“Hm.” The other man said, puffing on his cigarette. “Or something. Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find him. Thank you for your help, miss.”
And with that, the two walked away, melting into the night.
I shook my head again, swallowing and whispered under my breath. “Oh Ben, I hope you’re alright, and you find the answers you’re looking for.”
Chapter 2
Present day
Inhaling the cool air, I squatted down in the clearing and gazed out at the valley west of the Flathead Mountains of Montana. From here I could see the sprawl of the big town of Whitefish, then the smaller towns of Halfmoon, Columbia Falls, and Coram.
Here was where it had all begun: between Montana and Canada, in the last of the wild lands where the mountains reared up into the sky as pillars of pine green and snow white and the sky was the deepest, clearest blue. Unfettered winds, untamed animals, where a modern world became a hazy memory.
It was here, five years ago, when a Coyote Moon had shone down on a burning forest and changed five men forever.
Before then, I was never one to think about things like destiny, or my place in the world. I had a good, vagabond existence in my early twenties, jumping from job to job, and always looking ahead and never back. Now destiny had marked me, consuming my days and thoughts.
Even though five years had passed, I still questioned, hungry for definitive answers.
Sitting back, I could hear things humans were not supposed to be able to hear. The scrabble of squirrels high in the trees, the careful footsteps of a doe a hundred or so yards down the trail, and the splash of a brook far below the tree line. I could smell the sweet, hearty pines, the warm, sunbaked earth, and the heavy musk of animals who had passed this way. My eyes were sharp enough to spot a hawk wheeling miles away in the sky and see the movement of small animals in the brush of the valley below.
While these things no longer bothered me, the other senses that had awoken that night still gave me pause. Brief flashes of intuition. Animalistic instincts.
Followed inevitably by the insistent pull of shifting.
Of us five “brothers” who had been changed, I had struggled with it the most. The skills, the ability, and the changing. Aunt Sil claimed it was because I was fighting my fate.
I knew she was right.
But that didn’t mean I’d stopped fighting. I didn’t know how.
I had always been of a practical, pragmatic, and scientific bent. I liked process and finding answers that made sense. Never had I wasted much time with stories, art, and myth.
Now I lived it every day.
A bird landed on the tree next to me and let out a raucous chirp. Recognizing the sound, I glared up at him, and he returned it with a stern look.
“Fine, tell her I’m coming!” I barked out, before flopping to the earth with my hands over my face. The bird, Grayson, was a courier of Aunt Sil. “Ugh, I just needed some space to think for five minutes. Is that too much to ask?”
Letting out a satisfied chirp, Grayson took off. After a moment, I got up and into a crouch, then let myself fall into the pull. My body expanded, muscles exploding out, bones growing heavier and stronger – before I landed on the ground on four paws – a massive silver and black coyote.
Five years ago I had become a Coyote shifter, one of five brothers entrusted to protect the wilderness and drive back monsters of fire and ash.
In another moment, I was gone, off like a shot through the woods, heading north to Silver Tail’s lands. While I knew I shouldn’t have run so far, and that Aunt Sil would be after me, I hadn’t been able to resist. Sometimes I just needed to exhaust myself in order to make sense of it all.
The running and speed were something I’d never minded, though. Miles dissolved under my feet, wind rushing through my fur, and I was immersed in the intoxicating sense of fluid-like motion.
For in spite of everything, turning into a coyote was not something I, Ben Ofreo, had ever expected to happen. I mean, who would?
Glancing to the East, I thought back to that time, and memories played before my eyes.
“Oy, Doc. You got any aspirin?” growled George “Grits” Trowe. He was the hotshot crew superintendent, looking almost part-bear, with his shaggy brown hair, heavy eyebrows, and a thick mustache. Rummaging through my bag, I handed him a bottle, and he said, “Thanks, son.”
With a groan, Grits sat down at the picnic table and surveyed the scene in front of us. It was a foggy morning, the sky clouded with smoke, and the smell of fire in the air.
Only ten miles away a wildfire was raging in the eastern slopes of the Flathead Mountains, threatening to spread west, and putting the towns in the valley in danger. They’d already been evacuated, but Grits was hoping our twenty-man team could stop the fire in its tracks.
For some reason, I found myself unusually nervous this morning, and suddenly ill-prepared for the firefight with this hotshot crew. Maybe it was the bad coffee. Or maybe being the only medic on the team had finally hit me. Or maybe I’d realized just how green a rookie I was.
Either way, I silently prayed I wouldn’t screw up.
Grits was still talking and I forced myself to listen. “Rayner Hess is gonna be your captain. Burr Santana is the squad leader. Then you got the more experienced guys, Wes Young and Cree Campbell. Everybody’s got nicknames. Rayner’s Thor, ’cause he looks like a goddamn Viking. Burr is the Wildman. Got that name as he ain’t acquainted with fear. Wes is Stealth – moves like a ninja. And Cree is Quickfoot. Kid’s faster than a leopard.” Then he gave me a long look. “Guessin’ your gonna be Doc, kid. Hope that’s alright.”
I nodded. Four years in the service had taught me to keep my mouth shut when it came to superiors and their quirks. That, and I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d throw up.
“You eat, kid?” Grits rumbled and I nodded again. “You better have. Even Wildman loses weight up in these mountains. You ain’t never slogged for money like this before.” He continued on, explaining what I was getting myself into – the digging, the cutting, the climbing, and the lugging of equipment up steep hills – even though I’d already heard it a million times by now. I wondered if he felt the need to remind me because I was the rookie or because he’d sensed my anxiety.
Then Grits mentioned a few things I’d hadn’t heard until this morning. Like how I had to be extra attentive to the Walkie messages going through – never forgetting I was the only medic present.
The urge to throw up grew stronger.
Finally Grits finished and the wind began to pick up even more. Standing, he bellowed, “We head out in five, boys!” Then he turned to me again. “Stay safe. Stay with your team.” He hesitated, then said in a low voice. “You’ll see some weird stuff up in the mountains, kid. Remember that.”
Five weeks later and I barely remembered that conversation with Grits. Never mind the nerves of the first day, which were long gone. There was no time for fear, just action.
The days had blended together into a backbreaking routine of digging, sawing, and smoke. Every night I dreamed of fire.
But finally, the blaze was getting beaten back. In fact, Grits seemed to think we’d soon be done. Everything was contained and there was a huge rainstorm heading in. So far too, the injuries had been nothing but minor burns, bruises, and cuts. Nothing too serious, to my immense relief.
During those weeks, our five-man squad became a seamless team. Our long days spent fighting the wildfire together had bonded us forever. We were practically brothers.
Though there was plenty of heckling to go around, they all kept an eye on me, and always went out of their way to show me the ropes. I appreciated that. It wasn’t easy being the medic, the new guy, and the youngest.
Yet, on our last day, we became true brothers – in a way none of us could have imagined.
It was getting late; the sun had already fallen, and a full moon could be seen between the columns of smoke spiraling up into the sky.
“Almos
t done boys!” Shouted Rayner, wiping the sweat from his face and staring around. Then he radioed to Grits that we’d be heading back soon.
I’d been helping Cree and Burr finish the mop up, digging out anything that could rekindle. Burr had huge streaks of soot across his broad face, his green eyes blazing as he grinned at us.
“I could go for a quarter pound of venison right about now.” He said.
“Oh man, don’t talk about food.” Cree rubbed his stomach. “If I start thinkin’ about eating, I’m gonna pass out.”
“Don’t even joke!” barked Rayner, stomping over. “What, you need a protein bar, Quick?”
“Nah, sorry. I was kidding.” Cree offered Rayner a sheepish smile. “C’mon, last day, man.”
“Hey guys, come here a sec,” Wes called out at that moment. “You see that?”
He was standing where there was a break in the tree line, overlooking miles of forest, and pointed towards a nearby spiral of smoke.
“We miss somethin’?” Burr yelled. “How?”
“Maybe not.” Rayner squinted, sighed, and shrugged. “I’ll radio Grits.” Walking away, we heard the crackle of the walkie, and then he came back. “He wants us to go check it out since it could be a flare-up.” Everyone groaned, knowing that might mean five more weeks of work, and even Rayner joined in. “I get it guys. But let’s get moving.”
My heart sank a little as we began to trudge down the slope towards the smoke. That night my body was aching in ways I’d never thought possible and exhaustion was making my knees buckle. But gamely I kept up, and when we got to the source of the smoke, everyone let out a sigh of relief. Cree and Burr even laughed a little. It was a small and innocuous-looking fire. Easy to put out.
As Burr walked forward to handle it, the flames shot backward and spiraled into the sky. Mesmerized, we froze as the fire danced up the tree trunks.
Suddenly, something moved beyond the tree line.
As one, we began to back up, each of us riveted by the horror unfolding in front of us.
One giant red eye appeared, then another.
I blinked and stared, sure I was hallucinating.
A long, spindly limb oozed into the clearing, followed by another. Then it appeared – almost ten feet tall, a monstrous, twisted creature looking as though it climbed straight out of hell. Its skin was burned black, flaking off, and constantly smoking like there was a fire burning within. No face could be seen, just those two burning red eyes.
“What the hell!” Shouted Burr and he threw his ax at it. It spun through the air, and squarely hit the creature’s chest, then melted.
Heart pounding in my throat, I watched as the creature looked down, then back at us, and a slit opened under its eyes. Light flashed and ash began to pour out.
“Fall back!” Rayner roared, snapping the rest of us awake, and he ran forward to grab Burr. “Now!”
But as we turned, the fire lashed out in a ring around us. Backing together, we frantically gazed around, seeking a way out. We were trapped.
Suddenly the creature blew out another breath, filling the air with toxic fumes, and the fire blazed hotter and brighter. Before we could even recognize terror or fight back, each of us hotshots began to hack, and then, one by one, we fell to our knees. Hunching over, hugging my chest, I struggled to breathe, even as my grasp on consciousness slipped away.
And this was where the memory became fragmented and dream-like.
As I fell, lungs in agony, moonlight cut through the smoke and lit the center of the circle of flames. It was impossibly close – the light was so bright it hurt the eyes.
Beyond, the creature hissed and withdrew, but not before stoking the flames higher.
Suddenly the ground shook, and a heavy sound echoed through the earth, as though something massive had slammed into the ground.
Now a white form stood between us and the creature.
A Coyote.
But an enormous one, bigger than a horse, or maybe a house. It stared the creature down and then it whipped its tail. Wind rushed through the clearing and the fire instantly went out. Red eyes glared through the shadows, then blinked and vanished.
The Coyote turned and surveyed the scene. Slowly, it walked over to Rayner, and I thought I saw it place a white paw on his chest, but my grasp on reality was nearly gone…
The stars wheeled close and the moon brushed my face.
Was this death?
Just as I was about to fall into a pitch-black night, something impossibly heavy pushed onto my chest, along with a warm brush of air, and then I was awake, taking in huge gulps of clean air.
Gold animal eyes blinked down at me as a wet nose touched mine, followed by a rush of noise I couldn’t make sense of.
Then a velvet darkness rushed up and I knew nothing.
I always stopped there, jerking my thoughts away from that time, and those memories. While I’d relived that night a thousand times, I never went any further if I could help it. What had happened in the following months was not something I ever cared to recall.
Suddenly I stopped dead, paws skidding on the dirt, heart racing.
A familiar scent was wafting across the air; one I hadn’t encountered in years. Had thinking back to that time caused me to have some kind of sensory memory?
Longing rose up within me. Breathing in deeply, I turned my head, while images of dark blue eyes, chestnut curls, and a sweet smile danced through my mind.
It can’t be…
But the scent was unmistakable. Sweet like sugar, with a bite of strong herbs underneath, and a hint of something unnamable, yet delectable. That particular note that each person had that separated them from every other human.
Her note had made me think of wild raspberries, the way its flowers were bright among the dark green leaves, and how its juices stained your fingers pink. A perfect blend of indulgence and innocence.
Walking forward noiselessly, I poked my head around a tree and froze. Standing not even five feet away was a young woman, shading her eyes from the sun, and surveying the valley. Then she held up her camera and took a picture.
When she finally turned around and I saw her, my mind went blank.
It was her, looking just as she had all those years ago. Pale skin dotted with freckles and cheeks that blushed easily. Long legs and a lithe, runner’s body.
Hazel.
Her name sang into my thoughts like the note in a favorite melody but also had me reeling in instant panic and confusion.
What is she doing here?
And while I knew I should run, I couldn’t move.
Of all the memories I avoided from the six months after the Coyote Moon, Hazel was the top of that list. Yet my sleeping brain was not to be denied, so she often showed up in my dreams. Looking at her now, I realized I hadn’t forgotten one detail about her.
And while seeing her now was everything I’d ever wanted, it was a blow to the heart.
If only…
I stopped myself there, but I hesitated and wondered if I should step out to say hello. Surely that would be okay. Then I glanced down and saw my heavy black paws. Shrinking back, I hesitated, then turned and ran.
Chapter 3
Glancing up, I warily eyed the trees around me, thinking I’d heard a rustling in the underbrush. Indeed, for a moment, I’d had the strangest feeling of being watched.
But now it was gone and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Shaking my head, I made my way back down the trail, telling myself I’d better get a grip. For the next month or so I was going working and living in an even more remote and wild part of northern Montana. My old boss and mentor, Whitsy, had called me up out of the blue last month to join an archeological survey team. We were going to be studying a recently-discovered ancient cave. Its entrance had appeared after a rockslide a few months ago and the Burke Museum had first dibs.
As my assignment in South America was just about to finish up, the timing couldn’t have been more brilliant. So I’d immedia
tely agreed. Especially since after all this time, I still hadn’t made it to Montana. It felt a bit like kismet in that regard.
Smiling to myself, I jogged lightly down the rest of the trail, and across the back gardens of the small inn we’d stopped in for the night. It was a glorious morning, as mid-summer was just around the corner, and I gazed around eagerly. I couldn’t get enough of this scenery. The sky was a bright, endless blue, while the land around me burst with every hue of green.
However, the mornings were cool here, and I could see my breath puffing in the crisp air. At first I’d been surprised, but I supposed that was par for the course in the northern Rockies.
Whitsy was sitting under a tree reading a newspaper and taking a morning coffee. He waved me over when he spotted me, calling out, “Morning!” Then he folded up his paper, took a sip from his mug, and made a face. “Guess I let it cool too long.”
He was still the same, if somewhat more bent and his hair a trifle whiter. But his mind was just as sharp, and, of course, absent-minded.
Smiling, I responded, “Good morning! Are you ready to go?”
“Absolutely.” He said, getting up and stretching. “We can leave in ten minutes if you like. Should anyways, got to get up to Sil’s place before noon if we want lunch.”
“I cannot wait to see it.” I enthused, following him inside. From everything Whitsy had told me, her acreage was some of the most pristine in the region, and her home was nearly 100 percent environmentally conscious. She also sounded like a character, as most of Whitsy’s friends were.
Plus, she’d reached out to Whitsy first after the rockslide had happened, and she’d found the parietal art inside. Instead of going to the newspapers, or finding a big name at a university closer to home, this Sil had insisted he come take a look. According to her, no one was better than him to investigate. All of this made me like her immediately. While some people thought Whitsy could be a bit radical in his theories, I was grateful someone valued his adroit intelligence for what it was.
It was also incredibly exciting, really the opportunity of a lifetime, as no parietal art – that is to say, cave art – had ever been discovered anywhere in North America except in the southwest. From the few pictures that Sil had sent us, the drawings could be about 15,000 years old. Of course, that was just a guess, and we’d have to perhaps use isotope dating to be more specific.
HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters Page 2
