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Rags echoed the word. “Civilians.”
“By the time we reached the street, there were only eight cosplayers left.”
“How many civilians?”
Rachael smiled. “Thirty-one.”
“You didn’t lose any of them?”
She shook her head. “No. Not one. It was horrible—what happened, I mean—but it was also pretty amazing. Some of the cosplayers sacrificed themselves to save the rest. They stood up and fought the monsters so everyone else could run. Even though they knew they were going to die.”
“Like heroes,” said Rags softly.
“Like heroes.”
They watched the fireflies.
“It took us three years to get back to Pennsylvania,” said Rachael. “And when we did . . .”
She shook her head and didn’t explain. It wasn’t necessary. After three years, there would be nothing to come home to. Only heartbreak and horror.
“So it’s just you guys now?” asked Rags. “You’re still playing dress-up and pretending to be superheroes?”
“Pretty much,” said Rachael, but there was an odd quality to her voice. “We recruit some more when we can. And I try to teach them how to fight.”
“Do you have training?”
Rachael shook her head. “No, but I watched a lot of movies. Played a lot of video games.”
“That’s hardly the same thing.”
Rachael shrugged. “I know. But it’s what we have.”
The fireflies danced and danced.
“How many of the civilians are still alive?” asked Rags. “Or . . . are any of them alive?”
Rachael turned to her and took a long time before answering. “We usually don’t let people into town. If Donnie hadn’t been . . . taken . . . he’d have rung the alarm and we’d have swarmed you.”
Ghoulie growled softly. Rags said nothing.
“We’d have tried,” said Rachael, hooking her long hair behind her ears. “We don’t let people see what’s going on here.”
“If you want me to turn around and leave,” said Rags, “just say the word. I’m not here to spy.”
“I know. Or, at least I’m pretty sure you’re not. But you’re an amazing fighter. Bette
r than anyone I’ve ever seen. Better than me, and better than Iron Fist. He knows some kung fu, but it’s more fancy than anything.”
“You’re pretty good with that sword,” said Rags, nodding to the weapon at Rachael’s hip.
“Pretty good is nice. I’d like to be better.”
Rags nodded.
“Do you know how to use a sword?” asked Rachael.
Rags shrugged. Nodded. Shrugged again.
