The corpse wasn’t really that old, all things considered. It must have been pretty recent when the report came in. Still, the heat was speeding the putrefying process and the thick scent of a maggot nesting ground blanketed the sandy cove. Just from the smell, Amanda could tell that it had been long enough for the rigor to pass, but only just; there was only an acrid, harsh tang, and not yet the oddly-sweet, bile-inducing hints of the truly rotten. The ranger craned her neck backward, gaze finding the silhouette of the rocky outcropping above. The natural rock formation was fairly smooth, but with plenty of footholds even for a person; still, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d found an animal with a broken neck at the bottom of a rocky cliff. Even the sure-footed goats slipped occasionally.<br/><br/>What she did find odd was the<span style="font-style: italic">condition</span>of the little cadaver. Aside from a few customary insects, scavengers had left the body of the herbivore almost completely alone, allowing it to bloat unmolested in the desert temperatures. If it had been somewhat suspicious before, when there was even enough left to warrant a report, finding<span style="font-style: italic">all</span>of it left was a reason to radio in. They rarely did any kind of necropsy on the dead things, and Amanda certainly preferred to let nature take care of its own garbage, but she knew for a fact that a large female eagle nested at the top of the cliff and no less than three coyotes had been in the vicinity that very morning (tracks didn’t lie); none of them would have let this opportunity slip without a<span style="font-style: italic">very</span>good reason. Poison, maybe? If they had another poacher using poison on his bait, the creatures would steer clear of the unnatural toxin and human smells. Seemed pretty financially unstable to use deer for the poison-cache when a rat would have done the same, but she was hardly the person to understand the inner workings of the illegal hunter’s mind.<br/><br/>The short woman finished scribbling and fished her radio from the sack.<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Hey,”</span></span>she barked lazily into the device, grateful that her nose was finally deadening to the meat-stench,<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“found the deer. Might be a bait-trap.”</span></span><br/><br/>Only hard static crackled when she lifted her thumb, but she left if off for a few seconds before adding<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Right, yeah, exactly,”</span></span>in a resigned sigh and tossing the thing back in her pack. Bit of a problem, this. She had already marked the location; it would be a simple matter to come back with the proper equipment, but she couldn’t be sure it would still be here. The local wildlife might not change its mind about the liquefying entrée, but the potential poacher could be watching and ready to remove the evidence as soon as she turned her back. She hardly wanted to give them the satisfaction of getting away with this under-handed bullshit.<br/><br/>The best she could do was harvest a few samples and hope they would have what she needed. Another resigned sigh drooped her shoulders (immediately regretted, as it somehow renewed the stench), and she snagged a pair of gloves and small specimen container from her knapsack. A few seconds with the knife and she had very carefully severed a chuck of soft meat from the neck, hind leg, and surface of the bloated gut; it seemed darker than she would have expected to be, but that could easily be either poison or decomp. She packaged the discarded gloves in with the samples, unwilling to let them potentially contaminate the rest of her equipment with poison and rotting juices. The little “surgical” knife she merely wiped on the cadaver’s own fur and then shut, slipping it back into her pocket.<br/><br/>The ranger made an immediate turn for the pathetic half-station, abandoning the rest of her morning route for the moment. If Brady had other little treasures he wanted her to find, he could either start briefing her before she left or come out here and find them himself.<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>The trek back to the station was uneventful, thankfully. Amanda always felt just a little uncomfortable with bits of bloody, raw and potentially-poisoned meat so close to her person.<br/><br/>She shoved open the door so that it clattered against the far wall, but far from his customary sass, Brady didn’t even acknowledge her; his back to the door, he seemed fixated on the little TV perched on the mini-fridge.<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Hey,”</span></span>she started, slinging the bag to the one free couch cushion,<span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“I’ve got something I think we should send to Antech, it’s probably a – Hey, Brady.”</span></span>One hand shot up over the man’s shoulder, a sharp motion for silence. The ranger’s brow curved down into mild irritation. Rude.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBFBF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“What the fuck is so interesting that you…”</span></span>Her voice faded as she came within earshot of the old screen, eyes latching to poor-quality picture of the anchor man and the scrolling text along the bottom. “Behaving strangely”? What the hell did that even<span style="font-style: italic">mean</span>? Still, the woman speaking seemed fairly unnerved, and Amanda wasn’t sure she had ever heard or seen any alert quite like this. Instinctively, she turned around and dug her phone from the side of the satchel, hoping the satellites had decided to give her some form of reception today. Miriam should be fine, in the depths of her isolation lab surrounded by safety equipment and medical personnel, but Amanda knew that the knot forming in her gut wouldn’t be quieted until she heard the botanist tell her so.<br/><br/>A voicemail? She tilted her head and accessed her phone’s mailbox; it was from Wesley. She hadn’t heard from him in almost a year, though they worked fairly close compared to the rest of their family. It reminded her that she should check on him, too, considering all this hullaballoo with the news.<br/><br/>The automated voice came on, “You have one new message. Sent at 8:43 AM.”<br/><br/>Wesley’s voice came through the speaker. “Hey, Mandy.”<br/><br/>Already the crease of concern deepened on the woman’s brow, her lips turning down into a confused frown. He sounded…<span style="font-style: italic">exhausted</span>. The scratchy, husky voice sounded almost like he’d been either screaming or crying. There was a short pause, broken by something that was undeniably a little chuckle, if not the laugh that she remembered of her older cousin. “Been a while. Sorry ‘bout that.. nhmn.”<br/><br/>Her eyes shot open. He sounded like someone just punched him in the gut. “Listen, I don’t know… what’s happening but, but I can’t… if you can find Brianna, tell her I’m sorry, for… everything. I always meant to” he broke off, and several short, rapid exhalations, like he was choking, punctuated the quiet, “to… take care of it all. I thought, thought there would be<span style="font-style: italic">time</span>, y’know.”<br/><br/>There was a note in his voice that she had never heard in another person, least of all someone familiar. She couldn’t place it, but it dropped her stomach down to her knees and made her face burn. “Mandy… do you remember, in fourth grade…” his voice dropped even more, got even huskier, and she pressed the phone as close to her ear as she could, “when – when the girl who shared her lunch… she stopped talking to you? That, that was my fault. I told her… told her you hated her. Didn’t want you to… to get new friends, and- and forget about me… I’m sorry.”<br/><br/>Another grunted shout of pain echoed from the speaker, followed by a very wet cough and finally, a barely audible, “G’bye.”<br/><br/>Beep beep beep.<br/><br/>Without another glance toward Brady or the TV, Amanda shot out the door and fell into her car, face pale. The key missed the ignition a few times<span style="font-style: italic">-stupid fucking thing-</span>and when she did finally manage to get the vehicle in drive, the tires peeled against the sand. It wouldn’t take her long to get to her cousin’s place of employment, not at this speed.