Broken Lands (Benny Imura 6)

“Night Army?” snorted Ledger. “I think somebody was watching too many episodes of Game of Thrones before the dead rose.”

“You wouldn’t joke if you saw them, Joe. The ravagers are part of that outfit, and they have serious numbers.”

“Any chance they can use something like an RPG?” asked Ledger.

“Probably, if they knew where to find one,” said Sam. “I hope it doesn’t mean they found one of the weapons caches.”

“One of them? How many caches are there?”

“Two that I know of,” said Sam. “A small one that was part of a forward outpost during the last battles, and the big one somewhere near Laredo. I could probably find it if we go look.”

“You never went there?” asked Ledger.

“Why bother? I’ve looted enough dead soldiers, hunters, and cops to have enough rifle and small arms ammunition to last me the rest of my life.” He sucked a tooth for a moment, considering. “If they only found the small one, then it’s bad, but probably not enough for them to take New Alamo.”

Ledger nodded. “How big is the big one?”

“Very.”

“So, maybe we should go take a look,” said Ledger. “If this Night Army—and, by the way, I’m having a hard time taking that name seriously—is really out there, then we need to get some weapons to those people in New Alamo.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” said Sam. “From what I’ve been told, the cache is buried underground in an ultrasecure facility, and the whole area is swarming with—what did you call them? Zoms?”

“Yeah. So what, though? We’ve both been dealing with zoms for a lot of years now.”

“Not like these.”

“Why? What’s different about them?”

“These ‘zoms’ used to be part of a circus,” said Sam.

“So . . . zombie clowns . . . ?”

“No,” said Sam. “Lions, and tigers, and bears.”

“Oh my . . . ,” breathed Ledger.

“And elephants. You haven’t really lived until you’ve been chased by twelve thousand pounds of living-dead elephants.”

Ledger was about to comment when a monstrous howl split the morning. A huge hulking shape filled the open door of Sam’s cabin. Sam lunged for his rifle, but Ledger grabbed his wrist.

“No!”

The creature stalked inside, barely able to fit through the doorway. It was huge and completely covered in bands of metal and chain mail, with razor-sharp spikes sticking out in all directions. The armor was splashed with blood—red and black. A dented helmet was strapped to its head but it was twisted and hung low, blocking one eye. The animal stopped inside, looking from Sam to Joe and back again. It bared its teeth at Sam.

“Oh, stop showing off, you big goof,” growled Ledger.

Grimm, who had been through a hundred battles with his master, bounded like a puppy toward Joe Ledger. Sam found himself laughing—something so rare for him that he’d come to believe himself incapable of it—as Ledger, the most dangerous man he’d ever known, was trampled and licked into submission by a dog.

Sam’s laughter began to crack, though, as he thought of his family. Stepmom and dad, gone. Brother Tom, gone. And Benny . . . ? What was he like? And would he ever see him? Sam didn’t think so. The world was not that kind; the universe was never that generous.

Or was it? He watched Ledger remove the dog’s armor and check the animal over for injuries. It was clear Grimm was family to Ledger. The dog had been thrown out of a crashing helicopter and here he was—alive. Against all hope, despite all probability, alive.

Maybe, thought Sam, the defining characteristic of the universe wasn’t cold cruelty.

Maybe.

And maybe, he knew, was a dangerous word. Maybe was another word for hope.