Humvee watching the little dust he is kicking up as we inch along. The surrounding fields are completely covered with dirt and the flat land makes us stand out like we’re waving banners and throwing confetti. I’m not sure just how close we’re going to be able to get. And even if we do get close, I don’t think we’ll be able to see much over the walls I am assuming are there. But anything we can do to help a teammate is worth doing. As long as we don’t all get killed over it. That result is definitely over in the “don’t want to do” column. My kids are with me so that is to be avoided at all costs. There is a hierarchy in my thinking; my kids, Lynn, the teams, everyone else. I don’t figure much into that equation but I’m not in an all-fired rush to leave this fucked up world either.
We begin heading down small service roads between the fields themselves and eventually find ourselves in a small gully. Shrubs dot the hillsides on both sides and the road ends at a shallow creek at the bottom of the gully. Small, stunted mesquite trees line the water’s edge. Greg pulls to a stop. We shut down and exit.
The gully is deep enough to hide the vehicles without betraying a silhouette. A rancid smell permeates the area. And by rancid, I mean enough to want to stop breathing entirely. Everyone wrinkles their nose and waves their hand under them upon exiting. It’s definitely something that died and, by the smell of it, it’s many of those somethings. There’s nothing else that smells like that and I’m all too familiar with that odor. I wonder if someone has been dumping bodies in the gully.
“There’s one of the largest cattle pens in the country on top of this gully,” Jim says chuckling at our reaction.
“Damn! Smells more like someone shit in my nose,” I hear Denton mutter.
“Follow this stream to the west and, where it makes a bend back to the east, you’ll be about a mile away from the prison. It’ll be to the southwest of you at that point. Not sure what you’ll be able to see from there. There should be some light cover ‘til you’re close to the freeway but then it’s flat, dirt fields from there on out. You’ll have to cross two freeways to get to the prison itself if you’re planning on going all of the way there,” Jim says pointing out places on my map.
“Okay, I think four of us should go. That will keep our presence low but still provide some firepower if we need. Robert, Greg, McCafferty, you’re with me. Horace, you’re in charge here. Keep a perimeter and stay out of sight but be ready to support us if needed,” I say. I’m taking McCafferty because, if something does happen and we have to evade, she knows the area better than we do. Plus it will keep her busy and may ease her tension knowing she is doing something. Again, I can’t imagine the stress that must be going on inside of her.
I notice the shocked look on Robert’s face. “Yes, you’re going. We’re only doing a recon and you’re sneaky as hell.”
The shocked look is replaced with a grin. I’m not sure how he can grin with the smell but he manages. There’s something else in his expression but I can’t quite tell what it is. Gratitude perhaps? Maybe enjoying the recognition? I’m not sure. I have mixed emotions regarding this but I’ve come to realize those won’t ever fade. We’re only going to have a look and, although I’ve worked with him and Bri, nothing replaces experience. I just hope he doesn’t have to experience much more. This new world is wearing me out.
The sun is still just past its overhead mark but it won’t be long before it wends its way further to the west. We have some time but we also have a hike ahead of us according to the map. The heat of the day and pervading smell makes the gully feel oppressive. The small amount of water drifting by slowly in the creek provides little cooling and makes it worse in some way. Perhaps it’s because it’s the brownish water prevalent in Texas and not the clear water of the Northwest I’m used to. Whatever it is, I don’t like it a whole lot.
“It’s a little after 13:00 now. We need to be out of here by 17:00. That will give us enough time to get back with some to spare. We won’t have to stop for fuel so that’s a plus. That gives us two hours in and two out. According to the map, it’s about a mile to the bend and we’ll see what we can from there. Any questions?” I ask. No one responds.
“Okay, get your gear,” I tell Greg, Robert, and McCafferty. “We’re traveling light. Radios, ammo, and bring plenty of water. I’m not drinking anything from that,” I add pointing to the almost stagnant water. “Especially with those cattle pens close by. No telling what has leaked in. We’ll meet in five.” I’ve drunk out of worse places but had plenty of iodine tablets. Well, maybe not worse. There weren’t thousands of dead cows possibly leaking their goodness into it.
We start out along the creek bottom. I’m leading with Greg behind followed by Robert and McCafferty. There’s not much we can do for the smell and I’d like to say we get used to it but I’d be lying. I look for something to put under my nose to help ease the stench but come up empty. I make a mental note to keep Vick’s handy for smells. It seems like I already made that mental note but it apparently didn’t take too well. I used to carry it with me always so I’m surprised I didn’t automatically pack it along. I guess not all things have come back as readily.
The creek meanders some in the gully and there are some trees along its meager banks but not enough to keep us shaded from the sun and heat. The odor seems to get stronger the further down the gully we go but that may be my imagination. The banks are high enough to keep us from becoming outlined in any fashion from above but we take care to keep quiet and proceed alertly. I’m pretty sure no one in their right mind would be close with the obnoxious smell in the vicinity.
The warmth works on us as we work our way to the bend in the creek. I find myself stumbling over the occasional rock or two but we keep it slow so I manage to stay out of the creek. At the bend is the faint outline of a road and a ford. I wonder why we didn’t travel here to begin with. Maybe our approach would have been seen from the prison. Jim seems like a pretty good guy and knows the area well so that may have had something to do with it. Or he didn’t want to get any closer. For whatever reason, we’re here and it’s time to take a look.
There’s a faint path leading upward from the ford. It’s mostly overgrown with knee-high bushes but it’s still distinguishable. As we climb, the sound of birds reaches us. The higher we get, the louder it gets. I hold the others back and crouch low as we near the crest. Reaching a position where I can barely see over the edge, I scan the area. If anything, the atrocious odor hits even harder. Yes, I know I’m obsessing on the stench but the overwhelming smell cannot be adequately described. I’ve smelled mass graves before but those were rose gardens in comparison.
The fencing surrounding the pens is close to the rim of the gully. Black humps lie on the ground as far as I can see back to the east, the direction we came from, and to the south. The size, at least what I see from here, is immense. No wonder the air is so offensive. There must be thousands upon thousands of dead cattle. I can actually hear the drone of flies from my position. The earth within the separate cattle pens is actually a deep red from the literal tons of blood that has been spilled on the ground. Further east is something that just about empties my stomach.
Large lakes, and I mean lakes not ponds, are filled with red liquid. I cannot imagine what they used to look like before as I’m sure evaporation has taken its toll but they are filled with blood. Whoever built this gigantic slaughter yard sloped it in such a way that the blood would eventually flow to these lakes. It’s not just one lake but several that stretch back over a mile. This has to be the singular most disgusting sight I’ve ever seen. It must seep underground to the creek below. I don’t see how it couldn’t unless they’ve lined it somehow but, seeing what I am, I sincerely doubt they did anything like that. I’m thinking the brown I noticed in the water isn’t silt or dirt eroding.
“Horace, Jack here,” I call on the radio.
“Go ahead, sir,” she responds.
“Do not, I repeat, do not let anyone drink any of the water in the creek or wash with it. Don’t even let anyone get wet,” I say. “I’m not even going to tell you why, just don’t.”
“Will do, sir,” Horace replies.
I look around the remaining area with the binoculars. There’s not much to see as the pens continue another half mile ahead of us intersecting a major freeway. The slight cover Jim mentioned getting close to the road does not even merit the word slight. It’s almost non-existent. A few trees or copses of stunted trees spread over a field of brown adjacent to the pens. We can get to the highway via the fields and will have to as there is no way I see us going through the pens. The dead cows and stench aside, we’ll disturb hundreds of birds and their flight could alert others that something is prowling around. I can’t see the prison from my position which is probably a good thing. Other than hundreds of scavenging birds feasting in the yards, their cries filling the air, I don’t observe any movement. I crawl back from the edge and wave the others up.
“You are about to see the worst sight ever. There’s a cattle slaughter yard that stretches for over a mile to the east and a half mile to the west. Who knows how far south it stretches. No sign of any movement and I can’t
