Robert “Bob” Rogan sat happily in his usual booth at the Huddle House on route 4. A dozen welcomed smells wafted past his greedy nose as he busied himself with the simple pleasures of eating an early dinner. Between bites of dry chicken, the firmly middle-aged man stared lazily through the restaurant’s front windows trying very hard to ignore an earlier conversation.
One of his younger officers, Freddy Spencer, had been nagging him all day with a story about a bunch of dead animals at Lake Jasper. “Strange,” that’s how the kid phrased it. “There was something strange in the woods.”
Still, a half-baked story about a bunch of dead animals wasn’t going to ruin his dinner. One of the advantages of being the managing director of the Chemung County Fish and Wildlife Commission was choosing his daily itinerary. Mr. Spencer would have to hold his horses a little while longer.
Outside, Freddy sat impatiently in the parking lot for his supervisor to shit or get off the pot. After five hours of sleep, the headache that had pounded his temples into submission was now merely a dull thud. A minor miracle brought on by a double dose of Advil and three large water bottles. Freddy was just about to open another one when a familiar voice came over the radio.
“Have you gotten that old fart out there yet?” Rosie sounded like she was on her fifth cup of coffee. Anything over four meant she wasn’t going to listen to any excuses, especially when it came to Bob. She and Bob never saw eye to eye on anything. And that maxim often put Freddy in the middle of one of their many, many arguments.
“No Rosie,” He took a gulp of water and rolled his eyes. At least his headache was gone. “I still haven’t gotten him over to the east side of town yet. You know his routine.”
“Huddle house for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, that boy is as regular as my bowel movements.” Rosie always called Bob “boy” because she was one year his senior. “One-year closer to retirement than you,” she said, pestering him every morning.
But Bob didn’t care. With the freedom his job provided, the old man was never planning to retire anyway.
“Wait a minute, Rosie.” Freddy squinted through the truck’s dirty window to see Bob throwing a couple of dollars down on his table. Then slowly, as if he was teasing him, he walked over to the counter and struck up a conversation with one of the waitresses. “He’s paying the bill now. If I’m lucky, Pam will get tired of his shit quick.”
“Yeah?” She said, doubting the time estimate. “You let me know how that goes.”
Two hours later, after a long and rather unnecessary search of Katy Leary Park, Freddy’s truck finally found itself near Maple Hill State Forrest. And with the snowstorm gone, the beleaguered road crews had
started making some progress. He could even see some black asphalt peeking out from beneath it’s wintery blanket.
“I think you’re going to find this strange, Bob. Have you ever seen that story on CNN about all the birds dying at once? You know, where suddenly hundreds of them fall out of the sky for no good reason.”
“There were hundreds of dead deer?” Bob scowled at the very mention of the network’s name.
“No, I only found the four. But there were other dead animals, not just the deer.” Freddy searched for a more compelling excuse. “Plus, it was dark. The snow was coming down pretty good by that time, and then there was the light.”
Bob remained silent as Freddy continued to mumble. Finally, he raised his hand to stop his young officer. “It’s not unusual to find dead things in the forest, Freddy, especially this time of year.” He pointed to the banks of snow piled up on the side of the road. “As for the light, you were pretty hung over.”
Freddy was tempted to respond but decided against it. Robert Rogan had the habit of only talking when there was something worth saying, and it was a habit he appreciated in others. Instead, he concentrated on the road ahead. Having been freshly salted, the going thus far had been relatively easy.
However, the secondary dirt roads hadn’t been touched yet. So conditions were still shitty.
“Hold on,” Freddy warned as the truck powered through a large drift of snow before lurching forward onto River Road. Almost immediately, he eased off the accelerator. This time, he was going to take it slow and steady.
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“So where did you crash the truck?” Bob asked.
Crash, the term slightly offended him.
“I ran… off the road about another two hundred yards ahead, just on the right,” Freddy pointed the spot out to Bob. “I’m still getting used to driving on the snow again.”
Having spent his entire childhood in Elmira, he knew these roads very well. But after a two-year tour of duty in a snowless Baghdad, his ice instincts were a little out of practice. Without thinking, Freddy snatched up the bottle of water and slammed the rest of its contents in one gulp. “Besides, I wasn’t feeling myself last night.”
“I don’t know about you, but I find it difficult to think straight around a beautiful woman,” Bob said in a droll, measured voice. “I don’t know much about Millie, but I know Mildred is the reason I don’t go to Manhattan any more.” Mildred was Millie’s mother. “The Dwyer women are known for busting balls from time to time, kid. You’re lucky the only thing it cost you was a hangover.”
Freddy wanted to laugh but didn’t. Bob had never been one to crack a smile much less tell a joke in his presence. Not wanting to ruin the moment, Freddy stayed silent, smiled, and hoped that Bob’s remark was a term of endearment and not just another insult.
“Here it is.” Freddy spotted the small pine tree that he knocked over with the truck.
“She slid for a while.” Bob rolled down his window to get a better look at the road behind them. The skid marks had been filled in slightly by the storm, but he could still make them out with minimal effort. “I’m surprised you didn’t do more damage.”
So was Freddy.
This time, instead of slamming on the brakes, he eased the Dodge to a gentle stop about ten feet from where it happened. Freddy flipped on the caution lights, and both men exited the truck. Bob made his way cautiously over to the fallen tree. “Still,” He picked at the shredded bark then glanced back to the damaged fender. “It could have been worse.”
Freddy saw this simple remark as his absolution.
“So where is this bloodbath you’ve been yacking about all day?”
“This way,” Much like he had during his time in the military, Freddy took the lead. In the light of day, distances that seemed so far last night were now just a stone’s throw away. They paused by the tree where he crouched down for cover. “This is the spot where I saw their vehicle barreling out of here.” He pointed back toward the road. “They must have seen the truck because they slowed down to maneuver around it.”
“I guess they knew how to drive in the snow.” Bob still didn’t crack a smile, but the jokes just kept rolling off his tongue.
“Last night, I would have sworn the road was farther away.” Everything looked different from the way he remembered. The thicket of trees, which had forced him to low crawl, now didn’t quite seem so impassable. A couple of yards ahead, Freddy spotted the pair of dead squirrels.
“These were the first carcasses I came across. You see,” Freddy pointed out how white the snow was underneath them. “There isn’t any blood.”
Bob squatted on old knees and poked at the animals just as Freddy had done the night before. Unlike last night, their little bodies were now rigid from the cold and rigor mortis. “Looks like these guys just froze to death.” Bob brushed away the snow and checked for any wounds. After a few seconds, he stood up satisfied that a gun wasn’t responsible. “Where are the others?”
As they progressed, everything seemed so much easier than last night. Freddy felt foolish for letting the darkness mess with his senses. Eventually, the thicket gave way to a sharp slope, followed by a large depression. There, they saw what had been so concerning.
Three deer lying dead on the ground covered with an inch of fresh snow.
“Fan out,” the old man pointed left to a much smaller depression in the ground. “This close to maple means this area’s probably a hot spot. See if you can find any other beds.”
Last night, he had only found three bodies. But now, Freddy saw four other deer. All lying peacefully on the ground, all without a visible cause of death. Even the raccoons were still where he left them. But a couple of the possums had been plucked away during the night. Even animals save roadkill, he thought.
“How many is that?” Bob asked, returning to the depression’s entrance.
“Just the deer or everything else I found dead?”
“The whole thing,” Bob said hunched over one of the possums.
“About ten,” Freddy shook the snow off his gloves. “There’s no way of telling how many more because of scavengers. But from what I see now, there’s at least ten.”
The sky gradually began to turn dark blue as the sun dipped below the tree line. With maybe an hours’ worth of daylight left, Bob said something important without considering it. “There’s not much more we can learn from these carcasses. Let’s grab one of the raccoons and the small doe. We’ll take them into town and get the ME to run some tests. I want to make sure that no one’s out here poisoning the wildlife.”
Freddy stared at his boss for a moment thinking about how some poisons left no sign, and how a forensic blood test would be prudent. The only problem was Freddy hated the medical examiner. Hated him in high school and hated him now. “You want Jonathan to examine them. What does he know about wildlife?”
“Probably nothing,” Bob quickly agreed. “From what I’ve seen of that kid, I wouldn’t let him walk my dog without somebody watching over him. But he should know about poisons from working with the sheriff. Hell, he’s probably seen something like this before.”
“He’s probably used something like this before,” Freddy said under his breath. A wave of forgotten anger flared up before extinguishing almost as swiftly. “Do you think it was poison?”
“I don’t know.” Bob thought for a second before answering. “But I know animals don’t just freeze to death. Not like this.”

