A Solitude of Wolverines

by ALICE HENDERSON

  Knowing it wouldn’t work, she tried the lights, again to no avail. She had to find a way to jump-start it. She glanced around the shed, looking for something she could use. One of the shelves was full of tools, old screws and nails, corroded paint cans, glass jars with assorted nuts and bolts. She found a spool of ten-gauge insulated wire. Perfect. Rummaging around in the glass jars, she found a handful of ring terminals.

  A search of the worktable turned up a wire cutter and a stripper. She placed the spool of wire on the worktable and went outside. Her heart fluttered as she heard the searching snowmobiles. They were closer.

  She wondered how many men were out there. Cliff was probably out for the count, and certainly the man she’d killed. How many did that leave? Gary and Tony, at the very least. Remar if he joined in the fight. She didn’t know if the man who had gone off the cliff had been the man who’d waited by her backpack. If not, he was still out there, too.

  Hurrying to the bunkhouse, she studied the generator. It had wheels and standard electrical outlets on it. She glanced around by the desk, overjoyed to find an extension cord connected to the lamp. She grabbed the cord and draped it over her shoulder.

  She hated the thought of firing up the generator, calling attention to herself. But she saw no other way. At least it was a late-model Honda. That meant it would be quieter than most. She checked the fuel gauge and saw that it was still half full. Now she just needed to get it closer to the snowplane.

  She gripped one of its handles, surprised by how heavy it was. Struggling, she pulled the generator across the bunkhouse floor. Thankfully her hands had warmed up a little from being indoors, even if it was in unheated buildings. She dragged and pushed it out the door, then through the snow to the shed.

  Before she shut the doors behind herself, she listened for a minute, still hearing the hum of engines. It sounded like they were getting louder, but she still couldn’t pinpoint their direction. She closed the door the rest of the way and moved to the worktable. Using the wire cutters, she cut two lengths of the ten-gauge wire. Then she cinched a terminal ring onto the end of each wire. These she secured onto the posts of the dead battery.

  Next she cut the extension cord in half and separated the insulation between the two wires. She stripped these ends and attached them to the wires coming off the battery. Her hands still trembled, and frequently she had to stop and breathe, forcing away thoughts of the dead man and the twisted wreck of his snowmobile. Grabbing some electrical tape, she bound up the naked wire to be sure the two polarities wouldn’t touch.

  Then taking a deep breath, she plugged the modified extension cord into the generator. She grabbed the generator’s pull string and gave it a yank. The generator sputtered. She yanked it again and it shimmied and coughed and sputtered. One more yank and it coughed to life, humming away. It was surprisingly quiet, she noticed with relief.

  Alex bent over the open cockpit and tried the ignition switch again. The propeller on the back of the plane clicked. She tried it again. It sputtered and then, with a squeal, turned over. The plane jumped forward a few inches. A wave of euphoria sweeping through her, she threw open the shed doors. She quickly disconnected the wires and shut off the generator. Then she jumped into the driver’s seat and applied a little gas. The wheel turned the front ski, and she was able to ease the snowplane out of the shed.

  Once it was clear of the doors, Alex listened. The snowmobiles in the distance echoed off the hills, sounding louder. They were changing directions and seemed to be coming from the other side of a hill to the south of her. That was the direction the road followed away from the bunkhouse. It reached the state highway in roughly four miles.

  The horizon grew a little brighter; the engines sounded closer. Her heart started to hammer. They were on the road that led straight to the bunkhouse.

  Thirty

  Now Alex could see lights breaking through the tree branches ahead. They were close, maybe only a mile away, but didn’t seem to be going too fast. They were probably searching for her as they went. Just in case she needed them later, she grabbed the spool of wire and hand tools, then slammed the shed doors closed, securing them with the padlock. No sense in making it obvious she’d been there.

  Hoping they wouldn’t hear the snowplane above their own engines, Alex swung the plane into the large meadow to the southwest of the bunkhouse. She switched off the headlights and hopped out, grabbing a branch that had fallen in the wind. It still had all its pine needles on it. She ran back to the shed and dusted over the tracks of the snowplane and her boot prints. It was so cold that the snow was light and fluffy, easy to move into place.

  After covering her tracks all the way to where she’d entered the meadow, she dropped the branch and ran back to the snowplane. They’d have to search in the tree line now to find her tracks, and she hoped it would buy her some time. She climbed in and slammed on the accelerator. The snowplane lurched away, going much faster than she’d intended.

  Lights off, she roared across the meadow just as the snowmobiles swung into view, taking the last bend before the shed at a fast clip. They’d spot the outbuildings in a second.

  While the snowmobiles still had their engines going loudly, she raced across the open space, heading toward the highway. Dense trees would eventually block her way through the forest, though. Once she was past the two snowmobiles and was out of sight, she’d have to return to the bunkhouse road and head out that way.

  She looked back, seeing their lights flash on the shed and stables. Then she was too far away to see. She stayed in the meadow until it ended, then followed the path of a stream, weaving between trees. When she thought it was safe enough, she switched on her lights and angled back toward the dirt road, accelerating onto it. But she knew even then they’d either find her path away from the bunkhouse or simply return down this very road. They could catch up to her, even if she made it out to the highway.

  She had to find a way to slow them down.

  When she’d gone down the bunkhouse road about a mile, she passed between two sturdy-looking trees standing on opposite sides of the road. She stopped the snowplane, letting it idle, and pulled out the wire spool she’d gotten from the shed. Just contemplating her plan made her body start to shake again. She saw the man’s destroyed face, the red of the snow beneath him. But these men would think nothing of doing the same to her, and to the animals at the compound. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a second, then forced herself to continue.

  She stilled her mind, suddenly grateful for the rigorous mental exercises her mother had put her through as a child, forcing her to think quickly to get out of dangerous exercises, using whatever was at hand to her advantage. Devising a plan, she moved rapidly, wrapping one end of the wire around a tree, then spooling it across the road at about chest height.

  In the distance, she heard the snowmobile motors fire up, then start moving. She saw lights flashing in the meadow. They’d found her tracks. She had only a few minutes before they’d reach the road she was on and pick up speed.

  Reaching into the explosives satchel, she pulled out two of the shots she’d trimmed the fuses on. Gently, she slid igniters over both of the fuses.

  Winding the wire around the second tree so it would be taut, she created a loop at the wire’s end and secured the loop tightly to an igniter. For the TNT, she made a much tighter wrap, so that when someone crossed the wire, it would rip out the igniter, lighting the TNT. The TNT would remain with the main part of the wire, dragging along behind the snowmobiles for just a few seconds before it went off. Whether the men rode side by side or in single file, it would get both of them.

  Lights flashed on the trees just behind her. The men had entered the road. She had maybe two minutes before they reached her. This was cutting it too close, but she knew they could just follow her tracks wherever she went, find her, and kill her. She had to take this chance to save herself.

  Moving back to the original tree, she wrapped the second stick of TNT and its ig
niter in the same way. Then she ran back to the snowplane and jumped in. The weight of the rifle slung across her back felt reassuring. Lights came around the bend, illuminating her position. She hit the accelerator and roared away, hearing the crack of a rifle behind her. Something pinged off the fuselage of the snowplane, and she ducked down. Then another crack split the night and searing pain erupted in her upper arm. She tried to duck farther down, protect her head. Another round went off. She gritted her teeth, heart racing like it was going to leap out of her chest.

  Then suddenly one of the snowmobile engines ratcheted up in RPMs and a resonant boom erupted behind her. She looked back to see fire, smoke, and plumes of snow flying up into the sky, along with shattered machine parts. She kept going, racing along the road, looking back again to see if any snowmobile lights followed her. They didn’t. Her mind conjured up images of what the scene must look like, mangled men like the one on the mountain, red seeping into the snow. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid.

  She flew down the road, trying to outpace the images, wincing at the pain in her arm.

  She was only two or so miles from the highway when a light pierced through the darkness ahead of her. She switched off her own lights, but it was too late. The other vehicle had spotted her. It was a snowmobile, going much slower than her other pursuers. As she searched the side of the road for a way into the trees, it stopped. A big green spot on her retinas from the oncoming snowmobile prevented her from making out much in the gloom.

  The snowmobile’s engine idled in the middle of the road. The rider took off his helmet, long hair tumbling out. “No way!” came a familiar voice. “You got that thing running?”

  She stared into the darkness, pulling the rifle around and cocking it. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her arm.

  “No friggin’ way,” the man went on. “I have got to try that thing.” She remained silent, still hoping her eyes would adjust to the dark.

  Then he said in a more tentative voice, “That is you, right, Alex? Not some thief?”

  She placed the voice. It was Jerry, Jolene’s husband. He’d seemed so kind. Was he really with this band of killers?

  She remained quiet.

  “Alex?” he said again. “Please tell me that’s you and not some crazed, snowplane-repairing serial killer.”

  His snowmobile was blocking the road, and she didn’t see how she could get around him. He swung his leg off his machine and started walking toward her.

  She gripped the rifle. “Move your snowmobile out of the way!”

  He kept walking toward her. “It is you! You’re starting to freak me out.” He got closer and saw she had a gun. “What the hell?”

  “I mean it, Jerry. I don’t want to shoot you. But I will.”

  He held his hands up. “Wait, wait! What the hell’s going on?”

  “You know damn well.”

  His shoulders slumped down. “Oh, man. You found it, didn’t you? You found my stash.”

  Alex furrowed her brow. What stash?

  “I’m sorry I put it there. I didn’t think anyone used those old buildings anymore. I managed to move most of it when that other biologist was up here, but I didn’t have time to take it all, so I had to hide some of it.”

  “Your stash?” she asked.

  “You must have called the cops, huh? Is that why I saw all these lights down here?”

  “What are you talking about?” She held the rifle steady, aimed right at his head.

  “I was just coming back from the Yaak. Saw some guys on snowmobiles heading up here. I got nervous.” He held out his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. “Listen, I can totally get that stuff out of there. I won’t ever use the preserve again like that. I promise.”

  Alex was totally confused now. “Like what?”

  “To store my weed. I only do it when I’ve got a big sale coming up and I need it to be closer to the highway. But I won’t do it again. Seriously.” He stared at her. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

  Finally she lowered the gun, but kept it ready. “Are you saying you have nothing to do with the men who are chasing me?”

  He screwed up his face in confusion. “What men?”

  “The guys on the snowmobiles. They’re trying to kill me.”

  “What? That’s crazy! Why?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  His brows raised in bewilderment. “Like I said, I was just passing by. Thought some guys had found my stash and were going to steal it. It’s hidden behind the old stable, in the firewood pile there. I called Jolene and asked if she’d heard anything, if someone had found out. But she didn’t know anything, so I decided to head up here and check it out myself.”

  She kept her finger on the trigger guard and slowly climbed out of the snowplane. She felt the open, vulnerable expanse at her back.

  “You talked to Jolene? Just now, you mean?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. On my phone.”

  “You get reception out here?”

  “It’s a sat phone.”

  Hope swelled inside her. “Do you have it with you now?”

  “Yeah. I always carry it when I’m in the backcountry. Jolene insists.”

  “I need to use it.” Still not trusting him, she approached slowly.

  “Okay. No problem. It’s back on my snowmobile.”

  “Get it. And hurry.” She followed him, keeping the gun ready. He dug into a satchel and pulled out a yellow satellite phone.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. He seemed genuinely confused, and her gut didn’t sense that he was there to hurt her.

  “Do you know the number for the federal marshals?”

  He shook his head.

  She dialed information and had them connect her. There was no way she could risk calling Makepeace. Joe could be listening in. Makepeace could be dirty, too, for all she knew.

  A dispatcher answered, and Alex gave her a report of the compound and what she’d found there, of the men who now hunted her. The woman took down the details.

  “You need to get somewhere safe,” she told Alex. “A massive storm system has moved in. The plows aren’t even out there yet, and some areas have lost power. It’ll be a while before we can get marshals out to your location.”

  “What about a helicopter?”

  “We can’t fly in this weather. It’s whiteout conditions in many places. Please get somewhere safe and dry and wait out the storm, ma’am. As soon as the roads have been cleared, we’ll send units out to your location.”

  “Please send them to the compound.”

  “But you’re not at the compound now, are you?”

  “Those animals will die if someone doesn’t stop these men,” Alex told her.

  “I assure you, our officers will do the best they can. For now, though, we’re at the mercy of the weather. We’ll call you at this number with an update.”

  “Thank you.” Alex hung up and turned to Jerry. “Can I keep this phone? Just for a bit?”

  “Of course, but . . . all that stuff you told the police. Is that true?”

  “Yes. We need to get out of here.” If either of the men on the snowmobiles had survived, they could be on her trail even now. “We need to get out of sight.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Go home and call the marshals again. Try to get updates and call me if you learn anything.”

  “Okay.”

  As she ran back to the snowplane, she wondered how many people were in on this. Thinking again of the injured man SAR had been unable to find, she called out to Jerry. “That guy that search and rescue was looking for. Did you recognize him?”

  He lifted his eyebrows as he got on his snowmobile. “What do you mean? Recognize who?”

  She climbed into the snowplane, her upper arm stinging in pain. “I mean, when the sheriff came by your place during the rescue attempt. He showed you a picture of the guy taken from my remote camera.”

  Jerry frowned, confused. “The sheriff never came
by our place. He hasn’t been out there in years.”

  Surprise froze her to the spot. Makepeace had definitely told her he’d been there. She remembered him mentioning how good Jolene’s pie was. What a convincing detail to add to make your story sound better, she thought. She knew he hadn’t seemed too concerned about finding the man. But why lie? “You mean he wasn’t there, looking for a man I’d seen in the woods?”

  “No.”

  “Get out of here,” she told him.

  As Jerry turned around and sped away, Alex followed him down to the main highway. As he turned left toward his place, she took a moment to examine her arm. Warm stickiness seeped through her sleeve. The fabric was torn there. Unzipping her coat and peeling down her shirt, she looked at the wound. It was just a graze, though it stung like hell. Grateful, she zipped up the jacket again. Now she was at the main road that led into Bitterroot. She looked back at where a bullet had struck the snowplane, denting it and scraping the paint away. She was lucky it hadn’t hit the propeller.

  On the rural highway, the plows hadn’t come through, and this was good news for Alex. She saw snowmobile tracks in the oncoming lane. These were probably from the men who’d come to the bunkhouse road. To obscure her tracks, she decided to drive in the oncoming lane over the existing tracks. There certainly wasn’t any other traffic out to contend with. The snowplane’s tracks looked different from the snowmobile path, but every advantage helped, and with the snow falling as hard as it was, soon the distinguishing characteristics of the snowplane’s path would be covered, leaving only the impression someone had driven on that side of the road, likely the gunmen on snowmobiles.

  She opened the throttle, astounded at the speeds the snowplane was capable of. It didn’t have a speed gauge, but she guessed she was going close to fifty. Pushing it even faster, she tried to decide her next move.

  She thought back to what Jerry had said. The sheriff hadn’t gone by their place, hadn’t questioned them about the missing man. He’d lied.