I stared at that death head as random figures of rumour, legend and out-right lies jostled and danced themselves into patterns and finally into realization.
“My God,” I whispered. “You’re the Last Dead Man.”
Behind me, Jase fell silent and still. Bishop kept his eyes on the road. “I’ve had a lot of names, Mary.”
A lot of names. A lot of stories. You’ve heard them. Pick just one and try to settle on it. I tried, as I sat there beside the man who was either the most cold-blooded killer to emerge from the Fall or its greatest hero. But he saved our lives, I told myself, and Jase trusted him.
“Where are we headed?” I asked, just to say something.
Bishop just shrugged. “Why? Someplace you need to be?”
Jase laughed, and I joined in. “Anywhere but here.”
“You’re in luck. I’m heading there
