GRYDER'S COVE TALES: HOWLERS

the killing begins...

"Gail...Gail!!" called a fair-skinned, red-haired young woman to her co-worker, a dark-haired woman of similar age standing just outside the fence surrounding a farm in the foothills of the western side of Cranton Ridge. Gail Stevens was talking with Evert Earwood, the owner of the property. She and her team were there investigating a reported rise in predator attacks on livestock in the area. Wolves were always first to get the blame, even though there were wildcats and bears living right alongside them in the hills.

Gail Stevens was interviewing an elderly man in stereotypical overalls and a weathered straw hat. She pulled up the voice recorder app on her tablet and tapped the red record button.

"What exactly makes you think wolves are responsible this time, Mr. Earwood?"

"You can call me Evert, miss," he said with a moribund smile. "Heard 'em out here a-howlin' n' carryin' on. Come from way back up in them trees there."

He gestured to the top of the highest hill in view.

"Next thing I know, it sounded like a stampede out here. I run out here with m' twelve-guage just in time to see 'em boundin' over the fence an' off into the woods on the other side here. Big sons-o'-bitches, too. Bigger'n that'n Buck Taggart killed last week, and we measured that'n at about six feet once we hung him up to skin 'im. Reckon they took down about three of four of my best milk cows. Didn't even eat 'em. Just tore 'em all t' hell an' scattered the pieces ever'where. Almost looks like...like uh...."

His voice and gaze trailed off.

"Shit, that can't be," he mumbled almost inaudibly, "that ain't happened for the longest time...."

He wasn't about to tell what he was thinking and have the outsider investigators think he was deranged.

Gail was saving the audio file when the woman who had been calling to her came up from behind and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, I've been yelling for you up there for like five minutes. You gotta come see this."

"Sure, yeah, just let me get this down and I'll check it out."

She went back to her notes, thanked the farmer for his time, then turned to her colleague.

"Ok, Olivia, let's have a look."

Gail took out a thick, red elastic band and began securing her long black hair into a loose bun as she followed Olivia up the slight incline toward the cow pasture.

"Maybe something, maybe nothing. That's why I need you."

Olivia Scott was a rookie photographer working with Gail and training to move up into her job once she was promoted next month, not to mention Gail's best friend since childhood. They approached one of the mangled cows, and Gail had to swallow hard to keep from gagging. She'd seen the results of wildlife attacking livestock before, but something about this case was especially unsettling. These cows had been mutilated and left to die. Some were eviscerated and their throats torn out. Others had legs broken and their flanks ripped open. One was missing its entire snout, from just below the eyes. It was just gone, nowhere to be found.

"This is the weird part," Olivia began, "I noticed this when I walked through the second time. Look at these pieces here."

She pointed to some bloody chunks of skin and muscle tissue laying near the cow's front hooves. "Looks chewed up, not just ripped from the body, y'know? Like whatever it was just....I dunno..."

She motioned back and forth in the air, expressing her loss for words.

"Spits instead of swallows?" Gail chimed in, managing half a smile in spite of being thoroughly repulsed.