The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2)

by Shawn Underhill

  Next she flipped to a section near the back. It was regarding secrecy and the modern trends of fascination with the paranormal—strange wording for occurrences that had been happening since the dawn of time. Open hostility was obviously the greatest fear. Brief examples were given, most from old news clippings, of people experiencing strange encounters with odd, frightening creatures.

  The most intriguing part of the binder involved missing persons. An overwhelming amount of cases took place far from mean city streets and crime-ridden neighborhoods. A troubling amount of incidents were actually in or near national parks and national forests—places intended as tranquil escapes. Evidences were presented for the purposes of the parks themselves; they were not necessarily set aside only for enjoyment and preservation, as the story goes. The theory was that at least some of the parks were set up to help contain threats to the masses. In doing so, if that truly was the case, the government seemed to be making a strong statement by their actions.

  The limited pages within the binder contained no clear answer as to how much the government knew. But even with their involvement, under close watch of forestry services, unsuspecting people still went missing in parks and forests year after year. Many cases were eventually explained; in most instances the lost were found and the dead or injured were discovered. But a smaller, legitimate segment of disappearances never reached anything near a satisfying conclusion.

  Several specific cases were cited, where people entered the parks and forests to camp or a have a picnic, and simply vanished. Thorough searches turned up nothing. And there again she saw the issue of tracking dogs failing to find or refusing to continue searching certain trails, leaving their handlers without explanation. It was if these people had never existed. Not a single bone was found, not a wallet, not a stitch of clothing.

  The realization that her own kind, her own family, could be blamed for some such disappearances was hardly a comforting feeling for Evie. But still it left the question of the government. How much did they know?

  The pages before held no answer.

  ***

  “I really am sorry,” Erica said.

  Evie jumped at the sound of her cousin’s voice. She’d been so focused on her reading that she’d lost all touch with her surroundings. Looking up and around and at the clock, she saw that forty minutes had passed since she’d last lifted her eyes from the binder.

  “Sorry,” Erica said again. “I honestly didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s fine,” Evie said. “Don’t worry about it.” When she looked at her cousin’s face she could tell that she’d been crying.

  “I’ll get a handle on this thing,” Erica said, taking a seat at Evie’s side. “I really don’t want problems between us.”

  Looking at her then, Evie knew her words were heart-felt. “I know, Air. It’s okay. This whole thing is crazy.” She waved the binder. “Really crazy.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The missing people.”

  “Ugh. You can bet that half of those are cats. They kill each other sometimes, and others.”

  “Hey,” they heard their grandfather say, and as both looked over, from the doorway of his study he whispered, “Get over here.”

  They complied without a word.

  “Your grandmother is very tense,” he said as they entered the room. “Close the door behind you.”

  Erica shut the door softly and then stood beside her cousin. Their grandfather had a small TV playing the news on low volume, which he now watched intently.

  “They keep repeating more of the same,” he said. “Of course there’s plenty of speculation flying around, but so far nothing apart from the early accounts has surfaced. That’s best case scenario for us.”

  “How long will it go on?” Evie asked.

  “The media coverage will only last until another story draws their attention away. Perhaps a raccoon will overturn a trash can in another town and pry them from our backs. The wardens will last a little longer. They don’t like giving up until it becomes hopeless.”

  “If I was Celia, I would’ve punched that reporter this morning,” Erica remarked.

  “That’s exactly why you aren’t allowed back to work for a while.”

  “I’m with her on this,” Evie said.

  “And that’s why you will be sticking close to this house, unless you’re with me.”

  Evie looked at him quickly. “Are you going out again?”

  “It’s time we paid your friend Ed a visit. I owe him my sincere thanks.”

  “For what?” Erica said.

  “The story on the news is true,” her grandfather said. “The old rascal did shoot a cat.”

  “The one that was trying to kill me,” Evie finished.

  “You’re kidding,” Erica said.

  Evie shook her head.

  “Well, he won’t be back,” Erica said. “Abel finished him. No one down south will find him.”

  “I heard,” Joseph said. “Now let’s get going. The day is burning.”

  ~11~

  “What’s with the parks?” Evie asked. She was in the back seat of her grandfather’s big four-door truck. Erica had called shotgun a split second before she had as they pushed through the front door, each trying to be ahead of the other. Now they were just passing the greenhouse.

  “I can’t offer you solid facts,” her grandfather replied. “As you read, we have our theories and suspicions. As for my opinion, I’m almost positive that someone knows. Maybe not exactly, but someone knows there’s something of special interest and special ability.”

  “Hunters,” Erica said. “The dangerous ones, I mean. Why else would they come?”

  “That’s my fear, yes. But who sends them troubles me more.”

  “The government sends hunters?” Evie asked.

  “I can’t say it’s the government itself,” he explained. “Contractors employed by them are the most likely candidates.”

  “M.I.B.,” Erica said in jest.

  “Don’t joke,” her grandfather said. “There may be more truth to those stories than you’d care to know. Remind me later to show you some facts. For now, take my word that there are certain people in this world who would love nothing more than to crack the secrets of our genetics.” He looked at Evie in the rearview mirror. “That is what Eustace meant when he referred to a ‘living specimen.’”

  “Gah,” she said, and turned her head to look out the window as they left the long driveway and joined the road leading into town.

  The Kitchen was still packed as they passed. The convenience store was equally busy.

  All this attention, Evie thought as they passed the Wilson house, for such an awful thing.

  ***

  Just beyond the windy section of road where Evie had chased the moose, they made a right-hand turn into Ed and Lucile’s driveway. Moving slowly up the gravel drive, they saw that Ed’s truck was home.

  “Let’s hope he’s not out hunting,” Evie said. “From what I gathered, he’s obsessed.”

  “He has been all his life,” her grandfather confirmed.

  As soon as Joseph Snow parked his own truck, the excited old man appeared on the porch, smiling ear-to-ear. The men shook hands as Joseph offered his deepest thanks. Ed waved him off and promptly invited them in. All three Snows endured the intense scrutiny of the Beagles before settling in.

  “You too, hey?” Ed said to Erica.

  She nodded and smiled at his excitement.

  “I can’t tell you, Joe,” he said turning, “how good it feels to be sure that I’m not a nut.”

  “I’m sure it’s a relief,” he smiled. “But you understand our need for secrecy.”

  “Sure, sure. But even if I can’t say a word, it feels good to be certain. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, that day over at Nash Stream …”

  “I knew you were there,” Joseph said. “I just hadn’t spotted you quite yet.”

  “Hear that, Lucy?” he said to his wife, standi
ng against the counter looking embarrassed.

  “Yes, dear,” she said, smiling at Mr. Ludlow. “I hear you.”

  ***

  Erica stepped away while the two men went back and forth. She moved into the living room as if to pat the dogs. Once there, she signaled her cousin to follow.

  “What?” Evie whispered, stepping up close.

  “What was grandpa saying about Eustace?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” she replied with a shrug. “Maybe he meant they want to catch one of us and study us. What else is a living specimen?”

  “That is some serious crap!” Erica whispered. “Grandpa knows; he just doesn’t like talking about it in front of us.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s fine by me. I don’t like thinking about it.”

  “What if it’s true? What if they do catch one of us, like with a tranquilizer, and haul us away to study? They could make wolf soldiers!”

  Evie slouched down to pat She, who was wagging her tail quite obliviously. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Air. It’s like all that treasure stuff. They’re not gonna let us know until it’s their idea.”

  “My dad would shoot me down if I asked him,” Erica thought aloud. “Who can we ask?”

  “You’re so pretty,” Evie said to She. “You hate those mean cats, don’t you?”

  “Red!”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. We need to ask someone. Would your mom spill the beans?”

  “I’m not asking my mom about this mess!”

  “Why?”

  “Because …”

  “Holy freaking pain in—”

  “Will you drop it!”

  Their grandfather suddenly spoke loudly enough to draw their attention. “Is this true?”

  “What?” they said at once.

  “Ed says you’ve promised him free meals for life.”

  “I said that,” Evie admitted.

  Ed laughed loudly. “See? I wouldn’t lie to you, Joe.”

  ***

  Within an hour they were back in the truck. Once Evie had gotten her cousin to let go of the newest conspiracy theory, they all had a good time visiting with the old couple. At the end of the driveway they had to wait for a nearing truck to pass.

  “Headed north,” Joseph said. “I’ll bet that bed is packed with camping and hunting gear under that tarp.”

  ***

  “Look alive, men,” Lars said from the driver’s seat. They were passing a driveway and entering the last windy section of road before Ludlow.

  “Already,” grumbled the man from the passenger seat. His name was Trigs.

  In the back seat Hudson and Givens stirred.

  “You weren’t with me last time,” Lars said. “It’s only fair that I warn you again.”

  “Blah-blah,” mocked Trigs. “We’ve handled it all, from terrorists to rogue grizzlies. We can handle a few cougars.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Lars said.

  “No,” Hudson said through a yawn.

  Lars laughed, thinking, You idiots, I’ll be spending your share of the reward when they kill you. “Do you recall the Milton case from the late nineties? Out west.”

  “Only I was with you then,” Trigs said. “Sally and Nancy didn’t join us for another year or two after.”

  “What is it?” Givens asked, leaning forward. He was the youngest but most serious of the three protégés.

  “A man,” Lars began, “named Joshua Milton had himself a very strange encounter out near Ketchum, Idaho. He was driving home late after a few too many beers. Ignore the cliché. He hit something with his truck in the middle of nowhere. Something large. He assumed it to be a bear.”

  “Probably couldn’t tell it apart from one of those mountain women,” Trigs laughed.

  “Listen,” said Lars. “Milton got out of his truck thinking he’d hit a brown bear. Like all good country boys he had a rifle in the cab of his truck, and it was a damned good thing he did. The bear wasn’t dead, just injured, and very, very angry. And it wasn’t a bear.”

  “What?” asked Givens.

  “A wolf is what he claims.”

  “No regular wolf,” Trigs mocked. “He claimed it was super wolf.”

  “You saw the photos of his truck,” Lars said to Trigs. “Explain that.”

  “Go on,” Hudson said from the back seat. Though not as serious as Givens, he was listening closely; he liked to know all the angles of a possible threat.

  “Mr. Milton adamantly claimed to find a massive wolf struggling away from the scene. When the animal realized Milton had stepped out of his truck, it tried to attack him, though it had broken legs on its right side from the impact. Milton put six rounds into it to stop it. The sixth shot was to its head as it made its final lunge at him.”

  “So where did this wolf end up?” Givens asked.

  “No one ever saw it,” Lars said. “Mr. Milton got himself home and passed out for the night. By morning police had found pieces of his truck, and being such a small place, they knew his truck and connected him with the scene. They took him into custody for hitting a man. That’s who they found dead on the roadside. A man.”

  “His truck was badly damaged,” admitted Trigs. “But for all we know, he could have hit a tree before hitting that man. The guy was heavily intoxicated.”

  “There was hair and blood stuck to the crumpled truck fender,” Lars countered. “Not bear hair and not human hair. It was indeed wolf hair. And the wolf it belonged to left a serious impression in that truck. No typical gray wolf could’ve done that sort of damage.”

  “So what else?” Givens said. “What’s the guess?”

  “My guess? I’d say when the natives out west talk of shape-shifters, listen close.”

  Givens cursed under his breath.

  “I’m not joking,” Lars said. “Those legends are found all over the globe. Another detail … the police recorded the place of impact in the dirt. The wolf—or man—wasn’t crossing the road when he was struck. He was ten to fifteen feet off to the side. Milton was so drunk he was swerving on and off the road. The victim was likely watching, waiting for the idiot to pass.”

  “I just got a chill,” Hudson laughed. “Good story, boss.”

  “What else?” Givens said flatly.

  “The victim himself,” Lars continued, “though looking nothing like the huge wolf Mr. Milton described, proved quite fascinating. Multiple examiners drew similar conclusions. Though the man appeared to be in his thirties, forty tops, tests suggested he was much older. Between eighty and ninety. His specific race was indeterminate; he was a mongrel. Then there were his teeth. They were in perfect condition. Not a single cavity, chip or filling in his mouth. Then there were his fingerprints. They resembled no known matches on record. Of course there was no clothing, no jewelry, and no identification. He was Mr. nobody.”

  “What about missing persons reports?” Givens asked.

  “None close to his description.”

  “Did he really fire those shots?”

  “That much he was square with. Police found six shell casings, all bearing Mr. Milton’s prints.”

  “So … we’re after werewolves ...”

  “Possibly.”

  “And I forgot my silver,” Trigs scoffed.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Lars said.

  “Have you seen one yourself?” Givens pressed, more seriously than ever.

  “Not exactly,” the boss admitted. “But I believe I’ve been in close proximity to something of the sort, something that put a good scare into me.”

  Trigs laughed. “Something scared you? Why haven’t I heard this story before?”

  Lars looked sharply at him. “Why would I tell you? You’re a skilled hunter and a crack shot, but at the end of the day, you’re a complete and utter fool.”

  Trigs only laughed harder. “This isn’t like that Bigfoot we got in Oregon is it?” He glanced back at Givens. “A mangy bear got a taste for trash and scared the hell
out of some rich guy’s kids.”

  “No,” Lars said, “Nothing nonsensical. Something intelligent hunted me, silently like a lone wolf. It came so close in the dark that I smelled its dirty dog smell. It was no pack, it was an individual. I heard its light steps and its nose working. Its breaths were long and deep, like something large. It circled my camp for half a day, a night, and the following morning, hounding me until it drove me off. Even when I was back in the canoe it stalked me along the lakeshore. When I pulled in for breaks I’d hear it again, feel it there watching me. It didn’t let up until I was a half mile from the outfitters.”

  “You never got a visual?” Givens asked.

  “A hint ofeyeshine is all it would offer, before I put out the fire for the night. As I said, it was intelligent. Its threats were not open, they were subtle. Too subtle for a simple animal. I never closed my eyes all that night, and never ceased to hear whatever was trying to send me on my way.

  “Damn,” Givens muttered.

  “And as far as Mr. Milton’s story goes, there are several more like it,” Lars informed him.

  Givens said nothing more as he watched the little town going by through the side window. He preferred the straight-up jobs of hunting fugitives or smugglers. People were easy to predict. When animals came into play, the odds of safety and success were greatly diminished.

  “Notice this driveway,” Lars said, passing the Ludlow gate. “These are my prime suspects. We’ll find a camp site due east of their place. Unless the weather pattern changes drastically, we’ll be mostly down-wind of them.”

  “And look,” Givens said, craning his neck. “The truck behind us is pulling in.”