County, calling Unit 4. My radio chirped. 4. I responded. Unit 4. Respond co-2 to a one-car

motor vehicle accident. I'll drink 33 in the area of Marlmark of 44. Call a state here

to dear. Vehicle inoperable. I sighed and put down my phone, putting my

Sherry tower in gear and gently pulling out of the parking lot I was comfortably sitting

in. Unit 4 copies. Responding. I said into the radio, putting it back into its holder.

Roger Unit 4. Time of dispatch. O-239. Working third shift has its perks. Slow nights

not much to do, especially in a rural county here in Montana, where the only crimes seem

to be boredom. Having been born and raised here, I knew this area like the back of my

hand. I could navigate it in the dark. Hell, blindfolded, and I could tell you exactly

where I was, solely from the ground I was standing on. Not much really happened of

no tear. The people kept to themselves. They were friendly, humble and kind. Some people

worked in the city close by, but most worked in their farms. They were hunters, home

bodies, people preferred by their own solitude, rather than the hustle and bustle of bigger

cities and towns. The county I worked in as a deputy sheriff was large, so large in fact

that it took over an hour just to get from one side of my patrol route to the other.

It didn't bother me, and since most people here own firearms, break in some property

crimes so I seldom sell them. Our job was mostly to wrangle at the trunks at closing time

and chase the cow that always seemed to wander out of their pastures. Tonight seemed to be

no different. A passing motorist hid a deer. Quite common really, especially with a large

matter space between houses and people. Animals pretty much had free roam of the place.

But I come to learn quickly. Tonight wasn't like most nights. Tonight would show me that

solitude, while often brings peace, can also bring horrors untold. The red and blue lights

...