The Spears of Laconia (Purge of Babylon, Book 7) (40 page)

Night came early
in winter, and by 5:30 
P.M.
there was just the moonlight sneaking through the cracks along the wall and roof to keep Keo and Jordan from completely sitting in darkness. It took a few minutes before his eyes assimilated to the new environment and he was able to make out Jordan next to him, their backs pressed against the cage with the barn wall on the other side. Cold wind seeped through the rotting wood, and though he listened for it, Keo couldn’t
(yet)
hear the sound of bare feet against the empty earth outside.

He found himself eyeballing the distance separating the bars of their cage again. Five inches, give or take. Five whole inches. Was that enough for a creature of skin and bones to squeeze its way through? Maybe. Of course, he and Jordan wouldn’t exactly be standing by, mouth agape like slack-jawed morons, as the creatures assaulted the cage.

How much force would it take to cave in a deformed skull? He had a feeling he was going to find out sooner rather than—

Creaaaak!
as the barn doors were pushed open.

Keo shot up to his feet and moved to the front of the cage, Jordan keeping pace beside him. The large twin doors had swung open, and a lone silhouetted figure walked purposefully, as if it had all the time in the world, toward them.

He recognized wide hips and the gait of a woman, and he guessed Marcy
(And so it begins)
before she actually revealed herself in a pool of moonlight about ten steps later. She stopped on the other side of the cage, bundled up inside a black leather jacket that had a patch of Texas on the shoulder. She was holding a dirty white plastic bag in one hand.

“Hungry?” Marcy asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Keo said. “I don’t wanna be one of those guys, but service in this place is lacking.”

Marcy smirked and pulled something out from her back pocket. His titanium spork. She tossed it into the cage, and the heavy utensil clattered loudly across the concrete floor to the other side.

“Thought you might want this back,” Marcy said.

“Couldn’t you have just handed it to me?” Keo asked.

“No,” Marcy said, and reached into the bag and pulled out an unlabeled metal can.

This time, she did aim it at him, and Keo caught it. Behind him, Jordan had picked up the spork and was cleaning it off using her shirt.

“You know there are two of us, right?” Keo asked, holding the lone can up.

“I’m being generous giving you the spork back,” Marcy said.

“Scork, actually.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of the word, either.”

The can had a pull tab, so he didn’t need the spork to open it. Jordan was practically drooling by the time he tossed the lid away, revealing mushy tuna inside. The smell was indescribable, and Keo couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. It did overwhelm most of the aroma in the place, so that was a plus.

He handed it to Jordan. “Split it with you?”

She grinned, then took the can and dug in with the spork.

Keo looked back at Marcy, watching them from the other side of the cage. “Thanks,” he said. “For the utensil, too.”

“It’s your last meal,” Marcy said. “Thought you deserved to eat it with some dignity, even after what you did to our guys at the beach.”

Shit,
Keo thought, but he said, “What is it that you think we did?”

“I know what you did. We found the other guy, too. The one next to the tank.”

Gregson.

Marcy’s face was stoic, lacking anything that he could have interpreted as either happiness or sadness. “He’s been dealt with, in case you’re wondering. And you will be, too, tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to ask us questions,” Jordan said between mouthfuls of tuna.

“Change of plans.” Marcy’s eyes focused on Keo. “Want some advice?”

“Does it involve us getting out of here?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Gee, how about some advice, Marcy?” Keo said in the flattest voice he could manage.

“Don’t resist,” the collaborator said. “Answer every question you’re asked, and don’t lie. Because they’ll know.” She pressed her forefinger against her own temple. “They can get inside. You don’t want them rummaging around in there, because once you open the door and let them in, there’s no way to close it. They’re inside for good and it can get a little…maddening at times. I’ve seen…” She stopped.

“What?” Keo said.

“You don’t want them in there for too long, that’s all,” Marcy said. “So don’t fight it. Just don’t fight it.”

They watched Marcy turn around and walk back to the doors.

“Marcy,” Keo said after her. When she didn’t respond or stop, “Marcy, where are you going? Where’s everyone going?”

The woman kept walking before stepping outside through the doors. Two men in jackets pushed the doors closed with a solid
thunk.

“What was she talking about?” Jordan asked.

“Hell if I know,” he said.

“Here,” Jordan said, and scooped some tuna and held it out to him.

It was too salty and covered in a thick film of something that he preferred not to think too much about, but most of it was lost in the metallic taste of the spork anyway. But like Jordan, he was hungry and swallowed it down despite the rank smell.

“Not bad,” he said.

She gave him a wry smile. “It tastes like donkey shit, but at least it’s food.”

“Yeah, that too.”

They spent the next few minutes eating in silence. He held the can while Jordan sporked the food between them. Despite the strange liquid that covered the tuna, he was dying for something to drink when they were done. They kept their eyes on the barn doors the entire time, expecting them to open at any moment.

“Don’t resist,”
Marcy had said.
“Answer every question you’re asked, and don’t lie. Because they’ll know.”

“They”? Who was “they”?

Jordan scooped the last piece of tuna and held it out to him.

“Finish it,” he said.

“I’ve eaten more of it than you have.”

“Jordan…”

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” he grinned.

“Just do it,” she snapped.

He opened his mouth and had to force himself to swallow down the last piece of tuna. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He flicked the empty can through the bars and watched it vanish into the shadows along the far wall.

“Your spork,” Jordan said, holding up the utensil. “You think she forgot it on purpose?”

“Doubt it. It’s a little ol’ spork, and they have guns. They’re probably not too worried about us feeding them tuna to death, though given how bad it tastes, that might actually be worse than getting shot.”

He took the titanium spork from her and cleaned it against his pant legs, then put it back into one of his pockets.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Like someone’s piping
Für Elise
directly into my brain, and it’s not nearly as soothing as it used to be when I was younger.”

He put his hand on her forehead again. The good news was, the bump seemed to have lessened in the last few hours, but there was a definite hard-to-miss bruise in its place.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“What?”

“I like it when you touch me.”

He raised both eyebrows. “It’s official; you’re delirious.”

“I’m really not.”

“No?”

“No,” she said, and leaned forward and wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him.

It caught him by surprise—he saw her coming, the purposeful look in her eyes, but didn’t process what was about to happen until he tasted her lips against his. He kissed her back because he didn’t know what else to do, and because
he was a man.

But then she pulled away, her breath slightly ragged. “Jesus.”

“No, just Keo,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “I meant the tuna.”

“Tuna?”

“I can still taste tuna on you, and it reeks.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit down.”

“Why—”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

He slid along the bars until he was sitting down on the hard concrete floor. “Jordan,” he got out in the half-second before her mouth covered his again, and he forgot what he was going to say next.

She sat down in his lap, legs wrapping around his waist, and her kiss grew in intensity, her mouth so warm and her lips so soft and welcoming that he couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted to.

And he certainly didn’t want to. Christ, he didn’t want to.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body tighter against his. She groaned against his mouth and he inhaled her scent, which made it easier to ignore the strong odor of old hay and spoiled feed and mold, not to mention the stink of the bad tuna both of them had just eaten.

For some reason, she pulled back a second time—causing him to groan in annoyance—but like last time, she was still so close he could have kissed her again without barely moving. She looked strangely sad, but her brown eyes were bright in the semidarkness and he couldn’t turn away.

“Keo,” she whispered.

“What?” he said, suddenly aware of his own slightly labored breathing, mirroring hers.

“What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Gillian?”

“What about her?”

“Do you still love her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should stop until you do know.”

“Maybe.”

She sighed. “But we’re probably going to die in here.”

“Probably,” he nodded.

“Soon.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to regret not doing this. Even here, in this stinking barn. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now, but with everything that’s happened…”

“Gillian.”

“Yeah. Gillian.”

She started to get up, but he tightened his grip around her waist and didn’t let her.

“Keo,” she said softly.

“No.”

“We should wait.”

“Why?”

“For some place better. Less…disgusting.” She glanced toward the other side of the cage. “There are people outside the building.”

“Screw them.”

“Pun intended?”

He grinned. “You’re right; we’re probably going to die soon.”

“Probably.”

“So…”

“So…” she whispered.

She leaned forward and kissed him again.

He didn’t bother with her shirt and reached for her belt.

“Keo,” she whispered against his mouth. “Keo, Keo, Keo…”

*

There was something
different about the barn, something not quite right in the way the air smelled or even flowed. The change wasn’t just inside the cage, either. He became aware of the strange shift even as he sat against the bars, Jordan’s body curled up in his lap, his jacket and hers covering her in a makeshift blanket.

He opened his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You don’t need to know my name, meat,” it said from the darkness. No, it didn’t say—it
hissed.
“You don’t deserve to know.”

It looked like Frank, but it wasn’t. He knew that from the sound of its voice—similar to Frank’s, but there was a noticeable difference. This was what Frank looked like underneath that trench coat and that hoodie he always kept on, as if afraid someone might notice he was no longer human.

Keo should have been afraid—even terrified—but for some reason he wasn’t. He felt a strange calmness that he couldn’t explain.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It was nude, pruned black flesh gleaming against a spill of moonlight. Its legs carried it out of the shadows with that same preternatural gait that always made him stare for just a half-second too long every single time, trying to decide if it was real or a figment of his imagination. It moved with its back slightly arched, its blue eyes
(like Frank’s)
throbbing against the blackness that seemed to shift around its form as if seeking to avoid it.

He thought about waking Jordan up, but she was snoring lightly in his lap with just that ghost of a smile on her lips. He decided to let her sleep through this. It wasn’t as if the both of them being awake was going to make a damn bit of difference. He’d seen Frank tear apart a marina full of soldiers, seen him hold back an ocean of black-eyed ghouls. If this blue-eyed monster was anything like Frank, then there was absolutely nothing Keo could do at the moment, with just his hands and feet, and year-old hay scattered around him, to keep them alive.

It stopped at the bars, long arms (much too long) hanging at its sides. He expected to see the ebony eyes emerge out of the blackness in the background, revealing themselves after having somehow sneaked into the barn while he wasn’t looking, while he was asleep. How the hell had this thing managed to slip inside without him noticing, anyway?

“I can smell him on you,” the creature hissed. “Is he there right now? Looking through your eyes?”

‘He’?

“Call him,” the creature said.

“Who?” Keo said.

It smiled. Or tried to. Thin lips, like purple drawn-in lines, creased into something that resembled almost a smile. Almost.