But then his stomach rolled over as his mind kicked into action. He leaned back in the seat and tried to calm himself. It wasn’t bad luck, and it wasn’t the truck’s fault. It was a message—a warning from someone.
He climbed from the truck, trying to appear casual if he was in fact being watched. He raised the hood and saw nothing as simple as a disconnected battery or a cut wire. Sneaky, he thought. Good move.
After retrieving his sidearm from the locked center console, Lars started off on foot, walking slowly, employing all of his self-control to keep from betraying his anger.
***
He had just left the center of town. Trees hedged on him on both sides, when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle slowing. Hell, Lars thought, this is what I get for trying to mingle. I should have known better. I should have tried this yesterday. Now I’ve got either a friendly local trying to help, or whoever wanted to catch me on foot. Keep it cool. I’ve got the .45 if needed. Just keep it cool.
“Where you headed, friend?” a deep voice asked from the truck.
Lars stopped and turned to see a middle-aged man with a bushy beard. “Headed back to camp,” Lars said, feigning a weak smile. “Just had some of that great coffee. Now giving the old legs a stretch.”
“Can I offer you a lift?”
Lars hesitated. He didn’t want to appear nervous or unfriendly. “Truth is, I enjoy a good walk,” he said. “But I appreciate the offer.”
The man in the truck smiled thinly behind his beard. “Doing some fishing or what?”
“You got that right.”
“Well, it’s one of the last spots in the state that ain’t all fished out.”
“Don’t suppose you’d share any secrets with a fellow angler?” Lars said with forced interest. “I haven’t caught much so far. I know it’s getting late in the year, but—”
“You’d be surprised what I’m willing to share,” Lester Snow said, the friendliness leaving his tone with every word. And while he spoke Lars saw the smoked rear window lowering to reveal another man, similarly featured, pointing a pistol at him.
***
Lars sat alone in the back seat of the truck. The two men in front, appearing like something straight out of the L.L. Bean catalog, were quite capable. He’d felt tremendous strength in their grips as they’d disarmed him and secured his wrists with plastic zip ties. Then they’d stuffed him in the truck, a two hundred pound man, like he was a child.
“Keep quiet and calm,” the second man, who he later discovered was Paul, had instructed. “The less trouble you make, the easier this will go.”
“Well played with the truck,” Lars muttered.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Lester said. “This would go much differently, if I had my way. Be sure to thank my old man when you meet him.”
“Ludlow?” Lars said.
“Who else? Now shut up,” Lester said, his eyes glaring into the rearview mirror.
“The family is on their way out soon,” Paul said. “Once they’re gone, we’ll head up there to wait for the old man. He’s a bit friendlier than my brother here.”
Lester glared into the mirror again. Lars locked eyes with him just long enough to see his eyes go from a deep brown to nearly a glowing amber color, like two small coals. His face was distorted in anger. As Lars looked away, he caught a glimpse of a smile on his face.
“Think of it as us saving you a few steps,” he said. “Instead of hiking through the woods, we’ll take you right through the front gate.”
***
Lars held his tongue while the two men killed time by driving up and down the road. He was nervous, no doubt, but curiosity assisted him in keeping his cool. If the old man wished to speak with him, clearly his main priority wasn’t to kill him. At least not yet.
After some time they stopped near the church in the middle of town. Within a few minutes an older man, closely resembling the two in the front of the truck, appeared at the driver’s side window. He made eye contact with Lars for a brief moment, and then said to his sons, “Good. Bring him to the house. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
***
“What’s Papa doing?” Evie whispered to Erica. They were standing near the church entrance, putting off entering until the very last second.
Erica turned her head and searched across the crowded parking lot. “Who knows?” she said when she located them. “Lester and Paul are like extensions of himself. They’re always meeting and talking.”
“I wonder if there’s a new development.”
“Don’t bother asking. He won’t tell us.”
“All right,” Janie said, stepping up beside them. “We can’t hang around outside all morning. Let’s get this over with.”
***
“Must be some exceptional coffee,” Givens said.
“Maybe he’s met a talkative local,” Hudson suggested.
Givens laughed ironically. “Maybe he’s come to his senses and headed home.”
“Just give him some time. I trust the boss a lot more than Trigs.”
Givens took a sip of his instant coffee. “God, I’m ready to walk to town. Just sitting here like a lump is getting on my nerves.” He dumped the remainder of his coffee on the ground.
“Will you relax?” Hudson said. “You’re making me nervous.”
***
Trigs had walked without caution for the first mile or so. After crossing a wide trail that ran north to south he’d slowed his pace and begun taking in his surroundings with attentive concentration. His head ached. He kept stopping to drink water from his canteen.
Holding west as steadily as he could, as he neared the Ludlow farm he realized that he was approaching an open field that had been recently hayed. I guess the house is more north, he thought, checking his compass. I’ll rest for a few before heading that way.
He knelt down, leaning his rifle against a tree. Rolling his shoulders, from his back he slipped off his pack and set it on the ground. In one of the outer pouches he found a bottle of Aspirin. He took one, chased it with water, and then leaned his head back against a tree and closed his eyes. I deserve it, he thought. But then again, the boss said we’d lay low the first two days. We were harmless campers having a few beers. He laughed to himself. I was just doing my job. Now, don’t fall asleep. I feel like hell but I can’t fall asleep. Not till I get back to camp.
The sound of a vehicle roused him. Moving left to right, south to north, it was going along at a good pace. Well, he thought, at least I know someone’s home. Now to get a good look at you.
He stood stiffly and lifted his pack. As he began to slide his arm under the strap, the sound of the passing truck fading in the distance, an unpleasant smell suddenly entered his head. His first purposeful sniff revealed a thick, heavy odor. Like a wet dog, he thought, letting the pack slip back to the ground.
He reached for his M4.
***
Lars waited quietly to be released from the truck. His heart was beating madly, and yet he felt a strange satisfaction he could not understand. Perhaps it was the thrill of the mystery and the strange excitement of being so close to something so superior to himself. He could not live forever, and he had long expected to perish in some violent clash or another. Making it to his late forties in his line of work was a feat in itself. At least, he thought, I’ll know the truth for a minute or two before they kill me. I hope they make it quick once they decide. The old man didn’t seem cruel like the driver. I trust he’s the one with the final say. I just hope they make it quick.
“Move,” Lester said after opening the door.
Lars swung his legs around and shimmied from the seat. Standing there in the Ludlow’s driveway, he wondered if the old team, the three men lost years ago, had made it this far.
“In the house,” Lester said next.
Lars followed the other one, Paul, as the driver came along behind. As they stepped up onto the porch and neared a wide doorway, a sudden series of gunshots issued from far
down the driveway. It wasn’t a pistol, and it wasn’t the heavy thud of a shotgun or hunting rifle. It was a full-auto assault rifle, snapping and crackling from quite a distance. At least a dozen rounds were spent within a few seconds.
As a force of habit Lars dropped to the ground the second he heard the gunfire. At once he heard the driver instructing his brother to, “Take him in,” and saw, as he started off down the driveway, his already bulky frame expanding. In one blink he was no longer a man, but a great gray wolf, snarling thunderously as he tore off to the south. Watching the wolf disappear with wide eyes and a jumping chest, his startled thoughts were a barrage of frightened and amazed curses. The gun could belong to no one but Trigs, and that realization was followed by the understanding that if he was not dead already, he soon would be.
“On your feet,” Paul said, hauling Lars up by the arm. “Hurry, or I’ll heave you like a hay bale.”
Lars panted the name of every saint and religious figure that came to mind. Paul dragged him through the door and into the house, through a kitchen, and then stood aside as he motioned him to descend a stairway. “Oh no,” he gasped, in his mind likening it to the stairway to Jeffrey Dahmer’s basement. “I’m not—”
A few seconds later he landed at the foot of the stairs. His entire body ached. Paul came down quickly, took him by the shirt collar, and pulled him across the basement to another doorway. Next thing Lars knew he was in a small space, dark but for a tiny nightlight—like something from a child’s bedroom, then the door was closed and secured behind him.
For the first time panic set in. He screamed until his voice failed him, and pounded on the doors and walls until his hands, still clasped at the wrist, throbbed, and the thin plastic ties chafed the flesh from his wrists.
***
Trigs had smelled the odor for only a few seconds when the grim realization set in on him. He felt his body rush with adrenalin, dropped to one knee, and reached for his rifle as the sudden sounds of something heavy crashing through woods quickly neared him. His hands had closed around the weapon, his finger sliding between the trigger guard and the trigger. Then he’d turned his head just enough to get an idea of something dark and very large bearing down on him. He’d flipped the safety as he raised the rifle, squeezed off a few shots, and then felt himself forced to the ground under a crushing weight, his leg pinned awkwardly beneath him.
Seconds passed. He was on his back, his leg dislocated if not broken, bent under him as if from a gymnastics routine gone horribly wrong. It didn’t hurt—not yet, only the knowledge of it made his stomach sick. He could no longer feel his weapon in his hands. Instead of the comfortable feel of his M4, he felt something else—a warm dampness and a strange, empty sense of disconnect. Overhead there was a glaring light. His eyes were full of the sun streaming through the leaves.
He tried to lift his head, to see clearly what was holding him down. As he did, a dark shape came into view. Over the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears, he heard viciously deep breathing laced with rumbling growls. Then there were other sounds—the sounds of something else large approaching from the open area now from behind his head. Then there more grumblings and growls, like a conversation of two monsters.
***
In the camp, Hudson and Givens looked at each other. In the distance, to the west, there was a faint but recognizable pop-pop-popping of an M4. Then total silence.
***
“Take him,” Abel said to Lester. “His blood leaves quickly.”
Lester looked over the broken man. His right hand was gone, his left arm was shredded to ribbons from the elbow down, and as he lay pinned beneath Abel’s heavy foot, a leg was folded under him, bent wrong and showing the protrusion of the femur. “He is no good,” Lester said. “Shock will take him even before the blood is gone.”
“I took care to leave him living,” Abel growled in frustration.
“This is fitting care for such a wretch. Kill him. He is no use to Father now. We have another for questions. I came only to ensure you were not hit.”
“The slug shot only trees. On his blundering approach he nearly stepped on me.”
“A fitting end,” Lester said. “I leave you to him.” He then turned and started up the driveway again.
***
As the grumblings quieted, Trigs tried once more to look around him. His head moved very little in response to his efforts. Still he saw the glare of the sun and the movements of something dark. Oh God, he thought, his mouth moving but forming no clear words. How many have I killed? How many have I gloated over? And now I am killed. I am gloated over. God, no. Jesus, no. At least make it fast. God, make it fast before the feeling comes.
Now the pain was settling in, and as Trigs felt the energy leaving his body, he at last saw clearly the face of his killer. For an instant the darkness came near to his face, taking on a definite shape—a massive head, a terrible mouth. He felt the warmth of heavy breath nearing his face, felt the bitterness of defeat he’d dealt many men and many animals returning back to him like a boomerang; he might have screamed with terror as the dark death giver stared him in the face … if he’d had the breath.
But he did not scream because he could not. So heavy was the killer’s weight on his chest, all Trigs could do was sob and choke as the monster gloated over him. Lars had been right, and he had laughed. And now, as the essence of his being slipped from his broken body, only then did he comprehend what a murky, heavy substance it was.
***
Life flowed steadily from the man’s body, gathering into a growing pool of red beneath his wrecked frame. Smelling death’s presence—the slow movement of its approach, its settling in, its grasping and hollowing of the body full of vitality just minutes before—Abel stepped back from the dying man. Lowering himself to the ground, he watched with cold contempt the fool gasping his final breaths after marching in so boldly. He was easy to kill—almost too easy. But his passing was not made with any ease.
~20~
In the church Evie sat between her mother and cousin. The tiny church was overflowing. At the front there was no casket, only a series of pictures of Emmy Wilson surrounded with flowers. Just off to the side her family stood together. For the first time she saw David as a young man. She’d known him the second she entered the building. He’d made eye contact with her for just a moment, and she’d had to look away.
In part it was the pull of the wolf that heightened her self-consciousness. The wolf felt so much more than the human, but it managed its awareness with heightened faculties, with bare, unabashed emotions. It knew nothing of human ceremony and public awkwardness. Evie longed for such an escape. The tiny church heavy with grief felt like a tomb.
And then there was the cold fact that she’d never lost anyone before. One funeral she’d been to in her life—and that was for a relative of a friend. She understood now the miracle of long life her family enjoyed had spared her from close losses until then—aside from her father—but it didn’t make this loss any easier to deal with.
As the service commenced, Evie kept her eyes out of focus and went away in her mind. Don’t cry, she told herself over and again. Just don’t cry. It’ll be over soon. Her family feels worse than you. Look at poor David. No, don’t look at him; you’ll cry. Just don’t cry.
***
Erica sat with a stone face as the service commenced. As Evie struggled not to cry at her side, Erica struggled against the slightly differing but strangely similar emotion of intense anger.
She hated human weakness with a passion that burned hotter with every passing second, every word from the minister’s mouth, and every line of the song they were compelled to stand and sing. To escape into the wolf for ease of awkward senses like Evie was the tip of the iceberg in Erica’s mind. Beyond the hymn they sang, beyond the building in which they stood, a different song echoed in her mind. It was the mourning song of the younger, wilder world that her ancestors sang in their own times of loss. It called to her now with i
ncreasing clarity, until her spine began to tingle, her heart began to race, and at last she was forced to push her way out through the standing singers, to the aisle, to the doorway, and to the clean fresh air outdoors.
***
Earl and Ruth were hot on her heels. By the time Evie got outside they had ahold of Erica and were in the process of ushering her into their SUV. People who hadn’t been able to fit inside the church stood watching, whispering. On the opposite side of the main street, a news camera was sure to catch the unfolding drama.
“It’s okay,” Janie whispered in her daughter’s ear. “She just needed to get out. She’ll be fine.”
Next she felt a strong hand turning her by the shoulder, steering her back into the church. She looked up to see Matthew’s unusually serious expression.
“C’mon, Red,” he said softly. “Keep your cool.”
Only when they reentered the church and returned to their seats did Evie realize the absence of her grandfather.
***
The news camera stayed focused on the SUV until it passed from view headed north.
“Must have been a friend of the victim,” the reporter remarked to the camera man. “Sad.”
“Don’t suppose there’s any use following them,” he said.
“No. These rednecks aren’t interested in outsiders.”
“They’d probably sick their dog on us for pulling in their driveway.”
“Let’s just get out of here. We’ve got all we’re going to get.”
If they had been able to see another mile, they would’ve witnessed a scene sure to have advanced their careers, lifting them from their obscure local station and placing them on the national news stage. A massive black wolf exploded through the rear window of the vehicle, shards of glass shedding and falling from its fur like powdery snow. Then, in two long bounds, the animal disappeared into the woods.
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 16