It is the part of a good man
to do great and noble deeds,
though he risks everything.
—PLUTARCH
49
IT WAS A LABOR ASSIGNED in hell and carried out with the diligence of the damned.
The prison had huge tanks of water, so there was no shortage for washing. But even the harshest soaps and torrents of water could not sponge away the things they had done that day.
It had all been done according to a strange and nearly silent routine of action, and though they worked in pairs, there was no conversation except for what was needed in the moment.
“Open the door.”
“Here’s the key.”
“He’s done.”
Like that.
When it was done, they each drifted to the shower rooms to get clean. There were a lot of shower stalls and no one wanted to share. No one could look at anyone else.
Alone in a far corner of the guards’ locker room, Benny stripped to the skin and spent the next half hour washing every inch of his body.
Again and again.
• • •
Chong found Benny an hour later.
“You need to get dressed,” said Chong.
Benny looked away. Chong came in and sat down next to him. The floor had long since dried. Neither spoke for nearly five minutes.
Then Benny said, “What if it’s like this in Asheville? What if Captain Ledger never even got there? What if he’s dead? What if they’re all dead?”
Chong took his time before he said anything. “Y’know, man, all my life I’ve tried to steer away from looking at things as either black or white. There always seemed to be a third choice. A gray area, I guess, because in every case there was more information, additional details that had to be considered.”
Benny snorted. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Right now? Not all that good.” Chong sighed. “Look, we either go back to Reclamation or we go to Asheville. If we keep going . . . there might be more stuff like this.”
“I—I can’t do this again,” said Benny. “I don’t think we should have done this. The zoms don’t care. They’re not in pain anymore. But I am. We are. This . . . really messed me up, dude. I’m not sure I want to . . .” He let the rest hang.
Chong turned and looked at Benny. “You know I have to go, though, right? You get that?”
Benny closed his eyes and said nothing.
“While I was in the shower,” continued Chong, “I cooked up three different plans for me sneaking out with my quad and leaving some elaborate and heroic note about how you all should go back and let me do this alone. About how it wasn’t yours to do because I’m the one who’s sick. About you being needed back there a lot more than you needed to come with me on what’s probably a suicide mission.”
“And . . . ?”
Chong shrugged. “Truth is, I’m too scared to go alone. And I can’t go back home because all that would mean is me waiting to die, with all my friends hanging around like some death watch. Like being at my own funeral for ten whole months. That would suck.”
“That would suck,” agreed Benny.