“Nooo,” Ellie squealed, cracking up all over again.
“It is, however, an excellent question.” Jayden gave Ellie’s head a final tousle. “Lena or no Lena, what is the game plan once we get to Rule? People there you can trust?”
“A few.” Crouching over a sparse patch of unbroken snow, he made an X. “If Rule’s at the center of a clock, we’re coming in from up here.” He poked a finger at ten o’clock. “We have two choices: either loop clockwise to the hospice here”—he traced an arc to two o’clock—“or keep on this route and drop down to the southwest corner here.” An X at seven o’clock.
“Which is faster?” Ellie asked.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other. We can trust Kincaid, the doctor, I think, and some girls I know who lived with Alex: Sarah and Tori. Greg and Pru, from my squad, are good guys, but they’re all the way on the other side of town.” He pointed to four o’clock. “The only catch is Jess’s house, where Alex was? It’s not that far from the Zone.”
“Where the people-eaters are.” When Chris nodded, Ellie continued, “Can’t we go straight down and still end up where Alex lived?”
“Well, there are more houses and people, but . . . yeah, if we’re careful.”
“Sounds like those girls are the first stop then.” Jayden went to his horse, pulled open a saddlebag, and withdrew a camp pot and three enameled mugs as well as a Ziploc of tea and another of fish jerky. “What then?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been gone two months,” Chris said, as Jayden carefully scooped handfuls of untrammeled snow into the pot. “It’s the middle of March now. A lot could’ve happened.” Given his many dreams, he was willing to bet on it.
“Okay.” Nesting the pot over flames, Jayden doled out cups. “So, we go to Sarah and Tori and . . . what? You make like Moses—let my people go—or are we just going to bust everyone out?”
“I honestly haven’t thought that far. Guess it depends on if I end up in the prison house.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Ellie said, promptly.
Jayden only filled a tea ball with loose leaves. “How likely is that?”
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a real strong possibility. What I’m hoping is that the Council will listen. I can’t believe that they’ll just shoot me,” he lied.
“They won’t,” Ellie said, fishing out a piece of jerky.
“Oh?” Jayden raised both eyebrows. “And you know this because—”
“Because,” she said, gnawing jerky that was the color of an old loafer, “they’d have to shoot through me first.”
He and Jayden looked at each other, and then Chris said, “Come again?”
“I saved your life, Chris. So . . . I’m responsible for you from now on.”
“I think it goes the other way around,” Jayden said. “He owes you.”
“Yeah, but then he saved me from the lake.”
“So we’re even,” Chris said. “I’m not letting you do anything dumb, Ellie.”
“Too late. I’m here,” she said. “Seriously, guys, you think they’ll shoot a cute kid and her little dog, Toto, too?”
“I—,” Chris started, then shut his mouth. He and Jayden traded another long look, and then they both began to laugh.
“See?” Ellie said, looking very pleased. She offered Chris the bag. “Jerky?”
98
Between Jed’s maps and a thumbnail of the village’s layout, Zone, patrols, and approach routes Weller once drew, Tom would’ve found what he was looking for easily enough. As with the lake, however, the crows pointed the way, sketching lazy pinwheels above the woods southwest of Rule. Now that they were into March and the daytime temps were inching past freezing most days, the faintly gassy smell helped, too. So did his horse, who finally balked a half mile shy and refused to budge. That was all right. On foot, he had a better chance of slipping in unnoticed. So he offloaded his gear, then unharnessed and gave the horse a healthy slap to send it on its way.
If you didn’t know better, Tom thought you could almost imagine that you’d dropped into some horror story where the village appeases the local gods by sending out the occasional sacrifice. He knew better. Rule’s story was written in the haphazard scatter of browning bones, scored by teeth and knives; the remnants of clothes and discarded backpacks; a hoary scraggle of wig so picked over there was nothing left but ripped lace and a few strands of too-red hair.
What almost troubled him more, however, was a wrecked pyramid of decaying human heads that lay at the end of a kind of processional way. This was marked by the skeletonized remains of animals heaped on thinning snow beneath gently swaying rib cages still dangling from paraline. From the shapes of the skulls and teeth, he thought these had been wolves. The whole setup was ritualistic, with a weird Blair Witch vibe. He wondered if this spot had been claimed by the Wolf Tribe, those Chuckies Cindi saw with Alex. If true, then Tom was now standing close to or in the same spot Alex once had. He didn’t know if that was an omen, good or bad.
Either way, no Chuckies have been here for a while. Tom studied the crows hopscotching over that jumble of human skulls and disarticulated lower jaws. Only the barest remnants of leathery skin and desiccated muscle dangled from bone. Something had happened at that pyramid, too. The skulls hadn’t simply fallen to the snow but been knocked off, some by several feet. One lay far to the right. From its position, he could almost imagine that someone had tried lobbing the skull like a stone. Nearby were two shredded, bloodstained bits of cloth: part of a parka and a flannel shirt. Torn off in a fight, maybe, but the edges weren’t as frayed as he would’ve expected from a rip. Probably one honking sharp knife.
But where was the flood of Chuckies that was supposed to have born down on Rule? In the last four days, Tom had seen only a few and at a distance—and twice during the midafternoon, which was also very bad news.
Tom held his breath and listened. So still. This close, he ought to hear something: the thock of an ax, the distant clatter of wagons or horses. Perhaps, even the occasional voice. In the dead silence of the Hindu Kush, he’d once patrolled a mountainside and caught snatches of evening prayers ten thousand feet above a Pashtun village he never saw. But here? Nothing.
Where is everyone? He was certain he wasn’t too late. With all those men and their wagons, the horses—and now, the kids—he had to have beaten Mellie and that old commander in black. Probably by no more than half a day, but even a few hours was better than nothing.