Shadows (Page 27)

Oh shit. Before the world went bust, he’d been a sheriff ’s deputy. So he knew exactly what that flash meant.

“Who are you people?” he whispered.

The booming voice came again from his right. “Relax, boy-o, you’re among friends. Have to admit, though, you gave us quite a scare.” The man was blocky and solid, and his head was huge, like a chunk of granite furred with a thick shock of white hair cropped flat and square as a broom. His chest was so barrel-shaped and big around that his arms seemed an afterthought: stubby and thick and tacked on. He wasn’t tall but massive and compact, tough as an ox. His uniform was different, too: jet-black from head to toe, but with that same shoulder flash and a single yellow star pinned to either lapel of the old man’s fleece-lined, black-leather bomber jacket. A bulky walkie-talkie—of the same vintage as the military surplus units Rule used—was clipped to his left hip. A holster rode on his right, a faint glimmer of pearl shining from the revolver’s grip.

“You were gone eight days, boy-o. Glad you saw fit to rejoin us.” The blocky man’s lips pulled into a grin. “We had a bet going about whether you’d make it. Happy to say that I was on the winning side. Name’s Finn. This fine woman is Dr. Mather. And you are . . . ?” Eight days. He’d been here more than a week? If Rule was looking for him, they’d have given up by now. Chris wouldn’t want to; he knew that. But even Chris wouldn’t be able to justify a search forever. “Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re safe and you’re alive.”

“But wh-where . . . what about my m-men?” His voice was rusty as an old hinge. “There was a boy.”

“Hold on,” Finn said. Turning aside, he poured water from a plastic jug, then slid in a straw. “You’re probably dry as a desert.”

The straw was tantalizingly close. The water’s scent made him dizzy. Still, he hesitated. He sensed he would be crossing some line if he took water from this man.

“Go on, take it, boy-o. I don’t bite—not like those Chuckies.” Finn tilted his head at the far side of the tent. Peter’s eyes swept right and he saw what he hadn’t spotted before. More gurneys, with bodies: two boys, one girl. All were restrained and completely out, probably drugged from fluid dripped into their veins through plastic tubes.

Finn said, “Soon as we decide to let those little darlings wake up, we’ll put them in our holding area with the other six. Ten’s all we can safely handle and feed. Nasty little buggers. You’re the first normal your age the hunters have brought in. Be interesting to see what happens over time.”

What did that mean? And hunters. Bounty hunters? Oh God. Capturing him and Tyler had been the objective all along. He remembered the snow coming alive with icy geysers. They could have killed him but hadn’t.

They tried pinning me down, but then I ran to Tyler and that’s when I got hit. They shot me as a last resort because they didn’t want me getting away.

He stared up at Finn. “Where’s the boy?”

“I’m afraid he’s gone. But rest assured we put Tyler to very good use.”

What? “I . . . I don’t . . .”

“Come on, no more questions. Drink up, boy-o. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re O-negative, did you know that? Pretty rare, and while that’s good if I need blood, Mather could only transfuse you with the same blood type. Lucky for you, Peter, we’re not talking something contagious.”

What did that mean? And Finn already knew his name—and Tyler’s. Of course, he must. The bounty hunters knew who they were and where they’d been heading.

They were tipped off, but how? I didn’t decide on Dead Man until that morning. That was when he’d sent Lang ahead. Had Finn’s bounty hunters ambushed his runner? That had to be it.

“Where am I?” he rasped.

“Why, you’re in my territory, Peter, and I’ve got the water you want and need. Come on now.” Finn proffered the cup again. “No more questions.”

Despite his fear, he desperately wanted a drink. He let Finn slide the straw between his lips. The water—cold and blessedly wet—flooded over his tongue. He thought he was going to faint. He sucked the cup dry in three gasping gulps.

“Excellent. Keep that down and you can have more in a little while.” Finn looked over at Mather. “Bring in Davey, will you? He and Peter should get acquainted.”

“Yes, sir.” Mather fired off a salute, then brushed past the Changed on their gurneys. Watching her go, Peter realized something else.

“You . . .” His gaze snagged on an old caged shop light. The light wasn’t soft or pleasant but very hard, a spray of bright yellow that hurt and burned shadowy afterimages on Peter’s retinas. But he couldn’t make himself look away. “You’ve got light.”

“Some,” Finn said. “We have enough juice to warm a few tents: the infirmary here and where Mather does her surgery and . . . other work. Our depot is fairly well-stocked—vehicles are virtually useless, though we have a few older trucks—but we use what we have very sparingly.”

Generators. And a depot. He was sure now. It all tallied, right down to that shoulder flash. The Roman numeral III stood for the Three Percent. That was the statistic private militias liked to throw around because only that small percentage of the American colonists actually fought the British in the Revolutionary War. So this wasn’t just a camp of survivors. This was a private militia compound that probably existed well before the world died.

“You know, as unfortunate as it was that you got shot, that did give us a chance to disprove another theory,” Finn said.

Despite the water, his mouth was puckery and parched again. “Wh-what do you m-mean?”

“Well, you lost all that blood. Strong or not, young or not, you’d have died if Mather hadn’t found a donor.”

What had the old man said? Lucky for you, it’s not contagious.

Oh God. “You . . .” The words wanted to wedge in his throat and stay there. “You gave me blood f-from . . .”

“Yes, I did, and here you woke up still you.” Finn drew his hand over his brow. “Whew. Talk about a nail-biter.”

The words tripped over his teeth. “How m-much?”

“Every last drop. Bled that little Chucky dry. Even that animal knew he was going. You could see it in his eyes. I got right up in his face. Little prick tried taking off my nose, but old habits die hard. I cut off his eyelids so I could watch the whole thing. It was very gratifying.”