Jack and I were the product of divorced parents; we were raised mostly apart when we were younger. Barely saw each other until our parents kicked off. I can understand having to do what you have to in order to get by. That’s what we’re doing here.”

They were back in Steve’s office in Marina 1. Keo hadn’t been certain he was going to make it off the bridge alive, but that turned out to be his paranoia getting the best of him. Steve seemed happy to keep him breathing, at least for the next few minutes.

“He was good,” Steve was saying. It took Keo a moment to figure out that he was still talking about Tobias. “Got himself a scholarship to UT in Austin. Didn’t play much there, though. As fast and big and skilled as you are, there’s always one or five other guys faster, bigger, and more skilled.”

Steve nursed his drink, staring at the glass as if he expected to find some kind of revelation swimming among the golden honey liquid.

“They were friends, you know,” Jordan had said.

And yet, he still sent me out there to kill his friend.

“What happened between the two of you?” Keo asked.

He couldn’t care less about the answer, but it was obvious Steve wanted him to ask. Keo didn’t give a shit, but he knew an opening when he saw one, and anything that kept him alive long enough to see Gillian and figure a way out of here was worth enduring the regretful ruminations of a man like Steve.

“We just couldn’t agree on the direction to take Wilmont,” Steve said. “That’s the old name, before we changed it to T18.”

“Who came up with that?”

“No idea. It’s just temporary, anyway. They say in another year or two, maybe we’ll get a real name.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

Steve grinned at him over the brim of his glass. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’ve only seen the black-eyed ones, right?”

“There are others?” Keo asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said. “They can do things. Crazy things.” He put the glass down with half of the whiskey still inside. “It’s hard to explain. One of those things you have to see for yourself in order to believe.”

“I’ve seen a lot in my time. I couldn’t explain most of it, either.”

“I bet you have. Seen a lot, I mean.” Steve took out Tobias’s ring and spun it on the desktop like a top. For something so gaudy, it was well-balanced and kept turning for a long time. “The kind of man who accepts a contract killing, then comes back after everything that’s happened, is a dangerous one.”

“Or useful.”

“Is that why you killed one of my guys in the woods? To make yourself more useful? That’s three you’ve forced me to replace now.”

“They all had weapons when I took them out. They had just as good of a chance to put me down as I did them. The way I figured it, I was faster and shot straighter. You should thank me for having enough self control not to plug the kid, too, or else you’d be replacing four instead of just three.”

Steve chuckled. “I should be thankful, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re probably right. Besides, I got ten volunteers for every soldier I lose, anyway.”

“Everyone loves a winning team.”

“Very true.” He paused, eyeing Keo over the desk. “I know exactly why everyone is here, why they can’t volunteer fast enough when we ask for names. But what I’m curious about is you. What makes you tick?”

Keo leaned back, then met and held Steve’s hard gaze. “You’re overthinking it. I don’t give two shits about you or this town of yours. I’m a survivor. I’ve always been. I got through all this by telling myself there was something on the other side, waiting for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“Gillian.”

“What if she wants to stay?”

“Then we’ll stay.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m not fussy. And like I said, I’ve been out there for a year and it’s nothing to write home about.” He let a ghost of a smile cross his lips. “You look like you have a good thing going on here. My guess is, while you insist everyone do their duty with the blood stuff at night, you and your soldiers exempt yourselves. Am I right?”

“Perks of the job. One of many.”

“So what’s not to like? Free food, a steady job, and Gillian. Sounds pretty good to me.”

“And you’re not holding a grudge about what happened yesterday?”

“As long as you’re not holding a grudge about me killing three of your guys.”

Steve shrugged.

“So that’s that,” Keo said. “Am I pissed off about yesterday? Yeah, sure. But I understand why you did it. Hell, I can even respect it. It was clever, and a win-win situation for you however it ended up.”

“You could have died yesterday.”

“Same shit, different day. I could have died a thousand times in the last year, so there was nothing special about yesterday.”

Steve chuckled before snatching up Tobias’s ring and spinning it on the desktop again. He didn’t say anything and just watched the jewelry go round and round in front of him.

Keo waited.

Had he been convincing enough? The Keo from one year ago wouldn’t have had any problems selling Steve on what he’d just said, because it would have been the truth. But this version of him, this Keo who had voluntarily stayed on Song Island even when he didn’t have to, then stayed even longer on the Trident, was less predictable.

Finally, Steve picked up the ring and put it away before standing up. “Come on.”

“Where we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Steve grinned back.

* * *

There was a plain white golf cart waiting for them outside Marina 1 that wasn’t there when they first entered the building. It had solar panels on top and at the back and looked pretty well-used.

Steve climbed behind the steering wheel. “Hop in.”

Keo walked around and slid in the front passenger seat. There were two seats in the back and more space where the golf bags were supposed to go. Dry mud caked the floors and fell off as Steve started the electric engine and maneuvered them through the marina, then toward the exit Keo had only seen but never gone past.

“How many of these do you have?” Keo asked.

“Three,” Steve said. “Solar panels don’t charge for shit, and it takes weeks just to get enough juice to power the batteries, so I usually end up having to switch between them.”

“Sounds like a tough life.”

Steve grinned. “Everyone’s gotta make sacrifices for the greater good.”

“I hear that. So, you wanna tell me where we’re going?”

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. The only reason you’re still alive is because you’re right. I can use a man with your particular set of skills. You’re going to be my personal Bryan Mills.”

“Who?”

“Liam Neeson’s character in Taken.”

“I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“You’re missing out. In the film, Neeson plays a badass ex-CIA agent with ‘a deadly set of skills.’ Some guys stole his daughter and he has to get her back. Never seen it?”

“Like I said, I’m not much of a cinephile.”

“We can change that. I have stacks of Blu-rays at my house. Just the first two Taken, though.”

“How many were there?”

“Three.”

“They took his daughter in all three parts?”

“They took his wife in the second part.”

“What about the third?”

“I don’t remember. It was kind of a shit movie. Anyway, you like classics?”

“Sure, why not.”

“One of these days you should come around and we’ll have a movie night.”

“You have electricity at your house?”

“Generator.”

“I thought the whole point of living in this place was to go back to our roots. Off the grid.”

Steve chuckled. “You believe everything you hear?”

“Apparently so.”

“You’ll learn, kid.”

The golf cart hummed toward the entrance, where two soldiers rushed out of a booth to manually raise a large metal slab blocking their path. They drove past the gate, and Keo finally saw what was on the other side.

He wished he could have been surprised, but he had heard the stories and expected something like it. Even so, he was still stunned by the scope of what he saw as they drove up a road flanked by wide fields to both sides of them.

T18 had a thriving farming community, with acres and acres of crops spread out as far as he could see, hundreds of people of all shapes and sizes moving among them. There was only the tree lines to his right and the river to his left to stop the rows of wheat swaying in the slight breeze. They drove past more fields covered in stalks of corn, along with dozens upon dozens of rows of plants, fruits, and red and green and yellow things he didn’t even know the names for.

The closest Keo had ever been to a farm was in the outskirts of Colombia a few years back, when he’d had to sleep inside a sugarcane field while waiting to kill someone. He’d grown up in San Diego, and before that on military bases around the world. As an adult, he’d spent almost all of his life in cities, working in jungles made of concrete instead of dirt. He couldn’t have grown a tomato if someone put a gun to his head.

The cart was moving slow enough that Keo was able to get a good look at his surroundings, and he wondered how long they had been at this. He could only spot a few soldiers, most of them on horseback moving among the fields. They were less guards and more security, which made sense because he wasn’t looking at prisoners forced to garden under a warm sun; these people wanted to be here, just like the women at the riverbanks.

“What are you growing?” he asked Steve.

“Everything,” Steve said. “Wheat, corn, vegetables, fruits… When was the last time you had fresh corn?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Or tomatoes? Potatoes? What about fresh from-the-oven bread? This is just one of our agricultural fields. We have two more on the other side of the subdivisions.”

“It’s…impressive,” Keo said, and realized that he actually meant it.

“This is what Tobias was trying to save them from. Now do you understand why he’d never have won? But that was something he could never understand. I tried to explain to him. I really did, but he just couldn’t fathom why this is a better life than running around out there scavenging and hiding from the crawlers. That’s no way to live.”

“You’re right. That is no way to live.”

“I’m glad you agree,” Steve said, and reached over and slapped Keo on the shoulder. “My brother Jack’s a good second-in-command, but he’s a little gimpy right now.”

“You offering me a job?”

“Why, you interested?”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

“That’s what I wanna hear. But not just yet. You did me a favor removing Tobias, but let’s wait and see how you feel tomorrow. After all, it’s probably going to be the biggest decision of your life.”

They drove on past the fields, which seemed to keep going and going around him. And to think this was just one of three in T18. Keo didn’t even want to imagine how much bigger the other two were, or how much manpower was working them.

“Around 4,000,” Jack had told him when he asked about the population of T18.

Eventually they passed the fields, and Steve turned into a subdivision blocked by a tall rolling gate. It had a sign across the front that once read “Wilmont Heights” but had since been covered up with a banner now reading, “T18A1.”

Like the marina entrance, this one also had a guard booth. A soldier rushed out as they approached and pushed the gate open for them. Steve drove through.

“There are five subdivisions,” Steve said. “One’s for military personnel only, and the rest are for everyone else.”

“Jack told me you had 4,000. How do you control that many people?”

“Control?” Steve said, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “What makes you think we control them? They can leave whenever they want. But why would they? These houses are the only things standing between them and the crawlers at night. There’s nothing for them out there.”

Keo had gone through whole subdivisions during his trek across Louisiana, and the empty houses never failed to leave him utterly depressed. But he didn’t get that same abandoned vibe now as they cruised up T18A1. The streets were sparse but clean, and he found out why when they drove past the first of what turned out to be a dozen or so workers along the sidewalks picking up garbage and stuffing them into bags. They were all civilians, and he didn’t see a soldier in sight.

“What did these poor bastards do to get this job detail?” Keo asked.

“You ever heard the phrase, ‘People who can, do; those that can’t, teach’?” Steve asked.

“I may have run across it once or twice.”

“Well, these guys can’t even teach, so this is the price of staying in town. You get it now?”

“What’s that?”

“This is what they’ll do to stay here. That’s how valuable this place is compared to what’s out there, why Tobias would never have been able to ‘rescue’ them. Because they don’t want to be rescued.”

“Nothing wrong with picking up garbage for a living.”

“It’s not, but you don’t wanna know what the poor bastards who can’t even do this are doing to earn their keep.”

“Does it smell?”

Steve chuckled. “Boy, does it ever. But hey, someone’s gotta do the dirty work, right? That’s how the world runs. Everyone’s got a role to play. That includes you and me.”

There were row after row of homes around them. They looked almost identical, except for a few add-ons and color schemes. What caught him by surprise were the yards; they all looked as if they had been recently mowed, though they seemed to lack the uniform clean-cut look he was used to seeing in suburban neighborhoods before The Purge. Almost all of the windows were open, even if he couldn’t see any homeowners around. Keo guessed they didn’t have to worry about crime these days.

The golf cart was the only vehicle in the entire place, its mechanical hum drawing curious looks from the people along the sidewalks. Keo was used to seeing cars and trucks parked along curbsides in subdivisions, but there were none of those here. As a result, the streets looked wide and inviting and nothing at all like what a real neighborhood should look like. In fact, there was nothing “real” about T18A1, or T18 for that matter.

Steve finally slowed down and turned into the driveway of a house near the back of the street. It was a two-story building, but there was nothing extraordinary about it. At least, nothing that would indicate this was where a man of Steve’s position lived.

“Here we are,” Steve said, putting the cart in park. “Your stop.”

Keo climbed out. “Where are we?”

“Go knock on the front door and find out.” Steve put the golf cart in reverse and started backing down the driveway. “I’ll send someone to come get you later, but until then, I would refrain from wandering off.”

Keo watched Steve back into the street, spinning the steering wheel, then tipping a nonexistent cap to him before driving off.

One of the men picking up garbage across the street stopped what he was doing and waved at Keo for some reason. He was in his fifties, with a full white beard and looked like Santa Claus, if Saint Nick had lost a good hundred or so pounds. Keo wasn’t entirely sure what to do, so he waved back.

Then, he turned around and looked at the house. It had brick in the front but wood paneling along the sides and, he guessed, in the back as well. It had an attached garage like every other house up and down the street. There were no mailboxes, but there was evidence someone had attempted to grow flowers around the walking path.

Keo took that walkway now, up to the front door.

He was halfway there when the door opened and she looked out.

She had one hand on the doorknob, the slight breeze picking up her long jet-black hair. The months hadn’t dulled the brilliance of her green eyes, and Keo couldn’t have stopped the stupid smile spreading across his face even if he wanted to.

“Keo,” she said. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” he said.

She smiled. “Yes, you did.”

He was so focused on her face, on the way her hair fluttered behind her, that it took him a while before he saw the rest of her. She was clutching the doorknob with one hand—a bit too tightly, for some reason—while the other one was rubbing her stomach, which was a lot bigger than he remembered…

Chapter Seventeen

“You’re pregnant,” he said.

“You always were a master of observation, Keo.” She smiled at him, though he thought it was probably a little more forced than she had planned.

“How long?”

“Four months.”

Four months.

It had been three months since Jordan escaped T18, and what had she said when he pressed her on why Gillian hadn’t left with her?

“She was different in the weeks leading up to the escape. To this day I don’t know what happened, but when the time came I was the only one who left. Only she can say why.”

Four months…

Keo watched her pour hot water from a pot into a pair of ceramic mugs, then open a package and dipped two tea bags into them. He was in too much of a daze, and had been for the last few minutes, to recall where the hot water came from.

“Tea?” he said.

“Black tea. The green ones expired a long time ago, though the guys running the farms say we might be able to grow our own very soon.”

She brought the mugs over and sat down across from him. Keo stared down at the tea, then at her.

“What?” she said. “You think I’m trying to poison you?”

He smiled. Or thought he did. “Of course not.”

“It’s really not that bad. I hated it in the beginning, but you learn to get used to things. Tea’s a luxury these days.”

He picked up the mug and sipped it. It wasn’t bad, but he was never much of a teetotaler. The Gillian he remembered had never been one, either. He remembered the two of them finishing off bottles of whiskey they had found in Earl’s basement. Then there was the occasional good red wine he and Norris would pick up during one of their scavenging trips.

But not tea. Never tea.

“It’s better with some milk or honey,” she was saying. “Or sugar. But those are rationed.”

I bet Steve has plenty at his house. Maybe I can go and borrow some.

“Hey, Steve, you got some milk or honey? My pregnant girlfriend would sure like some with her black tea.”

Girlfriend. Did he just refer to Gillian as his girlfriend?

Christ, maybe Tobias’s love-tap had done more damage to his brain than he thought.

Keo took out the pill bottle Jordan had given him and shook out two.

“You okay?” Gillian asked.

“Headache.”

“Does it have something to do with that?” She touched her own forehead.

“Lucky guess,” he said, and tried to force a smile, but gave up about halfway.

He swallowed the pills and put the bottle away. Then he watched her sipping tea across from him, sunlight from the open windows splashing across them. He wished it were darker inside the living room so he wouldn’t have to see her belly. The most painful part was that she was still as beautiful as he remembered; maybe even more so.

“I was wondering why they told me to come home,” Gillian said. She put the mug down and placed her hands over her belly. “It’s supposed to be safe for me to work until the end of my second trimester. Some of the women here are in their third, and they’re still in the fields.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“You would think so, but I guess not.” She pursed her lips. “I’m glad you’re alive, Keo. I spent a lot of restless nights worrying about you. When I saw you yesterday on the boat, you looked so different. I’m not talking about the scars. Everyone has scars. I wasn’t sure then, but seeing you again, here, I was right. You’ve changed.”

“For the better?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She was watching him closely and Keo found it difficult to meet her stare, so he stood up and walked around the living room to get away from it.

The walls were almost entirely barren. There were no pictures or signs of the previous owners. He guessed that was on purpose. Out with the old, in with the new…

“It’s kind of plain, huh?” Gillian said, as if reading his mind. “I’m just glad I have a room with a carpet and a bed and honest to goodness pillows. They gave me the house because I’m pregnant. We all get one. Otherwise, they put you in one of the other subdivisions.”

“Steve told me there were five in all.”

“Steve?”

“Steve Miller. The guy who runs this place.”

“You’re on a first-name basis with him already?” she asked, sounding slightly amused.

“I make very good first impressions,” he said, managing to smile convincingly back at her that time.

“I remember,” she smiled back.

Keo found himself next to an empty bookcase. He absently ran his hand over the thick layer of dust on one of the shelves, then had to wipe it off on his pant leg.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Gillian said behind him.

“Ask what?”

“Who the father is.”

Christ, do I have to?

“I assumed he’s out there working somewhere,” he said.

“He’s one of the doctors.” She paused, maybe waiting for him to say something in reply, and when he didn’t, she added, “He’s a good man, Keo. I didn’t…really plan it. It just kind of happened.”

Keo walked across the living room and sat down on a stool next to the kitchen counter. The tabletop was spotless unlike the bookcase, and he rested his elbows on it and ran his fingers through his hair. It was dirty, and he needed a shower in the worst way.

“His name’s Jay,” she said behind him.

She was probably looking at him, but he didn’t feel like turning around to make sure. Instead, he stared across the kitchen at his reflection in a silver refrigerator, at the scar along his left cheek that looked freakishly out of proportion for some reason. He wondered why they still had the refrigerator since there was no electricity to run it. Maybe they were using it as an extra storage container. He could have thought of better uses for it, like storing Jay’s body. A good man or not, Keo bet he could fit the fucker in there just fine, even if he had to chop him up into little chunks to do it.

“Keo,” she said. “Say something.”

“That’s why you didn’t leave with Jordan,” he said.

“I wanted to, until I found out I was pregnant.”

Four months ago. What was he doing four months ago? He wished he could remember…

“She’s alive?” Gillian asked. “Jordan?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. I’ve been so worried about her.” She paused, then, “Did she tell you what happened to the others? Mark, Rachel, and Christine?”

He nodded.

“That didn’t have to happen,” she said. “They didn’t have to die, but they did because we made bad choices.”

Keo stood up and walked to the back door, peering out at the backyard and the thick tree line in the background.

He didn’t know why he was moving around. Maybe he was hoping to find a way out of the house and away from her, from her belly. Of course, if he really wanted to do that, he could. None of the doors were locked, and the windows were all open...

There was a wooden fence out behind the house, about six feet high, separating the subdivision from the woods out back. Six feet. He could hop that easily and be in the woods before Steve even knew he was gone. Despite the presence of darkening clouds, there was still enough light out there. A few hours’ worth, at least. He could find Jordan, hiding somewhere out there, and go…someplace far from here.

So what was stopping him?

“You can leave anytime?” he asked.

“Anytime,” she said.

“And they won’t try to stop you?”

“No.”

“How do you know?” He looked back at her. “How can you be sure?”

“Keo, what do you see out there?”

“Trees.”

“Right. Trees. If you want to leave, go ahead. They’re not going to stop you. Why should they? That’s why all this fighting is so unnecessary. People are dying out there for no reason. It’s not perfect in here, but it’s worse out there.”

“They brought you here against your will, Gillian. They killed Mark and Rachel and her daughter in the process, remember?”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” She looked visibly frustrated, maybe even angry with him. “I’ll never forget what happened to them. But I can’t change the past, or dwell on it. I can’t afford to.” She put her hands over her belly again. “I have to think about the future.”

And where do I fit into that future?

He knew the answer without having to ask it, without having to hear her say it. He could see it in the way she caressed her stomach, as clear as day. Gillian couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, and that was exactly what he was—the past.

“Keo,” she said.

He met her eyes and watched her get up and walk over to him.

“I’m really glad you’re alive,” she said, and he wanted desperately to believe her. “Seeing you here, safe and sound, is a miracle. I didn’t think I would ever see you again, get to touch you again…”

She placed her hand against his cheek, over the ugly scar that Pollard had left behind. Her skin felt warm and welcoming, and he couldn’t help himself and closed his eyes and leaned into her palm.

“Keo,” she whispered, and he had never heard such a wonderful sound coming out of another human being as his name from her lips.

When he opened his eyes, she was crying, but not making any sounds.

“Keo,” she whispered again.

He kissed her.

He expected her to push him away, to tell him there was only (fucking) Jay now, but she didn’t. Instead, she kissed him back and pressed forward until Keo felt her growing belly, filled with another man’s child, rubbing against him. He should have been disgusted, even angry, but he wasn’t.

He wanted her. Desperately.

Maybe it was all the months alone, with only Norris’s complaining for company. Then, later, almost dying on Song Island. Though, he thought it was more than that. It was a primitive longing for her, for this woman he had been searching for, for so long now, never really sure she was even still alive.

And to finally find her again...

She began pulling away, and even though he didn’t want to let her go, he had no choice, and did.

She was gasping for breath as she stepped back. “Keo…”

The way she said his name drove him crazy and he reached for her again, but she pushed him away and took another step back. She wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks and smiled at him, but he could tell it took her a lot of effort just to do that much.

“Jay’s a good man,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She turned and walked away, and he watched her go up the stairs until there was just the sound of her footsteps.

Then, seconds later, a door opening and closing softly.

“Shit,” Keo said to the empty room.

* * *

Five houses.

Then ten.

They all looked the same. Mostly. One was two stories, one was one story, then he found another two story. One had three stories, and a woman in one of the bedroom windows watched him walk by along the sidewalk. She looked young, maybe in her late teens, and she was combing her hair. He didn’t see a belly, but there was a good chance she had one.

…just like Gillian.

The people who had been cleaning the streets when he first showed up were now gone. Maybe they had moved on to the next subdivision, or maybe the work was done. He didn’t think so, though. A place this large, with this many streets and homes, had to have plenty of trash even without the trappings of what civilization once had to offer.

The sky above him had also gotten noticeably darker since the last time he was outside. Rain was definitely coming. And soon.

He had been walking for an hour and was still no closer to the front gate. He didn’t recognize any of the streets, mostly because they all looked identical. Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere? Or had he been walking in a straight line this entire time and missed a turn? Did Steve even make a turn—

Honk!

A car horn, so small that he thought it might have come from a toy, blared behind him.

Keo turned around as Jack drove up in a golf cart. It may or may not have been the same one in which his brother had driven Keo here a few hours ago. Keo’s mind was still too clouded from his visit with Gillian, and he couldn’t be sure one way or another.

The younger Miller stopped in the street next to him. “There you are. Someone said they saw a weirdo walking around the neighborhood. I thought it had to be you.”

Keo grunted. “I thought I had a few more hours until you picked me up.”

“Change of plans.” Jack patted the seat next to him. “Climb in. Steve wants to see you now.”

“What about?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“What is it about you Miller boys and surprises?”

Jack grinned. “Hey, if there weren’t surprises, life would be awfully dull.”

Keo climbed in and Jack drove them off.

He made a mental note of Jack’s gun belt and a revolver in the holster. It was similar to Steve’s setup.

Like brother…like brother.

He peeked out from under the cart’s roof at the slowly darkening horizon. It wasn’t just a sign of gathering precipitation, but night was also coming. A double whammy. His watch ticked to 4:56 p.m.

“What happens when it gets dark?” he asked.

“Everyone heads home at five.” Jack glanced at his own watch. “So, soon. I know what you’re thinking: ‘But what about rush hour traffic?’ Lucky you, I know how to avoid all of that.”

“Yeah, lucky me.”

“Oh, what’s the matter, sport? The reunion didn’t go as planned?”

Keo glanced over at him. “You knew.”

“That she was preggers? ’Fraid so. I’m the one who got her off the fields and brought her home for ya.”

“That was awfully nice of you.”

“She wanted to know why, but I didn’t tell her. I figured you’d like to do the honors. You can thank me later.”

“I’ll do that. Later.”

Jack laughed. “Perk up, sport. There’s plenty of women around. We did a survey last month. There are five women for every guy. Tell me you don’t like those odds. The best part? They don’t expect you to put a ring on it.”

The younger Miller was still very amused with himself as he drove, and it was all Keo could do not to reach over and snap his neck. It was tempting. It was so tempting, but he was still walking (or riding, now) in a fog, unsure of how to proceed.

He thought about Jordan, somewhere out there, and hoped she had found shelter for the night, because darkness was coming faster than normal today.

* * *

After exiting T18A1, Jack turned left and took Keo back through the agriculture fields for a second time. Keo watched the multiple—and seemingly endless—streams of people returning home. They were talking, laughing, and looking for all the world like they belonged here, that all their life had led to this moment.

“I’ll never forget what happened to them. But I can’t change the past, or dwell on it. I can’t afford to. I have to think about the future.”

Could he really settle here? Take what guys like Steve gave him and be happy with it? Maybe find a woman and have a kid. Or two kids. So what if his children were destined to become another cog in the ghoul machine? So what if the entire human race had been reduced to chattel? So what if all those months of fighting and killing and almost dying more times than he could count to get here, to reunite with Gillian, had all been for nothing?

So fucking what.

“Forget her,” Jack was saying. “Plenty of fish in the ocean. That ugly mug notwithstanding, you can do pretty good here, sport. I mean, look at me. I got a woman at home. She’s giving birth to twins in five months. Life’s good.”

“They leave you guys alone?” Keo asked. “The monsters?”

“We call them crawlers.”

“Why crawlers?”

“It’s…nicer. Plus, Steve’s orders. Don’t want to start calling the bosses monsters, right? Think about the meetings. How awkward would those be?”

“Hunh.”

“But yeah, they stay out of the town at night. Don’t ask why. One of the mysteries of the universe. It’s easier if you don’t think too much about it. Better for your sanity, especially at night.”

They finally reached the marina, and this time the gate was down and two of the four soldiers guarding the booth hurried out of the small building to raise it for them. Jack turned inside.

As they drove through the empty parking lot, there were noticeably fewer soldiers around than earlier in the day. He only saw two people walking back and forth on the docks, and about a half dozen more were heading toward the gate. It made sense for such a drastic drawdown of forces at night. What idiot would attack the town under the cover of darkness? For that matter, what moron would be outside, in those woods, when night fell?

Jack drove toward the office buildings, but instead of heading for Marina 1 as Keo had expected, the younger Miller turned left and parked in front of the large warehouse at the north end of the lot.

“What’s going on?” Keo asked.

“Find out inside,” Jack said.

They climbed out and Keo peeked up at the sky again. Just past five o’clock, but it already looked impossibly dark, thanks to the gathering clouds. He could almost taste the coming precipitation.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a long and rainy night,” Jack said. “We don’t usually get a lot of that around here. Should be good for the crops.”

“Do they come out in the rain?”

“Who?”

“Them.”

Jack looked at him funny. “The crawlers? Why would they care about the rain?”

Because I’ve seen them turn to stone and sink in a lake. Because they’re freakishly terrified of bodies of water. Maybe the rain has the same effect?

But he didn’t say any of those things out loud. He had a feeling Jack didn’t know—and probably didn’t care, either.

He shrugged, said, “Just wondering.”

“You wonder too much,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s see what Steve wanted to show you. I hear it’s a real humdinger.”

Jack hobbled the short distance to the warehouse with the help of a cane, and watching him, Keo once again went through the pros and cons of taking the man’s revolver and shooting him dead right then and there.

The pro was that he would be armed again, and Jack would be dead.

The con, though, meant having to fight a lot of soldiers still inside the marina with nothing but a revolver and its six bullets. Besides the two leftovers he had seen at the docks, there were the four at the guard booth and the half dozen or so heading toward the gate.

The odds were against him at the moment.

So what else is new?

He didn’t have time to do anything anyway, because the twin doors slid open as soon as they approached them, revealing two more soldiers in black uniforms standing in front of a bright LED lamp. They stepped aside for Keo and Jack.

The interior of the warehouse was massive, and shelves lined the sides. The high ceiling was reinforced with thick beams, and a dozen or so black birds watched Keo walking underneath them like curious spectators, as if they knew something he didn’t.

It wasn’t the shelves or the lone twenty-eight-foot yacht parked in its own slot to his right that drew Keo’s attention. It was Steve. He was standing in the middle of the room, his back turned, and he was holding a knife in one hand. Blood on the blade dripped to the ground where there was already more than one fresh pool.

Steve looked over his shoulder as Keo and Jack entered the warehouse. “Hey, how’d the reunion go? Or should I take reports of you walking around the neighborhood all by your little lonesome as not a good sign?”

“Sounds about right,” Keo said. “Jacky boy says you wanted to show me something.”

“Come see.” He turned around. “Goes to show you, you never know what you’ll find unless you make the effort to look.”

Steve stepped aside to reveal a figure hanging from the ceiling beams by a blue rope.

It was a woman, though it was hard to tell because her face was covered in blood and one eye was almost entirely shut, the flesh around it black and purple. She had short blonde hair and her lips were cut, her nose possibly broken, and Steve had cut ribbons into her shirt with the knife, leaving the flesh underneath dripping red with blood.

Jordan.

Chapter Eighteen

The rope was a double braid nylon, the kind used to tie up boats, and it must have bit into her wrists as they kept her suspended in the air half a foot off the ground. Thick rivulets of blood dripped down the sides of her face and onto the concrete floor, where they were quickly absorbed by the larger pools already gathering under her dangling boots.

Keo willed himself to take slow and steady breaths, pushed aside his accelerated heart rate, and took stock of his situation.

Steve, behind him, was armed, and so was Jack in front of him. The two soldiers at the doors would also be a big problem. He would have to kill Steve first, because he was closest. He could do that by taking the knife and jamming it into his throat, or go for the revolver in his hip holster. There were six bullets in the gun. One to Steve’s head—at this range, Keo couldn’t have missed if he had blindfolds on—then the second shot would take out Jack.

The two at the doors? Depending on how alert they were, he could probably take both out before they could return fire.

Probably.

He was being overly generous of his own skills, of course. But even if Steve or Jack put up a fight that lasted longer than a few seconds, he believed enough in his abilities that he could, reasonably, kill both soldiers with minimal danger to himself and Jordan, who would be hanging helplessly from the rafters throughout all of this.

And then what?

Assuming he could kill everyone in the warehouse who needed killing, that still left…all the soldiers outside. The two on the docks, the four at the front gate, and the ones still making their way out of the marina. They would converge on the warehouse as soon as the first shots rang out. Worse, they would have him cornered inside.

Not good.

No, shooting his way out of here, while dragging a half-conscious Jordan with him, was not going to work. It wouldn’t serve Jordan in any way, except possibly to get her killed minutes after rescuing her.

There had to be another way.

How?

Wait. What was that Steve had said to him when he first arrived? About how he viewed Tobias’s people and those he called stragglers?

“You see, I put people who haven’t gotten with the reality of our situation into two categories: The ones that don’t know any better, and the ones that are determined to make things miserable for everyone else. You belong in the former category.”

There it was. He didn’t have to convince Steve of a lie, he only had to convince the man of something he already believed.

“…the ones that don’t know any better…”

“Found her about a mile from here,” Steve was saying. “She had a nice hiding spot, too, but I figured she had to be nearby after what happened with Eric in the woods.”

Eric was the teenager from earlier, the one Keo had spared in order to give his message to Steve. He should have known the little bastard would mention that Keo wasn’t alone, that Jordan was with him. It had never occurred to him that Steve would have someone out there looking for her after he left the bridge. Steve hadn’t said a word about her, and Keo had assumed…

You ass.

“She wouldn’t tell me her name,” Steve said. He gestured with the knife, flicking (Jordan’s) blood back and forth across the floor. “Wouldn’t say much, really. But who else would be running around out there except your friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” Keo said.

Jordan blinked her one good eye, looking past Steve and at him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw disappointment on her bloodied face.

“No?” Steve said. “She was with you earlier.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s my friend.”

“Then who is she?”

“Just someone who decided to come along to T18. She’s tired of living hand to mouth out there with Tobias. After I killed him, she asked to come back, too, wanted to rejoin the town.”

“Is that right?” Steve looked back at Jordan. “So why didn’t she come in from the cold the same time as you?”

“I promised her I’d talk to you about it first. Make sure you didn’t hold a grudge against any of Tobias’s people. She’s not the only one, you know. There are others.”

“How many more?”

“A handful.”

Steve smirked. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Keo. “Not that I believe what you’re saying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. Why would you agree to kill a man you barely know? Why would you come back here after I used you as bait? I don’t know why you do most of the things you do, Keo.”

“There you go overthinking it again,” Keo said, injecting just enough amusement into his voice to make it convincing. “I already told you, I’m not that complicated.”

He looked past Steve and at Jordan. Her good eye was closed, and she was bleeding and hurt (badly, badly hurt), but he hoped there was nothing wrong with her hearing. If she had been listening, maybe she would understand what he was doing. Or trying to do, anyway.

“He’s not wrong,” Jack was saying. “You saw that girl he was doing all of this for. Preggers or not, I’d probably kill a few guys just to get some of that.”

Steve grinned. “She’s not bad.”

“She was hotter before,” Keo sighed. “But she’s not going to be pregnant forever. Know what I mean?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said. “My girls are glowing.”

“It’s probably because of all the potatoes you’re feeding them,” Steve said.

Jack shrugged. “Maybe.”

Steve nodded at Keo, as if to say, “Okay, maybe I believe you,” before turning back to Jordan. He cupped her bloodied chin and lifted her head until she could look him in the eyes.

“Look at me,” Steve said. “Hey.”

She opened her eye slowly.

“Is he right?” Steve asked her. “You were waiting for a signal to come in?”

Jordan didn’t react.

Come on, Jordan, play along…

Finally, her head moved. It was nodding, or trying to.

“Why didn’t you say that when they caught you?” Steve asked.

She struggled to answer, small incomprehensible sounds escaping her bloodied lips.

“I can’t hear you,” Steve said. “Louder.”

“No…chance…” she managed to say.

Steve let go of her chin, then pulled a small rag out from his back pocket and cleaned his hands. He did the same to the knife before sliding it back into its sheath.

“The boys did that to her face,” Steve said to Keo. “I guess they got a little carried away. Tobias’s people may have suffered heavy losses yesterday, but they’ve been hounding us for months. I’ve lost more than my share, too.”

“What about the knife?” Keo asked.

“That was me,” Steve said with a dismissive shrug. “She wasn’t being very cooperative.” Then, “Where are the others? The rest of Tobias’s people?”

“Somewhere out there. You found where they were last night? The YMCA near the highway?”

“Scouts did,” Jack said.

“They were there when I left. I guess your guys must have spooked them. I was supposed to tell her—” he nodded at Jordan “—that everything was arranged, then she would relay the message back to the others and they’d all come in at the same time.”

“The lambs are coming home,” Jack smiled. “I told you they’d come running back when we finally got rid of Tobias.”

“Easier said than done,” Steve said. “Until today, anyway.” He nodded at Jack. “Get her to Bannerman. Make sure no one sees her like this.”

“I hate going there. Bannerman gives me the creeps.”

“Suck it up,” Steve said. Then to Keo, “Come on,” before starting off.

Keo looked back at Jordan and caught her staring at him with her good eye. He gave her a barely visible nod and she blinked back once.

He turned around as Jack ordered the soldiers to bring Jordan down, and he heard her grunting with relief as she was lowered to the hard concrete floor.

Outside, the clouds above T18 had grown in size and gotten much grayer. Though they had over an hour before sundown, it was already dark enough that the LED floodlights had begun switching on along the docks.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Keo asked.

“Bannerman will take care of her,” Steve said. “She should be fine in a couple of days.”

“Those knife cuts won’t be fine in a couple of days.”

“Everything heals eventually, Keo. She’s lucky I believed you, otherwise I would have really gone to work.”

“You mean you weren’t ‘really’ working back there?”

“That was a warm-up. You don’t wanna see me really working.” He stared at Keo when he added, “Trust me on that.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Steve.”

“Good.” He climbed into the golf cart. “The first step to a healthy partnership is to recognize your position in the hierarchy. In T18, what I say goes. Got it?”

“Gotten.”

“That’s a good soldier.” He grinned. “Now, let’s go have dinner. I’m famished.”

* * *

Steve lived in T18A3, two subdivisions over from the one where Gillian (and Fuck-You-Jay) lived. The housing areas were separated by the same six-foot wooden fencing he had seen in the back of Gillian’s house. Nothing that would keep anyone out, but just enough to separate the different areas into their own little corners.

With the gathering clouds growing darker above him, it felt as if they were driving through nightfall. Keo had to temper his growing anxiety about still being outside, especially without his guns.

“Relax,” Steve said behind the steering wheel. “They don’t come into town. There’s an invisible line that they don’t cross. When I decide I can fully trust you, I might tell you how it all works. Until then, you’ll just have to be satisfied with Rule #1.”

“Which is?”

“Everything within the town is safe. Everything beyond it? Go at your own risk.”

“Good to know…”

Lights hanging from repurposed power poles along the road had begun slowly turning on as they traveled from the marina back to the subdivisions. The lights had come on by themselves, and he guessed they were similar to the solar-powered lamps he’d seen on Song Island, only smaller and less efficient. They weren’t quite bright enough to push back the darkness completely, but there were enough of them to navigate by.

“Where’d you find the lights?” Keo asked.

“Archers,” Steve said. “From Home Depot and Lowe’s, too. You name it, we’ve raided them. That’s why there isn’t very much left out there. Before he went rogue, Tobias and I knew we’d be able to use all the renewable resources from the old world, so we began stockpiling them pretty early on. No one had bothered looting them, so we had our pick. The guys in charge of the other towns did the same thing.”

“You talk to them?”

“Oh, sure, I call them on the phone every other day.”

“Hunh.”

Steve smiled, amused with himself.

They drove past the gate into Gillian’s T18A1, then T18A2, before slowing down and turning into T18A3. Armed soldiers came out of another booth to push the gate open, and one of them actually (and awkwardly) saluted Steve.

They went up a street flanked by lights that were slowly coming on by themselves. Most of the lamps were hanging from power poles that no longer had any uses, with smaller versions jutting out of front lawns. There were very few lights coming from inside the homes, but he did spot a couple of soldiers walking along the sidewalks carrying flashlights.

“Where is everyone?” Keo asked.

“Settling down for dinner at the cafeterias after a hard day’s work,” Steve said. “All the food is kept at a central location and well-guarded, so no one will be tempted to help themselves beyond scheduled meals. Gotta keep everyone well-fed and healthy, otherwise this place shuts down.”

“And keep them healthy enough to keep giving blood, of course.”

“That goes without saying.”

“How often do they donate?”

“Once a day, every day. We don’t take enough to make them so tired they can’t work. You’ll discover that we do everything in moderation. We have to, or the supplies won’t last. But everyone has to do and give their fair share.”

“Well, not everyone.”

“Now you’re getting it. Privileges, Keo. Humans may have been relegated to second-class citizens in this brave new world, but there are still classes within classes. You’re one of us now. Enjoy it.”

Until I put a bullet in your head, Keo thought, thinking about Jordan hanging from the rafters in the warehouse back in the marina.

“So where are we going?” he asked instead. “To the cafeteria for dinner?”

Steve chuckled. “Does the President of the United States eat at Luby’s?”

* * *

Steve lived in a two-story house that was almost exactly in the middle of T18A3. Keo had expected something bigger and more grand as befitting the “president” of T18, but it looked like all the others—half brick up front and mostly wood paneling along the sides and in the back.

Solar-powered LED lights in the ground lit their way up the driveway and to the front door. Each light no doubt had a very sharp point on the other end, and Keo fantasized about pulling one of the stakes up and shoving it into the back of Steve’s head as he followed the man up the walkway.

Steve didn’t knock or need a key to open the door. He just opened it, and the aroma of fried chicken hit Keo as soon as he stepped inside.

“Yum yum yum,” Steve said, smacking his lips. “Now that smells good!”

“Be ready in a few minutes!” a woman called over to them.

“That’s my lady,” Steve said. “She’s a great cook.”

“Fried chicken?” Keo said. “You have chicken?”

“We have a farm behind one of the fields. Chickens, ducks, cows… Where do you think the horses come from? A man can’t live on MREs and vegetables his entire life, Keo.”

“Does everyone get fried chicken?”

“Sure, once a week. Maybe once every two weeks. Portions, anyway.”

Classes within classes. Right.

The woman in the kitchen was picking up pieces of drumsticks frying in a pan and putting them onto plates. She glanced over at Keo and smiled. Mid-twenties, blonde, and much prettier than someone like Steve deserved. She was wearing a flower-printed dress and an apron, and her hair was done in an old-fashioned style that made Keo wonder if he had stepped into a real-life Leave It To Beaver episode.

“Keo, this is Lois, my better half,” Steve said. “Darling, this is Keo.”

“Is that Japanese?” Lois asked.

“Korean,” Keo said.

“Oh, cool.”

“Keo’s a half-breed, right?” Steve said.

“Honey, that’s not nice!” Lois said.

“He doesn’t mind. Right, Keo?”

“Right,” Keo nodded, just barely suppressing a grimace.

“See?” Steve said. He went into the kitchen, slipped his arms around Lois’s waist, and nuzzled her neck. “Smells good. And the food, too.”

“Steve,” Lois said.

They were doing that pretend-annoyed thing that husbands and wives did in front of company. Keo wanted to throw up.

“Show Keo where to clean up,” Lois said. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you guys are done.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve kissed her neck and grabbed her ass with both hands.

She yelped. “Steve!”

Steve laughed, and Keo couldn’t decide if all of this was some theater for his benefit, or if they really were this sickeningly satisfied with their lives inside the safe zone of T18.

“Come on, you look and smell like shit,” Steve said to him. “I was going to send a uniform over to Gillian’s house, but I guess that can wait.”

“A uniform?” Keo said.

“You might as well look the part if you’re going to stay. You are going to stay, aren’t you?”

Keo shrugged. He didn’t want to come across as too anxious. “Maybe. There’s not much out there.”

“Not unless you believe the radio.”

“Radio?”

“Want a laugh? Come take a listen.”

Steve led him into a study that was partially lit by a pair of LED lights clamped to the windowsills. Keo saw a soldier outside across the street, smoking a cigarette, the outline of his M4 rifle jutting out from behind his back. Keo thought about all the things he could do with that weapon.

Steve walked to a dresser and turned on a battery-powered radio and fidgeted with the knobs. Keo only heard static, but Steve seemed certain there was something there and kept hunting around the dials.

“They had another message they were broadcasting before this one,” Steve was saying. “It went kaput about a month ago. I assumed my compatriots did that. Anyway, one of my guys picked up this new one yesterday. It’s definitely the same people.” He found what he was looking for and stopped, then turned up the volume. “Here it is. Same woman, different message.”

Keo already knew what he was going to hear before he heard it, because he had been there in person when they recorded the message on the bridge of the Trident.

“…silver. Bodies of water. And sunlight,” a female voice said through the radio. “These are three things that we know for certain that can, and will, kill the creatures, these things in the darkness we call ghouls.”

He almost smiled at the sound of Lara’s voice but managed to stop himself at the very last second because Steve was watching him, maybe trying to gauge his reaction across the semidarkness of the room.

“For their human collaborators, the traitors in uniforms that scour the countryside in the daylight for survivors,” Lara continued, “any bullet will do. If you’re able, get to a place that is surrounded by bodies of water. Stock up on silver; if you know how, make silver bullets, or any silver-bladed weapons. The daylight is no longer your friend, but don’t be discouraged. As long as you’re breathing, as long as you are free, there is hope. We will adapt and keep going, because that’s what we do. This is Lara, and I’m still fighting alongside you.”

The message paused for about five seconds before it repeated itself:

“This is Lara, broadcasting to you from safe harbor. If you’re hearing this, that means you’re still out there, too. Remember: Silver. Bodies of water. And sunlight. These are three things that we know for certain that can, and will, kill the creatures, these things in the darkness we call ghouls…”

Steve turned down the volume until Keo could barely hear Lara’s voice. “She believes it, too. Just like Tobias. She thinks you can keep fighting them. The sad part is, we’ve caught a couple of people listening to this propaganda bullshit. Luckily, we’ve managed to nip those in the bud before they got out of control. This type of thing is like a virus; if you don’t stamp it out immediately, it spreads. We can’t have that.”

“How are you going to stop it?” Keo asked.

“Easy. I outlawed radios.” Then he smiled. “Anyway, let’s go wash up. The chicken smells ready.”

On cue, Lois called from outside in that much-too-June-Cleaver voice, “Come and get ’em, boys!”

* * *

Lois was pretty and lively, and while she was bringing the plates of fried chicken, beans, and corncobs over, Steve leaned over to Keo and whispered, “She wants to get pregnant—you know, do her part for the town—but I won’t let her. I don’t know about you, but I prefer them slim and hot.”

Keo smiled and nodded, but all he could think about was Gillian. She was pregnant right now with another man’s baby. Four months pregnant. What was he doing four months ago? He couldn’t even remember. Somewhere in the Louisiana woods, trying to survive Pollard’s small army of paramilitary assholes, probably.

Steve had grabbed the biggest piece of chicken thigh on the plate and was about to wrap his mouth around it when his radio squawked, and a male voice said, “Sir? It’s Grant. Come in.”

Lois sighed. “Honey, why do you still have that thing turned on? It’s dinnertime.”

Steve ignored her, put down the chicken, and unclipped the radio from his belt. He keyed it, said, “What is it?”

“Uh, sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have some bad news,” Grant said.

“Steve,” Lois started to say, but she froze when Steve shot her a hard glance. She looked down at her plate of beans instead.

“Go on,” Steve said into the radio.

“It’s, uh, your brother, sir,” Grant said. He sounded nervous.

“What about Jack?”

“He’s dead, sir.”

“What the fuck do you mean he’s dead?”

Steve shot up from the table, nearly knocking it over. Lois gasped and grabbed onto a corncob as it rolled off a plate.

“The woman,” Grant said, and Keo thought his voice was trembling slightly. “She’s gone. Someone busted in on Doctor Bannerman’s place and took her. They, uh, shot Jack while they were escaping.”

Keo thought he was ready for it, but even he was surprised when Steve punched the table so hard that everything—the dishes, the chicken, and the corncobs—flew everywhere. Lois screamed and stumbled to her feet while Keo managed to grab onto a chicken leg as it bounced into the air.

“Fuck!” Steve screamed.

Keo didn’t say anything. He took a bite out of the chicken leg. It tasted good, but then he hadn’t had fried chicken in years, so Lois could have actually been an awful cook and he might not have noticed.

Besides, he needed something for his mouth to do, otherwise he might have burst out laughing uncontrollably at the sight of Steve raging in front of him.

Chapter Nineteen

Keo still had the taste of chicken in his mouth, and maybe a small piece of meat hidden somewhere between his molars at the back, when he was driven over to T18A2, next door to Gillian’s subdivision, and climbed out of the golf cart in front of a squat one-story house. There were already five soldiers standing in the driveway, with a horse grazing on the lawn nearby, oblivious to the activity.

One of the men hurried over. He was sweating even in the chilly air and with storm clouds continuing to gather above them. With thirty minutes before nightfall, it already looked pitch-dark outside, and most of the streetlights (and the few sprinkled among the lawns) had come on all around them.

“What the fuck happened?” was the first thing out of Steve’s mouth.

“Someone helped her escape,” the man said. Keo recognized his voice from the radio. Grant.

“How many?”

“Bannerman said there was just one.”

“And Jack?”

“He’s inside.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know exactly, sir. He was inside the garage with Bannerman and the woman when it happened. They shot Roger on their way out.”

Steve brushed past Grant and made a beeline for the door. The other soldiers hurried out of his path. They were all wearing gun belts and cradling M4 rifles, and Keo kept count of all the others around the area. Counting these five, there were the two standing guard at the gate and a half dozen more he had seen on his way over here.

Too many. Always too damn many.

Unlike Steve’s house, the interior of Bannerman’s was sparsely lit by a pair of LED lamps, one resting on the kitchen counter and another in the living room over the fireplace. It almost looked as if no one lived here, but of course the blood on the floor and a dead soldier lying facedown on the carpet said differently. Keo stepped around the blood and followed Steve to the back of the house.

Steve marched straight to a door that opened into the garage, crunching heavy tarp covering every inch of the concrete floor as he did so. The room had been converted into some kind of operating room, though it looked and smelled more like a butcher shop. A pair of metal tables sat in the center, flanked by steel trays with surgical instruments; one had been upended, its contents tossed liberally across the room. One of the tables was covered in blood and there were fresh, bloody footprints all over the place.

A man in his sixties, wearing white hospital scrubs, sat in a comfortable-looking armchair in the corner, cradling his arm in his lap. Someone had bundled the arm up with gauze and the man looked tired, wiping sweat from his face. The garage door was closed—and didn’t look capable of opening—and there was very little ventilation, which probably accounted for the old man’s perspiration.

The lack of circulating air also kept in the smell of the blood that pooled underneath Jack. The younger Miller sat awkwardly against the far wall, his head lolled to one side, eyes open, as if he had simply decided to sit down to rest and could stand up at any moment.

Steve ignored the old man and walked straight to Jack. He kicked a surgical scissor in his path and it skidded across the room. He crouched in front of his brother and held Jack’s sweat-slicked face in his hands, staring at him in silence.

Keo looked over at the old man, Bannerman. “What happened?”

Bannerman picked up a bottle of water on a table next to him with his good hand and took a slow, drawn-out sip. “Some guy in a ski mask. Came in and shot Jack, then took the woman. I guess he shot someone else in the living room, too?”

“You didn’t go out to check?”

“He shot me, too,” Bannerman said, holding up his wounded arm as proof. “I thought it’d be more prudent to wait for help instead of running out there. I’m just a doctor.”

More like a butcher.

Steve stood up and ran his fingers through his hair for a moment. Keo waited for the outburst, the profanity, but instead Steve just whirled around and walked past Keo and back into the hallway. The man hadn’t spared a single glance at Bannerman, which, Keo guessed, the old man was grateful for.

Keo followed Steve through the living room, then to the front door. “What now?” he asked.

“Find her and kill her,” Steve said.

Oh, that’s all?

Grant hadn’t gone anywhere and was waiting for them in the driveway. For a man who was barely a few years younger than Steve, Grant looked overly small and frail and fidgeted back and forth nervously.

“There was gunfire,” Steve said. “Why didn’t anyone stop them?”

“No one heard gunshots,” Grant said. “I think he was using a silencer or something.”

“You think?”

“He must have,” Grant said, trying his best to sound more confident—and failing miserably. “It wasn’t until Pete stumbled across Roger’s body inside the house and called it in that we even knew what had happened.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Instead, he squinted up at the storm clouds continuing to gather en masse above them. There was a strangely serene expression on his face, as if he hadn’t just discovered his little brother was dead.

Keo glanced around him. Every soldier, even the ones across the street, seemed to know something bad had happened inside Bannerman’s house, something that was going to affect all of them. Like Keo, they looked as if they were waiting for the inevitable eruption from Steve.

Any moment now…

“It’s going to rain all night,” Steve finally said, sounding perfectly calm. “They have two options: Make a run for it, or hide. It’s too dark to go into the woods. The crawlers will be out by now, and they’d never survive for more than a few minutes in there. Anyone who has been here for a while knows that. So they’ll hide.” The man glanced at Keo and narrowed his eyes. “You have any ideas?”

“About what?” Keo said.

“Where they would be hiding.”

“You’re asking the wrong man. I didn’t even know they existed until yesterday.”

“They have inside help,” Steve said, looking around the streets. “I’ve always known that. Someone feeding them intelligence, stealing supplies for them. M4s and ammo going missing. That’s who we’re looking for. Someone who knows the town, knows where to hide. That means we have to look everywhere. Turn this place inside out, because they’re still here. I can fucking guarantee you that.”

An inside man? Right. What was that Jordan had told him?

“If this blows up in your face, there’s another way out of the town… His name’s Dave. I’ve never actually met him before, but Tobias seems to trust him. He works in the main cafeteria…”

Dave. Main cafeteria.

Maybe Dave had heard about Jordan being held at Bannerman’s. People would talk. Maybe one of the soldiers who liked eating with the civilians. Bragging, trying to impress some pretty young girl with inside gossip.

Not that it mattered. Dave, or one of Tobias’s other inside agents, had clearly saved Jordan, though Keo still hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not. He would have eventually come up with a plan to rescue her himself. Heck, he might not even have to, since Steve seemed to have bought his line about Jordan wanting to re-assimilate back into town. The only certainty now was that someone had acted and Jordan was out there, somewhere.

And Steve was right. They would still be in T18 right now because there would be no other places to go. Certainly not out there. Not under the suffocating darkness.

“Someone who knows the town, knows where to hide.”

Keo was watching Steve’s face, the way he was scrunching his eyes and sweeping the streets, as if he could see through the walls of the homes, when something fell out of the sky and landed on Keo’s forehead. He held out his hand to catch a few more drops, as did some of the men around him.

The rain came slowly but quickly picked up momentum.

In less than ten seconds, Keo was soaked from head to toe.

Steve, standing next to him, didn’t seem to notice.

“Search every house!” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard. “They’re hiding in one of these houses! No matter how long it takes, search every single building and shack and room until you find them!”

* * *

Steve left Keo in the driveway with Grant and rode off on the same horse that had been dining on the lawn when they arrived—it turned out to be Jack’s—along with a dozen other mounted soldiers. Keo guessed it was faster to travel by horseback than in the slow-moving, solar-powered golf cart.

“Come on,” Grant said. “I got orders to take you to Processing.”

Keo climbed into the cart with Grant and they motored off, raindrops bouncing against the solar panels on top of the vehicle. The streets were already showing signs of flooding, the multiple cracks of thunder in the distance followed by lightning flashes sounding as if the gods had finally decided to punish T18 for its trespasses.

“Does it usually rain this hard?” Keo asked, shouting over the pak-pak-pak of raindrops cascading around them.

“Not usually!” Grant shouted back as lightning crackled again. “Hear that? This is gonna be a huge one!”

They were driving through two to three inches of water by the time they left T18A2, and Grant turned south down the road—toward Processing, wherever the hell that was. Soldiers in raincoats had begun appearing on horses and on foot around them, many wielding flashlights. They looked coordinated, some moving in groups while others spread out among the subdivisions. Like a Western posse times ten, except these cowboys were carrying assault rifles.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a long night,” Grant said. “We’re going to find them, though. Not a lot of places to hide around here. No one’s going to harbor them, either. Sooner or later they’ll run out of corners, and then we’ll get them.”

Keo didn’t respond. Instead, he tried to imagine where Jordan and Dave (if it was Dave, and not another one of Tobias’s inside men) would go. Like Steve, they would know better than to brave the woods. Even before the rainstorm it had gotten too dark, and that brought out things worse than soldiers. Would they hide out in the inside man’s place? That would depend if he was single or if he shared a house with someone (or someones). Not that it mattered, because he didn’t know who had taken Jordan anyway, which left him with…

Jordan. Where would Jordan go?

Keo was thinking about that as two horsemen galloped past them along the shoulder of the road, flashlights shining in his face. Compared to the Maglites they were carrying, the golf cart’s own headlights were barely strong enough to illuminate the paved lanes in front of them. If not for the LEDs hanging off the poles, Grant would be driving almost in total darkness.

Thunder boomed in the distance, seemingly getting closer (and louder) with each new one. For a second Keo thought they were gunshots and was thankful he was wrong. Gunshots would mean Steve had found Jordan and her friend, but soldiers still running around searching every house and building meant the exact opposite.

They were about to pass the open gate into T18A1 when Keo tapped Grant on the shoulder. “Hey, turn left.”

“What?” Grant said.

“Turn in here.”

“I got orders to take you to Processing.”

“You can do that later. I have to swing over and talk to a friend about something.”

“Forget it.”

Keo reached over and drew Grant’s gun—a Glock—and pressed it roughly into the man’s side. “I said, turn in here.”

Grant almost missed the entrance but stopped in time and turned into the subdivision. The gate was already open, which wasn’t a surprise since soldiers had probably been going in and out of the place before they even arrived.

Keo spotted two people inside the guard booth, shivering against the cold. They were soaking wet and neither one felt like coming out when they saw the golf cart moving past their window. One of them did make the effort to wave Grant through. Grant started to slow down when Keo jammed the gun harder against his gut. Grant took the hint and they continued through.

Steve’s people were flooding all five subdivisions at once, but that also meant they had to stretch their numbers thin. They drove past soldiers along the sidewalks knocking on doors. They seemed to be moving in groups of two, flashlights cutting through the sheets of falling rain. Every single one looked miserable and wet, and a few gave them envious stares as they cruised by under the (barely there) protection of the cart’s roof. Keo just hoped he had the gun held low enough that the others couldn’t see where it was pointed.

“Turn here,” Keo said when they finally reached their destination.

Grant turned the cart up onto the driveway and parked out in the open. Keo took a brief second to look around him—a pair of soldiers down the street, about five houses down; two more on the opposite side further up the road. The two behind him were the problem, but they were moving slowly, the combination of the weather and the need to search every room of every house before moving on taking up most of their time. No doubt the warmth of the houses compared to the bone-soaking rain outside convinced them to make all those searches go slower, too.

He hoped, anyway.

Keo pulled off Grant’s M4 rifle and shoved the Glock into his front waistband, then climbed out of the golf cart. “Get out.”

Grant did and was soon hopping from foot to foot, arms folded across his chest as rain ran down his head and uniform. His teeth started chattering almost right away.

“Don’t be such a girl; it’s not that cold,” Keo said.

He nodded toward the door and Grant moved toward it obediently, asking, “Where are we?”

“Shut up and move.”

“You’re not going to get away with this.”

“You know what a bullet tastes like, Grant?”

Grant shook his head. “No…”

“If you don’t want to find out, keep your mouth shut unless I speak to you. Comprende?”

The soldier swallowed and kept moving. Keo followed him, only allowing himself to shiver and his teeth to chatter when Grant wasn’t looking.

Christ, it was freezing cold. And it was only going to get worse as the night dragged on. He wondered how long it was going to take the neighborhood to be completely flooded. Hopefully Steve had paid attention to the sewers so the water would have someplace to go when that did happen.

Grant was waiting at the front door, trembling underneath a pair of small solar-powered LED lights. Keo leaned across him and knocked on the slab of wood. He could only see pitch blackness through the side security windows, but soon a lamp turned on before moving across the foyer toward them.

“Not a fucking word,” Keo said to Grant.

Grant nodded. Or shivered. Keo liked to think he was afraid and not just freezing.

The door opened and a man in his thirties, wearing thin-rimmed glasses, looked out at them. He was wearing slacks and a white T-shirt and used the lamp in his hand to illuminate Grant’s face before moving over to Keo’s.

He lingered a bit on Keo—or maybe just on the scars.

“Yes?” he finally said.

“Jay?” Keo asked.

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“No.”

Keo nudged Grant in the back and the soldier stepped anxiously inside the house, glad to be out of the cold night. Jay looked conflicted, and for a moment Keo thought he might fight back, but instead he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stepped aside to let them in.

Grant sighed audibly as they were immediately embraced by the warmth of the house. It might not have air conditioning or heating anymore, but a well-insulated building still offered more than decent protection against the climate, especially one that was currently being rocked by a thunderstorm.

Keo closed the door behind them, grateful for the sudden soothing silence, with only the distant pak-pak-pak against the rooftop to remind him what was going on out there. “Where’s Gillian?” he asked.

“She’s asleep,” Jay said.

“It’s barely six in the evening.”

“She…had a long day.”

Jay was a terrible liar. What’s worse, he probably knew it but couldn’t do anything about it. He was either a very decent guy not used to lying, or an asshole. Keo wanted to believe it was the latter, but chances were pretty good it was probably the former.

Just my luck.

“What’s this about?” Jay asked.

“Gillian!” Keo shouted.

“I told you, she’s asleep,” Jay started to say.

“Shut up, Jay.”

The man looked as if he might argue, but like last time, decided to back down instead.

Grant, standing between them, looked back and forth, clearly picking up on the extra “something” going on between them. Or, at least, coming from Keo. Smartly, though, he kept his mouth shut.

“Gillian!” Keo shouted again.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs before Gillian finally appeared in a nightgown, which was supposed to confirm Jay’s statement that she had been sleeping. He didn’t buy it. Keo didn’t need to ask her, because he could see it on her face.

“Keo,” she said softly, genuinely surprised to see him there.

“Grant and I were just tooling around in his cool golf cart and decided to see how you were doing,” he said.

She gave him a confused look.

“Joke,” he said.

“Oh.”

Jay hurried over and stood next to her. “What’s this about?” he asked again.

Keo locked the door behind them. “They’re coming,” he said, directing everything at Gillian and ignoring Jay.

“Who?” Gillian said.

“The soldiers. They’re searching every house in town.”

“What?” Jay said, alarmed. “Why are they doing that?”

“Stop fucking around. There’s no time for that. Right, Gillian?”

She didn’t answer.

“Right?” he said again.

She sighed. “Right.”

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs.”

“Gillian,” Jay said.

“It’s okay, Jay,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “He knows already. Keo’s a smart guy.”

Not that smart, or I would have been here earlier before he knocked you up, Keo thought about saying, but didn’t.

Jay looked over at him, as if to say, “Is he?”

“Just enough to get in trouble,” Keo said.

“How long do we have?” Gillian asked.

“It’s probably going to take them about thirty minutes to get here. Maybe more, maybe less. How secure are they?”

Gillian thought about it. Jay, next to her, looked physically pained.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Not very. We didn’t expect a house-to-house search.”

Keo put a hand on Grant’s shirt collar and dragged him forward. “I need someplace to put him.”

“Jay can help with that,” Gillian said.

Keo gave her a disbelieving look.

“He can keep him from running off,” Gillian said. Then to Jay, “Go get your little black bag, honey.”

“Why?” Jay asked.

“Trust me,” she said, before looking back at Keo and adding, “And you can trust Keo. We’re going to need his help to survive tonight.”

Chapter Twenty

“How did you know she’d be here?” Gillian asked as she led him up the stairs.

They were moving much slower than they really had to, not that Keo was complaining. Despite everything, being this close to her, smelling her, was still preferable to not seeing her again.

“I took a stab in the dark,” he said. “She’s stuck behind enemy lines at night and she can’t leave the safety of the town. Where would she go? There’s only one person here who she calls a friend. You. There was also her accomplice, but I took a chance that they burned their cover when they rescued her.”

“That’s a big chance.”

“It was fifty-fifty. I’d take those odds any day of the week and twice on Wednesdays.”

“Wednesdays?”

“I don’t like Sundays.”

She smiled, but it was gone quickly, replaced by the very determined Gillian he remembered from the days and nights of trying to survive after The Purge. “She’s bad off, Keo. I almost didn’t recognize her when Dave brought her here.”

Ah. Dave. The cafeteria man.

“Jay almost fainted at the sight,” Gillian continued.

“I thought he was a doctor.”

“He is, but he’s never seen someone get beaten that badly. It’s really bad.”

“I know. I saw her earlier.”

“You saw her earlier?”

“They were torturing her at the marina.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t you—”

“Save her? I did. Steve would have killed her. I spun him a story and he believed me. Then Dave had to go and jump the gun. She would have been fine after a few days.”

“A few weeks, maybe.”

“Or a few weeks. The point is, she would have been fine. She knew what I was doing and she was playing along. Your husband’s a doctor. Did he give her anything?”

Gillian sighed. “He’s not my husband.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe live-in lover.”

“Give it a rest. Things are difficult enough without you popping back into my life.”

“My mistake. I only spent the last six months fighting everyone in the world to get to you. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

She stopped on the second floor and glared at him. She dropped her voice slightly when she said, “It was hard on me, too. It still is. It’s hard for everyone, okay? You, me, Jay...”

“But he’s the one you’re with. It can’t be that hard on him.”

“I…”

He put a hand on her belly. Four months, and it already looked bigger than a medicine ball. He didn’t want to imagine what she’d be like in four more months. It would be massive and impossible for him to ignore even if he wanted to. All those nights and weeks and months wondering if she was alive, imagining different scenarios about their reunion…

He felt like a two-time chump just thinking about it.

“Your hand’s cold,” she said.

“I’ve been out in the rain.”

“You’re going to catch a cold.”

“I’ll live.” He looked up, seeking out her eyes. “Four months. If you’d just waited a little longer...”

She looked down at his hand, circling her belly over the nightgown. She placed her hand over his and squeezed. “I know.”

“How?”

“How?” she repeated.

“You know what I mean.”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Gillian…”

“It just happened. It sounds stupid, I know, but it’s true. I was one of his helpers and I probably saw him more than anyone in town, including Jordan. One night I was depressed and thinking about…everything. I used to do that a lot, you know. Every face I saw, I wanted it to be you. Every time someone new came through Processing, I wanted them to be you. I thought you were dead, Keo. I tried to be positive, but every day it got harder. And he was lonely, too, and I guess we just thought it would be okay if we weren’t both lonely for one night.”

“Jordan didn’t know?”

“No. I worked in Medical and she was in Agriculture.”

“Do you love him?”

The question blurted out of him. He didn’t know where it came from, and he regretted asking as soon as it left his mouth. Not because it was something he didn’t want to ask, but because it was something he didn’t want to know the answer to.

She didn’t say anything right away, and the wide-open second floor seemed entirely too large. Although she was standing right in front of him and he could feel her belly pressing against the palm of his hand, she was more distant now than she had been in all those days and nights he thought about her, dreamed of her, and rehearsed their reunion over and over again.

Four fucking months.

“No,” she said finally. “He’s a good man, Keo.” She looked up at him. “But I can never love him the way I love you.”

“You say ‘love.’ Not ‘loved’…”

“I know what I said.”

He smiled. “Does he know that?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s still with you.”

“He’s a good man…”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s the truth. Maybe one day I’ll come to love him, but it’s never going to be the way it was with us. Back at the cabin, all those months together after the end of the world... You can’t replicate something like that.” She put a warm hand against his cheek and traced the long scar. “But it has to be this way now. Because I need him to care for this baby. And I need this place to keep it safe. Do you understand?”

“But it won’t be safe. Not for your baby.”

“It will be.” She took her hand away and wrapped both arms around her stomach. “The doctors have privileges that the others don’t. My baby is going to be spared.”

Classes within classes, right, Steve?

She pursed her lips. “I know it’s selfish. It’s not fair to all the other mothers, but Jay has a special position here. What happened to me was an accident. Or, at least, I thought it was at first. I wasn’t going to keep it, you know. I was going to leave with Jordan. Then one day I felt it.”

“It?”

“The baby. It kicked. After that, I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t leave to raise my baby out there. It wouldn’t have survived for long. But in here, it could. I could watch it grow.”

“In this town…”

“It’s better than out there. Maybe if you had been here earlier, things would be different. But you weren’t, so I made a choice. And I chose my baby.”

She placed her head against his chest and Keo slipped his arms around her. He held her tight and never wanted to let her go, the way he had over six months ago when Pollard’s soldiers attacked the cabin. He had made that choice to save her.

Joke’s on you, pal.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back.

He kissed her hair and inhaled her scent. Just soap and water, he knew, but it was still better than anything he had smelled in months.

Then, because he couldn’t take it anymore, “Let’s go see Jordan.”

* * *

Jordan was unconscious and lying on a bed in the guest bedroom. She was pantless and wearing an oversize button-down shirt that went all the way down to her thighs. Her face was still badly bruised, the purple and black swelling over her left eye even uglier now than when he had seen it earlier at the warehouse.

The room was dark, but there was enough LED light coming through the back window to see Jordan and her protector. He was a black man in his thirties with a shaved head, and he stood next to the window looking out at the streets—or at least what little of it he could see through the falling rain. He had a Walther P22 with an attached suppressor that he clenched tightly at his side, and the gun twitched when the door opened and Keo stepped inside with Gillian.

“Hello, Dave,” Keo said.

The man grinned. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“What?” Keo repeated.

“‘Hello, Dave,’” the man said. “From 2001.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a science fiction movie. Stanley Kubrick? That’s where the line’s from.”

“I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

Dave shook his head. “Whatever. That your golf cart down there?”

“You need a ride?”

“Hell yeah.”

“This is Keo,” Gillian said. “He’s a friend of ours.”

“‘Ours’?”

“Jordan and me.”

“What happened to your face?” Dave asked him.

“Shaving accident,” Keo said.

“Oh yeah? I ran out of shaving cream months ago.”

“I use butter.”

“Butter?”

“Yes.”

Dave looked like he was trying to figure out if Keo was kidding him, before finally saying, “Word of advice. You’re not nearly as quiet as you thought you were being. I could hear the two of you talking through the wall.”

“Sorry,” Gillian said, and gave Keo an embarrassed look.

“Anyway, I’m seeing a lot of activity on the streets. Soldiers with flashlights moving through the rain. What’s going on?”

“They’re looking for you,” Keo said. “Going house to house. Two of them are on their way here now. We have about twenty minutes to get you and Jordan to a better hiding spot.”

“Shit,” Dave said. “Where?”

Jay appeared behind them, squeezing through Keo and Gillian. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked to the bed.

“What’s he doing?” Dave asked.

“Getting her ready to move,” Gillian said. “You’re going with her.”

“Where are we going?”

“Downstairs.” When Dave still looked unconvinced, she added, “Trust me, Dave, okay?”

Dave nodded. “All right.”

“Bring her down when you guys are done,” Gillian said, and left them.

Keo watched her go, then looked back at Jay. The doctor was unbuttoning the oversize shirt and checking Jordan’s wounds. Then he opened a black bag he had brought in with him and took out a syringe.

“What’s that?” Dave asked.

“Sedatives to keep her asleep for a while,” Jay said.

“She gonna be okay?”

“If you’re worried about the cuts, don’t be; they’ll heal as long as they don’t get infected. And the swelling around her eye will go down soon.”

Keo looked at Dave. “You didn’t exactly think this through, did you? You didn’t think the soldiers would start going house to house looking for you?”

Dave shook his head. “I thought I had at least an hour to get her out of town.”

“You took a big risk rescuing her from Bannerman’s. Why?”

“I thought they were going to interrogate her for information.”

“What kind of information?”

“I don’t know. The group’s whereabouts, what Tobias is planning, that sort of thing. I thought it was worth blowing my cover to make sure she got away. I was going to take her to the safe location in the woods, but the goddamn storm clouds…” He sighed, exasperated—maybe with himself, maybe with everything. “Things went to shit fast after that. If she didn’t tell me to come here, we’d still be running around out there.”

Keo thought about telling Dave that he was protecting a ghost, because Tobias was gone and the last time he saw the man, Keo had a feeling he might never come back. But Dave didn’t know that, since people didn’t walk around with cell phones and texting had ceased to become a viable communication tool these days. Where was social media when you needed them?

#UBscrewedDave.

“Tobias is going to be pissed,” Dave said.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Keo said.

Dave gave him a questioning look, but Keo didn’t elaborate.

Jay finally finished what he was doing and stood up, then glanced over at Keo. “Can you carry her downstairs?”

“I can do it,” Dave said.

“No,” Keo said. “I’ll do it. She’s my friend.”

* * *

He carried Jordan down to the first floor, then followed Jay to the back hallway connected to the garage. They stopped at the laundry room, where Gillian was already waiting inside.

Like most homes before the end of the world, Gillian’s used to get its heated water from a tank. The tall, smooth, stainless forty-gallon container rested on top of a three-foot-high shelf in the back of the laundry room inside its own closet. Gillian had discovered a few weeks after she moved in that the previous owner had holed out the shelf and had been using it to store old parts for the heating unit. She had removed everything, leaving an empty three-by-four-feet extra area.

Dave peered into the tight space before sighing. “Are you sure she’ll be fine in there?”

“I gave her plenty of morphine,” Jay said. “She won’t feel a thing no matter how cramped it is.”

“You claustrophobic?” Keo asked.

“Hell yeah,” Dave said. “But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

Dave went back-first into the enclosed space, basically folding over into a ball to squeeze inside. He didn’t stop scooting until he bumped into the back wall. Keo laid down a duvet, then lowered Jordan’s unconscious body on top of it. Dave took hold of one end of the blanket and pulled it inside with him, but it took both of them to curl up Jordan’s legs and head to fit. She looked so peaceful that Keo found himself staring at her for a few seconds.

“What happens if they don’t buy it?” Dave asked.

“They’ll buy it,” Keo said. Then to Jay, “Right?”

Jay nodded. “They should. Definitely.”

Keo smiled. Jay really was a terrible liar, but it looked as if Dave believed him anyway.

“Man, this is going to be a tight squeeze,” Dave said. “How long do we have to stay in here?”

“As long as it takes,” Keo said. “Just pretend you’re a pretzel.”

“Oh, great. That helps a lot, thanks.”

Keo handed Dave his P22. “Just in case.”

“Just in case. Right.”

“Where’d you get that little beauty, anyway?”

“One of the soldiers gave it to me in return for some off-the-books rations. The guy told me it was the same gun that James Bond used in the movies.”

“Bond carries a Walther PPK. This is a Walther P22.”

“What, not the same?”

“Not the same.”

“Shit,” Dave said. Then, “I thought you don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“I don’t, but I do read,” Keo said, closing the shelf up. He straightened and wiped his hands on his wet pant legs. He was still dripping a little water from his clothes, but not nearly as much as before. “Sorry about the mess, Doc.”

Jay gave him a forced smile. “It’s okay. Tomorrow’s cleaning day anyway.”

“Cleaning day?”

“That’s when Gillian and I spend an hour just cleaning the house. We do it every week. This place was a mess when we first moved in.”

“Huh,” Keo said. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

“Do you, uh, need something for the pain?” Jay asked.

“Pain?”

Jay was staring at the still-red gash on his forehead.

“No, thanks,” Keo said. “I still get some headaches, but I’ve been taking these.”

He took out the bottle of painkillers and Jay took a look at them.

Then the doctor nodded. “I can give you something better. Stronger.”

“I’d appreciate that. They let you carry meds home?”

“I guess they trust me.”

Gillian appeared at the open laundry door and looked in at Keo, then at Jay, as if sensing that something had happened between them while she wasn’t there.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Good to go,” Keo said.

“Fine,” Jay smiled. Or tried to.

“Let’s get everything ready before they show up,” Gillian said. She gave the two of them another glance before leaving again.

He and Jay followed her out.

“I’ll go clean the mess you guys left on the first floor,” Jay said, and disappeared into the living room.

Keo looked after him, then at Gillian.

She sighed. “This has been an all-around tough day for him. First you, then Jordan…and now you again.”

“He seems to be holding up fine.”

“He’s tougher than he looks.”

“Hunh.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

He shrugged.

“He is, though,” Gillian said. “You’d be surprised at what he’ll do if he believes in the cause. Like helping me hide Jordan and Dave. He didn’t have to do that, but he did.”

Keo nodded. She had a point there. Maybe he was letting pettiness get in the way of appreciating the sacrifice Jay was making. Then again, maybe he didn’t care to give Jay the benefit of the doubt.

Screw you, Jay.

He followed her back up to the second floor. He wanted to say something during the walk up the flight of stairs, like last time, but couldn’t think of anything that hadn’t already been said or would change the outcome of the last six months.

Gillian couldn’t, either, so they walked in silence instead.

They went to another room, where Grant was snoring on the bed. His boots were on the floor and the sheets around him were still wet. Jay had injected Grant with something called synthetic opioid etorphine that had put him to sleep. According to Jay, some of the soldiers had found the opiate at an animal clinic. It took Grant a few minutes to lose consciousness, but once he did, Keo wasn’t sure he could have woken the man up with a grenade.

“Jay says he should be asleep until morning,” Gillian said. “So you have that long to decide what to do with him. That is, if we actually get away with tonight.”

Keo chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Just like old times.”

She gave him a wry smile. “The old times weren’t that great, Keo. As I recall, we were running for our lives most of the time.”

“Not always. The six months at the cabin was nice.”

“Except for that. Those were okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Maybe good.”

“They were more than that.”

She sighed. “Maybe.”

“You still miss it, don’t you? You still miss me.”

“I told you. I’ll always miss you. That’s never going to change. The rest…the rest isn’t possible anymore.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe whatever you want—”

He kissed her.

She let out some muffled sounds at first, and he expected her to push him away again, but instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down harder against her mouth. Keo slid his hands along her side, skirted around her protruding belly, and squeezed her breasts. They were a lot bigger than he remembered.

Thunder crackled outside and lightning flashed across the back window, and he swore the room shook for a brief second.

“The earth moved,” he grinned.

“You’re so corny,” she smiled.

“Hmm,” he said, and kissed her again.

Harder this time, pulling her against him. He didn’t even care about the baby bump anymore.

“Keo,” she whispered in between the brief moments that he allowed her to breathe. “Keo. Stop it.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Jay’s downstairs.”

“Fuck Jay.”

“Stop it. Please.”

“No.”

“God, I hate you.”

“Liar.”

She tried to say something else, but he wouldn’t let her. She moaned incoherently against him, and he had reached one hand into her shirt to see just how big her breasts really had gotten—

Bang bang bang!

Pounding. From downstairs.

The front door.

He pulled back, annoyed and frustrated with the night, with the entire world.

“It’s time,” she said, gasping for breath against him. “Try not to get us killed, okay? All of us?”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jay was on the first floor, and the sound of pouring rain flooded the house as soon as he opened the door to answer the pounding. Keo was already halfway downstairs. He didn’t like the idea of Jay facing the soldiers alone. The guy couldn’t lie to save his life, and now he had all their lives on the line, too.

Gillian grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he reached the bottom landing. “The gun,” she whispered. “Soldiers don’t carry guns in their front waistband.”

He nodded and switched Grant’s Glock to behind his waistband, then covered it up with his shirt. He would have liked to have the M4 he had left in the guest bedroom on the second floor alongside Grant’s sleeping form, but the soldiers were the only ones supposed to carry weapons.

“You’re Doctor Jay, right?” a voice asked somewhere in the foyer.

“That’s right,” Jay answered. “What’s going on?”

“We’re looking for some fugitives,” a third voice said.

“Oh.”

Dammit, Jay, never ever play poker with your life on the line, pal.

They continued down the stairs, Gillian holding his hand the entire time and not letting go until they were almost at the bottom. Jay was leading two soldiers into the living room. They were both dripping wet and leaving large puddles in their wake, all the while shivering under cheap plastic black raincoats.

“Honey, we have company,” Jay said, forcing a barely credible smile in Gillian’s direction.

“Is something wrong?” Gillian asked.

The soldiers were both in their thirties, their faces and hair wet despite their hoods. Keo couldn’t see their name tags because of the raincoats, but they both carried M4s over their backs and were rubbing their hands together.

Gillian went to stand next to Jay while Keo wandered over to the kitchen and sat down on a stool on the other side of the counter. The gun bulged against his back and anyone who looked closely would have spotted it, so he made sure they only saw his front the entire time he was within sight of them.

“We’re looking for two fugitives,” one of the soldiers said. “A black guy and a white woman. She’s hurt and he’s armed, and they might have come in this direction.”

“We haven’t seen anyone like that around here,” Jay said.

Jay’s voice had trembled a bit when he said it, and one of the soldiers clearly noticed. “Are you sure about that?” the man asked.

“Yeah, of course.” Jay smiled. It came out, predictably, unconvincing.

Gillian must have realized how badly Jay was doing, because she sought out his hand and slipped her fingers through his. “How do you know they’re in our area?” she asked the soldiers.

“They came over the fence from next door,” the other soldier said. “Left a lot of blood behind, but the rainstorm washed away most of the trail so now we’re going house to house.”

The first soldier was peering up the second floor stairs. “Anyone up there?”

“Just one of your guys,” Keo said.

The soldier looked over at him. “He got a name?”

“Grant. He was taking me to Processing in the golf cart, but then the rain hit and we decided to detour here.”

“Shit, you must be someone special to be riding in that chariot,” the other soldier said.

“No one special.”

“Humble, too.”

Keo smiled. He knew they had seen the cart outside, and he had guessed correctly that only Steve (or Jack) rode around town in those things. In a place where the haves wore uniforms, carried guns, and had horses to take them when they were too lazy to walk, the king had a slow-moving, solar-powered golf cart. It would have been an absurd concept a year ago, but then this wasn’t a year ago.

“You got a name?” one of the soldiers asked him.

“Keo.”

“Keo? What kind of name is that?”

“He’s a friend,” Gillian said before Keo could answer. “He’s new in town; that’s why he was being taken to Processing.”

“Grant’s up there?” the other soldier asked.

At this point, Keo had stopped bothering to keep them separate. Dripping wet and covered from head to toe in black raincoats, they might as well be duplicates.

“He’s coming down with a cold, so we gave him one of our guest rooms to sleep it off,” Gillian said. Then, turning to Jay, “Right, honey?”

“Right,” Jay nodded. “I gave him something to help him sleep.”

“Go check it out, Ronny,” one of the soldiers said.

“You mind?” Ronny asked. Keo wondered if he was only asking that because of Jay’s position.

“Go right ahead,” Jay said.

Ronny walked past them and jogged up the stairs.

“What did you say your name was again?” Jay asked the other soldier.

“Owen,” the man said.

“Owen. Have we met before?”

“Yeah, I had some leg pains a few weeks back. You gave me something for it, remember?”

Jay nodded. “I remember now.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

“How’s the leg coming along?”

“Much better.”

Keo could see Jay warming up to the moment. Maybe it was because he was in his element, talking medicine to a patient.

Even Owen looked disarmed, though his expression changed a bit when he turned his attention back to Keo. “When did you get in?”

“This afternoon,” Keo said.

“Is that right? How’d you get a golf cart already? I’ve been here since the beginning, and they haven’t even given me a horse yet.”

“It’s Steve’s.”

“Steve?” Then, as the name registered, “Oh. You call him Steve, huh?”

“He told me to.”

“Must be nice,” Owen smirked.

Footsteps behind them, just before Ronny came back down the stairs.

“Grant?” Owen asked.

“He’s sleeping like a fucking baby,” Ronny said. “Out like a light. Smacked him around and he didn’t even flinch.” To Jay, “What’d you give him, Doc, and where can I get some of that?”

Jay gave him an anxious smile. “He was coming down with a bad cold and I didn’t want him to go back out in this weather. Doctor’s orders.”

“Lucky him,” Owen said. “We don’t have that choice.”

“You checked the other rooms?” Ronny asked.

Owen shook his head. Then to Jay: “We’re going to have to search the house before we can leave, Doc. That okay?”

Jay nodded. “Go right ahead.”

“Just…try not to make too much of a mess,” Gillian said. She was rubbing her belly, which Keo thought was a nice touch.

“We’ll be gentle,” Ronny said.

“Everyone stay in here until we’re finished, okay?” Owen said.

They nodded as the two soldiers headed into the back hallway where the bedrooms were.

“How many rooms?” Ronny called back.

“Four,” Gillian said. “Two down here, two more upstairs.”

Jay and Gillian drifted over to the kitchen counter where Keo was sitting and sat down across from him. Jay laid his hands on the smooth countertop, but when he saw that they were shaking noticeably, he picked them up and hid them in his lap.

“Relax, Doc,” Keo said, keeping his voice just low enough to be heard. “You’re doing fine.”

That was a lie. The man’s face was pale, and you only needed to spend a few seconds looking into his eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses to know Jay wasn’t doing fine at all. In fact, he was doing pretty goddamn awful.

That realization made Keo reach behind his back and slide the Glock out from his waistband and put it in his lap. He kept his left hand on the counter the whole time, next to the same mug of black tea that Gillian had fixed for him this afternoon. He guessed she hadn’t had time to clean it, which made him wonder what kind of conversation she’d had with Jay when the doctor came home. Clearly, she had told him everything. Or most of it, anyway.

Gillian, meanwhile, was looking across the counter at him. She was amazingly calm, and watching her sitting side by side with the nervous Jay made Keo realize just how much all those months fighting Pollard and his men had cost him.

Fucking Pollard. The man continued to haunt him even in death.

They sat staring at each other in silence for what seemed like hours, with only the constant pak-pak-pak of rain against the roof and the occasional crashing of thunder in the distance to break the silence. Thank God for the noises outside, otherwise Keo was sure he could actually hear Jay’s heartbeat thrumming against his chest.

Gillian must have heard it, too, because she got off her stool and went to a cabinet and brought back a bottle of Pinot Noir. She pulled the cork out with little effort, grabbed three glasses from the kitchen, and expertly poured the remains into them. She slid one in front of Jay and smiled at him, and Jay anxiously picked it up and drank most of it in one tilt.

Keo picked up his and sipped once, then put it back down. He wanted to maintain all of his motor coordination if he needed to use the Glock. He prayed he didn’t have to do any shooting, because even with the rain and thunder, gunshots inside a house might still travel past the walls. It would be doubly bad luck if someone were to be walking by on the sidewalk at the same moment. That wasn’t even taking into consideration the potential collateral damage, which was his primary concern now as he looked across the counter at Gillian.

“Sorry, no refrigeration,” Gillian said. “But we just opened it yesterday, so it’s still drinkable.”

“Where’d you get it?” Keo asked.

He didn’t really care, of course, but talking about something as inconsequential as the origins of the wine was a simple and effective way of keeping her mind—and Jay’s—off the two soldiers rummaging through their bedrooms at the moment.

“One of the doctors at Medical has a case of them,” Jay said. “I’m not sure where he got it; probably from a trade with one of the soldiers.”

“That happens a lot? Trading?”

“Pretty much everything other than the bare essentials is gotten through trading,” Gillian said. “It’s a thriving black market. I don’t know if their superiors know about it, or if they just look the other way.”

“What else gets traded?” Keo asked.

“Everything,” Gillian said.

He was going to ask what “everything” included when Owen and Ronny came out of the back hallway.

“Sorry for the mess, Doc,” Owen said. “We tried to be gentle, but we had to make sure there’s no one hiding in the closets or under the beds.”

“That’s all right; you’re just doing your jobs,” Jay said. He smiled, and it actually looked semi-convincing that time.

Thank you, red wine.

“What about upstairs?” Owen said to Ronny.

“I already went through both rooms when I was up there,” Ronny said. “Unless you want to wake Grant up and haul his ass into the rain with us.”

“Nah, let the guy sleep it off. One of us might as well keep dry tonight.” He turned back to them. “Okay, guys, we’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No problem,” Jay said, climbing off his stool with the almost empty wine glass in his hand. “I’ll walk you guys out.”

Jay followed them to the door.

Keo looked across at Gillian. She was smiling back at him, and he was trying to decide if she’d always been this gorgeous or if being pregnant had given her something extra (not that she needed it), when there was a loud squawking noise and they heard a muffled voice that was lost behind clothing.

The soldiers stopped in the foyer, and Owen pulled a radio out from behind his raincoat. He keyed it. “Say again?”

“Grant,” a voice said through the radio. “Anyone seen Grant?”

“What about Grant?”

“Boss wants to know where the fuck he is. He’s supposed to be at Processing with some new guy, but they never showed up.”

Ronny had already turned around and began to unsling his rain-slicked M4. He walked back into the living room, passing Gillian, until he was standing directly across the counter from Keo. They stared at each other.

Oh so close.

“If anyone sees Grant or the guy he was escorting, don’t let them out of your sight,” the man on the radio continued. “That’s an order.”

“You hear that?” Owen said over at Ronny.

“Yeah—” Ronny started to say, when there was a loud bang! and he stumbled backward, looking more shocked than hurt.

Keo stood up from the stool and hurried around the counter as Owen dropped the radio and scrambled for his rifle.

“Jay, move!” Gillian shouted.

Jay staggered away, stunned, when Keo shot Owen twice in the chest with the Glock. The soldier crumpled to the floor, splashing blood and water in equal measures across the already wet tiles.

Ronny had fallen to his knees, his rifle clattering in front of him. He was holding onto his gut, apparently still unsure how a bullet had hit him in the stomach. Sooner or later, he would figure out that Keo had shot him through the wall under the counter. Or maybe he’d never get that far because Keo shot him again, this time in the head, and quickly picked up the rifle and checked the magazine.

A full load. Good.

Keo waited for the radio on the floor next to Owen’s lifeless body to squawk, for the man on the other side to order soldiers to converge on the sound of gunshots. Instead, he just heard men talking back and forth, and the same voice repeating the message to others who were just now reporting in. There was nothing about gunshots, nothing about converging on Gillian’s house.

“Report in if you find Grant or the other guy,” the voice said. “Until then, everyone stick to your assignments and keep the radio clear for further updates. Over and out.”

He finished unclasping Ronny’s gun belt while Gillian went to Jay, who was leaning against the wall. It was the only thing keeping the doctor from keeling over as he stared at Owen’s body. For a man whose livelihood was spent looking at blood, Jay gave Keo the impression he had never seen it before. Then again, maybe it was the shock of being in the middle of a violent gun battle. Either way, Gillian was whispering to him, her hands rubbing his shoulders. Jay had dropped the glass of wine sometime between when Keo shot Owen and finished off Ronny.

Once Gillian had led Jay to the stairs and sat him down, she walked back over to him. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. He had to remind himself Gillian hadn’t always been pregnant or playing house. Once upon a time, she had saved a group of people inside a hospital infested with ghouls.

That same woman looked at him now with steady eyes. “What if the neighbors heard the gunshots? These walls aren’t exactly soundproof.”

“No, but with the rain and thunder, maybe they won’t know the difference.”

“That’s a pretty big maybe, Keo.”

“Not everyone knows what a gunshot sounds like in real life. Besides, it’s not like anyone has a phone to call the cops. Or maybe they’ll just ignore it, pretend they didn’t hear anything. People did that even before the end of the world.”

“What about the soldiers outside? I’m pretty sure they can tell the difference between gunshots and thunder.”

“If they’re outside and they heard anything through this monsoon, they’ll be all over us in a few minutes anyway, so this conversation is irrelevant. But if we got real lucky, then it’s going to take some time before they realize where these two were last seen.”

“But they’ll figure it out eventually. They’ll ask around, and sooner or later they’ll get to a house where the soldiers didn’t search yet, then they’ll backtrack to us.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I gotta get Jordan and Dave out of here before then.”

“What about Jay and me?”

Keo looked past her at Jay, still sitting at the bottom of the stairs staring at his hands. He wasn’t sure what Jay was looking at because his hands looked fine and there were no traces of trembling that Keo could see from across the room.

“Keo?” Gillian said.

“I’m thinking,” Keo said, and hurried across the room to the front door.

He peered out through the peephole, but he might as well be looking into an empty black ocean with the sheets of falling rain obscuring everything, including the LED lights up and down the streets. The only time he could see the sidewalk and the street beyond it was when thunder clapped and lightning lit up the subdivision for a brief second.

Gillian had followed him over. “Keo,” she said, much quieter than she really had to. “What now?”

“You’ll be fine,” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could muster.

“How will we be fine after this?” She looked back at Owen’s body, then Ronny in the living room. “This isn’t fine.”

“You didn’t do this. I did.”

“They’re not going to see it that way.”

“Look at him,” Keo said, nodding at Jay.

The doctor was still in his own world, oblivious to them.

“What do you see?” Keo asked her.

“I don’t understand…”

“He’s a doctor.”

“So?”

“How many doctors do you have in town?”

“Two, with four full-time nurses and a dozen trainees. Three doctors, if you count Bannerman, but no one does. Steve won’t let him come near the civilians after what he’s done in the past. We’re lucky. I’ve heard from some of the soldiers that other towns have to make do with just one doctor.”

“Two doctors, and Jay’s one of them. That’s the number you should be focusing on, because that’s the number that tells me Steve’s not going to do anything to him. Or to you. He can’t afford to. His number one job is to keep this place running smoothly so the ghouls get their blood and the pregnancies are on schedule.”

She was looking intently at him. “What’s out there, Keo? When Jordan and I were trying to get to Santa Marie Island, we didn’t even know places like this existed. What’s happening out there that we don’t know about?”

He thought about Song Island, all the stories about the towns, the soldiers, and ghouls with blue eyes. It was enough to give him goose bumps, but he didn’t tell her about them. Right now, Gillian didn’t need to know. Right now—and he hated to admit it—T18 was the best thing for her and the life growing inside her stomach.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said. “You were right not to leave with Jordan. You made the right choice.”

“I know,” she said. “But are you absolutely sure about your buddy Steve?”

“I know guys like him. I’ve been around them most of my life, even before all of this. They compartmentalize. Maybe he’ll come to the conclusion that you and Jay might have something to do with it, but he’ll let it go, because he knows I wouldn’t hesitate to do this. So don’t clean this mess up. Don’t try to hide the bodies. In the morning, wake up Grant and let him go. Or if he’s still out, go outside and get one of the soldiers. Tell them everything, that I’m responsible for the shooting. Grant will be able to corroborate most of it, including when I ordered Jay to put him out.”

“You’ve thought all this out, huh?”

“Not even close. But I don’t think it’s going to really matter how good your story is. It’ll be good enough for Steve to let this go, which will allow him to focus on coming after me, and especially Dave.”

“Why Dave?”

“Dave killed his brother, before he came here.”

“Oh.”

“So you’ll be fine. He has no choice but to let you and Jay off the hook.”

“Assuming you’re right…”

“I am,” he said, thinking, Christ, I hope I’m right.

“Assuming you’re right,” she said anyway, “then what about you? You said he would come after you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just worry about yourself.” He put a hand on her belly. “And him. Or her.”

“By the way it’s kicking, it’s probably a him.”

“Either way, I know you’ll be a great mother.”

She tried to smile. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

Thunder crackled outside and lightning flashed, illuminating the lawn for a brief moment. Instead of slowing down, it sounded like the rain was increasing, as if everything up till now had just been a prelude to the real storm that was coming.

“Of course you will,” Keo said. “I’ll come around on the holidays to say hi. Bring gifts for the little slugger.”

She tried to laugh it off before looking back at Jay. He wasn’t paying attention to them; or if he was, he was hiding it well.

Gillian looked back at Keo and reached up and caressed his cheek, the one with the scar. He leaned into her palm, enjoying the warmth of her skin against his.

“Time to go,” he said.

* * *

He was drenched from head to boot as soon as he stepped outside the house. By the time he had traveled the short distance from the door to the driveway where the golf cart was sitting, he was pretty sure he had gained five extra pounds just from his clothes absorbing all the rainwater.

And the cold. Jesus Christ on a stick, it was cold.

Keo didn’t know if his heart was racing so hard because he was anticipating gunshots to come out of the darkness around him, or if the organ was trying to pump enough blood to the rest of his body so he wouldn’t freeze to death. There was nothing out there but a murky black pool of nothing, the LED lights barely having any effect against the unrelenting elements.

There was one bright spot (Ha ha, “bright” spot, get it?): If he couldn’t see anything, there was a good chance no one out there could see him, either. And in this weather, only the really dedicated would be out hunting Dave and Jordan. What were the chances that described a lot of Steve’s “soldiers”?

If there were still people moving around in the streets, he couldn’t see them. Then again, he couldn’t see much of anything except the twenty or so feet in front of him at the moment. The solar-powered garden lights were little more than white dots in the darkness and he stepped off the walkway twice, his boots soaking up more water and drenching the socks inside as a result, before finding the driveway in all the nothingness.

When he finally reached the vehicle and no one had fired a shot yet, Keo breathed easier, though he still couldn’t quite make his teeth stop their chattering. He was pretty sure they were snapping so fast and furious that there was a good chance he might end up biting his own tongue off by accident.

Death by chattering. Now that would be a hell of a way to go.

Fortunately, he still had his tongue when he climbed into the cart and turned the key. The raindrops landing on the solar panels above him sounded like machine-gun fire, which wasn’t quite the imagery he needed at the moment.

Keo stepped on the gas pedal and spun the wheel, aiming the slow-moving vehicle toward the front door of Gillian’s house. He turned around, then reversed into position, going up the slight step until half of the cart was out of the rain.

The door opened behind him and Dave came out with Jordan. He was carrying her on one side while Gillian, protruding belly and all, had the other. Keo had expected Jay and was taken aback to see the pregnant Gillian hobbling out of the door with Dave. Jordan was mummified in a thick black parka, the hood zipped up and covering almost the entire lower half of her face.

Dave carried the backpack he had brought with him, along with Owen’s M4. Keo had Ronny’s rifle along with his raincoat and gun belt.

“In the back!” Keo said. He had to shout to be heard over the pak-pak-pak of rain around them.

Keo grabbed Jordan’s unconscious form from Gillian, who stood back and watched him and Dave put her into the backseat. Dave slid in next to her unresponsive body, then slipped both arms around Jordan to keep her upright.

When Dave had secured Jordan in the back with him, Keo turned to Gillian.

She stood looking back at him in the doorway, trembling arms folded across her chest for warmth. Water dripped down her long raven hair, and despite the semidarkness, he was drawn to her green eyes.

Keo glanced past her and into the house, but there was no sign of Jay, though Owen and Ronny still lay where they had fallen. He turned back to Gillian, who had put on a pink bathrobe and looked every bit like the housewife she had become. But he easily pierced through that charade and saw the woman he had survived the end of the world with, who he had been trying, all this time, to get back to.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head and shouted over the rain, “I’ll see you again very soon.”

He nodded. “Soon.”

“Go,” she said, just as thunder boomed in the background and lightning lit up her face for a fraction of a second.

He turned to go when she reached out and grabbed his hand. He turned back around and she was there, pressing up against him with her body and her mouth. He inhaled in her scent and tasted her lips and forgot all about the cold.

For a while, anyway—until she pulled away and smiled.

He smiled back (it came out much easier than he had expected) before letting go of her hand and turning around and climbing into the golf cart.

He removed the M4 and leaned it across the dashboard within easy reach. He didn’t look back at her but instead used the rearview mirror. She hadn’t moved and stood shivering in the doorway, watching him back.

Keo stepped on the gas and the cart hummed to life and started moving, taking him, Jordan, and Dave back into the hellacious storm.

Book Three

The Last Boat

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Dave said from the backseat of the golf cart. He had to shout, or else Keo wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the pouring rain.

No, but what the hell choice do we have?

“Yeah, sure,” he said instead. “If there’s shooting, stay low and keep Jordan safe.”

“You can’t drive and shoot.”

“This isn’t even remotely close to driving. This is sitting in a slow-moving piece of crap. Just keep her head down.”

“And mine.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Dave smirked at him in the rearview mirror. He had every right to be concerned, because Keo himself was concerned. There was nothing about riding through a rainstorm in a slow-moving golf cart that made him feel like he was going to survive the night.

The structural husks around him—homes that were supposed to be occupied—didn’t help to convince him this was going to end very well for him, Dave, and Jordan. A few lights from a window here and there managed to peek through the unending cascade of rain, but for the most part the houses might as well be abandoned.

The streets were no different. Water flooded the roads, threatening to overwhelm the cart’s small tires. Keo felt like he might lose control of the steering wheel at any second, that at any moment he might hit a large puddle and end up flowing backward with the current.

This must be what it feels like to ride the Titanic after it hit the iceberg…

…only less fun.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so goddamn cold. He had been soaked to the bone for so long that he didn’t remember the last time he wasn’t shivering uncontrollably. If not for the fact he was gripping the wheel with both hands, his arms might have been shaking like a crackhead in need of a fix.

The only other sensation was the tap-tap-tap against the back of his seat: Dave’s feet kicking, probably involuntarily. He just hoped the extra clothes swaddling Jordan, along with Dave’s body heat, were enough to keep her from freezing to death. There was absolutely no guarantee she would wake up at all. Depending on how the next few minutes went, Keo might wish he were shot up with drugs, too.

He glanced up at the rearview mirror but could only see two black lumps huddled against one another, forming a single shape in the backseat. They were both wearing dark clothes, which helped to keep them somewhat invisible—

Shit.

Two figures, standing outside a house at the corner of the street to his right. He only managed to make them out because the homeowner was holding an LED lamp, and the bright light illuminated all three figures against the open door.

Keo kept both hands on the steering wheel but made a mental note of how far the M4 rifle was from his hand as he continued driving up the street.

They must have caught the barely visible headlights of the golf cart or heard the splashing of tires against the flooded road, because they both turned their heads in his direction. He couldn’t have made out their faces if he wanted to, even though they were barely twenty meters from his position. He kept the cart moving steadily forward, not that he really had any choice. The only other options were to take his foot off the gas pedal and slow down, or—

Well, that was it. He already had the pedal pushing against the floor. The damn vehicle was just slow.

As he passed them by, one of the soldiers turned back to talk to the civilian, but the other one continued to look after him. Keo stared forward and kept going, but as soon as he was on the other side of the intersected street, he glanced at his passenger-side mirror and saw the soldiers going into the house.

Close one.

He wondered if Dave had seen them or if he was too busy trying not to freeze to death in the back. Since Dave hadn’t said anything, it was probably the latter.

They were halfway to the front gate now, and he was feeling a lot better. Not that he thought they were any closer to making it out of T18 alive, though he had settled on the odds of them exiting the subdivision at slightly under forty percent. The presence of those two soldiers had knocked those odds down some, but having passed them, he thought forty percent was probably about right.

I’ve had worse odds.

As the golf cart churned on, splashing an ungodly amount of water in its path, Keo upped his chances of surviving Texas at around forty-five percent.

What the hell. He was feeling a little optimistic these days.

* * *

The last time he approached the front gate of T18A1, with Grant in the driver seat, the two soldiers manning it were too busy trying not to catch a cold in the guard booth and had left the gate open.

This time, Keo wasn’t so lucky.

It took all his willpower not to pick up the M4 and start shooting. He didn’t do it because he had gotten lucky with Owen and Ronny inside Gillian’s house, but out here there were no walls to help suppress the sound of gunshots. And he remembered the two soldiers he had passed earlier; there was no telling how many others were still walking around the subdivision, going house to house.

He was twenty meters from the heavy gate—way too heavy to ram; hell, the cart would crumble long before he could force that hulking metal barrier open—when the guards spotted him. It was likely the soft glow of his headlights, which despite not being all that bright was the only thing lit up around the area and wasn’t difficult to pick out.

One of the guards hurried out of the booth, bent slightly at the waist as if that would save him from the slashing rain. The man had his M4 slung over his shoulder, which told Keo he wasn’t on high alert.

Keo stopped ten meters from the gate and reached down and took out the Glock, then placed it in his lap. He kept his right hand on the gun while holding the highest point of the steering wheel with his left so the guard could see it.

The guard moved toward him, shielding his eyes with one hand against the sheets of rain that seemed to be coming at them sideways now. The wind had also picked up and the man’s raincoat was pressed against one side of his body, and it looked like he was doing everything possible not to be picked up and blown into the night sky. It didn’t help that he was tall and lanky.

“Open the fucking gate!” Keo shouted with all the indignation he could muster.

Behind him, Dave must have finally realized where they were and stirred. Or, at least, Keo assumed he was moving back there, because Jordan’s protector gave the front seat one involuntary hard kick before going suddenly very still.

The soldier stopped at the sound of Keo’s voice, and still peering from underneath one hand, shouted back, “What?”

“I said open the gate, you moron!” Keo shouted over the pak-pak-pak of rain. “We’re freezing our asses off out here!”

The soldier hesitated. He glanced back at his partner, but the man remained hidden inside the shack with a small LED light of some sort hanging above him. With no help coming, the soldier started moving toward the golf cart again.

“Are you deaf?” Keo shouted when the man was five meters away. “You new here or something? Open the gate!”

The man was close enough now that Keo could see he was very young, his face just barely illuminated by the weak headlights.

“The golf cart,” Keo wanted to shout. “Respect the golf cart, you little prick!”

Keo glared at the soldier like he expected something better, like he belonged and this kid was screwing up—

That might have done it.

The soldier looked back one more time before shouting, “Sorry, sir!” and rushed back up the street to the gate.

Sonofabitch. That actually worked.

Keo loosened his grip on the Glock but kept it in his lap, his chest thrumming a thousand miles per second and giving his chattering teeth a run for its money.

“Oh, fuck me,” Dave whispered behind him. Loudly, too, because Keo could hear him over the storm. “I can’t believe that worked. You fucking maniac.”

Keo grinned and put both hands on the steering wheel. He stepped on the pedal and the cart moved forward.

The soldier pushed the heavy black metal gate aside as Keo drove through, halfway out of there before the gate had even fully opened. The soldier looked after them as Keo turned left as soon as he was able and pointed them down the road, back toward the marina.

* * *

“This isn’t going to work!” Dave shouted.

“Shut up!” he shouted back. “It’ll work!”

“We’re just going to drive up there and take one of the boats? And they’re just going to let us?”

“Yes,” Keo said, and thought, Or die trying, but he didn’t add that part because he didn’t think Dave needed to know he had adjusted their chances of surviving tonight back down to forty percent…ish.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was more like thirty-five, considering how desolate and empty the world looked at the moment. If he thought the almost invisible houses in the subdivision were unnerving, it was nothing compared to driving through the wide-open fields that were teeming with people earlier today. The crops looked as if they were being physically assaulted by the rain, most of the corn stalks pummeled to the ground while water flooded the row after row of carefully arranged soil.

The only reason the golf cart wasn’t already floating instead of grinding down the road on its four small tires was because the pavement was slightly elevated, but that wasn’t going to last very long. Before midnight, every street and road in T18 was going to be under water. So he wasn’t terribly surprised by the lack of soldiers out here. Besides the fact that Dave and Jordan’s last known trails led into the subdivisions, anyone foolish enough to hide among the fields wouldn’t survive the night anyway. Drowning out there was a very real possibility.

Somewhere between the near-miss at the gate and his present location, Keo had lost track of time and didn’t know how long they had been on the road. They must have been close to the marina because he glimpsed the water tower to his right, on the other side of another large field of crops. It was too dark and visibility was nonexistent, and he could just barely make out the rocket-like shape and the round top—never mind if there were any guards still braving the horrid weather up there.

He was wary about having to deal with extra guns, but maybe he was giving Steve’s “soldiers” too much credit. Sure, the tower made for a great sniper’s perch, but it was going to take a hell of a good shooter to hit something in this weather. If, that is, someone was still up there at the moment.

He guessed he’d find out soon enough.

Not that he had any choice, anyway. The marina was the only way out. Or, more specifically, the boats docked there. He needed one of them. The faster the vessel, the better, but he’d settle for something with enough gas to get him…where? It didn’t matter. He’d figure it out once he was in the river. Until then, it was all theory anyway.

There were enough lights along the power poles to keep him from running off the road and into the overflowing ditches to both sides of him. Meanwhile, the rain had decided to bypass the cart’s roof entirely and was now hitting him from the side. Keo wished he had grabbed an extra blanket for himself and hoped Jordan, back there with Dave, didn’t die of hypothermia first.

He slowed down when he saw the guard shack next to the marina gate coming up. He couldn’t actually see the structure, just the faded glow of two LED lamps hanging on the other side of what he assumed was a closed window.

The last time he had been driven through by Jack, there were four men with rifles manning the gate. What were the chances Steve had pulled some of them to help with the search? Because if all four had remained behind, this was going to be a very short escape attempt. Keo could see himself outgunning two—maybe even three—if he was really, really lucky, but four? That was asking for too much, especially tonight when he could barely feel his fingers despite the fact he had both hands clutching the steering wheel in a deathlike grip.

Keo stopped the cart completely about fifty meters from the marina entrance and looked back at Dave. The former cafeteria man was already picking up his M4 from the floor. Keo could barely make out Dave’s face back there, but he could see the whites of his eyes just fine. They were wide and scared.

“How are we going to do this?” Dave asked. He was stuttering badly, except he wasn’t really; he was freezing, and everything that came out of him just sounded like stuttering because his teeth were chattering so fast.

“I’m going to drive up there, kill them, then leave you behind with Jordan and the golf cart while I get us a boat,” Keo said. His own voice sounded clipped, as if he had a hard time forming words. “After that, you drive over to the docks and we get out of here.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I can barely see your face and you’re right in front of me. How am I going to know you’ve made it?”

“I’ll give you a signal.”

“What kind of signal?”

“Hell if I know. But you’ll know it when you see it. Or hear it.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan,” Dave frowned.

“It’s the best one you’re going to get tonight. If we’re still here by tomorrow, all three of us are dead. I know it’s hard to believe, but this rainstorm is probably the best thing that could have happened to us.”

“You’re right; that is hard to believe.” Dave shook his head. “Shit, I should have stayed at the cafeteria.”

“You should have. I bet it’s warmer.”

“Among other things.” Dave sighed. “Okay, let’s get this over with. If I’m going to die, it might as well be soon. I’m not in love with the idea of freezing to death out here. Or drowning,” he added, looking over the side of the cart at the inch-high rain building around them on the road.

“That’s the spirit,” Keo grinned.

Dave grunted back.

Keo turned around and stepped on the pedal, and the golf cart motored forward. The marina entrance looked a world away, its thick black gate the only thing keeping him from salvation at the moment.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Even if he got through the four guys at the gate—unless, of course, Steve had decided to double the sentry, which was entirely possible, too—there were the other soldiers inside the marina, not to mention the ones at the docks. The last time he was here, he had spotted at least a dozen men milling around Marina 1 and 2, not counting however many were at the docks. Two, the last time he had counted, but that was before Dave and Jordan made their great escape.

Then there were the snipers on the water tower. If they were still up there and if they could shoot from 200 meters in this condition.

There were a lot of ifs tonight. One wrong if, and he was a dead man.

So what else is new?

Still, he was going to have to lower his chances back to about thirty-five. That seemed about right. Not quite too optimistic, but not entirely too pessimistic, either.

He was thirty meters from the entrance when a figure emerged out of the booth with a flashlight. Rain fell in rivulets down the man’s hood and bounced off the cold steel barrel of the M4 rifle in his other hand.

Keo drove all the way up to him, waiting until he was just ten meters away before he lowered his hand to his lap, picked up the Glock, and raising it back up, fired through the falling raindrops.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Maybe it was the rain, the frequent thunderclaps, or his inability to stop his teeth from snapping, but Keo barely heard the gunshot.

Or the second, or the third one.

It only took one round to fall the soldier walking toward him, though Keo shot him again anyway as the man was going down just to be sure.

He stopped the golf cart and turned off the engine and hopped out just as a second guard stood up inside the booth and looked out the window. The light from inside illuminated his face and the man was still turning his head when Keo shot him in the face, shattering the glass at the same time.

Keo rushed toward the guard booth.

Three shots and no return fire. Three very wet, very loud gunshots that someone had to have heard. If not the guys in the water tower, then the ones on the other side of the gate, in the marina. There was no way someone would not have heard, even in this driving rainstorm—

Thunder, twice in a row, boomed across the skyline behind him. They were at least five times louder than his gunshots. Or maybe someone did hear the gunfire but just didn’t care, because everything else about the night was just so much, much louder.

That’s right, pal, think positive.

Keo had the Glock aimed at the broken window, waiting for a second head to pop up. He was still waiting when he finally reached the booth and kicked the door open and looked in at a lone body crumpled on the floor.

Two soldiers. That was it. Maybe he really had gotten lucky. Maybe Steve really had committed most of his forces to searching the subdivisions. Or maybe Steve just didn’t realize how uncommitted his men were and most of them were hunkered down from the rain at this very moment.

He looked back toward the golf cart in time to see Dave climbing out with his rifle.

“Wait for my signal!” he shouted.

Dave nodded back. Or Keo thought he did. He might have just been shaking under the unforgiving cold.

Keo scanned the marina on the other side of the gate, which was really just a long metal pole across the wide lane. He could see the docks at the very end, and for whatever reason the pounding rain sounded much louder out here.

He expected to see men rushing in his direction, soldiers on horseback charging through the storm. Was it really possible Steve had concentrated the bulk of his forces to searching the houses? Yes, because there were a lot of houses. Five subdivisions worth. Even the military ones would be searched. That kind of canvassing required a lot of manpower.

Keo was starting to feel good about his chances again (Fifty percent?) as he grabbed the gate and unlatched it, then swung it out of the way. It was heavy against his wet and slightly numbed hands. When he had the gate open, he unslung the rifle and went into a slight crouch, sweeping the marina just to be sure.

There was absolutely no movement from the wide parking lot in front of him, and no sound except for the consistent pak-pak-pak of rain. The water was flowing down the incline floor and into the river on the other side, and at this rate it wouldn’t be long before this part of T18 was submerged in water as the river overflowed.

The bulk of the marina was dark except for lights coming from his left, from one of the offices along the administrative buildings. He recognized Marina 1, where he had met with Steve twice now. He glimpsed figures on the other side of the windows milling about. Soldiers trying to stay out of the freezing rainstorm.

Keo got up and jogged through the parking lot toward the docks. He could see the boats in their slips being tossed around by the swells of the river. If not for the lines holding them in place, they would have been gone by now. Hell, he might not even need to use the motor; just untie one of those boats and let the current carry him back to the ocean—

A figure, moving at the end of one of the docks in front of him.

Keo slid to a stop and went into a crouch. There were no vehicles to hide behind, so he was stuck out in the open. At least he didn’t stand out too much in the night dressed in the black raincoat. Even the M4 was black, which meant if the man didn’t stare too closely—and given the distance, that was unlikely—then Keo was for all intents and purposes invisible.

The guy was walking from the end of the dock toward the middle, appearing for just a brief second in a small pool of light when Keo first saw him. Now that the man had continued on, he morphed into a moving black (and shivering) silhouette. Keo could just barely make out clouds of mist with every breath the man took and wondered if he was producing the same kind of telltale signs.

He took a moment to sweep the other docks. Were there more men walking or standing around trying not to freeze to death on those other platforms? If there were, they were doing a hell of a good job hiding themselves. Was it possible they would only leave one unlucky bastard out here while everyone else kept warm inside Marina 1?

Anything was possible, especially on a night like this. It wasn’t like he was dealing with real soldiers here. These weren’t men who had been whipped into shape by Boot Camp and demanding drill instructors. They were civilians playing dress up, many of them just barely worthy of the weapons they were carrying.

He suddenly felt very generous, and Keo hiked his chances of surviving the night to a whopping sixty percent.

He stood up and slung his rifle, then began walking toward the middle dock, the one where he had seen the soldier walking back and forth on. The man spotted him almost right away, but instead of going for his weapon, he stepped into a weak halo of light and rubbed his hands together and blew into them.

It was the raincoat. Of course it was the raincoat. Just like the soldier at the T18A1 gate could only see the golf cart, this one saw the raincoat and rifle and thought Keo was one of them, too. And why wouldn’t he? Keo didn’t just look like he belonged, he walked like it, too.

He stepped onto the dock and continued toward the sentry. Water from the surging river splashed his boots and pant legs, though by now he was already so soaked from head to toe that he hardly felt the additional wetness.

“Can you believe this fucking night?” Keo shouted.

The guy nodded back and tried to peer through the sleets of rain at him.

Good luck with that, Keo wanted to tell him.

The soldier was standing under an LED bulb and Keo couldn’t even see his face under the hood, so there was very little chance the man could see Keo with nothing at all to illuminate him. Of course, all that was going to change when he got closer. What were the chances the soldier recognized the faces of every soldier in town? It was possible. After all, Ronny had recognized Grant in Gillian’s house. Or had he just gone with the name on the uniform?

“Where is everyone?” Keo shouted. “I can’t see shit!”

“Nothing to see!” the soldier shouted back. “You my replacement?”

“Yeah!” Keo continued walking toward the man, letting his right hand drift casually toward the fold of his raincoat. “Go on, I got this!”

“Halle-fucking-lujah!”

The man began walking quickly toward him, still rubbing his hands desperately together. Keo calmly slipped his right hand into the folds of his coat and reached for the Glock in its holster—

“Hey,” a voice said, freezing Keo in place.

Keo looked to his right at the nearby platform as a second raincoat-cloaked figure emerged out of the darkness and into another small pool of light.

“What’s going on?” the second man asked. “We finally getting replacements?”

Keo finished wrapping his fingers around the Glock and pulled it out and shot the soldier in front of him in the head, then spun slightly and shot the other one in the chest—just as lightning pierced the blackened night above them, lighting all three of them up for a brief moment…then it was gone again.

The second soldier was stumbling, trying not to fall, when Keo shot him a second time in the chest, just as the thunder that had been promised a second ago finally reached them and boomed across the skyline.

The one in front of Keo collapsed to the dock while the second soldier fell into the water, the moving river quickly grabbing onto his body and dragging him into its current. The speed of it surprised Keo, and he was still looking after the body when a second lightning bolt struck and—

Eyes.

An army of blackened eyes on the other side of the river, looking back at him from the banks, gleaming rain-drenched dark flesh writhing between the throng of trees.

Jesus Christ.

They weren’t so much as hiding from him as they were trying to stay away from the powerful currents splashing against the riverbanks, threatening to overflow and flood the woods. There were so many of them that he couldn’t have begun to count even if he had wanted to. Their numbers stretched from one side of the woods to the other, an endless multitude of moving black flesh and hollow eyes and herky-jerky movements, completely unnatural and surreal against the rain.

The river. They couldn’t, didn’t, or wouldn’t cross the river.

“Relax,” Steve had said. “They don’t come into town. There’s an invisible line that they don’t cross. When I decide I can fully trust you, I might tell you how it all works.”

An invisible line that the creatures didn’t cross. Like the river. Or the tree lines. Or maybe those flimsy six-foot fences that surrounded the subdivisions.

Whatever it was (maybe all of it), the ghouls didn’t cross.

He should have felt good, even safe at the sight of them wanting (desperately) to cross the river but holding back, but he shivered from head to toe instead.

It was only thanks to the returning darkness once the lightning disappeared that he was able to push down the overpowering need to run and hide. He couldn’t see them anymore and that somehow made it better, even though he knew they were still out there watching his every movement.

He forced himself to move again, crouched, and rolled the dead soldier into the water, then walked the brief distance over to the first slip. The boat inside was a twenty-footer with a single motor in the back, thin and sleek with a T-overhead canvas. It didn’t look nearly powerful enough to outrun most of the boats tied up around him, but he didn’t need a fast vessel right now; he just needed one that would run. The currents would make up for any speed deficiencies.

He hurried back to the same metal box in front of the docks, the one that housed all of the keys to the boats. It was still unlocked and inside were the keys, designated by slip numbers. He found the one he needed and pocketed it and slammed the lid shut—

He didn’t hear the gunshot, but he felt it buzz past his head just before the bullet pinged! against the metal box, leaving behind a large dent.

Keo spun around, quickly tracing the trajectory of the bullet back to—

The water tower.

If it wasn’t for bad luck…

He would have unslung the M4 and fired back if he thought it would do any good. But it wouldn’t have, because the tower was too far away and he would be essentially shooting into the darkness, because although he could just barely make out the rocket-shaped structure, he had absolutely no clue where the shooter was.

Buzz! as a second bullet passed over his head and disappeared into the parking lot behind him.

Just as he had predicted, shooting in this condition was hit and miss, and right now, thank God it was two in the miss column and none in the first. It wasn’t just the distance and the suffocating darkness, it was also the wind and the cold adding to the difficulty scale.

The problem was, although the first bullet had nearly taken Keo’s head off and the second had gone long, it was only a matter of time before the sniper adjusted and found just the right distance. Either that, or until he radioed—

Someone opened fire with an M4 behind him, and he turned just in time to see a figure at the front gate firing—but not at him. The man was shooting at the group of office buildings across the marina, the muzzle flashing, lighting up the guard booth nearby with every pull of the trigger.

Dave.

A man running out of Marina 1 stumbled and fell, his body illuminated by bright lights from inside. Other figures were moving visibly on the other side of windows, scrambling for cover as glass around them exploded from Dave’s barrage.

Keo started lifting his rifle to help Dave out when another bullet slammed into the key box inches from his head—ping!—and ricocheted into the pavement.

He scrambled away from the box, hoping that taking himself away from the stationary object would make him a harder target to reacquire. Then again, if the guy had some kind of night-vision-capable scope, then it probably didn’t matter how far Keo moved—

Buzz! as another round hit the parking lot a foot to the right of him, spraying water and concrete chunks on impact.

Keo would have gotten up and ran away if he had the time, but he didn’t. Men were pouring out of the offices across the marina, and Dave had stopped firing. Either he had run out of bullets and was changing magazines, or something else had happened. Keo flicked the fire selector to burst fire and unleashed half of his rifle’s magazine into the source of light across the parking lot.

He wasn’t trying to hit any specific target, but simply firing at where the lights were the brightest, which at the moment was the single wide-open door that a pair of figures were rushing out of. The distance was fifty meters, and it was a little hard to miss when you were just shooting into the only source of light in, at that moment, the entire world.

His aim was true enough that both men fell out of the door and didn’t get back up.

Keo spotted a tall silhouette behind one of the broken windows, looking out, and he put another burst in that direction. The man ducked his head just in time, and two others behind him scrambled for cover behind a desk.

He was waiting for more soldiers to come out of the other offices, but the windows behind those remained blackened. Which meant all the soldiers had, for whatever reason, congregated in one place. That was good for him and Dave.

That is, if Dave was even still alive.

He was standing up, looking at the gate to make sure Dave was still there, and at the same time realizing that he had stayed at the same spot for way too long when instead of a buzzing sound, there was instead a sudden sting and his right leg buckled slightly under him. Keo knew what had happened before he saw the blood pour out of the right side of his thigh and flood down the parking lot along with the rain, as if drawn irresistibly to the river.

He pushed himself back up, turned around, flicked the fire selector on his rifle to semi-auto, and squeezed off everything he had left in the magazine at the water tower. He aimed for the largest target—the barely visible tip—while knowing full well he wasn’t going to hit anyone from this distance, but hoping he did just enough to distract the guy. He imagined he could hear the ping! ping! of his bullets bouncing off the metal tower, but of course that was impossible given the pounding rainstorm around him.

He moved left while shooting, angling back toward the docks. Keo sent off his last round and dropped the magazine and slammed in a new one, turning around almost simultaneously as two men in the office opened fire—except not at him. Maybe they couldn’t see him very well, but they certainly had no trouble seeing the golf cart as it rumbled slowly (Christ, that thing is slow) across the parking lot.

Keo switched his fire over to the office, again using the lights as his target finder. He stitched the two rectangle-shaped windows, forcing the two figures firing out of them to stop shooting and duck for cover.

He was still shooting when Keo heard the buzz! as the bullet tore through the left sleeve of his raincoat and took away a chunk of his flesh underneath. Blood poured out, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as when he had gotten hit in the thigh. Maybe it was the cold numbing his flesh or the fact that he knew stopping to dress his injuries now meant death, but Keo managed to grit his teeth through the shoulder wound and turned around just as Dave appeared, the golf cart flying in his direction like an out-of-control lumbering beast.

“Take the first boat!” Keo shouted. “Go go go!”

Dave slammed on the brake and climbed out of the golf cart as Keo turned around and took a step sideways and squeezed off a round at the water tower. He took another step and fired again, and kept repeating the process until he heard Dave running past him, gasping for breath as he went.

Keo glanced back in time to see Dave make the docks and run up it toward the twenty-footer, Jordan’s body a big black unmoving clump draped over his shoulder.

He glanced back at Marina 1. Lights poured out of the windows and the open door, but he couldn’t detect any signs of movement. Maybe they had finally had enough and didn’t think it was worth it to get their heads blown off—

Buzz! as another bullet came within an inch of Keo’s right ear.

Sonofabitch.

He ran after Dave and Jordan, grabbing the third and final magazine from his pouch as he did so. A hole appeared in the plank in front of him, splintering wood, as the sniper fired again. The bullet disappeared into the water below, and Keo ran past the newly created hole without wasting a precious half-second contemplating the near-miss. His entire night had been a series of near-misses. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had two holes in him as proof of that.

Dave had already climbed into the boat and placed Jordan’s body across a long bench in the back while scrambling to one of the two lines keeping the boat in place. Dave glanced up as Keo ran over. “The key!” he shouted.

“I got it!” Keo shouted back.

He reached into his raincoat pocket and fisted the key. He would have tossed it to Dave, but he didn’t have any faith in either one of them making the exchange in this weather. So he ran the whole distance and leaned over and handed it to Dave instead, then ran back to unwind the bowline.

All of that took three precious seconds, enough time for the sniper to reacquire them, and there was a sharp ping! as a bullet drilled into the portside of the boat. Dave either didn’t see or hear the impact, or he was too focused on putting the key in the ignition to do anything about being shot at. The boat’s motor roared to life at about the same time Keo got the line free and tossed it into the back.

That was also when he heard the familiar clop-clop-clop of horse hooves and looked back and saw the elongated, shadowy forms of men on horseback coming through the marina gate. While the distance and darkness made making out their exact numbers impossible, he managed to distinguish three, maybe five forms out of the moving blob, though he had no illusions that that was all of them.

“Come on!” Dave shouted behind him.

Keo hopped into the boat just as something buzzed! past his head and hit the water a few meters off starboard. He pretended it was a fly instead of thinking about how close he had just come to having his brains splattered in the river.

Think positive!

He almost laughed as he landed in the back of the boat next to Jordan’s swaddled form resting on the bench to his right. Dave was already reversing out of the slip, having also seen the horsemen coming in their direction, the clop-clop-clop of hooves somehow managing to pierce through the rain’s stranglehold on sounds.

Then boom! and Keo cursed.

Three to five? If only he was that lucky. There had to be at least a dozen of them, men in wet raincoats, pulling up as they reached the end of the parking lot and began unslinging their rifles. They were almost right in front of him, so close that he could see mists flooding out of the nostrils of their mounts as the animals reared to a stop.

Keo opened fire into the marina, and one man fell off his horse just before the lightning vanished and darkness swallowed the world up again, the soldiers returning to their formerly indistinguishable black forms.

He pulled the trigger again and again, even as Dave spun the steering wheel and Keo had to turn around in order to keep shooting into the parking lot. He was still firing while simultaneously gritting his teeth in anticipation of return fire. The sniper had also either stopped shooting, or his shots were going wide and Keo couldn’t hear it over the pouring rain and his own gunshots.

At first Keo thought the lack of return fire from the marina was because he was dropping the horsemen, but that couldn’t have been it. Without any lights in the parking lot and his vision hindered badly by the rain, all he could see were indecipherable shapes moving in front of him as he waited for the inevitable.

Because he knew it was coming—a fusillade of lead that he or Dave had no hopes of surviving. They were still backing away from the docks, trying to reach a part of the river where they could use the motor and were, for all intents and purposes, sitting ducks for a good ten, twenty seconds.

“Get down!” he shouted when it finally came—the pop-pop-pop of automatic rifle fire that wasn’t his, muzzle flashes lighting up the wide open spaces in front of him.

Except the horsemen weren’t shooting at him or Dave or Jordan.

What the hell?

Maybe it had something to do with the dark shape moving between the horses, inciting the animals to let out loud furious whines and scramble about the wet concrete pavement. The thing was fast, and something—a long coat?—was fluttering around it, visible for brief half-seconds against the staccato bursts of gunfire as it moved through the throng of men and beasts.

Any hopes Keo had of seeing details were rendered impossible by the night and rain. The figure in the long coat was on the ground, then it was in the air, then it was on the ground again. It was moving so fast Keo could barely keep up with it. He didn’t know when he stopped shooting, but time seemed to slow down as he stood there and watched the figure grabbing men off their horses and throwing them across the parking lot.

Something sailed through the air, and Keo instinctively ducked even though he didn’t have to. A black-clad soldier, hands and feet flailing, hit the river just five feet off the starboard and was sucked under.

Then the boat’s stern dipped slightly, and a motorized roar shattered the shrill wind and falling rain. Keo didn’t know when Dave had turned them around, but suddenly they were blasting downriver and leaving the docks behind.

Keo hurried to the stern and looked back toward the marina as gunshots continued to ring out and muzzle flashes lit up the parking lot again and again and again. He waited for bullets to zip past his head or punch into the hull of the twenty-footer, but none of those things happened. The soldiers on horseback—and some on the ground now—were firing at something among them. Something that wasn’t him or Dave or Jordan. That same something that Keo had seen earlier, moving with a ferocity he didn’t know was possible.

Slowly, the flashes began to disappear one by one until they had ceased completely. There was a brief pause before someone screamed. A shrill cry, dripping with fear instead of pain, and it burrowed its way through the cold and night and rain and into Keo’s gut.

The docks were still fading fast behind him when Keo thought he saw something that shouldn’t have been there, that shouldn’t have been possible.

Eyes.

Blue fucking eyes.

They were looking after him, the twin orbs pulsating against the rain and darkness. He shouldn’t have been able to see them through the night and distance, but there was something vibrant about them, full of life, and they drew him in like lighthouse beacons.

“Christ, you’re bleeding!” Dave shouted, his voice breaking through Keo’s temporary stupor.

He looked back at Dave, and by the time he turned back around, the marina had vanished into the darkness.

And with it, the eyes.

What the fuck…

It had attacked the soldiers. He knew that for a fact. It had come out of nowhere and waded into Steve’s horsemen before they could open up on him and Dave. At that range, with that many guns, and with the boat in such a vulnerable position, they would have been shredded and sank in a hail of bullets.

...just happened?

He had heard the stories. From Lara and Carly, from Gaby and Danny. But he hadn’t believed it. It was too much. Despite everything he had been through and seen, the idea that there was something out there more horrific than the black-eyed ghouls…

Blue eyes.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He sat down and leaned back against the starboard hull, then squinted up at Dave’s silhouetted form. “You know how to drive this thing?”

“Better than you!” Dave shouted back over the roar of the motor.

Keo grinned. That was good to hear, because with the hole in his thigh and the other one in his left arm, he wasn’t entirely sure he could have stood behind the steering wheel and fought against the currents and the storm at the same time.

“Hey,” Keo said.

Dave looked back at him. “What?”

“Don’t run aground.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

But Dave did want to know, and there was a click as he turned the button that powered on the spotlight at the front of the boat. They must have been everywhere, just like the last time he saw them, because it didn’t take Dave very long to see them.

“Oh, fuck me,” Dave said.

“Yeah,” Keo said.

He closed his eyes, the pak-pak-pak of rainwater against his forehead, eyelids, and face fading into the background. Even the cold had ceased to matter as Keo relived the last few seconds.

Blue eyes.

He couldn’t get over it. The image of it, looking after him, bounced around inside his head like a sledgehammer.

It had blue eyes…and it had saved his life.

Dae-fuck-me-bak.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“You were good back there,” Keo said. “Like Evel Knievel. But on a boat.”

Dave chuckled. “You ever been stuck on a shrimp boat in the Gulf during hurricane season?”

“That happen a lot to you?”

“Just once. But I don’t need a second time to know it’s not fun. You learn a lot about what you’re capable of when the wrath of God is bearing down on you.”

“I’m glad I brought you along, then.”

“Right, because you had a choice.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Dave paused, and Keo could sense him wanting to say something else.

“What is it?” Keo said.

“What the fuck happened back there?” Dave asked, looking back at him. “We were sitting ducks, and then I saw…something. Not just the soldiers, but something else. Did you…?”

Blue eyes, Dave. It had blue eyes, and it saved our asses.

“I don’t know what I saw,” Keo said. “We got out, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So let’s focus on staying alive.”

Dave nodded and stared off the bow, though Keo didn’t believe he was going to let it go because Keo himself hadn’t been able to since he saw it. He had spent the last few hours trying to wrap his mind around what had happened at the marina, and it still didn’t compute. If the ghouls weren’t supposed to come into the towns, then what was that thing doing back there?

Better yet, why had it attacked the soldiers? Why did it save them? Or was that what it was doing in the first place? Maybe it just saw the soldiers as the easier prey and preventing them from shooting him and Dave was just a happy coincidence.

Riiight.

Keo sat in the back of the boat, his butt on the cold floor, and finished wrapping the last piece of gauze around his left arm. The round had gone through and taken a big chunk of flesh with it, but it hadn’t impacted bone, which was the best thing he could have hoped for. The same with the hole in his right thigh. That didn’t feel quite as bad because he was sitting down and wasn’t putting a lot of pressure on it. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

He packed up the first-aid kit Gillian had given them back at the house and returned it to Dave’s pack. The bandages were constricting around his shoulder and thigh, but it was better than bleeding to death.

For the last two hours, they had been sitting on the twenty-footer as it shifted back and forth against the waves somewhere between Trinity and Galveston Bay. Even Dave wasn’t quite sure where since their vision was limited by the pitch blackness and they could barely see more than a few meters around them.

Floating on the water at night again. This is starting to become a bad habit.

The rainstorm was still pouring, but thankfully not at them. They had cleared its zone almost as soon as they exited the channel along what Dave said was the Kemah Boardwalk, and as Keo had guessed when they passed it earlier, the place had once been a major tourist attraction.

Lightning continued to flash in the distance, the reports of thunder following a few seconds later. If it had seemed like they were caught in the belly of a rampaging beast before, they were now watching that same monster as it ravaged the area around T18. It had taken them nearly an hour since clearing the channel to scoop up water from the boat and deposit it back into the bay. Thank God there was a plastic jug and some small containers stuffed into the livewells.

Even so, Keo was still sitting in an inch of water as he watched and listened for sounds of an incoming pursuit. There was a definite chilly wind, but his clothing had been soaking wet since the night began so he was already used to the discomfort.

“Storm’s not letting up,” Dave said after a while. “That’s a good sign, right? They wouldn’t chase us in this weather, would they?”

“Depends…”

“On what?”

“How badly they want you dead.”

Dave snorted. “What about you?”

“I didn’t kill Steve’s brother. I’m just an annoyance. Maybe he’s pissed off at me, but blood is thicker than an annoying stranger.”

“You saying that from experience?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He slipped back into silence for a moment, perching at the front of the boat with his M4 gripped in his lap. He hadn’t left the spot since the boat ran out of gas and left them drifting in the bay. Then, “What’s the deal with you and Gillian, anyway?”

“No deal,” Keo lied.

“Bullshit.”

“Believe what you want.”

“You two used to be a couple, right? I heard the two of you talking on the second floor, remember? I was pretty sure you guys were going to start humping like rabbits right outside my door. That would have been pretty sick, by the way.”

“You have something against pregnancy sex?”

“I was talking about her doctor husband/boyfriend/whatever being on the first floor at the same time.”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive, Dave.”

“I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I like listening to people doing it.”

Keo grinned and opened one of the side pockets on the pack and took out the small, unlabeled bottle that Jay had given him. He shook out a couple of the white pills and swallowed them.

“How is she?” Dave asked. “Doc must have given her something really good to keep her knocked out through that entire mess.”

Keo grunted up to his knees and moved over to Jordan, who was still lying on the bench at the stern of the boat. There was just enough moonlight for him to see her bundled form. The only part of her that was exposed to the elements was the upper half of her face so she could still breathe. The swelling around her right eye made him flinch every time he saw it, but thankfully her body wasn’t shivering quite as much as when they were braving the rainstorm earlier.

It was a miracle that Dave, despite all his vast experiences, had managed to steer them around the river and out here using only the spotlight at the front of the boat as a guide. And all the while, the creatures were swarming endlessly along the riverbanks to both sides of them. Keo had seen it before—when he braved a much wider channel with Lara and the others—but this time they were so close (he could smell them) he expected the darting, stick-thin figures to start throwing themselves through the air at them at any moment. But they hadn’t, for whatever reason.

Maybe my luck really is changing, he started thinking. Then almost right away, Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, pal.

He sat back down now. “She’s better than us right now. Sleeping like a baby.” He picked up the M4 and checked the magazine for the fifth time in the last hour. “Anything?”

“Not a thing,” Dave said. “What about you? Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, it hurts.”

“A lot?”

“Yeah.”

“Take some of those meds your girlfriend gave you.”

Keo grunted. “I already did. I’ve also cleaned, disinfected, and dressed the wounds in case you were worried.”

“You’ve done this before, huh?”

“Once or twice.”

“Before or after the end of the world?”

“Both.”

“Hunh,” Dave said.

They continued sitting and waiting, looking back in the direction of the channel. Or, at least, where they thought it was. Frankly, it was so dark Keo wouldn’t be surprised if they were looking at the wrong spot. He just had to glance around him to confirm how lifeless and lightless the world had become.

He could see the raging storm just fine from here, though, and each time lightning flashed in the distance, he managed to glimpse some of the larger signs of abandoned civilization along the Kemah Boardwalk.

Would Steve come after them? That was a no-brainer. Steve had come all the way from T18 personally to Santa Marie Island when he found out his brother was missing. What wouldn’t he do to avenge Jack’s death?

“Dave,” Keo said.

The other man looked over. “What?”

“Santa Marie Island. You know where that is?”

“It should be behind us somewhere. Why?”

“We should go there.”

“What’s there? Except more of those things.”

“Not now, but soon. We’re not going to get very far on the trolling motor alone. If Steve’s not on his way here now, he will be in the morning. I’m guessing he’ll bring more than just a few of his friends, and I don’t think he’ll be in the mood to talk things out.”

“But won’t they check that place too?”

“There might still be gas on the island that we can use before they get around to us. It’s got two large marinas, one on each side.”

“What if it’s dry?”

“It’s gotta be better than running around out here waiting for them to catch up to us.”

“Galveston Island is bigger. There’ll be more supplies still sitting around.”

“More supplies, more of those things, and easier access from T18. What are the chances they’d leave that place unguarded all this time? If we have to fight our way out of this—and let’s not fool ourselves, we’re going to have to—I’d rather they come to us, where we have the higher ground.”

Dave thought about it before finally nodding. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Good, because I’m talking out of my ass here.

He wasn’t very optimistic they would actually find fuel on Santa Marie Island. Steve’s people would have cleaned the place out by now, and the last time he was there with Gene, the teenager had told him he hadn’t run across any.

Still, for some reason that he couldn’t explain, it seemed as if he was destined to end up at Santa Marie Island. And if he was going to die soon…

“Shit,” Dave said, “I should have stayed at the cafeteria.”

Dave got up and moved back toward the stern, where he picked up the trolling motor from the floor and attached it to the back. Keo took his place at the front, wincing as he put pressure on his right thigh.

He crouched at the bow just as a particular massive bolt of lightning flashed in the distance. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he could see the Ferris wheel along the Kemah Boardwalk, but that could have just been the long, wet, and cold night playing tricks with his mind…

…just like it had back at the marina, because there was no way in hell that blue-eyed ghoul had saved his life on purpose.

Right?

* * *

Dave was right. Santa Marie Island was just behind them, and it didn’t take them long to find it again. Of course, the place was over eight kilometers from end to end, and its rocky formations and the sharp angles of the houses stood out against the flat ocean landscape.

They found the island with three hours left until sunrise, which meant they couldn’t just head straight to the western marina and dock. Keo could already see silhouetted figures moving along the ridgelines, the numbers increasing the closer they got.

“Look at them,” Dave whispered from the back of the boat. Keo had no trouble hearing him over the small whine of the trolling motor. “Gives me the willies every time I see them.”

“You see them a lot back in town?”

“Sometimes.”

They were within sight of the marina when Dave cut the motor and Keo dropped the anchor, leaving the twenty-footer to drift back and forth against the slight waves. He tightened his grip on the M4 in his lap, wishing badly for his MP5SD—and more importantly, the silver ammo inside the magazine—as he watched them pouring into the parking lot and spreading out along the fingers of the docks in waves.

“They can’t swim, right?” Dave asked behind him. He was still whispering for some reason.

I think they can hear and see you just fine, Dave, Keo thought, but said, “No, they can’t swim.”

At least, the black-eyed ones couldn’t. He had seen that himself back on Song Island, and the ones back at T18 had stayed as far away from the river as they could while still crowding the banks.

So what about the blue-eyed ones?

“They’re smarter than the rest,” Danny had told him during one of those days when there was nothing to do on the Trident but watch the endless ocean. “If you see them, run the other way, Obi-Wan Keobi. Or shoot them in the head. That seems to work pretty well.”

Shoot them in the head? How the hell was he going to do that? Keo had seen that thing back there, the way it was moving. Danny wasn’t kidding. The creature that had assaulted the horsemen was just a blur. How do you put a bullet in the head of something that could move that fast?

But that was a problem for another day. Right now, he focused on the black-eyed creatures along the marina. There weren’t nearly enough of them to fill up the whole place, which he guessed was the good news. The bad news, unfortunately, was that there were still enough that it was difficult to make out the docks and the parking lot floor under the sea of black, writhing flesh.

“How many are on the island?” Dave asked.

“Anywhere from one to 200…or possibly more.”

“Jeez Louise. And we want to go there?”

“There was a teenager who lived on the island for months by himself.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any desire to stay on that rock for months.”

“We won’t have to. Steve will find us by morning and try to kill us first.”

“Oh, okay, no worries then.”

Keo smiled. “Point is, if we can’t find any spare fuel, we’ll either kill Steve and take one of his boats and use it to get off the island, or he’ll kill us. Either way, this thing’s going to be over in twenty-four hours.”

“Man, if you’re trying to cheer me up, you’re doing a real shitty job of it.”

“Just the facts.”

“Yeah, whatever, Sergeant Joe Friday.”

“Who?”

“Joe Friday. From Dragnet?”

Keo shook his head.

“You know who James Bond is, but you don’t know Dragnet or Stanley Kubrick’s 2001?”

“Should I?”

“Hell, yes. They’re classics, dude.”

“Ah,” Keo said.

“Clueless,” Dave said. Then, “Hey, she’s waking up.”

Keo got up and hurried to the stern. “Take the front.”

Dave nodded and they swapped places.

Keo crouched next to Jordan and pulled down the zipper of her thick parka until her entire face was exposed. She had opened her eyes—or at least the one still capable of opening—and was looking back at him. Her lips were pale like the rest of her face. She was ghostlike, and she blinked up at him, overly long eyelashes flickering back and forth.

“Hey,” he said.

Her good eye darted left then right before picking his face back up. Then, softly, like she had to summon all of her strength just to get the sounds out, “Did I pee myself?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are my pants wet?”

“We’re all wet. You don’t remember the rainstorm?”

“No…”

“Lightning? Thunder? Gunfire?”

“No, no, and no. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You weren’t even supposed to wake up until tomorrow.”

“Is that why I feel like my head’s about to break open?”

“Probably.”

“Good to know.” Then, “You said ‘we’…”

“Me, Dave, and you.”

“Who’s Dave?”

“Great, she doesn’t even know who I am,” Dave grunted from the bow. “Man, I should have stayed at the cafeteria.”

“The guy who saved you,” Keo said.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked him.

“I’m the guy who saved the guy who saved you.”

“Oh.” She blinked once, then a second time. “I dreamt of Gillian…”

“Oh yeah?”

“She’d gotten really fat in the dream, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“Scout’s honor,” Keo smiled.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Morning came and chased the ghouls back to wherever they had been hiding before nightfall. There, they would wait and wait, because inevitably their time would come again.

“Look at them,” Jordan said. “That’s all they do, isn’t it, day after day? They come out at night and hide in the day. Then they do it all over again the next night. Do they ever starve, you think?”

“I don’t know,” Keo said.

“You ever think about it?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not the curious type, is that it?”

“I’m curious, I just don’t have any answers, so I figured I should probably keep it all to myself until I do. What’s that saying about opening your mouth and proving to the world you’re a fool?”

“Are you calling me a fool, Keo?”

“Not at all. Maybe if we’re still alive after tonight, we can talk about what these things do and don’t do, and blah blah blah.”

“I just realized what I missed most about you.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

He chuckled. “I don’t believe that.”

Keo sat next to her at the bow of the twenty-footer as Dave turned on the trolling motor and guided the boat toward the marina. Now that he was approaching the island from the western side, Keo could see the large area reserved for the ferry, the ball-diamond-ball day shapes still hanging off the large metal pole next to the ramp. They were staying away from it and angling toward the docks designed for smaller crafts.

Jordan had taken off most of her swaddling, though she still kept the raincoat on. She looked better in the sunlight, and the swelling around her right eye had gone down enough that it was a good sign she’d keep improving.

“So how long before he finds us?” she asked.

The question prompted Keo to glance behind him. He expected to see Steve and his soldiers bearing down on them in a group of fast-moving boats. But there was just the brightening horizon and glimpses of sporadic and fading landmasses in the distance. In the aftermath of last night’s torrential downpour, the coastline had become ghostly serene.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said.

They didn’t say anything for a while, and instead just watched the marina grow in front of them. It looked utterly inviting—wide open and empty—but of course he knew better. There were things on Santa Marie Island that would tear them to pieces if given the chance.

“Did you see Gillian?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” Keo said.

“How’d it go?”

How did it go? It went swell. She’s with another guy. And she’s having his baby. Couldn’t have gone better.

“That well, huh?” she said when he didn’t answer.

“You knew she was living with Jay all along, even before last night.”

Jordan sighed. She had apparently been dreading the question.

“Jordan…”

“Yes,” she said. “How’d you know?”

“You told Dave to go to her house. How would you know where she lived, or who with, unless she had already moved in with Jay before you escaped? Was the whole point of going there to get help from Jay or Gillian?”

“A little of both, I guess.”

“It was a smart move. Probably saved your life. Of course, if it hadn’t rained, they would have tracked you straight to her house. Dave didn’t exactly do a good job of hiding your tracks.”

“Hey, I did my best,” Dave said behind them. “I work in the cafeteria for a reason, you know.”

“You did great, Dave,” Jordan said.

“Thanks. Nice to be appreciated.”

Jordan looked over at Keo. “And I’m sorry. About Gillian. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

He nodded, surprised that he wasn’t madder at her. He should have known though. All those times when he asked her about Gillian and it always seemed as if she was choosing her words carefully. Too carefully.

“I’m sorry, Keo,” she said again. “I should have told you sooner. I always wanted to, but I just didn’t know how. I guess I was too much of a coward.”

“Water under the bridge.”

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure if she believed him. He wasn’t sure if he believed himself.

“How’s the eye?” he asked.

“My swelling will go down eventually, but your face isn’t going to get any prettier anytime soon.”

Dave chuckled behind them.

“Stop being a bitch, Jordan,” Keo said. “I saved your life last night, remember?”

She smiled back. “Sorry. Thank you for saving my life.”

He grunted.

With the docks almost within sight, Keo drew his Glock and handed it to her. She took it, along with the extra magazine that she slid into her raincoat pocket.

“Stay here,” he said, standing up. He glanced back at Dave. “Easy does it.”

“Hey, who got us through that snake of a river last night?” Dave asked.

Keo grinned. “Point taken, el capitan.”

* * *

Keo hopped out of the boat and was on the dock before Dave even turned off the trolling motor. He moved inland, the M4 in front of him, hoping he didn’t see anything behind the red dot scope so he didn’t have to shoot.

It wasn’t the possibility of shooting someone that worried him; it was the fact that if he had to kill at all, that meant there were others already on the island. There was no telling who might have sneaked onto Santa Marie while they waited out the night. The bad guys, as he kept reminding himself, didn’t need to be afraid of the darkness.

Fortunately, no one was hiding behind one of the dozen trucks still frozen in the parking lot, or poked their head out from the ridges that flanked the marina.

He stepped off the docks and kept going. He would have moved faster if his clothes weren’t still partially soaked in last night’s rain and he wasn’t half-running and half-limping, the pain in his thigh reasserting itself this morning. The painkillers had begun kicking in a few hours ago, and though he had been tempted to down a couple more before sunup, he had resisted.

He swept the trucks and picked up the fresh, muddy footprints along the floors. Bare footprints.

Ghouls.

The storm system that had drowned T18 last night had been moving inland from the Gulf of Mexico. It had clearly hit Santa Marie Island first before moving on, and he was looking at the rain-slicked results. It also reinforced what he had seen back in town. The ghouls weren’t afraid of the rain, just the rivers, the oceans, and the lakes. Why? What was the difference? Water was water, right?

Apparently not.

He let himself breathe easier only after he had reached the marina entrance. Keo leaned out and looked left, then right, up the streets. Scanned the houses on both sides, and it was only when he couldn’t detect any signs of movement that he finally lowered the M4 and let himself relax for the first time since jumping out of the boat.

He turned around and waved to Dave and Jordan, the two of them still waiting in the boat. He watched as Dave hopped out with the line and tied it into place, then helped Jordan out. They carried Dave’s pack and what weapons they had brought with them and hurried up the docks. Unlike him earlier, they seemed to be moving fine, even Jordan.

Keo took a moment for himself and glanced up at the warm sun. The mid-November weather was becoming more prominent, the air getting cooler every day. For now, the sky was wide open in the aftermath of last night’s storm. He imagined this was one of those days that made owning a home in a place like this worth every penny.

Santa Marie Island, whether he wanted it to or not, would make a hell of a good last stand.

* * *

It was easy to find the two-story white house where Gene had taken him that morning when he first arrived on the island. All he had to do was find the hill again—not a hard task, since it was right in the center—and then walk up to the front door.

Like Gene had done when they were last here, Keo took note of the surrounding area—the unmowed front lawn, the sidewalks, and the doors and windows. Everything was intact, and unlike at the marina, there were no muddy footprints on the driveway or nearby streets. It was as if the creatures just knew there would be no one here so there was no point in raiding the place.

Even though he was certain the house hadn’t been touched since he was last here, Keo moved cautiously anyway. There was no point in taking risks now. He wanted what the house had, but he could also easily make do with what he had on hand. With that in mind, he left the door wide open, using a rock to keep it pried so a gust of wind didn’t push it close, and didn’t touch anything else as he made his way upstairs.

Everything was where they had left it a few days ago, including the stack of weapons in the master bedroom’s bathtub. Keo picked and chose what he thought they could use (and wished he had a few more hands).

He left the house and made his way back to Dave and Jordan, who were waiting for him at the ridgeline overlooking the western marina. Dave was crouched next to a large boulder, and Jordan was peering up at the sun next to him with her good eye.

“That bad, huh?” she said as he walked back to them.

“What’s that?” he said.

“I saw your reaction.”

“What reaction?”

She frowned. “The good news is, I still have one good eye.”

“That’s definitely good news.”

“The bad news…”

“There’s bad news?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Which would be?”

“I don’t know how to shoot with my left eye. I usually squint with my right when I’m aiming.”

“Most people do.”

He put the weapons down on the ground in front of her. The damned things seemed to have doubled in weight since he stepped out of the house and made the long walk back to the marina. Of course, it could just be his sore shoulder and thigh. Keo unslung his pack and pulled out boxes of bullets, stacking them next to the guns.

Jordan picked up a Colt AR-15 and turned it over. “Am I wrong, or do you expect this to go on for a while?”

He nodded. “If we’re lucky, yeah.”

“‘If we’re lucky’?” Dave said. “Your definition of luck sucks.”

“Desperate times call for desperate luck,” Keo said. He picked up a box of 5.56mm rounds. “Catch,” he said, and tossed it.

Dave caught it with one hand. “That’s a lot of bullets.”

“It’s really not, but it’ll have to do for now. You good with the M4?”

“One’s enough for me.” He patted the Walther P22 in his back waistband. “I still got this.”

“What happened to your fancy German gun?” Jordan asked Keo.

“Jack took it,” he said.

“Miller’s little brother? The one Dave—”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Dave groaned. “I didn’t even want to shoot the guy. Or the other soldier in the living room.”

“So why did you?” Keo asked.

“I didn’t know Jack would be inside Bannerman’s garage. But there he was, and the stupid asshole went for his gun. Then the soldier comes barging in, right at me.” Dave shook his head. “It got bad really fast.”

“It usually does when guns are involved.”

Keo picked up a Mossberg pump-action shotgun with a pistol grip and slung it, then opened a box of shells and began shoving them into the leg pockets of his cargo pants.

“You didn’t happen to get me one of those, did you?” Jordan asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” He picked up a Remington 870 from the bundle and handed it to her. “Designed for the fairer sex.”

“I’m touched.” Jordan clutched and unclutched the weapon. “I gotta admit, it feels pretty good.”

“That’s the point.” He handed her another box of shells. “Use it in close quarters. The AR-15 for everything else.”

He handed her a spare gun belt and she put it on, then slid the Glock he had given her earlier into the empty holster.

“How’s the body?” he asked.

“Why, you wanna cop a feel?”

He smiled, and she returned it.

“Maybe later,” he said. “Can you walk without pain?”

“I can’t even breathe without pain.” She looked down at her chest, as if she could see past the raincoat to where Steve had cut her with his knife. “They’re going to scar, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“There goes my meet cute moment with Prince Charming. Hard to make a good first impression with bodily scars.”

“You’ll get by.”

She frowned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

She nodded and gave him her best forced smile. “You got shot twice last night, and you’re still running around. So I’ll be a big girl and suck it up.”

“Good. You’re going to need to move around, or you’re going to be a sitting duck. I’ll do what I can to keep the both of you alive, but you’re going to have to do your part, too.”

“Relax. I know you’re the badass with the past, but it’s been half a year since you last trained me, and I’ve picked up a thing or two while I was with Tobias.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Dave added.

* * *

Despite all three of them having unwittingly drunk enough water last night during the rainstorm to last a lifetime, they were all parched by midday and desperate for liquid. Keo knew exactly where to find them and went looking for houses with exterior access to the rooftops. He thought it would hurt the more he moved around, but thanks to a combination of Jay’s painkillers and constant motion, the pain started to ebb into the background.

It took him a half dozen homes to find the same one he had spotted Gene on top of the other day. There was a long extension ladder in the back of the house that he used to climb up to the rooftop, where he found a pair of two-liter plastic soft drink bottles duct-taped to the pole of a satellite dish. They were both almost topped off thanks to last night’s rain. Keo looked around but couldn’t find the caps, so he reused the duct tape to cover up the bottles and carried them down one at a time.

Dave was now on the other side of the island, keeping an eye on the eastern marina, when Keo handed him one of the bottles, then walked across the island to Jordan’s position, stopping just once to take more of the painkillers, silently thanking Jay for being so damn well-stocked.

Jordan glanced over as he walked back to her. “You went shopping without me? I hope you at least got me something nice.”

She was at Dave’s old position overlooking the marina, the AR-15 leaning against a boulder nearby, and she had the Remington slung over one shoulder. From up here, she could see all of the marina and the Texas coastline. They were in a perfect position to spot any approaching boats, because there weren’t a lot of places to hide out there.

Their twenty-footer was still tied to the dock below them, and easy enough to spot from a distance. That was the point. All he needed was to draw Steve in and they could unleash on him and his men. Of course, that was assuming Steve would be approaching from the west. If he decided to come from the east, they’d have to run over to back up Dave.

He had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, which was pretty good odds these days.

“Water?” Jordan said when she saw what he was carrying.

He handed her the bottle. “Drink up.”

She pulled off the duct tape and didn’t stop drinking until she was splashing water down her chin.

“Oh my God, that hit the spot,” she said, handing the bottle back to him. “Rain water?”

He nodded and drank some himself. It wasn’t Evian, but it wasn’t salt water, so he couldn’t really complain.

“Found any food?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“But you think they’re around?”

“Gene, the kid I told you about, hid a lot of things around the island. He called them go-bags. Of course, finding them is another matter.”

“Big island.”

“Eight kilometers.”

“Yup. Big island.”

Keo sat down next to her, trickled some water onto a rag, and dabbed at his forehead. The cut, courtesy of Tobias’s “love tap,” had scabbed over, and it itched more than it hurt. He felt Jordan’s eyes on him the whole time.

“You need to stop going around and pissing off people, Keo,” she said. “That pretty face of yours can only take so much.”

He chuckled. “Thanks.”

“No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I mean, you’re still not bad looking, but adding in that love tap from Tobias and those two bullet holes, and you’ve definitely seen better days.”

“Stop trying to butter me up,” he said, and handed the bottle back to her.

She drank again, and this time didn’t stop until there was just half remaining in the container. “I’m starving,” she said when she was done.

“You already said that.”

“Well, just in case you forgot.”

“I haven’t.”

She sighed and leaned back against the boulder.

“There’s a bright side in all of this,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Pray tell.”

“Steve’s coming soon, and he’ll probably bring some food.”

“That’s the bright side?”

“I mentioned he’d probably be bringing some food with him, right?”

“I’ve missed your screwed up sense of humor, Keo. By which I mean, I haven’t really missed it.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to birds chirping as they swarmed the wide-open skies above them. Even the sloshing of the ocean was calming, as if last night’s rainstorm had drained the sea of its power and it was only now starting to regain its strength. It was so peaceful he wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep.

He did close his eyes, but he didn’t go to sleep. That wasn’t going to happen for a while, no matter how tired or sore or numbed he was. Instead of lingering on what he couldn’t control, Keo spent the next few minutes swapping out the bandages with fresh ones.

“Need a hand?” Jordan asked.

“Nah, I got it.”

“I was just trying to be nice. I hate the sight of blood.” She watched him working for a moment before asking, “So what’s the deal with you and Gillian?”

He didn’t answer right away, because he didn’t know how, though the more he thought about it, the more simple the answer was. So much so that it pained him to finally realize it.

The deal with him and Gillian? There was no deal. That was the painful truth of it.

“She has Jay and the baby,” he finally said. “I guess that’s the deal.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is.” He finished up and shoved the supplies back into the pack. “When you were with Tobias, did you ever shoot anyone?”

“I’ve shot plenty of people.”

“Maybe I should say, did you ever kill anyone?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “There were a lot of skirmishes and bullets were always flying, but if you’re asking me if I’m one hundred percent certain I killed someone during those moments, then no. I can’t say for sure if I’ve ever killed anyone or not.”

“What about that ambush at the strip mall? The day I showed up?”

“By the time I got there, Tobias had already sounded the retreat. I fired a magazine into where I thought there were some soldiers, but again…”

“You can’t be sure.”

“I can’t be sure. Sorry.”

“That’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Considering what’s about to show up soon, I think there is. You don’t know if you can count on me.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?”

“I know I can count on you.”

She looked at him seriously. “How?”

“The same way I knew I could count on you to keep Gillian and the others safe back at the cabin.”

“And I did a hell of a good job with that. Gillian and I got captured, Mark’s dead, and Rachel and…” She let the rest go unsaid.

“But you got them safely away from the cabin and here, just like I knew you would. What happened after that was out of your control.”

“You weren’t there...”

“You did the best you could.”

She wasn’t convinced, and turned her head and looked over at the solitary houses that lined both sides of the street instead.

“You should have been there with us, Keo,” she said finally. “Things would have turned out differently if you had been.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know…”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“They’re not coming,” Keo said.

“How can you be sure?” Jordan asked.

Keo didn’t have to look at his watch, thanks to the sight of the setting sun. The calm, clear skies weren’t darkening just yet, but it wouldn’t be long now. Maybe another hour, maybe less. In the back of his mind, he still remembered the speed with which yesterday had darkened.

“They would be here by now if they were coming,” he said.

“Maybe he’s dead. Steve. You said it yourself; you couldn’t see anyone back at the marina, just silhouettes. One of them could have been Steve. If he’s dead, would they still come after us?”

It was a fair question, and she had a point. It had been unfathomably dark back there, and he and Dave were shooting at everything that wasn’t them. One of the bodies spilling out of Marina 1 could very well have been Steve.

Or was that just him trying to be overly optimistic?

“Maybe,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question. Would they still come after us if Steve’s dead?”

“I don’t know. You’ve known the guy longer than I have. Would he?”

“I’ve seen him, and Tobias has talked about him a lot, but I never sat across a desk from him drinking shots of whiskey. You have.”

Another good point. Jordan was full of good points today.

“Steve’s the boss,” Keo said. “He would move Heaven and Earth to find and snuff out Dave for killing Jack. Without him, the town—and the soldiers running it—might not consider us important enough to commit the manpower. I wouldn’t, in their shoes. What’s two or three more stragglers when they have an entire town to watch over?”

“So there’s a chance no one’s coming.”

“There’s a chance, yeah.”

She cocked her head, scrutinizing him with her one good eye. In a day or two, she would probably be able to see out of the right side just fine.

“What?” he said.

“You’re telling me what you think I want to hear, but you don’t actually believe any of it, do you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Jordan sighed. “You know what’s ironic about all of this?”

“What’s that?”

“This place.” She looked around at the empty streets and the houses around them again. “We’ve been trying to get here all this time, and here we are, finally. Is it everything you thought it would be?”

“Not quite.”

“Yeah…”

He glanced down at his watch. 5:11 p.m. “It’ll be dark soon. We need to find a place to hole up for the night.”

“And maybe find some food. Did I tell you I was starving?”

“Maybe a time or two.”

“I thought I’d just remind you in case you forgot.” As if on cue, her stomach growled. “See?”

He stood up. “Let’s go get Dave.”

“You think he’s hungry, too?”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Because I’m starving.”

“You don’t say…”

* * *

Dave heard them coming behind him and glanced up from the boulder where he was hiding, overlooking the eastern marina on the other side.

“I don’t think they’re coming today,” he said.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Keo nodded.

“That’s good news for us, right? Maybe they won’t come tomorrow, either.”

And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass, Keo thought, but said, “Maybe. For now, let’s find someplace to bunk down for the night. This island might look empty, but it’s far from it.”

Dave looked up at the sky, and Keo thought he might have shivered involuntarily.

“Been awhile?” Keo asked.

“What’s that?” Dave said.

“Since you’ve been out here.”

Dave tried to smile. “Something like that.”

Keo thought about saying something reassuring. Not just for Dave, but for Jordan standing next to him, but with the night creeping up on them and Steve coming (You’re out there, aren’t you? I know you’re out there.) sooner or later, whatever he said would have just sounded hollow.

“Let’s try to stay alive tonight first, then worry about tomorrow, tomorrow,” was all he could think of to say.

* * *

Choosing a place to stay the night was a no-brainer. The two-story white house on the hill in the middle, where he had found the guns, was the first and last choice he considered. From up there, he could keep an eye on the entire island, including both marinas. The house was also in a perfect spot to, even with just three people, hold off a lengthy assault.

He didn’t like the idea of getting into another standoff with very few outs, but Keo had learned long ago that what he wanted and would rather do was usually not what he had to do in order to survive. Pollard, Song Island, and T18 were proof of that.

“Adapt or perish,” as Lara and the folks on the Trident were fond of saying.

The house was flanked by a half dozen others, with a long, winding driveway that connected it to the streets. A ten-foot-tall metal fence surrounded the property, with an extensive front and backyard, and an electronic gate that they left the way Gene had found it—open. Gene might have just been a sixteen-year-old kid, but he had survived on the island by himself for months; he had done that by not attracting the ghouls’ attention, which meant leaving things as he found them, including the doors, windows, and front gates.

Inside the house, they found five bedrooms, with two on the second floor, including the master. It had an attic but no basement. He found plenty of boxes (open, which probably meant Gene had gone through them already) in one half of the garage, but no car or food. Gene had once told him he had bug-out bags all around the island, but apparently the two-story house wasn’t one of those places. Or if it were, Keo couldn’t find where the kid had hid them.

His stomach was growling when he came out of the garage and headed back to the house. He gave the street beyond the gate a last look, then peeked up at the darkening skies before slipping back inside.

Jordan was leaning against the kitchen’s island counter, looking somberly at her reflection in the steel refrigerator across from her. She and Dave had gone through the cabinets, opening every door they could find in hopes of locating food that hadn’t spoiled or gone bad, while he was outside. By the expression on her face, he guessed they had come up empty, too.

Piles of utensils covered the counters—spoons, forks, and butter knives. Besides food, Jordan and Dave had been looking for anything silver, but by the way the cutlery was tossed around, that search had come up just as empty.

“Any silver?” he asked anyway.

She shook her head. “Fake. They’re all cheap fakes. How is it possible people who live in a house this big, that probably cost more than I’ll make in a lifetime, don’t have one single real piece of silver lying around?”

“Maybe that’s how they got to be rich in the first place. They’re frugal with their money. Why buy real, expensive silver when you can just use the cheap stuff? Most people don’t know the difference, anyway.”

“So that’s the secret?”

“One of many, I’m guessing.”

He started to open the refrigerator, but Jordan said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Nothing?”

“Oh, there’s something in there, all right. You just can’t eat it. Well, you could if you wanted to, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He gave up on the refrigerator and walked back to her. “Nothing at all? Not even a nibble?”

“Not even rat droppings. You’d think there would be rat droppings, right? Are there even any animals left on the island?”

“The birds.”

“Land animals, I mean.”

“Probably not. Once they turned the population, they’d have to resort to other things for blood.”

“And here we are…”

“And here we are. Did Dave find anything on the second floor?”

“If he did, he didn’t say anything. Maybe he’s hoarding the food all for himself.” She laid her forehead against the counter and sighed. “We should have gone to Galveston Island, Keo. There are more houses there, more supplies…”

“We’ll go there tomorrow. Find some gas, load up on some food, and get the hell away from here for good.”

She gave him a wry smile. “When did you become such an optimist?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“For one, you lost the woman you love to some guy. To add insult to injury, she’s carrying his child.”

“Yeah, but other than that, things have been going pretty swell.” He sat down on a stool. “You know what the funny thing is?”

“You mean there’s something funny about all this? Please enlighten me, because I can use a good laugh right about now.”

“Back at the marina—at T18—I saw something that I’m still not entirely sure I actually saw.”

“That sounds overly complicated.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

He ran the memories back in his head. Keo had lost count of the number of times he had relived last night. And like all the other times, nothing he saw—or thought he saw—still made any sense.

“What happened?” Jordan asked, looking at him curiously with her good eye.

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Even after everything that’s happened?”

“Even after everything that’s happened,” he nodded.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, feel free to tell me about it later. Right now, there’s a very good chance I’m too tired to care anyway.”

They heard footsteps behind them as Dave came back down the stairs.

“Anything?” Keo asked him.

Dave shook his head. “Nothing that you didn’t already find earlier. You?”

“Nope.”

“Figures.”

Keo got up and turned toward the window facing the backyard. It had gotten noticeably darker since the last time he looked.

“Let’s get ready for tonight,” he said.

* * *

Silver bullets. That’s what he needed right now, even more than food.

Christ, he wished he had silver bullets.

It didn’t take very long before they came out. He saw just one at first, darting across the street in front of the house. It had come out of the ugly blue building next door and made a beeline straight for the western marina.

Then another, and another…

“One fifty, give or take a few dozen here and there. Could be less. Could be more. I’m just spitballing numbers, though,” he had told Gene when they were trying to guess how many ghouls were still on the island.

As he watched them coming out of the homes around him, their strained dark flesh reflecting back the bright moonlight, he probably hadn’t been too far from the truth. He had stopped counting around fifty, and there were definitely more than that.

Maybe a hundred. Maybe almost 200.

“Could be less. Could be more.”

What mattered was that there were too many. There were always too many, but even more so now because he didn’t have a single silver bullet to go around. Hell, he would have made do with a silver butter knife. Or a fork. Anything, as long as it was silver. Was it possible the entire island was barren of the precious metal? One of the houses around him had to have what he needed—a candleholder, a picture frame, or maybe if he was really lucky, a sword made entirely of silver. Oh, the things he could have done with that…

Except there hadn’t been time to do a thorough search of every single house, because they had wasted most of the day waiting for Steve to finally charge across the waters. Which meant he had screwed up. Maybe he had even overestimated Steve’s determination to avenge his brother’s death.

Or maybe, just maybe, Steve really was dead. Maybe the man really had been one of those soldiers either he or Dave had shot back at Marina 1.

Was that possible? Yes. Likely? Maybe...

Daebak. My entire life is a series of maybes these days.

He focused on the western marina from the sanctuary of the master bedroom, keeping out of view behind the back window. Somewhere outside the room on the second floor, Dave was keeping watch out the front window at the eastern marina on the other side of the island. An approaching vehicle, even one that was powered by trolling motors, would be noticeable against the glistening dark ocean.

He could easily make out the docks under the generous pool of moonlight, along with the creatures crawling all over them at the moment. The white twenty-footer they had arrived in remained tied in its slip, looking incredibly lonely against the blanket of night. Not surprisingly, the ghouls were drawn to it like a beacon. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to keep the boat there. Should they have dragged it out of the water and hid it? Too late for that now.

His stomach growled, a low rumble that gradually increased in volume.

“I heard that,” Jordan said from across the room. She was sitting against the wall next to the open door.

“Heard what?” he said.

“Uh huh. So what are they doing out there?”

“They’re at the marina. I guess they found the boat.”

“Not exactly hard to find. Maybe we should have hid it.”

Definitely should have hid it, he thought. “Yeah, probably.”

“So what are they doing, exactly?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“You expect them to jump into the boat and drive it back to the mainland?”

“Given everything I’ve seen so far, would that really be all that crazy?”

Keo thought about T18, about the blue-eyed ghoul that had saved his life… “Not that crazy, I guess.”

“Keo,” Jordan said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about Gillian.”

“Are we doing this again?”

“There’s a bright side…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve always had a bit of a crush on you. So if you’re looking for some rebound sex, I’m available.”

“Shit,” Keo said.

“Ugh, never mind, then. I was just trying to be friendly—”

“No, not that. Something’s approaching the island.”

He saw it again—a single orb of light bouncing against the water’s surface, followed quickly by the familiar and slowly growing whine of motors.

“What is it?” Jordan asked.

He looked across the semidarkness of the master bedroom at her, clutching the AR-15. “They’re here.”

“How many?”

“Just one.”

“Just one?”

“I only see one.”

Jordan gave him a confused look. “That doesn’t make any sense—”

BOOM!

The entire house shook, as if it had been hit by a meteorite, and every inch of the wall and floor and ceiling seemed to tremble and threaten to come unglued at the seams. The shock of the explosion tossed Jordan forward, the rifle spilling from her grip. A cloud of debris and smoke flooded through the open doorway and splashed into the master bedroom, swallowing up Jordan in its path.

Keo ducked instinctively, even though he didn’t have to. Jordan was somewhere on the floor in front of him, trying to get up; he only knew she was there because he could hear her coughing.

Dave!

He staggered to his feet and rushed through the billowing smoke—crunching chunks of the wall and ceiling that had fallen free under his boots—over to Jordan’s struggling form. He pulled her up, and when she was steady on her feet again, he continued on toward the door. He slipped through it, stumbling over more debris.

Once outside, he froze in his tracks.

Half of the second floor ceiling was gone, exposing the open, dark skies above. A cold chill swamped the remains of the room, and there were no signs of Dave. In the spot where Keo had last seen the other man, there were only shreds of clothing buried underneath fallen rubble and pieces of what looked like an assault rifle sprinkled across the floor.

Keo zeroed in on the gaping hole in the front wall, the same one that faced the eastern marina. The almost perfect half-circle opening in the floor looked down at a bathroom and parts of another bedroom. It looked like the explosion had torn out a huge chunk of the house, as if some giant monster had gobbled it up, leaving behind a jagged crater in the shape of its mouth.

He hadn’t gotten more than a few steps toward what remained of the front wall when—

Pop-pop-pop!

He dropped to the floor—

Pop-pop-pop!

Bullets zipped past his head and slammed into parts of the ceiling that were still above him. Keo rolled away from the opening, ignoring the stabbing pains; it seemed like every sharp edge along the Mossberg shotgun slung over his back was digging into his body.

Whoever was shooting at him must have anticipated that he would be scampering away from the opening, because they started shooting through the wall in front of him. Pieces of the house splintered, and a window that had escaped the blast unscathed shattered and rained glass around him.

He kept moving—kept rolling—because he didn’t know what else to do.

He didn’t stop until he bumped into a wall and scrambled up and ran back toward the master bedroom. Jordan was at the door, clinging to a nearby bureau to keep herself upright, and she almost shot him with her reacquired rifle when he darted back inside.

“Jesus, Keo!” she shouted. “Where’s Dave?”

He shook his head. Dave was probably dead. Or injured. Or somewhere buried on the first floor. Bottom line: Dave was out of action, and there was no telling how many men were coming into the house at this very moment.

Not just men, either, but them, too.

He ran past Jordan and to the window. He kept away from the glass and peered out and was immediately drawn back to the western marina where the boat he had seen earlier had docked in the slip next to the one holding the white shape of their twenty-footer.

What the hell is happening?

None of this made any sense. If Steve’s people—and there was no doubt that was them out there right now—had successfully sneaked unnoticed onto the island from somewhere else, then who was the lone dark figure walking calmly up the dock?

Keo might have been seeing things (again?), but he swore the throng of ghouls gathering inside the marina were separating, scrambling to get out of the figure’s way, like Moses parting the Red Sea…

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Hey, Keo, you in there?”

Steve.

Of course it was Steve, shouting like an idiot from somewhere outside the house, though where, exactly, Keo couldn’t quite pinpoint. Who else would it be? He hadn’t for a single second (okay, maybe for a few very optimistic seconds) thought the man was dead. It was too good to be true, and if everything he had gone through since the world ended had taught him anything, it was that when things were too good to be true they usually were—especially when he was involved.

If it wasn’t for shitty luck…

“One down, two to go!”

The man sounded like he was having fun, which was more than Keo could say for him and Jordan as he scrambled out of the main bedroom while keeping as far away from the cratered wall as possible. A cold gust of wind made him shiver involuntarily, and the scar along the left side of his face tingled, the first time in a long time.

“I could be wrong, of course. It’s kind of dark out here. Hard to see.”

His one big advantage was the stairs. There were plenty of ways to get into the house—the back door, the front door, the windows—but there was only one path up to the second floor. He moved in a crouch toward it now and leaned against the wall, listening for sounds and vibrations that would signal entry.

Now this is familiar, he thought, remembering the last time he was pinned on the second floor of a house.

“But it’s going to get even darker real soon, buddy.” The voice was clearly on the move, from the back of the house toward the front.

Earlier, Keo had locked the doors and windows on the first floor, but there were no additional (and obvious) barricades over the other entrances, just in case the creatures decided to look inside. It was a risk, considering everything Gene had preached about not messing with a house’s status quo, but Keo had to risk it. The idea of hiding inside a place that wasn’t locked on purpose made his skin crawl. And besides, Gene’s way of doing things hadn’t exactly worked out the last time he was on the island…

“You still alive in there, Keo? Don’t be shy! I thought we were friends?”

Think again, Keo wanted to shout back down, but held his tongue.

“Gillian’s still waiting for you back in town. You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided not to punish her. Or Doc Jay. They’re not responsible for your bad decisions, after all.”

Right. Steve hadn’t hurt Gillian because he was feeling generous. More likely it was because he needed her to keep Jay in line. Jay might not have the makings of a rebel, but every man had his limits. Harming a woman like Gillian, along with her unborn baby, was a good way to piss off one of the only two doctors in town.

Steve’s words made Keo feel a lot better about leaving Gillian behind in T18. Of course, that probably wasn’t Steve’s intent.

“Man up, Keo!” the man shouted now. “Don’t make me go up there! It’s not gonna be pretty if I have to do that!”

A brief silence. Maybe Steve expected him to respond. If so, he was going to have a long wait. Keo was too busy listening for the telltale signs of an impending assault, because he knew damn well one was coming. And soon.

“All right, have it your way!” Steve shouted.

Thanks for the warning, asshole, Keo thought, just as he heard the first bang! against the front door downstairs. That was followed by the crash! of glass panes as they began breaking their way through the windows at the same time.

He glanced behind him at Jordan, crouched near the open master bathroom door with the Remington in her hands, the AR-15 slung over her back. Her right eye had gotten much better in the last few hours, though at the moment he could really only see her left even with the thick pool of moonlight splashing inside through the gaping hole to their right—the result of some kind of grenade launcher, most likely.

He nodded at her and could just barely make her out giving him a crooked, almost wistful half-smile back, as if to say, This is it. We’re both going to die.

He couldn’t disagree, so he smiled back and turned around, then swapped the M4 for the Mossberg with the pistol grip. The 12-gauge pump-action shotgun was thirty-one inches long and held six shells. He had the rest stuffed into his pockets, but what he wouldn’t give for a shell carrier. Of course, what he wouldn’t give for a whole lot of things, including his MP5SD with the built-in suppressor. There were a lot of weapons still waiting inside the master bedroom’s tub, but one non-MP5SD was the same as another.

If wishes were assholes…

He faced the stairs again and pressed his left ear against the wall.

They were coming. The banging against the door had ceased, probably because they realized coming through the windows was easier. Right now, he could hear the crunch of glass under heavy combat boots. Then, in no time at all, those same sounds approaching the bottom of the stairs.

Definitely more than one. How many would Steve bring with him? That would depend on how many boats he had managed to land on Santa Marie Island without them noticing. He couldn’t have achieved that using the eastern marina. Dave would have seen them. And Keo had the western side scoped out, but by the time he had seen the lone boat, it was too late; they were already on the island.

Christ, how did they get on the island so fast?

Things weren’t adding up. If Steve had made it onto the island unnoticed, who was piloting the lone boat that landed at the western marina? Was that some kind of diversion? Draw his attention as they moved on the house?

Maybe. Steve was clever enough to do something like that. The guy had sent him out of T18 to be shot at, only to swoop in and decimate Tobias’s people. Many of the opponents Keo had met in the last few months had been devoid of tactical ability, but Steve wasn’t one of them. Far from it.

And Dave. Shit. He was either dead or lying somewhere on the first floor under some rubble. Either way, Dave wasn’t going to be much help right now. Keo just hoped it was at least a fast trip to the afterlife for the poor guy. He hadn’t really gotten to know Dave all that well, but he’d liked the man nonetheless.

Focus.

He didn’t have very long to wait for Steve to show his hand. Keo didn’t so much as see the man’s head as he spotted the protruding lens of the night-vision goggles peeking around the corner before turning up the stairs.

Keo fired, buckshot tearing into the NVG and shattering the lens, slamming into flesh and bone on the other side.

Even as the body collapsed, a second man appeared, jumping over his fallen comrade. The man landed on the second step and was lifting a laser-equipped M4 when Keo racked the Mossberg and put the contents of the second shell into the man’s chest. The black-clad figure was flung back by the blast, tripped over the body behind him, and did an almost impressive backward flip onto the living room floor.

They took the hint after that and he heard heavy footsteps, this time moving away from the staircase.

Keo took advantage of the momentary retreat and grabbed two shells from his pocket and fed them into the shotgun. Behind him, he heard Jordan crouch-walking over to his position, her labored breathing doing more to alert him than the crunch of her boots over debris strewn across the floor.

“You okay?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Anything going on back there?”

She shook her head. “I don’t see anything. They’re either all inside the house already, or they’re sticking to places I can’t see from the back window.”

“What about the rest of the island?” He thought about adding, “What about them,” but Jordan already knew what he meant.

“I don’t know where they went,” she said. “It’s like they just disappeared. But it’s so dark out there, they could be right under the window and I might still not have seen them.”

That’s encouraging, he thought, smiling slightly to himself.

He focused back on the stairs.

“Do you really think they’re holding back?” Jordan asked. Like him the last time, she didn’t have to elaborate on who “they” were.

“I don’t know,” he said. “They did exactly just that a few nights ago when I was here with Gene. They were attacking when Steve showed up, then they retreated to let him finish the job.”

“That’s…freaky.”

“You haven’t seen freaky yet,” he said, memories of the blue-eyed creature at the T18 marina flashing back across his mind.

“What now?”

“Wait them out, if we can.”

“That’s a big if.”

So what else is new?

“Keo!” a voice shouted from below, very close to the stairs. Steve again. Who else would it be? “Nice shooting.”

“Thanks!” Keo shouted down. “Close quarters! That’s kind of my specialty, didn’t I tell you?”

“Yes, you did. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Consider those two bodies a reminder.”

“I was right about you. You’re just too dangerous to ever be fully trusted. I should have trusted my instincts and taken you out of the equation when you showed up at the bridge.”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda, pal.”

Steve chuckled. “Who’s still up there with you? Tobias’s girl? I know Dave’s dead. That’s his name, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“One of the cafeteria cooks didn’t show up for work this morning. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“And here I thought you were dumb as a rock, Steve.”

Another forced chuckle. “Bye-bye, Dave, it was nice not knowing ya. I put a grenade round into the window where he was standing myself. I know, I know, big time movie cliché, right? Kill the black guy first? But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that; not being a movie guy and all. Anyway, what’s that’s saying? Payback’s a real bitch.”

Keo exchanged a look with Jordan, and she looked back at the crater behind them, the pieces of clothing (Dave’s) still stuck among the debris.

“How’d you sneak onto the island without us seeing you?” Keo shouted down.

“That’s your problem, Keo,” Steve said. “You think you have everything figured out. But it never occurred to you that my guys have been keeping an eye on Santa Marie Island for months now. Those marinas aren’t the only way onto the island, sport. Dave learned that lesson the hard way.”

Keo cursed himself. He had chosen the two-story house on the hill because it gave them an expanded view of the island, along with both marinas. If he had known there were other ways onto the place, he would have opted for hiding instead, the way Gene had done the last few months when he continually evaded Steve’s people.

Live and learn, pal.

“How many men you got left down there, Steve?” he called down.

“Don’t you worry about me,” Steve said. “I got plenty more where they came from.”

“I’m sure the rest of your guys are glad to hear you say that.”

“Don’t you worry about my boys. Everyone knows where they stand. You have to, or you’ll get stepped on.”

“You come up with that yourself?”

“You like it?”

“Eh, could use some work.”

“You wanna workshop it with me?”

“Sure, why not? Come on up and we can do that right now.”

Steve let out a strained laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I got a bottle of J&B up here. Let’s have a drink.”

“Nah, I’m going to have to pass.”

“You’re no fun.”

Keo waited for a response, but he didn’t get one. At least, not for a while.

He thought he might have heard some back and forth whispering below him, though. Some kind of argument that was getting more heated by the second.

“Sounds like the villagers are getting restless!” Keo shouted. “Maybe you shouldn’t have let them know just how expendable they were in your eyes.”

He waited for a comeback, but there was only silence.

“Steve? You still down there, ol’ buddy? Talk to me.”

“You know what?” Steve shouted up. His voice had changed, and whereas before he had been cavalier—even though Keo didn’t believe it for a second—there was none of that pretense now. “I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of you. I was going to drag you back to town and string you up in the fields like a scarecrow to make an example of you. Show your girlfriend and the Doc that I could be nice, but there was a limit to my generosity. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s mission accomplished. I got what I needed—Jack’s killer in pieces.”

Keo looked back at Jordan and was about to tell her to get ready, but he didn’t have to. She already knew, and she nodded back at him and clenched her teeth, mentally preparing herself for what was coming next.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Steve was shouting, his voice rising noticeably. “You want to stay on this island? You’re going to have to fight its residents for it! You know who I’m talking about, Keo?”

Keo knew exactly who he was talking about.

“Here they come right now,” Steve said. “Good luck—”

Someone screamed, cutting off whatever Steve was about to say, followed by the sound of glass breaking. Then someone—no, more than one—opened fire, the pop-pop-pop of automatic rifles filling the first floor below them. The renewed burst of activity was sudden and ferocious, and for a few seconds Keo remained crouched and frozen. He listened, unable to pull away even if he had wanted to.

For a moment, just a moment, he thought it was a trick. Some elaborate game concocted by Steve to mess with their heads. But the more he heard, the more he realized it wasn’t. Those were real screams down there. Real gunfire, and the very real sounds of men dying.

Steve’s men.

Keo stood up, said, “Go!”

She was already up and moving, and he followed her straight into the master bedroom.

Frantic screaming continued from below them as he slammed the door shut and hurried over to help Jordan push and drag the wooden dresser over. The continuous gunfire rattled under his boots and Keo did his best to ignore them. He concentrated on getting the goddamn heavy furniture over to where he needed it, grunting through stabbing pains from his thigh and shoulder the entire time. He should have sutured both of the wounds earlier. Shit.

Shoulda, woulda, and totally screwed, pal.

Finally—finally!—they got the dresser all the way across the room and slammed it up against the door. It went up only halfway, leaving the top half vulnerable. Keo had seen what the ghouls could do when they were determined enough to get into a closed room, and he had a very bad feeling they were going to be very, very determined tonight.

They stumbled back, out of breath, listening to the gunfire rattling on and on below them, even though every gunshot sounded as if it were coming from right in front of them, on the other side of the door.

“It won’t hold,” Keo said. “It’ll never keep them out. Not all night.”

“I know,” Jordan said.

They started looking around for more things to block the door with. There was a nightstand, but it was too slim and probably wasn’t even worth carrying over. A large full-length mirror on a swivel in one corner had a sturdy look to it. And then there was the bed. A large king-size, worthy of being put into a master bedroom on a two-story house on an island hillside. It was going to be heavy, too. Really heavy. It was bad enough he was moving on a gimpy leg and a bum arm, and now he was going to have to carry that monster.

Shut up and do it!

Jordan saw where he was looking, and they both moved toward it simultaneously when—

Silence.

The shooting and screams from downstairs had stopped.

There was no prelude, no hints that it was winding down. It had simply just…stopped.

They stared at each other, and he guessed her confused face probably mirrored his own.

What the hell had Steve’s people been shooting at? Was it the ghouls? But that didn’t make any sense. If the creatures had let them onto the island and then ignored them, allowing them to assault the house, why would they attack now?

What was that Steve had said just before the gunfire started?

“Here they come right now. Good luck!”

Except Steve wasn’t going to stop at “good luck.” He was going to say something else, but never got the chance.

Why? What was out there? What did he think was “coming”?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything Steve had expected. The screams and shooting were proof of that. So what—

Something flickered at the corner of Keo’s eye and he spun around, unslinging the Mossberg at the same time. A black object was moving outside the back window just a split second before it smashed its way inside.

Jordan ducked her head against the flying glass, but Keo didn’t have that luxury. He was too busy lining up a shot. Between raising the shotgun and pulling the trigger, he had just enough time to register that it was a man that had crashed its way through the window.

No, not a man. Not exactly.

It was a ghoul wearing a long trench coat, the flaps swirling around him (it) like some kind of cape. Its eyes glowed blue against the semidarkness of the room and it began standing up, lengthening its impossibly gaunt frame like some kind of contortionist.

It seemed to stretch and stretch, the coat fluttering around its painfully thin legs (Like chopsticks, I can break those with my bare hands, Keo thought), and although he was sure it was just the moonlight and shadows playing tricks with his mind, he swore the damn thing had to be well over seven feet tall.

He pulled the trigger, the loud boom! ear-splitting in the closed confines of the master bedroom.

He didn’t know how the creature did it, but it twisted its body to avoid most of his shot. But it wasn’t quite fast enough—it didn’t help that it was partially still straightening up from the floor when Keo fired—and half of the buckshot tore into its left side and the rest slammed into the wall behind it. Keo had fired without aiming, because there hadn’t been any time. He had simply pointed at the biggest part of the monster, even as Danny’s words echoed inside his head:

“If you see them, run the other way, Obi-Wan Keobi. Or shoot them in the head. That seems to work pretty well.”

The head.

Shoot them in the head!

He racked the shotgun and tilted the weapon up slightly, but before he could squeeze the trigger a second time, the thing moved.

No, that wasn’t true, because to say it moved meant Keo could see its body in motion. Because he couldn’t. Not really. Maybe it was the darkness and shadows and moonlight once again messing with his eyes, but Keo swore he only saw a black blur (Like back at the T18 marina…) just before the shotgun was jerked out of his hands.

It was so swift, so unmercifully forceful, that he hadn’t quite come to grips with what had happened until the creature’s pruned black flesh filled his vision, because it was now standing in front of him. Tightened black skin seemed to be vibrating in the dark room and suffocating heat emanated from its eyes, even as an icy coldness radiated from every pore of its flesh. Those things shouldn’t have been possible, the incongruent nature of hot and cold warring inside Keo’s head.

He struggled to understand what he was seeing and feeling, but all he could focus on was the thin trickles of coagulated black blood dripping out of holes in the creature’s trench coat. Except Keo couldn’t see gaping wounds through the openings—if they were there, they had somehow healed themselves. He wished his own injuries were that efficient.

Why was it even wearing clothes at all, he wondered. The sight of the fabric wrapped around its elongated frame was almost absurd, and for a moment Keo wanted to ask the creature if it knew what it was.

Then, unfathomably, the creature spoke.

“Keo,” it hissed. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Daebak. It knows my name, too.

The sight of the creature standing in front of him, its blue eyes like twin otherworldly orbs, made Keo hesitate. He wasn’t sure for how long, though; it could have been just a second, or two, or possibly a minute.

He didn’t know how long he stood there staring back at the creature, replaying the sound of his own name coming out of its impossibly thin and blackened lips. But when he finally did manage to gain some semblance of control, the first thing he did was shout, “Jordan!”

But the ghoul reacted before Jordan could, and it pointed the Mossberg at Keo—no, not at him, but past him, and at Jordan standing over his shoulder. The fact that it even knew how to use a shotgun surprised him for some reason. And the way it held the weapon—as if it had been doing it all its life—made Keo more curious than scared, and he was pretty goddamn scared to begin with.

For the next few seconds, Keo didn’t know what Jordan was doing behind him. Maybe like him, she had frozen in place and was unsure how to respond to the sight of this thing in the room with them. Maybe like him, she couldn’t understand how it could radiate heat and icy coldness at the same time.

However long the next few seconds passed for the three of them, the monster must have no longer thought she was a threat because its eyes (Christ, they’re blue) shifted back to him, and Keo saw it clear as day and without a shred of doubt:

The creature was intelligent.

He was so focused on that (impossible) sudden realization that he forgot to reach down for his sidearm. Not that he would have had much of a chance, anyway. This thing had crossed the room in less time than it had taken him to rack the shotgun. Did he really think he could draw the Glock before it fired, taking both him and Jordan out in a hail of buckshot?

No way in hell. Not even close.

“If I’d wanted to kill you,” it hissed, “you wouldn’t have escaped T18.”

T18.

Back at the marina…

“You,” Keo whispered.

He didn’t know exactly why he was whispering. Maybe it was the sound of the creature’s voice—it was so low, as if just talking (hissing) was painful somehow, and he wanted to…do what? Match its pitch?

Crazy talk.

“You saved my life,” Keo managed to get out. Then, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say or do, “Why?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” it said, and cocked its head slightly to one side. “They’re coming.”

“Who?”

“The others.”

Others? What others—

Oh, right. The others.

“The door won’t hold forever,” it hissed. “There’s too many of them.”

“Keo?” Jordan said behind him. She sounded breathless, which made him wonder how he was sounding at the moment. “What’s happening?”

“I…” Have no fucking idea, he wanted to say, but finished instead with, “It saved my life. Our lives. Back at T18. We wouldn’t have made it out of there if it hadn’t shown up. I’ve been, uh, meaning to tell you.”

“And…now?”

It looked past him—at Jordan, or the door, or both—before settling on him again. “You’ll never survive the night. Not alone.”

Keo nodded. He didn’t know why he was so calm all of a sudden. Maybe it was the way the creature talked, or possibly it was the lack of animal urges behind its cool blue eyes. He had faced enough of the black-eyed ghouls up close and personal to recognize the absence of a soul behind the hollowed holes that used to be their eyes. This thing standing in front of him was so far removed from those frenzied monsters that Keo wondered if he was dreaming, if this was all just one long (albeit very vivid) nightmare.

Wake up! Wake up, you idiot!

But he didn’t wake up, because he wasn’t asleep. This was real. Jesus, this was real.

“I agree,” he said. “We can’t survive alone.”

It pulled back the Mossberg, then held it, stock-first, to him.

Keo stared at the shotgun, then at its unmoving face, those pulsating blue eyes. He didn’t react for a long time.

Five seconds…then ten…

He reached forward and took the Mossberg back from the ghoul.

It lowered its hand, bony fingers unfurling at its side.

Behind him, Jordan might have shuffled her feet nervously, though it was hard to tell because he was so glued to the creature, on its every movement, waiting—waiting—for the first hint that it would prove him right, that it was, after all, just another undead thing waiting to end his existence.

“Now what?” Keo asked.

“You can’t climb,” it said.

“Is that how you got up here? You climbed?”

It nodded.

“Damn,” Keo said.

“Keo,” Jordan said, and he could almost hear her doing everything humanly possible not to scream out his name.

He turned around and saw her looking back at the door.

“They’re inside the house,” the creature hissed behind him.

Keo moved across the bedroom and pressed his ear against the wall. He didn’t have to wait very long. They were out there, on what was left of the second-floor living room. The unmistakable sounds of shuffling bare feet, the growing smell of their numbers swelling on the other side of the thick slab of wood.

Behind him, Jordan was staring at the creature in the trench coat, her shotgun pointed at the floor. She was gripping the Remington so tightly that her fingers looked ghost-white against the darkness. For its part, the thing looked unbothered by Jordan’s unwavering stare or the weapon in her hand.

“What are you?” Jordan finally asked.

It opened its mouth, as if to answer, but then it stopped and seemed to pause for a moment.

It doesn’t know, Keo thought. Or it’s not sure.

Instead of answering her, the creature hissed, “The marina. Get to it.”

“Easier said than done,” Keo said, walking back. “How many are out there?”

“Hundreds.”

“You attacked them,” Jordan said. “The soldiers on the first floor. That was you.”

It nodded.

“Why?” she asked.

Its eyes shifted to Keo. “I need him alive.”

Keo didn’t know if that was supposed to make him feel better or worse. He just hoped the creature and Jordan didn’t notice when he trembled involuntarily for about half a second before he could force himself to stop.

He looked back at the door instead. “Why haven’t they attacked yet?”

“They’re confused,” it said.

“Confused? By what?”

“Me.”

Well, at least I have that in common with them, Keo thought, and said, “So what now? What are they doing out there?”

“They’re waiting.”

“For what?”

“Orders.”

“Whose orders? Yours?”

It shook its head. “Someone else’s.”

Something else’s, you mean, Keo wanted to say, but bit his tongue.

“You’re not like them,” Jordan said. She hadn’t looked away from the blue-eyed ghoul…or lessened her grip on the shotgun.

“No,” it said, resting its blue eyes on her. Keo swore the damn things seemed to be glowing—pulsating. “I’m…more.”

“Can we wait them out?” Keo asked. “Until sunrise?”

“No,” it said. “The orders will come, and when they do, they’ll attack. You won’t survive to see morning. The marina is your only chance.”

“We’d never make it. It’s a long island and you said it yourself, there’s too many—”

It turned and began walking back to the window.

“Where are you going?” Jordan asked, and Keo thought she actually sounded terrified to see it leaving.

“Stay here,” it said, and before he or Jordan could respond, the creature leaped through the broken window and disappeared into the dark void beyond.

Keo ran over and looked out just in time to see it bounding across the backyard, then catapult over the iron fence as if it were a foot high instead of ten-feet-tall. The flaps of its trench coat fluttered in its wake before vanishing into the night.

Now I’ve seen everything, Keo thought, except even when the words popped into his head, he didn’t think it was true. He had a very strong feeling that tonight was just the beginning, that things were about to get…stranger.

Jordan appeared next to him. “Keo…”

“Yeah?”

“That just happened, didn’t it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“I just wanted to make sure.” She paused, then, “It knew your name.”

“I noticed that.”

“Keo, it knew your name.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And it could talk.”

“I heard.”

“I didn’t know they could talk. Did you?”

“I…yes.”

“You knew?”

“I heard stories.”

“What kind—”

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

They spun around simultaneously as the dresser shook against the door.

“I guess they finally got those orders they were waiting for,” Jordan said breathlessly.

Thoom-thoom-thoom!

“The bed!” Keo shouted.

He started moving toward the king-size bed when a long, thin shadow fell across the floorboards in front of him. At first he thought it was just him or Jordan, but that didn’t make sense because he knew exactly where his shadow was, and Jordan was to his right, but this one was coming from his left and over his shoulder—

Keo turned around just as the ghoul flung itself from the top frame of the window and landed on the windowsill, impaling its bare feet on shards of jutting glass. For a split second, Keo thought it was the blue-eyed ghoul returning to finish him and Jordan off, having decided they weren’t worth the effort to save.

But no, because the eyes glaring at him were solid black and not ethereal blue.

The creature lunged into the room and Keo lifted the Mossberg and fired, punching a hole through the creature’s chest, flesh and muscle splattering the wall behind it, while the blast itself had enough force to throw the ghoul backward and to the floor.

“Keo!” Jordan shouted.

“The bed!” he shouted back, and racked the shotgun.

The ghoul was picking itself up from the floor when Keo shot it again, this time taking its entire right arm off at the shoulder joint. When that didn’t stop it, he racked and fired a third time, chopping one of its legs out from under it.

The creature toppled to one side, landing in a splash of its own thick pool of blood. Instead of trying to get back up on its remaining leg, the ghoul started crawling toward him, using its one arm to grab, fingernails digging into the floorboards, and pull itself forward. Then it repeated the process.

Keo stared at the absurd sight for a moment before taking a quick step toward the creature. It raised its head to look up inquisitively at him just before Keo fired, shattering its skull and splattering flesh and blood across the floor.

It didn’t have a head anymore, but the damn thing was still dragging itself toward him…

Keo’s stomach lurched and he took a step back before starting to reload the shotgun. He didn’t have to go very far, because even though it wouldn’t die, the ghoul had been reduced to a tortoise’s speed, sliding across the floor in almost slow motion.

“Keo!” Jordan shouted. “I could really use a hand here!”

She had cleared the pillows and blankets off the bed and was trying in vain to drag it by one bedpost toward the door. Looking at her straining, Keo wondered amusingly if Jordan would get to the door before the ghoul got to him—

“Keo!”

He slung the shotgun and hurried across the room, giving the back window one last look just in case another one of the creatures had managed to climb up the wall outside. When he didn’t see any further threats, he grabbed his end of the bed and pushed.

His left shoulder screamed and his right thigh throbbed against their bandages. Ripples of pain sliced up and down his body and he was probably bleeding again, and he was thankful he didn’t have time to stop and make sure—

Clack.

Keo spun back toward the window just in time to see the blue-eyed ghoul pick up the now-headless black-eyed one from the floor by its remaining leg and casually toss it through the window.

THOOM!

Splintered wood flew across the room and almost impaled itself in Keo’s face. He ducked just in time and watched as a pair of dark eyes peered into the master bedroom through the slit in the door.

THOOM!

Another piece slid across the floor, the slit on the door widening both horizontally and vertically. As if they knew exactly where the weak spot was, the creatures began slamming into the opening until it was big enough that one of the ghouls could begin to squeeze itself through, slashing its flesh against the edges.

Black blood arced through the moonlit room.

“The marina,” the blue-eyed creature hissed. “Now.”

* * *

The creature had gone to get an extension ladder, the same one Keo had used earlier to retrieve Gene’s water bottles. It was leaning outside the back window of the master bedroom and Keo climbed down first, doing his very best not to think about what awaited him below, but only knowing he had to get away from the room above him and the creatures amassed outside its door at this very moment.

THOOM-THOOM-THOOM!

He could feel the relentless pounding in his bones as he climbed.

The night air swirled around him, threatening to grab and toss him off the ladder. He spent almost as much time looking down, waiting for the inevitable black-eyed ghouls to appear out of nowhere, as he did looking up at Jordan as she maneuvered herself to follow him down.

He hopped the last few meters and landed in a crouch, quickly unslinging the Mossberg. Out here, in the middle of the night, the spreading power of the shotgun was preferable to the M4. Not that he expected them to do the job completely, but placed at the right spots, maybe he could slow them down just enough to outrun them.

THOOM-THOOM-THOOM!

The door had to have been weakened drastically by now, and when it could no longer be called a door, there would be nothing to stand in their way except Ol’ Blue Eyes, as Keo had come to call his savior. It was better than just referring to it as, well, it all the time. Given what the creature had done for him at T18 and now, on Santa Marie Island, Keo felt almost obligated to give it a name, and with it, some measure of respect.

Just don’t fall in love with it, pal. It is a monster, after all.

His heart was racing even as he swept the backyard with the shotgun and continued to wait for the first ghoul to pop out of the bushes like in the movies. It was pitch-dark back here, and what he wouldn’t give for one of those night-vision goggles Steve’s people had been wearing. Of course, those were inside the house behind him at the moment, likely drowned in a sea of undead.

Even now, with his back to the two-story building, Keo could smell them, so many that he imagined the walls of the house bulging with their numbers. He was very aware that all it would take was for one ghoul to stray from the task at hand, from their deadly single-minded determination once they set their sights on a goal, and check the backyard and it was over. Jesus Christ, he was a sitting duck out here.

Jordan jumped the last few feet and landed with an oomph! next to him. She quickly sprang back up and gathered herself and unslung her Remington, even as—

THOOM!

The crash was so loud that Keo felt the door finally, mercifully crumbling all the way down here.

“Go!” he whispered sharply to Jordan, and the two of them began running across the moonlit backyard and through knee-high grass, toward the fence on the other side.

The very loud explosion of chaos, of flesh smashing into walls and floor and ceiling, thundered from the second floor master bedroom behind them, the bang-bang-bang! like machine-gun fire.

Keo didn’t look back and kept running. Ol’ Blue Eyes had been strict about that.

“Run to the docks,” it had said, in that unnatural hiss that gave Keo goose bumps every time. “Take my boat. It has everything you’ll need. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just run.”

A shrieking sound, unlike anything Keo had ever heard before, made him break his promise and he glanced back while still moving at full stride.

He glimpsed a flurry of clothing—a trench coat—flashing across the window just before a ghoul trying to climb out was grabbed from behind and jerked back inside.

Bang-bang-bang!

Jesus, it’s doing it. It’s actually stopping them.

But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Sooner or later, the flood would drown even Ol’ Blue Eyes. It didn’t matter how fast you were; you couldn’t outswim the ocean. Like most of the lessons he had learned in his life, Keo had accepted that one the hard way, too. It didn’t matter how strong or fast (or unnatural) you were.

Jordan had outdistanced him and reached the gate first. Of course she did. She wasn’t limping on one bad leg. He watched her sling her shotgun, then jump and grab the top of the spikes and scamper up and over. He smiled to himself, remembering how she had told him she had gone to Tulane University on a softball scholarship. He didn’t even know schools had competitive softball.

Keo mimicked her movements and pulled himself up and over the fence. He didn’t land on the other side quite as gracefully as her, spilling on the tall grass with one of the M4’s parts jamming into his side. He grimaced, hoped it didn’t puncture skin, and scrambled back up.

“I didn’t know you were so clumsy, Keo,” Jordan said next to him.

He grinned. “Shut up and run.”

Jordan jogged across the weeds until they finally felt hard pavement under their feet. He couldn’t see the marina from here, but there was no doubt about the direction: South.

“Take my boat,” Ol’ Blue Eyes had said. “It has everything you’ll need.”

Everything? What’s everything? Keo wanted to ask, but by then the door was already bursting at the seams.

He glanced back toward the house one last time.

The tall, white two-story structure stood out even in the darkness, its size dwarfing the other houses around it. The building was so big he had no trouble believing that a hundred, maybe more, of the ghouls had managed to squeeze themselves inside its wide two floors. They would be assaulting the master bedroom right now, waiting their turn to enter, only to find Ol’ Blue Eyes standing in their way.

How long before they overcame him? (Him? Did I just refer to the ghoul as a him?) Or how long before they realized he and Jordan were no longer inside—

“Oh, shit!” Jordan shouted in front of him.

Keo turned around and lifted the Mossberg just as two skeletal forms bounded across one of the unkempt lawns to the left of them.

“Run to the docks,” Ol’ Blue Eyes had said to them. “Take my boat. It has everything you’ll need. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just run.”

Like I said, pal, easier said than done, Keo thought, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Run! Don’t look back! Just run!”

She was glancing back at him while still in mid-stride, her face covered in sheets of sweat despite the chilly night air, the gust of wind coming from the ocean and over the ridgeline and between the houses before finally pouring into the street around the both of them.

“I said, don’t look back!” he shouted, just before he spun around and fired, the flame from the shotgun stabbing forward and lighting up two ghouls as they were shredded by buckshot.

He racked the Mossberg and fired again even before they had a chance to pick themselves up from the pavement. His second shot obliterated the legs out of one of the creatures, and his third blew the right arm off the other one.

Behind him, Jordan’s own shotgun roared once, twice, three times.

It wasn’t going to be enough. He knew that without having to think too hard about it. It wasn’t even close to being enough. Sooner or later, they were going to run out of steam, or run out of bullets, or just plain run out of space.

Should have hid. Should have found a basement and sealed it tight.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda, but didn’ta, pal.

They hadn’t gone more than twenty meters down the sloping hill when the first creatures appeared. His first shot was like thunderclaps across the island, and he might as well have lit a torch and carried it down the street with him because after that they came out of everywhere.

Then they were running and shooting, and they were still too far from the marina. Much, much too far.

Both his legs were already burning, not just the one with the bullet hole. And he had only been running for about three minutes. What would happen at the five-minute mark? The ten?

Curiously enough, he barely felt any pain in his left shoulder. Either the entire arm had numbed over, or he was doing a very good job of ignoring it. Of course it didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten anything in…how long had it been? Too long, which explained why he was already sapped of energy. Normally, he could run for much longer than this.

Excuses, excuses.

The only positive that he could come up with was that so many of the ghouls had gone into the two-story house that the ones left behind were sporadic in number. Instead of hordes coming out of the homes around them, there were pockets of one and two, but mostly one at a time. That, more than anything, allowed them to make steady progress down the street toward the marina, shooting the entire way.

Jordan was in front of him, firing and racking and reloading as she ran. He was doing the same thing while keeping the creatures from overtaking them. As they got closer and closer to the marina (he could smell the ocean, and God, was the scent intoxicating, calling to him), there seemed to be less and less of them, allowing him more time to reload.

They had to keep moving. Always moving. They couldn’t stop. Not for a second. Not even to breathe.

Shooting them didn’t kill them. No surprise there. But it did slow them down. The buckshot was effective, the concussive force like a sledgehammer. It was even better when he aimed for the legs. It was hard to run without legs, though that didn’t seem to stop them from crawling after him anyway.

It was difficult to see exactly how far the marina was with just the moonlight to guide him. Fortunately, the street and sidewalks stood out from the lawns, giving him a visible clue of where to go. All he had to do was keep south—

Oh, shit.

He made the mistake of throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, because that’s when he saw them—all of them. It looked like every single ghoul on the island, which meant they were now coming from the two-story house. Which in turn meant Ol’ Blue Eyes was either dead (if it could even still die—again?) or out of commission.

The sight of them pouring down the street, racing around homes and catapulting over fences, took his breath away. He might have kept on staring like an idiot if a shotgun blast didn’t roar behind him and pull him back.

He spun around just as Jordan was leaping over a ghoul whose legs she had cut out from underneath it. Keo mirrored her movements even as the creature groped for him, fingers clawing at empty air.

“Faster!” Keo shouted. “Faster, Jordan!”

She looked back, then past him, and saw for herself. Her right eye had improved, but it was still too bruised to fully open.

“Don’t look!” he shouted. “Run! Just keep running, whatever you do!”

She might have nodded, or just turned around. He couldn’t be certain.

Keo was too busy reaching into his pocket for another shell anyway when his fingers found nothing but empty spaces.

Empty!

He threw the shotgun to the street and unslung the M4.

The ghouls had stopped coming out of the houses around them. Instead, the entire nightcrawler population of Santa Marie Island was behind him at the moment, an unrelenting tide of black flesh and clacking bones, the tap-tap-tap of bare feet against the cold, hard road filling like mini explosions around him. If that wasn’t bad enough, their foul stench traveled downwind, the result of so many of them packed into so limited an area, and threatened to make him heave his stomach’s empty contents. Thank God he hadn’t eaten a single damn thing all day.

He hadn’t looked forward again for more than half a second before he spotted it: the entrance into the marina. It was coming up in forty meters—

Thirty-five—

“Faster!” he shouted. “Faster, Jordan!”

She didn’t look back this time. Instead, she actually started moving even faster, and it suddenly occurred to him that she had been running at a slower pace for his benefit. Because for all her wounds and bruises, Jordan was still more athletic than him before the world ended, and even more so now that he had two bullet holes in him.

Thirty meters—

She made a sharp right turn and disappeared behind a dirt and rock wall. From there, she would have to run down the incline parking lot, which would help her pick up even more speed on her way to the docks on the other end. Then Ol’ Blue Eyes’ boat would be waiting for them, next to the twenty-footer that was out of gas.

“Take my boat,” it had said. “It has everything you’ll need.”

Everything they would need? Besides gas, what else did they “need”? Silver bullets? Was it talking about silver bullets?

Two days ago that would have been ludicrous, but after everything he had seen, that word itself was absurd. Anything was possible, including a blue-eyed ghoul that had gone to great lengths to save his life not once, but twice now.

“I need him alive,” it had said.

Him. Keo. It needed him alive.

Ludicrous? There was no such thing anymore.

He spun around until he was backpedaling at full speed, or at least as fast as he could manage while moving backward. He should have been surprised by what he saw, but he wasn’t—they were almost on top of him.

He squeezed the trigger and swept the M4 from left to right and watched pruned flesh writhing as bullets punched through them, the only sound the occasional ping! of his rounds ricocheting off bones. The ones up front stumbled from the impact and fell and were immediately swallowed up by the stampeding herd.

Two shotgun blasts roared behind him, one right after another. Jordan, inside the marina. Apparently the docks weren’t as empty as they had been hoping—

Click!

He tossed the M4 and spun around and picked up more speed. Or tried to. At this point he wasn’t entirely certain if he had any more speed to draw on. If his tank wasn’t already empty, it was pretty damn close. He could practically envision the needle scraping against the E and an alarm going off to remind him of that fact.

Faster. Faster!

He drew the Glock with one hand and unclasped the gun belt with the other. He still had spare magazines in the ammo pouches, and when it slipped off his waist and clattered to the ground, he was instantly lighter and faster. He might not actually be moving any swifter than seconds ago, but it sure as hell felt like he was.

The entrance!

He was making the turn into the marina when he was greeted by the ferocious roar of boat motors powering up from the other side of the wide parking lot. A spotlight had snapped on, and a thick beam of light was cutting across the slanted concrete floor.

He completed the turn and glimpsed a figure (Jordan!) on Ol Blue Eyes’ boat, though at this distance Keo couldn’t tell what kind of vessel it was. Not that it mattered. Right now, it was the one with gas (“It has everything you’ll need.”), and Jordan was revving the motor, maybe trying to direct him over to her, not that he needed the extra attention or the encouragement.

Keo ran right for her—or really, for the light—while dodging a ghoul as it attempted to grab at him. Its legs looked like broken wooden baseball bats, and he expected to see a second one (hadn’t Jordan fired twice?), but there were no signs of it, if it ever existed.

The smell hit him, and Keo couldn’t help himself and he looked back—

A wave of black flesh and rotting teeth was collapsing on top of him.

Jesus Christ! When had they gotten so close?

He stuck out the Glock behind him and squeezed off a couple of shots. Even the handgun began feeling too heavy, and after six shots, Keo threw it away and picked up even more speed as a result.

Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

Faster!

He was halfway through the parking lot now, his breath crashing out of his lungs, every part of him burning from inside out.

Faster! Faster!

The clacking of bones, the tap-tap-tap of bare feet, and that foul pervading stench pressing up against the back of his neck like a living physical thing, unlike anything he had ever experienced before and never wanted to again—

Faster! Faster! Faster!

Jordan, standing tall in the middle of the boat, behind the steering wheel, was backing the vessel away from the slip. Smart girl. He would have told her to do exactly that if he thought he could shout loud enough to be heard over the roar of the motors.

And there, the edge of the marina, coming up fast. Almost there.

The water glistened under the moonlight, waves sloshing back and forth against the docks. Calm, welcoming, calling to him. He imagined he could hear it moving despite the roar in front of him, the noises of the creatures stampeding behind him, getting closer and closer, louder and louder...

Almost there.

The stench of the creatures continued to fill his nostrils, the manic tap-tap-tap of their bare feet invading his space even further.

He wasn’t going to be able to run fast enough. He knew that now. He would never reach the water before they got to him. Unlike at Song Island, when he could just leap for it, here he was still too far away from the water.

So close, and yet so, so far.

“Half-dolphin, this guy,” Danny had once said about him.

Too bad dolphins can’t fly.

Then he saw it out of the corner of his right eye, the thing he had been waiting for. It was just a single, long bony finger, but it was a harbinger of what he knew was coming. The black-fleshed digit brushed against his shirt, sending an electric sensation through his entire body. It started to curve, to grab onto him, when—

Something sailed over his head.

Keo didn’t hear it coming (the boat’s motor was too powerful, the relentless pounding in his chest, the patter of death behind him), but he actually felt it rippling through the air.

He tried to turn his head, to follow its trajectory, but he might as well be moving on quicksand compared to its speed. A heartbeat later there was a loud BOOM! and the ground shook. The wall of ghouls behind him let out one long singular shriek, the sound of things dying (again). Keo had seen shrapnel rip into flesh before, but he’d never seen what they could do to an entire wall of them.

The concussive force slammed into him from behind like a sledgehammer and Keo was picked up and launched through the air as if he were little more than a rag doll. He was trying to orient himself, make sense of what had just happened, when a second BOOM! shattered the night. His eardrums rang and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. His bones shook from the vibrations, but his ears were still ringing from the first impact, so this second one was more of a dull THOOM instead of the familiar blast of a grenade impacting.

The screams behind him, like the wails of dying animals, somehow managed to pierce through the internal thrumming slashing up and down his body. Then he shut everything down and missed the wooden bulkhead that separated the marina from the ocean by barely a foot and hit the water headfirst and went under like a stone.

Maybe it was all those days and nights and months on the San Diego beaches, but he had enough awareness and ability to fight through the pain and spin around even while he was crashing through the water until he was looking up again. The moonlit night sky stared back at him on the other side of the surface, just before the air began filling with a red and orange glow. It was beautiful and inspiring, and he found himself gazing up at the spreading color and smiling, or thought he was, anyway.

He wanted to look at it forever, but for some reason he was still free-falling, going deeper and deeper into the Gulf of Mexico.

Keo was a strong swimmer. He’d always been, and those skills had come in handy the last few months. But for some reason, he couldn’t call on them at the moment. His legs didn’t move, and neither did his arms. There was a continuous throbbing pain from behind him, as if someone (or a hundred someones) were repeatedly stabbing him in the back, over and over and over again.

He didn’t want to go anywhere, anyway. He found himself incredibly content to stare at the blooming spectrum of colors beyond the surface and wondered if this was what it was like to witness the birth of the universe.

Daebak, he thought, and smiled up at the sight of the night sky burning. It was glorious.

Chapter Thirty

“I thought you were dead,” Jordan said. “Again. Though I guess I can’t be that mad at you this time; it was kind of my fault.”

He smiled up at her. Or thought he did. He might have just spat out some of the water he had taken in while he was drowning.

So how did he get up here?

“I didn’t know it would do that,” she said. “I thought it was a riot gun or something. You know, the kind that shoots smoke? Shit, I almost killed you.”

“What was it?” he asked. Or tried to. It sounded suspiciously like a loud croak.

“It’s uh…this.”

She held up an M32 grenade launcher. The last time someone had fired one of those at him—it might have even been the same one, for all he knew—they were using tear gas. This time it was 40mm grenade rounds. He had seen what one of those could do to an area and had launched a couple himself back at Beaufont Lake not all that long ago. But he had been firing a single-shot weapon back then, whereas the one she was showing him could launch six in a few seconds.

“M32,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s an M32 grenade launcher.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Sorry.”

“’s okay. What happened?”

“I, uh, hit one of the trucks in the parking lot with the first round by accident. I don’t know what happened after that, it was dark and it looked like the entire marina was exploding. Then I saw you flying through the air. It was kind of cool, actually. That is, until I realized I might have killed you in the process of trying to save you.” She frowned. “They were almost on top of you and I didn’t want to lose you, too. If I didn’t do something, you’d never have made it into the water.”

“You saved my life.”

“I almost blew you up. That blast should have killed you.”

“Shrapnel?”

He remembered the ghouls shrieking behind him, the sounds of flesh rendering, metal bouncing off bones…

“I didn’t find any on you,” Jordan said. “But your entire back is black and purple, kinda like my face the last few days. I guess we have that in common now. When you didn’t swim back up to the surface, I thought your back might have also been broken.”

“Is it?”

“Can you feel your legs?”

He tried. “Yes.”

“Then it’s not. Thank God.” She gave him a pursed smile. “You’ve got to be the luckiest man I know, Keo.”

“Yeah, that’s me, lucky.”

He found it incredibly difficult to focus on her face with all the darkness around her. He would have been immediately alarmed, except he could feel the gentle ocean’s surface under him. Under the boat. They were out at sea, safe from land. Or, at least, safe from the black-eyed ones.

It came to Santa Marie Island on a boat. Ol’ Blue Eyes. It actually came on a boat…and left a lot behind, apparently.

“Take my boat,” it had said. “It has everything you’ll need.”

“Everything” included an M32 grenade launcher, apparently. Keo had to admit, whether the creature was still alive back on the island or not, it had come through for them. Three times now.

The question was: Why?

* * *

Under the soothing morning brightness, Keo sat on a bench at the stern of Ol’ Blue Eyes’ boat and tried to remember how to breathe again. The vessel was at least a twenty-eight-footer, with a canvas T-top to keep out the harsh sun, though at the moment he didn’t want to be separated from the warmth.

The M32 grenade launcher rested on top of a small armory at his feet. Three M4 rifles, gun belts, handguns, and a pair of knives. He idly wondered if one of those knives was made of silver, like Danny’s cross-knife. Was his luck really that good?

Of course not, so he didn’t even bother to check.

Jordan was leaning against the center console, looking back at the marina about sixty, maybe seventy meters across the ocean. The impact of six 40mm grenade rounds had left craters in the parking lot and caused half of the docks to catch fire. Their boat was gone, sunk to the bottom in the aftermath, where he would have also gone if Jordan hadn’t jumped in after him.

The weapons weren’t the only things Ol’ Blue Eyes had left behind for them. Jordan had found two tactical packs with bags of MREs and nonperishable canned goods, along with two bottles of water. She had eaten her fill even before he woke up.

She changed his bandages (he was much too weak to protest) then opened a can of beans for him, and Keo attacked it with gusto, momentarily forgetting that every part of him was throbbing. Just breathing hurt, and swallowing wasn’t any better, but an entire day without food and a night where he almost died had left him too starved to care.

“It must have killed them,” Jordan was saying, “so it could take their boat.”

“The soldiers?”

“Uh huh. Where else would the guns and packs come from?”

He nodded, remembering how Ol’ Blue Eyes had waded into Steve’s soldiers back at T18. It had demolished almost a dozen men on horseback as if they were children, effortlessly. So what were a few soldiers that had something it needed, like a boat to cross Galveston Bay with?

“What do you think happened to him?” she asked.

Keo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he spooned beans into his mouth and looked toward the island.

It was still back there, somewhere. Was it even still alive? They couldn’t see anyone (anything) along the ridgelines, but of course it wouldn’t be there anyway, even if it had survived last night. Blue eyes or not—smarter than the average ghoul or not—it still had to avoid the sunlight like the rest.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, we have a quarter tank of gas left.” She tapped the console with her spork. “Where should we go?”

“Back there.”

“Where?”

He nodded at the island.

Jordan stared at him with her good eye. “No way. We barely survived last time, remember?”

“It’s still there.”

“Keo…”

“It knew my name.”

“I know, but…” She shook her head. “We should just go. Let’s just go.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I need to know, Jordan.”

Jordan sighed and sat down and stared in the opposite direction of the island. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, finally, “What if you don’t like the answers?”

“I have to find out either way.”

* * *

Half of the docks had sunk into the ocean from the fire, and the still-standing parts that they sidled alongside of and climbed up were slightly charred and blackened. They were armed again, even if they couldn’t find any more 40mm rounds for the M32. Too bad, because Keo would have loved to carry that thing back onto the island. Instead, he had to make do with a fresh M4 and a gun belt with a Beretta 9mm in the holster.

Jordan followed him up the pockmarked parking lot with another rifle. Like him last night, she had ditched all of her weapons and ammo in order to lighten her load in her dash to the boat. It still amazed him how fast she had been.

Competitive softball. Damn.

Keo walked across the parking lot wearing his damp clothes, thankful he could still move his legs at all after getting broadsided by the exploding truck last night. That was the kind of “accident” that could have just as easily snapped his spine and paralyzed him—or sliced him in half with shrapnel—instead of just leaving his entire back and the upper parts of his thighs bruised and battered.

Maybe my luck’s finally turning around after all…

Captain Optimism, as Danny would say.

The place was a surreal sight, with multiple craters scattered from one end to the other. Jordan told him that once she saw him flying through the air, she had kept firing until the M32 was empty, after which she jumped into the water after him.

Most of the vehicles that had been calling the marina home for the last year were now charred, scattered husks, which seemed appropriate given the piles of skeletal remains. The explosions hadn’t killed them, though they had severed arms and legs and detached heads from shoulders. The number of limbs spread around the area—represented this morning by the familiar sight of bleached white bones—were too many to count. And these, he reminded himself, were just the ones that hadn’t managed to crawl away before sunrise.

The lingering acidic smell of dead ghouls filled Keo’s nostrils as he walked through the cemetery of bones.

He was glad he was walking in front of Jordan so she couldn’t see him grimacing with every step. Despite taking two more of Jay’s painkillers (he had already taken two last night), he wasn’t sure how long he was going to last on his feet. His back was intact (Thank you, God), but it was constantly letting him know it was far from okay. He wanted badly to sit down and rest but forced himself to keep moving anyway.

He must not have hid the pain well enough, because Jordan asked, “Are you okay?” from behind him.

“Fine.”

“Then why are you walking so slow?”

“I’m just taking my time. It’s a nice, sunny day. Perfect for a stroll.”

“Right,” she said, but thankfully didn’t press the issue.

There were more bleached bones and partial skeletal remains in the streets beyond the marina. These were spread out, as some of the creatures attempted to crawl toward the houses for salvation, and some had made it onto the lawns before the sun caught them. There was more of the sharp, acidic smell in the air, and Keo picked up his pace—or as much as he could, anyway—to get through it faster.

The two-story white house was exactly where they had left it last night, but being able to see it from afar and getting to it were two different things. During the long walk up the slanted road, he finally surrendered to the pain and stopped to gather his breath.

Jordan, meanwhile, stood guard. “No rush. We got all day.”

Unlike him, the morning had been a good one for Jordan, and the swelling around her right eye had gone down noticeably so that when she looked at him, it was now with both eyes.

“How’s the back?” she asked.

“Throbbing.”

“How’s everything else?”

“Throbbing.”

“Lots of throbbing.”

“Yup.”

“Here,” she said, handing him one of the water bottles from her pack.

“Save it for later,” he said, and stood up with a flinch and walked on before she could argue.

* * *

There were no signs of Steve or his men on the first floor of the house on the hill. They had left their weapons behind (including an M4 with an attached grenade launcher, probably the same one that had killed Dave), but the bodies were gone. Dead men still bled, especially the freshly dead ones. Keo imagined a feeding frenzy as the ghouls, having been locked on the island for a year, got their first taste of fresh (or, well, mostly fresh) blood.

Sucks to be you, Steve.

They kicked stray bullet casings on their way through the house. Holes dotted the walls, and any furniture that wasn’t nailed down was scattered in pieces. Large patches of blood covered the floor and walls in spots where the sun couldn’t reach.

The staircase was battered and broken, with the kind of damage that could only be caused by repeatedly ramming someone’s skull into the frame. Or a lot of someones’ skulls.

Mister Blue Eyes. Did you do this?

They found more evidence of last night’s fight on what was left of the second-floor living room. Sunlight highlighted white bones along the floor, including evidence of incomplete ghouls that had been unable to crawl away as the morning stalked them. All Keo had to do was follow the trail of bones to the master bedroom, which he did while holding his shirt over his nose to keep out the stinging smell that had become nauseating after breathing it for the last hour or so.

They went in cautiously, guns at the ready in case there was a ghoul or two (or a dozen) still hiding in the shadows. He could see the broken back window from the open door, but there were no guarantees the place was empty even if the stench attacking his nostrils was more of the acidic odor of vaporized flesh than the rotting garbage of living (hah) ghouls.

The master bedroom looked as if a tornado had hit it. The bed, dresser, and door had been reduced to unrecognizable splinters. Sunlight poured in through the lone window—the opening had widened, the wall surrounding it gashed, as if someone had hit it with a wrecking ball—and illuminated the evidence of a massive fight that had taken place here last night. The walls were heavily cratered, and the parts of it and the floor that avoided coming into contact with the sun were awash in thick coats of black blood.

“Must have been some fight,” Jordan said next to him.

“Yeah.”

“Wonder if your friend survived.”

Keo smiled. His “friend.”

He looked around the room, hoping to find signs of Ol’ Blue Eyes. Would the black-eyed ones take him (It, it’s an it) with them if it were dead? The way they had absconded with Steve and his men?

He had no idea. All of this was new territory for him.

“There,” he said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the bathroom doors.

They were closed but were also the only doors in the entire room—maybe even the entire house—that were still intact. Or, well, mostly, despite the generous layer of black blood spread across them.

“Be careful,” Jordan said when he started moving toward the doors.

He wiped a thick layer of dark liquid off one of the doorknobs with a shirt from the floor, then used the same fabric to turn it. Jordan moved over and they counted down to five before he pulled open one of the doors and they both took a step back.

A large trail of plasma, jagged and thick, led from the doors to the remains of a badly destroyed trench coat lying in a crumpled heap near the bathtub. The guns, ammo, and supplies Keo expected to find in the tub were tossed to the floor, some resting in enough blood for two people, maybe even three.

Having made room for itself, it now sat inside the tub, facing him. There were no windows inside the bathroom, so the creature hadn’t needed to risk the sun in here.

Ol’ Blue Eyes.

It looked asleep, and when he opened the doors, it slowly, almost lazily, lifted its head. The blue eyes that looked across the mostly darkened room at him weren’t quite as pulsating (alive) as they had been last night.

“You came back,” it said. Even its hiss seemed weaker. Much, much weaker.

He could tell it was badly hurt, even if Keo couldn’t see its wounds from the open door. He wanted to get closer but was unwilling to abandon the comforting warmth of the sunlight at his back. After all, he had seen just how fast the thing could move. Even if it was injured, Keo didn’t want to take the chance.

“I had to know,” he said.

It looked at him but didn’t say a word.

Next to him, Jordan’s breathing had accelerated noticeably.

“Last night,” Keo continued, “you said you were looking for me.”

“Yes,” it said, with that same soft, labored hiss that wasn’t quite human, but wasn’t quite inhuman, either. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“How did you find me?”

“I saw you through one of them. At the cabin, when it attacked you. I saw your face and heard your name.”

“The cabin,” Jordan said. “Outside of T18?”

It nodded.

“So you…saw me through their eyes?” Keo asked.

“I can see what they see, hear what they hear, even feel what they feel,” it said. “We’re linked, because we share the same blood. All of us. Like veins in a river. Tens of thousands. Millions. You have no idea the full extent of their number. What you’ve seen so far is only a raindrop in the ocean.”

Keo exchanged a glance with Jordan. If she understood any of this, he didn’t see it on her face. He wondered if he looked as perplexed, or even more so.

He turned back to the creature. “What do you want from me?”

“To find someone,” it said.

“Who?”

“Lara.”

The name caught him by surprise, and it took Keo a few seconds to respond. Finally, he said, “What do you want with her?”

“To help her.”

“Help her do what?”

“To save everyone,” the blue-eyed ghoul said. “There is a way to end this nightmare. Lara needs to know. She needs to know…”