Dust & Decay (Rot & Ruin, #2)(41)

“Not in words that crude.” He patted the book inside his coat. “But yes … the fate of all mankind is laid out in chapter and verse.”

“Where?” demanded Lilah. “Where does it say that in the Bible?”

Something shifted in the preacher’s eyes. Benny thought it was like a snake looking out through the eyeholes of a mask.

“It’s in there for those who read the scriptures,” the preacher answered quietly. “But I bet that you’ve never taken the time to—”

“You’d lose that bet, mister.”

Everyone turned. It was Chong who had spoken up. He had retrieved Lilah’s spear from the bushes and handed it to her. She accepted it without glancing at him.

Preacher Jack gave Chong an up-and-down evaluation with his eyes and dismissed him with a twitch of his smiling mouth. “I doubt that, son. From what I heard, this young lady’s been living hard and wild in these mountains, far from any church or congregation.”

“How does that matter? Does a sheepdog stop being a sheepdog if there’s no herd or shepherd?” Chong gave his dry lips a nervous lick. “Don’t raise theological questions unless you’re prepared to debate them.”

Preacher Jack’s smile still did not dim. “Well, well, well … what have you stumbled upon, Jack? A Sunday School class trip all the way out here in the Rot and Ruin?”

“Hardly that,” said Tom quietly.

“Then what?”

Chong, Lilah, Nix, and Benny all started to speak, but Tom snapped his fingers, a sound as sharp and urgent as a pistol shot. He gave a hand gesture, a palms-down press as if he was patting the air. It was one of the warrior hand signals he had taught them over the last seven months. Be silent but be ready.

“We’re out here on personal business,” said Tom mildly. “Family business. We don’t discuss that business with strangers.”

“Is that what we are, Brother Tom?” asked Preacher Jack with a hint of reproach in his voice. “Are we strangers?”

Tom said, “If we’d met in town or at Wawona, or in the sanctuary of one of the way stations, then I suppose I’d feel comfortable enough to swap stories. That’s not the case. I find a man tortured and fed to the dead. That’s suspicious. Then you step out of nowhere.”

“I—”

Tom stopped him with a raised hand. “Let me finish. I offer no hostility and mean no disrespect, but I am not in a position to trust a stranger.” He nodded toward Benny and the others. “Manners are going to have to take a backseat to common sense and safety.”

“So I see.”

“I’m going to ask one more time … do you know anything about who this man is, why he was killed, or why he didn’t reanimate?”

Preacher Jack hooked his thumbs into his belt, and Benny noted that this put the heel of his right hand on the pommel of his knife. Having seen how fast the man could draw that knife, Benny had no illusions that the gesture was accidental. He carefully tightened his grip on the bokken.

“I don’t believe that I have any of the answers you seek,” murmured the man in the dusty coat.

“Then I think we’re done here.”

“Done with me or done with this poor sinner?”

“With both.” Tom took a small step back.

Preacher Jack nodded. “Perhaps we’ll meet again under more pleasant circumstances, Brother Tom.”

“That would be nice, sir, but unlikely. You see, we’re heading east.”

For the first time Preacher Jack’s smile flickered. “What? You’re leaving these mountains? When will you be coming back?”

“I don’t expect that we will.”

That wiped the smile completely from the preacher’s face. He looked disappointed and even a little bit angry at this news, and Benny watched Tom as his brother watched the change in Preacher Jack’s expression.

“Something wrong?” asked Tom, his own face and voice neutral.

The smile returned, tentatively at first and then with all its twitchy vibrancy. “Wrong? Why, no, except that it would surely have been a blessing to sit down, break bread, and try this whole meeting again in a more civilized way. I fear we got ourselves off on the wrong foot here. Knives and hard words and all.”

Now Tom smiled, and it looked genuine, at least to Benny.

“Yeah.” Tom laughed. “I guess this wasn’t the most genial encounter.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, it could have been worse.”

“Yes,” said Preacher Jack with a glitter in his eyes, “it surely could have.”

They stood there, eight feet apart with a dead man lying on the ground between them, and Benny had the impression that there were all sorts of conversations going on at the same time. Words that were not being spoken but that were mutually understood. Except to Benny and, from the look on her face, Nix as well.

Preacher Jack bowed to Nix and Lilah. “If by word or deed I have done anything to offend you fine ladies,” he said, removing his hat and bowing low once more, “then I am truly sorry and most humbly beg forgiveness. The Ruin is not a charm school, and in hard times we often forget who we are and where we came from.”

Lilah said nothing, but her honey-colored eyes lost some of their intensity. Nix gave a single curt bob of her head.