Movement near the edge of the tree line.
Emmit stood still and alert like a frightened deer, staring at the swaying branches. Clods of wet snow were still falling from them. It could have been anything. The Links could have followed them back, could maybe smell them or something. Or maybe it was an animal, a deer or a boar, except—
Except you haven't even seen a bug since you got here. No bugs, no birds, no animals whatsoever.
That was Emmit's first realization that something savage and unthinkable was happening in Roy's secret shed out back, but he was too distracted by whatever had caught his eye to bring the thought to completion. There was definitely something moving, and it was moving towards the cabin.
At first, Emmit thought it was an animal, some sort of four legged beast that walked low to the ground. It came slowly out of the forest, followed by two more squat, trotting shapes.
Foxes? Wolves maybe?
The shapes were almost upon him before he could make out the fluttering locks of Roy's hair, and the glowing whites of the Reverend's eyes, bright and aware in their sockets of brown skin. They were approaching like soldiers behind enemy lines, hugging their weapons and never daring to stand. Emmit threw the cabin door open, letting the heat and a few stray cotton candy wisps of smoke out into the night air. The three hunched men filed past him one by one without a word, huffing and puffing with exertion. Emmit shut the door behind them and extended his uninjured hand to Pup, offering to help him stand upright.
"Can't... yet," he wheezed in his juvenile voice, swatting Emmit's hand away and falling over onto his side. "Lemme breathe, man."
"Christ on his throne," The Rev gasped, falling heavily to his knees. "My body wasn't designed to squat for that long."
Roy was winded too, long blades of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was showing no other signs of any weakness. He was standing tall and rigid, golem-like, as he surveyed the cabin. He swept his wild eyes from side to side, scanning every detail. Poke had dragged himself to his feet and was leaning beside the fireplace, one elbow propped on the small shelf mounted above it. Roy's eyes stopped on him, and the interior of the cabin suddenly felt much, much smaller.
"The fuck happened here?" Roy said, the silence following his gravelly voice deafening. "Where's Muddy?" His bear paw hands rested on his hips.
"Roy—" Emmit attempted.
"I WAS ASKING HIM, PISS ANT!" Roy roared, sending a shockwave through the room that made all the men jump. Emmit wanted to stand tall, stand his fucking ground for once, but his knees went weak under him. He shrank against the cool wood of the wall, hating himself for it.
Poke's mouth worked and wiggled again, and he spat another red wad into the fireplace. It hissed and bubbled on the glowing embers.
"Muddy didn't make it, Boss," he said with slurred words. "He started swinging wild and his spear broke. Links, man, there had to be a hundred of 'em. They got him."
Roy clicked his tongue, nodding solemnly and staring off into some imaginary distance. He swept his long hair out of his face, exposing his reddening cheeks.
"And the two of you, you couldn't help him? Couldn't smash a bunch of freaks before they had time to turn him?"
Poke's eyes fell on Emmit, and the corner of his mouth twitched just enough to suggest that a smile might be lurking there. Emmit felt his heart, thudding in rhythm with the pain in his hand, free-fall like a severed elevator car to the heels of his feet. He shook his head slowly, from side to side.
Don't you dare, Poke.
But Poke dared, and he did it; he did what he had planned to do from the start, and it had gone right over Emmit's bespectacled head. He couldn't blame his poor vision for this oversight.
"Muddy was hurting bad, Roy. He was screaming. Getting them riled up. We tried to get close but there were so many."
How could Roy not hear the fake emotion in his voice? How could he not see how staged Poke's performance was? Emmit had seen soap operas with better acting, and that was quite the feat.
The Reverend and Pup were transfixed, Pup's hand frozen in midair as he had been slicking his sweaty locks of hair back. It felt like the air did before a particularly nasty storm, pregnant with electricity and waiting to explode. Nothing breathed but the cracks and the holes in the wall, wheezing like asthma victims.
"I told Papa to run..."
"Papa?"
Roy gave Emmit the slightest of glances, and Poke nodded his swollen, leaking head.
"I been calling him that because he talks about his son all the time, Boss, and he didn't have a nickname yet. I told him to run, and he said to me, 'we can get them off our tail'. He took his hammer—"
"You are a fucking liar!" Emmit erupted, his legs suddenly like iron pillars. He stormed forward, his busted hand warped into an accusatory point that, although slightly crooked, was locked between Poke's eyes.
"I DIDN'T FUCKING ASK YOU TO SPEAK!" Roy boomed, and shoved one massive hand into Emmit's chest. Emmit felt his shoes leave the floor as he sailed backward, rag dolling back to the spot he had come from. "You two, hold him."
The Rev, whom Emmit had begun
