A gust of cooling Louisiana wind hit him in the face, piling on the already throbbing pain. He stumbled out of the truck, almost lost his balance but somehow regained it, and saw the first man coming toward him with a rifle at the ready. The man hadn’t fired yet, which Will thought was stupid because he wasn’t going to hesitate.
He lifted the Glock, but before he could fire, something hit him on the side of the head. The blow stunned him and Will staggered to his left, his gun hand falling to his side. Suddenly the sidearm seemed much heavier than it should be. Like a bowling ball. Or maybe a really big metal pole. Gripping it was difficult.
And slippery. Why was it slippery?
A second blow to the same part of the head made him drop the gun. He stumbled, then was sitting on his knees a second later.
How’d he get down here? He didn’t have a clue. Things weren’t making sense. He still couldn’t focus on any one thing, especially not on the dozen or so pairs of feet surrounding him.
More voices. Men’s voices.
Garbled at first, but slowly, very slowly, he started to make out actual words and sentences. Which was a hell of a feat, given that he could barely keep his eyes open. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. That would be nice. When was the last time he had actually slept? Days? Weeks?
He couldn’t remember…
“Why are we keeping him alive?” someone was asking. He didn’t sound very happy about it.
“Shut up,” someone else snapped.
“I’m just saying, let’s just put him out of his misery.”
“You’re not in charge here.”
“Then who is?”
“She is.”
“‘She’? Who the fuck is—” the man started to say, but never finished.
She? Who is she? Why won’t someone answer him?
He should know the answer. And maybe he did. It was right there at the tip of his tongue. Or the edge of his brain. Or wherever it was that words came from. Or the letters that would form those words. And make a name.
She. Who is she?
I know that answer!
Hands grabbed and pulled him up, saving him from the hard concrete that was biting into his knees. He had lost the Glock and couldn’t find the rifle, but he still had his cross-knife. Ah. The trusty cross-knife. It had saved his and Danny’s lives on the first night of The Purge. It would be strapped to his left hip, still in its sheath.
If only he could reach down for it…
“What about the other truck?” a third voice asked. “Should we go after them?”
“Don’t worry about them,” the second man said. He was clearly in charge. “They’re not gonna get far.”
They were carrying him across the parking lot now. Which one? The Chevron or the Palermo?
He smelled old motor oil and spilled gas on the ground around him, all these months later.
Despite the cool air, he was still dripping sweat as he was carried across the parking lot. Curiously, his perspiration looked bright red for some reason.
Focus.
Focus!
The fact that he was still alive was all that mattered right now. As long as he was breathing, there were options available to him. He just had to see them — and seize the right one — when they presented themselves, and they would. They always did.
Don’t worry, Lara. I’m coming home.
I’ll just be a little later than expected, that’s all…
CHAPTER 4
GABY
She hadn’t said a word since Route 13 and was content to watch the vehicles strung along both sides of the interstate flash by in groups of two, three, and every now and then, a lone car that looked out of place. But mostly, there were just empty slabs of gray concrete, and despite the cars, she couldn’t shake the feeling of wandering through a barren and lifeless world.
She was numb all over and barely felt the wind against her face, flooding in through the shattered front passenger-side window. There were holes in the windshield and dry blood on the seat behind and under her, but she was used to the stains. It helped that they weren’t hers, but instead belonged to the men who had been in the vehicle a day earlier, when they had the misfortune of running across Will and Danny.
Danny drove with a singular determination, both hands on the steering wheel, his eyes seeking out ambushes that weren’t there. He was calm and steady, and to look at him, she wouldn’t know he was riding in a car that was covered in bullet holes. If most of that was a mask, Danny wore it well.
“Don’t stop! Don’t you let him stop, Gaby!”
She hadn’t had to convince Danny to keep going. He knew the odds and what was at stake, just like she did. Not that the knowing made abandoning Will back there any easier. If it was hard for her, it had to have been hell for Danny.
“Get to the island! Whatever you do, get back to the island!”
“Gaby,” a voice said behind her.
She turned and smiled back at Claire, who was sitting in the backseat with the FHN semiautomatic shotgun clutched between her legs, the barrel pointed up at the ceiling of the Nissan Titan. Claire was thirteen, but the girl already had the stern face of an adult and the lines around the eyes to match.
“I’m sorry about Will,” Claire said. She flicked absently at a strand of dirty blonde hair draped over her face. “He was a great guy. I really liked him.”
“Is,” Gaby said. “Will’s not dead yet. If he died that easily, then he wouldn’t be Will.”
Claire nodded back. Gaby couldn’t tell if the girl believed her (Had she been convincing enough, or did her own doubts come through despite her best attempts?), or if she was just humoring her. With anyone else — Milly, for instance — the latter wouldn’t have been possible, but Claire wasn’t anyone else. The girl had lost more than her share, and Gaby didn’t for one moment mistake her for just another “kid.”
She’s like me. We haven’t been kids for a long time now.
“How’s everyone doing back there?” Gaby asked.
“Scared,” Claire said, “but we’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” Milly said to the right of Claire.
Milly was thirteen too, with a round face and large eyes. One of these days, Milly would grow up and turn boys’ heads. Seeing the two girls side-by-side was always such an amazing contrast. Milly looked fragile and unready for the world, especially sitting next to Claire, with her dirty hair and steely resolve.
“Annie?” Gaby said, looking to Claire’s left.
Annie had been staring out the window the whole time, and she flinched noticeably at the sound of her name. She gathered herself and gave Gaby something that was supposed to be a smile. “I’m okay. You?”
“I’m in one piece. We all are, thank God.”
“I don’t know how,” the older woman said. “They were shooting from everywhere. I wasn’t this scared back at the farmhouse last night. All those guns, all those bullets… It’s a miracle we’re still alive. How are we even still alive?”
“I don’t know. Lucky, I guess.”
“I haven’t felt very lucky these last few days.” She attempted another smile, and it came out equally bad. “But I guess we’re owed a little, huh?”
“Yeah,” Gaby said. She thought about Lance. The other Lance. Annie’s boyfriend, and not one of the soldiers who had guarded her back in L15. The good Lance had died last night in a pile of rubble. “Song Island’s not far now. We have plenty of gas, and we’ll be there by noon today. Right, Danny?”