“What?”
“Riot. She has the same tattoos on her head. So did all the reapers on the quads.”
“First, she’s not my girlfriend,” said Benny. “My girlfriend is a crazy redhead with freckles.”
That earned him a small smile from Nix.
“And second, Riot was with Carter. Besides, the woman I saw in the field was dressed like the reapers, and she had a full head of hair. So that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Maybe she wasn’t with the reapers. I don’t know, but the ones on the quads and Saint John had the same kind of skin art as Riot, so—”
“I don’t care. Riot was with Eve’s family.”
A wide gully yawned before them, and they stopped to examine it, but there were no signs of lurking zoms or reapers with gleaming knives. Even so, they moved silently and with great caution, weapons ready, minds alert.
“Well, we have one thing going for us,” Benny said as they left the gully behind them. “We should be safe from the reapers.”
“How do you figure that?” Nix demanded.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the mother of Thanksalot, the personification of death?”
“Thanatos,” she corrected.
“Right. Praise be to the darkness.”
“Ugh. Don’t say that, it’s freaky. Besides, Thanatos’s mother was Nyx. With a y.”
“Right, I’m sure that’s going to make a world of difference,” said Benny sourly. “If we’re attacked, you can dazzle them with spelling and grammar.”
She started to say something back, but Benny caught her wrist and pulled her down behind a tree. Nix started to ask what was wrong, but then she heard it too. The sound of motors coming their way.
Benny drew his sword but kept the blade in the shadow cast by the tree. Nix had her pistol out, the barrel pointed at the lead figure in a line of three quads that bumped and rocked along the forest path. Two men and a woman drove the machines. Reapers, without a doubt.
Benny was acutely aware that Nix had only two bullets left.
Nix thumbed the hammer back, but Benny whispered, “Don’t. Not unless they see us.”
Seconds burned away as the quads tore along the path, the roar of the motors filling the air. Then, a hundred feet shy of where Benny and Nix crouched, the line of vehicles turned and headed due east. The motor sounds diminished quickly; soon the reapers were gone, and an uneasy silence draped itself over the forest once more.
Nix blew out her cheeks and leaned her forehead on her outstretched gun arm. She uncocked the pistol. Benny bent and kissed her on the shoulder.
“They’re gone,” he said as he slid the katana back into its sheath.
Without raising her head, Nix said, “You know, Benny, there was a time—was it only a day ago?—when the sound of a motor would have been like Christmas to us. It would have proved that the world wasn’t dead, that there was something out here to find.”
“I know.” Benny sighed. “And I remember a time not that long ago when we were happy. When we used to laugh.”
Nix raised her head and looked at him for a long moment, her lips parted as if she was going to reply. The look in her eyes was so deeply sad that Benny had to look away to hide the tears that suddenly formed in his eyes.
They got to their feet and continued moving toward the creek. Neither spoke for a long time. Then they found the stream and followed the muddy banks to a small clearing, and there they found the blood-spattered remains of several tents. They stood side by side at the edge of the creek, neither of them willing to take another step up the bank.
“God . . . ,” whispered Nix in a voice that was filled with horror.