Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

“It’s more of a treatment,” corrected Ledger. “Keeps infected people alive if they take their pills. Works different on full-blown zoms, though. Accelerates the life cycle of the parasites. They get fast and then they die. But listen, if the soldiers at Laredo told you Asheville was gone, then they lied to you. Asheville survived the end of everything else, and they got their act together. A government, a president, a Congress—kind of—and a lot of scientists and engineers working their butts off to fix stuff. I was heading there when my bird went down.”

“What happened?” asked Sam. “Engine trouble?”

“No,” said Ledger. “Someone shot us down. We took an RPG in the tail rotor. To say we did not see that coming was an understatement. Been a lot of years since I was in an aircraft that took enemy fire.”

“Someone shot you down?”

“Yeah. Who knows, maybe it was one of your soldier friends. I didn’t see the shot. I was on a call with some guys in Reclamation. We’d just gotten word that something was happening in Asheville and then suddenly—boom. Odd timing, though, and you know how I hate coincidences.”

“I don’t know the soldiers,” said Sam. “I know of them. And I don’t know why they’d fire on you.”

“Yeah,” said Ledger slowly. “I’d kind of like to ask someone that question. Not sure I’m going to be very nice about how I ask. But . . . frankly, man, I’m kind of surprised to hear that there’s an active base here in Texas. I’d also like to know why they haven’t been in touch with Asheville. If they have power, then they had to have working satellite phones. So, something’s hinky.”

Sam shook his head. “I really don’t know. I’ve never been to the base. The impression I got was that it was operational but not doing very well. Don’t know the details and haven’t really cared to find out. I, um . . . moved away from all that, Joe. I’ve been living alone here for years. I see a few people now and then, do a little trading for goods, but mostly I stay to myself.”

“Like a monk,” said Ledger.

“I guess. Doing penance for old sins.”

Ledger shook his head. “Anything you did was for the greater good.”

Sam shook his head again. “Don’t lie to a liar. I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything I’ve done, every trigger I’ve pulled, every life I ended. You can’t tell me that we were always the good guys in spotless white hats. You’ve never been that naive, Joe.”

Ledger sighed but said nothing for nearly a mile.

“Listen, Sam,” he said at last, his voice tentative, “there’s something I need to say. Your family . . . your brothers . . . do you know what happened to them? Did you ever try to find them?”

Sam flinched as an ancient ache stabbed him. “I tried, Joe. But the nukes, the radiation, the dead . . . . I called my stepmom. She told me that Dad came home hurt. Bitten . . . you understand? She dropped the phone. There were screams. I could tell what was happening. They’re all dead, Joe. My parents. Tom, little Benny. It’s crazy, but I never even saw Benny. Just baby pictures and e-mails, you know? Facebook posts. But I never actually saw him. Poor kid never had a chance.”

When he caught Joe’s expression, Sam stopped. “What is it? I’m talking about my family and you’re smiling. . . .”

“Sam,” said Ledger in a voice that was fragile with emotion, “I have a lot to tell you. God . . . where do I even begin?”

PART ELEVEN

NEW ALAMO, TEXAS

LATE AUGUST

SECRETS AND LIES

By a lie, a man . . . annihilates

his dignity as a man.

—IMMANUEL KANT

52

“I GUESS THE BEST WAY to start this,” said Mr. Urrea, “is to ask what you already know.”

“Know about what?” demanded Gutsy.

“About Los cazadores de ratas vienen.”

She stiffened. “The Rat Catchers. I know some.”

“Some, huh,” said Urrea, shooting a look at Ford.