The Spears of Laconia (Purge of Babylon, Book 7) (19 page)

Mason had been watching them straining and cursing, and when Lucas tossed the broken off lever away with disgust, he said, “Look for something we can use to pry the doors open. Find
anything.
”

“Never say die,” Danny said, watching Mason’s people racing around the hangar. “You almost gotta respect them.”

She, Danny, and Nate didn’t bother joining in the collaborators’ search because they knew better. They had watched Mercer’s people clean out everything in the place before leaving. They had left absolutely nothing behind. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They had left
them
behind. The question was: Why?

“Come on; let’s see what we can see,” Danny said, and began jogging up one of the catwalks that led to the windows over the front doors. He reached the top and looked out, then rasped his knuckles on the glass.

“No go?” she asked.

“Thicker than Nate’s head and twice as bright.”

“Hey, I kick ass on standardized tests,” Nate said.

“But it’s the burglar bars on the other side that’s the problem,” Danny continued.

“What’s out there?” Mason called from below.

“I’m not your fucking secretary,” Danny said back down.

Mason smirked before hurrying over, then climbed up the other catwalk across from them. A couple of his men followed. They left the other two below, including Lucas, still trying in vain to open the single back door, though that had become more difficult now without the lever.

The platform she was moving on wasn’t nearly as long or wide as it had looked from below; the whole thing was about four feet wide and just long enough to cover both high windows. There were eight windows in all inside the hangar—four up front, two in the back, and finally one more on each side.

“They planned this out,” Nate was saying.

“What?” she said.

“This,” he said, gesturing at the catwalks. “There’s no telling how long they’ve been using this place, collecting the silver from the surrounding towns, getting it ready for today.”

“I got the feeling Mercer had FOBs all across the state,” Danny said.

“FOB?” she asked.

“Forward operating bases,” Nate said. “It would explain going through the effort to put the bars outside and the catwalks. Just in case they were discovered.” He shook his head. “A lot of planning went into today. A lot…”

“If you want, I’ll let Mercer know you want to be best buds with him,” Danny said. “Share dips and chips over Sunday football and all that good All-American whoopee do.”

“I’m just saying, the level of planning…” Nate said, but let the rest trail off.

Four hundred dead men, women, and children,
she thought, the smell of smoke and blood still fresh in her mind and, she swore, on her clothes. Where there was numbness when she walked across T29, there was now anger. At Mercer, at Erin, at all the people following him.

She turned back to the window and looked past the burglar bars. Mercer’s people had abandoned the airfield, leaving behind a few vehicles parked outside the cluster of administrative buildings across the field from them. The shift from activity to stillness was startling, and she kept waiting for someone to come outside, but no one did.

Gaby refocused on the empty landing strip that stretched beyond her peripheral vision, on the buildings at the end, and then beyond them at the insurmountable walls of trees that surrounded the place. It reminded her of the airport outside her own small town, one of those places you wouldn’t even know existed unless you were from the area. Most of the planes that landed here were probably small private aircraft. She thought she could see still-wet fuel stains along the pavement, but that could just be the dwindling sunlight playing tricks with her eyes.

“Gaby, look,” Nate said.

She followed his gaze upward. The sky. It was darkening.

“How long do we have?” she asked.

“An hour, give or take,” Danny said.

“How long is give or take?”

“Thirty minutes-ish.”

“You said this was part of the plan, that Mercer always intended to leave someone behind in here.”

Danny nodded. “He didn’t spill all the details, but that’s what I gathered, yeah.”

“Christ,” Nate said next to her. His voice had dropped noticeably, though it wouldn’t have taken much for Mason and the others to hear, given the echoey nature of the hangar. “They used the airfield as an FOB, but they always intended to abandon it after today. It wouldn’t have taken much to track the hog and whatever else he’s got running or flying around out there back to this place.”

“We’re bait,” Gaby said.

“Well, they were,” Danny said, nodding across at Mason and his two comrades. “We just got unlucky.”

“What are the chances this entire airfield is booby-trapped?” Nate asked.

“Lots and lots.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Shouldn’t have asked, then.”

“I can’t seem to learn that lesson,” Nate sighed.

She looked across at Mason as he peered out the windows. If he’d heard them talking, he was doing a good job not reacting to it. One of the collaborators on the platform with him had punched the windowpane so hard that it cracked (but didn’t break) and left his hand a bloody mess.

Idiot,
she thought, watching the man struggle to stanch the bleeding with his shirt.

The collaborator was doing a piss-poor job of it, and she wondered how long it would take him to bleed to death when she heard a noise that hadn’t been there before. With everyone moving around, talking, and Mason’s people raising hell against unyielding metal, she had missed the low rumbling until now. It vibrated along the length of the hangar and traveled across her hand that was pressed against the windowsill.

“Guys, listen,” she said.

Nate and Danny went very still and listened.

“What is that, some kind of generator?” Nate asked.

“I think so,” she nodded. “It’s coming from outside.”

They looked through the windows again, this time searching closer to the building instead of scanning the fields surrounding it. Whatever it was, it had to be close enough that the tremors could be felt. And Nate was right; it did sound like a generator. But why would Mercer’s people leave something like that behind? A generator, and especially the gas running it, was worth its weight in gold these days.

“It has to be nearby,” she said.

“Can’t see it,” Nate said, standing up on tiptoe and trying to look down directly below them. “You?”

“No.”

“Why would they leave a generator behind?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced at Danny. “What’s going to happen when night falls?”

“Bad things, would be my guess,” Danny said.

“You should have left with them.”

He sighed. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Carly’s going to be so pissed when she finds out what you did.”

“Don’t worry; whenever she gets mad at me, I just double down on the oral sex.”

“I shouldn’t be hearing this.”

“TMI?”

“Just a little bit,” Gaby said, managing to smile back at him.

“Sonofabitch,” Nate said.

She looked over. “What?”

“Lights,” he said, pointing up. “They’ve been above us this entire time.”

Gaby leaned against the window and looked up. She hadn’t seen them before because there was still too much light outside, but now that it had gotten darker, they were harder to miss.

There were LED floodlights positioned above their windows. Not just theirs, but Mason’s and the ones behind them as well, though those were harder to spot from their platform.

“The generator,” she said. “That must be what it’s for.”

“They’re going to use us as bait, all right,” Nate said. “We’re going to be the only building lit up like a Christmas tree for miles out here. If Mason’s pals didn’t already know we’re here, they’re not going to be able to miss us come nightfall.”

“Like moths to the flame,” Danny said quietly. “I hate it when I’m right.”

*

Gaby didn’t know
what the hangar’s twin doors were made of, but it was apparently strong enough material that kicking them only produced dull
thudding
sounds, though that didn’t stop the collaborators from raining blow after blow against them anyway. When all that effort left two of them limping, they turned their attention to the rest of the building. Lucas, meanwhile, hadn’t given up trying to break his way through the back door. He had made some impressive dents, but for the most part, the door remained unimpressed.

She stayed on the platform next to the front windows with Nate and Danny and watched Mason directing his soldiers below them. In between the constant banging, the wails of frustration, the slight hum of the generator outside, and Mason urging the others to attack harder and faster, was the distinctive
tick-tick-tick
of Danny’s watch. Like a time bomb, letting her know that the end was coming.

“Like moths to the flame,”
Danny had said, because in less than an hour the entire airfield would be submerged in darkness…except for their building. If the collaborators and their ghoul allies had an ounce of brain, they would have traced the attacks back here. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were already out there, biding their time. Surely they could already see the lights. And they could afford to wait for nightfall, too. Unlike her, Danny, and Nate.

Mason, hands on his hips, glanced up at them. “You wanna come down here and do your part?”

“And what part would that be?” Danny asked. “The kicking or the crying? I’m not very good at either.”

“Whatever strikes your fancy, smartass.”

“I’m familiar with the ass part, but not so much the first. Just ask my girlfriend. But you boys go right ahead and keep at it.” Then he pointed and said, “I can see a little crack over there. Try ramming that thick skull of yours, maybe that’ll do the trick.”

Mason grunted, while around him the others had stopped to rest. Even Lucas seemed to have given up on the back door. He was bent slightly over, sweat dripping from his face.

“Shut it down, boys,” Mason said. “It’s going to be dark soon; might as well save your strength for tomorrow.”

The others gave him a confused look.

“If we can’t get out, nothing can get in, either,” Mason continued. Then he glanced up at her and Danny. “Of course, if people in the right uniforms show up tonight, that’s another story.”

“You willing to bet your life on your friends not shooting on sight?” Danny asked. “After the day they’ve had out there?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“I guess so.”

One of the collaborators had walked over to stand next to Mason. The man was wiping at sweat along his forehead with the back of his hand, and she recognized him as the idiot who had gashed his fist on the window earlier. His right hand was swaddled in a piece of his shirt and she noticed he had a bit of a paunch, because apparently they ate pretty well in the towns.

The man had dark eyes, and they zeroed in on her. “Why don’t you come on down here, little girl,” he said. “When our friends show up, I’ll put in a good word for you. Of course, you’ll have to be nice to me first.”

“Patterson, shut up,” Mason said.

“Fuck off,” Patterson snapped back.

Apparently someone’s not as in charge as he thinks,
Gaby thought, staring back at Patterson. If the man expected her to be flustered by his comments, he was mistaken. She’d faced worse, and she would survive him, too.

Nate, leaning against the railing next to her, tensed at Patterson’s comments, but before she could calm him, Mason spoke first.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Mason was saying, smiling at her with something that she could almost believe was actual sympathy. “He hasn’t gotten laid in a while, that’s all.”

“Man, I’m getting really sick of your mouth,” Patterson said, whirling on Mason. The fingers of his left hand clenched into a balled fist. She wondered if he was left-handed or if that was because he had ruined his right on the window earlier. “You’re not in charge anymore. You stopped calling the shots when you got us caught.”

“Is that right?” Mason said, turning to face Patterson.

Patterson wasn’t exactly a tall man. She guessed he was five-ten, though face-to-face
(chin to forehead?)
with the five-three Mason, he might as well be a giant. She felt almost sorry for Mason. Almost.

“You fucking little midget,” Patterson said, spittle flying out of his mouth. Gaby wondered how long he had been keeping
that
in. “I’m sick of listening to you telling us what to do. In fact, I’m sick of your face.”

“Hey, you know how difficult it is to find moisturizer out here?”

Patterson wasn’t deterred. “I don’t even know who put you in charge. As far as I can tell, you’re just a little runt from Louisiana.”

“I’m from Texas, chum. I just happened to be in Louisiana until a few weeks ago.”

“Who gives a shit. I didn’t ask for your résumé.”

Mason chuckled. “What exactly are you’re trying to say, Patterson?”

The other three hadn’t butted in. They stood back and watched, maybe just a little bit curious to see what would happen next. She got the impression that, like Patterson, they didn’t particularly care very much for Mason’s leadership abilities, either.