One two. One two. Left foot right. Left foot right in front of the other. Left footprint right. Right. Right. Right left right.
Head down, Meli took care to step in each footprint his partner made for him in the sand. Easier walking that way. Meli would have thanked him for that, if he had thought of it. Meli didn't think about such things. He needed to focus, especially on a bad day like this.
Two cigs in my pocket. One two. One two. Keep the mind focused, that's what you do.
Mist blew in off the Lake Lawrence, a chilled blanket that dampened his clothes. The cold did him good. Made him feel. Kept his mind focused.
One two. One two.
He didn't scan the beach even though he knew their job was to drive out any squatters. His partner was worried they could get plugged out here. Murders happened on this strip of beach. No sense thinking about it. He needed to focus.
Two men shot dead. One two. One two. One in the back and one in the head. One two. One two.
Some mornings were good. This one was not. A screaming face had stared up from his oatmeal. Eyes squint shut, wrinkled brow, contorted face, mouth a yawning O of pain. He ate it before it ate him.
One two. One two. Just keep movin, that's what you do.
He kept moving. He hoped his partner hadn't noticed the trouble he was having. Any complaints could get him busted right out of the MPD, they said. He needed to keep focus when the yips came. And he had come for him this morning. Swarming over his eyeballs, in his ears, up his nostrils. The yips had him bad.
One two. One—
Posten stopped short and cut the air with his hand. "I see something."
The sand rolled like waves before them and suddenly Meli felt sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes for a long blink.
"Your lucky day," Posten muttered. Was he talking to him? Meli was going to ask but thought twice and didn't. He seemed to annoy Posten.
They walked further up the beach toward a dark mound being pulled at by the surf. Before long they could both see it was a body. Posten used his foot to roll it over and they saw, beneath hair matted with sand and gore, that it had been a young girl torn apart by dogs. Her gaping wounds seemed to open and close in song, red raw mouths. Meli looked away.
"Looks like I should have shot him after all," Posten said.
"Who?" Meli asked.
Posten was exasperated. "The guy who did this to her."
What was he talking about? Dogs did this. If this was some kind of joke, Meli didn't find it funny. "But those are dog bites."
A sudden icy fear sezied his throat and he was overwhelmed by vertigo. A phantom hand turned his chin so he faced the lake, where he saw something floating toward them over the waves.
Posten snapped at me, scowling. "You scare the hell out of me every time."
"Sorry," I say absently, looking down the beach. "Thought I saw something."