We embarked on a three-way staring contest: Cormac glared at Ben, Ben glared back, and I glared back and forth between them. Nobody said anything until Cormac spoke, his voice cool as granite.
“You know where my guns are. You want it done, do it yourself.”
He walked out of the kitchen, to the front door, then out into the night, slamming the door behind him.
Ben stared after him. I was about ready to scream, because he still wasn’t saying anything.
“Ben?”
He started eating again, methodically cutting, chewing, swallowing, watching his plate the whole time.
I, on the other hand, had lost my appetite. I pushed my plate away and comforted myself with the knowledge that if Ben was eating, he probably wouldn’t kill himself. At least not right this minute.
After supper, Ben went back to bed and passed out again. Still sick, still needing time to mend. Or maybe he was avoiding the situation. I didn’t press the issue. In the continued absence of Cormac, I took the sofa. Dealing with Ben had exhausted me. I needed to get some sleep. Or maybe I was just avoiding the situation.
I fervently hoped Cormac wasn’t out shooting another deer. My freezer couldn’t handle it.
I dreamed of blood.
I stood in a clearing, on a rocky hill in the middle of the forest. I recognized the place; it was near the cabin. When I turned my face up, blood rained from the sky. It poured onto my face, ran across my cheeks, down my neck, matting my fur. I was covered in fur, but I couldn’t tell if I was wolf or human. Both, neither. The forest smelled like slaughter. Red crosses ma
rked the trunks of the trees closest to me. Painted in blood. Then the screaming started, like the trees themselves were crying at me: Get out, get out, get out. Leave. Run. But they hemmed me in, the trees moved to stop me, ringing me, blocking my way. I tried to scream back at them, but my voice died, and still the blood rained, and my heart raced.
It only lasted a second. At least, it only felt like a second. It felt like I had just closed my eyes when I woke up. But early sunlight filled the room. It was morning, and Cormac was kneeling by the sofa.
“Norville?”
Quickly I sat up. I looked around for danger—for blood seeping from the walls. I expected to hear screaming. My heart beat fast. But Cormac seemed calm. I didn’t see anything unusual.
“How long have you been there?” I said, a bit breathlessly.
“I just got here. I found something, I think you should come take a look.”
I nodded, pushed back the blankets, and followed him, after pulling on a coat and sneakers.
The air outside was freezing. I wasn’t sure it was just the temperature. After that dream, I expected to find another gutted rabbit on the porch. I expected to see crosses on every tree. I hugged myself and trudged over the forest earth.
Cormac stopped about fifty paces out from the cabin. He pointed down, and it took me a minute to find what he wanted me to see: another barbed-wire cross, sunk in the dirt as if someone had dropped it there.
“And over here,” Cormac said, and led me ten paces farther, along a track that paralleled the cabin.
Another cross lay on the ground here. Without prompting from him, I continued on, and after a moment of searching, I found the next one on my own.
I looked back at Cormac in something of a panic.
He said, “There’s a circle of them all the way around the house.”
The barbed wire had become more than a symbol. The talismans literally fenced me in. They created a barrier of fear.
“Who would do this?” I said. “Why—why would someone do this?”
“I don’t know. Do you smell anything?” he asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t smell anything unusual, at least. “That’s weird, I ought to be able to smell some trace of whoever left these. But it’s like the crosses just appeared out of thin air. Is that possible?”
“If these things are more than just a scare tactic, then I suppose anything’s possible. I kept watch all night. I should have seen something.”
“Were these here before last night?”