Moonlight
flowed over shiny black fur like rain pouring down as the mother bear and her
cub stalked the forest for the first time in seven months. They’d emerged from their river-side cave after
a long winter’s nap only a day earlier.
The younger of the two was not yet even a year old and had never felt
this level of hunger. It was a hollow,
penetrating feeling that dictated everything—how much you should move, how far
you could travel, how long you would sleep before the hunger woke you up again.
The
older one looked down to her cub beside her with motherly pride—and worry. She recognized his sluggishness, he was weak,
and it killed her to see him this desperate for food. Berry season was still months off—so was
trout season, and it was still too cold for any humans to be out with their
cloth shelters and frozen foods stored in those flimsy plastic boxes that were
so easy for bears to break open. If they
were going to eat tonight, they were going to have to hunt. But she was weak herself, she wouldn’t be
able to chase her prey very far or fast and she’d have to choose it
wisely. She’d also have to choose
something slow, which diminished her options greatly. They couldn’t risk eating anything sick—not
this early in the waking season. The
meat of something older would be tougher for her cub to chew and admittedly she
didn’t look forward to the taste of eight year old rabbit gristle—but it would
have to do until her strength returned to her.
She
heard a rustling in the undergrowth, it could’ve been a gust of cool spring
wind but she couldn’t take that chance and she lifted a paw in front of her
cub’s path to stop him—on some reluctant level hoping it was that rabbit she’d
been thinking about. But then something
else tickled one of her senses—a smell.
It was wet and bloody like fresh kill.
The noise she’d heard could have been the animal who’d made the kill but
the old bear couldn’t smell any other creature nearby.
The
woods were silent—unusual for this time of year when animals were waking up and
combing the woods for new mates. Something
was wrong but the rumbling in her stomach convinced her to take the
chance. Cautiously the mother poked her
snout through the wall of snow-crusted bushes, then the rest of her head. And laying there in the snow, the blood still
warm, was a deer carcass. Normally bears
preferred not to scavenge—unless you count pillaging campsites as
scavenging—but who doesn’t like Little Debbies?
But
desperate times call for desperate measures.
So, knowing she should have checked the area more thoroughly, she coaxed
her young out from the bushes with a soft wuffle and they approached the deer
together.
No
sooner did they press their tongues to the cold, exposed flesh than a
medieval-like stock made from metal exploded up from the bloated guts of the
deer and snapped into place around the mother-bear’s neck. She roared at her cub to run which he did,
but only too late—a net of steel sprang up from beneath the snow, encasing and suspending
him in mid-air. The net spun around as
the mother bear raged and thrashed about in the stock, desperate to get out,
desperate to get her cub to safety. But
it was no use—whoever laid the trap had been expecting something larger to
spring it—the stock was made of some kind of reinforced metal.
And
then came a human voice—ragged and terrifying, like hollow trees rubbing
against each other in the winds of fall.
The voice was followed by the silhouette of a scrawny male human who
smelled of blood and gun powder. “Two of
you!” He hissed, playfully nudging the
cub’s net just enough to get it swinging again.
“Well that’s just perfect.” He
concluded as he squatted down beside the mother bear and stroked the fur in
between her massive shoulders. He glared
provokingly back into her cub’s terrified eyes.
“Now I have an audience.”
“I
count twenty-plus superficial cuts.” I
say to my wife over my radio as I inspect the bear corpse. It’s such a shame, she was a magnificent
animal—a good 600 pounds. And cut down
only hours after coming out of hibernation.
“And
according to the scanners they’re all at slightly different levels of
decomposition and bacterial infection.”
“Which
means he took his time.” I relay, using
my fingers to probe a patch of worn fur in back of her head. “She’s got ligature marks around her neck
where a device would have held her—just like the others…”
“So
you think it’s the same guy?”
“There’s
no doubt in my mind.” I say sternly, my
fist involuntarily clenching.
“How
can you be sure?” She asks.
“This
is his fifteenth victim, Fauna—that means I’ve combed over fifteen different
crime scenes in a month. Believe me—I know this is the same guy.” There was silence for a moment and then the
fact I’d been trying to ignore—the fear I’d been trying to suppress came
careening back to the forefront of my mind and I had to say something. “He’s taunting me, Fauna. He’s moved her from the actual kill site to
this area—one he knows is in sight of a hive cam—again, just like the others.”
At
first she didn’t say anything, then her voice came back a bit snarkier than
before—like the time I’d left her debit card at the pharmacy. “And how long have you suspected this?”
“I
thought it was weird right from the start but I thought—or was hoping it was
mere coincidence. But this hive cam is
the only one in the area—it would’ve taken a lot of effort for him to move her
to the top of this hill. It’s no
coincidence.” I say, shaking my
head. “And I fear he’s escalating. When he first showed up on our radar his
victims were primarily smaller wildlife, since then he’s gone from rabbits to
foxes to deer and now bears…”
“Don’t
take this the wrong way, I know all life is important. But is it wrong that I’m glad he’s only
killed animals—I don’t know if I could take helping you on this case if his
victims were human.”
I
take a moment to consider the implications of what I’m about to say. There’s no easy way to say it so I just talk,
“that’s just it Hon, I don’t know how long it’s going to stay that way.”
“What
do you mean?” She gasps.”
“Animal
cruelty is usually a good indicator of serial crime and he’s obviously moving
his way up the food chain as his confidence grows with each unsolved case. The restraints say he’s organized and the
torture points to sadism. It’s not long
before he makes the jump over the species barrier.” I say as I expand my search to the rest of
the area, searching for any other clues at all that might be hidden amongst the
underbrush.
Fauna
remains silent, praying that what I’m suggesting isn’t true. “Are you sure?” She questions, hoping I’ll reverse my
position, “I mean I know it looks like torture but a bear is a very different
animal compared to his other victims—thicker, more muscle…maybe the killer
isn’t a sadist, maybe he just didn’t know where to stab?”
I
say nothing in reply.
I
can’t.
I’m
completely and utterly speechless. Her
theory is sound and I would’ve considered it had I not just uncovered evidence
that confirms my own.
Completely
and undeniably.
“Badger
what’s wrong?” She asks for what has to
be the third time.
“We’ve
got a problem, he’s devolving—straying from his usual script.”
“Why,
did you find something?”
I
nod my head, “a net.” I quiver as I lift
the steel mesh stained with bear blood from the foliage. A twinge of disgust courses through me as I
accept the words I’m about to say next.
“…and eye lids.” I finally spit
out just as my scanners finish their approximation and feed me age of the bear
who’d left them.
“The
victim had a cub, Fauna. And her killer
made her child watch while he tortured his mother.”
“Dear
God.” Is all she can get out before she
mutes her microphone to gag.
“Contact
the police, Hon. I think it’s safe to
say that a future serial killer is on the prowl.”
To Be Continued…
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