Worse than that, below them were row upon row of corpses. They lay wrapped in sheets or tarps or whatever was handy. Killed during the two battles and silenced by friends and neighbors.

“How many is it now?” asked Alice.

“Too many,” said Alethea.

“Three hundred and eighty-six,” said Spider.

Gutsy didn’t ask how he knew the exact number. Spider counted things. It helped him to quantify the world, to contain it with facts and figures. Gutsy could relate. She always wanted to understand how things worked. And why they worked. And in thinking that, she realized that she was trying to shift away from how big and monstrous that number was.

Three hundred and eighty-six people. In history books, the phrase used to describe the number of people killed in battle was “butcher’s bill,” and that hadn’t made sense to her until now. There had been fewer than half that many dead at the end of the fight, though. The rest had succumbed to mortal injuries and bites.

They stood together, watching the teams of ordinary people they knew—a seamstress and a tomato farmer, a potter and a farrier, a schoolteacher and a kid from her own grade—work as undertakers. Moving from body to body, making sure each had been spiked in the back of the neck. Wrapping them in shrouds. Binding the corpses. Lifting them onto carts. They worked in a strange silence, and—apart from having to end her own mother’s unnatural life—it was the most horrible thing Gutsy had ever seen. The worst thing any of her friends ever saw.

Sombra whined softly and used his wet nose to push against her thigh.

“I should go home,” said Alice.

“Yeah,” said Spider, “I heard your mom was hurt this afternoon. Is it bad?”

“I haven’t really had a chance to see her,” admitted Alice. “Mrs. Frye from next door is taking care of her until I get back. Don’t think it’s too bad, though, or Mom would have said something. She hurt her hand.”

“Come on,” said Gutsy, “I’ll walk you home.”

They left the others on the wall and climbed down, walking hand in hand without either realizing they were doing it. The awareness crept into Gutsy’s mind, though, and she nearly let go out of some awkward reflex. A few days ago, Gutsy was tongue-tied and clumsy even talking to this girl, and now they held hands as if they’d been together forever. Somehow, in the midst of a terrible battle, she and Alice had become more than a thing.

They’d become a couple.

It sounded weird in Gutsy’s head, because she was sure everyone was staring at them in surprise or disapproval because Alice was so amazing and a catch by any standard. Gutsy did not consider herself to be even remotely in the same league. Not by a million miles.

When they reached the end of Alice’s block, Gutsy stopped.

“Look,” she said, “maybe we should say goodbye here.”

“Why?”

“Well… your mom…”

“My mom knows I’m like you, Guts.”

Gutsy blinked. “She does?”

“Sure. I told her weeks ago.”

“Wait—weeks?”

Alice kissed her. Then leaned back a few inches, her eyes searching Gutsy’s as her fingers traced a soft line down her cheek.

“If you don’t know that I’ve had a thing for you for a while now,” Alice murmured, “then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Gutsy smiled. “I’ve been paying attention about some things,” she said, and kissed Alice. The world went away for a long, sweet time.

Then a cart stacked with shrouded bodies rumbled past pulled by two horses, startling them, breaking the kiss. The reality of that cart seemed to hook the awkward beauty of the moment and drag it through the mud. When Gutsy glanced at Alice, there was no trace of a smile left on that lovely face.

“I’d better get home,” Alice said. “I want to see how Mom’s doing.”

“I—”

Alice silenced her with another kiss. Quick and light, and then she turned and walked the rest of the way home. Gutsy watched her go, aching to run after her. Hating that the moment was spoiled, and afraid that there might not be many moments like this for them.

Tags: Jonathan Maberry Benny Imura
Source: readsnovelonline.net