Dust and Decay (Benny Imura 2)

Benny made a show of innocence unfairly attacked, but no one bought it.

“Dress for hiking,” Tom told them all. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Chong. “Here’s a list of what you’ll need.”

Chong’s eyes flicked down the list. “There’s not a lot of stuff here, Tom.”

“You won’t want to carry a lot.”

“No … I mean, there’s stuff missing. Like … food.”

“We’ll forage and hunt. Nature provides, if you know how to ask.”

“No tents?”

“You’ll learn to build a basic shelter. All you need is a sleeping bag. We’ll be roughing it.”

“No toilet paper?”

Benny grinned. “That’s what ‘roughing it’ means, Chong.”

“We’ll use bunches of grass or soft leaves,” explained Tom.

Chong stared at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Early man didn’t have toilet paper,” said Benny. “I’ll bet it even says so in one of your books.”

“Early man, perhaps,” Chong said icily, “but we did evolve.”

Tom laughed. “Go pack.”

15

THE HARDEST PART WAS SAYING GOOD-BYE.

Benny didn’t have a lot of close friends in town, but there was Morgie. Nix had already said good-bye to him. Now it was Benny’s turn.

He walked, hands in pockets, through the streets of town, looking at the familiar buildings and houses. There was Lafferty’s General Store, where Benny and his gang drank sodas and opened packs of Zombie Cards. There were three nine-year-olds sitting on the wooden steps with several packs on their laps, laughing, showing one another cool cards. Heroes of First Night. Bounty Hunters. Famous Zoms. Maybe even one of the ultrarare Chase Cards.

Benny turned onto Morgie’s street and saw the Mitchell house at the end of the block, perpetually in the shadow of two massive oaks. Morgie was sitting on the top step, stringing his fishing pole. His tackle box stood open beside him and his dog, Cletus, drowsed in a patch of sunlight.

Morgie looked up from his work as Benny walked up the flagstone path. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Morgie bent over the rod and carefully threaded catgut through the guides. It was an old rod, made before First Night and beautifully tended to by Morgie. It had belonged to his father.

“Guess this is it, huh?” Morgie said in a voice that was flat and dead.

“We might be back,” Benny began, but didn’t finish because Morgie was already shaking his head.

“Don’t lie, Benny.”

“Sorry.” Benny cleared his throat. “I wish you could come with us.”

Morgie looked up, his face pinched and cold. “Really? You’d really want me to come with you—”

“Sure—”

“—and Nix?”