Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2) by TJ Klune Read Free Book Online

sometimes. Except his are all the time.
    “Go to sleep.”
    Bad Dog did. And somehow, Cavalo followed him.
    Until he was awoken a short time later.
    He opened his eyes. Bad Dog snored against his chest, his tail twitching against Cavalo’s leg. And from behind him, a warm body pressed against his back. Cavalo turned his head and found eyes glittering in the dark, a knife pressed against his ribs. Cavalo thought it possibly a dream. Surely it felt like one. The man and Dead Rabbit watched each other for a time. No words were spoken. For once, the bees did not make a sound. It was in this incredible silence that Cavalo realized he did not want to look away.
    Eventually Cavalo laid his head back down. He brought his hand up to the Dead Rabbit’s and pressed down. The knife dug into his side. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting. The scrape of the knife told Cavalo he wasn’t dreaming. The scrape of a kiss behind his ear told Cavalo he wasn’t sane. And with the breath of a clever monster upon his neck, Cavalo slept again.
     
     
    WHEN MORNING came, the town of Cottonwood gathered around them, distrust and fear in their eyes. They whispered to each other. They pointed fingers. They bowed their heads. They swayed like trees. Cavalo wondered if all they saw when they looked at him was blood. On his hands. On his face. In his teeth. Every part of him told him to run. To run and never look back. And when he looked up at the town around him again, he saw the blood on their hands. On their faces. In their teeth.
    They were no different. They thought themselves better, but they were no different.
    Cavalo glanced down at Bad Dog at his side. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. A low rumble came from his chest. Every now and then his teeth flashed.
    Cavalo looked to SIRS next to Bad Dog. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. He clicked and beeped. Every now and then his eyes flashed.
    Cavalo looked to Lucas on his other side. His posture was rigid as he eyed the townsfolk. His black mask was smeared around his narrowed eyes. Every now and then, his teeth flashed.
    They were the same. He thought they were better, but they were no different.
    Hank spoke. He said many things about power and water and Dworshak. About light and darkness. He spoke of their fallacies. About the blood on all their hands. Of the decisions made in the past. Of choices that had to be made in the days ahead. He spoke of who the Dead Rabbits wanted. Of what they would do if the town complied. About what the town would do if they did not. Of cycles ongoing. Of cycles broken.
    Alma stood with the crowd. She caught Cavalo’s eye once. Held. Looked away.
    The questions came as Cavalo knew they would. People could not live this close to the Deadlands and have seen what they’d seen without questions. Especially when it involved a Dead Rabbit. There was disbelief in the words as they were shouted. Skepticism. Even anger. Cavalo thought of mobs forming. Like a hive filled with bees. He started to dig his feet into the earth, cataloging those that would be the most immediate threat. They would be the first to fall, their life’s blood spilling onto the dirt before they even knew what had happened. It would be regrettable, but necessary. The sight of blood would either cow the rest or send them all into a frenzy. Either/or would do Cavalo just fine.
    He tasted the dusty tang of copper in the back of his throat. “Be ready,” he muttered to those at his side. “Be ready.”
    And it might have ended there, this story, with the spilling of blood and the deaths of dozens in this little town on the border of a radioactive wasteland. Humanity, after all, cannot always contain the rage within. The hive could have split, and a swarm of bees could have descended and crawled on the eyes of all those present, clouding their visions from nothing but death.
    It was close. The hive cracked. Voices raised. Fury spilled over.
    But it did not