Excerpt from Sowing, Reaping
We found a whole bunch of those massive cows dead the next day. Lane called me up around dawn, tellin’ me I had to come see this.
I met him out in the pastures. I… I mean… I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that. And I seen cows and pigs and chickens alive before the slaughter. Seen the slaughter in progress. Done a bit of that myself. You live on a farm, there ain’t no middleman. Chicken don’t walk around in pre-wrapped containers of boneless breast.
This wasn’t the same. This was rage times a thousand. It didn’t even look human. But what kind of animal would tear apart a dozen head of cattle and not eat any of it?
“You didn’t hear nothin’ last night?”
Lane didn’t answer. He looked about like my stomach felt. I found myself lookin’ at his hands, and feelin’ guilty for it.
“Lane? What’s goin’ on?”
“Come on,” he croaked.
We trudged back down to the farmhouse, the whole time this pit of dread growin’ in my stomach. I knew, now, Lane was an Active. I couldn’t yet believe it, but my brain finally latched onto the concept and put two and two together.
He was bigger, had grown a beard, was eating a lot more, some kind of crazy growing side effect was takin’ over his farm. It might’ve affected me too. Probably had. I couldn’t lay claim to a single reason why Jennifer Winters would want to be seen talking to me.
Most folks go their whole lives never bein’ in contact with a real Active. Never meet one, never go to an autograph signing. I definitely never expected to be right there next to the epicentre, reelin’ from the quakes.
Now I had to fear for my safety. I mean, the worst thing I had to worry about before was bein’ stupid, gettin’ kicked by a horse or maybe fallin’ off the tractor. Well, that ain’t precisely true, but I never worried about something like this.
“Lane,” I said weakly.
“You… you gotta see.”
Lane’s house looked the same as it always did. Old, recycled furniture and just enough new pieces to make you feel sad for the family. Some of Lane’s schoolwork from first and second grade was on the fridge, and not all the chairs in the dining room matched up.
The house was dead silent. Worse than that, it was empty. Even with Lane and I in it, it already felt like the schoolhouse in the dead of summer. Not just empty but a negative life space.
Lane’s mom and pop were always awake, especially in the early mornings.
“Lane?”
His parents were in the master bedroom, which was now an abattoir. I learned that word in freshman year. It was like someone transported part of the cow pasture in here. It was just blood, that’s it. Blood and… and chunks.
Here’s a 5 star review.