The beautiful southwestern desert, bathed in moonlight. The peaks of red stone cast eerie shadows. In the side of one cliff, an embedded T-Rex skull glows white under the full moon.

A flock of sheep grazes on the sparse greenery of the desert floor below. A shadow moving too fast to see races past the bones.

The sheep stop and seem transfixed by what is before them. While the lead sheep stands hypnotized, the rest of the flock whirl around and race away.

Across the desert floor a scream echoes. Then nothing.

The sun comes up, bright white. A few isolated roads cut through the desert. The air will be suffocating by noon. A rundown cabin sits alone along a desert road.

Inside, a sleeping Virginia slowly wakes. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and considers the upcoming day.

An attractive woman, long-limbed and body like a length of rope. She’s seen a couple of seasons, her light skin is now a permanent tan and her hair has been bleached out by the relentless desert sun. An old scar cuts through her forehead. Her black shepherd, Frank, sleeps curled around her head. She mumbles. “Once again into the breech’” and forces her eyes open.

She sits on the side of the bed and looks around the room. It’s shabby and small. Along one wall is a makeshift kitchen. In the center of the room, a table stands, covered with papers, dirty dishes, silverware, coffee cups and other unattended household tasks.

The dog refuses to move. “Cmon Frank. Another day in paradise.” He reluctantly gets up.

With knees and ankles cracking she walks to the wall where her uniform hangs from a hook with Frank’s jacket next to it. Virginia takes Frank’s jacket off and puts it on him. He immediately puffs up with pride. The jacket, bright yellow with the black words POLICE DOG.

Once he’s set, she slowly takes her uniform off a hook and dresses for the day. She reaches into the breast pocket, pulls out her sheriff star and pins it on.

Frank eyes her and when she’s almost ready, he sits behind her waiting. Unknowingly, Virginia steps back and falls over the dog.

She crashes backwards, upsetting the table. She lies flat on her back while being showered with dishes and cutlery. With all the wind knocked out of her, she slowly starts deep breathing until she fills her lungs with air.

“Frank!” The dog walks over and starts licking her face.

Virginia reaches up into a cabinet and pulls out her sidearm and radio. She puts on her gun and switches on the radio, then picks up a case of bottled water and the two head out to start the day.

Outside, her cruiser, a beat-up old 4-wheel drive Jeep sits in front of the cabin. She stows the water in the back, then unlocks the gun safe and checks that the gun is ready if needed, then locks the safe.

Virginia opens the car door. She motions to the seat “Load up, Frank.” With a little woof, Frank hops in the car and takes his position riding shotgun. She gets in and turns the key.

After some resistance, the engine catches and roars to life. Despite appearances, the car tears across the desert floor, kicking up heavy waves of sand in its wake.

The Sangre de la Luna sheriff’s office is a small, squat building at the end of a dusty road in the middle of the nowhere. A hitching post and water tank for locals’ horses sit in front.Virginia pulls up and screeches to a stop in front of the building. She steps out of the car, the bright sun glinting off her badge. She adjusts his belt, whistles for Frank, slams the car door and briskly walks inside.

The office is as grim inside as it is outside. A group of mismatched desks with blinds on the windows trying to keep the heat out and failing. Virginia flicks on the fan sitting on a filing cabinet behind her and settles in at the desk. A stack of folders sits to the side of an ancient computer. With a sigh, she opens the first folder and begins typing, not quickly, using two fingers.

Outside the sheriff’s office, an old truck, held together with zip ties and promises, pulls up. The farmer, Juan Lopez, skin baked by the sun into deep creases, slowly gets out. He walks into the station and stands at the door. He quickly takes off his hat, fingering the battered rim.

Virginia briefly looks up and goes back to typing. “What brings you in, Juan?”

“Somethings happened.” He fidgets, rubs his forehead with a dirty hand. “Thought you’d look it over for me”.

Virginia stops what she’s doing and studies the man, his face worn, dust-stained with streaks from sweat. His eyes are darting left and right.

“What’s got you spooked, Juan?”

Softly he says “Virginia, just come look.”

Juan’s beat-up truck, one dented fender flapping, drives slowly and turns onto a makeshift road. Virginia follows behind, Frank watches the truck.

Juan pulls up and stops near several resting sheep. They recognize his truck, stand up and walk towards it. One sheep remains on the ground. Frank, head out the window, smells the air and jumps out.

Virginia grabs her camera and the two walk over to the downed sheep. Juan pulls out a bandanna and wipes the sweat off his brow. “It’s Lulu”.

They both study the ground. The only signs of trauma on Lulu are two puncture holes in her neck. No other signs of trauma, no blood, no disrupted ground.

Virginia determines that the body is now in rigor mortis. “Happened last night sometime. It’s strange” says Virginia, “No signs of predation. Can’t be a cat, the body would be torn up. Can’t be wolves, there wouldn’t be anything left to find.”

Virgina looks up and studies the landscape, only a red butte juts up to the east and then nothing but sand, stone and arroyos in all directions. She bends down and begins snapping pictures, moving the head and legs around looking for any clue as to what happened here.

Juan whistles and his dog jumps out of the front window and sits at his knee. He makes a hand gesture and the dog begins herding the sheep. Although they’re reluctant, one bark of the dog and they begin moving down the road.

“Have you seen anything like this? ” She asks him.

He shakes his head. “When I was a little boy in Mexico, my abuela told me about …”

“About what?”

He again shakes his head, “An old folk tale to scare little kids into going to bed on time”. In a strangled voice, Juan says “Can I take her home, Sheriff?”

“Sure Juan, there’s nothing much to do here”.

Juan gathers Lulu up and gently places here on the front seat of the truck. He climbs in and putters away following the sheep.

Virginia watches him go. “What in the holy hell is this?”

Frank looks at her and howls.

The sun is starting to set with only the sound of light chipping and scraping. John Welsh and his daughter, Sam, are meticulously cutting stone away from a bone. Brian, taut and focused, looks up at his daughter and takes a drink out of a canteen.

“How’s it going over there?” Sam stops, brushes away the chipped stone she’s working on, and smiles. “Almost ready.” Sam, taller than her 12 years, is thin but all muscle.

“Same here. Let’s finish digging and cover it up for the day. We can come back tomorrow to jacket.”

“Right”.

They stand and start unfolding a blue tarp, laying it gently over the bones and secure the edges with rocks. Busy with what they’re doing they don’t see a glint of light off glass in the distance.

On the mesa, Six, a muscular man with a angry scowl, quickly lowers the binoculars. Beside him stands Chaco patiently waiting for instructions. Despite the high temperature, Chaco pulls down his hat and adjusts the long sleeves to protect his pale complexion and light eyes.

“Get them ready. We’ll go tonight”. Chaco nods and vanishes into a cave hidden in the rock wall.