The old man stepped out from behind an oak just to Cami’s right, nearly scaring her out of her mind. She yelped and dropped to a knee, bringing her weapon up on instinct. Marty stood there in full camo and cracked a grin on his weathered, wrinkled face.
“Why don’t you lower the pistol, missy. I wasn’t shooting at you.”
Cami dropped her aim and stood, while her cheeks flushed. “Sorry—I’m sorry, Marty…you just startled me.”
“Well, you got good instincts, but you’d have been dead if I’d wanted.” He lost the smile and shook his head sadly. “Gonna have to work on that.”
“What do you mean, I’d have been dead—Marty, what is going on here?”
“Let’s stop waving that pea-shooter around—”
“I was aiming!” she snapped. “What is it with everyone today…”
“I had you dead to rights when you ran outta your house like your hair was on fire. You got to think tactically from now on, missy.”
“Missy?” Cami said, cocking her head. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind for waking her up at such an ungodly hour when he shuffled to the left and her eyes fell on two corpses, covered in grayish, mottled fur.
“Coyotes,” Marty said, watching her. “Took ‘em just now, trying to get at my quail. Can’t have that. Got to protect my littles.”
Cami brought her hand up to her mouth to hide her smile at such a grizzled old man calling quail his “littles,” like they were beloved grandchildren.
“They want the meat, see?” Marty said, looking down at the dead coyotes. “But I do too, and I got this,” He grinned at her, holding up his AR. “Natural cunning and youth is no match for age, experience, and deception.” He spat on the corpses.
Cami leaned against a tree and let her heart rate slow back to normal. “You scared me half to death.”
Marty looked at her and frowned, though his eyes were kind. “Good. You need to be scared, what with you having that girl at home.”
“Marty, she’s in college…she can take care of herself.”
“Still a child.”
Cami shook her head and smiled. “So, you don’t need any help? There weren’t any intruders?”
“Not the two-legged kind, no,” he said, spitting again. “Not yet, at least. Don’t need no other help, neither. But you do,” he said, nodding at her. “I suppose I can help, on account of we’re neighbors and all.” He sighed. “You folks make a good buffer for me.”
“Buffer?” asked Cami. “What?”
“Just now, when you come runnin’ out of the house, if I’d been up to no good, you’d be dead or worse. And your little girl at my mercy.” He raised a hand. “I know you got that young buck in there with you—but I could tell the moment I saw him, he ain’t no fighter. Probably plays a mean video game…”
Cami’s shoulders slumped. How could he have known that much? “We never even saw you…how—”
“Just ‘cause you can’t see a man don’t mean he ain’t there.” He tapped the side of his head. “Age and experience, missy, age and experience.” He reached down and grabbed the tail of one of the coyotes. “Want to get that other one? Just grab the tail—that’s it. We’re gonna drag ‘em over here and dump ‘em down the ravine out back. Let the skunks have ‘em.”
Cami followed her elderly neighbor through the trees and fallen leaves to the back of his property, where the forest preserve border ran along the length of his yard. They found a shallow ravine just where he’d said, and they shoved the coyotes over the edge to tumble, limp as rag dolls to the bottom, scattering leaves and twigs along the way.
“Now,” said Marty, producing a filthy rag from his back pocket. “Here, wipe your hand on this—them things are fearsome dirty.”
Once cleaned, Marty lead her back to to his house. “This is what they was after,” he said, showing her the camouflaged quail pen. Once it had been a play fort, ubiquitous in suburban back yards and made of the same red cedar no matter where they were found.
“I thought you told me this belonged to the previous owner…and you were just too busy to have it removed?”
Marty nodded, catching his breath after the walk from the ravine. “True. Never had kids of our own. But no one ever woulda thought to look in here for our quail. Especially that nosy homeowner association.”
Cami smiled. Harriet Spalding, on the executive board of the local HOA, would positively have kittens if she knew Marty surreptitiously kept livestock right under her nose. “This is genius, Marty.”
“It suits my purposes. Fresh meat and plenty of eggs. They grow fast, they’re quiet, and they don’t take much in the way of upkeep. But they can’t protect themselves against coyotes.”
Cami nodded, watching the adorable little birds scurry to and fro in their enclosed, multi-level habitat. The wire grated floor let all their droppings fall into a removable tray to keep the ground clean under the treehouse. Water bottles and food containers hid behind false panels on the back of the structure, creating a self-contained, protected habitat.
“I can see you’re very proud of this—and you should be,” Cami said. “Something like this could come in very handy if things go any further sideways.”
Marty nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.” He looked at the birds for a moment, then turned back to Cami. “I have a proposition for you, missy.”
Cami smiled.
“Don’t get yer hopes up, I ain’t that young no more.”
Cami laughed. “You’re alright, Marty, you know that?”
“‘Course I am.” He cleared his throat. “Listen here, missy. I’m getting up in age—I know, I still look like a spring chicken,” he said when Cami smiled, “but
