The Black Death by Aric Davis Page B

holding it. Flo and Free carried shotguns, and both of them had stuffed their pockets with shells, enough to finish a war, or at least that’s what they were all hoping. Trudging through the mud in the rain was terrible, and Matt wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this tired before, but he was ready to see things through, one way or the other.
    When they were able to make out some floodlights from the house, Free whispered, “Hit the trees—them lights are new.” They did so reluctantly. Only Flo had a flashlight, and they weren’t using it for fear of being spotted faster. One of the lights kept dipping through the woods and then back to the two-track, as though it were on a swivel that allowed the operator to turn it only so far. Matt would have figured it to be a mechanical device moving it, but its patterns were inconsistent, and with only the one light moving, it seemed it had to be a person doing it. Every time the light would pass over them, Matt tensed, and he could see Free and Flo reacting the same way.
At least we’re all on edge
, Matt thought as the trees thinned and the house was visible.
    Luther was sitting on a front porch that looked as though it had once wrapped around the house before falling into disrepair and partially collapsing. He had a beer between his legs and a cigarette behind his ear and was twitching as he sucked meth out of a pipe. The smoke was pouring out of him like water from a bucket drilled full of holes, and he was doing an odd dance in his seat. Ignoring Luther, Matt began to scan the rest of the property from behind an oak tree, being sure to duck back when the light headed their way.
    There was also a man behind the light. He had a cigar hanging from his mouth, some sort of long gun over his shoulders, and a pair of pistols on his hips. He was naked, aside from the weapons, and was even more rotten looking than Luther, especially from the waist down. His genitals were gone, fallen off as if he were some Turkish leper, and it was all Matt could do notto stare at the awful sight of him. Most oddly, his eyes were black, pure cobalt in the ambient light of the spotting device, but he had not gone feral, at least not yet.
    “What now?” Free asked, the sound of his whispering nearly making Matt jump. “What’s the plan?”
    “Is the guy on the light Bucky?”
    “The naked dude? No, that’s Evan. He’s a real ass-kicker, but to be honest, I never figured him and Bucky to be too close.”
    “Appearances can be deceiving,” said Matt with a grimace. “I’d say it’s a fair bet that Bucky is letting money and flake do the talking tonight. “You think you can hit that guy on the light with a slug from here?”
    “We can’t shoot without provocation,” hissed Flo. “It’s bad enough that we’re here, but I can’t abide killing a man in cold blood.”
    “I’m not much of an abiding guy, in any case,” said Free as he raised the shotgun and took a deep breath.
    Free pulled the trigger, and the slug hit Evan high in the chest, which made him fall from the roof, throwing the light askance as he fell. Reacting to the gunshot, Luther dropped the meth pipe on his lap at the same time the flake—or worms—began to ignite. Flames raced up his tattered pants, and he began to roll around on the ground, where he upset a canister. When it fell, the contents of the canister revealed itself to be some sort of accelerant, as first Luther and then the porch were covered in flames. Three men ran from the house, and one of them kept going around it, returning moments later with a garden hose. When he sprayed the fire, it just spread more. Luther had stopped screaming, and finally, one of the men noticed the light and then the dead man lying on the ground.
    “Now,” said Matt, leaving the safety of the forest behind him and walking toward the men. The flames were running from the porch to the roof now, and one of the men placed his hands atop his head, clasping them tightly in