Benny wrapped his arm around Riot and kissed her head and walked with her to the helicopter. All this made his back hurt, but he would die rather than complain about that kind of pain. Not now. Not anymore.
They closed the helicopter doors, and when the first of the running zoms reached the turnaround, Joe lifted off and rose high into the air. The Black Hawk hung in the screaming air until the dead were so tightly clustered below that Benny couldn’t see the ground.
Joe spoke to them from the radio speakers.
“Last chance to say no.”
Nix said it for all of them. “We can’t.”
The Black Hawk tilted toward the west, and the helicopter tore through dust and smoke back to the hangars.
“Can you blow up the bridge?” asked Chong.
“No. If there are any survivors hiding, that’s the only way they’ll ever make it to the blockhouse.”
“Is there even a chance of that?”
“No matter how bad things are, there’s usually some chance left,” said Joe. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Chong said, “I guess so.”
But he saw Riot, who huddled inside a ring of Nix and Lilah’s overlapping arms. He knew that Joe was not always right about that.
“Setting down,” said Joe. “Some R3’s are already coming back this way. You’ve got about three minutes. Don’t stop for coffee.”
The Black Hawk touched down between the burning dormitory hangar and the row of parked quads.
This was the second part of Benny’s plan. Since the helicopter didn’t have enough fuel to take them to Mountainside—and the pilot was pushing his own personal limits in flying at all—they had to find another way to get home. The quads were the only real option. Benny had a road map in one pocket, courtesy of Colonel Reid. Mountainside was 470 miles away. In a straight run, they could be there in twelve hours. Having driven the quads for weeks now, he knew that on flat ground they averaged about forty-five miles to the gallon, and that the tanks held 4.75 gallons of fuel. That meant that they could get a little less than halfway home on a full tank. However, there were equipment racks on the bikes capable of holding a couple of gas cans. Neither Joe nor Reid had been able to decide whether they could carry enough gas to get them all the way. It was a gamble.
If the quads ran out of fuel, then they would have to go on foot or find a traveler with a horse to carry the message the rest of the way to the Nine Towns.
Provided there were any towns left.
Saint John and the reaper army had left a month ago.
A month.
On a forced march, they could already have been there.
They had to march under hot Nevada suns and then climb the long mountain roads in California. If they stuck to the main roads, the path was serpentine, closer to five hundred miles. If they had to forage for food, that would slow the pace. But even so, they could conceivably be at the fence line. That was a stretch, though, and Benny doubted they were already there.
However, Haven was many miles closer. Would Saint John want to take the towns in order?
There was no way to know until they got there.
After a month here at Sanctuary, they were now in a desperate race.
As soon as the Black Hawk settled, Benny and Chong pulled back the door. Roasted air blew in at them, carrying with it the burned-meat stink of so many deaths. Benny gagged and covered his mouth with his palm.
Nix and Lilah jumped down first, and they helped Benny and Chong down. Riot lingered for a moment in the doorway. She hadn’t yet spoken a word.
“You can stay here,” said Nix.
Riot leaned out and looked around, then turned and stared back the way they’d come. The bunker was invisible behind the mass of running zoms, but the siren towers marked the spot, the metal voices wailing with a grief no human voice could articulate.
“No,” said Riot. “I can’t.”
It was all she said.