Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

KICKAPOO CAVERN STATE PARK

THREE DAYS AGO

THEY DID NOT LEAVE SAM’S camp the next morning. Or the morning after that, or for most of the week.

The wound to Ledger’s leg was not bad, but the infection that set in was. A fever ignited midway through the first night, and by noon of the following day Ledger was sweaty and shivering. Sam made soups and teas concocted from herbs he picked. The first concern was Joe’s fever, but he knew better than to try to reduce it. A fever is part of the body’s natural way of fighting illness or infection, so reducing the fever could make the illness last longer. It could also let the causes of the illness live longer in the body. Sam’s small store of pharmaceuticals were to be used with caution, he knew, because even something like Advil or Tylenol were foreign substances that needed to be metabolized and filtered by the body, and that took energy and resources better left to the job of fighting the sickness. On the other hand, Joe was suffering. So a choice was often a gamble. Sam got some low-dose anti-inflammatory painkillers into him, which helped with aches but did not reduce the fever too much.

His main approach to helping Joe was to keep feeding him fluids, whether the cranky old soldier wanted them or not. Dehydration was dangerous; and besides, the fluids helped the body flush the illness: water, herbal teas like chamomile, peppermint, or catnip. They helped considerably.

Sam fished among his precious fruits and vegetables, found the last of his elderberries, and made them into a syrup to boost the immune system. The recipe was simple, but he had to go out several times to search for the right herbs, leaves, and tree bark. Sam knew his forest, so the process was time-consuming but not actually difficult. Grimm sat silent vigil over Ledger throughout, but now even his muscular body was crisscrossed with bandages.

In the evening Sam used coconut and fruit to make a kind of rough smoothie. It was ugly to look at and tasted horrible, but it had excellent antibacterial and antiviral properties. In the morning of the fourth day, as Ledger was coming out of it, Sam plied him with peppermint tea to soothe his aching and atrophied muscles.

Every night, when both were feeling well enough, they talked. Ledger talked about Asheville, about a town in Nevada called Sanctuary—long since lost to the dead—that had been a kind of hospice run by monks and nuns, and about the Nine Towns of central California. He told Sam everything about Tom, and about Benny, and the new samurai. He told him about the new version of the ancient samurai code of Bushido, the ethics of those ancient warriors. Tom’s modern version was the Warrior Smart program, and like Bushido, the warrior’s code never actually mentioned warfare. Warrior Smart was about kindness and cooperation, honesty and loyalty, optimism and judgment.

Sam liked to hear about these things, and he felt his own fears melt away only to be replaced by a new dread. The Night Army was still out there. New Alamo was still under threat. And Joe’s mission to Asheville was still in force, even though all communications were gone.

One evening Sam said, “I think I’ve worked out where the bigger weapons cache might be.”

“How?”

asked Ledger.

“I have some old maps from before,” said Sam. “I marked them up over the years, putting in any military bases or installations that I knew about, or found, or heard about. And . . . well . . . I’ve talked to a few people here and there. People who came onto my land. Some of them were soldiers.”

“You ‘talked’ to them?” said Ledger. “Meaning what, exactly?”

Sam’s face was as expressionless as a mask. “Meaning they were on my land and some of them tried to take food and supplies from me. I didn’t let them. Some of them were very willing to talk.”

Ledger stared at him. There were so many ugly things unsaid but implied. After a moment Sam looked down at his hands. “It’s been hard out here, Joe. Old rules don’t apply.”

Ledger said nothing.

Sam said, “If the cache is where I think it is, then we need to go past New Alamo. I can leave you there, if you want, and—”

“No,” insisted Ledger, “if we’re hunting for the weapons cache, then we do it together.”

“Okay,” said Sam dubiously. “But it’s two hundred miles and you’re hurt. Besides, that’s a strange area. You have New Alamo, the biological warfare base, and the weapons cache all within a few miles of each other. From the people I’ve talked to, though, the soldiers keep a low profile. I don’t think the people in town even know they’re there.”

Ledger frowned. “That’s weird. Why would the soldiers not be right there to help the people?”

“I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t sound right to me.”

“No,” agreed Sam. “And I know how you like to poke your nose into things.”

Ledger spread his hands. “Born with a curious mind. Sue me. But seriously, what’s the play? If we find the weapons, do we warn the base first or warn the town?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Sam. “I think we’ll have to get closer and make the call then. But . . . it’s a long way from here.”

Ledger slowly flexed his leg. “I think I can walk on it.”

“You won’t need to,” said Sam. “I have something else in mind.”

PART FIFTEEN

SOUTH TEXAS