Dead Stop Page 2
The other ewes milled about her and their fallen companion. They filled the pen with their woolly bodies and made the hot day seem even worse. Their proximity, their combined body heat, and the smell of lanolin that came with it, threatened to make her head swim. The approaching storm with its cooler weather couldn’t come fast enough for her.
She looked over and grimaced at the old man asking the question. Normally, she would have composed an optimistic but professionally guarded response to the query, however Clinton Hollis was one of her best clients and about as good a friend as a professional relationship would allow.
“Well, I’ve sewn her up.” She indicated the bloody mass of wool on the ground in front of her. “Which is pretty much all I can do. And you know how it is with sheep. When you’ve got one down for pretty much any reason, things don’t look promising…and this one has been chewed up pretty good. Did you see what did it?”
“Yeah.” The old man leaned rested his arms on the top board of the fence and watched as she started to pack her equipment. “It was a dog. Black and white. Looked like one of those collie type dogs. Kind of sad and ironic, if you know what I mean.”
Rachel nodded in understanding.
Sometimes people didn’t want an animal anymore, and for some reason they thought turning them loose out in the countryside was the best way to deal with the situation. Or as far as she knew, maybe it was their way of not dealing with the situation at all. Either way, the result was the same. Cold, starving, and with none of the experience or instincts necessary to successfully hunt for wild game, they invariably turned to attacking livestock…even the ones who had originally been bred to protect sheep.
“Did you get it?”
“Yeah.”
There was no hint of braggadocio in the farmer’s voice, the type she had so often seen in men who successfully fired a bullet into something and caused it to die…which counted as another of the things she liked about Clinton. He didn’t think compassion and manliness were mutually exclusive. He had an old fashioned courtliness to him which ran deeper than mere manners.
After Matt had died, he had found reasons to do business with her going above and beyond the call of good animal husbandry. She had been new to Masonfield at the time, and most folks didn’t quite know how to approach their new veterinarian whose husband had been killed only three weeks after their arrival. Both grief stricken and financially locked into a new clinic she had borrowed heavily to build, it looked at the time like both her personal and professional lives were about to implode before they ever got truly started.
But then Clinton Hollis saved the day.
When everybody else had drawn back in consternation, not knowing how to deal with this tragic stranger in their midst, Clinton stepped forward and started sending her business. One week after the funeral he had showed up in her driveway with a horse needing its teeth floated. Three days later, he called her out to palpate his entire herd of cows in order to see which were pregnant and which needed to be rebred…a practice few farmers bothered with anymore. Then it started to become obvious something was up when he called her out again and probably became the first farmer in the entire United States to get all his barn cats caught up on their vaccinations. But by that time other farmers and clients caught the message and started sending her work too.
Suddenly, so many sick animals descended on her office it seemed like the entire town had either a farm animal or pet needing something done for it.
For a while there, Rachel had been so busy and tired she hadn’t known what to do with herself. All of her kennels had been full, and she had been run ragged with farm calls. In hindsight, she knew the deluge of business was what got her through the worst of the grief and despair. At the same time it also broke through the discomfort a lot of people had in dealing with her. Over the course of the next eighteen months she found a community she could be part of, and it embraced its new veterinarian with open arms.
As far as Rachel Sutherland was concerned, Clinton Hollis had saved her life.
“The body is around back of the barn, if you want to see it.” The farmer gestured with his thumb. “I don’t think it was sick though. Just hungry.”
“I’ll pass,” She peeled the bloodstained gloves from her hands and dropped them into a little baggie to throw away later. “Unless you want me to dispose of it for you, that is.”
“Naw. I’ll take care of it, Doc. I just put it back there in case you needed it for testing or something along those lines.”
She pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so. From the way you said it behaved, and from the looks of this, there aren’t any signs of something neurological going on. Like you said, it was just hungry.”
She picked up her bag from the packed ground of the animal pen, and headed for the gate Clinton had already pulled open for her. He was dressed to leave for a dinner at the Knights of Columbus Hall. She knew if that hadn’t been the case he would have been right down on the ground with her in the pen beside the ewe. As it was, she was well aware Kirstin Hollis was waiting for him, and figured she could do him a favor by wrapping this up and getting him on his way.
“Speaking of hungry, Clint, you might want to feed poor Kirstin before she takes off without you. There isn’t anything else we can do here.”
“You sure?” He closed the gate after she walked through and peered over the top at the wounded animal.
“If it gets back on its feet by the time you return tonight, it will probably make it. If not, it most likely won’t make it through the night.” She glanced over at Clinton’s truck where she could see Kirstin’s silhouette in the window. “On the other hand, you might not make it through the night if you keep your wife sitting in that truck much longer.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“Go!” she urged and pointed firmly at his truck. “I’ll follow you two out and close the gate behind you since I’m already dirty.”
“Okay, okay, young Missy,” he huffed in mock indignation as they walked towards their vehicles “I’m going. It’s a sad state the world has come to when a young lady insists on closing the gate for me.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” she chuckled back. “You have to let us ‘young ladies’ practice a little chivalry now and then too. It’s good for us.”
“Oh, well if it’s good for you...” he rolled his eyes then grinned at her as he opened the door to his truck. “So, are we going to see you tonight at the dinner? Kirstin and I can see to it you have a place.”
“Not tonight, Clint,” Rachel called back as she rounded his truck to get to her own. “I’ve still got a dental cleaning on Miss Tatum’s cat waiting for me back at the clinic. After that I think I’ll just go out to the truck stop and grab a bite before hitting the bed. I won’t be fit for anything but the Textro tonight anyway. You two have a good time, and let me know how it works out with the ewe.”
“Will do.”
She waved and got into her own truck.
The offer to have dinner with them had been attractive. Clint and Kirsten were good company and it had been forever since she went out and had a nice dinner with people she liked. But she really did have the dental to do, and there just wasn’t time to clean up and change into a nice outfit afterwards.
Besides, the Knights of Columbus dinner would be filled with a lot of her clients, many of whom would be eager to corner her and ask questions about their pets and their various ailments. Most didn’t realize it was hard for her to remember all of their pet’s different needs and conditions without her charts for reference. On the other hand, the Textro mainly served out-of-towners, truckers and kids hunting a place to eat out late, meaning the likelihood of her getting to eat her meal in peace would be much higher.
And with half of Masonfield at the KofC dinner and the other half at tonight’s High School football game, the truck stop ought to be pretty much local free. Also, the idea of staying out late, watc
hing the storm’s fireworks, and reading a book with a never ending supply of coffee at her disposal had a certain appeal.
“Woohoo,” Rachel sighed as she followed the Hollis’ truck down their long driveway. “The things I do for excitement nowadays.”
###
Afternoon - Amos
Amos Godfrey disengaged the clutch on the attached mower and pulled his tractor to a stop in the shallow ditch alongside County Road 498.
His back ached from the long hours in the tractor and his hands were almost numb from the vibration of the steering wheel. It had been a long day. But it was almost over and only one chore remained.
The gates of the Mazon County Cemetery stood just ahead, representing his last job for the day.
“Amos, old man…you’re getting too long in the tooth for this.” He was already a couple of years past retirement age but the economy, being what it was, made leaving an option best put off a little while longer.
The man reached down and grabbed a plastic milk jug half full of water sitting next to the tractor’s seat. He took a long slug of the lukewarm liquid then poured some over his head. It didn’t cool him much, but at least if felt good to get the sweat off his face. The air today hung thick with moisture, despite the absence of rain. That would be coming later. Somewhere nearby, a locust unaware the summer had passed still buzzed its lazy drone in the heavy atmosphere. Even on a late October afternoon, mowing the roadsides was hot work in this part of Texas.
Amos capped the water jug and surveyed the area.
The cemetery sat alongside the back country road, bordered on two sides by brown rows of corn stalks and large piles of dirt on the third. The dirt had recently been brought in by the county, after making a deal to get it on the cheap from some wildcat copper mine reopened a few counties over. They had dumped it in great raw piles in the space between the cemetery and Clark Creek, to be used on future roadwork projects.
The old man shook his head in disgust at the eyesore.
When a couple of locals objected, the county commissioners had replied the piles would provide extra protection against Clark Creek eroding its way into the cemetery. Amos knew it was a ridiculous argument…the creek flowed too slowly and lay too far away to be a threat. But it silenced the objections. Now people visiting their deceased loved ones got treated to large piles of dirt for background scenery, to go along with the corn.
The county road worker dismounted the tractor and headed for the gates. His job was to cut the grass of the cemetery every month when his route of mowing roadsides brought him back around to it. The tractor pulled mower was not feasible for this job, but the county had an old riding mower stowed in a tool shed hidden in the trees at the back of the graveyard.
A quick peek at his watch told him he had about an hour before it started getting dark, so Amos picked up his pace. It left just enough daylight to get the job done if he wasn’t too picky, and get out of here before the rain started falling. A quick glance to the northwest revealed the heavy clouds marching in, and a distant rumble promised atmospheric mayhem in the future.
He needed to move, and get this over with.
Then he would be finished for the week, and could get home in time to change and go watch his grandson play football at the high school. The Masonfield Pirates had a good team this year. They were only two wins away from getting themselves a place in the state tournament. And with their running game, the rain tonight would favor them over the visiting Bulldog’s vaunted passing attack.
Amos strode with hurried purpose through the tombstones, intent on the little aluminum shed under the trees in the back. The sun already hung low in the sky. This resulted in much of the place being cast in shadow, both from the dirt piles and the tree line of Clark Creek. At least this took the edge off the heat, but it still counted as a stark reminder he needed to hurry if he didn’t want to be mowing a cemetery alone after dark.
His eyes fixed on the door to the little shed and he hustled straight to it. A few seconds of fumbling in his pocket produced the key ring he used to hold all his county keys. As he flipped through the keys, Amos noted how much darker it was here under the trees and wondered if perhaps it was already too late to be starting this.
For a brief moment he paused and considered the idea of putting it off till next week. Then he remembered Monday would be the last day of the month and he had to finish the rest of his route by then.
It must be done now.
With a sigh, he found the right key and inserted it into the padlock. It opened with a satisfying click and the chain rattled in a loud, metallic staccato as Amos pulled it free from the door handles. He wasted no time in opening the doors and stepping inside.
The mower squatted in the center of the gloom under a black plastic tarp. Amos yanked the tarp off and threw it into the corner before moving over to the shelves loaded with containers of different shapes and sizes. Most were fertilizers, pesticides, and other chemicals necessary for the maintenance of a green graveyard, but he found what he sought on the bottom shelf next to a coil of rubber hose.
The county worker pulled the gas can out, and gave it a quick shake. Satisfied with the weight and slosh of liquid within, he set it next to the mower. Amos wished the shed came with electricity so he could have better light for this. Kneeling by the mower, he fumbled in the murk for the gas cap and started unscrewing it.
Thoom!
He had just pulled it free when a loud thump against the side of the shed almost made him jump out of his skin.
“What the hell?!”
Amos dropped the gas cap in surprise, and nearly kicked over the fuel can while stumbling to his feet. The confined area made sudden movement difficult, and he almost fell before reaching out and grabbing the shelves to keep from going down. The rickety apparatus shook under his weight. A jug of weed killer started to topple from the top shelf but he managed to turn and steady it before getting himself drenched in herbicide.
Finally catching both his breath and his balance, Amos straightened to his feet and stared wide-eyed at the walls of the shed.
What the hell was that? He was supposed to be alone out here.
Wasn’t he?
Once again, a thump sounded against the thin walls…but this time it sounded softer, and he could tell it was coming from the side of the shed opposite the doors. It was followed by a dragging sound, like somebody or something was leaning against the outside and moving slightly. Whatever it was, it definitely didn’t come from a low tree branch or something along those lines. This had the quality of something alive.
A cow maybe?
Amos frowned at the wall and started a slow retreat away from it and towards the door. Something was out there, and it wasn’t supposed to be.
He thought about calling out and demanding whoever it was to identify themselves, but the mental image of him yelling at a cow like a scared old fool squelched the impulse. Besides, if it turned out to be one of his idiot coworkers out here trying to scare him, he damn sure didn’t intend to give them something to laugh about for the next two weeks.
And as soon as he thought of them he realized the bang had almost certainly been somebody slapping their hand against the shed before dragging it down the wall. Either the other tractor operater, Manny, or his buddy Curtis in Sanitation, must have known this was the day he mowed the county graveyard and had been waiting here in hopes of scaring him. They were both jerkoffs and prone to pulling this type of crap.
Well it wasn’t going to work.
“Nice try, you jackasses!” He stepped out of the doorway then headed around the corner of the shed. “But next time you might want to think about waiting until…”
He came to a stop as he rounded the second corner, bringing the back of the shed and what leaned against it into view.
It wasn’t Manny or Curtis.
Amos stared in shocked astonishment at the dim figure only a few feet away in the shadows.
It was a girl…and she was filthy.
And she stank.
He started towards her, then came to an abrupt stopped as she reacted to his presence.
“Holy shit! Oh, holy shit!” the old man gasped and stumbled back as the girl straightened and turned her head to face him.
Her skin was dark gray and cracked like old paint. It had a certain inert quality more associated with things than people, like the skin of a mummy only not quite as desiccated. Her eyes and mouth were tightly closed, and her face as immobile as a mask. It also had a sunken appearance that convinced him more than anything else this could be no joke.
This was real.
He was alone in a graveyard, with a dead woman standing only a few feet away.
“This is bullshit…” he whispered in weak disbelief. He could hear a slight crackling sound, like knuckles popping, as she tilted her head and seemed to be trying to locate him by his voice.
The apparition had a disturbing blend of animate and inanimate qualities, suggestive of both a person and a thing…and yet neither.
Amos watched in horrified fascination as the dead woman removed one hand from the wall and stretched it awkwardly in his direction. She groped about with it blindly, her eyes still tightly shut. Her slender fingers were blackened with dirt and corruption, and pale points of bone showed at the end of them as if they had been worn or chewed off.
The man took another step backwards, just to put a little more distance between him and the thing. The sound of his step must have to helped her locate him, for the corpse took a tottering step away from the wall in his direction. Then it stumbled to a stop, now flailing sightlessly in the air with both hands.