Rot & Ruin (Rot & Ruin, #1)(45)

Benny smoothed the card against his shirt front. “Why do you think Mr. Sacchetto painted the Lost Girl card after you asked him not to?”

“People do stupid things when they need money.”

“He doesn’t look broke.”

“He’s not, but for most people there’s never enough money.”

“Is this going to cause a lot of trouble?” Benny asked.

Tom looked back the way they’d come. “I hope not, but …” He let the rest of his sentence hang.

“Mr. Sacchetto said that you saw the Lost Girl a couple of months ago, but he said I had to ask you to tell me about her.”

The trees around them were filled with birdsong, and cicadas droned incessantly in the tall grass. Tom leaned his forearms on the fence and sighed.

“We haven’t really talked much since we got back,” he said. “I know that what we saw hit you pretty hard. I know that our relationship has changed a bit. As brothers, I mean.”

After a slight pause, Benny nodded.

“So here’s the problem, kiddo,” said Tom, “and maybe you can help me sort it out. I’m not entirely sure who you are. I mean, you’re not really a kid anymore, and you’re not an adult.

You’re not the annoying brat I’ve been living with for the last fourteen years.”

“Eat me,” said Benny with a grin.

“Zombies wouldn’t eat you. They have standards.” Tom pushed himself off the fence. “So, you’re going through all these changes, and I don’t know who you’ll be at the end of it.”

“How’s this all going to lead into you telling me about the Lost Girl?”

“That’s the problem. Last time I checked, you thought Charlie Pink-eye was—and I quote—‘The Man.’ The Hammer too. But a few minutes ago I saw you holding your own against Charlie. That

didn’t look like a friendly chat, but if there’s even the slightest chance you’re going to share a single word of this with Charlie or the Hammer, then I can’t and won’t say a single

word about Lilah. On the other hand, if I thought that I could trust you—completely and without reservation—then I might consider telling you the whole story.”

“You can—,” Benny began, but Tom stopped him with a raised finger.

“I don’t want an answer right now, Benny. I want us to do our training session and then we’ll have some dinner. We’ll talk after.”

“Why not now?”

“Because you want it too much now.”

“Great time to go Zen on me.”

Tom shrugged. “If I have to get to know who you are, you have to get to know who I am. Fair’s fair.” He opened the gate. “Let’s go.”

Benny stood outside the gate, drumming his fingers on the wooden top rail. He didn’t understand Tom at the best of times, and for a few seconds he felt like he’d just missed the punchline

of a joke. He looked down at the card, as if the Lost Girl could whisper some explanation to him.

“Honestly … is it just me or is Tom crazy?”

The Lost Girl’s eyes held infinite answers, but he couldn’t hear a word. He sighed, tucked the card into his pocket, and headed into the house.

Fifteen minutes later Tom tried to kill Benny with a sword.





21


BENNY TWISTED OUT OF THE WAY OF THE SWORD WITH MAYBE A MICRON to spare. He could feel the blade slice the air; he heard the swoosh of the wind. Benny threw himself to one side and tried to

roll behind the picnic table, but Tom was as nimble as an ape. He leaped onto the tabletop, dropped quickly into a crouch, and as Benny came out of his roll and started to rise, Tom stopped

him with the edge of his weapon across Benny’s windpipe.

“You’re dead.”

Benny put a finger against the blunt edge of the wooden practice sword and pushed it away.

“You cheated.”

Tom lowered his sword. “How do you figure that?”

“I dropped my sword,” Benny said. “I told you to give me a second.”

“Oh, please. Like anyone out in the Ruin is going to cut you any slack.”

“Zoms don’t carry swords.”

“That’s hardly the point.”

“And, as far as I know, none of the other bounty hunters do either.”

Tom picked up a towel and wiped sweat from his face. “Now you’re lying to save face. You saw one of them use a sword when we were out in the—”

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let me catch my breath.” Benny dropped his wooden sword and trudged over to the pitcher of iced tea and drank two cupfuls. “Besides,” he said, turning back, “I’d

rather learn how to use a gun.”

“You already know how to shoot.”

“Not like you.” He almost said “not like Charlie,” but caught himself. Last year Charlie had given a demonstration of pistol and rifle trick shooting at the harvest fair. Tom had watched

the whole thing with narrowed eyes and a wooden face. Thinking back on that, Benny wondered if Tom was anywhere near as good as Charlie with a gun. He’d had never seen his brother shoot.

Tom didn’t reply. He weighed the wooden bokken in his hand and cut a few slow-motion lines through the air.