“The ennnnnnnd,” croned a wizzened roadside preacher in a braying nasal tone, “cometh to us all! We can no more escape the wrath of the Lord than we can hide from the sun. His. Judgment. Shall. Return!” Some in the crowded shouted in agreement. Some nodded sagely.

Olly peered out from under the brim of his hat, “You ever think them hellfire n’ brimstone types is right? Like they knows somethin’?”

“Shoot,” Breck spat, “They don’t know nothin’. The Creep done come back, what, half a dozen times? No big revelation to say it a’ comin’ back one mo’ time.”

“Yeah, but, sposed to be done. Fixed. Cured and stuff.”

“C’mon Olly, air’s gettin’ too thick round here,” Breck grunted rather than answer his friend’s doubt. He didn’t want to think about it, about the illness that had taken so many, taken so much from him. It had been three years since the name of Adelaide had left his lips.

“We skippin’ town?” Olly sighed as he climbed to his feet in the poplar’s shade.

“Not yet. We gots business first.”