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The thing was . . . he did not know why he asked that.
He wondered if beating his head against the tree trunk would help the moment any. It seemed like the most reasonable option.
Nix abruptly walked into the woods, heading to an upslope that led away from this scene of carnage. “Let’s go,” she called over her shoulder.
“Where?”
She pointed toward a line of white rocks beyond the trees. “Up there. We can climb those rocks and see if we can spot Lilah and Chong.”
She moved off, not looking back to see if he followed.
After several heavy seconds of indecision, Benny rose and ran after her.
They moved carefully through the brush, and the closer they got to the line of bright white rocks, the less certain Benny became that they were rocks at all.
Maybe it was a building, he thought. There had to be a ranger station or something out here.
Nix reached the edge of the woods first and suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.
“No . . . ,” she said softly.
Her bokken dropped from her hand and clattered on the rocky ground. Benny hurried to catch up, and as he did Nix screamed out a single word.
“NO!”
She yelled it so loudly that birds erupted from the trees. The echo bounced off the surrounding rocks. It was loud enough to be heard a mile away.
Loud enough for everyone to hear them.
Chong. Lilah.
Riot.
The reapers.
The dead themselves.
Louder still than her scream was the thunder of Ben
ny’s heart as he saw what had torn that shout of denial out of her.
There was no ring of white rocks. There was no ranger station or a forgotten farmhouse.
It was a huge machine that had been smashed against the unforgiving landscape.
And it was heartbreakingly familiar.
It was an airplane.
PART TWO
BROKEN BIRDS
Shallow men believe in luck.
Strong men believe in cause and effect.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
