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Chapter 84: The Medicine
Jacob had meant to leave the town a week ago. He had meant to be fifty miles west by now, in some anonymous stretch of empty country where the cult would never find them. But the flu had come through the town like a wave, and the medicine in his gray space had been worth more than the fuel in his tank. It had started with Anna Frey. She had been sitting on the steps of the candy shop, coughing, her face pale and her lips cracked. Jacob had given her antibiotics. He hadn't thought about it. He had just done it. The next day, there were three more. Then seven. Then half the town. Jacob walked into the church on the third morning and found Frey sitting at the table, his head in his hands. "How many?" Jacob asked. "Nineteen," Frey said. "Out of forty-three. Half the town is down." "The children?" "Three of them. The rest are older folks. They're the ones I'm worried about." Jacob pulled a chair out and sat down across from him. "What are the symptoms?" "Fever. C
Chapter 83: The New Base
The fortress was quiet in the mornings. Lucian had noticed that first. The way the light came through the reinforced windows, dull and red. The way the wind moved through the empty rooms. The way the walls held the cold at bay, but only just. He stood in the main room and looked around. Bare walls. Bare floors. Nothing left. Jacob Reed had taken everything. The shelves. The beds. The generators. The monitors. The ammunition. Everything that wasn't nailed down had been carried away, and most of what was nailed down had been carried away too. But the walls were still there. The gate was still there. The steel shutters were still there. That was what mattered. "The men are asking what to do," Amon said from the doorway. Lucian turned. "Tell them to start with the basement," he said. "It's the strongest part of the house. We'll put the supplies there." "The supplies are still at the compound." "Then bring them. Half of them. The food. The water. The fuel. The weapons. E
Chapter 82: The Settlement
They had been at the roadhouse for four days when Jacob decided to move.The roadhouse was defensible. It had thick walls and a solid roof and a fireplace that kept the main room warm. But it was not far enough from the ridge. From the fortress. If the cult came looking, they would find it."We need to go further west," Jacob said.Terry was at the window, his shotgun across his knees. He didn't argue.Scarlett was sitting by the fire, her hands wrapped around a cup of cold coffee. She didn't argue either.Victoria was in the back room, resting. She had been sleeping more lately.Jacob walked outside.The snow was falling. It had been falling for days. The road was a white line cutting through the trees.He reached into the gray space and pulled out a jerry can. He filled the van's tank. Then he filled the spare cans and put them back.He didn't need a gas station. He had enough fuel for months. They left at dawn.Scarlett drove. Victoria sat in the passenger seat. Terry was in the b
Chapter 81: The Message
Lucian didn't wait for dawn.He ordered the trucks at midnight. Three of them — the heavy plow trucks, the ones that could handle the snow. Leon drove the lead truck. The other two men who had come back from the fortress drove the others.Lucian rode in the passenger seat of the lead truck.They drove through the night. The headlights cut through the falling snow. The road was empty. The dead were out there, but most of them in this region had moved with saint.Lucian stared out the window and thought about the message.The world is our toilet. I'll find you.It didn't make sense.They reached the ridge at dawn.The fortress stood at the top of the ridge, dark and silent. The gate was open. The floodlights were dead.Amon was waiting at the gate.He looked surprised to see the trucks. He looked more surprised to see Lucian climbing out of the lead truck."Master," he said. "I wasn't expecting—""Show me," Lucian said.Amon led him to the gate.The words were still there. Large, uneven
Chapter 80: The play begins
The men followed Saint from a distance.They had been sent to secure the boy. But the boy wasn't running. He wasn't trying to escape.He was leading the horde away from the fortress. Then, when the last of the dead had drifted into the trees, he stopped.The men watched him from afar using binoculars.The boy stood there for a moment, alone in the snow. The horde was gone. The bowl was gone. He looked back.Then he turned around and started walking back towards the men. Towards the fortress."What's he doing?" one of the men whispered.The other didn't answer.They watched him walk past them toward the gate. Toward the fortress.The boy didn't look like a prisoner. He looked like a man who had made a decision.They followed him. Saint walked.He didn't know what Amon would do when he saw him. He didn't know if he'd be cuffed or dragged back to the compound in chains.He didn't care.He had led the horde away. The fortress was empty. The message was on the gate, and Amon had read it
Chapter 79: The Empty House
Saint reached the ridge at dusk on the third day.The horde was behind him, stretching back down the road, a quarter mile of pale figures and tilted heads and mouths opening and closing. He didn't look back anymore. He had stopped counting somewhere around a hundred and twenty.His arms ached. His hands were raw. The bowl was in his left hand and the stick was in his right, and he had been striking it for so long that the rhythm had become a part of him.He climbed the last rise and saw the gate.It was closed. The fortress stood beyond it, dark and silent. No lights in the windows. No movement.Saint stopped.The horde stopped.He struck the bowl. Ting.Nothing.He struck it again. Ting.Still nothing but the agitated horde.Saint looked at the gate for a long moment. Then he looked at the horde behind him. Then back at the gate.He walked forward.The gate was iron, heavy, sealed. He pressed his face against the bars and looked through.The courtyard was empty. The floodlights were
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