Joe holstered his pistol, reached into his pocket, and removed a round metal object. It was squat and green, with a single metal arm and a round ring. He held it up.

“This is an M67 fragmentation grenade. Yeah, I know it’s from the old world, but let’s pretend that it still has relevance to the moment. It has a casualty radius of fifteen meters, with a fatality radius of five meters. That covers all of you cats. Now, I’m willing to bet a brand-new ration dollar that not one of you is going to bravely stand there while I throw this. In fact, I’m willing to bet you’re all going to run away as if you really are afraid for your own lives. What do you think about that?”

The reapers stared at him.

Joe grinned at them.

He pulled the pin. He kept his fingers tight around the metal arm, holding it in place.

And the reapers scattered. They flew away from the path as fast as they could run.

Joe held his ground. Beside him Grimm yawned.

The sound of the reapers crashing through the forest eventually faded into silence. Joe sighed, replaced the pin in the grenade, and dropped it into his pocket. Then he turned and strolled back to Lilah.

“Call me cynical,” he said, “but I’ve come to believe that most people who follow a total wack job aren’t always true believers. They just like to follow. They like the perks. Makes them feel strong. Kind of weakens your faith in fruitcake fanatics.”

Lilah goggled at him. “Would you have really thrown the grenade?”

Joe grinned. “What do you think?”

Lilah nodded, then asked, “If we meet more reapers, will they all do that?”

He shook his head. “Sadly . . . no. Some of them are true believers, and those you have to deal with.” He paused. “And there are a few of them who are way past simply believing. There are some who really won’t care if you shoot them or maim them, and they will crawl on broken knees through hell itself to take you with them. Saint John’s like that. And Brother Peter. You don’t talk with them, you don’t screw around. If you are ever unfortunate enough to be face-to-face with either of them—you take your shot before you take your next breath. ’Cause otherwise it will be your last breath.”

She frowned. “You’re afraid of Saint John?”

Joe put his hands on her shoulders. “Lilah, there’s not a living soul on this planet who shouldn’t be afraid of Saint John.”

He got back on the quad, and they roared off toward the plateau.

Chapter 72

72