He moved down the cracked main road, boots grinding over gravel. Patrol was supposed to be quiet today, the kind where even his own breathing felt too loud. He paused when a faint thud drifted from an abandoned house up ahead. Not the wind. Animal? Maybe. His hand tightened around the grip of his revolver as he stepped off the road and toward the doorway.

Inside, dust floated in the streaks of daylight. Joel slipped through the entry, listening hard. Another sound.

He edged around the corner, revolver raised.