And . . . what was Field Team Five?
He searched the rest of the compartments and saddlebags on the quad, but there were no more notes or papers. He found some dried meat wrapped in palm leaves, but he distrusted what the reapers considered wholesome food, so he threw that away. He found an item that seemed totally out of place among the reaper’s possessions: an old, unopened package of brightly colored rubber balloons. Fifty of them. It seemed so bizarre and incongruous a thing for a killer to have. He wondered if they were used for some kind of silent signaling. Benny almost tossed them away, then decided to keep them. Eve might like them. Anything that might put another smile on the little girl’s face was worth treasuring. He stuffed the package into his vest pocket.
The only other thing of apparent importance he found was a small spiral-bound notebook. Every page was filled with small, crabbed handwriting. Most of what was written there were prayers and rituals of the reapers. Benny debated tossing it away, but decided to keep it. If the reapers were the enemy, then some of Tom’s advice applied: Know your enemy. The more you know about them, the less easily they can surprise you. And by studying them you might identify a weakness or vulnerability.
And there was the phrase Lilah had learned from George, the man who’d raised her: Knowledge is power.
The other reason he decided to keep the notebook was what the reaper had written on the last page. It was a kind of code:
CA/R 1: 4,522
Quad: 66
CA/R 2: 19,200
Quad: 452
NV/R: 14,795
Quad: 318
WY/R: 8,371
Quad: 19
UT/R: 2,375
Every instinct, every nerve he possessed screamed at him that this was important. This, the Teambook, and the urgent note Benny suspected had been written by Dr. McReady. Important . . . but in what way?
How?
No way to ask the reaper now, Benny thought, and he flinched at the memory of what he had been forced to do.
He put the notebook in his pocket and the Teambook into the Honda’s storage bin. Then he used the rubber hose to siphon ethanol from his own crippled quad into the Honda’s tank. Benny replaced the gas cap, climbed into the saddle, started the engine, and drove thoughtfully back to Sanctuary.
FROM NIX’S JOURNAL
The people I grew up with, the folks in Mountainside, call the start of the plague First Night. It’s kind of misleading, because it took weeks for civilization to break down.
Riot and the people she was with call it the Fall.
I’ve also heard people call it the End, the Gray Rapture, the Rising, Z-Day, Armageddon, the Apocalypse, the Punishment, the Retribution, Plague Day, War Day One, and other stuff.
26
RIOT WAS DOZING IN A straw basket-chair when one of the nuns came to find her. She opened her eyes to see the tight, unsmiling face of Sister Hannahlily, the head nun who oversaw the children during their afternoon nap.
“You have to come at once,” said the nun.
“What’s wrong?” Riot demanded. “Is something wrong with Eve?”
The nun seemed to be caught in a moment of terrible indecision, as if uncertain how to answer so simple a question.
“You need to come,” she said. “Right now.”
Riot got to her feet and followed the nun. Sister Hannahlily did not exactly run to the tent used for the children’s nap time, but she walked very fast, her body erect with tension, arms pumping.
“Oh God,” breathed Riot to herself, “don’t let that little girl be hurt. Don’t let her be hurt. . . .”