Tex doesn’t argue. He doesn’t move away either. He just crouches again, hands firm on the cow’s shoulder.
Jasper hovers near us, looking between the sick animals and the horizon as if Sedona might appear from thin air. “She said twenty minutes?”
Tex nods. “Give or take.”
Jasper swallows hard. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”
But nothing is good.
The sickness is spreading faster than I can understand. Faster than any natural contamination should. Something is wrong—deeply wrong—but I can’t pinpoint what.
Feed contamination? Water source compromised? Airborne? No. None of this lines up with anything I’ve seen before.
“This doesn’t feel normal,” Tex says suddenly, like he reads my thoughts. “This isn’t your typical digestive issue.”
“I know.”
“Could be toxins.”
“Maybe.”
“But from where?”
“I don’t know, Tex.”
His voice drops. “Seth… this could take out the whole operation.”
I close my eyes for half a heartbeat. “Don’t say that either.”
The screaming cow goes limp all at once. Not dead—just exhausted, muscles giving out. Her breath sounds broken.
Boone whines, pressing closer, nudging her with his snout as if she’ll rise.
Jasper whispers, “Please don’t let her die.”
I look at my watch. Sedona’s been on the road eight minutes. Twelve to go.
Twelve minutes is too long.
The sun beats down hard, not helping anything. Sweat rolls down my back. My shirt clings to me. The cows pant harder in the heat.
Tex’s face is flushed. Boone’s tongue hangs almost to the ground.
In the distance, another moan rises. Then another.
It spreads across the pasture in awful intervals—different cows, different distress, all adding to the panic.
“Tex,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember the Torres ranch incident back in twenty-nineteen?”
His head snaps toward me. “Don’t say that either.”
Boone barks again—one sharp burst, like a warning.
Jasper turns in a circle, looking like he’s ready to run for town on foot. “How much longer?”
