Page 24 of So Alone

On top of that, the animal was skinny. Its ribs protruded clearly, and its limbs were spindly and rail-thin. It might have weighed twenty-five pounds at the most. Faith drew closer and she could see the blood on the animal’s muzzle came from its own suppurating gums and not the remains of any prey.

She looked at Michael and saw the same irritation she felt. She felt a touch of embarrassment as well. They were trained FBI agents who had just apprehended a starving coyote.

She sighed and called Tom on the radio. “Hey, we’re on our way,” the Deputy said. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah,” Faith replied tersely, “and now we’re going to let it go.”

There was a brief pause. Then Tom said. “Yeah. All right. Thanks for trying, Agent.”

Faith could hear the defeat and frustration in his voice. She sighed and said, “It’s only been a few days, Deputy. We’ll figure this out. We just—”

“Hold on,” Tom interrupted, his voice tense again.

He clicked off the radio and Faith and Michael shared a glance. Turk, finally noticing that neither of his humans were attempting to secure the suspect, looked questioningly at Faith. The coyote leaped—literally—at his chance and bolted.

Turk whipped around to pursue, but Faith called him back. “Not our guy, Turk.”

Turk trotted back to Faith and sat with a huff.

“Yeah, I know, boy,” Faith replied. “Me too.”

“Christ what a shitshow,” Michael opined.

Faith’s radio buzzed again. “Go ahead, Tom.”

“Dispatch just got a call,” Tom said, his voice tight with anger. “Residents near Jefferson Park heard snarls, howls and screams coming from the park. Said it sounded like someone was being attacked by a wild animal.”

Faith’s heart sank. “We’re on our way.”

She clicked off the radio and swore.

“What is it?” Michael asked, his eyes telling Faith he already knew the answer.

“Reports of a wild animal attack coming from Jefferson Park,” she said. “It’s in the center of town.”

“Ah,” Michael said, “you mean exactly where we weren’t. Where no one was.”

“Yep,” Faith said.

“Dammit.”

“I agree.”

They drove in silence toward Jefferson Park. Even Turk was quiet, his head resting on his front paws, eyes staring moodily ahead at the center console.

A damned coyote. A murderer was out there siccing dogs on his victims and two highly-trained decorated FBI agents, along with the entire Goldwood sheriff’s department, were looking for coyotes.

Tom was in a similarly pissed-off mood when they met him at Jefferson Park. He nodded curtly to the agents, a sour frown on his face, and led them to the crime scene.

They saw the victim a few minutes later. He had been killed in a small clearing in the artificial forest that covered the park.

“Meet George Merrill,” Tom said, gesturing to the body in front of them.

Faith was accustomed to the sight and smell of death, but her nostrils still flared at this one. George had been a substantial man in life, and there was quite a bit more of him left behind than the previous two victims. What was left behind was not left pretty.

Behind her, Michael gagged. He managed to hold down his vomit but didn’t turn back around. “Christhell,” he muttered.

“Wrong place, right attitude,” Tom agreed, his normally soft drawl clipped and terse in his frustration. “Goddammit,” he cursed. “The one place we weren’t looking.”

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