HYBRID KILLERS

by Will Decker

  Fleetingly, he wondered if maybe the second person at the woman’s cabin might not be the man from the cabin that was now buried under twenty feet of snow. Yet, he only entertained the thought for a moment, as he was confident that he would find the man’s frozen body come spring. After all, no one could have survived such a horrific avalanche. Especially not if several of his wolves had been unable to escape it. Of course, there was the possibility that the man wasn’t anywhere near the cabin when the avalanche happened. But that made little sense, since the man was clearly a city dweller, and wouldn’t know the first thing about traveling across this rugged country on foot.

  He was less surprised to discover that there weren’t any supplies left behind. It was a frugal habit of his to only bring enough food to last one person for one month. Even if the second party had brought in supplies of their own, her supplies could still be gone by now. After all, he was due to show up next week.

  Although he had never felt any remorse with regard to the other tenants, he truly regretted having to do this to Sandy. From almost the day after he had dropped the pretty and petite woman off here, his wife had been after him to scent the wolf pack on her. But he constantly made excuses, putting off the inevitable for as long as he could. On several occasions, he actually told her that he was setting out to do her bidding, only to come back and explain that he had a change of plans, and scented the pack on one of the other cabins instead. Because there didn’t seem to be any shortage of new tenants, he didn’t have any problem keeping the pack on the move, but never to this cabin.

  When he stepped up the timeframe on the writer, he never expected to lose his lead animal in an avalanche. Yet, it gave him the perfect excuse to postpone bringing the pack here.

  When his wife wouldn’t listen to any more excuses, he finally had to bring the wolf pack here. It was the first scented attack for the new lead wolf, but he had no doubts that it would do what it had been trained it to do. Fred knew he had a knack with animals; he was good with animals, even if he didn’t care for or get along with people.

  Although he knew what he had to do, in a small secret way, he was glad that the girl was still alive. At one time, not so long ago, he had considered keeping her a prisoner in the cabin, while telling his wife and the others that the pack had done their duty, and that the job was done. He thought long and hard on the idea, it appealed to him tremendously, but he finally convinced himself that the risk was too great.

  It also meant, and this was the part that convinced him even more so than the risk, that the cabin would remain occupied and unavailable. When his wife booked the cabin in the future, he wouldn’t have the luxury of scenting the wolf pack to them. Instead, he would have to kill them before they ever laid eyes on the cabin that they leased. He would have to either kill them outright on the way to the cabin, or abandon them in the wilderness, leaving them to die from hypothermia and exposure, or any other number of slow and dragged out calamities. Either way appealed less to him than his need to keep a woman prisoner. Not so much because he had a use for other human beings, because he didn’t, and he never alluded himself otherwise. But rather, he didn’t have the courage to actually kill another by his own hand.

  It was easy enough for him to turn the wolf pack loose, knowing that some poor soul was going to be torn from limb to limb. It never even bothered him on the many occasions when he found the mutilated remains of their victims. But to actually shoot someone, or stab a person while looking that person in the eye, he simply couldn’t do it. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could do it even if it was a matter of his survival over theirs. Just like now, he knew because of his procrastination, he was going to have to kill the pretty young woman himself.

  If he’s lucky, when he goes looking for her in the morning, he’ll find her out in the open, and be able to run her down with the snow tractor. That way, he can close his eyes at the last minute, and not have to witness her demise at his hands.

  Yet, a small voice, deep down inside him, won’t be silenced so easily. Although, he openly declares to himself that he doesn’t have the courage or fortitude to kill another with his hands, when the time comes, if he has to slit her throat and cut out her tongue out with his Bowie knife to keep her silent, he will do just that. And although it scares the Hell out of him, he knows deep down in that putrid hole where he keeps his secret thoughts that he won’t hesitate to do what needs doing when the time comes.

  Dawn is still an hour away when Sandy rolls off the cot and starts gathering twigs from beneath the nearby trees. Within a matter of minutes, she has a large, smokeless fire burning. Next, she packs our mugs with snow and sets them next to the flames, heating the water for our morning coffee. Although I’m awake and watching her every move, we don’t say anything to each other for fear of what might be said. While I’m worrying and fearing that each minute might be my last with her, she is afraid of inadvertently telling me something about my condition that I am currently unaware.

  This tension is further underscored by a mutual concern and anxiety toward our future together, or the possibility of such after the morning’s coming events. Our future is riding on our success or failure to hijack the snow tractor. If we fail, there is no future, short term or long.

  The fire is large enough that I can feel the heat against my face from where I lay on the cot, more than six feet away. This fire, too, is part of the plan. When the sun rises, we will add moist materials to create smoke. Until then, we will keep it burning high and bright, a beacon, as it were. If Fred sets out from Sandy’s cabin early, hoping to catch us asleep, we want to make sure he drives straight into the clearing before he figures out that we set him up.

  Having repacked our mugs with snow and set them next to the fire to heat, Sandy busies herself setting up decoys. Working in silence, she is making it appear as if two people are sitting by the fire with their backs facing in the direction from which we expect the snow tractor to approach. In the darkness, the likenesses she is making look pretty convincing, even to me. It doesn’t matter that they won’t move when Fred barrels down on them with the snow tractor, by that time, we will have Fred right where we want him. At that precise moment, Sandy will step out from behind a tree to his left, appearing as a helpless target. When he makes his turn toward her which I’m convinced will be a reflexive action by him, I’ll jump up on the track from his blind side and point the gun at him while ordering him to stop.

  Having turned within the confines of the clearing, there will be no way for him to get the snow tractor back out, unless he maneuvers in reverse between the close-growing trees. If he attempts that, rather than stop at my commands, I will have no choice but to shoot him before I am thrown off and churned up beneath the weight of the steel tracks.

  From having watched Fred drive the snow tractor while being chauffeured to my cabin, I understood the basic mechanics of it. In addition to steering it by use of a joy stick similar to what you would find in an old airplane, the driver is required to keep pressure on both peddles in order for the machine to go forward. If your feet slip off both peddles, the machine will quickly grind to a halt. If I am forced to shoot the driver, theoretically the machine will stop moving before it can throw me off the tracks. At least, I am assuming that after I shoot the driver, he won’t be able to keep pressure on the foot pedals.

  I am putting a lot of responsibility on myself, considering my deteriorating condition. I know also that if I fail, I am not only failing myself, but Sandy too. Nevertheless, I am well aware of the fact that everything is riding on this, and I am prepared to walk to Egypt on bloody stumps, if that’s what it takes.

  Sandy had the stick figures draped with blankets and was adding coffee grounds to the hot water in our mugs, when the first light of the new day sent streaks bright through the cold night sky in the East. I was just beginning to wonder if Fred was going to follow our trail, when there’s the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine, as it ground its way through the trees across the meadow. It was s
till a long ways off and echoing across the snow-covered meadow, when we met each other’s gaze. With a profound sadness mixed with relief, we both realized that the time of reckoning was upon us and we had better get ready for it. What I heard next sent a shiver down my spine.

  Coming ahead of the sound of the roaring diesel engine was the high pitched yelping and howling of a wolf pack hot on a scent. To my dismay, I realized that while we were sleeping and planning, Fred hadn’t wasted the night either; somehow, he had recalled his wolf pack and given them one or both of our scents to hunt. Reading the fear in Sandy’s eyes, I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but I was helpless to do so. The wolf pack was a contingency that neither of us had given any thought. Under my breath, I cursed myself vehemently for being so foolish, as to think that we had seen the last of the hybrid killers.

  “My God in heaven,” she said softly, continuing to stare at me. “What do we do now, John?”

  Abruptly, my helplessness and fear turned to rage. I suddenly seethed with anger and frustration at my helplessness, my loss of Amy, and at the wolves that threatened to separate me from the best thing that had ever come into my life. But even more so, I grew angry at the chain of events that I had no choice or say in, but could only endure and abide. I’d had enough; I wasn’t going to take anymore!

  “We’re through running, Sandy. Now we show them what we’re made of. It’s time that we fight the bastards!” I said with hysterical determination.

  Sitting up on the cot, I glanced briefly down at the blood soaked rags tied around my feet. Without giving them another thought, I swung my legs over the side and planted the bloody rags firmly down on the snow-covered ground. Although I expected the pain to be more than I could endure, it felt like nothing more than a dull thump to my senses. I was thankful for the small blessing, despite what the lack of pain might imply, but I made no mention of it to Sandy. For the time being, I felt that it was better if she just assumed that I was enduring tremendous pain.

  Standing upright, the blood rushed from my head and I swooned forward, almost losing my balance. Sandy quickly jumped forward and stepped in front of me, wrapping her arms around my chest to support me and keep me from falling.

  We held each other tightly for a moment, and I heard her crying softly, as she murmured into my chest, “I love you so much, John. Please, there must be something else we can do. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

  “There is only one thing left for us, Sandy,” I said softly, yet sternly. “We must kill them, and him, before they can kill us. There is no other alternative. There are only four bullets left in the gun, I will be sure and save one for that demon driving the snow tractor!”

  She abruptly pulled away from me, and without taking her eyes from mine, declared, “We both live, or we both die! One of us isn’t getting down off this mountain without the other!”

  I had expected her to protest the killing of Fred, and not the statement she made. It caught me off guard, and I took a second to gather my thoughts. When I did, I grew more determined than ever. “Please, Sandy. I love you more than life itself. Don’t let my death be in vain. You must make it down! If for no other reason, you must survive so that you can expose the bastards to the world. You have to make it, Sandy, for my sake, and the sake of all the others that they’ve killed!”

  “You bastard! Don’t you be a martyr on my account!” she screamed furiously at me.

  Suddenly, she huffed in exasperation and turned on her heel. Without another word, she marched stiffly through the snow towards the tree line on the left of the clearing. When she’d almost reached the trees, she stopped and bent over, picking up a piece of wood about the size of a baseball bat.

  Turning back to face me, she smiled and called out, “You better get a move on it if you plan to surprise him.”

  Nodding in acknowledgement, I still didn’t move, as I stood transfixed, watching her take up a position of concealment behind a large tree. Only after she disappeared from my field of view, did I bend over and retrieve the harness to the cot/sled. Every labored movement brought on a new set of aches and pains, each exposing new weaknesses while awakening old ones. Yet, I can be one determined bastard when I set my mind to something! I’m not going to die for naught. Becoming a martyr is the farthest thing from my mind; I have every intention of living!

  Bending over, I was shocked by the bright red crimson stain soaking through the caked snow adhering to the bandages swaddling my feet. The first thought that entered my mind was that the frost hadn’t penetrated as deeply as I had first suspected. Then, from somewhere in the back of my mind, I briefly wondered why the pain wasn’t more debilitating than it was. If my feet weren’t frozen, then I should be able to feel them!

  But just the same, I didn’t have time to dwell on the phenomena. Instead, I was thankful that I could only feel a slight tingling below the knees accompanied by a stiffening and soreness in my thighs and hip joints. In fact, to my amazement, walking wasn’t much different than wearing platform shoes. I could almost ignore the fact that my feet were severely frost bitten; it felt as if I’d strapped wooden blocks to the bottoms of my legs, since there wasn’t any feeling at all below the knee joints. Even more surprising was my adept sense of balance. So long as I thought out each move before picking up the foot and pushing it forward, I could walk with relative ease, albeit slowly. The only excuse that I could use for my suddenly renewed mobility was adrenalin, because I definitely wasn’t a superhero.

  Dragging the homemade sled a short distance beyond the first stand of trees, I suddenly wished that I had remembered to grab a mug of coffee. Both mugs were sitting next to the smoldering fire, temptingly hot and ready to drink.

  While I stumbled around behind the trees, making sure that the sled couldn’t be seen from the clearing, I considered going back to retrieve one of those mugs of coffee. It seemed like a terrible shame for them to go to waste. But realizing the foolishness of the thought, I quickly forced it to the back of my mind, and worked my way back toward the clearing, and the tree that was most in line with the entrance. It wasn’t the largest tree surrounding the clearing, but it was the most well positioned, giving me a clear line of sight at whatever, or whomever, approached. It was also large enough to conceal the entirety of my body, so long as I stood up straight. But since I couldn’t bend my knees anyway, it was the best-suited tree for my intentions.

  The sound of the wolf pack was growing louder by the minute, but the diesel engine of the snow tractor remained a constant and distant rumble. Although the high-revving roar of the engine gave the impression of a fast moving vehicle, it had not been built for speed so much as stability and traction. Hence, it would be following behind the swifter moving wolf pack.

  Judging from the increasingly high pitched yaps and howls coming from the pack, it was fairly obvious that they were hot on a scent and running full out to overtake their quarry, namely, Sandy and me.

  Looking to my right, in the direction of Sandy’s position, I felt a tinge of disappointment when I realized that I was unable to see her from my angle of view. Thinking of her and the way that we’d parted company, I suddenly missed her, though she was just a few feet away. I felt a renewed determination not to die, especially now, after finding Sandy, and having her come into my life. If we fail to capture the snow tractor for our own use, we won’t have the chance of a snowball in Hell of making it down off this mountain alive. Yet, if I have to die, I don’t want to go leaving her angry or disappointed with me.

  Although it was equally as stupid of an idea as going back to the fire to fetch my mug of coffee, I was on the verge of leaving my concealment and going to her. It suddenly seemed terribly important for me to go to her and apologize.

  I was already lifting my right foot and turning away from the tree, my mind focused on Sandy, when I saw the wolf pack break out of the trees across the meadow. Spread out behind the leader, they came at an angle across the sloping meadow, adhering to the same veering route as San
dy and I had taken. It was obvious from the way they spread out that only one wolf in the pack was actually following our trail and that the rest were just loosely following him. Yet, it didn’t matter to us whether one wolf was following our scent, or the entire pack, since there wasn’t any way of eluding even one wolf.

  They were coming on fast and would be entering our little clearing within a matter of short minutes. As quickly, as I thought of confronting the leader of the pack, I just as quickly discarded the idea; the ineffectiveness of such a stunt this time would only hasten my death. Briefly, I thought that I should let Sandy know how close they were, but quickly thought better of it. In less than two minutes, the leader will be entering our small clearing trailing the rest of the pack close on his heels; I could never reach Sandy in time. And even if I managed to get to her before the wolves, there was little more that I could do for her there, than I could do from right here.

  My next instinct was to pull out the gun and start shooting. But with only four bullets, that isn’t a viable option. If I have to, I will use the gun to protect Sandy. However, I am determined to save at least one bullet for the operator of the snow tractor. Because we have to contend with the wolf pack, in addition to everything else, I can no longer take the added risk of capturing Fred alive, not even for Sandy’s sake. I no longer have that luxury. Instead, I must find the courage to kill the man that has caused so much pain and agony.

  While holding the gun in my right hand, I wielded the axe that we had been using for splitting firewood in my left. Sandy had a hefty limb that I’d witnessed her pick up on the way to the tree, in addition to a butcher knife, and another long bladed kitchen knife that she’d slid point-first into her boot, between the liner and the rubber outer.