The Ephemera by Hal Duncan, Neil Williamson

passed a church, a brooding grey shape clinging to a rocky promontory which jutted out over the valley. The walls, dark and imposing, built of the stone which made up the hillside, made the church appear as if it had been grown rather than built. The leaded windows were high and narrow and the main double doors were solid wood; both of these reinforcing the impression that the church was a natural part of the hill. To one side there was a walled graveyard which sloped steeply away behind the building. The outline of a large tree loomed there, obscured from view by the spire.
    The next corner took them back into the hill and sharply downwards. The village to which the church belonged appeared ahead of them, a thin line of buildings extending along both sides of the road. The house closest to them was a little apart from the rest, closer to the church, and was a little higher up the hill. Like the rest of them it was built of the same dark stone as the church, giving it an air of austerity, but this one at least showed signs of habitation.
    At the man's instruction David stopped the car beside the manse and with Sophie in his arms he followed him into the building. The man showed him to an upstairs bedroom, cold and musty from disuse, and then left them alone. Sophie was worn out from the journey, and without protest allowed her father to lay her on the bed and wrap her under the duvet. The man reappeared with a glass containing a small quantity of a syrupy liquid and a mug of soup.
    "Give her this first," he said, proffering the glass. "It's a sedative. And the soup will warm her. I'll be down in the kitchen."
    Sophie's eyes, red and sore, were already half shut. David had to shake her gently to wake her so she might to drink from the glass he held to her lips. She made a face, but swallowed without protest. Sophie was asleep before David had managed even to offer her the soup. He tucked her in and went downstairs.
    In the kitchen the Bone Farmer was standing at a black iron range stirring a large pot. A warm meaty smell mingled with wood smoke.
    "Want some of this yourself?"
    David nodded and sat at the table. The man brought over two bowls and they ate in silence. Finally there was room for conversation.
    "Thanks," said David. "That was good."
    The man just looked at him, grunted. That same intense expression on his face. "Where you from?"
    David looked away, examining the surface of the table, the empty soup bowls, wondering how much it was safe to tell the stranger about their community. But he felt the need for suspicion draining out of him. He was tired, he wanted to trust someone.
    "Village called Invergourlay. About twenty two miles south west of here on the other side of the ridge."
    "I know it. You got many souls left there?"
    "Twenty nine. Not counting Sophe and me."
    Surprise lifted the heavy eyebrows. "That's quite a few. For round here. How's your harvest been this year?"
    "Not as good as last year. None of us are farmers really, a lot is down to luck. We always find it hard this time of year."
    The bearded head nodded slow agreement.
    David asked him, "What about you? How do you manage?"
    "I've got a few sheep, some chickens, a vegetable garden. I do all right."
    "You're alone here then?"
    "Yes." Simply put. Not, Yes, everyone else moved on but I stayed behind . The implication was that everyone who had lived here was dead.
    Softly David asked, "Did you bury them all?"
    The man was no longer looking at him and David could see the weariness showing at the corners of his eyes as if the stern mask had cracked around the edges.
    "I bury everyone."
    "How come..." David stalled, aware he was delving too deeply into the man's sorrow. The Bone Farmer already knew the question, however.
    "How come I'm not dead as well?" He looked up again at last and his gaze had lost its intensity, his eyes soft bruises. "Would you believe I'm immune?"
    In response to David's reaction, the man's face stretched into a thin smile.
    "Ironic