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Zom: Nomadic zoms. Ones that walk around but aren’t actually following prey. (Most zoms don’t move unless they are following something.)
Walker: Another name for a Nom, though some people call all zoms walkers.
Sliver: A thin piece of metal with a sharpened tip used to “quiet” a zom. It’s inserted at the base of the skill in order to sever the spinal cord.
Quieting: What people call it when a zom is “killed” permanently.
46
BENNY LET NIX SLEEP UNTIL THE WHOLE FOREST WAS INFUSED WITH A pink light. He studied the woods, looking for any signs of zoms. Or of Lilah. Or Tom. No sign of the Greenman, either. For the moment it appeared as if they had the forest all to themselves.
Benny touched Nix’s face with his thumb, caressing her cheek very gently. He lifted the edge of the bandage and studied the long cut and the delicate stitchery. The wound was a little red and puffy, but it wasn’t bad.
Nix made a soft sound and opened her eyes. Green eyes. Not green and gold and black.
“Hey,” she said almost shyly, smiling up at him.
“Hey yourself.”
“What time is it?”
“Half hour past dawn.”
Nix stretched against him and then sat up and yawned so hard her jaws creaked. Then she held her palm up and breathed against it. “Gak! I have monkey breath.”
“Mine’s closer to one of the great apes,” he said.
Their backpacks and gear were back at the way station.
Or in t
he ashes of it. All they had was what they’d carried in their vests and jeans pockets. Matches, first aid kit, sewing kit, knives, cadaverine. No toothbrushes. Nothing to eat.
Benny handed her his canteen and she rinsed and spat. Then she told him to take off his vest and open his shirt. He was shy about it—not from modesty but because he didn’t really want to know how bad the burn was. It hurt less this morning, but his mind conjured images of charred ends of bone sticking out of gangrenous flesh.
The actual wound was almost disappointing. Three lines of blistered skin, each no wider than a pencil and each less than an inch long. The skin around the burns was puffy, but there was no sign of infection.
“You’ll live,” Nix declared as she finished cleaning the burns with a piece of bandage.
“Doesn’t even hurt,” he said, but he was sure she didn’t believe him.
His stomach suddenly growled as loud as a hungry zom. “We need to find some food.”
They removed the bokkens from Benny’s carpet coat and climbed carefully down from the tree. It was a slow and painful process; they were both stiff and sore. As they dropped to the grass they both froze.
There was something at the base of the tree. Someone had placed several fist-size stones in a tight circle to act as a base on which was placed a large hand-carved wooden tray. Large, clean leaves covered the tray, and a wonderful aroma drifted out from beneath them. Nix lifted the leaves and gasped. Benny’s mouth fell open. The wooden plate was piled high with fat yellow mounds of scrambled eggs, thick fried potatoes, and a mound of fresh strawberries.
“What?” Benny asked, looking around. “Who—?”
“Who cares?” Nix said as she scooped a handful of eggs off the plate. “God … there’s enough here for ten people.”
“We are awake, right?”
Nix laughed and shoved eggs into his mouth. He chewed. It was cold but delicious.
“Does this make any sense?” he asked as scooped up more eggs with his fingers.
Nix shook her head, then shrugged. “Maybe. Possible sense, anyway. Think about it.”
