Chapter 3: Burnt Offerings

Only when I called out loudly did Mrs. Myers come to herself.

“Ma’am, Calvin sent me to fetch today’s lamp oil.”

A flicker of terror crossed her face, then she sighed, resigned. “Since my husband died, then Uncle Gavin, Uncle Sam… it’s finally my turn, huh?”

I frowned, realizing she knew more than she let on. “You notice anything off in this camp?”

Mrs. Myers gestured weakly at the carnage all around, choking back tears. “My husband and the others… answered Heaven’s call. After they burned out, at least something remained. But a weak woman like me—there’ll be nothing left.”

She gave a bitter laugh and suddenly rushed at the main lamp.

Was this lamp oil really Mrs. Myers herself?

I was shocked. It was hard enough to find anyone sane here—how could I let her die?

I swung my bat, blocking her just in time. “Please, ma’am, tell me why this world’s gone so strange?”

“Why are Mr. Lawson and the others like demons?”

“Why did Adam’s mother, Mrs. Grant, die in the chaos?”

“What’s the truth? How do we fix it?”

I grabbed Mrs. Myers’s arm, blurting out every question, desperate.

[Rule Five: The truth is in the hands of a woman. She must never be harmed.]

Could this mean Mrs. Myers knew the truth?

She stared at me, then smiled—sweet, almost seductive, chillingly familiar. “What are you talking about? Mrs. Grant didn’t die in the chaos. You were starving, and she sacrificed herself to save the child. But it only bought Adam a little time. How could she know her husband was already nothing but ashes?”

I recoiled, but Mrs. Myers’s soft arms snaked around me. “Come on, Derek. Be a good boy and help me out, won’t you?”

Her hands tightened, inch by inch forcing me toward the flames.

I struggled, but she was impossibly strong, her words digging into my mind. The flames singed my jacket. In agony, I realized—

[Rule Five: The truth is in the hands of a woman. She must never be harmed.]

But what if she wasn’t the one the rule meant? She’d told me nothing—no truth at all. I gambled. Gritting my teeth, I drove the steel knife into her chest. She screamed, grip loosening. I hurled her into the fire. She didn’t scream again, only looked at me with relief. As she burned to ash, I turned to leave, but a voice called behind me.

“Not enough.”

I spun. Gavin stood there, ruddy-faced, sharp-eyed, next to a chestnut horse.

“To burn away kindness, courage, honor, and wisdom—what’s left is greed, anger, delusion, and hate. The Seven-Star Lamps need the rationality of ten thousand souls each day, or the purest virtue as fuel.”

He gritted his teeth. “Lawson’s kindness, Sam’s courage, Calvin’s wisdom, my honor—all burned up as lamp oil. One Mrs. Myers isn’t enough. That Mustang’s got more fight in it than half this camp. Toss it in, maybe the lamp’ll burn a little longer.”

I hesitated, eyeing the famed horse. “I want to ride to Carter’s camp and investigate. The Mustang’s fast—Uncle Gavin, lend it to me?”

Gavin just sneered, raising his old Civil War saber. The blade was rusty and blood-stained, but still deadly. “Last night, a million of Carter’s men were devoured by us. You didn’t know?”

His accent was pure Mississippi, world-weary and rough. He stroked the Mustang’s mane, the horse’s nostrils flaring in the dusty wind. Baseball cards and burnt lottery tickets littered the ground at the lamp’s base. I swallowed, the sense of loss crushing me. America had turned upside down, and nothing felt right anymore.