It was an ugly question, and the answers seemed to scream at them.
“I have a question,” said Nix into the silence. She nodded to the wall of plastic containers. “You made all this. Why? I mean . . . if you were trapped, if you thought you’d never get out, why did you—?”
McReady’s eyes softened for the first time. “Because there’s always hope, isn’t there?”
“Is there?” asked Lilah, her voice strained. “Hope for whom?”
“For everyone. Even if we died in here, there was always the chance someone would find us and find the stores of Archangel. And—I thought that my notes, my research, was in the hands of Jane Reid’s people at Sanctuary. I thought by now they’d have mass-produced a million tons of it. They should have. Once the parasites are active again, the process of decay kicks in, and the swine bacteria accelerates it. The walkers will become more dangerous, that’s a given, but only for a week or so. Then the decay will have weakened their connective tissues. They’ll start falling apart.”
“The zoms outside looked pretty spry,” said Joe. “I had to gun ’em down.”
“No, that’s the natural mutation from the pigs. They’re faster, but the decomposition is still slow. We figure it will take forty-eight to sixty months for those walkers to fall. Our synthetic version of the natural mutagen—the one we developed before we evacuated Hope One—is different. You get a very fast walker for two or three days, and then you get one that’s slow and awkward, and then you have a pile of meat and bones.”
“What about someone who’s infected but not dead?” asked Lilah. “Would Archangel save them . . . or kill them?”
“You have to give them Archangel before they’re exposed to the mutagen. At least a full dose. Two capsules. Luckily, it kicks in fast, but without Archangel in their system, the mutagen will only kill them faster.”
“And with Archangel?” demanded Lilah.
“Depends on what you’re asking. If someone takes Archangel and dies, they don’t reanimate.”
“My brother died and he didn’t reanimate,” said Benny.
McReady nodded. “Same thing happened to a few people here. We think that’s a side effect of the mutation. As the new version of the pathogen spreads, some people are developing immunity to the reanimative aspects of the plague. Our computer models indicate that in time—maybe ten or fifteen years—as many as one percent of the population will develop immunity. While that sounds hopeful, it isn’t an answer. You say your brother didn’t reanimate? Then count yourself lucky.”
“No, said Nix, “that’s not how it is. We saw maybe fifty or sixty people killed in that fight, and at least six or seven of them didn’t reanimate. That’s more like ten percent.”
“Then there must be a higher concentration of the Brucella suis bacteria in certain places. Again, count yourselves lucky. In most places the concentration is very low, and the bacteria won’t even grow in certain climates. Just be happy that your brother caught a break.”
“He still died.”
“Everybody dies,” said the scientist.
“What about someone who’s infected but not dead?” asked Lilah again. “Would Archangel save them or kill them?”
McReady straightened. “Why do you ask?”
The grief and fear in Lilah’s face was almost too much for Benny to look at.
Lilah said, “My . . . I mean, Chong . . . the . . . boy I . . . love is infected.”
“How did it happen?”
“Kid was shot with an arrow dipped in walker flesh,” said Joe.
“How long ago?”
“Little over a month.”
“But—he should be dead.” Then McReady nodded. “He’s at Sanctuary, isn’t he? Joe, you said they have everything except the D-series?”
“Yes.”
“Then they definitely have the metabolic stabilizer.”
“Yes. They used it on him.”
“On Chong,” said Lilah. “His name is Chong. They gave him injections.”
“Is he conscious?” she asked. “Do you know what his vitals are? What’s his core temperature? Has it gone below ninety-six? Does he have a—?”
“We don’t know,” barked Lilah as tears boiled from the corners of her eyes. “He’s sick. He’s lost and he doesn’t know me. My town boy doesn’t know me.”
Nix hurried over to her and put her arm around the Lost Girl’s shoulder.
“Is there any hope for him?” asked Benny. “Any at all?”
Dr. McReady looked at him for a long time before she answered. The only sounds were Grimm’s panting breaths and Lilah’s sobs.
“Yes,” said McReady, “there’s definitely hope.”
Everyone stiffened; every eye was on her.
Dr. McReady undid the fastenings on the sides of the hazmat suit and let it puddle around her feet. She wore a sweat-stained T-shirt and shorts. Her bare arms and legs were as ashy pale as her face. She turned her leg to show a long, jagged scar. It was curved, top and bottom.
It was the distinctive scar of a bite.
“When the reapers let the infected boars in here,” she said slowly, “I was bitten on the calf. Dick Price got the stabilizer into me, and then I dosed myself with Archangel. First human test subject, didn’t have a choice.”
“God . . . ,” breathed Nix.
“Archangel . . . worked?” whispered Lilah. “You’re cured.”
Dr. Monica McReady smiled. It was a strange smile, made stranger by her unnaturally pale skin.
“I take two pills twice a day, every day, and I probably will for the rest of my life. But . . . at least I have a life.” She pointed to the bags. “If you can get me to Sanctuary, I can save Mr. Chong.”
73
THEY WASTED NO TIME.
Benny, Nix, and Lilah loaded metal carts with boxes of the mutagen and bags of the Archangel capsules. They were all very careful, but they worked extremely fast. While they worked, Joe accompanied McReady to help her pack her latest research notes, a computer laptop, and other crucial supplies.
They rolled the carts through the hole blasted in the wall and formed a three-link chain to pass the boxes and bags into the Black Hawk. They were only half-finished when Joe and McReady came running out.
“That’s enough,” yelled Joe. “Get in. We’ll come back for the rest. Let’s go, go, go.”
They didn’t need any urging. Dr. McReady took the copilot seat, and Joe fired up the Black Hawk’s engines. Moments later Zabriskie Point was dwindling behind them. They turned and shot through the darkening skies toward Sanctuary.
Benny and Nix sat on either side of Lilah, each of them holding one of her hands. Her grip was like iron, her face set into a strange, hard smile that was more death mask than anything. The weeks of impenetrable coldness she’d endured had taken a terrible toll on Lilah. During those weeks she’d hardly spoken, barely communicated. Instead of letting Nix and Benny in so they could help her through her pain and grief, she’d closed everything out. Benny knew that she was a practiced hand at eating her pain and pasting on a face of unflappable stoicism, but now a force had come along that was more powerful and dangerous than any enemy Lilah had ever faced. And it was a force over which she had no power.
Hope.
The possibility that Archangel could bring Chong back to her was almost more than Lilah could handle. Tears flowed steadily down her cheeks. They gleamed like hot mercury on her tanned face. Her breathing was ragged and fast, like a sprinter, or like a cornered feral animal whose only option was to destroy everything—even herself.
Hope, Benny knew, was a terrible double-edged thing.
“Lilah,” he said softly, “it’s going to be—”
“Shut up or I’ll kill you,” she said through gritted teeth.
Benny had no doubt at all that she meant it.
He shut up.
But he never let go of her hand.
The Black Hawk slashed through the last pale streamers of sunlight, heading at full speed t
o the darkness in the east.
Toward Sanctuary.
Toward Chong.
74
JOE LEDGER’S VOICE BOOMED AT them through the loudspeakers.
“Get up here right now!”
They tore themselves out of their straps and crowded into the cockpit door.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Lilah.
Joe pointed. Deep lines of tension were cut in his skin, and his eyes were filled with horror. The east was a vast black nothing where the land and the sky were indistinguishable from each other. Except at one spot, miles and miles away.
A red-gold glow was painted onto the horizon.
“What is that?” asked Nix.
Joe’s voice was a tight whisper. “That’s Sanctuary.”
They stared at the light. With every moment, with every mile the light grew brighter and brighter. They knew that they were still far away, which meant that a glow like that could never come from a small fire.
“No . . . ,” said Nix in a small and hollow voice.
A single, wrenching, shattered sob broke in Lilah’s chest.
Benny felt as if he was falling through space, as if a hole had opened in the bottom of the helicopter. His heart tore loose from its moorings and sank into the darkness.
There, far away across the gulf of a nightmare landscape, Sanctuary was burning.
PART THREE
THE TRUTH IN DISTANT PLACES
I dislike death, however, there are some things I dislike more than death.
Therefore, there are times when I will not avoid danger.
—MENCIUS, CHINESE PHILOSOPHER
75
THE BLACK HAWK FLEW INTO hell itself.
The scene below could have belonged in no other place.
The main gates of Sanctuary hung open, the gate patrol cut to pieces. Most of the hangars were ablaze. Fire and smoke curled hundreds of feet into the air. The bridge was down, and steady streams of zoms poured across.
Not walked, not shambled, but ran.
Tens of thousands of them were already across. Some of the monks ran from them. Some had formed defensive lines between the hordes of the dead and the entrances to the hospice hangars, but they had no weapons. Some held mattresses and metal-framed cots in front of them in the desperate hope of fending off the dead and protecting the helpless; but as Benny and the others watched in abject horror, the R3 zoms tore these things out of the monks’ hands and dragged the screaming Children of God down.
A few monks knelt in the dirt, hands clasped in prayer, heads bowed while they allowed the dead to take them.
“Do something!” screeched Nix.
Joe flew low and opened up with the chain guns. Heavy bullets tore into the zoms, ripping arms and heads off. A few monks shook fists at them and tried to wave the helicopter off.
“What are they doing?” demanded McReady.
“Trying to protect the Children of Lazarus,” Joe said dully.
Even as the monks waved and shouted at the Black Hawk, the creatures they tried to protect overwhelmed them and tore them apart. It was sickening.
It was beyond horrible.
“Someone released the mutagen,” said McReady. “It has to be deliberate, but who would—?”
“Reapers,” said Benny. It was more than an answer; he pointed down into the melee to where reapers on quads chased a group of nuns, herding them into the arms of the dead.
McReady grabbed Joe’s arm. “Joe—”
“On it,” he said and he turned the guns on them. The quads exploded one after the other. However, the zoms swept past the burning quads and crashed like a wave onto the nuns. Joe kept firing, but there was no real point. There were tens of thousands of fast zoms swarming into the hangars, and hundreds of reapers ferreting out the monks and nuns. And it was clear this battle had been going on for too long already. Many of the zoms down there were the reanimated dead who had risen from their own murders.
Dr. McReady punched the dashboard. “No! This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The mutagen was intended for careful release after human populations were evacuated from an area. It’s only viable until after the host dies off. In a week even any residual powder exposed to the air will be inert. Damn it, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” She caved forward and put her face into her hands.
“Brother Peter said they wouldn’t attack until tomorrow,” said Benny.
Lilah grabbed his shirt. “And you believed him?”
But Nix shoved her back. “Stop it. We all believed him. This isn’t helping and this won’t get us to Chong.”
Joe steered the Black Hawk away from the hangars. Benny saw tears cutting jagged tracks down his grizzled face.
“Can you see Riot?” begged Nix. “I can’t see her anywhere.”
No one answered.
One figure staggered past the row of swings, but when Joe shone a spotlight on it, the face that looked up at them was not Riot’s or Eve’s. It was Sister Hannahlily. Her mouth was smeared with red, and she held a human arm in her hands. She hissed at the helicopter.
Sickened, Joe swung the light away.
They hovered for a moment over the bridge. There were now more of the dead on the monks’ side of the trench than on the other. Many more. A group of twenty reapers manned the bridge, herding the zoms over.
“Screw you,” growled Joe as he armed a Hellfire missile. “Go to hell.”
The missile blasted away from under the Black Hawk’s stubby wing and struck the rocky ground near the bridge. The blast was immense, and when the rotor wash blew the smoke away, there was a crater in the trench wall. The bridge was still there, but all around it were charred ashes that were unrecognizable as ever having been human.
Then they saw a ripple of flashes by one of the hangars. At first Benny thought it was a string of firecrackers set off by the flames.
“Those are guns,” yelled Nix. “The soldiers are fighting back.”
Joe swung the Black Hawk toward the gunfire. Zoms chased the machine, and reapers on quads and on foot raced across the tarmac in the same direction. He fired one more missile at a crowd of mixed zoms and reapers and then flew straight through the fire and smoke.
The gunfire was coming from inside the hangar where they’d met Colonel Reid. There were bodies on the ground surrounded by the hunched figures of zoms who feasted on their victims. Benny could not tell if any of those bodies belonged to Riot or Eve. The dead poured into the hangar, and there were living reapers among them, shoving the zoms forward, herding them, driving them from kill to kill.
Joe dropped almost to the ground and flew the helicopter slowly and carefully in through the open hangar doors. The gunfire was concentrated in one corner, and Benny could see a knot of soldiers moving in a tight cluster, toward a door set in the back wall. Some of them fired at the advancing horde of zoms; others fired toward the door to clear it. But there was no doubt that some zoms and reapers had already passed through that doorway.
“They’re inside the complex,” said Joe. “That door leads to a tunnel that connects all of these buildings.”
McReady looked up, her face going paler still. “The equipment . . . the lab.”
“Chong!” cried Lilah.
The look on Joe’s face was as feral and cruel as any monster as he opened up with the chain guns. He turned the helicopter in a slow circle and maintained continuous fire, creating a kind of hell Benny had never seen before. One man and one machine turned the entire hangar into a slaughterhouse. Reapers and zombies flew apart. Others were punched backward into each other or against walls. Shell casings fell like rain. But then the guns clicked on empty, the rounds exhausted.
Joe landed the Black Hawk in a swirl of blood-tinged smoke.
The group of soldiers were at the door now. They gunned down the last of the reapers in their way and vanished inside the entrance to the tunnel.
And they slammed the door shut behind them.
76
“EVERYBODY OUT,” B
ELLOWED JOE AS he erupted from the pilot’s seat. “Now—now!”
They grabbed their weapons, but Lilah also scooped up two bags of the capsules. Benny saw this and grabbed a couple as well, shoving them into his backpack.
“You never know,” he said.
Joe snatched a machine gun from a rack and began stuffing extra magazines into his pockets. “Lilah, you’re with McReady. If you want your boyfriend back, kill anyone who even looks at her.”
Lilah bared her teeth.
“Nix, Benny, you two hold the line and watch my back. I have to get through that door, and it’s going to take a minute. If I don’t and things get weird, go back into the chopper and close the door. There are enough guns and ammo in there to stop an army.”
Then Joe clicked his tongue for Grimm, and as soon as the dog turned its massive armored head toward him, Joe quickly reached out and touched Nix on the shoulder.
“Family,” said Joe, and Grimm barked once in acknowledgment.
Joe touched Benny. “Family,” he said again.
Another bark.
“Protect,” said the ranger, and the dog gave a third deep-chested bark.
Joe rolled back the door of the Black Hawk and was firing before he even jumped out. That corner of the hangar was littered with the dead, but more were pouring into the hangar through the massive open doorway. There was a narrow slot, almost a cattle chute, formed by the wall and the helicopter, and this allowed only a couple of the dead to rush forward at a time.
Nix gave Benny a single brave smile. “Warrior smart,” she said.
“Warrior smart.”
And for no reason at all other than that the world was insane, they laughed.
The dead rushed forward, and Benny and Nix—last of the samurai—went to meet them.
Benny edged forward and left and his kami katana felt alive in his hands, like it wanted this, craved it. Or maybe it was that now that Benny’s own spirit had come fully alive in him, the part of his spirit that resided in the steel of the sword had come alive too. In either case, as the first zombies rushed at him, Benny met the attack with cut after cut after cut. Dead limbs flew, zoms that were suddenly legless crashed down in front of the creatures behind them. The dead collided and fell over one another, and Benny was there, holding his ground, the blade flashing and flashing. Nix positioned herself ten feet away and swung Dojigiri with equal ferocity.
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