Free Dead by Dawn by Bret Wellman Page A

plague. Bodies were disappearing and the homicide rate had risen, particularly around people guarding those bodies. All of it was happening faster than authorities could keep up. Hell, it was happening faster than anyone could keep up.
    With all the extra crime, the mystery of his slain dog had fallen to the wayside.
    They’re sure as hell gonna remember when I kill the son of a bitch. He better pray he never steps on this property again.
    Now that he’d fed and milked the cows he was able to let his frustrations simmer. Things didn’t seem nearly as bad as they were saying. Out in the fresh air of his farm, he couldn’t help but think the stories were just from the radical news doing what it did best. Most likely somebody was making a mountain out of a molehill in order to sell more papers.
    Even so, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of unease in his gut. His instincts agreed with the paper, something was wrong. Whether there was a plague or not, that didn’t seem right either.
    He thought about Charlie and Rose and decided to give them a call. It would make him feel better to check on them, considering everything that may or may not be happening.
    He dialed their number twice and both times got an answering machine. Rose’s sweet voice came on the line, telling him to leave a message at the beep.
    He ran his hands over his stubbly chin as he stood there and thought. Rose never left the house much in her old age, especially if it wasn’t Sunday. She loved phone calls and would usually be waiting to talk his ear off. It wasn’t right.
    His next decision took no hesitation and little thought. He tossed his twelve gauge behind the back seat of his old F-250 and took off down the driveway.
    There was a two track a little ways down his driveway that cut directly between the two farms. It was bumpy and narrow, with fields of corn reaching out from either side. Joe took it and was pulling into Charlie’s driveway in less than two minutes.
    The ground was a lot smoother on the driveway. The truck stopped bouncing and he was able to go faster. When he reached the house he came to a skidding halt. The cloud of dust that was chasing him caught up a few seconds later.
    Joe knew something was wrong immediately. The front door was wide open, screen and all.
    He reached back and grabbed the twelve gauge before getting out of the truck. The blue sky hung over his head as he crossed the front yard. The sun was glaring and he was glad his hat was on to protect his eyes. The dog days of summer were making their first appearance and he knew he would find little escape from the heat for the next few months.
    “Charlie, Rose, is everything alright?” he called as he approached the door.
    The only response was a soft creaking as the screen door swayed back and forth with the breeze.
    The house was two stories and taller than it was wide. The siding was a grayish white with green shutters on all of the windows. There was a time when the house looked immaculate, but the paint began cracking and fading in more recent years. Joe was waiting for the day when Charlie would come ask for help painting it. He would try and pay for the work, but Joe would refuse his money. They would probably go back and forth for weeks until Joe gave in and took it.
    Joe got to the door and hesitated for only a second. There was a streak of dried blood on the welcome mat. It was a dark gray mat, but he could still make it out.
    Joe furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of the blood. It wasn’t the type of thing Rose would leave without cleaning, especially at the front door.
    He stepped into the house gun first, keeping his finger off the trigger. It wouldn’t do any good if Charlie came around the corner and he accidentally shot him.
    The wood floor creaked under his heavy steps. It was pissing him off that he couldn’t be a little quieter. Any crook would hear him coming from a mile off.
    He was praying to find Charlie and Rose okay, but a small part of