He shook his head not seeing anything but the brown bricks of the buildings around and the black asphalt beneath his feet.Turning around he kept going when something suddenly rammed into his back and forced him to the ground. "What the," was all he got out as he hit the ground hard. Pain shot up through his right shoulder and he rolled onto his back trying to see what had knocked him over.A pair of pale grey hands groped and grabbed at his throat from a mound of tattered cloth and fabric knitted together to form a make shift cloak. Dustin scrambled back, using his hands to push away from the grabbing hands. "Get off me," he screamed at the mound. A tuft of black hair popped out form under the fabric. The hair was attached to a pallid face of snarling, hungry fangs and mad red eyes. Hands raked down and across Dustin's arms forcing him to yell out in pain as dirty yellowing nails cut through his jacket sleeve as if it were wet toilet paper and dug into his arm. He could feel the sting. Our folks died, got a fever las' winter." Sorry," I said. "He treat you all right?"She was silent and hurried back to the wagon and her reedy singing before I could even ask her name.The third fair-haired girl, who might have been seventeen or eighteen, was called Lori and was, I guess, the prettiest of the three although they were all good looking people. I came and sat beside her on a stump as she and her younger sister rested between songs, hands primly in their laps and bonnets on their yellowish heads. I introduced myself and offered her my hand."You cain't help us," she said in an upcountry accent. "Nobody can." You in trouble?" I asked as her young sister watched us curiously.The girl nodded. "Bad trouble," she said. "He's poking Ginny aw'ready and says I'm next. Then he says he's gonna sell Martha's cherry and poke her too." Doesn't sound like what a preacher should be up to," I said, watching the man rant and wave to a knot of squatters in the twilight."Tain't," the girl.
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