by Alex Bledsoe
“Did you get news?” Chloe asked softly.
“I think so. They called me up there.”
Sam and Brenda’s eyes snapped open. Bliss’s heart ached for them; they knew, but they still had hope. That was the saddest part of all.
“You heard something from Alvin?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Bliss said as she climbed on the four-wheeler that she’d brought here in the back of her truck. She’d strapped a thorough first aid kit, borrowed from the fire station, on the back.
“Did he say—?” Brenda began.
“I don’t know anything yet.” Bliss started the ATV and headed up the trail before they could ask anything else. She hoped some of the other friends she’d called showed up soon to sit with Sam and Brenda. This would be the worst day in their lives.
It took her ten minutes to reach Recliner Rock. The whole way, she kept glancing into the woods, knowing that something horrible must lurk there, wondering if it was brave enough to attack her atop the roaring machine. She knew the animals that usually lived in the area, as well as the more unique creatures that hovered around the Tufa. Most were contained, either by particular words sung in a specific way, or by the Tufa’s ingrained wariness. But things could change, and one of them might have broken free. Then again, it could be something wholly mundane, like a bear or a cougar. Despite what outsiders thought, not every Tufa tragedy had to involve their magical side.
When she’d arrived at the Rogers farm two hours ago, Duncan had told her the basics of what he’d found, and the Rogerses said that they’d called State Trooper Alvin Darwin. Darwin was the only Tufa law enforcement officer, and his usual job—unofficially, of course—was to make sure no crime that occurred in Cloud County attracted any outside attention. Sometimes that was easier than others.
When she reached Recliner Rock, Darwin was there, looking paler than Bliss had ever seen him; Deacon Hyatt and Eldon “Gittem” Sands, both armed with their hunting rifles, gazed at something on the ground. Deacon was middle-aged, with classical gray at the temples of his neat, short hair. Gittem looked like what he was: a wild-haired hillbilly moonshiner, barefoot and clad in patched overalls.
“Do you know what happened to Kera?” Bliss asked as she shut off the ATV and dismounted.
“There ain’t much doubt now,” Darwin said, “but we need a professional to say so.”
He led her over to the others, who stepped aside. Gittem used the tip of his rifle’s barrel to indicate something on the ground.
It was part of a woman’s hand, the thumb and forefinger. It had been chewed off at the wrist, and the rest of the fingers were likewise missing. The flesh was pure bloodless white, which made the black nail polish appear that much more vivid.
“I don’t guess it fell off, did it?” Darwin asked.
“Reckon not,” Bliss said.
She looked around at the other two solemn men, who waited for her pronouncement. To Darwin, she said, “I can officially confirm those are human remains, all right.”
“Kera’s?” Deacon asked.
“Is anyone else missing?”
“Not that I’ve heard anything about,” Darwin said.
“Then I’d say yes. I saw her at the post office a couple of days ago, and she’d just painted her nails.” Bliss sighed, struggling to maintain her professional distance. “She was showing them off.”
“Where’s the rest of her, then?” Gittem asked.
No one answered, but Gittem swung his rifle barrel until the tip pointed at another spot on the ground. A huge cloven hoofprint sank deep into the ground.
Deacon looked around at the woods, the ravine with its bubbling little creek, and the mountains that overshadowed them. “Then we got a monster,” he said.
* * *
Duncan knew the truth when he heard Bliss’s ATV arrive in the backyard, and it was confirmed by Brenda’s long, ululating wail. He tossed off the blanket and ran around the house as the sound echoed off the trees, for a moment coming at him from all directions and enveloping him in her pain.
Chloe Hyatt and Bliss stood close to the couple, their eyes downcast. Sam held Brenda so tightly, he must’ve been worried that she’d collapse. She let out another long cry, one that carried all the suffering a mother could possibly feel.
Duncan grabbed Bliss’s arm harder than he meant to. “What did you find?”
Bliss looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Duncan. She’s gone.”
Chills took hold of his legs and crept up his whole body. Now he wished he had that blanket.
Darwin, Deacon Hyatt, and Gittem emerged from the trail. None of the Tufa thought anything about the fact that they’d made almost as good time as Bliss on the ATV. Darwin stopped to quietly say something to Sam, then announced, “I’ve got to go call this in.”
“To who?” Gittem asked.
“My dispatcher, for one thing.”
“Will other police come out?” Deacon asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s not a murder, it’s what we call ‘death by misadventure.’ I’m qualified to handle that.”
“You know who you need to talk to first,” Bliss said, soft but firm.
Darwin nodded. “I’ll do that right after I leave here. Reckon I’ll find ’em at the post office?”
“I imagine.”
“I’ll also have to call the wildlife officer for this area.”
“Jack Cates,” Bliss said. “I’ve worked with him a few times. He seems like a good guy.”
“Nosy?” Deacon asked.
“Only when his job requires it.”
“Was it a bear?” Duncan choked out.
Everyone fell silent and turned to him. Ordinarily he’d be embarrassed at the sudden attention, but not today.
“Did a bear kill her?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Darwin said.
“Then what? What?” he demanded, his voice cracking.
Darwin paused before speaking, considering how to phrase his words with Kera’s parents right there. “I think it was a hog.”
“A … a hog?” Duncan repeated, almost shouting. “You mean someone’s fucking hog got loose and killed her?”
Brenda cried out and buried her face in Sam’s shoulder.
“Shush, son, that’s her mother right there,” Darwin said. He pulled Duncan aside and said, “Nothing but wild hog tracks around the site; no bear or mountain lion sign at all. That’s pretty clear. And we found … partial remains.”
That word echoed around inside Duncan’s head. Remains.
He swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, and his eyes burned. “M-maybe they just ate her a-after the bear…” Now he really wanted that blanket, and a place to sit down. And a bucket to puke in.
“Son, this is awful, I understand that,” Darwin said. “I wish the news was better. Bliss?”
Bliss left Kera’s parents and came over to Duncan. “This is what I warned you about,” she said as she put her arm around his trembling shoulders. With surprising strength, she walked him back around to the front porch, where she sat him down and again put the blanket around him.
He looked up at her, numb and cold. “W-was it really a hog?”
“It looks that way.”
“When I f-find out whose it was—”
“I think it was a wild hog, Duncan.”
“W-where did it … did it…”
“Calm down. I don’t know where it came from. That’s not important right now, is it? But I do know it won’t be here long.” She looked out at the woods that surrounded the house, past the vehicles crammed into the dirt driveway and yard. “No, wherever it is, it’s crossed a line.”
“It’s just an animal, right? I mean, it’s not … it’s not…” He hesitated, not wanting to mention the words for things that the Tufa whispered about, afraid that speaking the names aloud might somehow manifest the things themselves.
“No, it’s just an animal,” Bliss said with an assurance she didn’t feel.
* * *
Trooper Darwin parked his police cruiser in the post office parking lot. The building was considerably newer than the other structures that constituted downtown Needsville, since the federal government had both insisted it be built, and paid for it. But one very important holdout from the old building had been ported over: the four rocking chairs now lined up along the porch. And at the moment, two of those were occupied.
In one sat a man of about thirty, with Tufa-black hair and a permanent expression of annoyance, which deepened when he realized Darwin was approaching them: Junior Damo. In the other sat a thirteen-year-old girl, her attention apparently all on her smartphone. She didn’t even look up. She was Mandalay Harris.
Between the two of them, they governed the Tufa.
Darwin stood on the grass in front of the porch, waiting to be acknowledged. At last Mandalay turned off her phone and said, “Hey, Alvin. Sorry, was in the middle of a conversation. What can we do for you?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
She glanced at Junior. “We’re not genies, Alvin.”
Junior nodded.
“Kera Rogers was killed up on Dunwoody Mountain today.”
Neither spoke for a long moment. Then Mandalay said, “How did she die?”
“Appears to be a wild hog.”
“A wild hog big enough to kill a person?” Junior said.
“I said it appears to be,” Darwin said. “Fair plain enough that a bunch of wild hogs consumed her remains.”
“They ate her?” Junior said.
“Hog’ll eat anything. Hair, bones, clothes, the works.”
Junior sat back. Mandalay said, “Who else knows?”
“Nobody outside us yet. I have to tell the wildlife people. If that hog gets out into one of the neighboring counties and kills somebody else, it’ll draw a bunch of eyes to us.”
“Go ahead and call him,” Mandalay said.
“Wait, how can you be so sure?” Junior said. “Game wardens are always traipsing around where they got no business, just looking for excuses to give out tickets. Just like—” He caught himself, aware he was about to say, “like highway patrolmen.”
Mandalay turned to him. “Because I am.”
“You want state people poking around in the woods?” Junior persisted. “There’s no telling what else they might find.”
“They won’t find anything they’re not supposed to,” the girl insisted calmly. “Kera’s folks are yours, Junior; they’ll be needing you.”
“I know that,” he snapped.
“You should head out there.”
“Don’t tell me my job.”
Darwin thought how odd it was to see a teenage girl bossing a grown man around like this. But this was no ordinary teenage girl; she was the latest in a line of Tufa women that went back farther than most would believe, and in her head she carried the history of all those women, and thus all the Tufa. She and Junior each led half the community, but there was no doubt who had seniority. She was thirteen only on the outside.
“I’ll be getting back,” Darwin said. “If you need anything else from me, let me know.”
He touched the brim of his hat and strode back toward his car. When he glanced back, the girl sat alone on the porch, again looking at her phone. She sang, so softly, he barely heard, “There is a wild boar in this woods, he’ll eat your meat and suck your blood, drum-down-rum-dee…”
* * *
For Duncan, the rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a haze. At some point, he gave an official statement to Trooper Darwin, explaining what had happened and how he’d come to discover the crime scene. He showed him the texts from Kera and how they abruptly stopped. He also told about the herd of pigs he’d nearly hit on the highway. He knew that Darwin, being part Tufa himself, would run interference for them, ensuring that all the paperwork was in order so it wouldn’t draw the attention of other law enforcement officers. The Tufa zealously guarded their secrets, even when they didn’t need to.
Bliss followed Duncan home in her truck, and once he’d parked his car and reached the door of his apartment, she left. He didn’t want her to stay, but at the same time, he didn’t want to be alone.
His parents would find out, and they would show up, all concerned and trying to be supportive. Even his big brother, Poole, might come over. He dreaded that more than anything.
He didn’t turn on any lights, and it grew dark as the afternoon dissolved to evening. As he sat on his couch, staring at the blank rectangle of the TV screen, he tried to force the new reality to take hold in his brain. Kera was gone. Her laugh, the way she rolled her eyes, the way her breasts bounced when she went without a bra, the sighs she made when he kissed the small of her back …
No, stop that, he told himself.
He got up, went to the front door, and made sure it was locked. He checked all the curtains and blinds to make sure no one could see in. Then he sat on the couch again, turned on the reading lamp, and reached into his pocket.
He pulled out Kera’s cell phone.
Dirt and bits of grass still covered it from where it had been half-trampled into the torn-up ground. He’d found and pocketed it without really thinking about it, as he waited for Darwin to show up at the bloody scene. Now he stared at it and wondered why he hadn’t told the patrolman about it.
He swiped it on, then typed in her security code. He’d learned it over time, by surreptitiously watching her do it. 5-3-7-2. It was the numerical code for her name.
The screen lit up with her apps. Behind it, the wallpaper was a photo, not of the two of them as it had once been, but of a generic sunset. Duncan wondered if she’d taken it herself; no, she’d never shown any interest in visual art. She must’ve found it online.
He opened the Messages app. The texts were the last ones she’d sent to him, her last words to another human being on this earth. He read them and before he even realized it, tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto the glowing screen. He sniffled and wiped the phone against his shirt.
Then he noticed a little (3) symbol at the top. She had three unread messages left, and they weren’t from him, since he had that conversation open.
He hesitated. This was a betrayal of a dead girl’s trust, her confidentiality, of her life in general. Whomever she was talking to, or ignoring, it was none of his business.
But it was also the last new thing he would ever learn about her.
He carefully touched the little arrow that would show him all her conversations.
4
Long after dark, Duncan remained on his couch. He sat very still and stared at Kera’s phone. He had no tears, or rage, or anything left to respond to what he’d found. He hadn’t begun to come to terms with Kera’s death; her betrayal would take even longer to process.
The three messages that he’d found had been fairly innocuous on the surface. CALL ME LATER, one had said. Then, ARE YOU OKAY? But the final, damning one had been the last: ARE WE STILL ON FOR TONIGHT? CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU AND MAKE THAT BUFFALO ROAM.
And the name attached to these texts was even more damning. Adam.
Adam Procure. He was taller than Duncan, lean-bodied, and had natural six-pack abs that never needed sit-ups or dieting. He’d heard Kera mention those more than once, but it had always been in passing jokes: “Do you think he can make them clack together?” So Duncan had never been jealous.
Besides, he and Adam had been friends since they met in elementary school. They’d never competed over women, because they had such different interests: Adam preferred blond women from nearby Unicorn or Pea Station, which is one reason he took a job there, even though he continued to live on his parents’ farm. Duncan had, from the first time they met, had eyes only for Kera, although he’d dallied with others as their relationship waxed and waned.
And yet, here was incontrovertible evidence that Adam and Kera had been sneaking around behind his back. The “buffalo” was an old buffalo nickel that Kera wore on a chain, and “making the buffalo r
oam” meant moving it with your tongue around her neck, before carrying on to other places. Duncan had thought it was something she did only with him.
Tufa women weren’t bound by Puritan rules, and he understood that. She did nothing wrong in fucking Adam. But to do it behind his back, and for them both to then hide it from him, and to keep doing it … that felt like a real betrayal, whatever the rules of their society.
He finished the latest beer and put the bottle on the floor with the others. Then, after twisting the top off a fresh one, he began to look through her photographs. It didn’t take long.
There they were, in a selfie on Redford’s Ridge, him behind her and their faces close together. Then they were in his truck, with her scooted back against him in the driver’s seat. Their smiles were bright, full of hope and promise.
And then there she was in a selfie, nude except for her panties and that necklace, doing a duck-face and standing in her bathroom. She hadn’t sent that one to Duncan, so it must have been for Adam.
He turned off the phone and considered throwing it into the opposite wall as hard as he could. But before he could muster the energy, he began to cry. In moments, he was curled up on the floor among the empty bottles, sobbing so hard, it felt like a torque wrench twisting the middle of his body.
Beneath his couch, amongst the dust bunnies and discarded beer tops, he saw a small pink sock rolled up in a ball. He reached for it, and caught it with just his fingertips. She’d looked for this sock for an hour one morning, although neither of them had thought to check that far back under the couch. He pulled it close to his face, studying the weave of the fabric, wondering what had appealed to her about this sock that day. He realized he had no idea what her taste in clothing really was. Did Adam?
He pulled the sock to his face, inhaling dust and lint. He didn’t care, though. He just wanted to go back in time far enough to put it back on her dainty little foot, with the nails always painted a bright rainbow of mismatched colors.
His cell phone rang. He looked at it long enough to see that it was his mother, then turned off the ringer. The loss of everything important to him in so short a time was more than he could bear, and he realized he had only one place to go. It was the only place a Tufa in his position could go, as much as he hated the idea.