“She won’t want to leave here,” said Nix. “I think she believes that the only reason they haven’t quieted Chong is because they’re afraid of how she’ll react.”
“That ain’t altogether a stupid fear,” said Riot. “When grown men with guns are afraid of a girl with a spear, then there’s something to take a close look at.”
Benny nodded, though he had a separate concern about Lilah. He was afraid of what she would do to herself if Chong died. Lilah was emotionally damaged and was caught in a prolonged anger phase of the grief process. Her little sister had been killed, her guardian had been murdered, Tom had been murdered, and now Chong lingered in a twilight between life and death. Benny didn’t know how much more life could push Lilah before she snapped. He’d said as much to Nix, and when he glanced at her, he could see it in her eyes. Neither of them said it aloud — Riot was a friend, but she wasn’t yet part of their family.
“I’ll tell her,” said Nix.
Benny shook his head. “If she gets even a whiff of—”
“Of what? Of me saying that Chong should be quieted? That was before, Benny. I said that before I went down and looked at him.”
“I’m just saying…”
“I got your back, Red,” said Riot. “Question is… where is she? She’s usually walking the trench line, but I don’t—”
There was a soft sound above them, and they suddenly turned and looked up to see Lilah perched like a hunting hawk on the raised corrugated metal shutter over the mess hall window. She peered down at them from between her bent knees, and only the tip of her spear rose above the shadows into the sunlight. Lilah’s eyes looked as black and bottomless as those of a skull.
“Lilah…,” gasped Nix.
Benny instinctively shifted to stand between Nix and Lilah.
“Listen, Lilah, I can explain.”
The Lost Girl hopped forward and straightened her lithe body as she dropped to the ground. It was a ten-foot drop, but she landed easily, though there was a twitch of a grimace on her tight mouth — the only concession to the wound she’d suffered less than a month ago. She’d badly gashed her cheek and jaw while escaping from a white rhinoceros and a field of crippled zoms. Injury or not, the expression in her eyes was fierce. Deadly.
“God,” breathed Nix. Riot pulled her slingshot. Benny’s hand darted toward the handle of his sword.
Lilah walked forward a few paces, ignoring Riot. She got to within inches of Benny.
“Move,” she said.
“Lilah,” Benny said, holding his ground, “you don’t understand—”
But it was Nix who moved. She stepped out from behind Benny, pushing him gently out of the way. She was much shorter than Lilah and more than a year younger. Her weapons were holstered and sheathed, and her hands were empty.
“What did you hear?” she asked.
“Everything.” Without the shadows to mask her face, Lilah’s eyes were the color of molten honey. Hot, but without any trace of sweetness. “You wanted to quiet Chong.”
Nix took a breath. Benny could see that her hands were shaking.
“Yes,” she said.
“Is that why you went to see him?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because he’s my friend. Because I love him. Because I wanted to see for myself.”
Lilah drew a slender knife from a thigh sheath. “This is Chong’s knife.”
“I know.”
“They won’t let me see him,” said Lilah.
“I know.”
“I can see him. I can get in there. You know that?”
“Yes.”
Benny and Riot nodded too. None of them doubted that Lilah could find a way into that building. People might die in the process, but she could get in.
“No one quiets Chong but me.” Lilah’s voice was a deadly whisper. “You understand?”
“Yes,” said Nix, her voice small.
Lilah looked at the others. “You all understand? No one but me?”
Benny nodded. So did Riot.
Lilah raised the knife so that sunlight glanced from it and painted Nix’s face in bright light.
“You tell me,” said Lilah, “do I need to use this today? Is Chong lost? Is he gone?”
Nix slowly shook her head.
“Say it,” growled Lilah. “Do I need to kill my town boy?”
“No,” said Nix. “God… no.”
Lilah’s eyes roved over her face for a long time. Then she slipped the knife back into its leather sheath. Then she nodded. A single nod, small and curt.
“If he has to die… you tell me.”
Nix was unable to speak, so she gave her own single nod.
Lilah looked at Benny. “You too. Tell me if I have to go in there.”
“I will,” said Benny. “But… maybe we don’t have to.”
And he told her about his plan.
She was in too.
CHAPTER 40
Once upon a time the woman had been a scientist, part of the Relativistic Astrophysics Group at the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena, California. Now she spent day after day blowing up balloons.
This was her ninth straight day of it, and the strain of taking in huge breaths and forcing the air into the balloons was really getting to her. She was light-headed all the time now, and planets and galaxies seemed to swirl around her head.
She sat in the shadowy mouth of a cave. At least they gave her plenty of water and a stool. And runners came to her three times a day to bring food for her and the two other people working with her, a former Los Angeles Realtor and an actor who had won two Emmys for a show that was on HBO before the dead rose and ate his audience. The Realtor blew up balloons too. His face was red from effort, his eyes dark with disillusionment.
Like the woman, the other two were useless people. Neither of them could fight. They were lousy hunters. Their survival had been the result of no qualities they possessed. Each of them had been helped through the apocalypse. All three of them were refugees. The scientist even believed — deep down in the secret place in her heart — that none of them knelt to kiss the knife because they believed in anything but a sure way to live through the moment. None of them had ever killed anyone. At least the scientist knew she had not. After testing her in combat training, the reaper-trainer had dismissed her in disgust and assigned her to the “support legion.”
That was a kind label for the growing mass of reapers who had no useful skills beyond cooking, sanitation, scavenging, and, apparently, blowing up balloons.
She finished the balloon and handed it off to the actor, who perched on a taller stool beside a rusted metal tank. He took a hose, fitted the mouth of the balloon around it, and squeezed a plastic trigger. There was a tiny burst of sound — the sharp hiss of gas under pressure — and the balloon lifted a bit. There was not enough helium in it to make it float; merely enough to let it bounce as if weightless. He tied it off, half turned on his stool, and gave the balloon a light tap, which sent it bouncing deeper into the cave where it bumped up against the thousands of others.
When the scientist reached for another balloon, her stubby fingernails scraped the bare bottom of the box that was positioned beside her.