Chapter 15: Murder in the Woods, Part 1

Murder in the Woods

Bob wandered down to the marsh for a bite to eat. He followed the trail, not paying much attention to anything but the surface sounds of the forest. Trees creaked in the breeze. Birds flitted about stashing food for the coming winter or stuffing themselves in readiness for flying south. Nothing that mattered. His antlers broke off the few branches that stretched over the path far enough to tangle with them, adding to the noise.

Bob was at the top of his game. Other animals told him he was an ugly, short tempered creature, but since he was a moose, that was a fair description. The ladies liked him fine; and it wouldn't be that long before he started bringing them in.

"Hey, Bob," A squirrel ran out on a branch in front of him. "Where you heading?"

"I'm just heading to the swamp to grab a bite."

"Something's off today." The squirrel ran back and forth on the branch.

"What?" Bob squinted at the squirrel. "It's safe enough. Listen, no one else is worried."

"Telling you, something's wrong."

"Get out of my face." Bob swung his antlers and snapped the branch just after the squirrel jumped away. She swore at him as he ambled off. Had to admire her repertoire of curses, even if they were directed at him.

He was the majestic moose; he gave the rack on his head a heft. A very fine majestic moose indeed. Could hardly wait for the ladies to be ready.

At the edge of the woods, Bob stopped, listened carefully and tested the wind. She might be a squirrel with a brain hardly bigger than the nuts she ate, but she was one of the forest's early warning systems. It didn't hurt to be a little extra careful; not that he'd ever tell her that.

The breeze didn't carry anything but the stench of swamp. Geese flew overhead honking. Safe enough. Bob walked out into the clearing and squelched through the mud to the marsh. He was knee deep in the water when a duck paddled past.

"Hey," the duck said, "How's it going?"

"Mmmmph," Bob said through the succulent plants in his mouth.

"Wish I could stay here all winter," the duck said. "I don't like the idea of flying through the war zone. I lost one of my best friends last year."

"Tough," Bob said, and left it to the duck to decide if he was being rude or sympathetic. The duck quacked and flew off. Bob guessed he had decided on rude. It just meant he could eat in peace before the sun came all the way up and made it too warm.

He gorged himself on the tender plants of the marsh. This was his favourite time of the year. He carried a full rack. He felt strong and sexy and soon the ladies would be coming and begging him for what only he could give them. It was also as safe as the forest ever got. Nobody wanted to mess with a bull moose.

Bob's head came up and he tested the wind. Maybe it was just thinking about the ladies but he was sure he'd got a whiff of a horny cow. Early in the season, sure, but not impossible. What better way to finish his breakfast than with some great sex?

Bob followed the scent deeper into the swamp. It got stronger. Thoughts of what he was going to do to this lovely lady flooded his head. She grunted from the thicket. She was as horny as him, and just around the bend. Oh boy, was he ready to do his part!

The rattle of some other moose's antlers came from the trees ahead. Immediately, he went from horny to enraged. No punk interloper was going to snatch this moment from him. He bellowed and ran forward. Water, plants and mud flew away from him. Bob was the most powerful inhabitant of the woods and no one, not even another bull moose, could go head to head with him.

Water and mud splashed as he charged into a clearing and looked around for his rival. A sharp pain stabbed his ribs but Bob pushed it aside. Nothing mattered but getting to that horny cow before anyone else. Another pain spiked through him and he stumbled for a moment. His feet refused to stay under him. They collapsed and dropped him into the water. The weight of his antlers held his head under. He needed to breathe, but didn't have the strength.

The last thing he felt was cold and sharp on his throat.

*****

Nick munched on a mouse that had been too slow to react to his approach. The world was a dangerous place. A dog-eat-dog kind of place, or more accurately, a wolf-eat-mouse kind of place. Nick grinned and looked around for any other slow creatures. He wasn't really hungry, but would take what he caught. This area was too quiet now. All the meal-sized creatures knew he was around.

Nick walked along the path taking in the smells of the forest. The underlying scent of the earth had a richer and deeper odour than the rotting remains of some owl or hawk's meal lying under the browning ferns to the right. Too far gone, at least when he wasn't desperately hungry. Water to the left, but there was an easier access ahead and always a chance of a slow or stupid creature becoming his next meal.

At the watering spot, he picked up the musky scent of a cow moose, but didn't let it concern him much. A single wolf was no threat to her, and the cow wouldn't bother him. She could wait in the brush until he'd finished. As Nick crouched to lap up water, the immense weight of a moose landed on his tail.

"What did you do with Bob?"

"Bob?" Nick tried to decide if his tail was broken. No herbivore would get a yip out of him.