The last Infected rabbit hopped to the head of the line. It paused just ahead of the previous leader. Then it took one final hop and fell to the ground. It twitched and stilled. Its fur filled in with scarlet stripes.
Cita lowered his bow and stared.
Again, the Infected farthest from the front hopped forward. This one moved without hesitation. When it reached the point where the latest leader lay, it dropped like a stone. Its pelt morphed as well, turning blue in the morning sun.
'What the …' Wide-eyed, Cita looked to Bilal.
Bilal stared grimly ahead as each of the Infected hopped to the growing stack of bodies and perished.
The guards shifted, murmuring.
Nathaniel ran back to where Michael stood to hold a whispered conference.
Cita kept his arrow nocked as he focused again on the Infected. "I'm missing something. If I could put my finger on it …" The sky seemed bluer as he looked across the field.
Suddenly, Michael's stallion broke loose. Instead of galloping back toward the township as the others had, he charged the guards' formation.
"Nocturne!" Michael called, reaching toward his mount.
The magnificent blood-bay ran with his neck stretched out and tail flagged. His broken leadline trailed behind him.
"Look out! Move!" Nathaniel shouted.
Everyone scrambled to clear a path for the enraged beast.
Cita met one white-rimmed eye as Nocturne thundered past. There was nothing left of the mischievous personality that had begged Michael for a carrot before they rode out. That eye burned with insanity.
**You've seen that before,** the youth prompted.
The stallion darted across the field to the small mound of the Infected. He stormed across the stack without slowing, trampling the tiny bodies and spattering gore. He circled back and reared, crashing down with another splash of blood and viscera.
One of the guards fell to his knees, vomiting.
Cita wanted to turn away, but stood frozen, watching as Nocturne stamped and pawed.
No one dared approach.
Slowly, the stallion calmed and stood proudly next to the destruction. The horses that remained tethered had also quieted. In the eerie silence, Cita could hear Nocturne's harsh breath.
Bilal was the first to move cautiously forward.
Cita quickly caught up, his arrow still nocked but pointed to the side.
Nathaniel and Michael fell in behind them.
The stallion nickered in greeting and minced toward his rider for attention.
Michael obliged, speaking a gentle stream of praise and nonsense intended for the stallion's ears alone. He stroked the powerful neck, unmindful of the gore splattered on the glossy red-brown hair.
Bilal frowned and opened his mouth, but shook his head without speaking. He walked to the new concavity where the Infected had lain. The ground was churned to mud, a stomach-turning mixture of dirt, blood, and other fluids released by the stallion's destructive hooves. A noisome smell filled the air — offal and blood mixed with something Cita could not place.
Looking at the mess, Cita returned his arrow to his quiver.
*That's right. Your arrows won't solve anything here.*
Cita whirled, catching a hint of a shadow fleeing.
Golden eyes met his before turning to glare at the gore. Nathaniel's wary look lingered. Bilal waved him off, and the guard muttered a curse.
"It must be burned," Bilal said, speaking over Nathaniel. "But I do not know if it is safe in this weather. Then the field should lie fallow at least a year. No cattle or other livestock can graze on it."
'Fire? Fire is good. Fire fixes everything.' Cita ground his free palm into his eye socket. Red and blue haze strobed over his vision.
Nathaniel shook his head. "We can dig a trench around this area and burn it. But the steward won't appreciate leaving the field unused. If it must lie fallow, so be it, but he'll want to run livestock."
Bilal turned his glare on his friend. "You know the danger. We do not know how this affliction spreads. We only have some knowledge of how to limit the risk."
"I know that! But the steward is township-bred. He hasn't seen the Infected firsthand."
"I will present the matter to my father." Michael's voice quavered as he led his now docile stallion toward the group. He cleared his throat. "For the safety of the township, it must be done."
Nathaniel and Bilal exchanged glances. Bilal waved a hand, ceding the unwelcome task to Nathaniel.
"Oh. Oh, no," Cita whispered. He stared at the bloody stallion and blinked, trying to clear his vision. Bilal's golden eyes met his, and Cita flushed, looking down.
Nathaniel cleared his throat and stepped toward Michael. "Lord Michael," he spoke formally. "Your mount may be tainted as well."
"What? No!" Michael shook his head in denial. "It's his battle training! He was ... They were already dead! He's fine!"
Nathaniel sighed, bowing his head.
The youth walked to the edge of the mud-pit and kicked at the stubble. **Come on — you should know this.**
"This what?" Cita whispered.
**All this!** The youth threw his hands up. Three droplets of blood arched through the air to land on Cita's face.
Cita stared at the gash on the youth's forearm and mouthed, "How did you get that?" The barest hint of breath lent volume to his question.
**
With a metallic clang, the lock bit into Cita's back. He scrambled to keep hold of his bow as the senior drew back. His arrows scattered on the locker room floor, fletching crushed beneath careless sneakers as the rest of the team hurried to catch their rides.
"You don't get it. You're new. You don't get to be the best," the senior sneered. "Take it easy on the range, mind your manners, and we can all be friends. If not … well." He smirked. "I'll leave that to your imagination."
"Conner!" A dark silhouette stood in the locker room door.
"Coach! This — it isn't what it looks like!" he protested.
"Isn't it?" The coach strode forward, tipping Cita's face into the light.
Why is his face still shadowed? Cita wondered as he tried to focus. Icy fingers cupped his chin while a soft thumb wiped at the trail of blood from his split lip.
"I'll have to report this to the principal, Conner. And you're out of the archery club. We don't tolerate bullies."
"But … but my scholarship!" Connor's face flushed before paling.
"No. Both of you, come with me. Now."
"Me?" Cita asked, still clutching his bow.
"You think I can send you home, still bleeding? The nurse has left for the day, but I can get you patched up."
**
"We don't know how this spreads," Bilal repeated himself.
Cita gasped as if doused with cold water. He ran a thumb across his lower lip and pulled it away. 'No blood. What … did that happen?' He whipped his head around. 'Where did that guy go this time?'
"But we do know that any living creature that does not exhibit symptoms within three to four hours," he glanced at Cita, "will not join the Infected."
Michael looked at Cita. Cita flinched from the hope in his eyes.
"There is no need to be hasty," Bilal suggested. "Keep the stallion separated from the other horses until evening mealtime. That is well beyond the time of danger, and we will know for certain."
Michael shook his head. "And if he does exhibit symptoms? I won't kill him! I raised him from a colt. We know so little — you can't prove he's contaminated!"
"Symptoms can be subtle, to begin with, but they are clear," Bilal answered. "The first sign is increased aggression or restlessness. Teeth become sharper, which is most noticeable in animals that … normally consume plants. Coloration changes are the last sign — like the rabbits, all Infected are black as night." He gestured at the depression behind the group.
"Once the Infected is dead, the color changes dramatically — to shades that are not normally found on beasts." Bilal's face was a stoic mask as he continued. "If he does exhibit symptoms, he will need to be slain, quickly, or the danger that it will spread further increases. His body would need to be burned, again to reduce the risk to others."
Michael swallowed visibly, and Cita noticed a hint of tears in the young man's eyes. "What about him?" He jabbed an angry finger at Cita.
Cita recoiled.
"He was bitten, and his hair is black. What color was it before? And his eyes, the things he says—"
"On my honor, I vow that he is not Infected," Bilal thundered over the lordling. "His hair and his eyes have not changed in all the time I have known him."
Michael scowled and turned to stroke Nocturne.
Cita spun to crouch next to the remains of the Infected. The combined hazes were distracting and tinted the world purple overall. 'What am I missing?'
"All right. Let it be as you say, and I will pray that Nocturne shows no symptoms." An unacknowledged gulf between Michael and everyone else gaped wide as he retreated into formality. "Nathaniel, send two of the guards to notify my father. They can bring back the supplies we'll need to burn this area. Have someone bring me a new rope and stake. I'll tend to Nocturne myself."
Nathaniel bowed and ran off.
Silence fell again, still unbroken by the usual sounds of nature.
"They didn't act like individual organisms," Cita mused aloud. "They acted … like they were controlled by a single will, one mind."
Michael and Bilal looked at each other but did not interrupt.
Nathaniel returned and opened his mouth.
Michael held up a hand to forestall him.
Cita continued. "It's kinda like apoptosis, but … not."
Bilal's stare grew flat. "I … see," he ground out.
Michael glared coldly. "What?" he asked.
Cita looked up at him.
"Apoptosis. It's programmed cell death. Where a cell … stops … and the rest of the organism keeps living and …" Cita paused, looking at the stallion. "And cleans up the leftovers."
Michael scowled.
Nathaniel opened his mouth, but Bilal silenced him with a look. Nathaniel threw his hands up and walked away.
Cita struggled to find the right words. "Let's say the township is a single organism. All the people living in it are cells, and your father, Lord Blaah, is the brain running everything. Suppose he tells a handful of townspeople to die, and they do."
Michael looked green.
Cita drove the point home. "Then the guards come and take care of the bodies. That's apoptosis."
Bilal grunted and said, "And how is it ... not … like—" Bilal's lip curled as he spat out the final word, "— apoptosis?"
Cita replayed the moments before the Infected died, sifting for the niggling discrepancy.
"The first of the rabbits … right before it reached this spot," Cita pointed at the muddy depression. "It hesitated. I think … it knew. It knew it was going to die."