Episode 1: Good Company
"Holy Cow," quipped Severs, noisily shifting his cigar stub from one down-turned corner of his mouth to the other.
"I'm not sure what got into her," said Laura. With trembling hands she cracked open the breach of her shotgun. A pair of red shells popped over her shoulder, forgotten even before they vanished in the dewy hay. "She's been acting kind of strange ever since that big ol' bastard jumped the fence from company stockyard last week."
'Company' was a polite way of cussing Bovinity, the ubiquitous cattle ranching outfit that was poised to put Laura and all the other small-time ranchers out of business. They had brought over some selectively-bred monstrosities from Europe, promising "Twice the beef in half the time!" over the traditional Holsteins that gave the city its name.
The potbellied Sheriff got slowly to his feet and snuffled. "Hell of a shot, though. Put her eye right out."
Laura nodded grimly. "Bessie was the finest ol' heifer I ever had," she said, pulling her hat down over her eyes. She wasn't about to let the sheriff see her cry. Severs nodded, put a hairy forearm around her shoulder. Laura found it strangely discomforting.
"Tell us again, ma'am, what was wrong with her," said Deputy Forrest, striding up with pen and paper in hand. Laura ducked away from the Sheriff and propped herself up on the fence.
"Sure," she said. "Bout a week now, she ain't been herself. Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't come when I called her. This evenin' I noticed she was actin' all mean toward the others. Even took a big ol' bite right out o' Jezebel's haunches. That's when I had to put her down."
An agonized moo rose up from the barn.
"Jezi in there?" nodded Severs.
"Yup," said Laura. "Careful with her. She's angrier'n a hornet."
Severs sauntered off, one hand resting on the pistol he had only ever fired at intimidating sheets of paper.
"That it, ma'am?" asked Forrest.
"Far as I know," said Laura. "I ain't about to accuse anyone, but all's I know is that ever since that company bull broke loose and mounted up a few o' my best heifers, strange things have been goin' on."
Jezebel's pained moos could be heard coming louder and faster now. Forrest gazed over at the massive stockyard next door, separated from Laura's little ranch only by a wire fence and a knee-deep mud creek.
"That fence ain't holdin' 'em for very long," he said. Laura shook her head in agreement. The mooing all-of-a-sudden morphed into more of a cry or a scream; the kind of sound a goat makes when it's being eaten alive by a cougar.
"Ain't no sound I ever heard a heifer make," said Forrest.
"Me neither," said Laura, clearly distressed. She fumbled in her pocket for another pair of shells, then hurried toward the barn. Forrest, revolver in hand, hastened to catch up. Sheriff Sever's alarmed voice echoed out.
"Now, just settle down there, little--
There was an awful, blood-curdling cry--almost a roar--followed by the shocking, percussive sound of gunshots.
"No!" cried Laura. The Sheriff backed out into the pale, dawn light, dumping his revolver's final two shots from the hip in true cowboy fashion.
"Get clear!" he cried, fumbling to close the door and reload at the same time. Before anyone could react, Jezebel--or whatever was left of her--smashed headlong through the planks. She had been perforated with bullet-holes all about the head and neck, but she didn't seem at all phased. She had grown bigger since Laura had seen her last, and the whites of her eyes were showing, giving her a very disturbing, almost... human look. She was on top of Severs in no time, gnawing on his forearm with an unnaturally unhinged jaw. The old sheriff whipped her ineffectually with the butt of his pistol.
Laura took aim with the shotgun, closed her eyes and touched off both barrels at once. The kick just about separated her shoulder, and the impact shredded Jezebel's flank from hip to neck. The old heifer went quiet for a moment, then turned toward Laura with rage in her eyes.
"Go!" cried Severs, scrambling away, extra bullets falling everywhere but into his gun. Laura stood in abject terror, her hand absently retrieving the final shot from her pocket. Jezebel snapped her wild eyes back and forth between the wounded sheriff and the terrified rancher, finally lunging at Laura. With lighting reflexes, Forrest shoved her out of the rampaging heifer's path, then coolly took aim and put a bullet through the apple-sized patch of skull that housed the bovine's brain.
Jezebel's front legs buckled, and she went over in a bloody, muddy somersault, then came to rest some distance away. By now all the other heifers in the barn were mooing and tramping in fear. Severs got up, shakily slamming half a dozen hollow-points into what he feared was little more than a pea-shooter at this point.
"The hell's goin' on?" he said, eying up his arm with a grimace. Laura shook her head, put the last round in her gun and trained it on Jezebel's fallen carcass.
"We should go," said Forrest, ejecting the single spent casing from his own weapon and replacing it with a fresh one.
"Just a minute," said Laura, inching ever closer to her second slain heifer.
"No, we should go now," insisted Forrest, looking around nervously. The mooing was getting louder and more frantic.
"Hang on. I just want to see--
Jezebel snapped up and turned on Laura with a vicious roar. Severs, Forrest and Laura let loose, and the heifer's head practically exploded under all the incoming firepower. Thirteen shots later, Jezebel's pulpy remnants hit the ground, and there they lay very, very still. When the ringing in his ears had died down, Severs spat out his cigar and chuckled nervously.
"That was close," he said. Forrest and Laura shot him nervous glances. Before they had even lowered their weapons, the barn wall gave way under the weight of a dozen mooing, stomping, salivating heifers. They bowled right over Severs, who disappeared beneath their rampaging bulk with nary even a scream.
"Run!" cried Forrest, grabbing Laura by the forearm. The petite rancher threw down her weapon and took flight. They sprinted toward the squad car, parked near the gate where Bessie lay. Forrest got there first, sliding over the hood and manning the wheel. Laura went feet-first through the open window, landing more-or-less in Forrest's lap as he turned the engine, slammed the old Crown Vic into gear, gave the busty rancher a quick wink and showered their bovine pursuers in three-hundred-and-fifty horsepower worth of dust and pebbles.
As they carreened down the driveway, Laura got into her seat, her chest heaving, tears streaming down her face. She chanced a look behind them, noticing that the cows had abandoned their pursuit and had instead engaged in a feeding frenzy around Jezebel and poor sheriff Severs. She glanced at the ditch where Bessie's corpse lay, squinting in the morning light.
"What the..." she muttered.
"What is it?" asked Forrest.
"It's Bessie," said Laura. "She's gone."
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