Rot & Ruin (Rot & Ruin, #1)(63)

was hurt. Mrs. Riley …”

And then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed against Benny, his limbs going slack, his head lolling.

“Tom!” Benny said, trying to catch his friend, to keep him from tumbling to the ground. Tom and Strunk caught Morgie under the armpits and pulled him back. The handful of crushed flowers

tumbled slowly to the ground, scattering petals. They laid him on the ground.

“Give me some light,” Tom ordered, and Strunk brought the torch.

“Is he bitten?” Strunk asked. “Is he dead?”

Tom pressed two fingers into Morgie’s throat. “No. He’s alive, but he’s hurt.” He reached up to push the torchlight into place for a better view, and there it was. Although Morgie’s

clothing had not appeared to be wet from the rain, the back of his hair and shirt were soaked. Benny leaned over to take a look, and gagged. The back of Morgie’s head was a tangle of

matted, bloody hair, and the blood had run down his neck and soaked his back. Tom gently probed the wound, his expression lacking optimism.

“Is it bad?” Benny asked.

“It isn’t good. I think he has a skull fracture, and he’s going into shock. Keith, get me some help now.”

Even though Strunk was the head of town security and was not used to taking orders from anyone except the mayor, he nodded and went off without an argument. He ran to the end of the block

where there was an alarm bell, and began ringing it loudly, calling out for the town watch.

Tom waved Benny over and laid Morgie’s head carefully onto his brother’s lap. “Stay with him, Benny. I have to check inside.”

They were both keenly aware there were lights on inside the Riley house, and no one had come out to investigate the voices and commotion on the lawn. Not even a bark from their dog, Pirate.

Benny’s heart was a cold stone that kept falling through the icy waters of a deep well.

“Tom, Morgie said …”

“I heard what he said.” Tom sheathed his sword, drew his pistol, and thumbed back the hammer. As he turned toward the front door, Benny saw his brother’s expression in the moonlight. It

was equal parts rage and terror.

Benny sat on the muddy ground with Morgie’s head in his lap. His friend’s mouth moved once or twice, and even though Morgie made no sound, Benny knew what he was saying.

“Nix.”

People were yelling now, boiling out of their houses with guns and axes and sharpened pitchforks. Some had oil lanterns, a few paused to light torches from the streetlight. Guards from the

town watch came flying toward them on galloping horses that were covered in heavy carpet from flanks to withers.

“Where’s Tom?” demanded Strunk as he raced back, his gun in his hand.

“He went inside,” said Benny. There had been only silence from the house. No screams, no gunfire.

The silence was dreadful.

Two medics from the town watch took charge of Morgie, gently pushing Benny away. Benny rose, and he realized that for the second time that day he was covered in the blood of someone he knew.

He bent and snatched his bokken and headed up the stairs.

Captain Strunk got in his way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?

“Get out of my way.” Benny wanted to hit him with the wooden sword. “I’m going in.”

Strunk looked into Benny’s eyes, and he must have seen something that changed his view of Benny Imura. Maybe he saw the shadow of Tom in Benny’s eyes. Or maybe he saw a new version of

Benny. But he nodded and said, “Okay … but with me. And stand out of the line of fire.”

The other armed guards came up onto the porch, rifles and shotguns ready.

The front door was open. Candles were lit in the living room. The party moved inside, gun barrels seeking out each flickering shadow. The living room was a wreck. It was not as

comprehensively destroyed as Sacchetto’s had been, but most of the furniture was overturned, vases smashed, a guitar stomped to splinters, art torn from the walls. The floor was

crisscrossed with muddy footprints. The Riley’s dog, Pirate, a tiny mixed breed, was crouched under the overturned breakfront, its eyes glazed with pain. There was a clear imprint of a

muddy boot toe on its heaving side. The dog whimpered quietly, but did not move or bark. When Benny reached out to it, the dog gave his fingers a few frantic licks. Benny saw splashes of

blood on the floor and a single bloody handprint on the wall outside of Nix’s bedroom.

He cut straight across the debris-filled floor to her room. It was empty, however. The mattress had been overturned; her collection of old dolls in pieces, their heads torn off. All of her

clothing had been pulled out of the closet and slashed with knives. Even her sparse collection of Zombie Cards had been torn in half.

Nix was not there.

Deputy Gorman came up behind him and surveyed the room. “Looks like your friend Nix put up quite a fight,” he said.

Benny swallowed and nodded. “She would.”

“She a tough girl?”

“You have no idea.”

“She’ll need it,” Gorman said as he turned away. “It looks like they took her.”

Although he already guessed it, the words were like bullets striking his heart. As he turned to leave, he spotted the corner of a familiar book sticking out from the debris of her writing