CHAPTER 5

If they were frightened by either our presence or the sphere of flame hovering above them, there was little sign of it. They were too busy eating.

They weren’t feeding on rubbish. They were feeding on bodies.

Human bodies.

Memories stirred, and a shudder ran through me. I’d seen scenes like this all too often in times of plague and other calamities. The rats had always been there at the end, growing fat on the flesh of the unfortunate.

But in this case, the unfortunate were probably better off, because the flesh the rats were feeding on was that of the red cloaks.

“I guess that answers the question of what happened to the cloaks.” Jackson’s voice was grim.

“Not entirely,” Sam said. “There’re probably only twenty or so bodies here. Luke had a much larger force than that.”

“The rats wouldn’t be back if there were some cloaks still alive,” I said. “Rats are many things, but they’re not stupid.”

“And if there were some left alive,” Jackson said, “they’d surely be hungry enough to have swarmed both the military and us by now.”

“True,” Sam said, “but it does make me wonder why Rinaldo—if he is able to control them—would only keep a small force of them alive to attack you two.”

“Those cloaks attacked Frederick before they turned on us, remember, and I doubt Rinaldo would have ordered that.” I shrugged. “If he does control them, maybe his connection is telepathic rather than hive based.”

“A possibility with those who, like me, are infected but not hive bound,” Sam said. “But the cloaks had no mind to control.”

He took a cautious step forward. The nearest rats briefly glanced his way but otherwise didn’t move.

“Bold bastards, aren’t they?” Jackson said. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m rather reluctant to walk through a damn sea of them. So if no one minds . . . ?”

He didn’t wait for an answer; he simply unleashed the heat that had been building within him. A thick stream of fire shot past Sam, then spread out, becoming a fiery wave that hit the nearest rats, setting both them and the remains of the cloak they were feeding alight. As their high-pitched cries of pain filled the air, the wave rolled on, seeking out the rest of them. But they were already on the move, scurrying away into the darkness beyond both Jackson’s fire and the mother’s light.

I briefly raised the intensity of the fire to put the burning rats out of their misery, then cindered the bodies of the cloaks. The light breeze stirred the ashes into a gentle flurry, and brought with it the stench of burned flesh.

But it wasn’t coming from the dead inside the room. It was coming from somewhere up ahead.