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A ghost of a smile flickered over Ledger’s face. “Why would you? They’re driven to kill because of parasites that hot-wire their brains. That’s not evil any more than a mosquito or lion is evil. As for the ravagers, it’s harder to say if they are evil or still being controlled by the parasites. Maybe not so evil, then, as damaged and directed. The Raggedy Man seems to be able to control what the parasites do, so he’s definitely evil. He was a serial killer before being injected with the plague.”
“Collins and the Rat Catchers are evil, too,” said Gutsy.
“Sure they are,” said Ledger, “but they don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on…”
Ledger ran fingers through his gray-blond hair. “Listen, kid—people don’t wake up one day, look in the mirror, and say, ‘Hey, I think I’ll be evil from now on.’ Doesn’t work like that. They have a view of the world that may be skewed from another perspective, but it makes sense to them. Sometimes it’s greed, and I’ve gone up against a lot of those types. Criminals, corrupt politicians, heads of multinational corporations. A lot of harm was done in pursuit of money back in the day. Forests destroyed, the air polluted, the climate damaged…”
“How’s that not evil?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t evil, kid; I said the people who did it didn’t see it as evil. There’s a kind of mind-set that makes some people think that they’re entitled to do whatever they want. Maybe because they’re already rich, or because they think other people shouldn’t have the same rights as them, or… well, there are a lot of messed-up rationalizations. There was one guy, a showman, who said that there was a sucker born every minute, which implied that if someone was gullible enough to be suckered, then it was on them and not the person trying to con them.”
“That’s nuts.”
“Sure. But it’s how some people think. It’s their justification, and it keeps them from admitting to themselves that they’re bad. Remember, most hatred is born from fear.”
“Collins doesn’t seem to be afraid of anyone.”
“Oh, she’s afraid. Her fear is all wrapped up in her need to save the world,” said Ledger. “On some level she thinks everything she’s ever done—every life taken, all her moral crimes—will be washed clean if she comes up with a cure. Might happen that way too. Bess Collins could become the most important person in the history of humanity. And people like you and your friends won’t even be a footnote in the history books.”
* * *
They walked through the battlefield for nearly five minutes before Gutsy could find any words that fit in her mouth.
“I hate that she could win. I want to kill her for what she did to Mama.”
Ledger studied her. “What if she actually does find a cure? Will you still want her dead then?”
Gutsy had no answer to that.
They walked in silence through the field of the dead.
27
SPIDER WORKED ALL MORNING, HELPING where he could, looking for more things to do, more places to be. Everywhere in town there was more to be done. Homes to repair. Food and supplies to be salvaged from destroyed buildings. Bodies to be buried. Old and injured people to be taken care of. Animals to be fed.
He dragged Alethea with him, and by noon they were staggering with weariness, covered with dirt and blood, gasping for air, but there was still so much.
They shuffled wearily down the street, heading back to the hospital, having just escorted an injured mother home to the empty house where her husband and eldest daughter would never return. The woman was as silent as a stone, her eyes barely blinking, her dark skin gone sickly yellow with shock. Then the two teens left her there in the wasteland of her life.
Alethea glanced at her foster brother. “You okay?”
Spider shrugged.
“No, seriously,” she persisted. “You’ve been acting weird all morning. I mean weird-er. Don’t make me have to check you for bites, now. I swear to God I’ll—”
“We killed people,” said Spider. His voice was nearly empty of anything except breath. No tone, no inflection. A dead voice.
“No,” said Alethea, “don’t even try to go there. We put some of los muertos down. That’s all we did.”
“We murdered those soldiers.”
“Who? The ravagers? Sorry, honey—they might have been soldiers once upon a time, but all they were last night were los muertos in leather and chains.”
“They could speak,” said Spider. “They could think. They could remember who they were, and we killed them.”
Alethea gave a stubborn shak
