Dahlia turned and looked back at the members of her Pack, all of whom were crouched down in the weeds and behind bushes. She knew and loved them all. She’d done so much to protect them and keep them out of harm’s way. On the other hand, she’d also talked them into joining with Old Man Church. That hadn’t been for fun and games. He made no secret about the fact that he was waging a war out here. Against the dead and against the predatory living.

Against people like the Rovers.

She took a breath and told him what she thought they could do. Church listened and then nodded.

“You see?” he said. “You are a leader.”

They spent a few minutes discussing the plan and some variations. Church offered a few suggestions, but mostly let her shape things. The more they talked, the more Dahlia felt that there was a logic to her idea. Even a strength. But then darkness drifted over her heart. She lowered her voice so that only Church could hear her. “If we do this,” she said, “some of them could get hurt.”

“Some will be hurt. That’s unavoidable.”

“Some of them could die.”

He nodded. “Yes.” Church adjusted his black gloves and stared into the distance. “This is the shape of the world, Dahlia. We can’t wish an idyllic paradise into being. Maybe other people can do that, but I doubt it. Sometimes peace comes at a price. The question is, are you, as leader of the Pack, willing to pay that price?”

— 33 —: THE WARRIOR WOMAN

— 33 —

THE WARRIOR WOMAN

Kyle drew the hatchet from his belt and brandished it at Glory.

“I’m going to cut me a big chunk of ugly off your ass,” he announced, and ran at her. Glory sidestepped to avoid his swing, and although she still smiled Rachael could see that the woman was surprised at the speed of the attack. Kyle was a jackass, but he was quick. The two of them began jabbing and slashing at each other, missing by hair’s breadths each time.

For a moment, everyone else on both sides seemed to be caught in a moment of stupid spectatorship. Maybe the townies were unprepared for this and not as aggressive as Kyle; maybe the gang members had expected the townies to cave more easily. In either case, the moment held, stretched, and then finally snapped. The man who’d smoked the cigarette flung himself at the young man who’d stabbed the shotgun guy. The leap was powerful, but the killer either saw him coming or had good reflexes because he began to turn as the rush hit him, so instead of being smashed down, both men fell and rolled over and over.