Tin Swift(13)

“Could be both,” Cedar said. “Or the Strange. Vicinity is just ahead and empty.”

Alun reached down and pulled a shotgun the size of a small cannon up at his side, resting the barrel across the brake board, where his foot was braced. “Suppose this town has a saloon?”

“Reckon it does,” Cedar said.

“Then lead the way! One thing about the Strange, they aren’t much for drinking. Should be plenty for us no matter the state of things.”

Cedar gave Rose a look, but she already had her gun resting across her saddle horn.

No need to warn her to take care of herself again. Girl had good survival instincts. And that gun of hers had gained a scope and a few other bits he knew weren’t attached to it just a day ago.

“You tinker with the gun?” He turned and followed the bobbing green bubble of light on Bryn’s saddle, Rose and Mae falling in behind him, the Madders bringing up the rear.

“Just a little,” she said. “Last night I wasn’t sleeping much and I got to thinking that the shotgun has a heck of a kick, and I could probably harness that energy and use it for a coil, if I had some copper wire and a spring, and a second barrel…” She pressed her lips together, then chuckled. “My apologies for rambling, Mr. Hunt.”

“No apology needed,” Cedar said. “Devising is a skill men hock the farm for. The wild sciences aren’t easy for most to comprehend, much less make practical of. You’ve a gift, Miss Small.”

“You’re kind to say so,” Rose murmured, looking down modestly and fussing with the metal trinkets in her pockets.

Mae was silent, swaying with the saddle, her face tipped up just high enough that her lips and chin caught the fall of rain off the brim of her bonnet.

Cedar caught sight of Wil moving through the scrub, following along cautiously. Wil had been captured by the Strange, used as a slave by them for years. He would know better than to do anything foolish.

Cedar navigated down the muddy path that served as a road into the town. He caught the scent of the Strange on the wind again, and again the odd tang that he’d last smelled on the Holder. Just strong enough to sense before it faded away.

They came upon the first houses set out in a fairly straight row along both sides of the road. The homes looked strong and weather-worthy and hadn’t fallen into disrepair.

But there was not a light in a window, not a stir in a yard. The smell of the Strange lay heavy here, like a low fog clinging to the ground, kicked up by their horses’ hooves. Bryn Madder paused where the road took a sharp turn to the left, leading into the heart of Vicinity.

Cedar pulled up beside him. The house ahead was situated so that the front door was visible. And so were the man’s legs across the threshold.

The man wasn’t asleep—held too damn still for that. Cedar smelled death and blood.

“Will you look at that?” Bryn asked. “Terrible way to let the draft in. Maybe we should roust him up, see if he’s breathing.”

“Maybe we should warn the womenfolk,” Cedar said.

“They’ve seen worse,” Bryn said.

That was true. Cedar took point and urged Flint down the road. More houses, none of the doors open, no other sign of people, except for the smell of blood and rot, and nothing and no one at the windows.

The town opened up into an area that had been cleared and flattened, likely for gatherings. They stopped there.

“Where do you suppose all the people are?” Rose asked. “I mean the live ones?”

“There are no live ones,” Cedar said.

“That fella laying in the doorway?” she said.

“Dead,” Bryn answered.

“Don’t think this is a place where wise men shelter,” Alun Madder said. “We’d best be moving on through.”

“Might be a thicket off east a bit,” Bryn suggested. “I’ll see if there’s anything to stand between us and the rain.”

“But we could find supplies here,” Rose said. “We need more than what we have to get the horses to Fort Boise.”

She was right. They all knew it.

Cedar nodded. “Let’s see if we can find a mercantile. Take what’s been left behind for ourselves, then check the barns for grain.”

“Might as well see if there’s liquor at hand while we’re at it,” Alun said. “For medicinal purposes, Miss Small.”

Rose shook her head. “No need to make excuses for me, Mr. Madder. I know you and your brothers polished off the last of the moonshine a week ago. And blew up your still.”

“All the more reason to restock,” he said.

“Would you help me get Mrs. Lindson into the wagon first?” Rose asked. “I don’t think she can sit the saddle for much longer and with dark coming on, I’d hate to discover she’d dropped off in a ditch come morning.”