“I said I’ve got the sweetest wife in all Texas, didn’t I, James?” Greg called out to the kitchen, while nudging James in the side.
Fighting back another yawn, James added, “Heard it with my own two ears, Sandy.”
Sandy came into the living room with Carissa, their two-year-old daughter, asleep in her arms, and said, “Now I know we need to go. You’re beginning to rub off on James.”
Angie came into the living room behind Sandy, with Jimmy right behind her. Jimmy was wearing a Dallas football helmet that Greg and Sandy had given him for his birthday. The helmet was too big for him, making his head look comically larger than his body. It reminded James of Charles Shultz’s Peanuts characters.
Greg made a few more light-hearted jokes at Sandy’s expense, then picked up the dip-bowl and did a few more Roger Staubach imitations for the girls’ entertainment. When he finally put the bowl down, Jimmy picked it up and started his own football player show. With his balance thrown off by the enormous helmet, it was no time before he fell, almost breaking the chip bowl. Angie scolded Jimmy which in turn caused Greg to be scolded by Sandy for setting a bad example. Jimmy’s bottom lip popped out and he plopped down on the floor, but Greg was only slightly subdued when Sandy led him to the car.
Returning from seeing Greg and Sandy to the door, Angie was laughing and commenting to James on how Greg gets “wound up” after a few beers when she noticed that James was asleep. He was sitting on the couch with his head back and mouth open. He was even snoring, which was something he hardly ever did.
Angie tucked Jimmy into bed then returned to the living room. She sat down beside James and shook him lightly. “Honey, don’t you think you should get in bed?” she said softly.
Angie had to shake him several times before he woke, and when he did, he was so groggy that she had to support him down the hall. Once in the bedroom, he practically collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without even undressing.
James’ head hardly hit the pillow before he started dreaming.
The beast was on the move again. It loped through the underbrush, frequently raising its head to sniff at the wind. Every now and then it would raise itself to its full height and take in the scents of the surrounding woods, but it wouldn’t do so for long before returning to four legs and ambling along. It continued on this way for some time, not like it was simply prowling for food, but like it was on the trail of a distant scent.
Soon the beast came to a barbwire fence that marked the border between the dense woods it had been traveling and the beginning of an open pasture. It stopped at the fence for some time and smelled the barbwire and posts. After finding that the strands of wire were too close together for it to squeeze between them, the beast stood erect in front of one of the posts, and began repeatedly pushing the post forward and pulling it back. It continued to work the post rapidly until there was a loud snap and the post broke free from the ground. When the cattle heard the post snap they began running away from the sound, toward the front of the pasture. The beast stepped over the sag in the fence created by the fallen post and into the pasture.
Once inside the fence, the beast stood on its hind legs and its senses once again left its body. They sped forward until they caught the fleeing herd, which was now gathered near the front gate. Its senses then entered one of their eyes, rifled through its memory like a high-powered computer sorting files, then exited the cow’s eye. The beast’s detached vision then continued the process with every cow, calf, and bull in the small herd.
The beast then reopened his eyes and slowly advanced on the herd. When it was near the middle of the pasture, just behind a low hill, the beast stopped and stood on its hind legs. It then began walking toward the herd.
“Wooo! Cow, c’mon! Wooo! Cow!”
The herd stopped lowing.
“Woooo! C’mon!”
The herd started lowing again, but this time not in panic. They began moving again, heading for the familiar sound that called them to their meals every morning. Soon the beast could see them returning back along a worn path that led over the hill. Some were actually running. The beast watched them come in a ragged single file line.
“Wooo Cow! C’mon, cow!”
One curious cow made her way right up to the beast. She was hit with a powerful blow that almost severed her head. The rest of the herd scattered immediately, and the beast lunged for the second cow in line. This cow managed to turn and flee, but the beast swung and sank the claws of its right hand deep into the cow’s rear flank. The cow let out a deep, panicked low. Froth surfaced at the edges of poor animal’s mouth and its tongue whipped out as she frantically pawed at the ground trying to escape. Using its claws like meat-hooks, the beast hung on to the frantic cow. The beast then raked its other clawed hand across the belly of the poor creature, causing her warm guts to spill onto the ground. The disemboweled cow continued struggling even as the beast brought her down and began to eat. The beast took several savage bites out of the struggling cow before it finally died. Then it returned to the first cow, removing a few bloody chunks of flesh.
Having eaten its fill, the beast left the partially-eaten cows and disappeared into the woods.
Just after dawn, Sheriff Bill Oates' cruiser sped down Farm Road 2626 at just over eighty miles per hour with its headlights on, but its emergency lights off.
Now in his late sixties, William Oates had been the sheriff of Newton County for almost fifteen years, and had been a deputy there for twenty years before that. Tall, thin, and rough-looking, Bill was the very image of the proverbial "long tall Texan." His face was weathered and stern; he sported a thick, grey, western style mustache, and, to top it all off, Sheriff Oates always wore a white Stetson cowboy hat. Sheriff Oates had a reputation throughout the county — and throughout the state in law enforcement circles — for being both honest and tough. Although Bill was getting up in years, his reputation as a rough customer had not diminished at all with his increasing age. The drunks and rogues of the county might mouth off when one of the local deputies arrived to keep the peace at a petty fight or civil disturbance, but if ol’ Bill himself showed up, they invariably became as docile as lambs. And everyone in the county knew that when Bill’s temper flared, when his cheeks grew red and he started ending his sentences with “by God,” the shit was going to hit the fan, and whoever was the target of his anger was going to catch hell.
Earlier that morning — just before sunrise — Bill had just walked in the Newton County Law Enforcement Center (commonly called the County Jail or the Newton County Hilton) when Clara McClellan, the little old lady who served as Newton County’s nighttime dispatcher, told him that Edgar Harvey was on the phone, demanding to speak to him. Edgar was an old friend of Bill’s, but the sheriff found that the old man was in no mood for small talk.
“Somethin’s been at my cows,” Edgar had said.
At first Bill suspected it was something minor, like a dog or some drunk teenagers had chased Edgar’s herd until one of his cows ran into the fence and got tangled in the barbwire. He told Edgar, “Greg’ll be on duty in about thirty minutes. As soon as he gets in I’ll get him to run out and have a look around.”
“Bill, I think you’d better take a look at this yourself.”
Bill had known Edgar Harvey all his life. In fact, over a half a century ago the old man had taught Bill how to fish. But there was something in Edgar’s voice Bill had never heard. Edgar sounded scared.
“I’ll be right there.”
On his way out the door Bill had rattled out orders to Clara. He instructed her to contact Carl Price — the deputy on duty — on the radio and tell him to drive directly over to Edgar Harvey’s pasture. Bill also told Clara to tell Greg to get all the camera equipment and come straight out to Edgar’s. He also told her to page Emilio Rodriguez, a local game warden, and get him on the way.