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[center][h2][i][color=black]Later that evening[/color][/i][/h2][/center]
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The men arrived for dinner at the same time they always had, though most were still a bit sheepish from the fright they had received that morning. A line formed out the farmhouse's front door, with men receiving their plates and heading out the back door to their respective barns. Normally there would be a small crowd outside of the farmhouse's rear as the men ate, smoke, or drank, though the men were now eager to head back to their safe bunks. Farmer Tackett had said he would speak on that morning's incident, and a small group of farmhands sat by the door from the kitchen to the rest of the farmhouse, waiting for his arrival.

As rows of men took their plates -- sweet potatoes, corn fritters, and sliced ham -- the floorboards began to creak near the kitchen's exit, signalling The Farmer's return.

Farmer Tackett swung the door open, squeezing through the doorframe tightly. He looked pale, and there was a smell of sweat that clung to him.

[color=forestgreen]"I've inspected the body."[/color] He announced, clearing his throat. [color=forestgreen]"I've heard some of the fearmongering about some new plague, and I'll have [i]none of it[/i]. Work starts tomorrow morning, same time as ever. Whatever drove that man to madness wasn't rabies, I'm certain of it."[/color] He took a plate from one of the women serving, as well as a small stein. There was no protest from the men, as they were wary enough to want to keep their jobs, though an uneasiness passed over the men.

The Farmer shifted his weight back towards the door, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. He gave the men a quick nod, and slunk back into the hallway, closing and locking the door behind him.

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[center][h1][color=hotpink]Bill Pooley[/color][/h1][/center]
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[color=hotpink]"Nobody said [i]kill[/i]."[/color] Pooley grunted, leaning back on the post. Him and another farmhand sat on a fence by the farmhouse, watching the men go back and forth between the farmhouse and the barns, returning their plates and silverware. The farmhand Bill sat with ran a hand through his oily brown hair, chuckling to himself.

[color=hotpink]"That fat fuck knows he's safe behind his doors, while he's leavin' us to go work for him in the middle of the goddamn [i]apocalypse[/i]. I say we take his pickup and make for Portland."[/color] Bill whispered, cracking his thick knuckles against the fence. His conspirator shrugged. 

[color=teal]"You don't think he'll shootcha if he sees you pulling out the driveway with it?"[/color] He asked Bill, taking a sip from a small flask. Bill shrugged and scrunched up his face, as if the man sitting next to him had grown a second head. [color=hotpink]"We can take it while he's sleeping. He sleeps like a rock, we'll be halfway to Florida by the time he wakes up."[/color] The brown-haired man shrugged again, sipping patiently from his flask. [color=teal]"Maybe we don't have to kill him. He looked sick today. Maybe [i]he's got it[/i]."[/color]

Bill laughed, hopping off the fence. [color=hotpink]"Don't even joke. I'll see you in the morning."[/color]