When I come to, I’m lying on a gurney in the middle of the cornfield. Several sets of bright headlights are shining on me. I’m groggy, but no longer in pain. I’m quite sure I’ve been sedated. I can see that much of the cornfield has been plowed down by the EMT vans and the state trooper 4X4s.
Soon, a light comes from out of the sky accompanied by the sound of a rotor blade chopping the air. When the helicopter lands, it sends a swift cornstalk laden wind against me. The EMTs do their best to block me from the gusts while they quickly and efficiently stuff me into the belly of the chopper.
As the doors close, I look into the face of a woman who is strapping me in for the ride.
“The children,” I say. “Mike and little Molly.”
“They’re okay,” she says, her voice coming to me as if throu
