“You are dangerously close to—”
“To what? Seriously, man . . . what is it you want me to be afraid of? Torture? You’re already going to kill me. I don’t know if it really matters all that much if I spend the last few hours screaming. I’ll still be dead at the end of it. You want to threaten my friends and family? Go ahead . . . you’re just going to kill them, too.” Benny made a sour face of disapproval. “Maybe nobody’s told you, but offering different kinds of murder isn’t really a terrific sales pitch. Kill me now, kill me later, torture me . . . in the end all you really want is for us to be afraid of you. You dig the fear. You’re like a vampire, only you suck up the terror and pain. You want us to be afraid of you? Sure. You’re a serial killer psycho with an army. Pretty scary.”
“Are you finished?” asked Saint John.
“Why, what have you got?”
“You had a single chance for a peaceful death. The death of the knife. Handled with care and compassion, a blade is a mercy. Like a scalpel, it cuts away the infection of a life lived in sin. I came to offer you the quickest and cleanest of deaths. A single red mouth and you would feel nothing. The darkness would open its arms to enfold you and give you rest.”
“And I blew that with my smart mouth, I know, I get it,” said Benny. “It was kind of my intention.”
“Do you know what the penalty is for your impudence?”
“I have a pretty good guess. Does it involve lots of very fast dead guys with eating disorders?”
The white boy behind him snorted with laughter. The redhead and the Chinese boy were smiling. Saint John wasn’t fooled, though. He could see the fear that turned their eyes glassy and sent lines of cold sweat down their faces.
“The forests behind me are filled with my reapers and with uncounted legions of the dead who—”
“Why do you talk like that?” asked the Chinese boy, speaking for the first time. “Oh, hey, I’m Louis Chong. It’s just that I’m listening to this and I’m wondering why you sometimes talk like you’re in a fantasy novel. You have kind of a Lord of the Rings vibe going on, and it doesn’t really work. I mean, sure you have an actual army, and I guess the zoms are good stand-ins for orcs, but really, man, who uses words like ‘impudence’ and ‘uncounted’?”
“Yes,” said the white-haired girl, “it makes you sound stupid.”
The six teenagers all laughed.
Saint John’s Red Brothers growled in anger and drew their knives.
In the same heartbeat three guns and a bow were pointed at them.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Benny. “We all know that we’re mouthing off to you because we’re scared, and you’re letting us get away with it because you brought knives to a gunfight. Personally, I’d rather go back to the parley. Less flop sweat all around.”
Saint John made a small gesture with his left hand, and the reapers reluctantly sheathed their weapons.
“Oh,” said the redhead as she lowered her gun and slid it back into its holster, “speaking of knives.”
“Right,” said Benny in a bad imitation of having just remembered something. “I’m going to pull a knife and toss it to you. It’s not an attack, so let’s nobody get all weird about it.”
Saint John nodded, curious.
Benny reached around behind his back and slid a long knife from a leather sheath clipped to the back of his belt. He weighed it in his hand for a moment and then tossed it onto the ground in front of the saint.
Saint John recoiled from it as if it was a scorpion.
The Red Brothers gasped.
They all knew that knife.
Saint John picked it up and clutched it to his chest. Then he let out a terrible wail as he sank to his knees in pain and grief. Tears burned in his eyes as he recalled the day he gave this knife to a young man, first of the reapers.
“Peter . . .” The saint looked up pleadingly at the teenagers. “Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think I got it?” said Benny. “I took it from him after I sent him into the darkness.”
Saint John closed his eyes and bent forward as if the knife had been driven into his stomach.
“Feel that?” asked Riot coldly. “That’s what it feels like to lose someone you love.”
98
BENNY IMURA LOOKED AT THE madman kneeling in the dust.
His nose burned from the chemical vapors that rose from the ground, but he imagined that he could smell Saint John’s fear and pain.
Somewhere, deep in the darkness of his fractured heart, he found he liked it.
And with that realization came the screams of all his other parts. The kid that was lost in those shadows. The son who had quieted his parents. The brother to a fallen hero. The young man who had probably lost the love of his life. The traveler and friend, the climber of trees and the catcher of small, fierce fish. The collector of Zombie Cards and the apple-pie eater. Child and boy, teen and young man. All the many aspects of Benny Imura shouted a warning at him as he savored the pleasure of this evil man’s pain.
How scary are you willing to be in order to take the heart out of an enemy? Are you willing to be the monster in the dark? Are you willing to be the boogeyman of their nightmares?
The ranger had asked those questions.
He should have asked one more.
Are you willing to become a monster to defeat monsters?
But Benny already knew the answers to all those questions.
99
BENNY IMURA FELT HIS MOUTH turn into a sneer of absolute contempt.
“Get up,” he said.
It was not pitched as a request.
It was pitched as an order.
The Red Brothers bristled, their hands flexing on the handles of their knives and axes and swords. Benny shot them a look that told them clearly that their chance would come, but it wasn’t this moment. Those men saw something in Benny’s eyes that ignited flickers of fear in them. They helped Saint John to his feet.
“I will bathe in the blood of everyone you love,” said Saint John, but his voice was hoarse.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” said Benny. He held out his hand toward Chong, who handed him the bullhorn. Benny clicked the button and spoke into it. His voice boomed out, startling him with the towering volume of it. It echoed off the tree line and rolled down the field.
“Listen to me,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “My name is Benjamin Imura, and I speak for the people of Mountainside and the other towns. I know who you are and I know what you’ve had to do. Most of you were forced to join the reapers. Most of you don’t want to do the things you’re doing. Murdering innocent people. Killing little kids. I don’t believe that most of you ever wanted to do that, and it probably makes you sick to even think about it. I understand. I’ve done some pretty horrible things myself in order to survive.”
“They won’t listen to you,” said Saint John.
“Sure they will,” said Nix.
“I won’t let you . . .”
Lilah pointed her pistol at his face.
“Yes you will.”
“Kill me and my reapers will tear you to pieces.”
Lilah shrugged. “So?”
“You’ve been told a bunch of lies,” continued Benny. “You’ve been forced to accept those lies as the truth. But they are lies. Here is the truth. A scientist named Dr. Monica McReady has developed a cure for the Reaper Plague. It’s not perfect, but it works. My friend was infected with an arrow shot by one of your reapers. He got the plague and almost turned, but then Dr. McReady gave him medicine and he’s right here with me.”
Chong raised his bow and waggled it.
“The world hasn’t ended,” shouted Benny. “There is a new government in Asheville. People are reclaiming the world. The mutagen—the red powder you have—is going to wipe out the dead. It makes them faster, but it will also make them decay. In a week your flocks will fall apart. The plague is ending. We’ve survived it. Mankind has survived it. You and me, we’
re going to be here when it’s over. That’s what we’ve all prayed for. That’s the grace of God, and it’s the work of good-hearted people. We’re being given a chance to make a new world.”
“You are wasting your breath,” said Saint John. Power was creeping back into his voice, and he still held Brother Peter’s knife.
“We need to end this war,” pleaded Benny. “You need to end this war. Lay down your weapons, tear those angel wings off your clothes, and walk away. On behalf of the Nine Towns I have been authorized to offer a complete and total amnesty. No questions, no punishments. Lay down your weapons and help us rebuild the world instead of helping a psychopath destroy it. Don’t be destroyed by his screwed-up view of the world. Open your eyes. Open your hearts. Be alive!”
None of the reapers moved. They stood in endless rows that faded back into the depths of the forest. No knives fell to the ground.
“I am offering you a chance. One chance. Walk away now . . . or burn in hell for what you’ve done.”
Benny lowered the megaphone.
Saint John smiled through his tears. “And you accuse me of being dramatic. ‘Burn in hell’?”
“I was in the moment,” said Benny, and he smiled too.
Neither smile held any warmth. Neither smile held a flicker of humanity.
“I’ll see you bleed,” said Saint John.
“I’ll see you in hell,” said Benny Imura.
Benny and his friends turned and walked away.
100
AS BENNY AND HIS FRIENDS walked toward the gate, he studied the faces of the Freedom Riders who waited for them. Solomon Jones was there, and beside him was a tall dark-skinned woman with a Mohawk and a matched pair of army bayonets strapped to her thighs—Sally Two-Knives. And dozens of others, some of whom Benny knew from Zombie Cards and the battle of Gameland; some of whom were strangers.
Solomon clapped Benny on the shoulder. “That was some speech.”
“It was my first one,” said Benny, “and it’ll probably be my last. I wanted it to stick.”
Solomon grinned. “It was better than the one I gave to the mayors of the Nine Towns the other night. When I told them what was coming and told them about your plan, they wanted to put me in a straitjacket and give me tranquilizers.”
“Yeah, well.”
“But you should have seen their faces when I told them whose plan this was.” Solomon chuckled. “Little Benny Imura. Half of them didn’t even know Tom had a brother, let alone one who could come up with a plan like this. If there’s anyone left to talk about this, then believe me . . . people will think you’re absolutely out of your mind.”
“He was born crazy,” observed Morgie. “He’s been losing ground ever since.”
“Nice to know I’m among friends,” said Benny. “Shame none of ’em are mine.”
“That ‘walk away’ part of your speech was nice,” said Sally. “You cribbed that from what Tom said before we blew Gameland into orbit.”
“As I remember,” said Chong, “it didn’t work then, either.”
“You had to say it, though,” said Nix, coming to Benny’s defense. “You have to give people a chance.”
No one replied to that. It was a hopeful statement, but hope seemed to be lying dead somewhere out in the Ruin. For Benny, hope had died with a little girl back at Sanctuary. He looked for some inside his heart, but all he found there was a dark and murderous rage.
They passed through the gates. Benny turned to watch the guards pull it shut.
“God . . . ,” he murmured. He looked around. Mountainside looked like it always looked. And after today he knew for sure that he’d never see it again.
“Benny . . . ?”
He turned at the sound of her voice.
“You have to go, Nix,” he said. “There’s still time.”
She shook her head. “I can’t go.”
Benny felt his heart tearing in half. “Please, Nix . . . I can’t do this if you’re here. I can’t.”
“You have to,” she said. “We have to.”
Benny suddenly reached for her and pulled her close and clung to her. “Nix, please go,” he begged, his voice breaking into sobs. “Please don’t make me kill you, too.”
She started crying too. He could feel the heat of her, even through their body armor, even through the fear. She was so alive, and she deserved to go on living. Someone had to.
“Nix . . . please . . .”
She looked up at him with her green eyes. Her freckles were dark, the scars on her face livid.
“Benny,” she said softly, thickly, “I’m a samurai too.”
“Nix . . .”
“I won’t leave you,” she said, shaking her head stubbornly. “I won’t.”
He leaned his forehead against hers and they stood there, weeping, while all around them the town they grew up in prepared to die.
“Benny . . . Nix . . . ,” said a voice, and they turned to see Morgie there. “They’re coming.”
Benny drew a breath and stepped back from Nix. He fisted the tears from his eyes and nodded. Nix sniffed back her tears. She nodded too.
Lilah, Chong, and Riot stood a few feet away.
“This is it,” said Benny. “They let me make the big speech out there because this was my crazy plan. But I wanted to say something else to you guys. First . . . I told Nix and I’m telling you, there’s still time to leave. You can follow the goat path up the mountain. Or you can go out the north gate on the quads. There’s enough fuel to get you at least a couple of miles down—”
“Don’t,” said Chong. “You know we’re not leaving. My family got out, that’s all I care about.”
Neither of them admitted the reality of that comment. Wagonloads of people had left. Thousands went on foot toward the next town. Only fighters were left here. If everything went wrong, then the reapers would follow the trail north and destroy that town, and the next, and the next. Distance couldn’t guarantee safety anymore. Only an end to the reapers could do it, and that would happen here or it wouldn’t happen at all.
The odds were that it wouldn’t happen, though. The odds were in favor of the Chongs, and everyone else, being hunted down by killers—alive and dead.
Benny turned to Lilah and Riot. “This isn’t even your town. . . .”
“It ain’t about the town, son,” said Riot. “Excuse me for saying it, but I don’t give a rat’s hairy bee-hind about this town or any other town. I want to see that smug bastard and all his minions burn.”
“ ‘Minions,’ ” echoed Morgie. “Nice.”
There were shouts from the wall. “They’re coming! God . . . it’s the runners! They’re coming.”
Benny said, “Look, if we do this, then we’re not going to be the same people afterward. This is the line that Captain Ledger was talking about. We’re about to become monsters.”
“No,” said Chong, “that’s a myth; it’s a lie of bad logic. People who don’t understand, who haven’t seen what we’ve seen, say that if you use violence in defense, then you’re just the same as the people who attacked you, that you’re just as bad. But it’s not true. If they hadn’t started this, we’d never have thought this up. Benny—I grew up with you, I know how that weird little mind of yours works. If Saint John and Brother Peter and Mother Rose and all those maniacs hadn’t started a holy war, all you’d be thinking about would be Zombie Cards, fishing for trout, and what Nix looks like in tight jeans. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Despite everything, Nix blushed and Benny grinned.
“These people want to kill everything that we love.” Chong looked at Riot. “You want to talk about a line? They raided Sanctuary and slaughtered monks who never did anything but help everyone they met, and they killed sick people who couldn’t even lift a hand to defend themselves. And they murdered all those little children. Like Eve—they murdered Eve. There is no line, Benny. We’re not like them. If we’re risking our souls here, it’s to make sure that kind of wholesale slaughter doe
sn’t keep happening. I’m not saying we’re heroes . . . but we’re not like them.”
Morgie clapped him on the back and then held out his hand, palm down in the center of their circle. “Maybe I haven’t been with you guys through all that, but I’ve got your back right here, right now. Tom taught us to be samurai. He taught us to fight . . . so let’s fight. Warrior smart.”
Chong laid his hand atop Morgie’s. “Warrior smart.”
Lilah was next, placing her brown hand over Chong’s. “Warrior smart.”
“I ain’t a samurai,” said Riot, “but I’ve got my own dog in this fight. And I guess this was my war before it was yours. So, yeah . . . warrior smart.” She placed her hand over Lilah’s.
Tears still streamed down Nix’s face. “All that time I was writing down how to survive and how to fight in my journal, I thought it was to build and protect something. I didn’t think it was to destroy . . . but I guess we don’t always get to choose our wars. I love you all. Warrior smart.”
Benny was the last to reach out, and he placed his palm over Nix’s. Her fingers were icy from terror.
“I know Tom would think we’re all crazy,” he said. “But when he taught us to be warrior smart, this is what he meant.”
They held their hands there for a long moment, and then without another word they turned and headed off to take up their posts.
101
SAINT JOHN COULD NOT PUT down the knife. His fist felt welded shut around the handle.
“Honored One,” said one of his aides. “Our scouts picked up the trail of a large group of refugees heading north. Thousands of them. The scouts guess they have a two-day lead.”
“Send the quads after them.”
“How many, Honored One?”
“All of them, and a reserve of five thousand on foot. Hunt them down and send them all into the darkness.” He touched the aide’s sleeve. “We are no longer recruiting. Everyone goes into the darkness.”
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