“It didn’t look that way back on the field. I remember you trying to take our weapons and supplies.”
Riot shrugged. “Times is tough, ain’t you heard? Apocalypse an’ all.” She rubbed her face. “You also tried to save Sarah and Eve from Brother Andrew. Almost died doing it. Cartin’ you here and plucking out an arrow seems the least I can do.”
“Brother Andrew,” Chong repeated with a confused shake of the head. “Who the heck are these reapers and why are they doing all this?” he asked. “I mean, I heard Andrew and Carter talking, so I think I understand some of it. Is it some kind of cult thing? Some religious cult?”
Riot considered the questions. “It’s religious,” she admitted. “Don’t know much about ‘cults.’ But this is something real, and it’s big.”
She explained about Saint John and his belief that the Gray Plague had been a kind of “rapture,” and that anyone left behind was a sinner. Saint John formed the reapers to usher those left behind into the darkness.
“Darkness? What’s that? Heaven?”
“Don’t rightly know. Saint John says that it’s the place where pain and sufferin’ don’t exist no more. He never said anything about pearly gates or none of that stuff.”
“And people join him?”
A strange light kindled in her eyes. “Oh, yes they do. By the hundreds and by the thousands.”
Chong thought about it. “Brother Andrew said a lot of things about how hard it is to survive out here. All the disease and hunger, not to mention the zoms.”
“Zoms? Oh, you mean the zees. Nobody much calls ’em zoms, ’cept the odd trader or ranger. Mostly it’s ‘gray people,’ ‘gray wanderers.’ All the same.”
“So . . . let me see if I understand this,” said Chong. “People are eager to join the reapers and embrace the ‘darkness’ because this world is too hard to live in? Is that about it?”
She nodded. “It ain’t as simple as that, but you got the bones of it. If all you know is suffering and fear, and next year looks to be just as bad, and the year after that and the year after that . . . who wouldn’t take a hard look at an offer of no pain, no suffering?”
Chong sighed. “I’d say it was the craziest thing I ever heard of, but it’s actually not. Those who want to go see God can do it right now, and those who want to find some kind of redemption—or maybe some kind of important purpose—can join the reapers and do God’s work before they head off to join their loved ones.”
Riot gave him a long, appraising look. “Ain’t stupid, are ya?”
“I try not to be.”
He suddenly swayed as another wave of nausea churned through him. He fought to control the urge to vomit.
“You okay?”
“I’ve felt better. Little woozy. Sick to my stomach.”
Riot placed her palm on his forehead. “You’re sweatin’ up a storm, but I don’t feel no fever. You’re sick as a dog.”
“Arrows in my body tend to do that to me,” Chong said.
“Ah,” she said. “So I heard.”
Riot bent close and studied the arrowhead. “That is a beaut.”
“Swell.” Chong could actually feel his body turn cold. “Since we can’t, um, yank it out . . . what are our options?”
“It’s an aluminum arrow,” she said, nodding toward the shaft. “So I’ll try and unscrew the head, and then we can pull it out backwards-like. Might jostle a bit, which is why I wanted you awake ’fore I try. Can’t have you waking up screaming.”
“No, we can’t have that.”
She nodded at his bare shoulder. “What’s that?”
Chong did not need to look to see what she meant. There was a fresh scar from where a zombie had tried to take a bite out of him in one of the fighting pits at Gameland. He explained that to Riot.
“You was a pit fighter?’
“Not by choice.”
“And you got bit and healed?” She looked dubious.