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“Go take a look,” said Riot as she unlocked a door to one of the cellblocks. Lilah handed him a torch, giving him a strange look. Her face was always hard to read because for so much of her life she’d lived alone and didn’t have any reason to show emotions. Now he thought he saw a deep sadness in her eyes but had no idea why it was there. When Benny turned to Nix, he saw an identical expression. Actually, all of them looked like they were at a funeral.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What’s in there?”
No one answered him.
So Benny took the torch and went into the cellblock.
There were cells on either side of a concrete walkway. All the cell doors were locked.
None of the cells were empty. Figures in filthy orange jumpsuits stood inside each one. They were bearded, wasted, withered. Some had collapsed and lay twitching on the floor. A few gripped the bars with leathery hands. Some thrust arms at him, but they could not reach him; and they probably did not have the strength to do much if they did. In a few cells figures stood draped in cobwebs and dust, and only their wax-pale eyes moved to follow Benny.
“God . . . ,” he breathed. That one word echoed in the stillness, and it made him wonder how many of these prisoners had cried out to God for help, for their freedom, for mercy.
“None of them have bites,” said Chong. “Not one.”
Benny nodded. He’d seen that too.
Morgie joined them. “The people who busted in could have let everyone out. They raided the kitchen and the armory. But . . . no one opened the cells or fed the prisoners.”
“I think the people who burst in here saw them and made a choice,” said Riot.
“What kind of choice?” asked Morgie in a pleading tone.
“There was food here,” she said. “But only so much. You saw all those cars. There were a lot of mouths to feed. People came in here to survive, and they had their families with them. They were scared. The world was falling down, and I guess they knew no help was coming. Then those EMPs blew out the lights.”
They all stared at the zombies. Every single one of them was skinny, wasted. All their prison uniforms looked too big, and each of the six teenagers had seen enough zoms to know the difference in how bodies looked if they were skinny to begin with or wasted away after death. These living dead had all starved to death.
“The people who came in here made a choice,” repeated Riot. “Between them and these prisoners. I sure ain’t saying I agree with it, but I understand it.”
“It’s insane,” said Morgie.
Riot studied him. “What choice would you have made?”
“Not this,” he cried.
“Really? If it was your family? If it was you and a bunch of kids, old people, people you needed to protect,” she said coldly, “you want to stand there and tell me you wouldn’t even consider doing this?”
Morgie turned away, but everywhere he looked there was more evidence of a kind of cruelty he’d never seen before. Benny put his hand on his friend’s beefy shoulder. He had been deeper into the Rot and Ruin and seen many more horrors. This, though . . .
“God,” Benny murmured.
“God was never here,” said Morgie wretchedly.
“How many prisoners are there?” asked Benny.
Riot looked sick and sad. “According to the papers we found in the guard’s office . . . thirteen hundred and fifty-three. Why?”
He just stared at her, and she began shaking her head.
“You’re out of your mind. There’s mercy and then there’s being stupid.”
“She’s right,” protested Morgie. “Besides, we have a mission, and this would take forever.”
Nix drew her sword with a slithery rasp that seemed unnaturally loud in the cold silence of the cellblock. After a moment Benny drew his, too.
It did not take forever.
It took a day.
