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 desk. Benny bent and picked it up. It was her diary. He pressed it to his chest.
“Nix,” he whispered.
“In here,” someone called, and Benny rushed out of Nix’s room to see the guards clustered around the entrance to Jessie Riley’s room. Benny pushed his way through the throng, but Strunk grabbed his shoulder.
“You don’t want to go in there, kid. ”
“Let me go. Tom!” With a wrench he tore free of Strunk’s grip and charged into the room. And stopped.
It was a small room. When he and Nix had been little, they’d played hide-and-seek in this house, and Nix’s mom’s room had always been too neat, too sparse to offer any good hiding places. Now it was a ruin. The cheap dresser had been kicked to pieces, and all of Mrs. Riley’s clothes—pants and blouses, stockings and underwear—lay scattered on the floor, trampled by heavy feet and stained with blood.
Tom sat on one corner of the collapsed bed. His pistol lay on the floor next to him. Jessie Riley lay curled against him. Benny could see that her face—always a kind and pretty face—was an unrecognizable mass of bruises and torn flesh. One eye was puffed closed, the other with bright and glassy with shock. She clung to Tom, holding his chest and sleeve, as if they were all that tethered her to this world. Her knuckles were red and torn. Like Nix, she had fought back, and fought hard.
“Mrs. Riley,” Benny said, but the woman showed no sign of having heard.