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thought I was going to take the prize. That dream of starving
wolves—who better than I to appreciate that? My poor . . .
poor beasts. I suppose it’s better that you killed them all. I’d
rather not have them outlive me. They’d have no hope of
surviving without me.”
Sightless eyes or not, it was hard to gauge her face in
their absence, but her voice took on a resigned tone. “I’m
. . . flattered you held me in such high regard. I just wish
the Darkness had sunk a little deeper into my old, wretched
bones. Every time I sat down to a meal of madness, I could
feel such wonder fill me. But then I’d swallow . . . and it
would all disappear. After the Darkness receded, it became
more and more difficult to find meals like the ones I’d
enjoyed. Eating became so horribly empty. Worst of all, I
forgot the words to my song. Perhaps— “
My father was quick. I doubt she sensed him coming.
Her corpse was brilliant, and I would take no credit for it.
I left it where it lay, sprawled out and in mid-thought.
I made my way through the injured underground, spying
the furtive movements of ancient things as they picked
through the ruin for the ripening corpses of cannibals.
Apparently, the rot-eaters beneath the earth held no grudge
against me for ruining their supply line of meat, which suited
me fine. I was eager to be done with cannibals and ghouls
and mutants.
A short time later, a slight breeze had found its way into
the cave. I saw the queen’s kill list drift across my boot, its
names clearly displayed. I picked it up, sat down upon a pile
of old bones, and transferred the names to my own list. I
crossed off Miss Patience’s original, less inspired name and
moved my eyes to the next.
Tom Hush. I couldn’t wait to meet him.

150 | Mark Anzalone