Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

Nasty.

Severed veins dangled over flattened lungs, big maggots slithering around, fly eggs already hatching.

Nancy said, “I sprayed insecticide to kill the flies but maggots don’t seem to be bothered. Sorry.”

Carolyn stared at the mangled corpse, not a single blink.

"Okay, she's seen it." Nason gave Nancy the nod.

Nancy covered the body. “Bears are dangerous as I’m sure you are aware. According to Phil and the others, this is a rogue grizzly, an extremely dangerous animal. Once they’ve tasted human flesh, I’m told they prefer it.” Her angry eyes climbed all over Nason. Maybe her acceptance of a grizzly had faded.

Carolyn's eyes rolled back, she gulped air and shook from her shoulders down.

Nancy grabbed Carolyn’s shoulders and backed her against the door jamb. “You alright?”

Carolyn looked at Nancy, took a slow, deep breath and nodded.

Nancy glared at Nason. "Is this really necessary?"

“Yes.” Nason motioned toward the second sheet covered bed.

Nancy reluctantly dragged the sheet away.

Helfred’s glassy eyes stared at Nason from her severed head. A few big green flies crawled in and out of Helfred’s half open mouth.

Carolyn’s legs buckled and down she went.

THAT SAME MORNING, Willis Donner had awakened with his left hand restored, he knew not how. He had writhed in pain the whole day before, not knowing what had happened. He never knew what happened during nights of the moon. He'd learned to deal with each day as it came.

His arm hurt, the broken bones still knitting together and mending. The fresh, bright red scars, itched like fifty mosquito bites. But, the hand worked like it had ten years ago. This time his flesh had been mangled and the bones had been crushed.

Maybe the boy’s dog.

Ten years ago, it had been a clean cut above the wrist. The pain had been bad but yesterday's pain had been much worse. That ten-year-old scar had completely disappeared. This one might take longer. How he could heal at all from these injuries mystified his sanity.

Impossible.

All that mattered now was what that thing had done over the last two nights.

God, don't let it be like last time.

Ten years ago, that thing had taken three. Mary Lou had died after that night and J.J. had left the valley forever.

Willis knew J.J. was dead. He didn’t know how he knew, but he’d known for some time now.

God, let it be a calf this time. 

He subconsciously rubbed at his itching left arm where a bloody, chewed stump had been the day before, still painful. The itching could drive a man insane. He could live with the pain.

Not understanding why was the worst of it. That, and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Still naked from the night before, he walked out the top opening of the Perch into bright sunlight and cold air. He took his usual bath in the hot spring and crossed solid rock to the slow moving stream, the pond where water backed up before it tumbled over the falls. He jumped into the icy water and brusquely scrubbed his flesh. The cold water quickly closed his pours. He climbed out, went inside, dried and dressed. He had no appetite.

He didn’t want to go down there today but the cattle needed feeding. He had responsibilities again, a real job like before Kidro.

Hope there’s a dead calf.

He didn’t want to go down there today but he did.

All he found in the upper meadow were meadowlarks nesting around the warmth of their rock, chirping their songs to Willis, prettiest sound in nature.

His heart sank at seeing the trail left by the boy and the calf, a plowed path through deep snow leading down the meadow toward their house.

He didn’t want to go down to the house.

Not today.

He cut across the tree lined ridge and followed the stream down to Kidro’s feed barn. He loaded feed corn onto the truck and plowed the truck through deep snow, filling feed bins along the stream before returning the truck to the feed barn.

No more excuses.

He looked uphill at the Potter house, peaceful from here. He took a deep breath and hiked uphill toward whatever he might find.

The front door to the house was closed, but the barn door was open. John Crow was probably in there, a good sign. Willis knocked on the front door and waited.

No response.

He knocked louder and the door swung inward.

“Dear God.” The latch had been broken. “Hello the house.” He stepped inside and looked around. Nobody home. Everything looked fine. He looked at the broken latch, mentally listing what parts and tools he needed. He turned outside and started back down the front steps.

The dog charged into his belly, jumping and gnawing softly at his outstretched hand, happy to see Willis.

Thank you, God.

The dog followed Willis down the driveway and into the barn. Both horses and the bull calf stood in stalls.

The boy and Crow stood in knee deep snow in the corral. Crow twirled a lariat and tossed the lasso over a fence post, teaching the boy a time consuming lesson.

Willis turned into the tack room and grabbed the double edged axe. He ran his thumb across both blades, sharp, the way he kept them. He grabbed a small box of Baldwin parts, a screwdriver, allen wrenches, set the axe over his shoulder and returned outside.

NASON HAD BECOME TIRED of being cramped up here in the clinic with these two women. Nothing so tiring as two women feeling sorry for themselves over events beyond their control, beyond even their reckoning. He didn’t know if Carolyn Potter’s pouting and moaning was seeking sympathy or if it was real remorse. It didn’t matter. Nancy was oozing sympathy all over her. Her condescending sneers in his direction did the trick.

Neither of these women yet realized the benefits of living in this valley. Neither knew of the creature's indestructibility. Keeping them in the dark as long as possible increased the probability that, in time, they would grow to realize what the rest of the people here already