Chapter 62
I TRIED counting, but couldn’t concentrate long enough. Ten dregs? Maybe twelve?
Two Backs galumphed awkwardly down Main Street on Becky’s hands and feet, Paul’s trailing feet scrabbling to push them along. The boy with the smashed face staggered towards us, arms outstretched. Those bulging, misaligned goldfish eyes probably confused him more than they helped. The eyeless man made of writhing worms, paradoxically, seemed the most dexterous as he trotted across the street towards us.
And coming around the willow tree on the fairway between sidewalk and road, Nat Reamer, her worn-out nightgown soaked with sweat and sticking to her gaunt frame.
Behind these leaders, more broken shells of human beings.
The sidewalk in front of Jack’s bar, with the late afternoon sun burning in
