Zombie Farm

The Farm

Hot!

That was the only one way to describe late summer days during the rainy portion of my least favorite of Wisconsin seasons. The air at our farm deep in the back country roads of old highway FF always stunk with manure and piss, ripe from exposure to the sun. Sometimes I felt I couldn't wait to get there for the summer and sometimes, I couldn't wait to leave.

Papa Georgie and Nana May always welcomed us with cold lemonade and a plate of cookies when we arrived at the front steps. That old house was three stories and a deep stone basement that was built back during the civil war. I remember George(that's my grandfather's actual birth name)telling us stories of how the North used it as a base of operations all those years ago. This year, however, something felt off immediately when I pulled up in my old, soft cream colored '79 Camero I noticed a missing feature key to my usual love for the aging farmhouse...

My grandparents.

After I parked the car out front, I grabbed my things from the trunk and carried them up the front porch steps. The front door was left unlocked which wasn't unusual for my grandparents but what was out of the ordinary was the fact that the door itself was unlatched and I effortlessly pushed it open.

When I stepped inside the old farmhouse, I immediately noticed something strange. There was a thin layer of dust covering almost everything in sight. Even the telephone was dusty. Had they forgotten how to make calls?

'Papa! Nana!' There was no response. My voice echoed around the house, up the stairs and down the hall to the plethora of different rooms. Where were they?

I set my things down at the doorway and pushed the door closed behind me. I moved quickly and with purpose in my step to the kitchen area where I saw a small note on the dinner table.

Out to town. It read. I should have expected this. Papa always wanted to do extravagant things when I stayed the weekend. Nana, too. They would probably pick up a big cake and some fresh cut steaks from Barry's Butcher Shop down the way. I smirked and forced out a gentle laugh.

After bringing my things to the spare bedroom, I decided to head out to the old barn where I knew Papa still had a few cattle and some chickens and pigs. It was my favorite part about visiting after all, the animals. As much as the manure made me want to vomit, I loved everything else about farm life. I especially loved the animals. They were so cute and cuddly. I love cows!

When I finally stopped my heart from racing with excitement,as I opened the large, red and white sliding wooden door to the barn, I gagged. Salt and rust filled the air and the occasional mix of cow pie didn't help either. The barn was a long dirt walkway that got slippery during the heavy rains, multiple wooden stalls with doors on a timer and a main lever switch that opened them all together and would automatically close them after a certain amount of time. If I had a dollar for every time Papa and I had to rewire the old fuse box when I was a little girl, I'd be rich. That thing was always going out of service. I threw the main lever and with a loud, obnoxious BEEP the power blared to life and the stalls opened in tandem.

At first I thought the animals were growling and I found it odd. When I saw them all in the corners of their stalls I was relieved to see they were sleeping. I went to the feed trough and grabbed an old pitchfork nearby. I began taking forks full of hay from the trough and loading them into the animals feed areas. When I was finished and could see none of them were going to get up to see me, i returned the pitchfork and left the barn after closing the stalls and shutting down the power.

As the smells of the barn lingered behind me, my previous sense of unease returned to me. Then, it hit me. How could I have been so clueless? If my Grandparents had just gone to town today, then why was there dust everywhere?

My heart raced as I ran hard back to the farmhouse. I entered the kitchen, nearly yanked the entire telephone off of the far wall and dialled the number for the local doctor's office. It wasn't long and I had the answer I needed. Both Nana and Papa had gone in earlier today reporting a slight fever and repetitive, guttural cough. The nurse there informed me that they had been feeling this way for a few weeks and they were monitoring them for a few days.

As I hung up the phone I felt a sense of responsibility to my grandparents, to their farm.

Suddenly, a clap of thunder shook the walls of the farm house and a few moments later, a torrential downpour started, dousing any hope I had of leaving any time soon. Now, and for the foreseeable future, I was stuck here, at the farm, alone.