In the most rural part of the state of Kansas, there was a long country road that weaved through seemingly endless cornfields. The light brown dirt that made up the road was rarely disturbed during these summer months. When it was, it was kicked up by either large shipping trucks full of crops or cattle, or aged pick-up trucks full of dirt-poor farmers with whiskey on their breaths or migrant workers in the same condition. Today, though, a different pick-up truck appeared to kick up the dust. Barreling down the road was a newer-looking red truck that contained a clean farm family from the far away town of Smallville, Kansas.

Inside the cramped cabin of the truck, Jonathan Kent sat driving through this dusty road with great pride. If the brown flannel shirt with the long sleeves rolled up or the dingy jeans were no indication, then the light stubble and the dusty hair would tell the world that he was indeed a proud farmer. This was his kind of driving, away from the civilization of downtown Smallville and into the type of land where he was raised, or at least something similar to it. However, the man was doubtful that he would actually make it through this land considering that his driving environment was very distracting. To his side was a stack of three crates full of apples and strawberries that were tucked into the center space of the truck's cabin. The cramming caused the farmer's wife, Martha, who was sitting in the passenger side, to be pressed up against the door so that her elbow was constantly locking and unlocking the door with every slight move she made. She seemed annoyed within the first hour of driving, not just because of the claustrophobic's nightmare that she was living out, but also because of the fourth crate, which was in her lap, starting to chip off and splinter her skin. In all her years of being a farmer's wife, she should have been used to a few injuries caused by wood. But forcing them to stay in her skin for this long was ridiculous. She also didn't think it was necessary to keep the fruit in the cabin so that they would be fresh. She didn't care if it was summer; no crate of fruit was worth her son being banished to the bed of the truck.

This thought caused her to look through the back window of the cabin, or at least the part not blocked by wooden crates, to her son Clark, who was sitting a foot away from the window on a faded cushion stolen from their patio furniture so that he wouldn't slide around the flatbed. He too was carrying a crate in his lap, as well as keeping track of several other crates that were tied down, and therefore sandwiching him into his spot. Unlike Martha, he seemed to be enjoying his ride through the country. The wind was blowing through his long dark hair and his lungs were filling with the fresh air. The dust that the truck was sending into the air didn't seem to reach Clark's windpipe or eyes, which made Clark very thankful. He needed all of the visibility he could muster to keep track of his many fruit crates so that they could stay intact for their buyers.

Martha worried about her son's well-being in the back of the truck, even though she knew that nothing could hurt Clark. She knew that she had to accept the fact that she needed to stop worrying about little things, like riding in the flatbed of a truck, hurting her son. He had pretty much survived everything that has been thrown at him, both in a metaphorical and literal sense, using the enormous power within his bones. However, there was still an inkling that her son was not entirely safe in this part of the state. Martha had never been out here before and there was an uneasiness about why there was a request for her produce this far away from Smallville.

Every time something out of place happened in their lives, she had this same feeling of dread that something terrible would happen to her, Jonathan, or Clark. Even though there were incidences where she was just being silly in this fear, she knew that she had plenty of reasons to have these feelings.

"When are we going to get there dad?" Clark shouted through the back window of the cabin that was opened a crack. Jonathan was relieved that his son had finally broken the silence caused by the broken car radio and the lack of life out in the land they were driving in. He was tired if the crackling of rocks underneath the tires being the only thing keeping him company.

"We should be getting there in about ten minutes," Jonathan shouted back.

"It's just going to be by itself? Nothing around it?" Martha asked in a classic city girl manner. She guessed that living in Smallville didn't really prepare her for real rural life that so many other Kansas residents experienced.

"That's what they told me," Jonathan sighed.

"Why would a small church in the middle of nowhere want to ask a farm that's located an hour and a half away for all this fruit?" Clark shouted through the window.

"I don't know Clark," Jonathan said. "All we know is that they offered a good amount of money and your mother has really been itching to sell her organic produce again. Besides, if they like this delivery, then maybe there will be good word of mouth all over the state. We could really expand and Martha could finally be able to sell the Talon to one of the buyers who are interested in it."

"I guess that makes sense," Clark laughed, not as loud this time.

It was after about another minute of silence that all of a sudden, Jonathan slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop. Martha and Clark nearly had heart attacks as they frantically attempted to keep their precious cargo from splattering on the ground. They then simultaneously yelled at Jonathan, asking him if it was really necessary. However, when Martha bent over and looked around the boxes at Jonathan staring out his side window with a grave look on his face, she began to think it was necessary. Jonathan clicked the door open and slowly slipped out onto the dirt road. He told his wife and son to stay in the truck as he inspected the object that he saw hidden in the corn fields.

He backtracked about fifteen feet behind the truck before he bent down over the object he thought he saw. When he looked closely he realized that it was exactly what he suspected at first; a white sheet that was stained with blood and sticking out on the road. He moved some tall stalks out of the way to get a better look when he saw that it was half covered with dirt, most likely put there by the wind. Whoever put this here obviously wasn't looking to hide it. However, the most interesting thing that Jonathan saw was something that was wrapped up in the blanket. He saw a corner of the blanket folded over what looked like a nail. Only the head was exposed, which was how he figured it was a nail in the first place. Jonathan moved away the fold that was covering the nail with the tips of his fingernails and saw that there was a thick coating of blood over the body of it. Jonathan gasped, considering his first thought was a crucifixion type of scenario. He shook it off though, attributing that impression to all those years of Sunday school class when he was younger. But there was still a strange thing about this nail though.

Jonathan leaned over the object to get a closer look and saw that part of the head was chipped off on the bottom. Upon turning it over, he could have sworn he saw a glint of green right before his wife grabbed his shoulder.

"What is so interesting over here?" Martha said, right before she was struck speechless by the bloody blanket.

Jonathan just decided to take the liberty of explaining. "I saw this when I was glancing at my side-view mirror. I needed to stop and make sure that it wasn't a dead body or something."

"Is it?" Martha asked, shaking.

"No, but there is a bloody nail buried in the middle of it." Jonathan said, purposefully neglecting to mention the green glint he saw in the nail. "It was probably just from a farming accident or something that happened along here. You know how careless some of these deep rural folks can be."

Martha nodded, even though she wasn't completely convinced. Jonathan wasn't convinced either. He knew there was something about this bloody display that didn't feel right.

The couple walked away from the sight with weird feelings in their stomachs. They somehow knew that this sight would not be forgotten for long. Jonathan thought this especially because of the extra detail he saw. The farmer looked over to the truck and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized Clark hadn't attempted to leave his spot in the flatbed. Clark investigating the situation along with Martha would only complicate things in Jonathan's view and cause more family stress. He didn't want his son to have to worry about bloody nails lying around with a possibility of containing the only thing that could kill him. Clark had enough to deal with, from upcoming college life to his Kryptonian heritage.

Jonathan then shook these thoughts out of his head. He was overreacting. This was just an isolated incident of seeing the aftermath of a bad farming accident. No more, no less. He had no idea why he was making it out to be something like a direct threat on the lives of his loved ones, namely Clark. It was probably just his paranoia kicking into overdrive that was causing this feeling of dread. He had to stop doing this to himself, especially with his bad heart. This trip was going to be just like all other trips they had taken, without incident.

Jonathan and Martha hopped into the truck while in the process briefly explaining to Clark what the sight was in the field. The boy asked if it was worth using his X-ray vision to see, but Jonathan quickly stopped him and told him that it was just a bloody sheet and nothing else. Not worth losing strength over.

Confused, Clark nodded and allowed Jonathan to start up the engine. Martha grabbed her crate, still not convinced of the randomness of their encounter with the blanket. She too did not know where her feeling of dread was coming from, but unlike Jonathan, she paid attention to it. She wanted to discuss this more with her husband when they finally reached their destination, but for now she just wanted to finish the journey they were taking to the small Pentecostal church in the middle of nowhere.