37
Donald Wilcox was on his feet and at the window the moment he heard the din being made by the chickens, or at least as soon after as his arthritic knees would permit.
“What’s the matter with you?” Julie Wilcox asked of her husband, surprised by the suddenness with which he had moved. The pain in his joints made it rare for him to move with anything resembling speed.
“The chickens, something’s spooked them.”
“It’s just the storm, They’re always like this.”
Donald spared his wife the briefest of glances before turning his attention back to the yard, which was being lit by the lightning that flashed across the sky several times a minute. “They’re not normally this bad,” he said, leaning forward until his forehead was almost touching the glass as he searched the yard for anything that
