“Well, Mister. I don’t know you should be going up there. There’s a sickness running through that Camp. Y’aught to stay clear until it runs its course, you know.”

“Yes, I-”

“You a doctor, then?”

“A doctor? Well, no, sort of, but.”

“Y’aught to stay real far then. Ain’t that right, boys?”

“Yep”

“Well, what kind of sickness are they talking about up there?”

“Can’t say for sure, Mister, but Jim Rummy, here, he said he was up there a few nights ago. Up in those parts, that is and he-”

“I heard somethin’ I wish I ain’t never heard and never want to hear again.” At that, he shook his head.

“And what was that Mister Rummy?” Pierce held the bottle of Orange Howdy Drink in one hand and rested his elbow on the counter as he leaned in.”

“Well, it was…it was a kind of-,” Jim Rummy lowered his head. “Like…from the stockades. On our side of the fence. Sounded like…like someone. Or something.” Jim Rummey shook his head and tossed his hands in surrender. “Well, it sounded like birds is what I’m trying to say. Sad birds. Only there was, you know, more than just one. And I knew they was men.”

“There’s something going on up in that Camp, Mister-”

“Pierce.”

“Mr. Pierce. And by the sounds of it, we all here just don’t wanna know about any of it. Either they’ve all gone mad up there or…you understand?”

Pierce shook his head slowly up, then slowly down.

“Well, now, I guess you got your answer now.” He turned to Pierce and met his gaze. “Dont’cha now?”

“I hear ya.” Laughter broke out all around as Pierce popped the bottle cap and it clinked onto the countertop.

“I’ll never get used to them Boston accents, boys…”

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