Ulrik

by Steven E Wedel

  As he’d hoped, Fenris gave up the chase. Ulrik went as close as he dared as a wolf, then changed his shape. The stretching of his torn flesh was an agony. He cried out with the pain, but then it was over. He crawled through the snow toward the British soldiers. When he was within hearing he called out to them.

  “I am an American,” he yelled. “Help me.”

  * * *

  It was the first battle I ever lost.

  The phone rang again, pulling Ulrik from the troubled dream. He picked it up on the third ring and settled himself back into his chair. “Yes?”

  “Me again,” Laura said.

  “What has happened?”

  “Oldham came out of the house and went back to his group,” she said. “Hess and his two cronies jumped him, tied him up and threw him in the back of a pickup with a camper shell on it. They loaded up all their equipment and most of them drove away. There’s just one guy left to watch the house. No fancy equipment I can see, other than a pair of binoculars.”

  “That is odd,” Ulrik said. “Can you make a guess as to what the meeting was about?”

  “No,” she said. “Not unless … You know … it was to make some kind of agreement with Fenris.”

  “Yes,” Ulrik said. Would Kiona really turn on me so? He knew the answer. “Be ready for some kind of activity,” Ulrik said. “John Redleaf will have his airplane at the municipal airport. If they have struck a deal with Fenris, they likely will go to meet with him soon. Since it took two days from the time Kiona began calling to Oldham until Hess arrived, we can surmise that Fenris’s base is not close by. Hess was living in Colorado, I believe.”

  “That’s what I’d heard, too,” Laura said.

  “Be ready,” Ulrik said. “Be ready. Call me again when you have more news.” He hung up the phone and stared at the device.

  Chris is alive. Shara should know this. I must tell her.

  “When the time is right,” he whispered. “Fenris may kill him yet.”

  Kiona

  “There is a little town near the place where Ulrik has Joey,” Kiona said. “John will fly us to the nearest airport, then we will drive to the town. From there – ”

  “What town?” Chris asked.

  Kiona held her irritation in check. “I told you that I will not tell you that,” she said.

  “If we’re partners in this, you should tell me.”

  “No. I don’t want to run the risk of you leaving us and setting out alone. You have to trust me,” she said.

  “Trust you? Fuck that. Trust runs both ways. You haven’t told me shit. Where is my wife and son?”

  Kiona fought back the urge to hit Chris. She saw his eyes move from her face to the clenched fist she pressed against the surface of the kitchen table. She started to answer, but John Redleaf broke his silence first.

  “Las Sombras,” John said. “In Mexico.”

  “Dammit!” Kiona raised the fist and slammed it back on the table. “Damn, John. Why did you do that?”

  “He is right,” John said. “We must trust him. His goals are the same as yours. At least for now. He will not try to sneak away. My airplane is his best way of getting to his family.”

  “My goals. Her goals,” Chris said. “What about your goals? Why are you in this, John?”

  “I owe a debt to Kiona,” he said.

  “Can we just get back to the plan,” Kiona said. She realized Chris had not addressed John by his name at any time previously. The idea of them becoming friends wasn’t pleasant. She wasn’t sure how long she would need Chris Woodman once Joey was in her care again.

  “Fine,” Chris said. “We drive to Las Sombras. Then what?”

  “Then you call your wife and demand she bring Joey and meet you in town,” Kiona said. She watched Chris study her for a moment, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Just like that?” he asked. “You think Ulrik will let her just walk out with Joey?”

  “You’ll be calling during Ulrik’s cycle,” Kiona said. “He probably won’t be there. If he is, he’ll be unable to fully communicate with your wife.”

  Chris nodded. “I see. You think it’ll work?”

  “No,” Kiona said. “If it does, our task will be easy. But I don’t anticipate it.”

  “So … then what?”

  “We attack.”

  “Attack?” Chris asked.

  “Yes,” Kiona answered. “Ulrik has werewolf sentries posted in the woods surrounding the house. John will distract them. As you know now, his Gift is to become a bear. He is much more powerful than a wolf. He will attack sentries, drawing them away from the road leading through the woods to the house. You and I will drive to the house.”

  “That still seems pretty easy,” Chris said, then glanced at John. “At least for me and Kiona.”

  “There may still be guards on the road,” John said.

  “Yes, I’ve thought of that,” Kiona said. “But I think they’ll let Chris pass. He is the boy’s father. I doubt Ulrik has given any instructions about stopping him. Especially since he thinks you’re dead.”

  Chris seemed to think about it for a moment, then asked John, “How long can you distract the werewolves? How dangerous is it for you?”

  “Long enough,” John said. “When we left, Ulrik’s sentries were scattered over a large area. The idea, I think, is that an alarm will be raised about my attack, so the nearby guards will be coming toward me when you approach. I likely will not face more than three or four wolves.”

  “Are they always wolves?” Chris asked. “No one in human form, with guns?”

  “Ulrik wouldn’t tell me much about his sentries,” Kiona said. “I know many of them have been friends with him for a long time. I suspect they have weapons available to them, but Ulrik is old fashioned. He will expect any attack to come from enemies in animal shape and will expect his guards to meet that attack the same way. It is a weakness of his.”

  “He is unwise in that way,” John agreed.

  “We flew the airplane right up to the house last time,” Kiona said.

  “Then, why don’t we just do that again?” Chris asked.

  “It’s important we go when Ulrik is in his cycle,” Kiona reminded. “That also happens to be the time of John’s cycle. He can’t fly the plane as a bear.”

  “Oh.”

  “We drive in,” Kiona said. “We grab Joey and get out and meet John at his airplane. It’ll be at least two days from the day of the attack before he’ll be able to fly us out.” She paused and saw that Chris was about to ask another question that wasn’t any of his business. “His cycle lasts a day longer than Ulrik’s,” Kiona said to cut him off.

  “What about Shara?” he asked.

  “I’m not interested in your wife,” Kiona said. “If she won’t come to meet you in town, why would you care about her?”

  “She’s my wife,” Chris answered.

  Kiona saw that he hadn’t thought the matter through, that he still believed his bitch would come running back to him. She wondered if McGrath would be ready to kill Woodman for the bitch. Or the other way around.

  “If she comes, fine,” Kiona said. “I won’t wait on her to make up her mind or pack or anything else. We’re in, grab Joey, and we’re out before the sentries close on the house. There are too many of them for us to face alone. McGrath is not coming with us.”

  “McGrath,” Chris said. “No.”

  Woodman looked so sad Kiona almost felt pity for him. She dismissed such feelings quickly, though. “That gives us a little over a week to wait here, then we’ll leave for Mexico,” she said. Woodman didn’t even look up at her as she spoke. That infuriated her. “In the meantime, I guess we just need to find something to keep us occupied.

  “John,” she said, “Why don’t you join me in the bedroom.”

  Kiona was deliberately vocal during the lovemaking until she heard Chris storm out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  “You act like a schoolgirl in your jealousy,” Joh
n said, slowing his motion for a moment.

  “Nobody asked you,” Kiona said. “Just finish this.”

  “Do you really believe you can turn him against his wife?”

  “I don’t think I’ll have to,” she said.

  “So you torment him for your own pleasure,” John accused.

  “What do you care?”

  “I didn’t say that I care,” John said.

  “Then shut up.” Kiona pushed at his broad shoulder until he relented and allowed her to assume the dominant position. She rode him hard and when she climaxed it was a cry of anger as much as passion that came from her mouth.

  The next morning, while the men still slept, Kiona slipped out of the house, drove south to a lodge in Oklahoma’s Arbuckle Mountains and tended to her cycle for four days.

  Ulrik

  Ulrik prowled his house, pausing outside bedroom doors, listening to people sleep, his mind filled with the past, present and future. In one room, Joey slept deeply, his dreams seemingly untroubled by the thoughts that plagued him during the daylight hours. Since returning from his cycle, the boy had been sullen and morose, not willingly participating in Ulrik’s lessons, and staying away from his mother as much as possible. Joey’s gray eyes sometimes followed Shara, but were more often fixed on Thomas McGrath, glaring at the man.

  Outside, Ulrik knew Thomas had joined the sentries patrolling the wooded perimeter around the house as his cycle came upon him. During the day, he often remained around the house in his wolf form, following Shara like a pet. During the night, though, he went to prowl the forest and hunt.

  Ulrik paused before Shara’s bedroom door. Her sleep was troubled. He heard her tossing in the bed, often moaning, sometimes crying out. What troubles her so? Thoughts of Joey’s dislike of Thomas? Of Joey’s destiny? The fact Thomas was not by her side? He was unsure.

  At least she does not have the burden of adultery on her shoulders, too.

  Ulrik was not sure what to do about the Chris Woodman situation. He liked the man and would not have him killed. But it troubled him deeply that Kiona and John Redleaf were with Chris, meeting with Fenris’s people.

  I should not have sent Kiona away. I should have confined her here where I could watch over her.

  Ulrik shook his head and moved silently away from Shara’s door. What was done was done. He went into his bedroom and closed the door. He didn’t turn on the lights, but he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers of his bed.

  I am old and I sleep alone. Always alone.

  The silence seemed to weigh down on him, pushing at his chest, covering his face. Ulrik threw the covers off and went to the small stereo he kept on a bookshelf. He pushed the play button and adjusted the volume as the violin strains of Vivaldi floated across the room. He went back to his bed and closed his eyes, letting the music wash the cares from his mind.

  The sound of a wolf mingled with the violin. Ulrik knew it was Thomas McGrath, calling to Shara, singing a love song to her in her sleep.

  That he should be her lover …

  * * *

  His wounds healed, Ulrik left the British company that had treated him. Their medics marveled at his speedy recovery. Ulrik gave the commanding officer a story about being parachuted into Germany, but separated from his unit. The wolves, he said, had attacked him soon after landing. They had torn away most of his clothes in the fight, leaving him to run naked from the one wolf he had been unable to kill. The officer could give no information as to the location of the unit number Ulrik made up, so Ulrik thanked them for their care, the clothing they’d given him, and struck out, supposedly to rejoin his unit.

  Instead, he returned to the forest, killing German soldiers whenever the opportunity presented itself. He watched for the silver wolf, or a man with silver hair, but did not see him again. Hitler had returned to Berlin, so there was no sense howling at his fortress. Ulrik preyed on the soldiers, killing scouts, foragers, sentries and men on the edges of large camps.

  But eventually the war ended. Guerillas, calling themselves werewolves, continued to fight. Thinking he might find the silver-haired one among them, Ulrik hunted the men who refused to surrender, often living in devastated villages and helping to rebuild homes, roads and businesses in the areas where guerilla attacks came regularly.

  When those attacks subsided, he finally felt the pangs of homesickness. He left Germany, moving westward across Europe. He met Douglas Summers in a pub in Amsterdam. They’d recognized each other for what they were instantly, but Summers did not challenge the newcomer.

  “I have heard of you,” he said. “You are the one called the American wolflord. No one has had word from you in many years. We thought you may be dead.”

  Ulrik recounted his time in Siberia and his activities during the war. Summers, too, had been stalking and killing German soldiers, but had been operating on the edges of the Nazi empire. They became friends. Ulrik remained in Summers’ company for nearly a month, until the man told him a story.

  “There are rumors the Mother was found,” Douglas said one evening when conversation lulled and there was no other amusement to be had in the Dutch tavern. Ulrik lowered his glass of dark beer and stared at his new friend for a moment.

  “The Mother?” he asked. “She has been found?”

  “That’s the story I’ve heard. The McGrath clan found her in your homeland. Oklahoma, I think it was. One of the newer states.”

  “Tell me more, man,” Ulrik urged.

  “You know the McGraths?”

  “Yes. I met Luther McGrath many years ago. I did not like him.”

  “What I was told was they were living in the country there, luring young men and women to their place for sex. Some of the local girls became pregnant, but they died before giving birth.”

  “Yes, I have heard that is what happens to women who are not the Mother,” Ulrik said.

  “But there was one, a young woman named Katherine Cross, who seemed ready to carry her child to term. One of the other McGraths, Thomas, I think, was the father. So the story goes. But there was a doctor and a schoolteacher who knew about the McGraths. They killed the girl and her child.”

  “Killed her?” Ulrik asked. “Are you saying that McGrath found the Mother and did nothing to protect her?”

  “It would seem so,” Summers said. “I have spoken to others of our kind who have visited the little town. They have seen the grave. Like many victims of the McGrath clan, the girl’s grave has an epitaph announcing who killed her. The stone says she was murdered by human wolves.”

  “You have spoken to people who have seen this?” Ulrik could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  “Yes. There were several such stones, but I hear many have been desecrated now. The McGraths left the area after the girl died.”

  “When?” Ulrik asked. “When did this happen?”

  “Several years ago. During the First World War, I believe.”

  Ulrik sipped his beer, thinking. The McGraths are running recklessly across the country, seducing and killing women. People are marking grave stones with warnings of werewolves.

  “These are bad tidings,” Ulrik said.

  “Indeed. The Pack should take some action. But I fear that will not happen. There is no unity among us,” Summers said.

  They may find the Mother before I do.

  “Tomorrow, I must take my leave,” Ulrik announced. “I must go home and put a stop to McGrath’s recklessness. He is a danger to the Pack.”

  “I suspected you would say so,” Summers said. He reached into his pocket and removed a sealed envelope that he pushed across the table to Ulrik.

  “What is this?”

  “Your ship leaves at dawn.” Summers smiled. “I will miss you, my friend.”

  Ulrik laughed and shook the man’s hand. The next day, he boarded a steamer bound for America. The nation had changed a great deal in the decades he’d been away. There were paved highways, new government buildings constructed by men hired durin
g the Great Depression that had happened in the 1930s. The cities were more crowded than ever and there was less farmland as families moved to new houses built in the suburbs. Ulrik fled the East, traveling by train to Oklahoma.

  He found the small town of Konawa and sat in the grass over the grave of Katherine Cross. He discreetly asked questions in town. Most people refused to talk about the dead girl, but Ulrik was able to learn of the death of the doctor who had killed her and the disappearance of the schoolteacher who had helped. Some said the schoolteacher, too, had been turned into a werewolf and hunted the woods around the town.

  There was no sign of any of the McGraths. Ulrik bought a house in the city of Shawnee, north of Konawa, but soon he became bored. He felt it necessary to stay in the area, however, and began casting around for a vocation. He took a job at the local Catholic university and watched the newspapers, tracking reports of people dying in animal attacks, and of other incidents that could be the result of rogue werewolves.

  In the late 1950s he recruited several friends and they went north, to Nebraska, and found several members of McGrath’s clan. Luther escaped that time, and on two other raids over the next twenty years.

  During that time, Ulrik found university life agreeable enough. He remained at the Catholic institution for fifteen years, until he suspected his colleagues would have to begin noticing that he did not age like they did.

  Ulrik moved north, taking another university job, teaching biology at North Central Oklahoma University in the early 1970s. He remained there for almost another fifteen years, until his tenure was interrupted by the arrival of Shara Wellington.

  * * *

  His phone rang. Ulrik opened his eyes and found that morning was creeping into his bedroom. He rolled from the bed and stumbled toward the telephone.

  “Hello?”

  “Ulrik, it’s Ben.”

  Ulrik thought for a moment until the name and voice registered. Ben Vernon. Newspaper reporter in Kansas City. Been a werewolf for about twenty years. “Yes, Ben,” he said.