Read Online Shepherd Hunted by Christopher Kincaid - Free Book Online Page B

where he was now. Evelyn had found him and brought him here. He let his arm fall and lifted his head again. His gaze slapped the pitcher. A bead of moisture slid down the teal surface. He tried to wet his cracked lips with a metallic tongue.
    He slid his legs off the bed and frowned down at his feet. Blue veins webbed under pale, drawn skin. He wiggled his toes just to be sure they belonged to him.
    The world spun around him when he heaved himself upright. He stumbled and almost fell back onto the bed, and only willpower kept him standing. He shuffled over to the teal pitcher and collapsed onto the chair. Voiced hummed outside. They grew louder and more insistent. Timothy’s fogged mind couldn’t make out the words.
    His arms quivered under the weight of the pitcher. Somehow he managed not to spill any water as he poured it into the mug, and it took both hands to heft the mug to his lips. He gulped the lukewarm water, wondering if the deserts he read about so long ago enjoyed the rain as much. Smoke continued to stretch into the room. It smelled vaguely of cooking meat. He carefully poured another cupful of water. If I wasn’t so weak, I’d just drown myself in the pitcher.
    “Fire burns. Fire cleans. Smoke cleans.” A single voice drifted through the hole in the window glass. “What are we?”
    “Dirt,” a chorus said. “Promise breakers.”
    The room didn’t spin when Timothy stood this time. He shuffled to the window. The street beyond opened to a large area with charred remains of buildings. Their black bones resembled fingers wrapped around a fire, and the orange-red flames licked their chops. A few wagons waited a short distance away, and their tenders wore rags over their faces. People of all types crowded too close to the fire, peering toward a single figure standing on a burned out foundation. The figure wore simple black clothes and lifted white arms toward the crowd below.
    “This smoke cleans us. Smoke and repentance saves us. God punishes those who are not clean. We are not clean. God punishes promise breakers,” the figure said.
    Flames burst in a shower of sparks. The embers cascaded over the speaker like glittering snow. Smoke hazed the speaker. Timothy squinted. Who is that?
    “Burn the sickness from your homes—”
    “Prophetess, should we leave?” a man asked.
    The figure lowered its arms and looked at the crowd. Wind pushed the smoke away. Timothy spluttered and fumbled the mug as wind shifted the smoky haze away from the figure. Water ran cool down his chest. It can’t be.
    “Water cleans only after fire. No. Not yet.”
    “Water cleans only after fire,” the people said.
    “Soon,” Evelyn said.
    “Soon. Soon. Soon,” the people chanted.
    Timothy backed away from the window. What was Evelyn doing? He hadn’t just dreamed of her. He leaned on the desk. His black-spotted arms quivered, and his knees shook.
    His name drifted on the wind.
    * * *
    “Timothy!”
    Several people glanced her direction, but Kit didn’t care. She just wanted to find her fool shepherd and get out of this town while she could still smell something. Brimstone burned in her stomach from the constant stench. The blue cloth she wound around her nose and mouth did little the help. Humans were lucky to have such poor smell. The storm of smoke, fear, and disease threatened to overwhelm her.
    After three days of shadowing Evelyn and sniffing death wagons, Kit had had enough. Somehow desperate fools flocked to the woman. It took long enough for her to stop wandering the town . Of course she chose this place. Kit coughed. She was tempted to just leave Timothy and get out while her tail was intact.
    Only, somehow, the boy had become a part of her when she wasn’t looking.
    She followed another wagon. The drivers weaved through the clumps of people listening to Evelyn crow. A single white hand flopped with the lurching motion. Black sores the size of coins pocked the flesh. Coins were what the people called them. An