La Chasse au Loup - 3
available to read on AO3 HERE
Story Synopsis: All things considered, there’s a lot of strange things a man could find in the back-bush of his own farm, rural as it may be. Some of it he could be aware of and do his best to work around, but a lot of it went so far under the radar it almost wasn’t worth thinking about. Mostly it was animals- a goat or a sheep that hadn’t been bedded down proper wandered out overnight and didn't wander back come morning. Turned up the next day in the bush in a strange, disemboweled sort of way.
It's coyotes that do it, Wayne reasoned. Wolves, maybe, but whatever it was it certainly wasn't anything living under his very nose.
Chapter Word Count: 2970
Pairings: (background, minimal) Wayne/Daryl
Genre: Dark/black comedy with a lil bit of drama
Next Chapter: Unavailable
Previous Chapter: 1, 2
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THE BUSH
All things considered, there were a lot of strange things a man could find in the back-bush of his own farm, rural as it may be. Some of it he could be aware of and do his best to work around, but a lot of it went so far under the radar it almost wasn’t worth thinking about. (The incident with finding the cannabis plants first came to mind whenever Wayne had the hindsight to think back on it).
Mostly it was animals- a goat or a sheep that hadn’t been bedded down proper wandered out overnight and didn't wander back come morning. Turned up the next day in the back-bush in a strange, disemboweled sort of way, with its limbs all askew and guts just hanging out in the brush like they were only meant to take in the sun for a quick minute before coming back to the barn.
It's coyotes that did it, Wayne reasoned. Wolves, maybe, taking advantage of Dary’s own incompetence for forgetting to lock the livestock in at night. Forgetful as Dary was (or wasn’t; he was always quick to insist that he did bed them down and locked them in proper whenever they found one out there, but if that were true, how’d they wind up dead out in the bush then, eh, big shoots?), that’s why it eventually became so important to grab a chair, a rifle, a best bud and go out there to thin down the local population a bit to discourage that kind of gore from turning up. It was nice to be outdoors, and nicer still to earn $65 a coyote tail, but even so, sometimes things turned up in the back-bush in that strange, disemboweled sort of way that didn’t always look like it could be the work of a coyote or wolf.
Like that one time they found a human hand out there, lying casually in the shade of a wild blackberry bush like whoever it’d been attached to had simply been caught berry-picking and left it behind in a hurry. Uncleanly severed at the wrist, its pale fingertips were stained purple from blood loss and berry residue and unfortunately had to be wrested from Stormy’s strong jaw before she could run off with it.
They hadn’t found the rest of whoever the hand had belonged to, but the hand alone was enough to leave a bad taste in Wayne’s mouth, though it was one he didn’t have to swallow if he didn’t pay too much attention to it. And anyway, if the authorities they’d called in to deal with it weren’t worried about it, then Wayne didn’t see much of a reason to fret over it either.
“We’ll get to the bottom if it,” they’d assured him, but they never got back to him on whether or not they ever did.
So, all things considered, Wayne knew firsthand about the strange things a man could find in the back-bush of his own farm, but it still took him by surprise when he and Dary stumbled upon the latest oddity his land had to offer.
A moose- specifically, a big old bull, lying dead on its side in the snow with one antler broken roughly in half and its guts torn viciously away from its stomach like something hadn’t just been trying to find a meal, but had been trying to dig its way in . They both stared at the carnage in repressed awe, because the only thing dumb enough to try and take down a full grown bull moose was likely a Canada goose, and even though those beautiful fowl were tougher than nails with teeth on their tongues, there was no way in hell a Canada goose was capable of taking down anything bigger than a Gus-sized dog when it came right down to it.
The corpse alone was intimidating. The sheer, archaic size of it. The fact that one of its antlers lied half-buried in the snow, fractured in half and splintered, indicated that whatever killed it had power. Strength to not just kill it, but to maim it viciously in the process. As he came to understand this, Wayne subconsciously gripped the butt of his rifle just a little bit tighter.
Beside him, Dary turned his head to spit, but he didn’t take his eyes off the ruination of that great big moose.
“What’ya reckon’s done that, Wayne?” he asked, and he was either nervous or tired or an uneasy combination of both, because there was a tightness to Dary’s voice that cut into his nonchalance and managed to get Wayne to spare him a quick look of contemplation.
He wanted to say coyote, maybe, or a wolf, more than likely, but he knew well enough that it couldn’t have been either of those things, and knew that Dary knew that, too. Creatures like that were too small, and who’d ever heard of a coyote getting after a moose? Not savage enough, even on the off chance they’d gone rabid and the moose was sick or something. They didn’t have claws nearly big enough to shred open the side of a moose like that anyway, because whatever tore into it had hollowed it out almost completely.
A bear then , he reasoned to himself, although given that it was the dead of winter and any bear capable of disemboweling a moose was probably tucked away in its den, sleeping the cold away, hardly bothered enough to decimate a moose. A moose.
Coyote, wolf, or bear, though- all three would’ve eaten more than just its guts, which were left in long, wet tendrils strewn across the snow like big pink worms.
“Dunno, Dar,” he eventually said slowly. He stood there looking puzzled, because there weren’t any tracks in the thick snow for him to make a fair assessment of what could’ve happened, but he tried not to let it show too much. “But if it starts comin’ round near the house, it’ll be trouble.”
Dary grunted in affirmation and hocked another spit, pulling the phlegm into his throat with a gross wet sound. He licked his lips afterwards. He couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse.
“Better find it before it gets there, then,” he said after a long moment.
“That’s the biggest Texas sized 10-4 I ever heard, good buddy.”
Even so, they stood there silently, contemplating the dead moose for a long minute before hoisting up their rifles to bravely spend the day prowling about in the bush searching, tracking, dreading running into whatever butchered the moose. In the end, though, they couldn’t find even a small trace of it, whatever it was.
No prints to follow, no blood-trail towards a den; nothing. The snow around the moose had been too disturbed by whatever it’d been fighting to retain any helpful information, and they were left with nothing but the knowledge of a threat.
After the sun began to set, they crept slowly back to the farmhouse, unnerved, retreating from the darkness before they started taking potshots at shadows that started to look a little too wrong the longer they stayed out there.
They buried the corpse the morning after Wayne reported it to wildlife. It required the use of tractors and other rented machinery to get it into the earth, but once it was gone, they all felt better for it.
Except Wayne. For a man who mostly lived inside the confines of his own mind, out of sight, out of mind never really did apply to him like it did others.
The incident with the moose left him troubled and wondering. The mere suggestion that something large and violent enough to kill a moose was running amok on his property was both equal parts infuriating and terrifying.
It could get one of the dogs, if they weren’t careful. It’d already been at the sheep; why would it stop there? He resolutely did not think of Dary, alone in his trailer on the outskirts of the property and what might happen if it started sniffing around there.
Though, that was if it continued to hang around, which, of course it did. In the months that followed, more unexplainable gore turned up around the property, but nothing as shocking as the moose. It was small things, mostly: bloodied strips of matted fur, dismembered pieces of animals (both farm-raised and wild). The corpses that began to litter the farm, coupled with the broken sections of fencing that turned up every so often were strong enough evidence to let them all know that it was still out there and still, clearly, a problem. As if to spite him, Gus and Stormy began bringing the remains of things they found out in the fields home to him, laying them out on the back porch and staining the wood dark with blood and rot and reminding him, constantly, that he couldn’t find the damn thing.
It worried him that there was something so unknown out there. He wasn’t used to having problems he couldn’t outright deal with, but no one who knew anything about what was going on at the farm could make heads or tails of it. If it was a degen he could fight them and get them to fuck off with his fists, but as it was, they couldn’t even figure out what it was they were dealing with.
Just something strange, out there in the bush.
We’ll get to the bottom of it, the authorities had assured him.
But had they? Had the authorities actually done anything at all?
With the rash of recent animal deaths around the farm, they started to keep the dogs inside at night, and some of Katy’s favourite barn cats, too.
As troubling as it all was, though, it wasn’t like they found something out there every day, or even every week (aside from what the dogs sniffed out and brought home); for the most part, the back-bush remained barren. Empty, except for the occasional degen or worm-picker they have to chase off the property for fear of finding their bodies out there one day.
There were long periods of days where livestock went untouched. Sometimes, even weeks passed where no wildlife turned up in that strange, disemboweled sort of way they’d all started to get used to, and life progressed at its usual, slow, small-town pace, until a month or so later when it all began happening again. Something strange. Something disemboweled. Something that, again, left no trace of ever having been there at all, except for the ruined corpse it often left behind that had them all scratching their heads in its wake.
We’ll get to the bottom of it.
Staring down at the bloodied remains of not one, not two, but three maimed coyotes, two of them dead, one still barely hanging on, breathing hard and whimpering for mercy, Wayne felt his frustrations reach a peak. All three of the coyotes have been practically torn to pieces, yes, pieces , and the words of that first initial assurance begin to repeat themselves in his head:
Don’t trouble yourself over it, Wayne. We’ll get to the bottom of it.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, and turned away to squint off into the horizon, squaring his jaw as he internalized his frustrations in order to pretend he couldn’t hear the agonized whines of that poor coyote.
“Wayne, buddy, I hate to say it, but I think you might have a real problem on your hands here.” Dary’s face was drawn tight and pinched with exhaustion. He’d grown jaded to it; they all had, but even so he looked miserably tired. Drained in a way that suggested he’d had a rough night out at the ‘rippers or something.
The rough, unshaven scruff of a wiry beard around his jaw had Wayne do a double take, wondering when Dary’s facial hair had taken to forming anything but sporadic, unformed pre-pubescent patches.
“Well, you don’t fuckin’ say,” Wayne responded tersely as he unstrapped the gun from his shoulder. He lined up the rifle to the head of the injured coyote and held it there unwaveringly until it died on its own with one long exhalation.
Dary didn’t make any further comments. He scratched the fuzz lining his face unaware and followed Wayne around for the rest of the day as they made arrangements to bury the coyotes, sectioning off yet another piece of land that was quickly growing full of animal corpses.
And then, normalcy. Farming. Spending the evenings at MoDeans, as though a few rounds of Puppers would save them from their problem. Rumors grew about the goings on at the farm; (‘Bad gas travels fast in a small town’, someone’s always saying), despite their efforts to quell them. They hadn’t been keeping the animal carnage that had been taking place a secret, not exactly, but once enough people started hearing about it, word began spreading that maybe one of the dogs he reared had gone full Cujo, causing the produce stand’s success to take a hard financial hit, and Wayne’s frustrations only ever grew.
After the failing return to normalcy, a body.
Except, it wasn’t an animal this time.
“Jesus Christ,” Dary said, in a panicked way that meant, ‘Oh fuck buddy, we’ve stumbled onto something really terrible here’. He turned around and immediately threw up, and the sound of Dary’s sickness paired with what he was looking at was enough to make Wayne’s stomach start to turn sour too.
It was a person- a whole person; not just a hand this time. Unrecognizable, but dead and disemboweled all the same.
“Oh fuck, Wayne.” Dary choked out his name like a whimper as he wiped the spit off his chin, turning back to face the body, his eyes wide as he tried to identify it. “Is that- is that one of the skids ?”
It was bound to happen , Wayne thought idly to himself amidst Dary’s panic. The only thing left to discover out there short of another fucked up moose was a fucked up man, but even so it was shocking.
There were whole chunks missing; huge bites torn out of this man’s body that were much too large to fit into the mouth of a wolf or coyote, or even a bear. Wayne stared down at the corpse and remembered the words of the police the last time they’d been around: we’ll get to the bottom of it.
Well, they hadn’t. They hadn’t done fuck-all, from the looks of it.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Dary, there’s work to be done here,” he said icily, trying to channel a firmer constitution before turning away from the body with a concise, jerky movement. Anger, fear, and disgust bitterly powered through his veins, because when it came right down to it, the authorities hadn’t gotten to the bottom of anything.
They hadn’t, but he would.
With Daryl in tow, Wayne stalked back to the farmhouse with dark purpose, a plan of action already beginning to take form in his mind as they stepped into the wide opening of the barn.
“I won’t ask you to be my accomplice in this,” he said as he stood amidst the hay and a tractor, looking around briefly before taking hold of a shovel. He looked at Daryl, who was pale and clearly frightened, but seemed to already know what edict Wayne was about to lay out. “Now, I’m going to bury this man, and if you think I oughta do somethin’ different about it, well, then you’d better fuck off now. You can report me to the authorities if you like, but I think by now you and I know that nothing’s going to get accomplished that way.
“Whatever’s going on here requires more attention then they can spare, and if we don’t figure something out it’s only going to get worse.” Mental images of his dogs and friends and Katy lying out there dead and mauled rose to the forefront of his mind. “I don’t know what the fuck’s out there, but I’m willing to find out and could use the help, if you’d be so willing to lend it.”
Dary eyed the shovel in Wayne’s hand nervously, the implications of what he was saying mulling around in his mind uneasily until a stoic form of clarity stole over his face. His eyes hardened with resolve as he grabbed hold of a pickaxe lying up against the barn wall. “You know, I’d likely follow you into Hell if you asked me to,” Dary said with grim contemplation, feeling the weight of the pickaxe’s handle in his hands, his injury no longer plaguing him as it once did.
Wayne thought he did know, but felt it would’ve been too soft to say so.
Well, that’s why I asked.
“Some things are better left unsaid, good buddy,” he replied instead. He felt both relieved and full of divine purpose all at once as he gripped the wooden shovel’s handle tightly. “I’ll tell Katy after the fact so she won’t be held accountable to anything, if we get found out. Dan too, I think. Fuck, with all the bodies around here maybe we’ll let him start a garden; might take well with all the natural fertilizer and such.”
“Sounds like you’re gearing us up to be like Scooby-Doo and the Blues Clues gang here,” Dary said with a crooked, inappropriate grin.
“Those are two different things, Dar,” Wayne said sullenly before turning his steely gaze back out towards the bush, where something strange and disemboweled lay waiting to be put to rest. “But I’ll let it slide if I get to be Fred.”
“Ain’t no one else among us with a big enough neck to fill out that kerchief, super chief.”