CHAPTER ONE
Ike was eager to get finished for the day. It had been a long one, with no sign of a rest on the horizon if he didn’t get the harvest at least half done. The fields around his family farm had always been big, but every year that went by, Ike was starting to think they were expanding on him. Getting bigger while he slept.
How else could you explain it taking him half as long again to get the harvest in as it had when he was a young man?
He turned the tractor, moving along the next row of corn, checking the sky as he did so. There was a darkening on the edges of the bright blue, a tonal shift signaling the night coming on as the sun headed down into his corn. All those acres of waving golden heads, waiting for him to get to them. Fifteen years ago, he’d have been done already by this late in November.
Fifteen years ago, he wouldn’t have felt the ache in his bones as he turned his head to steer the tractor. He cricked his neck, twisting it to the side to try to iron out that kink that just wouldn’t go away. Maybe it was the bed. They’d had the mattress how long now? It sunk when Ike’s wife climbed in next to him, and—
What was that? A flash of something out in the corn, as he crooked his head from side to side. A disturbance.
A small one, but he looked again and—yes, there it was. An area of broken stalks. They seemed to trail back to the edge of the field, now he saw it.
Goddammit.
Ike switched off the engine, swinging his legs down out of the tractor’s cockpit and jumping to the ground. The impact jarred his bones the way it always seemed to lately. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to have no damn college kids using his crops as a damn hoax project, making crop circles to put on that FaceTube or whatever they were calling it these days. They looked like they’d only just started. Must not have heard the tractor coming. He stomped through the corn, pushing it aside easily to find the channels between the rows he’d planted himself.
Damn kids were going to get the fear put up them.
Up ahead, he could see the place where the stalks broke, the heads disappearing from view. He’d seen it many times over the years. Kids thinking they were funny. This time, he swore to God, they were going to get a swift kick up the rear, and he’d be damned if the Sheriff was going to arrest—
Ike stopped dead, meeting the break in the corn and seeing only one other person in view.
Someone lying facedown on the ground, the stalks trampled and flattened around him.
After a moment, in which the person on the ground did not move, Ike rushed forward. He’d forgotten his anger, discarded immediately when he saw it.
The blood on the stalks.
He awkwardly fell to his knees at the side of the person—a man, he saw now—trying to ignore the old pain in his left knee from when he’d fallen a few years back. Ike reached out, touching the man’s shoulder, lifting him just enough so he could see his face.
And swore and fell backwards, almost dislocating his one good hip in the process.
The air felt colder all of a sudden, the cries of the birds flying overhead more ominous. Ike swore again, looking around fast. Whatever happened here, he wanted no part in it.
But it was on his land already, and he’d gotten out of the tractor to take a look. He was out in the open. Exposed.
Ike swore a third time and scrambled to his feet. The corn scratched at his hands as he pushed up, stumbling back through the corn the way he’d come. At least he knew the way. Wasn’t going to get lost in the corn like some townie might.
He reached the tractor and hoisted himself up into the seat, slamming the door closed behind him. It wasn’t exactly much in the way of protection, but at least the vehicle itself doubled as a weapon.
Catching his breath for a moment, Ike realized he’d seen no one around. The man had been there a long time. He could tell. The blood was dried on the ground. That didn’t happen in five minutes.
He was probably safe. Safe enough, at least, to make the call now.
And, Ike thought to himself grimly, if the bastard was still out there, at least the Sheriff would know about it when they came to get Ike’s body, too.
The line connected on the stupid little cell phone his daughter had made him get a few years back, and Ike waited for the speaker on the other end.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
“Best send the Sheriff, Diane,” he said, recognizing the voice of the dispatcher. It was a small town, and he’d had to call his fair share of times—for joyride cars and trucks on fire, mostly. “I’ve got Jamie here lying in my field, throat cut side to side. Looks like they gave him a second smile.”
“Well, shit, Ike,” Diane said. “I’m sending the Sheriff right away.”