The Starving by Jon Dobbin

Author:Jon Dobbin [Dobbin, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Engen Books
Published: 2019-05-14T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

I

They didn’t have a watch the rest of the night. Part of it was they didn’t think they’d sleep with adrenaline still coursing rip shod through their veins, their senses screaming at the subtle movements of the grass in the wind. The other part of it was that they didn’t think it mattered. The beast would come, or it wouldn’t. It would take them one at a time or all at once. It was a certainty, not an option.

There was some sleep to be sure. Sue had eventually nodded off, his head between his knees, and a stiff blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Weston thought he might have caught a nap leaning into Phillips during the night, a few brief moments his body had clambered for, demanded. And Phillips, well, Weston wasn’t quite sure, in his state, if he was either awake or asleep. Perhaps he was something in between.

The sun rose with an opulence of oranges and reds, cracking the gloom that had surrounded the woods throughout the night. Weston steadied Phillips and rose with the sun, his arms held to it in a stretch that produced more than a few cracks and creaks. During the night a horse had returned, Sue’s horse, that he had recently taken ownership of from the deceased Baker. It was a large brown mustang, a little too chubby, but smart and quick. It now stood over its new master nudging at him with its nose and snorting in his face.

It wasn’t long before Weston had found the other horses; none had much room to roam with the stream before them and the unnatural path behind. And so, they grazed in the tall grass and came back to the camp with no complaint.

Sue made breakfast and coffee as Weston took stock of what they had, but it wasn’t much. Weston drank his coffee as he called it out to Sue at the fire.

“Two rifles and ammo, three revolvers and ammo, coffee, jerky, and a pack of matches.” He took a loud sip of his coffee. “A small length of rope, an old flare (probably doesn’t work), some empty tin cans, the last of the ham (which you’re cooking), and this coffee,” he said and took another loud slurp.

“Plenty,” Sue said, turning the ham over the fire. He was squat down with his knees gathered before him, his chin resting on them, and yet he seemed completely comfortable.

Weston shook his head, “Oh ayuh. We’re practically bountiful.”

Weston took a good look at Phillips, still sitting the way Weston had left him, seemingly propped up by some unknown and unseen barrier that kept him from keeling over to his left. Phillips’ sunken, half-lidded eyes twitched as they watched the fire, but Weston doubted he saw it at all. He bent down and looked closer at his travelling companion’s face: washed out and sickly as it was, he hadn’t noticed that Phillips’ once bountiful, chestnut beard had begun to shimmer with a gray fading to white.

“What the

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