As we continue on our way, the undead children surround us. I pray for the strength to keep myself from slaughtering them, even as I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Will they lead us to a hidden mother lode of proto-Christs unpredicted by the Christputer, or will they lead us into an inescapable death-trap?
"How does it feel?" Brigid asks me this as we march through the mid-afternoon heat. "Knowing that none of those people you've murdered were zombies?"
I try to ignore her. Proto-Christs are always looking to stir up doubt and disharmony with their words.
She shakes her head. "All those deaths on your conscience. All those innocents." She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "That's a heavy weight for you to bear."
I reach back and swing my black braid around
