“the store owner said, under the sign that read DABLE GARDEN AND LAWN SUPPLY. He looked at the two great horse-drawn wagons; curious children freed by the lack of school buses gathered around as well. Chuck Barstow glanced up and down the one street of the little town of Dable; houses faded into farmland not two hundred yards from where he stood, and new leaves were budding on the trees that arched overhead. It was only nine o’clock, but there was a line outside the bakery and the little grocery... store. A group of men were pushing the dead cars out of the middle of the street, clearing the way. Several of them looked speculatively at the wagons, which made him nervous. The strong smell of the horses’ sweat filled the air; getting out of Eugene had been a nightmare—if you could call this out of it, since a ribbon of suburb and strip mall extended nearly this far. Nobody had attacked them—quite—or seemed to guess what was under the canvas tilts. He still shuddered and swallowed acid at the back of his throat, thinking of the things he’d seen in the dying city.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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