The fateful fourth night
Then came the fourth night. Ben stirred from sleep, heart hammering at the sound of sheep. Their bleating rose in eerie unison, the same desperate chorus he had heard the day he discovered the eggs.
He threw off his blanket, pulling on boots before the noise faded. There was no frustration this time, only urgency. Something was happening, and it was happening now.
Page 47 of 70
