Benny scanned the faces of the reapers as they closed in. All but one of them had red hands tattooed on their faces. They looked wild and fierce, like barbarians out of an old storybook.
As the reapers closed in, they realized that they couldn’t use the machines as weapons. A stern-faced young man—the only reaper not marked with the red hand tattoo—raised his fist, and the reapers revved their engines, the combined drone pulsing like the breath of a gigantic dragon.
He’s the one, thought Benny. He’s their leader.
The young man looked like a warrior. Lean and muscular, with big hands and eyes as hard and dead as desert rocks.
Even through the din, Benny heard Riot say, “Brother Peter . . . oh my God.”
It was a name that struck a big bell of terror in Benny’s heart. He hadn’t met this man, but he knew about him. He knew him from a thousand terrifying tales Riot had told them. From firsthand descriptions by survivors of reaper massacres. From accounts by monks who had witnessed acts of savagery so grotesque that their minds were scarred by the memories. From surveillance photos Joe had shown them.
Brother Peter, the right hand of Saint John.
Even Joe said that Peter was one of the most dangerous men alive. Deadly with any kind of weapon, and equally deadly in unarmed combat. A man totally without mercy or remorse.
Like an echo from out of the shadowed past, Benny thought he heard Tom’s voice. Don’t give in to fear. Be warrior smart and survive.
Benny nodded as if Tom could see his agreement.
Hot wind blew dust plumes past them, momentarily obscuring them, turning them to wraiths. Then the dust blew past Benny and his friends and on across the ravine. The waist-high grass swayed drunkenly in the breeze.
The reapers were in a tight arc around them. They kept revving their engines, and the sound seemed to beat on Benny’s chest.
“Nix,” he said, speaking just loud enough so she could hear him beneath the pulsing roar of the quads. “If you have to shoot, go for Brother Peter.”
Nix swung the pistol around toward the man.
Brother Peter saw this and smiled. Then he slashed down with his clenched fist, and suddenly all the reapers cut their engines at once.
The silence was crushing. It collapsed the world into a surreal bubble that enclosed the ravine, the killers on the quads, and the three of them.
Where the hell is Lilah? wondered Benny. Did they already get her? Is she dead somewhere out in the forest?
Brother Peter sat in silence, studying them. When his gaze drifted over to Riot, his eyes widened for a moment.
“Sister Margaret,” he said, and the other reapers recoiled at his words. Some of them actually hissed and spat onto the dirt.
“Don’t call me that,” warned Riot.
“Why not? You are the daughter of Mother Rose, that traitorous witch.”
“My mama died a long time ago,” said Riot. “She was just another victim of Saint John and his sickness.”
At this, three of the reapers suddenly made as if to leap off their quads, but Brother Peter held up a hand. “No,” he said. “Words can’t harm the honored saint, and this child can’t tarnish her soul any more than it already is.”
“You can kiss my fanny,” suggested Riot.
“You pile sin upon sin,” said the reaper. “Have you no fear for your soul?”
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“My soul’s just fine, thank you.” Her words were flippant, but Benny could hear the fear in her voice. Riot was a tough and brutal fighter, but she was clearly terrified of Brother Peter.
For his part, the reaper seemed not to care that Nix’s pistol was pointed at his head.
Brother Peter looked at Benny. “Do you know who I am?”
“I know,” said Benny. “But I don’t care.”