Heads Up-Range, pt. 2
William parks a quarter mile from Jimmy Carmel’s house. He can see a path through the broken-down cars, decades-rusted appliances, and farm equipment, but it’s only wide enough for an ATV. Jimmy Carmel rides an ATV into town.
‘Mr. Carmel, I’m Service Officer Davies with Animal Control. What seems to be the problem?’
‘Is that a Bidley?’
‘Yeah. Mr. Carmel, you called about a bear?’
‘Oh, yeah. Been seeing bears for the last few days. I’ve got a video if you need it.’
‘So, bears the last few days, but you called it in today?’
‘If I called you every time I saw a bear up here…’
‘What made you call today, sir?’
‘Well, I…’
‘Mr. Carmel, is everything okay? You seem a little…anxious.’
‘Can you keep a secret?’
For all the chaos stretching across his yard, Jimmy Carmel keeps a neat operation of chickens, goats, and root vegetables out back.
‘I was supposed to harvest next week. That ain’t happenin’ now.’
Jimmy Carmel’s garden is by no means ruined. This part of November, he’s down to root vegetables and hardy greens. Whatever thrashed and chewed on his plants touched a very minor portion and failed to dig up a single beet.
‘Is that blood?’ William asks.
‘I had every right! He was chewing my crop!’
This “bear” chewed some leaves in the corner. It was a tiny bear, if indeed it was a bear.
‘You shot this creature, didn’t you, Mr. Carmel?’
‘I ain’t sayin’ no more until there’s a lawyer present.’
‘Mr. Carmel, I’m not here to prosecute you. Just wanna find this creature, end its suffering, and dispose of the carcass. I got no desire to file more paperwork than I need to. Alright?’
‘Alright, but I don’t know you. Where’s Victor?’
‘Victor retired. I’m his replacement.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘So, can I look at your video footage?’
The amount of time William spends on Jimmy Carmel’s front porch, not being offered coffee or water for that matter means Jimmy Carmel is in at his computer, doctoring, editing or splicing the raw footage to omit any sort of proof he indeed shot this animal as it nibbled at some plants.
The only stalk damage would have come after he shot it, as it writhed on the ground before absconding for its den or hollow.
‘You alright in there?’
‘Can’t seem to get the footage to cooperate.’
‘Your exterior cameras looks like one of those that sends videos right to your phone.’
‘Don’t got no phone.’
William chooses not to ask: Then how’d you set up the camera?
‘Mr. Carmel, I don’t want to waste any more of your precious time. But can I access your back fence to go track this animal? Shouldn’t take more than an hour.’
‘You’re not gonna prosecute if you find anything?’
‘Like I said, I just want what’s best for the bear.’
William’s halfway to the line dividing Jimmy Carmel’s plot from state land before thinking to walkie Leila.
‘Any word from Fish & Game?’
‘Not a peep.’
‘Can you try getting through to the county supervisor?’
‘Didn’t the mayor ask you to do that?’
‘I’ve been trying, but I got a full-on hike for this creature and there’s no signal up here.’
‘Fine, fine.’
William wishes he were firmer with his staff. Being distracted with paperwork is no reason not to warn him about a cougar. Come to mention, Leila’s not the slightest bit curious about his going to find a bear, either.
The chicken bones start twenty paces from the property line. Their age could exceed the dirt, judging by the protrusion. Jimmy Carmel hasn’t got much of a choice in the dump servicing his property, what with his own personal dump blocking access to his garbage bin.
William’s taken as many paces as the amount of weeks needed to clear all the trash in Jimmy Carmel’s yard relying only on the county-provided bin (and that no other trash accumulated in that time). The chicken bones are getting newer. Bits of blackened gristle at the ends. They might’ve been remnants of meat that withered, turned black, and became maggot husks.
Every twenty steps, William spots a drop of blood, growing fainter, like the animal is healing, or running faster, or more desperate. He cannot tell. He’s never seen animal blood this shiny. If not shine, then a sheen. A reflective, beautiful ruby.
He’s way past the point of lackadaisical bone-tossing, into the number of steps needed to mark the years since the Visigoths sacked Rome. He’s noticing the path is just as-trodden, relatively clear of overgrowth, like an entire ecosystem is relying on the runoff from the discarded bones of this homestead.
William thinks about the number of chickens he saw in Jimmy Carmel’s coop, and crosses that with the volume of fresher bones he’s seeing. The math isn’t squaring.
The flatter ground and spaced-out pines are becoming less flat and less spaced-out. He’s lost sight of Jimmy Carmel’s homestead and carburetor farm. The wind whooshes like blowing in a jug. He loses the blood trail in a patch of damp leaves, dried by death then dew-dampened to mush. Something’s not right.
Scratchy brush closes in around the bone path. He winds around a ridge, its shadows bringing coolness. He’s found a little cave at the trail’s end. It’s tall enough to hunch under, and there are no piles of bones.
‘What in tarnation?’
A flicker inside the den. Like a cat’s eye. He draws his flashlight slow, then sends it basking. He sees was a whirl—possibly fins, horns, or a tail. It couldn’t have been higher than his waist, but it could have been crouching as it retreated deeper into the cave.
Regulations plus instinct tell him not to follow, but he’s comfortable with a closer look because the den will tell him what he’s dealing with.
The ground is dug out past the threshold, where it’s roomy and rock ledges hold bones in stacked patterns too specific to be random. William sees two offshoot caverns at the far end—unsure of which the creature took.
He takes a step in, just a step. It’s too weird not to check out. Circles, triangles, spirals clawed in the dirt. His heart sinks.
‘Time to go.’
Something wet taps his shoulder. He can’t tell the color, but he knows that shine. He points the flashlight above, straight into bared teeth, sharp and encircling the mouth like a fish. Quadrupedal. Claws. Slimy reptile skin. It pounces from the roof, but not before letting out a laugh.