“It’s mine,” Shell said, admitting the truth for the first time.
“T-that beast just killed those men. It ripped their throats out.”
Not knowing what he should say, he allowed the words spill out. “I told her to do that if those two hurt you. It’s my fault. The wolf just did what I asked.”
Camilla was shaking, as her eyes remained locked on the wolf, probably not hearing or understanding half of what he said. Shell looked at the two dead men and noted their throats had been ripped out as he’d asked. They were dead, and there were no others in the cabin. He put his knife away, approached the wolf and knelt on one knee in front of her. The amber eyes steadily watched him, never blinking.
Shell gently placed an arm around the wolf’s neck and pulled her closer to him. In a soft voice intended for the others to hear as well, he said, “Thank you.”
The wolf raised a paw and placed it on Shell’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a short while, communicating as two friends in a way no one else could hear or understand. Shell provided a mental image of the wolf exploring the area around the cabin. She turned and entered the deep shadows under the trees and disappeared.
Knowing he had a lot of explaining to do, he stood and faced the other two. Both seemed ready to flee if he so much as sneezed. They needed time to understand the wolf had saved Camilla’s life. The carnage of two dead men was the price paid for her. They were shaken, scared, and hadn’t had time to rationalize it, especially with the men still in sight. He would bury them soon but needed to make sure all were safe. “I’ll go search the cabin.”
He cautiously threw open the plank door, half in fear that there still might be someone else inside, even if the wolf said no. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to call the wolf back into the clearing and upset them again. If she showed itself, Camilla and Henry would probably take off for Fleming, and he didn’t know if he could catch up with them.
No one was in the cabin. However, it was full of other things. There were piles of assorted clothing, a table laden with knives, two swords, and at least six or seven blankets tossed around the room. But it was the boots and shoes that told the story. More than twenty shoes of different sizes and fashion lay together in a pile. Some were men’s. Others women’s. Large, small, almost new, others so old they were ragged. None looked like they would fit either of the dead men.
Henry said, from right behind him, “What is this place?”
Camilla still stood in the yard in the same place, as if her legs didn’t work. She said, “They kill and steal.”
“Why do they kill?” Henry asked, his voice hushed and hoarse.
“They like to. And they want the women. But most of all, they talked about torture; what they did to people. They laughed about it. When their enjoyment was over, they killed them and laughed some more.”
Henry said, “And they wanted to steal? That’s why they did this?”
“No,” she said. “They liked to torture and kill. The stealing was just taking what’s left over.” She turned and took a couple of tentative steps towards the cabin.
“You probably don’t want to look in here,” Shell said.
She came to stand at his side, anyhow. He watched her eyes, and for any sign of weakness or that she might collapse at the devastation inside. She said, speaking to nobody in particular, “So many blankets and shirts everywhere. That table is full of knives and nothing else.”
He watched her eyes alight on the shoes and her knees went weak. Shell grabbed and steadied her before she fell, then half-carried her to the far end of the meadow and gently sat her down on the grass. He went to the first dead man and searched him for any clues of his identity. Inside his waistband, he found a knife with a gold jeweled hilt, a red ruby at the butt, a row of smaller ones set in the handle.
The other man wore a knife plain as the other was gaudy, but at least as expensive. The blade bore the unmistakable marks of quality workmanship, not a pit or spot of rust on the metal. The plain blackwood handle fit him perfectly, but he placed it on the ground with the other knife as he continued searching their bodies. Finding nothing else of interest, he said, “Henry, give me a hand dragging these two off into the bushes.”
Henry said, pulling one foot as Shell took the other. “Let’s take them way out there. I don’t want them close to here.”
When they had dragged both men far from the hut, they returned, Henry went to the stream with the bucket and splashed the water to wash the blood from the grass. It took him three trips. Camilla stood on wobbly legs and waved off any help. Shell was not sure what to do for her but expected she would let him know if she wanted, or needed him.
She said, “I’m kind of weak. I haven’t eaten in three days, not that I could eat something now, I’m just explaining why I’m like this.”
“I see,” Shell said, ignoring her lie about why she was weak, and understanding why she said it. Coming so close to death had to tear at her mind, and then seeing the lives ripped from her attackers by a wolf and thinking she was going to be killed next, must have terrified her. Instead of being critical, he wondered how he would have fared in similar circumstances. He would not have done as well. Not even close.
She turned to Henry with a limp smile. “We haven’t met. I hope Shell didn’t do that to your face. It looks awful.”
“Henry,” he said, sounding proud of the name as he used it for the first time to introduce himself. “He saved me.” Then he turned to Shell and continued in a dull voice, “We have lots to talk about.”
Shell smiled weakly as he reached out and touched the mind of the wolf for comfort. It had already made a complete circle around the cabin but avoided one area. The wolf passed the information to Shell that the stench of rotting flesh was too much in one place for the sensitive nose of the wolf. The stench lay to the east, where a gully cut through the ground, and probably ran deep with snowmelt in the spring.
But Shell now knew where the bodies that had worn the shoes were located, victims from months or years ago. He fought an impulse to try and fit the proper shoes on each corpse, but understood in advance, there was no way to tell, even if his nose and eyes allowed him to get within a hundred steps of the place.
He said, “It’s getting dark. Why don’t we build a fire here in the yard and leave early in the morning?”
“Can’t we leave?” Henry asked.
Shell shook his head. There were too many unanswered questions, too many things to learn. Beside the dead in the gulley, there were the friends, associates, and relatives of them that needed answers.
Camilla said, “You two build a fire. I have things to do.”
Shell raised his eyebrows at her, not sure what she meant.
“Inside the cabin may be articles that will help identify the poor people those two killed. We might be able to find something and use it to locate the families, or at least, some of them.”
“What sort of things?” Shell asked.
“Letters, diaries, names engraved on blades, and things like that. We owe it to the survivors to at least try.”
“Call out if you need me,” Shell said, sensing that she wanted to do the chore alone, and puzzled by it. Did she just need a few minutes alone, or was she trying to find a reason for the actions of the two men? A way to understand the depravity? Did she hope to resolve it for the families, as she said? Or for her, almost another victim. Probably the idea that she had almost died here made her more empathetic with those who had. She wanted to help them because she had almost been one of them.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He intended to stay out of her way so she could work her way through the emotions that filled her. Shell also realized he needed some time alone. The odd looks and unasked questions about the wolf from both Henry and Camilla were going to have to be faced soon. He didn’t’ have all the answers, and didn’t know how much to share, especially with Henry present.