Flesh & Bone

by Jonathan Maberry

  “Oh, please,” sneered Nix. “And what kind of name is ‘Riot’ anyway?”

  Suddenly there was movement behind them, deeper inside the forest. They spun around and saw another man standing a mere dozen paces away.

  The stranger was tall, with dark eyes set so deep that they made his pale face look skeletal. His head was shaved, and his entire scalp was tattooed with a pattern of thorny vines. He wore black trousers and a billowy black shirt, and his legs and arms were wrapped with bloodred ribbons. On his shirtfront was a beautifully rendered chalk drawing of angel wings.

  A reaper.

  In Benny’s mind, Tom’s voice whispered, Benny . . . run.

  31

  CHONG DID NOT MOVE.

  The reaper cut the air with the scythe again and again. With each pass he called out in a gravelly voice. “Hiding only makes it worse. The darkness wants to take you. Give in to it and there is only beauty. A touch is all, and then you are free. Free!”

  Chong held his breath.

  The reaper listened to the silence and shook his head. “Struggle against it and you beg for pain.”

  It was clear that the reaper did not know exactly where he was; he kept turning, shouting to different parts of the surrounding woods. It was a trick, and not a very good one, Chong mused. No one would be crazy enough to fall for it.

  Then a second man stepped out of the woods on the far side of the clearing.

  It was Carter. His clothes were torn and splashed with blood, and his hair and eyes were wild.

  He looks like he’s just been through hell, Chong thought. And he wondered where Sarah and Eve were. And that girl, Riot.

  When the reaper saw Carter, he nodded approval. “Smart choice, brother. This reaper honors you and offers the gift of darkness to end your suffering and—”

  “Skip the sales pitch, ‘Brother’ Andrew.” Carter pointed his shotgun at the reaper’s chest. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I’m going to give you one chance, because you used to be my friend. Drop the cutter and walk away. Leave me and mine in peace.”

  “Peace?” The reaper, Brother Andrew, shook his head, and Chong thought there was real regret in his face. “There is no peace left on earth, Carter. You of all people should know that. How many have you lost to the gray wanderers? Your first wife? Your son? Your sister? How many more do you have to see consumed before you understand that earth no longer belongs to mankind?”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “We’ve been called home, brother,” insisted Andrew. “Saint John and Mother Rose have shown us the way.”

  “They’re murderers, and they’ve brainwashed the whole bunch of you into believing in some crazy made-up god and a bunch of lunatic ranting. They’ve blinded you with this darkness nonsense.”

  “No,” said Andrew, “they’ve opened our eyes and our hearts to the truth.”

  “What truth? All you do is kill.”

  “No!” said Andrew, looking hurt and surprised. “We don’t ‘kill.’ There is no ‘murder’ left in the world. Why can’t you get it through your head that the gray plague was not a virus or an accident? It was the will of our god. Like the Death of the Firstborn in your own Bible, Carter. He has reached out his hand to erase the mistake of ‘life.’”

  “‘Mistake’? Life is the only thing that matters.”

  Andrew shook his head. “No. God—the true god—meant for mankind to leave the physical form and transition into the formlessness of the darkness. That was his will, his plan for the redemption of everyone.”

  Carter shook his head. “Horse crap. It was a plague, and it didn’t kill everyone. There are a lot of people left and—”

  “There are maggots crawling on the festering corpse of this world,” countered Andrew. “Everyone who draws breath does so in defiance of the will of God.”

  “You still seem to be sucking air, Andrew.”

  The reaper placed one hand over the wings on his chest. “The reapers are the holy priests of our god. We have been asked to remain here and usher the last of the lost—the last of those like you who refuse to believe—into the darkness.”

  “Sure. By murder. Very compassionate of you.”

  “But it is compassion, Carter.” He set the butt of his scythe down, and there was a slight shift in his body language and his phrasing. Less forced formality. “Listen to me, man; when the dead rose, I was right there in the thick of it with you. We brought all those people out of Omaha. We built Treetops and we started a life.”

  “Right, which is why—”

  “Let me say my piece,” interrupted Andrew. “Just hear me out.”

  Carter sighed and gestured with the barrel of his shotgun. “Make it quick.”

  Brother Andrew nodded. “You and I survived when a lot of other people fell because we were used to roughing it. All those weekends out hunting and fishing before things fell apart. The years we humped our battle-rattle over the Big Sand in Iraq and Afghanistan. We were survivors, Carter, and we did survive . . . and we helped a lot of other people survive.”

  Carter nodded.

  “But for what?” demanded Andrew. “What have we really accomplished? What do we have to show for it? After that first season, after we holed up in that old shopping mall for all those weeks, we thought we’d slipped the punch. We thought that God smiled on us and we made it, right? But then what happened? That first winter we lost half the people we saved. Dysentery, three flu epidemics, tuberculosis . . . the list goes on and on. Disease killed more of us than the gray people ever did, and we’ve both traveled enough to know that this was happening all over. Remember Oshkosh? The whole city was dead from plague. Actual bubonic plague. Same with Bridgeport, and how many other cities? Same thing in Wyoming. Casper, Fort Washakie, Arapahoe—wiped out by the damn flu. That’s where the whole second wave of the gray people came from. Not from them biting each other or the army dropping nukes. Millions of people died from bad water, bad food, infection, bacteria, parasites. By the time we reached Idaho, how many people did we still have? One out of every six who started out with us?”

  The story Andrew was telling confirmed the worst of Chong’s speculations about the world beyond Mountainside’s chain-link fence. The nine towns in the Sierra Nevadas lucked out by having a good doctor and a biochemist who knew how to make antibiotics. Chong’s father often said that those two men had saved more people than anyone who fired a gun or swung a sword. When Chong had told that to Tom, he agreed completely.

  “What’s your point, Andrew?” growled Carter. “Are you saying that we worked all these years for nothing?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, brother,” insisted Andrew. “Since we settled down and built Treetops, when have we had a year without a major flu epidemic? When have we ever had a really successful harvest? We’re hunters, man, but we’re not farmers. Sure, we put a lot of venison and wild pig on the table, but it was never enough. Not by half.” He took a breath. “How long do you think people should keep pushing against things before they realize the truth?”

  “What truth is that?”

  “The only truth that matters,” said Andrew. “We’re dying off because we’re supposed to. The gray plague, the famines, the other diseases, the wildfires, and the other stuff. These are like the plagues of ancient Egypt. The true god has revealed himself and is calling us home, Carter, he’s offering us freedom from bondage.”

  “Through murder?” demanded Carter.

  “It’s not murder—it’s euthanasia, and it’s sanctioned by God. Look—before the plague, humanity, in its sinfulness and corruption, was like a cancer patient dying by inches, crying out for relief. Our god listened, Carter. Don’t you see? Our god. When your god abandoned you, the true god listened. That’s what Saint John and Mother Rose revealed to us. What the reapers are doing is holy work. This is God’s merciful way to end all this pain, all this torment.” Andrew shook his head. “How can you stand there and tell me that with everything out he
re—everything in nature—trying to kill us every single freaking day, we are meant to live on and suffer?”

  “You’re insane. All of you.”

  “Really? Think about it, Carter. Consider how many people have joined the reapers since Saint John began spreading the word. Thousands. Armies of them all over the west. There are probably more of us now than there are people like you. That’s not a couple of people going crazy,” said Andrew. “People already know that life on earth is over. They know. When they hear what Saint John has to say, they don’t think that it’s something bad. They’re relieved. That’s the truth of it, brother. People are just tired of struggling when there’s no real way they can win. Not here, not while they’re still trapped in the flesh.”

  But Carter shook his head. “I don’t care how many people join you, Andrew, if your god tells you that it’s right to hurt people, to kill them—to kill my little girl—then that god is a liar. That god is a lie.”

  Sadness darkened Brother Andrew’s face. He let out a long, weary sigh. “I tried, Carter,” he said sadly. “Because we have history, because we’ve been like brothers, I tried.”

  Carter pointed the shotgun at Andrew’s face. “Sure, and because we were friends I’ll give you a chance, Andrew. Drop the cutter and get your ass into the wind and we’ll call it quits here.”

  The reaper gave a sad shake of his head. “I’ll bet you don’t have any shells left. Otherwise you’d have given me the gift of darkness.”

  Carter snugged the stock of the shotgun into his shoulder. “Want to find out?”

  “Yes,” replied the reaper earnestly. “I want to die. How can you still not get that? So either pull the trigger or put the gun down and join us.”

  “I’m taking my family away from here. You won’t have to worry about us ever again.”

  “Away where?”

  “Someplace where you can’t touch us. Somewhere safe.”

  “Why not give it a name? Or are you afraid to say the name ‘Sanctuary’ out loud?”

  Even from where he was hiding, Chong could hear Carter’s shocked intake of breath.

  “C’mon, man, did you really think we don’t know you’re looking for Sanctuary? We know that Sister Margaret is with you. Some of the scouts saw her. There’s only one place she’d take you to try and keep you from us.”

  “No, you’re wrong, we’re heading south. Besides . . . there’s no such place as Sanctuary,” said Carter, but even to Chong his voice lacked conviction.

  Brother Andrew snorted. “How can a smart guy like you trust someone like Sister Margaret? She betrayed her own mother, her own people. What makes you think she won’t betray you?”

  “We trust her. Riot’s protected us this far.”

  Riot, thought Chong. She’s connected to the reapers?

  “Protected you?” Andrew laughed. “That’s what you think she’s doing? Tell me something, Carter, has she actually told you about Sanctuary? About what it really is? Or did she just recycle that old garbage about it being—oh, how’s it go?—‘a place for the weary to rest’?”

  Carter said nothing.

  “Well, let me tell you something—Sister Margaret is nuts. I mean really out of her mind.” Andrew shook his head. “I know about Sanctuary. I know what goes on there, Carter, and believe me when I tell you that the darkness I’m offering you is a mercy. I’m giving you a chance to go out as a free man rather than spend the rest of your life in Sanctuary as a slave.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “The offer stands,” said Andrew, “but the clock’s ticking on my patience.”

  Carter studied him, and Chong could see doubt in the man’s face, but there was anger, too. Much more of that.

  “Go to hell,” said Carter.

  Brother Andrew sighed. “So be it,” he said. “Such is the mercy of Thanatos that even with blasphemy on your lips the darkness welcomes you.”

  There was a sudden flash of silver from the woods, and Carter cried out and staggered forward. His finger jerked the trigger of the shotgun, and the hollow click told the story the reaper had already guessed. The weapon fell from Carter’s hands as he thumped down hard on his knees.

  That was when Chong saw what had struck the man.

  An arrow.

  It had flown out of the woods behind where Chong crouched and buried itself between Carter’s shoulders.

  “No . . . ,” Carter gasped.

  But the answer was a dreadful “yes” as a second arrow punched into Carter’s back not a finger’s breadth from the first.

  The last word Carter managed to say was, “Eve.”

  Then he fell forward.

  Despite everything Tom had taught him, Chong cried, “No!”

  The reaper with the scythe turned his head sharply toward the spot where Chong crouched.

  And smiled.

  32

  BENNY AND NIX REACTED IN THE SAME MOMENT: SHE PULLED HER pistol and Benny drew his sword. The reaper took a small step toward them. He did not appear to be armed, but Benny was taking no chances.

  “Stay back, mister,” warned Benny.

  The man stopped and studied them with cold, penetrating eyes. “Nyx,” he said.

  Nix started. “What? How do you know my name?”

  “Are you her?” asked the man. The smallest of smiles painted his face.

  “Um . . .”

  “Have you come to share with us?” asked the reaper. “Have you come to help your children share the darkness with the heretics?”

  “Uhhh . . . ,” Benny said, “what?”

  “Have you given your gift to many?”

  “What . . . gift?” asked Benny, though he was pretty sure he did not want an answer to the question.

  The man frowned. “The gift of darkness. What other gift is there?”

  “Benny . . . ,” Nix warned. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The man took another step toward them. He was still well out of attack range, but Benny kept his sword in a solid guard, ready to defend—or attack. “What beautiful children you are,” said the man in a voice that was as soft as sand slithering through an hourglass. It made Benny’s skin crawl. “You come bravely into the woods, bearing weapons from the old world, spreading the gift of darkness with the heretics.”

  “No . . . ,” Nix said under her breath. Her face had gone white, and even her freckles were pale. The only color was the pink line of the scar that ran from hairline to jaw.

  “Why are you people hunting Eve’s family?” Benny asked.

  “Eve?” asked the reaper, smiling faintly. “Eve died in the morning of the world, wrapped in the withered arms of Adam. Cain the betrayer buried them in the dust beyond the gates of Eden. Or so says the false bible.”

  “Ooo-kay,” said Benny softly. “That’s great. Exactly what we need while we’re running for our lives. Big help. Thanks, man.”

  The man laid his palm flat over the angel wings on his chest. “Do you not know me, holy one? I am Saint John of the Knife, first of your reapers, guide and guardian of your flock. It was through me that you opened the first red mouth in the flesh of the infidel. It was with my hand, my blades, that you let the darkness flow from this world of pain and into the infinite peace of nothingness.”

  He turned and gestured toward the northern stretch of the woods, where the sound of the quads could still be heard faintly.

  “We are abroad in this blighted land to offer priceless gifts to all the scattered children of a false and fallen god,” said Saint John. “We have been faithful and dutiful in our ministry. We have given the gift of darkness to so many . . . ah, so many. Soon we will sweep these lands clear of the last blasphemers. The physical world belongs to the gray wanderers. The children of flesh are called to join with the eternal darkness. Such is the will of the one true god, Thanatos—all praise to his darkness.”

  Benny and Nix just stared at him. Benny had no idea how to respond.

  “How do you know m
y name?” Nix asked again.

  Saint John continued, “Together we will watch the silence and the darkness wrap the world in the garments of purity and eternal peace. Tell me, holy one, is . . . that why you are here? Is that why you have taken physical form and come here with your knight? Are you here to walk among your sacred reapers?”

  “Are . . . you crazy?” asked Benny reasonably. “Is that it? I just want to know so I can find some useful place to stand in this conversation.”

  “Look,” said Nix, “I don’t know how you know my name or who you think we are, but we are not a part of this. None of it. We’re just a couple of kids traveling through. We only met Carter for a minute and—”

  The man ignored her words. He took one more step closer, peering at them, looking into their eyes. “You are not with Carter, I can see that much. You say that you are children, and yet when I look into your eyes I see that darkness has already taken hold of you. You are angels of the darkness, even if you are still dressed like children of the heretics. You are reapers of the scattered fields. I can see it in your eyes. You have given the gift of darkness to others. Many others.”

  Benny felt something twist inside his heart. The gift of darkness. He had no idea what religion this man was supposed to belong to, but it was pretty clear what the ‘darkness’ was.

  Death.

  But how was death a gift? How did that make any sense, especially in a world where life was rare and so very precious?

  At the same time, it unnerved him that this maniac could somehow tell that he and Nix had killed people. Since that terrible night when Mrs. Riley was murdered, Nix and Benny had been in several bloody confrontations, first with Charlie Pink-eye’s gang and then with Preacher Jack’s killers at Gameland. They had plenty of blood on their hands; and the fact that the men they’d killed were absolutely evil did very little to help either of them sleep at night. The fact remained that they had both taken human lives. That fact had gouged marks into each of their souls that no amount of justification could remove.

  And this man could see that.

  How? Who was he?