A coyote, its head low and snout dark, stares through the vegetation. It’s big. Taller than Ripley. Its legs are thin, but long. They terminate at an emaciated body covered in a coat of mangy, tufted hair.
The air goes still. The coyote becomes a dark shape obscured by the grass once more.
Ripley is no longer running. Her nose is in the air, twitching. She shifts so she’s facing the direction of the coyote.
“Ripley,” I say, hushed. Her ear twitches, but she doesn’t budge. “Ripley,come.”
One beat, another, her nose keeps twitching. A third beat, and finally she walks to me.
Relief is a visceral rush. I’ve never been so glad to have spent hours upon hours on her training. The good feeling is immediately doused by the coyote’s growl. It’s low and unsteady. Almost warbling.
I step off the fallen oak and immediately regret losingsight of the coyote’s shadow in the grass. It’s a false sense of safety, being able to see the danger.
My mom got me a can of pepper spray when I started going on hikes with Ripley. I put it in the side pocket of my backpack and never touched it again. Now, I uncap it and hold it at the ready. The hatchet is an option, but only as a last resort. I’m the one that interrupted its lunch. The coyote is just being a coyote. Plus, it’d need to be too damn close for it to be effective.
I back up toward the path. Not running, but not slowly either. Ripley sticks close. Though her fur is up and she keeps looking over her shoulder.
We’re almost at the path when the coyote steps from the meadow. I freeze at the sight of it. Probably a bad idea. Probably I should keep moving, but I don’t. Instead, I stop and stare.
Lines of drool drip from its mouth. Something, mud or maybe dried blood, coats the animal’s legs and stomach. Whatever it is, it’s dark. Almost black.
The coyote takes a few quick steps forward, then stops. It opens its mouth wide, wider, wider still like it’s trying to crack its jaw but can’t. It bites at the air and that too seems unsatisfying, because it does it again.
This is not a coyote guarding its meal. This animal is sick.
Not just sick.Rabid.
It wavers sideways, then abruptly sits, revealing its profile. The coyote’s back leg has been entirely degloved. Raw, red flesh stretches from the animal’s paw to midway up its thigh.
What could have done something like that? A sympathetic shiver catches in my chest. How must that havefelt? The sensation of skin rending from the meat underneath. I hope its brain was already thoroughly cooked when it happened.
I let out a shaky breath and keep backing up. It continues to flex its jaw and stare into the middle distance, seemingly unaware of our presence.
In a few yards we’ll be out of sight down a slight curve in the road. Maybe this’ll end up being nothing more than a good story to tell at real estate conferences. Katsaros will joke about my employer-provided insurance being top-notch if I do need a rabies shot. Everyone will laugh and laugh.
Of course, this is when the coyote chooses to stand. It wavers. For a second it looks like it’s about to sit again.
Instead, it swings its head to look at us.
And then it starts running.
Terri:He arrived at the cabin his company was renting for a leadership retreat on Friday around 3PM. There’s not much information about what happened between him getting there and when he disappeared. I tried to find someone from his job. Either they changed their name or it doesn’t exist anymore. I even did a public records request, but it was denied.
Naomi:Did they give a reason why?
Terri:It’s still active, so they can’t give the case file out.
Naomi:It’s been, like, sixteen years. Literally the definition of cold.
Terri:Tell that to the Lawrence County Sheriff Department. But actually don’t, because they’resorude. So, Jamie and four of his coworkers decide to go on a hike before they went home. They get going around noon. Jamie’s at the back of the group. He’s lingering, taking pictures of the scenery, enjoying himself. It’s all normal, until about forty-five minutes into the hike when theperson in front of Jamie turns around… and he’s gone.
Naomi:No! I hate these ones. They freak me out so bad.
Terri:It’s because someone literally disappearing in the woods is legit terrifying. So, the group called for Jamie, no answer. They backtracked down the trail, didn’t find anything. After two hours, they called the cops. There was a search, but I couldn’t find any info on how long it lasted or how it was conducted. And… That’s pretty much it. The last article about it was published in early 2002. After that, nothing.
Naomi:Terri. You can’t do this to me. That’s it? They didn’t find anything?
Terri:I didn’t say that.
