The Influence(86)

“Hurry up,” he said, and quickly slipped his sockless feet into a pair of tennis shoes, not bothering to tie them before hurrying outside.

She was in a shirt and her own shoes, only seconds behind him.

Dave was standing before the fire, leaning on a rake. His face was obscured by the thick black smoke given off by the burning bodies, but Lita, a few steps back and holding a gas can, could be seen clearly, and her expression was one of grim determination. There were dozens of chickens burning in the pile, but there were dozens more scattered about the yard, their bodies unmoving. Dave reached for one with his rake, pulled it across the dirt into the fire.

“What happened?” Ross asked.

Dave answered. “We found one in our bedroom when we woke up—”

“In our bed!” Lita corrected him.

“It was down by our feet, all dead and bloody, kind of a Godfather thing. I don’t know how it got into the house; the doors were locked and the windows were closed.”

“You didn’t hear me scream?” Lita asked.

Both Ross and Jill shook their heads.

“I got a plastic bag, and picked it up and brought it outside,” Dave said, “And all these other ones were dead. Except for one weird big giant one I’d never seen before that was kind of walking around in circles making strange noises.”

“I’ve seen that one,” Ross told him.

“I got the rake and killed it, and then I scooped all of these into a pile, got out the gasoline, told Lita to get some matches, and…” He trailed off. “Honestly, you didn’t hear any of this?”

“We were tired,” Ross said. “From last night.” Before they got the wrong impression, he added quickly, “The chickens woke us up around—” He looked over at Jill. “What time was it? I didn’t even notice.”

“Two-thirty.”

“Two-thirty. They were all lined up in rows, like some sort of military brigade, right outside my window there, and they were whistling. A song. You didn’t hear that?”

Confused, both Lita and Dave shook their heads.

Jill began humming the song the chickens had been whistling, and just hearing the tune again caused gooseflesh to ripple over Ross’ skin. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Lita was frowning. “I think I might’ve heard that before. Somewhere.”

Ross coughed, the smoke starting to get to him. He and Lita both moved around the pyre to the opposite side, closer to Dave and Lita. “Are all the hens dead?” Ross asked.

“I don’t know,” Dave said. “This doesn’t look like all of them, but I don’t see any others around. Maybe they’re hiding. Or maybe they ran away.” He was silent for a moment, staring into the pile of burning bird bodies. “I’ll tell you one thing. If I do find any more of them—”

“You’re going to…?”

“Yeah.”

No one objected, not even animal-loving Lita, and Ross found that he was relieved that there would be no more chickens on the ranch. They’d made him feel uneasy for some time, and though Lita and Dave were probably planning to buy more with their newfound money, at least these ones would be gone.

They were all coughing now, as an erratic morning breeze pushed the smoke in first one direction then another. The stench was disgusting, and Jill, gagging, had to spit so she wouldn’t throw up.

“You guys go back to the house,” Dave told them. “Get yourself some coffee or breakfast. I’ll take care of this.”

Lita, carrying the gas can, started toward the Big House, motioning for Jill to come with her.

“Do you need any help?” Ross asked Dave. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“No, I’ve got it. I’ll meet you guys back inside when this is done.”

Ross followed the women into the house, where Lita kept the doors and windows closed to keep out the smoke and put on a pot of coffee. No one felt like eating, not with that horrible smell lingering in their nostrils, so they sat around the table, talking about what had happened, waiting for Dave to come inside.

Ross looked out the window at the black smoke that had now chimneyed into a plume that rose straight and high into the air, and could probably be seen for miles. He thought of how grateful he’d been to Lita and Dave when he’d first arrived, how happy he had been, after months of stress and insecurity, to actually have security in his life and a place to live.

Now it was all going to hell. And, as rational and unimaginative as he’d always considered himself to be, he knew that it was because of that thing rotting in Cameron Holt’s smokehouse.

Something needed to be done about it.