Flesh-&-Bone(48)

“I like the slingshot,” observed Benny, half because it was true and half because he felt a peevish desire to score a point on Nix. “Quiet and nasty. We should get one. Chong used to be pretty good with one; maybe we could all learn.”

“Slingshots are stupid,” muttered Nix. “Something a kid would use.”

“That girl was pretty tough,” Benny said.

“You thought that cow looked pretty?”

“I said ‘pretty tough,’ Nix. Don’t start, okay? She was tough and dangerous with that slingshot and the firecrackers and all. Saved us from the lions.”

“Oh, please,” sneered Nix. “And what kind of name is ‘Riot’ anyway?”

Suddenly there was movement behind them, deeper inside the forest. They spun around and saw another man standing a mere dozen paces away.

The stranger was tall, with dark eyes set so deep that they made his pale face look skeletal. His head was shaved, and his entire scalp was tattooed with a pattern of thorny vines. He wore black trousers and a billowy black shirt, and his legs and arms were wrapped with bloodred ribbons. On his shirtfront was a beautifully rendered chalk drawing of angel wings.

A reaper.

In Benny’s mind, Tom’s voice whispered, Benny . . . run.





31

CHONG DID NOT MOVE.

The reaper cut the air with the scythe again and again. With each pass he called out in a gravelly voice. “Hiding only makes it worse. The darkness wants to take you. Give in to it and there is only beauty. A touch is all, and then you are free. Free!”

Chong held his breath.

The reaper listened to the silence and shook his head. “Struggle against it and you beg for pain.”

It was clear that the reaper did not know exactly where he was; he kept turning, shouting to different parts of the surrounding woods. It was a trick, and not a very good one, Chong mused. No one would be crazy enough to fall for it.

Then a second man stepped out of the woods on the far side of the clearing.

It was Carter. His clothes were torn and splashed with blood, and his hair and eyes were wild.

He looks like he’s just been through hell, Chong thought. And he wondered where Sarah and Eve were. And that girl, Riot.

When the reaper saw Carter, he nodded approval. “Smart choice, brother. This reaper honors you and offers the gift of darkness to end your suffering and—”

“Skip the sales pitch, ‘Brother’ Andrew.” Carter pointed his shotgun at the reaper’s chest. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I’m going to give you one chance, because you used to be my friend. Drop the cutter and walk away. Leave me and mine in peace.”

“Peace?” The reaper, Brother Andrew, shook his head, and Chong thought there was real regret in his face. “There is no peace left on earth, Carter. You of all people should know that. How many have you lost to the gray wanderers? Your first wife? Your son? Your sister? How many more do you have to see consumed before you understand that earth no longer belongs to mankind?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“We’ve been called home, brother,” insisted Andrew. “Saint John and Mother Rose have shown us the way.”

“They’re murderers, and they’ve brainwashed the whole bunch of you into believing in some crazy made-up god and a bunch of lunatic ranting. They’ve blinded you with this darkness nonsense.”

“No,” said Andrew, “they’ve opened our eyes and our hearts to the truth.”

“What truth? All you do is kill.”

“No!” said Andrew, looking hurt and surprised. “We don’t ‘kill.’ There is no ‘murder’ left in the world. Why can’t you get it through your head that the gray plague was not a virus or an accident? It was the will of our god. Like the Death of the Firstborn in your own Bible, Carter. He has reached out his hand to erase the mistake of ‘life.’”

“‘Mistake’? Life is the only thing that matters.”

Andrew shook his head. “No. God—the true god—meant for mankind to leave the physical form and transition into the formlessness of the darkness. That was his will, his plan for the redemption of everyone.”

Carter shook his head. “Horse crap. It was a plague, and it didn’t kill everyone. There are a lot of people left and—”

“There are maggots crawling on the festering corpse of this world,” countered Andrew. “Everyone who draws breath does so in defiance of the will of God.”