Dust & Decay (Rot & Ruin, #2)(42)

Preacher Jack turned to Benny. “Peace to you, little brother.”

“Um … yeah, sure. Back atcha.”


Preacher Jack ignored Chong altogether, but he fixed Tom with a knowing smile. “I won’t offer my hand again, Brother Tom, for fear that it will once more be left hanging in the wind. So I’ll tip my hat and bid you all a farewell. May the Good Lord keep you from snakes and snares and the evil that men do.”

With that the preacher replaced his hat, tugged his lapels to adjust the hang of his jacket, and walked back into the woods, where he vanished so quickly into the shadows that the whole encounter might have been a dream. Tom and the others stood where they were for a full five minutes, listening first for Preacher Jack’s soft footfalls and then to the forest as the ordinary sounds one by one returned.

Benny let out a chestful of air and turned to Tom. “What was that all about?”

“I really don’t know,” said Tom.

Benny could see that Tom was troubled. He followed his brother over to the edge of the road, and they both squatted to study the dirt of the game trail along which Preacher Jack had gone. Benny watched as Tom used a twig to measure the man’s shoe impressions. “Good-quality hiking shoes,” murmured Tom. “Pre–First Night, which means they’re either scavenged or purchased for a tidy stack of ration dollars.”

Benny nodded and bent low to study the pattern of the shoes, just as Tom had taught him. The tread was pretty well worn, and there was a crescent-shaped nick out of the right heel.

“That nick is pretty distinctive,” Benny said, earning him an approving nod from Tom.

“It’s as good as a fingerprint. Remember it.” Then Tom called the others over to look at it too, pointing out the unique elements of each sole.

“Why bother?” asked Chong. “Is he our enemy?”

“I don’t know what he is,” admitted Tom, “but out here it’s a good idea to observe as many details as you can. You never know what’s going to be useful.”

“Was that really Preacher Jack?” asked Nix.

Tom rose and squinted down the game trail. “Well … he fits the description Dr. Skillz gave me. At least physically.”

“Is it okay if I say that he was the single creepiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been face-to-face with decaying zoms?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah, Nix, you can say that and mean it.”

“I don’t like him,” growled Lilah, her fists clenched tightly around the shaft of her spear. “If I see him again …” She let the rest hang in the air.

“I think it’s a good idea if we all watch our backs,” suggested Tom.

“Are you sure he’s really a preacher?” asked Chong.

Tom shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything about him. Not one thing.”

He looked up at the sky.

Benny started to ask something, but Tom shook his head.

“We’re burning daylight,” Tom said. “We need to get to the way station, and I need to think while we’re doing it. We’ll talk then. For now, we’ll go at Scout pace. That means we walk two hundred paces, run three hundred, walk two hundred. It’ll chew up the miles.”

And it’ll keep us too busy to ask questions, whispered Benny’s inner voice. Smart.

“Nix—this is up to you. Can you handle the pace? No screwing around: yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said with real fire. “And I promise to tell you if I can’t keep up.”

Without another word, Tom turned toward the southeast and set off.

The others followed. Running and walking and running. They didn’t have time to ask questions, but about ten thousand of them occurred to Benny, and he knew that the same questions would be occurring to Nix.

Who was Preacher Jack?

Was he connected to the dead man? Who had killed the man? And why? Could Charlie Pink-eye still be alive? Was he out in these same hills? Did he know they were out here?

And, maybe more important than any of those questions: How come the dead man had not reanimated? Since First Night, everyone who died, no matter how they died, came back to life.

Why hadn’t he?

What did it mean?

The questions burned in Benny’s mind as he ran.

FROM NIX’S JOURNAL

How many people are still alive out there?





Tom says that there’s a network of about five hundred bounty hunters, traders, way-station monks, and scavengers in central California. And maybe as many as two hundred loners living in isolated and remote spots. Sounds like a lot, but it’s not. Our history teacher said that California used to be the most populous state and that there used to be almost forty million people living here.





28


THEY LEFT THE OLD ROAD AND FOUND WHAT USED TO BE A HIGHWAY, so they turned and followed that. Despite the fact that his toe was hurting like crazy and his clothes were thoroughly soaked with sweat, Benny still mustered the energy to look left and right, left and right, checking every shadow under every tree for some sign of movement that could be either zoms or worse.



Charlie’s dead, he told himself, but his inner voice—the less emotional and more rational aspect of his mind—replied, You don’t know that.