Their cart was packed to overflowing, the tarp from the Phillips’s basement covering most of their bounty. Gwen had created a comfortable nest with one of the camp mattresses to ride upon. A book lay within easy reach as she watched the town roll by. Terry sat on top of the baby dresser, a couch cushion padding his behind. Beside him sat a leather binder holding his precious pad of legal paper. He munched on the last of the ham as they trundled along. Loomis rode her horse beside them, an arrow nocked in her bow, eyes scanning their surroundings. They’d had no problem with the dogs since that first night, and she seemed more relaxed. Gwen pretended to read her book as she watched Loomis. When she wasn’t being an asshole, Loomis was really a sweet person. She hadn’t given Gwen any crap for being scared of going into the basement the night before, just acted like it was perfectly normal for her to be a chickenshit about descending into the blackness. The creepy vibe that had started when Loomis had shown such compassion for the Phillips family had reached its pinnacle by then, and Gwen couldn’t help being reminded of the grave so recently dug in the backyard, couldn’t bring herself to follow either of her companions down the stairs.
