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“Like . . . ?”
He shook his head. “You tell me.”
Dahlia turned and looked back at the members of her Pack, all of whom were crouched down in the weeds and behind bushes. She knew and loved them all. She’d done so much to protect them and keep them out of harm’s way. On the other hand, she’d also talked them into joining with Old Man Church. That hadn’t been for fun and games. He made no secret about the fact that he was waging a war out here. Against the dead and against the predatory living.
Against people like the Rovers.
She took a breath and told him what she thought they could do. Church listened and then nodded.
“You see?” he said. “You are a leader.”
They spent a few minutes discussing the plan and some variations. Church offered a few suggestions, but mostly let her shape things. The more they talked, the more Dahlia felt that there was a logic to her idea. Even a strength. But then darkness drifted over her heart. She lowered her voice so that only Church could hear her. “If we do this,” she said, “some of them could get hurt.”
“Some will be hurt. That’s unavoidable.”
“Some of them could die.”
He nodded. “Yes.” Church adjusted his black gloves and stared into the distance. “This is the shape of the world, Dahlia. We can’t wish an idyllic paradise into being. Maybe other people can do that, but I doubt it. Sometimes peace comes at a price. The question is, are you, as leader of the Pack, willing to pay that price?”
— 33 —
THE WARRIOR WOMAN
Kyle drew the hatchet from his belt and brandished it at Glory.
“I’m going to cut me a big chunk of ugly off your ass,” he announced, and ran at her. Glory sidestepped to avoid his swing, and although she still smiled Rachael could see that the woman was surprised at the speed of the attack. Kyle was a
jackass, but he was quick. The two of them began jabbing and slashing at each other, missing by hair’s breadths each time.
For a moment, everyone else on both sides seemed to be caught in a moment of stupid spectatorship. Maybe the townies were unprepared for this and not as aggressive as Kyle; maybe the gang members had expected the townies to cave more easily. In either case, the moment held, stretched, and then finally snapped. The man who’d smoked the cigarette flung himself at the young man who’d stabbed the shotgun guy. The leap was powerful, but the killer either saw him coming or had good reflexes because he began to turn as the rush hit him, so instead of being smashed down, both men fell and rolled over and over.
Then everyone was fighting. They went from shocked immobility to a madhouse melee in a fragment of a second. Rachael wasted no time. Her left hand was still free and she immediately began tearing at the knots that held her right to the crossbar. Jason was shaking his head, trying to shake off the battering he’d received; and even Claudia was beginning to twitch, roused by the shouts and screams.
Everywhere she looked Rachael saw terrible violence. It wasn’t just a fight, it was like watching rabid dogs tearing at each other. The townsfolk fought with terror, which gave them incredible speed and a desperate ferocity. The gang members fought with a vicious cruelty that was more natural brutality than skill. They were evenly armed and both groups knew they were fighting for their lives. There were no fancy moves, no tactics or strategies. This was mayhem and murder.
Rachael got her right hand free and began working on the lashing around her waist. Her T-shirt collar was torn, but not badly, and the townies hadn’t even bothered to remove her few pieces of armor. Her weapons were gone, though. Damn.
“Rachael . . . ?” called Claudia weakly. “What’s . . . what’s happening?”
As the last knot came free, Kyle came staggering toward her, his eyes wide and both hands clamped to his throat. Blood, red as madness, spurted from between his fingers. Glory, her face bruised and lacerated, caught up to him and began hacking at him, stabbing him in the shoulders and head and back, all the while uttering a long, continuous inarticulate scream of pure rage. Kyle, dying, collapsed forward, releasing his throat and grabbing hold of Rachael as if with some insane desire to drag her down into death with him.
Even then Glory kept chopping at him. Rachael couldn’t tell if this was a reaction to Kyle injuring her or the way this wild woman always fought. Either way, it was terrifying.
Then, as if a switch had been thrown, Glory stopped, locked for a moment in place, her knife and knife-hand dripping with blood as Kyle sank lifelessly to the ground. Glory’s eyes stared at him and then slowly rose to stare Rachael in the eyes. The mask of mindless fury transformed all at once. The mad lights in her eyes were replaced by a sudden look of hunger. A naked and terrible look of gluttony.
“Mine,” said the woman softly as carnage raged all around her. “First you, and then your whole damn town. Mine.”
Rachael tried to tell her that Happy Valley wasn’t her town. That she was no part of any of this. That this was all wrong.
But there was no time left for any of that.
— 34 —
DAHLIA AND THE PACK
Dahlia got up and walked out of the forest.
After a moment, and in ones, twos, and threes, the rest of the Pack joined her. Church followed last. Jumper and Slow Dog were right behind her. They all walked quickly across the cleared space, heading for the main gate. Dahlia was aware that the Rover teams they’d spotted hiding in the woods were able to see all of this happen. She thought she could hear whistles blowing deep inside the forest. Or maybe it was just the wind. Hard to say, and too late now anyway.
