Dustin added, 'And we're winning, thanks to my plan. I got the idea from that boy, who converted his mother. You remember, that first night, we saw him.'
'To hell with your plan,' Jack said angrily. 'I lost my home because of your plan.'
Instantly Dustin turned to face Jack and said, 'So you did go home.' That menacing skull-face leaned in close. 'Are people hiding there?'
Jack turned away.
'At your house?' Dustin pressed. 'Is that where they are? My army's fragile, Jack. They're slow and clumsy and stupid. A nest of armed resistance, even a small one, can wreak havoc. I have to know about it.'
Jack said, 'Leave them alone. Leave my father alone.'
'We're headed north, Jack,' Dustin said. 'The plan is already in motion.'
'Don't,' Jack insisted, then added, 'Just for now. They won't bother you. Push east. Toward Freeport.'
'Freeport?' Dustin was dismissive. 'What's there?'
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the note. He answered in a low voice, 'Ashley.'
Later that night, Dustin said to Jack, 'She'll have to be converted. It's the only way.'
Jack said, 'Killed, you mean.'
'I want her with us,' Dustin said. 'She's in danger now. Any random dead person might get to her, damage her mind—destroy what makes her special. She'll be safer this way.'
Jack wondered: Why did I do it? Why betray Ashley? To protect his father, yes, but . . . the truth—he wanted to see her again. Would she accept him, if they were the same? If she were dead too?
Jack said, 'It won't be easy.'
'No,' Dustin agreed. 'That's why I need you with me. My soldiers follow orders, mostly. I tell them where to march, who to attack, what to say. But I can't stop them from feeding, Jack, which means that most of my new recruits arrive as damaged goods. There's not much officer material around here.'
Jack was skeptical. 'You want to make me an officer?'
Dustin answered, 'I can't use regular troops for this. There's too much risk to Ashley. I have to use officers —men I can trust not to damage her—and I've got few enough of those.'
Some of the dumb, moaning ones wandered past, and Jack imagined them ripping at Ashley's soft forehead with their teeth.
'I'll go,' Jack said then. 'For Ashley. To make sure nothing happens to her.'
'For Ashley,' Dustin agreed.
Dustin called a meeting of his officers, and held up a photograph that showed him and Ashley standing beside a campfire and embracing. Dustin said, 'This is her. Make sure she's not damaged.'
The army marched east, thousands of groaning dead shambling along the interstate. Dustin moved among them, shouting orders: 'When we reach the town, seek out places you know, people you know. Remember what to say: 'Don't shoot! You know me! Help me!''
The mumbled replies echoed through the trees: 'Don't shoot . . . you know me . . . help me . . .'
Dustin had a dozen officers—dead men armed with rifles and pistols—who stayed close by his side. Dustin himself carried a shotgun, and kept a combat knife tucked in his boot. Jack followed along behind them, and held his rifle limply, and stared down at the damp pine needles that passed beneath his feet. He was full of foreboding.
Dustin lowered his voice and said to his officers, 'They've probably never fought dead men like us before— fast, smart, armed. That surprise will be our biggest advantage.'
One of the officers grumbled, 'They've spent weeks boarding up this house. How are we going to get in?'
Jack called out, 'I can get us in.'
Dustin turned and studied him, then nodded.
The house was a sprawling Victorian that sat in the middle of a grove of white cedars. Dustin led the squad forward. They all crouched low and scurried across the lawn in a tight column, their weapons held ready. Jack and Dustin hurried up the front steps while the others ducked behind the porch railing or dropped into the long grass.
Jack hammered on the door and shouted, 'Let us in! It's Sam! For God's sake, let us in, they're coming!'
After a few moments, he heard the bolt snap out of place. The door opened a crack. Dustin rammed the barrel of his shotgun into the opening and pulled the trigger. Blood exploded through the gap, splattering crimson across the porch, then Dustin kicked open the door.
The officers sprang up, firearms bristling, and charged into the house. Gunfire rang out all around. Jack was swept along into the foyer, which was already littered with bodies. A staircase led up to the second floor.
'Cover the stairs,' Dustin ordered Jack. 'Make sure no one comes down.'
Jack aimed his gun up toward the second floor landing. The other officers poured off into the side rooms, and sounds of violence shook the house.
Suddenly a doorway under the stairs flew open. Jack swung his rifle to cover it, but then a muzzle flashed and a bullet caught him in the chest, and he stumbled back against a small table and knocked over a lamp, which shattered on the floor.
Dustin shouted, 'The basement! They're in the basement.'
Three of the officers stormed down the basement steps. Beneath Jack's feet the floorboards rattled, and horrible screams filtered up from below. Jack stuck a finger into his chest and rooted out the bullet.
Another officer jogged up to stand at Dustin's side and said, 'Sir, we've got your girl. She's in the study. Bleeding.'
Dustin nodded. 'I want to be with her when she rises. Finish this.'
'Yes, sir.' The officer walked to the open front door and called out, 'Come here. Come on. Now.'
Jack watched, horrified, as crowds of moaning dead men stumbled in through the door and began to gorge on the newly fallen corpses.
Jack grabbed Dustin's arm and said, 'What are you doing? We can use these people.'
Dustin said, 'They'll try to shoot us as soon as they rise. It's better this way.'
Jack cast one last grim look at the feeding dead, then followed Dustin through several doorways and into a study.
Ashley lay in an overstuffed chair, flanked by officers. Her pretty face was still. A trickle of blood flowed from a single bullet hole in the center of her chest.
One of the officers said, 'She's not breathing. It won't be long.'
Dustin ordered, 'I want to be alone with her.'
The officers herded Jack from the room. He paced down a long, lonely hallway, then out the front door and into the yard, where he sat, leaning back against a tall white cedar and waiting for Ashley to appear.
Finally she did, framed in the light of the doorway. Her figure was slender, her hair long and lustrous. But her beautiful face had been carved away, until there was nothing left but eyeballs and bone.
Dustin came and stood beside her, and their twin skull faces regarded each other.
Later that night, as Jack and Dustin stood together in the yard, Jack said bitterly, 'I can't believe you did that. She was beautiful.'
To which Dustin replied, 'Ashley will always be beautiful. To me. You loved her face. I love her. Who deserves her more?'
'I want to talk to her,' Jack said.
'No, you'll stay away.' Dustin's voice held a nasty edge. 'Or I'll tell her that you led us here. That you betrayed her.'
Jack flinched, and Dustin strode away, calling over his shoulder, 'I'm the only one who understands her now, understands what she's going through.'
For hours Jack wandered aimlessly among the dead, among the masses of rotting flesh. Their awfulness, their stupidity, was overwhelming, and made him want to gag.
Then, through the clusters of corpses, he caught a glimpse of white skull. He walked away.
He wound a path through the dead, and sneaked an occasional backward glance. The skull was there. It
