The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,88

in the valley was golden, dusting fields of alfalfa that were just starting to grow, throwing long shadows from a line of stunted apricot trees, infusing an old, rotting haystack so that it seemed to glow. The smell of pig shit was pretty bad, in Jem’s opinion, but when they were past the fields, he could smell dust from the haystack, and he could smell the last of the apricot blossoms, and when they backtracked and walked shoulder to shoulder, he could smell sage and resin on the doc.

They checked each possible travel corridor, with Tean marking them off on his map as they went. Jem did find the first coyote track, and he whooped with excitement and picked Tean up in a bear hug, ignoring how Tean whapped him on the head with the map, the bell at his waist ringing wildly. But it was a solitary track, and after another half hour of searching, they tried another travel corridor. The sun dropped farther, the bottom edge of its disc slipping behind the Wasatch Mountains, and the shadows got longer. The cool, humid air from the creek carried the smell of mud. Jem jumped when he thought he saw a snake, stumbled, and landed with one foot in the creek.

“These are original Air Jordans,” Jem growled as he shook his foot, flinging drops of water everywhere. “You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to get these.”

“I would actually probably believe it.”

“Very funny.”

Tean’s expression was a little too carefully neutral.

“You know people invented these things called roads and sidewalks and bridges and—and dry land!”

“People invented dry land?”

“Don’t start with me!”

Face solemn, Tean mimed zipping his lips.

“I’m going to murder this coyote when we find it,” Jem muttered.

“They can run up to forty miles per hour,” Tean said as they continued their search.

“Then I’ll shoot it. A bullet is faster than forty miles per hour.”

“They’re one of the most resilient and adaptable creatures in North America. They’ve managed to survive and thrive even as humans have moved into their territories and disrupted the ecosystem around them.”

Jem’s foot was squishing on every step. He fixed Tean with a glare. “You sound like you like them.”

“They can create patchwork territories out of green spaces in urban environments, and they can be an important part of an urban ecosystem. One coyote pack was found denning in the parking lot of Soldier Field Stadium.”

Jem grunted. “They’d better be Cubs fans. If those dogs are White Sox fans, I swear to God I will kill myself. We might as well just reboot the whole fucking universe.”

“They’re not dogs. They’re coyotes. They mate for life and they’re a hundred-percent faithful to that mate, but they’re also incredibly effective at surviving on their own. Unlike wolves, who struggle to hunt successfully without a pack, coyotes almost always hunt alone or, at most, in pairs.”

“Oh my God. You like them. You like these dumb dogs, and you don’t have anything bad to say about them.”

“And our taxes—well, not yours, because I don’t think you’ve ever paid taxes—but everybody else’s taxes have paid around $30 million dollars to have over 500,000 coyotes killed.”

“There it is,” Jem said with a sigh.

It was almost an hour later when things started to turn around. They were following the border of a hayfield, the tender green stalks barely ankle high, when Jem spotted the next track. More whooping, more bear hugs, more spinning Tean around while their bells chimed. Tean was trying to look mad, and Jem was grinning because he’d already seen the next one. Twenty yards later, they found a trap.

It was bigger than Jem had expected from what he’d seen in cartoons, cruder, just thick metal designed to snap tight on a leg. Tean’s face was bleak as he backtracked, collected a stick, and used it to set off the trap. The metal jaws snapped shut, breaking the stick in half. Tean dropped the part that he still held and dusted his hands.

“I understand that coyotes are a problem. I know why the DWR has the bounty in place, and I support it. But these fucking things.” Tean just shook his head and started walking again.

They followed the tracks. They were moving into the foothills on the eastern side of the valley. Their shadows swooped ahead of them, great black birds, and a purple fringe darkened the edge of the sky. Neither man spoke. There was the wind, their steps, the jingling bells. Tean’s jaw was set, his bushy eyebrows