The Host(111)

Jamie had a similar reaction. And then he started shoveling the food into his mouth so fast it seemed he didn’t have time to breathe. I watched him to make sure he didn’t choke.

I ate more slowly, hoping that I’d be able to convince him to eat some of mine when he was done.

That was when, with our minor standoff over and my stomach satisfied, I finally noticed the atmosphere in the kitchen.

I would have expected, with the excitement of eggs for breakfast after months of monotony, more of a feeling of celebration. But the air was somber, the conversations all whispered. Was this a reaction to the scene last night? I scanned the room, trying to understand.

People were looking at me, a few here and there, but they weren’t the only ones talking in serious whispers, and the others paid me no mind at all. Besides, none of them seemed angry or guilty or tense or any of the other emotions I was expecting.

No, they were sad. Despair was etched on every face in the room.

Sharon was the last person I noticed, eating in a distant corner, keeping to herself as usual. She was so composed as she mechanically ate her breakfast that at first I didn’t notice the tears dripping in streaks down her face. They fell into her food, but she ate as if she were beyond noticing.

“Is something wrong with Doc?” I whispered to Jamie, suddenly afraid. I wondered if I was being paranoid—maybe this had nothing to do with me. The sadness in the room seemed to be part of some other human drama from which I’d been excluded. Was this what was keeping everyone busy? Had there been an accident?

Jamie looked at Sharon and sighed before he answered me. “No, Doc’s fine.”

“Aunt Maggie? Is she hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Where’s Walter?” I demanded, still whispering. I felt a gnawing anxiety as I thought of harm befalling one of my companions here, even those who hated me.

“I don’t know. He’s fine, I’m sure.”

I realized now that Jamie was just as sad as everyone else here.

“What’s wrong, Jamie? Why are you upset?”

Jamie looked down at his eggs, eating them slowly and deliberately now, and did not answer me.

He finished in silence. I tried to pass him what was left in my bowl, but he glowered so fiercely that I took it back and ate the rest without any more resistance.

We added our bowls to the big plastic bin of dirty dishes. It was full, so I took it from the counter. I wasn’t sure what was going on in the caves today, but dishes ought to be a safe occupation.

Jamie came along beside me, his eyes alert. I didn’t like that. I wouldn’t allow him to act as my bodyguard, if the necessity arose. But then, as we made our way around the edge of the big field, my regular bodyguard found me, so it became a moot point.

Ian was filthy; light brown dust covered him from head to toe, darker where it was wet with his sweat. The brown streaks smeared across his face did not disguise the exhaustion there. I was not surprised to see that he was just as down as everyone else. But the dust did make me curious. It was not the purple black dust inside the caves. Ian had been outside this morning.

“There you are,” he murmured when he saw us. He was walking swiftly, his long legs cutting the distance with anxious strides. When he reached us, he did not slow, but rather caught me under the elbow and hurried me forward. “Let’s duck in here for a minute.”

He pulled me into the narrow tunnel mouth that led toward the eastern field, where the corn was almost ripe. He did not lead me far, just into the darkness where we were invisible from the big room. I felt Jamie’s hand rest lightly on my other arm.

After half a minute, deep voices echoed through the big cavern. They were not boisterous—they were somber, as depressed as any of the faces I’d read this morning. The voices passed us, close by the crack where we hid, and Ian’s hand tensed on my elbow, his fingers pressing into the soft spots above the bone. I recognized Jared’s voice, and Kyle’s. Melanie strained against my control, and my control was tenuous anyway. We both wanted to see Jared’s face. It was a good thing Ian held us back.

“. . . don’t know why we let him keep trying. When it’s over, it’s over,” Jared was saying.

“He really thought he had it this time. He was so sure.… Oh, well. It will be worth all this if he figures it out someday,” Kyle disagreed.

“If.” Jared snorted. “I guess it’s a good thing we found that brandy. Doc’s going to blow through the whole crate by nightfall at the rate he’s going.”

“He’ll pass out soon enough,” Kyle said, his voice beginning to fade in the distance. “I wish Sharon would…” And then I couldn’t make out any more.