Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  Knowing Lara, Amy mused, that was probably true. But there was something else in the woman’s tone. “Come on, Mar. It’s me. If Lara’s in trouble, I need to know.”

  “I don’t know, Amy. She’s not herself these days. I’m sure it’s nothing or there’s some boring old reason why she’s different. But...”

  “But what?”

  “That’s just it,” Marisol said. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on. She just seems more tense lately. Quick to anger, distant sometimes. Moody.”

  “Moody? Maybe she’s preggers.”

  “Don’t even joke about that, mijo.”

  A rustling sound came over the line and Amy could picture Marisol quickly making the sign of the cross. “Sorry. You don’t think she’s in trouble, do you?”

  “No. But something isn’t right. Last night, she up and disappeared on me.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “She was supposed to spend the weekend but she left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye or leaving a note. Odd stuff like that, you know? It’s got me worried.”

  “Right. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Amy floundered, finding herself in the awkward position of assuaging the woman’s fears. “When you hear from her, will you ask her to call me. It’s kind of important.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “No. Just want to catch-up. It’s been too long.” Amy tilted her neck to work out a kink. “Is there any other place I could try calling?”

  “You could try her work. Let me find the number.” Amy waited through another pause but this time she refused to look at her reflection. Marisol came back on the line and Amy jotted down the number she dictated. “Are going to come visit us again soon?” Marisol asked. “Jackson asks about you. He wants to know when tia’s friend is coming.”

  “Really? How big is he now?”

  “Big. Growing like a weed. Don’t wait too long to come visit, okay Amy?”

  Amy assured she would and felt a little crack in her heart when Marisol said ‘te amo’ before hanging up. That, coupled with the fact that her son had asked about her drew a butterfly or two around her stomach. She barely knew these people, having seen them for a week back in February but their warmth and affection tugged hard on her.

  She checked the number she had written down and punched it in, trying to remember the name of the place where Lara worked. She should have asked Marisol. Three rings before someone picked up. A man’s voice. “Luna County Rescue.”

  “Hi, I’m trying to reach Lara Me—uh, Quesada.” Amy momentarily gapped at the alias Lara was using. “Is she working today?”

  “Lara doesn’t work here anymore,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Oh.” Amy stalled, not expecting that. “Did she take a different job? When did this happen?”

  A pause on the other end. Amy could hear the man breathing. Then he spoke. “Who is this?”

  “My name’s Amy. I’m a friend of hers.” Tiny alarm bells started ringing in Amy’s ear. “Do you know where I could reach her? It’s kind of important.”

  “Amy who?” The voice took on a hostile tone. “How do you know Lara?”

  Something wasn’t right. Amy could smell it through the phone. “Can you tell me where she’s working now or no? I need to get in touch with her.”

  “Tell you what, Amy. Leave me your full name and your number and I’ll get in touch with you if Lara turns up. Okay?”

  Amy ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. What was that all about? The man on the other end sounded personally offended. And creepy. None of it sounded right. What kind of trouble was Lara in? Did it have anything to do with the recent animal attacks in BC?

  Going back to the laptop, she dug out the scrap of paper where she had jotted down the addresses of the news feeds still running on her dad’s PC. Maybe there was more info there.

  There was a fresh ping in the feed and she clicked on it. A garble of data but not an incident report. The terms ‘monster’ and ‘attack’ jumbled up in the scramble of words. She picked out a URL buried in the scramble and copied and pasted it into a new window.

  The website it pulled up had a banner that read ‘Paranormal Trackers’. Amy scanned through the details of what appeared to be a group of dedicated ‘ghost hunters’. The core of the site was an internet show of the same name, with a list of previous broadcast episodes listed in the margin. The current broadcast was centered in the page, headlined in scaled font that read: Monster stalks BC wilderness. Amy hit the play button.

  Establishing shots of a vast pine forest and mountains played with a voice-over. “Two suspicious deaths in less than a month. Both victims torn apart by something vicious in the remote wilderness of northern British Columbia. Authorities remain tight-lipped about the cause of death in both cases.”

  The next shot framed a young man against a backdrop of lush evergreen. The unsteady hand-held camera work gave the piece a sense of amateurish urgency. The young man was lean and collegiate-looking but he spoke with a slight manic energy, as if agitated. “The wilderness of northern Canada is no stranger to unexplained phenomena,” he said. “From the reported hauntings at a number of abandoned ghost towns to numerous reports of strange creatures, the rainforests of British Columbia hold untold tales of the paranormal. The most recent incident involves something that kills.”

  Here the video changed to frames of a small rural town. Muddy pickup trucks and men in ball caps, local townspeople chatting in parking lots. “Three weeks ago, Jacob Murty went hiking in the foothills near the small town of Newcastle and was never seen again. His body was discovered three days later, torn to pieces and scattered about the forest floor. Authorities claimed it was an accidental death, the body interfered with by wildlife. But last week another death occurred, one not so easily explained.”

  The image shifted again to still shots of a young couple in their twenties on a white sand beach. The narration went on. “Carol Weeks and Duncan Gantry were camping in the same area when something attacked them. Carol was severely injured while her boyfriend Duncan was killed when something tore into their camp. Duncan was dragged away, his body was found the next day. His remains were mutilated, some of it still missing. This time, authorities claimed it was a rare Grizzly attack. But others aren’t convinced this is the case.”

  Another shaky hand-held shot of the host approaching two police officers. One officer reaches out for the camera, blacking out the screen with his hand. A series of shots showed local townspeople loading hunting rifles or stacking rifles into the rear window rack of their trucks. The scene shifted again to an old man with a long beard, his arm propped up on a fence post as he addresses the camera. “I saw the body of that poor kid. That ain’t no grizzly bear. Not even a Kodiak does that kind of damage. Something else is out there.”

  “What do you think it is?” asked a voice offscreen.

  The old man shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s big and it’s vicious and I sure as shit don’t want to come face-to-face with it.”

  The image shifted back to the host standing on a dirt road hemmed on both sides by dense forest. “Reports of strange animal sightings have come in from all over this area in the last two months. Some claim it was a grizzly, others claim to have seen a giant timberwolf. More than a few have claimed that what they saw was Bigfoot.”

  The angle reframed into a tight close-up. The young man became deadly serious. “My name is Griffin Blair. As a kid, I was tormented by paranormal phenomena. Since then, I have dedicated my life to uncovering unexplained phenomena and proving the existence of the paranormal. I formed a team of experts to investigate the paranormal and bring our findings to the world. This time, we’re onto something that could be our most explosive report yet.” Here, the host, Griffin, nodded to the vast forest behind him. “Something is stalking this vast forest, something that kills. Paranormal Trackers is here to find whatever it is that’s stalking these woods.” The promo spot ended with a flash of the logo
swallowed by a ghostly skull before fading to black.

  Amy leaned back, her inner ear clanging with alarm bells. There were plenty of these paranormal reality TV shows out there. She used to be an avid watcher of some of them, getting a kick out of these encounters with the other side. She didn’t care if they were fake or staged, they were solid entertainment. But that was before the incident. After her brush with the terrifying reality of humans morphing into supernatural beasts, she’d lost all appetite for this kind of entertainment.

  She zeroed in on the date of this last posting. The time stamp was three hours old, which meant that these Paranormal Trackers were on their way there now. If her fears about what had caused the deaths in that area were true, then these fools were walking right into the middle of the monster’s feeding grounds. It would be like ringing the dinner bell for the damned thing.

  She considered trying Lara again but then dismissed the idea and tossed the phone back onto the bed. And yet sitting here alone in her bedroom was making her skin crawl in impotent frustration. Springing to her feet, she threw open her closet door and reached way into the back behind the tangle of off-season attire. Clothes spilled onto the floor as she plucked out the big backpack. Throwing it onto the bed, she rifled her dresser drawers for clothes to pack. She retrieved the shoebox from under the bed, took out the gun and tossed it into the empty backpack.

  11

  “NO. YOU ARE NOT GOING anywhere. That’s all there is to it.” Cheryl planted her feet and folded her arms. As if daring her daughter to cross an imaginary line in the sand.

  “Don’t go all dramatic, mom.” Amy slid the backpack from her shoulder, momentarily blocked by her mother’s stance. Domestic drama threatened to break out but she had neither the time nor the temperament to indulge. “I got to go. End of story.”

  “Why?” Cheryl fumed. “Who is this friend? And what’s the emergency?”

  “She’s just a friend.” Amy glanced over at Norm, standing at the sidelines. When the fights were bad, he knew when to stay out of it. “And she needs help right now.”

  “So you’re going to get on a bus and travel six hours? There’s no one in Albuquerque who can help her?” Cheryl shook her head and cast her eyes heavenward, as if imploring the Almighty for help. “Jesus, Amy.”

  “Mom, relax. It’ll just be a couple days.”

  “What about school? You can’t afford to miss anymore days.”

  There was a time when Amy would relish a good fight with her mom but not anymore. She couldn’t explain why she had to go and bickering was exhausting. She hoisted the backpack up to her shoulder. “I have a bus to catch. Everything will be fine and I’ll be back before you know it. See ya.”

  Cheryl seethed, watching her daughter march out the front door. She spun around towards Norman. “Do something!”

  “Amy!” Norm hollered out. “Hang on. I’ll drive you to the bus station.”

  Cheryl’s jaw fell. “That’s not what I meant!”

  They said little as Norm cruised down Burnside towards the river. Amy watched the streets pass by, waiting for a lecture that never came. When they pulled up before the bus station. Amy said thanks and reached for the door handle.

  “Hold on,” Norm said.

  Amy deflated. Here it comes.

  “Your mom’s worried sick about you, Amy.” Norm surveyed the street outside the windshield. “I don’t think you should go.”

  “She worries about everything. You know that.”

  “She has reason to worry. Your behavior has been erratic, irrational and downright frightening at times. So maybe you can give an inch here and try to get better. Do something to show her that you’re not spiraling down a bad road.”

  Amy clenched her teeth. He wasn’t wrong but she had no way to explain it to him so she bit her tongue. “I still have to go.”

  “I’m not going to stop you. I just need you to understand what you’re putting your mom through. It isn’t always about you.”

  “Okay.” Amy pushed the door open and swung out.

  “Hold on.” He reached into his pocket and peeled off a bill. Held it out to her. “Take this.”

  “I have money.”

  “Emergency money, in case you need it.” He waved the bill, insisting it be taken. “If you don’t have an emergency, bring it back. Okay?”

  She took it. “Thanks, Norm. Take care of mom for me.”

  “I always do. Be careful.”

  Passing through the doorway, she remembered how much she despised bus stations. These grim purgatories of bored souls. Checking the schedule board, her stomach curdled at the prospect of a twenty hour bus trip.

  ~

  The Cherokee trundled and bumped over the rough dirt road after turning off the Arroy Vista Boulevard. There were no lights out here in the scrub and the headlights were two dim pinpricks against all that darkness.

  Two hours earlier she had been perched on a barstool in a grimy watering hole in South Valley. The music twanged and Lara manned her stool like a castoff refugee in some honky-tonk cliché. It had been a red letter day for ostracism, even for someone well acquainted with exile. The loss of her job because of Trumbo followed closely with being shunned by her brother-in-law. Dulling it all with bourbon was not the healthiest approach but it was the easiest. It even quelled the wolf deep inside that was threatening to wake. And yet, as with most plans, there was a snag because it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a barstool is simply begging to be hit upon. And on they came, one hapless loser after another, wanting to chat her up. An easy mark in their eyes but all were rebuffed, some politely and some not so. One Romeo wouldn’t take no and when he pressed up against her Lara snapped, dropping the man like a broken puppet. Needless to say she was asked to leave and as she walked away, a woman with big hair pounced on her still warm barstool. The Romeos liked her much better.

  Once disturbed, the wolf would not be still. It had tasted adrenalin and wanted more. Desperate to shut it down, she dug out the silver blade from the glove box and sliced a thin line into her forearm. The wolf dulled but not completely. Neither did her anger. She tossed the silver away, fired the engine and rolled out of the parking lot, heading for the hills.

  Which brought her here, rattling the old truck over a downed cattle guard into the foothills of the high lonesome mesa. An hour’s trek from here led to the petroglyph scratching of a people long gone, etched into the volcanic rock of the low mountains.

  Killing the headlights, the darkness became total. The old truck ticked as it cooled and Lara idled a dangerous thought about letting the wolf run loose. Holding it in check was like keeping a muscle clenched at all times and it was exhausting. After a crappy day like she’d had, it would be such a relief to let go, to unclench her heart and let slip the wolf.

  The risk was too great, even out here on the empty plain. Giving in to the lobo was a dangerous game of degrees and one she couldn’t afford to lose. Shaking it off, Lara stepped out of the cab to let the cool air chill some sobriety back into her veins.

  ~

  Amy desperately wanted a shower. The bus ride was its own particular kind of hell that left her mind foggy and her skin grubby. Waiting on the platform to collect her bag, she looked out over the people in the station but saw no familiar face. The last time she was here, Lara had been waiting for her and the thrill of reunion had mitigated the effects of the awful bus ride. Not this time. She slung her pack over her shoulder and quit the station, hiking up to Central Avenue to catch a city bus. Before leaving Portland, she had written down the bus routes she would need to get to Lara’s and Marisol’s house respectively but the thought of another bus ride made her stomach turn.

  Lara’s house was a small Sante Fe on a worn down street south of Iron Avenue. There was no answer when she knocked at the door so Amy dropped her backpack and sat on the stoop and waited. An old man came out of the house next door and stood in the yard. His eyebrows went up at the sight of the girl
on the front stoop.

  “Hi,” Amy said, waving to the man. “You’re Hector, right?”

  “Yes,” the man said. His brow furrowed, trying to remember something. “You are Lara’s friend, no?”

  “Yeah. Amy. Have you seen Lara?”

  “Not for days. She has a sister nearby but I don’t know the address. Have you tried there?”

  “That’s my next stop.” Amy got to her feet and hoisted the pack back onto her shoulder. “Can I ask you something, Hector? Has Lara seemed okay to you?”

  He shrugged. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Sad or depressed or different?”

  “I couldn’t say. She’s never home these days. Her job. It keeps her busy.”

  “Okay.” Amy trudged back to the sidewalk. “If you see her, will you tell her I’m looking for her? She has my number.”

  “Of course. Do you know where her sister’s house is?” When Amy nodded and waved a folded piece of paper with the address on it, he stepped towards her. “Is it far? I can drive you, if you want.”

  Amy smiled but kept walking. “Nah. I need to stretch my legs. But thanks anyway. Bye Hector.”

  Hector waved goodbye and watched the girl march up the street until he couldn’t see her anymore.

  ~

  The look in Marisol’s eyes went quickly from surprise to delight upon seeing Amy on her doorstep. Amy was squeezed in a warm bearhug and ushered inside. Taking the heavy backpack from the girl, Marisol said “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “Spur of the moment thing. Then my phone died on the bus.”

  “Come in, come in. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” Amy said, pulled towards the kitchen.

  A pot of sopa de lima sat simmering on the stove and after plugging in her phone to recharge, Amy was situated at the table, dipping hunks of bread into the thick broth while she caught up with Lara’s sister. She was a little disappointed to have missed Jackson, who was at preschool already. After updates about one another’s family, Amy came around to the reason for her surprise visit.