Fangs

by Vella Munn

  “He ain’t lying,” Lyle said. “She didn’t so much as take another step. It was as if someone had kicked her legs out from under her.”

  “A hundred yards,” Mom muttered. “Were you on flat ground?”

  “Pretty much. The trees all around made it tricky, that and the shadows.”

  “Maybe the bullet went right through her heart,” Dad ventured.

  “No. She was kicking.”

  “But she didn’t get back up?”

  “No.” He wanted to say more, boast a bit, but it felt better if his folks pulled the details out of him. Even though he’d shot the elk hours ago, just thinking about it heated his blood and sent his heart to working overtime. No matter how many times he’d gone hunting, and he’d been doing so since he was six, killing an animal remained a thrill. Maybe it was the power, maybe the feeling of superiority. Hell, maybe he just liked acting like God instead of a grease monkey. Even with Summer keeping him from getting too horny, most of the time his existence wasn’t that wonderful. Today would keep the is-this-all-life-is? question at bay for a while.

  “You used your dirt bikes,” Mom said. “I don’t suppose you brought any of the meat back?”

  He studied Lyle, who was staring at the ground. He’d been excited ever since he’d seen the bull elk to end all bull elks—the white monster Lyle and he’d called it. The moment remained vivid beyond belief.

  “We’re going back up,” he said, “soon as we can.” In a four-wheel drive so I’ll have something to carry that monster’s head and rack on.

  “Unless you gutted her, the meat’s spoiled.”

  Not if she’s still alive, not that it mattered. He reached into Dad’s cooler and withdrew a beer. “She isn’t the only elk up there.”

  “Shit,” his dad said. “Big one?”

  He winked. “You might say that.”

  Chapter Three

  “Please call as soon as you get this,” Mia said into Niko’s cell phone. “I need to pick your brain and lay something on you that—I was going to send you a picture that’ll help explain, but—hell, just call. Darn it, I should have tried to reach you yesterday, but—I don’t know who else to talk to without risking being called crazy. This is going to blow your mind. It did mine.”

  Her message delivered, Mia punched End and walked over to the window in her living room. Unfortunately, Jeff had had a couple of morning meetings he’d been unable to get out of, which meant it was now early afternoon of the day after she’d shown him most but not all of what she had. She’d barely slept and had spent the morning killing time checking on the seedlings she’d planted a couple of weeks ago. It was while she was making a, thankfully minor, repair on the irrigation system that she’d allowed herself to revisit both yesterday’s experience and last night’s disturbing dreams.

  That was when she’d decided to get in touch with Niko. A Tillamook Indian, Niko all but carried the Pacific coast’s history in her DNA. If any of her tribe’s ancestors had ever seen an albino elk and had told their children about it, Niko would know. As for why Mia was curious to learn if there was a connection between the great creature she’d taken a handful of pictures of and Native Americana, chalk that up to a desire for more than everyday reality.

  She was debating leaving Niko a more detailed message when Jeff Julian arrived. As she’d done yesterday, she had to fight the instinct to put distance between them. She knew so little about the opposite sex. Barely understood herself around some of them—this man included.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re going to run the risk of not getting back before dark,” Jeff said as he exited his vehicle.

  Instead of his uniform, today he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He had on boots, and his gun belt was around his waist. Through the open cab door, she spotted a rifle she had no doubt was loaded.

  “There isn’t enough room for Banshee on the quad,” she explained as they headed for the machine she’d already taken out of her storage shed and filled with gas. “I wish there was.”

  “I’ll almost guarantee the poacher or poachers won’t be coming back if that’s what you’re thinking.” He reached in for the rifle.

  Having him try to assure her that the shooter wasn’t around made her again ponder whether something—dogs and wolf—might be there. She wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing any of those wild animals with Jeff Julian, but that was out of her control. Besides, this wasn’t something she should keep to herself.

  She’d kept enough from him by not telling him about the white bull.

  Her quad was no beauty, but because she was obsessive about maintaining it, it started right away. She’d had no intention of letting Jeff drive. This was her machine and in the world where she’d grown up, men and women did what needed to be done without regard to gender. Jeff wasn’t so close behind her that they were in danger of touching. Just the same she was acutely aware of his presence.

  She tried to tell herself that awareness was understandable considering what they were doing, and that she’d be keyed into her companion regardless of whom he was, but that didn’t completely settle her mind. Jeff Julian wasn’t handsome, whatever handsome was. But at six-plus-feet tall with shoulders wide enough to carry a twelve foot just-harvested Christmas tree, and arms with enough strength to handle any size chainsaw, he was impossible to dismiss. Judging by the muscles outlined under his jeans, he could walk as long as she could. With her back to him and her hands on the handles, she briefly surrendered to an image of his thick, dark hair. Then, disconcerted, she gave herself a mental shake. She was allowing herself to think about him in a personal way because that was easier than replaying what she’d experienced yesterday.

  “What made you decide to get into the tree business?” Jeff asked once they’d left her property, traveled about a mile on the two-lane highway that ran north and south the length of the Oregon coast, and were on the logging road.

  Maybe he was trying to distract her from what she’d see once they reached their destination. Maybe he really cared. She touched on her childhood spent in Alaska living off the land. “I can’t imagine working for someone else or doing something that doesn’t have a physical component. The opportunity to buy the farm presented itself, and I jumped.”

  “It’s a lot of work for one person.”

  “I can’t argue that.”

  “Do you ever regret your decision?”

  Only when she was so tired and sore she could hardly stand or when she had no choice but to put off paying certain bills until after the holiday season or she had to face the reality that she was in this alone. “I think everyone questions major decisions,” she hedged. “I go at it one day at a time. So far it’s worked out.”

  He didn’t immediately respond. Then said, “One day at a time. That’s life all right.”

  They’d reached a particularly steep spot. A prickling sensation on her back told her he’d leaned forward to keep his weight as close to the front as possible.

  “What got you into your line of work? Aren’t there times when it’s dangerous?”

  “It can be. As for the why, there are several reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  He frowned. Paused. “I care about wildlife.”

  She was willing to bet there was more to his decision than simply wanting to protect everything from deer to skunks. A career dictated by a massive governmental agency probably had as many negatives as positives, frustrations and disappointment. Wanting to be anywhere other than on his way to a kill site.

  * * * *

  They hadn’t said much after that tentative foray into each other’s lives, in large part because keeping the quad from tipping over on the side of a hill, or getting hung up on boulders, took all of her concentration. Yet, by the time they’d reached where she’d been forced to put down the nursing elk, Mia was more relaxed than she’d expected to be around Jeff. He cared about wildlife. And because he did, he’d understand why she’d taken her knife to a wild creature’s neck.

&
nbsp; Maybe, if she could find a way to explain herself, he’d comprehend why she’d kept the white bull elk’s existence to herself.

  “We’re almost there,” she said. It was the middle of the afternoon with shadows from the surrounding trees blanketing the area and adding to the sense of isolation. She wished yesterday hadn’t happened. That the cow and her calf were alive and safe.

  Of course, if that was true, she probably wouldn’t have seen the bull, the big gray dog, or the wolf-dog mix. Everything she believed she knew about nature wouldn’t have been turned on end.

  “How are you doing?”

  She slowed then stopped the quad. “Fine.”

  A warm hand settled on her shoulder. “Are you?”

  Damn him for understanding. Even more, damn him for touching her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Then because she’d told him more than she wanted to, she turned off the quad and stood.

  “Give yourself as much time as you need,” he said from where he was still sitting. “I know what it feels like to be where you wish you weren’t. Doing something you’d give anything not to be doing.”

  “I’m good,” she told him. “I’ve seen some things— A question for you.” She turned so she was facing him, with her hands balled at her sides, her back straight and her gaze strong on him. “Do you believe me?”

  “About what?”

  “What do you think? I did what I had to. I’d never forgive myself if I let that cow continue to suffer.”

  He slid off the quad and positioned himself so they were squared off. Like her, his arms were by his sides. The only difference was that his hands weren’t fisted. “I’m here to gather evidence.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “You would have shot the calf if the gray hadn’t gotten to it first.”

  Despite feeling as if she’d been slapped, she refused to lower her gaze. “You would have done the same thing.” She took a step toward him. “The calf was doomed. Either it died fast or the end would take a long time.”

  She tried, but couldn’t read his expression. The wind had kicked up, bringing with it the soul-soothing scent and sound of evergreens. He repositioned the weapon at his waist and removed his rifle from the quad. “Take me to it,” he said.

  It. Her belly knotted, but she forced her thoughts past the sensation. They were here to do a job, or rather he was. She would watch and hopefully learn some things about investigative techniques. She pointed and started toward the brush obscuring the cow carcass. She heard an unmistakable buzzing sound.

  The cow’s legs were stiff and off the ground. Her belly had been ripped open and the internal organs pulled out. There wasn’t much left of the guts and what was, was a mess. Whatever had been feeding on her had taken advantage of the opening Mia had provided by slitting the neck. Motionless, she stared at the flies buzzing around the bloody waste. She’d known what she’d find, but knowing and seeing weren’t the same. She understood killing to live. She’d never understand this.

  “Something really got to her,” Jeff said unnecessarily. “Damn, I wish I could have gotten here yesterday.”

  Yesterday when the mother elk still resembled a living creature.

  “I didn’t expect to see so much eaten,” she admitted.

  “She’s nearly been decapitated.”

  She shuddered. “Yes, she has.”

  “Where’s the calf?”

  As she pointed toward where the brush was thicker, memories again crowded around her until she wouldn’t have been surprised to spot the gray and wolf-dog staring each other down. It was crazy to be thinking this, just remnants from yesterday, but she had the unsettling sense they weren’t alone.

  What else did she expect?

  Instead of heading to where she’d pointed, Jeff spent the better part of a minute taking in their surroundings. She did the same, while trying to dismiss the flies. She wished she understood how an investigator’s mind worked.

  Holding the rifle against his chest, Jeff approached the cow. How many times had he seen something like this? Maybe less than she had. When he was close enough to touch a hoof, he again looked around then studied the ground. She wasn’t sure whether he’d want her to join him, so stayed where she was.

  “Can you tell what caused the prints?” she asked.

  “Canine.”

  “Any sign of a bear, cougar, or coyotes?”

  “I’m not sure. Would you know the difference?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Because of your upbringing. Maybe you can help.”

  Standing next to him wasn’t easy. She made sure not to step on any of the prints—no easy matter, considering how many there were. She recalled coming across a moose carcass at the edge of a creek. The ground had been so churned up from what had been feeding on it that it had been impossible to distinguish any. This was marginally easier.

  “I’m guessing the gray and wolf-dog did the damage only…” she started.

  “Let me guess. You were going to add that that’s a hell of a lot of prints for two animals. And a lot of eating.”

  She nodded then watched as he placed his rifle on the ground and knelt. He was locking himself into the scene, pulling out its secrets and trying to make sense of what was there. Needing to do the same, she lowered herself to her knees and let her hand hover over the closest print. “That’s dog. It could be the hybrid, but it definitely isn’t wolf.”

  “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Experience. See here.” She pointed. “This one is dog, bigger even than Banshee.”

  When she spread her fingers to demonstrate the width, he nodded. “So how do you recognize the difference?”

  “The toes. The middle one is slightly longer than the others. With a wolf they’re all the same. Also the prints are messy instead of distinct. Wolves don’t drag their paws.”

  He whistled. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “How long have you been doing wildlife work?” she asked.

  “Shows, does it? Not quite two years.”

  She waited to see if he’d touch on what he’d done before that, but he said nothing so she returned to her task. “I’m trying to distinguish what the hybrid left from the others, but there are so many that— Too many.”

  “Like I said before, I seriously doubt that two animals, even if they’d fed all night, which I doubt, would have left this much proof of their presence,” he said.

  “Look.” She pointed. “These are a lot smaller than the others.”

  The silence following her comment was nerve-wracking, but she couldn’t think of anything to say and guessed Jeff felt the same way. As tempted as she was to scramble to her feet to keep from being taken by surprise, by what she couldn’t say, she stayed where she was.

  “How many?” she muttered. “How damn many dogs were here and where did they come from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They were united in the mystery. For how long didn’t matter as long as they had each other’s backs. Jeff slid his rifle closer.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “We’re too far from any houses for a domestic dog to have wandered up here. Of course someone could be camping.”

  “Maybe whoever shot the cow.”

  “Maybe.”

  Jeff grunted as he stood. Then he extended his hand and she took it. His fingers engulfed hers.

  “So many questions,” she said more to herself than to him once she was on her feet and had back her personal space. “Thanks to my uncle, I’m a pretty good tracker. I’d like to think I’d know it if someone was around. Maybe—it’s possible whoever has been here with his dogs, if that’s the case, heard us coming and took off.”

  “Wouldn’t the dogs have barked?”

  Jeff was right. Her attempt at an explanation didn’t make any more sense than the presence of hundreds, if not thousands, of canine prints.

  “I need to see what they did to the calf,” he said.

  ‘They’. Despite her years o
f living hand to mouth, dread wrapped around her. Besides, he might see another set of prints—ones she didn’t want him to know about. Why the hell had she offered to bring Jeff Julian up here? She should have—have what? Let a poacher get away with crippling a helpless animal?

  “You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to,” Jeff said. “But it can’t be much worse than this.”

  He was right. Besides, between the sight of a violently destroyed animal, the sound of insistent flies and the smell of blood and death, she needed to put distance between herself and the ruined cow. She’d deal with the bull elk’s prints when and if she had to.

  It took her a moment to reorient herself, followed by more moments of steeling herself for what needed to be done. Judging by Jeff’s clenched jaw, he was dealing with the same emotion.

  Yes, he was human.

  The white calf hadn’t miraculously returned to life. Its neck was still broken, its head at an unnatural angle. Several crows had squawked and flapped away when she and Jeff approached. The carrion had gotten to the calf’s eyes and muzzle where the gray had taken hold, but the rest of the youngster’s body was untouched. The ground here was mostly rock, which meant prints were less likely to show.

  Using his rifle, Jeff pushed on the head, straightening it a little. His stance wide, he stared at the carcass while slowly shaking his head.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “The dogs didn’t touch it.”

  Neither had the wolf-dog. As long as she didn’t acknowledge the empty eye sockets and missing muzzle, there was something innocent and beautiful about the inert form.

  “I can’t get over the color,” he said. “I saw the picture you took, but this—it’s beautiful.”

  “It was.”

  “Yes, was. To leave this easy meal alone—it makes no damn sense.”

  “I believe it does.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I’m going to say. The gray wouldn’t let the mix get near the calf. That’s why the body looks like it does, because the gray protected it.” She knew she sounded crazy. It also wasn’t the whole story.