Saint John recoiled from it as if it was a scorpion.
The Red Brothers gasped.
They all knew that knife.
Saint John picked it up and clutched it to his chest. Then he let out a terrible wail as he sank to his knees in pain and grief. Tears burned in his eyes as he recalled the day he gave this knife to a young man, first of the reapers.
“Peter . . .” The saint looked up pleadingly at the teenagers. “Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think I got it?” said Benny. “I took it from him after I sent him into the darkness.”
Saint John closed his eyes and bent forward as if the knife had been driven into his stomach.
“Feel that?” asked Riot coldly. “That’s what it feels like to lose someone you love.”
98
BENNY IMURA LOOKED AT THE madman kneeling in the dust.
His nose burned from the chemical vapors that rose from the ground, but he imagined that he could smell Saint John’s fear and pain.
Somewhere, deep in the darkness of his fractured heart, he found he liked it.
And with that realization came the screams of all his other parts. The kid that was lost in those shadows. The son who had quieted his parents. The brother to a fallen hero. The young man who had probably lost the love of his life. The traveler and friend, the climber of trees and the catcher of small, fierce fish. The collector of Zombie Cards and the apple-pie eater. Child and boy, teen and young man. All the many aspects of Benny Imura shouted a warning at him as he savored the pleasure of this evil man’s pain.
How scary are you willing to be in order to take the heart out of an enemy? Are you willing to be the monster in the dark? Are you willing to be the boogeyman of their nightmares?
The ranger had asked those questions.
He should have asked one more.
Are you willing to become a monster to defeat monsters?
But Benny already knew the answers to all those questions.
99
BENNY IMURA FELT HIS MOUTH turn into a sneer of absolute contempt.
“Get up,” he said.
It was not pitched as a request.
It was pitched as an order.
The Red Brothers bristled, their hands flexing on the handles of their knives and axes and swords. Benny shot them a look that told them clearly that their chance would come, but it wasn’t this moment. Those men saw something in Benny’s eyes that ignited flickers of fear in them. They helped Saint John to his feet.
“I will bathe in the blood of everyone you love,” said Saint John, but his voice was hoarse.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” said Benny. He held out his hand toward Chong, who handed him the bullhorn. Benny clicked the button and spoke into it. His voice boomed out, startling him with the towering volume of it. It echoed off the tree line and rolled down the field.
“Listen to me,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “My name is Benjamin Imura, and I speak for the people of Mountainside and the other towns. I know who you are and I know what you’ve had to do. Most of you were forced to join the reapers. Most of you don’t want to do the things you’re doing. Murdering innocent people. Killing little kids. I don’t believe that most of you ever wanted to do that, and it probably makes you sick to even think about it. I understand. I’ve done some pretty horrible things myself in order to survive.”
“They won’t listen to you,” said Saint John.
“Sure they will,” said Nix.
“I won’t let you . . .”