Lone Wolf

by Sara Driscoll

  She and Hawk went first, Hawk stepping enthusiastically into the stream, seemingly unaffected by the temperature. Meg stepped out onto the first rock, making sure it was solid before trusting her weight to it. Her gaze flicked to the far side, only ten or twelve feet across, before she stepped to the next rock, and the next.

  She got cocky on the second to last stepping stone, stretching her long legs to reach it and pushing off with a little too much force. She landed on the slanted rock and it shifted under her foot, her boot skidding over the slippery moss. Arms windmilling to keep her balance, Meg stayed upright, but didn’t have a hope of staying out of the water.

  With a splash, both boots landed in the water. She stifled a small shriek and leapt for the far bank, landing just as Hawk gave a massive, ear-flapping shake, water spraying in all directions. She gave him the side-eye. “Thanks, buddy. You couldn’t have waited ten more seconds for me to get clear?”

  Hawk simply gazed up at her with laughing eyes. He was on the hunt and there was nothing he loved more.

  They moved out of the way so Lauren and Rocco could cross. Lauren was doing great until she hit the same stone, then she too went into the creek, cursing under her breath.

  Brian didn’t even try; he simply waded through after his dog. When the two women stared at him silently, he just shrugged. “What was the point? I’d rather be wet up to my shins than all the way up to my ass when I slipped off and fell in.”

  “You have a point,” Meg said dryly. “Okay, let’s split up. Lauren, you go north from here. Brian, you and I will go southeast and we’ll split up further in that direction when we hit the next tributary. Stay on the sat phone and when anyone finds anything, give GPS coordinates so we can double back to where you are and come after you if you’ve moved on.” She quickly contacted Craig, giving their current coordinates and their plan to pick up the trail again. Then they set out.

  It was in an area where the forest crept close to the creek when they heard a rustling in the undergrowth to their left, near a large log. Meg and Brian exchanged suspicious glances, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was—snake, and not just any snake, a timber rattler or a copperhead, sunning itself on the log and now slithering through the underbrush. They picked up their pace; that was a critter they didn’t want their dogs to meet, with no antivenom on hand. Come to think of it, they didn’t want to meet it even if they had antivenom on hand.

  She and Brian were only together for just over five minutes when the stream they were following forked, one branch going south, the other east. Brian pulled his satellite phone from the holder on his belt and reported in that he would take the more southerly fork, while Meg took the east. With a nod to each other, they split up.

  Now alone, Meg felt more in tune with her dog. She didn’t mind searching with a group, but she always felt Hawk worked better with no distractions, when he could get into the zone. He led the way, head down, his glossy black coat shining in the brilliant sunlight, tail high, muscles rippling under his fur as he trotted along. A dog in his element. But still no trail to find.

  She kept him fairly close to the stream, knowing Mannew had to climb out at some point, so the bank would be their starting point. It was a long way to wade through icy water, but if the man was determined to stay lost, then cold feet were the least of his concerns.

  She knew when Hawk picked up the trail again simply from his body language. He slowed and started to cast about in undulating waves, his muscles tense with concentration as he wove back and forth. He had the edge of something, now he needed to find the main trail. “Find, Hawk. Find Daniel Mannew.”

  Hawk picked up the main scent and abruptly angled away from the creek just fifteen seconds later. Meg knew the scent was strong because Hawk deviated from his path only very slightly and ran even more quickly than before. Meg pulled her phone out and reported in breathlessly where they were and that they were moving fast. Craig acknowledged and then called Lauren and Brian back in to follow as reinforcements. Meg knew Brian was maybe only ten minutes behind her, but Lauren was more like thirty or forty minutes away. Meg couldn’t wait for them though. For now, they were on their own.

  They settled into what Meg knew would be the longest part of this search—catching up. Hawk had the scent, but Mannew had a solid head start on them. However, she had every confidence she and Hawk were in better shape than he was. A sheep farmer was used to hard work and heavy lifting, so he wasn’t going to be a pushover, but he wouldn’t likely be used to long distance pursuits. Meg and Hawk were very, very good at that.

  “Just you wait, you bastard. You’re ours now,” Meg growled under her breath.

  All around them, the smell of spring was in the air—damp earth and wildflowers, last fall’s decomposing leaves, and new grass. Birdsong floated on a light breeze, and the occasional scurry in the foliage suggested squirrels or chipmunks.

  The dichotomy of spring, new life, and a manhunt for a killer was not lost on Meg.

  They covered ground quickly. Hawk never lost the scent for more than ten or fifteen seconds when Mannew would climb boulders or make sudden switchback changes. Meg would occasionally stop to give Hawk a drink from the portable water bowl she carried; he could push on for long stretches, but staying hydrated was crucial. She updated her position with Craig and learned that while Lauren was far behind, Brian and Lacey were keeping up with her and were less than a mile away. She couldn’t wait for them, but if help was needed, Brian’s backup would be timely.

  At the beginning, Mannew’s trail took them through dense forest, in many places following no established path. However, much of the time Meg could have tracked Mannew on her own, based on boot prints left in the dirt, disturbed leaves or undergrowth, and broken branches. Speed was clearly Mannew’s priority, not stealth. He had his eye on the prize and that prize was the backwoods of Appalachia.

  After tracking him for over a half hour, Meg and Hawk found their path veered out of the dense forest and onto a rough, rarely used trail. But even one so rarely used afforded a clearer path and allowed for a faster chase.

  The first sign of trouble was when Hawk slowed and lifted his head from the trail, tipping his nose into the wind as if scenting something else nearer, stronger. Meg was instantly on alert. When tracking in the wild, you never knew when you’d cross into an animal’s territory. It could be a coyote or a wolf or—

  A bear.

  Shit.

  A yearling bear cub, easily forty or fifty pounds in size, wandered into the path twenty feet in front of them. Hawk instantly braced all four feet, dropping his head, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth as he let out a low growl.

  “Hawk, no.” Meg laid a hand on his back, feeling the tightness of the muscles beneath. She scanned the trees around them. Nothing was worse than coming between a mother bear and a cub; it was a recipe for disaster. And who knew if this was the only cub? Litters could be up to three or four. This was clearly a cub born last year, and one look at those paws convinced her that a single swipe could fatally harm Hawk. They didn’t want a fight; they just wanted to get past. But should they wait or go around him and risk running into Mom?

  The cub decided the issue, casting one disinterested look in their direction before ambling off into the bushes, likely in search of food.

  Time to abandon the search for a few minutes. “Hawk, come.” Meg jogged up the path, Hawk at her side, scanning for any dark shapes or sign of movement in the trees. Nothing . . . thank God.

  They slowed a minute later and Meg let Hawk take the lead once more. If he picked up the trail again because Mannew had stayed on this path, then no harm done. If not, she’d have to refresh the scent for him and they might have to backtrack a bit, but if that was the case, they’d have to be very careful.

  “Hawk, find Mannew. Find.”

  He put his nose back to the ground and within seconds had the scent again, and they were off.

  Around twenty-three hundred feet, the path inclin
ed steeply and the terrain changed. The forest started to thin out, with more dead trees opening the canopy above, or clusters of boulders that kept even the toughest tree from taking root. The dirt trails of the lower ranges slowly became rocky and difficult, and the climb slowed.

  Shading her eyes with her hand, Meg eyed the peak towering overhead—Miller’s Knob. At its highest point, it rose to nearly three thousand feet, about five hundred feet higher than their current elevation. Both woman and dog were breathing hard; for all their training, this was tough, taxing work. But she felt like they were closing in on their suspect. Hawk wavered less and kept up his pace, despite the exhaustion, which told her the scent trail was growing stronger and narrower, signaling they were approaching their target.

  She watered Hawk, then downed an energy bar and guzzled half a bottle of Gatorade before she repacked her S & R bag and seated it over her shoulders again while studying the rocky mountainside rising above them.

  “Time to end this. Hawk, find.”

  They headed toward the peak, following trails that switchbacked to follow the natural ridgelines of the mountain. It was a hard, steady climb, but determination pushed them forward. Their breathing became heavier with exertion as they moved upward, but Meg never needed to encourage Hawk. He drove himself, sometimes looking back at her as if to say, “Come on, hurry up!”

  As they neared the top, Meg muted her phone, feeling them closing in on their target and not wanting it to ring, warning him of their arrival.

  Up to this point, tracking a suspect was very much like tracking a missing person, but now the two tasks diverged. Normally, if they were tracking a lost child or hiker, she’d be calling the person’s name every thirty seconds. Instead, silence and surprise were imperative in this situation. Using hand signals, she kept Hawk closer to her and paused every fifteen or twenty feet to listen intently. Hawk, familiar with this aspect of the search process, often looked back to her for instruction and would stand very still during those listening moments. But only the sound of their own labored breathing reached her ears.

  They crested the ridge after climbing for over an hour and a quarter. Instead of a single high peak, Miller’s Knob was part of a fifty-mile ridge that ran down the length of Great North Mountain. It was covered with scraggly trees, and huge chunks of bedrock jutted from its uneven surface, marking the rough border between West Virginia and Virginia. Yet, there was still no sign of life. Had he already started down the other side? Meg didn’t think so from Hawk’s behavior. He was casting about as if he’d lost the scent or was confused in some way. They might need to backtrack downhill, reestablish the scent trail, and go from there. Perhaps this wasn’t exactly where Mannew came through? Or perhaps he’d retraced his footsteps?

  Meg crouched down beside Hawk under the shade of a young sapling, slinging her arm around his neck, giving them both a few seconds to rest, panting quietly. She stroked his fur, grown warm from exertion, and he leaned against her slightly, as much for support, she knew, as just to maintain their connection.

  She eyed the panorama spread out before them, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. A steep downward mountain path was better in her mind than a sheer drop, but their altitude still made her queasy. The wind was vicious this high up and it whipped around them, moaning mournfully.

  It was then that Mannew appeared along the ridgeline to their left. He wore dirty jeans, a plaid shirt, and a nylon jacket. Backpack straps cut across his shoulders.

  Meg didn’t dare move. Her sidearm was at her hip, but he was only twenty feet away, having missed them crouched low as they were, half hidden by a boulder. He was coming right toward them, mumbling about impassable trails.

  The advantage of surprise was needed while she was still below his line of sight. She pulled her sidearm, aiming for his torso.

  “Daniel Mannew, stop.”

  Mannew’s head came up, his eyes wide as he searched for the voice, his gaze finally dropping to Meg, who continued, “You’re wanted for bombings in the states of West Virginia, Maryland, and in the District of Columbia. Put your hands where I can see them.”

  She didn’t see the rock he must have picked up to carry as he walked until it was too late. He started to raise his hands, as requested, his hands moving from his hips up to his shoulder. Then he drew back his right hand and hurled something at her. The rock caught her forehead with stinging pain; she ignored it, pushing to her feet. She fired one shot at Mannew’s back as he ran back the way he’d come. Not having caught her balance, she knew the shot went wide, missing him completely.

  She tore after him, hearing Hawk follow right behind her. Mannew had a good twenty feet on her and he ran along the ridgeline, ducking around boulders and in and out of trees, his eyes cast over the edge looking for a way down.

  Something warm and wet trickled over her left temple and she swiped at it with her left hand. It came away wet with blood. So he got in the first hit. The only blow that really counted was the last, and that one would be all hers.

  Meg realized why he’d likely doubled back. There was no path down from here, only a long rocky drop to the forest, more than a hundred feet below, leading to possible death, definitely broken bones.

  Meg awkwardly ripped her satellite phone off her belt with her left hand and hit a single key to speed dial. “Suspect is in sight. I repeat, the suspect is in sight. I am in pursuit at the top of Miller’s Knob.” There was no way she’d be able to put it back on while running flat out over rocky terrain, so she clenched the phone in her fist.

  Hope soared in Meg’s heart when Mannew stumbled, going down on one knee. She poured on every last ounce of speed she had. This was her chance.

  His upper body turned to face her. That’s when she saw the gun in his hand.

  He fired.

  Meg threw herself down, desperately hoping the shot would go over her head. But when pain lanced through her knees as they hit the rocky ground, she instead heard a sound that made her blood go cold—Hawk’s high pitched yelp of pain.

  She looked around frantically, but couldn’t see her dog. Had he gone over the edge? Was he shot?

  The sound of rocks tumbling attracted her attention back to Mannew as he’d gained his feet again and was getting away. She had to go after him. If she let him go, how many more would die? But she felt frozen, like her heart was ripped from her chest and lay somewhere with her wounded dog.

  She prayed he was only wounded. After Deuce, she couldn’t consider anything else. “Hang on, Hawk, I’ll be back for you.”

  She bore down, taking her terror and rolling it into fury, letting that fury give her wings. Her own safety seemed like an afterthought as she sprinted after Mannew, years of training kicking in as she pursued on autopilot. Her gaze locked on him like a laser, she didn’t even see the terrible drop that lined the path. Her only goal was to stop him. No more deaths, no more injuries. Not on her watch.

  Enough.

  When she calculated she was close enough, she pulled up short, planted her feet, dropped the phone to steady the gun in both hands, and took the shot. He was bobbing and weaving, so it narrowly went over his shoulder, but it made enough of an impression that he slowed. The gun locked on him, she jogged up to him. When she got closer, she realized why he’d stopped—they were coming to a stony outcrop, a series of rocky vertical towers that jutted out over the landscape, stories below. Just the impact of a bullet might be enough to lose one’s balance and go over.

  There was no escape from this point. This was likely the way he’d come before, but had turned back to unexpectedly meet them, and she’d unknowingly driven him back into the dead end. He’d no doubt hoped to spot an easier way down or to take her out with a bullet before he ran out of path.

  “Turn around, Mannew. Hands where I can see them.”

  He spun around, the fury in his eyes nearly a living beast, but kept his hands at his sides, his fist white-knuckled around the grip of his handgun. “You’re that bitch from the picture in the p
aper. You tried to take the attention off me. You and that dog.”

  Cold sweat dripped down Meg’s spine. She’d assumed he was aiming that shot at her. But if he’d recognized her on sight, maybe Hawk was his target all along. Panic spiked, but she battled it back down, stuffing it away for when her life didn’t depend on keeping her head. When Hawk’s life didn’t depend on it. “I didn’t ask to be in the paper. Someone took that picture without my knowledge. Put the gun down, Mr. Mannew, and this will go easier for you.”

  “To do what? Put me in jail? I just wanted to take care of me and mine. I just wanted you all to leave me alone.” His voice started to rise and take on an edge. “Was it too much to ask for?” he ended on a roar.

  “Mr. Mannew, put down the gun or you’ll force me to shoot. And let me assure you, I will hit my target.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” Mannew bellowed. He took a threatening step toward Meg.

  Meg’s finger tightened on the trigger. She was losing control of the situation. Scratch that—she never had control. How do you control someone who’s crazy? She was running out of options. It was him or her, and she wasn’t going to lose this one.

  “Mr. Mannew, it’s not too late. Put down the weapon and we can work this out.”

  “You know who it’s too late for?” he shouted, spit flying from his mouth and his skin flushing a dull red. His gun hand started to vibrate. “It’s too late for—”

  With an almost unearthly growl, Hawk came out of the bushes to Meg’s left like a dark rocket, launching himself, teeth bared, at Mannew’s gun hand. His teeth clamped down around the bare skin of his wrist, his fangs sinking into flesh and grinding over and between bone. Mannew screamed in pain and the gun went off, the bullet drilling into rock only a foot in front of Meg, sending up a shower of shards. Hawk bit down harder, jerking his head from side to side, and Mannew screamed again, involuntarily releasing the gun, which skittered along the rocks and disappeared out of sight behind them.