Rot & Ruin (Rot & Ruin, #1)(25)

keep us safe. You don’t know what I—”

He broke off and flung Benny away from him. Benny staggered backward and fell hard on his butt, legs splayed among the weeds and old bones. His eyes bugged with shock, and Tom stood above

him, different expressions warring on his face. Anger, shock at his own actions, burning frustration. Even love.

“Benny …”

Benny got to his feet and dusted off his pants. Once more he looked back the way they’d come and then stepped up to Tom, staring up at his big brother with an expression that was equally

mixed and conflicted.

“I’m sorry,” they both said.

They stared at each other.

Benny smiled.

Tom’s smile was slower in coming.

“You’re a total pain in my butt, little brother.”

“You’re a world-class jerk.”

The hot breeze blew past them. Tom said, “If you want to go back, then we’ll go back.”

Benny shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Do I have to have an answer?”

“Right now? No. Eventually? Probably.”

“Yeah,” said Benny. “That’s okay, I guess. Just tell me one thing. I know you said it already, but I really need to know. Really, Tom.”

Tom nodded.

“You’re not like them. Right? Swear on something.” He pulled out his wallet and held up the picture. “Swear on Mom and Dad.”

Tom nodded. “Okay, Benny. I swear.”

“On Mom and Dad.”

“On Mom and Dad.” Tom touched the picture and nodded.

“Okay,” said Benny. “Then let’s go.”

The afternoon burned on, and they followed the two-lane road around the base of the mountain. Neither spoke for almost an hour and then Tom said, “This isn’t just a walk we’re taking,

kiddo. I’m out here on a job.”

Benny shot him a look. “You’re here to kill a zom?”

Tom shrugged. “It’s not the way I like to phrase it, but … yes, that’s the bottom line.”

They walked another half mile.

“How does this work? The … job, I mean.”

“You saw part of it when you applied to that erosion artist,” said Tom. He dug into a jacket pocket and removed an envelope, opened it, and took out a piece of paper that he unfolded and

handed to Benny. There was a small color photograph clipped to one corner that showed a smiling man of about thirty, with sandy hair and a sparse beard. The paper it was clipped to was a

large portrait of the same man as he might be now if he was a zombie. The name “Harold” was handwritten in one corner.

“This is why erosion portraits are so useful. People have pictures done of wives, husbands, children … anyone they loved. Someone they lost. Sometimes they can even remember what a person

was wearing on First Night, and that makes it easier for me, because as I said, the dead seldom move far from where they lived. Or worked. Guys like me find them.”

“And kill them?”

Tom answered that with a shrug. They rounded a bend in the road and saw the first few houses of a small town built onto the side of the mountain. Even from a quarter mile away Benny could

see zombies standing in yards or on the sidewalks. One stood in the middle of the road with his face tilted toward the sun.

Nothing moved.

Tom folded the erosion portrait and put it in his pocket, then took out the vial of cadaverine and sprinkled some on his clothes. He handed it to Benny, then dabbed some mint gel on his

upper lip and passed the jar to his brother.

“You ready?”

“Not even a little bit,” said Benny.

Tom loosened his sword in its scabbard, and led the way. Benny shook his head, unsure of how exactly the day had brought him to this moment, and then followed.





12


“WON’T THEY ATTACK US?” BENNY WHISPERED.

“Not if we’re smart and careful. The trick is to move slowly. They respond to quick movements. Smell, too, but we have that covered.”

“Can’t they hear us?”

“Yes, they can,” Tom said. “So once we’re in the town, don’t talk unless I do, and even then—less is more, and quieter is better than loud. I found that speaking slowly helps. A lot of

the dead moan … so they’re used to slow, quiet sounds.”

“This is like the Scouts,” Benny said. “Mr. Feeney told us that when we’re in nature we should act like we’re part of nature.”

“For better or worse, Benny … this is part of nature too.”

“That doesn’t make me feel good, Tom.”


“This is the Rot and Ruin, kiddo. … Nobody feels good out here. Now hush and keep your eyes open.”

They slowed their pace as they neared the first houses. Tom stopped and spent a few minutes studying the town. The main street ran upward to where they stood, so they had a good view of

everything. Moving very slowly, Tom removed the envelope from his pocket and unfolded the erosion portrait.

“My client said that it was the sixth house along the main street,” Tom murmured. “Red front door and white fence. See it? There, past the old mail truck.”