by L. E. Horn
“You’ve arrived at our processing center, where you’ll leave a good many things behind. Consider this a rebirth— the building of a bright new future. If you’ve any valuables, we’ll place them into secure storage until your training is complete. The only thing you’ll be leaving this facility with is the skin you were born in.”
Quite the speech. This guy was almost as well-spoken as Noah and shared his accent. European? I couldn’t place it. When Danny touched his pocket, I remembered the knife. There wasn’t much opportunity to collect material possessions when you were homeless, and it was hard to leave behind the trinket or two that meant something. I would put my life on the line to protect my mother’s pencil box.
I thought about the skin reference and realized I was going to have to improvise. My battle with Dillon had left me with visible scars on my arms and legs. Fortunately, the marks overlapped to such an extent they weren’t clearly from claws, but for someone who understood what to look for, they might give me away. I remembered Chris and how I’d missed his scars at first glance. So as I listened, I pushed with my mind to grow longer hair to cover them. It itched as the follicles enlarged and the hair emerged. It pulled on my failing energy to grow it, but at least the hair would last until I decided to shed it, without drawing on any more of my resources. I caught a quick whiff of the wulf and hoped there were enough others around us now to not raise the alarm.
His speech revealed something even more important: this was not the final destination. The thought made me nervous because the farther we went, the harder it would be for Sam to trace us.
“My men will escort you through the process,” the big wulfan rumbled. “Please remember everything we do is to build a secure future. There are those who would like to steal our secrets, and we must be careful who we accept. We’ve scanned you once for any tracking technology, and we’ll do it again. Your clothes will be disposed of.” He smiled as a murmur ran through us. “Don’t worry, we won’t force you to trot about in the buff. We have new duds for you.”
Mention of tracking made my heart race. If I’d kept the device under my skin, I would have been toast twice over.
Noah turned back to us. “Our company trains recruits to become elite security operatives. Once trained, your duties will vary, from personal bodyguards to intervention initiatives. You will never be asked to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
“What if we start training and decide we don’t like it? Can we leave?” one man asked.
Noah nodded and looked straight into his eyes as he lied. “You can leave any time.”
So smooth. Not even a twitch of conscience. I ground my teeth together. Not a person here would walk away alive, of that I was certain. Most would die even if they stayed.
“Why were those guys in Winnipeg trying to question us?” another man who looked like he was of Indigenous descent asked.
“We possess a unique training program. We are turning out professionals, attracting the attention of rival firms. One rival is attempting to shut us down.”
At what point would they reveal the injections destined to turn us into monsters? I decided to push. “What does this training entail?”
Noah fixed me with a stare. “We will give you more details once you arrive at the training facility.”
Okay, then. No information until we were ensconced in a remote location. Didn’t bode well for anyone deciding to back out.
I eyed the wulfleng. Likely it had been too late to quit from the moment we followed Noah away from the bridge. Maybe even before that.
“These men will assist you through processing.” Noah gestured to two wulfleng, who pulled lips back from their human teeth. Humans might mistake the expression for a smile, but not me. They escorted us through a door leading to a room with rows of lockers, each about a square foot, along the walls.
“Put anything personal you want to keep in a locker. You may leave the key with us and we will return it to you when you have finished the training program.”
There was much shuffling of feet and many uncomfortable glances. The wulfleng added, “Items not left in secure storage will be eliminated with the clothing.”
Danny stepped forward and pulled out his switchblade, running his fingers along the contours. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the locker, placed the knife in and closed the door, twisting the key out of the lock. Then he handed it to the wulfan.
Those who had something to save came forward to do the same. One man removed a wedding ring from his finger, and I pondered where his spouse was. Eyeing the lockers, I took note of the few that were already locked with someone else’s precious relics and considered those who had come before us. How many returned here to retrieve them? How long would those items stay here before Ace ordered them cleared out?
We left the lockers behind and entered a room where we sat for haircuts. “Everyone gets shaved, no exceptions. We will also treat you for lice if necessary.”
My heart accelerated. My hair was my main disguise. I’d let the nose slowly return to normal, as the drain on me had been too much. How many of those around me had seen the enforcer’s picture? And if they had, how many had actually paid any attention to it?
The wulfan who shaved us proved to be efficient, and soon we all had bald, shiny heads and faces. No one commented on the long scar across my scalp, another Dillon injury. The men looked at each other and smiled nervously, but I avoided looking directly at anyone. Noah hadn’t accompanied us through this process, for which I was grateful.
“It’ll grow back,” Danny said with a shrug.
“We look like effing skinheads,” commented Keith.
No one gave me any searching looks as we moved down the hall to our next stop—a large washroom facility with showers.
“All clothes off.” The shorter wulfan gestured to a big bin. “Throw everything in here. Then scrub hard with the soap—three soapings, three rinsings.”
Test number two. I was counting a lot on blending in with my fellows to keep me safe. The wulfan worried about trackers, so they were alert to an infiltration attempt, at least one that relied on following an individual to the end location. They were unlikely to believe someone would go so far as to willingly expose themselves to the virus, but still . . .
I was banking a lot on that assumption.
The men were slow to strip.
“I haven’t had a hot shower in ages,” one man said, a large, square fellow with copper skin and black hair. He peeled off his clothes. At his wrists, the line of dirt was so thick it looked like a shirt cuff.
The smaller man beside him said something in another language. It wasn’t familiar to me. His bigger friend laughed.
In vivid contrast to my werewolf friends, these men appeared self-conscious of their nakedness. The man just down from the one who’d spoken was at least six foot four, and beneath the dirt, the bones showed close under the skin of his big frame. His eyes appeared haunted, staring out from dark hollows, his cheeks sunken. I noticed scars all over the insides of his arms—the track marks of a drug addict. The man across from him was tall as well, but so thin he could have been used for an anatomical study of the skeletal system. These were young men entering their prime, and it bothered me to see them in such rough shape.
Much like I’d noticed on Chris, my body hair did a decent job of hiding the scars on my arms and legs. Fortunately, with the exception of a few marks on my back, the rest of my body had escaped the worst from Dillon’s claws, although it still showed some spectacular bruising from the accident.
We finished throwing our clothes in a pile. Many eyes stayed averted to the walls or ceiling as we headed to the showers. But once the hot spray hit our bodies, I heard nothing but appreciative groans. Tongues loosened and comments flew around the room, reminiscing about the last time anyone had experienced a hot shower. Some shelters offered them, but as they tended to be communal, getting naked involved leaving your worldly possessions in a pile. Few homeless appreciated that vu
lnerability. When you owned so little, you held on to such things with an intensity bordering on obsession. Not to mention that stepping back into filthy clothes only increased your awareness of them. Sometimes it was easier to stay dirty.
The water flattened the hair on my body, and Danny noticed my arms despite the new covering of hair. “Christ! What the hell happened to you?”
My awareness expanded, scanning the room from the corners of my eyes. Other than Keith, no one looked up at his exclamation. Keith gave me a cursory glance before looking away, but I knew he listened in.
“Collided with a train.” I offered a half smile. “You should have seen the train.”
He frowned. “You never answer my questions.”
“Some are better left unanswered.”
He rolled his eyes, then turned his back to continue scrubbing. Beyond him, I noticed Keith glance at me before also turning away.
I reconsidered my answer. I didn’t need to put further effort into cultivating Danny, but somehow I felt he deserved better.
“I was in an accident,” I said, keeping my voice low. Danny turned back to me, looking concerned.
“Gas explosion. Sent me through a window. My arms got the worst of it, they were shielding my face.”
His eyes widened. “Wow. I’m sorry.”
I gave him a terse nod and looked away.
As a backstory, it wasn’t bad. And I sensed my admission strengthened the connection starting to form between Danny and me, which made me sigh. The next few days promised to be hell. How could I watch these young men get injected with a virus that would likely kill them? Yet I had gone to a lot of risk and trouble to infiltrate this organization. Unless I found those responsible, they would recruit more, and the death toll would continue to rise.
As a mission, this one sucked big time.
When we dried off, they gave us dark-gray sweats, tee shirts, and hoodies, all inscribed with a logo of a leaping wolf in red. The impression might have been institutional, but the logo changed everything—the men stood straighter after they’d dressed, as though they were part of something special.
There was a sinister brain behind this, one that understood the human psyche. Life had beaten these men until their sense of self-worth sat around their ankles. It took so little to buy their loyalty. A tiny embroidered logo had already distracted them from being taken so far away from society that no one would hear them scream.
They escorted us back to the main area, where they scanned us once again, with noticeably faster results. By shuffling around among the men, I managed to avoid being too close to Noah. Of all those present, he would be most likely to remember the photo and make connections. But he seemed distracted. I overheard him talking to Ace about the enforcers and terminating the recruitment in Winnipeg. Partway through the scanning, he exited through the side door.
When we regrouped around the vans, Ace descended from above to talk.
“You have all taken a big step toward a promising new future,” he rumbled. We followed him through a side door. The freshening moon, almost a quarter, cast faint light on a farmyard, complete with a small house similar to Peter’s. Mature trees screened the yard and driveway. I made note of every detail but concentrated so hard I tripped. I sensed my red-haired remote viewer seeing through my eyes.
Ace led us down a narrow path through dense bush, dimly lit with a string of Christmas lights. Stretched out in a long line behind the wulfan, I noticed with relief that Noah no longer accompanied us and guessed that his job was done. The wulfleng kept us pinned between them. What would happen if one of us made a break for it? But everyone’s eyes were fastened forward, eager to see what lay ahead. I had to admit that, for these men, almost anything would be more appealing than what they’d left behind.
If only they knew.
We stepped into a clearing and moved into a mowed field toward a mid-sized metal building that was brightly lit with exterior lights. It seemed of newer construction than the one in which they’d processed us. The dimensions appeared odd for a barn; the front doors designed to open very wide. What was it built to contain? Even a combine didn’t need that much width or height.
We walked past it, and just beyond sat the helicopter. The entire group stopped. Someone whistled. Danny whispered, “wow.”
This was no ordinary bird. Far from an expert, I had seen enough in videos to recognize it. A Black Hawk, long and lean, gleamed in the moonlight. With a thudding heart, I remembered Chris telling me about the dark helicopter he’d seen the night Dillon and Chloe died. It provided a grim reminder of the money behind this operation; even a used Black Hawk would run into the millions. I had to admit, in rural Manitoba, such transportation made perfect sense if you wanted to facilitate a clandestine operation. As long as you had permission to use private land and your neighbors didn’t complain about the noise—and sometimes, even if they did—you could fly what and where you liked in this province. And unlike a plane, a chopper could land almost anywhere.
Sam sensed my agitation and her dismay surged when she saw it through my eyes—a helicopter might take me where she couldn’t follow.
I sensed her panic and sent a pulse of reassurance. I’ll find a way.
Her enforcer nature took hold, and she sent me a burst of warm, calm energy. We’ll find a way. Not just an impression this time—the words dropped crystal clear into my mind.
In the field, Ace turned to us. “Welcome to the League of the Red Wolf,” he said.
14
I did my best, considering the circumstances.
Ace sat closest to the cockpit and the rest of us squeezed into webbed seats running the length of the fuselage. I studied the interior with interest—they’d either recently retrofitted this chopper or it was not an old machine. The Black Hawk had been around in one form or another for decades, and I first thought it was a decommissioned military aircraft. Looking around, I dismissed that possibility. This bird appeared damned new.
When it started up, I amended my assessment. New and relatively quiet. It possessed little of the ear-shattering thunder normally associated with helicopters.
There were no windows in the dimly lit interior and a closed door blocked the cockpit. I shut my eyes and split my focus between the vibrating machine and my connection to Sam. I’d estimated the Black Hawk’s nose faced east when we boarded. I couldn’t detect the exact moment we left the ground, but soon the nose shifted northeast. Toward the second of the huge lakes that occupied the center of Manitoba: Lake Winnipeg.
It may have been quiet for a helicopter, but the noise still encouraged silence to fall among the group. The chopper’s presence launched our adventure into a new orbit, and I sensed the nervous tension on board. Without windows, I had to rely on feel and guesswork to give Sam as much information as possible, and it was much harder than it had been with the van. I noted every shift in my body as the aircraft adjusted course. I believed we stayed on a northeast bearing, and after about twenty minutes, the scent of water drifted through the ventilation system. We had to be over the lake.
From that point on, all I did was let Sam track the time. This aircraft would be both fast and have a tremendous range, so she would have to become an expert in Black Hawk stats to estimate where we headed. I fought to stay awake, the rhythmic thump of the rotors, combined with the exhaustion of my rooftop escapade, threatened to take me under. I noticed a few of my fellow travelers nod off. The interior of a military-grade helicopter was much safer than a night spent under a bridge.
I wasn’t sure when we left the lake behind, but I thought I detected the scent of pine forest. I struggled to picture the terrain east of the lake. My memory served up a largely wild forest, with a few provincial parks like Nopiming, Woodland, and Atikaki. If I was to hazard a guess, we were likely headed even farther north than those. Through Sam’s eyes, I saw a map spread out. I noticed the Poplar/Nanowin Rivers Park Reserve that stretched from Lake Winnipeg to the Ontario border. How far is it from where we�
�d left? Had she received my words as clearly as I did hers?
Her answer was immediate. About two hundred miles.
How long would it take us to fly that?
Just over an hour. Sam said.
I’d almost drifted off when the helicopter slipped sideways and the rotors changed tone.
We’re here.
Wherever the hell here was.
* * *
The sky lightened toward dawn as we surveyed the alternative to sleeping under Salter Street.
Dense boreal forest surrounded us, the air redolent of pine and spruce. The leaves of the few poplars still retained the brilliant lime green of spring growth. Their beauty contrasted with the bare ground that stretched for about two hundred yards in each direction. In the middle of this flattened area sat a small newly constructed building with a large sign across the front of it: Red Wolf Air.
Our helicopter had joined its family. Three other machines rested on the ground—another Black Hawk and two smaller ones.
“Damn. A Cobra and an Apache,” Danny said, in a hushed voice. “These guys have serious cred.”
The helicopters shared the solid-black color scheme and the distinctive red wolf logo on their sides. Turning, I realized our Black Hawk also had a logo that I hadn’t seen in the darkness.
Ace noticed us survey the machines. “Red Wolf Air does good business ferrying groups of hunters into the area,” he said. “To the outside world, that’s profitable. Of course, you aren’t here to become hunting guides.”
My heart leaped. If they had a business, Sam might track them. I concentrated on the sign but struggled to establish contact with her. Throughout the flight, I had sensed her as a faint reassuring warmth in the back of my mind, but at some point over the lake, the bond we shared had faded. Are we too far apart? Or am I just too tired? I realized that although I had told her when we landed, she hadn’t replied.
