The Goats Knew

Lizards and Hornets

Moran was about halfway to where Demming said they would be entering the woods when he heard it. It was like no sound he'd heard before. An animal howl crossed with the screech of skidding tires on pavement. And it was loud. It sounded like it was coming from right next to him, and yet the way it resonated through the woods, it must have been a hundred yards off.

He pulled out his gun and broke into a trot. There were officers in there and they could be in trouble. When he got to the fallen tree he took out his flashlight and started making his way into the forest. The going was slow. This was no pine forest, it was overgrown with bushes, vines and saplings. There were fallen trees everywhere. He had to keep his flashlight pointed to the ground to keep from tripping and falling on his face. It was frustrating. He needed to find the officers.

"Rawling! Demming!" He called out as he worked his way deeper into the darkness. "Rawling! Where the fuck are you? Demming! Answer me, God damn it!"

As he fought his way through the tangle, he was slapped in the face with a thornbush branch. There was blood on his face as he climbed over deadfall after deadfall. The moon was out and bright so he wasn't having too much trouble finding his way. Not that he actually knew where he was going. That insane howl was still echoing in his head as he entered a clearing.

"Rawling! Demming!" He shouted as he broke free of a grasping raspberry bush. "God damn it!" He exclaimed as he wiped blood from his face. Thankful to be in a relatively clear area, Moran swung his flashlight around in hopes of finding something to tell him where to go from here.

As he panned the light around the clearing, something glinted in the deep grass. He crossed over to where he had seen the flash of light but kept swinging his flashlight left to right, up and down. He occasionally would look behind. He didn't want to be taken by surprise by whatever it was that was howling earlier.

Finally he saw a steady reflection coming from a patch of crabgrass. Squatting down on his haunches, he reached out and pushed the grass aside while he felt for whatever it was he had seen. When his hand came back, he was shocked at what he was looking at.

A steel button on a scrap of torn blue fabric lay in his palm. The stylized "S" embossed in the metal made it clear to Moran that this was from a Sheriff's uniform. It was bright with no rust, no patina. It hadn't been on the ground too long. As Moran turned the button over and around in his hand, contemplating the implications, he realized the fabric was leaving red streaks on his palm as it slid around. The scrap was blood soaked.

"Demming! Rawling!" he called as loud as he could. "Where the fuck are you guys?" Then quieter, more to himself, "Where the fuck are you?"

As he stood up, he panned the light around the clearing. Again he spotted a flicker of light as the beam passed over the fallen corpse of an ancient birch. He crossed the clearing and bent down. The reflection had come from the shadow of the fallen birch tree. The angle of his flashlight illuminated some of the hollow beneath the tree, but nothing showed up in the circle of light.

Moran got down on his knees and laid his head down to get a better view. When he shone his light under the log he could definitely see that there was something there, but shadows cast by the flashlight made it impossible to tell what it was. He tried reaching into the shadows but he couldn't reach his target.

Laying on his stomach, he reached out with his right hand, and used his left to scooch under the log a bit, extending his reach. Finally his hand touched something that wasn't dirt, weeds or wood. It was soft. At least the surface was soft. The core was hard, ungiving. He managed to get the object between his thumb and index finger. He squeezed, getting a decent two-fingered grip on it. He gave it a tug. The object moved slightly, but not enough. It seemed to be wedged under the low end of the tree.