Rebirth (40 page)

“Who has the guns?” she demanded. Three of the girls raised their hands in the darkness, not speaking.

“Can any of you shoot?”

Two hands lowered.

“I can.” It was Leslie, the girl who’d tackled the guard. The brave one.

“Then you come with me.”

But she was already jumping to the ground. “It’s the new girl, isn’t it? Roan said she escaped.”

“Yes.” Cass sucked in a breath, looking at the frightened girls who remained. “Shoot,” she urged them, a hopeless prayer. “Shoot anything that comes.”

Then she and Leslie were jogging toward the sound. A left at the corner, a flash of movement half a block ahead—then a stumbling clumped shape: Beaters. Three of them, lurching across a lawn. They halted, breathing hard.

“You killed Beaters before?” Cass asked the girl at her side, a girl who looked barely older than Sammi in the odd orange glow.

“Yes. I was in the Guard, was supposed to go to Yemen—I know what to do.” And at that Leslie broke away, running faster than Cass, whose exhaustion felt like a layer of lead slowing her down. Cass wanted to chase after her—how could the thin, almost delicate young woman take on the things by herself?

In that second, time suspended while Leslie ran, Cass remembered the other running girl, all those months before, when she had not yet returned to herself, when she was a torn and ravaged thing walking the burnt fields. That day, Sammi had sped toward her with a blade, her hair flying behind her, heartbreaking in her fearlessness. Cass could do nothing but watch, helpless, as a child was forced to play a hero’s part once again. Now it was Leslie who ran headlong and fearless into hell, and Cass could not help her, either. But she could do what she had come here to do.

“Sammi!” she yelled, praying the girl was inside the house, that she was behind stacks of furniture barricaded against a door and jamming windows shut. But even as she prayed for luck she saw a shape move on the porch of the brick house not ten yards from the Beaters—and as her feet flew faster, the last of her breath ragged in her throat, she saw the slender form of Sammi silhouetted against the brick, a wall someone had once painted a pale yellow that looked enchanted in the rosy light of the burning dawn. Sammi held something in her hands and swung it left and right—a broom, a bat, it didn’t matter, it would be nothing against three of them.

Only…it wasn’t three.

Around Cass, the vague roar that she thought had been coming from the scene of the explosion grew louder, the rumbling sound taking shape and dissolving into discrete voices. Beaters growling and braying, and from every direction—was that possible? Was it—Cass prayed—a trick of the wind, of acoustics and her own galloping fear….

Her frantic gaze caught on Leslie and Cass saw that the girl had heard it too. As she hesitated, arm upraised with her gun pointed at the sky, the first wave of them crested the street from the direction they’d arrived.

Four of them. No—more. Lurching and pushing at those in front of the pack, a half a dozen, ten—and then she lost count, because others were coming across the lot on the corner, slamming through shrubs without bothering to go around, tripping and clawing and screaming. The screaming.

And there were others, from every direction. The neighborhood was lost to these things. They must have nested here because of its proximity to the Rebuilders, their quarry tantalizingly close and maddeningly unreachable, and for every citizen they managed to fell, a dozen, a hundred more Beaters arrived to join the hunt. You could hear the frustration and hunger in the chorus of their cries, and even as the full horror of the situation reached Cass, one of the three who had been stalking Sammi turned back and attacked Leslie.

And then it twisted and fell and the crack of the gunshot came a split second later and Cass realized that Leslie taken her shot from only a couple of feet away, had steeled herself not to flinch and not to run and had done everything her training told her to. The head or the neck—she must have nailed the base of the skull, the luckiest or most skillful shot. Not many people could make that shot, even that close, but Leslie fired twice more before darting backward, out of the range of the nearest beasts screaming with delight and hunger and reaching for her.

And then she stumbled. Her ankle caught on a rock, a branch, a doubt, nothing at all, and down she went, bouncing on her hip and rolling, the two Beaters crowing victoriously.

Cass burst out of her momentarily paralysis, fueled by her terror and her rage, cursing herself for hesitating. She fired and one of the creatures lurched and danced, but she’d hit the torso or the arm and it wasn’t enough, they would keep going to the girl until their dying breath. It was down, it seemed paralyzed on one side, but it was already crawling toward Leslie, and the other one was only a few feet away. Cass fired again but the clip was spent, and she cursed her aim, cursed the waste of that last bullet.

Sammi came flying down the steps of the little brick house and Cass started to scream for her to go back, run the other way, damning Leslie to a hideous death to give Sammi a chance, but the words had not left her lips when Sammi was on the closest Beater, slashing and slamming with what Cass now saw was a length of lumber, what had once been a porch rail, bent nails forming one end. She made contact with the thing’s skull and Cass imagined she felt the impact in the ground beneath her feet, who would have guessed a girl as small as Sammi could hit like that, and she was already winding up to do it again, screaming non-words as she fought, and Leslie was scrambling to her feet and then she fired one more time and the thing’s head was half gone and still it stumbled, a monster with no heart and no brain, nothing but its hunger, its desperate hunger.

Leslie grabbed Sammi and they ran, ran from the Beater that Cass had shot that was on its knees now, shuffling toward them and moaning. They caught up with Cass and all three of them turned and ran together, hands clasping and hair flying, toward the truck that sat half a block away, half a block closer to their escape from this doomed and burning place.

But their path was blocked. Three Beaters had made it to the street already—from which direction, Cass had no idea—and the swarm approaching in front of them was only half a block away now, scrambling toward the truck. The girls were in the truck, exposed, unprotected. Dor was there, unconscious on the floor, unable to help, unable to protect himself. If the Beaters reached the truck before Cass did, they would push and climb and crawl to get inside the cargo area, stepping on each other’s bodies if they had to, and once they were inside, they would not even have to drag their prey away to feast because the truck offered them exactly what they wanted: a shelter with only one way in, a dark box that would serve as their butcher’s table and which would run with the blood of the fallen.

And how long after that before they attacked the cab, with Smoke and Ruthie inside?

Leslie broke away, dodging left and sprinting straight for the three Beaters, screaming one long powerful cry of determination, and Cass was moving too, because she would not let the girl go alone. Leslie had several yards on her and she did not slow down, she slammed into the closest Beater with her full momentum, leading with her shoulder, and the thing went down with Leslie on top of it but at the last moment she rolled away, came up in a crouch and fired.

All of it so fast and breathtaking Cass wasn’t sure she even knew what had happened, and that was training like nothing she’d seen. Leslie might not have anything on Smoke or Dor, but in sheer bravery she was made fast and nimble and she was already advancing on the next Beater.

In Cass’s hand was her blade and how it got there she wasn’t exactly sure, and Sammi at her side went left so Cass went straight on, and in the seconds that it took to close the gap and slice the neck and oh God don’t look don’t look don’t
look
at the gawping mouth hole the leaking eye sockets the putrid ragged hairless scalp, burst of blood and still not stopping, Sammi disappeared from her view and all that was left was to pray as she and Leslie ran for the truck.

The truck rocked on its wheels, slammed into by the bodies of the Beaters. How long until they figured out how to get inside? The floor was only waist-high, no challenge for a citizen, but the Beaters were clumsy, they flopped and thrashed.

Leslie ducked under a Beater’s reaching arm and disappeared around back, and before Cass could protest Sammi went flying past too.

This time she didn’t hesitate. Last time it had nearly cost Leslie’s life. Now that life was almost certainly spent, and Sammi’s too, but if Cass didn’t get in the cab and go, it would all be for nothing. Her heart pounded with exertion and agony but she grabbed for the driver’s-side door, and when it wouldn’t budge she remembered she had locked it and fished the keys from her pocket and jammed them at the lock with shaking fingers. It was impossible to see inside, her eyes were stinging with sweat and it was dark but inside that cab were her daughter and her lover and she had to live for them, she had to survive for them, and after several scrambled tries the key went in and she turned the lock and was about to yank open the door when she heard Sammi scream—

And she was halfway around the truck when she realized what a terrible mistake she had made but she couldn’t let the girl be dragged off and eaten, one last terrible indignity in a life that had been much too short with far too much suffering and loss, and if she had to kill Sammi herself to save her those final moments of terror she would do it.

Around the back of the truck it was worse than she ever could have imagined, the piled crush of Beaters a hideous squirming mound of hands scrabbling for the metal truck floor and mouths making cutting bites at the air, only to be pushed away by others as they fought for purchase.

But one had made it almost all the way up onto the floor. Sammi’s scream had been an attempt to deter it. She and Leslie fought the mob, Sammi with her nail-studded board and Leslie with a branch. Leslie was losing, a Beater grabbing and snatching at the weak weapon, and as Cass reached her it grasped the end and yanked and Leslie stumbled, but Cass was ready with her blade and the force of her fury slashed through the thing’s neck along with the razor-sharp metal.

Cass seized Leslie’s hand and pressed the keys into it. “Go!” she screamed, and Leslie didn’t need to be told twice, she was gone in a flash and Cass saw the truck dip slightly a second later and knew that the girl had made it.

There was only one chance now, one single chance for her and Sammi. She grabbed the girl’s hand and Sammi met her gaze and in her shining eyes Cass saw mirrored back a spark of the hope she’d barely kept alive, and all of the molten rage that had been forged in the past days.

Cass squeezed her hand, once, and then screamed, “Now!” even as the truck rumbled to life, and they ran for it.

This time she could not squeeze her eyes shut against the horror as they ran headlong into the writhing mass of bodies. Sammi, rounding the edge of the horde, propelled herself across the far edge of the opening, kicking at a skull and stepping on the Beater’s shoulder, and then she was in. Cass caught a flash of the terrified girls backed up against the wall of the cargo area, the single Beater who had made it inside crawling toward them with its mouth wide and howling. For a moment she didn’t see Dor and she thought he’d been dragged out, but then she saw that the girls had pushed him behind them, that he was lying against the wall, the girls’ bodies forming the last barrier in front of him.

Only one of them still held a gun and she didn’t have her finger anywhere near the trigger. As Cass watched in horror the girl used it to club at the Beater’s face, and its head snapped back from the impact but then it grabbed her, grabbed the gun and her hand with it and that was when Cass threw herself onto the pile of squirming bodies, hands pulling on decayed shoulders to get her higher and she sprinted up the pile, feet landing on shoulders, heads, a shifting mass below her but then she was in, her knees slamming hard on the metal floor and she grabbed the Beater’s feet with all her might and pulled, feeling the shifting bones and rotting flesh beneath its filthy trousers, and the Beater screamed louder but did not let go of the girl—

—and Cass braced herself with her feet jammed against the wall and pulled with everything she had, every ounce of energy and shred of life left in her and the Beater slid a little further, but it wasn’t until the truck shot forward that the force of momentum knocked the girl to her knees, and still the Beater would not let go, so that as it slid from the truck it dragged her with it and they fell as one to the road, and as Cass and the others watched the terrible scene fade from view, the truck picking up speed as it careened away from the doomed neighborhood, they could only pray that the girl had been knocked senseless by the impact before the Beaters fell upon her.

38

THEY DID NOT RETURN TO THE BOX.

As Colima faded from view and the sky lightened with the dawn, Cass huddled with Sammi and the others in the back of the truck, all of them holding each other as they were jostled by every crack and rock and pothole in the road. Cass put her arms around Sammi and held on and let the girl cry, remembering the moment of their first meeting, all the things that had happened since then. She wished she could erase it all, give Sammi back everything she had lost. Instead she had only one gift for the girl—her wounded father, and as they held each other she whispered a version of the story of their journey to Colima, a gentler version, one in which truth was bent and shaded to take away its power and to let her know how much Dor had wanted his daughter back.

After a while Sammi pulled away from Cass and lay down on the cold metal floor next to her father, her lips moving with words that none of them could hear. Cass put a hand to Dor’s face, checking the wound at his scalp. It was not deep. He would live.

The other girls were named Sage and Kyra. Sage sobbed and couldn’t catch her breath, and Kyra crouched in the corner with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes wide and staring. Cass had made little headway in comforting them when Leslie pulled off the road in a barren stretch of highway surrounded by kaysev-studded fields.