Page 14 of Blood Moon

The site is unchanged. A dribble of blood on the ground. Leaves and grass and weeds disturbed. Hooper kneels and pulls out his cell phone, snaps a few photos.

I’m aware of Tomasetti shining his flashlight beam in a circle around us, keeping an eye out in case the animal returns.

“How far away is the creek?” Hooper asks as he rises.

I motion east. “Twenty or so yards.”

Hooper cocks his head. “Can you show me the deer tracks you mentioned?”

“Sure.” Tomasetti starts that way. “The path is trampled, but you can clearly see the cloven hooves.” He stops, his beam pointed straight down. “Here.”

Hooper joins him, sets his beam on the marks, and kneels. Around us, the woods throb with life. I glance at Tomasetti. Though his beam is lowered to the ground, I see his eyes probing the darkness and fog all around.

“Expecting company?” I say quietly.

“Something takes a bite out of me and it’s going to get more than it bargained for,” he says.

The wildlife officer shifts position and indicates a decent imprint of a cloven hoof, then looks up at us. “See this?”

I kneel beside him. “Deer?”

Tomasetti remains standing, providing additional light with his beam.

Hooper hunkers down so that his face is closer to the ground and points at two small impressions on the backside of the hoof mark. “Deer tracks are typically heart or spade-shaped,” he tells us. “Very similar to these. But I can tell you right now these tracks do not belong to a deer.”

Tomasetti and I exchange a look.

“What else in these woods has cloven hooves?” I ask.

“Sus scrofa,” Hooper says.

“I must have missed the day in school when we learned what the hell a Sus scrofa is,” Tomasetti murmurs.

Hooper smiles. “You have a feral swine problem.”

“Wild hogs,” I murmur.

The wildlife officer nods. “The hoof mark impression differences between deer and hogs are subtle.” With the razor focus of a professor launching into a complex math equation, he sets his finger on one of the barely-there dents located on either side at the back of the hoof. “Those two small impressions are dewclaw marks. With deer tracks, the marks are directly behind the hoof. With feral hogs, the marks are outside the hoof, farther apart if you will, and pointed slightly outward.”

He stares down at the track a moment, then raises his gaze to me and Tomasetti. “This is a very large animal, Chief Burkholder. Judging by the depth of the imprint and dewclaw dents, I’d say he’s a three hundred pounder. Likely a boar.”

“Can they lay open a man’s leg?” Tomasetti asks.

“The boars have large tusks and can be very aggressive. Attacks are rare, but unfortunately they do happen.” Sobering, he gets to his feet. “A woman in Texas was killed a few years ago.”

Tomasetti frowns. “I’ve never heard of them being in this part of Ohio.”

“Populations are scattered,” Hooper tells him, “but they have arrived. They prefer the unglaciated areas in the southeastern part of the state. That said, they’ve been seen in nine counties and their numbers are growing fast. These animals are prolific breeders. They’re smart, adaptable, and mobile.”

“And a potential danger to people,” I say.

“Without a doubt.” Hooper nods. “I would say this particular animal is mature. It’s likely been around people and has little or no fear of them. It may even associate people with food or feeding.”

“Where did it come from?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Feral swine can cover a lot of ground in a relatively short period of time. This one may have come in from another county. They’re opportunists when it comes to food, you see.” The wildlife officer shakes his head. “This is a very interesting case because I’ve never heard of one this large anywhere in the state.”

“Lucky us,” Tomasetti says beneath his breath.