Flesh & Bone (Rot & Ruin, #3)(95)

“How’d they tumble to us so fast?” asked the giant.

Sister Caitlyn shook her head. “I don’t think any of us went to him.”

“They could have had someone watching from the woods when we met at the shrine,” said Alexi. “Plenty of places to hide and—”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Mother Rose. “What does matter is that Saint John knows.”

“This sucks,” grumped Alexi. “I had a nice little timetable for working the new agenda into the army. Real subtle, too. I have a list of all the right people to talk to. The ones who could influence whole groups within the army. Damn.”

Mother Rose said nothing as they continued to walk toward the edge of the forest. Alexi and Caitlyn fell silent, but both of them looked disappointed and nervous.

Rebellion was fine, even imperative, unless they wanted to die young, which neither of them did, but going up against Saint John, Brother Peter, and the main body of the reaper army too soon . . . that promised a short and ugly future. Mother Rose’s insurrection was barely two hours old.

“We really screwed the pooch here,” said Alexi.

“No,” said Mother Rose. “We don’t need the army to take Sanctuary.”

“I’m not just worried about taking Sanctuary, Rose,” said Alexi. “But I have to admit that I’m more than a little concerned about Saint John hunting us with the main force of the reaper army. We have less than three hundred. Even without pulling in all of the legions from Wyoming and Utah, Saint John can chase us down with forty thousand knives.”

“Let him try.”

Caitlyn and Alexi stared at her. Mother Rose smiled as she let seconds fall all around them.

“But . . . ,” began Alexi, but Mother Rose cut him off.

“He has numbers,” she said, “but we have something else. Don’t you think it’s time that the Shrine of the Fallen yields up its mysteries?”

A big, ugly grin bloomed on Alexi’s dark face. “Oh . . . yes. Long past time.”

Mother Rose placed her fingertips on his chest over his heart. “You know what to do, my love. Caitlyn and I will gather the rest of our chosen ones and march on Sanctuary. Take a dozen fighters and go to the shrine. Follow as quick as you can.”

Alexi took her hand and kissed it. Then he turned and began growling orders to twelve of the toughest chosen. Together they vanished into the woods.

Confused, Caitlyn asked, “Mother . . . what’s at the shrine?”

Mother Rose’s smile was small and cold. “A power that not even Saint John, with all of his power, can hope to withstand.”

With that she turned and signaled to her chosen, who followed her on the way to Sanctuary.





76

“NIX!” YELLED BENNY. “GET BACK!”

He shoved her out of the way and brought his sword up in a two-handed grip.

As Nix fell, the match winked out, plunging the room into total darkness.

“Match—match—MATCH!” shrieked Benny.

Suddenly another match flared, and Benny crouched in the corridor between the stacks of crates, sword raised, feet braced, ready to fight to the death to buy Nix enough time to get out and climb down to safety.

The zoms stared at Nix and Benny.

Benny backed up a pace, edging toward the hatch.

Gray eyes, milky and dead, were focused on the two teenagers. They moaned with aching hunger. A strange moan, muted and low.

And they did not attack.

Nix screamed once more and then stopped.

Benny stopped trying to back away.

The zoms stared at them with unyielding need, but they did not move.

And the moment held.

“Benny—?”

All Benny could do was stare.

“Benny,” demanded Nix. “What is—what is—?”

She fell silent too.

The zoms were still seated in their chairs.

Benny licked his dry lips and took a tentative step forward. Toward the zoms. Their eyes shifted to follow him.

The zoms themselves, however, did not.

They could not.

And now Benny could see why. They were all secured to the chairs by rope looped around their ankles, wrists, waists, and throats.

And every mouth had been sewn shut with silver wire.

“Are you seeing this?” Benny whispered.

Nix nodded mutely.

Benny sagged back, sick and disgusted down to a level he could not frame into words. This was so . . . weird, so wrong. So horrible.

On one level he understood the logic of it. Zoms that can’t move or bite are safer. They can be handled without as much fear of the contagion.

But this was . . . awful.

Benny heard Nix retch. Then she spun away and threw up behind the packing cases. When she was done, she leaned heavily against the crates, eyes closed, chest heaving. Beads of sweat like tiny diamond chips glistened on her face. She pushed roughly away from him and then turned warily back toward the ghastly scene before them.

“What,” she gasped, “is this? This is crazy. This is wrong.”

“I know,” Benny said weakly. He stared at the zoms. Each of them had a network of thin wires wrapped around their heads, with sockets drilled into their sinuses, ears, and foreheads. God only knew what that was for.

Nix found a blank writing tablet on one of the crates, rolled it up, and lit it. It was a small torch, but better than holding a match. She held it up as they moved carefully down the corridor, looking at every zom, making sure each one was securely lashed in place.