There was no reason to dissent. Matt picked himself up and hobbled off. Halfway down the path the orchard rumbled and he was swatted to the ground, all breath expunged from his lungs. Something kicked him in the head with enough force to roll him on his back. The world faded and dimmed and the last thing he saw was the arm-like branches of the dead oak. It leaned over him, laughing and pointing. Then he realized it might be his headstone. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for him to roll under it.

The chirping of crickets and frogs reigned in his mind. Points of light flashed behind his eyes. The incessant hooting of an owl tickled his ears.

That owl is close, he thought.

Matt shivered and smelled moist grass and soil, so moist it almost smelled like a fish. The Milky Way stretched out before him, cold and striking. He tried to lift his left eyelid but it wouldn’t budge. Matt felt a sticky substance there, probably blood. Or maybe a crow pecked his eye out and there was nothing there but slop pooled in the socket. He reached again and sighed when he touched the lid.

It let me live, he thought.

Yes it did, the little voice said. Maybe it wants to keep you around for its next batch of offspring.

Not cool. He’d already been a soft target for the offspring, and had no intention of playing that role again. He took a breath and winced as sharp pain radiated across his chest.

“I think I broke a rib,” he mumbled to no one. He realized, with creeping gloom, that his breathing was erratic. He could feel his heart beating abnormally between stabs of pain. He brought two fingers to his crusty eyelid and pried it open. Above the eye he discovered a bump that seemed to cover half his forehead.

High in the dead oak loomed the silhouette of a great horned owl, the stars speckling behind it. The owl hooted and he realized just how loud their calls were.

He thought of Sanders emptying his shotgun and smiled. Then he sat up in the orchard grass, shivering. His face felt warm and sweaty— strange considering the chill in the air. As he stood, his knees wobbled and his calves spasmed, teetering him back to the ground. His face tingled and a warm sensation crept under his cheeks and forehead. Sweat dripped from his upper lip and nose. He placed a hand on his forehead. Yep, warm as a radiator.

You have a fever, Matthew, the little voice said.