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Walt returns. “Don’t see ’em. So far, so good. Why are you here? What did you see? Where did you go?”
He’s still carrying the shotgun, now down at his side. I should make a move to disarm him, but I’ve dealt with his kind of scary strength before. It won’t be easy. And for the moment at least—when we are part of Us, hiding out from Them—maybe it’s better to play along.
“They were chasing us,” I say vaguely. “Our ATV ran out of gas. We ran here for help.”
Walt nods somberly, as if this makes perfect sense. “Mountains are no place for a girl,” he says seriously. “Not even one with a boyfriend. These are dangerous times. Daytime’s hard enough. Don’t get caught out after dark.”
“What happens after dark?” Keith asks.
“The hills come alive,” Walt whispers. “It ain’t safe. T’ain’t safe at all.” He stares at me so hard I have to resist the urge to fidget. Slowly, he reaches out an age-spotted hand, as if to brush my cheek. Or assure himself that I’m real and not some ghost from his past. I recoil automatically, hitting the box behind me and sending half the room’s contents tumbling to the floor like a chain of dominoes.
Keith belatedly tries to right whatever he can reach. I’m still staring at Walt Davies, who I swear has tears in his eyes.
“It don’t matter,” he says, as Keith tries to pick up. “I’ll get to it later. Gives me something to do at night.”
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“My whole life.”
“You have any family?”
“Had a sister. Gone now. Had a woman. Son. Gone, too. These woods aren’t safe.”
“Is that why you have all the new spotlights?”
“Can’t be too careful.”
“When was the last time you saw Them?” I venture now. “They approached your property?”
Walt narrows his eyes at me. There’s a particular kind of cunning there. Once more: a dreadful feeling of déjà vu.
“Why should I tell you?”
“I’m dead?”
Now there’s no denying it: Walt Davies’s rheumy eyes fill with tears. Two track down his bristly cheeks. “I came back for you,” he says hoarsely. “I swear it!”
Before I can even think it through, I say: “I know.” I don’t understand what he’s telling me, but his agitation pains me. “I should’ve waited for you.”
“I made a promise. I meant to keep it.”
“Mr. Davies,” Keith speaks up, “what’s in the barn? I couldn’t help noticing... that’s quite some lock.”
“Why? What’d ya hear?” That fast, the cunning is gone, replaced by rampant paranoia.
“I, um, I’m wondering if that might be a safer place to, uh, you know, hide. From Them.”
“You know, don’tcha? Someone talked, someone told. You want what I have.” Before either of us can blink, the shotgun is pointed at Keith’s chest. “You can’t have it!”
“Please, Walt, please!” I place my hand on his arm without thinking, making my voice as high and feminine as possible. It works, his attention pinging back to me. I am someone to him. I’m not sure who. Sister, wife, girlfriend? But I am someone important, maybe even someone he loved, now back from the dead.
The most basic tenet of survival: Use what you’ve got.
“I’m scared...” I whisper. I feel like the scantily clad heroine in a slasher film. Walt focuses entirely on me, while Keith draws a ragged breath.
“It’s so dark in here,” I continue. “I don’t like the dark.”
Walt hesitates, shotgun still pointed at Keith, but his attention on my face. I can’t read any of the thoughts running through his sad eyes, across his hollow cheeks. I wonder how long ago his woman and child left. How long he’s been alone on this giant property, stringing barbed wire, hanging floodlights, and waiting for the mountains to attack.
