Page 20 of Silent Bones
“This one’s Rachel Ames,” she said. “Seventeen. Pulled from the tent near the firepit. Preliminary cause of death is blunt force trauma, upper thoracic crush, consistent with repeated high-impact blows. Multiple ribs fractured inward.”
Noah nodded. “What about the tearing?”
Addie tapped the screen and flicked to the next image. “Postmortem. Not precise. Some of the tissue suggests frenzied movement after death… clawing, pulling, not cutting. Like something kept going after she was already gone.”
McKenzie’s face darkened. “In alignment with what an animal might do?”
“Possibly,” Addie said, but her voice had a question mark in it. “But not your usual pattern. I’ve seen black bear maulings, this isn’t that. No clear arc paths, no defensive tearing. This was wild, yes. But not instinctual. It feels… directed.”
Noah looked down at Rachel again. Her face was turned to one side. Peaceful, in a way that made the rest of her injuries seem impossible.
Addie stepped back. “Two of the victims, Harper Lane and Jesse Linwood, had mud caked on their feet and calves. No shoes. No socks. They ran but didn’t get far.”
“So they saw their attacker,” Noah said.
“Seems so. The others were caught off-guard. Still in their sleeping bags.”
She flicked to another photo on the tablet. “Brandon Kent’s injuries are less defined. Same blunt force, but no tearing. But the bruising suggests restraint. Possibly hit from behind.”
McKenzie frowned. “Ambush?”
“Or surprise.”
The hum of the refrigeration unit pulsed louder in the pause that followed.
McKenzie glanced down at the covered body. “This doesn’t feel like a Friday night gone wrong.”
“No,” Addie said. “It doesn’t.”
She turned the tablet toward Noah again and brought up a final image, a set of deep lacerations on one victim’s back. “These are… odd. They resemble animal claws, but the spacing is off. Too uniform.”
“Could it be a tool?”
“Maybe. But even then, it would’ve taken serious strength to get this deep through muscle and bone. Whatever did this was strong. Unnaturally so.”
Noah felt a cold settle in the center of his chest. A weight that had nothing to do with temperature.
“Gut instinct?” he asked.
Addie hesitated. Just for a second. Then her voice softened. “I’m not saying it was animal. I’m saying I’ve never seen woundsquite like this.” She looked between them, eyes darker now. “And I’ve seen a lot.”
Noah waited until Addie had covered the body again before reaching into his coat pocket.
He pulled out the small evidence bag, a ziplock with a few wisps of dirty, dark fur. The kind you’d almost miss if you weren’t looking. But once you saw it, it didn’t look like it belonged.
“I found this at the scene,” he said. “Caught on tree bark near the lake. Thought you might take a look.”
Addie took the bag, holding it up to the light. The strands clung to the plastic like static. Her nose wrinkled slightly.
“Could be animal,” she murmured. “Might be synthetic. Hard to tell with just the eye.”
She set it down on a metal tray beside the roller. “Here’s the deal. I can run a basic microscopy test, maybe get a broad classification like canine, feline, ursid. But if you want anything conclusive, I’ve got to send it to Albany or Syracuse.”
Noah nodded. “How long?”
“Three days if I beg. A week if they’re backed up. And with Labor Day chaos? It will probably be longer.” She looked over her glasses. “Unless it’s a golden retriever in a parka, we’re going to need a specialist. If you know one, you might have better luck getting them to take a look at it.”
Noah reached back into his pocket and pulled out a second bag, this one sealed, labeled, and holding a small plastic pouch with a white powder residue.
