Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

“Sure, going to Asheville might be more of this kind of thing,” Chong said, waving his hands to indicate the entire prison, “but I still have to try.”

After a long, long time, Benny nodded. “Have to try.”

Chong cleared his throat. “Any chance I could talk you into putting on some clothes? I have enough problems in my life without seeing you naked.”

“Hey, you’re the one who came into my shower and sat down.”

“I’ll add that to the long list of things I will forever regret,” said Chong.

They both burst out laughing even though it wasn’t all that funny.

They laughed too loud and too long.

Chong got to his feet and opened the door; then, without looking back, he recited a fragment of an old poem. “?‘But I have promises to keep,’?” he said softly, “?‘and miles to go before I sleep.’?”

Benny got slowly and heavily to his feet, used the last bucket of water to rinse off the dried soap, toweled off, and got dressed. He walked over to where his kami katana stood leaning against a wall. He picked it up and held it out in front of him, supporting it horizontally with both hands, the way a samurai would. He bowed his head.

Not bowing to the weapon, or even its potential. He wasn’t sure what he was bowing to. His eyes were dry and they burned, and his heart was a lifeless stone in his chest.

Benny slung the long strap over his shoulder and angled the handle so that he could reach up and over and draw the weapon. Like he had done every day since Tom handed the sword to him with the very last of his life’s strength.

The words Chong had recited seemed to echo in the air.

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

“Yeah,” said Benny to the empty room. Then he went to find his friends.

50

THEY ATE, SLEPT BADLY, AND woke in the cold light of morning, ready to go and needing to be

gone. As Benny helped prepare breakfast, he could feel the oppressive weight of the ugly place bearing down on him, as if it was becoming his prison. It made him feel claustrophobic. Memories of what they had done yesterday made him feel like a criminal.

Over breakfast they studied the maps and made plans. The one highlight of the previous day had been the discovery of the locked armory. The key had been among those Riot had found, and when they opened the heavy steel door, they stared slack-jawed at what was inside. More weapons and equipment than they could ever use.

“How come no one looted this stuff before?” wondered Chong.

“Because people are stupid,” was Lilah’s gruff response. It was hard to argue with, because there were enough weapons and ammunition in there for a small army. Benny thought it was more likely that the plague had spread too fast inside the prison. It also suggested that the guards who worked here must have simply abandoned the place during First Night, maybe before the refugees ever got here. Most likely they went home to see to their loved ones and were washed away by the tidal surge of the Lucifer 113 infection.

Whatever the reason, finding that armory made their mission to Asheville suddenly seem possible. Within half an hour they were all kitted out in black Kevlar limb pads, ballistic helmets, and vests that would stop a bullet and—Benny hoped—a bite. The carpet coats were an extra layer of protection to cover any areas left exposed—wrists, waists, and so on. It was all dreadfully hot and heavy, but at that moment Benny would have wrapped himself in cast iron because of what lay ahead of them. They debated whether to use the cadaverine as yet another bit of protection. Lilah and Riot argued against it, citing their limited supply. Benny, Nix, Chong, and Morgie overrode them, and they each smeared a little on their armor.

They took as much as they could carry or cram into the quads. Riot and Morgie rounded up all the remaining food, too. Then they peered out through the cracked windows of the loading bay, where five of the six quads were stored. The sixth was way out in the field, mostly hidden by tall weeds and too many zoms.

“Getting Benny’s bike’s not going to be easy,” observed Chong.

“Nah,” said Morgie. When everyone glanced at him with expectant eyes, he said, “Those weeds are dry. We can use some fuel from in here, make a firebomb . . . the weeds will go right up and we’ll burn ’em out.”

“What about my quad?” asked Benny.

“We can—” began Morgie, but Riot cut him off.

“Morgie,” she said caustically, “you are so dumb you could throw yourself on the floor and miss.”

“Huh?”

“The wind’s been blowing strong and it’s blowing north. You start a fire and it’ll march all the way to Reclamation and keep on going. You want to set fire to all of California?”

Morgie flushed a deep red and kept his opinions to himself.