For a moment nobody moved. Then one of the older Traders, a lady with eyeshadow streaked across her cheeks, walked to the bar, grabbed a cup, and held it out to Trent.
He didn’t know the woman. He didn’t care about her. Hell, he didn’t care about anything now except Jake, but it pained him to unscrew the cap from his container. With a trembling hand, he poured till her cup was a quarter full. Before the woman drank, he locked eyes with her. He thought to signal her—to warn her—but instead he nodded, inviting her to drink.
She might’ve drunk the water anyway, but deep down he knew his encouragement had sealed the deal. Sobbing, she tilted the cup back and downed the contents.
Seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
The woman turned to the crowd. “You know, I do feel a little stronger.”
Two lines formed. Along with Candace, Trent filled cup after cup. Traders drank in earnest, eager to participate in this twisted Kool-Aid ritual. Mick passed out cups, making sure everybody got one. He insisted they would get their families back. Tears spilled down faces as the gallon jug in Trent’s grasp grew lighter.
The last person in line was Berke Toyama. Her cup shook nervously beneath the near-empty jug. About an hour ago, this girl had protected Jake while Dad got himself captured by Werner. She’d kept Jake out of harm’s way. For that reason, Trent met her eyes. He offered the slightest shake of his head. His only warning. If she caught it, maybe she could save herself.
Instead she turned and lifted the cup to her lips.
Mick gathered empty cups with the eagerness of a waiter at a Zagat-approved restaurant. An older lady kissed his cheek before he returned to the bar and stacked the used cups. He leaned between Trent and Candace and whispered to them, “We’re heading to the creek now.”
“Already?” Candace asked, her voice tight.
“Trust me—you won’t want to be here in a few minutes.”
Trent’s tongue lay numb between his teeth. His entire body iced up. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to the creek. He could be killed on the way or he could discover Jake was already dead.
“Everybody, listen,” Mick said, facing the crowd. “I’m worried we didn’t get enough water. I’m taking my mom and Trent to the creek for a refill. Do not open the door for anyone except us, you hear me?”
“Will you three be okay out there?” a Trader asked.
“Of course.” Mick smiled. “I know how Snare thinks.”
72
Karl drove into Hollow Hills, pounding the horn and flicking his high beams, trying to draw the attention of any survivors. Ashlee sat vigilant in the passenger seat, peering out the window. He trusted their theory that the Traders had survived, but so far it wasn’t looking good. Beyond the snow-streaked windshield, the streets were foggy and empty. Nothing out there but the occasional crashed vehicle. Same story as I-81.
With the heater blasting, a nervous warmth flooded him. He supposed it beat freezing to death, but it made him nauseous. If everyone in town was dead, their plans to dam the creek would turn sour.
“C’mon,” he said under his breath. “Somebody run out. Call for help. Anything.”
“You say something?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just whispering prayers.”
Then it hit him. The church. St. Raphael’s.
During a disaster, people might gather there. Karl continued down the main road and swung into the lot. Light glowed behind a stained-glass window. He stopped and beeped the horn several times, hoping that people would start funneling out like after Sunday mass. When the doors opened, a lone man exited.
Father McKagan.
Relief spilled through Karl’s veins. He flung his door open. “You’re alive!”
“I am.” Father zipped his winter jacket. “Seems my prayers were somewhat answered.”
“We need you at the creek,” Ashlee yelled from the passenger seat. “We’re gonna build a dam and bully Snare into turning everyone back to normal.”
“Bully Snare?” Father scoffed. “Not sure if you noticed, but we’re on the wrong end of the bullying. Nearly everyone’s dead.”
“Seen any other survivors?” Karl asked.
“The Traders went to Candace’s house. I told Elaine Richards I’d join them after my prayers.”
“That can wait,” Ashlee said. “Right now, we need you.”
“She’s right, Father,” Karl said. “Pray as you go.”
They drove to Candace’s. The end of the street was crammed with cars, some of them still running. The sight confirmed their theory. In spite of losing almost everybody, there were dozens of survivors who could help dam the creek.
“How you wanna do this?” Karl asked Ashlee as he parked on a neighbor’s lawn. “Folks might be upset with you. Want me to test the waters?”
Ashlee stared out the windshield. In the past few days, he’d seen her angry, frustrated, desperate, panicked, and jubilant. But he hadn’t seen her scared. Not like this. No doubt she had plenty on her mind. If they couldn’t sell the idea to the Traders, they’d have a hard time digging a spillway themselves.
Karl set a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go inside and smooth things over.”
“No.” She stared down at her hands. At both of them. “I made this mess. It’s on me to clean it up.”
“We all made this mess,” he reminded her. She needed to remember she wasn’t alone. This wasn’t just her fight. Really, it never had been.
“Let’s go,” he said, and they climbed out.
Aside from distant car alarms, the town was silent. Snow had a funny way of quieting things. As he entered Candace’s yard, he squinted at the house. The living room window glowed orange. They must’ve lit candles. At the other end of the house, bright LED lights shone through sheer curtains. A silhouette paused in front of the window. Karl waved. The silhouette disappeared.
On the front porch he rang the bell.
Shuffling sounds were audible inside, but nobody came to the door. That worried him. If they were looking for someone to blame, Ashlee would be a prime target. He drew his gun.
“Ashlee, Father, step back.”
“Dad? What’s wrong?”
“Just a precaution.” He knew better though. The Traders might be in a state of panic. Especially after the trauma of seeing dead loved ones. Parents, siblings, children, babies—enough death could crack even the most stable mind.
He knocked.
“This is Officer Hudson. If you could—”
The door slid open on its own, just a few inches. He heard a strange gurgling inside, something like a wet hiccup.
Clutching his flashlight, he kicked the door. It flew inward before knocking into something. Karl shined the light at the floor. At someone. An arm stretched across the tiles.
Lying in wait.
Waiting to lunge.
Waiting to—
No.
Not lying in wait. Lying in agony. With a gurgled moan, the man rolled onto his back. He hugged his chest, gagging as he writhed beneath the shadows.
Karl knelt beside him. “What happened?”
“Creek…” he said, coughing. “Drank…creek water.”