The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2)

by Shawn Underhill

  A slight grunt, or deep exhalation, came from a few dozen yards away.

  Lars turned his head momentarily as he pressed on eastward, retreating slightly faster than he’d approached. That’s right, he thought. You deserve to boast. You’re as good as they get. Good and terrible. But I’m still glad that I came. Now that I know it’s you, I’ll be at my very best. You’re good to let me go, old boy. That’s twice, hey old friend? No one else has ever beaten me like that. The first time I was young, but this second time is just a bloody shame on me. You’re damned good, old boy. If I was you and I got the jump, I might not let you go. No. If I was you, I sure wouldn’t give me a third chance. But I understand.

  “Until next time,” he said respectfully, just loud enough for the stalker to hear. Then he continued on steadily toward the camp without looking back.

  ***

  Slowly, silently, the stalker moved after the man like creeping darkness.

  ~15~

  They were running through pale forest at full speed, the silver-white in the lead. Moving northwest, Erica, running alongside her grandfather, understood their destination even before the fork in the trail. Abel was at Oak Hill, just northeast. The run she was now embroiled in was not a cautious approach or an apprehensive jaunt to meeting. This run was a game, and the point of that game was simple—last one to the cabins is a rotten egg.

  The drive of rivalry, the unspoken challenge, quickly pushed all other concerns from Erica’s mind. The others had all spoken of her cousin’s incredible speed. Now, seeing it for herself, she understood why. But she would not bow out of the race easily, would not accept defeat without first running her heart out, no matter how silly the game was. Driving herself as fast as her fresh legs would carry her, she hunted the silver-white blur ahead as if to catch her cousin was the most important task on earth.

  From nowhere a scent entered her hard-breathing nose, pulling her attention almost like reins steering her to the west. Ahead Evie also faltered, likewise turning her head to the west. A small heard of deer had been ambling through the trail. Just disappearing from sight to the west, off the trail, the two young wolves felt instantly inclined to abandon the race and take up a new challenge.

  “No,” ordered the white wolf, steering the young black with his strong shoulder. “Ahead.”

  Evie heard clearly. Against nature she set herself once more for the cabins. The distraction had diminished her lead, she realized next. She could now feel the two chasers quick on her heels. Remembering her order to lead Erica to the cabins, and energized by the closing rivalry, she gave all her energy to the task of leading Erica on.

  ***

  Abel crept on in silent pursuit of the hunter.

  During the wordless standoff, he too had felt the old recognition when scenting Lars. If it was not the exact man he’d dealt with once before—however long ago—it was one similar, possessing the same rare qualities. His curiosity now bid him to follow this old acquaintance, though the emergence of family from the house had pulled at him heavily in the opposite direction.

  From the east he could faintly smell the other men and their camp, and small creatures to the east chattered madly of it. This lone man was skilled, he observed, skilled and tactful—a small but potentially enjoyable challenge. The only understanding Abel lacked was an accurate count of heads.

  Long ago he had learned to stalk and count heads before engaging, and if possible, to announce only enough of his presence to intimidate his victims into a fearful forfeit. In most cases sensible men fled once the terror of being hunted was firmly planted in their hearts, thus preventing the unnecessary effort of disposing the evidence of their existence and downfall. In other cases, when the fight could not be avoided, the men he met in brief battle were exhausted from hours and sometimes days of fear and restlessness—easy pickings for even a lesser wolf than he.

  But somehow Abel, creeping along slowly, sensed—or perhaps heard in the whispered voice of this one now fleeing—that the slow retreat to camp was not a final surrender. Perhaps this one was special, though it would all end the same.

  In response to the quality of his current adversary, the old Snow had made up his mind. He would join the family, yes, but not until he’d looked in on the hunters he would soon eliminate. The night was still young, his belly was satisfied, his energies restored. Work before play had long been his tried and true method of dealing with the lesser species.

  Lead on, fool, he thought, creeping slowly east. I have seen your skill. For it, preserve your wretched life shortly. Show me my battle.

  ***

  At the clearing of the old cabins Evie whirled about in the moonlight. At the last second before a collision Erica darted to the side, just avoiding her. In so doing they took on a new challenge—a game of tag.

  Round and round they went, bodies low, ducking behind the old structures, weaving between them, making mock charges and playful growls, each avoiding the other at the last past possible moment. To touch, to even brush hairs, was to be it. And no one wanted to be it.

  “Chicken!” Erica accused.

  “You chicken!”

  Like massively capable children, or oversized pups, they ran and circled the open area like terrors. Now and again one would land a slight nip on the other’s tail or hind leg, and the direction of pursuit would quickly change.

  In the middle of the clearing the white wolf sat back on his haunches. Like a stately king he watched the careless young burning their pent energy, which was the entire point. His eyes shone with pride while he watched them, while his mind wandered to the east, to his brother, and toward whatever strange man-scent had briefly caught his attention near the house. But he was not worried. No man would see the house or the wolves leaving it and live to tell about it once Abel began his pursuit. The only concern was whether his brother would make obvious the man’s presence to these young once he returned to Oak Hill.

  ***

  The two cousins had finally lain down to rest with heaving sides when, their grandfather scented the approach of other wolves. The slight movement of his nose alerted the two younger.

  “Who is it?” Evie asked.

  “You cannot tell?”

  “Not surely.”

  “Look and see.”

  “Matthew,” Erica said, and just as she spoke her brother emerged from the trail. Behind him followed Eli and Sarah, and lagging behind with the least enthusiasm, David Wilson.

  For the first time that evening Evie remembered her sorrow. She had not forgotten her friend entirely, but the grief had been suppressed until the sight of David, appearing a shadow of the confident wolf he’d been, stabbed at her heart. The wolf with its old language was far more expressive than she would have been as a human, but still she felt a sudden block in her mind when she considered what to say to him.

  “Have we caught you in lessons or play?” asked Eli.

  “Tonight we play,” the white wolf replied, rising to his feet. “We dare not lament with song with outsiders listening, though it is only right, and we will in time. But tonight we can run, as all packs must run on with grief. These young will want water. Let us cut cross country to the small stream before it empties into the swamp behind Oak Hill.”

  Evie and Erica stood up, their tongues lolling, watching the others and waiting for the first of them to charge.

  Like a magnet Evie felt herself drawn to David’s side. As the pack raced north, each picking their own way through the dense woods, she fell in at his side. Though no words passed between them, she knew somehow that he understood her intent. Though capable of leading with her speed, Evie wanted to be close to him, even in some small, feeble way, to remind him of running at his sister’s side.

  “Thank you,” he said very quietly, the two of them lagging behind when the pack had slowed to drink.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Evie whined.

  “Don’t trouble yourself with the effort. There is nothing to say, nothing anyone can say. As your
grandfather told me last night, the world is ultimately a stage on which to enact good deeds. Twice now you have shown me kindness in action. That I draw more hope from than any condolences.”

  ***

  Only once did Erica make trouble during the next two hours. Seeing beyond doubt that Evie was purposely hanging close to David, she at last rushed in close as they were loping along—right when Evie had begun the difficult talk of telling David about her dream. Her guard lowered, Evie snapped in retaliation to her cousin’s sudden intrusion. A mild scuffle broke out and was quickly subdued by Eli, and for the rest of the night Evie kept one eye always on her cousin.

  Erica was jealous. That was no surprise. If Evie had a certain pair of socks that Erica took a fancy to, her cousin would quickly become envious. What confused her was the root of it. Had she always been so difficult and it had just been easier to forgive for the miles between them all but a few weeks of the year? Was she now jealous of her getting close to David or the instant bond with Emmy, or just frustrated that she, Evie, was not giving every minute of her focus to her?

  She gave no effort to make sense of such questions. Instead she put her effort into consciously creating gaps between her and David. But even then, if she stayed too near her grandfather for too long, Erica was soon growling about that as well. Evie realized there would be no winning and no peace until Erica had been given time to calm down and learn self-control.

  Then all such worries left her mind, and her awareness was given entirely to tension when the small pack finally neared Moon Rock.

  Breaking from the dark with the pack and ascending the granite slope which shone under the moon and stars, she saw Abel. Stretched out long, he lay on his side, his head facing them, his tail motionless and unfriendly, his eyes fixed on no one and nothing definite. He did not appear angry or pleased. He was not surprised by their arrival, but neither did he seem to give it much interest or regard. He was simply there, watching them.

  ~16~

  For the first few hundred yards of his retreat Lars continued the charade of quiet, cautious steps. Then, when the absurdity of it became undeniable—the stalker would follow one way or the other—he picked up the pace, all the while struggling to remain composed, to force away any semblance of fear that might enter into his conscience.

  It wasn’t pride, it was survival. To feel fear was to stink of it, and to emit that scent in the dark wilderness was to announce one’s vulnerability. Little else would invite an attack so quickly. Few predators could resist pursuing such a sweet stench, and what was following him was no common predator.

  He continued on at a steady pace. Easy, he told himself repeatedly. Keep your head. It’s a walk in the woods. Think of that big check. Think of all you’ll do and where you’ll go. Move quickly but steadily. Smooth motions. Don’t look back. Not even a glance. Not until you’re in camp. Not until you have a fire to see by and something bigger than this .45. My God, you’re a mean one, aren’t you, old boy? I imagine this is fun for you. A real sporting time. But hell, I understand. I’ve done the same thing with lesser men. Enjoy it while you can, old boy. I’d still say don’t let me go. You must enjoy the game. You must love it like little else.

  ***

  At last he reached the camp. On his way in he uttered no words to rouse the men. He simply kicked at the coals of the fire in passing, retrieved his case from the tent, opened it quickly, and then stood completely still, listening, silently announcing his strength of arms to the stalker.

  Now he moved back to the fire. Kneeling with one hand on his rifle, he piled handfuls of dead pine onto the smoldering coals. The brittle pine caught easily after a few puffs of breath, and the heat on his face from the climbing flames made obvious the chills tingling in his spine. Around him he heard the other men stirring. Hudson was first to poke his head from his tent, looking around with sleepy curiosity. Givens soon followed suit, standing and walking quietly to the fire.

  “He’s here,” Lars said under his breath, his eyes fixed on the rising flames lapping up the brittle pine. “Arm yourself and keep quiet.”

  Givens moved back to his tent to retrieve his rifle while Hudson emerged with his. Trigs, passed out soundly, made only deep breathing sounds from his tent.

  Moron, Lars thought with his eyes briefly resting on the tent. Fight me every step of the way and then get drunk. The ones you take seriously I’ve had no better help. The ones you don’t, I might as well have a child along for backup.

  “When you say he,” Givens whispered, taking a seat on a lawn chair by the fire, “you mean—”

  “Yes,” Lars answered. “I’d know that smell anywhere. I’d know that skin-crawling feeling if a hundred years had passed. It’s him, the one from Maine. He came right up on me as he did all those years ago.”

  “I trust we’re changing plans,” Hudson whispered.

  “Only a little,” Lars said. “We’ll take turns sleeping during the day and watch closest through the nights. Don’t let the fire die, it’ll keep him back in the shadows. He’ll try to tire us out, and for tonight he’ll win. But he’ll get tired too, sooner or later. With four of us taking turns, we’ll stay rested while he works around the clock. And—” He suddenly pointed. “Listen.”

  A dry stick cracked a few hundred feet into the darkness. Then an owl hooted, thwarted from its hunt by something large disturbing the rodents.

  “He’ll toy with us, gentlemen,” Lars said. “Keep your voices low. He’s already got enough of an advantage without us broadcasting our plans.”

  “Where in hell did you pick him up?” Givens asked.

  “I was rash,” Lars admitted. “I’ll take the blame for that. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t wait. All I wanted was a quick look of the place to refresh my memory. It seems all the same even now, years later. Big house. Big open pastures and lots of animals. And then he found me. I never made a peep and he came right up on me. Got so close I could hear his breathing.”

  Hudson shook his head. “I don’t know, boss. Maybe they’ve got well-trained watch dogs.”

  Lars nearly shot fire from his eyes. “Don’t start that. If you don’t believe me, take a little walk. Ever heard a grown Mastiff breathing?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Think of eight or ten of those. I’m not spooked by a damned watch dog. Don’t give me that—”

  “All right, all right.”

  To defuse them Givens asked, “What about Trigs?”

  “Leave him,” Lars said. “There’s no sense telling the brute we’ve got a drunk along for the ride.”

  “Maybe it’s for the better. He’d be blasting off rounds.”

  “I’d say our cover is blown regardless,” Hudson said.

  “I doubt we ever had any,” Lars said. “Still, if there’s more than one, as I suspect, I’d rather not provoke them.”

  “I’d do better with a visual,” Hudson said. “I like to know what I’m up against.”

  “Listen,” Lars said, “I understand your concern. I’m the same way in many respects. But these … things … I don’t believe they’re spoiling for a fight. If that old boy that followed me back here truly wanted to kill me, he easily could have. I didn’t find him. He found me. Understand?”

  “They want to be left alone,” Givens said. “Just like the one from Idaho, watching from the dark, waiting for the truck to pass.”

  “That’s my guess. It’s better to use fright to fend off threats to their secrecy than outright aggression. I’m telling you, he had me in the bag and he let me go. If we don’t provoke them, they’ll probably continue on with the same intimidation tactics.”

  “So how the hell are we gonna catch one?” Hudson said.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Lars said.

  “Tell me again, how old was that Idaho wolf?” Givens said.

  “Old. Between eighty and ninety.”

  “You’re absolutely positive that this one here is the—”

  “Positive.”

&nb
sp; “And how many years ago was that Maine trip?”

  “Good point,” Lars said.

  “Who says these things here aren’t a lot older than us?”

  “I’ve wondered the same.”

  “So they’ve got the edge on us in every way,” Hudson said.

  “I’m afraid so,” Lars said, adding more fuel to the crackling camp fire. “We must regard them as superior in every way—intelligence, cunning, obviously strength if they don’t age like us.”

  “That’s beside the fact that we’re playing this game in their backyard.”

  “God, no wonder they want one living,” Givens muttered.

  “Extreme caution and perfect strategy is our only hope,” Lars said, looking from man to man. “We’ve no choice but to take it deadly serious from here on.”

  “Fine with me,” Givens said. “I’d rather play it safe than end up like the last team.”

  Lars lowered his voice further, partly for effect, partly to disguise the lie on his lips. “Keep your heads, boys, and we’ll get it done. If we catch just one of these things … it’s worth two million apiece. And I mean cash money.”

  A low series of laughs and sighs went up from around the camp fire.

  In his tent a few yards away Trigs suddenly stirred. He cleared his throat and in a husky, irritable voice said, “What are you hens whispering about?”

  ***

  From the darkness Abel had watched as the man entered the camp. He stirred the fire and sent sparks rising; then a spreading, flickering light shone out into the gloom. That was all right with him. He didn’t need his eyes turned in their direction. And he wouldn’t let the man have that much. Not this early. The monster had his ears and his nose, and with those he knew certainly that soon after the man he’d followed had entered the camp, at least two other men had been stirred awake. Rifles had been produced, quickly sending their unmistakable odor of burnt powder on metal into the calm night air.