North Woods Law (The Great North Woods Pack Book 5)

by Shawn Underhill

  She did.

  “Use your imagination,” he urged. “The problems now globally bemoaned by billions were literally invented and progressed by mere hundreds.”

  “Wonderful thought.”

  “Now, closer to home, think of young Stephen,” he resumed. “The boy respects Harold so deeply that he is overwhelmed with guilt for offenses he has not actually committed. Even in his grief he tries to think of others before himself. We smile at his simple ethics, but seriously, can you imagine sending that boy out into the wider world to survive?”

  She shook her head.

  “Conversely, look at the lone woman yards away from Stephen as he labors. See how broad her affect has been. Look at the chain of events that can be forged from the decisions of a lone individual.”

  “I can’t decide if Abel’s punishment is cruel or completely fitting,” she said. “Or a little of both.”

  Joseph kept silent. As with great teachers of old, he wished to teach her how to think, not tell her exactly what to think.

  “So what’s the best possible way to deal with her?” Evie asked.

  “Your questions are out of order,” he said. “Tell me first what she is. Then we may decide how to deal with her.”

  “Beyond being trouble for us?”

  “Yes. What is she? For example, if she were a mere grasshopper, we’d ignore her, wouldn’t we? If she were a plane, we might try to fly her. So on and so forth.”

  “Context,” Evie said.

  “Correct. We know she is a human being.”

  “An educated, skilled and ambitious being,” Evie said.

  “Yes. Popular opinion holds that there is no higher being. Now, exactly what sort of person is she? What of her individual nature, her character?”

  “From our angle she’s bad. Selfish. Cruel. A troublemaker. At best she could be a politician.”

  He smiled, saying, “And we from hers? Are we no good? Are we dangerous to civilization, selfishly denying her the secrets of our powers?”

  “I see your point.”

  “It’s one of the oldest stories of all,” he said with no satisfaction. “Once it’s all boiled down, it’s a plain old confrontation. Us against them, both parties believing fervently that they are in the right, and therefore the other is likened to a blight.”

  “So,” he said in the next breath. “All that aside, is she or is she not evil? By evil I do not mean is she unappealing to us personally. I’m asking if she, at her very core, is a representative of destructive forces.”

  “Sure looks it to me.”

  “But it could be argued that she is a frightened, deluded being, given over to ways that only appear evil and vile to us, while in her own mind seeing herself as an instrument of positive change. A pioneer of improvement. A good and worthwhile person.”

  “There are no easy answers.”

  He nodded and said, “As beings of conscience, we can make laws and enforce them, locking up individual offenders and thus protecting others. We can dole out death … the very thing we ourselves also hate and shrink from. But there are many individuals in this world. All said and done, what can we really do in the face of such intent driving individuals like her? Kill all who are given over to it? Wipe the earth clean like a chess board? Can we ever defeat evil as a general routs an opposing army? Or can we merely lock it in a cage? Beyond the woman and our personal dilemma, that is the real problem we all face. It is the problem most humans dismiss in favor of tackling symptoms rather than the diseases causing them. There is no disease to them, only symptoms.”

  They walked on silently for a few minutes. Little driveways branched off from the main road here and there leading to little cabins with wreaths of spruce and winterberry on the doors. They passed a woodlot with an open-ended building filled with seasoned four-foot logs, from which villagers came and cut and split their firewood as needed. The fresh sawdust smelled sweet in passing. Some of the cabins appeared newer, somewhat larger, with newer, clearer windows and younger, lighter-colored logs.

  “This place is growing, thriving,” Joseph said, the lecturing tone gone. “It’s nearly twice the size as it was a century ago.”

  “Is there enough room to keep growing?” Evie asked.

  “Land is one problem we don’t have. This particular chunk is shaped like a big rectangle. And there are others. The nearest borders we have to the village are miles away on all sides. And even beyond them, you’d have to run quite a while to find a modern human settlement.”

  “No wonder you love this place so much.”

  “I do.” He said, nodding. “We all do. And that love is returned to us. We’ve always taken great care with harvesting the land and resources. There is more old-growth timber on our lands than anywhere else in New England. Using the land wisely helps both us and it, along with animal life. Abusing it destroys us all. The fact that properly maintained woodlands are rarely at risk of forest fire are a testament to this truth, even acknowledged by our wonderful government.”

  He took a breath, seeing where they were, and exhaled, “Here we are.”

  They were before an old cabin with very dark logs, small windows and porches on all sides. They went up the drive and Joseph opened the door with its old latch.

  Chapter 15

  Evie stepped in first. It was dark but she could see well enough to appreciate the logs and beams, the old cook stove and rustic pans hanging by the hearth. A stepladder led to a sleeping loft. The rear of the cabin was a bedroom, with only the hearth separating it from the front section, which had basic tables and chairs and a newer couch. Their luggage had been set on the couch, and the fire in the cook stove had warmed the space nicely. The flicker of flames shone through four rectangular vents at the front of the stove and cast four wavy corresponding shadows in the darkness.

  Joseph Snow lit a candle on the dinner table. Set the spent match on the candle plate, turned and said, “What do you think? This is where I grew up. The place was built well, way back before my time. Since then the local boys have done a wonderful job preserving it.”

  “Beautiful,” Evie said.

  “Basic but perfectly charming.”

  “Is it difficult to come here?”

  “On the contrary, it fills me with far more good memories than bad.”

  “I take it you’re not staying.”

  “Not now.”

  “I’m ready for a run,” she said. “My head hurts from thinking about everything.”

  He nodded and smiled.

  “You have to go?”

  “It’s early yet. I should be in the hall, catching up with everyone until the party breaks up and the children are put to bed.”

  “I won’t be considered rude, will I?”

  “Not at all. The funny thing about old folks is, they’ve all been young once. They understand completely.”

  She smiled and said, “I won’t go too far on my own.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now, the only place that’s off limits is my brother’s former home. If you should come upon the remnants of a small farm with caving structures, step wide of it, out of respect for his wishes. And as for property lines, white ribbons on large trees represent our borders.”

  “Okay,” she said with a nod.

  “Your eyes are starting to glow,” he said with a little wink, his face looking a fraction of its true age.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” she said.

  “I know you have. Enjoy the time. I’ll find you later, I’m sure with plenty of company.”

  She nodded and he went out.

  Shrugging off her coat, she draped it over a chair and then stood for a moment looking around, taking in the silence. The cabin was warm. Cozy. Almost enchanting. The perfect spot to crash with a book and a cup of coffee. Forget the world and unwind. She might have fallen asleep easily on the couch … if she’d been willing to let herself.

  But she was not willing. Her spirit was restless now, in no mood to resist the primal call that
was making her insides jumpy with anticipation. She’d been waiting months for this opportunity. She could wait no more.

  She got undressed, folding and piling everything neatly on the back of the couch. Got her robe from her travel bag and hung it near the door on a wooden peg. Then blew out the candle and opened the old door.

  After just five minutes in the cabin, stepping back outdoors felt overwhelming. But in a good way. A light wind whispered through the pines and spruce. The night was pristine, the sky through the trees radiant, the air burning cold. From where she now stood, all the world seemed untouched and uncomplicated in that moment, as far as her animal eyes could see. Free of trouble and turmoil. A glimpse of ancient innocence. Life perfected. The earth one great playground beckoning to be delighted in.

  She would not deny it.

  She could not.

  Pulling the door behind her, she pushed off with both feet and heard the door latch catch with a resounding click through keen wolf ears. The burst of power washed over her. That surge of vitality and strength. She cleared the edge of the porch with ease and hit the ground already stretched out in a dead run.

  Pent up all day. Subdued.

  Now in a flash, the front row of a rollercoaster.

  At the controls of some absurdly powerful machine.

  Night after night, it never grew old.

  She dug and pushed off hard with wide padded feet, feeling the immediate feedback in every nerve and every muscle. The packed snow was crunchy with good traction, the surface somewhat plush underfoot but firmer than beach sand. Like hard-packed sand. The air was almost like caffeine to her great lungs, rushing in with every huge gulp and setting every muscle ablaze with raging energy. Fuel meeting fire. Her great heart pumped wildly, and within seconds of this mad rush, all concerns of human life seemed to scatter and fall away behind her.

  She tore up the road, kicking up little clods of snow, with a wispy rooster tail of snow dust trailing behind her. Still heading east, her silver hackles bristled like electrified quills, like spiked armor. In the low light of night her sleek white frame glowed as silver as the snow all around her. But for her eyes she looked a part of that frozen landscape come suddenly to blazing life.

  She practically was.

  She blitzed by more cabins and little side trails, passing them in mere blinks. Her eyes worked hard and fast, taking in every detail, revealing every bend and bump and obstacle. Then she came into a clearing that offered a broader view of the sky. There were garages and a fuel depot, big logging trucks, tractors and skidders and plow trucks, all parked in organized rows. She passed them without interest, keeping her eyes mostly on the sky, and then moved once more into the shadowy tunnel of tree cover.

  She sped on. One with the earth. Tearing across the snow and gaining momentum, and soon saw where the road forked up ahead. It stayed wide in one direction and narrowed slightly in the other. Barely slowing, she chose the narrower way, and after leaning through a very long and gradual turn, the trail straightened again as she began ascending a steady grade that seemed to be leading her up above tree line, as if to merge with the night sky. A stairway to the heavens.

  The hill was long but not terribly steep. After a steady climb she reached the broad summit and was rewarded with an unobstructed view of the sky. Midnight blue. The Milky Way. A trillion stars. Surrounding treetops that sloped down and away. Below, the dark shadows of evergreens set against the surrounding snow and the dim lights of the village lanterns and the longhouse windows. Thin smoke rising from the hall’s two tall chimneys. The tall ornament tree presiding over the square, and the big silver lake glowing just beyond it all.

  A scene fit for a Christmas card.

  Catching her breath, she felt the wind ruffling her dense coat. It moved over her like little fingers disturbing the coat of a dog. In that open space it felt almost like cold hands touching her. She turned and walked to look over the opposite side of the hill’s peak, putting the wind to her back.

  The hill dropped off into a long and rolling field, she guessed for hay or corn or any useful crop. The field would have been a little white rectangle viewed from the plane.

  One end of the descending slope was clearly steeper than the other. The more gradual side, the right-hand side, had a distinct trail of packed snow, apparently where children had made many trips down on wooden toboggans and steel runner sleds and then climbed back up, making a staircase out of packed snow. The steeper end, at her left-hand side, was untouched and windblown with deep snow drifts toward the bottom.

  This is too much, she thought.

  Rarely had she been able to play in the snow growing up. Now, here in this wild place, to make up for missed chances felt absolutely right. She couldn’t resist the urge to launch herself over the edge of that hill and get lost in all that soft powder.

  Down the steep side she dashed with a roar of excitement, stretched out in long bounds, as fast as she dared. She slid at times, skating on four feet, plowing through powder and nearly becoming airborne at the steepest points. All the while flirting with the very edge of control.

  Then she reached the lower half of the hill where it began to level out with drifts of dry crystal powder deeper than she was tall, and she began leaping and rolling and tumbling down with the glee of a puppy first meeting snow. She disappeared under deep drifts, then exploded up and out of them, springing up and down like a fox pouncing for mice. She came to a tumbling stop at the bottom, where she laughed and howled for joy.

  Her warm breath was creating a sort of ice beard all around her face as it mingled with the snow and froze in the subzero air. She could feel the formation of ice pulling at her fur as she turned her head.

  With her forepaw she took a moment to brush it all off and then commenced to give herself a vigorous shake from head to tail. That easily she was completely dry and still toasty warm. Then she began the long climb back up the hill to take that ride over again.

  The night was still young.

  Chapter 16

  Erica pressed her back against the cold door of the garage. Clutching the dead buck, his antlers pointed straight ahead, his head and neck looking like some grotesque extension of her torso. Her feet were cold after shedding the socks, but she smiled and laughed quietly to herself, anticipating the fun just seconds away. Cold feet were a small investment.

  “You’re about to have your revenge,” she whispered to the buck.

  From the front of the building she heard Jones calling, identifying himself as an officer of the law. She hadn’t heard the front door yet. He was calling through the open window.

  “Step out with your hands raised!” he shouted, his words high and tight with adrenalin.

  This he repeated multiple times, with some variation, until at last Erica heard the front door open. Lights came on. The door separating the garage from the main office was heavy and only a tiny sliver of light shone under the thin crack. She could hear him moving. Panting. Trying to control his breathing. She could picture him with his hands shaking as he held out the pistol. Probably looking with sadness upon the empty donut box she’d left on the floor.

  His footsteps reached the hallway, moving slowly. Heavy boots moving toward his office. He identified himself again, his voice louder, closer. Then she heard the office door being thrown open and then a sort of gasp followed by a string of frightened curses and heavy, agitated breaths.

  Got him, she thought. She had to clench her jaw and focus her mind to keep from laughing out loud.

  Then she listened as Jones cleared the other offices and the utility room, getting closer to the garage door at the end of the hall. He shouted again. Then he closed his free hand on the doorknob.

  She moved just ahead of the door, like an extension of it. The man’s hand was shaking and she could detect the slight tremble through the door against her back. Light was spilling into the garage. She leaned forward, keeping ahead of the door’s slow progress. In a second or two she knew he would take his free hand
from the doorknob to reach for the light switch. Her heart was drumming. She was waiting for that precise moment.

  Then she felt it. A slight movement against her hair told her that Jones had taken his hand away from the knob and was now using his right shoulder to move the door. His left hand would be reaching, the fingers shaking as they felt for the little plastic switch.

  She moved silently, low and fast, knees bent for power and control. Moving around the door itself, she squared herself to the doorway and the shadow filling it. She tilted the buck’s head enough to allow the antlers to clear the width, pushed off hard with her cold toes, and surged forward with the antlers driving straight for the man’s center mass. All this in a second or two.

  In the next instant there was a roar as she became the wolf that coincided with a breathless scream from Jones. He staggered back as the antlers pressed hard into his parka. Sheer panic took him, his legs failed him, and before he knew what had happened he was on his back, on the floor, with his prized record buck, back from the dead and staring him in the face. His finger squeezed the trigger as he fell, an unintentional side effect of shock. The muzzle thundered in the confines of the hall and spat fire as it sent a heavy hollow point through the drywall and into the utility room.

  In three bounds the black wolf was down the hall, over the front desk and across the open space at the front of the building. One more bound carried her through the open window, grumbling with laughter as she soared into the night. She landed in the snow pile lining the cleared walkway and sprang up, ready to turn and dash for the trees.

  But she did not run. Instead she found herself staring for a long moment at a startled young woman in a green parka.

  Kerry Bowers stood like a statue. She’d heard Jones scream and started rushing. Then the shot startled her. She slowed and began reaching for her sidearm, a motion to her that felt terribly long and slow and clumsy. Then a shadow darkened the light of the window and a black mass landed in the snow not five yards away. Her legs froze as her heart seemed to come right up in her throat, stunting her breath. Her eyes strained to focus in the dark beyond the three faint points of light that were the glowing front and rear sights of her pistol. Her finger touched the trigger awkwardly through the liner glove, even while her mind was screaming for her to run. Get out of there. Just run.