Horde (Razorland #3)(75)

“It’s worse,” he said. “Knowing that people caused all this destruction.”

The cause and effect haunted me. Long ago, people feared one another, so they invented terrible things, capable of creating monsters. Then the monsters killed so many of the people that we were in danger of dying out. So once again, we devised something awful, trying to drive off the beasts. It was like an unbreakable cycle, and it exhausted me, made me wonder if I was mad for thinking I could make a difference. I preferred to imagine I’d survived the long walk to serve some purpose, but the world might not operate like that. Maybe there were no reasons why, just an endless chain of bad and worse, leavened by occasional brightness.

“Yes. It is.”

Fade laced our fingers together as we left the church. Sometimes it felt as if he could sense when my heart hit its lowest ebb, then the smallest sign from him, and it sailed away again, soaring on the wind like a bird. The lightness couldn’t last, of course, with the dire nature of the task ahead of us, but it was enough to keep me from seeing only the dark.

The citizens of Winterville emerged from their homes slowly, careful as squirrels. An elderly woman asked, “Who do we have to thank for our salvation?”

“Company D!” the men replied as one.

A ragged cheer rose up. In their wan and tired faces, I glimpsed true adulation. I’d seen it a few times down below in the faces of brats who dearly wanted my approval. Several men and women clasped my hands, kissed them, even, and I glanced at Fade in confusion. He lifted a shoulder, fending off the worshipful attention, but not in a way that made me fear he was about to panic and attack them. He only looked puzzled.

“Enough,” I said. “There’s a lot of work to do. Who’s in charge here?”

A couple pushed to the front of the crowd; they looked to be of an age with the Oakses, lined but not incapable. “I’m the mayor, Agnes Meriwether, and this is my husband, Lem.”

“Do you intend to punish Dr. Wilson?” I asked.

She looked as if I’d suggested murdering a child. “Why? He only did as we implored. For years, we had no need to defend ourselves. The Muties were different then. They didn’t band together like they do now … and we could handle the odd scavenger. It was no different from running off a rabid wolf. But in the last year or so, things have gotten much worse. We didn’t have any trained men or many weapons. So we thought science might offer a solution.”

“From what I’ve seen,” Tegan said soberly, “you can’t have both fast and safe. It just isn’t possible.”

“We know that now. I should’ve listened when Dr. Wilson warned me that it wouldn’t end well. But it worked at first. The Mutie bands just veered away, but then people started going mad. Fourteen people died while we were rounding them up—”

“There’s a prison camp in the south,” Morrow said to me, low. “Barbaric. It would’ve been kinder just to kill them.”

“That’s what I said,” Lem put in.

Agnes seemed genuinely tormented. “I couldn’t bear for so many people to die, if there was any way to prevent it. I asked Dr. Wilson to devise a treatment.”

I nodded. “But he couldn’t. And the temporary prison didn’t hold.”

“I don’t want this responsibility,” she said softly. “I’ve made too many mistakes.”

A woman called from the crowd, “If you think we’re cleaning up your mess, you’re out of your mind, Mrs. Meriwether. You put this town to rights.”

I cut off the argument with an impatient gesture. Once we left, I didn’t care who held office. My objective was to restore Winterville to some semblance of order. So I divided us into teams as I had the day before, only this time we were hauling bodies. It seemed disrespectful to burn them as we had done the Freak corpses, so I set five men to digging a mass grave. That wasn’t a whole lot better, but it would take too long to dig so many separate ones. Down below, we’d have fed them to the Freaks, but I’d come to understand that was wrong, and Topside, it would attract scavengers.

I labored alongside everyone else, dragging bloody burdens out of buildings to where they could receive a decent burial. By noon, my back and arms were aching; it was the grimmest work I’d ever done. Only Tegan tackled other tasks; she checked the townsfolk over and helped those she could. I saw her frustration when she encountered illness or injuries she didn’t know how to treat. Guilt blazed like a signal fire in her eyes; she thought if Doc Tuttle had lived instead, he’d be of more use.

Once we finished moving the bodies, they fetched us shovels, and everyone pitched in to plant the dead. When I first heard of this custom, it gave me nightmares because it seemed so similar to putting seeds in the ground; and my sleeping mind conjured all kinds of horrific plants that might sprout from a corpse. It was silent work, raking dark soil over the faces of the dead. I heard only the rasp of the shovels and rakes and the breath of those who labored beside me. Black and still, the freshly dug mound rose up from the grass surrounding it. There should be some marker to commemorate the tragedy, but maybe the memory of the people who had loved and lost would do the job instead. Then the men of Winterville came with wood and stone, nails and hammers, and they built a monument. I rested in the shade nearby, weary in body and soul. Once the noise quieted, Mrs. Meriwether fetched the minister, who had a holy book similar, but not identical, to the one Caroline Bigwater read from when she disapproved of someone.