Wolf Canyon: Cold Cat Mountain Book II (Cold Cat Mountain Trilogy 2)

by Kimberly Goss-Kearney

  “These guys say you know about this? They're running supplies up to Wolf Canyon?”

  Nodding grimly, Gordon inclined his head.

  “Yeah, I know about it. It doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense though.”

  Gene eyed Gordon a brief moment before opening the road block and waving the trucks through, pulling his collar up against the chill.

  “It's gonna take them several days to get anything into Wolf Canyon. If that's the cavalry, they'll move at a snail’s pace.”

  Nodding curtly, Gordon felt himself grind his teeth. John sidled up to him, passing Gordon his old silver flask.

  “Something about this doesn’t feel right. Since when does a secret agency send in its own guys to set up for a Search and Rescue?”

  Gordon, taking a swig of the whiskey, grimaced as he gave the flask to Pat and nodded.

  “None of this feels good. Norma’s right, maybe we should separate off from them.”

  Swallowing a deep gulp of the whiskey, Pat passed the flask to Dusty, whose face reddened. “I'm not twenty-one yet Uncle Pat, but thanks.” Grunting, Pat shoved the flask back into Dusty's chest. “Who’s asking? You sure as hell earned it today. Drink; you could use it.” Shrugging, Dusty tipped back the flask, swallowing the bitter brew as liquid heat seared his throat. He creased his lips against its sting.

  “At least one part of me can still feel heat.”

  Turning back to his comrades, Gordon shook his head.

  “Randall’s never done anything that didn’t benefit him first.”

  Pat nudged Gordon's arm and lowered his voice. “She can stay warm indefinitely at the springs.”

  Gordon, knowing, he meant Shelby, turned to the horses. “And hydrated. Let’s go home and regroup.”

  “I am afraid of darkness... even though it knows me it loves me.” ― Ray Fawkes

  ~Six~

  Bixley was escorted from the plane by a grim-faced Air Marshal whose hand was firmly holding Norma's daughter by the upper arm. Uttering a swift prayer, Norma moved forward to meet them. He looked as though he had been happy at one point in his life, then after experiencing a chance encounter with Bixley, lost all hope. A deep furrow plowed upward between his brows, creating a vertical line resembling the beginnings of a migraine. Understanding on a level deeper then he would ever know, Norma was torn between wanting to hit him on the back of the head, telling him to suck it up, or to take him home and make him a batch of her famous Dutch Babies to make up for the suffering incurred. Neither was an option at the moment. Bixley had that effect on people. Still. Her red hair was messed up, as though she had tussled with someone. Norma pursed her lips and stopped in front of the man holding her daughter’s arm.

  “What’s going on?” Bixley turned and looked up at the man towering over her. “He seemed to have a problem with me singing on the airplane.” She wriggled her fingers for emphasis, showing her mother she was cuffed. The Marshal remained flint-faced.

  “Is this your daughter ma’am?” Norma nodded. “I am Norma, her mother. What's going on? We’re dealing with a family emergency and need to hurry. Is she under arrest?”

  The Marshal shook his head and sighed. “No. She probably should be. I escorted her off the plane to appease the other passengers. Technically she didn’t break the law.”

  Bixley laughed. “Technically. Technically? When is the last time you read the constitution? Never? I am allowed to express my own opinions.”

  The Air Marshall unlocked Bixley’s cuffs and stepped back. “She is not allowed to fly with this airline….again… in her lifetime.”

  “What about my next lifetime? Can I fly then?”

  Norma heard Wyatt and Dillon snicker behind her.

  Bixley turned, raising her voice. “I have every right to sing. EVERY RIGHT. This is still America!”

  Norma shook her head while looking up at the Marshall and rolled her eyes. “You cuffed her for singing?” The mans mouth turned downward. “Of course. She sang every song she heard through her ear phones. Out loud. Really loud. Hank Williams Jr., Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty…”

  The man struggled to recall the other artists.

  “I sing when I'm nervous. I told you my daughter is missing, you idiot.” The Air Marshal stepped back again. Clearly he was distancing himself without looking obvious. He was now three and half feet further away than he’d been upon releasing Bixley’s cuffs.

  Norma watched her youngest daughter try offering him her middle finger and grabbed her arm, hissing at her. Bixley raised her voice instead. “And by the way, the woman behind me had a bag of marijuana, but you all seemed to miss that while I was singing!”

  The Marshal quietly turned and walked away. His face was pale. As he walked, Bixley trotted behind him singing “I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

  Norma turned to Dillon who looked as though he had a coat hanger stretched in his mouth. Norma glared at his over sized smile. “Go get your aunt.” Not only had Bixley’s exit from the airline been dramatic, but once she realized the airline had lost her luggage Norma helped herself to the other half of her Xanax while she watched Dillon and Wyatt pull a suitcase away from Bixley that didn’t belong to her. Limping toward Norma she stopped and pulled off her boots, one after the other. Her socks didn’t match and Bixley looked down, wriggling her toes. “Shelby and I never wear matching socks…” Her bright green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

  Norma pulled her daughter close. “She’s tough Bixley. You raised her to be tough. She'll be alright.”

  Raising her head Bixley pushed back her bright red hair, whispering. “I love her.”

  Norma nodded, fighting back her own emotions. “She knows you do. You’re her Mamma.” While her voice sounded stern she knew Bixley felt her support. Slipping her arm around her daughters waist she walked her from the airport to the truck. The gray skies spit snow down upon them and the bitter wind accompanying it did nothing to liven their moods. Bixley sat between Dillon and Norma, quiet, as though she'd just realized what she’d lost.

  Dillon backed the truck out and merged onto the highway leading toward Stryker. Bixley's voice sounded dull. “She wanted me to stay home. I shouldn’t have taken the job in South Dakota.”

  Norma patted her leg.

  “You did what you had to.”

  Bixley's eyes widened when the snow began to fall in earnest, pelting against their windshield. Dillon slowed and turned on the headlights.

  “She’s out in this alone.”

  Taking Norma’s hand, she squeezed her eyes shut. The mood in the truck turned mournful. Norma flexed her fingers around Bixley’s, trying to increase the blood flow under the tight grip her daughter had on her hand. As the truck moved down the highway away from Kalispell, Norma closed her eyes a moment, reminded of the early grade level testing in school for Bixley. The instructor in charge had met Norma in a small classroom. The woman had smiled warmly while she prepared Norma for what she had to say in a good news-bad news situation.

  “She is extremely bright. In fact, her I.Q. is startling. You’ll always be answering her questions and trying to keep up with her.”

  Norma had laughed nervously. “I already am.” The woman’s expression changed and turned soft. “She has severe dyslexia. It is actually at the disability level. She may often feel impatient and misunderstood; frustrated with the world for not realizing her intellect isn’t measured through traditional standards. Her emotional spectrum will be challenging. She may always have trouble organizing her emotions in a way that appears rational to the rest of us.”

  As they rode in silence and the memory faded, Norma pulled Bixley’s hand closer. Her youngest daughter was an anomaly. She always had been. From her spiraling emotions to zany comedic rantings bordering upon a Robin Williams talent for stating the obvious in a new way, Bixley was the bling in their ordinary lives. She was also the blinking neon light at times, with a short in it; one letter of the sign gone dark, leaving the rest of the sign unreadable. She had turn
ed into the unreadable sign at the moment. Her daughter Shelby had also been blessed with an extremely high I.Q. However, she didn’t have crippling dyslexia. She had strength, will, and attitude. She held Bixley accountable for her irrational behaviors as only a willful child could.

  The snow fell harder with each winding turn towards the small mountain community. Bixley said nothing. They drove in silence. Norma only once interrupted the quiet to share with her that Shelby had been purposefully leaving a trail up the peak. She felt her daughter relax slightly against her shoulder. Dillon glanced over at his grandmother and winked.

  “Sometimes it takes a walk through the darkness; to totally appreciate the light” ― L.M. Young

  ~Seven~

  Randall leaned back and adjusted the satin sleep mask, taking a deep breath. He knew he would have to interact with YoHan in a few hours. As much as he dreaded meeting the young upstart, age did have its perks. He’d memorized what he would say; truthfully he cared very little for how the well-bred snot would respond.

  Everyone at the Summit knew Randall was the intellect behind the day-to-day momentum, the tactful suggestions behind the Rothschild tantrums, and the actual strategist behind the Park Avenue schemers. He was both confident and secure in his power.

  And he didn’t have to interact with Vivette. Another relief. She’d been true to her previous threat and left the continent, not caring to be present when the next crisis hit Stryker. She knew Matilda just enough to know there would be another. It was how Matilda managed things. It was a lifestyle Randall had seen few live authentically, and fewer still had demonstrated the ability to carry secrets and truths yet not find the need to reveal them to someone.

  He sighed. Matilda had been special. He would miss sparring with her. Very few individuals were his intellectual equal. Her abduction and presumed demise pained him. He felt the sting of her acquired knowledge passing with her. A sting partially attributed to being a mentor at the beginning of her fledgling career. She swiftly surpassed the capacity to remain content as his assistant, moving on to her own independent pursuits. Or so she thought. However, at present he had little other than the loud shrill of the female behind him in First Class to complain about. Blaze was secure under the supervision of Ren and Cindy. He trusted them to keep her in their sights. Without them, Blaze would be running amuck; ringing church bells and gathering the villagers. She was radical, reactive and raw.

  Novice. Maybe she’d get there, maybe she wouldn’t, but he needed her for the time being. He laughed silently to himself as he recalled her confronting him with the pepper spray and rape whistle. She had chutzpah. She didn’t always know when and where to apply it, but he did enjoy seeing temerity in a female. He found the process of working with her potential intriguing even if that potential was lacking sophistication.

  As his sleeping pill lulled him slowly into a decadent blur, he drifted, enjoying the hum of the jets beneath him. He always took a sleeping pill when he crossed the Pond. He had a secret fear of the plane plummeting into the ocean. Smiling, he applauded himself once again for thinking ahead. If the plane crashed he’d be none the wiser.

  ~*~

  Judy Padna clicked boldly through Hong Kong’s International Airport. Her heels made noise. But only because they were special order tap shoes. She wore them in the lab too. It drove her assistants crazy, but Judy was unaware of that little fact. In fact, Judy was unaware of most functional social norms. She tapped her way across the polished airport terminal, smiling, giddy. YoHan had called her in off the bench, and she had been waiting to get in on the Sasquatch game for years. With her gray hair freshly buzzed close to her scalp she sported modern spikes. Her earphones blared her favorite song to which she hummed loudly, as she half skipped- half tapped her way toward the gate where Randall would be, throwing her arms in the air over her head and laughing with glee to “I Feel Pretty.”

  She did feel pretty. Judy Padna always felt pretty. In the lab, at home with her Mamma, at Bingo. No matter the weather, the mood, or the setting, she operated under the mantle of personal value, placing herself above all else, just as she had been taught. In her powder blue pantsuit, belted at the waist, she knew deep down turning heads was just par for the course. As her mother used to quote to her, “Being stunning comes with a price.”

  Being brilliant was its own burden too, which she also owned. She was a genius scientific researcher first, and a beautiful woman second. A little on the pudgy side, but that was from all the Coconut Ice her Mamma made for her, and her own passion for Whatchamacallit candy bars. She knew the pant suit was too tight around her protruding mid-section but it was also stretched tightly across her bum and she had a sneaking suspicion Randall would enjoy the view.

  Turning in a small circle, stretching out her arms, she tipped her head back as the song ended, posing in dramatic fashion. Smiling, looking around her through squinted eyes as airline passengers rushed past, she wished she could live in a world where people didn’t pretend to ignore her beauty. They noticed, her Mamma said they did, but society was intimidated by lovely people.

  Straightening her suit smartly, she flipped open her compact to powder her nose. Several Asians filtering past her did a double take. The few Americans who filed by just ignored her. They ignored everyone though. She was used to it. Smiling benevolently, she waited for small groups of Asian men and women to approach and ask for her autograph. Sometimes she was mistaken for a celebrity. Someone called Kathy Bates. Judy personally didn't watch movies, but she'd heard several times she and Kathy Bates bore a striking resemblance to one another.

  Smiling smugly, she hummed as passengers eyed her curiously. She was tapping her toes to the tune of “Jeepers Creepers” as Randall Sterling exited his plane. His eyes surveyed the room, stopping suddenly when they landed on Judy Padna. A man from behind slammed into him, and Randall moaned.

  The young YoHan had managed to trump him and sent Judy Padna to run interference as punishment for Randall's elusive and arrogant behaviors.

  As people pushed past him, Randall considered re-boarding the jet liner and requesting they accept a private pay.

  Judy would never know he’d spotted her. She was busy tapping her obscenely polished black tap shoes to music only she could hear, with her eyes closed.

  Randall was still frozen in place and pondering his options when she spotted him.

  “I kept staring into the blackness of the woods, drawn into the darkness as I always had been. I suddenly realized how alone I was. (But this is how you travel the wind whispered back; this is how you've always lived.)”

  ― Bret Easton Ellis

  ~Eight~

  Blaze leaned back in her chair by Sheriff Walker's desk and rubbed her eyes. Ren and Cindy sat opposite her. Their expressions were unreadable, however their eyes were searching the reaction of both Blaze and Sheriff Walker, carefully monitoring their attempts to absorb what had just been revealed.

  Walker sat on a footstool, leaning forward on his forearms staring silently out at the falling snow. The peak of Cold Cat was obscured by dark clouds standing sentry at the jagged edges of the spiring rock tower.

  Cindy had divulged massive amounts of critical information. Information it would take months to digest. Unfortunately, everyone in the room was aware they didn't have months. Time would not stop for them to process the information they had just received. People were still counting on them. People who were cold, scared and hungry. People who were alone with monsters.

  Watching Walker stare out at the snow Blaze felt certain he regretted his choice to watch out for her. While it was obviously a self-appointed position, neither he nor Blaze had the time or desire to address it. It was certainly not a situation she'd encouraged, but she was growing fond of knowing he was always near. She watched as he rubbed his jawline, squinting in deep thought.

  Blaze turned to Cindy.

  “So, Matilda was right.”

  It wasn't a question. The quiet room’s atmosphere turned tense. C
indy nodded, having the grace to lower her eyes. Blaze turned back toward the window, gazing up at the mountain. Matilda would have known what to do with the burst of information thy had just been exposed to; information that made her feel as though she had been forced to drink from a fire hose. She turned back.

  “About all of it?” When Cindy nodded again, Blaze swallowed. She’d hoped deep down that what they’d faced was an anomaly, a crazed force of nature that could not be replicated. She was wrong.

  As the world watched the news in horror on their flat screens from the safety of their homes, these creatures, much like psychopaths, also stalked the innocent and always had. They were territorial. Much more so than the general public knew. And the extremely limited information they were receiving from the vans relegated to the outside of Stryker was nothing compared to the reality taking place.

  In a scattered and terrified second, her brain entertained visions of families camping, children playing alone near the trees, hikers in remote areas who didn't return to camp to check in with family and friends as scheduled.

  These were not the legendary Sasquatch of lore which the general public had been raised on semi harmless legends of. These were of a darker ilk. Fiercer. Blood thirsty. They had always been watching. Seizing opportunities as they came, they issued a warning without words; a warning the general public was not quick enough to catch on to.