“Why? Because you wish it? Because you made offerings to the Fates or the Scavenge God? Because you repented to the Christians and drank their deep waters?” Tool shook his head. “As soon as you start crossing those fields, you will be spotted. There are fire teams to our left and right, still combing the trees, and they, too, watch the fields. That”—he pointed to the open land—“is nothing but a killing field.”

Mahlia gave him a withering look. “Don’t you care about anyone?”

Tool growled. To Mahlia’s surprise, he suddenly released her. “You wish to prove your love for the boy? Go, then. Prove it.” He gave her a rough shove. “Charge. Attack. Take your little knife and attack. Show your love and bravery, girl.”

Mahlia glared up at the half-man, hating him. “I’m not a half-man,” she said.

“And I am not your dog.”

Mahlia looked back at the village. The soldiers had dragged Mouse close to the torched buildings and forced him to his knees. A figure emerged from the sooty wreckage…

Sayle.

He had a pistol in his hands. Mahlia watched the man stalk around the boy, then step close. She squinted, trying to see, not wanting to, afraid, but unable to look away. Sayle put his pistol in Mouse’s mouth.

Tool’s ears pricked up, cupping the wind.

“He wants to know where we are,” the half-man said. “They’re threatening him. It won’t be long until they know, and then they will pursue.”

The half-man’s hand fell on Mahlia’s shoulder, heavy and solid, even as the monster’s deep voice became soft. “Come,” he said. “It is best not to watch these things.”

Mahlia shook off his hand, still watching. Unable to pull away. She heard the half-man give a low growl of frustration. She was surprised he didn’t just grab her and drag her. Instead, he waited.

“They’re going to kill him,” she said, feeling sick.

When she had needed help, Mouse had stepped up for her. He’d thrown rocks, of all things. He’d done the brave and stupid thing, and saved her. And here she crouched amongst kudzu vines, unable to make her limbs move, terrified and a coward.

“They’re going to kill him,” she whispered again.

“It is their nature,” Tool said. “Come away. This will only make your nightmares worse.”

22

SAYLE JAMMED HIS PISTOL into the prisoner’s mouth. “You’re dead, licebiter.” The kid tried to speak, but he couldn’t get words out around Sayle’s 9mm. Little pale runt, all crying and begging.

Ocho stood by, watching the jungle, waiting for the bullet.

The kid kept on with his whimpering and begging, and Ocho tried not to listen. He’d learned long ago that if you treated maggots like people, it just ripped you up. Gutted you and made you weak when you needed to be strong.