By Mike Stolt
Looking south, I could see the lights of Abeline and the glow of traffic on I-20.
To my right, Texas Highway 180 ran west 200 miles through the black of night. No gas stations. Deer on the roads. But it would save me 10 minutes.
I looked at my watch.
Ten minutes is 10 minutes, I thought. I turned right, and Anson faded behind me until the only light was the bubble around the front of my truck. I set the cruise control and leaned against the door. Fifteen minutes passed.
“What the…”
I sat up straight and tapped the brake, craning my neck to make sense of something waving in the grass. I let my truck coast down through 30, then pulled to the shoulder. Then I looked at my watch, the rear-view mirror, and my watch again.
I turned around and drove back. There it was. I eased up on a deer lying in a pile. So I reached back for my pistol.
As I approached, she jerked and swept her head as if she were running. Her legs, however, lay under her like an armful of dropped wood.
Besides her neck and head, no part of her looked to be in place.
I pulled the slide back a bit, making sure I had a round chambered. When I flipped the safety off, a light came on in a small farmhouse I hadn’t seen. It now looked like a Chinese lantern sitting on a rise.
I put the gun on safe, pushed it into my waistband, and pulled out my phone.
Going to Plan B
“Texas Game and Fish, Officer Thomas.”
“Yes sir, a deer’s been hit. I need you to come out and put it down.”
“Where are you?”
“20 miles west of Anson on 180.”
“Does it look like it was shot?”
“It looks like it was run over.”
“I’m sorry, I’m covering six counties tonight, and I have to prioritize violations.”
I tilted my head back, then looked down at the deer.
“I’m looking at a tan sack of flesh that you’d swear has no bones in it.”
“Does it look like it will pass on its own?”
“She will, but the coyotes might find her first.”
The deer tilted her head back and let out a rattling moan. The stars reflected off her black nose and wet eyes.
“I’m shooting her.”
“You can’t shoot a whitetail at night, and you can’t shoot near a road.”
“Tell me I can, and I’ll drag her to the fence line.”
“That’s still in the easement.”
“I’ll pull her under the fence into the pasture.”
“That’s trespassing.”
“Well, hell.”
No Good Deed …
“Look, if you shoot her and someone reports it, you’ll become a priority for me tonight.”
I glanced at the house on the hill. The light glowing yellow in the window. I looked down at the deer. She seemed to be contemplating the black between the stars.
“How hard would you look for me?”
“Not very. But I do have your phone number and a pretty long confession.”
We settled into an edgy silence.
“She looks like she got wrapped around the wheel of a semi. Broken on the wheel. Ever heard of Catherine’s Wheel?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“A form of execution. They’d tie you down and use a wheel to break all your bones, except your neck and skull, then weave your limbs through the spokes. It might take days to die. Sometimes animals found you first. The Romans tried to kill Catherine of Alexandria that way for being Christian, but they say the wheel fell apart when it touched her. So now she’s Saint Catherine. And now it’s her wheel.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“After the wheel broke.”
“They cut off her head.”
The deer groaned and turned her gaze to a different area of the night sky.
You Got This
“Do you have a knife on you?”
I looked down at the deer.
“Yes. I have a damn knife on me.”
Silence.
“So, you got this.”
“Yes sir. I’ve got this.”
“I appreciate you calling. And the history lesson.”
“I appreciate your time.”
I put away my phone and took out my knife. Her head jerked when the blade clicked into place.
“Sorry, girl.”
I leaned in and pinned her head against my thigh with my left arm and cut with my right hand. Her panicked breath boiled in her windpipe, and the tang of iron filled the air around us.
I knelt and laid my hand on her shoulder. Her breathing slowed, then calmed, before she gently exhaled a last breath. Her tension eased under my hand. Her eyes fixed.
I picked up my knife and stood to face the house, wiping the blade on my jeans. The light in the house was off now. I could just make out its outline in the dark, and I wondered when the night turned so cold.
