“That’s wolves,” Givens said. “What of big cats? Don’t people spot them where they aren’t supposed to be?”
“Yes, occasionally those rumors do pop up as well,” Lars said. “But more often the cats tend to stick closer to high elevations. Obviously the higher you go the less people you’ll run into. As you can see, the elevation here is only half of what it is in the western mountains. On my prior assignment here I found no evidence of any cat larger than a bobcat. That’s not to say there are none; just that I found none.”
All three men stared hard at Lars. Only Trigs spoke.
“When did you become Mr. Secrets and a closet paranormal freak? You told me you’d been fishing up here, that’s it.”
“I did fish,” Lars grunted, “between scouting trips. Caught some lovely rainbow trout from the river. And at night I heard the distinct howling of wolves on multiple occasions. No clear tracks, no visuals, but definite howls.”
“Wolves were on the endangered list,” Trigs said. “Why wouldn’t there be at least a few in such a backwoods place?”
“Think what you want,” Lars said. “If there are no wolves and no shape-shifters, our job will be all the easier. I’m trying to prepare you for the worst.”
“I’ve heard of some of this,” Hudson admitted. “I don’t like to give it credit beyond Unsolved Mysteries, but I can see where it could be possible. All these acres of wilderness and just a handful of people scattered thinly.”
“It is very possible,” Lars replied. “Farmers and laborers have been digging up ten-foot-tall human remains since the dawn of this country. Little of it ever reaches museums or gets covered by the mainstream media.” He looked at Trigs. “Scoff if you like, but strange things happen. Do you think I only took the western Bigfoot cases for the pay?”
“I did.”
“Yes, because you see no further than the tip of your nose. I enjoyed the easy job and easy money, but I took those cases because sooner or later something other than a bear or prankster will likely turn up. Can you imagine the pay for that confirmed discovery?”
Trigs smiled, but not happily. Givens spoke next.
“I did hear about the infamous UFO case from the lake in Maine.”
“That’s not far from where I had my incident,” Lars said. “There was also one here in New Hampshire, back near the Cannon Pass you all slept through.”
“What do you think?” Hudson said.
“I don’t know. I’ve had no experience with that, so I give it little thought. The animals seem more likely to me. And then there are our superiors to consider. They’ve never once sent me to observe or eliminate anything but men or animals. I’m nearing thirty years of service, and statistics are difficult to ignore.”
“We’re gonna need more beer,” Trigs said after draining and crushing his current can. “I don’t know how else I’ll survive with you three for the next two weeks.”
“Relax,” Lars said to Givens, who was looking more nervous by the second. “I’ve got enough tranquilizers to drop a herd of elephants. And combined we’ve enough ammo to kill whatever requires killing.”
Givens nodded. His eyes were on his cased rifle. “So your personal experience leads you to believe the shape-shifters are a possibility.”
“It does,” answered Lars. “Very little has ever moved me like the Maine experience. I don’t believe it was only an animal that hunted me. I know the feeling of being pursued by an animal or by a man. This was not either. It was something else.”
“That’s good enough for me, boss,” Hudson said.
“And me,” Givens agreed.
Trigs walked off toward the truck.
~14~
The evening news playing in the great room painted a familiar picture. As the daylight faded, teams of wardens returned to the center of Ludlow with little to no leads. Most had covered the immediate proximity of the town and then the southern woods. Tracking dogs had alerted several times and followed several trails, primarily leading south and west. The short clip of Ed Harken from the morning broadcast was replayed. Prophetically, by all reports the search dogs failed or quit on all potential leads, just as the old man had predicted.
“When we tried to make contact with Mr. Harkin we were asked to leave by his wife,” the reporter explained. “The family didn’t want any more attention, and would not allow us to broadcast footage of their home. I can tell you their home is very secluded. Unfortunately we can’t see anything but trees from the road.”
“This is very strange,” The anchor said. “Have any of the other locals been of help?”
“None like Mr. Harkin.”
“Okay,” the anchor said, shuffling her papers. “Thanks for the update.”
***
For Evie and Erica the evening passed painfully slowly. All they could think about was getting through till midnight, when they would finally be allowed to stretch their legs. All Erica could talk about besides that was either the treasure mystery or the possibility of government hunters coming to eradicate the entire pack—which she had to whisper and mutter to avoid getting scowls from their grandmother. Evie endured this with as much patience and as many changes of subject she could muster. At last they were recruited to assist with a large dinner. All such topics were quickly dropped.
The arrival of Matthew and Earl brought some relief of tension. Though they had little information from their western patrols, they seemed confident and set everyone at ease with just their presence. Their only mention of Abel was the fact that, as evening came on they still sensed his presence around the northernmost corners of their patrol. This pleased Erica greatly, and drew quick lectures from both of her parents.
When the patriarch finally returned from his own patrol it was well after dark. Having gone south on horseback, into the heart of the search area, he returned with only slightly more information than the news had provided.
“There was one very close call,” he said. “South of Ed and Lucile’s, one dog gave a strong alert and followed a trail several miles west. He didn’t stop until he reached the lower falls of Philip’s Brooke, just off the old snowmobile corridor. From there he gave up.”
“It’s going as well as we could hope,” Earl said.
“Yes, and both east and west have yielded little activity beyond a dozen or so new campers.”
“We found no one to the west,” Earl said.
“Good. But there are several clusters of them to the south, and one to the east that troubled Lester greatly. He actually circled them on horseback for over an hour while they noisily set up camp.”
“How far east?”
“A few miles. Almost a straight shot through the woods from here.”
“Maybe they’re just partying.”
“Or trying to give off false appearances.”
Earl shook his head. “Lordy, lordy. Let’s hope Abel doesn’t catch wind of them.”
“Enough please,” Evelyn said. “Let’s enjoy our dinner without such morbid conversation.”
After dinner they were all relaxed. Direct conversation of details was purposely avoided, and the small gathering of Snows attempted to simply enjoy the comfort of a quiet evening.
***
Evie woke on a couch just after midnight. Erica was shaking her, and as she sat up, in the low light she saw her grandfather’s dark shape descending the stairs.
“It’s time,” Erica smiled. She had already shed her clothing and stood wrapped in a robe.
“Time to enjoy yourself, yes,” her grandfather said. “But remember you are not free to do as you please. By that I mean keep your voices down.”
Erica stepped out behind her grandfather. Evie quickly stepped out of her clothing—an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt—and pulled on her robe. Softly she closed the sliding door behind her.
Outside the sky was all stars and the crickets were in full force, reveling in the last of summer before autumn cold took over. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air, she felt the
excitement welling up from within her.
“There’s no time like the present,” Joseph said when Evie stepped up beside him.
“Wait,” Erica called, watching as the two Snows transformed before her eyes, their robes still settling over the porch railing as their light, wolfish outlines leapt the rail and landed silently on the dewy grass.
The white wolf raised his head and nosed the air, then lowered it again. “Because she is given to deeper moods,” he said to the silver-white, “I will not compel her as I compelled you. We must lead while we await her mind to focus beyond the excitement.”
Evie followed at his side compliantly without a word.
“Wait,” Erica called again in a hushed yell. The two wolves were moving away toward the apple trees, looking back and beckoning her to follow. “I can’t remember exactly how to do this!”
“Come along,” her grandfather said through a small sound. “Begin by following the desire. Learn with each step to make that desire solid.”
The two wolves stopped at the trailhead. Erica stood on the nearest end of the porch, trying to follow but so full of nerves that her mind was rushing like a cyclone, her heart beating wildly. It was, after all, her first willful transformation, free of the outside influence of threat.
“I smell Abel,” Evie whispered to her grandfather.
“Say nothing,” he replied. “Lead her west to the cabins once she assumes form.”
On the porch Erica felt the boards cold against her feet. Overhead the stars twinkled, and across the pale yard she saw the two Snows awaiting her company. She shivered. Memories of her first night held in place. Deep down, below the rush of excitement and the promise of the wonderful night ahead, she feared the horrors she’d experienced during the battle, and after, with Abel. Those feelings she now associated directly with the wolf, as if it was a separate being altogether.
The two wolves ducked into the darkness of the trail.
Erica’s eyes narrowed, fixed on their vanishing shapes. The desire to join them swelled within her with each beat of her heart. Within seconds, desire smothered her reluctance and spurred her feet. With those first responsive movements tied to her strongest desire, at last her mind began to narrow, like tunnel vision, and she knew she could make it happen.
She threw off the robe, stepped down, felt the dew on her feet and the cold it sent up through her legs, the shiver rippling through her until it reached the top of her spine. The cold slowed her for only a moment. Then, as if to escape it, she surged forward, desire set to motion. All became wonderfully warm in an instant, and she was moving rapidly with the thrilling strength of four powerful legs, unsure as to exactly how she’d accomplished it, but uncaring as she chased the others into the darkness.
***
Kneeling silently beside a tree, Lars, the fearless headhunter, held his breath. He felt the little hairs on the back of his neck suddenly bristling, and against his own orders, he slowly moved his right hand for the sidearm strapped to his thigh.
In camp, hours earlier, he’d lain quietly for a long time listening to the other men sleep. His mind had gone round and round obsessively until he could no longer ignore the urge to investigate. Once before—seventeen years ago—he’d seen the big farm house from the cover of the woods. In his mind as he lay sleeplessly, he decided he would see it once more. Perhaps to see them as simple farmers might diminish the threat hanging in his mind. Anything was better than lying sleeplessly through the night. It just wasn’t his style to lie in wait.
Just before 10 he crawled from his tent and crept quietly through the camp.
“Hey,” Givens whispered when his leader passed his tent.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Lars ordered under his breath. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Givens had every intention of staying right where he was.
The walk had been difficult. Each step he’d had to think about individually, to avoid excess noise. The crickets were a help, but they were no perfect camouflage to the senses of animals. If anything capable of eluding detection existed in these woods, it would certainly possess senses far greater than his own. As often as possible he stepped on rocks, moss, felled logs—anything to avoid the crunching of the heavy leaf litter blanketing the ground. When he found sections of evergreens he hung close to them for as long as possible, for the ground beneath them was soft and easy to traverse in silence. Moving steadily due west, he did so in small increments, traveling for five to ten minutes, then kneeling absolutely still for a minute or two, listening for the slightest hint of anything large moving in his vicinity. An expert stalker, he feared nothing more than being stalked himself.
Finally the big house in the field came just into view. In the moonlight it shone a solid gray mass with no light from inside, casting a dim shadow on the grass.
Moving carefully, silently, he lifted his infrared camera and powered it up. As the viewfinder came to life, he moved it slowly in a half circle, scanning everything before and beside him. The large garage partially obstructed the southern corner of the house from his view, but in all he could see enough to know that the Ludlow house and yard was cool. They were either asleep inside, or out.
The cautious, self-preservation deep below his hard exterior settled as Lars observed the house. On one hand he wanted nothing more than to crack this secret, but on the other, a part of him hoped that there truly was no secret to crack. A quarter million for two weeks was solid pay. Perhaps he would take a few small jobs in the Caribbean during the winter months, spend most of that time on the beach, and once spring had sprung return to the Cape before considering another serious job.
After a while he powered down the camera to save the battery. His legs were asleep from kneeling. He shifted his weight carefully, hearing the small crunching of leaves beneath him, and that’s when he froze, his hand hovering over his sidearm, his breath held tight in his chest.
It was not something that he’d heard that froze him, it was the air itself. A small breath of movement through the trees brought suddenly a thick, unpleasant odor into his head. For an instant he surmised it to be the strong barn smells, but quickly he disregarded that option. The barns were to his left, to the south. The air had stirred from the northwest. That was where the heavy smell came from—from close at his right flank.
As he silently contemplated the odor, a memory he usually held far back took center stage in his mind’s eye, and all became suddenly clear. You again, he thought with a fluttering in his chest. I remember your smell. I can’t forget. So, the big-wigs were correct. You do belong to these here, well over a hundred miles west from our last meeting. My God what a range. You must be some hell of a brute. Some hell indeed.
The mercenary barely breathed for several minutes. His nose became accustomed to the heavy, dirty dog odor, and as the minutes passed he smelled it no more and no less. He only moved when the sudden chattering of a squirrel startled him. Evidently he was not the only one being disturbed.
Then, after smelling him for several minutes, at last he heard his stalker. Heavy, slow-moving steps were coming toward him. A novice may have been fooled, but not him. Faint but perceptible over the crickets, the steps fell in long drawn-out motions, indicating significant stride and depth—ultimately vast size. And following the cessation of the steps and the complaining of the squirrel, Lars became aware of deep, heavy breaths. My God, he thought. You’re worse than I recall. You’re no wolf, no cougar. You’re a damned monster, aren’t you? And a bold one too. You know where the wind is from, don’t you? It’s to my advantage. And yet you’re coming closer anyway, unafraid.
Suddenly a different sound drew the mercenary’s attention. It was a light sound, almost airy, coming to him from straight ahead, from the west side of the house. A woman, he thought. Or a teenager. She’s not afraid, but she’s not happy either. And what about you, old friend? You heard her too, didn’t you? You held your breath when she spoke as I held mine. Oh but you knew she was there befor
e I did. Just like you found me before I found you. By God you’re good. Scary good. Now what, old friend? Where do we go from here?
The minutes dragged on. Lars remained motionless, and the deep breaths came no nearer. So that’s your game—the subtle tactics. Did you come so close to check on me or to let me know you were here? Maybe both. I suppose you’re in a good spot now. You won’t move again until I move, will you? No, you won’t. I’ve got the wind but you’ve got the edge. You won’t budge now. The next move is mine. You must want me out or want me dead, one or the other. I suppose if I’m still breathing you must only want me out. Okay, old boy, I get it. I can take a hint.
With his left hand pressing into the rough bark of the tree at his side, Lars slowly rose to his full height. His legs were prickly warm from being asleep. He could not walk with any degree of caution until feeling returned to him. As a habit, or a ritual of comfort, he let his right hand rest on the holster on his thigh. Once there he made no attempt to unsnap the holster. His fingers trembled over the aged leather. Don’t worry, he thought. I get it now. You’ll only have to kill me if I see you. So you won’t let me see you. Not yet. We’re not at the point yet, are we? All right, I’ll go now. Just let my legs return. Yours must be much better than mine. You got the jump on me, though I was almost perfect. That’s all right. I’ll go now, if you’ll let me. You’re damned good to let me. Either that or damned mean to toy with me.
Turning slowly, Lars faced east and began walking carefully. From the corner of his eye he searched for the eyeshine of his stalker. Nothing. The undergrowth was too dense. The urge to lift his infrared camera surged through him, but he dared not lift it. If the stalker mistook the camera for a weapon, the game of hide and seek would fast come to an end. With only his .45 on his thigh, Lars did not wish to fight. Not yet. He was outclassed and he knew it, and deep down, he felt a certain gratitude—even admiration for his stalker. To fight rashly, foolishly, dishonorably, without first looking into one another’s eyes, would be an insult to both warriors.
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 12