The Fox and the Coyote

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright 2011 Plot Roach

The Fox and the Coyote

By Plot Roach

She stumbled through the sands of the desert, still hot from the day’s sun. She arranged her path by the light of the stars, and found her hideaway before the first rays of dawn. She dumped her pack of scavenged goods, noting that things had been disturbed in her absence. Though the shack contained little more than some old mining equipment and desert brush she used to start her campfires, it disguised the entrance to the cave where she made her home, away from prying eyes and lecherous minds.

And who has been in my home? She asked herself, carefully pacing the land around her makeshift home. That was when she saw him: a bloated corpse whose only companions were the flies buzzing about his mouth and eyes. Cautiously, should the man be less near death than the flies promised, she edged her way to the fallen man and kicked at his outstretched leg. When he made no response, she took a stick and prodded him in a half opened eye, knowing that no matter how good an actor he could be, that it would elicit a response from even the best of opossums. She wiped her hands on her Fox Racing t-shirt, though she had not touched the corpse directly. Still, her hands felt as though covered with his filth.

Satisfied that the man was dead, she rolled his corpse over in the sand, her head wreathed with flies as she disturbed them from their labor. She pulled the pack from his back, pulled off what clothes had not been spoiled by his demise and checked the pockets of his uniform for anything of use. He was dressed in a military outfit that was too large for him, a patch sewn onto the right front pocket declared him Boarder Patrol. She knew the uniform and patch to be fake, having seen the real patrol a few months back. She was rewarded for her efforts with matches, a few protein bars, a wad of cash and assorted bits of jewelry. A gun lay beside him, empty of bullets. She followed a trail in the sand and found six more bodies, all shot in the back. More tracks, betraying those who ran on foot as well as those who followed by vehicle, lead further into the desert, but she would travel no further today, with the sun climbing in the sky and making the heat unbearable. She would follow the tracks come sunset, and find either survivors or more supplies.

She knew what had happened, had seen it far too many times to feel any anger or pity for the players in this act. She had to be as hard as the rocks that decorated the land, her heart as dry as the sand itself. Though the faces of the dead would later haunt her in her dreams, their meager supplies would get her through another day. She stripped what clothes she could use, took what possessions would come in handy and left the bodies for the scavengers of her desert home.

The man in uniform played the part of a ‘coyote‘, taking the desperate through the desert to the ‘promised land’ for a price. But midway through the desert he had turned upon them and killed them in cold blood to take their money and any other valuables that they might possess. The coyote had died of dehydration, not bothering to save a bullet for himself. Perhaps his friends had abandoned him, she thought. Maybe their plan went awry if the real Boarder Patrol had made an appearance. But would they have left the bodies here to rot in the sun? It would be less paperwork to fill out when they got back to the office. And less resources wasted in the meantime.

She took what she could use and left the rest to lie forever in the sand of the desert. She covered her tracks as she returned to her home, checking her water traps along the way. Tangles of plastic covered limbs of desert scrub stubborn enough to thrive in this waste land. As the sun beat down upon them, the plants would sweat their moisture into the plastic folds, where it could be collected into her water bottle and taken back to the cave. The uniformed coyote had died mere feet from one of these water traps, not knowing that his salvation was so near.

Predator or scavenger, both needed to learn the ways of the desert in order to safely traverse it. She nodded to the eyes glowing under the light of the desert moon as they watched her pace around the corpse of the fallen man. Once she was gone from the scene, the coyote lead his pack to feed upon the man who had planned to profit from the deaths of others. They made short work of the body, stopping only to add a bit of urine to mark him as their territory. Then they paced further into the desert to feast upon the corpses of his victims. In death, all meals were equal to the scavengers of the desert.