Read by Cheyenne Wright
It was truly a wretched sight. They walked, little more than shambling, for it was the last thing that they possessed the will to do. Eyes grim, fixed and hollow, almost lifeless, they still kept on. Johnny Jones watched them go by, fetching up a silent prayer that Bryn was inside, resting, and wouldn’t have to bear the sight of them. His child was within her, so big these past few weeks, and he knew seeing this might drive her into some kind of fit.
The mules tripped to a sullen halt and the cart behind them stopped. At this, the slow procession came to life. One woman, thin hair tied back with a strip of burlap, and one little boy missing three fingers from his left hand, burst into tears. Weariness and exhaustion still bleeding from their eyes, the other women clustered around her like mother hens. The children only stood mutely by while the boy bawled angrily at the sky. Johnny ran forward. He was strong, he should help.
Today’s Sponsor:
Infected by Scott Sigler
