The Last Harvest Page 4

  Which leaves me. I’m the sixth. I just wish I knew what it meant. There’s a line drawn next to my name, stretching out to the margins, with “L.A.W. 11:26” written in my dad’s chicken scrawl. I’ve gone over every corresponding Bible passage, every possible acronym I can think of and I still can’t make heads or tails of it. There were lots of entries for L.A.W. in the checkbook the last month of my dad’s life. A hundred dollars here, fifty dollars there. When I asked Mom about it, she got so agitated, I had to stop.

  Written around the perimeter of the page, in a circular pattern, is a passage from Exodus 32—The Golden Calf.

  “I will make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and I will give your descendants all this land I promised them, and it will be their inheritance forever.”

  As hard as I try to piece it all together, I can’t help thinking maybe it’s just the ramblings of a crazy person. Nothing more. Maybe I should be thankful I don’t understand it, because understanding it would mean I’m crazy, too.

  Rubbing the goose bumps from my arms, I set the books aside and turn off my light.

  It’s a little chilly, but the breeze feels good. The way the wind rustles against the garbage bag almost sounds like wind chimes.

  For the longest time after Dad’s death, I thought I could still hear the cattle bellowing and mewing. I know that’s nuts.

  People think cows are these dumb docile animals, but you should’ve seen what they did to him. Teeth, hooves, a thousand pounds of pressure crushing his bones.

  But that’s nothing compared to what he did to them.

  7

  A DULL creaking sound pulls me through the wheat. The sky is so blue, like it’s been painted on. I reach a clearing in the wheat to find a girl with long, dark-brown hair swinging on a rusted-out swing set. The curves of her body are barely concealed under a sheer white slip.

  She glances at me over her shoulder, a sly smile playing across her cherry lips.

  Ali.

  I walk around the clearing so I can face her. She stretches out her long tan legs in front of her like she’s trying to reach heaven with her tiptoes. Her legs are slightly parted. Catching my gaze, her smile deepens. Her hazel eyes look darker than normal, like the algae clinging to the rocks at the bottom of Harmon Lake.

  “I want to go higher,” she says. “Don’t you want to push me?”

  “Sure.” I cross behind her.

  She comes back to me like an arrow, legs tucked beneath her.

  I reach out to give her a push. The feel of her warm body against my hands sends a surge of raw electricity through me.

  The sky begins to darken, ominous clouds rolling in all around us, but I don’t care. All I want to do is touch her again.

  I push her. She laughs as she swings higher and higher away from me.

  When she returns, Ali tilts her head back; her eyes are black. Pure black, like pools of crude.

  I stumble back into the wheat, and on the upswing Ali lets go, disappearing into the churning sky.

  Calling her name, I careen around the clearing, the empty swing whipping all around me, but she never comes back down.

  The swing sways and creaks, over and over. The sound grates on my nerves, like a dull knife sawing through bone, but there’s another sound, a warm wet sucking sound coming from a hollow in the wheat. Something about that sound makes me want to crawl out of my skin, but I have to know what it is. With each step forward, a sickeningly sweet metallic odor fills my senses, making me want to gag.

  I try to turn back, but it’s too late. The wheat has closed in all around me, leading me to a nest made up of discarded wheat stems.

  Inside, a little girl with light-blond pigtails lies next to a calf with golden fur.

  The little girl is suckling from the dead calf.

  “Noodle?” I gasp.

  She sits up, blood dripping from her mouth. “He’s coming.”

  * * *

  I JOLT upright in bed, chest heaving, my skin covered in a thick sheen of cold sweat. My entire body’s trembling. Dragging my hand through my damp hair, I think maybe it’s withdrawal symptoms. I’ve been popping those sleeping pills like candy for the past year. But that dream … Jesus. I can’t shake the image of Noodle with that calf.

  I get up to shut the window, and that’s when I notice a warm glow coming from the western edge of our property, from the Neely ranch. It looks like it’s spilling from every crack of the breeding barn.

  I clench my eyes shut. Whatever this is, I need to snap out of it. I press my hand against the glass, and a shock of cold sinks into my flesh, making the hair on my arms stand up.

  This isn’t a dream.

  I glance back at the clock. 11:59 P.M. “No way.” I exhale as I brace myself against the window frame. Could it be Ali? Could she seriously be waiting for me there?

  “Come on, Clay. Don’t do this to yourself.” I shut the window and start to resecure the garbage bag, but I can’t take it. I have to know. If Ali’s there, waiting for me, and I don’t go, I’ll never forgive myself.

  Pulling on my jeans and a T-shirt, I creep down the stairs. I know exactly where the creaks are in the pine floors, from when Dale used to stay over and we’d sneak out and run around like idiots, playing Marco Polo in the wheat.

  My heart aches when I see Noodle’s arranged my work boots next to the door, exactly one inch apart. There’s a note tucked in the right one. I put the note in my pocket and slip on my boots, stepping outside into the brisk air.

  As I head toward the Neely ranch, my breath hovers all around me. The only sound is the wheat being crushed beneath my boots, like tiny skeletons.

  The sky looks the same as it did on the night Dad marched into the wheat clutching that crucifix. And I think to myself, what the hell am I even doing out here? This is just morbid … and pathetic. It’s probably nothing. Just my imagination or some dumbass kids from the city. But if they’re looking for ghosts, I can sure lend a hand. Serve them right.

  As I reach the edge of our property, I duck under the broken-down fence and walk straight for the breeding barn. I try not to think about the last time I made this trip. The blood. The carnage. When they finally cleared the breeding-floor drains, they found the metal crucifix at the bottom of the pool of blood all twisted up with chunks of fur and intestines.

  A soft whisper stops me in my tracks.

  At first, it’s so low I wonder if it’s just the wheat swaying in the bitter wind, but it feels more sinister than that.

  I force myself to step forward, slow and steady. The closer I get to the breeding barn, the more intense the sound grows. It’s more than one voice. It sounds like people are whispering … in unison. And there’s a beat, a low thud that feels like it’s reverberating up from the soil.

  The glow I saw from my bedroom window is candlelight. I can tell by the way it softly flickers through the gaps in the wood of the barn, but I’ve never smelled candles like these. There’s a strange odor in the air … maybe some kind of flower, but with a strong scent of decay, like rotting meat.

  I creep around the back of the barn and peek through one of the cracks in the wood. I don’t see anyone, but I hear them, that soft chanting along with the steady boom, like they’re stomping their feet.

  A hulking form stretches along the breeding platform, covered by a dingy tarp the police must’ve left behind.

  A figure approaches the breeding platform. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie. When he grabs the edge of the tarp, I notice the symbol on his wrist—the upside-down U with two dots above and below. Fucking Tyler. I should’ve known.

  Three other people move into view and my heart picks up speed. I crane my neck to see Ben, Tammy, and Jimmy—all the Preservation Society kids. Everyone except Ali. Thank God she’s not involved in whatever this is, but why would she ask me to meet her here? Did she want me to see this? Maybe she wanted me to stop it. Maybe this was the only way she could tell me they’re messing with me, or Tyler put her up to it.
Either way, I’m not having it.

  Just as I open my mouth to holler at them, tell them the joke’s over, Tyler pulls off the tarp to reveal a dead cow. Must be at least twelve hundred pounds, split right down the middle. My stomach lurches; bile rises in my throat. Is this where the calf came from? Did they cut it out of her stomach? But the cow’s stomach looks full, bloated even.

  I’m trying to get control of my breath when I see something roil inside the cow’s stomach. I clamp my hand tight over my mouth, my eyes beginning to water.

  Something’s alive in there.

  My knees buckle. I press my forehead against the splintery wood to steady myself.

  A hand thrusts out from the cow’s stomach.

  A human hand, fingers outstretched.

  Tyler steps into my line of sight, blocking my view, and I take off running down the length of the barn to get a better look.

  The next gap in the dilapidated wood reveals the crown of a head emerging from the cow, dark hair slick with blood.

  The chanting and stomping grow louder, more frenetic, but I can hardly hear a word over the siren-like ringing in my ears. Tyler and the others are circling the cow like a sick merry-go-round, creepy smiles plastered on their glowing faces. Dizziness washes over me. I only catch glimpses, slivers of movement inside the circle.

  I sprint for the next gap in the wood to see arms and a torso rise from the cow’s stomach. A girl. My heart’s beating so hard I’m afraid it’ll burst. I can’t stop staring at her chest. I know I should feel repulsed, but the sharp curve from her waist to her hip bone fills me with something ancient and primal. Sick and wrong.

  My gut is screaming at me to look away, but I can’t stop.

  The warm, sticky sound as she crawls out of the carcass seeps deep inside of me, making me woozy.

  Tyler and the others sink to their knees before her.

  She stands, towering over them, her perfect body glistening with blood and viscera in the golden glow of candlelight.

  Slowly, she raises her head.

  When I finally see her face, it feels like all the air has been punched from my lungs.

  Chin lowered, lips slightly parted, the rise and fall of her chest.

  Ali peeks out of her long, slick dark hair.

  The air returns to me all at once, and I suck in a rasping breath.

  The corners of her mouth curl into a seductive smile. “He’s coming.”

  They all turn toward me, their mouths stretched open, letting out a chorus of guttural moans.

  8

  I STAGGER back, my head spinning, every nerve ending on fire as I take off running into the wheat.

  The crops lash my arms. The night swallows me. No moon or stars to guide me, but I know these fields.

  I listen for the sounds of them crashing through the wheat behind me, but they don’t come. I’m trying to concentrate on the air going in and out of my lungs, the relentless pounding of my heart, but my mind keeps going back to the breeding barn—nothing but blood, limbs, and pure black eyes. I don’t know what’s happening, but I have to pull myself together, for Ali’s sake. I have to be smart about this. I don’t want to get her in trouble, but I saw her bare chest … her naked body. I saw her crawl out of a dead cow, for Christ’s sake! I know Tyler put her up to this. He must be controlling her in some way. Whether it’s drugs or some kind of prank, she’s in way over her head. She needs help.

  When I glimpse the light shining down from the equipment shed onto my truck, I know what I have to do. Same thing I did after I found my dad. I have to get Sheriff Ely. He and Dad were friends. He’s not part of the Preservation Society. He’ll have to hear me out this time.

  I roll down the windows and listen closely as I ease down the drive toward Route 17. It’s eerily quiet, the same way it gets right before the weather turns. No insects scrabbling over the wheat, no wind rustling the crops. It’s like Mother Nature knows something’s coming. I can’t take my eyes off the wheat. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for … monsters.

  * * *

  THE STREETS are dead. Everything’s closed up. Even the Quick Trip’s dark, which means it’s past one in the morning.

  I pull into Sheriff’s gravel driveway, in front of an old farmhouse about half a mile east of town, and lay on my horn until a light comes on upstairs. Mrs. Ely peeks through the lacy curtains, her hair all coiled up in those pink spongy curlers. I hear them bickering as the porch light flickers on. Positioning myself directly in front of his door, I wait. There’s a bug zapper right next to my head. The constant low hum along with the occasional electrocution isn’t helping my nerves.

  “Clay?” Sheriff opens the door just a crack. “Greg Tilford’s on duty tonight.”

  “No, not him.” My voice comes out shakier than I’d like. “I need to talk to you.”

  He blinks up at me, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy. “You sleepwalking, son? Need me to call your ma, or Dr. Perry?”

  “No, listen to me, it’s Ali. She’s out at the Neely ranch, and something bad happened to her.”

  His thick gray eyebrows merge together. “The Neely ranch?”

  “Please.” I look down at my boots for a moment before I meet his gaze again. “It’s important.”

  “Come on in,” he says with a heavy sigh, his shoulders collapsing under his worn plaid flannel robe as he shuffles down the hall into the kitchen and turns on the light.

  “Wait.” I take off after him. “We have to go. You have to come with me. You have to see what they’re doing out there.”

  “They?” He settles himself in one of the oak chairs crowded around a small table. “I thought you said it was just Ali?”

  “Ali and Tyler,” I say as I pace the linoleum. “But Jimmy, Tammy, and Ben are there, too.”

  He shakes his head. “So this is about the Preservation Society again.”

  “No, it’s not about that. Not really.”

  The floorboards above me groan, making me flinch.

  “Dear,” Sheriff calls. “As long as you’re up can you get Clay one of those calming teas?”

  I crane my neck to see Mrs. Ely hovering at the top of the stairs, listening.

  The wood buckles under her weight as she comes down the stairs. She glares at me as she crosses over to the sink; her face is all scrunched up like one of those fancy Persian cats.

  “Let’s start from the beginning.” He pushes a chair out, motioning for me to sit. “What were you doing out at the Neely ranch? We talked about this. That’s trespassing.”

  Reluctantly, I take a seat. “Today at school, I saw this mark on Ali’s neck. Tyler has the same mark on his wrist. And then Ali came over to my truck and told me to meet her out at the breeding barn at midnight.”

  “Hogwash,” Mrs. Ely blurts. “Ali would never do such a thing. She’s a—”

  “Dear,” Sheriff interrupts. “The tea.”

  She purses her lips so tight you’d need a crowbar to pry her mouth open.

  “Okay, Clay. Then what?”

  “So, I ignored it, tried to put it out of my head, and when I got back to the combine, the calf was gone … just vanished.”

  Sheriff’s eyes narrow. “Hold up. What’s this about a calf?”

  “Crazy, just like his daddy,” Mrs. Ely mutters as she dunks a tea bag in a mug of microwaved water.

  My jaw clenches. There’s a hundred things I want to say right now, but I hold my tongue.

  “Why don’t you head up to bed, dear,” he says gently, but the vein pulsing in his temple gives him away.

  She slams the mug down in front of me, sending steaming piss-colored water sloshing over the side.

  He waits until she’s upstairs, the bedroom door crashing shut, before turning back to me. “Go on now. What calf, Clay?”

  “This morning I ran over a calf with the combine. And then the Wiggins kid said something about it this afternoon.”

  “The Wiggins kid?” He glances around the room, his eyes locking on the gun b
elt hanging by the back door, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  “Look, I’m not crazy and I’m not doing meth, the calf was there. It was real. I don’t know how … or why, but when I came back from school to dig it out of the cutting blades, it was gone.”

  He gives me an exasperated look.

  “I know what it sounds like, but tonight, I woke up from a nightmare—”

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. So, you had a nightmare.”

  “No, I woke up from the nightmare and when I went to shut my window, I saw a glow coming from the Neely ranch.”

  “A glow?” he repeats, one eyebrow raised.

  “Yeah, they lit a bunch of candles in the breeding barn.”

  He clasps his hands tight in front of him, resting them on the table. “I know you and Ali were close at one time, and I know you and Tyler have your issues, but his daddy owns the ranch. Not against the law to entertain on your own property.”

  “Entertain?” I struggle to find my next words. “Ali crawled out of a dead cow’s stomach … naked … covered in blood.”

  He leans back in his chair, which creaks so loudly I think it might snap in two. His mouth stretches into a thin grim line. “Tell you what, I’ll give Ali’s folks a call first.”

  I take in a deep breath. “That’s a start.”

  He gets out the directory; it’s painful watching him find the M’s and then scan each name.

  “631-0347.” I call out her number, my knee bouncing up and down like a jackhammer. “And I want it on speakerphone.”

  Sheriff gives me a weary look, but complies. The volume’s low, but I can hear each agonizing ring until someone finally picks up.

  “Hello?” Mr. Miller answers, groggily.

  “Charlie, it’s Ely. Sorry to bother you like this, but I’ve got Clay Tate over here, and he claims he saw your daughter out at the Neely ranch tonight. That she might be in some kind of trouble.”

  “Not this again.” Mr. Miller yawns. “We went to the football dinner at the Preservation Society and then she went straight to bed.”