The Ashes of Pompeii (Purge of Babylon, Book 5) (26 page)

He hadn’t finished putting the first aid kit back under the console when he heard a second outboard motor filling the air behind him. Keo glanced back just as a fast-moving white boat blasted out of the mouth of the channel. It was pointed straight in his direction and men clung to it. He couldn’t tell how many, or if they were wearing uniforms or not from the distance.

The sight of them set him off. He wasn’t sure if it was annoyance, anger, or maybe a little of both. Probably a lot of both, now that he thought about it. He picked up the M4 from the floor and pulled back the collapsible stock. He flicked the fire selector to semiautomatic, then moved toward the stern and balanced himself for a few seconds before settling in behind the red dot scope. The optic wasn’t anything fancy, but he could see the moving vessel coming easily enough. Three hundred meters, and closing in fast.

Keo fired, waited, then fired again, then again, and again.

He didn’t know if he hit anything, but by the way the boat slowed down before breaking off the pursuit entirely, he assumed he had gotten close enough to spook them.

He lowered the rifle and waited for a response. He didn’t have to wait long. They fired back in his direction a moment later. Two shooters, and they were apparently just as bad at long-distance shooting as he was, because while a couple of rounds landed in the water off his starboard and one sailed harmlessly over his head, most of them didn’t even come close.

Keo thought about returning fire to let them know he was still standing, but decided they could probably see him just fine. The fact that they hadn’t kept coming was a sign they either weren’t ready to risk their lives chasing him, or they had orders to stay back. He wasn’t keen on either possibilities, but the latter gnawed at him.

By the time they stopped shooting, it was clear they weren’t going to chase him anymore, but they weren’t moving, either. That meant the channel was blocked off to him. Unless, of course, he was willing to shoot his way through. But even if he could get past these bozos, there was still that sniper out there, lying in wait in the weeds. Keo had a feeling that dickhead wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and he probably hadn’t hopped onto the boat along with these other guys.

Keo slung the M4 and walked back to the console. He pushed the throttle, and the boat jumped back to life and headed off. He glanced back once, to see if they would pursue, but they were just shifting back and forth against his waves, content to watch him go. Soon, they faded into the background.

So much for escaping into the Gulf of Mexico. He’d have to find another way to reach Santa Marie Island and Gillian.

Maybe he could try the roads. That had to be safer, right?

*

The
Trident
was
where he last saw it, next to Song Island, with the long strip of white beaches on the other side. A small boat drifted off the stern next to the swim platform, where the beautiful people gathered to soak in the sun and take a dip when the wind moved them. At the moment, there was just Maddie’s small figure facing him, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. He couldn’t tell if that was a smirk or a grin on her face as she watched him near.

Keo felt another pair of eyes and looked up at Blaine peering back down at him through his rifle’s optic. He lowered the M4 and waved from the rear of the upper deck, and Keo, feeling like a failed college student returning home to mom and dad, waved back.

“We figured you had something to do with all that shooting,” Maddie said when Keo sidled his boat alongside the yacht. “What happened? You ran into more old friends?”

“Not quite.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“Mosquito bite.”

“Must have been a big ass mosquito.”

“You have no idea.”

“And my boat?” she frowned. “You putting holes in my boat, Keo?”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.” Then, “Where’s Lara?”

“Up here,” Blaine called down. “You need a doctor?”

“No, I just need to talk to her. What’s happening up there?”

“Lara’s doing what she does,” Maddie said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Keo said.

“She’s looking for a way for us to survive tonight.”

“Did the Rangers show up yet?”

“Not yet.”

“When are you expecting them?”

Maddie looked anxiously down at her watch. “I have no idea, but it shouldn’t be long now.”

Or maybe they’re already dead. That seems to happen a lot to people out there these days.

But he said instead, “Yeah, they’ll probably be here soon.” He picked up his line, said, “Heads up,” and tossed it to Maddie.

*

He found Lara
in the captain’s cabin behind the bridge on the upper deck of the
Trident
, looking at a large map spread out on a table in the center of the room. Sunlight poured in through two curtainless windows, and she looked up when he knocked on the open door.

“What happened to the bridge?” Keo asked.

“We found the eighth guy,” she said. “Or, actually, he found Blaine.”

“That explains the mess.”

“Yeah.” Then, “What happened out there?”

“Soldiers. I guess they weren’t keen on me leaving.”

She looked from his face to his bandaged shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.”

“How many were there, and where?”

He walked inside and slumped down on a felt armchair. Clothes were strewn about the floor, others draped off the large queen size bed behind her. The place looked and smelled heavily lived in.

“A handful of shooters at the channel,” he said. “It doesn’t look like they want anyone leaving this place. You can assume they’ve got people on the roads, too. Maybe even technicals.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“The last thing. Technicals?”

“Machine gun-mounted vehicles. Usually trucks. I saw a couple of soldiers with machine guns back at the staging area. Along with the M4s, I’m guessing they’re flushed with weapons, probably from one of the state armories in the area.”

Lara didn’t say anything for a while. He saw that mind of hers turning again, absorbing this new information and slotting them in order of importance. It was kind of impressive to see someone who was obviously smarter than him working in real-time.

“You think the
Trident
’s appearance had something to do with why they’re cutting off the Gulf?” she finally asked.

“They probably heard the commotion from last night and realized there was a possibility you might take off in that direction.”

Which means if I had left when I was supposed to, I would be at Santa Marie Island right now, on the beach with Gillian.

He sighed, and added, “Of course, they probably had no idea you were going to fight to the death to keep the island.”

“I don’t have a death wish, Keo,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed with him.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m not the one with a bleeding shoulder.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Go let Zoe fix it up anyway. You’re no good to me bleeding to death. Flesh wound or not.”

“You assume I’ll still be here by nightfall.”

She was already looking back at the map. “Call me Captain Optimism.”

“Maybe we should get you a captain’s hat, too.”

“Go, Keo, before you bleed to death on my fancy new boat.”

He got up, but instead of leaving, he walked over to her. “Maddie says you’re looking for a way to save everyone.”

“She’s being overly dramatic.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Looking for a way to save everyone.”

He chuckled. “What’ve you come up with so far?”

He looked down at the map. It was spread out with the Gulf of Mexico and its surrounding areas, including the southern United States, with Mexico to one side and the Caribbean Islands on the other.

“Are you staying?” she asked, not looking up at him.

“It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice. At least, not today.”

“How bad is it?”

“It’s a choke point, Lara. The channel’s wide and deep enough for a large boat like this, but it’s tight enough that a half dozen men with assault rifles could make it difficult for anyone attempting to run through it.”

She didn’t respond; her mind churned silently next to him.

He nodded at the map. “So, what’re you looking for specifically? Maybe I can help.”

“Maybe you can. I’m guessing you’ve traveled more than me.”

“Other people go out of the country for vacation, but I go in country for mine. That should tell you something.”

“You’re an odd one, Keo.” Then, “I’m looking for someplace to take everyone just in case we have no choice but to abandon Song Island. God willing, we won’t need it.”

“I didn’t know you believed in God.”

“I don’t.” She hesitated, then, “At least, I didn’t use to.”

“But you do now.”

“Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’?” He smiled. “You either believe or you don’t, Lara.”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it all out. Anyway, you have any ideas?”

“When was the last time you left the States?”

“I went to Paris when I was twenty-one for summer vacation with my roommate.”

He was going to ask,
“What happened to your roommate?”
but of course he already knew the answer, so he kept his mouth shut about that and said instead, “You thinking about sailing this thing to
Gay Paree
?”

“You got any better ideas?”

He scanned the map, noticing just how close the Texas coastline was to his current location. He could easily have reached it by boat. So easily…except for those soldiers waiting to pick him off in the channel.

So close, yet so far.

He looked past the Gulf and moved into the Caribbean Sea. There was Cuba and Jamaica, and nearby, a familiar spot of land that he recognized. It was hard to forget one of the few places where he almost died.

“There,” he said, pointing at a tiny dot. It was so insignificant compared to everything else on the map that it didn’t even have a name. “Bengal Island.”

“Bengal Island?”

“It’s actually two islands. Grand Bengal and Little Bengal. The one that shows up on the map is Grand Bengal, but there’s a smaller companion island—”

“Let me guess. Little Bengal?”

“That third-year medical school education is finally paying off.”

She snorted.

“Here,” he said, putting his finger over an empty spot on the map.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s a good-size island, about 160 kilometers—”

“I still get my kilometers and miles mixed up. What’s that in miles?”

“About 100, give or take.”

“Okay. Go on…”

“It’s about 100 miles—”

“Give or take.”

“Can I finish?”

She smiled. “Sorry.”

“I was saying, it’s about 100 miles from its big brother, Grand Bengal, and is about ten kilometers in length and one-point-six in width, though the middle is more like two-point-four.”

“So, about six miles long?”

“Yeah, about ten times the length of Song Island. Big enough for an airfield on the east section and a hotel resort on the west, with the two sides linked by roads. There’s a strand of white beaches in front of the hotels where the rich and infamous bunk. The water is blue and everything is expensive, but depending on the state of the island, you may or may not have to fight for a spot in one of those suites.”

“You’ve been there before.”

“I almost died there.”

“Which Bengal?”

“Both.”

“Hunh.”

“Yeah. Anyway, the place used to be a notorious pirate den until the British Empire took it over in the seventeenth century. You know the Brits. Law and order and Queen and Country, and all that good stuff. These days, it’s treated as a British Overseas Territory.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s technically a part of the old British Empire, because apparently they enjoy the prestige of being linked to an old carcass, but for all intents and purposes, it’s entirely self-governed.”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t have, because you’re a normal, decent person. The main island is only fifty square miles with about 5,000 locals, and the rest are all tourists and criminals.”