In the Blood (Road To Babylon Book 13), page 1
In the Blood
Copyright © 2023 by Sam Sisavath
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Edited by Wendy Chan
CONTENTS
Books in the Road to Babylon Series
Also by Sam Sisavath
About In the Blood
Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
BOOKS IN THE ROAD TO BABYLON SERIES
Glory Box
Bombtrack
Rooster
Devil’s Haircut
Black
The Distance
Hollow
Daybreak
The Ranch
100 Deep
Nice Shot
Ain’t Goin’ Down
In the Blood
ALSO BY SAM SISAVATH
The Purge of Babylon Post-Apocalyptic Series
The Purge of Babylon: A Novel of Survival
The Gates of Byzantium
The Stones of Angkor
The Walls of Lemuria Collection (Keo Prequel)
The Fires of Atlantis
The Ashes of Pompeii
The Isles of Elysium
The Spears of Laconia
The Horns of Avalon
The Bones of Valhalla
Mason’s War (A Purge of Babylon Story)
The After the Purge: Vendetta Trilogy
Requiem
Tokens
Remains
The After The Purge: AKA John Smith Post-Apocalyptic Series
Mist City
Run or Fight
Shoot Last
The Allie Krycek Vigilante Series
Hunter/Prey
Saint/Sinner
Finders/Keepers
Savior/Corruptor
The Red Sky Conspiracy Series
Most Wanted
The Devil You Know
The Fall of Man Post-Apocalyptic Series
The Break
Homefront
Firebase
The Tide
ABOUT IN THE BLOOD
NOT ALL MONSTERS SHOULD BE FEARED.
He’s been a bad guy, a good guy, and everything in between. But he’s never been more than human…until now.
After surviving the battle of Shaker Town, Keo has gone through a transformation and become the very thing he despises and fought against for years. And there is no way back. Or is there?
The future is bleak, but Keo won’t make his friends and loved ones suffer for his unfortunate circumstance. While Black Tide searches for him, Keo has disappeared into the wilds of an America still struggling in the new post-Purge world.
On a quest to discover a way back to Lara, Keo crosses paths with a pack of ghouls that, like him, has evolved into something more. Something much, much more deadly.
But while the line between human and ghoul has become muddled, one thing remains true: Stay alive at all costs.
PRELUDE
“Where are you?”
“Just outside of Atlanta.”
“What are you doing back there?”
“Found some tracks and thought he might have circled back.”
“Did he?”
“No. Doesn’t look like it. Actually, it looks like he kind of planned this.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got tricky. Convinced our trackers he was going in a circle.”
“But he wasn’t…”
“No. The boys think he’s headed northwest. Into the mountains.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Did he say anything to you?”
“No.”
“Then I’m at a loss, but that’s nothing new. One thing’s for sure: Whatever he’s doing, whyever he’s doing it, he doesn’t want us to find him.”
“Me.”
“What’s that?”
“Me. He doesn’t want me to find him.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he’s scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of what he might do to me. To the baby.”
“Well, that’s not good. So he’s that far gone?”
“I don’t know yet, Danny. That’s why I need you to find him.”
“He doesn’t seem to want that…”
“It doesn’t matter. He needs our help, whether he knows it or not. Whether he wants it or not.”
“Gotcha. We’ll keep looking. But it’s a big country.”
“How many men do you have with you?”
“Not enough to cover all the territories, but I’ll ask for volunteers to expand the search. Dollars to donuts I’ll get plenty of takers. How’s Carly doing on her end?”
“She hasn’t gotten anything yet. Like you said, it’s a big country out there. But we’re reaching more people in more towns every day. Hopefully we’ll stumble across someone who’s crossed paths with him.”
“You actually believe that?”
“Yes. Because I don’t have any choice but to believe it.”
“Well, we’ll do our part. If he’s still out there, we’ll find him.”
“He’s still out there, Danny.”
“Lara, don’t get me wrong, I want to find the Kiaster, too, but you read the same reports I did. He’s not the same Keo that left on the Shaker Town mission. How do you know he’s even still alive?”
“He’s alive, Danny.”
“But how do you know that?”
“Because I would feel it if he’s dead. I would just…know.”
“All right. Just wanted to make sure.”
“Find him, Danny, and bring him home to me.”
1
Five of them. All men. Well-oiled weapons clutched between gloved fingers. Puffs of mist with every easy breath. Calm heartbeats.
They’d done this before.
Feeding on the cow was a mistake, but the hunger had gnawed at him, as it did again now.
Too soon. Much too soon. Keo thought it would last longer, but the hunger was growing, becoming more impossible to ignore with every passing day. Already, he could taste the new batch of blood at the end of his tongue.
It’s getting harder and harder…
These men had come from the same place as that cow. They had been hunting him for at least two days now. He’d almost lost them last night, but they somehow picked his track back up. He should have spent more time moving between the trees, but he’d been too confident.
Overly confident, as it turned out.
Morning sunlight bounced off their lined faces. Hard men that had killed before. Many times before, in fact. And yet, he sensed hesitation in their movements. They weren’t quite sure what they were tracking. He didn’t blame them. He didn’t know what he was, either.
The leader was taller than the rest—over six feet with broad shoulders and strong arms. A flourishing stubble from the last time he’d shaved using river water. The AR rifle looked small in his hands. A baseball cap with the letters NY embroidered on the front hid his eyes. Searching eyes that never seemed to stop moving. Overgrown stalks of grass slapped casually at his dirty jeans-clad legs. The long scabbard housing a machete dangled invitingly from one hip. Pouches brimmed with ammo.
Silver-tipped bullets.
But it was the man’s blood that Keo couldn’t stop listening to as it flowed through the man’s veins. There was something strange about it. Something he’d never encountered before. At least, not in a human. He’d recognized the oddity while they were still miles away, calling to him like a siren’s song. So he’d waited for them to finally catch up because he had to know.
Why does your blood sing to me?
These men were not soldiers. They weren’t farmers or ranchers or citizens of some upstart community. They didn’t belong anywhere.
Slayers.
Ghoul slayers.
They were hunting him at the behest of the town where he’d taken the cow. Full bellies, the smell of garlic on lips. Tiny speckles of breadcrumbs clung to shirts. Lingering fragrance of malt beer under their tongues.
The leader stopped and raised a fist. The other four, spread out in a jagged line—two on each side of him—stopped instantly. Weapons scanned the woods. More knives with silver-coated blades clicked against sheaths. They had come fully prepared.
The big man said nothing. He didn’t move, either. Hidden eyes stared forward, then to the sides. The calm patter of his heartbeat behind his clothes. Pale lips twisted slightly, overly sharp nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air like some predator in the wilds.
Did the man smell him?
Impossible.
“What is it?” one of the others asked. The second oldest in the bunch. Grizzled. Thin and deceptively frail-looking, but Keo knew that wasn’t true. None of them were frail in any shape or form.
“Why’d we stop?” another one wanted to know. The youngest in the group. Dark skin. Hispanic origins. Curly hair matted to his head by sweat and morning dew. He was the most nervous among them. His hands kept switching up on his weapon, as if he couldn’t figure out the best approach to holding it.
“What do you see?” a third chimed in. A big black man. Bald. Gray stubble lined his face. Three old scars, readily visible, ran across his forehead in staggering lines. Something had gouged flesh up there. Something sharp. Talons.
“Yo, Mancini. What’s going on?” the fourth asked. Early thirties, wearing a dirty cap with a black Falcon on top. Nondescript in appearance. A messy eater; Keo could smell dried beer and ketchup on the front of his jacket.
The leader didn’t answer. His lack of response created more tension, more nervousness. Gloved fingers flexed on weapons and bubbles of mist came out faster. More than a slight uptick in heartbeat among the other four. The youngest one’s trembling had doubled.
Mancini. The leader. The hardest of the hard men.
He stood still, battered AR rifle at the ready. The weapon was due for a cleaning. Remnants of mud and dirt mixed with oil in the crevices. The man’s eyes shifted left, right, then forward. Ears wide open, hearing everything. The hairs along the nape of his neck rising slightly. Not from the cold but the atmosphere. Not a bad-looking man, if you were into the gruff lumberjack type.
And his blood. His blood called out to Keo.
How was this possible?
Who are you?
Keo leapt off the branch a split second before the man they called Mancini turned and fired. The first round sailed high while the second one, coming less than one-tenth of a season later, cracked against the tree trunk.
He was already in mid-air when he grabbed another branch and swung across the cold air.
The pop-pop-pop of gunshots from behind him as the others joined in. Silver-tipped rounds zipped alongside his head. Some came closer than others. Most went wild.
He landed and bounced back onto another tree.
Then another, and another.
They chased, firing as they did so. No one shouted. No one had to. They were slayers. Professionals.
They’d done this many times before.
How?
The man knew Keo was there. That shouldn’t have been possible. Keo didn’t give off any scent, unlike a ghoul. His heartbeat was completely flat and he’d barely breathed. There was nothing to give away his presence. Nothing at all.
How?
And yet the man had known he was there. Not just there, but exactly where.
How?
And why did the man’s blood sing to him? He looked human. Because he was human. Everything about him was human…except for the blood that pumped through his veins.
How?
The answer would not come to him; he had to go to it.
Who are you?
The question enticed him. The possibility that he had encountered someone similar to himself. Perhaps not completely the same, but maybe close enough. After all, Keo wasn’t the man he used to be. He wasn’t even sure he was still a man at all.
He had intended to move on, but that would have to wait. The questions nipped at the corners of his mind even as he scaled trees and ricocheted off branches. He’d spent months out here roaming, trying to get a handle on what he’d become. All the while fighting the urge to return home.
Home.
Home was Lara.
Home was the child she had given birth to.
Home was…
Not yet. Not until he was sure.
Until then, he laid in wait, knowing the slayers would catch up to him. They had a good bloodhound at the front—the one called Mancini. The man who had known he was there, somehow.
How?
They moved together as one, unwilling—smartly—to separate and make his job easier. That was fine. He was used to doing things the hard way. Maybe they understood that he was no ordinary prey. Maybe they even knew more about him than he did, but Keo was doubtful about that.
No one knew what he was. Not even him.
And yet, Mancini had known exactly where he was.
How?
This time he didn’t wait for Mancini to pick him out from the woods that surrounded him. He attacked, just stopping short of using lethal force. They were slayers and in another time, another place, he would have been walking alongside them.
But this wasn’t that time or place.
Hurting them—enough to incapacitate and render them threatless—was another matter.
He came out of the ground behind their line just as the closest slayer stepped over the damp earth he’d buried himself under. The man heard him and turned, but he wasn’t fast enough. Few things were fast enough to stop him these days. Another one of his newfound “gifts.”
The slayer screamed and his limbs flailed as Keo tossed him aside. The big black man. His rifle went in one direction and he went in the other, disappearing into a brush like a sack of potatoes.
One down.
The second one got off a shot. Barely. The second oldest, who looked weak but wasn’t. Silver-coated buckshot whipped past Keo’s head as he moved forward, grabbed the cold barrel of the weapon, and used it as a bat. The slayer flew ten yards before slamming against the unyielding trunk of an aged tree with a pained grunt. Hurt, but alive.
Thank me later. (Or not.)
Two down.
Numbers three and four got off their own shots. They were skilled, he’d give them that. Faster than most people with their weapons.
Not that it did them any good.
He was too fast, taking out one, then the other in exactly two and a half heartbeats. He was dealing with the fourth when the round struck him in the side. He twisted slightly, tossed the slayer, before turning to face the last one.
Mancini. “Jesus Christ. What are you?”
I wish I knew.
The slayer leader opened up. An AR platform firing 5.56 rounds. Silver-coated, of course. One pull of the trigger became three, then five, then ten. He’d fired the semi-automatic so quickly that the entire magazine emptied in seemingly one single continuous shot.
They all missed. It was child’s play.
The sound of gunshots reverberated off the trees around them. Birds that had already taken flight flew by overheard. Woodland creatures of all shapes and sizes scrambled to put more distance between them and the combatants.
Mancini dropped the rifle and reached for his machete.
The silver on the blade tickled Keo’s tongue as he moved in for the finishing blow.
One bruised arm and a bruised ego. It could have been much worse, but Keo had restrained himself. The same with the slayer’s four allies, though they wouldn’t know it. He was, after all, the enemy, and the enemy never showed mercy.
The man he needed to talk to was unconscious for a few hours afterward. There was blood on one side of his head, hidden among a patch of wet hair that was starting to show signs of gray. Mancini snored even unconscious, which was impressive.
Finally, the man woke up. “Jesus Christ.”
“You said that already.”
Mancini stared at him from behind groggy and yet defiant eyes. “Go ahead. Finish it. What are you waiting for?”
“Are you asking me to kill you?”
“I’m not asking you for shit. Just get it over with.”
“No.”
“No?” A brief pause as the man squinted back at him. “What the hell do you mean, ‘No?’”
