Did Dee love him? And if she did, what kind of love was it? Her feelings for Tifty were different from her feelings for Vor. Vor was steady, reliable. A creature of duty and endurance, and a good father to the girls. Solid where Tifty was vaporous, a man composed of rumor as much as actual fact. And there was no question that she and Vor belonged together; that had never been an issue. Alone in the dark, in private moments together, he spoke her name with such longing it was almost like pain; that’s how much Vor loved her. He made her feel… what? More real. As if she, Dee Vorhees—wife and mother; daughter of Sis and Jedediah Crukshank, gone to God; citizen of Kerrville, Texas, last oasis of light and safety in a world that knew none—actually existed.
So why should she find herself, once again, thinking of Tifty Lamont?
But the cards, and this hot-hot-hot afternoon in July, when they had brought the children to the field. Dee’s mind had wandered so badly, she hadn’t realized what Cece was doing. Before she knew it, the woman, grinning with victory, had successfully maneuvered her into taking the queen. Two tricks, three, and it was over. Cece gleefully jotted the tally on a pad.
“Another?”
Ordinarily Dee would have said yes, if only to occupy the hours, but in the heat the game had begun to feel like work.
“Maybe Ali wants to play.”
The woman, who had come back into the tent for water, waved the offer away, the ladle poised at her lips. “Not a chance.”
“C’mon, just a couple of hands,” Cece said. “I’m on a hot streak.”
Dee rose from the table. “I better go see what the girls are up to.”
She stepped away from the shelter. In the distance, she could see the tops of the cornstalks quivering where the men were working. She angled her face toward the tower’s apex, positioning a hand over her eyes against the glare. A ghostly moon, daytime white, was hovering near the sun. Well, that was strange. She hadn’t noticed that before. Cruk and Tifty were both on station, Cruk with his binoculars, Tifty sweeping the field with his rifle. He caught sight of her and gave a little wave, which flustered her; it was almost as if he knew she’d been thinking about him. She waved guiltily in reply.
A group of a dozen children were playing kickball, Dash Martinez waiting at the plate. Acting as pitcher was Gunnar, who had become an unofficial babysitter over the course of the afternoon.
“Hey, Gunnar.”
The boy—a man, really, at sixteen—looked toward her. “Hey, Dee. Want to play?”
“Too hot for me, thanks. Have you seen the girls anywhere?”
Gunnar glanced around. “They were here just a second ago. Want me to look?”
Dee’s weariness deepened. Where could they have gone? She supposed she could climb the tower and ask Cruk to track them down with the binoculars. But the hike up the stairs, once she imagined it, seemed too effortful. Easier, on the whole, to find the girls herself.
“No, thanks. If they come back, tell them I want them out of the sun for a while.”
“Gunnar, pitch the ball!” Dash cried.
“Hang on a second.” Gunnar met Dee’s eye. “I’m sure they’re nearby. They were here, like, two seconds ago.”
“That’s fine. I’ll find them myself.”
The wildflower field, she thought; probably that’s where they had gone. She felt more irritated than concerned. They weren’t supposed to wander off without telling anyone. Probably it had been Nit’s idea. The girl was always into something.
They had five minutes left.
From the observation deck, Tifty watched Dee walk away.
“Cruk, pass me the binoculars.”
Cruk handed them over. The wildflower field was located on the north side of the tower, adjacent to the corn. That’s where she appeared to be headed. Probably she just wanted to get away for a few minutes, Tifty thought, away from the children and the other wives.
He passed the binoculars back to Cruk. He scanned the field with his rifle, then lifted the scope toward the tree line.
“The shiny thing is back.”
“Where?”
“Dead ahead, ten degrees right.”
Tifty peered hard into the scope: a distant rectangular shape, brilliantly reflective, through the trees.
“What the hell is that?” Cruk said. “Is it a vehicle?”
“Could be. There’s a service road on the far side.”
“Nothing should be out there now.” Cruk drew down the binoculars. He paused a moment. “Listen.”
Tifty willed his mind to clear. The creak of crickets, the breeze moving through his ears, the trickle of water through the irrigation system. Then he heard it.
“An engine?”
“That’s what I hear, too,” Cruk said. “Stay put.”
He descended the stairs. Tifty pressed his eye to the rifle’s scope. Now the image was clear: a big semi, the cargo compartment covered with some kind of galvanized metal.
He took out his walkie-talkie. “Cruk, it’s a truck. Far side of the trees. Doesn’t look like DS.”
The line crackled. “I know. Double up.”
He saw Cruk emerge from the base of the tower and stride toward the shelter, waving to Gunnar to bring the children over. Tifty dragged his scope across the field: the men working, the rows of corn, the marker flags for the hardboxes drooping in the afternoon stillness. All just as it should be.
But not exactly. Something was different. Was it his vision? He lifted his face. A blade of shadow was moving over the field.
Then he heard the siren.
He turned toward the sun; instantly he knew. It had been many years since he’d felt afraid, not since that night in the dam. But Tifty felt fear now.
One minute.
Vorhees first experienced the altering illumination as a diminishment of visual detail, a sudden dimming like premature twilight. But because he was wearing dark glasses, a defense against the rain of pollen and the afternoon brightness, his mind did not initially compute this change as anything noteworthy. It was only when he heard the shouts that he removed his glasses.
A great round shape, wrapped with a glowing penumbra, was sliding over the sun.
An eclipse.
As the sirens went off, he tore down the row. Everyone else was running, too, yelling,
“Where are the girls?”
Dee was frantic. “I can’t find them!”
The darkness was spreading like ink. Soon the whole field would be enveloped.
“Cruk, get these people in the boxes. Dee, go with him.”
“I can’t! Where are they?”
“I’ll find them.” He drew his pistol from his waistband. “Cruk, get her out of here!”
Vorhees raced back into the field.
