by Val Tobin
“Don’t call me that.”
Dog laughed again and then slapped Peter on the back. “It’s a term of endearment.”
“Great. Thanks.” His voice dripped sarcasm, but Hound Dog didn’t seem to notice.
“Look, we’ve got to do this. They’ll come here first. If we’re still here, they’ll deal with us. They may never even realize you escaped.”
Rachel stayed out of it, preferring to allow the two guys to let off steam. But she couldn’t give them too much time. By dawn, the place would be crawling with her father’s guards. He may not even wait until sunup.
“But they’ll have you,” Peter protested.
“They won’t have us. How many can they send? We dealt with most of them.”
“No, we dealt with whoever we dealt with. They expected us to fall into their booby trap—and we did.” Peter’s face turned red with rage and strain. “We’re lucky to be alive.” He pointed at Rachel and continued the rant. “She’s not protected against the monsters. What if grendels show up? She’s already been bitten.”
Rachel had heard enough. “Okay, time.”
The two turned and stared at her.
“You’re going, Peter. You can move fast. If you aren’t moving fast enough, Hound Dog and I will slow down the pursuit.”
Peter snorted. “That’s fine for me, but how will you two get out of here?”
She replied, speaking to Peter but looking at Hound Dog, “We’ll find a way.”
***
It took more convincing, but when they refused to change their minds, he relented. He gave Rachel a kiss on the cheek and a hug that lasted long enough for Hound Dog to throw him a dirty look and then hopped into the boat. They’d ensured its water worthiness and had set the oars into the oarlocks. He took a handgun, leaving one gun and two rifles with Rachel and Hound Dog.
After telling him to get the story into the paper as soon as possible and to trust only Captain Pattenden with what had happened, Rachel pushed the boat out into the water. Peter glanced back repeatedly as he rowed farther and farther away from shore. He’d paddle across the lake, skirting the small islands that broke the surface.
Most of them would be infested with grendels, he assumed, so he would draw close to them. If Stefan Needham’s people overtook him, he’d greet them with grendel backup. If the guards weren’t vaccinated, he could use the creatures as monster shields and pick off whoever followed him onto an island.
Rachel had made sure his gun was fully loaded before he left, and he hoped to never have to use his weapon, but if he needed it, he could put a good dent in any pursuit. The lake at this time of night—which he’d established as just after twelve thirty—was mirror calm. He heard no sounds, not even of loons, which made him sad.
At this time of year, he should hear them calling to one another in their strange, melancholy voices. Their absence left an aching void in his heart for things long past. He tried to shake off grief by focusing on rowing. His muscles already ached, but he ignored the pain, reminding himself Rachel and Hound Dog had it worse.
If—when—he made it to the road, he’d have to hike to the highway and find his way to Bancroft, the nearest still-functioning town. Peter turned his face up to the sky as he pulled back on the oars. The clouds obscured the stars, for the most part, but enough of the rain clouds had passed that the moon peeked out at frequent intervals.
A desire to scream into the silence overwhelmed him, but he reined it in. There’d be no rest nor release for him soon. In the distance, a motor roared to life. He froze and listened.
Out on the lake, the noise seemed to come from multiple directions, but he knew that was just a trick of the sound across the water. Sweat that had bloomed on his back and under his arms from the exertion of rowing turned icy, and he shivered.
Was it getting louder? Was it headed in this direction?
Peter gritted his teeth, redoubled his efforts, and skimmed across the surface of the lake.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hound Dog and Rachel heard the motor at the same time Peter did, but they knew exactly from where it came: the direction of the Needham buildings on the south-west side of the point. The breath caught in Rachel’s throat. If the boat headed to the cottage behind which Rachel and Hound Dog hid, their plan might work. If the boat headed after Peter, they’d failed in the worst way.
“I should’ve gone to look for the boat,” Hound Dog said.
“That wasn’t up to you, and you weren’t in any shape to do anything physical,” Rachel replied.
“We should’ve told him to watch for cameras.”
“I’m to blame on that score,” Rachel said. “I didn’t think of it. Why would they bother to put a camera here?”
“Maybe the camera didn’t belong to your dad.” Hound Dog sounded as dubious as Rachel felt.
“Those cameras were new.”
They’d taken out two more cameras. Hopefully, her father would believe they remained up the lake without a paddle. It explained why he’d sent a boat out on the water when the pursuers were as likely to run into grendels if they put into shore as they were to locate three people who wanted to disappear.
“The racket they’re making sure gives us a heads-up, don’t it?” Hound Dog commented.
“What are you getting at?”
“Why would they let us know they’re on their way?”
She shrugged. “What can we do about it?”
“We can leave a trail for them to follow.”
She stared at him. “Let’s do it.” She paused. “But they know we found a boat. If they don’t see one abandoned here, they’ll think we’re all on the lake.”
“Search for another one. Quick. We’ll leave it here and a trail for them to follow.”
Rachel hesitated. All kinds of issues with this suggestion came to mind, but she couldn’t think of anything better. And, like Hound Dog, she always functioned better when taking action. She didn’t want to go out sitting around waiting to be shot at even if they could turn it into a final blaze of glory.
“Okay.”
They searched the grounds but couldn’t find a rowboat similar to the one Peter had taken. A kayak and a canoe were the only crafts available. Since the canoe resembled a rowboat more than a kayak did, they dragged it to the shore and submerged it halfway in the location where Peter had found the rowboat.
Since they didn’t need to locate paddles for it, Rachel and Hound Dog turned from the shore and, without their usual caution and care, walked through the mud and up the slope. They headed toward the old marina. Neither cared any longer if an ambush awaited them at the end as long as Peter escaped.
Behind her, Hound Dog huffed and panted. She slowed her pace, and when he caught up, she had him put his arm around her shoulders.
After another few minutes of limping along, he said, “I’ve got to rest or I’ll fall.”
She stopped and they sank to the ground. Above them, tree branches swayed in the wind. The clouds had parted, and a dense spackle of stars covered the sky. The night noises had ceased.
“Shouldn’t we hear crickets at least?” Rachel asked.
“Don’t ask me,” Hound Dog said. “I don’t know what’s normal anymore.”
“None of us do.” Normal had left the building twelve years ago. No matter how many hunts they went on, the grendel herds never seemed to thin out enough. The wildlife hadn’t bounced back, but she’d have expected crickets to proliferate since grendels didn’t eat insects. Some cricket species survived well into October even in the north, and the calendar still said September.
Around them, the bushes rustled. Both heaved to their feet in unison, guns at the ready. They stood back to back as Code Master and Foot-Long had done when facing the grendels back at the lab.
“Pick them off. Can you get off two shots okay?”
Used to Hound Dog’s non-stop comments and questions when he was nervous, Rachel simply said, “Yeah.”
But it wasn’t grendels t
hat stepped from the shadows. Three figures detached from the trees in front of Rachel, and they were human.
Rachel held her fire when she realized she faced Captain Pattenden.
“Oh, thank God, Captain. What are you doing here?”
“The schedule said you’d be here until tomorrow, but when I tried to reach you, I got no response. I found two volunteers and came after you.” She took a step toward them, her two teammates standing their ground.
Hound Dog relaxed against Rachel’s body and then turned around to face his captain and her team. When he recognized them, his body went rigid, and his grip tightened on his weapon.
“Hi, Cap. Good to see you.” His voice sounded casual, but Rachel knew him well enough to hear the suspicion colouring it. “A night-time foray’s risky.”
“I was worried.” She nodded at Rachel. “Your father is too. He asked me to let him know when you returned. Said grendels attacked you, and you lost Coder and Foot-Long. Is that true?”
Rachel froze at the mention of her father.
“You talked to my father?” She raised her rifle. “How’d you locate us?”
The captain frowned. “Surveillance.”
“The cameras.” Her suspicion that Pattenden had thrown in with Stefan Needham deepened.
Too late, she heard the phtt, phtt of shots fired from a silencer, and something stung her butt cheek. She cried out even as Hound Dog did the same. The three people in front of them ducked as Rachel and Hound Dog fired their weapons, but they both missed.
Everything went dark.
***
Rachel woke to a pounding head and relief at the realization she wasn’t dead. She lay on a bed and had the sinking feeling she’d awakened back in her father’s lab. If so, everything they’d suffered through over the last number of hours was for nothing. Neither she nor Hound Dog would be injured if they’d stayed there. Then again, Peter would still be with them. As long as he was free, they had a hope of stopping her father even if she and Hound Dog never lived to see that day.
She kept her breathing even and steady so any observers wouldn’t know she was awake. All the while, she listened and tried to get a fix on where she was and who might be with her.
Hound Dog better be nearby and not dead. If they’d hurt him, she’d make sure they paid for it. She already owed them payback for what they’d done to Code Master and Foot-Long.
Voices and footsteps approached. She recognized Captain Pattenden but not her male companion. They made small talk—nothing helpful. They arrived at Rachel’s bed without the clank of a cage door opening, which told her she wasn’t back in her father’s lab after all.
Rage at the situation overwhelmed Rachel. She’d trusted the captain with her life—with the lives of her team—and she’d betrayed that trust by working with Stefan. How much had he paid the bitch to betray the protectors? With a sinking sensation, she remembered telling Peter to trust no one but Pattenden. Rachel had an urge to leap up and lunge at Pattenden’s throat but controlled it with massive effort. Instead, she opened her eyes to face the enemy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
She was in what appeared to be a hospital room. In the bed next to her rested Hound Dog. The bandage around his head looked professionally wrapped, and she assumed his shoulder was also. She raised the blanket to check her thigh and found it tended to as well. And her clothes were gone. She wore a hospital gown. No panties.
“Rachel, I’m so glad to see you awake.” The captain sat on the end of Rachel’s bed.
Fighting an urge to kick the woman, Rachel instead said, “Where are we? How’d I get here?”
“You’re in the HQ infirmary.”
“My dad?” Rachel hit the button to raise the head of the bed so she could sit up.
“Don’t worry. I’ve notified him you’re safe.”
Was Pattenden really pretending her father was on their side? After what Rachel and Hound Dog had endured at Stefan’s hands, was there any use in continuing the charade?
“Drop the act, Captain. Quit pretending he’s not a sociopath who wants to hunt me, Hound Dog, and Peter down.”
The captain’s face registered shock. “What do you mean?”
“You work for my father. You know exactly what I mean.”
“I called your father’s office yesterday when you didn’t return my call—none of you. I tried Dog, Coder, and Foot-Long before I tried him. Since he has property on Storm Lake, I called him to ask if you’d contacted him.” She paused. “Where’s the reporter?”
Rachel ignored the question. She refused to provide any information to Pattenden until she made sure it wouldn’t be fed to her father. The captain’s words told her they hadn’t found Peter, and Rachel intended to keep it that way.
“How’d you track us? You said you used the surveillance cameras. They’re my father’s.”
“No, they’re not. Protectors installed them.”
“When? Why?” The idea was a good one, but why hadn’t she known about them?
“Two years ago, we started putting cameras in places where our hunters were likely to revisit—mostly around places where residences or cottages stood. Campsites. Resorts. People want their properties back. The government funds the effort. The goal is to increase vigilance, provide better safety for our hunters, and potentially reclaim these sites for the rightful owners. We haven’t finished installing the cameras—it’s not an easy task—but we determined that if we’re sending teams in, casualties are lower if we can assess the area first.”
“Don’t the grendels rip them down?”
“That’s what we all assumed at first, which is why we hadn’t done this before. Research has shown they don’t climb metal poles very well—nor do they want to. They don’t care about inanimate objects. They want food. Anytime they’ve ripped apart anything, they did it to get to food.”
Rachel nodded. The captain verified what Rachel had suspected.
“What now?” The question came from Hound Dog. His bedsheets rustled, and the motor on the bed hummed as he raised the upper half to a sitting position.
Rachel studied his face. His expression remained calm, pain-free, and his movements were smooth and methodical.
No one brought up the question of why Pattenden had had them shot with a tranquillizer dart to bring them here. If she was on their side, all she’d have had to do was ask. Rachel gave the room a quick scan but didn’t see any cameras. If she could get the captain to leave, she could discuss with Hound Dog what to do to find Peter.
The motorboat they’d heard came to mind then. She hoped whoever drove it hadn’t realized Peter was out on the water virtually unprotected. At that reminder, the panic built. She had to get Pattenden out of the room.
***
Despite the grendels scurrying in the shadows, Peter dragged his boat onto shore on an island in the middle of the lake where the remains of a cottage stood. The main building had a missing roof, and natural forces had completed the demolition. Two trees had smashed in the main structure, and the elements had taken care of the rest. The grendels, staring at him with beady eyes, squatted in or under the trees surrounding him.
Peter didn’t even try to enter the mess that used to be a family’s summer retreat. The boathouse interested him more. If he could find a working motor, he’d have a chance of outrunning whoever hunted him.
That whoever was out there might not be searching for Peter Sanderson specifically kept him from having a full-blown panic attack. Even so, the adrenaline rush he always got when facing danger energized him. He wished he hadn’t lost all his reporting tools back at the lab and longed for his digital recorder, his cell phone, and his tablet.
Instead, he had to settle for committing everything that happened to memory. He mentally narrated his movements as he broke the padlock on the boathouse with an axe he’d found in a shed. The voice-over in his head sounded a little like Kiefer Sutherland, and Peter imagined himself the hero in the movie they’d one day make of this. If it
wasn’t too far in the future, Matt Damon could play him.
Movements in his periphery made him look up, but it was only the grendels. They hovered around him, probably confused as hell that what looked so edible from a distance repelled them when they ventured close. Peter mentally thanked the vaccine’s formulator. It worked beautifully.
Perhaps, he should return to the lab and help them finish the testing. This vaccine could work wonders for humanity. They’d once more be the top of the food chain. Heck, they’d be able to leave an infant among the creatures, and it would be as safe as if resting in its mother’s arms.
But no matter how he tried to spin it in his mind that Coder’s and Foot-Long’s deaths were an accident, he couldn’t buy into it. They’d been murdered. Stefan had tried to kill his daughter by blowing up Hound Dog’s truck. Stefan Needham did nothing for altruistic reasons, and that would never change. Anyone associated with him had better watch him carefully. He’d betray and murder his family to accomplish his goals.
Inside the boathouse, Peter found it in relatively decent shape. The roof hadn’t been ripped off—probably because whoever had owned the cottage hadn’t been inside the boathouse when the creatures attacked. The grendels had sensed food only in the cottage, so they’d had no reason to break into the outbuildings.
Two speedboats sat docked in the water. They’d been shielded in here from the elements, but that didn’t mean they worked. If they’d sat here for twelve years, the engines would’ve seized and the gas in them would be old. Their batteries would need changing, especially since, in this neck of the woods, the temperature could drop to minus forty Celsius in the winter.
He searched the boathouse for the keys, all the while listening for the approach of the boat he’d heard before. At first, he heard nothing but the movements of the creatures outside. Despite the noise Peter made rooting around in cabinets and cupboards, the grendels made no move to get into the boathouse. They understood the person prowling around in there wasn’t edible. To Peter, that meant they knew who he was. They’d observed him from the time he left his boat to the moment he stepped into the boathouse.
