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Blanco County game warden John Marlin was checking hunting licenses on a ranch near Pedernales Falls State Park when he got the call, so it took him more than twenty minutes to reach Safari Adventure.
Driving south on Highway 281, he encountered a line of vehicles backed up at least a quarter-mile from the zoo. Some of the vehicles were making U-turns, heading back to Blanco to find an alternate route. Marlin moved to the shoulder in his state-issued Chevy truck, light bar flashing, and began to ease past the standing vehicles.
As he got closer to the zoo, he saw that several county deputies, Blanco city police units, and a state trooper had already arrived at the scene. All of the vehicles had their emergency lights flashing, but, per the instructions Marlin had given earlier over the radio, none had a siren blaring. Several vehicles were parked in the highway to block traffic in both directions.
Marlin got closer and saw a springbok on the shoulder.
Then a sable.
Then an eland.
And an addix.
Fortunately, this stretch of highway was just two lanes wide. Most of the animals were simply standing, somewhat disoriented, perhaps, but not in a panic. Some of the animals were in the roadway, between vehicles, but most were on the shoulders, grazing, and some had jumped fences onto adjoining ranches.
According to reports over the radio earlier, not a single animal had been hit by a car, which was remarkably lucky. All in all, the scene was less chaotic than Marlin would’ve expected, and most of the motorists were waiting patiently. Several were taking photos or shooting video.
Now Marlin saw a camel.
And a small herd of fallow deer.
Two llamas.
An ibex.
He parked behind Sheriff Bobby Garza’s marked unit, not far from the zoo’s front entrance. Marlin could see Garza and Lauren Gilchrist, the chief deputy, about forty feet off the highway, between the zoo’s parallel ten-foot security fences, in an area that had been cordoned off with yellow tape. The tall grass between the fences prevented Marlin from seeing the body that had been reported by the 911 caller.
When Marlin first heard about the situation from dispatch, he wondered if one of the zoo employees had been killed by an animal. That seemed possible, but why had the chain been cut on the outer gate? Was the person a trespasser? Had somebody wanted the animals to escape? Maybe the death was something more than a tragic accident. For now, though, that was not Marlin’s immediate concern. He needed to round up these animals without herding them through the crime scene.
He jumped out of his truck and quickly filled a bucket with cattle feed from a bag he kept in the bed. Never knew when you might need to coax a stray cow back into a pasture. He also grabbed a pair of bolt cutters, then walked toward the nearest deputy, Ernie Turpin, who was attempting to round up a nilgai—a large Asian antelope that stood about five feet tall at the shoulder and weighed at least five hundred pounds.
“You got it under control, Ernie?” Marlin said.
“Oh, sure. You can tell I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Turpin had his arms raised, trying to stop the nilgai from going anywhere, but the antelope was confused, and from the looks of it, so was Ernie. The nilgai was used to seeing trolley-loads of visitors trundling around the zoo grounds with buckets of feed. The animals would approach and be fed by hand. They were essentially tame, although it was always wise to exercise caution around any animal that large.
“You trying to dance with him?” Marlin asked.
“I would if it would work,” Turpin said. “Think he two-steps?”
“More like four.”
“You got a plan?”
Marlin gave Turpin a gesture that said, Just a minute, and keyed the microphone attached to his uniform. “Folks, it’s Marlin. Can I make a suggestion here?”
The state trooper—an amiable guy named Max—said, “We’ve been counting on it.”
Marlin said, “I’m fixing to see if I can lure some of these guys back inside the fence. There’s a utility gate about fifty yards south, so I’ll use that one, for obvious reasons. Just make sure everybody remains in their vehicle. There’s a good chance some of the animals on the other side of the highway are gonna come running.”
“This should be good,” Max said.
They picked the hitchhiker up and learned that his name was Garrett, then silence followed for the first mile. Garrett was sandwiched between Red and Billy Don, who stood six-four and weighed three hundred pounds, or maybe more nowadays.
Red was pleased that he couldn’t detect any obvious body odor coming from Garrett. On the other hand, Red had to wonder how long it would take for scabies to spread. He wasn’t sure what scabies was—or were—but he knew it—or they— spread easily and made you itch.
Of course, there was always the chance that Garrett might not have scabies. He might have something worse. It wouldn’t surprise Red if a hitchhiker was carrying any number of strange diseases or conditions. Scabies was just one example. It must’ve popped into Red’s head simply because the name was so creepy. Scabies. Sort of a combination of scab and rabies. Yuck.
Garrett, possibly without scabies, was sitting quietly, staring at the road ahead.
“So where ya headed?” Billy Don finally asked.
“I’m not real sure,” Garrett said. “How far are you going?”
He had a funny accent. Not like foreign or something weird like that, but from the north somewhere. Or the east. Or the northeast. Not from Texas, that was for sure.
“Know where Purgatory Road is?” Billy Don asked.
“Not really.”
“Know where Fischer is?”
“No.”
“How about the Little Blanco River?”
“I’m not from around here,” Garrett said.
“Okay, well, if we stay on this road, we’ll pass the Little Blanco River, and then we’ll pass real close to Fischer, but you won’t even know, ’cause there ain’t much there anyway, and then, maybe ten minutes after that, we’ll take a right on Purgatory Road. We’re going down that way a couple miles.”
Garrett appeared to be in his twenties—just a kid—but it was hard to tell, because his skin was kind of weathered, and he needed a shave. Red figured he was an outdoorsman. Or...Red was starting to wonder if the guy was homeless. He was carrying a backpack, which was now cradled in his lap. Red wondered what was in there. Drugs? Booze? Scabies ointment?
“I guess you can just drop me off at the turn for Purgatory Road,” Garrett said.
“That’ll be fine,” Red said.
“But where’re you trying to go?” Billy Don asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Garrett said.
“You don’t have any kind of final destitution?” Billy Don asked.
Garrett grinned. “A what?”
“A place where you’re wanting to end up.”
“I thought I might go to the shore,” Garrett said.
“The what?”
“The shore. The beach.”
“So you mean the coast?” Billy Don asked.
“Yeah, sorry. The coast.”
“Gonna fish?”
“No, just hang out. I’ve never been there.”
“Which part of the coast?” Billy Don asked. “Don’t go to Galveston. Maybe Port A or Rockport, or go all the way down to South Padre.”
“Quit badgering him,” Red said.
Billy Don said, “He needs directions, is why. If you keep going east on 32, you’ll hit 12, and if you take a left, you’ll end up in Wimberley, which is the wrong direction from the coast. But if you take a right, that’ll take you to San Marcos and I-35. But then you’ll have to decide where you’re gonna go.”
Garrett said, “Okay, great.”
“You got a phone so you can look at a map?” Billy Don asked.
“We’ll just drop him off,” Red said, because this wasn’t turning into an adventure at all. More like a pain in the ass.
“Anywhere’s fine,” Garrett said.
“What are you doing on 32 if you’re going to the coast?” Billy Don asked.
“Honestly, I just wanted to get off 281, because I saw a traffic jam and a bunch of cop cars,” Garrett said. “So I turned around and started walking back toward Blanco, and then I decided to take this road.”
“You turned around because of the cops?” Red asked, because now he was wondering if Garrett was a wanted fugitive, on top of having scabies.
“More or less,” Garrett said.
“You got warrants?”
“No, I just don’t like being hassled. Sometimes they hassle me for hitchhiking, or even when I’m just walking.”
“Hassle you how?”
“They stop and ask where I’m going. Sometimes they ask to see my ID, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“’Cause it ain’t a free country no more,” Billy Don said. “Man can’t even walk down the highway. Me and Red figure it’s best to avoid the cops whenever possible, on general principle. Right, Red?”
Red grunted.
“I wonder what all them cops was doing down there,” Billy Don said. “How many did you see?”
“At least seven or eight vehicles with their lights flashing,” Garrett said. “No sirens, though.”
“Was it a wreck?”
“I didn’t see one. I saw something that looked like a horse running across the road.”
“A horse?”
“Yeah, but I was a couple hundred yards away. I don’t think it was a horse, but I don’t know what it was. Anyway, I turned around.”
“That’s a lot of cops for a loose horse,” Billy Don said. “Or whatever it was.”
“That’s what I thought,” Garrett said.
“That zoo’s down in that direction,” Red said.
“That’s right,” Billy Don said. “They got all kinds of weird animals in there. Maybe one of ’em got loose.”
“Hope so,” Garrett said.
That was a weird comment. Red waited for Garrett to say more, but he didn’t. They rode in silence for a moment.
“Don’t your feet get sore?” Billy Don said out of the blue.
“They did at first, but now they’re pretty tough. I have calluses.”
“What’s the most you ever walked in a day?”
“Oh, probably thirty miles.”
“Damn. I’d be wore out.”
“I’m in pretty good shape now. I don’t get tired.”
“You just get up in the morning and start walking?”
“Sometimes I walk at night, or real early in the morning. It’s nice sometimes, especially if there’s a moon. But I have to remember that drivers can’t see me, so I have to stay way off the road.”
Then Billy Don said, “Hey, if you ain’t in a hurry to get to the coast, we could probably use a hand with this job down on Purgatory Road. Wanna earn a few bucks?”
Just great, Red thought. That would mean splitting the money three ways, and probably teaching this guy how to do the job. Maybe he would turn it down.
“That sounds good,” Garrett said. “What kind of work?”