Over on the lawn, a number of PTA moms were on their hands and knees, laying out various items—zip ties and belts, lengths of rope and neckties. The church buzzed like a hive, bound children being dragged inside. Six-year-old Sam Miller’s grandparents carried him like a sack up the broad stone steps, gripping him by his wrists and ankles. Other kids bucked and fought, but they stood no chance. The Hosts were everywhere, tunnels of light bored through their heads, toiling away like brainless slaves.

The Dusting hadn’t affected some of the adults.

It had gotten all of them.

Entry 10

ENTRY 10

We stood there on the roof of the general store with the woods to our backs, looking down at our town. Rocky lowered his head and cried hoarsely, doing his best to hold it in. The dogs whinnied like horses, brushing up against our legs.

The horizon glowed with the faintest tinge of dawn. On the one hand, I couldn’t believe it had taken us all night to reach town. But on the other, it felt like the night had lasted a lifetime. Fog shrouded the road running east, out to our place and the water tower. A bull of a man emerged from the wisps, leaning forward, shoulders straining beneath a red flannel shirt. It took a moment for me to recognize Afa Similai, a Tongan farmhand who sometimes helped McCafferty during harvests. His eyes were gone, and his thick black dreads swayed from side to side, making the light tunneling through his head flicker. He strained, his hands behind his back, pulling something.

As he trudged forward, the object he was hauling melted from the fog behind him. A bright yellow pallet jack.

Our bright yellow pallet jack. The very one I’d used earlier tonight to move the bales of hay in the barn.

As the pallet jack rolled forward, I saw that the back was loaded up with fifteen or so crates. Uncle Jim’s dog crates, the ones we used to kennel the ridgebacks.

My dry lips moved—I was about to ask what the hell they wanted dog crates for—but then I remembered that steamer trunk in Alex’s bedroom. The one she’d been locked inside.

They needed cages to hold the kids.

Afa continued across the square into the church. The front courtyard was littered with trunks and cages of many sizes, all of them big enough to hold a child.

Patrick’s and Alex’s expressions made it clear that they’d seen it, too. Instinctively, I reached out for JoJo’s hand, and she clutched my fingers, hard. Rocky grabbed the union of our hands as well. He’d been pretty tough all night, but he was still only ten.