As they headed up the road, Blaine fought the urge to tell Will to drive faster. They were cruising between thirty-five and forty, and Blaine didn’t notice his right foot was pressed down hard against the floor, as if there were an imaginary gas pedal there, until it started to throb. He slowly relaxed his leg with some effort.
“What did they look like?” Will asked. “The men that attacked you.”
“I only saw one of them up close,” Blaine said. He conjured up Folger’s face in his mind’s eye. The thick white hair. The slimy smile. The low-tied gun holster. “I heard someone call him Folger. He had white hair.”
“White hair?” Lara said. “So he’s old?”
“No, not too old. Fifties, maybe. He just had a lot of white hair.”
“Four vehicles?” Will said.
“They took our newer Jeep. The one you saw on the road was theirs. They also had two trucks. A GMC and a Ford F-150. And a big rig pulling a semitrailer.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen a big rig moving around since all of this began. You can still find gas in cars, but diesel power is a pain in the ass.”
“I was surprised to see it, too.”
Outside the window, Blaine saw a sign flash by, reading: “Lancing 10 Miles.”
“Have you heard of Song Island?” Lara asked him.
“No,” Blaine said.
Lara picked up a ham radio from the floor and put it in her lap. She turned it on and played with the dial for a moment. “The girls were playing with it one day and they found this. It’s been broadcasting on the FEMA frequency every day, in a constant loop, since we found it.”
She placed the radio between the front seats and turned up the volume.
Blaine heard a female voice, soft and soothing through the speakers:
“…want you to know there is hope. There are survivors on Song Island. We have food, supplies, electricity, and protection against the darkness. If you are receiving this recorded message, we encourage you to make your way to us. I repeat: we have food, supplies, electricity, and protection against the darkness. Hello. If anyone can hear me out there…”
“FEMA?” Blaine said.
“Federal Emergency Management Agency,” Will said. “The people who show up when hurricanes make land or a tornado wipes out a town. The message doesn’t say specifically that it’s FEMA. We’re guessing it could be some ex-military types or maybe an ex-Fed who managed to establish a base on Song Island after The Purge.”
“Do you think it’s true? That the island is secure?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
“But is that possible?” Blaine insisted. The idea sounded absurd to him somehow. “I didn’t know the monsters — the ghouls — didn’t like water.”
“Neither did we,” Lara said. “Do you know about silver?”
“What about silver?”
“Have you tried shooting them?” Will asked.
“It just pisses them off.”
“Silver is their Kryptonite. It kills them on the spot. It’s the second-best weapon against them other than the sun, so half of our ammo has silver in it.”
“I’ve never heard about that. How does it work?”
“We don’t know, exactly,” Lara said. “But it’s fatal to them.”
“Look in your ammo pouch,” Will said.
Blaine picked up the pouch from the floor between his feet. He opened it and saw shotgun shells inside.
“See the ones with the white ‘X’ on them?” Will said.
Blaine sifted through the shells. For every regular shell inside the pouch, he found one with an “X” written in white marker on the side. “I see them.”
“The ones with the ‘X’ have silver-loaded buckshot. If we get separated, or you have to go your own way, load your weapon with the silver ammo at night. You can make your own silver bullets after that.”
Make my own bullets? How the hell do I do that?
“As for this Folger,” Will said, “any old shell will do.”
“Once we help you find Sandra, we’re continuing on to Song Island,” Lara said. “You’re welcome to come with us. You and Sandra both.”
“It sounds too good to be true,” Blaine said.
“That’s what we said. But what else is there?”
“That’s why there’s no hurry,” Will said. “If it’s as safe as they claim, it should still be there regardless of how fast we get there. If not…”
He nodded, understanding. “Sandra would love a place like that.”
Sandra, wait for me, baby, I’m coming as fast as I can…
Outside the window, they drove past another sign that read, “Lancing 8 Miles.”
CHAPTER 8
WILL
The sign read: “Welcome to Lancing, Texas. Pop. 12, 077.”
Will had been hoping Lancing would be a smaller city and wasn’t prepared for one with over 12,000 people in it. A city built for that kind of population meant a sprawling residential base and businesses spread out into multiple main areas.
They entered Lancing from the north end along US 287. At first there was just massive farmland to one side and sprinkles of old homes on the other. Soon, businesses appeared, then huge residential subdivisions with hundreds of newly built homes. Lancing was a growing community, and getting bigger every year.
Or it used to be, anyway.
Will’s radio squawked and he heard Danny’s voice: “It’s not going to be easy finding someone in this place.”
“Like a needle in a haystack?” Will said.
“Sure, if you wanna get cliché about it.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”
Blaine was moving around in the back seat, a bundle of energy despite his wounds. He didn’t blame the big man. If it were Lara out there…
“Where’s the main business district?” Will asked Lara.
She scanned the map in her lap. After a moment, she pointed up ahead. “Main Street runs parallel to the road we’re on now. There should be another road coming up — West Chance Road. Turn left onto it and it should take us to Main Street.”
Will slowed down, then turned left onto West Chance Road. Danny followed closely behind in the blue Ranger, his turn signal blinking. Will smiled.
“Anyone looking for supplies will make the business district their base of operations and work from there,” Will said. “If these guys aren’t complete idiots, that’s probably where they’ll be.”
It was about three kilometers to Main Street. During the ride, Will could hear Blaine moving around in the back seat, peering out at every vehicle parked in the road, on the sidewalk and in driveways on both sides of the street.
Chance Road was mostly residential until they neared Main Street, so they drove past a slew of quiet homes with grass that had risen as tall as windows in some spots and gardens overgrown with weeds. Finally, small businesses began popping up around them, unmowed lawns giving way to debris-strewn concrete and sun-baked parking lots that were slowly changing color.
Will slowed down before coming to a complete stop at a big four-lane intersection, with Main Street running across West Chance Road. There was a Chevron gas station on the corner to their right, with competition in the form of a Shell to their left. The road itself was relatively clear of obstructions, with only a couple of vehicles parked haphazardly in the middle of the streets. A blue Honda had nosedived into a Wallbys Pharmacy store sign on the other side of Main Street. The sign remained standing, but the Honda no longer had much of a front end.
There was some kind of official city building across the street, with three flagpoles — one with the American flag and the other two hoisting the Texas state flag. The flags were moving with the wind, the metal latches banging loudly against steel poles. Farther up the road, he could make out more city buildings, including a courthouse and what looked like a public library.