Shadows (Ashes Trilogy 2)

“All I ever heard of was the bishop,” Lena offered, and then she pulled in a gasp. “Wow. Wait a minute, that’s not right. The way the Amish did it was like this committee.” She held out a thumb. “There was a bishop,” she said, and then counted the rest off on her fingers: “Also three ministers, and . . . a deacon.”

“Five guys,” Chris said. “Just like Rule.”

“Not like Rule.” Nathan wagged his head. “As far as I know, a bishop never makes the laws. Any big issues have to be put to a vote in the community. Rule was never run that way. What they had instead was a sixth chair, which was supposed to represent everybody else. Go take a look at the Council chamber sometime. You’ll see. It doesn’t look balanced.”

Now that he thought about it, Chris remembered that, way back, Alex had once pointed out the same thing—a sixth chair, set by itself, behind the others: Six chairs, but only five men, Chris. It’s like there’s someone missing. And the missing man was Rule itself?

Something else Alex had mentioned also floated out of memory. His grandfather was very fond of Biblical brother stories: Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau. But his favorite was Isaac and Ishmael, and what had he once said about the world outside Rule? The followers of Satan have become as beasts; they bear the Mark of Cain and the Curse of Ishmael. But if Isaac was his grandfather’s brother, then which brother was really the beast?

“What’s Jess’s connection to Hunter?” Chris asked. “Why does she think he can help us, or even will? It’s got to be more than just him giving sanctuary to a bunch of kids.”

“I honestly don’t know, Chris,” Nathan said. “This is what me and Doc have been able to piece together, and it’s still mostly guessing. But you find him, and then I think we got a shot at putting what’s gone wrong with Rule to rights.”

“And if he’s dead?”

“Then I don’t know,” Nathan said. “We just got to hope that he’s not.”

“What do you think?” Chris asked a few moments later. Nathan had ducked out, ostensibly to check the horses, but Chris knew the old man was giving them space to talk things over. Not, Chris thought, that this would change much. He couldn’t see any way out of the box but to continue on toward Oren.

“I think it’s still pretty crazy. Oh, man . . .” Lena unzipped then reluctantly peeled back the flap of her sleeping bag with a grimace. “It’s so cold my teeth hurt whenever I breathe.”

He watched her make her slow, careful way out of the bag. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad.” She paused. “I’m sorry I’m slowing you down.”

“That’s okay. Weller was right. We had to put down some serious distance east before hooking back. It would have been the same either way.”

“Maybe.” She stuffed the bag into its carry sack and cinched down the drawstring without looking up. “Do you ever wonder what’s going on in Rule? Like if they’ve found Peter yet?”

“I don’t think about Rule much at all, not as a place where I belong anymore. I think about what it’s doing, what it’s done. But Peter? Sure.” Chris snapped his pack shut. The sound was loud in the cold, like the crack of an icicle. “Whether it was his idea to feed the Changed, or the Council’s . . . it doesn’t matter. He should’ve fought it, and he didn’t.”

“So, if he is alive . . .” She fell silent a moment, then continued, “If he’s alive, and you do decide to fight Rule, would you fight him?”

“I guess I’d have to.” Turning aside, he unzipped the tent flap. “I don’t know. I just hope I don’t. To tell you the truth, Lena . . . I hope he’s already dead. Then it won’t have to be a choice.”

“But what if he isn’t?”

“Then I hope I could talk to him.”

“What if he won’t listen? You know how Peter gets.”

Yes, he did. Cold pillowed against his face. The air was so dry he felt his eyeballs pucker. He could almost make himself believe that he was past rage and sorrow for his friend even as the pang in his chest gave the lie. God, why is this up to me? I can’t kill Peter; I’d rather blow my own brains out first. I’m not even sure I can fight Rule. “Is there a reason you care?” He didn’t look around. “Maybe . . . something I should know?”

“Maybe. Yeah. I . . .” Her tone was flat and dull. “It . . . it only happened twice. Sarah doesn’t know, but . . . yeah. I think . . . I think so.”

That has to be it. They’re not tracking us because she’s Changing. The wash of relief left him so weak he clutched the tent flap. He remembered the boy winding that scarf around his neck—the one Chris had planted in the bodies because it was the only explanation that made sense. They’re able to find us because she’s pregnant, and Peter’s the—

“So what are you going to do?” Lena pressed. “If Peter’s alive and he won’t listen and you have to fight?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Chris said.

72

“Oh shit.” Luke retched again but brought up only watery phlegm. In the glow of that green moon, the boy’s face was the color of moldy cheese. “Shit.”

“Keep it down, unless you want every damn Chucky to hear us,” Weller hissed. He still had both hands clamped around the dead boy’s head, and a knee planted behind his shoulders. The boy was no older than Luke, and had made the mistake of wandering away from the pack to enjoy a little snack. They’d heard him slurping and gulping while he was still a good twenty yards away from their hiding place, a snow trench behind thick scrub forty feet from Shaft Two. The boy was so focused on his treat— a double fistful of brains—that he didn’t see Weller until the very last second. The boy had fought and thrashed and nearly bucked the old man, but Weller ground the kid’s head into the deep snow until the boy suffocated.

“Sorry.” Luke was gasping. He shot another glance at the spongy goo splattered over the snow. “It’s just . . . I never . . .”

“Isn’t the worst you’ll ever see,” Weller said, using the back of his hand to smear a wormy snail slick from the underside of his chin.

“Lay off.” Tom put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We had to do it this way, Luke. Didn’t want to get blood on his clothes.” But he was angry. A good headlock and the boy would’ve been unconscious in ten seconds. A quick twist of the neck right and then left and it would’ve been over. That boy had suffered all so Weller could make a point. Tom had known guys like him in the Army, too.