“Exactly. You watch the whole system fall apart. The government couldn’t stop the disease. Hell, maybe the government caused it. You don’t have any rules. There’s no good. No bad. You just exist. And you do whatever the hell you want.”
The two fell silent. The only sounds interrupting the constant, dependable crash of waves on the sand were the crackle and pop of the fire, and a noise that I was sure was Josephine zipping and unzipping her hoodie repeatedly. Bentham was a lot more patient than me. I would have told her to stop after about five minutes.
“So, how do they know about us?” Josephine finally asked.
“The dark men.”
“Who?”
“You’ve met one of them. No doubt about it. When I met him, he was wearing a ridiculous suit, like he was going to a damn business meeting or something. He was just sitting outside the hospital, piles and piles of bodies all around him, wearing a damn smile.”
“Mr. Ambiguous?”
“What?”
“That’s what Logan and I call him. He was waiting for us outside the school. Told us he was our Orientation Leader. He gave me the creeps. Who is he? Like a survivor?”
“No. Not like a survivor. But that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. In the two years we’ve been shifting, we can’t figure him or the others out. One time we stopped a group of zombies from finishing off a shifter. His shifting partner was already dead. They had...well...they raped her. Over and over before killing her. They ripped the skin from her bones. Then they took turns breaking the bones one by one. I’m not sure how she finally died, but when she did they hung her body from a light pole. They carved the words dark shifter in her forehead.”
I listened as Josephine’s zipper made a sharp and final noise as she zipped it up. If I were a betting man, I would wager she quickly placed her hood over her head as well.
“Am I upsetting you? I could stop,” Bentham asked. What was truly upsetting was the almost careless way in which he tossed around these facts, as if he felt nothing when he thought back on them.
Was he upsetting her?
No. All girls liked to be wooed with stories of rape and mutilation.
“No. I need to hear these things. It’s important. Please. Go on.”
Josephine was right. We both needed to hear them. Even if we wished we didn’t.
“We took out the zombies and tried to save the man. Not that there was much left of him. They made him watch as they killed his partner. I can’t imagine having to watch Randall die.” It was only when he talked about Randall that his voice caught, signaling this man felt something. Anything.
“We managed to get a few things out of the man before he just gave up. He and his partner had been shifting for five years. He kept mentioning the dark men, and how he should have taken their deal.”
“Deal?” Josephine asked.
“Not sure. All I know is these men, the well-dressed smile freaks, seem to be immune to the sickness but aren’t survivors. They appear to shifters here and there, offering them aid. No one knows where they come from. Want to hear they oddest thing the shifter said before he died? He said, the dark men can’t lie. They’re clever as hell with their words, but they can’t lie. Like this is all one big game.” Bentham finished his story with a short, bitter laugh.
“Who the hell are these people?”
The girl took the words right out of my mouth.
Bentham laughed again, this time louder. “Randall thinks they’re servants of the devil. He’s always been a real religious man. Sees all this as a big End of Days thing. You know how the devil is supposed to be good with words? Randall thinks they’re his minions, here to thwart our attempts at saving the world or some crap like that.”
“What do you think?”
“Not sure. Maybe scientists. Maybe businessmen. Either way, I’m pretty sure they’re the ones who started this. The whole thing. The sickness. Us and the time traveling.”
“Why not search them out? Demand answers?” Josephine asked. I could hear the anticipation in her voice. I could feel her need to go searching for them this very moment. Were we really going to fear an army dressed in the best of Men’s Warehouse?
“Because I don’t trust them. They want us to do something. And I don’t think it’s in the interest of saving all those poor schmucks who watched as their own bodies turned on them. Call it instinct. Besides, if they’re the ones responsible for me time traveling, can’t quite say I want them having any part of me. Not anymore than they’re already taken. Not a big fan of someone who plays with free will and all.”