~12~
“Besides exposing us to the world, what could they do with us?” Evie asked.
“Extract all they could from us,” her grandfather answered grimly.
“Give us the frog treatment,” Erica translated.
Her grandfather cast a disapproving glance. “The most dangerous hunters would likely keep our secret for themselves as strictly as we keep them. Amateurs seeking a trophy are the ones we fear in respect to exposure, though we may laugh because they will never collect such a trophy, even if they are lucky enough to spot one of us. As for the true researchers, their interests in the wolf itself would likely be marginal. The real danger would lie in the discovery of whatever difference in our genetic code allows us such strength and longevity.”
“Could they really figure it out?” Evie said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re sheep. Even you said there’s magic involved.”
“I don’t know what else to call it but magic. Nor do I know what they could truly grasp and attain. But I fear what they would attempt. I trust you know what the cold war was?”
Evie nodded. Of course she had no personal memory of the times, but she’d been forced to read of it in school. It had seemed very unimportant.
“Governments of the greatest powers have subjected humans and animals alike to ghastly experiments for the better part of the past century,” her grandfather said. “At one point the Soviet Union experimented heavily with the ape/human connection, in hopes of creating a stronger foot soldier. The Americans explored similar options with other creatures. Both delved deep into the human psyche and the possibilities of the mind, the hope being both to unlock its potential, and more so, control it. The list goes on, and gets no more pleasant. The goal is always the same—to improve on human capabilities. Unfortunately the drive behind their ambitions is rarely the betterment of lives but the empowering of a few.”
“Our minds,” Evie muttered, thinking how easily she’d developed her own skills in such a short time.
“It’s frightening to think what humans could do if they tapped the full capacity of their minds,” her grandfather said. “Even if they lack the secrets of our blood, and certainly the giving spirit of Ruach, still, grim possibilities are within their reach.”
“That’s why we have to fight,” Erica said. Her face was hard, well beyond the humor of her frog statement.
“Long before we get near a fight we must first rely on discretion,” her grandfather countered. “To avoid them altogether is best for all involved.”
Erica remained stern-faced. Her grandfather’s words seemed to bounce off of her.
“Get a handle on that,” he said. “We make our home in a remote place, but we do not exist in the wild world anymore. You know this.”
“Yeah,” she muttered.
“To live as the wild ones means to set aside humanity. Those that hunt us and would do us evil have also lost theirs. Remember that.”
“It’s not the same, Grandpa.”
“It all ends in killing.”
“You’ve killed, haven’t you?”
“I have,” he said sternly. “And every instance, even for reasons of defense of my loved ones, was a crime. Killing is a dehumanizing act and a symptom of all that’s wrong in this world. Taking life will never be anything but a sin and a curse.”
“It’s self-defense,” Erica said.
“It is.”
“So—”
“Not a single instance of bloodletting has left me feeling any less threatened. Only eradication would eliminate all threats. And if you think Abel feels better for all his revenge, think again.
“So, I was going to say self-defense is not the same as murder.”
“Not exactly, no. But it is dangerously close.”
Evie was watching the truck ahead of them as the tense conversation unfolded. She didn’t like the feel that either left in her. On one side there was intrusion and threat. On the other side, reason and long years of experience struggling against impulsive instincts.
“We are the higher creatures,” Joseph Snow continued. “On us falls the burden of higher action and thought. I understand your internal struggle, Erica. Believe me I do. But please trust that the Snows have been very successful, as wolves and men. It is no accident.”
“How long will these hunters be around?” Evie asked before Erica could retaliate.
“Most only for a few days,” her grandfather said, watching the truck continue north as he turned into his driveway. “Camping grows old quickly for the halfhearted. It’s the ones that are still here after a few days that we’ll be most concerned about. Those we will watch the closest.”
***
Ruth and Janie were at the house when the three arrived home. For a half an hour they all sat in the great room discussing plans and arrangements. Janie had picked out clothing for her daughter, both casual clothes as well as a suitable outfit for the coming funeral services. The funeral itself the Wilsons had already scheduled. To get it over with as soon as possible was the plan. All of the pack—even those most wrought with grief—were firmly set on focusing on their patrols and their defense, and the prevention of any further trouble.
“Sometimes being busy helps,” Janie said, speaking from her own experience. She sat on Evie’s bed as her daughter tried on clothes.
“I guess,” Evie said. “I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Once it’s over I’ll be heading home to deal with everything there.”
“I figured as much.”
“But after that, I’ll be back for good. Maybe we’ll all be able to settle down again.”
“I hope so,” Evie said, struggling with a pair of black dress pants that for some reason disagreed with her. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve lost all love for clothes. Give me four legs and fur any day.”
***
Entering their grandfather’s study sluggishly, Evie and Erica expected another lecture as they answered his call.
“I’ll get two birds with one stone,” he said. “I’ll show you some items of interest before I head out for evening rounds.”
One wall of the study was occupied by a large TV which displayed constant feeds—one from the camera over the front gate, the rest being trail cams sending live streams to the house. The cameras were motion sensitive, engaging only in response to activity.
As Joseph Snow stepped toward this wall, Evie felt immediately disappointed, assuming that he was going to assign them to some sort of watch duty when he left—where she would much prefer to join him.
“Papa,” she started to complain, but then stopped when she realized he was opening a large desk drawer with a key he’d taken from his pocket.
From the deep drawer he produced a leather case and placed it on a desk. Opening it carefully, he revealed various compartments filled with folders. The first folder he took, laid it down, and opened it. What it contained appeared to be very old papers, or parchments, or even shreds of papyrus.
Erica, standing tense with excitement, believed that finally she was going to be let in on the secret of the family wealth—the treasure.
“Believe it or not,” he began, “these are very old letters. Some were written to my father, my grandfather, and my great grandfather. I’m rusty on my languages at this point, but some are in Latin, a few French and a few German, and interestingly, some very early English.”
“My Latin is terrible,” Erica said.
“I can say about three words in French,’ Evie chimed.
“Well, luckily that’s not what this is about. It’s to show you both that I’m not exaggerating with all my stories. The English translations are on the opposite side of the case, labeled to match each letter.”
The girls stood close, looking down at the browned and tattered letters that had been more recently laminated for preservation.
“They aren’t friendly letters,” he continued. “Most are appeals for help. Basically, they’re job offers.”
“Help with w
hat?” Evie said.
“Special services,” her grandfather said. “Protection details. If you were a wealthy lord, or a well-paid steward of someone else’s land, you might seek special protection in a time of trouble, or even a time of great superstition where the lower classes were at unrest, and hence, not working quite as efficiently as desired.”
“Wolves were for hire?” Erica said.
“Indeed we were. Imagine a little village or a plantation of serfs that were suddenly attacked, by either men or animals. Whoever was responsible for that land would seek out everyone from witches to wolves for help. If, say, you had a problem with wild wolves, or werewolves, you might hire a bigger, stronger werewolf, or pack, to regain control.”
“That’s how you got rich?” Erica said, practically choking on her disappointment.
“Not as rich as some of the lords,” he grinned. “But our relatives lived well by taking such offers. In time it made possible the acquiring of our own lands, and later funded the trip to the Americas.”
“How was the secret kept?” Evie asked.
“It wasn’t always perfectly secret, but old Europe was a very superstitious place compared to where you’ve grown up. Back then, in most cases those that hired our kind didn’t ask exactly how we accomplished our objectives. They cared mostly for results, which the Snow’s, and other families like us, gladly provided with as little drama as possible.”
“No news,” Erica said, glancing back at the small TV.
“Only word of mouth. Now, feel free to look through anything in this case. My computers are unlocked; go ahead and use them if you’re bored. I’ll be gone for an hour or two. If I were you,” he said, locking eyes with Evie, “I’d enjoy the quiet and time with your mother before she leaves.”
She nodded. “What about tonight?”
“We’ll have dinner and retire as any other family. After midnight we’ll go out, but only to the north. No trail running and loud howling. We’re on lockdown, remember.”
“Can I stay here?” Erica asked.
“I’d prefer it actually. The farther from town you stay, the more comfortable I’ll feel.”
“And what about Abel? Can we—”
“Approach my brother with caution, if he remains that long. For now, stay out of the woods altogether. No horses. No quads. No walks.
“But Papa,” Evie complained.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to occupy yourselves inside. Look at all these elaborate camera systems your friend Dale set up.”
“Ugh.”
The old Snow smiled before becoming serious again. “Both of you … do not test your grandmother in my absence. Or your mother, for that matter,” he said to Erica. “These aren’t suggestions, they’re orders.”
~13~
“Keep all weapons under wraps,” Lars said.
Their camp, roughly two miles east of the Ludlow farm, was established, and the other men were beginning to relax. They had parked at the head of one of the eastbound trails where it crossed the road. From there they’d lugged the gear a few hundred yards in from the road, until they found suitable ground for their tents.
“You’re serious?” Trigs said, his fingers resting on the latches of his rifle case.
“Deadly,” Lars replied. “Do not open that case.”
The smile on the younger mercenary’s face slowly faded as his fingers hovered over the latches. His tendency to buck authority was what had driven him to this kind of work in the first place. Still, even a professional warrior had to pick his battles. After a moment he stayed his hand compliantly.
Lars nodded at him. “For the rest of today and tomorrow we will attempt nothing but appearing as harmless campers. If we make obvious the smell of fires and the sounds of our voices, we will draw no excess scrutiny. But the smell of metal and gunpowder is quite clear to any animals accustomed to being hunted. If we broadcast such a threat, we can expect undesired attention.”
“What if—” Givens began.
“If something gets too close,” Lars said over him, “then we will react. But not before. My aim is to leave the first move to them. That is the safest way to establish who and what we are dealing with. And if we’re going up against anything like I imagine, believe me, you’ll thank me when all is said and done. You men plan on enjoying the fruits of your labor, don’t you?”
Trigs laughed. “Keep your eyes on the prize, boys. Always do what the boss says.”
“Dump some of that beer around the perimeters of the camp site,” Lars said to him.
“Waste,” Hudson laughed. “But I see your method.”
“Damn right you do,” the leader said. “We’re justa-good-ole-boys-meaning-no-harm.”
“What other info have you got?” Givens asked him.
“I’ve got a handful of stories similar to the one of Milton in Idaho. I’d wager there are plenty more I haven’t heard of. Oddities pop up in newspapers all over the country that hardly ever go national. You’d be surprised at some of the stories you’ll find if you only look.”
“As far as mountain lions,” Givens said.
“I’ve dealt with them out west,” Lars said. “None around here. If they are in this area, it’s probably only one or two, and they’re probably just passing through. This is a wild, backwater place for sure. But remember it’s a small place in comparison to the west. Cats are individualistic and require great ranges. It’s not a prime habitat.”
“So if cats aren’t likely, what killed that girl?”
“The witnesses are either correct or lying to cover,” Lars said. “Those are the only two possibilities.”
“Why would they lie?” Hudson asked. “Something killed her. Wouldn’t they want it caught?”
“Yes,” Lars said. “Something killed her all right. Something that supposedly took two thirty odd six rounds, kept running, and got so far that it still hasn’t been found by wardens or dogs.”
“So he’s a tough one, whoever he is,” Givens said. “But the locals know the area. How could they mistake a cougar for anything else?”
“I doubt they would. That’s why I suggested they lied.”
“What are they covering for?”
Lars smiled. “Don’t you like a good mystery?”
“No,” Hudson said flatly.
“I’m game,” Givens said.
“Well, like it or not, we’ve got one here. A good-paying one. We’ll get to the bottom of it, boys.”
“The bosses wouldn’t send us if they didn’t have some clue,” Givens put in.
“Or front the money,” Hudson added.
“That’s right,” Lars said. He took a long breath, looking around at the three younger men under his charge. “Now.” he cleared his throat. “I suppose I should fill you in completely.”
“You dirty —” Trigs barked. “I knew you were holding back! You rotten—”
Lars continued without flinching. “Be warned that other teams have disappeared in these woods. Maybe a cougar did kill the girl, maybe not. Maybe bears or coyotes took out a three-man team. Either way, they are long gone because they apparently underestimated their adversaries.”
“Maybe the locals shot, shoveled, and forgot,” Trigs suggested.
“Maybe,” the boss said. “That’s why we’re here. To learn what we can. To do what they could not. To find whatever is here and deal with it.”
“God,” Givens breathed, shaking his head. “Three?”
Lars nodded. “If we locate something of interest, we are to immobilize it. I have all the necessary equipment. Do not kill it. Am I clear? As soon as we do catch it, I’ll radio in, and we’ll have a helicopter here for extraction within thirty minutes.”
“Yeah?” said Trigs, scuffing his feet and pacing. “Let’s say we do find and catch one of these monster cats, monster wolves, shape-shifting SOB’s. Don’t you suppose there’s more than one?”
“I count on it,” Lars replied. “There could be dozens. Maybe more. Listen to me … however
many there are, we are only required to capture one alive.”
Trigs smiled and took a long drink from his beer. “If you’d just said that in the first place, I wouldn’t have gotten upset.”
Lars feigned a smile. If Trigs hadn’t been so good at his job, he would have shot him years ago.
“You mentioned more stories,” Givens said.
“Yes. Most in this country are out west,” Lars answered. “Most that I’ve heard involve witnesses describing very large wolves. Some even swear to have witnessed them shift shapes before their eyes. Of course, the natives shrug and say, ‘sure, what else is new?’”
“Nothing this far east?”
“Nothing beyond old rumor and odd cases of disappearances. The Michigan case comes to mind, if you want to call that an eastern example. But that’s the late eighteen hundreds. Not exactly current.”
“What’s in Michigan?” Hudson asked. He was becoming more interested by the minute, almost as much so as Givens.
“Supposedly a very small girl, barely able to walk, went missing from a logging camp. Her father and a group of men scoured miles in desperate search of her. When they finally found her, they couldn’t rationalize the distance the girl had traveled. And when pressed for an explanation, the girl claimed a wolf man, or dog man, had carried her.”
Trigs erupted into laughter. “The Michigan dog man. Are you serious, boss?”
Lars eyed him for only a second and then went on. “The girl’s father noticed that her hat was missing. Having not found it along the way and wondered how she’d kept warm, he pressed her to explain. The girl said the wolf kept her warm and fed. He only fled when he heard the armed search party approaching. And guess where the girl was located? Sitting on a rock in a shallow creek. No prints leading in or away from the water.”
“What the hell,” Givens said. “Did they find the hat?”
“No. The girl said the wolf ate it.”
“And then he laid a golden egg,” Trigs said. “Did the heroic father then lead the girl safely home atop a unicorn?”
“Quiet, you imbecile.”
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 11