There was a clicking sound in her right ear, followed by Danny’s voice, whispering through the earbud connected to the radio clipped to her hip. “Just one. We’ll sit still as mice and let them pass us by. No muss, no fuss, you can keep your virgin daughters, Gus.”
She uncurled her fingers from around the pistol grip and moved it a bit to the left, found the Push-To-Talk switch, and clicked it with as much deliberate speed as she could muster. “Roger that.”
She glanced over at one of the two back windows — one-by-one foot glass panes covered in a thick film of dirt and time and the elements. Without anything brighter than the moon outside, there was no chance of seeing out, and vice versa. She flexed her fingers to keep the blood circulating, because the last thing she needed right now was to go numb—
Whump! as the creature leaped off the roof and there was just the silence again.
Close one.
They waited to hear more sounds of ghouls outside. The creatures traveled in groups, and where there was one, there were usually more. Sometimes a lot more.
One minute became two, then three…
…five…
Click, then Danny’s voice in her right ear. “Well, that was a close one. Now, as I was saying, why don’t we dump the Natester here? He’s just dragging us down, what with his inability to understand a perfectly serviceable joke and that stupid haircut.”
“Hey,” Nate said.
“No thanks, I already ate,” Danny said. “Also, I’m not a horse, though I’ve been confused with an ass once or twice…”
Wilden, Texas, was 240 square miles of unincorporated land and sat peacefully under the morning sun. To look at it from a distance, as they had while rushing by it on State Highway 105, thankful to just be alive after the mess in Hellion, she hadn’t thought there was anything worth salvaging. The hour or so they had spent looking had proven her correct. Not that they’d actually gone into most of the buildings; there were plenty of signs that they were occupied, and had been for the better part of a year.
The town was dead in more ways than one, but there was nothing wrong with the embracing warmth of morning. She spent a moment basking in the rays of sunlight, thankful to be in Texas. The state was never known for its cold winters, but the temperature dropped enough at night that she was glad for the extra thermal clothing they had on under their vests, and there was enough of a constant breeze in the daylight that she remained comfortable without having to add or remove layers.
Last night’s impromptu refuge was parked on the curb of FM 163, a long stretch of two-lane road (with a very generous middle) flanked by the occasional houses, and surrounded by vast farmland. In another few years, the grass would overtake the man-made structures and there wouldn’t be much of Wilden left for passersby to see. In time this place would be forgotten, and maybe them with it.
That’s it, happy thoughts in the morning. Way to go, girl.
The van creaked up and down behind her as Danny climbed out. He stretched, making way too much noise, then rubbed his eyes before taking a long drink of water from a refilled bottle.
“Are we there yet?” he asked.
Gaby pulled a map out of one of the pockets along her stripped-down assault vest and held it up to the sunlight. “We should be there within the day. You said the road gets bumpy when we’re closer?”
“Sure, bumpy, as long as your definition of ‘bumpy’ is ‘potholes from hell.’ Then yup, it definitely gets a little bumpy.”
“I guess we should add better suspension to the list of things to look out for,” Nate said, appearing from the front of the van. The sight of his absurd Mohawk never failed to make her smile, and a part of her thought that was why he insisted on keeping it.
Nate wore the same rig as Danny and her — vest over long-sleeve thermal clothing, loose cargo pants to hold more than just the essentials, and all-purpose boots. They had brought along pump-action shotguns to complement their M4s, with the rest of their load devoted to ammo, though they had less now than when they had started off. She hoped they wouldn’t need the remaining rounds, but someone once told her to always hope for the best and prepare for the worst, a mantra she’d found immensely useful these days.
Danny reached back into the van, pulled out his tactical pack, and swung it on. “Sounds about right. Start looking around for Grave Digger, kids.”
“Grave Digger?” Gaby said.
“The monster truck?”
She shook her head.
“It’s famous,” Danny said. “Like, world famous and shit. It crushes cars and opponents’ spirits. Like me.”
Gaby and Nate exchanged a blank look.
“Ugh, kids,” Danny grunted. “Get off my lawn.”
“How much of the sweet stuff we got left, kid?” Danny asked as he climbed out of the Dodge.
He had spent the last ten or so minutes inside, talking on the ham radio with the Trident, letting them know the three of them were still in one piece and that the “expedition,” as Lara called it, was still on track.
Gaby stood up in the truck bed, where she had been counting the remaining red fuel cans hidden underneath a heavy tarp. “Six left, five gallons per. So thirty in all. Should get us to Starch, but I don’t know about getting back.” She made a face. “Your math was off, Danny. We spent way too much fuel getting just this far.”
“Miss Candy always did say I sucked at math. It probably didn’t help we got bogged down in Hell Town.”
“Hellion.”
“Same difference.”
“So how are we getting back?”
“We’ll find a way. Ranger motto: ‘Always be prepared.’”
“Isn’t that the Boy Scouts’ motto?”
“That’s just what we let them think.” Danny put his hands on his hips and glanced around at their surroundings. “Could have definitely picked a better place. This must be what they mean when they say two-horse town. Minus the horses.”
“Could be worse.”
“How’s that?”
“We could be dead.”
“Sure, there’s that.”
She smirked. “What did Lara say?”
“They had to detour south temporarily, but they’ll be back in time to pick us up when we’re ready. In the meantime, we’re to proceed as planned.”
“Why are they heading south?”
“Keo.”
She smiled. “Good to know he’s still kicking around out there.”
“The guy’s like a cockroach. When you least expect it, he pops up and poops on your food.”
“Ugh. Thanks for the visual.”
“You’re welcome.”
“How’s everyone else?”
“They’re on a luxury yacht, kid. Don’t waste your time worrying about them. Spend it worrying about me. And your boyfriend with the funky haircut.”
She jumped down from the Dodge and looked around at the vehicles inside the parking lot of Wilden Middle School. Mostly trucks, and they had been sitting in the sun for the last year. All the evidence pointed to the town’s residents converging here when The Purge hit — not that it had saved them. Even though they hadn’t gone into the building, Gaby already knew what they would find if they did.
Leaving the Dodge here, half a mile from the van where they had spent the night, was a calculated move. Mixed in with the old cars it was easy to miss, unless the ghouls spent a lot of time counting vehicles. Could they even count? The creatures weren’t stupid or mindless; far from it, even if they appeared to be at times — especially when there were so many of them that they looked like a singular entity coming at you. There was a basic, almost primal intelligence to them that had allowed them to survive and thrive. They were “dead, not stupid,” as Will liked to say. Not stupid, no, but they could be fooled.