The Fires of Atlantis (Purge of Babylon, Book 4) (19 page)

Donna seemed to know exactly where she was going.

“How far?” Gaby asked.

“Not too far now,” Donna said. She glanced over at Claire. “So?”

“So what?” Claire said, putting as much defiance into her voice as possible. Gaby thought she wasn’t entirely successful.

“You scared yet?”

“No.”

“We’ll see.”

Donna led them off the main pathway and across the grass, all four of them moving with obvious urgency. No one had to say it. Not Gaby, and not Donna. Even Claire and Milly knew that time was running out for them. If it wasn’t the skies above them, it was the tombstones jutting out from the weed-infested ground, along with the long-dead flowers and personal keepsakes scattered nearby.

How appropriate would it be if everything ended here tonight? It would be poetic if it weren’t so damn depressing.

Gaby pushed the thought away and concentrated on the steps ahead of her instead, doing her best to ignore all the reminders of the dead and the grieving from their loved ones around them.

“How much farther?” she asked Donna.

“There.” Donna pointed at a white structure flanked by two large trees that looked like ancient sentries that had been there long before man and would remain there long after.

Oh God. She wasn’t kidding.

It was a crypt, and it was made of either concrete or white marble. She had a hard time distinguishing the material under the fading light. It wasn’t particularly big, maybe the size of a small backyard shack. The front entrance was shaped into an arch and a rusted-over metal gate covered the front doors. “Evans” was engraved at the top in Roman alphabet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gaby said.

“Hey, it’s the only thing I could think of,” Donna said. She turned to her sister. “So? You still not scared?”

“No,” Claire said, though this time she didn’t have a prayer of making it sound the least bit convincing.

“How are we going to get inside that thing?” Gaby asked.

“There’s a key,” Donna said.

“You have a key to a crypt in a cemetery?”

“No, but I know where they keep it. Well, these guys I know.” Donna hurried over to one of the trees and crouched in front of it. She groped the ground around its base, pushing aside blades of overgrown grass. “It should be buried around here somewhere…”

Buried. She just said ‘buried’ in a cemetery.

Gaby waited for Donna to give her a hint that she had used ‘buried’ on purpose, a pun to break the ice. But she didn’t.

She looked over at Milly, whose face had grown deathly pale during the walk from the front gates to the crypt. Even the usually taciturn Claire looked just a little bit disturbed as they watched Donna rooting about the grass.

“Eureka!” Donna said. She stood up and brushed dirty hands on her shorts. “I thought someone might have taken it for a moment.”

She gave Gaby a half-terrified, half-elated grin before walking to the crypt and sticking a large old key into the lock and twisting it. The gate unlatched with a loud
craaaank
, like giant metal cogs grinding against each other. The painfully brown metal bars squeaked loudly as Donna pulled at them.

Gaby gave her a hand. It was heavy, like pushing boulders.

“You guys, um, played here?” Gaby asked.

“Not really, well, played,” Donna said, grunting with the effort while trying to hide a bit of embarrassment at the same time.

She means they made out here. And...other stuff.

With the gate open, all Donna had to do was push the thick doors of the crypt inward. These, surprisingly, moved without much effort. They looked inside, using what little light was left to make sure the place was empty. Not that Gaby expected it not to be. Who would be hiding in there, with the doors locked? The place gave off the smell of an enclosed space that had been sealed for almost a year—maybe even longer.

It was surprisingly roomy inside, with a large rectangle-shaped concrete block in the center. There were none of the cobwebs or scampering bugs she always envisioned invading crypts like these. It looked amazingly well-kept, the people who owned it clearly having shown great care with whoever lay inside the coffin at the moment.

She looked back at Milly and Claire. They stared back at her, perhaps hoping she had changed her mind. “Let’s go, girls.”

The two girls stepped inside first, Milly groping the walls for support. They went all the way into the back, keeping as much distance from the coffin as possible. Gaby and Donna pulled the heavy metal gate closed after them. Donna stuck her hand out between the bars and locked it back up. She had clearly done all of this before. They stepped into the crypt and pushed the doors closed from the other side.

Gaby was prepared for it, but as darkness enveloped her inch by inch, she felt dread rushing down her body anyway.

We’re inside a crypt. We’re going to hide from the night inside a pitch-black crypt.

God help us.

Somewhere in the darkness, Milly might have sniffled. Then Gaby heard a
click
just before the beam of an LED light splashed across the walls, then illuminated the coffin and Donna, who was standing nearby. Claire was holding a small flashlight in the back.

“Where did you get that?” Donna asked.

“It’s the same one I always carry with me,” Claire said.

“Since when?”

“Since forever.”

“Let me have it.”

“It’s mine. Get your own.”

Donna sighed at Gaby, as if to say,
“See what I have to deal with?”

Gaby smiled back. This very human moment was a welcome absurdity when they were trapped—voluntarily, too—inside a crypt with a dead body. How old was the body, anyway? And was it a man or a woman? Maybe they should find—

I’m going to throw up.

She unslung her pack and weapons, needing to move, to be doing something so she wouldn’t entertain more idiotic thoughts like opening up a coffin to find out who was inside it. Claire helpfully shined her flashlight over so Gaby could see what she was doing.

She pulled out the bags of MREs and handed the girls one each. “Be careful with them. They can be pretty messy. Claire, help everyone with the flashlight. Why don’t we all sit together so Claire doesn’t have to move around too much?”

They moved to the very back and sat down on the floor. Claire’s flashlight appeared as Gaby opened her MRE.

At least the room didn’t smell too bad. There was a musty aroma, but none of the death stench she was expecting. Did all crypts smell this…nice?

“You, uh, played in here?” Gaby asked Donna.

“It’s really not that bad,” Donna said, again with just a shade of embarrassment. “It doesn’t smell at all. You’d think a room with a dead body would smell, right?”

“It’s probably the coffin. It keeps the body from the elements, so it doesn’t…you know.”

“I guess.”

“No one ever found you guys out?”

“Nah. We always cleaned up after ourselves and we only came here at night. There’s not a lot of people here at nights.”

Gee, I wonder why.

“Where’d you get the key?” she asked. She didn’t really need to know, but she felt it necessary to stave off the silence for as long as possible.

“It’s a copy,” Donna said. “This guy we know used to work here one summer. He made a duplicate and after he went off to college, it sort of became a thing within our group. Anyone who wants to use it can. Pretty cool, right?”

If you like making out in crypts while surrounded by the decaying bodies of other people’s dead loved ones, then yeah, it’s pretty cool.

She said instead, “I guess so.”

“I mean, there’s not a lot to do in Dunbar,” Donna said.

There’s less to do now
.

“You guys lived in the city?” she asked.

“We had a farm about two miles on the other side of town. Dad, me, and Claire. Our mom passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, she was the lucky one, as it turned out. I guess we’ve always kind of been stuck around Dunbar our whole lives.” Donna paused for a moment to eat, the sound of chewing and the (grateful) aroma of food filling the crypt. “I was really looking forward to getting out of town, too,” Donna said after a while. “I guess better late than never.”

They didn’t say much after that, and there was just the sound of everyone eating.

After a few minutes of silence and darkness, Gaby heard Milly crying softly next to her. She put an arm around the girl and was glad Claire hadn’t shined the flashlight at them to see what was happening. She knew enough to give them their privacy.

Gaby squeezed Milly’s shoulder tightly and thought of Peter.

Probably dead now, back in the VFW basement. If not from his injuries, then when Harrison went back and found him. Or if not Harrison, then whomever he was fighting with and had killed him and his men.

There was another soft
click
from somewhere in the darkness, then Lara’s familiar voice, slightly muffled by the recording, reverberated against the hard walls around them:

“To any survivors out there, if you’re hearing this, you are not alone. There are things you need to know about our enemy—these creatures of the night, these ghouls…”

Gaby smiled and thought of Song Island.

South leads home.

Go south, young girl…

“
L
ooks
like this party’s going to go all night,” Danny said. “Are you sure our invitation didn’t get lost in the mail?”

“Anything’s possible,” Will said.

“This is why you should always tip your friendly neighborhood mailman during Christmas. That, or invite him in for tea.”

“I always knew you were a teabagger.”

“I’ll try anything once. Or thrice.”

The gunfight had raged on for the better part of two hours, with Will and Danny content to watch (and listen) from the safety of Gaine’s Meat Market. The sniper on the rooftop of Tom’s Billiard across the street had left, replaced by two men with AR-15s who fired up the street at the soldiers, the
clink-clink-clink
of their empty brass casings pelting the street below them like never-ending raindrops. The two down on the sidewalk were also gone, and a woman with a ponytail firing calmly with an M4 had taken over.

Every now and then Will saw figures in civilian clothes running up and down the streets that were visible from his limited angle behind the window. They were almost always moving in pairs, all of them well armed, and he often saw them talking into radios. Which told him these weren’t complete amateurs. Either they had been well trained or they had been out here surviving long enough to know how to fight as a unit.

Or, well, a unit-ish.

He was never going to mistake them for a Ranger battalion, that was for sure. Like Josh’s soldiers, these were civilians playing at being weekend warriors. That didn’t make them completely incompetent, but he had seen real soldiers, and these weren’t them.

About an hour ago, they heard footsteps moving on the rooftop above them. The man (or woman) stayed up there for almost thirty minutes, pouring fire up the street. Eventually, he (or she) left, too, maybe for a better position elsewhere. The locals were moving around like busy bees, never staying in one place for too long.

The phrase
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend”
flitted across his mind throughout the two hours, but he had learned not to put too much stock in strangers with assault rifles. They could turn on you at a moment’s notice, especially given the number of fighters he saw just outside his window alone. From the intensity and spread-out nature of the chaos, there were more of them across the city. The fact that they were fighting the ghoul collaborators from multiple angles was further proof these were dangerous people not to be underestimated.

And maybe the enemy of my enemy is also my enemy…

“You getting flashbacks, too?” Danny said after a while.

Will smiled across the window at him. “Just a little bit.”

They were intimately familiar with the whole scenario playing out before them. The fact that the faux soldiers were clearly outnumbered and outmatched, fighting in a city they didn’t know, facing what, from all appearances, were people who called this place home. People who knew all the angles and how to get to all the rooftops.

It’s Afghanistan all over again. Minus the camels.

“It’s almost just as hot, too,” Danny said, pulling at his shirt collar for effect. “The only thing missing? That wonderful goat smell. Of course, you’re making up for it.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“I’d settle for you taking a shower once per century.”

“Yeah, well, can’t do anything about that now.”

Danny snorted. “Guess not. Who you think’s winning, anyway?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d put money on the locals.”

“That seems kind of wrong.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I’m no fan of Josh’s boys, but still… Uniforms and everything. I’m partial to a man in uniform, but don’t tell Carly.”

“Mum’s the word.”

The fight continued, gunshots like firecrackers, the insistent
pop-pop-pop
without end. But this gunfight had been going on for some time, which meant the soldiers were dug in, the strip mall parking lot they were calling a base likely providing plenty of protection. Was that on purpose? Had someone chosen that spot for its defensive capabilities? Probably not. He hadn’t found the collaborators to be especially good at tactics. Then again, Kellerson had been pretty smart, and Will was quickly learning not to underestimate Josh.

Not that the fight was going to last for very long either way. Well defended or not, the soldiers were at a great disadvantage. They were pinned in, and sooner or later Dunbar’s fighters would get just close enough to finish it. He could already see the locals surging up the street, taking over new buildings as they pushed forward. Already, the fight had almost completely abandoned their window, and they were now listening instead of watching what was happening.

Will glanced down at his watch: 5:52 p.m.

“They’re cutting it close,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Speaking of which, we got a place to go when it’s night-time time?”

Will looked around the room. He had been thinking about that, too, especially since it was becoming obvious they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. “This room looks decent. Barricade the door and window. Push comes to shove, there’s the bathroom.”

“Hide in a bathroom with you all night?” Danny wrinkled his noise. “Talk about torture.” Then, “The kids still going at it out there? I can’t see them anymore.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I guess they really,
really
want to kill Josh’s boys.”

“Or maybe they’re just really curious about what’s in that U-Haul, too.”

Danny smirked. “You and the U-Haul. Remind me never to ask you to help me move.”

Will peeked up at the darkening skies above them. Patches of shadows were spreading and the sun was dipping in the horizon like a giant orange ball. “Thirty minutes before nightfall. Give or take.”

“Checked in with your girlfriend on the radio yet?”

“Aw, hell, I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me—”

The
crack!
of a rifle cut him off.

It had been a few minutes since he last heard or saw anyone firing nearby, with the fight having progressed up the street, so the shot made Will instinctively jerk his head away from the window just as a neat hole appeared in the glass pane in front of him. The bullet kept going and embedded itself into the ceiling across the room. The point of impact had been so clean that the glass somehow managed not to break apart.

Will was twisting backward and almost fell. He turned his rifle into a crutch at the last second and just barely managed to stay on his feet.

Danny was already spinning away from the wall on the other side of the window and was firing down, shattering the glass panes as he squeezed off two, then three shots at whoever was down there.

Danny stopped shooting and pulled back. “You hit?”

Will reached up and wiped at a trickle of blood on his forehead. A small cut, barely a graze. “I’m good, I’m good.”

“You don’t look so good.” Danny grinned, adding, “Oh, wait, never mind. That’s just how you normally look.”

“Tell me you got him, pretty boy.”

“I dunno. He was pretty fast.”

A loud series of gunfire from outside was proof that Danny had missed. The remains of the window exploded, showering them with pieces of glass. Danny yelped and dived to the floor before crawling away on his hands and knees. Will backed away as fast as he could, the
zip-zip-zip
of bullets slashing through the air around him.

Through the sound of shooting, Will picked up the unmistakable noise of pounding footsteps rushing toward them from the other side of the door. He spun around, dipped to the floor on one knee, and lifted his M4A1.

He waited one second, two—

The doorknob started to turn.

He fired, stitching the door with the carbine on full-auto. Left to right, then right to left, putting bullets in the walls around the door as well as the door itself just in case there were more than one and they were waiting in a stacking formation. That’s what he and Danny would do if it were them out there.

He heard the telltale sounds of falling bodies and the clatter of weapons against wooden floor.

“Go go go!” Will shouted.

“Gee, and here I was going to take a nap!” Danny shouted back.

Danny scrambled up to his feet and raced to the big comfortable felt chair and snatched up his pack and slipped it on. He took aim at the door as Will jogged over and did likewise with his own pack. It was stuffed with emergency rations and ammo, but the rest of their supplies were in two other, thicker bags still on the floor.

The shooting behind them from outside the window had stopped.

“Radio?” Will said.

“I got it,” Danny said. “Plus, some more Oberto.”

“Seriously, how many of those did you bring?”

“That’s for me to know and eat, and for you to look on enviously. The rest?”

“Ditch them.”

Danny stood up and moved toward the door. He threw it open and Will slipped out into the darkened hallway first, stepping over two crumpled forms in jeans and T-shirts. Local fighters. He was careful to step around their pooling blood, too.

The stairs were down the hall in front of him, and he glided toward them now, listening for more footsteps besides his own and Danny’s. They weren’t really just going to send two into the building after them, were they? If so, whoever was in charge was either very confident or was strapped for manpower. After two hours of slugging it out with Josh’s soldiers, maybe the locals had suffered their own share of casualties. He could only hope.

Either way, visibility was minimal without any source of light inside the narrow hallway, but he was lucky his eyes had adjusted to the state of semidarkness inside the room while he was watching the show outside for the last few hours. Somewhat, anyway.

He heard it: The muffled sounds of someone speaking through a radio floating up from the first floor.

The building was split into two sections—the store below and living quarters on the second, accessible only by stairs in the back of the property. To get to it, you had to move through a kitchen with linoleum tiles.

He heard the squeaks of tennis shoes racing across those same tiles now.

Will made it to the top of the stairs and looked down just as two figures appeared below him with rifles aiming up in his direction. They fired as soon as he poked his head out into the open, and the newel directly in front of him shattered, slivers of wood flashing around his head like missiles.

He pulled his head back, then stuck the M4A1 out into the open space and squeezed off a burst. He didn’t expect to hit anyone, but scattering them was just as good. He was rewarded with more squeaking noises as the two below scrambled for cover.

Danny was crouched behind him, keeping a safe distance. “How many?”

“Two.”

“Not so bad.”

“They have position on us and they can afford to wait us out.”

“That’s bad.”

“Any other way outta here?”

“There’s a catwalk behind us that might work.”

“Go for it,” Will said, leaning around the staircase again. He glimpsed a head mirroring his action at the bottom of the stairs and opened fire, shredding a part of the handrail but missing the patch of sweaty dark hair completely.

He pulled back and listened to more muffled voices communicating back and forth below him. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded as if someone was giving an order and someone didn’t want to follow it.

Weekend warriors.

Danny had moved toward the other end of the hallway and Will backpedaled after him now, reloading his rifle as he went. He kept both eyes on the stairs in front of him the entire time, ears open for the familiar squeaking of shoes. He stopped briefly when he stepped into a pool of blood, cursing as he changed directions to circle around the dead bodies.

“We good?” he asked, just loud enough for Danny to hear.

“Getting good,” Danny said. A window opened and there was a brief silence for about five seconds, then, “You waiting for an invitation?”

Will turned around and ducked under the open window and stepped out onto the metal catwalk. Danny was already racing down the stairs below him, toward the familiar back alley of Gaine’s Meat Market. Will knew it was getting darker from the second-floor window, but actually being outside and underneath the blackening skies told him he had underestimated the approaching nightfall.

Shit. This is gonna be tight…

He had been hoping they could hole up inside Gaine’s until morning. It wouldn’t have been an ideal situation, but given the gunfight outside and the need to find Gaby, who was probably still in the city somewhere (he hoped, anyway), leaving Dunbar now wasn’t in the plan.

All that was out the window now after being discovered.

And now the sun was almost gone. What else could go wrong?

Cutting it close. Way too close.

A flicker of motion caught his attention just before a shadow appeared over one of the handrails down the hallway. Will flicked the M4A1’s fire selector to semi-auto and waited patiently.

One second…

…two…

…three…

A head appeared up the stairs, peeking out curiously.

Will shot the man square in the forehead and watched the body disappear back down the stairs, the
thump-thump
of a full-bodied adult male sliding his way down each step until he finally landed at the very bottom.

“You coming?” Danny called from below.

Will slung his rifle and raced down as Danny pulled security in the alleyway. From back here, the only path was forward into the street. Will hopped the last few meters and landed behind Danny.

“Took you long enough,” Danny said.

“Great view, I was just enjoying myself.”

“Yeah, well, save that for your own time, buddy.” He glanced at his watch and his face darkened. “Gotta be scootin’, scooter. We’re gonna be SOL in a few minutes unless Mister Sun decides to stay put.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Way to be optimistic.”

“Fuck optimism,” Will said, slipping his rifle free, and together they moved toward the mouth of the alley.