The Isles of Elysium (Purge of Babylon, Book 6) (43 page)

THOOM!

The crash was so loud that Keo felt the door finally, mercifully crumbling all the way down here.

“Go!” he whispered sharply to Jordan, and the two of them began running across the moonlit backyard and through knee-high grass, toward the fence on the other side.

The very loud explosion of chaos, of flesh smashing into walls and floor and ceiling, thundered from the second floor master bedroom behind them, the
bang-bang-bang!
like machine-gun fire.

Keo didn’t look back and kept running. Ol’ Blue Eyes had been strict about that.

“Run to the docks,”
it had said, in that unnatural hiss that gave Keo goose bumps every time.
“Take my boat. It has everything you’ll need. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just
run.”

A shrieking sound, unlike anything Keo had ever heard before, made him break his promise and he glanced back while still moving at full stride.

He glimpsed a flurry of clothing—a trench coat—flashing across the window just before a ghoul trying to climb out was grabbed from behind and jerked back inside.

Bang-bang-bang!

Jesus, it’s doing it. It’s actually stopping
them.

But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Sooner or later, the flood would drown even Ol’ Blue Eyes. It didn’t matter how fast you were; you couldn’t outswim the ocean. Like most of the lessons he had learned in his life, Keo had accepted that one the hard way, too. It didn’t matter how strong or fast (or unnatural) you were.

Jordan had outdistanced him and reached the gate first. Of course she did. She wasn’t limping on one bad leg. He watched her sling her shotgun, then jump and grab the top of the spikes and scamper up and over. He smiled to himself, remembering how she had told him she had gone to Tulane University on a softball scholarship. He didn’t even know schools had competitive softball.

Keo mimicked her movements and pulled himself up and over the fence. He didn’t land on the other side quite as gracefully as her, spilling on the tall grass with one of the M4’s parts jamming into his side. He grimaced, hoped it didn’t puncture skin, and scrambled back up.

“I didn’t know you were so clumsy, Keo,” Jordan said next to him.

He grinned. “Shut up and run.”

Jordan jogged across the weeds until they finally felt hard pavement under their feet. He couldn’t see the marina from here, but there was no doubt about the direction: South.

“Take my boat,”
Ol’ Blue Eyes had said.
“It has everything you’ll need.”

Everything? What’s everything?
Keo wanted to ask, but by then the door was already bursting at the seams.

He glanced back toward the house one last time.

The tall, white two-story structure stood out even in the darkness, its size dwarfing the other houses around it. The building was so big he had no trouble believing that a hundred, maybe more, of the ghouls had managed to squeeze themselves inside its wide two floors. They would be assaulting the master bedroom right now, waiting their turn to enter, only to find Ol’ Blue Eyes standing in their way.

How long before they overcame him?
(Him? Did I just refer to the ghoul as a
him?
)
Or how long before they realized he and Jordan were no longer inside—

“Oh, shit!” Jordan shouted in front of him.

Keo turned around and lifted the Mossberg just as two skeletal forms bounded across one of the unkempt lawns to the left of them.

“Run to the docks,”
Ol’ Blue Eyes had said to them.
“Take my boat. It has everything you’ll need. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just
run.”

Like I said, pal, easier said than done,
Keo thought, and pulled the trigger.

“Run! Don’t look
back! Just run!”

She was glancing back at him while still in mid-stride, her face covered in sheets of sweat despite the chilly night air, the gust of wind coming from the ocean and over the ridgeline and between the houses before finally pouring into the street around the both of them.

“I said, don’t look back!” he shouted, just before he spun around and fired, the flame from the shotgun stabbing forward and lighting up two ghouls as they were shredded by buckshot.

He racked the Mossberg and fired again even before they had a chance to pick themselves up from the pavement. His second shot obliterated the legs out of one of the creatures, and his third blew the right arm off the other one.

Behind him, Jordan’s own shotgun roared once, twice, three times.

It wasn’t going to be enough. He knew that without having to think too hard about it. It wasn’t even close to being enough. Sooner or later, they were going to run out of steam, or run out of bullets, or just plain run out of space.

Should have hid. Should have found a basement and sealed it tight.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda, but didn’ta, pal.

They hadn’t gone more than twenty meters down the sloping hill when the first creatures appeared. His first shot was like thunderclaps across the island, and he might as well have lit a torch and carried it down the street with him because after that they came out of everywhere.

Then they were running and shooting, and they were still too far from the marina. Much, much too far.

Both his legs were already burning, not just the one with the bullet hole. And he had only been running for about three minutes. What would happen at the five-minute mark? The ten?

Curiously enough, he barely felt any pain in his left shoulder. Either the entire arm had numbed over, or he was doing a very good job of ignoring it. Of course it didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten anything in…how long had it been? Too long, which explained why he was already sapped of energy. Normally, he could run for much longer than this.

Excuses, excuses.

The only positive that he could come up with was that so many of the ghouls had gone into the two-story house that the ones left behind were sporadic in number. Instead of hordes coming out of the homes around them, there were pockets of one and two, but mostly one at a time. That, more than anything, allowed them to make steady progress down the street toward the marina, shooting the entire way.

Jordan was in front of him, firing and racking and reloading as she ran. He was doing the same thing while keeping the creatures from overtaking them. As they got closer and closer to the marina (he could smell the ocean, and God, was the scent intoxicating, calling to him), there seemed to be less and less of them, allowing him more time to reload.

They had to keep moving. Always moving. They couldn’t stop. Not for a second. Not even to breathe.

Shooting them didn’t kill them. No surprise there. But it did slow them down. The buckshot was effective, the concussive force like a sledgehammer. It was even better when he aimed for the legs. It was hard to run without legs, though that didn’t seem to stop them from crawling after him anyway.

It was difficult to see exactly how far the marina was with just the moonlight to guide him. Fortunately, the street and sidewalks stood out from the lawns, giving him a visible clue of where to go. All he had to do was keep south—

Oh, shit.

He made the mistake of throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, because that’s when he saw them—
all
of them. It looked like every single ghoul on the island, which meant they were now coming from the two-story house. Which in turn meant Ol’ Blue Eyes was either dead (if it could even still die—
again?)
or out of commission.

The sight of them pouring down the street, racing around homes and catapulting over fences, took his breath away. He might have kept on staring like an idiot if a shotgun blast didn’t roar behind him and pull him back.

He spun around just as Jordan was leaping over a ghoul whose legs she had cut out from underneath it. Keo mirrored her movements even as the creature groped for him, fingers clawing at empty air.

“Faster!” Keo shouted. “Faster, Jordan!”

She looked back, then past him, and saw for herself. Her right eye had improved, but it was still too bruised to fully open.

“Don’t look!” he shouted. “Run! Just keep running, whatever you do!”

She might have nodded, or just turned around. He couldn’t be certain.

Keo was too busy reaching into his pocket for another shell anyway when his fingers found nothing but empty spaces.

Empty!

He threw the shotgun to the street and unslung the M4.

The ghouls had stopped coming out of the houses around them. Instead, the entire nightcrawler population of Santa Marie Island was behind him at the moment, an unrelenting tide of black flesh and
clacking
bones, the
tap-tap-tap
of bare feet against the cold, hard road filling like mini explosions around him. If that wasn’t bad enough, their foul stench traveled downwind, the result of so many of them packed into so limited an area, and threatened to make him heave his stomach’s empty contents. Thank God he hadn’t eaten a single damn thing all day.

He hadn’t looked forward again for more than half a second before he spotted it: the entrance into the marina. It was coming up in
forty meters—

Thirty-five—

“Faster!” he shouted. “Faster, Jordan!”

She didn’t look back this time. Instead, she actually started moving even faster, and it suddenly occurred to him that she had been running at a slower pace for his benefit. Because for all her wounds and bruises, Jordan was still more athletic than him before the world ended, and even more so now that he had two bullet holes in him.

Thirty meters—

She made a sharp right turn and disappeared behind a dirt and rock wall. From there, she would have to run down the incline parking lot, which would help her pick up even more speed on her way to the docks on the other end. Then Ol’ Blue Eyes’ boat would be waiting for them, next to the twenty-footer that was out of gas.

“Take my boat,”
it had said.
“It has everything you’ll need.”

Everything they would need? Besides gas, what else did they “need”? Silver bullets? Was it talking about silver bullets?

Two days ago that would have been ludicrous, but after everything he had seen, that word itself was absurd. Anything was possible, including a blue-eyed ghoul that had gone to great lengths to save his life not once, but twice now.

“I need him alive,”
it had said.

Him. Keo. It needed
him
alive.

Ludicrous? There was no such thing anymore.

He spun around until he was backpedaling at full speed, or at least as fast as he could manage while moving backward. He should have been surprised by what he saw, but he wasn’t—
they were almost on top of him.

He squeezed the trigger and swept the M4 from left to right and watched pruned flesh writhing as bullets punched through them, the only sound the occasional
ping!
of his rounds ricocheting off bones. The ones up front stumbled from the impact and fell and were immediately swallowed up by the stampeding herd.

Two shotgun blasts roared behind him, one right after another. Jordan, inside the marina. Apparently the docks weren’t as empty as they had been hoping—

Click!

He tossed the M4 and spun around and picked up more speed. Or tried to. At this point he wasn’t entirely certain if he had any more speed to draw on. If his tank wasn’t already empty, it was pretty damn close. He could practically envision the needle scraping against the
E
and an alarm going off to remind him of that fact.

Faster. Faster!

He drew the Glock with one hand and unclasped the gun belt with the other. He still had spare magazines in the ammo pouches, and when it slipped off his waist and clattered to the ground, he was instantly lighter and faster. He might not actually be moving any swifter than seconds ago, but it sure as hell felt like he was.

The entrance!

He was making the turn into the marina when he was greeted by the ferocious roar of boat motors powering up from the other side of the wide parking lot. A spotlight had snapped on, and a thick beam of light was cutting across the slanted concrete floor.

He completed the turn and glimpsed a figure
(Jordan!)
on Ol Blue Eyes’ boat, though at this distance Keo couldn’t tell what kind of vessel it was. Not that it mattered. Right now, it was the one with gas
(“It has everything you’ll need.”)
, and Jordan was revving the motor, maybe trying to direct him over to her, not that he needed the extra attention or the encouragement.

Keo ran right for her—or really, for the light—while dodging a ghoul as it attempted to grab at him. Its legs looked like broken wooden baseball bats, and he expected to see a second one (hadn’t Jordan fired twice?), but there were no signs of it, if it ever existed.

The smell hit him, and Keo couldn’t help himself and he looked back—

A wave of black flesh and rotting teeth was collapsing on top of him.

Jesus Christ!
When had they gotten so close?

He stuck out the Glock behind him and squeezed off a couple of shots. Even the handgun began feeling too heavy, and after six shots, Keo threw it away and picked up even more speed as a result.

Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

Faster!

He was halfway through the parking lot now, his breath crashing out of his lungs, every part of him burning from inside out.

Faster! Faster!

The
clacking
of bones, the
tap-tap-tap
of bare feet, and that foul pervading stench pressing up against the back of his neck like a living physical thing, unlike anything he had ever experienced before and never wanted to again—

Faster! Faster!
Faster!

Jordan, standing tall in the middle of the boat, behind the steering wheel, was backing the vessel away from the slip. Smart girl. He would have told her to do exactly that if he thought he could shout loud enough to be heard over the roar of the motors.

And there, the edge of the marina, coming up fast. Almost there.