Lost Roads (Benny Imura 7)

All around the town, other defenders were making the same choices. Some going. Some willing to stay and fight.

And die.

86

GUTSY, SPIDER, AND SOMBRA RAN toward the east gate. The evacuation siren had been wailing for what seemed like forever, but now it wound down, the blare fading as if in despair.

Halfway to the gate they met Sunny-Day Ray, who, already old, seemed to have aged another twenty years. He was soaked with sweat and splashed with mostly black blood. He saw them and began waving them back.

“No,” he cried, “we’re losing the wall.”

“What about Karen and everyone?”

“She ordered them all to the rally point,” the old man panted. “I’m going to try and get out the gate with the other vehicles. Those machine guns might give us a chance to break through and protect your backs while you get moving to Site B.”

Spider looked past him. “Did you see Alethea?”

Sunny-Day Ray nodded. “Saw her shepherding a passel of kids toward the hospital.”

Gutsy started to turn, then stopped as she heard several spaced gunshots from high on the gate. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the smoke and shadows and saw Karen still there, holding a handgun, taking careful aim, and firing. Again and again. Gutsy started to run in that direction, but the old man caught her by the arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

“No,” he said.

“She’ll die up there. She needs help.”

There was a sad smile on Sunny-Day Ray’s face. “She’s helping us. Buying us time.”

“She can still—”

“Listen to me, Gutsy,” he said. “We’ll try to pick her up on the way out. That’s my plan.”

But as he spoke, the gun fell silent, and the top of the gate was obscured by smoke.

“God save our souls,” said the old man. “You kids better run. And I mean right now.”

Spider and Gutsy, their hearts breaking, turned and ran. Sombra lingered a moment longer and wagged his tail at the old man, and then he, too, fled.

87

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?” demanded Benny as he and Chong burst into Dr. Morton’s lab, a nearly frantic Grimm at their heels.

The injured physician and Manny Flores both looked up from their work. They were haggard, pale with fright, and sweating badly, but Morton looked more dead than alive. His skin was a grayish green, and sweat rolled down his cheeks. All around them were boxes and bags filled with the fertilizer-based stabilizer. Heaps of the smelly manure were drying under a row of lamps.

“I thought it had to be moist in order to bond with the Dòmi,” said Gutsy.

“Only slightly moist,” explained Flores. “We’ve already treated most of this stuff and have been drying it out so it’s lighter to carry and easier to disperse.”

“Someone said they would be bringing a cart for all of this,” said Morton irritably. “But they haven’t come back yet.”

“Is it true those things are in the town?” asked Flores, his eyes jumpy with fatigue and terror.

“Some got in,” Benny confirmed.

“Wild men?” Morton’s voice was nearly a screech.

“Not yet,” Benny said quickly, and then explained what was happening outside the walls and watched the words hit the two scientists like a series of punches. “So, we need to get out right now.”

“We still need that cart,” cried Flores. “Otherwise all of this is for nothing.”