Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Put me down on the other side,” I tell him, indicating the fence and far side where the grass is growing tall. Murr gently lowers me to the ground, the cattle fleeing as far from us as possible. The chorus of panicked sounds is terrible to hear, and I wince as I start walking along the fence line, looking for an opening. “Maybe shift to your human form for now?”
Murr switches, moving to my side. He puts a hand on the thick metal stake, wrapped in barbed wire that has been bent but not broken. “Want pull up fence?”
“I do, but it’s easier if we find a gate, I think? There’s got to be one around here somewhere. You go that way, and I’ll go this way.” I point north and indicate he should head south.
“Yell if need Murr,” he says to me.
“I will!”
I jog along the length of the fence, and my jogging eventually slows to a walk. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I had no idea that farms were so…big. This fence seems to go on forever, the pasture endless, and I wonder if it was a bad idea to let Murr leave. We should have flown over more, but antagonizing the poor cattle seemed like a cruel decision.
The fence eventually comes to a sharp ninety-degree angle, cutting west instead of north. Up ahead, there’s a hill and a bunch of rotted hay bales that have turned into a shapeless lump. Beyond that, I see the faded red metal walls of what looks like a huge barn.
Jack-fucking-pot.
Excited, I climb over the fence, get my jeans all torn up by the shitty-ass barbed wire, and flop on the other side. I pick myself up off the dirt, brush off my pride, and race up the hill to the barn. Part of the metal roof has peeled off and fallen in the surrounding yard, but I can see a wide-open barn door and head straight for it.
Inside is a mess of debris, dirt and dead leaves and trash that’s blown in over the years. It crunches as I step over it, heading deeper inside. There are several stalls with wooden doors, all of them hanging open, and there’s an area at the far end with feed buckets and what look like a few saddles. A broken-down ATV is in the corner with four flat tires.
And there’s a door behind all of this.
Practically shaking with excitement, I try the doorknob. It’s dusty—a good sign—but doesn’t turn. Locked. I pull a flathead screwdriver from my pack and get to work, removing the doorknob from the door itself. I’m finally able to push the door open and…
Disappointment.
There’s a chair in here, an old desk, a file cabinet and the world’s oldest CRT computer monitor. A fine layer of dust covers everything. A few artful prints of cattle hang on the wall across from me, and I want to cry with defeat.
I wanted animal drugs, not some farm’s bookkeeping equipment.
But I’m a scavenger above all else. Even when I’m disappointed, I still check everything. So I sit down in the chair and start opening drawers. There’s got to be something useful in here somewhere. The top drawer doesn’t have paperclips or books, but plastic disposable gloves. That’s a good sign.
The second drawer at the desk is twice as deep, and when I open it up, I see white box after skinny white box of tubes. Ivermectin. Terramycin. Banamine. I shove them all into my bag. No idea what they do, but I can ask Samir.
At the very bottom of the drawer, I spot a square box with lettering on it.
Tylosin. Injectable antibiotic.
Hell yes. Even if this isn’t fit for people, maybe someone at the fort can use it? Either way, we’ve got something to trade.
When I get home, I’m going to kiss Aggie on both cheeks and never say a bad thing about her wigs ever again.
CHAPTER 99
DAKOTA
I’m so excited to return with the bounty I’ve found. My backpack is heavy with cattle medication, and when I go home, I can look up the medications and see if they can be used by humans. Even if they can’t, maybe we can still trade them. It feels like I hit the jackpot either way. Holding the straps of my backpack tight, I leave the back office in the stable and head out, dodging open stalls and piles of unnamable debris.
Stepping toward the barn doors, I’m almost outside when I hear something heavy moving behind me. There’s a clank and a scrape against wood, and I automatically turn, assuming it’s Murr.
It’s not.
Directly across from me is the biggest bull I’ve ever seen. I cry out, startled, and the thing locks on to me.
It’s a longhorn, I realize—one of those cattle with the enormously oversized horns. The bull itself probably weighs two thousand pounds and it’s almost as tall as I am. Each horn is probably the length of my arm, and he’s got a tarnished ring hanging from his nose.