Wolfwraith

by John Bushore

“Okay,” he said. “I see your point. We can’t lose this, like the bike track. I’ll wait here for you. But we can’t mess around too long; we might get stranded.”

  “I wasn’t planning to evacuate anyway. I’ll bring you back to the Federal Building in Norfolk after we get done there—it’s solid brick and on high ground. Oh, I can see the interstate from the office and it’s clear coming your way, so I’ll have no problem getting to you. Everyone is heading inland; there’s no rain and the wind is hardly blowing yet.”

  “It’s raining here, but...okay, I’ll tell you what. Meet me at the refuge headquarters and I’ll bring you and this other guy in. Once the wind picks up, the interior roads won’t be safe; tree limbs will be coming down and you won’t be able to get back out in a car. We’ll take the beach, unless the surf has washed over.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in...”

  The phone went dead. It surprised him; the wind was hardly worth mentioning. Oh, well, a weak branch could have come down across the wires and taken out the phone line to Wash Woods. No big deal, they’d finished talking.

  He stripped off his wet clothes and put on a clean uniform. Over that, knowing the rain would be increasing as the storm neared, he donned a foul-weather suit from his closet, a two-piece affair with bottoms like waders and a zip-up jacket and hood. Next, he pulled on a pair of mud boots.

  When he got into the truck and reached for his keys in his trouser pocket, he couldn’t reach them. He got out of the truck and twisted about until he could get his arm inside the ungainly raingear and grab his keys. Then, he slid back in and drove away.

  He decided to take the beach up to the refuge. When he crested the dune crossing, the ocean looked like Neptune was throwing a temper tantrum. Close in, mighty breakers crashed ashore, with foamy tops dancing in the wind. Farther out, in the light from his headlamps, gray hills rose and fell like the backs of gargantuan beasts.

  He turned left and drove north, keeping well above the highest point the surf reached. It would have been faster going on the wet sand close to the sea, but he worried a large crest might catch him unawares and wash the sand from beneath his tires. He stayed with the slower, safer route.

  He saw no one on the beach, of course. He couldn’t even see the lights of the resort strip to the north or any slowly-moving lights of ships as he usually did. Only the far off, unmanned Chesapeake Bay Light blinked occasionally, maintaining its vigil even though the maritime traffic it normally guided had moved away, out of the path of the incoming hurricane.

  Shadow turned on the AM/FM radio and found a station with continuing coverage of the storm. He learned it was still weakening slightly. That encouraged him. It didn’t sound like it would be too dangerous a storm but Adelaide was predicted to come ashore near the state line, which put False Cape dead in its path. It was also speeding up, expected now in mid-morning.

  He changed to a music channel and cracked open the window, enough to let a little air in. He must still have some sardine oil from the duck blind on his finger; he could detect a faint smell of it. He sniffed his fingers but they seemed clean. He was probably imagining it. He hated that smell.

  When he came abreast of the passage through the dunes for the refuge, he turned left and let the wind push him up the side of the sand hill. The parking lot was empty as he came down onto the blacktop on the other side. The refuge wardens had also evacuated. Lights were on in the parking lot, though, and on the building’s wide porch.

  The headquarters sat near the northern base of the cape, which was very narrow at this point. He could see the bay writhing with thrashing little waves, as if somebody was shaking a shallow pan of water.

  He pulled up in front of the refuge headquarters and parked. To the north from here there was a paved road, so Lorene should have no trouble getting this far and she’d easily see him under the lights. When he shut off the engine, along with the radio, he became aware of the swooshing sound of the wind about him, carrying gusts of rain along with it.

  Thinking about all he’d found, Shadow was sure he’d cracked the case and felt quite proud of himself. Lorene would be pleased, if not impressed. Now that False Cape Frank’s hideout was known and his boat disabled, they were sure to catch him.

  He didn’t expect Lorene for at least a quarter of an hour, maybe longer if she’d had to stop to pick someone else up. For the first time, he regretted not having a cell phone; it would probably work this far north.

  A crackling noise from the discarded candy wrappers in the back seat of the truck was his only warning, coming an instant before a powerful arm snaked around and clamped down on his throat, gripping him in the crook of an elbow. His attacker’s other hand appeared in front of Shadow—holding a knife an inch from his eye—and he caught a strong whiff of sardine oil.

  He reached down for his pistol, but it was inside his rain gear. Jesus! He had no way of getting it. What an idiot! A powerful, unrelenting pressure constricted his throat—a chokehold, just like they teach in the police academy.

  He struggled, but couldn’t thrash around much with a knife held at his eye and was quickly growing weaker. Dreamlike, his last thought was he should have realized the sardine smell on the way up the beach hadn’t been on his clothing. He’d changed his uniform.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Well, ain’t you the feisty one?

  Shadow awoke with a light, cold rain misting his face. Someone held him beneath the armpits, dragging him backwards. He could see he was being hauled away from his truck, but why? It took him a moment to remember. Sardine breath!

  He struggled and felt cold metal dig into his wrists, behind his back. Handcuffs! Probably from his own gun belt. His ankles were also bound and his upper body was soaked. Frank must have stripped him of his raincoat, but not the pants. Sure, he’d taken the coat off to get Shadow’s cuffs. That would mean Shadow’s gun belt was gone too, of course.

  The truck disappeared from view as Frank dragged him behind the refuge headquarters building. He was taken past a large outdoor air conditioning unit and dropped.

  A dark shape loomed above him. The parking lot lights didn’t illuminate this side of the building, but he had no problem recognizing False Cape Frank. The lower half of the man’s face had a stubbly, salt and pepper beard as he grinned down at Shadow.

  “Well, hello, Blue Jay,” the old man said. “Long time no see.”

  “I’ll see you in hell.” If he could get free, he’d show the son of a bitch more than a chokehold.

  “Well, ain’t you the feisty one?” Frank clucked his tongue. “Tell you what. How about I send you on to hell right now and you wait there for me? I’ll be along in a few years, maybe.”

  Looking into the man’s eyes, Shadow knew Frank was perfectly capable of killing him. But he wasn’t dead yet, so he might as well try to bluff his way out. “Go right ahead, but the cops know about you already. You’re going to fry for it.”

  “Oh, we don’t fry killers in Virginia. We’re too high class for that. You get sent into la-la land with real high-class drugs.”

  “Either way, you’ll be dead, you son of a bitch.”

  Frank suddenly dropped to his knees beside Shadow and stuck his face close, subjecting Shadow to more of his rotten breath. “And it’ll be worth it, if I save my family’s land from a bunch of land-grabbing, planet-raping developers—not to mention all those worthless sightseers coming to the cemetery like it was some goddamned tourist attraction.” He paused and then smiled as if he had forgotten he had been angry a moment earlier. “But I don’t have a lot of time to talk. I have to be ready when your F.B.I. girlfriend gets here.”

  “What...?” Shadow was dumbfounded. “What makes you think someone’s coming?”

  Frank reached out quickly and Shadow winced, expecting a blow. Instead, Frank patted his cheek as though he were a child. “You shouldn’t leave your windows open when you talk on the phone, Blue Jay.”

  The phone call with Lorene! But how...?

 
; “I thought everyone had evacuated and I’d decided to sleep in your bunk house, or whatever you call it.” Frank continued. “I saw you pull into the dock and followed you back to your place. I was real careful; I’ve seen how you move in the woods. Matter of fact, I figured you’d be hard to sneak up on.” He spat and the wind whipped a drool of spittle onto his whiskers. “Guess I was wrong about that.”

  “Then you know everything,” Shadow said, feeling hope drain away.

  “Not everything but if the F.B.I. cunt is coming out here, there’s gotta be a reason. What did you tell her?”

  So, that’s why I’m still alive, Shadow thought. Frank was eavesdropping when I talked to Lorene, but didn’t hear everything. How much of the conversation did the son of a bitch listen to? If he heard the part about finding the steeple, he wouldn’t be asking, would he? Once he finds out what I know, he’ll kill me. Hell, he probably plans to kill me anyway.

  After I’m dead, what will he do then? Go for the boat? Maybe, although the bay was already too rough for a small boat. So, if he didn’t notice the missing bilge plug...?

  Frank kicked him. Not hard, just enough to make his point. “You’re wasting time, Blue Jay. Tell me why the F.B.I. woman is coming to the park.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Frank pulled a gun from his belt. Shadow’s gun. He pointed it toward Shadow’s right knee. “I don’t have time for this shit. Tell me what she knows or you’ll be using the handicapped parking spaces from now on. Talk!”

  “The boat. I found your boat. She wanted to see if there was any DNA evidence, before the storm washed everything away.” He had to keep Frank’s mind away from the steeple.

  “What good would that do ’em?” Frank asked. “They couldn’t have any of my DNA. I was careful.”

  “They’ve got somebody’s DNA.” Shadow thought fast. If they really had some DNA, how could they have gotten it? “They found a hair. By the last victim. Apparently you brushed against a column on the porch and it got caught in a crack.”

  “Crap! I’ll be a son of a bitch! Well, it won’t matter after tonight. What else did you find?”

  “Nothing. Just the boat.” Shadow felt like grinning, but didn’t dare. “I told her I’d found your boat, and you probably had a battery and a trolling motor hidden somewhere. How maybe you were still in the park—some sort of hideout maybe. So she’s coming down here with an army of cops—to look for you again.” He threw the last in because he didn’t remember if he’d said anything on his end about how many cops Lorene was bringing with her.

  “So that’s all you found.” Frank’s manner changed. “Thanks, Blue Jay” he said, with a smug look on his face. “I’ll sink the boat in the bay. Bingo, no more evidence.”

  He’d bought it! Now he’d probably kill Shadow, but maybe he’d go back to Wash Woods, worried about the DNA. When Lorene found Shadow’s body, she’d go straight to the steeple and nab False Cape Fucking Frank’s sorry ass.

  That way, Shadow thought, I won’t have died for nothing.

  Frank spoke again. “But you’re lying about ‘an army of cops.’ I heard you say you’d give a ride to her and one other person. So now I’ll take care of them when they drive up.”

  Shadow felt his heart drop. “Look,” he said, moving his feet slowly to determine how tightly they were lashed. “Why would you mess with an F.B.I. agent anyway? She’s not some unarmed, defenseless woman, like you seem to prefer. And why the hell are you killing all these people anyway?”

  “You still haven’t figured it out, have you, Blue Jay?” Frank shook his head as though he were dealing with a moron. “I haven’t killed anyone myself, except that old man who showed up right after the last girl was killed. It was the wolf that did in all the women.”

  The wolf? Did the old bastard have some sort of attack wolf, trained to kill?

  Frank tucked the gun back in his belt. “Anyway, Blue Jay, I wanted to thank you for your help. It’s time to shut you up.”

  “What help?” Shadow had no idea why what the old man meant, but he’d put the gun away! Was there a chance...“I didn’t do anything for you.”

  “Why, sure you did! You brought me a gun, didn’t you? And this raincoat, so I can sit in your truck and she’ll think it’s you. Now it’s time to make sure you don’t screw things up for me—try to warn your girlfriend or something—with your big mouth.”

  Frank held up a clasp knife and opened it. Shadow recognized it as his own boatswain’s knife.

  Jesus, the gun, the cuffs, even my knife, Shadow thought; the bastard is thorough.

  The old man reached out and shoved him over on his side, facing away.

  Shadow hadn’t felt fear earlier, but now it washed over him. His stomach knotted and his back muscles twitched as he waited for the knife to plunge into him. When and where would it come? He wanted to beg for his life, but knew it would do no good.

  Something tugged at the rain pants on his right leg. He heard a ripping noise. Then another. What was happening?

  Frank slammed his knee between Shadow’s shoulder blades and then jerked his head back. A hand grabbed his chin and yanked his mouth open, shoving something stiff and rubbery tasting into his mouth—part of his rain gear, he realized, a hunk of fabric cut from his pants and rolled up. It felt to be the size of a baseball, stuffing his mouth to the limit. Frank lifted his head and a wide strip of the same type of cloth came across his lower face.

  Shadow tried to suck in a breath, but only got a taste of air before it cut off. He gagged on the awful rubbery taste, struggling not to vomit.

  “The way it is, Blue Jay, I figured if the wolf killed a few young ladies no one would want to come to the park anymore and they sure as hell wouldn’t want to live here. Your buddy, the volunteer, was an accident. He should have minded his own business.

  He finished tying the gag behind Shadow’s head while he went on. “Instead, more and more people have come since then. So, what I’m going to do—listen carefully now, it’s the only reason you’re still alive—I’m going to leave you here so you can tell the cops I’ve got your Agent—Walker, was it? She’s going to be killed unless the governor announces to the whole state he’s going to let the cape go back to a natural state.”

  Shadow still couldn’t breathe. The strip of rubberized fabric the old man had tied over his mouth also covered his nose and wouldn’t allow air through. He began making noises and thrashing about, hoping Frank would realize he was suffocating and move the gag downward.

  Instead, his captor continued. “He needs to announce that on the radio, so I can hear him say it. He has to close the park—no more bedamned tourists, you hear, Blue Jay? No causeway, no homes, no fucking golf courses. A wilderness area, that’s what he has to do. Yeah, that’s it—he declares the cape a wilderness preserve, so they can keep everybody out. Then, when the whole state knows about it and he can’t go back on his word, I let the F.B.I. cunt go. It won’t matter what happens to me after that.”

  Shadow felt his head being callously yanked back again, this time by the hair. Frank put his face close, but Shadow couldn’t smell sardines this time because he wasn’t able to breathe. The old guy’s features seemed a little fuzzy.

  Frank snarled. “It’s a damn shame you people won’t leave me alone. Now look what I have to do and I don’t even know if I can kill her in cold blood. I suppose I’d have to let the wolf do her in, even though it scares the hell out of me, more every time. But you tell all of them to quit persecuting me and leave my ancestors in peace, you hear?”

  He released Shadow’s hair and let his head drop. Shadow suddenly got a breath of air. The binding had stretched slightly when the old man pulled his head back and there was a small opening on each side of his nose. He strained to get air, wheezing, until his head cleared.

  Now he heard only the tinny sound of the rain beating on the air conditioner next to him and the whistle of the wind. Frank was gone.

  Shadow tugged hard at his bonds, wrists and ankles bot
h, but felt no give. He could move a little; luckily Frank hadn’t hogtied his ankle bindings to his cuffed wrists. If he squirmed along on his side, he could move. He pulled his legs up, bent down in a jackknife position, and then threw his upper body forward. It worked! Only inches at a lunge, but maybe he could get out from behind the air conditioner. Lorene might see him lying there when her headlights flashed across the building, coming into the parking lot.

  Before he’d moved more than a couple of feet, however, headlamp beams swung across the wall above him. He rolled over and saw lights enter the parking lot then leave his view. A horn tooted softly, twice. Shadow’s truck? Sounded like it.

  There was a long silence.

  Without warning, two sharp reports sounded. They came so close together it was probably one gunman, pulling the trigger rapidly.

  After a few seconds, a third shot rang out. Was it the same gun or had someone shot back? Shadow had no way of knowing.

  He heard an engine start—his own truck, from the sound. Headlight beams shone from the parking lot again, in the direction his truck had been parked.

  Seconds later, it rolled by. Rather than turn down the interior road, his truck headed toward the dunes—the way he had come in. It went over the crossing and disappeared.

  Shadow still had no idea how Lorene, or anyone with her, had fared, but he was sure of one thing. False Cape Frank was still alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Now how the hell was he going to get himself out of this one?

  Shadow was alone then, with a long night ahead, sunrise a long way off. Even then—unless he could somehow get loose—he could only look forward to riding a hurricane out with no protection. If the ocean swept over the cape, he’d likely drown.

  Dead or alive, he wouldn’t be found until well after the storm had passed. If the road leading in was blocked, it might be several days before anyone could get back to the cape, except by boat or helicopter. Nobody would be looking for him.

  By that time, Frank could have moved Lorene anywhere, assuming she still lived. For now, at least, Shadow was pretty sure the old man would head back to the steeple, on high ground and protected by the grove of live oaks. After the storm, Frank would expect to get off the cape in his boat, unaware Shadow had pulled the plug on him. Even that wasn’t the smart move Shadow had originally thought. Now, if Frank took Lorene with him, she’d likely be bound, unable to swim.