This wasn’t a side of Charlotte I had ever seen. We’d been friends since we were young, and even when I came back a year and a half ago, we picked right up where it left off, and it was like I had never left. She was there for me after my parents passed, and after Lisa died in that car accident, we grew even closer. I think Charlotte thought it was her responsibility to protect me. I did appreciate how much she cared but at times it felt like she was suffocating me.
“Fine, I may look at her a little different,” I said as I pushed some tall grass aside in search of duck eggs. Sometimes I had to dig ’em up because ducks often buried their eggs to protect them from predators. Coyotes, foxes, raccoons, hawks, owls—heck, even humans. We’re all predators to something.
Charlotte closed up another egg container and stacked it in a crate. “I think she’s bad news.”
A duck egg slipped from my hand and splatted against the ground. Bright blood marbled the golden yolk. Bloody eggs were rare—so rare they came with superstitions. My mother’s words sprung to the front of my mind, See a bloody yolk? It means you’re gonna die. I wondered if she saw one before she died—or two, one for her and one for my father. I closed my eyes for a moment, shaking the memory away. That’s the thing about bad memories, they’re the easiest to remember.
I opened my eyes and looked to Charlotte. “Why?”
“It’s just odd. Why would a woman travel alone and stay at a total stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere?” She stood and dusted off her hands.
“Lots of women do that these days. All a part of that feminist movement.” I kicked some dirt and grass clippings onto the bloody egg, covering it up.
“No, they don’t, Calvin.”
I gathered another handful of duck eggs, careful not to drop any of them. If one bloody egg meant death, I sure as shit didn’t want to find out what any more of them meant.
“Grace is just independent, and she wanted a break from New York City.” I handed them over, and Charlotte placed them in another container.
“She’s weird.”
“Everyone from New York is a little weird,” I smirked.
Charlotte rolled her eyes and closed up two more containers, stacking them in the crate. “She’s stiff, like a robot.”
“Maybe around you she is. But she ain’t that way around me.”
Char put her hand on my arm and looked up at me, her face turning serious. “I’m just saying be careful with that girl. I think she’s bad news.”
Bad news was the only type of news I was familiar with so it didn’t make all that much of a difference to me.
A high-pitched scream stole my attention. I knew it was Grace. She screamed again, and I took off in a full sprint toward the driveway. Another scream. My feet pounded against the gravel, kicking up rocks and dirt.
“Grace!”
At the end of the driveway, I looked where the highway extended in both directions over flatlands and rolling fields. Another scream made me whip my head to the tall grass between the road and the property fence. I took a few more quick steps and nearly tossed my breakfast. Grace was lying in a pit of dead animals underneath a lodgepole pine tree. The pit was the size of a car, filled with a dozen animals all in different stages of decay. A freshly dead elk laid on top, its body torn open from one end to the other. Blood and sinew spilled out of it. Several puncture wounds and lacerations covered the neck and head. Grace was on her hands and knees, trying to crawl out of the sticky pit. She was covered in death—from fresh blood to maggots. Tears streamed down her face and her breath was quick and uncontrolled.
“Here, grab my hand,” I said, leaning down.
She looked up at me, hesitating for a moment, before extending hers. There were several wiggly maggots stuck to her fingers. I pulled her up, and immediately she swatted her hands against her pants, squishing the maggots. She keeled over and retched onto the side of the road.
Charlotte caught up to me. Panting, she asked, “What is it?”
“Dead animals.”
She rolled her eyes but stopped when she saw Grace behind me, covered in blood and guts. Grace gagged again and vomited a splash of brown liquid onto the ground. Probably coffee from earlier.
Char twisted up her face. “Gross.”
I shook my head and delivered a stern look.
Grace gagged a few more times before standing upright. Even with the guts and blood and vomit and maggots, she was still gorgeous to me.
“What could have done that?” Grace rubbed her hands against her leggings and pulled her shirt up to wipe her face with the underside of it. It just smeared the blood around though. “Why is there a pile of dead animals here?”
“Some animals drag their prey to a place they can safely eat it, so could be anything. We got grizzly bears, wolves, coyotes, you name it.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “This ain’t New York, sweetie.”
Grace ignored her, staring at the dead animals instead. Her eyes narrowed as she studied them.
After a few moments of silence, Char turned on her foot. “I gotta finish up with the eggs in the chicken coop,” she said, walking back toward the ranch.
I looked at the carcasses and then at Grace. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the pit. It was like watching a car crash. Not something you see every day, so your brain becomes fascinated by the mere sight, like it’s stimulated a new part of it.
“How’d ya fall in?” I asked.
It took her a moment to register my question and when she did, Grace glanced at me. “I heard something rustling. I got a little too close before I realized what it was. As you can see, it’s kind of hidden by long grass and weeds, and the branches off this tree hang low to the ground. I slipped right in.” She shuddered.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I’ll get animal control out here to clean it up. These bones and carcasses are what’s attracting whatever’s killing to this spot.”
She took her eyes off of the pit and looked in my direction—not at me but beyond, staring intently at the ranch like she was seeing it differently now. I wondered if she felt it. The curse. It was hard not to feel it. Death hung heavy in the air here.
I took a few steps toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed up, so I immediately pulled it back. “I wouldn’t let anything ever happen to you, Grace.”
Grace didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either. There was that silence I enjoyed between us. A low nasal whine came from above. We both looked up, watching several turkey vultures circle high in the air, waiting to swoop in for a meal.
“Don’t worry. They’re harmless,” I said. “They actually help keep the environment clean and prevent the spread of diseases.”
I wasn’t sure why I shared that fact with Grace. I guess I just wanted her to feel safer. My gaze went to her again. The dried rust-colored blood made her blue, blue eyes pop. I wondered what it was she was thinking. Was she upset? Was she intrigued? Was she planning her exit now?
“I’m going to shower,” she finally said.
Grace walked apprehensively toward the ranch. Her arms were folded against her chest like she was trying to close herself off from everything around her. Dragging my hand down my face, I blew out my cheeks. This wasn’t the Wyoming I wanted to show her. It was beautiful, yes, but even beautiful places were ugly. Flies buzzed around the bloody carcasses, swooping in and picking at the rotting meat. Death wasn’t pretty.