"If it attacked, sure. Otherwise, shooting it wouldn't be fair. I don't need the pelt. Just would have been nice." He looks over at me. "I should say thanks, too. Excellent reflexes. I'll admit, when you told me that, I thought you were full of crap."
"Now you know why I don't carry my gun."
"I'll still argue the point, but I'll accept yours. For now. We'll work on it, retrain your brain to react in a way that doesn't involve firing a gun. And I need to work on paying more attention. I usually do, but..." His gaze returns to the tree.
"What the hell is that?" I ask.
"No idea."
It looks like a length of thick rope. It's been nailed to the trunk, maybe ten feet up. Claw gouges in the bark say that's what the wolverine was trying to reach, but it was too high. Presumably, it's what the ravens were after, too, but the position would have made it awkward to get at, though I see peck marks where they've tried.
I take another step. Then I stop as my stomach lurches.
"Intestines," I say.
"What?"
"It's--"
"Fuck. Yeah. I see now."
He moves closer, his gaze on the ground, watching every step until he's at the tree. I'm beside him, both of us looking up at about eighteen inches of intestine hanging from the trunk.
THIRTY-FOUR
"Could be from Powys," Dalton says as we stare at the intestine.
I shake my head. "We found Powys's body the day I got here. This hasn't started to rot, and it still looks pliant."
"Pliant," he repeats, and then nods as if deciding this is indeed the best word. The length of intestine isn't fresh, but it's not dried out, either, as it sways slightly in the breeze, the smell of it bringing those scavengers running.
"Hastings, then?" he says.
"I'll need to take it back to Beth to confirm it's even human. I'd guess it is, if they nailed it up here. But it's always possible it's..."
I trail off. Dalton is turning, with that look on his face that tells me he's caught some noise, and sure enough, I hear it two seconds later. I could say his hearing is sharper, but I think it's just better attuned to sorting out what belongs in a peaceful forest and what does not. This does not. I have no idea what I'm actually hearing, only that it sends cold dread up my spine.
The sound comes from the edge of the clearing. We follow it, Dalton with his gun out, and ...
And nothing. I still can hear the sound, a cross between a groan and a mewl, and it's right here. Exactly where we're standing. Except there's nothing in sight except trees.
The sound comes again. Dalton's gaze goes up.
"What the hell?" I say as I follow his lead.
It looks like a sack. It's attached to the trunk and to a limb and resting partially in the crook between two more. In other words, it's wedged up in that tree as best it can be.
The noise comes again. And the side of the sack moves.
"There's, uh, something in it," I say.
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"Yep."
"Something hurt."
"Yep."