“No,” said Chong, “that’s a myth; it’s a lie of bad logic. People who don’t understand, who haven’t seen what we’ve seen, say that if you use violence in defense, then you’re just the same as the people who attacked you, that you’re just as bad. But it’s not true. If they hadn’t started this, we’d never have thought this up. Benny—I grew up with you, I know how that weird little mind of yours works. If Saint John and Brother Peter and Mother Rose and all those maniacs hadn’t started a holy war, all you’d be thinking about would be Zombie Cards, fishing for trout, and what Nix looks like in tight jeans. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Despite everything, Nix blushed and Benny grinned.
“These people want to kill everything that we love.” Chong looked at Riot. “You want to talk about a line? They raided Sanctuary and slaughtered monks who never did anything but help everyone they met, and they killed sick people who couldn’t even lift a hand to defend themselves. And they murdered all those little children. Like Eve—they murdered Eve. There is no line, Benny. We’re not like them. If we’re risking our souls here, it’s to make sure that kind of wholesale slaughter doe
sn’t keep happening. I’m not saying we’re heroes . . . but we’re not like them.”
Morgie clapped him on the back and then held out his hand, palm down in the center of their circle. “Maybe I haven’t been with you guys through all that, but I’ve got your back right here, right now. Tom taught us to be samurai. He taught us to fight . . . so let’s fight. Warrior smart.”
Chong laid his hand atop Morgie’s. “Warrior smart.”
Lilah was next, placing her brown hand over Chong’s. “Warrior smart.”
“I ain’t a samurai,” said Riot, “but I’ve got my own dog in this fight. And I guess this was my war before it was yours. So, yeah . . . warrior smart.” She placed her hand over Lilah’s.
Tears still streamed down Nix’s face. “All that time I was writing down how to survive and how to fight in my journal, I thought it was to build and protect something. I didn’t think it was to destroy . . . but I guess we don’t always get to choose our wars. I love you all. Warrior smart.”
Benny was the last to reach out, and he placed his palm over Nix’s. Her fingers were icy from terror.
“I know Tom would think we’re all crazy,” he said. “But when he taught us to be warrior smart, this is what he meant.”
They held their hands there for a long moment, and then without another word they turned and headed off to take up their posts.
101
SAINT JOHN COULD NOT PUT down the knife. His fist felt welded shut around the handle.
“Honored One,” said one of his aides. “Our scouts picked up the trail of a large group of refugees heading north. Thousands of them. The scouts guess they have a two-day lead.”
“Send the quads after them.”
“How many, Honored One?”
“All of them, and a reserve of five thousand on foot. Hunt them down and send them all into the darkness.” He touched the aide’s sleeve. “We are no longer recruiting. Everyone goes into the darkness.”
The aide bowed and left, and a few moments later the saint heard the sound of hundreds of quad engines roaring to life.
“You cannot escape the will of god,” he said to the morning air.
Another aide appeared at his side. He wore a silver dog whistle around his neck. “We’ve called up the flocks.”
“How many answered the call?”
“Eighty thousand of them. At least a third are runners. However, we’ve already almost used up Sister Sun’s red powder.”
Over the last few days, several quads had caught up with Saint John’s army, each one laden with plastic trash bags of powder. The last gift of Sister Sun, sent with the fastest quads by Brother Peter.
“Save it for later. We have enough runners for this nonsense.”
The aide pointed. “I sent two small flocks ahead to test the defenses.”
Saint John watched the dead run in a ragged line toward the fence.
“Send the rest.”
“And the reapers, Honored One?”
“Send them all in. I want that town erased from the earth. Tear it down, paint it in blood, and grind it into the mud.”