arm and hauled her to her feet, taking my knife back from her bloody hand. The path between the rows of corn was too narrow to run side by side so I pulled her behind me as I ran. From all around came the sounds of bodies breaking through stalks and people yelling and screaming.
We ran toward the farmyard where the truck waited or we could barricade ourselves inside a building. When we reached the clearing, carnage confronted us. On the porch of the house, several zombies were tearing Mrs. Wilkins apart and chewing on her limbs. Others grabbed people as they came out of the field, plucking them like a bountiful harvest. Several of our people hacked at the undead with knives or axes. A few had made it to their motorcycles and were riding away. The pickup was surrounded by a milling group of a dozen undead. We couldn’t make it through that many.
I pulled Ashleigh back into the cover of the corn. How had things spun out of control so fast? What had happened to the guards? There’d been no warning. And where had this sudden surge of zombies come from? We were miles from anyplace. For one panicked moment, I had no idea what to do. Then the drone of the combine in the next field sparked an idea that broke me from my frozen trance.
Holding Ashleigh’s hand, I ran toward the sound. Soon I could see the cab of the big green machine above the cornstalks moving steadily along. Wilkins must be completely oblivious to what was happening around him, isolated in the soundproofed cab. But as we drew closer I saw that although the combine was still moving, the cab was empty and its door hung open. The blood-smeared windshield and ladder to the cab drew a picture of what had happened to the farmer. Picturing zombies pulling Wilkins from inside didn’t make me trust in the safety of the cab, but the option of running around the field being chased by zombies wasn’t any better.
The area around the machine was zombie-free, but it would be tricky getting on while it was moving. I gave Ashleigh a little push toward the harvester. “Jump on.”
She didn’t hesitate but ran toward the moving machine. She jogged alongside, gauged the speed then leaped onto the side and clambered up the ladder rungs like a gymnast. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was probably a lot more physically fit than me what with the pole dancing.
I trotted beside the combine, which was rolling at a steady clip. Drawing a deep breath, I grabbed for a ladder rung. The metal was slippery with blood and I nearly lost my grip. I grabbed another rung and hung on for a moment before climbing, more slowly than Ashleigh, up to the cab.
There was barely room for two inside. I sat in the operator’s seat and studied the controls. Ashleigh was squished in beside me on the chair, hip to hip, panting for breath. She leaned forward and wiped the blood from the windshield with her sleeve, succeeding mostly in smearing it.
From this height we could see some of the scene playing out in the field—the running people, both living and dead, and the fallen ones, some of which struggled to rise again. I grabbed hold of the wheel and steered the harvester toward the Wilkins’ house.
“ What are you gonna do?” Ashleigh braced a hand against the side of the cab as we jolted over the bumpy furrows. I was too busy trying to figure out how to engage the cutter bar to answer. Finally, I located the right control and the combine began to devour the stalks before us. In the side mirror, I glimpsed the chewed-up detritus spew out from beneath the machine and through the rear window, shelled grain landing in the tank.
I focused on a zombie walking between the rows of corn. I was sure the figure was a monster and not a living human because it didn’t seem particularly concerned that one of its arms dangled by a tendon. The creature looked at the machine with a vacant stare and didn’t move out of the way. Maybe it smelled the fresh blood on
We ran toward the farmyard where the truck waited or we could barricade ourselves inside a building. When we reached the clearing, carnage confronted us. On the porch of the house, several zombies were tearing Mrs. Wilkins apart and chewing on her limbs. Others grabbed people as they came out of the field, plucking them like a bountiful harvest. Several of our people hacked at the undead with knives or axes. A few had made it to their motorcycles and were riding away. The pickup was surrounded by a milling group of a dozen undead. We couldn’t make it through that many.
I pulled Ashleigh back into the cover of the corn. How had things spun out of control so fast? What had happened to the guards? There’d been no warning. And where had this sudden surge of zombies come from? We were miles from anyplace. For one panicked moment, I had no idea what to do. Then the drone of the combine in the next field sparked an idea that broke me from my frozen trance.
Holding Ashleigh’s hand, I ran toward the sound. Soon I could see the cab of the big green machine above the cornstalks moving steadily along. Wilkins must be completely oblivious to what was happening around him, isolated in the soundproofed cab. But as we drew closer I saw that although the combine was still moving, the cab was empty and its door hung open. The blood-smeared windshield and ladder to the cab drew a picture of what had happened to the farmer. Picturing zombies pulling Wilkins from inside didn’t make me trust in the safety of the cab, but the option of running around the field being chased by zombies wasn’t any better.
The area around the machine was zombie-free, but it would be tricky getting on while it was moving. I gave Ashleigh a little push toward the harvester. “Jump on.”
She didn’t hesitate but ran toward the moving machine. She jogged alongside, gauged the speed then leaped onto the side and clambered up the ladder rungs like a gymnast. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was probably a lot more physically fit than me what with the pole dancing.
I trotted beside the combine, which was rolling at a steady clip. Drawing a deep breath, I grabbed for a ladder rung. The metal was slippery with blood and I nearly lost my grip. I grabbed another rung and hung on for a moment before climbing, more slowly than Ashleigh, up to the cab.
There was barely room for two inside. I sat in the operator’s seat and studied the controls. Ashleigh was squished in beside me on the chair, hip to hip, panting for breath. She leaned forward and wiped the blood from the windshield with her sleeve, succeeding mostly in smearing it.
From this height we could see some of the scene playing out in the field—the running people, both living and dead, and the fallen ones, some of which struggled to rise again. I grabbed hold of the wheel and steered the harvester toward the Wilkins’ house.
“ What are you gonna do?” Ashleigh braced a hand against the side of the cab as we jolted over the bumpy furrows. I was too busy trying to figure out how to engage the cutter bar to answer. Finally, I located the right control and the combine began to devour the stalks before us. In the side mirror, I glimpsed the chewed-up detritus spew out from beneath the machine and through the rear window, shelled grain landing in the tank.
I focused on a zombie walking between the rows of corn. I was sure the figure was a monster and not a living human because it didn’t seem particularly concerned that one of its arms dangled by a tendon. The creature looked at the machine with a vacant stare and didn’t move out of the way. Maybe it smelled the fresh blood on
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