The Gates of Byzantium (The Babylon Series, Book 2) Page 11

“Do you think it’s true? That the island is secure?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “But is that possible?” Blaine insisted. The idea sounded absurd to him somehow. “I didn’t know the monsters—the ghouls—didn’t like water.”

  “Neither did we,” Lara said. “Do you know about silver?”

  “What about silver?”

  “Have you tried shooting them?” Will asked.

  “It just pisses them off.”

  “Silver is their Kryptonite. It kills them on the spot. It’s the second-best weapon against them other than the sun, so half of our ammo has silver in it.”

  “I’ve never heard about that. How does it work?”

  “We don’t know, exactly,” Lara said. “But it’s fatal to them.”

  “Look in your ammo pouch,” Will said.

  Blaine picked up the pouch from the floor between his feet. He opened it and saw shotgun shells inside.

  “See the ones with the white ‘X’ on them?” Will said.

  Blaine sifted through the shells. For every regular shell inside the pouch, he found one with an “X” written in white marker on the side. “I see them.”

  “The ones with the ‘X’ have silver-loaded buckshot. If we get separated, or you have to go your own way, load your weapon with the silver ammo at night. You can make your own silver bullets after that.”

  Make my own bullets? How the hell do I do that?

  “As for this Folger,” Will said, “any old shell will do.”

  “Once we help you find Sandra, we’re continuing on to Song Island,” Lara said. “You’re welcome to come with us. You and Sandra both.”

  “It sounds too good to be true,” Blaine said.

  “That’s what we said. But what else is there?”

  “That’s why there’s no hurry,” Will said. “If it’s as safe as they claim, it should still be there regardless of how fast we get there. If not…”

  He nodded, understanding. “Sandra would love a place like that.”

  Sandra, wait for me, baby, I’m coming as fast as I can…

  Outside the window, they drove past another sign that read, “Lancing 8 Miles.”

  CHAPTER 8

  WILL

  THE SIGN READ: “Welcome to Lancing, Texas. Pop. 12,077.”

  Will had been hoping Lancing would be a smaller city and wasn’t prepared for one with over 12,000 people in it. A city built for that kind of population meant a sprawling residential base and businesses spread out into multiple main areas.

  They entered Lancing from the north end along US 287. At first there was just massive farmland to one side and sprinkles of old homes on the other. Soon, businesses appeared, then huge residential subdivisions with hundreds of newly built homes. Lancing was a growing community, and getting bigger every year.

  Or it used to be, anyway.

  Will’s radio squawked and he heard Danny’s voice: “It’s not going to be easy finding someone in this place.”

  “Like a needle in a haystack?” Will said.

  “Sure, if you wanna get cliché about it.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

  Blaine was moving around in the back seat, a bundle of energy despite his wounds. He didn’t blame the big man. If it were Lara out there…

  “Where’s the main business district?” Will asked Lara.

  She scanned the map in her lap. After a moment, she pointed up ahead. “Main Street runs parallel to the road we’re on now. There should be another road coming up—West Chance Road. Turn left onto it and it should take us to Main Street.”

  Will slowed down, then turned left onto West Chance Road. Danny followed closely behind in the blue Ranger, his turn signal blinking. Will smiled.

  “Anyone looking for supplies will make the business district their base of operations and work from there,” Will said. “If these guys aren’t complete idiots, that’s probably where they’ll be.”

  It was about three kilometers to Main Street. During the ride, Will could hear Blaine moving around in the back seat, peering out at every vehicle parked in the road, on the sidewalk and in driveways on both sides of the street.

  Chance Road was mostly residential until they neared Main Street, so they drove past a slew of quiet homes with grass that had risen as tall as windows in some spots and gardens overgrown with weeds. Finally, small businesses began popping up around them, unmowed lawns giving way to debris-strewn concrete and sun-baked parking lots that were slowly changing color.

  Will slowed down, before coming to a complete stop at a big four-lane intersection, with Main Street running across West Chance Road. There was a Chevron gas station on the corner to their right, with competition in the form of a Shell to their left. The road itself was relatively clear of obstructions, with only a couple of vehicles parked haphazardly in the middle of the streets. A blue Honda had nosedived into a Wallbys Pharmacy store sign on the other side of Main Street. The sign remained standing, but the Honda no longer had much of a front end.

  There was some kind of official city building across the street, with three flagpoles—one with the American flag and the other two hoisting the Texas state flag. The flags were moving with the wind, the metal latches banging loudly against steel poles. Farther up the road, he could make out more city buildings, including a courthouse and what looked like a public library.

  His radio squawked and Danny’s voice came through: “What’s the plan, Kemosabe? We just going to sit here with our thumbs up our butts?”

  “There are a couple of options,” Will said. “We could drive around, make a lot of noise, and hope someone hears us. Maybe it’ll even be Folger, in which case, well, we’d need to get his attention anyway.”

  “What’s the second option?” Lara asked.

  “Find a base of operations and do what we usually do. Look for supplies, survivors, and hope we find some clue to where Folger and the rest went. Chances are they came through here, but how long they stayed is the question. Or maybe they left earlier this morning, but I don’t think so. Lancing looks like it could be a decent haul in terms of supplies. I don’t think anyone moving between towns will be in too much of a hurry to abandon it.”

  “There’s a Dairy Queen to our right,” Danny said through the radio. “I could go for some ice cream Blizzards about now. How about you guys?”

  “You’re assuming anything you find will still be edible.”

  “As the designated Captain Optimism, it’s my job to think positively.”

  “I assumed as much.”

  Will hadn’t gotten “much” out when he heard the very distinctive crack! of a rifle splitting the air. He twisted in his seat and looked back, past Blaine and out the rear windshield at the blue Ranger parked about two meters behind him. Danny was opening his door and hopping out with his M4A1.

  He heard Danny’s voice, calm, through the radio: “Rifle just took out my rear windshield. Girls are on the floor.”

  Another shot rang out and Will saw one of the back windows on Danny’s Ranger shatter. He might have also heard screams, but he couldn’t be sure because at the very same moment a third shot pierced the air and Will heard the ping! of the bullet punching through the blue Ranger’s passenger side.

  Danny’s voice, through the radio: “Water tower at ten o’clock. About 150 meters.”

  They heard the M4A1 firing back. Three shots. Will knew Danny wasn’t trying to hit anything. He couldn’t have hit anything over that distance, anyway. The three shots were to let the shooter know his location had been compromised. A sniper who was taking fire didn’t feel quite as free to linger with his aim.

  Will grabbed his M4A1 and was reaching for his door when he heard gunfire—not from behind him this time, but from in front of him.

  He threw himself into the door and dived out just as his Ranger’s windshield spiderwebbed and three bullets pierced the glass. One bullet punched through the middle of the driver’s seat and the other two went astr
ay, but by then the second shooter was firing again, more bullets ricocheting off the hood of the Ranger, one taking out a headlight.

  Will was already outside and positioned behind the open door. He looked across the street, following the trajectory of the shots, and caught sunlight reflecting off metal from the rooftop of the Wallbys, about seventy meters away and slightly to his left. He instantly fired three shots in that direction, knowing he wasn’t going to hit anything, but the shots served their purpose by sending the shooter scrambling for cover.

  He glanced back into the Ranger at Lara, on the floor of the front passenger seat, looking back at him. She looked scared, but fine. Will looked into the back at Blaine with his sawed-off shotgun, crouched behind the front seat, looking back at him.

  “You’re safer in there,” Will said to them.

  “What if they shoot the gas tank?” Blaine asked.

  “Then we’ll need to find a new car.”

  Shooting a car’s gas tank put a hole in it and the gas leaked out. That was it. The car didn’t explode or catch fire like in the movies unless the bullets were incendiary rounds, which were rare—or if the shooters were using tracers, which was pointless in daylight.

  He heard the sniper at the water tower fire at Danny’s Ranger again. Will didn’t have to look back to know Danny was in a good position not to get shot. At the same time, the shooter on the Wallbys rooftop found renewed courage and began pelting the street around Will, sometimes hitting the Ranger’s open door with a lucky shot. Will hadn’t fired back since those first three rounds, and neither had Danny.

  Will keyed his radio: “How are the girls?”

  “Girls are safe,” Danny said.

  “Can you get the guy in the water tower?”

  “I can’t even see him. What about your guy?”

  “Wallbys rooftop across the street. I’ll need a M79 grenade launcher to hit this guy. Maybe a nuke might work, too.”

  “How about a distraction?”

  “You game?”

  “I’ll do it,” Blaine said.

  Will looked back at the big man, saw his eyes, the clenched teeth, and knew right away that an argument wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Will said instead, “You have to be fast.”

  “I’ll be fast.”

  “All right. Call it.”

  Blaine nodded and positioned himself against his door. He gripped the handle and waited, then counted down silently before he said, “Now!” and opened the door and lunged out, racing across the road toward the Shell on the other side.

  Almost instantly, bullets started flying around Blaine, peppering the street and kicking up asphalt around him. Blaine kept his head low, arms thrown over his head, the sawed-off shotgun in one hand. He was running so fast Will didn’t know if that was pure natural speed or if it was adrenaline, or maybe it was the very real fear that if he slowed down even for a split second he would die. Probably all three.

  Will saw the shooter on the Wallbys make his first mistake. The man stood up on the rooftop to get a better shot at Blaine. Will peered through the red dot sight mounted on his rifle. At seventy meters, the sniper was more of a lump of black twig than an actual figure, but at least he could see the guy this time.

  The shooter was concentrating on Blaine, firing round after round after him.

  Will fired. He knew he had missed as soon as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet went low and struck the wall about a meter from the edge of the rooftop, directly below the shooter. The man reacted, taking his focus completely off Blaine and turning slightly, lifting his rifle to shoot in Will’s direction.

  Will pushed the red dot higher, compensated for the distance, and fired again.

  His second shot hit the man in the chest and the dark silhouette seemed to stagger for a moment before dropping down to the rooftop.

  “One down,” Will said into the radio.

  “You’re my hero,” Danny said.

  “I never doubted it.”

  He glanced across the road at Blaine, peering out from behind the small white building that housed the Shell. Will gave him the “A-okay” sign and saw Blaine acknowledge with one of his own, bending over at the waist to catch his breath.

  “What about the water tower?” Will said into the radio.

  “Still can’t see the bugger,” Danny said. “Haven’t heard from him in a while, though.”

  “You think he bugged out?”

  “He’s a bugger. They do tend to bug.”

  Will stayed behind cover, peering out occasionally across the street, expecting someone to either replace the shooter on the Wallbys rooftop or appear somewhere else to take his chances. The only positive he could see was that besides the water tower behind them and the Wallbys in front, there weren’t a lot of other high places for a sniper to shoot from.

  He looked back into the truck at Lara. She was still crouched on the floor in front of her seat, picking broken glass out of her hair. He smiled at the sight.

  “Shut up,” she said, but smiled back. Then he saw her frown. “You’re bleeding.”

  Will hadn’t realized it, but a piece of flying glass had cut his cheek. It wasn’t much, just a miniscule trickle of blood. He wiped at it with the back of one hand. “Just a scratch. Are you okay?”

  She nodded back. “In one piece. What about Blaine?”

  Will looked over in Blaine’s direction again. The big man was still behind the Shell, looking back at him before turning his attention up the street. Like Will and Danny, he was waiting for something to happen, for someone else to take a shot.

  “He’s alive,” Will said.

  “I should take a look at his wounds,” Lara said. “He must have torn open some stitches running that fast.”

  “Later.”

  Will heard a faint buzzing sound, and he thought, Dirt bike.

  The buzzing got louder just before the dirt bike appeared in the road about 120 meters behind them, coming out of a concrete parking lot. It turned left and took off in the opposite direction. There was only one rider that Will could see.

  “Bugger’s got a motorcycle,” Danny said through the radio.

  “What do you wanna do?” Will asked.

  “He shot my truck. No one shoots my truck. I love this truck.”

  “I’ll watch the girls,” Will said.

  He jogged toward the blue Ranger as Danny was helping Carly and the girls out of it. The vehicle looked like it had been through a war zone. There were a couple of bullet holes in the front windshield, but it was still in one piece. Carly and the girls looked as if they were in shock, but were otherwise okay. Danny climbed into the Ranger, turned on the engine, and reversed, spinning the truck around and taking off after the motorcycle.

  Will motioned Blaine over. Blaine glanced up and down the street, just to be sure, before jogging back. This time he was moving noticeably slower and holding on to his right side.

  “Lara,” Will said. “Blaine needs your help.”

  Lara hurried out of the truck, looked around to be sure no one was shooting at her, then rushed over to meet Blaine halfway. He almost fell into her arms. She grabbed him, but his weight pulled her down to the road with him. Will ran over to help, and together with Lara, he carried Blaine back to the Ranger.

  “His wounds are open again,” Lara said between labored breaths. “God, he’s a lot heavier than he looks.”

  Blaine’s face was covered in sweat and his eyes were rolling in their sockets.

  “He’s going to pass out,” Will said, just before Blaine passed out.

  *

  THE SHOOTERS’ BASE of operations was just past the intersection and across the street from the Wallbys. There was a group of city buildings there, including the public library, which was the big building he had glimpsed earlier. Next to it was the city’s police department, which also doubled as a courthouse. Lancing’s city hall was next door, though it looked remarkably small for a city of 12,000 people.

  He saw the tracks of three vehi
cles that had recently called the parking lot home, including the multiple tire marks of a big rig pulling a semitrailer. The shooters were clearly part of Folger’s contingent, the same group that had shot Blaine and taken Sandra. The pools of leaked engine oil and air coolant still gathering in the parking lot told him Folger’s group hadn’t left the area all that long ago. Less than an hour, give or take.

  They’re still here somewhere.

  Up on the Wallbys rooftop, Will found a short man in military fatigues lying next to an AR-15 rifle, along with a pouch full of magazines. A cheap pair of binoculars and a Motorola radio were scattered nearby. Will collected the rifle and magazines, then searched the dead man. He found a wallet in the back pocket, which made him chuckle. Will hadn’t bothered with a wallet since the morning of The Purge.

  Inside the dead man’s wallet, Will pulled out a Texas driver’s license that identified the owner as Hiller, thirty-four, from Fort Worth. Will tossed the wallet and climbed back down the rooftop.

  He kept in touch with Danny throughout the hour. The radios were still working fine, even though Danny was getting farther and farther away. After about half an hour of silence, Danny’s voice finally came through the radio again: “On my way back now.”

  “How did it go?”

  “He’s alive.”

  “Blaine will appreciate that. What about the bike?”

  “Ugh, not so much.”

  “One out of two ain’t bad.”

  “What I said.”

  Will jogged across the street, back toward the Lancing courthouse building. Carly came out of the door with a shotgun.

  “You heard?” he asked. They all carried radios, except for the girls and Blaine. It was the easiest way to keep in contact when they were on the road.

  She nodded. “He’s on his way back.”

  The others were inside the courthouse’s reception area. Blaine sat on an uncomfortable-looking bench, his bloodied shirt on the seat next to him. Earlier, Will had cleared out the building by himself with a shotgun loaded with silver buckshot. There were a half-dozen empty jail cells in the back, along with offices that hadn’t been used in a while. The courthouse was really one big building with a couple of offices along the sides.