Joe smiled. It was a big, toothy, happy smile. What Mayor Kirsch would have called an “aw shucks” smile. Benny knew that the humor in that smile went less than a millimeter deep.
“Good,” said the ranger. “Now how about signaling the siren house and then getting this bridge down?”
The soldiers turned quickly away and set to work.
Joe glanced briefly at Nix, Lilah, Riot, and Benny. “Can’t stand around trading Zombie Cards all day, kids. We’re burning daylight.”
56
SAINT JOHN RAISED HIS FACE to let the bloodred heat of the dying sun bathe his face.
He could hear the rustle of the reapers behind him. The Red Brotherhood formed the first ranks—five hundred strong. Beyond them was the main body of the reaper army.
Teams of quartermasters ran along the ranks with buckets brimming with the chemical created by Sister Sun. Every reaper dipped his red tassels in the buckets and retied them to ankles and wrists, threaded them through belt loops, and pinned them to their shirts between the outspread angel wings. This was the most noxious and powerful version of the chemical, the formula revised by Sister Sun to accommodate the spike in aggression from the gray people. Sometimes a reaper would be dragged down and consumed regardless of the chemicals, but that was okay. If it happened, then god willed it to be so, and the surviving reapers celebrated as one of their own went on into the darkness.
Besides, Saint John could afford to lose a few reapers. He could afford to lose hundreds. The army had grown as riders on quads contacted units scattered all over California, Utah, Idaho, and Nevada. Some of those riders had been sent out on the night Saint John walked away from Mother Rose’s defeat at the gates of Sanctuary. He had over three hundred working quads and many thousands of reapers. Some of those reapers had kissed the knife as recently as this afternoon. Among the new acolytes were former trade guards and bounty hunters who lived in the Nine Towns. They had been so eager, so willing to share every secret of each of those towns.
What amazed Saint John, even after everything he had seen and learned about the foolishness of people, was that most of the towns had only chain-link fences for protection against the gray people.
As if the dead were the only threat.
As if the dead were even a serious threat.
As if the will of god were so easily ignored.
It angered Saint John. He felt that it showed no respect at all for the importance of his mission. It felt like a challenge, a boast. Or an invitation to prove to each and every sinner behind those frail walls that the will of Thanatos—all praise to his darkness—could not be deterred.
He opened his eyes and looked once more at the sign that had caused him to stop and savor the moment. It was not one of the machine-printed road signs from before the Fall. This was hand-painted on the side of an empty hardware store that squatted by the side of the four-lane highway.
WELCOME TO HAVEN
POP. 5,219
COME IN PEACE, LEAVE IN PROSPERITY
GOD AND ALL HIS ANGELS PROTECT YOU ON THE ROAD
The road sloped downward for a thousand yards and stopped at the gates of a chain fence. He touched the silver dog whistle that hung around his neck.
“?‘Welcome to Haven,’?” Saint John read aloud, enjoying each separate syllable.
He lifted the whistle to his lips.
It was not the reaper army that he called.
The answer to his call was a moan of hunger so loud that the thunder of it rolled down the hill toward those metal gates.
57
WHEN THE ZOMS WERE ALL at the far end of the airfield, Joe motioned for Benny and the girls to follow him, and he led them past the blockhouse and the first two hangars. Grimm trotted beside him, his armor clanking with each step; and he kept throwing angry glances at the sirens and the zoms. A sturdy chain-link fence was in place to create a safe corridor between the zoms and the hangars. The frame of the fence was mounted on wheels so the whole thing could be swung wide for aircraft and other vehicles. The main doors of the hangars were closed, but Benny saw that smaller doors stood ajar, and he went over to peer inside.
The first hangar was filled with parts of dead machines: helicopters, small planes, tanks, armored personnel carriers, Jeeps, Humvees, and motorcycles; all of them stripped and scavenged for parts. Nothing looked whole, and all of it looked old.
“What is it?” asked Nix, leaning past him to look.
“Junk,” he said.
“Where’s all the other stuff?” she asked. “I thought they were rebuilding.”