***
Lars squinted as the door was unbolted and thrown open. Light flooded the holding room. He scrambled to his feet as three blurry figures entered, the glare distorting their shapes.
“Sit down,” a voice said, not completely unkindly, but not cordially either. It was a definite order rather than a suggestion.
Fumbling as his eyes adjusted, Lars lowered himself carefully back down to the chair as, across the room, the face of Joseph Ludlow came into focus. The two younger men stood back on either of his sides as the old man settled into a chair across from him. Here we go, Lars thought. The old man will start out nice. He wants information. I don’t suppose he’ll let me live now that I’ve seen one of them—now that I know. No, he won’t let me live. He’ll get what he can from me. Probably let me think he’ll let me go if I just cooperate. But then he’ll hand me over to these other two. That’ll get ugly. Especially the driver. He’s a mean one. I wonder if that’s him—my old friend.
Lars lifted his eyes to Lester. Lester smiled back at him, a very unpleasant smile, as if to say, “Soon.”
“Listen up,” the old man said.
Lars gave him his attention. The old man had terrible green eyes. Not a cruel face like the younger one. But his eyes were terrible. He was an animal, no doubt—they all were. And he knew now, as certainly as if the truth were scrolled across the walls surrounding him, that there would be no successful conclusion to this mission. No money. No vacation. No nothing. He would not leave this house alive—or at least not the dark woods surrounding it.
“We have important business to discuss,” the old man said. “Unpleasant business. Let’s conduct it as decently as possible. Answer my questions honestly, and I’ll deal fairly with you. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” the mercenary whispered, averting his eyes from the old man’s terrible stare.
“This is not your first time here, is it?”
“No.”
“How long have you been a hired gun?”
“A long time,” Lars answered louder. His throat was parched, his voice husky.
The old man turned and asked Paul to get a bottle of water from upstairs. Paul appeared less than pleased with the request but did as his father asked. Joseph turned back to the hostage.
“You might be surprised to learn that I—we—have an understanding of such occupations.”
Lars made eye contact with him for a moment.
“To an extent, that is,” the old man continued. “We’ve never gone as far as becoming assassins. Are you in charge of this team?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Exactly how many men are with you?”
Lars opened his mouth and hesitated. It was against a lifetime of training and experience to spill one’s guts regarding one’s mission, one’s team.
“Four?” Joseph said.
Lars dropped his eyes as he nodded.
“All right. Good answer. Now, as for the man that came this morning—a mighty rash move to make in broad daylight. I’m sure you won’t be shocked to learn that he is dead. My question is: did he also come during the night?”
“No,” Lars shook his head. “No, that was me.”
“You’re telling the truth so far,” Joseph said. “Very good. Keep it up. There are two men still under your charge to consider. Your continued honesty may spare their lives. Do you follow?”
Yes, but nothing will spare my life, Lars thought. “The other two have seen nothing,” he said. “None of us knew for certain what we were after. I wasn’t certain until—” He looked at Lester. “Until I saw you.”
Lester smiled unkindly as he stared back at the hostage, and Lars realized then that the large man was wearing nothing but a white robe—one that seemed too small for him. If he hadn’t been so concerned with impending doom, he might have laughed. Then Paul reentered the room and tossed Lars a bottle of water. He opened it clumsily, drank half of it, and replaced the cover.
“Now,” Joseph said. “Look at me. Look me in the eye.”
With difficulty Lars complied. The old man was fair and spoke respectfully, but he was an animal deep down. Just behind those eyes something terrible was raging, hurling itself over and over against the thin cage of his sternly composed face. In a way it was more unnerving than the outright hostility—the uncertainty of it.
“The other men have seen nothing?” Joseph said.
“Nothing,” Lars answered. “Our camera traps caught nothing but squirrels and raccoons last night. Those men have seen nothing. They know nothing. The traps are useless now. The dead man controlled them. That’s the truth.”
“Okay,” Joseph said. “So far, so good. Now, I don’t suppose you know who sent you? Or why?”
“I …” Lars began. “I do but I don’t. I’m a soldier, a freelance grunt. My job is to follow orders and execute missions. They only give me the bare minimum of facts to operate by. That’s the truth.”
“Government or private firm?”
“I believe it’s a little of both.”
“What’s the goal?”
“In this case,” Lars began and then hesitated. It was so unnatural to spill his guts. “Primarily this was an exploratory mission. Base pay for base work. We were to observe the surrounding areas of the strange killing incident. If anything unusual turned up, we were to …”
“Go on,” the old man said. “Kill or capture?”
“Capture.”
“Yet you weren’t positive of what you were hoping to capture?”
“No,” Lars said. “That’s the truth. My superiors only offer fractions of truths. They suggest by their interest in the area that something fantastic is present, but they give no definite confirmation, as with, say, a manhunt. On those we have photographs and sometimes informants to aid us. Here, I’ve been given no proof of wolves, of shape-shifters or any other monsters, none other than my own suspicions and curiosities. Suggestions drive exploratory missions. It’s a cautious test with high hopes on their end. And even if there was proof, I doubt they’d give it to us in such a case.”
“For fear?”
“Do you think they’d trust hired men with that much information?”
“They’d be wise not to,” Joseph said. “My guess is that you’d put your findings on offer to the highest bidding competitor.”
Lars smiled faintly for the first time in hours. “Hey, a man needs to make a living.”
“That they do,” the old man agreed. “Since your arrival yesterday, have you had any contact with your superiors?” he asked. “Think carefully before you answer.”
“None,” Lars said. “They expect no word from us until we’ve either succeeded or given up.”
“Not a call? Not a text? Not an activated transponder?”
“No. They want no connection with us if we turn up dead or captured.”
“Understood.”
“The other men,” Lars said. “They’re good men. The dead one was a just a brawler. He liked the hunt. More so he liked pulling the trigger. But these others are not like him. Both are younger than me. One, Justin Givens, is still in his twenties. You’ll know him by his young face. He has a wife and a small child. He was a talented marksman and didn’t know what he was getting into when he accepted the offer of special training from a private contractor. He—”
“All right,” Joseph said, leaning toward him. “You’ve been truthful thus far and your concern for your men is sincere. I appreciate that. And I appreciate above all the sanctity of family. I do not wish to end these men’s lives. But understand also that I too have a family. A very large one. We pose absolutely no threat to the outside world. My kind barely venture into it, even in human form, yet we are routinely hunted. If men persist in hunting us to unlock the secrets of our powers, understand that we will eliminate any such threats with vicious proficiency. By that I mean we will fight to the death, every last one of us, to prevent anyone from securing a living specimen. Understood?”
The mercenary nodded.
“The security of my family, both blood and extended, is my primary concern in life,” Joseph said in a tone that left no room for doubt. “This town and its surrounding woods are all we ask of mankind. To live in peace is all we desire. For that reason my ancestors left old Europe and it’s hatred for the wolf. I say none of this to impress or intimidate, I say it as absolute fact, so that you might understand both my staunch position, and my rigid actions.”
“I understand,” Lars said.
“Good.”
“And I understand why I can’t be allowed to live.”
Joseph Ludlow watched him thoughtfully for a moment. “How many lives would you guess you’ve taken?”
“Many,” Lars said. “Too many to escape a similar death.” He paused. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Ludlow?”
He nodded.
“Which of you found me last night, and also stalked me many years ago, in the Maine wilderness?”
“None present,” Joseph said. “That would be my brother.”
“Sir,” Lars said, reverently, as if addressing a senior officer in the military in his younger days—because in fact speaking with Joseph Snow made him feel small, inferior, almost young again. “Could I see him?
Joseph Snow leaned back, looking curiously at the man, as if he didn’t believe his own ears.
“Could it be him that ends me?” Lars asked with emotion in his voice. You owe me no honor, I know. I ask only because I sense that you are a fair man. I understand your stance. Now understand mine. I’ve lived as a soldier for nearly forty years. Let me die as one. Let me die fighting. Let me fall to a truly great adversary.”
“That’s about the last thing I expected you to say,” the old man said. He looked back at his sons for a moment. They too appeared somewhat impressed. “How many combat missions have you?”
“No clue, sir. I’ve long lost count. But since I was seventeen years old, I’ve always pictured dying in battle. As a younger man I was always surprised when I survived missions, then full deployments, while so many others did not. I guess I’ve always been good at what I do, or just lucky … I don’t know. But every morning I wonder—will this be the day someone finally gets me? When I met the one in the dark last night, he shook me. I knew for sure what I’d suspected years ago when I met him last. He is the ultimate hunter, something far superior to myself in every way. I—”
“All right,” the old man interrupted. “I understand the nature of a warrior and a hunter. The ultimate shame would be to die disgracefully in a basement cell.”
“Yes,” Lars said.
“I’ve given you my ear and my consideration. Now listen carefully while I explain exactly what your options are.”
***
“It’s almost noon,” Givens said, checking his watch again.
“I know,” Hudson grumbled, cupping his forehead in his palms.
“We’ve got to think about it sooner or later.”
Hudson said nothing.
“I say we hike into to town,” Givens said. “It can’t be any more dangerous than sitting out here.”
“Yeah? Suppose the boss has made some progress with the locals. Suppose we come bumbling in and raise everyone’s suspicion. Then what happens?”
Givens kicked over a lawn chair and then dug into his pocket for his Skoal.
“Relax,” Hudson said. “Stop looking at the time and clear your head. I’m gonna get some more firewood.”
“You’re kidding,” Givens said. “You’re considering spending another night here?”
“We don’t know what will come.”
“The boss hasn’t returned and Trigs is likely dead.”
“We can’t help Trigs. It sounds to me like he got the quick fight he went spoiling for. And yes, the boss is away. We’ll wait for him until it becomes hopeless. In the meantime we have to be prepared. We’ll want a hell of a big fire to keep them at a distance tonight. Okay?”
Givens glanced around as the tobacco packed in his lip began to issue its calming effect. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get a charge of wood. We’ll build several fires. That should keep them back.”
~21~
Abel lay still as the visitor approached him. He knew her scent, and in part, he felt her fury. The old call she was chasing was one he had followed for over a century. Yet it never grew dim or faint or less appealing, and he never tired of chasing after it, or encouraging the young to follow after.
Not far behind the visitor another wolf was approaching—one of his nephews. How comically absurd, Abel thought as he ruminated upon their differing scents, their differing intentions. The wild one chases the roots of her magnificent heredity, while her father seeks to anchor her here, a place crawling with more threats in one day than I find per month in my own quiet territory.
***
The sound of the heavy front door opening met all their ears. Then there were hurried steps reverbing through the floorboards. Joseph Snow turned from the man he was about to address. Lester moved toward the stairs and called up. At once they all heard Ruth’s voice. She was frantic for help.
Lars, waiting expectantly, watched the three men rush out and the daylight fade behind the closing door. God, he thought. I hope it’s not the others. I think the old man would have spared them. I hope it’s not them. I didn’t think those two would come near this place. If they shoot just one, though, they’re dead men. The old man is fair but firm. I wouldn’t want to cross him. God I hope it’s not them. I didn’t think they’d risk their necks for me. I hope they haven’t. I really thought the old man would let them go.
***
The sun-glinted woods flew past her. She gulped the air and drove her feet with all her might, following the allure of unapologetic freedom of body and mind. She had smelled the old Snow from the moment she burst from the vehicle. If anyone was sympathetic to her urges, it was he. She chased after him, hearing her father behind her and not caring. It was a sharp breaking of rules to transform in daylight—even worse that it was a time of threat. But the old Snow would understand. He would side with her.
Suddenly the smell of recent death filled her head. The last traces of departing life still hung in the air, and she slowed as she approached Abel, her head low, her nose working in the direction of the corpse. The sight of him troubled her, but not as greatly as the night she first witnessed such death. With a strong blow she forced the scent from her nose. Then she raised her head and faced the killer.
“Even I recognize certain rules,” he said in his deep, drawn-out manner. He shook his great head subtly from side to side. “To flout in daylight is a risk.”
“I don’t care about the rules,” she growled.
“Your view may change if another of these emerged.”
“No,” she said looking to the dead man, then back to the old Snow. “Their rules don’t fit me. I don’t fit them.”
Earl stepped up just as Erica finished her complaint. He stood at a respectful distance from his uncle, his gray face glaring from one wolf to the other. The closeness of death to his daughter unsettled him greatly. “This won’t do,” he said.
Erica whirled and faced her father. “I don’t care!”
“Caution,” Abel said, rising to his feet. His statement was directed toward his nephew. “She will run if you press. You know well what nature rages in her now, though you ignore it better than she.”
“She hasn’t control,” Earl said. “She should not be near death. She should not be near you.”
“I have not called her,” Abel snarled. “I am a follower myself, subject to the pull and passion. Her, I have not encouraged. Blame the ancient. Blame the threat of men that heightens our awareness. Don’t blame me.”
Earl snarled but said nothing more. He required assistance to deal with one of these wild ones, let alone two.
“Understand the nature of the call,” Abel said to the young wolf, pacing toward her ominously. “There is no satisfaction to be found. The roots go on into time
so that there is no finding, no having; only the joy of the chase. The waters are sweet to drink, but it is a stream with no source, its currents ever flowing until the heart that chases it ceases to beat.”
“But—”
“Listen,” Abel roared over her. “There is no escape. If the wild ceased to be in form, if the forests were dozed and flattened, the call would still sound as clearly in you. I can lead you no set place to satisfy your urge. Think on it, before you give yourself to follow.”
“I have,” she said, holding her head high and proud. “I know what I want. I can’t stay here.”
“You would trade all these,” he pointed his nose to Earl, “for sake of the wild chase?”
“Not forever.”
“Oh,” Abel laughed with a deep rumble. “So simple it is to turn back, is it? Remember who you speak with.”
“I don’t care,” Erica said. “I won’t tolerate the humans.” She swung her head towards her father. “If I have to, I’ll kill one! I’ll kill so that you will all drive me away!”
***
The white wolf and his sons found a bitter argument when they arrived. In time, with many strong wolves aiding in the effort, they corralled the young wolf and ushered her to the garage—the basement still being occupied by a prisoner—and locked her in an empty bay. The damage to the garage was horrendous. Instead of calming and subduing her, the efforts of all to control Erica only deepened her rage. In time she could hardly speak. All that flowed from her was growls and threats.
As the rest of the family returned from the services, they learned of the happenings, and each took turns guarding the garage and trying, to no avail, to reason with her.
***
“I say we deal with the prisoner now,” Lester suggested. “Then let the girl have the basement.”
“No,” his father said. “The more men we kill, the more we invite others. We need to diffuse this before we lose control.”
Evie kept quiet as the debate intensified. As more family members arrived and the conversations only grew more heated, she shrunk back into the kitchen with her mother.
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 17