The Horns of Avalon (Purge of Babylon, Book 8) Read online

  The Horns of Avalon

  Book 8 in the Babylon Series

  Sam Sisavath

  Contents

  Copyright

  About The Horns of Avalon

  Prologue

  Book One

  1. Keo

  2. Lara

  3. Gaby

  4. Keo

  5. Gaby

  6. Keo

  7. Lara

  8. Gaby

  9. Frank

  Book Two

  10. Lara

  11. Gaby

  12. Lara

  13. Gaby

  14. Lara

  15. Gaby

  16. Lara

  17. Gaby

  18. Frank

  Book Three

  19. Keo

  20. Lara

  21. Keo

  22. Gaby

  23. Keo

  24. Lara

  25. Keo

  26. Lara

  27. Keo

  28. Gaby

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon…

  Also by Sam Sisavath

  Copyright © 2016 Sam Sisavath

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Road To Babylon Media LLC

  www.roadtobabylon.com

  Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Editing by Jennifer Jensen & Wendy Chan

  About The Horns of Avalon

  Some battles are still worth fighting.

  Killing has never been something Keo shied away from, but the events of the last year have made him rethink his bloody past. Except nothing lasts forever. Now, Keo has embraced his old ways and set his sights on a new target—and there is nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose.

  For Lara and those on the Trident, an encounter with a new group of survivors pulls them even further off course. It doesn’t seem to matter how hard Lara tries to steer clear of Mercer’s war on the ghouls; fate seems intent on drawing her into the conflict.

  Meanwhile, the fighting rages in Texas, with Mercer’s kill teams roaming the land and collaborators on war footing. Caught in the middle, Danny, Gaby, and Nate are desperate to reach the coast, but find themselves pawns in a nightmarish game of cat and mouse instead.

  In this penultimate volume in The Purge of Babylon series, loyalties will be tested and destinies embraced, and the road to salvation will finally be revealed to those brave enough to answer the call of the Horns…

  Prologue

  “Facebook.”

  “Facebook?”

  “Yeah, Facebook. Twitter. Pinterest. Basically, all of social media.”

  “I never had much use for social media.”

  “That’s because you’re old.”

  “I’m not that old.”

  “You’re pretty old.”

  He grunted. “Get off my lawn.”

  She giggled. It was barely audible, and he enjoyed seeing her act like such a kid again, so why did it make him wince just a little bit?

  Because there are undead things all around us. Everywhere. They could be hiding under us right this moment.

  Great, Riley, freak yourself out some more, why don’t ya.

  He was glad for the darkness, because it meant Hannah couldn’t see the hairs along his arms standing up. After all, he was supposed to be the confident one, the adult that got things done. It wouldn’t have benefited either one of them if she saw through that charade over some inane chitchat about what they missed most about the old world.

  “What are you going to miss?” she asked.

  It was a good question. He hadn’t thought much about it; staying alive in the here and now had always been more important. Hannah waited, arms clenched tightly around knees pulled up to her chest, but he could tell his answers were less important to her than the act of (hushed whispers) speaking, their little rebellion against the cold nights and the things that moved within them.

  Out there, somewhere…

  Always out there…

  He fought back another shiver and finally said, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought much about it.”

  “Taco Bell,” Hannah said.

  “Taco Bell?”

  “I love Taco Bell. Their breakfast menu is to die for. Let me guess: You’re a McDonald’s guy?”

  “Neither.”

  “Neither?”

  “Neither.”

  “That’s a first…”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve never met someone who wasn’t either a Taco Bell or a McDonald’s guy. I did meet this one dude who liked both, but I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like either.”

  “You need to expand your circle of friends.”

  “I guess.” Then, “Too late for that now.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly.

  He searched out Hannah’s form in the blackness but could just barely make out her outline. He only knew where to look because she hadn’t moved from the spot she had settled down in, back when there was still light out. This, despite the fact that they were barely five feet apart. There was a time when that distance would be wider, but those nights were long gone. Now, if he didn’t reflexively sit down next to her, she would do it.

  Strength in numbers.

  And dwindling, fast…

  “Are they gone?” she whispered, her voice dropping noticeably.

  He didn’t need to think about the question because there was only one they out there, right now…

  He nodded before realizing she probably couldn’t see despite their close proximity. There was a lonely sliver of moonlight somewhere in the back of the room, but they had made sure to stay away from it. Sometimes the creatures moved across rooftops, and even a small, barely inch-wide hole was too much to risk. After all they’d gone through to survive when so many hadn’t, he wasn’t going to take any chances now.

  Stay alive. Just stay alive…

  “I think so,” he whispered, matching her pitch.

  As soon as the words left his lips, he clutched the shotgun tighter. Two months ago he’d never fired a gun, much less owned one, but now he had three on him. Hannah, meanwhile, carried a small pistol. He had debated about giving a weapon to the sixteen-year-old but eventually caved. She was still uncomfortable around the handgun and rarely drew it, and he never told her it was the same with him.

  “I thought they’d never leave,” Hannah said. “Do you think they know we’re up here? Is that why they were inside the house?”

  “I don’t know. We were careful…”

  “We were really careful.”

  “We were,” he nodded again, hoping that would reassure her. “We’ll be fine. We’ve gotten this far, right?”

  “Right,” she said softly.

  “We just have to stick together.”

  “Stick together…”

  “Hannah…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m a McDonald’s breakfast guy. Hotcakes and sausage all the way.”

  “I knew it,” she said, and chuckled softly.

  He could just make out the outlines of her shoulders as they drooped slightly, a sign she was finally relaxing after being so tense for much of the night. He had to look around the floor before he could make out the trapdoor about six feet in front of him. The attic was poorl
y insulated and the outside chill seeped through the boards. It was a good thing they had taken precautions and raided an Archers earlier today for new—thicker—winter clothing.

  “Shopping rocks,” Hannah had said, and he had beamed because seeing her happy and carefree was such a rare thing these days.

  Despite staring at her for the last five minutes, Riley couldn’t be sure if she had gone to sleep or was just leaning against the wall to rest. Hannah could sleep anywhere, so he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the former, especially in this attic where they had spent the last three nights huddled inside. Sometimes he wondered if that was a mistake, that maybe the smarter thing was to keep moving.

  But go where? There was nowhere to go. Absolutely nowhere.

  The city was overrun. The state, too. Maybe even the entire country.

  The world…

  Jesus, cut it out. Stop filling your head with things you can’t change, you idiot.

  Concentrate on the now—and right now this little girl is depending on you to keep your head in the present.

  His hands had gone numb from gripping the shotgun so tight, and it took some effort for Riley to unclench them. He did it one finger at a time, until he could feel the blood circulating freely through all ten digits again.

  Better…

  He didn’t even know why he was carrying around so many guns. It wasn’t like shooting them did any good. The damn things didn’t die even after you blew their whole head off. He knew because he had done that, and watched with his jaw on the floor as it kept coming like something out of a nightmare. A blood-soaked goddamn nightmare.

  When he could hear the telltale signs of Hannah’s sleep-induced breathing, Riley allowed himself to finally close his eyes and lean back against the wall. In the first few nights of the end of the world he’d heard a lot of gunfire, sounds of survivors like him and Hannah fighting back. But then they’d all faded, until there were only the endless silent nights like the one he was listening to right now.

  It was hauntingly serene, even soothing, and at the same time terrifying.

  * * *

  The welcoming warmth of morning had filled the attic while he had his eyes closed, and his loud yawning woke Hannah, who lay next to him. Her long, dirty hair cascaded over half her face, and she swiped at it before smiling across at him.

  “We made it,” she said.

  “Of course.” He smiled back. “I never had any doubts.”

  “None?”

  “Not a one.”

  Her face darkened a bit. “Was it just me, or did they sound closer last night?”

  They were definitely closer, and they stayed longer than the other times, he thought, but said, “Closer schmoser. It’s morning. Let’s go enjoy the sunlight.”

  “My favorite part of every day!” she said, her voice purposefully loud, as if she had been holding the volume back all night—which, he guessed, was true.

  He got up and moved around to get the blood flowing to all of his extremities again. The attic was big enough that he could stretch to his full six-one height with plenty of space to spare. Hannah, all five-three of her, never had to worry about cramming into a small corner. He always did his best to find them a hiding place with enough room for both of them to be comfortable, but that wasn’t always possible. This attic had been a godsend—not to mention all the supplies packed into the house’s pantries underneath it. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling it was a mistake to have stayed here for three straight nights. That was usually one night longer than he was comfortable with.

  Stop it. You’re alive. Hannah’s alive. That’s all that matters…

  Riley slung his shotgun and walked to the trapdoor. He crouched and eased it open before sticking his head forward and breathing in the fresh air.

  “Smell good?” Hannah asked behind him.

  “Like a nice Big Breakfast platter at Mickey D’s.”

  “Taco Bell all the way, baby.”

  “Pfft,” he said, exaggerating the smirk before pulling back the collapsible ladder and extending it below. “Ladies first.”

  “Since when am I a lady?”

  “Close enough. Now come on, down you go.”

  She leaned over the opening and took a long look at the second floor hallway below, just the way they had practiced. The room was lit up by a pool of light that reflected off her slightly grimy face, and Riley wondered what he looked like at the moment. He hadn’t showered in…God, he couldn’t remember. It didn’t help that he had been wearing the same clothes for just as long. The only saving grace was that both he and Hannah had gone smell blind a long time ago.

  “Clear?” he asked.

  “Looks clear,” she said.

  “Be certain.”

  “I’m certain. Pretty certain.”

  “Pretty certain or just certain?”

  She snorted. “Pretty certain, certain.”

  “Good enough.”

  He watched the girl climb down, then heard the thump as she jumped the last few steps to the hallway below.

  “Hey,” he called after her.

  “What?” she said from below.

  “Don’t wander off.”

  “I’m just standing here waiting for you, dude. Can you please hurry it up already?”

  He smiled. Hannah had called him dude for three weeks after they first met, before one day she started using Riley. Now it was back and forth between the two, depending on how annoyed she was with him, like she was now.

  He had turned around to position himself on the stairs to follow her down when he heard footsteps below him. “Hannah,” he said, slightly alarmed.

  “What?” she called back from below.

  “Strength in numbers, remember?”

  “I’m just going to get my stuff in the bedroom.”

  “Hannah, wait for me.”

  She didn’t answer, which prompted him to hop the last six feet down the ladder and land in a crouch. Riley had never been particularly athletic, but he’d since discovered some modicum of athleticism he didn’t know existed. He wasn’t going to take on Michael Jordan at the Y anytime soon, but he was doing things now he never thought he would—or could—do before the world decided to stop making sense.

  He was straightening up, hands groping for the shotgun slung over his back, when he looked up the hallway and saw Hannah with one hand on the doorknob of the master bedroom. She had already pushed it open, and he glimpsed pitch darkness on the other side that immediately set alarms off inside his head because it shouldn’t have been that dark in there.

  “Hannah!” he shouted.

  She stopped and looked back, and a smile flashed across her face. Even with all that dirt, he thought she looked cherubic—sweet and innocent. Hannah was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, and though Riley never had any siblings—

  “Hannah—” he said again when he saw the shadows in the master bedroom, barely visible through the small slit in the ajar door, move.

  She must have either heard or smelled them, because she turned around at almost the exact same moment it reached out—a deformed hand, bony fingers uncurling—and grabbed her around the ankle. The acidic stench of searing flesh filled the hallway almost immediately as the exposed part of the creature’s skin turned to white ash against the sunlight, and Riley thought he might have heard something that sounded like a squeal of pain from inside the room, but all of that was lost against Hannah’s screaming. She might have started out trying to yell his name, but it quickly became lost in a long cry that filled the entire house.

  Oh Jesus oh Jesus oh Jesus blurred across his mind as a second hand reached out and long, bony fingers wrapped around Hannah’s other ankle. The flesh on the second hand burned off as it made contact with the sunlight, but even as clouds of white-gray ash filled the hallway, both hands tightened their grip around Hannah’s legs and the creatures pulled her in—

  “Hannah!”

  It took him less than a couple of seconds to cross the sec
ond floor, but even as he launched himself into a run he knew—deep down, he just knew—that it was too late. She was already down, and they were pulling her along the wooden floor. The last he saw of her was Hannah, on her stomach, staring back at him with impossibly wide eyes as she tried in vain to grab the sides of the bedroom door. There was a look on her face, an expression he had first seen during that night when they found each other for the first time as the world died around them.

  It had taken him weeks to figure out the story behind it because he didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to intrude on her innermost thoughts. Finally, one night, he saw it again—just a quick there-and-gone glimpse—but it was long enough for him to understand.

  It was sadness.

  Hannah was sad. For her loss. For his. For the world’s.

  She had that same look on her face now as she lost her hold on the doorframe and—

  She was gone.

  He slid to a stop in front of the open door, sneakers squeaking loudly, but not enough to drown out the pounding in his chest or the constant refrain of Oh Jesus oh Jesus oh Jesus running through his head.

  They were inside the master bedroom, so many that he couldn’t tell where they began and the walls and floor ended. They had covered the windows with bedsheets and blankets, and the small horde of creatures were focused in the very middle, far from the small streaks of sunlight that had managed to badger their way into the room anyway. Their backs were exposed to him, deformed spines prickling against films of flesh that barely resembled skin. The overwhelming stench, like vomit left to roast in the sun, made him gag and take a step back.

  But he didn’t retreat far enough to avoid seeing one of her legs sticking out of the pile of feeding monsters. She had stopped moving, and the only sound aside from the crash of his runaway heartbeat was the unforgiving slurp-slurp-slurp.

  He fired the shotgun, racked it, and fired again.

  One of them glanced back at him, its hollowed obsidian eyes surrounded by pruned flesh. It looked almost annoyed, the clump-clump of coagulated blood dripping out of the hole he had made in its right shoulder.