Appalachian Hunter

Chapter 1

The distinct stench of guts are always the worst to stomach. Especially after baking in the heat for who knows how long. 

"Penny, I don't know how you manage to thrive - let alone roll in - all of this."

No response. Penny's too busy scratching her furry ass on the new post we added to her rehabilitation pen. Normally, bears go for entrails and the works. Penny? It's some sort of spa treatment we all missed the meeting on. 

I can hear Emma's quiet humming getting louder - looking over my shoulder I can see it's because she's getting closer, making her way over to where I'm at. Just I start my journey down the rabbit hole about fish guts and spa days. Suppose that's something I'll have to dive into head first another time. 

"Every day that passes, I'm thinking more and more that I wouldn't mind being a bear and having a fish gut spa day with Penny" Emma let out a laugh, but the exhaustion in her voice was as clear as Penny's fishy perfume. It's understandable though. She's been working hard to rebuild an old farmhouse she didn't really have the money for, all while going to school full time. The Big Animal Rehabilitation Center? Well, she has to be here for school. Between the two of us, we have the most hours logged in a week out of all of the volunteers. 

"Just don't shower for a couple of days and keep your legs open. You'll get the same smell and you'll save money on water, easy." I poke at her as I finish up my final log on Penny for the day. 

"Is that what you do? I'll say, your technique is spot on." There's the eye rolls. 

"Getting overwhelmed?" 

"Getting over-everything." I throw her a worried look, watching her run her hands down her face. We're both about the same age, so I've taken to to the role as the adoptive big sister in the short time we've worked together. Emma vented a bit about minor and major details about her farm she's working on. Now, I'm not a garden wizard, but I can keep plants alive most of the time, so I can relate to some of her issues. I've offered to help out on different occasions, but was declined each time. A stubborn girl. Respectable. "It's a lot of work, I don't know how I'm gonna keep up..."

"'Lot of work?! LOT OF WORK?! You over here complaining about working?" There he is. The "jokester". The bane of my existence. 

Austin B Walker. One of the conversation officers. He really never stops talking at you. They really need to switch out his "Conservation Officer" badge as of yesterday. "Schwartz, how can you go around complaining about simple life matters like what color you're gonna paint them walls and expect us to think you can drop an angry Caribou charging at you?" He held up an imaginary rifle, pretending to loudly and obnoxiously shoot something. This man thinks he's really doing something. I mean, to be fair, he is giving me a headache just listening to him all the time at the rehab center. 

"You're right Officer Walker. I'm going to go check off the fire packs." Back to being tensed up, she slips out a quick "Talk later, Riley" before vanishing around a corner.

Much to my joy, Walker just doesn't know how to simply shut the fuck up. To be honest, I don't know what the hell he's going on about half of the time. Once he gets into one of his moods his accent gets thicker and it's all cornbread in my ears from there. I've tried every tactic in the book the past month or so I've been here. Ignoring him. He just talks louder. Tried to decipher the accent. Ended up more confused than I was before. Right now going "Mhmmm" every once and again makes him feel like he's heard. Maybe, maybe not. I could care less, really. 

I'm rudely cut off from going through the doorway into the vet room, trying to put away Penny's logs so I can get out of here and away from this animal. Penny too. "Ain't you scared about any creepy creatures out your ways? These mountains are old, the inhabitants probably even older yet." 

"Walker!  Why don't you go ahead and get your biscuit and gravy ass out of my way. I'm trying to actually do my job, unlike you." Trying to squeeze past him is useless. He's quite the literally the epitome of corn-bred, corn-fed southern mustached menace. There's no way I'm going to get past him if I put all of my effort in it. There's also a one hundred percent chance of touching him. I'll pass on that. 

"So touchy. Why you so snippy? Trouble sleeping in that old cabin of yours? Is it because you're tucked up in them woods? Where nobody can hear your screams in the night if a bear comes out, looking for a Riley sized snack."

 "Walker! Christ sake, son...." Cork's old, sturdy frame gimps into the hallway. "Boy, do you ever shut up?" the old man intervenes. Cork's presence speaks enough. Walker quickly slid out of the way, huffing like a dog that didn't get a treat. To be fair, he always smells like one too. "Either get out of the way or get to work."  

Cork is someone I haven't gotten to know real well. Or at all, actually. He's always out doing fieldwork. Doing the real nitty gritty, real boot stomping, handy work. On occasion he'll come into the office, but typically only for the unlimited supply of black coffee. Whereas I'm always here, in the rehab center. Well, always here in terms of mutual grounds that both Cork and myself frequent. I try to have a life out of the rehab facility no matter how much I enjoy the work. But going out into the field is reserved conservation officers and for students going into the career, considering they have more resources. They have access to all of the resources, what am I kidding.

"Miss Riley, don't pay Officer Walker much mind - in regards to his attitude at least." His narrow eyes peer over to me. "He's a bit dense sometimes, but he does speak some truth."

I do my best not to roll my eyes as I grab my jacket off of the wall adjacent to Cork. "You're not going to tell me a long story about the Appalachian Boogeyman are you?" Granted I've heard the stories of the monsters that lurk in the dark here, I like to appear like I'm an actual adult. You know, pretending like I'm not afraid of the dark or the local stories. Which I think are true, so that really adds to the internal struggles. 

"I don't care what you do with the information I tell you -- but you can't say you haven't been warned. There's things out there that can't be explained. I hope you like where your guts are." 

Without even thinking about it I look down at my stomach for a brief moment as I reach for the door. "What're you going on about?" I ask, eyes squinted in suspicion. He doesn't seem like he's the type of person who would be superstitious and spiritual. Why is he speaking in riddles? 

"If you want them to stay where they're at, you'll stay in at night. Especially with you living in that cabin in them woods." He takes a long sip of his black coffee. It's just been poured. Full cup, no lid and steam is rolling off of it. Corks piercing blue eyes lock on mine. Years of wisdom have dulled them. "Drive safe. See you around, Miss Riley."

"Have a good night."

It took every fiber in my body to not powerwalk, borderline fast skedaddling, to my car.  The man gives me the heebie jeebies. How does Emma even work with these two? She has to be borderline insane after spending half a semester with them. Put them next to me for five minutes and I'll be ready to leave. That's five more minutes than I could stand with any of my family, so I'll give them what bare minimum credit they have where it's due.