Even the reapers who watched did not see Saint John draw his knife. All they saw was a blur of movement, and then the Latino man screamed as the tip of the knife drew a line across his forehead.
“No,” said Saint John, showing him the knife. “Bravado and insults will not ease your journey. You have insulted my god. There will be no heroic end to your tale.”
Hector had to grit his teeth to keep another scream locked in his throat.
“Unless,” said Saint John mildly, “you do a simple service for the Night Church.”
Hector said nothing.
“Tell me the best and quickest route to the town of Mountainside.”
Hector shook his head.
“Or any of the Nine Towns.”
Silence.
Saint John sighed, then signaled to his reapers. “Bring another one.”
They dragged a wounded and terrified young man over. He had blond hair and freckles and could not have been older than eighteen. They forced him to his knees in front of Hector.
The saint stood over the boy, his blade in his hand.
“I need to know the way to the Nine Towns,” he said. “I only need one of you to tell me. That person will not need to spend his last hours screaming for death as the things that define him as a human being are removed one piece at a time. That person will be welcomed into the Night Church and will become one of us.”
He held the knife out and let blood drip onto the dirt between Hector and the young man.
“Who will it be?”
Hector said, “Don’t do it, Lonnie. Be a man . . . it won’t hurt for long. . . .”
But Saint John said, “Oh yes, my brothers, it will. It will hurt for such a long and delicious time.”
One voice spoke out, begging to tell.
The other screamed out, cursing and damning the reapers.
Through it all, Saint John smiled and smiled.
55
JOE ARRANGED FOR THE SIRENS to call off the zoms so Benny could cross the trench and go pack. When Benny and the girls returned to the bridge with their gear, there were four new soldiers guarding it. The soldiers were pale-faced strangers Benny had never seen before.
As Benny approached, one of them, a hatchet-faced man with startlingly blue eyes, put his hand on the butt of his holstered .45. He had the faintest echoes of facial bruising that was almost gone, and a purple scar through his eyebrow that looked like it had required at least eight stitches. His name tag read PERUZZI. He ignored Benny and locked a lethal stare on Lilah.
“I remember you,” Peruzzi said with a malicious grin.
“You should,” said Lilah, unperturbed by the implied menace in that smile. Benny realized that Peruzzi had to be one of the soldiers Lilah had roughed up after Chong nearly died. Several of the soldiers had been hospitalized. When he glanced at the others, he could see similar traces of recent trauma.
Oops, he thought.
“What’s your problem?” demanded Nix, standing firm beside Lilah. “Who are you?”
“Nobody’s talking to you, pint-size,” said Peruzzi.
“Well, I’m talking to you,” said Nix.
Peruzzi laughed and gave her a slow, invasive up-and-down stare. “Big boobs don’t make you a grown-up, little girl,” he said in an ugly voice. “Mind your manners and shut your mouth.”