A Solitude of Wolverines

by ALICE HENDERSON

  Then she heard something outside, scarcely audible above the wind whistling around the structure. She strained to pick it out. Then it came again, a high, keening wail.

  “Help,” she heard the voice say, hardly audible. “Help me.”

  A sudden gust slammed against the walls, blocking out the voice altogether. When the blast died down, she listened again.

  “Help.” It came from outside, somewhere nearby.

  She didn’t hear any more gunfire, and worried it might be Makepeace or Cooper, shot and exposed, with enemies closing in. She had to go outside. Had to take the chance. If it was one of the gunmen, she’d defend herself. But if it was Makepeace and she could help him . . .

  Swallowing hard, Alex unlocked the closet and crept out into the dark room. She could hear the elephant shuffling its feet, the swish of the tiger pacing. Moving in the blackness, she reached the neighboring room and crossed to the exterior door. Listening, she waited, not hearing anything but the wind and the feeble cry for help. Pushing open the door, she kept one finger on the trigger guard, ready to fire.

  Outside the wind hit her ears again, instantly chilling her head, but she didn’t move to put her hood up. She had to hear. Pausing in the knee-deep snow, she craned her neck around, listening. Then she heard it, coming from her left.

  “Help me . . . please.”

  She moved silently through the snow. The wind blew white around her in torrents, making it impossible to see more than a foot or two ahead of her. The cries grew louder, and she knew she was close. The ground dipped down to where it crossed the stream, and she saw a wrecked snowmobile on its side, its engine still clicking with the heat, snow beginning to cover the seat. But no one was there. She didn’t dare turn on her flashlight, not wanting to reveal her location.

  Quietly she said into the swirling white, “Who’s there?”

  “Joe,” the voice rasped, very near.

  “You armed?” she asked.

  “No,” came the reply. “Please help me.” He coughed and she heard something wet in his lungs.

  The swirling white parted suddenly and Alex saw him, a dozen feet away in a heap of red snow. Only his head was visible, rising just above a drift of white. Red streamed out of his mouth. So much blood had soaked into the snow that Joe looked like he was covered in a red blanket.

  Cautiously she moved to him. Both of his arms were under the snow, and his face was glistening with sweat, ashen and sickly. “What happened?” she asked.

  He choked. “I tried to walk out. I didn’t know where they’d laid them.”

  “Laid what?” she asked.

  “The bear traps for the . . . escaped polar bear.”

  She knelt down in front of him and started digging through the snow. Her hands scraped something jagged and cold and Joe sucked in a ragged breath of pain. Gently she dug around the metal shape, revealing a scene of horror she knew she’d never forget.

  Joe had fallen right into a bear trap and it had snapped shut on his torso. At least one of his lungs had been punctured. He tried to breathe, rasping. Alex could see the white glistening of his insides pushing through part of his stomach.

  She rocked back on her heels. “Jesus.”

  He looked up at her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to help them.” He went into a coughing fit, then swallowed hard. “They threatened my parents. I knew they’d do it, too. Tell Makepeace . . . I recorded every . . . conversation. I know who all of the suppliers are. It’s all on my personal laptop.” His body spasmed, sending him into another coughing fit.

  “Don’t try to talk now,” she told him. “Help is on the way.”

  “There’s a man,” he gasped, blood bubbling on his lips. “A justice department agent. He’s under the cage room, through the closet . . .” Joe managed a rueful little smile. “I’m just glad you found me in time. Now I can go.”

  She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Just hang on.”

  But Joe uttered a long, low rasp, and went still.

  Alex sat back in the snow, staring at the body of Joe Remar. She thought of him joking with her the first time they’d met, his kindness when her car had broken down. To see him like this . . . She felt for a pulse and, finding none, leaned back and hung her head.

  The wind whistled around her, and despite the roar of the gale, things felt still around Joe Remar. His words came back to her. There’s a man . . . under the cage room, through the closet . . . She had to go look.

  Keeping her rifle at the ready, she hurried back toward the cage building and slid inside. Still not hearing any gunfire outside, she moved to the utility closet. If they had been keeping someone prisoner in a secret room beneath the cages, she hoped she’d find him alive.

  Inside the closet, she shined the light down, revealing the cement floor and another drain. The utility shelves held rope, a lantern, various tools, a few cans of gas. Folded-up blankets covered the bottom shelf. Kneeling down, she slid the blankets off, revealing the edge of a steel door in the floor. The shelf was on wheels, which had been covered by the blankets. Carefully, Alex rolled the shelf to one side, moving just inches at a time, trying to be quiet.

  Outside she heard another snowmobile, in the distance but getting closer. It sounded like it was just one engine.

  She readied the rifle and gripped the door’s handle. Swinging it open, she saw stairs descending into a perfect square of black. It looked like some kind of old bomb shelter. She aimed the light around, seeing a dirt floor, old wooden shelves with canned food and jugs of water. And lying in the middle of the floor in a pool of congealing blood was the man she’d found on the mountain.

  Thirty-Three

  The man was trussed up, his feet bound and hands tied behind his back, a dirty rag in his mouth. He lifted his head feebly, looking up at her.

  She stuck her head all the way through the door, shining the light around, but the small space was otherwise empty. As she climbed down the rickety steps, the man lay his head back down and coughed. She crossed the room and removed the dirty gag. Blood streamed from his mouth. She fished out her water bottle and gave him a small drink. He swallowed. “Thank you,” he rasped.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He struggled to speak around his swollen jaw. They’d obviously rehydrated him, and he was more lucid than the first time she’d found him. “Special Agent Jason Coles. Department of Justice. I’m on the wildlife trafficking task force.”

  She untied his hands and feet, but he barely moved. His broken fingers were hideously black and blue, and she could see deep cuts that went through his clothes into his flesh. His ravaged knees were swollen, thick knobs pressing against his jeans.

  “You . . . found me . . .” he whispered. “On the mountain. I tried to warn you away with that note.”

  She nodded.

  “They tried to make me talk . . . wanted me to report that I hadn’t found anything here.” He swallowed and she dribbled more water into his mouth. “I got away, twice, but both times they found me. I fell, running from them the second time.”

  She thought back to when she’d found him on the mountain. He’d said, They can’t find me. He hadn’t meant that his rescuers hadn’t been able to find him; he’d meant They can’t find me as in Don’t let them find me.

  When she’d gone back with the sheriff and paramedics, he’d been gone. How had they found him so fast? Then it hit her. She’d told Kathleen the exact GPS coordinates. If Joe Remar had been listening in, then he could have relayed the location.

  “The sheriff’s here,” she told him. “We’re going to get you out as soon as the weather lifts. There’s a bad blizzard out there.” She struggled for what to say, wanting to keep him conscious, lift his spirits. “You’ve managed to survive this long. You’re going to be fine,” she told him. But looking at his injuries and the amount of blood he’d lost, she hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.

  “They . . . tortured me. One guy in particular enjoyed it. Broke my fingers
. Toes. Cut some of them off. Said he’d studied interrogation techniques just for me. He’s the one who set this whole operation up.” He licked his lips, and she dribbled more water into his mouth. “The sheriff . . . he’s not alone out there, is he? He’s got backup?”

  “The federal marshals are coming. They’re just a little delayed because of the weather.”

  He sighed, closing his eyes.

  “And he’s got me,” she said. A cold, shaky feeling grew in her gut. She knew now that if she absolutely had to, she could kill to protect herself. She felt strange and numb whenever she thought of it. Images of the man’s ruined face flashed through her mind again, the twisted hulk of the snowmobile, his severed leg. She shook her head, trying to dispel the images that she knew would remain with her for the rest of her life. It had been kill or be killed. She knew that. A new sensation spread inside of her, a loss of innocence. She swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. “And he’s got his friend Cooper, who’s supposed to be handy with a gun. At least he was bragging about it.”

  The agent’s eyes snapped open. “Wait . . . Cooper? Flint Cooper?”

  She nodded. “Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

  He brought his mangled hand over to her leg. “He’s the one . . . the one who tortured me. This is all his operation.”

  Alex froze. The sheriff was up there alone with Cooper, facing opposition without knowing his friend was actually his enemy. She placed a gentle hand on the agent’s shoulder. “I have to go up there.”

  “. . . careful,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering in his head. He was losing consciousness.

  Adrenaline coursing through her, Alex lifted her rifle and headed up the stairs.

  Thirty-Four

  As she unlocked the utility closet, she heard a snowmobile’s engine turn off. She heard only one, and that was good. Unless they’d doubled up as riders, only one additional man had arrived. And maybe it was a marshal, she thought hopefully, but didn’t really believe it. The weather was just too intense. She switched off her flashlight and headed toward the back of the building.

  She slid out of the door into the storm, the snow coming down sideways, the wind screaming through the windowpanes of the buildings. Wind blasted icy-cold snow into her face. She struggled to see, to make out any shapes in the darkness. Where was Makepeace? Had he been gunned down? She hadn’t heard any gunfire since just before Remar had crashed into the creek bed.

  Icy needles stabbed at her eyes and ears and she longed for snow goggles. Her hair was now completely soaked. She moved between the buildings, searching quietly for Makepeace. And then she saw a figure rounding the taxidermy building, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and dark clothes. But from this distance, with the blinding snow, she couldn’t make out who it was. Both Cooper and the sheriff had been wearing hats like that. The figure stumbled forward and she pressed against the exterior wall of the lodge building. At first she thought he was wounded, but then saw that he was merely fighting with the deep snow and wind.

  As he drew closer, she saw with relief that it was Makepeace. He was alone.

  “Sheriff,” she said, stepping away from the building.

  He started, then made her out in the gloom and exhaled. “You okay? I thought I told you to stay in that closet. Damn stubborn.”

  “Where’s Cooper?” she asked him.

  He gestured toward the surrounding hills. “Coop and I exchanged fire with someone up there in the forest. Guy must have a sniper rifle, because we couldn’t pinpoint him. Coop charged off to get closer and I lost the damned fool in the whiteout.”

  She stepped forward so she could talk quietly. “Listen, Sheriff.” She wasn’t sure how to break it to him about Remar. She decided to wait on that for now. “I found a man hidden under the cages—the same man I tried to help on the mountain. He’s a justice department agent. He told me Cooper’s behind all of this.”

  The sheriff’s eyes widened. “Coop? No way.”

  “Believe me, Sheriff,” Alex pressed. “This man was not making it up.”

  He shook his head, holding up a hand. “I’ve known Coop for forty years. We grew up together. There’s no way in hell he’d be involved with something like this.”

  She looked around in the blinding white of the storm. “We need to get to cover,” she told him. She turned back toward the cage building and stopped in her tracks. Gary stood there, a handgun pointed at them. They hadn’t heard his approach in the gale.

  Instantly Alex brought her gun up, training it on Gary’s torso. Makepeace drew his sidearm.

  “Dr. Carter,” Gary said. “Thought I’d never catch up to you.”

  “You certainly never stopped trying.” Her heart hammered. In one second, Gary could pull the trigger and end her life.

  “Drop it!” she heard Makepeace shout. “Put the gun down!”

  “No,” came Cooper’s sudden voice, only feet away. “You drop it, Bill.”

  Alex turned her head, risking a look in her peripheral vision. Cooper stood just behind Makepeace, his rifle aimed at the sheriff’s head.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out about this, Bill,” Cooper said. “You and me’s been friends for a long time.” He sniffed, his nose running in the cold. “I thought if I killed the others, no one would be around to testify.” He looked to Alex, his eyes narrow and hard. “But you had to snoop around.” He returned his gaze to Makepeace. “Heard you all back there.”

  Makepeace didn’t move, keeping his gun trained on Gary. “Coop, I can’t believe this. Let’s talk it out. I’m sure with a good lawyer—”

  “You shut up,” he said, his voice gone cold. “You know damn well how this has to go down, and I hate to do it.”

  “Then don’t,” Makepeace urged him.

  “Ain’t no other way.” Alex saw Cooper bracing himself to shoot his friend. “Gary, you know what to do with the girl.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gary said. Alex started to squeeze the trigger when suddenly Gary moved his gun to the left and fired. Cooper stood there blinking in surprise, a small black hole in his jacket. Then red seeped out of it. He went down on his knees, mouth moving in disbelief, and then fell forward into the snow. Gary holstered his gun, then held his hands up. Keeping his aim on Gary, Makepeace went to Cooper and felt for a pulse. His grim expression told Alex he didn’t find one.

  Standing up, Makepeace threw a pair of handcuffs at Gary. “Put those on.”

  But Gary continued to stand there, hands up. “Let me explain. Please.” He looked at Alex. “I wasn’t out there to kill you. I was out there to keep an eye on you. Why do you think I didn’t fire when I saw you on the ski lift?”

  “You’ve been acting weird since I met you,” Alex said. “You were with those men.”

  “Look. Some guys came to me last year, wanting advice on how to build cages. I designed some for them. I knew some people trapped animals on occasion to have a controlled hunt with their buddies. But believe me, I had no idea they were smuggling endangered animals. When I found out, I didn’t know what to do, and they threatened me, told me to keep quiet. I knew Makepeace and Cooper were friendly, but I didn’t know how friendly. Then one of the hunters came to me. He was actually an undercover agent, collecting information, and he knew my heart wasn’t in the operation. He needed a mole. I started to help him. But then he disappeared. Cooper said he’d gone off to visit family, but I had a bad feeling about it. I knew they’d done something to him, and worried they knew I’d been helping him. I didn’t know if they were onto me. Then when they killed that biologist, I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to me. I thought maybe since you were with that land trust, you might know what to do. That’s why I came to the lodge that day, to talk to you. But I lost my nerve. Wasn’t sure if I could trust you, either. I saw you talking to Cooper in the café that day.”

  Makepeace chuffed. “You expect us to believe all this crap? You just want to get out of this.”

  Alex lowered her rifle. “I think he’s telling the truth, S
heriff.” She gestured at the building. “It’s what the agent told me earlier. This whole operation is Cooper’s.”

  Makepeace looked away from Gary to the body of his friend. “Coop.”

  “The agent’s in bad shape, Sheriff. He needs to be stabilized until he can be moved to a hospital,” she told him.

  “How many more men are out there?” he asked Gary. “We got one guy inside that building. But someone was sniping from the trees.” He looked down at his dead friend. “Maybe Coop got him.”

  Gary considered a moment. “Two others are out on snowmobiles. They were heading toward the old resort stables.”

  Alex looked at Makepeace. “They’re probably out of commission, then.” She turned to Gary. “What about the snipers placed at the lodge and my backpack?”

  “They were the ones headed out to the resort stables. Coop pulled them off the sniper positions when they figured out where you were.” He paused. “That just leaves Cliff. But he’s hurt bad.”

  Makepeace looked again at the surrounding hills, scanning. “Could be the sniper who fired on me and Coop. Let’s move.” When they’d found shelter against the side of a building, Makepeace asked, “And Joe Remar?”

  Gary shook his head. “I don’t know. I actually didn’t even know he was involved in all this before tonight, when he radioed Dr. Carter’s location to us.”

  Alex turned to Makepeace and said in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I found Joe earlier.” She pointed into the storm. “He’s over there. He’s dead.”

  Makepeace’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled, looking over at his dead friend. “Hell of a night,” he breathed, holstering his gun. “Hell of a night.”

  A shot rang out of the darkness, and Alex fell to Makepeace’s side as a round caught the sheriff in his upper chest.

  To her left, the swirling mists parted and she saw Cliff, holding a rifle awkwardly against his body, his broken arm dangling uselessly at his side. He had the drop on them. Alex started to raise her rifle and Cliff squeezed off a shot, narrowly missing her with his compromised aim. She flinched and fell flat into the snow.