“I’m okay,” she called, though that was in no way certain.
Mama, please…, she begged. Help me.
The wind did not stop blowing, and in fact, seemed to intensify. It picked up dust from the desert floor and whipped it at her, stinging her skin, half blinding her.
Help me, Mama… please!
For just a crazy and impossible moment she thought she smelled something on that wind. A familiar scent of flowers and spices, like Mama’s kitchen when she was cooking. It was the second time since Mama died that Gutsy had smelled it. It made her think of her mother’s spirit, released from its troubled envelope of infected flesh, going home. As if her cries for Mama’s help were being somehow answered.
But if there was a message from beyond the grave, its meaning was lost on her. And that was maddening, because she could use any help she could get. Even a hint.
The wind blew past her, though, taking those beloved smells away in the direction of the Raggedy Man’s vast army. The tower creaked, but it did not fall.
Gutsy climbed down and rejoined the others. Her legs trembled, and she was happy to be back on solid ground. She quickly explained what was coming.
“We have to get everyone to go faster,” she said. “A lot faster.”
They set out at their top speed and soon overtook the rearmost of the refugee parties, urging them to hurry. The fitter young men and women from that group were sent as runners to find other groups and pass the word. Soon the whole mass of them were moving at a near run. When someone lagged behind, pairs of survivors flanked them and half carried them. Wheelbarrows and carts with goods were dumped out so older people and little children could ride instead.
It was not orderly, and it was not nearly as fast as Gutsy knew they needed to go.
Behind them the howls of the wild men could be heard, rising in intensity, becoming even more savage as the creatures caught the scent of their prey. What Gutsy didn’t know was if that meant they could smell the fleeing townsfolk or if they’d discovered the massive army.
“Keep going!” she cried.
She and Benny formed the rear guard of the group, with Grimm and Sombra flanking them. As they ran, they had a conversation without words. It was a look of truth. It said, We’re not going to make it.
It was not a statement of insecurity or resignation. Just an honest appraisal of the situation. There were miles to go to reach Site B. Even if the doors stood open and waiting for them, they both knew there was simply not enough time to get there.
Gutsy set her jaw. If she was going to die, then she’d die. Maybe she and Sombra could hold the monsters off long enough to allow some of the people to survive. Maybe they’d at least get Morton and the Dòmi to Site B, which would allow for the possibility of a counterattack. A slim chance of survival for what was left of the human race.
If she could do that, then dying may not be so bad.
And Gutsy was sure that was what she’d read in Benny’s eyes as well. She did not want or need to be a hero, but if she died, then Gutsy wanted her life to matter.
98
BROTHER MERCY STOOD ON THE edge of the Raggedy Man’s mobile flatbed. The king of the dead was leaning forward, head craned as he looked around, rotted hands clutching the arms of the throne.
“Did you kill them all?” he demanded.
Brother Mercy pointed. “No, lord. Look there.”
They stared in mutual horror as sixty or more of the wild men came howling across the field toward the front rank of the seething mass of shamblers. The young reaper put a silver whistle to his lips and blew a high, shrill note, which caused scores of reapers and ravagers in the army to turn and look.
“There!” he cried. “My reapers, my brothers and sisters—kill them. Kill them all.”
The ravagers immediately turned and began shoving the shamblers back, beating them with clubs—not to injure but to direct. As they did that, the reapers swept forward. Engines roared, and a dozen quads came whipping around from behind. The rest ran, knives, axes, and bows in hand. The leading archers fired, and arrows shot through the night, the deadly points catching silver sparks of cold moonlight. The whole front rank of wild men went down.
But the rest, undaunted, came howling on.
* * *
Gutsy and Benny paused at the crest of a hill, the first of a series that rose into the distance. Each had their binoculars out and watched the battle begin.
“They have quads!” Gutsy cried.
“I know. That’s how we got them,” Benny said. “We stole four from the reapers in Nevada. It’s how we beat Saint John’s army to California in time to mount our defense.”