“So . . . I’ll ask and we’ll see what happens.”
Nix turned and went into the trailer.
Benny sat on a rock and watched the stars wheel in their slow, endless dance above the battered little blue world.
93
THEY WERE REFUELED AND ON the road before first light.
Benton was a terrible place. At the intersection where they turned from Route 6 to California State Route 120, they saw the rusted remains of a major crash involving two school buses and several cars. There were zoms everywhere, and it was likely they had been standing there for fifteen years until they heard the sound of the quads. The whole mass of them—adults and children—began shuffling toward the machines. Benny veered off the main street and cut behind houses and through yards to avoid the zoms. It cost time and fuel, but they managed to escape without a fight.
Benny realized that the one main flaw in his plan was the noise the quads made. Zoms would hear them miles away and be drawn to the sound, so they’d be in the path of the five machines.
But what choice did Benny and his friends have? California was far more densely populated than Nevada, and the deeper they went into greener areas, the more likely there would be zoms. Even so, the whole landscape seemed more brown than green. It had been an early and unusually hot spring, and it was clear that there hadn’t been much rainfall. Everything looked brittle and dry. There was none of the lushness of spring, and that depressed Benny. It made him wonder if the whole world was getting ready to die. Or to burn. The fires of hatred ignited by the reapers seemed inescapable.
Then they saw the first billboard advertising Yosemite National Park.
They pulled to a stop in front of it. The faded picture showed a verdant forest and tall, snowcapped mountains. After the starkness of the desert, it looked like it belonged on a different planet, but even then the park in the picture looked withered.
“Mountainside is on the other side of the park,” Benny said to Riot as they poured the last of their fuel into the tanks. “If we follow the map, we’ll pass Haven first, and then we can cut north to our town.”
Riot nodded but said nothing. She replaced the cap, and got back onto the saddle.
Seconds later they were far down the road.
They drove on.
Eighty-four miles later they paused at another billboard.
WAWONA HOTEL
Benny looked at his friends. Lilah, Nix, and Chong all nodded, knowing without being asked what he wanted to do. Benny turned and drove up a side road until he came to the ruins of the hotel. It was nothing but a field of charred debris. The only structure that still stood was a small utility building. Benny turned off his engine and sat looking at it. The others pulled up beside him and killed their engines too.
On the outside of the building, on the wall facing the road, were words Benny had painted a million years ago.
GAMELAND IS CLOSED.
THIS IS THE LAW.
—T. IMURA
Benny got off his quad and walked over to the building, his mouth open with wonder. When he’d painted those words after Tom’s death, he’d added his own name, as had Nix, Lilah, Chong, and all the surviving bounty hunters. Solomon Jones, Sally Two-Knives, Fluffy McTeague, J-Dog, and Dr. Skillz. Two dozen names in all.
But now there were other names.
Hundreds of them.
Not copied names, but actual signatures. Each was unique.
Names of people he didn’t know. Names of people he did. People who Benny would never have believed would ever step outside the fence line. Captain Strunk. Mayor Kirsch. Leroy Williams. Many others.
And one name, written small, down in a corner, struck Benny over the heart.
MORGAN MITCHELL
Nix saw the name too, and the sound she made was half laugh and half sob.
“Morgie,” said Chong. “Damn.”