“No,” he said as he leaped to his feet and ran. “No. No freaking way.”
Nix and Riot stared at each other for a split second, and then they were running after him.
The loose papers were in the satchel. Benny whipped back the flap and began furiously digging through the pages.
“No freaking way,” he said again. “No.” Then he snatched up a small, folded piece of paper, opened it, and yelled, “Yes!”
“What is it?” demanded the girls.
“Joe said that Sergeant Ortega was a real detail-oriented person,” said Benny. “He kept track of everything. Every detail. Even the minor stuff.”
“So what?” asked Riot.
“Well, someone who takes the time to keep track of minor stuff is definitely going to keep track of the important stuff. Like where Dr. McReady and Field Team Five went while investigating mutant zombies. No way that bit of information wasn’t going into his report.”
“Sure. DVNP,” said Nix. “So what? We don’t know what it is or where it is.”
“You’re wrong, Nix. We don’t know what it is or where it is right now, but I think we might have our first real clue.”
He showed them the folded slip of paper.
+36°30′ 19.64", — 117°4′ 45.81"
The map coordinates.
“So what?” asked Riot. “For all y’all know that’s the coordinates for that Hope One place.”
“Maybe,” said Benny, “but Sergeant Ortega had it in his pocket, right? If this was something that was part of the original mission, wouldn’t the coordinates be printed out like all the other mission stuff? No, he wrote this down and it was on him when he died. That means he probably did it while aboard the plane or shortly before. If Dr. McReady went somewhere else, then I don’t think it’s any kind of stretch that these might tell us where she went. This might be the key to ending the plague.”
The three of them stared at him for a long moment and finally burst out laughing. They hugged one another and shouted, and they were only interrupted by the sudden roar of quads as a dozen reapers came tearing out of the forest.
CHAPTER 45
“Run!” screamed Nix as she scrambled to her feet.
But the reapers were already between them and three of their own quads. Only Benny’s machine, the one they’d used to haul Sergeant Ortega out of the ravine, was close at hand.
The reapers closed on them at top speed, dragging behind them tall plumes of tan dust. Sunlight glittered on the sharp steel of their knives and swords.
“God,” cried Benny. He stuffed the papers into his vest pocket, snatched up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder, then quickly drew his sword. “Nix… take the quad and get out of here.”
Nix drew her pistol and raised it in a two-handed grip, setting her feet wide, her body angled the way Tom had taught her.
Riot looked desperately around. “Where’s Lilah? I can’t see her anywhere. Did they get her?”
“No,” breathed Nix, but it was only a denial of that as a possibility. In truth there was no sign of the Lost Girl. Nix swung the barrel toward the closest of the reapers. The sound of their engines was becoming deafening.
Benny raised his sword into the high two-handed grip the samurai used when facing a cavalry charge. It was a lesson Tom had taught them once that none of them ever expected to use. He widened his stance and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, knees bent, ready to cut and evade and run and kill. He could feel his pulse racing faster than the quads.
There was no real chance of escape. They had the zombiefilled ravine behind them and a converging half circle of reapers everywhere else. Even if they managed to cut through the reaper line, those machines could turn and give chase no matter where Benny and the girls ran. And their quad could never get to top speed if all three of them managed to climb aboard. It was a good trap. Smart and well-planned. Benny figured that the reapers had pushed their quads to the edge of the forest, engines off for silence; and then when the trap was set, they fired up the motors and attacked.
Very smart, and Benny approved of the tactical intelligence it showed.
It would be no comfort at all, though, to be slaughtered by intelligent killers.
Dead was dead.
Nix shifted to stand on Benny’s left flank, and Riot moved to his right, a steel ball bearing socketed into the pouch of her powerful slingshot.
Twelve to three. Nix had a gun with five bullets in the cylinder. She was a good shot, so Benny figured she’d get at least three. The ball bearings in Riot’s slingshot were slower than bullets but just as deadly, and she could fire and reload with lightning speed. Benny had his sword. Unless the reapers intended to grind them under the wheels, the killers would have to dismount.
How many could they take?
Six? Eight?
Defeating all twelve was a heroic dream, but not a probability.
If Lilah was here… maybe.
The quads were not slowing.
“They’re going to run us down,” Riot yelled, reading the situation the same way he was.
“Back up,” snapped Benny. “All the way to the edge. They can’t run us down if we’re right on the edge.”
The edge, though, might not hold their combined weight, and Benny knew it. Pulling Sergeant Ortega out of the ravine had weakened an already fragile structure. But that was a different problem. Or maybe it was another problem that would overlap this one, forcing their odds from weak to impossible.
Benny scanned the faces of the reapers as they closed in. All but one of them had red hands tattooed on their faces. They looked wild and fierce, like barbarians out of an old storybook.
As the reapers closed in, they realized that they couldn’t use the machines as weapons. A stern-faced young man — the only reaper not marked with the red hand tattoo — raised his fist, and the reapers revved their engines, the combined drone pulsing like the breath of a gigantic dragon.
He’s the one, thought Benny. He’s their leader.
The young man looked like a warrior. Lean and muscular, with big hands and eyes as hard and dead as desert rocks.
Even through the din, Benny heard Riot say, “Brother Peter… oh my God.”
It was a name that struck a big bell of terror in Benny’s heart. He hadn’t met this man, but he knew about him. He knew him from a thousand terrifying tales Riot had told them. From firsthand descriptions by survivors of reaper massacres. From accounts by monks who had witnessed acts of savagery so grotesque that their minds were scarred by the memories. From surveillance photos Joe had shown them.
Brother Peter, the right hand of Saint John.
Even Joe said that Peter was one of the most dangerous men alive. Deadly with any kind of weapon, and equally deadly in unarmed combat. A man totally without mercy or remorse.
Like an echo from out of the shadowed past, Benny thought he heard Tom’s voice. Don’t give in to fear. Be warrior smart and survive.
Benny nodded as if Tom could see his agreement.
Hot wind blew dust plumes past them, momentarily obscuring them, turning them to wraiths. Then the dust blew past Benny and his friends and on across the ravine. The waist-high grass swayed drunkenly in the breeze.
The reapers were in a tight arc around them. They kept revving their engines, and the sound seemed to beat on Benny’s chest.
“Nix,” he said, speaking just loud enough so she could hear him beneath the pulsing roar of the quads. “If you have to shoot, go for Brother Peter.”
Nix swung the pistol around toward the man.
Brother Peter saw this and smiled. Then he slashed down with his clenched fist, and suddenly all the reapers cut their engines at once.