“Right.”
“Heard of the highway of tears?”
“Not really.”
“It’s mostly young women. Probably a serial killer. That’s bad enough. But the one’s I’m talking about are strong, experienced men. They just vanish. Nothing of them is ever found. Nothing of their gear is ever found. Hardly ever, anyway.”
“Sort of like you,” David said.
Lars looked at him as he thought, yeah, like me. Not many people will wonder where I went or what finally got me. But yeah, to anyone on the outside, now I’m one of those cases.
“Makes for good campfire stories,” David said.
“I’m talking about documented cases. Books have been written by a retired cop. The big parks and tourist towns go through a lot of trouble to gloss these events over.”
“I know about a race of bears out west,” David told him, and saw the instantly satisfied look on the man’s face. “From what I’ve heard, they make an average grizzly look like a gangly yearling. As men, they’re above average height and almost as wide as they are tall. They’re very fierce, for sure. But I can’t say they’d kill random outdoorsmen for no good reason.”
“Yeah, well, these days you have all these clowns running around looking for Bigfoot all night. That could really grate on someone’s nerves after a while.”
David laughed faintly.
“What else have you got for me?”
“I know there are eagles—huge thunder birds,” David answered. “I guess one of them could make someone disappear easily enough, if the mood struck them.”
Lars muttered, “And everybody scoffs at the natives.”
“No matter who is responsible—”
“Or what,” Lars slipped in.
“No matter,” David repeated. “You’ll never find out the whole truth.”
“A little beats none.”
“You’re actually willing to drive yourself nuts for a little truth?”
“It’s rewarding,” Lars said. “It’s a comfort to know that my instincts were right, even when I was younger.”
“So comforting that you can’t sleep …”
“Lay off that.”
David held up his free hand. Chill.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
They were silent a while, Lars poking the fire.
“Okay,” Lars finally said. “So not everything can be completely explained. But some of it can be. And deep down I’ve always known that to be the case.”
“You’re above average,” David returned. “Congrats.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I did.”
“This is something else I know a little about,” Lars said, reaching into his shirt pocket. He produced the little drone he’d been carrying for weeks. “It’s not the work of people harboring half-interested curiosities about the world around them.”
“That’s old news,” David said.
“Not to the folks who produced it. Someone, somewhere is either owed good money for this little wonder, or else they want it back.”
“Maybe it’s old news to them, too. Maybe they’ve got something better by now.”
Lars returned the drone to his pocket and sat there staring at the fire. He knew that these people—these beings—were well beyond human, and to that extent he understood the basis of their unusual confidence. But he could not relate to it. No good fighter goes into a fight without knowing his enemy, he thought. You have to know them a little to respect them at all. Without a healthy respect, there are no real grounds for a comfortable confidence.
“Tell me,” he finally said. “What’s it like? How does it feel to have such … capabilities?”
David made a speechless expression, searching for words. Then his face became sharp with a knowing expression.
“Spill it,” Lars said.
“Like I’ve told you,” David said. “A lot is kept secret from the younger generation around here.”
“Understood.”
“If you keep it under your hat, I’ll tell you a little story that didn’t get buried quite deep enough.”
5
Lars was leaning forward, unable to mask his intrigue.
“Consider it under my hat,” he said.
“I was just a little kid when it happened,” David began. “You know about the big motorcycle rally down in Laconia every June?”
Lars nodded. “Big toll week for this little state.”
“Right. So one year a group of bikers ended up way up here, staying at the resort for a few days. And I don’t mean the kind that are all about custom paint jobs and the thrill of the open road. I’m talking a legitimate gang. Aryan’s or something. And at the time Lester had a teenage daughter who was working as wait staff at the resort—her first job, you know. And she called her father one day—”
“Let me guess,” Lars interrupted, remembering how powerful Lester had been when he’d manhandled him at the farmhouse. “He went up there and beat the — out of a few of them and sent ‘em packing.”
David smiled as if it were all a joke. “To begin with, yeah, there was a scuffle. The resort manager didn’t approve and threatened to call the state police. I guess there was a little damage done in the bar and they were tired of the bikers disturbing all the other ritzy guests. Under that threat, the fight broke up, and an agreement was reached to meet later and finish it. Out behind the restaurant. Settle it there, after dark. No witnesses. No cops.” He laughed. “Like some Outsiders action.”
Lars could imagine Lester easily beating an average man to death. He could picture it happening. And he could picture his father, Joseph, always working to be the voice of reason to prevent it from happening.
David said, “So everyone met up as planned and the old man went down there to try to diffuse the situation. Tried to reason with the lead biker. I guess he offered to cover their hotel bills and everything … if they’d just leave without any trouble.”
Slowly, enjoying the rapt expression on the mercenary’s face, David shook his head.
“Stupid bastards,” Lars sighed.
“Some people just can’t be reasoned with,” David said. “I guess those boys couldn’t be. And as soon as a gun was produced, it all went downhill fast. Joseph, for all his years and learning and self-control, still has his moments. He’s like Mr. Hyde when he sees a gun being drawn.”
Lars was silent as he imagined the shock those men must have experienced when they realized, a few seconds too late, exactly who they were dealing with. Lawless, careless men. Accustomed to being bullies and doing as they pleased. Mouthy and brash. Clueless till the end. Then, in a few seconds, reduced to screaming in terror as they were ripped apart by jaws they never imagined existed. Their buddies panicking, running, trying to start their bikes after seeing the first few guys being butchered alive. Then their blood staining the earth and the night gone eerily silent after that brief eruption of violence behind a cozy little diner evoking the warmth of a grandmother’s comfortable kitchen. Nothing left of them but a warm mess. Probably gathered up by a loader. Hauled across the street by truck. With that many bodies to deal with, most likely incinerated with a few pine boughs to mask the stench. Then the red-black gravel behind the restaurant being graded over before the coffee and breakfast crowd arrived at sunup.
“Total massacre,” David confirmed. “Joseph and his sons carved through at least twenty men that night. It took them a minute or two at most.”
Lars swallowed dryly and reached for his drink. “Twenty, you say?”
“At least. Maybe even thirty.”
“You saw it yourself?”
“No. I was just a kid.”
“Then how can you be so sure?”
“I can show you what’s left of their bikes right now.”
The mercenary’s eyebrows went up.
“Yeah. There’s an old car crusher over behind the lumber yard,” David explained. “The bikes were torched after all the plates were gathered,
out where they burn the scrap brush. Then they were crushed and stacked up like pancakes near the tree line, lashed together with metal strapping so that everything might all rust together, then covered with brush. Nowadays, young trees are growing up all around and through the stacks.”
Lars exhaled. “Efficient. Anything ever come of it?”
“Nothing. And don’t tell me that was the entire gang.”
“Even thugs sometimes have bouts with sensible rationale, I guess. Maybe the rest of the crew didn’t want to meet whoever took out their buddies.”
“They were right,” David said. “They don’t want to meet us. And I can’t remember seeing a long string of bikes ride through this town since.”
“Word must’ve got out.”
“My father, the typically passive doctor, witnessed the whole thing. The only reason he told me was because as a kid I asked him about the scorched scrap metal behind the lumber yard. For years he kept telling me to stay away, not to climb on it and not to mention it to anyone, ever. A few years back, he finally explained why.”
“All right,” Lars said. “You made my spine tingle with that story, I’ll admit it. But now listen to me. There are more dangerous people in this world than drug runners and leathered-up gangs.” He patted his shirt pocket which contained the drone. “The folks who dream up things like this sell their stuff to Uncle Sam to the tune of hundreds of billions every year. They run in tight circles, like glorified, aging frat buddies, and they wear fancy suits to elaborate dinner parties, sipping champagne, while their products are employed by trained men to demand the fear and respect of nations and dictators.”
“That’s fine,” David said, unimpressed.
“I’m not saying that I’m for them,” Lars clarified. “If I had to choose a side tonight, I’d choose your side. I like this side a whole lot better.”
“Good. Because out here, in our element, even the elites are fools to mess with us. Look what happened to the men who came with you. How many came before you and never left? Even I don’t know that number. I’m too young.”
“Thirty years ago, I’d agree with you completely,” Lars stated. “But not now. With all this technology, you’re not as safe as you once were. And the old man knows it. I’m just saying—my point is—the rest of you should accept it as well.”
Now they were both silent, staring at the fire.
In the silence David suddenly turned away from the fire. He was fully alert.
“Company?” Lars asked, feeling strangely excited at the prospect. If he had been alone and sensed something, he likely would have been tempted to reach for his rifle.
“It’s just Evie and Matthew,” he confirmed after a moment. “They’re cool with you, but probably won’t want to stick around and ponder mysteries.”
“I can entertain myself,” Lars said, though he liked this kid and enjoyed picking his brain.
David looked to the dark again. He said, “I’ll be right there,” downed the rest of his soda, tossed the can toward Lars, then he stood from the folding chair.
Lars was shielding the firelight from his eyes and paid no mind to the empty can that glanced off his knee. He was scanning for eye shine between the tree trunks. He couldn’t quite find it. His eyes were too used to the fire and he pictured them watching with their heads low so as to obscure the reflection of their eyes.
“Stay out of trouble,” David said in a friendly manner.
“I could say the same to you.”
“I won’t kill Rowan Merrill,” he returned, now more seriously. “Not tonight, at least.”
Lars nodded but said nothing, thinking, you better not. You really better not touch her until you’ve learned a little more about her.
The young man melted into the dark, discarding clothes as he went.
***
“We looked for you near the barn,” said the silver-white wolf as David came trotting out onto the trail.
“My legs needed stretching.”
“We were worried.”
“He was burning energy,” Matthew said in his defense. “Like we were. As I guessed.”
“I’ve not touched your grandfather’s prisoner.”
“We worried for you, not her,” Evie snapped.
“Who asked you to keep watch over me?” David said, his throat vibrant with the hint of a warning.
“Let it go,” Matthew said, and gave himself a full-body shake in response to the tension he could feel building between the others. He desired fun, not strife.
The silver-white relaxed her posture, lowering her head slightly and saying without words that she did not wish to quarrel. She was only concerned.
“What passes with the hunter?” Matthew asked.
“Nothing,” was David’s answer, and looking to Evie he resumed, “He understands the sort of trouble we have. The old Snow values him for his understanding. We should learn from him what we can.”
“Speak with him during the day,” Evie said. “Now run with us.”
David regarded her, noting the concern in her tone.
Without another word she shot off, lean and stretched long and fast and yet remarkably quiet. She was intending to turn east just south of the farm. She knew that her grandfather was expecting his brother to arrive, and assuming that her cousin was still with the elder Snow, she hoped to meet them on the eastern trail before sunrise.
The two male wolves looked at one another.
“She wants all to be well between all,” Matthew said. “Her heart is right.”
“So it is. But to make things right, we must do more than hope.”
“Leave it for now. This perfect night is passing us by.”
After a moment they started off in chase of the silver-white.
***
For a short time Lars could hear the small sounds of communication they were making beyond his vision—grunts and whines and little growls. Then they were gone and he sat poking the fire, lulled by the flames, comfortable there but feeling jealous and no longer trying to convince himself that it was anything other than envy. No matter how much he learned about them, he would never know for himself just what it felt like to be one of them.
That kid is a little cocky but, damn, I like him, he thought. I like and admire them all. Even their brutality. I can justify it more than the violence of most others because at least there is honor in preserving one’s home and family and this beautiful place, and in that way they are all one large family. At least they aren’t killing for profit or politics as the humans do. Hell, as I have done. Which is why I like them more. I’m getting tired of killing but I’ll kill again if it helps them, because between the two sides, these are more right than the others I have worked for. And those merely for pay. I only hope I’m overreacting about what they’re up against.
He rose from his makeshift backpack chair and gathered up David’s things. It wasn’t so much a parental thing as an organizational thing. He liked a tidy camp, things in their proper place. It had been that way since basic training.
Maybe you are overreacting, he thought. Maybe the woman will tell the old man what he wants to hear and he’ll be lenient, as he was with me. Maybe both sides are getting tired of this struggle and, if there’s anyone out there missing the woman, they’ll take the warning to heart and go away for good.
“But since when do the greedy settle easily?” he asked himself, stacking the clothes he’d gathered.
Since when are the powerful ever satisfied? Is enough ever really enough?
After stacking the clothes up on top of the sneakers he reclaimed his comfortable camp chair. With his rifle propped between his knees, close at hand, he settled low into the flexible chair. With some luck he might catch a nap.
6
“Look at all the dogs,” Lester said.
“Poor bastards,” said his brother Paul. “Let ‘em out.”
“No, you deal with them,” Lester returned. “I’ll do the rest.”
An hour earlier, just afte
r midnight, Paul had landed the Snow’s jet at Logan in east Boston. They’d acquired a rental car under a false name with false ID, paid cash, then driven west to the area of Tufts Medical and then gone on foot to their specific target.
With his Red Sox hat low over eyes, Lester used a tire iron to pry the fire escape door of a drab little building.
The two brothers moved in quickly, not hearing an alarm but feeling sure that somewhere, someone was being alerted.
Now, Paul was opening cages and hauling out dogs, prompting them to run. Most were beagles and several were so accustomed to their cages that they did not recognize their moment of liberation. They had to be pushed and shoved from the room full of kennels and finally the stragglers went along, following those that had already followed their noses to the open door in back. The strange array of smells from the unknown outside world coaxed them forward.
Lester used the tire iron on the gas line where it entered the corner of the lab before fanning out to other rooms. He stepped back, exchanging the iron for a large bottle of starter fuel from his coat, and began back peddling from the room, leaving a winding trail of fuel. He heard his brother kicking open office doors along the central hallway and, as he passed the open doorways, he sent spurts of fuel onto the thin carpets and furniture.
“Move it,” Paul urged from the back door, looking up the hall as his brother came backing from the front room that was now filling with gas.
Lester came on steadily, squeezing every drop from the plastic bottle of starter fuel. He dropped it as he backed through the doorway, where Paul stood holding the door. Then he flicked a lighter, leaning over, moving the flickering flame closer to the last scattered drops of fuel on the metal threshold.
Tall flames stood up quickly, smelling sharply of burning fuel.
Paul slammed the door.
They hustled like two swift running backs between two opposing buildings, and a few seconds later came out under a street light just in time to hear and feel the thud of the small explosion. Glass shattered all along the street side of building. Car alarms began squawking.
Snow Rising (The Great North Woods Pack Book 4) Page 4