Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

to break out. I’m really not sure.”

“The Raggedy Man did this?” asked Ford. “He reanimated?”

“Apparently. Or maybe he was never really dead. Again, I don’t know how. Either way, he’s out there. And he’s been bringing all the wolf packs together, and the last of the living soldiers at the base are freaking out because they think the Raggedy Man is able to control the shamblers, too.”

Urrea looked stricken, and Gutsy was afraid he was going to throw up again. “You’re saying he’s leading them? You’re saying that all the infected are now this Night Army and . . .”

“And he’s their general,” finished Gutsy.

“Sooner or later,” said Karen in a hollow voice, “the army of the dead is going to go to war with the last of the living. It’s why the scientists are trying everything they can—no matter what they have to do or who they have to hurt—to find the perfect mutagen that will stop the Night Army. That’s why they’re using so many people in town.”

“Killing them with diseases?” demanded Alethea.

“Yes, because they need fresh subjects who haven’t been out in the sun rotting for years. Remember, everyone who dies, no matter how, becomes a living dead. That means we’re all infected already, and death allows the parasites to somehow become active and dominant.”

“I want to go wash my DNA with lye soap,” muttered Spider.

“If they want fresh bodies,” said Gutsy, “why not just shoot people?”

“And risk an outright rebellion?” Karen shook her head. “No, if they did that, then everyone would realize what’s going on, and there aren’t a lot of the soldiers left to stop four thousand people if they rose up.”

“Maybe a little open rebellion is what we need,” murmured Urrea.

“Sure, and maybe you’d like to personally bury all the innocent people who would get caught in the cross fire.”

Urrea sighed and nodded, accepting her point.

“Wait,” said Gutsy, “if they’re giving people diseases, then does that mean they gave tuberculosis to Mama?”

The silence that followed her question was profound and ugly and filled with thorns.

“I think so,” said Karen. “I don’t know how any more than I know how exactly they infected my daughter. Does it matter? The fact that they did it is enough.”

“Yes,” said Gutsy in a dangerous voice, “that’s enough.”

“There’s more to it,” Karen said to Gutsy. “They keep it all quiet so everyone here in New Alamo goes about their normal lives, which makes it easier to keep tabs on them. At some point or another everyone’s been to the hospital, so Rat Catcher spies there have collected medical histories going back years. They apparently need that data. So, horrible as it is, the diseases people are dying of are their way of selecting candidates for new medical trials, making sure each person dies when they need them to die, and in a way that doesn’t raise an alarm. And then they study them after death.”

“Is that why they dug up all those graves?”

Karen frowned. “I’m not sure. I know something big is happening, and Collins and her people are acting very skittish. It could be the attacks on the settlements and the increased number of ravagers. As to why they dug up the bodies . . . maybe they want to do tests on the parasites after certain periods of time.”

“Yes,” said Ford, “that might fit. If they already have extensive medical histories and studied those specific dead at given intervals, that would fit a kind of recognizable scientific model.”

“It’s sick,” said Spider.

“No argument,” said Ford, nodding. “And it suggests a level of desperation. When the military acts erratically, it’s usually because things are breaking down. They are all about control, and sometimes they go to dreadful lengths to maintain that control.”

“Yes,” said Karen. “I agree. They’re very desperate, but they’ve done a lot of bad things all along. It’s pretty clear they think that the end result—saving what’s left of humanity—is worth the cost of the lives they sacrifice.”

“Why us?” asked Gutsy. “Why people like the Santiagos and Cantus? Why Mama?”

Karen couldn’t meet her eyes. “Because everyone they infected was either an illegal alien, or the child of one. In their eyes, you’re not Americans.”

“Which means we don’t count?” yelled Gutsy. “We’re still people!”

“Not to them,” said Karen.

The silence that followed was profound.