Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  A movement at the edge of the path beyond seized her attention. A pale shape emerged from the shadows, seemed to coalesce in the moonlight and grow larger until it was a vivid white creature of impossible size. Jillian’s heart stuck in her throat as the great wolf slowly turned its massive head and stared directly at her.

  Oh, Jesus. She had studied wolves more than any other wildlife, but only from books and captive specimens. Wolves don’t attack humans, she reminded herself. Wolves don’t attack humans—but there had been cases in Alaska. She gritted her teeth and sat perfectly still, afraid to breathe as the wolf began to slowly move in her direction. The creature approached within ten feet, then abruptly sat on its haunches and stared at her.

  It was enormous. She swallowed hard, realizing if the wolf attacked there would be nothing she could do. Nothing. She wouldn’t even manage a scream before it was on her. Not one bit of her martial arts training would help, especially when she was sitting on the ground. Nevertheless she scanned the ground with her peripheral vision for anything she might use as a weapon. Her fingers inched toward a rock, closed around it as the wolf rose, took a slow step toward her, into a pool of moonlight. Instantly its snowy fur gleamed and its eyes were . . . its eyes were . . .

  Blue.

  Jillian felt as if the air had been knocked from her body. The rock rolled out of her palm. Trembling, shaking, she reached a tentative hand toward the animal. “You. It’s you,” she choked out. “Oh, my God, it’s you, isn’t it? You’re real.”

  The wolf closed the gap between them and licked her outstretched fingers. Omigod, omigod. She couldn’t move at first, both enthralled and terrified—until the animal nudged its head under her hand like a dog asking to be petted. Jillian moved her fingers lightly across the broad skull, scratching hesitantly at first. Then fear fell away, and she worked both hands behind the sensitive ears, into the glossy ruff. The wolf stood panting mildly, the immense jaws slack and the great pink tongue lolling out in apparent pleasure. Jillian had no illusions about the animal’s power—it might behave like a big dog but those jaws could easily crack the leg bones of a moose, those teeth could tear out the throat of a bull elk in full flight. And as surely as she knew those facts, she knew the wolf would not hurt her. It wasn’t sensible, it wasn’t logical, but the certainty was core-deep. Instinct? Intuition? Insanity? She didn’t know and didn’t care. The wolf held steady as Jillian wrapped her arms around its great neck and buried her face in its thick white fur. “I thought I dreamed you. You came to me. You came when no one would come, but they all told me I dreamed you because no one saw you but me. And I looked and looked for you, but I couldn’t find you.”

  Here now. Found you.

  The voice in her mind was real. The fur beneath her hands and face was real. The heat radiating from the wolf’s body was real. Her voice hitched as joy overwhelmed her. “You’re in my dreams all the time. I’m so glad that you’re here, that you exist.” And that I am not crazy. Although her rational brain told her there was certainly something crazy about being in the forest at night, hugging a giant wolf. But she couldn’t think about that right now; she had this moment in time and she had things to say. “I owe you a lot; you don’t know how much you’ve done. You saved my life all those years ago, but you saved my sanity too. When things were hard and horrible, and I didn’t want to face them, I thought of you and it helped me get through. I got through the hospital and the counseling and the therapy and came out on the other side, because of you.” She wiped her cheek on the soft fur, but couldn’t stop the tears. “I thought I was done then, I really did. But after a while I felt like it wasn’t enough to be alive, that I hadn’t really survived until I started living my life again. And you helped me do that too. I thought about what to do with my life and it was so plain to me—I wanted to work with animals, work with wolves. Because of you, I found that dream inside me. You did that for me, and I can’t tell you how thankful I am, how grateful I am that you were there for me. Even now, just handling ordinary life, I feel like I’m never really alone.”

  Not alone. Here with you. The wolf nuzzled and licked at her hair, then lay down beside her. Gradually the tears subsided, and Jillian tumbled into an exhausted sleep with her arms still around the wolf’s neck.

  Don’t miss DEAD ALERT by Bianca D’Arc,

  Coming next month . . .

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  “I’ve got a special project for you, Sam.” The commander, a former Navy SEAL named Matt Sykes, began talking before Sam was through the door to Matt’s private office. “Sit down and shut the door.”

  Sam sat in a wooden chair across the cluttered desk from his commanding officer. Lt. Sam Archer, US Army Green Beret, was currently assigned to a top secret, mixed team of Special Forces soldiers and elite scientists. There were also a few others from different organizations, including one former cop and a CIA black ops guy. It was an extremely specialized group, recruited to work on a classified project of the highest order.

  “I understand you’re a pilot.” Matt flipped through a file as he spoke.

  “Yes, sir.” Sam could have said more but he didn’t doubt Matt had access to every last bit of Sam’s file, even the top secret parts. He had probably known before even sending for him that Sam could fly anything with wings. Another member of his old unit was a blade pilot who flew all kinds of choppers, but fixed wing aircraft were Sam’s specialty.

  “How do you like the idea of going undercover as a charter pilot?”

  “Sir?” Sam sat forward in the chair, intrigued.

  “The name of a certain charter airline keeps popping up.” Matt put down the file and faced Sam as his gaze hardened. “Too often for my comfort. Ever heard of a company called Praxis Air?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “It’s a small outfit, based out of Wichita—at least that’s where they repair and maintain their aircraft in a company-owned hangar. They have branch offices at most of the major airports and cater mostly to an elite business clientele. They do the odd private cargo flight and who knows what else. They keep their business very hush-hush, providing the ultimate in privacy for their corporate clients, or so their brochure advertises.” Matt pushed a glossy tri-fold across the desk toward Sam.

  “Looks pretty slick.”

  “That they are,” Matt agreed. “So slick that even John Petit, with his multitude of CIA connections, can’t get a bead on exactly what they’ve been up to of late. I’ve been piecing together bits here and there. Admiral Chester, the traitor, accepted more than a few free flights from them in the past few months, as did Ensign Bartles, who it turns out, was killed in a Praxis Air jet that crashed the night we took down Dr. Rodriguez and his friends. She wasn’t listed on the manifest and only the pilot was claimed by the company, but on a hunch I asked a friend on the National Transportation Safety Board to allow us to do some DNA testing. Sure enough, we found remnants of Beverly Bartles’ DNA at the crash site, though her body had to have been moved sometime prior to the NTSB getting there. The locals were either paid off or preempted. Either option is troubling, to say the least.”

  “You think they’re mixed up with our undead friends?” They were still seeking members of the science team that had created the formula that killed and then turned its victims into the walking dead. Nobody had figured out exactly how they were traveling so freely around the country when they were on every watch list possible.

  “It’s a very real possibility. Which is why I want to send you in undercover. I don’t need to remind you, time is of the essence. We have a narrow window to stuff this genie back into its bottle. The longer this goes on, the more likely it is the technology will be sold to the highest bidder and then, God help us.”

  Sam shivered. The idea of the zombie technology in the hands of a hostile government or psycho terrorists—especially after seeing what he’d seen over these past months—was unthinkable.

  “If my going undercover will help end this, I�
�m your man.” He’d do anything to stop the contagion from killing any more people.

  Sam opened the flyer and noted the different kinds of jets the company offered. The majority of the planes looked like Lear 35’s in different configurations. Some were equipped for cargo. Some had all the bells and whistles any corporate executive could wish for and a few were basically miniature luxury liners set up for spoiled celebrities and their friends.

  “I’d hoped you’d say that. I’ve arranged a little extra training for you at Flight Safety in Houston. They’ve got Level D flight simulators that have full motion and full visual. They can give you the Type Rating you’ll need on your license to work for Praxis Air legitimately.”

  “I’ve been to Flight Safety before. It’s a good outfit.” Sam put the brochure back on Matt’s desk.

  “We’ll give you a suitable job history and cover, which you will commit to memory. You’ll also have regular check-ins while in the field, but for the most part you’ll be on your own. I want you to discover who, if any, of their personnel are involved and to what extent.” Matt paused briefly before continuing. “Just to be clear, this isn’t a regular job I’m asking you to do, Sam. It’s not even close to what you signed on for when we were assigned as zombie hunters. I won’t order you to do this. It’s a total immersion mission. Chances are, there will be no immediate backup if you get into trouble. You’ll be completely on your own most of the time.”

  “Understood, sir. I’m still up for it. I like a challenge.”

  Matt cracked a smile. “I hear that. And I appreciate the enthusiasm. Here’s the preliminary packet to get you started.” He handed a bulging envelope across the desk. “We’ll get the rest set up while you’re in flight training. It’ll be ready by the time you are. You leave tomorrow for Houston.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sam stood, hearing the tone of dismissal in the commander’s voice.

  “You can call this whole thing off up until the end of your flight training. After that, wheels will have been set in motion and can’t be easily stopped. If you change your mind, let me know as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Unspoken was the certainty that Sam wouldn’t be changing his mind any time soon.

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  Copyright © 2011 Theresa S. Brisbin

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-7226-3