Page 6 of Silent Bones

And nearby, the sharp angles of bodies.

McKenzie let out a soft, rough exhale, one hand rising to cover his mouth.

Callie felt her heartbeat slow, heavy in her chest. She’d seen multiple crime scenes since her days as a deputy but nothing like this.

“Damn,” she murmured.

Jake said nothing.

He just stood there, the lake at his back, his face pale under his cap, eyes locked on the wreckage ahead.

Callie pulled in a breath and squared her shoulders as they stepped forward, into the scene.

Callie stepped carefully between the yellow markers, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The ground was a mess, pine needles churned into mud, blood soaking into dirt, the faint glint of scattered belongings catching the early light. A backpack lay unzipped, its contents spilled: a deck of cards, a water bottle, a pack of cigarettes crushed flat. The cooler sat on its side nearby, its lid cracked, the scattered ice half-melted.

She moved slowly, cataloging it all: two tents, slashed and collapsed. Sleeping bags, their seams ripped open, white stuffing scattered like animal fluff. A cooking pot upside down near the firepit, its bottom blackened from old soot. One body near the firepit in underwear. Bits of food; a smashed marshmallow bag, a box of crackers burst open, crumbled like dry leaves.

Blood. Smears, puddles, spatters. Long, chaotic streaks dragged across the dirt, arcing up tree trunks, splattered across the torn fabric of the tents.

Nothing about it looked accidental.

She felt McKenzie come up beside her, his usual chatter gone. He blew out a slow breath, eyes flicking over the destruction. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, voice rougher than usual. “It’s a massacre.”

Callie didn’t answer. She kept her eyes moving, her pen poised, her stomach knotting tighter with every step.

Among the trees, a faint thump of music drifted through the clearing. She turned toward it. Ozzy Westborough crouched by one of the bodies on the far side of the clearing down by the water, earbuds tucked under his shaggy dark hair, faint strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd buzzing just loud enough to catch the edge of the solo. The county coroner worked away, gloved hands moving over a body. He didn’t look up as they approached.

“Ozzy,” Callie called. She had to say his name again, louder to get his attention.

He lifted one hand in greeting, then tugged a bud free. “Oh, hey. Morning, Thorne.” His voice was low, even. “Got here ten minutes ago. Glad I didn’t have a greasy breakfast. Didn’t want to start the day like this.”

McKenzie crouched down a little beside him, eyes narrowing. “What are we looking at?”

Ozzy’s mouth tightened at the corners. He gestured at the young man sprawled on his side, pale hair matted dark with blood. “Four dead teenagers, one missing. Blunt force trauma. Crushed ribs. Dislocated shoulder. Multiple lacerations. Really deep, wide. And here” — he pointed gently at the man’s arm — “the tearing’s odd. Broad, jagged.”

Callie felt her stomach flip. “Animal attack?”

Ozzy exhaled, slow. “Could be. Won’t know for sure until we get them on the table. But it’s…” He shook his head faintly. “It’s strange.”

She straightened, pushing a breath through tight lungs, scanning the scene again with an edge.

Jake appeared at her elbow; arms crossed. “Tracks don’t line up,” he said quietly. “They’re big. Heavy. Bigger than any black bear I’ve seen. But the claw marks… Jesus. The gouges on those trees are… deep.”

Callie turned. “So, a rogue animal?”

Jake rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Maybe. We’ve had black bears come too close to camps before. You know, hunger, sickness. But this?” His mouth tightened. “Never seen this.”

McKenzie let out a low whistle. “This is going to go over well with campers.”

Callie shot him a look, but the corner of his mouth barely moved, a faint, automatic defense. He wasn’t joking, not really. Just bracing himself.

She felt Jake shift beside her, like a pulled thread.

“Jake?” she asked softly, noticing him staring.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “We should’ve gone wider last week,” he muttered, fingers tightening briefly on the clipboard in his hands.

“We already talked about that,” she replied.