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collapsing like a stone.
    Meredith dropped the rifle to the dirt and rushed to the old woman’s aid. Sheila opened her mouth, emitting a trickle of blood. Her stomach had been torn open, her insides torn and upended.
    “Stay still,” Meredith instructed.
    Tears streamed down her face. Without being a doctor, she knew that the woman was mortally wounded. The nearest hospital was about fifty miles away. Even if they could make it, she doubted the woman would survive.
    But she’d try to nonetheless.
    “I’ll be right back, Sheila. I promise.”
    Meredith raced out of the barn, past the bodies of Marcy and Ben, across the field. Her throat was tight and constricted, her pulse still raced, but this time for a different reason.
    Two of her neighbors were dead, and another was dying.
    The kitchen was even worse than she had left it. The chairs had been knocked over, the door hung off its hinges. Ben had torn through it like a whirlwind, destroying everything in his path to get to her.
    She’d been extremely lucky.
    She just wished she’d reached Sheila earlier, before Marcy had—
    Meredith pushed the thought from her mind and picked up the phone. She clicked the button off, then on again. The receiver spit a dial tone. She tapped the numbers 9-1-1 and waited for the phone to connect.
    But it didn’t.
    It rang and rang.
    That’s impossible , she thought. How could nobody be there?
    But she knew the reason, and try as she might, she was unable to ignore it. She hung up, dialed again, same result. Frantic now, she tried the phone numbers of her closest neighbors. No matter whom she called, she was unable to get a response.
    The fear inside her grew.
    How could things have happened so fast?
    She looked at her hands as if expecting herself to suddenly transform, but her fingers remained fleshy and white. She’d been careful not to consume anything other than what was on her farm. Had Ben and Marcy done the same? She thought they had, but she couldn’t be sure.
    Meredith left the phone behind and raced back out the kitchen door. Once outside, she glanced at the driveway. Her car was still adjacent to the house, a hundred feet away.
    She changed course from the barn to her car. She could still make out the body of Ben Parsons on the ground, and as she ran, she had the sudden premonition that the man would sit up and chase her. But he remained still.
    When she reached her truck, she jumped in, started the engine, and drove up to the barn’s entrance. If Meredith couldn’t get ahold of an ambulance, she’d drive Sheila to the hospital herself.
    She darted back into the barn.
    Sheila’s eyes were half-closed and her breathing was shallow.
    “Stay with me, Sheila!” she shouted.
    She glanced at the woman’s stomach, where blood was still spilling from inside, creating a puddle on the dirt beside her. Meredith had never seen so much in her life. She gritted her teeth and looked for a towel.
    I need to stop the bleeding. Put pressure on it. Then I can move her.
    The rational part of her mind told her that her efforts would be useless, that no matter what she did, the woman was already on a one-way trip to death’s door. But Meredith ignored the thoughts and continued, refusing to give up.
    Finding nothing in the barn, she raced back for the house, intent on retrieving a clean towel to apply to the wound. She crashed through the kitchen and into the bathroom, whipped open the closet. Inside were several clean towels. She tucked them under her armpit and darted back for the barn.
    When she got to Sheila’s side, her heart dropped even further. The old woman’s eyes were rolled back in her head and she’d stopped breathing.
    Meredith placed her fingers on the woman’s neck, but there was no sign of life, no pulse. She placed her hands on the woman’s chest, right above the gaping wound, and started chest compressions. Every few seconds she held her ear to the woman’s mouth, hoping to resuscitate her.
    Blood soaked her