Then, like a grenade being tossed into the middle of it all, a voice boomed out with such strident force that everyone—gang members, townies, Claudia and Rachael, and even the undead Kyle—paused in their acts of murder and turned toward a figure standing at the edge of the clearing. He was tall, muscular, heavily armed, and there was some kind of armored creature with him. Maybe a dog. Maybe a warg, for all Rachael knew. The world was crazy enough. The man’s words echoed like thunder.

“What in the wide blue fuck is going on around here?”

Rachael’s heart leapt in her chest. She knew that voice.

She knew the man.

She even knew the monster dog.

“Joe!” she screamed.

— 36 —: HAPPY VALLEY

— 36 —

HAPPY VALLEY

The woman came down from the wall to meet them. She was tall and as slender as a rake handle and stood in that peculiar attitude Dahlia had seen used by some of the mothers of the richest and prettiest girls in school. A sort of slouch of the shoulders while keeping her head up at a disapproving angle; one hand on her hip and her pelvis cocked forward. It looked uncomfortable and Dahlia had no idea what it was supposed to convey.

“Mr. Deacon,” she said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Margaret Van Sloane of the—”

“Of the Hewlett Bay Van Sloanes,” Church said, cutting in smoothly. “I thought so. A pleasure, Margaret. I knew Bryce Van Sloane quite well.”

“Bryce? Oh, how lovely. He was my uncle. Did you do business with him?”

“Our paths crossed a few times,” said Church smoothly. “He was very sharp. A killer in business.” He offered his hand and took Van Sloane’s birdlike hand in his, giving it a delicate shake.

Dahlia had to resist rolling her eyes. She thought he was laying it on a bit thick. On the other hand, the skinny hag seemed to be eating it up.

The whistles were blowing in odd patterns now, some closer and others farther away. Margert Van Sloane flinched at the sound.

“How many of these . . . Rovers . . . are coming?” she asked.

“A hundred at least,” said Church, “and possibly many more.” Church quickly explained about the Rovers—that they started out as a biker gang and grew into a horde in the months since the dead rose. He laid this part on thick, too, telling Van Sloane about the trophies and the brutality of the gang. Dahlia watched what his words did to the woman. Without being explicit, Church made it clear that they were, to all intents and purposes, the Visigoths and Happy Valley was Rome on its last day.

The Pack clustered together near the gates, and several of the guards seemed to be watching them more closely than what was happening on the other side of the wall.