Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

“No . . . ,” she breathed, but the night said yes.

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LILAH WAS RIDING POINT ON their column and ranging far ahead, picking out the best path on the moonlit terrain. They were following the directions given to them by the dying soldier, and it occurred to Benny, who was at the rear of their line, that they’d never even asked for his name.

How sad was that? To die without anyone knowing your name. It was like so many of the zoms out in the Ruin. They were just “zoms” to most people, but they’d been people once. They’d had lives, hopes and dreams, family and friends. They each had a history, and every one of them had expected to have a future. Each of them had been a person with a name.

Now . . . ?

Even to Benny and his friends, who felt for the people they’d been, they were nameless monsters. It felt like a crime, or maybe a sin, not to know the names of people who died when you were present. Even a man like the soldier, who claimed to be a bad guy, should have had mourners to say his name so that he did not pass out of life without an identity.

Benny knew he was being superstitious, or maybe he was losing his marbles. Probably a little of both. The deeper they went into the Ruin, the less stable he felt. And the more morbid his thoughts became.

He rumbled and bumped over the ground, grateful for once that the carpet coat and body armor were warm, because the temperature plummeted as soon as the sun went down. Ahead he could see Nix’s curly hair whipping in the wind from under the edge of her helmet. Beyond her was Chong, sitting hunched as if the weight of everything was crushing him by slow degrees. And Lilah. Still a mystery to everyone. She acted so cold and tough, but Benny knew there was a heart beneath the ice and armor. It had to be breaking after what Chong had said earlier about his life expectancy.

Up ahead Lilah reached the top of the crest, and he saw her slow her quad into a skidding stop. She killed the engine and turned to the others, drawing a finger across her throat in a kill it gesture. They all stopped and switched off. She waved them over and then flattened herself out on the crest so she could peer over the edge. Benny caught up with the others, his heart thumping.

“Now what?” he breathed as he closed in on the Lost Girl.

The four of them saw “what.”

The crest overlooked the edge of a long, flat plain of grassy ground with a few sparse trees here and there. With the engine motors stilled, they could hear the sounds from below.

Moans.

A thunder of them. A storm of bottomless need. An ache that spiraled up from within the living dead and gathered into a collective, unanswerable appeal for food. For meat.

“There’s so many of them,” gasped Nix.

“Look,” said Lilah, pointing. “More of the ravagers.”

It was true. There were dozens of the leather-clad half-zoms spread out among the swarm, and, as before, they were herding the dead.

“Um, guys . . . ?” said Chong. When the others turned, he pointed in a different direction, down the length of the crest to a point where it leveled out with the plain. Figures were moving, running toward them. Ravagers. Armed with knives, whips, and guns.

“They heard the quads,” said Benny. “Run!”

They ran f

or their machines. There were several hollow pops, and Benny saw the limb of a stunted live oak explode in a spray of jagged splinters as heavy bullets punched into it.

“Go, go, go,” screamed Nix as she fired up her quad and spun away, kicking up clouds of dust and gravel. She did not try to return fire. The ravagers had rifles and she had a pistol. She would be lucky to even clip one of them, let alone get a head shot. The distance was too great to waste bullets.

Chong slipped and went down to one knee, but Lilah caught him under the arm, hauled him up, and shoved him in the direction of the quad as bullets burned through the air around them. One round struck the wheel of the cart attached to the back of Benny’s quad, blowing apart the tire.

Benny jumped into the saddle, started the engine, and was off, dragging the damaged cart behind him as more bullets chased him. He was hyperaware that the cart carried their dwindling supply of fuel. Even if he’d had time to detach it, they needed that fuel. On the other hand, could a hot lead bullet ignite the fuel if it struck the tank? Benny didn’t know, so he opened the throttle and roared into the moonlit landscape.

He heard the other two quads coming up hard behind him; and Nix was far ahead, picking out the route. The ravagers fired and fired, and suddenly Benny felt something punch him in the back. He pitched forward over the handlebars as pain exploded all through his chest cavity.

I’ve been shot, he thought wildly. Oh God, I’m shot.

His mind wanted to go dark, to escape the pain and all that would follow. Torture. Teeth. Reanimation as a zombie.

I’m dying.

With what strength he had, Benny kept the throttle open and followed Nix for as long as he could. For as long as he was able.

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