I slept with my sword close that day, the covers pulled over my head. No one disturbed me, or at least, when I woke again the following evening, the room was as I’d left it. Lightning flickered outside, searingly bright for a split second, and thunder rumbled in the distance. If Jeb wanted to leave tonight, it would be a long, wet walk out.
Voices echoed through the stairwell, and I found the entire group downstairs, milling around the enormous wooden table that dominated one side of the kitchen. Ruth and Martha were ladling stew into bowls and passing them around, and a large bowl of corn muffins sat on the table within easy reach of everyone. Despite the feast, the mood around the table was somber and grim; even the kids ate silently with their eyes downcast. I wondered what was going on. Jeb wasn’t here, and neither was Patricia, but I glanced up and met Zeke’s eyes on the other side of the table.
As soon as our gazes met, he turned, grabbed a muffin from the bowl and walked out of the room without looking back.
My chest constricted. I wanted to go after him, to apologize for last night, but I didn’t. It was better that he hate me now; I’d be gone from his life soon enough.
Instead, I wandered over to where Darren stood, leaning against a corner and dunking his bread in his stew. He glanced at me, nodded and went back to eating. But he didn’t seem openly hostile, so maybe he hadn’t spoken to Zeke about what happened.
“What’s going on?” I asked, leaning beside him. He gave me a sideways look and swallowed a mouthful of food.
“We’re leaving soon,” he muttered, gesturing to the back door, where all our packs lay, stacked in a neat pile. “Probably in a couple hours, after everyone has eaten. Hopefully, we can get underway before the storm hits, and then the rain will hide our noise and our scent from any rabids in the woods. Jeb is talking to Patricia right now—she’s trying to get him to stay for another night or two, but I don’t think she’ll get very far. Jeb already gave us the order to move out.”
“Now? Tonight?” I frowned, but Darren nodded. “I thought we were staying until Joe got better.”
“He died,” Darren said softly, and my throat clenched in horror. “This afternoon. Larry went out to check on him, and he was gone.”
He’s dead? “No,” I whispered, as a growl of distant thunder drowned my voice. No, he can’t be dead. Not after… Breaking away, I ducked out the back door and headed toward the woodshed.
Outside, a few drops of rain had begun to fall, making pattering sounds on the tin roof. As I passed the barn, the animals inside were bleating and crying, and I heard thumps of bodies hitting each other and the walls, the scuffle of hooves on the floor. In the twilight, the woodshed was dark and silent. Several logs had already been taken to feed tonight’s fires, though the rain would drench the flames soon enough. I wondered if the rabids got excited every time it stormed.
As I rounded the shed, I saw the cage, and the body huddled in the corner, shaking. Relief swept through me. Darren had been wrong. Joe was still alive.
“Hey,” I greeted softly, stepping up to the bars. “You sure gave me a scare. Everyone thought you were de—”
Joe looked up, eyes blazing, and lunged at me with a scream.
I jerked back, and the body struck the cage with a chilling shriek, grabbing at me through the bars, its skin pale and bloodless. The rabid howled, shaking the bars of the cage, biting and clawing at the iron, its mad eyes fixed on me.
Sickened, I stared at the thing that had once been Joe Archer, at the once familiar face, now gaunt and wasted. His beard was covered in blood and froth, his eyes glazed and glassy as they stared at me, nothing in them except hunger. And my stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up.
Did I do this? Is this my fault? I thought back to the previous night, when Joe had spoken to me, had accepted coffee from Zeke and even made a joke. He had been fine then. Had I taken too much that he had died, succumbed to the infection? Would he still be alive, if I hadn’t fed from him?
I heard the crunch of gravel behind me and turned, hoping and fearing it was Zeke. But it was only Larry, come to return the empty wheelbarrow to the woodshed. He set it aside and stared at the rabid a few moments, his weathered face crumpled with grief.
“Damn,” he muttered in a choked voice. “Damn damn dammit! I was hoping he wouldn’t…” He sucked in a breath, swallowing hard. “I’ll have to let Patricia know,” he whispered, sounding on the verge of a breakdown. “Aw, Joe. You were a good man. You didn’t deserve this.”
“What will happen to him now?” I asked.
Larry didn’t look at me, continuing to stare at the rabid as he answered. “Joe is gone,” he said in a flat, dull voice. “We would’ve buried the body if he hadn’t Turned, but there’s nothing left of him anymore. The sun will take care of the rest tomorrow.”