At the next wave of pain, Courtney staggered backward and bumped into the shovel. “Zach…”

“Grandpa didn’t understand, Courtney. He died here.”

Courtney’s hands wrapped around the shovel handle behind her back. “Everybody dies, Zach,” she sobbed, “everybody.”

“We don’t have to, not in the Hollow. All the land asks for is a little something in return…and we can stay here, forever. They explained it to me. The baby, Court. We give our baby to the land, a little sacrifice from both of us, and we live forever. You and me.” One hand extended to her; the other held a knife.

With a sudden gasp of air, she yanked the shovel from the ground, swinging in a wide, awkward arc. The blade caught Zach in the ribcage. He lurched forward with a dull groan, and one foot twisted into the small grave.

She ran, both hands squeezing against her swollen belly, eyes pressed tight as another contraction threatened to throw her to the ground. At the fence, she leaned against a post for a moment, catching her breath. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw him, staggering from the center of the field, clutching his side.

Weedeman and Olson were at the front door, but Courtney ignored them, hopping into the driver’s seat of the Honda. The car started with a groan and sputter. She reversed quickly and sped from the house, the tires throwing clouds of gravel and dust in her wake. Zach tumbled over the fence as the car crested the first hill.

Through town, out the other side, and safety, she thought. She pushed down on the accelerator, but the car responded with a shuddering groan. Something is wrong.

“No, no, no.” Courtney’s hands crushed the steering wheel. The fuel gauge showed full. The steering wheel wobbled back and forth. The knife in Zach’s hand. The tires. She began to coast at the city limit of Broughton’s Hollow.

Cringing with another contraction, Courtney guided the wounded car to the curb and looked in the rearview mirror. A set of headlights began to descend into the town. “No…” She held her breath against the pain and staggered from the car toward the abandoned church. Twenty more yards…ten more yards…the contraction slowed.