This is, more than anything, a setting and a fulfillment of my side of the bargain (i.e. to write) but I'm kind of a plodding writer so this is all I could pound out in my free day. What we're looking at here is something quite raw, so don't worry if it doesn't make much sense (it certainly doesn't go anywhere yet...) Hm. Well, rambling apology = over.
“Roll it over,” Hal said, gesturing with the end of his still-smoking rifle at the furry mass lying in the sagebrush twenty feet in front of him. Two young men in wide-brimmed hats and tight jeans hopped out of the bed of the red pickup and approached the mutant calf on either side, leaving Hal a clear shot in case it wasn't quite dead yet. Standing over the carcass, one of them coughed and rubbed his moustache while the other pulled his work gloves on tighter. Then they bent over and slowly pulled the carcass belly-up by pulling up on the normal legs in front and back. Then they took an affectedly nonchalant step or two away. The ridiculous thing lay on its back, its tounge sticking out of its bullet-marred head, six hairy legs sticking up at ten, twelve, and two o'clock.
Hal lowered his rifle and wiped the sweat off of his sun-worn forehead with his sleeve as he walked around the mutated calf. It was clearly plague-bred with wild bison, judging by the thick, curly fur which covered its forelegs and what looked like a small hump between the shoulders, but its long, polled head, but what scared Hal more than anything was its size. Obviously larger than his males at a year old, it might have already been mating and spreading the disaster in his herd. But then, it might be alright. The mutant was out wandering on its own, which meant the herd had expelled it, though probably only a few days, or else the wolves or coyotes would have killed it.
Cory, the cattle hand with a long, black moustache, took a swig from his canteen and offered it to Hal, who shook his head, and then to the other hand, Marcos, who took one careful gulp before handing it back with a grateful nod. “Well, boss, should we burn it?” Marcos asked. He was looking up toward the near line of brush-covered hills, where another eighty head of cattle were waiting for the immunization shots they brought in the truck.
“Get a DNA sample first,” Hal said as he headed back to the driver's seat to start the paperwork. Cory pulled out the blood kit and put on a surgical mask and latex gloves as Marcos cleared the ground of brush and grass and got a set of decomposers from the toolkit behind the pickup. The summer heat made the air shimmer like flowing water as it rose from the dusty earth. The grating sound of crickets was the only sound till Cory and Marcos climbed into the bed of the pickup and knocked on the top of the truck. Hal finished what he was typing and put the tablet back in its charger and switched the electric engine on and the three men silently rode on up the dusty road to the Windy Canyon some miles away.
As the dust trail kicked up by the truck faded into the afternoon, no sign of life could be seen for miles around other than the insisten mating calls of insects. At length, the carcass began to smoke and hiss as the chemically-induced decomposition sped up. Soon the outside of the carcass was burning bright like phosphorus, but without the sparks. A thin whisp of smoke rose up into the sky, attracting a red-tail and a trio of ravens, but they didn't stay long, and all was still again. The burning died down with the sun and first a red sunset and then a moonless night slowly took their turns across the sky. A cool breeze bent the sparse clumps of wheat grass and sagebrush. Coals were glowing soft and red where the carcass used to be. A pack of coyotes yelped its way across the barren steppe, the alpha male pausing briefly at the spot and sniffing around as he wagged his pair of long tails before continuing across the desert in search of something to eat.
* * *
Ray Moreno drove down Paxton's main street at a leisurely speed, his left arm absently hanging out of the window. On the sidewalk, people in sunglasses and long sleeves greeted each other by name as they walked their dogs or pushed their children around in shaded perambulators. The town couldn't be bigger than thirty thousand, but it served as a hub for the area. Farmers from the area brought their wheat to mill and their potatoes to ship. More importantly, Paxton was a stop on the railroad between Salt Lake and Billings. Coalmen, lumber men, businessmen, cowboys, and gold prospectors would stop here on their way to their fortunes, get a bite to eat, transfer money, stop to check their email.
Ray had been working for Henry Anderson, one of the most successful ranchers in the area, for a couple of months, but he hadn't spent much time in Paxton. ...
