Eric listened to the screams as he cooked the last of the squirrel. The orange sky was draining into gray as the bright smear of the sun was replaced by the pale smear of the moon.
Another scream. Paige's husky voice stretched into a high shriek of horror.
He poked a stick at the squirrel brains as they cooked. They were not only edible, but they could be used to tan hides. That's what he liked about nature, it was so damned efficient. Nothing is wasted. The skin, tongue, heart, liver and kidneys-all edible. Even the cheek pads. The eyeballs contain a liquid that can be used for paints and dyes, or mixed with pitch to make a hard-setting glue. Behind the eyeball was a small piece of tasty fat.
Paige's scream pierced the air like a sonic boom.
And then there's the blood. Rich with iron, salts and other nutrients. Makes a good stew or soup.
He tore a chunk of cooked meat from the squirrel's rib. Some hunters claimed squirrel tasted like chicken or rabbit. It didn't. It was more exotic than that, as if it had been seasoned with rare herbs.
"God, please," Paige cried. Her sobs bounced along the deep crevice and into Eric's ears as he sat barely a quarter mile away from the Union 76 station. But on the other side of the ten-foot cleft. The crevice was even wider further north, spanning almost twenty feet at one point. About a mile south, where he and Paige had crossed on the way up and he had crossed a few hours ago, the rift in the earth disappeared completely. He'd looked over the edge earlier, but there was nothing to see but endless dark. He'd thrown a rock over, but he'd never heard it hit bottom.
Paige cried out again, her voice hoarse from abuse. It was a long scream this time, maybe ten seconds. Eric could imagine what Fallows was doing. He'd seen it all before.
But he wasn't thinking about that now as he pulled off another strip of squirrel meat. He wasn't thinking about Paige. He was thinking about Tim. About the look on his face when Fallows had shot Peter in the head. The lack of expression, the missing cry of outrage. Was this the same boy who'd once accused Eric of murder for overwatering the Boston fern? The same young face but with hollow eyes and an indifferent mouth. Eric wondered if he looked as dispassionate as his Tim had, as he sat there eating squirrel and listening to Paige's screams.