“Yeah,” Hudson said.
Oh God, Lars thought. They’re coming. And not just a few of them. Something’s gone wrong. What’s gone wrong in such a short time?
“Move!” he shouted. “To the truck! Now!”
“I thought you had good news,” Hudson grumbled.
“I did,” Lars said. Shoving at both men he repeated, “Move! Now! Leave everything! Hurry!”
They were halfway to the truck when Hudson turned back toward the fire.
Lars gave a final shove to Givens that sent him well on his way. Then he turned to chase Hudson, who was rushing for his M4 he’d set down while packing. Falling forward to his knees, Hudson reached the rifle leaning against a lawn chair, pulled it close, closed his hand around the grip, slid his trigger finger through the trigger guard, and was beginning to stand as Lars reached him. Pulling him back under his arms, like a child, Lars swung the younger man around in the direction of the truck.
Hudson’s finger pressed the trigger as he was whirled around—an unintentional reaction. A stuttering burst of shots rattled from the M4’s barrel, sending rounds singing off into the ground, the tree trunks, and finally high into the dark tree tops before he regained control of his trigger finger.
No, Lars thought as the shots rang out. There’s no avoiding it now. There will be a fight, and we will lose.
***
In the woods beyond the firelight the camera traps were flashing. The wolves had fanned out as they ran, each picking their own path, and now they closed in on the camp in a wide half circle.
Erica, seeing only red in the blindness of rage, gave no mind to the flashes of the camera traps. All that she was aware of beyond the knowledge of enemies straight ahead was the nearness of her cousin at her heels. When the shots began she barely heard them above the drumming of her own pulse. And with aid of the fires, when she first caught sight of the shapes of men scrambling away, the air thick with gunpowder, she zeroed in on them with an unbroken stride.
***
Evie, just a step behind, understood the fear that was compelling Erica beyond defensiveness to an offensive mindset. She’d felt it herself the night she’d first learned of the cats.
Now, with the firelight in her eyes and the crackling of gunfire in her ears, she sent her final burst of energy to her feet, opening her mouth as she stretched herself long. The tickle of Erica’s tail touched the whiskers of her muzzle just behind her nose. Then, with a small turn of her head she closed her mouth around the tickle, felt the solid connection of incisors on the wiry tail, clamped down, spread her paws wide as they met the ground, and pulled.
***
Hudson had dropped to one knee as he regained control of the rifle. Lars was screaming in his ear and pulling at his shirt, but his voice sounded very distant. In his own head his pulse was throbbing, and as he stood he turned his head just enough to see the cameras flashing beyond the fire. In the flashes and firelight he saw eyeshine—not one or two pairs of eyes but many. Dozens. More by the second. He felt Lars pushing on him, practically punching him. Then, beyond the fires, in his peripheral vision there was a black shadow. Then it was more than a shadow. As his eyes turned the shadow became, he believed, the shape of a black wolf—a monstrosity of a wolf. Just behind it another one followed, white and more obvious. Then, as Lars pushed so hard that he almost fell over onto his side, the shapes of other wolves were becoming as evident as the first one—the dark one suddenly broke stride and seemed to fly straight up into the air in a roaring fit.
In the next second Lars was gone. He wasn’t sure whether he could hear him anymore, but he knew he could not feel him. And then, straight ahead, just beyond the central fire burning high, Hudson saw the first two wolves fighting amongst themselves. All around them other wolves were streaming in, flooding the camp with silvery and gray bodies and glowing eyes. Some moved toward the white and black fighting, while others, nearer, leaping with giant strides, closed around him in a noisy, shrinking circle.
All this he perceived in a matter of flashing seconds, while gradually, as if in slow motion, he gained control of his rifle.
***
Lars lost his footing in his struggle to move Hudson. As he scrambled to stand again he too became aware of the enveloping circle of wolves. So great were their strides that they covered more ground per second than a capable man such as himself could cover in five. It was all happening too fast.
Lifting his head as he stood, he saw Hudson, his head turning franticly in the firelight, raising his rifle, slowly, as the wolves closed round. In one second several shots issued from Hudson’s rifle, and then in the following second the man disappeared under a great dark shadow.
In another instant there was light. The firelight showed a second body, and a second’s evaluation told Lars it was a white wolf. It was standing between himself and the massive, ember-eyed shadow that had taken Hudson down, and he assumed—or at least hoped—that the large white one must be the old man, offering him with the block of his body one last chance at life.
Lars felt the grip of his boot tread catching in the trampled earth as all this flew through his mind. Just seconds from the time he’d fallen, he was on his feet running, his heart pounding like a steam engine. The two massive bodies moved away to his right and then fell behind as he fled for the truck.
***
Evie had suffered the slashing of Erica’s fangs along her flank by the time their fight was broken up. Stepping back as other family closed around Erica, she surveyed the broader situation.
Another wound from her cousin. It wasn’t bad. The knowledge of who had left it stung more than the laceration itself. All around her the pack was clamoring. Some were tearing down cameras, some kicking earth onto smoldering fires, and some, just beyond the tallest fire at the center of the clearing, were right in the midst of the hunters.
Shots were again fired—only a few this time. But still their sound shook Evie’s chest and caused her to lower her head and ears. From the far side of the camp there were sounds of pain. A wolf—Abel—growled terribly in pain. Then there was the quickly fleeting sound of a man screaming. In a second it was gone. The man was down and another man—the one from the house—was running from the scene, heading in the direction of vehicle lights that had just lit up the darkness beyond the camp.
***
“Let him go,” the white wolf bellowed. “He is mine.”
Abel, staggering in pain from several shots grazing him, shook his head in a fury. “End him! He has seen clearly!”
“No,” his brother growled, placing himself between Abel and the retreating Lars, while making eye contact with the other nearest wolves to stop their pursuit. “I said he is mine. He pleaded for the lives of the others above his own. This one here you have ended. Your wounds—”
“I have endured far worse,” Abel rumbled, pacing and limping and bleeding. From head to tail he trembled with rage, but in his injured state he made no attempt to follow after the other men.
***
From the cab of the truck Givens saw Lars running with the firelight at his back. Beyond him there were massive movements in the flickering light, but the dense underbrush made everything a shadowy, indistinct blur. The smaller fires seemed to be going out, but the big one still burned enough to show the outlines of great shapes moving about in the camp.
He turned the key in the ignition. As Lars pulled the passenger door handle he dropped the column shifter into reverse, and before the door was fully shut, with Lars sliding in, he stomped the gas with his eyes fixed on the side mirror. Within seconds he felt the bounce of the rear tires meeting the paved road. He cut the wheel sharply, aiming the truck south, and dropped it into drive.
“Fast,” Lars panted. “I mean it!”
Givens floored it once he was in forward gear, burning the tires momentarily. “Hudson. What happened? Where is he?”
“Gone,” Lars said. “Just drive and tell me what you saw.”
“I saw,”
Givens started with a shaking voice. “I don’t know what I saw. I don’t know what I heard.”
“That’s right. You don’t know. Do you understand me? You saw nothing!
“I—”
“Now listen,” Lars said over him. “Drop me at the gated driveway and then get the hell out of this town. Once you’re out, don’t ever come back. Not within fifty miles of it. Do you hear me?”
Givens heard and nodded his head, but he said nothing. He was thinking of Hudson—thinking he’d stood near the fire, where he himself had stood, just minutes before the noise from the woods had become evident. Now he was gone.
“Get below the mountain pass before you stop,” Lars continued. “Run over your phone once you do stop. Kick the pieces into a ditch. And once you get back home, pack up and get out of there ASAP.”
“What the—”
“Shut up,” Lars grunted. “Listen to me. Go to my place before it’s light out. Climb the balcony post and break in through the bedroom window over the balcony. I’ve got the alarm signs around but the upstairs is not alarmed. Under my desk there’s a safe. The code is my graduation date from basic.”
Givens let off the gas when he saw the gated driveway. Slowing as he heard Lars rattle off the combination to his safe, it felt like he was in a dream.
“You got it?” Lars said, opening the door.
“Yeah,” Givens exhaled.
“Good. There’s enough cash in that safe to let you lay low for a good while. Move far away. I mean it. I doubt they’ll send anyone looking for you; they’ll assume you’re dead. But don’t seek out any jobs anytime soon. Use your alias and keep Rebecca and the little one in the dark about everything. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Givens said, swallowing hard. He turned his head and looked at Lars. He was out of the truck now, the overhead light showing his face.
“Don’t worry about me,” Lars grinned. “I’ve got a new gig.”
“Boss,” Givens said, just as Lars shut the door. He heard the man’s hand slap the door twice.
“Go!” Lars shouted from outside.
Givens lifted his foot from the brake, hesitating for a moment as the strange reality settled in on him. The old soldier’s face seemed bright, animated; he knew what he was doing. Then he pressed his toe to the gas and headed south.
***
Lars watched his truck moving away in the dark. Standing in the driveway for a time, as the lights and sound of his truck faded, he thought, You’re in deep now, old boy. There’s no going back from this.
Turning north, now that the sounds of his truck had completely faded, he could hear the faint sounds of the wolf pack from the campsite. Whether they were still angry or celebrating their victory, he wasn’t sure. He turned, looked up the long driveway, considered it, and then faced north once more. Slowly he started marching north along the roadside at an easy pace. You did your best, he told himself. You got one out at least, although I feel damn bad for Hudson. He was a good man. Just panicked, that’s all. It happens sometimes and it wasn’t your fault. No, it wasn’t. You did what you could. But damn I wish I could’ve gotten him out.
“Stop,” he said aloud to break the train of thought. That’s all over now. Get it all out of your head and focus on the job at hand. This is your biggest challenge yet. Now it’s time to find out if the old man is as trustworthy as he let on.
“I think he is,” he muttered to himself. “God I hope so.”
~23~
At sunup Evie woke in her bed. Stretching as she rolled over, the turmoil of the night began coming back to her.
It had been an ordeal getting Erica back to the farm. Then, once back she’d refused to leave Abel’s side as he lay injured near the corner of the garage. His fierce presence was all that appealed to her. Several whole chickens had been taken from the freezer and brought to the old warrior, along with water in a bucket—though he’d resented the aid, and even the assumption that he required any such assistance. It had been very late when Evie came inside. But she’d been too tired to stay out any longer.
Standing from her bed now, she threw on her robe and hurried downstairs. The great room was empty. She found her grandparents on the front porch sipping coffee, watching the morning light spread slowly across the open sky.
“Morning,” her Papa Joe said kindly but weakly, almost as if he wasn’t completely awake himself yet.
“What’s wrong?” she asked after a moment’s evaluation.
“Nothing is wrong. Just different.”
Looking to the woods beyond the garage, she asked, “Is it Erica?”
He nodded gravely. “She’s gone.”
“Abel?” she whispered.
“I woke with the feeling that something was happening. I slipped out around five AM and followed their trail east. I was about an hour behind them, I’m guessing. They left my man in the camp, as I instructed.” He nodded. “That’s good at least.”
In a rush Evie felt instantly awake and alert. “No,” she said. “We can’t ... I mean, shouldn’t we go after her? We can’t just let her go wild.”
Joseph Snow said nothing for the moment. He was staring far off into the east, his thoughts focused well beyond his vision. There was no point in voicing the obvious. Erica could not be controlled, either by herself or her family. Ludlow was simply not the best place for her.
“Dear,” her grandmother said softly. “There’s nothing we can do shy of locking her in a cage. For the time being, the farther from humans she is, the safer everyone will be.”
Evie pulled her robe tighter against the cool of the morning air. She could see the distortion of pain on her grandfather’s noble face, and she knew in that instant, by only his expression, that he understood completely how she felt to lose Erica—someone so similar in so many ways, someone so close yet so vastly different from one’s self. Even with a century’s practice, to come in contact with his brother and then lose him again to the wilds had become no easier on him with time. And now, on top of it, to admit that Erica could be better taught and better protected from the world at large by someone other than himself, only rubbed salt in his wounds.
Ludlow was the perfect place for Evie now. She understood this clearly. Joseph Snow had spent the majority of his life constructing the perfect residing place for half-wolves and half-men to exist on the borders of the two worlds—the world of men and the pristine wilds beyond. In so many ways Ludlow was perfect for their purposes, but it could not contain Erica now, just as no civilized place could contain Abel.
“She’ll come back someday,” Evelyn said gently. “I know she will.”
***
The day was not a good one. After Emmy’s burial service in the Snow family plot, after saying her final goodbyes, Evie had next to say goodbye to her mother. This time it was for real. Aunt Ruth in her distress had decided to accompany her sister-in-law on the trip, which would be good for both, while Earl and Matthew would be alone for a time, kept busy with patrols and whatnot. In late afternoon Evie and Matthew watched the jet lift off from the airstrip and then made their way home, talking quietly and somberly.
“Just remember,” Matthew had to remind her more than once. “Grandpa knows what he’s doing. You don’t get to be as old and successful as he is by accident or luck.”
Evie knew it was true, but in the moment even the truth was a small comfort.
***
That night, when their leader returned, the full pack assembled on Moon Rock. With their enemies scattered, every wolf sang openly together, letting their voices soar without fear or hesitation. Lifting the full strength of their collective woes to the cold and the black, to a million specks of twinkling light beyond the steady ghost glow of the moon, their many-noted song rang out over their vast domain. Sadly this old song began—the deep cry out of the younger world, moaning from the throats of nameless forebearers over countless generations. Like them, and in identifying with their lingering memories, the old song moaning now in their own throats as
they mourned openly and complained bitterly, the North Pack sent their voices high and loud.
But as this song proceeded, swelling from many notes into a collective harmony, its pitches took on a different air with differing meanings. Because it was the oldest song of all, its earliest lines were purely sad, plaintive, and lonely. But from the depths of despair these singular laments of the bitter struggles of life merged, blended and expanded, escalating slowly into a chorus of celebration and unity—the song of the pack—which transitioned in beautiful pitches into an announcement of strength and defiance to the outside world. And with their heavy bodies pressing closer together, heads lifted and great throats bellowing, the assurance of devotion unto death of each for the other heartened their resolve, and so their voices, until their singular tones of remorse were lost beneath an exultant, unified melody, blossoming from the cries of anguish into a defiant declaration of triumph and solidarity.
So the ancient song sung afresh drifted up into the night from Oak Hill, carrying within its cadences a bold, unyielding claim to the land, and to each other—which has always been, and always will be, the way of the pack.
***
Many miles north and east, Abel, the restless wanderer, perceived not a sound but something ghostly hovering in the air that stiffened his scruff and chilled his spine—a communal, harmonic spirit his wild heart often ignored, but now could not. With the young wolf at his side, the old Snow momentarily ceased his tireless travels. And sitting back on his haunches, he lifted his nose to the dark and the depths, howling once deep and long his mournful response—at once an apology for his lone ways, and a fond, temporary farewell to those who had stirred him, whose love, though great, could never hold him.
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 19