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“He let them go, so they’d have a chance. Not all of them lived,” he mused. “Some of them were already weak, or sick, or what have you. And nobody knows how much gas it takes to turn somebody, or how much it takes to kill. But my granddaddy’d already run a mile through the Blight, up the hill. He was already poisoned. ”
Unbidden, a thought rose in Rector’s mind.
Nobody knows how much sap it takes, either.
He did not say this aloud. Instead, he asked, “Do you think he knew he was dying? Your granddaddy, I mean. ”
Zeke stood between the rows, facing Rector—and backlit by the small barred square of a window that barely let in enough light to notice. Still, it cast a funny striped halo around the kid’s head; it made him look like a ghost.
“Dagnabbit,” Angeline complained from the main room.
Zeke sighed, and Rector shivered free from whatever spell he’d been under.
The princess continued to blaspheme. “The damn thing is sticking to his guns. ”
Rector and Zeke both returned to the main room, kicking up dust and bumping into things in the dull ambient light. Rector asked, “Where is he?”
Angeline shrugged, and said, “He’s staying outside. Maybe we should go back out again. ”
Houjin nearly agreed. He seemed fully prepared to agree, standing at the threshold same as before, holding the shimmering dead fish with a drooping arm. He began to say something to that effect—that he thought they should go back outside, and take another try—but he didn’t get the chance.
He was beaten to the punch by a long, hairy arm.
It whipped inside and seized him with a snatch so slick that, for a split second afterwards, nobody moved. No one was sure what had occurred, or what ought to happen next. One moment, Houjin was standing there with the fish and looking like he felt a little silly. The next, he was simply gone.
Zeke snapped to attention first. He barreled past Rector, and though Angeline shouted his name, commanded him to wait, he dashed out into the Blight-thick air.
“Come back here, boy!” she shouted, but she followed him, her net poised and ready for throwing. And Rector went, too, right behind her, because he didn’t know what else to do.
Out into the Blight they burst. Somewhere in the fog, Houjin began to holler, then abruptly stopped.
“Huey!” Zeke shouted.
“Houjin, where are you?” Angeline called.
Rector swung his head back and forth, trying to place the sound of Houjin’s breathing, or the rumbling shakes of the big thing moving—carrying the boy off, or doing worse to him. “Huey?” he called.
He shut his mouth after that and listened. He brandished his miner’s pick in every direction, spinning around and hunting any noise that meant the monster w
as at hand. He halted, sharp as a compass needle, pointing toward a thick spot in the Blight.
Zeke needed no further instructions, so he charged—but Angeline grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back.
“Don’t you just go rushing in,” she ordered, and some faint memory at the back of Rector’s head added where angels fear to tread. “I’ll go—you’re too worked up. Houjin?” she cried again, and nobody heard anything except soft, wet munching sounds.
Zeke tore himself out of Angeline’s grasp, twisting his body to unfasten her grip, and launched himself forward once again. This time he was too fast; she missed with her second swipe, and Rector took off after him like a sheepdog herding a wayward lamb.
“Boys!” she shrieked.
But he didn’t quit running, chasing after Zeke’s disappearing back. Behind him, he could hear Angeline on his heels; he didn’t turn around to look, and she quit wasting her breath telling the lot of them to stop.
Zeke zipped in and out of the gas, zigzagging around obstacles and pushing himself through the thick air; it moved like curtains, billowing in a storm. Zeke ran like a phantom, darting into the mist. It gave Rector flashbacks—nasty ones—but he shook them free. He shook Angeline free, too, without meaning to. Her footsteps disappeared behind him, and again, he didn’t look back. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to see, or why it would matter.
He had no idea where he was, no idea what Zeke was chasing, and no idea what they’d do when they caught up to the sasquatch.
Zeke wasn’t much farther ahead in the planning process, and when he drew up short, Rector collided with the back of his head, nearly knocking his chin straight up into his skull. Dazed, he stumbled backward as Zeke stumbled forward. He caught himself on a splintered crate, then bounced over to a wall and held a corner of it until the stars that speckled his vision could be persuaded to die down.
The stars died down. The Blight gas thinned.
