by Eileen Wilks
Rule didn’t seem to notice. He was still thinking.
Finally he nodded, but not really at them. At whatever he’d decided, probably. “I just heard from José. The national news is reporting that three people have been killed near Whistle. Eric Ellison from Homeland Security just held a press conference. He claims they’ve confirmed that the victims were savaged by a large predator or predators. Asked if he meant wolves, he said that was unconfirmed, but according to José, he made ‘unconfirmed’ sound like ‘hell, yes.’”
Killed. Demi’s brain froze, wrapped around that word. Two other phrases battered at her: three people and a large predator or predators.
By the time her brain thawed, Rule was back on the phone, giving instructions to someone. Probably José. He spoke crisply about evacuating the camp, paused, then said shit again. “Bring him along. All due courtesy, but bring him.” He gave instructions about what to bring, where to meet—Fallback Two? Where was that?—and about the sentries and search squads. He told José to keep an eye out for “that damn helicopter,” then asked about Carson, paused, and said, “They must have either picked him up or killed him.”
Killed him?
“No,” Rule said forcefully. “It wouldn’t help. Those people were killed to give our enemies reason to come after . . .” A short pause. “Yes. From what Danny’s been telling me, Smith’s got a Gifted youngster who could do it. Questions? All right. Don’t forget Danny’s backpack.” He disconnected.
“You heard?” he asked.
“No!” Danny said. “Who was killed? I know people in Whistle. I’ve got a friend there.”
“I don’t know. The names haven’t been released to the press. Danny, we’ll be running all or most of the way to the rendezvous. You wouldn’t be able to keep up, so Mike’s going to carry you. Piggyback, if you prefer, but you must be carried.”
Everything was happening too fast. She couldn’t think what to do. When Mike squatted and told her to get on, she just stared. Not refusing. Just unable to act.
“You’re still under my care,” Rule told her. “This is the best I can do to protect you.”
She must have believed him, because she did climb on Mike’s back. She felt awkward and shaky and unlike herself. She didn’t like any of this, not at all. Mike hooked his arms under her knees. His arms were thicker than Rule’s and very strong. “Hold on,” he told her. “Try not to choke me.”
Mike took off.
It wasn’t dark this time, so she could see how fast they were going—at least she could for the first couple minutes. After that she closed her eyes. As she was carried through the woods at a run for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, one thing was clear: piggyback was better than over the shoulder, but it was still scary.
TWENTY-NINE
RULE set an easy pace, about that of a human marathoner. Fallback Two was less than ten miles away, but some of those were rough, uphill miles, and Mike was carrying over a hundred extra pounds on his back. Rule didn’t want to exhaust him getting there. They probably wouldn’t stay long.
He was buying time. Time to think. The authorities knew where they’d been camped, so they had to clear out. That much was obvious. What he should do beyond the obvious . . . Rule hoped like hell he’d have figured that out by the time he reached the rendezvous.
Fortunately, there was time for an orderly evacuation. José was sending watchers to keep an eye on all the roads. They should have warning well before the cops could reach them. Plus they’d have money. His first reaction when José told him the courier with the money had just arrived was that the timing sucked, but that was wrong. An hour ago might have been optimum, but now was better than not at all. Since the courier couldn’t give the money to anyone but Rule, he’d be brought to Fallback Two. They had to make sure nothing happened to the man. Rule didn’t want to damage his relationship with that organization.
One of the first things Rule had done when he joined his men at the camp yesterday was to establish three fallback points—two within the wildlife area and one in the federal forest that abutted it. Fallback One would have been quicker for Rule—it was north of camp, and so was he. But Claude hadn’t marked that route yet.
Most lupi were good at navigating, even in unknown territory. Lily claimed that Rule was like a migrating bird—equipped with a mysterious sense that wouldn’t let him get lost. That was an exaggeration, but he always knew where the moon was, and in a way he couldn’t put into words, that kept him oriented. But while most lupi shared his sense of direction, not all were good at reading a map. He’d wanted a rendezvous point even the map-impaired could find when they were two-footed—because he’d ordered that everyone go as men, not wolves.
Law enforcement outfits of all stripes had strict guidelines about when lethal force was allowed. Those guidelines weren’t always followed, especially with his people—court rulings were a muddle of inconsistency about what measures were reasonable with a lupus suspect—but they did create some reluctance to shoot first, ask questions later.
It was entirely legal to shoot wolves. No explanations needed.
Rule and the others had been running for about ten minutes when the land turned choppy. Fallback Two lay in rocky foothills, outriders to the Appalachian range. He had ten or fifteen more minutes before he reached the rendezvous. He wouldn’t be the first to arrive—those at camp were closer, and José would have sent some ahead quickly to secure the area. The rest would pack and bring a few basic supplies, so would take a bit longer.
He still didn’t know what orders to give when he got there.
Homeland Security seemed to be running this investigation, too—or at least HSI was heavily involved. Eric Ellison, the new head of HSI, had already held a press conference about the murders. Rule had run into Ellison once at a Washington party. An ambitious man, and one who liked cameras.
Was Ellison Smith’s partner or his stooge? Because Smith was behind the killings. There was no doubt in Rule’s mind about that, given the method and the careful way they’d made sure everyone blamed wolves for the deaths. It certainly hadn’t been any of Rule’s people. He hadn’t told Danny this, but two of the victims were women. He might not be sure how much control some of his Leidolf had, but none of them were insane. Only genuine madness could bring a lupus to kill a woman.
Rule leaped over a fallen tree and thought about those victims. Smith had ordered three innocents killed. He was coming after Rule in a remarkably ruthless way, and using the biggest guns he had to do it. At least Rule hoped like hell these were his biggest guns. Why?
Smith must consider him a threat, however little he felt like one right now. In spite of all he’d learned from Danny, he still didn’t know what Smith wanted. What did he expect to do with the Lodan drug that was worth risking so much? Did he covet fame and glory? What was his ultimate goal, and how did Rule stand in his way?
He swerved around a brushy thicket, slowing as he saw the tiny creek ahead. He thought this was the spot . . . yes, the scent was unmistakably lupus. In this form he couldn’t identify it as Claude’s urine, but he didn’t need to. He turned and followed the little creek up the hill.
Maybe Smith wasn’t desperately trying to kill him. Maybe his real target was the girl riding on Mike’s back.
That thought clicked into place like a puzzle piece finding the spot it had been made for. It raised other questions, however. How could Smith know Danny was with Rule? And why was he suddenly desperate to get rid of her? She’d been hiding from him for nearly a year. Was this the first chance he’d had to eliminate her, or had something changed?
He couldn’t answer the last question, but clearly Smith had known Danny was in the area. The HSI agents had said so when they showed Lily Danny’s photograph. If Smith knew about Danny’s romantic fascination with Rule . . . and he might. Danny lacked the filters most people possessed, so she might have talked to Smith about Rule back when she still trusted him. It wasn’t a huge leap for the man to suspect that
Danny might try to find Rule when news reports suggested he was in the area.
But Smith had killed three innocent people and might be planning to kill a great many more—assuming Smith considered lupi to be people. Some didn’t. Doing that based on mere suspicion was a leap. Rule filed that theory under “possible” and turned to the next question: why now?
Smith had kept his operation deeply hidden for years. Now he was moving almost openly. Kidnapping an FBI agent. Framing the head of Unit 12. Framing Rule. Killing innocents. And now, all but declaring war on Rule and his people—possibly in order to kill Danny. He could see only one reason for the change.
Whatever Smith’s goal might be, it came with an expiration date. And that date was soon. Probably very soon.
By the time Rule drew near enough to the rendezvous to smell clan nearby, he’d gotten his wish. He knew what he needed to do next. He slowed, then stopped, looking for the sentry. There, in the elm. The man gave a low whistle, notifying the others.
Reno and Eric stopped alongside him. Mike was slightly behind. “You doing okay, Danny?” he called.
“Are we there? I hope we’re there.”
“We are.” Close enough anyway. Just ahead, the path bent around a rocky outcropping. Two men came around that outcrop. One was normal-sized. The other was not.
“Rule!” Little John called out cheerfully. “’Bout time you showed up!”
Rule was surprised to see Little John, who’d been given his nickname for obvious reasons: he looked like Robin Hood’s oversize sidekick. Unlike some big men, he could move fast when he wanted to, but he very seldom wanted to. Not to put too fine a point on it, Little John was lazy.
The man with him was Jason, who was next in rank after José and Mike. Jason looked like a model for a U.S. Army ad. He slapped Little John on the side of the head. “I report to the Rho first—then you can run your mouth.” He gave Rule a quick wink. “José bet him he couldn’t deliver your guest here before you arrived.”
That was one way to get Little John to move quickly. The man might be lazy, but he hated to lose a bet. Rule grinned. “Congratulations, Little John. Jason, how many are here, and where is my guest?”
“Six, and he is—”
“Here,” said another voice, and a third man came around the rocky outcropping.
He was slim, blond, and dapper in pressed khakis and a green polo shirt. He held a bulging Priority Mailer in one hand. His loafers looked comfortable, but they weren’t a great choice for running through the woods. Good thing he hadn’t had to run, then. Rule was sorry he’d missed seeing Little John carrying him.
Danny slid off Mike’s back. “Thank you,” she told him politely. “I hope I never have to do that again.”
The blond man chuckled. “It looks like you had as interesting a trip as I did.”
“As a favor to me,” Rule said, “please don’t remember the young woman you just spoke to.”
“What young woman?” was the bland return.
Rule nodded his thanks. “There’s a strong south wind today.”
“South winds favor haste.”
“So do I. I’m Rule Turner.”
“Yes, you are. Call me Bert.” The man smiled. “Are you ready to take delivery?”
“I am.” As Bert came forward, more of Rule’s men moved around the rock. The official meeting point might be slightly farther on, but lupi would naturally gather where their Rho stood.
Up close, Bert smelled faintly of gun oil. Rule wondered where the weapon was. An ankle holster perhaps. There was just a whiff of fear, but overall he was very calm for a man surrounded by lupi. He held out the mailer. “The cash.”
Rule accepted it.
He then offered Rule a wallet. “Cards. You’ll want to count the cash, of course. To check the amounts on the cards we’ll have to—”
“We’ll skip that this time,” Rule said dryly. “Bert, are you familiar with this area and able to escape through the woods without being spotted?”
“Not at all. Especially since I have no idea where I am now. I take it there’s a problem.”
“One that will probably involve large numbers of law enforcement officers. With your permission, I’ll get you away from here as quickly as possible.”
“I accept your offer.”
“Excellent. I regret that I can’t offer any refreshment, unless you’re fond of jerky—” Rule stopped when John cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“I’ve got a little alcohol stove. I could make coffee, if you like. I have to do it one cup at a time, but I’ve got what I need for that.”
“Ah.” Alcohol burned clean—no smoke to give them away. He turned to his guest. “You’ll have a ways to go, whether you walk or ride the way you did to get here. Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave?”
Bert’s sigh was heartfelt. “I surely would.”
There was also a bottle of water for Danny, who was reunited with her computer. The rest of them could refresh themselves with water from the creek—not sanitary for humans, but fine for them—and jerky. By the time Rule had drunk his fill, five more clan had joined them, bearing backpacks with clothes and a couple sleeping bags. The others wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes or more. They were carrying more supplies.
Rule led everyone on around the rocky outcropping. A small clearing there gave them more room. John set up his tiny alcohol stove and started making coffee. Bert stood near him, chatting easily. Rule had a quick word with Jason and gave him a large part of the cash in the Priority Mailer. The rest went in the wallet Bert had thoughtfully provided. Then it was time to talk with Danny again.
She sat on a fallen log. Mike sat cross-legged in front of her. He was explaining the way the sentries had been placed. She seemed to be listening, though it was hard to be sure when she directed her intent gaze at the ground, not him.
“How are you holding up?” Rule asked, joining her on the log.
“I’m not hungry or sleepy. I don’t hurt anywhere. I’m not panicked or having a meltdown. So I guess I’m holding up okay, but I’m not—I don’t—” She stopped, drooping. “I don’t know what I am.”
“I thought it would help to know what’s going on.”
She perked up a bit. “It would. I can see why you abandoned the camp, but why did we come here? Why didn’t we just keep going? Not that I want to keep going, but why aren’t we? I asked Mike,” she added, “but he just said, ‘If the Rho says go there, we go there.’” She frowned in disapproval. “He doesn’t have much curiosity, does he? Though he seems smart enough otherwise.”
Rule smothered a laugh and avoided looking at Mike. “He didn’t want to speculate out loud on my reasons, though I imagine some of them were obvious to him. We came here because we needed to go someplace we could reach quickly. Other spots would have worked, but this one had a marked route. We’re waiting now for the rest to join us—except for those keeping watch, that is.”
“Who’s keeping watch where? You told José something about that, but I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’d been keeping two squads out at all times, searching for any trace of Lily or the brownie—”
“What brownie?”
Had he not mentioned that to her? “I’ll explain later. The men from those squads, along with the camp’s sentries, have been redeployed to watch the roads into the wilderness area. We should have word when the authorities send in their posse.”
“They can’t watch the entire perimeter.”
“They don’t have to. A couple of men could easily slip in, but the authorities aren’t going to send a couple of men after us. They’ll assemble a large group of heavily armed officers—no less than forty, I’d think, and possibly more. Unless they decide to wait long enough to bring in the National Guard.” It had been many years since the authorities had gone hunting his people en masse, but he knew the stories. He knew what kind of tactics the government had used—everything from state troopers to the massive deployment of the Na
tional Guard that had resulted in the infamous Bridgetown massacre.
He wished he knew what was being said in the media and online. José had said that people “were pretty worked up” about the killings. How much of a frenzy had Smith been able to whip up?
Danny’s eyes were wide. “The National Guard?”
“That’s unlikely to happen right away. Our enemy has great leverage at the federal level, but he’ll need the governor on board to call out the Guard.”
“My friend Jamie says the governor is an idiot, so he might go along with that. And Mr. Smith had soldiers at the Refuge. If he gets the U.S. Army to come after us—”
“I suspect they only looked like Army, Danny. Even if Smith does have a general in his pocket, deploying soldiers to guard the Refuge would leave one hell of a trail. They were probably mercenaries of some sort. My first concern now is that we not linger. If our enemies are smart, they’ll encircle us. We need to be gone before they can.”
“You’re going to disperse us?” Mike said.
No point in waiting to announce it, he decided. “The nonfighters will be heading back to Clanhome.”
Danny’s forehead wrinkled. “Don’t all lupi fight?”
A couple of them chuckled. “Certainly,” Rule said. “Especially if no dominant is around to knock some sense into them. But not all are trained. I’ll keep the trained fighters with me, or nearby. But not here. I’ve got one major resource our enemy lacks and she’s wasted out here, where she doesn’t have quick and easy access to the Internet.”
“Me.” Danny sounded pleased.
“You,” he agreed. “And for the rest of us . . . it’s time I stopped playing by human rules.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I know who my enemy is. It’s time I—” He broke off to listen.
A whistle sounded from the elm that held a sentry—two short notes, followed by a rising crescendo. Two notes meant clan approaching. The crescendo warned of possible danger. Rule jogged back around the rocky outcrop; Jason shadowed him. He stopped beneath the elm and spoke softly. “Who?”