The base was a hunk of wood, nailed to the wall. The fan hooked there went back and forth endlessly. With each passing gust of wind, the flies rose and buzzed and hovered. When the breeze moved on temporarily, they settled to their chore again. When Steph reached the barn door she could hear them. She stepped into the barn and she smelled it. Maybe it was a dead cow, she thought. She hesitated, telling herself again and again it was a cow.
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