The Spears of Laconia (Purge of Babylon, Book 7) (4 page)

“How much of
the sweet stuff we got left, kid?” Danny asked as he climbed out of the Dodge.

He had spent the last ten or so minutes inside, talking on the ham radio with the
Trident,
letting them know the three of them were still in one piece and that the “expedition,” as Lara called it, was still on track.

Gaby stood up in the truck bed, where she had been counting the remaining red fuel cans hidden underneath a heavy tarp. “Six left, five gallons per. So thirty in all. Should get us to Starch, but I don’t know about getting back.” She made a face. “Your math was off, Danny. We spent way too much fuel getting just this far.”

“Miss Candy always did say I sucked at math. It probably didn’t help we got bogged down in Hell Town.”

“Hellion.”

“Same difference.”

“So how are we getting back?”

“We’ll find a way. Ranger motto: ‘Always be prepared.’”

“Isn’t that the Boy Scouts’ motto?”

“That’s just what we let them think.” Danny put his hands on his hips and glanced around at their surroundings. “Could have definitely picked a better place. This must be what they mean when they say two-horse town. Minus the horses.”

“Could be worse.”

“How’s that?”

“We could be dead.”

“Sure, there’s
that.”

She smirked. “What did Lara say?”

“They had to detour south temporarily, but they’ll be back in time to pick us up when we’re ready. In the meantime, we’re to proceed as planned.”

“Why are they heading south?”

“Keo.”

She smiled. “Good to know he’s still kicking around out there.”

“The guy’s like a cockroach. When you least expect it, he pops up and poops on your food.”

“Ugh. Thanks for the visual.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How’s everyone else?”

“They’re on a luxury yacht, kid. Don’t waste your time worrying about them. Spend it worrying about me. And your boyfriend with the funky haircut.”

She jumped down from the Dodge and looked around at the vehicles inside the parking lot of Wilden Middle School. Mostly trucks, and they had been sitting in the sun for the last year. All the evidence pointed to the town’s residents converging here when The Purge hit—not that it had saved them. Even though they hadn’t gone into the building, Gaby already knew what they would find if they did.

Leaving the Dodge here, half a mile from the van where they had spent the night, was a calculated move. Mixed in with the old cars it was easy to miss, unless the ghouls spent a lot of time counting vehicles. Could they even count? The creatures weren’t stupid or mindless; far from it, even if they appeared to be at times—especially when there were so many of them that they looked like a singular entity coming at you. There was a basic, almost primal intelligence to them that had allowed them to survive and thrive. They were
“dead, not stupid,”
as Will liked to say. Not stupid, no, but they could be fooled.

“Where’d your boyfriend run off to?” Danny asked.

“Looking for our ride.”

“Still?”

“It’s only been thirty minutes, Danny.”

“Feels like thirty-one.”

“What about these vehicles?”

Danny shook his head, then pointed. “That one’s too small, that one’s too big, and that one’s way too pink. Why would you paint your car pink in Hickstown, USA?”

“To be daring?”

“Stupid is more like it.”

She sighed. “We should have stayed clear of Hellion, Danny. Then the truck would still be in one piece and we wouldn’t need to look for a replacement.”

“We should have done a lot of things. For instance, dating a guy without a Mohawk. Personally, that would have been at the top of my list.”

“Nate has his moments.”

“Is one of them the Mohawk?”

“One of many,” she smiled.

Her (and Danny’s) right ear
clicked,
and they heard Nate’s voice. “Found one.”

“Speak of the devil, and he shall radio in,” Danny said.

Gaby ignored him and pressed her Push-to-Talk switch, said into her throat mic, “Where are you?”

“About a mile from your spot,” Nate said. “Past the VFW building. Got a couple of hogs here, too, in case you’re interested.”

“Yum,” Danny said.

“Not those kinds of hogs. Motorcycles.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.”

“What’s the replacement truck look like?” Gaby asked.

“Burnt orange, large tires, and a gun rack in the back,” Nate said.

“I think I’m in love,” Danny said. “Stay there; we’ll come to you.”

“Roger that.”

Danny grinned wryly at her. “I guess he’s not useless, after all.”

“Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She circled around the truck, passing a pair of bullet holes in the side, a broken taillight, and craters in the tailgate that hadn’t been there when they had found the Dodge back at Port Arthur. All of the damage had occurred as they passed a town called Hellion about thirty miles down the state highway.

Definitely should have steered clear of the place. Even the name sounds like trouble.

She tried to think of the bright side—they had made it out of there alive, for one—as she climbed into the driver seat, the door
creaking
badly as she pulled it closed. Danny slid in next to her, his boots
crunching
broken glass on the floor. Most of those shards came from his shattered door window, though plenty had fallen loose from the spiderwebbed front windshield.

Gaby turned the key and the ten-year-old Dodge struggled to turn over, and for a brief moment she envisioned the two of them carrying the six remaining five-gallon cans over to Nate’s position. And of course they’d have to take the car battery with them. All of that, while walking under the morning sun—

Vroom!
as the car finally turned over.

“We’re on our way now,” Danny said, his voice echoing inside her ear and inside the cab. “You said burnt orange?”

“Yup,” Nate answered. “My dad had something like it back in Louisiana. Except his was white.”

“That’s all very fascinating, Natepoleon, but I didn’t ask for your life story,” Danny said.

“Cut him a break, Danny,” Gaby said.

“Oh, relax. I’m just busting his balls so you can ride in and massage them for him.”

“Ugh,” she said.

“Yeah, I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth, too,” Danny sighed.

*

Nate had found
a Ford F-150 truck in the parking lot of a feed store further up FM 163. The morning was crisp and cool enough that Gaby was glad she couldn’t smell whatever was being stored in a pair of red barns behind the main building. If there was anything in there besides ghouls, anyway.

The truck still looked relatively new and Nate was sitting on the hood, shotgun slung over his back and M4 in his lap, waiting for them. He was beaming as she pulled off the road, turned around, and then backed up until she was parked parallel to the Ford.

“What do you think?” Nate asked, hopping down.

“Not bad, for an idiot with a Mohawk,” Danny said.

“Lay off the hair. Chicks dig it.” He smiled at her. “Right?”

“Eh,” Gaby said, climbing into the back of their truck.

Danny began transporting their equipment from the Dodge over to the Ford, including switching the battery over, while she lowered one of the gas cans down to Nate, who poured it into the F-150’s gas tank. It took thirty minutes before they could pile into the new truck, ready to leave Wilden behind.

Gaby settled in behind the wheel and adjusted her driver-side mirror, then rolled down the window. She put the car in gear and maneuvered out of the parking lot and back onto the road, heading west. Danny occupied the front passenger seat, while Nate sat in the back with their supplies. They had brought enough to get to Starch and back, and a little bit more just in case they ran into trouble.

Another one of your lessons, Will. ‘Just in case.’

“Starch?” she asked.

“Starch,” Danny nodded.

He unfolded a map in his lap, though she didn’t know why. From here, it was as simple as locating the state highway and driving until they ran into US 59, after which it was a straight shot up to Starch. She had eyeballed her own map so many times she was sure she could reach their destination by memory.

“Are we still sure it’s going to be there when we show up?” Nate asked from the backseat.

“It’s an underground bunker,” Danny said. “It’s not going to dig itself up and fly off.”

“I’m more concerned about what’s inside it. Who’s to say someone else didn’t stumble across it after you left? It’s been, what, a year since you guys abandoned it?”

“Give or take.”

“Yeah, so, what if all of this is for nothing?”

Danny folded the map back up and put it away. “Then you’ve just been on the best field trip of your life. You’re welcome.”

Nate grunted, and Gaby smiled.

“Should have brought marshmallows,” Nate said.

“That’s the spirit,” Danny said. He leaned around in his seat and smiled back at Nate. “Wanna hear a joke?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Old man is sitting in the park one day,” Danny said, as if Nate hadn’t said anything, “waiting for someone to play chess with him. This super hot woman in a red dress walks by and the old coot shouts at her, ‘Hey, hot thing, you wanna play chess?’ The woman stops and looks at him, puts her hands on her hips, and says—”

Danny stopped in mid-sentence.

“What?” Nate said. “What did the woman say?”

“Shhh,” Danny said, holding up his hand.

Nate went quiet.

“Stop the car,” Danny snapped.

Gaby stepped on the brake, but Danny had already unbuckled his seat belt and jumped out of the F-150 before she had come to a complete stop. She glanced back at Nate and saw him looking after Danny’s figure as he raced from the front to the back.

Nate turned back to her. “What the hell?”

She shook her head and threw open her car door, Nate doing the same behind her. She hadn’t taken a complete step out of the truck when she heard it. Or maybe she felt it first. It could have very well been both simultaneously.

The country road actually seemed to be vibrating as it appeared, and it was impossible to miss its gray belly against the clear morning sky.

A plane.

Not just any plane, but a
warplane.

It blasted overhead, the sound unlike anything she remembered—until she realized it had been almost a year since she’d seen a plane in the sky, much less been close enough that her teeth chattered slightly as it went by. By the time she had turned her head, it was already behind her and getting smaller. If the pilot had seen her or Nate, or Danny at the back of the F-150, it hadn’t shown it by stopping or turning.

She unslung her rifle on instinct and flicked off the safety, belatedly realizing how dumb the move was. What exactly did she think she was going to do against
that?
Shoot it?

The plane was fast, but her perception of its initial speed was off because it had been such a long time since she had seen planes in the air. All this time, they had wondered what had happened to the U.S. Air Force. Or the Army. Hell, all those weeks on the ocean without a single sign of the U.S. Navy had been disheartening for everyone, so much so that they simply stopped talking about it one day because the conversation always became so depressing.

And she was definitely looking at some kind of military plane. Even a civilian like her, who had never been anywhere close to a warplane, could make out the very distinctive shapes of bombs under the craft’s fixed wings. Or were those missiles of some type?

“Shit,” Nate said. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Warthog,” Danny said, walking back to them.

“I’ve never seen one of those live before.”

“Warthog?” Gaby said.

“A-10 Thunderbolt,” Danny said. “I haven’t seen one since Afghanistan. Word of advice: If you hear something that sounds like Godzilla blowing a massive fart, run and hide while you still can, though the chances are it’s already too late.”

The plane had kept going until she could barely make out its shape in the distance. Gaby wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling at the moment. Maybe elation at the sight of the aircraft, quickly followed by massive disappointment that it had kept going as if she, Nate, and Danny didn’t exist at all.

“You think it saw us?” she asked.

“Definitely,” Danny said. “We’re the only things moving down here for miles. The pilot’d have to be blind not to see us, and last time I checked, Uncle Sam doesn’t let blind folks fly his warplanes.”

“Uncle Sam,” Nate said, looking at Danny. “You don’t think…?”

“That the U.S. government’s back in play?” Danny shrugged. “I’ll be honest with you kids. I don’t know if I want that to be true or not.”

“Why not?” Gaby asked.

“Because it’s been a year since everything went tits up, and the Uncle Sam that shows up now isn’t going to be the one I remembered. Or necessarily want.”

Gaby pulled out her map and laid it on the truck’s warm hood, the engine still churning underneath the paper. She glanced down at it, then in the direction the plane had gone.