Free People of the Dark by T.M. Wright Page B

huddled in the darkness, and when I woke her from it—because she'd been moaning pitifully—she told me that it was a dream of hunger again. "But not the same kind of hunger, Jack," she added. "It's something else's hunger, I think. It's the earth's hunger."
    I smiled at her; I touched her cheek—my way of trying to comfort her, because she clearly needed comforting. But I could say nothing because I have learned from her that silence is preferable to the comforting but meaningless phrase.
    I hugged her instead. She hugged me. Eventually she stopped hugging me and went back to sleep.
     
    I t was some time later that night, several hours before dawn, that I was awakened by the sound of voices at a distance, as if a couple of moths were caught between the window and screen. I pushed myself up on my elbows, glanced at Erika, whose back was turned, and decided there was no point in waking her. I got out of bed, went to the window, drew the curtains. The road is a good three hundred feet from the house, and the night was nearly pitch-dark, but I found that if I looked up slightly from the level of the road, I could see random movement, as if people were walking there.
    I opened the window and leaned forward, so my nose and cheek were touching the screen. I could hear the chorus of voices more clearly and I could make out individual voices, even an occasional string of words. I thought at first that I was seeing a line of Boy Scouts on some early morning hike because there was a Boy Scout camp not far off, certainly within hiking distance. Then I realized that the line was too ragged, that the voices were a mixture of male and female. And after all, Boy Scouts probably said very little when they were on a hike.
    From the bed, Erika asked. "What are you doing, Jack?"
    "Nothing," I answered. "I'm watching some people out there, some Boy Scouts, I think."
    "It's cold, Jack. Come back to bed, okay?"
    "In a moment." I could see the people on the road more clearly now. There were at least a dozen of them. Some seemed to be on the narrow path which led to Martin's house. "Friends of the guy across the road, I think."
    "The Boy Scouts are friends of the guy across the road? What in the hell are you talking about, Jack?"
    "I don't think they're Boy Scouts, Erika. Not really. I thought they were Boy Scouts . . ." It looked as if one of the people on the road had started wandering toward the house. "Jesus," I whispered.
    "Come back to bed, Jack," Erika pleaded. "It's cold."
    "In a few moments," I said. "I have to go downstairs. I'm hungry. I'm going to go get a snack."
    "A snack?" I heard her fumble with the alarm clock. "You're going to get a snack at 4:00 in the morning?!"
    "I won't be long. Really. Just a minute or two." I closed the window—quietly, because I didn't want whoever was wandering toward the house to hear me. I drew the curtains, went down to the library, then onto the porch. But when I looked, I saw no one. And I heard nothing. Only, from above, Erika pleading for me to come back to bed. I heard the word "cold" from her, again and again.
    I pulled open the porch door, noisily—it was a very snug fit with the porch floor—stuck my head out, and said, "Hello? Is someone there?" I got no answer. I went out onto the porch steps. "I'm going to call the police," I said. "If there's someone out here, I'm going to call the police." Still nothing. I stayed on the porch steps a good ten minutes. Erika continued calling to me. I called back, several times, "I'll be up!" I didn't want to say too much, and I didn't want to stray too far from the front of the house.
    It was a very still morning, and it came to me that if I listened hard enough, I could probably hear the trespasser because no one can stay absolutely quiet for long. So I listened. But I heard nothing, and because the morning was cold and I was tired, and I longed to be back in bed, I started getting angry. " Goddamnit !" I hissed. "This isn't funny anymore. I'm going