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The young man glanced at Andrew, who reeled away from him, cradling his hand against his chest and making small keening sounds.
“No,” said Jolt. “It’s over; he’s done.”
“He’s not.”
“Yes, he is.” He looked past her at the two wounded reapers. “They all are.”
“No . . . you don’t understand. . . . There are more of them out there.”
Jolt pointed past her and she turned. Beyond the line of cars, near the town and coming hard in their direction, was a mass of people. Fifty of them. A hundred. More. Riding in front of them, his siren still wailing, was Gummi Bear.
Riot lowered her knife.
The dead were getting closer now, climbing over the locked bumpers of crashed cars.
Jolt walked over to Brother Andrew’s scythe, hooked his foot under the handle, kicked it into the air, caught it, and then spun his whole body and hurled the weapon as far away as he could. It arced over the cars and over the heads of the oncoming mass of zees. It fell out of sight, its clatter of impact lost beneath the moans of the dead.
Brother Andrew looked in the direction of his lost weapon and then turned slowly back to Jolt. His eyes were wet with unshed tears of pain, but his face was a mask of murderous fury.
“Jolt . . . ,” pleaded Riot, “please . . . you have to. . . .”
But Jolt shook his head. “I told you already, Riot. There’s been enough killing.”
Brother Andrew managed a small, tight smile. “She’s right, boy,” he wheezed. “This is your only chance.”
Jolt caught Andrew by the throat and stood him up, leaning in close to stare the man in the face. “Get your sick friends and get the hell out of here. You don’t belong around decent folks.”
He shoved the big reaper away from him and pointed to the only path through the cars that was not blocked by any of the living dead.
Andrew growled at the others to go, but he lingered at the mouth of the narrow path.
“You think you did something smart and noble here,” he said. “But all you did was cry out for the wrath of god. The darkness will come for you. It will come for you and everyone you love . . . and I’ll be there to see it happen.”
Jolt just shook his head. “Go.”
Brother Andrew looked past him at Riot.
“This is on you, girl. You know that we’ll be back. You know what we’ll do.”
Riot pointed her knife at him. “If I ever see you again, Andrew, I’m going to kill you.”
The reaper smiled. “Ah . . . now that’s my girl.”
He turned and lumbered away, trailed by his bleeding companions.
Riot hurried over to Jolt and got right up in his face. “He’s not joking, Jolt; they will be back.”
“I guess they will.”
She studied him. “Y’all are barn-owl crazy.”
Jolt grinned. “Been told that.”
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, her voice a fierce whisper. “Y’all are stepping into harm’s way here, and you don’t even know me.”
“Does that matter? How long does a person have to know someone before they do what’s right? You’re a gi
rl out here, starving and fighting for her life. Am I supposed to just ignore all that? What kind of person would that make me? What kind of world would that make? Look, Riot, I wasn’t joking about what I said. How much killing is enough? How much pain is enough? When do we stop and say ‘that’s it, no more’?”
