The Stones of Angkor (Purge of Babylon, Book 3) (53 page)

“Jesus, you’re dying,” the familiar female voice
(Not Lara)
said.

Will grunted. He wasn’t certain if he had successfully formed words with his sounds, but he must have, because the familiar female voice chuckled next to him.

“You’re such a dick,” it said.

*

He was walking.

Then he was inside a building.

Then he was inside a vehicle.

Then he was moving again, but this time it was more like floating.

No, riding.

Riding in a vehicle.

Clouds passed by above his head, outside an open car window. Bright, white clouds. When he was a kid, his mother
(Charlie to her friends)
used to tell him that if he stared long enough, the clouds would magically transform into whatever he was thinking at the time. When he got older, he realized it was just his imagination at work. But he still loved his mom anyway. She was a beautiful woman, kind and generous, and he never heard her say a bad word about anyone.

“You’re still alive?” a voice said.

There was a lyrical quality to the voice that he appreciated, as if it were reaching down from the clouds floating above him.

“God, how are you still alive?” the voice asked. “You must have lost at least two pints of blood out there. What are you, 200 pounds? You lose any more and you’re never going to wake up. Can you hear me? No, of course not. Just keep staring at those clouds.”

He wished the voice would shut up, because it was ruining what was, up to that point, a perfectly good staring-at-clouds moment. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in such pointlessness that getting interrupted made him feel cheated. These eleven months had been one battle after another, and he was tired of fighting. So goddamn tired.

“Oh, shit,” the voice said. “You’re bleeding again!”

Oh, so that’s what that dripping sound was. I thought someone had left a faucet running.

He closed his eyes and the clouds disappeared. He might have also rolled off the seat and landed on the floor, hitting his head against the door, but that could have just been his imagination.

Yeah, that’s the ticket.

*

The second time
Will opened his eyes, it was to the rhythmic
plop-plop-plop
of rainwater. He was lying on the front passenger seat of the Ford F-150, reclined back as far as it would go. He was shirtless, and there was fresh gauze wrapped around his midsection. The throbbing pain felt like a sledgehammer pounding his brain in tune to the
plop-plop-plop
of the rain outside.

He groped along the side of the seat, found the lever, and pulled it. The seat lifted him up into a semi-sitting position. He stared out the bullet-riddled windshield and into a muggy, dark-gray world, sheets of rain falling over a familiar opening.

He was back in Fredo’s auto body shop in the city of Harvest, in one of its garage ports. For a moment, he was alarmed that it was nightfall. With some effort, he was able to lift his hand until he could see his watch: 5:11 
p.m.

Why is it so dark?

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” a voice said.

Will looked over at Zoe, sitting in the driver’s seat, watching him with curious eyes. Her white doctor’s coat, covered in dried blood, was thrown over the headrest, and he thought she looked odd in just a T-shirt and pants.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she said.

“Am I?” His voice was labored and quiet. Was he whispering?

“You lost at least two liters of blood back there. Probably closer to three. But all it did was knock you out for half a day. What are you, the Terminator?”

He managed a grin. The truth was, he hurt. Every inch of him, and all he wanted to do was lie back down and go to sleep for a long, long time. But he didn’t, because it was too dark outside and his instincts kept him awake because of it, even if his watch told him it was only because of the rain.

“Do you always carry thread and needle around with you?” she asked.

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

“I tried to suture your wounds, but you were bleeding too much. I’ll have to do it later when you’re stronger. By the way, what happened to your leg?”

“I was in a helicopter crash.”

“What about your left arm?”

“Someone shot me.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah.” He sat up a little bit more. “How long has it been raining?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“We’re back at Fredo’s?”

“I didn’t know where else to go.” She looked conflicted. “And you were bleeding so badly, I wasn’t sure if you would survive anyway. But you did. Just barely.”

Will felt sticky, as if he were sitting in gum. He looked down at his seat, and even in the semidarkness saw that it was covered in blood. His blood. It stuck to his clothes, and his shirt, dark black with blood, was crumpled on the floor at his feet. It had been white when he put it on this morning.

“Do you have another shirt?” she asked.

“I did, but I gave it to Gaby last night.”

“That explains the bloody shirt I found outside.”

He nodded and laid his head back down. “You saved my life.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I’m a doctor. What the hell was I going to do, let you die out there?”

“There was a third guy…”

“He gave up and ran back to town after you took off.”

“He didn’t try to stop you?”

“I think he was confused. And scared.”

“Good for me, then.”

“Yeah, really good for you. There weren’t that many guys in hazmat suits back in town. Most of them were probably en route, bringing over more people from the other camps. If there had been just one more vehicle back there, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Must be my lucky day.”

“Yeah, lucky you.”

She picked up a water bottle and handed it to him. He drank greedily, devouring the whole thing in a couple of gulps.

“It’s rain water,” she said. “I’ll refill it later.” She took the bottle back and continued to watch him. “I can’t figure you out, Will.”

“What’s got you so confounded, doc? I’m not that deep.”

“The fact that you keep fighting, when everyone—or most everyone—has given up. I know you have the island, but instead of going back to it, what do you do? You run over to the camp. Then the town. Why?”

“Know thy enemy.”

“It’s more than that. You want to save people, don’t you?”

“You’re the first one to ever accuse me of that, doc.”

“I doubt that. Maybe you and I are more alike than I thought. We both can’t stand the idea of people who need help not getting it.”

Is that it? Maybe…

He said instead, “Decent working theory, I guess.”

“What you have to realize is that those people back there don’t want your help. They’re perfectly satisfied with where they are. To you that may sound unfathomable, but they’re not like you, Will. They’re not soldiers.” She looked out the windshield, into the pouring rain. “Not everyone can fight forever. Not everyone wants to.”

He watched the rain with her. Slowly, he began to enjoy the melodic
plop-plop-plop
against the garage roof, the almost calming effect of water cascading to the concrete driveway in front of them.

After a while, he said, “Thanks again, doc.”

“How’s the pain?”

“Like someone’s poking me in the eyeballs with a spear.”

She reached into the back for his pack, unzipped it, rummaged around, and then took out a bottle and read the label. “You don’t have much left. Looks like you might have given all the good stuff to Nate.”

“Not everything.” He pulled out the pill bottle from his cargo pants pocket and tossed it to her.

She read the label before giving him a concerned look. “How many of these have you taken?”

“Four, I think.”

“Oxycodone. How are you even still awake after four of these?”

“Persistence.”

She smirked. “Well, no more of this.” She shoved it into the pack and opened the pill bottle she had brought out earlier. “Hydrocodone. It’ll stave off the pain for a while and won’t knock you out completely. I assume that’s something you want?”

“Good call.”

She handed him two pills, then opened her door and climbed out. “I’ll go refill the bottle.”

Will popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed, then spent the time watching her sticking the open water bottle out into the rain while doing her best to keep from getting wet. She came back later, shaking the rainwater out of her hair, and handed him the bottle. He drank half of it, even though he wasn’t really thirsty.

“You carried me back to the barn by yourself?” he asked.

“Well, shouldered you, anyway. I don’t think I could have actually
carried
you. Frankly, I was shocked you were still on your feet after you closed your eyes. I’d never seen anything like that before. It was like your body just knew it had to keep moving, even if the rest of you shut down.”

“I told you I was special.”

“That, or you’re really, really stubborn.”

“That too.”

They exchanged a brief smile.

“Why are you still here?” he asked. “I put a gun to your head and threatened to kill you yesterday.”

She sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m an idiot.”

He chuckled. “No, that’s not it. What’s the real reason?”

She looked out the front windshield at the falling rain. “Maybe I can help you.”

“To do what?”

“Fight the creatures. Or ghouls, as you call them.”

“I thought you said their deal was acceptable, that it was even preferable to how you were living before.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, looking back at him. “I don’t want to change anybody’s mind. The people at the camps. In the towns. They’ve decided, and I’m fine with that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to improve their lot anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to be
against
the people in the towns to keep fighting the ghouls, Will. From what I’ve seen, you have no interest in harming those people. Am I right?”

“Of course not. Why would I want to hurt them?”

“Exactly. It’s just you versus the ghouls and the people in hazmat suits. What you call collaborators. And you’re only violent with them because you have no choice. Is that also right?”

He nodded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to. I’ve seen the blood farms, the before-picture of when people like you were in those induced comas. I know what you’ve been through, doc, and maybe I wouldn’t have agreed to the deal myself, but I can understand why you and the others did.”

“So there’s no conflict,” she said, nodding. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. “We fight the creatures, but not the people.”

“That sounds like a solid plan,” he said, and closed his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Zoe asked.

“I think I’m bleeding again. Can you do something about that?”

He heard her moving around. “Shit, Will, I was going to wait until you’re stronger to suture your wound, but I might have to do it sooner. Can you—”

“Do it,” he said.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Just do it,” he grunted.

His last thoughts were of Gaby, and he wondered what she was doing back at the island right this moment. Probably walking on the beach with Nate. Or Benny. He wished her luck in choosing. God knew they all had to grab happiness wherever they could these days.

At least one of us made it back to the island…

GABY

Gaby opened her
eyes to silence and darkness. She climbed off the couch, her sudden movements waking Nate in the process. He had been asleep next to her, dozing from the medication, and she was surprised he was even alert enough to feel her moving.

“What’s going on?” he said, his voice groggy.

“I think I heard something,” she whispered back.

His voiced dropped to match hers. “What?”

“I don’t know. Stay here.”

She groped around in the darkness for her pack, unzipped it, and pulled out a glow stick. She pocketed it and grabbed the AR-15 leaning against the wall nearby and moved across the room toward the door. Her ears were up, listening to every sound, every heartbeat, every labored breath between her and Nate.