Fire and Ash
Page 15He dropped the knife and Tom gathered him up and they sank down to their knees together on the kitchen floor, crying so loud that the sound threatened to break the world.
• • •
The way Riot wept now was her passport to that country. Nix had been there too. And Lilah. Each of them had wandered alone through that land, refugees among the war-torn devastation of their innocence.
Benny did not tell Riot that it was okay, because it wasn’t.
He didn’t tell her that this would pass. The moment would, but the scars would always be there. It was the thing that would always identify them as travelers through the storm lands of the soul.
35
ONE WEEK AGO . . .
On a hot afternoon Sister Sun staggered out into the sunlight. Saint John and the army had been gone now for weeks, marching to California to find nine towns filled with heretics. By the time Sister Sun had returned from the remote lab two hundred miles away, the saint had already left. She felt empty without him; he was a great source of strength for her.
Her Red Brotherhood guardsmen snapped to attention. The nearest of them saw how unsteady she was on her feet and rushed to catch her as Sister Sun’s knees buckled.
“Sister—” he began, but she cut him off.
“No, I’m fine . . . I just need to sit down. Send a runner to find Brother Peter. At once. Good. And some water. Thanks. . . .”
She sat in the shade under a Joshua tree and sipped water from an aluminum canteen. Her hands shook so badly that the water sloshed against her lips and splashed onto the front of her shirt, darkening the black cloth and soaking the angel wings.
“Brother Peter is coming up the hill,” said the reaper who’d helped her sit.
Sister Sun looked up to see the unsmiling young man walking toward her at a brisk pace, his own guards fanned out behind him.
“Are you unwell, my sister?” he called as he jogged the last few yards. Sister Sun grabbed his wrist and pulled him close.
“Send them away,” she whispered.
Peter snapped his fingers and the Red Brothers immediately retreated out of earshot but within visual range.
“What is it, sister?” asked Peter, his tone gentle and filled with concern. “Is it the cancer . . . ?”
“No,” she said, a smile forming on her lips, “it’s not me. It’s nothing wrong.”
“Then—?”
She clutched two handfuls of his shirt with desperate excitement. “I figured it out, Peter,” she cried.
“You . . .”
“I know how to kill them.”
“Kill who?”
Sister Sun could feel the glorious madness blossom in her eyes. And from Peter’s reaction, she knew he could see it too.
“Everyone,” she said. “I figured out how to kill . . . everyone.”
FROM NIX’S JOURNAL
The day we found Sanctuary we also saw the jet. It landed on the airfield, but by the time we reached the base, the plane had been shut down, the lights and engine turned off. We never saw the pilot or crew.
Every time they bring me over to the blockhouse for an interview, I ask where the jet’s crew is, and they never tell me. All they’ll say is that they’re being debriefed—whatever that means.
Joe won’t tell us either.
What are they hiding?
36
“HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?” asked the voice.
“I’ve developed an irresistible hunger for human flesh,” said Benny.
There was a long, long silence. The interview cubicle was so dark that Benny could barely see the wall-mounted speaker. He bent close to listen. He could hear the interviewer breathing.
“Hello?”
The voice said, “When you say that you’ve developed a—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, it was a joke.”
After a moment the voice said, “A ‘joke’?”
“Mr. Imura . . . why would you make a joke about something like that?”
“Why not?”
There was no answer.
Benny knocked on the speaker. “Hey—you still there?”
“How do you feel today?” asked the voice, as if the conversation was just starting.
Benny sighed. “With my hands.”
“Mr. Imura . . .”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing to help my friend Chong.”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
“Is he getting better?”
“He’s stabilized.”
“Is he getting better?” Benny asked again, more slowly, over-enunciating each word.
“We . . . are not sure we can expect an improvement at this time.”
“Then let me out of here.”
“What?”
“Let me out. We’re done.”
“Mr. Imura,” said the voice, “you are being immature about this.”
“Immature?” Benny laughed. “I went out to that plane yesterday to look for those stupid research notes. I didn’t see you out there.”
“We have to stay inside the quarantine of the lab.”
“I didn’t see your soldiers out there either. In fact, you know who I did see out there? A freaking reaper. And you know what I did? I freaking killed him. That’s what I did. You want to hide behind your stupid wall inside this freaking bunker and call me immature?” Benny kicked the speaker as hard as he could. The little grille buckled. “You’re not doing anything for me or Chong or anyone else, so tell me why I should help you? Tell me what we’re accomplishing with these little chats of ours. All you’re doing is wasting my time and pissing me off.”
He gave the speaker another kick.
Almost three full minutes passed before the door opened. In that time the voice did not return, did not ask another question.
Benny got up and stepped out into the hot sunlight. A monk was there to guide him across the bridge.
No way I’m going back in there, he told himself. I’d rather be stuck in a zombie pit at Gameland with my hands tied behind my back.
Suddenly that fragment of broken memory from yesterday skittered across his mind again.
He froze.
“Brother—?” inquired the monk, but Benny held up his hand.
“Gimme a sec . . .”
He closed his eyes and repeated what he’d just thought. There was something there.
Zombie pit.
Yes.
Sergeant Ortega. A big soldier.
In a zombie pit?
Yes.
No. Not exactly. Not a zombie pit.
Not at Gameland. Benny was sure of that much. Sergeant Ortega.
He could see the face.
Not a living face. Dead.
But also definitely Sergeant Ortega. No doubt about it.
In a pit.
Zombie.
Pit.
What other pits were there with zombies in them?
And suddenly he had it.
His eyes snapped open.
He remembered exactly where he had seen Sergeant Luis Ortega. And if he was right, then the man—the zom that had been that man—would still be there.
Benny bolted from beside the monk and ran as fast as he could across the bridge.
37
BENNY FOUND NIX IN THE mess hall. She was sitting with Riot, their heads bent together as they spoke.
“Nix!” he called from halfway across the room.
Her head jerked up and she looked around. Then she immediately got up and started to turn away, to leave. Benny ran to her and caught her wrist.
“Nix—I heard about yesterday. Are you all right?”
“Yes. We’re both okay.”
“Thank God!” he said breathlessly. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”
“Benny—no, I can’t . . . I . . .”
He gently pulled her around to face him. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying a long time, and her whole face was pink and puffy. Her scar and her freckles always grew darker when she was upset, and now they were very dark.
“Listen, Nix—”
She looked up at him with such pain in her green eyes that it stalled him. “I saw him.”
“You saw . . . Chong?”
“Riot and I went over yesterday. They let us see him.”
Benny half turned to see the look on Riot’s face. She hadn’t told him that last night. There were other storms raging through her life, and Benny held no grudge.
Before he could say anything, Nix flung herself into his arms and clung to him with all her strength.
“Oh, Benny . . . he looked so bad,” she wailed. “He looked so sick. So lost.”
Her words disintegrated into sobs that were so deep, so shattered, that it silenced the entire mess hall. Those sobs were every bit as terrible as Riot’s had been.
Benny enfolded her in his arms and held her close. Her body was furnace hot against his; her tears burned like acid. She trembled with the kind of deep grief and pain that went all the way down to the core. Benny understood that kind of anguish. He held her and kissed her hair.
The monks at the tables turned away. A few of them gave him small smiles and encouraging nods, but they said nothing and did not interfere.
Benny led Nix back to her table and they sat down together, awkwardly, still clinging to each other. Riot got up and came around behind them, wrapped her arms around them both, and laid her cheek down on the tops of their heads.
Eventually the storm passed, as all storms pass.
Nix gradually straightened and pulled away. Riot sat down on her side of the table. Everyone used the napkins to wipe their streaming noses and eyes.
“Nix, I—,” Benny began, but she touched her fingers to his chest.
“Please, Benny, let me say something first.”
“Okay.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “What I said yesterday about Chong . . .”
Benny nodded but said nothing.
“Please, don’t ever think—”
“No,” he cut her off. “Listen to me, Nix, you don’t need to say this, and I don’t need to hear it. We . . . kind of just said it all anyway.”
It was a lame joke, but it broke the bubble of tension that had been expanding to crowd the moment.
“I’m sorry,” Nix said. “I needed to say that much. I really am.”
Benny kissed her.
Nix kissed him back.
Riot made gagging sounds. “Y’all better get a room or name the baby after me.”
Benny made a covert and very rude gesture.
Then he leaned back to catch his breath. “Listen,” he said, “I need to tell you a bunch of things, but first I want to hear everything about yesterday. All I really heard, Nix, was that you and Lilah got jumped by some zoms. . . .”
Nix told him the full story. Benny’s heart sank.
“Fast zoms? Four of them?”
“Three fast ones and one that might not have been,” corrected Nix.
“Even so,” said Riot, “that’s crooked math. Y’all were lucky to walk out of there with skin still on your bones.”
“Tell me about it,” Nix said, rolling her eyes.
“What was that bit with the red powder?” asked Benny.
“I don’t know,” Nix admitted. “I showed Joe and he kind of freaked. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Wonder what it is,” said Riot.
“Listen,” Benny said, changing the subject. “I had a crazy day too. I need to tell you guys, and then I need your help with something. I’d ask Joe, but nobody knows where he is and we’re running out of time. So . . . I need both of you to help me do something incredibly dangerous and incredibly stupid.”
“Dangerous and stupid?” asked Nix, and her pretty face wore its first smile in over a day. “Sounds like one of your plans.”
“I’m on the hook already,” said Riot. “I haven’t done anything dangerous or stupid in weeks. I’m about due.”
He explained everything that had happened yesterday. The story of the fight with the reaper wiped the smiles away. The account of the Teambook raised their eyebrows. The tally of the reaper forces stole the color from their faces. But the thing that filled their eyes with fear was when Benny explained where he had seen Sergeant Ortega.
“You want us to go where?” demanded Riot. “You’re touched in the head, boy.”
“You’re absolutely out of your mind,” said Nix. “I mean seriously, Benny, you’re deranged.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “But are you in?”
Nix and Riot stared at him and then at each other, and then at him again.
“We’re in,” said Nix.
38
MILES AND MILES AWAY . . .
Captain Strunk sat on an overturned bucket, resting heavily with his forearms on his knees. The trade wagon stood ten feet away. On the ground, covered with pieces of canvas, lay four bodies. Fifty feet away, just inside the fence line, lay three more. All of them had been quieted.
Two figures stood in front of him. A short man and a tall boy.
The man was Deputy Gorman, Strunk’s second in command.
The boy was Morgie Mitchell.
On the ground between Morgie and Captain Strunk was a length of wood. A bokken. Smeared with blood, broken in two.
“I checked him, Cap,” said Gorman. “No bites, no scratches.”
Strunk nodded.
“I told you that I wasn’t hurt,” said Morgie. “You could have taken my word for it.”
“You fought four zoms with a stick, kid,” said Strunk. “I wouldn’t take anyone’s word that they did that without a scratch.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">