Dust & Decay (Rot & Ruin, #2)(108)

“Yes, I know. You laid false charges on Charlie, then you and yours went out and ambushed him in the woods and killed him when he wasn’t looking.”

“False charges? I was there, Matthias. I held Jessie Riley in my arms when she died. I know what happened. Charlie asked for what he got, and my only regret is that it wasn’t from my own hand.”

“Yes … that hell-spawn brother of yours, that devil’s imp, managed some trickster ambush and killed my firstborn son.”

The crowd buzz intensified. There were dozens of versions of the battle at Charlie’s camp, and small arguments broke out as facts and suppositions were thrown out.

White Bear spun around and roared, “SHUT UP!” His bellow echoed off the walls of the Wawona Hotel. The crowd cowered into silence.

Preacher Jack took a threatening step toward Tom. “You had your say, such as it was. Now hear me on this, Tom Imura. Your time is over. Your reign of corruption, bullying, terrorism, and murder is done. I call a blood debt on you and yours, and like a farmer who burns a whole field to kill an encroaching blight, I will burn the name of Imura from this world. Your sins against my family are uncountable, and so I curse you and yours for all generations.” As he spoke he turned in a slow circle to likewise address the shocked and silent crowd. “Anyone who stands with you falls with you. So say I and so say mine.”

Silence owned the moment except for the constant low moans of the dead strapped to the chairs under the circus tent.

Down in the Pits of Judgment, Benny whispered, “What’s happening?”



“I don’t know,” said Nix. “We have to let Tom know we’re here!”

Behind them the shadows were filled with hungry moans.

“Don’t make a sound,” Benny whispered. Calling out to Tom was a good plan, but not at the moment. Not unless Tom was right there with a ladder ready to let them climb out, and from what Benny heard, that wasn’t the case. If they called to him now, it might be a fatal distraction for Tom.

Benny and Nix felt their way along the walls of the tunnel. It was absolutely pitch black. Even the torchlight from the main corridor faded and died within a few yards. They fought to keep their breathing as silent as possible, listening for the scuff of a shuffling dead foot or the soft moan of hunger. Except for the powder, they had no weapons left, and Charlie was still out there along with at least fifteen zombies. Maybe more. Time was running out.

Tom Imura sighed. “I tried,” he said, shaking his head. He reached over his shoulder and slowly drew his sword. All around the arena the guards, already alert, raised their weapons, edged forward, and pointed guns at Tom’s heart. He ignored them as he straightened his arm and pointed the tip of his sword at Preacher Jack and White Bear. Firelight gleamed along the smooth steel and sparkled on the wicked edge. “Hear me on this,” Tom said, his voice clear and strong. “You’ve spoken your piece and you’ve laid your curse, Matthias. Now hear mine. Not a curse … but a promise. I speak to everyone here, so listen to what I have to say.” He paused and surveyed the crowd. “Walk away,” he said. “Lay down your weapons, throw away your betting slips, and walk away. Gameland is closed. Walk away.”



White Bear stared at him. “Says who?”

“Says the law.”

“This is the Ruin! There is no law.”

Tom’s sword pointed at him, the tip as unwavering as if Tom was a statue made of steel. His eyes were fixed on White Bear. “There is now.”

Preacher Jack snorted. “You have no right. You have no power. The Matthias clan is the only power in the Ruin … now and forever.”

“Walk away,” Tom said again, turning now to the crowd. “Last chance. Everyone here gets a pass if you walk away. Everyone except Preacher Jack and White Bear. To use their words: If you stand with them, you fall with them. Walk away.”

“You’re a fool and a madman,” declared White Bear. “You come here alone and make some kind of brainless grandstand play.” He gestured to one of his guards, a beefy man who had been a running back for the Oilers before First Night. “Take that stupid sword away from him and drag his ass over here.”

The guard racked the slide on his pump shotgun and grinned. “Absolutely, boss.”

Tom lowered his sword and raised his empty left hand, pointing his index finger like a gun at the approaching guard. He raised his thumb as if it was a pistol’s hammer.

“Last chance,” he said to the man.

“You’re freaking crazy, Imura,” said the guard. “You always were.”

“Your call.” Tom dropped his thumb and said, “Bang.”

There was a sharp crack and the guard was plucked off the ground and flung backward. He landed on his back, gasping, eyes wide, blood pumping from a dime-size hole in the center of his chest. Tom blew across the tip of his finger as if he had really shot the man. The crowd sat stunned, unsure how to even react. Even Preacher Jack and White Bear were frozen in place.

“I warned you,” Tom said, his smile gone now, his voice suddenly harsh and bitter. “You should have listened.”

And then the killing began.





78


“BENNY!” CALLED NIX SUDDENLY. SHE SPOKE IN A WHISPER, BUT IT seemed dangerously loud. “I think I found something.”