Sheriff Caleb Harris sat at his desk, staring at a pile of request forms sent down from the state capital. Caleb hated paperwork, especially the non-essential type that fed the bureaucracy. He sighed and picked up a pen when his dispatcher stuck her head into his office.
"Caleb," she said. "We got a call from Samuel Jones."
Inwardly, the sheriff groaned. Sam Jones was a pain in the butt that just would not go away. He called the office an average of once every couple of weeks to complain about one thing or another. "What does he want now, Marcy?"
"He said some hunters are trespassing on his land," she replied. "He wants you to come out and escort them off of his property ASAP."
"And I'm doing this because?"
"Because," said Marcy Winslow with a twinkle in her eye, "you are the duly elected protector of rights and property for all the good citizens of this county. Even Sam Jones. And," she continued, "because Tim and Matt are busy working that crash out on Highway 10. And lastly," she said, holding up a third finger, "that old coot will keep calling here until someone shows up out there at his place, and I do not want to deal with that all day."
Caleb pushed himself back into his chair, and made a face at the stack of forms in front of him. "I guess I could use some time out of this office," he said. "Call Sam and tell him I'll be right out."
"Already did," said Marcy, smiling as she ducked back into her office. Caleb got up and strapped on his gun belt, grabbed his hat, and prepared to leave. "Have a good time," said Marcy. The sheriff scowled at her and walked out the door.
The West Texas heat hammered him as soon as he stepped outside. Caleb pulled the brim of his hat low over his eyes to block out some of the intense sunlight. It was July, and summer was in full bloom. He climbed into his patrol car and rolled out of the parking lot, suddenly eager to finish this job and be done with it.
Half and hour later, Caleb drove down the dirt track that led to the Jones place. He eyed the 'No Trespassing' sign in passing. Sam also placed 'Keep Out' and 'No Hunting' posts all around his property. There was no way a poacher would not have seen at least one of these notices.
He came to a stop in front of Samuel Jones's house. It was an ancient two story beast that had long ago outstripped its owner's capacity to keep it up. A paint job, along with some side and roof repair would help a bit, but Caleb figured the best medicine would be a bulldozer. The house looked dirtier and more unstable each time he saw it. Which was far too often in Caleb's considered opinion.
Sam Jones was waiting for the sheriff to arrive. The old man was sitting in a rusty old chair on his rotting porch, seemingly staring out at nothing. He sprang to his feet as Caleb exited his patrol car. "It's about damn time you showed up," said Sam. "I been waiting…," he paused to check his watch, "near an hour."
"Sorry Sam," said Caleb, hoping to defuse the old codger before he really got wound up. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"There's some damn fools down there in that big grove of trees by the creek." He pointed to a stand of large elm and oak which were barely visible from the house. "There was some shooting down there awhile ago," said Sam. "Ain't heard nothing since then."
"Alright Sam," said Caleb. "I'll go down and roust them out if they're still down there."
"See that you do," said Sam. "Won't have poachers on my property."
Caleb jumped back into his car, relieved to just get away from the old man, and drove slowly across the bumpy, uneven field that led toward the trees. He could see the top branches swaying softly in a light breeze. Sam stood on his porch and watched the sheriff drive away, the lights flashing on his vehicle.
The patrol car stopped just outside the start of the tree line. Caleb hoped the hunters had already vacated the premises. He had not see anyone leaving the area as he drove down toward his destination. Still, he had to make sure.
Caleb slammed the door when he got out, to alert any trigger-happy hunters still lurking around. He wiped a line of sweat off his face before tramping into the woods. It was eerily silent, but Caleb figured the heat was enough to sap the energy from animals and birds alike.
He had walked about fifty yards underneath the leaves, making as much noise as possible, when his eye caught something lying on the ground. Caleb advanced cautiously, head twisting this way and that to catch any hint of movement. As he crept closer, his nose told him what his eye only suspected.
The smell of slaughter hit the sheriff between the eyes. A large animal had died on this spot. A pile of offal, still warm, greeted Caleb beneath a large tree. He looked it over, and felt a wave of nausea pass over him, but he saw nothing except guts and innards when a glint of metal beyond the remains caught his attention.
It looked to be a hunting rifle. Next to the weapon was another pile, and this one sent a chill up Caleb's spine. He moved over toward it, and fought back the tremor that threatened to buckle his knees. He was looking at a heap of blood-soaked camouflage clothes. He picked out two pairs of boots, a set of coveralls, a ripped shirt and some thermals. Caleb took a knife out of his belt, and reached forward to move the clothing around without touching it. When he did so, a single drop of blood fell onto the back of his hand. He stared at it for half a dozen heartbeats, then looked up into the boughs of the tree. There, Caleb Harris witnessed a nightmare, one that tore at his sanity. What he did not see were the three red dots that danced across his back.
He stumbled back to the cruiser, his sweat now clammy cold against his skin. Caleb wrenched open the door and thumbed on the radio. "Dispatch, this is Harris. Do you copy?"
"What's up Caleb?" asked Marcy. You sound frazzled."
"Are Matt and Tim finished with that accident?"
"Yeah, it's all cleared up," replied Marcy. "What's going on?"
"Send them down here, Marcy, lights and sirens the whole way. I'm a ways south of the Jones house. They'll see my car near a big bunch of trees." He paused. "We've got big trouble Marcy," said Caleb. "Tell them to hurry."
Tim Lewis and Matt Parker roared across the overgrown pasture to the sheriff's car. They had never heard such a sense of urgency from Marcy or Sheriff Harris before. The two deputies drew up even with the sheriff's cruiser. Caleb was leaning against the car, waiting for them.
"Matt, I want you to stay here," said the sheriff. "Don't let anyone into these trees. If Sam Jones himself comes down here, cuff him and throw him into the back of the car. You understand?"
"Yeah, sure Caleb," said Parker, puzzled at the sheriff's demeanor.
Caleb nodded. "Tim, come with me." The two lawmen walked off into the woods, the sheriff leading the way. Caleb pulled up a few yards from the scene of the killing. ""I'm not going to tell you what you're going to see, Tim," he said. "because I want your honest reaction and opinion about what this is."
They pushed past a final line of brush and stepped into the abattoir. Caleb pointed out the gory evidence, one item at a time. Tim felt his stomach turn even before the sheriff showed him the two bodies hanging upside down from the tree. "They've been skinned," said deputy Lewis, horror creeping into his voice.
"Yeah," said Caleb. "Skinned, gutted and hung up like a pair of trophy bucks."
"Who the hell could have done something like that?"
"I don't know," admitted the sheriff. "I cased the immediate area before you got here, but I couldn't find anything. No tracks, no weapons, not one trace of anybody." What he did not say was it felt like he was being watched the entire time, a feeling that prickled the back of his neck.
"Do we at least know who the poor bastards are?" asked Tim.
"I haven't touched a thing," said Caleb. He took out his knife and stabbed a pair of pants in the sodden pile of clothing. Reaching gingerly into a pocket, he withdrew a wallet, and opened it. "Richard Davis," he read. "From Dallas." He snapped the wallet closed.
"Jesus," said Tim. "What kind of freak are we up against?"
Matt Parker leaned up against his patrol car, slightly miffed that he had been left behind for guard duty. He was the least experienced member of the department, so he understood why, but that did not make him like it any better. Matt took off his hat and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his uniform. Man, It was hot, he thought. I'm going to need a shower when this is all over. He was about to cal out to Caleb and Tim to ask what was going on when he noticed three red dots crawling up his torso. In his final moments, Matt Parker thought it was strange that the dots formed a triangle.
The plasma bolt ripped through Matt's chest, killing him instantly. The force of the blast flung him against the side of the car, shattering the rear passenger window. The thump of impact and the sound of breaking glass jerked Caleb's head toward the clearing. Instinct had him running back toward the cars in a moment. Tim followed at a trot.
"Matt," yelled the sheriff. "What's going on back there?" When there was no answer, Caleb began to run faster.
They reached the cars, but saw no sign of Matt. Caleb rounded the far side of the deputy's vehicle and saw the broken window. Blood was smeared down the side of the cruiser. The inside of the car was peppered with blood and bits of tissue. A hat from the sheriff's department lay on the ground.
"What the hell…," said Tim. Both lawmen drew their guns, and looked around wildly.
"Get in the car, Tim," said Caleb. "We're leaving."
"What about Matt? We can't go without him."
"Something fucked up is going on out here," said Caleb. "Until we know what it is, we are not staying here exposed."
"I don't think…," began Tim. He stopped and looked down at the metal point protruding from his chest. A strangled gasp escaped from his lips, then he began to spasm. Caleb watched in horror as Tim was lifted off his feet and tossed ten yards away. The deputy convulsed one last time and lay still, his lifeblood already pooling upon the earth.
Caleb could not see an assailant, but he felt movement to his right. He swung in that direction and triggered off four quick shots. Not stopping to find out if he hit anything, the sheriff slid across the hood of his car to the driver's side. He pulled open the door and reached inside when he heard a strange clicking sound behind him.
Caleb rolled away just as a spear punched into the ground where he had been an instant before. He fired off another four rounds, and was rewarded with a splash of bright green blood, followed by an unearthly scream. Scrambling, Caleb reached inside his car again and grabbed a shotgun out of the rack. He flicked the safety off as something heavy crashed down of the roof of his cruiser. Caleb could not see his attacker, but he fired the shotgun anyway. The heavy caliber slugs tore through the top of his patrol car, but to no effect.
In the moment of ensuing stillness, Caleb stood, the weapon braced against his shoulder. He went around to the far side of the car, but found nothing. Adrenaline raced through his body, and fear dried his mouth. At a loss in the situation, he swung the gun around, looking for a target to shoot.
Intense fire suddenly sprouted from his right arm, causing him to drop the shotgun. Caleb looked and saw a metal dart sticking out of his bicep. Hot blood poured down his arm, soaking the sleeve of his uniform. He reached over and pulled the dart out of his arm, grunting in pain as it slid out of his flesh. He threw it to the ground, and sensing something, looked up as something big crashed into his side. Caleb was spun to the ground, the shotgun sliding out of reach. His handgun was nowhere in sight He sat there stunned, and watched the air shimmer in front of him.
A monstrous creature appeared. It must have stood at over seven feet tall, with mottled skin and a sleek, powerful humanoid body A large helmet covered its face, and pieces of armor and weapons adorned the figure. Caleb noted with grim satisfaction that green blood dappled one thigh. The thing roared, spreading both arms wide. It flicked a wrist and twin blades popped out of a gauntlet. Caleb made it to his feet, and pulled the knife from his belt. "Come on then," he screamed. "Come and get me if you think you're hard enough!" The alien lunged.
The Yautja hunter finished polishing the human skull, and set it in the trophy case on top of the spinal cord. It had been a good hunt, and the prey were getting smarter and more deadly all the time. This one had even hurt it, which made the tale better when told to his fellow warriors. The alien cocked its head to study the placement of its latest trophy. Satisfied, it closed the viewing port, and turned to go. The last thing it did before walking out of the door was to pin a sheriff's badge into the mesh of its body armor.
DA END