The third row of parting grass reached his feet and a terrible pain seized his left leg. The thing had sliced him above the boot, tearing his jeans open. Sanders kicked firmly—not in a way meant to deliver damage, but in a way to flip the thing in front of him, like someone trying to lift a soccer ball. Then he’d have a good shot once it parted the grass again. Another pain from his shin, and then a breath-sucking pinch followed by razor teeth. Sanders jammed the shotgun barrel at his boot, using it to jab the thing away. Another bite ripped his flesh and he screamed.

It’s eating me alive, he thought. Sweat beaded on his face as he planted his left boot and kicked at the thing with his right. His toe found the mark and the thing grunted. Sanders retreated five steps, aimed the shotgun down, and fired at the moving grass. The red and copper shell spun from the chamber, high into the fall day. At once the grass ceased moving. A chunky horsefly landed on the blood and dipped its probing feelers into the mess.

One left, he thought.

The thing that made the big noise. Big mamma. Big motherfooking mamma.

Sanders lowered the shotgun and loaded the three slugs into the chamber. He checked the orchard grass. Nothing. He surveyed the leaning post, knees bent in a shooting position. His ears throbbed with anticipation, his eyes darting to the tiniest sound.

Something chopped the air above him like a whip.

The wind picked up from the south, rustling treetops in the southern valley. Oh how he wanted to climb onto his four-wheeler and haul ass back to the cottage, to lie in Melinda’s arms.

Then his chest tightened, and he choked.

Next, his arms numbed and flopped at his side, and a punishing constricting sensation overcame his entire body. Somehow, he held onto the gun as spittle burst from his lips.

Then he saw Matty Kearns near the leaning post, running towards him with a chainsaw.

If you go out there, you will die, the little voice said.

“Don’t care,” Matt said.

Another shotgun blast ripped across the orchard. Matt stood and paced like a caged animal.

You’ll die . . . do you understand that? the little voice said.

“I’m not going to stand by and do nothing this time. Someone needs my help and I’m going to offer it.” Matt opened the door, dragged the dead thing by the trap chain, and swung it into the grass. It thumped to the ground like a waterlogged volleyball. Matt took the chainsaw, pressed the safety button, and yanked the plastic handle. The saw rumbled to life as he gunned the accelerator. He raised the blade into the air and revved, making the saw buzz like a colony of pissed off wasps.

Another shotgun blast.