Page 124 of Chaos

I squat behind a fallen log and check my gun.

There’s the gate.

I leave the log, creeping closer, staying in shadows.

Armored vehicles, artillery trucks, at least one Bradley tank down the line, stretching down the road in either direction and around the bends.

Each of them is flying a US flag from the top.

Exactly what you’d expect of a dictator storming a foreign capital.

It’s not the Butcher.

In fact, I don’t see him at all.

Not a Grey Cap in sight.

I hesitate at the edge of the trees.

Maybe this is karma.

I set one fire, and here’s another. I drew blood, and here’s some more.

Live by it, die by it.

And I’m too late.

I can’t stop it before it begins if it’s already begun.

This is the only way.

So I put both hands up high over my head, surrender position, prisoner pose, and with Thornwood billowing out dark smoke beyond the gate, I walk out of the woods, right into the center of the road.

31 |A tendrilof hope

FRANKIE

“CHURCH!”I run forward to check if he’s breathing. He is, tiny faint puffs coming from his nose.

I look around frantically for something to press to the back of his head.

There’s a nest of beds in one corner of Ben’s cell, flattened by the flashlight’s disorienting beam.

“Shane!” He doesn’t move when I call for him, so I shout his name a second time. “Grab a blanket from the cell. Ben’s cell.”

He shakes free of his stupor, glances at me, then longingly back at Ephie’s door, and finally jogs inside Ben’s cell to where the blankets sit, a tray of food beside it.

Like me, Ben took to keeping his bucket as far from his bed and food as possible.

Shane brings back the blanket, and we wad it up and press it under Church’s head to stop the flow of blood.

“How bad is it?” Shane asks breathlessly.

“I don’t know. Headwounds bleed a lot.” I don’t know where I picked that up. Probably TV. Maybe it isn’t even true. It’s so much, everywhere. A spreading pool so thick it has my stomach turning over. “We need to get out of here. Church?” I push at his chest, and he murmurs. “Church!” I push harder. “Do you have a key to the cells?”

He lets out a groggy, sleepy sound, his lashes fluttering.“Nnnng.”

I search his pockets, his belt, but if there’s a key I can’t find it with my shaking hands. I don’t find a gun on him either, his belt is empty. It’s so hard to think, with the smell of smoke growing thicker, knowing there’s a war at the wall, Yorke gone, Maybe inside me. “Keys are so small. Where would it be? Church, where’s the key?”

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