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

by Kimberly Goss-Kearney

  Straightening in her seat Blaze, cleared her throat and leaned toward Ren. “How did all of this get up here, Ren?” Exhaling slowly, Ren held up his cup as a young lady offered refills. “Those things don't really seem to mess with Max and his kin.”

  “Because...?” Blaze leaned forward on her elbows, waiting. Looking sheepish, Ren turned to Cindy for help. Obliging, she placed her hand over Ren’s forearm.

  “Some things are better left unsaid, Blaze. You get it.”

  “Yeah.” Leaning back Blaze raised her coffee cup to her lips. “I get it.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I don't.” “You start with a darkness to move through but sometimes the darkness moves through you.” Dean Young

  ~Twenty-one~

  Gordon pulled his horse to a stop, staring ahead into the trees while Storm pranced uneasily. Reining in their horses alongside him, both John and Pat looked ahead as well, trying to discern what he was seeing.

  Pushing his hat back in the early morning chill, he narrowed his eyes scanning the North Ridge as it rose toward the peak. Light snow flurries dotted their vision.

  “I don't know.” Leaning his arm on his saddle horn he looked to the other men. “Something feels wrong.”

  When neither John nor Pat responded, Gordon gestured toward the horses. “They can smell it.” The side of the ridge was quiet. Riding straight on without stopping would put them at the base camp within thirty minutes. Pat pulled out his binoculars. Standing in the stirrups, he scanned the trees and the ridge rock covered in snow. Without speaking he passed them to John, who also looked through the glass himself.

  “Nothing.” It was more of a mumble than an announcement. Gordon worked his jaw back and forth as Storm threw his head, anxiously pulling at the reins. “Something doesn't feel right. I can't put my finger on it.” The quiet of the mountainside closed in on them. The wind died down, leaving the atmosphere vacuum-like, pulling their words and sounds out into nowhere. Pat’s horse pawed at the ground and circled with its tail raised.

  “Well…waddya wanna do, Gordon?” Looking over to Pat, Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have to get to camp. But, I can tell you I don't think we'll have much time for the clues she's left. I think they're waiting on us.”

  John squinted. “You serious?” Shaking his head, Gordon continued to stare ahead without answering. His gut churned. Everything in him fired off physical and psychological warnings. The sour taste in his mouth turned metallic and he realized he was biting his inner lip.

  He turned to John and Pat. “I'm riding through, but it'll be at a dead run, boys. I can’t ask you to come. I don't know what’s waiting.”

  Pat and John exchanged glances before John edged his horse alongside Gordon. “Ta’hell with that. I'm comin' along.”

  Pat nodded, his eyes hardening. “I'm going.” Tucking his chin to his chest, Gordon prayed. He wasn't a man prone to displays, or grandiosity. For him it had been enough to know there was a God; a God he communicated with consistently in the mountains. Prayer between him and his Creator had become comfortable; simple conversations of thanks, of seeking His will. It wasn't often he asked for something. He figured he had enough.

  Until the moment he sensed death riding just ahead of him on a pale horse, he'd never prayed openly in front of his friends. Both joined him without hesitation. In the quiet, the three bowed their heads, requesting deliverance from an evil they knew waited.

  Lifting his head, Gordon pushed his hat down hard. “You boys know how to ride, so far be it from me to school you, but when we take that ridge, lean down low over your saddles, hold the horn, and don't raise your heads til' we get there. If something grabs for you, make sure it has to take you and your horse too. Don't let go.”

  Neither man responded. They simply followed. Gordon slapped the reins against his horse’s neck, and the gelding was more than ready to go. Dirt, snow and rock flew from under Storm’s hooves. Hat down, chest over the saddle horn, he gave the reins to the Friesian /Tennessee Walker cross, and held on. On instinct, his animal reacted, navigating through the trees and up toward the rock ridge. Gordon glanced up; limbs whipped his face, and drew blood as the horses took the shortest route from point A to point B.

  A scream sounded above them. Holding fast to his huge gelding, he watched the ground speed by below him, causing his eyes to water.

  Another scream sounded from overhead as Storm took a sharp curve around a tree, rubbing too close. Gordon felt his pants and upper thigh tear at the same time. At one point, Storm began screaming back as the sounds from the trees above them escalated. Pat and John’s horses followed close and quiet, and Gordon thanked God the animals were sure footed.

  Another limb, stronger than the first, cracked him in the right shoulder, shoving him sideways. Determined to not lose his grip he squeezed his eyes shut, counting the hoof beats in his mind.

  When he opened them again, his back felt wet and warm. Storm threw his neck upwards, sliding to a stop, a perilous unplanned stop that almost threw Gordon from his back. Pat and John’s horses stopped in a slide next to Storm, huddling close.

  Raising his head from his horse’s neck, slowly Gordon looked up. He heard Pat swear under his breath. Above them, hanging over the limbs of the dark pines were bodies. Some frozen stiff and snow-covered in the morning air. Unrecognizable. Storm reared his head when Gordon urged him forward. Skittish, the large horse side-stepped ahead. The bodies above them had been purposefully hung over the branches. Gordon reached around and pressed his fingers to his back.

  Blood. Eyes wide as he looked up, his heart hammered in his chest. He searched the faces of those hanging from the branches overhead. Hoyd’s lifeless face stared downward, swollen and battered. Clicking Storm forward, he and the other men drew their rifles. Heart in his chest, Gordon forced himself to look into the faces above him, searching for Shelby.

  They passed under Skid. Gordon felt his body tense. He didn't recognize the next two bodies he passed under. Their clothing was torn and faded. A slight breeze picked up, stirring the remaining locks of hair from a woman above them. Storm threw his head, reacting to the decomposing bodies.

  Three more bodies hung on branches just ahead. Slowing his mount, Gordon looked up and searched their faces; experiencing both dread and relief each time the face didn't belong to his granddaughter. One more waited. Pat crossed himself over his shoulders and chest, genuflecting. A cold passed over him and he urged his mare ahead, rifle aloft.

  Gordon paused his horse at the base of the final body, noticing the ground was saturated with fresh blood. Jaws clenched, eyes squeezed shut, he tightened his grip on his rifle. Slowly opening his eyes, he let them follow the trunk of the tree to the limb where the last body dangled. He took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself to look into the face of the last causality.

  A cold mountain breeze softly waved the blond, dirt streaked hair of the final victim, whose face had been removed. “If we are a people who pray, darkness is apt to be a lot of what our prayers are about. If we are people who do not pray, it is apt to be darkness in one form or another that has stopped our mouths.”

  Frederick Buechner

  ~Twenty-two~

  Walker looked up when he heard a crash in the trees to the north, breaking the solitude of the snow globe morning camp. Nearly everyone paused in their activities, turning to see what caused tree limbs to snap and rocks to dislodge.

  Gordon's gelding broke through the dark, thick tangle of trees hooves first. Limbs, underbrush and dirt flew forward ahead of the horse. Leaning low over his saddle, clinging for his life, Gordon erupted into the snow camp of Wolf Canyon.

  Behind him, John and his mount sprang from the trees; his saddle was loose and hanging to the left from the treacherous ride. The horse was showing blood around the left flank. His eyes were wild; the whites showed as darkened orbs rolled back into the sockets with fear. A soapy lather of sweat dripped from the horses.

  Several people from the snow camp ran forward at
the same time, a throng of concern and fear. Gordon's mount accidentally tripped the laser alarm around the perimeter of the camp causing it to rear up on his hind legs. The terrified horse struck out at the air as the loud sirens raided the still morning.

  Easing his animal, Gordon turned Storm back toward the trees, almost bumping into John’s horse coming up behind him. A third crash emanated from the darkened tree line and Pat’s horse joined them, bucking to prevent something from hindering its progress.

  The saddle was empty. Gordon urged Storm forward, yelling for Pat, tripping the shrill alarm a second time as he charged through the laser. At the edge of the trees, the horse danced impatiently.

  “Pat!”

  Everyone held their breath, waiting for a response.

  “PAT!” Not far from where Gordon’s horse paced, a clatter caught the attention of everyone near. Looking to his left, about fifteen feet away, was Pat’s rifle. It had been thrown from a tree. The top of the old pine swayed a moment then grew still.

  Gordon ran his horse up and down the tree line, calling for his friend. Finally, frustrated with the results, he sprang from his saddle, running toward the trees. Walker called out to him.

  “He's gone, Gordon! Stop, you have family!”

  Stopping at the edge of the trees, he dropped to one knee. Breathing heavily, he lowered his head.

  The camp fell silent. Standing, he turned. Pat’s horse slowly approached him, dropping its nose into Gordon's open hand.

  Gordon swallowed harshly, feeling the pain of loss rise in his throat. Blaze watched as someone retrieved the rifle and jogged back to camp. The alarms were re-set and Gordon remained inside the perimeter. Shoulders slumped, he walked Pat’s horse into the camp with Storm following closely. Several members of Max's family came forward to help with the animals. John slid stiffly from his mare, dropping the reins into the hands of a young woman, uttering his thanks. Sitting as though every muscle fought his need to rest, Gordon breathed deeply. He sat on a timbered bench looking into the fire. Blaze, Walker and the others joined him. Bixley moved in next to her father, hovering protectively. Someone offered him and John a drink. Gordon waved his away.

  The shirt and jacket on his back had grown stiff and cold from someone else's blood. It had been fairly fresh, but it hadn't been Matilda's.

  He tried to force the only other option from his mind.

  “When do we leave for the hot springs?”

  Rick advanced. “When you're ready.” His eyes glinted in the pale winter light, eager to get started.

  Gordon stood, forcing himself to keep moving while his blood was still hot.

  Max put a hand out to stay them. “Wait. What did you see out there?”

  Gordon shrugged. “They followed us. Screamed the entire way.”

  John looked down. If Gordon wasn’t speaking of the bodies, he had good reason. Max dropped his arm. “You have blood on you. Whose is it?”

  Cindy circled behind Gordon. “You do.” Her eyes were somewhat accusatory. Shaking his head Gordon looked away, pushing his hand through his hair.

  “Look, we have a lot to do. I don't know what the blood is from but we need to get to the hot springs.”

  Blaze watched the tree line. Still, lost in her thoughts, she spoke the words before she realized it. “Is it Matilda's blood?” Max tilted his head, watching Gordon closely. Dropping head he shook it, indicating it wasn't. Blaze turned to Gordon. His ashen complexion, and refusal to meet her eyes resonated with her, and she drew upon her abilities from social work to read him.

  “Where is she, Gordon?”

  John remained silent, pushing at the snow and dirt with his boot. Raising his head Gordon looked to the trees. He whispered in response. “She might be out there.” Max, seemingly satisfied with the answer, nodded. He knew what Gordon had seen and experienced. It was part of the Dark Sasquatch and what they did when they pushed back.

  “ ‘She might be out there’ …what’s that mean?”

  Gordon turned to Blaze. “She may be gone, Blaze.”

  No one spoke. Standing in a semi-circle with Blaze, John and Gordon sitting, the others waited, wishing they knew what Max knew. He took a deep breath and turned to his family members, speaking swiftly in the native tongue of the Sherpa. Blaze knew little about it, only that it remained an unwritten language. For him to revert to that language meant they were facing consequences from the Cryptids, and soon.

  Standing, she zipped her parka. She would mourn Matilda later. Categorizing her grief against the need for Shelby's rescue gave her the opportunity to focus on what she could do. “Let’s get going. Shelby is still waiting.”

  Blaze, whose features were normally softer, donned a mask; Gordon looked up at her, stunned and then appreciative. He stood, pulling John up with him. Rick clapped his hands together, turning to Ren and Cindy. “You have everything ready that you'll need?”

  Ren shared what they had prepared, and Rick, wasting no time, rushed away to collect his gear. Max walked them all to the perimeter, signaling to his son to disengage it when they approached the laser.

  “This hot spring is an hour walk one way. We will be waiting here for your return. Blessings upon you.”

  Waving smoldering sage over their heads he smiled kindly at Blaze as he passed her. Stopping him with one hand she bowed her head.

  “Please. Smudge me anyway?”

  Obliging, Max waved the sage over her head, touching her cheek. “You be the most careful out there.”

  He turned and covered Bixley who had been silent, remaining near her father, Gordon. She looked up, smiling into Max's eyes. “You've been good to us, Max.”

  Narrowing his eyes a fraction, Max paused. Something passed between him and Bixley. She smiled. Approaching Randall, who had also been strangely quiet, Max prepared to cover him in sage as well, but Randall stepped back. “I don't believe in that any more than I believe in Santa Claus.”

  Max turned away from him without speaking further.

  Rick waved to get the attention of those going with him to the hot springs. “Almost the same speech as before, guys. I will be wearing an alarm, and I'll be at the front of the line. Ren will be at the back. Cindy and Blaze, I need you two walking together. If you hear either alarm go off I want you stop and drop to your stomachs- got it?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Remember, these things are attracted to Blaze, so if you find yourself in a situation alone with her, get clear from her as fast as you can until Ren, Cindy or I can take over. Do not try and remain near her in a crisis.”

  Walker turned and looked down, shaking his head just enough for Blaze to see that he had no intention of following the order of abandonment. Snow began falling around them in fat, round flakes. Blaze pulled on her gloves, and wrapped her brown scarf up around her face.

  Doing a quick head count, Rick indicated to Ren they were a nine person party with his fingers held high. Ren pointed toward the hot spring and they surged ahead, looking up to the trees while they walked, and remaining close to one another.

  The forested area around them was peaceful. The falling snow lighted upon dark green pine boughs and freshly scented air moved across the floor of the ancient canyon. The sweet scent of pine wafted toward them as they navigated their way through the canyon to the small cave where the hot spring bubbled quietly. The forest floor itself was fairly soft from the late fall rains, and gave way beneath their feet; only slight tracks in the heavy snow were left behind.

  From above, an owl screeched and took flight, stopping the entire party. Several held their hands to their chests in response. The creatures preferred night, it was true, but had been striking out occasionally during daylight hours, if for no other reason, than to show they were capable of reacting to the change of tempo in their territory.

  Blaze pushed herself forward, looking up, trying to discern movement through the branches overhead. Heavy gray clouds followed their trek, somberly keeping watch from above. Snowflakes fell and d
rifted onto her lashes and cheeks as she gazed upward, some clung to her hair briefly before they continued their downward trek to the forest floor.

  Rick held his hand up, motioning for the others to pause. Walker held his hand over his sidearm, watching with earnest as Rick dropped to his knees and examined something in the snow. Standing up he turned, holding up two boots in a woman's size. Bixley whimpered and broke line formation, rushing forward to pull the boots from Rick’s hands. “They're Shelby's!” Gordon too approached, cautiously, looking up as he made his way to his crying daughter.

  Rick pointed again toward the forest floor, where human tracks disappeared up the side of a tiny embankment. Waiting as instructed, the others stood impatiently while Rick followed the tracks. Running back, he waved them onward without speaking. Encouraged, Bixley squeezed her dad's arm as Shelby's tracks began leading them directly to the hot spring. Rick studied the ground for other tracks as they moved. Finding none, he pushed through the dense brush ahead, where another set of tracks appeared, following Shelby's.

  They were not human. Wishing he could veer around the obviously cryptic sign, Rick pressed his finger to his lips and motioned the party forward. A small cry escaped Bixley when the larger and more sinister tracks appeared behind her daughter’s. The tracks lasted approximately five or six feet and abruptly stopped. Everyone in the rescue party looked up, examining the trees in fear and anxiety. A twig snapped from somewhere up ahead and Blaze felt her heart jump. A reassuring hand lightly squeezed her shoulder. Walker cleared his throat and she was grateful for his presence.

  She removed the scarf over her face when Rick raised his hand again, motioning everyone to stop. Staying near Walker and Cindy, Blaze looked up, checking the branches above her, then leaned against the tree they stood next to.

  She listened as Walker whispered to Cindy about the track sizes when she felt her hair being pulled upward. A scream froze in her throat. Walker’s back was to her, and Cindy was facing Rick. Suddenly the grip on her hair tightened, and Blaze shrieked, feeling herself being pulled up to her toes. Swinging back around, Walker raised his side arm and fired upward. The creature released Blaze's hair, screeching as it released her.