Page 23 of Shelter for Martina

Conor nodded and grinned. “Yeah. It appears y’all are having an influx of a critter you’re not as familiar with as we are.” Bud wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. “Armored possums.”

“Oh! Yeah! I’ve been seeing a few dead ones on the sides of the roads! I thought people were making it up, sighting them, but I know now that they’re really here.”

“Yep. We’re not seeing any of them on the refuge yet, but they’re here. It’s just a matter of time,” Tanner said.

“Did you know armadillos are a carrier of leprosy?” Conor asked.

“No! Did not know that!” Bud answered. Well, that was a shock. Leprosy—one more thing Kentucky didn’t need.

“Yep. Of course, it’s treatable now, unlike in years past, but still, not something you really want to have to deal with. We’re trying to get a handle on how they’re moving into the area, through which routes, and how many. So far, they seem to be sticking close to water sources, so that’s what we’re concentrating on.”

“And with the GreenRiver cutting through here, we decided maybe we’d better have Conor come and look around,” Tanner said.

Bud nodded. “Makes sense.” Then he thought of something. “Say, are you very good at tracking?”

Conor shrugged. “I’ve been known to do some, yeah.”

“Could you maybe take a look at something for me later? If you have time?”

“I’ll make time,” the young man said. “You just tell me when and where.”

“Tanner can bring you. He’ll know where I’m talking about.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”

Bud took phone numbers from both Tanner and Conor. He had an idea, and he wanted to see what came of it.

* * *

Bud madea little side trip to Fordsville to find MartyBurgess. He had one simple question: Where did PhilAdams do his muddin’? To his surprise, Marty was forthcoming with the information instantly, no beating around the bush. He thought that was odd, but he’d take whatever he could get.

Then he called Tanner and was thankful when his young fish and wildlife officer friend answered on the first ring. In twenty minutes, everyone was headed in the same direction.

The GreenRiver bottoms off JimisonRoad. That’s where Marty had sent them, and that’s where they’d meet. By the time Bud got there, Tanner and Conor were already there in their boots, ready to go. Bud changed into his on the tailgate of his truck and while he was doing so, he gave them a little rundown of what was going on. “So I’m wondering if we can find the spot where this four-wheeler supposedly was stuck and if you guys can tell me anything about it.”

“We can sure try. Did he give you any landmarks or anything?” Tanner asked.

“No, because, according to him, he wasn’t there. But he said he knows where Adams usually goes, so we can start there.”

“No time like the present,” Conor announced. “Lead the way.”

All three men headed out into the woods and walked along, eyes sweeping their surroundings, as the terrain continued in a gradual descent toward the river bottoms. There were signs of animals and the random piece of trash that had been dropped or blown in, but other than that, there wasn’t a lot to see. It was tree after tree, with a clearing here and there, and a lot of leaf coverage on the ground. The closer to the river they got, the wetter the ground seemed, until it was firm mud under their feet. They were within one hundred yards of the bank when Conor said, “Hold up. I bet that’s it.” When Bud turned, he could see a spot up ahead where the ground had been disturbed. “Let’s do this. Follow me.” Conor turned and headed in a different direction, and Bud couldn’t figure out what he was doing.

It became clear after just a dozen or so steps. There was a berm behind the area, and the three of them climbed up that small incline and stood over the spot. “Yeah, I’d say it was stuck there. The ground’s all messed up,” Tanner said, pointing down at it.

“Yeah, but look closely. What do you see?” Conor asked.

“I see deep ruts where it went in. And I see deep ruts where it came out,” Bud offered.

“What do you see beside it?” Conor asked, pointing a little out past the muddy mess.

Tanner was the first to speak. “Um, I see a couple of holes. More than a couple—four or five?”

“And what are those?”

Bud stared at them. “They’re footprints, or I should say where somebody sank in the mud.”

“Yeah. Pushing the four-wheeler out. What did you say the guy told you?” Conor asked.

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