Every Part of the Animal

by Duncan Ralston

  EVERY PART

  OF THE ANIMAL

  DUNCAN RALSTON

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SHADOW WORK PUBLISHING

  Copyright © 2016 by Duncan Ralston

  All rights reserved.

  Also by Duncan Ralston

  SALVAGE (novel)

  GRISTLE & BONE (collection)

  WOOM (novella)

  For more, visit

  duncanralston.com

  and Amazon

  PRAISE FOR "EVERY PART OF THE ANIMAL"

  "Perfectly written and put together, I defy anyone to not love this one."

  Nev Murray, Confessions of a Reviewer

  "This is what you call a 'sleeper hit.'"

  Robin Lee, Amazon Top 100 Reviewer

  "A book that is so good you can't breathe."

  - Alex Kimmel, Author of The Idea of North

  "Immediately, the smooth writing style of Ralston pulls you in and you find yourself totally immersed in the world that he creates. It's phenomenally easy to read."

  Matt Hickman, Author of Jeremy

  "Brilliantly written with great characters and I love that you're never really sure who deserves the most sympathy."

  Chad Clark, Author of Behind Our Walls

  CONTENTS

  1 – Momma

  2 – She-Wolf

  3 – Cub

  4 – Wreck

  5 – Body

  6 – Burn

  7 – Sweat

  8 – Guts

  9 – Skeletons

  10 - Blood

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1 – Momma

  "HOLD YOUR BREATH," Bo Lowery said, her hand light on the boy's shoulder.

  Caleb gulped in a breath and held it. Bo did the same, taking it in deeply through her nostrils. The air crisp, edging toward November, smelling strongly of spicy pine, damp earth, and sweet freshly rotting vegetation. From somewhere far off the smell of wood burning—more likely somebody's woodstove than the wildfires that had been raging in the mountains all summer long. The sky overcast, threatening for days a rain that still hadn't come.

  "And flatten that thumb," she told him. "Make sure the arrow's resting on it, you know that."

  He did as she instructed, let the shaft settle against his thumb, and glanced up at her for approval.

  "Good. Now spot your target."

  Caleb closed his left eye and looked through the peep sight on the string. The bow was almost as tall as him, the draw weight maybe twenty pounds less. He'd been practicing every night in front of the fire for almost a month now, and his small fingers drew the string taut easily, until his right hand quivered only slightly alongside his neck, the bow tilted on its side.

  If he could make a clean shot, it would be his first kill. Growing up so fast, she thought. He was eight years old, his daddy was dead and buried, and it had been just the two of them for going on a year.

  She glanced down the shaft of the arrow, saw the tip lined up with the grouse cooing and pecking in a stand of ferns.

  "All right, now when you let that sucker fly, then you let out that breath." She looked down to see he wasn't cheating. "Not before. Not after."

  Caleb nodded, his face going slightly red from holding it so long.

  "Whenever you're ready."

  Caleb waited another moment—Good boy—and breathed as he let go.

  FSSSSSSHHHHHHH!

  The arrow cut through the air, sinking deep into the earth bare inches from the grouse. As the bird flapped into the air with a squawk, unsettling the ferns, a few feathers fell from its wings.

  Caleb's shoulders sagged. He lowered the bow.

  "Don't sweat it, kid." She patted his shoulder. "That was close. You got your form down, anyway. And a few feathers to motivate you for next time."

  "I guess," he sighed. Bo threw the .22 rifle strap over her shoulder, and ushered him toward the ferns. They collected the tawny feathers from the cool, damp ground. Bo tucked hers behind her ear.

  Caleb chuckled. "Pretty," he said.

  "Why thank you, good sir. Let's head back home for supper," Bo said. "I'll make pancakes."

  Caleb's eyes widened in excitement, and he hurried on ahead. Bo followed a ways behind him, walking leisurely. Eventually she caught up to Caleb, who'd stopped to look at a cone-shaped bunch of tiny white flowers poking out of a scattering of desiccated maple leaves.

  "Momma, what are these?"

  Bo shook her head. "Don't know." She looked up to see a rusted tap in the nearest maple, evidence of the failed syrup venture Caleb's daddy had attempted. It pained her to know the boy would grow up without a father, even more that he'd likely never stop asking about him, because she hadn't had the courage to tell him his daddy was dead. As far as Caleb knew, Roy had left while Caleb was off at Sunday school. He'd just gone out to pick up smokes and a case of beer and never come home, the old cliché.

  Better to live with the lie than be burdened with the truth, she thought.

  Twigs snapped in a thicket of scrub spruce and pine. She scanned the area. Another crunch identified it as an animal walking through the woods. Smaller than a buck, less graceful on its paws—or hoofs—than a wolf. Whatever it was, it made a small moan Bo recognized moments before she saw it. Maybe ten feet away, through a tangle of black branches, a moose calf stood grazing.

  Caleb made to ask what she saw. She put a firm hand on his shoulder, raised a finger to her lips, and pointed.

  He raised the bow an inch. She shook her head fiercely, making him hesitate.

  "Why not?" he whispered.

  "Where there's baby, momma moose is sure to follow," she said. "Not to mention you can't just go around shootin moose willy nilly."

  A snort from behind startled them. Off a ways up a small rise heading into the widely spaced maples stood the biggest, meanest-looking cow moose Bo had ever seen. It stood a good few inches taller than her, at five-foot-seven, a thousand pounds or more. Some of its fur had come off in tufts, leaving its slate-gray flesh bare in places. From age, fighting off predators, or some sort of skin condition, Bo didn't know, and she didn't want to come close enough to find out.

  "Don't. Move," she said in a harsh whisper.

  Caleb's small frame shook under his orange vest.

  The cow moose locked eyes with her, soft brown to Bo's hard, cold blue. It regarded Caleb for a moment, then raised up on its hind legs and stomped its front legs down hard, all but shaking the earth at their feet.

  "Stay here," she said quietly. "I'm gonna distract her."

  "No, Momma…"

  "She's gon' charge. If I don't distract her, she's goin right for you."

  Bo pressed the rifle against her shoulder—Fat lot of good a .22'd do against a moose that size, anyhow—and took one wide step away from Caleb, moving as slow as she could bear. Brought her legs together. Another wide step. Eyeing the moose the whole time as it snorted, watching her now—no longer interested in Caleb, who stood closer to her calf.

  Momma moose turned toward Caleb, who stayed put, bless him, his body shivering uncontrollably. Shaggy, sandy blond hair ruffling against his tanned forehead in the crisp autumn breeze.

  Bo bent excruciatingly slowly and scooped up a fat, dried pinecone, hauled back and threw it right at the moose. It struck the beast on the snout. The moose swung its head back in her direction, snorting.

  She waved her arms like an aircraft marshal. The moose reared back and charged, its massive hoofs kicking up dirt, its expressionless eyes locked on target.


  "Run, Caleb!"

  Caleb froze.

  "RUN!"

  She didn't have time to make sure he'd listened. Had to run herself if she wanted to live, the moose scant feet from her. Ready to headbutt her into the nearest bush. She whipped around, the rifle swinging out in front of her, and rammed right into a solid maple.

  Hugging the tree, momentarily stunned, she tried to use the tree to her advantage and take shelter behind it, but the moose's rancid breath scalded the back of her neck, and her ribs smashed against the tree's jagged terrain of bark, and something—Roy's maple tap, she thought idly, his protuberances messing up her life even in death—tore through her flannel shirt and into the flesh of her abdomen.

  Agony nearly shut off the lights. If the moose hadn't stepped back for another go at her, she might have blacked out. She used the spare moment to scuttle around the maple's thick trunk.

  Caleb still stood his ground. He'd drawn back the bow string, held in a breath like she'd taught him.

  Before she could shout "no," he let the arrow loose. It tore into the cow's hip, several inches deep in its hide. The big momma reared back, bellowing in pain. It leaped around in a tight semi-circle, stomping down hard, and bolted in his direction without hesitation, hoofs thundering on the ground.

  "Duck, Caleb!"

  Caleb jumped out of the way a split second before the moose occupied the space where he'd stood. The moose barreled past him, not even bothering to get revenge—if it even knew what had hit it. She ran to her calf, and nudged it along. The momma moaned, the calf squawked, and the two animals trotted away through the bushes until they were gone.

  "You alive?" Bo called out.

  Caleb pushed himself to his knees. "Barely," he said.

  "You shouldn'ta done that. Nearly got yourself killed."

  "It was gonna kill you, Momma."

  "True." It hurt to breathe. Cracked a rib or two, at the very least. Gingerly, Bo raised her shirt. The maple tap had gouged into her stomach and tore a gash several inches long, deep enough that it was bleeding badly. The tap itself was stained red.

  That's gonna need stiches.

  "That was a good shot, though, wasn't it, Momma?"

  "You certainly taught it a lesson," she said, and let out a painful chuckle.

  Caleb slipped the bow over his head, so it hung at an angle across his chest. He stood and came over. Bent halfway to her and picked something up from the carpet of dead leaves.

  As he approached he held it out: the grouse feather. "You dropped it."

  "Why don't you tuck it in my hair for me?"

  Caleb did. He stood back, looking down at her, and smiled.

  She batted her eyelashes. "How do I look?"

  "Like you need a doctor." They both laughed. Caleb held out his hand. She took it, and helped him get her to her feet, holding the tree for support. She groaned.

  "Next time I tell you to run, you run. You hear me?"

  "Okay, Momma."

  "Okay then. I think I can walk. You good?"

  He nodded, smiling proudly. She put a hand on his shoulder, and they headed back to the house.

  2 – She-Wolf

  THE SECOND BO headed over the rise into town she had a feeling she should turn the pickup around and head home. Something about it didn't feel right. Having hunted as long as she had, she should have known to trust the instinct.

  Caleb seemed to sense something too, though Bo suspected it was just her own worry that had him looking up at her with wide eyes. She smiled to comfort him, and he returned a weary approximation of a smile as they turned onto sunny summer Main Street, where all the commotion was.

  "What's that, Momma?"

  Bo squinted through the chipped, bug- and bird crap-streaked windshield into the bright summer haze. She knew what it looked like: hundreds of people congregated in front of the town hall. But it couldn't be that. If it was, it'd have to be the entire population of Fort Garrison. That, and then some.

  "Don't know," she said.

  Still time to turn around, Bo. Make a U-turn in the feed store lot. You know this ain't right.

  She would have listened if they weren't broke, if she hadn't needed the money to get the bank off her back and buy another couple weeks' worth of groceries. Meat and eggs she had plenty of, but you could only stretch it so far. Caleb being just shy of ten years old—his once sandy blond hair having darkened to the same mousy brown as hers—he needed other vitamins and such for the growth spurt she expected to come any day now, and not just the canned crap that lined the pantry shelves.

  Bo slowed the truck to a crawl as they approached the center of town. Vehicles lined the street, and not just the beat-up old rust buckets the locals drove: some of these had high sheens reflecting the morning sun in her eyes, and she recognized at least two expensive foreign makes. A couple of news vans had parked near the commotion, the cameramen buzzing around the crowd like flies on a corpse.

  Some kind of protest, Bo thought. Probably some hippie-dippies pissed off about the pipeline deal, or some other Cause of the Week. Seemed to Bo like the middle class had all the time in the world to bitch about crap that didn't affect them personally. Every new thing was another sign of the world coming to an end.

  She pulled the truck a few buildings north of Dan's General Store, at a safe distance from the hubbub. "Stay in the truck," she said to Caleb, twisting the key out of the ignition.

  The boy looked up innocently from the robot toy Molly Parker had given him from the library lost and found.

  Bo peeked under the clear plastic tarp covering the truck bed before heading into the store. The bell rang out, garnering the attention of a skinny blonde girl in Daisy Dukes, a blood red crop top and fuzzy boots. The stranger lowered her cotton candy pink sunglasses to take Bo in, before disregarding her in favor of the postcard rack. A bunch of seemingly random tattoos on her arms, and a few on her legs. Her head was shaved up one side like she hoped to become an honorary member of Dan Goose's tribe.

  The man himself sat behind the counter, watching The Price is Right, his long, straggly gray hair tied in a horsetail that hung over an old blue-green plaid flannel shirt. His lips set in a tight line as the woman on stage jumped and cheered and hugged Drew Carrey.

  "Hey, Dan," Bo said as she approached.

  "Hey, Bo Diddley," he said with a nod. "How goes?"

  "Good, good." Bo eyed the stranger a moment longer, then leaned in to the counter. "Any idea what's going on out there?"

  Dan Goose peered through the storefront windows into the blue-white haze. He shrugged. "Protest. Wolf cull, I think. Saw some of them protest signs, seems to be that's what it's about."

  She squinted out between a Budweiser sign and the Closed/Open sign, CLOSED facing the inside of the store. "Wolf cull, huh?"

  "Yup. Them fires haven't spread out your way, have they?"

  "Nope, and I don't expect 'em to. But I guess you never know what a wildfire's gonna do," she added, squinting in the direction of the girl at the rack.

  "You got that right."

  Bo nodded, barely suppressing the urge to spit. "Maybe we should do business tomorrow, once this… whatever it is, dies down."

  "Don't see why," Dan Goose said. "Got cash out of the machine for you." His brown face wrinkled in a tight smile. "Drive around back, we'll avoid them prying eyes."

  The girl in the pink sunglasses sashayed past and out to the front door. Bo noticed you could see her ass cheeks hanging out of the back of those jean shorts. She thought to mention it to Dan, but it appeared he'd already got an eyeful. Poor old fella looked to be having trouble getting his tongue back in his mouth.

  The bell dinged above the door.

  "All right, I'll swing around back. Me and Caleb'll get those suckers into the cold storage for ya."

  Dan's narrow-eyed gaze followed the girl's long, smooth legs until they swung out of sight behind the window frame, then he snapped his attention to Bo. "What's that now?"

  "You look l
ike you could use a little time in cold storage yourself, Dan Goose," Bo said, slapping his shoulder with a grin. He startled.

  "Them outfits just keep getting smaller, don't they?"

  "If they was any smaller, it'd be a crime," Bo said, and made for the door.

  When her eyes adjusted to the outside, she saw the girl standing beside her pickup, pecking away at her cell phone. "Can I help you, missy?"

  The girl held up a single finger, still tapping at the keys on her phone, bubblegum pink lips mouthing along to the words as she typed them. "Send," she said aloud, then tucked the phone into the tiny back pocket of her shorts. "Bitch, what the fuck is this? Explain this to me."

  Bo took a moment to assess the situation. The only threat, as far as she could see, would be from the girl's foul language polluting Caleb's young ears, her being so close to his open window. "First of all," Bo said, "you want to watch who you're calling names, missy. Second, I don't know what in the heck you want me to explain, even if I did have to answer to you."

  "This," the girl said with a look of disgust, reaching into the truck bed to raise the clear plastic tarp.

  "Don't touch my truck."

  "Touch your truck? You're a fucking murderer, bitch. I'm calling the cops, or the Sheriff, or whatever you got in this hick town."

  Bo felt the first stirs of anger itching in her brain. "Roll up the window, Caleb."

  Reluctantly, the boy did as he was told. Bo turned to the girl, satisfied she could speak her piece without having to tone it down for him. He was a fragile boy, despite Bo's attempts to toughen him up. Had been ever since his father passed. "Now, why don't you move along, little lady?"

  "Bitch, cruelty to animals is, like, a jailable offense." Jabbing a wedding cake icing fake nail in Bo's general direction, this big city bitch said, "You could go to jail. You should go to jail. Orange is the New Buttblast, bitch. Prison rape citayyy."

  Despite the filth coming out of it, Bo had to admit the girl had a pretty voice. Almost soulful. "Watch your mouth and step away from my truck, princess," she said.