Aftermath by Bailey Bradford (most important books of all time txt) 📗

of them got agitated. “There’s plenty to go around.” Darren edged around the chickens and went into the coop, gathering eggs and placing them in the bucket. When he thought he had them all, he left the coop and headed back to the house. He’d put the eggs in used egg cartons and take them to Virginia, the owner of Virginia’s Café and his boss, who liked to use them while they were nice and fresh.

Since it was Sunday and the café wasn’t opening until eight a.m. instead of the usual five a.m., Darren had plenty of time to get to work and deliver the eggs. Used to waking at four or earlier, he’d found himself wide awake and bored out of his mind by four-thirty. He’d tossed and turned and even beat off, but had finally given up on sleeping in and got up at five-thirty. Now it was a little after six and he figured there was no reason to hang around any longer. Virginia would already be at the café, and he could go in early. She wouldn’t mind.

Darren loped up the porch steps and that creepy feeling ramped up in intensity until he couldn’t draw a breath. Hand tightening on the handle of the bucket, he pivoted slowly and scoured the area. Nothing. No one. It looked as it had every day so far. Darren inhaled and forced air into his lungs then shuffled to the front door. He hadn’t got more than three steps inside before he heard the pop of the screen door at the back of the house slapping shut.

The bucket of eggs slipped from his suddenly lax fingers. Fear flashed through him, settling in his joints, turning them to gel so that Darren’s knees buckled and hit the floor. Fragile shells cracked under his weight, warm wet yolk and albumin seeping through his denim jeans.

Dizzy with the intensity of his fear, Darren caught himself as he fell forward. His hands slipped in the mess he made, undermining his efforts to keep himself from going down. Darren’s chin cracked sickeningly against the floor but he didn’t notice it or feel the pain. All he could hear was the voice in his head telling him he’d been found and begging him not to run again.

* * * *

The ride through town usually brought with it a strong desire to put down roots, but this morning as Darren pedaled down Second Street, the urge to flee was almost overwhelming. His entire head hurt from the fall he’d taken, or maybe it was just the throbbing in his chin racing up his jaw line to his temples. At that point Darren couldn’t separate or pinpoint the pain, it just hurt.

The morning air carried a sharp nip, the promise of a North Texas winter in the wind. Darren wanted to believe that was the cause of the chills that kept pebbling his skin, but that pervasive feeling of being watched hadn’t left him yet. Darren had hoped riding down Second, which was parallel to and behind Main, where Virginia’s Café was located, would free him of the sensation but it didn’t.

Glancing around as unobtrusively as possible, Darren checked the nooks and crannies that were part of this small town. The buildings on Main were relatively well maintained, but one street over that was not the case. Older abandoned shops with peeling, faded paint were scattered between even older and worse looking homes, some of which looked dangerously close to toppling over. One of them was almost bare of paint and leaned so severely Darren thought a sneeze would bring it down. He wondered if anyone lived there, and if so, did they receive any kind of help? Maybe whoever lived there, if anyone did, would benefit from the plans for Mrs. Hawkins’ place.

He pedaled up an incline, grimacing at the burn in his calves. Having a car was a pipe dream. Even if he knew how to drive, he’d have to get a license and something to drive. It’d take years to save up enough for something decent, then there’d be insurance and maintenance—and gas, God, that alone would eat most of his paycheck! At least riding the bike might help him build up muscles. He’d always been thin, able to eat anything and not put on an ounce. Other people might have envied him, but Darren hated how gaunt he looked.

Darren pedaled faster, grunting until he reached the top of the rise, then groaning as the ride became easier. Maybe he’d start walking again instead, but he’d have to leave a lot earlier. Mrs. Hawkins’ place was a good ten miles from town. A gust of cold wind dispelled that notion—he’d freeze his ’nads off if he had to walk. As it was, biking was going to suck, but at least it wouldn’t take as long.

As he neared the corner of Second and Shire, the uneasy feeling grew stronger until Darren shuddered with it. It was unbearable and sent a surge of fear through him that seemed to settle in the marrow of his bones. Rather than stopping and looking for the cause of his intense discomfort, Darren took the corner so fast he nearly laid the bike on its side. A horn blasted from behind him, scaring a decade off his life. Darren righted the bike and waved one hand over his shoulder in apology but he didn’t slow down. He cut through the alley and steered into the lot behind Virginia’s Café. Only then did he pause to check the surrounding area.

Seeing nothing suspicious, Darren tried to convince himself it was only his imagination screwing with him. What had happened earlier in the house had unsettled him, but once he’d calmed down he’d almost persuaded himself he was overreacting. The solid wood back door had been closed, but the wind could have caught the screen door or some kind of critter could have pawed at it.

That didn’t explain why either door was