“I really do.”
Nix touched Benny’s cheek, but the action was tentative, almost fearful. “Can—can I ask you one question, Benny?”
“You can ask me anything.”
She took a breath and seemed to be steeling herself for what she was about to say. “Do you . . . do you still love me?”
He almost laughed.
Luckily, his inner voice and whatever common sense he possessed grappled with his automatic reaction and wrestled it to the floor. So instead of a laugh, he gave her a smile. Even so, Nix’s face instantly clouded.
“I’m serious,” she said sharply.
Benny nodded. “I know.”
He kissed her.
“That’s the silliest question I’ve ever been asked.”
Her frown deepened. “It’s not silly.”
“It is to me. Of course I still love you. I’m always going to love you,” he said.
Nix looked at him, troubled and puzzled. “Why?”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Why on earth do you still love me? Why on earth do you want to?”
“I—”
“I’m vicious and moody and nasty, I’m cold to you too much of the time, and sometimes I bite your head off when you’re just trying to be nice. I’m a monster.”
“Yeah, and I’m always a yummy box of chocolates. C’mon, Nix, how shallow do you think I am?”
Before she could answer, Benny turned away and began walking along the ravine, peering down through shadows at the pale faces below. He could feel Nix’s eyes on him, and he thought he could imagine at least some of what was going on in her head. Some. However, he wondered if she was trying to guess what was going on in his head. Benny remembered something Captain Strunk of the town watch once said on a hot summer afternoon on the porch of Lafferty’s General Store. Benny, Chong, and Morgie were sitting on the porch steps, opening packs of Zombie Cards; Captain Strunk was sitting in an old kitchen chair, and a bunch of other town men were with him. Mayor Kirsch; Wriggly Sputters, the town’s mailman; big one-armed Leroy Williams; Morgie Mitchell’s dad; and four or five others. The men had been talking about relationships, before and after First Night. When one of the men had, in exasperation, pronounced that all women were crazy and that all men were crazier for falling in love with them, everyone laughed. They agreed that there was just no understanding the mysteries of love. No sir, no how. Chong, who was twelve at the time, said, “What’s not to understand? People fall in love.”
The men goggled at him for a few moments, and Captain Strunk said, in a dry, amused voice, “Kid, if it turns out that you well and truly understand love, I will personally nominate you for King of the World, and I can guarantee that every man here will vote for you.”
Everyone burst out laughing. Chong had turned as red as a radish.
As he walked, Benny could almost hear the echoes of that laughter. He’d been confused by the exchange back then, but he wasn’t anymore.
Three minutes later Lilah called, “Here!”
They came running to where she stood on the edge of the ravine, using her spear to point down into the darkness. A zom, taller than the others, big-armed and big-chested, stood in a middle of a pack. They could see only his shoulders and head, but it was enough to recognize the pattern of the camouflage of the American Nation. And to see a strap across his chest—a strap Benny vaguely remembered was attached to a satchel. He had taken only peripheral note of it before, ascribing no more importance to it than to the man’s shoes or belt or other items. At the time his entire focus had been on fighting this man. He’d tried a big lateral sword slash of the kind he’d seen Tom use to cut through the legs of a zom. Only the angle of Benny’s cut had been bad, and the blade had stuck fast in the zom’s heavy thigh bone. The sword handle had been torn from Benny’s hands, and the blade might have been lost had Lilah not somehow managed to recover it. Until today, Benny had assumed she’d quieted the zom in order to take back the sword, but that wasn’t so. The zom looked as powerful and deadly as ever.
Benny crouched on the lip of the ravine. “Hello, Sergeant Ortega,” he said.
43
“HOW DO WE GET HIM out of there?” asked Nix.
“Good question, Red,” murmured Riot. “There’s more dead down there than wood ticks on a coon.”
“How many do you figure?” asked Benny.
“Rough guess,” said Riot, squinting into the gloom, “near on about—”