Burial

WYATT

We carefully transported Emmett to the bed in her room and Kacela’s mom sat on a chair next to him, holding his hand.  I could sense that there was something between them.  I could tell that Kacela was suspicious, too, because her eyes narrowed as she watched them.

After dark she pulled her jeep up to the street as close to the side door as possible and we wrestled Charlie’s wolf out of the building into the vehicle.  She got behind the wheel and drove south, her face grim.

“Where are we going?” I asked, tentatively.

“A little property I know,” she said.  “It’s private property but the owners are never there.  I hope this isn’t one of the weekends they decided to stay.”

We drove about twenty minutes before she veered off the interstate and followed the signs for Cedar Lake.  Five minutes later she had us bumping down a road next to a field, the ruts knocking me around.  I grabbed the handle near the rol