The Ashes of Pompeii (Purge of Babylon, Book 5) (19 page)

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.

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.