“Aw, no,” Clayton said. “Only you and Tim made it?”
Was that real sympathy, or just acting? “Clayton, how many people know we crashed?”
“Don’t know, eh? We didn’t hear anything about it back at da mansion. Can’t believe you could bring down something that big without da whole island knowing.”
“Yeah. Real hard to believe.” She raised the gun and aimed it at him again. “When did Magnus send you out to look for us? Did you radio him and tell him you found the cows?”
Clayton shook his head. “You are really starting to piss me off with that damn thing. Magnus didn’t send me out here, Sara. I plow da road and groom da trails after every storm.”
Her whole body shook. Clayton was right, she might just shoot him by accident. He was an old man, for God’s sake. He’d been on the island long before Magnus and Danté and Genada… or so he said. She had no way of knowing who the hell he was.
“I’m da only one knows you’re here,” Clayton said. “Now get in da damn tractor before frostbite sets in, eh?”
It was only when Clayton said the word frostbite that Sara realized her fingers had stopped stinging.
They were numb.
She took three steps toward the Bv206 before her vision blurred and she fell, unconscious, face-first into the snow.
DECEMBER 1: 10:05 A.M.
SVEN STOOD ON his porch, Mookie in her constant position at his side. The salt he’d put down to melt the ice crunched underfoot every time he moved. Winter sucked up all other sounds, hoarded them and refused to share. There was never a time like the dead of winter after a storm, when you couldn’t hear anything at all.
Anything, except for the cows.
The new cows were making noises. Horrible noises, like they were sick or in pain… or probably both. Sven wondered if it had been a mistake to mix the strays with his cows, considering that his herd was a backup in case of main herd contamination. Still, the pregnant cows were worth a fortune—it seemed logical Danté would want them sheltered and cared for.
Sven trudged out to the barn, Mookie automatically at his heels. The dog seemed far more subdued than normal. Sven slid the barn door open and walked in.
Mookie started to growl.
That was a disturbing sound, because while the agile black dog barked at anything that moved, and also most things that didn’t, she rarely growled.
“What’s got into you, eh?”
Mookie shot into the barn, barking a nonstop rororororo at the pregnant cows. She ran behind them, between them, snapped at their feet.
“Mookie! Bad girl!”
What the hell was she doing? The cow with the white head and the black eyepatch stumbled out of the barn, driven by the teeth-baring dog. Mookie was trying to cull the new cows out of the barn.
“Mookie, goddamit, stop it!”
Mookie did not stop. She ran back into the barn and nipped at another pregnant, sick cow. This time Sven caught her coming out, his big hand locking down on a neckful of black fur. He lifted her high. She yelped like he’d hit her with a tire iron. The ear-piercing sound was her automatic defense mechanism, her way of getting out of trouble—the yelp always broke his heart.
But that didn’t change the fact that she’d lost it with these new cows. He tucked her under one strong arm and held her tight. Dog wasn’t going anywhere, and she knew it. Sven scooted in front of Molly McButter. The cow saw Mookie, turned and walked quickly back into the barn.
Once Molly stopped, Sven stayed back and took a good look at her. The cow drooped her head low until her nose was only a few inches off the ground. Thick white mucus covered her eyes and dripped down her cheeks in long, wet, smelly trails. Strands of snot and drool hung from the animal’s nose and chin, swaying with motion when the poor creature let out a long and mournful mooooo.
Sven looked over his own cows, content in their stalls. They seemed fine and healthy, heads up, eyes normal. But the strays… they were all in similar shape to Molly. They hadn’t looked this bad just a few hours earlier. Whatever the disease was, it came on fast.
Not much he could do but wait. Clayton would fix the phones soon, then Tim Feely could come out and examine the cows.
Sven used his one free arm to shut the barn door tight. Mookie’s tail started thumping against his hip.
“Oh no you don’t, you’re in trouble,” he said, but he knew that was a lie and the damn dog probably knew it, too. He set her down. She spun three circles and barked. His dog at his side, Sven walked back to the house, wondering what to do next.
DECEMBER 1, 12:25 P.M.
A HAND GENTLY shook her shoulder.
Sara didn’t want to wake up. A bed, so thick with blankets she was on the verge of sweating. Such heat would have normally felt uncomfortable, but at the moment she’d never experienced anything so luxurious and wonderful.
“Sara, wake up, eh?”
Her eyes fluttered open to see Clayton’s salt-and-pepper stubbly face hovering over her own. He was sitting on the bed. Tim looked down at her as well, a crutch under his left arm, his right hand holding a half-eaten chicken leg. Color had returned to his face. While his stitches still looked like shit, some of the swelling underneath had receded.
Sara sat up, reveling in the simple blessing of Not Being Cold. “What happened? Am I naked?”
“You passed out,” Tim said. “Clayton put you into the truck, then he drove us to his house. We both undressed you, your clothes were damp. Clayton was a complete gentleman, but I tweaked your nips.”
“Like hell you did,” Clayton said.
Sara rubbed her eyes. She looked over at Clayton. Her Beretta was stuffed into the waist of his thick snow pants.
“You staring at da gun? I hope so, because if you’re staring at my thing, Colding might get mad at me, eh?” He pulled out the Beretta and offered it to her butt-first. “You promise not to point it at me anymore?”
Sara nodded and took the gun. At least there was one person she knew she could trust.
Clayton seemed more than happy to be rid of the pistol. “Tim told me about da bomb. I knew that Magnus was a greasy pig fucker rolled in crap-corn, but I didn’t think he’d go that far. Where da hell did you land?”
“Rapleje Bay,” Sara said. “On the ice.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“And it’s just sitting there?”
“I think most of it melted through when the bomb went off.”
“I doubt that,” Clayton said. “Too fuckin’ big. I’ll swing up there and check it out as soon as I can. Magnus could be snowmobiling around anytime now. None of da trails go by Rapleje Bay. If he sticks to da trails, we should be okay, even if da plane is showing a little.”
Sara nodded. “Then what? What the hell do we do, Clayton?”
“We have to get you off da island. The cows are at Sven’s. If Magnus finds out, he’ll come looking for survivors. Phones are down, but you can’t keep a thing like that a secret for long.”
Sara remembered the monster that had slid out of the cow’s ruptured belly. “We have to tell Sven to stay away from the cows.”
“Stay away from cows?” Clayton said. “How can a cow be dangerous?”
“Not the cows,” Tim said. “What’s growing inside them.”
“And what’s inside of them?”
“Monsters,” Sara said.
“Oh,” Clayton said. “Well, that just fucking clears up everything, then.”