Empire (26 page)

    Death's eyes closed, and the contours of his face smoothed.

    "Does your horse have a name?"

    "I...it's me. My essence, like everything else about me, except for the scythe." He opened his eyes and said flatly, "I am the horse."

    She giggled. "I thought so." Then she turned and nuzzled it again. It seemed like she was doing it for his benefit, and it was wholly unnecessary, but he let her continue. For her sake.

    "How many people are still alive?"

    "Many. Most of them are very far from here."

    "If they get bit by those wild rotters, do they die right away?"

    "No."

    "How long does it take?"

    "Sometimes it takes a very short while, other times not. I'm not sure why. It might have to do with their spirit."

    Turning from the horse, Lily moved her hand to touch Death's. "Cold."

    "Yes."

    "If you're the angel of death, why can't you make them all go away?"

    "I don't know."

    He waited for the next question, but the girl was silent. Eventually it was he who spoke, in a voice that nearly trembled.

    "I hate them."

    "Daddy Addison wasn't my real daddy. My real one, I don't remember him at all. Or my mom. Do you know who they are?"

    "I can see your lineage. I could tell you their names." But it wouldn't much matter, nor would it matter if she knew the name they'd given her at birth.

    "Are...are they rotters?"

    "No."

    "They're alive?"

    "No."

    "What happened to them?"

    He set his jaw and stared hard at the water. She prodded him with her bare toes. "I wanna know."

    "You shouldn't...it'll make you sad."

    She tried to look tough, but she spoke barely above a whisper. "Did they get eaten?"

    "Yes. But there's more to it than that. It's about Baron, it's about why you can never go back to that house."

    "What does Baron have to do with it?"

    "Your parents came back to the house a few years ago. They wanted to take you away. Addison was already dead then. Baron killed him, just like he killed your brothers and sisters."

    "Did..." Tears filled her eyes and they looked black as his. "Did Baron kill my mom and dad?"

    "Yes."

    "I HATE HIM!!" She shouted. Death flinched away. She grabbed his robes. "You have to kill him. Please!"

    "I can't. It doesn't work that way."

    "You just don't want to! Why not?? Why won't you do ANYTHING?!"

    "I'm not a judge!"

    She balled her hands and beat on his shoulder. "I HATE YOU! YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM!!"

    He grabbed her arms and tried to steady her. She shrieked and thrashed in his grip, and her curses turned to sobs, and she fell against him.

    The horse stepped forward and pressed its muzzle against her shoulder. She threw her arms around its neck and cried long into the night.

    In the house in the swamp, Baron Tetch raged.

    "Just listen for a minute. Just let me walk you through it." Duncan said quietly. He and Voorhees sat by the window at the end of the fourth-floor corridor. The sun was coming up behind a miserable-looking cloud cover.

    "I suppose I've got nothing better to do," muttered Voorhees. "Shoot."

    "Addison's got 'domesticated' rotters, like the ones that attacked the shelter, like the one with the skull that followed us. We managed to kill some of them and get away. Then, you've got these explosions all across the city, and ferals start homing in on us. Now do you really think it's all a coincidence?"

    "Of course I don't." Voorhees said sharply. "But what you're saying is ridiculous. If Addison was still alive, and had trained up these zombies, why would he send them to kill us? Why would he lure the ferals into the Harbor?"

    "He wants us out." Duncan replied. "Simple as that. I don't know why - and I'm not saying this guy is thinking rationally either - but that seems to be the answer."

    "Let's say for a second that you're right, Duncan."

    "Jenna's the one who put it all together, you know that."

    "Fine. Let's say for a second that O'Connell's right. What, then, do we do about it?"

    "You're a P.O."

    "I'm not going to make anyone here any safer by running off into the swamp to arrest a guy who might not even exist. That's assuming I get past the horde in the plaza."

    Duncan shrugged. "I'll go with you."

    "Forget it."

    "Look." He tapped his bum leg. "You remember what happened here? The axe?"

    "Yeah."

    Duncan's face fell, as if he was reconsidering what he was about to say. Voorhees looked from his eyes to the bandaging, then it clicked.

    "Duncan, that's very unlikely. What you're getting at is very unlikely."

    "How do you know?" The man's voice was a soft, scratchy whisper. "You used that axe to take the rotter's feet off. The blade had his blood or whatever it is all over it...I could be infected."

    "Very, very unlikely." Voorhees said. Even as he did, he was studying Duncan's pallor. How long did he have left if he was right? Should he be quarantined? Or would it be better just to...no. No, there wasn't any way to be sure. Voorhees had never seen the infection transmitted by needles, or sex, or toilet seats, and this here was simply outside the realm of possibility.

    Almost. Almost outside the realm of possibility. The cop still had room to be skeptical.

    Palmer was alone in the stairwell, sitting above the remains of Lauren and Thom. Voorhees had removed the heads and intended to get rid of the bodies later. How? Throw them out the window and confirm the survivors' presence to all the rotters? Maybe set fire to them on the roof, that'd be brilliant.

    "Lord," Palmer said, "what do you want me to do? Anything? Do I just keep praying for the dead until I'm dead, too?"

    The door to the third floor was still slightly ajar. There was an infinitesimal movement. The reverend didn't notice. She folded her hands together and let out a long sigh.

    "I'm okay, I guess. As okay as I can be. My faith is my faith. But these people don't have anything to hold on to except each other. I have been ministering to them, through my works - right? - but I'm not about to start preaching. If this is the end of the world, no one cares.

    "Do you understand? Whether you meant to or not, you've answered the question of what comes after death. We see it all around us. No one looks for God anymore.

    "I just don't get it. If you don't have anything for me, I suppose I'll just keep doing what I'm doing."

    Eyes closed, she listened intently with her heart and mind. She thought that maybe, somewhere out there, she felt a slight shrug.

    Then she cursed in pain.

    A few moments later the reverend returned to the fourth floor. Jenna and Cheryl were sitting in a vacant office, and Voorhees and Duncan were in the hall. They each glanced at her, and the look on her face was enough to hold their attention.

    "There are rats on the third floor." She said.

    "Dammit. Did you close that door?" Voorhees asked. "Yes," she replied. "Good." He nodded.

    "I got bit." Palmer said. She wriggled the toe of her shoe.

    "Is it bad?"

    "The rat was dead."

    Jenna and Cheryl came out of the office. The men rose to their feet. Palmer gave them a pained smile. "I asked for it."

    "No, no you didn't." Cheryl exclaimed.

    "I can still run. I can lead the rotters away, to the north. You all have to clear out of here. You need to leave the city."

    "No. No to all of it. Never." Taking her arm, Voorhees shook his head insistently. "What then, stay and starve?" Palmer snapped. "The city has fallen! It's done!"

    "You..." Voorhees bit back his words and stamped his foot. "I get it," Palmer told him. "This is your city. You want to die here, then fine. But don't bring the rest of these people down with you under the pretense that you're protecting them."

    "You don't get it at all!!" The cop bellowed. "I don't want to fucking die! I don't want anyone to die! The last thing I'm going to do is let you walk out of here!"

    "H-he's right." Cheryl stammered.

    "I'm already dead." Said Palmer.

    "Are you sure," Jenna asked, "that the bite broke the skin? Here, take off your shoe--"

    "I'm going out there. PERIOD." Palmer said. Voorhees tried to grab her again. She shoved him across the hallway. "If you don't want to use this opportunity to escape, don't."

    "Leave, stay, leave, stay, what's the fucking point?" Cheryl cried. "Why are we arguing over WHERE we want to die? Why do you WANT to be eaten alive, Reverend?!"

    "Because the alternative is that I become undead!"