“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Jamie said, reaching forward to set a hand on the man’s shoulder. “He died protecting your son.”
“He didn’t deserve it,” Arnold mumbled.
“No one deserves to die, Arnold. No one.”
Jamie stepped back. He cast a glance back at Steve, Ian and Desmond, but didn’t say anything to them. Instead, he gestured Kevin and his boys to stand before leading them to the door. “It’s not much,” he said, “but you can have the house on the far end.”
“What?” Kevin asked.
“The third house, the one with the coral roof. It’s yours.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“You opened your home to us.We’re offering the same. I’m not turning you away, especially not with your children. There isn’t enough room here and the second house doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to Erik.”
“Where is he?”
“Lying down. He’s been sick for the past week. Migraine headaches.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Give him my best.”
“I will.” Jamie smiled. “The key’s under the rock by the door. And we’ve already searched it. It’s safe.”
“Thank you, Jamie. Such kindness means a lot to me.”
Jamie reached forward, took the man’s hand in his, then brought him forward into a brief embrace. Kevin gave one final nod before exiting out the door with his sons.
“That’s the guy you stayed with while you were in Minnesota?” Ian asked.
“Yeah,” Desmond said. “His oldest son was my age.”
“He got bit by his horse,” Dakota sighed.
“His horse?” Steve frowned.
“Horses don’t carry it,” Ian added.
“They don’t carry it,” Dakota said. “They carry something.”
“What are you talkin’ about, kid?”
“The way he explained it to me was that his horse had been acting strange. They’d been away from the cabin for a while, so he was worried that the neighbor who came to check on his horse wouldn’t be around. When they got there, the horse was swaying and acting…well, sick. When he tried to put her in the barn, she bit him. He didn’t think it was anything serious until the skin started to turn black.”
“He never told his dad?”
“No. He wasn’t bit by a zombie, so he didn’t think it was that serious. For all he knew, it could’ve been bruising.”
“Still not the best way to go about it,” Steve pointed out, kicking his foot up on the coffee table.
“No,” Dakota sighed, “it wasn’t. Jessiah got really sick near the end. I asked Jamie if we could leave because I wasn’t comfortable being around someone so ill.”
“Which isn’t your fault,” Jamie said, closing the front door. “When you told me about it, I didn’t feel comfortable being there either.”
“So we can trust them?” a voice from the hall asked. Dakota found Erik standing in the threshold, jeans hanging from his skinny waist and a cigarette from his lips. “Can I smoke in here, Jamie?”
“I don’t care,” Jamie said, “but to answer your question, yes, we can trust him.”
“Jessiah said he killed a man and his girlfriend who tried to steal food from them,” Dakota said, “but that was because the guy drew a knife on one of his sons.”
“Which is completely understandable given the circumstance. I know I’d shoot someone if they pulled a knife on my kid.”
“I only heard a little of it,” Erik said, “but he seems…disoriented.”
“He just lost his kid and his friend, Erik. Of course he’s going to be disoriented.”
“Just watch him, ok? And lock the door at night. He may be a friend to you, but he’s still a stranger to us.”
“He’s not gonna do anything,” Jamie sighed. “Especially not with two kids.”
“People act reckless nowadays. You know that.” Erik stepped into the room, took a drag off his cigarette, then settled into one of the reclining armchairs and leaned back into it. All eyes settled on him. “What?” Erik laughed.
“You’re feeling better,” Jamie smiled.
“I feel better, yes.”
“Is your headache gone?”
“For the most part.”
“We’re gonna send someone up the road to take the door off Mr. Barnsby’s old woodshed. We need the hinges for the gate.”
“I’ll go.”
“Me and Dakota are going,” Steve said. “Right, Dakota?”
“Right,” Dakota said, deciding it would be best to go along with the plan rather than question it.
“I’ll go too,” Erik said. “I can help.”
“You need your rest,” Jamie said. “I don’t want you trying to do something only to end up back in bed with another headache.”
“Quit stressing over what I’m going through, Jamie. See? Look.” Erik stood and spun in a slow circle, spreading his arms and strumming his fingers. “I wouldn’t be able to spin if I still had a headache.”
“But it’s not as bright in here as it is out there.”
“I’m not staying trapped in this house.”
“You don’t have to be trapped. I just don’t want you going with them.”
Erik stopped strumming his fingers, his arms fell at his side and his eyes narrowed. At that moment, Dakota thought he could’ve been a snake, a wicked viper with its fangs extended and venom coursing through its veins.
Uh oh.
“It’s nothing personal, Erik. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Fuck you, Jamie. Seriously—fuck you.”
Erik turned, made his way into the hall, and slammed the door to Jamie’s old room behind him.
“Someone’s in a mood,” Steve chuckled.
“He’s still sick,” Jamie sighed. “Give him a day or two. He’ll come around.”
Dakota sure hoped so.
They made their way down the road with their guns drawn and their eyes set ahead. Spaced five feet apart, both to afford themselves two distinct viewpoints and to protect each other from any possible threats, Dakota raised his hand to suppress a sneeze, then pointed at a house near the very end of the road.
“See that?” he asked.
“I see it,” Steve said, fingering the safety on his gun. “Why do you ask?”
“I have a weird feeling.”
“Bad, or just weird?”
“Just weird…for now.”
Great, now I’m getting the heebie-jeebies. Get a hold of yourself, Dakota thought, shaking his head and steeling his nerves. Now look what you’ve done—you’ve freaked yourself out.
“Not my fault,” he mumbled aloud.
“What did you say?” Steve asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
About the molehill that’s just become a mountain.
Choosing not to reply, Dakota stepped up onto the sidewalk and continued to make his way toward the house that held the storage shed, taking extra care not to linger too close to the houses or the picket fences that separated them. To think that you would ever have to worry about getting too close to a harmless picket fence was impossible, comparable to a queen crossing the road in only her hosiery and sneakers. But the blood that tipped the perfect little spikes of the fences spelled fear like jagged nails on a chalkboard.
Blood used to be nothing more than a driving source that fueled the human body. In this day and age, touching it meant a fate worse than death.