He held the knife out and let blood drip onto the dirt between Hector and the young man.
“Who will it be?”
Hector said, “Don’t do it, Lonnie. Be a man . . . it won’t hurt for long. . . .”
But Saint John said, “Oh yes, my brothers, it will. It will hurt for such a long and delicious time.”
One voice spoke out, begging to tell.
The other screamed out, cursing and damning the reapers.
Through it all, Saint John smiled and smiled.
55
JOE ARRANGED FOR THE SIRENS to call off the zoms so Benny could cross the trench and go pack. When Benny and the girls returned to the bridge with their gear, there were four new soldiers guarding it. The soldiers were pale-faced strangers Benny had never seen before.
As Benny approached, one of them, a hatchet-faced man with startlingly blue eyes, put his hand on the butt of his holstered .45. He had the faintest echoes of facial bruising that was almost gone, and a purple scar through his eyebrow that looked like it had required at least eight stitches. His name tag read PERUZZI. He ignored Benny and locked a lethal stare on Lilah.
“I remember you,” Peruzzi said with a malicious grin.
“You should,” said Lilah, unperturbed by the implied menace in that smile. Benny realized that Peruzzi had to be one of the soldiers Lilah had roughed up after Chong nearly died. Several of the soldiers had been hospitalized. When he glanced at the others, he could see similar traces of recent trauma.
Oops, he thought.
“What’s your problem?” demanded Nix, standing firm beside Lilah. “Who are you?”
“Nobody’s talking to you, pint-size,” said Peruzzi.
“Well, I’m talking to you,” said Nix.
Peruzzi laughed and gave her a slow, invasive up-and-down stare. “Big boobs don’t make you a grown-up, little girl,” he said in an ugly voice. “Mind your manners and shut your mouth.”
Benny’s hand flashed toward his sword, but the solder had his pistol out so fast the blade was only a quarter drawn. The barrel dug hard into Benny’s cheek, right beside his nose.
“Give me a reason,” said Peruzzi.
The other soldiers chuckled, and they swung their rifles up toward the girls.
Peruzzi sneered. “You suckered those idiots who were working this detail earlier. You ever touch any of my men again and I’ll hurt you in ways you ain’t ever heard of.”
The gun barrel was cold, but it felt hot against Benny’s skin. He was absolutely terrified, but at the same time a vicious rage was boiling in his gut.
“Y’all better put that gun down,” advised Riot.
“And y’all better shut your ugly mouth,” said Peruzzi, mocking her Appalachian accent.
“Just trying to give you fair warning is all,” she said, seemingly unflustered by the guns.
“Yeah, well how about you kiss my—”
And there was a low growl.
A deep-chested growl that sounded like it came from a bear.
Riot smiled. Everyone else turned to see Grimm standing inches behind the rearmost soldier, dressed in his full battle armor except for the spiked helmet. The dog was more massive than even the largest of the men, and anger made muscles bunch and flex under his hide. The motion clanked the chain mail he wore, and yet everyone had been so absorbed in the confrontation that they hadn’t noticed the mastiff’s approach.
The big ranger, Joe, walked slowly toward the group. He was dressed in camouflage, with boots, gun belt, sidearm, sword, and rifle. He carried a heavy duffel bag easily in one hand.
Nobody said a word as the ranger drew near. However, Peruzzi lowered his pistol.
“Grimm,” said Joe, “down.”
The dog immediately stopped growling and sat. But his eyes burned with a clear desire to bite something that would scream.
Joe walked up to Peruzzi and then kept walking so that the soldier had to give ground and back away. He backed the man all the way to the upraised bridge. Peruzzi’s shoulders, heels, and the back of his head thumped against the steel. Without taking his eyes off Peruzzi, Joe reached down and took his pistol away from him. He dropped the magazine into the sand, ejected the round, and tossed the pistol into the trench.
Peruzzi opened his mouth with the beginning of a sharp protest, but Joe leaned in so close that their foreheads touched.
“Go ahead, sergeant,” murmured Joe quietly, “say it. Say something. Tell me exactly what’s on your mind, because as you know I’ve always been fascinated by the particular species of thoughts that evolve in your brain. It’s like science fiction sometimes. Hard to believe a human brain is at work here.”
Peruzzi was able to hold eye contact with Joe for three seconds, and then he looked down. But Joe wasn’t interested. He leaned back far enough to bring his hand up between them and tap Peruzzi sharply on the forehead.
“I didn’t catch that,” he said. “I missed the part where you apologized to these young women and to my friend Benjamin here.”
“S-sorry,” mumbled Peruzzi.
Joe patted his cheek. “Yeah, I know you are.” His back was still turned to the other three soldiers. “It would suck for all parties involved if I turned around and saw that you three stooges were still pointing your weapons rather than standing at attention with rifles slung.”
Grimm growled again, softly but meaningfully.
The soldiers snapped to attention.
Joe gave Peruzzi a last penetrating stare. “We’re not going to have this discussion again, are we, Sergeant Peruzzi?”
“No, sir.”
“And I can sleep soundly at night—every night—in the sure knowledge that nothing untoward will happen to these four young people here . . . or their friend in the blockhouse. I mean, we can agree on that, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe smiled. It was a big, toothy, happy smile. What Mayor Kirsch would have called an “aw shucks” smile. Benny knew that the humor in that smile went less than a millimeter deep.
“Good,” said the ranger. “Now how about signaling the siren house and then getting this bridge down?”
The soldiers turned quickly away and set to work.
Joe glanced briefly at Nix, Lilah, Riot, and Benny. “Can’t stand around trading Zombie Cards all day, kids. We’re burning daylight.”
56
SAINT JOHN RAISED HIS FACE to let the bloodred heat of the dying sun bathe his face.
He could hear the rustle of the reapers behind him. The Red Brotherhood formed the first ranks—five hundred strong. Beyond them was the main body of the reaper army.
Teams of quartermasters ran along the ranks with buckets brimming with the chemical created by Sister Sun. Every reaper dipped his red tassels in the buckets and retied them to ankles and wrists, threaded them through belt loops, and pinned them to their shirts between the outspread angel wings. This was the most noxious and powerful version of the chemical, the formula revised by Sister Sun to accommodate the spike in aggression from the gray people. Sometimes a reaper would be dragged down and consumed regardless of the chemicals, but that was okay. If it happened, then god willed it to be so, and the surviving reapers celebrated as one of their own went on into the darkness.
Besides, Saint John could afford to lose a few reapers. He could afford to lose hundreds. The army had grown as riders on quads contacted units scattered all over California, Utah, Idaho, and Nevada. Some of those riders had been sent out on the night Saint John walked away from Mother Rose’s defeat at the gates of Sanctuary. He had over three hundred working quads and many thousands of reapers. Some of those reapers had kissed the knife as recently as this afternoon. Among the new acolytes were former trade guards and bounty hunters who lived in the Nine Towns. They had been so eager, so willing to share every secret of each of those towns.
What amazed Saint John, even after everything he had seen and learned about the foolishness of people, was that most of the towns had only chain-link fences for protection against the gray people.
As if the dead were the only threat.
As if the dead were even a serious threat.
As if the will of god were so easily ignored.
It angered Saint John. He felt that it showed no respect at all for the importance of his mission. It felt like a challenge, a boast. Or an invitation to prove to each and every sinner behind those frail walls that the will of Thanatos—all praise to his darkness—could not be deterred.
He opened his eyes and looked once more at the sign that had caused him to stop and savor the moment. It was not one of the machine-printed road signs from before the Fall. This was hand-painted on the side of an empty hardware store that squatted by the side of the four-lane highway.
WELCOME TO HAVEN
POP. 5,219
COME IN PEACE, LEAVE IN PROSPERITY
GOD AND ALL HIS ANGELS PROTECT YOU ON THE ROAD
The road sloped downward for a thousand yards and stopped at the gates of a chain fence. He touched the silver dog whistle that hung around his neck.
“ ‘Welcome to Haven,’ ” Saint John read aloud, enjoying each separate syllable.
He lifted the whistle to his lips.
It was not the reaper army that he called.
The answer to his call was a moan of hunger so loud that the thunder of it rolled down the hill toward those metal gates.
57
WHEN THE ZOMS WERE ALL at the far end of the airfield, Joe motioned for Benny and the girls to follow him, and he led them past the blockhouse and the first two hangars. Grimm trotted beside him, his armor clanking with each step; and he kept throwing angry glances at the sirens and the zoms. A sturdy chain-link fence was in place to create a safe corridor between the zoms and the hangars. The frame of the fence was mounted on wheels so the whole thing could be swung wide for aircraft and other vehicles. The main doors of the hangars were closed, but Benny saw that smaller doors stood ajar, and he went over to peer inside.
The first hangar was filled with parts of dead machines: helicopters, small planes, tanks, armored personnel carriers, Jeeps, Humvees, and motorcycles; all of them stripped and scavenged for parts. Nothing looked whole, and all of it looked old.
“What is it?” asked Nix, leaning past him to look.
“Junk,” he said.
“Where’s all the other stuff?” she asked. “I thought they were rebuilding.”
“More like dismantling.”
They hurried to catch up to the others, but paused again at the second hangar. This one had a row of quads painted in military camouflage. There were big worktables, chain hoists from which unidentifiable engine parts hung, tool chests on rollers, and machine schematics taped to the walls. But again there was a flavor of disuse about it all. Like the work of repairing the machines had been abandoned. Weeks or even months ago.
“Where are all the soldiers?” asked Nix. “And the technicians? The monks said that there are more than two hundred people over here. We’ve seen maybe ten different soldiers and Captain Ledger. And three or four different voices in the interview air lock.”
“I don’t know, but it’s creeping me out,” Benny admitted. Nix nodded, but she looked more than creeped out. She looked deeply hurt by it.
“Let’s go,” he said, and they hurried off.
Joe and Grimm stopped at the entrance to the third hangar. The smaller door was open, but he stood in front of it.
“I know you kids have about a million questions about what’s going on over here,” he began.
“Maybe two million,” said Riot, “and that’s just me. Red over yonder’s been writing questions in that journal of hers, and she’s got every page filled, front and back.”
Nix nodded.
“I have a few hundred thousand just off the top of my head,” said Benny. “Any chance we’re actually going to get some answers?”
“There’s a lot going on that you don’t know about,” said Joe, “and a lot of it is classified.”
“Why?” asked Lilah sharply.
“Because the military likes to keep its business to itself.”
“Why?”
Joe smiled. “Because secrecy can become an addiction. That’s been a problem as long as people have tried to covet power for themselves. Sure, governments need to keep some secrets, but too often the people inside the government create for themselves the illusion that because they know things nobody else does, it makes them more powerful. That kind of thinking creates a kind of contempt for anyone on the outside. It’s born from a belief that their own power will diminish in direct proportion to the transparency of their actions. So secrets become the currency that buys them membership into a club so exclusive that their agendas are never shared, and the value of what they hold is measured only from a first-person perspective.” He paused. “Are you following me on this?”
“Yes,” said Benny.
“There’s more, though,” said Joe. “Greed and a feeling of inadequacy aren’t the only reasons people keep secrets. Sometimes they hide things—information, the truth, themselves—behind layers of secrecy simply because they’re afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” asked Lilah.
“You,” said Joe. “Everyone who held any kind of power, everyone who kept any secrets, everyone who was part of running the world before First Night is terrified of you kids.”
“Why us?” asked Nix.
“Not just you four—but your whole generation. You scare them to death.”
“But . . . why?” asked Benny.
“Three reasons,” said Joe, ticking them off on his fingers. “Because you want to know the truth. Because you’ll eventually learn the truth. And because you deserve to know the truth.”
