“I’m sorry,” Elliot said to her. “For the men who were killed.”

“Honey,” she said, setting down her spoon and turning to give him her full attention, “those men died because the Lord felt it was their time. I’m just happy–we’re all happy–that they did it not by falling prey to the drink or catching something whoring in the city, but serving the greater good of fighting those things have been making life so miserable for us. What better way to lose your life, I have to say, than saving the life of another?” And she picked up the spoon again and resumed eating, like she’d just set down all there was to say on the topic.

Elliot nodded and gave Evajean a troubled and confused look. She shrugged and smiled back at him. She wasn’t worried, but he remained very much so.

Everyone seemed so nice, so proper and focused on their lives in the vanishingly small town. This breakfast table with its perfect order and cordial occupants summed up Nahom wholly for Elliot: ordered, structured, and, like the oatmeal, bland. But under it all was a slightly wretched air of fear and menace. Again he affirmed–to himself, if not yet to his traveling companion–his plan to get the hell out of here as soon as they were able. That meant fixing the truck, probably, and if they were very lucky, fixing it would involve only getting a few of these large men to flip the vehicle back over and maybe haul it back up to the road. Callie would’ve told him to keep his fingers crossed.

Further down the table, laughter broke and spread like a pathogen in their direction. Elliot had no idea what it was about, but he chucked politely and poured more applesauce into his bowl. He wanted to get up and briefly away from here, take Evajean somewhere private so they could discuss how to get on again with their journey. Nothing of significance was back at the house, so it might just be as easy as asking for help with the truck and then waving goodbye to his rescuers.

He leaned over to Evajean and whispered in her ear. “We should leave,” he said. “I want to go.”

She looked at him, shrugging her shoulders, asking him why. “Because,” he said, not liking this clandestine conversation at a table were so many might hear. “I want to get going. I don’t like it here.”

Now she did respond, whispering back, and Elliot saw they were drawing attention. Several the townsfolk had stopped eating and were watching the two, looking not concerned but slightly more than curious. Elliot hated this and found himself angry at Evajean for forcing him into the situation. Why hadn’t she stayed at the truck? If she’d only stayed at the truck until he woke up, they’d at least be hiking along the road. But then, of course, they’d have found the Nahom sign just like he did and taken the path and they’d be just where they were right now.

“Don’t be silly,” she said and Elliot almost missed it, so caught up in his thoughts. “These people are nice, they’ve been very nice to us, and it’s the least we can do, since they saved your life, to stick around and make them happy. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, but it wasn’t. He broke from their parlay, resumed eating, and nudged the dog with his foot. Breakfast had to end soon.

Soon turned out to be half an hour, a crawling period of more eating, more empty conversation and loaded smiles. He felt a great sense of pressure on his chest and in his ears, weight from whatever it was about this place that just wasn’t right, and at several points during those thirty minutes he almost stood up and walked away from the table, just to get some air.

Near the end, Evajean put her hand on his knee and squeezed, trying to comfort. But the gesture only make things worse because it was the same as Clarine had done so many times and, like in the cave, he didn’t want to drag her memory into this place. Nahom made him ill.

Finally it was done. The people carried their bowls and utensils to a large bin in a corner of the town square and dump them in, submerging the dishes in soapy water. Children began washing them while the adults, bellies full and ready to go about their day, exchanged concluding pleasantries and broke into groups to begin whatever tasks they had assigned. Now, in the hubbub, Evajean was willing to talk.

“What’s gotten into you?” she said as they walked back to the small house. Elliot carried the dog under his arm, its head in his palm, and the animal yipped pleasantly at a family of squirrels chattering in a nearby tree.

He started to answer but she cut him off. “No. I understand, what happened last night, it’s terrible. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry if I had you worried, being gone and all. But I was only trying to help, to get you help. These people saved you, Elliot. And you’re acting like they’re a bunch of Nazis.”

“Evajean–”

“No,” she said again. “You want to get out of here, I get that. But, Jesus, Elliot, this is the first nice place I’ve been since– since Henry got sick. I still want to find the Hole. It’s not like I want to live here. But why can’t we enjoy it for a day without you having whatever the hell kind of breakdown you had back there?”

Elliot was quiet, embarrassed. How could he make her understand what this place was doing to him without it sounding crazy? They walked without talking the rest of the way to the house. At the front door, though, he turned to her, hand on the knob, and said, “There’s something wrong here. I guess you don’t feel it like I do, but I’m not kidding about it, either, Evajean. There’s something very wrong in this town.”

She rolled her eyes and he almost slapped her. What the hell was wrong with this woman? Why was she treating him like a goddamn child? Elliot exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to clear. He set the dog down and opened the door. They entered without speaking to each other, and Elliot went into his room and sat on the bed. The dog hopped up to join him.