The Garden of Darkness

It took them no time at all to leave Fallon behind. The rolling hills gave way to flatter terrain. Soon hay meadows alternated with overripe wheat fields. The heavy heads of wheat had spilled open, and Clare could see swaths in the fields where deer must have fed and slept.

They passed a field of withered, rag-brown corn, and they careened past a church and a series of small wooden crosses placed every quarter mile along the road. The first read ‘GET,’ the second, ‘RIGHT,’ the third, ‘WITH,’ and the fourth, ‘GOD.’

As they sped downhill, the wind licked at the sweat on Clare’s face. Bear’s tongue lolled and his jaws were flecked with foam, but he still had no trouble keeping up with them. Up ahead, Jem had raised his arms and was peddling with his hands in the air. He shouted something before coming to a sudden halt. Sarai almost rammed into him; Mirri swerved off the road; Clare skidded to a stop.

They were beside a miniature golf course. It was overgrown, but all the main features were there: the windmill, the moat, the sand trap, the alligator pit.

It took them only a few minutes to break out the clubs and balls from behind a boarded-up counter. They weeded the course and then played a few rounds. And it didn’t matter that the sails of the windmill didn’t go around or that there wasn’t any water in the moat or that the motorized alligators didn’t snap at them. They laughed and made up rules, and when it was Mirri’s turn and her ball almost made it to the hole, but instead hovered at the lip, Jem bent down and gently flicked it in.

Bear looked at Clare with his head cocked to one side.

“I would love to know what he’s thinking,” she said.

When they were ready to go, they carefully replaced the clubs and balls and then got back on their bikes.

“I wish we could do that every day,” said Mirri.

“We’ll come back,” said Clare.

But they never did.





THE ROAD BECAME windy and lined with trees as they cycled up a gentle but long slope. Clare thought of the dairy farm ahead—the long, low milking sheds, the rambling farmhouse, the big barn.

For some reason, she felt uneasy.

When they reached the top of the slope, they stopped. The farm was spread out below them, but it had clearly been abandoned, probably sometime before Pest. The house was almost a complete ruin, and, even at that distance, Clare could see that the land had begun to reclaim the milking shed. The barn stood at an odd angle.

“Let’s go back,” Sarai said.

“Come on,” said Mirri and hopped on her little red bicycle. “I just want to peek into the barn. Once.” She started down the slope.

Clare looked up just as some clouds covered the sun.

“This is wrong,” she said. And before Jem and Sarai could even get on their bikes, Clare was a blue streak rapidly gaining on Mirri. Bear was right behind her. They arrived at the farm in a dead heat. Clare reached out and took hold of Mirri’s handlebars.

“Stop,” she said.

Mirri smiled at her, and then the smile faded.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. But let’s wait for the others.”

“You were really fast,” Sarai said to Clare as she and Jem arrived.

“I forgot you’re a powerhouse,” said Jem. “I’m going to be very sore tomorrow.”

The rotting barn loomed above them.

“Let’s go in,” said Mirri. Clare noticed that the sun was getting low in the sky; they were going to have to ride hard to get home before dark.

“I’ll go first,” said Clare. Jem made a move as if to preempt her and then stopped himself.

“Sorry,” he said.

As Clare opened the door, Bear tried to block her with his body.

“Down and stay,” she said, and he obeyed.

The light in the barn was dim, and the air was still. Some twenty-odd sacks hung from the rafters. Clare assumed for a second that she must be looking at some farm crop drying. Then her vision cleared.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Now.”

Sarai and Mirri hadn’t had time to understand what they were seeing, but then Clare heard Jem suck in a breath.

“We’d better take a closer look,” he said. “Sarai, Mirri, you wait for us outside.” The girls did as he said without a challenge, but Clare saw Mirri look back over her shoulder. And she saw Mirri’s expression change.





CLARE AND JEM walked among the hanging bodies. Men. Women. Girls. Boys. Some marked with Pest. Some not.

“What happened here?” asked Clare. She examined a corpse with paint splashes on its hands and clothes.

“I think they helped each other die,” said Jem.

Clare raised her eyes. On the far wall someone had painted, in large scrawled letters, ‘NO CURE.’





CHAPTER ELEVEN





THE GOLD HOUSE





MIRRI AND SARAI were unusually subdued for a few days, and they didn’t want to go out on the bikes.

“I don’t like surprises,” said Mirri.

“Why don’t we go to the yellow house?” asked Sarai. “There might be good stuff there.” She turned to Clare to explain. “We passed this big yellow house coming in to Fallon, but we didn’t stop.”

“It wasn’t yellow,” said Mirri. “It was gold.”

“Yellow,” said Sarai.

“Gold,” said Mirri. “With a front like a skull.”

“A little scary.”