Flesh & Bone (Rot & Ruin, #3)(62)

She explained about Saint John and his belief that the Gray Plague had been a kind of “rapture,” and that anyone left behind was a sinner. Saint John formed the reapers to usher those left behind into the darkness.

“Darkness? What’s that? Heaven?”

“Don’t rightly know. Saint John says that it’s the place where pain and sufferin’ don’t exist no more. He never said anything about pearly gates or none of that stuff.”

“And people join him?”

A strange light kindled in her eyes. “Oh, yes they do. By the hundreds and by the thousands.”

Chong thought about it. “Brother Andrew said a lot of things about how hard it is to survive out here. All the disease and hunger, not to mention the zoms.”

“Zoms? Oh, you mean the zees. Nobody much calls ’em zoms, ’cept the odd trader or ranger. Mostly it’s ‘gray people,’ ‘gray wanderers.’ All the same.”

“So . . . let me see if I understand this,” said Chong. “People are eager to join the reapers and embrace the ‘darkness’ because this world is too hard to live in? Is that about it?”

She nodded. “It ain’t as simple as that, but you got the bones of it. If all you know is suffering and fear, and next year looks to be just as bad, and the year after that and the year after that . . . who wouldn’t take a hard look at an offer of no pain, no suffering?”

Chong sighed. “I’d say it was the craziest thing I ever heard of, but it’s actually not. Those who want to go see God can do it right now, and those who want to find some kind of redemption—or maybe some kind of important purpose—can join the reapers and do God’s work before they head off to join their loved ones.”

Riot gave him a long, appraising look. “Ain’t stupid, are ya?”

“I try not to be.”

He suddenly swayed as another wave of nausea churned through him. He fought to control the urge to vomit.

“You okay?”

“I’ve felt better. Little woozy. Sick to my stomach.”

Riot placed her palm on his forehead. “You’re sweatin’ up a storm, but I don’t feel no fever. You’re sick as a dog.”

“Arrows in my body tend to do that to me,” Chong said.

“Ah,” she said. “So I heard.”

Riot bent close and studied the arrowhead. “That is a beaut.”

“Swell.” Chong could actually feel his body turn cold. “Since we can’t, um, yank it out . . . what are our options?”

“It’s an aluminum arrow,” she said, nodding toward the shaft. “So I’ll try and unscrew the head, and then we can pull it out backwards-like. Might jostle a bit, which is why I wanted you awake ’fore I try. Can’t have you waking up screaming.”

“No, we can’t have that.”

She nodded at his bare shoulder. “What’s that?”

Chong did not need to look to see what she meant. There was a fresh scar from where a zombie had tried to take a bite out of him in one of the fighting pits at Gameland. He explained that to Riot.

“You was a pit fighter?’

“Not by choice.”

“And you got bit and healed?” She looked dubious.

“The zom’s teeth just pinched, and I pulled away at the same time. I lost some skin, but I didn’t get infected.”

“You got the luck. Bit by a gray wanderer and lived to brag on it, and now shot by a reaper and you’ll have that scar to use to charm the ladies. Is . . . there a lady, by the way? Maybe that little redhead with the freckles?”

“That’s Nix, and she’s with Benny.”

“And you all alone?” she asked, a smile touching the corners of her mouth.

“I . . . I’m kind of seeing someone.”

“Oh?” she asked casually as she knelt over the small fire and placed the tip of a knife in the flames. Chong did not ask her why. He already had a bad idea about what that burning metal would be used for.

“Tell me about her.”

Chong told Riot an abbreviated version of Lilah’s story.

Riot turned and stared at him. “The Lost Girl? You’re joshing me.”

“No . . . why? Don’t tell me you’ve heard of her?”

“Oh, dang, son, I heard ten different versions of that tall tale.” She laughed and shook her head. “Boys are funny. They’ll make up any dang story just to impress a gal.”

“You think I’m making this up?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. But when we’re done here I’ll introduce you to my uncle, Daniel Boone. He keeps a chupacabra for a pet and has a fresh-raised gray man as his personal butler.”

Chong tried to argue, to explain that Lilah was real and that he knew her, but Riot kept laughing and shaking her head. Finally he gave it up.

Riot gave him a wicked little grin and ticked her chin toward the arrow. “So, unless you got more tall tales to tell . . . let’s give ’er a go, shall we?”





47

BENNY AND NIX STARED AT THE ZOMBIES ON THE T-BARS. THE CREATURES twisted and reached for them, their moans softer than the desert breeze. Red streamers were tied around their ankles.

Around the neck of each was hung a small plank of whitewashed wood. The message on each was the same.