The dog’s snout zoomed into view, giving him a full bore blast of dog breath. He pushed the Siberian away and sat up, groaning against the ache in his back and turned to Lara’s bedroll.
She was gone.
He pulled on his boots and swung up, wincing as his back flamed. He took the dog by the snout. “Where is she?” Clomping out the door, he was hit with the cold chill of morning and called out her name. Everything was still, no birds, no breeze. Fresh tracks in the snow. He followed them as they tacked south straight into the treeline.
Cresting a rise, he scanned through the dark trunks of oak and ash and saw her further down the hill. Sitting on a deadfall tree with her back to him. He called again but she didn’t stir. He marched on, the dog trotting before him.
“Lara? What’s wrong?”
No answer. He swung over the fallen tree and looked at her. Her eyes were open but lifeless, staring blankly ahead at the creek further down the slope. He gave her shoulder a gentle shake and waved his palm before her eyes. Nothing.
She was sleepwalking. Amy had gone through a spell of it when she was young but nothing like this. It was like Lara wasn’t even there.
“Lara,” he said. “Wake up. Please.”
She didn’t even blink. Her arm was wrapped around her, clutching the injured ribs and he wondered if she had made it worse walking here. He took her wrist and slowly peeled her hand away, not knowing what else to do and then stopped cold.
Her hand was covered in blood.
Panic flooded in as he looked her over, searching for the source. Had she cut herself? Was there some other wound he didn’t see last night? There was more blood on her sweater and he lifted to check her banged-up ribcage. More blood, trickling slow from angry red slices in the skin. He took her hand and inspected the fingernails. Rivulets of flesh under them. Lara had clawed her torso bloody in her sleep.
“Okay, Lara. Wake up now.” He tapped her cheek. “Come on, you’re scaring me. Wake up.”
Her head wobbled as he shook her but that glassy wash never left her eyes. How badly had she hurt herself? Enough to bloody the snow on the deadfall under her.
“Okay, we’re going to get up now.” He put an arm round her and lifted. “Come on, we’re walking back.” He got her up and walked her slowly back towards the shack. His boots slid on the incline and she fell under him but he pressed on until they reached the shelter.
He got her settled onto her bedroll and opened the grate on the woodstove. A few glowing embers from last night’s fire. He threw in a few splinters of kindling and eased a good sized log onto it and blew the embers until they rose and took the kindling.
The claw marks were bleeding fresh, torn open from the walk back. He rifled through his backpack, found a clean shirt and packed it against the raw flesh. He spotted a roll of gaffer’s tape among Lara’s supplies and tore off strips to tape the shirt down.
He’d have to clean the wound properly but the one thing he’d forgotten to pack was a first aid kit. How stupid could he be?
He tried to wake her again but her response was the same. He had to force her eyelids shut and was thankful to not have to look at that eerie stare. The town wasn’t that far away. If he hustled, he could drive back, get some antiseptic and gauze and be back within the hour.
What if she went sleepwalking again?
He stomped outside and whistled for the dog. It came bounding from behind the hut and looked up at him with its tongue swinging from its jaws. “Inside,” he barked and shooed the husky into the shack and ordered it to ‘stay’ and closed the door. Kicking the snow from a pile of wood stacked against the shelter, he rustled through it until he found a pine board that wasn’t too rotten and wedged one end under the door latch. The dog whined from within and he ordered it again to stay and then trudged off through the snow to find the truck.
Checking his watch, he wondered if there was a drive-thru in town where he could get coffee.
The town of Weepers, which had felt almost empty when he first arrived, seemed to have woken up overnight. Slowing the Cherokee to the speed limit as he rolled onto the main drag, Gallagher surveyed what appeared to be a thriving little town. People stood around talking on street corners or leaning against their cars. One man, sitting on the lowered tailgate of a pickup, held a rifle across his lap. At the gas station across the way, two pickup trucks had full gun racks in the back window. Gallagher stopped in front of the drug store, trying to think what could still be in season that had brought these hunters out. Another truck trundled past him and the three men sitting in the box turned their heads in unison to him as they rolled past. All of them were armed.
Hunting down the right aisle of the drug store, he scooped every package of gauze on the shelf into a basket, followed by four rolls of tensor bandages. Two bottles of antiseptic, a bottle of iodine and three packages of Advil. Lara would probably need antibiotics but that would have to wait until they got back to Portland. Maybe something more rustic to fight infection, like garlic? What his dad used to call Russian penicillin.
Would that even work, given her condition? Wasn’t garlic poison to someone who was...? He dismissed the crazy notion and marched for the cashier. He’d seen too many stupid horror movies for his own good.
The druggist was leaning on his cash register talking to a customer. Gallagher caught scraps of their conversation; animal attack, slaughtered livestock and a dangerous animal on the loose. The two men stopped talking as Gallagher came to the counter. He tried a little small talk, something about the weather. The two men were polite but cold, wary of strangers. He paid and left the store.
Outside, he found a hubbub on the main drag. A Bronco with the words Sheriff’s Department emblazoned on the door was parked next to the Cherokee. The sheriff, a tall woman in her fifties, was talking to two men in workboots and parkas. She stood with her hands planted on her hips, clearly displeased with the two men.
Gallagher unlocked the back, listening to the sheriff dress down the two men. “Listen to me Mr. McClusky,” she said, “you need to take your firearms home and stay there. All of you. End this nonsense before someone gets hurt.”
“Hurt? Someone’s already been killed by this thing,” said McClusky. “What do you expect us to do, wait for it to kill somebody else?”
“You let the proper authorities handle it,” said the policewoman. “Or you can be charged. Your choice.”
“That’s wonderful that is. My friend gets killed by this dangerous animal and you bust us for protecting our own.”
Gallagher’s ear snagged on their words. He stepped towards the group and nodded to the sheriff. “Excuse me, Sheriff” he said. “Can I ask what’s going on?”
Sheriff Cheevers turned a stone face to him. “Everything’s fine, sir. Please go back to your vehicle.”
Gallagher moved closer. “Did you say something about an animal attack?”
“Sir, please. Back to your vehicle.”
“Hold on, Sheriff. I’m a police officer.”
Sheriff Cheevers maintained her stony scepticism until Gallagher passed his ID across. She examined it and handed it back. “You’re a long way from home, detective.”
“Just passing through.” Gallagher folded the ID away and glanced at the two men. “What kind of animal attack was this?”
“We don’t know yet. But it was big, whatever it was.”
“And it attacked someone?”
“Killed,” said McClusky. He nodded to his companion. “Friend of ours. Fucking monster tore him to pieces.”
Something cold sliced through Gallagher’s insides. “Was it a wolf?”
“Wolf?” McClusky guffawed. “Ain’t been wolves here in a hundred years.”
“You sure?”
Jigsaw spit on the sidewalk, eyeing the stranger. “What’s it to you?”
Gallagher looked at the Sheriff but her expression remained stone. “Just offering my help, if it’s needed.”
“We’re fine, sir,” she said. Cold
and abrupt. “But thank you.”
Gallagher tried for congenial. “I work homicide back home. Sometimes it’s good to have a second pair of eyes. Maybe you could show me the remains, walk me though it?”
“Remains?” sputtered McClusky. “There wasn’t anything left.”
Jigsaw spat again. “The hell you want to see it for?”
Sheriff Cheevers took Gallagher by the arm and walked him back to his vehicle. “I appreciate it, detective. I really do, but we’ll handle it just fine.”
“Course. No disrespect.”
A pickup truck trundled past on the road. Two men clutching shotguns bouncing along in the back. “None taken,” she said, nodding to the passing truck. “But as you can see, I got other fish to fry.”
“I was wondering what that was about. Thought maybe you had extended the hunting season.”
“It’s going to be open season on dumbasses if I don’t get these Rambos to put their guns away. Have a nice day.”
Gallagher climbed back under the wheel and turned the key, a cold chill roosting in his gut. What are the odds this was a coincidence? A lethal animal attack that left the victim in pieces? It sounded all too familiar.
Mendes. How far gone was she? Had she tipped over the cliff the way Ivan Prall had?
He needed coffee. Clear his head and think straight. He pulled away from the curb, unconvinced by his own expedient dismissal of the facts.
Jigsaw and McClusky leaned against the pickup, watching the Cherokee drive away. “Nosy son of a bitch,” muttered McClusky.
Jigsaw spat again. “What cop isn’t?”
“Who was that?” A voice, behind them . They turned to see Rowling crossing towards them, nodding at the Cherokee driving away.
“Cop. Not local.”
Rowling looked on. “Cop? He was here yesterday, asking a bunch of questions.”
McClusky straightened up. “What about?”
“Said he was looking for someone. Had a picture of some women, asking all over town if anyone’s seen her.”
“What woman?”
“That weirdo chick. Dark hair, pretty,” said Rowling. “Comes into town once in awhile. Doesn’t say shit to anybody.”
“What did he want her for? Bail jumping?”
“Just said she was missing is all.”
“No shit,” Jigsaw said. He pushed himself off the truck and opened the driver’s side door. “Mac, get in.”
McClusky slid into the cab, watched Jigsaw fire the ignition. “Where we going?”
“Got some questions of my own I want answered.”
SEVENTEEN
STOPPING FOR COFFEE was a mistake. He had already wasted enough time jawing with the locals while Lara was alone and injured and here he was getting coffee to go like it was Monday morning.
A group of men stood around his vehicle, waiting for him when he came out of the diner. The two hunters he had spoken to earlier and two other men. Rifles slung over their shoulders, their faces grim and unfriendly.
Gallagher zeroed in on the most belligerent-looking. “Can I help you?”
Jigsaw scratched at his gut. “What’s your name, friend?”
“What do you want?”
Jigsaw glanced at his friend and then back to the stranger. “You had a lotta questions back there. What do you know about it?”
“Wanted to know why half the town was loaded for bear. Excuse me.” He marched for the Cherokee but the men closed ranks, cut him off.
“What makes you think it was a wolf?”
He didn’t answer. Jigsaw nodded to one of the armed men. “Rowling here said you was asking all over town about some woman. Who is she?”
“A friend.” Gallagher stepped close, matching the man’s belligerent stare. “Get away from the truck. Please.”
“This girlfriend of yours, you find her?”
Gallagher marched for his truck, on a collision course with the man named McClusky and a taller man. They would crash or give way. The taller man stepped aside and Gallagher swept past him to unlock his door. He heard the one named Jigsaw barking at him. “I need an answer, friend. Now.”
“I got nothing to tell you.”
“Bullshit. You know something--“ Jigsaw grabbed Gallagher’s arm. A cup dropped from the tray and hit the ground. Hot coffee steamed up from the snow.
Gallagher lashed out fast and dropped the big man. Jigsaw belly-flopped onto the wet pavement with a thud. He moaned once before Gallagher dropped a knee onto his back and growled in his ear. “Listen to me, friendo. I’m sorry for your loss but it’s got nothing to do with me.” He stood and stomped towards the other men. “Anyone else?”
The others glanced around, waiting for someone else to do something. No one did. Jigsaw moaned and rolled over.
Gallagher climbed into his truck and drove away.
The dog barked. Lara rose up on one elbow and immediately regretted it when the pain rippled down her side. Her hand went to her ribcage, found the material packed against it. Peeling it away she saw the blood crystallized dark against the wadding. What happened?
The dog stood at the door, yammering away. Lara held her breath and swung up to her feet. A few unsteady steps towards the door and she smoothed the dog’s head to quiet it. “Okay, okay. Let me get the door.”
The door didn’t open. She pushed against it harder but all it did was rattle against the frame. Blocked from the outside.
“Gallagher!” Her voice rang loud inside the shack. The dog stuck its nose to the draft under the door. “Gallagher, open the damn door!”
Not a sound. Why had he locked them inside? Where had he gone? The dog whined, scratching at the floor as if it could dig its way out.
She turned to the window in the far end. Sealed with plastic sheeting, it would be easy enough to tear away but she didn’t relish the idea of climbing out. Her ribs hurt just standing up.
The husky suddenly yelped and sprang away from the door as if stung. It withdrew to the far corner, lips curling into a snarl.
Her ear tingled at a faint sound coming from outside the hut. Footsteps crunching snow. A shadow broke the thin band of light under the door.
“John?” The moment she called his name she knew it wasn’t him. She took a step back. The door shook, then a small scrape of something falling away. A thud. The shadow under the door receded and all was quiet again.
The husky paced faster, its throat alternating between growls and whines. Lara put her palm flat to the wooden slats and pushed the door open. A glare of white after the gloomy interior of the shack.
She stepped outside into a void of white vapor. The temperature had risen sharply and the snow was evaporating, misting up into a thick fog. Three paces out the door and she could barely make out the shape of the shack in the opaque mist. The air was still, no breeze at all.
The sound of crunching snow, somewhere out in the foggy depth.
The dog circled her, ears twitching crazily at every sound. It barked, the sound cracking sharp into the void. Then nothing, not even birds.
Not good.
The voice, when it came, riffled through the cotton opacity. Coming from everywhere and nowhere. “Time’s up.”
Lara spun around, trying to locate the source. The dog growled low, bumping into her knees. “Who’s there?” she called out. Stupid question. She knew perfectly well who it was.
His hoarse voice croaked in the mist. “I need an answer, Lara. What’s it gonna be?”
“Leave me alone, Grissom.” She turned back to the shack but it wasn’t there. Nothing but whiteness. She couldn’t have wandered that far from it.
“You’re outta time, honey” Grissom’s voice rattled. “The locals are hunting you down. Time to move.”
Ten paces, she thought. That was how far she’d stepped from the hut. But she had spun around so many times trying to pinpoint his voice, she had no idea which direction her hovel lay.
A snap. Behind her, a hazy silhouette against the fog. “You’ve been b
ad, Lara. You can’t go around shitting where you eat. Don’t you know that yet?” Grissom took shape against the haze as if materializing from thin air. He stood easy and relaxed, like he did this every day.
“What are you’re talking about?”
“You been keeping busy. At night. Putting down livestock. But you went too far. Killing some local fella? Bad business.”
“No…”
“Yes you did. Nasty job of it too. Not much left of him.”
“You’re lying.” The response was instinctual but didn’t feel that way. There was no way she had killed someone. She hadn’t before. Not once. If pressed, she couldn’t explain exactly how but she knew. Didn’t she? “It was you. You killed someone.”
Grissom took a step closer. “The first rule is to stay hidden. Invisible. You don’t leave a footprint and you sure as hell don’t leave a corpse behind. Not one that can be found anyway. Newbie fuck-up, Lara.”
He was lying. Had to be. And how had he learned her name?
“I’m even giving you a second chance here. Now if you honest-to-God want to be left alone, I will go. But you know what that means. You go rogue too early, you can’t adjust. You go crazy. You keep changing until, at best, you decide to kill yourself. Worse case, you go all the way and the wolf slaughters everyone around you. It don’t care. First people it kills will be the ones you care about. Like that boyfriend of yours.”
“Shut up.” Lara backed up. How did he know Gallagher was here?
Grissom scratched the stubble on his chin. “Who is that guy anyway?”
She didn’t answer.
“Prince Charming rides in to save the princess? You signed his death warrant the minute you called him. You know that, right?”
“He’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Then the poor bastard will never know what hit him. When you change and you tear his guts open, maybe then the schmuck will realize that his princess is a monster. Kinda funny when you think about it.”
Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Page 37
