“Yeah.” Donnie took off in the direction of the sound, racing ahead where the path narrowed and the trees twined together.
After a few feet, the trail disappeared completely. Duncan had to wend his way through a maze of interlocked branches and roots, his brother’s fluorescent orange cap bobbing ahead. The ruckus they made trampling through the woods overpowered any other noise. If there were an animal up ahead, Mothman or whatever, it had probably gone into hiding. He was about to yell for his brother to slow down when Donnie stopped and Duncan plowed into him.
“Hey, why’d you—” His mouth dropped open. “Holy shit!”
Donnie stood frozen, his face a tight mask. “What do you think happened?”
Duncan could only stare. Several dead dogs lay in a small clearing, each with a puddle of blood around its head. Fluid had pooled from their ears, noses, and mouths. Scattered nearby, globs of a white mucous-like substance gleamed in the fading sunlight.
Duncan’s gut roiled. “Isn’t that the Bateman’s collie?” He pointed to the nearest dog.
“Yeah…Peony Girl.” Donnie lifted his arm, breathing into the crook of his elbow. “What the hell happened here? We gotta tell someone, Duncan.”
The whimper came again. Duncan glanced to the right, catching a faint movement among the trees. “Hey,” he called. Then more gentle, as he bent his knees and extended his hand. “Hey, there. Come on out. We won’t hurt you.” He recognized the dog at first glance, even though it huddled in a thicket of ferns and thistle. Martin Ward had been searching for Rex for several days. “Come out here.” He whistled softly.
Cautiously, the dog inched forward, head lowered, tail between its legs. It didn’t appear to be hurt, just dirty and unkempt with briars and bits of leaves snagged in its coat. Another pathetic whine issued from its throat.
“That’s it. Come on,” Duncan encouraged, fearful of moving lest he frighten the skittish animal. Finally, the dog lifted its nose to his hand, and Duncan grabbed its collar. He did a quick visual inspection, running his hands over the animal’s fur as he spoke soothingly.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” Donnie said beside him. “What kind of sicko goes around butchering dogs?” He glanced about nervously as if suspecting a madman lurked among the trees. “Maybe it was some kind of satanic ritual.”
“I don’t think so.” Satisfied Rex wasn’t hurt, Duncan rubbed the dog’s neck, hoping to calm him. He’d never known Martin’s pet to be overly passive, but something had put a terrible fright into the animal. The same something that had killed four less-fortunate canines and left their bodies strewn in the clearing.
“Hey, I’m serious, Duncan.” Donnie sounded spooked, his voice carrying a tremor. “I feel exposed out here. Like something’s watching us.”
“Something probably is. The same thing that killed all these dogs.” He stood, and Rex pressed against his legs. The terrified animal would probably cling to his side the entire way back to the truck. Duncan narrowed his eyes. He sensed it too…something hidden, something watching. “Let’s get out of here before we end up like those mutts.”
Donnie needed no prodding, hustling to retrace their steps. “We come out here again, I’m bringing a gun with me.”
Duncan nodded grimly, dinner and football forgotten. “Let’s report this to the sheriff, give Martin back his dog, and reconnoiter. I wanna nail the sonofabitch who did this.”
A few steps ahead, Donnie glanced over his shoulder, breathing hard. “So you think it’s some psycho Satanist?”
“Hell, no.” Duncan snorted his contempt. “Ain’t it obvious? The Mothman killed ’em.”
Chapter 6
Ryan was ten miles into the TNT on Potter Creek Road when he spied Duncan Bradley’s truck coming from the opposite direction. Off duty, he drove his regular vehicle, a bright blue Camaro. Despite the smaller size of the sporty car, the lane was too narrow to pass Duncan’s big Ford side by side. Ryan dipped his right wheels into the grass, and motioned for the other man to pass. Instead Duncan hit the brakes and hopped from his vehicle.
“Ryan! Ryan!” He waved a hand over his head as he raced for the Camaro. Almost simultaneously, Donnie burst from the passenger’s side of the truck and hurried to join his brother. Martin Wade’s dog, Rex, paced in the bed of the pick-up. Ryan knew from Katie the dog had been missing for several days.
He wound his window down. “What’s going on?”
“You ain’t gonna believe this.” In a breathless rush, Duncan told him of the grisly discovery he and Donnie had made in the woods.
“Never seen anything like it.” Donnie flapped his arms, using animated gestures. “Dead dogs with their heads all effed up. It looks like something out of a horror movie. We found poor Rex hiding in the trees.”
Both brothers were plainly shaken, their expressions a mixture of grim excitement and fear. If what they said was true, the dogs had died in a manner similar to Chester Wilson’s cow. But the Wilson farm was miles away, meaning someone—or something—had expanded their hunting territory. If he didn’t get a handle on the situation soon, new rumors would fly with everything from the Mothman to satanic cults and UFOs blamed for the killings.
“Where’d you find the dogs?”
“Two to three miles east.” Duncan pointed the way. “Trail on the right. It cuts back to bottomland, then a small clearing.”
“I know the place.” It wouldn’t be long before predators set to work on the carcasses.
Donnie whirled toward the truck. “We’ll show you.”
“No. That’s all right.” The last thing he needed was two overeager civilians with a reputation for exaggeration. “I’ll check it out. You two head into town and report what you found at the sheriff’s office. Be clear with the facts.” His gaze traveled to Rex in the back of the truck. “And let Martin know about his dog. I’m sure he’ll want to get him checked over.”
“Yeah, all right.” Donnie spoke for both of them but neither seemed happy with the order. Noticeably sulking, they shuffled back to the Ford.