The Ashes of Pompeii (Purge of Babylon, Book 5) (6 page)

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
Gauntlet
ing 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?