Confused disbelief swept over her at the bizarre sight, her jaw falling agape. “What happened here?” It didn’t look like a fight occurred. No weapons were out. No apparent violence to the remains. The neat table setting made her skin crawl more than any battlefield could. This wasn’t death in chaos—it was death by agreement.
Skye picked up a bottle from the nearby kitchen counter. “Poison,” she pronounced and set it down.
The cabin had run on electricity. Lark could tell by the style of lights, the ceiling fans, and the appliances in the kitchen.
“Clear!” Skye called. She browsed, opening cupboards, poking around in drawers. “Looks like they ran out of food.”
“But there’s plenty of game,” Lark observed, “plenty of plant life, and we passed a stream just a little way back. Surely they didn’t …” She stared back at the sets of bones, sitting at the table—silverware, ceramic plates, cloth napkins, crystal glasses—like a Sunday dinner.
“Yeah,” Luke said, striding into the room, his sense of authority tangible around her. “Could have been dyin’ with one of those dreaded plagues. Could have had radiation poisoning. Maybe the mom and dad’s minds broke, and they lost the will to persevere. I doubt we’ll ever know.”
Lark couldn’t conceive of any reason to give up.If forty years from now some scouts happen upon my bones, it’ll be obvious I went out fighting—a weapon in my hand, jaw clenched, and the bodies of my enemies strewn about mine. Not like this.A shiver shot down her spine just thinking about it.
“Didn’t find any meds,” Wes announced, “but I gathered up these electronics—a radio, couple of tablets, an information cube. I’ll put them in the Jeep to take back. Maybe someone can get them working again.”
A noise from across the room caught Lark’s attention. She nailed the beaver-sized, radioactive cockroach to the wall with a bolt. Its legs wiggled, a ferocious hiss ripping through the room, before it stilled. The others continued to poke around the cabin, Skye returning with a quilt, likely handcrafted with love by whichever of these skeletons was the mother. Maybe her mother or her grandmother had made it. Better for Navarro to take it than for it to rot. A piece of this family’s history with no one around to tell it.
“Diego, go grab our rations and bedrolls,” the captain directed.
“Roger that,” he replied, exiting the cabin as Walker reentered.
“We aren’t going to sleep in here, are we?” Lark asked incredulously. “With the bones?” She didn’t like it at all. While Lark, her family, and friends were believers of the New Religion, some marshlanders practiced a type of voodoo. Ghosts and spirits of the dead played a pivotal role, and she didn’t want these souls to become angry.
“Well, now, newbie.” Wes inspected her, head cocked, a hand on his hip. “I suppose you could always take your chances outside. Maybe a mutant bear scares you less than the long dead, but I’ll take my chances in here.”
Lark grimaced, glancing from the skeletons to Wes. She huffed out a breath. “I’ll go get the pigeons.”
Chapter fifteen
The Crossing
The team headed out at first light. Although the place made Lark’s skin crawl, no ghosts molested her during the night. Now, a slow, steady rain plagued Lark and the others in the roofless Jeep, her soaked shirt clinging to her toned body. Big or not, she wore her cap.
“I wonder if we’ll see a ‘drizzly’ bear today?” Wes’s deadpan drew a confused expression from Diego.
“What? There’s no grizzlies in the Smokies.”
Wes puffed out smoke from his last draw and hung the homeroll out the window.Doesn’t he care that it’s getting wet?
“No point tryin’ to fight the rain, Diego,” Wes replied with a wink. “It’ll just storm out on you.”
Diego groaned, rolling his eyes. “Those jokes are like light rain—they mist.”
“Do I have to make you two get out and walk?” Navarro gave Wes a hard stare, then returned her eyes to the road.
“It’s cooling things off. I won’t complain,” Lark added. She’d already sized up her crew. Wes was geek-smart, ready with a joke, unperturbed by circumstances, dependable. Diego, friendly and capable, treated her like a big brother might. Captain Moreau seemed always on duty, and Harlan was the quiet, observant sort. That left Skye for her to figure out. Competitive, but whether rival or ally, Lark hadn’t decided.
It doesn’t matter,she reminded herself.We retrieve the supplies, I get mine, then I’m out.
By mid-morning, the light rain slowed to a sprinkle. The road worsened as the grade increased, winding through dark forests laden with water droplets as fat as tears. The Jeep stopped. Lark glanced up in concern. A gust rustled the leaves above them. A hawk swooped low, as if eyeing pigeon for brunch.
“Bridge is out,” Luke called. He turned off his dirt bike, Harlan following suit. Skye killed the Jeep’s engine.
Twisting over her shoulder, she addressed Lark with business-like authority. “Tube and pencil.”
Lark fumbled in the box affixed to the pigeon cage, pulled them out, and passed them to Skye.
“Wes, umbrella.”
