Snareville by David Youngquist Page A

welcome to put yours up here.”
    Cori moved first to untack her horse, and the kids followed suit. After a quick rubdown, the four turned their mounts out into the field. The horses, relieved of their saddles for the first time in weeks, ran out in search of the best places to roll around and scratch their backs.
    Galloping hoof beats drew their attention. The younger girls squealed as Shea—Pony, as these people called her—dismounted her horse and fell into her friends' arms with a mix of laughter and tears.
    Watching the girls reunited, Cori collapsed to the bleachers with a smile.
    “ There were times I didn’t think we were gonna make it,” she told Danny. “Thanks for taking us in.”
    Other people came along. Some rode up on bikes, and some walked. Clothes appeared. Food came out. Nothing fancy, but it did the trick.
    “ We’ll leave you to get a shower,” Jenny said. “Not much for privacy, but it’ll get the grime off.”
    Danny nodded. “And I’m sorry to tell you, but you’ll have to stay in some of the classrooms for a week of quarantine. After that, we’ll set you up.”
    Cori smiled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. We’ve been sleeping in barns since all this started. Be nice to get away from the bugs.”
    Danny chuckled as he gathered his rifle. “I'll leave you in Jenny’s hands, then. She and the other gals can get you folks settled.”
    A warm shower, followed by clean clothes and a full belly, nearly put Cori to sleep. Although it was still mid-day, she was ready for a nap. She and the kids collapsed in their makeshift bedrooms. The cot was small, and the mattress was lumpy. Cori slept like a baby.
     
     
     
    When the sun broke over the east wall of the valley, a rooster cut loose with his a.m. greeting. In the distance, another joined, followed by a third. Soon, the three dueled with their morning songs. Cori probably could have slept through the racket if the chicken house wasn't fifty yards from her window.
    As she rolled out of bed, she picked at the clean T-shirt she wore. It was a little small, a little thin, but it was the best thing she’d worn in more than two months.
    Staring sleepily out the window, she heard the buzz of a quad runner. Soon enough, she saw it pull up behind the house across the road from the school. A dark-bearded man with a short, black ponytail hopped off. He gathered a fish from the yard wagon he towed and ducked inside the house with it. From there, he emerged to feed the chickens, re-mounted the quad, and drove off. An hour later by Corri's watch, the man came back. He tipped the wagon, sloshed some water around its bed, and disappeared into the house once more. She didn’t see him again the rest of the day.
    Late that afternoon, the man reappeared in the yard. This time, he loaded a bucket into the wagon, along with some nets. He filled the gas tank of the quad, mounted, and left. For Cori's week-long quarantine, some variation of this routine occurred every day in the yard across the way.
    “ That’s just Chicken George,” Jenny said when Cori asked. “He goes out at night and fishes. Some nights the canal, some nights the creek. Doesn’t want to fish out our waters.”
    Cori arched an eyebrow. “Chicken George? He don’t look much like the man.”
    Jenny chuckled. “He started with the birds after he came here a month ago. Name stuck.”
    “ Why’re you Jenny One Sock?” Cori asked, taking another bite of the catfish on her plate.
    Jenny grinned. “The first Zed attack after I got here, I rolled out to my defensive position in nothing but a pair of panties and one sock. They tried to call me Jenny Free Boobs, but I put the kibosh on that.”
    “ I can see that,” Cori said, laughing. She took another bite of her meal. “You guys must eat a lot of fish if George is out every night.”
    “ He doesn’t over-fish. He takes orders. Kind of like the old milkmen. We trade with the Mennonites up the road, too, so George fishes for