The Isles of Elysium (Purge of Babylon, Book 6) (14 page)

“Humans?” Keo said anyway. “Or things that used to be humans? Is that it? You trying to snag yourself a ghoul?”

“Ghoul?” the man said.

“The creatures.”

“You call them ghouls, too?”

‘Too’?
Keo thought.
Curiouser and curiouser.

“So do you, apparently,” he said.

There was no response that time.

“Where are we going?” Keo asked.

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“What if I walk right into a hole and fall down or something?”

“I guess you better watch your step, then.”

Keo smiled. “I’m Keo, by the way.”

“Good for you.”

“You got a name?”

“Yes.”

“Wanna share?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t be that way. I have to call you something.”

Silence.

Keo sighed. “This is how misunderstandings get started, you know.”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” the man said. “You set us up.”

“I didn’t set anyone up. You ambushed
me
. The sniper—”

“Bullshit.” Then, “Turn left here.”

Keo turned left, though there were still no trails, old footsteps, or anything that would indicate this was a well-traveled route. So what exactly was his captor using to tell directions? Or maybe the guy was making it up as he went. That seemed unlikely, though.

“He’s out there with his men,”
Jack had told him.

“Where exactly?”
he had asked.

“If we knew, you think we’d need you to go out there to find him for us?”
Jack had laughed.
“They’re all over those woods on the other side of the river. We could never pin them down. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some hillbilly survivalists among them.”

Hillbilly survivalists. Like the one behind him right now? His no-name captor didn’t really sound like someone who had spent most of his life in the wilderness. Or the hills. Or wherever the hell Texas hillbillies came from. Not that Keo would know the difference anyway. He didn’t meet many hillbillies growing up in San Diego and had managed to avoid them in the years since. Though, he had crossed paths with a few in the French countryside that might fit the description—

Focus.

Keo figured he had until they reached wherever they were going to get out of this jam. If he met Tobias with his hands bound and weaponless, he was likely as good as dead. The man walking behind him had made it pretty clear they thought he was responsible for the ambush at the warehouse. Even the woman on the radio had indicated the same thing.

“Bring him in. He’s got a lot to answer for,”
she had said.

As if he were the one who had tried to pick off some poor sap with a sniper rifle and not the other way around. As if he had run into the warehouse so Steve’s men could then corral his pursuers and blast away with an M60. Of course, he had a feeling they weren’t going to believe him when he tried to sell that story. Never mind that it was the God’s honest truth.

Just his luck. The first time he had truth on his side, and it wasn’t going to do him a lick of good.

“What’s he like?” Keo asked.

He didn’t expect an answer, but his captor said, “Who?”

I guess he feels like talking after all.

“Tobias,” Keo said.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Give me a hint.”

“Keep walking.”

“One more question…”

“Shut up.”

“You a hillbilly?”

“What?” the man said. Keo grinned at the insulted tone. “What did you just call me, Chinaman?”

“Hillbilly. I was told there were Texas hillbillies all over these woods. I was just wondering if you were one of them.”

“Fuck you.”

“Whoa whoa, let’s keep it civil, okay? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a hillbilly. Even a Texas one. No judgments here, pal.”

“Man, I’m getting real sick of the sound of your voice.”

His captor had picked up his pace. Keo knew that from the slight increase in the sound of the man’s footsteps. He was getting closer…

“It was a genuine question,” Keo said.

“Shut your mouth.”

“Is Tobias a hillbilly, too?”

“I said, shut up.”

He sounded much closer that time.
Much
closer.

“Can I ask you a question?” Keo said.

“No.”

“Is it true that hillbillies inbreed?”

Keo was waiting for it, and when it finally came—the cold touch of the rifle’s barrel starting to poke him viciously in the back of the neck—he dropped down, spun around, and swept his right leg from front to back in a wide arc. His captor went down and squeezed the trigger at the same time. The gunshot exploded, scattering birds in the vicinity, the
buzz!
of the bullet passing over Keo’s head.

The man landed on his butt with an
oomph!
, but somehow still managed to cling onto the rifle. Keo lunged forward and drove his knee into the man’s face, slamming the back of his head into the ground. The gun fired again, the second shot
buzzing
past Keo’s right shoulder this time and shattering a tree branch behind him.

Before the man could pull the trigger a third time, Keo leaped on top of him, driving both knees into his chest. His captor let out a surprised grunt as Keo captured the rifle’s barrel with his bound palms and wrenched it free. He tossed it, then lifted himself slightly before dropping back down with his entire weight. Another loud grunt, the man’s eyes flaring, his lips twisting in intense concentration—

The knife. A big monstrous thing with a gleaming metal blade like something out of the Jim Bowie collection was coming out of the man’s sheath along his hip.

Aw, crap.

Keo dove to the other side—away from the knife—and slipped his arms over the man’s head until he had the steel wire binding his wrists positioned in front of his captor’s neck. Keo shoved the heels of his boots into the ground and pulled back even as the man whaled desperately at his arms with one balled fist while trying to swipe blindly at his head with the knife.

Keo didn’t let go and didn’t relinquish pressure on his victim. He held on through the convulsions, the kicking and punching and slashing against empty air. He only lessened his stranglehold when the body in front of him finally relaxed, the knife hand dropped to the ground, and the man stopped struggling.

He sighed and finally pulled his arms up and rolled away and lay on the damp ground for a moment to catch his breath. Clear white skies poked through massive tree branches above him, so he still had plenty of time.

He finally sat back up and rolled over and reached for his captor’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Weak, but present. He hadn’t been trying to kill the guy, just cut off his oxygen; but that was a fine line to tread and it was difficult to show finesse with his hands bound.

But the guy was still alive, and that was all that mattered. Keo had a feeling he was going to need a guide to find Tobias.

Find the girl. Kill some guys. Live happily ever after.

If all went well, he’d only have to kill one guy. God knew he’d had to do a hell of a lot worse and for much less.

*

“What’s your name?”
Keo asked.

The man blinked at him, the long red stripe across his neck like a glow-in-the-dark scar against the black and green of his shirt collar. His nose was broken at the bridge, and Keo had stuffed some pieces of wadded cloth he’d cut off the man’s shirt using the Jim Bowie knife into his nostrils to stop the bleeding.

“Look, I need to call you something, right?” Keo said.

The man seemed to think about it for a moment. Finally, he said, “Wyatt.”

“See, there you go. Now we’re friends.” Keo smiled. “Well, close enough. So, where do I find Tobias, Wyatt?”

Wyatt didn’t answer. He sat on the ground with his back against the tree, the same strand of steel wire that had been biting into Keo’s wrists earlier now binding his hands in his lap. Keo had taken back his MP5SD, Glock, and pack, and tossed Wyatt’s rifle into a nearby brush and taken the man’s Smith & Wesson semiautomatic.

Keo glanced at his watch: 2:56 
P.M.

“Tobias?” Wyatt said. “You mean you
want
to find Tobias?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

“I have a message for him.”

“A message?”

He could see Wyatt trying to read him and not doing a very subtle job of it.

“Yeah, a message,” Keo said. “Like one of those singing telegrams. That’s me. Except I’m not a very good singer. But I can hum pretty good.”

That elicited a confused look.

“Joke,” Keo said.

“Oh.”

“So where’s Tobias?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Wyatt shook his head.

“You do realize that you were taking me to him a moment ago, right?” Keo said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“No.”

Keo sighed and slung his submachine gun and drew the Glock. He pointed it at Wyatt’s kneecap and squinted behind the sight.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Wyatt said, suddenly alarmed.

“I’m going to shoot you in the kneecap.”

“Why the hell you gonna do that?”

Keo looked up at him. “To get you to tell me where Tobias is. Duh. I know it’s going to hurt, but trust me, I’ve had experience with this. I once shot a guy in the kneecap while we were both on a boat. He was perfectly happy to assist me after that.”

“Hey hey, come on now.”

“Hold still. It won’t hurt. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely going to hurt a lot.”

“Don’t, okay?”

Keo pulled back a second time. “Why not?”

“I…” Wyatt’s eyes darted behind Keo, as if he expected someone to come out of the woods at any moment and rescue him. When no one did, he said, “I’ll take you to him. Just…don’t shoot me in the leg.”

“I was going to shoot you in the kneecap.”

“Yeah, don’t shoot me there, either.”

Keo stood up and holstered the Glock. “See? Now we’re almost best friends.”

Wyatt sighed and stood up, using the tree behind him for support.

“How far away are we?” Keo asked, even though he thought he already knew the answer. Wyatt had fired two shots, and no one had showed up in the last ten minutes. That meant the camp wasn’t close by.

“Not far,” Wyatt said. “Maybe another hour by foot.”

“You guys have vehicles?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t hear any earlier.”

“We’re pretty deep in the woods. We’ll have to start circling back toward the road.”

Keo nodded. “So you do know where you’re going.”

“Yeah.”

“Lead the way, then. Just keep in mind that I’m not against cutting short our burgeoning friendship, Wyatt.”

Wyatt grunted and started off, moving in the same path they had been going earlier. Keo noticed the man’s head turning slightly left and right. Wyatt probably thought he was being slick, that Keo wouldn’t catch the movements. He was, of course, looking for his weapons, the same ones Keo had tossed earlier. Keo decided not to tell him that he was looking in the wrong direction.

“What does he look like?” Keo asked. “Tobias.”

“He’s a guy,” Wyatt said.

“Really? And here I thought he was a bear.”

Wyatt snorted. “What do you want with him, anyway?”

“I’m going to ask him to friend me.”

“Friend you?”

“You know, like on Facebook.”

“You have Facebook?”

Keo smiled. “Joke, Wyatt. Just a joke.”

“Oh,” Wyatt said, and Keo thought he sounded just a little too sad when he said it.

*

They walked through
the woods for another ten minutes, then fifteen, and though Wyatt insisted they were moving back to the road, Keo couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. After a while, Keo was sure Wyatt was leading him to a dead end, that maybe the guy never knew where he was going in the first place and was just hoping to stave off getting shot for as long as possible.

After about an hour of pointlessly stumbling around one identical section of woods after another, Keo was about to stop Wyatt and use the bullet-in-the-kneecap as incentive when he saw sunlight filtering in through a wall of trees in front of them.