Operation: Yukon

by William Meikle

  Whatever had been coming, it wasn't coming anymore. We hit the rim of the bowl at an arse-juddering speed that almost bounced me off the machine. I found, more by luck than judgement, another of the animal trails, wider than the one we'd fled on earlier, and within seconds the garage was lost somewhere behind us.

  I had no plan other than to keep going uphill, on the basis that we'd been going down on our chase from the compound. I hit a curve, took it a bit sharp and almost tipped the bloody thing over when Watkins didn't move with me into the turn. I slowed enough to let me take time to check on him. Blood poured from a wound on his temple, bone, and possible brain, showing where he'd cracked his skull against the garage door. I had nothing with me that would help him out here; my only hope was to get him back to the cabin and see what Davies could do for him. I pushed the throttle as far as I dared and hoped for a straight path.

  -12-

  I didn't get my wish; the track twisted up the slope in a series of turns, some of them so sharp I was going at little faster than walking speed as I took them. I heard excited barking even above the rattle of the machine; the wolves were at my back and not too far off at that. I pushed the throttle a bit farther. We bounced and jarred our way along a track that I wasn't sure was headed anywhere in dark shadow under overhanging pines. Light ahead got my hopes up but we emerged as if out of a bottle into another clearing in a dip. There were no buildings in this one, but there was something there; another wolf, larger by far than any I'd yet seen, grayer at the flanks, wider in the maw and somehow angrier in the eyes. It sat on its haunches, tensed, then launched into a leap straight at me. I threw the Skidoo sidewards, tried to get my weapon raised but I knew it was a lost hope. All I could do was tense, duck and wait for the beastie's weight to drive me down into the snow.

  It never reached me. There was a flurry of moving branches, falling snow and something else came out of the forest, a huge gray thing that stood upright on two legs but had a maw of teeth as big and impressive as the wolf's. It grabbed the wolf by the tail while it was still in the air and swung it, like an athlete tossing a hammer, off and away to fly into the trees. The wolf came back just as quick, howling in rage. As I tugged the Skidoo round onto the straight line, the wolf, having forgotten us, was launching itself directly at the Alma which stood, bellowing rage in the center of the clearing as if spoiling for a battle. It looked like it was going to get one but by that time the Skidoo had got traction in the snow again and I wasn't in the mood to hang around for the title fight. I left them in my wake, a rolling, roaring frenzy of limbs and teeth and talons. A red mist of blood flew in the clearing behind me but I was quickly lost under the trees again and couldn't even guess at a possible victor.

  Only a minute later we burst through and over a slight rise to look over the forecourt of the research center, and thirty seconds after that I brought the Skidoo to a halt by the door of the hut.

  "We made it," I shouted and turned to Watkins. He was never going to congratulate me; the man lay slumped in the rear seat and it didn't take a doctor to tell me that he was dead.

  Everyone else was gathered again in the main room of the cabin. The door to the vault lay open and the odor of the Alma below wafted upstairs but a smoke and a coffee did much for my wellbeing as I made my report to the cap.

  "So the Alma and the wolves were fighting?" he asked.

  "Yep," I said, "and it wasn't a friendly scrap. I don't think we have to worry about them ganging up against us."

  "And you just saw the one Alma?"

  I nodded.

  "Any idea how many there are?"

  The cap shook his head.

  "Watkins hinted about 'escapes' but didn't say how many. We have to assume there are more of these buggers out there."

  As for Watkins himself, we had him in a body bag stored in one of the other huts; he could stay there forever as far as I was concerned; the bastard had almost got me killed along with him and he'd buggered off before we could get the whole story out of him. Now we were here with caged Alma below us, more of their kind in the forests around us and the remains of a wolf pack out there with them. Our orders to 'sanitise' weren't going to be simple to implement.

  Besides Watkins' death there had been another surprise waiting for me back at the cabin; our new corporal had come out of his funk. He still refused to look us in the eye but he cornered me as I was finishing my coffee and spoke softly so that only he and I could hear.

  "I've let you down. I've let you all down. I'm bloody sorry, Sarge."

  I couldn't quite find it in myself to forgive him right then but I couldn't give him a bollocking either; that would have been like kicking an already injured puppy. Instead I stayed quiet and let him talk. He didn't say anything I didn't either know or guess, but it appeared to do him some good to get it out him. Long story short, the wolves had shaken something loose inside him that had previously tethered him to reality, and I knew that feeling well myself, from my first operation in Antarctica onwards; I couldn't really fault him for being a human being.

  "Try and hold it together for a wee while, lad," I said. "It's all any of us can do. We'll have a longer chat over a beer or six when we get home. Just keep your head down and your eyes open, be ready to jump when I say so. Okay?"

  He smiled wanly.

  "Whatever you say, Sarge."

  He went to stand with Wilko at the doorway looking out but again couldn't look either of us in the eye. He wasn't all the way back, might never make it, but he was no longer dead weight so I took that as an improvement.

  Davies was leaned over the table. I saw that he was working on the black boxes we'd dug out of the wolf's spine. There was the distinctive sound of duct tape being ripped from a roll.

  "Yo, McGyver, anything doing?" I asked.

  He turned and smiled.

  "Getting there, Sarge. A couple of hours and we'll have a wee shock for them again."

  I left him to it; it kept him out of mischief but I wasn't sure we were going to get the time he needed.

  I rejoined the cap to find him arguing with the sheriff and caught from the gist that it was about the beasts down in the basement.

  "We should put them down," she said.

  "Like dogs? Just like that? You've seen them. They're almost human."

  "That's what bothers me," Sheriff Sue replied. "Just looking at them makes me sick to my stomach. Besides, I thought your job was to 'sanitise'? That's just a polite way of saying what I said, isn't it?"

  I butted in.

  "She's right, Cap, and we both know it."

  "Knowing it and doing it are two different things," he said, turning to me. "Do you want to go down there and put three rounds into the pregnant one? I know I don't."

  "I'll do it," the sheriff said and before we could stop her she made for the vault door and headed down the steps. She moved fast and although we were at her heels, she still would have had enough time to get the job done. Instead we found her standing in the center of the chamber, her rifle pointing at the pregnant female who was awake and looking right at her. When the sheriff turned, she had tears in her eyes.

  "You're right," she said, little more than a whisper. "Saying and doing are two different things."

  As I led the sheriff back to the stairs, I saw that the two big males had stood to watch us again. Their eyes looked as sad as those of the sheriff and I imagined I felt their gaze boring into my back as we left.

  "We need a cunning plan," the cap said once we were all together back up top.

  "We need a squad of veterinarians," the sheriff said. "But first things first. I might not have been able to shoot that pitiful thing downstairs, but I've got no trouble taking out a fucking wolf. Let's deal with them first and worry about the rest later."

  "I reckon we've got the pack numbers thinned right down," the cap agreed. "But we need to get them all together; we can't be chasing them all over these hills."

  "They seem keen on chasing us though, Cap," I said. "They came after
the Skidoo like dogs after an ice-cream van. Maybe all we need to be is bait."

  It had been almost a throwaway remark of mine, but he took it seriously.

  "Bait and trap might work. We need somewhere we can funnel them in and surround them, get them all in one place and wipe them all out at the same time. Any ideas?"

  "Don't ask me, I'm new here myself," the sheriff answered. But I was thinking about the sunken bowl where the garage sat, and I was seeing something in my mind's eye.

  "We can arrange the trucks side-on in the forecourt of the main block," I said. "And use the building as a third wall. With guns on top of each truck and at the building main door we'll have a custom-built shooting gallery."

  "A gauntlet," the sheriff said. "I like it."

  "Me too," the cap added. "But we still need bait. Something fast and loud."

  "I can handle that, sir," a voice said at the doorway. "Get the trucks ready, I'll be back in five."

  I turned in time to see Jennings leave the cabin. By the time I reached the door he was on the Skidoo. By the time I stepped down off the steps he had it running and my fingers gripped air instead of his jacket as the machine rattled off, gaining speed.

  -13-

  "What does he think he's doing?" the sheriff said at my back.

  "He's found a sense of duty. He thinks he's doing the right thing," I replied. "Come on. He's trying to buy us some time. We'd best use it."

  At least we made it back to the main building without incident but that was about the only thing that went to plan in the long minutes that followed. As I made for a truck to drive it into position, I could hear the high whine of the Skidoo in the trees, like an over-revved lawn mower. Exciting barking rose to join the sound and I had a sinking feeling in my gut as I realised that the hunt was already on.

  Either Jennings was shite at counting time or the wolves hadn't given him the amount he expected. Either way, the Skidoo came clattering and whining back into the forecourt before we'd got the trucks lined up opposite each other in front of the building. I was in the cab of one of them, the cap in the cab of the other, and Wilko, Davies and the sheriff stood, exposed, on the forecourt, four or five paces in front of the main complex doors. Half a dozen wolves were only yards behind the Skidoo.

  I didn't have time to think; my move was all reaction and adrenaline. I floored the pedal, turned the wheel and got the vehicle between Jennings and the pack just a second before two of them hit my driver’s door with an impact that brought a starburst crack to the window. I heard gunfire out in the forecourt but my view was only of the side of the other truck; I had no idea what was going down outside.

  I tried to get my rifle up but it had got caught up in the seat belt, and I had to lower my gaze to find the problem. When I looked up again there was a wolf sitting on the hood directly outside the window staring in at me. The bloody thing was salivating. It began a frenzied, scrabbling attack at the window, as if the sight of me had enraged it. The truck's engine was still running. I threw it into reverse, barrelling backward across the forecourt and swinging to straighten up at the same time. The wolf on the hood slid aside, still scrabbling, and fell away.

  For the first time I got a clear view of the front of the main complex.

  It wasn't going well.

  The cap was leaning out of the window of the other truck, firing volleys into a snarling group of wolves that were mostly ignoring him, focussing instead on the squad and the sheriff who were trying to make a retreat for the door of the main complex. Two dead wolves lay between me and them, but somebody among the defenders was down, either Wilko or Jennings; I couldn't make out who but I saw the blood clearly enough, too much red on the snow. And by turning the truck round, I was now in their direct line of fire and saw that the sheriff had paused for fear of hitting me. That gave the wolves a chance to creep closer; the defensive position was going to be overrun in seconds.

  I blasted the truck's horn, twice. The wolves, five of them I could see now, didn't even flinch, but I hadn't intended it for them. The sheriff looked up and we made eye contact as I put my foot to the floor again and aimed straight for the doorway. I got lucky for once. The defenders leapt aside, I plowed forward, ran over two wolves with a lurch and a crunch of wheel on bone--the wheels won, then I hit the building, still accelerating. I heard the back cabin door open and another line from a movie ran unbidden in my head --Marines, we are leaving. The door slammed shut again; I had to assume they were safely aboard as I shifted into reverse and backed out fast. Something metallic squealed and complained below me then we were free and reversing away across the forecourt. I saw the cap reverse his truck out to follow me. Back at what was left of the doorway there were now half a dozen dead wolves on the ground, one of which was trying to drag itself away despite the fact that its rear end was mashed almost to a pulp.

  There was no other sign of movement.

  I stopped right on the edge of the forecourt, the cap swung round in front of me and when he headed back up towards the cabin with the vault, I followed him.

  When we pulled up at the steps the cap was out of his cab and opening the back door of my truck before I even got down out of the driving position. Wilko and Davies jumped out, but Jennings wasn't going to be jumping anywhere. He lay on the floor of the cab, his head cradled in the sheriff's lap, dead eyes staring right at me.

  "The bite got his femoral artery," Davies said, "and he bled out before I could get time to get a tourniquet on him. The wolves were…"

  I put a hand on the lad's shoulder.

  "There's no fault here for you," I said.

  The sheriff looked up at me, tears in her eyes.

  "How many more?" she said. I thought she was talking about Jennings, but the cap got her gist better than me.

  "There's still a big one out there somewhere, the one Wiggo saw. Apart from that? I think, I hope, we've got the bastards. Here, let me take the lad."

  I interrupted.

  "No, Cap, this one's on me. It's my shout."

  Cap herded the others into the cabin, I fetched a body bag from the back of the truck and tried to say my goodbyes to a lad I'd never known, but now owed a debt.

  "I should have done better by you, lad," I whispered as I zipped him up. His dead eyes seemed to agree with me. I put him away with Watkins -- out of sight out of mind -- and stood on the doorstep. I smoked two fags before I felt fit enough to be seen in company, then went inside to join the others.

  A discussion was in progress. Davies was advocating the 'nuke the site from orbit' argument but the sheriff was having none of it.

  "I've got a load of townsfolk expecting to come home to a safe place," she said. "I'm not leaving here until that can happen."

  The cap spoke softly.

  "I understand that. And we can certainly deal with the things down below us here, however unpleasant that might be. But there's still, at least, a big wolf and one of the primates out there. They've been smart enough to stay out of our way thus far. I don't think bait is going to work on them."

  A howl rose from somewhere out in the forest. It had none of the choral quality now, just a single high wail, and although there was still beauty in it, it sounded more like pain and loss than anything affirming. It got an answer from the cells below us, the high cries of the Alma rising in counterpoint to the wolf, harsh and angry. I knew that tone, had used it myself in my youth in the south-side gangs.

  Come and try it if you've got the balls.

  "Maybe we've just been using the wrong type of bait," the sheriff said.

  Wilko spoke from the doorway.

  "Whatever we're planning I think we need to get to it soon. The weather's closing in again."

  I went over to have a look. The sky had darkened from the north, heavy, lowering clouds, and the wind was now much fresher in my face. I suspected we were in for more snow, and plenty of it, and the sheriff confirmed my suspicions.

  "We've got to leave right now if we want to get back to town tonight," she
said.

  "What's the alternative?" Davies asked.

  "The alternative is we stay here, in a possible whiteout, with an unknown number of, as Wiggo here calls them, big fucking howling things snapping at our asses for the duration, which might be a few days."

  "We're staying until we can figure out what to do," the cap said in a tone that didn't allow for any argument. "We can hunker down in the rear cab of one of the trucks; they've got bloody huge batteries we can run the heating on for a while and the one I was in at least had a full tank of gas so we won't freeze. Wiggo, I need an inventory of what we've got in terms of both food and ammo."

  The Alma below us continued to bellow.

  "What about them?" the sheriff asked.

  "Fuck 'em," the cap replied. "Let's get ourselves sorted out first before the weather starts making our decisions for us."

  My inventory didn't take long. We had plenty of ammo, and not much in the way of food. We each had a pack of hard biscuits and water, we had some coffee and the wee camp stove, there was more water in the trucks, and somebody's stash of chocolate in the dashboard hideaway.

  "There might be something we missed in the main complex," I said. "There's a wee mess down there and…"

  "We'll leave the scavenger run until it's really necessary," the cap replied. "Let's get into the truck. Here comes the snow."