Twitch and Die!

Ch.7: New York Hill

The caravan of donkeys didn’t near the edge of the lake until New York Hill crowded the shore, pinching the flatland to a narrow strip. A quarter mile shy of the water the animals fought their reins, determined to head uphill despite Angelo’s reprimands. A hundred yards from the shore, Angelo’s donkey sat down and brayed, the harsh sound twice as loud amidst the threatening darkness.

Angelo swore in Italian and leapt off the animal’s back. Landing unevenly, he stumbled. Hundreds of hooves buried in oozing mud had left craters inches deep and now frozen. Chancho spotted a dark lump yards further ahead. “Mi amigo, I think your donkey spotted something the rest of us did not.”

Angelo stopped short of whipping the animal and squinted into the dark. “A herd of cattle? They would not bed down in de mud.”

“A sick one came down for a drink and got stuck,” Starr offered. “Probably half-rotten. Used to happen every now and then back home.”

Angelo stepped closer. “It sure does stink bad enough.”

“There’s more than one.” As Chancho’s eyes adjusted to the distance, dozens of dark mounds littered the way before them. “I’m afraid there’s many more.”

Chloe stated what the others had been loath to accept. “The plague. It affects animals too.”

“Santa Maria.” Angelo danced backwards, tripping on the rough surface. “The donkeys are right. Up de hill.” He clucked in his animal’s ear and the donkey stood. “Hup, hup.” Back in the saddle, he turned the animal and led the party up the hill, making as many switchbacks as they needed. “Spiacente ragazza,” he patted the donkey. “I should have known you always know better than ole Angel.”

Fifteen minutes later, they dismounted a hundred yards shy of the outermost homes on top of New York Hill. With no moon and no stars, even the large, two-story Craftsmans barely stood out against the night sky. Teasing the senses, the whole settlement seemed a mirage dancing in and out of vision.

The eerie sight bristled the hair on Chancho’s neck. “There’s not a single light, not a lamp. Nothing.” He led his donkey next to Angelo’s. “Shouldn’t there be electricity here?”

“Even for de miner there is always electricity in Thurber; gas too.”

“Maybe there’s a curfew due to the outbreak,” Chloe offered.

“Along with lights out?”

“Nah.” Angelo pinched a nostril and blew snot on the ground. “The rich would pay no attention even for de curfew. They would feel it did not apply. A night like this,” he wiped the back of his hand on his pants, “they would burn every lamp on high just to rub it in.”

“What do you think, mi amigo?”

“Let us a tie up de donkeys and take a closer look. I do not think anybody is home, and besides, I have always wanted to see de inside of one of these fancy flytraps.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Starr stopped him. “Considering?”

“What? The plague? It sleeps outside as well as in. No reason I cannot be comfortable.”

Chancho couldn’t fault Angelo’s logic, but he also couldn’t shake the memory of Marcello bursting from the bedroom. “If anyone hears a thing, we fall back here without a word. Trust me, mis amigos, if there are sick here, it’s best we don’t disturb them.” With those words they followed Angelo’s lead.

Chloe worked her way over to Chancho and took his hand. “Maybe there was an evacuation?”

Chancho squeezed back. “Of the wealthy. I wondered the same thing.”