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It's the corpse of a heifer—a young female cow that's not yet given birth—that had somehow gotten out of the pasture and into the forest. Usually it's sheep that stray, not cattle, because of their size. Perhaps a fallen tree somewhere has brought the fence down, we'll need to check the perimeter and fix it straight away. Meanwhile, this animal has been thoroughly mauled by something—coyotes perhaps, although they don't normally leave this much around afterwards, so perhaps not coyotes. One of the locals will have a better idea than me. Its abdomen lies open and bare, its insides partially eaten, entrails glistening on the ground beside it. Flies buzzing around happily. Feast day for them.
I'm used to scenes like this, so I don't so much as flinch.
"Oh God," she whispers behind me. "Poor baby."
"You don't have to see this," I tell her, but she's stubborn and she sticks right by my side.
"Do we know what did this?" I ask Ouray and he shakes his head.
"We think it might be a mountain lion."
"Would they come out this far?"
"Rarely, but sometimes. Or maybe a bear."
"I thought they prefer smaller prey like sheep or pigs."
"They've been known to attack calves before boss, especially if they're hungry enough."
I think about it and shake my head. "I don't know Ouray, I guess it's possible, but then I'd have expected more of the body to have been eaten. Go inform Lennon and Dean about this. I'll look around to see if I can find animal tracks."
Ouray nods and heads off. I turn to Hailey and while her face is still pale, she no longer looks to be on the verge of throwing up.
"You good?" I ask.
"Yeah," she whispers.
"Wanna come look for animal tracks with me?"
"What if we run into the… killer?"
"I doubt we will. We're not wandering that far. And I have a gun just in case."
"You do?"
"Of course." I lift my shirt so she can see my pistol tucked in its holster. As always I am carrying my trusty Sig Sauer P226 MK25 from my SEAL days. It's probably not the handgun of choice around these parts, but its precise firing mechanism and rugged reliability have served me well over the years, both in and out of the forces. There may be plenty of bigger handguns available, like a Colt Defender, or a Glock 36, and there are certainly less expensive ones to choose from, but when it comes to self-defense, my opinion is you can't put a price on reliability. This is a weapon I have grown comfortable with. I'm familiar with the feel of its heavily textured, non-slip grip in my hand, and even more importantly, I know the quality of it. I know it can be trusted to work when the chips are down. That sort ofconfidence is why I'll never change it. Dean now… Dean swears by his Glock, but hey, each to their own. "Up here, we all carry."
"Good to know."
She follows me as we wander deeper into the forest. I try to keep my attention on the ground in front of me, but I'm too aware of her presence, of her quiet introspection.
"You're handling this better than I thought," I tell her.
"Did you expect me to pass out?"
"Something like that."
"Did you pass out when you saw your first dead cattle?"
"Nah. But I'd seen plenty of dead bodies before that. I'm assuming you haven't."
"I haven't."
"Good."
We're quickly approaching a pond that I recognize, and which indicates to me we've come about two miles into the forest, so I stop.
"Still no signs of a mountain lion, or anything else. It's puzzling. I don't know what's going on."