Wolf Who Walks Alone: A Raymond Wolf Mystery Novel

by Steve R. Yeager

  And it was then that he finally understood what the crows in the man’s house had wanted him to know.

  - 55 -

  MOUNTED

  WOLF CARRIED THE withered man over his shoulder, but not like he would have carried a wounded buddy from the battlefield. No, not like that. He had bound Krieg’s mouth with cloth and had tied his hands together. He had also attempted to frighten the man into silence, but still the man continued to writhe about, trying to free himself. The efforts were weak and feeble, and Wolf could easily manage such a small burden even though his shoulder was becoming slick from the man’s blood.

  When he arrived at a spot scouted earlier, he stopped and resurveyed the area. Not much had changed. The ground was trampled, and the bramble and undergrowth near the overhanging trees was crushed and broken into fragments and twigs. In the center of the clearing was one of the artificial watering holes that he’d found were spaced out evenly on the property. The only difference was that the animals here were different from the others.

  Which was just what he wanted.

  He entered the clearing and most of the animals scattered as he drew near. But not all of them. In the middle of the open space was the gray-skinned rhinoceros. It spotted Wolf and his burden and moved away, but not too far away. Unlike the rhinoceros inside Krieg’s home, this one was larger. Its horn was longer and more pronounced, and there were no crows perched on its back. They were no longer necessary. He had understood their message.

  And he had an answer.

  The rhinoceros held its ground, turning slowly. It would not flee as the other animals had done. Of this, Wolf was certain. It knew it was the biggest, baddest creature on the ranch.

  Which was almost true.

  He approached the beast with Krieg still draped over his shoulder. The rhinoceros snorted and warily shifted sideways, one foot clawing at the ground. He circled to stand before it, facing it down directly, head on. He lifted Krieg and held him almost above his head. The man seemed to weigh little more than a child now. Krieg, perhaps sensing that his struggling would only get him dropped, ceased moving altogether and held still.

  Wolf stamped his foot and drew it back, imitating the rhinoceros. And, with a swiftness that belied its size, the majestic beast charged, kicking up dust as its long, scimitar-like horn sliced through the open air before it—going left, right, left.

  Then it faltered, pulling up short, and began to circle.

  Its head lowered once again and it pawed at the ground. Then it raised its massive head once more and crabbed sideways, always keeping one dark, keen eye on the new threat.

  Krieg continued to squirm in Wolf’s iron grip. The man started to let out muffled cries of fear.

  The rhinoceros stopped moving. And with a sudden ferocity, it fell into a charge.

  Wolf backpedaled a step, sinking lower, adjusting to the newly thrashing man above his head. Dust and vibrations and blurred edges filled his mind with warnings. But he stood his ground against the charge and against the fear—and against the beast.

  The rhino lowered its head so the horn would hit first and closed the distance in a whirl of pounding dirt and speed.

  Wolf squatted slightly more and tensed. He drew a breath. And, when the rhino was almost upon him, he let go of his held breath and launched Krieg at the charging beast.

  The man sailed through the air and lazily twisted over and landed stomach first on the rhinoceros’s thick horn. He hit so hard the impact caused him to wrap around the beast’s snout and absorb the horn into himself as if he were hugging it.

  Wolf casually stepped to one side, feeling the wind of the massive beast as it slid past him in an instant. He spun to face the rhino again, widening his legs and sinking to lower his center, preparing to lunge left or right.

  The rhino stopped and turned, appearing confused by what had happened to it. Krieg’s body had gone rigid with shock. His head turned toward Wolf. Disbelief painted his face. A slight widening of his eyes displayed a spark of awareness that the coming pain was going to be terrible, awful, and intense.

  The gag on Krieg’s mouth fell aside, and he shrieked a torturous, hysterical wail, then squirmed and clawed, attempting to free himself from the horn. His hands futilely beat against the rhinoceros’s head.

  Pounding.

  Pounding.

  But it had no effect.

  The beast stamped as it circled, kicking up more and more dust, then it attempted to back away from the scene. It shook its head and backed away again and shook once more.

  But it could not shake the man-thing off its horn.

  After giving a snort that blew a cloud of dust up from the ground, it spun halfway around and ran for the thick underbrush at the edge of the clearing.

  Krieg was still alive and still shrieking in a dark torrent of pain as he and the beast disappeared into the crackling branches and the swishing leaves of the grove.

  Wolf held his ground. He could feel the waning vibrations through his feet from the mighty animal as it faded into the distance.

  Birds scattered in the trees, and the terror-filled screams of the man called Krieg intensified. The torturous wails continued to go on and on while Wolf listened to them, seeking to find meaning in the dying man’s cries as they drifted about on the wind.

  - 56 -

  DOUBLY CAUTIOUS

  SAYID WAS READY to kill the big man. He’d been ready to kill him for some time now. He had already assumed that the girl had fled to safety, or was in hiding somewhere, and he wasn’t going to find her until he found the man who had been such a prickly thorn in his side.

  He would make certain that the man called Wolf would not live to see another sunset.

  Moments ago, he had heard the screams of that cowardly Quentin Krieg. The big American soldier had killed him, surely. The man who had thought himself a big-game hunter…? He was really just a fool.

  Sayid was not a fool.

  He expected the American soldier to do the unexpected. So Sayid planned to do the expected. To outsmart an opponent who thinks he is outsmarting you—the best way is to do what is expected, because then your all-too-clever opponent will end up outsmarting himself. He had learned this lesson from his advisor, al-Shiba, who was the most intelligent man he knew. Much smarter than any American.

  Sayid would never forgive the Americans for what they had done to his country. The money they now paid him helped, and the minuscule pleasures they allowed, were barely enough to keep him from acting against them—at least not publicly, and at least not for the time being. It hadn’t been all bad, working with the American dogs. He’d personally been able to send thirty-four young brides to the afterlife for his own amusements, once he arrived there. Each one had been hand selected for one particular trait or another. Some had been stunning beauties. Some were smart. Some just had pretty eyes. And, in death, all belonged to Sayid now.

  Krieg had provided other girls in the past. But none were as pretty as this one he now hunted, but, so too had none ever turned out to be as difficult at this one, either. The girls had usually been brought to him drugged and docile, which made the hunt for them far less of a challenge. He so enjoyed a good challenge. Though, he did have to admit that releasing both the girl and the man called Wolf had been a mistake.

  But, Sayid would endure, and for all that the big man had done so far—Hell shall be his new home, and an evil fate shall be upon him. He almost spit after remembering the curse, but that would be unbecoming of a man of his stature and poise.

  His only need now was to find the man and kill him quickly before the girl could get away. It was a burning need and would be a difficult task—of this he was sure—but Allah would approve of his bravery when it was all over. And if he died in the pursuit, he would still enter Paradise with a well-established collection of young and able brides.

  He could not lose either way.

  Marks in the soft dirt made an easy trail to follow. They were the barefoot imprints of the large man. Some
were doubled up as if the American had been retracing his own steps, which Sayid knew for a trick. There was one other set of prints that he saw occasionally. He recognized the small size of the athletic shoes worn by the girl. Those created the path he currently followed. They would not lie and lead him astray like the large prints would.

  Along the path were small droplets of blood in the dirt and grass that he was certain belonged to her. Maybe he had indeed hit her when he had raised his gun and fired earlier. Maybe that was why he had not seen her yet. She might be too injured to keep running and was hiding somewhere nearby.

  Whatever it was, he knew it would favor him. Allah was with him.

  He grinned as he raised the combat rifle and continued to follow the trail deeper into the grove of trees.

  Then he saw it.

  There was a single brightly colored shoe lying on the trail. Had she lost it running away? It made little sense. Wouldn’t the man whose tracks were nearby have picked it up and at least tried to hide it?

  He became doubly cautious.

  Stopping, he flipped the fire selector switch on the gun to give him a three-round burst of automatic fire instead of the single-shot mode he had been in before. Reassured, he scanned the way ahead, walking slowly, expecting a trap.

  A noise came from behind him—crashing brush, branches snapping, twigs breaking…

  He spun and raised the rifle to his shoulder, fired a three-round burst, and sought to keep the weapon aimed at the blurry shape that was charging straight at him.

  - 57 -

  COLD-BLOODED DECISION

  DESPITE THE FREQUENT cries of outrage from humanitarians throughout the ages, Wolf knew that human-to-human combat was at its very core bestial, savage, and often barbaric. It was an almost primal sense of awareness that told him this, something dredged up from deep inside his lizard brain that, like all human beings, had been inherited from a long line of ancestors before him.

  With no exceptions, human beings had been the only animal that had ever turned killing into an art form, which, rather ironically, was why humanity had been able to rise above the other beasts to become the ultimate, apex predator.

  He’d learn through his grandmother’s stories that the first tools developed by man were weapons meant to kill other men and beasts. Then more weapons were invented to counter those earlier weapons, escalating ever so until it became supremely easy to kill on a massive scale with almost no remorse or regret.

  From all the killing Wolf had seen in Iraq, he had come to realize that if warfare were to remain one-on-one, human-to-human, beast-to-beast—there would be far less killing in the world. But, the art of mass killing was the burden that humans had to live with today. And, tragically, it had become almost too easy to live with when so many were protected from so much.

  He’d come to understand that mankind has always been ruled by the aggressive use of force, no matter the many protestations to the contrary. It was so, and it would always be so. Without those willing to use force to keep the peace—and oftentimes kill those who threatened others—there would be no artists or philosophers or anyone else left to debate the matter. The biggest tragedy of humanity was that so many shrank from the responsibilities of maintaining that peace through the violent actions and sacrifices required.

  It was Wolf’s grandmother who had instilled this wisdom in him. She had told him that if he listened to the winds carefully, they would tell him what was right and what was wrong. And right now, those winds were blowing with a righteous fury.

  Earlier, after killing Krieg, he’d started tracking Sayid. He’d doubled back and had been staying slightly ahead of the man, disturbing hardly a blade of grass to mark his passing. At one point, he had dropped the girl’s brightly colored shoe across the trail to make the man curious enough to approach, not being able to help himself. But when Sayid had turned and fired his rifle at what had spooked him, that shot had not been directed at Wolf. It had been directed at the rhinoceros that Wolf had driven in Sayid’s direction. Wolf had believed the rhino would make the perfect diversion, but Sayid’s shots had unexpectedly spooked the creature back into the bushes, and now Wolf was standing there exposed and alone, and had to think quickly.

  Hesitating for only a brief second, he fully committed himself to the cause and sprinted to close the distance with Sayid.

  He almost made it.

  Sayid spun fast, aimed the gun, and fired at Wolf. A three-round burst flared from the barrel. The first two shots missed, but the third did not.

  Wolf tripped and fell forward, clutching at his ankle where the bullet had struck him. He somehow regained his balance, dragging his injured limb behind him, but was suddenly forced to stop. He had no other choice.

  Sayid held the gun level. “I will not miss this time.”

  Wolf did not raise his hands. He had only twenty feet left to go to get to the man. Even wounded, he still might be able to close the gap before the man fired.

  Maybe.

  Sayid smiled and shook his head. “Not a hello for your old friend?”

  Wolf’s leg began to throb and ache, and he could feel the warm blood trickling down and running across the bare skin of his foot.

  “You look filthy, my old friend,” Sayid said. “And while you appear quite frightening, it is I who am the one with the gun.”

  Wolf drew a breath.

  Sayid grinned wide. “Where is she? Did I…shoot her? Is she dead now?”

  Wolf took half a step forward, dragging his wounded limb behind him.

  “No further,” Sayid said. “I see in you that I was successful. It is in your eyes. They betray you. She is dead now? Well, good then. That makes thirty-five. A nice number for me, wouldn’t you say? But not nearly enough…”

  Wolf stared at the man through narrowed eyes.

  “What did you do to that imbecile Krieg?” Sayid asked. “He is dead now, too? That was him on the horn of that…creature? Or what was left of him, I suppose…?”

  Wolf said nothing. Hot blood flowed down his leg. His heart pounded in his ears.

  “I know you, Mr. Wolf. I know all about you. You should understand that when I kill you, your government will not intervene with this…diversion of mine. They need me too much. They protect me. They provide me with these little…distractions. It is a small price to pay for my gracious and loyal help.”

  Wolf focused on a point behind the man, where the horizon might be, and made a cold-blooded decision.

  “You mean less than nothing to them,” Sayid said.

  “Who?”

  “Ah, such a good question,” Sayid replied, nodding. “I am afraid I cannot say who in your government that I am acquainted with. It has been many, I think. They have invested so much in my country. So many lives have been lost on your country’s behalf. And we thank you and your American leaders for every drop of blood spilled. All that for what, too? For oil? For land? No, the Americans never came for the oil or the land. If they had, they would have taken it from us. Then for what…? What did they really come for…?”

  Wolf shook his head slowly.

  “I wish I knew as well. Because, if I did, I would tell you. It is most confusing. They do pay us well, that is all I know. Billions of US dollars. Almost a trillion, I hear. Perhaps the reason is as easy to explain as the soft-headed guilt of your leaders? Not that it matters any longer. All that matters now is that you and I are now at an end. So, goodbye, Mr. Wolf.”

  Sayid raised the gun and fired.

  - 58 -

  RAVEN MOCKER

  WITH SOME ANIMAL comprehension of danger, Wolf had already started moving sideways the instant before Sayid had fired his rifle, not with any type of grace, but with a ferocity that trumped his technique.

  The first burst of rounds missed him completely and crashed harmlessly into the trees.

  He then became, to all effects, a part of the breezes blowing through the trees. And like the winds of a rising gale, he rushed at Sayid, ignoring any pain coming from h
is leg. The muscles, bone, and sinew still worked well enough, and that was all that mattered.

  Sayid regained control of the rifle and aimed it at Wolf and attempted to get another three-round burst off.

  Wolf took at least one bullet in his side, but this one he hardly noticed. He reached Sayid and wrenched the gun from his hands and ripped the strap over the man’s shoulder as he slammed him to the ground. He spun the rifle and pointed the barrel down at Sayid.

  A groveling Sayid raised his hands above his head. “I know you, Mr. Wolf. You will not kill me. You are an American soldier. You must let me go.”

  Wolf let his finger touch the trigger. But he stopped himself.

  This is not right.

  He could not kill the man this way. No, that would be wrong. He was an American soldier. He had to put his country’s true interests first.

  Once a Marine, always a Marine.

  He tossed the rifle aside and grabbed Sayid by a handful of cloth and lifted him from the earth. The pain coming from his wounded leg and side caused him to stumble, but he readjusted himself, bracing his feet wide before heaving and completely lifting the man above his head as he had Krieg. Sayid weighed far more, and the pain of holding him there was great, but it was a small price to pay.

  Exhaling, he slammed the man to the ground, knocking the wind from him. Sayid’s eyes rolled back into focus as Wolf drew his knife blade from the sheath at his side. His hands were already growing slick from his own blood, but his grip on the handle was steady and sure. He dropped to his knees and straddled the man.

  Sayid coughed. “What are you doing?”

  Wolf said nothing. He pulled at a handful of cloth and cut it away.

  “This is wrong. Your government will… They will…”

  Wolf said nothing.

  Sayid coughed again. “They will disown you. They will jail you. They will…”