Jonathan Maberry - Fire & Ash

This ones for the peacemakers.

For the brilliant young writers in my Experimental Writing for Teens class: Rebekeh Comley, Nathan Zalesko, Zach Baytosh, Sarah Buschi, Carl Hall, Mei Peng Rizzo, Maxwell Cavallaro, Will Perkins, and Archer ONeal Odom.

And as always for Sara Jo.

Special thanks to some real-world people who allowed me to tap them for advice and information. My agents, Sara Crowe and Harvey Klinger; my film agent, Jon Cassir of CAA; my editor, David Gale, and all the good people at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers; Nancy Keim-Comley; Tiffany Fowler-Schmidt; Michael Homler of St. Martins Griffin; Dr. John Cmar of Johns Hopkins University Department of Infectious Diseases; Carl Zimmer, author of Parasite Rex (Simon & Schuster); Alan Weisman, author of The World Without Us (Thomas Dunne Books); M. Burton Hopkins Jr., Sam West-Mensch, Chris Graham, David Nicholson, and John Palakas of the History Channel documentary Zombies: A Living History; U.S. Army helicopter pilot Samuel C. Garcia; Mason Bundschuh; the crew at First Night Productions Louis Ozawa Changchien, Paul Grellong, and Heath Cullens; and Robert Kirkman, creator of The Walking Dead.

Benny Imura sat in the dark and spoke with monsters.

It was like that every day.

It had become the pattern of his life. Shadows and blood. And monsters.

Everywhere.

Monsters.

The thing crouched in the darkness.

It stank of raw meat and decay. A metal collar was bolted around its neck and a steel chain lay coiled on the bottom of the cage, looking like the discarded skin of some great snake.

The thing raised its head and glared through the bars. Greasy black hair hung in filthy strings, half hiding the gray face. The skin looked diseased, dead. But the eyes

The eyes.

They watched with a malevolent intensity that spoke of a dreadful awareness. Pale hands gripped the bars with such force that the knuckles were white with tension. The things teeth were caked with pieces of meat.

Benny Imura sat crossed-legged on the floor.

Sick to his stomach.

Sick at heart.

Sick in the depths of his soul.

Benny leaned forward. His voice was thick and soft when he spoke.

Can you hear me?

The creatures lips curled.

Yes, you can hear me, said Benny. Good can you understand me? Do you know who I am?

A fat drop of bloody spit oozed from between the creatures teeth, rolled over its bottom lip, hung for a moment, and then dropped with a faint plash to the floor.

Benny leaned closer still. Do you recognize me?

After a long moment, the thing in the cage leaned forward too. Its face underwent a slow process of change. Doubt flickered in its eyes; the lips relaxed over the teeth. It sniffed the air as if trying to identify Bennys scent. The doubt in its eyes deepened. It bent closer still, and now the lips seemed like they were trying to shape a word.

Benny pushed himself even closer, trying to hear what sound that word carried.

Huh, murmured the creature in a rasping croak, huh hun

Go on, Benny encouraged. Go ahead. You can do it. Say something.

The creature rested its forehead against the inside of the bars, and Benny leaned all the way forward.

hunh hunh

What is it? whispered Benny. What are you trying to say?

The creature spoke the word. It came out as a whisper. A full word. Two syllables.

Hungry!

Suddenly it lunged at Benny; gray hands shot between the bars and grabbed Bennys shirt. The creature howled with triumph.

HUNGRY!

Wet teeth snapped at him. It jammed its face between the bars, trying to bite him, to tear him.

To feed its hunger.

Benny screamed and flung himself backward, but the creature had him in its powerful hands. The teeth snapped. Saliva that was as cold and dirty as gutter water splashed Bennys face.

Hungry hungry hungry! screamed the thing.

Behind Benny a voice shouted in anger. The soldier, moving too slow and too late. Something whistled through the air above Bennys head and rang off the bars. A baton, swung by the soldier with crippling force.

The creature jerked backward from a blow that would have smashed its jaw and shattered its teeth.

No! bellowed Benny, still caught by the things hands, but squirming, fighting it and swinging his arms up to block the soldier.

Move, kid! snarled the guard.

The baton hit the bars again with a deafening caroooom!

Benny bent his knees and forced his foot into the narrow gap between him and the bars, then kicked himself backward. The creature lost one handhold on his shirt, but it grabbed the bar to brace itself so it could pull even harder with the other. Benny kicked out, once, twice, again, slamming his heel into the hand holding the bar, hitting knuckles every time. The creature howled and whipped its hand back from the bars. Its screech of agony tore the air.

Bennys mind reeled. It can still feel pain.

It was the strangest feeling for Benny. That thought, that bit of truth, was a comfort to him.

If it could still feel pain

It was still alive.

Out of the way, kid, roared the soldier, raising his stick again. I got the son of a

Benny kicked once more, and the whole front of his shirt tore away. He collapsed backward against the soldier, hitting his legs so hard the man fell against the concrete wall. Benny sank onto the cold floor, gasping, shuddering with terror.

Inside the cage, the creature clutched its hands to its gray flesh and let out a high, keening cry of pain and frustration.

And of hunger.

The soldier pushed himself angrily off the wall, hooked Benny under the armpit, hauled him to his feet, and flung him toward the door. Thats it. Youre out of here. And Im going to teach this monster some damn manners.

No! shouted Benny. He slapped the soldiers hands aside and shoved the man in the chest with both hands. The move was backed by all of Bennys hurt and rage; the soldier flew backward, skidded on the damp concrete, and fell. The baton clattered from his hand and rolled away.

The creature in the cage howled and once more lunged through the bars, trying this time to grab the fallen soldiers outflung arm. The guard snatched it out of the way with a cry of disgust. Spitting in fury, the soldier rolled sideways onto his knees and reached for the baton.

You made a big damn mistake, boy. Im going to kick your ass, and then youre going to watch me beat some manners into

There was a sudden rasp of steel and something silver flashed through the air and the moment froze. The soldier was on his knees, one hand braced on the ground, the other holding the baton. His eyes bugged wide as he tried to look down at the thing that pressed into the soft flesh of his throat. The soldier could see his own reflection in the long, slender blade of Benny Imuras katana.

Listen to me, said Benny, and he didnt care that his voice was thick with emotion or that it broke with a sob. Youre not going to do anything to me, and youre not going to do anything to

To what? Its a monster. Its an abomination.

Benny pressed the tip of the sword into the mans skin. A single tiny bead of hot blood popped onto the edge of the steel and ran along the mirror-bright surface in a crooked line.

Its not a monster, said Benny. And he has a name.

The soldier said nothing.

Benny increased the pressure. Say his name.