“And don’t flatter yourself, bub—I’m not about to throw myself at your feet.”

He smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“Plus, it would seem a little incestuous.” She shuddered. “Seriously, gross.”

Night had fallen over the fields. Caleb realized what he’d been missing: the feeling of Kate’s friendship. As kids, they’d been as close as any two siblings. But then life had happened—the Army, Kate’s medical training, Bill and Pim, Theo and the girls and all their plans—and they’d mislaid each other in the shuffle. Years had passed since they’d really spoken, the way they were doing now.

“But I didn’t answer your question, did I? Why I married Bill. The answer is pretty simple. I married him because I loved him. I can’t think of a single good reason why I did, but a person doesn’t get to pick. He was a sweet, happy, worthless man, and he was mine.” She stopped, then said, “I didn’t come out here to help you with the horses, you know.”

“You didn’t?”

“I came to ask you what’s making you so nervous. I don’t think Pim has noticed, but she’s going to.”

Caleb felt caught. “It’s probably nothing.”

“I know you, Caleb. It’s not nothing. And I have my girls to think about. Are we in trouble?”

He didn’t want to answer, but Kate had him dead to rights.

“I’m not sure. We might be.”

A loud whinny in the paddock broke his thoughts. They heard a crash, then a series of hard, rhythmic bangs.

“What the hell is that?” Kate said.

Caleb grabbed a lantern from the shed and raced across the paddock. Jeb lay on his side, his head tossing violently. His hind hooves were knocking against the wall of the shelter in spasmodic jerks.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kate said.

The animal was dying. His bowels released, then his bladder. A trio of convulsions barreled through his body, followed by a final, violent tremor, every part of him stiffening. He held this position for several seconds, as if stretched on wires. Then the air went out of him and he was still.

Caleb crouched beside the carcass, lifting the lantern over the animal’s face. A bubbly froth, tinged with blood, was running from his mouth. One dark eye stared upward, shining with reflected light.

“Caleb, why are you holding a gun?”

He looked down; so he was. It was George’s revolver, the big .357, which he’d hidden in the shed. He must have grabbed it when he’d retrieved the lantern—an action so automatic as to escape his conscious awareness. He’d cocked the hammer, too.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” Kate said.

Caleb released the hammer and swiveled on his heels toward the house. The windows shimmered with candlelight. Pim would be making supper, the girls playing on the floor or looking at books, Baby Theo fussing in his high chair. Maybe not; maybe the boy was already asleep. He sometimes did that, passing out cold at dinnertime only to awaken hours later, howling with hunger.

“Answer me, Caleb.”

He rose, slipped the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, and drew his shirt over the butt to conceal it. Handsome was standing at the edge of the light, his head bent low like a mourner’s. The poor guy, Caleb thought. It was as if he knew that the job would fall to him to drag the carcass of his only friend across the field to a patch of useless ground where, come morning, Caleb would use the rest of his fuel to burn it.

* * *

45

By late afternoon, Eustace and Fry had canvassed most of the outermost farms. Overturned furniture, beds disturbed, pistols and rifles lying where they’d fallen, a round or two fired, if that.

And not a living soul.

It was after six o’clock when they finished checking the last one, a dump of a place four miles downriver, near the old ADM ethanol plant. The house was tiny, just one room, the structure hammered together from scrap lumber and decaying asphalt shingles. Eustace didn’t know who’d lived out here. He guessed he never would.

Eustace’s bad leg was aching hard; they’d have just enough time to make it back to town before dark. They mounted their horses and turned north, but a hundred yards later Eustace held up.

“Let’s have a peek at that factory.”

Fry was leaning over the pommel. “We ain’t got but two hands of light, Gordo.”

“You want to go back without something to show for it? You heard those folks.”

Fry thought for a moment. “Let’s be quick on it.”

Tags: Justin Cronin The Passage Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net