by Tim Downs
He stopped and bent down to catch his breath for a few seconds. He suddenly straightened; he thought he heard the sound of an engine somewhere in the distance. He listened. There it was again—it sounded closer this time. He jumped and looked.
Nick saw the combine bearing down on him just a few yards away. He stumbled backward and fell. By the time he got to his feet again the combine was almost on top of him—he could see the glassencased operator’s cab and six blinding headlamps glaring down at him. The cornstalks just a few feet in front of him were lashing back and forth like palm trees in a hurricane and then falling into the combine’s crushing jaws.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Down here!” But there was no way for the combine operator to hear him over the roar of the diesel engine or to see him beneath the towering stalks of corn. Nick knew he had to get out of the path of the combine fast. He ran a few steps to the side and turned to let the combine pass, then discovered to his horror that the cutting head on the front of the combine was much wider than he thought. He spun around and dove headlong just as the teeth of the combine mowed down the corn where he had been standing.
He looked up at the cab as the combine rolled past. The operator was still staring straight ahead—he had no idea that he had almost run a man over. Nick felt around on the ground for rocks, chunks of corn stover, anything loose and hard—then he scrambled to his feet and started running along beside the combine, hurling the objects one at a time at the glass wall of the cab. A stone finally found its mark and the operator turned and looked in his direction. Nick jumped up and down, waving frantically for the man to stop.
The driver brought the combine to a halt and let the engine idle. He opened the door of the cab and stepped out onto the combine’s deck. “What are you, nuts?” he shouted down at Nick. “You can get yourself killed that way!”
“Shut it down!” Nick shouted back.
“What?”
“There’s a little girl lost in this field!”
The operator stepped back into the cab and shut the engine down. He looked down at Nick again. “What little girl? Where?”
“Can you communicate with that other combine?” Nick asked.
“No—the radios don’t work. It’s the storm.”
“I have to get to that other combine,” Nick said. “Don’t move this thing until we find her.”
He turned and plunged back into the corn.
Callie stood shivering in the field. Her sundress was torn at the shoulder and her face and arms were smudged with dirt. She looked down the long furrow and saw nothing but darkness. The corn that surrounded her everywhere whispered in the wind and the leaves hung down like an old man’s fingers. Lightning flashed and the corn shook from the rumble of thunder.
Callie squeezed her eyes tight and shrieked at the top of her lungs.
49
Kathryn and Alena ran as fast as they could, but they could barely keep Phlegethon in sight; it didn’t help that the dog’s fur was as black as coal. Only the occasional flash of lightning gave them a brief glimpse of the dog’s dark form lumbering ahead of them—and he was gradually pulling away. They finally gave up and collapsed to the ground, panting.
“Callie!” Kathryn shouted.
She listened but heard nothing.
“Callie, it’s Mommy! Where are you, honey?”
No response.
“I’m so sorry,” Alena said. “This is all my fault.”
“You were only trying to protect her,” Kathryn said. “How far do you think we are from that combine?”
“I don’t know—I can’t see over all this corn. I thought it was straight ahead of us, but I can’t be sure.”
“Even if we can stop the combine, it might not do any good.”
“What do you mean?”
“We might not find her for days. She could die of exposure. She could die of dehydration. Kids get lost on big farms like this—it happens sometimes.”
“Callie!” Alena shouted.
Nothing.
“This can’t be happening again,” Kathryn groaned. “First my husband runs out into a field and gets killed; now my little girl runs out into a field—”
“Would you shut up?” Alena said. “We’re going to find her.”
“How? Callie doesn’t even respond to her own name. She could be ten feet away from us right now and she might not answer.”
“Callie!”
“Why doesn’t she answer? She makes me so mad sometimes I could—”
“I love her too,” Alena said.
Kathryn looked at her. “What?”
“You’re not the only one worried about her, okay? So shut up—you’re starting to annoy me.”
Another flash of lightning and another blast of thunder. The storm was almost on top of them now.
Alena straightened. “Hey—did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Right after that thunder—just as it was dying away—I thought I heard a scream.”
“Callie always screams at loud noises,” Kathryn said.
“I know. Listen.”
They held their breaths until the next peal of thunder—and as the echo died away they heard a tiny shriek trailing after.
Nick plunged through the corn as fast as he could go, cutting across the rows and smashing down the corn as he went. Maybe the girls had managed to find Callie, but he had to assume they hadn’t. He knew they hadn’t reached the combine yet because he still caught glimpses of moving lights ahead. He had to reach that combine. He had barely managed to escape that cutting head himself; if Callie was caught in its path she wouldn’t have a chance. The huge machine shredded cornstalks as if they were tissue—what would it do to a little girl’s limbs?
He poked his head above the corn and saw the combine less than fifty feet away.
“There it is again!” Alena said. “I’m sure I heard it this time.”
“I heard it too,” Kathryn said.
“Callie! Where are you?”
There was no reply.
“She won’t answer us,” Kathryn said. “We’ll have to wait for the thunder and listen for her scream—then see if we can zero in on her.”
The thunder rumbled again. As the sound died away they heard a shrill note piercing the air behind it.
“Over there!” Kathryn said.
“Are you sure? It sounded like it was coming from over here.”
“Wait—what’s that other noise?”
Both women looked up. Above the corn they saw a row of six headlamps rumbling toward them.
Nick headed directly for the combine, planning to use the same tactic he had used successfully on the other machine—throw whatever he could find at the cab’s windshield and get the operator’s attention. As he ran he ripped an ear from one of the cornstalks, tore off the leaves, and broke the cob in two. He was just about to hurl one of the pieces when he heard a clap of thunder followed by a highpitched scream.
Callie!
The sound came from somewhere just ahead of the combine.
He hurled the chunk of corn—it bounced silently off the cab’s metal frame.
He threw the second piece—it hit the glass dead center, but the operator paid no attention. Nick looked at the man’s face; he seemed to be in a daze.
I don’t have time to do wake-up calls, he thought.
He darted in front of the combine and started walking forward with it—staying just ahead of the devouring teeth and using the headlights to search the oncoming corn.
“Callie! Say something! Shout—scream—anything!”
“Nick! Is that you?”
He heard Kathryn’s voice shouting from the darkness somewhere ahead. “I’m right in front of the combine headed your way! Can you see the headlights?”
“We see them! Callie’s here somewhere—we heard her scream!”
“Get out of the way—the cutter on this thing is huge!” Nick swung his head from side to side, scanning the corn as it marched past him a
nd into the combine’s waiting jaws. He could hear the swishing of the leaves and the clatter of the cutters behind him as they slashed the cornstalks into little pieces.
Not a good time to fall down, he thought. I wouldn’t have time to get up again.
The headlamps didn’t penetrate far into the darkness and he could see the stalks only for a few seconds before they disappeared behind him. He was trying to scan an area thirty feet across, yet the girl was so small—how would he ever spot her in all this corn, and when the headlamps finally revealed her position, how long would he have to scoop her up and carry her out of the way? What if he was too slow? What if he misjudged the distance?
What if he didn’t see her at all?
“Callie must be right in front of us!” Kathryn shouted. “Why can’t I see her?”
“Nick told us to get out of the way!” Alena yelled to her.
“Not until I find her!”
Alena heard footsteps moving toward her in the darkness. “I think I see her!”
Phlegethon stepped out of the corn and nuzzled her leg.
“Did you find her?”
“No—it’s just the dog.”
Suddenly the area where Kathryn was standing exploded in light—the combine was only ten yards away and its blinding headlamps cast everything between them in razor-edged silhouette.
Kathryn spotted her. “Callie! ”
“Where?” Alena shouted.
The little girl was standing just a few feet ahead of her, staring up into the headlamps, paralyzed by the clatter of the monstrous machine.
Kathryn lunged for her daughter, thinking to grab her by the shoulders and snatch her out of the combine’s path. She could do it—she could make it with just seconds to spare . . .
She caught her foot on a root and fell headlong in the dirt at Callie’s feet.
By the time she looked up it was too late.
She pulled the little girl to the ground and crawled on top of her.
Callie screamed.
Nick heard the scream and searched the corn frantically. The stalks were falling like grass under an elephant’s feet and the advancing headlamps were constantly bringing new ground into view.
There!
He saw Callie—and he saw Kathryn sprawled facedown on top of her.
Nick scrambled toward them through the corn while his mind made a hopeless calculation of time and distance. He knew it was impossible—there was no way to carry both of them to safety. He could pull Kathryn off her daughter’s body and leave the little girl to be crushed by the combine—or he could drag Callie out from under her mother and leave Kathryn to the same fate.
I can’t do it, Nick thought. I can’t do either one.
There was only one way to get the combine operator’s attention.
There was only one way to stop the machine.
Alena heard Callie’s scream and hurried forward with Phlegethon and Ruckus by her side. The entire scene came into view all at once—like a panorama of black paper cutouts pasted against a backdrop of searing white light.
She saw Kathryn with her face pressed to the ground, shielding her daughter’s tiny body with her own.
She saw Nick running toward them—and then she saw him stop.
She saw him turn to face the machine and plant both feet firmly on the ground.
Oh, God, no!
Alena looked down at Phlegethon.
She threw her arms around the huge dog’s neck and sobbed, “I love you!”
She made a sweeping gesture with both hands and sent the dog running toward the combine.
50
By noon the following day, the area around Kathryn’s farm was swarming with people: FBI agents, Homeland Security officials, investigators from the U.S. and North Carolina Departments of Agriculture, and Sampson County police brought in to make sure the curious remained behind the roadblock positioned half a mile away. Tables had been set up in Kathryn’s yard, and the farmhouse had been sequestered to serve as temporary headquarters for half a dozen separate federal and state investigations that were already under way.
In the cornfield across the street the huge combine sat in exactly the same location where it had ground to a halt the night before. The remainder of the corn had been left unharvested by Special Executive Order of the governor so that scientists in white Tyvek suits and hoods could take samples and collect specimens. Nick himself had assisted early in the morning, setting up insect traps to help determine the distribution of the Trichogramma and using a sweep net to capture flying specimens so that USDA scientists could test them for the presence of Diplodia.
Nick tapped Donovan on the shoulder. “Have they found him yet?”
Donovan turned. “Nick—that’s the fifth time you’ve asked me.”
“Sorry to be such a nuisance,” Nick said. “Did I mention that I just saved the entire U.S. economy from total collapse?”
“There’ll be no living with you now,” Donovan said. “No, we haven’t found him yet. Semenov had a few hours’ head start thanks to your little field trip last night—and because of all the rain that came later we’re having trouble picking up his trail. We think he’ll probably head for the coast and try to find a way out of the country.”
“You need to catch him, Donovan.”
“Hey, good idea—now why didn’t I think of that?”
They were interrupted by a man in a denim shirt and a green John Deere cap. “Hey—are you Donovan?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Somebody said you’re in charge here. I wanna know who’s gonna pay for all this.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s the lease extension on the extra combine, the downtime for my hired help, and the damage to my fields while you people trample all over my corn. I’m losing money here, Donovan—how do I get reimbursed?”
Donovan looked him over coolly. “Who’re you?”
“This is Tully Truett,” Nick said. “He owns the corn farm that surrounds this place. He’s the guy who almost ran us over with a combine last night.”
“That wasn’t very nice,” Donovan said.
“That was an accident. How was I supposed to know there was somebody there?”
“Maybe by the sound of a two-hundred-pound dog slamming into your combine—that should have given you a clue.”
“Sorry about the dog. That was too bad.”
“Yeah, I hear he was a real favorite of yours. I kept throwing things at your cab, but you never looked over. What does it take to get your attention, anyway?”
“I was . . . focused.”
“You were asleep. Who falls asleep driving a combine?”
“It happens,” Donovan said. “I grew up on a farm. During harvest you work until you’re done—all night if you have to. Drivers push themselves too long; sometimes they drift off.”
“I’m glad somebody understands,” Tully said.
“I didn’t say I understand—I said it happens. You were behind the wheel of a twenty-ton vehicle, Mr. Truett—that makes you responsible. Hire an operator next time. Just because you bought a big toy doesn’t mean you should play with it.”
“Look, can we skip the lecture? I’m in kind of a hurry. I just want to know who to talk to about damages, okay? I’m losing money by the minute here. I’ve got five thousand acres of corn to bring in, and I want to get back to work.”
Donovan slowly shook his head. “Man—you really don’t know what’s going on here, do you?”
“What?”
“You know, if you weren’t such a jerk I’d feel sorry for you. As it is, it’s kind of a beautiful thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
Donovan waved over a man in a green blazer. “This is Special Agent Cohen—he’s with the Department of Agriculture’s Office of Inspector General—that’s the law enforcement arm of the USDA. Mr. Cohen, Mr. Truett here owns all the corn around us—five thousand acres, I think he said. He wants to know when he can get back to work
.”
“That depends,” Cohen said. “Doing what?”
“Finishing my harvest,” Tully said.
“You can forget that.”
“What?”
“Your corn has been infected with a highly toxic fungus, Mr. Truett.”
“So I spray some fungicide in the spring. So what?”
“Not this fungus. It’s absolutely imperative that it doesn’t spread. It’s a good thing your property surrounds this little tomato farm—it forms a natural buffer. We were lucky—even with that wind last night we don’t think the insects carrying the fungus could have spread beyond your property. Your farm has been officially quarantined by the USDA, Mr. Truett—nothing goes in or out. The grain you’ve already harvested will be destroyed. The corn still standing will remain where it is—our research people will be studying the fungus in situ for the next couple of months. Come winter we’ll burn the fields and plow it all under. In the spring we’ll watch to see if the fungus reemerges.”
“But—I’ll lose two harvests.”
“Or three. It all depends on how persistent this fungus turns out to be.”
Tully’s jaw dropped. “You gotta be kidding me.”
The OIG agent looked at Donovan. “Did I sound like I was kidding?”
“But you don’t understand. A lot of my land is leased from other farmers—I’m under contract to pay them at the end of every harvest. They’ll sue—I’ll go bankrupt.”
“You must have crop insurance.”
“I just bought a new combine. Corn prices were off the charts. I put everything I had into more land. I never thought—”
“Uh-oh,” Nick said. “Sounds like somebody’s been cutting corners.”
“I’ll be ruined. What am I supposed to do?”
“Here’s an idea,” Nick said. “You could sell the place to Kathryn—I’m sure she’d give you a fair price.”
They watched as Tully turned and staggered away.
“Too bad the girls aren’t here,” Nick said. “I think they would have enjoyed that—I know I did.”
They heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Nick turned and saw Kathryn’s pickup truck roll to a stop in front of the barn. Kathryn and Alena got out and Kathryn held her door while Callie slid down off the seat. Both women looked around wide-eyed at the bustling farmyard.
