CENSUS_What Lurks Beneath

by Marshall Cobb

  With sweat rolling down his face and dust collecting on his previously well-conditioned dress shoes, he trudged toward the house and thought about the past weekend here with Marilyn and Adam. Visits involving the entire family were a lot of fun. Adam enjoyed roaming through the woods and fishing in the ponds—giving Dave an excuse to do the same. During this male bonding, Marilyn spent the bulk of her time inside the small house puttering on her iPad, though she and Sampson typically made at least one run around the trails on the property at every visit.

  The sole exception to the “no-work” rule was Marilyn’s standing request for Dave to use the tractor to cut a path through the tall grass for her running trail—which would serve to minimize the sticker burrs and close encounters with creepy-crawly things that otherwise lurked. The grass,

  which was ample, definitely would not cut itself, and his wildlife plan filed with the county also required a mowed path around the property and through the woods.

  The deer, according to the county tax appraiser, prefer to avoid getting their legs wet from the dew-covered grass. This was, for the most part, fine with Dave, who enjoyed the solitude, and needed an excuse to buy a tractor. What Dave really wanted was a sense of peace in his otherwise chaotic life. He’d tried to explain the calming effect of shredding a field with a tractor to Marilyn but had failed. The experience of forging a path through a field of tall grass with his tractor was as close as Dave was ever going to get to his childhood dream of piloting a ship across a turbulent sea.

  All week, Dave had been buried in meetings with clients across the state. This go-round, he would use the farm as a staging point for meetings that would take place in central and west Texas. Sleeping in his own bed— even the one on the farm—was preferable to the Best Westerns, Motel 6s, and their equivalents at many of his destinations.

  He picked gingerly through the tall grass around the house, and made his way across the small patio to the shed to retrieve the oil. He opened the warped screen door on the shed and ducked as a mud dauber that had been busily building its nest at the top of the doorframe buzzed his head and flew away. He cursed himself for not checking for wasps first, while thanking the powers that be that it hadn’t been a nest of yellow jackets. Yellow jackets were as aggressive as killer bees, and he’d been chased and stung by them on numerous occasions.

  He used one of the larger keys on the ring to open the lock, and Sampson suddenly darted between his legs and into the small shed, only to crash into the steel shelves and upend their contents. Dave flicked on the light and largely ignored his neurotic dog as he reached up and grabbed the small can of household oil off the dusty top shelf.

  Sampson again brushed past him as he turned off the light and shut the door behind him. Dave looked down at his now-filthy slacks and shoes and shook his head. There wasn’t any point in complaining now, as he still had to walk back down the road to the frozen lock, and his truck.

  On his walk back to the gate, Dave involuntarily jumped when he looked up and saw his neighbor, Bill Jennings, leaning on the inside of the gate. Bill, perpetually clad in a western shirt, boots and jeans, normally had a scowl on his face unless he’d managed to surprise Dave. Bill grinned from ear to ear, and Dave’s already lousy mood went into the gutter, as it normally did when Bill was around. From their first encounter, when Bill had essentially invited himself in for a lengthy, entirely one-sided conversation with Marilyn while Dave and Adam were off in town at the hardware store, to every subsequent visit (which like this one involved Bill showing up unannounced on various parts of Dave’s property) Bill had proven himself to be a nosy, opinionated asshole.

  “Having some trouble?” Bill asked.

  Dave decided not to ask why Bill had felt the need to leave his place across the way and hop over his gate. Bill, a wiry, leathery country boy who never seemed to sweat, also never missed the opportunity to rub his fifty- plus years of country living experience in the face of a weekender from the city. Dave immediately became self-conscious about his sagging slacks and resisted the urge to tug them up.

  “Nothing I can’t handle Bill.”

  “Umm,” Bill said as he stood up fully, and made sure to use his six-foot- four frame to his advantage. He fished in the front pocket of his shirt and produced a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Dave’s direction.

  Dave ignored him and, wiping sweat from his brow, leaned down to grab the lock and pull it to the inside of the gate. He turned the lock upside

  down so the frozen key was on top and squeezed a healthy amount of oil in and around the keyway. He was now stuck holding the lock in this position for a minute while the oil did its work, and he sorely wished he was anywhere other than kneeling in front of Bill Jennings.

  “Marilyn not with you today?”

  Dave knew that something like this was coming but he tensed up anyway. Bill always made sure to ask about Marilyn.

  “No, she’s back home.”

  Bill leaned in a little to take a better look at Dave’s project. “Pity. I always enjoy talking to that pretty little lady.”

  “That’s funny, she doesn’t ever mention you.”

  Dave was so proud of his comeback that he tried the key and was even prouder when the lock sprung open. He undid the chain and raised up to his full height, which was still quite a bit shorter than Bill’s, and smiled.

  Bill, who never missed a beat, just smiled back and said, “Well, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

  Dave stared at Bill and thought this might finally be the time that he went to jail for cold-cocking the son-of-a-bitch. Bill knew damn-good- and-well that his comment implied that Marilyn was having an affair with him. He’d just insulted Dave on his own property to see what would happen.

  Bill’s smile got a little bigger as Dave dropped the oil can and tried to figure out if he was really going to take a swing. Dave noticed that Bill’s right boot shifted a bit behind him to assume a fighting stance. Dave shifted a bit as well, about to throw caution to the wind, when Bill’s right arm shot forward and half-punched, half-slapped Dave’s left shoulder.

  “I’m sorry man,” Bill laughed, his cigarette dancing merrily between his lips, ashes flying off, “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”

  Dave fought the impulse to rub his shoulder, which hurt far more than it should. It was obvious to both of them that if Bill’s half-punch had been a full one, just a little bit higher, Dave would be lying in the dirt. There was no winning here. Bill was bigger, stronger and had nothing to lose. He’d probably let Dave hit him just so he could file assault charges against him. Dave fought with several conflicted thoughts, then decided that there was plenty of time for self-loathing—later.

  He did the next best thing to throwing a punch by grabbing the now-free gate and swinging it back directly at Bill, who had to hop out of the way. For just a second Bill’s smile slipped and Dave saw something there he really didn’t like. Something dirty—nasty.

  Then Bill was all smiles again as he chucked his still-lit cigarette into the nearby grass and clapped his hands together as if to indicate a job well done. “Well, glad to see you didn’t need any help. Guess I’ll skeedaddle back over to my place.”

  Dave’s baser instincts reared up again as he saw more than the usual amount of smoke coming from the spot in the grass where Bill had thrown his cigarette. Dave took a half step over to block Bill’s path.

  “Sounds good Bill. You mind putting out that cigarette before you go?”

  Bill looked back to the cigarette and made a curious face. “Oh, it’ll burn itself out in just a second.”

  Bill took another step forward. Dave, out of patience but full of pride, again blocked his path.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist, neighbor. The grass is dry as hell and I’m not looking to put out any fires tonight.”

  For just a second it looked as if Bill was going to walk over Dave, but he clapped his hands again and made a mock-bow before walking
over to the cigarette and rubbing it into the ground with the heel of his boot in an exaggerated fashion.

  “That good enough for ya boss?”

  Dave turned his back on Bill and walked the short distance over to his truck. As he walked he called out, “Good enough, Bill.”

  As he shut his door and turned the key in the ignition Bill slammed the passenger window with his open hand and pushed his face close to the glass. “Don’t be a stranger now Dave!”

  Dave nodded without looking and drove his truck into his place, mutter- ing hateful thoughts about Bill to himself until he pulled up to his farm house, where Sampson lay panting in a shady spot. Apparently the only cure for his neediness was heat.

  CHAPTER FIVE: Game Camera

  Later that night Dave made his way back to the front door with the rest of the clothes and gear that he’d left in his truck. Sampson raced through the nearby grass, looking for a suitable spot to deposit his now processed breakfast. There were roughly thirty acres available to him as a latrine, but he liked to place his work close to the house where it could be appreciated and—more likely—stepped in. Dave sighed and made a mental note of where not to step in the morning as he hustled into the house before Sampson could intervene.

  He hung a blue dress shirt and a grey pair of slacks on the back side of the bathroom door, and stashed the rest of his work clothes in the bedroom closet. He had a 300-mile-round-trip to look forward to in the morning, and the early start that was required compelled him to square away as much of the logistics as possible tonight.

  An hour or so later, he was done with his evening round of emails and texts. 10:00 p.m. was early for him, but he’d stayed up the night before until 2:00 a.m., working to put a dent in the pile before his series of long drives and meetings began. He made sure that his dress shoes, undershirt, boxers, socks and belt sat on the kitchen table next to his laptop bag, then stopped for a moment and considered his options.

  He wouldn’t be back from his meeting until nearly six tomorrow night. He should go to bed, but time was a scarce, finite resource, and he knew he was too wired to sleep. Night shredding with the tractor probably

  wasn’t the best plan. Yes, the tractor had headlights and there were trails that definitely needed mowing, but driving over rugged terrain in narrow passages between trees was something he preferred to do with at least some daylight, and the depth perception it provided.

  Dave stared at the mess of keys on the key-ring sitting on the kitchen counter. It probably wouldn’t hurt to knock out the picture retrieval from a couple of cameras. He grabbed the key-ring as well as a lantern that sat on a nearby shelf.

  Sampson was immediately onto him, and Dave could see the obnoxious dog jumping into the air through the window blinds. Dave opened the door and caught Sampson by his collar to hold him in, while trying to also minimize the number of flying bugs that wanted to use this oppor- tunity to enter. One of the cameras he wanted to check was stationed down by the lower pond. Sampson couldn’t walk by a pond without jumping into it, and a dog bath was not part of tonight’s plan.

  Sampson barked at him through the door.

  “Sorry, buddy. Maybe tomorrow night when I get back.”

  Sampson, who did not speak English, continued his hopping and bark- ing. Dave called out for him to sit with no reaction, then once again added a loud growl that once again worked. That trainer knew what he was doing after all.

  “Good boy,” Dave called out to the closed door.

  The floodlight by the door had been on this whole time, but its beam of light was quickly devoured by the darkness beyond. As Dave walked off the porch he switched on his electric lantern which put out a shaky eight-foot circle of illumination. He trudged through the grass, heading away from the farm house toward the trail that would take him into the woods, and down to the lower pond.

  The evening low was expected to be 78⁰ with ninety-percent humidity. Sweat immediately began to roll down his face. In addition to the muf- fled, irate barks of the Sampson, he heard the sounds of hidden critters shuffling outside the sphere of light. He’d previously encountered more field mice than he could count, several armadillos, a sizable number of rabbits and, fortunately, only a couple of snakes. He’d been quick to report all but the snake sightings back to the rest of his family. Full dis- closure on the snake front would likely have led to Marilyn demanding an immediate sale of the property, though it wasn’t like any of the snakes he’d seen had been venomous. Probably.

  He gingerly picked his way down the path, attempting to avoid the dom- inant life form on the property—fire ants. Their dark mounds littered the landscape, and Dave threaded his way between them as he walked past the upper pond on his right, and then descended down the steep slope to the lower pond.

  The post oak and cedar trees lining the path competed for the free space above him, and their tangled limbs blocked out the sky. As he drew closer to the lower pond he heard what sounded like a woman’s shriek and then a splash. Dave knew from prior experience that the shriek belonged to a frog. Even though he’d been prepared for it, the shriek still made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

  Shaking off the shivers, he walked slowly up the earthen wall of the sec- ond pond, which had been constructed to serve as a dam, and marched along the overgrown path atop it to the far side. The water to his right was black and still, and shimmered where the light struck it. The light also danced among the tall grass that grew at the edge of the pond.

  Dave sighed out loud as he stared at the tall grass and calculated the three or four hours of weed-eater work ahead of him on that front. That somber thought was quickly quelled by the happiness he derived from this portion of the property. Down here, a good twenty-five feet below

  the main pond and the fields that surround it, the enveloping forest made him invisible to the rest of the world. He wished the farm house itself wasn’t so exposed to the main road, but it would take an awful lot of planting, and even more time, before he could make the pasture into a forest.

  He traipsed along until the light reflected off something shiny, half- buried in the tall grass. He bent down to get a closer look. It was a double-A battery. He picked it up and gave it a once-over. It was an odd thing to find out here, but then Adam got into everything, so who’s to say he didn’t leave a stray battery out here? Dave winced as he pock- eted the battery as the pain in his right temple flared up once again.

  As he continued to the nearby camera, he saw several more batteries and small pieces of plastic in and among the crushed and torn grass on the sloping back side of the dam wall, just in front of the trees. Dave stood in the middle of the debris field, shining the lantern all around him as he took it all in. He then held the lantern up to better see the old, gnarled post oak tree just in front of him where the camera was mounted.

  The cable that locked the camera in place, and secured it around the tree

  —preventing theft—was housed within a black rubber sheath to keep it safe from the elements. This same cable now sat at the base of the tree, with a small portion of the camera case it previously protected still attached. The rubber sheathing had been cut in multiple places and the bare steel cable underneath caught the eerie light of the lantern.

  Raising the lantern a bit higher, Dave saw that the back plate of the camera was still attached to the trunk of the tree by a second, simple strap that held it in place. The demolished front side of the camera now comprised the debris field that surrounded him.

  Dave walked closer to the tree and saw that the trunk was scored with deep scratches and shallow cuts all around the camera. He reached out

  and traced the length of one of the cuts. The scoring on the tree was well over a foot in length. What would do this? A bear?

  The shock wore off, but in its place he suddenly felt alone, and exposed. The light he held in this otherwise dark place seemed akin to swimming in shark-infested waters with a steak in his hand. Still holding the light in front of him, Dave spun s
lowly and illuminated the area around him. He didn’t see any bears, for which he was thankful. He did, however, find a large portion of the front side of the camera case amid the tall grass.

  He set the lantern down next to the camera fragment and bent down to examine it. He picked it up and rolled it in his hands. The hardened plastic was a jagged mess of torn edges and deep scratches.

  Another shrieking frog decided that this moment was as good a time as any to perform, and this time Dave jumped into the air, so unnerved that he knocked over the lantern. Immediately he was ashamed of himself, but still very much concerned by the force displayed here by whatever destroyed the camera.

  “Shit!” He shook his head to clear it and bent back down to retrieve the lantern. As he picked it up he saw the SD card from the camera sitting within a large clump of weeds.

  “Gotcha,” he mumbled as he picked up the card. He held it up under the light and, remarkably, it appeared unharmed. He squeezed it into the coin pocket of his jeans and hoped that whatever had done this would show up in the downloaded pictures.

  He left the jumble of plastic and batteries in the grass, and quickly walked back to the house—not quite a jog, but not too far from it. There would be plenty of time tomorrow night to deal with the cleanup. Right now he wanted to download the pictures and figure out what he was dealing with.