“Melanie?” Winston called into the phone. “Miss Hayes? How large are they?”

“Big enough to take down a horse,” she answered. “Big as a grizzly. Hang on a second. You can hear the horse screaming.”

Winston listened. The screams were those of a horse in agony.

“Yes,” Winston answered. “We’re on our way as soon as we saddle up, so to speak. Parkinson! Schroeder! Break out the Brownings and extra ammo. Double quick! ” He stood and pulled on his pistol belt. “Madison, you have the office. First two men who call to report their rounds, they come here instead.”

Two minutes later, the Department’s squad car roared to life.

“Parkinson! Use the siren! We might as well let people know we’re on the job!” Winston ordered.

The sheriff’s car rushed down deserted streets, porch lights coming on in its wake as people looked out to see what was happening. An occasional rifle shot could still be heard in the distance.

The screams of a wounded horse drowned out the siren as the car approached the corral. Parkinson put over the wheel so the car’s headlights illuminated the nearly-dark corral. The horse was on the ground, and several things stood over it pinning it in place as they tore gobs of flesh from its side.

“Jesus, Mary, and all the saints!” Schroeder shouted. “What are those?”

The car skidded to a stop. The three men threw open the doors and jumped out. Winston paused to grab the reserve rifle and a bandolier of ammunition.

“Parkinson! Schroeder!” Winston shouted. “I don’t care what they are. Kill them. I’m covering our rear!”