Grit
02-02-2011, 08:47 PM
I take a deep breath. Bone cold mountain air, good for the soul. Sunlight rips through the dark shroud of green coniferous trees but runs off my frozen skin like water off oil. I hear a sharp crack in the fortress of green up ahead, and Jack is charging in to investigate, his smoke-grey tail whipping back and forth.
I enter the enclosure, about ten meters off of the dirt trail where Jack has posted up against a massive oak. His front paws are pressed against the trunk, his tongue lolling about, he looks like he’s smiling. I reach my hand out and rub his large head gruffly. He licks my hand and then drops down, nose the ground, sniffing as he walks in circles. I watch him for a moment and then look around, when I notice something that makes my heart rate spike. The moss to the right of the tree is painted dark red, a large oblong stain. I take a step closer and see that there’s more, only a few drips, but the dark liquid stands out among the rich-green moss.
I follow the drips, the moss bed sinking under my every step. The blood leads me, through the thick halls of wood, into a small circular clearing, where a tree’s body has been cleaved in half, by storm I supposed. These ancient pillars stand no chance against furious mountain wind.
“Jack, c’mere boy.” I call out; I hear his muffled steps as he approaches. He stops behind me and starts barking. In the clearing, the blood is everywhere, not only on the moss, but also on the trees. I look around the clearing, it looks very much the same as the rest of the area; dark, green and mossy with trees sprouting out all over the place, except there’s a large dark boulder. Jack’s barking ceases, and he begins growling, coming closer. Now he’s beside me and growling at the boulder.
“What is it Jack?” Jack barks at the boulder and then bares his teeth at it again. I walk closer and Jack begins barking at it, in frenzy. As I walk closer, the moss cracks like dry instant-noodles under my feet; the saturation of blood has made it brittle. I stop suddenly, struck with a realization. This is no boulder, it has fur. I walk around it and indentify a huge skull, the size of a witch’s cauldron. Grizzly bear. Jack has stopped barking and is now sniffing the corpse, circling it. He stops and raises a leg, pissing on the bear’s grave. I laugh at Jack, so now he’s a tough guy.
What in God’s name could have done this? A grizzly is no slouch; it’s the heavyweight boxer of mountains. A fifteen hundred pounds, with claws and sharp teeth, what could go a round with a grizzly and win?
A gleam from the bear’s massive jaws catches my eye. Something is caught in its mouth. I get down on one knee and try to pry it’s jaws open which proves difficult. Rigamortis has welded its muzzle shut. The twinkling appears to be gold. I wrap the fingers of each hand around the top, and bottom row of fangs and feel rubbery cold inside. I exert force up and down, and with a crack, the jaw opens, but I call out in pain. My right hand slid forward when the jaw opened and a long, deep gash now leaks blood from my right palm. “****.”
I retrieve some gauze from my backpack and wrap it quickly around the cut; the stringy white material absorbs the red wet. I turn quickly back to the bear, and reach inside its cavernous mouth. I retrieve the object, which I promptly drop. A human hand, dry, cold and mangled, rests on the moss at my feet. The glossy purple fingernails are attached to fingers that look sickeningly like stringy hamburger. I quickly grab it and throw it in my backpack. “Jack, let’s go boy.” Time to see Sherriff Skinner.
Sherriff Skinner is leaning back in his office chair and whistling when I drop my discovery on his table.
“Christ, is that…?”
I nod, “I found it walking on Hallows Pass around sunrise this morning. Jack was barkin’ at somethin’, ran off the trail.”
With a wince, Sherriff Skinner sits up and examines the hand closely, his wrinkled, knobby nose an inch from it’s palm.
“Seems best like an animal got to it. Wonder why they left it be.”
“I found it in the jaws of a dead grizzly.”
Sherriff Skinner raises an eyebrow at me, “A Kodiak?” He notices my hand, now a clothed mass of wet blood. “What happened with your hand?”
“Ah, I cut myself pryin’ the hand from its mouth.”
“Best get yourself over to Doctor Shier and get that patched up.”
I turn to the door and swing it open.
“Once your all fixed up, we’re gunna go up near your place and your gunna show me right where you found the hand.”
“All right.”
I turn to leave.
“Something’ else I’m wondering’ bout Dave.”
I turn back to Skinner.
“How you handlin’, you know…”
I shrug. “I’m all right. I got Jack to keep me company.”
He looks at me, thinking for a moment.
“All right, hurry over to Dr. Shier and then right back, you hear?”
I nod and then I’m out of his office..
Dr. Shier is the local doctor; he’s a real nice fellow, lives all alone on the top floor of his clinic. I’m in his examination room only fifteen minutes after checking in at the front desk and only five minutes after that he comes in to see me.
“Dave, how are you?”
“Good Dr. Shier, besides my hand here.”
Dr. Shier smiles, for a few moments and then puts down his clipboard on the counter.
“Let’s take a look.”
I wince in pain as he unwinds the gauze. It sounds like crackling wafer; the white material is crispy with blood. I try not to look, so I look at a poster on the wall instead. The poster has a silhouette of a human, but x-ray view, so you can see all the organs and innards. The lower intestine looks like a pepperoni; the upper intestine looks like sausage.
Dr. Shier says nothing; he examines the palm of my hand closely.
“This looks infected. How long ago did you get this?”
I look at my palm, unable to resist the urge. The wound has dried, but the skin surrounding is enflamed and coated in thick white pus. “This morning, around sunrise.”
Dr. Shier thinks for a moment. “How did it happen?”
“I got the cut from a dead grizzly’s teeth.”
“Ah, makes sense. Not too smart Dave, my friend. Best stay away from the dead, they carry infectious disease. I’ll prescribe you something to get rid of the infection.”
He scribbles sharply with his pen, the tip of ink scratching, tearing, and biting the page. I can hear his teeth grinding together, bone shredding bone into dust, abrasive, erosion.
“Don’t,” I say and I grab for the clipboard. Dr. Shier look at me with wide eyes.
“What?” he says, and he shows me the clipboard. Just a messily written doctors note, nothing torn.
“Nothing, never mind.” I say quietly.
A moment of silence passes. “Do you need anything David?” Dr. Shier asks as he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“No.”
“There’s no shame in needing help, it’s not a sign of weakness to take something for it. There’s a very common treatment. Valium, mi-“
“No thanks doctor. I have Jack, he’s all the comfort I need.”
Dr. Shier takes a deep breath, opens his mouth but then closes it and nods. “Yes, you’re fine. You’re a great guy Dave, and I’ll always consider you a friend. Just remember that and come in to town a couple days a week, more human contact would be good for you. “
“All right Doc. Thanks.” I take the prescription and head out the door.
“Take care David.”
“You too Doc.”
Jack, myself and Sherriff Skinner arrive back home by nightfall. I step out of my truck onto the gravel driveway with a crunch, walk around back and rough Jack around a bit, while he pants furiously, his tail wagging in a blur.
“How far a walk is it from hereabouts?” Skinner asks, his breath floating opaquely in front of his raisin face.
“Oh, only about twenty minutes, I’d imagine.” I feel sharp pain from beneath my fresh gauze bandage.
“Mind you keep that hand movin’ Dave, otherwise it might stiffen up on ya.”
I nod and stretch my fingers, which hurts more badly. The pain had intensified on the drive, and seems to be continuing to do so.
We start walking, Jack runs ahead, barking at wildlife too elusive for our eyes. I begin to feel very warm, the hike is elevating my heart rate, so I unzip my jacket halfway.
“Dave, what do ya think about everythin’? “
“I’m not sure, beside that I think some poor soul became a bear snack.”
“Nah, not bout that, about Denise.”
I feel a bead of sweat roll down my burning cheek.
“I figure her bad decisions caught up to her.”
My stomach gurgles and I put a hand to it, stopping for a second. I feel nauseated.
Sherriff Skinner is silent for a second.
“She really wasn’t a foul person, Dave, just a bit lost.”
I say nothing, and focus on my steps, oh my stomach, my god what did I eat?
“I know ya probably don’t like her one bit, but I tell ya she wasn’t rotten. I know rotten folks, I’ve known rotten folks and she ain’t one of em.”
I roll my eyes, distracted from my internal calamity, of course you like her Sherriff, she let you go to town on her in the payphone outside of Mahoney’s.
“I don’t despise her, but I don’t miss her either.” He puts a hand on my shoulder.
“She was your wife, and you earnestly don’t miss her one bit?”
I lean on my knees, my head is spinning, oh god. I retch and empty my stomach onto the moss, and then again, and a third time. Now I’m driving heaving and he’s rubbing my back.
“See I knew ya felt something, just haven’t wrapped ya head around it yet.”
My pile of sick is steaming, sending warm clouds into the dark sky. “I need to sit down for a moment.”
I walk back a few steps and then sit on the ground. I use my injured hand to lower myself down and groan in pain.
“Your hand still hurting?” Sherriff Skinner asks concerned.
I nod, gritting my teeth in pain and nursing my hand, Christ but the wound burns. I reach into my inside coat pocket and retrieve the small orange bottle of pills Dr. Shier prescribed me, try to open it by pushing down on the lid with my injured palm. Searing pain causes me to cry out and I drop the bottle.
“Here let me help you,” Skinner says, picking up the bottle and spinning off the cap. I’m breathing heavily, sweating a flood and struggling to focus on something other than the intense pain in my palm.
I put the pill in my mouth and swallow, and then take a mouthful of water from my bottle. I swallow and lean back, still breathing heavily. Jack comes to my left and nuzzles his wolfish head against my chest, licking my chin. I reach out and rub his head with my right hand and he recoils, jumping back and growling.
“Jack, stop boy.” I say, reaching out to him with my right hand.
He snaps his teeth at my hand and I pull away just in time.
“Is he usually aggressive?” Skinner asks me.
“Only towards dinner scraps.” I say. Jack is still baring his teeth at me, the bastard; after I raise him from a pup this is how he repays me. Probably doesn’t like the smell of the wound.
I stand up a few minutes later with the help of Skinner and we continue on, Jack running ahead. Before long, I notice the pile of rocks I laid to mark the location of the bear.
“Right here,” I say and walk down off the path. I look down, and point out the bloodstains to Skinner. He pulls out a flashlight and bends down, examining the spatter.
“Looks like something injured it pretty badly. Not sure how, but seems like the fight started here.”
Skinner pulls out his gun, pointing it into the forest. He walks gingerly behind me. The dumb bastard, if anything attacks, his throat will be torn open before he has the chance to pull the trigger. We follow the blood deeper into the black forest, the moss crisp with frost under our boots.
Soon I spot the clearing, silver moonlight shines through, illuminating the large dark shape. Jack is barking crazily, running in circles and howling. He is snapping wildly at the air, jumping as high as his little legs will carry him over and over.
“Well, this is it Sherriff.”
Skinner looks around, “Where?”
“Right there, that dark shape looks like a boulder.”
Skinner walks closer, examines the corpse. “My god, it’s real.” He puts his gun away. What the hell’s he mean, it’s real.
Jack is snapping the air near my head like a flying fish crossed with a piranha. I reach out and clap his ear with my hand and he whimpers, and tries to run away but I grab the back of his neck and yank him off his feet. “Sit, Jack, sit.” I put him down and he lies obediently at my feet, he knows who the boss is now.
Sherriff Skinner tries pushing the body, and then turns to me. “Help?”
I nod and walk over to the body and push with him. The bear’s thick, majestic coat is matted with frozen blood, but I dig my fingers in and push. Together we turn the bear’s massive body onto it’s back, the moon reflected in its glassy eyes. My hand is fiery pain, and I have to sit and massage it.
Skinner looks closely at the bear’s front, walking around it and bending down, examining and then moving on. Jack sits obediently as I pet his back, but he’s shaking. I move to pet his head and he tries to shy away, “Jack.” I say sharply, and he moves his head back into place.
“Wounds are strange, unlike anything I’ve seen. Looks like bite marks around the haunches, the legs and blunt force trauma to the head and shoulders.”
Don’t think too closely, Sherriff.
“Bite marks could be a wolf, or a wolverine, they’re large.”
Jack is very still under my touch.
“Wounds to the head, I’m not too sure. I’ll have to send a team out here to bring this big fella back to the station, do an autopsy, even though I hate doin’ them. Need to find out if the rest of that poor lady is inside his belly.”
Sherriff Skinner stands up and walks towards me.
“I got some news that you’ll probably find shocking. That hand you brought in, we’re pretty sure it’s Denise’s.”
“Oh really?”
Jack stares silently at Skinner, and I pet his head softly.
“You don’t seem very surprised to be frank, Dave.”
I shrug, “I just don’t care. She died a long time ago in my eyes.”
“The reason I’m so interested about all this, is it’s pretty uncommon a woman get’s eaten by a Kodiak, then pieces of her are discovered by her husband, but it’s real common that a woman sleeps around on her husband and he kills her.”
“Why would I bring it to you then?”
Sherriff Skinner thinks for a moment. “Cause you figure yourself a smart man, smarter than us mountain folk, and you figure that it eliminates you as a suspect.”
I laugh and Jack begins panting and wagging his tail. “Sherriff, listen to yourself, that’s ridiculous. Why would I murder my wife? I truly do not care about her, when she started sleeping around, sure I was upset, but over time she became emotionally dead to me. I wouldn’t throw my life away for her, she’s not worth it.”
He looks at me for a moment. “Mind if we go back to your place?”
I smile warmly, my teeth shining in the moonlight, my jaw tight. “Not at all.”
I stand and Jack follows suit.
“How’s your hand Dave?” he asks me as we walk out of the forest, back onto the trail.
“Oh, it’s just fine, just perfect. Doesn’t hurt one bit anymore.”
I bare my teeth widely at him.
Sherriff Skinner studies me for a moment and then nods, “good, means the antibiotics are kicking in.”
Antibiotics aren’t painkillers. We walk back, Jack loping beside me, alertly checking his surroundings. Skinner’s arthritis is slowing him down; he’s limping and falling behind. I’m about twenty feet ahead of him, the moon illuminates our path. I slowly unwind the gauze and look at my injury. The center of the gash is dark black, like the night’s sky, and black veins creep their way outwards, consuming my palm and wrapping around my hand. It doesn’t hurt, no not anymore. It feels, different, though.
I drop my gauze on the ground behind me and continue walking. Jack follows me.
“Hey, Dave, why’d you take off your gauze?” I ignore him and pick up speed, breaking into a light jog. Jack follows me.
“Slow down, what are you doing?” he calls out. I can smell his fear, it smells tinny and I feel aroused. I begin sprinting along the well-travelled trail, never looking back, the Sherriff’s screams fading behind me.
What a situation to be in, stranded five miles from town and the only human soul nearby is completely nuts. Skinner walks slowly, placing each step carefully, one foot at a time. He carries his gun in front of him; his eyes nervously examine the forest on each side. Something is wrong with Dave. He’d known that awhile, well not known but suspected. The man’s wife goes missing and he doesn’t even grieve. He just stays up in the mountains, alone with his dog. Granted, his wife didn’t treat him so well, but still, they’d been married almost ten years.
Now he was certain, old Dave Thompson had flipped his lid. Enough time alone in the woods will do that to anyone, especially someone suffering a great loss like Dave. He’d been sure that Dave had killed Denise, and had his suspicions reinforced when he saw the bear’s corpse. A dog and a man had killed that bear. So Dave kills his wife, kills a grizzly and then reports he found a hand in the mouth of the bear. Strange strategy, but they say that insanity knows no reason.
A crack off the left of the path scares Skinner and he spins, pointing his gun into the dark forest.
“Don’t move, I’m armed.”
The dark silence of the forest seems to mock his fear. Skinner pulls out his radio and tries to get a signal again, too far from the towers, dammit. He’d survived worse **** than this; this is no place to die, not now, not when he has a grandchild on the way.
“Skinner.” A high-pitched voice howls from behind him, followed by cackling laughter. Skinner turns and points his gun into the forest.
“Stop this Dave, right now, it’s me, I’ve known you a long time son.”
The laughter intensifies, and Skinner steps towards it, off the trail, almost stumbling because of his stiff knees.
Silence. Skinner breathes frantically, looking around rapidly. He looks behind him, which is why he doesn’t see the apple-sized rock soaring through the air towards him. The rock connects with his orbital bone, causing a tremendous crack to rip through the air. Skinner falls, vision blurred and obscured by blood, which is when he hears the deep guttural growling. Sharp pain takes his breath away, as he feels his throat being torn. He tries to speak but nothing escapes his lips.
I walk out from my hiding place, my mouth salivating from the sweet smell of fresh blood. Skinner lies lifelessly on the trail, his blood coats Jack’s thick fur, Jack sits obediently near his kill, waiting for his master.
“Good boy,” I say, and roughly play with his head. Jack licks my hand, smearing blood over the dark, changed flesh. I turn to Skinner, lick my lips and we feed.
I enter the enclosure, about ten meters off of the dirt trail where Jack has posted up against a massive oak. His front paws are pressed against the trunk, his tongue lolling about, he looks like he’s smiling. I reach my hand out and rub his large head gruffly. He licks my hand and then drops down, nose the ground, sniffing as he walks in circles. I watch him for a moment and then look around, when I notice something that makes my heart rate spike. The moss to the right of the tree is painted dark red, a large oblong stain. I take a step closer and see that there’s more, only a few drips, but the dark liquid stands out among the rich-green moss.
I follow the drips, the moss bed sinking under my every step. The blood leads me, through the thick halls of wood, into a small circular clearing, where a tree’s body has been cleaved in half, by storm I supposed. These ancient pillars stand no chance against furious mountain wind.
“Jack, c’mere boy.” I call out; I hear his muffled steps as he approaches. He stops behind me and starts barking. In the clearing, the blood is everywhere, not only on the moss, but also on the trees. I look around the clearing, it looks very much the same as the rest of the area; dark, green and mossy with trees sprouting out all over the place, except there’s a large dark boulder. Jack’s barking ceases, and he begins growling, coming closer. Now he’s beside me and growling at the boulder.
“What is it Jack?” Jack barks at the boulder and then bares his teeth at it again. I walk closer and Jack begins barking at it, in frenzy. As I walk closer, the moss cracks like dry instant-noodles under my feet; the saturation of blood has made it brittle. I stop suddenly, struck with a realization. This is no boulder, it has fur. I walk around it and indentify a huge skull, the size of a witch’s cauldron. Grizzly bear. Jack has stopped barking and is now sniffing the corpse, circling it. He stops and raises a leg, pissing on the bear’s grave. I laugh at Jack, so now he’s a tough guy.
What in God’s name could have done this? A grizzly is no slouch; it’s the heavyweight boxer of mountains. A fifteen hundred pounds, with claws and sharp teeth, what could go a round with a grizzly and win?
A gleam from the bear’s massive jaws catches my eye. Something is caught in its mouth. I get down on one knee and try to pry it’s jaws open which proves difficult. Rigamortis has welded its muzzle shut. The twinkling appears to be gold. I wrap the fingers of each hand around the top, and bottom row of fangs and feel rubbery cold inside. I exert force up and down, and with a crack, the jaw opens, but I call out in pain. My right hand slid forward when the jaw opened and a long, deep gash now leaks blood from my right palm. “****.”
I retrieve some gauze from my backpack and wrap it quickly around the cut; the stringy white material absorbs the red wet. I turn quickly back to the bear, and reach inside its cavernous mouth. I retrieve the object, which I promptly drop. A human hand, dry, cold and mangled, rests on the moss at my feet. The glossy purple fingernails are attached to fingers that look sickeningly like stringy hamburger. I quickly grab it and throw it in my backpack. “Jack, let’s go boy.” Time to see Sherriff Skinner.
Sherriff Skinner is leaning back in his office chair and whistling when I drop my discovery on his table.
“Christ, is that…?”
I nod, “I found it walking on Hallows Pass around sunrise this morning. Jack was barkin’ at somethin’, ran off the trail.”
With a wince, Sherriff Skinner sits up and examines the hand closely, his wrinkled, knobby nose an inch from it’s palm.
“Seems best like an animal got to it. Wonder why they left it be.”
“I found it in the jaws of a dead grizzly.”
Sherriff Skinner raises an eyebrow at me, “A Kodiak?” He notices my hand, now a clothed mass of wet blood. “What happened with your hand?”
“Ah, I cut myself pryin’ the hand from its mouth.”
“Best get yourself over to Doctor Shier and get that patched up.”
I turn to the door and swing it open.
“Once your all fixed up, we’re gunna go up near your place and your gunna show me right where you found the hand.”
“All right.”
I turn to leave.
“Something’ else I’m wondering’ bout Dave.”
I turn back to Skinner.
“How you handlin’, you know…”
I shrug. “I’m all right. I got Jack to keep me company.”
He looks at me, thinking for a moment.
“All right, hurry over to Dr. Shier and then right back, you hear?”
I nod and then I’m out of his office..
Dr. Shier is the local doctor; he’s a real nice fellow, lives all alone on the top floor of his clinic. I’m in his examination room only fifteen minutes after checking in at the front desk and only five minutes after that he comes in to see me.
“Dave, how are you?”
“Good Dr. Shier, besides my hand here.”
Dr. Shier smiles, for a few moments and then puts down his clipboard on the counter.
“Let’s take a look.”
I wince in pain as he unwinds the gauze. It sounds like crackling wafer; the white material is crispy with blood. I try not to look, so I look at a poster on the wall instead. The poster has a silhouette of a human, but x-ray view, so you can see all the organs and innards. The lower intestine looks like a pepperoni; the upper intestine looks like sausage.
Dr. Shier says nothing; he examines the palm of my hand closely.
“This looks infected. How long ago did you get this?”
I look at my palm, unable to resist the urge. The wound has dried, but the skin surrounding is enflamed and coated in thick white pus. “This morning, around sunrise.”
Dr. Shier thinks for a moment. “How did it happen?”
“I got the cut from a dead grizzly’s teeth.”
“Ah, makes sense. Not too smart Dave, my friend. Best stay away from the dead, they carry infectious disease. I’ll prescribe you something to get rid of the infection.”
He scribbles sharply with his pen, the tip of ink scratching, tearing, and biting the page. I can hear his teeth grinding together, bone shredding bone into dust, abrasive, erosion.
“Don’t,” I say and I grab for the clipboard. Dr. Shier look at me with wide eyes.
“What?” he says, and he shows me the clipboard. Just a messily written doctors note, nothing torn.
“Nothing, never mind.” I say quietly.
A moment of silence passes. “Do you need anything David?” Dr. Shier asks as he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“No.”
“There’s no shame in needing help, it’s not a sign of weakness to take something for it. There’s a very common treatment. Valium, mi-“
“No thanks doctor. I have Jack, he’s all the comfort I need.”
Dr. Shier takes a deep breath, opens his mouth but then closes it and nods. “Yes, you’re fine. You’re a great guy Dave, and I’ll always consider you a friend. Just remember that and come in to town a couple days a week, more human contact would be good for you. “
“All right Doc. Thanks.” I take the prescription and head out the door.
“Take care David.”
“You too Doc.”
Jack, myself and Sherriff Skinner arrive back home by nightfall. I step out of my truck onto the gravel driveway with a crunch, walk around back and rough Jack around a bit, while he pants furiously, his tail wagging in a blur.
“How far a walk is it from hereabouts?” Skinner asks, his breath floating opaquely in front of his raisin face.
“Oh, only about twenty minutes, I’d imagine.” I feel sharp pain from beneath my fresh gauze bandage.
“Mind you keep that hand movin’ Dave, otherwise it might stiffen up on ya.”
I nod and stretch my fingers, which hurts more badly. The pain had intensified on the drive, and seems to be continuing to do so.
We start walking, Jack runs ahead, barking at wildlife too elusive for our eyes. I begin to feel very warm, the hike is elevating my heart rate, so I unzip my jacket halfway.
“Dave, what do ya think about everythin’? “
“I’m not sure, beside that I think some poor soul became a bear snack.”
“Nah, not bout that, about Denise.”
I feel a bead of sweat roll down my burning cheek.
“I figure her bad decisions caught up to her.”
My stomach gurgles and I put a hand to it, stopping for a second. I feel nauseated.
Sherriff Skinner is silent for a second.
“She really wasn’t a foul person, Dave, just a bit lost.”
I say nothing, and focus on my steps, oh my stomach, my god what did I eat?
“I know ya probably don’t like her one bit, but I tell ya she wasn’t rotten. I know rotten folks, I’ve known rotten folks and she ain’t one of em.”
I roll my eyes, distracted from my internal calamity, of course you like her Sherriff, she let you go to town on her in the payphone outside of Mahoney’s.
“I don’t despise her, but I don’t miss her either.” He puts a hand on my shoulder.
“She was your wife, and you earnestly don’t miss her one bit?”
I lean on my knees, my head is spinning, oh god. I retch and empty my stomach onto the moss, and then again, and a third time. Now I’m driving heaving and he’s rubbing my back.
“See I knew ya felt something, just haven’t wrapped ya head around it yet.”
My pile of sick is steaming, sending warm clouds into the dark sky. “I need to sit down for a moment.”
I walk back a few steps and then sit on the ground. I use my injured hand to lower myself down and groan in pain.
“Your hand still hurting?” Sherriff Skinner asks concerned.
I nod, gritting my teeth in pain and nursing my hand, Christ but the wound burns. I reach into my inside coat pocket and retrieve the small orange bottle of pills Dr. Shier prescribed me, try to open it by pushing down on the lid with my injured palm. Searing pain causes me to cry out and I drop the bottle.
“Here let me help you,” Skinner says, picking up the bottle and spinning off the cap. I’m breathing heavily, sweating a flood and struggling to focus on something other than the intense pain in my palm.
I put the pill in my mouth and swallow, and then take a mouthful of water from my bottle. I swallow and lean back, still breathing heavily. Jack comes to my left and nuzzles his wolfish head against my chest, licking my chin. I reach out and rub his head with my right hand and he recoils, jumping back and growling.
“Jack, stop boy.” I say, reaching out to him with my right hand.
He snaps his teeth at my hand and I pull away just in time.
“Is he usually aggressive?” Skinner asks me.
“Only towards dinner scraps.” I say. Jack is still baring his teeth at me, the bastard; after I raise him from a pup this is how he repays me. Probably doesn’t like the smell of the wound.
I stand up a few minutes later with the help of Skinner and we continue on, Jack running ahead. Before long, I notice the pile of rocks I laid to mark the location of the bear.
“Right here,” I say and walk down off the path. I look down, and point out the bloodstains to Skinner. He pulls out a flashlight and bends down, examining the spatter.
“Looks like something injured it pretty badly. Not sure how, but seems like the fight started here.”
Skinner pulls out his gun, pointing it into the forest. He walks gingerly behind me. The dumb bastard, if anything attacks, his throat will be torn open before he has the chance to pull the trigger. We follow the blood deeper into the black forest, the moss crisp with frost under our boots.
Soon I spot the clearing, silver moonlight shines through, illuminating the large dark shape. Jack is barking crazily, running in circles and howling. He is snapping wildly at the air, jumping as high as his little legs will carry him over and over.
“Well, this is it Sherriff.”
Skinner looks around, “Where?”
“Right there, that dark shape looks like a boulder.”
Skinner walks closer, examines the corpse. “My god, it’s real.” He puts his gun away. What the hell’s he mean, it’s real.
Jack is snapping the air near my head like a flying fish crossed with a piranha. I reach out and clap his ear with my hand and he whimpers, and tries to run away but I grab the back of his neck and yank him off his feet. “Sit, Jack, sit.” I put him down and he lies obediently at my feet, he knows who the boss is now.
Sherriff Skinner tries pushing the body, and then turns to me. “Help?”
I nod and walk over to the body and push with him. The bear’s thick, majestic coat is matted with frozen blood, but I dig my fingers in and push. Together we turn the bear’s massive body onto it’s back, the moon reflected in its glassy eyes. My hand is fiery pain, and I have to sit and massage it.
Skinner looks closely at the bear’s front, walking around it and bending down, examining and then moving on. Jack sits obediently as I pet his back, but he’s shaking. I move to pet his head and he tries to shy away, “Jack.” I say sharply, and he moves his head back into place.
“Wounds are strange, unlike anything I’ve seen. Looks like bite marks around the haunches, the legs and blunt force trauma to the head and shoulders.”
Don’t think too closely, Sherriff.
“Bite marks could be a wolf, or a wolverine, they’re large.”
Jack is very still under my touch.
“Wounds to the head, I’m not too sure. I’ll have to send a team out here to bring this big fella back to the station, do an autopsy, even though I hate doin’ them. Need to find out if the rest of that poor lady is inside his belly.”
Sherriff Skinner stands up and walks towards me.
“I got some news that you’ll probably find shocking. That hand you brought in, we’re pretty sure it’s Denise’s.”
“Oh really?”
Jack stares silently at Skinner, and I pet his head softly.
“You don’t seem very surprised to be frank, Dave.”
I shrug, “I just don’t care. She died a long time ago in my eyes.”
“The reason I’m so interested about all this, is it’s pretty uncommon a woman get’s eaten by a Kodiak, then pieces of her are discovered by her husband, but it’s real common that a woman sleeps around on her husband and he kills her.”
“Why would I bring it to you then?”
Sherriff Skinner thinks for a moment. “Cause you figure yourself a smart man, smarter than us mountain folk, and you figure that it eliminates you as a suspect.”
I laugh and Jack begins panting and wagging his tail. “Sherriff, listen to yourself, that’s ridiculous. Why would I murder my wife? I truly do not care about her, when she started sleeping around, sure I was upset, but over time she became emotionally dead to me. I wouldn’t throw my life away for her, she’s not worth it.”
He looks at me for a moment. “Mind if we go back to your place?”
I smile warmly, my teeth shining in the moonlight, my jaw tight. “Not at all.”
I stand and Jack follows suit.
“How’s your hand Dave?” he asks me as we walk out of the forest, back onto the trail.
“Oh, it’s just fine, just perfect. Doesn’t hurt one bit anymore.”
I bare my teeth widely at him.
Sherriff Skinner studies me for a moment and then nods, “good, means the antibiotics are kicking in.”
Antibiotics aren’t painkillers. We walk back, Jack loping beside me, alertly checking his surroundings. Skinner’s arthritis is slowing him down; he’s limping and falling behind. I’m about twenty feet ahead of him, the moon illuminates our path. I slowly unwind the gauze and look at my injury. The center of the gash is dark black, like the night’s sky, and black veins creep their way outwards, consuming my palm and wrapping around my hand. It doesn’t hurt, no not anymore. It feels, different, though.
I drop my gauze on the ground behind me and continue walking. Jack follows me.
“Hey, Dave, why’d you take off your gauze?” I ignore him and pick up speed, breaking into a light jog. Jack follows me.
“Slow down, what are you doing?” he calls out. I can smell his fear, it smells tinny and I feel aroused. I begin sprinting along the well-travelled trail, never looking back, the Sherriff’s screams fading behind me.
What a situation to be in, stranded five miles from town and the only human soul nearby is completely nuts. Skinner walks slowly, placing each step carefully, one foot at a time. He carries his gun in front of him; his eyes nervously examine the forest on each side. Something is wrong with Dave. He’d known that awhile, well not known but suspected. The man’s wife goes missing and he doesn’t even grieve. He just stays up in the mountains, alone with his dog. Granted, his wife didn’t treat him so well, but still, they’d been married almost ten years.
Now he was certain, old Dave Thompson had flipped his lid. Enough time alone in the woods will do that to anyone, especially someone suffering a great loss like Dave. He’d been sure that Dave had killed Denise, and had his suspicions reinforced when he saw the bear’s corpse. A dog and a man had killed that bear. So Dave kills his wife, kills a grizzly and then reports he found a hand in the mouth of the bear. Strange strategy, but they say that insanity knows no reason.
A crack off the left of the path scares Skinner and he spins, pointing his gun into the dark forest.
“Don’t move, I’m armed.”
The dark silence of the forest seems to mock his fear. Skinner pulls out his radio and tries to get a signal again, too far from the towers, dammit. He’d survived worse **** than this; this is no place to die, not now, not when he has a grandchild on the way.
“Skinner.” A high-pitched voice howls from behind him, followed by cackling laughter. Skinner turns and points his gun into the forest.
“Stop this Dave, right now, it’s me, I’ve known you a long time son.”
The laughter intensifies, and Skinner steps towards it, off the trail, almost stumbling because of his stiff knees.
Silence. Skinner breathes frantically, looking around rapidly. He looks behind him, which is why he doesn’t see the apple-sized rock soaring through the air towards him. The rock connects with his orbital bone, causing a tremendous crack to rip through the air. Skinner falls, vision blurred and obscured by blood, which is when he hears the deep guttural growling. Sharp pain takes his breath away, as he feels his throat being torn. He tries to speak but nothing escapes his lips.
I walk out from my hiding place, my mouth salivating from the sweet smell of fresh blood. Skinner lies lifelessly on the trail, his blood coats Jack’s thick fur, Jack sits obediently near his kill, waiting for his master.
“Good boy,” I say, and roughly play with his head. Jack licks my hand, smearing blood over the dark, changed flesh. I turn to Skinner, lick my lips and we feed.