A coyote howled from the direction of the river. Another answered from farther away. He looked at the darkening sky, knowing these were the last few moments before true night. It would be several hours before the moon rose enough to give him any help, and he had a lot to do in that time. Then he heard the soft rush of a big engine in the distance.

He jogged past the far corner of the barn to get a view up the road. To the east, against the pale stripe of gravel, he saw a small dark shape, maybe a half mile away and coming fast. From the high profile, probably a truck. Most of the vehicles Peter had seen in the last few days were trucks of some kind or another.

Whoever it was, they’d forgotten to turn on their headlamps.

The vehicle rolled closer and Peter retreated into the gloom between the huge barn and the combines. He didn’t think he would be visible to a passing car, but better to be safe than sorry. Then the brake lights flared and Peter saw a familiar silhouette. A jacked-up pickup with a roll bar mounted above the cab, shedding speed fast.

15

Peter backpedaled down the row of muddy harvesters parked nose-in before the barn, feeling small beside the hulking green beasts.

Before he could get past the final combine and into the cover of the trees, the driver veered into the farmyard, flipped on his headlamps and high bright floods, and began a slow, deliberate turn across the hard-packed dirt.

Peter stepped behind a thick-lugged tire that rose to the top of his head. It was the only available cover, because the big machines stood high enough off the ground that his legs would be visible anywhere else. The fierce illumination crept toward him, blasting each combine in turn and making strange, shifting shadows on the barn. Terrified rabbits zigzagged into the weeds. Peter watched them run and thought of the man with the scoped rifle and considered his options. He liked none of them. He readied himself for a sprint.

But the lights swept across his hiding place without pause. The pickup continued its curve, washing over the stand of maples, the abandoned farmhouse, the shining silos, and the unmown weeds along the road. After the vehicle completed a full loop, it came to a stop in the middle of the yard, facing away from the road and into the trees.

Then a new and more powerful light lanced out, probing the stand of maples and ruined house like an accusing finger. The passenger had a handheld spot, a useful tool for finding escaped livestock and shining deer out of season.

At least Peter knew they hadn’t seen him. If they had, they’d have started with the combines.