Page 27 of The Butcher

Nodding, I put the truck in park and hit the lights, staring at the tire tracks that can’t be more than an hour old. “Walker wouldn’t?—“

“No.” Zeke shakes his head as he grabs the door handle. “He’s three hours away.”

Right.

I forgot he was out of town.

That’s usually the only time he’ll give us the major leads he gets, that way Daddy dearest won’t suspect anything.

“The guys were asleep, right?”

I nod again, following back to where the tracks start, noticing two sets of boot prints alongside them. “They’d sooner tear me a new asshole from the comfort of our bed than drive all the way out here to do it. And they sure as hell wouldn’t have left before they got to.”

We get out of my truck slowly, reverting to hand signals, relying on our knowledge of the area and our time spent doing things in the pitch black of the night. He goes north up the side road while I go south, both of us searching for any fresher signs of company or what the hell anyone would be doing out here so late.

Aside from us, because body dumping is the only reason I can come up with and I don’t particularly like the idea of someone else knowing where our site is, or using it for whatever they might have used it for.

After a solid twenty minute search and follow, we were able to determine that the vehicle was headed north and was long gone at this point, but we decided to wait another half hour or so before we got down to business. Had to be sure we were alone before we started tossing shit down the hill into the ravine.

“You think the bears get tired of mostly hands and feet?”

I drop the cooler by the side of the road and stare at my brother like he’s finally fucking cracked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Zeke shrugs as he pulls the second cooler from the bed of the truck. “It’s not often they get a meal like this”—he motions to the coffin-sized containers—“since you usually take care of the meaty parts at your shop. Hands and feet aren’t much, I imagine they don’t get very full when that’s all we’ve got for them.”

Blinking slowly, I open my mouth but not one damn thing comes out.

Why the fuck is he even thinking about this?

Who gives a shit if the bears are happy about their free food, I know I don’t, I just appreciate the way they take care of the scraps when hydrofluoric acid is hard to come by. Or ordering it raises a few too many red flags.

“You’re a dumbass,” I finally grunt as I grab the handle of the metal cooler and drag it to the ledge. I really think he needs a vacation.

Either that or he’s long overdue to get laid.

“I’m just saying…”

“Yeah, I know what you’re just saying. You’re fucking losing it, brother, and I think?—“

“Cooler’s falling.”

I frown and straighten up. “What?”

Zeke points as a stupid grin forms on his face. “Your cooler is sliding down the hill.”

“Fuck.” Sure as shit, when I drop my eyes to where the container was just fucking sitting, I don’t see anything but a thick, flat path in the snow, and my cooler going for a goddamn ride straight into the ravine.

Goddamnit.

“If you hadn’t been flapping your fucking gums about bears and shit…” I flip my hood up and tug my mask a little higher, then follow the stupid box I wouldn’t even be using if it wasn’t for my brother.

Who is currently standing on the side of the road watching me climb down the hill the best I can without falling on my ass.

“Stupid fucking weather.” I skid a few feet, leaning back and using a hand to keep me upright before sidestepping my way down a few more. “Piece of shit, dragging me out in the middle of the damn night.”

Grumbling the rest of my journey down the steep, sloping terrain, I finally stop a few seconds after the cooler does, the thing thumping against none other than a blue tarp rolled up like a carpet.

I fucking knew it.

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