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proven."
"Oh," was all I could think to say. I said it with
sincerity.
"I'd never killed a woman before. They call it
termination, but it's killing. I don't make it easier by
playing with words."
"There goes your career in the military," I said,
liking him better all the time. "So you were to
terminate this woman with extreme prejudice because
she was a suspect."
He nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "Strong
suspect. But I had a lot of problems with it. It went
against my moral learning."
I was having an attack of sarcasm and couldn't keep
it bottled up. I hit him with: "Killing all the suspects
in the hope you get the target? The Church of Central
Intelligence makes that a sacrament."
"No, I mean killing a woman. In the end I decided
if I couldn't justify killing her, then how could I
justify killing a guy who was supposed to be a
renegade colonel from Stasi? I did him the month
before."
"Now who's playing with words?"
"Killed him the month before. He was training
Shining Path terrorists to be sent over to Kefiristan to
help the Scythe. It came down to one thing: either I
trusted my superiors knew what they were doing, or I
didn't."
He wanted to be frank with me, but the words
choked in his throat. I helped him along. "You killed
her," I said.
"I killed her, yes. I still think she was guilty."
Suddenly, I chuckled. He looked at me as if I'd
completely lost my mind. "No, no, Albert, it's not
what you think. I'm laughing about all the trouble
America went to trying to protect fuck-ups like my
brother."
My use of the past tense brought both of us back to
the immediate nightmare. "I think we're all sinners,"
he concluded. "We all deserve to die and be damned;
we earned that fate when we disobeyed the Lord.
Which is why we need the Savior. I take responsibility
for the blood on my hands, even if I let Him wash it
clean. I don't blame the Church, the Marines, my
parents, society, or anyone or anything else."
"We have a difference there, my friend," I told him.
"I blame God."
"Then you blame the nature of things."
"Yeah, I guess I do. 'The nature of things' is waiting
for us beyond this alley with claws and horns, light-
ning and brimstone. My only regret is that I won't
meet God when I have a rocket launcher." I knew I
was getting worked up and discussing religion; but I
was talking to a human being, not the President of the
Twelve.
And really, Arlene Sanders, are you sure you're not
trying to wash away the blood on your hands, the blood
of a whole compound of innocents who might die
because of your stupid mistake, sending a radio mes-
sage to co-opted Colonel Karapetian? I shuddered and
shut off the thought.
"You can't blow up God, Arlene," he said in an
annoyingly tolerant tone of voice. I expected my
blasphemy would get more fire out of him.
I tried one last time, while I still had my mad on:
"He made Himself flesh once, didn't He? If He'd do it
again ..."
"I think you'd find the cross a heavier weapon to
carry than a bazooka, Arlene. Somehow I don't see
you nailing anyone to a cross."
I almost told him about the row of crucified hell-
princes the pumpkins had used to adorn Deimos and
how I'd happily do the same; then I made myself shut
up instead. I'd said enough. More than enough. The
quiet, easy way he was dealing with my outburst told
me that Albert was a man of faith so strong I couldn't
crack it with a BFG. Besides, I had the feeling he
would start praying for me if I didn't cool it.
"Thank you for telling me about Colombia," I said.
"There's no one I'd rather talk to than you, Arlene.
Now let's get back to work."
Damn if I wasn't becoming attracted to honest
Albert. For the first time in weeks, I thought about
Dodd, my guy, who was zombified; my lover
whose body I put out of its misery.
A small glimmer of guilt tried to build up into a fire,
but I doused it with anger. We all had our problems.
We were all human. I was sick and tired of thinking
about all the things I did wrong or could have done
better. Humanity was not a weakness; it was a
strength, and our job was to win back our world, and
damn it, why did I hesitate to think "lover" when I
thought about Willie? Was it because it had the word
"love" in it?
Darling Dan's Supermarket was the next battlefield.
The zombies finished unloading the crates of whatev-
er and drove off in the bread truck. Now the coast was
clear.
"Come on," I said.
"Right behind you," he said.
19
We slipped into the supermarket through the
back delivery door and worked our way toward the
front. Lights were flickering on and off with the same
irritating strobe effect that Fly and I had to deal with
on Deimos so friggin' often. Maybe these guys weren't
sloppy, slovenly, indifferent creeps; maybe it was
some kind of aesthetic statement. All I knew was
flickering light gave me a headache and made me want
to unload a clip at the first refugee from Halloween
who happened across my path.
"Come on," said Albert, a few steps ahead of me
now.
I loved symmetry as much as the next guy. "Right
behind you," I quoted. It was the next best thing to
dancing with him.
Inside the main part of the store, the fluorescent
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