The Stones of Angkor (Purge of Babylon, Book 3) (59 page)

Her face turned pale.

“I can go days without sleeping if I have to,” Will said. “Can you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes. You can fall.”

“So, no, then.”

He grinned back at her, then looped the other end of the tube around her belt. He pulled at it to draw her closer, before tying it into place. He left a meter length between them so they could still move without forcing the other along. He wasn’t entirely sure if the hose would hold if one of them actually did fall off the tower, but he kept that doubt to himself.

He leaned over the ladder, shot another ghoul in the chest, and watched it tumble into the darkness below, this time taking five more along with it.

Twenty…

*

He stretched the
final rifle magazine a few minutes past 4:00 
a.m.
—4:14 
a.m.
, to be exact.

When she saw him slinging the M4A1 and drawing his Glock, Zoe said, “You’re almost out of bullets, aren’t you?”

“I have three magazines for the Glock.”

“Will that be enough?”

“Forty-five bullets in all.”

“How many bullets did you have for the rifles?”

“Thirty.”

“How many magazines?”

“Three. But one magazine only had twenty-seven rounds.”

“Eighty-seven bullets got us from eleven o’clock to three in the morning,” she said. “Four hours. Forty-five bullets will only get us two more hours. We’ll still be ninety minutes short of sunup, Will.”

Great, she can count, too.

“I’ll make it last,” he said.

“No, you won’t.”

He was struck by the matter-of-fact tone in her voice. The fear seemed to have been replaced by what sounded like resignation.

“What happens when the bullets run out?” she asked.

“I still have my knife.”

“Your knife…”

“We’ll be fine.”

Say it a third time and maybe she’ll actually believe you.

“You’re full of shit, Will,” Zoe said.

Or not.

He leaned over the ladder and shot a ghoul from five meters away. The bullet pierced its chest, hit a second ghoul directly below it. They tumbled free, knocking only one other ghoul with them this time.

Sonofabitch.

The rest continued to climb steadily, either unimpressed by or oblivious to the deaths of the others. He couldn’t even see the dead ghouls below, and figured they were crushed under the live ones fighting their way to the ladder to be the next one up.

Two…

*

Fifteen…

Will didn’t wait to watch the ghoul flip off the ladder. He immediately ejected the magazine, catching it with his other hand and jamming it back into the pouch
(Just in case)
, then instinctively grabbed the next—and last—magazine.

He slipped it in, worked the slide, and leaned over the side of the water tower.

The closest ghoul was only ten meters away. Will watched it climb for a moment, one arm over the other, impossibly patient and determined, and unfathomably fearless. He wondered if they even still had the same concept of life and death anymore. Once you’ve already “died,” did it matter if you died again? Even if it was permanent this time?

“How many?” Zoe asked.

“What?”

“How many bullets do you have left?”

“This is it. Fifteen more bullets in the magazine.” He heard her chuckle, and looked over. “What’s so funny?”

“You didn’t bother to lie that time.”

He wasn’t sure if she looked horrified or amused. Maybe somewhere in between.

“I would have, but it’s obvious you know how to count,” he said.

He heard flesh slapping metal and leaned over and shot the ghoul in the head. It tumbled, taking two down with it.

One…

Zoe’s entire body had become a living spring next to him, the siphoning tube connecting their bodies quivering each time she shifted or moved, which was every few seconds. It had also gotten much colder up here, and Zoe’s entire body was shaking. He had gone numb and couldn’t feel the vibrations coming from her, of course, but he could see the tube trembling out of the corner of his eye.

Will glanced down at his watch: 6:09 
a.m.

Almost there…

“Will,” Zoe said.

“Yeah?”

“What happens when you run out of bullets?”

“We’ll improvise.”

“The knife?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to die,” she said, her voice so low he almost didn’t hear.

He shot another ghoul, watched it do a swan dive off the ladder, somehow managing not to take a single creature with it.

The next ghoul took its place.

Two…

He fired again, and this time was rewarded with the sight of the creature collapsing straight down, taking one—then two—ghouls with it.

Three…

He noticed they were moving faster up the ladder now, and it wasn’t going well. For every ghoul that managed to scramble up two rungs without falling, two either lost their footing or grip and tumbled down. That didn’t seem to deter the rest, and they continued clamoring, moving faster and faster up toward him.

Why?

Maybe they sensed he was running out of bullets. Or maybe they—

The sunrise. They know it’s coming.

His watch confirmed it: 6:31 
a.m.

Come out, come out, wherever you are, Mister Sun.

He fired, knocking three off the ladder.

Four…

“Zoe,” he said.

“Yes?”

“You need to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?” she said, her voice quivering noticeably again.

*

6:55 
a.m.

They were coming up too fast, surging up the ladder, returning to the same frenzied pace when all of this began. It was all he could do to slash and stab with the cross-knife and suck in a fresh breath of cold air before another one tried to grab at his wrist or ankle to pull him down.

Thank God turning into ghouls hadn’t granted them any special strength; he was able to shake them off, at times kicking them loose from whatever they were hanging on to and sending them fluttering back down to the mass of bodies below.

Not that it stopped them. Or slowed them down for even a second.

Zoe was moving next to him, navigating the small, precious space at the edge of the water tower. She grabbed on to the cell antennas as if they were a lifeline, shuffling left then right, trying to keep up with his movements. She had to keep moving, because each time one of the ghouls reached the top, Will had to step back before he could slash or stab. Then once the ghoul fell, he moved forward again, back toward the ladder to greet the next one up.

He marveled at their persistence, their ability to shun all sense of self-preservation. They didn’t stop. Not for a second. The tide kept coming, churning, one after another, and for every black-skinned thing he dispatched, another took its place.

And they kept coming, and climbing, and coming…

…and climbing…

7:01
 
a.m…

When was sunrise? 7:10 
a.m.
? 7:20 
a.m.
?

Whatever the time, they could sense it. The ghouls were desperate to get up to the rooftop, as if they knew they only had a few minutes left. Will couldn’t see light in the skies or on the horizon. He didn’t know how much time was left. How much longer he had to hold on. So he stabbed and slashed, moving back, then forward again, then back…

And they kept coming.

Again and again, again and again…

7:09
 
a.m…

He was covered in slabs of thick black blood and torn flesh. The smell was overwhelming, assaulting his nostrils, making his eyes flare uncontrollably, his skin tingling with the acidic stench of death and decay. He wiped at copious globs of fluid that dripped from his hair down to his forehead and into his right eye. He spat out something that tasted like flesh, but it could have been dirt, or garbage, or some kind of filth he had no name for.

Zoe did her best to keep out of his way, struggling to hold on to the antennas, the two of them literally tied together by a hose that wasn’t designed for the task. Still, it was better than nothing, and it allowed him to keep track of her without having to look back, because he didn’t have time for that. He prayed she didn’t slip and fall, because if she did, he would go over the side right along with her. Unless, of course, the tube snapped. That was possible, too.

Amazingly, he had begun to get feelings back in his body. The more he moved, the more sensations returned to his hands, to his legs, and to his joints. It took all his strength to keep scrambling, stabbing and slashing, kicking and punching. They were weak things, like striking bags of flour. They relied on numbers, which was useless when there was only one path up the water tower.

He had to stay clear of their mouths and the crooked yellow and brown teeth, like caverns of smaller bones trying to gnaw at him. Those were dangerous. Blood itself didn’t do anything to you, but if they bit you, the direct transfer of fluids was what caused the infection.

Teeth of Death. I should write a book.

7:15
 
a.m…

Goddammit, where’s that damn sun?

Slowly, he became aware that the speed with which each new ghoul appeared had begun to flag. They were coming up at longer intervals now, and he was able to breathe a little bit before he had to engage another one.

He killed a ghoul, then kicked it in the chest and watched it flip over the side, and waited for the next one.

The cross-knife in his right hand was covered in blood and skin, viscous things that looked like a concentrated form of foul-smelling sweat dripping over his fist. He was only dimly aware of his ragged breathing, and his legs screamed at him for rest. His lungs burned, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning away in his side. Was he bleeding again?

He looked down. No. No blood. Well, not the red kind, anyway.

A little rest right about now would be nice.

No. Not yet.

Not yet…

He waited for the next one to emerge up the ladder, but it didn’t come.

He kept waiting…

“Will, what’s happening?” Zoe said behind him.

He shook his head and stood perfectly still.

Will hadn’t looked over the tower in a while. He hadn’t had the opportunity.

But now he did, and he saw there wasn’t a single ghoul on the ladder. They were all on the ground, and as he watched, they began to dissolve, like a pool of black ink flowing away from the base of the tower, until the grass below became visible again. And there, the Ford F-150, unveiled as if by magic
(Ta-da!).

“They’re leaving,” Zoe said, her voice breathless, as if afraid just saying those two simple words out loud might jinx it somehow.

He checked his watch: 7:18 
a.m.

“Oh my God, are they leaving?” she asked, her voice shaking, filled with hope.

“I think so, yeah.”