Flesh & Bone (Rot & Ruin, #3)(8)

“No!” Benny drove his shoulder into the soldier zom’s stomach and ran him backward into the mass of walking corpses. As the creature fell off balance, Benny grabbed the handle of the katana and tried to pull it free, but the blade would not move.

“Help!” The scream had an even sharper note of panic, and Benny looked up to see the little girl’s fingers slither through the last of the roots. With a piercing howl, the child fell.

“Helllllp!”


Once more Benny was moving before he realized it, slamming into the zoms with crossed forearms and then throwing himself under the tiny body, turning, reaching—praying.

She was so small, no more than forty pounds, but she had twenty feet to fall, and the impact slammed into Benny’s chest like a thunderbolt, crushing him to the ground and driving the air painfully from his lungs. He went limp with her atop him, and instantly she began kicking and punching at him to try and escape.

“Stop it . . . c’mon, ow! OW! Stop!” cried Benny in a hoarse bellow. “Stop it—I’m not one of them!”

Panic filled the girl’s eyes, but at the sound of his voice she froze and stared at him with the silent intensity of a terrified rabbit.

“I’m not one of them,” Benny croaked again. His chest felt smashed, and pain darted through his lungs and back.

The girl looked at him with the biggest, bluest eyes in the world, eyes that were filled with tears and a flicker of uncertain hope. She opened her mouth—and screamed again.

But not at him.

Zoms were closing in on all sides.

With a cry of horror, he rolled onto his side, huddled his body over the girl’s, and kicked out at the legs of the closest zombie. Bone cracked, but the zom did not go down, and Benny saw that it was one of the burly farmers. The thing had been rawboned and sturdy in life, and much of that strength lingered in death.

Benny kicked again, knocking the lead zom backward. He scrambled to his feet and pulled the girl up, shoving her toward a bare patch of wall, away from the grasping hands of the army of the dead. Behind them, the ravine ran on for forty yards and vanished into the shadows around a bend. In front of them were dozens of zoms; and far back in the crowd was the soldier with Tom’s katana buried in its thighbone. There was no way on earth Benny could retrieve it.

“They’re going to eat us!” wailed the girl. “The gray people are going to eat us!”

Yes, they are, Benny thought.

“No they’re not!” he growled aloud.

He backed away, using his body to push the girl deeper into the ravine. “Go,” he whispered urgently. “Run!”

She hesitated, lost and confused, the fear so overwhelming that instead of running, she closed her eyes and began to cry.

The moans of the dead filled the air.

Benny had no choice. He turned away from Tom’s sword and the lost possibilities of survival it promised, then snatched up the little girl, pressed her to his chest, and ran.





FROM NIX’S JOURNAL

The first time I was out in the Rot and Ruin, after I escaped from Charlie Pink-eye and was hiding with Benny, we saw something impossible. A jet. One of the big flying machines from the old world, from before First Night.

It was in the sky, flying west, almost in the direction of home. Then it turned and flew back toward the east.

I know that if I’d been alone when I saw it, I wouldn’t have believed it. And no one would believe me if I told them. But Benny saw it too. And Tom.

We knew we’d have to go find it. I mean, how could we not?

That’s why Tom started the Warrior Smart program. To get us ready for whatever we’d find. So far it’s saved our lives more times than I can count.

Now . . . finding the jet is the only thing that matters.





7

AS HE RAN, BENNY COULD FEEL THE LITTLE GIRL’S FLUTTERING HEART BEATING against his chest. It called up an old memory—the oldest memory he owned, a memory born in horror on First Night. It was a memory of being held just like this when he was a toddler less than two years old, being held tightly in Tom’s arms while his brother ran away from the thing that had been their father. And the weeping, screaming figure of their mother, who had used the last moments of her life to pass Benny through a window to Tom and beg him to run.

To run.

As Benny ran now.

Through darkness and horror, with death pursuing and no certain knowledge of a way out of the moment.

For most of his life Benny had misunderstood that memory, thinking that Mom had been abandoned by Tom, that his brother had been a coward who fled when he should have stayed to rescue her, too. But then he learned the truth. Mom was already dying, already becoming one of the living dead. She had pushed both her sons out of the window, saving them from the terror inside. And Tom had honored that sacrifice by keeping Benny safe—that night and all the other nights and years that followed.

Now Tom was gone too.

He, too, had died to save others. He, too, had sacrificed himself so that life could continue even in a world ruled by the dead.

The little girl Benny carried wept and screamed, but she also clung to him. And he to her. Even though she was a total stranger to him, Benny knew that he would die to save her.

Was it like this for you, Tom? he wondered. Was this what you felt when you carried me out of Sunset Hollow on First Night? If you were really the coward I used to think you were, you would have run off and left me. Wouldn’t you? You would have saved yourself. Alone, without having to carry me, it would have been easier for you to slip away. But you didn’t. You carried me all the way.