David Morrell - The Totem

"My God, what happened here?" his deputy blurted.

Altick swung toward the pilot. "Can you use that rifle we brought for you?"

"Sure, but-" The pilot looked pale.

"Five men and five dogs, and this is all that's left of them. I don't think we can wait for help. We've got to spread out, searching," Altick said.

"Not me. I'm not going anywhere alone," the pilot told him.

From the right, a wind rushed toward them, tugging at their clothing, bending grass, and scraping branches in the tree. The deputy looked up at the scraping branches and pointed. Altick looked.

"Another rifle."

It was wedged up in the branches where it must have been thrown.

"We'll do this together," Altick said. "These tracks in the grass. I thought they might be from our men. Now I'm not so sure. Let's follow them."

They soon found a state policeman's shirtsleeve in the grass, the edges bloody. No one said a word or even touched it.

They kept walking. Farther on, they found the other sleeve and then the shirt itself. The forest loomed. They studied the grass, then the forest. The wind kept tugging at them, scraping branches. All the trees were moving.

"I'm not going in there. We have no idea what we're up against," the pilot said "It could be anything."

But Altick continued walking.

" Hey, I said I won't go with you. "

"I heard you. Stay back then."

"But you can't just leave me."

"If there's trouble, you can use the chopper."

"I don't like this."

Altick kept walking. When he looked back, he saw the pilot running toward the helicopter.

"Just as well," the deputy said. "I don't like nervous civilians near me with a rifle."

Altick nodded. "He was sure excited at the start. But once there's danger, he's a weekend cowboy. He was right, though. We don't know what we'll find in there."

They followed the tracks in the grass, noticing more dried blood, and when Altick parted some branches, he saw four piles of guts among the fir trees. Altick swallowed something bitter, the taste of fear, and scanned the forest. He thought of corpses he had seen in Nam, their ears and balls cut off, and he knew he had only one choice now. "We're going back."

The deputy beside him was ashen. He shook and made a retching sound.

"Don't be ashamed if you get sick," Altick said.

The man clutched his stomach. "I'll be fine. It's just that-"

"Take deep breaths. I saw a lot of things like this in Nam. I never did get used to them.

"My God, they disemboweled them."

"Who or what ? For sure, no wolf or dog did this. Come on. We'd better head back toward the chopper. I don't know what's out here, but it's more than we can handle." Altick kept thinking, four . There were five men, so why only four fly-speckled mounds of viscera, and then he reached the helicopter, fighting for his breath, and he found out. The pilot wasn't looking at them. Instead he faced the lake, his mouth open, his finger pointing, and when Altick got there, he saw the headless body floating in the water. His deputy moaned. The wind kept blowing fiercely. On the ripples of the lake, the head bobbed to the surface.

" Jesus, won't those reinforcements ever get here ?"

It was twenty-three years since Lucas had left. Now he was coming home. He peered out from the window of the car he'd thumbed a ride from, seeing new homes on the outskirts, then a shopping center, and the street here hadn't been paved back then, but he recognized more buildings than he didn't, and he thought that he might recognize some of the people, but he couldn't. Over there, a house that had been blue was now painted white, and up ahead, trees that had been saplings now were tall. He saw front yards he once had played in, but their spaces now seemed smaller, as indeed the houses did, and everywhere he looked he had the sense of things diminished. Well, what else had he expected? Did he think that twenty-three years would leave the town and him unchanged? Or had the town been really this small all along and he too young to put it in perspective? Well, he'd seen how big the world could be. Now Potter's Field was welcome.

The driver looked at him. "If you're hungry, you'll have to wait. I don't plan to stop here. I have half a day to drive yet."

"No, this town is good enough."

"You want me to pull over?"

"In a while. The road goes straight through to the other mountains. When we reach downtown is where I'll leave."

"You know this place?"

"I used to. I was raised here."

"Been away long?"

Lucas nodded, his cheek muscles tense. "Yes. I'm coming back to see my father."

He stared toward the courthouse up ahead and pointed. "There is fine. If you don't mind, I'll get out on that corner."

"No problem. It was good to pass the time with you."

The car veered toward the curb and stopped. Lucas got out. "Thank you."

" I thank you . You know, I don't pick up many hitchhikers. Mostly they look, well, I guess, a bit too rough to handle. But a nice, clean-looking, young man like yourself. It's rare. I've got a lot of driving yet to do, and you helped break the time for me. Thanks again. I know your father will be glad to see you."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be surprised, all right." Lucas reached for his suitcase and shut the door.

"Take care now."

"Yeah. The same to you." He watched the car pull away from the curb. He watched until he couldn't see it anymore. Then he turned to face the courthouse. In the distance, he heard church bells. He saw people in their best clothes standing, talking in small groups along the street. Except for what seemed lots of traffic heading out of town, the scene was just as he remembered it when he and his mother would come into town to go to church. Another peaceful Sunday morning. But the last few years before he left had gradually stopped being peaceful, his father angry, his parents shouting. He had asked the man just now to let him off before there were too many questions. Then he'd understood that stopping here was maybe for the best. He hadn't seen this courthouse since those late October days in 1970, and he could still recall the way his father sat beside the lawyer, staring at him in the witness chair. Lucas shook his head and wondered where the cars and trucks were going. Some big fair out in the valley? Then he picked up his suitcase, crossed toward the building beside the courthouse, walked up past the trees on either side, and climbed the front steps, going in.

The place was cool and shadowy, and the first things that he noticed were the tall plants in their big pots all around the edges of the hall. They hadn't been here back in 1970, and more than any other detail he had seen, they signaled to him how much everything had changed since then. He faced the office to his right and saw the sign on top-police chief, nathan slaughter-and that sign was different too, the old chief wasn't here now. People might not understand what he wanted to tell them. He almost didn't go in, but he was too committed now to change his mind, and he stepped through the doorway.

There were half a dozen people. Phones were ringing. To his right, a policeman he didn't recognize was talking to a microphone. Beyond him, men were answering the phones and writing notes. In a glassed-in office at the back, a tall man in a uniform was talking to a gray, wasted man in a wrinkled suit, and everyone was loud, and none of them looked happy.

"Yes, sir, may I help you?" The man who'd been talking to the radio looked tensely at him.

"I'm not certain. My name's Lucas Wheeler. Someone here might know me."

"Just a second." The policeman spoke into the microphone again. "That's right. A woman and a dog. It's a hell of a mess. The animal control van should be hooked up to our frequency. It's probably waiting for you. Get over there."