Rot and Ruin (Benny Imura 1)

Benny got to his feet and dusted off his pants. Once more he looked back the way they’d come and then stepped up to Tom, staring up at his big brother with an expression that was equally mixed and conflicted.

“I’m sorry,” they both said.

They stared at each other.

Benny smiled.

Tom’s smile was slower in coming.

“You’re a total pain in my butt, little brother. ”

“You’re a world-class jerk. ”

The hot breeze blew past them. Tom said, “If you want to go back, then we’ll go back. ”

Benny shook his head. “No. ”

“Why not?”

“Do I have to have an answer?”

“Right now? No. Eventually? Probably. ”

“Yeah,” said Benny. “That’s okay, I guess. Just tell me one thing. I know you said it already, but I really need to know. Really, Tom. ”

Tom nodded.

“You’re not like them. Right? Swear on something. ” He pulled out his wallet and held up the picture. “Swear on Mom and Dad. ”

Tom nodded. “Okay, Benny. I swear. ”

“On Mom and Dad. ”

“On Mom and Dad. ” Tom touched the picture and nodded.

“Okay,” said Benny. “Then let’s go. ”

The afternoon burned on, and they followed the two-lane road around the base of the mountain. Neither spoke for almost an hour and then Tom said, “This isn’t just a walk we’re taking, kiddo. I’m out here on a job. ”

Benny shot him a look. “You’re here to kill a zom?”

Tom shrugged. “It’s not the way I like to phrase it, but … yes, that’s the bottom line. ”

They walked another half mile.

“How does this work? The … job, I mean. ”

“You saw part of it when you applied to that erosion artist,” said Tom. He dug into a jacket pocket and removed an envelope, opened it, and took out a piece of paper that he unfolded and handed to Benny. There was a small color photograph clipped to one corner that showed a smiling man of about thirty, with sandy hair and a sparse beard. The paper it was clipped to was a large portrait of the same man as he might be now if he was a zombie. The name “Harold” was handwritten in one corner.

“This is why erosion portraits are so useful. People have pictures done of wives, husbands, children … anyone they loved. Someone they lost. Sometimes they can even remember what a person was wearing on First Night, and that makes it easier for me, because as I said, the dead seldom move far from where they lived. Or worked. Guys like me find them. ”

“And kill them?”

Tom answered that with a shrug. They rounded a bend in the road and saw the first few houses of a small town built onto the side of the mountain. Even from a quarter mile away Benny could see zombies standing in yards or on the sidewalks. One stood in the middle of the road with his face tilted toward the sun.

Nothing moved.

Tom folded the erosion portrait and put it in his pocket, then took out the vial of cadaverine and sprinkled some on his clothes. He handed it to Benny, then dabbed some mint gel on his upper lip and passed the jar to his brother.