Benny closed his eyes for a moment, not sure whether to be grateful or beg for forgiveness.
He opened his eyes again to see the forest walls vomit forth a horde of zombies. So many thousands of them that there was no need to count. They swarmed across the field. Some broke away from a straight charge to join the bloody melee. Most of them, though, kept running, drawn by the dog whistles, moving too fast for the effect of the bleach to overcome the call of the dog whistles.
• • •
Down at the fence, Sally Two-Knives raised her hand. The line of Freedom Riders held fast, guns ready. They stared in horror at the tide of death that was washing toward them. None of them believed that they’d live through the day. Over the last three days, each in their own way, they’d made peace with their world, their religions, or in the absence of any faith, with themselves. Just knowing that the main population of the town might be safe, and knowing that a cure for the plague existed, put iron in their backs and kept their hearts beating. Some of them wept in fear, but they blinked away tears and took aim.
Sally turned to Captain Strunk, who stood next to her. “Glad I never got to see what I’d look like as an old lady. There’s something about an octogenarian with biker tats and a Mohawk that just doesn’t work.”
“You look beautiful to me,” said Strunk. He sighted along the barrel.
Sally slashed down with her hand. “FIRE!”
• • •
Far out in the Ruin, many miles to the north, a line of quads raced along the highway. They rode four abreast, and the line of quads stretched back half a mile.
All along the road they saw signs of the passage of people fleeing in a hurry. Dropped dolls, lost shoes, articles of clothing that must have fallen from carts, muddy wagon tracks. It was four days’ walk to the next town. The quads would catch up with the heretics in less than an hour.
Up ahead two figures stood in the middle of the road.
The leader of the mobile infantry raised a clenched fist in the universal symbol to stop. The quads slowed and stopped a dozen feet from the two men.
The man on the left grinned at the reapers through the grille of a New Orleans Saints football helmet. He was thin and wiry, with a carpet coat armored with metal squares cut from license plates. He leaned on a spear that had a bayonet blade and a heavy metal ball on the bottom. Under his helmet he wore a pair of cheap black sunglasses.
The man on the right was in similar garb, except that he wore a San Diego Chargers helmet with a plastic shark glued to it. A heavy logging ax rested
on one muscular shoulder.
The man on the left gave the reapers a wide, happy grin.
“Wassssabi?” said Dr. Skillz.
“Duuuuude,” said J-Dog, nodding to the leader’s quad. “Nice ride. Can I have it?”
The reapers laughed. There was the slithery sound of many knives being drawn from leather sheaths.
“No, seriously,” said Dr. Skillz. “Let him have the bike. He’s got a serious Davy Jones for some vroom-vroom.”
The leader looked blank. He leaned toward the reaper on his left. “Did any of that make sense?”
“They’re messing with you, brother. Let’s gut them and get moving.”
“Whoa, bad vibes, brah,” said J-Dog. “You need to drink a big chilltini.”
“And you need to get right with god,” said the leader. He gestured to his men. “Cut their throats and—”
The air was filled with the clickety-click of hammers being cocked and slides being racked. In the forest on either side of the road, figures moved. Men and women and teenagers. Hundreds upon hundreds of people; everyone in Mountainside who owned a firearm prepared to shoot. And the narrow country lane was a killing floor. The reapers knew it, and their righteous rage turned to icy sludge in their veins.
“Dudes,” said Dr. Skillz, “if you’re gonna ride the big one, you better have big ones.”
J-Dog nodded. “So . . . can I have the bike?”
• • •
Saint John tried to see what was happening, but there were simply too many people in the way. He heard the screams, though, and they were too close to be coming from the town.
He grabbed a fistful of an aide’s shirt. “Find out what’s happening.”