Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  Kicking out like she was on fire, she fought it but the wolf’s bulk pressed down on her. Its musk suffocated her until she gagged. She clawed at its eyes, seeking to gouge them out. It roared, the massive head swung to and those teeth locked over her throat. Yet it held back the killing blow, its jaws and weight pinning her down.

  There was nowhere to look but its eyes. An iridescent bloom of yellow punctuated by a black pupil. She steeled herself for the violence to come, the brutal jerking back and forth of the wolf’s attack that she had experienced once before. But it never came, the monster simply held her still.

  There was no way out, no other option save the thing she feared the most. To change and become the wolf. It wasn’t difficult. All it required was to let go, to unclench the awful thing locked up in her heart.

  So she let slip the monster. It flooded her marrow and cracked her bones. And in the last lucid moment she had, she realized with horror that this was what the lobo had wanted after all. It wasn’t here to kill her. It wanted her to change.

  Roy and Jigsaw drove over to McKlusky’s to organize a hunting party. McKlusky’s place was outside of town on Clapton Road, a quarter mile from where they had found the first kill. McKlusky would have preferred they met up somewhere else. His wife didn’t much care for his friends, ‘the trolls’ as she referred to them, and absolutely hated when they came over. But he couldn’t argue with Jigsaw’s point that his place was closest to the kill sites and made for a practical base to work from .

  Jenny told him that if the trolls were coming over, they would have to stick to the garage. She wouldn’t put up with them leaving mud on her floors at this late hour. That’s where he was when he heard the truck roll into the driveway. He rolled up the garage door and felt the wind bite into him.

  Roy and Jigsaw climbed out and fetched the gear from the back and McKlusky waved for them to hurry. “Come on. I ain’t heating the outdoors.”

  He rolled the door back down when they came inside and nodded to the table he had cleared off. “We can set up over there.”

  Roy unfurled a map and smoothed it out over the workbench, using McKlusky’s tools as paperweights while Jigsaw went back to the truck and hauled in a cooler.

  “So,” McKlusky said, handing out beer from the garage fridge. “What’s the plan?”

  “The kill sites are here, here and here.” Leaning over the bench, Jigsaw pointed to three small circles crayoned onto the map. “All fairly close to the road. Ten bucks says this thing is coming south out of the hills to kill and then retreating back north. I say we pick two spots north of the road, somewhere in this thing’s territory. We hang bait and set traps.”

  “And just hope for the best?” McKlusky looked at the other two.

  “No,” said Roy. “We wanna get this thing, we ought to rig up a duck-blind and wait it out.”

  “At night,” Jigsaw added. “This thing’s a night feeder. That’s when we’ll get it.”

  McKlusky nodded and sipped his beer. The thought of spending the night not only outdoors but deep into the brush didn’t sit well. They still had no idea what they were hunting and in this weather, they’d freeze their nards off. “What kind of bait we using?”

  Jigsaw went to the cooler and pulled up something heavy in a clear plastic bag. Blood and what-all dripped onto the floor. “Finest cuts of offal from the butcher’s. Couple days old too so it’s got that nice tang to it.”

  McKlusky winced at the sickly sweet stench of rotting meat. “Put it away, man.”

  Jigsaw laughed and then Roy unzipped the duffel bag he had brought in. A clink of metal rang and he hauled a bear trap onto the bench. Heavy gauge and springloaded, lethal looking teeth on the iron bands. “I got three of these. Big enough to catch a Kodiak.”

  McKluksky lifted the metal trap, feeling its heft. He couldn’t help but imagine his own leg caught in the medieval-looking device. How bad would that hurt? “You think that will do it?”

  “The traps are more insurance than anything. Our best chance is waiting it out, see if it goes for the bait. When it does, we put it down.”

  McKlusky nodded and slugged back on his can. Jenny wasn’t going to like this and she’d be sure to let him know. Plus he’d have to get a few days off work. No way could he spend the night freezing in the trees and then put in a shift. “All right. When do you want to start?”

  Jigsaw grinned and bounced on his heels. “Tomorrow night.”

  ELEVEN

  HE HADN’T SPOTTED a motel in over an hour.

  “Hell with it,” Gallagher said to the dog.

  He pulled off the highway at the next stop, rumbling around to the side of a diner with its lights long gone out. He only had a few more hours to log before hitting Weepers but he didn’t want to arrive dazed and sleepy-eyed. Two hours till sunup. Enough time to sleep and grab breakfast when the diner opened and get back on the road.

  He got out and stretched and let the dog run before whistling for the husky to hop back inside. “Scooch over,” he scolded the dog as he climbed into the backseat and pushed his things onto the floor well. Pulling the parka over his shoulders, he stretched out as far as he could and closed his eyes. The dog whined and then hopped into the still warm driver’s seat and curled into a ball.

  He woke to the feel of the Cherokee trembling and jerked up. The deafening rumble came from the tractor trailer groaning up beside his vehicle and hissing as it shut down. A man in an Astros ballcap clambered out of the cab and waved at him as he shuffled for the diner. Gallagher yawned and saw sunlight burning the dew off his windows. He had slept later than planned.

  He let the dog run free while he went inside and cleaned up and chowed down the sunriser special. He got two tall takeaway coffees and another order of bacon and eggs to go. The Siberian slathered it up in seconds and licked the Styrofoam container clean and then they got back on the road.

  The road narrowed as it wound deeper into the forest, the treeline hemmed right up to the ditch as if ready to close in and swallow the blacktop. A light snow began to fall, adding to the ground cover and dipping the pine boughs. By the time he saw the first buildings of the town, the snowfall was steady and he tuned the wipers on.

  An old service station keeled up on his left and he let off the gas, coasting past. He clocked a battered looking phone booth and wondered if that was where the call to his home had originated from.

  He drove on, keeping his eyes peeled for a road sign welcoming him to Weepers, Oregon. Every town had one. When the first outbuilding of the town appeared, it was apparent that there was no welcome sign here.

  A grocery store, sporting goods shop and the post office. A liquor emporium on the left, kitty-corner to a bakery. All one-story bunkers of cinderblock with little adornment and no fuss, relaying the fact that this was a working town and if you’re looking for frilly tourist bullshit, then just keep driving cause we got no use for you.

  “Podunk,” he grumbled, trundling past a lumber yard that couldn’t even bother to hang a sign out front. “A one-horse Podunk, don’t ya think?”

  The dog didn’t respond, too busy letting its tongue flap out the open window.

  He drove past it all until the buildings thinned out and then he spun around and rumbled back. Parking the truck on the street, he ordered the dog to stay and crossed into the grocery store. Brightly lit and barely stocked, a few shoppers pushing carts around. He went over to the lone cashier, a girl in her twenties wearing too much make-up. She saw that he held no groceries and gave him a quick once-over.

  Gallagher tried his best smile. “Hi.”

  “You forget your groceries, sir?”

  “No. I’m looking for a friend of mine. I think she’s living in the area. Maybe you’ve seen her.” He fished the photo of Lara from his pocket and held it out to her. In a different pocket was the official missing persons flyer but he didn’t want to start with that. Too many alarm bells to set off. “Her name’s Lara. Have you seen her?”

  The girl
glanced at the photo then back at him, her eyes suddenly cooler. Alarm bells already rung. “No, sir. I haven’t seen her. She your girlfriend?”

  “Take another look.” He waved the photo, the way you get a toddler’s attention. “She may look a little different now. Please. It’s important.”

  A man appeared from behind a display of cereal boxes and stood watching them. A customer or another employee, Gallagher couldn’t tell. He looked back to the girl, saw her half-lidded eyes dim with boredom. “I ain’t seen her. And I know just about everybody around here. She run off on you?”

  Gallagher slid the picture away and thanked the girl. Pushing through the exit, he saw the man scuttle over to the cash and titter to the girl, sharing some secret. “Nice detective work, dumbass,” he scolded himself. “Now everyone in town’s going to know.”

  The dog crammed its nose through the gap in the window and whined to be let out. He opened the door and watched it scamper back and forth across the sidewalk. “Come on, dog. We got some work to do.”

  He left the truck where it was and set out on foot, the town was that small. The snow on the sidewalk was a grey slush dotted with puddles. He imagined the town probably looked welcoming in the summertime but now it just seemed dead and barren. Two or three pickup trucks barreled down the main drag, the drivers turning to look at him as they passed.

  At the post office, he showed the man behind the counter the photograph and asked if maybe she came in here to post mail. Or maybe she rented a P.O. box. The postmaster, if that’s what he was, didn’t recognize her nor could he think of anyone who matched the woman’s general description. It was the same story at the sporting goods store and the hardware. The dog dutifully trotting at his heels, waiting outside each door until he came back out. Each time more crestfallen than the last but he tried to hide it and then wondered who he was putting up a front for. Did he not want to disappoint the dog? Ritual behavior from being a father, keeping bad news from your kid until you can’t anymore.

  Of the locals, he saw nearly none on the street. Everyone drove, even in a town this small. There was one man who stepped out of his taxidermy shop and stood with his fists on his hips. Had a portable phone in his hand and he stood watching Gallagher from across the street, as if waiting his turn for a visit. Someone had already phoned and told him about the stranger asking a lot of fool questions. Gallagher turned around and headed back to the truck, not giving the taxidermy man his due. He would get nothing out of these people. Even if they had seen Lara Mendes, no one was going to talk to strangers.

  For the first time since leaving Portland, he questioned his gut. Amy had been right, tearing off like this with so little to go on. Opening the passenger door, he pulled out the map of the area and stood studying it in the street. There was the town, no more than a dot on the map, and there was nothing. Miles of dense forest and scrub all around. A river to the north.

  He looked at the dog and said “You got any suggestions, I’m all ears.”

  The husky looked at him and then lifted a leg to mark a post.

  “That’s what I figured. Go on, get in.”

  He fired it up and rolled out slowly, tapping his fingers on the dash as he trawled through the little town of Weepers. The name fit. Up over the next block, a glow of red neon shined in the window. The Podunk watering hole. He drifted over onto the gravel apron and parked out front and looked at the dog. “May as well be thorough.”

  The interior was dark. They always are. The few patrons looked up at him and then down at the husky heeling behind but no one said anything. Gallagher took a stool at the bar and snapped his fingers for the dog to sit.

  When the bartender wandered back from the kitchen, he ordered a pint. The barkeep wore a T-shirt one size too small, the words KISS ARMY kerned badly across his belly. He pulled the draught and set it before Gallagher and then leaned over the bar. “You can’t bring your hound in here.”

  “He won’t bother nobody.”

  “Still,” the man shrugged, indicating that it was out of his hands. “House policy.”

  “Tell you what. If anyone complains, I’ll put him outside.”

  The barkeep shrugged again, not caring either way and turned to go when Gallagher called him back. He snapped the photo onto the bartop. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Maybe she’s come in here.”

  The man held the picture up to the light. “Haven’t seen her before. Sorry.”

  “Are you sure? Take another look.”

  He did. “Nope. Girl that pretty, I’d remember.” He passed the photo back. “What’d she do? Jump bail?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a cop, right? What’s she wanted for?”

  Gallagher wiped the foam off his lip. He was about to ask this upstanding member of the Kiss Army how he knew he was a cop but kept his mouth shut. After a certain time, the job just seeped into your bones and oozed out your pores. “She’s in trouble and needs help.”

  “People need help, they usually ask for it. If you gotta hunt ‘em down first, well maybe they don’t want any help.”

  “Izzat so?”

  “Truth. Gene Simmons once said ‘Life’s too short to have anything but delusional notions about yourself’.”

  Gallagher drained his glass and pushed it back across the bar. “Far be it for me to argue with a guy in dragontooth boots. Fill that up.” He watched the bartender hook the glass under the tap and pull. “Where can I find a motel in town?”

  “There’s one just down the road, past the church. But it’s closed.”

  “Well, I need one that’s open. You got a Motel Six or something?”

  “Nope, just the one. It closes right after hunting season’s over.”

  Damn. He had packed the tent but hadn’t expected to actually use it. No way he was gonna camp with snow falling. And the thought of sleeping in the truck just seemed, well, goddawful. “I’m guessing nobody runs a B and B in town, huh?”

  “A what?”

  A loud hooting noise cut off his response. Gallagher looked over at a far table where the drinkers were causing a commotion. The dog was sniffing around under their table. He hadn’t noticed it wandering off during his chat with the Kiss Army guy.

  “Mister, can you get your dog outta here?” A bearded man in a flannel jacket shot Gallagher a dirty look, lifting his knees out of the way as the husky sniffed and cavorted under their table.

  He whistled at it, snapping his fingers for it to come away but the dog kept sniffing and nosing its way through the patron’s legs. It zeroed in on one patron and stuck its snout into the man’s nether regions. The man bolted up and yelled at the stranger to get his damn dog out of here.

  Gallagher cursed and tossed a bill onto the bar and went over to pull the dog away. He apologized to the men at the table and gripped the husky by the ruff and marched him to the door.

  Sunlight broke through the clouds and washed the street with a pale light. No heat to it but it made even this drab stretch of town seem marginally cheerier. He looked at the dog. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  The dog jerked out of his grip and scrambled away, nose to the ground like it smelled a rabbit. Gallagher watched it pace forward then scramble back like it had lost the trail.

  Damn.

  He flung open the truck door and whistled for the dog to get in. “Good boy. Let’s go to work.”

  TWELVE

  SHE LIMPED HOME shuddering against the cold, gathering up stray articles of clothes left cast off in the brush like a breadcrumb trail. Everything hurt, every muscle in her frame bruised and raw and each step stung to the bone.

  Her forearm was bloodied, the skin punctured with teeth marks that only now had begun to scab over. The bruising mottled the arm all the way past the elbow and there was another ring of teeth in her left thigh like a giant set of dental records left seared into her flesh.

  She wondered if she would freeze to death before reaching home, if she had wandered too far in that sta
te. The cut of the trees and forms of rock began to look familiar and she sighed. The shack wasn’t too much farther.

  What had happened? She remembered the wolf charging at her. An enormous grey lobo, bigger than a grizzly. All teeth and gaping chops. It had mauled her, of that she could see, but it hadn’t killed her. Had she killed it? Anything that happened after the change was lost, like trying to recall a dream. She never remembered her dreams, even as a kid. Why would she be able to recall this?

  By the time she found her coat tangled in a cedar branch, her feet had lost all feeling and her legs tingled. Like walking on stilts and it was all she could to do to plant one foot before the other. She stumbled on and the little tinderbox hut came into a view.

  On the picnic table out front, sat a man.

  She stopped. Unsure that what she was seeing wasn’t a mirage.

  The man watched her come up, his elbows leaning on the table and his legs stretched out before him like he was enjoying the day.

  She slipped the coat over her shoulders and lumbered on with stiff joints until she was ten yards from home and then stopped. The man smiled, as if pleased to see her but didn’t move and didn’t stand. She studied his features, the close cropped hair and grey patch in his stubble. Familiar but she couldn’t place him anywhere.

  She was too tired to speak and in too much pain to think so she said nothing. As if waiting for the man to explain himself.

  He cocked a thumb towards the shack. “I lit the stove. Better get in there and thaw out.”

  She limped past without looking at him and went inside.

  The man leaned back and crossed one ankle over the other and cast his eyes up at a crooked wedge of blue sky breaking through the clouds.

  The Cherokee turned into the gas station lot and stopped before the phone booth. The dog trotted away as Gallagher opened the back and he called for it to come. A clear plastic bag was pulled from the duffel, an article of clothing sealed inside. A blue T-shirt he had pinched from Lara Mendes’s apartment. He drew the shirt from the plastic and pressed it to the dog’s nose. “Time to earn your keep.”