Tom shrugged. “If I have to get to know who you are, you have to get to know who I am. Fair’s fair.” He opened the gate. “Let’s go.”
Benny stood outside the gate, drumming his fingers on the wooden top rail. He didn’t understand Tom at the best of times, and for a few seconds he felt like he’d just missed the punchline of a joke. He looked down at the card, as if the Lost Girl could whisper some explanation to him.
“Honestly … is it just me or is Tom crazy?”
The Lost Girl’s eyes held infinite answers, but he couldn’t hear a word. He sighed, tucked the card into his pocket, and headed into the house.
Fifteen minutes later Tom tried to kill Benny with a sword.
21
BENNY TWISTED OUT OF THE WAY OF THE SWORD WITH MAYBE A MICRON to spare. He could feel the blade slice the air; he heard the swoosh of the wind. Benny threw himself to one side and tried to roll behind the picnic table, but Tom was as nimble as an ape. He leaped onto the tabletop, dropped quickly into a crouch, and as Benny came out of his roll and started to rise, Tom stopped him with the edge of his weapon across Benny’s windpipe.
“You’re dead.”
Benny put a finger against the blunt edge of the wooden practice sword and pushed it away.
“You cheated.”
Tom lowered his sword. “How do you figure that?”
“I dropped my sword,” Benny said. “I told you to give me a second.”
“Oh, please. Like anyone out in the Ruin is going to cut you any slack.”
“Zoms don’t carry swords.”
“That’s hardly the point.”
“And, as far as I know, none of the other bounty hunters do either.”
Tom picked up a towel and wiped sweat from his face. “Now you’re lying to save face. You saw one of them use a sword when we were out in the—”
“Okay, okay, whatever. Let me catch my breath.” Benny dropped his wooden sword and trudged over to the pitcher of iced tea and drank two cupfuls. “Besides,” he said, turning back, “I’d rather learn how to use a gun.”
“You already know how to shoot.”
“Not like you.” He almost said “not like Charlie,” but caught himself. Last year Charlie had given a demonstration of pistol and rifle trick shooting at the harvest fair. Tom had watched the whole thing with narrowed eyes and a wooden face. Thinking back on that, Benny wondered if Tom was anywhere near as good as Charlie with a gun. He’d had never seen his brother shoot.
Tom didn’t reply. He weighed the wooden bokken in his hand and cut a few slow-motion lines through the air.
“Will you teach me to shoot?”
“Eventually, sure,” said Tom. “Though … you know enough now to stop one of the dead if you get into trouble. But I already told you that I prefer swords and knives. They’re quieter and they—”
“Don’t need to be reloaded,” Benny interrupted. “Yeah, I remember. You’ve told me fifteen times. You also said that sometimes quiet doesn’t matter.”
“True, but there are a lot more times when it does.” Tom hooked the tip of his sword under Benny’s and flipped it up so that it tumbled over and over in the air. It came at Benny faster than expected, and he surprised himself by getting a hand up in time to catch it. Tom grinned. “At least your reflexes are good.”
“Hooray for me.”
Tom raised his sword in a formal two-hand grip and waited until Benny finished making faces and did the same. Tom moved to his right, beginning a slow sideway circle, always keeping his sword ready. Benny shifted to his left, matching him.
“Quiz time,” said Tom.
“Do we have to?”
“No. You can quit and go shovel body parts into the pit. I’m easy.”
Benny didn’t voice the word that rose to his lips.
“Define ‘kenjutsu.’”
“It’s Japanese for ‘sword methods’ or ‘the way of the sword,’” Benny said in as bored a tone as he could manage. Tom darted forward a half step in a quick fake, and Benny stepped backward.
“What does ‘samurai’ mean?”