CHAPTER 12

A VULTURE A DAY KEEPS THE MESS AWAY

It wasn’t unusual to see buzzards in Catalina. Something was always dying in the desert. What was unusual this Tuesday morning was seeing a big bunch of the critters circle and appear to dive into the backyard of a ranch house. Les Pritchard knew practically nothing about his neighbor to the south a half mile away, except that when they would occasionally meet at the mailboxes that lined up like saluting soldiers at the end of the dusty dirt road they lived on, they would nod and exchange a few words. Both men were loners and mostly antisocial. He didn’t even know his neighbor’s name. One thing he did know was that all those vultures were not normal.

Les got in his Chevy Apache truck and headed for the neighbor’s house. It was common for pickup drivers to carry rifles in gun racks attached around their rear windows, and today Les felt better knowing that the guns in his truck were loaded and within easy reach. He turned into the driveway and stopped in front of an old dirty Ford truck where tools and baling wire were laying on the ground next to the open driver’s side door.

After slowly getting out of his truck and standing quiet for a while, he could hear loud screeching sounds coming from the backyard behind the small ranch house. A cold chill ran through his backbone and Les actually shivered, even though the temperature was close to 80 degrees. This was not good and Les knew it. He reached behind the seat and removed a lever-action Winchester .30-.30 from the gun rack, levered a cartridge into the breach, and cautiously headed for the backyard.

            It wasn’t until he rounded the side of the house that the smell hit him like a sledgehammer. He knew the smell and his knees buckled a little. This was like Nam all over again and he wasn’t sure he could go any farther. Gathering courage, he rounded the back corner of the house to be greeted by an absolutely ghastly sight. His neighbor was lying flat on his back with vultures on top of what was left of his body, pulling out body parts and eating like there was no tomorrow. The eye sockets were staring upward, seeing with no eyes, and his mouth was wide open, trying to speak with no lips or tongue. Les retched, turned and trotted back to his truck. You could see the large dust trail streaming from the back of his speeding truck as it headed for his house all the way from Tucson.

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