Shadow on the Moon

by Connie Flynn

  Insanity! The autopsies of the other victims clearly showed that animals had killed them. The little they'd found left of Deek Kowalski in that mountain clearing didn't contradict that conclusion.

  A rap sounded on the door, and Schumacher got up to let Rutherford step inside. After hastily slamming the door on a frigid blast of air, the captain gestured to a chair. Rutherford unzipped his down vest, took his time settling down, then pulled a folded paper from an inside pocket.

  "The forensic report."

  The captain was about to ask what happened to "sir," then remembered that Rutherford didn't work for his agency. He took the paper, tossed it on his desk, and picked up the report he'd been reading earlier.

  "I want to talk about this." He waved the report just inches from Rutherford's nose. "What kind of bullshit are you pulling here?"

  "I'm not pulling anything, Captain. I interviewed Charlie before the medics coptered him out and that's what he told me."

  "Clearly he was delirious."

  Rutherford nodded gravely. "He did appear to have fact and fantasy confused. Not unusual, considering he'd just found his close friend brutally murdered and barely escaped death himself. But his description is indisputable. Whoever killed Deek and chased Charlie walked on two legs."

  "And was covered with fur. Didn't that make you wonder about the rest of it?"

  "It was dark up there, Captain. Charlie was scared out of his wits. Maybe the assailant was wearing a fur coat. There are a number of explanations."

  "Look, Rutherford, you can't con me." Schumacher rattled the report again. "You'll do anything to get this wolf hunt called off. Even make up a cock-and-bull story like this one."

  "With all due respect . . ." Rutherford paused, cleared his throat. "It sounds like you're buying into those old legends about the canyon as much as Charlie has. My conclusion is the only reasonable one."

  "B-buying in?" Schumacher sputtered. "Buying in! You read the other forensic reports, didn't you?"

  "Yes, I did and—"

  "And, based on the ravings of a half-crazy man, you want us to change the thrust of our investigation? That's outrageous!"

  "As I was saying, Captain, the carnage has never been consistent with known wolf behavior."

  "Then what? There's some cannibalistic serial killer running amok in the canyon?"

  "Ever heard of Jeffrey Dahmer?" Rutherford interjected.

  "Know what I think, Rutherford?" Schumacher leaned over, went nearly nose-to-nose with the man. "I think you know there really is a pack of wild wolves back there, and you're so damned scared they'll rip you up like they did Kowalski, you'll do anything to get out of hunting them."

  "We're getting off track here, Captain."

  Rutherford's cool demeanor fueled Schumacher's anger. Glaring, he wiggled the report inches from Rutherford's face and spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm telling you, mister, if you file this report, I'll go directly to your superiors and have your job before you can say 'What the hell did I do?' You got that?"

  Rutherford stood up. "I can see we aren't getting anywhere." He walked to the door, then hesitated before putting his hand on the knob. "I'm just doing my job, Captain Schumacher. If you think you're right, then I advise you to do yours. I'll let the dice fall where they may."

  Then with another blast of frigid air, he left.

  Schumacher stared into space for a while, fuming over the encounter. Cowards. Just his luck to be surrounded by a pack of cowards. It was almost more than a man could bear. But being nothing if not practical, he soon decided he was wasting time. The forensic report was waiting. He opened it and began to read.

  Tears consistent with animal bites

  There, he thought, feeling vindicated. No matter what Rutherford said, wolves had killed Kowalski.

  . . . bones crushed and wrenched apart

  He shifted uneasily in his chair, not wanting to remember Kowalski's butchered body.

  . . . a puzzling aspect . . . the animal perpetrating these injuries had a jaw span of at least twenty inches.

  The captain's mouth dropped open. Did any land-dwelling mammal have a mouth that wide? He didn't think so. With an unsteady hand, he reached for a rough plaster rectangle that had resulted from his order to make a casting of the print in the forest. When the final product had arrived on his desk, he'd given it mere seconds of attention before slamming it face down and deciding it would make a suitable paperweight.

  Now, he slowly turned it and stared at the markings in horrified fascination. He'd seen these prints, then had vehemently denied the evidence of his own eyes. No animal he knew of left such monstrously large tracks.

  As he ran his fingers over the textured backside of the mold, the motor home rocked on its tires. Beneath the roar of the gale, Schumacher thought he heard a beast howling.

  His teeth began chattering again.

  * * *

  Dana woke up with a start. It took a minute before she realized what was wrong. The room was too quiet. She'd grown used to the ceaseless roar of wind, but now it had finally stopped.

  She leaped up an rushed to the window. Moonlight reflected off a calm sheet of snow.

  The storm was over. She could leave in the morning and be back to her life before nightfall.

  Familiar sounds from Morgan's room broke her moment of joy. How long would those horrible noises he called music last this time? Mercifully, it soon stopped, and seconds later a door creaked, a latch opened, then clicked closed. Dana yearned to follow him and find out where he went during his excursions, but knew it was a foolish waste of energy. She must stay fresh for the long hike ahead. The mystery surrounding Morgan Wilder would remain unsolved.

  So why had she let him kiss her?

  Let him? That kind of dishonesty just wasn't in her. It had felt so right, as if she'd waited for that moment all her life. No, she'd welcomed that kiss and deeply regretted its untimely interruption. She wondered exactly how far she would have let it go if Fenris hadn't saved the day, so to speak.

  Morgan, in many ways, reminded her of wolves. That same untamed quality simmered beneath the surface of his civilized veneer. Also like them, he seldom talked unless he had something to say. She felt he would choose his partner carefully, too, and commit for life. Standard wolf behavior, but not necessarily true for the human male.

  Yet he was also a loner, which wasn't common among wolves, those very survival depended on pack cooperation. It wasn't even common among humankind.

  How had a city psychiatrist come to live in such solitude? What horrible loss had he suffered to make him leave everything behind?

  She would never know.

  Trying to deny her sorrow, she drifted back to bed, but found she could only toss and turn. As she sat up to straighten the tangled covers, she again heard music.

  Not Morgan's usual listening tastes. Drums beat steadily, rhythmically. A flute, its high, sweet notes calling to something deep in her soul. She listened for a time, transfixed, then realized the melody wasn't coming from the bedroom.

  Then, from afar, she heard barking. Fenris, who'd been snoozing by the fire, jumped to his feet and loped to the door, where he gave several yips before darting to Dana. He nudged her hand, whined, hurried back to the door and stared at her imploringly. When Dana failed to move, he again rushed to her side, still whining. The dogs continued barking.

  Something was wrong at the kennel!

  Dana jumped up and grabbed the jumpsuit from the rack, then pulled it on. Moments later she was in her boots, gloves and snowshoes in hand.

  When she yanked the front door open, snow again fell across the threshold. She paused, trying to decide if she should take time to shovel it away. But the barks outside were becoming frantic yowls. Dana stepped over the wall of snow and tried to kick enough away to allow the door to close.

  Fenris knocked her aside, squeezed through the crack, and leaped from little porch to rush toward his teammates.

  "Fenris!" Dana called. "Fenris!"


  But he was already just a dark streak on the moonlit snow.

  Giving the door a pull that finally closed it, she tossed down the snowshoes and quickly donned them. As she began plodding after the disobedient runt, she slid her gloves over her rapidly numbing hands.

  By the time she reached the smokehouse, Fenris was throwing himself at the kennel fence. When he saw her, he whirled, lunged several yards in her direction, whirled again, then stared into the distance.

  A large white canine loped along the rim of the canyon.

  Aphrodite had escaped!

  Dana called her name, but she continued running.

  The team was now milling around the pen, some baying, some leaping at the fence, and when Dana got there she saw Aphrodite darting along the perimeter of the enclosure.

  Then what was . . .?

  Her heart skipped a beat, but she immediately recovered. No, Morgan was right. Her dream of finding wolves was simply that—a dream. More likely, that dog belonged to Lily and Jorje.

  Just then the distant dog stopped, turned to look at them, and let out a chilling yowl. Fenris broke into a frenzy of barking, and the other dogs joined in.

  Dana stared in dismay. Should she try to run the dog down and return it? As she turned to grab a harness and leash from a small shed beside the gate, Fenris gave an angry snarl, then lunged through the churning snow after the white dog, which spun and took off along the ridge of the canyon.

  Oh, God! Morgan would kill her if she lost his dog again!

  She started clumsily after him, leash in hand. The two dogs loped along the canyon, Fenris several hundred yards behind the white animal. They sank and rose in the swirling snow, their forms silhouetted against the sky like the undulating humps of a sea serpent. Crystalline flakes pelted Dana's face as she forged on, head bowed against the wind. After what seemed a long period of time, the white dog neared the forest that intersected the canyon lip.

  Dana struggled to move faster. If she didn't catch Fenris immediately, he'd disappear into the thick woods. Not only that, a thick cloud was now drifting toward the moon. If it moved over it, she wouldn't be able to see a thing.

  She shouted Fenris's name. He turned, and looked at her briefly, then continued after the white dog. The cloud covered the moon. All was black.

  Dana stopped. In her alarm, she'd given no thought to her own safety. Now her body hummed, and she realized she was alone in a place where people had been brutally murdered, without even Fenris to protect her.

  The music was still playing, coming from somewhere off to her left. The drumbeat quickened, the flute notes almost danced, and the melody grew even more beautiful.

  A sheep bleated pitifully. Not pastoral baas, but the cries of an animal frightened out of its wits. Dana's body vibrated like the strings of a harp and she struggled to retain her wits.

  Mercifully, the moon reappeared. Dana peered through its silvery light, searching for Fenris. She let out a wail of despair. Where had he gone? She had to find him!

  Here the snow had grown crusty. Giving a frustrated scrape of her snowshoes, Dana began skating closer to the canyon's edge, calling Fenris's name. When she neared the lip, she hesitated, cautiously moving forward. Her eyes followed a glimmer of moonlight reflecting on smooth rocks, and she saw a path that led to a clearing below.

  Huge stone towers jutted from man-high snow clusters, but otherwise the clearing was oddly bare of snow. Dana assumed the canyon walls either protected the location or it was so windswept that snow blew off immediately. Regardless, she found the results more ominous than pleasing.

  A fire blazed down there, and Dana crawled forward to get a closer look. A band of men sat around the flames. They had been making the music, Dana saw, and it was now growing more passionate with every note.

  One of the men got up to throw several more logs on the fire. It flared, allowing Dana to see the sheep tethered just feet from the edge of the stone-rimmed pit. Although not as frightened as before, it still skittered nervously within the confines of the rope. Streaks of vivid blues, oranges, and reds stained its wool, looking like hieroglyphics.

  The man picked up a long-stemmed pipe and raised it high over his head. He wore a thick fur cloak with a hood fashioned from the head of a mountain lion. The lion's mouth was open; fangs glimmered in the firelight. Dana scanned the circle and saw the others were similarly dressed. Some wore simple cloaks and headbands, while others had on elaborate headdresses decorated with fur or feathers, beaks or laws or fangs. Several men pounded on crude drums, while another held a reed flute to his mouth.

  The standing man brought the pipe to his mouth. A second later he exhaled a rising stream of smoke circles. He then took the pipe to another man and sat down. More puffs of smoke rose to the sky.

  Some kind of Native American ceremony, thought Dana, watching as they passed the pipe from man to man. Were these the Indians Morgan spoke of, or simply Native Americans from the surrounding reservations trying to restore the old ways?

  Regardless, she didn't care at the moment. She'd already seen more unexplainable occurrences, met more eccentric people, than she'd ever cared to. All she could think of was finding Ferris. Had he gone down there? She squinted, searching the shadows, but saw him nowhere.

  When the howl came, Dana jumped like something had hit her.

  The sheep bleated in panic and lunged against its tether. The men shot to their feet. In a whir of activity, they gathered their instruments. Before Dana could collect her thoughts, the entire band had disappeared into the trees.

  Another howl came, chillingly near. Then all was quiet again except for the squeals of the lunging sheep.

  The sounds had chilled Dana's heart just like the ones she'd heard at the base of the mountain had. This was no ordinary wolf howl. Had the men made those noises? She'd been sure they'd come from the forest.

  And Fenris was still out there somewhere!

  Although her skin prickled like she'd fallen in a cactus patch, Dana knew what she had to do. She took off her snowshoes and dropped them and the dog leash on the ground. Then, although she was almost too scared to breathe, she inched her way down the rocky crevasse. By the time she got to the clearing, the sheep was screeching in terror, fighting its tether until it fell, then scrambling up to try again.

  She looked at it in pity, but Fenris was foremost in her mind. Hollering as loud as she could, she traversed the clearing, seeking the runt, praying he was all right. Each echo of her voice sent her blood racing, and after a while she gave up.

  Still the sheep bellowed and struggled to be free.

  For just an instant, Dana wondered why the Indians had left it there. Then it came to her.

  However unnatural those howls sounded, they did come from wolves. The men had left the sheep to keep the wolves away from themselves. Had she been less frightened, she would have shaken her head at their misguided efforts. Wolves were hunters, and providing such easy prey dulled their skills so much that they sought more of the same.

  Like Fenris.

  She glanced back at the sheep. If she freed it, might it then draw the pack away from anything else roaming in the forest? She thought so, and moved closer.

  Unwilling to risk a kick from those sharp hooves, she picked up a stick, then inched her way to the fire pit and shoved it in the flames. Soon she had a torch, which she held in front of her as she approached the sheep. Caught between two foes, it froze. Dana cautiously bent to release its tether.

  The stake went deep; the thick rope was braided from many strands of leather. With one hand holding the torch and the other covered with a heavy glove, her dexterity was poor, and she found untying the rope very rough going.

  Another howl echoed through the canyon.

  Dana trembled and continued working. She heard another howl, louder, nearer. Then another.

  Her breathing got heavy. Her heart skittered.

  Finally the tether broke free. The quailing sheep almost collapsed in fear. For a moment it simply star
ed at her with wide, darting eyes.

  "Shoo!" she shouted, waving the torch near its face.

  With a last piercing bleat, the sheep spun and ran into the woods.

  Feeling weak with relief, Dana turned toward the path. When she was just feet from the crevasse, she heard the sheep cry out again, its voice rising to a shriek that was cut off by a sickening sputter. She felt a moment's regret, then told herself it was the way of nature. At least the pack would be feeding for a while, giving Fenris a chance for survival.

  She cried his name again and waited, hoping beyond hope he would show up. When he didn't, she started for the trail.

  Just then leaves rustled in the underbrush. She broke into a run, knowing even as she did that it was no use. As fit as she was, she couldn't outrun hungry wolves. Their keen noses would sniff her out instantly. She needed a small place to hide, too small for them to enter.

  She scanned the clearing, searching . . . searching. The rustling became a deafening rattle. Her skin burned. Slowly, she backed up toward the crevasse, wielding the torch.

  Something burst from the forest wall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dana almost dropped the torch.

  A figure charged out of the woods, rapidly gobbling up the rocky span with long, two-legged strides. It was taller than the door to Morgan's cabin and covered in silver-white fur. Moonlight gleamed red in its deep-set eyes and reflected off its sharp teeth. Garbled inhuman snarls streamed from its pointed snout, which was open a staggering width.

  Dana's scientific side noted that the creature had both canine and primate physiology, but her fragile, human side simply gaped in astonished terror.

  Grandmother, what big teeth you have, she thought giddily as the creature drew so near she could see saliva dripping from its fangs.

  She bolted for the crevasse.

  A clawed hand clamped down on her shoulder, creating searing pain. She tripped. Her tumbling body slipped from the creature's grasp and she rolled over, waiting for the pounce that would end her life. Instead, the attacker regarded her for a heartbeat, then lifted its head and let out a sound.