XIV

Calliope dug her hooves in all of a sudden, carving furrows in the red-brown earth as she came to a sliding halt. The sudden stop crashed Caff's face into the saddlehorn. Pain burst across his eye and cheekbone. He bit his tongue hard and tasted fresh-copper blood for it. He growled in pain and clung tight to the same saddlehorn responsible for his future blackened eye as she bucked once, then twice, and again. She let out this sound; a kind of shrill scream no animal had any right making, and reared, sawing the air with her front legs. His mind spun from the collision and the suddenness, and he almost fell again. Calliope landed, throwing him forward, almost onto her neck. He pushed against the momentum, feeling the strain of it in his shoulders and arms. She had never, in her entire life, done anything like this.

A steady flow of soothing words left his mouth; easy, it's okay, you're all right slurring past a swollen tongue. She whinnied and tossed her head, lashing the air with her tail as she danced in a messy circle. He took it as a good sign that she didn't try to buck or rear again. It took a while, maybe a long minute or two, for her to calm enough to be mostly still. He ran his hand down her neck, her sweat slicking his palm, and tried to get his brain back in order. She still buzzed with a nervous energy. Powerful muscle jumped and twitched beneath her silver-dappled coat. It was clear she'd rather be anywhere else, but her trust in him held true.

They'd left Jennie behind without meaning to. He'd been so eager to catch up to Everett, to getting the answers the boy had, that he'd given Calliope her full head. Between picking up on his mood and her longer legs, she'd quickly built quite the distance. Jennie would close it before long, but for the time being he was alone. The air was still and hot, the sky clear and bright. Cacti, standing alone and lifting their arms to the sky, stood alone. Stands of dirt-brown bush clung to life, leaching what little water there could be from the cracked earth. Rocks of all sizes, and plenty of them, filled in the rest. Some buzzing insect or another sang out. His breaths were quick and sharp, his heart pounding, as he looked for what had scared Calliope so badly.

He couldn't see it. He made to scrub a hand down his face and pulled it away wet, hissing in pain after touching the skin around his eye. Blood shone in the sun on his fingertips. He scrubbed them clean on his pants leg and looked again. Again, he didn't see it. He saw that shape, the one they'd followed into the desert. A buzzard or a vulture, most like, circling something dead or near-to. It wasn't too far off, maybe three-quarters of a mile.

It could've been a scent, he figured, now that some of his knocked-silly brains had come back to him. He couldn't see it on account of there being nothing to see. There being wind to carry it along, stood to reason that Calliope would only pick it up after she got close. The question that followed was: What was it? It could be whatever that scavenger bird was circling. He hoped it wasn't Everett. There would be so much wrong in coming across his dead body out here. Too much wrong. The sound of a horse at full-tilt drew him away from that macabre thought. Had to be Jennie, catching up. He twisted around and stood up in his stirrups.

There she was, closing fast, bent low over her saddle and clutching her hat to keep it from flying off. He began to wave his arms overhead in an effort to warn her off. He'd been lucky, coming away with some strained muscles and a cut on his face. A horse was a big and powerful creature, and could put a lot of harm on someone without meaning to. She saw him and reined Iris down to a trot. She cupped her mouth with her free hand and called, “ S'going on?!”

He did the same and shouted back, “Something's spookin' Calliope! Stay back there, an' I'll come t'you!” He dropped back into the saddle and took up the reins. As if she'd read his mind Calliope turned and moved into an eager trot towards Jennie, who he saw wave an arm and bring Iris to a halt. Not too long later and he came to a halt nearby.

Jennie saw his face and winced, hissing in sympathy. “Damn, Caff. That looks awful.” She'd worked up a sweat on the way out. It had stuck her hair to her forehead, which she now pushed away. He grunted. “What happened?” she asked.

He shook his head and answered, “S'far as I can tell, she picked up some kinda smell over thataway,” he gestured towards where the scavenger bird circled, “and somethin' bout it...I don' know...scared her good.”

Jennie nodded, then dug out a canteen and handkerchief from a saddlebag. She passed them over and said, “Here.” He took them, wet the kerchief, and dabbed at the cut until it didn't ache quite so badly. “Might need Doc to stitch you up,” she observed. He capped the canteen and gave them back.

Caff grunted, “Somethin' t'look forward to.” Then he said, “Thank you.” He ought to have said that before griping about Doc Crabtree. She waved away his thanks, which was fair enough.

“So,” she said, peering into the distance, eyes narrowing. “think it's the kid?”

He sighed and reluctantly answered, “Could be.”

She nodded. Then asked, “We goin' to have a look?”

Caff clicked his tongue. “Yeah.”

It didn't feel like it, but proceeding on foot would be best. Sure, they'd be slow, but they'd be safe. He turned and slid out of the saddle, landing with a grunt. The impact jarred his sore spots and injuries in an unpleasant manner. They'd be safe from being thrown, anyway. It'd expose them to a number of other dangers, but that was what the rifle and shotgun was for. Calliope nosed at his ear as he went around to her other side to where the rifle sheath hung. There was something almost apologetic in the gesture. The rifle felt heavy and solid in his hands. It felt good.

“On foot?” Jennie asked, doubtful. He grunted. It wasn't like he blamed her. Being on horseback, they could get in and out quicker, and that might be the difference between all of them coming home and just some of them. On top of that, he was sure the decision was making him look skittish, like he didn't want to ride a horse that had nearly thrown him just minutes ago. “You sure?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He hummed his answer. His back to her, he opened the rifle's chamber. There was already a round loaded. She must've done that earlier. He closed the chamber, bolt sliding home with a satisfyingly metallic click. He turned to face her, seeing her look down at him in clear worry. It wasn't like he blamed her for that, either. “Listen,” he said, “I got lucky, coming away with just this,” he gestured to his eye. “You know that. We ride up...maybe it don't happen again. Maybe we get lucky. Probably we don't. It'll get real bad, real fast. For you, for me, for the kid...” He trailed off and sighed, “So, yeah. On foot.”

Her gaze traveled over him, searching. He didn't know what she was looking for, nor whether he wanted her to find it or not. Fear, or something like it. “Okay,” she said, after that long moment. “On foot it is.” She slid out of her saddle and drew her pump-actioned twelve-gauge from its sheath. She began to feed shells in to its magazine, which held eight. Eight in the shotgun, eight on the bandolier. The pistol she carried held six, and she had six more on her gunbelt. He had twelve rounds for the rifle, and an identical setup to her pistol for his own.

It looked like more than enough. But out here, it might not be. “You ready?” he asked.

She swallowed and squared her shoulders. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. She took a deep breath, held it, and hissed it out through her nose. “Yeah.”

His mouth was dry. Sweat stuck his shirt to his skin and stung in the open wound beneath his eye. He wasn't sure he was making the right call, going on foot. Maybe he was dooming them all. Maybe Calliope losing her mind was a one-time thing, and she'd be fine now. He had to force himself to take that first step. The second followed a little easier, then the third, until they were walking quickly across the soft, sun-scorched earth. Ahead of them, the scavenger bird circled.

- - -

Trudy the horse lay dead in the desert earth, hindquarters buried in a collapsed sinkhole. Her forelegs were sort of folded beneath her neck, like she'd been pulling herself forward when she died and just fell forward. Dried, bloody foam was flecked around her open mouth. Her saddle had twisted on her midsection and was now trapped beneath her bulk. It looked like her old, tired heart had given out as she struggled to free herself. Her old, yellowed teeth glinted in the sun as her mouth lay open. A swollen, purple-black tongue flopped on the dry earth. It happened to workhorses that grew old. One day they could pull as heavy a load as ever and the next, took three steps and it's over. Could be that this is what Calliope's nose picked up. It went a long way towards explaining her terror, if it was.

Jennie stood beside him. She'd propped the stock of her twelve-gauge on her cocked hip, barrel pointed skyward, face shadowed by the brim of her hat. She looked down at Trudy's corpse and shook her head. “Old girl's heart gave out, huh?” Caff hummed. He took a few steps around the area, looking for any sign of Everett. The dirt was all churned up, most likely by Trudy's struggle, so he found nothing. “Anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothin'. Thrown clear, maybe, or...” he gestured to the collapsed sinkhole, “buried.” She gave a full body shudder at the thought. “Yeah.” he agreed, “Should have a look around, see if we can't find something.”

Jennie nodded, then almost reluctantly asked, “And if we don't?”

“We start diggin',” he answered. He spat the taste of fresh blood from his mouth and said, “C'mon, we'll start by them boulders.” With the rifle's barrel he gestured towards a stand of pale stones – each tall and round enough to climb – gathered around a tall, narrow spear of gray rock reaching for the sky. She grunted and they made their way over, eyes on their surroundings as much as the ground.

There was another sort of plant, different to those stubborn little bushes, gathered in the shadows of the leaning stones. They had a cactus flower look to them, wide-leaved and pale green. He squinted at a particular one, wondering if it had grown different than its brethren or if it had been messed up by someone trampling it. “Got prints!” Jennie called, drawing his attention to her. She was off to the side, more or less in line with the maybe-trampled plant. He joined her and felt a withering embarrasment.

It was impossible to mistake and nearly so to miss: the clear imprint of a shoe in the loose, red-brown earth. The first ones, along with a long, narrow imprint about the length of a young boy, started about ten foot from Trudy's corpse and led straight to the boulders. He truly was an incompetent fool. Sure, they were hidden by one of those little brown shrubs, which would have helped. Trouble was, the shrub truly was a little one. It'd be lucky to be shin-high. Sweat stung in his open wound, horrible and brief. He clenched his jaw and growled soft and low in his throat, against both the pain and his own inadequacy.

He looked to Jennie, and here was where there would be a mocking sort of humor to her. Maybe a glint of it in her eye, or a little smile threatening to break free across her mouth. He was deserving of it. It said a lot about what kind of Sheriff he was that he'd miss something so obvious. It was an old and sour thing to think, but it was true: she would be better for this job. He waited, and when the mockery didn't come, he realized she was waiting on something, on him, to make a call. So he did. “What d'you think?” he asked her.

Jennie looked between the tracks they stood over and the corpse of poor Trudy. She clicked her tongue, thoughtful for a moment, and said, “He's riding out, not paying attention on account of bein'...changed, like you said and – well, she fell in. he got thrown here, landed hard, maybe broke something. Leg or ankle. See them drags in his step?” she pointed. He hadn't. Now that he did, it seemed obvious. “He's limpin'. Made for shelter. But...” she stopped, confusion drawing her brows down. “if whoever changed his mind wants him dead, why send him somewhere safe?”

A damned good question. One he might have an answer to. He shared the idea he'd gotten from Miss Blakely's testimony: that a strong blow to the head could, maybe, be enough to free someone from the effect of being changed. In a case like Elijah's, maybe not. But Miss Blakely had hit Everett, and it had done something. He finished by saying, “So maybe when he landed, he hit his head or...it was jarrin' enough to knock himself un-silly.” he shrugged. “Either way, he's there, or was recently. We should get movin'.”

She nodded and took point. He followed. Unspoken agreement had them proceed in silence, on either side of the evidence of Everett's limping progress. Slow and careful, they moved up, being led right to the cactus-flower plant that had looked strange to him earlier. This close he could see the damage; those wide leaves broken and the center crushed. He saw the hooked throns lining the edges of the leaves, hair-thin and needle-fine. The tracks went further, into the shadowed alcove created by the lean of the boulders. The gap was short and wide. Enough space for someone to crawl through. Jennie went to one knee and used her twelve-gauge's stock to flip the plant's leaves out of the way.

Caff stayed standing. There was something different about their surroundings. There'd been a change, and he couldn't figure out what. He looked up and found the circling bird still scribing its wide circle in the sky. Trudy's corpse still lay in that collapsed sinkhole. “Everett?” Jennie's surprise was clear, “Everett!” She looked up to Caff. “He's in there.”

He dropped to one knee and squinted into the shadow. At the very back of the alcove, pressed against the stone, was the curled form of Everett Swanson. He was caked in dirt and sweat. The boy's hands were littered with small cuts, and a nasty bruise bloomed across the side of his face. His eyes were distant. Not changed distant. He was in shock. “Everett,” he kept his voice calm. “Come on out. Your parents're worried sick.”

Everett didn't respond. Silence fell, and then Caff put it together. Silence. Those buzzing insects had filled the air since they'd come out here. Until now. The still air was dead quiet. A chill ran down his spine. From behind Everett's curled legs came a hoarse whisper, “It got Trudy. I...I didn't see it. Too fast. Head weren't right. I seen it after, though. Goin' round an' round, waitin' for me. Wants me to come out. I ain't doin' it. It got Trudy. Pulled her right into the ground. She saved me. Threw me clear.”

Caff turned on his heel, back to see Trudy's corpse yanked beneath the earth. A dry, musky scent began to fill the air. “Fuck!” Jennie hissed, spinning to bring the twelve-gauge to bear. “Fuckin' sidewinder!”

They were in a lot of trouble.