Chong sighed. “I’d say it was the craziest thing I ever heard of, but it’s actually not. Those who want to go see God can do it right now, and those who want to find some kind of redemption—or maybe some kind of important purpose—can join the reapers and do God’s work before they head off to join their loved ones.”

Riot gave him a long, appraising look. “Ain’t stupid, are ya?”

“I try not to be.”

He suddenly swayed as another wave of nausea churned through him. He fought to control the urge to vomit.

“You okay?”

“I’ve felt better. Little woozy. Sick to my stomach.”

Riot placed her palm on his forehead. “You’re sweatin’ up a storm, but I don’t feel no fever. You’re sick as a dog.”

“Arrows in my body tend to do that to me,” Chong said.

“Ah,” she said. “So I heard.”

Riot bent close and studied the arrowhead. “That is a beaut.”

“Swell.” Chong could actually feel his body turn cold. “Since we can’t, um, yank it out . . . what are our options?”

“It’s an aluminum arrow,” she said, nodding toward the shaft. “So I’ll try and unscrew the head, and then we can pull it out backwards-like. Might jostle a bit, which is why I wanted you awake ’fore I try. Can’t have you waking up screaming.”

“No, we can’t have that.”

She nodded at his bare shoulder. “What’s that?”

Chong did not need to look to see what she meant. There was a fresh scar from where a zombie had tried to take a bite out of him in one of the fighting pits at Gameland. He explained that to Riot.

“You was a pit fighter?’

“Not by choice.”

“And you got bit and healed?” She looked dubious.

“The zom’s teeth just pinched, and I pulled away at the same time. I lost some skin, but I didn’t get infected.”

“You got the luck. Bit by a gray wanderer and lived to brag on it, and now shot by a reaper and you’ll have that scar to use to charm the ladies. Is . . . there a lady, by the way? Maybe that little redhead with the freckles?”

“That’s Nix, and she’s with Benny.”

“And you all alone?” she asked, a smile touching the corners of her mouth.

“I . . . I’m kind of seeing someone.”

“Oh?” she asked casually as she knelt over the small fire and placed the tip of a knife in the flames. Chong did not ask her why. He already had a bad idea about what that burning metal would be used for.

“Tell me about her.”

Chong told Riot an abbreviated version of Lilah’s story.

Riot turned and stared at him. “The Lost Girl? You’re joshing me.”

“No . . . why? Don’t tell me you’ve heard of her?”