The Last Harvest(35)

I look toward the exit, making a mental plan. If they try to brand me, I swear to God, I’ll tear this place to the ground.

“To us. The sixth generation.” Tyler raises his glass.

I take the shot—liquid courage.

Everyone sets their shot glasses back down on the bar. Tyler refills them.

“What does that even mean … ‘the sixth generation’?” I ask. I pretend to be interested in the photos on the wall, the jukebox, but I’m really just checking everyone out, searching every bit of exposed skin, looking for the mark. I don’t see anything on the others. What if Miss Granger’s wrong? What if Tyler and Ali are the only ones who have it? What if all this is just some weird coincidence? A mistake?

“The sixth generation will inherit the earth,” Tyler says as he spreads his arms out wide.

“Or at least this Podunk town.” Tammy winces as she slams another shot.

“It’s pretty cool our parents are stepping down this early,” Ben says. “Who wants to rule when you’re all old and shriveled up. Might as well get some fun out of it.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “And what’s fun about it?” I look at the five of them stationed around the room like barflies. “What do you actually do?”

“You’re pretty much looking at it,” Tammy says as she leans against the bar.

“We have meetings every once in a while, but we usually end up getting hammered,” Ben says as he downs another shot. “No one can even remember what we talked about.”

It’s like this is all one big joke to them. It makes me wonder if they have any idea what’s really happening.

“But there’s girls,” Tyler says. “Lots of girls who want to be with someone on the council. Even little Jimmy’s getting some of our leftovers.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Ali says as she slides her shot over to Ben. “It’s for the town. There’s always been a council. Always will be. It’s tradition. Loyalty, family, community.”

“And don’t forget football.” Ben raises his glass.

“Amen to that.” Tyler squares his shoulders.

“And God,” I add.

The room goes deathly still.

“Sure.” Tyler closes the distance between us. “None of this would even be possible without God.” He raises his hands as if in fake praise.

Jimmy snickers, but the rest of them stand perfectly still, staring at me, like I just walked in on some kind of inside joke. It gives me the creeps. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. So far, it’s just a bunch of people getting drunk. Nothing satanic about that or you’d have to give this whole town an exorcism.

As much as I want to bolt out of there, I’ve got a job to do.

Strolling over to the card table, I run my hand over the worn green felt. It gives me an idea.

“We should play.”

“Poker?” Tyler scoffs. “We don’t play for wheat, Tate. How much money you got?”

“Let’s raise the stakes,” I say with a casual shrug.

“I’m liking the sound of that.” Ben takes off his jean jacket and rubs his hands together. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Strip poker.”

“Hell yeah!” Ben slaps me on the back and takes a seat at the table, shuffling the deck.

“This won’t be weird at all,” Tammy says as she takes a seat.

Ali studies me. “I’m game.”

“Come on, Jimmy.” Tyler pries him away from the bar and pushes him over to the table.

“What are we … thirteen?” Jimmy mumbles into his shot glass as he slumps down in the chair next to me.

Tyler’s the last one to sit down. He’s checking me out. He doesn’t trust me yet. “Five card draw. Two fold max,” he says.

Ben deals the first hand.

As we all look at our cards, there’s a tension in the room, like the feeling in the air right before lightning strikes.

Tyler smirks. He’s so easy to read, shows his emotions all over his face, in his body … always has. Obviously, he thinks he’s got a good hand. I learned how to control all that playing ball. I swear, half of it’s a mental game. Especially for the quarterback; it’s all about the fake out. Even though I’ve got a flush, I shift in my chair, lean forward, rub the back of my neck. I need everyone to think they’ve got me nailed.

Tammy’s got nothing, not even a pair of deuces, but she doesn’t complain about it. Without taking her eyes off the table, she slips out of her dress.

Tyler and Ben start snickering.

She pushes her glasses up like she doesn’t care, but I can see the flush spread up her neck. I don’t want to look, but I have to—that’s why I’m here. I spot the mark right above the pink elastic band of her underwear on her left hip. Just the sight of it raises the hair on the back of my neck. It’s really true then. Miss Granger was right. It’s the sixth generation—they’ve all been marked.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Tammy says to me.

Everybody starts cracking up. Even Jimmy.

All I want to do is wrap her up in Ben’s jean jacket and tell her I’m sorry, but I bury it behind a fake grin. Two down, two to go.